Note from teh G-girl:

Yo! How's everybody doing? I just thought I'd add a chapter, keep ya'lls happy . . .

Anyway, in this chapter we get to introduce (omg! gasp!) a brand spankin' new, shiny, fresh off the conveyer belt, Original Character. I would like at this time to take the opportunity to just say this: She is not a mary sue. I'm not particularly fond of mary sues, as they tend to be poorly written and the characters all knowing, all-powerful, and all annoying. So, for you're benefit, let me repeat once more: She is not a mary sue.

Also, I realize this chapter is somewhat short, but I'm hoping the next one won't be. I'm trying to find a good spot to cut off each chapter, and in doing so I seem to be dribbling it out to you guys. Oh well, beggars can't be choosers, so I guess that means ya'll are at my mercy! Muhahaha!

Yes, but I'm a kind and merciful person, so expect updates once every other week (because I'm writing two stories right now: speaking of which, any X-Men fans might want to hop on over to my A Friend for Kurt story, check it out, see if you like it), except in case of severe writers block.

And to conclude, I'd like to say thank you, all reviewers! You guys really make it all worthwhile!

Also, any questions that might arise because of this chapter: I'm not a homophobe, and I'm not a slash writer; I do not advocate that lifestyle so I see no point in writing about something I really don't approve of. And personally, Van Helsing doesn't strike me as a homosexual. Seriously. I mean, he fell in love with Anna in the movie, for goodness sake! Carl is a dear, dear friend (the only one he has, really) and as he is a monk (well, friar) he has taken a life of pious abstinence, and blah blah blah. So don't flame me for any underlying subliminal messages. I just write what I think advances the character.

Disclaimer: I own nothing. So sue me!

Liriel was used to the snow. She'd been born to it, grown up around it; she lived in it every single day. But she had to admit; this was one of the worst snowstorms she had ever seen. And she had seen quite a few.

She knew she would not make it to the house. It was already late, and the cave was not far away. She would have to camp there for the night.

As she worked her way through the wood, she kept a careful eye out for the sycamore that marked the entrance. It was an odd tree, old, over grown, and standing right at the mouth of the rock shelter. She had spent many a night there during a downpour of sleet. From there it was a three-hour journey to her family's shack in good weather.

As she shook off the snow and stamped her feet upon the ground, she smelled the air. There was a fire going, to be sure; and one nearby.

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Van Helsing felt the vibration traveling through the ground, his keen senses picking up the noise of leather against the earth. Someone was entering the cave. There was little he could do, holding the ill friar, and his weaponry was on the other side of the cavern, next to the fire. He weighed his options, none of which were appealing. If Carl were awake, he would tell him it was one of those times when you could simply do nothing but trust in God. So he stayed were he was and watched the dark walls with narrowed eyes.

Presently, a young girl of perhaps seventeen with light brown hair and dark green eyes entered, holding a lantern over her head to guide her path. She wore an old, gray coat that was patched in several places, with big heavy boots and snowshoes underneath them. There was a red knit scarf around her neck, covering her mouth and half her nose, which she held in place with one gloved hand. There were three rabbits, two rifles, and a brown leather satchel slung across her back. She stood there for a minute, staring at the dark haired, hazel-eyed man in front of her, and he stared back. Her eyes only shifted to Carl's unmoving form once, and the tenseness in her eyes immediately seemed to relax.

"Who are you?" she asked, her Romanian accent drifting through the cloth fabric.

"My name is Gabriel Van Helsing," he answered.

"I do not wish to appear rude, Mr. Van Helsing, but what, might I ask, are you and your lover doing in my cave?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

If Van Helsing were capable of blushing, he most certainly would have. He was mortified enough as it was.

"This is my companion, and he is dreadfully ill. I believe he has also contracted hypothermia, and I have no desire for him to go into shock," he growled back, wishing this young woman were a man, for all the wrong reasons.

"I realize that. Forgive my audacity. My name is Liriel Verialla. I use this cave quite often when I seek shelter from storms. I did not expect to find . . . visitors."

As she spoke, she began to remove her scarf, plunking the rabbits down next to it along with the satchel and snowshoes. She kept her guns, however, as she moved closer to inspect the strangers.

"May I?" she asked, her boldness obviously not diminished in the least. She was speaking of Carl, and had removed her gloves as she knelt in front of the two men.

"You do not need my permission," Van Helsing muttered, and the young lady gently placed her long fingers across Carl's forehead, gauging the temperature that was most certainly evident. The monk moaned and twisted beneath them, opening his eyes. Van Helsing could tell from the distant and glazed look that he was not awake, not really.

"How long has he been this way?" she asked, pulling the poncho down and parting the shirt at it's neck, revealing a red rash as she pressed her thumbs against Carl's chest.

"Little over two hours," Van Helsing responded.

"And what are his symptoms? Has he complained of a dry throat? Of dizziness, or headaches?" she asked, and Van Helsing felt as if he had landed himself in an examination room with a sick child.

"Who . . .?" Carl tried to ask, looking at the brown haired girl with great confusion.

"My name is Liriel. Can you hear me?" she asked gently, placing a hand upon his cheek, and whispering in a tender voice. Carl nodded, his eyes jittering across her face.

"What ails you?" she asked, gently trying to keep his focus on her.

"Hurts," he muttered, gesturing to his throat.

"How badly?"

"Badly," Carl croaked, lifting a hand to his head as well.

"Your head, it aches too?" she asked, the patience in her voice a bit startling after her shortness with the demon hunter.

"Yes."

"Very well. Please, try to return to your sleep; I will help your friend attend your wounds," she said, calmly sliding her hands over his eyes. Carl seemed to try to protest for a moment, but, as if by magic, he found himself slipping into darkness once more, an all together overwhelming tug beckoning him back into slumber. Van Helsing watched the young woman as her hands worked some unseen enchantment upon the friar. Was it his imagination, or were her eyes . . . glowing?

She removed her hand.

"He should sleep soundly. For a while, at least," she added, and Van Helsing felt Carl's breathing eased, and he did not shift so uneasily as he had beforehand.

"My home, it is a few hours away from here. But we should try to take him there. It is warmer, and there will be medical supplies. I can only do so much for your friend. My knowledge of healing is limited," she said, looking Van Helsing in the eye. There was something mysterious lurking behind those green orbs. A deep secret, rooted there from ancient centuries past.

She stood and strode across the room, extinguishing the fire and gathering Van Helsing and Carl's things along with her own.

"I shall carry your packs, and you your friend. I will lead the way," she spoke softly, tucking her scarf back into place and slinging the packages over her shoulders. "Be careful to not loose sight of me. The storm still rages, and while it makes it harder to travel, it will guard us from unwanted eyes," she added, turning back to look at the dark haired man.

Van Helsing stood and gathered Carl into his arms. The burden was light, Carl had not eaten much in the past few days, and the girl, Liriel, carried their bags.

"Lead on," he said, gesturing towards the mouth of the cave.