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Strangers with Cookies	By : pirouette Category: +A through F > Dragon Age (all) > Dragon Age (all) Views: 9211 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Dragon Age/Bioware, its characters, or any content used for the basis of this fanfiction. I am making no money from this work.

Chapter List
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Title: Strangers with Cookies

Chapter Ten: �Either you have an enviable memory, or a pitiable life, to
know nothing of regret.�
Rating: T

Word Count: 1,850

Characters: f!Mahariel, Sten, Leliana, Alistair, Wynne, Morrigan,
Zevran, and your favorite camp of Dalish elves.

Summary:� Sten learns that he needs to work on his bedside
manner, and Leliana and Sarel have a pleasant chat about the Dales.

It would be obvious to Sten that they are nearing Adhara's
homeland even if he was privy to none of the details of her life. As they enter
the forest, something in her shoulders relaxes, and a tightness around her eyes
that he had not even realized was unnatural eases away. Her guard is slipping;
no longer is she a stranger in a hostile land. Watching the transformation
makes him both homesick for Seheron and guilty for being homesick. He might be
gone for a year, perhaps two, but in the end he will be able to go home.
But Adhara is a Warden now: it is in her blood, and her duty will never let her
return to her people.
If similar thoughts cross Adhara's mind, they do not show on
her face. She inhales the air of the forest, touches the leaves of plants
unfamiliar to Sten, and follows signs that no one else can see to lead them
toward the nearest clan. Mere hours after their entering the woods, they are
found by a band of hunters, or a group of soldiers, or�parshaara, he can't even
tell if they are all one gender.
The Dalish welcome Adhara with open arms, and by extension
agree to tolerate her fellow travelers. The leader of the group they found
agrees to take them to the main camp, and he hears Adhara having a hushed
conversation with�her, yes, and that armor is most impractical�as they
walk toward the center of the Dalish encampment. He lengthens his stride and
comes into the middle of Adhara answering a question about him.
��s a qunari,� she murmurs to the blonde elf.
�I thought he was just a tall shemlen,� she replies,
glancing over her shoulder at him with a nervous smile. �I thought qunari
weren't real!�
�If I had a handful of dirt for every time I've heard
someone say that about our people, I'd be Keeper of the Dales,�
Adhara mutters.
�Start grabbing then, lethallan,� laughs their guide.
Sten was expecting a stranger's welcome, but many of the
older elves know Adhara on sight, and those that don't are proud that a Dalish
has become a Grey Warden. Unexpected. But he knows before Keeper Zathrian tells
them that his clan is in no position to aid them: the camp reeks of blood. Even
the humans can smell it.
Werewolves. Adhara's face falls when she sees the injured
hunters, and she turns to Sten in frustration. �Why is this happening now? My
clan has been through this part of the forest countless times and never even seen
the werewolves.�
�You're lucky to have avoided the beasts,� replies the
keeper. �I refuse to let my clan outside of the camp boundary. We've lost too
many.�
Adhara sighs. �That's not a solution.�
He recognizes the look in her eyes; they are going to save
the Dalish, now. She plans with the keeper, promises to deal with the
werewolves and try to heal the infected, and then insists on heading into the
woods and bringing back several bucks. When Sten protests, she rounds on him
angrily. �They haven't had meat in days, and the hunters won't heal without
food.�
�So you want to speed their transformation, then, by giving
their bodies fuel? Better to put them out of their misery.�
He is not invited along with the hunting party. She takes
the priestess and the assassin, bows in hand, and leaves him standing in the
middle of a camp of Dalish with three humans. The Templar and the witch glue
themselves to his side immediately and busy themselves with sorting their gear.
The overbearing mage, however, marches directly toward the circle of tents
surrounding the injured hunters.
�They're not meant for entertainment, shemlen,� says
a nearby Dalish, walking to intercept her.
�I beg your pardon,� the mage replies. �I'm a healer, and I
was wondering if there is anything I could do.�
The Dalish puts her hands on her hips. �Our nurses and mages
are more than capable. We don't need you telling us how to save the lives of
our own clansmen.�
�No, no. I'm sorry. I meant�� he watches her take a deep
breath, and then look down at the Dalish pleasantly. �Do you need an extra
hand? I promise I'm quite good at following directions.��
�Shialle, leave her be,� interrupts a tired-looking,
grey-haired Dalish who emerges from one of the sick tents. �Ma nuvenin,
outsider. Come here.�
Thankfully, the witch and Templar keep to themselves, and
they spend the afternoon being largely ignored by the elves. When Adhara
returns with the assassin and the priestess, a buck slung over each of their
shoulders, the mage and the nurse are cautiously swapping healing and remedy
recipes. Adhara and the assassin begin cleaning and skinning the carcasses, and
the priestess walks toward a male Dalish who has been glaring at the Templar
for the past hour with his vivid green eyes.
�Your name is Sarel, yes?� she asks, sitting on a bench near
his. The children he has been singing to stare at her with wide eyes.
He nods. �What do you want?�
�I hear that you are a teller of stories, like I am! I was
wondering if you had any that you wished to share?�
At this question, Adhara glances up sharply from the carcass
she is gutting by the fire pit, passes her knife on to the assassin, and steps
in close. Sarel ignores the movement and gives the priestess a wide smile. �Of
course! I'm sure there's much we could learn from one another! After all,
someone so wise as to expect success in saving sick elves where their own
people have failed must have a vast deal of knowledge that we lack.�
�Lethallin,� Adhara murmurs, but he ignores her.
�Come, sit!" he continues. "What do you think,
children? Should well tell her of the fall of the Dales?� At these words, Adhara's
lips press into a thin line, and a small elf in pigtails stares intently at the
ground.
�Oh, I know that one,� the priestess smiles. �It was taught
to me in Orlais. Maybe we can compare versions! It would be interesting to see
what is different, don't you think?�
�I imagine very little is different,� he replies
blandly. �A history written by victors is surely an accurate one.�
�I... what?�
�Sarel,� Adhara interjects, placing a hand on the priestess'
shoulder. �Show my companions more respect.�
�Not everyone adored your parents, da'len.� His green
eyes meet hers coolly, and Sten feels himself bristling. �Don't order me around
like a lackey.�
�Asking you not to shame your clan with your rudeness has nothing
to do with my parents,� she retorts, then pulls on the priestess' hand. �Come
with me. I don't want him dropping your defenses and then striking at you
again. And he will do that, Lel.�
She keeps the rest of them close to her for the remainder of
the night. The others are as quiet as Sten at dinner that evening, sitting in
the center of a mass of Dalish, though the meal itself proves less awkward than
the rest of the day; the venison has put the elves in a good mood, and soon
they are telling jokes and asking how life has been among the shemlen.
Sten is mortified to hear her share the tale of his discovery that she is
female. The feeling intensifies when an elf behind him smacks him on the back
and demands he identify its gender.
�Parshaara,� he mutters, beginning to rise, but
Adhara stops him and silently passes a slice of venison from her plate to his.
�Brothers and sisters,� she laughs. �Allow me to distract
you with another tale.� Next comes the human bartender in Denerim, the merchant
caravan, and fighting the dwarves in Orzammar. Adhara smiles the entire time,
playing the crowd skillfully, face more animated than he has ever seen it. Sten
had never thought of Adhara as a social creature, but he had clearly been
mistaken. This shouldn't have surprised him, however, as he had found himself
becoming even more quiet than usual among the humans. Still, the nights they
sat watch together in silence now seem painful rather than pleasant. Had she wanted
to talk?
The green-eyed Dalish interrupts his reverie and the elves' side
conversations with a clear voice. �I want to hear a specific story, lethallan.�
�And which story is that, Sarel?�
�Tell us how the daughter of the greatest keeper of your
clan becomes a Grey Warden. How is it that your place was not among your
people?�
Adhara's smile fades, and the tightness around her eyes
returns. Vashedan. He doesn't want to see her look like that. He starts to rise
again, but the Templar is already on his feet. �She's fighting the Blight! How
is that not helping her people? She's protecting everyone, regardless of race!
You should be proud of her!�
�Make no mistake, shemlen,� he replies. "If
Ferelden fell to the Blight, the Dalish wouldn't mourn its passing. Let the
darkspawn save us the trouble, I say.�
�The Blight isn't a wolf you can outrun, Sarel,� Adhara
says. �The only reason the darkspawn aren't killing our people already is
because humans and dwarves are dying by the thousands to stop the tide. If you
think you're suffering now at the hands of the werewolves, wait until your
kindred begin transforming into shrieks.�
A long silence stretches out across the camp. Once Sarel
will no longer meet her eyes, she continues. �And as for why I left my people?
I was ordered to by Keeper Marethari. I was sent from my clan to fight for
their safety. One wonders if you would have been as brave had Zathrian asked
the same.��
The elves seem to decide unanimously that dinner is over,
and arrangements for beds should be made for their guests. Space is made for the
party's tents, and when it is discovered that Sten does not have one of his
own, they offer one of elven make.
�I will be fine,� he grumbles, but Adhara thanks them and
sets it up herself.
�Mornings in the forest are very wet. You'll wake chilled to
the bone if you sleep outside.��
It is strange to sleep within a tent. It dulls sounds and
blocks sight and provides a sense of safety, though it is not a true barrier
like being behind walls. Arrows pierce cloth, and the sleeper might never see
or hear the attack coming. But Adhara insists that the Dalish guards will see
danger long before it becomes a problem. He drifts restlessly, listening to the
sounds of the forest, and jolts wide awake when Adhara lets herself into his
tent some time later. She says nothing, but pulls his blanket over them both
and curls against his chest.
Strangely, sleep comes easily once she is near, and he is
surprised when he wakes alone to the sounds of mid-morning.

�
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Strangers with Cookies