Note: Still unbetaed. Bits of constructive criticism/reviews are appreciated. I'd like to know what I'm doing well, if anything, or what I'm doing poorly, as this is an exercise in my latent creativity. And need for attention, apparently. If it's about how lesbigays bother you, however, color me disinterested and eyeing you with pity.

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Songs, characters, etc. are not mine, just the plot.

2 – Just A Girl, No Doubt

Morrigan was seething. No. She was positively fuming.

Her simmering anger neared its boiling point the closer their party came to camp, and once everyone settled in, the mage did not hesitate to grab Nicola's arm roughly and pull her to the side with nothing more than an uncharacteristic, undignified grunt. Nicola squawked unbecomingly, tripping over her own feet as Morrigan marched her away.

"Oh my," Wynne commented with concerned surprise, watching the usually formidable Warden being manhandled away from camp. Dragged, really.

Alistair whistled. "Somebody's in tro-o-ouble…"

"It looks like it could end up being the good kind," Zevran chimed in, leering from his spot next to the fireside.

"Would you lot sod off?" Oghren barked, angling his head towards the two women, who were a distance away from the campsite now. "I'm trying to listen! Maybe they'll start fighting and scratching and clothes will start being…uh…torn…off…" His eyes glazed over.

"We shouldn't be eavesdropping," Leliana admonished, although her head was suspiciously tilted towards the witch and the Warden as well, a pleased and devious smile playing on her lips.

Finally coming to a stop, Morrigan let go of Nicola's wrist, which was probably bruised. "What in Andraste's knickers has gotten into you?" The blonde griped, rubbing at her wrist. "I happen to like this arm!" Morrigan whipped around with such fury in her eyes that Nicola instinctively took a step back. "Uh," she stuttered. She may have been a fearsome slayer of darkspawn, but sometimes she really felt that if the archdemon angered Morrigan enough, one look from the witch would make it fall over and die without so much as a roar of complaint.

"What has gotten into me?! I was just about to ask you that very question, Warden," Morrigan hissed, spitting the word like it was an insult.

"Calm down," insisted Nicola, holding her hands up in complacency, for fear that a bolt of Winter's Grasp would soon come flying her way. She could only deal with cold, wet armor a few times a day. "What's the matter?"

The way she asked the question so innocently only incensed the witch's rage. "The matter is," she answered frostily, the volume of her voice growing with each word. "You apparently have come under the impression that I am in need of protection. Namely, in the form of always having Oghren, Sten, or that…that dimwitted excuse for a Warden guarding me like asinine watchdogs every time we go into battle!"

Nicola simply stared, as she usually did when she was around Morrigan for a variety of reasons. "But…I…but what's wrong with that?" She asked feebly.

The witch basically flew into Nicola's personal space, their faces a scant distance from each other. "Do I look like I need protection?" roared Morrigan. "Have I become incapable somehow, in the past two weeks, of fighting? Or do you simply like treating me like a fragile little doll all of a sudden?"

"Um." Maker, how could one be so attractive when murderous? Nicola wondered.

"I do not know what has gotten into your silly, fat head," – at this the Warden pouted – "but 'tis frankly, utterly ridiculous and frustrating to be treated as such! I am not some…some helpless little tavern wench that needs the big men or the mighty Warden to protect her," Morrigan raged. "Lest you forget, at any moment, 'tis I who could paralyze, maim, freeze, burn, electr-"

"All right, all right!" Nicola interrupted, paling at the imagery. "I know. I am sorry. I did not mean to give you that impression. Of course you are capable," she attempted to soothe the raging beast that was an incensed woman. "You are one of my best fighters. You know that," she added, as Morrigan seemed to calm down just a little bit. At least enough to stop shrieking, or threatening the potential savior of Ferelden with bodily harm, both of which were good signs.

"Then perhaps you would deign to enlighten me, Warden," Morrigan said, her tone brooking no other option. "Exactly why you would suddenly start thinking that a little girl like me needed to stay behind, protected, while you run off to stab at things? Am I just your healer now? If so, why not just take that platitude-spewing bag of bones over there, instead of relegating me to a safe distance from the big bad darkspawn?"

"I…er…" Nicola shifted her weight on her feet.

"Spit it out!" barked Morrigan. "I will not have this nonsense!"

The blonde huffed, and grumbled, "Fine." She seemed to lose her ire, however, when she spoke her next words. "I just…I was worried about you," she admitted lamely. Before Morrigan could squawk angrily at her again, she held up a hand. "Not because you cannot take care of yourself, okay? I promise you that, at least."

"Then why?" the witch asked, tone still sharp but slightly less so than before. She still eyed the Warden carefully.

Nicola sighed. "Because…because sometimes, it's not enough. Sometimes, as much as you hate to admit it, you need my help, and I'm not worried that you're not capable. I'm worried that I'm the one that's not. That I won't be there when you need me. There. Continue your flaying, if you must," she added wearily.

Although the fight evaporated out of her blood and faded away, Morrigan still found remnants of resentment plaguing her. "Even if I were…to concede that I may need your assistance some of the time," she sniffed haughtily, "I have been fine the entire time we have traveled together. I do not understand."

"You weren't fine before," mumbled Nicola, who had found some odd fascination with her boots, if her unwillingness to tear her eyes away from them indicated anything.

A spark of realization hit Morrigan, and she said incredulously, "Surely this is not simply because—"

"Yes!" the Warden burst out. "Of course it is. And it's…it's not simple."

Morrigan still stared in disbelief, huffing. "We fight everyday, Nicola! People get hurt. 'Tis not news to either…or any of us, really. And how hypocritical of you, considering you're the one who comes back to camp nearly everyday with some sort of injury. A papercut here, a wrenched limb there, and oh, my, is that a cracked skull over yonder, I see?" she continued sarcastically.

It was Nicola's turn to be angry. "It is my duty as a Grey Warden to have to sacrifice some things. Sometimes, even my life. Not yours. Not any of yours," she said, gesturing back towards their companions at the campsite. "That arrow barely missed your heart, Morrigan. It was lucky that I brought Wynne along that day too. You would not have made it back to camp. You… you wouldn't even wake up. If I had just gotten there faster…"

"You are a bigger fool than I could ever imagine," spat Morrigan, crossing her arms. "Your sacrifices as a Warden are for the good of all of Ferelden. To deliberately put yourself in harm's way just to save one person is utterly ridiculous. 'Tis not an exaggeration to say that the world needs you."

"But I need you," insisted Nicola, before she could even process what she was saying. Once she realized, however, she immediately backtracked, "…guys. I need you guys. S-so…I would do that for any one of you. Yes. That's it. Um…?" She could feel herself burning with embarrassment inside her heavy armor. It felt like an oven, one that she wished she could crawl further into and just die.

Thankfully, and for some reason, Morrigan simply tilted her head and squinted at her, scrutinizing and opting not to say anything about her…phrasing. "Ye-es…" she said slowly. All of her ire gone away now that she had screamed it all out and gotten her point across. Morrigan had nothing further about which to argue. She sighed, conceding, "I cannot say that I … entirely understand. But, I do see somewhat where you are coming from."

"Um, yes," Nicola added hastily, desperately trying to end this conversation there. "So, that's that, then? I apologized, you accepted. Good? All right. Perfect." She cleared her throat.

Morrigan turned back towards camp, where everyone seemed far too "innocently" occupied with the fire, a variety of expressions on their faces. Zevran grinned as if he were trying to hold back a laugh, Alistair looked as though he had swallowed a small toad, and Leliana scowled as if Bandit had chewed on one of her boots again. Sten looked completely disinterested, as per usual, and Oghren seemed to have left for his tent. Looking over her shoulder at the fumbling blonde, she stated, "Just do not let it happen again, Warden, hmm?" Nicola nodded vigorously.

"Hey!" Zevran shouted gleefully at the approaching women, at which Morrigan scowled, and Nicola froze. Zevran's wicked and pleased look meant nothing good.

"What?" asked Morrigan irritably.

"I need you…" he said seriously to the witch, looking deeply into her eyes. Behind Morrigan, Nicola looked positively horrified. "…Guys. I need you guys to help prepare supper, of course," he finished, his evil cackle rivaling that of a darkspawn emissary's.

Morrigan chuckled a little to herself as Leliana's scowl deepened, and she heard Nicola gracefully stumble and trip over a rock.