Maker's hairy balls, his head was killing him. The poison took its sweet ass time to ebb away, but it wasn't leaving Rylen without a bloody fight. In his humble, doubled over opinion, the splitting headache the venom was replaced with was nearly as bad as being bitten. His arm gave a painful twinge that set his teeth on edge. Ah! Maybe there was no contest after all.

Well that bloody settles it, doesn't it? he snarled at himself. Starting today, his new life's mission was to track down every last fucking Varghest and cut the damn things down. Nothing in the Approach deserved to be so fucking foul. Save perhaps, Rylen's own mood.

A healer stood before him, checking Rylen's bandaged arm. Pretty thing, but her attitude was making him more aggravated than was probably necessary. It wasn't her fault that he'd decided sticking his arm in a Varghest's jaws was a bloody good idea. It wasn't her fault the next few hours were a haze of mortifying incidents. It was her fault that he was stuck here instead of in the mess hall, drowning his grievances in shitty food. It was her fault that he had a nasty poultice to nurse instead. Damn, that alone was reason enough to be so sour. Rylen's stomach made an unpleasant churn as he looked doubtfully at the half finished vial of shit he had to choke down before he could be released. About as thick as mud from the Mire, the stuff was pleasant as a whole horde of Darkspawn.

In fact, Rylen decided, he'd rather drink whatever those blighted monsters did. Reckoned it'd taste better.

Andraste's ass, he would kill for a decent meal in his belly; he was starving. Bloody healers wouldn't let him near anything. They insisted an empty stomach would flush the worst out quicker. An empty stomach was a good way to get throttled quicker, right enough. Not that anyone asked him. Not that anyone deserved to be throttled just yet. Not even the bloody healer, moving on with one last reproachful look at the unfinished poultice.

You drink this poor excuse for a liquid while everyone else eats potatoes and ram, and then we'll see who's throwing who dirty looks. Rylen scoffed at her behind her back. Stuck out his tongue, too, like he was five summers old again, but fuck all if he cared just now.

A harmless outlet. Not that she really deserved even that. She didn't deserve to be throttled for doing her job, either, Rylen's foul mood aside. If anyone deserved it…

He ran a hand over his face, his exhaustion truly settling into his bones, as he recalled just how much of a fucking moron he had been in the desert. The hard nausea that welled up in his throat at the thought of the day's events almost distracted him from dreading the thick shit in the flask. Almost. After the culmination of pitiful instances that made up his life, this was all icing on the cake, really. With a groan, Rylen wondered if he drank enough of the revolting medicine maybe he would be lucky enough to keel over before he had to face Keram again.

Not that he regretted anything that had happened per say. Though if it had all happened a smidgen differently, he wouldn't have complained nearly so much. Rylen could have certainly gone without being poisoned and without being reduced to a blathering fucking idiot. The beautiful woman did that to him well enough. He hadn't needed the help; thanks for nothing, bloody Varghest. Still, Rylen found he couldn't argue with results. Keram had gracefully borne every slurred declaration of her beauty and accepted every sloppy ass kiss he insisted on pressing to her cheeks while he was high out of his fucking mind. She had certainly been more accommodating than he ever would have expected of her. His bloody head was still on his shoulders. That alone spoke volumes. In an entire day of foolishness, Keram only knocked Rylen flat on his ass once and, in all fairness, he would have slapped himself had he had the capacity. She was even kind enough to pull her strength, leaving Rylen with only bruises from his tumble down the dunes. Not a single bone was broken, and for that, Rylen counted himself as damn lucky. After all the nonsense, he could say—with very little doubt in his mind now—that the Qunari temptress did indeed have a soft spot for one undeserving Knight-Captain.

What that meant, exactly, Rylen still had no fucking idea.

Grimacing down at the waiting flask, he resigned to his poltice-induced suicide. With a deep breath, he raised the glass to his lips. As soon as it hit his tongue, Rylen choked and nearly spit it all out again. The liquid tasted more like mud and moldy cheese than any fucking medicine should have and dumping it down his throat was no good. It stuck to his tongue, coated his mouth, lingered in every way he didn't want it to. For that alone, Rylen would avoid the damn desert animals from now on. Next time he felt like being heroic, he'd remember this. Rylen shuddered violently and pressed his arm to his mouth to keep from heaving the vile stuff back up. If it was bad going down…Rylen didn't want to think about tasting it twice.

"Did they forget the lemon again?" came a teasing, husky voice from the mouth of the tent.

Rylen knew that voice. It made him both yearn miserably and curse vehemently at the same bloody time. He had spent too many nights fantasizing about its sultry owner, far more time remembering her voice than was appropriate for his station.

He looked over his shoulder to see Keram, the fucking vision herself, looking obscenely large under the canvas tent that served as the Keep's makeshift infirmary. She had to duck, just enough to be inconvenient, always well aware she could snag her horns on the tarp. If Rylen recalled correctly, those pointed tips had done in fabric before. Maker, he wanted to laugh at her—at the memory—his chest was already warm enough to catch fire.

Rylen felt a wry smile tug at his lips, knowing his eyes had lingered too long over the giantess. He couldn't help it, not with the way his Maker-damned heart had jumped into his throat at just the sight of her, gangly and annoyed as she was. Damn her. Damn himself. A thousand times over. "Could use more zest, this one," he joked, too flippant for the way his stomach tightened. "You'll pass it on Requisitions, I hope?"

He watched the amusement play over her face as if she was unsure how the emotion fit on her sharp features. With baited breath, Rylen waited for it. The tiny upturn in the corner of her lips flickered into place with a begrudging shake of her head. Sighing, Rylen realized he would do next to anything for that smile.

"Did you come to check on me, Inquisitor? I'm touched."

Tossing the offensive empty vial aside, Rylen stood to stretch. Even with his eyes half closed, he didn't miss the appreciative once over that Keram hardly bothered hiding. He couldn't bloody help it, he grinned from ear to ear. Like it? he wanted to ask, but he didn't trust the way Keram stared back at him, completely unabashed at being caught. If his knowledge of their previous record was worth any salt, it wouldn't be difficult to guess at what would happen after calling her out. Better not risk the innocence of the healers under his command. He had just regained his fucking mind, now wasn't the time to lose his head to boyish fancies—and reopen his newly healed wounds, at that. But damn, did it make him feel good, impressive even. Almost nixed his bleeding headache too.

"You flatter yourself, Captain," she simpered, nodding her head to the exit.

With a sigh, Rylen followed her out into the warm evening. The air was heavy and settled over the desert like a blanket. The sun had barely set, dull edges of orange and pink still lancing up over the horizon and casting long shadows across the walls of the Keep. It had to be the nicest night he'd seen since coming to the Approach. Nicer still that he walked side-by-side, talking amiably with the very Inquisitor that was making his life a delightful blighted hell. Keram led with slow, deliberate strides through the abandoned corridors to the half-concealed mess hall, if Rylen's sense of direction and nose was telling him proper. His view however kept him thoroughly distracted from the brunt of their conversation, eyes flicking none too secretly to the Qunari's ass. In her supple leather riding pants, the curve was too alluring for him to resist. One good thing came of it, he thought as he tasted parched lips with his tongue and pushed away memories of their tangled bodies. Trying his damnedest not to reach out and squeeze her was making him forget about how badly he wanted to eat a whole bloody druffalo.

"Nothing to say for yourself, Captain?"

Rylen's eyes snapped up and he gulped, audibly. Keram waited, her brow arched, for a response to something he hadn't even heard. His mind scraped to piece together what they bloody well had been talking about before he blurted something out of line and made his face even hotter than it already was.

"I had thought you would want to know more about our researcher," Keram prompted. "Since when we met him, you were demanding that he reveal himself as Corypheus?"

"I—" Rylen choked. Maker, he hadn't really, had he? For the life of him he couldn't fucking remember!

"You tried to pull his mask off. He was very offended." Keram glanced over at him, her eyes were shining with mirth in the half darkness. "So instead of telling him where he could stick his dragon books, I'll be making up for your accusation personally. Orlesians and their damn masks… I will now be assisting him with his research."

"My apologies, lass." Rylen sighed and ran his hand over his face. How could he have blundered up that fucking badly? Bad enough that now the Inquisitor was making reparations on his behalf! Commander Cullen would not be pleased when he heard the news. Rylen would get a lecture for sure. A bloody lashing if he kept Keram in the Approach for longer than she should have been. "I can take care of it if you would like. It was my mistake after all." Please, let me take care of it. Let me fix this blighted mess!

Instead the woman chuckled and waved him away. The sound sent an unbidden tremor through Rylen's body and made his footing irritatingly unsteady.

"Don't worry about it, Captain. It's nothing I can't handle. And if I get to face off with a dragon at the end, then so much the better. Bull has been begging me to go take a look at her anyway."

And just like that, Rylen's slowly creeping desire was snuffed out like a dying candle. "Lass," he sighed, unsure of how best to word his thoughts. He wasn't certain why he was suddenly apprehensive, only that he was, without truly meaning to. What that meant for him, he shuddered to think about. The mention of the mercenary was bad enough, but something about her disregard for a High Dragon had him uncomfortably adjusting his mail. "Just…just be careful alright?"

"Why? Worried?"

The challenge in her voice told him plenty. Keram was goading him—had she been doing that the whole bloody time? Rylen ran his thumb over his lip in thought, asking himself for the hundredth time what the Qunari wanted. What did he even want, for that matter? Pining after Keram got him nowhere, lusting after her answered none of the questions gnawing ceaselessly at his mind. Rylen was certain that he worried about her for reasons beyond putting the precious Inquisitor in danger. He was certain that being around her made him more at ease than it should have—a Qunari mage, Rylen, how big of an idiot are you? Despite that, he was even certain that being with her was easy. She was easy to kiss and easier to feel flush beneath him. For what it was worth to him, he couldn't even in good conscience write off his desires as a lustful craving for a forbidden fruit. Keram was beyond a simple Circle mage and Rylen hardly thought of himself as a Templar these days.

But what could he possibly make of all of that?

To define them meant that things would change, and he sure wasn't searching for that. He had no reservations about their lots in life, no wish to even change them. She was always the Inquisitor, the Herald, and he would always be the Knight-Captain, the second in command, not even important enough to appear at her War Table. Whatever he dared to pursue, it was as finite as the Inquisition itself. If he was being honest, it would never even leave the walls of the Keep.

And he was fine with that.

For whatever would come, perhaps Rylen owed the both of them his own honesty. He hoped he would find some comfort in it, should Keram decide she didn't like what he had to say, and snapped his bones in two. "I am worried about you," he conceded carefully, measuring the syllables in his mouth before he spoke. Any one of them could be a misstep as far as he was concerned. "It is a bloody dragon, after all, lass. I wouldn't want to lose you so soon."

"Yes, what would the Inquisition do without its damn Herald?" Keram snorted in derision.

"No, lass," Rylen corrected, looking up at her seriously. He needed to finally say what was on his mind. He was bloody sick of guessing. "I'm not talking about the Inquisition. Look, I know that I said a lot of shit today…" Where was he going? What would it even sodding achieve? Closure was what he wanted, certainty, knowing that at least they were finding the same kind of relief in each other. Yet Rylen couldn't find it in him to form words. His brain was going fuzzy, ideas shapeless and half formed. He cursed at butterflies and a swollen tongue, without even the luxury of blaming the poison anymore.

"Rylen," Keram rumbled.

"What is this—"

But whatever he had thought to say was scattered. Keram moved swiftly, too fast for a damn giantess, and before he could make heads or tails of what was happening, he was lost. Her fingers curled around the edges of his breastplate and the blighted ground disappeared from beneath his very boots. Rylen's back was shoved against the wall, the breath rushing from his lungs in a heavy, surprised grunt. He hadn't even time to do more than gasp before Keram silenced his protests with a fierce, blazing kiss that sent shocks all through his body. The soft curve of her lips were anything but gentle, ravaging against him, taking this time, not asking. Rylen's head fucking spun, fingers scrabbling at the crumbling wall for purchase. She was rough with her tongue, more teeth in between, scraping over his lip and dragging a guttural groan from deep in his throat. Every inch of her was hot and strong. Keram pinned him with her luscious mouth, a knee between his legs, and never a chance to catch his breath.

His limbs snapped to, abandoning their search for control and he surrendered to her. His blood roaring loudly in his ears, lungs searing, his fingers tangled in her long loose hair and gripped her desperately. Parting would end him; there was never a moment before this where he hadn't been more bloody certain. He would kiss to bruising and press deeper, and Maker take him, Keram could use him for all he had. If only he could have the privilege to kiss her like this in return…

Keram pulled away as suddenly as she had started, breaking his grip on her so easily Rylen might have laughed if he hadn't still been in shock. Somewhat pleased with himself, he studied her flushed, freckled cheeks, the excited heave of her chest, the way her nostrils flared as she fought for her breath, unmistakably riled. He committed it all to memory. Rylen saw the fire blazing in her emerald eyes, mirroring his own, and nearly hissed with his need. His hands tightened over hers, the throbbing in his breeches more insistent now that he could breathe again.

If he could drag her away to his quarters…that would be the fucking end of it. All the aching laid to rest as he fucked her, again, and again, and for as long as he could drink of her. Even if he could pull her back for just another kiss. Maker, he'd give anything in all the bloody world for another taste of her.

The corner of her full lips quirked for a moment, distracting Rylen from his growing desire. The Qunari abruptly released him from her grasp and he slid ungracefully down the wall, his teeth gritting against the grind of his plate on the stones. He just barely caught himself on shaking legs with the wall to steady him before he completely crumpled onto his ass. Low laughter wafted back to him as he righted himself, Keram already walking away from the carnage of her kiss with her damn alluring saunter.

You play it like that then, lass? Rylen thought, wild and too bold for his own damn good. He hesitated for no more than a moment. Conscience rapidly drowned out by adrenaline and a rush of blood.

He caught up with the woman in a few short strides, already grinning and giddy. Rylen's fingers closed tightly over Keram's arm, stopping her as she walked, while his other hand met a round ass cheek with a sharp, satisfying slap. Her eyes widened for a moment in unconcealed shock—how did it feel, eh, being taken advantage of when you least expected it? The absurdity of her expression made him shake with laughter—

—until she had slammed him back into the wall, pinning him with her arm and her hot lips. With a kiss like that, he spiraled and melted, completely ignoring the lances of pain in the back of his head. His hands dug into the flesh of her curvy hips and Rylen ground his erection up against Keram's heat. Her moan against his lips sent a shock of desire straight to his aching cock. She was eager against him, clutching him with her other hand, and all he could imagine was her writhing beneath him and begging him to fuck her harder.

Bullocks to the sodding mess hall, his appetite had taken an entirely different turn.

Keram's mouth parted for him and Rylen slid his tongue against hers, light, teasing, while one hand smoothed up her body. The Qunari woman grunted in frustration and tried to press closer to him, but Rylen's mind was made up. He ignored her protests, and even (by some divine will of the bloody Maker) ignored the insistent grind of her hips over his. The friction sent spasms of pleasure through his body until he could think of little else except removing the fabric separating them. The edges of his control were being picked apart and peeled away from him, despite his valiant attempts to cling to them. Keram pressed her body closer, trapping Rylen completely, her clever tongue begging for more from him than he wanted to give just now.

So he yanked her away, his fingers closing around one of her long horns. The Qunari hissed as Rylen dragged her face none too gently away from his. He smirked at her unconcealed desire, his own raging like an inferno inside him; some spell of this mage's, cast on him when he wasn't looking. Fucking had to be.

She glared at him, bright green practically sparking, waiting for him to take her. Rylen, however, was content to look at her, memorize her. Every freckle, every scar, and the insolent set of her lovely mouth. He was enthralled by the long exposure of her throat to him, taut muscles and soft skin, jumping as her pulse pounded, rippling as she swallowed. The sight awoke something bloody carnal in him.

His mouth greedily sought the curve of it, tongue tasting every inch of her as he pushed and pulled her against him, spinning her and delighting in pinning her against the wall instead. She panted at the harsh work of his lips. He sucked, craving one of her sensual moans. The ones that made him tremble, the ones that felt like they were truly his. When all he got was a hitch in her breath for his efforts, Rylen changed his strategy. Instead, he bit the sensitive flesh, harder perhaps than he meant to, and tugged on her horn until it hit the stones behind her.

That fucking moan made him more satisfied than he had any right to be and only belatedly, he realized it was his own bloody name. If anyone had finished in the mess hall, they would have heard it—without a doubt—and the idea made him grin in spite of himself, in spite of knowing all the troops would talk and he'd get an earful from the Commander. Rylen couldn't have cared less if he'd fucking tried. May as well tumble over the edge if he was already headed to ruin.

He ground himself against her thigh and leaned close to her ear to whisper, "My quarters are only down the hall, your Worship."

"Afraid you'll be found out, Captain?" Keram hissed. Open challenge burned in her eyes. She was daring him. And Rylen was enough of a fool to bite.

Takes blood in the head in order to think straight.

Rylen smirked at her and watched the vivid colors dance in her eyes. His own excitement raged inside him, battling and fueling his desire for the glorious woman baiting him.

"On your order, Inquisitor, I'll prove to you just how unafraid I am."