A/N: This takes place immediately after the death of Brin.
I apologize for the length of time it took to update this. When I finished With Noble Intent Joss went on vacation and it took a long time for her to return.
Thank you, Lisa, for your wonderful beta skills and friendship!
Time
The rumors were wildfires that spread throughout every nook and cranny of the Tower. Greagoir, upon his return, was furious, they whispered. He'd yelled at Irving and sent Brumbley packing without the customary letter of appreciation or the small coin-purse of sovereigns reserved for those who came to the assistance of the Tower. He'd sent Wynne to the chantry in Denerim, ostensibly to assist with an outbreak of plague, but everyone knew it was because he feared she might come to harm. The senior mages were divided, some praising Wynne's actions while others condemned her. The younger mages were almost unanimous in their support of Joss, with a few notable exceptions. Merrisoo didn't hesitate to explain why Wynne was very brave to have done what she did. The apprentices were confused about the entire episode and frightened by Brin's death, afraid they might be next.
Anders had used the ensuing chaos to flee the tower. Again. He was caught less than a day later, having stowed away aboard a merchant vessel. He might have succeeded, according to the stories, but his stomach gave him up. Apparently he was not a good sailor and his stomach had rebelled on the short voyage. The templars brought him back and it was only through sheer luck that the acting knight-commander didn't behead him as well. Joss discovered she disliked Anders even more, if such a thing was possible.
"You'd think someone who'd escaped several times would be better at it by now," Petra had remarked around a mocking laugh. "He must have been asleep when the uses of ginger root were discussed in Remedies class. And he claims to be a healer? Really?"
Many of the templars felt badly for the loss of one of their charges, and those who had known Joss most of her life felt particularly badly that one of their own had caused her pain. For all that she was mischievous she was not intentionally mean-spirited and rarely gave them any real concern, they whispered. Joss suspected they liked her because she didn't treat them as if they were jailors or oppressors the way Anders and his cronies did. They were just people in plate, doing their duty as they saw it. Nearly all of them found an excuse at one point or another to stop by Joss's room to look in on her.
Joss heard all the rumors thanks to Niall and Petra. Each night one or the other would come and stay with her, giving Owain a much needed break. And each night, even when she pretended not to, Joss listened to their gossip.
Joey was curiously absent and Joss tried to find it within her to go to him, knowing he must be devastated and guilt-ridden, but she couldn't find the energy to do so. Instead, she made sure that Petra, Niall and Kinnon checked on him every day. She felt him sometimes when she was sleeping; a hint of his shadow in the Fade when she entered in search of Brin. Once she called out to him and the shadow wavered and was gone. She felt as though she'd lost not just Brin, but Joey as well, and some part of her knew she had to bridge the gap between them. She just couldn't muster up the strength to do so. Maker's polished nuts, she was always so tired. And weepy. When would she feel like herself again? Ever?
She was also aware of Greagoir, who visited when she was pretending to sleep. He never said anything during his nocturnal visits and she was grateful. She still remembered the feel of his hand, reassuringly wrapped around hers when she'd been so excited about Joey's imminent arrival at the Tower, and she felt somehow calmer when he came to visit, even if she didn't acknowledge him.
He came to see Joss during the day two weeks after his return. He stood next to Owain and Joss thought he looked older and greyer. His newly trimmed beard made her want to cry again, so she looked at the wall instead.
"You can't stay in bed for the rest of your life," he said calmly, but with a hint of steel that made Joss turn to frown at him.
"Why not?" she demanded. Really, what did it matter? Her time in the Tower stretched out endlessly before her and she closed her eyes against the image. If she stayed in the Tower long enough would she become another Wynne? She scrubbed at her eyes, willing away the image of herself, old and mean-spirited, hobbling down a hall, cursing at her lost youth and the noisy apprentices and life. She blinked. Where had that come from? She frowned irritably and struggled to sit up.
"Because you'll become as fat as Hepplewhite," he responded immediately, and, to her disgust, she let out a small huff of laughter at the reminder of an old mage who'd been as round as he was tall, and who'd died in his bed when she was nine. The apprentices had been in awe of him because of his girth, and whoever came up with the old adage claiming fat people were jovial had never met Hepplewhite, apparently. A more ornery, pedantic man never graced the halls of the Tower.
"Besides, young lady, there are wagers being made as to how long you intend to lie abed, and you know how I feel about betting."
"Yes, we all know how you view betting. If you can't win the bet, nobody else will profit."
He laughed, a gruff sound, and then went on, "You would do well to find your brother and talk to him, Joss. He's drifting and you know how dangerous that can be for a mage."
Some piece of her, some small part, thought he was right and that it was time to get up, but the notion of facing all those pitying glances made her want to yank the covers over her head and remain where she was.
"Joss, I know you don't want to hear this, but I am heartily sor-"
Panic flooded into Joss and she pushed the covers away, standing on wobbly legs, her voice loud and shaking, "Don't! Don't you say it too!" she yelled, her hands coming up to cover her ears. "Being sorry doesn't do anything," she added, feeling suddenly foolish for standing in her nightdress in her crowded little room with her hands over her ears like a six-year old. She lowered her hands and raised her chin.
"No, but you are out of bed, and as long as you are you might as well clean up and get back to work. Lucian Caravel asked that you become his assistant, for reasons that are unfathomable, and the First Enchanter and I have agreed."
She stared at the knight-commander and felt a smile creep along her lips, unfamiliar and strained, but there. It wobbled, and then steadied. "You must really want to win that bet."
He laughed, a quick, short bark, and then left the room without another word. Just as well; tears pooled and slipped silently down her cheeks. As unfamiliar as her smile was, her tears were an old and unwelcome visitor. She swiped at her eyes and went to stand in front of Owain. "You should get back to work, Owain. I'll be all right, now."
Owain stared at her, as impassive as ever, and gave her a calm nod. For a brief moment something seemed to flare in his blue eyes and then it was gone again, if it had ever really been there. She suspected some part of him was there, still connected, no matter how tenuously. Or maybe she needed to believe that to lessen her guilt.
"I will be in the stockroom of magical items if you have need of me, Josslyn Winifred Amell."
She stood on tiptoes and kissed his cheek before turning away. Somehow she managed to bathe and dress before another bout of tears found their way to the surface. By then she was prepared and sniffed loudly, sending them scurrying back to the dark.
"So you have decided to rejoin the world around you," Lucian Caravel said without looking up from his writing. "Fetch a cup of liquid from that cauldron and drink it down," he added, pointing at a cast iron pot hanging over a small fire in the room's fireplace.
"Good to see you, too," she muttered as she ladled the viscous black liquid into a cup. "What is it?" she asked, sniffing it cautiously. It certainly didn't smell deadly. There was a hint of butter and cinnamon in it.
"Do not question your betters, girl. Drink it down and be quick about it."
"Hang on a tick, aren't you the one who taught me to question everything? To dismantle and deconstruct? Never to act blindly? Or was that some other instructor?" she asked, surprised by the acerbic tone in her voice.
A chuckle emanated from the depths of his tome and she shot him her fiercest scowl, which, of course, he didn't see. "A decoction of three parts coffee, one part brandy, with a dash of cinnamon bark and a drop of butter. I don't think you'll find it anything but restorative, you ungrateful child."
A snicker escaped from her, as strange a sound as her laughter had been earlier in the day. "Why do you want me as your assistant?" she challenged after she had finished off the surprisingly tasty, if horrendous looking, decoction.
"You are the least objectionable of those I was offered."
Well, he certainly knew how to make someone feel welcomed. Oh wait…no he didn't. She looked around the potions laboratory. "That's surprising. I was sure Merrisoo was the Chosen One."
This caused Lucian Caravel to make a sound best described as a snortle…equal parts snort and chortle. It was an odd sound, odder still to be coming from the grimmest man in the Tower. "She cannot be bothered to learn the difference between arrowroot and elfroot. Such a person has no place in a laboratory decocting potions."
"Maker's holy socks! A sin of the highest order. Why haven't you had her flogged for her ignorance?"
A loud snap sounded as Lucian Caravel slammed the book closed and then stood up. "If you are unprepared to take this posting seriously, I am sure Mage Merrisoo is more than willing."
Joss, hands on hips, sneered at him. "It would serve the both of you a much needed lesson in humility and patience."
Another snortle from the man was followed by a brief but caustic lecture on the duties of a harrowed mage fortunate enough to be assigned to him. She wondered, not for the first time, if he was truly as arrogant as he made himself out to be.
"Report back to me tomorrow morning. Do not be late," he added before returning to his book.
"Yes, Master Lucian, I shall do as I am bid because I'm such a biddable sort," she retorted, heading for the door. She stopped, hand on the doorknob. "And thank you."
"Do not thank me, mage. It is by your own merit you're my assistant, not some odd notion of patriarchal attachment. Fail me and I will find a new pupil."
"As if," she muttered on her way out the door, surprised to find an unwilling smile on her face.
Next she went in search of Joseph. She found him on the top floor of the Tower, in a small room across from the Harrowing Chamber, staring up at the window. He was pale, with dark smudges under his eyes and he looked as drawn out as she felt. Guilt niggled at her and her heart ached for what they had both lost.
"There's a nasty rumor going around that you are in love with Kinnon. Say it isn't so. He's not at all your type," she teased.
"Kinnon? He has a thing for Pansy."
Pansies? That's an odd fetish."
"You seem to have misplaced your sense of humor. That was truly lame," Joey said with a comically exaggerated roll of his eyes.
"Who are you kidding? You're grinning underneath all that moroseness. Morosity? Morosiveness?"
And then he was standing in front of her, taking her hands in his and squeezing them painfully. "I would have died in his place, Joss. Honestly."
They held each other, trying to pretend that neither of them was crying, but both of them were soaked by the other's tears. "It isn't your fault, Joey."
"And it isn't yours. He'd hate how we're taking this."
"I know, I just don't…it's just that…" she trailed off and gave a mighty sniff. "I am so tired of crying. Maker's hind tit, I'm sick of it."
"Yeah, you aren't exactly one of those dainty criers."
"And you are?"
"I look better than you do when I cry."
"Well, I must look horrendous because you are one ugly boo-hooer."
They laughed weakly at their pitiful attempt at teasing, but she noticed he didn't relinquish his hold on her and she wasn't about to let go of him. Somehow, they'd muddle through.
~~~oOo~~~
Time continued to pass and four months after she'd lost Brin, Joss realized it hurt a little less to think about him. There were nights when she wondered what being pregnant might have been like, nights when she created a Fade world where she and Brin and a faceless baby lived in a round house by a dark blue sea. There were nights when she searched the endlessly dreary landscape of the Fade for even a hint of him. There were nights when she walked the halls of the Tower without being accosted by templars or mages, unable to sleep or dream at all.
Working with Lucian Caravel helped keep her sufficiently busy during the day. She had a knack for potions and since it didn't require physical coordination, she excelled at it, although Lucian never told her that. She gleaned it from his lack of acerbic insults, not his abundance of praise. Joey found himself teaching the newest apprentices how to focus their magic. It was the perfect spot for him.
Life went on and if Joss had learned nothing else from her years in the tower it was that life always went on, even when one wished it wouldn't. She still searched for Brin in the Fade, but not every night. She still became teary-eyed whenever someone mentioned the pranks that the Terrors of the Tower had pulled, and she still dreamt of a small house by the sea. Not that she really had any concept of a sea. Larger than Lake Calenhad was all she'd ever been told, and as she'd never actually seen the lake in person, she was free to let her imagination loose.
Six months after Wynne had left the Tower, it was announced at the weekly assembly that she would be returning. There was a stir in the gathering, a rustling wave of noise as heads craned to find her in the crowd. What did they expect her to do? Faint? Tear her hair out? Wail? She shrugged and then found a smile, slapping it into place and staring up at Greagoir, who was announcing the roster for kitchen duty, laundry duty and various other tasks assigned to mages in an effort to keep them too busy to get into mischief or have sex. Which, of course, only served to make both activities more of a challenge.
"And finally, if anyone knows anything about the disappearance of any beverages of an alcoholic nature, I ask that you see me at once. No punitive action will be taken if the spirits are returned unopened. And by spirits I mean liquor, not demons. That will be all," Greagoir ended.
"All right, Petra, who took what?" Joss demanded after the crowd dispersed. Petra widened her eyes, feigning innocence.
"I don't know what you mean, Mage Josslyn."
"Right, and I'm a virgin."
Niall, standing behind her, choked on his laughter but it was too late. Joss rounded on him and zapped him with a small bolt of lightning. He yelped, glaring at her. "Bitch."
"Bastard."
They both laughed and he slung an arm over her shoulder as they walked to a vacant practice room. It felt almost normal, as if the interlude with Brin was just a passage in a book or a short time spent in a different world. She blinked away the sudden sting of tears and once again slapped a smile on her face.
Joseph joined them, slipping a dark bottle from beneath his robes. "Cherry brandy," he announced triumphantly.
Kinnon pulled out a pale green bottle. "Elderberry wine."
"Ugh, couldn't you two have managed something a bit less…sweet?" Joss asked, taking the brandy and sniffing it.
"Hey, we took what we could find. I believe it is your fault that the good stuff is locked up now. If you hadn't kept stealing Torrin's whiskey, we'd be sipping it now," Kinnon replied, hefting the bottle and taking a long pull.
"What about Bran's rye?"
"Locked up with Greagoir's brandy."
It wasn't long before Kinnon and Petra were singing ditties and giggling. To hear the rather somber young man giggling was a sound Joss hoped never to hear again, but it was fun to watch their antics. It had been so long since any of them had just had fun and created mischief. She blinked. Entirely too long. Brin would be sorely disappointed in her.
"Say, I have an idea…"
~~~oOo~~~
It took them nearly a week to prepare. Each night they left the safety of their room to meet in the dark practice room and whisper their plans. They were caught one night by Chipper, but Petra lured him away with a flirtatious smile and confusing explanation about the need for mages to walk at night to avoid the temptations of the Fade. Ser Carroll, scratching the back of his head, but entranced by her smile, allowed himself to be led away.
They waited until Wynne returned to the Tower and then they rehearsed one more time. When Joss was sure they were ready, she gathered them together and they made their way to the senior mages's floor. She and Joey climbed up the bookshelves like a pair of monkeys and Joss felt the familiar exhilaration caused by a rush of adrenaline.
"Ready?" she whispered to Joey, who gave her a broad wink. She looked at Niall's hiding place and saw a rustle of curtains. From her vantage point atop the towering bookshelf, she could see Petra and Kinnon hiding behind the large urns that stood in front of the entrance to the senior mages's quarters.
"Now!" she hissed, giving the others a raised thumb to indicate the time had arrived.
She and Joey let out a loud scream and doors flew open. Niall, Petra and Kinnon, as one, knelt and opened up their small sacks. Dozens of frogs, panicked by the noise and motion, began to croak and hop in all directions.
Only when she was sure Wynne was in full retreat did she signal Niall and Petra to join her in casting an ice spell. The floor quickly turned into a treacherous ice rink. Wynne slipped and slid, careening into Sweeney, who grabbed hold of the first thing that came into contact with him…Wynne's right breast. Both went down in a heap, Sweeney on top. Wynne's shrieks were music to Josslyn's ears.
Watching from on high, Joss's shoulders shook with silent laughter.
"Josslyn Amell! I know you're behind this! Get off me, Sweeney!" Wynne cried out.
Even from a distance, she could hear the other mages laughing and pointing at the hapless Sweeney trying to disengage himself from Wynne, but he seemed unwilling to unhand her breast.
The Terrors of the Tower were back in business and Wynne had been humiliated. It was a win-win situation for Joss.
Tears of merriment in her eyes, she whispered, "For you, Brin."