Authorial Note: Welp, I'm not gonna be able to write or post for the next two weeks, so I merged Ten and Eleven together, hoping to get you guys a usual-length chapter before my exile.

A great many thanks go out to the fine people at DLP for answering my many inane questions. More specifically: Agayek, Datakim, Aekiel, Idiot Rocker, Garlak, and Erandil. Thanks a million.

Chapter Ten: Oh, Right, I Remember You

"Oooh, dramatic revelations! Your clichéd villainy is getting better at least." I could still only whisper, despite my great shuddering gasps of air. Clara's scowl seemed etched onto her face.

"So tell me, you inhuman bitch, precisely how did you survive? It seems you and cockroaches have yet another thing in common." Just that short bit of glibness left me gasping for air.

"I'm going to make you beg me to kill you before I'm through." Clara hissed out between clenched teeth. She waved a hand and I felt the curse vanish, oxygen rushing into my lungs. "What a waste of magical energy," she murmured. "If I knew half of what I know now, I could have torn your mind asunder with a quarter as much." A sense of calm enveloped me. I'd failed in my task, and in my loyalties. I didn't especially like that, but there wasn't much I could do now but face my death with dignity.

I sighed wearily. "You're about halfway there now. Your threats could use some work, they're boring as hell." With a strangled scream, Clara smashed her fist into the side of my face. I flew sideways, landing on the hard concrete with a groan. I could already tell I was going to have some colorful bruises from this mess. Assuming I lived. Yeah, likely.

Clara's subordinates had crawled up the wall and back down the other side like insects. She screamed out orders to the other vampires. "Take these three back. We'll deal with them later. Leave the wizard to me. If any of you harms the girl, I will wear your skin as a dress." My detached sense of calm in the face of the death started to feel a bit strained. I couldn't just let them take my friends, the people who I had signed my own death warrant for. I struggled to raise my head enough to see what was going on. The unconscious Warden was being dragged away, whereas Sam was lashing out as best he could, feet crunching into Red Court bones. More vampires flocked to his prone form, and he let out a yell of defiant fury that was quickly cut off.

Mary backed away from the vampires, keeping the shield interposed between her frail form and their monstrous faces. I could see tears streaming down her face. I couldn't blame her. If I'd had the energy for it, I'd probably have been crying too. Another vampire crept up behind her and wrapped its arm around her neck, while running its long tongue over her face. The poor girl didn't stand a chance, and she weakly collapsed into its grip, her eyes unfocusing. The warding gem gently fell from her numb fingers, tinkling as it bounced against the pavement.

Clara watched this all with an impassive expression. Only when the last of her underlings had left with their captives did she turn her attention back to me. The glowing eyes floating in the air flared brighter and she stopped in her tracks.

"Yes, I know." She said to the air. "I have this under control." A snarl flashed across her face. "Do not presume to lecture-"A gasp of pain interrupted her statement and Clara fell to one knee. "Alright, alright, I understand."

I cleared my throat as best I could. "Okay psycho-bitch, what the hell?" She rose to her feet with blinding speed, and in the space of a second was towering over my prone form.

Her foot connected with my ribs at something approaching the speed of sound. I could clearly feel one shatter. Curses rolled off my tongue, a stream of invective fouler than any I had previously uttered. I have to admit, kind of proud of myself for that one. Clara tilted her head back, a look of bliss on her face.

"The sound of your pain is music to my ears. To answer your original question: I had to sell myself into servitude to yet another master. Because of you. Are you happy with what you've wrought?"

I gasped in pain. "No, I'm not happy at all, mostly because of the broken ribs."

She kicked me again. Dammit, I needed to learn to shut up.

Clara smiled at me, full of genuine cheer. "My superiors want the girl unharmed, but no one said anything about the Warden or the Dragontouched. I imagine they'll last for quite some time. But, all of my toys break in the end." A hot flare of rage went through me. I tried to tap into it, to draw power from the anger, but it only made my head spin. I needed to rest before I could use any magic. Maybe Clara would be charitable and let me catch a quick eight hour nap and then continue.

The smell of brimstone filled the air, and Clara raised a hand to point at my chest. Baleful fire grew in her palm, flickering in the gaps between her fingers. "You have no idea," she whispered, "Of how it felt. Unable to move, powerless, dying. I listened as a voice calmly narrated my own demise, laughing as it instructed me on how to avoid it. And now I'm enslaved to two masters. All because of you." I could feel the heat of the flames on my face, even from a distance. "I hate you as I have never hated any other living thing. Burn, Jason." She spat my name as a curse, and the fire leapt from her palm to my chest. Before it had even caught, she turned and walked away.

I was not brave like Sam. I screamed. The supernatural fire ate away at my flesh, sending waves of agony through my already battered body. I screamed and I screamed. I would have thrashed too, if I'd had the energy.

What an ignominious end. It was hard to think through the scorching pain, but I managed a little. Thinking was all I had left. Of course, the vast majority of my thoughts went along the lines of: Oh God, oh God, why me? But that's beside the point. I had lost. I probably would have felt some kind of way about that, but the consuming burn didn't leave much processing power for guilt.

Heat sunk deeper, right into my bones, and I screamed louder. I could feel my throat ache from the force of my strangled exclamations, but that did nothing to stem the tide.

Time lost all meaning under the stress of that burning agony. I could have been ablaze for a moment or a lifetime. Nothing I had ever done or experienced had prepared me for this. In the end, I couldn't even thrash around. There wasn't enough energy left in me to struggle. I lost the energy to scream soon after. Well, maybe it was soon. I don't know.

All I know is that eventually the cursed fire ceased, leaving only the pain of air touching my burned flesh. I tried to open my eyes, to see what had happened. I couldn't. Literally could not. But, compared to knowing exactly how the fire burned me, the comfortable darkness of not knowing was refreshing. I felt soft arms enfold me, and then I didn't feel anything at all.

I'll be honest. I did not expect to ever wake up. I was fairly sure I had died. And died pretty badly for that matter. It was bound to happen eventually, when you played around with the forces I did. Burned to death by cursed fire wasn't quite what I had expected, and was pretty horrible compared to most scenarios, but it wasn't out of the question by any means. To be entirely fair, I figured it would have been the Morrigan that got me.

So you can imagine my surprise when I woke up feeling pretty damn good. And in a bed, no less. I gasped in breath like it was going out of style, and ran my hands frantically over my bare chest. Despite the usual disappointment of not having excessive musculature, I felt distinctly alive. The ugly mass of scar tissue I felt was new, but I'd learn to love it if it meant I wasn't dead.

A cool voice sounded from outside my vision. "The champion awakens."

I knew that voice. My heart sank in my newly-scarred chest and I really looked at my surroundings. Walls made of black stone, check. Bed frame in the center of a circular room; made of what looked like still growing trees, check. Silk sheets, definitely awesome, but still check. Rising feeling of being an absolute dumbass, check.

I looked to my left and saw the Morrigan, her beautiful face twisted in a small smirk. She was garbed in a simple white floor length dress, the ends of its sleeves dyed red from the blood that coated her hands. As usual, she was breathtakingly gorgeous, and I fought back the sudden impulse to just let my mind fall into her beauty. It was a lot easier than the last time. Of course, I had been nineteen last time. It's hard to do anything related to the denial of hormonal impulses at nineteen.

Her clear voice rang out in the chamber, always seeming a shade too loud for the surroundings. "You have slumbered long; I had feared you lost." Near-deity of vengeance and war watching me sleep, check. No doubt about it, I was in the Morrigan's domain.

For once, I felt my overwhelming fear of my Patron give way to the need for information. "What happened?" My voice came out rough and guttural.

A single eyebrow rose imperiously. I gulped and immediately regretted it. Ow. "I mean, uh, what happened, my Lady?"

A smile, a genuine warm smile, spread its way across Her mouth. I almost shuddered, almost. "Better, Stewart, better. My servitor found you and saved you from perdition's flame. You were brought here to heal." Her long black hair swished quietly as her head turned. Even knowing what I know, and being absolutely terrified about it, there was something preternaturally captivating about the Morrigan. By any standard She was inhumanly beautiful. She gestured with a blood-soaked hand to Naime, whom I noticed standing meekly in the shadows by the room's only door.

"Hey, thanks," I croaked out. She smiled wanly, her usually brilliant eyes dim. I understood why. Our master was a hard presence to be outgoing around.

I turned my attention back the Morrigan. "You have fulfilled your purpose better than I could have dreamed. There is but one part of your order you have yet to fulfill."

Curiouser and curiouser. At least She was in a good mood. "What do you mean, milady? I failed. Mary is lost, taken by… whatever in the hell Clara is now."

She shook her head. "All is not yet lost. The Denarian-"

"The what?" I stopped and blanched. I had just interrupted the Morrigan.

Thankfully she only gave me a brief look of irritation. "The Denarian. Your foe took up a Blackened Denarius after you rendered her close to death. The Fallen has strengthened her, both mystically and physically, and granted her the great boon of its experience."

"The what?" I repeated.

"The Fallen, those cast out by the White Christ. Surely even you mortals know the story." I gaped at her openly. No fucking way.

"Literal fallen angels." I said it as bluntly as a statement. "You have to be kidding me. Not beings of the Nevernever, actual former angels?"

Her eyes flashed with impatience. "Yes, foolish servant. They are bound in thirty coins of silver, all tarnished. Your foe has been taken by one of their order. How, I do not know, her ilk possesses no soul to corrupt, but regardless of how it came to be, we must face reality." I wisely chose to remain silent, and She resumed her exposition. "The vampire has taken your friend the Dragontouched, and the mortal, to her place of power. With the Red hunter's newfound powers, you will be hard-pressed to find victory as you are."

I could sense a 'however' incoming. Turns out I was right in function but not in form. "Therefore, dear servant, I am willing to offer you power."

I eyed my Patron warily. "What's the catch, milady?"

She chuckled darkly. I could feel my stomach clench at the inhuman sound. "You are so wary now, so suspicious. I recall a young man desperate to find revenge, so desperate he accepted my bargain without a thought. I look at you now, and I wonder where that young fool went. He was so much more… pliable." Her smile widened.

I barely managed to keep my voice polite. "He died his second time around in that Red Court den. Now then, what are the terms of your offer?"

For a few moments, there was near-silence. Only the soft pitter-patter of the Morrigan's handfuls of blood striking the floor could be heard in the chamber. She tapped her chin mockingly, and none of the crimson fluid from her hand marked her pale skin. "I wonder, just what indignities are you willing to suffer? What conditions could I bind you with before the price rises too high? How far will you go to save your compatriots?"

I gritted my teeth and remained silent. My Patron had me by the balls, and She knew it. "The terms shall be as such: you will destroy the Red Court vampire holding my prize, and all who share her blood or owe her loyalty. You will make a sacrifice of her blood and bone to me, and deliver the Denarius she holds to my servant." She smiled beatifically, and I could almost pretend that the Morrigan was something to be trusted.

"In return for a thrice bound promise on your power to carry out this service, I will grant you the Mantle of my Chosen. It has remained unclaimed since I crafted it many centuries ago."

What. "How on Earth," I paused, realizing how stupid the saying sounded in my current situation. I plowed on regardless. "How did you make a Knight? I thought only Winter and Summer possessed the capability to…" The true implication of her action hit me all at once. If the Morrigan could craft the kind of spell needed to create her own Knight, then it would be no time at all before every powerful Wyldfae was making their own. If word of her discovery made it out to the greater Fae population, the balance of power across the whole world would change irrevocably.

I eyed her cautiously. "Why do you want Mary enough to risk this going public? What is it that makes her so valuable?"

The Morrigan ignored my questions. "The position of my Chosen comes with great power and skill, but also great obligation. I will speak plainly, for I do not wish to give power to a servant resentful of his lot. In all things, you shall answer to me." Her eyes were stern and cold. "My will is law, not only in your debt, but in your loyalties."

The force of her attention was like a physical weight settling in on my shoulders. I felt weary. Not physically, but mentally. Deep in my bones was an ache that felt entirely at odds with the well-rested contentedness of my purely physical senses. Still, I had to negotiate. Just accepting her deal out of hand was the height of idiocy. I had learned that lesson when I was nineteen, and was not keen to repeat it. "How much control will you exert over me?" I'd given up a lot in the name of survival, but my free will was something I'd yet to sacrifice.

I could tell She was amused. The back and forth of Faerie deal-making was a favorite pastime of hers. "You will execute my will, and be bound to my command." Stunningly unhelpful, that. That was pretty much what I had now.

I pressed the point. "Then what makes this different than my geis?" Her small smile widened fractionally.

"The geis is a contract; this ritual is a bond. If you become my Chosen, you will be more than just a servant; you will become an extension of my will." I mused over her words. From what I could tell, She was being genuine. Fae couldn't lie, but they could certainly twist their words. However, I didn't sense any of that from Her. "And keep in mind, servant, that bonds go both ways. I will intercede on your behalf in matters beyond your power." Her eyes, normally an abyss of nihilistic proportions, were compassionate. "I do not want a bondsman, I want a champion."

I almost snorted in laughter. Yeah, right, a Fae being genuine. What was I thinking? "Well, my Lady, it would seem you have me thoroughly cornered. I accept your conditions."

An hour later, I found myself in a vast cathedral-like hall, made of black stone like the rest of this place. Sound echoed strangely in the cavernous depths, and light sources seemed oddly diminished, cutting into the gloom far less than they should have.

They were very few present for the ceremony. Naime was there, and a handful of others, though all of them except Naime remained in shadow, their features hidden. I could see only by silhouettes, and the only being completely visible was the Morrigan, standing a good three paces away from me.

Oh and did I mention I was naked? Yeah.

I shivered a bit from the cold as the Morrigan prepared for the ritual. A Fae servant with what looked like feathers sprouting from his arms brought forth a small washbasin filled with clear water. She methodically cleansed her hands, and the ever present flow of blood coating Her from fingertip to wrist slowly mixed with the water. To my surprise, my Patron's hands remained clean afterwards. I had never seen Her without blood coating them. As she washed away the last bit of blood, something like relief flitted across her beautiful face, there for a short moment then gone. For the barest of instances, She looked… I could think of no better word for it: human. Tension I hadn't even realized she had been holding in her facial muscles slackened and the severe line of her lips curved up in a sad smile.

Then the moment passed, and the Morrigan was back to herself, cold and unchanged. No one else had seen her fleeting transformation, and I filed away the information for later. She took the bowl from the servant's hands reverently. The Morrigan spoke, her voice echoing strangely in the expansive space. "By the blood of Indech and the spirit of Cúchulainn, I anoint you." I shivered at Her proclamation. I didn't know very many of the old tales about my Patron, but what I did know was not promising.

A dull red glow emanated from the top of the bowl at Her words. As She continued, it slowly grew in intensity. "I grant you, my Chosen servant, the power gleaned from both, sacrificed and held." She gently stepped towards me, held out the basin, and I took it from her spotless hands. "Drink." She commanded. I lifted the vessel to my mouth with some trepidation, but I had agreed to this. I suppose I could have backed out right then, but that would condemn Mary, Smith, and Sam to death. I banished my doubts as best I could and drank.

The coppery taste of blood, mixed with the cool feeling of pure water, stuck in my throat. I could feel my throat muscles convulsing, as if they were trying to cough back up what I was drinking but couldn't. After a few mouthfuls, the Morrigan motioned for me to cease, and I gratefully lowered the basin from my lips.

The tainted water settled in my stomach, and I could feel a lazy sort of heat spreading through my body from it. My Patron took back the basin of bloody water and said, "The Chosen has partaken, and thus shall be separated." Well that didn't sound good.

The watching Wyldfae gathered in closer, and I could see them clearly now. I rather wished I couldn't. Most were Sidhe, beautiful beyond mortal ken. Some, on the other hand, were not. A rustling of wings sounded and a single black bird swooped down from somewhere above us and landed on the Morrigan's shoulder. It gave out a single caw and fluttered down to her forearm.

I watched in bemusement as the bird, it looked like a raven or a crow, but dammit I'm a wizard, not an ornithologist, nonchalantly dipped its beak in the bloodied waters, cawed again and promptly flew off. I raised an eyebrow at the Morrigan. "Friend of yours?"

She smiled grimly. "Once, a beloved enemy. Now, certainly not a friend, though it soon will be." Okay then. Ask a stupid question, get a cryptic answer.

Her small smile disappeared as quickly as it had come. "The ritual must be completed." I swallowed nervously, the watered down taste of whoever's blood that had been still in my mouth.

The words she spoke flowed in an almost lyrical manner, and with every syllable the dull red glow of the remaining water increased. "From blood, life, from life, blood." In any other setting this would have been ridiculous, but I couldn't shake the feeling that laughing here would see me gutted in short order.

The surrounding Fae clustered in around us even closer. Naime stepped forward at some invisible signal and took the basin from the Morrigan, who produced a bone knife from the sleeve of her dress and looked at me with hard eyes. "Remain still." I felt a bit of panic at the sight of that blade. I needn't have worried.

My Patron drew the blade across her palm slowly and blood welled forth, for once her own. She let a few crimson drops run down to her fingertips, and flicked them into the water. The knife was handed off to a male Sidhe, who quickly wiped it clean with a white cloth. With a twitch of his fingers the cloth erupted into flames, the fabric quickly burned to ashes. He passed the blade back to my Patron.

She gently ran the flat of the blade across the scarred portion of my chest. Which, to be fair, was now most of my chest. With slow deliberation she dug the point of the dagger into my shoulder, just below the collarbone. I gasped in expectation of pain, but none came. It felt like having surgery done with anesthetic.

Slowly, ever so slowly, the Morrigan drew complex spiraling and looping designs in the flesh of my torso. I have no idea how long it took to complete the pattern, but time seemed to have little meaning anyway. She finished her work quietly and stepped back. She nodded slowly. "Yes, that will do nicely." I looked down and saw that nearly my entire chest was inscribed with knotted designs, some it paired with small bits of lettering in a language I could not recognize.

Do nicely for what? I yearned to ask. But I didn't. No way was I opening that particular can of worms. "The ritual is nearly complete. All that remains is to anoint you properly." Before I could ask what that would entail, she overturned the basin of bloodied water on my head

As the tainted liquid washed over me, it began to close every open cut from the Morrigan's knife. I watched with a feeling of detached curiosity, as there was still no pain, only a vague sensation of motion in my tissues. Soon all I could see was the patch of burn-scarred skin and otherwise unblemished flesh. I looked up at the Morrigan to ask if I should feel any different when suddenly it hit me.

I dropped down to one knee in shock at the feeling of sheer power that flowed through me. More than that, I could feel knowledge settling into my mind. It was a sensation beyond description, the feeling of knowing something and simultaneously knowing that it wasn't me who knew it. A torrent of information rushed through my brain, and I suddenly knew, not believed, or thought, but knew that I was an expert swordsman. I understood small unit tactics, how to properly prepare a hunted animal, proper wizard-level comprehensive magical theory, and, strangely enough, I had an encyclopedic knowledge of the philosophical and theological discourses of Martin Luther.

Despite the great variety present, almost all of the knowledge I could grasp concerned violence. I knew I could confidently wield just about any weapon, and had a strong grasp on battlefield tactics. I knew human anatomy far more thoroughly than I had ever dreamed, although again I knew it in ways that were conducive to ceasing its functioning.

I struggled to stay conscious against the rushing tide of alien memory and knowledge. The vast majority of it entered and abruptly left, but great tracts of data stayed with me, and I felt my mind panicking as it tried to sort out what was mine and what wasn't.

The torrent of knowledge slowed to a trickle, and then finally stopped with an analysis on the effective use of cavalry by Duke Wellington. Okay. Time to find some answers. I rose slowly back to my feet. Once the initial strangeness of my new situation wore off, I realized that I felt… Pretty damn awesome. I could feel strength coiled in my muscles, far more than I'd ever had before. And magical power, oh yeah, plenty of that. But far more valuable than that was the in-depth knowledge I had gained. I could do more with less than I ever could before.

I looked up at the Morrigan, my mouth already starting to form words when I felt my breath catch in my throat. My new knowledge welled up and-

I watched a wounded, elderly, woman from the corner of my eye. The taste of milk, rich and creamy, was on my tongue. I took another drink, and another. Wiping my mouth with the sleeve of a roughly-woven shirt I set down the milking bucket. My voice was deeper, gruff. "I bless you thrice for your kindness. Thrice was it given, and thrice do I find myself grateful." The formality sounded strange to my ears, but gratitude is a gift that is free to give.

The old woman smirked, her wounds closing before my eyes, and she was gone. In her place stood the Morrigan, both terrible and beautiful. "You told me once that you would never heal me," She said, Her eyes bright with amusement and triumph.

I snarled out my reply, "Had I known it was you, I never would have."

I gasped out in shock, but before I could recover another vision overtook my senses.

It smelled of death here. Corpses coated the ground; blood soaked into the dirt, and the stench of rot was heavy and cloying in the air. I gasped in a shuddering breath, and pain exploded through my chest. I fought it back down and took another deep breath. More pain. Breathe, pain, breathe, pain. The steady rhythm was almost calming. Men approached me, armed and armored. They looked terrified. I smirked darkly. As they should be. Even dying, I was not a foe to be underestimated. The sword in my hand was heavy, so heavy, but I lifted it regardless. The advancing men stopped, sudden terror breaking across their young faces. I shuddered and collapsed back against the rock face.

A raven landed on my shoulder and cawed right next to my ear. I glared at it hatefully. I knew I would be dead soon, but couldn't I get some respect in the brief time there was left? Then I saw the fey intelligence in those beady eyes. I would have spat at Her, but I barely had the energy to breathe, much less spit. Darkness washed in at the edges of my vision. "Are you content?" I asked the bird in a hoarse whisper. "Did you get what you wanted?" Not great last words, but not horrible either.

The soldiers were advancing at a crawling pace, weapons held before them like talismans against a demon. I felt a weary chuckle form in my throat. It never made it past my lips.

When I came to, I was kneeling on the floor of the chamber. The other Fae were gone, even Naime. Only the Morrigan and I remained. I looked up at her again, braced for more visions not my own, but none came. Her eyes were cold and impassive. She must have known what I would see. I licked my lips and decided to do something foolish. "What was it that I saw?"

"The memory of one long dead. Remember, Stewart, it is at the guarding of thy death that I am; and I shall be." Without another word she turned on her heel and departed the chamber.

The black bird that had also partaken of the ritual water flitted out of the darkness to my shoulder. I slowly rose back to my feet and looked over at it. It opened its beak and said, "You fucked that one up, huh?"

See you when I see you.