#ruthien

[twistitch]

[vantagepointeq]

My heart horse Atlas V and both of his grandsires, Ruthien V and Maliketh V for February's Snapshot Show on Bridlepath💖

[ellenembee]

Rylen Appreciation Week - Day 2

This chapter is from my larger Rylen fic, but I think it works well as a stand-alone for describing Rylen’s interactions with the Inquisition and his subordinates.

Click through to read the chapter (or the full fic) on AO3 or keep reading below to just read the chapter.

Rylen had learned early on to limit troop activities during the hottest part of the afternoons, but even by mid morning, the sand radiated a nearly unbearable heat as they marched across the literally Blighted wasteland. Wind whipped sand around their feet, into their eyes and up any crevice or cranny it could find. They soldiered on, however, with Rylen at the lead and kept their complaints to a minimum. Varghest and Venatori weren't going to hunt themselves, after all.

They'd been in the Approach for almost two weeks now, and each day brought a new trial. The one bright moment - the discovery of a massive keep at the edge of the Blighted lands - had quickly dulled when they discovered the bandits swarming the walls of the ancient Warden structure. Even with his well-trained troops, he couldn't take the Keep without risking their foothold in the area. He'd have to wait for the Inquisitor and her companions. Thankfully, he'd received word that she would arrive within the next day or two.

"Captain!"

Rylen turned to see one of his corporals approaching with a small group of soldiers.

"What is it, Corporal Soren?"

The woman stopped in front of him and saluted. "Scout Harding says the varghest at the water supply are giving them trouble again."

"Well, let's give them some trouble back, eh? Is Lieutenant Ruthien back from clearing out the nearest Venatori encampment?"

"Aye, ser. She's back at the camp treating the wounded. A few of the men got burned pretty badly."

Rylen let out a displeased grunt, his eyes turning out to look over the vast expanse of nothingness as he grumbled under his breath, "Blast it all! We're already running low on healing potions."

"Begging your pardon, ser?"

Rylen looked up from his internal calculations of supply rations and blinked at the Corporal. What had they been talking about? Varghest? Yes, varghest. Maker's breath, it's hot out here.

"We'll be there to assist as soon as we can. Have the remaining soldiers stay close to their assigned camps. The Inquisitor should be arriving soon, and I want us to be ready to offer her support if she needs it."

"Yesser!"

The corporal hurried off with her orders, and Rylen turned his attention to the varghest... again. The beasts holding their fresh water supply hostage had seemingly doubled their efforts in the last few days. Typically, Rylen would send in a large group of soldiers to coax the beasts away from the water, which would allow other soldiers to collect a supply of water and get out of harm's way. So far, the tactics had allowed them to avoid any injuries, but Rylen's patience wore thinner with each altercation. They needed a permanent solution, but as with the Keep, Rylen couldn't risk soldier's lives when the Inquisitor might need them to hold off the Grey Warden threat. His hands were tied... for the moment.

They arrived at the pool to find the varghest circling the edge of the water while, in the distance, a group of soldiers gathered around the wagon full of empty water barrels. Were the beasts actually learning their tricks? Regardless, they must have water. Rylen circled around to the wagon, apprised the soldiers of their intended tactics and set upon the varghest.

It took more than two hours to get all the barrels filled, and in the meantime, they managed to kill one of the varghest. The victory came with a price, however. Two of his soldiers had been badly injured.

Rylen's unit finally made it back to the base camp, water and injured in tow, and most soldiers headed directly for shelter from the early afternoon sun. As he directed the unloading of the water into their blockaded supply tents, Harding approached, but he held up a hand before she began speaking.

"Begging your pardon, lass, but I need to see to my injured soldiers. Unless this is an emer-"

"The Inquisitor arrived late this morning," Harding interrupted without hesitation. "She's out with her team looking into the Grey Warden issue as we speak."

Rylen instantly focused all attention on the freckled dwarf. "Does she need assistance?"

"I don't believe so. Warden Stroud and Hawke have been sighted in the area."

"You'll update me if that changes?"

Harding nodded once. "My scouts will keep an eye on the situation and report back. Also, I've got my next orders, so I'll be heading out the day after tomorrow with a group of soldiers unless the Inquisitor requests otherwise."

Rylen looked down at the sand between them and grimaced before raising his gaze back to her. "It's been a pleasure working with you these last weeks, Harding."

"Now don't go soft on me, Captain," Harding chided with a smirk. "It'll ruin your hardass reputation, and then the troops will start wondering if I'm really 'the nice one.'"

"Hardass!" he replied with a bark of laughter. His expression turned solemn even as his eyes twinkled in suppressed mirth. "I'll have you know I'm quite the charming gentleman when I wish to be."

Harding’s lips twitched as she snorted derisively and marched off to attend to her duties elsewhere. Looking after her with a ghost of a smile on his face, he felt a pang of regret that she would be leaving them so soon. He enjoyed her company... especially her sarcasm.

"Maker protect you," he murmured under his breath. "With any luck, we'll share our newest outrageous stories over a drink soon enough."

With a deep breath for fortitude, Rylen wiped at his brow, looked around him to ensure everything was in order and then headed off to check in on his injured men.

**

"It's good to see you again, Captain. How have you been holding up?"

"As well as can be expected, Your Worship. Better now that you and your team have arrived."

The Inquisitor gave him a friendly smile as she sat down next to him with her small portion of the evening rations. He'd not had much chance to get to know the elf before now, but harsh conditions such as these were a great equalizer. And anyway, she seemed to buck tradition and ceremony whenever possible in favor of getting the job done. He liked her all the more for it.

Heat still radiated off the sand, but without the harsh sunlight, the evening almost felt cool. He threw another log on the fire, gathered up his own rations and sat down beside the Inquisitor to eat.

"I'm sure you've heard by now that Lieutenant Rozellene is on her way with a large contingent of soldiers as well as supplies?" she questioned.

Rylen nodded as he chewed on a bite of venison jerky. "The Commander's message arrived a few days ago. She won't be here for quite a spell, though, as she's taking the Imperial Highway." Rylen grunted in wry amusement. "Funny that. He originally told me I couldn't have her for this mission. Said he needed her there in Skyhold."

He shot her a sidelong glance to judge her reaction, but her expression only reflected mild interest. "Oh? Well, I believe she's meant to return with me when we head back."

"Ahhh. Well, there you have it. Always a catch. She's his best, though, so I don't blame him for keeping her close."

The Inquisitor hummed quietly and remained silent through the next several bites. He snuck another glance and quickly took in her tense jaw and pensive expression. Her next comments, however, revealed her thoughts had turned in a different direction than he supposed.

"I understand you and Harding have had some time to scout out the keep. Any ideas on how to take it?"

Rylen wiped his hands on his pants and leaned back against the rock behind them. "Well, with you here, that changes things a mite, but I recommend catching them off-guard if possible. There's a magically sealed cave underneath the keep, and I think it might lead to a way inside. If so, I recommend a frontal assault as a distraction while a small team infiltrates the keep from that point. I assume you can deal with magical barriers?"

She nodded. "We'll look into it tomorrow, then. Be ready-"

"Ah, my dear," a smooth voice interrupted, "you may want to reconsider that plan if you wish to avoid insurrection."

Rylen and the Inquisitor turned to see Dorian lounging in the sand on her opposite side. He winked at Rylen and then turned his attention to the elf whose lips had turned down in a frown of confusion. She looked back and forth between Rylen and Dorian, eyeing the men warily.

"And why is that?"

Varric spoke up as he sat down on the other side of the meager fire. "Come on, now, Snowflake. You can't be serious?"

She shrugged, eyes open wide and hands spread in a clueless gesture, clearly annoyed that everyone expected her to simply know. Rylen held back his own surprise and bit of mirth at her ignorance, reminding himself that before the Inquisition she'd likely interacted rarely with humans and had no reason to learn about or observe Chantry holidays.

"Will someone please just tell me," she finally exclaimed with an irritated huff.

"Tomorrow's Satinalia, boss," Bull chimed in as he joined their group.

Her mouth gaped open and then clicked shut as vague recognition dawned in her expression. "Oh. Right. Josie mentioned something about... that's the human holiday of gift giving?"

"More a Chantry holiday, but close enough," Varric supplied. "And the best gift you could give your dedicated troops is one day away from Venatori raids, wild animal wrangling and demon hunting, right Captain?"

Varric turned his gaze to Rylen as did the Inquisitor, and the curious and open look in her eyes encouraged him to be honest. Knowing exactly how hard his troops had worked to maintain this foothold in miserable conditions, he'd feel like a heel if he didn't fight for this, especially when he really had nothing else to offer them.

"It’s true I’ve told them they can have the day unless you have need of us," he admitted. "Not much here by way of celebratory feasts and libations, but a day of rest would do these men and women a world of good. They've worked hard for you these weeks past."

The Inquisitor gave a curt nod. "Very well, then. We'll look into assaulting the keep the day after tomorrow."

Her lips lifted in a small but earnest smile, and Rylen gave her a wide, grateful one in return. "Thank you, Your Worship. The men and women will be mightily glad of it."

"I'm curious to observe your celebrations," she remarked. "I know your supplies are limited here, but I've only ever heard vague accounts of Chantry holidays. Are religious observations typical?"

"Aye, I planned to lead an evening service for those interested. I often did in the Circle."

"Good," she stated thoughtfully, almost absently, as she drew her knees up and leaned forward to wrap her arms around her legs.

After a brief lull in conversation during which the Inquisitor seemed to curl in on herself, Dorian popped up, held out his hand to the Inquisitor and exclaimed, "Well, now is as good a time as any. Up, up!"

The Inquisitor groaned but limply raised her hand. Dorian caught hold and pulled her to her feet.

"None of that, now," Dorian chided. "It was your wicked advisor who sent me to this Maker-forsaken wasteland. If I must be miserable, so must you be!"

She huffed and narrowed her eyes at the other mage, but he just smirked at her in return. She seemed to resign herself to whatever inevitability awaited her, and Dorian walked her a little away from the fire to set up in a… dance formation? Intrigued, Rylen sat up straighter and watched as they bowed to each other and began a complicated set of steps that took them all around the campsite. Rylen had almost no experience with dancing, being first the son of a stonemason and then in the service of the templars for most of his life, but he could appreciate beauty and grace when he saw it. Slowly, the men and women gathered around the nearby fires quieted, and Dorian's rhythmic humming and the intermittent pop and crackle of the campfires became loud in the stillness of the desert night. The two dancers stopped and started again a couple of times, and Rylen noticed the high color on the lithe elf's cheeks. Embarrassed to have an audience, no doubt.

Finally, they bowed to each other amidst fervent applause, the dance seemingly over for the evening, and the Inquisitor turned in for the night after a subdued goodnight to himself and her companions. Rylen remained by the fire, and a companionable silence fell over the group before Bull and Varric pulled out flasks and Dorian produced a bottle of wine from somewhere. Rylen shrugged and jumped up to grab his own stash of his favorite liquor from his tent. Tomorrow was a holiday, after all.

"So, Rylen," Bull intoned after they'd each taken long pulls from their chosen beverages, "how's it really going out here?"

Rylen shrugged. "Not bad, but it'll be better if we can take that keep from the bandits. Right now, it’s all we can do to protect our supplies and keep the hostile forces at bay. Having someplace like Griffon Wing Keep under our command... well, I'd sleep better at night, I can tell you that."

"I noticed you've got your troops back at camp during the hottest parts of the day. That's a good strategy for this kind of environment."

"So glad you approve," Rylen said with a wry smile and a hint of dry sarcasm. Familiar with Rylen's cheek by now, Bull chuckled as Rylen continued in a more serious tone. "Seemed like the logical thing to do. I've never quite experienced a heat like this, but it's a far sight better than the blasted Frostbacks."

"Here, here!" Dorian cheered as he raised his bottle. "The sand and wildlife is atrocious, but the heat feels like home."

"We had heat in Kirkwall, but it was the kind you drown in," Varric added, a note of nostalgia coloring his tone.

"Oh, aye, same for Starkhaven. Often felt like I was breathing water on those sultry summer afternoons," Rylen reminisced.

"You miss it?"

Rylen turned his eyes to the fire, contemplating Varric’s question. Did he miss Starkhaven? He'd never really thought of it in such terms. He missed the familiarity of his duties in the Circle, the weight of the templar armor hanging from his frame. But as he pondered, fond memories of his former home came back to him as well - the scent of prairie grasses wafting from the plains, the arches and spires and marbled halls of a city known for its architecture, the laughter of his siblings and their families as they gathered for the occasional family dinner - when his duties allowed.

"I suppose I do," he offered slowly, the burn of the whiskey causing his eyes to water as he quickly took another swig.

"Yeah. Me, too," Varric responded with a sigh. "It may be a shithole, but it's my shithole."

Rylen chuckled weakly, an uncomfortable ache pulsing in his chest even as the itch under his skin manifested with a vengeance. If he worked hard enough, long enough, he could ignore it, falling into his bedroll every night so exhausted he dropped into sleep immediately. In these quiet moments of idleness, however...

Without warning, the image of a bright green scarf flashed through his mind, and he scrambled to hold onto the memory, leaving the itch to fade into the background. Here was another uncomfortable puzzle. Almost a month later, the lovely Antivan woman, Trice, and her hidden pain had yet to dim from his thoughts. The strength of his reaction to her predicament - whatever it might have been - still confused him, as did these occasional, unsolicited thoughts of her.

He took a longer pull on his flask, and fell deeper into himself, letting the conversation flow on without him. The moons shone brightly in the night sky, drowning out the stars, and his eyes unfocused as he stared up at those two familiarities. At least he had that. Wherever he went, the moons would follow, a reassuring connection to what he'd once had. What he hoped to find again.

A swift kick to the bottom of his boot brought him back to the present.

"Hey, Rylen. You weren't in on the pool, were you?"

Rylen straightened and tried to keep the confusion off his face, but the strange sharpness of his typical buzz couldn't make up for weeks of hard conditions and little sleep. He shrugged.

"Don't recall that I was."

"Hmmm, well then you probably won't care, but Dorian won."

He gave up on attempting to fake understanding. "Won what, exactly?"

"You didn't even know about the bet?" Varric asked in surprise. "Where have you been?"

"Well, all around Ferelden, mostly. But many a night in the Rest with you all, as well. If I didn't know better, I'd think you were holding out on me."

Bull chuckled. "Maybe we thought you were too close to the source."

Rylen furrowed his brows. "Alright, now I'm really going to need you to catch me up. Did we have a pool on whether our unflappable ambassador will ever lose her composure?"

"Nothing so interesting," Dorian deadpanned. "No. We simply had a wager on how long it would take our Inquisitor and her Commander to admit they simply can't live without each other."

Rylen grunted. "So they managed it, eh? I wondered when I left if they weren't nearly there."

"See? Too close."

Rylen raised his brow at Bull. "And you all aren't close to the other side?"

Bull just grunted in return, and Rylen shook his head, a wry smile contorting his face. The smile shifted into a satisfied grin as the others continued to talk around him. If Cullen needed anything, it was a good woman at his side. Rylen didn't know the Inquisitor all that well - doubted he ever would - but even he could recognize her caring and dedication to making things right. He'd have to make sure to include a sly aside in his next missive to Skyhold.

"Welp, I'm out," Varric lamented as he turned his flask upside down in front of him.

Bull held out his own bottle. "I could top you off."

"Don't fall for it," Dorian warned. "Whatever is in that flask will do more damage than good, I can assure you."

Bull snorted. "Just because you can't hold your liquor…"

"I beg your pardon! I most certainly can. That swill is meant to strip paint, not be consumed."

Bull took a good long swig, keeping his eye on Dorian the whole time. The mage turned up his nose, but Varric held out his flask.

"Hit me. I can't be left out of the morning hangover grumbling."

"Sorry I can't be more hospitable," Rylen said. "But you all get me that keep, and I'll make sure the fastest supply lines possible keep us well stocked in the future."

"Deal," Bull agreed with a raise of his flask.

The four men took a drink together and carried on long into the night. And for the first time in months, there in the immeasurable, untamed desert, Rylen felt a moment of rightness in the comfort of familiar friends in unfamiliar places.