21 for Aisling if you're taking another!
Hello there <3
I'm very much taking others, yes!
Also thank you for choosing this, I wrote something extra silly with shapeshifter Cat!Aisling (she's not talented, but she tries her best) and this was a lovely occasion to delve into that some more. :3
Tis the prompt list
The Naming of Cats
[ Female Lavellan & various Inner Circle members | 2545 words | No CW. ]
When you notice a cat in profound meditation,
The reason, I tell you, is always the same:
His mind is engaged in a rapt contemplation
Of the thought, of the thought, of the thought of his name:
His ineffable effable
Effanineffable
Deep and inscrutable singular name.
- The Naming of Cats, T.S. Eliot
Cats in Skyhold had their own society.
It was fascinating to discover it, and on four paws Aisling Lavellan could get a glimpse in that little world, in a way that would have been impossible as her two-legged self.
The cats in Skyhold were many, and thrived in the sidelines and in the background. Silent guardians that watched over the whole Inquisition. They were rarely seen, Aisling discovered in her afternoon furry walks, but they were as essential to the wellbeing of the Keep as the soldiers, or the mages, or Josephine and her entourage, or Leliana's spies.
For a fortress on top of a mountain had a mighty need of supplies that needed to be stored. Large quantities of stored foods attracted mice. And what do you do to prevent mice to eat all your cereals? You get cats.
The cook and her staff knew them all, and knew them closely: for the epicentre of the felines was the kitchen and its treats. The warm spot beside the fireplace was the most prized one, within the Inquisition four-legged inhabitants. Old Threnodies claimed it as his own, tho, and no one dared to challenge him for the basket that the baker placed there. Even if he was quite old, only had one eye, and couldn't jump as well as other cats, he was a big grey tabby, whose mass wasn't just because living in the kitchen meant more treats. All the scars and a munched ear were there to testify that he earned his warm place and all the treats the staff gave him.
All the other cats could walk in his territory and try their luck with treats and morsels, but only if Old Threnodies was of a mind.
Aisling herself showed up one day in a War Council sporting a scratched nose, for having tried to befriend the old tabby when he wasn't of a mind.
("You shouldn't pick on other cats." Morrigan had scolded her. "They're better at being such than you are."
"But how can I get better at being a cat, if I don't learn from them?" Aisling had asked back, as the witch healed her nose.
The witch had smiled at her, and let Kieran answer. She was teaching them both, and even if he was only 10, Kieran could already turn into more than one animal. A sparrow and a fox cub.
"Observe and learn." Kieran had recited.)
And Aisling had put herself into it.
She quite loved being a cat, after all, even if it had all started as a way to keep close to Cullen when she was sure he was choosing another person over her, and leaving had felt the right solution she didn't want to take.
With time, and with a discussion long overdue that ended with a better solution, one that made her happy (that is, that she didn't need to leave at all, and how weird, how relieving was to be chosen), she had her shapeshifting new spell in her grimoire, and enough curiosity to keep using it.
Nobody saw her, when she had four paws and a coat of red tabby and white fur.
How could they?
It was useful to hear her people and keep track of the morale, just as the Iron Bull had suggested her when she accepted her title. Only, she didn't need to pretend. People just talked, not minding the cat sprawled in front of the fire, basking in the warmth.
Just Solas recognized her. He took a closer look at her. Squinted. And then exhaled loudly, declaring that he didn't want to know.
And to please stop trying to catch the tails of his sweater, it was not a toy and she wasn't a real cat, anyway.
Sure, she wasn't a real cat, but somehow, when she shifted, she had the innate instinct to pounce at stuff that moved too suddenly. Like Solas' sweater. Or the feathers that Josephine had attached to a stick and liked to agitate in front of her, when she visited her in her office. She loved those feathers, and how her body moved as if on its own accord, trying to catch the toy with her front paws.
Josephine was always happy to spend time with her as a cat, and Aisling visited her often. It was the Ambassador who named her cat-self Ginger, and she loved to make her play, give her the best scritches, and tellher about her childhood cat, who was white and she named Lady Princess. (the name made her cringe, but Aisling found it cute.) They had fun together, and when she was a cat, talking about work was out of the question.
Well, Josie still talked about work because it was Josie, but she would only mutter quiet, still very polite complaints. She was happy whenever Aisling would bump her head in confort, or purr at her, and so Aisling felt a little less guilty for not having told her who exactly "Ginger" was. She made a mental note to find her a kitten for her birthday.
Still, she saved the loudest of purrs for Cullen. He knew Ginger was actually her, and if knowing the fact made him fussy about her resting on his lap, he still freed a corner on the left of his desk, and got her a pillow to rest on. He complained she could visit as an elf, so they could talk. But if she had two legs, some scout would surely call her back to work, cutting her time with him short. Beside, she really liked how he would rest his left hand on her, and gently caress her back. She had to struggle not to fall asleep, there and then. (She discovered the hard way that she couldn't maintain her transformation when asleep, and considering she wasn't skilled enough to turn her clothes as well…)
But today she had other worries.
Today, she was walking down the Great Hall, headed to the Rotunda and from there to Dorian's nook -she wanted to test whether he could recognize her, or if it was just Solas and him being a Dreamer.
When suddenly, she startled as a mouse squeaked and ran through her paws. She pounced instinctively, and missed. Thankfully, because the poor mouse was cute and had it bad with all the cats around. Beside, she for sure wouldn't have eaten it, it would just have been a waste of a poor, innocent creature.
Someone yowled angrily at her back, and the noise made her fur puff up.
When she straightened and turned, there was a big male, with the roundest face and white fur, the tip of an ear bitten off, who was growling and walking to her with all his fur raised up and ears aimed directly at her, in a clear aggressive stance. Back paws well raised and back sloping to his head, trying to look bigger. Even bigger than he was.
Evidently, she thought, he was hunting for that particular mouse and she ruined his game.
Oopsie?
She meowed and tried to make herself smaller and less of a threat. The meow sounded in her ear as an apology, but the white cat apparently didn't understand that.
He hissed at her, showing all his teeth to her, and threw a paw at her. Which she evaded jumping back.
Rude!
She would call him Pickles, he was clearly as sour and unpleasant (to her) as them.
Well, Pickle yowled in displeasure at her, as if she did it on purpose, and came at her again. Aisling, now annoyed, hissed back, trying to tell him to back off.
Another thing she couldn't do as a cat was casting: concentrating on other spells made her grasp on her body shape melt like snow in the sun. Meaning: she would have been found a very naked Inquisitor, casting a mind blast over a cat for no apparent reason.
No amount of purring and head-bumps would have saved her from Josephine's ire, then, there were too many aristocrats around.
But Morrigan was very right in saying that cats born as such were much better than her at being cats. And fighting as cats.
So, she ran as fast as her four paws could take her. Which was a lot, that was to be said: running as a cat was lovely. If one wasn't chased, that was.
She slalom-ed between orlesian ankles and fancy shoes with too many buckles, jumped on a chair and then on a table (thank you Cullen for helping her figure out how to jump and balance a tail), and rushed down the whole of the table. Luckily the goblets she knocked down were all pewter, and didn't break at the impact with the floor.
She jumped down the table, rolled on herself (Cullen had helped, it didn't mean she was suddenly a pro at jumping) and hearing yowls and hisses and noise of dishes launched to the ground, rushed in the door and up the stairs.
Dorian or Fiona would have helped her, surely. Or worse it got, she could rush down to Solas, and climb on the damned sweater tail, so he would be forced to help.
But the cat was quicker, and pounced in front of her, right between herself and the door to the library. Aisling slid and fumbled on her back, scraping on the stone pavement with her talons to desperately try and grip at something.
Pointless, of course: the cat meowed angrily and caught her, biting straight onto her neck. She meowed in outrage and kicked him with her back legs, rolling in heap of fur on the floor.
She managed to kick herself free with four legs, and rushed up to the last set of stairs to-
- to Vivienne.
She slid, trying to break before colliding with the Enchanter.
And failed miserably, ending up bumping against her boot, as she sat on an armchair and closed a book over a long, elegant finger.
Pickle rushed back to her, not intimidated by the mage at all.
Aisling mrowed and tried to scramble back up on her four paws.
"How annoying."
The air stilled.
A cat whined.
When Aisling turned, the cat was sitting on his back, head bent down and tail down. The fur wasn't raised anymore, and he was rubbing frost flakes away from his nose with one of his front paws.
"There. You'll learn to cause trouble. Shoo."
A small bolt of ice -just enough to be felt, not to hurt- fell right in front of the white cat, and sent him running again back from where he came from.
Aisling turned up, trying to make herself as small as she could. Easier, with the bendier back of a feline, she could arch her back and her shoulders, and- No, not her tail between her legs. Not that, she still had some pride upon her.
"You caused quite the ruckus, down there." Vivienne said, in her melodious voice.
Sure as dawn, Vivienne never liked her, and never was one to avoid pinpointing at any of her shortcomings with big signs and a giant reminder that she wasn't suited to be Inquisitor (as if Aisling didn't know). She expected to be made notice that she made a mess, right now, and squeezed her eyes to milden the moral impact.
What she didn't expect, was what happened next.
"Stay still, kitty."
One hand placed on her back, another on her neck. She meowed, trying to get herself free, but the hold of the Enchanter was strong: it closed on the loose skin on the back of her neck, de facto trapping her, and-
A freshness spread on her neck and muzzle, from the fingers that rested on the scratches she gained. A healing spell, she knew the feeling well.
It was very delicate, knitting back her flesh with care not to hurt her. She just felt the itch, but none of the discomfort that could come from a too quick spell. Solas was direct, but cared not much to preserve most of the pain. Vivienne tho?
She caressed her body, where it hurts, repeating the spell.
In some moments, she released her neck, letting her front paws plop back down on the floor. And gave her a caress, that too very delicate and mindful, that ran from her head to the end of her back. Her butt rose in instinct, as the fingers reached the corner between back and tail. A good spot, yes.
"There you go. All better." Vivienne declared, sitting back on her armchair.
And smiling down at her.
A smile that felt not a perfunctory one, judging by how her eyes crinkled up, and a net of tiny wrinkles formed in the outer corners.
Aisling stayed, mesmerized by how the woman had nothing barbed remark to gave her, no note on how she could have behaved better. She sat on her butt and folded her head to the side.
Meow?
She pondered if she couldn't see her for what she was. Solas was a Dreamer. Maybe it was different, maybe he could see more, past spells and the Fade. She was pretty sure that Vivienne would have never smiled at her like that, if she could see that she wasn't any other cat.
Shily, trying her luck, she stepped forward. One hand was elegantly resting on the armrest, dangling down from the wrist on the very edge. Aisling rose and sniffed at it.
It smellt like old paper, and… Something medicinal. Yarrow?
A long finger extended, and she booped her nose with a light chuckle. Definitely she had no idea, Aisling was now very sure.
"Don't pick on cats so bigger then you. Unless you have a solid escape, or a backup plan." She suggested, bending forward. "Or you learn how to use your fangs and talons, there won't always be a human to help you."
And indulged some more in giving her caresses. Still as delicate as her healing spell had been, she gently guided her palm down her back, and then up, to scritch the side of her face. Staggered from the reaction, something she didn't expect from her, Aisling decided to put some faith. She closed her eyes and leant into the cuddle
"Now off you go." The Enchanter dismissed her, with a last pet on her head.
And off Aisling went, heeding to the Mage's command. On the opposite side than the one Pickle went, of course.
She turned once more towards the woman, to look at her better, before walking out of the open door. Sitting on her armchair, elegant as she was posing for a portrait, a hand turning the pages of a book as the other gently held her head up. It always looked like she was expecting to be watched and stared at, a shining beacon of poise and perfection to be admired and aspired at.
And yet, the façade cracked for a little, as her brown eyes looked up and saw her. And the perfect mask cracked, as Vivienne smiled again at a supposedly random cat that crossed her way and needed help.
Yes, being a cat was really instructive.
In more ways than what Aisling initially thought.