Strangers with Cookies

Title: Strangers With Cookies

Chapter Five: “I like swords, I follow orders;
there's nothing else to know about me.”

Rating: G

Word Count: 1,250

Characters: f!Mahariel, Sten, Leliana, Alistair, Wynne, Morrigan,
Zevran, and Asala.

Summary: Adhara reunites Sten with his
sword, and the two of them muse about home. 

Adhara announces that they are traveling from Redcliffe to
the Frostback Mountains to the sound of angry groans. None of them wish to see
more snow, least of all Sten, who is growing tired of the elf using him as her
armchair in camp.

“I don't want to see more snow either,” she frowns. “That's
why we're getting it out of the way now.” She shoulders her pack, and they
follow obediently. In three days' time, they are nearly freezing to death at
night again, but not even Alistair mentions the cold.

They take the pass to Orzammar at dawn on the fourth day,
pausing only long enough to engage a band of mercenaries that are foolish
enough to attempt to kill the Wardens. Outside the city gates, they find
another group of humans shouting at the gate guard to the city. Rather than
becoming involved, Adhara has them pause to browse the vendor booths, and stops
cold when she sees some of the wares being plied by a skinny human. “Sten.”

He walks behind her and glances down to where she is
pointing. A week before, he had told her about the massacre at Lake Calenhad,
of how his brothers had fallen and he had lost Asala, his sword, his soul, his
means of returning home. Either it is fresh on her mind, or she has a good eye,
because she has spotted a piece of qunari gear among the trash on display. A
helmet, with familiar decorations. A helmet with a knick across the nose-piece
from the darkspawn blade that had felled one of his brothers.

This man is selling the armor of his karashok.

Sten nearly knocks Adhara over as he lunges toward the
shopkeeper, taking him by the shirt collar and dragging him out of his booth
and onto the ground before them. “Where did you get that?”

Within seconds, the man reeks of urine. He admits to
scavenging the corpses of his brothers after the darkspawn left them. Only loud
shouting from the elf prevents him from ending the human's life at those words,
and something in the back of his head continues to urge him to ignore her
order, even still.

“If you can tell my friend where his sword is, I'll have him
let you go,” she tells the man, arm resting firmly on Sten's bicep in warning.

“He deserves to die,” he growls, but Adhara shakes her head.

“If you kill him, we'll never find it.”

And so the weasel lives, but Sten has the name and location
of the dwarf who bought his blade, and the hope that he might soon be whole
again.

Adhara explains the situation to the others at camp that
night, telling them about Sten's sword. “It's at Redcliffe. I know we just left
there, but this is the only thing he has left of his past and his brothers, and
I'd like to ask you all if we might turn around and get it.”

“Don't be foolish,” Sten growls. “That is a waste of time.
We should focus on the task at hand.”

“The longer we wait,” she replies, “the more likely it
becomes that it will be stolen or sold again. I don't want to risk it for
something so important.”

To his surprise, the others seem to agree. “Listen to her, Sten,”
Alistair urges. “I'd kill for something to remember my fellow Wardens by.” The
assassin says something similar about his mother, and the priestess and
overbearing mage give their consent to the detour, as well.

“If it gets us out of the snow, I say we do it,” mutters the
witch.

And so they turn around and seek Asala. Sten attempts to
show his gratitude by initiating conversations with the others during their
walk, though only Adhara seems pleased by his efforts: when he asks the
priestess why she is fighting with them, the discussion quickly turns sour.

“Sten, please!” the she implores, coming to a halt
and staring up at him. “Haven't you had this conversation with Adhara? I can
and do fight, and I'm not trying to be a man!”

The elf smirks but says nothing, and Sten shakes his head. “Adhara
is different.”

“Oh, of all the— you can't be serious!” Leliana puts her
hands on her hips and glares up at him. “How is she different?”

“She is Dalish.”

“You can't be serious,” she repeats.

Sten frowns down at her. “The qunari have never seen Dalish
elves. It is possible that when the tamassran meet them, they will agree that
female Dalish can be warriors. But not female city elves, and not you,”
he finishes. “You are a priestess. And I suggest you not ask my opinion on the
mages.”

“I give up,” she frowns. “It's not worth it.”

“Then we should move on.” He resumes walking and attempts
not to dwell on the fact that for once, he is the reason that they are
being delayed from their duty.

But as soon as Asala is back in his hands, he decides that
it was worth it. Everything seems bearable again. It is because of this elf
that he is whole. It is because of this elf that he did not starve in Lothering,
and because of her that he will be able to return to Seheron after all once the
Blight has been stopped. She may be strange, and a contradiction of what he has
been taught, but she has proven herself to be his brother because she
understands that fellows-at-arms are more than people one fights alongside:
they are family.

Perhaps not the mages. But he does not mind the Templar, or
the priestess, generally. And the assassin is an excellent fighter, though he
has an unfortunate tendency to speak. They are tolerable; she is kadan.

When she smiles up at him, he returns it without thinking.
“How you found a single sword in a country at war is beyond me.”

She shrugs. “Try not to tempt the trickster.” When he stares
at her in confusion, she elaborates: “We don't question good luck in my clan.”

“I don't believe in luck.”

“Oh, I wish you hadn't said that,” she frowns. “Now
something awful's going to happen. Quick, let's change the subject. What do you
want to do now? You can go home, right?”

He nods. “I would rather remain. I gave you my word that I
would help you end the Blight.”

Adhara grins. “Thank the Creators. Without you, I'd just
have the shemlen and the lecherous flat-ear.”

“The arishok will not mind a delay if it gains us a full
understanding of the Blight.”

“That's good to know. I wouldn't want to jeopardize your
return home now that you are no longer stranded here.” Her grey eyes meet his,
and he smiles down at her.

It is strange to not think of Seheron with bitter sadness,
and wonderful not to feel trapped within Ferelden any longer. Once this is
done, he can go home. Adhara is the only one among them who can
understand how he feels. “After this is done, will you return to your clan, as
well?”

He expects a smile. Instead, her eyes go dim. “No. Grey
Wardens do not cease to be when the Blight ends.” She turns away suddenly and
ends their conversation.

...Vashedan.