She wakes with a mallet driving a spike through her skull.
Cotton fills Keela's mouth, the light from the outlines of the door searing into her eyes. The discomfort startles her, makes her push onto elbows ready to fight monsters or men or malaise. It takes a few rabid heartbeats to remember where she is and what has caused her current predicament. The memories hurt just as much when they rise from the murk of her mind - the campfire drinks, the smell of ale and cinders, the walk back with Rylen, the way she practically threw herself at him. She drops her head into her hands with a groan.
"Said it would help then. Forgot to say it makes everything worse now," Sera says much too loudly from across the room. She is forgiven a moment later when she hands over a glass of cool water that eases Keela's suffering. "Don't you mageys got some fancy potion for stuff like this? What's that Dorian drinks?"
"I will be fine," she replies as she rubs circles into her temple. She only needs a little bit more time and a few more glasses of water to tame this gnawing beast inside. It will take much more than that to come to terms with everything else that happened.
"Seems like you might've gotten into some other things last night too. Or some thing got into you, yeah?" Sera asks, wiggling eyebrows.
"That is not-" Keela sighs, but there is a smile at the corner of her mouth. "That is not what happened."
"Shame. Good knocking always knocks things down."
"Sera-"
"Yeah, yeah. Save me the boring bits, guess it's still complicated. Won't push when it won't help." She brings the pitcher of water to the bed. "Keep at it. Gonna see what Thom is up to. Few pranks left on our list and only got today to do them."
When Keela emerges into the world she makes sure there is no hair out of place, no dark shadows beneath eyes. The ritual of making herself the Inquisitor quells some of the unrest inside her- it is the first day for some time that familiarity is a boon instead of a thorn. She feels bolstered by this fact and finds her smile is not all faked as she walks the lengths of the keep and greets her people. There is one of them missing, however.
"Where is The Iron Bull?"
"He's up there, Your Worship." One of the soldiers points to the topmost level where the Inquisition flag dangles in the humid, still air.
Keela climbs the many stairs to find Bull tucked away and half hidden by supply boxes. He's holding onto something in one large hand, but it is clutched too tightly for her to determine what it might be. Something made of cloth, red and grey. He is not looking at it. The gaze of lone his eye is somewhere beyond the keep, beyond the Approach. She imagines it is where the rain never ceases, where blood runs down the hillside and stains sand.
"Bull." When he doesn't move she reaches into his bubble and cups his cheek. There is darkness all about him, but it is not madness. Not yet. It is the sense of being lost in a deep forest where there is no sun or stars to guide your feet, of having to put your hands out in a cave and wondering if you might meet a wall or walk over nothing. She knows it well.
"Bull," she says again with more force and he blinks back into focus. His hand uncurls, revealing a crumpled, crocheted doll that expands into the form of someone familiar. It is him, with horns and striped pants, a line stitched into a smile beneath velvet beard. She knows whose hands crafted it, knows Bull is seeing more than needle and yarn when he looks at it. It is a reminder of what has been lost.
"Krem made these for the whole crew. You should've seen the first one he made. It was Dalish, but you wouldn't know from looking at it. I uh…I burned the others with them. Felt right. Now we're the only ones left." He gives a grunt. "I should've been with them."
She knows the dangers of should and what if, the endless loop of what could have been. They may be worlds out there different from this, each decision they've made branching off to create a massive tree of their lives. There may be a place where the Chargers roam the countryside plucking up contracts and putting coins in their pockets, a time when she sits with Solas as they watch their daughter chase fish in a stream. It is not this world, however. No matter what they do or how hard they wish, it never will be.
Keela places her hand on his arm, gentle like her words. "But you were not."
After a moment he nods, letting her know he understands the many things said in between. They sit in silence for some time before he speaks again. "The Qun assigns us tools for our roles. Antaam get weapons and if they're shit enough to lose them, it's said they lose their soul. But ahh, the Ben-Hassrath, the Ben-Hassrath are the only ones who don't get something specific. They use anything that works." He lets his finger fall loose around the doll. "The Chargers were my tool."
"They were Hissrad's tool, but they fought and died for you. Not me, not the Inquisition. Do not give up on them when they did not give up on you."
Bull shakes his head, his gaze growing bright and shimmering and breaking apart like the shards of glass she feels in her own heart. She rises to her knees and wraps arms around his broad neck, holds him tight. Once they stood apart, watched through rain unforgiving and cold, accepting what must be done with a distance far greater than one hillside to the next. It is a different acceptance now, one that's close and felt with every heartbeat aching, with every memory seen against the blackness of a blink.
"We did not deserve them. We will deserve them less if we forget them," she says, to herself just as much as to him. They are not the same. Her wound is fresh, a pain from a future that is not truly hers to mourn and the loss of a love that was. She has asked him to tear open one that was scarred but healed, to feel the pain all over again. He should rip her apart for all that she has asked of him.
Instead Bull returns her embrace, buries his head in the hollow of her shoulder, and for awhile he doesn't seem so large. Neither may deserve what they have been given, this second chance at something more, but it is a gift they cannot squander when they know where the alternative will lead them. In this they are the same.
"Tell me a story of them," she asks when they part.
He looks at her a moment fighting something before the words come. Reluctant at first, like he has to pluck the pieces from a pile and rearrange. The telling gets easier with every passing minute until the canvas cracks around his hard mouth to show a small smile beneath. It is not too difficult to join him when the tales turn outrageous, as most of them do. Perhaps one day there will be real laughter again, the deep kind that shakes the tavern walls and pushes back the dark. For now it is enough to remember and feel something besides the sting.
The night brings another campfire and keg cracked open for soon many of them will ride from Griffon Wing Keep. A few Inquisition soldiers will accompany Thom to Adamant where he will continue his journey with his soon to be true brethren. Many more will leave with their Inquisitor back to Skyhold or other roads. She wonders which of them will return here, wonders if she does. There were many places within the crystal, landscapes she has never seen before, beautiful and horrible places, but the sand of these deserts she cannot recall.
She lets the libations pass her by when offered this time. It is enough to sit and watch the others in their revelry. She finds her attention falls most on her closest companions. Bull, Sera, and Thom group together around the fire, sharing food and words, ale and laughter. Her relations with Thom have never been as close as the others, but it is good to see the lines on his face easing, changing into joyful paths. Bull is the same as Sera hangs onto one of his horns while she tells some extravagant, and likely crass, story.
In this moment they are happy and Keela feels a sudden pang between her ribs. She has felt it before, on the dusty roads Clan Lavellan traveled, in her small house at Haven, as the sun rose to find her standing in the cool air of her balcony. She has always been alone in some way, separated by the others in her clan by blood, elevated by the shemlen's beliefs, kept apart by her actions and the whims of others, but here, now, she is lonely.
It proves difficult to resist remembering the moments when she wasn't. A hand tucked into hers on the lazy returns from missions, books and clothing belonging to another scattered about her quarters at Skyhold, a carefree dance on a different balcony when her smile was bright. When the whole world felt like hers and there were new dreams growing in the quiet space between two hearts.
She feels a brush of the Fade, knows whose voice she'll hear next. Cole edges close and the thing in her chest twists further. "Armor dented into skin. He peels it away gently, fingers and lips like bandages cool and healing. I am glad you are safe, vhenan. And you are. Vhenan, vhenan vhenan. All the titles and vhenan made you feel more than the rest, made you feel like you. You miss him." He sighs. "I miss him too."
Keela looks away into the shadows to hide her face and try to compose it into stillness. She has hated the thought of him for these lasts months but she misses him still, misses having someone close to her that sees beyond all that she has become for who she is. Someone that saw her unwrapped from the the Herald, the Inquisitor, the handful of other titles she has accumulated. Someone that loved only her.
"He wasn't the only one."
"What-" Keela follows Cole's gaze across the fire and finds a familiar figure leaning against the wall. Rylen laughs into his cup as he shares something with a small group of his soldiers. She's not sure of the feeling inside her as she traces the lines of his face, the build of his body more exposed now that armor has been stripped away. It is his smile she latches onto the most, the knowledge of how it curls right before he says something he thinks is clever. "He does not love me."
"No. Not yet." Cole scoots closer, fingers moving in an excited rhythm. "He can help. You've been helping. Your hand on his, promise like hot iron in your heart. I will help you find a life outside of the Qun if you wish it. He does, even though it hurts. You hurt too, but there's no hand for you."
"I will be fine."
"You needn't carry it all, lass." She can't help but grin at the imitation of Rylen's accent. The spirit boy gives a firm nod as if decided on something severe. "Yes."
"Cole, please. Whatever you are thinking-" But it's too late. In a blink of an eye he disappears and Keela lets out an agitated noise.
She doesn't find out his plans until much later. In two days Thom leaves for Adamant while she pulls on the straps of her hart in preparation for her own travel. The journey is slow to start as Sera holds on for as long as possible and, with a watery frown that seems to last for miles, drags the feet of her horse along. It is no surprise, but it is a surprise when Keela turns to find Rylen pulling a mare by the reigns, its pretty cream color dappled white.
The bags over its flanks seem stuffed with more things than a quick ride to see them out. He notices her questioning stare. "With news of these assassins, Cullen's ordered me to escort you back to Skyhold. As it were I've been meaning to head back soon, take some leisure time."
"I…" Keela clears her throat, stands a little taller. "I was not informed."
Rylen reaches into his pockets and pulls out of a rolled parchment for her to take. "Got it yesterday. Assumed they'd send you something as well." It is indeed in Cullen's handwriting, the same straightforward language he always uses. "Anything amiss, M'Lady?"
"No." She all but thrusts it back into his chest, belaying her words. It would do no good to argue. Even if she is the Inquisitor she still has to explain her actions, and this hesitancy and fear inside is something inexplainable. "Let us be on our way then."
She goes out of her way to avoid him, but he is somehow always still underfoot everywhere. He is there to help her from her hart at the end of the day, to pass her a plate of food around the fire. His sounds are the ones that drift over to her the loudest as they travel from day to day, his discussions with her always polite and yet she can still detect that hint of something more rolling beneath. Like he knows more, sees more, than he should.
The Inquisition members fair much better on their return than they did going west. The burdens she carried into the deserts do not weigh as heavy although they may always been there, and for better or worse Rylen's presence relaxes her as it seems to do for everyone. She forgot how personable he could be. He is open with his soldiers and the other agents, keeps them collected and motivated for the long journey home without effort.
Home. Keela's thoughts snag on the word.
Can Skyhold ever be home again? What will it be like to walk beneath the gate and see the voids Solas has left, knowing he is likely never to return? She doesn't know if these holes can ever fill or if he will follow her around like a wraith. It was their home, and now it is so much more and so much less.
"Inquisitor?"
Rylen pulls up along side her masking his concern with a pleasant smile for the others to see, but she can see it beneath the brim of his hat - a different one from the shining silver of before. The last thing they need is such a bright beacon to draw attention for miles. A shadow of a beard has begun to grow on his face and cover the tattoos down chin. He seems right at home in sandy and sweat soaked travel gear, body relaxed even after most of the day travelling. Their mounts nestle close together, her hart nibbling gently at the long neck of his mare, and she feels just as comforted by Rylen's presence.
"You all right, lass?"
"Do you have siblings?"
He is as surprised by the sudden question as she is, but carries on easily. "Aye. Thrice blessed with sisters and one brother. I'm the youngest out of the lot."
"And what was that like?"
"Well, they were all at once either busting my arse, pardon m'lady, or were too busy to notice me plooterin' about. Same with mum and da. Mum had enough on her plate and da got the rascal he wished for already. 'Course by that time my middle sister was a damn near spitting image of him. Was a hoot to watch them go at it. And not that I truly suffered greatly, mind you, but going into the templars was a smart thing." Rylen huffs, slapping his rein back and forth. "Used to believe that all the way through, at any rate."
"You went when you were fifteen."
"You remembered! I was a blind git for too long, doing my best to make up for it how I can. Starkhaven was no Kirkwall, but it had its own moments. Never thought I'd measure up to much in the way of progress. And then you go and disband the whole affair!"
Keela smiles. "I remember your letter after that announcement too. You said something like 'Not even bothering to stir the pot, are you? Just tipping that poor sod over and seeing what crawls out." It was never much about what might rise to the surface, however. It was what she could drown. "Tell me more about your home."
"I wager you've been there enough to know it some already."
"Your home, I mean. What are your sisters like?"
For a few miles he regales her with stories from his childhood, most of them humorous and a few unbelievable. He has no difficulty filling the silence, and she has no difficulty listening to him do so. Their conversation makes the journey shorter, eases the tension that's been held between her shoulders. There are no double meanings to Rylen's stories, no duplicity masquerading as wisdom. Understanding him is not a puzzle she has to unravel but a map expanding with every mile covered.
She is not sure if she enjoys it so because it is as easy as breathing to be near him, or if it is because he is so very unlike someone else who kept her so far apart. That she has to consider it at all makes her stomach sour.
"And you? I've been nibbling away at your ear far enough. What's the home of the famous Lady Inquisitor like?"
Keela shuts her mouth into a sharp line, fingers creaking around leather. Her spine snaps back tall and straight and everything about her seems to close despite how hard her heart pushes against the shutting iron bars. It was a mistake to ask for something she could not give in return.
"Forgive me," Rylen says, lightly, as if he doesn't notice. "I know only one of us is the Inquisitor after all." A crack forms in the armor of her frown, molten warmth trickling down into her chest. "I'm not questing to make you uncomfortable. Being friendly, is all. Plenty of other things to jabber on about if you wish."
She buys time by running fingers through the mane of his mare. There is a memory from the crystal that sticks, of the two of them trapped beneath ground and one injured, and yet she is still holding onto to foolish things. It took almost his life to pry her open that day - a day that has not passed just yet, and one far too long in waiting to confess her affection. They are not those people now, however, and they will never be them.
Who could they be now?
"It is…merely a very involved question, considering I have had several homes."
"Ah, that's right. Long way from Antiva. Hey, don't look at me like it's any type of news. I hear it in your voice despite your best efforts of hiding it. You'd think with that thing you've got for accents," he leans away from her incoming fist, laughing, "and you're the most famous lass in Thedas right now. Hard not to hear something about you, especially the more…ludicrous tales."
"And what have you heard that is so unbelievable, considering all you've been a part of yourself?"
"Well I doubt the rumors of you dancing in the blood of the duchess at the Winter Palace while singing some elfling curse were nothing more than thick headed Orlesian bosom clutching."
"You're right. Dalish only curse our foes in blood during a full moon."
"Thought so."
They lapse into amicable silence, the space filling with the sound of sand shifting beneath hooves, the quiet snorts of their steads and the murmur of men around them. "I have two brothers," Keela announces suddenly, her voice sounding too loud to her ears, but she doesn't stop. "Gandis was small when I left my birth clan, and Yeros wasn't born yet. I have seen him only once. I grew up with my Keeper's children, Denras and Savenya. I was…troublesome."
"You? That can't be right."
She gives him a look, softened by the slight upturn in the corner of her mouth. "We once snuck off to the city of Ansburg to see their flower fair. I was not forgiven for some time. I…would you like to hear?"
Rylen leans down on the bridle and props chin on his hand. "Would I ever."
When he helps her down from her hart at day's end, she holds onto his hand a little longer and he doesn't seem to mind much at all. When he brings her dinner bowl she asks him to stay and sits close enough to feel his warmth instead of the fire's. When she wishes him goodnight there seems to be more on her tongue with the way she glances to his mouth, but she doesn't say it, and doesn't slip into her tent until he slips into his across the way in order to see one last smirk.
When she wakes and walks into the morning Rylen is there with a checkered bundle in hand. Warmth and the delicious scent of baked bread drift into her face when she unwraps it. She can see darker spots peppering the puffy shapes and knows what he's given her. "Cheese bread?"
"Heard you were fond of these little things and had a few things sent special."
"Are you trying to buy your way into my favor, Ser Rylen?"
"Depends. Depends on if it does it for you."
Keela laughs. "Maybe it does. Thank you."
"My pleasure, Lady Inquisitor. We'll be ready to set off soon."
As he walks away she pulls apart one of the loafs, watching steam curl into the early morning cool, and takes a small bite. It is not how she remembers, either from Deshanna's attempts to make her feel at home, or the long lost flavors of Antiva, but she savors it for what it is- a gift, and one that makes her heart feel light.
"Did you put him up to this?" she asks of the shadows near her tent. A brown, wide brimmed hat sifts out of them first, pale hands next.
"You're lighter. Waves crashing, deep and dark and tired, so tired. You can see above them now though. You remember how to float. He helps. He's glad."
She looks down at the bread in hand. "You helped too, I imagine."
"Yes. I did it before too." Cole pauses, head tilting. "Cullen won't be happy this time either, but he won't mind in the end. More steady hands for when his shake."
"Cullen? Why-" Keela turns to him, eyes wide. "Did you forgeRylen's summons?" A small smile is her answer, and there is a moment when only the sounds of camp drift between them before she laughs. "Cole."
His smile grows. "You're not really mad."
She glances back across the grass to watch Rylen help dismantle a tent with good cheer, and she agrees - it is not anger that's spreading through her ribs and knocking down the ice around her heart, piece by tiny piece. It is something wondrous and dangerous and a thousand things in between. "No."
It grows and grows and grows until they reach the plains and then there is only famine in her smiles, a ruin burning like the desolate, damaged grasses throughout Dirthavaren. It has seen some renewal since the Inquisitor swept in to rid its surface of evils, but there are so many more soaked into the bones of this place that perhaps not even time can fully erase.
For Keela time seems to stand still, reverses in a spiral of memories made more potent by the plight of her people, that same frustration she always feels in coming here, but now there are woes of her own woven into the fabric of the land. A loss too small and personal to mean much against the horrors befallen before, but they are wounds she can't forget, fresh and raw.
There are so many echoes of Solas here. She tries to ignore them all as the Inquisition conducts its business - visiting the ramparts where she was injured by a Revenant, where she almost confessed the tangle of feelings inside her heart. The stream where nearby she was ambushed, alone, where he found them and she tore them all apart for touching him. The final camp and the jutting rocks under which they came together under the stars.
She wishes for them to be well and gone by nightfall, but they are waylaid by meetings and unforeseen necessities. Dust rushes in fast and unforgiving when so many days have been endless as of late, and if she believed the universe capable of being against her, Keela would begrudge the first sign of stars. She retires early to her tent and yet does not sleep, not even bothering to settle in to begin with. Instead she stares at reports shoved to the bottom of the pack due to more pressing concerns, warms a bath herself and stays until her skin is well pruned, sharpens weapons that already shine.
The stretched canvas cannot contain her tonight. She flees its confines, uncertain of the hour, but the sky is still dark with no touch of the yawning sun on the horizon. There is a moment to pause and let her clever eyes adjust until she can see the world in better light and then she slips through tents and sentries and down the river's shore. It is a familiar path and she cannot stop her feet from ending where they once did, in the ruins of a small archway tucked against the water. Where she and Solas spent that first night - where her heart began to plan for more.
Now she walks to the water's edge and pulls a vial from her pocket. It gleams in the faint moonlight, ribbons of color swirling through the darker liquid, medicine and magic combined. It is what she had the apothecary craft for her in secrecy all those months ago - a complex creation for a permanent solution. She could drink half of them and change her mind before it was too late, but she is not one to change it.
There's a curse from behind her a distance and her heart and magic leap at the possible threat. When she turns, however, it is Rylen hopping his way over, shaking out one of his feet as he holds onto a gleaming torch. The sudden light burns her eyes and she squints, barely holding them open as he draws nearer, relaxing but not at his sudden appearance.
As he gets closer he notices her agitation. "Ah, sorry lass. Forgot about those peepers of yours." He stops and shoves the torch between rocks cast away by the ruin nearby and wipes his hands as he meanders over. "Would be helpful, banged my foot back there."
Keela sighs a little in relief as he comes to stand beside her so she can turn away from the light and adjust to the darkness again. "Was I as obvious as you sneaking out of camp that you were able to follow me so easily?"
Rylen chuckles softly. "Not to me, no. One of your kin came and woke me, sent me in the right direction. I'd ask what you be doing out in the middle of the night, but I know better to question midnight walkers about their thoughts. I'll just be here, m'lady, if you need me."
He is true to his word. In the silence that follows, Rylen merely stands vigil, leaving Keela to her thoughts. Her hand tightens around glass, eyes drawn back to the glistening bottle. Moon's End, it is called. A bottle every day for one uncomfortable week, and the guarantee of no children to be born from her womb. The question so posited Vivienne flashes in her mind - Do souls exist already formed, waiting for bodies to fill? If so, could you pick a specific one from the void? A hopeless question, one she's not sure she even wants the answer to someday.
"I was…trying to make a decision," she says finally. "I'm finding it difficult. How do you make decisions?"
"Flip a Sovereign." At Keela's unconvinced look he gives a soft chuckle of laughter. "For the shite. pardon me, that don't matter. For things that do, I find my mind made up long before I bother making lists. Just a way to blither on about at that point. I'd wager you're much the same, m'lady."
She glances at him for a few moments more before turning her attention to the elixir again. "You are right." There's a pop as she pulls the cork from its place, and then turns her hand over. The liquid seeps into the river below, swirling bright in the dark water. She pours it until the last drop is gone then puts the the stopper back in its place, watches how it dissipates downstream until it is out of sight and now only a memory. "Shall we return to camp?"
"Aye, lass." He offers his arm and she takes it.
The walk back is made in companionable silence, shorter a distance than Keela wishes when the tents come sliding back into view all too soon. Rylen accompanies her there, not moving away when she fails to remove her arm from his. In the dark and quiet he is a gentle, solid presence, no expectations or weight attached except the ones she carries for him. For them. A thing she is beginning to find most unfair.
She doesn't want this. She wants a fresh start, something new and all her own.
She slides her arm free and steps away. "Thank you. Goodnight, Ser Rylen."
There is a pause from him, and it means more than any words, and she wishes it could mean so much more. He nods. "Goodnight, m'lady," is the eventually reply and she doesn't wait to watch him walk away or disappear into his own tent this time.
The mage lights are ghostly flickers of light when she slips inside, casting shadows like waves against the walls, but there is one that doesn't move. Keela sighs, suddenly feeling the weariness she didn't before crashing down on her shoulders heavily now. The silence stretches, drifting from awkward to peaceful to frustrated, until she breathes out long again.
Keela plucks the empty bottle from her pocket and rolls it between her hands. "I know she will never exist. The pain of it made me wish to never have children. I know her ghost will haunt me, but…I will not let what has happened stop me from what might. A future has been taken from me, but not all."
She stops to put the bottle down, tucked back into the box with the others. "I do not wish to be afraid. I can accept I have lost her, and Solas. Those are my choices." She plummets to her bedroom, hands shoving through her hair, for despite her words she is still at war. Will be for some time.
"You can forget the rest, it will help. I can help," Cole finally whispers, his form bleeding out of the darkness to step closer. "Not her. Not him. But him. His hands are rough, battle scarred, you feel them like you feel his voice down your spine. You want the chance, but you had him first, the future you. It's not fair. Most people only have one them in their head." Cole glances down at his hands. "It's not fair to be fair to everyone but you."
After a moment she moves, head resting against her pillow, eyelids dragging down like weighted sails. To carry more than you need is not strength, it is folly. She knows this, like every Dalish who has spent their life on their feet. She will never be free, but she could be light. Accepting that she can be forgiving to herself is harder than the rest, but she wants it. She wants it.
"Then sleep…and forget."