[fic] Parting Gifts
Title: Parting Gifts
Date: 26/06/2011
Fandom: DA:O
Characters: f!Brosca, Sten, Dog, light mentions of others
Genre: Drama
Rating/Warnings: T
Pairings: Sten/Brosca leanings
Summary: The night before the final battle, Warden Theramina Brosca asks her Qunari brother for a final boon.
(crossposted to the_sten and dragonage-fic)
"Sten-kadan? Can I come in?"
"You may."
Theramina Brosca, one of the last Grey Wardens in Ferelden, silently pushed open the great wooden door of her comrade's room-and promptly got an eyeful of him sitting cross-legged below the window, sharpening his beloved Asala in nothing but the moonlight and his smallclothes.
"Sweet Ancestors!" she yelped, averting her eyes. Dwarva, it was said, did not blush, but she was starting to prove an exception to the rule. "Do you always polish your sword in the nude?!" she spluttered, remembering to lower her voice this time.
"I am not nude. No more than I was at your side during the Gauntlet." His eyes narrowed, as if he wished to chop the memories of that excursion into fine bits and feed them to Gelert, currently snoring blissfully on the floor as only a Mabari could.
"And a right blessing that was. Forgive me if I keep my clothes on," she said, tugging on the hem of her nightshirt as she closed the door behind her. As she strode across the cold floors to the window, she couldn't resist a few more appreciative glances at the way the moonlight played over Sten's muscles as he worked. Shale had the right idea, if only on this one matter. But a faint unease soon returned to cloud her features, and Sten noticed.
"You are not as you should be. And you have sought me out for a reason. What troubles you?" he asked, temporarily laying aside his work. The final battle with the archdemon was hours away, and for now Redcliffe Castle lay in uneasy peace. She and Alistair had been summoned by Riordan, the senior grey Warden they had helped free, but beyond that he knew little else. But it was clear his kadan had distress painted over her face like a second brand.
"I-" Theramina opened her mouth as if to speak, then clamped it shut decisively. "It's nothing. I might need you to do something tomorrow for me, after the battle. Payback, y'know, for your sword."
And this from the person who had rebuffed all his thanks when she first retrieved Asala. But whatever doubts he had, Sten merely nodded. "If it is within my ability, it will be done," he replied, and went back to sharpening his blade, murmuring verses of the Qun over it with each pass of the whetstone.
"Are you talking to your sword? I know a few men who do that," she quipped at length.
"The words of the Qun purify our weapons. And they prepare us for battle."
"Could you teach me how it's done?" Theramina turned from the window and sank to the floor, giving him one last appraising glance before settling her gaze firmly on the bridge of his nose. He sighed wearily. This was a subject they had broached two or three times before, yet she kept asking as if she expected his answer to change.
"No. I have already told you. It is not my place to teach others about the Qun."
"Well, whose place would it be, then? In Seheron."
"That of the tamassrans."
She nodded, folding her arms over her chest thoughtfully. "Maybe it would be easier to persuade them to educate me, then."
Sten nearly sliced his finger open when he heard that. "What?"
"What 'what'? Don't tell me that's not allowed, either," she shot back, both indignant and amused by her comrade's surprise. "If we both make it out of here alive, I'm following you back to this homeland of yours. I may not understand the prayers in that book of yours, Sten, but they are beautiful to me. I want to learn about them."
"It is a long journey, kadan."
"I won't mind. I love traveling-or haven't you noticed?"
He had, and rewarded her with a long, dry look as she chuckled. He remembered his original journey to Ferelden: the pitch and roll of the ship upon the waves, the hard trek overland, the horrible damp weather. But also the thin, easy banter of the men of the Beresaad, seven of the best men he'd had the fate to command, even if the karashok couldn't cook for beans. It would be difficult, traveling home without companionship after so long. "If you are willing, kadan, then so am I."
"Thank you, Sten." She rested her head against the wall and sighed. "D'you mind if I stay here a while? I can't sleep."
He shot her a questioning look. "This has something to do with your boon?"
"No," she admitted. "But it has everything to do with you."
He let her stay.
----
The army marched the next morning, with Theramina and her comrades at the front of the line. She had shared out the last and best of their equipment, and checked everyone's packs before they left. Sten swept his gaze through the mob, and realised someone was missing: the young mage, sparkling and treacherous like the carnivorous kasaanda. He felt someone lay a hand upon his arm, and turned to see the Warden shaking her head grimly.
"Morrigan won't be joining us, Sten," she said in a low voice, her face hard and sad.
Denerim's gates, when they reached them, were crawling with darkspawn. Though the creatures fell before their blade like saplings in a storm, the horde was just too large to handle for long. The army would never withstand another wave upon them alone. Theramina and Riordan made a quick decision: she would take a small party to clear the city, he would sneak around to distract the archdemon, and the rest would stay with the army to hold the darkspawn at bay. Her choice was swift and sure: Sten for the power of his sword, Shale for the power of her fists, and Wynne to keep them all healed under fire. She left Alistair in charge of the rest.
Before they left, the Warden talked to all her comrades, spending a little more time with Alistair. Discussing a battle plan, perhaps. She bent down to speak to her blood-spattered mabari, and he covered her face in dog drool as he whined anxiously.
"Goodbye, Gelert," she said, in the crooning tone she kept only for him. "Be good and bite lots of darkspawn in the arse for me." He woofed eagerly and gave her face a final lick.
"Are you ready?" Sten asked as she rose. "The enemy waits. Shall we grant him the death he asks of us?"
"It's only fair, isn't it?" replied Theramina, a ghost of a smile upon her face.
"Then let us take this gift to the archdemon. We will take the field. And stand together to see our enemy fall."
"That we shall." She took a breath and raised her sword high. "Let's go, everybody. The archdemon's waited long enough!"
----
The great dragon shrieked its indignance at the tops of its lungs, batting away the myriad forces that plagued it as dark, poisonous blood dribbled from its jaws. Its injured wing hung at an awkward angle as the other one beat insistently against the air. Riordan's mission had failed, but their allies had rallied around them, and victory grew closer with every second. Sten's blade sang time and time again against its adamantine hide, shearing through scales and flesh. Shale pitched rocks at the meddling darkspawn swarming up Fort Drakon. Wynne had called upon the spirit that possessed her, and blasted the archdemon ceaselessly with bolt after bolt of rock and ice and lightning magic.
A hideous gout of flame billowed out of the beast's cavernous jaws. The Warden, armour splattered with various shades of blood, raised her shield before Sten. The attack flared against its surface as she gritted her teeth against the onslaught. "I will give you an opening," she murmured to him, and charged. She didn't need to see if he was ready. She knew he would follow. Gathering what strength was left within her, Theramina swung her faithful shield and smashed it against the dragon's bruised and bleeding sides.
It was a fatal misstep-for the archdemon. Blinded with rage and pain, the beast whirled to snap her in two, turning its back on everyone else. Sten leapt, Asala raised high, a great shadow against the crimson sky. The qunari went unnoticed up to the last; he drove his feet against his foe's neck, and his blade into its flesh. It roared and bucked and writhed as he hung on grimly, sinking his sword in further with every attempt to shake him off. A final savage twist of the blade snapped something in the dragon, and it crashed onto its side, mortally wounded. Sten pulled Asala free and rolled away, barely escaping being crushed by a scaly head.
"Show-off," muttered the Warden as he got to his feet. "Even against Flemeth and the high dragon."
"It gets the job done."
"In the bloodiest way possible. I will miss that." Inexplicably, the Warden pulled off her bronze, winged helmet, letting it fall with a clang as she shook her dark, short braids free. "Now see our comrades to safety, quick as you can," she said, bloody and grim and calm. "The final blow to the archdemon must fall to me."
"This is the boon you claim?" he asked, incredulous. The Warden shook her head, sheathing her beloved sword.
"It is my duty. And not even you can keep me from it." Suddenly, Sten realised two small tears were sliding down her cheeks, cutting runnels through the grime of battle. Theramina never cried. As she turned and ran, she raised her voice in a kind of joyous yell, loud enough for all her comrades to hear. "Say the Prayers for the Dead at my funeral, kadan!"
There was no turning back. She charged the twitching archdemon. A greatsword poked out from a corpse before her. She seized it, the blade sparking briefly against the stones, and hefted it upwards. Under the beast's jaw she slid, blade high, ripping it open from throat to chest. Its roar turned into an impotent gurgle. As the archdemon crashed prone for the last time, the Grey Warden raised the greatsword and plunged it through its skull.
That was the last normal and non-magical thing Sten remembered of that day. Shafts of brilliant light erupted around the archdemon. And the sword. And the dwarf holding onto the sword. Inexplicably, Sten found a single thought pounding doggedly within his head. She knew. She knew. She knew.
He started forward, his boot catching her fallen helmet. She turned at the sound, and met his gaze. Her eyes were filled with a look of pure trust, almost pleading.
"Kadan!" he yelled-or he would have, if his voice had not stuck in his throat.
Kadan, she mouthed back. And something else he could not decipher.
Sten turned to Wynne, staring beside him, and found his horror mirrored in her eyes. There was a mighty explosion, deafening everyone and hurling them backwards. As Sten's skull thudded against stone, the world turned brilliant white, then inky black.
----
It was the hound that finally woke Sten. Somehow Gelert had left the others, trailed them to the top of the fort and found them amidst the carnage. The Qunari was roused by the rough administrations of a canine tongue and a stream of worried barking.
He rose, his thoughts shattered at first. And then he remembered. He remembered it all. As if reading his mind, the mabari raced forward to where Wynne and some of the Redcliffe soldiers crouched. Some of the soldiers were weeping openly. Shale stood statue-like over them.
He didn't have to kneel; he looked over their heads, instead. The warden lay within their circle, as still as a sleeping child. But there was a hollowness in her face; he could find no other way to describe it. He turned to Wynne, who shook her head sadly.
"I am sorry, Sten. She's gone," she whispered, and Gelert whined mournfully as he pushed his nose into her face.
A great weight seemed to force the breath out of him as the words sank in. Still, he had to accept and understand. Some vessels, once empty, can never be filled again. He ploughed wordlessly through the soldiers, ignoring their protests, and scooped the Warden up, armour, weapons and all. "We must let the others know," he said as he descended the tower. They were the last words he spoke for the rest of that day.
----
The day of the Warden's funeral was ridiculously unblighted: blue skies, light wind, no clouds. It was as if the world was trying to make up for lost time. Sten glared at the bright, mocking sun and ducked into the Redcliffe armory. The guard on charge there started, but recognised his guest.
"I found what you asked for," he said, motioning to an armour stand with a large, dark suit of heavy plate upon it. "S-sorry for the wait." Sten simply nodded and brushed past the man. His scant desire to talk had withered further with Theramina's death, and even with his former comrades, he spoke very little.
It had been difficult for all involved. Leliana had looked to Sten as the battered little party approached, then the Warden's limp form, and promptly burst into tears. She had cried enough for all of them. Alistair had looked as if he wanted to decapitate him, then turned away. Sten realised than that they had both known. Theramina had worked in her own way to keep one Fereldan Grey Warden alive. And in his weakness he had let her. They had. Sten did not find the reason why a Grey Warden must strike the final blow of a Blight until much later.
He appraised the dark plate, and decided it would prove sufficient for now. With some difficulty-he was still wound with bandages-he shed his own bright battle armour for a suit more worthy of a man in mourning.
He heard slow, heavy footsteps approach. "Is the Qunari ready?" Shale asked as she poked her head round the door, her voice more gravelly than usual. He made no reply, but snapped the last buckle closed and followed. If his wounds stung and he perhaps leaned on the golem as they made their way toward Lake Calenhad, she made no mention of it.
The queen, to her credit, gave a passable speech to the crowd as the Warden's corpse lay on a stone plinth before them. Whatever they had done to prepare her for burial, they had done it well. Sten stood in the back of the crowd, and Alistair hid behind his bulk, eyes red and nose even redder. It was all he could do to resist the urge to shove the silly man to the front of all the attendees. She had died in his place. He wasn't sure he would ever forgive that.
The Warden's sister had arrived too, a softer, painted, red-haired version of his kadan, and was called forward by the queen. She and some of her family had arrived to take the Warden back to Orzammar for burial. Theramina was to be made a Paragon, the highest honour any dwarf could imagine. Sten wondered what she would think of the whole thing, when she would not take coin for an item retrieved, or gratitude for a soul reclaimed.
One by one, Theramina's motley band of comrades lined up to pay their respects. Sten hung back until the last possible moment. Ignoring the stares and whispers of much of the crowd, he bowed and recited the Prayers for the Dead before her, very softly indeed. It would be for the ears of none but the kadan who requested it.
The dwarves took the warden's body with them, and the crowd began to clear. Theramina's comrades were left standing awkwardly, together as a group for the first time in days. Finally, Alistair cleared his throat. "So. I guess it's up to me now to say this, since our leader's otherwise occupied." Sten growled. Shale stared. Oghren and Leliana simultaneously choked on laughter. "Thank you, all of you, for seeing this through with us." His voice wavered, but his eyes remained dry through some miracle of willpower. "The Grey Wardens-well, one, at least-won't forget what you've done."
"Will we see each other again, do you think?" said Leliana, staring at the assembled company with red-rimmed eyes.
"I doubt it," Zevran said fliply, but fondly patted her shoulder. "I, for one, am unwilling to give the Crows an easy target."
"I would like to find a way to become flesh again," Shale said, sounding surprised at her own words. "The Warden has shown me there is worth in such things."
"Perhaps I'll help you, then," Wynne mused. If the golem's jaw could have dropped open, it would have.
"To Highever," Alistair said, almost to himself. "And then, well, we'll see."
"I'm stickin' around." Oghren sounded as if he had a dozen nugs stuffed up his nostrils. His breath reeked of alcohol. "There's good ale topside."
"I will stay at court for a time," Leliana volunteered. "There is much I wish to think about. But Sten, what will you do?"
"Go home." Gelert barked and he held out a hand to it. "I leave today. The Arishok will have his answer about the Blight."
"We'll miss having you around," Alistair said, and a few others murmured their agreement. But Sten only nodded shortly, inclined his head in farewell, and took his leave. The Warden's hound followed at his heels, wagging his stump of a tail. It looked like he would have some company after all.
As the ship pulled out of the docks and pointed its bow northwards some hours later, the sun sparkling upon the churning waters, Sten of the Beresaad had only one worry: explaining the Warden to the Arishok, and getting it done without being accused for blasphemy.
----
Halfway between Ferelden and Tevinter, Sten had a dream. He was standing in the royal palace, in the borrowed suit of armour, and a celebratory feast was laid out, or what might pass for one. He expected to see a cake, but did not. Pitiful indeed.
The queen was giving a speech, and standing next to her was his kadan, alive, unharmed, and her eyes bright and calm before them all. "What are your plans?" the queen asked, turning to her. "Will you remain with the Wardens?"
The Warden's eyes wandered around the hall, her gaze lingering thoughtfully on her companions and the family who had come to share in her victory. "I think I will travel...at least for a time," she finally said. For all that it was Sten's dream, he could have sworn she was looking directly at him when she said those words.
When the queen had finished and the festivities had begun, he retreated to a corner of the hall to observe things. The mabari happily took up a post next to him. The Warden wandered down the hall, speaking to everyone in turn. Finally she bounced up to him-bounced, in heavy plate-smiling and proud of a job well done. Even he could not stand solemn before her joy, and he felt a real, wide smile creeping onto his face.
"It is good to see you again, kadan," he finally said.
"And you too, Sten," she grinned. "I can't believe I miss the fighting already."
"No doubt you will have plenty of it when you return to Orzammar." The remark only made the Warden cackle wickedly.
"Return to Orzammar? I told you already. You're going back to your people, I expect. And I'm coming with you."
"You will have much to prove to them, kadan," Sten said in warning. "I have been away for a long time, and my word may only do so much."
"I'll do the rest, then." She looked up at him with a gleam in her eyes. "Just like I did with you, yes?"
"You are certain?" he asked quietly.
She nodded, her smile gentle and her eyes unusually soft. "I'm surprised you have to ask, kadan. Wherever my heart goes, so do I."
Before he could offer any sort of reply, she turned to the others. "Hey! Hey, you lot! They want the Hero of Ferelden out there, but she's sure as stones not going out there alone! We did this together! C'mon!"
The others approached, talking and teasing and cheering, but it was to him that the Warden turned. The green of her eyes reminded him of his forests in distant Seheron. She extended her hand, patient, waiting. After some hesitation, he took it. With a laugh, she closed her fingers tightly around his and pulled him through the castle doors, into a roar of sound and blinding light.
----
Sten awoke with the rush of the ship's wake filling his ears, and the sunlight pouring into his eyes through a porthole. He must have been more tired than he expected. Thanks to Wynne's ministrations, however, the fight would be little more than a collection of scars and memories one day. He did not immediately rise, but stared up at the planks above his head as he listened to the sounds of the ocean below him. It brought him less comfort than he'd expected.
Gelert cracked open one eye, trotted over to lick him a greeting, and pawed at Sten's pack. "Parshaara. There's nothing in there for you, hound," he retorted, but the mabari continued to sniff and paw and whine pointedly. He roused himself, shooed Gelert out of the way and checked his supplies. Dried meat, bread, tent, pegs, poultices, a few interesting amulets and paintings, a bronze, winged helmet just right for a dwarven head on top of all that. But right at the bottom of the pack was an oddly-shaped package, wrapped in white paper and twine. Odd. He didn't remember putting that in there before they...
The Warden. She and her supply 'checks'.
Sten slowly unwrapped the mysterious package. It was a totem, carved with great discipline, and when Gelert sniffed it he whined sadly at a familiar scent. On further inspection, the wrapping had writing on it, in an unfamiliar hand: something to do with flour and eggs and sugar at first glance, and the baking of such a mixture in ovens. Right at the bottom, it read: 'For Sten - a Fereldan recipe. Makes 36. Don't eat them all at once.'
She had not only returned him a soul, he realized as he gripped the message tight and read through it again, slowly this time. She had gifted him a heart.
Date: 26/06/2011
Fandom: DA:O
Characters: f!Brosca, Sten, Dog, light mentions of others
Genre: Drama
Rating/Warnings: T
Pairings: Sten/Brosca leanings
Summary: The night before the final battle, Warden Theramina Brosca asks her Qunari brother for a final boon.
(crossposted to the_sten and dragonage-fic)
"Sten-kadan? Can I come in?"
"You may."
Theramina Brosca, one of the last Grey Wardens in Ferelden, silently pushed open the great wooden door of her comrade's room-and promptly got an eyeful of him sitting cross-legged below the window, sharpening his beloved Asala in nothing but the moonlight and his smallclothes.
"Sweet Ancestors!" she yelped, averting her eyes. Dwarva, it was said, did not blush, but she was starting to prove an exception to the rule. "Do you always polish your sword in the nude?!" she spluttered, remembering to lower her voice this time.
"I am not nude. No more than I was at your side during the Gauntlet." His eyes narrowed, as if he wished to chop the memories of that excursion into fine bits and feed them to Gelert, currently snoring blissfully on the floor as only a Mabari could.
"And a right blessing that was. Forgive me if I keep my clothes on," she said, tugging on the hem of her nightshirt as she closed the door behind her. As she strode across the cold floors to the window, she couldn't resist a few more appreciative glances at the way the moonlight played over Sten's muscles as he worked. Shale had the right idea, if only on this one matter. But a faint unease soon returned to cloud her features, and Sten noticed.
"You are not as you should be. And you have sought me out for a reason. What troubles you?" he asked, temporarily laying aside his work. The final battle with the archdemon was hours away, and for now Redcliffe Castle lay in uneasy peace. She and Alistair had been summoned by Riordan, the senior grey Warden they had helped free, but beyond that he knew little else. But it was clear his kadan had distress painted over her face like a second brand.
"I-" Theramina opened her mouth as if to speak, then clamped it shut decisively. "It's nothing. I might need you to do something tomorrow for me, after the battle. Payback, y'know, for your sword."
And this from the person who had rebuffed all his thanks when she first retrieved Asala. But whatever doubts he had, Sten merely nodded. "If it is within my ability, it will be done," he replied, and went back to sharpening his blade, murmuring verses of the Qun over it with each pass of the whetstone.
"Are you talking to your sword? I know a few men who do that," she quipped at length.
"The words of the Qun purify our weapons. And they prepare us for battle."
"Could you teach me how it's done?" Theramina turned from the window and sank to the floor, giving him one last appraising glance before settling her gaze firmly on the bridge of his nose. He sighed wearily. This was a subject they had broached two or three times before, yet she kept asking as if she expected his answer to change.
"No. I have already told you. It is not my place to teach others about the Qun."
"Well, whose place would it be, then? In Seheron."
"That of the tamassrans."
She nodded, folding her arms over her chest thoughtfully. "Maybe it would be easier to persuade them to educate me, then."
Sten nearly sliced his finger open when he heard that. "What?"
"What 'what'? Don't tell me that's not allowed, either," she shot back, both indignant and amused by her comrade's surprise. "If we both make it out of here alive, I'm following you back to this homeland of yours. I may not understand the prayers in that book of yours, Sten, but they are beautiful to me. I want to learn about them."
"It is a long journey, kadan."
"I won't mind. I love traveling-or haven't you noticed?"
He had, and rewarded her with a long, dry look as she chuckled. He remembered his original journey to Ferelden: the pitch and roll of the ship upon the waves, the hard trek overland, the horrible damp weather. But also the thin, easy banter of the men of the Beresaad, seven of the best men he'd had the fate to command, even if the karashok couldn't cook for beans. It would be difficult, traveling home without companionship after so long. "If you are willing, kadan, then so am I."
"Thank you, Sten." She rested her head against the wall and sighed. "D'you mind if I stay here a while? I can't sleep."
He shot her a questioning look. "This has something to do with your boon?"
"No," she admitted. "But it has everything to do with you."
He let her stay.
----
The army marched the next morning, with Theramina and her comrades at the front of the line. She had shared out the last and best of their equipment, and checked everyone's packs before they left. Sten swept his gaze through the mob, and realised someone was missing: the young mage, sparkling and treacherous like the carnivorous kasaanda. He felt someone lay a hand upon his arm, and turned to see the Warden shaking her head grimly.
"Morrigan won't be joining us, Sten," she said in a low voice, her face hard and sad.
Denerim's gates, when they reached them, were crawling with darkspawn. Though the creatures fell before their blade like saplings in a storm, the horde was just too large to handle for long. The army would never withstand another wave upon them alone. Theramina and Riordan made a quick decision: she would take a small party to clear the city, he would sneak around to distract the archdemon, and the rest would stay with the army to hold the darkspawn at bay. Her choice was swift and sure: Sten for the power of his sword, Shale for the power of her fists, and Wynne to keep them all healed under fire. She left Alistair in charge of the rest.
Before they left, the Warden talked to all her comrades, spending a little more time with Alistair. Discussing a battle plan, perhaps. She bent down to speak to her blood-spattered mabari, and he covered her face in dog drool as he whined anxiously.
"Goodbye, Gelert," she said, in the crooning tone she kept only for him. "Be good and bite lots of darkspawn in the arse for me." He woofed eagerly and gave her face a final lick.
"Are you ready?" Sten asked as she rose. "The enemy waits. Shall we grant him the death he asks of us?"
"It's only fair, isn't it?" replied Theramina, a ghost of a smile upon her face.
"Then let us take this gift to the archdemon. We will take the field. And stand together to see our enemy fall."
"That we shall." She took a breath and raised her sword high. "Let's go, everybody. The archdemon's waited long enough!"
----
The great dragon shrieked its indignance at the tops of its lungs, batting away the myriad forces that plagued it as dark, poisonous blood dribbled from its jaws. Its injured wing hung at an awkward angle as the other one beat insistently against the air. Riordan's mission had failed, but their allies had rallied around them, and victory grew closer with every second. Sten's blade sang time and time again against its adamantine hide, shearing through scales and flesh. Shale pitched rocks at the meddling darkspawn swarming up Fort Drakon. Wynne had called upon the spirit that possessed her, and blasted the archdemon ceaselessly with bolt after bolt of rock and ice and lightning magic.
A hideous gout of flame billowed out of the beast's cavernous jaws. The Warden, armour splattered with various shades of blood, raised her shield before Sten. The attack flared against its surface as she gritted her teeth against the onslaught. "I will give you an opening," she murmured to him, and charged. She didn't need to see if he was ready. She knew he would follow. Gathering what strength was left within her, Theramina swung her faithful shield and smashed it against the dragon's bruised and bleeding sides.
It was a fatal misstep-for the archdemon. Blinded with rage and pain, the beast whirled to snap her in two, turning its back on everyone else. Sten leapt, Asala raised high, a great shadow against the crimson sky. The qunari went unnoticed up to the last; he drove his feet against his foe's neck, and his blade into its flesh. It roared and bucked and writhed as he hung on grimly, sinking his sword in further with every attempt to shake him off. A final savage twist of the blade snapped something in the dragon, and it crashed onto its side, mortally wounded. Sten pulled Asala free and rolled away, barely escaping being crushed by a scaly head.
"Show-off," muttered the Warden as he got to his feet. "Even against Flemeth and the high dragon."
"It gets the job done."
"In the bloodiest way possible. I will miss that." Inexplicably, the Warden pulled off her bronze, winged helmet, letting it fall with a clang as she shook her dark, short braids free. "Now see our comrades to safety, quick as you can," she said, bloody and grim and calm. "The final blow to the archdemon must fall to me."
"This is the boon you claim?" he asked, incredulous. The Warden shook her head, sheathing her beloved sword.
"It is my duty. And not even you can keep me from it." Suddenly, Sten realised two small tears were sliding down her cheeks, cutting runnels through the grime of battle. Theramina never cried. As she turned and ran, she raised her voice in a kind of joyous yell, loud enough for all her comrades to hear. "Say the Prayers for the Dead at my funeral, kadan!"
There was no turning back. She charged the twitching archdemon. A greatsword poked out from a corpse before her. She seized it, the blade sparking briefly against the stones, and hefted it upwards. Under the beast's jaw she slid, blade high, ripping it open from throat to chest. Its roar turned into an impotent gurgle. As the archdemon crashed prone for the last time, the Grey Warden raised the greatsword and plunged it through its skull.
That was the last normal and non-magical thing Sten remembered of that day. Shafts of brilliant light erupted around the archdemon. And the sword. And the dwarf holding onto the sword. Inexplicably, Sten found a single thought pounding doggedly within his head. She knew. She knew. She knew.
He started forward, his boot catching her fallen helmet. She turned at the sound, and met his gaze. Her eyes were filled with a look of pure trust, almost pleading.
"Kadan!" he yelled-or he would have, if his voice had not stuck in his throat.
Kadan, she mouthed back. And something else he could not decipher.
Sten turned to Wynne, staring beside him, and found his horror mirrored in her eyes. There was a mighty explosion, deafening everyone and hurling them backwards. As Sten's skull thudded against stone, the world turned brilliant white, then inky black.
----
It was the hound that finally woke Sten. Somehow Gelert had left the others, trailed them to the top of the fort and found them amidst the carnage. The Qunari was roused by the rough administrations of a canine tongue and a stream of worried barking.
He rose, his thoughts shattered at first. And then he remembered. He remembered it all. As if reading his mind, the mabari raced forward to where Wynne and some of the Redcliffe soldiers crouched. Some of the soldiers were weeping openly. Shale stood statue-like over them.
He didn't have to kneel; he looked over their heads, instead. The warden lay within their circle, as still as a sleeping child. But there was a hollowness in her face; he could find no other way to describe it. He turned to Wynne, who shook her head sadly.
"I am sorry, Sten. She's gone," she whispered, and Gelert whined mournfully as he pushed his nose into her face.
A great weight seemed to force the breath out of him as the words sank in. Still, he had to accept and understand. Some vessels, once empty, can never be filled again. He ploughed wordlessly through the soldiers, ignoring their protests, and scooped the Warden up, armour, weapons and all. "We must let the others know," he said as he descended the tower. They were the last words he spoke for the rest of that day.
----
The day of the Warden's funeral was ridiculously unblighted: blue skies, light wind, no clouds. It was as if the world was trying to make up for lost time. Sten glared at the bright, mocking sun and ducked into the Redcliffe armory. The guard on charge there started, but recognised his guest.
"I found what you asked for," he said, motioning to an armour stand with a large, dark suit of heavy plate upon it. "S-sorry for the wait." Sten simply nodded and brushed past the man. His scant desire to talk had withered further with Theramina's death, and even with his former comrades, he spoke very little.
It had been difficult for all involved. Leliana had looked to Sten as the battered little party approached, then the Warden's limp form, and promptly burst into tears. She had cried enough for all of them. Alistair had looked as if he wanted to decapitate him, then turned away. Sten realised than that they had both known. Theramina had worked in her own way to keep one Fereldan Grey Warden alive. And in his weakness he had let her. They had. Sten did not find the reason why a Grey Warden must strike the final blow of a Blight until much later.
He appraised the dark plate, and decided it would prove sufficient for now. With some difficulty-he was still wound with bandages-he shed his own bright battle armour for a suit more worthy of a man in mourning.
He heard slow, heavy footsteps approach. "Is the Qunari ready?" Shale asked as she poked her head round the door, her voice more gravelly than usual. He made no reply, but snapped the last buckle closed and followed. If his wounds stung and he perhaps leaned on the golem as they made their way toward Lake Calenhad, she made no mention of it.
The queen, to her credit, gave a passable speech to the crowd as the Warden's corpse lay on a stone plinth before them. Whatever they had done to prepare her for burial, they had done it well. Sten stood in the back of the crowd, and Alistair hid behind his bulk, eyes red and nose even redder. It was all he could do to resist the urge to shove the silly man to the front of all the attendees. She had died in his place. He wasn't sure he would ever forgive that.
The Warden's sister had arrived too, a softer, painted, red-haired version of his kadan, and was called forward by the queen. She and some of her family had arrived to take the Warden back to Orzammar for burial. Theramina was to be made a Paragon, the highest honour any dwarf could imagine. Sten wondered what she would think of the whole thing, when she would not take coin for an item retrieved, or gratitude for a soul reclaimed.
One by one, Theramina's motley band of comrades lined up to pay their respects. Sten hung back until the last possible moment. Ignoring the stares and whispers of much of the crowd, he bowed and recited the Prayers for the Dead before her, very softly indeed. It would be for the ears of none but the kadan who requested it.
The dwarves took the warden's body with them, and the crowd began to clear. Theramina's comrades were left standing awkwardly, together as a group for the first time in days. Finally, Alistair cleared his throat. "So. I guess it's up to me now to say this, since our leader's otherwise occupied." Sten growled. Shale stared. Oghren and Leliana simultaneously choked on laughter. "Thank you, all of you, for seeing this through with us." His voice wavered, but his eyes remained dry through some miracle of willpower. "The Grey Wardens-well, one, at least-won't forget what you've done."
"Will we see each other again, do you think?" said Leliana, staring at the assembled company with red-rimmed eyes.
"I doubt it," Zevran said fliply, but fondly patted her shoulder. "I, for one, am unwilling to give the Crows an easy target."
"I would like to find a way to become flesh again," Shale said, sounding surprised at her own words. "The Warden has shown me there is worth in such things."
"Perhaps I'll help you, then," Wynne mused. If the golem's jaw could have dropped open, it would have.
"To Highever," Alistair said, almost to himself. "And then, well, we'll see."
"I'm stickin' around." Oghren sounded as if he had a dozen nugs stuffed up his nostrils. His breath reeked of alcohol. "There's good ale topside."
"I will stay at court for a time," Leliana volunteered. "There is much I wish to think about. But Sten, what will you do?"
"Go home." Gelert barked and he held out a hand to it. "I leave today. The Arishok will have his answer about the Blight."
"We'll miss having you around," Alistair said, and a few others murmured their agreement. But Sten only nodded shortly, inclined his head in farewell, and took his leave. The Warden's hound followed at his heels, wagging his stump of a tail. It looked like he would have some company after all.
As the ship pulled out of the docks and pointed its bow northwards some hours later, the sun sparkling upon the churning waters, Sten of the Beresaad had only one worry: explaining the Warden to the Arishok, and getting it done without being accused for blasphemy.
----
Halfway between Ferelden and Tevinter, Sten had a dream. He was standing in the royal palace, in the borrowed suit of armour, and a celebratory feast was laid out, or what might pass for one. He expected to see a cake, but did not. Pitiful indeed.
The queen was giving a speech, and standing next to her was his kadan, alive, unharmed, and her eyes bright and calm before them all. "What are your plans?" the queen asked, turning to her. "Will you remain with the Wardens?"
The Warden's eyes wandered around the hall, her gaze lingering thoughtfully on her companions and the family who had come to share in her victory. "I think I will travel...at least for a time," she finally said. For all that it was Sten's dream, he could have sworn she was looking directly at him when she said those words.
When the queen had finished and the festivities had begun, he retreated to a corner of the hall to observe things. The mabari happily took up a post next to him. The Warden wandered down the hall, speaking to everyone in turn. Finally she bounced up to him-bounced, in heavy plate-smiling and proud of a job well done. Even he could not stand solemn before her joy, and he felt a real, wide smile creeping onto his face.
"It is good to see you again, kadan," he finally said.
"And you too, Sten," she grinned. "I can't believe I miss the fighting already."
"No doubt you will have plenty of it when you return to Orzammar." The remark only made the Warden cackle wickedly.
"Return to Orzammar? I told you already. You're going back to your people, I expect. And I'm coming with you."
"You will have much to prove to them, kadan," Sten said in warning. "I have been away for a long time, and my word may only do so much."
"I'll do the rest, then." She looked up at him with a gleam in her eyes. "Just like I did with you, yes?"
"You are certain?" he asked quietly.
She nodded, her smile gentle and her eyes unusually soft. "I'm surprised you have to ask, kadan. Wherever my heart goes, so do I."
Before he could offer any sort of reply, she turned to the others. "Hey! Hey, you lot! They want the Hero of Ferelden out there, but she's sure as stones not going out there alone! We did this together! C'mon!"
The others approached, talking and teasing and cheering, but it was to him that the Warden turned. The green of her eyes reminded him of his forests in distant Seheron. She extended her hand, patient, waiting. After some hesitation, he took it. With a laugh, she closed her fingers tightly around his and pulled him through the castle doors, into a roar of sound and blinding light.
----
Sten awoke with the rush of the ship's wake filling his ears, and the sunlight pouring into his eyes through a porthole. He must have been more tired than he expected. Thanks to Wynne's ministrations, however, the fight would be little more than a collection of scars and memories one day. He did not immediately rise, but stared up at the planks above his head as he listened to the sounds of the ocean below him. It brought him less comfort than he'd expected.
Gelert cracked open one eye, trotted over to lick him a greeting, and pawed at Sten's pack. "Parshaara. There's nothing in there for you, hound," he retorted, but the mabari continued to sniff and paw and whine pointedly. He roused himself, shooed Gelert out of the way and checked his supplies. Dried meat, bread, tent, pegs, poultices, a few interesting amulets and paintings, a bronze, winged helmet just right for a dwarven head on top of all that. But right at the bottom of the pack was an oddly-shaped package, wrapped in white paper and twine. Odd. He didn't remember putting that in there before they...
The Warden. She and her supply 'checks'.
Sten slowly unwrapped the mysterious package. It was a totem, carved with great discipline, and when Gelert sniffed it he whined sadly at a familiar scent. On further inspection, the wrapping had writing on it, in an unfamiliar hand: something to do with flour and eggs and sugar at first glance, and the baking of such a mixture in ovens. Right at the bottom, it read: 'For Sten - a Fereldan recipe. Makes 36. Don't eat them all at once.'
She had not only returned him a soul, he realized as he gripped the message tight and read through it again, slowly this time. She had gifted him a heart.