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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 Eighteen: �We will do better next time.�
Rating: T�

Word Count: 3,200

Characters: Sten/f!Mahariel�

Summary: The hedgehog's dilemma
resurfaces, and our story comes to a close.

They are told that the Blight has ended. Just when Sten does
not particularly wish to think, he finds that he has ample time to do so. And,
now that Adhara is refusing to speak to him, he has little to distract himself
from thoughts of her. His mind gnaws on a single memory like it is starving,
and Sten is left compelled to dissect it in the days that follow the battle.
Leaving the clan of Dalish behind in the Brecilian Forest
was painful for Adhara. Sten watched her say goodbye and shoulder her pack, and
walked behind her as she forced herself not to look back.
�They aren't my people anymore,� she told him later. �I
can't be a Dalish and a Warden. The Dalish are too near-sighted. It serves its
purpose keeping our culture alive, but it's not fair to Alistair.� At this, she
looked over her shoulder to where the Templar was walking behind them, running
his fingers over a small carved figure and grinning.
�Being a Dalish is in your blood,� he replied.
She smiled and ran her hands against her tattoo. �Yes, of
course, but so is being a Warden, remember? You said so yourself. So I'll just
make the Wardens my new clan.� She finished her sentence by tossing a rock at
her brother-in-arms and laughing when he started in surprise.
When Sten first joined them, Alistair would have been hurt.
This time, he laughed and hit her with a stick, causing her armor to ring like
a small bell. They had become friends at last, and would be better fighters for
it.
He had never considered that they would be more likely to
hurt one another, as well.
Sten thinks of this conversation with Adhara every time he
sees her in the days that follow the battle atop Fort Drakon. He understands
why she wanted to be the one to make the final blow. He even understands why
she refused to tell him what would happen ahead of time.
When he woke in the farmhouse near Lothering, he had been
alone. His brothers were dead, his sword missing. Everything that defined him
was gone. The same thing happened to Adhara when she became a Grey Warden, but
she moved on and found a new clan.
But now all the Wardens in Ferelden are dead, and she has
lost her people yet again. He wants to tell her that he understands this, but
she refuses to speak to him. Each time they meet in a hallway, she drops her
eyes to the floor until he passes by. When he tries letting herself into her
room the night they move back into the arl's estate, she hurls a vase at his
head.
After that, he ceases attempting to speak with her.
Sten books passage to Seheron three days after Denerim has
recovered from the battle. The queen is planning some sort of ceremony to honor
Adhara and the others. Sten decides to leave once it is finished so the arishok
will know the outcome of the Blight. He no longer has a legitimate reason to
remain away from qunari lands, and deciding to stay any longer would likely
cause his people to brand him a fiend. He has his answer. He has Asala. And he
can go home, even if the woman responsible for his success no longer intends to
come with him.
The thought of leaving Ferelden is the only thing that makes
staying at the arl's estate bearable. Normally he would practice with Asala to
pass the time, but the damage Adhara's teeth did to his thumb makes gripping
the hilt impossible. The overbearing mage attempts to heal it more than once,
and each time he refuses to allow her. He has many other scars, and it is
fitting that he have something to remember the events on top of the Fort, as
well. Each time Sten looks down at it, he thinks of Adhara and her wolves, and
how certain he was that Alistair would never betray her.
He did it to save her life, but Sten agrees with Adhara that
Alistair made the coward's decision. He did not like to lead. He did not like
to be alone. But neither does Adhara, and now the assassin and Alistair are
dead and the witch is gone. The dwarf and priestess plan on leaving shortly
after the ceremony, as does Sten. In a matter of days, Adhara will be
alone. Alistair has condemned her to the fate he was afraid to meet for
himself.
At dinner the night before the ceremony, Sten cannot hold
his fork because of how sore and stiff his thumb has become. The instant he
feels the overbearing mage's eyes on him, he rises and leaves the table before
she can scold him yet again for not letting her heal him. He is convinced that
if he were not quite so imposing, she would do it without his permission.
Adhara lets herself into the room he has been sharing with
the dwarf while he is struggling to take his shirt off with one hand. She sets
down a bowl of water and an injury kit before taking his hand in both of hers
and running her fingers gently over the wound. He tenses in surprise and pain
as she takes his wrist in one hand and a wash rag in the other.
�You sodding stubborn qunari,� she sighs. �This is
infected.�
When he shrugs, she scowls and shoves at his chest, silently
ordering him to sit on the bed. He obeys, and she begins cleaning and bandaging
his thumb in silence. She refuses to look at his face, instead focusing
intently on the bite marks. Sten alternates between watching her work and
closing his eyes and breathing in the smell of her hair.
This feels familiar. Her fingers are careful and precise,
cleaning the bite with a minimal amount of pain just like she would have done
if they were still at camp. When she begins crushing leaves and packing them
against the wound, he feels suddenly unprepared to leave for Seheron.
�Kadan,� he says at last. �I am��
She refuses to look up. �Don't.�
And so he does not tell her that he is leaving in four days.
When she finishes mending his hand, she lets herself out without another word.
He sits on the edge of the bed and runs a thumb over the bandages, wondering
what it meant that she had treated him and still refused to speak.
Sten is about to sleep when his door opens again. He looks
up, expecting to see Adhara, and meets eyes with the priestess. Until recently
he could always tell when she was entering a room because of her incessant
humming, but she has been silent since Fort Drakon.
�Do you have clothes for tomorrow?�
Sten pauses his attempts to remove his shirt one-handed. �I
am wearing clothes, am I not?�
She scowls at his trousers. �I was worried about that. Come
here, the seamstress that was fitting Adhara's dress is still here.�
Adhara's dress? Sten must have made a face, because
the priestess laughs at him. �Don't worry, we took her weapons away. She'll
look wonderful tomorrow.�
That is not the best news he has heard, but he lets her lead
him into a room with a tired-looking human all the same. She takes one look at
him and pinches the bridge of her nose. �And now a qunari. As if the dwarf and
homicidal elf weren't bad enough.�
�He will be good, Yfreth.� the priestess insists. And so
Sten stands still and lets himself be measured, though he has to kneel for her
to get to his shoulders and neck.
�What colors would you like to wear, ser?�
Vashedan. He has no idea how to answer that sort of
question. Sten stares helplessly at the priestess, who begins listing off
shades and suggesting ones that would go with his eyes.
"Parshaara," he interrupts at last, standing and
looming over them both. "I am not an upholstered chair."
"And I can work with that, oddly enough," the
seamstress replies, and shows him a bolt of simple, well-woven cloth. "This
more to your liking, ser?"
"Yes." It is not brocaded, or threaded with gold,
or covered in jewels, or any other horrible thing the priestess had been
threatening. It is a sturdy cloth the color of an abused blade and would not
make him feel like a decoration for the queen.
"Military types," she sighs. "I'd complain,
but you saved my city, so I'll make your bleeding boring trousers."
Sten scowls and leaves the room without another word, intent
on sleeping and forgetting about seamstresses and complementary colors and how
he would have looked had the priestess had her way.
But when he wakes up in the morning, his new clothes are ready,
and the priestess goads into them before he has a chance to find breakfast.
"Why are you bothering me?" he demands, snatching
the trousers out of her hands and pulling them on over his smallclothes.
"You need to look nice today!" Sten does
not like the way she gazes at his hair as she says those words. There is
nothing wrong with his hair.
"I am a soldier. The nobles will hardly be surprised if
I do not fit in."
"But Adhara looks so pretty. You need to be able to
match her!"
He had forgotten about Adhara and the dress, but
finds himself still unable to picture the combination. She was meant for armor.
It was cruel of them to put her in a dress. Sten decides that it must have been
the queen's idea; she would have refused otherwise.
Sten pulls the tunic over his head and adjusts the collar as
best he can with his sore hand. "Do you see my thumb?" When she
glances at it, he continues. "Adhara did that. I suspect we will be doing
very little standing beside one another today."
The priestess' face falls. "She's just upset about
Alistair. She'll calm down. She always calms down."
She pulls him to his knees and begins fixing the collar
herself. Sten scowls at her and considers what she said about Adhara. He
thought the same thing on top of the tower, before he understood what he had
been tricked into doing. Sten nearly asks the priestess if she is really convinced
that Adhara always calms down, but decides that it does not matter.
Once she has finished fussing with his shirt, Sten stands
and stares down at her. "I am leaving for Seheron in three days."
"No!" She crosses her arms and blocks him from leaving
the room. "You can't do that! She'll be alone!"
"I am aware." That is part of why he asked her to
come with him.
Her lip curls. "Have you told her?"
He fixes his eyes on the door. "...She will not let
me."
"Oh, blood and damnation!� He stares down at her in
surprise, and she puts her hands on her hips. �Stop sulking and talk to
her, Sten."
The priestess bothers him until the ceremony begins, but
falls silent when Adhara appears on the dais and listens to Anora's long
speech. The seamstress has stitched vines into her gown that match her tattoo,
and Sten thinks that she looks appealing, but the nobles in the room appear to
be staring at her ears rather than her gown.
�Bloody knife-ear. Wonder why they bothered dressing her
up?� mutters a noble in front of Sten, and he grits his teeth.
�Did you forget she saved your holding?� a woman hisses back
at him. �She's a hero.�
�We all know those Dalish can use weapons. So she chose to
kill darkspawn this time. Doesn't mean she's one of us, Alfstanna.�
...She will very alone. Sten closes his eyes
until the urge to speak has passed.
"I admit I'm not sure how to honor our new Hero of
Ferelden," the queen says at last, silencing all the voices in the crowd.
"What do you wish?"
Adhara doesn't even pause to think. "A new home for the
Dalish. We fought to save your land, so it seems only fair to give us back
ours."
There is a murmur through the crowd, but the queen agrees
instantly. "Additionally, I am giving the Arling of Amaranthine to the
Wardens, and naming you Arlessa Adhara Mahariel."
"...What?" Adhara sounds more outraged than
the noble near Sten, who has begun muttering under his breath.
"It is the least I can do to reward your service to the
crown."
Adhara's hands clench at her sides. Many notice, and
disapprove, but Sten is impressed by her restraint. "Do you always reward
service with imprisonment, then?"
The queen's lips press together briefly before she replies.
"I am giving the Grey Wardens a place to rebuild."
"But it's not your place to decree who does the
rebuilding. When the Wardens have decided who will lead the order here, you'll
be told, but I can guarantee I won't be your arlessa. You'll thank me for that
later, human lord."
The atmosphere in the room is chilly when the ceremony's formalities
grind to a halt. Sten stands near the wall, watching Adhara exchange terse
words with the arl who helped them, but when it becomes clear that she is not
going to seek him out he leaves for the estate and begins packing. He is
walking for the docks before any of the others have returned.
Home. Hope, happiness, heighten.
He stays at a small inn for the three days before the ship
arrives, and is surprised at how good it feels to spend time alone. On the day
he is meant to leave, Ferelden outdoes itself by making the docks of Denerim
smell like wet, salty dog. Sten seeks the ship and tries not to breathe too
deeply as the crowd parts around him. It used to make him feel out of place how
people would slow down and stare, but now it is soothing. He is still a qunari.
When he goes home, he will fit in.
Somewhat. He knows a woman that is also a soldier. That is
bound to have affected his outlook in other ways
Sten locates the vessel bound for his home and stands on the
dock, closing his eyes and enjoying the sound of the waves. He will not miss
Ferelden, or its Fereldans, though he suspects that he will miss the country's
confections. He will not miss the politics, or the darkspawn, or trying to make
sense of customs and words. He will not miss the language.
But he will miss his kadan. He looks down at his bandaged
thumb, now finally healing, and frowns. Had she been anyone else but a Grey
Warden, he never would have asked her to return with him. Being a Warden might
keep her safe. They would not take her, would not keep her. She would be
allowed to work with the military. She would be allowed to come and go, because
they would respect her as a warrior.
And she was an elf, so they would probably mistake her for a
man. She never smelled strongly like women of other races often did during his
journey across Thedas because in the months that he has known her, she has
never bled. Sten never asked, but assumed that this was part of suffering from
darkspawn corruption. A tainted woman should not breed, he is sure, and her
body appeared to agree.
She was strong. She would have been safe in his lands.
He would have still been able to see her.
Bringing her back, if anything, would have endangered him.
It seemed worth the risk after the Landsmeet. But perhaps it is better that she
stays here. She is a Warden, after all, and there are many darkspawn left to
kill. Other Wardens will come. She will not be alone for long.
"You a statue, or a passenger?" growls a voice
beside him, and Sten looks down to see a sailor staring up at him.
A senseless query. "Do you often ask questions of
statues?"
"Oh, good. We've got a funny qunari this
voyage." The man snorts and walks up the plank to board the ship.
He will not miss Fereldans and their insistence that he is funny.
Sten is just about to walk after the sailor when another
voice cuts through the sound of the waves and the crowd and stops him in his
tracks.
"I have a question."
He turns to face Adhara, and she gives him a calculating
stare. His mouth opens, then closes it, and waits for her to speak.
"Aren't I a little short for you?"
She asked him that in the tavern in Denerim, after he kissed
her and before she ordered him to do it again. Familiar words, but his answer
has changed. "No."
Adhara adjusts the pack on her back. Sten sees dark rings
under her eyes. "But I'm too short for Seheron, right?"
"Yes."
She gives up and drops the pack at her feet. "And I am
a woman, and a soldier. That would be intolerable for your arishok, I
think."
"Yes," he admits.
She steps close, and the breeze sends her scent toward him.
"Sounds like fun. Can I come?"
Sten stares down at her, inspecting her face under its
tattoo. "It will not be easy for you, especially if you speak to qunari as
you have human nobles."
She snorts. "Shems. I'll be on my best
behavior."
"That is difficult to imagine." She laughs, but he
was being truthful. "What about the Wardens?"
Adhara rolls her eyes. "Some Orlesian Wardens arrived
today, and their leader took one look at me and started ranting about 'ze elf zat
helped ze great Alistair build his army,' so I excused myself and started
packing."
Sten smiles at this, and she laughs again. "I'm glad
Alistair will be so well-remembered, don't get me wrong. But the bastard made
me do most of the work, and if he gets the credit, too, I'm jumping ship and
fighting darkspawn somewhere else. I'm sick of politics."
"You will not be able to be a woman and a soldier in my
homeland."
She shrugs. "So I'll be a man and a soldier. Convincing
you was hard enough." At these words, she steps closer and throws
her arms around his waist.
Odd, that the sensation should still feel so normal after so
many days without feeling it. Sten runs a hand over her hair, and she leans
against him more fully. "I don't have anywhere else to go, anyway."
"I know." He rests his hands on her shoulders and
enjoys how her smell mingles with the salt air. They need to get out of
Ferelden so he can surround her with incense instead of mud and trash.
She turns her head to stare at his bandaged hand for a
moment, and appears to be about to speak, then changes her mind and simply
smiles up at him instead.�
"So," she says, taking her pack back into her
hand, "where's the captain? I should chat with him about booking
passage."
�The ship is full,� he replies.
�I don't care.�
Sten points up the plank, and follows after her as she
walks, watching the sway of her hips within her trousers. Much better than the
dress.
Meraad astaarit, meraad itwasit, Adhara aqun. The tide
rises, the tide falls, but Adhara is changeless.
- 17
- 18
- 19
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Strangers with Cookies