Blue Moon Rising

Chapter 15: Gnome your Enemy (III)

Disclaimer: Don't own Trollhunters or any of its characters. 

"Is something wrong, Walter?"

Stricklander nearly tipped his drink over in alarm. Only quick thinking and dexterous fingers saved the Earl Grey from an untimely demise (that being scalding hot water on his new pants). His forehead puckered.

He cleared his throat before enquiring in a stunned manner, "Pardon?"

The woman in front of him turned her neck to the side, tucking a stray lock back behind her ears. Her gaze trailed up until it reached his own, her pupils slightly enlarged. Stricklander sat up straighter. For a human, Barbara was...quite pleasing to the eyes. She was lithe and tall, with a long elegant neck and a charming face to match. It still amazed him that she was not already taken.

Additionally, Barbara was a decent conversationalist for a human. It was always nice to find a beauty with such an intellect. Of course, he knew relations with the fleshbags was forbidden, but this was merely a meeting of two intellectuals over drinks at a local cafe, nothing more

"Sorry, I don't mean anything bad by it, it's just..." She folded her hands in front of her, then said, "You seem rather distracted."

"You have caught me, Barbara dear," he said, pretending to chuckle. "How could you tell?"

She gestured to his tea. "Well, I'm no Sherlock, but you've been twirling your spoon in that cup for a few minutes now, and you haven't said a word."

Outwardly, he smiled bashfully, but inwardly, Stricklander berated himself.

How foolish. What an imbecile he was! He'd slipped up, and in front of a human no less. How could this happen? Was he losing his edge?

No, it must be stress. It came naturally to one in his position, and normally he had no trouble managing it. Lately however, things had taken a sharp turn into unknown territory. They were so close to their goal and yet even the smallest of mistakes could change everything. It was a struggle, trying to balance all of his facades in preparation for his lord's return.

And now, with the near completion of the Killahead Bridge, his plans had to be fast-tracked.

He became increasingly anxious about the entire affair. Too many variables lay in the balance, too many interwoven threads that could snap at the lightest of touches. It was his own personal house of cards. His subordinates grew rowdy with each passing day. Stricklander couldn't blame them; they could very nearly taste the lips of sweet lady victory herself as the dawn of a new age loomed, a day where his people would no longer have to hide within the shadows.

But it made everything all the harder. Even Nomura, who was normally tolerable as company, had become a thorn in his side, trying to overstep her position, intent on working her way into his own. Just yesterday she had gone over his head to Bular about the bridge's final pieces. Not a surprise really, she was always hungry for more power, more freedom—they all were. However, now of all times—and with Atlas in the thick of it—he had begun to experience the one thing he feared most.

A loss of control.

He resisted the urge to shudder.

Before his son's entrance into his life, he controlled every miniscule detail, having worked his way up the Order on account of his extensive knowledge of planning and perfect execution. His opponents would have called that arrogance, and perhaps it was, but he was not the one six feet under, now was he?

Stricklander took a sip of his carefully brewed tea. Not as good as Atlas's, but tolerable. It had been strange not having the boy around as often, his dalliances with the Trollhunter and his group gradually taking up the majority of his time. For some bizarre reason, a small tender ache arose in his chest, the desire for their past routine growing with each passing day. Did...did he miss Atlas's company?