AN: I wrote this because I wanted to, because I absolutely love the Black Jewels Trilogy by Anne Bishop, and Daemon Sadi is definitely one of my favourite fictional characters ever. As is Lucivar. But anyway, I actually had an assignment for English last year that was to write an epilogue for a book, so I just pulled this out and made it look like I'd just written it. My teacher actually asked me about how Draca talks, she thought that every time I wrote her dialogue I accidentally pressed the "s" twice. Just when I wrote Draca's dialogue. Strange, huh. But for you guys, it's supposed to be like that.

I hope you Black Jewels fans like this, I'm really quite proud of it. I was reading it one day and I thought: what's going to happen when Jaenelle dies? I cried at the end, but then I'm a big softie, and I cry every single time I read Daemon talking to the statue of Jaenelle near the end of Queen of the Darkness. Honestly, that is one of the saddest things I have and ever will read. Anyway, enough rambling, if you've read the books you know this already.

And btw, for Twilight fans who don't know the BJT and want to read something different, read this and imagine Daemon as Edward and pretend Jaenelle is a Bella that never got changed. Maybe that's stretching it, but the possibility was there.

Disclaimer: Anne Bishop is the magnificent creator of the Black Jewels Trilogy, I can only hope I do it justice.

The Passing Of The Dream

Ninety-seven years since the taint had been destroyed. Saetan, Daemon, Surreal, Lucivar and Marian had hardly changed. Daemonar was a fine man, a mirror image of his father with the same hot temper and easy smile. His younger sister, Arian, looked like her mother. The coven and the boyos from the short-lived races were aging. No, old. Some had died, from old age or assassinated by the new threads of evil that had began to grow after the purge.

Jaenelle had birthed two lovely girls and a boy. The boy and one of the girls had been named for two who had helped Daemon long ago, Jared and Lia. The three of them had had seven children between them.

But Jaenelle had aged.

For weeks, she had been refusing to see him. She'd suddenly been… scared of him, as if she was afraid of his sudden rejection. She hardly looked worse than she had been weeks ago. But, as he had told her so many years ago when her aging had began to show, the flesh didn't matter to him. It was only a way to house what was beneath the skin.

And no matter how old she was, Witch still resided there.

Finally, Jaenelle had accepted Saetan's arguments on Daemon's behalf. Daemon was now waiting outside their room at the Hall, the room that he had been politely but firmly asked to move out of, waiting. Khardeen stood next to him, his arms hugged tightly around his stomach. Chaosti, who was a Warlord Prince and didn't have the control that Khardeen did, paced almost angrily along the length of the hallway. Aaron sat on the ground opposite Khardeen. Marian stood on Daemon's other side.

After what seemed like an age, the door opened and Saetan stepped out. 'Give him a few more minutes.'

'She's our Sister, too,' Aaron snapped.

'Yes, but she's his sister. Give him time. You'll get your turn.'

Saetan began walking down the hallway, but paused when he reached Daemon. He mouthed something before walking away. Was it… 'I'm sorry'?

A moment later Lucivar walked out of the room, his face ashen. He nodded to Khardeen, who disappeared quickly into the room and closed the door behind him. Lucivar looked at the other Warlord Princes before his eyes rested on Daemon. 'It's not good, old son.'

Daemon saw the look in his brother's eyes. 'It's today, isn't it? Now.'

His brother, his enemy and friend, nodded. 'It's now.'

Chaosti slammed his fist against the wall with a force that could only have been amplified by using Craft. A tremor went through the Hall. A tremor that had nothing to do with the Craft or Dea al Mon ran through Daemon.

'How long?' Aaron asked. Lucivar just shook his head.

'Only sshe knowss that, Prince,' came Draca's voice from Daemon's right. All of them turned to look at her. 'When the other dreamer was added, sshe wisshed for an ordinary life. An ordinary life iss death. For her race, her time iss up. There will be another Witch.'

'But no Janelle,' Lucivar said bitterly.

'No,' Draca agreed. 'No Jaenelle. There are other dreamss that have been lying in wait for over a century, dreams that have come ssince this one wass put to flessh. It iss time for the new dreamss to be sspun in a new web.'

'There will be no other Witch like this,' Marian said softly, letting Lucivar pull her close to him.

'There will be other Witchess. But no, none like Jaenelle. Sshe wass Witch to all races, to all dreamerss. In the passt, and in the future, there will be only Witch to one race.'

'Why?' Aaron said.

'Terssa wass right,' Draca said, shaking her head. 'Alwayss assking why. Becausse, Prince, there has never been, and never will be, dreamerss ass sstrong as the dreamerss of thiss Witch. The triangle will never be thiss sstrong again.'

Finally, silence. Their questions answered, Draca opened the door to Jaenelle's room and stepped inside. A moment later, Khardeen came out and, without looking at them, murmured something about Morghann, and vanished down the hallway.

'She had a good life, didn't she?' Chaosti asked suddenly. 'Despite the war, despite her childhood, she did have a good life, right?'

Oh yes, Daemon thought. She had a good adult life. But none of them knew, not even Lucivar, that memories from her childhood still haunted her dreams. She still called out at night to a girl named Rose. She still murmured about witchblood and recited the names of those she had planted the flower for. She still screamed about Uncle Bobby and how he made her lick the lollypop. The others didn't know, and wouldn't find out. It was almost a good thing that she had lost the Ebony Jewels, for now he had been able to place Black aural and psychic shields around the room so that the others wouldn't hear. Yes: other than her childhood and her dreams, she had had a good life.

Once more, the door swung open and Draca stepped out. 'Sshe will ssee you now. All of the Warlord Princess.'

Marian nodded and gave Lucivar one more squeeze before stepping back. Why's she doing this? Daemon said to Lucivar on an Ebon Grey spear thread.

Don't think, Bastard, Lucivar replied. Just feel.

The four Warlord Princes stepped into the room. Daemon vaguely heard Draca close the door behind them, but his mind wasn't on the Seneschal. He followed Chaosti, Aaron and Lucivar into the bedroom.

It hadn't changed a bit in all the years that they had lived there. Oh, the decorations had changed. But the psychic scent that screamed Jaenelle remained, and that was all that he associated with this room.

His wife lay on the bed, wrapped in blankets. Her blonde hair was now white, her smooth skin wrinkled, but the sapphire eyes that looked first at Lucivar, then at Aaron, then at Chaosti, were the same. She did not look at him.

Lucivar helped her to sit up. When she was upright, he sat down next to her. Chaosti climbed over the bed and sat on Jaenelle's other side, while Aaron sat in front of him, with his hand on the blanket where her leg was. Daemon, feeling a little lost, stayed where he was by the side of the bed. Lucivar and Chaosti each took one of her hands.

'The four of you are the only remaining Warlord Princes of the First Circle,' Jaenelle said. Despite its cracked and hoarse tone, her voice still sent tingles up and down his body. Mother Night, she soundedold. She had for years, but this was the first time he really noticed. Looking at Aaron and Chaosti, he noticed, actually sawfor the first time how old they were. Soon Lucivar, Saetan and him would be the only ones left. 'There is no court anymore, but there is still the coven and the boyos. Or what is left.' Her bottom lip trembled. Karla had died yesterday. 'I have already spoken to Saetan. The four of you and him will have to hold what is left of us together. Draca told me what she said to you. This is a final goodbye.'

Daemon didn't know what to say. From the look on the other's faces, they didn't either. 'Where are Jared and the girls?' Lucivar asked quietly.

'They have said their goodbyes. So have their children. The four of you are all that are left.'

Chaosti and Aaron said goodbye to their Sister and reluctantly left the room.

Daemon didn't move from where he was. Lucivar took her in his arms, kissed her on the forehead, whispered, 'Goodbye, Cat,' and left the room, walking like a man wounded. Daemon knew how he felt – he thought that his heart would never heal.

Finally, Jaenelle Angelline looked up to Daemon Sadi and swallowed hard. 'Daemon,' she said softly, her eyes welling up as her frail arms reached out to him.

He accepted the invitation, sitting on the bed next to her. 'Jaenelle,' he whispered, wrapping his other arm around her. After a moment he slipped under the covers and pressed his body against hers. 'Why wouldn't you let me see you?' he asked, knowing full well the reason.

'I didn't think… that you'd like what you saw,' she said, not looking at him. 'I didn't want to force you to do anything you didn't want to do.'

He smiled wryly. 'Didn't we go through this a few years ago?'

'It's different now. You're still so beautiful, and I'm… this.'

He pressed his lips to her temple. 'True, the body was once more beautiful than it is now. But you know very well that that wasn't what I loved you for most. Your mind. Witch.' His hand reached up to touch her cheek, his thumb brushing against her forehead where in another place, a horn extended from. 'Take us there one more time. To the misty place.'

She stared at him for a few moments as if she didn't comprehend fully what he had asked her. Then he felt her psychic power flow around him and he closed his eyes willingly, submitting to it.

He woke immediately and thought for a moment that nothing had changed. Then he looked around him and realised that while the bed was there, nothing else about the room was. Naked, he got up off the bed and it disappeared. Looking around him, he saw that, like previous times, there was a pedestal upon which stood two crystal chalices. One he recognised as Jaenelle's, the other was his own. He stepped up to the pedestal and reached out to touch Jaenelle's chalice, but his fingers stopped a hair's breadth away. It looked a lot like his had when it was broken; there were hairline cracks all over it, and it was a lot thinner than it had been a hundred years ago. As thin as paper, he thought. He glanced at his: it was as thick and as strong as it had been before his mind and chalice had shattered. Maybe even stronger. Filled with an incredible understanding and therefore sadness, he turned back to Jaenelle's so-fragile chalice.

'You know what this means?' said a midnight voice from behind him.

Slowly, he nodded. 'Yes. I know what it means.'

'My chalice is weak. Cracking. Soon it will be too thin to withstand the power that I bear, and it will dissolve into nothing. My soul will return to the darkness. Your chalice is still strong. You will continue living for a great many years, and when you die – as long as you don't burn out – your chalice will remain whole. When you return to the darkness your chalice will look like mine, and then it will fade with your soul.' She paused. 'Witch doesn't become demon-dead.'

He turned to face her. And there she was – the body he had loved. Witch had always looked the same in the abyss, despite the fact that the shell that housed it had aged. Her pointed ears, fawn tail, the mane that was not quite hair and not quite fur was the same. The small spiral horn, the legs that changed below the knee to accommodate hooves. The claws. He stepped up to her and cupped her face in his hands. 'This is a final goodbye, isn't it?' he said softly, feeling like his throat was about to close up.

'Yes,' she mouthed. A tear spilled from each eye, and she made no move to wipe them away. She took a deep breath. 'You have to promise me something,' she said hoarsely.

Right then, he would have promised her anything, and told her so.

'Swear that you'll stay alive. That you won't hurt yourself, or let anybody else harm you. You need to be here for Jared and the girls, and their children. And the remainder of the First Circle. Gabrielle, Chaosti, Aaron, Morghann, Khardeen, Grezande, Ladvarian, Surreal and Sabrina. I don't know how long most of them will last, but you and Lucivar have to stay strong for them. And Papa, too.'

Tears were streaming down her face now. 'Daemon, I'm sorry for everything that happened. For your time in the Twisted Kingdom, what Hekatah did, what Lektra and Roxie did, for all of it.'

'Darling, it wasn't your fault. If you can blame anyone, Saetan and Lucivar put me in the Twisted Kingdom, what Hekatah and Dorothea did was their own fault and there was no way I was going to sit back and let it happen. And Lektra and Roxie were the same. They got what was coming to them.'

'None of it would have happened without me.'

He took her into his arms. 'Darling. Jaenelle. A lot of things wouldn't have happened without you. And the good outnumbers the bad by far. Would you really eliminate our children and grandchildren from this world?' He kissed the top of her head. 'If I could do all this again, I would do it all the same. One hundred years with you is better than no years at all.'

He kissed her. It had been many years since he had kissed her the way he kissed her now, but that didn't seem to matter. Afterward, she rested her forehead against his chest. 'I love you, Daemon. I never stopped loving you, not once.'

'I love you too. I always will. The Blood of Khaleer loves you. You brought the kindred and the humans together, and hopefully they'll stay together.'

She let out a sob. 'I'm going to miss you.'

No, he thought. Witch doesn't become demon-dead. She won't think at all. 'I'll

iss you too. More than you'd believe. We all will.'

She glanced to the pedestal. 'My time is nearly up. Goodbye, Daemon. I love you.'

She was fading in his arms. 'No. No! Jaenelle! NO!'

She was gone.

Daemon opened his eyes and once more saw the bedroom. He sat up and looked down at the old woman in his arms. Jaenelle's eyes were closed, a faint smile playing around her lips. She wasn't breathing.

'No,' he whispered, brushing his fingers across her lips. 'Not yet. Please not yet. Jaenelle, please.'

He bent over her, his body shaking so hard it was difficult to breathe. Or was that the lump in his throat that was doing that? He held her to his chest, pressed his lips to her temple and sobbed.

The dream was gone.

But he was not.