Author's Note: Feel free to PM me if you catch anything that shouldn't be in here. I was writing at work again.

Edit 1/3/14 (because I'm up early and snowed in, joy - that was sarcasm btw): A reviewer brought something to my attention (thank you to said reviewer).

Elyria is not a self insert. To be clear, Elyria was originally an auburn haired sassy, angry twin with Leukemia in a House story about seven years ago. It was actually pretty long then Kutner died and sigh, I was forced to rewrite a lot of the story. Which, of course, depressed me and made me not want to finish. I inserted Elyria into another original story, changed her hair color, eye color, level of sass and snark and thus this variation was born.

Believe me, if I was going to self insert I'd use my name, my body type and personality.

Chapter 2:

Emma crouching over me was the first thing I could really see. I blinked against the sunlight filtering through the glass windows of the Hawkins building. Lifting a hand to shield my eyes I cast around blearily. The face of my classmates from History of Rock and Roll watched me with varying degrees of concern, annoyance, curiosity and fascination. Emma's hand pressed against my forehead, "Hey," her voice softly accented Brooklyn tones said, "how do you feel?"

Honestly? Like I'd gone bat-shit crazy. I closed my eyes and breathed in. Filtered air, the smell of dust burning a little from the heaters and the mix of cologne, perfume, deodorant and the like had never smelled better to me. Emma's own peaches and sunflowers body spray made me want to reach out and hug her. I grabbed her hand and, with my eyes still closed said, "Tell me I passed out."

The concern in her voice frightened me a little, "No, you had a seizure." She forced my right eye open, "El, you never said you were an epileptic."

Slapping her hand away in anger, "I'm not." We've been roommates for three and a half years of college, there was no way I would have been able to hide epilepsy from her for so long. I pushed up into a sitting position, feeling the rush of blood at the same time it roared in my ears. I put a hand out and Emma grabbed hold. "Holy shit," I muttered grabbing my left side temple and closing my eyes.

Doctor Dave spoke into his cell phone only a couple of feet away, "Yes, she's awake. I'll send her down. Thank you." He put the iPhone back in his pocket, "Miss O'Riley you may take Miss Duke down to the health center if she can make the walk."

I scowled at him, then Emma. My legs wobbled under me as I tried to stand. "Nucking futs," the mixed up cursing slipped from between my lips. Woozy did not even cover the way I felt. The only description I managed to cover with my addled brain was simply this:

It felt like a migraine combined with an overstuffed pressure cooker while tripping on acid. The world moved around me every time I blinked. Emma helped me into a seat. She asked Doctor Dave to call an ambulance. Who said premed students didn't know anything? She did. Enough to know something was wrong with me.

Putting my head between my legs did absolutely nothing for it. Vaguely I heard Doctor Dave talking to someone, either 911 or the health center. Emma stroked my hair and back, telling me to breathe deeply. Some of the other people in my class speculated as to what happened. A couple thought I was drunk. Someone else thought I was diabetic and hadn't taken my insulin. One person, just one, thought I was having a heart attack.

Thinking about how ridiculous that was made me want to laugh. A heart attack at twenty? Certainly I was a little over weight, but not unhealthily so. I'd put on the freshman ten plus another five during sophomore year. That did not mean I was having a fucking heart attack.

Nausea hit me again, like a bag of bricks dropping right on my stomach and brain at the same time. The pain practically dragged me out of my seat and back onto the floor. Scrunching up into a little ball of agony, and nausea I lay there with Emma stroking my hair. The windows to the classroom were opened letting in frosty November air. The breeze mixed with the warm air that smelled faintly of burnt dust from the radiators. The slightest movements sounded like stomping elephants to my ears. The smell of dust and cold November from outside hit my nose and then…well then my brain went woosh again.

Face planting into the grass isn't any more graceful than it looks, but at least the grass was soft and the ground only a little harder. Thankfully my brain case felt better. I did a push up off the ground and found the long sword Alistair had given me only a foot away from my right hand. In front of me I saw a pair of feet, well, two pairs of feet. Both in plain black flat shoes, one set of legs encased in yellow-green stockings the other in black leggings. Fortunately there were no other people around.

Getting up onto my knees made me think better of that.

Flemeth and Morrigan stood watching me, the younger witch with her arms crossed over her spectacularly buoyant breasts for someone not wearing a push up bra. Morrigan wore a look that lacked an enthusiasm, regarding me with mild overtones of irritation. Flemeth on the other hand watched me with hooded eyes and an unreadable expression.

"Welcome traveler," Flemeth said sounding very much like the crazy little old lady she appeared to be. I thought about the Dragon Age 2 costume she wore, the big dragon horns she would grow in the transition between games. "Though it seems you're a bit stuck in the between."

"Ya think," I growled and pushed up from the grass and dirt. "What the hell is going on? Why am I flip-flopping back and forth? What am I doing here? This world isn't real! It's not-"

Flemeth held up one wrinkled hand that reminded me very much of my grandmother's with purple and blue veins sticking out of paper thin skin. So very different from the well intact, seeming ageless Flemeth of DA2. "What is real and what is not, are not subjects up for debate child, only what is happing in the present. You have," her gaze went over my form and I suddenly felt the need to brush off the dirt and grass on my clothes to look more presentable, "somehow managed to fall through the cracks in the barrier between our worlds."

I picked off pieces of grass from my hoodie, "Or I'm having extremely vivid hallucinations brought on by the lack of oxygenated blood flowing to my cerebrum." Considering I'd had a seizure not brought on by epilepsy, and I couldn't remember actually going to class, it was entirely possible I was dying. Instead of my life flashing before my eyes my brain may have begun to use this fantasy world as a coping mechanism so that I could escape the pain. Maybe it wasn't a heart attack. Maybe I'd had a stroke.

"A valid argument," Flemeth conceded graciously.

Which made me suspicious.

Somewhere, elsewhere in the wilds the bay of a darkspawn horn went up. I looked up at the sky, seeing the blood-orange of sunset. In my chest my heart skipped a beat. The massacre at Ostagar would happen in a handful of hours, and there was nothing, absolutely not a single god damn thing I could do to save all those people. If you'd like the definition of feeling absolutely helpless, that was it.

"There is nothing you can do," Flemeth told me with solemn finality. She turned her head, "Morrigan, supper for three. I must speak with the Traveler."

Every time she said 'traveler' like that I had flashes of the Stay Puffed Mashmellow Man moving past buildings in Manhattan. Except Gozer the Gozerian hadn't invoked me from someone's head. Hey, you are never too old to watch (and appreciate) the Ghostbusters, got it?

"Yes mother," Morrigan said almost begrudgingly. I wondered, as she cast me one last curious glance if she knew half as much about me as I did about her. Though I supposed Flemeth knew a great deal more than either of us girls combined.

Once the door was closed I leaned down for my long sword. "So, Flemeth," I said, "care to tell me how you're the Face of Boe in this, or am I gonna have to hazard a guess?"

"You would not understand even if I were to explain it to you as simply as I can." The elderly witch assured me, "though I will try if you care to use our time together like that."

"And how else would we spend it?"

She stepped toward me and for half a second I wanted to give ground. I didn't though. Standing before me, she motioned to the blade in my hand, "In your world you are a child of privilege, are you not?"

Reluctantly, I nodded. My parents own their Manhattan brownstone. We have money. I hated admitting that to anyone. I never wanted to trade on my parents' names or their money. Hell, I was paying for most of college with scholarships. I purposely chose a SUNY school instead of going to Brown like my father wanted. I'm a bit of a black sheep in my family, while my sister and brother are the literal examples of golden children.

"What of it," I asked.

Flemeth's dark eyes narrowed on me, "You have never had to kill."

Night fell, Morrigan cooked dinner and I ate with her while Flemeth went off to rescue the wardens. The food, I believe it was chicken – at least I hoped it was chicken – with lemon grass and spinach, sat sourly in my stomach while we waited. There were no sounds of battle or ominous howls of darkspawn. No shouts of men in the night or screams shattering the quiet peace. Still I felt uneasy sitting there nibbling on food while hundreds of men and women were dying. Or worse. Time stretched out from minutes into hours.

Morrigan asked a few questions about where I came from, what my world was like. It interested her that I was not a Thedas native. Her curiosity seemed to focus in more on the way I had been pulled back and forth between worlds. When I appeared here, before her and her mother, there had been a soft crack in the air like muffled lightening. At least that is what she told me. Then I fell through the air onto the ground.

Flemeth returned just as I finished explaining waking up in the classroom at school.

Both Aedan and Alistair were unconscious, though Aedan more than likely from blood loss. Two arrows punctured his chest, one in his left shoulder and one poking through the flesh of his abdomen. Alistair on the other hand had on the Thane helmet, though one of the horns had broken off and part of it looked dented. A thin trail of blood trickled down his cheek from somewhere under the dent.

Fearing cranial pressure or worse damage to his skull itself, I pulled the helm off of him while Flemeth set to work healing Aedan.

That night was the first of a series of long nights in Ferelden.

I slept on the floor near the fire place. The heat comforted me even though I slept fitfully. I've slept on the ground before having gone camping often enough with Cody. I missed him a little more here because this would have been something he would have loved. He would have had the time of his life. He might have even tried to fight in the battle at Ostagar. Cody was crazy like that. I loved him for it.

The hut did actually have another room as I found out when Morrigan opened a trap door and went down into it to sleep. I wanted to make a cheesy vampire joke, having read far too many Sookie Stackhouse and Anita Blake novels over the years. Refraining took a lot more self control than I thought it would.

I'm a nerd. I thought I made that abundantly clear.

I slept fitfully, waking periodically and drifting back to sleep. Every time I opened my eyes I expected to wake up on the floor of the history class room or in the health center or an emergency room with a worried looking nurse hovering over me. I dreamed of Emma trying to help me up off the floor only to lose my balance and suddenly my eyes popped open in the new reality. A child-like desire to be at home wrapped up in my grandmother's arms, smelling the sweetness of her perfume and skin lotion overwhelmed me.

I woke up before dawn, finding Alistair already awake. He stood at the window, his back to me as he watched the predawn light turn the sky from dark hazy black to powder blue. He must have noticed the change in my breathing because he turned a little to look at me. A faint blush graced his cheeks and ears half a moment later, green-gold eyes averting to the spot just to the right and over my head.

Bewildered by his reaction I looked down at myself and realized that sometime in the night the Henley I wore had ridden up with the t-shirt and tank top to expose some of my stomach. Not a monumentally embarrassing sight, but then he was a Templar and a virgin to boot. I grabbed my sweat shirt off the floor and pulled it on to save his innocent eyes.

"How's your head?" I asked once the hoodie settled down around my hips.

His brow drew together, "What?"

I tapped my forehead where I found his wound the night before, "You sustained a mild head trauma last night. No nausea or persistent pressure in your ears? Confusion, blurry vision…" he stared at me like I had two heads. "Sorry, most of the people in my family are doctors."

Still staring.

With a sad smile I pushed up off the floor, "Trust me if you were from where I'm from you would have understood everything I said."

"Do people from your world also disappear into thin air like you?" He asked suspiciously.

I almost wanted to laugh. I didn't though. Shaking my head, "Nope. I'm uniquely singular in that respect. David Copperfield has to use mirrors." Again with the staring. My pop culture know-how would be completely wasted in this place. Sighing, "No, I shouldn't even be disappearing like that. It's not humanly possible."

That, of all things, seemed to placate him.

"Are you a mage," he asked, "like Morrigan and her mother?"

I shook my head, "Not a magic bone in my body, I swear." Just an everyday post adolescent who happened to come unstuck between two very different realities. That sounded like the premise for a bad yet somehow miraculously popular sitcom. Maybe they could air it after Two and a Half Men.

Truthfully the video game didn't do him justice when it came to his sadness over the loss of Duncan and the other Grey Wardens. The Alistair I met yesterday looked ten years younger than the man that stood before me. The crow's feet appeared over night in the corners of his eyes and the deep creases in his forehead brought out an almost irrepressible urge to grab him and hug him. I wanted to lie to him and tell him it would be okay eventually.

It's my nature I suppose, along with going to mush over fuzzy creatures and falling in love with men that rip my heart out and stomp on it. He just seemed so heartbreakingly lonely. Gingerly I put a hand on his upper arm and said, "Live like they would have wanted you to, it is the best way to honor their memory." My uncle, the other blackened sheep in my family, told me that after Cody's funeral. I'll never forget it as long as I live.

"Have you," he said softly, sadly, "ever lost anyone?"

"Someone I considered my brother," I touched Cody's totem which hung from the chain around my neck. The wood felt warm under my fingertips.

Outside birds sang and the sun came up fully. Flemeth returned from wherever she'd gone. I wondered if she slept at all or if she even needed sleep. Having played DA2 I knew better than to think she could be killed. After out talk yesterday, I felt as if I might be in some twisted fairy tale on crack. Where Flemeth played the part of the elderly know it all fairy godmother. Minus the fairy bit.

Being told your life is about to change from college student and daughter, to run, fight or die isn't something anyone wants to hear. Not from the mouth a person you previously believed to be a non-sentient video game personality. Not when you are stuck somewhere you thought did not, could not exist.

I went outside with while Alistair changed back into his armor.

If the game timing was anything to go by Aedan would be awake soon. Then the four of us, Morrigan included, would head off to Lothering. Hopefully we would pick up Leliana and Sten, save Bohdan and Sandal from darkspawn and…I sighed. I have played this game so many times with so many different variations. I went around the house to the creek, no doubt a runoff from the stream I'd followed through the wilds yesterday, and stripped off my hoodie again. The Henley and the grey t-shirt went with it.

Unlike other people in college, I'm not one for going without showers for a couple of days. The water stuck a little under my arms from the remainder of my deodorant. In a day or so I'd have to get used to my own body odor and the feeling of being ripe and grimey. Gross. I rinsed my mouth and rubbed my skin with cold water where I could get at it. Bending my head over the water I emptied the last of my water bottle into my hair and used my fingers to comb through the tangles. My kingdom for a bar of soap and some leave in conditioner.

I couldn't have been gone more than twenty minutes at most, but Aedan and Alistair and Flemeth were already deep into the raising an army dialogue. From a purely academic point of view, I found their interactions fascinating. They followed the script almost to a T. I stood off to the side, near the door to the cabin while running my fingers through the last hold outs of knots in my hair.

Morrigan came into the mix and I almost started laughing. She did such a good impression of being surprised by Flemeth unceremoniously kicking her out, I half believed it. If I didn't already know her end game, I would have believed it too. It felt so strange hearing Claudia Black's voice come out of Morrigan's mouth. It really did. I kept thinking of her in FarScape, as Aeyran Suun. Stargate and Vala Mal Doran. Her pulling a dash, dive and die in Pitch Black.

Have you realized I am a nerd yet?

Flemeth addressed me right as I'd begun to braid my hair into a side plait. "What say you traveler?"

Fuck my fucking failure of an attention span. I tried for a serious expression, but I think all I managed to do was pull off being tired. Rolling my shoulders, my fingers tying off the tail end of the braid, "What are my options? I either go with the wardens and Morrigan or I head north to Kirkwall and get shut out at the gates. Kirkwall will be turning away anyone without the coin to get through the gates. I'm better off here."

"You don't know that Kirkwall will turn away refugees," Aedan told me.

During our original conversation, Flemeth told me to keep as much to myself as possible. There were powers at work here even she could not explain. However, as with most post adolescents, I'm not one for following rules or recommendations unless I want to. And I honestly did not want to at the moment. I laughed under my breath, "Yes I do. Just like I know your mabari will find us on the way to Lothering and that bandits will hassle us for money when we arrive." Arms crossed over my chest, "So are we gonna go or what?"

Hiking through the Kokari Wilds took most of the morning; the trees only fell away from us near noon. My limbs felt heavy with exhaustion by the time Aedan called for a rest stop. I really wanted a gigantic bowl of penne-a-la-vodka with grilled chicken and roasted red peppers. Or fettuccini alfredo with broccoli spears and jumbo lemon-garlic shrimp. Linguini and kale smothered in clam sauce. Mushroom and cheese stuffed ravioli, Italian style meatballs in tomato sauce covered with parmesan…

My stomach growled loudly. The last meal I'd eaten was one of my granola bars. I dropped on the ground unceremoniously, my bottom smarting a bit from impact. Not that I cared. I just needed to get off my feet. I could only imagine how I would have felt if I chose to wear flats or the kitten heels Emma gave me for Christmas for today.

Yesterday.

No, today.

No, yesterday. Ostagar was last night. I came back yesterday.

Except in my world only minutes passed between me being here and me being there. I felt like I was in some whacked out Chronicles of Narnia alternate reality. In a moment of decisiveness, I shucked my jacket, sweatshirt and long sleeved tee. The cold damp of Ferelden smacked my skin, bringing about gooseflesh that spread like wildfire. Next I went for my messenger bag, Emma called it my Mary Poppin's bag, and pulled out my drawing supplies.

Shoving up the left arm of my short sleeved tee, I marked my upper shoulder with two short purple strikes. One for each day spent in Thedas. I needed to keep track of time here. On the other shoulder I used a blue marker. One strike for home, for my world. I rubbed my thumb over the blue one once it was dry, murmuring, "I lost some time once. It's always in the last place you look for it."

Neil Gaiman, he's on the top ten of my favorite authors list.

My hand brushed my Kindle when I went to put the markers back. I thought about turning it on, but realized I would just be wasting the battery. That did not, of course, make the desire to hook myself up to the great big world I called home any less potent. My kingdom for an internet connection. For a charger. For electricity. For the basic creature comforts people took for granted in my world every day. And, as I ran my tongue over my teeth in a plainly irritated gesture, for my fucking tooth brush!

Instead I pulled out my iPod, pink-purple electronic beauty of the 21st century, put the dull, grey-white head phones into my ears and turned it on. I didn't care what I listened to as long as I could listen to something. Anything that wasn't from this hellish reality I found myself living in. Anna Kendrick singing Cups, Pitch Perfect soundtrack. I could have laughed, and I did, a low soft sad sound that ended in a sob.

My music collection in a word: Eclectic.

Arms wrapped around my legs I settled my forehead on my knees as the song turned into Radiohead's Creep. I tried to lose myself in the lyrics for a little while. Pretend even for just the handful of minutes I sat there that as soon as I opened my eyes I would be sitting the quad again. I'd be waiting for class while other people from my time, my reality passed by on their way to their classes. Their daily routines already set into motion. Would Emma realize something was up when I didn't come back to the dorm last night? Or when I didn't show up for breakfast?

Then again I could be in a coma. Or worse.

A shudder went down my spine.

Radiohead faded into David Guetta's Titanium while I mulled over the concept of me actually being dead, lying on a slab in a morgue. My mother and father would have to drag themselves away from one neurosurgery or another and travel upstate to identify my body. As I imagined what I looked like lying out pale, and cold on a metal slab under antiseptic white lights with a Y incision cutting through my chest, I realized one extremely important thing.

I am a fucking idiot.

Maybe I'm not naturally one to lie down and take what the world throws my way. Maybe it was the song and the message behind the song. Could have been a combination of the two. Either way, I had two choices. I could deal with it and be a hero in the making or I could chump out and slink off to Gwaren and then Kirkwall with my tail between my legs. Both of them held the possibility of me getting killed in the process, but only one could take me on the adventure of a lifetime.

When I saw the plain looking fencing from a distance I realized that I probably wouldn't get to disappear back into my world once the fighting started. Aedan's mabari would appear any moment from around the bend ahead, and he would be followed by a small troupe of darkspawn. I could feel the tingle of adrenaline beginning to course through my veins in preparation for the fight. Slowing my steps, I made certain my messenger bag was clipped closed and maneuvered it behind me. The last thing I wanted was to get tangled up and lose my head. Or my life.

Alistair bumped into me from behind. Clearly, he was still staring at the ground and his feet while he contemplated the deaths of Duncan and the rest of the Grey Wardens. His armor was, in a delicate word, painful to be hit with. He only stumbled a little, me on the other hand…I weighed less, was comprised of quite a bit more body fat and wore no armor.

"I'm sorry," Alistair said quickly, "I wasn't…I mean I didn't…" He looked at me apologetically, a crease between his eyebrows from deep, morose thoughts.

I held my elbow and the back of my arm right lamenting the size of the bruise I would be sporting tomorrow, hissing through my teeth. The word ouch does not even begin to cover it. Biting back the swear words on my tongue, "No," my voice came out a little high, "my bad, really." It was, technically. If I hadn't slowed down, he would never have hit me. I reached out and poked his splint-mail encased torso with a finger from the opposite hand, "You're really solid under there, huh?"

He probably would have answered. One of his hands came up to his chest where I'd poked him. I say probably because he never got to say anything.

Aedan's mabari came around the bend at break neck speed, ears perked, barking his head off in a Happy joy I found you! kind of way. Unlike in the game, the dog did not stop. He barreled forward into Aedan, who crouched to scratch behind ears, rub a puppy belly and tell the pony sized dog what a good dog he was.

I owned a Pit-Bull once. Back when my mom and dad weren't douche bags obsessed with money, work and making a name for themselves in the medical community. Her name was Sasha, she slept in my room most of the time. Sasha was nowhere near as big as this guy, or as powerful looking. In real life a mabari looked like a cousin of the Pit-Bull, with the build of a Newfoundland, and the head of Saint Bernard minus all the fluffy fur. We're talking a big dog. Big. Who tackled his owner down and bathed every exposed part of Aedan's face in sloppy, happy, doggie kisses.

For a minute there I half believed that we would get by without the darkspawn showing up. Without a fight. Of course, as Murphy's Law states, whatever can go wrong will. The moment I believed we might be lucky enough to skate by on the magical juice Flemeth pawned off on Morrigan, was the exact moment the darkspawn chose to join in and ruin the reunion of dog and master.

Beside me Alistair pulled on the Thane helm, he looked much like an awkward derpy Viking. Morrigan, several feet ahead, was already starting up on some sort of spell. Aedan and mabari disengaged from one another fairly quickly. Aedan pulled his broad sword and the mabari loosed a violent, dangerous growl that fell somewhere between mother bear protecting cub and lioness protecting cub. I on the other hand, with my hands on my long sword – still in its sheath – realized I was completely out of my element for the umpteenth time since appearing here in Thedas. Hopelessly, totally and unquestioningly an overwhelmed hindrance to the battle ready warriors and mage.

I don't know if it was gallantry or simply because Alistair at heart was a gentleman, but he pulled me aside, set me behind him and asked me to please stay out of the fray. Then he, as Aedan and the mabari did, charged into battle.

The fight didn't last long, not with Morrigan there casting her frost spell on anything getting away from the boys and the dog. I half expected her to shift into spider form and start ripping darkspawn to shreds for the sheer fun of it. Her laughter in the middle of battle disturbed me more than the blood or the severed body parts.

"There were nine of them," Aedan declared as he counted the bodies staining the ground with their reddish-black blood. He kicked aside a severed arm with the toe of his boot, "there are only eight here."

He just had to say that, didn't he?

A cold shiver streaked its way down my spine. Fight or flight kicked in and I moved fast. Faster, I think, than I've ever moved before though it felt almost like slow motion to me. Half a second later the clicks sounded. I swung my long sword around as the genlock appeared. My heart pounded in my chest like wild horses running away. It stabbed forward at the same time I swiped the blade down with as much force as I could gather. The sword I held was a lot longer than the genlock's blades, and even though I wasn't too much taller, my arms were fairly longer. The blade lodged sideways in the genlock's skull.

I screamed like a banshee and dropped the hilt, allowing myself the obligatory freak out. The creature's eyes rolled up into its head and it died with a very vocal death rattle, and from the smell it did as mortals usually did and shit itself as its body died. I didn't realize I was backing away from the creature's body until Aedan stopped me with a hand on my shoulder. I looked up at him, blinking and suddenly the terror filled me and I broke down into tears.

"You've never killed anything before," Aedan said, his voice soft and patient as he spoke, "have you?"

I shook my head, swiping at my eyes with the sleeves of my Air Force hoodie.

The corners of his mouth turned up a little, his eyes crinkling, "Good first try."

I wanted to laugh, and I think I did though it came out a miserable sobbing sound. "I'm sorry," I managed to get out, my voice thick and throat sore, "I'm not normally like this. I don't cry at the drop of a hat. I don't, but…" I looked over at the body on the ground. The monster I killed. Telling myself it was a monster, something that would have happily killed me or worse, dragged me away to become a brood mother. I shuddered violently at the thought.

The mabari, who I could not recall the name of padded up to me, his fur spattered here and there with darkspawn blood. He put his nose under my hand and whined at me plaintively. The kind of whine a dog gives when they're trying to figure out how to fix whatever is wrong and how they can fix it. Maybe it's because I'm a dog person, or maybe because I'm just an animal lover at heart, I don't know. I got down on my knees, pressed my forehead to his and gave him a good scratch behind his ears.

"Good puppy," I kissed the mabari's nose, "very good puppy."

"You know," Aedan said as he crouched down beside me, "I've never seen Jax do that for anyone but me on a bad day. And I have never," his gloved hand touched mine as I scratched the dog's neck, "never seen anyone brave enough to give him a kiss."

"You're humoring me," I murmured.

Morrigan approached, looking peeved. Her long pale fingers tapped on her arm in an annoyed gesture, "Are we to coddle you all day Traveler or shall we continue?"

The way she looked at me then, her nose and chin raised just a little, dark eyes flinty hard, I realized we would probably never get along. She had her own agenda, her own plans to carry out. Our paths, though intertwining, diverged at critical points. I think she realized that too when I refused to answer her questions last night.

Was Ostagar only last night?

I shot her a glare, "Morrigan, I know you're not used to interacting with people, but really, not a good time to be bitchy." Jax got a couple of good behind the ear scratches out of me and another kiss on the nose. "Good puppy." I touched Aedan's hand, avoiding the sticky splotches of darkspawn blood that defied logic and caught the sunlight. "Thank you. I mean it."

He smiled at me all blue eyes and warmth. Honestly I blame my reaction on me coming off of an emotional roller coaster, but my heart just gave up. She folded up the broken hearted flag she'd been flying since he-who-shall-not-be-named broke up with us, and lit a torch. A torch with the name Aedan hand stamped into it.

You don't have to review (I know most people won't just because) but I'm not going to know what you think unless you - shock and horror - let me know!

Also, have a cookie because I was up half the night making them for the guys at work. I call them New Years Day cookies, because they're chocolate and peppermint and taste amazing dipped in tea or hot coco.

1/3/14 - If you'd like to read what I have of the House story PM me and I'll send you the bits. You'll see a huge difference in Elyria's character.