Human food was, in Jim's opinion, exponentially better than troll food.

That didn't stop him from eating empty cans or burnt-out lightbulbs, but it did inspire him to experiment. Today he was making French toast for his mother's breakfast and meatloaf sandwiches for her, his, and his friend Toby's lunches. He had some regular toast while checking the recipe, and ate the eggshells while mixing the eggs with milk and just a touch of cinnamon.

Barbara was sound asleep, glasses still on and pushed to an awkward angle by the pillow. At least she'd kicked off her shoes. He put her breakfast on the dresser and slid her glasses off, polished the lenses, and placed them by her meal. Jim tucked his mother's blanket around her shoulders and kissed her forehead.

"I love you, Mom," he whispered.

No, it wasn't sentimental or weird. It was good cover. If Jim kept up the act even when there were no witnesses, he was less likely to slip up when there were witnesses.

He checked on his Familiar, Jay-Jay, while brushing his teeth. The original James Junior, unaging in his cradle, sucked his thumb and slept peacefully.

Jim had been Jim for over fifteen years and his Familiar had only been Jim for three months, and the Lake parents hadn't even stuck with just one nickname until after Jim was planted. 'Jay-Jay' and 'Jim' and 'Jamie' and 'Junior' were all used interchangeably in the first year before gradually settling on 'Jim'. The human might have had it first, but Jim was the Changeling's name now.

He hadn't had a name before this assignment.

Jim took care of the various household needs, packed up his backpack, and left for school. The trash bin was overturned. Raccoons or goblins? He huffed in annoyance.

Toby was there, worrying about being late for school. Jim tried distracting him with food. If all went as planned, Killahead Bridge should be rebuilt within a few years, maybe even this year. Jim wanted the humans he knew to enjoy life while they had the chance.

"I can't eat this. I'm on a diet."

"It's healthy. Protein, fiber, vegetables, and it's actually got flavour." Jim waggled the bag temptingly.

"I shouldn't …"

"Come on, you've been on a diet for fourteen years. You're fifteen!"

"Long-term goals." Toby tucked the lunch into his backpack and got back onto his bike. "My body's still changing."

They rode for the first few blocks in panting silence.

Jim liked Toby. He wished he could think of some excuse why they ought to keep Toby alive when Gunmar returned to devour humanity. The boy had an interest and extensive knowledge of geology for one of his species, but nothing compared to a troll. None of Toby's other interests or skills would be relevant in Gunmar's world.

The closest thing to a solution Jim had come up with so far was that, if Gunmar wanted to keep eating humans long-term, then they would need to be farmed. Toby's propensity to put on weight might make him desirable breeding stock.

But humans tended to view the 'breeding stock' concept as horrific and degrading and traumatizing when applied to sentients, and besides, with artificial insemination and in vitro fertilization being a thing now, that might only keep Toby alive for a few years while his sperm was harvested and preserved.

At least Jim had a reason Barbara Lake should be spared. She was a doctor. Barbara would be more useful alive, keeping the livestock humans healthy, than killed as food herself.

Stricklander said Jim had developed a sentimental attachment to his Familiar's family. It was common for Changelings fresh out of the Darklands. Jim's retort was that he would have no qualms at all about James Lake Senior being eaten.

"It's eight o'clock!" cried Toby. "Late, late, late, we are so late!"

"Let's take the canals." Jim veered off the road into a wooded area. "It'll save us five minutes."

"Not the canals!"

"Live a little!"

"It's living that I'm worried about!"

There was a pile of gravel under the bridge. Jim wouldn't have paid attention to it if it hadn't called his name.

"Jim … Lake …"

He slowed and circled back around.

"What up, Jimbo?" asked Toby. "Wasn't the shortcut to save time, not waste it?"

"You go on ahead, Tobes, I'll catch up."

"Jim … Lake …"

"Wait, what was that?" Toby looked around the sun-drenched, empty canal and called out in challenge, "Who's there? Who said that?"

Jim spotted a blue flash in the rubble.

Was that …? No, it couldn't be … He got off his bike and dug it out.

"Whatcha got there?" Toby leaned over his shoulder.

"Pocket watch, maybe," Jim invented. "Or, some kind of high-tech walkie-talkie."

There was a loud ring.

"Final bell!" Toby gasped. "We're so late our kids are gonna have detention!" He climbed back onto his bike and raced away. Jim followed, the Amulet of Daylight tucked in the pocket of his sweatshirt.

Thank everything holy and unholy that he had History first period.

"Jim, you seemed distracted in class today."

"Yes! I – actually, I was hoping I could talk to you about that, at lunch, or, after school. About some," he lit his eyes for a moment, "extra-credit work."

Mr Strickler's eyes shone gold and red in return. "Of course, Jim. You know my office door is always open to my students."

Jim went to Mr Strickler's office at lunch. He plucked the amulet from his pocket and placed it on his teacher's desk without preamble.

"I found this on my way to school this morning."

Stricklander went pale, then stern. "Did anyone else see you take it?"

"Tobias Domzalski, but he doesn't know what it is. We were cutting through the canals. There were no other humans around. I didn't see any living trolls, but if they found a dark enough shadow then I couldn't have spotted them in this form. It was pretty sunny."

"Mm," said Stricklander noncommittally. "Thank you for bringing this to my attention, Jim. I'll take care of it."

A more ambitious Changeling would have argued, wanting credit for their part in any undertaking. Jim took the chance to exit, wanting nothing to do with anything that had to do with the dreaded Trollhunter.

At least, that was the plan.

With a puff of light, the amulet vanished off of Stricklander's desk and reappeared in Jim's hand as he reached for the door. He dropped it, startled. Both Changelings stared at the unassuming little silver trinket on the floor.

Stricklander spoke slowly and precisely.

"Is there anything else you ought to tell me about your discovery of this amulet?"

"It said my name," he admitted. "When I was biking past – that was why I stopped and went to look and picked it up."

Stricklander sat down and pointed to the piano stool. Jim gave the office door a dirty look for not having a lock, and left the amulet on the floor. It teleported onto his lap when he sat down.

"This suggests you have been chosen as the next Trollhunter."

"That's impossible."

"So I too would have thought. And yet, here we are."

"You really think the amulet can just pick the next Trollhunter on its own? I mean, I get that it's magic, but still. It's an inanimate object." He looked at it thoughtfully. "Semi-animate at most. Some of this looks like clockwork."

"What tomes I've acquired of troll lore claim that the amulet chooses the Trollhunter. There should be an incantation inscribed. Try to summon the armour and we'll know for certain."

"Or, if it's really sentient like you said, it'll kill me for being a presumptuous Impure."

"Don't call yourself that."

"What, presumptuous?" Jim asked cheekily.

Jim turned the pocket watch-like device in a slow circle. The runes around the edge were trollish, of course, which he could read but not well. Literacy had not been prized as a skillset or hobby in the Darklands. There wasn't much available to read unless one wanted to risk Dictatious' wrath for touching his precious collection. On the second revolution, the words on the amulet helpfully translated themselves into English.

He made a face at what he would have to say. May the Pale Lady forgive him.

"For the glory of Merlin … Daylight is mine to command."

He really should have stayed standing.

Jim floated into the air, his stool knocked back, blue light surrounding him and pushing its way into his body. Frightened, he switched forms – he wasn't much bigger trollish than he was humanoid, but he had tougher skin that way. He crashed to the ground in oversized armor. It shrank to fit him.

"Jim! Are you alright?" Stricklander demanded.

"… Wow." Jim examined the gauntlets; felt the breastplate; turned to examine how the armor accommodated his short tail; checked the helmet that still left his horns exposed. "I mean, I always figured Bular would kill me someday, but I thought it would be in a fit of misdirected rage, not for an actual reason."

He tried switching back to his human form. Again, the armour adjusted itself. There were metal horns on the helmet now. They felt longer than his; maybe they were the shape his horns would be once they grew out.

"This could actually prove useful." Stricklander twirled his pen. "If the trolls accept you as the new Trollhunter, that means we have a spy in Trollmarket and need no longer fear the Trollhunter will interfere with our plans." He put the pen down decisively. "You leave Bular to me. I'll find a way to make that brute cede to logic."

"If he doesn't just come snap me in half tonight for the bragging rights of killing two Trollhunters in twenty-four hours."

Stricklander stood and put his hand on Jim's shoulder. "Leave Bular to me."

Changelings were taught to spy and lie and manipulate. Stricklander was an especially good actor when he played the role of a caring mentor. Jim knew Stricklander was a Changeling, just like him, and yet part of him still insisted that the reason Stricklander played the role so well was because it wasn't just an act.

The armour dissipated. Jim caught the amulet as it fell from his heart.

Stricklander let go of him and spoke briskly.

"Our best option, I think, is to assume that you were seen finding the amulet and allow the trolls to believe it chose a human. The unprecedented nature of this should cover for any inconsistencies in the magic's behaviour and your own ignorance of troll culture."

Jim scowled at being called ignorant, glared for it being true, and felt an unpleasant twist in his stomach for how badly he wanted to change that.

Troll culture had been his culture, once upon a time, before he'd been taken and altered and become what he was.

He didn't remember anything from before. He was too young when it happened. Every Changeling was. He certainly didn't have enough memory scraps to truly say he missed it. But part of him still wanted it back.

Which was foolish and treasonous and beside the point in any case.

"That'll be easier than trying to craft a troll persona and explain why they've never seen me around Trollmarket before, especially if I still look too young to be out on my own. Might still get me killed, but this thing's a death sentence on its own, isn't it?" holding up the amulet.

No, Jim didn't know much of troll culture, but he suspected their reaction to a human Trollhunter would be only slightly better than their reaction to a Changeling Trollhunter – namely, a quick death to pass the mantle down to a real troll rather than pausing to torture him for information first.

And he also knew that Trollhunters, particularly Trollhunters living in the same city as Bular, had notoriously short lifespans compared to the average troll.

Me to Me: Damn it, Me, one-shots are one thing, but finish your ongoing fic before starting a new one.

Me back at Me: But I have a really good idea that nobody else seems to be using yet!

Me to My Muse: I both love and hate you very much.

Me to Me again: Okay, well, at least wait until this one is done being written before you start posting it.

Me back at Me: But if I post it now, it can be story 125 on the show's FFnet pages!

Me to Me: *inarticulate frustrated noises*

Me back at Me: At least I've got the first 10 chapters and a timeline for the rest?