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Nikita? Nikita no, no you have to stay in this story. I can't have more ideas! *grabs Nikita'a shirt collar* Noooo! *is dragged into another story* *sigh*

I rolled my eyes and gestured towards him with an open hand "really?" I held my hands up and shook my head "no, no, please, point a gun at me if it makes you feel better. Though you of all people should know it should do the very opposite."

"Don't call me that," Aragorn said sharply, glaring at Evander until the younger man glanced away. "Anyone else can call me that. Everyone but you." "It's who you are, Aragorn." The man snorted, the circlet sliding down his forehead slightly. "Why? Because a chance of birth. Because somewhere along the line, someone died and my sires didn't? You forget, you have just as much nobility in your blood as I. Perhaps more."

"Who's there?!" I yelled, the chill making my hair stand on edge. "Go to him. He's waiting for you." The voice said. I screamed as a white hot pain shot through my arm and hip, and felt myself being lifted up before everything went black.