Chapter Text
The first time he experienced pain that meant something was when he hit his first horn growth-spurt. He was young, and a little too loud, and his neck ached from supporting the sudden excess weight on each side of his head.
He didn't know it at the time, but those horns would come to mean everything to him.
…
The second time he experienced pain was when he was scolded for acting out. Qunari aren't supposed to be loud, he was told. Qunari are supposed to follow orders. Don't question what you're told.
It didn't sound quite right, but he'd never heard any different, so he did his best to follow.
After all, the Qun was for the good of all.
…
The next time he experienced pain, he was receiving his rank. He was proud, in the moment, holding his humbled bow for the extended period of time.
His knees screamed, his joints wanted to give out. But he waited as he was asked. That pain was something he had earned.
He was assigned to be a member of the Beresaad, and was given his first title.
He became Sten, a warrior.
He was given his weapon, a sword named Saeko, more precious than himself.
…
The next time he experienced pain, he inflicted it upon himself. He had been traveling under orders to investigate the blight, and had come across some humans who had designs carved directly into their skin. It wasn't vitaar, or paint. It was permanent.
It fascinated him.
He wanted to try something similar. Wanted to mark himself with a personality.
It was the first time he questioned the Qun directly, even in his own mind.
That night, he carefully carved the first mark into one of his horns with his sword. Just a single, simple divot. Mostly to see if he could.
It hurt like he'd never imagined before. Burning, stabbing, he didn't have the words to describe it.
And yet, he felt an odd sense of satisfaction along with it. A pride, a furthered connection between himself and his weapon.
Something he didn't get from killing.
He decided to create patterns.
He was still Sten, but maybe he was something more, too.
…
The next time he experienced pain, it was unexpected. A group of darkspawn, bursting forth from the ground, ambushed him.
He didn't have time to fight back. He barely had time to draw his sword, his most prized possession.
Before he knew it, a sharp pain bloomed in the back of his neck, and he went down.
He never expected to wake up.
…
The first time he experienced panic, it was to a back-beat of throbbing in his temple. He lurched to action before he knew what he was doing.
His mind still thought it was facing the darkspawn, his hands still felt the loss of his weapon.
He reacted without thinking.
He killed a small family.
Their bodies showed gashes from his horns, broken bones and tears from his frenzied hands.
His sword was nowhere to be found.
He didn't realize what he'd done until it was too late.
There was a lake nearby. He doesn't think it could hold all of his tears.
…
The first time he experienced shame, and failure, he let himself get locked up.
A true member of the Qun wouldn't have allowed that to happen.
A proper Sten would not have killed without meaning.
A good warrior would never have lost his blade.
He had given up his place of his own volition.
He remained silent as the guards locked him up. He did not fight them.
He does not even say anything as his horns clattered against the tight confines of the cage.
This was where he belonged.
…
It isn't often when he hears voices outside of his confines.
It doesn't change anything.
He stays, still, silent, eyes closed.
What those strangers are saying about him is nothing new to him, anyways.
"I never actually seen one in person, before," one of the voices whispers. It doesn't matter. The voice is so close that he can hear every word. "He's… bigger than I expected."
He can feel their gazes pressing against his skin, and can't help the smallest reactions, muscles tensing and releasing in miniscule movements.
They're just here to witness his shame, like all the others.
He idly wonders if these ones will spit on him or curse out his race, his beliefs. It's happened before.
A sudden burst of sound, the slapping of feet against the dry grass quickly approaching, a heavy, panting series of breaths.
"What are you looking a- whoa," the newcomer says, a tone of curiosity taking over the statement.
This is a new reaction. The only other time he has heard this tone lately, has been from small children. His ears twitch as he tries to place whether this new person might be small or large, waiting for a nearby caretaker to scold them into their place.
Instead, the curious voice continues.
"Is that…?"
It trails off, and another voice, one previously silent, responds. This new voice is gruffer, but also filled with a similar kind of awe.
"A Qunari, yes, I believe so."
The first voice takes on a sudden speed, an energy, an excitement flourishing. "Hey, Kageyama, those warden treaties allow us to recruit anyone, right…?"
In the silence, he remembers that the wardens were some human organization, something related to the blight. He wonders if these strangers might know something helpful.
He wonders if he's lost all hope of honor, if he should even continue trying to accomplish his task.
He knows the Qun won't accept him back without his sword.
The gruff voice speaks up once more, as if it can't keep up with its thoughts, speeding through but not making any headway. "…no. I mean, yes, they do, but-"
For the first time in days, possibly weeks, he finds himself directly addressed.
"Would you like to join the wardens and fight darkspawn?"
He opens his eyes, finally, and looks at those in front of him. There are four of them, all human, it appears. The one that spoke is small, like a child, with bright orange hair.
He wonders if the speaker is in the care of the other three behind him. He doesn't really care.
His gaze focuses in on the speaker, and he asks one simple question. One of the most important things when it comes to fighting a war.
"You would trust me to fight alongside you?"
The others are making noise, but the small one doesn't seem to hear them. Following his lead, the qunari doesn't allow his focus to stray either.
His eyes stay trained on the bright, energetic one.
"Don't see why not – I hate that guy," he says with a shrug, nodding to the tall, wary-looking one in the back, "but I still kinda trust him. In a fight, at least… mostly."
He considers the proposition. It would allow him to exit the cage, without feeling as if he was doing so unworthily.
It would let him do something productive for the Qun.
(Though whether the Qun would accept him back into the fold, accept his attempts at helping, he is uncertain. He has definitely lost any respect and honor he had had as a Sten.)
As he thinks, his gaze stays focused on the small one, who doesn't shrink or shy from his stare. There is something of substance to this one.
Coming to his conclusion, he nods. "I will join you."
"Are you sure?" One of the others voices, shaking slightly from behind the others.
He is not unused to this reaction. It is rather common.
"Great!" The small one exclaims, and goes about talking to the guard. The others do not seem so certain about this decision, but none are directly challenging the energetic child.
It is curious.
Perhaps he is their leader.
Either way, the small one has returned and is speaking to him once more. "Now, uh… sorry, what's your name?"
He takes a moment to think about how he wants to answer that. He doesn't really have a name… not even by Qun standards, anymore.
He forfeit that when he lost his blade, along with his control.
But he doesn't know what else to say, so he says the only thing he can: what he's used to.
"…Sten, a warrior."
The cage door is opened, and he carefully angles his head, not wanting to catch his horns on the cage any more than he has to. It truly was made for someone considerably smaller than him.
"Ok, that's your rank I guess, but like… what's your name?"
Before he can respond, explaining that the Qun is different from their human customs, the angry one speaks for him.
"Qunari don't have names, they go by titles!" He hisses, smacking his leader harshly.
Do humans not respect their leaders? That certainly would be unacceptable by the Qun's standards, but human customs are… strange.
"Well then we'll just have to give him one, now won't we?" The small one looks back up at him, and offers him a big grin. It's… strange. All of it.
"I'm Hinata. This is Kageyama, Tsukishima, and Yamaguchi," Hinata says, pointing to each of the others in turn. The angry one is Kageyama, apparently. "How about we call you… Tanaka?"
He considers the name, gazing at each of the others and committing their names and faces to memory. The one named Yamaguchi looks as if he might faint. Humans get awfully picky when you forget their personal titles.
He's never had a name other than Sten, before, but he doesn't really think he's got the right to continue using it. Not after what he's done.
Tanaka works as well as any other, he figures, and says as much with a shrug.
"Alright. Now that we've all met each other, let's go! We're off to investigate some darkspawn, Tanaka," Hinata informs him, smiling broadly.
Tanaka responds simply with a nod, and follows alongside Hinata. He's not sure what's to come, but it's certainly going to be intriguing.