I don't have to know an answer. I don't feel frightened not knowing
things, by being lost in a mysterious universe without any purpose,
which is the way it really is as far as I can tell.
~ Richard P. Feynman

.

Waking felt like clawing through layers and layers of choking smoke, her eyes felt gritty and her mouth tasted like ashes. Emma lay on what she thought was a bed, eyes opening to the sound of muffled voices, a hand in her hair, bright gray eyes peering into her face and then someone else saying, tiredly, "Here she is. How much did she drink?"

A sudden urge to retch overcame her and she fumbled her way up, staggering into the grasp of waiting hands and soothing voices who wasted no time getting her into a restroom. Someone held her hair as she emptied her stomach, thinking of giant spiders and glowing women, as well as the itchy, formlessness of green light and floating black ash. Someone handed her a glass of ice water and she gargled and spat, gargled and spat till her mouth felt clean again, and then she was lifted and walked back to the bed.

"Feel any better?"

Emma opened one eye and found Andy looking down at her, she was sitting on the side of the bed while the tired looking pre-med student sat across from the end of the bed with his head leaning against his hand. Lily and Marian were standing in the doorway, worried expressions on their faces.

"I think so … not sure yet," Emma answered Andy's question after a moment, considering how she still felt woozy, but no longer quite so near to death. It was difficult to sit up straight, her head feeling somehow off-kilter, and not in the way it usually did when she'd been drunk. Of course, she'd never been black-out drunk before, either, so maybe this was part of the ride?

"I think maybe you drowned your sorrows with a little too much abandon," Andrew said, lifting his head to smile at her. "It's good to see you awake."

"I had the weirdest dream," she muttered, frowning down at the glass in her hand as the ice clinked. "Never had a dream where I could smell things before."

"Enough liquor will do that to anyone," Marian smiled, relief flashing across her face. "If we'd realized how much you'd had, we'd have stopped you. I'm sorry about that."

"Not your fault," Emma answered, leaning back against the headboard. The bedroom was nicely kept, with solid furniture in the Craftsman style and a variety of antique weaponry displayed on the walls, among other curious items – all set out with care. A computer desk stood in one corner, near to overflowing with papers. "I … haven't ruined anyone's things, have I?"

"We made sure you couldn't," Andy assured her. "Professor Rutherford is out for a few more days. He won't mind. If you're feeling well enough, we can go back out to the party? Or you can stay here a while longer."

"I shouldn't stay in someone else's room," Emma said, moving to the edge of the bed and swinging her legs over. The room tilted a little and she gripped the edge of the bed, breathing hard. "Ahh, that's no good."

"Still a little drunk, I think," Marian laughed, helping her to her feet. They followed Lily back out to the living room, which was far less crowded now. Emma dropped onto one of the couches, still clutching the glass of water. Andrew, who had followed them out, dropped down in a nearby chair and gave her a look out of one half-opened eye. "Drink as much water as you can stand. It will help a bit," before his eyes shut and he seemed to drop off to sleep.

"Blondie's conked out again, I see," Rick chuckled, ambling in from the kitchen to drop down across from Emma. "You look decidedly better now."

"I feel better," she admitted, looking around the room. "I had the strangest dream, it's still with me ... I can almost taste the smell of it on my tongue."

"Huh," he gave her a lifted brow and looked at Marian, who shrugged before ambling off to the kitchen after Lily. Andy dropped down next to Emma and gave her a sympathetic smile.

"You won't do well on a flight if you're still like this in a few hours," she commented.

"No kidding," Emma answered, rubbing at her forehead. "But my hotel room is gone in a few days. I have to get my stuff and drive to Indianapolis tomorrow. Somehow."

"Give me your key and I'll bring your stuff back here, if you want," Rick offered. Andy shot him a look and he shrugged. "What? You've got room. Put her in that professor's room or that other guy ... the writer's room. He's never here, is he? Not since last Christmas, anyway."

"I can drive you," Andrew offered, lifting his head blearily. "Marian gave me her spare keys."

"Ohhh no, Blondie," Rick laughed and shook his head. "I'm not trusting you to take me anywhere ever again. Last time you were this out of it we ended up at that Anarchist meeting and I'm not convinced it was a mistake."

"They have good cake," the other man mumbled, drifting off again.

"If you don't mind me staying a couple of days, I'd really appreciate the bed," Emma told Andy. It wasn't entirely clear to her why she was suggesting it, but ... she had a good feeling about this place and wanted to get to know the people there a bit better. "I was supposed to interview for a possible position on the faculty on Monday morning, and I'd still like to, if they still intend to run the interview. Would that be all right?"

"Stay as long as you like," Andy shrugged. "The house is huge, and there's a room upstairs that's not rented out."

"Someone said this was your father's place?" Emma asked.

"It was," the other woman looked away briefly, her chin lifting. "My parents are dead, so it's technically my Uncle's place now. I have a very large family. Pretty much everyone in town who isn't a student is a relative of mine in some way. You won't be putting anyone out by taking a room. Most everyone here barely pays as it is."

The front door opened then, and a figure entered the room, shaved head gleaming in the electric lights. A few people said hello and, at first, Emma didn't really notice the newcomer, but then Andy was standing and saying, "Sol, this is Emma. She's going to be staying with us for a few days." Standing, Emma Lifted her head to get a better look as she was introduced and found herself under the influence of a pair of knowing gray eyes.

"Ah, I met -" he began to say, but the floor was slipping out from beneath her feet and she felt herself falling as the world went black.

The stone was cold beneath her knees. Damp, too. Something in her palm burnt and spit with stuttering green light that she could see, even with her eyes closed and nearly blinded her when she opened them. Her hands were strangely heavy and, lifting them, she heard the rattle of falling chains, felt the clasp of metal against her skin, but she was too busy staring at the weird green and glowing thing in her palm. It felt as though a live wire had embedded itself into her flesh, worming its way into her nervous system in painful fits and starts.

Was she back in the dream again?

A door banged open in front of her and she startled, eyes wide as the figures standing silhouetted made their way into the room, armor and weaponry glittering in the torch light. For the first time, Emma realized that there were others standing to either side of her as they stepped back, making room for ... she frowned, Andy and Lily? But ... these versions were older, harder - and Andy had a scar down one cheek that she hadn't had the last time Emma had seen her. The dark haired woman walked slowly behind her, while the other stopped in front of her, watching with narrowed eyes.

"Tell me," Andy said, in a voice laced with anger and lilting with an accent she did not have in the waking world, "Why we should not kill you now? The Conclave is destroyed. Everyone who attended is dead. Except for you." *

The ... what? Emma could only stare blankly, panic welling up in her chest. If this were a dream, it certainly felt too real, too present to be a dream, and ... yet, how could it possibly be real? Before she could think any further, however, her arm was grabbed, the green fire racing upward as the woman who looked so much like Andy growled, "Explain this."

"I ... can't," Emma gasped, terrified. "I don't know how it got there or what it is!"

"You're lying!"

Her shoulders were struck and grabbed, that scarred face drawn in such anger that Emma was hard put not to cry out, but then Lily ... or the woman who looked like Lily ... was pushing the other away, "We need her, Cassandra!" The two stared at one another and Cassandra backed toward the door, though she did not leave.

Emma looked up at the hooded figure, hints of red hair swinging around a pretty face and, despite herself, wanted to trust her. Probably a foolish notion, given the circumstances - she was likely playing the 'good cop' after all. "I have no idea what's going on ... I don't understand!" Emma gasped, hoping with everything in her that this woman would recognize the truth when she saw it.

"Do you remember what happened? How this all began?"

"I ...," she paused, remembering the dream from before - the figure and the spiders in the smoky, stinking place she'd managed to escape. "There was ... there were monsters ... things after me. I was running and there was a ... a woman. She was reaching toward me ... "

"A woman?" Lily asked, perplexed. But Cassandra was there, pushing her out the door.

"Go to the forward camp, Leliana. I will take her to the Rift."

Snow crunched underfoot as Emma followed Cassandra up out of the jail where she'd been kept and up through a building that looked like a medieval church and into the bright, gleaming light of day. As they stepped through the double doors, Emma squinted her eyes, nearly blinded by the sunlight, hunching her shoulders as the vague pounding in her head grew more persistent. But ... it wasn't sunlight, she saw as her eyes adjusted and she could see the sky above them, swirling like the eye of a hurricane, green and sick looking, jagged lines of fire racing down through the sky from the center of it ... fire that looked just like the energy that bled from her palm.

"We call it 'The Breach'," Cassandra explained as Emma stared upward in horror. "It's a massive rift into the world of demons that grows larger with each passing hour. It's not the only such rift. Just the largest. All were caused by the explosion at the Conclave."*

"The ... what could do such a thing?" Emma asked, wanting to run away and never look at the thing again. It felt wrong, as though everything that made sense in the world were being twisted and perverted into something strange and obscene. Though, whether that was what it actually felt like or what her fear was suggesting, she could not tell. "An explosion did that?"

"This one did," Cassandra answered, her eyes on the other woman's face. "Unless we act, the Breach may grow until it swallows the world."

"That ... seems excessive," Emma answered, trying to understand it all. As she spoke the Breach belched forth power, the undulating line of green fire shooting down from its center, widening and snapping with explosive force. The light on her hand snapped, too, the light growing suddenly brighter, fire flaring along her nerves and sending her to her knees in pain. Emma gasped, gritting her teeth.

"Every expansion of the Breach causes the mark on your hand to grow, as well," Cassandra said, dropping to a knee in front of Emma, her expression earnest. "It is killing you. But it may be the key to stopping this, as well. There isn't much time to find out."

"How ... how would that even work?" Emma managed, trying to find a calm space in the center of the fear and pain. "What do you intend to do?"

"We intend to close the Breach. It is our only chance to end this ... and yours." The other woman's eyes were, Emma thought, remarkably clear, as though she could see to the end of whatever path lay ahead of them.

"But you think I did this, somehow," she answered, "Why would you even let me near it again? What if I just make it worse?"

"That is a chance we must take," Cassandra's reply was swift, firm. "It may swallow you whole, as well. But it will kill us all if we do not make the attempt."

"Damned if I do and damned if I don't," Emma muttered, shaking her head, her hand pulled tight to her belly. It was still throbbing, painful pinpricks of energy shooting along her nerves. "Fine. I'll do what I can." It wasn't as though she had much choice in the matter - this Cassandra would likely just toss her into the nearest vehicle and cart her to wherever she was needed if she refused. Though ... Emma looked around, she wasn't entirely certain 'vehicle' meant the same thing here as it did at home.

She was walked through a village full of people wearing medieval garb that, Emma was convinced, wasn't for show or costume. There was snow on the ground, drifting high against the walls of the stone and wood buildings, and there whole place lay in a hollow between what looked to be impressive mountains. The people, Emma noticed, were not friendly in aspect or in words as she passed - more than one glowering and muttering the words "knife ear" in her direction. She had the unpleasant sensation that, had they their druthers, she'd be hanging from a gibbet about now - a pleasant thought.

When they came to the other side of the village gate, Cassandra stopped and used a blade to cut the ropes binding Emma's hand. Emma had a moment of utter fear when she'd seen the blade, certain that betrayal was the name of the game, but then the metal sliced through the fiber bindings and she was free. They began down the path once more, jogging across icy terrain until they came to another bridge.

Emma was attempting to explain the glowing figure in her dream to Cassandra, trying to word it so it made sense, when a bolt of green fire slammed into the bridge as they stood in the middle, throwing stone slabs and the guards on the other side down toward the ice below. Emma hit the ground on her side, barely avoiding the last of the falling rock, and heard someone - Cassandra - yelling about a demon. Her head lifted, and she froze, staring with terror as a great, misshapen thing rose from where the green fire boiled above the ice. Scrambling backward, she looked around for a weapon - anything would do, even a stick ... and she saw, tumbled out of a barrel that held any number of other weapons a bow and quiver.

"I can't believe I'm doing this," She muttered as she grabbed hold of them.

.

* NOTE: I've used a TON of dialog from the game, and I wasn't sure how to get around it. So ... here you go. I know most of us have likely played through this enough times to have it nearly memorized. .