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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
- 15
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Title: Strangers with Cookies
Chapter Sixteen: �Draw your sword. I want to see
what you can do.�
Rating: T�

Word Count:

Characters: Sten/f!Mahariel, Alistair, Wynne, bits and pieces
of Loghain.

Summary: The fate of Ferelden's throne is inexplicably left to
the only elf in the room at the Landsmeet.�

Drapery. Desperate, desolate, deconstruction. Devoid. Dalish,
delicious.
Sten is bored.
The human nobles are grousing, and their voices are echoing
throughout the chamber. But the room is too large, and improperly shaped, and
so voices dissipate and nobody listens to the words being spoken. He is left
wondering yet again how it is possible that his people failed in conquering the
southern lands.
Adhara stands beside him, arms crossed, periodically sighing
and yelling at the old soldier that is their enemy. He paces and places blame
and mentions Orlesians, and Adhara grows increasingly annoyed and shouts about
enslaved elves and assassins and poison.
Deflection. Desire, dangerous, dark, daring.
Sten sneezes. Dusty. Several nobles stare at him, but
when the old soldier begins shouting outright, all eyes return to him instead.
His hand is on his blade, and he is standing threateningly close to Adhara.
Duel. Sten is about to protest and insist that he
fight the massive man for her when Alistair steps forward, hand upon his blade,
and takes a strong stance between Adhara and the old soldier.
Alistair is the senior Warden of the two of them. Sten keeps
forgetting that. This is the first time he has taken initiative in all their
months of travel. Had it been anyone else attempting to defend her, Adhara
would have battled the old soldier herself, Sten is sure. But for him, Adhara
merely smiles and steps out of the way.
Interesting. So Alistair does have a spine, after all. Sten
crosses his arms again and waits to see what he will do with it.
�Thanks, 'Dhara,� the Templar smiles, and draws his blade as
the terms are called by the outspoken female noble.
The crowd forms a nervous circle around the fighters, but he
and Adhara stand still at the edge, watching the warriors before them intently.
He can tell by the small crease above her eyebrows that she is worried for her
brother-in-arms. After the old soldier's first swing, Sten is, as well. His
thrusts are violent, but precise in their execution, meant to cause the most
damage with the least exertion. He is powerful, and experienced, and practiced,
and Alistair is soon nicked and bleeding at the cheek.
Alistair is knocked back several times as he parries the old
soldier's blows, but at last remembers his footwork through his anger and
settles into the same intent frame of mind as his opponent.
Now the fight is even. Sten's eyes dart between them,
watching the play of their emotions and the pace of their breathing, attempting
to decide if Adhara's fellow Warden will survive. Alistair is too angry; the
emotion is exhausting him and draining his accuracy. Allowing himself to be
ruled by emotions in the heat of battle is a mistake. But the old soldier does
not take the Templar seriously, which is also a mistake. Perhaps months ago
this would have been the proper course of action, but a man who cannot see
change in his enemy is doomed to failure.
Alistair gives a sudden shout and surges forward in a rush,
knocking into his opponent with his shield and sending him staggering backward.
The old soldier stumbles, loses his grip on his sword, and looks to Adhara with
wide eyes. The Templar freezes, sacrificing the momentum needed for a killing
blow to glance at his leader for approval.
The room freezes and everyone holds their breath, except for
the blonde queen, who begins to insist that her father's life be spared. But
all eyes in the room turn to Adhara and wait for her decision yet again.�
Adhara ignores the screaming and silent nobles alike.
Instead, she fixes her gaze on the two combatants before her, and gives a
slight nod when Alistair positions for the killing stroke. The queen shrieks
again, ordering them all to stop, but Sten can tell by the way the nobles
exhale at once that they wish for Alistair to obey Adhara.
Only in Ferelden would he see an elf become more powerful
than one born to rule. It seems to confuse Adhara as much as it does him, but
she still gives Alistair the last bit of goading that he needs to exact his
revenge.
�Do it, you sod. What are you waiting for?�
The Templar's sword falls, and another of their opponents
falls with it, spine severed at the neck. Blood sprays into the air, and as it
coats Alistair's face Sten notices that he appears to be happy.
The civil war has been stopped. Revenge has been taken.
Perhaps now they will be able to focus properly on the Blight and kill darkspawn
for once. The arishok will not understand.
None of the nobles appear to be willing to break the
silence. Adhara gazes around the room, frowns, and then leaps at Alistair,
throwing her arms around his neck. �Well done!�
��Dhara, ow, ow, that's�no, stop, I pulled that muscle,
please, for the love of the Maker!� She lets go, and he rubs at his neck.
�You're a menace!�
�Whiner,� she retorts.
�Well, Warden,� the arl calls from his vantage point above
them, �your champion has won the duel, and the Landsmeet will honor your
decision regarding the throne.�
Vashedan. This country makes no sense.
�...What?� Adhara stares up at the arl and crosses
her arms. �Are all of you shemlen insane?�
There is a long pause, and Sten notices that most of the
humans are staring at her tattoo. She grumbles and points to the queen, who is
kneeling beside the bloody corpse of her father. �Don't you people already have
a ruler?�
The arl frowns. �Yes, but Ferelden deserves a Theirin
on the throne.�
No. Ferelden deserves a Theirin raised to be a noble.
Blood's potential will not be tapped through improper upbringing. Alistair
would not think properly for the job. He is a Warden, and a mage-killer, and
once the Blight is over those skills will prove useless to the country.
Adhara seems to agree with Sten's silent assessment. �Then
all of you should have thought about that before you let Cailan die,�
she retorts, glaring at the assembled nobles. �Honestly. I shouldn't have to
rearrange your sodding political system just so I can do my duty as a Grey
Warden and save your hides from a Blight. Anora is your queen. Keep her, and
let us Wardens do our job!�
With that, she turns and strides toward the exit. The crowd
parts around his chest as Sten follows, and he can hear Alistair and the
overbearing mage following behind them both.
�Well, that was tactful,� she says to Adhara through pursed
lips, and crosses her arms as she is rounded on.
�I'm sick of this!� Adhara shouts. �There's an archdemon
singing in my blood, and darkspawn eating half their country, but those idiots
are worried about bloodlines.��
The overbearing mage shakes her head. �Alienating the nobles
isn't going to help your cause.�
�I have my army,� she replies. �They have their queen,
Alistair has his life back, and everyone wins.�
�Thank you for that, by the way,� Alistair murmurs. �I owe
you one, 'Dhara.�
She shakes her head and shoves at his shoulder. �No, you
don't. Now let's get back to the estate and pack in case the arl decides to
throw us out for ruining his plans.�
The arl does not throw them out. His country is unified, and
now he turns his gaze on the enemy gnawing away at the land. The Warden they
saved when rescuing the queen outranks Adhara and Alistair both, and so takes
control of the battle plans. Months of fighting, and planning, and walking
grind to a halt as the army is assembled and they prepare to mass and march for
the horde. Sten spends a day pacing listlessly before he reaches the limits of
his boredom and asks Alistair to spar with him.
Adhara, who so thoroughly resented being placed in charge
when he joined them at Lothering, now seems equally adrift without plans to be
made. Her senior Warden keeps her updated and asks for specifics on the armies
she has gathered, but Adhara is not a general. She is a soldier. Until there is
fighting, both she and Sten are reduced to uselessness.
When it is announced that they are leaving to meet the
troops massing at Redcliffe, she looks as relieved has he feels. They spend a
final night in her bed, and he is just beginning to drift when Adhara's voice
sounds at his chest.
�You're lucky, you know.� Her voice sounds choked, and his
fingers find their way into her hair of their own volition.
�Why?�
�You get to go home soon.� She speaks the words lightly, but
her muscles are tense against his skin.
Home. Sten wraps his arms around her and breathes in
her hair. �I will not miss Ferelden.�
A long pause. �What's Seheron like?�
Memories and scents stir in his mind from where he has been
trying not to recall them. �Incense, tea. The smell of the sea. The language
isn't grating to the ears like the common tongue.�
�The little I know sounds lovely, it's true.�
An unexpected compliment. Sten feels the sudden urge to hear
her speaking fluent qunari. �Come back with me.� Only after he has spoken the
words does he begin to wonder if it would be possible for her to do so.
Adhara is a woman, and a soldier. She fights, and leads, and there is no place
for her within the Qun.
Adhara pulls her face away from his chest and stares up at
his face. When she speaks, she sounds as confused as he feels. �...What?�
�I have to go home. I must complete my duty to the arishok.
But your duty is in your blood. You can be a Warden wherever you go.� Her
status as a Warden will be enough to keep her safe in his homeland. The Antaam
hold them in high enough regard to tolerate her eccentricities....
Perhaps he should not have suggested this.�
She closes her eyes. �What about the Fereldan order?�
Sten finds himself wanting to convince her despite his
reservations. She has grown close to Alistair, but if he leaves her she will be
trapped in a country that makes no sense with people who are desperate to
pretend that it does. He thinks of how she looked among the Dalish, and how she
acted at the Landsmeet, and concludes that it would be better for everyone if
she came home with him.
��You are not the senior Warden,� he replies, �and Alistair
has shown that he can take charge if needed. It is not your responsibility.�
Adhara relaxes back into his chest, apparently deep in
thought. �Would I get to meet the arishok?�
...A frightening thought. But if he returns with a Grey
Warden, there will be many who will wish to meet her. Who better to speak to
for an improved understanding of the nature of a Blight?
�Yes,� he replies, and she laughs quietly into his chest.
�Then how can I say no?�
Tension that Sten had not even been aware he was feeling
eases from his shoulders, and he sighs into her hair. He will not have to
choose between his home and his kadan. At least not immediately.
Delay. Sten forces his breathing to deepen, and soon
he is tired again.
- 15
- 16
- 17
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Strangers with Cookies