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Rylen was ambushed after breaking his fast.
Opposing forces attacked from the flanks and were on him almost before he realized it, overrunning his defenses as if they were nonexistent. He’d tried to resist—Andraste preserve him, he had thrown everything he had into resisting—but he was outmatched.
The smell of sugar...
...the delicate lines of pink frosting...
...it was a beautiful little cake they had offered him as bait, and Maker curse him, he had taken it.
And thus he found himself in Skyhold’s rookery, facing the Inquisition’s glaring spymistress and one of her top lieutenants.
“Tea?” Charter asked.
“Erm,” Rylen said. “No. Thank you.”
“Suit yourself.” The elf sipped daintily at her own mug, a pleasant smile on her face, but Rylen wasn’t watching her—his eyes were glued to the other redhead. Not because Leliana, Sister Nightingale, former Left Hand of the Divine, had his attention or his affection (those, he had to admit, were engaged elsewhere, in the pale eyes that haunted his thoughts and the white vallaslin that he wanted to trace with his lips and the slim legs he wanted—Andraste’s ashes, man, focus), but because she was, to put it bluntly, terrifying. A raven perched on her shoulder, head tilted to stare at Rylen in uncannily perfect imitation of its mistress.
“I suppose you’re wondering why we invited you here.”
Rylen snapped his gaze back to Charter, who had spoken. “Invited?” he repeated before he could think better of being sarcastic at this particular moment.
“Come now, Rylen,” Leliana scolded him, as quiet as an assassin’s blade, “if we chose to kidnap you, you wouldn’t know until it was too late.”
Well, that’s comforting.
“We simply want a chat,” Charter said, still smiling.
“A chat,” he repeated.
“Between friends.”
“I see,” he said.
“Would that be alright with you?”
“I,” he managed, "suppose?"
As if that was some signal, Charter leaned forward, elbows on her thighs, smile showing teeth now as she produced a dagger and a whetstone from nowhere. Even more terrifying, Leliana crossed behind Rylen’s chair—he was all at once too nervous to have her out of view, and too nervous to turn his head, he had to admit it was all masterfully done. When the Nightengale spoke again, her voice was far too close to his ear.
“Tell me, Rylen,” she hissed around the shick shick of Charter sharpening the dagger, “just what are your intentions with my dear Farie?”
When the Inquisitor arrived at Skyhold's rookery, her Commander's second-in-command was vacating it with the swiftness and expression of a man pursued by a bear. He left behind a silver tea service, a chair with suspicious dagger-shaped gouges in its wooden arms, and Leliana, feeding a sliver of raw meat to one of her ravens. Kiara crossed her arms as she regarded her spymistress.
“I thought you were having tea with him.”
“There was tea! It’s not my fault he didn’t drink any of it.”
“Leliana, what did you do to that poor man?”
“Oh, nothing much.” She waved a hand as if mild trauma was just part of the game. “How did it go with Farie?”
“Quite well, actually. Because we had a pleasant conversation over tea. Like normal people. Like you were supposed to with Rylen.”
Leliana gave a mysterious smile, merry eyes dancing as they met Kiara’s. “Don’t you want to know if it worked?”
“...do you think it did?”
“I’m sure of it. The man is besotted. You should have heard him going on and on—her jokes would cause the Maker to smile, she is as loyal and fierce as Andraste’s mabari, she is his sun and moon and starlit sky, he was all but building a little cottage at the seaside.”
Kiara couldn’t contain a delighted grin. Method notwithstanding, if Leliana was sure, it was as good as done. “Brilliant, because unless I miss my guess, Farie has finally opened her eyes. At one point she stopped talking and said..." she dropped her voice in imitation of the breathy whisper Farie had used, tried to imitate the look of realization, "'oh.'"
Leliana tore another strip of meat for the beady-eyed black bird. "A soft oh is an excellent sign. Our bets are placed for tomorrow, yes?”
“They are.”
“Good. I’ll send her on a short trip, give them both a few hours to stew in their feelings. She’ll be back by midnight, and then by morning…” She winked, and the raven cawed, and Kiara laughed even as she felt a small twinge of...not fear of her spymistress, exactly. Respect, perhaps. A twinge of apprehension, if that.
“You know,” she said, “I’m glad you’re on my side.”
Leliana merely smiled. “You ought to be.”