Dragon Age One Shots

Alistair The Mouser

"Boy!" the shadow standing in the doorway shouted, hands on hips and mean glares into the stables.

He locked both his hands tight to his mouth to keep from making a sound. Don't laugh. That always gave him away. No way she'd see him. He ducked deeper into the straw pile, holding his breath. Just like when he fell into the pond. Teagan jumped straight out of his boots when he leapt from the water, mud suckered to nearly all of his body. That was a fun day.

"This isn't funny!" the voice kept shouting. "You leave on the morrow. I know you're in here!"

Nope. Nobody in here but us mice. He squeaked a few times, hoping that'd be enough to throw her off the trail. Most didn't bother to track him down, unless he was in trouble. And that one time was just the kennel master who was tired of Alistair sneaking treats to the mabari pups.

"Makes 'em go all soft," he'd grumble in his gruff voice. Wasn't so happy when Alistair stuffed a towel down his shirt, stuck his new belly out, and waltzed around the pups ordering them to be, "Tough and strong!" He got a real scolding for daring to 'imitate a man vital to the running of...' blah blah blah.

"Fine!" the woman sent to track him down gave up. "I've got washing to do anyway!"

He waited in his itchy hiding spot, trying to listen to the stomp of boots. After counting to ten Minrathouses, he risked peeking out, the straw scattering off his head to give him a view of an open door. Freedom.

A slow smile filled his cheeks, Alistair rolling out of the straw. He shook his arms and legs, trying to scatter the itchy stuff from his clothes, but it stuck. Looked a lot like a scarecrow. Ooh, maybe that'd work. Stuff straw into his cuffs, then hide out in the fields. Scarecrows were important, did important work. Had to keep scarecrows around.

His back bounced against the wall, the splayed out arms falling to his side. No way did he want to stand in a hot field all day pretending to be a statue. There had to be something better, something he could add to the 'delicate balance' of the place so they'd keep him.

Rustling from the side caused Alistair to duck to his knees. It wasn't Eamon come to cuff his ears, but one of the mouser cats. Leaping from the floor, it landed on one of the stall walls, green eyes glaring into his. Speckled tan and grey fur coated Fat Bastard, so named by him because the cat had a belly that dangled past its knees. It's parents weren't married neither, so it fit good.

"Pussy puss," he cooed at the kitty, scratching along its face. Ooh, he could become a mouser. Stay in the barn, chase after mice, and lay them out before the Arl to prove he did a good job. You couldn't get rid of mousers, you needed 'em. That was what they told him that time Fat Bastard sunk his claws into Alistair's neck.

"We bastards gotta stick together," he whispered to the cat who was tiring of his tiny nailed scritches. It meowed once, unimpressed, and leapt down. Waggling its tail, Fat Bastard -- like everyone else -- abandoned him for the warmth of a sunbeam outside. He couldn't go out there. They'd find him, drag him to that shiny man's carriage, and hurl him inside.

No, best to stay here. Learn the mouser trade. They couldn't be that bad to eat, cats did it all the time. A grubby hand that hadn't seen water nor soap in a week curled over his stomach. It was getting extra grouchy after all those skipped meals. Mousers didn't need to eat in the kitchens, they did it on their own. They were lone wolves!

He didn't want to go. To leave behind all this... Alistair encircled the barn that stank of horse shit. What would they make him do at the chantry? Stand in place all day like a scarecrow? Be quiet so no one would see him? So no one would even know he existed?

It wasn't fair. He didn't want to, but he never got what he wanted.

"Alistair! Come along, son!" the Arl was shouting for him now. He was wearing his fancy clothing because there was visitors. Because Alistair was supposed to be on his best behavior.

Slinking further down, Alistair wrapped his hands around his skinny body. Out of the straw he'd been trampling in emerged a small grey body. He tried to leap out to catch it -- to prove his worth, to show he needed to stay -- but the mouse ran far faster than he could reach and vanished through a hole.

Maybe if he became a mabari! Running through the fields, flushing birds and rabbits...