The winds that wove themselves through the peaks of the Frostback mountains were particularly icey that evening. They slipped through the snow covered trees and against ancient rock down to find a solitary Qunari standing still at the edge of the woodlands. He had departed from the campgrounds to familiarize himself with the immediate surroundings so that he would be best equipped when it was his time to take watch. It was not long, however, before he found himself oddly distracted from the task at hand. In his large, gloved hands he held the sword that he was certain had been lost to him for good. Yet, here it was. He turned it over in his hands a few times to feel that it was truly there. He would pull it from its scabbard numerous times, catching his shadowy reflection in its metal each time. His breath billowed in a thick, foggy cloud around his hood when he finally let it out. Indeed, it was here. It had not just been a fantasy, nor a dream.

Even when he had taken it back into his hands for the first time, when the Warden miraculously found and returned it, he could scarcely believe it. He had lost faith, long ago, that he would ever see it again. Perhaps he should have felt regret for not having searched harder, for having murdered the innocents in his panicked rage upon losing it. If he had even an ounce of it, it was not what he felt now. Incredibly unusual for a Qunari, he was awed.

How could he have misjudged her so terribly? It was not as though she was as he expected, though. Everything about her was backwards, strange and, at times, quite frustrating. She abided by no ones law or rule, much less his own. She was a woman who was neither priestess nor farmer, who seemed as natural in battle as any of his Qunari brothers. How could it be so? It was impossible; she should not exist.

But if she was impossible, then so was this sword, here, in his hands.

He breathed another frustrated sigh as he sheathed it for the last time and slung the strap over his shoulders back to where it had been years before. It was comfortingly familiar, and welcome, impossible or not.

The snowflakes grew larger as he made his way back to the camp, and he followed the light of the fire in the dark as his boots sunk deeply into the snow.

The Warden was on watch now, and he was the one who would relieve her of the post shortly. As he glimpsed her small form seated on the ground close to the fire, he recalled the battles they had faced earlier in the day. He remembered how she cut them down despite how badly they tore into her. At one point when his eyes found her, she had been red with blood, whether her own or that of the spawn, to the point of dripping. Her face had been strained, teeth clenched, hair clinging to her cheeks with the wetness, just before she destroyed an Emissary.

Sten had seen her fight before, so why did this moment seem so vivid to him now? Yes, he had thought then, this is a warrior.

"Welcome back, Sten," her words cut through his reverie and he realized he was standing before her now, looking down at her. Her face peeked out from under the hood of her cloak, straining to look up at his mountainous self. "See anything interesting?"

"No. Everything is white and grey. It all looks the same," he responded, looking back to his previous path, quickly becoming blanketed in new snow.

"Such is the way of winter," she chuckled, pulling her cloak tighter around herself.

"Hmn," he grunted vaguely in response. His eyes glanced towards her arms, which were wrapped about her knees, pulling them tightly to her chest. A thick bandage wrapped about her forearm was swelled with a large blot of blood, some of which had seeped out and dotted the snow at her feet. She had apparently not taken notice of this, but saw as his brow furrowed at the sight.

"What?" she questioned the look.

"You are bleeding."

"Oh," she said, lifting her arm to look at it. "Oh...it's nothing, really," she added, gesturing a little and made an effort to wipe her arm clean with the edge of her cloak. "It looks worse than it is."

Sten highly doubted it, as he glimpsed a similar bandage on her upper arm as well. Apparently, she had not come away from the battle unscathed.

"How badly are you wounded?" he asked, sternly. The Warden looked up at him, her arm still raised a bit. She seemed confused by the question, but eventually shook her head.

"I am fine.... Wynne used some healing magic...and Leliana helped bandage my wounds..."

"You should be resting, Kadan," he said. "Despite whatever sorcery the mage has done, your wounds will become infected with the cold."

"Trust me, Sten. I will be alright," she insisted, though her body betrayed her words with a shiver. The tensing of her muscles caused her to bite down on her lip as the tears in her flesh threatened to reopen. Sten set his jaw at the sight and knew there was no point in arguing. If he insisted she retire early from her watch, she would simply refuse. It was the usual, after all. If he said the snow was white she would tell him, with certainty, that it was actually more of a blue. Short of tossing her small form over his shoulder and throwing her into her tent, he did not suspect he could get her to budge. He would have considered it, if not for the broken bones or other bloody messes she could be hiding under that cloak.

"I can assure you there is nothing in my head worth reading right now, Sten. You needn't stare at me so hard."

The Qunari blinked once, aware again that he had been drawn inside himself. So this is how it would be, then? Another one of these conversations wasting both their time? Sten shook his head and grunted in agitation. It did not phase her, though, as she was used to his slightly moody behavior. She watched him as he turned to walk past her, knowing he would get past it sooner or later.

She was startled to find that he did not leave her, however. Instead, she suddenly found two large legs flanking her and equally massive arms wrapping themselves around her, easily encompassing most of her form. Sten had pulled his cloak up around them both, blanketing her in his heat as he sat behind her. The look that crossed her face was shock and confusion. She did not move for many moments, unsure what the action would cause her.

"Sten...?" she finally managed.

"Yes, Kadan?" he replied back, stoically as ever.

"What are you doing?"

"You refuse to see reason and due to your impaired judgement I am making certain that there will not be a frostbitten and dead Warden to greet the others with the morning," he replied certainly.

"What do you mean ' impaired judgement'?" she asked, turning a little to look at him, her tone and expression losing their shock for a moment to be replaced with indignance.

"You are obviously not in a sane state of mind," he responded, looking back at her. Her cheeks flared up red, partially from the cold and partially from embarrassment.

"Excuse me?" she huffed, making an awkward attempt to get to her feet. Sten foiled her attempts by keeping a firm grip on her and pulling her back down to a sitting position. She whimpered a little as her wounds stung from the rash movement and the Qunari's grasp loosened quickly, but did not let go.

"Forgive me, Kadan," he spoke, softer than before. "But you should not have moved."

She huffed another breath, telling herself that he only meant well. Sten was never particularly tactful in anything and she shouldn't let it get to her. It was hard to help, though, since he seemed to be acting out of the ordinary tonight.

"Fine," she gave in and settled back down. With a moment she realized just how much heat Sten was exuding, and found it comforting against the cold. She found herself huddling deeper under his cloak and her own, enough that her back was to his stomach as he loomed over her comparatively smaller form. The back of her head just reached his chestplate when she leaned back.

Sten sat quietly, semi-cradling the Warden in his arms without being too familiar. He found that the act brought him a great deal of peace inside, more than he had felt in a while.

"Where are you wounded, Kadan?" he asked finally.

The Warden turned her head a little to look up at him (or his chin, as it was all she could really see).

"Oh...are you asking questions now? Have we switched roles? I think I may be dreaming; the world appears to have turned upside down," she chided. Sten pulled back enough to look at her directly and she returned the stoic gaze best she could.

"Where are you wounded?" he repeated, more like a statement than a question.

"What are wounds to a Grey Warden? They mean nothing – not like the wounds I cause myself through my own follies," she responded in a low, cryptic tone. A frown found Sten's lips again, like an old friend.

"Parsharra. Do not make fun of me when I am being serious," he huffed.

"Then when am I to make fun of you? If I wait for THAT moment I will never have a chance!" She grinned at him devilishly and he began to grind his teeth. After a moment and realizing the joke was lost on him she turned solemn. "Only a few small places, Sten. I told you, it is not serious."

"You seek to make my judgements for me now?" She raised an eyebrow at this rebuff and shook her head.

"It's just my right arm and a little bit of an ache in my ribs, that's all," she said, appearing to become tired of his probing – quite the change indeed! "I am not surprised. I have taken quite a few shields to those bones these days."

"Hmn," Sten responded, keeping one arm wrapped about her shoulders while the other moved backward. She felt his palm brush her side, searching for the bandages in the gap between her armor at her side. When his fingers found their way beneath her shirt she squirmed a bit and flushed redder than ever before. "Be still," he said sternly, and she froze. His fingers found the bandages and gently felt along the area, applying very slight pressure so he could feel her ribs. The Warden bit her lip and furrowed her brow. "Is there pain here, Kadan?" he asked.

"Mmmnoot a lot... But you are tickling me!" she gasped, trying to keep in the giggles so as not to agitate her bruised ribs. Sten seem satisfied then, and pulled his hand back, settling his arm back with the other around her. She let out a deep breath. "Please, do not do that again."

"As you wish," he replied. "You are lucky to have no bones broken."

"What can I say? I am a sturdy young woman."

"Yes," he agreed. "It seems so." He watched her shake her head and then settle back into a casual position.

"What does Kadan mean?" she asked after a moment. Sten looked down at her, wondering where this came from all of a sudden. Then again, when did she ever need a reason for questions?

"It is hard to explain," he said.

"Is it like a title? Like yours?"

"No. Not exactly."

"Then what?" No response came for a moment, and she felt Sten shuffle behind her. At first she thought perhaps she had asked an improper question and he was planning to leave, but she then saw what he was doing. Keeping his position behind her, he brought his sword around in front of her, his arms at either side once more.

"Your sword?" she questioned.

"Yes." He unsheathed it then, and held the tip of the blade in his other hand. The metal shone in the dark, glimmers of the firelight dancing on its edge. She hadn't really gotten a good look at it until then and she marveled at just how impressive it was. "Asala." She felt the word rumble through his chest against her back.

"Asala...," she murmured, firelight flickering over her face. Sten looked at her then, over her shoulder, feeling strangely pleased at the reverent tone of her voice when she spoke the native word.

"This is why I call you Kadan," he said. Briefly, she recalled what he had said about being unable to return to the Beresaad. Without his sword, no...his soul....he said they would see him as empty and kill him on sight. How frightful it must have been to lose something like that, she thought. It was no wonder he had panicked as he did. Though it did not excuse the murders, wouldn't most men be driven mad without their own?

"I am glad I could help," she said, looking over her shoulder at him. It could have been the shadows, but she almost thought his expression seemed soft for once as he looked back.

"There are no words between us that would express the extent of my gratitude," he said, pulling up the scabbard and sheathing the sword once more.

"Then there is no need," she said with a light smile, turning back to face the fire. Something tugged at the edges of Sten's lips then, though he did not acknowledge it. As she settled back into him, he held the sword in front of her. When she looked up at him, he lowered his arms to nudge hers just a little so that she would hold out her hands. When her palms had opened, he lay the sword down against them, moving his own hands to grip the scabbard just outside of hers.

It was impossible, he thought again. By all he had learned and heard a woman like her should not exist.

A woman would never be a warrior. A sword would never be found in the expanse of a deep and unforgiving land. A lost soul would never be reclaimed by a damned Qunari.........

…..A Qunari would never call a small unenlightened thing Kadan.

For all this, right now, Sten was thankful that he had been wrong.