The book hurtles through the air and hits against the nearest wall with a thunk.

It falls, exposing broken spine and crinkled pages, silent and sad. As soon as it leaves her hand she feels foolish for the action, like a child fit for only throwing a tantrum, but even the guilt is not as heavy as she might wish it to be.

All day she has been trying to find something to distract her mind. The cool morning was spent running around the keep under watchful gazes, the afternoon seeing to supplies, scouts, missives, anything she could tally to distract from the running thoughts in her mind. Some time was spent watching agents spar with Bull, staying as they dealt with cards instead of steel afterwards, but it has all been for naught.

Even though she has accomplished much nothing seems to distract or interest her for long. She feels disconnected. Even the warmth of the desert sun can't seem to awaken anything in her like it usually does. No matter what she does her mind wanders to the figure drawn in charcoal and then retreats into oblivion, mind blanking so that nothing can be felt. She is no stranger to grief, to the heavy feeling of hopelessness that makes skin hot and too small - she just wants this part to be done, for time to fly forward and ease the sting of it all.

A knock at the door brings Bull into her room. His clever gaze finds the book out of place, the way her jaw is set tight, but he keeps his mouth shut on the subject. They do not need to explain despair to one another. "Hey Boss, take a walk with me outside?"

It is easy to agree and she only delays in stopping to strap on armor and grab her staff - there are assassins following her after all even if she feels safe with Bull close by. They do not travel far from the keep, only to the raised platforms they built to navigate the poisonous waste tucked into the desert. The boards barely creak beneath their feet, made strong and sturdy to survive the harsh conditions for a long time.

"Is there something you wanted?" she asks as they reach the center mark. They've both been silent until then, gazing inward or down to watch the acidic smoke rise. Keela looks up to him now when he doesn't answer and finds him gazing behind her down the path.

There are two soldiers approaching wearing Inquisition colors and faces hard, weapons and magic drawn, deception and danger the only true badge they wear. A glance ahead shows two more approaching beyond Bull as well - a trap then, no where to escape forward or backward, death by heat and poison facing them on all sides. A dread fills her up as she returns her attention to Bull, wondering if his gaze has turned black like the memories in the crystal, if he is already lost to her, but there is only understanding to be found.

"Ben-Hassrath. Knew they'd be coming for me eventually and wanted to draw them out."

"Over the sulfur pits?"

He grins as he pulls his ax free. "Thought you'd like the challenge."

She does.

Keela doesn't bother with a barrier - she wants this to be close, to feel the force of her attackers pressing in, to feel alive again on the edge of death. With little room on the platform she gets her wish regardless. The staff in hand caches the sharp edge of a sword and turns it away, feet shift to the side to avoid the shield that tries to knock her askance. When the first falls easily, a bell of discord rings heavy in her ears. Only the eyes of her opponents can be seen beneath heavy helms, but she knows every move they'll make through those narrow slits. It is a testament to her growing skill, or a lack of theirs, and she's not sure which one frustrates her more.

"Boss!" Bull holds out his hand and she takes it, hanging on when he swings her forward towards a staggered enemy. She kicks them square in the chest to send them flying into the pit. For a moment she is over it too, heart leaping into throat, life flowing from her wild and free and like it once was in the before. She doesn't remember landing again but she must, for this is fire and steel everywhere, shouts and exertion loud in her ears.

There is only one left, stuck between her and Bull, the change of tide evident in their panicked gaze. Neither of them get to finish the blow or even consider dragging them in for questioning as an arrow punches through their skull and out one eye, drops them to the ground with one last gasp.

A loud whoop from far away, and across the hill a group of travelers approaches, one a lithe figure holding her bow in the air victorious. The Inquisition caravan with Thom and Sera in tow has finally arrived just in time to steal one last kill. "Nailed it!" comes her voice across the dune and Bull gives a quiet chuckle.

"Don't know if that was skill or luck. Hard to tell with her," he says. "You all right, Boss?"

Keela gazes down at the bodies, the parts of bodies, the blood soaking into new wood. The heat of battle is quickly fading and taking whatever exhilaration was filling inside, leaving the edges of her cold and caught again. Some remains, embers trying to catch fire once more, but it's not enough. It's not enough. "Will there be more?"

"They wanted to send a message this time. Next time it won't be so easy."

"I will not let them take you, for as long as you wish to remain. If the Qun wishes to war against you then I will bring the whole Inquisition and more down upon them this time."

"Yeah, thanks. You didn't answer my question though."

"I don't know," she admits before turning away back towards the way they came.

Sera all but tackles her when they meet. She's covered in sand and sweat, words pouring out of her about their journey with bandits and lizards and Cole being creepy, and it is not so difficult for Keela to find a smile for this. Thom keeps a respectable distance, giving a nod of his head and piping in when Sera asks him to vouch for her stories.

They're met half way by soldiers from Griffon Wing with Rylen at the head, a repeat of their recent rescue although the battle is long since over this time. "Inquisitor! What happened?"

"We're unharmed."

"Begging your pardon, but was there a reason for this madness? Not but days ago you were besieged by assassins on the road and now you run off on your lonesome. We-"

"Ser Rylen." Keela throws caution into her tone and his expression smooths into something less open, stations and distance remembered. "We can debrief in private. Have men dispose of the bodies for now."

"Of course, Inquisitor. Straight away."

Once they reach the keep, Keela is dragged back to her room and listens to Sera's demands for a bath in the Inquisitor's name, laughs as her friend jumps into the tub with a loud and relieved whoop. "Don't know how you can stand this place. All the places it gets."

"It was good of you to come with Thom. Do you plan to go to Adamant with him?"

"Can't. Thought about not caring but he doesn't want me to go in case…Told him to cut it the whole way here. Told him you wouldn't chase him." Sera shoots her a look, daring her to disagree.

Keela sits in a chair nearby with a sigh. There won't be a need. "He is finished with running."

Sera mumbles something into the water, her scowling reflection amplifying her displeasure. There's concern rippling around the margins too, helplessness swimming in the sea of her eyes. Keela could tell her the whole story, the future that is certain when so much else is unknown, but she doubts Sera will appreciate knowing what happened to their world. Sometimes reality is better left hanging on its last thin thread, at least for now.

"It true what that shiny one said about the assassins?"

"Shiny?"

"Yeah, the guy with that sharp helmet. Spot him from miles away."

Keela lets out a little laugh at Rylen's description. "Yes. They call themselves The Red Sons, the last remaining zealots of Corypheus. They want to avenge their god's life by taking mine. However, the ones outside today were Ben-Hassrath after Bull."

"Everything was supposed to go back to normal. Parties and punching nobles? Normal. Assassins and creepy Qun? Not normal." Sera shakes her head. "Well, maybe normal. Normaler, but still shite."

It is hard to argue. Though she thrives on this conflict, on the edge of battle and nestled deep on her throne, Keela wouldn't mind a few days spent with feet tucked into the sand, waves kissing the skin of her ankles. No schedule besides that of the tides and the sun setting behind painted villas bright with colors and spices. Would some time far removed from these memories and lives lived and lost be something to heal these wounds? She wrestles with the thought of it being giving up instead of seeking solace, and she can never give in again.

"No going back, is there?" Sera says. Once there would only be panic at the thought but it is not as bright as before, dulled by experience and acceptance. "Not all bad. Before had no you or Thom. More arrows now too. Less breeches. It's…whatever. I would've…he would've been on my list once, yeah? Some high twat with orders and making little people pay for it. Not normal normal can be good. Don't get all twisted about me saying so, though."

Keela smiles. "I won't."

They lapse into silence for awhile, the splash of Sera's toes the only sound. "You all right? With, you know, the knifey knives in the dark." Keela bites the inside of her mouth to keep from screaming, wonders if she can make an official decree to never be asked this question again.

"I mean, I know you're all right," Sera continues. "The gits will get what's coming to them right in their faces, but I notice things, yeah? I saw you out there fighting. Seems like you're fighting something else. Something not with knives. I can help, with knives. Or words. Both."

"It's nothing, unless you know how to remember and forget at the same time."

Sera leans her arms out of the tub, splashing water and suds in her wake, a smile bubbling up on her face. "Oh, I can help with that."

Help involves a tankard of ale spiced with apples and cinnamon, a space around a roasting spit where one can hide in the fire's shadows or dance in its light, music that fills the dull void of white noise in her head. Keela isn't usually one to partake - she has never liked the out of control feeling from intoxication, of being separated from control by a fog, but that is just what she needs right now. She needs an escape from her own thoughts for once. So she takes a sip and then another, swallows it all down and gestures for more. Warmth begins to tickle down to her toes, the world softening at the edges. All the problems are still there but it is hard to hold onto them and with relief she lets herself sink down. If only for a little while.

"See?" Sera whispers, words caught on laughter. "Helping."

Keela stays until there are constellations high in the sky she isn't used to seeing and they all twinkle in hazy light, sway just like her body as she leaves the fire. She swerves a little too strongly to one side, feels that sick feeling of hurtling over into the point of no return, but thankfully there is someone steady there to stop her descent.

A warm hand grasps hers, another holding onto her elbow. Large hands with dirt in the lines and scars across knuckles. She doesn't know them, but she knows those eyes despite how the night darkens the blue, knows the cut of his face despite the shadows. "Tripped a few times in the dark myself, Lady Herald. Old stones always shifting," Rylen says kindly.

"Perhaps I should send Cullen to help. You know how skilled he is in reconstruction."

Rylen laughs. "Still not letting him live down that bridge in Exalted Plains, are you?"

"If I did, I'm sure we would have ended up neck deep in the icy depths of Emprise." She hiccups a laugh in return at recalling her commander's offended determination.

Rylen gives a smirk at her obvious state. It's a look she knows well from their time together in Haven, an openness that has her seeking his company when others keep motives closed and close. "Can I walk you back to your quarters? Wanted to discuss today's happenings. That is, if you're in a right state to hear them."

She tries to ignore the prickle of whatever is crawling up and down her spine and straightens it- decides she doesn't care after all and accepts his arm. "I suppose I can spare a few moments."

"How magnanimous. I wanted to apologize for my daft behavior earlier," he says once they're out of range of the others. "Should not have questioned your methods in front of the men like that. I know I seem a fool for doubting someone like you, but-"

"I am not immortal, despite some claims. You were right to question."

"Can I get that in writing?"

"Don't push your luck, Ser."

"The Iron Bull clued me in on today's spectacle. Two groups of assassins seems like some trouble, but I'm sure we'll manage. There's been a lot of managing out here to prepare us."

"Has there been more trouble since your last letter? What was it last, lost supplies?" Her head is too mushy to assemble it all anymore, thousands of pieces of paper from missives and letters and proclamations swirling about her head like a snow squall. How many words has she read since she fell from the Fade the first time?

"Bandits, as it turned out, but there's been more lately. Never got to put to pen about the blighted varghest and demons been roaming from Adamant." They reach the door to his former lodgings. "A story for another time, or at least a good night's sleep from now. Rest easy, M'Lady."

He gives a quick bow and moves to leave, but doesn't get far. Keela's hand reaches for him this time, a reaction that leaves her just as surprised as him for a moment, but her heart is already beating with growing desire for touch and something stronger. Rylen shifts his body back to face her but stays a distance away. She wants him closer, wants to chase after the burn and thrill, to feel anchored by the weight of him. She wants to find forgetfulness in a moment of little death.

"Stay." She opens the door without looking, tugs on his arm to draw him inside. He doesn't comply at first but doesn't move away either, watches as she begins to play with the toggles of her overcoat. "Have you forgotten Haven?"

Rylen huffs a laugh, looking calm despite the fact that her coat is dropping to the floor and the Herald of Andraste is blushed with want and strong ale. "Being with you is not likely something I'm ever to forget. However, that was more than a year ago. Lots can change between those long days."

She unravels her belt, lets it snap between her hands. "I am not holding you here, Ser Rylen, if you have other appointments to keep. Leave if you wish."

He takes a step forward instead, pauses right outside the door. "Things are a wee bit more complicated now though, eh? More…crowded."

"I would not invite you in if that was the case any longer. That is not how I play." It has been months since Solas took her vallaslin and left her stranded - it doesn't feel longer or shorter, time distorted by all that has happened. It just feels endless.

At that Rylen steps across the threshold and meets her for a kiss, hard and heavy with history not forgotten. It takes only a few breaths for them to fall into the rhythm of the past, that time before so many names became hers and he only whispered her true one into her ear as they came together under Haven's stars. Before Skyhold, before the Hissing Waste, before when her heart was something free to give and take away. Before it was Solas'.

Maybe it is wrong to chase away the taste of him by filling her mouth with Rylen. Maybe it is wrong to make memories from the ashes of ones that never existed. She knows she can fall into his arms because she already did once, in the past and in the future, but there is no love there to fill in the motions as she reaches beneath his shirt, rolls her body against his and swallows moans. It didn't matter once as they sought nothing but the next high and it shouldn't matter now, but it does even if he doesn't know it. Everything matters and she…she just wants release from it all.

When they part he grabs hold of her waist. It is gentler than she wants, a touch that grounds instead of carrying her away. He doesn't insult her by trying to hide the desire in his eyes, but the caution still remains. "Nothing more I'd like to do than take you up on this offer. I'm not too proud to be someone's distraction, but I'd be some lecherous creature to take advantage of you right now. Last thing I want is you waking up feeling wrong or guilty."

Keela pushes him away, rough and clumsy. The ale in her stomach turns sour, the fog in her head blackening and rumbling. "You know nothing of my guilt."

"I'm more than a few parts, lass. Got two perfectly good ears as well. If you need to talk-"

"So you would take advantage of what spills from my mouth instead of between my legs? Use my loose tongue in other ways?"

"Now-"

She should be angry, she wants to be, but it is a hollow space where once something burned bright. Now she is only tired, like spent ashes upon the floor. "You were right. I am in no condition for anything but sleep, so please leave me to it."

There's a moment of silence as he must decide what to do, and she wonders what Solas would have done, and the idea sends a well of fire burning up her throat. She doesn't want to care, to think about him at all for even a second. Rylen sighs, the sound accompanied by the creak of leather as he makes another bow on her behalf. "As you wish, Inquisitor."

She has heard this tone before, felt this knife cut into her heart. How many men will use Inquisitor against her like a weapon or shield? For a moment the old rage bubbles out of her lips in a growl as she charges forward after him, but it is weary now, a cornered animal exhausted from the fight. "Do not use that title against me! To punish me and put me in marble so you do no have to feel. I-"

Just as quickly as it came the anger is replaced by something else, a humid lump of sorrow that she can't seem to swallow down. There is no stopping the tears that rise up and begin to spill from her eyes, and with horror she gasps, turns her back on Rylen so he cannot see this weakness. She tries to find control again, to stop the choked breaths and center herself once more, but the alcohol in her system has done its job and taken her sense. Fool.

"I'm sorry for that," he says and she knows he means it, but she stays stiff, unwilling to give in to this anymore than she already has. "I know I'm not owed any of your secrets or thoughts. I can't claim to know you inside out, but I think I'm not being too forward to say we have something akin to friendship. However much that's worth I don't know, but I know one thing - not sure if anyone else's said, but you needn't carry it all, lass. Whatever it is."

Keela drops her head and keeps quiet, fingernails digging into palms. When the silence stretches long, he accepts it as her answer. There are no sighs or elaborate bows this time, no undercurrent of darkness in his voice. "Goodnight, Keela."

She lets him go. She listens to the sounds of his boots on the hard stone, listens to the door shut behind him and lock her away from the sounds of the night and the keep. Keela moves to the bed and crawls into it without removing her clothes, but doesn't bother to shut her eyes to sleep. Eyes gaze up at the dark ceiling as her body sinks into the mattress, sinks further beneath the barley and the weight of so many lost things. She lets him go because he is wrong - there is no one to carry it but her. Whatever it is.