Disclaimer : I own nothing. Warning : Language.

"Stay with me,missy!"

The first thing Bethany felt was confusion. That was quickly overlooked in favor of the second, more alarming thing she felt: pain. With herculean effort, she managed to lift a hand to touch the source, her gut. Something liquid and warm touched her fingers – blood. She was bleeding to death. What- How?

She remembered her father's lessons – calm down, don't panic, organize your thoughts. She decided if she was dying, she might as well do it in a neat state of mind. Bethany took a deep breath, or at least tried to. It was hard to do in her current state. Tackle your problems one by one, her father had said. She would start by Very-Important-Question-Number-One: what in the name of the Maker had happened?

She immediately wished she hadn't asked. Memories flooded her mind; Anders and the Chantry, the inevitable confront between The Circle and the Templars, how Orisno had become that monster – how he'd covered up for the man who murdered her mother. And then – oh, Maker.

Do what you have to, Meredith.

Her brother. Her own brother had given the order to kill her. And the worst part of it was, she couldn't blame him. She understood. She was, after all, responsible for ruining her family – always on the run, never in one place for too long; when they got to Kirkwall, they needed money, and they needed it quick – to protect her. Always her fault, always, her and her cursed magic and her thrice damned Templars.

He hadn't looked her in the eyes when he did, hadn't looked at her ever again, even when she told him she hoped it was worth it. She had been true about it, too. She didn't resent her brother, not really, and she honestly hoped he had a happier future. No such luck for her, though; she doubted she'd survive being completed run through by Meredith's lyrium sword.

Which brought Very-Important-Question-Number-Two: Why was she not dead? Well, at least that one situation wouldn't trouble her for long. She focused on the fading noises around her. Desperate shouted orders, boots clanging, and general mayhem. The sounds grew ever more distance and her head felt light; she wouldn't last much longer. At least the pain was fading, too. Maybe she'd finally get her peace.

"Who – Move over – Any restoration? - Fetch Wuunferth – Now!"

That one voice called her attention; it seemed very confident, barking out orders. Reminded her a bit of her brother, always so sure of his decisions –

She was brutally snatched from her drifting and back into the solid world as a wave of warm healing energy coursed through her, delaying her death a bit longer. She could hear the voices more clearly now, and could also feel very light slaps on her cheek.

"Lass? Talk to me, lass. Come on, open your eyes. Don't give up."

His voice was quite persuasive, and she decided she'd open her eyes, if only to see the face of the man who was trying to save her. Big mistake. She whimpered as the blinding light impaled itself in her eyes, and immediately closed them shut again, hiding from the burning clarity. She felt warm skin touch her hand and squeeze it reassuringly.

"That's it, lass, it'll be okay, help is already on its way," He encouraged. "Where in Oblivion is that wretched mage?!"

The sudden change from soft to angry on his voice, plus the mention of 'wretched mages' made Bethany open her eyes again. She filled up with tears, but resisted the urge to close them this time. Slowly, her pupils went into focus and she could see what she thought was a blonde head hovering above her. It was hard to tell – she could only discern moving blurs.

"That wretched mage was getting out of the jail he was wrongfully put in!" Another voice snapped, and she heard approaching footsteps. "What happened to her?"

"She was very clearly stabbed through the gut," The first man growled back.

"Good to see your medical skills are better than your detective ones," The newcomer retorted. "Unfortunately, us necromancers are not so good at restoration, you know."

"Well you'd better fucking learn it quick, because if she doesn't make it, you'll certainly need it."

The other didn't reply. She saw someone kneel next to her; hands touched her abdomen and the warmth of curing magic returned. Usually, she'd be amazed at meeting another mage, but at the moment, she was a bit too busy dying. Her hand was squeezed again, and she turned to the side to see the fuzzy blonde with the nice voice nodding at her.

"Don't worry, lass, you'll be fine. I got run through once too, and I'm still good and going, see?"

"It only affected his brains," The man from the left, the mage, grunted.

The two fell into arguing again, but Bethany didn't bother to follow their words. Incredibly, the pain had started to subside, and she begun to believe that, despite everything, she might actually live. Her worry was gradually exchanged for weariness, and she realized she was exhausted. When was the last time she got some decent sleep? She closed her eyes, hoping to rest, not really caring whether she'd wake up to see the next day.

"She's closed her eyes again, mage. You'd better hope she's not dead. Lass? Talk to me, lass."

Her consciousness was fading again, but she found her tongue and managed a quick, incoherent mumble.

" – stay with me, lass. – die after all this."

" – be fine – Close call. Strong woman. – my amazing healing skills – will live. "

And then she was out cold.

Pain again, but this time just a dull throbbing. Bethany's hands went to her belly and came back with a relieving lack of blood. She felt weak and her head ached. Slowly, ever so slowly, she opened her eyes, just a bit at first, then fully, and turned to take in her surroundings.

She was lying under soft covers in a bed, inside a quite cozy room. Next to her, a wardrobe and a little cabinet. To the side, she saw a door – closed. Her heart skipped a beat, and she wondered if she was a prisoner. If so, at least she was comfortable. Taking deep breaths, she pushed herself up with a groan. That elicited a noise from the opposite side of the room and she turned her head –

Too quick. Nausea overcame her and she fell back to a lying position, black spots dancing over her vision.

"Hey, not so fast, lass. That was one ugly wound you had there. It's been five days and you're still recovering."

He moved closer, and finally, she could see him clearly. He looked no older than herself, and she would give him twenty-something years of age. He had shoulder-long, silky looking blonde hair, one single braid on the left side, contrasting with vivid blue eyes and a line of red paint diagonally above his right orb, which split in two below it. A light stubble covered his chin. He did have a nice face to go along with his nice voice –

"…Are you listening to me, lass?"

Not really, no, she wasn't. Bethany blinked in confusion. He sighed.

"I was just saying I got him. The bastard who was killing you ladies – The Butcher. I got him, took his head off too, so you needn't worry about that anymore. You're safe now, lass. I'm just really sorry I couldn't get to him before he got to you. And sorry you had to wait for that blasted mage to heal you, too – my restoration skills are laughable."

She didn't have the slightest idea of what he was talking about, but the 'blasted mage' comment didn't escape her. A heavy weight placed itself in her chest. How long until they found out what she were? How long until she was on the run, again? She couldn't even go back to The Circle. Not after what happened at Kirkwall. They'd want her head for sure.

" – not from here, are you? No one from the city seems to recognize you."

She froze. What should she say? That she was from Lothering? From Kirkwall? Maker help me!

"Lass? Is something wrong? Can you understand me?"

She nodded, her mind still searching furiously for some way out of this.

"Can you speak?" He questioned, puzzled.

"I -" She stopped, her sore throat and raspy voice surprising her.

"Oh," He replied, "Sore throat. Right – I'll be right back."

Bethany watched him get up from his chair and out, through the unlocked door, leaving it open behind him. She realized if she wanted to escape, that was her chance, but immediately shot the possibility down. She was in no condition to run off in a potentially hostile place, with nowhere to go; she decided she might as well appreciate her little peace while it lasted.

She moved herself into a sitting position again, and noticed for the first time that she was not only clean, but also wearing a particularly fine looking belted tunic. The man reappeared in the doorway, carrying a tankard and a bowl – none of which, she realized with growing despair, she had any money to pay for. He placed the food in the counter and moved to the back of the room, from where he dragged his chair. He sat in front of her and began talking again.

"Elda gave you a bath, to clean up all that gore. I hope you don't mind the loss of your old clothes – they were beyond fixing."

She nodded and reached out to the flagon with unsteady hands, almost knocking it over. He caught it before it could fall down. She hissed in frustration at her deplorable physical state, which brought a light chuckle out of him.

"I'll drop by The White Phial later; I can get you some healing potions to speed your recovery a bit."

He moved his chair closer, and then put the flagon to her lips, tilting it slowly so she could get a drink. She felt the light burn of alcohol down her throat; it was mead, and of good quality as well. She mentally pictured Anders scolding her for drinking alcoholic beverages while recovering from a wound. Then again, Anders had blown up the Chantry, so who was he to tell her what to do anyway? She motioned for the man to spill more, and he laughed.

"Need a drink, do you?"

"You have no idea," she replied, earning more laughter.

"So, lass, do you have a name?" He said as he placed the flagon back on the counter and took the bowl on his hands instead.

"Bethany," she replied without thinking. She realized her mistake a bit too late, and added the first thing that came to her mind. "Amell."

Fortunately, he didn't seem to recognize her. Maybe the story of how Kirkwall fell hadn't spread yet.

"Bethany Amell." He repeated. "Beautiful name for a beautiful lady," He winked.

She felt her cheeks heat up at his playful flirting, before scolding herself; she was not a teenager anymore, but certainly lacked experience in that particular area. She was reminded of Emile de Launcet and briefly wondered if she seemed just as pathetic. He filled the spoon with stew and lifted it to her mouth and she blushed twice as hard at having to be spoon fed by a complete stranger.

"So, Bethany," He continued as she chewed a particularly tasty stew, "Anywhere I should return you to?"

Damn it damn it damn it!

Where could she go? Kirkwall was out of question, and so was Lothering – those were the first place the Templars would look. Where could she escape to? She saw only one possibility: Tevinter. It was risky, and it would certainly bring up questions. She reminded herself of the boy, Feynriel, who she and her brother had helped years before. It was a long shot, but her best one.

"Tevinter," She replied after a bit of hesitation. He frowned in confusion.

"Can't say I've heard of that, lass. Where is it? Cyrodiil? High Rock? You do look Breton."

It was her turn to be puzzled. He'd never heard of Tevinter? Where in the name of the Maker were this 'Cyrodiil' and 'High Rock'? Where was she, anyway?

"Where are we?" She questioned.

"Windhelm, of course." He stopped at her blank look. "Eastmarch? Skyrim?...Tamriel?"

Bethany realized with a tad of panic she'd never heard of those places before, which meant she must be very, very far away from home. How had she gotten there was a mystery she was happy to ignore in face of a more important question – where in the world was she? She noticed the young blonde in front of her was now giving her a very, very suspicious look. He put the bowl back in the counter and rested his forearms on his knees, staring at her intently.

"You are not a victim from The Butcher, are you? Where exactly are you from, Bethany?"

She decided she'd spill the truth and be done with it.

"Kirkwall, in the Free Marches." Nothing. "Thedas?" She asked hesitantly.

He sighed, running his hands through his hair with an apprehensive look.

"You are either mad, lying, or in very deep trouble, lass. I'm leaning towards the latter."

"I'm not lying," she answered. She wasn't too sure about her sanity.

"I do believe you, and you don't look too crazy. Which can only mean one thing: I think we have a serious case of Oblivion-Walking here."

"What?"

"Oblivion-Walking," He reached out for her flagon and took a sip of it. "Is when something happens in Mundus – in the mortal plane – and the veil between planes is cut thin. You fall into Oblivion, and if you're lucky, Oblivion throws you back. Except the planes are constantly shifting, so you end up landing into another different plane of Mundus altogether."

She frowned. A brief understanding of her situation was beginning to settle in, but she dared not be sure just yet.

"I'm not sure I get it," she said.

"Have you per chance been nearby any sort of powerful magical blast, creature, or artifact?"

She could only think of the Chantry blowing up, Orsino's horrible transformation into a Harvester and Meredith's oddly unnatural sword.

"Um, yes. All three of them, in fact."

"That explains it. To put it simply, all that magical energy together shot you into another world. So, welcome to Nirn, Bethany Amell. We are currently in the continent of Tamriel, in the northern province of Skyrim."

She wasn't really sure whether that was the best thing she'd ever heard or the worst. On one hand, no one would know her, which considerably added to her chances at keeping her head after Kirkwall. On the other hand, wherever there were mages, so there were Templars, and she was even more vulnerable to Templars in an unknown world, nowhere to go.

Not that I had anywhere to go in Thedas, she thought bitterly.

All in all, it was a pretty despairing situation. But then again, so was her life.

She placed her head in her hands and fought the urge to weep. Now what, Bethany? She'd lost her father and her brother – both her brothers – and then her mother, and every one of her friends. Anders to her brother's hands. Isabella was long gone, carrying with her the Qunari relic. Fenris, Varric, Sebastian, Merril – she didn't know what happened to them. She didn't even know whether her brother survived, whether Meredith just let him go. She felt her hands dampen with tears – damn it. Strong hands grasped her shoulders.

" – lass? Hey, lass, it'll be okay. I'll help you find your way back. You'll see your friends and family again, don't worry."

She knew even if she got back, she'd never see her friends and family – what family? – and that thought destroyed her completely. She broke down into incontrollable sobs. He moved forward and enveloped her in a hug.

"Come on, lass. It's not fitting for such a beautiful lady to cry. And I'm a man of his words, see? I'll get you back home, I promise." He stopped then, considering another different possibility. "Something horrible happened back on your world, didn't it? That's why you're here. Something terrible happened and you ended up in Nirn as a result."

She nodded, unable to make up a coherent answer. They stood like that for what seemed like ages, him waiting patiently for her to calm down.

"You don't even seem surprised at meeting someone from another world," she sniffled after a while. He chuckled.

"Lass, this is Tamriel we are talking about. Land of giant humanoid cats and lizards. I see weirder things on my morning strolls. Divines, I swear the other day I saw a mammoth flying through the sky as fast as a dragon – though that might have been something in the mead."

She raised her eyebrows skeptically and he grinned.

"Plus, it's not uncommon for Oblivion to spit out things at us. We do get Outworlders every once in a while, but, mostly, it's just demons and magical artifacts. I think I lucked out on the first beautiful lady."

" – Oh. I mean, thanks." She replied awkwardly.

He laughed. She noticed he was a very cheery kind of man. He picked up the bowl again. Taking a spoonful of stew, he scowled in distaste and shook his head at her.

"Now, see what you've done? It's gone cold."

That reminded her again that she had no money at all.

"Um, sorry. And, ah, I don't think I can pay for that. Or the room, or the tunic, or, you know, everything else."

He rolled her eyes at her.

"Lass, please, I'm a gentleman. I'm paying. And it's no matter."

He changed his grasp on the bowl, holding it from the top, then put his other hand below it. He twitched his fingers below it, and a little flame lit up, which he lifted closer to the stew until it was boiling.

"See? Problem fixed – lass?"

She was positively gaping at him, her jaw hanging open. A tiny little flicker of hope grew in her chest – he was a mage! He would surely help her out, wouldn't he?

"You're a mage!" She exclaimed dumbfounded.

He stared at her for a good three seconds before bursting into laughter again.

"A mage? Me? Ha! Hardly!"

"But you just did magic!"

"So if I give you a battleaxe and you swing it around, that immediately makes you a warrior?"

"That's different!" She huffed outraged.

He stared at her with twinkling blue eyes. "How so?"

"You can do much more destruction with magic than you can with an ax."

"That is debatable," He replied with a smirk.

She scowled.

"Well, anyone can have a battleaxe But you are either born with magic, or you don't have it. And having axes doesn't make Templars hunt you down or get you locked in forever at a Circle."

He raised his brows at her.

"I believe we are having a cultural clash here, lassie. Tell me more about those 'Templars' of yours."

She stared at him in disbelief.

"The Templars. You know, the ones supposed to protect society from mages and mages from society, but who in fact just oppress innocent magic wielders?"

He looked up absently and scratched his head thoughtfully. "Can't say I've heard of any mage-hunting order. I don't think we have those here, lass. I hope you won't miss them."

She considered for the first time this may actually be a dream, and she was stuck in the Fade with the man in front of her, who was likely a demon.

"What do you do to mages, then?" She challenged in an unusually aggressive tone. He raised his hands in a gesture of peace.

"We don't do anything to mages, lass. Everyone is born with some magic, a bit more or a bit less depending on the race. Some, like me, just don't know what to do with it, so we refrain ourselves to swinging fireballs at emergencies and cooling off mead to impress girls. Those who want to become real mages can always go to schools and learn it."

Bethany was beginning to feel a bit dizzy. She grasped the cupboard to steady herself.

"Lass, are you feeling alright? Bethany?"

"What about demons? And blood magic?"

"Maybe you should get some rest and we can continue this talk later?"

"No!" She almost snarled. "Answer me!"

"Okay, okay, okay. Um. Demons. Well, conjuration isn't forbidden and nor is necromancy, though the latter is usually frowned upon. Public display of the undead is usually illegal, and body and spirit may not be used without permission from the owner. Conjuring demons is okay as long as you can keep them on a leash. Daedra worship is also no big deal as long as you don't make a mess over it. Trouble in that area is tended by the Vigilants of Stendarr."

He stopped for a few seconds, a thoughtful expression crossing his face.

"I'm not sure what you mean by blood magic. Vampirism is mostly taken care of by the Dawnguard; we had a little issue with vampires a while ago but it's all settled down now."

She felt her heartbeat double. A world with to blood mages? It was just too good to be true.

"What about possession?"

He took his time with that question, thinking hard. "It happens, but very rarely. Last reported case I can recall was that of the sword, Umbra, which possessed its owners. It was destroyed, though. That was – I can't be sure, but at least hundred and fifty years ago. It had no direct relation to mages, either. Whoever held the sword was possessed."

"It doesn't make any sense," She protested. "Magic connects you to the Fade, which obviously makes you more open to possession. Why don't mages here get possessed?"

"I am no mage, Bethany. I have little knowledge of that kind of thing. Though, I'm not sure what the Fade is, but that's not where we get our magic from here in Nirn. Our magick flows right from Aetherius, the realm of the gods."

She was guessing magick was just another word for 'mana'.

"So that means magic is…holy?"

He chuckled at that. "Why, lass, I've never thought of it that way. I suppose it does make sense to refer to magic as 'holy', since it comes from the gods and all. And then again you are very clearly a mage, so why not?"

She felt her cheeks flush again, much to his never-ending amusement.

"What if mages go rogue?", she asked, eager to distract him.

He frowned.

"Honestly, lass, our world is called Nirn, which means 'The Arena'. There is no time to deal with a few wild mages. If one gets to be too much trouble, the Jarls place a bounty on them, so that mercenaries and adventurers finish them off. If one gets to be really, really much trouble, they call the fighters guild – The Companions here in Skyrim."

He paused, then grinned before continuing.

"Now, if all else fails and one gets to be trouble to godly standards, then they call the local cataclysmic-trouble-solving-champion. In Skyrim's case, the Dragonborn, namely, me. It usually doesn't get that far, though. People are too worried about bigger things, such as the dragon outbreak or the sociopathic elves who want to enslave humanity."

He was some kind of champion? Dragon outbreak? Elves enslaving humans? She shoved all her doubts asides for a much more urgent, gnawing question.

"So it is okay to be a mage?"

He blinked at her, tilting his head to the side as if he found her question particularly intriguing. "Of course it is okay to be a mage, lass. What kind of twisted world you come from, anyway?"

Still too shell shocked, she asked her newest Very-Important-Question-Number-Two.

"So no one will lock me in for being a mage? I am…free?"

"Lass, mages are just people. Granted, most Nords don't like magic, but then again, most Nords don't like anything that is not another ax-swinging Nord. I'm a Nord, too, but I don't mind mages."

He winked.

"That's not the impression you passed," she pointed out. He frowned.

"What – oh. Wuunferth. Well, that's nothing generic. We just hate each other. I have lots of friends who are mages. Like Serana!"

He smiled, as if recalling a particularly amusing memory.

"Serana is a mage too, and Farkas, this other friend, used to give her a real hard time over it, calling her a milk drinker and such. Then, this one day, Serana decided she'd had enough, so she shoved an ice spike –"

He paused at Bethany's expression.

"You know what? Never mind. But I bet no one would bother you over our magic if they see you around with me."

"So I could have a normal life? I could get married, and, and have children and build a family?" She said, more to herself than to him.

"Bah. Normal is overrated. As to the getting married and having children – sure, why not? And, on a side note, may I volunteer?"

Her chest felt like it would explode from joy. Maker ,please let this be real. She faced him, forcing back the genuine smile that wanted to come up, feeling sunnier than she ever had since she discovered she was a mage. She obligated herself to remain serious.

"You are not a demon, are you?"

Because of course he'd tell you if he were.

He frowned. "Sheesh, lass, and here I thought you might like me. I didn't think I was this ugly."

"I just have to be sure. This is too good to be true. It sounds too much like a desire demon's scheme."

"Do demons usually confess they are demons when asked? That doesn't sound very bright," He mused.

"Well, not really," She admitted.

"How do you know for sure, then?"

If he was a demon, he was an awfully nice one, helping her unmask him. Of course, that could be just another trick.

"A demon can't make me see anyone I have never seen before," She said, remembering her father's lessons.

"Well then, have you ever seen me before?" He asked.

"I can't be sure. You might be some passerby I didn't pay attention to."

He dramatically put his hand over his hearth. "I am not worthy of attention, then? You wound me, lass."

"That's not -" She protested.

"I'm just joking. Pity you happened to appear in Windhelm and not in Riften, though. The innkeeper there is an Argonian and I bet meeting her would erase all your doubts. Would it help of I told you I'm actually of Aedric blood?"

"Aedric?" She questioned.

"Aedric. You know, the gods? Do you people worship anything where you're from? Here we worship the Nine Divines – or Eight Divines, if you're near an elf. Long story. Anyway, I so happen to share blood with one of those Nine Divines – longer story – so I am probably the opposite of demon."

Bethany closed her eyes, the excess information making her head spin. "We only worship one god in Thedas – the Maker."

"The Skaal in Solstheim worship a Maker, too. Maybe it's the same one. I'm a worshipper of the Nine at heart, but I do get blessings from the Maker's stones when I go to them. Though that must be a reward for cleansing them – and that story is longer than the two others put together. I could take you there someday, if you want."

She was not sure she wanted, for one very simple reason – he'd said she'd fallen into Oblivion. That, according to the Chantry, was what happened to those who defied the will of the Maker – forever condemned to walk a world of demons, away from the Maker's sight. And what she had done at Kirkwall, the rebellion she had incited, definitely went against the Maker's will.

"There's one more thing," Bethany spoke. "This place, Oblivion, what is it?"

He looked humored by her question. "That, lass, is one thing not even the greatest scholars have been able to answer. It's a realm, I suppose. Something similar, but not quite the same, as the Void. I've been there about a dozen of times, which is about a dozen of times more than I would like to."

"And why did I come back? I was dead. Meredith ran me through with a sword. It doesn't make any sense that I survived."

He shrugged. "Got into a Daedric Prince's good side, probably. From what I gathered, you were quite the objector to necromantic arts, so I'd guess Meridia. She has a passionate joy in rewarding people who fight the undead. Though it also sounds like something Azura would do. I wouldn't worry too much about it. They might eventually ask you to do some task in return. Nothing we can't manage, though."

"We?" She said, a hint of a smile threatening to break through.

"What, think you would get rid of me this easily? You owe me a stew. And a cup of mead, and a tunic, and almost a week's worth of inn hosting. Most of which I can forgive – all but the mead. You must pay me that mead."

She smiled then, her Sunshine side returning full blast after she was so sure it was lost. "Well, I suppose I do need to see a couple hundred more people before I can make sure this is real."

His eyes sparkled with her agreement to accompany him. She wouldn't tell him, but she was already quite positive she was not in the Fade. Not only because demons would hardly be able to come up with such complex individuals such as him, but also for something else. A demon would be predictable – it would offer her what she most deeply wanted. Peace, her family back, her home whole and rid of darkspawn.

A demon would never go for the second thing she most wanted. Why offer the second best thing, when the first one is much more effective? To Bethany, though, the second best was just enough. She had always been second – to her brother, to Orsino, so why would she mind the second-to-best thing? She was more than happy with it.

"Great! You're going to love our next destination! I have a book to deliver, so we're going to Winterhold!"

"Winterhold?" She asked curiously.

"Yes! That's where Skyrim's mage's College is. It's not as majestic as the Arcane University, but I dare say it's the second best place to learn magic in the whole Empire. It doesn't have all the resources of the Colleges of Whispers or the Synod, but it doesn't have the pains of being involved in politics, either."

Bethany honestly wouldn't mind learning magic at the second best College. Especially when opposed to Thedas' no-magic-college-at all situation. She didn't really consider The Circle a school of magic – it was much more like a prison. And not being involved in politics was more than a little relieving.

"You're going to love Savos Aren – he's the Archmage there. And J'zargo! Ha! I can't wait to see your face at meeting your first Khajiit!" He stopped, losing a bit of his excitement. "Also, there is probably the best place to start looking for your way back home."

Back home. But Bethany didn't have a home anymore, did she? After all, what was there in Thedas for her to want to go back for? Fear, oppression, running for her life, a brother she no longer knew? She bit her lip and felt herself tear up again, though this time, it was as much of hope as it was of grief.

"I think," She hesitated. "I think I might be ready to make a new home."

His smile was so radiant she was tempted to pass on the title of 'Sunshine.'

"I can't wait until you meet my friends," he said excitedly. He reminded her a bit of the children in the Circle on the rare occasions they were allowed a walk. "You'll love Serana. And, ah! Paarthurnax and Odahviing!"

He babbled on for a while about the many people and places he would take her to, and she was content to hear without really listening, eventually nodding her agreement. As he talked, he spoon-fed her the stew, which she had to admit was quite delicious.

"You should rest, lass. The quicker you get better, the quicker we'll be able to leave. Windhelm is actually an awful city. Just wait until you see Whiterun or Solitude!"

He helped her back into a lying position, then gathered the dirty dishes and blew the candles, engulfing the room into darkness.

"Good dreams, Beth," He said from the doorway.

"Already calling me nicknames," she mumbled, "And I don't even know your name."

He could hear his laughter as he closed the door to her room – no locking sounds, she noticed.

She fell asleep with a smile on her face. It was not what she most wanted, but it was the second best thing. And Bethany Hawke was more than happy with seconds. Especially if it was a second chance.

I'm not sure what was that. Just a little plot bunny I got from replaying Dragon Age 2. Hope you guys liked it, and happy Easter everyone!