A/N: This was supposed to be the last chapter, but it kept growing…and growing…so I have split it into the last chapter, followed by a rather lengthy epilogue. At least that way I can say this was technically the last chapter. As most of the epilogue is written I hope to have it posted by tomorrow or Monday.
My thanks to my brilliant beta, Lisa, for turning tripe into truffles.
All Things Blight and Beautiful
~~Shayle~~
Holding the south gate proved…problematic. The armies became separated when the Archdemon flew down and burned their bridges. And why had It – Josslyn – not told them the Archdemon flew? Shayle swatted at the sky, glowering…as much as a stone face allowed for such expressions.
And why had It not insisted on having the bearded one fighting with It? Shayle had no desire to watch over the bearded one, although it was preferable to the wizened one or the laid sister.
Glancing over at the bearded fleshy creature in question, Shayle was reminded that It was not without skill as a warrior. A bit too swashbuckling for Shayle's taste, but competent enough that Shayle was free to concentrate on the overall battle
When the ogre roared into the square, pounding its chest, Shayle ordered the nearest squad to take care of it, before turning to command a second squad to take out the caster that was accompanied by a horde of darkspawn arriving from the opposite direction.
Bolts, arrows, spells and fists flew for what seemed like hours. When the spell-caster finally fell, Shayle immediately turned to help the other group as one ogre had become half a dozen. A well-armored soldier brought a large sword up in a sweeping arc and Shayle tutted. That is not the most efficient swing. For a moment, Shayle continued to watch the scene unfolding, too far away to do more than that. The ogre batted the sword away, which was hardly surprising to Shayle, given the flamboyance of the swing. Another soldier, one Shayle recognized immediately, charged in. At least It is holding Its sword properly.
With a start, Shayle moved forward, steps quickening, leaving puffs of dust in its wake. Watching in horror, the golem saw the ogre reach for the soldier.
It – Joss – will not be pleased. Can a golem become a toad? What if It knows other transformational spells? What if It knows…bird transmogrification? Shayle shuddered and broke into an awkward half-run.
A streak of brindled fur passed Shayle, leaping over a dead darkspawn and launching itself at the ogre. The ogre looked inordinately pleased at the dog's arrival.
~~Oghren~~
"Stone-forsaken noble! Get your fat ass back over there and hold the line!" Oghren barked at the noble.
"Men, we have one job, and one job only. We hold the line. We box the sodding darkspawn into this little area and we hold the bleeding line. Got it?" Oghren continued.
He was standing on an overturned crate in order to be seen. Whose bright idea was it to put a dwarf in charge of an army of humans? Probably that general with the stick shoved up his ass. If all his decisions were so half-assed it was no wonder they'd lost the battle at Ostagar.
He looked out at the men around him, sworn to defend the city to their dying breath. Bunch of sodding kids, most of them, but eager and stout-hearted or he wasn't a dwarf! He chuckled, realizing that, by Orzammar standards, he wasn't considered much of a dwarf or warrior any more. Ancestors' tits, but it felt good to be out from under that rock! Who'd have thunk it?
He thumped his chest and grinned. "It's a good day to die!" he shouted. An uneasy murmur went through the soldiers. His grin turned into a shout of laughter. "But it's an even better day to live! Let's show them our hearts while we rip theirs out, men!"
Bah, who knew if the blighted 'spawn even had hearts? No matter, the men were fired up and ready to kick darkspawn ass. A messenger came running up and handed him a note. "From Warden Commander Josslyn!" the lad said, saluting.
"Aye, hold a tic."
He broke the seal and gave the note a quick once-over before giving a great shout of laughter. "Listen up men, we've got a horde heading our way, but the commander believes in us. We'll get it done, she says. By the ancestors she's right! Oh, and the first round of drinks is on her afterwards! Second round too if we manage to do a bit of damage to the Gnawed Noble!"
A roar of approval came from the soldiers and then the first wave of spawn hit and he was too busy fighting to worry about drinks or taverns or anything except his men and the fight. But not so busy he couldn't destroy a certain sign for a certain friend.
~~Joss~~
She tried. She tried very hard to sit still and wait for the reports to come into the command center, but the waiting was driving her to distraction, like an itch that couldn't be scratched. The men were all huddled around a map playing with a bunch of toy soldiers as each report came in. Seriously, it was an odd time to be moving wooden figures around a map. Shouldn't they be strategizing or something?
Elissa patted her arm to try and calm her, reminding her that she was 'with child' and shouldn't allow herself to become agitated. As if the growing baby bump wasn't a big enough reminder? But she gritted her teeth and thanked Elissa because the poor girl was just as worried about Alistair as she was about Teagan.
Joss stopped pacing long enough to talk with Morrigan, who had flown in with another scouting report.
"Now that Loghain is no longer in need of my services, I will be leaving," Morrigan said without preamble, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, which it wasn't.
Her golden eyes narrowed as she surveyed Joss. Joss wanted to reach up to make sure she didn't have a glob of jelly on her face or something because Morrigan's gaze was very intense. Maybe she'd grown a second head? A third eye?
As the silent scrutiny continued, Joss searched her brain for something to say. As in: anything to say. "You won't reconsider? Stay for a bit?" she finally asked, even more surprised than Morrigan by her words.
"No, the Dalish have given me directions to their encampment and I will make my way there. 'Tis time for me to be gone, before Mother reappears, for she will reappear, have no doubt."
Oh joy. "Before you go, please just answer one question."
Morrigan sighed, a wariness creeping into her expression. "What is it?"
"Your magical mounds…how do they work?"
A faint, almost secretive smile curved Morrigan's lips ever so slightly upwards. "If I tell you, I shall have to kill you."
Joss took a large step away from Morrigan.
"That is what the Chasind who taught me the spell said when I asked her," Morrigan added with a faint snicker. Who knew Morrigan had a sense of humor? Granted it was infinitesimal, but there, nonetheless.
"Oh. Ha! Good one. I knew you weren't serious," Joss said, striving for amusement and finding only relief.
Morrigan leaned forward and whispered in Joss's ear. Joss nodded, listening intently, but then shook her head. "It's really that simple? Seriously?"
Morrigan's smile flitted across her face and disappeared again. "Do you doubt me?"
Chuckling, Joss asked, "Is that a trick question?"
"I see you are in rare form today. Perhaps we can fetch Alistair and combine two half-wits to make a whole?"
"You and Alistair? I never thought he was your type because I know you aren't referring to me as a half-wit."
Morrigan's smile was almost warm. "Of all the things I expected to find on this journey, an ally against my mother was not one of them. A friend." The way Morrigan said the word 'friend' made it seem like an exotic foreign fruit of some kind.
"But just friends, right? I mean, I'm not one of Flemeth's long lost daughters or anything, right? Not a niece or a cousin twice-removed or anything?"
Morrigan's smile became enigmatic. "'Twould explain much were you my sister, but we are not related. You are simply the thorn in Mother's side that she cannot remove."
Sure, a thorn…but why? Would she ever know? Probably not, damn it. She walked outside with Morrigan, without understanding why she did so. It wasn't as if either of them was likely to break down and confess their admiration, respect and affection for each other.
Still, she stood beside Morrigan, and then surprised them both yet again. Reaching up to her messy chignon, Joss removed the silver combs that were holding it in place. Her hair immediately tumbled down, apparently jubilant at being set free.
She stared down at the combs for a minute. Her plain silver combs. The last remnants of a life she really didn't even remember, and she couldn't think why she'd been so sentimental about them for so many years.
"Here, take these. When you start feeling lonely, look at them and think of us and how much worse things could be." As she spoke, she took Morrigan's hand, placed the combs in her palm and closed her hand around them.
Morrigan's eyes narrowed and she pinched the bridge of her nose with her free hand, looking greatly put upon. Well, sure, because gifts were a real pain in the arse to receive. Maker knew she hated receiving them. Well, actually that was true. Before Joss had time to verbalize her thoughts, Morrigan shifted into a raven and flew off, the dip of one wing her only farewell.
~~ Alistair ~~
Getting to the top of Fort Drakon had sounded easy when they'd discussed the battle plans. Alistair, huffing and puffing as he clamored - in full plate armor - up the long and winding staircases, fighting off mobs of darkspawn, had a longing to be anywhere else.
Having a large group of mages and archers along made the fighting part easy; it was the blasted climbing that knocked the wind out of his sails. Riordan, older and nearing his Calling, was staggering to keep up, currently leaning against the wall, chest heaving.
"Come on, get a move on!" Cathair yelled, charging past Alistair, seemingly unaffected by the strenuous climb and periodic skirmishes. Not to be outdone by a junior Warden, Alistair pushed himself onward, trying not to mutter about over-zealous, show-off warriors. He wasn't successful.
They reached the top of the fort at the same time that Riordan collapsed in a perspiring puddle of fatigue. Alistair's fear that Riordan had died before reaching the Archdemon gave way to relief when Riordan started hacking and coughing. Randal knelt and offered his waterskin to the man. Was that what he had to look forward to in a few years? Not his happiest thought ever. Not his worst, either, but definitely not his happiest.
"He'll never make it," Jowan whispered, wiping the sweat from his brow.
"Will so."
"Will not."
"Will."
"Won't."
Alistair glared at the mage. Didn't Jowan know that he was in charge? That what he said was the final word? "He will, even if I have to carry him every step of the way, tie his sword in his hand and shove him at the Archdemon."
He stomped over to Riordan and reached out his hand. Riordan mumbled and stumbled but finally managed to get up and even take a few steps. Before he crumpled again, the Archdemon, looking very, very unhappy, roared overhead.
"Mages, archers, take up positions and aim for the left wing. Focus on the left!" Alistair shouted. To his surprise, and probably Jowan's too, judging by his gaping mouth, the mages formed orderly lines as the soldiers and Wardens took up a defensive posture around them.
"Is that our left or its left?" Cathair called out.
What? What had the plan called for? Alistair scratched the back of his head, trying to remember what Loghain had said on the matter.
"Stop dithering and decide!" Oh Maker, Joss had finally rubbed off on him. He'd yelled that out loud. Everyone seemed to be staring at him and if he'd been able to, he'd have crawled into a hole.
Clearing his throat and trying to look authoritative, he pulled himself up and commanded, "Our left!" Not that it mattered as long as they all fired at the same one, but he wanted their plan to be executed flawlessly. "What now?" Randal asked, eyeing Riordan's slumped figure.
"Get that Archdemon down and as near to dying as you can. I'll get Riordan ready to go."
The Archdemon fought like a thing possessed, landing heavily with its frozen left wing, and promptly knocking three archers, two soldiers and a mage, not to mention a few pigeons, completely off the roof of the fort. Somehow Alistair didn't think that was what Loghain had meant when he'd dubbed the mission Operation Free Fall.
For more than an hour the battles raged, both against the Archdemon and Riordan's imminent death by exertion. Alistair fed the older Warden a number of health and rejuvenation potions, and, at long last it looked like the Archdemon was tiring. Riordan's color returned to pasty white instead of sunburned red.
Randal, covered in an interesting array of darkspawn and Archdemon bits and bobs, came running over. "How is he going to manage to kill anything?"
Bending down and hefting Riordan to his feet, Alistair grunted, "With a little bit…" before stopping to hand Riordan his sword. Riordan's hand dipped with the weapon's weight.
"With a little bit…" Alistair began again, pausing once more, this time to pull out his rope and tie the sword to Riordan's hand.
"With a little bit of blooming luck!" he yelled over the roar of the Archdemon, not to mention Riordan's hacking cough.
"Now! Now, now, now!" Cathair shouted, gesticulating wildly for the archers and mages to cease firing arrows and spells so that a Warden could make the killing blow. Either that or she wanted someone to slit her throat. Alistair snorted. Really, he was such a witty man. Why didn't the others see it?
"Thank you, Riordan. We'll erect a statue in your honor," Alistair said sincerely, before shoving the older Warden forward.
Somehow, and Alistair would never understand how, Riordan took a tentative step or two forward and then, with a battle-cry even Cathair would be proud of, he ran forward, sword raised, yelling: "For Duncan! For the Grey Wardens! Die you motherless bastard of an Archdemon!"
Then, to everyone's horror, judging by the collective gasp Alistair heard, Riordan slipped on entrails, and went sliding across the roof on his knees, his sword still upraised. Hmmm, I might have tied that a little too tightly, Alistair thought, frowning slightly as he watched.
The Archdemon gave up the ghost then, lowering its head in defeat, allowing the sword to pierce the vulnerable skin of its throat. Riordan's forward momentum carried him all the way to the Archdemon's underbelly, the sword slicing the creature open along the way, which made a bloody mess, Alistair reflected, watching Archdemon gore gush over Riordan. The Archdemon gave a final gasp of outrage before collapsing on Riordan.
"That had to have hurt," Jowan remarked in the total absence of sound that followed. He winced and started to walk away.
Alistair was too tired to argue. He hoped that Riordan had, indeed, made the killing blow, because he was also too tired to fight any longer. He turned to address the crowd of mages, archers, soldiers and Wardens.
Before he could order everyone to move away from the dead Archdemon, an explosion, complete with a bright golden-white light, shook the tower. Several people were flung over the side of the tower by the force. Isn't it ironic that they survived the battle and then died before they could celebrate? Before he could contemplate further on life's ironies, his forehead connected with the ground. Painfully so. His last thought was that they really ought to put up railing around the top of Fort Drakon before the next Archdemon's arrival
~~Joss ~~
It wasn't as if the sun suddenly broke through the clouds and birds suddenly appeared, singing merrily, but the battle was definitely over. The explosion had rattled every remaining window in the city, and knocked more than a few people down. News reached them moments later that the Archdemon was dead, as were a great many darkspawn and those that had survived were disorganized and in a hurry to leave town.
Loghain gathered his sword and shield and then stepped outside. Joss followed him, intent on finding Teagan so she could breathe properly again.
Gloomy red-tinged clouds still hung in the sky. The air smelled atrocious and Joss choked, her eyes watering. "So much for being able to breathe," she muttered to no-one in particular. Zevran handed her a clean square of cloth and she quickly covered her mouth and nose.
"Come, my lovely Warden, let us find that handsome husband of yours," he said, offering her a bright smile that almost reached his eyes. He was worried, which, of course, made her worry jump right up and take notice.
"You ought to stay inside until we make sure it's safe to travel the city, but as you have yet to listen to me, I doubt now will be any different," Loghain said in his cool, long-suffering way.
"I do listen to you," she protested. "I just don't obey you because, while you may be old enough to be my father, you're actually no relation at all. Oh, and it case you failed to notice, I'm also not in your army."
Loghain snorted. "Thank the Maker for that."
Fergus surveyed the smoke-clogged sky and then said gravely, "I think we can put aside our differences a bit longer and get busy tending to the dead and wounded."
That was enough to make Joss start pulling Zev along the street in search of Teagan. She refused to even try to identify some of the bits and pieces and things that she stepped over.
They neared the makeshift hospital and Joss stopped, looking at the overflow of people seeking help. Sister Leliana of the Blissfully Unaware was helping sort through the mass of injured soldiers, her face serene. How was that possible? Joss knew her face was as far from serene as chalk was from chowder.
"Leliana, have you seen Teagan?"
The lay sister glanced over at them, wagging a playful finger at Joss. "Why of course, Josslyn, many times. Such a fine looking man, but you already know that, do you not? I think you must be teasing me, yes?" the Barmy Bard cooed.
"I – uhm –yes - erm – no. Maker's spotted smalls! What I mean – oh, never mind," Joss sighed, entering the building.
Wynne, hands on hips, was shouting orders to the other healers. A fair number of non-mage healers were assisting, as well, to Josslyn's relief. Her stomach was already lurching like a drunken sailor and the thought of helping with the wounded made it break into the Hornpipe.
"Teagan?" Joss called above the hubbub.
"Tea and what?" Wynne asked, frowning as she cupped a hand around her ear.
Joss sighed. Obviously he wasn't there. She turned to go, bumping into Jowan . Behind him were Randal and Cathair, holding on to Alistair, who was doing a fine imitation of a rag-doll.
"What happened? Didn't I order you all to be careful? Doesn't anybody listen to me?" Joss demanded crossly. "Wynne! Get over here!"
Wynne glared at her, but to Joss's astonishment the old biddy picked her way across the crowded room.
"I will find Elissa, my dear Warden. Do not leave until I return," Zev assured her before slipping out of the hospital.
Joss's mind was running amok as various scenarios ran through it. Had Alistair been wounded in battle? Had he been trying to do the noble, stupid thing? Randal and Cathair laid him down on a pallet with great care, and Wynne knelt down to examine him. Joss did the same, much to Wynne's annoyance. It took a few seconds to find the injury and when she finally saw it, she was rendered speechless. One bump to rule them all graced the front of his noggin.
"Holy Maker," Jowan whistled. "That sure puts the one you had to shame."
"Fergus's too. I never thought I'd see one even come close to it," Randal agreed.
"Will he be all right, Wynne?" Joss asked, her voice barely audible over the din.
"Yes, but he'll have a headache for some time to come. He'll need bed rest for a few days."
Joss nodded and then turned to her Wardens for their report. "So Riordan did make the killing blow? And what caused the explosion? Are souls that volatile?"
Randal shrugged. "Guess so. Funny thing, though. There's no sign at all of Riordan but the Archdemon's whole carcass is up on the top of the fort. We left some soldiers guarding it."
"Hopefully you told them to stay away from it and its blood."
"Of course," Randall replied, clearly offended by her lack of faith in him.
"Thank you. You've all done a tremendous job and I – I need to go find Teagan."
Maker's hind tit, she felt the first tickling in her throat that indicated tears were about to come for an extended visit. She sniffed and turned to leave, but stopped to ask, ""Any sign of Oghren or Shayle?"
"No, we came straight here."
Disappointed, she left, knowing that Zevran would be angry, but also knowing he would catch up. It took her a few wrong turns to find her way, and it was when she encountered a large crowd of people congregating in the streets, that her heart plummeted to her toes and her stomach followed.
She tried to push her way through the crowd and she strained for a glimpse of Teagan, but the crowd was a current, carrying her away from the south gate.
"Let the Commander of the Grey through!" Loghain commanded, and the crowd parted down the middle with the precision of a military drill team.
"Thanks, and what are you doing here?"
"I assumed this was the direction you would go."
Which only half answered the question, but as she was now walking at a decidedly brisk pace to keep up with the long-legged general, she didn't say anything.
"Halt!" Loghain commanded her.
She looked up at him and snorted. "Not bloody likely," she said, stepping around him and out of his reach. And stopped dead in her tracks, which was an unfortunate turn of phrase, all things considered. The crowd did what a crowd does…it crowded in around her again. But not before she caught sight of a large, walking stone. Joss craned her neck to see over the man in front of her.
Shayle, carrying a bundle of armor, was slowly making its way down the cobblestoned street through the press of people. Joss stumbled forward, nearly tripping, but a hand reached out and steadied her. Shayle was swallowed by the sea of people again as the crowd surged forward. She was pushed along with the masses, and her toe was mashed by a soldier's iron-clad foot. He gave a yelp of pain. The big baby, she hadn't zapped him that hard.
Another brief glimpse of Shayle and she was running, shoving people out of her way, castigating herself for not being a healer because she couldn't even heal a hangnail to save her life. When she was done with that subject, she started on herself for letting Teagan go out and fight, not to mention for allowing herself be talked into staying behind. The crowd parted again and she saw the bundle of armor taking shape. A person was inside the armor, a limp person who wasn't moving. Her heart did a jig around her chest as she stumbled on.
"Oh, no! No! No, no, no!" she cried. Oh, nice high note. A shame you can't sing. "You were supposed to keep him safe, Shayle! Look at him! He's all broken and, Maker's hairy knees, what happened? He looks…" her voice trailed off because someone had decided to squeeze the life out of her heart.
She closed her eyes and tried to speak again, forcing her eyes open, "He looks…he looks…" she paused, staring at the man in Shayle's arms. "…nothing like Teagan!" Why hadn't she noticed the curving outline of breasts sooner? The 'he' wasn't a 'he' at all, but a 'she'.
Her relief pushed more tears to the surface, to her annoyance. She glared at Shayle, who shifted slightly, readjusting the woman it carried. "It has eyes after all. I was worried that It had gone blind in my absence."
Teagan pushed through the crowd at that moment, Styx at his side. "Josslyn? My dear, you shouldn't be out here in your condition."
Joss stared at him as hundreds of emotions danced in her heart, not to mention a dozen or so questions in her head. So naturally, the first thing out of her mouth was: "Who is this woman, Teagan?"
Not that she heard his answer because, with a sigh, she decided to faint instead.
~~~oOo~~~
"Here's to it, and to it again! If you get to it and can't do it, call on me, I'm good at it!" Oghren yelled, raising his flagon to the group gathered around the table.
A roar of approval shook the rafters as the revelers raised their cups in response. Joss gave a delicate shudder at the taste of the ginger and mint tea, but anything stronger made her stomach very unhappy.
"What is 'it'? What's he mean?" Alistair asked, leaning close to her to ask. The bandage wrapped around the biggest knot in all of Thedas, now known as Bumpy, the big brother to Lumpy and Knotty, gave him a rather raffish appearance. But it was just an illusion, judging from his question.
"I'll give you a hint. It's not about drinking," she replied, winking.
"Oh," he replied, a look of contemplation residing on his boyish face. She saw the moment he understood because a splash of red settled in his cheeks. "Oh, I get it. Right."
They were gathered at a long table in the overcrowded dining room in Teagan's townhouse. The two days since the end of the Blight had been a blur for Joss. She'd spent a good deal of it in bed, even sleeping occasionally. And she'd spent time visiting the armies that had helped end the Blight so decisively.
"Has anyone found Riordan's body yet?" Cathair queried from across the table where she was tossing drinks back like a professional dwarf.
"We found his sword and some bits of rope, but that's all. It's surprising that we found that much, considering how large the blast was. In fact, I don't know how anyone atop the tower managed to survive," Joss answered, refusing to let her mind take a stroll any further down that particular garden path.
Before the conversation could continue, Randal stood up, saluting them with his tankard. Clearing his throat, he recited:
"Here's to you and here's to me,
"And here's to the lass with the well-shaped knee.
"Here's to the man, with his hand on her garter;
"He hasn't got far, but he's a damn good starter!"
Another roar of approval met his toast and everyone drank again. Joss set her cup down and leaned against her husband, who was looking very, very merry. He'd placed a discreet hand on her knee earlier and throughout the toasting it had gradually inched higher.
Fergus stood next and surveyed the room with too-bright eyes. "You are all damned fine people," he began, trying to look serious and kingly. "I'm honored to call you friends." He paused, grinning at Zevran, who was seated across from him. Raising his flagon, he said:
"Here's to the roses and lilies in bloom,
"You in my arms and I in your room.
"A door that is locked, a key that is lost,
A bird, and a bottle, a bed badly tossed,
"And a night that is fifty years long."
"Don't even ask what the bird means," Joss said sternly, pointing a finger at Alistair. The room erupted into laughter and Alistair glared at her.
"I hate you," he replied, before downing his goblet of wine.
Cathair was the next to stand up. "As you slide down the banister of life, may the splinters never point your way!"
As the laughter gradually subsided, Teagan leaned close. His breath feathered against her skin as he whispered, "You look wonderful tonight."
Joss glanced down at her well-worn peach-colored gown, let out twice and still too tight. She could feel her hair slipping out of its knot. She thought he was seeing her through a wine-colored haze but she smiled, knowing he believed it to be true.
"I feel wonderful tonight," he added, his voice husky, which caused her stomach to flutter in anticipation. She wouldn't argue; he felt wonderful to her as well.
Of course, she ruined the romantic moment by yawning. Teagan yawned next, and to her delight, the yawn slowly made its way around the trestle table, bypassing no one. Even Styx, resting comfortably on a rug in front of the fireplace, yawned. Drowsy and content, Joss rested her head on Teagan's shoulder and let the voices of her friends lull her to sleep…
"Ah, there you are. I was beginning to think you no longer cared."
Joss groaned. "It's been a hard day's night and I've been working like a dog, so whatever you want to say, say it quickly, Flemeth."
"See me. Feel me. Touch me," the crone crooned. "Am I real? Do you believe in me? Talk to me, we can work it out."
Joss rubbed at her forehead, wondering if she would ever be rid of Flemeth. "Try to see it my way. I say yes, you say no. I say stop, you say go. We'll never agree on anything. Please do us both a favor and just walk away."
Oh, hadn't she become the brave one. Well, except that her voice shook ever so slightly and her knees were knocking together like a set of chattering teeth. She admonished her knees to cease and desist, but they were deaf, apparently.
"Isn't life strange?" Flemeth continued, ignoring Joss. "And isn't it ironic? It's the good advice you just don't take. I told you not to meddle and yet you did. I wonder, child, if you even know what you've done?"
Without asking herself why, or trying to talk herself out of it, Joss brought her hands up, chanting softly, and began to shape the Fade until she and Flemeth were standing in the Harrowing Chamber in the Tower. Anger and sorrow flickered along her nerves, chasing away her fear. She was done being Flemeth's whipping post. Ha, as if, she thought wryly. But she would try, at the very least.
"This is where both Brin and Joseph died. If you look you can probably see the bloodstains on the floor. After losing both of them do you really think anything you say or do will frighten me? Or hurt me?"
To her amazement, Flemeth took a step back and turned her head away, before she looked back at Joss, laughing briefly. It was a hollow sound… a sad sound. "He was such a disappointment. I thought he was going to be so much more than he was. In the end, he was just another brick in the wall."
Some part of her had known since her first meeting with the witch, but it was a relief to finally hear her admit that Brin was one of her sons. It didn't hurt nearly as much as she had imagined it might. Andraste's rusted chastity belt! Was she growing up? Seriously? Now? She groaned mentally.
"Was it you who sent him to the Tower?"
When had her voice gone all reedy and thin? She blinked, looking down at the ground, which was vibrating slightly. Was that her doing? Flemeth's? "I feel the earth move under my feet. What are you doing to my Fade?" Joss asked, suspicion wide awake and standing right beside her fear. And then the hurt, the anger, the fear coalesced, forming a hard knot in her stomach. In that moment, she was in control.
"You think you're more powerful than I am?" Flemeth snorted, but she seemed to be growing smaller as Joss continued to glare at her.
"No, I think there are some things that the mighty Witch of the Wilds can't do and I think my ability to shape dreams and dreamers is one of them." Oooh, nice bit of gloating in your voice. It's good to antagonize the most powerful creature you've ever met. Good one, Joss.
She looked around, trying to find out who the recklessly brave and foolish idiot using her voice was, and wondering how long before Flemeth demanded: "Off! Off with her head!"
Instead, Flemeth remained curiously silent. It was the confirmation Joss needed. She expected to be furious, like the wounded bear that had chased her up a tree one afternoon in the Brecilian Forest. How was she supposed to know that a wounded bear was a crazed bear?
"Who is to say you aren't one of my many daughters? Who is to say I don't have an amulet with your soul attached to it?" Flemeth asked with a laugh that bordered on lunacy.
Joss's heart lurched as the words sunk in to her overtaxed brain. Her mind took a stumble down a hill. There was that horrible possibility again, jumping around in her thoughts. She grabbed a smile and slapped it on her face. Not this time, damn the Maker's blue balls. She was not going to be intimidated by the Bitch of the Wilds.
Searching frantically for something to say, she grabbed the first thing she could think of. "You wish I was your daughter, I'm sure, but I am Josslyn Winifred Amell Guerrin. I am sister of Joseph Bridger Amell, daughter of the Amells of Dragon's Peak, wife of Bann Teagan of Rainesfere."
"How can you be sure?"
Joss laughed, though the sound was more a breathless gasp than an actual laugh. "How can I be sure?" Joss asked, stalling while her brain - currently a blank slate - tried to find a coherent thought long enough to verbalize it. "How can I be sure? In a world that's constantly changing, there is one constant. Me. I'm me and no matter what you believe, this me is no longer afraid of you. And without fear, you have nothing…nothing at all."
Joss turned and started to walk away, but stopped. Without facing the witch, because she didn't want Flemeth to see even a hint of fear, she said, "Now, because I'm a better person than you'll ever be - not that you probably are a real person - you're welcome to enjoy my Fadescape. For now."
She felt the earth move under her again as she walked into the raw Fade. A few minutes later she woke up in bed beside a sleeping Teagan.
She had no recollection of actually climbing the stairs and getting into bed, nor of undressing, but she was stripped down to her bare skin. She rested her hand on Teagan's hip and leaned close to him, breathing him in. Maker, he smelled good.
He stirred, rolling onto his back and smiled sleepily at her, pulling her down for a kiss. A short time later, the earth moved again, in a totally different manner.
As Teagan drifted off to sleep again, Joss stared into the dark, a hand resting lightly on her rounded belly. She was happy. Truly happy, as in disgustingly, completely, utterly happy. Of course, it probably wouldn't last beyond the night, but it was a start.
She smiled, whispering a final good-bye to a life she had finally let go of. Sleep claimed her a few moments later.
