Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The first thing that slowly dragged him to the waking world was not the trash that had been continuously bumping into his body. Nor was it the moonlight glaring down onto him, stinging his battle wounds ever so slightly. No, it was the sudden realization that he was not, in fact, dead. He was still, however, in a lot of pain. 

Struggling to rise, he realized exactly why he was still in pain when his face collided with the mud. Growling at the grit, Bular the Vicious flipped himself onto his back to take account of his losses. Not only has his left arm crumbled off during his trip down the man made river, but his left leg seemed to match.

As he laid there, his mind wandered to what happened last…

Bular remembered the way the blade burned his insides, how it’s flame was far more painful than any ray of sun had ever felt on his stoney skin. He remembered the look of determination as the boy yelled his final line, his blue eyes searing Bular with the fire they held. But what he remembered most of all, was how his body fell into the man made river, sinking to the bottom with little resistance. 

He had tried to hold on, even with his body burning from the inside out, to wait for the right time to strike. But as his grip had weakened and his vision blurred, Bular felt himself fading faster and faster. His rage at the trollhunter may have been mighty, but his body’s needs were stronger then he hoped. The last thing he remembered seeing when his good arm finally gave way was the plump fleshbag, just a good jump away from ending…

But the current had other plans, and swept him away before he could even rise.

And here he was now, a good forty percent of his body gone and his pride ruined...

“ Bushigal…” 

Well, he wasn’t going to die here. If the past few hundred years had taught him something, it was that he could wait a few days more till the Gumm-gumms were rightfully freed. But he couldn’t face the Trollhunter again, not how he was…

He’d need to rest, and then he’d need to find out where he was. But staying out on the river bank, although tempting, would lead to his end once the sun rose. He’d need to find a cave, preferably a deep one. So with a deep, guttural growl, he sank only hand into the mud and began to drag himself up onto dry land. 

His mind flitted in and out of coherent thought, however, as he crawled across the ground. 

What would he do now? 

If Stricklander had survived, then he’d probably be in the process of tearing down the bridge before the Trollhunter and his group arrived. Or running to the hills like the cowardly impure he was. 

Bular could deal with the first, but the second was more likely...at least, in his mind.

There was also his father. They had been so close, but they had failed…

He had failed…

“ Bushigal… ” Bular muttered under his breath, his mind wandering to how his father might react to see him like this. Weak, defeated, somehow alive even after disgracing not only himself, but no doubt all of Gumm-gumm kind…

Oh he could see it now all, starting with his father scowling at his son’s defeat. His blade raised to remove the embarrassment he turned out to be. And all the while his sniveling advisor, Bular had long forgotten his name, would be going on and on how he’d been right about Bular. Hell, no doubt Stricklander would be there too, holding back a smile. 

Before Bular knew it, a roar had escaped his lips as he swung at the imaginary Stricklander, only to feel air slip through his claws. 

Falling face first into the dirt once more, Bular returned to growling as he steadied himself and continued his quest to find shelter. Yet with each pull, he felt his conscious draining fading more and more. He needed to find shelter, and soon…

Luckily, he smelt something familiar...Something his mind had long ago connected with food. 

Changing his position to follow the scent, Bular dragged himself further away from the man made river and deeper inwards, towards the Flesh bags he smelled. It wasn’t long after that he came across two huts, one right next to the other. Part of him egged him to go into the clearly lived in a hut, to slaughter the few inside and feast, as his body needed the nourishment. But he knew in this state that he could not hunt as he once easily could. 

No, he needed to rest. Food would have to wait for tomorrow. 

Finding the other hut, the one he soon realized was what the flesh bags called a “barn”, empty of life; Bular made his way inside and found comfort on the obscene amount of hay left about. He didn’t question how the smell of animals seemed far too old, or the fact that some moonlight seemed to poke through the multitude of holes around him. No, all his tired, battle worn body wanted was to sleep. 

And sleep it did.

“Egg time, egg time, Grandpa says it egg time…” 

Two things became rather apparent, at least when Bular awoke. The first thing was that he smelled something new, something far fresher than the faded scent of animals. The second was that Bular had seemed to bury himself under the hay, and whether this was subconscious or not was up for debate.

Slowly opening his eyes, Bular winced as they were met with brightness. His head started to pound, but he was no doubt, still alive. Everything seemed to glow, yet most of it came from the front of the barn door, which had been swung open by a small little...thing. It took Bular a few moments to recognize that it was a human whelp, no bigger than his leg. And it was heading straight for the hay pile, screeching without a care!

Who thought it was a good idea to let this thing loose?

The hunger from last night returned in full, and he tried his best to wait till it got closer. It wouldn’t keep him full, but at the very least it would provide some energy until he could sneak inside the house and devour the others. 

Just as it got close enough to reach, however, a sudden, low grumble from his stomach betrayed him. 

The Whelp froze thankfully, eyes darting around for the source of the noise. In it’s tiny little hands held a basket, no doubt what it came in the barn for. But before it could even speak a word, Bular leaped out of the hay and towards the tiny flesh bag, ready to capture it with ease…

Till he remembered that, yes, his arm and leg were still gone. 

The whelp darted just in time to avoid getting crushed, and scrambled to the barn doors. For a moment, Bular thought it would get into the sun and alert the other. And that was something he could not afford at the moment. Scrambling himself, he shot his only hand into the sunlight and managed to snag the fleshbag entirely, grabbing her by the leg and pulling her into the safety of the shade. 

As his hand hissed and glowed with pain, the small child watched with fear and wonder. She hadn’t yet screamed, except for the quick yelp that had followed when she was grabbed. She just remained still, the panic having seized her up. 

Bular huffed for a few moments, the rest of his body responding to the sudden flash of movements with it’s miniature revolt. He could feel the wound in his chest tearing open once again, as well as the small pinpricks of light poking him from the barns holes...he’d no doubt have trouble trying to even chase another human down, even at night fall. 

Luckily, another idea entered his head. 

“Fleshbag,” Bular grumbled, pulling the child close to his face so it could see just how pointy his teeth were. “If you value your life, and the life of your loved ones, you will fetch me all the meat you have.” 

And for a moment, the whelp said nothing, and Bular figured he’d killed the thing with fear. But after a few seconds, it slowly began to nod. Slowly Bular sat it down, and watched as it shakily grabbed it’s basket, but didn’t rush off. 

Bular growled, narrowing his eyes. “...now.”

The Child rushed off. 

It was a gamble, seeing as the whelp could just rush off and warn it’s parents. But he had figured he’d starve either way, and having the child be his daylight servant would work similar to how he’d ordered Stricklander around. Hopefully it would choose to recognize his threats and not rush to the hills. Humans ignorance with how trolls worked was usually their downfall. 

By the time he’d gotten himself situated back under the hay, he heard the creaking of a door opening and closing, as well as the sound of a wicker basket being dragged on the ground. After another few minutes, he could see that the whelp had followed through with his orders, and was carrying what seemed to be not only various odd slices of meat, but a frozen bird carcass or two. 

He allowed himself the comfort of laying down as the child managed to drag the heavy load towards him, huffing and struggling nonetheless. With a final huff, the child let go of the basket and flopped to the dirt below, a mild amount of sweat dripping off it’s brow.

“T-there you go, Mr. Boogie man.” said the whelp, still a bit frightened. Weather she meant to or not, she seemed to back herself up to the barn wall, her eyes still glued onto him. Yet Bular didn’t care much for it, as he’d picked the basket up and dumped it’s contents into his gaping jaw with vigor. The plastics wrapped around it offered an odd crunch to some of the food, and it wasn’t human, but it would be enough for now. It was only after his stomach had calmed that he processed what the Flesh bag had called him. 

“Boogie man?” Bular muttered, no doubt seeming confused by this new title. No, boogie man seemed ridiculous. He wouldn’t stand for it. “I am Bular, son of Gunmar, son of the original Heart stone.”  

“...Boolar?” the Whelp questioned, it’s fear fading into curiosity as it leaned closer. No doubt getting a better look of him. Bular snorted, and once again the child had it’s back against the wall. 

For a few moments, neither said much of anything. Just stared at each other until Bular huffed and turned away, nestling himself further into the hay. Outside, the birds were lazily chirping and the bugs were no doubt buzzing about. And the sun’s rays were already beating down upon the earth, making him put his search for home and temporary prosthetic on hold. 

“Flesh bag whelp, how far is the settlement “Arcadia” from here?” Bular asked, after noticing the child had yet to flee. 

“...I dunno where that is.” It muttered, before looking back up at Bular with a question of its own. “What’s a heart stone?” 

“The Heart stone is the lifeblood of all Troll-kind.” Bular responded, glaring at the whelp. Of course, when would a flesh bag ever teach it’s young something special. But before he could ask another question, the whelp tacted on another.

“What’s a troll?” 

“I am a troll.” By now Bular was starting to get annoyed. Honestly it was conversations like this that always made him angry. Having the fact that his race was forgotten by humanity rubbed into his face. When the whelp opened its mouth to ask another question, Bular snarled and leand close. “This will be the last question I answer, child. Ask another and I will eat you...” 

The whelp then quickly shut its mouth, eyes growing wide. Turning it’s gaze away, the child seemed to look at the ground with deep thought. After a few minutes of silence, it finally spoke up. “I don’t wanna waste it then...” 

Bular stared at the whelp for a few moments as it pouted, poking the dirt in it’s fuss, before rolling his eyes and burying himself into the hay once more. He was too tired for this. He would deal with all of this later, once his wounds stopped aching… “Well, save your questions for tonight, whelp.” 

And with that, Bular once again let his consciousness fall to the world of dreams.

Chapter Text

The cool night air beat against his face as he ran, his eyes wide; they kept on trying to see more and more of the night sky. Almost as if he could the stars from their places, if he just focused hard enough. He hadn’t had some time with his father in years, not after Orlagk saw Gunmar’s potential and made him his head general. As true as any Gumm-gumm whelp, Bular had been left with his father’s original tribe, to fight and grow strong on his own. 

But here his father was, just in time for the coming of age ceremony, where he would finally grow up out of being a whelp and be welcomed as a future warrior of their clan. 

Suddenly, Bular was pulled into a grapple, and let out a roar as strong, familiar hands tried to pin him down. They struggled for a few minutes, and Bular almost weaseled his way out of it, but with a rather rough slam to the ground, Bular was stunned. 

“Never take your eyes off the enemy, Bular,” Gunmar stated, before releasing his grip on his son and flopping onto the cold grass below. It took Bular a second to roll out of the way, but luckily he wasn’t stuck under his father. 

“Yes...father,” Bular wheezed trying to regain his breath. But once again he turned his gaze at the sky. It was clear that Bular was getting better, at least he thought so. He hadn’t given his father nearly as much trouble back when he was a whelp. “I...I heard of all the battles you’ve won! Especially the battle of Stalkings peek, everyone is still amazed at how you-” 

“And what have you done, my son?” 

And Bular froze, at least for a moment, because he had not done anything as amazing as his father had. 

“...Well,” he began, his gaze torn away from the sky and at Gunmar. He could feel the scruff on the back of his neck beginning to rise. “I still remain undefeated when sparred with, even when the adults try to challenge me! Not to mention last week, I hunted down seven humans when the moon was full. It was the most out of my team!” 

Bular paused, waiting for his father to say something, anything, but instead he remained silent. 

Young Bular continued. “There was also the-”

“So,” Gumar began, cutting his son off quickly. “With all the time and training you’ve had, you’ve still failed to free not only me, but the rest of your kind from the Darklands?”

“...I...I…” 

And suddenly, rapidly, one by one; the stars began to die out. Before Bular could rise, his father had grown taller, pointing the Decimaar Blade at Bular’s neck. Behind him stood Kilahead bridge, looming over them both like a shadow of death. And on top of it sat the Trollhunter, his grin twisting into a demented smile…

Bular reached for his own weapon, by his arms seemed frozen, having turned to stone. 

“Father! Father please!” Bular called out, his eyes wide. This couldn’t be happening, this couldn’t be happening! “Just give me one last chance! I will make you proud! I swear it!”

“I had such high hopes for you, Bular,” Gunmar’s voice echoed, his one glowing eye shining brighter than the sun. “But you have failed me for the last time.”

And with a swing, the blade came down on Bular’s head.

“ NO! ”

“AH!”

Three things seemed to happen all at once. 

Bular, waking up from his nightmare, shot up from the hay like a bat out of hell, but quickly tumbled back down when gravity took advantage of his missing limbs. The whelp, having obeyed Bular’s orders, had fallen asleep on the ground, and was startled awake when said Troll jumped out of the hay. And finally, the pile of eggs that the child had gathered as an offering went flying, sending eggs all over the barn. 

To say it was a mess would be an understatement. 

Panting heavily, Bular quickly gathered his surroundings, before glaring at the child and deciding now would be a good time to yell at something. “ What are you doing here, Flesh bag?! ” 

Instead of answering, the child cowered. It took Bular a few more seconds to realize he hadn’t spoken English. So he tried again, this time taking a seat on the egg and hay covered ground. 

“I said, what are you doing here, Flesh bag…” Bular growled, eyes narrowing suspiciously at the child. He didn’t raise his voice again, he didn’t need it waking it’s kin up, not right now. Then again, whoever they are might already be up, seeing by how loud they’d both screamed...

“I-I’m sorry,” it whimpered, it’s lips quivering and eyes starting well up with tears. No doubt he’d scared it. “Y-you said you’d answer my question, Mr. Boolar…”

Oh right, he did say that. Didn’t he…

“...So be it,” he grumbled, settling himself back onto the ground and picking up the few unbroken eggs that had fallen nearby. He wasn’t one for these types of meals, preferring living flesh over prepackaged, but they were usually a decent snack. And he did enjoy the way some of them would pop. “But you are to gather the bedding while you do so, understood?” 

He pauses for another moment, before spitting out “And it is Bular. Get it wrong and you will suffer the consequences…” 

The child fearfully nodded, before scrambling to the nearest broom and getting to work. As it swept, Bular realized that it’s clothes had changed from the obnoxiously blue strapped thing it wore to a comically huge shirt. Why did humans have to have more than one pair of clothes? It just seemed so needless materialistic. Just pick one outfit and be done with it all. 

“...Well?” Bular began, laying back down on the ground. He sent an annoyed look at the child. “Where is that question you wanted to ask, whelp.” 

“Oh! Uh…” and then the child stopped, mid sweep, to think on this rather important question. After a few minutes, it spoke once more. “What’s your favorite color?” 

Silence filled the room. 

Bular stared. 

“What?” The child asked, quirking it’s eyebrow and leaning against the broom handle. It wasn’t doing a very good job at sweeping anyway, lazy thing.

“Of all the questions you could ask, you choose that one?”

“What’s wrong with that?” The child asked, now looking concerned. “Do you not have one? It's ok if you don’t, you can cheat if you want and say all of them.” 

Bular just remained silent, his mind bouncing back whether to humor the Whelp or not. It couldn’t be serious, though...He was a troll, after all, a being older than this very house even. And it wanted to know his favorite color. 

Well, they were a child after all… He remembered all the dumb questions he’d asked his father, back when he was small.

“Red,” he’d replied, after much thought on the matter. “My favorite color is red.” 

Bular watched as the child paused again, before the brightest smile he’d ever seen appeared on their face. He could also see that they had lost a tooth recently, and it only added to their childish nature. It almost caught him off guard, how quick the whelp went from frightened to excited.

“Mine’s green!” 

The child didn’t ask anything for the rest of the Night, instead opting to follow Bular’s original order and sweep up the hay. Not that he minded, his mind was still pondering why this little flesh bag felt that asking a simple question like that made it safe. Yet soon enough, his duly pulsing wounds pulled him back to sleep, and he barely  even noticed them start to cover him with hay. 

The child, as quiet as ever, finished their job with a satisfied nod. It was late, they would need to sleep. 

But there was one thing she needed to do first. 

“...Mr.Bular?” She whispered, using the broom to poke the odd “troll” embedded in the hay. She merely got a sleep growl in response. “...My name is Trisha. I’m gonna go to bed now.”

And with that, she scampered out of the barn and back to bed, giggling in sleepy excitement. 

“Goodnight!” 

The past few nights were spent resting. He only remembered the waking bits in flashes, but it all had seemed to blur together. The main gist of it had been him waking up in a haze, mumbling something when the Flesh bag asked a question, and scarfed down another basket of bird carcasses. But other than that, it had been relatively peaceful, and relatively quiet.

Until now, when he woke up and was only met with an empty wicker basket, and an upset looking Whelp. The two once again locked eyes, his sleepy orange meeting her annoyed green, and tried to figure out what the other would do.

The moonlight shined through the holes of the barn like an old friend, it’s light no longer stinging his day old wounds. By now the remaining stone had smoothed away, thanks to all the contact they’d had with the ground.

“...Whelp, where is my breakfast?” Bular yawned, his gaze shifting from dream dazed to annoyed. 

“We’re out of meat,” The child, not the least frightened like she should be, deadpanned. After a few minutes, she tosses her hands into the air in an effort to look exasperated. It just seemed silly. “It’s all gone! All of it! Gone!”

“...well, go get more.” Bular ordered, his voice not even rising above it’s hushed tone. It wasn’t worth the effort.

“Grandpa said he’d get some tomorrow,” the fleshbag stated annoyingly, before flopping herself onto the ground while holding a box of...somethings. Bular couldn’t remember what exactly they were, but he recognized their use as artistic mediums. Not one most people used, if he remembered some of Nomura’s rants accordingly. “So we got no meat till tomorrow.”

Bular glared, and was tempted to eat the little brat for her snarky reply. But then he stopped, remembering that if the child didn’t show up, his food would no doubt be delayed indefinitely. He settled for growls and glaring at the whelp, making a display of it all. 

He hid the feeling of satisfaction when the child jumped, scrambling back slightly. 

“Watch your tone, whelp. Just because i’m missing my arm doesn’t mean I can’t crush you with my teeth.” He responded, before shuffling back into his spot. He’d grown rather attached to the hay pile, and it began to smell more like a troll by the day. 

Well, with the exception of the human stench that fluttered by every now and then.

“...what’s a whelp?” The child asked, after a few moments of calming down and gathering her things. Bular watched as she reached for a black one of the drawing things, it smelled like wax, and began to scribble. “You call me that alot, is it bad?”

Ah, it looks like he was going to have to play teacher again. Wonderful. Just what he always wanted. With a sigh, he got himself into a comfortable position and began his speech. “A Whelp is what we trolls call our young, or rather young in general. You are a flesh bag whelp.” 

Bular didn’t like talking. He hated it, actually. Why waste time with pretty words when a troll's action held much more weight. Sure, there were times when things needed to be said, but an action showed far more conviction then any flowery speech ever could. Yet not everything could be shown in an action. And although Bular’s English was impressive for a Gumm-gumm’s standards, there were still things that couldn’t be easily translated. 

“So i’m a whelp...are you a whelp too?” The child asked, looking up to gaze at Bular’s look of mild shock. She then began to do the damnedest thing, holding up the wax stick and closing one of her eyes, before returning to her paper. There was no doubt that she was drawing him now. But why the display? What kind of action was that? Either way, Bular sputtered at the Flesh bag’s comment. 

“You seem a bit too big for a kid…” She mumbled.

“Of course i’m not!” Bular stated, only a little too quickly then he meant to. “I am fully grown and in the years of my prime. An Ad alt.” 

“Adult,” The child parroted back.

“That’s what I said, child .” Bular spat, leaning closer to get a better look of the drawing. He caught a few flashes of color amongst the darkness, red and yellow to be exact, but he had no idea what they were. 

And once again, the two of them drifted into silence. 

The child had been coming in regularly, as Bular had ordered. At first he’d figured he’d have a hard time getting the whelp to come back, but it turns out some youths think a troll who eats humans is rather interesting. Or rather, interesting enough to sneak out at night and bother with questions upon questions. But this had been the first night she’d brought something else with her…

He hated to admit it, but his curiosity got the better of him.

“...what are you doing?” 

“Drawin’,” the child mumbled, before sticking the wax stick behind her ear and reaching for another. But after a few minutes, she looked at Bular. “...do you wanna draw too?” 

Bular simply rolled his eyes and snorted, but kept his gaze focused on the paper. Soon, though, he opted to lean down on the ground and watch rather than looming. Once again silence reigned. 

He had thought about how he was to get home. If he had just remembered that stupid nine digit number, he could get the flesh bag to call Stricklander and pick him up...then again, in his weakened state, the impure could try and strike. That plan did not suit Bular’s best wishes, not in the slightest. 

There was that fact that, once he managed to make a decent prosthetic, he could run to Arcadia. He had done it before, countless times even. But that was when he had everything accounted for. He would have to make something sturdy, but he wasn’t as skilled as others. He’d only make a peg leg at best, he wasn’t Vendal for Gunmar’s sake! 

And then there was the matter that he needed to find out where he was. Seeing as the human’s guardian didn’t have that “ in-tur-ne t” that most flesh bags used, he’d be stuck with map navigation and smell. Again, it wasn’t like he hadn’t done this before, but it was an annoyance to do so...

But it was the only plan he had where he didn’t see evident betrayal, so he was going with it. All he needed to do was gain his strength back. And then, when the time was right, he would charge the Trollhunters hut and burn it to the ground. He’d eat his allies right in front of the boy's eyes! And when his father was out of the Darklands and into the moonlight, he’d let that fleshbag Trollhunter watch as trolls took their rightful place on the surface. 

Just the thought of it eased the rage that had built. 

Until something was suddenly shoved in his face. It took him a moment to gaze over it but even then he still had no idea what it was. And attached to the left of it was the tiny human’s hand, waving excitedly. Bular growled and shot the Whelp a look. 

“What,” Bular began, a scowl on his face, “is this?” 

“It’s you!” The Whelp began, a smile growing on her face. Once again that toothy smile “This is your room, so I made you a room sign. I’m gonna make one for Grandpa and me too, but- ”

Bular tuned the child out as he examined the page, his good hand tracing over the scribbled outlines. All it looked like was a black spiky blob falling out of a bunch of yellow lines. And then there were these weird red circles littering the edges of the page. How was this supposed to be him? He was a fearsome warrior! It didn’t capture his viciousness at all!

And yet, for a brief moment,  he found himself not wanting to tear the picture apart. 

He quickly squashed it and did so anyway. 

“Hey!” The whelp yelped, once again tossing her hands into the air. “I worked hard on that!” 

“Don’t bother,” Bular snorted, shifting into a more comfortable position to fall asleep. He closed his eyes as he uttered the rest of his speech. “It will be better for you, and your kin, if no one else knows i’m here. I will not be staying long.”

Bular didn’t hear the child say much else, but he did hear her rise to her feet and storm off. .

It would be the next night where, instead of the child pestering him to answer more questions, he was greeted by the sight of more chicken carcasses and another picture. Picking up the parchment, Bular squinted as he tried to make out whatever scribblings the whelp had drawn. Any words on it we're practically illegible. 

Rolling his eyes, he shoved the picture into the hay to deal with later.

Chapter Text

There were many things Bular did not expect to happen in his life. He did not expect one of his father’s best generals, Aarghaumont, to deck him in the face and defect. He did not expect the Gumm-Gumm’s to lose the battle of Kilahead bridge, and be sucked into the Darklands. He did not expect a human to become a Trollhunter, and likewise did not expect the Trollhunter to best him in battle. It would be fair to say Bular did not expect a lot of things.

So it was, on the fifth night of being ignored by the human, that Bular did not expect to be bored to death.

True enough, he relished in the silence at first, enjoying the time to plot and rest. But much like a bird in a cage, Bular had grown restless. There was not much to do inside the barn, as he was too heavy to explore the upper levels. He’d tried using a few of the items scattered about, seeing if they could be useful in his attempt to create a prosthetic, but most broke under his weight. And then there was teaching himself how to walk, as he all but refused to crawl on the ground like a worm…

And then there was the whelp, Trish-sha. She had not shown her face to Bular ever since he tore her artwork. And Bular was just fine with that. He wasn’t going to apologize for doing something rational, and she would just have to learn that. And if that meant the poofy haired brat was going to sulk and pout and avoid him over it, so be it. It was a lesson she’d need to learn in order to survive.

At least, that’s what he thought, till he woke up that night to no food at all.

“...insolent brat,” Bular growled, the annoyance rising within him as he rose to his feet. He wobbled for a good second, his weight unevenly distributed now that his limbs were gone, but he managed to correct himself after a few moments.

With that, Bular proceeded to slowly make his way outside.

It was the first time that he’d really been out of the barn. And now he was finally able to get his bearings of the place. The land around the was flat, but littered with trees. Their leaves rustled with the late night breeze, and a few even drifted off to the ground below. Across from him, he could get a better view of the human’s hut, how it’s coloring flaked off and it’s wood creaked with the breeze. Even with only a single, flashing light on, Bular could see how the shuttered were an obnoxious green, and the house had originally been white. Nearby was an equally old, if not older, automobile, itself rusting and wearing away. The back wasn’t even made of metal, as the rest was, and instead looked like wood.

And beyond the huts was a winding dirt path, no doubt connecting to a main road somewhere past the brush.
Spinning around, Bular caught sight of a small garden, at least that’s what he recognized it as. It was slightly better off then the huts, but it’s barriers were in need of repair. Not to far from it was another odd automobile Bular didn’t exactly recognize, with weeds practically springing out of if. Finally, behind him and the barn was the forest, swallowing up the rest of the horizon with it’s brush. If he focused, he could smell the river not to far off.

Turning back to the Human’s hut, Bular limped over to where the light was flickering and peered in. As luck would have it, the flickering came from one of the first floor windows, allowing Bular easy access inside. As his eyes quickly adjusted, he took in the scene before him.

He spotted the whelp quickly, as she was seated right in front of one of those flashing boxes. Bular remembered Stricklander telling him the name of the infernal device, but he hadn’t cared back then. Either way, the whelp’s eyes were practically glued to the box as she sat on the floor, idly eat some odd human food. He could hear muffled laughter, but it didn’t seem like anyone else was inside.

Bular tapped on the screen, smirking as the child leaped into the air. Once again, food was sent flying.

It took the brat a few moments to recognize who he was, and just like that, she was off. For a small moment, Bular figured she ran to hide, but after hearing something scrape the floor, he moved over to the next window and found the culprit. The child had dragged a chair towards another odd device, one he recognized as a fridge, and was quickly opening the top. He watched as she struggled for a few moments, pulling out another bird carcasses, before setting it down and starting the process all over again. When she noticed Bular staring, she tried to work faster.

Well, until she slipped on some spilled ice and tumbled to the ground, that is.

Bular didn’t hide his laugh at that, but he did make his way to the back door, deciding that that display saved the little flesh bag’s life for another day.

It was a few minutes later that the screen door busted open, and little Trish-sha stumbled out with three bird carcasses. She’d almost ran right into Bular, but thankfully she managed to stop herself just in time. And just as quickly, she sat them in front of the Gumm-Gumm, seeming nervous.

“You forgot,” Bular stated, his serious tone holding back the humor he found at the whelp’s scampering.

“M’sorry,” Trish-sha mumbled, avoiding Bular’s gaze and staring at the flaking green steps. Slowly, she took her seat on them, curling herself up into a ball. She started to pick at one of her knees, where a scab had formed. It was also at this point where Bular noticed the child’s other leg had been scratched, no doubt by the fall. “I was watchin’ a movie…I didn’t meant to-”

“Don’t forget me again, child,” Bular ordered, before starting on his meal.

Silence filled the space between them, and it was at this point Bular noticed that the child hadn’t really moved from her spot. While she had usually fidgeted when he ate, or just fidgeted in general, she remained still. Something was off, more so than normal…

Off in the distance, and owl began it’s call.

“If you are still sulking over the parchment,” he began, his mouth full of food, “Then stop. It was just a drawing.”

“”M not sulkin’,” the Trish-sha pouted, burying her head into her arms.

“Then what are you doing?” Bular retorted, getting annoyed by the child’s tone. “Because if that’s not sulking, then I am not a troll.”

The only thing that answered his words were the Cricket’s nightly song, their chirping echoing for miles and miles around them. By then, Bular had finished his meal, and had every right to turn around and go back to the barn. But he didn’t, instead deciding to sit near the stairs and wait for the child to...well. To do something, at least.

He would admit, it was mostly the sheer boredom getting him to stay.

“What were you watching on that box, whelp?” Bular asked, although his tone more so commanded an answer rather than anything. He felt he’d won a small victory when the child looked back up.

Lifting her head up from her arms, her tone seemed to lighten slightly. “A movie…”

Ah right, what were those again…

“Movies…” the word was odd on his tongue, but he managed to say it nonetheless. It took him a few moments to remember what they were. “Those...those are the picture stories, yes?”

Suddenly, the child seemed to giggle. Bular narrowed his gaze and snorted at her, but that just seemed to make the girl laugh even harder. Again, something in him seemed to light up at that, and he once again shoved it back into the darkness of his heart. “Stop that. I’ll hang you by your toenails if you keep that up.”

It was a lot slower then he would have liked, but soon the child was just giggling softly. She rose to her feet, her eyes twinkling, and started to make her way back inside. Bular had turned to go back to the barn, until he stopped when the young child called out.

“Do you wanna watch too?” the small voice asked. Bular could practically feel the mirth in it.

Part of him wanted to say no, to just go back to the barn and plan. An even bigger part of him was screaming at Bular to eat the flesh bag for even suggesting that. And finally, the rational side of him knew that it would be a bad idea to even try and enter the house. But...there was a part of him that was curious. He had never really bothered to watch those damned boxes, even back when the changelings offered...

And, well, there wasn’t much else he could do.

He slowly maneuvered himself around and made his way back to the door, carefully scaling the steps. “If you don’t want you possesions broken, then you’ll be wise and make a path, Whelp.”  

A few minutes of shuffling furniture around, or as much as Trisha could, Bular made his way into the cramped, old farm hut. The kitchen itself was rather cramped, even for a human. To Bular’s left was the kitchen, with all of it’s shelves and appliances, and to his write as a small, two chaired table and doorway. As he made his way deeper inside, he almost got caught in the hallway, but was able to shimmy his way towards the other side. Trisha scampered ahead of him, just seeming excited to have someone else in the abode.

Out of the corner of his eye, Bular noticed the hallway was practically covered in pictures, all smothered with a thick layer of dust. He could make somewhat make the figures in them out, and as he got closer and closer to the main den, he notices their numbers getting fewer and fewer. By the time he’d reached the end, the most recent and sparsely populated picture was of the child and an elder human. Bular only stared for a moment before taking in the sight of the den.

“I’ll restart it,” The child said, kneeling near the flickering box and pressing a few buttons. As she fiddled with the machine, Bular examined the area and tried to find a decent place to rest. He settled for the couch, as it’s worn, floral print cushioning seemed decent enough. Besides, it was the only thing that looked big enough to seat him, and barely at that.

He didn’t flinch when the weak sofa legs gave way, just gave the child an expectant look, as if the get her to hurry up.

Soon, the screen flickered from it’s original blue to different picture entirely. Staticy music filled the room as the “movie” began, and with a flurry of movement, the child scooped the floor food back into her bowl and ran to where Bular sat. Despite there being two other perfectly empty chairs for her to settle in, even. Yet Bular was just too tired to get her to move.

At least that’s what he told himself.

“So what is this story?”

“How to train your Dragon.”

“Psh, dragons can’t be trained.  They're just as wild as Stalklings...”

The story, as he had soon found out, had been too sweet for Bular’s tastes, but it had been more entertaining than staring at the ceiling all night. He’d quickly found out that despite involving Dragon’s, humans were more of the main focus, with some diluted idea that they could ride Dragons. Bular had rolled his eyes at the idea, recounting the countless numbers of trolls who had fallen to dragons. If a troll couldn’t do it, then it would be impossible for a human...

He’d been idly watching the credits roll when he’d noticed a warm weigh fall upon his good hand. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that the whelp had fallen asleep, her curly hair and chubby cheeks laying against the rough of his arm.

Despite everything, he didn’t instantly feel the need to push her off.

He just, well, stared at her. Simply watching her form rise and fall with each breathe, taking in how warm humans were...

Now that Bular thought about it, he hadn’t really been around a living Human for this long. Any who crossed his path would ether end up on the end of his blade, or stuck between his jaws. No matter they be man, women, or child. And even then, when the Impure’s had dawned their human forms, he never really felt the need to examine them. So why had this been different?

Was is morbid curiosity?

Was he just just mistaking his hunger for wonder?

Maybe the bird carcasses had been messing with him, at least more than he thought.

Managing to get onto his, well, foot ; Bular paid no mind as he stirred the child up in his movements. Why should he? It was their fault for falling asleep on him. He didn’t even bother to turn back to them as he made his way out of the house, knocking a few pictures over in the process.

He could see that, faintly, the sky was getting brighter. No doubt the sun would be up soon, and he’d once again be left to it’s mercy. But for some reason, the Barn didn’t see like a horrible place. At least it gave him somewhere to think.

Chapter Text

Bular was beginning to regret the night he spent inside the house. Not about what happened during that time, Grongus no. He was regretting the fact that now the whelp felt like she could just pester him whenever she wanted. She would rush in as soon as the lights went out in the house, always bring something with her. At first it had been more wax sticks and paper, but soon it shifted to other items. Usually it was toys, or old books, or even something odd. Just last night she’d brought in a cardboard box and sat in it, saying she was flying?

“Are all trolls as big as you?”

“No, trolls comes in all shapes and sizes.”

But the one thing she always brought with her, no matter what, was questions. Questions upon questions about practically everything. Were all whelps like this? Did they just want to know everything? By his father’s name how did others deal with this?

“So there are bigger trolls?!” Trisha exclaimed, eyes widening even more.
“Yes.”
“What about smaller ones?”

“Yes,” Bular sighed, not even looking at the girl as he rose to his feet, er, foot, and removed himself from the hay. He’d been getting better at maneuvering himself now, but still couldn’t run without stumbling. He needed to work on that. He didn’t bother to look behind him, already hearing the patter of footsteps following after him. “Some are even the size of your human babies.”

“Whoa…” was all Trisha said, mind wrapping around the idea.

Currently, young Trisha had on her usual garb, the over sized shirt and old sandals, but two minor changes had occurred. Where her hair had just been one large puff ball on the top of her head, it had now split into two, smaller ones on each side. She was also wearing an even larger, baggier leather jacket, one that was clearly meant for someone bigger than her. Which she took full advantage of, having filled the pockets with whatever she could get her tiny little hands on.

She took her spot, a few feet in front of him, and began to watch as he started his nightly workout. By now it’d become like clockwork, and Bular had just settled on dealing with the cycle then trying to get her to leave.

“Were you always super big?” She asked, plopping down and pulling out a piece of candy. It took Bular a moment to realize what she meant. He rolled his eyes.

“No, usually all whelps start out small,” He’d stated, keeping his gaze on the ground as he began his push-ups. “Last time I checked, Flesh bags followed the same rule.”

“Yeah, but you’re the biggest adult I’d ever seen!” Trisha exclaimed, her hands shooting out as far as they could, no doubt for emphasis. “Like, the biggest biggest!”

“That’s because most adult trolls are normally larger than Humans.” Bular growled, but by now any fear that would have been invoked just seemed to vanish. It’d made Bular realize how much he growled in normal conversation. Now the action entirely had lost it’s weight, much to his annoyance. “My size is normal for a Gumm-Gumm warrior.”

“Are your parents as big as you?”

Bular paused for a moment. He hadn’t talked about Gunmar much, not to the whelp. She’d never asked about his kin, other then in the broad sense. After debating on it, he decided the question posed no harm, and he went on with it. “My father is slightly taller than I. I’d waged by one of your flesh bag feet or so.”

“Whoa…” Trisha gasped again. Were children always so amazed by simple things? “That’s really big…”

As the child seemed to try and picture how tall Gunmar was, Bular continued with his exercises. At least, until he felt his back start to itch, right under his left shoulder blade. He picked up his pace, hoping the work out would distract him from it. It only seemed to get worse, sadly. And after a few moments, something jumped out from his scuff and right on his nose. Something he’d been hoping wasn’t there.

A rather familiar bug, glowing a soft purple.

“What’s that?” The child whispered, eyes glued to Bular’s nose, amazed at the specimen.

Quickly, Bular pushed himself up, raising his free arm to try and catch the little annoyance before it fled. With in an instant, the bug was smashed upon the ground, it’s fluids staining the dirt a fluorescent purple. “A parasite.”

“Ew!” The child yelled, but they still seemed excited by the turn of events.

He should have known better, should have made sure to nip this in the bud. But honestly, he’d expected that being so far from other Trolls would keep him safe. Usually he’d just task the Goblins with this kind of grooming, or even get them out himself if he had too. But with only one arm, he wasn’t as well equipped as he used to.

Wiping his glowing hand on a nearby patch of grass, Bular sat up and decided that the Whelp was going to have a new job. “Child, I need you to a rock. If there was one of these pests, there may be more. You’ll have to pick them…”

Bular trailed off as the child’s eyes seemed to light up.

“What?”

“Nuthin’!” She replied, quickly, giggling as she rushed off to get the supplies. Every time she dashed from the barn to the house, she’d look over to make sure Bular hadn’t left. It was filling him an odd sense of worry.

It took her much longer then it should have to gather everything. And that left Bular weary.

“What are you planning, whelp?” Bular questioned, shooting Trisha a scrutinized gaze. The child simply giggled, before holding up a brush. “...oh.”

He did guess he hadn’t brushed his mane in a while.

Before Bular could give her the ok, Trisha rushed behind him and tried to scramble up his back. Deciding to get this over with, the Gumm-gumm warrior simply huffed and laid down on the ground, allowing the child a better point of stability. With in a few moments, he felt the soft bristles of the brush start to make their way through his tangled hair. Where he’d expected hard yanks and pulls, all he got was a soft tug here or there.

It was far more gentle then he’d expected.

“When you find one,” Bular began, pulling himself out of the haze he’d started falling into. “Pluck it out and smash it with that rock, understand?”

“Ok,” was all Bular got back, as it seemed tiny Trisha was more focused on the task at hand then whatever Bular had to say. And so he left her to her brushing as his mind finally decided to give in and drift off. Occasionally, he’d hear her gasp, and then the quick sound of a rock meeting the ground. But other then that, it was relatively quiet.

And before he knew it, he’d already drifted off to sleep, his chest rumbling in contentment.

It would be a few hour later when he would be shoved awake, a concerned looking Trisha trying to push him back into the barn in order to avoid the sunlight. It would be a few more hours afterwards, when Bular would realize the girl had braided little red beads into his main.

He spend the rest of the day yanking them out, swearing to himself that he never let the child help him again.

“Bular, do all trolls eat meat?” Trisha had asked early one night, while Bular was in the middle of his meal. She had yet to swap into the sleepwear, but the odd jacket was basically a constant now. It’s practicality to useful to remove.

It took Bular a few seconds to come up with a good answer, at least without spewing chicken everywhere. He’d learned the first time that the whelp didn’t appreciate that.

“We can,” He said, wiping his jaw with his arm and going for the third plastic wrapped chicken. He’d long sense gotten use to the chill and lack of blood they had. “A true troll eats living flesh whenever they can, but some cowards will settle for less.”

“What’s less?” She asked, lifting her head from the house of cards she was attempting. She’d only managed to make two cards stand before they fluttered to the floor.

“Usually fabrics soaked in human juices.” Bular lazily responded, hiding his smirk as the child stuck her tongue out in disgust. He’d started to enjoy getting a rise out of the brat. “My sentiments exactly.”

“But why?” She’d asked, her face still scrunched up.

“All trolls used to eat humans, before the pact was formed at least. It’s the closest some get to the old taste.” The explanation came off his tongue as easy as taking a breathe. He’d gotten so lax around the whelp that he didn’t realize who she was, at least for a moment. “Granted, the real thing is much better then any imitation…”

It took him a few moments to realize Trisha hadn’t said anything. When he turned to face her, he saw that she was staring at the pile that had been a card house. He couldn’t tell what she was thinking.

“...What’s got your tongue, whelp.” Bular asked, his voice low. When he didn’t get a response, he leaned down to get a better look at her face. For the first time since he’d met her, Trisha looked afraid.

Bular put the pieces together.

“Relax, you’re too scrawny, even for a snack.” He responded, eyes drifting to the last chicken. His mind settled on the fact that if the child was too afraid of him, then he wouldn’t be fed again. Yes, that was definitely the reason. “This bird carcasses, on the other hand, has plenty to worry about.”

Once again, another minor victory graced his name when he heard the child giggle. Yet it didn't last long, as the whelp scurried off to bed not soon after, saying how she was tired. Bular huffed and dismissed her, same as usual. But he did feel a bit of a twinge as she ran off. “Bushigal…”

Well,  time to push that down with more training.

Bular’s eyes feel upon the rusted machine, his gaze scrutinizing as he circled it’s decrepit form. It was the fifth time he’d examined the “tractor”, debating whether or not it would be wise to salvage it for parts. Each time, he’d ether put it off, or try to find something sturdier to use. But countless broken farm tools seemed to prove no match to Bular’s raw strength. Or perhaps his growing weight.

Damn chicken carcasses.

“Child,” Bular began, eyes not leaving the machine. “This machine has not been used in years, correct?”

“Uh huh,” Trisha nonchalantly nodded. Tonight was a scribbling night, it seemed, and she was hard at work turning the wax sticks she used into useless stubs. “It’s been broken for ever.”

“Are the innards still usable?” Bular wondered, more to himself then anyone. He’d tried peering through the hull countless times, but his excellent dark vision could only provide so much. And trying to scrap it for parts would no doubt be loud. He’d have to make it work the effort and risk...

Trisha’s next response escaped her with a yawn, her free hand rising to try and rub the sleep out of her eyes. “I dunno, maybe…”

“...I see,” Bular muttered. He’d try looking around some more. Maybe if he went into the woods, he’d find a bolder her could carve...Granted, he’d have to claw himself new limbs, seeing as his blades were still missing.

Suddenly, Trisha let out a gasp, before covering her mouth with her free hand. Out of the corner of his eye, Bular spotted something large and sleek, calmly feeding in the garden. It took him a few moments for the scent to hit him. Before the child could scare it off, he carefully bent down to their level and pointed.

“Child,” Bular began, his voice barely above a whisper. “I need you to fetch me that forked spear your “grand pah” keeps on the barn wall. Do it slowly and quietly, or else...”

“Why?” She asked, the previous conversation forgotten by the mystical wonder of a woodland animal eating what probably should have been their food.

“Just do it,” Bular ordered, keeping his eyes locked onto his prey as the whelp carefully rose to her feet and toddled off. He licked his lips, the memory of fresh deer meat fueling his hunger. He would have gone after it himself, but his size and hinder mobility would have scared the animal off.

When the sound of metal upon metal let out a subtle screech, Bular winced and prayed to whatever gods were left that the deer would stay put.

The deer seemed none the wiser, thankfully, even as the Child wobbled out with the spear. By now Bular had slowly and carefully sat down, opting not to use the rusted machine as a crutch. Who knows how bad that would have creaked. Once he’d gotten the spear from the child, he got ready to take aim.

It was at this time that Trisha had put together the pieces.

“Bular no!”

Time seemed to slow as the situation unfolded. The deer’s head darted up just as Bular had tossed the spear. Despite it’s less then aerodynamic design, it sailed beautifully across the night sky and over to where the garden was. As it turns out, Bular had over shot it a bit, but luck was on his side. Just as the Deer turned to run, it landed right in the spear’s path. With a satisfying thunk, Bular’s prey flopped to the ground and stood still.

Bular smiled at his victory and made his way over, the smell of a fresh kill too enticing to ignore. But then he heard raspy breaths, and before he knew it his gaze fell upon the whelp, shocked and staring.

“You...you killed it,” she whimpered, shaking.

Bular realized that this child had probably never hunted before.

“Yes,” Bular stated plainly, turning his gaze from the fresh kill to Trisha and back again. “I did.”

“Why?” She asked, green eyes started to cloud with confusion and panic.

“Because it will be a good meal, Whelp.” Bular replied, making his way back over. The deer’s spot of demise had luckily missed the garden, so it was left relatively unharmed. Yet when he got there, he hear the Trisha following behind him. He turned around once more. “If you expect me to share, you are sorely mistaken.”

She looked like she wanted to say something, the gears turning in her little head. After a few moments, her gaze fell on the Deer. Her hands started to shake as she reached up to wipe the tears from her eyes. “But...But I got you the chickens...”

Ah, She was trying to justify this.

“Yes, but a fresh kill will last me longer.”

The child said nothing.

As Bular made his way to his prize, he felt something in him relax as the whelp quickly scampered away, out of sight and out of mind. Getting to work, he smiled as the scent of fresh blood graced his senses. It wasn’t human, but it was a welcome change to the fatty, processed bird carcasses. But he couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that he’d done something wrong…

He went to bed with a full stomach that night, and not speck of blood was left behind. 

Chapter Text

Usually, Bular would sleep throughout the day. There wasn’t much he could do in the small barn, and normally he wouldn’t bother trying to move around. But as time had gone on, he’d began to notice that only Trisha ever came into the barn. It was Trisha who would fetch the tools, Trisha who would clean up the hay, and Trisha who would make sure Bular was well hidden…

By now it’d been two days since he’d consumed the deer, and two days since she’d refused to talk to him and vice versa. And with those two days, his mood only became worse and worse. In all honesty, it didn’t make any sense to him! She was human, humans ate deer meat too! It wasn’t like he’d eaten another human in front of her. Why did she seem so shaken up by it. Better yet, why hadn’t her kin taught her how to hunt?! Did this fabled “Grand-pah” want his ward to die?

He was a fearsome Gumm-Gumm warrior, not to mention son of Gunmar the Black! How dare some whelp ignore him?!

It wasn’t like he cared or anything...

But there was a plus side to this. Once again, this loneliness gave him more time to plan. By now he’d already thought of multiple ways to take the Trollhunter down. Yes, he could practically feel the flesh bag’s spine breaking in his hands. All he had to do was get to the Janus order, get the Changelings to suit him with a proper prosthetic, and he’d be ready to strike the boy down. Then he’d finally be able to

He would not let this humiliation last any longer then it needed to. He’d finally-

Suddenly, off in the distance, Bular heard the screen door swing open.

It was the man, the myth, the legend; Grand-pah had emerged from the hut.

Bular had been wondering if this man was just a story the child had made up, but there he was. He seemed older then he did in the picture, far more weathered and worn down. If anything, he more akin to a skeleton wrapped on loose leather and baggy clothes. Yet that didn’t stop him from making his way from the hut towards the barn, his gaze covered by his bushy eyebrows. And not to far behind, a young Trisha was rushing after him.

For a moment, Bular wondered if the child had ratted him out. But it soon became apparent that that wasn’t the case. Bular watched as the old man drifted off the barn’s path and over to the “tractor”. Or at least, that’s what he put together as he listened in on their conversation.

“...ok,” an older, raspier voice began, sounding slightly winded from the walk. It still seemed to strong to belong to this feeble “Grand-pa”, but there was no one else it could belong to. “So run it by me again, why do you want the this hunk of junk opened up?”

“Because Bular needs it...”

Or maybe she did rat him out.

“Right, right... Bu-lar ...” The older voice sighed, his tone full of skepticism. “And what does Bular want to do with the tractor? Hopefully nothing dangerous, and would get him in trouble. Right?”

“No no! He just wants to see what’s inside!”  

There was silence for a few moments, and by now Bular had gotten curious enough to try and peer out of one of the holes in the wood. His curiosity was rewarded with a somewhat decent picture.

“...Well, if that’s all, then I guess I could pop the hood open real quick and let you see-” Grand-pah began, already turning to the tractor and fiddling with the hood.

“Grandpa! It’s not for me ! It’s for Bular! ” Trish stated, yet her explanation was drowned out by the elder’s gruff laughter and earnest apology…

Ah, so the old man assumed that he, Bular the vicious, was nothing more than a figment of the child’s imagination. He didn’t know wether to be glad or offended. He’d settle on content, seeing as he might finally be able to gain access to the tractor’s scraps.

With a heavy thud, the Tractor door seemed to pop open, and the duo took a gaze inside. Sadly,  Bular’s vantage point wasn’t as vantiable as he assumed, as the hood was popped up towards the barn. He did hear the Grand-pah let out a curse.

“Ah shit, if I’d only taken care of this earlier, I could’ve sold the parts.” He sighed, scratching the baldness of his head. He turned to Trisha and smiled, giving her a pat on the back. “Alright, just be careful with this, don’t need ya getting tetanus or anything, alright kiddo?”

Trisha just smiled and nodded, turning her gaze from the Tractor to the barn and back.

Bular watched as the elder started to make his way back to the hut, only stopping mid way to crack his back. He didn’t even turn around to look at the barn and ,subsequently, where Bular was left out in the open. No wonder this child’s so unaware of dangers, her guardian's practically oblivious to everything!

A few moments later, Trisha shuffled up to the doorway of the barn, yet she didn’t dare to step in. She kept herself hidden by the doorway, simply peeking in. Bular could see the fear in her eyes. “...’S open…”

Something about her tone, whether it was how soft she spoke or how he voice quivered; it just seemed to make his mood worse.

“...I saw.” He grumbled, keeping his spot in the shade. He matched her stare, not backing down. But, he did decided he was going to add his two cents on the matter. “Your Grand-pah doesn’t believe you about me, does he?”

Trisha nodded.

“...what does he think about the missing chickens?” Bular asked, wondering what this old man assumed his ward even did with the food. “Did you tell him about that?”

“...i dunno,” she muttered, kicking up some dirt with her shoe. “Sometimes Grandpa forgets things. So I just remind him…”

“...I see,” Bular said, not understanding at all. It made his rage rise. “So did he also forget to teach you to hunt?”

“Huh?”

Bular rose from his spot, going to the edge of the shade and taking his spot. By now, the sun had hit it’s highest point, which meant that as long as Bular stayed under the roof of the barn, he’d be safe from the sun's scorching rays. He’d just have to be careful.

“You don’t know how to hunt, and you probably don’t know how to fight,” he began, his outrage rising more and more as he spoke. Bular didn't even realize he was growling now. “What does he expect to happen to you should he die, that you would soon follow him?! No wonder you showed little fear when you first met me, he’d no doubt forgotten to teach you to be-”

“Hey!” Trisha yelled, now she was glaring at Bular. Her tiny little hands balled up into fists. “My Grandpa’s a good Grandpa!”

“Well that’s clearly getting in the way of keeping. You. Alive.” Bular snarled, leaning down to glare at Trisha. He had too keep himself from lashing out, he didn’t want to do that. He needed his words to be heard. “Because if he does not teach you these things, you will die.”

“Oh yeah?! Well, Well-...” Trisha seemed to flounder for a few minutes, trying to figure out exactly what to say. She settled on a rather riveting retort. “Well you’re a big, mean butt face!”

Bular realized, at this exact moment, that he was arguing with a child.

And, in the cruel, cruel twist of fate, realized that anything of mean he could possible said would be lost on her tiny flesh bag ears.

Still, he’d hit his limit.

“ I AM NOT A BUTT FACE! ”

Before he realized it, his good hand shot out and slammed the barn door shut.

He’d fallen to the ground in the process, and his hand burned from the sun, but it only fueled his fire. He’s started to rush around the barn, scraping and clawing and biting anything that he could get to. The old wheelbarrow in the corner, torn to shreds. That ladder that lead to the upper floor, absolutely demolished. Even the deer spear, which he’d nibbled on every now and that, was not safe from his ire.

And it seemed like young Trisha was not satisfied with this as well, as she screamed right along with him, her tiny food kicking the barn door.

By the time Bular had settled down, broken pieces of hay, wood, and metal littered the dirt below. He’d slowly panted, surveying the damage and feeling like he could have done much better. But, upon noticing that there was no more kicking at the door, settled on flopping onto the ground. He’d been left alone...which meant he’d have to gather up all the hay by himself.

Great.

He should have just eaten the brat when he first caught her…

He should have eaten her when she’d called him a buttface…

“Insolent brat,” Bular muttered to himself, his gaze focused on the ceiling of the barn.

It would be a few minutes later when he’d hear the screen door open, and the sound of old bones in old clothes rushin out.

“Kiddo! What in the hell was all that!” The neglectful elder, Grandpah, had returned. No doubt from hearing all the yelling and screeching.

Apparently Trisha didn’t know either, or didn't care to say. Because soon after Bular heard her tiny feet rush up from the barn door and running towards the house. It seemed not fast enough, as a scuffle was soon heard.

“Hey, hey! Simmer down! What’s gotten into you?!”

“I...I don’t wanna talk about it!”

And not a few moments later, Bular heard the screen door slam shut.

It had been dusk when Bular heard a knock on the barn door. He’d still been trying to gather the split hay together, and it’d been going as successful as anyone with one arm and one leg could manage. Which was to say, not at all. It’d been down right degrading, but he’d been to spent to be angry anymore. But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t be petty.

“...Bular?” A small voice whispered, one he’d recognized by now. “Bular, are you awake?”

He didn’t answer.

“...ok.”

Bular heard the sound of a small child slumping against the doorway. He still didn’t move.

“...’M sorry I called you a buttface.” She mumbled, voice softened and hushed. “I talked to Grandpa, about what you said…’n he got really sad. But he said that I shouldn’t be mad at you.”

Bular felt himself be mildly surprised at that, till he remembered that the elder thought he was part of the girl’s imagination. Perhaps the old man thought that his kin was using “Bular” as a way to vent her own frustrations. That’s be ironic.

“He said that you wouldn’t have said that if you didn’t care…”

Oh no.

Bular quickly leaned against the door, shoving it and Trisha aside as if they weighed nothing. He stumbled for a moment, before quickly regaining his balance and moved towards where she was. He was absolutely fuming.

“Listen here, whelp ,” Bular began, despite Trisha’s shocked looks. He could not let this slide. “I do not care about you , or any flesh bag for that matter. If anything, I’d have more fun peeling the skin off your bones then-”

“You were awake!?” She gasped, shocked.

“Yes! Of course I was awake,” Bular replied exasperatedly now, and he was about to say more, until a basket of something was practically shoved into his face. Shifting his head back for a moment in order not to get a face full of…

“...Wait, is this boar?”

It, in fact, was. It was sliced pig, still processed, but ever so recognizable. Bular stared at the offering, and noticed that words had been written on top of it, done in some odd looking gel. He had to squint to make the words out, but tragically no changeling had ever bothered to teach him human. Not that it would have mattered, it was practically illegible anyway.

“...Grandpa usually makes me cupcakes when he messes up really bad, but I remembered you like meat…” Trisha replied, stumbling slightly as she prested the basket up, standing on her toes. “So I got us a lot of ham.”

Bular’s stomach growled. It seemed his hunger had decided to return just in time to make a fool of himself. And while his pride yelled at him to deny the offering, or better yet eat her ; the sliced boar in front of him demanded otherwise. Oh if Stricklander could see him now, he’d be having a field day…

Bular took a seat and snatched the basket from the child. He didn’t shoo her away when she sat down next to him.

“...I will not apologize for what I’ve said,” Bular replied, his gaze falling upon Trisha as she sheepishly picked at her scabs. “I meant every word of it...But it seems this “Grand-pah” is...not entirely without merit.”

“Yeah, I know.” Trisha nodded, yet there was a small smile growing on her face. “But he’s too old to do that stuff like hunt and fight anymore! He’s got old people stuff, like art...author-right-us?”

“Arthritis” Bular corrected, taking the information in. That made sense, of course the old fool was too aged to be a proper teacher. But still, if this man was that ill fit, then the better question was who left her here? Bular’s mind wandered back to the pictures, how their numbers dwindled as they approached the present.

“Trolls get Arthritis too?” Trisha gapped, leaning over to stare at Bular. “Is that what happened to you?”

Bular raised an eyebrow, by now having lifted the basket and taken to slurping the pig rather then peeling slices off. “What?”

“You’re arm n’ leg...is that what Arthritis does?” Trisha asked, before she quickly jumped up. “Is my grandpa gonna lose his limbs too?!”

“What? No! I lost these in battle,” Bular rolled his eyes, his gaze settling on the night sky. The stars were still taking their sweet time to come out, but he could make out a few constellations here and there. “Besides, Arthritius is just...it’s not that.”

Bular was a warrior, not an apothecary.

“What?!” by now the whelp had rushed to Bular’s left side, gazing at the stumps with wonder. Seeing as most Gumm-Gumm’s flaunted their scars, Bular allowed the child to marvel at them, even cracking a smile. He did draw the line when she went to touch them, and quickly pushed her back.

He did get a small flash of a memory, from when he was younger and his father lost his eye. He remembered looking like that as well, with pride and wonder himself. But Bular quickly squashed the feeling back down.

“Alright, that is a story for another day.” Bular rose to his foot, making his way to the now opened Tractor. He stopped when he heard Trisha scampering behind him. “That means go to bed, whelp.”

“But I wanna know what happened?” Trisha pouted, still following right behind. “Was it a bad guy? Was it a big bad guy? Did he have sharper, pointy teeth? Did he bite off your arm? Like Jaws?”

Bular was stuck between asking who Jaws was and shoving the child off to bed. He wisely went with the later, knowing he’d probably get roped into explaining the awkward story all night. “I will tell you during your training tomorrow, whelp. Now leave me be.”

“...training?” Trisha stopped while Bular continued on.

“Yes, your training.” Bular responded, taking a seat in front of the Tractor and examining its innards. He didn’t exactly like what he saw, but it was better than nothing. “ Whether I like it or not, I owe you a debt for allowing me room and board, as well as food. Originally, I was going to let your puny little life live for this act, but upon realizing it would be wasted, I’m going to give you a fighting chance.”

Bular turned back to the child, his orange eyes glowing in the dark like fireflies.

“So rest up, tomorrow night, you will learn how to survive.”

Chapter Text

Training had gone horribly the first night, and Bular could account it to three different reasons.

Reason number one was that Flesh bags were naturally weak. He’d found that out when he’d told Trisha to hit him with everything she had, and he hadn’t even registered that she already was . There was also the fact that he didn’t even break a sweat knocking her down. She’d have to build up her muscles first.

Reason number two had been that Trisha, Bular soon found out, had just turned six years old. He did have a small bit of panic till he remembered humans and trolls had different developmental stages. It took him a few minutes of math to figure out that she was about thirty eight years old troll wise. This explained why she failed at following his commands seriously. This also shot his plans of teaching her complex hand to hand combat.

And finally, reason number three was that Bular had never taught a troll in his damned existence, let alone a human child.

Yes, the first night had ended early, seeing as Bular was too agitated and Trisha was too sore. And so did the second, and now they were on the third and still no progress was made.

How did Stricklander deal with this?! This was driving him insane and it wasn’t even a year yet? How can someone do this all there life?

“Bular I don’t wanna do this anymore,” Trisha had groaned, flopping into the hay pile as if it was water. “Everything hurts…”

“Silence,” Bular had commanded, taking his own spot near the door and getting to work on his new limbs, having gutted the Tractor the previous night. It couldn’t be to hard, right? “You’ll thank me one day.”

“If I thank you now, can we stop forever?” came her ever so muffled reply from the hay, resulting in Bular just snorting and rolling his eyes.

“No, but luckily for you, were done with fighting for tonight. Now come over here, It’s time to learn more Troll speak.” Using the ground, Bular pushed one piece of metal onto another till they started to bend in with each other. Taking the finished piece and lifting it up to his mouth, he bit down as his hand began to twist the pieces together. When he finished, he turned to Trisha, who had risen from her spot and sat next to him. “Now, what do you remember from last night.”

“Oh! Uh, one. two. trees. four- ” The words flitted off somewhat slowly, not surprisingly Bular in the slightest. He remembered how hard it had been for him to learn English.

“ Three, not trees .” Bular corrected.

“Right, three four five… uh,” Trisha paused, her brow furrowing as she thought back, her tongue not use to the guttural sounds of Troll speak. “ Hut, spear...f-food? ”

“That’s right, you are doing well.” Bular nodded, mouth full of another piece of metal. “Now tell me what you’ve said.”

He’d decided after their first failure that perhaps the child would benefit more with knowledge rather then raw strength. So he’d began teaching her words and phrases, things that would help the whelp if she’d ever been captured and needed to know how to escape. But Bular hadn’t expected it to feel as pleasant to hear Troll Speak then he did. Perhaps it was cause he’d been surrounded by Changelings for too long, their most common language being the variety of human speak that littered the earth. He’d rarely had a conversation with anyone in Trollspeak anymore.

“...hut, spear, family.” Trisha finished, smiling ever so innocently.

“Wrong, food means food. Family means family.” Bular replied, for some reason feeling irked that the child had gotten those two words mixed up. “But since were using people, foe is the word for your enemy.”

“ Toe-“

“ Foe.”

“ Toe!” Trisha exclaimed, this time seeming annoyed. Her eyes drifting to her mouth as she tried to get the pronunciation right. “ Toe toe toe- ”

“No.” Bular stated, placing his hand on the top of her head, get her to hush in an instant. “ Foe. The ch-sound is thicker than what you’re saying.”

Trisha seemed to pout for a moment, before her pout seem to deepen. “Was it a toe who cut your arm off?”

Bular stopped mid twist, fighting himself from biting down upon the metal even more. He’d meant to tell her the story the first night they trained, but he’d usually end up too annoyed to tell or. Or she’d grow too tired to listen, and he’d send her to bed. Yet it seemed like tonight would be different…

“Not exactly,” Bular sated after a few moments, removing the metal from his mouth and turning his gaze to the open doorway. The star filled sky grazed his view. “I lost my limbs in battle, but it was from Sunstaining. Not from the Trollhunter.”

Bular could practically hear the wheels turning in the child’s head. He just wondered what she’d ask about first.

“What’s a trollhunter?” Trisha decided on, seeming slightly concerned. He could tell, seeing as she’d taken to shoving her hands into her pockets whenever she was worried or nervous. “Is he a bad guy?”

Oh if only she knew...

“Ah...the TrollHunter is the bane of my existence.” Bular began, his gaze looking far off. “But no, the Trollhunter is not a bad guy. It is a mantle normally bestowed upon a troll, originally by Merlin himself. They’re goal is to try and keep “order” by letting the humans enjoy the surface while their own kind toils below.”

“Who’s Merlin?”

“An old, dead fool,” Bular muttered, before reflexively spitting on the ground not to far off. Trisha yelped, before giggling in childish glee. Her own efforts were rewarded with nothing but a mess.

“...So you and the trollhunter fought because…”Trisha’s voice trailed off, her sleeve rising to wipe her mouth and turning her gaze to the sky.

“Well, that is another long story…” Bular started, turning back to the metal below him. “On that started many, many centuries ago. It would take to long to-”

“Nooooo,” Trisha was already pulling on Bular’s good arm, an excited glint in her eyes. “I wanna know! Tell me! Please? Pretty please?”

For a moment, Bular was genuinely surprised. No one ever bothered to ask for his account of the battle of Kilahead. Most had either been there, or had heard of it from history books or someone else. Hell, there was rarely anyone who hadn’t heard of the battle of Kilahead bridge. But here someone was, curious and wanting to know…

He almost didn’t know where to begin.

“So be it.” Bular yielded, setting the metal down and settling himself on the ground. “But you will not get this story for free. Fetch the brush...and no beads, understood.”

And within minutes, they were situated and ready to go. Yet Bular hadn’t started until he felt the child quickly get to work.

“Long, long ago, when magic ran wild and the world was young; there was a great war. My people, the Gumm-Gumm’s, believed that humanity had no right to keep trolls underground while they enjoyed the surface. Yet there were other trolls who respected this pact….”

And as Bular went on and on, he’d suddenly felt as if he was somewhere else. He was no longer weak and a failure, and he was no longer alone. His mind has taken him back to the glory of battle, in the thralls of the fight. He was with his brethren, in the empty fields where the battle had taken place.

All around him was chaos, glorious chaos. He could hear the clanging of blades upon stone, smell the smokey scent of dwarkstones blowing up in the distance, and even feel the subtle, damp breeze that the air had held that horrible, horrible night. Bular flexed his hands, his gaze settling on a row of trolls. Reaching for his twin jawblades, he charged at the line and made quick work of the trio. They’d already turned to stone before they fell.

A goblin flew past him, launched no doubt by some foolish warrior. He heard it splat and not a few moments later, a troll scream in pain. Fool!

Turning back to his left, Bular caught sight of Aarghaumont charging at a few warriors himself, making quick work of them. He felt his smile widen as he cheered his friend’s victory. There had always been a part of Bular that admired how Aarghaumont could decimate a few with a good left hook. But Bular had always preferred to use a blade where a fist would have sufficed.

Suddenly, something had knocked him onto the grass. Something blue and far too sharp for it’s own good. Quickly rolling over and rising to his feet, Bular made sure not to let his taunting get the best of his senses. Where one was, the other would follow.

“Ah, Draal the deadly,” Bular smiled, keeping his ears focused on the battles behind him. “When i’m through with you, they’ll just call you “Draal the Dead.””

Hearing something shift to his right, Bular swung his blade. He felt his smile widen as it made contact with Kanjigar’s arm. It was all too easy!

“Yeild, Bular!” Kanjigar called out, jumping back a few feet to regain his footing. “You know that the pact must be made, for everyone’s sake!”

“And let the fleshbags take claim to the best parts of our world?” Bular mockingly questioned, getting cocky. “I’m surprised they haven’t called you Kanjigar the cowards for this-”

And then Draal knocked him over again, and the fight was on. Shoving himself back onto his feet, Bular made sure to use the chaos to his advantage. He’d try to fling one of the trolls at the other, or if he could, us Draal to block his father’s hits. Yet it wasn’t easy, there was a reason the duo made such a good team. And as Bular was getting the breath knocked out of him, he had an idea. When Draal when to charge him once more, Bular used his swords as a ramp and ducked.

Draal was sent flying a good mile or so off, leaving Kanjigar without his shield of a son.

“Now it’s just you and me, Kanjigar,” Bular chuckled, running the sharp of his blades together. “Yield, and your death will be swift.”

“As long as I draw breathe, I will never yield to the likes of you,” Kanjigar roared, already charging. Bular obliged, and the duo were locked in combat. Bular could practically feel the conviction and rage that came from his foe, and for a sliver of a moment, Bular wondered if he’d be felled by this troll. At least, until he was able to make a swipe at Kanjigar’s leg, knocking the warrior onto his back.

“Father!” Draal’s voice cried out, just barely legible amongst the bloodshed and screams. Yet Bular paid no mind.

“Then prepare to breath your last,” Bular taunted, before lifting his blade for the final strike…

And getting decked in the face.

As he stumbled, Bular expected to see Draal, or at least someone else standing their, fist raised and eyes confused.

He had not expected it to be Aarghaumont, looking so...so lost.

For a single moment, Bular felt the twinges of betrayal wrap around him and choke his words. He’d practically grown up with this troll, idolized to him, believed him to be almost as worthy as his father for the title of a Gumm-Gumm warrior. Hell, there were times where Aarghaumont had taught Bular how to fight. They were brothers in arms…

And for that single second, Bular felt a sadness he’d never felt before…

Then, his vision was swallowed up in red.

Aarghaumont started to run.

“ AARGHAUMONT! ” Bular roared, his rage practically eating up the air in his lungs and burning him alive. But he didn’t care. He needed to fix this, he needed to stop this. He needed answers. Why? “ YOU TRAITOROUS, COWARDLY FOOL! I’LL GUT YOU OPEN AND LEAVE YOUR INTESTINES OUT TO DRY! ”

He needed something dead in his hands.

Before he knew it, Bular was chasing after Aarghaumont, slicing anything that stood in his way. In that moment, the battle of Kilahead didn’t matter, his father didn’t matter, the whole world didn’t matter…

But it soon did.

Losing Aarghaumont in the forest, Bular had calmed down enough to remember the matters at stake. He was already rushing back, expecting the battle to still be going, when he saw a brilliant flash of light. For a moment, Bular felt weightless, what felt like his soul being sucked towards the light. Arms shooting out, he caught a tree and held on for as long as he could…

When the light had cleared, Bular felt as if every last bit of strength within him had been sucked out. It felt like his whole body had grazed the sun. As he stumbled up, his eyes caught sight of the clearing…

The relatively empty clearing, where the trolls of Trollmarket stood proud and tall and victorious and at once Bular knew that they had failed…

That he had failed…

“...no,” was all he muttered, mind still in a haze from the light.

Against his better wishes and his pride, Bular retreated to gather himself.

They’d lost the battle…

“...But I swore on that night, that they would not win this war,” Bular ended, pulling himself back to reality just as he noticed his good hand digging it’s clawed tips deep into the dirt. It was at this time that he realized that Trisha hadn’t said much of a word, turning his head to the side, he caught sight of her gazing at him, both sleepily and sadly. She’d taken to slumping herself onto his mane.

“...So you’re all alone then,” She muttered, her eyes glassy. “All your friends and family are in the Darklands…”

Oh Gorgus was she crying?

“Stop that,” Bular ordered, not knowing what else to say when someone started crying over him. “I don’t want your pity, Flesh b-”

Bular stiffed as the child quickly latched onto his back, or at least tried too. She was barely big enough to wrap around his arm, let alone his body. And for a moment, Bular wondered if she was trying to attack him when his guard was lowered. It took a few moments for him to realize that she was, in fact, not trying to hurt or kill him. She was trying to comfort him.

This was a hug.

It took Bular a few minutes to figure out what to do in this situation, and even more to act. He’d settled on just laying there, not saying a word as the child did her weird human thing. Yet that had been his folly, as when he went to pry her off, he found her asleep, little fists grasping his hair loosely as she snored.

“...You’re going to die if you keep acting like this,” Bular muttered, yet made sure to lay still as to not disturb the child. Whelp’s needed their rest, after all.

Not soon after, whether it was from reliving the memory of Kilahead bridge or the fact that his strength was failing him, Bular soon found himself resting as well. He’d let her stay here, just this once. She’d been working hard after all…

“...Trisha...Trisha!” a voice, raspy and hushed, whispered out. “Trisha, ya need to wake up!”

Bular sneered, wanting to bury his head back into the hay and get more rest. It was too early for this…

“...Trisha!” the voice called out again, followed shortly but the click of something metallic. Bular faintly sniffed the air, and smelt gunpowder. “...god what in the world is this thing?!”

Bular’s head shot up.

Instantly, three things happened.

Grand-pah, still dressed in his sleep clothes, jumped nearly several feet back. He gun in his hand going off in his fright. Bular, having just enough mind to move, curled around the small whelp still sleeping near his side and shielded them from the stray bullet. Trisha, who had been very much asleep, startled awake with the most dazed look upon her face.

No one moved for a solid three seconds, until Bular had roared and rose to his foot.

“Flesh bag!” He snarled, rushing towards the elder with red in his eyes. “How dare you try to kill Bular the vicious with a mesley bullet!”

“Oh shit?!” Was all the elder could say, before stumbling back himself and out of the barn. “It can talk?!”

Trisha, all and all still waking up, turned her gaze to the fresh bullet hole in the barn, trying to gather herself. “...oh wow.”

The day was already shaping itself to be an interesting one, it seemed. 

Chapter Text

Bular couldn’t remember if he’d officially had breakfast before. He knew the concept, but it did differ slightly from Human to Troll. Breakfast for a human, or a changeling for that matter, was usually around the time the sun rose. Breakfast for a troll was when the sun set. Breakfast for humans seemed to be a mix of breads and grease meats. Breakfast for a Gumm-Gumm was usually the first thing they were able to hunt down. So naturally this could fade into lunch or dinner if the night was slow...

Bular stared at the uncooked pile of meat tubes on his plate.

“...what is this again?” He asked, turning to Trisha from his spot on the kitchen floor. They hadn’t had another chair to accommodate him, so he’d begrudgingly settled for the tile below. He still loomed over the duo, though.

“Sausage and hotdogs,” Trisha answered nonchalantly, eating her own food as if this was entirely normal. Her little legs swinging lazily as she read the parchments dubbed the “funny papers”. She didn’t seem to have a care in the world. “They got all kinds of meat.”

Grandpah had said nothing. His weathered mind still reeling from the events an hour earlier. He did have a rather bad habit of staring, and shakily drinking his black coffee. The gun still laid nearby, propped on the side of the wall and, unknowingly to Bular, set on safety.

It took about five minutes of screaming for everyone to settle down. By that point, the elder had managed to scramble his way into the sunlight and into safety. Yet Bular wasn’t ready to let the dust settle, as he’d called the old man practically every curse that came to mind. And the elder seemed to have a similar idea, spouting about how he’d send Bular back to “wherever the hell ya crawled out of” or something like that.

Thankfully the young Whelp had scampered in front of Bular, and managed to dissolve the situation quickly. Or rather, as quickly as a child could.

Bular picked up one of the sausages, sniffing it for a quick moment, before biting down. It gave a weak pop, and that was enough to win Bular over. He began to eat his Breakfast, ignoring the whelp’s giggles in favor of the peaceful, yet awkward silence. He could still feel the sun's rays fighting to get into the room, despite the blankets and towels that smothered the windows.

“...so, how long have you been…” the elder trailed off, not exactly knowing what to say, but knowing enough to ask. Seeing him up close, Bular noticed how his hair seemed to be a mix of grey’s and white. Fitting for his age, Bular assumed.

“Almost two weeks, I think...” Bular muttered, finding himself mildly surprised by this as well. After a few moments, he felt the need to add more. “...I did not mean to stay this long.”

And like a flood gate, the elder began to spew question after question. At first, Bular thought he was just trying to annoy him, but after a few moments he understand what was going on. The smell he’d long since remembered graced his senses and he reviled in it.

This man was afraid.

He was afraid of him . Scared of what he couldn’t understand and how he had not noticed a giant beast resting so close to his home. Frightened by the aspect of this whole world opening up to his eyes for the very first time. He’d forgotten how these fleshbags could feel fears so easily, so vividly. Bular simply let the old man go on and on, eating his food in silence as the fool wore himself out.

“Grandpa!” Trisha exclaimed, her voice over exaggerated greatly for the situation. “I already told you Bular!”

Bular smirked as the elder gapped at his kin, watching the weight of everything start to fall upon him. He tuned to two out as they blathered about, allowing the child to fill her guardian in on what he’d no doubt forgotten. And as they chattered, his mind began to wander elsewhere.

After the battle at Kilahead bridge, Bular had normally ate hims meals alone. The changelings always seemed uncomfortable when Bular would waltz in with a fresh kill, especially a human one. But it was not like he enjoyed their presence ether. Hell, the few who made the folly to try and befriend him were lucky to be alive, let alone uninjured. The only ones who approached him when he ate where the Goblins, and even then they only did so in the hopes of scraps and odd knickknacks. So eating a meal with someone near by, someone he who would normally be his meal felt...oddly comforting.

He tosses another sausages into his mouth, swallowing down the feelings with it.

“Arcadia?” The elder spat, drawing Bular’s attention back to the conversation. “Well shoot, that’s only a couple of hours away from here...Ya know I actually haven’t been in a while.”

“You know how to get there?!” Bular slammed his fist onto the table, and in the process, sent various breakfast foods and drink shooting up.

“Son of a-” Grand-pah gritted out, hot coffee spilling onto his lap. He darted up from the table and scrambled for something to clean the mess. He tossed one to Bular, who promptly did not catch it, and was already cleaning up the mess. “Don’t slam ya damn hand’s on the table! Anyone teach you any manners?”

“Aw,” Trisha pouted, having gotten orange juice spilled onto her parchments. Nonetheless she was now using them to sop up the rest of the spill. “I was almost done too…”

“Do not raise your tone at me, Flesh bag,” Bular growled, leering at the old man. “You have only been spared due to your kin’s hospitality to me. Now answer my question, Grand-pah.”

Grand-pah snapped his gaze at Bular, opening his mouth to yell some sort of retort or insult. But after catching sight of Trisha, who seemed to be looking slightly nervous herself, he sighed and gave up the ghost. Well, mostly.

“First of all,” he began, wiping his seat before forcefully sitting down. The chair scooted back slightly, but the elder made no move to fix it. “ You don’t get to call me that. My name is George, George Jones. Secondly, yes, I know how to get to Arcadia. Been there a few times, my heart doctor’s up there. But most importantly, if you’re gonna stay in this house, you’re gonna follow some house rules.”

Oh welp here comes the red again.

“You dare order me to-” Bular began, starting to snarl at this “George”, before he felt something reach over and touch his arm. He didn’t have to look to know who it was, or what they were trying to pull…

Now it was Bular’s turn to swallow his pride.

“If you have so much trouble with me staying in your hut,” he growled, gritting his teeth. The child did not remover her hand, however. “Then I will gladly sleep in the barn, as I have been doing.”

A few beats of tense silence passed, George and Bular sizing each other up as the young Trisha watched with a nervous gaze. Then, without warning, George rose to his full height, all measly five foot eight of it, and crossed his arms. “How about I just take ya to Arcadia?”

Bular’s mind froze.

“...What?”

“Ya heard me,” George stated, pushing his chair in and reaching for the empty dishes on the table. “You want to go back there, that’s what my grand daughter’s been saying. When night comes, I’ll take ya. You’ll be out of our hair and we’d be out of yours.”

Bular said nothing as the old man unceremoniously dropped the dishes into an already murky looking sink, getting the faucet ready as he filled one side up with water. Oh course, how could he have been so stupid! He could have just threatened the old flesh bag to take him there! If only he’d thought of it sooner! But that didn’t matter, now he could go back and get his revenge! Now he was-

The child…

Turning his gaze back to Trisha, Bular saw her seem just as surprised, as if she hadn’t thought of that. Slowly, the light in her eyes seemed to fade as she realized just what this meant for her late night adventures. But by then, she noticed Bular staring, and quickly turned to face him. He expected her to pout, or even call him out on his promise. But instead she just muttered something he did not expect…

“...You’ll come back and visit us, right?” she asked, and for some reason Bular couldn’t say no.

So he just chose to say nothing at all…

He could go back. He should go back. He needed to go back. He needed to free his father and his brethren from the Darklands! He needed to bring Troll kind to the surface! He needed to kill the Trollhunter once and for all!

But...why did he falter? Why did the thought of leaving irk him so much…

“...I would appreciate the offer,” Bular started, snapping his gaze away from the whelp quickly. “But I can not leave, not yet.”

George dropped the dishes and snapped his gaze to Bular. “And why in the hell not?”

“Your granddaughter is not safe on her own,” Bular stated, taking a few steps toward the elder. His voice had soon found his conviction and latched onto it, using it to drive away his doubts. “I have sworn to train her before I leave, in order to repay her, and you, for letting me stay and feast here. If I leave now, my oath would not be filled.”

He was now right over George’s head, glaring down. “And while I am a Gumm-Gumm, I am a Troll of my word. Until she’s learned how to survive, then I will be staying here.”

“And exactly how long will that be?” George glared right back at Bular, his grip on a wet cup no getting dangerously close to break it.

“However long it takes…”

Once again, George looked speechless. It and seemed he didn’t know what to say for a few moments. But then Bular saw something else, deep in the old man’s eye. He saw George’s rage, his fears, he saw them all just...break away. George sighed, before turning to Trisha, his gaze tired and worn. “...You alright with this, Trisha?”

Bular heard the child hum her response, knowing fully well she was probably nodding as fast as she could. George let out a long winded sigh, and he seemed to practically deflate from it all.

“Alright, fine,” George had relented, turning back to the sink to finish cleaning up. “But like I said, there are ground rules you need too-”

“You’re gonna stay with us!” Trisha exclaimed, rushing over and jumping onto Bular’s arm. Clinging on tightly, she was already chattering about it’s insides. “We got a lot of rooms so you can pick whichever you want! C’mon I wanna show you! C’mon C’mon C’mon!”

“Get off,” Bular ordered, but made no effort to shove her down. He really couldn’t, seeing as that was his only arm. “And stop that, it’s to early for you to be screeching like this.”

And so Trisha gave Bular a tour of the house, all while George watched from the living room with an ever tired gaze.

“-And this is my room!” Trisha said with a smile, pushing open one of the many white doors of the upper level and rushing in.

Bular’s eyes were assaulted with a obnoxious yellow painted room, with toys and items left scattered here and there. Trisha had forgone pointing and explains things, as she did with the previous few rooms, in favor of jumping onto her small bed in the corner, causing the flurry of items on top of it to shoot upwards as well.

“It’s...bright,” Bular replied, wincing at the walls. Even with the blinds down, it felt like he was getting a face full of sunlight. As he took a weary step inside, her felt himself stumble over some toys. “And cluttered.”

“Yeah, but I like it like this.” Trisha stated, shifting herself so she was sitting instead of laying. A few wax sticks fell off. “Plus it used to be my great aunt Kelsie’s room, and she liked yellow alot..”

Bular quirked his head at that. This was the first he was hearing about any other relatives other than the feeble George. Maybe it would shed light on this small situation. “Is that so? Where is this Kelsie now?”

“Oh, she died a long time ago,” Trisha replied in a matter of fact tone, turning her gaze up to the ceiling. Bular followed it, noticing small, star shaped pieces stuck up there, almost blending with the white paint. “Apparently she drowned when Grandpa was little.”

Again, Bular mind flashed back to the pictures.

“Ah, so this hut has been in your family for a while,” Bular commented, keeping his gaze on the stars. Why would someone stick them up there?

“Yeah, my great-great Grandpa Paul built it,” Trisha added, allowing herself to slump back down on the bed. “He’s dead too.”

“I figured,” By now Bular had shifted his gaze onto something else. Located near the floor was a club. It seemed to be shaped more slender then the your average club, but Bular had seen them wilded by some of his rougher Human prey. It took him a few moments to remember the name. “...You have a bat?”

“Yeah?”

“...Bring that with you the next time we train, It will do you good to have a weapon.” Bular commented, making his rise. “And the room in the far corner is mine. I am staking my claim.”

“Bular no that’s Grandpa’s room!”

Training was going far better then it had the previous night. It seemed that even though young Trisha was not the strongest fighter, she could be nimble on her feet. A trait she and most other humans seemed to share, Bular had guessed. And her small size made it easier for her to dodge, if she just remained focused…

It also helped that they were out in the open tonight, as George had insisted he’d watch the sparing. Something about wanting to see just what Bular was teaching his grand daughter? He’d scoffed, but allowed it when Trisha showed her excitement at the idea. It would be a form of motivation. One of the do-well-and-impress-your-elders variety.

“Remember!” Bular barked, using a fallen tree branch as his own sword. “You need to focus on your surroundings and your enemy. In the heat of battle, anything can happen.” As Trisha batted away his tree branch, Bular used his other foot to trip the child, causing her to fall. Bular placed the branch close to her neck. “If your foe wants to win, they will take every opportunity to do so. A Gumm-Gumm warrior must stay vigilant.”

“ Foe , ok” Trisha nodded, before quickly scrambling to her feet. “Let’s go again!”

“Fine,” Bular responded, batting her head with the branch. “But count to me how many times I’ve bested you.”

“Ugh! I don’t wanna!” Trisha groaned, rolling her eyes. “It’s dumb!”

“It’s only dumb because you keep losing. Now count,” Bular ordered smirking smugly as he crossed his arms. “Or i’ll end the lesson early.”

“... one, two three, four, five, s… ” Trisha paused, looking at Bular for the word.

“Six ,” Bular added, before swiping at her with the Branch. She quickly bent her knees and dodged, the grip tightening onto her bat as she raised it. Bular smiled. “Good, you’re dodges are far better than yesterday. Use that, child.”

“Hey!” George yelled out from his spot on the porch, eyeing Bular with mild disdain. “Ease up on her, she’s aint use to fightin!”

“Bushigal,” Bular spat back, shooting an annoyed look at George. “If you butt in one more time old man, I will take this tree branch and-”

And the he felt it, the wooden bat colliding to his right horn. It clattered, but it didn’t hurt in the slightest. Quickly Bular snapped his gaze back at the child, her triumphant smirk falling for a second, uncertain if she should have done what she did, before coming back in full force.

“I did it!” She beamed. And for a moment, Bular felt his pride swell. He allowed himself this pleasure, and smiled as well.

“That you did,” He replied, before taking the Branch and swatting her down. He bit back the laugh when she gave him the meanest scowl she could make. “Now just do that when I’m not distracted. Seven. ”

Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all.

"We've seen all. Your triumphs, and your deceptions." Kanjigar stated, staring at the memory that played before them. "We know what you are planning to do, young Trollhunter. You court danger and death."

"We have to go!" Jim responded back, turning to face the ghost before him.

"We? A Trollhunter works alone." Kanjigar practically snapped, his gaze showing his disapproval. "If you bring those you care for into the Darklands, you all will be swallowed by it! To be a Trollhunter is to make sacrifices."

His gaze moved to the right, and as Jim's followed he practically felt his eyes widened as he saw a very much alive, not dead Kanjigar. Walking away and leaving his own kid behind. "I had to distance myself from my son to keep him safe. Something you have failed to do!"

Jim turned away from the next memory, he could already tell what he was about to be shone. After a few moments, he gazed back at Kanjigar, yet held a aura of rebellion in his voice. "Look, I know I'm not perfect. But maybe my friends are the reason I'm the only one here still...breathing?"

Instantly Jim's remark was met with a wave of angry Troll ghost wails. Yeah, he should have seen that coming. What he hadn't expected, however, were the words Kanjigar spoke next.

"You fool, you dare mock us where you have failed to finish your fight?"

"Whoa whoa hey," Jim glared, his rage turning on Kanjigar. "Didn't you want to keep your son safe? I spared his-"

"Not my son, Trollhunter! Bular!" Kanjigar chided, leaning right back in to glare the young boy down. "You did not lay the fatal blow."

"...wait, what?!"

Chapter Text

It had been over two weeks since he’d fallen to the Trollhunter. Bular had counted them over and over, just to be sure. Almost a whole month had passed by, but it all seemed to blur. Sure, most of it had been spent in the barn, but his stay in the hut seemed to go on for much longer. This week had especially, now that a routine was established. It had been mostly him waiting in the house and working on his leg, which was coming along rather...well, rather poorly. He’d tried three different times to put weight on it, and he’d only gotten a few steps before it’d shatter and he’d be forced to start over.

There was also the fact that each morning, the elder would whisk the child off to “school”, only to come back alone and try to awkwardly make small talk. It took George a few tries to realize that both he and Bular had nothing much in common, as Bular had expected. Yet the effort wasn’t disregarded entirely. He’d tries to repay the favor by killing the deer that preyed on their garden at night. Needless to say, they were stacking up on deer meat awfully fast, much to young Trisha’s discomfort.

This left only times he was able to properly enjoy himself to be training, and even that was a bit of a hassle, not that their hours had been cut short. Bular had to pick and choose what they were going to learn, verses cramming them all in at once. And then there was the fact that since summer was approaching, they were getting less and less hours to work with…

But there was another time, when Bular needed a moment of silence and solstice, that he enjoyed. Surprisingly, Bular liked to lay on the front porch, right around the time the sun was in the middle of the sky. Seeing as both the house and the barn faced the sunrise rather than the sun set, Bular was able to rest by the front door as long as he was careful. He’d just sit there for hours, letting his mind wander as he watched the forest in front of him.

It during one of these moments that George came up to him, hoping to strike a deal.

“Howdy, I’m comin’ on over,” George called out, as he did to make sure Bular didn’t try to take a swipe at him. Bular merely grunted out a reply. He had nothing to say to the flesh bag...Well, not until a plate of venison was placed before him.

“I can get my own food, Flesh bag,” Bular stated, but nonetheless took the food.

“Just figured you’d want lunch,” George replied back, his old bones creaking as he flopped into a nearby rocking chair. His own meal seemed to be a cooked venison sandwich, at least, from what Bular smelled.

With in moments they were back to the silence, just sitting and watching the view. Off in the distance, Bular could spot a bird fluttering between the trees, snapping up at the flys and other bugs buzzing about. A warm breeze blew towards them, bring with it the spring heat and the scent of wild flowers. It was nice, but having decided to finish lazing about all day, Bular sat back up.

As he reached for the broken peg leg, he noticed George’s stare.

“Watch your gaze, old man,” Bular warned, not enjoying the look in the slightest. His warning was promptly ignored.

“So that’s what you’ve been workin’ on…” George was already scratching his patchy beard, too deep in thought to care. “And here I thought you were makin’ a spear or somethin’.”

“Mock all you’d like, once I am able to stand, you will no doubt fear me even more,” Bular quickly retorted back, gaze narrowing as he swept the parts closer to himself. Yet he was surprised when George seemed to lean back, a sheepish look in his old eyes.

“What? No, no I just…” His voice drifted off, stumbling on what to and what not to say. “Listen. I used to work with machinery all the time. Built planes back in my hay day. If you want...I could make you a stable leg, possibly…”

Another breeze blew by, stirring up the wind chimes that hung in the corner. Bular shot a look at George, expecting some sort of greedy squint or glint in his eyes. He didn’t, as the elder had quickly shifted his gaze back to the treeline. But Bular did notice him occasionally swiping a glance every now and then.

“Planes...those are the flying machines, correct?” Bular wondered, not even allowing the man time to finish. “What do they have to do with making a suitable leg?”

“Relax, I was gonna keep with the original idea ya got there,” George chided, but quickly stopped when Bular let out a growl. He got to his feet and darted back into the house, still yelling to Bular about his plans. “Ya see, you’ve just been trying to make a plain old rod. You need more of a cone shape, for the stability. No offense, but ya ain’t exactly a small guy.”

Bular noticed that despite the old man’s distance, his voice seemed to be getting louder and louder. By the time he’d rushed out, arms full of pens and papers and measuring tape; he was just as loud as before. By now Bular could tell there was something else in his voice, something that had surpassed George worn out sighs and heavy breathes. He seemed almost excited to be doing this.

Bular allowed him to ramble, wondering where this fool was going with this.

“Now there's also the fact ya keep on trying to mash the pieces back together. We’ll need to weld them or better yet, just scrap it and get you some better parts.” George responded, setting the paper out and sketching out some designs. For his age, his hands seemed to move without care for their aching bones. So this was where Trisha got her love of scribbling from. “Now I got a friend who owes me a pretty hefty favor. I could get her to let me borrow her workshop, or just get her to make a few herself. Then there's the fact that we’ll needed to get your measurements, find a way to keep it on ya, and make sure it can handle a lot. Of course there-”

Bular slapped his good hand down, inches from the paper. He couldn’t help but feel a little smug when George jumped. Torn from his haze, George gave Bular a bit of a confused look. Before he could ask, Bular settled on beating him to the punch.

“What’s the catch,” Bular asked, finishing up the last of his deer meat.

“...if I told you it was repayment for not eating my granddaughter, would you believe me?” George asked, not convincing at all.

Bular just let out a snort and turns his gaze back to the tree line. “Not in the slightest.”

After a few moments, the elder gave in and let out a sigh. And with it, the excitement from earlier seemed to vanish into the air. George turned his gaze back to the front yard, one of his hand reaching over and fiddling with an old watch he’d worn. “Well, let’s just say you’d owe me a favor, then.”

“Absolutely not,” Bular deadpanned, rising to his foot and making his way back inside. Already he could hear George chasing after him.

“Wait now hold on a minute-”

Bular spun on his heel, glaring down at the old man with everything he had. “No, you listen to me, flesh bag. I am already indebted to one of your ilk, I will not be tethered down with another…”

Despite being several feet smaller than him, Bular would admit that George had plenty of courage to keep his ground. Foolish courage, but courage nonetheless. But something had to give...

“My daughter,” George stated, tossing his hands up into the air after losing the unspoken staring contest. “She had a job in Arcadia, but she stayed here because it was cheaper than getting a house up there. Plus, I could watch Trisha when she was younger. Then, one day she just...never came back.”

A snort managed to escape Bular, but he was now perplexed. “And, what do you expect me to do about it?”

Again, George seemed to simmer down, yet he opened up his wallet and pulled out a small picture, barely the size of Bular’s palm. On it was George, seeming much more lively, and two other flesh bags. An infant and a young woman. George pointed a leathery finger at the older of the duo.

“Have… have you seen her before?” George asked, his voice softer then Bular had ever heard it. Suddenly, this wasn’t an annoying old man with too much pride for his own good...he was someone else. “Her name’s Lucy, Lucy Jones. She used to work at the Museum, over in midtown. She was the assistant curator-”

Bular tuned the old man out. The very fact that she worked at the Museum was enough to leave him with a sinking feeling. He hadn’t recognized her at all, not in the slightest. And he hadn’t remembered Nomura having a assistant. Granted, he didn’t really care to remember the people he ate. They were only food, after all...

Bular quickly pushed the thought away, and the odd feelings that came with it.

“I wouldn’t have remembered if I had seen her,” He answered truthfully, pulling away from examining the picture. He hated being so loose with his replies, resorting to changeling tactics. But he wasn’t in the mood to kill the old man if they got into a fight. “Trolls can’t be out in the sunlight. Unless she took the night shift or stayed late, then I wouldn’t have met her.”

George seemed to accept that, as if he wasn’t expecting much from the start. With a sigh, he folded up the photo and slipped it back into his wallet. Yet there was a moment when his eyes narrowed, as if something had connected in his head. “Wait, you were in the museum after hours?”

“A Changeling who served me works-” Bular paused, remembering what happened that fateful night. He scowled, as it meant when he got back he might not be able to enter the museum as casually as before. “... Worked there. I would roam the halls when night fell as an added layer of protection.”

“A ...A what?” George seemed to be even more confused. But Bular was at his limit of explaining things today, so he simply let out a sigh and turned to go to his bedroom.

“Don’t worry about it. I have completed your favor, so I expect my leg to be finished soon. Or else.”

He left George sputtering in the hallway, and for a few moments, he felt a smugness rise from inside him. Yet there was still a part of him that felt...off. His usual diet consisted of those the Janus order deemed “unwanted” or “unnoticeable”. People who wouldn’t be missed. But if this woman had been there, then…

He pushed the thought away once more, flopping onto the mattress and multiple pillows that littered the dark navy room. When he’d picked the room, the bed spread had shattered, but it did little harm to the place itself. And despite being cramped, It was leagues above the barn, that was certain. And it had been the one with the least amount of clutter. As Bular had found out, George seemed to be a man who did not let things go, not easily.

Already burying himself in the piles of stolen blankets and pillows, Bular allowed himself the luxury of a good nap, wanting to be ready for tonight’s lesson.

“So run it by me real quick,” Jim asked, sword at the ready as he watched himself from all sides. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a spirit dart past him. He went to slice, but missed it by a mile. “ Why can’t you guys tell me where Bular is again?”

This was his third time in the void, his third time getting spiritual sucked into the other side, and his third time getting his butt handed to him by a bunch of Troll ghosts. So much for third time's the charm.

“ Your duty is to Troll Market as it is Arcadia,” One of the ghosts whispered, and suddenly Jim was pelted in the back. He spun around.

“ To send you off into the unknown would leave both world vulnerable,” Another wailed, and Jim was knocked to his side as two more orbs collided with him.

Suddenly, a ghostly blade swung by, way too close for his comfort. Twisting his body around, Jim lifted up daylight and blocked the blow. Or rather, tried too. Three orbs collided with Jim’s back, and he was forced onto the ground.

When he opened his eyes, Kanjigar was there to greet him, seeming even more unimpressed than the last time. “Do you yield, young Trollhunter?”

“Yeah, yeah I yield.” Jim sighed, taking Kanjigar’s offered hand and getting up to his feet. Of course, as soon as he was able to, he was already off again. “But I’m serious! You guys were all “you have yet to finish the fight” and stuff before. Are we supposed to just wait till he gets stronger?”

“It is not that easy,” Kanjigar stated, crossing his arms and scowling. “Our knowledge, although vast, is limited. Once Bular drifted far enough to no longer be in Arcadia, we lost sight of him.”

“Then how do you know he’s still alive?” Jim groaned, running a hand through his hair, noticing how his arms were already sore. They just started, for Pete’s sake!

“Insolent child!” Someone screeched to Jim’s left. Although this was normal, seeing as everything Jim had said had been met with this.

“The void works in mysterious ways. The threat of Bular has long since been felt here. And no doubt it will still be felt until the brute breathes his last.” Kanjigar sighed, turning his gaze away from Jim. “But an even bigger threat may be on the horizon. You must stay here and stay vigilant.”

“Wait, a bigger threat then Bular?” Jim’s annoyance quickly faded at that, concern growing in his voice. “Who could that be? Did Bular have like an older brother or something?”

“Mockery! ” Another spirit hissed, but Jim paid no mind.

“We do not know, it is too faint to tell,” Kanjigar replied, already growing use to disregard the youth’s words. Whether he had a smart mouth or as just ignorant, it didn’t matter. They just needed him to survive. “But is it enough to have us on edge.”

Before Jim could ask another question, Kanjigar summoned his own sword and got into position. “Now, stop wasting moonlight. We have a long night ahead of us.”

The museum was emptier then usually, even for it’s late nights. He’d stalked the halls and hadn’t found hide nor hair of anything. No flesh bag guards, no sneaky changelings; not even a Goblin chewing up some priceless painting. It was all just empty. Just quiet.

Just dead.

Bular could see the outside, seeing the stars being out shined by the moon, full and glowing in the sky. But he didn’t dare leave the museum. He had no idea why, he just didn’t feel the need to. He knew something else was there, something he could consume. Why waste the energy going outside, then?

So he continued to make his rounds, sniffing the ground for something fresh and frightened. It was when he turned to the main foyer that his eyes fell upon his prey. It was too dark to make who or what they were, but Bular didn’t care. He was hungry, they were unaware. It would be easy.

Running at full sprint, Bular didn’t utter a word as he got closer and closer. He was almost upon them now, but the hallway seemed to be getting longer and longer. He wasn’t anywhere near them, even as he continued to rush against the tile.

Then, without warning, he was right upon them.

The figure spun around.

A flash of familiar green eyes met his own.

Before he could stop himself, he had already lunged. The crimson liquid filled his mouth just as he heard her scream.

Bular looked down, and saw the woman in the photo.

“How could you?” she whispered.

Bular bolted awake. Panting heavily, he quickly took hold of his surrounding. He was in his room, he was still missing his limbs, he was still alive. Feeling his heart start to slow, he shakily waited for his mind to clear. No, he couldn’t have. There was no way that he…

“Stop this,” Bular muttered to himself, shaking his head and the beads of sweat that came off it. He needed to focus. The odds were impossible, even if he did eat her. There was no way he’d end up with her family, no possible way. And even if he did, why should he care? He was a Gumm-Gumm warrior. Flesh bag’s were nothing but surface hogging wastes of space. They were only useful for food and occasional magics. He didn’t need to care at all-

There was a knock at his door, jarring Bular out of his spiraling thoughts. A familiar pair of green eyes peeked through. Oh Gorgus, she had her mother’s eyes...

“You awake?” Trisha asked, already shuffling in nonetheless. She carried a plate of venison with her, yet held it an arms length away. “You missed dinner. Grandpa said I could eat with you though.”

Bular just...watched her. He watched how she sat the plate down, before sitting near the wall and beginning on her own meal. He watched how she always seemed to fidget, as if all the energy she had was about to burst forth. And he watched as her smile seemed to fade, yet traces of it remained.

“What’s wrong?” Trisha asked, unaware of everything. Unaware of him and his life and just how easily he could end hers and-

“Nothing,” Bular lied. “I am too tired to train you tonight.”

“What?!” Trisha exclaimed, flinging her sandwich up and watching as it slipped out of her hands. Thankfully the peanut n’ jelly slug seemed to old it together, and she quickly fetched it from a nearby blanket. “But I thought-”

“We will be watching one of picture shows instead,” Bular commanded, trying to push the bitter taste out of his mouth as he took bites upon bites of deer meat. He needed something to wash the memory away, but his food was only making it worse. “I will even let you pick again.”

Yet Trisha only stared, as if she could see right through him. Maybe Bular hadn't been as great of a liar as he thought he was. 

"...Did you have a bad dream?" She asked. 

"No," Bular lied again, feeling like a whelp who took the last bone.

Once again, there was silence between them. Until finally, Trisha rose to her feet. "Hold on, I'm gonna go get you somethin'"

And before he could stop her, she was off. And he was left alone with his thoughts. At least it'd give him a few moments to calm down. Looking down at his bloodied hand, Bular felt disgust rise in himself. But for which reason, he was unsure. He couldn't tell why, and he couldn't tell what for. For being a failure of a warrior? For his own weakness? For allowing himself to fall so far from his father's example...

What would his father think of him now...

"Found it!" Trisha exclaimed, rushing in just in time to trip over a stray blanket. As she hissed slightly at the pain, something tumbled out of her hands and towards Bular. It was a little pendent, in the shape of the moon, connected to a plain leather string. Bular sniffed it hesitantly, before looking back at Trisha as she shuffled over. "Hold out your wrist."

"What-" Bular began, but his stammering was quickly cut off by Trisha diving at his arm and forcibly wrapping the charm around it. He tried to shake her off, but to no avail. "Get your stupid Flesh bag garbage off of me, whelp."

"Nuh-uh, it's a good luck charm, and I'm giving it to you." Trisha declared, sitting in front of Bular and just giggling all the while. "So now you don't have to worry about any nightmares. Cause that's gonna protect you from all of 'em!" 

Despite the fact that Bular wanted to tell the child that it wouldn't, it didn't feel magical at all, he didn't. He just examined the charm with great disdain. Yet the bitter feelings that swam in his mind seemed to fade away at the gift, each time it sparkled and reflected the hallway lights. 

"Fine, I will wear this." He sighed, before rising to his feet. "But as punishment, we are going to watch a picture show of my choice." 

"Aw what?!" 

Later that night, as Trisha laid fast asleep on the couch and as the credits rolled, Bular just continued to stare at the trinket he'd been given. Treasuring it as if it was the greatest thing he'd ever seen.

And hating himself for it. 

Chapter Text

As the week went on, the George seemed to become more and more excited. Having something to focused on seemed to breath life into the old man, and he’d would be sketching out plans and doing calculations as they both sat on the front porch. He’d even gotten to the point where he didn’t mind Bular’s growls and lack of understanding. George would just blow it off as Bular being Bular. He even relented when Trisha asked for more training time. Which was something he’d never allowed before.

Bular didn’t know wether to be glad about this change or no, so he settled on content. He already had enough to sort though.

Apparently the old friend of George’s was a “mechanic” for automobiles and such. They’d known each other from their youths, and had often gotten into all sorts of trouble back in the day. At least, from how George want on and on about her. Trisha seemed to speak fondly of this lady as well, saying how she’d always snuck her suckers from the office when her grandfather wasn’t looking. Either way, Bular had refused to let them tell anyone else about him. Perhaps that’s why the leg took longer than he expected.

“Listen,” George had stated one day, after being pestered enough by Bular’s inquiries. “She’ll finish it when she finishes it. After all, she things this is an “art piece” for Trisha. She aint got any idea that ya need it.”

“Then tell her someone else you know needs it,” Bular growled, already having enough of crawling on the floor.

“Buddy, ain’t anybody I know or she knows that’ll use a peg leg that big.” George deadpanned, looking up from his sketch pad to give Bular a look. “Patience is a virtue, after all.”

And so Bular had shuffled off to go sulk in the kitchen, stuffing his face as he waited for the whelp to finish with her schooling.

Another thing that had changed as the week went on was that Trisha, despite originally hating her training, was enjoying it more and more. From now they’d shifted from the usually “dodge this, hit that” style into “find a good place to ambush” and such. Bular hadn’t liked the idea at first, wanting the whelp to be able to face her opponents head on, but…

Well…She was a six year old flesh bag.

She had trouble lifting certain garden tools, let alone attacking a Troll head on. He wanted to make sure she’d survive the Gumm-Gumm’s eventual takeover, not die valiantly in it. Besides, even though George allowed her more time to train, he had restricted Bular’s choice of sparring weapons. This had been after she’d gotten a rather decent scratch on her arm from blocking the branch.

So he’d settled for putting a spin on a game Trisha had suggested, “Hide and Seek”.

“Remember,” Bular called out into the woods, already making his way through them with little trouble. Most twigs and branches snapped under his claws. “You need to make sure your enemy doesn’t see, hear, or smell you. Gumm-Gumm’s especially have a keen sense of smell, able to pick out the stench of fleshbag for miles…”

For a few moments, all he heard was the sound of crickets chirping and the late night breeze. For a moment he figured she’d finally took this lesson to heart, as was waiting patiently. But then a stifled fit of giggles erupted out from his left, up one of the nearby hickory trees. Bular sighed and made his way over. He’d give her one thing, she was fast when she wanted to be. The tree itself was rather high off the ground. Taking a second to distinguish the scents around him, he found her soon enough.

Getting a bit of a running start, Bular ran for the tree and smacked the base with his chipped horns.

“W-whoa!”

Not a few moments later, Trisha was left gripping onto the branches, having been shaken from her spot. She sent him a rather miffed look, already pouting. Her grip was rather strong for a flesh bag. He had expected to knock her off entirely. “Hey, that’s cheating!”

“Trust me, your foes will not play fair ether,” Bular commented, rolling his eyes and watching her try to pull herself back onto the branch. “Although the tree was not a bad idea. Just make sure you-”

And then Trisha hand slipped of the branch, and she started to fall to the ground.  

Before he knew it, Bular had darted under her, making sure to lift his head up to keep her from falling the whole several feet back onto the dirt. He even stood up, using the tree as an extra bit of support. It took him exactly one second to realize what he’d done, but it was already to late. He couldn’t back out now.

“Oof!”

Trisha fell onto his back, nearly slipping off till she took a fist full of his mane and latched on. Bular didn’t move, frozen in place as the Fleshbag scrambled up to get a more secure hold. Yet once she was on, she didn’t seem to mind his stillness. Instead, sitting right behind his horns, Trisha seemed to gasp.

“Wow, you’re really tall!” Trisha giggled, keeping her grip on his horns as tight as she could. “Like, really really tall!”

“...I am aware,” Bular muttered, recovering himself quickly. He was already crouching back down to the ground, not liking this one bit. Nope. Not at all. “Now get off of me. Before I toss you back into the tree and leave you there.”

“Ok, ok,” In a bit of a scramble, Trisha slid off and back onto the grassy floor below. She did seem a bit saddened by the experience cut short, but Bular didn’t care. He wasn’t here to baby her. “Thanks for catchin’ me.”

“Don’t thank me. Next time, I’m letting you fall,” Bular voice came out far more rough then he meant to, but it got the job done. He was already making his way back towards the farm, seeing the porch light glowing in the distance. He still felt uneasy around the whelp, his mind trying to remember if he had done what his nightmares described. The charm on his wrist seemed to get heavier the more he lingered on it.

So once again, he pushed the thoughts away. There was no way he could have...

Trisha, none the wiser, scampered after him, before surpassing him and sticking her tongue out. Smiling as she ran ahead, Bular couldn’t help but wonder if this was how children were suppose to act. Silly and carefree, his childhood had never been like this. Gumm-Gumm’s were warriors, after all. Sure, play wrestling and letting the whelps play had been normal, but it was always geared towards fighting. You fought with the other whelps to becomes stronger. Your guardian would teach you how to defend yourself.

Maybe it was just a human thing. Where trolls were more focused on strength, humans seemed to focus on...well, something else.

He lingered on this as the rest of the week sped by, wondering exactly what it was that humans seemed to focus on. He’d been so distracted by this wondering that he’d practically forgotten about his leg. Well, all up until it was completed.

He and Trisha had just started their training when George had gotten a call. Assuming it was nothing important, he had the child continue to dodge his swipes. He managed to find a branch covered in leaves still, so dodging was back on. It was only when George practically rushed out of the house, keys in hand, that Bular realized the time had come.

“Guess who finally finished up on the leg!” George was already in the car as he exclaimed this, his eyes falling on Trisha. “Ya wanna tag along kiddo?”

The whelp seemed to consider this for a few moments, before quickly shaking her head. “No, I wanna stay.”

“Alright, you two try not to get into too much trouble,” George called out, before peeling out of the dirt driveway and down the road. A dust cloud was left in his wake.

Bular waited for a moment, before swatting the Whelp with a branch. He kept his smirk small as she quickly dodge. “Good. You’ve learned not to let your guard down,”

“Yeah, cause you hit me every time I’m not lookin’ at you,” Trisha replied, smiling and giggling all the same. However once she was out of the swatting range, she took a seat, baseball bat in hand. The smile on her face seemed to thin, slightly. “You still never told me... About what happened to your arm ‘n leg.”

“Yes I did. I lost them in battle,” Bular said, his smirk vanishing as he sat the branch down. Where had this come from? For a moment, his instincts seemed to flair up, already on the defensive. “Why the sudden interest, whelp?”

Trisha seemed to pout at this, her gaze falling onto the dirt. He hated when Humans did this. Rationing their words like they were prized gems.

“Out with it, child. Or I’m tossing this branch at you.”

“Are you gonna fight the Trollhunter again?” Trisha asked, not looking him in the eyes at all. She seemed rather interested in drawing shape in the dirt. “Even after he cut your arm ‘n leg off?”

“Of course I am,” Bular stated, rising to his foot. For some reason, the fact that she even asked seemed to fill him with anger. “I am a Warrior. I will not hide away and lick my wounds like a frightened Whelp. Not while my father wastes away in the Darklands.”

“But what if you get hurt again?” Trisha had jumped up to her feet, concerned green eyes gazing up at him. Before Bular could silence the child, she continued on. “What’s gonna happen to you?”

Ah, so that was what she was worried about.

“Pain is part of being a warrior. As long as I kill the trollhunter, the I care not what happens to me,” Bular growled, grip tightening on the branch. He heard it crack, but he didn’t care. The phantom pains from his other limbs seemed to only add fuel to the fire. It always left a bitter taste in his mouth, remembering his defeat. “I will win. Do not doubt me.”

Trisha just stared at Bular, this time giving an emotion he couldn’t recognize. Bular simply stared back, waiting for her to cave. But she didn’t. Instead, she kept her gaze as she walked towards him.

“Pinky promise me,” She commanded, holding out her balled up fist, extending her smallest finger towards him. When Bular just gave her a confused stare, she smiled and rolled her eyes. “It’s a thing. You hook pinkies and promise somethin’. If you break it, you lose your pinky. So promise me.”

Bular squinted at the small hand, but nonetheless offered his own. He had to sit down else he’d lose his balance. “Promise you what?”

“Promise me you won’t die,” Trisha declared. And as Bular saw the innocence in her eyes, he felt his nightmares be realized all over again.

Despite everything, Bular felt the words tumble out of his mouth before he could stop himself. Maybe it was more from the faded memory, maybe the fact that he hadn’t had human flesh in quite some time was wearing him down. Maybe he was just getting old…

“I promise.” he said, allowing the child to squeeze his finger for the odd ritual.

Trisha’s smiled returned full force, like she’d just saved his life. Bular rolled his eyes and gave the girl a shove, motioning her to grab her weapon. This was getting too sappy for him. “Come now, while we still have moonlight.”

It was later when George’s truck pulled up. At least much later than expected, seeing as the place wasn’t too far from the house. The dust seemed to pick up the moon’s gentle rays, scattering it here and there in his haste. It was almost enough to block out the new scents that came with it, but not completely. All it took was one whiff of the air, and Bular already knew there was a second person in the car.

More importantly, he knew who it was.

“Oh, Grandpa’s back!” Trisha exclaimed, starting to rush to the truck. Bular quickly used the branch to stop her, eyes glued to the Truck. “Hey!”

Bular said nothing as George exited the truck. He didn't say anymore as George waved, went out the back of the truck, and pulled out the heavy metal leg. Bular didn’t say anything as George carried the metal leg back in a cloth, as if it didn’t weight as much as a sack of flour.
“Well, sorry it took so long,” George replied, chuckling slightly. “There was a bit of a line down at the shop. Apparently Sally’s is starting to get more and more late night customers.”
 
Trisha went to side step the Branch, but was met by Bular’s hand reaching over and pulling her towards him. George’s eyes widened for a second, but he didn’t say anything. He just kept smiling. Yet it was too unnatural, too slick for the old man.

“Where is he,” Bular growled, eyes narrowing at George. George dropped his smile. Trisha stopped scrambling to see the leg. “Do not keep secrets from me, Impure.”

Chapter Text

Bular had ridden in an automobile only three times in his life. To him, they were still a new, recent invention humans had made. It’s creation was just barely hundred years old, after all. And when you’re goal in life is to free your family and not be noticed, a car wouldn’t be very inconspicuous. At least, that’s what Stricklander said, after refusing to let Bular in his car back in the 50’s. Still, he had found a way. And that way had been by waiting till the fool had gone to sleep and “accidentally” breaking the window. The car was soon crashed not a minute later. That was the first time he’d ever ridden in a car. The other two times had been when his meals had tried to get away and figured their metallic chariots would provide them with enough safety...

They hadn’t.

Feeling the wind blow past him as he rested his head on the old truck’s rusty roof, Bular guessed he could bump that number up to four.

The multiple tarps strapped to his body seemed flap away with resistance. They had to find something to cover him, seeing as they were going into town. Just in case anyone was out that late, the changeling has said. It annoyed him, but Bular allowed it. Occasionally, he’d duck down to look through the back window, making sure the Impure and the few Goblins that came with him hadn’t done anything to the child. He’d originally want to have her out here, but the changeling had made the argument that she’d be safer inside.

As he ducked down for perhaps the fifth time, Bular felt a satisfied smirk grace his face as the changeling rubbed his neck. His mind wandered to what had happened not half an hour prior.

“...You are as perceptive as ever,  mein Prinz . What gave me away?” A thick, German voice had asked. Trisha gasped, leaning back as her “Grandfather” started to shift and changed shape.Within moments, where George had stood a rather portly, blue eyed man remained. It wasn’t exactly horrifying, the process was quick and quite, more akin to liquid fitting a new shape then bones snapping into place.

Bular remembered him, he was one of the higher ranking changelings. What was his name again?

“The Elder smells like hickory and smoke, you just smell like filth,” Bular growled, about to reach out for the fool before stopping himself. He needed his hand for support, and he wasn’t about to lay on the ground to strangle him. He also needed to keep the child back. “Now where is he?”

“Relax, relax, he is not dead! Well, not yet, at least-gAK” Before the Changeling could finish, Bular had already grabbed his throat and, in the same motion, pinned him to the ground. The metal leg fell with a thunk, yet no one paid it any mind. There, now he can choke the fool and not fall on his face. “ K-krankenhaus !  H-he’s at the Hospital! M-Mercy, Please!”
Bular waited a moment before he lifted up his hand at the plea, not wanting to kill his only source of answers. Yet before he realized it, Trisha had darted out from under him, dashing to where the impure laid. He reached out but it was too late, she was already at the changeling’s side. And Bular had to move his hand, else he risked crushing the changeling’s head like a grape.

“Grandpa’s hurt?!” She asked again, eyes wide and voice trembling. “What happened?! Is he gonna be ok?!” 
The Changeling, trying to gather his breathe, shot Bular an dumbfounded look. No doubt Bular could see the wheels turning in his head, slowly realizing that this child was not his master’s future meal. Not even after removing the only other witness for miles. 

“...well?” Bular asked, adjusting himself to his full sitting height, making sure to loom over the duo. He wasn’t going to ask again.

He took a sick glee as the Changeling started to break out in a sweat, shakily swallowing his fear.

“Ah, well, I...I believe so. The paramedics arrived quickly, and he was still breathing when he was loaded up,” The Changeling began, start of slow but picking up speed. His voice was still hoarse, and no doubt would be for some time. He still seemed to be caught off guard by everything. One of his hands was already reaching up and rubbing his neck. “I think it was a heart attack? I’m not sure. He just, well, keeled over at the shop! You never know with humans that age...”

If he’d been trying to comfort the child, it did little to no good. Trisha seemed to let out a whimper, rising to her feet and running to the truck. The Changeling raised his hand to stop her, but quickly found he didn’t have to.

Why? Well, because the goblins inside had woken up, of course.

Apparently they’d been sleeping in the back, whether to be his spies or his backup could have been anyone’s guess. And whether it was out of self preservation or spite, they had locked the car doors the moment the Changeling had left. So as Trisha tried to frantically yank the door to get inside, the goblins smiled and had their fun, making faces and spouting insults. She seemed none the wiser, however.

“We gotta go! We gotta make sure he’s ok!” She cried, tears already starting to fall down her face. She turned back to the duo, and Bular suddenly felt like he was in the museum all over again. “Please!”

For some reason, Bular felt the fierce urge to scoop the whelp up. To wipe the frown off her face and banish it from her life.

Again, he tried to shove his emotions down, but found himself overpowered.

“Alright,” Bular said, not missing a beat. He heard the changeling sputter and shocked “what?!”, but it was already too late. He was already making his way over and, on pure instincts alone, punched a hole into the driver side window.

Instincts bad. Effective, but bad.

As Trisha and the goblins screeched, and the Changeling cursed, Bular unlocked the car and opened the door. They’d formed the plan not long after that, once the chaos had quelled down.

Bular peered down through the window again, seeing Trisha curled up in a ball and looking out her side window. She was so quiet, so still. It was so unlike her...Bular hated it. And he hated himself for hating it, because he shouldn’t care about some pathetic human whelp. But here he was, risking their discovery just so she could see her kin for possibly the last time.

Disgust washed over him like a wave.

Within minutes, the road ahead seemed to become brighter. Bular recognized that they were coming closer and closer to civilization, the influx of street lights greeting them along the way. It wasn’t the same as Arcadia, however. He could tell it was smaller, less populated at that. Most of the building seemed older, more run down then the ones he’d pass by at night. Half of them laid empty, ether with sale signs in their windows or left to the elements. He lowered himself into the back, allowing the tarps to hide his form as he watched onwards. Yet the square was empty, no man or beast could be seen for miles.

After a few more minutes, the Changeling had pulled into a parking lot and stopped. If it hadn’t been the oddly painted automobiles across the street, the ones Bular had recognized as ambulances, he would have snapped at the impure for not taking them to the hospital. Peering around the automobile, Bular took in the sight of the building. It was small, at least, smaller than the Arcadia Hospital. But even he remembered when that hospital was barely even a clinic.

The truck door opened and Trisha slid out, sprinting across the expansive parking lot. Bular let her, seeing the importance of it all. It wasn’t like him being there could make the situation better. And, well, he couldn’t exactly stop the whelp  and  not be seen. It was only a few minutes after that he realized the Changeling hadn’t gone after her.

“...What is it,” Bular commanded rather then asked, not bothering to turn his gaze away from the hospital doors. He could see the child from the glass windows, standing on her toes as she asked the woman at the reception desk.

“...Well, with all respect, that depends,” The Changeling countered, now getting out of the car and taking a stand. He leaning against the driver side door, careful not to let his trench coat get torn by the glass. Bular could hear the goblins shuffling about inside, no doubt messing with whatever they could find inside. “Do you mean why have we not driven off yet? Or do you mean why am I still here and not with the child?”

“The latter,” Bular growled, watching as the child was pointed away and out of his view. He felt uncomfortable, not being able to tell where she was.

“The child and her grandfather are locals.” the Changeling explained, taking off his glasses and pulling out a cloth to clean them with. “While visiting hours are usually over at this time of night, they’ll bend the rules for family. And even if I put on a clever disguise and a wonderful lie, I could still be picked out. It’s too risky without a foolproof form…”

A few moments passed before the Changeling turned to him now, slipping his glasses back on.

“Now, if I may ask,” He began, and Bular could hear the barely contained rage in his voice. Again he felt a dash of smugness at the Changeling’s fury. “What in the hell is going on?”

“Watch your tone,” Bular snapped back, orange eyes glaring daggers under the blue tarp. Yet even he could feel his threats being diminished by the garb. “I am honoring my end of a debt, that is all you need to worry about.”

“ Ja , sure, of course,” The Changeling muttered under his breath, running one of his hands through his hair. Bular could see the bags under his eyes, deeper than he expected a polymorph to allow. “First Angor Rot, now this-”

That got his attention.

“Angor Rot? What of him?” Bular questioned, rising slightly from his spot. “Was he not lost to the sands of time?”

“Oh  mein Prinz , there is a lot that has happened while you have left your throne,” The changeling muttered, now turning his gaze back to Bular. It was at this time that, fully facing him, Bular finally remembered the Changeling’s name.

“Well Otto,” the words fumbled off his tongue, slightly unsure if it was right. The Changeling’s smile confirmed his guess. “Why don’t you start from the beginning…”

And so, in the dead of night, Bular was told how everything he’d ever worked hard for was currently in the hands of the enemy. He listened silently, keeping his rage deep inside as he heard how Stricklander fled the moment Bular had not returned. He felt his hand dig into the wood as he learned the bridge they’d spent  years  gathering was stuck miles underground. And he transcended into fury when he learned that, instead of looking for him, Stricklander spent his month searching for the infamous Angor Rot to be his new muscle.

Thankfully it wasn’t all full of negatives. Stricklander had originally called the search for Bular off once they found his arm, but Otto had been keeping the other Changelings on high alert in case the rest was discovered. He’d only found out about Bular when one of the Changelings, having claimed the job of a holy man, reported one of his usuals coming to ask him a matter of faith.

“Apparently,” Otto stated with a smile, “The old man thought you were a demon of some sorts. Thankfully, the operative was able to convince the old fool that treating you with hospitality during your “time of need” was the godly thing to do. Can you imagine the scandal that would have erupted had he’d asked someone else?”

Otto promptly shifted the topic when he noticed Bular wasn’t laughing.

Bular, of course, filled Otto in on what had happened. How he’d crawled his way into the barn, how he scared the child into being his servant, how he worked hard to regain his strength to return. He kept it short, however. He wasn’t going to let this impure know how he’d been treating the child, how he’d been growing more and more use her laughter and her kindness. That was a weakness, and as Gunmar’s son, he shouldn’t have had any in the first place.

It was around three when everything had been laid down. By now the Goblins had scurried off, disabling the few parking lot cameras that were in place. And since no one had arrived in the past few hours, they were free to sit and talk as long as they were careful.

“Well, now that I’ve found you, we can start the plan,” Otto proclaimed, smiling triumphantly as he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out his cellphone. He was already texting away, fingers fidgeting faster then Bular had expected. He always wondered how humans made something so useful so fragile.

“Plan? To get the bridge back, yes?” Bular asked quirking his eyes as Otto held the phone up and stuck a pose. Just then, a flash of light came from the screen, and Bular snapped his eyes shut. Too bright, way to bright. “ Fuck! ”

“ Ja , but not yet. We’re still waiting on an operative to get inside.” Otto explained, before finishing up whatever he was sending and sliding the phone back into his pocket. “From the intel we’ve gathered, they’ve placed the Bridge behind a triple enforced Troll lock. It’s unknown if the charm is tailored to all Trolls, or just Troll Market Trolls-”

“-But it’s probably the former,” Bular muttered, his good hand rubbing his still blinded eyes. Yet stopped when he heard something off in the distance. His ears recognized it as a car, and already he was lowering himself. “Who’s driving up?”

“Oh, just the police. Don’t worry, their lights aren’t on.” Otto responded, watching as they drove past them and closer to the hospital doors. “Ah, perhaps something happened…Anyway, the real plan is to wait for Stricklander to dig himself into a hole, as he always does with his plans. Yet this time, there will be no-”

“Would they be here for the whelp?” Bular asked, eyes glued to the doors now. The police seemed to be talking for a few moments, their little devices making that clicking noise Bular had grown to know all too well.

“...ah, perhaps,” Otto commented, thinking on the matter now. “If the old fool was her only guardian, they may be taking her to a foster home.”

“So he died?” Bular started to rise, but was quickly pulled down by the Changeling. He bit back a snarl.

“ Nien , even if he was fine, he’ll still be in there for a while!” Otto quickly whispered, waiting till the officers went inside before he quickly, and wisely, let go of the tarp. He gave his master a sheepish look. “B-but for all we know, they could be here for some completely different reason! And look on the plus side, if she is taken by the foster home, then she’ll have someone to look out for her. We can leave and-”

Suddenly, Bular heard a muffle scram escape from the Hospital. Catching the scuffle from a far left window, he spotted the two men...and Trisha, dodging their attempts to grab her. 

He promptly rose up to his feet, blood boiling in rage.

“If you don’t do something in the next five minutes,” Bular began, eyes glued to the window. He was full on snarling. How dare they... “I will  personally  chew your head off your neck after I skin those flesh bags alive.”

Otto didn’t say a word, just instantly began to panic. Jumping back into the truck, Bular felt it rock as the fool began rummaging around, pushing out the few goblins that remained inside. Yet Bular didn’t care, his was currently fighting every instinct that told him to go inside the hospital. To smash through the glass and save his whelp…

Wait, did he say his whelp?

He didn’t mean that, nope. Not one bit.

Suddenly, a woman with a kind smile and green eyes met his stare. The same green eyes that Trisha had…

Bular jumped back, feeling his life flash before his eyes. He felt sick.

“ Ack, Es tut uns leid, ” Otto’s voice leaked out of the woman’s mouth like smoke from a fire. Yet as he talked, it became lighter, fluffier, more feminine. “It was the only thing the old fool had in the car. Hopefully this lady isn’t dead-”

This is too much.

“ Go. Now .” Bular gritted through clenched teeth, catching the police officer managed to pick up Trisha out of the corner of his eye. He didn’t want this to happen, but he had no other choice.

Everything seemed to happen so fast after that. Bular watched as Otto expertly ran across the parking lot, in those pointy shoes no less, and into the hospital. His timing had been perfect, as the Officers had just gotten to the front room with a now screaming Trisha trapped in one of their arms. What ensured was no doubt pure chaos, as Otto began to chew out the two officers for not only man handling a child, but manhandling  her  child. In the confusion, the small horde of Goblins that had ran off started to make their way back into the truck, waiting for their superior to return. Yet what stuck out the most was the child, who simply stared at Otto with perhaps the most heartbreaking look her face held. Bular could only wonder what the child was thinking…

After ten minutes of arguing, Otto had managed to yell the officers into submission, and grabbed Trisha’s hand as he made his escape. Now outside, Bular could hear what Otto was saying.

“...nestly, I’ve been gone for a few years and the whole town goes belly up!” Otto complained, still glaring at the police. By now he’d started to pick up his speed. Yet after a few moments, he made the bold move and picking up Trisha and rushing to the car. “You’ll be hearing a complaint from me, you bet your badges on it! C’mon sweetie.”

Bular said nothing as Otto quickly made his way to the car and placed Trisha inside, almost tossing her in. She still say nothing, but she didn’t have to. Her trembling spoke volumes. Otto got in on his side, not even bothering to buckle up.

With in seconds, they were peeling out of the parking lot and down the streets.

No one said a word.

Bular never thought he’d enjoy seeing the farm as much as he did now. Free to shed his trashy cloak, he hoped out of the back of the truck and wavered in place. Having placed the nice silver peg leg onto his stump, it took him a few moments till he got the hang of it. Finding his balance was getting easier and easier with each step. But his balance was the least of his worries.

He’d already darted to the passenger door, almost ripping it open as he pulled the door free. Inside, he’d spotted an already reverted Otto being practically covered by the goblin horde, all keeping as much space as they could from the human child.

Trisha remained in her seat, shirt pulled over her curled up form and shaking.

He didn’t know how to fix this.

So he just let his instincts kick in.

The next thing he knew, he’d reached in and scooped her up with his free arm. He was already making his way into the hut, ignoring Otto’s questions of where he was going. He had to fix this, he had to try.

Setting the whelp down on the living room sofa, Bular quickly got to work shoving aside anything that wasn’t soft. Luckily, that was only the coffee table. He paid Trisha no mind, who by now had started to peek through her ball of sadness and was watching with confused teary eyes.

Bular shambled up the stair way, slipping a few times, before making it up top. He went from room to room, gathering every pillow, blanket, and soft toy his hand could grab hold of. And with the skills he’d honed from his days of fighting and training to kill his enemies; Bular chucked them down the stairs with maximum effort. By then Otto had shuffled into the hut, his goblin goons trailing in and spreading out with him. Bular bit back a smug laugh when he beaned the Changeling with a pillow.

Finally, Bular shoved three different mattresses down the stairs, watching as they bounced down and into the living room. Once he was back on the ground floor, he turned to Otto, who was standing with a clueless look on his face.

“Leave. Go up. We’ll deal with this in the morning.”

Otto bolted, and Bular got to work.

After shuffling everything to his liking, lining the walls with pillows and stuffing the cracks where the mattresses didn’t exactly fit with soft blankets. By the end of it, the Living room floor was evenly distributed with a good three feet of soft materials, and extra foot lining the walls. All the while, Trisha had watched with wide, teary green eyes.

Worn out by his hard work, Bular flopped onto the floor, sending everything around him rising as it made room for him. They both just stared at each other for a few moment, before Bular broke the silence.

“I don’t know what human whelps do to feel better, but…” He paused, the words struggling to leave his throat. The memory had been so far buried, he’d even forgotten about the practice itself. “This is what my mother did...to make a younger me feel better…”

After a few moments, a sob seemed to escape the child. After which another did, and another; almost as if a dam had burst forth. As she started to shuffle towards him, he met her half way with his hand, and pulled her close to him.

“If you need to scream, let yourself,” Bular muttered, brushing some of her curled hair with his fingers. “I will be here.”

And with that, Trisha cried.

And Bular held her all throughout the night.

Chapter Text

A dream or a memory, Bular could not tell the difference. All he saw above him was the vast amount of sky, the moon looming overhead. The sound of victory behind him, the beating of the drums and the familiar Gumm-Gumm chants. But he was not here for the celebration. No, he was out in a field, cool night air blowing past him.

An orange changeling stood before him, spear drawn and seeming small, but undaunted.

“You wish to be my father’s adviser?” Bular asked, drawing his dual jaw blades as he made his stance. “Then prove it!”

The changeling nodded, and went to  charge at Bular. Bular smiled at that, glad that this fool was not taking a cowards advance. He was trying to earn Bular’s approval. It would give him the disadvantage in battle, however.

Or so Bular thought, till the changeling pivoted himself out of Bular swing and laid a blow to his side. Bular gritted his teeth as metal struck stone, yet kept his ground. Using his other hand, he jammed his sword towards base of the spear and flipped the Changeling’s advantage away.

The Changeling skidded back, and Bular still stood.

“How can you help strengthen our cause if you can not knock me down!” The young Bular roared, the drums behind him spuring his fighting spirit. “Now show me! Show my why my father chose you! Knock me down!”

The Changeling let out a fierce cry, gleaming eyes glued to Bular as he charged once again. Yet he did not feint, and Bular’s blades met the end of his spear. It was clear that Bular would have the upper hand in strength, yet for some reason, he couldn’t knock the Changeling back. He realized why when he saw the end of the spear dug into the dirt, giving his opponent something to brace against.

Seeing Bular distracted, the Changeling slipped under Bular’s blades and dislodged the spear. The momentum urged Bular towards the ground, and it was only helped when his opponent gave an extra push from behind. In a matter of moments, he was on the ground, and the Changeling was victorious.

For a moment, everything seemed to freeze, even the wind itself. Then, as if the moment had passed, Bular flipped himself over and gave the changeling a smirk. The Changeling in question smiled back, giving a bow.

“Well done, Kodanth,” Bular responded, rising to his feet. He could still hear the war drums pounding away. Making his way over, he placed a hand on Kodanth’s shoulder. He felt light, as if he was somewhere else entirely. “Thank you, for allowing me to ease my concerns.”

“T’was nothing, my lord.” Kodanth replied, looking up at Bular with a sense of pride. “After all, had it not been for you, I would never have met your father. Or gotten this decent scar.”

Taking notice to the slash in Kodanth’s side, the flicker of their first meeting flashed in Bular’s mind. His smile grew at that, only widening when he let out a laugh. Pretty soon, Kodanth followed with it. By now the duo was laughing together, their mirth carried by the winds.

Bular took his seat on the soft grass, the dew just starting to form. He turned to his father’s advisor and patted the ground. “Come, sit with me, old friend. I want to watch the stars with you.”

At that, Kodanth’s smile faded. He seemed to peek around his shoulder, the nervousness returning. “And what if someone sees us? You know as well as I do that-”

“Hush, come by my side.” Bular responded, his voice low. “No one will see.”

“...well, alright,” Kodanth huffed, taking his spot down near his leader’s son. His smile returning, yet never to the same velocity. Yet after a few moments of peaceful silence, he spoke up. “You know, it’s insane to think about.”

“What?” Bular asked, tearing his gaze away from the sky. “What’s happened, or what will be?”

“Both, if I am honest, my lord.” Suddenly, a star seemed to streak across the sky, it’s display amazing as it was short. Kodanth’s smile deepend. “Oh, a shooting star.”

Bular watched as the changeling closes his eyes for a second, before opening them again in a flustered matter.

“What was that?” He asked, more curious then confused.

“Oh, well, nothing...It’s just a silly human thing,” Kodanth muttered, avoiding Bular’s gaze. “They wish on stars, falling ones specifically.”

“...and what did you wish for?” Bular asked, a bit smugly. Kodanth sputtered, raising his hands up in defense.

“Oh, nothing! Nothing at all! Just, well…” the changeling trailed off, watching as Bular’s gaze seemed to narrow. “Your safety is all I wish for.”

At that Bular scoffed, rolling his eyes as he focused back on the sky. His gaze focusing on the moon. “That was a waste of a wish. You should have wished for our victory...”

Kodanth said nothing.

When Bular noticed his silence was encasing him for too long, he turned to speak to his friend.

Only to find himself standing in an empty field, Kilahead bridge before him.

Bular woke up.

It was the smell of meats and breads cooking on a hot metal pan that woke Bular up. Groggily rising from the mess of pillows and blankets, he let out a mouth splitting yawn and tried to gather his bearings. Memories of the previous night came in flashes, yet quickly settled when he saw Trisha. The child was still asleep, tangled in a pile of blankets and pillows. Out in the kitchen, Bular could hear two voice chattering with each other.

Shuffling across the nest, Bular tried to stand near the doorway, but promptly hit his head on the ceiling.

“Bushigal ,” He cursed, pulling his horns out of the ceiling. Drywall rained down and Bular had no doubt that there were now two, horn shaped holes in the ceiling. He left them be. Nothing he could do about it now. By now the voices had quieted down, no doubt hearing Bular’s awakening.

Making his way down the hallway, Bular’s gaze once again fell onto the family pictures. He focused on the most recent one, of George and Trisha. For a moment, he wondered if the next one would be just of the girl. Alone, without friend or family to support her. Stuck in a place she could not go…

Maybe he could understand how this flesh bag felt.

Making his way into the kitchen, Bular could see both Otto and the Goblins were still around. The Goblins seems to have been kicked out side, waiting impatiently behind the screen door for their meal. Bular could pick out a few words in Goblin, the majority of it being “food”. Otto, however, was currently manning the stove, carefully flipped more breads and meats. He looked ridiculous, wearing an old apron with a tacky human saying over his crisper clothes. Yet he seemed rather unaware, at least, until Bular arrived. He snapped to attention. “Ah! mein Prinz ! And here I was worried you’d never wake up again!”

“Silence Impure,” Bular mumbled, wincing at the changeling’s voice. It was too early for loud noises. It was too early for a lot of things. He made his way to the freezer, stomach growling for fresh meat.

“Ah, of course,” Otto nodded, his own voice significantly softer now. Yet not a few moments later, he was already babbling on again. “Forgive me, dark prince, but...how long have you been sleeping like this?”

“Like what?” Bular questioned back, having gotten to the fridge now. Pulling open the freezer section with ease, his good hand shot in and pulled out several packages of deer meat. He scowled when he noticed they were running low. Perhaps he’s put his new leg to good use and try to hunt later.

“Well, as in...daily, I suppose?” Again, there was that odd tone. The one that made Bular stand a little on edge. He could never tell if it was sheepishness or nervousness or all an act.

“Ever since the my fight with the trollhunter,” Bular muffle reply came back, his mouth already full. He didn’t even bother to chew, just gulping down the mess and continuing on. “If your concerned for my well-being, don’t be. I am simply regaining my strength.”

“...Of course,” Otto said, his tone suggestion otherwise. Out side, one of the Goblins started to chant, followed by the rest soon after. All it took was a glare from Bular to silence them. Otto decided to pick at the issue once more. “But, just asking, was the last time you had human flesh before you fell at the bridge or-”

“If you keep jabbering, I will crush your throat in my jaws.”

Otto wisely shut his mouth, and went back to making breakfast.

It would be a few minutes later when the changeling finished the meal. Making three separate plates, Otto carried the biggest one to the screen door. The goblins took a few steps back, and didn’t bother to wait for him to set the platter down before swarming it’s greasy treasure. Otto yanked his hand back, a look of mild annoyance as he wiped his hand on the apron. “Easy, easy. You’d better make this last.”

“...Why would you cook for them,” Bular asked, mildly surprised at the display. Stricklander didn’t treat the Goblin like that, and Nomura has despised them with every stone in her body. “They don’t need it.”

“The food would be going to waste if I hadn’t, mein Prinz .” Otto responded hastily, still wearing the apron as he took his plate and placed it where George would have sat. The Changeling seemed none the wiser to Bular’s growing annoyance as he grabbed his coffee, poured a rather generous helping of sugar inside, and took his seat. “After all, we will be leaving soon enough.”

“...Leaving?”

“Yes! That was what I was trying to tell you yesterday,” Otto smiled, excitement bubbling in his voice. Excitement and...something else. Desperation? “We need you! It’s been pure chaos since you’ve been gone. Some Changelings have fled, other’s are at each other throats, scrabbling for power. Even Stricklander, he’s been trying to get us to abandon your father in the darklands and take the surface as our own!”

Bular’s blood boiled at that. Any pretense and being quiet was pushed away in favor of slamming his fist onto the table in outrage, seething at Otto’s words.

“He dares to abandon my father in the Darklands?!” he roared, looming over Otto, tusks bared. “I’ll kill him! I’ll rip the horns right off his head! I’ll lay his guts out for a herd of Stalkings to feast upon! I’ll-”

Otto shrank back, both out of fear and out of an effort to avoid the coffee spill. Thankfully, the apron took most of the damages. Otto had once again lifted his hands up in pleading forgiveness. “S-see! This is why we need you! While I have some on my side, others still stray from the plan, Gunmar’s plan! We need you to rally behind, to guide us to victory!”

Bular was about to let out another string of threats, but then he heard it. A shuffle in the living room. For some reason, he found himself quieting, lowering his voice to wait and see what would happen. After a few minutes, when he could here the child’s careful snores, he continued. Although, much quieter than before. He’d forgotten about the whelp.

The whelp he still needed to train...

Letting out a growl, he angrily bit into a packaged meat, enjoying the pop it made. “...I can not go back, not yet.”

“What?!” Otto exclaimed, before promptly being silenced as Bular’s clawed hand went for his neck. His gasps for air lasted a few moments before Bular let go. Still the outraged was evident on the Changeling’s face.  “ M-mein Prinz, surely you can’t-”

“I am Bular the vicious, Bular the Brutal, Bular the killed of hundreds,” he snarled, rising from his spot, wiping the blood dribbling down his jaws with his good arm. “And I shall do as I please.”

Another shuffle from the living room, and Bular was already making his way to the hallway. He turned to look at Otto, smothered rage burning in his eyes. “Do not take this as my leave, impure. We will still plan my return. And when we do, I shall have my revenge over the Trollhunter, and anything he holds dear.”

All Otto did was stare, blue eyes a mix of confusion and panic and how this was not going as planned at all. Bular slightly reveled in it, but kept his joy blanketed. He was still seething at Stricklander’s betrayal. But he honestly couldn’t say he was as surprised as he should have been. It would be the first time a Changeling fooled him.

As he got into the living room, his gaze fell upon the child, still waking up. She seemed an entire mess, having cried herself to sleep the night before. Yet when her sleepy green eyes fell on Bular, she gave a tired smile before letting it fade away. Bular was just relieved she wasn’t crying anymore.

“Good monrin’,” She yawned, rising to her feet and stumbling about. Now with slightly more light, at least peeking in from the blinds, Bular could spot George’s watch on her little wrist, hearing it faintly ticking away.

Bular fumbled for the right thing to say or ask in this situation. He settled on being direct.

“Does the old man live or not?” He could have sworn he heard Otto groan from the kitchen, but he ignored it.

Trisha merely stared for a few moments, before shaking her head and making her way over. She buried her head into his arm, giving it a tight hug. Bular allowed it, because he didn’t know what else to do.

“Yeah,” came her muffled response, much to his relief. “But he said they’re gonna be keepin’ him in the hospital for a while…S’why the Police came.”

A few moments passed, before Trisha looked up at Bular with watery eyes. “He’s gonna be ok, right? Grandpa’s gonna be alright?”

For a moment, a horribly weak moment, Bular thought to lie. To say that George would probably be fine, and that everything would be as it had before. But that was cowardly of him, and sheltering the child would do no good when his father would return. So he spoke the only truth he knew.

“I will not lie to you. I don’t know,” Bular said, kneeling down to look into her eyes. “He may be, he may not. But, he will need you to be brave. He will need you to show no fear or sadness. If it is his time, it will be his time. If not, he will return to you. There is nothing we can do but wait and see.”

Trisha whimpered, her eyes watering even more. “But...but what if he does die, then I’ll be all alone!”

Before Bular realized what he was saying, he’d found the words of someone else escaping him.

“You will never be alone,” he paused, before continuing anyway. “As long as you live, and honor their memory by enjoying your life, then they never truly leave you.”

And with that, Trisha gave a watery smile, and nodded. Bular say the glimmer of hope shining in the child’s green eyes, like stars in the night sky. He’d felt a small victory overtake him. He could do this, he could be inspiring. He almost felt bad, using the quoted words of another, but he wouldn’t let that bitterness ruin the moment.

“Now come, Otto has made breakfast.” Bular declared, watching as the whelp smiled even more. He watched as she shuffled across the nest and into the hallway, before rushing into the kitchen. He allowed himself a small smirk as he heard the child’s excitement. And Otto’s sputter as the child no doubt ran past him.

“Whoa! Pancakes and Bacon!”

The rest of the day went rather well, all things considered. Seeing as the scary shape shifting man from before had made food, and good food at that apparently, Trisha had gotten over her fear of Otto rather quickly. And as Bular knew all too well, that mean questions would be asked. As Trisha helped clean the dishes, she was making full use of her mind by asking all sorts of odd things about Changelings, and Otto in general.

“What’s your favorite color?” she started out with her favorite one first.

“Black,” Otto had responded, having peeled the stained apron off and tossing it to the Goblins outside, who tore into their extra meal with glee.

“What are those ?” Trisha asked from the sink, the pan she was scrubbing sending soapy water everywhere. “Are they your pets?”

“No, they’re are goblins, and they are little menaces,” Otto responded, just as one of them spat out a curse in Goblin. The others seemed to find humor in that and laughed along. “But they are useful for things that we Changelings can’t do.”

“Oh,” Trisha responded, before turning to Bular for a second, as if to confirm this. Bular, having returned to his spot at the table, just nodded along. He was still a bit wrapped up in planning his eventual return. She turned her gaze back to Otto. “Hey, can all Changelings turn into anything?”

“Ah, no,” Otto responded. Not bother to clarify in the slightest. He’d already seemed a bit annoyed at the child’s questions, feeling them get under his skin. So he’d just let the Flesh bag wonder. Lifting up his third attempt at a cup of coffee, he nonchalantly took a sip. “Ask me something else.”

The child seemed to catch on, and quieted down for a moment. But then her curiosity came back in full force. “Are...are you my mom?”

Otto spat his coffee out at that, and Bular choked on his meal. The duo locked eyes for a split second before turning their gaze to the child. While Otto was quickly trying to do damage control, Bular just snickered. The goblins seemed to catch on as well, and figured to full on laugh instead.

Oh Gorgus, they were horrible.

“ Durchaus nicht, Kleines Kind ! ” he sputtered, before quickly setting his coffee down and rushing over. His face was completely red, whether from embarrassment or rage. “Do I look like your mother?!”

“I mean...you did last night,” Trisha deadpanned, and with that, Bular was howling with laughter.

Otto merely rubbed his hand over his face as he tried to gather himself, ignoring the heckles from outside the screen door. He needed to stop this, fast. “No, kind . I am not related to you in the slightest.

“Aw what?” Trisha gasped, slightly saddened. But Bular could see the playful smirk she held. “But then i’d have a mom that had super powers! It would be so cool!”

“Stop,” Otto groaned, rubbing his temples now. “I am a Polymorph, alright. That means I can take the shape of anyone or anything. Now if you wish to ask more questions, please keep them to yourself.”

“Ok,” Trisha beamed, before taking a few moments to ask another question. “So what’s the biggest thing you ever turned into.”

Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all, Bular thought.

Chapter Text

A plan had soon be formed that day, after Bular had ordered the goblins to train Trisha in his stead. He figured it would do her some good, taking on not a huge opponent but many smaller, weaker opponents. He’d also warned her not to use her bat, but to dodge and evade the Goblins. He knew how fragile they could be, and he wasn’t in the mood to pry her out of an angry pile of revenge seekers. Occasionally he’d look up to see how she was doing, but his main focus was Otto, as well as the plan.

“As much as I hate to say this,” Bular grumbled, looking over the pictures Otto had on his phone, tiny as they may be. “We need to bide our time. At my current state, Angor Rot could not only dispatch me, but the entire Janus order. And with no way to get into Troll Market, we’d only be losing our element of surprise. If we did survive…”

“Well, let’s focus on getting you back to your usual glory, mein prinz, ” Otto muttered, writing everything down. His eyes didn’t move from the pad he held. “Now, we’ll need to make you a new arm and leg. Thankfully I can get that worked on with little worry, seeing as we’ve been working on prosthetic for-”

“Wait, you have?” Bular quirked an eyebrow, mildly surprised.

“Of course!” Otto responded, seeming a bit shocked that Bular had no idea. But once again, his eyes landed back on the page. “Certain things happen on the job. And it would look strange if a changeling sudden showed up to their cover missing a limb or two. So we make sure that any prosthetic we do make function just as good, if not better, than their original.”

Bular seemed to pause on the matter, before letting out a soft grumble. “Then how come I have never met a changeling like that?"

“You probably have,” Otto responded, not a care in the world for what he said next. “No one ever bothers to mention it, is all. Unless it was important to the mission.”

“...Fair enough,” Bular responded, accepting the answer even though it held an air of casualty with it. It reminded him of Stricklander, and with it came an odd sense of normalcy. He had used the fool as his right hand for far longer then he’d expected. “Wait, how do they work with the magic? Would the limb not remain a specific size when…”

“Or so you’d think!” Otto responded, looking up with a sly glint in his eye. “But the pale lady’s magic is stupendous. As long as there is something limb like, whether it be prosthetic or what have you, the human disguise can easily cover it. Now, the limb will only work as well as the prosthetic can. So we had to work on prosthetic that fit just as seamlessly as-.”

“Real limbs, right,” Bular muttered, taking all the information in. After a few moments, his gaze fell onto his peg leg. It was doing well for him now, George’s design working like a charm. But how well would it hold in a fight? “...You’ll be doing the arm and the leg, yes?”

“Of course,” Otto nodded, as if he was going to anyway. “We should have enough data on hand that I wouldn’t need to take measurements. And seeing as the head of that department owes me a favor, I could get this done in roughly a week. But it might be better to give you more time to-...”

Bular’s gaze drifted up as started to get more and more bored with the Changeling’s ramblings. For a moment, he felt a flair of concern wash over him when he couldn’t spot the child. Yet it was quickly eased as a hand shot out of a pile of Goblins, tapping her hand on the ground three times to signal her defeat. The goblins scattered for a moment, circling Trisha and waiting for her to give the go ahead. He watched as she took in her surroundings, like he’d taught her. But Bular felt a scowl fall upon his face as her laughter echoed out. This wasn’t a game, it was important!

“-and there's also the fact you need to eat human flesh again-”

Bular snapped his gaze back to Otto, eyes wide. He didn’t say anything, instead keeping his attention on the Changeling now. Listening quietly as he rambled.

“Seeing as you’ve been kept from those nutrients for over a month now, it’s started to take its toll. You’re body would have healed up quite nicely had you eaten those two flesh bags, but alas, it’s too late for that.” Otto sighed, tapping the pencil over and over again on the paper. “Thankfully I can get the Goblins to get you something fresh when-”

“I can hunt my own food,” Bular growled, eyes narrowing at the thought of goblins getting his prey for him. He wasn’t dying, he was just missing the arm. The fact that Otto even suggested the idea was insulting.

Otto seemed to calculate his mistake and back petaled as fast as he could. “Of course mien Prinz, I just assumed you’d rather watch the child in case anything-”

“Have the Goblins watch her,” Bular commanded, letting out a huff as he leaned up against the wall. He was so wrapped up in his pride that he didn’t realize the opening he’d provided. Yet Otto did. “Goblins are good at watching babes, how much trouble could they have with her?”

“...Of course, of course,” Otto stated, his gaze focusing on the child for a second before she was once again absorbed by the Goblin horde. He rose to his feet. “I will leave them here, to help you with tasks involving the sun. Is there anything else you need from me?”

“Just your competence, Impure,” Bular grumbled, allowing his eyes to shut as he rested for a few moments. His scowl deepened when he heard Trisha laugh again. “Now go, before I decide that I’d rather have Changeling then Human.”

Bular smirked as Otto quickened his step until he was in the sunlight.

This time, Bular did not dream. He did not have dreams of the past, or of dreams yet to come. He had just closed his eyes and drifted off. At least, until a certain small pair of hands shoved his good arm awake. Rousing from his slumber, Bular turned his gaze down at the tiny offender and let out a snort.

Trisha, hair puffing out at the gust of wind, smirked before giving another shove. She currently had three Goblins handing off her, the rest trailing behind.

“Otto said to wake you up when the sun set!” Trisha proclaimed, as if she’d accomplished some sort of monumental task. Bular simply nodded.

“That you did…” Rising up, he felt his back pop as he moved out from under the porch. His bones still stiff from the wooden wall. Taking a few extra steps, Bular tried to get a feel of his leg as he moved about. It was definitely different, and the lack of ankle was something he’d have to account for. But he could manage. “Did the impure leave you anything to eat?”

“Yeah, I think he left something in the oven,” Trisha responded, before narrowing her eyes in consideration. Yet after a few moments, she turned her gaze back to Bular. “Bular, why do you call Otto Impure?”

“Because that’s what he is,” Bular responded, taking smell of the air. There was nothing but trees, at least for now. He’d need to find people. Perhaps a traveler on the roads, something quick and easy and unmemorable.

“I thought he was a Changeling?”

“Waga,” one of the Goblins, the current Fragwa by Bular guess, nodded.

“He is. Impure is what we call other Changelings,” Bular commented, debating whether he’d take the road or travel through the forest.

“But why do you-” Trisha began, but was quickly stopped by Bular perking up, the scent of someone having made it here. He smiled, turning his gaze to the child.

“I’ll explain when I get back, whelp,” Bular responded back, already turning to follow the scent. The idea of fresh human flesh was a tantalizing idea, his mouth starting to water at the thought. Yet he stopped when he heard the child let out a whimper.

“Where are you going?” her voice ask, softer then it had been. Bular let out a sigh, turning to fact Trisha. Yet once again, he found himself slightly unnerved by her green eyes.

“I’m going out for a bit. Hunting,” Bular responded, pointing to his new leg. Yet he found his own voice taking on a softer tone as well.  “I also want to test this out, to see how well it will handle out in the wilderness…I will be back soon.”

“...oh, ok,” Trisha nodded, already perking up. Bular almost felt bad, but he wasn’t telling a lie, so he reasoned he shouldn’t. “Do you want to watch a movie when you get back?”

But Bular was already off, picking up speed as his steps when from walking to running. He head the child bid him farewell, screeching “Goodbye” as loud as her little lungs allowed her. It was almost sweet, until the Goblins mockingly joined along in their tone death chorus. He then rolled his eyes and blocked them out.

As the purple in the sky faded into black, Bular’s stone sky fell in love with how the leaves brushed across them. He missed this. He missed the feeling of wind blowing past him and twigs snapping under foot. He missed the softness of the dirt, and how the darkness seemed to only accentuate the sky above him. But most of all, he missed the quiet that came with the hunt. Yet that quiet would not stay for long, as he picked up the familiar scent of flesh bags wafting in the air.

Being careful to stay down win, Bular stealthily moved about the brush, his eyes focusing on a small fire. He could hear two voices, thick and wild and loud. The aroma of week ales filtered in the closer he got, and Bular realized these fools were no doubt drunk. Which meant they probably would have trouble running away. It was all too easy…

He felt his mouth begin to water. It had been too long.

By the time he’d gotten close enough to see, Bular noticed that there were only two human, plump and a little bit past their prime. A bit too old for Bular’s preferred tastes, but he would settle. They were none the wiser of their imminent doom, simply laughing and passing around a single bottle. Bular listened in to their conversation, debating on who to attack first. The orange flame of their campfire flickered in wait.

“Ya hear about old George?” one of the men asked, leaning away from flames as he passed the bottle over.

“Yeah, poor bastard,” the other sighed, taking a swig before continuing. “Apparently his heart’s givin’ out. He’s had a good run though. You know his daughter finally came back?”

“Really? No shit,” the first one mumbled, scratching his head. “Four years and she comes back when he’s finally kicking the bucket? What kind of daughter just-”

Yet the first man never finished. Bular, in a mix of annoyance and hunger, launched himself out from the brush. There wasn’t even a scream, just a quick snap and silence. Behind him, Bular could hear the other man cursing, fumbling for something. He spun around to confront the man, but felt his blood run cold.

The man’s eyes held the same terrified look as the mother’s had.

Bular was pulled out of his panic when he hear the familiar boom of a gun. A subtle sting began to ache from his chest, but he paid it no mind. The bullet fell to the ground as he made his way towards the man. This fleshbag, now aware that he’d wasted his chance to run, could watch as Bular got closer and closer.

It was all over in an instant.

Yet for some reason, Bular hated how much he enjoyed this meal.

It was late when he got back. He hadn’t anticipated that he’d have to clean himself off as much as he did. But he’d made a mess, and he didn’t want to child to scream, or the Goblin to try picking bits off of him. Not to mention he’d over anticipated how much he’d need, as one of the flesh bags had been enough. Yet he he was never one to waste food.

No, the moon had risen to the middle of the sky when he returned. Shuffling past the barn and towards the back door, Bular noticed how peaceful the farm was. It almost seemed like it was an entirely different world. So far away from the reality Bular knew. Still, he couldn’t wait here. Maybe he’d try to find a place like this after everything. A nice quiet paradise to take some time to think. But when would he ever have that? Probably never, seeing as his father would need him to help take back the surface.

He entered through the back, examining himself in the kitchen light before he went any further. When he saw a few splotches of blood here and there, he cursed and went to grab a wash rag.

“Bushigal,” he muttered, trying to clean up as most he could. He’d always been a messy eater.

“Waka?” Came a muffled voice from inside the pantry, and Bular resisted the urge to growl as he opened the door. There, laying over a multitude of boxes, was the current Fragwa. Having stuffed himself with anything his greedy maw could have held. “...waga chaka?”

“Get out of there, fool,” Bular muttered, not even waiting for the Goblin to rise before he reached in and yanked him out. “You were suppose to be watching the-”

“Bular?” A soft, sleepy voice called out from the living room. That earned a curse from him, and he quickly tried to finish up. Looking at the cloth for a small second, he decided that eating it would be better than letting the child find it in the morning.

By the time he made it back into the living room, Trisha had seemed to blink herself awake, although barely. The rest of the goblin hoard seemed to be scattered about here and there, and a few had taken to snuggling next to the child. If he’d been some sort of softie, he’d might have called the scene cute.

“Go back to sleep,” Bular ordered, still chewing on the rag. Gazing around the nest, he spotted a decent pile to sleep on and made his way over. Sure, he had to kick a few Goblins out of it, but it was what he wanted.

“...ok,” Trisha mumbled, already closing her eyes once more. The few scattered goblins that laid about shuffled over, effectively covering the child in the process. Bular just shook his head at the display. Goblins...they’d pack bond with anything that was small enough.

And when he should have fallen asleep, Bular found he couldn’t. Every time he closed his eyes, he’d find a pair of burning green staring back at him. Whether it was back at the bridge or at Kilahead or in the face of his prey. He saw it everywhere...He was beginning to hate the color.

It was about three when he rose to his feet once more. Mindful of the ceiling, Bular made his way to the kitchen and out the back. As expected, the stars and moon had shifted, signaling the passage of time. How many nights had he watched them? How many times had he seen the constellations shift and change with time? Despite being a troll in his prime, the thought made Bular feel older and older.

Making his way back into the barn, Bular recoiled at the stench of scorch beetles. His old hay pile was no doubt infested by now. He made sure to keep a wide berth from it as he went to examine the remaining tool left on the wall. To think, just a week ago he’d been sleeping here. Part of him missed the space it provided. Yet part of him found himself grateful for his old room in the hut.

Spotting an odd looking tool, one of the few not snapped in two, Bular picked it up and examined it’s durability. It was old, and the way the blade was shaped would be useless in a fight. But he needed something to train with, and it wasn't like the old fool gardened with giant swords, now did he. Still, the way the blade was bent made him feel silly wielding it. Placing the metal in his mouth, he gave it a quick yank and straightened it out. There, the sharp end was no longer pointing to the side. Now it’d be somewhat useful.

He spent the rest of the night training, starting with the basics of sword handling and getting more and more complex as he went. He knew his arm could do it, that had long since become muscle memory. He was more concerned with his footing, how his new leg had to make up for his old one. He tried his best to keep himself quiet, yet there were a few times a growl would escape him. It felt nice, however. He hadn’t trained in over a month, and it was like returning to and old friend.

He remembered how, when he was younger, he’d try to sneak out of training. He was cockier back then, his pride was a monstrous little thing. Why should he have to train when he was the best of his age? To him it seemed like a waste of time! He could have been out and about, hunting or sparing or just doing absolutely anything else. He’d practically been a whelp back then, believing the world was his. It wasn’t until his pride got the best of him and he challenged someone older that he learned his lesson. It was an embarrassing defeat, but it made him a better warrior for it. And then he followed the troll who beat the tar out of him for almost a year.

Bular frowned bitterly at the memory, remembering exactly who that troll was.

“Aarghaumont…” he growled under his breath. The very name sending his blood into a boil. To believe he practically idolized the fool. Now that was even more embarrassing.

He buried his emotions into each swing, each stance, each step . He wanted to use that anger to improve himself, to become better then he had ever been. So that the next time he faced the Trollhunter and his allies, they would meet their end at his hands.

He’d been so distracted with his training, focusing on his memories, that he hadn’t noticed the growing audience that had accumulated at the back door. It was only when the sun had started to rise from the east, change the sky from it’s navy darkness towards a lilac, that he heard an awestruck gasp emerge from the hut. Turning his head, Bular say Trisha standing in the doorway, a bowl of cereal in her hands and the horde of Goblins scattered behind her.

“You’re up early,” Bular commented, dropping the tool on the groan and leaning against it. He could hear the wood creak under his stony weight, but it held. Thankfully. “How long have you been watching me?”

“For a little bit, but who taught you that?!” Trisha exclaimed, smile wide on her face as she set the bowl on the steps and rushed over. Her hair was a mess, far more wild than normal. “That was so cool ! How you went whoosh, and then you brought to hoe down like it was nothin’! And then-”

And Bular just stared as this tiny, jittering being began to act out every move Bular did. It wasn’t perfect, but it was clear she’d been watching for quite some time. And as Bular watched her, he began to see something he hadn’t seen in anything before. He saw his younger self. It was almost shocking, but he assumed that perhaps all young were like this. Just excited by any new thing that amazed them.

“-Like you were like a superhero! Or a ninja! Or a- oof!” Trisha, who’d still been rambling, tripped over herself. Yet she just laughed it off, looking back up at Bular with awe. “Are you gonna teach me how to do that?”

“Child, I already am,” Bular replied, smirking as Trisha seemed to go wild at the revelation. “Why do you think I’ve had you use that bat?”

“Oh wow!”

Bular simply smiled as the child seemed to go absolutely crazy at the revelation. The rest of the morning was spent in the kitchen, Trisha babbling about how she was “going to be an awesome superhero” and how Bular “was the absolute coolest”. It was almost sweet. So sweet, that for a moment, Bular even forgot about his task at hand. In this domestic scene, there was no Kilahead bridge, no trollhunter. Just him, not being alone. Not being feared or hated…

This was nice.

-------------------------------------------------------

This was horrible.

Otto stared at the steering wheel of his nice car, pinching the bridge of his nose as the changeling on the phone seemed to babble about. He didn’t need this right now, he really didn’t. He was already having to deal with so much throwing a wrench into his plans, and he really, really did not need this.

“I swear, if Strickler asks any questions, we can just say we’re getting prosthetics ready for when one of our beefier members loses a limb.” Otto groaned, his voice straining not to rise any higher then it had to. “Besides, the chances of him finding out are minuscule mein Freund! We both know he spends far to much time at his cover job to ever be at the base!”

He’d almost regretted finding Bular. Sure, he’d been amazed that the fearless Gumm-Gumm was still alive, but what else did he expect from the spawn of Gunmar the Black. He’d originally only been looking for brownie points by fixing his corpse back together for when the dark lord arrived. But imagine his surprise when the “pastor” they’d sent to the sleepy town of Laconia started to hear rumors of a “devil” living in a poor farmers home. And with how Stricklander was talking, about how they wouldn’t need Gunmar anymore...well, he figured getting Bular back could help them shift the tide into restoring the Janus’s order’s status quo.

Yet instead of the bloodthirsty, volatile warrior he expected to find, he only found...well, he still wasn’t sure what the hell was going on. Much of the old Bular was there, sans an arm and a leg, but the way he seemed so protective of that whelp...It was almost sickening! He’d never treated anything like that before! For the Pale lady’s sake, he even held it as it cried! He built the damn thing a nest! He had Otto pretend to be it’s mother so the authorities wouldn’t take it!

Oh how far the mighty have fallen…

But not everything was lost. Otto had seen a glimmer of hope.

When Bular expressed his outrage at Strickland betrayal, he finally seemed like his old self. That goal, that passion; it was all still there. Just subdued, snubbed by this momentary setback. It was probably his lack of human meat, that was all. Once he’d gotten back into the swing of things, maybe they could finally get back on track. Hell, Otto bet by the time he got back with the spare limbs, the child would be eaten and Bular would be impatiently waiting.

Or so he hoped, but part of his new that hope was a deadly thing.

But hope was all he had left.

“Listen,” Otto spat into the phone, hitting his limit. “You owe me a favor! Who was the one that made sure your little escapades back in the sixties didn’t stir up a mess, hm? It was me!”

Otto heard the Changeling on the other side fumble about, sputtering and no doubt blushing. He smirked, knowing victory was at hand. But he didn’t want to push to hard, lying in this type of business was a double edged sword, after all.

“I’ll cut you a deal. Just get the arm done, and I won’t tell Stricklander how you almost revealed out cover to some floozy in a tight dress, ja ? That should be easy for you, arms are your specialty!”

Otto held his breath as the other side went silent. It was only when he heard the Changeling sigh and let out a wary “yeah” that he released any tension that had been building. Oh thank goodness!

“Wonderful, wonderful!” Otto smiled, relief washing over him. This was good, this would work. “Just finish it as soon as you can, alright?”

Hanging up the phone, Otto slumped into the seat of his car with a content smile on his face. It’s been hard, trying to rally up some of the changeling in the first place. While he knew those he could trust -and even then the amount of trust they had was very little - were on his side, others were still a bit wishy washy on leaving Stricklander’s. He could understand why. After all, it wasn't normally wise to betray a Changeling with an infamous deadly troll assassin at his beck and call. But he couldn’t just let this slide…

Sure, Stricklander had a decent idea, and maybe if Otto had been a bit bolder, he would have agreed to it. But their kind, most needed their familiars to make it through day to day actions. He didn’t, thankfully, but others did. What did he think would happen once they betrayed Gunmar? That he’d leave the babe alone and plot his own escape?

Sure, that was as likely to happen as a changeling becoming the Trollhunter.

No, Gunmar would order each familiar killed, effectively leaving their people out in the open. They’d be branded a freaks with no place to hide. Humans hunting them at day, and trolls at night. There only chance of salvation was by the ale lady’s orders. And her orders were to free Gunmar and serve him, same as before…

Sure, there was a little bit of power seeking, but Otto knew his goal was just. He had to keep his people safe.

And he’d do whatever it takes.

Chapter Text

It took three days. Three peaceful days for his late night feast to catch up with him. He should have just stuck to deer meat, he should have told that foolish changeling to mind his own business. He’d forgotten that even if he ate most of the evidence, people still noticed when others went missing. He’d gotten sloppy, he supposed, from having Changelings always covering his tracks. But Otto had been right. Bular body felt better then it had in weeks, and some of his cracks had healed up like they never happened.

During those three days, Bular realized he’d never actually taken care of anything before. So once they ran out of food, Bular had tried to share some of his deer meat with the child. That had gone over poorly, as humans apparently couldn’t eat raw meat. Thankfully, the Goblins had rushed off and returned with whatever they could scavenge. It’d been a bit surprising, at first, when they showed up with some sort of “fast food” thing. But it got the whelp to stop complaining, so he’d allowed it.

Perhaps that was fate giving him a hint, he assumed later on. That he wasn’t cut out for this. But when did he ever listen to fate?

He’d been training Trisha out in the back yard when they came. The sirens were not blasting like he usually remembered, but he had noticed the odd smell of the car just moments before it peeled down the driveway. Thinking fast, Bular had ducked into the barn just as they pulled the corner. Watching through the cracks as the car pulled up to the old, beat up truck. He hoped the goblin’s had half a brain to tuck themselves away as well.

The scene played out as followed.

The officer, a man Bular did not recognize, shuffled out of the car. He was a plump old fool, slightly aged himself. He hadn’t spotted Bular, thankfully, but the child had not been as lucky. He seemed to recognize Trisha, however, as a gentle smile graced his face.

“Trisha!” The officer called out, doing an awkward half jog over to the whelp. “Hey, kiddo, long time no see.”

Trisha seemed to smile, letting the baseball bat she held drag behind her as she met the man halfway. Bular didn’t relax, however. Seeing as the last time an officer was near the child, they were going to take her away.

“Mr Peyton!” Trisha called out, her usually bubbly voice ringing forth. “Hi! But, why are you here? Did somethin’ happen?”

Bular smirked at that. Tact was clearly something the child lacked.

“What? Oh no, no!” Peyton quickly cut in, seeming a bit sheepish for his own arrival. Yet he quickly bit that responds back as his hand reached the back of his head. He still seemed sheepish. “Well, sorta. You remember Tom and Jerry?”

Trisha paused, raising her brow slightly. “You mean the cartoon?”

“No, no, I mean the Tom and Jerry that ran the gas station down on Old Mill.” Peyton responded a bit exasperatedly, before reaching into his pocket and pulling out a few photographs. “No one’s seen ‘em in a few days. Which would be normal, since they went out campin’. But...well we found their campsite not to far from here…”

Trisha seemed to squint at the photos, but Bular could already guess who it was. Still, it didn’t stop him from feeling a bit off about the whole thing.

“...and, they weren’t there?” Trisha finished his sentence, leaning on the baseball bat as she thought. “Weird…”

“Yeah, my thoughts exactly,” Peyton concluded, filing the photos back into his pocket. He gave the child a kind smile. “I’ll take it you haven’t seen ‘em around, then?”

As Trisha shook her head, the officer let out a sigh. Until his gaze perked up slightly. “Yeah, thought so. Don’t worry about it, i bet they’ll turn up soon our later. Probably drank their weight in whisky n’ stumbled off again…”

Trisha seemed to nod at that, but as she went to turn away, the officer seemed to notice something else.

“Hey, where’s yer ma?” He began, eyes glued on the two cars in the driveway. His own and the old truck. “ I was gonna swing by earlier to ask her a few questions, about where she’s been n’ all, but everyone back at the station figured it be good to give y’all some space.”

Bular squinted even more at that. It was something about how the man worded it, how the sentence stumbled slightly out of his mouth. It just didn’t seem right to Bular. Maybe this man was just awkward in general. Something was off here.

Trisha seemed to panic for a moment, before offering the first answer that came to mind. “She drove off to run some errands. She said she’d be back soon.”

“...and how long ago was that?” Peyton asked, crouching down to the whelp’s height. Bular bit back a snarl. He didn’t like where this was going. He didn’t like this stranger so close to the child.

“Not too long ago,” Trisha mumbled, avoiding the officer’s gaze. “She said she’d be back soon…”

They seemed frozen like that, at least for a few moments. It wasn’t until a familiar crackle of a staticy voice broke the silence, mumbling something Bular couldn’t make out. Peyton let out a sigh and reached out, ruffling Trisha’s hair as he rose. “Hey, Buck up kiddo. You ain’t in trouble. We’re all...we’ll were all just worried about you in town is all.”

Reaching back into his pocket, Mr. Peyton pulled out a small note pad and scribbled down something down. He quickly ripped the paper off the pad and handed down to the child.

“Here, in case anything happens,” Peyton responded, giving a kind smile before making his way back to the car. “I’ll swing by tomorrow to talk to yer ma, so make sure she sticks around, ok?”

“Ok!” Trisha called back, waving as Peyton made his way into the car. She didn’t stop waving till he was long gone, already vanishing down the dirt road. She seemed to stare after it for a few more moments, before turning on her heels. Her eyes were wide as she faced the barn. “Bular! I don’t have a mom!”

By now, Bular was already making his way out of the barn, picking the few scorch beetles that had jumped onto him off. “I am aware.”

“What are we gonna do?!” By now, Trisha had dropped her bat on the ground and was rushing about, no doubt panicking. “If I don’t have a mom there gonna take me away and Otto said he’s not my mom and he said he’d be back in a week and-”

Bular just remained silent as the child dashed about, swept up in her worries. Not that he was doing much better, he was panicking too. But like all people who considered themselves adults, he’d mastered the art of internal panicking.  A rare skill that allowed you to safe face while the you scrambled for a plan.

By process of elimination, he knew that punching his way out of this situation would go rather poorly. He couldn’t eat the police officer, ether. Seeing as they knew Trisha and vice versa, that would probably be bad. His mind lingered on calling Otto over, surely he could send the Goblins out to go fetch the fool, but who knows how long that would take…

But then another idea came to mind.

A horrible, selfish idea, but an idea nonetheless.

What if he just took the child with him? He’d seen how she was in training. She wasn’t bad, but there was no way she was ready to be on her own. If he’d tried hard enough, he could easy dispatch her within minutes. Which meant his pact would not be fulfilled. He’d be no better then a changeling for taking her hospitality and leaving her to die. It wasn’t like he actually cared about the little flesh bag, no , that’d be foolish. He was just making sure his debt was repaid.

Besides, once the foolish elder was better, he’d return the brat and go on with his life. As if nothing had ever happened.

“Stop screeching,” Bular ordered, reaching out and placing his hand on Trisha’s head. This effectively stopped the child completely, yet she still seemed slightly nervous. His nose wrinkled at the stench of other flesh bag. It’d fade quickly, he hoped. “We’re leaving.”

“...What?!”

Alright, so maybe that wasn’t a good idea.

Trisha seemed even more jittery then before, now circling around Bular as she rambled on. Already he was starting to get a bit of a migraine. Did the questions never end with her? Did he ever talk this much as a whelp? “Where are we going? Are we gonna be gone for long? Are we gonna go to the beach?! Please tell me were going to the beach I’ve always wanted to go! What about grandpa!?”

Bular stopped at the doorway, picking Trisha up by the back of her shirt and holder her up to his face. He hoped this would work. “Silence. Let me speak before you ramble us both to death.”

Thankfully, Trisha went silent, her green eyes meeting his orange.

“I want you to pack only the things you’ll need.” he began, making sure she understood his orders. Despite her giggly nature, she could listen when she needed too. “One bag, no more, no less. You will bring your bat. You will not be gone forever, nor will you be staying long. We are going to Arcadia. And if you are not ready by midnight, then I will leave without you. Understand?”

Slowly, Trisha began to nod. Bular set the whelp down and watched as she scampered inside, little feet running as fast as they could. He didn’t mean to sound so rough, but this was a serious matter. He needed her to understand that no everything was a game.

“Chaka Bawga?” came a voice from behind him, and Bular turned to see a hoard of goblin eyes staring back at him. It took him a few moments to realize what one of the Goblins had asked, his goblin speak being a bit rusty.

“Go on ahead, warn the impure that we will be arriving shortly.” Bular commanded, motioning to the woods. When he got a few blank stares, he remembered that the Goblins had arrived here by car, and not by flood waters and rivers. “In the woods is a river, find it and follow it upstream. It should take you there. Now go, your wasting moonlight.”

When they didn’t budge, he let out a low growl and took an extra step.

Within moments, the goblin hoard was already running for the trees, scrabbling away in fear.

He didn’t relax until he was certain they were gone. But when he did, he slumped down on the old wooden stairs and ran a hand over his face. Already he was regretting this. What was he thinking? This was a horrible plan…And yet, he couldn’t just leave her.

By why?

He still had no idea.

“Oh come now. A mountain has to eat, you know.”

The haunting words of Gatto rang in the Trollhunters’ ears, and instantly any thought of getting out of here unscathed was tossed aside. Various volcanic trolls started to gather around them, axes held dangerously close. Aaarrrgghh had been the farthest from the dangerously hot maw, and his big frame kept most of the trolls from taking him on. Not that he could have done much, he was a pacifist, despite everything that had happened.

Or so he thought, till a voice called out.

“I don’t wanna be food!”

Snapping his gaze over to Toby, Aaarrrgghh watched as both he and Blinky were shoved closer and closer to Gatto’s open jaws. No, Jim was right there, he could make it. He was right there and he could-

“Hold on!” Jim cried.

And then they were shoved…

Aaarrrgghh stared Gatto’s jaw slammed shut, it’s force enough to shake the very platform they’d been standing on. But he didn’t care. His eyes lingered for a single moment, hoping that maybe they’d be fine, that they’d grabbed onto something. That they couldn’t be…

They were gone…

They were gone !

“ Wingman! ” the roar came out from deep inside him, centuries of pent up aggression and rage bubbling forth in a righteous fury. He felt his hands familiarly tightening up into fist, he felt the hot air breeze past him as he charged at Gatto. No, he couldn’t lose them. Not them! “ Blinky !”

He quickly slammed his fists into the rock hard maw, body glowing in such rage that he felt his entire being burn from the inside out. He didn’t stop pounding, not even as more volcanic trolls tried to pry him away. He couldn’t lose them, he couldn’t!

His pacifism had gotten his friends killed .

He was a coward...

“He ate them!” Jim cried out, and suddenly Aaarrrgghh remembered he wasn’t the only one here. Turning back to his other two friends, Aaarrrgghh watched as they tried to hold their own against the growing number of volcanic trolls, all trying to push them closer and closer to Gatto.

“They may still be alive,” Claire called back, keeping her gaze locked on her opponent as they got closer and closer together. Somehow, she’d managed to get one of the battle axes, as was doing a wonderful job at using it. “Remember how Coach Laurence said that-...”

At this point, Aaarrrgghh felt a glimmer of hope rise within him. His gaze feel back to Gatto’s maw, then at the two children in front of him. He couldn’t let them get hurt too! But he couldn’t just leave Blinky and Toby to die…

“Leave now!” Aaarrrgghh growled out, picking up the duo before lowering them onto the nearest platform. Swiping up the latter, he used it to beat two more volcanic Trolls back, before snapping it in half. “Get to Gyre!

“What- Aaarrrgghh?! Where are you going?!” Claire asked, looking back at the giant green troll with concern in her eyes.

“Get Toby and Blinky!” He saw the panic in their eyes, and he tried to give the most reassuring smile he could. “Trust Aaarrrgghh!”

And then Gatto’s tonge had sideswiped him, and he was already halfway down when he heard their cries.

He felt himself sigh in relief when he landed in the mountain Troll’s stomach, or rather grunt in mild pain from the fall, his fear vanishing for a millisecond as he saw both Blinky and Toby shoveling anything they could into the pools of lava surrounding them.

“Wingman!” Toby cried, eyes wide. “You got eaten too?!”

“Quickly Aaarrrgghh,” Blinky called out, motioning to a shelf full of bottles near him. “Time is of the essence, help me shove this cabbanet in. Our lives depend on it!”

Everything else seemed to happen so quickly after that. From the smoke that rose up and choked both him and Blinky, to finding the birthstone in the mess, to the three of them literally clinging to a rock as they passed by. Before he knew it, they were already at the Gyre, a flood of lava trailing behind him.  Spinning the outer Gyre wheel with everything he had, Aaarrrgghh rush aboard just as the lava grazed his feet.

“Hate Gyre!” he yelled, hopping on it with only an ounce of regret.

And with that, grabbing the three humans in his huge arms, Aaarrrgghh held on for dear life as they were sent back to troll market. And he held on a little bit longer, even when they were back in the safety of home.

He wouldn’t let his vow danger his friends ever again.

The hospital looked the same as it had before. Old, small, strangely vacant. It barely seemed like a hospital at all, but it somehow was. Bular had been against the idea of even coming here, but the child had brought up a good point when they were about to leave. The old fool would surely worry himself to death if he had no idea where she was. Or at least, that’s what Bular nonchalantly agreed to in order to keep her from fighting him about it.

He had a feeling that George would not see eye to eye on this matter, but what could he do?

So here he was, waiting in a dark alley not to far from the Hospital, eyes glued to the hospital doors.

He wondered if this was a mistake. Part of him screamed to leave, to let sleeping dogs lie and leave the child to her own kind. Yet when she rushed out of the front door, a smile on her face, he felt part of him fade away. She seemed happy. Maybe everything had gone well.

“Bular! Bular!” She called out, her voice a loud whisper as she waved him over. He moved to meet her half way, but stopped when his form was illuminated by the streetlight. He quickly ducked back in and waited for her to arrive. “He’s asleep!”

Well, Bular hadn’t expected that. “...So you’re not going to tell him?”

“I left a note!” Trisha replied, shuffling over to Bular’s feet to grab her backpack. Currently she was dressed in an oversized green jacket, one that seemed farm more suited for winter the the upcoming spring. Yet she’d swore up and down that it would come in handy. Other then that, she hadn’t changed out of the orange t-shirt and blue shorts she had. She even worse a pair of sandals, shoes that Bular had known were more for comfort than practicality. But when he tried to tell her to wear something else, she pouted and groaned and tosses anything he’d suggested  into the backpack. By now the damn thing was fit to burst, yet it remained oddly light. To save himself from getting angry, he decided he wasn’t going to ask what else she brought with her.

“Are you sure that was a wise idea?” Bular asked, already lowering his head so the child could scrabble on. It would be faster for her to sit near his horns then her trying to catch up to him, he knew. One of his steps usually took five of her own. He was still thankful that no one was around to see this embarrassing display.

“Yeah,” Trisha yawned, her grip tightening as she held onto his horns. He could hear the ticking of her grandfather’s watch reverberate, almost like a heartbeat. “I want him to get better, so i didn’t wanna wake him up.”

Bular decided not to say much after that. He just let out a huff of air and rose into a running stance. “Fine. Remember to hold on, alright? I’m not going to catch you if you fall off.”

He didn’t wait for her answer, he just began his sprint. It was still a bit odd, running on three limbs instead of four. It definitely required him to be slower than his usual speed, but it was faster then him springing on just his legs. Thankfully, as long as he kept a somewhat straight line and didn’t make any sharp turns, he was fine. Which had been easier without the giggling child on the back of his neck, but what else was he to do.

His mind wandered as the builds around them thinned out, before completely leaving them as they hit the woods. Not long from here, they’d hit the river and make their trek back to Arcadia.It was odd to think about, that over a month had gone by sense he’d left. He counted the days and the nights that had passed, coming up with ways to get the bridge back and defeat the Trollhunter. And while revenge was on his mind, he didn’t feel as if he was charge into battle…

No. Oddly enough, it felt like coming home.

Jim was already in bed when Draal had stumbled up the stairs, brown eyes wide as he tried his best to shimmy himself through the doorway. He hadn’t even gotten under the cover yet, having spent most of the time since he’d gotten back dodging his mom’s questions. He was already in a really, really bad mood. But of course, Trollhunter business knew no rest. At least, that’s what Blinky told him, once.

“Trollhunter!” Draal whispered out, careful not to let the floorboard creek too much. He stopped trying to peer in when Jim turned on a light, the lamp next to his bedside. “Oh good, you’re already awake.”

“I never slept, Draal,” Jim groaned rubbing his temple as he got to his feet. He just slipped his jacket over his nightshirt and slipped his sneakers on. Troll Hunter business be damned he was not getting out of these sweatpants. “What’s going on now?”

“The SoothScyrer’s acting up again,” Draal responded already moving out of the way to let Jim through. “I believe the council wishes to speak with you.”

“Oh c’mon,” Jim sighed, running a hand through his hair. He was already making his way down stairs, backpack slipped on at the door. He’d learned by now to always bring a pair of back up clothes in case any troll business went on longer than it should have.  “How much you wanna bet it’s about the triumbric stones?”

“Perhaps, but this seems different,” Draal commented, carefully making his way down, mindful of which boards creaked the loudest. Slightly shameful, but by now he’d managed to map out the best ways to sneak in and out of the Lake’s house. It was only a matter of patience and balance. Something he was never really good at. “It’s more like when you first entered the void, seeing as the forge is going absolutely nuts again.”

“I just hope I don’t have to trigger the kill switch again,” Jim yawned, already making his way out the back door. He didn’t stray too far, however, knowingly waiting for Draal. Within minutes, they were already running through the woods and darting back to the canal, making their into Trollmarket at about one thirty in the morning.

While both Blinky and Aaarrrgghh were absent, oddly enough, Vendal was standing guard at hero’s forge, arms crossed as he waited for them. His usual scowl was there to grace Jim as normal. “Good to see you’re still alive, Trollhunter.”

“Good morning to you too Vendal,” Jim nodded, too sleepy to mind his manners. He looked around, a bit confused. “Uh, wouldn’t Blinky and Aaarrrgghh be-”

“Believe it or not, I have no idea where those two ran off too.” Vendal confessed, already making his way inside the Forge. True enough, every single trap it had was going off, from the swinging blades to twisting floors and more. “I sent some others to go find them, but as long as you fix this quickly, it shouldn’t matter. But all I’m wondering is what you’ve done now?”

“I’ll go find out,” Jim responded, giving a simple smile as he already pulled the amulet out from his jacket pocket. “For the Glory of Merlin, Daylight is mine to Command!”

Yet by the time he’d gotten his armor on, the SoothScryer was already powering itself down, lowering back to the ground and pulsing like crazy. Jim turned to look at Vendal and Draal, a bit confused why it calmed down so quickly. While Draal only gave a shrug, Vendal motioned for him to go on, giving a little squint with his eyes as he did so.

“Well, here goes,” Jim said, already knowing he was going to chew Kanjigar out for keeping the Triumbric stones a secret. That had to be what they were mad about, his tired little mind thought. Yet when he felt his entire being being sucked into the void, he realized that was, in fact, not the case.

Why?

Because everyone was arguing like there was no tomorrow. Which was a sort of new. Especially when they argued so much that no one seemed to get a word in. Someone was yelling to the right, another was screeching to the left, someone else wailed that the other was a fool. It was pure chaos.

No one seemed to notice he was there at first, and all Jim saw was a storm of angry souls circling about. For a few moments, Jim watched in mild awe, as if watching a trashy tv show. But he was quickly pulled out of it when he felt a ghostly hand land on his shoulder and pull him towards the edge of the Void. Or, well, the Hero’s forge version of the void.

“Whoa whoa hey what’s the deal?” Jim asked, before being silenced as Kanjigar covered his mouth.

“ Listen quick and listen well, young Trollhunter. ” Kanjigar quietly began, his serious tone snapping up Jim’s attention. He seemed even more serious than usual. “ Bular has returned to Arcadia.”

Jim’s eyes widened, and a muffled what escaped Kanjigar’s gauntlet. Yet the council behind them didn’t seem to hear. The ghost shushed the human, and continued on with his words.

“ Now I need you to understand that no matter what, you must finish this fight. It will be a hard decision to make, but you can not let Bular live. No matter what tricks he or anyone around him pulls. As long as he lives, he is a threat to Troll Market, and Arcadia. Understand? ”

Kanjigar was speaking fast, eyes darting from the council and back to Jim. Just what in the world was going on? Kanjigar carefully removed his hand, allowing Jim to speak and, thankfully, breathe.

“Ok, do you know where he is?” Jim asked, voice low as he watched the council debate and roar at each other. “And why is everyone else so angry, did something else happen or...?”

“ Not exactly, he’s been moving around the edge quite a bit, and even when he chooses a spot, we won’t know exactly where until you find in. ” Kanjigar paused, watching as one soul flung itself into another. He scowled, getting even more annoyed at his ghostly brethren. “ And the reason the Council is so childish is that no one exactly knows what to do now that you have both Gunmar’s son and Angor Rot wanting your head. By tomorrow they’ll come to a decision, but I doubt it will be in your favor. I’d advise you keep your head low, look out for both threats, and most importantly, be ready for a rough day of training tomorrow. Understood? ”

“...Ok sure, but why? It’s not you’ll get in trouble for...” Jim voice drifted off as he caught Kanjigar’s glare. Wow, maybe being dead didn’t mean you’d be invincible from your actions. “Ok, got it. Anything else?”

“ Yes, don’t scream until your out of the void. ”

And with that, Kanjigar shoved Jim off the ledge.

And Jim screamed anyway.

With all eyes glued to him, Kanjigar stood tall and everyone collectively realized that whatever he said to the Trollhunter, they would only know after he left the void. Still, their outrage was clear to see. And hear, at least, but the chorus of angry screeches and roars that were directed his way.

Taking a breathe in for lungs he didn’t have, Kanjigar felt like he was alive again.

The wind blew past them as they stood up high, admiring the view of the city from the ledge. It’s taken a bit longer then Bular had expected, but it could have been worse. Besides, he’d figured he could take some time to show the whelp her new, temporary home. Not to mention it also gave him bit of an advantage in finding a place to take shelter in. Perhaps he could go back to his old warehouse, where he’d made the throne and drawn his murals.

“Wow,” Trisha gasped, examining the lights scattered about in Arcadia. Her grip on his horns tightened as she rose slightly, as if to get a better view. He made sure to tilt his head back, just to keep her from falling off. “It’s so pretty!”

“...It really is,” Bular said, finding himself mildly surprised at his own agreement. “Welcome to Arcadia, child.”

Chapter Text

Despite a month having gone by, nothing had changed. The streets, the shops, the lack of people rushing about at three in the morning; it was like he’d never left. Making his way carefully around town, he made sure to keep an eye out for anything odd. He couldn’t afford a fight right now, not with a child on his back and lacking any weapons. So he needed to be stealthy, and he needed to think fast.

“Bular,” Trisha, who by now had settled to sleepily slumping her head where his horns met, spoke up. Bular could see her reflection in a nearby window, and he could see just how tired the child was. It had been a long time since the flesh bag took a nap. “Arcadia’s nice.”

“I suppose it is,” he said, after a moment or two of thinking on the matter. He remembered when he arrived here, back with this place was just a settlement. Back then, humans rightfully feared him, knowing fully well to stay out of the woods at night. He smiled at the memory of the old tale. They’d long since faded away, however, as Arcadia changed into a town, then to a city.  

“...is there a playground here?” the child yawned, drawing Bular out of his memories.

“A what?”

“A playground,” Trisha sleepily repeated, her grip on Bular loosening as she rambled onwards. “It’s a place with swings n’ slides and...and monkey bars…I wanna go there.”

“...I think there is one here,” Bular admitted, having a vague recollection of seeing something like what the child described. But now was not the time for that. “We need to find shelter first. The sun will be rising soon.”

All Bular got back was a sleepy mumble, but he accepted it over getting an actual answer. He made sure to keep his head low, in order to prevent the sleeping whelp from tumbling off should her grip let go entirely.

Sniffing the air once more, Bular pauses for a moment, trying to figure out exactly where he was and where they could go. The sewers were a tempting idea, but if Angor Rot was lurking around, he might have taken to the system by now. There was the museum, but Normura had been the only Changeling stationed there full time. And he couldn’t exactly barge into the Janus order without Stricklander finding out sooner rather than later…

That left his old hideout, the warehouses. Or more specifically, the Vespa warehouse. Repressing a growl at the distance, he knew he could make it in time, it would just be a bit too close for comfort. He wasn’t looking forward to the bits of sunstaining he’d no doubt get from being out to early.

Darting across Arcadia, Bular noticed how his path took him farther from the center of town. By now, multitudes upon multitudes of human huts passed him by, all seeming blocky and needlessly tacky. But there was one that caught his orange eyes.

Slowing his gallop to a crawl, Bular kept his gaze focused on the Trollhunter's home. For a moment, he figured he must have been mistake, that most of these huts looked the same. But then he saw the fleshbag’s mother, fiery hair and deep blue eyes, staring at something inside the home.

For a moment, Bular felt his need for revenge over take him.

He was already making his way to the window, ready to break the glass and grab the women by her scrawny neck. Yet before he could get within arms reach, Bular felt a pair of tiny hands tug at his mane, and the little fleshbag above him sleepily mumble. His rage simmered as he realized he couldn’t exactly keep the child in line and steal the Trollhunter's mother. Well, he could, just not in time to avoid being sun stained to death.  

Pulling back into the shadows, Bular cursed the time he wasted on his daydreaming and galloped back into the forest, unaware of the pair of eyes that watched him.

Blinky prided himself on being a Troll of knowledge. Where the subject was about history, magic, linguistics; if it was a study, he ether had it or he had a book about it. He’d spent countless days and nights!studying tomes and connecting information like no other. Sure, there would always be things he would never know. He’d made peace with that revelation when he was young. But his pride did allow him to assume he knew most things possible…

So when he was in the middle of his library, transforming before his own six eyes, well…

Blinky was speechless.

It all happened rather slowly, but he couldn’t bare to look away. His gaze glued to his body, watching it shift and change in a way it never should. His four arms and six eyes meshed together, leaving behind two of each. His turquoise skin turned an odd shade of purple, before fading into a light peach. But oddest of all was the feeling of his horns just, fading away, as well as his tusks shrinking back into his mouth.

By the time it was over, Blinky was left shivering, trying to hold onto the his now oversized britches and fumbling to find a mirror. He ended up settling on a nearby flask, catching his reflection in the gleam.

Naturally he jumped, because for a moment, he figured an almost naked human had wandered into his library. He jumped again when he realized that that human was him !

“Goodness gracious…” Blinky muttered, his left hand reaching up to touch his face. His hand, as much as he could call it his, felt the smooth skin of his cheek. The intensity of the feeling was almost too much, seeing as his fingers almost felt frozen. He quickly shoved them into the bellowing fabric bellow, in an effort to warm himself up. “...what in the world?”

He remained like this for maybe an hour or two. Just sitting there, on the floor of his library, studying himself. It was pretty jarring after all. But thankfully, after letting the fact that this was very much real settle in, Blinky began to try and form a plan as what to do next. Obviously he couldn’t go parading around in clothes that scarily fit him anymore, that would be embarrassing. Secondly, he’d have to find Master Jim or Aaarrrgghh and inform them that-

“Aaarrrgghh...” Blinky gasped, realizing his dearest friend had been sleeping somewhere deeper in the library. He’d been feeling rather ill as well, or so he claimed. And instead of making the trip back to his own cave, he’d asked Blinky if he could just rest his eyes amongst the multitudes and multitudes of books. Surely he would have heard the gasps and yelps that had escaped Blinky throughout the process?

Unless…

“Aaarrrgghh!” Blinky called out, concern echoing in his voice. “Aaarrrgghh, good friend, are you still here?”

For a few moments, only silence greeted Blinky. Until a yawn that could shake the earth around them echoed from the back left corner of the room. Letting out a sigh of relief, Blinky was already making his way towards Aaarrrgghh, relieved that his partner hadn’t left.

“Yeah?” Aaarrrgghh’s voice echoed out, the same gravely warm tone that Blinky had the pleasure of knowing for years now. “What wrong?”

“Oh, well, I’m not quite sure my-” Blinky began, already turning the corner as he shuffled to the back. Yet he stopped, his words once again dying in his throat as his gaze fell upon another human. Their eyes locked for a split second, before the stranger jumped to his feet and got into a fighting stance. Despite everything, Blinky could still recognize who this person was.

“...Oh great Gronka Morka, not you too?!”

It was Aaarrrgghh’s tattoos that gave him away. While his age markings, like the ones Blinky had, were all absent, the engravings Aaarrrgghh had gotten in the past remained. Yet there were other features that could still be picked out. His warm green eyes, the way the hair on his face grew without care, his welcoming form-

Blinky mentally commanded himself to focus, now was not the time to ogle. And it seemed Aaarrrgghh thought the same, as he still had no idea what was going on.

“Huh?” Was all that left Aaarrrgghh’s lips, no doubt confused by the voice that sounded like his best friend Blinky. Still riddled with drowsiness, he went to try and rub the sleep out of his eyes, but instantly jumped when a not stony hand touched his not stony face. Stumbling backwards, Aaarrrgghh tripped over himself as he allowed a confused yelp to escape him. “Where arms?!”

Already, Blinky was making his way over. Years of being by his friends side, giving him advice and aid, shone through as he kneeled down, gently laying his hands on one of Aaarrrgghh’s arms. Just because they were both humans now didn’t mean he was going to let that unspoken promise go by unanswered.

“Aaarrrgghh, it’s me, Blinky,” He began, his tone soft as he tried to calm Aaarrrgghh down. “Now I’m not sure why, but we’ve been transformed into Humans. You must have slept through your’s, but-”

“Blinky?” Aaarrgghh asked, as if needing confirmation. When Blinky nodded, Aaarrrgghh just let a grumble escape his throat as he sat back up. Furrowing his brow he reached up and, with both calloused hands, pressed Blinky’s cheeks together. After about a few moments of comprehending it all, Aaarrrgghh’s eyes just got wider. A small smile graces his face. “...Squishy.”

“Among other things, my considerable companion,” Blinky said, or tried to, as his lips were awkwardly smushed together. Still getting use to only having his upper hands, Blink carefully slipped them under Aaarrrgghh’s and removed them from his face, just settling on holding them as he spoke. By now the ex Gumm-Gumm had settled on examining himself more, eyes tracing every tattoo he had. “Now that we’ve gotten everything situated, I’ll leave you to gather yourself while I go and find us some suitable clothes.”

Aaarrrgghh seemed to make a face at that, almost as if he’d been a whelp forced to eat their fabrics. “No clothes. Too tight.”

“Come now Aaarrrgghh, you at least need shorts!” Blinky stated, rising to his feet and clutching his britches once more. “Last time I remember, humans considered nudity a taboo. And it would be especially awkward if any of our human compatriots saw either of us like this.”

Aaarrrgghh let out another series of grumbles, but oppose the matter any more. Instead, he seemed more interested in poking and prodding his new form. Well, he’d take Aaarrrgghh’s complains to heart. Perhaps he could find a cloth or pair of trousers that weren’t to conforming for his old friend.

Now, how to go about this...

He got it. He finally got it.

He had indisputable evidence that Sticklander was no longer working for Gunmar.

After weeks of waiting and planning, Otto had finally managed to get recorded proof of his boss’s plan. He would have laughed, had he not been terrified of the troll cutting pieces off of himself like he was made of putty. He probably was, considering how easy it seemed. Still, he’d almost couldn’t contain his glee when he left the school and made the walk to his car.

Sure, there was the matter of dealing with the Trollhunter and the Triumbric stones. And the fact that even if he got the Janus order to rally together to remove Stricklander, he’d have to do something about Angor Rot. But he was just thankful that he was alive and that he had evidence. All because he left his phone on record and left it in his pocket.

Taking a seat against the fine leather, Otto was already reaching for his keys when he spotted something. A certain little green cretin that should not be in his car.

“You?!” Otto exclaimed, before reaching over and grabbing the Goblin. He noticed three more in the back. “What are all of you doing here?! You were suppose to stay with Bular!”

“Bagwa Mola!” The Goblin, the one in Otto’s hands, spat. His spindly fingers struggling to loosen Otto’s hold. “Uwaga kaga buch-aka!”

“What?!”

And that was how Otto Scarrbach, for the first time in his entire life, got a speeding ticket on that find Thursday morning.

By the time he got to the warehouse, he could practically feel his heart pounding in his chest. It didn’t seem any different, with it’s peeling paint and decades old motor oil stench. But Otto knew better then to let himself relax. He needed to take care of this situation and take care of it quickly. After all, Bular was only his greatest assist if he was hidden...Well, until they finished his arm up, at least.

Making his way inside was rather easy, once he found the door Bular had left ajar. And by ajar, that mean that it had been yanked up and down so many times that it no longer stayed locked. He didn’t bother raising it, not wanting to sun stain his ace in the hole. So after a few seconds of shimmying under, Otto allowed his eyes to rest as he examined the dark. He didn’t need to look hard, however, as Bular had already taken his usual seat on his old throne.

He almost looked like nothing had changed, save for the missing limbs and child asleep in his lap. Still had that same old scowl, that arrogant look in his eyes. But it was clear something else was different about the dark prince. His gaze wasn’t as harsh as it used to be.

“Mein Prinz?” Otto began, voice soft as to not disturb the sleeping pet. “What are you doing here? Had we not agreed on-”

“Things have changed,” Bular responded calmly, already cutting Otto off before he could continue. His gaze didn’t move at all as he spoke, his clawed hand slowly drumming the arm of his mechanical throne. “The authorities were getting nosy, asking around for you. I figured this would be the easier option then eating an entire police force.”

Otto blanched slightly at that. Not at what Bular had suggested, no. He was more frightened that Bular hadn’t taken the latter option. What was wrong with him? The old Bular would have jumped at the opportunity!

“... ja , I suppose that is a better idea,” Otto sighed, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck nervously. He needed to calm down. “With how the order is right now, the less bodies we have to cover up the better. Plus your arm is almost finished! Just some final touches on the wiring and it will be ready for fitting!”

“...good,” Bular muttered, letting out a simple nod as he settled back into his seat. Taking another whiff of the air, his face seemed to scrunch up as he detected something he didn’t like. Otto just assumed it was him until Bular let out a low growl. “We’ll need to find someplace else.”

“Pardon?”

“Other’s have been here, the most recent being a Troll that smells of parchment, but there are others. All of these scents are fresher than my own,” Bular confessed idly, turning to look at the rusted, patchy ceiling. Most of the holes were around the edges of the warehouse, but a few were still nearby. It was pretty, if not dangerous for a troll once the day came. “As much as I’d enjoy to see their stone gumble in my claws, the element of surprise is an element we need.”

Otto blinked once, twice, before nodding along. Perhaps hesitant Bular wasn’t so bad after all. What he lost in blood lust, he made up in strategy. Maybe that month in the barn did the Gumm-Gumm warrior some good. “Of course mein Prinz, I will have found something as soon as the sun sets.”

“Good, good,” Bular nodded back, before another thought came to mind. “And what of our enemies?”

For a moment, Otto had the utmost urge to lie. To say that everyone was just trying to fight each other. That Stickler only sought an end to the boy's life. Which was true. But he knew better then to hide his new found discovery. If the Trollhunter did get the Triumbric stones, then Gunmar could possible be...

“Ah, about that,” Otto winced as he mental saw all the possible ways Bular could kill him right now. “Do your remember the Triumbric stones? The ones tied to your father?”

Another pause, this time from Bular. He seemed just about ready to jump from his throne, till he remember the small, nesting human in his lap. For once, Otto was glad that little brat was around. It may have just saved his neck.

“...you better not be saying what I think you are,” Bular growled, claws digging into the throne’s arm. But when Otto said nothing more, Bular’s eyes began to glow in his rage. “So be it. We’ll just have to get one of the stones before they do.”

“What?!” Otto yelled, before quickly covering his mouth as he received a warning glare. They both froze as Trisha seemed to awaken, scrunching her face, before simmering back to sleep. Still holding his breath, Otto continued once again. This time, his voice in the loudest whisper he could muster. “My dark prince, just even getting the other two stones is almost unheard of! Not to mention we already have your father’s eye!”

“Oh? You do?” Bular asked, and suddenly Otto realized his error. But it was too late. “Then where is it?”

Otto took two steps back.

“Well, we don’t have it, per say. But I know where it is!”

Bular’s eyes narrowed. Otto continued.

“You see, since Sticklander is still the head of-”

“Enough,” Bular commanded, and Otto promptly shut up. Taking in a breath of air, Bular managed to wiggle his claws out of the indent they’d made and motioned Otto to leave. “When you come back later tonight, we will plan to get the other two stones. Now go, before I rip your eyes out and feed them to the Goblins.”

And with that, Otto carefully made his way back to his car.

Once inside the confines of leather and metal, Otto Scarrback took in a deep breath of air, held it in his lungs, and placed his head ever so gently on the steering wheel. He never saw his life going like this. He should have stuck to lower level spy work. But it was too late now.

No rest for the wicked, it seemed.

It was about four hours later when Jim was summoned again. Having decided to just get some sleep in the forge, the SoothScryer woke him up from his wonderful nap on the floor like the world's most ridiculous flashing alarm clock. But of course, young James Lake Junior knew better then to hit snooze on a mystical alarm clock. So, still in his pj’s and half asleep, he fist bumped the opening of the SoothScryer and was greeted to nothing but the void. Well, that and it’s usual silence.

It only took him a few moments to realize that this silence lacking it’s usually white noise of troll whispers and musical wind whooshes. Gathering himself, Jim noticed that Kanjigar was there, standing in front of his statue stoically. Yet it almost seemed like he was the only one there.

“Uh...Good morning?” Jim hesitantly said, waving to Kanjigar as he made his way to the center of the ghost forge. “What’s with all the silence?”

“ The council has decided that they need more time to think, ” Kanjigar stated, already drawing his ghostly version of daylight and tossing it into the air. “ So it will just be you and I today, young Trollhunter.”

“More time to think? About what?” Jim asked, yet he had already pulled the amulet out to armor up. “About Bular, or about the Triumbric stones?”

Kanjigar charged, and Jim barely had enough time to block the hit. With in and instant, they were locked in combat.

“You said there wasn’t a way to kill Gunmar!” Jim yelled, dodging another swing as he aimed a swing at Kanjigar’s legs. It was quickly dodged. “And now the rest of the past Trollhunters don’t want to tell me about Bular? What kind of council is this?”

“The kind of council that aims to keep you, and Trollmarket, out of Gunmar’s clutches,” Kanjager stated, not even breaking a sweat as he swiped effortlessly at the boy. His ghostly gaze seeming slightly colder then normal. “You were lucky to even escape Gatto’s keep alive, let alone obtain the birthstone. The path you seek is treacherous, and leads not only yourself, but your friends in danger!”

Kanjigar buried his swords within the forge’s flooring, allowing Jim time to maneuver himself and gain some space. Kanjigar was a close ranged fighter, at least that’s what Jim had noticed. As long as he kept his distance, he had time to plan.

“With all due respect,” Jim began, rushing to get behind Kanjigar and as far away as he could. “It was because of my friends that I even got the first stone.”

“So you’ll rely on them to finish all your battles for you?” Kanjigar tauntingly asked, pulling his blade out and tossing it at Jim. He’d already summoned another sword just as the fist one hit the wall. “Need I remind you that their supposed “Bular-slayer” has yet to finish his fight?”

Jim made a dash towards Kanjigar, before dropping to his knees and power sliding under the ghost. Whether it was from the lack of sleep or just general annoyance, he was feeling a little extra today. So he did feel a bit of triumph as he epically dodged Kanjigar’s swing.

His joy stopped when he felt Kanjigar yank Jim backwards and toss him against the wall. With a satisfying clang, the young Trollhunter slumped to the floor, winded by the impact. Gasping for air, he dazedly took Kanjigar’s hand up and got to his feet.

“L-Listen,” Jim wheezed, resting his hands on his knees as air shakily entered his lungs. “Even Draal agreed to wait until Bular showed up to tell Vendal. Troll market was just starting to feel safe again. We didn’t want everyone to panic…”

“Hmph, funny,” Kanjigar commented, crossing his arms and giving Jim a rather pointed look. “You get on to us for keeping our secrets, yet you try to shield Trollmarket from your own? Do all humans act as hypocritical as you?”

Jim opened his mouth to say something, but quickly shut it when he realized his predecessor was right. Letting out a sigh, Jim let go of his previous grudge and dropped his anger. It almost caught Kanjigar off guard.

“I’m sorry,” He admitted, although a little hesitantly. “I understand you guys had this idea for what a Trollhunter should be, but I’m not it. But I do want what’s best for Troll Market! And so do you guys! And while everything I’ve done hasn’t been conventional, it’s worked. So if you just trust me, then...well, maybe I can start trusting you guys.”

Now it was Kanjigar’s turn to be stunned into silence. Without the voices of the council bursting in, their spirits stuck in the ways of old...well, it allowed Kanjigar to think for a moment. And just for a brief moment, the old Trollhunter allowed himself the pleasantry of believing Jim. Perhaps it was the hopefulness of the boy’s tone, or how deep down, Kanjigar had once been that naive.

“Trollhunter!” a voice, firm and very much alive, cut through Kanjigar’s thoughts as if they were daylight themself. And with it, Kanjigar was pulled back into reality.

“My Son,” He began, his gaze seeming far off. “He seeks you! There is trouble in Trollmarket. An intruder! Go!”

“An intruder? How’d he get in?” Jim asked, seeming just as perplexed as Kanjigar was. But there was no time for that.

“Go!” Kanjigar yelled, pointing at the void as it started to dissipate around Jim.

Within moments, Jim and Draal were running out of the forge and deeper into Troll Market.

Aaarrrgghh was a simple troll. He knew that, and he knew others knew that, and he was alright with it. He didn’t have to be exciting or extraordinary, he just had to be himself. And he rather enjoyed that. He knew he was big and strong, he knew he liked plastics and cat food, and he knew he’d always be there to protect his friends.

So when he heard Blinky’s shouts from outside the library, Aaarrrgghh didn’t care that he didn’t look like Aaarrrgghh. Aaarrrgghh didn’t care that all he could find to cover himself up were some of the old drapes Blinky had snagged from the surface a few days ago. Aaarrrgghh didn’t even care that he probably could fight as well as his old body could.

All he cared about was protecting Blinky. And that’s what he was going to do.

“How did you get in here? I won’t ask again” Jim’s voice was the first thing Aaarrrgghh could hear, and it didn’t sound good.

Rushing out of the Library like a colorful bat out of hell, Aaarrrgghh dodged and weaved between multiple trolls as he caught sight of Blinky, now fully dressed,  with Jim pointing Daylight dangerously close to Blinky’s face. Oh that wasn’t good at all!

“I do not appreciate your tone, Master Jim,” Blinky scolded, moving Jim’s sword aside to deliver a annoyed point. “Is the the way you address an errant stranger in need?”

It was at that point that Aaarrrgghh arrived, rushing over and stepping between Jim and Blinky. Jim pulled the sword up again for a second time, yet he lowered it as Blinky spoke.

“Aaarrrgghh, I thought I told you to wait till I returned?!” By now Blinky had side stepped to be by Aaarrggh’s side, seeming just as shocked as before. “And are you wearing the drapes I got out of the trash last week?”

“What the- another one?!” Draal, who’d been standing in the back for most of this, cried out. Instantly, his gaze shifted to all around them. “How many of you are there?!”

And poor Jim. Poor poor Jim. All he did for a solid minute was stare, his brain fiddling with exactly what to start with first. But after a few moments, he just settled on the obvious, and decided to go from there.

“Blinky? Aaarrrgghh?”

It was a rather eventful trip over to Vendal’s place after that.

Chapter Text

“Stay here for me to poke and prod, or enjoy your day in the sun.”

Those words seemed to echo in the back of Blinky’s mind as they climbed the stairs leading up to the surface. To be in the sun, in sunlight, was something many trolls both wondered and feared. Fools in the past, both scholars and risk takers alike, had tried to find ways for troll kind to weather the harshness of the sun’s rays, and all had failed. Goodness gracious, Blinky himself had seen one to many good trolls claimed by the day’s light in his lifetime.

But here they were, Blinky and Aaarrrgghh, possible the first two non-Trollhunter trolls to be able to step into sunshine and come back unscathed. He wouldn’t lie, the very thought of stepping foot out of the safety of the shade terrified him. But at the mere opportunity to see what no troll has never seen before. Well, he couldn’t let the chance slip by him.

“Blinky ok?” Aaarrrgghh spoke up, placing a reassuring hand on Blinky’s shoulder. Thankfully while getting diagnosed by Vendel, Draal and Jim were able to scrounge up some clothes that fit the poor fellow. He wasn’t as well put as Blinky was, only wearing a pair of loose fitting shorts and an odd looking shirt that read “I flexed and the sleeves came off”, but he’d been comfortable with the wares. Yet even his colorful ensemble couldn’t distract from the care and concern his voice held.

“Yes, yes,” Blinky responded, giving his old friend an equally warm smile. “I’m just as excited as I am nervous about all of this. Do you realize what this means for not only us, but all of Troll kind? If only I was able to see what potions I tossed into that gruesome Gatto’s gastrointestinal gloop, then perhaps we could-”

“Not going back,” Aaarrrgghh stated firmly, scowling at the memory of being eaten.

“Yeah, I’m gonna have to second that,” Jim piped up, turning around to give Blinky a slightly concerned look. “As cool as it would be, I’d really don’t want to risk you not coming out next time.”

“Oh come now, if we formed a plan I’m certain we could outwit that rapscallion,” Blinky replied, but he was already conceding the idea. They had too much on their plate to go spelunking for potion ingredients anyway. Not when they still had to find the other two triumbric stones.

By now, they’d manages to get to the top of the stairway, and Jim was already getting to work carving them a doorway. Whether he meant to or not, Blinky reached over and took Aaarrrgghh hand in his own. It maybe have been covered in flesh and skin now, but he’d recognize the feel of those calluses anywhere.

“You ready?” By now, they were standing right where the shade met the sun. Jim was already on the other side, giving them a kind smile. He held out his hand for both Blinky and Aaarrrgghh to take, if they wanted too. “Don’t worry, it’s not gonna hurt.”

Yet both Blinky and Aaarrrgghh paused, turning to each other nervously. As if waiting to see what the other would do. After a few moments, Blinky took a deep breath.

“On the count of three,” Blinky declared, steeling his nerves. “We’ll both take a step out, and it’ll mark our first steps on this interesting adventure. What do you say?”

Aaarrrgghh didn’t say anything, but the way he let out a hum and nodded, as well as he growing confident smile on his face, spoke volumes. They each reached out and took one of Jim’s hands gripping on tightly. Holding as if it was their very last.

“One,” Jim began, his tone ever excited.

“Two,” Aaarrrgghh’s voice rumbled out, only slightly hesitant.

“Three!” Blinky yelled, just before he and Aaarrrgghh were yanked out of the shadows.

Despite himself, Blinky had already gotten ready to feel the painful sting that came with the day. His mind was already spinning ahead to when they would place his dead, stony body in the Library next to Aaarrrgghh’s and how Vendel would probably have some biting remark about his extrinsic nature.

Yet it never came.

Instead, all that he felt was, well...warmth.

Slowly opening his two eyes, Blinky blinked as he took in his surroundings. Patting himself down, he noted how his body seemed completely fine. No crumbling or stiffening anywhere. Even Aaarrrgghh looked just the same as he had been moments ago, even if he still hadn’t opened his own eyes.

“There you go.” Jim declared, as if he’d just lifted someone of the ground rather than anything. “See? You guys are fine.”

Yet his words simply feel on deaf ears. Blinky rushes out from under the bridge, pulling Aaarrrgghh along with him, and looked into the sky. Above him was sight he had never seen before, not in all his centuries of living. An almost orb like shape in the light blue sky, so luminescent that it hurt to stare. But for those few precious moments, Blinky couldn’t look away.

“It’s so…”

Oh, ow. Alright, yeah now it was starting to hurt.

“Bright!”

“Yeah, well, don’t stare at it.” Jim exclaimed, trying to to laugh at the whole display. He was already following Blinky back under the bridge, just interested to see how everyone was reacting.

“And warm,” Aaarrrgghh practically hummed as he held open his arms,now accepting the sun’s rays. He still hadn’t opened his eyes, however. At least, not until Blinky bumped into him, and sent them both stumbled backwards. Squinting in the new light, he was able to keep his footing and keep Blinky from stumbling over at the same time.

Yet before Jim or Aaarrrgghh could talk more, no doubt about the weather, Blinky was already rushing forward, eyes still getting use to the brightness around them. “Master Jim, I want to see more!”

By the time Jim and Aaarrrgghh had caught up, Blinky was already scrambling up the side of the canal. It was a bit of a struggle, mostly because his new state left him taking three steps where normally he would have taken one, but he was able to manage. With in moment, all three were up on top of the bridge. And still Blinky could not contain his excitement.

“I’ve seen the surface so many times, but never like this.” he exclaimed, gripping the bridge in pure delight as he took in the view. Simply astonished, he pushed himself away from the ledge and took a few steps back, trying to see even more. Thankfully, before he got in the road, Aaarrrgghh grabbed his hand and pulled him back onto the sidewalk. “It’s so...beautiful.”

It was at that time a random automobile drove by, carelessly tossing an aluminum can to the ground. Or, what would have been the ground, had Aaarrrgghh not caught it. “Hm, Snack.”

“Aaarrrgghh no-” Jim began, but it was too late. Aaarrrgghh had already bitten down on the can, and made a decent sized dent in it before his senses alerted him that this was no longer food. His face contorted into an odd mix of shock, horror, and subtle sadness at the taste of his meal.

“Not good…” he muttered, rather dejectedly at that.

“Oh? Here let me try,” Blinky exclaimed, already grabbing the can from Aaarrrgghh. Jim rushed forward and, thankfully, snatched the can away. “Master Jim!”

“You guys can’t eat trash anymore,” Jim responded quickly, holding the can out as far as he could with two fingers. He was already looking around for a trash can. “C’mon, I’ll take you back to my place and see what we have in the fridge…”

---------------------------------------------

When Draal had gotten back to the Lake’s residence, at least earlier that morning, he’d been looking forward to having the house all to himself. Strangely enough, the awkwardly small abode started to get a little cozy after awhile. Maybe it was the fact that it felt much more livid in then before. Maybe it was the fact that his old place held to many memories of his father. Either way, it still held an odd, special place in his heart that he would never, not in a million centuries, admit too.

So when he got back, he didn’t know why he felt...off.

Waiting until the Barbara left to go to work, Draal marched up the stairs and began searching the house like mad. He could feel it in his horns, something wasn’t right. It only took him roughly an hour to figure out why, however, when he examined the window near the television and saw huge, cloven tracts leading from the window towards the forest. After rushing off to get a broom, the sun was still shining in after all, he managed to unlock and open the window.

As the spring breeze blew in, carrying all sorts of smells with it, Draal felt his blood run cold.

Everything clicked into place.

“Deya’s grace…” He gasped, before making his way deeper into the house. His mind raced as he tried to figure out exactly when Bular arrived. And more importantly, where had Draal himself had been during it. He would have heard the disgrace lumbering up, would have smelled him a mile away. But he hadn’t…

Because he’d been down in Trollmarket after Stricklander left, only rising up to fetch the Trollhunter when the council had summoned him. But the Barbara had been here. The Barbara had been home and Bular had been right outside. He could have gotten her and gobbled her up in an instant. He could have ripped her to shreds in a blink of an eye. He could have taken her away and used her as bait.

And it would have been Draal’s fault entirely.

Suddenly, allowing the Changeling to live last night seemed far, far less important matter.

He allowed himself to stew on this as he awaited for the Trollhunter to return, seeing as he’d forgone his “school” in favor of staying with Blinky and Aaarrrgghh. Which was probably a smart idea, considering everything that had happened. Yet he was thrown in a bit of a loop when a very green, very small changeling crawled in through an open window.

“Sup Spikey,” the changeling called, alerting Draal of his presence and already making himself at home.

“What are you doing here, impure,” Draal practically spat, reaching over and plucking the cretin up before he could crawl any further into the house. Clearly, that had been a bit of a sore spot for the little fool, as he started squirming instantly.

“Hey! Let go of me scruff! I just came here to see if it was true!”

That statement seemed to put Draal on even more alert, by now pulling the changeling right up to his face, mustering the worst glare he could. Despite everything, his trust in this snot colored being was not the greatest. After all, once the bridge had collapsed, he scuttered off into whatever pipe he could have. And if he knew that Bular was back, who knows if he’d switch sides again. “If what was true?!”

“Easy, easy!” the changeling yelped, holding his tiny hands up defensively. “If sir-talksalot and the big guy were really humans! What pissed in your cornflakes?”

Realizing that he was acting a fool, Draal sighed and placed the changeling back onto the ground. Of course, no doubt the Trollhunter had told his friends, and one of them had told this disgrace. Or perhaps some one in Trollmarket had, seeing how there were a few popular gossipers around.

“My apologies,” Draal said, rubbing his living hand over his face as he let the tension leave his body. He was already making his way to the couch, taking a careful seat as he gathered himself. “But how did you find out about that already? Last time I checked, you are still filling in for that human whelp, correct?”

“Ah, it’s nap time, and Mum’s busy with her city council stuff,” the changeling huffed, dusting himself off as he took a seat next to Draal. He’d already grabbed the remote off the tiny table in the middle of the room, turning the television on and surfing the channels. “Also, Bagdwella called me.”

“Ah,” was all Draal said, not even the bit surprised. He turned his attention to the tv, mostly in an effort to alleviate the awkward tension building in the air now. By now the Changeling still hadn’t settled on what to watch, as multiple pictures flicker past the screen.

“...so, what were you talkin’ about?”

“Pardon?”

The Changeling gave Draal a simple look, narrowing his eyes and crossing his arms. “Don’t play dumb. You said “if what was true” like i’d just discovered ya waltzin’ with the lamp post! Spill the beans, what dirt do you got?”

Draal snatched the remote out of the Changeling’s hands and put an end to the flickering of the tv. Now it simply settled on some sort of grappling match, something Draal had gazed upon occasionally. When he was bored, of course. Not because he actually enjoyed human entertainment, no! That would be silly!

“Nothing of your concern,” Draal quickly stated, before opening the remote and, in a swift motion, slammed the batteries into his maw. He smirked as the changeling threw a fit, but the deed had been done. Batteries were usually a little tart for his tastes, but he was more so trying to get the changeling to drop the subject. At least for now.

“Aw c’mon man! Now we're gonna have to get up to change the channel!” The Changeling exclaimed, tossing his hands into the air in annoyance. Draal simply smiled.

“Or you can shut your maw and watch.”

And that had been the end of that. Mostly because the duo managed to get dragged into the display as one human smacked the other with a metal folding chair. Thank Gorgus for violent displays of strength.

Still, even with the warning, Draal was a little disturbed when a still human Blinky and Aaarrrgghh walked in behind Jim.

“Holy- and here I thought you two couldn’t get any uglier!”

Greetings were short, seeing as the two new humans were a little more interested in the world around them verses the people nearby. They hadn’t even batted an eye to the Changeling like Draal had.

“Ha ha, need I remind you that if you need to see something worse, there’s a mirror in the hallway,” Blinky had began, already reaching into the fridge and pulling out multiple items as he set them onto the counter. He seemed unaware, or rather, completely uncaring of the odd looks he was getting.

“Not nice,” Aaarrrgghh stated, currently too preoccupied with just touching everything, feeling how the textures and temperature differed from item to item. However, his eyes lit up when his hand brushed against one of the dish rags, and instantly it was wrapped around one of his fists. “Hm, soft.”

Draal just stared, his mind still struggling to connect the whole scene together. The fact that these two people were Blinky and Aaarrrgghh, it still didn’t connect all the way. Perhaps it was his old ties to changelings in whole that made the whole ordeal more awkward for him, or maybe it was the absurdity of it all. Either way, there were more important matters at hand then his bias and uneasy feelings.

“Trollhunter, there is something you need to see,” Draal had stated rather matter of factually, and as hushed as he could. Already he was calmly making his way into the living room, glad that the changeling was distracted with teasing the two humans instead of snooping to gossip. “Alone.”

“Uh, alright?” Jim responded hesitantly before following after. Bowl of leftover still in hand, he quirked his eyebrow at Draal’s secrecy. “What’s up? Did something happen while I was gone?”

“Bular has returned,” Draal began, not bothering to beat around the bush with this. “More importantly, his defeat has seemed to have made him bolder. ”

Jim scowled, letting out a huff as he set the bowl down on the counter.  “Yeah I know. Kanjigar t- wait, what do you mean bolder? And how did you know about-”

“Look out the window and tell me what you see.”

“ ...oh no. ”

Rushing to the window, Jim Lake Jr leaned against the windowsill and peered out, his gaze following the trail to the woods. Draal could see how his grip tightened, threatening to break the wood itself. “This is bad. Like, this is very bad! Why didn’t you stop him?

“I’d been in Trollmarket for most of the night, only rising to fetch you.” Draal confessed, the guilt in his voice rising. He clenched his own fists, feeling a wave of determination rising with in him. “But it will not happen again. From this moment on I, Draal the deadly, will not leave this house. Not until that scourge Bular is nothing but rubble. This I swear.”

Jim just stared for a moment, before letting out a sigh and leaning against the wall. He seemed to simmer down, just barely. “...first Strickler, and now Bular both know where I live. Ugh, I might as well invite that weird troll guy for dinner, complete the trifecta of people who want me dead...Maybe the council was right, maybe I need to stick around here first before we go and get the other two Triumbric stones.”

“...No, keep on the search.”

Jim snapped his gaze to Draal, eyes wide. “What?! Why? No offense Draal, but right now isn’t exactly the best time to be leaving the house-”

“Trollhunter, if these stones are the key to defeating Gunmar, then it’s your sacred duty to make sure they’re out of our foe’s hands.” By now, Draal had shifted his posture, standing a little taller, a little more determined then before. “The longer you wait, the more likely they will fall into the wrong hands. Or worse, be lost forever. ”

Suddenly, Blinky rushed in, bumping into Draal just as he had finished. Not even bother to give the duo a glance, Blinky made a quick pivot near the stairwell, before gracelessly crashing into the wall across from the stairs. “This is absurd! How can you only function with two eyes?”

Jim and Draal seemed to share a look, before turning their gaze back to the kitchen. By now Aaarrrgghh had found more towels and rags, and had taken to holding as many as he could. He seemed only mildly concerned, while the changeling was having a hysterical laughing fit.

“Okay,” Jim began, not really sure what to draw to attention first. “What was that about?”

“Bathroom.” Was all Aaarrrgghh said, earning a slightly cringe at the connotation.

“Right, uh, anyway,” Jim turned back to Draal, trying to switch the conversation around. “Did anything else happen last night?”

Draal felt his face contort before he’d even spoken a word. The awkwardness was more painful then when his arm was sunstained away. “About that, while you were searching for the stone, that changeling Stricklander dropped your mother off outside.”

“Yeah, I know. I sorta caught him on the way out,” Jim scowled, aiming his glare at the floor.

“But, maybe you did not see he…uh” Draal trailed off, disgust visible on his face as he pressed his fingers together. He was never good a stuff like this. “... smushed faces with the Barbara.”

“He what?!”

“What is the word you use,” Draal paused for a moment, knowing it was on the tip of his tongue. “ Kissed ?”

It was pure chaos at that.

The changeling, who had decided to listen in rather then insult Aaarrrgghh, began to laugh as if it was the only way he could breathe. Within moments the green little scumball was rolling on the floor. Aaarrrgghh, on the other hand, seemed a bit sympathetic, wincing at the situation entirely. Jim just slammed his hand down on the counter, outraged, and Draal followed the action not a second later. “I should have struck him down.”

“Yeah you should have!” Jim began, before realizing his own error. Already he was running a hand through his hair. “I mean no! Ugh, no. He has a spell. If anyone hurts him, it hurts my-”

And then, without warning, the ever familiar sound of the Lake’s family car locking shut echoed from outside. Instantly, Draal himself made a beeline to the basement, simply going through the motions. As he slammed the door, he caught Aaarrrgghh dashing out the back door and the Changeling struggling with Jim about going into the freezer or not. Deciding that this situation could do a lot better off without him around, he shut the door and locked it.

Picking up the trick he learned from Claire, Draal shuffled towards the main pipe in the middle of the basement, pressing his ear close as he heard the conversation above. He bit back a laugh as he heard the Barbara surprisingly send Blinky onto his back, judging by the thump that echoed from above. But within moments, they were ushered out of the house by Toby and Claire, and the home was once again empty.

Draal waited till he heard the Barbara to go upstairs, as she usually did after her shifts, to move around. He didn’t want to stir up to much noise, after all. But now that he was on his own again, with only the heater downstairs to keep him company, he allowed his mind to wander. Perhaps, there was a different way of dealing with Bular. Perhaps, if he was quick enough and had the right cover, he could challenge Bular head on and nip this situation in the bud. Perhaps he could leave at sun set, weapon in hand, and finish what the Trollhunter had started. If not for himself, or his father, then for the friends he had made along the chaotic time…

And then, suddenly, there was never a perhaps at all…

Come sunset, Draal was shuffling out the back door and out into the woods, tracking Bular’s scent as best he could.

Everything had been going well, at least, that’s what Bular had assumed. When the whelp had waken back up, he’d given her order to stay near the warehouse, but allowed her to explore all she wanted. He had more important things to plan, such as his revenge, and it would be easier to do it without the little brat bothering him every two minutes. And for a while, that worked out great. He’d moved to a nearby wall, scraping out different battle ideas on the worn bricks and concrete. And if he ever wondered where the child was, he just had to pauses and listen, and he’d find out she was only a few feet away, roping the goblins into whatever odd game she had planned.

Yes, for the most part, the day went by easily. But by now the sun was already starting to set, and that foolish changeling was nowhere in sight. He’d even sent the goblins out to “remind” him, but even they hadn’t returned yet.

He was getting annoyed. He didn’t like this, to be ignored for so long. Just because he was weaker then he used to be didn’t mean he should be forgotten for so long.

“Bular, I’m bored!” a small voice suddenly cried out, and Bular felt the familiar shape of Trisha slumping onto his back, her voice muffled as she landed face first. “And hungry...Can we go now?”

“Quiet,” Bular muttered, leaving his gaze on the scratch out planes he had. He scowled as he realized a flaw in one, and crossed out the idea with a quick swipe. “If he does not arrive when the moon is high, then we will leave.”

“Ok,” Trisha mumbled, yet did not pull away. Bular just allowed her to be, seeing as it’d be more trouble peeling her off then allowing her to stay…

At least, that’s what he though, until she started scrambling up his back and onto his shoulders. By the time he’d manage to catch her, she’d already gotten behind his horns, and was holding on rather tightly. Her tiny arms were no match for him, however, and she was easily plucked off.

“Don’t,” Bular ordered, giving the child a glare. “I am not a playground. Do it again and I’ll just-.”

“-Eat me,” Trisha retorted, not the least bit frightened. She even giggled as he let out a snort, as if he wasn’t some sort of murderous being that could devour her in an instant. It was almost insulting. But then after a moment, she seemed to get that ever familiar curious look on her face.  “But why?”

“Why what, flesh bag?” Bular growled, lowering the child back onto the ground and returning to his planning.

“Why do you say you eat people?” Trisha began, shoving her hands into her pockets and kicking a nearby vespa tire. “...Do humans taste good?”

Bular paused, the question drawing him away from his scheming. He found his gaze falling onto the child, and he debated whether to tell her the truth. Not a moment later, he was mentally slapping berating himself for it. Of course he’d tell her the truth, what kind of Gumm-Gumm would he be if he hadn’t.

“It depends,” Bular mused, honesty echoing in his voice. He smirked as she looked a little surprised, before leaning over and poking her in the chest, sending her stumbling back a little. “You’re far too scrawny for my tastes. But give me a human that’s plump and in their prime, and I’d call that a decent meal.”

“...so you did eat someone before?” Trisha asked again, not smiling anymore. There was something in her voice, it made whatever smug smile Bular had fade away. A new feeling rose within him, but he couldn’t recognize it for the life of him. “...Where they a bad guy?”

Bular’s mind flashed back to the two men in the forest, to the night guard not a month earlier, then finally, to the women with the piercing green eyes. True enough, he never knew them. He never needed to. Food was food. But now, they were something more. The idea of morality, of whether someone deserved to be eaten or not…

He didn’t know why, but that concept irked him more then just randomly picking someone off.

“...I don’t know,” Bular confessed, looking back at his plans. He didn’t say anything more on the matter. And for a moment, neither did the whelp.

She seemed to be staring intently at the floor, her little mind working itself into figuring whatever it wanted to out. It would be an enigma to Bular, after all. He had come to expect the unexpected with her. And once again, he proved her right.

“...Do you have to eat people?” Trisha asked again, not looking Bular in the eye. She didn’t seem sad, however. The tone was more curious, as if her little mind couldn’t wrap around the fact that Bular had just admitted murder. “Can’t you just eat chicken and deer?”

Ah, innocence. It would truly get this child killed.

Letting out a sigh, he made his way over and stood in front of the child. After a second of them just sitting there, he reached over and plucked them of the tire pile. Before he knew it, he was kneeling down so that they were as eye to eye as he could allow himself. “I can, but it’s not enough, child. Only the flesh of a human or the energy of the Heartstone can sustain a troll.”

He didn’t know why he was being so soft about it. She needed to know this for when the Gumm-Gumm’s finally arrived. She needed to know so she would be prepared. Then, when his father was here and they were ruling the world side by side, this little whelp wouldn’t come scurrying up asking for a favor. At least, that’s what he told himself.

“Oh, ok,” Trisha said, and started to smile. It was a little startling, a Bular had not expected that at all. He’d expected at the absolute least, another pouting fit. And at the worst, tears. But for the whelp to look so cheery, it made him feel a little uneasy.

“Why are you smiling?” He asked, starting to rise to his feet.

“You said you need a heart stone, right?” Trisha asked again, the warmth returning to her voice and just fitting so well there. “I’ll get you one! Then you don’t have to eat no body!”

Ah, that’s why she was so happy.

“That’s not how it works,” Bular began, but he couldn’t hide the smirk on his face. He went to cross his arms as he lectured, but realized once again that he was missing one. Oh well, not like anyone else was here to see that blunder. “The Heartstone is deep in Trollmarket, and no doubt bigger than this building.”

“So we’ll go there!” Trisha exclaimed, already scurrying off to get her back pack. She practically shoveled whatever she’d taken out back in, as well as some extra garbage she’d found in the warehouse. “Where’s Troll market?”

“Don’t be foolish, we can’t go there.” Bular retorted, rolling his eyes as he shuffled to the front door. Poking his head out, Bular tried to see if he could smell anything nearby, hoping to catch the stench of Otto. “Neither you nor I would be allowed.”

Except maybe she would, seeing as the amulet had chosen a human to be it’s champion. And human who, as Bular bitterly remembered, bested him and almost sent him to the grave. He let out a subtle growl at the memory.

And then he growled at something else, as a familiar scent graced his nose like rotten milk.

“Why? It’s Troll market, right? You’re a Troll.” By now the whelp had gather her things and was already behind Bular, eyes sparkling at the idea of Troll market. Suddenly she stopped, dead in her tracts. “Are they bullies? Is that why they-”

“Get back inside,” Bular growled, feeling his mane begin to stand on ends. Well, It’d never done that before. “ Now. ”

“What, why?” Trisha gaped, before being pushed inside as Bular stood guard. She kept near the wall, however. “What’s going on?”

Bular didn’t say anything, instead keeping his gaze focused on the path ahead.

With in an instant, a familiar blue form rolled into view, crushing trees and shrubbery behind him. Bular felt his anger surge, but was quickly met with realization that Draal was not going to stop. Bular leapt out of the way, and realizes just a second too late that the old Trollhunter’s son was going to crash into the building. He felt his heart drop into his stomach as Draal plowed right through the old bricks and concrete, and right into the heart of the warehouse.

Bular rushed inside, his gaze shifting until he spotted Trisha, who’d thankfully, darted out of the way and behind some tires. His relief was short lived as he heard an ever familiar voice speak up.

“Bular,” Draal practically spat, unfurling and getting into a charging position. Now out in the open to see, Bular noticed how Draal’s seemed to be missing an arm, as the shiny gold prosthetic stood out boldly from his usual blue skin. Bular’s memory flickered back to how Draal managed to pull the amulet from it’s perch on Kilahead bridge, and he felt his blood boil. “I see I’m not the only one who is missing some parts.”

“You were foolish to come here,” Bular snarled, lowering his horns to the ground and making a running start. “And it will cost you your life!”

“Funny, I was about to tell you the same thing!”

And like that, the battle was on...

Chapter Text

The familiar sound of stone clashing against stone echoed around the warehouse, almost music to Bular’s ears. His horns grinding up against his foe’s, the sharp scent of fresh wounds piercing the oil and rubbery scent, even the way each landed blow brought him pain; he relished all of it. Even as he could tell that Draal, with his new arm and fierce spirit, was winning. He was enjoying himself. He hadn’t had a true fight in months, and despite the unease he felt with the whelp nearby, Bular finally felt like himself again.

By now the warehouse had a good noticeable amounts of holes and dents within its structure. It was a miracle that it still stood tall.

“Is this all you have?” Bular taunted, grinning ferociously. He spread his arm wide, and hoped that Draal would not catch where his gaze darted to, over his own head and towards an untouched tire pile. But before he could get a good glimpse, Bular felt a metal hand collide with his stomach, knocking the air out of him.

Crumbling for a second, Bular reached out to grab Draal’s arm, digging his claws in as he was pushed back against a nearby wall. Despite the pain, Draal gritted through it and leaned in close. “Your arrogance knows no bounds, and it will be your downfall!”

Bular simply snarled, before delivering a decent headbutt to Draal’s nose, causing the blue troll to stumble back. Bluish purple blood oozed out of the Troll’s nose, coating his nose ring almost like a vibrant new paint. Seeing his chance, Bular crouched down before springing toward Draal, burying his hons in his opponents abdomen. Tires and old Vespa parts were sent flying in the scuffle.

The problem with this, however, is that while Bular could pin Draal onto the ground if he wanted, he couldn’t hold him for long. Again, only having one arm meant having a side to be able to escape out off, as well as less frontal support. So he was forced to keep his horns on the troll, almost as if he was trying to do a handstand. Oh if he only had his blades, then he could have finished this fight ages ago!

“Did you think you could defeat me so easily?” Bular roared, still digging his horns into Draal’s gut. He took great pleasure in how the blue troll’s back scraped against the concrete flooring, leaving deep gouges in its wake. “You couldn’t back then, what makes you think you can now?”

Draal squirmed and gritted, already feeling the puncture wounds start to bleed. Yet he couldn’t give up, he couldn’t end here. He had people depending on him, he had to avenge his father! He couldn’t afford to loose.

“The only thing you were ever good at was fighting, Draal. And even then, your father was leagues better then you,” Bular goaded, allowing his rage to pour out. His blood lust was only spurred on by the other troll’s essence dribbling down his face. “To call you a warrior is not only an insult to trolls, but to warriors across the globe!”

Suddenly, as Draal’s back collided with the adjacent wall, an idea graces his batter, beaten head.

“Don’t be so quick to doubt me, Bular,” Draal gritted, watching as his hands shot out and grabbed Bular by his horns. “Unlike you, I learn from my mistakes!”

Seeing that he finally had a decent vantage point, Draal pulled the Gumm-Gumm off of his chest and, in a fluid motion, flipped over Bular. Still gripping his horns, Draal used the momentum to fling Bular as far as he could, grinning as he was practically shot through the wall and out into the woods again. The warehouse shook, drywall and dust scattering at the tremors. Yet it did not fall, not yet.

Draal made his way outside, limping as he walked. His living hand laid clutched around his gut, pressed to keep the blood inside. Across from him, Bular laid under a few broken trees, looking just as bloodied, if not more so. He seemed dazed, as one would be when one was flung through a brick wall.

Draal felt a satisfied smirk grace his face as he got closer, reaching over and grabbing a nearby piece of concrete that got dislodged from the building. He was so caught up in the moment that he failed to notice the sound of little feet scampering behind him.

Bular just stared at him, his eyes unfocused as he tried to gather himself. He could tell that he was outside, but that was it. Everything had blurred together, almost as if he was looking at someone’s failure of a painting. The world was spinning...

“This ends now ,” Draal declared, panting as he tried to regain his breath. By now he was looming over Bular, his piercing yellow eyes full of determination. “This is for my father, and every other life you’ve taken...”

And then he felt it.

Wood beating against the crystal hide of his back. And now there was screaming, loud and high and filled with raw emotion. Draal, only confused, turned around to see who the assailant was. Yet by then, she had darted around to Bular’s side, weapon still drawn.

It was a little fleshbag whelp, glaring back at him, rage burning in her emerald eyes.

“L-leave us alone!” She screeched. Draal could practically smell the fear coming off her. Yet there she stood, armed with only a wooden bat. For Gorgus sake, her knees were practically shaking. “Y-You big bully!”

She went to swing again, and this time it connected with Draal’s hand, yet he barely felt any pain. He just stared as this small, tiny thing went to town, screeching and giving everything she had.

And for a moment, Draal hesitated.

Then he remembered Changelings, and Draal felt pure, blinding rage rise within him.

With a quick swoop, Draal dropped the slab and grabbed the possible changeling by her shirt, lifting her up to try and get her scent. Yet the blood still trickling out of his nose prevent him from making a defined guess. Still, his mind raced to conclusions.

“You dare take the form of a child, impure ?” Draal growled, shaking in fury. “You are nothing but a coward. Face me in your true form, or-”

And then, in quick flash of ebony stone skin and blind fury, Draal felt his prosthetic get ripped right off of his body. Before he could even react, Bular was already biting down on the metal limb, causing it’s gears to loosen their grip on the changeling and let her drop to the ground. Draal, on the other hand, had been shoved back towards the warehouse, hitting the last stable line of support. Stumbling over the debris and ruined parts, Draal could only watch as the building crumbled around him.

The last thing he saw was Bular, standing ever so protectively over the Changeling as he snarled right at Draal.

And then, a support beam landed on him, knocking him out cold.

Trisha and Bular stared at the warehouse, or rather, it’s collapsed remains. Bular could hear his own heart thumping heavily in his chest, his gaze locked on the rubble in front of him, waiting for Draal to scramble his way out of there. He lowered himself closer to the ground, growling as he waited for the dust to settle. When nothing moved for another minute, he allowed himself a moment to breathe.

“...that...was...awesome!”

And suddenly, the whelp was rushing about, excitement radiating from their tiny form. Bular just settled for sitting on the ground, watching as the child ran over to the rubble and gave it a good wack with her bat, before running back to him. Despite everything, she seemed just as excited.

“Did you see how cool you were?!” Trisha yelled, practically exploring with excitement. “You were all “wham” and “blam” and “I’m so cool I can your butt Draal” and then you tackled him in his gut and-”

And Bular just watched as this small, pathetic thing gushed about his strength. And the more she talked, the more he realized she wasn’t really pathetic at all. She’d tried to attack someone several times her size, someone who could have crushed her with ease . All because Draal had been fighting him.

Once again that weird, unnatural feeling filled his chest, and he didn’t know what to do with this surge of emotions.

“And I was all like “Back off you big bully!” and whacked him with my bat! And then you- you chucked him into the warehouse! And not there's not one anymore! That was so-”

Bular opened his mouth, allowing the metal hand to fall onto the ground. “Why?”

Trisha stopped, mid swing, as Bular’s raspy voice broke out. She just stared at him for a few moments, surprised that he wasn’t as pumped as she was. “Why what?”

“Why did you try to fight Draal?” Bular asked, his claws digging into the dirt. His mind swirled with confusion at this whole display. He didn’t feel anger, no, he felt something much worse. “I’ve taught you to hide when you see a troll, not charge at it!”

“But he was gonna hurt you!” Trisha stated, tossing her hands into the air and letting the bat fall to the ground. “What was I supposed to do, let my best friend get beat up?”

Bular was so shocked by that answer that he visible recoiled. He couldn’t help it, the idea was so foreign. It’s stunned him into another round of silence, his brain whirling with the fact that this being considered him her friend. A friend, who had needed her protection.

Bular the vicious, the brutal, then son of Gunmar ; friends with a fleshbag whelp.

A cocktail of self disgust, bitterness, and defeat rose up within him. But instead of a yell, instead of a snarl or a roar, all it came up was a laugh. Short and cheap and more like a gasp for air. And before he could stop himself, Bular was laughing, his booming chortles echoing around the clearing. He actually felt tears start to prick his eyes, and he even ran his dirty, blood stained hand over his face as he began to realize that...well.

The human wasn’t wrong.

He would have been bludgeoned to death if she hadn’t stepped in.

He would have been dead a month ago if she hadn’t fed and sheltered him.

And worst of all, he actually enjoyed having someone look at him like he wasn’t the biggest monster on the surface. Someone who was excited to see him, who didn’t fear him or think he would kill them in a moment’s notices.

“Oh Gorgus,” he muttered to himself, feeling the weight of everything crashing down on him. “I should have just eaten you...”

But he wouldn’t. He couldn’t now. He had made his own undoing and it was in the form of a six year old child.

By now the child had shuffled over, concern echoing through her soft green eyes. Bular realized, finally, that they reminded him of moss, soft and dark and welcoming . And Bular didn’t know what to do, because now, for the first time in a century, Bular had a friend and he was terrified about what that meant.

“We are friends... right?” Trisha asked, hesitantly.

“I don’t know,” Bular answered, honestly, because even he didn’t know. He slumped down to the dirt, letting the coolness of the ground sooth his aching wounds. He could already see where blades of grass had been stained with either his or Draal’s blood. It seemed to sparkle in the moonlight. His mind flickered back to Kodanth, the last person he would have called his friend. How was he fairing. What would he think of this?

What would his father think of this?

He felt the child rush up to him, barreling into his chest and hugging him. Absentmindedly, Bular curled his arm around her, completing the hug. Letting out a deep sigh, Bular just focused on the sound of the area around him.

“Well, you’re my friend, whether you like it or not,” Trisha answered, determinedly, before pulling away and opening her backpack. Bular didn’t answer back, even as the child began to put random colorful strips of paper all over his gashes. He just mused on his answer as the night carried on.

Thankfully, Otto arrived a short time later, now driving what Bular recognized as one of those moving vans.

As usual, the changeling promptly flipped his shit.

The gang had just finished their brush with Angor Rot, who they now knew because of the crazy face tattoo on Jim’s face, when NotEnrique called Toby.

It was late, and they’d just been walking back and gathering their bearings. By then the mark of “Angor Rot”, whoever he was, had faded away. Yet it was clear everyone was pretty shaken up by it. At the very most, Blinky and Aaarrrgghh were, often sharing nervous looks when they thought no one else was looking. Jim just had that look about him, the one Tobey had grown to know after all these years, that danced the line of self deprecation and generally upset. And Claire was busy trying to safe the situation with Toby, talking about how now at least they knew who the guy was. But man, it had shaped out to be such a great day before all this happened...

So, yes, when Tobai Domzalski picked up his phone, he didn’t really expect much. At the worst, maybe a really dumb crank call.  At the best, hopefully something to lighten the mood.

Instead he got something way worse.

“Hey, NotEnrique, it’s not really a good time to-” Tobes already began, getting ready to shut the changeling down, but was cut off when he heard groaning on the other side. “Whoa hey, what’s going on? You sound like crap.”

“That ain’t me, tons-of-fun.” NotEnrique’s voice came out loud from the other side of the speaker, loud enough that Toby realized he’d accidentally turned speaker on. Whoops. “Turns out Draal’s been trying to live up to his title. Well, part of it-”

Jim was already by Toby’s side, leaning over to speak into the phone. “What happened? Did Bular try to swing by the-”

“Just come on over to the old Vespa warehouse, S’over by the west end sewer grates” NotEnrique yelled over, and the sound of rocks tumbling down managed to come through. “Jeez, big guy sure did a number on him…”

And before Toby could even ask for more details, the phone was promptly hung up, and for a small moment, everyone just remained really, really still.

Then, as if a switch was flipped off, everyone started running. Which was really funny cause Toby had no idea where the heck they were even going but well looks like Aaarrrgghh did, cause he was leading the charge with Jim and Claire right by him. Blinky had pretty much the same running speed as Toby, so lucky for him, he was able to get a quick game of catch up from the older troll.

“We have a Vespa factory?” Toby panted, doing his best to keep a steady jog as they rushed through the forest.

“ Had a Vespa factory,” Blinky proclaimed, still not use to running in his new form. “It closed down sometime in the 1950’s, if I remember correctly. We’d only discovered it to be Bular’s hideaway a few days after Master Jim-”

“Wait, you knew where Bular was before we kicked his butt?! ” Toby yelled, a little shocked. “Why didn’t you guys try to like, I dunno, get the drop on him with a bunch of other Trolls?”

“Oh please, everyone in Trollmarket feared Bular, and those who didn’t, never lasted long,” Blinky confessed, by now he was starting to break a sweat as well. “Oh curse this fleshy body, how do you all manage to run for long periods of time?”

Toby just shrugged, because in all honest he wasn’t the best at running. Which seemed really unfair, seeing how he actually looked decent in the jogging gear his Nana got him. Plus that windbreaker he managed to get from cashing in the chubby chaser points. But as the saying goes, you can’t be perfect at everything.

It took them about twentyish minutes to get to the warehouse. At least, that’s how long ago the call was from the time they managed to find the warehouse. But even calling it a warehouse was sorta not true, seeing as half it was collapsed. Heck, of it wasn’t because of NotEnrique, they probably would have passed it.

But no, they found NotEnrique, and Draal too. How’d they find them?

Well, cause Draal was currently being dug out of literally tons of concrete and steel. Okay, tons was a bit of an exaggeration, but it was still crazy to see the big guy pinned under a literal building.

“About time ya chumps showed up!” NotEnrique had yelled, failing miserably to move a kinda big rock out of the way. He’d still manages to do a decent job, having gotten Draal’s horns visible at least. “A little help here?”

And then just like that, it was a scramble to get the rocks and metal off of Draal and get him out in the open. Toby didn’t really remember much from the mad dash to clear everything aside, except that sometime during the panic Bagdwella has been called and brought one of those home depot trolls to help move Draal, seeing as the guy was knocked out and no one could really carry him. Dude weighed like, a ton.

And despite all the yelling and the questions and the trying to make sure Draal didn’t bleed out on the way back, it passed really, really fast. And the next thing Toby knew, they were in Trollmarket, casually waiting outside of Vendel’s weird little clinic.

It was just him and Jim now. Blinky had made a quick dash to his Library to grab some books to look through while they waited, and Claire and Tobey’s good old wingman offered to go on a food run, seeing as they probably weren’t going to leave Trollmarket for the night. They’d all be back eventually, but not in time for some good old damage control to be asset. And if Toby knew anything about Jim, it was when his best friend wasn’t feeling great.

And from the look on Jim’s face, he really, really wasn’t feeling great right now.

“Man,” Toby began, placing his back against the wall as they waited. “Who would have thought Blinky got your old Vespa parts from Bular’s old hideout.”

And for a moment, Toby didn’t know if Jim heard him. But then he saw how Jim’s sadden look fizzled out for a second, the realization hitting him. “No way, Bular was still around when Blinky first got the parts.”

“Yeah, but after you guy’s kicked Bular’s stony butt, that’s when you both really cracked down on the thing.” Toby added, smirking as he caught Jim’s mildly surprised glace. Then his own eyes widened as a horrible idea graced his head. He bit back a laugh, yet it was too late, seeing as Jim already caught him.

“What, what’s so funny?” Jim asked, starting to brighten up a bit.

“Do you think he ever tried to ride one? Like just this huge, brooding, killing machine; just riding around on a Vespa that’s way too small for him.” Toby cracked a smile, before letting a laugh escape him at the thought. “Like Strickler just walks in and he’s on one, trying to ride it but it won’t go but a few inches.”

“Oh god,” Jim rolled his eyes, yet a smirk was already on his face. “No, don’t. I don’t want to think about that poor Vespa.”

And Toby did what he always did, he continued. Because right now Jim needed to think of something else. And by god they were gonna go on about this. “No, I’m actually curious about this. Do you think he’d be all hunched over. And has to stick like, his pinkies out cause the handlebars are too small. Or do you think he just gets mad after he crashes it and eats it.”

“Tobes, stop,” Jim responded, elbowing his friend in the side. “Man, now i’m worried about my own Vespa.”

“Psh, you probably got a six sense for that now,” Toby teased, rolling his own eyes. “Remember when you woke up in the middle of the night cause you felt like something was off. And it turned out Goblins were eating your Vespa? That’s it, that’s your superpower.”

“Superpower? What am I, the Vespahunter?” Jim joked back, and for a moment, Toby thought he got him out of his funk. But then something flickered in Jim’s mind, and he let out a sigh as he realized something. He turned his gaze down at the ground. “I might as well be one...”

“Dude,” Toby began, already cutting his friend off before he could spiral downwards. Reaching over, he placed a hand on Jim’s shoulder, offering the most reassuring look he could. “Stop. You didn’t know any of this was gonna happen. I mean, if anything, who expects a weird shadowy assassin troll to ever be a thing? Or the fact that Draal pulled a solo mission? We didn’t even know Trolls existed like, a couple months ago!”

“But I’m suppose to keep everyone safe, Tobes.” Jim exclaimed, tossing his hands up into the air. “And from how everything’s going, I’m not doing a great-”

And the Jim stopped talking. Toby turned his gaze over, and caught sight of the familiar pale stone of Vendel’s legs, as well as the bottom half of his Heartstone staff. Catching his gaze, one fourth content and three fourths annoyed; both boys jumped to their feet, waiting for some good news.

“How’s Draal? Is he gonna be okay?” Jim asked first, already about to rush inside the infirmary. He was quickly stopped by Vendel’s staff.

“He will live.” Vendel replied after a few moments, seeming content with giving out the information. “Draal has never been one to give up so easily, no matter if it was a fight for his honor, or his life. But he need’s time to rest in order to recover…”

Jim and Toby let out breath they hadn’t know they’d been holding. Yet a new one was grasped right back in when Vendel another question. One from, how his tone of voice gave away, he already knew the answer too.

“Now. Would you mind telling me why, exactly , Draal kept muttering the name of a Troll you had supposedly slayed, Trollhunter?”

Bular had no idea where he was. Well, that was only slightly wrong. He had some idea where he was, but he’d never been inside this specific building before. It was a human living abode, closer to the edge of town, and relatively empty. The only reason Bular knew it was relatively empty was that it stank of Changelings. And Changelings, as far as he could remember, never really stayed home for long.

Yet it was when they finally entered the building, or rather, where they would be staying, that Bular pieced together where he was.

“The pink changeling,” Bular stated, absentmindedly, as he made his way inside. The place itself seemed scarely decorated, but he’d take that and the space it offered. Not too far behind him was Otto and Trisha, both varying levels of excitement. “This was her hut, correct?”

“ Ja ,” Otto replied, shutting and locking the door promptly when everyone was inside. He seemed even more tired than normal, bags showing under his eyes, his glasses a bit skewed.“Ever since she was sucked into the Darklands, we’ve been trying to figure out what to do with this place. But it’s been more of an afterthought then anything.”

“It will do,” Bular mused, already making his way to the simplistic couch and leaning on it. It lacked the give of the old couch on the farm, but his tired body didn’t seem to care. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught the child, still excited by the fight, scampering around, exploring their new, temporary home. Yet once she was out of sight, he motioned for Otto to come near. “Now, about the Triumbric stones…”

“Ah, right. Well, our knowledge is limited at best,” Otto yawned, too tired himself to worry about Bular killing him in a rage. “The only gem I’ve been able to get a decent location on is the Killstone. As in-”

“The one from my father’s first kill,” Bular mused, nodding along as he remembered the tale. He hadn’t been even born yet, but the story had always been one of his favorites as a whelp. “Still with the Qugawumps?”

“Yes, yes, from what my intel tells me, their new “king” wore it as a crown.” By now Otto had taken to standing near the window. He peeked out from the closed blinds for a second, before shutting them once more. “Utterly foolish-”

“Has your intel gotten the stone?” Bular asked, a bit of a growl in his voice. “Because it they just-”

“ Mein Prinz! ” Otto exclaimed, putting on a mocked shocked look. “Who do you think I am, Stricklander? I had the same field agent sneak and side and swap the jewel while the buffoon slept. It should be arriving in the mail by tomorrow night.”

And suddenly, Bular found himself not being angry at the Changeling anymore.

“...Good,” Bular replied, after a moment of letting it all sink in. Not being suddenly disappointed by a lackey? Wow, that was a first. “With at least one Gem out of the Trollhunter’s hand, we’ll be able to prevent them from gaining even a sliver of hope.”

Otto just stared back for a moment, and took Bular a second to realize that the Changeling seemed rather surprised himself. It took them both a moment to realize that they’d expected something else from each other once again. Otto cleared his throat, and Bular looked away, his gaze focusing on the wall.

“Speaking of the the Trollhunter, I suggest laying low while you recover.” Otto stated, a little hesitant. But when Bular didn’t say anything, he seemed to pick up in courage. “At least, until your arm is finished…”

And then Otto drifted off, catching sight of Trisha shuffling back into the living room, dragging a first aid kid behind her. Bular turned his gaze just in time to catch the child opening the odd looking box, pulling out more of those oddly colored paper strips. This time, however, these were plain.

Before Otto could stop her, she was already applying them to Bular’s wounds, why by now, had already sealed shut.

“What are these again?” Bular mumbled, settling on being annoyed rather then peeling the brightly colored strips off of himself.

“They’re band-aids.” Trisha replied with a smile, emptying the rest of the box as she got to work. They were too small to cover anything completely, so she settled of taping the gashes together, just humming along. “Whenever I got hurt, Grandpa would put a band-aid on and I’d feel better.”

“...Then continue,” Bular muttered, leaning his head back on the couch. Once again, he felt the small “band- aids” get placed upon him. He’d remove them in the morning, when everything solidified. If they did truly help his wounds heal, then he’d take it.

But then he felt Trisha stop, and when he cracked his eyes open, he caught sight of something oddly tender. By now, Otto had rushed off to the kitchen, grabbing a wet washcloth, and was busy cleaning the dried troll blood off of the Child’s hands and face, much to her annoyance. And while Otto did seem annoyed himself, Bular couldn't see the normal outrage he'd seen before. 

“Come now, you’ll scare someone to death if they see you like this,” Otto responded, not daring to look the child in the eye. “Hold still.”

“I can do it myself!” She responded, yet didn’t seem too upset. 

And for some reason, Bular didn’t seem to upset ether.

He fell asleep soon after, mostly due to exhaustion. 

Chapter Text

The museum was quiet, as it normally was at this time of night.

Down a few hallways, Bular could hear the sounds of music echoing from the employee’s room. No doubt the pink changeling, as she seemed to play her music whenever it was her turn for mail duty. He didn’t care for it, the human  music she listened too. It was more flighty then what he liked, preferring the sound of old war drums over the cry of a harp. Yet he allowed it, as it kept the night guards from hearing his footsteps.

Yet something was different about tonight.

Perhaps it was how the music seemed to echo around him, as if it had more reverb than before. Perhaps it was the fact that the changeling wasn’t humming along, which was something she always did. Perhaps it was when he looked outside, and saw that the night sky was completely devoid of stars.

Ether way, Bular continued onwards, trying to find the new guard Nomura had hired.

It was only when he got to the main room, where the bridge was being completed, that he realized it was already complete. He stared at it, his mind flickering to the fact that they still needed a good quarter of the pieces. There was no way it should be complete. Even the amulet was on top, glistening and glowing like the sun itself.

With a flash of light, Kilahead bridge opened up. Bular winced, squinting his eyes against the light, resisting the urge to back away from the burning light. When he’d finally felt the sting ease, he lowered his right hand to see two lone figures, standing side by side at the mouth of the bridge.

“Father,” Bular exclaimed, already rushing forward. “Father! I can’t believe it’s-”

And then the figure beside Gunmar launched himself at Bular, her dual Khopeshes aimed right at Bular’s chest. He’d barely had enough time to lift his arms up, letting them take the brunt of the blow. Sparks blew past as the figure, quick and cackling, swung blow after blow.

The music had started to crescendo, it’s once fluttery tone turning more loud and violent.

It took Bular a second to gather himself. And before he knew it, he was charging at the figure, confusion flickering throughout his mind. Within moments, she had backed off, and took to standing with the glow of Kilahead Bridge facing her. Finally in the light, Bular could tell who she was.

“Ah, and so the dark prince returns,” Nomura chuckled, already back in a fighting stance. “You really shouldn’t have~”

“You dare to challenge me, Impure?!” Bular roared, but was silence by a wave of his father’s hand. He turned his focus to Gunmar, and for a moment, felt a dash of fear as his blue eye burrowed into Bular’s orange.

“You were suppose to free me, my son,” Gunmar snarled, crossing his arms as he judged Bular. Disdain and outrage was simmering with his words. “You, who I made sure would flourish no matter what got in your way, were suppose to free us from this prison. Instead, even when you finally got all the pieces together, even when you were tasked with facing a human  Trollhunter; you failed .”

The music was deafening now, and yet his father’s words rang louder.

“It would have been better off if you’d died. At least then you would have remained my son.”

Suddenly, Nomura had charged at him, and once again he was driven back, unable to grab his blades without getting slashed. With each step, he felt himself get closer and closer to the portal at Kilahead bridge. In a desperate attempt to gain some ground, or at the very least stop, he went to swing his left hand as the opponent. Yet found it crumbling from his body, the living stone becoming grey and cracked.

Letting out a gasp, he’d given Nomura just the opening she needed. Using her leg, she shoved him back, and his now crumbling leg gave away.

Before he realized it, he was already falling down. Far past the floor of the museum, past the sewers, past everything. All around him was nothing but an empty void, devoid of any light, and warmth. Devoid of everything.

Bular remaining hand grazed the edge of the portal, and for a moment, he thought he could grab hold.

Then, from the other side, Bular watched as his father and Nomura closed removed the amulet, not even bothering to give him a parting glance.

And there he was, alone, floating in nothingness. No one was there; no Gumm-Gumms, no changelings, not even a blood goblin or two. Part of him knew that this was wrong, that the Darklands was at the very least a place, but the fear gripping his chest refused to let him understand.

And then he felt it.

A weight, ever so soft, on his right hand.

Steeling his nerves, Bular glanced down at his one good wrist, and saw a small chain of stars glistening around it. And in the center of it all, a waxing moon that shined like a beacon in the darkness. Watching as they shimmered and twinkled, Bular felt himself relax, as if he was finally still. Maneuvering his hand, he managed to take the Moon and hold it, letting its comforting glow soothe him.

And then, he woke up.

Blearily blinking awake, the first thing Bular noticed was that there was music in the air. The same song from the dream, yet thankfully, it was finishing up. The next thing Bular had noticed was that he was covered up in thick blanket, the material being some gaudy pink color. After that was the multiple upon multiple “band-aids” that covered his body, having done nothing but look tacky and stick to his skin. And finally, under the blanket and amongst the fading music, Bular smelled raw flesh.

Lifting his head sleepily, Bular was half awake as he slipped off the too small couch. Already making a beeline towards the scent, he hadn’t even bothered to shrug the blanket off, and allowed it to hang off him like the world's worst cloak.

“ Guten Tag, mein Prinz ,” a voice, high pitched as always, echoed from somewhere to Bular’s left. He paid it no mind as he made his way to the meat, finding it on a redish looking table. He didn't even bother to sniff it, already favoring scarfing down the meal.

It took him three bites to realize that the meat he was eating was human. It took him four to realize how quiet the room was, despite the music. It took him five to remember he’d left Trisha in Otto’s care last night.

Bular snapped his gaze at Otto, eyes wide.

“Where is she?”

Otto himself was dressed in his usual ensemble, dress pants with a dress shirt and suspenders, while eating what appeared to be a typical sandwich. He paused mid bite, as if realizing how bad this all looked. Quickly, he pointed to the window, swallowing his food with a slightly nervous gulp. “It’s not her! She’s outside, across the street. There a playground, the Goblin’s are watching her.”

Bular merely squinted, before moving his way over and peeking through the closed blinds. His eyes winced at the brightness. Thankfully, the sun wasn’t shining in through the window, or he would have burned himself blind. And true enough, Trisha was across the street, swinging on a swing talking with some other child while elders seemed to be scattered about. It took Bular a moment to notice where the Goblins were, hiding in a nearby tree, but when he saw them he felt somewhat satisfied.

“...So,” Otto’s voice called out, pulling Bular back inside. By now, the changeling had moved over to the table, pulling out a chair and taking a seat. He seemed...different, somehow. Bular couldn’t exactly tell what. “I have good news and bad. Which do you want to hear first?”

He didn’t answer until he was back at the table again, which was easy considering how small the apartment was. Returning to his spot, Bular proceeded to try and finish up the rest of his meal. He mused over the choices before going with what felt right. “The bad.”

“The warehouse incidents been covered by the news.” Otto began, adjusting his glasses as he pulled out that small, flashy communicator. With a quick swipe, he’d placed the object on the table for Bular to see. The picture showed off the carnage of the battle, yet it didn’t give the fight the justice it deserved. “And the few changeling’s I - we have in the police force didn’t notice any Troll remains.”

“So Draal survived…” Bular put together, his brow furrowing at the realization. He meant to end the fool then and there, but he’d been so caught up in his instincts that he’d missed his chance.

“Or crawled of somewhere else to die, if we’re lucky,” Otto mused, before pulling the phone back and slipping it into his pocket. He didn’t seem too upset over the whole ordeal. “But now, it’s time for the good!”

At this, Bular quirked an eyebrow as Otto’s serious gaze shifted into a sly smile. Getting up, the changeling rushed into the back room, leaving Bular alone with both there meals. As Bular waited, he leaned over and took a hesitant sniff of the sandwich, scowling at the scent of socks that came from it. He left the disgusting meal alone and finished up the rest of his meat.

Then, something dark and shiny caught his eye. Turning his gaze to the doorway, Bular caught sight of Otto holding up a large arm. And for a moment, Bular thought it was his old arm; completely restored and not at all turned to stone. But then his gaze focused quickly picked up on how the skin was too smooth, and how his old markings were not at all present. It was too sharp, too sleek to be the original.

Yet that didn’t mean it was bad.

“Tada!” Otto cheered, rushing over to Bular after allowing him a moment to look at his prosthetic. “It looks good, ja ?”

“It looks mean nothing to me,” Bular commented, although he was deeply glad it didn't look ridiculous. Removing the rest of the blanket, he allowed Otto to place the prosthetic on his body. “As long as it does it’s job, then it will be of value.”

Otto didn’t say much more after that, yet Bular heard a clear huff from his left. Nonetheless the arm was soon placed on and within moments, a strong force pulled the arm almost into Bular’s bare side. For a moment, he felt a mild panic as the metal clung magnetically to his stone, but it was quickly replaced by a new feeling. It was almost as if he’d been shocked, the electricity rushing through him. Reactively, his clawed fingers curled inwards, clenching into a fist. The prosthetic mirror his movements exactly, working like a charm.

Bular lifted his new hand, moving each metallic finger one by one. He watched with wide eyes, his mind getting use to the feeling of having both limbs again. He was so distracted that he practically tuned Otto out, just continuing to move his new joints. It was only when he remembered Otto was still there, still examining the limb and jabbering, that Bular got a sly idea.

Quickly, he took a swipe at Otto, watching with glee as his new arm soared through the air with ease. Okay, he was also smiling because Otto was sent flying into the wall, but he was happy the arm worked.

“It’s good,” Bular stated smugly, watching as Otto scrambled up and shot him a glare. By then he’d taken to resting the appendage on the carpeted floor, feeling only mild disappointment at its lack to feeling. It wasn’t going to be like his real arm, but it would do just fine.

“Well good,” Otto raspily replied, still trying to regain his breath as he examined the now Otto sized dent in the wall. “Because this was all I was able to get, so it was either this or the other arm you stole last night.”

“Other arm? Hold on,” Bular felt the smirk on his face grow into an almost stupid smile, amazed at the fact they may have gotten a trophy. “Did… did we take Draal’s arm with us?”

“It ended up in the car, so yes,” Otto responded, not looking Bular in the eye as he made his way into the kitchen. Emerging with an ice pack, he pressed it on the back of his head as he took his seat at the kitchen. “Although it won’t do us much good, seeing as you nearly bit the components apart, mein prinz.”

The last part seemed to be spat out, but Bular could care less. He was going to let himself indulge in his pride for a bit, and nothing could ruin it. “It’ll still be a worthy thing to taunt over.”

“Right,” Otto simply rolled his eyes, using his free hand to try and finish up his meal. “There’s also the fact that one of Gunmar’s allies has come back into contact with us. She finally found an excuse to enter Trollmarket, thus allowing us to slip in some changelings inside. To be honest, I’d almost assumed she’d taken to abandoning our cause entirely, but the world is full of surprises it seems.”

“Good, good,” Bular nodded along, still not letting the information sink in. At least, until he began to remember who the possible allies could be. “Wait, hold on. Is Gatto sending-”

“No no, not Gatto . He’s sworn himself into neutrality, remember? It’s Queen Usurna, of the Krubera.” Otto replied with a light chuckle, wiping the crumbs off his shirt as he leaned back in his chair. “Apparently that coward Aarghaumont finally bit the dust, as they say. They’re going up to “retrieve” his body, no doubt expecting Vendel and the rest to put up a fight for it. Nothing a PyroBlix match can’t solve, right?”

Yet Bular didn’t say anything back. The smile on his face vanishing when he heard exactly who had died.

He didn’t know why, but for some reason, he didn’t get a burst of joy from the news. No, It made his heart twinge. Just for a second, but long enough to shake him slightly. He should have been proud, happy that the traitor was gone. But even after all these years, it didn’t feel right. No, Aarghaumont should have either died because of his hands, or out on the battlefield. But knowing him and his so called “oath”, he probably died some stupid, cowardly death.

A death not at all befitting of a Gumm-Gumm warrior.

But then again, Aarghaumont wasn’t one anymore, was he?

“I see,” Bular muttered finally, letting go of a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. He couldn’t ask how the Krubera fell, it could be mistaken as concern. And he didn’t need the Changeling seeing another weakness to take hold of. “...And this will allow us spies on the inside, yes?”

“...Yes, mein prinz,” Otto responded, no doubt picking up on Bular’s hesitation. Bular himself mentally cursed his delay, no doubt knowing that the impure would pick up on the pause and run wild with what that could mean. Perhaps if he changed the subject quick enough, he could get the fool to forget everything entirely.

“Is there anything else you want to blather about, Impure?” Bular began, finishing up the rest of his meal and rising up. He made sure to avoid hitting his head on the ceiling, but he did wobble slightly. He had to get use to this new weight, seeing as he’d overcompensated for so long.

Otto himself, as if he’d been waiting for this moment, casually rose to his feet. Taking a step towards Bular, the ploymorth seemed to be an odd mix of excited and angry. At least, that’s what Bular assumed, as reading a changeling was like trying to grasp air. For him, at least.

“Yes, actually,” Otto said, crossing his arms almost mockingly. He ignored Bular’s growing sneer. “When were you going to tell me about her?”

“...Her who?” Bular growled, only vaguely catching on.

And for a moment, Otto looked as if he was about to say something scathing. Yet a different idea graced the Changeling’s mind. He merely smirked as he shifted his form, once again dawning the green eyes and long hair of the women from the photo. Taking a few steps forward, Otto marched forward as Bular took a single step back.

“You know, I did some digging last night, after I had a chat with the little fleshbag,” The voice, now no longer Otto’s at all, declared casually. “I figured that if I was to parade around as this being, I’d better know what I was doing. And what do I find but the fact that this lady worked right here, in Arcadia, before she went missing.”

Gathering himself and swallowing the rage in his throat, Bular let out a growl as he leaned down to glare at Otto. Giving a warning that would go unheard.

“She even worked at the museum” Otto replied, smiling with a mouth that wasn’t his own. “I wonder if Nomura knew her? Perhaps she was there the night you-”

“If you think you can blackmail me, impure- ” Bular began, but was cut off as Otto grew bold and held up a hand to hush the Gumm-Gumm.

“Oh it’s not exactly blackmail,” Otto replied, smiling widely now. In a quick motion, he pulled away and did a mock curtsy, the enraged mirth never leaving his voice. “As an old friend of ours once said, take it more as insurance.”

Bular just glared, digging his claws into the carpet. His pride screamed at him to kill the fool right here and now, but his head knew better. He hated to admit it, but he needed this ally right now.

“I don’t want much,” Otto began, after the few moments of silence that passed. The fiery look in his eye calmed as he shifted back to the normal form he took, blue eyes and all. “Just three simple things, nothing too big.”

Bular still didn’t say anything, but he did meet Otto’s gaze. Otto continued.

“Do not call me Impure.” Otto stated, first and foremost, standing taller then he’d ever had. “Do not hit or attack me whenever you please. And finally, when your father takes back the surface, help me become one of his advisers.”

“No.”

Otto frowned, yet he didn't seem too upset. He simply raised his eyebrows in mild acceptance and made his way to the door. “Well, looks like young Trisha will be-”

Bular reached over and grabbed Otto by his shoulder, his limbs shaking in their barely contained rage.

“What is keeping me from just killing you, right here and now?” Bular gritted out, eyes glowing so bright they could rival the sun. And despite how tense Otto looked, how he seemed to shake and quiver under Bular’s claws, he stood his ground. Valiant, for a dead man.

“Try explaining to the child why my ashes are scattered all over the place,” Otto responded, his blue eyes filled with as much fear as any could hold. It was a miracle the Goblins hadn’t swarmed inside. “Try telling her how you and I are working toward bring an end to her life. I’m sure she’d understand, mien prinz.”

Letting go of Otto’s shoulder, Bular was reminded why he hated changelings so much.

“...So be it,” Bular spat, letting go of Otto and resigning himself to his fate.

It was at this time that Trisha, done with her activities outside, opened the front door and came scampering inside. Yet the moment her eyes locked onto Bular, she was rushing towards him, eyes lighting up at him being awake, as well as armed.

“You’re up!” She exclaimed, rushing over to inspect the new limb. “And you got a new arm!”

And like a switch, Otto was back to cheerfully smiling. Pretending like nothing had happened. “Yes, yes. It’s rather nice isn’t it?”

Yet Bular wasn’t as quick to shove his fury away. Without saying a word, he turned on his heels and went to the back room, only letting out a huff in a response. With a satisfying slam, Bular shut the door and took a seat in front of it. Mostly because he had no idea how to lock it, and he knew if he messed with it now, he’d break it in his rage.

As he sat, his gaze fell on the contents of the room. The bed, which had light pink sheets and a plethora of pillows scattered about, was a mess. Yet what littered the room itself were bowls and plates, most made out of clay and other materials not normally used anymore. The source of the music was also in here, but the machine had long since stopped playing, the needle skipping on the record casually. But what caught Bular’s eye the most was Draal’s chewed up arm, having been perched against the beige wall.

“...What’s wrong with him?” came Trisha’s voice, her confusion only muffled by the door.

“He’s just like that sometimes,” Otto replied back, dismissing the rage entirely. “It’s best to just let him sulk. He’ll be out later tonight.”

That just seemed to make Bular even angrier.

It wasn’t a jarring experience to be woken up in Vendel’s clinic, at least, not for Draal. He’d always been getting into scrapes, even as a whelp. And naturally, when you use your head as much a Draal did, you were bound to knock yourself out one way or another. No, waking up in the Heartstone was not as jarring as it could have been.

Was was jarring, however, was seeing the Trollhunter team scattered about the place in varying degrees of waiting. Jim, Toby, and Aaarrrgghh were currently asleep, with Aaarrrgghh having becomes the designated pillow it seemed. Over by the tables, Blinky and Claire were scouring over a pile of books while Vendel messed around with his usual potions. It was only when Draal tried to stand, that the trio looked up from their work and movement ensured.

“Stay down, Draal,” Vendel began, not even sparing Draal a glance. Blinky and Claire, on the other hand, had jumped up from their spots and rushed over. It was still odd, but Draal was finally getting use to his friends new fleshy looks.

“Oh thank heavens you’re awake,” Blinky was the first to speak, and the first to get to Draal. Already he was pushing the injured troll back onto the table, as if he could try and stop him. “You took quite a beating there, Draal. We were worried you’d be-”

“Where’s Bular,” Draal slurred out, still gathering his wits. He tried to get up again, but this time the girl, Claire, lended a hand in pushing him back down again.

“He’s gone,” Claire said, trying to calm Draal down. He tone was just as hushed as Blinky’s and Vendel’s was. “Or, well, he wasn’t there when NotEnrique found you.”

Draal stared at Claire for a few moments, he brow furrowing, before he mumbled out the next line. “Not who?”

“NotEnrique,” Claire repeated again, “You know, the changeling who’s pretending to be my brother?”

“...That’s his name?” Draal asked, earning an eye roll from the fleshbag. By this point Vendel has shuffled over, being with him a concoction that made even the old troll wince at it’s fumes. He did have the mercy to hand it to Draal instead of shoving it down his gullet, but his gaze said otherwise.

“Drink this, all of it,” Vendel ordered, yet he didn’t need to. Draal had know the elder for almost all his life, and he knew when to obey his words. Especially when he was in a mood like this.

Still, Draal did grimace as the bitter taste of herbs and medicine hit his tongue.

“Should we wake them up?” Claire asked, motioning to the sleepy trio in the back. Yet Blinky just shook his head softly, his own eyes seeming far too tired as well.

“Let them rest, they’ll need it for the patrol tonight.” Blinky yawned, trying not to fall asleep himself. “Besides, they’ve already been scolded by Vendel once today, anymore and I worry that-...”

Yet Blinky drifted off when Vendel shot him a nasty glare. With a grunt of disgust, Draal finished drinking the slurry and handed the bowl back, which was quickly grabbed by Blinky as he rushed off to avoid the elder troll’s ire. Claire remained, showing enough courage that Draal was already impressed. She was quickly rising to be his favorite.

“...Well?” Vendel asked, after a few moments of awkward silence. As if giving him a head start at defending himself.

“...Right,” Draal responded back, knowing he’d rightfully messed up once again. “Where would you like for me to start?”

That had apparently been the wrong answer, as Vendel’s scowl deppened. Yet he didn’t raise his voice above a murmur. “Where I would like you to start from, Draal, would be when you decided not to tell me that Bular was alive was a good idea. Not to mention the fact you went after him alone , without alerting your allies to where your were heading? By Gorgus, it was a miracle that you were even found before sunrise- what were you thinking?”

And Draal didn’t say anything back for a moment. Because despite everything, despite all the years spent training and honing his skills, despite the battles he’d won and the foes he’d slain; Draal never really was one to think before acting. There was a reason he was called Draal the Dim at times.

“I wasn’t,” Draal responded truthfully, much to Vendel’s dismay. He continued as the Vendel pinched the bridge of his nose in an attempt to keep calm. “It was a foolish plan, I realize this now. But I would have wondered for the rest of my life if I hadn’t gone after him. I’m a warrior, Vendel. Fighting is as much apart of me as my horns.”

Vendel simply tossed the hand pinching his face open, looking down at the floor of clinic as if silently asking the spirits why, why was this troll such a battle ready fool. Yet nothing answered him back, except Blinky’s footsteps as he shuffled back into the conversation.

“You did see Bular, right?” Claire asked, jumping in and saving the day. “From what I heard, you guys did a number on him before he got swept away by the rain water? Did he have any weaknesses that you could see?”

Draal, catching on to what the girl was planning, began to smile. “Actually, yes. Well, somewhat. He was missing his left arm and leg, no doubt from the sun staining he suffered from the battle. He did have a peg leg, however.”

“Ah yes, the tracts Aaarrrgghh had found earlier did seem different compared to the typical Troll tacks.” Blinky mused, laying one of his hands on his chin pensively.

“What else did you notice, anything major?” Claire questioned, excitement causing her voice to rise. “If we can fine a weakness, the next time we see him could be our chance to get the drop on him.”

At this, the smile fell off of Draal’s face, realization hitting him. “Not really. Other then the fact he was missing his weapons, nothing had changed. If anything, the “drop” may be harder to get on him, seeing as he’d taken to having changeling’s surround him rather then goblins now.”

“Like Strickler?”

Draal shook his head, wincing as it began to pound slightly. “No, no. Not the tall green one. Honestly, I all I saw was one, and it just...”

And the Draal stopped for a moment, his mind lingering to the last thing he saw. How Bular had ripped his arm off and shielded the changeling from him. Almost as if he was protecting them…

No, Gumm-Gumm’s weren’t one to act like that, to feign affection so easily…

But when did Bular ever care for a changeling?

“It just...What?” Blinky practically parroted back, and if expecting something astounding.

“It just... used it’s disguise to allow an opening,” Draal finally decided, yet even he could hear the uncertainty in his voice. “The Impure looked exactly like a human whelp, and Bular used that to barrel me into the building, finishing me off.”

Again, more silence, each person keeping quiet for a different reason.

“Wait, human whelp like our age or younger?” Claire finally spoke up, brow scrunched up as she thought. “Cause NotEnrique said the only Changeling’s “stationed” around here were all adults. If this person transfer in, they may be put into a school system for their cover. And if they’re our age-”

“No, no, younger, about-...” Draal stated, going to motion with his hands how big the changeling was, but then realized something rather important. “...Where’s my other hand?”

It was later, when the day had shifted to night, that Bular heard a gently knocking on the bedroom door. By now Otto had long since left for the night, having claimed that there were issues that needed to be taken care of back at the Janus order. But even then, Bular hadn’t left the quiet of Nomura’s old room. He’d waited until something called for him.

And that something was the six year old fleshbag that seemed to think the world of him.

“Bular?” Trisha had asked, slightly concerned. “Are you ok?”

It was only a few moments later, when he’d found that he’d finally calmed down, that he cracked open the door to talk to Trisha. As usual, he had his normal bit to say. “It’s none of your concern, whelp.”

“Yeah it is,” Trisha responded back, trying to worm her way through the cracked door. Bular relented, and watched as the child fell to the carpeted floor. She simply giggled, flipping over to look up at Bular, not even bothering to get up. “You’re my friend, and friends make sure they’re okay.”

Bular let out a huff and rolled his eyes, shuffling past the child on his way to the sofa. Not even a moment later, he could hear her scampering behind. “I am not your friend, child.”

“No, I’m not your friend!”

Bular paused for a moment, before turning his gaze to Trisha, giving her the most perplexed look he could manage. Strangely enough, this seemed to be the desired effect, as Trisha just smiled as she grabbed the remote, waiting for Bular to take a seat before doing anything.

“...what?” was all Bular could really say.

“ You’re my friend, but I’m not yours ,” Trisha explained, as if she’d discovered the eternal night all on her own. It still took Bular a few moments to truly understand, and even when he did he didn’t get any satisfaction from it. “You can say “I’m not your friend” all you want, but you can’t change my mind about you being my friend-”

“If you keep talking like this, I’ll just go back in the room,” Bular began, hiding a smirk as the child scrambled to stop him from leaving. In the end, she ended up sitting next to him on the couch that was far too small, turning Nomura’s facey television on and skipping through the channels.

“...Is Otto your friend?” Trisha asked, after a bit of silence. She’d already settled on leaning against Bular, cheek squashed and eyes glued to the screen.

“No,” Bular responded back, feeling his own mind start to wander as his focus drifted away from the tv.

“...Are the Goblins your friends?” Trisha asked again.

“No,” Bular quickly replied, feeling insulted just by the idea of it. “I do not have any friends, so stop asking.”

“That must be lonely,” Trisha replied, unaware of just how right she was. “...Hey Bular, what’s friend in Trollspeak?”

"...Friend."

Chapter Text

Otto wisely didn’t return the next day, or the following days after that. Clearly a smart Changeling, he knew not to prod a wasp’s nest anymore then he had to. And in all honesty, Bular appreciate the space. It allowed him time to make the “apartment” feel more like home, as well as gain a better handle on his new arm. Still, now that they were back in Arcadia, their old system of having the Goblins around was becoming less and less available. From what Otto had described, over the phone at that, was that they were needed by “Stricklander” for other “purposes”. Whatever that meant.

So it was up to Bular to secure their source of food...

“It’s a perfectly good meal, whelp,” Bular had stated, clearly annoyed when he noticed Trisha picking at her chicken breast with her fork. It was their first night on their own, and so far, the day hadn’t been too badly. At least, until they’d now. “Stop playing with it and eat.”

“But it’s raw…” Trisha mumbled, sticking out her tongue when the chicken slipped off her fork and splattered on her plate. “I’ve told you, humans don’t eat raw food!”

“Well get use to it. This hut would catch first the instant we made a pit, with or without proper guarding.” Bular said, finishing up the rest of his meal and getting ready to move back to Norma’s room. He’d started to make that area his planning room, coming up with horrible ways to take out not only the Trollhunter, but Stricklander as well. Yet these plans mostly just summed down to finding his dual blades, get them alone, etc. “Besides, I’ve seen you eat things raw. Meat is no different then-”

“Can’t you just use the stove?” Trisha asked, crossing her arms.

“The what?”

Not a few minutes later, both child and Gumm Gumm were station in front of the “stove”. Bular’s mind whirled back to the farm, how the old man would use it to cook his foods. And for a moment, Bular felt a bit silly for not noticing the similarities. But this one held no open flames, how was he supposed to know that it was the same machine? Blasted Fleshbag technology.

“Ok, so Grandpa always cooks chicken in a pan,” Trisha began, shuffling around the lower cabinets for any sort of cooking item. Not a few moments later, she’d retrieve the metal item, slapping it on the stove with a clang. “Now we gotta get some Crisco…”

Bular all the while just stayed back and watched, a mild curiosity taking over him. He recalled all the times he’d seen Fleshbags cook, back when the world was young and the forests belonged to the trolls. His arrival to these gathering usually stopped any cooking, as well as other communal activities. And most of the changelings he’d been near rarely cooked, preferring anything quick to eat and easy to carry. Or if they did, he wasn’t around to see it.

Suddenly, Bular’s attention was dragged back by the sound of a chair scraping across the cheap linoleum floor. He caught sight of the child propping the chair up by the stove and surveying their surroundings. Reaching for a bottle, their brow furled at it’s contents. She turned to Bular.

“Hey, is olive oil the same as Crisco?”

Bular simply stared, because he’d never even heard of Crisco before. But wait...Olive oil...he’d remembered that vaguely. Someone must have mentioned it a few hundred years ago. Maybe Stricklander during one of his overly complicated threats. Or perhaps just talking about how humans prepared their food…

Whatever, it would probably be fine.

Giving a nod, Bular started to gaze on as the cooking commenced, but was drawn away.

Someone was knocking on the door.

At first he assumed it was Otto, but when the knocking continued, he grew suspicious. Trisha’s gaze snapped to the entrance, the chicken sliding off the plate and onto the pan unsupervised. She looked to him, and for a moment she looked…

Scared.

He didn’t like it.

“Stay,” he commanded, already stalking quietly to the door. Lowering himself to the floor, he tried to gain their sent through the cracks. The hole in the door was far too small for his gaze, and he’d trust his nose more then some Fleshbag peephole. As he did this, another set of knocks came out, sounding more annoyed than before.

The scent of human graced his senses, as well as paper and other packaging smells. Yet there was something else, faint but ancient. Something that smelled of…

Of Troll remains...

Bular fiddled with the knob for a second before opening the door a crack. Thankfully, the sunlight didn’t pour in, yet there was the problem of the sun being far too plentiful for his liking.

And, of course, the Fleshbag, who seemed to be off in their own little world. Their ears covered by a pair of oversized muffles, ones he hadn’t seen humans wear in perhaps a few decades.

“Package for a Ms. Nomura,” they, no he, drawled, his half lidded gaze mirroring his sleepy tone. Wait, was he even paying attention?

No, it turned out he wasn’t. Because within the instant Bular’s metallic hand reached out and swiped the package, he may have blinked once. It was only when the door slammed shut that the flesh bag seemed to notice something amiss.

“Who was that?” Trisha asked from the kitchen, gaze still glued to Bular and the door. By now the Gumm Gumm could smell the sweet scents of burning flesh. Oh well, humans liked their meal like that, right?

“No one,” Bular simply replied, shifting to ripping apart the cardboard box with ease. He could practically feel it now, the magic radiating from it’s flimsy prison. The knocking continued, now more frantically. If the Fleshbag was smart, it would leave soon enough. Yet before Bular could deal with that, a faint green glow washed over him.

Instantly, his gaze fell upon his father bane, the one of only three stones that could end Gunmar. The ever living memory of his first kill.

The Killstone.

He’d never seen it in person, having been only a whelp when the battle occurred. Yet it seemed that it’s reputation was well founded. It’s green shine was far more iridescent then any current Quagawump’s living stone. Truly their old king, while weak and foolish, had a beautiful hue.

Yet there was something else about the stone. Something that seemed to invoke a dull ache. Curious, Bular scooped the stone out of its box, holding it in the living stone of his hand. The ache turned into a sting, but his attention was no longer on the pain. No, in all actually, it was on something far more important.

He was glowing.

“Whoa! You can light up?!”

Eyes focused on himself, Bular ignored the whelp as he took the new ability into account. He hadn’t ever been able to glow before. The trait that, while his father and the Krubera always had, never had been passed down to him. While in his youth he’d lamented this, he’d learned that his dark stone made excellent cover. But this was unlike his kin’s. The blue glow refused to follow his markings, instead sparking across his stone like lightning. The source of it all, where the light shined brightest, radiated from the scar in his side, almost like-

“Daylight…” Bular mumbled, coming to his senses and gritting his teeth. Of course, now his constant reminder of his failure glowed . Wonderful, just wonderful.

“Hey, I wanna try!”

Suddenly, Bular noticed a pair of tiny hands dart for the Killstone, snagging it right out of his claws.Yet unlike her Trollish friend, Trisha had no reason to glow. Her excited smile faded into a scowl, and after giving the rock a good shake, began to pout when the stone refused to “work”. Before Bular could yell at her, however, his nose caught the scent of burning flesh.

As soon as his eyes fell onto the now aflame pan, a horribly shrill ringing pierced his ears.

“What is-” Bular yelled, now seething, until he spotted the source of the auditory attack, an odd looking circle, stuck to the ceiling. Rushing over, he didn’t bother to rip the device off, instead punching it deeper into the drywall. The ringing slowed, before fading into silence, leaving the duo to deal with the now burning chicken.

“We gotta put out the fire!” Trisha yelled, scrabbling over to pan before recoiling at the now blazing heat. Seeming frightened, she darted to the sink, turning the water on. “Bular!”

“It’s your meal!” Bular yelled back, yet after a few moments of motioning, grabbed the pan nonetheless. Shoving the flames into the water, he’d expected the whole ordeal to be finished in a rather anticlimactic manner.

He did not expect the flames to launch out of the pan, exploding upwards.

Dropping the pan into the water, Bular instinctively curled around the whelp as she screamed, shielding the child from the flames. Yet this simply fueled the fire, which was now twice as tall as it had been previously. Still having Trisha wrapped protectively around him, Bular rushed to find something to smother out the flames.

“What kind of cursed fire is this?!” Bular yelled.

“I don’t know! I don’t know!” Trisha yelled back.

“ Oh mein Gott! ” yelled a third voice, entering the fray.

Oh, wonderful, the changeling had returned.

“What did you- ” Otto began, blue eyes wide with shock and vague hints of rage, yet it was all but silenced when Bular practically tossed Trisha at him.

Shifting his gaze back at the now Otto sized flames, Bular’s strategic brain soon came up with a wonderful, full proof idea. Reaching back in with his metal hand, Bular removed the pot from the sink, reducing it’s flames to their original height. Making a mad dash to the doorway, he shoved Otto aside and, with all his might, flung the pan out into the world.

He didn’t bother to see where it landed, instead closing the door with such force that the whole apartment shook.

“Now, does anyone mind telling me what-” Otto began once again, yet was cut off by the sound of shattering glass. Faintly, a car’s alarm had sprung to life, no doubt by the now charred chicken pan that had soared into it.

For a few moments, all was still…

“We were just... cooking,” Bular responded, much more relaxed then he’d even meant too.

Then, softly, a giggling echoed out. Trisha, still in Otto’s haphazard hold, tried to stifle her chortles. Yet they simply rose in volume. Shaking his head, Bular tried his best to push his emotion down, only letting a smirk emerge from the mess. By now the child was full on laughing, much to Otto’s annoyance. With a huff, the changeling rolled his eyes and unceremoniously let go, not even bothering to watch as Trisha fell to the floor.

“ Wir werden sterben. ”

When Draal had left the Smith with his new “replacement” prosthetic, he hadn’t expected Blinkous and the Trollhunter to corner him at Grog’s. And when they did, he’d expected them to ask him to return to the Barbara’s home to keep watch, now that most of his wounds were healed. Yet they didn’t, instead asking him to come with them to “retrieve” the second Triumbric stone.

“With Blinky and Aaarrrgghh being well, softer and all at the moment, it might be a good idea to bring someone who’s still an actual Troll along.” Jim had confessed as the trio went to meet up with the others at the gyre. “It was actually Blinky’s idea.”

“Ah yes, but what about the Barbara?” Draal piped up, his new hand flexing as he got use to the mechanics. “Should I not be there in case of Bular’s return?”

“Don’t worry, we found someone that could take your spot while you were out with us.”

When he later found out that his “replacement” was Bagdwella...well, to say he wasn’t insulted would be a lie. After all, while she did have her fair share of scrabbles and fights, her skill was nowhere near as great as his. But before he could voice his complaints, everything else seemed to whirl by. From being “captured” by the Quagawumps to Tobais’s foolish facade, the night flashed by rather quickly. He would admit, however, that the dancing was quite humorous to watch.

And for a moment, when he saw the others dance, his mind flickered back to a different time. A time where a certain pink someone, with a fiery temper and a nimble steps, would pull him into clumsy waltzes. And while he never did figure out how exactly to follow her steps, they had always ended up laughing one way or another, limbs entangled throughout the night.

Draal politely declined on the dancing, preferring to stay by the food and not visibly sulk. He did, however, chuckle at the Trollhunter’s evident “wussing out”, as it were.

“If you want your legacy to become “Jim, the Wuss”, then I suggest you leave us and join your friend, hm?” Draal had joked, enjoying the fact that he could still give Jim a hard time. While romance may have been a foreign concept to him, at least human courtships, teasing others was not.

It was almost a relief when Angor Rot showed up. Fighting, now that was natural to him, it was almost second nature. Lunging at the cursed troll, dodging his swipes through the trees, that had been his dance. He’d even saw that, while daylight was no longer on their side, the Trollhunters new weapons were.

Still, he would have had a better chance at the assassin if Aaarrrgghh hadn’t kept getting in the way. Perhaps then, they would have gotten the Killstone.

Still, young Claire managed to gain something as well, something that had caught Draal’s eye the moment she’d shot out of the portal. Yet he only said something about it once they’d made their way on the gyre.

“It seems that our Trollhunter won’t be the only human training in the forge now.”

“Whoa, wait,” Claire, sharp as she was kind, snapped her gaze to Draal, eyes alight. “So does that mean I’ll be able to…”

“Well of course,” Blinkous, ever talkative, piped up from the head of the gyre, gazing back for a moment before focusing his gaze at the ever shifting tunnels. “After all, the more able fighters we have on hand, the better. And I’m sure Draal wouldn’t mind the new sparring partner, wouldn’t you?”

If someone had asked him that a year ago, Draal would have let out a bark of a laugh before tossing them to the floor. Him, excited to be training a Fleshbag, that would have been a grave insult to his pride. But he wasn’t the same as he had been. He’d been shown a taste of his own medicine, been tossed out and re-accepted into the fold of Troll society. He’d grown to see just how much fight a human could have in them.

“So long as you can keep up,” Draal smirked, earning a playful shove in return.

Still, as they rode the gyre back home, Draal couldn’t help but recall how close his allies came to defeat. Survival, while greatly appreciated, did cost them the Killstone...

Being spat out of the void was not a new experience for Angor Rot. When he’d first received  Skathe-Hrün, it had taken a few tries to successfully master the tricky conduit. But it was flying blind, left to the shadow’s whims, that threw Angor Rot off guard. It was only when he felt a break in the emptiness, enough for him to muscle his way through, that the darkness parted and shot him onto the asphalt. Regaining himself, Angor Rot let out a groan as he reached back into the portal, hoping the staff would return to him once more.

Yet when the portal shut, he quickly realized otherwise.

“My staff!”

Shuffling up to his feet, Angor rot spotted the Killstone, laying perfectly on the ground. Taking in his prize, he assumed that, well, he at least had something to lure them back. The mission was not a total failure.

With a hearty toss, he watched as the stone glowed faintly against the clouded sky…

And then shatter the moment it hit his palm.

For a moment, Angor Rot was so shocked that he just stared at the broken stone, mouth slightly agape. But it was only when the wind picked up, blowing a particular scent with it, that the great killer slayer had realized his folly.

This wasn’t the Killstone. It wasn’t even proper Troll remains! It smelt faintly of humans, with their chemicals and concrete. It had been painted as well, the inside of the “Killstone” being grey and lifeless. Bending down to examine the destroyed fake, Angor Rot caught scent of another smell…

Changeling…

“...It seems not everyone is on your side, Stricklander,” Angor murmured and, despite himself, felt a smirk grow on his face.

What an interesting hunt this would be...

Roughly two hours later, the stench of burnt food was now but a faded memory. Replaced by the new smells of greased cheese and baked bread. Trisha, now content with the three goblins Otto had brought with him, was busy trying to inform them of the days events.

At least, that’s what Bular assumed. He could only hear the occasional muffled words from the closed bedroom door.

No, now was the time to plan. And they didn’t need a Fleshbag whelp getting in the way.

“How Interesting,” Otto muttered from his place on the bed. With his elbows on his knees, he held the Kill stone close, inspecting it deeply. After a few moments, his gaze shifted back to Bular. “And you said your wound would glow, mein Prinz ?”

Bular snatched the stone, and once again the darkness gave way to the soft blue light. And once again, he felt his wounds ache. Still clenching the stone in his living hand, he faced the various strategies he’d marked down. Having made use of the changeling “Nomura’s” walls, most were littered with scratches of various shapes and sizes.

“Ah, well, this is definitely an unexpected development,” Otto began, yet the hushed tone in his voice made him seem more sheepish then it should have. “After all, if it is only a glow, then we can easily cover it. Perhaps with some paint? Hm, or maybe we could just-”

And like that, the Changeling was off again. Bular paid him little mind, his hand drifting down to the stone in his hand. He ran a clawed thumb over it, examining it once more. After giving a few moments of thought, Bular clenched the stone in his grasp.

He bit down on his cheek as a surge of pain rose from his wound. The light flaring up at the spike in burning. Yet Bular persisted, growling as he felt the stone crack.

“ Mein Prinz what are you-”

With a satisfying crackle, the Killstone shattered into pieces. Scattering green pebbles as a puff of smoke erupted from his clawed hand. A wave of satisfaction and relief washed over him, despite the now throbbing pain. There, his father would be safe. He’d done it.

“Oh,” was all Otto said, as if a bit dumb founded that they hadn’t done so sooner. “Well, I was going to suggest we use the Killstone for ransom, or even as bait, but I suppose this is fine too.”

“Better then... fine,” Bular grumbled, the impact of his actions seeming to hit him. He hadn’t realized how draining that would be. If this was from just one Triumbric stone, he’d need to prepare for destroying the other two. “We left too much risk having it remain intact.”

Once again, Bular expected the changeling to pipe up, to argue his case. Or, even, a somewhat cheeky comment. But no, this Otto was not Strickler. He simply opened his mouth, stopped himself, then begrudgingly nodded. And once again, Bular was pleasantly surprised.

“ Ja, ja, fair enough,” Otto rose from his seat on the bed, turning his gaze to the battle plans over the wall. “It seems you’ve been...busy.”

“There is little else to do. I might as well spend this time usefully...What of Usurna, has she arrived in Trollmarket yet?”

“No, but she will be there soon. Yet it seems that the Trollhunters are not in town ether. Our spies had reported that the sense Gyre activity in the tunnels underneath Arcadia, as well as in Florida.”

“Wait, and Angor Rot and Strickler as searching for the Killstone as well?” Bular asked, eyes widening ever so slightly.

“Well obviously, but I don’t see how-”

“Then I’m going out.”

“Wait what?”

Yet Bular was already out of the bedroom, the door barely holding on to it’s hinges. Being outside, he’d started to miss the fresh air that came with being outside. Turning to the couch, his gaze fell upon a sleeping Trisha, arms wrapped around one of the many Goblins snuggling around her. For a moment, he wondered if he should wake her up and take her along, get her back into her physical training. No, he needed some time on his own. He’d been cooped up, playing babysitter for far to long.

“Watch her,” Bular quietly ordered, and before Otto could even argue his case, Bular had made his mad dash to the door. Not bothering to check for sunlight, luck seemed to be on his side, as the sun had already set past the treeline. Feeling the cool spring breeze blow past him, Bular took a quick whiff of the air before making a beeline for the forest. He’d return a later into the night, belly full of deer and pent up energy finally spent...

Yet, with all of the commotion that neither he, nor Otto, noticed how the dust of the Killstone seemed to glow, pulsing faintly in time with Bular’s heartbeat. Or how the pieces slowly seemed to pull themselves together, right under the mattress. 

Chapter Text

It had only been a knick. Just a scratch through his clothes. He’d barely even felt in within the heat of the battle. When Angor Rot’s dagger came swinging at him, and he was barely able to dodge as he did. He’d been lucky. So, so lucky that it hadn’t hit his chest. That it hadn’t left a gash that would have turned him right then and there.

But he hadn’t been lucky enough.

As Aaarrrgghh check his side in the bathroom mirror, he could help but wince at the wound. Where it was once focused squarely around his under arm, the infection was now spreading down his side. He wondered if, had he still been a troll, would the infection spread slower. He wondered if, had he used his arm to block the blow, could they have just cut the limb off and be done with this.

It was clear, however, that Creeper’s sun should never, ever interact with human flesh. The parts of him that weren’t already turned to complete stone were cracking and fracturing at any rough movements. Yet, thankfully, the inflection hadn’t gone to far past his skin. His blood, human blood, blood that made his mind flash back to his previous life; would cake the bandages he’d wrapped around himself. Each time meant that he was alive, that maybe, just maybe, it would go away soon. Humans grew skin, didn’t Blinky say something like that? Maybe his flesh would peel off and a new layer would grow back…

Or maybe, when this charm wore off, it would take the creeper’s sun with it. It was the only hope he had...

“Aaarrrgghh? Old friend, are you alright in there?”

Quickly, and messily, rewrapping his side, Aaarrrgghh gave a sheepish chuckle as he hurried himself along. “Uh yeah, Sorry. Just-”

“Say no more, I understand you completely,” Blinky responded, and Aaarrrgghh could practically see how his hands would move with how he spoke. “I’ll be with Draal down stairs, feel free to join us when you’re, erm...ready.”

Aaarrrgghh didn’t let out the breath he’d been holding until he heard the basement door shut. It still took him a few more minutes to finish up, tugging down the shirt that Toby had lent him. Apparently it’d been a relatives, but had been kept in a closet for quite some time. Toby had assured him that his “Na-nuha” wouldn’t notice, so he’d assumed it would be fine. After all, they were the only shirts that could fit Aaarrrgghh properly.

Making his way down to the basement, Aaarrrgghh still flinched when a stray beam of light shot in from the nearby window. And once again, Aaarrrgghh was mystified by the fact that his limbs remained unstained. No matter what, he’d probably never get use to that.

“Comin’ down,” Aaarrrgghh called out, carefully making his way down the stairs. Once at the bottom, he examined his surroundings. In this small - well, smaller form - the basement seemed far bigger then it had been. He didn’t have much of a chance of hitting his head as he used too, and with Draal having moved things around to make space, the basement was more open to him than ever before. Yet most of this space seemed to be taken up by books. “Wow.”

“Yes, yes, I know. I didn’t mean to bring as much at first,” Blinky began, not even bothering to look up from the huge tome placed in his lap. “But I figured that seeing as we’ve only gather one third of the Triumbric, I should focus as much of my free time on figure out where the final stone is kept. Now caverns deep could mean a number of location, all ether previously or already populated by a number of Troll tribes. Now If I simply cross reference when the books were first ascribed, then compare…”

And he was off.

There was always something about Blinky, that whenever he really put himself in his work, he’d always get this look on his face. It was a gaze full of ambition, of grit and determination that Aaarrrgghh had only seen in a few other trolls, and only when they were doing something they truly loved. It always stirred something in Aaarrrgghh when he saw Blinky get that look, making his head feel light.

Draal let out a grunt, no doubt rolling his eyes over Aaarrrgghh’s lovestruck gaze. Aaarrrgghh simply smirked before going toward the fire and tossing a few extra coals in. It took him a moment to remember that he couldn’t eat them like he used to, so he tossed the rest that was in his hands back in it’s bag. Still, he didn’t remember if he’d really eaten any food yet.

“Gonna go get food. Be right back.”

Yet before he even made it up the stairs, Blinky was right behind him, shoving his hands into his pants pockets. He seemed a bit sheepish with the whole ordeal. “Actually Aaarrrgghh, If your going to get food, I have a small favor to ask of you. Could you stop by the market and purchase some of that whipped cream, the kind in the canisters? I meant to get some earlier but it just slipped my mind. And seeing as Master Jim and the other are preoccupied with their afternoon activities, well-”

Well, Aaarrrgghh hadn’t planned to get food outside of the house. But it seemed like now he was.

“Sure,” Aaarrrgghh replied, smiling knowingly as he took pocketed the neatly folded paper. “Anything else?”

“No no, that should be it. Thank you.”

There were three rules when it came to living in the apartment. That’s what Mr. Otto had told her. Three rules that need to be followed if she wanted to stay with them. Well, by they, he probably meant just Bular. Mr. Otto rarely, if ever, stayed the night. He was more like the weird uncle who paid for everything that Trisha or Bular broke. Still, Mr. Otto had told Trisha that she could do whatever she pleased, as long as she followed these three rules.

Rule Number 1: Don’t go outside without someone to watch after you.

Rule Number 2: Don’t talk to strangers.

Rule Number 3: Don’t tell anyone about Bular, or Trolls in general.

And they weren’t exactly hard rules to follow. After all, they were basically the same rules that her Grandpa told her when they went to town. Except rule three of course. But still, she could follow them. Otto did say that if she was good, and followed the rules, that he’d take her to see her Grandpa as soon as he could. And it wasn’t as if they were too constricting.

She just had to bend them a little, when she wanted to go do something fun.

“Psst, Hey, hey Bular,” Trisha whispered, trying her best to not completely disturb the huge troll sleeping under a heavy magenta comforter. “Are you up?”

By now, Bular had moved his sleeping location from the more active living room back to the bedroom, where he’d usually slink off too when he needed his space. This wasn’t too bad, seeing as Trisha had the couch to sleep on. But it was rare for her to be able to sneak inside. Bular would use the arm he stole, from that mean Troll, as a door stopper. And try as hard as she could, Trisha couldn’t ever move it. She’d gotten lucky this time, as Bular hadn’t placed the arm as close to the door as he usually did.

He’d been getting more and more sleepy lately, even when he snuck outside for his “night hunts”, as Trisha had dubbed them. And while this also meant their training had taken a bit of a back seat, it also meant she could get away with more stuff than ever before.

At least, the fully braided and beaded mane Bular had seemed to prove say so.

“Bular...Buuuuuular?” Trisha began again, carefully peeking under the covers and into the darkness. By now the mattress had permanently sunken in, the weight of a giant stone person too much to bare, but it seemed like Bular didn’t mind. “I’m gonna go exploring. One of the Goblins is gonna take me...Make a noise if thats ok.”

A thunderous snore answered her, and Trisha felt comforter shift as Bular turned away.

“Okthankyoui’llbebacksoon, bye .”

Shutting the door as quietly as she could, Trisha quickly shuffled over to her backpack, tiptoeing around it’s scattered contents as quietly as she could. She didn’t bother to open it, as even now the fabric stretch and shifted from within.

“I’m sorry Mr. Goblin, but Mr. Otto said I couldn’t leave without someone to watch me,” Trisha apologized, only earning a slew of goblin words in return. Yet they seemed to simmer down once she’d had the backpack on her back. “I’ll make it up to you, I swear, just let me go look around for a little bit, please?”

For a few more minutes, the grumbling continued on. It was only when she felt him nod, grumbling out a raspy “yes” that she finally felt confident enough to leave the apartment. Letting out a slew of “thank you’s” and “you’re the best”, she quickly opened the top before placing her baseball bat inside, careful as to not hit her guide.

Making once last stop by the counter, Trisha stood on her tips of her toes as she felt for the credit card Otto had left behind. After their last incident with “cooking”, Otto had realized it’d be safer for them to just order food, rather then have the whole apartment burn down. Otto had also left a list of numbers, mostly for the cheapest food places around Arcadia, but also with his own number on the sheet. She brought this too, just in case she needed to call someone while she was out. Not that she could...she didn’t really have a cell phone…

But those were schematics for later. Now, she was finally able to explore Acadia, and she wasn’t going to let something like that stop her. Making sure she had everything (Baseball bat, Grandpa’s watch, money, etc.) She took one last look at the apartment. Maybe she’d get some groceries while she was out. Something to make up for the fact she sorta snuck out in case Bular woke up…

Yeah, that seemed like a good idea.

“Now listen Lucy, as happy as I am to see ya back here, you can’t just pretend that you didn’t disappear off the face of the earth…”

Otto bit back a dry laugh, using a hand far too thin to be his own to brush back a stray strand of hair. He wasn’t even supposed to be here, in a podunk town pretending to be some dead nobody. But when his “informant” passed on that the town had started getting antsy, especially law enforcement, well…

Desperate times called for desperate measures.

“I know, I know I just,” Otto began, speaking in a voice that once his own. He saw how the officer’s eyes furrowed, and he change the pitch just so as he spoke. “I just needed some time to think was all...c’mon Peyton, you understand, don’t you?”

Once Otto realized the gravious error he’d done, choosing a someone who’d been in the public eye quite a bit...well, he felt like he needed to do some proper research to “get into his role”. He’d spent his free nights, nights he should have been gathering evidence on Strickler’s deceit and greed. But no, Bular had to go and get himself a human pet , one that was starting to be nothing but trouble…

“Back when we we’re kids, remember how we talked about going places.” Otto continued, batting his green eyes at the Officer. Putting as much empathy as he could into Lucy’s voice. “ You always talked about how you were gonna make it big as a quarterback, and I-”

“You were gonna explore ruins all over the world, I know I know,” Peyton sighed, pinching the bridge between his eyes. “But we ain’t kids anymore, Lucy! This ain’t you running around with my brother and pretendin’ yer indiana jones! You’re Lucy Jones! And you’ve been declared dead for three years now...”

Something moved, right out of the corner of Otto’s eye. Trying to play it as nonchalant, he turned his head towards the window a peered out. Yet what he saw made his blood freeze and his mind stale.

It was Angor Rot. Watching him from under the shade of the treeline.

“Lucy? Lucy? Ya with me girl?” The officer called, reaching over to get her attention. Otto grabbed the man's wrist just before it touched him. “Whoa!”

“Ah, sorry about that,” “Lucy” apologize, quickly snapping back into place as she let go of the man’s hand. Otto, meanwhile, was mentally planning every possible escape available. He’d have to get out of there now, before Angor Rot could get in. Stricklander must have figured him out. Someone maybe someone ratted him out.  

“I’m just...Scared is all.”

Was he going to die here? In a body that wasn’t his own?

“Listen I...I don’t mean to be so harsh on ya,” Peyton sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “And I know you, you wouldn’t leave without a good reason. You’re not that kinda girl, never was. I just need the truth...Where did you go?”

No, no...He’d been in worse situations before. Besides, for all he knew, Strickler could have sent Angor Rot to deliver a message. He just had to play things cool, and see how this went...

“It’s a bit of a long story, actually. But the gist of it is…” Otto pauses for emphasis, despite already know exactly what he was going to say. “I got a job over in Brazil, excavating some forgotten ruins.”

“But then why didn’t-”

“Because I wasn't ready to be a mother, alright!?”

Peyton stopped, mouth agape as Otto slammed his hands down on the table. Alright, good, you’ve caught him off guard. Now’s the time for tears.

“I-...I just…” Otto slumped back into his chair, running a slender hand though Lucy’s hair. “God Peyton, I was scared of being a mother.”

“...oh Lucy.”

Ah, now he’d go them.

“I was scared that I wasn’t ready! That I’d screw it up. So I thought I'd take the job and then come back and Money was tight, and Pa only has so many years till- till he…Oh god Peyton, I came back too late, didn't I!?”

“Hey, hey. Shh, it’s ok… it’s ok…”

Otto bit back the urge to slap the officers hand away as he reached over, patting Lucy’s shoulder in sympathy. “Listen I...normally I wouldn’t allow anything like this but, well. You’ve always had a good heart Lucy. And I know...I know ya wouldn’t leave out of spite or anything. So you just go and get yerself composed. I’ll get the papers ready.”

“You can do that?” Otto sobbed, wiping the crocodile tears out of his eyes. “Oh Thank you so much, Peyton.”

“Don’t mention it. Just...I really think you should visit yet pa sometime today. He’s still up at the hospital n’ all.”

Ah shit. That’s right. The old man was still alive. God dammit.

“Of course, of course,” Otto nodded, getting up out of the cheap office chair. “But if you don’t mind, I’m gonna go take a minute.”

The moment Otto was out of the county office’s doors, he was nervously checking the treeline not too far away. It took him only a few moments to spot Angor Rot, his yellow eyed stare meeting Lucy’s Green. A lone hand reached out into view, beckoning Otto to come into the shade.

Weighing his options, Otto only came as far as the sun shined.

“H-How did you find me?” Otto asked, his own voice echoing out.

Angor Rot simply smiled, deciding not to answer the changeling’s question. Instead, he reached into one of the many small satchels he had, and held out something for Otto to take.

Otto gulped, refusing to do so.

“What’s the matter, Changeling ? Scared of a little rubble?” Angor Rot smiled a wicked smile, before dumping the contents onto the ground. Their green paint shining in the few stay rays of daylight. “Or are you scared that I’ve finally caught on.”

“I…I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Otto was trying to steel himself, or at least trying his best too. But this was Angor Rot, the pale lady’s fabled champion! A slayer of hundreds, if not more.

“Do not lie to me, Impure.” Angor growled, his smile now gone completely. “There were only two changelings who knew about the Triumbric stones. And I am currently the servant of one of them. One who would not be pleased to find that the Killstone is still at large...”

The wheels turned in Otto’s head.

“So... you haven’t told him yet?”

“No, not yet,” Angor responded, now sitting up the branches of the trees. “Nor have I told him about the troll you’ve been harboring in town.”

“...ah, what Troll?”

Oh god.

“The black one, who was missing an arm and carrying a changeling whelp.”

Oh thank god.

“Ah, you’ve been mistake,” Otto quickly smoothed over, trying his best not to relax too much. “Those were both changeling operatives. I had called them up to assist with reconnaissance on the Trollhunter.”

He didn’t recognize Bular. Oh Pale lady, thank goodness he didn’t notice. Had they ever met? Or had he simply heard stories of the Gunmar’s heir.

“Good, the more to follow my orders, the better.”

“Wait what?”

Angor lowered himself from the branches, putting himself closer to Otto. He noticed how the dagger by his side had a soft green glow. He noticed how his hands gripped the hem of his skirt ever tighter.

“You seem smarter than Stricklander. Smart enough to fear me, smart enough to keep in the shadows.” Angor Rot continued, his voice as soft as the wind. He smelled of moss and forgotten times. “So I believe you will be smart enough to make a deal. We both share a common enemy, after all.”

“...and if I refuse?”  

Before Otto could even step back, Angor Rot’s hand shot for his neck. Already, he was lifting him into the branches, choking Otto with his grip. His feet kick wildly for a moment, before realizing their futility.

“Then I have other ways of achieving what I desire.” Angor hissed, pulling Otto higher and higher off the ground. “With or without you alive…”

Aaarrrgghh stared at the shelves, examining the various sized bags and colorful labels of the chips isle. He’d already been through the process of buying from “human” markets. He could thank his wingman for that little lesson. Yet this was the first time he was doing it on his own. It was a bit disheartening to pass all the cat litter he could have eaten, but his new fleshy body just couldn’t stomach it like it used too.

“Hm…” Scratching his beard, Aaarrrgghh looked at one of the puffed up plastic bags, then another. He had no idea what the labels said, but he could get by with the pictures “...Hmmm.”

Aaarrrgghh picked the blue chips bag, adding it to the now sizable food pile located in his other arm. He only winced slightly when the corner of the bag managed to poke his wound. Oh well, it was what it was.

“Hm...should be enough,” He muttered to himself, already making his way to the line. That was another thing about human markets. Instead of the stalls only having one sole owner, there were various points of bartering with various clerks and such. They never were really keen to barter, though. They didn’t talk that much ether.

“Welcome to the Food Gopher, fine everything you we’re looking for?”

Aaarrrgghh nodded, and the unspoken vow of silence had commenced. As the clerk’s odd device beeped and booped, Aaarrrgghh turned his vision to glass doors, and the world outside. It was too cloudy to see the sun, but it kept the heat at bay and allowed for the trees too stand out more. It was peaceful, especially with that little orange thing flying in the sky-

Wait a minute was that Toby?!

Snapping back to reality, Aaarrrgghh checked the spot where he thought he saw his Wingman floating, but nothing was there. Just grey clouds and overcast.

“Sir? Excuse me Sir , your total’s $30.53.”

Turning back to the clerk, and giving her an apologetic smile, Aaarrrgghh fished out the money Blinky had gave him before moving to pick up his groceries. Once again he turned his gaze back to the glass door and, yeah, no Wingman in sight.

“You remaining balance is $10.53.”

“What?”

“You’re remaining balance, uh, sir,” the clerk responded, now a bit sheepish then she was before. Pointing to some numbers on a tiny screen, she now flashes him an apologetic smile. “You still owe about ten dollars and fifty three cents.”

“Ah…” Aaarrrgghh stalled, having not expected this totally unforeseeable circumstance. He could try and put the things back, he supposed. Or maybe... he could try something else. “Want to trade?”

Now it was the clerk’s turn to stall, her eyes widening even more as a subtle look of panic crossed her face. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Trade.”

“Ah! Sir I’m sorry but we uh, we don’t except-”

But Aaarrrgghh was already reaching into his pockets, trying to see if there was anything of value in the cargo shorts. Yet before he could even make his offer, a voice called out.

“I got it!”

Both the clerk and Aaarrrgghh jumped, looking around for a brief second before they realized that someone was now in between Aaarrrgghh and the Clerk’s counter. A small child, with a wild mop of curly hair, a baseball bat, and a beaten up backpack. A bit thrown off guard, the Clerk just stared at the child with a confused look on her face. Aaarrrgghh was pretty much in the same boat.

“You...you sure, kid?” The clerk asked, yet her tone seemed to suggest she was questioning herself more than the girl. Yet the child didn’t falter, instead pointing to the a small basket she’d set on the belt.

“Yeah, but like, I wanna buy my stuff too.”

The Clerk shot a glance at Aaarrrgghh, who, well...simply shrugged. He felt a little bad that a whelp was paying for his food, but he didn’t know if denying the help was rude.

“...You know what, sure, whatever,” the Clerk sighed, tossing her hands up into the air before scanning the child’s groceries as well. There was a surprising amount of meat for such a small human. When the clerk announced the new total, the child swiped a grey piece of plastic rather then give out the proper currency. Before Aaarrrgghh could ask what exactly the card was, the whole ordeal was wrapped up with, leaving the duo to their groceries.

“Uh...Thanks,” Aaarrrgghh said, grabbing what amounted to three bags of his groceries and giving the child a nod.

“You’re welcome mister!” The child responded, trying to grab what amounted to four bags in total. Or, well, she tried too. Despite her best efforts, she didn’t seem to be able to get very far before having to place the items back on the ground. It...well, it looked a bit pitiful. Shouldn’t someone help her?

Wait, he was someone! 

Taking about a half step for him, Aaarrrgghh approached the child and tried to seem as non intimidating as he could. “Need help?” 

The child paused mid struggle, their grip on the overpacked plastic bag loosening as they realized Aaarrrgghh was talking to her. Suddenly her once excited nature turned shy. “...Otto said I’m not supposed to talk to strangers.”

“Not Stranger,” Aaarrrgghh said, not realizing how strange that sounded. “Aaarrrgghh.” 

“Argh?” 

“Aaarrrgghh, three A’s.” 

The child stared for a moment, before a smile broke out on her face. Letting out a giggle, she held out two of the bags for Aaarrrgghh to take. “My name’s Trisha...I like your tattoos!”

The grass was softer than usual. Softer then any grass that natural grew in southern California. At first he assumed he’d accidentally wandered into that cursed “golf” course, but no, there were too many trees for that to be true. Still, he paid it no mind. Not when his hunger felt like it was driving him up the wall. He felt like he’d been hunting for so long, too long. Surly the sun should have been up by now?

But no, he could see the moon glowing peacefully down at him. It’s form, full and round, heightened his already impeccable night vision.

“Then why haven’t I found anything,” Bular grumbled, more to himself then to anyone. Not that it would have mattered. He hadn’t even heard the sound of crickets chirping, let alone any prey worthy of a meal. He was beginning to feel weak, but he had to press on.

Starving to death hardly seemed like a worthy way to go. Not for him, not for any warrior.

He tried to remember what time it was when he stepped out. He remembered the whelp asleep on the couch, but he couldn’t remember the time for the life of him. He would have tried to gauge it by the moon, but it never seemed to move.

Stopping in his tracks, Bular rose to his feet in an effort to get a scent. He needed something, anything really. Yet all his nose picked up was moss and bog water.

“Where in the pale lady’s name…” Bular muttered, his anger mixing into confusion. There should have been at least some sort of scent. Some sort of living scent, that is. But it seemed as if this very forest was lifeless. As if it was empty…

Then, ever so faintly, he caught it.

Blood.

Human Blood at that. It didn’t smell fresh, but his stomach was clearly content with eating whatever came his way. Running on all fours, Bular could feel his mouth water at the possible taste. He’d been stuck to ether eating deer, or fishing out whatever the Changeling had tossed in the fridge. This would be the closest he’d get to a full on meal.

Breaking through the treeline, Bular soon found himself near the canals, right where he’d slayed Kanjigar. Yet his eyes were focused on the limp human, laying on the concrete. Bular didn’t even bother looking to see if they were alive, instead actively digging into their flesh the moment he’d gotten close enough.

Once again, the flesh didn’t seem warm. If anything, it was cold to the touch. Yet that seemed to sooth something inside the Gumm-Gumm, quelling a fever he hadn’t noticed to begin with.

It was only after he had his fill that Bular noticed the fleshbag face. With her green, lifeless eyes and-

Eyes snapping open, Bular still felt his body jump from the dream. He’d gotten better at dealing with them. By now, it was more of the shock of the situation than anything. For all intents and purposes, he was not going to look into why these were happening anymore then he needed to. And for now, Bular could still do his typical duties of being a Gumm-Gumm prince. 

He still took a moment to get out of bed, trying to shake the image from his mind.

Stretching his back out and placing his leg upon his stump, Bular realized that the apartment was rather quiet. While normally he’d hear some sort of chatter, or perhaps the television babbling, he heard nothing at all. Shuffling out of his den, Bular gazed upon the room before him. A scowl covered his face when he noticed the window, the one facing the street and the sun and his possible doom, laid open in front of him. It’d been happening more and more lately, as it made it easier for the Goblins to get in. At least, that’s what Otto had said. At first it sparked outrage, but by now Bular had figured out a system to this hindrance.

Taking the torn, chewed up comforter, he draped it over most of his body. Shuffling towards the window, he used his metal hand, reached for the curtains, and pulled them closed. He felt the tip of his horns begin to singe by a few stray beams, but as soon as it happened, it was over. Now, his eyes adjusting quickly to the darkness, Bular took in his surroundings.

Compared to when they first arrived, the apartment had changed drastically. The kitchen had yet to be repaired, as he could see the black stains of soot all from the other side of the room. Various scribbles had adorn the walls, mostly the child’s, but Bular could see his own battle plans from the still open bedroom door. Near to that, the still noticeable Otto size dent had broken into the wall, outlining the changeling robust figure.The carpet was littered with dried, muddy footprints, as well as papers, toys and whatever “treasures” the goblins had collected for the child. And the once pristine couch now seemed more sunken in, tilted to one side from where Bular had broken the legs. A single pillow and blanket laid on top, as the child normally slept here. 

Ah, that’s why it was so quiet. The child was gone. 

Wait, the child was gone?! 

Feeling his mane begin to stand on its ends, Bular’s head swiveled as he tried to find where his charge went. He peered back into the bedroom, the kitchen, even the bathroom. No where. It was when he’d started lifting up furniture to look for the brat that he realized two important things. 

One, the child was probably outside at the playground. He’d started tearing the apartment up for nothing. There had been a number of times the goblins had watched Trisha while he and Otto were busy. And he would have been entirely embarrassed by this if not for-...

Well, for finding the Killstone, reformed once more. 

“...Impossible .”  

Staring at the diamond shaped gem, Bular felt the tidal wave of shock, rage, and shame swirl within his mind. And just like before, he scooped the rock in his grasp and began to squeeze. His teeth bared, he tried to grit through the pain as his wounds reopened. However, this time, he’d only managed to crack the Killstone. This time, his body crumpled before him, sole leg giving out under the strain of a ruined body. It took him a few moments to blink the stars from his eyes. Two more to notice how the Killstone pulsed in time with his own heart beat. 

Damn the Trollhunter. Damn Merlin. Damn every human that’d ever walked the earth. And damn that stupid stone!

And thus, Bular tried to crush the stone two more times before his rage got the best of him. 

And with the target of his anger sapping at his strength, Bular turned his attention to the nearest object. Claws dug into the cushion of the mattress, freeing the distressed and coiled springs like snakes from their burrows. Bular bit and tore and slashed; until the mattress had become nothing but cotton and wire pieces. Chest heaving with each breath, Bular failed to feel the usual relief that his rampages usually brought. Maybe it was the fact that he’d have to sleep on the floor. Or maybe it was the bitterness that he had failed to scream out. The disgust of himself…

What kind of a troll was he? That he couldn’t even shatter a single stone. 

That he’d panic at the disappearance of a simple child. 

That he’d hide himself away as his enemies ran free. 

He didn’t know how long he’d been sitting there, feeling sorry for himself, when he heard the front door click open. Still staring at the mess he’d made, Bular thanks the Pale Lady for having the luck of the door being closed. He couldn’t handle the girl or, Gorgus forbid, Otto finding him like this. Not now. But as he sat, and listened, the Gumm-Gumm couldn’t help but feel as if something wasn’t right… 

“Okay,” Trisha’s voice, a hushed whisper that Bular could barely hear from the bedroom, began. “You gotta be extra quiet. My friend’s still asleep…” 

Bular crept closer to the bedroom door, the shredded mattress bits doing wonders to muffle his own steps. For a few moments, nothing but the sound of footsteps...one light, and one heavy. 

The freezer door is opened, if he can guess from the hum of the machinery. The sound of plastic squeaking as it’s packed away. If it’s Otto, he would have heard the Changeling speak now, right? Why refer to Bular as “my friend”? Had the child brought another whelp from the park inside?

And then a voice, deep as a cavern and rough like gravel, spoke out. And while Bular didn’t hear what he said, it made the Troll’s mane stand up on it’s ends. It was like a sick memory, to hear that voice after so long. And before he’d even realized it, Bular had felt the name bubble up from his throat. 

“ ARGHAMOUNT!” 

Slamming the door open, Bular ignored Trisha’s scream as he charged for the troll. After all, only one being had a voice like that. A traitorous, cowardly troll that- 

“Bular, no!” The child yelled, but it sounded so far away.

That was nowhere to be seen. Instead, before him was a human that, while impressibly big, was nowhere near as tall as his enemy. And as Bular stared at the Fleshbag, taking in his form, he couldn’t help but feel...what? Shocked? Disappointed?

However Bular wasn’t given the time to figure out this new onslaught of feelings. Not when the human aimed a punch to his cracked side, and knocking the air right out of the troll. For a moment, his vision buckles, and he cursed his previous attempts at crushing the Killstone. How weak was his body, to be felled by a single blow? 

Still, from his spot against the wall, Bular could see the Flesh bag clutching his right hand. From how the beings face clenched in pain, it must have been rough. So maybe the crack he’d heard wasn’t his ribs. Still, it gave him ample time to swat the fool with his living hand, sending him barreling onto the kitchen floor. Comically, he slid until he hid the nearby wall, wincing as he made a human shaped indent in the drywall.

“Stop!” Trisha yelled, and now Bular could see the child. She’d stood between the two, eyes frantic and scared and darting between him and the fleshbag. A Goblin was perched on her shoulder, hissing out at the human but remaining ferm in its spot.  “Stop it! That’s my friend! Don’t hurt him!”

And then Trisha turned to the Flesh bag, branding her bat like Bular had taught her. And Bular realized that she was trying to defend him once more. And Bular felt that odd mix of disgust and pride swell up in his chest. The kind he still couldn’t quite place. The kind that ate at him like a vulture picking at the rotten spoils of war. 

However the human, whether from the impact or the pain of it all, soon slumped his head. No one spoke for a moment, two, before Bular shuffled past the child and towards the Fleshbag. Giving him a quick look over, his verdict was swift. 

“He’s alive,” Bular growled, still eyeing over their...their what? Prisoner? Lunch? Oddly enough, something about the fleshbag reminded him so much of Aaarrrgghh. From his skin markings, to even the way he punched. All of it was like looking at an eerie copy of his old...clan mate. “For now…” 

He’d been so preoccupied by the human that he’d forgotten the child was still standing there. It was only when he heard a quick, sharp breath that he turned towards her. Tears, large and frightened, began to pour from her face as her hands shook. Still, she remained in her stance, even as the goblin tried to soothe her worries with coos. Had this been an accident, Bular would have pitied the girl. Even now he felt some part of him wanting to pick the girl up and make sure that she was alright. But the fact of the matter was, this was her fault. 

“I-I….I’m sorry,” Trisha began, her voice quivering as the bat fell to the ground.“I didn’t mean to - didn’t think he’d-”

She broke a rule. A rule he and Otto had specifically put in place so that this wouldn’t happen…

“Call Otto.” 

“B-but-“

Bular stared the Whelp down, rising to as tall as he could while keeping his voice as “calm” as he could. Really, he was too tired to be angry. Too tired to try and muster any true rage. No, he was just disappointed.

“Now.” Bular ordered, before turning his gaze back to the human. “Or I will eat him.” 

Bular didn’t turn to see the girl scramble off. But he could hear how frightened she sounded. Frightened for a stranger, he hoped. Would he have fulfilled that threat, had she challenged his word? Why did he feel like the scum of the earth for giving her the warning? It was something he might have to do! To protect them! Why didn’t she just listen?!

“O-otto?” Bular heard the child’s voice echoing from the living room. “I...I let someone in the apartment…”

Deciding to distract himself, Bular took to trying to find something to bind his prisoner with. If he woke up before help arrived, then that could pose an issue. Quickly looking around the rather destroyed kitchen, Bular was only pleasantly surprised when he found a decent bit of rope under the sink. As well as some daggers, a power tool, and a...small car battery?

“...Changelings,” Bular sighed, disregarding the torture tools as he got to securing their prisoner. However, as Bular hoisted the human to take him to a chair, something slipped out of his pocket and fell to the ground. Something that nearly caused Bular to drop the human then and there…

A horngazel, glowing softly like the dying embers of a fire. Something Bular hadn’t seen in ages. Something the changelings have been trying to get a hold of for ages. 

And suddenly everything clicked into place. 

Chapter Text

It was quiet when he heard the door to the apartment open. And even as he heard the slight hesitation of footsteps behind him, Bular refused to turn to the Changeling as he entered. No, his gaze had remained ever shifting on three things. The Hongazel in his hands, the enemy in his chair, and the closed bedroom door. Darkness had taken hold outside, and while the allure of fresh air had beckoned to him, Bular knew it was foolish to leave the home until help had arrived.

“ Mein Prinz, I came as soon as I–”

And Otto stopped mid sentence, his mouth instantly shutting as his eyes caught the glow of the Horngazel. Then to the man, still breathing, still unconscious; in the chair. Then to Bular unnatural, pensive expression. Otto opened his mouth to say something, but continued to close it and repeat the process. Like a fish out of water. Until, finally, the order of importance seemed to settle in his mind...or, well, that’s what Bular guessed. He could never exactly pinpoint what went through a Changeling’s mind other than cowardliness and treachery. 

“What?!” Otto exclaimed, hand running over his stubbled head as if he was dreaming. Blue eyes tinted with the orange afterglow of the Horngazel. “How?! Who?!”

“The humans is Aarghaumont.” 

Otto’s head snapped towards Bular, then towards the human. This seemed to repeat for several more moments before Otto tossed his hands into the air and strode into the kitchen like a man on a mission. Bular didn’t turn to watch him leave, merely stared at what Aarghaumont had become. He still hadn’t woken up, but he could see Aaarrrgghh’s chest rise and fall with each breath. His human chest, weak and fragile and so easy to break. 

He should kill him. 

He knew he should. Here and now, end one of the biggest disgraces to Gumm-Gumm kind. He should dig his teeth into the soft flesh and tendons of Argh’s neck and rip the life from his body. He wasn’t a warrior, he wasn’t a fighter; he wasn’t even a Troll anymore. Everything Bular had once known about that once magnificent, brutal fighter was gone.

And yet, he still laid Bular down. He still dealt a blow that had sent him to his knees. With meaty hands and a wound to his side. With a body soft with age and happiness and comfort. 

All it had taken was a well-timed punch. 

Just how weak had he gotten? Not even Draal had knocked him down as easy. Was it the stone? Was he still crippled from his previous fights? Why did that weaken him so?

First the Trollhunter, now Trollmarket’s own pet?

What was happening to him? 

“How sure are you that this is Aarghaumont?” Otto’s voice was only a dull attempt at cutting through the fog of Bular’s thoughts. Still, the pungent smell of blood and meat was enough to piece together what was going on. A plate of raw flesh, a mess of human and other, was before him. Bular still kept his gaze on Argh. 

“You dare to doubt my judgement.” The growl escaped Bular slower than it usually had. It’s rumble ether held down by the conflict in his mind, or by how tired he felt…why did he feel so tired? Shouldn’t he be happy, elated that not only they have an enemy in the palm of their hands, but the key to their very sanctuary?

Why did it make him feel like he was stuck in a field before dawn?

“No! No, of course not, mein prinz,” The false sincerity was obvious, but at least it was better to pretend he had to. There was no fear in his voice, not as much as there should have. “I just...forgive me for saying this, but it’s practically impossible. I mean, the only way a troll can take a human form is if…”

Bular still didn’t turn to face Otto, even though he saw the changeling’s shift and motion out of the corner of his eye. No, he knew what he knew, and he didn’t feel like defending his point to the fool. Taking the small plate of food, Bular shoved it into his mouth as he turned to the door.

“Watch them, then. I’m going out.” 

“Right now?!” Otto exclaimed, before trying to scramble after the troll. “We need to stay together and come up with a plan! If what you’ve said is true, then the Trollhunter will discover his friend is missing so-”

Bular closed the door with a resounding thud, cutting Otto off before he could finish. And as he waited at the steps of the apartment, Bular heard a muffled curse before the following silence. Feeling the cold night air sooth his aching body, the Gumm Gumm simply took a moment to breath. 

In. out. 

He kept the rhythm as he walked along the street light shadows. Across the street, pass the park, and into the deep quiet of the woods. He didn’t care that Angor Rot could be there, or Draal, or even the Trollhunter. He tried to run, and bit back a yelp as his wounds pulled his cracked skin taunt. It only made him angrier. It only drove him further. It only pushed him to increase his speed. 

Limbs grazed and smashed through tree bark and branches. Weaker stones were no match for Bular, crushing under his step. Even as tired as he was, as drained as he was; destruction came oh so naturally to the brute. Enough that, when he finally grew too worn from running, he settled on grabbing the nearest thing and using it as a club. The unfortunate tree branch quickly snapped from it’s home and barely lasted a second. The troll whacked it against a nearby bolder and sent the wood splintering to pieces. Hands clawed the earth for another weapon, gaze not even focusing on what it could be. Luck landed him on a smaller rock, about the size of a human head. He would know, he’d held many skulls before. He was the Skullcrusher’s heir.

How many, a voice from the back of his mind whispered. 

He chucked it at the boulder, feeling satisfied as the stone cracked in too. The boulder, however, only remained firm. It’s strong, crackless surface mocking Bular. 

His strength was waning, as more and more items he ripped from the earth and tossed at the stone. Rocks, trees; he’d even gone as far as flinging himself at the boulder. Pounding and clawing away at the piece of rock before him. He didn’t stop until he’d felt the stone crack under his hands. It was large, unsightly, splintering from where his hands had impacted and all the way to the top of the rock. And as Bular felt his arms grow weak, his steps shaky, he took a step back to see what remained.

A cracked boulder in a newly created clearing. Nothing but shattered tree stumps, broken gravel and…

And something familiar, gleaming in the starlight. 

Brow furling, Bular took a few shaky steps towards the glow in question. Then felt his mind stall as he realized what it was. Before he knew what he was doing, Bular had already dropped to his knees and began digging at the loose dirt. He felt a sliver of hope rise within his chest, bubbling up as his living stone found the hilt. With a hearty yank, Bular the Brutal swung one of his jawboned dual blades into the air. 

For a few moments Bular simply stared at the sword. His fingers clenched at the hilt, examining the weapon for any signs of wear. The blade was chipped, but not too poorly. He could see dried, green flecks over the entirety of the sword. A quick sniff, and his mind painted the picture of Strickler or someone no doubt finding the tool and hiding till it would be needed. Get a small pack of Goblins to do the dirty work, and kill them off to keep the secret. 

Laying it in his lap for better inspection, Bular saw his reflection in the dirtied metal. Trolls didn’t need as much light as humans to see, even though the moon was gone for this night. The stars made up for their rival’s disappearance, and Bular once again faltered as he saw his image. 

Other than the red beads in his mane, he looked...older. The crevasses around his eyes having deepened, his stone losing its luster. He was never one for looks, the vanity of a Gumm-Gumm was more in their strength then their appearance. But it startled him more because, well…

If he closed one eye, he felt like he looked like his father. 

Not exactly, there would never be a troll like Gunmar. Not unless a Heartstone cleaved in two and another Whelp was spat out during a war. But Bular was half of his father. Bular had his stone, his mane, his build. His mind did the math, and he realized he was almost as old as his father when he started his war with the humans. 

His father had waged a war at his age, and here he was feeling sorry for himself. His father wasted in the Darklands, and here he was being laid low by some pathetic humans. His father needed him, and here he was throwing a tantrum, like a whelp.

“Pathetic,” he growled, feeling something within him settle. “There is work to be done…”

When Bular had returned to the apartment, he had to fight the urge to hold his head as high as he had before. After all, he’d already scoured the ceiling too many times. He was greeted with the sight of Argh, awake, gagged, and scowling. At the small kitchen table sat Otto, who had probably been examining the horngazel with scrutiny until he’d shuffled in. His already wide eyes grew when he saw the jaw blade, his look of mild annoyance vanishing with genuine surprise. However, he didn’t say anything, still gauging the Gumm-Gumm prince’s reaction.

Bular merely offered a firm nod and the hint of a smile. 

“Believe me now, Changeling?” 

Otto merely gave a scowl but turned back to Argh. The human gazed at both of them with a look of pure venom. Even like this, Bular could see the shadows of Argh’s once former glory. 

“Well, I’m not sure how they did it, but that is Aarghaumont. In the flesh.” Otto smirked at his own joke, and Bular felt himself in such a mood to follow. However, his gaze flickered to the still closed bedroom door. For a few moments, he felt tempted to go check on the whelp. But his father was still in the darklands, and they needed to set the plan first. “I’m not a mage, but we do have a few who are more proficient in the arts back at HQ. We’d have to wait until Strickler’s out of the picture to—”

“Well, all the more reason to kill the traitor.” 

“We still–”

Otto abruptly cut himself off, his gaze flickering to Argh once more. Bular could see the gears in his head whirling, trying to pick what to say. Sneaky changeling. Thankfully, Bular was able to catch on. Can’t have the captive learning too much. 

“Were at least on the same page about what to do here?” Bular asked, motioning to Argh with his prosthetic hand. He caught how the human turned Troll seemed to linger on it. Linger on him, now that he was awake. “It’d be a waste to not use your abilities for this task.” 

Otto smirked, and Bular knew the ploymorph caught what he was saying. Keep it vague, but keep it true. However, he hadn’t expected Otto to get up from the table. Or for him to walk behind Argh and, after a precise chop to his neck, knock him out once more. 

“There.” Otto looked to Bular over the sleeping form of Argh. He seemed rather pleased with himself. “ Now to answer your question; yes, I can try and be Argh. But not for long, and not without studying him thoroughly. We’d have to strike quick, true, and either get the bridge or figure out a way to keep them from changing out the horngazel runes.”

“Right, so then–…Why are we in trollspeak?” 

“The childling,” Otto replied, motioning towards the bedroom door. “I’m not sure if she’s listening, but I do know her vocabulary is limited for this. I would rather the little one not interfere with anything we plan.” 

“She–”

Otto gave him a look, and Bular realized exactly why. They wouldn’t have been in this situation if she’s obeyed the rules. If she hadn’t brought a stranger inside… 

“She won’t interfere any more. I’m going to speak to her.” 

“And why would she listen, oh bringer of horrible, slow, painful and thoroughly-calculated death ? Why wouldn’t a child of the species we eat betray us, hm?”

Bular let out a growl, but the threat itself was empty. The red beads in his mane felt heavier than they once were, the bracelet on his wrist like an anchor. For a few moments, neither said anything.

“You could still end this,” Otto piped up, offering a shrug as he looked away. Again, Bular couldn’t read him, the changeling’s poker face too strong. Still, there wasn’t as much playful mirth in Otto’s voice as he thought there should be. “We can get her something so she doesn’t suffer. Just say the word and–”

Bular felt his claws dig into the carpet, and Otto lifted his hands up in defense. He opened his mouth to say something, anything, before letting out a sigh and shaking his head. 

“Fine. I don’t like the idea of killing her ether, so we’ll be selfish and leave it for now.” Otto muttered somewhat bitterly, crossing his arms once more. “Currently we don’t know if the others have noticed Aarghaumont missing. We also don’t know if they know he’s a human, but I’m willing to bet on that being true. He’s been marked with Creeper’s sun, so it’s also safe to say that Angor Rot knows of him, and would need to be informed of-”

“What?!” 

“Wait you didn’t know?” 

Bular shook his head, already shuffling over to Argh and trying to examine any pieces he could. The man was, however, tied down. This time in knots far better than Bular ever tied. “I didn’t examine him any more then...When did he...Where did he?” 

“Right side, near his pit and pectoral.” Otto offered, before reaching for the horngazel on the table. “My guess, by how far it’s spread, is either from their little trip to Florida or sooner. At least, that’s how it is for Changelings...creeper’s sun isn’t normally used on humans. And even then, the blow is usually killing one. The effects haven’t really been tested since it's considered a waste of resources.”

Bular didn’t want to bother with the bonds or knots Otto had placed, so he settled for taking the impure’s word. A poor choice, but there was no reason for him to lie. Not about that. “So then, he was struck in battle?” 

“That’s what I was thinking as well. Probably trying to dodge and not attack, and get hit for his cowardice,” Otto nodded, before pocketing the Horngazel and giving Argh another look over. Then, Bular watched as the polymorph did his work. Growing taller, firmer, his bones shifted but made no cracks. Once the deed was done, Otto rolled his broad shoulders and smirked. “How do I look?”  

“Disgusting, ” Bular replied clumsily, his mouth fumbling from one language to another. “But accurate. Will you remember all the details when you make your first trip?” 

Otto gave him an accosted look, before joking striking an over dramatic pose. “ Mein prinz! You think I haven’t done this a million times! Oh, the shame! Besides, it’s not like this will be the last I see of him. I still need to figure out the cadence of his voice.” 

Bular shook his head, feeling a little disgruntled by the whole display. Otto quickly shifted back to his usual disguise just as the bedroom door closed with a click. Two pairs of eyes shifted to it, then to each other. Otto had been right, she had been listening. Clever, but not the way he wanted her to be...

“...did you talk to her?” Bular asked, as if the impure before him hadn’t talked about euthanizing the child mere minutes ago. “About what’s happened?” 

“No, she wouldn’t open the door,” Otto replied, voice soft. It was enough to make Bular realize just how well a changeling could lie. Could pretend to care about someone. “How do you want to handle this?”

Bular paused for a few moments, before motioning for Otto to leave. Had the conversation they had not happened, perhaps he’d want Otto to stay, to sugarcoat whatever bitter truth Bular would have to present. But whatever trust Bular had felt Otto could be near the child, well, that illusion was shattered. 

“Then I'll be waiting outside.” Otto replied, and shuffled out of the ruined apartment. Bular didn’t bother to move until he heard the door click closed, and still waited to be sure the Changeling wasn’t going to come back in with a knife, or poison, or any of the sort…

He did, however, move Argh into the kitchen, as to keep the man from startling Trisha. He at least had the sense to not leave him in view. Once he’d figured out how he was going to go about this; Bular steadied himself and knocked on the bedroom door. Once. Twice. Thrice…

“Trisha?” He called out, loud enough for her to hear. 

She didn’t answer. 

A flicker of annoyance rose up, but he qwelled it. Anger wouldn’t help any, at least not right now. “I don’t know if you’re listening, but...” 

What to say...how to say this? Bular wasn’t one for words and was already regretting sending Otto out. But it needed to be done. This was something he had to do.

“I’m...I’m not mad.” Bular began clumsily, scowling at his own words. More silence followed, and Bular settled for sitting down at the door, leaning against the flimsy piece of wood then talking to it. He closed his eyes, trying to find the words to say. “As a matter of fact, you did something good, bringing him here. But…that doesn’t excuse the fact you broke the rules.” 

He felt his mind go back to the moment, from hours ago. How he’d flung the door open in a haste. How all the hair in his mane had stood on ends. How he could just picture the Aarghaumont he’d knew and-

But Argh wasn’t the troll he’d once known.

Argh couldn’t have hurt a fly. He was a pacifist. He loved humans. She was fine with him. He probably had suspected nothing until Bular had rampaged out. And unless Draal was able to describe her well enough, there was no way he could have known who she was.

“I was never good at following rules either,” he sighed, and the vaguest hints of his youth came to mind. Of damp caves and moss covered nests. Of siblings who’d all been lost to battles or to the sun. All of it solidifying as he thought more and more of his life, just a few months ago. Hunting as soon as the sun began to be hidden by the trees, the buildings. The reckless thrill of stirring Stricklander’s rage. “I’m still not, even as old as I am now...But Otto made those rules to keep you safe.”

Still, nothing. No sound, no words. It made Bular wonder if she was even there. Maybe she’d stuck out the window with the goblin’s help. Maybe that would have been better. He was never good at explaining his feelings. But the time for squabbling like a whelp was over, he’d decided that in the forest, didn’t he?”

“I teach you how to defend yourself, because one day you will be on your own.” He opened his eyes, focusing them on the popcorned, scratched ceiling above. “One day, you will have to be on your own, and be able to hold your own if anything should happen. Everyone has that day, but I do not want it to come so soon. There are enemies in all types of people, troll or human. And the thought of a whelp so young as you, being put in that situation because I couldn’t-” 

He felt a small thump on the other side of the door. And even though Bular could hear the faint shufflings of a small being on the other side, it didn’t open. Still, it meant that she was listening, that she was there. 

“Because I couldn’t protect you...because I couldn’t get to you in time, or was trapped by the sun...It makes me realize just how easily-”

Bular felt his voice die in his chest, his throat clenching to keep the words at bay. 

“…You could get hurt. Hurt in ways that healers and balms could never fix.” 

A beat passed, then two. Then, carefully, Bular heard the door knob turn and click. The door creaking open ever so slightly. 

“...He didn’t seem like a bad guy,” Came a muffled, stuffy voice. Bular didn’t turn to face her, for some reason he couldn’t. It was almost as if he was forcing himself to keep his gaze away from her. “He just wanted to help me bring the groceries up...I couldn’t carry them all.” 

Of course Argh would. Because Argh was helpful, and good, and if anyone had seen a whelp in need of help it would be Trollmarket’s pet Gumm-gumm. And of course Trisha, who’d taken one look at his monstrous form, of his skulls and woulds and death threats, would think someone willing to help bring up groceries wasn’t a bad guy. Of course, this would happen. Of course it would. 

“There are worse people than Aarghaumont.” Bular replied, and tried not to stiffen as the door opened wider. “He is a pacifist. He would never have hurted you..” 

“...Does a pacifist only punch adults? Cause he hurt you when you scared him.” 

And suddenly Bular’s eyes snapped open, and he almost jerked upright in the realization. Because in all his pouting and self pitying and angst, he’d completely glazed over the fact that Argh, the pacifist, used his fist to punch Bular right in the gut. What...exactly happened to him during the time he’d been away? 

“He...he certainly did use his fist,” Bular couldn’t help but turn his gaze to the kitchen. Sadly, from where he sat, Argh was out of view. Whatever that meant would have to be brought back up for a later debate. “That’s not the point here, the point is you…” 

The point is what? What was he even trying to get out of this. The child broke the rules and here he was coddling her like-

“The point is to not break the rules, so people don’t get hurt.” Trisha mumbled, before leaning her back against Bular’s. He felt the goblin scramble off of her and onto his shoulder, which the little beast decided to give him a nasty glare. The whole situation was enough to cause Bular to blink in surprise. Well, that could have gone way worse.

“Uh...Yes,” was all Bular could say back, feeling as if it wasn’t the point at all. Trying to turn to look at him, Bular realized she was keeping her tearfiled gaze focused on the floor. A few moments passed in silence, until Bular tried to do what he had done once before, when the child was on the edge of tears. However, this time, he merely settled for patting Trisha on her head, ruffling her hair. “...spit it out, why are you still upset?” 

“...You’re not gonna eat Mr. Argh, right?” Trisha asked, still not bothering to look up. And at once Bular realized that she wasn’t frightened for herself, that she didn’t care right now if she got hurt or not. Because of course she didn’t. And it made Bular wonder why this child didn’t. “Cause it’s not his fault, and he probably punched you when you scared him, and...and-”

“I couldn’t, even if I wanted to,” Bular answered truthfully, however it came out faster than he meant for it too. Scowling at himself and his words, he tried to phrase it better. “Argh isn’t a human. He’s Aarghaumont.”

That got a reaction out of the whelp. Enough for her brow to furl and for her to look at him once more. “But wasn’t Aargha...Aarghaumu… but wasn’t he a troll?” 

“Yes, I...trust me, whelp, I have just as many questions as you do.” Bular answered honestly, realizing just how absurd this all sounded. Nonetheless, it was all he had to go on. “And hopefully, we’ll get our answers out of him yet.” 

“So...he is a bad guy?” Trisha asked, getting to her feet to try and look past Bular. “But he seemed so nice and- is that a sword!? Where did you get that sword?!” 

Bullet dodged, Bular smirked as Trisha spotted the blade leaning against the end of the wall. Nodding to it, he rose to his own feet before making the few short steps of retrieving it. Kneeling and holding it out, he could help but laugh at Trisha’s own awe. 

“It’s an old weapon on mine. The blade needs tending, it’s still sharp so-” He began, but was quickly cut off as she proceeded to slap her hands on the flat of the blade. “Hey!” 

“Bular, it's bigger than me!” Trisha exclaimed, before pointing to the hilt. “And it’s got teeth!” 

“Yes I know! Now stop rubbing your meaty hands over the blade! And get me a ra-” Buar began, before realizing what was in the kitchen. “Actually, I’ll get it, you merely watch the sword.” 

With that, Bular allowed muscle memory to guide him and drove his sword right into the floor. And, by how Trisha gasped, wasn’t supposed to do that. Still, the childling still continued to examine the blade as he went to the kitchen, and no doubt to check on their hostage…

Once again, Bular’s orange eyes locked onto Argh’s green ones. The two stared at each other for a moment, before Bular merely growled and shoved him aside, chair and all. He took a small bit of smug satisfaction as Argh let out a muffled grunt. It did attract Trisha’s attention, however, as well as a conflicted look. 

“Bular, why’s Mr. Argh tied up?” Trisha asked, and Bular tried to guide her away from the kitchen with his hand. He caught how Argh seemed to look at her with a mix of confusion and betrayal. He could only wonder what was going on through the trolls’s-....man’s head.

“Because he’ll punch us if we let him free,” Bular replied, feeling smug when Argh shot Bular a dirty look. However, they were both cut off as Otto gave a small warning knock before entering the apartment once more. 

“ Mein Prinz? Kleine Göre? Are you both- Why is the sword through the floor?!” 

Already, Trisha ran to him like a fly to blood, wrapping his leg in a hug as she looked up to him. And Bular had to fight himself from pulling her away. “Otto! Otto, Otto! Can I get a sword!? Please? Pretty please?” 

Getting glared at from both Otto and Argh, Bular ran a hand through his braided head. He merely offered a shrug before making his way to where his sword stood and, just as quickly, unsheathed it from the floor. Otto pinched the bridge between his nose, before affectionately ruffling Trisha’s hair. Despite the annoyed look on his face, that is.

“We are so lucky that this building is empty,” Otto scowled, limping towards the kitchen despite the child clinging to his leg. “Come along, you’re hungry, aren’t you? Let’s make our guest some dinner, ja?” 

Aaarrrgghh...had no idea what was going on. Well, he had a rather decent idea of how royally he’d screwed up, but as for what he was seeing, well...It was definitely making him wonder if he was losing his mind or not. He remembered waking up, tied to a chair, a man he’d never seen before eyeing him. And he remembered thinking, or a moment, that he’d maybe just thought he’d been attacked by Bular. But he saw how Otto fiddled with the horngazel, drawing holes in paper like he’d known what he was looking at, taking notes…

And, then when Otto began to ask him questions, in trollish noless, he’d done the next calm, rational thing he could think of. Spitting the changeling right in his stupid, tratiorious face. 

Yes, it had gotten him gagged, but all and all, it was worth getting a rag tied around his face. What a shame that rags didn’t taste good like this. 

What a shame he’d trusted some poor whelp…

But the oddest thing was, when he woke back up from his second time falling unconscious...He swore he could hear Bular talking to someone. And not only that, but talking softly , with care and worry and then the child from earlier was asking about him and still called him Mr. Argh and now Bular was showing off his weapons to her, and now the changeling was fixing dinner at the stove with tools he had threatened to use on him earlier and-

And now he was seated at a dinner table. 

While Bular remained firm in his spot on the floor, the little changeling had decided to sit at the table with him. The taller changeling had settled for eating his food in the kitchen. Aaarrrgghh felt a small bit surprised when the small changeling had set down a plate, and even more surprised when he’d started to feel her try and fiddle with the ropes tying him to his chair. Sadly, that was stopped by the larger changeling rightfully quick.

“ Nein! Do you want him to punch you?!” 

“But how is he gonna eat, Otto?” The smaller changeling asked, comically motioning to Argh. 

“Just untie his gag and get the goblin to feed him,” Otto, the taller changeling, replied flippantly as he took a bite of his own food. 

“Or you could not waste food on him,” Bular piped up, and Trisha shifted her dirty look from Otto to him. Bular merely shrugged before turning back to sharpening his lone dual blade. Slowly, as the sparks couldn’t scorch the carpet. 

Still, when the rag was removed from his mouth, Argh couldn’t help but flex his jaw in relief. However, his relief was short lived as a familiar green blur hopped into the table, wielding a fork like a dagger. 

“Oh, waga yaga~” The goblin teased, stabbing at the plate before him and waving it in front of his now closed mouth like he was trying to feed a child. And while Argh wasn’t one for pride, this was a new low, even for him...well, no, there was another key factor in this. 

“Franklin, Stop! You’re getting it over his shirt!” Trisha called out, reaching for the goblin and pulled him back. Said goblin merely rolled his eyes, before shoving the rather sparsely food covered fork into his own mouth. 

Otto bit back his own laugh, while Bular merely growled at Argh. 

“She cooked you food, the least you can do is eat it, ingrate,” Bular spat, even as Argh whipped his chin and mouth on his bunched up shoulders. 

“Could be poisoned,” Argh grumbled back, sending his glare from Bular to Trisha and the Goblin. “Can’t trust.” 

And then the changeling frowned, and for a moment Argh believed she was actually saddened by what he said. But then she quickly lit up and, in a swift motion, took a fork full of his own plate into her mouth. Well, only some mashed potatoes. 

“See?” She asked, before offering him a fork full. “We’re the good guys, we don’t poison people.” 

Argh starred, then looked to Bular, then Otto. Bular seemed to be staring at Otto as well, who merely rolled his eyes and, for show, took a bite of his own food. Ah, well, it was nice to know he wasn’t the only one suspicious of the changelings. 

“What about… rest?” Argh countered, eyeing what he knew to be meatloaf and...what was that? Toby had talked about them before, hadn’t he? A sprout? Either way, while she took a bite of the meatloaf, she did seem to linger on the plant with small ire. However, realizing something, she quickly took a small bite of the plant before sticking her tongue out.

“Oh no!” She exclaimed, draping an arm over her head. “The Brussel sprouts, they’re….Mr. Argh was right, they’re poisoned! I can’t eat them! If I eat anymore I’ll die! See, I’m...I’m already dying...Blegh.”

As Trisha slumped to the floor Argh could hear Otto scoff before he could even see him setting his plate down and making his way over. Bular merely shook his head and went back to sharpening his blade. 

“What a shame, then it looks like you won’t be getting the antidote,” Otto chided, taking great care to go and take her plate while leaving Argh’s where it remained. “I suppose I’ll have to put the cookie dough back in the freezer.” 

That seemed to get the smaller changeling’s attention at once, and she clung to Otto’s foot as he tried to shuffle away. “Wha- but I...Otto! I don’t have that long left! How could you do this to me, your own daughter!” 

That made Argh snap back at the duo, then to Bular. While the Gumm-gumm didn’t react, Otto sputtered before yanking his leg away from Trisha. 

“How many times do I have to- just eat your food!” Otto snapped back, placing the plate down before shuffling out of view. Argh heard the tell tale sign of dishes filling a sink. By now, Argh’s feeding buddy had decided to return, now holding the fork out in at least a more neutral manner. Argh scowled but, after a few moments, relented...well, until it got to the meat.

“Not human, right?” 

Once again, the smaller changeling, the childling, laughed. Once again, Bular sent the kitchen a death glare. However, this time Argh couldn’t see if the larger changeling had shook his head no or not. 

It would be later, when the childling had been put to sleep on the couch and Argh had been dragged into what he guessed was a bedroom that the true interrogation began. At least, that’s what Argh had figured was happening, since the larger changeling went through all the trouble of using the horngazel to seal the doorway. 

“There, no chance of intrusions.” Otto had muttered, tossing the horngazel in the air before catching it by the hilt. “Now... mein Prinz? Where should we start?” 

Bular, still quiet, still looming, regarded Argh with a mix of disgust and contempt. Lowering the blade he’d been sharpening for hours, he took two steps towards Argh, and glared down at who had once been his comrade…

Reluctant comrade. Argh could recall and the times him and Bular had sparred, as annoying as that had been during his teen years. Argh’s thoughts were stopped when he felt Bular land a punch to his right side, sending a wave of pain shooting along his body. That and what was probably a broken rib.

“That’s for earlier,” he replied, smirking as he pointed to his own scared, cracked side. “Now tell me, general, how fair’s the cowards life?” 

Chapter Text

It was late. Blinky knew it was late, and normally this wouldn’t be a problem in the slightest. After all, when the sky grew dark and the stars began to appear, that usually meant most Trolls were up and about. And, like previously stated, this wasn’t normally a problem in the slightest. But then again, things hadn’t been normal in the past two months, why would they be now.

“So… has anyone seen Argh? I wanna show off my sweet new hammer skills!” 

That was the question that’d sparked Blinky’s memory. And, from the look of Draal’s face, his as well. With the dawning realization that Argh hadn’t returned from his snack trip, the duo shared one look of mild panic, before realizing that their compatriot was probably still out on the surface. 

At night. 

When the grocery store was only a twenty minute walk away from the house.

It was decided that the group would split up to search for their friend. Since night had fallen, it meant that they were in more danger then before. But then again, when had that ever stopped them before. Of course, things had been different then. Of course, Argh had not been human. Of course, that had only been when Bular was there to worry about. 

And, of course, just as they were about to leave for the surface, all of Trollmarket dimmed. And the sound of faint whispers and hushed awe filled the caverns. Blinky had seen this display time and time again, once in a blue moon. But it was the timing that sent the chill down his spine. Why now? What had brought not only the Krubera, but their queen with them? 

It was too much of a coincidence to be random. But, at the same time, why would they be here? If anything had happened to Argh, then it still would have taken the queen days to- 

“The charm,” Blinky muttered to himself, the pieces clicking into place in his mind. “Of course. The charm had severed the tie.”

“The what?” Jim asked, quietly, as Queen Usurna spotted the duo from their side of the market. Stepping off of her perch, she approached the two as Blinky quickly realized who she seemed to cross. Already, Blinky had grabbed Master Jim’s shoulders, having him bow in time with himself. 

“Allow me to introduce our Trollhunter,” Blinky began, before catching the odd glance the queen sht his way. Ah, yes. It would be rather odd for a human to refer to the Trollhunter as such. However, as luck would have it, she simply allowed the comment to slide. 

“Uh, James Lake Junior, your queen-ness,” Jim replied as one would when having never met royalty before. With the careful casualty of one who knew that the person before him was vastly important, but unsure of how to refer. However, it merely doubled in uncertainty as Queen Usurna grabbed Jim’s face in one hand. Examining him with mild curiosity. 

“The human trollhunter,” she began, neither sounding impressed or disappointed. “I’ve heard stories, but didn’t believe…” 

It was at this time that Tobias, who approached unlike Jim did not have the proper tact to understand the politics at play, rushed to his friend's aid. Blinky tried to stop him before he dashed to the duo, but the pudgy teen slipped through his fingers. Of course Draal had grabbed his shoulder then, head motioning to the mouth of Trollmarket’s Arcadian entrance. There, in the darkness, Blinky’s two eyes widened as he saw an ever familiar face. One quite bruised and roughed up, from the looks of things. It was better to see him breathing then not, at least. Goodness, it was just a relief to see him at all. 

Having faith in Jim that he would charm Queen Usurna as he had himself, Blinky took the proper amount of steps back in order to gracefully excuse himself from the conversation before rushing to Argh’s side. By now, Claire had already gotten to their beaten friend, trying her best to support his weight. Blinky naturally took the other side, allowing Agrh to rest his weight on them both. Blinky did catch the wince Argh gave, however, as he leaned into his side.

“What happened? Where have you been?” Blinky asked in rushed whispers, cursing how humans only seemed to have two eyes. If he had more, he could survey the damage. To try and see what needed tending and what didn’t. 

“Bular,” was all Argh grumbled out. And for some reason, Blinky felt his brow furrow at Argh’s tone. “Got away, luckily.”

The moment Argh’s eyes locked onto Queen Usurna’s form, however, he’d seemed to try and straighten himself up. Giving Blinky and the others a tired nod, he approached his queen, his Trollhunter, and his wingman. Managing to keep himself upright, he bowed despite Toby and Jim rushing to his side. 

“My queen,” Argh’s voice rumbled, and Blinky felt another odd chill follow up his spine. Something was off. But he couldn’t quite place it. No, perhaps it was the trick of the light. Or how tired and beaten his dearest friend looked. They had had a long day. Maybe it was his human ears mishearing things again.

Queen Usurna, however, stared at Argh as if he had grown a second head. To be fair, that would probably have been as less shocking then seeing him like this.

“...Aarghaumont?” She asked, her own voice rising in surprise. “My kinstroll, what has happened to you?”

“It’s kind of a long story,” Jim chuckled nervously, but thankfully stood his ground when Usurna snapped her gaze towards him. At that moment, Blinky sent his student a silent prayer. “Is it alright if we discuss this at the Clinic, your majesty?”

“...Very well. Lead the way, young Trollhunter.”

With an unspoken sigh of relief, the group of trolls, humans, and royalty made their way down the streets of trollmarket. All and all, there were worse ways this could have happened. At least, being able to explain the situation to Usurna in private could allow a more in-depth explanation of the past and current occurrences. 

Still, as Blinky’s eyes drifted from person to person, he couldn’t help but have his gaze linger on Argh. Something about him just seemed...off. And while he told himself it was nothing, just a trick of the lights, he thought he saw the hint of bandages under his shirt…

What had happened to his dearest friend?

Earlier that Night...

Questioning went ...about as well as expected.

To be fair, Bular should have known Argh wouldn’t break. Even as a human, even as a person with death on his doorstep; the ex-gumm-gumm general kept quiet. Only a coward would break, only a coward would give away their allies at the slightest hint of pain. A strong troll could weather broken bones and shattered horns. And despite everything, Argh still pulled on a strength that Bular could never figure out. 

It was admirable. It was disgusting. It was a shame he wasn’t a Gumm-Gumm anymore. 

He knew that something had happened, because Otto checked his phone, and a wide smile grew on his face. 

“Well, Mr. Argh. It is your lucky day,” Otto replied in a sing-song tone, motioning for Bular to lay back. With a growl, he let go of the ex-troll’s arm. The bruising and broken bone no doubt going to take longer to heal, at least for his fleshy body. “I’m needed elsewhere, so our little chat will have to be put on hold. Hopefully this will give you time to think about your answers, hm?” 

No response, gaze kept firm on the carpet below. The blood from his broken nose had already pooled into his lap. If anything, it only confirmed that Argh was human. The scent was unmistakable. As well as the taste, by how Bular had to clean his hands of the evidence. It was still so jarring, seeing the troll he thought was dead, he wanted dead, sitting there. In the flesh…

Quickly, they moved Argh into the small, dark closet that Nomura had once used for storage. Upon clearing it of anything that could aid their prisoner, Argh’s chair was dragged into the small space. The doors closed and locked with two satisfying clicks.

“There.” He replied, examining the stains on his shirt with mild disdain. In an instant, they were gone. No doubt covered by glamor. “Out of sight, out of mind.” 

“He isn’t going to cave,” Bular grumbled, having to deal with his mess the old fashioned way. “Not unless we hit him where it hurts.” 

“Oh? And here I thought you’d enjoyed beating him to a pulp?” Otto teased, before aptly dodging a half hearted swipe from Bular’s fist. “Easy! I wasn’t lying when I said I’m needed elsewhere!” 

“More Changeling nonsense?” 

“No actually, our informant has finally arrived. I figured I’d head her way and see how this all goes. If we play our cards right, well…we could hit two birds with one stone.” 

Bular’s eyes widened slightly, before they darted back to the closet door. No sound, other than the soft rasps of breath, could be heard. Better safe than sorry, he motioned for Otto to follow him outside. It was only a moment after opening the door that the sound of tiny footsteps came rushing toward them. Luckily, Bular was large enough to block the doorway. 

“Otto! Bular!”

“Ah, kleine Göre, shouldn’t you be asleep?” Came Otto’s false laughter as he ruffled her hair. It gave Bular enough time to close the door behind him. It also gave Bular enough time to pretend that his hair didn’t stand on end the moment he reached for her. 

We can get her something so she doesn’t suffer. 

“Is Mr. Argh awake?” Trisha asked, unaware with how close she danced with death. “Did you talk with him? Is he still gonna be evil?” 

“Be evil?” Bular muttered, his own brow furrowing as he looked down at the small child before him. Having left Otto’s side, Trisha bounded to him with wide, hopeful eyes. However, just because she was away from his side didn’t mean that the changeling couldn’t work his tricks. 

“Ah, sorry, he’s not really cooperating,” Otto answered quickly, before Bular could even form a proper response. Shooting the changeling a quick look, Bular already disliked how this conversation was going. Damn changeling’s words. “As a matter of fact, that’s why he’s going to have to stay here. Do you remember why I made rule three?”

Already, the child seemed to realize what was coming her way. Almost as if she was ashamed, she bowed her head, shoving her hands into her pockets. Bular rolled his eyes at the dramatics, opting to let Otto do his damage and correct whatever he didn’t like. 

“Because if people found out about trolls, they would freak out... Like how my grandpa did.” she mumbled, kicking at some of the carpet as she spoke. 

“What did I say about pouting,” Bular grumbled as he shuffled past, heading to the kitchen to get some protein. Already the cracks from the Killstone were wielded back up. Hopefully, in a few days, only his old scars would remain. Nothing a little extra protein couldn’t speed up.

“But it’s not fair!” The child practically spun on her heels to face Bular, or well, the direction he was in. The kitchen wall had already covered his place. “It’s not fair that you and Otto have to hide while other trolls get to go around everywhere!” 

“Otto isn’t a troll,” Bular scoffed, but went ignored as the whelp focused her attention on Otto. 

“Why don’t the other trolls understand that you’re just as important as they are! Why do they hate Gumm-gumm’s for just wanting to stay above ground?!” While Bular couldn’t see Trisha’s expression, he knew from the sound of her voice, she seemed rather passionate about getting answers. “If they just let Bular and the other Gumm-Gumm’s sit near the Heat Stone, then he wouldn’t have had to eat people, right?”

A few moments passed of carefully calculated silence. Bular peered out from behind the kitchen, just to see how the changeling would respond. Just to see how he would answer that, in a way, wasn’t a lie and also made them look good. Because they both knew the exact reason why Trisha’s childish ideals would never be true. The same reason that, even when his father takes Heartstone Trollmarket as their own, they would never give up on eating humans. 

“First of all,” Otto began, looking at his watch before shifting his gaze down to Trisha. Kneeling down, he gave the child a soft, pitiful look. As most do when children ask questions that don’t have simple answers. “It’s not a Heat stone. It’s the Heartstone. Second of all – I’m in a hurry so I need you to listen – do you know what war is?”

“...yeah?” Trisha replied, although with her hesitance, it showed how much she did know. “Are you talking about the one Bular fought in? Cause Grandpa fought in a war. He built planes…”

“I’m not talking about a specific war, not yet, but we’ll get to that.” Otto answered softly, however, as he looked at Trisha, his gaze wasn’t solely focused on her. No, Bular caught his eyes as well. Almost as if to say listen . “Do you know what war is?”

“It’s uh...it’s a really big fight?” 

“Close! It’s actually a bunch of big fights, they’re called Battles. But you do know what happens in those battles, ja?” Otto asked, knowing fully well Trisha didn’t. Because Trisha was six, and if she did not know how to hunt, or how to fight; why would she even know what war truly was. And as her silence answered for her, Otto cupped her small hands in his own. “People die, Trisha. They are killed in battle. Killed by the people they are fighting against. Now tell me; if someone killed Bular or I, how would you feel?”

A moment passed, then another. Bular found himself taking a step towards the duo, but caught himself before he could move any further. Why did he do that? This was good, he didn’t need to coddle her from thoughts like that. When he frees his father, she would have to realize the truth of this world. Of war and its glory. Of war and its loss. So, why did it make him stand on edge?

Ah, right, because she had that reckless habit of throwing herself in the middle of things. A good trait for a Gumm-Gumm, bad for a human. 

However, Bular didn’t expect Trisha to start to tremor, or for her to latch onto Otto. And from how startled Otto looked, neither did he. There was something amusing, watching the changeling realize he miscalculated how strong the reaction he’d receive.

“But you can’t die!” Trisha warbled out, still clinging to Otto even as he tried to get up. Effectively, the changeling had to scoop her into a hold, else he risked toppling over. “I don’t want you too!” 

“Ah, I won’t! I won’t,” Otto shot Bular a glance for help, which prompted Bular to roll his eyes. Washing his hands of this, he turned back into the kitchen for seconds. He dug his way in, he’d have to dig his way out. “It’s hypothetical! We’re not going to die! Goodness do you really think I’d be killed that easy?” 

“Y-yeah…”

A single bark of a laugh escaped Bular. It even became louder as Bular saw Otto as he tried to paw the snotty child off to him, the most conflicted look on his face. 

“I don’t have enough time for this,” Otto groaned, and even though Bular didn’t hold his hands out for the whep, he allowed Trisha to cling to his shoulder and scramble up. “Just stay out of trouble for the day, both of you, please?” 

“Bold of you to think you can order me around, changeling,” Bular smirked as Otto shot him a death glare, but before he could say anything more, a familiar pair of hands gripped the side of Bular’s horn. 

“You can’t die either!” Trisha exclaimed, and Bular felt his blood boil at the remark.  

“Naive whelp. Bold of you to assume I can,” Bular shot back with a bitter smirk, rolling his shoulder out from under the child, having her swing from his horn. “Many have tried, all have failed.”

Bular hadn’t even noticed Otto had left until the familiar click of the door closing echoed out. Another twinge of annoyance shot through him, but just as quickly it was brushed off. Now, instead, his focus was put upon the small fleshbag dangling from the side of his face. He lowered his head to let the little brat let go. “Alright. Enough wallowing. You need to save that for all the cleaning you’ll have to do. Starting with the living room.”

“What? Why?!” 

“Because if you don’t, then I’ll have to find a better punishment for your disobedience,” Bular replied, rolling his eyes at Trisha’s own theatrics. “Don’t give me that look. You’re still in trouble for breaking the rules.” 

“But I didn’t make the room a mess!” Trisha exclaimed, even as Bular shuffled past her to the bedroom door once more. Taking a seat, he merely rolled his eyes at her squabbling. 

“Warriors don’t complain. Warriors get things done.”

“But you complain all the time?!”

It was already daylight when Bular had decided that Trisha’s cleaning was “enough”. Well, that wasn’t really the reason he pardoned her from her punishment. As a matter of fact, the attempts at cleaning were about as well as one could expect a six year old to do. Really, there was only so much a small, fleshbag child could do. No, Bular simply didn’t want her eavesdropping as he spoke to Argh alone. So after making sure she knew where she was allowed to go, and making sure a small crew of Goblins were watching from the shadows; Bular made his way to the back of the apartment with practiced care. 

For a few moments, he simply stared at the closet door. The memory of blood on carpet and bed scraps rang clean in his mind. He hadn’t let the child in this room, and for good reason. Too many questions would be asked, and Bular didn’t know if he could patiently explain torture without having another slew of questions thrown at him. Or worse, she’d start crying again and it would annoy him.

Right, that was the reason. Why else did he feel his gut clench at the idea. 

Without warning, he opened the closet door. A snap echoed out as the lock was pulled through the door frame, ripping a decent sized hole within the wood. Bular scowled, remembering too late that Otto had locked the door. Ah, whatever, while it did now mean the door was broken, it still seemed to jar Argh from his poor attempt at a nap. 

Traitorous fool. 

“And I thought you’d be unable to sink any lower,” Bular growled, smirk had shifted into a sneer. He yanked Argh out from the closets, taking a bit of smug satisfaction as how his head wobbled from the force. “I knew you regretted your glory days. But for you to go this far? It’s a disgrace…”

Argh, like before, said nothing. His body had started to bruise and scab over, eyes and limbs swollen from the pummeling he’d endured hours prior. However, the look in his eyes didn’t show fear, or doubt, or even a hint of backing down. No, there was something different in those eyes. Something Bular hadn’t seen in quite some time. 

A spark of a general he thought was long gone.

“What changed?” He asked, not expecting an answer in return. Argh‘s gaze narrowed, and he kept it focused on the wall behind Bular instead of him. Ah, right. His battle plans. Well, now he had even more of a reason to keep Argh from escaping. “You were a pacifist. A coward . Even when you and I fought at the museum, you only met me with horns and arms…” 

In his mind, Bular remembered how quick Argh had been to utilize his weaknesses. How quick the blow had laid him down. How Argh only winced when his human hand broke from the contact with stone. His side still ached from the impact, ever faintly. 

“Did those traitors down in Trollmarket do this to you?” Bular found himself more surprised by the sincerity then he’d meant to. It was an honest question, however. “Was this the bargain you made? Trade your trollhood for freedom. To feel the rush of battle once–”

Bular was stopped in his tracks as Argh let out a growl. Or, rather, tried too. It came off rather pathetic from how his fleshbag vocal cords tried to make the difference. Bular paused for a moment, fighting the hint of a laugh trying to escape his chest. Still, he had to take the entrance he’d been given. Interrogating Argh earlier had been like trying to ask the chair questions. Any reaction would be telling. He just wondered if Argh was aware enough to realize that as well. 

“So they did change you?” He smirked, crossing his arms as Argh’s eyes narrowed and he shook his head. 

“Wouldn’t do that. Didn’t do that.” Argh grumbled, his desire to defend his allies greater than his vow of silence. Funny how he broke that too. 

Bular quirked his brow at Argh’s answer, however. He circled around the Troll turned Human once more, trying to get a sense of where Argh had been. Anything stronger than his fleshbag stenched was masked by his time here and Troll Market. If anything, it was harder to pinpoint where he’d been. It was annoying, but Bular could live without knowing why Argh became a human. 

What he couldn’t live with was not knowing why Argh had thrown his pacifism away. 

“All those times you could have fought me,” Bular taunted, still circling Argh. His own rage started to build as he thought more and more about it. “All those times you could have done something, and you chose to stand aside? To hide? Did you finally grow tired of not having a spine?!” 

Argh’s eyes narrowed, as much as they could with a black eye and swollen cheek. Still, his focus was on the wall before them, covered in battle plans and childish doodles…

Wait, Doodles? Eyeing the plans before them, Bular felt an annoyed scowl grow on his face as he saw various scribbles and scratches that reached to a small, whelp sized height. When did these happen? He merely let out a snort and blocked Argh’s view of the plans. Still, Argh’s gaze seemed to focus on him, and Bular became acutely aware of where his eyes followed. 

Quickly, and using his living hand, Bular growled as he shoved Argh back into the closet. He fumbled with the door for a few moments, before spotting Draal’s damaged and weighty arm still propped in the corner of the bedroom. A quick placement and test, and the door was secure once more. Or, if anything, better than before.

With a huff, Bular turned to the rest of the mess of the room and, well...thought. He could have the changeling’s take care of the mess, but there was no telling when he’d return. If Trisha saw, she’d ask questions. And while he could certainly eat the mess away, the thought of taking care of a whole carpet was not only unappetizing, but a little daunting. 

As if an answer to his prayers, a little knocking sound echoed from the small bedroom windows. Shuffling over, Bular minded the sun as he used the curtain to unlock the nearest window. Fragwa, he recognized the facial markings, scuttled across the wall like the bug he was. However, before he could order the Goblin to start his work, the little beast held out a small, round stone to him. Bular’s eyes narrowed at the stone, before looking back at Fragwa. 

“And this is?” He asked, after Fragwa offered the stone back once more. 

“Oola bwaga.” The Goblin replied, before motioning to the window. Peering out, carefully at that, Bular caught Trisha watching, before smiling at Bular’s eyes and waving. Bular rolled his eyes, pulling away from the window before anyone could see his glowing red eyes.

“Tell her she needs to be training rather than looking for rocks,” Bular replied, nonetheless keeping hold of the rock. Tossing it up and catching it, he realized how similar it felt in weight to the Killstone. Then, once again, realizing he was unsure where the Killstone was, tried to nonchalantly kick up bits of mattress off the floor in an effort to find it. “And when you finish telling her that, tell your brethren that this room needs tending. Anything on this floor needs to be gone, eaten or otherwise, understood?” 

All Bular received was a lazy nod, and just as quickly the Fragwa was out the window. Now alone, Bular dropped to all four as he scrambled to find the Killstone. It took a few minutes longer then he’d liked, but once his body flickered to a soft green, he knew where it was. 

Once again the Killstone remained in one piece, taunting him. 

Once again, Bular found himself starting to squeeze the magical rock. 

Once again, a familiar pain shot from his wound. 

Stopping before any cracks could be formed, Bular now looked at the stone in mere contempt. It seemed that, unless he wanted to end himself, he couldn’t destroy the stone. But that also means that anytime it was destroyed, it would sap his energy to rebuild itself. But why? Was it because the stones were tied to his father? Or was there something more than that. He couldn’t risk the stone getting into the Trollhunter’s hands. But he couldn’t guarantee it wouldn’t be used by the next Trollhunter in line. Or the next. Or the next. 

He tossed the Killstone up into the air, catching it as he thought. Each time, his body would alight and dim, the energy crackling faintly thought his form. Well, it wasn’t as if he hadn’t had the time to think about this. Shuffling out of the bedroom, Bular’s mind was too distracted by ways to save his father to realize that the pair of green eyes, staring from the cracks closet door, watched all along. 

“You know, when we felt Argh’s life force be cut short, I assumed Bular had finally got his claw on him.” Usurna mused, still having not touched the glug Vendel had poured for her so long ago. Ever since “Argh” had walked in on their little “wager” attempt, he’d decided to take a seat and speak with his “queen” in private. A matter Vendel, while initially surprised, allowed with the grace of one who knew better than to bet with one’s life. Usurna, however able to return grace tenfold, could not say the same and be true. “That being said, how much of what you speak is true?”

To be fair, Otto had never seen the Troll Queen this far up close. He had seen her before, countless times actually. As a changeling who travels, and one of the few polymorphs, it was expected for him to brush elbows with important humans as well as important trolls. But that was within reason, as well as the various other reasons Otto had yet to actually talk to Usurna. It was always safer to pass the message along. To allow someone else to get caught in the fray. There was also the fact that Otto was one of the polymorphs that had a better grasp of human anatomy. There had once been polymorphs who could know the competition of a trolls stone just by the sight alone. 

But that was then, and this was now. 

“Most,” Otto responded, still using Argh’s voice to talk. It was too risky to slip up now, not with everything on the line. Besides, all Usurna knew was that he was a changeling. That much evident when he uttered the tell tale phrase, used between those still allied with Gunmar’s cause...or, as much as they could be, nowadays. “Allowed Argh to live. Didn’t want to kill Argh like this.” 

That was very much a lie. But then again, there was truth in keeping Argh alive. It could be valuable, having a prisoner to bargain with. However for all Otto knew, Bular could have very well eaten him up. While the Gumm-Gumm Prince was beginning to learn of patience, it still wasn’t his strongest suit. 

“Like this? Or perhaps, couldn’t?” Usurna smirked, testing his words with a raise of her brow. “After all, to almost be slain by a child. It shows that perhaps...well, perhaps the Gumm-Gumm’s weren’t as strong as we feared.” 

Otto’s gaze narrowed, already piecing together the bread crumbs laid before him. Grip on the comically large mug of Glug tightening, he thought carefully how to word his next phrase. Even in the quietest part of Troll Market’s tavern, there were prying ears and curious eyes. 

“Perhaps humans aren’t to be second guessed.” Otto shot back, taking a sip of his glug before wincing. Just as quickly, the drink was returned to its cup with a careful spit. The glug his brethren made was a little lighter, now that he thought of it. “Reason Trolls and Humans fought for ages. Reason we still hide under rock and dirt. Bular underestimated. Now he wont.” 

“And what of his forces? Rumor has it that there are Changelings in Arcadia?” Another taunt, another dig at his predecessor’s crack job at keeping their existence unknown. If Otto could, he’d have smacked Strickler over the head for thinking it was smart for them to gather in the old Janus Order base. Then again, the council also had a say on those matters. And while his position mattered, he wasn’t on the council. Not yet. “Rumors that not everyone is under the same flag.”

“Don’t know. Saw a few with him,” Otto deflected, catching a whiff of something human gracing through the air. Eyes didn’t dart for a moment, but after lazily allowing them to drift from Usurna, it fell upon the very same corner Otto had snuck in front. As well as a familiar gaggle of eyes peering in. As expected, those fools really did care for Trollmarket’s pacifist. “Angor Rot running around. Not like before.” 

That caused Usurna’s eyes to widen twice as before. However, when “Argh” tapped the rim of his cup, she kept her question to herself. Nostrils flared, her own nose no doubt far better then Otto’s would be otherwise, changeling or not. Quickly he could see the gears turning in her head, before deciding her own form of answer. 

“Well, as you knew when we arrived, we came to bring your body back to your rightful home in the salt mines,” Usurna said, rising from her seat with a grace far then expected from most trolls. Gently placing her hand on his shoulder, it was almost comical how large it dwarfed his own. These were the same hands that, while seeming gentle, had ripped lives apart. And if she wanted, she could do the same to him in a moment’s notice. This gesture was not meant to comfort. “But seeing as you are alive, and human for who knows how long, well...you’d no doubt be quite miserable. Well, before you’d perish due to the climate, that is.” 

Otto willed his laugh to be sheepish rather than terrified. Thankfully, he was quite good at pretending to be alright. 

“That being said, we will trust your trollhunter to take care of you, and you allies.” Usurna replied with a smile, and with it Otto’s hope for reinforcement sank. “However, if you ever need us, we’ll be there to pick up the slack.” 

You’re on your own, for now.

Watching Usurna practically float out of the Tavern, Otto swallowed his anger at this blatant disregard as he always had. Still, that was fine. It wasn’t as if they’d been left to try and bring the Dark Lord back on their own before. It just meant that smuggling changelings into Trollmarket was going to be harder than it could have been. 

“Hey Wingman, you feeling okay?” Startled from his thoughts, Otto stared down at the pudgy human in a moment of surprise. Wingman? Ha, an affectionate term. Well, roll with the punches, as they say. The pudgy human turned from “Argh’s” gaze over to where Usurna had shuffled off too. A look of confusion etched into his face. “Everything all good with the boss lady? She seemed, uh...nice?” 

“Okay now.” Argh’s warm, raspy voice had an effect Otto had witnessed in many people. It grounded people, made them feel safe, if that made sense. Smirking, he ruffled the pudgy human’s hair, ever so gently. “Thought Argh dead. Was gonna take back to the Salt mines.” 

While the hair ruffle had gotten an odd look out of the human, his words quickly swept away any suspicions he’d have. Instead, wide eyes took their place as the other humans slowly circled around him. “What?! They can do that?!” 

“Why yes, Tobias. It was in fact Queen Usurna’s legal right to bring Argh back to the Kurbera homelands.” The older human, Blinkious, chimed in. It was still strange to think about, that this human had been a troll like Argh. Like all the others waltzing about the place. “But sense his form is rather unfit for even the trek down to the Salt mines, it would be more of his death to take him there then it would be to let him stay here, and recover.” 

“Wait, so they’re from the Kurbera caves?” The girl spoked up, and all Otto knew was that her last name was Nunez, and that her brother was one of their ranks. Now that he thought about it, shouldn’t they let Gunmar know that there was a familiar of a rogue changeling? Well, now that he thought about it, Strickler probably hadn’t wanted to let Gunmar know that there were any rouge changelings. More reason for him to start eating those taken to the Darklands. “Those are all the way in Georgia! That’s so far...” 

“Wait, like the state?” Tobias asked.

“No, no, the country. It’s actually near Turkey-” Blinky began, but was quickly cut off by Toby’s new revelation. 

“Georgia’s a country?!” Tobias exclaimed once more, and Otto did his best to just smile along. However, he did hear the voice of Arcadia’s trollhunter let out a confused chuckle. Ah, right, would he have known that? That meant that the girl and the elder were the brains of the group.

“Still, it tracts with Gatto living in Venezuela.” The Trollhunter mused, placing a hand on “Argh’s” shoulder as best he could. “But I’m glad they didn’t take you away big guy. But from now on, if you or Blinky ever go out of Trollmarket, we’ll have to limit that to day time only.” 

“Right you are, Master Jim,” Blinky nodded along, pulling “Argh” into a halfway hug as he spoke. “If anything, I swear that Argh and I will never leave eachother’s side! Perhaps we should invest in those little devices you all carry around? Cellular phones?” 

“Oh yeah, I can put you guys on my nana’s plan,” Toby replied with a wave of his hand, as if that wouldn’t be putting his grandmother’s funds in jeopardy. “I mean, I lose phones all the time. It’s not like I can’t lose two in a row.” 

Before Otto could realize it, he was already being dragged out of the tavern by the gaggle of humans, only offering the softest of nods as his mind began to whirl with a plan. Already, he’d have to deal with Blinky clinging to his side. But the idea of a phone, that could let him know what the other’s were planning, that could be a worthy investment to hang on to.

Still, a part of him wondered if Bular and the brat would be able to handle themselves without his interference…

However, just as quickly, Otto squashed that thought down in his chest, as well as the odd swell of emotions that came with it. 

Chapter Text

Okay! So it’s been about what, almost two years since we updated? Yeah, it’s been a fat minute, not going to lie. We all have lives to live and I’m pretty sure these past few years have been hetic and crazy for everyone. This is just an update to finally cement a game plant of sorts going forwards, and what the future holds for this story!

Basically the reason why I kept waiting so long to updates is that there are now 10 different drafts of chapter 22, all with various differences and how this story could pan out. And i’m not satified with any of them. None of them feel right. And with my current schedule (my nice new job requires me to work long hours), I don’t feel comfortable asking anyone to beta read them. We’ve long passed the days where i spat out ten chapter in a week and called it a day, but hopefully i’ll be able to get back into a decent groove soon.

So what is the plan? Well, turns out waiting so long to come up with a new chapter for the current state of the story backfired. I’ve re-read the old chapters ( ie, An Alternate Path ) and found ways to work with the story back in it’s original spot. Or, rather, not exactly original. So I’m going to re-release In The Dead Of Night!

When? No clue. Why? Because there’s also like a few plot holes in the beginning I have to fix, as well as figure out what the canon of the story is going to be. Safe to say that Rise of the Titan isn’t going to be this story’s end game, if we even get that far. I’ve also managed to get some of the old books (the ones before they got nerfed by Wizards and the Movie) and hopefully i’ll be able to set up a decent timeline of how things in this story pan out.

At the end of the day, I’m always surprised how many people fell in love with this story. I merely needed an outlet to right something that had little chance of happening in canon, but felt like it’d be funny and fun to explore. And in the end, so many people joined together to show that they loved the concept as well! I still think about this story, and I do want to give it a decent end however that may be. Gotta give it some justice and all. While i’m getting use to writing these guys again, I might try to release some non-canon shenanigan chapters to get a feel of everything again. But don’t hold me to that.

Reguardless, I hope everyone is staying safe. Make sure to take care of yourselves, and I’ll be seeing you one I have a better game plan moving forward! What I’m probably going to do is segment this huge story into smaller sections/releases as to keep people from getting overwhelmed. Unless that seems like a bad idea and the proper etiquette is to release it all in one big multi/chapter mess? Advice in that reguard would bre greatly appreciated!

See y’all soon!

Chapter Text

Alright everyone! The Rewritten In the Dead Of Night’s been posted with the first three chapters! 

Here’s the link in case y’all want to check it out!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/37852891/chapters/94520149 

Hope y’all have a wonderful day!