A/N: Written for Sanyu DarkStar, who commissioned this piece.

We all need some Sten in lives, don't we?

Why do you struggle so, tiny one?

Dark wings had obscured my vision, but a flash of light revealed a figure that belonged to an old woman. She did not smell right, and even with the death around me, she exuded something sweet andcloying. She smelled… strong.

Many have often asked me why I fight. I tell them that it is because I do not have a choice—and that there are no other alternatives. The journeys I have had thus far, the people that I have met, have only given me more reason to stand strong against the coming storm. And then, there was him—the one person at my side who made me feel strong enough to weather all of eternity.

Shakti

"Shok ebasit hissra. Meraad astaarit," It was a haunting thing to overhear—uncanny, as others would say, foreign and familiar all at once. I crept closer as the others followed, their feet shuffling loudly against the beaten ground, "meraad itwasit, aban aqun." A strange sight greeted my curiosity—a qunari in these frozen lands.

He was a good seven feet, and the healthy bronze tones of his skin seemed muted in the Ferelden sun. He had no horns—rare, for a kossith. I could see his eyes taking in my own stature—and my features significantly dissimilar to the humans who followed.

"Maraas shokra. Anaan esaam Qun." Our voices joined, very much like the wolves and their calls in the night. But he did not appear to have heard me.

Finally coming to a stop in front of the cage, I knew that I must have seemed strange in the qunari's eyes. The monster that the village had held in so much disdain could see himself reflected in me. A long moment passed between us. "You aren't one of my captors. I will not amuse you any more than I have the others. Leave me in peace."

"What is he?" Alistair wondered aloud. He did not appear to possess tact in the slightest, but it was finally, a question to which I knew the answer.

"He is a qunari, but I had not heard that they sailed this far."

"Huh. What's a qunari?"

The kossith had the voice of sobering gravel, soothing, unchanging. "I am also a prisoner, am I not? I've been placed here by the Chantry." He seemed to eye the blade I had on my back with more than a little interest, before his lilac gaze returned to my own.

"That… still does not answer my question." muttered the other man in a small voice.

"The revered mother said that he slaughtered an entire family. Even the children," panted the red-haired woman as she caught up to us. This Leliana appeared to have pursued us from the inn, and she was still dressed in that ridiculous dress of her religious order. She had a bow strapped to her back- curious, if still, in contrast to her garments.

But the qunari did not snivel like the prisoner at Ostagar—and was direct as his people were known to be. "It is as she says."

"That you're a murderer?" He regarded me solemnly.

"I am Sten of the Beresaad—the vanguard— of the qunari peoples."

The humans gaped, or were breathing too heavily to give a proper response. I nodded stiffly. "And I am Shakti. Pleased to meet you, as is the customary response amongst the locals."

"You mock me. Or you show manners that I have not come to expect in… these lands." His brow creased very slightly, but he no longer appeared guarded, raising his eyes to the sky. "But it matters little now, I will die soon enough."

The others began to bicker again, but I no longer cared for their opinion on the matter—for I only saw one way to proceed. I hit the lock on the cage with a well-aimed punch, and soon enough, the flimsy catch no longer held true.

There was now a large dent on the metal gate, though my human companions did not appear to have noticed. The Sten on the other hand, frowned a little, but stepped free when the door swung open. Shock resounded among the humans, who stood stock still.

The melodious voice of the sister was raised in protest, "but the Revered Mother…"

I did not turn to acknowledge her. "I do not heed the wishes of those who trust in useless prayers."

Supplies were scarce, but so was the light of day. Dusk would come soon, and with that I was sure, more darkspawn.

The old woman looked around at the carcasses of those whom I loved—now empty husks of fur. I felt a hollow kind of hatred, something similar to what humans called 'despair'—and I was sure that she knew this too.

Is it because there are wolves in the world?

She had gestured at my pack, and the smile on her lips was a thin sliver of bitterness.

The wolves are not the problem The lack of strength, is the problem. I need it to change.

Oh?

She began to laugh, but it was a mirth that contained so much more. Danger.

You amuse me, child.

Sten

She seemed kin to the flashes of light that struck the highest peaks in a storm, her form a true warrior's, each movement deadly and…succinct. That long hair had seemed almost a blade in turn, but it served to cut the air as keenly as her sword, each movement marked and unfailing. And yet, she was female, that much was unmistakable.

Another undeniable thing was the unmoving bodies of our foe which all around us, yet still she tired not. Even now, her opalescent eyes returned to the horizon as surely as she sought out our goal. We were to head towards the mountains.

"It's a good thing we're immune to the taint. Every battle stains you with more blood," the other male Warden marvelled in that vacant way. It was truly something for him to survive this long.

Her amusement was plain. "And yet, none of it is mine."

That elicited a long thoughtful silence from the male Warden. Most impressive. But I spoke too soon.

"But the laundry…" he whined unbecomingly. It appeared that the Wardens appeared to have a talent for finding the most unsuitable recruits.

Sten

We were heading too far off course, in pursuit of some miracle cure. "Why are you leading us to the mountains?"

"We need the Ashes." Shakti led the way, picking her away up the slope. She and I were ahead of the rest.

I did not understand this folly. "Of a dead woman? How is that supposed to help with the Blight?"

"We need Arl Eamon's help with the Blight." She did not turn, but her irritation was plain.

I found myself at an impasse. "You are—"

"I am a what?" She had stopped, and her words were uttered in a low, dangerous tone.

"You… are a woman."

"Among many other things. What are you really saying, Sten?"

"But it stands that you cannot be a warrior. Women—"

"But I am female, and I fight. Have you not seen me doing battle, qunari?"

"One would imagine that either is false."

She stared back at me, appraising my stance."Are you challenging me?"

"Yes, if I have to. Someone has to prevent this madness."

With my words, she tossed her pack aside, drawing her blade with both hands. Her eyes met mine, and something seemed to flash behind their already pale pupils. It was brooding fury, given form, akin to the storm. She now appeared to be the gloom of clouds and rumbles of thunder—embodied in an unquestioningly female body.

xOxOx

Shakti

I dropped to my knees, and with all the strength I possessed, thrust my shoulder into the qunari's abdomen. Though Asala now lay in two, hehad no right to take my blade from me. This display of my strength stunned my companions, but it was true. Before I had found it necessary to fight with a weapon, I had learnt to evade, and to fell an Ogre, through the teachings of a certain swamp witch. She had blessed me with this unearthly strength in return, and I rarely felt my body tire from all manner of exertions.

There was no doubt that the Sten would soon regret his decision to challenge my role.

The kossith stayed his ground however, gripping my arms in a deadlock, forcing me backwards towards the cliff's edge. He had meant it- to forcibly remove me from a position of power- and all because I was a female. This thought enraged me, and my body responded in kind, twisting myself a release from the hold, I spun around and my feet caught him squarely in the chest.

The resulting impact had sent the large kossith flying into a large boulder behind, and I watched in silence as he crumpled to the frost-covered ground. My legs broke into a run, and I soon reached the Sten's side, watching for signs that told of his being alive.

He was, but only barely.

"You might have overdone it," scolded the overbearing old mage who had insisted on being part of our pack.

And this was where we would set up camp for several nights, nights that neither we, nor Arl Eamon could spare.

I had once thought that she pitied me. That she pitied my weakness. Never have I been more wrong. She understood, for the next she spoke, her tone was different. Curious, even.

And what would you do if you could change?

Shakti

"Wait, we are just going to hustle the dwarf for his blade?" the elf smirked as we set off towards the brazen usurper.

My eyes fixed on the short figure that stood ahead. "I do not see any other option."

First Kinloch Hold, then Orzammar, and now, Redcliffe. Time long enough before we found the truth behind Asala's new 'owner'.

We had time before the battle at dusk, and the Sten deserved a weapon far better suited for his strong hands.

The qunari had been convinced to remain with Alistair for fear that the brash idiot would go off charging towards the Castle gates- that and the Sten had a rage that bubbled furiously beneath that veneer of calm. He would take Dwynn's head off in an instant- and we needed all the help we could get for tonight. We needed warriors, far better than the motley group of civilians.

I... wanted to see that charming glitter in his lavender eyes again.

"It's a pleasure doing business with you," the elf threw back with a laugh as we returned with the blade. The dwarf stared back, hapless, confused and barely outraged, having lost in a series of complicated bets. Zevran's ideas were absolute genius.

"This… this is where she truly belongs." Sten murmured while running trembling fingers along the deliberately intricate edge, tips trailing against the leather that bound the blade as true as the shadows that clung to the ground. He was by all accounts, pleased, but I did not wait to see if his eyes translated that joy.

Remaining mute, I looked away from the hands that could never embrace me in that manner. He would never do so with such anticipation, I could not believe the lies my dreams wove when I slept.

The fighting would soon begin.

"Thank you, kadan."

To find out where I truly belong.

It was certainly, a familiar thought, somewhat shocking to be heard uttered by another.

xOxOx

And strength?

The bearded human—Duncan, mentioned dreams when I… became one of them. He did not mention how intense these feelings would be. Most nights, I dreamt that I was hungry. Within me rose a thousand screaming bats, vermin and insects, my blood wailing, twisting, squirming, and demanding to be fed. It felt like a chaos that embodied no rules—no control. To be unrestrained, to have nothing to fight for, to care for nothing but sustenance was no longer just… animalistic. It had been intoxicating, mindless, and— free. But was this what true freedom felt like?

Something had told me different. There was no freedom if one had no purpose. It would appear that the qunari was sensible—I wanted a freedom that was dictated by one's given role. Grey Wardens fulfilled that somewhat—but I felt hollow, still.

Where did I belong? Was there something out there, beyond this?

I want the strength that will ensure I find my place.

Ask nicely, and you shall receive. Her smile faded into darkness, and I awoke, utterly alone.

To a black, hungry emptiness.

Shakti

Sten had once said that he was defined by his role as part of the qunari vanguard. He had been devastated when Asala was separated from him, lost-for he thought that he too was lost. His sword- a lovely, deadly-looking thing now lay broken yards away, shattered into three large shards by my strength. My strength, once-sought after, now only served to ruin the things that were precious to me.

"He killed those villagers in Lothering because he thought that he had lost his sword. What do you suppose he'd do to us when he finds out that this happened?" Alistair's voice sounded like the wailing of a young child, a piercing thing that stabbed at my conscience.

This was my fault. Again.

Picking up the pieces, I held the bright shards of light together, laying them out on the canvas of my unmade tent. These could be mended. The blacksmith who had offered me shelter in the long rain months had made a living of repairing tools and chains. The human had taught me these skills, when he in turn needed help tending his forge. The fires I built out of the logs that littered the region, slightly-singed dry in the cold. This region was certainly hiding more than the usual icy white that remained before us.

"Maybe the village will have a forge?" Alistair mumbled as he inched towards me, a little pink from the blazing heat. I shook my head. I would not subject Sten's Asala to the skill of human dragon worshippers.

There was no proper anvil, but I fashioned one out of boulder that had seemed flat, and improvised a hammer out of a similarly-smooth rock that had fit quite nicely in my hand. It was not professional, but short of storming the settlement in search of the right tools… I preferred this. And I was certain that he would prefer this.

More murmurs came from behind- "She thinks she can fix it? Such pride before a fall-" The swamp witch's sneering voice always pricked at my patience. But a deal was a deal, and Flemeth had to be paid with this favour.

I watched the forge,. The fires moulded the metal again, forming the pieces into a single being. Embers sparked, and fluttered away, as the steel grew into a whole again. As I brought the hammer down again I remembered the words of the human smith from all those seasons ago.

"When working with steel- which do you think is more important fire, or ice?" He had asked, curious to see my fascination of his art.

"Fire," I replied. There had been no other answer for me. Fire was an eternal strength.

The man shook his head.

"Both." He paused. "The two are intertwined. Only one, or too much of one will make the metalwork weak- this is the magic and the mystery of steel. Every single thing around us has been made like this, to fit with another. There is a place for all. "

I stared. The human made too much sense, for a blacksmith.

Where did I belong?

Sten

The Sten is very silent. The karashok commented as I eyed their form.—they were indeed identical to my fallen brethren. It was strange, what I saw. What I heard. Barely anything beyond sound was... real.

What I felt.

Felt.

In a world that could not be.

Shanedan. It was She, confronting me, as usual.

The karashok were alive there— figments of some creature's making- a place comfortable, a place where my failure… was not relived again.

She eyed my brethren oddly, but turned back to me, squinting.

This isn't real, you know. It's a dream. She appeared to be checking my eyes. Perhaps for a manic quality. She seemed concerned that I was losing my mind. Again.

Perhaps I had finally gone mad in this place. Given up.

I had believed so.

I know. But it is a good dream.

But you must leave, with me. She beckoned gently. The rare upward lift of her lips—her smile was hesitant, but welcoming.

No. I shook my head.

And what of the Blight? You owe me. But she was right—my… obligations remained. She could not face that alone.

Kadan...

The karashok drew their weapons and attacked, snarling. It appeared that staying was no longer an option.

It pained me to slay them again, but now—perhaps they would be at peace.

Thank you. A fleeting brush of lips grazed my own, and…she disappeared. Something flared in me, and I felt the beginnings…of something.

She had never clarified her intentions behind that—kiss.

Sten

Asala was different. Each swing of my blade was lighter, smoother, and it gleamed in the moonlight with a pure silver sheen- it seemed that the kadan had crafted a different weapon altogether. I have not had the chance to express myself to her, not since that fateful day.

It had taken a full night for the kadan to present Asala, shying away after leaving it outside my tent, encased in a leather cloth. My horror had been evident when these were undone- for I had refused to touch it- the changed thing that was no longer the blade I knew.

She had left wordlessly at dawn with the other Grey Warden, dwarf and elf, cowed by her unaccepted gift. The three women left behind were not speaking to me either, and this created a strange quiet that deemed me- guilty.

They ignored my presence for a whole day, before a loud roar and crash startled them to their feet.

xOxOx

Shakti

"A dragon?!" Morrigan's voice was one of panic and confusion, as we dashed down the mountain.

"Yes, apparently, the Andraste the cultists love and worship, has a not-so-lovely form," called the elf as he bounded off a rock, rolling to his feet near the campfire.

Alistair nodded furiously. He and I had no other words for this. The Archdemon was one quite similar to the dragon that swooped down- and of course, we had no plan to deal with something of that size.

A figure tumbled down the slope behind us, still carrying that hefty axe. Poor Oghren. He sputtered and wheezed as we came to a stop.

"Blasted surface- nug-humpers-"

But the flaming beast was not far behind.

Shakti

"That's one big screechy dragon-thing." the dwarf commented.

The creature arched its spiny back, swooping down every now and then, gusts created by its large wings.

Even Zevran's voice seemed tight, "It is, very much larger than the majestic Lady Andraste we fought off previously."

"Except this one only looks like a dragon."

Loghain only looked around at the three of us, face indecipherable. "Now that— I would have liked to witness." He was amused.

The Archdemon roared, violet flame devouring all life, scorching stone. I was glad that Sten was elsewhere, away from the tower of Fort Drakon. He and the rest would be safer, far away from the Grey Wardens— for we drew its ire as certain as its breath meant death. Tens upon tens of bodies littered the roof of the Keep, dwarven, elven and human reinforcements.

If only there were more of us. More Grey Wardens. Perhaps…

"None of us can hit it from here. Any plans, commander?" The human's voice startled me, and I nodded, pointing to some machines around us.

"Those weapons, can you use them?"

Loghain nodded, before directing Zevran and Oghren to go with him. This left me to draw the beast's attention and flames—and when the two ballistas began firing, I tempted it into their sights.

It dived, jaws open—forcing me to roll aside, out of reach—and I felt a wrenching tear in my right arm. As it drew breath to scream again, large bolts pinned it to the ground, one in each wing, and a third stunning it.

I hefted the sword onto my left shoulder and dashed forward—for we would not have a chance like this again.

Sten

The others followed behind as we ascended the winding stairs of the Fort, when a sharp illumination cut through the windows to our left. The eruption came with the beast's roar—a devastating flare that lit up the sky of red. It would appear that the Grey Wardens were successful—and the Blight was truly vanquished. It was done.

And I beheld the woman who was our leader, who had crafted this new weapon of mine—kneeling, supported by her blade that had been thrust through the Archdemon's neck. But she no longer moved.

She was born of a human, but fathered by a kossith. I had not known that such would survive its birth.

"I was raised by wolves." She said it simply.

Alistair had burst out laughing, "Right—and I was raised by Anderfel dogs."

"But it's true. I had a pack." Shakti frowned as she hunkered down next to the fire, unamused.

"And I thought I had visions," chuckled the red-haired bard. It was apparent that no one understood her.

"They died one winter, when we thought to venture close to the village. No human ever took kindly to wolves in their midst."

This silenced them all, and we all seemed to really focus on the woman. She had a wild glint in her eyes, remnants of a vicious bite on her neck—she showed no signs of being an animal.

Long moments passed. The other Warden thought to ask, "So what happened to the villagers?"

"I set their homes on fire." Her voice was hard.

She did not sound remorseful either.

Asala was gleaming in the torchlight, as the humans committed their dead to fire. Its sheen was no longer a clean silver—but one tinged with the crimson of blood— my hands began to trace its new metallic markings along the leather braiding, and had a wolf's tooth attached, one engraved finely. Its keenness was sharp, but stopped short of cutting through one's skin.

It belied the symbol 'hinun'—the qunari word for storm.

xOxOx

You remind me of thunder.

She had smiled during that watch.

Thunder?

We sat in silence.

Then you must be lightning. And I will find you, kadan.