A/N: I've had this bouncing around in my head for the better part of a month, and honestly, Aural Winter is mainly to blame. He's the one who brought up the image of Garrus Vakarian as a Medieval archer, so. . .yeah. Blame him.

Essentially, this is a fantasy-themed re-imagining of the Mass Effect story and universe. Mages, fighters, monsters, etc. LOTS of influence from my time playing Dungeons & Dragons involved. (Shut up. :-P) There will be OCs in this story, too, but mostly as bit players.

Many thanks to Thessali, WarlordFil, and MitisVenatrix for their support, and input. And as always, much love to my husband, Dolphin824, for putting up with my craziness and greedily reading every draft of this chapter.

Standard Disclaimer: I own nothing, save my own insane way of looking at things. Please don't sue, as I have no money anyway.

With that, on with the show!

First Contact

Another leafy tree branch smacked him in throat as he pushed further in the woods, his pulse pounding in his ears from a combination of nerves and exertion.

The Spirits damn it all, it felt like running was all he'd been doing lately.

A small part of him knew the faster he ran, the harder it would become to spot obstructions in the forest floor that could trip him up. He paid it little mind. He needed to get as much distance between himself and the bastards chasing him as possible. Vaguely, he realized he no longer heard anything save his own footfalls in the immediate vicinity. The turian looked over his shoulder to see if he had finally lost his pursuers, and then, as if the Fates themselves had been listening to his thoughts, his booted foot connected with something in the underbrush. Completely unprepared for the occurrence, he could do nothing to stop his body from falling forward. The air left his lungs in a rush as he hit the ground and began rolling down the not-quite shallow decline in front of him.

As the land flattened out, he moved to slow his progress down the hill. Finally coming to a complete a stop, flat on his face, the turian pushed himself up to a crouch, and impatiently waited for the world to stop spinning. The disorientation eventually faded, and he struggled to regain alertness as a new sound reached his ears. Someone's harsh, hushed breathing came from somewhere to his left. Eyes now able to focus properly, he scanned the area as quickly as possible, moving himself into a defensive posture all the while. It wasn't long before he found the source of the noise.

Seated on the ground, with her back leaned against a giant oak tree, was a human woman in rough brown robes. Her face was slick with sweat, and her breathing was labored, if the rapid rise and fall of her chest was any indication. Thin strands of hair clung to her forehead and temples, and her green eyes were wild with something he could not decipher. Not fear, exactly, but something similar. He glanced down at her legs, and saw that one of them stuck out from beneath the hem of her robes at awkward angle. 'Looks to be broken,' he thought, as his eyes came back to her face. That fact didn't make her less of a threat, though.

Not when she was pointing an intricately carved wand directly at his face.

*/*/*/*/*

'By the gods, can this day get any worse?' She grimaced slightly, as not an hour earlier a very similar thought had crossed her mind.

Right before she had fallen out of the very tree she now leaned against.

That was how she had come to be stranded in these gods-forsaken woods. In a desperate attempt to escape the batarians that were hunting her, she had scrambled up the old oak tree as high as she could manage before she heard them coming. Lifting the hood of her robes to obscure her coal black hair and pale face, she'd sat on what she hoped was a rather substantial limb and waited. Barely daring to breathe, the young woman watched as the slavers searched the area surrounding her hiding place. When the one wearing a red and black tabard over his armor had stopped almost directly beneath her, she had gone still as stone. All he had to do was look up and she'd be done for. Then she'd glanced at her right wrist to make sure the wand she carried was still tethered to it, and weighed her options. She hadn't been sure how many charges were left in it when she had grabbed it from the armory that morning. Hell, she hadn't even been sure what kind of wand it was, but a weapon was a weapon. And if that was all she had to defend herself against six well-armed batarians, then so be it. She would use it until it ran dry, stab one of them in their black, soulless eyes with it, then scratch, claw, kick, and bite until the very end, if that was to be the way of it.

She would be damned if she would go down without a fight.

Then, by some miracle, another batarian shouted from several dozen yards north of her position, and the rest of them ran off in that direction. After what felt like forever, she had finally let out the breath she'd been holding and listened for signs of their return. Several long minutes passed and she felt the fatigue washing over her again. She had spent most of the morning in the Healing Hall, tending to the injured farmers who had bravely fought to put out the fire that was raging through old man Haron's corn field the day before. Her plan had been to finish tending to the wounded and badly burned, then retire to her chambers for a short rest before noonday prayers. Then, refreshed and recharged, she would take care of other matters that required her attention.

'Oh, the best laid plans of mice, and all that,' she had thought with a sigh.

That feeling of weariness should have been a sign for her to stay put for at least a little while, but she had ignored it. She had to find her way out of the woods to rendezvous with her people in the city of Eden Prime. She'd instructed the other clerics and novices to help as many people as they could to make their escape as she and a few of her most trusted priests drew the batarians away from the sanctuary. Then, they were to take themselves to Eden Prime by any means available, and wait for her team to join them.

Sadly, she was now the only one left.

Conrad Verner had been the first to go. Brave, foolish, infuriatingly enthusiastic Conrad. The priestess blinked away angry tears as she remembered how he had leapt to action after one of the raiders had cornered her near a cluster of trees, with no way of evading the incoming blow from his club. Conrad had jumped onto the bastard's back and sent a Shockwave through his body, allowing her to roll away unharmed. Unfortunately for the blond man, being in contact with the batarian meant the jolt went through him, too.

They had both died almost instantly.

Sarah Bishop had been next, her throat slit from ear to ear. Then Nathaniel Abberely and Logan Kirkham, each taking a crossbow bolt to the heart at close range. Each one taking at least one of those batarian assholes with them. Each one of them dying to protect her, their Shepard, as they had vowed to do.

That did not make their deaths any easier to take.

Again, weariness had clawed at her, and again, she'd shoved it away. She had no time for rest; the remainder of her people needed her.

And she would not, could not let the deaths of the other four priests have been in vain.

When she could no longer hear her pursuers nearby, she'd decided it was time to go. As she moved to drop to a lower branch, her decision to ignore her exhaustion came back to bite her; she'd lost her balance and fell at least ten feet, likely more, before slamming into the unforgiving ground. How in the world she had managed to take that fall and break only her leg, she hadn't a clue, but it was a mixed blessing. While she was relatively unharmed otherwise, save some scrapes and bruises, she was unable to do anything for her broken limb. She'd used up most of her healing magic on the farmers in the infirmary. Her satchel had yielded little in the way of spell components, though there was a small pain relieving potion, which she drank greedily. Had she known what the day would bring, she would have relied more heavily on salves and potions instead of her abilities while tending the infirmed. But, even she could not see the future, and what was done was done.

Upon realizing she was well and truly stuck, there had been nothing to do except sit there quietly and wait. Wait for what, exactly, the cleric had not been sure of, but it appeared the gods felt she'd yet to suffer enough this day.

Never dropping her guard, she assessed the formidable-looking turian crouched a short distance away. He was an archer; that much was plain. The battered, lightweight leather armor and hardened leather bracers were a dead giveaway. Yet, as her eyes traveled the length of him she found no bow on his person. Of course, that did not mean he was defenseless. If he'd had gloves previously, they were gone now, and the natural weaponry at the end of each of his fingers was visible.

She tried very hard not to envision them ripping her to shreds.

He was obviously well-trained. Not many people, turian or otherwise, could have recovered that quickly from tumbling down a hill. His defensive posture was text-book, too, but she wasn't surprised by this. What little she knew of his people indicated that every last one of them, barring some sort of physical impairment that prevented it, was trained in combat from a young age. Finally, she brought her eyes back up to his face, and paused a moment to study the markings along his jaw and cheeks. Dimly, she recalled such tattoos were clan-specific, but beyond that, she knew not their meaning.

They were a lovely shade of blue, though. . .

Mentally, she shook herself and tried to focus. She needed to think about what to do next. It was no easy feat, with the pain in her leg becoming evident once again. 'Damn it. That potion must be wearing off. . .' She didn't recall any turians among the group that attacked the abbey. Then again, anyone could have been terrorizing the citizens outside the gates; she wasn't omniscient.

There was really only one way the priestess could tell for sure if this man would be friend or foe. As much as she hated the idea, she was going to have to use her Second Sight. Other priests claimed using the Sight on races other than their own garnered unreadable results, but she knew from experience this was nonsense. She had not reached her position within the Order by listening to idle speculation. She'd actually scanned quite a few members of other races, (with their permission, of course ) herself and seen first-hand that their auras were just like that of any human. 'Racist idiots.'

Decision made, she set her jaw and willed her Sight to open, hoping all the while she could stay conscious once she'd finished.

*/*/*/*/*

Of all the things that could have happened, running into a human mage while isolated and unarmed was both the least likely and most dangerous scenario he could think of. 'And my day had been going so well, too,' he thought, with a sarcasm bred from fatigue and annoyance.

It did not matter that the human in front of him had to be a foot shorter than him, or that he probably outweighed her by at least a hundred pounds. Nor did it matter that he had the strength to snap her delicate little neck in less than a breath, using a single hand, if push came to shove. She was a magic user. With a whisper, or perhaps nothing more than mere thought, she could send anything flying out of that wand before he could so much as twitch, and he'd likely wind up dead.

And as irritated as he was with his current lot in life, he truly did not want to die today.

So, he watched, and waited, and gathered as much information as possible without moving a muscle.

Her eyes flicked over him quickly, engaging in her own assessment, he presumed, and they only stopped moving when they were on his face. For some reason, she looked to be focused on his mandibles. 'Curious about my markings, are we?' He hoped that was the case, and not that she was formulating a spell that would blow his head off. That notion made him more than a little uncomfortable, and he suddenly wished she'd stop staring. As if reading his mind, her gaze met his suddenly, and after a few short breaths her expression changed from one of fervent appraisal to something peculiar and unreadable.

Then she gasped, the arm holding the wand jerking slightly, and that little stick of wood once again became the focal point of his existence.

*/*/*/*/*

'Well, that's. . .unexpected,' she thought as she gazed upon the aura of the archer in front of her. The light that emanated from his soul was blue; not quite the cobalt of his facial markings, but close. The tint was just slightly paler. Normally, when she read someone this way, it was easy to tell their intentions. Green was good, as it indicated happiness and truth. Red conveyed malevolence. Yellow indicated lies, and orange showed rage. Blue. . .blue usually marked one as calm and balanced. At any other time, she would have taken this reading at face value, but now. . .something just did not feel right. For someone who had just come rolling down a hill and was now being held at wand-point, he should be far from calm.

Just as it was possible to keep your feelings from showing on your face, it sometimes was possible to hide your true feelings on this level, too. Even from yourself. Spells and magical devices were usually required, but it was possible to accomplish such a thing through sheer force of will, too. Perhaps that was the case here. The priestess dug down into her mental reserves and peered further into his aura. It was very difficult to do while in pain, and she would develop quite the headache later, but it had to be done. After a moment of concentration, her Sight magnified his soul to give her a better look. 'There we are. . .oh!' Without realizing it, she'd gasped aloud at what she found. Straight down the middle of his aura ran a wide streak of violet. Violet indicated indecision and uneasiness. Not unexpected, given the circumstances, but that wasn't what prompted her outburst.

At the very center of his being was a cluster of black flecks. Had she not looked deeper, she would have missed them altogether. Black was. . .well, it wasn't necessarily bad, but it certainly was not good, either. Blackness within the soul could mean any number of things, but most of the time it was evidence of absolute despair or loathing. Even the tiniest bit of this emotion could fester and grow until it consumed everything, leaving room for nothing else. At the moment, it was far from all-consuming, but seeing such things always left her feeling alarmed.

However, this was not a reading for some heartsick farmer who was certain his wife had fallen out of love with him and thus begun to stray. She was seriously lacking allies and options at the moment, and a decision had to be made.

'No one is perfect. And he's the only person who has NOT tried to kill me on sight today.'

With a deep breath, the cleric made her choice, and hoped it was the right one.

*/*/*/*/*

So focused was he on the wand in her hand, it took a moment for him to realize the human was speaking.

"I do not know what has been chasing you, turian, but if it is anything like what's been hounding me, I would be willing to bet good money that it's nothing good."

He remained silent, choosing to glean what details he could from her words until she said something particularly profound.

"The way I see it, neither of us stands a chance as we are now," she continued. "You wear the armor of an archer, but you carry no quiver or bow. I'm armed," she waved the wand slightly to indicate her weapon of choice, and he was proud of himself for not immediately diving for cover, "but as you can see, I'm quite indisposed." She glanced down at her broken leg, then back to him.

'Well. You know your armor. How very interesting. . .'

"So, I have a proposal that might get us both out of this forest in one piece: Carry me out of here, and I swear nothing will touch you for the duration. I shall be your weapon if you will be my legs."

The turian nearly laughed aloud at the idea that this little creature would protect him, rather than the other way around. But, something stopped him. Maybe it was the wand, or the look in her eyes, or the knowledge that laughing at a mage could be hazardous to his health, but something told him to take the offer seriously.

Were he to be brutally honest, he could admit he'd heard worse plans in his life. Spirits, he had concocted worse plans before, himself. She looked to be light enough that hefting her about would hardly slow him down. Granted, he couldn't be sure she would be worth a damn in a fight, but his gut told him she might be able to hold her own. His head tilted sideways as he silently considered the alternatives, but before his thoughts got much farther, hysterical-sounding laughter burst forth from the woman in front of him.

"Oh, how could I be so stupid? I don't even know if you speak Common!" Her shoulders shook with every panic-stricken chortle. "For all I know, you haven't understood a bloody word I've said! It would be just my luck, on a day like today."

It had not occurred to him that his silence might be mistaken for lack of understanding. 'Hmm. Perhaps silence wasn't the best course of action.' As he was about to correct her assumption, he saw her eyes shift to focus on something behind him and she screamed, "Get down!"

Without sparing a second thought, he sprawled face-down in the dirt for the second time that day. He shifted his head to get a look behind him. As he did so, the mage snarled out something in a language he did not understand.

No sooner had the words died away then he watched with fascinated shock as a bolt of lightning struck a charging krogan square in the beak.

*/*/*/*/*

The red and black-skinned beast roared in pain and dropped his warhammer to clutch at his smoldering face. Bright orange blood poured down his chin and neck, and across his chest, from the gaping hole where his nose should have been. She was morbidly pleased about that.

Unfortunately, while likely fatal, the injury did nothing to stop the huge man-lizard's forward momentum, and she was convinced her streak of bad luck was about to come to a violent and permanent end.

'I hope the others made it to Eden Prime, at least,' was the last coherent thought to run through her head before the turian unexpectedly leapt at her and sent them both careening further down the hill like a pair of freshly felled logs.

*/*/*/*/ *

He had moved purely on instinct. While he was certain he could survive having a five-hundred pound krogan land on him (albeit only just), he was not so sure she could. She lacked the plating his kind came by naturally, after all. He scrambled to get as much purchase with his feet as he could before it was too late and lunged. The plan had been to simply get them both out of the charging lizard's path and wait for him to pass.

Somewhat regrettably, things did not go according to plan, as the krogan fell right behind him and the added force sent them flying, turian and human both.

The archer found himself tumbling, yet again, down the hill. He felt something catch on his leg armor, but had little time to think about it as the world spun around them. Just as they reached the speed where the forest floor became indistinguishable from it's canopy, their roll came to an abrupt halt. He grunted as his back collided with a huge boulder in the middle of the path. Thankfully, his armor took the brunt of it, but it still hurt something fierce.

'Could have been worse. Could have broken something.'

With that thought, he looked down at the smaller body trapped in his grip. Twigs and leaves were tangled in her dark hair and more clung to her robes. Her face was ashen, her mouth clamped shut. The sweat on her arms had gone cold. She hadn't shouted or cried out during the journey down the slope, but he couldn't be sure he would have heard anything over the blood rushing in his ears. He knew they'd have to tend to her leg at some point, but he couldn't justify staying here, laying in the open, for much longer than they already had.

The turian scanned the tree line at the top of the hill. Satisfied no one was following them just now, he made to stand up and stopped dead when the woman in his arms screamed.

*/*/*/*/*

During their trip down the hill, the cleric had been too busy fighting the urge to heave up her insides to notice the pain in her leg. But when the archer's armored knee came in contact with her broken shin, white hot agony stabbed her, and blackness threatened the edges of her consciousness. She felt his three-fingered hand grasp the back of her head and push her face into his chest plate, probably in hopes of muffling her cries.

'Concentrate, and bury it until later,' she chided herself angrily, 'or you'll give away your position! Then where will you be?' She squeezed her eyes more tightly shut, and tried to focus on her breathing, the scent of his armor, the feel of the earth against her elbow, the sound of birds chirping overhead, the pressure of his talons on her scalp. Anything but the pain.

As she worked through the abject discomfort, the young woman could swear he was stroking her hair and shushing her like a parent would a child, but she dismissed it as her pain-addled mind playing tricks on her.

Ever so slowly, the misery ebbed away into a moderate ache she felt she could deal with for the time being. As her breathing returned to normal, she felt his body shift and her eyes popped open to see him moving to stand up. An unsettling thought occurred to her as he did so. Now that the immediate danger had passed, what was stopping the turian from simply taking his leave of her?

Nothing. He could just leave her here, stranded anew, and that idea pained her almost as much as her wounds did. As he reached down to grasp her upper arms and lift her into a standing position, her face twisted into a grimace as she tried to keep the defeated whimper that had developed in her throat from escaping.

"I believe," he said, "the time has come for me to address your concerns." He helped her to stand on her good leg as he continued. "In order: Yes, I'm an archer, yes, your plan is a good one, and yes, I speak Common." Then he leaned down to look her directly in the eyes. "And no, I do not plan on leaving you behind. A deal is a deal, after all."

She gaped at him, shocked that he had somehow figured out what she'd been thinking, then calmed when she realized something in her face must have given it all away. Then it occurred to her that he had never agreed to anything as this was the first time he had spoken since they had met. She was about to point this out when his mandibles fluttered it what looked to be confusion and he twisted around slightly to look down his back.

He grunted softly and reached behind his leg. When he turned back around again, he had her grey leather satchel in his hand, which must have somehow gotten caught on one of his spurs as they fell. He held it up between them and asked, "Yours?"

She nodded mutely, and watched as he slung the single wide strap over his head to lay over his shoulder and across his torso. Then cleric gave a small cry of surprise as she was hefted across his other shoulder without preamble, a vantage point that afforded her an excellent view of the ground behind him. His arm curled over her waist and his hand gripped her left hip, positioning her in such a way to avoid putting undue pressure on her injured right leg.

Struggling to gain a more upright position, she pushed on his back with her left forearm and arched her back so she could better see anything that might be following them.

"Comfortable up there?"

"Hardly," she answered with bewilderment, exasperation, and more than a little disdain.

"Well, it's the best I can do on such short notice." Before she could protest, he began hiking in the direction opposite the one from which they had come. "Now, there are at least four more krogan out there, so look sharp. I need you to keep up the shooting while I get us out of here."

*/*/*/*/*