Notes: I'm back! Finally! I'm really sorry about the long wait. First school got in the way, then Fallout 4 came out and I've known little else since lol. I really didn't mean to go a whole month without updating, though. *cringe* I feel bad about that. Sorry again!

It was really fun reading all of your comments on the last chapter. Some people agreed with what Rhynn did, and some didn't. Now you finally get to see how Rhynn herself feels! Oh, and it was also brought to my attention that the Dalish bury their dead. Oops. I'll eventually fix that, but I figure it's not a huge plot point, so it can wait.

Enjoy!

Disclaimer: Not mine, etcetera, etcetera. *waves hand dismissively*

Chapter 37: Limbo

I pour a little more water into the clay pot, then plunge my hands in to mix the mud. After deeming it the proper consistency, I scoop up a handful and pat it into a cake. I place the disk of mud on a makeshift plate and sprinkle some seeds on top. Mycah comes over with a few sprigs of something green and begins arranging them around the edges.

"What are you doing?"

We both glance up at the newcomer, a small boy with the strangest ears I've ever seen. His big, blue eyes study us. He looks like an elf or a fairy, like the ones in my books. I grin with excitement.

"We're making mud pies," I explain. "Wanna join?"

The boy nods and flits over, impossibly light on his feet, to kneel beside us.

"Here," I push the clay pot closer to him. "This is what we make the pies out of. Just take a bit and pat it out flat." I demonstrate and the boy watches intently before trying.

He places the cake next to mine.

"Good job!" I tell him, then start decorating it.

The three of us work for a while. It's quiet except for the squelching of the mud and the birds chirping in the trees above us.

Mycah is the one to break the silence. "What's your name?" he asks.

"Ghilani," the boy replies and his voice seems to echo strangely. My hand pauses, a sprig of mint still pinched between my fingers. "Hahren…" I glance up, though I'm not sure why, and a strangled sound escapes my throat. I drop the leaves and scramble backwards. There's something wrong with his face. One side is caved in and the other is bloated and discolored. "Why?" the boy rasps, reaching for me with twisted fingers.

I turn and run. The branches of the trees sting as I whip by them.

Why… The boy's voice repeats in my head, pleading. My cheeks feel cool and wet and I realize that I'm crying.

I see red in the periphery and look to the right. Flames dance through the trees, charring the trunks and sending the forest creatures scurrying. I stop running to stare, entranced by the sight.

The wall of fire is fast approaching, but I find myself unconcerned. Welcoming, in fact. The heat is nearly unbearable now. I can feel my skin blistering, but it doesn't matter.

I start running again, keeping pace with the flames. Or maybe they're keeping pace with me. Now, I am no longer fleeing. I am pursuing. My prey slithers through the underbrush, quick and crafty.

The forest gets thicker the further in we go, the underbrush more tangled. It seems to twist and writhe at the edges of my vision. The tang of copper drifts on the breeze. I can no longer see my prey, but I know he's here.

"Come out, come out, wherever you are…" I sing-song, prowling quietly through the branches. "You can't hide forever."

A sharp inhale ahead and I pounce. The look of terror on his face fills me with satisfaction. I grab his head between my hands and apply pressure.

"Please!" he cries. "Please spare me, demon!"

That gives me pause. "Demon? Is that what you think I am?" I chuckle.

He continues to stare at me with wide, terror-stricken eyes. "I'll give you anything you want! Anything!"

"There's only one thing I want from you," I growl and give his head a sharp twist.

I stand slowly, breathing hard, my hands dripping with blood. I stare down at them, flexing the joints. I didn't even break the skin. Where is it all coming from? Not all of the blood is red, either. Different colors swirl together and I can't see my skin beneath. I try to clean them on the grass. When that doesn't work, I try a pond. I scrub and scrub, but the blood won't come off. With a cry of frustration, I slap the water. Chaotic ripples radiate out from the source.

When the water is smooth and clear once again, I finally notice my reflection and gasp. It looks like me, but it doesn't. My eyes are completely black and they almost seem to consume the light. There are cracks in my skin, revealing a molten core, shimmering with heat.

"What have you done, Rhynn?"

I twist around to find my father watching me with cold eyes. Mycah, now grown, stands beside him while Ghillie cowers behind his legs. More faces emerge from the darkness. Their eyes tell me I'm the thing under the bed, the rustling in the closet, but I don't understand why. Don't they understand?

"I had to do it, Dad," I beseech, crawling towards the man.

"No, Rhynn. There is always a choice." There is no warmth to his voice, no fatherly concern. "And no child of mine would have done that," he points to the body behind me.

"Daddy, please!" I cry, reaching out for him, but my hands are so red. "I'm still your daughter!"

"You're a murderer," he replies with finality and leads Mycah and Ghillie away.

I awake with a gasp, jerking upright. I can't comprehend my surroundings at first. Rough wood and stone, scratchy linen under my palms. I blow out a breath and fall back against the pillows with my eyes closed.

Without my permission, my brain replays snippets of my dream. With the clarity of wakefulness, I realize one of the faces had too many eyes and growl softly in frustration.

Damn him.

I explicitly told him to stay out of my dreams. It seems my wishes have been ignored, but I really don't have the energy for a confrontation right now. Instead, I throw the blankets aside and roll out of the small bed.

I've been sleeping alone since a few days after we got back from the Emerald Graves. Every time I woke from another nightmare, there he'd be with his worried-but-trying-to-hide-it expression. I couldn't take more than two nights of that. It seems great, mythical gods can't fix everything, so I told him to stop trying. I'd work through it myself.

It seems he knows how bad I am at doing just that, hence the continued presence in my dreams.

I'll eventually have to speak to him, but for now I slip quietly from the small room to pad barefoot along the walls. I walk until I reach the broken part near the stables that still hasn't been fixed. Carefully, I pick my way down, testing for loose stone with my toes. It's stupid, really. One misstep and I could go tumbling. But the spike of adrenaline is a nice change from the toxic cocktail of emotions I've been trying to ignore since…

I quickly steer my mind elsewhere and focus on climbing up the other side of the hole. After pulling myself up, I dust off my hands and stroll a bit further before turning to look out into the darkness. I wrap my arms around my torso, close my eyes, and let the icy wind whip through my hair and dry the sweat left over from restless sleep. When I open my eyes, I train them upwards. The night is clear and crisp, not a single cloud in the sky. Thedas' larger moon is a thin crescent, the smaller one just peeking over the horizon. All in all, a perfect night for stargazing.

"Bright and cold, but warm. Old blankets and people made out of stars."

The soft voice isn't a surprise, but I'm not sure if it's welcome. I don't send him away, though.

"The places I lived growing up," I begin after a long minute. "They were bright. It made it hard to see the stars. But every summer we'd go camping, some place far away from any city, and Dad would teach us the constellations. Well," my lips give a half-hearted twitch, "some of them. He only knew a few."

I stop talking abruptly as my brain helpfully reminds me of my dream.

"He wouldn't say that," Cole quietly insists.

"You've never met him," I remind, holding myself tighter.

"There are a lot of memories. Good ones," Cole perches himself on the edge of the wall, feet dangling. A better person would be worried. I join him.

"Memories aren't infallible."

Cole is silent for a quite a while, long enough that I'm not sure he'll respond. But then he shakes his firmly. "No, he wouldn't call you that."

He says it with such conviction. It makes me want to believe him. I tilt my head back to gaze at the stars again. There are so many of them, it's like a blanket of light.

Suddenly, I snort. I feel Cole's eyes fall on me. "You know, I used to stare up at the sky and wonder if there was other life out there, if aliens were real. I certainly wasn't the first to do so, of course, but it's just funny now," I say bitterly.

"Because we're the aliens?" Cole asks curiously.

"No," I sigh, "because I am."

Days pass and I lose myself in work. It occurs to me that perhaps I should try to find a less obvious coping strategy.

I notice some of the others watching me, but I pretend not to. The glances range from worried to wary. I wonder how much they've heard of what happened. I wonder if they look at me now and see something other than a healer. I'm surprised by how much that bothers me.

One day, when the Inquisitor has taken a few of her companions out on a mission and the courtyard is nearly empty, the quiet starts making my skin crawl. Unable to take it any longer, I decide to go for a brisk walk on the ramparts.

I'm nearly to the stairs when my name is called in a deep voice. I turn to find The Iron Bull leaning casually against the back side of the tavern.

"Spar with me." He somehow makes it sound like both a friendly invitation and a command. I find myself complying, meeting him in the middle of the practice area.

"Hand-to-hand?" I ask, eyebrow raised. "You realize I don't stand a chance against you, right?"

Bull just grins. "I've seen you fight. You should give yourself more credit."

I eye his tree trunk arms skeptically. "If you say so. I suppose it wouldn't hurt to work on my hand-to-hand."

"That's the spirit," he rumbles, dropping into a ready stance. I follow suit and we begin circling. And circling… and circling.

Huh.

I thought for sure he'd make the first move. Now we're just awkwardly orbiting and Iron Bull is smirking at me.

Okay then.

When faced with an enemy larger than myself, I typically dart in and try to jab at possible weak points. I employ this strategy now.

And end up flat on my back, wheezing for air.

"What was that shit?" Bull scoffs, towering over me.

I blink up at him and cough. "A major miscalculation, apparently."

Bull laughs and extends his arm, helping me to my feet before readying himself once more. "Again."

I roll my shoulders – and my eyes, a little – and quickly try to determine my next move. I dart forward again, like before, but feint left at the last second. I last a little longer this time before ending up on the ground.

"Better," Bull helps me up again. "But you're relying too much on your usual tactic of being faster than your opponent. I'm not as slow as you think I am," he teases.

"What do you suggest?" I ask, rubbing my sore hip.

Iron Bull smiles like he's glad I asked. "You know how to spot weaknesses. Use that. But put more power behind your strikes. You're not always going to be able to dance around a problem."

It seems like sound advice, so I give it a try. As we spar, Bull continues to give me pointers. Plant this foot here, push off from it, twist like this, use the force. Okay, maybe not that last one.

Somehow, he also manages to start a conversation with me. I decided from the moment I recognized him that I was going to avoid the Iron Bull as much as possible, precisely for the reason I'm now talking to him. He's scarily good at this.

"And here I was starting to think you were avoiding me," he chuckles, dodging a strike and countering.

"I was," I frown. "Am."

His chuckle turns into a full-bellied laugh. "You're doing an excellent job, then."

"Shut up," I grumble, twisting beneath his arm and landing a jab to his lower back. My fingers throb afterwards. Fucking brick house, this one.

"Is it the horns? They put some people off. Others, though…" he waggles his brows lasciviously.

I snort, which turns into a gasp as my arm is locked behind my back and my face is shoved into the dirt.

"Let me up, you big cow," I squirm and he releases his hold. I stand and pull a piece of grass off of my cheek.

"Cow?" he asks with mock incredulity. "You'll pay for that one."

For some reason, a few minutes of sparring later, I find myself trying to explain between panting breaths.

"It's just that… well, I know you're Ben-Hassrath."

"Not really a secret."

"I'm well aware. I meant that I know you're very good at what you do and I don't like when people can read me like a book," I have to duck to miss Bull's swing, but it still clips me on the shoulder. Shit, ow!

"Know everyone else's secrets but keep your own?" he challenges.

"Yes, I'm sure it keeps you up at night," I sass, feeling a bit defensive. Probably because he's right.

"No," he laughs, "not that."

That brings me up short, and he uses my distraction to take me down. Again. "But there are some things?" I ask curiously after spitting grass out of my mouth.

"Of course. We've all done things we're not proud of."

"Huh," I purse my lips. He hums. "I figured the Qun helped you justify everything, or whatever."

"Most things, yeah. I just learned how to deal with the rest," he shrugs.

"How?" I ask, softer and more vulnerable than I intended.

Bull stands up straight and holds my gaze steadily. "By figuring out what I did wrong and fixing it."

"Oh." We go back to sparring.

By the time I finally get the upperhand, I'm dripping with sweat and caked in dirt. I remembered a nerve in the shoulder and, hoping that qunari had that same nerve, I aim a powerful strike at the area. Bull's left arm suddenly goes limp and he grunts, trying to counter. I dodge and use the opportunity to slip behind him and land a kick to the back of his left knee. As it gives, I switch legs and use the other to shove him forward.

The Iron Bull finally goes down, catching himself with his good arm. Then, kneeling on the ground, he starts laughing. "Very good!" he bellows, stands, and claps me on the back, still guffawing.

I grin and try to catch my breath, wiping the sweat from my face and probably just smearing the dirt around. I glance over at Bull, who is now prodding his left arm.

"Ah… that should wear off soon…" I grimace slightly at the appendage.

"Should?" he chuckles and my grimace becomes more pronounced.

"Yeah… sorry-"

"Hey," Bull interrupts. "No apologies. That was a good move."

"Uh, thanks," I half-smile and rub my forearm. Iron Bull nods. "And thanks for…" I gesture vaguely.

"Any time," he replies genuinely.

"Well," I bounce awkwardly on my toes. "I think I'll go get cleaned up now. See you around." I give a small wave and start walking away.

"Rhynn."

I pause and look back, "Yeah?"

Iron Bull jerks his head up at the main hall. "Go talk to him. He's been wearing a hole in the floor and driving us all crazy."

I can just picture it, too. I sigh and curl in on myself. "Okay."

I leave then, but don't even glance at the door to the rotunda. Sorry, Bull… not yet.

My bare feet slap against stone and the sound echoes in the empty corridor. Another restless night. I tried to sleep, I really did. But it just wasn't going to happen after that particular nightmare.

So here I am, wandering Skyhold aimlessly. At this time of night, I can almost imagine I'm the only one. A ghost patrolling long-abandoned halls.

My legs eventually carry me to the garden, the quietest area by far. Not even a breeze to rustle the trees. The silence makes my thoughts seem that much louder, and they were already screaming. Have been for days.

I had hoped to deal with this by just ignoring it. That always worked before. Pretend everything is normal and eventually it will be. But nothing has been the same since I arrived here, really. Why should this be any different?

I sink down onto one of the stone benches, arms hugged tightly around myself.

I killed a man. So what? I've killed plenty of people before.

No. You tortured a man to death.

And there's it is... I took my time breaking every bone in that man's body until he succumbed to his injuries. And I enjoyed it.

I force myself to recall his screams, how he looked when I was done, and feel bile rise in my throat.

Demon.

I wonder, as he looked into the eyes of his torturer, if he really did think of me as such. I probably looked half-possessed, anyway.

What did Solas see?

I suck in a ragged breath and curl in on myself. No.

I abruptly stand and start walking again. As I pass by one of the rooms, something catches my eye. Faint moonlight illuminating stone features. I pause to study them.

Andraste.

My feet carry me forward, into the room. It's small. Smaller than I would have imagined, considering this is a religious organization. I wonder at the presence of the statue as well. Was it already here or did the Inquisition have it brought in? And why didn't they choose one of the bigger rooms?

I lean against one of the walls and slide down it to sit on the floor, knees to my chest. I drape my arms over them and stare up at the stone woman's face.

Was she real, like the elven gods?

Probably. Such stories must come from somewhere. Whether she actually became a divine being or not… I don't know. I suppose that's rather the point of religion. Faith and all that.

I find myself closing my eyes and resting my forehead on my arms.

What do I do?

I don't really know who I'm asking. I just feel so confused, conflicted. There's no doubt in my mind that the man deserved what I did to him. Anyone who would dare hurt a child doesn't deserve a swift death. And yet…

Oh, Ghillie...

I try to imagine him as he was, full of life and possibility, not as I last saw him. The poor child didn't deserve what fate threw his way. First his mother, then just as he was recovering from that… What would he think of my actions? At the time, I was convinced it was justice, but I can no longer lie to myself. It was revenge, and I doubt that inquisitive little boy would've wanted it on his behalf.

I'm… ashamed of myself. Cole is probably right that my dad wouldn't be so cold, so cruel, but he wouldn't have agreed with what I did. Mycah either.

Would they even recognize me if they saw me now?

Footsteps and a quiet "oh" pull me from my reverie. I glance up to find Cullen, wearing a surprised look and holding a flickering candle. I start to get up, but he steps in, holding out his hand.

"Oh, you don't have to leave!" he rushes to say.

"It's all right. I was just sitting here," I tell him softly, half crouched against the wall.

"I didn't realize anyone would be here," he looks at me curiously now, then turns to light some of the candles at the base of the statue.

He's no longer in the doorway. I could easily slip out, find another spot to wait out the night. Instead, I find myself sinking back to the floor.

Cullen sets his candle aside and stands with his back to me, staring up at Andraste's likeness.

"What do you believe in?" he asks, breaking the silence.

I ponder the question, then shrug. "I don't know anymore."

He glances over his shoulder at me, face obscured by shadow. "Does your world have religions?"

I snort a little. "Yes."

Cullen approaches and lowers himself to the ground next to me. "You don't ascribe to any of them?"

I pick at a stray fiber on my pants. "I used to."

"Which one?" he asks, then hurries on. "If you don't mind me asking, that is!"

Do I mind? I blow out a breath. "I… no, I don't mind. Christianity. It's… a lot like your religion. One god, a prophet that sacrificed himself to save us from our sins then ascended to heaven, all that jazz."

Cullen looks thoughtful. "But you no longer believe?"

"Scripture doesn't exactly cover interdimensional travel," I answer wryly and he huffs out a laugh.

"I suppose that would be enough to make anyone doubt."

"My dad always said it's a good code to live your life by, though. Love thy neighbor, treat people the way you want to be treated, etcetera." I pause, thinking about that in the context of recent events. "I can't help but agree," I finish quietly. I scrub my hands through my hair roughly and take a steadying breath, then let my head fall back and close my eyes.

A long silence stretches between us before I roll my head to look at him. "Why are you here, Cullen?"

He grimaces and looks down at his hands. "You're not the only one that has difficulty sleeping."

"The lyrium?"

He blinks a few times, then nods.

"Have you talked to Aila about it?"

Cullen rubs the back of his neck and sighs. His hands shake. "No… I don't want her to see me like this."

"She'd understand, Cullen," I reassure. "She's a good person."

"Yeah," he smiles fondly in thought, "she is."

We fall silent for a while after that, each of us absorbed in our own problems. As the first rays of sun are peeking in, I decide maybe it's time to take my own advice.

Notes: Next chapter, Rhynn and Solas will finally talk. About time!