Disclaimer: I don't own Dragon Age or any of its related characters. This is just for my own enjoyment and the potential enjoyment of other fans like me, and no monetary gain was expected or received.
Rating: T
Spoilers: Spoilers for Origins only.
A/N: This idea came to me while I was mowing this morning and begged to be written so I obliged. Don't know if it's worth it or not.
Werewolf Walking
"I saw a werewolf drinking a pina colada at Trader Vic's…"
~Warren Zevon
"Rrrr, Lady, what are we doing here?"
"Hush, Swiftrunner. Do you not believe we belong here?"
"My Lady, we do not belong here."
"Did we not fight at the Battle for Denerim alongside the Hero? Did we help her to slay the Archdemon itself? We belong here as much as anyone. This is our experiment to prove that we can, in fact, assimilate into human culture, Swiftrunner. Now still yourself and stay calm. Just follow my lead."
The Lady of the Forest, clad only in the roots and vines that grew up around her, walked in through the door of the Gnawed Noble tavern first, with Swiftrunner the werewolf close at her heels. The patrons already inside drinking broke off their conversations to give the eye to these strange interlopers. Bann Sighard swiftly gulped down the last of his ale, laid down the payment of his tab, and ran for the door.
"Rrrr, my Lady, they do not want us here," Swiftrunner said.
"Perhaps not, but if we behave ourselves, they will learn to accept our presence," the Lady said. She nodded to the barkeeper and raised two delicate fingers. "Two pints of ale, please."
*****six pints later*****
"Swiftrunner, please. You are making the good people uncomfortable."
"Hrrr! Did we not help to slay the Archdemon at the Hero's side? Did we not fight while these fat, pompous fools ran and hid? Do we not belong here as much or more than they do?"
"Swiftrunner, that is not fair. A good many of them fought every bit as hard as we did."
He wouldn't listen. He climbed up on the table and raised his muzzle to the ceiling. "Aahrooo! Werewolves of Ferelden!" he singsonged, with less tonality than volume. He repeated the phrase several times, growing louder each time.
"Swiftrunner, where did you learn that abysmal song?" the Lady asked in despair.
"At the Hero's gala," he said, waving his tankard and sloshing his ale. "That wild-haired, pointy-eared minstrel was playing it at the back of the room - and I like it! 'Ha! I'd like to meet his tailor!'"
"You do not wear clothing, Swiftrunner," the Lady said.
"So what? 'And his hair was perfect!'" Swiftrunner laughed, sloshed his ale some more, and gulped it down. The Lady of the Forest hung her head in her hand.
"This was perhaps ill-advised," she said to herself.