Rylen battled joy and dizzying worry as he leapt down Griffon Wing's stairs two at a time.
On the one hand, the Ambassador's letter was next to Maker-sent. He could have kissed her for her flawless timing. She called for him to relinquish the Inquisitor, to send her back to make ready for the Empress' ball. "The festivities at the Winter Palace grow perilously close"-Rylen could hear the tizzy she must have been in-"and your ineptitude in the Approach should not be the Inquisitor's concern!" While the unsubtle dig was one of his favorite lines, Ambassador Montilyet had a point. He had distracted her for long enough. Inquisitor Adaar had some ways to go before she would be at all ready to greet Orlesian nobility.
Rylen had to agree with her.
He amused himself for a moment, trying and failing to imagine the giantess at the Winter Palace as she was now. Blunt, headstrong, and obstinate. No matter how he framed it, he didn't see her putting up with any of those masked sods for longer than a few minutes. And that was damn optimistic. Although he couldn't help feeling like he was throwing Keram to savage wolves by acquiescing, he would forgive himself for his own selfishness later. He was too close to the bloody woman for his own good. At least this gave him an easy out.
On the other hand, the flood of relief that had come at solving what he had previously believed to be his most pressing problem paled when he realized that none of it would bloody matter if the blighted woman got herself killed by a dragon.
Maybe she was doing it on purpose. He'd be hard pressed to admit that he wouldn't rather fight a high dragon than go to some Orlesian party. But that still didn't explain why he felt so…betrayed. She was planning on trotting off to fight a High Dragon without so much as an aside to him. There was no way that in all their numerous and long conversations, she never had an opportunity to slip in an, "Oh, by the way, Knight-Captain…." So, what was she bloody getting at?
Rylen reached the last flight of steps into the courtyard and found her waiting exactly where she had promised.
Keram lounged against the eastern wall of the front gates, looking completely at ease around the merchants and soldiers. And they, for their part, ignored her. They didn't even bother to give her a wide berth anymore. She'd been here too long for that now.
He watched her close her eyes and turn her lovely face to the morning sun, a small smile stretching over her lips.
What could she have been thinking, trying to sneak off to fight a dragon? he wondered with a wistful pang. Without even giving him a chance to…
For several heartbeats, all he wanted to do was look at her. She was a magnificent creature, the soft morning light playing over her upturned face. She hadn't bothered with her armored coat today. All she wore were her riding pants tucked into her boots and a breezy olive-colored cotton shirt. Keram didn't even have her staff with her. For a moment, Rylen wondered if he should have left his armor too, but he banished the thought immediately. He was still very prone to being killed by most everything out in that blighted desert; Keram was all beauty and raw power; not wholly unlike a bloody dragon herself.
But even she was one person, and no match for a true fire-breathing beast.
Desperation and anger flared in Rylen's chest with a suddenness that stole the air from his lungs. Well, the jig was up and he knew now. If ever was a time to be a stubborn ass, Rylen, it's now, he thought fiercely and stomped towards Keram. He was ready to fight her, ready to bloody tie her down if need be, but before he even had a compelling opening, she opened her eyes and spotted him.
She lit up as her gaze flicked up and down his person and she let out a loud laugh that had nearby men jumping and staring around at her in disbelief.
Rylen tried to ignore how furious their interested stares made him.
"Oh, what's wrong, Basvaarad?" she cooed in a mocking voice. "Was the chevalier too rough with you this morning?"
He stopped dead in his tracks and gaped at her, forgetting about the dragon for a moment. "I-I—"
"I swear on your gods if he's getting laid and I'm not…"
Curious stares shifted between the two of them and Rylen could have sworn that he heard snickering. That was when he remembered he'd never bothered to put his armor on properly. Scowling, his hands flew to his plate as he glanced down at the bedraggled mess of his uniform.
"Say the word and I can make that mean Orlesian pay," Keram said, sauntering towards him. She reached out and yanked his breastplate out of his hands and back into place like it was nothing. The sharp movement made his bloody feet leave the ground and more laughter reached his ears.
Her teasing, the men giggling, and with his nerves already strained to the breaking point, he snapped. "Just shove it!" Rylen snarled at her, jerking away and blushing furiously.
Maker, he wished he hadn't. Keram's smile slid away and she eyed him coldly. The little audience they had accrued very conspicuously went about their own business. Rylen's heart withered with shame.
"I meant nothing by it. Who you chose to sleep with is up to you. Now if you're finally ready, we can start before it gets too inhospitable." Her words felt as distant as her stare.
Gulping past the lump in his throat, Rylen nodded.
Keram led him out and away from Griffon Wing Keep and into the Dust Plains with sure feet while guilt churned in his stomach. It wasn't long before she had pulled ahead of him and seeing as he didn't much feel like talking, he decided to leave it be.
As the sun crept higher over the tops of weathered sandstone bluffs, his long ingrained Templar chivalry got the better of him. He apologized for his piss-poor behavior, but Keram showed no signs of acknowledgment.
Great, he thought bitterly. She was ignoring him now.
Rylen let it be, his shoulders sagging. Though he figured he deserved a non-response, he still wanted to clear the air. "Just to clarify, I'm not sleeping with Chevin. I don't think I could stomach it. He's not soft enough for my tastes, lass. Plus, he would never let me muss up his pretty hair, and you know that's one of my favorite things to do."
He heard Keram snort and then try to cover the sound with a cough. Rylen smiled to himself as the knot of tension in his gut loosened a wee bit. Maybe he hadn't totally fucked things up. Maybe there was still hope for a sod like him.
Or maybe he was better off keeping her angry with him. It'd be easier to see her go then.
Their silence continued as the sun moved higher in the sky until it was nearly at its peak. Rylen had forgotten how astounding the Approach could be when the heat didn't make it miserable. He spent most of his morning quietly observing desert hawks soar away from nests tucked high into the sandstone cliffs. He noted that the buttes changed colors from umber to russet orange, from desert ochres to bleached tans, all within the same tower of rock. He imagined he could see the fine lines running along the grains, that he could connect the streaks of yellow and red in them, like lines on a map that he couldn't quite read.
Looking at the rocks did wonders to ease his mind. It helped, he supposed, to look at something that was bigger than his petty problems. The jagged mesas and cliffs had survived the Tevinter Imperium and a damn Blight, yet they were still here and still beautiful. He hoped he could prove as immovable as the towering sandstone in the days ahead.
They climbed down sets of large, flat, table-like rocks that Rylen could only assume were the "Giant's Staircase" that he'd seen so often labeled on maps, and stopped for a rest. When they had situated themselves in the shade of a large overhanging step, he let his eyes wander to the horizon. Better that than to look at her and get any funny ideas. Instead, he noticed over his canteen, great natural arches curving under the clear sky. Rylen counted them. Seven, that he could see. How had they ever gotten there, he wondered. Did the Maker shape it as a sculptor shaped clay? What a fanciful notion. But what else could have shaped the land if not some grand architect? Especially when water was so bloody scarce.
He didn't have to wonder for long.
After they left the steps behind them, a chill wind blew in from the east. At first, Rylen thanked the Maker for it. It was the only thing that kept him from roasting to death in his armor when the sun rose ever higher. But when it started kicking dust devils up into his bloody eyes, he was far less fucking grateful.
Rylen had to squint and hold his hood against the worst of the swirling sand, just so he wouldn't trip over his feet. How the hell was Keram managing so much better than he was? She hardly faltered in her step and she forged on like it was nothing. Was it some kind of Qunari magic he wasn't privy to? If it was, would it have killed her to kick some his way?
He was wiping furiously at his eyes for what felt like the fiftieth time this trip when he walked right into her.
"We're here, Basvaarad. The southern end of Lost Wash Creek."
She and Rylen stood at the edge of a deep ravine formed by sheer, sandy cliffs, all but hidden by low-hanging scrub brush. Keram strode to the edge without hesitation, but he scanned the ground critically anyway. The cliffs looked sound, so far as he could tell. The only eroded bit being a meter-wide stretch twenty paces to their left, crumbled into little more than sand. He edged forward, testing his weight on the rocks until he could peer past the ghoul's beard clinging to the side.
Sand and a flowing creek gave way to scrub grass which turned to lush patches of green spattered with elfroot and golden wildflowers. A flowing creek spilled into a clear pool where it calmed the running water into glassy stillness. Rylen strained his eyes to see where it flowed out but there were only dark ochre cliffs on all sides of the miniature box canyon. Clusters of tall juniper trees sprouted close to the edge of the pool. They were heartier than any other tree Rylen had seen in the Approach; their roots reaching for water and their branches stretching towards the sunlight. A pair of Brontos lounged beneath the thick shade while little, white fennecs scampered after each other's tails in the long grass. It was clear that the wind wasn't as fierce below, swaying the soft grasses and dipping reeds of blood lotus into the pool, rippling the perfect water. It was an otherworldly oasis a mere half a day's hike from Griffon Wing.
And he had never known it had existed. Who would have bloody thought?
Keram cast him a quick glance and smiled at his wonder before she darted away and leapt down over the spill of eroded sand. Rylen's heart jumped to his throat. He scrambled after her to try and catch her hand until he realized that it wasn't sheer there at all.
He spluttered and choked on the dust she kicked up as she slid down the only sloping embankment. When it was clear enough, Rylen tried to follow her as best as he could. Maker's balls. If he didn't already have sand in all the most unpleasant places, he did now.
As they drew nearer to the bottom, the smaller animals scattered. The brontos snorted warnings at them from under their trees. The large male scuffed at the ground with his foreleg and made a show of the horns on his nose, but Keram paid them no mind. She was already crouched on the ground in a patch of elfroot by the time Rylen had stumbled to a stop at the base of the gorge.
Rylen watched her strip the stalks of their broad leaves and tried not to imagine what she was meaning to use them for. When could he ask about it if she intended to give him a cold shoulder for the rest of this trip? He would have to suck it up and start somewhere.
"It's funny, lass," he said with a somewhat forced smile, "I never took you for an avid gardener."
Without missing a beat, she replied, "And I never took you for a huge ass."
Rylen winced. He deserved that one, he supposed.
With a sigh, he knelt across from her and began helping her pick the fuzzy leaves and place them in her open rucksack. He cast her a quick wary glance before musing, "I suppose it makes sense. With your green thumb and all."
Keram shuffled to a new spatter of growth and shot him a glare. "Beg pardon?"
"Well, on your left hand, at least," he chuckled to himself. He glanced up to gauge her reaction from beneath his eyelashes.
Her lips twitched into a quick smile, a laugh strangling in her throat before she rearranged her face and scowled at him. "Stop that."
"Stop what?" he asked with an innocent grin. Maker's breath, all it took was that smile and his chest felt lighter already.
Keram's eyes narrowed. "That! That's the second time you've done that. You know what you're doing, Basvaarad, not stop it." She finished stripping the last few stalks a little too aggressively and shoved a few whole plants into her bag before she stood. As she turned away and moved closer to the water's edge Rylen scrambled after her with a handful of leaves. The bronto bellowed in his direction and he shot it a nasty glare.
"Come on, lass. You aren't really asking me to stop making you laugh, are you?"
"Just when were you planning on telling me about this?" She whirled on him and held up Ambassador Josephine's missive. Rylen blinked and patted down his person.
"When in the bloody hell did you get that?" He made to grab for it but Keram held it out of his reach. "Alright. But just when were you planning on telling me about your plans to fight a dragon? Was it after I made you all the bloody healing potions? Or when I'd have to pick pieces of you out from its teeth?"
Keram's eyes flashed and the hairs on the back of his neck raised. The air shivered between them with waves of heat that hadn't been there moments ago. "I do not answer to you!" she snarled. "Nor do I answer to Josephine! So, what is the meaning of this? Conspiring to get rid of me? Shall you pawn the dreaded Inquisitor Adaar on someone else?" Her face was calm, but her wavering voice betrayed her. Rylen could feel the lyrium prickle uncomfortably beneath his skin as the temperature around them grew hotter.
Half-unconsciously, he adjusted his stance in the grass and felt the cold rush of power spring to his fingertips. Years of practice made him keep his expression decidedly neutral.
"I only got that letter this morning. As you read, it is the Ambassador asking for you, not me trying to get rid of you. Why would I send you away? I don't want you to leave, lass." Rylen kicked himself as soon as he said it. Wasn't he begging Chevin this morning to take her away? Why couldn't he just fucking make up his mind? He would regret those words, he knew. Not that they would bite him in the ass, but because they were true.
Chevin's words from that morning wormed their way into his mind before he could shove them aside: 'What do you want, Rylen?'
Maker knew he could never admit what he wanted.
Rylen cleared his throat and said, "You have to go to the Winter Palace. You are Inquisitor, after all."
"You can relax, Basvaarad," Keram hissed, her eyes never leaving his. "If I was going to burn you, you couldn't stop me. You'd be ashes already. Put your silly Circle magic away." Out of the corner of his eye, Rylen watched as the missive burst into flame in her hand and curled away. He shivered and wondered if it was true. He'd heard tell that Qunari magic was different but was a Templar truly unable to stop it? She spoke again, jarring him from his thoughts. "Has it occurred to you that I do not wish to go to the Winter Palace?"
"And you'd rather get killed by a dragon?"
"You have so little faith, for a Chantry soldier," she scoffed. And with that, she turned away and stalked down a narrow path hugging the rock face.
He sped after her. "Don't walk away from me—"
"And why not? I believe we are done talking."
"Not even close," Rylen growled. "Look, I am sorry, Keram. I am sorry I snapped at you, and I'm sorry you have to deal with the Winter Palace shit. I know that I sure as fuck don't want to be there, but this is not about what we want to do. Right now, the Inquisition cannot do any more than attack the Warden's supply lines and hit their tiny ass outposts without the support of Orlais. We're powerful but not almighty. We cannot act on the information that you and Warden Loghain have gathered until Orlais is no longer distracted by its petty little civil war. To do that, you have to go the Winter Palace and throw your lot in with one of those fuckheads. Even now, Corypheus is over there in the west amassing a fucking demon army that will march over the world and slaughter all of us and you want to waste your time going head to head with high dragons!?"
Keram looked back at him, her expression apathetic. "Are you finished, Basvaarad?"
Of all the infuriating and reckless— Rylen scowled and opened his mouth to give her another earful when she cut him off.
"I know." Her eyebrows knit, and for the first time that Rylen could recall, her gaze left his first. She looked out over the clear water, her face distant. "I know I must return. I know I must stop the Wardens. I know that to do this, the Empire must back the Inquisition. Do not mistake me for an imbecile. I intend to make Corypheus pay for what he's done to me. Forgive me if I dared to—" Her lips pursed and, shaking her head, she stared at the sky instead.
Rylen waited, his pulse quickening. What had you dared to do, lass? He was selfish enough to hope it had something to do with him. His body ached to hold her, he teetered, fingers longing to take her hand. He reached out reflexively... and grabbed the pommel of his sword with a sigh.
No, he told himself. No, you'd better not.
"I was never going to fight that dragon," Keram murmured, her eyes returning to his. "But if I did go to fight her, at least that would have been my own choice, and no one else's."
He cocked his head and eyed her as if he was seeing her anew. Whatever vulnerable moment she had felt had passed, but Rylen was still in shock. He…had never believed her capable. He had talked himself into believing she was some sort of demon greater and more tempting than him. Keram was above him in all things, neatly placed in his mind as something out of his reach. The time they spent at the Keep together brought them closer, made her real, but never like this.
This was something else…and he didn't know quite what to make of her anymore.
Her eyebrow quirked. "You're staring," she told him.
"Aye."
She glanced back out over the pool and wondered, "Do you swim, Basvaarad?"
"I do."
"Good."
Keram's impish grin was the last thing he saw before his feet left the ground and he splashed headfirst into the water.
