Archive of Our Own

They had been travelling for days now. Ever since their ship had landed in the Coastlands, as the locals called the inhospitable cliffs and sandy shores, they had marched further south. Still, they had yet to find a sign of this Blight the Arishok tasked them to find.

Being part of the Beresaad was an honour, even though it wasn’t meant to be one. Naturally, only those deemed fitting qualified to be part of this mission. Ashaad was one of them. The Tamassran had hand-picked him herself, from all of his peers she thought him the best choice.

Being assigned to a group of specially chosen ones helped to keep him grounded. Their whole platoon had been put together solely for one purpose: investigating the rumours of the Blight. Southern Thedas was in constant turmoil even before their people had claimed Par Vollen for themselves, but their petty squabbles over lands and titles were of little interest to them. At least for now; one day, they, too, would succumb to the demands of the Qun.

A Blight, however, was different. It would threaten everyone, even their own people in the north. A special division of the Ben-Hassrath had been collecting intel from many sources over the last couple of years, and what they had found wasn’t promising. Threatening enough to send a team to find out whether the recently upcoming news of a new Blight were true, or only a ruse from Tevinter to thin the Qunari forces.

Or so Ashaad gathered from the snippets he had heard. He was none the Ben-Hassrath confided in, and that worked well for him. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be Ashaad. His role was to fight if provoked, or if commanded to do so.

There were others in their platoon who aided him in that; they were twenty men strong after all. Or they had been. The long voyage with the ship that had been procured for them had taken its toll on some of them; five were too sick to leave the port, and two others hadn’t even made it that far. Their lifeless bodies were feeding the fish on the ground of the ocean.

Two others found the new lands more exciting than their mission. They had taken care of them; they wouldn’t defile betray the Qun anymore. It had been a waste; the others had still been healthy and fit otherwise, but with no Viddasala close to correct their minds, their options had been limited.

Now, their group consisted of him and two other Ashaad, three Satari, two Taam-kasari, two Karashok, and of course Sten who lead them.

Ashaad still regarded their hornless commander with curiosity. There weren’t many like him in Par Vollen, though the tales about them were grand. Sten would bring glory to their mission, and with that to the Qun.

Despite that, he knew they wouldn’t be celebrated on their return. But seeing humans welcome their own with open arms on the pier had awakened a longing inside him he had never known before. Not that it mattered. They should not expect any different. Was Tardaathras praised when she produced the amount of cattle she was required to? Their success in this mission wasn’t worth more than any other task their people carried out at home, or in Seheron. It would be simply one step further to their overall goal: a united Thedas under the Qun.

The more Ashaad repeated that to himself, the vapider it sounded. Their purpose was to further the Qun, so that all of them could prosper. He knew that, and at first it made him proud to serve his people like this. But the longer they were gone, the more he saw the bas living their lives in the villages they passed, the more he found himself doubting the teachings. Maybe it was only because he couldn’t see their roles in a well-structured society, but still…

He hoped it was because he hadn’t been this far from Par Vollen before. All his previous assignments had taken place somewhere there, or that one time on Seheron. Everything was better than Seheron, though…

When this was over, he might just turn himself in to the re-educators. It would be easier to be cooperative about that, he had heard. Because they knew. The Ben-Hassrath always knew. If he was dissatisfied with the role he played in all of this, they knew, and would be better to work with them than against them. Ashaad wasn’t a traitor, after all. He would be understood, and guided.

His party stopped suddenly, so he let go of his thoughts. He would deal with that later; it wasn’t urgent enough to distract him from his mission.

They had been marching all day, and the sun was slowly setting. Sten had motioned them to halt, and to set up camp for the night. Their leader was not one of many words, though he had yet to meet Stens who were.

Everyone followed his order. Ashaad was glad to rest for the remainder of the day. He ached for a place to sit, and for some horn balm. The cold, wet climate of Ferelden had been seeping into his horns from the moment they set foot on this lands, and he was itching to get that feeling out. How could anyone live here willingly?

He had settled down on a damp log, after he had helped to put up the tent he shared with the other Ashaad. But before he could dig into his jar of balm, he felt pressure on his shoulder. Slowly he looked up, right into Sten’s grim face.

“We will hunt now, Ashaad.”

As usual, he didn’t wait to see if Ashaad obeyed, but shouldered his greatsword and walked away from camp. So, he quickly snatched his bow and quiver from the ground, and followed the warrior.

They walked for a while, until the flat landscape turned more undulating; if they were lucky, they would find enough game to feed them for the next days.

Not after too long, the heard bleating noises. Their armour wasn’t made for sneaking, but they crawled up the hill anyway. As the slope gently curved downwards, Ashaad spotted a herd of rams. They were grazing lazily, ignorant of their hunters, and only bleated at each other occasionally.

He shot a look at Sten, who held his two-handed sword firmly at its grip, and his faced was scrunched up in concentration. But he seemed to have noticed Ashaad’s questioning glance, as he nodded curtly. Notching an arrow, he aimed for the fattest one. He wouldn’t complain if they bagged all of them, but with them standing so close to each other, he doubted it. They had to act fast to kill most of their prey. Each of his shots had to count.

Ashaad breathed in and slowly exhaled. He had been born for times like these. Then, he loosened his first arrow. He didn’t bother to check where exactly he had hit the ram, its pained wail told him all he needed to know. In quick succession, he shot four more arrows at the scattering flock. As he forgone his aiming for speed, he didn’t always hit his mark.

Sten had meanwhile run down the slope, using it to build up some momentum. Down in the valley he cleaved through the legs of one of the rams his arrows had missed.

Having either chased off, incapacitated, or killed all prey, Ashaad also went down the slope. He retrieved the arrows he could find, and slit the throat of one ram still alive. It didn’t need to suffer needlessly. They had brought down five rams in total; tonight, they would feast.

He and Sten began to gather the dead rams; Sten hung one around his neck, and took one under each arm, while Ashaad picked up the other two. With their new load, they trudged back towards their camp.

“W- who goes there?”

They halted their step. If the voice hadn’t been this frightened, they might have felt threatened. But so, they only turned around, to see who had called out.

A group of humans had positioned themselves on another small hill. Equipped with pitchforks, shovels and the like, Ashaad bit his cheek to not laugh at them. They were no warriors, and by far no match for them, even though they outnumbered them three to one.

But Sten stepped forward. “Shanedan, bas,” he said, carefully setting down the limp rams he had held. “We mean you no harm, humans.”

The language of this land still sounded strange to him; he understood it, Tamassran had made sure he could communicate if he should split from the group, but he disliked it. It had too many words that said nothing. No wonder humans were behind in their progress.

From the group emerged a man, clad in blue and silverite armour. Now, he was proficient with the weapons he carried, or at least he looked like he was. He smiled at them, as he inclined his head. “We are glad to hear this. Forgive me my curiosity, but your kind is only rarely seen this far south. Is there something specific you seek?”

Ashaad looked at him more closely. His black hair was carefully groomed, his beard neatly cropped. And his skin was darker than those of the humans cowering behind him; though he wasn’t nearly as tall as Sten and he himself were, he acted like he was. Ashaad could only respect that.

“We were sent to investigate the Blight. The rumours we have heard were… unsettling.”

Sten’s openness surprised him. Their mission wasn’t secret, and they hadn’t tried to keep their presence here unknown. But outright telling bas what they were here for? That seemed less like the stern, quiet leader he knew.

The human nodded at the answer. Maybe their quest wasn’t as unusual as they had initially thought. Then, the man turned towards the group of humans behind him. “You are not in danger any longer. Please, return to your homes.”

It seemed they had been waiting for an order like this; they retreated quickly. As they were out of sight, scurrying to whatever village they had come from, the man who had stayed stepped closer to them. “I am Duncan, Warden-Commander of Ferelden. It is my duty to defend Thedas against a Blight and the darkspawn it brings.

“And yes, the rumours you have heard are true, though I wonder how they reached the north this quickly. We are gathering our forces at Ostagar; darkspawn outbreaks are more recurring in the vicinity of the fortress, and we fear it will start there.”

Sten grunted in response; he seemed as astonished as Ashaad was. They hadn’t anticipated to meet anyone who had useful information like this just as soon. This Duncan surely knew what he was talking about.

“We could use any aid offered to us,” Duncan continued. “But even if you only want to find out more about the Blight, Ostagar would be the place to go; there is no place as close which contains this much Warden knowledge. And if you are quick enough, you can leave before the battle starts.”

Judging from the look on Sten’s face, he seemed to consider it. He thanked Duncan politely, and picked up the rams he had previously dropped. The human nodded to them, before he turned to follow the villagers. Then, Sten and Ashaad made their way back to camp.

If someone had questions about their delayed return, they didn’t ask. Most of the others were busily tending their weapons, or stoking up the camp fire. The taller Ashaad came to help them with their spoils, and together they prepared their meal. The meat they didn’t eat this evening, they cut into thin strips and left them over the burnt down fire to dry.

While they took in their meal, Sten shared their encounter with the Warden with the others. “Tomorrow, we will seek out Ostagar,” he announced afterwards. “Only there we can find what we must to satisfy the Qun.”

The others nodded, and Ashaad joined in. Their leader had decided, and they would follow his path. But it made Ashaad wonder if the others had felt as lost as he did recently in some points in their lives. He really needed to seek out the Ben-Hassrath when they returned.

After finishing their meal, he drew first watch. Of course he did! This was really not the time he wanted to be alone with his thoughts, but he complied. It wasn’t like he had any saying in this. He perched uncomfortably on a tree trunk; it was the easiest way to not fall asleep without harming himself.

The rest of his platoon retreated to their tents. He watched them enviously. It would be only two hours, and then he could go to sleep as well, he knew that. But the ongoing march into Ferelden’s heartlands was slowly wearing him down. He hoped he wouldn’t be assigned a new mission immediately on their return; it was futile, the Arishok would keep them busy as usual, but the thought alone made their endeavour more bearable.

Yawning extensively, he stretched his legs. Two hours… There were many ways to keep himself busy so he didn’t have to think. He could fletch arrows; he always had feathers in his backpack if he had some time to spare. Or, he could snatch some of the meat so he had some extra rations. The others wouldn’t even notice, not when he picked only a few strips…

Movements attracted his attention towards one of the tents. He had so hoped for a quiet watch!

The tent flap was pushed aside, and Sten emerged from it. Ashaad felt the tension that had built up in his body relax. His platoon leader knelt down in front of his own tent. He laid out a piece of cloth, and almost gently placed his sword on it. With utmost care, he began to clean the blade from blood and grime.

 It was almost mesmerising to watch. and while Sten polished his weapon, Ashaad’s own thoughts were racing. Sten had been assigned this weapon to fulfil his role under the Qun. But it had been more than a simple sword; it was a part of him. That he cared more deeply about his weapon than his squad wasn’t that surprising.

Ashaad’s bow wasn’t comparable to the deep meaning the greatsword had. It had been crafted by the masters of the art, certainly, and it was made from fine materials. But his bow would never be as important to him as Asala was to Sten.

Maybe that was why he had been having doubts of late. If there was a weapon that was as much a part of him as his arms or his legs were, he might understand the Qun better. But so far, while Ashaads like him were valued, they weren’t treated the same way other warriors were.

The Ben-Hassrath would take care of his concerns. Though the more often he thought about it, the less it sounded like a path he wanted to go.

A branch snapped somewhere, too close for comfort. Both Sten and he looked up, alerted. Ashaad wrecked his brain, trying to recall if they had met any harmless animals that only came out at night. Nothing came to his mind. He shot a glance towards the fire. It could have been a twig that broke in the flames. It wasn’t, but it could’ve been. And a foul scent was in the air, but their meat was fresh, and none of their platoon was wounded that gravely.

Sten seemed to have come to a similar conclusion; though he took his time to pack up his utensils, Ashaad saw how he was scanning their camp for intruders. Only when he had bundled up his things, he gripped the now meticulously cleaned sword, and motioned him to do the same.

Before he could pick up his bow, something snarled loudly into his ear. He jerked away, falling from the tree trunk. The creature that stood above him was hideous; its lithe, wiry body was only partly covered by rags and mismatching armour pieced it probably had scavenged from others they had attacked. The bits of skin he saw at a glance were blotchy and covered in weeping sores.

It shrieked, so shrill he winced, and when he looked back it had vanished. He looked around, but found no traces of it. Only the smell of rotten flesh hung in the air.

Ashaad cursed, and kicked his bow to the side. It wouldn’t serve him here when stalkers had infiltrated their camp. Somehow, he doubted it was just the one. Instead, he drew his daggers from his belt.

Shrubs close to him wiggled, and he lunged towards them. With a roar he jumped into it, and his daggers met resistance. Another high-pitched screech, and he felt a body trying to break free from the blades; but he pressed on, until he had all but nailed it to the ground. It stopped moving.

He dragged his daggers out of the corpse. Blackish ichor dripped from their tips. He shuddered, but clutched them tightly. A loud outcry had his head spin to his side; Sten was making short work out of another of these monstrosities, cleaving it in half.

Close combat wasn’t his strongest suit; there were too many distractions. And he wouldn’t be Ashaad if it was. He was familiar enough with other weapon types, however. And even though he preferred to stay out of the fray to gauge the battle from a distance, he wasn’t useless either.

More of the fiends turned up; or had they been here the whole time? He ducked under an outstretched arm of another one, whirling around it to sink his daggers into its back. Its piercing wail had its own kind of satisfaction. Melee had some perks to it after all.

Ashaad had hoped their clamour would awaken the others. They needed their whole squad to defend themselves against the onslaught. And neither he nor Sten had the time to wake each one personally. But after he had sliced through the heels of an enemy, and dived underneath a jumping fiend, using his momentum to gut it in his slide, he still hadn’t heard his comrades rouse. When he turned towards the tents, he knew why.

While Sten and he had been occupied with fighting of some of these horrid things, more had poured into their camp from another side. too engrossed in their own fight, they hadn’t noticed how the rest of their platoon had been slaughtered in their sleep. They looked different, but were disgustingly malformed and twisted all the same.

Or Ashaad assumed they had been, with horror washing over him at the sight of the smashed tents; in wet patches, the thick fabric caught what little light the embers still gave. He didn’t have to get closer to know it was blood. Lots and lots of blood.

They were dead. They had come here for an intel mission, and now they were dead.

Sharp pain flooded his mind, drowning out the painful thoughts. He should have known better than to become distracted! Only being paralysed for a moment at the loss of his platoon, he had blocked out the creatures that had surrounded him.

He felt another one stab into his shoulder, and one jabbed at his side.

Desperately, he flailed his arms in through the air, even as his legs gave in. He took down one of his enemies, or were it two? But the holes he had cut into their circle formation closed quickly.

They still hacked into him as he lay motionless on the ground. His blood was slowly leaving his body. Everything grew cold, and his limbs grew heavy, as did his mind.

Ashaad hoped Sten had made it. He really did. It would be enough that he had failed the Qun.

***

When he woke up, the constant pain he had felt before was gone. As was the noise. Still, he was hesitant to open his eyes.

The Qun had prepared him for many things; the Tamassran had taught him the language of this land, and some habits of the people who lived here. He had learnt to fight, to hunt, to survive if he would end up alone.

However, Ashaad hadn’t learnt what would happen if he died. Because either that had happened, and he had been removed from the face of Thedas for good, or he wasn’t, and when he opened his eyes he would see one of those creatures cower over him, prepared to end him. He knew what he preferred.

But he didn’t hear the ragged breath, nor smelled the foulness of it. There was no weight in his chest, or sound around him. He had to be dead.

But he had to make sure.

As inconspicuously as he could, Ashaad opened his eyes. Above him was a ceiling, not the open sky, and certainly not what he had imagined to be the swirling nothingness of death. If it had been naked white stone instead of being lined with wooden planks, he would have even though he had dreamt up all of this. Though he knew he had never dreamt like this before.

But he lay in a room, and not in the remains of their camp, he acknowledged to himself as he turned his head. The pain that accompanied the small movement told him he wasn’t dead either.

A human house, then. He wasn’t a skilled builder, but even he could see the many places in this room alone that wasted unnecessary resources; most furniture was carpentered ruggedly, creating spaces that couldn’t be used, and a large window that didn’t close properly let in the cold, so there had to be a small fireplace. Nowhere in Par Vollen would he find a room as flawed as this one.

Ashaad sat up; more pain surged through him like another blade. He inhaled sharply, and more clumsily than he would have liked he felt for his back injuries. Though he had expected to be confronted with crusted wounds, he felt rough bandages.

They had been wrapped around his whole torso, he realised. Some straps had been bound around his arm as well. And before he had been laid onto the thin straw mattress, he noted as he carefully craned his head to look at it; the sheets would’ve been bloodier otherwise. What-

The door opened, and a woman entered; human, as he had thought. Her hair was as grey as his skin, and she looked weary, until she noticed he was conscious.

“You’re up already! The healer had said you would make it, but this quickly… Of course I don’t know how fast your people-“ She awkwardly stopped herself.

He attempted a smile; Tamassran had said humans were soothed by smiles. This one apparently not, though.

“How- how long have I been here?” His hoarse voice partly answered his question.

“Oh, a couple of days, a week, maybe. Lothering is the closest village, but the healer still had to travel out here when we called for her. And that’s only when we found you! You were lucky we saw you were still breathing, and didn’t burn you like the others. You and your friend were on the brink of death.”

His head shot up, and, ignoring the pain, he looked around. Next to him lay Sten, also covered in bandages and poultices. He didn’t move, but after he had watched him for a while, he had noticed the other was still breathing.

His relief seemed to be visible; the elderly woman smiled warmly at him. “He will be fine. He had it rough, but the healer did her best. Now. You stay here, and I will cook a hearty broth. Both of you will be back on your feet in no time!”

Ashaad decided he liked her. None of the Tamassran who educated him were nearly as soft or kind as she seemed to be. Granted, he would’ve turned out differently if they had been, but he found it hard to see a fault in that.

She shuffled out of the room, her skirts rustling across the floor. With a click she shut the door behind her.

Maybe, that was some kind of wake-up call. They should have died back in camp. He should have died. Instead, he was alive, and awake, while his comrades had been butchered in their tents. How could he continue as if nothing had happened?

He glanced to his side. Sten was still unconscious. If he stood up and walked out right now, Sten wouldn’t know. He would never get an opportunity like this again. Ashaad might never return home.

The longer he thought about this idea, the more appealing it became. Leaving his old life behind, finding a new purpose somewhere, anywhere but under the Qun… He could get to like that.

As if he had spoken his treasonous thoughts out loud, Sten began to shift on his makeshift bed. With a groan he pried open one eye. He looked pained.

His glance fell on Ashaad. “What- where?”

He had felt respect for his intimidating hornless commander before, and a certain admiration as well. But only now he felt sympathy for him. And not only because he had been similarly confused and disoriented mere moments ago.

“We survived the onslaught on our camp, Sten! Humans have taken us in and cared for us.” He saw the lights die in Sten’s eyes as he remembered that night. If he didn’t say it now, he would regret it. “The others- they didn’t make it. We’re the only ones to get out of there alive.”

Sten closed his eyes, and Ashaad feared he had fallen asleep again or worse. Eventually though, he nodded. “The Arishok needs to know about this. We need to return at once.”

Ashaad let his shoulders slump over. Just as he had accepted that he would stay, that he would forsake the Qun and the life under its laws, it was ripped from under his feet. He should have left when he had the chance to get away; then he would be just another fallen soldier, another casualty of their mission. If he tried to leave now, Sten would deal with him like any other defector, and run him through with his sword. A mercy compared to the alternative of being dragged to Par Vollen as a traitor and being turned into a mindless husk of himself. He probably deserved either.

A low growl cut through his thoughts. Sten stood next to his bed, his bandaged hands clenched so tightly his knuckles paled. His furious grimace was what gave him pause, however; it was more frightening than the appalling creatures they had fought. With barely controlled rage, he forced out, “Where is Asala?” And when Ashaad didn’t answer, “Where is my sword?”

He hadn’t seen his own bow, now that he was thinking about it. Nor his daggers. But why did that matter? They were alive, and had plenty of time to worry about their weapons later.

“Maybe they have stored it somewhere for safekeeping? Or it’s still on our old campsite?” he suggested.

It only yielded a piercing look. He was thinking about something else he could say to calm him, to make him see reason, but with a loud crash, he had unhinged the door and stormed out of the room. Too late then.

He heard the woman’s muffled words. Too indistinguishable for him to understand, but the calming undertone carried over the words. He heard her surprised gasp. And he heard her pained outcry, as well as a wet noise. And another. And another.

Ashaad jumped up, forcing down the pain that threatened to overcome him, and the nausea that came with it. It couldn’t be! He dashed towards the open door, and stopped abruptly at the sight of the scene before him.

Sten stood in the middle of the room, gaze fixated on the blunt, bloody knife in his hands. Blood dripped from its tip to the floor, pooling in more blood. In the puddles lay the bodies. Massacred, butchered bodies.

He gaped at Sten, who slowly regained his stoic composure. “What was- why? They didn’t do anything!”

The warrior returned his look coolly. “It matters not. I have acted rashly, and I will face its consequences; I will not let my disgrace soil the image of the Qun. You can still leave. Leave, and report to the Arishok! He must know of the dangers that this lands house.”

All words had forsaken him. He suspiciously gauged Sten’s expression, looking for a sign of newly found humour. He had to be joking! But his face was as grim as it always was, and he didn’t add anything.

Instead, he dropped the knife he had clutched so far carefully on the counter, and knelt down. With his hands firmly gripped around his thighs, he looked back up. “Leave, now! Before you are dragged into this!”

Ashaad knew better than to argue. Without looking back at his commander who wasn’t commanding over anything anymore, he staggered out of the house.

He shouldn’t be this affected by this, he knew that. But it wasn’t the violence that put him off; it was the needlessness of it. The woman had been nothing but kind to them, to him. And there had been children… Sten had killed innocent imekari!

Outside, he leaned against the wall. All the pain and nausea he had suppressed until now washed over him with renewed brutality. He spun around and retched what little he had left in his stomach against the wall. Unsurprisingly, he didn’t feel better afterwards.

Ashaad needed to get away from here, and he quickly marched forward to put some distance between Sten and himself. All of this only strengthened his resolve to turn his back on his home and the Qun for good.

But where should he turn to? Though it was a rural region, he wasn’t naive enough to hope the news of a Qunari slaughtering a family wouldn’t spread. If he was lucky, he would have a head start. And he was determined to use it.

Aimlessly, he wandered further. He desperately tried to remember anything about this country, but his mind was blank. There was no profession he thought he could take on, no location he knew he could go to… Sten had been the one to talk to the few humans they had met, and he had known where they had to go.

And despite his training, Ashaad had never been alone before. All the preparation he had made didn’t help him now, or so he felt. He was as helpless as a child.

Doubts began to ate at his thoughts. Maybe he had made the wrong decision, maybe he should heed Sten’s last order; he was as good as dead anyway. But even if he wanted to return to Par Vollen, how should he accomplish that? He had neither coin nor goods he could exchange for passage, and there was nothing else he could offer.

And even if he made it back, and stood before the Arishok, what should he tell him? He still didn’t know anything about the Blight. His return couldn’t be empty-handed, as a beaten man.

No. Second-guessing his decision wouldn’t help him. He would stay here; otherwise he would either find the information his people could use, or he would die. One might happen sooner than the other…

“Are you lost?”

Ashaad looked up. The voice wasn’t hostile, or accusing, but familiar. That was something.

He immediately recognised the man standing before him. It was the Warden they had met earlier, though he seemed more exhausted than the last time he had seen him, and his armour was dulled with blood spatters and the like. But the smile that reached his eyes told him that he recognised him, too.

“It’s you. What happened to your companion?”

Ashaad averted his gaze. “He- we had to split up. I’m on my own now.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” He offered an apologetic smile as Ashaad looked back to him; Duncan really looked like he meant it. “Are you still heading to Ostagar?”

Ashaad shrugged. He might as well. It wasn’t like he had anyplace else he knew to go to. And he might even get something out of it, one way or the other.

Duncan eyed him briefly, thinking. “We Wardens could use recruits like you, who had fought in their share of battles. Say, would you consider joining our ranks?”

He didn’t know anything about them. Nothing, but that they fought the Blight. That seemed as good a goal as any, and if he wanted to gather the intel for his people as he had been tasked to do, there wouldn’t be a better opportunity. And if he didn’t, well… Duncan made the Wardens sound like they protected their own. The Qun wouldn’t get to him.

So he agreed.

The Warden answered with a wide smile. “I’m relieved to hear that. Ostagar is only a few day’s journeys away from here. I will fill you in on the way.”

He lightly clapped Ashaad on the shoulder as he passed him. And he followed without hesitating. Maybe that would be the purpose he needed.