The Devil Went Down to Drakon

Part 1 – Out of the Frying Pan…

Eamon's army had set out just before daybreak, led by Ser Perth. Orzammar's troops had been rerouted and were headed for Denerim. The Dalish archers were closest to the capital city, as the Bracilian Forest was just a day's march south of it. They sent word to me that they would be waiting for us when we arrived.

Eamon provided horses for his officers and the wardens. It was impossible for us to reach Denerim ahead of the horde, but the sooner we got there, the better our chances of saving the city from total destruction. We'd already lost two towns to the enemy. Lothering was gone, its revered mother slain and hung on a post in a grisly display, and its buildings burned to ash.

Several times before we departed Redcliffe I felt Alistair's eyes on me but I didn't return his gaze. Whatever he had to say, if it wasn't directly related to the war, this wasn't the time to talk. If it had been about the coming battle, he wouldn't have hesitated. I could only assume that whatever was on his mind had something to do with Morrigan.

The witch behaved as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. She didn't shy away from me in shame, as she damn well should have done, nor did she initiate conversation. If she spoke, she expressed herself, as always, with disparaging remarks delivered with caustic superiority.

It occurred to me that I was quite the hypocrite. I didn't know how the evening went for Alistair and Morrigan and I didn't want to know, but I had enjoyed my night with Teagan—and the word "enjoyed" was an understatement but I could think of no other to describe it. If I could have relived the night, the only thing I'd have done differently would have been to seek him out sooner so we could have had more time together. I wouldn't have wasted time and tears on false friends and lovers. The hours we'd spent in his chambers were so much more… exhilarating. Memories flooded my mind, making the long ride fade into insignificance.

"I assume you're angry with me about something." Alistair's voice shattered my daydream. "We can talk about it later. I'm worried about you, Winter. Are you unwell?"

"Why would you think that?" I asked. My tone was flat, neither angry nor reproachful, but my manner didn't invite chatting.

"You're pale and it looks as if you haven't slept for days, you've slowed your horse to a walk, and you appear to be… I don't know… under a hex or something," he explained.

"I'm fine." I spat out the words. "Preoccupied with the battle, as you should be, Your Majesty."

"Is that what you're upset about? That I'm king? I'll remind you that it was Eamon's idea, and your doing that put me on the throne. I never wanted it." His voice rose almost to a shout.

I could have flung the raw truth back in his face, but what would that have accomplished? Rather than correct him and touch off more argument, I shook my head in dismissal and spurred my horse to a trot, moving ahead and away from him.

Our march was done in cycles of four-and-one: four hours of marching, then one hour of rest. Meals were eaten on the move. There would be no overnight camp, no sleep, and no waiting for those who couldn't keep up. Already we wardens could sense the pull of the archdemon luring us to Denerim. The beast had penetrated our waking hours as well as our dreams.

"He is growing more powerful," Riordan remarked. "And bolder. He thinks we cannot win."

"He's wrong," I replied. The confidence I felt didn't come from any logical, well-planned strategy. I knew it in my gut. A warden would die in the process of killing the archdemon, or all of us if need be. That was unimportant. What mattered was that the author of the blight would meet his end in Denerim, and the country—all of Thedas, to be sure—would be saved.

We were making unnaturally good time, and at our current pace we expected to reach Denerim by dusk on the second day.

Unnatural. Everything about the blight defied nature. Why shouldn't we have this one small advantage of rapid travel? No matter who or what caused it—the Maker Himself or the enemy—it was a welcome boon.

When Denerim came into view, we saw the horde. It was larger than any of us imagined. Before we joined the battle, Alistair addressed the troops. He gave a short, rousing speech, using me as an example for the soldiers to emulate. A seasoned warrior and a decisive leader had replaced the old awkward, uncertain Alistair. It was about time. Not content to let the wound scab over, I wondered if his newfound manliness and confidence came from his tryst with Morrigan.

Stop it, you fool! It's the archdemon provoking you. Focus!

We were ready. The city gates were in sight, and surrounding her walls were more darkspawn than I could count. From our position, we heard the screams of civilians inside the city. Buildings were burning and the situation was grave. We left our horses about a mile from the city and walked the rest of the way. Prior to launching our assault, Riordan summoned me and Alistair.

On the way to meet with them, I passed Teagan. He grasped for my hand, halting me. "May the Maker go with you, beloved," he said. His voice carried a finality that pricked my heart.

"This is not goodbye," I replied. "I will speak to you after this is over. Remember your promise to me. Watch yourself, and you'd damned well better be alive when I get back."

That brought a small smile to his face. "Yes, Warden." He squeezed my hand and released me.

It was heartening to see that not only mages, but also templars had come to fight. Cullen, newly promoted to knight-commander, distrusted the mages so much that he refused to let them leave the tower without his supervision. He assigned one templar for each mage. I didn't care how it came about that we had the assistance of both templars and mages. Both were needed and all were gladly received.

A familiar whine caught my ear. Alduin jumped into my path, giving me his happy doggie grin. "Hey boy!" I said to him, reaching down to scratch behind his ears. His tail pounded the ground with excitement. "I hope you brought your master with you."

Aiden stepped out from behind a stone pillar. "Miss me?" he grinned.

"You have no idea," I answered, barely able to contain my joy at seeing him.

"Anything good happen while I was away?"

"Well let's see… Loghain and Anora were executed, Alistair is king, and Rendon Howe is dead."

His expression clouded. "Yeah, I heard Howe was dead. Please tell me it was your doing and that the bastard didn't die peacefully in his sleep."

"It was a group effort. You never mentioned what a conceited windbag he was, by the way. I would have killed him just to shut his mouth. But know that he died in humiliation and a lot of pain. After all his posturing and big talk, he shat himself when he realized he was going to die. And the last thing he heard was the name Cousland."

"Good enough," he said. He clapped me on the back in appreciation. "I wish I could have been there to kill him myself, but you have my thanks."

"I rather enjoyed it, to be truthful."

His grin returned, tinged with malice. "Come on, little sister. Let's see what Riordan wants before he soils himself too." I wondered how he knew Riordan, considering he was absent from our party when we found him. He explained that they'd just met minutes earlier.

Alistair was also glad to see Aiden had returned. That brought the count to four Grey Wardens. The odds improved for us, but were far from being in our favor.

"Choose who will accompany you," Riordan said to me. "I suggest you wardens stay together, with no more than one or two others. We must travel in small groups to avoid detection until we're upon the archdemon."

"You aren't coming with us?" I asked.

"No, I will go alone. I'm going to the top of the fort to try to engage the archdemon from there."

"That's suicide!" Alistair protested.

Riordan replied grimly, "Of course it is. You knew this. But I don't plan to die without taking the archdemon down with me." He turned to me. "Who will go with you?"

"Alistair, Aiden, and the mage Anders, with Knight-Commander Cullen," I said without hesitation. It was a perfectly balanced party: two rogues, two warriors, and a mage. And a mabari.

"So be it. Who will lead the troops at the gate?"

Whom to choose? Morrigan? Absolutely not. I wouldn't trust her to shovel Alduin's dung, much less lead my fighters. Wynne and Leliana weren't even a consideration. Oghren? A strong scrapper, but in this case, size really did matter. Zev? Capable, but I wanted a warrior in charge. Shale? Immense and strong, but indifferent to the outcome.

That only leaves…

"Sten will lead them."

"Very well. Maker watch over you," Riordan said, and he set off for Fort Drakon.

Morrigan was incensed at not being part of the assault team. "After all we've been through together, you leave me behind? You will need my magic when you face the archdemon."

"Sorry, but if you want to meet your friend the archdemon face to face, you'll have to do it in the void," I said icily. I turned my back on her and walked off, ignoring her protests and insults.

Alistair wanted to tell me something before the battle. I was impatient to begin, but I let him have his say. "One of us may not come out of this alive. If it comes to that, I want you to live."

"Riordan will kill the archdemon, but if he doesn't, I'll handle it."

"Riordan won't be able to kill it," he insisted, as if he knew it for a fact. "As the next senior warden, the duty falls to me."

"Ferelden needs a king. You executed all other contenders for the throne, remember?"

I ended the conversation by starting for the gates with Anders running beside me, Cullen at his heels, and Aiden and Alduin close behind. Alistair caught up to us but there was no more time for talk. The air was befouled with the stench of thousands of darkspawn. I pulled my swords from their sheaths and began slashing.

Riordan had told us there were two darkspawn generals, alpha battlemages, that we should take down as quickly as possible. We found the first one in the marketplace and the second one in the alienage. Those were exceptionally difficult battles, but with the help of some Redcliffe soldiers in the marketplace and the elven archers in the alienage, we killed the generals and cleared both areas of darkspawn. I left a small detachment of soldiers in each sector to take care of any stray enemies, and we left for the palace and the fort beyond.

As we crossed the bridge leading from the alienage back into the city, an enormous dragon flew overhead, swooped down, and destroyed a portion of the bridge with a blast of fire.

"The archdemon," Alistair observed. "Bloody bastard is a dragon after all. I thought that was just how he appeared in my nightmares."

"He's heading for Fort Drakon," I said. "Let's see if we can help Riordan."

Part 2 – …and Into the Fire

Sten's team was assigned to hold the gates and prevent more darkspawn from entering the city. In his group were the chantry sister, the elf, the dwarf, the golem, the swamp witch, and the elderly mage. He didn't bother trying to remember their names. None were worthy of notice and none but the dwarf were soldiers, but they were all he had to work with, along with the inept human city guards and a handful of straggling Redcliffe troops who were too weak to keep up with their comrades.

There was no high ground save for the guard towers atop the city walls, which were too far from the action to be of use. Sten ordered the humans to gather debris and make crude ramps on either side of the gates so that his archers could have a clear shot without hitting their own men. It was the sloppiest battlefield he'd ever seen. He stationed the chantry sister and the elf on the ramps, and with each of them, he put one of the mages. Any other archers were sent to one ramp or the other, wherever there was room. The melee fighters took position on the ground.

A company of darkspawn stormed the gates, led by a huge alpha ogre. When the ogre came through the gates, the ranged fighters began raining spells and arrows on it while Sten, Shale, and Oghren hit it with physical attacks. The city guards kept out of its way, letting the wardens' team handle the ogre. Behind the beast, hurlocks and genlocks attempted to push through. The human soldiers and guards battled the lesser creatures. As soon as one wave was defeated, another moved in.

By Qunari standards, the whole battle was a disaster. Every one of Winter's companions received injuries. Zevran sustained a deep gash in his midsection from a hurlock's battleaxe. He was in pain and weakening from blood loss toward the end of the fight, but his wound didn't appear fatal. It was a near miss for him; another inch or so deeper and he might have been gutted. While tending to her lover, Leliana dropped her guard. An arrow slammed into her right shoulder and lodged in her joint. She was unable to fight on. The incident confirmed Sten's assertion that women weren't meant to be on the battlefield.

With their best archers incapacitated, Oghren was more vulnerable. A darkspawn battlemage burned his face with a blast of fire, blinding him in one eye. When he raised a hand to protect his face, another darkspawn nearly lopped off one of his arms below the elbow. Wynne stopped the bleeding and healed the open wound on his arm, then tended to his eye. She was able to close the flesh wounds and restore partial sight in the injured eye. It was the best she could do. There was no way to know if his eye could be saved. The two mages received bruises, but because of their wards that protected them to a degree, they suffered no serious injuries.

The cry went up from the wall overlooking the gate. By some unfathomable stroke of luck, they had won. Sten approached the messenger and told him to get word to the officers that the gates were secured. While he was giving the report, an alpha hurlock, believed dead but feigning it until he saw a chance to attack, rose from a pool of blood not his own, lifted his weapon, and struck Sten between the shoulder blades with his razor-edged battleaxe. The blow staggered the Qunari. He turned on his assailant and beheaded the beast with his greatsword, then fell to his knees. His fellows limped to him to try and help, but the blade had gone deep enough to nick his heart. He was dying, and this day there would be no miracle cures.

Sten was ready to die. It was an honorable death befitting a member of the antaam. The humans with whom he'd fought didn't understand the Qun, or that dying in battle was a desirable thing. They would never understand.

"Is there anything we can do to make you more comfortable?" the elder mage asked. Her tone of sympathy irked him, as if death was something to be feared and avoided, but he was past trying to reason with these humans.

"It is as it should be," he answered. "One thing I would ask of you. Give this to the warden, and tell her I counted her as the only human worthy to bear my sword, my Asala." He handed his greatsword to the dwarf, then he closed his eyes and embraced his death.

We battled our way through the palace courtyard. It was swarming with darkspawn. They'd arranged themselves in waves, as was their customary and most dangerous mode of attack. We had to kill a couple hundred of the creatures before we could move on to the courtyard outside the fort.

Riordan saw his opportunity when the archdemon flew near the top of the fort. He planned to leap onto the dragon's back and sever its spine with his sword, but when it flew near enough, the dragon caught him in its jaws. The beast crushed him until he was near death then it spat him in the air, leaving his prey to suffer excruciating pain in his dying moments. Riordan landed on the dragon's wing and his sword penetrated the leathery skin. The warden's weight drove it all the way through to the hilt. He was barely conscious, bleeding from deep lacerations all over his body, with broken ribs having perforated his lungs. He couldn't get a proper breath and hadn't the strength left to kill the archdemon.

The dragon banked sharply and shook its wing to dislodge its unwanted passenger. Riordan slid off, still clutching his sword and pulling it through the wing, splitting it in two. His pain ceased and he had a sensation of floating, then he died before he hit the ground. He hadn't killed the archdemon, but in his last act—accidental though it was—he'd forced the dragon to land on the roof of Fort Drakon. With one wing badly damaged, it couldn't fly. It was trapped.

I had elven archers fire on the darkspawn that lined the fort's courtyard. Aiden led them, using a powerfully enchanted new bow and poisoned arrows. Alduin ran to each felled beast and made sure they'd never get up again. Alistair, Anders, Cullen, and I went to the stairs to take out the battlemages. There were four of them, dangerous foes, but my spellward deflected much of their magic. When they were dead, shrieks poured out of the fort like ants from a ruined anthill. I kept moving so they wouldn't surround me, mindful of the injury they'd inflicted on Aiden in the Deep Roads. Anders cast repulsion wards around each of us that knocked them back, but he couldn't keep the wards up for long. Alistair and Cullen killed a good number of the screaming monsters. Aiden finished off the darkspawn in the courtyard and joined us on the steps, and with his help we made quick work of the remaining enemies. When the fort's courtyard was cleared, we entered the fort itself.

There were pockets of resistance inside the fort, but from their small numbers, I believed the archdemon hadn't expected any of us to make it this far. The hardest battle was the one just inside the doors leading to the roof. There were two ogres and a battlemage, all very powerful. I concentrated on the battlemage and let the others handle the ogres. It was almost a fatal mistake on my part. The ogres ignored everyone but me, and I was trapped between the two massive monsters and the battlemage. This darkspawn mage was using a life-draining spell against me, my spellward wasn't strong enough to counteract it, and my strength was ebbing rapidly. If he wasn't killed within the next few seconds, I wouldn't survive the fight.

Anders cast a stone fist spell at my attacker, knocking it off balance and onto its back. Alduin leapt on it and pinned it, and Cullen beheaded it with his greatsword. I was on one knee, gasping for breath, waiting for my strength to return. At this point I was completely vulnerable. My companions covered for my weakness, with Cullen defending me while the others killed the two ogres. All that was left was the roof. The archdemon.

When I recovered, we opened the doors and charged through. Darkspawn were everywhere. Shrieks in great numbers, genlocks and hurlocks armed with swords, axes, and war hammers, and in their midst, the dragon. He saw us come out onto the roof and he turned to do battle with us. We were the only threat he faced, and compared to his immense size and power, we looked like no threat whatsoever.

Templars and mages assisted in this battle. The templars were skilled warriors, experts with greatswords. The weapons were slow and heavy, but a single swing brought down as many as were caught in its arc. The mages used ice, lightning, and fire spells to help wipe out the weaker but more numerous genlocks. We three wardens, with Anders, concentrated on the dragon. When the archdemon began to weaken, it flew in a wobbling path to one of the battlements, out of reach of our melee weapons.

Aiden was the only archer with me, but it seemed he'd gained superhuman speed in firing off arrows. Hurlocks were being eliminated with rapid, deadly precision. One man couldn't have killed that many so quickly. I thought Leliana might have followed us to the rooftop, but when I turned to look for a way to reach the archdemon, I spotted Sebastian releasing a steady stream of arrows.

"Sebastian, get the shrieks!" I called to him. He turned his aim on them and shrieks began to fall by the score.

The top of the fort was equipped with two large ballistae. I ran to the one nearest the archdemon and began firing. I had to fight off shrieks and hurlocks between firing the bolts until Anders and Cullen joined me and kept the attackers away. The dragon received hit after hit, each doing a little damage. Disappointingly little, truth be told. Even wounded, the monster was stronger than the high dragon I'd killed in the Frostback Mountains. When it saw its position wasn't as safe as it had assumed, it moved back to the center of the roof.

"Get to the other ballista," Alistair shouted over the din.

"Forget the ballista," I shouted back. "I'm taking this lizard on right where he is." I ran to it, found its many injuries and began to hack at them with my swords. The beast roared in pain, kicked at me, knocked all of us down, and tried to fly again, but it had been too badly wounded. It stood its ground. So did I. Back on my feet, I ran to it again and attacked, flanking it, stabbing it over and over until my arms were aching. At last the dragon raised its head and let out a long roar of pain and outrage, then it collapsed, apparently dead.

The surviving templars cheered. I knew the fight wasn't quite over. The dragon pretended to be dead, thinking we would leave. He miscalculated my determination.

"Riordan said the archdemon could only die by a Grey Warden's hand," Alistair reminded me. "As king, I claim the right to kill it."

"Forget it, Alistair. You can't take the easy way out. I won't let you sacrifice yourself."

"You say that like I'm giving you a choice," he rejoined.

"And you say that like I asked your permission." I dodged him and sprinted toward the dragon. When I got close, the beast raised its head—its fatal mistake. I cut a long swath in its neck, severing arteries and tendons. Its head dropped to the roof again. Blood poured from the neck wound. It was dying, but I sensed there was one last step to guarantee the beast was dead. I raised my sword and plunged it into the dragon's skull.

The entire fort shook when the dragon shuddered its last breath. A blinding light exploded from it and I was thrown backward, landing hard on the roof, sliding near the edge and coming very close to going over that edge. White-hot pain enveloped me head to foot, then very gradually abated, from my extremities inward toward my middle, before dissipating entirely. I vaguely heard Alistair shout, "NO! Maker, no! You can't be dead!"

Sebastian stood over me. His image swam into focus. I blinked to clear my vision. "Winter! You're alive? Thank the Maker! When I heard you scream I thought you were dying."

I didn't remember screaming. I remembered a flash of light and some pain, but that was all.

"Winter!" Aiden cried, joining the chorus of worried warriors. He knelt beside me. "Are you injured? I don't see any blood, but you screamed as if you were being torn apart. Maker's blood, woman, I thought you were gone. Don't scare me like that!"

Another reference to a scream. Why couldn't I remember it? My throat was irritated, so maybe I had screamed and was knocked to semi-consciousness.

"The archdemon…" I squeaked. My throat wasn't just irritated; it felt like I'd swallowed fire.

"Dead," Alistair confirmed. "You killed it, and you saved Ferelden. And you're alive. You're alive!" He grasped one of my hands. "It worked after all. Morrigan was right."

"What worked?" Aiden asked. "Where's Morrigan?"

"Don't mention her name around me," I said. I extricated my hand from Alistair's grip.

"Where is she?" Aiden repeated. He stood and faced Alistair, who was avoiding his question.

"Right," Alistair said. "Let's get you to a healer. Where's that mage Anders?"

Aiden answered, "I saw the templar take him away just now. They might still be in the fort."

Morrigan's voice broke in. "You stole it! I don't know how you managed it, you wretched bitch, but you stole it!" None of us had an inkling of what she was going on about. I assumed I was the "wretched bitch" she was addressing.

"Morrigan?" Aiden said. He looked at her quizzically. For the first time, he saw her malignant rage. He finally understood what we'd tried to tell him all along— she was a real, genuine witch. Not a mage, not a spirited apostate, but a witch. She ignored him like he wasn't there.

"What did I steal, Morrigan?" I rasped.

"You know very well that I speak of the soul of the old god! You stole it, and I do not know how. Did you conspire with my mother to perform a ritual with which I am not familiar? You weren't prepared for the soul as I was. I suffered through the most loathsome night of my life to accomplish this, lying with a man who did nothing but flop on his back and stare about the room, drooling like a lunatic in a lyruim fog. And thanks to you, Winter, it was for naught because the soul isn't here. All I have is Alistair's brat in my womb, a plain human child, which I certainly don't want."

"What?" Aiden looked from her to Alistair. "What's this about your 'brat'? What have you done to her?"

Morrigan continued to rage at me. "There won't be another such soul for centuries! I know this ritual and I know it should have worked. You're the only woman with the taint who could have absorbed it, but how? Tell me, and you had better find a way to reverse it or so help me…"

"Don't you even think to threaten her, witch," Alistair warned. His tone was low and menacing. Morrigan had always thought him stupid because he hid behind silly humor, but she didn't know him as he was now. He was far from stupid, and in battle he was fearless and formidable.

"Or what?" Morrigan demanded. "What will you do, little man, or what do you think you can do to me before I incinerate you like that." She snapped her fingers to indicate " in a split-second".

"I'll strike you down where you stand, like I should have done months ago," he snarled back.

"Somebody had better start explaining things." Aiden said.

Sebastian didn't know these people and wasn't privy to what was going on within my group. I was confused myself. He extended a hand to help me to my feet. I accepted it gratefully, but the furthest I could get was to a sitting position. It would be a few more minutes before I had the strength to stand. He supported me with an arm around my shoulders and waited with me.

"Were you waiting for me to leave so you could have her?" Aiden demanded of Alistair. "Now it makes sense. All along, when I was trying to get you and Winter together, you held back. It wasn't because of your chantry upbringing or shyness or any of the other lame excuses you gave me. It was because you wanted Morrigan!"

"I despised her, and I hate her more now than ever!" Alistair roared at him.

"But you shared her bed and now she's pregnant," Aiden countered. "That doesn't strike me as 'hate'. I considered you a friend, Alistair. But you barely contained your lust for her until I was out of sight. You're a fraud. A lying fraud."

Morrigan turned on him. "It's your own fault, Aiden. If you truly loved me as you claimed and you hadn't run off to Highever to babysit your no-account brother, this would be your baby and I wouldn't have had to lower myself…"

"Shut it, swamp whore," Aiden snapped. "You have nothing to say that I care to hear."

Sebastian leaned to me and said quietly, "How did you get mixed up with this bunch? And to think you said the chantry people were peculiar…"

I smiled weakly at his comparison. "Do you think you can steady me while I try to stand?" I asked him. "I need to get away from this petty love triangle and find a place to rest."

"Gladly, my lady," he replied grandly. He sounded like the Sebastian I remembered from youth. He helped me to my feet, and Aiden left the argument to aid with supporting me while I slowly, painfully limped toward the doors. My whole body hurt. I must have been a walking mass of cracked bones, torn muscles, sprains, bruises, and all the other assorted gifts of a hard-won battle. Alistair followed behind us.

"You will not leave with my property!" Morrigan shouted. She was as crazy as her mother. I had no property of hers. We ignored her and continued our slow trek to the fort's interior.

Her mind snapped, or the evil she'd been hiding burst forth, or she was Flemeth in disguise… or all three. Morrigan charged at me with her staff extended, intending to kill me. She didn't get far. Alistair swung around and ran her through with his sword, hitting her low in the belly and pulling downward.

He slept with her but hated their child? How could he know conception had occurred if they'd only been together that once, at Redcliffe Castle, just two nights past? Had he been with her before, even while Aiden was with us?

Her staff fell from her hand. Blood gushed from her belly. Her yellow eyes rolled back into her head, revealing black where the whites should have been. Her mouth opened and she exhaled loudly. A large raven appeared from her breath, if you can imagine that, and it flew off. Her body vanished. Her clothing lay in a heap where she'd been standing. The blood she had shed was still there. Her staff burst into flames, and within seconds it was an unrecognizable, charred stick.

"Good riddance, witch," Alistair said, and I silently agreed.

"What in oblivion…" Aiden said. "All that time I thought I was making love to a human woman, but I was assaulting a blighted bird with my…? Andraste's blood, I can't think about it now." He shuddered in revulsion. Behind him, Alistair did likewise.

Morrigan was dead, or we assumed as much. One never could be sure with witches. The wound she suffered from Alistair's sword would have killed her child and destroyed her ability to conceive again if she still lived, and if she were human. Such thoughts were too complex for now. And frankly, I didn't care what happened to her as long as I never laid eyes on her again.

"What was she talking about?" Aiden asked me. "What property did she think you had?"

I opened my mouth to reply that I didn't have an inkling and it was probably just her mad ravings, but before I could say anything, my vision blurred, my strength failed, and I lapsed into unconsciousness.