Chapter Text
Epilogue
Morrigan turned the ring over twice in her fingers watching the last traces of sunlight reflecting along its smooth silver edges. Then she flicked her fingers outward leaving the ring suspended over her upturned palm. It floated there, a growing light of its own now. A light which surrounded the ring and expanded outwards until it was the size of a looking glass although more translucent than such an object would be.
The light grew brighter in areas and created shadows in the rest by contrast. A picture began to form and it sharpened in focus the harder Morrigan concentrated. She could make out a woman crouched by a campfire, pine trees all around her, and another curled up in a simple bedroll fast asleep.
Although by appearance the woman could have been any number of a private guard or mercenary force, Morrigan knew exactly who it was. She was the only one Morrigan had ever considered giving the seeing ring to, and even now she wasn’t exactly sure why she had. Certainly it would be beneficial for her to keep track of Breynna’s whereabouts in the coming months or years, but even now she was not completely convinced her intentions had been purely practical. As Morrigan watched the little image of light unfold she felt a pang of familiarity, perhaps even loss, in the camp scene. Could it be that she missed Breynna or their adventures together? Maybe Morrigan had given her the ring because she knew that one day their paths would diverge and she wanted to be able to remember those days in a more real and substantial manner.
In the end though, Morrigan scoffed these ideas aside. Even if Breynna had won some kind of confidence with the witch, it was a trifling and stupid thing for her to be wistful for those days. It was human emotion that got in the way of sound judgment, this much Morrigan knew, and she could not afford to be weakened by such now. As a reaffirmation of this, she glanced toward the scene before her again. It was the illusion of friendship after all that made Breynna keep the ring with her, when she knew full well that she should never have trusted Morrigan’s intentions. She had been skeptical – with good reason – at the time and yet she had kept it. Morrigan chuckled slightly at this; if you controlled a human’s emotions, you could control them entirely it seemed.
She leaned back and watched the scene for a couple more minutes. Breynna tended the fire distractedly as she watched the forest around them. She had the patient, watchful eye that Morrigan knew so well and was glad for.
All the events of the Blight and the aftermath had centered around Breynna – her companions and citizens alike had been caught in the tide of her will. But now it would be different. Time moves constantly forward and no one, hero or not, can control the force of time and space and inevitability. Since the transition of the Old God, Morrigan had wondered about Breynna’s ability to recover; not only from the Blight itself but to heal herself enough that she could deal with the implications of the actions she had set in motion. But she had persevered, as always, and had regained that inner strength they had all respected and bowed to during their travels. Morrigan was pleased by her efforts. This was the way it should be. No, this was the way it had to be.
The day would come soon enough when their paths would cross again and when it did, she wanted there to be no question of ability or inner reserves. She would settle for nothing less than the best that Breynna had to give. That would be Morrigan’s finest hour and she would be damned before she let anything come in its way. Even if she had to watch out for Breynna along the way, here and there, to make sure that the hero stayed on track then so be it.
She closed her hand and the light of the scene began to dissipate. A strong breeze blew through her makeshift camp and with it the remnants of the vision were scattered into the night. Morrigan felt the pang in her once more and frowned. This was no time for idle whims; not when an entire world and its balance rested in her hands. Her free hand glided down and rested on her abdomen feeling the faint spark of life and power residing in her. This was her duty and her destiny that Flemeth had set her upon so very long ago. Those few months ago seemed like half an eternity ago and the greater span of time that coiled out before her now seemed even longer.
Morrigan smiled, surprising herself with the genuineness of the act. She stood up and gathered her bedroll, placing it into her pack. She felt as if the weariness of the day’s travels had left her entirely and she was anxious to move on again. She could rest when she arrived at the next overpass. For now, she would continue to move; there was much to be done and many miles to cover still. There were so many stories left to be told.