/* A/N: The basic premise is that Surana spent some time in Seheron with Sten before Awakenings. She managed to avoid being collared because she was basalit-an. Does that qualify as AU? I can't decide. Anyways, I hope you enjoy :) */
When she first came to Seheron, Surana didn't really like the compound. It was a military base, completely lacking the music and food and architecture that made Par Vollen a paradise. Today she loved it. Her tired feet were never so happy to find a bench, the spiced wine went straight to her head and she was hungry enough that the slop they ate tasted marvellous.
So it was blissfully stuffed and slightly drunk that she stumbled into the bathouse with Sten. The bath was a large, shallow pool, designed for an entire division to use at once. It stood about three feet off the ground, a veritable menace for her in her inebriated state. The qunari compound housed only male kossith, so there was only one bath. She had decided early on it was simpler to just bathe with the men than make a fuss about privacy. And honestly, what was there to fuss about? She had slept, fought, and bled with these men. They treated her like a child, or a soldier, or a kadan, but never like a woman. The Ferelden obsession with modesty was as foreign to them as the idea of marraige.
Sten was still stripping off his armour when he heard the splash of Surana tripping into the pool.
"You should've taken your clothes off, kadan."
"Why? They're dirty too." Sten merely sighed and climbed in after her. The kithshok must have heard of their safe return, because he came in, and sat on a bench facing the pool.
"Greetings, Sten, Warden."
"Greetings, Kithshok." Surana was about to stand up to pay her respects properly, but the kithshok signalled for her to stay seated. "Report, Sten."
And so Sten bathed and talked with the kithshok while Surana reached for the glass of wine she had left on the floor. She figured she shouldn't have been surprised; the sten was one of four commanders at the compound, of course he would be on... bathing terms? with the kithshok. She had never spoken to him, mostly content to let Sten do the talking. She rested her head on the edge of the tub while she listened to the rumbling voices of the two kossith men discuss what had happened while the sten had been gone...
"Bathtubs are not for sleeping in, Kadan." A fist in her hair pulled her up, snapping her out of her reverie. She mumbled an apology and grabbed the soap. Sten scolded her to get out of her clothes already, and turned back to his discussion with the kithshok.
This was when Surana learned why people Do Not Bathe with Clothes On. The blighted things stuck to her skin like burrs on a mabari. After a few false starts, she found it was easiest to wriggle out of them while submerged. When she came back up she could've sworn she saw the smallest twitch of a grin on the kithshok's face. Sten seemed ambivalent, as always. She considered dumping her clothes on the floor, but that would've gotten the floor wet, so she just left the clothes floating around her in the pool while she washed herself.
"Where did you get that scar, Basalit-an?" The kithshok motioned to the burn mark on her shoulder, a rare gesture of friendship. War stories were common bathouse conversation, a time to brag among kadan.
"Andraste gave it to me." The kithshok stared at her, clearly doubting her sanity. "Not the real Andraste, of course. A dragon named Andraste. She lived on a mountain full of lyrium and had a cult who worshipped her." She told him all about Haven and the dragon and the urn, and the sten scrubbed her clothes clean while she talked. She tried to be polite, and to remember to show respect for the kithshok, but she was tired and her mind was a fuzz and she kept flipping back and forth between Qunari and the common tongue. She was the great war hero who had rescued a sten; she was a babbling drunk who slurred her words. This was not how she had envisioned her first conversation with the kithshok.
She wasn't quite sure how the conversation ended. After that it was just a matter of doing as she was told while Sten herded her from the bathouse and into the barraks, her clothes sopping wet and sticking to her skin. She didn't bother trying to change out of them before she slipped into her hammock and into sleep.
Surana curled her legs up in the tiny tub she called her bath. It all seemed so backwards - here in Ferelden, bathing was private and cleaning equipment was public. Among the qunari, bathing was public and cleaning equipment was... not private exactly, but intimate. A sign of trust between the closest of friends. And Sten had both bathed and cleaned her equipment - in front of the kithshok! Her flace flushed at the memory. Once upon a time, she had dreamed of Alistair making her his wife infront of the Landsmeet. Months later and miles away, she finally realized Sten had made a display of affection that was no less ostentatious.
And what had she done to thank him? Nothing, that he knew of.
Stupid stupid stupid. She banged her head repeatedly on the side of the tub. When she looked up, Ser Pounce-a-lot was staring at her with big, green eyes.
"Um... hey," she said lamely. "I forgot you were there." Why was she embarrassed in front of a cat?
The tabby slowly, almost seductively, waltzed toward her, never breaking eye contact. After a tortuous eternity, he finally stretched up, paws on the side of the tub, to lick a drop of water off her chin. Surana giggled and dunked her face back into the soapwater.
At least I won't fall asleep in the tub.
The morning after thier interview with the kithshok (or The Bathouse Debacle, as Surana would always refer to it), Sten woke to find her tending to Asala. The blade had been sharpened and polished, and a small trinket tied to the pommel.
"It's a charm, a sign of friendship." She shifted her weight nervously. "It will keep us from being separated again."
"I fail to see how something so insignificant can accomplish so much."
"It's... it's a traditional Ferelden gift," she stammered. Surana was never very good at lying. "It's a blessing. At least, I hope it's a blessing. It might turn out to be a curse. But I mean it to be a blessing."
Sten fingered the trinket for a moment, considering it thoughtfully. A small glass vial dangled from a leather thong, the red liquid inside it catching the light. It didn't look like much; but it seemed to be important to her. Maybe that was all that mattered.
"Thank you, Kadan." Relief crossed her face for a moment, before it lit up in a brilliant smile. It was the best gift she could've given him.
"So you really made Alistair king?" Nathaniel opened the third bottle of wine for the night, and topped up Anders' glass. It was the first time the Surana had sat with them after supper. Usually she scarfed down her food and flitted upstairs to fall asleep over her paperwork. Anders and Nathaniel decided to linger with her in the dining hall, eager to learn if the rumours were all true. Oghren stayed for the drink.
"Seemed like a good idea to me." Surana couldn't stand Anora. Putting Alistair on the throne had seemed like a safeguard against all that Loghain stood for. "He hated it though. Never forgave me."
"Hated it? You gave the man a kingdom! How could he hate you?" Anders was incredulous. "On a related note, what am I getting for my nameday?"
"I promise nothing." Surana took another drink. "Alistair just saw it as another duty. Duty as a templar, duty as a warden, duty as a king. Heck, if it'd been up to him, he'd have died killing the Archdemon." Let's not even mention the Morrigan thing.
"Sometimes duty is more important than our personal feelings. Surely he understood that?" For a noble like Nathaniel, this went without saying.
"Oh, he understood," she said with a hiccup. "Told me the king couldn't be seen with an elven mistress."
"Mistress? You, and His Majesty the King?" Anders had suspected she'd had other lovers, but... royalty? No wonder he didn't stand a chance.
"Sodding lovebirds used to rut like a pair of nugs nearly every night." Oghren snarled into his cup. "Kept the whole camp awake with their antics. It's a wonder they had any strength to fight darkspawn in the morning."
"Good times," Surana smiled fondly at the memory. "He had such a fine ass..." though it was nothing compared to Sten's. A memory of Sten bathing came back to her, completely unbidden. "You know, I never did bathe with Alistair." Maker's Breath. Did she just say that out loud? Maybe she should let up on the booze.
Nathaniel was fidgeting in his chair, a faint blush creeping up his neck. He tried to change the subject. "So you left Ferelden with a qunari?"
Let up on the booze? Who had she been kidding! She needed more of it if they were going to discuss the sten. "He was Sten of the Beresaad," she replied, and proceeded to name off his division, karataam, and current assignment, all in qunari. Nathaniel had all the information he needed to send Sten a letter - if he could understand her.
"I take it that's a yes, then." Nethaniel topped up his glass. "And how did you like Par Vollen?"
"It was hot." Surana was talking into her mostly empty cup, trying to drain the last of the wine out of it. "Hot and sticky, with the biggest snakes I have ever seen."
"I'll bet it was," Oghren snickered.
"Not like that!" Surana was adamant. "Sten was a friend."
"Oh, I get it. All the fun, none of the commitment." Ogrhen leered, and made quotation marks in the air. "Just friends."
"He wasn't just a friend. He was a friend. He came along when I needed one. Told me stories of a mythical place where right and wrong are clear. Where friends are the best, and lovers aren't needed. It all sounded so pretty." There was a whistful sigh while Anders filled her cup.
"So you're telling me that you followed Sten to the other side of Thedas, and not once did you 'polish the old weapon'?" Oghren wasn't talking about Asala.
"Oh, I did worse than that," she said, looking sadly into her drink. "I gave him my phylactory."
Oghren's laughter (and fist) hit the table with enough force to send the salt shaker onto the floor. Anders choked on his drink, and poor Nathaniel nearly fell out of his chair.