Thunder woke her. The rumble of it seemed to shake the house. The digital clock was dark. The only light in the room was the faint glow from the small fire in the fireplace.

Remus whined at the french doors leading to the garden. His pale blue eyes glowed slightly in the fire light when he turned toward her. The black fur at the nape of his neck and along his spine stood up.

She slipped out of bed and wrapped a silk, lavender colored, robe around her and moved to his side. She gently rubbed his wolf shaped head.

"What's wrong boy?" Cara asked him. "It's just a thunderstorm."

Remus whined and then growled low in his throat. He rarely cared about storms. Not even as a pup after she had found him nearly frozen and half drowned after a sudden spring blizzard.

"It's raining buckets, and the power's out. Whatever is out there can wait until morning." She wondered about the time. She reached for her cell phone and hit the button. The screen danced oddly and then went black. "Strange, I thought I charged -"

Another strike of lightning. "Ahhh!" She screamed when the branch crashed just short of the glass doors. "Ok, that was too close for comfort." The tree was charred, but the rain kept it from doing more than smoke.

Remus growled, ears back, hackles raised. When the spots in her eyes faded she saw a strange green glow beyond the garden. The green light seemed to shift in size, grew larger and then in a flash of brilliant light, it blinked out. How odd, she thought, it looked just like a - no, not possible. Lights reflecting off the underside of the clouds often produce strange effects in storms.

Remus paced the room, looking toward the storm. Cara sighed. "No way. I'm not going out in that. Rain aside, the lightning is suicide." She pulled the flashlight from her drawer but it only flickered a moment. "How is everything out of batteries?" The flashes of light from the lightning storm cast eerie shadows on the walls and floor.

She moved slowly down the hall feeling her way to the kitchen. She had batteries in the drawer, and if nothing else, candles on the counter.

When she reached the kitchen the storm ended. The silence was startling. Within moments the hum of the refrigerator preceded the flickering of the porch light as it came on. She let out a breath of relief. "See, nothing to worry about, just a freak storm." The flashlight in her hand flickered and came on. She frowned and turned it off.

Remus pawed at the door and growled. "Fine, you win." Cara knew the wolf-hybrid would pace the house until she let him check things out.

She walked back to her room, pulled on blue jeans and a sweatshirt. "I'll go with you." She slipped into a pair of tennis shoes and with flashlight in hand opened the door to the garden.

The branch slid along the stone walk giving them a foot of space to move through. She pushed the door shut behind her, and picked up the broken branch. With a sigh she set aside the branch that had once shaded her favorite spot.

She followed the stone walkway to the gate, her footsteps nearly silent. Decorative iron fencing surrounded the small garden kept the deer and elk out. The only damage appeared to be the tree branch. She stopped a few feet past the gate and shined the light out into the meadow. Remus stayed at her side, his nose and ears in constant motion as he read the smells and sounds on the wind.

As she made a sweep with the flashlight, something caught and reflected the light back. Slowly she moved the flashlight back to the spot. Remus growled and lowered his head. Cara moved forward slowly, keeping the light on whatever reflected it back to her. She stared in confusion at what lay on the ground before her.

A large sword had reflected the light. She swept her flashlight around again. A sword didn't just land here, someone brought it, so who carried it here, and where were they?

"Find them Remus, they might be hurt."

Remus sniffed at the sword on the ground then made circles around it getting wider until he caught a scent. He howled and moved toward the barn.

Cara lifted the sword, and found it lighter than expected. She followed after Remus. As they neared the barn, light from the flashlight reflected in footprints filled with rain water.

"Someone came this way, that's for sure." She found the barn door ajar. Pushing it open she stepped inside and made her way to the light switch. The old wooden barn built by her great-grandfather had stood sturdy through the years. She'd put electricity and plumbing in when she inherited it from her father fifteen years ago.

With spring just starting most of her horses were still out in their winter pastures. Only two were in the barn. One of her mares, Daisy never strayed far from the main ranch and was still heavy with foal. She kept her gelding, Scout, nearby for riding. With the barn bathed in light she now saw the blood splatters from the door into one of the empty stalls.

"Hello?" She called out. "Is someone there? Are you hurt?" Remus growled at her hip, but she waved a hand and he sat, waiting permission to defend her. "If you're injured I can help."

A soft rustling of straw and a hiss of pain was the only answer.

"Look, this is my barn you're in. I don't know how you found this place, but I know you're bleeding." She stood outside the stall and peered over the half door. "Oh!"

The young man staring back at her bore a remarkable resemblance to someone, but it had to be a trick. She tilted her head and studied him. White hair, dark slashing brows and large green eyes. She'd seen kids cosplaying, and many costumes were very convincing. This one was the best one she'd seen yet. The ears and markings hadn't lost any of their realness from the rain. She held up her hands and pulled the door open with her foot.

"I'm Cara, and this is my barn." She spoke softly and moved slowly. He looked confused and frightened.

"Where am I?" His voice was startlingly familiar.

She blinked at him a moment. "Did your car break down in the storm? You're a long way from the highway." 30 miles from the highway in fact. "You're in Montana."

"Is this the Hinterlands?" The man tried to sit up but winced and fell back.

She rushed to him and pulled his hand away. "That's a pretty nasty cut." She jumped up and went for the first aid kit in the tack room. Aside from a few finger sized bandages it was full of gauze to tend her horses.

She knelt beside him and pressed the folds of gauze against the tear in his leather tunic. "Put pressure on it." He pressed his hand to the wound. "If I helped, do you think you can walk?" He nodded. She reached for his free arm and put it over her shoulder, gripping the back of his - shirt or maybe armor. She pulled him up.

His attire looked and felt authentic, down to the black leather foot wraps around the arch of his feet. She sighed at the thought of the mud he would track in. At least the wooden floors would be easy to clean.

She headed toward the kitchen door. He walked shakily, and leaned heavily on her. She had to be ten times the fool to bring a stranger into her home. She should just call an ambulance and let them deal with him. She pushed open the door and flipped on the light. He made a slight gasping sound and looked around.

"It's nothing fancy, but I like the rustic look." Most people were surprised by the authentic wood stove the room was centered around and commented that she should update her appliances. But Cara liked the old stove too much to part with it.

She moved through the room and down the hall. She had two choices. Her bed, or the spare room. She opened the door of the latter and saw the mess of Christmas decorations still waiting to be packed and pulled the door closed with a curse. Grace's room was a definite no. That left her bed. "Sorry, I guess I put off cleaning the room a tad too long."

She went to the last room and set him in a chair near the fireplace. "I'll go get my things. Can you - undress yourself or do you need help?"

He gave a nervous coughed. "I believe I can manage."

"Good, I'd - well - dry off and lie down." She tossed him a big towel, poked at the fire and added another log, then left the room.

Fenris stared at the closed door a moment, then surveyed the room around him. The fireplace was a familiar sight, but the rest seemed out of place. The wooden logs for walls were found in cabins, but the light fixtures, and furniture were quality pieces. Furniture one would expect to find in a Magister's home. The glass doors to his left were only seen in the richest of homes.

The bed was made of similar fashion as the walls, but he wouldn't call it a poor man's bed. The floors and walls shone as if polished. And the lighting was a magic he had no knowledge of. He knew little about Ferelden, but what he had heard didn't fit what he was seeing.

He lifted his arm and winced as the wound stretched. He removed his belt and worked at the buckles along the side, he set his armor against the wall. Using the chair to steady himself he stood and shucked his leggings, then sat and removed his foot wraps. His exhaustion wasn't from the wound, but he couldn't remember the last time he felt this weak. He pressed the cloth she had given him against the wound to slow the bleeding. He warmed and dried himself in front of the fireplace, and worked the feeling back into his cold limbs.

He thought about moving to the bed. She had mentioned it, but he saw her silk wrap tossed where the covers were thrown back. It felt wrong to take her bed.

He rubbed the towel over his hair and a stab of pain drew his attention. The large knot was wet, and sticky, not all of the moisture in his hair was rain water. He sighed and tried to remember where he was before things grew hazy.

He'd been following a group through the Hinterlands. Seeker Pentaghast had taken Varric to Haven, hoping to lure Hawke out. The camp he nearly walked into belonged to Tevinter mercenaries, not Chantry forces. He continued to follow them after overhearing them discuss the Temple of Sacred Ashes, and the Elder One. If he made it to the Temple he couldn't remember.

A thud jarred the door a moment before it opened. The woman pushed it open and stepped in. She carried linens and small boxes. A strange transparent bag was held between her teeth. She glanced his way and frowned. She placed the items on a table next to the bed and turned to him.

"I can't mend that with you sitting. " She took a towel from the pile and laid it over the bed. "I have ice for that knot on your head."

With hands on her hips she waited. Most women cast shy glances, as if they were afraid to be seen looking at him. Some, like Isabela were bolder, but their expression was often lustful. This woman looked at him as if he were a child needing tended, and a good scolding for getting hurt in the first place. He couldn't help the smirk as he stood, holding the towel around his waist.

"I believe I require help."

Her expression went owl eyed. "Oh, damn. Sorry I should have…." She rushed to him and he draped his arm around her shoulder. A slight shudder moved over him when her arm circled his waist. "Sorry, I suppose my hands are still cold from getting the ice."

Her hands were far from cold against his skin. He was glad she couldn't see his expression as he studied her. She was short for a human, but she was strong for her size, though. He could feel the muscles in her arms and along her shoulders. Light brown hair, hung in a long braid past her waist. Fine lines near her eyes and mouth were in contrast to her ageless looks. Her nose and cheeks were splattered with a mist of freckles.

He sat on the bed and tried to swing his legs up, he was weaker than he expected. Once he was settled she pulled the gauze from his side. She pursed her lips and frowned.

"What happened? It looks like a knife wound, but... I'd almost think it was from a sword."

"I don't seem to remember what happened."

"Probably the bump on your head. Hopefully the memory loss is temporary." She held out a glass of water and strange white items.

"What are those?" He asked.

"Something for the pain. It's not much, but it will help a little." When he didn't take them, she put them back in the bottle and brushed her hand on her breeches. "Or not. Okay then. I'll be right back." She moved to a door in the room he had missed before and he heard water running. She returned drying her hands. "This might sting a bit."

"I have a high tolerance of pain." He laid back and stared at the ceiling.

Despite the lack of familiar potions and salves she was a skilled healer and was done quickly.

"That was relatively easy. Most of my patients are more fidgety." She said brushing a stray hair behind her ear. "From the look of things, this is far from your first knife wound. You might want to consider finding different friends to sword fight with."

He chuckled. "I will take that into consideration."

"I never asked your name."

"Fenris."

The smile on her face fell and she grew pale. Then she shook her head. "I realize you take this role play thing serious, I doubt anyone has a more authentic custom, nor have they gone to such lengths with the tattoos, but I asked for your real name."

"The name my mother gave me was Leto, but I was given a new name when I received these markings. Fenris is the name that fits me now."

"Okay, fine. I'll play along for now. Maybe that bump on your head is worse than I thought." She reached for a cylinder object. A bright light shone at one end. "I'm going to shine this in your eyes and check for a concussion."

She frowned and set the light back on the table. "Well, it doesn't look like you have a concussion. Any dizziness, or headache?"

"None other than the bump itself. I've been told I have a hard head."

She chuckled. "I will let you sleep." She handed him the clear bag with ice. "Put this on the bump, it will help with the swelling." She grabbed a pillow from the other side of the bed, and turned off the light as she left the room.

Fenris felt his eyes grow heavy. He'd fought the exhaustion all he could and slipped into a fitful sleep.

Cara grabbed two blankets from the hall closet and headed toward the living room. The leather couch wasn't her favorite place to sleep, but it would work for one night.

She grabbed the sword she had retrieved earlier. Real or not, it would be a shame to let it rust from the rain. While she wiped it down and cleaned it she thought over the night's events. She worried at her bottom lip. What he said couldn't be true! He had to be stuck in a delusion caused by whatever accident had happened. The markings on his skin seemed real, or at least they were actual tattoos and not make up like most people used. That they covered his entire body simply meant he was dedicated to his cosplay. Some fanatics were. They immersed themselves in their favorite character. Had he also had plastic surgery to alter his face and ears? Maybe he did this as a professional gig, and needed to be as authentic as possible. If so he had done an amazing job of become his character. She was too tired to worry about who he was. Maybe in the morning he would remember more.

Remus lay on the rug in front of the fireplace. He lifted his head when she unfolded a blanket. After she settled between them, he moved to sleep on the floor beside her. The clock on the wall chimed four AM. She would sleep until seven if she could. With a groan she pounded her pillow and drifted off.