Hello and welcome to the first ever Knight-Captain Rylen Appreciation Event! I’d say ‘week’, but we will be sticking to only five days for our first time. If you’ve participated in events of similar shape in the past, this will be a familiar drill. If it’s not, please look below and get yourself familiar with the themes, the guidelines, and submission rules. Let the fun begin!
Themed Days
DAY 1 - Monday, February 26th: Knight-Captain Rylen, the Templar
Rylen has spent multiple years as a Templar at the Starkhaven circle and he certainly has many stories to tell from his time there. What were his experiences? What was his first Harrowing like? Did he get along with his Knight-Commander? This is the day to tell us!
DAY 2 - Tuesday, February 27th: Rylen and the Inquisition
Rylen becomes Commander Cullen’s second-in-command during the Inquisition and by all accounts, he does a phenomenal job of it. Let’s explore what that means! Is he softer on new recruits who never held a blade before? Does he butt heads with Cassandra? Does he accept the Herald immediately or does he take some time to warm up to the idea? We are dying to know.
DAY 3 - Wednesday, February 28th: Family and friends of Knight-Captain Rylen
Rylen is the fifth - and youngest - child of a stonemason family in Starkhaven, but we know little of them. What kind of headcanons do you have about his childhood? Or maybe you want to see him with a family of his own? Perhaps there’s that one time he got super drunk with Lace Harding at The Singing Maiden and they sang embarrassing songs together? What is his relationship with Cullen like? The sky is the limit.
DAY 4 - Thursday, March 1st: Rylen, the man of romance
The sexiest man from Starkhaven to ever join the Inquisition doesn’t have an official love interest. Is he gay, straight or bisexual? Or maybe he doesn’t care in what shape his love comes, as long as they love him back. Either way, share the stories of love - or heartbreak - that pertain to the Captain! Is he pining for the Inquisitor? Did one of the soldiers catch his eye? Or maybe there’s a women in his past that he cannot forget? We are all sitting at the edge of our seats to find out.
DAY 5 - Friday, March 2nd: Captain Rylen, the pet detective, aka the AU day
Why limit yourself to only one version of Rylen? Why not find out what he would be like as a police officer, or a fire fighter, or a security officer? Why not see him act in a soap opera? Can we put him in a kilt and have him run the moors of Scotland? I’m sure he’d be stunning in noir-type story as a jaded detective who gets a visit from gorgeous woman in a red dress. We desperately need all of it.
But wait! What if my creation fits more than one theme?
Good question! Choose one of them (roshambo is an option...) and go with it!
What if none of the themes quite work for my creation?
That is unfortunate on our part (we’ll try better next time), but see which theme feels closest and post/tag on that day.
Guidelines
1. All works need to pertain to Knight-Captain Rylen in some (broad) shape or form. It may be an ensemble piece, but he has to be in it. Duh.
2. All forms of art are allowed: fanfiction, fanart, mood boards, mods, gifs, songs, videos, etc. If you make it, we will reblog it.
3. This event is supposed to foster appreciation and overall positivity in regards to Rylen. Any promotion or condoning of bigotry, racism, homophobia, sexism, etc. will not be allowed. Please be mindful of others, it’s not that hard.
4. Please refrain from graphic depictions of abuse, gratuitous violence, incest, pedophilia, bestiality, etc. There is a time and place for such things and this event is not one of them.
5. NSFW works are absolutely allowed during this event. Please mark them with appropriate tags when you make your submissions.
If anything on this list is unclear, or if you have questions about how your creation fits within the guidelines, please send an ask and someone will get back to you ASAP. This is the first year of the event and we’re trying to make this go as smoothly as possible.
How To Submit?
1. FOR NEW POSTS
If you created something specifically for Rylen Appreciation Week, please post it to your own blog on the appropriate theme day, then tag it with #RylenAppreciationWeek and which day it is for. Please don’t use ’@’ for this blog because Tumblr is known to ignore those and we’d hate to miss your submission.
2. FOR REBLOGS OR EXTERNAL LINKS
If you created something in the past, but you still wish to share it, please submit a link through submission section with appropriate tags and a mod will reblog from the original source. It can be from Tumblr or from AO3, it’s all fine.
PLEASE NOTE!!! You may only submit works that you have created yourself. You may not submit for someone else, ESPECIALLY without their consent and/or express approval.
DO NOT submit the same creation through link submission and through tagging. It creates extra work for the moderators which makes them cranky. Cranky mods like to eat bloggers who don't follow guidelines for breakfast.
Do allow for 12-24 hours for your creation to show up on this blog. People have jobs and need to sleep. If you still don't see it after that time, contact us and we'll investigate.
As per usual, if you have any other questions that were not covered by this post, please don’t hesitate to drop an ask in the inbox and we’ll try to sort things out ASAP. Cuz we’re cool like that.
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I didn’t have enough time to finish my romance-y piece, so here’s another excerpt from Truths Half Told Beget Lives Half Lived. This is a little snippet from chapter 14.
...She shook her head, her hand dropping from the wall as a wry smile cut through her serious expression. "I can see you won't be convinced, but for the record, you're being rather dramatic. You are not responsible for this war, and everyone here knows that you do everything in your power to keep your people safe. It is a tragedy when any life is lost, but I forbid you to deride or devalue yourself in my presence, Rylen."
"As you wish, your highness," he responded quietly to her authoritarian tone, the epithet feeling more like a caress than a taunt at this point.
She bestowed upon him a rueful smile and shook her head at the nickname. Her eyes did not falter, however, and the absolution offered up in those glittering depths tempted him more than anything ever had before. He hadn't known how much he craved it, from her especially, until she offered it up so freely. The truth he read in her gaze and the sincerity of her words nearly sent him to his knees as warm and ardent affection bloomed in his chest. He didn't register his own movement until he felt the curve of her hip under his hand and heard the slight inhalation pass between her parted lips.
The heady scent of fresh bread and cinnamon filled his nostrils, and he leaned closer, inhaling softly and letting his eyes close briefly at the deep longing pulsing under his skin. And yet, standing so close to her, he'd never felt more content in his life. He waited for her to back away from him, but she stood like a statue, her elevated breathing the only indication that his actions had affected her at all. He opened his eyes and looked down, nearly groaning aloud at the sight of her gaze locked on his mouth. Perhaps she wasn't as oblivious to him as she seemed.
"Any other rules I should know about?" she asked in a slightly rough tone.
"Plenty," he rasped. "But as you seem to be the exception to all of them, lass, I don't see much point in continuing the conversation."
"All of them?" she asked on a whisper.
"Every... last... one."
At this, her eyes flicked up to his, wide and guileless, a hart frozen in the path of a lion. All the weakness, the self-doubt, the exhaustion faded away at the drumming in his chest, the humming of stifled electricity under his skin and the breathless quiet between them. Her closeness and his lyrium addled emotions conspired to stoke the fires of desperation in his fingers. Keeping his hand on her hip, he raised the other hand slowly, as if any sudden movement might send her skittering away.
The instant his loosely curved fingers came in contact with the supple skin of her neck, the caged lightning broke free and ripped through his gut. They simultaneously sucked in shuddering breaths, jolts of sensation arching through each point of contact, and her eyes fluttered closed as his shaking fingers grazed over heated skin in the lightest of touches. He gently cupped her jaw, and her thick lashes trembled against her cheeks in response, her skin burnished golden in the glowing torchlight and warm under his callused palm.
Spots of color bloomed high on her cheeks as he felt the twin electric shocks of one hand grasping his back and the other gripping his upper arm. He had the sudden urge to brush his lips across those high cheekbones just to see how deep a flush he could elicit from the prickly, perfect woman who had so quickly and expertly turned his world upside down.
And so, he did. He leaned down slowly, memorizing every detail of her skin until his eyes fell closed as he brushed his lips over one cheekbone. His lids, heavy with the desire to lose himself in her, cracked open just enough to take in the sweet flickers of emotion crossing her face as he slowly skimmed his lips over the bridge of her nose. She sucked in another breath, and another, her stuttering exhalations washing sensuously over his jaw while he descended upon the other cheek. His lips lingered there a moment while he inhaled the spice of her skin, reveled in the softness of her face under his wind-burned lips.
"Trice."
He breathed her name against her skin like a prayer, aching to taste her lips and yet hesitant - as if the deeper part of him knew that it was a line he dared not cross. With torturous slowness, he slid the hand on her hip around her back and pulled her close while pressing feather light kisses to the corner of her eye, her eyelid, her eyebrow. He paused to kiss that place between her brows often scrunched in disapproval, especially at him, and then rested his lips against her forehead, fighting to control the breathless sensations urging him to go faster, taste more.
All the want inside him condensed to this one moment, this one thing. He wanted - absolution, compassion, provocation, intimacy, happiness - and he wanted them with her. Only her. He truly had broken all his rules, but in this one moment, he couldn't bring himself to care...
"This is insubordination! I am your commanding officer!"
Knight-Captain Rylen looked back at Ser Bevan, Knight-Commander of Starkhaven, from across the wide desk.
The title was a technicality only - there was no Circle in Starkhaven, hadn't been for years, not since the fire that had gutted their tower and destroyed so many phylacteries. Ser Bevan had risen to the rank of Knight-Commander in the months that followed, for his dogged pursuit of the escaped mages and the way he had organized the men and women under his command to escort them safely to other Circles in the Free Marches. Technically, there was no need for a garrison of templars in Starkhaven while there were no mages to protect, but the Chantry had deemed it necessary to maintain them there. To help keep order, they said. What was unspoken was the tacit approval from the Grand Cleric in Kirkwall of the way Ser Bevan had struck terror into the hearts of anyone who dared cross the Templar Order in Starkhaven.
What was also unspoken was the contempt many of Ser Bevan's subordinates held for him, knowing that his actions were built on fear and paranoia. He had modeled himself on Knight-Commander Meredith, and their barracks - once a place of as much contemplation and faith as it had been a military arm of the Chantry - had become a festering sore. In his terror of what might be, he turned a blind eye to knights that abused their position to cause harm to those without influence or wealth; he kept from promotion the moderates that would have curbed those abuses in his name. It was a blessing that he had no mages to terrorize. Rylen had been Knight-Captain long before Ser Bevan was promoted to rank above him, and despite attempts to demote or remove him, none of the charges had stuck. The Knight-Commander was forced to tolerate a Knight-Captain who moderated his orders, who interpreted them kindly when they insisted on punishment for those innocent beyond a reasonable doubt. But there was only so much a man could take, and that final line was there in front of him. He was ready to cross it.
"Then take command, ser!" Rylen countered, his voice forceful but not without respect. "Our brothers and sister in Kirkwall need support. They need lyrium, ser!"
"Supplies are being secured for them through Chantry channels," Ser Bevan insisted. "We will not interfere."
"They've had no supplies sent since before the bloodbath at the Gallows," Rylen ground out, trying to keep his temper in the face of his seething superior. "If even half the garrison there survived, they'll be on short rations, and they've still mages to guard and keep well there. We have a surplus of lyrium ourselves, ser. We've the means to aid them."
"That lyrium, Knight-Captain, is for the use of templars in Starkhaven and no other -"
"Aye, and if that were truly the case, Knight-Commander, you would not have had us on half-rations for the last month! Your punishment for an infraction that did not happen is excessive, and we'll not tolerate it much longer!"
That was the lack of lyrium talking, Rylen knew. They had all suffered for one woman's refusal to back down when Ser Bevan demanded she give up the location of her informant. Ser Giselle had stood her ground, denying their commander the opportunity to take swords into the Alienage to kill an elf whose only crime had been to share a rumor of the Champion of Kirkwall hiding there briefly before leaving the city. Rylen had stood with her; so had many others. They knew their Knight-Commander was walking a dangerous line, had hoped to keep him from making the mistake that would paint them all as murderers. Instead, Ser Giselle had been stripped of her knighthood and turned out of the Order, and as punishment for her integrity, they had all been placed on half-rations of lyrium until such time as Ser Bevan chose to lift the sanction. Even his most loyal templars, the abusers and murderers they had become, were punished, and their outrage had been swiftly silenced in a series of expulsions from the Order. But the sanction had not been lifted, and the Starkhaven templars had suffered together through the headaches, the nausea, the shakes and vivid nightmares. They supported one another and yes, a small group of them had chosen to also support the expelled Giselle, supplying her with lyrium pooled from their own meager rations, to allow her to keep functioning while she laid low among the elves that recognized the sacrifice she had made to protect them from what she now suffered.
Ser Bevan snarled at him, his round face reddening with fury. "Are you threatening me, Knight-Captain Rylen?"
"No, ser. When I threaten you, I will have my sword in my hand, and you will have a blade in your own. This is a warning, ser - a reminder that you are not as secure on your throne as you believe."
The Knight-Commander stared at him, and for the first time, Rylen thought he saw the fear in the man's eyes. So he was not as far gone as many of them had thought, it seemed, still enough the man he used to be at some core part of himself to recognize that abusing a garrison of a hundred men and women was not the wisest course of action for a man alone with no coherent Chantry support.
"The supply lines to Kirkwall have been disrupted, ser," Rylen reminded him. "Not only by the explosion, but by the slavers and bandits that have descended on the city. We received a delivery of lyrium ourselves this morning. If we take it to Kirkwall and remain on half-rations ourselves, we can support our brothers and sister there. Without lyrium, what little order they have restored will be lost as they struggle with their own withdrawal. For all we know, they've none left at all."
"And my prayers are with them, Knight-Captain." But Bevan frowned, passing a hand over his eyes as he sighed. "My responsibility is to the Order here in Starkhaven. I will not deprive them to aid others."
"We are already deprived!" Rylen took a step forward, shaking with the effort of keeping his own anger in check. "We have suffered a bare fraction of what they will suffer - it is our duty to lend them aid!"
Ser Bevan drew himself up, his face like thunder. "I am your commanding officer."
"Then you are failing in your duty to the Order, Ser Bevan. And I will not follow a man who sees a problem that can be solved and does nothing."
Rylen straightened his shoulders. He was crossing that line, here and now, and he knew he would likely never be able to walk across it again. But enough was enough. He could not stand by and watch, not when he had the means to help.
"I have already given orders, ser," he informed the senior knight. "The delivery we received this morning has not been unloaded from the carts. I intend to ask for volunteers among our rank to form a relief guard and escort that lyrium to Kirkwall."
"If you persist on this course, you will find yourself no longer a brother of the Order." Ser Bevan's voice was dark with menace, but Rylen could see it for what it was - a last attempt to intimidate a man of integrity whose tolerance he had finally pushed too far. "Think very carefully about the path you are proposing to walk."
Rylen drew a deep breath. "I have been thinking, ser," he answered, surprised by how calm he sounded. He wasn't entirely sure how that was possible; anger was burning inside him at the sheer belligerent ineptitude of his superior officer. "For months, I have thought, and watched, as you ignore the increasing troubles in the world. Troubles that are right on our doorstep, troubles we could help to solve if you would just lift a finger. I have stood by and said little as you follow the path already walked by Knight-Commander Meredith, even knowing so clearly where it will lead. I have seen enough to know that you will do nothing to prevent the madness that is coming over you, and in that madness, you will let the world burn before raising a hand to douse the flames. So I must act, ser."
"Oh, you must, must you?" Ser Bevan was still quiet, but the hard edge of his anger was fading. It was doubtful that anyone had drawn the parallel between himself and the insane Meredith so clearly for him before this moment. The horror of her end at the Gallows, so recent and so raw, was not a path to contemplate lightly. "You believe that you know better than your superiors, your betters?"
"No, ser, not in all things." Rylen set his jaw, gathering his words as he sought to appeal to the flicker of conscience he could see in the other man's eyes. "But I do know this. The world is falling to chaos, and there's not a damned thing I can do to stop it. I swore an oath, ser, an oath to the Maker Himself to protect and serve the people of Thedas. All people, ser, be they human, elf, dwarf, or mage. Aye, I've no power to protect them all, and our wee corner has more peace than perhaps we deserve. But I see a problem I can fix, and I will do it. You may expel me from the Order if you wish, but templar or no, that lyrium will reach Kirkwall."
There was a long silence, both men testing their wills against one another - the old guard pitted against the new; a man who feared the chaos erupting around them and reacted in anger to control what little he could, against the man who needed to mitigate at least some of that chaos and would risk everything to do it. Neither was wholly right, nor wholly wrong, but this could not go on.
Ser Bevan sighed, the anger in his eyes fading as sense returned to his gaze for the first time in months. "The Order is not what it once was, Ser Rylen," he said wearily. "We have lost our way, and I fear matters will only worsen before the Divine acts. But I feel ... glad ... that you have not forgotten what we were meant to be. You are a fine captain, Rylen. A better man than I."
"I am a younger man, ser," Rylen corrected him, his own anger easing as the battle lines were drawn back. "Not a better one. You have done as you thought best, though I regret few will agree with your methods. I must do what I think best."
"And no longer mine to command." The Knight-Commander straightened, reaching for a quill and parchment. "You may take twenty-five from our garrison here, if they wish to go. Deliver the lyrium and offer aid to the Gallows and Kirkwall. I will inform the acting Knight-Commander of your transfer to his command, and arrange for Kirkwall's lyrium to be delivered here for the foreseeable future, for safe passage to the City of Chains under our guard. With Andraste's grace, we may all return to full rations within a matter of weeks."
Relief coursed through Rylen's limbs, the tension in his muscles easing. "Thank you, ser. Maker be with you."
Ser Bevan nodded absently, the quill already scratching over the parchment before him as Rylen saluted and left the office, marching down to the courtyard to address the templars he called brother and sister. It wasn't a perfect solution to the problem, but it was something. And in all this madness, doing something was infinitely preferable to watching the world go to the Void unhindered.
This is my first offering for the Rylen Appreciation Week. Today is Rylen x Inquisition. So I went with how he was recruited. It’s not very long but I hope you enjoy.
“I have appreciated your aid these long months Rylen,” Cullen took the tankard, filled to the brim with ale from the man’s hands as he took the seat opposite him. “I hope, going forward Kirkwall can handle the continued work.”
Rylen chuckled, that sweet Starkhaven accent still thick despite having been in Kirkwall for nearly a year and a half. Shaking his head, he pulled his chair out and easily sunk down. Cullen and the remaining templars had been busy removing rubble throughout the city. Collecting the remains of the fallen to be given rights by the Chantry sisters. It had been incredibly hard work, emotionally draining as well as physically. Not to mention the rebel mages that sought to attack and seize power for themselves. With such few templars still following their vows, it was becoming a nightmare. One, he and Cullen had bonded over. “Oh, come now, you speak as if you’re dyin’.” His joking tone, caused Cullen’s eyebrow to raise in protest. “When the shipments come in the next few days, we can set up proper resources. Get things organized. Even if the damned Order doesn’t have a clue what it’s doing anymore.”
Taking a long dredge of his ale, Cullen shook his head softly, “no Rylen. I can’t do this anymore. I…” letting a bitter snicker slip past his lips he looked Rylen in the eyes. “I need to be part of what fixes this. Not just putting bandages over gaping wounds.”
Rylen nodded, “I see. So, what’s your big idea? You going to throw yourself at the mercy of the nearest mage? Perhaps another Knight-Commander would see your reason better?” That dig had Cullen’s heckles up, but Rylen waved his hand. “You did what was right. But I fail to see what a single templar can do against the storm friend.”
“Not much, alone.” Cullen’s face sagged, and he leaned over the table. “I have been invited to join up with the Seeker Cassandra…”
“Seeker? Well I thought they usually brought most templars nervously to their knees.” Rylen snickered, sipping from his ale, “I never heard of one giving invites to someone before.”
Chuckling himself, Cullen nodded, “I was taken aback when she requested a word with me. Part of me was more than prepared for her ire having gone against the Knight-Commander. I was almost certain I was going to receive some form of punishment. After all I make no mistake that I believe myself to blame…”
Rylen cut him off, “please, friend, if I wanted to hear ya cry, I’da bought the harder stuff.” Winking he watched Cullen nervously fiddle with the handle of his stein. “You didn’t travel all this way to Starkhaven just for some quality ale. Now, come on man. Spit it out.”
“She’s heading an organization with the Divine’s help. Looking to resurrect the old Inquisition, under the Divine’s banner.” Sighing heavily, he downed a healthy portion of his drink. “She wishes me to lead the army. I’m to become their Commander.” Offering a faint smile he was watching Rylen’s reaction.
Rylen stretched his arms over his head and yawned. Clearly unphased by his words. Picking at the meal laid out between them, he shrugged, “sounds like you could use some help. Gonna be dealin’ with some green ones. Think there’s room for one more?” Quirking a grin up at him, he sighed heavily, “better to be puttin’ the world back than babysitting a bunch of grown fools.”
Already deep in his meal, Cullen nearly dropped his spoon in his stew, “you, you wish to join?” Seeing Rylen nod his head, he let out a nervous snorting chuckle. “I… I would welcome a friend in this. In fact, that is the reason why I came, but to be fair I didn’t expect you to be so eager.”
Lifting his tankard up Rylen raised it towards Cullen as he let out a hearty chuckle, “then, let’s give this mess a proper clean up.” Clinking steins together, the two sat in a more relaxed calm as they finished their meal. Laying out the details of what was to become the Inquisition.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
A character study focusing on the feelings & moments that matter most.
Rylen Appreciation Week 2018 prompts presented in 100-word drabbles.
NOW WITH ART BECAUSE I HAVE PROBLEMS!
Chapter 4/Day 4: Fortuity
Summary - Fortuity: (n) a chance occurrence.
It all started with a look.
One iris ochre, the other umber. He had the strangest urge to touch the shaved side of her head then card his fingers through her raven tresses. When she finally let him… her body was opened to him. She kissed him raw, left crescent imprints on his back, took her teeth to his neck and claimed him.
He has never known a love like hers - real and fierce, and he knows he’ll never be quite the same.
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Rylen Appreciation Event starts this Monday! Which means crunch-time for any of us who like to procrastinate (points to the mod). There is still time to get down and dirty, and make something, though!
A few reminders!
Please read submission guidelines NOW so you understand how things work ahead of time. Once things start rolling in, there might be less time to address issues in a timely manner. We will still answer questions, but there might be a delay.
If you’re submitting something that was already posted before, either on Tumblr or somewhere externally, YOU MAY SUBMIT IT EARLY. Since this is our first year, we have no idea what kind of interest we are looking at, but if we can schedule posts ahead of time, it will greatly help out.
When posting things on themed days, remember to tag appropriately and extensively. You may ‘@’ the blog as well, but considering how crazy it may get, be prepared that we won’t see it like that. The main tag for the event is: #RylenAppreciationWeek
Rylen is the youngest of five, and family is important to him. So what happens when he takes Abigail home to meet his large and rowdy Starkhaven clan?
The beginning was teased yesterday with an answer to @gugle1980, and it's beneath a cut for lenght.
“Are - are you sure they’ll like me? They won’t think I’ve stolen their baby boy from them -”
“Baby boy? Like I’m some wee lad - Abigail, I may be the youngest of five but I’m also five and thirty, now -”
“I know, I just - I’m not from Thedas, I’m a mage - and, well,” she gestures down at herself, pouting as she does.
But all he does is chuckle at her. “Don’t worry, lass - they’ll love you. Although - be ready for some teasing, I’m not the only one who shows affection that way.”
He takes her under her arms and swings her down from the cart, and she smiles to have solid ground under her feet again, even though they haven’t been on a ship in days. She still feels like she’s swaying, and she closes her eyes for a moment, trying to steady herself. The whole journey she’s been sick - she’d been on cruises before back on Earth, and her husband’s friends’ yachts, but she’d never been so seasick. She still feels positively miserable.
“How are you feeling, my love? Better now that you’re not on that rickety ship any longer?”
“Oh god, Ry - don’t mention it, please,” she raises a shaky hand to her forehead and giggles.
“Don’t worry, you’re not the first to retch on me on a ship - you know Cullen was seasick on the way from Kirkwall, too,” Rylen squeezes her hand. “Besides, it’s not like it’s all your fault.”
When she finally feels a bit steadier she opens her eyes and smiles up at him. “So - you really think they’ll like me? They won’t be mad?”
“Why would they be mad?” he frowns.
“I - I mean - I don’t know how people in Thedas view this sort of thing, but -”
“That’s why I’m bringing you home now,” he chuckles. “I want them to get to know you before you’re officially one of the clan. Don’t worry, lass, they’re going to be thrilled.”
“All right,” she sighs, and she reaches down and rests a hand on top of her belly, rubbing it slightly. “It’s not far, is it? I’m fucking starving, I think I could eat a whole druffalo -”
“Aye, you already look like you have,” he teases, reaching over and placing his hand on top of where hers is resting. “It’s not far - we’ll get you and that wee one fed soon.”
Taking her hand again he smiles and presses a kiss to her knuckles before he begins to lead her away, her heart racing as she worries again about whether or not his family will accept her.
As they walk through Starkhaven she thinks about how little she knows about the city, except for what he’s told her. His father was a stonemason, and as she looks around she can tell that it must have been incredibly lucrative work since Starkhaven seems to be all stone. Rylen points out things, chuckling as he reminisces, telling her about growing up there and joining the Templars.
When he finally stops in front of a large stone house, he squeezes her hand. “Are you ready, lass?”
She takes a deep breath and squeezes his hand back. “Aye, lad,” she replies, and he chuckles.
“You almost got the accent right that time,” he teases. “Now remember – Serrick and Elinor -”
“Shouldn’t I start off by calling them Mr. and Mrs. -”
But before she can finish the question the door opens and raucous shouts and laughter greet them, startling Abby and making her jump. With barely any time to register what’s going on, hands pull she and Rylen inside the house, and several people are hug him until she can hardly see his chestnut hair above the others.
“And you must be Abigail – we’ve heard so much -”
“Aye – what a bonny lass you managed to snag for yourself, Ry -”
“She’s glowing – oh Maker and that belly – you wasted no time, Ry -”
“Imogen! Behave!”
“What? It’s true, look at her -”
“Everyone – everyone – please – let the lass breathe, so I can introduce you,” Rylen tries to call over the din.
They manage to quiet, but they all turn and stare at Abby, wide eager smiles on their faces, and as she looks them over she takes in the many sets of aqua eyes fixated on her.
Nervously she gulps, squeezing Rylen’s hand tighter.
“Everyone, this is Abigail Henderson, and yes, Imogen, that belly is my wee one,” Rylen puts his hand on her belly and smirks at the playful glare she gives him. “Abigail – these are my parents, Serrick and Elinor -”
They step forward and take her hands in theirs in turn, both smiling, his mother’s aqua eyes swimming with happy tears as she looks Abby over. “It’s such a pleasure, I never thought our Ry would settle down -”
“Aye, he picked a bonny one, too -” his father winks at her, his hazel eyes twinkling as he looks her over.
“Stop it Da, you’re embarrassing her,” Rylen chuckles. “And then - if you could all just stand still, Maker – that there is Eirick, the eldest – I mean, the old man -”
“Watch it Ry, I could still take you,” his brother quips, and he’s easily identifiable as Rylen’s brother. He’s a bit softer, not as muscular, but just as tall with the same crinkling aqua eyes, his chestnut waves starting to grey at the temples.
“Oh sure you could,” Rylen rolls his eyes and then points to one of the women smiling at Abby, again with sparkling aqua eyes and long auburn hair. “That’s my eldest sister, Deirdre -”
“It’s so nice to meet you, Abigail,” she says as she shakes her hand, her voice soft and even.
“And this is Myrna, the middle sister -”
“Oh, aye Ry, make jokes about my belly when you show up with her looking like that,” his sister chides him, pushing the other sisters aside to make room for her much larger pregnant belly so she can reach Abby. “She’s not as far along, but you just wait -”
“The way she tells it she already looks like a druffalo -” Rylen teases and Abby smacks his chest with the back of her hand as she scoffs. “And this here is the troublemaker, Imogen -”
“I’m not the troublemaker, Ry – that was always you,” Imogen quips as she steps forward, shaking out her chestnut waves as she looks Abby up and down. “Speaking of trouble – she looks like she’s a fine one for you. Aye, I think you’ve finally met your match, little brother.”
Abby smirks and winks as she shakes Imogen’s hand. They’re all so warm, so welcoming, and her nerves are leaving her. His mother is standing close to her, looking slightly hesitant. She’s only barely taller than Abby is, with long, white hair pulled back in a braid. Her eyes are framed with wrinkles that speak of a lifetime of laughter and smiles, and the corners of her mouth are twitching up as she looks over Abby and Rylen.
More people are filling the hall, and suddenly a burst of noise echoes off the stone walls. Children come running down the hall, ranging in ages from their teens to small toddlers, all with auburn or chestnut hair, playing and screaming with glee when they see Rylen. Choruses of “Uncle Ry” fill the air, and he playfully greets all of them.
When he begins trying to name them all and introduce her to his siblings’ spouses, she finally gets lost.
“Ry – Ry I’m never going to remember all of this -” she laughs, staring at the large family surrounding her. “Can’t you guys all wear name tags or something for me for a bit, until I’ve had time -”
“Name tags?” his mother frowns, and Rylen’s face mirrors it as they all stare at her, bemused.
“What’s a name tag, lass?” Rylen asks.
“I – oh, right. Um – just, you know, pin some parchment to your shirt with your name on it,” she explains.
For a moment everyone is silent, looking at her like she’s a bit daft.
And then Rylen bursts out laughing and wraps his arm around her neck, kissing her on the top of her head. “Aye, I’ll make you a list or draw you a diagram, lass. I know it’s a lot to take in.”
“Did – did you have siblings or a family, Abigail?” his mother asks tentatively.
“I – no, I didn’t have any siblings, and my – my mother was my only family, and she passed a few years ago,” Abby explains quietly.
Without any hesitation Elinor steps forward and rests her hands on Abby’s shoulders. “Well, Abigail – you’ve got family now. Come along, I’m certain you’re starving – I’ve made a roast, and we’ve got potatoes and nug stew – traveling all day, and I bet Rylen didn’t feed you. Blasted lad probably forgot that you’ve got his wee one growing in you and need to keep a full belly. I tell you, I did what I could with the lad, but he was always -”
His mother continues talking as she ushers Abby through the house, his siblings and father following, talking with one another. She looks back at Rylen, her eyes wide, unsure of how to respond to any of this.
But merely watches them escort her through the house, a bright smile on his face as he watches his large family embrace her.
Rylen arrives in the Western Approach ahead of schedule and awaits the Inquisitor's arrival.
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.
