Dragon Age One Shots

Marshmallows, Sten

"I do not understand," Sten growled. He flexed his thumb and forefinger, watching a white globule of sugar impact then expand with release.

"What is there to understand?" the redheaded woman laughed. She was often doing that, and often in his direction. "It's a marshmallow," she plucked another from the swiped bag but instead of placing it in her mouth, worried it upon a stick.

Sten tipped his head, watching the woman place it into the open flame. "It is uncooked, then? Perhaps poisonous if not cooked?"

"No," she laughed, waving her stick through the flames.

"Then it does not matter that he has crammed his mouth full of them," Sten pointed to the weak-spined human male who was clearly trying to impress the Warden.

His jaws were dislocated, white fluff emerging from between his teeth. Even with tears lifting in his eyes, he kept stuffing another in. It was hard to say if this was doing much to alter the Warden's impression of him. Sten found the entire display disgusting, but most human mating rituals were to the Qunari.

"Who? Alistair? He's...probably going to choke," she admitted before sighing, "but won't die from poisoning. Oh!" From the fire she tugged out the marshmallow and blew upon the end.

A black crust formed upon the once ivory outside. Sten tipped his head in curiosity, wondering what was supposed to happen next.

"Go on," she said, "eat it."

"No," he insisted, folding his arms.

"More for me then," a tan hand lashed out from the darkness to ensnare the burnt globule. "Oh, oh Maker that's hot," the elf hissed, tossing it from hand to hand until he bit down. White goo oozed from his lips, the elf rolling a finger around the mess stuck to his chin. His tongue lolled out, licking the sticky stain off of both finger and the side of lips.

"Zevran!" the redhead chastised, but the elf only shrugged. "That was Sten's."

"Ah," his always rustling eyes peered over at the Qunari, "shall we do battle for the next?"

"You would lose."

"Perhaps, but it might be fun to get on top of you for awhile."

Sten grumped, "Only if you find all of your bones broken fun."

"That is an excellent point. My bones, in as non-shattered a state as they can manage, shall be watching to see if Alistair finally cuts off his windpipe. But, if you want to try getting on top of me without the whole shattering me to dust part..."

A growl reverberated up Sten's throat, the elf smiling and nodding. "You can't blame me for trying," he said, skipping away as if nothing in this world touched him. Like so many Bas.

"This is sad. Everyone else is enjoying them," the redhead would not let him be. "Even Morrigan."

He turned to find the witch nibbling on the edge of one, her teeth making tiny, unassuming bites across the white flesh. It was pathetic. Catching on that she was being watched, her eyes narrowed and she stomped away, throwing the rest of her 'treat' to the dog.

Suddenly, the redhead snatched away Sten's only globule and stuck it into the fire. "Trust me, okay. They're good. You like cookies. This is better than cookies."

"That is not possible," he surmised. In his travels with this ramshackle group of heathens, the only thing worthy of mention from these barbarian lands were the cookies. Sten already acquired two different recipes to share upon returning home.

The redhead twisted the stick around in the fire. "Got to get it just right. Too much and it'll fall right off." She pointed to her earlier failures charred to black briquettes on the ground. "Ah!" Yanking it away, the redhead blew on the ends a bit longer, then wafted it near Sten's lips.

"Come on. One bite. Just one little bite."

"I see no point," he crossed his arms, his lips shut tight.

"You'll like it."

"Doubtful."

She scoffed, "How will you know if you don't try."

Cursed to walk himself an unbreakable logic trap, Sten plucked the now charred globule off the stick. It lost cohesion in the fire, its form more malleable than before. Interesting. His eye wandered around the others all talking animatedly while chewing away on their treats. Even the fool had managed to swallow his mass down, the only Wardens juggling them back and forth.

He was Sten of the Beresaad. He ran from no threat and feared nothing but losing himself from the Qun.

With the blackened mallow from the marsh nestled in his palm, Sten crammed it into his mouth and bit down. The ephemeral voice of the Tamassran's echoing from the cliffs of Seheron reverberated off his tastebuds. Sweet perfection dripped down his throat, Sten's eyes rolling back into his skull as he fell into this comforting warmth that clung to his tongue and refused to let go. As tenacious as a Qunari on the hunt, this was no treat for the simple. This was a true warriors mallow from the marsh.

Opening his eyes, he turned to the sister. "More, please."

She laughed, already filling her fire stick with ten from the bag. "That's nothing," she said over her shoulder. "Wait until you have them with crackers and chocolate."