For the wonderful and greathearted Suilven – the happiest of happy Birthdays to you always, my dear, and also to make up a little bit for that less than stellar Mother's day. ;)

Rising Above

.o0o.

Neria rubbed her temples, squeezing her eyes shut.

Sometimes . . .

"I can't believe you did that! Duncan would never have-"

Sometimes . . .

"It's up to you to represent the Circle, young woman. And to act with the dignity and honor befitting a Grey Warden-"

I think . . .

"I have heard stories of the mighty Grey Wardens. Clearly, they were overstated. You cannot be a woman. You are not acting according to your place-"

. . . I understand . . .

"Hey! Who stole my pants! Uurrrpp!"

Just a little . . .

"Oo, I saw that! Softie! You're a softie! Sten's a softie!"

"Be silent, bard!"

"Sooftiiiie!"

Maybe a lot . . .

"Morrigan's a total bitch. And evil. And mean. Zevran tried to kill us – you can't be serious, how can you trust him? I don't want to be king. I'm not going to take charge, oh, no no. Did I mention Morrigan's a mean, evil bitch?"

"Alistair is a naive fool. That can't have escaped your notice."

Bark! Bark! Bark-bark-bark-bark-bark-bark!

"Oo, but where I come from we think elves are beautiful and we value them. Such long eyelashes. Yours are lovely, you know."

"Asschabs! Haha! Pants!"

"Stop talking about my bosom!"

"Warden, help-"

"Warden, do-"

"Warden, fetch-"

"Mages, pigeons – squish!"

. . . where Uldred was coming from. She opened her eyes in time to see Morrigan fling her pack down in disgust. Oh, Maker, that bloody dog.

"I know," she said as the witch approached. "Dead animal. Things. Dog. I'm sorry, I can't help it, he likes you, he does it to me too." Off to the side she could see Wynne watching with lips pursed in tight disapproval, obviously preparing to deliver Admonishing Lecture #15-b, and Neria swallowed something that was either a bout of tears or a despairing scream.

Both. Both is good . . .

"Hmf." Morrigan folded her arms and studied the young elf in silence.

"What?"

"Your shifting technique."

"I – what?" The abrupt comment threw her already frazzled nerves further off balance. "What about my-?"

"You ate ALL the cheese!"

Both women cast their eyes upward at the despairing cry from across camp.

"'Tis shoddy. You would do well to practice far more frequently."

"Well, excuse me all to Void. I've got a few demands on my time."

"So I see." The golden eyes flicked coolly to Wynne, around the camp, and back to Neria. "Matters of great import, indeed."

"Now, just a-" Neria spoke defensively, but Morrigan had already turned away. After a few paces, she cast an unreadable glance over her shoulder before she shimmered into a hawk's form and sprang into flight.

"He ATE all the CHEESE! Neeeriaaaa!"

Right. Practice. Now.

She concentrated on pulling inward and shaping and flung herself upward in pursuit, her kestrel's wings flashing as they sliced the air to pull her away from the camp. Morrigan wheeled high above, and Neria angled to catch a thermal, rising in broad, lazy circles.

The air was like a river, buoying her effortlessly with currents running cool and warm as she tipped and tilted, supporting her even as she supported everyone else. The camp, the area, the terrain – all fell away and merged under her gaze to become one great masterwork of amorphous color and texture. No finicky details to shred her into dozens of pieces – just the wind and the sky and the world and herself, skimming within the surface. All one.

Her beak gaped as she cried an exuberant kee-kee-kee-kee, hearing Morrigan's long keeeer in response.

Sometimes flying away is the only way to come to yourself.

And Morrigan would claim she's never given anyone a gift.

Thank you, my friend.