Archive of Our Own ^beta

Vaughn Kendells, larger than life and wearing a wicked expression, loomed over her cowering figure. Her hands scrambled for the daggers that should have been at her sides. But they weren’t there. She started to shake in fear.

— this isn’t real —

“I’m going to show you a good time, knife-ear,” he said as he bent down. His breath was hot in her face, his blade touching her bared throat. “Give you something truly memorable for your wedding day.”

— he’s dead you killed him wake up —

She scooted backwards, feet scrabbling against the floor, until she hit the wall. Her daggers still weren’t there. She felt so vulnerable without them. Trapped. Helpless.

— wake up Sindra wake UP —

Her hands repeated the motions of her dream, frantically patting the sheathes on either hip. This time, they found the twin daggers that Sindra always carried, the ones that she had inherited from her mother. She let out a sigh of relief and sat up in her bedroll, taking several deep breaths to try to calm herself.

“It wasn’t real. He’s dead. You killed him,” she said to herself, repeating the words she had used to jolt herself out of her nightmare. She had been skeptical of Wynne’s suggestion at first, but she now had to admit the mage had been right. It was also possible that part of her initial reluctance had come from her unease at knowing her vulnerabilities were exposed to at least one other person in her company.

Sindra Tabris couldn’t afford to be vulnerable anymore. She was a knife-ear from the slums of Denerim who had stumbled into a position of leadership. Every blighted noble that she passed looked at her as though she were a simple-minded child in desperate need of guidance from someone of their oh-so-exalted stature. The worst were the ones that tried to talk to Alistair, as though she weren’t even there. He liked this even less than she did, and was firm about insisting that she was in charge of their company.

Her heart was still beating too quickly, filling her veins with nervous energy. Sindra got out of her bedroll and pulled on her cloak before walking out to the fire. She wasn’t sure what time it was exactly, but she figured that either Sten or Zevran would be on watch. Of the two, she hoped it was Sten. He was much more likely to let her sit there in silence and give her space to gather her thoughts. Zevran would start flirting, hinting that he had a very good way to help her relax and get back to sleep, and she just wasn’t in the mood.

Not with Vaughn’s face waiting for her when she closed her eyes.

The sky and the profile silhouetted by the low fire told her that it was Sten on watch. She was aware of his gaze on her as she moved to take a seat across from him. She extended her hands out and bent to catch the warmth from the fire, resisting the urge to finger her daggers again. For several long moments, the only sounds were the crackling of the fire and the soft hooting of distant owls.

When Sten finally spoke, it was so unexpected that Sindra almost jumped out of her seat. “I do not understand you.”

Sindra snorted. “You, and nearly everyone else.” A moment later, she wondered if that was the wisest thing to have said. She was supposed to be their leader. Even if she was mostly making that part up as she went along.

“You have proven yourself in battle multiple times. There can be no denying that you are a warrior.”

The way he said that, so matter-of-fact… it was refreshing, actually. Simple acceptance. She was a warrior. No denying it. Sindra smiled. “Thank you, Sten. That actually means quite a lot.”

Sten growled. “Vashedan. I am not explaining myself.” He sighed. “Women cannot be warriors, under the Qun.”

“Well that makes no sense at all,” Sindra blurted out before she thought about it. “I only know what you’ve told me about the Qun, but it seems to me that your military force is only half as effective if you exclude half of the population.” She shook her head. “My mother is the one who taught me to fight.”

“You see my problem,” Sten said. “You are a warrior. A capable warrior. And our leader. I have asked myself why I continue to accept your leadership, knowing that it should be impossible.” He spread his hands. “But I cannot bring myself to walk away."

Sindra’s cheeks flared hot. For a minute there, it had sounded as though Sten was talking about something other than just the impossibility of her being a warrior. She banished that thought from her mind. “I wish I knew what to say.” She looked him in the eyes. “I’m glad to have you here, Sten. I’m glad that you’re willing to follow me. You’re quite the warrior yourself.”

Sten looked away from her. “I am a failure as a warrior.”

“Because you wound up in a cage in Lothering?” Sindra asked. She’d tried asking him about that before, with no luck. But he’d just shown a bit of vulnerability to her, and it felt like a mark of trust.

“I lost my sword.”

Sindra’s hands went to her daggers. “I’d be devastated if I lost these,” she said. “They’re all I have left of my mother. But … it wouldn’t make me less of a warrior.” Less of a dutiful daughter, maybe, but she wasn’t going to voice that thought to anyone . “You don’t need a blade to be a warrior. You have to be willing to fight. With whatever is at hand.”

“It is not the same.” Sten sounded frustrated. “For members of the antaam , the blade is a tool and more than just a tool. It is the symbol of what we are. To lose the blade is to lose ourselves. If I return without Asala , I will be hunted and killed.”

“Is that why you killed those farmers?”

Sten’s face and body tightened. Sindra felt a momentary flare of regret over having asked the question, but what was done was done. “Yes,” he said, after another a long period of uncomfortable silence. “And the shame of that will never leave me.”

She had crossed to the other side of the campfire and sat down next to Sten before she had fully realized what she was doing. Sten turned to look at her, his face the same stony mask that it always was. Sindra placed a hand on his arm and met his gaze, feeling her heart start to beat faster. “I will help you find your sword,” she said.

Sindra waited for him to do or say something, anything , but he just kept looking at her. No expression. No change. He could be infuriating like that, not like Alistair, who always wore his heart on his sleeve — not like Zevran, who hid everything behind an insufferably cheerful facade. He was more like the people she’d grown up with in the Alienage. Everyone learned quickly to keep their true expressions locked down when the shem came around. They needed no excuse to haul an elf off for some perceived slight, as Sindra knew all too well. So it was best not to give them any more fuel for their hatred.

“Parshaara,” Sten said abruptly, standing and walking away. Turning his back on her. Sindra felt anger and embarrassment start boiling inside her. She wanted to run after him, grab his arm and demand to know what that was all about.

She stayed by the fire. Someone had to keep watch, after all.

The search for Sten’s sword took them from Lake Calenhad, to the Frostback Mountains, where they learned that it had been sold to Dwyn in Redcliffe. That meant that they couldn’t retrieve it until after they had settled the succession matter in Orzammar. Sindra could practically feel Sten’s anxiety when he heard that news, but he said nothing.

He kept right on saying nothing as they fought their way through the Deep Roads to reach Branka and Caridin. He stood at her side, silent and expressionless, as Harrowmont was crowned King.

A week out from Orzammar, Sindra finally had to take him aside and explain how much he was unnerving everyone with his silent looming. After that, he would respond to direct questions in the tersest manner possible.

Even Sindra was glad when they reached Redcliffe. She let the others set up camp while she went into the village with Sten, winding their way through the streets to Dwyn’s house.

“You again,” Dwyn said after he let them in. “Haven’t you dragged me into enough trouble?”

“Hopefully there won’t be any trouble today,” Sindra said, her smile thin and cold. “You bought a greatsword from a scavenger named Faryn, who found it near Lake Calenhad. If you still have it, we’re here to take it off your hands.”

“Faryn, huh?” Dwyn went to one of the nearby chests. Sten watched him, somehow even more tightly wound than he had been the entire trek down from Orzammar.

The sword that Dwyn brought out from the chest was massive, even bigger than the one that Sten had previously been using. The handle was tarnished and scuffed, but the blade showed signs of having been cleaned recently. Sten’s sharp inhale told Sindra that this was the right sword.

Sindra folded her arms across her chest. “How much do you want for it?”

Dwyn looked at Sten, then at Sindra, then down at the sword. He coughed. “Seeing as how we’re on such good terms these days … and, since it was your friend’s originally…”

“How kind of you,” Sindra said dryly. Dwyn gave a resigned sigh before handing the sword to Sten, who balanced it reverently in his hands.

“Asala,” Sten said. “The soul. My soul. Now I can return home.” He lifted his head to look at Sindra. “This is a debt I can never repay, kadan.”

There was a world of meaning in that last word, some kind of warmth that seemed to entirely transform Sten. He was looking at her with a soft expression, but Sindra was probably the only one in all of Thedas who would have called it soft. How had she spent enough time looking at his face to see that his features were more relaxed, more open than usual? She wanted to touch his arm, yet somehow that felt like too intimate a thing in front of Dwyn.

“Glad everyone’s happy,” Dwyn said. “Now, if you don’t mind, I did have other things to do today.”

Sindra nodded and gestured for Sten to follow her outside. She kept chivvying him along until they reached the edge of the lake. “So,” she said quietly. “Will you be leaving us now?”

Sten didn’t reply immediately. He looked out across the gently rippling waters of Lake Calenhad, then back to the sword in his hands. He slipped the sword back into the empty harness on his back before turning back to look at Sindra. “I have not answered the question that brought me here.”

“So you’ll stay?” She hated the way her voice wavered to allow that hopeful note to sneak in. But she wasn’t going to stammer and pretend that she’d miss his sword, of course, it wasn’t as though she’d miss him. It would be too transparent, and more importantly it was not the sort of thing that Sindra did.

Slowly, Sten extended his hands in front of him. He looked at them as though they — or something about them — were completely foreign to him. Then he reached forward with them, grasping one of Sindra’s hands.

“I will, kadan,” he said. “To the end.”

That night, lying in her bedroll, Sindra couldn’t stop herself from replaying that scene by the lake. She felt like there were layers to Sten’s words and actions that she had completely missed. That just served as a reminder of how little she actually knew about him.

And as a reminder of how futile certain hopes of hers were.

She had thought she was keeping herself awake with these thoughts, but she must have drifted off — because when her tent flap opened, she sat bolt upright, hands on her daggers.

Sten froze with his body half-in, half-out of her tent, then finished his motion and pulled the tent shut behind him. He lowered himself to the ground and sat, cross-legged, with his back to the opening.

“What are you doing here?” Sindra blurted. It occurred to her that she ought to feel embarrassed. Somehow, though, she couldn’t see Sten doing anything that would hurt her.

Not deliberately.

“I do not know,” Sten replied.

“That’s helpful.” She’d done so well with keeping her mouth shut earlier, but something about being surprised in her tent, woken from a half-sleep, loosened her tongue.

“Vashedan. I know.” He heaved a huge sigh and looked down at his hands. “There are no lovers, among the Qun. When one has — urges — one seeks out a Tamassran. They provide relief from those urges without emotional ties.”

“No emotional ties among the Qun, either.” 

Sten sighed again. “No.”

She looked at him intently, trying to glean something from that stony face. “So … what am I?” she asked, when it became obvious he wasn’t about to speak again.

“That is the question that brought me to your tent. You are not a Tamassran, to provide …” he trailed off, still unwilling to meet her eyes.

Maker blight him, if she waited for him to work through his confused emotions, they would still be sitting here when the sun rose. “You desire me,” she said, cutting right to the chase. “As a person and not just a warm body. You have that emotional tie that you’ve been told you aren’t supposed to, and you don’t know what to do with it.”

He finally lifted his head to look at her. His face was completely changed, soft around the edges. “I do not know where to begin,” he finally admitted. “I have heard … but I do not know …”

Sindra smiled. Finally, they were getting somewhere. She tugged at his arm, and he came to her, unresisting. She rested her hand against his cheek and kissed him gently. His skin was hard and leathery but his lips were soft. His hands came to rest on her arms, staying there for only a moment before they moved again, exploring her body. She slid her tongue into his mouth by way of approval and encouragement. He paused for a moment — was that really new to him, too? — before he responded, matching her movements.

She slid her hands under his shirt and up his well-muscled chest, moving slowly, drinking in the sensations. Her shoulders ached after only a few moments, so she lay back down on her bedroll. Sten stared at her, long enough that the expression on her face shifted to annoyed.

“Well?” Sindra asked.

“I do not want to harm you,” Sten said hesitantly.

Sindra blinked, then laughed softly. “Fenhedis, Sten, you’re not going to harm me.” She raised an eyebrow. “Or is that your way of trying to back out of this?”

Sten still looked perplexed, and for a moment Sindra wondered if she shouldn’t have said that. “No,” he said. “I cannot walk away from you, kadan. More importantly, I do not want to. I am just…” he sighed. “I am not sure if I can please you.”

“Oh, Sten.” Sindra slid her hands up around his neck and pulled him down until his head was inches from hers. “You’re pleasing me by being here. Don’t worry about the rest.” She kissed him lightly. “Besides. If the first time doesn’t go so well… we can always try again.” Her tone turned playful at the end.

“Kadan,” was all Sten said before kissing her deeply. When they finally came up for air, she reached down to her waist and gently slid her trousers off before spreading her legs wide. Sten fumbled with his own clothes.

When he kissed her again, they were both naked — no more barriers between them. She felt his erection nudging at her inner thigh and reached one of her hands down to caress it gently. Sten inhaled, stiffened, and then let out a long moan that sent shivers up her spine. His head bobbed downwards, and for a moment she thought he was going to kiss her somewhere other than her mouth. Her body was very receptive to that idea, but Sten didn’t follow through.

“Sten,” she said gently. “It’s okay. When you’re with me … you can let go. You don’t have to worry. I’m here.” She trailed a finger over the tip, and he shuddered again. “I want you.”

That seemed to do the trick. Sten shuffled forward, somewhat hesitantly, and she guided him inside her. She pressed her arms to his back and held him close, arching her back to press against him in further encouragement. He let out a breath and responded — hesitant at first, then faster and with obvious enjoyment.

It wasn’t elegant, smooth sex; it wasn’t the type of joining written about in romance novels that Sindra had sneaked a peek at back in the Alienage. There was a little fumbling, a little cursing, as they each tried to see to the other’s pleasure.

But when he came, spilling his seed inside her, she felt herself responding, her voice joining his in a mutual exultation. She tightened her grip on his back to prevent him from rolling off as soon as he was done, as she was half afraid he might. He seemed to sense that she would not put up with any protests from him, instead letting out a contented sigh and relaxing.

“Sten?” she asked, a little while later. “What does kadan mean?”

“It means, ‘my heart’,” Sten responded. He lifted his head and kissed her gently. “You hold mine.”

Sindra felt warmed to the core by that simple statement. Sten wasn’t much of a talker, not like some of the others — but when he did speak up, his statements were relevant, profound. “I love you, too.”

Traveling from Redcliffe to Denerim took more than twice as long with Arl Eamon and all of his people. The only good thing about the delay was that it gave Sindra more time with Sten. She decided that she wasn’t bothered by the whispers that circulated through the camp about the Warden’s Qunari lover, and they did die down after the first few days.

After they reached Denerim, Sindra had to work to set aside time for herself and Sten. Eamon would have kept her busy day and night if he could, he was so determined to put Alistair on the throne. Sindra saw how unhappy her friend was every time the subject came up. He looked positively frightened when Eamon first brought up the idea that he might marry Anora, after the Queen was rescued from the Arl of Denerim’s mansion.

To Sindra, the choice was perfectly clear. Anora wanted the job. Everyone agreed that she was good at it, that she’d already proven herself. Alistair didn’t want it, and Sindra had never put that much stock in the idea that a throne had to stay in the same family.

Over Eamon’s objections, Sindra supported Anora, and Loghain died by her blades.

With that settled, she, Alistair, and Riordan turned to the more important issue. The Blight. The senior Warden told them that the only way to end it was for the Archdemon to die. And the only way for that to happen was for a Warden to share the death.

Sindra was not at all comforted by the thought that Riordan would do it. There was too great a chance that something would happen to him before he reached the Archdemon, and then it would be her, or Alistair. She had the feeling that Alistair would volunteer. That didn’t sit right. He was her friend, and she wasn’t in the habit of asking people to die for her.

Then Morrigan accosted her in the hallway and laid out her absurd proposition. Convince Alistair to sleep with her, and no one had to die. Thoughts of Vaughn Kendells flashed into Sindra’s mind. If she’d been able to stop the assault and rape of the others by going to him willingly — would she have done it? Which option would have been easier for her to live with?

She left Morrigan without an answer and went to her rooms, where Sten was waiting for her. She went straight to his embrace, laying her head on his shoulder.

“Kadan. What is wrong?” Sten asked after a few moments had passed.

Sindra lifted her head and looked at him. Sten brushed away the tears she hadn’t even known were following. “I want to leave,” she said. “I want to go back to Seheron with you. Away from Blights. Away from nobles who demand everything and sacrifice nothing.”

Sten sighed. “Part of me says I would like nothing more, but the other part… Seheron would not be good for you. They would try to break your spirit, in the Qun, to fit you into a female role. I could not bear to see that happen.”

“Then let’s run away together. Somewhere outside of Ferelden.”

“What is this?” Sten asked. “I have never known you to shy from your duties before.”

“I didn’t want this duty,” Sindra snarled. “It was become a Warden or be left for a lynch mob. Some choice.” She laughed bitterly. “I dreamed about seeing the world. About fighting in glorious battles, like my mother, before …”

Sten looked at her intently. “Before what?”

“Having a family.” She felt the tears start all over again. “I won’t, you know. Grey Wardens can’t … I’ll never have a child. Not of my own body.”

“You still have not told me what is going on.” His tone was gentle, but firm. “Please.”

Sindra took a deep breath and laid it out for him. Riordan’s plan. Morrigan’s offer. When she was done, he kissed her, and then stood and walked out of the room. She sat there for a moment longer, perplexed, before she got up and went after him.

She saw him go into Alistair’s room. Oh, no, she thought, and went to join them.

“Do you wish to die on the morrow?” Sten asked.

“Sindra, what is going on?” Alistair demanded when he saw her.

She opened her mouth to explain, but Sten just kept talking. “I know that you will sacrifice yourself for Sindra, if need be. You think that she has more to offer. That is ridiculous. You have just as much to offer as she does.”

“I’d think you’d be trying to convince me to save her, since you two are all …”

“It is true that I would rather see her live than you.”

Sindra was still not sure what in Andraste’s name was happening. Was Sten trying to convince Alistair to take the blow, or not?

“But,” Sten said, “I do not see why there should be that choice. There is another way. It seems ridiculous, but I have never known Morrigan to lie. Misdirect and tease, but not lie.”

“Sindra?!” Alistair’s voice was pleading, and she finally stepped in front of Sten.

“Morrigan says there’s a way to save all of our lives. Mine, yours, Riordan’s. You … have to sleep with her.”

“In the same bed as her?”

Sindra sighed. “No. You have to have sex.”

“So… my virginity will save our lives?” Alistair’s face was bright red, his hands waving around haphazardly.

She sighed again. “Something about a ritual that will allow her to pull the Archdemon’s essence into another vessel… the point is, that neither of us has to die.” She put a hand on Alistair’s shoulder. “If it were possible, I’d do it for you. But it has to be you. I was trying to think about how to tell you when Sten, uh, took matters into his own hands.”

“Maker,” Alistair said. “Do you trust her, Sindra?”

“In this, I do,” she replied. “I really don’t think she’s doing this just to mess with you, as disturbingly plausible as that seems.”

He barked out a laugh. “Yeah. You got that right.” His shoulders slumped, then he straightened himself up. “All right. If I’m not back in two hours …”

“She’s not going to devour you, Alistair,” Sindra said, relieved to see some of his humor returning.

“Says you.” He shook his head and walked out the door.

Sindra turned to face Sten, eyebrow raised. “Are you going to demand an explanation?” Sten asked.

“I just would have appreciated some warning,” she said.

Sten smiled at her, offering her his hand. “I will keep that in mind for the future.”

She took it, and allowed him to lead her back to her room — unable to shake the melancholy that came over her at the though that there would be no future for them.

As soon as the door had closed, Sten turned to her and pulled her into a ferocious kiss. She gasped, going limp in his arms.

“We will not speak of the battle tomorrow, or the fact that our paths must diverge,” Sten said when he finally released her. “That is not how I want to remember this. I do not want to feel sad. I want to feel joy when I think on the time we did have together. I want to remember how you changed my world for the better.” He brushed her cheek. “How you brought me so much more happiness than I could ever have imagined.”

She was crying again. Blight it, she wasn’t some weak-kneed noble shem to cry at the drop of a hat. She put her hand at the nape of his neck. “I will never forget you.” She kissed him as fiercely as he had kissed her.

They came up for air a few long moments later. “Before we go further, kadan, I want you to promise me something.” Sten cupped her face with both hands. “Do not wait for me. Do not hold onto a hope that may never come. If … if you find that you could love someone else … I want you to take that chance.”

“Oh, Sten,” Sindra said. It was silly and inadequate, but she couldn’t find the words to express how much she loved him for that. If he had been willing to stay, to give up everything for her, that might have been better …

But it wouldn’t have been him.

“Promise me,” he said, softly but insistently.

She stole a quick kiss from him. “I promise.”

“Then I am yours for tonight.” Sten looked her in the eyes. “Anything you wish of me, you have but to say it. It is my wish that this night should carry you through the darkness to come.”

She had to laugh. “Did you search maudlin books of poetry for that line?”

“They are not maudlin,” Sten grumbled.

Sindra laughed again and ran her hands up his chest. “Mine for the night, huh?” she said. “Then I’m going to get everything I can out of you. On the bed with you.”

Sten complied, stripping off his clothes along the way. She smiled and considered the picture that he made. A strong, handsome, naked warrior, available for any desire of hers that she might have. She walked over to her pack and pulled out a few lengths of rope. She’d thought she might use it when climbing. This was a much better use.

Cutting the rope into four equal parts, she set about tying Sten’s limbs to the four-poster bed. He watched her with intent curiosity, not saying anything. “Too tight?” she asked, when she’d finished.

Sten tested the bonds. “You have done well,” he said. “It would take more effort than I am willing to spend to break these.”

“Good,” Sindra said. She climbed onto the bed and straddled him, holding herself upright as she took his shaft in both hands. Sten groaned, and she felt him harden underneath her touch. His hands strained at the ropes.

“No touching,” she admonished gently, teasingly, and continued her ministrations. She kept her touch light, not wanting to desensitize him too soon, moving to stroke other parts of his body for the sheer sensual joy of it.

“It is not fair that I receive all the attention, and you—“

She cut that line of thought off by shifting to take him into her mouth. He groaned and bucked beneath her. She swirled her tongue around his tip a few times before she released his shaft and looked at him. “Your moans are incredibly sexy,” she said, and he gave her another one. “You’ll see how wet I am soon enough. Now hush and let me enjoy you.”

“Yes, kadan.”

Sindra smiled and kissed the side of his neck. “You’ve never had that done before, have you?” she asked mildly, moving one hand to cup his balls. “Had a woman take you in her mouth.”

“No,” he breathed.

“Well, then this will certainly be memorable.” Her lips closed around his shaft, taking him deeper into her mouth than before. Sten whined, a sound that sent a shiver up her spine. She abandoned all subtlety and began to suck, intently. He pushed himself up against her mouth and moaned. It was mindless, the sound of a man who was deeply enjoying the things being done to him.

“Kadan, I’m —“ he started to say. She tightened her mouth around him and he groaned, bucking upwards, spilling himself in her mouth. She swallowed it all down, her hands caressing his legs while he trembled with the aftershocks of his climax.

She gave him a few more minutes to rest before she shifted herself up, putting her lips next to his ear. “I’m going to keep you like this until there’s nothing left in you,” she said, her voice low and intense. She had never dreamed that she was capable of something like this. It felt marvelous. “I don’t care that I might lose sleep. I don’t want to hear that I need to be rested for the trials to come. This is what I want, and you put yourself in my hands.”

For a moment, he said nothing, and she was afraid that she had gone too far - that he would say that he wanted the bonds off. She’d do it, of course.

“I am yours to command, kadan.”

She pushed herself and looked at his face. His eyes were intent, serious. With another man, she might have worried that he was angry or that he resented this position. She knew that wasn’t the case with him.

Sindra smiled. “Oh, you have no idea what you’re in for.”

“No,” he agreed. “But I look forward to finding out.”

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