Interlude – Beresaad
He cannot say he's pleased to be here again. His skin crawls as he remembers how they had sprung from the ground itself and tore his brothers to pieces. And then he woke up, alive yet soulless, and…
No, he cannot say he's pleased to be here again. But he is, and that is the fact of the matter.
Sighing and muttering curses under his breath, he shakes his head, focusing his thoughts on the Tower barely visible from the shoreline. That is where the bas here caged their mages. It had fallen, yet somehow had been saved and not all the saarabas had been put to the sword for fear of corruption. He thinks it foolish, but he cannot deny the use of a good weapon will be powerful against the Blight. He knows that much.
In a way, he's found the answer to the Arishok's question. Yet, he cannot return and report. The madness of this situation…
Muttering more curses, he turns from the lake entirely, focusing on the strange group he travels with. Nothing about them makes sense. They break out from the little boxes you'd expect them to fulfill and prove themselves different with each dribble of words that falls from their mouths. The tamassran would be beside themselves trying to find their places.
Yet, as he watches them laugh, he finds himself listing what would happen when the rest came. Wynne, Morrigan, and Viddasala would be treated as if they were saarabas, broken and collared, or killed for fear of corruption. Zevran would likely become a laborer, due to never quite submitting. Leliana would become ben-hassrath, if she did not die. Kadan might do well, if she did not die in the defense of others. Kithshok would die. Cleon would die. Alistair would die. Nuada would die.
It bothers him, thinking that. And he grimaces when he acknowledges to himself that if they were on a battlefield, on opposite sides, he would not look for them. Even though he knows their skills, knows how dangerous of enemies they could be… he would not. Because he finds some strange sort of charm to their cheerful chaos, and it… bothers him.
This wasn't supposed to happen. Those who are not Qunari are supposed to be beneath him. And yet… ah, the Ben-Hassrath would be horrified by how much re-educating he would need, if he could return home.
"Sten!" He turns and blinks slowly as he identifies Nuada coming up. Twin to Kadan, he had thought the young warrior nothing but a fool when he first saw him, skilled in arm and nothing else. Yet, now he knows different. The child is a strategist, and a skilled one, who simply needs to be encouraged to pursue that role. "Here!" He blinks slowly as something is thrust at him. A little baked thing, like bread, but crumbly. And sweet, as he soon discovers. "Have a cookie." Cookie. There is no word for that in Qunlat. That needs to be corrected. Now. "Like it?" Nuada asks, a laugh in his voice. He answers by simply eating the rest of it. "Seems so~" Nuada laughs again, rocking back on his heels. He notes, however, as Nuada consistently shifts to check his blind right-side, and approves of the wariness. "Everything all right?"
"It's…" he begins, but pauses. The Wardens are not as callow as he thought. They are clumsy, floundering, but their determination is, frankly, awe-inspiring. So, instead… "This is where I lost my men." Nuada's eyes widen slightly before quickly donning the mask of a concerned listener. It does not unnerve and annoy him nearly as much it used to. "And where I lost Asala, my sword."
"If it has a name, it must be important." He points to the sword resting on Nuada's hip. "Yeah, like mine." But Nuada doesn't ask. He simply waits, listening.
It prompts him to continue. "It is. It is my soul." Nuada does not show any signs of confusion or strangeness, simply listening. It reminds him of Kadan. "Without it, I am a deserter, to be executed on sight."
"Sounds traumatizing." Nuada's eyes suddenly light with realization, and he is reminded of how perceptive Nuada can be. "The family…"
"Yes." There is no excuse. There is no justification. He is a failure of a Sten for allowing such a thing to occur. But that did not mean there hadn't been a reason. "In that trauma, I butchered them, wrongly turning my anger on those who went out of their way to help me."
"Thus why you stayed among the dead and didn't fight as people came to cart you away." Nuada nods, smiling as he finishes the last of the puzzle. "All that means is that, unless you find your sword, you can't go home, can you?" He shakes his head, tensing. It sounds all the worse when it comes from another's mouth. "Well, if that is the case, then you are more than welcome to stay with us." Nuada smiles warmly. "If we don't kill you with our insanity, of course."
"Of course." Still, he cannot help but be touched. It is a simple gesture, but it is filled with meaning. "Thank you." He hesitates before adding, "though, you are odd, allowing a child murderer to stay."
"Sten, I literally had an uncle slaughter my family and people for a piece of land and the title associated with it." He still doesn't understand such greed. It seems like a sickness of a soul, one that could be purged only with death. "That isn't even going into things I really rather be drunk before I even think about talking about." Nuada shrugs. "Besides, Zevran is an assassin, Leliana's a former one, Morrigan is at least an accomplice to her mother's murders, Aiden massacred an entire garrison of soldiers to slaughter a degenerate lord, Cleon's at least chased people like prey through the forest to get them away, I've killed assassins just doing their job, Elspeth's poisoned tea… really, Layla, Alistair, and Wynne are probably the only ones who haven't done something questionable in their past." That… is likely true. "I can't say it's something to be condoned, but I feel like nothing I could say would be something you've not told yourself ten times." There is that perception again. The reason why he is a good strategist, and better tactician. "To change the subject slightly, were there any others in your group that wielded swords?" He shakes his head and is startled by how Nuada's eyes light up. "I'm going to check something." That is all he gets before Nuada darts away, posture strong and sure.
"Now, what is he doing?" He turns and nods at Wynne as she approaches with a shaking head. "That child really needs to learn to communicate," she sighs. She turns a smile at him, though. "Come inside, Sten. We're having lunch here, and I'm almost done with that sweater for you." He hesitates before nodding. While he is far more durable than the others, he had to admit that he really did not like the cold. "I'll make you a coat next, so just deal with the sweater for now." She is like a tamassran, just like Kadan.
"Sten!" He sees Leliana wave excitedly at him. "Come, join us!" she laughs, beckoning him into the warm room filled with laughter. "Zevran is telling us a story from Antiva and it is hilarious!" He wonders if he'll catch the humor… but he finds himself smiling as he joins the group, and eats the strange food that he's growing to like, drinks the alcohol he's growing to enjoy, and listens to the strange group he's growing to consider 'family'.
Yes, the Ben-Hassrath would be absolutely horrified by how much re-educating he would need if he ever returned to Seheron. But, he can't say he quite regrets that part.
Clearly, their madness has infected him too.
Author's note: And here's Sten, and a mention of Sten's companion quest. Bits and pieces taken from his game-file-bio and some things the writers have mentioned.
Next Chapter – Returning to Redcliffe with Nuada
