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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
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Chapter List
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Title: Strangers with Cookies
Chapter Thirteen: "This place stinks of
desperation.�
Rating: T (language)
Characters: f!Mahariel, Sten, Leliana, Zevran,
various Alienage elves, and an incorrigible tabby.
Summary: Zevran and Adhara don't see eye-to-eye on the
way the city elves live, and Sten spends several pages (being a)musing about
cats.

Sten opens the door to her room and pauses in the entryway.
Adhara is splayed across the bed in her smallclothes and chest wrappings,
looking strangely forlorn. Beside her is a small, orange tabby of the variety
they normally see running away from them in alleyways. Except this one smells
clean, and appears to be begging for attention.
�Hi,� Adhara says without looking up. The cat rolls onto its
back and offers its stomach to her, and she buries her fingers in its fur. �I
think I'm beginning to understand why shemlen keep pets. This cat
followed me in from the kitchen.�
�It is likely that it just wants you to feed it.�
�I know,� she frowns, shifting her grey eyes to his. �But I
don't care. Her fur is soft, and I like hearing her purr.�
So that is the word for the noise the creature is making. Oddly
descriptive for the common tongue. Sten steps into the room and closes the door
behind him. �You have been out of sorts since dinner. Is the cat helping that?�
She nods. �Surprisingly, yes.�
He sits on the bed beside her and scowls when the cat leaps
away from Adhara and runs for the door. She laughs and curls in Sten's lap,
then begins making a soft clicking noise that summons the cat back to her. It
jumps back onto the mattress, fixes its green eyes on Sten, and begins
twitching its tail, but comes no closer.
�Pet her.�
Sten gazes down at the cat, which stares back up at him.
�Why?�
�Because she's not going to come back over here unless you
do. Either you pet her, or I kick you out of my room.�
�Hmph.� Sten replies, and holds out his hand toward the
tabby. It sniffs him, then bumps its head against his palm.
�See? She likes you!�
Its fur is clean, and does not feel unpleasant against his
fingers. And the purring proves oddly relaxing. There are worse things than
petting a cat, he decides. Though he hopes that Adhara won't become attached;
it would be impossible to care for such a creature while traveling.
After watching them both for a few moments, Adhara shoves
him backward on the bed. Both she and the cat arrange themselves on his chest
once he has gotten comfortable against the bedding. He has become used to
Adhara doing this over the past few days, but the cat has claws which prove
slightly uncomfortable, and it kneads at him for a few moments before settling
down beside her.
�What is troubling you, kadan?� he asks. She removes her
ponytail, sending her dark hair down around her ears and shoulders, and he
buries his fingers in it before she asks him to.
�Alistair,� she sighs, looking up his chest toward his face.
�Eamon wanting to make him king just doesn't sit well with me, especially after
wasting all that time to save the sodding queen.�
Sten works his fingers through a tangle and thinks. �Are you
suggesting he flee from his duty?�
She shakes her head. �I'm not sure it's his duty at all. He
wasn't raised by nobles. He has no... noble training. It's like if Keeper Marethari
had decided to put me in charge of my clan. I wouldn't know what to do, and
there are some things that I literally can't do that I'd need to. And
Alistair is a Grey Warden. He can't... be both, can he?�
�One man, one life, one duty,� Sten replies, and she sighs
and buries her face in his shirt.
�Shemlen politics makes no sense. You'd think the
king of the nation would be their most competent leader, not the son of the man
with the biggest stick.�
The corners of Sten's mouth twitch. �You sound like a qunari.�
�No,� she retorts, lifting her head and narrowing her eyes
at him in mock disapproval, �I sound like a Dalish. Our leaders choose
who will succeed them from their apprentices. Lines are rarely hereditary.�
Sten thinks back to Sarel and the other elves in the camp.
�Your father was your clan's keeper, but you became a hunter.�
Adhara traces a spiral on his shirt while the cat continues
purring beside her. �Yes, because I wasn't born a mage.�
He is glad of that fact, but decides that it would be unwise
to say so. After a few minutes' silence, Adhara speaks again. �Sleep in here
with me tonight.�
�Gladly.� For the first time, the bed appears large enough
to comfortably fit them both.
The cat stays with them, which he had not anticipated, and
so he spends the night on his side with Adhara pressed against his chest and
the tabby purring in a ball on his hip.
His sleep proves as restful as his awakening is abrupt. The
door to the suite opens, and an unfamiliar elven shriek fills the air as the
maid in the doorway spies him. Parshaara, she has thrown the linens she was
holding. The tabby leaps from the bed with a hiss and hides beneath a chair,
fur standing nearly on end.
The maid stares at them both with wide eyes, and Adhara sits
up and begins to giggle. �Well, we're awake. What do you want?�
�Sers, you really shouldn't�� her eyes flit to Adhara's bare
chest before she clamps them tightly shut. �He shouldn't be here with you! He
has his own room!�
�And he spent the night in mine.�
�The two of you should get dressed, sers,� the elf insists.
�And he should go back to his room. Eamon's an early riser, and he's in the
habit of coming round and checking on his guests in the mornings.�
Adhara shrugs and rises, staring at the maid while naked,
hands on her hips. �So? Why should he care who shares my bed?�
�It's... rude,� the maid manages, and bends to pick
up the scattered laundry.
Sten shakes his head and swings his legs over the edge of
the bed. When the maid sees that he is suitably clothed, she breathes a small
sigh of relief and ducks around Adhara to stoke the fire.
�Kadan.�
She looks over at him. �What?�
He pulls the large blanket from the bed and places it over
her head so that her body is covered from head to toe. �We are not in camp. Get
dressed.�
Sten decides that he is lucky the blanket prevents her from
seeing his amused expression when she begins to grumble. Unfortunate that there
is no way to craft armor this concealing; even in plate he has had difficulty
fighting beside her without distraction recently. He changes his shirt while
Adhara puts on trousers and a top, and they leave together to go find breakfast
while the maid is still taking care of their room.
...The cat is following them. When Sten looks down at it, it
tangles itself between his legs, and he nearly trips. Adhara laughs at them
both and steps around them. �She likes you! Why not name her?�
He stares after her. �...It's a tabby. It has a
name.�
Adhara mutters under her breath. Sten's mind tries to
translate the sounds out of habit, so by the time he realizes that she spoke his
language he has lost the meaning. At this rate he will have forgotten how to
speak in his own tongue by the time he returns to Seheron.
�How are you going to tell it apart from the tabby that
hunts mice in the kitchen, then?� she asks.
He looks at her sharply and keeps walking. �You want me to
give the cat an identity?�
�Yes.� She enters the dining area and strides purposefully
for a bowl of fruit. �If you don't, I'm naming it.�
�Good,� he grumbles, catching the apple she tosses at him
and biting down.
�Sten imekari,� she grins, flicking her fingers at
the cat, which scampers toward her for more attention. �Her name is now Sten Imekari.�
�No,� he scowls. �That is foolish.� And also a mutilation of
his native tongue, but at least she is trying.
�So rename her, or I'm telling them all she's Little Sten.�
While she selects slices of cold meat for her breakfast
plate, Sten wanders over to stare down at the tabby. It rolls onto its back
when he stops before it, and he kneels to give it attention before he is quite
aware that he has planned to.
Spoiled little creature. The cat in the kitchen would be a
hunter like Adhara. This one seems much more like a cat entertainer.
...Vashedan. She has him sounding like an idiot inside of his
own mind. Cats do not have duty.
This one also appears to be lacking coordination. It rolls
into his boot before spying a loose lace and batting at it.
�This cat is an abysmal fighter,� he mutters to Adhara, and
is surprised by how hard she laughs in response.
Sten flicks the lace at the cat again and scowls when it
misses another pounce. When its paws dart out wildly, it flails and falls over
instead of catching the string. �Be glad you live inside walls, kabethari.�
A giggle from the doorway distracts him, and as he turns his
head to stare at the priestess the tabby sinks its teeth into his hand. He
releases his grip with a curse, and it attempts to run away with his bootlace.
It does not get far since it is still attached to him, and so quickly gives up
in favor of rolling over his boots again.
�Sten, now I know what Adhara sees in you!� Leliana says as
she and the assassin enter the room.
�What?� He rubs at his hand in irritation and sits down at
the table self-consciously. The cat follows him with a satisfied purr and sits
on his feet while he turns his attention resolutely to his breakfast.�
�Here I thought you were just this big soldier, but you play
with kittens, too!�
Play? Sten shakes his head. �I was training it. It
has no coordination.�
�You're a big softie!� the priestess says in sing-song,
pointing down at the tabby, which is now rubbing against his ankle.
Parshaara. �There is nothing soft about me,� he retorts.
Sten does not like the smile on the assassin's face, but is
saved from his retort by a well-timed apple toss from Adhara. She nearly hits
the elf in his tattoo, and his resultant distraction gives her the chance to
tell them her plan for today.
�We're going to the Alienage,� she says. �Since the two of
you are awake, you're coming along.�
The priestess frowns. �Why not leave one of us and take Morrigan
or Wynne, just in case?�
Adhara laughs. �Isn't that overkill for a district full of
flat-ears?�
A few hours later they have killed demons inside an
abandoned orphanage, blood mages guarding a hospice door, and Tevinter slavers
who were selling the healthy elves they �cured.� Everyone is out of breath,
singed, covered in blood, and a few gold lighter from the pickpockets that kept
bumping into them. The assassin decides that this is a perfect opportunity to
remind her of her earlier words, and Adhara answers his taunt with a rock and
something about �spineless, flat-eared, Maker-loving cocksuckers� before
whirling on the Alienage elder and demanding to know why he allowed this all to
happen to his people.
�'Allow' is an interesting choice of word,� is his mild
reply, but the conversation quickly turns sour. They stand in the middle of the
square, beside the tree they have allowed to grow far too large amidst
buildings that will not hold up to a strong breeze, and Sten watches Adhara act
just as baffled as he is by how complacent the city elves are about
everything that has happened to them.
As the conversation devolves, Sten gazes at a dead dog
nearby. Dead. Desperation, desolation. The building the elder is now
stalking into. Damaged.
�That was well handled, my Warden," the assassin
frowns. "After all, they are just as well-equipped as you or I to defend themselves.�
�But they should be, Zev.�
�You say that, but you have never lived in a place like
this.� He shakes his head, then adds, �You do not give your brethren enough
credit.� Disappointment.
�They can do something other than roll over and take
abuse, then?� Derision. The tight lines around her eyes have returned.
The assassin and Adhara are not speaking to one another by
the time they all re-enter the estate. He stalks off the instant they enter the
main hall, and Adhara turns for her room without speaking to either Sten or the
priestess.
�You should go talk to her,� she says as Sten stares down
the hall after her.
�That is the walk of someone who wants to be alone,� he
replies.
�No,� Leliana shakes her head. �She wants to be somewhere private.
But she trusts you, and believe me, she will want to talk.�
�I am not good at talking.�
�Maker's breath, Sten!� She sighs up at him when he turns
and blinks at her. �You are proud of your people, yes?�
An insulting question. �Of course I am.�
�Imagine seeing them in the situations Adhara saw the city
elves in today.�
�...Very well.�
When he opens the door to her room, Adhara is lying
stomach-down on the bed, and the cat is purring against her neck as she pets it
behind the ears. She lifts her face to look at him as he approaches, and he
notices that her eyes are red.
�They're pathetic,� she mumbles. �And yet I'm hurt that the hahren
called me a 'savage' before he slammed the door in my face.�
Sten sits beside her and watches her pet the cat. As her
fingers run through its fur, the tightness around her eyes relaxes, and soon its
purring and rolling has her smiling again.
He was wrong. The cat did have a duty. It was meant
to be petted. And when Adhara was upset, she needed something to touch. It was
why she had spent all those nights in his lap, and why she began sleeping
beside him in the Dalish camp. The priestess had been wrong, too; he may not be
very good at speaking, but there are other ways to comfort Adhara.
Sten leans in closer and begins petting the cat alongside
her. �Soft,� he says.
Her grey eyes meet his. �...What?�
�The cat's name,� he explains, and frowns when she laughs at
him.
�You want to name her 'Soft'�?
�...That is what it is.�
Adhara shakes her head and leans against him fondly. �The
way you think is fascinating, lethallin,� she murmurs, closing her eyes
and settling against him with a contented sigh.
Sten wraps an arm around her and smells her hair. Soft. Scent,
sadness, suffering. Smile. He would do something far more ridiculous
than naming a cat to make her smile.
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Strangers with Cookies