Dragon Age One Shots

Alistair's First

Alistair wandered into the campsite swinging around a stick he found while patrolling the perimeter. It was a good stick, a solid stick with a proud lineage, a strong profile, salt of the earth stick. He particularly liked a branch at the gripping end to protect his hand should any darkspawn appear out of the ground when he has to use the little boy bushes. He glanced over at the campfire, expecting to find Leliana or Zevran standing beside it. Maybe Oghren chortling that if he pissed all over the stones they'd catch fire.

Only shadows danced beside the flames. Odd.

"Hello?" Alistair called, twisting his head. Where was Wynne? He dashed over to the tents, trying to politely knock on her door with the stick, but no one inside called for him to go away. There was no hulking Sten lurking in the shadows.

Or... Alistair pursed his lips and whistled, "Come here boy. I have a lovely stick for you to chase!"

The dog was never far from her, and never away from camp. What was going on? The hairs began to rise up his neck, Alistair twisting in a circle armed with only his stick. There wasn't even any sign of Morrigan. Normally, he'd consider that a blessing from the Maker, but this time it only added to his panic.

Where was she? Where were any of them?

Did darkspawn take them? Was there an attack and they didn't think to call for him? Surely Tessa would have shouted for his help. At least found him sort of useful, if anything as a meatshield.

Why was he alone?

A burst of smoke erupted from the darkened copse of trees. As Alistair turned towards it, a dozen voices rang out, "Surprise!"

Tessa emerged first, her hands wrapped around a plate holding a lopsided cake. Behind her came every other missing face from the camp. The assassin waved off the last of his vanishing smoke, his hands slotting into his armpits as he managed to look even smugger than usual.

"Surprise?" Alistair gasped, frozen in place.

"I had nothing to do with this," Morrigan snorted while emerging from their odd game of hide and seek. Her cold snake eyes cut over him before she turned and stalked back to her tent on the edge of the camp.

"With what?" he was still lost.

Tessa called out to her, "But you're going to miss... Ah, never mind."

"You were all playing a fun game of surprise Alistair? Which involves hiding, then shouting, then cake?" he guessed, his eyes skipping over to the companions remaining.

"No, silly," Tessa tried to jab an elbow towards him even while she held tight to the cake, "It's your birthday. Surprise birthday, you know."

Alistair's jaw dropped open.

She hefted up the baked good towards him, "The dog got you a cake. But it was half eaten, so we got you another one. I hope you like it -- strawberries and cream."

"You..." he was stuck in place, glancing from the smiling assassin to the humming bard, before landing upon the hulking qunari.

"I am only here for the cake. I see no use in celebrating one's own birth. You had little to do with its success," Sten said.

"Ah, ignore him," Tessa waved at the grumpy qunari who scowled, but true to his statement remained close. "Well," her soulful eyes burned into Alistair's, "go on..."

"Go on what?" he gasped, both hands clinging tighter to his stick.

"You know..."

"No," something small inside of him went ping, "No I don't, because I've...ya know, the dogs don't see fit to throw parties. Probably because they don't keep their own calendars. Plus, it's really hard to bake when you're stuck with only paws."

Their pet mabari woofed at that.

"True, there is always stealing one off a windowsill, but mine were devout Andrastians. Stealing is a sin." He wasn't smiling, but gritting his teeth in a false grin. Most people didn't spot the difference.

"Ali...?"

Tessa wasn't most people.

She stepped so close her voice was barely a breath, her warm hand clinging to his arm, "Have you never had a birthday party before?"

"Oh, sure I have in a, it's...ah..." No. Bastards didn't receive gifts, didn't have all their family and friends gather together to share in lavish cakes. Templars weren't going to hang crepe paper and sing silly songs. His day of birth was the same as any other on the calendar.

Her hand soothed up and down his arm, "The birthday boy gets first cut of the cake." Tessa's dulcet tones and soothing eyes lifted his old heartache and gave it a good shake. "But you better give the second to Sten. It was like moving a mountain to get him to agree to hide."

Alistair snickered, "Got it." With Zevran's offered dagger, he cut himself a generous slice, red filling oozing from the center. "Thanks everyone," he called, raising his slice up as if toasting, before jamming it all into his mouth.

It was hard for him to say if the cake tasted good. In truth, it could have been flavored with ash and mud but all he tasted was pure sugar. The joy in his heart sent his tastebuds and the rest of him singing, and he knew who he really had to thank for it.

She was busy helping the others get their cut, no one about to turn down free cake. But, as if sensing his eyes, she turned her head and smiled warmly. "Happy Birthday, Alistair," Tessa said. Leaving the plate in Sten's capable hands, she wrapped her arms around him and plucked a kiss to his cheek, "May it be the first of many more to come."