Chapter 99: Book 5 Chapter 10

Joan couldn’t believe it. She felt like her heart was going to explode. She wanted to cry, to scream, to laugh, to squeal. Instead, she just kind of melted into the hug.

“When we heard that you’d survived, we couldn’t believe it,” Rab said, the dwarf’s arms like iron, yet oddly warm.

“Those wounds you received,” Lyndis said, her eyes slightly misty and her hug almost as tight, if at least softer. “I was so certain you’d perish. The queen is a miracle worker, I don’t think there are many elves who could do as well. There’s barely any permanent damage.”

Joan nodded, unsure of what to say. She’d expected Onas to be a group of traveling merchants of some kind.

What she didn’t expect was for them to have an escort on this trip, in this case the Crystal Phoenixes. She hadn’t even really thought about any of them in so long. Yet, here they were. Rab and his apprentice, Lyndis. Well, ex-apprentice now. If the rapid fire stories they’d been telling her were anything to go on.

Finally they released her and she stumbled back, dazed and confused. “Uhhhhh…” Joan said.

“To imagine, daughter to one of the Chosen,” Rab said with a hearty laugh. “We always knew there was something special about you, but we had no idea. Why, Uriel almost had our heads when we came back without you. But when she heard the news, I don’t think I’d ever seen her prouder. To think we came so close to passing you up.”

“Uriel?” Joan asked, staring at the pair and still in too much shock to really process much of it. Who in the world was Uriel? Wait. No. She was the head of the Crystal Phoenixes. “She remembered me?”

“Oh, she remembers everyone,” Lyndis said with a light chuckle. “Does this mean Lord Hardwin is here? Odd, I didn’t think he’d have time for a festival like this.”

“No,” Joan said. “He’s tending to another matter. Oh, err. Right. This is Thalgren, he’s the Chosen of the Hammer. This is his brother, Zorn. Andreas, the Chosen of the Spear is around here as well, but he went off to… err…”

Almost instantly the mirth filled aura from the pair shifted and she couldn’t help but notice the how quickly their smiles vanished. It took her a moment to realize she’d done the same thing.

“Two of the Chosen are here?” Rab asked. “I don’t suppose this is just a relaxing outing?”

Joan cringed. She’d been meaning to try and keep all of it hidden unless something did come up, but she’d been thrown off her expected plan by this development. “I’m afraid not,” Joan said.

“But it hopefully will be,” Thalgren said before a hand of his reached out and lightly rested on her shoulder. “So then. Rab, Lyndis, was it? Are you two in charge here?”

“That would be me, sir,” Rab said. “But only of the Crystal Phoenixes. Lyndis is the second in command and we have five more with us. But depending on what we’re expecting, I can’t say of how much use we’d be. We were expecting a small, easy mission. Training for the new recruits. Nothing requiring the attention of one of the Chosen, let alone two.”

“If we’re lucky, it won’t require any of the Chosen,” Thalgren said. “Possibly nobody will notice anything at all.”

“We’d heard the rumors that this year the seed was supposed to blossom,” Rab said. “Does this mean it’s true?”

“We’re not sure,” Thalgren said. “To be honest, I don’t know much about it at all. I don’t suppose you could tell us about it?”

“You don’t? In that case, please let us introduce you to Onas’ ‘Golden Minstrel’,” Rab said. “She made a whole song about it.”

“Oh gods,” Joan said with a light groan.

“Is something wrong?” Thalgren asked.

Joan cringed. Shoot, she hadn’t meant to say that outloud. She just didn’t like the idea of having to listen to a terrible song about the tree. “Err, nothing,” she said quickly. “Just, you know. If she’s preparing it for the celebration, I’d rather not bother her by asking for her to perform it early for us. That’d be rude.”

“Nonsense,” Rab said. “Trust me. She’ll be positively delighted.”

 

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Joan gave a soft sigh while she watched the minstrel tune her violin. She couldn’t believe this. Of course the ‘Golden Minstrel’ had been absolutely delighted to perform for them. Performing for a Chosen? Who wouldn’t desire it? It didn’t make it any less appealing for her.

Well, at least she wouldn’t be a part of it. And the minstrel was probably pretty talented. Probably elvish, judging by the pointed ears that could barely be seen behind her golden mask. Her outfit was rather form fitting, however, leaving little to the imagination. She wasn’t surprised the woman was popular with--

Red flooded Joan’s cheeks and she quickly shook her head, trying to clear those thoughts out. She swore her mind was drifting to thoughts like that far too often these days. Even if the woman was somewhat attractive, she paled in comparison to the Chosen and why was her mind going to THAT thought process? She suppressed the urge to shriek in frustration. She hoped the stupid song would start soon. At least Zorn seemed excited to hear it.

“Ahem, now then,” the minstrel said before turning to them. “Please understand that this song is still being perfected and isn’t quite ready.”

“Nonsense,” Thalgren said with a wave of his hand. “You were kind enough to perform it for us, we’re not going to criticize.”

“Thank you, Chosen,” the minstrel said before she gave a bow. “This is the tale of the Goldleaf Tree, planted almost one century past by Archfey Neverdale of the Autumn Court in order to help protect this village from a great disaster.”

“Wait, who?” Joan asked, looking up. She didn’t receive an answer, though, instead the woman started playing her song.

However, Joan focused on the words, struggling to contain her own growing confusion. Neverdale of the Autumn Court? She’d met him as the Hero. He was certainly a powerful fae, but he was certainly NOT an archfey. He was a massive prick, a bully, an absolute obnoxious pain in her butt. Arrogant, rude and condescending.

Though she quickly pushed those thoughts aside and gave a sigh. Then again, she was, technically, pretty rude herself then. Or the Hero had been. On top of that, she’d met him long after this village had disappeared. There were probably dozens of Neverdales amongst the Autumn Court. Probably plenty of archfey as well. After all, the Nameless One was certainly more powerful than most the fae in that realm and she’d never even heard of him.

She rubbed the back of her left hand and gave another soft sigh.

It wasn’t the nicest, most upbeat song though. While it was wrapped in a web of flowery language and delicate words, the history of the small village was a lot bloodier and death filled than she would have expected considering how excited they seemed to be for the festival. Over a century ago their homes had been torn apart by the encroaching demons and they were forced to move deeper into the human territory. Traveling until they stopped here.

Not because they wanted to. But because a great plague swept through their ranks, killing many of them and reducing them to a mere fraction of what they had once been. Not to mention the number of animal attacks, those lost to the cold, hunger. Joan would have thought it was supposed to be some kind of dark comedy, considering how everything that could go wrong on their exodus from their prior home did so.

But finally, when they had all but given up hope, the fae had come and given them hope. Saved them from the plague and planted the seed that would serve as a promise of their oath. So long as they kept it safe for a hundred years, it would blossom forth, giving a fruit that would give its bearer the power to save all of their people and retake their home.

Granted, their home was now so far behind the enemy lines and nobody here seemed very keen on getting it back, but at least now Joan understood why they wanted to give it as a gift to the Hero. She wondered if this was why the Demon Lord took it. If it was, it hadn’t helped him stand against the Hero in the end.

When the song came to a merciful end Joan was ready to flee, unfortunately for her Zorn did the most atrocious thing she could imagine.

He asked for an encore.

Joan suppressed the urge to groan, instead getting to her feet. “I’m gonna go look around, okay? I’m curious about the festivities.”

“Are you sure?” Thalgren asked.

“I’ll stay within screaming distance, I promise,” Joan said with a small smile before quickly making her way out of the large tent. Once the cold, slightly damp air hit her she let out a sigh of relief. She wondered if her growing distaste for all music was something she should worry about. That song, at least, wasn’t a reminder of her failures.

She did have to give Onas some credit, the setup they had was quite impressive. They’d taken over the field they’d been given, setting up massive tents that could easily house a good twenty people or so, many more when they were sleeping. It allowed them to ready their performances even if it started to rain again, though she wasn’t sure if it would today.

While musical performances seemed to be the primary display, there were a few acrobatics, blade jugglers and mages. It really was far more active than she ever remembered it being when she was the Hero. She couldn’t help but wonder if it was because things were different now or if she just hadn’t paid much attention.

“Is it true?” a voice asked, making her jump. She whipped around and there was a child looking up at her. The kid couldn’t even be half her age, his clothes slightly dirty. She wondered if he was one of the farmer’s kids.

“Is what true?” Joan asked.

“Are you one of the Chosen?” the kid asked.

Joan blinked a few times before quickly shaking her head. “No! No, not at all,” she said with a light laugh. “I’m nothing like that. If you’re looking for the Chosen, that’d be Thalgren. He’s in the tent over there. And you are…?” Joan asked.

However, rather than answering her, the kid just turned and ran off towards the tent.

Joan rolled her eyes. She really didn’t like the whole ‘being ignored’ part of traveling with the Chosen. She wondered if she was just hard to please? She didn’t like when people sung songs about her or focused on her too closely, but then she got all annoyed whenever they ignored her because the Chosen were around. Maybe she just wasn’t happy unless she was miserable.

“Probably another small gifts of the fates,” Joan said with a small roll of her eyes before making her way away from the tents and to the edge of the field. She leaned against the side of the fence and waited, hoping they’d finish with the encores soon.

“Aren’t you a bundle of joy?” a voice called, making her glance over. Thalgren was walking towards her, a wary smile on his lips. “Are you feeling well?”

“I’m hard to please,” Joan said. “I guess? Or maybe I’m just naturally mopey lately. I don’t know. Song was alright, wasn’t her fault.”

Thalgren gave a small nod and walked over to stand besides her, leaning against the fence. “Not a fan of music?”

“Not for a while now,” Joan said. “Reminds me of bad things.”

“Oh?” Thalgren asked. “Wanna talk about it?”

“Sure, why not?” Joan said before she reached into her coin purse and plucked out a small coin, then tossed it to him.

Thalgren gave a small laugh and shook his head. “I wasn’t going to charge you.”

“It’s fine, not really my money anyway,” Joan said. “I just keep remembering everything that went wrong. So many things remind me. The songs especially.”

“I think that’s understandable,” Thalgren said. “I wouldn’t like hearing a song about the time I got crushed by a troll.”

Joan gave a light snort. “Troll of Reflections, thank you very much. I could have handled a normal troll. It’s not just that, though. There’s a lot of songs about the Chosen and heroes. A lot. Ones that talk about hope, belief that he can’t, won’t, fail.”

“Ah, of course,” Thalgren said.

“He did, though,” Joan said. “No. Not just him. All of them. If what I found out was correct? The Hero always got extra tries to save the world. So it wasn’t just that he failed. It was that he always failed. A lot more than he succeeded.”

“Saving the world isn’t an easy task,” Thalgren said. “It’s why we’re given the power of the gods to do it with. Without them, we’d be helpless.”

“Like me?” Joan asked.

“Like you,” Thalgren said.

Joan blinked a few times and snickered. “At least you’re honest.”

“You’re not going to survive this journey, are you?” Thalgren asked.

Joan gave a soft sigh and shook her head. “Probably not, no.”

“Do you know what’s going to kill you?” Thalgren asked.

“I have a few ideas. I mean, I might have a few ways to get through them. Some plans,” Joan said before holding up her left hand and wiggling her fingers. “But the things that we’ll face, near the end? Probably going to be what does me in. Assuming we don’t beat them there.”

“And the other chosen? Do they know?” Thalgren asked.

“I think they expect me to make it out of this,” Joan said. “I mean, I still might. I’ve already managed to escape death quite a few times. Honestly? Half the time all I have to do is just delay long enough and I know you all will save me.”

“And when we can’t?” Thalgren asked.

“Not sure,” Joan said with a shrug. “I’m lucky, I guess. Fate’s favored daughter or something. I try not to think about it too much. Because I sometimes think I can make it out of all this. Make it to the other side, unravel this whole clump of chaos and death.”

“Do you want to make it to the other side?” Thalgren asked.

Joan was silent for a few moments before trying to blink away the tears that seemed to be starting to fall. “I think so. I really think so. I just… I wanna be Joan. Not the Hero, but Joan. I wanna make it through this and not feel panicked or worried that everything is going to end. That everyone will die. I wanna have fun. I want to see you all, what you become. You’re all so different now. You’re married, Andreas is engaged, Hardwin’s mother is here and he is somehow MORE grouchy, Searle is becoming this absolute amazing warrior and Korgron has her sister and is as amazing as I remember. You’re all so… so… different. I guess that’s the only word I can use to describe it. You’re all different and yet entirely the same.”

“The same?” Thalgren asked.

“You’re all the people I knew. Yet not. It’s like… if everything that happened. If it was all just a…” Joan took a slow, deep breath. She knew it wasn’t possible, but even saying the words out loud made it feel almost as if she was jinxing herself. She looked left and right to ensure nobody was listening. Fortunately, while Thalgren was getting a few looks, most the people here were too busy to spend more than a passing glance. “It’s like I might wake up at any moment and it would turn out all of this was a dream. You’re all still just enough you to be you, but just different enough that I think I was a bad influence.”

Thalgren gave a light laugh before nodding. “I could see you as definitely being that. Joan, let me ask you. How many promises have you broken?”

“Countless,” Joan said, though she wanted to lie.

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“How many have you meant to break?” Thalgren asked.

Joan gave a soft sigh and shrugged. “No idea. I can’t think of any. But it might just be my shoddy memory.”

“Do you think you’ll fix any of them by dying?” Thalgren asked.

“Are you asking if I’m suicidal?” Joan asked.

“Perhaps,” Thalgren said.

“Should I offer you another coin?” Joan asked before shaking her head. “No, I’m not. If I was, Bauteut would kill me. Well. She’d bring me back just to kill me. And she might not be as good as the queen but I think she’d make an exception to teach me a lesson.”

“You seem like it at times,” Thalgren said.

“Considering you only met me a short bit ago, I’m really not sure how to take that,” Joan said. “I’m not though. I’m willing to accept it, should the time come. But I don’t think I’m hoping for it. At least, not anymore. I just, well. I guess. I mean… you know?”

Thalgren shook his head. “I really don’t. How close were we, in your past lives?”

“Depends,” Joan said. “Sometimes very close. Sometimes distant. It depends. It’s all shifting. I try to remember the best parts, not the worst.”

Thalgren didn’t respond at that point, instead staring out towards the village with her. She wondered if they looked silly, just standing here and talking.

Eventually the silence got to her and she glanced over. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” Thalgren asked.

“Not meeting your expectations. Breaking my promises,” Joan said. “But thank you, anyway. For convincing the others to let me try to fix this.”

Thalgren shook his head. “I didn’t. I said we should leave the village behind.”

Joan went entirely still, for a moment the world seemed to stop as those words hit her like a brick to the side of the head. Slowly she turned towards him. “Wait, what?”

“I told them we shouldn’t bring you here.”

“But, what?” Joan asked. “But I promised, I--”

“The Hero promised,” Thalgren said. “Not you. At this point in time, the world needs you more than it needs one tree or one village. You aim to keep your promise and for that I commend you. But, in the end? It is just a promise you made, that at the time you tried to keep. For someone who has known me for a thousand lifetimes, you honestly know very little about dwarfs.”

Joan’s cheeks turned a bright red and she gave a tiny little nod. “Yeah. But I thought you were… well. The whole elemental thing. Contracts and--”

“We highly value contracts,” Thalgren said, cutting her off. “Our word is our bond. But there are times that exceptions must be made. Where promises can’t be kept. Vows can’t be. And I do not mean because they are difficult. I mean because we physically cannot. I fully expect if we had not come here, you would have attempted to make your way here to face the Demon Lord alone if need be. Am I wrong?”

Joan flushed and gave a nod. “You are wrong. But only because I would have gotten the others to agree if need be. So who was for it, then?”

“Korgron,” Thalgren said.

“And?” Joan asked.

“Just Korgron,” Thalgren said.

“Really? She convinced all three of you?” Joan asked.

“No,” Thalgren said before giving a soft, exhausted sigh. “I mentioned that we would need to stop you. She gave us an ultimatum. Either we’d help you, or she’d ensure that we didn’t stand in your way if you tried. She was quite impassioned, Hardwin and her nearly came to blows over it.”

Joan gave another sigh and leaned against the fence, giving a low grunt. “You know what I hate most about all this?”

“What?”

“It really just keeps showing me how little I know all of you,” Joan said.

“People change, Joan,” Thalgren said. “Some more than others. Even you change.”

“Sometimes I think I’ve changed too much, sometimes not enough,” Joan said.

“Well, I do hate to tell you this then, Joan,” Thalgren said. “But I don’t think we were very close at all.”

“What?” Joan asked. “But we--”

“I think I was using you,” Thalgren said.

“What?” Joan asked, turning to look at him. “You were using me? The Hero? I mean, if anybody was using anybody, it was probably me. Him. I mean--”

“You really don’t seem to know much, if anything, about me,” Thalgren said. “And if you were anywhere near as off kilter as the Hero as you are as Joan, it wouldn’t surprise me. Mind, I’m not saying we weren’t friends or anything. But if it served my desires at the time, I’d probably be happy to let you think we were closer than we were.”

Joan sighed and rested her head on her arms. “I’d like to fight about this more or argue, but it wouldn’t surprise me at this point. I’ve been wrong about so many other things, why wouldn’t I be wrong about this too? So why tell me now?”

“Because you’re not the Hero, Joan. Or Owain,” Thalgren said.

A gentle little throb went through Joan’s head and she let out a low hiss. “Please, call him the Hero. And so?”

“I think it’s best if we don’t operate under what you think you know, when you know so little,” Thalgren said. “You’re useful. Incredibly useful. I want the world to be saved. It doesn’t do me any good if the world melts away.”

“Do you not consider me a friend, then?” Joan asked.

“That depends,” Thalgren said before glancing over at her. “Do you see me as one?”

“Of course,” Joan said.

“Then I guess I have no choice,” Thalgren said before giving a long-suffering sigh. “A new friendship might do you some good. Though I hear you’ve managed to make quite a few since your arrival into our lives.”

“Do you all talk about me often?” Joan asked.

Thalgren gave a low chuckle then. “Ah. Fishing for gossip now, are we?” he asked. “Do you really believe I’d sell out the other Chosen like that, for free?”

Joan gave a light snort and fished out another coin from her coin purse and tossed it to him.

“Well, I suppose a little won’t hurt you too much. Of course we talk about you, Joan,” Thalgren said. “It’s not every day someone stampedes into your life and tells you your past and future.”

“Are they mostly good things?” Joan asked.

“My, you are a self conscious one, aren’t you?” Thalgren asked.

“Can you blame me? Look who I surround myself with,” Joan said, the sarcasm dripping from her voice. “I’m sorry.”

“Also, tense,” Thalgren said. “It’s fine. You’re going to be fine. Say, did I ever tell you the story of the three banker’s children?”

Joan gave a light groan. “Only a thousand times.”

“Would you like to hear it again?” Thalgren asked.

“Sure,” Joan said with a shrug, though she didn’t really get it. She’d heard this story so many times, but it never seemed to mean much.

“There once was a very rich banker. They had three beautiful children. However, when the banker got very old, they divided all of their wealth into three portions, dividing it amongst their children evenly. Each year they would move between their children, admiring what they had done with the wealth, offering advice and guidance.”

“The first child, the eldest, performed the same work as their parent. Making deals and contracts with others. They created a business nearly as large as their parents. The second child took their share of the wealth and invested in themselves, turning to the life of a cobbler, they opened their own business, selling some of the finest shoes imaginable, becoming unimaginably wealthy in comparison to the business their parent once had. The youngest child, however, gave all of the money away, for you see they had already achieved a life of their own and were quite satisfied, instead deciding to use their inheritance to help those who had not managed to on their own.”

“One day, the old banker heard the three bickering about who had achieved the most. The eldest claimed it was them, as they had followed in their parents footsteps. The second said it was them, as they had taken what was given and expanded far beyond what they once had. The third said it was them, as they were the only one who had truly set out on their own and not taken what was offered to them. When they heard this, the banker laughed at their foolishness. ‘Who has achieved the most?’ they asked. To which the banker responded, ‘Why, is it not obvious? The one who has achieved the most is I.’”

Joan nodded. “Yeah, pretty much the same story you’ve told me before.”

“Of course,” Thalgren said. “Now, humor me. Why had the banker achieved the most?”

Joan sighed and said the same thing she said in so many lives. “Because they had split their wealth and it grew back nearly three times as much.”

“That’s certainly a moral of the story,” Thalgren said.

Joan tried to suppress the urge to roll her eyes. That’s what he said every time. It was such a stupid story, she didn’t know why she even had this conversation again. But she supposed this time maybe she should try to change things a little. She’d given one answer, why not a second? “Well,” Joan said. “I guess it could also be like… the banker had three children who each grew into their lives. They could see their children as another accomplishment?”

“Indeed, that is also another moral of the story,” Thalgren said.

Joan felt her frustration mounting. “I guess you could also say the banker chose themselves, because they didn’t want to have to choose their favorite from their children? Took a fourth option.”

“Hmmm, that is certainly a lesson you could take from it,” Thalgren said.

“Okay, that’s it,” Joan said. “You’ve told me this story a thousand times. I wanna know, what’s the moral YOU got from it?”

“Two things,” Thalgren said. “The first being that the answer I get from a person tells me a lot about them. The second being that the banker spent the later years of their life being taken care of and having their children constantly looking for approval without having to do anything more. Is that not what every parent wishes for, to be able to spend the latter years of their life being doted on by their children and never having to lift a finger again?”

“That’s a terrible moral,” Joan said. “You can’t be serious. THAT’S what you get from it? You made me stick through that story a thousand times across a thousand lifetimes and THAT’S what you were getting at?”

Thalgren gave a small nod, an amused smile on his face now. “Possibly. I can’t say what other versions of me saw in it, only what I see in it.”

“You’re evil,” Joan said. “I am pretty sure I have officially wasted years of my life on that story.”

“I think I would have had to take more than a thousand tellings for that.”

“I’m counting emotional damage,” Joan said before giving a light chuckle. “Really? That was the whole point of that story?”

“To me, at least.”

“It’s a terrible story,” Joan said.

“Indeed, that could be another thing to take away from it,” Thalgren said.

“I hate you,” Joan said. “If you didn’t have all that earth magic, I’d throw a rock at you.”

“Truly, you and I were the closest of friends,” Thalgren said.

“Still friends though, right?” Joan asked.

“Of course.”