Of all the boisterous taverns Rylen had been to in all his days, the Herald's Rest had to be his favorite.
And it wasn't the rowdy laughter, or the dwarf spinning tales of the Champion and the Herald in the corner, or the band of Chargers that liked to challenge anyone who could still walk straight to drinking contests, it was the camaraderie that had seemed to spring out of nowhere and infect the ranks as surely as a spread of the Blight. Rylen was so awed by it that he never missed an opportunity to come and be swept away into the madness. He looked over unruliness with appreciation. The Inquisition had gathered the brunt of its forces by damn accident and they'd all been through enough of the dark Magister's shit to come together despite all odds. There was a strong bond in respect, the kind usually earned with long years of working side by side rather than simple necessity. Not even within the Order at Starkhaven had his men truly reached this point. The fact that the Inquisitor had inspired it out of nothing was damn impressive.
And there he went again.
It was always the fucking same.
For the entire afternoon as it crept into the evening, Rylen's thoughts had always somehow managed to wander towards Inquisitor Adaar. He only wished that he could say each time was as innocent a wandering as this one. The blighted woman occupied his mind more now that he knew how close she was to him. Somehow the thought that he could go and talk to her whenever he wished wasn't actually making the restless anticipation better, it was making it worse. He had a War Council to look forward to in the morning when he had a real reason see her again and the waiting made it damn near impossible to focus on anything. It was everything he could do to stay his feet and not seek her out, though what he would say, he had no blighted idea. His mind wiped frustratingly blank whenever he interacted with her and if his earlier encounter told him anything, it was that he could hardly make himself sodding think past the nerves. The fucking nerves. The Maker-damned butterflies he thought had been behind him from his younger years had suddenly deemed it appropriate to resurface and reduce him to a bumbling idiot in front of Keram.
And if the fucking butterflies didn't kill him, it would be the recurring playback of Iron Bull's wandering hand over and over in his head. After some careful (and somewhat intoxicated) introspection, he realized that he had never actually been worried for her or disapproving of a soldier overstepping his bounds, he had been jealous. Rylen groaned and stared sullenly into the depths of his tankard. Fucking jealous. Him! Over someone he had no rights to, no claim on at all. Jealousy: the other emotion that was reserved only for stupid young boys who puffed their chests out to impress each other as a girl passed by. It made him fucking sick to think that he had been drawn unwittingly into a dick measuring contest. He was supposed to be more mature than that by now, wasn't he? Yet he grew even sicker when he realized that each time he relieved the episode in his mind, his blood boiled over with envy again.
This is what occupied him while sitting at a table in a tavern surrounded by his friends. What he should have been doing was flirting with the barmaids. If he was a lucky bastard, he could take one to a dark corner somewhere and erase the memory of Keram's flushed skin with some new sod. The fact that he kept dismissing each girl that attended their table in favor of brooding over the Inquisitor could only mean trouble. Andraste guide his sorry ass.
Snarling more at himself than anything, he took another swig of ale and slammed his empty tankard down on their table more forcefully than he intended.
"Woah, slow down, Rylen!" the ever cheery Michel de Chevin sniggered from behind him, laying a heavy hand over Rylen's mug.
When Rylen had first met the Orlesian Chevalier, he had thought him the prissy sort akin to the nobles he'd encountered. The kind that he would have rather never fucking dealt with. Chevin's pretty face and fancy hair had been deceiving, however. There was no denying his uncanny knack with the troops and his eagerness to pass on his many refined skills. Then, after many a begrudging late night spent listening to his tales of being the Empress's guard, Rylen had warmed to the tall man with an easy voice and casual friendliness. Any other night, he would have been glad to compare more stories from their respective orders and snort derisively at the fucked up inner politics they were both glad to leave behind, but tonight, Rylen was finding Chevin's liveliness increasingly tiresome.
"Leave him be, Chevin," Cullen warned over his own large tankard. For the commander of the Inquisition's soldiers, Cullen could turn surprisingly lax when he was put in settings like these. The man was quickly and easily swept up in the tides of the tavern. It was just too bad he couldn't swim to save his damn life. Commander Cullen wasn't very good at checking his tongue or holding his liquor. On more than one occasion Cullen had managed to find himself a victim of the Chargers or had sunk to a level not quite befitting of his post. Luckily, Rylen or Chevin were usually there to sort him out and drag him back to his office. One thing was for certain though, Cullen had come a long way from the drained Knight-Captain-turned-Commander that Rylen had met back in Kirkwall.
"Or what?" Chevin challenged genially. The Chevalier thumped Rylen hard on the back.
"Or you'll find your dainty nose on the wrong side of your skull," Rylen growled at him, knocking Chevin's hand away.
Completely unfazed, Chevin laughed exuberantly and motioned for the barkeep to pick up their empty tankards, calling for more. Rylen was usually happy to laugh with his boisterous friend. He would have loved nothing more than to join in on the much needed down time in a place where his hair didn't always stick to his fucking face, but nothing was dislodging the dark cloud of self-loathing he found himself wallowing in tonight. Not the friendly faces, and certainly not the piss excuse for ale that the dwarf insisted on importing form Kirkwall.
"Don't mind him, Michel," Barris piped up from Rylen's right. Quiet and shy as always, the lad had garnered a knack for finding just the right moments to speak. "He's just mad about—"
Did Rylen say right moments? He had meant aggravating. "Don't say it!"
"He's pining over our lady Inquisitor!" Cullen said quickly, half choking on his ale in his haste to get his word in. His bout of snickering made him just barely dodge the swipe Rylen aimed at his carefully-styled head.
As the Templars lost themselves to suspiciously girlish giggles, Rylen groaned, slumping forward in his chair. Here it comes, the worst earful of my shit life.
Chevin kept his composure, at least, but his grin fell from abruptly his face. The ridiculously handsome blonde man looked at Rylen with wide, astonished eyes. "No!"
"Don't—" Rylen grunted.
"NO! You dog! Rylen!" he cried, shoving Rylen's shoulders. His bright blue eyes danced with a mirth that only made Rylen surlier.
"Yes," Cullen chortled. "You should have seen him today while she trained. If this man's mouth had hung any lower, he would have tripped over it."
"E-even by the time he got to Cullen's office, he was still drooling," Barris snickered, elbowing Rylen gently.
"I hate all of you."
Chevin threw his head back and roared.
"Oh, yes," Rylen sneered bitterly. He snatched his refilled tankard to him as soon as it was set on their table. "Ha ha ha! Let us all have a go at the miserable sod that's bitten off more than he can chew. Mention it again and I will fight each and every one of you."
"Come now, Rylen. Don't be like that," Cullen eased, relaxing back into his chair. His normally level gaze was slightly unfocused. His cheeks were rosy and Rylen didn't miss the Commander's slight slur. Rylen chuckled darkly at his superior. Cullen had only just managed to finish one lousy mug to Rylen's two and Chevin's three. Knowing that made Rylen feel a little better.
"I would see you try," Chevin said, tossing himself into the seat opposite. If only Rylen could conceivably reach across and wipe the smug look off the Chevalier's face. "But come now, all jests aside, why is the great Knight-Captain pining and not…" The way Chevin waggled his eyebrows made Rylen grimace.
"As if I would tell—"
"He can't talk to her," shrugged Cullen. "Though I would think the talking was the easy part—"
"Cullen…" Rylen paused and swallowed his biting remark about what had actually been easy. "You have no idea."
"I do!" Cullen laughed, his brows shooting up. "I talk to her every day, in fact."
Rylen was too short-tempered for this shit. He scowled at his nearly full mug, and wondered if he could pound it back fast enough to run away before they asked him any more invasive questions.
"Is it that she does not acknowledge you? She is wooed by someone else? What?" Chevin pressed. "We cannot help you if you do not tell us, you know."
"I just…" Rylen sighed heavily. His head already felt heavy with drink and he knew himself too fully to believe this could end well. Would it matter much in the end if he let his reservations out into the open? Maybe the Maker would bless his sorry ass and his friends would actually have worthwhile advice. He glanced over each of their waiting faces. It was unlikely they would…but they could. Andraste's tits, you are ever the fool, he thought, running his hand over his face. "I just know bullocks about Qunari. I…" He hesitated over telling them about his more memorable tirade with the Inquisitor. Would she approve of this boasting? Maybe she was a private woman? Did she care either way? Rylen realized he knew next to nothing about her aside from how lovely she looked when she was naked and what a fearsome fighter she was. Fuck it. This hell he was caught in couldn't possibly get worse, could it? He lowered his voice so as not to be heard over the tavern din, so that his friends had to lean in to hear him. He could at least preserve that much decorum. "I have already taken her to bed."
Cullen and Barris blushed brightly, but Chevin's face split with a knowing, roguish smile.
"And you do not wish to leave it at that?"
"I would have, if I could stop thinking about the damn woman long enough to breathe, but I can't. I know nothing about Qunari and I can't seem to shake her. I don't know what the fuck to do next!"
Rylen glared at all of them as they took pensive swigs of their ale. He wasn't very optimistic they would have much for him, but, if nothing else, Rylen had felt the tense tightness in his chest that had plagued him all day alleviate somewhat.
The silence between them stretched on, and as it did, it sapped any hope he might have had. Rylen's gaze fell on the small nervous movement of Barris' fingers around his mug. The lad was still unsure of his place in all of this, had often kept to himself, but would nail them now and again with one-liners that could leave them laughing until their lungs ached. Barris was glad to add insight on things he knew about: combat tactics, Templar formations, the damn Chant, but he was as raw as they came. Rylen knew well enough about how sheltered the Order's life could be. He considered himself lucky, surrendering himself over after living his life for fifteen years, but Barris had joined up early on at the urging of his noble family. Some shit about legacies. The lad was sheltered certainly, and judging from the way he handled his own love life, Rylen wasn't very confident Barris would be much help. But as Rylen watched the thoughtful crease between his friend's eyes, he knew he was about to receive something utterly useless anyway.
"Looks like you've got an idea, Barris," Rylen mumbled, taking a long drink from his ale.
He sighed, fidgeting. "I…well…the Inquisitor is still a girl, right? They like nice things, don't they? Maybe…maybe just…send her flowers?"
Rylen was glad Cullen snorted so he didn't have to. "You cannot be serious, Derlin."
"I could send her flowers, sure. If I wanted them shoved down my throat."
"Somehow, I don't see the Inquisitor falling over herself for romantic gestures like that," Cullen agreed.
Rylen glanced over at Barris' blushing face and was seized with a nasty thought that he couldn't ignore. "Here's an idea. Why don't you send flowers to that lady, Lysette that you're always following around, hmm?"
Barris spluttered incoherently and all their gazes shifted to the table across the room where Skyhold's Templars were the ones matching themselves against the Chargers tonight. The lady in question, one Lysette was emphatically cheering on her compatriots as they tried to drink Krem, Rocky, and Grim under the table.
"You-you said you wouldn't mention—"
"If any of us needs advice on their love life, it's you! Or has the stuttering and reciting of the Chant whenever she's around been working for you since the last we spoke?"
"Ah, come Rylen, have a heart!" Chevin bemoaned. He leaned across the table to lay reassuring pats on Barris' arm, barely containing his own shaking laughter. "We can't all be bold enough to climb right into a lady's bed!"
"For all the good it has done him," Cullen reminded them with a smug chortle. After some consideration, he added, "Not flowers, but a fight, maybe? How about it, Rylen? Care to test your mettle against her in the ring?"
"After the display earlier? Andraste's pale ass, no!"
"True enough. If you cannot string a sentence together in front of her, how could you ever hope of fighting her? You would succeed only in embarrassing yourself."
Rylen rolled his eyes and turned to the last man. "And you, Chevin? Care to add more shit recommendations to these sorry sods?"
Chevin rested his chin in his hand and raised his eyes, the smirk spreading slowly over his face. "On the contrary, I may have something useful to you, my friend."
By the time Rylen found himself in the biting night air, his mind was reeling. It had taken him ages before he had finally managed to wrestle himself away from the bastard Chevin, and not a moment too soon. The man had been trying to rally another drunken chorus of Sera Was Never, and that fucking song had already lodged itself too damn deep into Rylen's brain.
He hummed the annoyingly jaunty tune as he ambled his way to the barracks of Skyhold. He was pleasantly warm and tingly with drink now and the cold barely affected him. Rylen took to admiring the shadows, the towering walls of the castle, the moons, anything to keep his mind from picking apart the conversation from earlier.
As he listened to Chevin's scheme, Rylen had believed the man to be joking. He had to be out of his fucking mind. There was no way in the Maker's kingdom it would be that fucking easy. Rylen had nearly dismissed it outright. For one thing, it was a stupid plan. For others, it was much too simple, depended on too many other fucking variables and was more than a little flat-out selfish. What Rylen had been hoping for was some secret insight into the Qunari mind. What he had received instead was a plan he was certain the Inquisitor would never fall for. He'd fucking kiss Corypheus—with tongue!—before Inquisitor Keram Adaar would fall for that pile of Varghest shit.
Though what else did he have really?
His best bet for dealing with this shit was to wait around and hope it went away. Now that Rylen thought of it, that was a pretty damn good bet. He could always just remove himself to an even further piece of ass than the Western Approach and rot in a cave somewhere, praying for deliverance from the tempting mage. Maybe she was a demon herself! That would explain a lot of things, come to think of it… The fucking beauty, the ornamented horns, the agonizingly curvaceous hips, the Maker damned temptation… That was it, Rylen, he thought to himself with a giggle. You went and fell for a Desire Demon after all, you sod.
Oh, that would be an easy fix, then, wouldn't it? Desire Demons could be killed. He could free himself from her clutches, if that were the case. But the truth? The truth was…he felt completely fucking powerless. It hadn't seemed to matter that it was never meant to be more than a night. It hadn't mattered at all that he was far away from her. And it certainly didn't matter that she was a fruit forbidden to him by his vows. None of that mattered. Nothing fucking mattered! He was powerless to stop the thoughts, the yearning, the fucking aching for that blighted woman that plagued his senses with feelings he tried and failed to suppress. There was the burning desire, the fleeting giddiness, the stabs of jealousy that cut deeper than any knife Rylen had known. How was it that he could do nothing against the onslaught? Was he simply doomed to fall to the last foe he expected?
Rylen halted, leaning his blazing forehead against a cold stone wall and let out a long groan.
He had to see her tomorrow morning, to cap it all off. He had to speak to her as if he hadn't thought of her all day. He would be forced to watch her talk about strategic troop movement as if he had never seen those gorgeous full lips sliding around his cock. Rylen gritted his teeth and tried to force the fucking image away. If it came to him so easily now, it would only be worse come the morning once he actually had to see her. Maker take him. Was it too much to pray that his throat would be cut during the night?
"I take it I missed all the fun then?" remarked an amused voice from behind him.
With a shout, Rylen spun and reached for his sword, but the world spun too fast for his buzzed brain to keep up. He stumbled and just barely caught himself on the wall. His unfocussed eyes found his would-be assailant and he blanched.
Keram—Maker shit, it was Keram—laughed, which did nothing for his light head. The liquor churned hot inside him, or was that the butterflies? Fuck! For the life of him, he couldn't distinguish which, but…fuck, Keram had caught him, and he honestly couldn't decide if that was a remarkable stroke of good luck or the worst misfortune in Thedas.
"Is the stumbling a yes?" she teased lowly. "I wish Josephine had picked a different night to teach me how to take tea, I would have liked to have joined you." Her gorgeous emerald eyes roved over him slowly. Rylen told himself the sudden heat he felt was bad whiskey. He was warm and…something else. Rylen found himself lost taking in every sharp contour of her face. He didn't give a shit about propriety as his eyes started wandering lower and lower… He drew a long, ragged breath. When his gaze met hers again, she was smirking in that enticing way that had first led him down the corridor after her glorious ass.
He wet his lips and wondered if he should even try to pretend he hadn't been ogling her. "I was just thinking, Inquisitor, that, if you like, we can see about switching places next time. I'll wear the frilly dress and talk about doilies and eat biscuits while you go drink with the Chargers. You don't think anyone would notice, do you?"
Then Keram's face split into the first wide grin he'd ever seen from her, the vison shooting pleasant warmth through his body. And just when he thought that was the end of it, her following wild laugh could have stopped his heart.
"Now that would be a sight," she giggled, drawing nearer to him. With each step, his heart picked up pace so that he was sure the woman could see it jumping. "So tell me, Captain, what are you doing here?"
Rylen's brow knit in confusion and he glanced around himself. He had stopped to control his vivid images just short of the barracks door. Had he been that close to missing Keram entirely on her way to the tavern? Shit. "I was going to go to bed, lass. I don't have the option of using magic to stay this pretty, you know." Another peal of laughter escaped her and lifted the miserable spirits that had dogged him all day. That fucking smile. That damn laugh. He couldn't ask for anything better to salvage this disaster of an evening.
"No, Captain," Keram chuckled. "I mean at the soldier's barracks. Shouldn't you have your own room?"
Rylen shrugged. "Cullen said you were full up. Something about too many nobles."
"Someone should have told me." Keram frowned and shook her head. "I could have thrown one of those pompous fools outside in order to make room for you."
This time, it was Rylen's turn to laugh. "Ah, lass? Perhaps that is why they didn't tell you." He watched her arch an eyebrow at him, and his smile dropped a little. He started wondering if she really would have thrown some codger out on their fat ass just to make room for him. By the look on her face, Rylen wouldn't have put it past her. Might've throttled them too if the urge seized her.
She drew still closer, her eyes dancing in the low light. "Although…" she simpered as she came close. Close enough that he smelled the Ambassador's overwhelming perfume that reeked in her office, but he could also pick out the dusky sweetness that he knew to be Keram from the lingering tastes he had taken of her. Maker, that seemed like a fucking lifetime ago now. Rylen had to dig his fists into his thighs to keep from grabbing the woman and kissing her. "This does present an interesting prospect."
The way her eyes glinted in the darkness, he had to bite. "And what's that?"
Keram traced a fingernail from the edge of Rylen's jaw to under his chin and he shuddered. "Don't stay down here. Stay with me, Rylen."
Her second upfront offer caught him hard in the chest and forced all the air from his lungs. This blighted woman couldn't have been serious! He had spent all fucking day agonizing over what he could possibly say to her after their encounter and then all she had to do was crook her little finger at him. Did she believe he would come running again like a dog bounding to its master? The thought…irked him. It sparked a rebelliousness in the back of his drink-laden head. Why wouldn't she believe he would come? He had already proven to her that his morals were loose at best. Every fucking one of them. He had proven that nothing at all was sacred to him; not even his religion or his vows. He had come to her once. So why not again? And again. And again? She…she was just using him, he was suddenly sure. She had to be. His realization grated against him and he was…offended by her. That she could just fucking leave him in that sodding desert with nothing to fucking acknowledge him, then have the audacity to fucking beckon again.
And what of himself? What of these…feelings? Even if he admitted that he had no shred of dignity in his sorry ass, the fact of the matter was (try as he might to pretend otherwise) that he didn't want these casual encounters with the Inquisitor. He was drunk enough that he could concede that to himself. Tomorrow, he would repress it again, but tonight… Tonight, with the way his heart hammered and his body burned and his tongue tied... He might have made downright piss-poor decisions sometimes—most times—and maybe he was about to make the worst one yet, but…he couldn't. He just…he couldn't put himself through the torture. Rylen's over active brain had already inflicted so much after one night. If he submitted himself again… He couldn't accept. Not this time. He fucking couldn't.
"Inquisitor, I… I appreciate the offer but…no. I can't do that, I'm afraid." Rylen bit his tongue hard enough that his vison swam. Stupid. He was stupid, but the words couldn't be taken back any more than he could take back their night together.
Keram's face had become unreadable as per her usual, but her head tilted a little to the side as she regarded him silently. Rylen had to make a conscious effort not to fidget under her scrutiny.
"As you wish," she said slowly. "Though if you change your mind, I'll be waiting for you. You know where to find me."
He watched her turn to go, his heart sinking heavily right to his toes. Rylen took a shaky breath and cursed himself for being an idiot. You could have had her, Rylen. You could have had her again, you damn fool. But instead you went and fucked it up. And then her words pierced through his thoughts like breaking water. "I—Keram?"
She paused and looked over her shoulder quizzically.
"You said…you'd be waiting for me. Just me?" Rylen couldn't help but think back to Bull groping her in the ring. How many other times had the Qunari done that to her that he hadn't seen? There had to be more. Keram had to have taken other lovers from around Skyhold. Rylen wasn't naïve enough to believe it was just him. But, Maker help him if it was. He held his breath, hardly daring for it to be true.
"Of course."
Rylen watched in astonishment as her lips pulled into their secret smile, the private one that he was starting to think was just for him, and she was gone.
You're a fucking idiot, and indecisive to boot, Rylen sneered at himself as he nodded brusquely to the guards stationed at the entrance to the grand hall of Skyhold. You have no respect for yourself, it shows, and she's going to scorn you for it.
There were no braziers lit any longer and the dark shadows from the tall iron-work windows stretched across the stone floors like a spider web. All the better. If only they could catch him and stop him from making yet another mistake to add on his long fucking list of mistakes. His way, however, was unhindered as he walked briskly across the long hall and he found himself wavering indecisively before the door to the Inquisitor's chambers.
Should he knock? It had to be too late for that. Should he just let himself in? She had said she would be waiting for him, but what if she was asleep? He didn't want to catch her by surprise and end up dangling by his foot over the side of her balcony. No, what he should do is march right back to the barracks, throw himself onto one of those uncomfortable cots and pray he met a quick and painless death before the morning could find him face-to-face with the Inquisitor. Rylen made a face as he imagined the heavy awkwardness his rejection would fill the War Room with tomorrow. Perhaps it would be better to leave now? Grab his horse and make for the Approach as if his ass were on fire. Too late for that. You've come this far. Why not just make a complete ass of yourself? You were doing such a bang-up job of it already, Rylen, I'd hate for you to lose your stride now.
Fuck it. Fuck it!
Rylen pushed the door open and closed it behind him as quietly as he could. The ascent up the stairs was a losing battle against the tides of nerves and the urge to run. He tried over and over again to think of something witty to say, some kind of an excuse for being a shit, but he was coming up dry.
As Rylen neared the final landing, the one that meant he could no longer run back to his cot, his ears caught the soft utterance of his name. He paused, inclining his head to listen. This was technically eavesdropping, wasn't it? This would get him in worse trouble if he was caught, but the curiosity got the better of him.
Yes, there it was again. His name whispered, soft but heady. The syllables wrapped in a pant that made his breeches feel tight. Rylen scaled the last of the steps quickly.
He found Keram just the way he had begun to hope. Her large naked body was splayed across the covers, flushed and swollen from her own attentions. Rylen hungrily devoured every curve with his eyes, and licked his lips with the need to taste her again. All of her. He would leave nothing this time. His cock throbbed insistently.
Keram's eyes fluttered open and danced in the candlelight. She graced him with her small smile and he could have moaned at the sight.
"You came," she purred, pulling her fingers from her hot slit and trailing them up her torso. Rylen drew a hiss through his teeth as he watched the slide of her fingers wet with her own desire leave glistening tracks over her skin.
Fool or not, he had certainly made the right fucking decision in the end.
"Not yet," he murmured lowly, feeling his own grin tug at his face. "I'm eager, but I'm not fast, remember, lass?" Rylen moved closer, his hand already outstretched to caress her spread thigh. His mind running through all the sins he wanted from her this time. The moment he felt her hot flesh beneath his fingers, Rylen groaned. His hand slid across her skin, smooth and strong, and found his way to her very wet cunt—fucking Andraste preserve him!
Keram hummed and arched at the slide of his teasing fingers around her clit. "I should hope so. I need more of you, Rylen. I expect you to give it to me."
He laughed breathlessly, shuddering at her easy command. "Yes, Inquisitor. I am glad to be of service."
Rylen caught her lips in a searing kiss and drank her moan from them as his fingers glided over her swollen slit. Keram pressed herself closer to him, her tongue coaxing, drawing him deeper into a fervent rhythm that made his head spin. It was her kiss that captured him, the kind that set his body alight with a deep fire that he had an inkling could never be put out. He was done for; he could have sworn that to anybody. This woman would take him.
And there was nothing he could do about it.
