"There are men that struggle against destiny, and yet achieve only an early grave. There are men who flee destiny, only to have it swallow them whole. And there are men who embrace destiny, and do not show their fear. These are the ones that change the world forever." - Flemeth.

Flemeth pursed her lips as she peered down at the young girl tucked into her bed, only looking a couple years older than her own Morrigan but much like Flemeth, herself, this girl, this woman-child, wasn't as young as she looked though not through the same method as Flemeth used.

Accidental immortality, it was almost amusing that this woman-child would unlock a type of immortality without trying. How many men and women had strived for everlasting life? How many Demons had made pacts with foolish mortals who feared Death and coveted more Life then the Gods allotted them? How many daughters had she sacrificed to keep her own immortality? How many elves yearned for their old immortality? And yet, this woman-child had become immortal by chance, by accident.

"Mother?"

She glanced over her shoulder to see Morrigan standing in front of the door of their hut, her golden eyes were fixed on the girl tucked in the bed.

"Who is she?" Morrigan frowned slightly.

"A complication," Flemeth muttered as she returned her own golden gaze to the sleeping girl. "A tempest mistaken as a breeze, she could change everything but will she? We will have to see."

This woman-child could either hinder or aid her, Flemeth would just have to wait and see which path she would choose.

Truthfully, I had expected to end up here one day. If there was one fiction I had become obsessed fully with it was the Dragon Age series. I loved it, I loved the stories, the characters. I had simply loved it, in all my lives that it came out in I had played it loads.

So despite knowing the utter pile of shit that was going to hit the fan in the future, I was as pleased as punch—yeah, that saying doesn't really suit me, does it?—because I was totally in love with Dragon Age.

Yeah, yeah, I'm screwed up in the head.

Their unexpected guest was gone, the blanket thrown back and the bed cold where she had slept.

Morrigan glanced around, there wasn't really anywhere for their guest to hide which meant she had left the safety of the hut. She scowled, what a foolish girl, and pushed herself to her feet, pausing only to wrap her wolf-skin blanket around her, before padding her way softly to the door and opened it slightly so she could peer out.

Mist curled and crept up pale long legs like questing fingers, an oversized tunic—from one of Mother's old bed partner—fluttered around her thighs. One shoulder was bare, the sleeve sliding down her shoulder, and her arms were crossed under her budding chest, not tightly out of cold but as if that was how she found it most comfortable holding them that way. Rich brown hair wavered in the cool pre-morning breeze and one slender hand reached up to tuck the pesky locks behind one round ear.

"I know you're there," the other girl called out, not even glancing back at Morrigan and she scowled as she left the relative warmth of her home and across the damp grass to where the girl stood staring out at the little river that trickled around her home.

"'Tis most foolish to stay out in the cold," Morrigan informed her with a proud tilt to her chin.

A ghost of a smile curled at the other girl's lips, dark eyes glancing down at her almost in amusement.

"It is more foolish to follow said fool out into the cold," she countered and Morrigan scowled, she half-turned to go back to the hut and let the stupid fool freeze when she spoke again; "Thank you for your concern."

Morrigan glanced back, a glare hardening her golden gaze; "I was not concerned!"

"Of course," the smile was back, quirking one side of her mouth higher so her smile looked crooked. "My mistake."

"I just didn't want all of Mother's work to go to waste because you were foolish enough to catch your death of cold," Morrigan snapped and continued to glare, the other girl laughed lightly.

It wasn't the giggle that she had heard the girls in Lothering give, nor was it the cackle that Flemeth liked to let loose. It was just a simple laugh, a chuckle. There was nothing false about it, she wasn't self-conscious about actually laughing instead of giggling because apparently that was more lady-like, it wasn't a laugh that was meant to intimidate like Flemeth's nor was it like the echoing eerie laughs that Flemeth let loose when they hunted Templars stupid enough to enter their Wilds and attempt to hunt them.

It was an honest laugh, something that Morrigan was unused too, and she liked it and liked its inherent warmth that made her blush lightly—to her mortification—and making the other girl's smile become warmer somehow.

"I don't like being cooped up," the girl told her almost idly. "I'll be back in soon, I promise."

"I do not care what you do," Morrigan sniffed as she drew her wolf-skin closer and began to make her way back, she paused just at the door and glanced back at the back of the girl's head. "What is your name?"

There was a beat of silence and Morrigan almost huffed in irritation that she wasn't going to get an answer when;

"Kiara,"

"Kiara, huh?"

Kiara didn't even stiffen in surprise as she glanced at the older woman, white hair cascaded down her straight back, shoulders set, and she was dressed rather simply with actual shoes as she stepped out of the shadows—Morrigan hadn't even sensed her. Flemeth, the Witch of the Wilds, Mythal.

Of course she would end up with Flemeth, the Gods truly loved to make her life difficult.

"I think it suits me," she said, her tone casual. "Don't you?"

Flemeth hummed slightly as she stood next to her, her golden gaze fixed to the Wilds that surrounded them.

"Names are pretty things, but ultimately useless," Flemeth said and Kiara could understand where she was coming from, how many names had Flemeth gained through the years? How many names had Kiara gained throughout her numerous lives? Too many was the honest answer, but they had their uses.

"Not totally useless," Kiara disagreed. "Stops people just randomly shouting 'hey, you!' and expecting you to stop."

Flemeth cackled, actually cackled instead of chuckling or laughing, and something cold went down her back. Kiara decided that Flemeth's cackle was a lot more unnerving in person than watching and hearing it through a TV.

"True, true," Flemeth agreed, an echo of the cackle underlining her words.

There was a lull then, a long silence that crackled with tension. Both were mostly aware of what the other one was, both were deadly in their own way (Flemeth though had the upper hand, she had magic and a body that she was used too while Kiara only could rely of her experience in fighting and hadn't had the chance to adapt to her new body which would lead to mistakes and ultimately her death) and both were unsure of the other.

Kiara knew that Flemeth could easily kill her, but for some reason the other woman was hesitating.

"I'm not sure what to do with you," Flemeth finally admitted, a frown creasing her face.

"Not sure whether to kill me or not," Kiara expanded lightly, Death had never truly scared her and after so many different deaths or almost-should-be-deaths, it had become more annoying than anything else.

"Quite," Flemeth agreed, glancing down at Kiara with golden eyes.

There was a tint of green to her eyes, Kiara noticed, that Morrigan didn't share.

"I know what you are, who you are," Kiara corrected herself and was aware of the tension in Flemeth's frame and the almost static feel to the air that she supposed was Flemeth's magic preparing to strike her down, it raised the hair on her arms and the back of her neck and something, someone, in the back of her head was screaming: 'DANGER! DANGER! BACK AWAY!' "I know you have a plan of some sort, I know you fight against the Blights and your plan has something to do with dragons, and perhaps The People."

Kiara paused and licked her lips, mind going back to the forums that she had read and the theories that people had come up with and bounced around. The lore that was discussed and dissected, pieced back together. Some of the theories were brilliant, they made sense, while others were simply amusing.

"I think it's got something to do with the Black City," she continued though slightly uncertain. "I think you, Mythal, had something to do with it and something—someone—is sealed up there that you want to keep there."

The Black City was real, they all knew that and had accepted that. Some people accepted that the Maker was real in Thedas while others believed that it had something to do with the elven gods—though they were unsure if they were actual gods or just really powerful spirits or had been very powerful mages—and the Maker was one of them or being impersonated by one of them or something evil or whatever. Most agreed that there had to be something in the Black City, there had to be a reason why so many people became obsessed with it.

"I think that person almost killed Mythal," she added and glanced up at Flemeth's face to see it unreadable. "I think you know who was behind the Blights because it wasn't the Magisters, they may have brought it down to Thedas, in a more obvious way, but it was here before that. I think that the person trapped in the Black City is responsible for the Blights."

Red lyrium had proved that, the old Thaig proved that. If you listened or read the lore then you would realise that the Taint came before the First Blight, some even had thought that Andruil, Elven Goddess of the Hunt, was the partially responsible for the Taint.

In the stories, Andruil had gone mad from hunting the Forgotten Ones and plague had made her lands suffer—some thought that was the first record of the Taint. She had been stopped by Mythal and sealed away, her memories of the Void taken. But because she was a woman, they didn't think it was her in the Black City as most used Sandal's prophecy as a basis.

And Sandal was clear it was a He, the Maker was a He and the Old Gods were all males so ergo, whoever was in the Black City was male, able to influence the minds of people through the Fades—she had read one theory that connected all that, and had even suggested that the Magisters had heard the person sealed away and He had pretended to be Dumat and the other Old Gods to lure them into the Black City.

But there wasn't enough knowledge, enough lore, to make concrete theories about all those things and that frustrated her because she didn't know enough to know all of Flemeth's plans, what she was aiming for in the end, what Solas will be aiming for in the future. It had something to do with the elves, it had something to do with the Fade, with the Blights, with whatever was in the Black City.

All she knew that it was a reckoning, it involved some type of betrayal—Thedas' history was filled with betrayal—and Solas and Flemeth were working towards the same thing and were friends.

"I don't know all of it," she admitted. "I don't think I'll ever be able to trust you," she paused to let out a long sigh. "But I don't think I'll attempt to infer with your plans, I don't think you're about to destroy all of Thedas, and I don't know exactly what you have planned and, frankly, I don't want to know. I'm not getting involved."

Flemeth hummed slightly, a humourless smile curling her lips.

"You are here now," Flemeth told her. "You're already involved."

"I'm not the Hero though," Kiara pointed out and Flemeth actually grinned at her.

"Neither am I, but we have our own parts to play," Flemeth said almost wisely. "We will have to see what your part will be."

"Joy," Kiara said dryly and Flemeth laughed.

"I like you,"

"Joy,"

I should have paid more attention to the lore and the theories that others had come up with, especially since most had a good basis for them. This life is going to be a headache on top of a headache. I hate my life fully, mostly—okay I was still too damn excited for the mess I had landed myself into to fully hate it.

"You're not staying," it was a statement not a question.

"No I'm not," Kiara answered all the same as she weighed the different weapons in her hands—Flemeth had a large collection of weapons from the men she had seduced to her hut.

Part of her wanted to use one of the broad-swords just because it would be awesome and epic to carry a sword bigger than her around and it was one of the reasons so many people choose warriors class—hell that's why she did a few warrior playthroughs though she was a much better rogue or even a mage—but it wasn't logically and just a childish desire that she had long learnt to ignore.

Daggers were good weapons, good for throwing at mid-distance and great at close-distance because of how easy they were to manoeuvre so they would be good for her to keep. Bows and arrows were needed for hunting—as well as good snares and traps—and were good to snipe people off from a distance, brilliant for impersonal kills and anonymous ones so they were a keeper.

"Where are you going?" Morrigan asked though it almost sound like a demand as she watched Kiara.

"Somewhere I can earn some coin," Kiara told her, glancing up with dark eyes after testing the string of one of the bows that Flemeth had—she was thankful that Clint thought it was a crime not to know how to shoot a bow and had taught her.

She wasn't the best, she didn't have Clint's amazing skill with the bow nor was she Katniss Everdeen. But she had learnt the value of hard-work and knew she would get better with practice. She already was quite good, if she said so herself.

Morrigan frowned, Kiara had been around for almost four months and Morrigan had gotten used to her presence. It was almost nice, a welcoming change, to have someone other than Mother in her life.

It had been interesting seeing the strange exercises that Kiara forced herself to go through each morning, especially since it was obvious that Kiara wasn't a morning person, and teaching her about all the plants that Kiara would need to know about—giving her basic herbalism training which could save her life in the future.

Kiara had been surprisingly adapt to bandaging wounds, sewing up deep wounds, setting bones and popping joints back in place as well hunting. Flemeth had even taught Kiara how to tan the skins of the animals that she hunted, Kiara had an unnerving ability to walk silently, even in the Wilds, and used that to her advantage when hunting—Morrigan and Flemeth wouldn't be running out of leathers, furs or dried meats for a long while thanks to Kiara.

"You don't have to leave," the words slip out before she even realised what she had said and Morrigan flushed as Kiara looked up with a strange look that softened when Morrigan ducked her head to hide her red cheeks.

A warm hand landed on Morrigan's head, slender fingers entwining through her black locks as Kiara stood over Morrigan with her superior height.

"I have too," she began gently as Morrigan looked up through her dark fringe before a smirk twisted her features. "How else am I going to afford all the pretty jewellery to shower you in?"

Morrigan decided to bite her lip so she didn't blurt out that she didn't need jewellery to be happy if Kiara just stayed. Instead, she took a deep steadying breathe and looked up with Kiara's smirk, the red retreating from her pale cheeks.

"They best be fit for a Queen," Morrigan declared haughtily and Kiara laughed.

"Of course,"

I had always loved Morrigan, the bitchy mage with a hidden soft side and a fucked-up past that made me want to cuddle her.

She didn't have a rose-tinted view of the world—something I hadn't had since my first childhood because I read too much and watched too much TV to pretend that the world was a paradise or even a perfectly nice place—and jaded in a way that I could understand. She could be ruthless, a trait that I had admired and could relate too—there had been little I wouldn't do to survive or to keep my loved ones safe.

She was as comfortable with emotions as I used to be until I learnt to bullshit my way through things, and when you got under her skin, and in her heart, she was loyal and willing to do anything for your survival.

She had a casual arrogance around her that reminded me of Tony in a way and of myself in others as I tried to never to outdo Tony Stark with steer arrogance and Morrigan didn't have his flair.

Morrigan was a survivor and a fighter, I admired her and I adored her almost as much I did gentle and awkward Alistair and Varric the ultimate bullshitter with a heart of gold and a majestic chest of hair.