Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Xan de Riva awakens to a kick to her heel. Eyes crack open to Tarquin hovering over her with his typical glare and an armful of letters. Damn, she fell asleep on his couch in her clothes and boots again.

"Rook." He drops a bundle of them on her stomach. "You have a place. Stop getting your shite delivered here. I am a military man. Give me some plausible fucking deniability." He still sets out a cup of coffee for her on the table nearby before he walks away. 

Xan groans, rising to a sitting position. “But who will protect my mail if not for a big, strong military man?” She’ll have to make good on getting those cinnamon rolls she promised him; part gift, part bribe. The Crow grabs the cup of coffee, takes a sniff, and winces. How Tarquin can drink this swill, she’s not sure. She’ll add Antivan coffee beans to her bribe. Reluctantly, Xan takes a sip and sifts through her mail. Based on the seals, there’s something from Viago, Lucanis, Rana, Maevaris, and Elek.

A busy mind is better than a still one, she supposes. The calm times were when Xan wondered why she was still here. Busy meant she could keep up on rent on an apartment she didn't even sleep in. The… previous tenant may have paid her old place through for six months to not leave Xan out in the cold literally, but figuratively? The chill of it was enough for her to sleep on couches all around Dock Town, even as she couldn't bear to let the lease lapse. It started as a silly sentiment: keep the apartment with the hope its original tenant returned. The weeks turned into months, and now the desk collects dust instead of case notes. 

Xan starts with the letter from Viago.

Vigilantes don't get paid. Wait. ~ Viago

As well humored as always. She tosses the letter over her shoulder with a chuckle, already forgotten. Lucanis’ next.

Treviso is doing better with the help of the Wardens. There's room at Villa Dellamorte if you're feeling homesick. And contracts enough to keep you busy, my friend. ~ Lucanis

This letter she sets aside gently, admiring the practically flawless script of his handwriting. Xan did miss home; she’d have gone back sooner but there was a brief time when Minrathous was meant to be her new home… or so she thought. She grabs Rana’s letter and opens as she takes another sip of coffee.

Thanks for the save from the roofs the other day, Rook. Stay in one place long enough, I might even be able to say it to your face instead of passing it to Tarquin. I owe you a drink at the Swan. ~ Savas

Rana Savas having a soft spot for her feels like a significant achievement. She’s seen her work with others, it was always the same no-nonsense business. Thanks to Xan’s help with cases this past year, they finally have a solid rapport; not unlike how Rana was with—

Xan moves onto Mae’s letter. This one is clearly from one of the new Archon's aides, as it’s florid enough to make her eyes cross. An invitation for some ball during The Spring Festival, one event of many over the coming weeks to celebrate the changing of seasons in Minrathous. There’s even a letter of credit to see a local tailor.

The Spring Festival, an event she once held dear to her heart, now just exists as a tainted memory. Maybe she’ll take on one of Lucanis’ contracts by the time festivities are in full swing. She finally gets to Elek’s letter.

Cida's got a job for a pretty lady with a pretty voice. We remember who our friends are. ~ E

Dammit. It could only benefit her to stay in the Threads’ good graces… but did it have to be this way? Xan pulls herself together in Tarquin’s mirror before setting out. “See you later, Tarquin!” she yells with a shit eating grin. She’s out the door before he can formulate a retort. 

The walk to the Cobbled Swan isn’t far, but it is busy. During her time working in the city, Xan’s started to recognize more people, and they weren’t shy about recognizing her. She makes her way down to the Swan, and is hit with a familiar scent, causing her stomach to grumble. She’ll stop by Hal’s after, but first…

Xan spots Elek, true to form, running one of his typical scams on a hapless soul at the bar. "Best protection charm you can get in the city. Handsome lad like you, I've even got one you can use with the ladies—" 

The Crow smirks, brushing hair from her face as she saunters over to the bar. “It’s true, it even worked on me,” she says, resting a hand upon Elek’s chest and batting her eyelashes. What is it they say: a sucker is born every minute?

Elek grins, winking at his potential client. "Think about it while you polish that beer off, mate," allowing Xan to push him along.

The rogue takes him by the arm and walks to their usual table, and if she happens to sway her hips just a bit more than normal? Well… that’s just money in her pocket. “I’ll take thirty percent for my contribution to a successful sale,” she says playfully as she sits down opposite Elek.

"It's a contraceptive charm, that really wasn't needed..." he starts. 

Xan waves him off. “You’re clever, you’ll find a way to spin it.” She takes in the atmosphere of the Swan; not too rowdy but a far cry from a Chantry cathedral. The food is… fine and the drinks flow consistently. Xan even has a usual order she’s known for. It still amazes her how much of herself she’s shared with Dock Town. If only it meant something.

“So,” Xan starts, eyeing Elek. “Tell me about this job for Cida.” 

"Ah!" He reaches into his breast pocket and slides the parchment across the table to her. It contains... a set list. 

"New Archon has been trying to connect more with the lower districts. Cida's got a job performing at their ball, but... some people know about her regular performances at a Threader bar. Not only have you got a set of lungs on ya', you offer an air of... legitimacy." He's grinning. "You save one world, and everyone forgets your other profession. Give me a call next time there's a god to kill, I could use the reputation bump."

A glass of wine is placed on the table in front of Xan. She sighs, looking over the set list. “I don’t think any gods would drop dead from being swindled with fake charms,” she jokes. She thanks the server for the wine, but with an air of confusion; that’s not her usual order. When her eyes catch Rana at a nearby table, it starts to make sense.

“Oy! A man never lies about a charm to dick down, you know how dead I’d be otherwise?” 

“Alright, fine,” Xan says to Elek. “And you can tell Cida I’m in.” She stands, grabbing her glass of wine and taking two steps before, “Tell her I’m not wearing any flowers in my hair this time.” Not like she has someone to give them to, anyways…

Elek lets her go with a grin. Even Rana has a faint smile to spare for her as Xan comes to her table and takes the open seat, unprompted.

“You know, I’d usually charge liquor as payment for rooftop assistance.” Xan swirls the wine and takes a sip. “But this will do.”

“Figured the wine would leave you sharper when dealing with someone as slippery as Elek.” She’s uncoiling a partial map of the catacombs as she gets ready to work. “That and I thought you might be interested in the latest contract I’d gotten. Slave purchase, sellers trying to keep it under the table given the changes the new Archon is slowly gathering votes on. A few friendly Shadows passed on the contract. Apparently they’re headed to Antiva if it isn’t cut off tonight.”

"Damn," Xan says, leaning in. "I assume you have a time and place?"

Rana nods. “The question is, who there has a reason to be buying?”

‘Plenty of people,’ Xan thinks. "So where do I fall into this exactly?" The Crow takes another sip of wine.

Rana takes a deep breath as she leans in. “Am I going to be pissing off an entire House of Crows letting their new ‘recruits’ go free?” 

Xan has worked hard over the last year to connect the Crows and Shadow Dragons, but it’s still only the houses of Dellamorte, de Riva, and Cantori. She doesn’t have as many connections to the others. "Unless you can give them something of equal or greater value? Yes. Depending on the house, I can help bridge a divide, but it won't be easy."

“Well... I don’t have time to soothe egos. It’s tonight, or never for me. This city is the only place I can do something. I don’t have a ship to give chase.” Rana’s food is delivered, growing quiet to keep the server from overhearing. “You coming or not?” Just another way the two places Xan has lived, maybe even called home, are pulling her apart.

It could be the wine on an empty stomach, it could be Rana's righteous attitude, or it could be this city settling deeper in her heart than she realized. Regardless of reason… 

"Of course I'm coming."

Tarquin is actually laughing as they lean on each other, with Rana holding up Xan’s other side needlessly... she was just sore. It’s like three friends stumbling home drunk at the end of the night, except it’s three freedom fighters that just saved five lives. “There’s some good shite to smoke back at the shop the Lords of Fortune traded to us,” Tarquin says.

“I’ve got a bottle of brandy back at the agency office,” Rana offers as an alternative. They both look to Xan, satisfied grins just visible under their hoods.

"I'm leaning brandy," she says. "Onward, to the agency!"

There’s stories, laughter, and one dramatic reenactment of a knife fight. It’s shockingly easy between them. As they round the corner, the sign comes into view. Gallus & Savas, Investigators. Even after a year, Rana never changed it.

Xan's heart steels at the sign, but she shrugs it off as she makes her way inside. Taking off her jacket and making herself comfortable, she looks at Tarquin and Rana. "So, I've been tasked with performing at the festival..."

Rana’s smile grows as she gets the bottle and glasses. Tarquin points. “You better not hog my bathroom for hours gettin’ prettied up for it.” 

"Please, I'm hardly the main event." She takes a seat on the couch and kicks her feet up. "But I expect you both to be there as my biggest fans."

“Depends on where it’s at,” Tarquin says. “I might be able to tolerate your crowin’ if ticket prices aren’t robbing me blind.”

“The Archon’s Palace,” Rana fills in, passing them glasses. “I may have been eavesdropping. Learned to keep an eye on Elek some time ago,”

"Yeah, that," the rogue says, taking the glass and raising it. "Alright, what are we cheers-ing to tonight?"

“A real inspiration to Dock Town,” Rana says, sinking to sit beside her with a pat to her back. “We might have been hiding our faces tonight, but... the people see what you do for them.” Tarquin actually nods in approval.

If she were recognized, Xan will have started a war with House Balazar. Viago would kill her. And for what? Five lives, two idiots to drink with, and the memory of a girl that didn’t care enough to stay? What kind of Crow is Xan at this rate? 

She slams her drink in one go, the burn in her throat preferable to a head full of useless thoughts and consequences. Xan grabs the bottle to top off her glass. "Yeah. A real inspiration I am..." Her eyes drift to the empty desk in the corner and she wonders how different her life would look if—

Xan empties her glass again.

“More than you know,” Rana admits, her own gaze heavy on that same desk, carrying her own regrets. Tarquin takes the bottle to top his own glass slowly as little more than an excuse to slow the other two down. He’s giving her far less grief tonight. “Don’t let it go to your head, Rook.”

"Not sure where else it's supposed to go," she mumbles. Xan sets the glass down before leaning forward to hold her head in her hands. "I gotta get rid of that apartment," she says. "Let someone else have a chance at a roof over their head instead of it sitting there rotting."

Rana hangs her head. “Until then… I’ll get your share of the commission from tonight.”

Tarquin claps her on the shoulder. “You need help finding a new place?”

The Crow shakes her head. "No, I..." She takes a deep breath. "Maybe I'll travel for a bit. Visit home, sure, but see what else is out there."

Rana passes her a pouch. “You’ll still stay for the festival though, right? Say some proper goodbyes?”

"Yeah, of course," Xan says, taking the pouch. "It'll be like a last hurrah." She’ll eat, drink, and be merry with the people who have had her back for the past year—unlike some, she would actually say goodbye to their faces.

The hug she gets is far more fierce than expected. The urge to poke fun at Rana dies on her lips as Xan feels just how real this embrace is. It’s comforting to know it all means as much to the detective, because it certainly means a whole lot to her. She swallows, leaning back to look at Rana. "It'll be great," Xan says, trying to convince herself of that more than anything.

“It’ll be better than being left wondering.” As Rana releases her, Tarquin just grabs her in a headlock, his own brand of affection.

“Whatever, ya nuisance. I’ll drag ya back before you drink so much I have to carry you.”

Xan laughs; a real, genuine laugh. "Yeah, yeah, you're gonna miss me sleeping on your couch."

The smell of coffee in the morning. The sounds of cheering filtering through the window. Small, soft hands pushing the hair back from Xan’s face gently. This is… familiar isn’t the word. This didn’t happen much before, did it? But it feels exactly how she imagines it would, dreams it would. 

Xan sinks further into the feeling, content to keep her eyes shut for just a bit longer. Hands slip under her shoulders and sit her up carefully, even as she groans. When her eyes don’t open, an insistent hand pats her cheek. “Time to wake up, pup.”

The briefest vision of teal slips away as soon as she opens her eyes. "Huh… yeah?"

Lorelei taps the tip of her nose. “Time to wake up if you’re going to enjoy any of the festival with the real folks in Dock Town. You might be singing at the Palace tonight… but the food’s better down here.” She plops a folded up dress into Xan’s lap. “Get dressed, I’ll grab you a cuppa caf, and then help you get your hair up.” There’s a bouquet of local flowers on the coffee table. 

Xan groans, grabbing her head—so much for Tarquin getting her back at a reasonable time. She lifts the dress; nicer than the last one they stuffed her into, but not something she would choose for herself. As her eyes fall to the bouquet, she calls after Lorelai. "Um, yeah, I mentioned no flowers this time!" She starts to undress.

"Not to me you didn't!" There's clinking from the kitchen. "Don't be a grump! You don't want to look out of place next to Cida, do you?"

The Crow goes to yell back, but stops herself. "Fine, whatever," she mumbles to herself as she steps into the dress. She doesn't even bother attempting the laces in the back, instead plopping down in a chair to get her hair done.

Tarquin walks out of the bathroom, mercifully quiet with his toothbrush planted in his mouth. He points at her back, motioning for her to turn around, and holds his hands out to offer assistance.

Xan slides like liquid out of her chair in dramatic reluctance. She turns her back to Tarquin, arms raised like a toddler. His mumbling still manages to hold a distinct air of sass as his hands work with practiced ease. He turns her around by the shoulders, looks her up and down, and holds a finger up. One minute, before going back to his room for something.

When Lorelei returns with coffee for three, which smells far superior to anything Tarquin could brew, something comes whizzing out the door of Tarquin's room to thump against Xan's chest. Although distracted, she catches it with ease—as a Crow whose peers threw knives at each other for fun would. It's a gorgeous tooled leather cincher with a delicate taper to the waist; adorned not in the patterns of serpents she was so used to seeing all over Minrathous… but fanning feathers, multitudes of small songbirds in flight.

Xan has to admit, she's impressed. She wraps it around her waist, admiring its intricate design. "Wow, who knew you had style," she jokes as she gratefully accepts the coffee from Lorelai.

Tarquin flips her off with another mumble as he heads back to the bathroom to finish up. Lorelai is grinning at the sight of her, taking up a brush to carefully tend to her hair as she sits. "Don't you worry, dear, you're not the first one I've done this for. At first, I didn't know what to think of my first spring in Minrathous as a free woman, but… it's grown on me. There's a lot of similarities to old elven traditions throughout."

Xan nods along, though not familiar in the slightest with old elven traditions; she's got the Crows to thank for that. "Yeah, the last festival I went to was unlike anything I'd ever seen before. I wasn't sure what to expect either, but Ne—" Xan sighs. "It was… as beautiful as I was told it would be."

Lorelei squeezes her shoulder, braiding her hair gently but firm enough to hold the coming adornments. "Everything was such madness last year with all you pups were up to." She places each flower individually, trimming the stems to size for her. "Reminded me a bit of one of my earlier years. I was too… angry to celebrate. The Shadows offered to get me back to Ferelden if I wanted. But life wasn't much better there, and I didn't even know if I had any family left. I was going to spend the whole festival breaking into mansions in the upper city, risking my neck."

Xan sits as still as possible, though with the costume and hair… it all starts to feel very real. "This year will be different," she says matter-of-factly. "We're going to celebrate like we've got everything in the world going for us."

"Yet you're still clenching your arse like you're ready to slit a throat," Lorelai says, tapping one of her toes to Xan's. She tilts their head back and forth, seeing how the light plays on her features, brushing her signature streak of bangs out over one eye. "I count myself lucky that someone was willing to sit me down. Forced me to wait and breathe through it while they did my hair. Taught me one of the traditional pole dances, so much like the ones we did around the Vhenadahl in spring at home." A few more flowers are trimmed up. "Even offered to find out if I still had any family alive back in Denerim so I could make up my mind about staying or going." A light pat of Xan's cheek. "I stayed for a reason." 

"They're lucky to have you," Xan says. She's so in awe of Lorelai; these are the kinds of people she wants to meet and help, if not here then elsewhere. As the Shadow Dragon trims even more flowers, she feels the need to speak up. "Not too big there, alright? Don't want people thinking I'm 'spoken for' or whatever it is Cida said."

Lorelei's brow crinkles sympathetically. "Whatever you're most comfortable with, pup." She stares at one of the flowers, and places it in Xan's hand. "It's not all romantic love, you know. The biggest garlands might be worn for weddings, but most of the people you're gonna see on the street today?" She pulls a bright yellow dethorned rose from her own hair to slide into Xan's. "They'll be wearing the stories of everyone that cares about them."

‘Everyone that cares about them,’ echoes in the Crow's head. ‘Or so you think. Odds are they’ll just up and leave in the end,’ an intrusive thought booms. Xan isn’t about to ruin Lorelai’s mood, though, especially after the great work she’s done. “Looks amazing, Lorelai,” she says admiring herself in the nearby mirror. “Truly. Thank you.” 

Tarquin unceremoniously tosses another bloom on her lap as he passes, this one a sprig of red snapdragon, as he scoops his coffee cup and continues through the apartment. 

"Shadows stick together, darling. You going to explore around town with anyone today, or just looking to get a bit lost in the crowd on your own?"

Xan smiles, tucking the red snapdragon into her hair. "I think just on my own for a bit, you know, get lost in the city one last time."

Lorelei pulls her into a hug. "Stop by the Pawn Shop if you need anything. And keep an eye on the time. Don't want to keep the crowd at the Palace waiting tonight."

The streets are packed, the bars overflowing, and people hawking every indulgence imaginable. There's a distant memory of all the things Harding wanted to see on reputation, until a certain mage burst her bubble about what wasn't worth the time or money in Hightown. But down here… the choices are overwhelming.

Xan takes it all in; the people, the energy. Minrathous doesn’t feel like this every day, but when it does, it’s enough to make her fall in love with the city all over again. She keeps to the side of the street to avoid staining her dress before the show—a task proving to be difficult as people of all ages pass with their food on sticks or in flimsy bowls. 

Her first stop is a local trinket shop filled with the most basic Minrathous memorabilia in the city. If she's leaving, why not take a souvenir? 'I Heart Minrathous' on a tunic may make her laugh one day.

As she makes her way there, she nearly trips over an over-excited dog circling her. "Hey! I remember you! You helped Vir when he fell in the spillway!" A little girl runs up, petting her dog. Xan can recall that very wet rescue of the fluffy companion. "Happy Eek-equin-," the girl struggles with the wording. "Happy Festive day!" She offers Xan a small cluster of white Baby's Breath blooms from her hair.

Xan’s heart soars at the little girl and her companion. She graciously takes the flowers from the girl, picking one out of her hair to offer in return. “Happy Festive day to you, too!”

As she goes to slip it into the girl's hair, something catches her eye. A bright blue flower with many points. Bronna's Bloom. A single one sitting nestled among the child's cascade of white.

Xan does a quick double take before confirming it is indeed Bronna’s Bloom, a flower local only to the Anderfels. All the way out here, though? The air departs her lungs as she’s smacked with memories. “Hey, kid. Where’d you get the blue flower?”

The girl's eyes roll skyward as if trying to see it. "The pretty blue? A Warden! Down by the games row! She was big and tall and rode a griffon and had a griffon for a leg and I missed the first time on the throwing game, but she taught me to throw an axe right and I won Squiggles!" She pulls a plush snake from her belt and shakes it triumphantly.

The kid's father has found them by now, and scoops his daughter up from behind. "You did win Squiggles. But before you ask again, you did not win an axe. Not until you're older."

"When I'm a Warden, you can't tell me what to do!"

"Good thing you aren't a Warden now." He grins at Xan. "Good to see you again, Miss Rook. And thank you. Happy Equinox." 

“H-Happy Equinox,” Xan says back, slightly shaken. A griffon-riding Warden with a griffon for a leg? She hates the feeling that stirs in her, the one that feels like hope. It creeps up her stomach into her heart, and she’s quick to squash it out. Waving the pair goodbye, she continues to the trinket shop.

The fact that there are cheap knockoffs of The Viper’s mask and hat all over the shop is hilariously brilliant. Having been embraced as a local hero, things like this would actually allow him to get lost in a crowd and lose the guards while Maevaris worked on more just laws.

She takes her time perusing the shop, waiting for the right item to pop out at her. It doesn’t, so she settles for a small red dragon figurine. Xan pays, probably a bit too much for what it’s worth, and continues on her way. The sentiment is silly now that she thinks of it, especially if she’s planning on traveling. Where would she even put this? She stares at it as she makes her way through the crowd. The girl mentioned the games row, maybe she could win herself something there. Yeah, that’s reason enough to check it out, despite her heart screaming otherwise.

As Xan walks the row, she sees many opportunities to raise hell. Trials of precision from short archery ranges to ball tosses and axe throws; each game a cakewalk considering all she's done in life. Does she really need colorful kites, hats, and plush toys, though? The families clustered around make it clear: this is where the children were calling the shots. Except for the fencing booth with its dull epees and overly padded gambesons, where a number of teenage boys seem to be settling their differences.

An older woman taps Xan’s arm in passing, hunched over on a cane. "Aren't you Rook?" She adjusts her glasses.

The Crow gives a cursory glance for Warden blue before turning to the woman. “I am,” she confirms. “Enjoying the festival?” 

"That I am… thanks to you." Her grin is broad, deepening the lines about her eyes. "I've been an herbalist in this neighborhood for fifty years. I don't know what magic you and your friends have for preserving plants, but… that whole bushel of fresh elfroot you brought from Arlathan after the fighting a year ago? Saved a lot of lives." She points a shaking finger toward the fencing booth at a young man that looked no more than fifteen. "Including my grandson." Her hand can barely grasp one of the lilies in her hair, but she offers it to Xan. "Thank you." 

Xan stares, wide eyed at the flower until she remembers to offer up one of her own. “Yeah, anytime. Really,” she says. She’s never really been in it for the gratitude, there was never much of it anyways. But when there is… it makes the bad times feel worth it.

As they exchange blooms, the young man comes jogging up. Now rid of the padded armor, he adjusts a wreath around his neck; one that some folks with shorter hair would wear instead of adorning their hair. "I'm ready for lunch if you are, Grandma!" He bows politely to Xan, and she spots a blue flower in his wreath. As well as a suspiciously large, grey feather in his hat.

“Uh, one sec,” she says, leaning to get a better look. “Did a Warden give you that flower?” There’s that hope creeping up again, this time reaching all the way to her throat.

His eyes brighten. "Yeah! There were two of them!" He starts to snicker a little. "They had a real griffon with them! Which… I didn't see until it had munched half my funnel cake. The big dude was so embarrassed, but the woman with him said the griffon could trade for his own meal if I was ok with it, cause he scratched a feather out." He pulls the feather from his hat, turning it over with a look of wonder. "None of my friends have a story like that. I traded flowers with her while the guy tried to keep everyone from feeding the griffon junk food."

A griffon stealing food and embarrassing its owner? If that’s not Davrin and Assan, she’ll chew off her arm. Xan doesn’t think of the woman. Can’t. The question on the tip of her tongue falls out her mouth. “Do you know where they went?” 

"I think they were gonna head to the docks to get some fresh fish before the griffon filched any more sweets."

Dammit, probably Hal’s. She takes off in a brisk walk, thanking the family profusely before going. Her heart is racing as she practically jogs down the boardwalk to Hal’s stand, hoping. For what, she has no idea. 

As she reaches the docks, she can see that the smell isn't quite as bad as usual. Most of the fishmongers have their catch on fresh ice helping it keep; a number of whom also have blooms in their hair or in wreaths on their necks. Hal has one too, Xan sees as she finally comes within view of his stand. He waves to her with a grin, getting help from his grandson today to help keep the long line moving quickly.

Xan hops the side of the stand to the ire of people in line. Her eyes flick from the blooms to Hal himself and she gives him a stern look. “Hal…” she says in a drawn out voice. He should know; he should know what it is she’s so desperate to hear, but can’t bring herself to outright ask.

He turns to her with a grin and a skewered fish with vegetables. "Rook! Come to collect that meal I owe ya'?" He holds it out.

Xan doesn’t even look at the food. “Please,” she begs. After all the trips to Hal’s she took, moping into her fried fish… she hopes he can spare her the anguish and just tell her.

Hal looks back to his grandson, and pats his shoulder. "Hold down the fort a minute," and he steps out of his booth to take Rook gently by the arm. "It's Neve, kid. She's back."

Her heartbeat booms in her ears. Neve is back. Xan already knew it, though, right? All the signs pointed to her… so why did it feel like the air got punched out of her? The sounds of the docks and the crowds start to fade into a muffled static. With tension coursing throughout her body, she turns away. “I, uh. I gotta go.” 

He pulls her up short before she can run. "Hey… Xan." Hal takes a deep breath. "She was a good kid. A great woman. Doesn't mean she wasn't a fuck up sometimes, too. No free passes. You deserve to be happy."

With that, he lets her go. Her feet lead her to the Swan, right to an open stool at the bar. Hal’s words play on a loop in Xan’s head as she flags down the bartender. No free passes? She deserves to be happy? What the hell was he trying to say? She is happy, mostly. It’s been at least two months since she’s cried about it. And of course Neve is a great woman, amazing even… just to those she doesn’t hold close to her.

Xan thinks of Rana; how hard she struggled getting the agency up and running in the wake of Neve’s departure. No resources, no contacts, just a goal once shared that she was left to reach on her own. Xan can feel the anger flare up in her again. Where is the damn bartender? 

There's a scrape of wood on wood as the stool next to her is suddenly filled. "Rook," and Rana looks harried. The bartender turns to them, glances between their ashen expressions, and holds up a bottle of whiskey in suggestion.

Xan can only nod before turning her attention to the other woman. “Rana, good. I need to talk to you,” she starts.

"Leave the bottle," Rana tells the bartender. "She's back," she tells Xan before downing a shot.

Xan slams a shot of her own. “Yeah,” she says, wiping her chin. “How’d you find out?”

"Went to the office this morning. There was a bag under her desk. All her things. Must have stashed it at some point before..." she gestures vaguely. "I don't know. I haven't found her yet to ask."

The Crow foregoes the shot glass to sip from the bottle, anger simmering in her heart. “Good. Great. Well, you find her and once you do, let me know so I can go the opposite fucking direction.” As if she hadn’t just spent the last hour following her trail, but now that it’s confirmed…

Rana blinks. "Xan..." She grabs the bottle next. "You can't be serious."

“Deadly,” she says. “I finally got over… I have plans now, things I’m going to do… she doesn’t get to change that.”

Rana drinks deep. "I'll do what I can. I owe you that. But no guarantees. This city is a lot smaller than it seems when you're trying to hide."

“Good thing I’ll be gone soon, then.” Xan grabs the bottle from Rana and takes a dramatically long swig. “Right, well I’m meant to be enjoying the festival—she can’t stop me from doing that. Here,” she tosses some gold on the table. “Best of luck to us both,” Xan says as she walks away from the bar and out the door, bottle still in hand.

Rana looks like she wants to give chase, her face betraying just as much pain. Instead, she hangs her head into her hands, letting the only other person who might understand go.

The streets feel a lot more oppressive knowing she could run into the biggest… impediment to her plans possible. Would closure be better? Or should she not even give her the chance? Everyone is closing in, the crowd getting denser. 

The midday parade would be starting soon, a solemn procession through town to gather at the Wall of Light. Many mages will be gathering to offer their services lighting lamps for free. The evening parade wouldn't be until after Xan's performance that night, when people gather at the water's edge to release their garlands into the bay.

She decides to stick to the side streets and alleys. It wasn’t right to leave Rana high and dry like that, but was anything about this right? She’ll make it up to her somehow. Xan fiddles with the small dragon figurine in one hand, occasionally sipping from the bottle in the other. The crowd seems to move in one cohesive direction, and she absentmindedly follows.

The march is a beautiful sight if nothing else; everyone in their best and brightest, making way for those who have ones to mourn. With the Veil supposedly thin, their mourning can be heard before they release their pain, and move on to celebrate all the good this year has brought them. There are… so many this year going to the wall. Xan can't help but pause at how many faces are familiar even if she can't place all their names.

She thinks of Harding again, and her enthusiasm over visiting Minrathous. She deserves to have a light on the wall, shining bright. Xan follows the procession, with the intention of mourning her friend properly.

As her feet carry her, more and more join the procession, and a shadow falls over her. A familiar scent like wood smoke and well-oiled armor reaches her before the touch on her shoulder does. A dark, strong hand clasps her shoulder warmly, Davrin's smile a warm balm. He falls in step with her. "Rook… it's damn good to see you."

Xan is elated to say the least as she turns to Davrin and embraces him. She’s missed him, the closeness they shared. He was family. Still is. “Davrin…” she says, hugging him. Xan never had any siblings of her own, but the Warden felt like the closest thing to one. “Come, we’ll light a lantern for Harding at the wall.”

He nods in agreement. "I was thinking the same." His one-armed squeeze lifts her clear off her feet a moment before they continue the march. "How have you been? I heard all about the good work you've been doing with the Shadow Dragons and Crows."

“It’s an uphill battle, but both cities are healing,” Xan explains. “I mean, look at this. We saved this.” She admires the lights and floral adornments of passers by on a street still standing. “But what about you? How’s Assan? Have you kept up with the griffons in Arlathan?”

“Assan has… gotten big. He’s taking riders now! Not enough to fly with them yet, but the more we train the stronger he gets. I take him to see his brothers and sisters pretty often, but… he always comes back with me. I think he’s gonna be a griffon of the Wardens but… I’m ok with that if it’s his choice.“

“That’s really amazing, Davrin,” Xan says as her heart is filled with warmth. “I’ll have to come visit soon.”

"I was hoping you'd come to visit Lavendel sooner! We've got the Cauldron contained and mostly built back up like I mentioned in my last letter. We're hoping to press back to Weisshaupt and rebuild. Maybe… figure out what the Wardens even are anymore as we lay the stones. But I understand; you were busy."

Xan had wanted desperately to visit, not just Davrin but Antoine, Evka, even Mila as well. Guilt creeps into her as she casts her gaze elsewhere. “Yeah, busy...” she says unconvincingly. Busy hiding… avoiding. She puts on her best smile. “I’m leaving Minrathous, though! Figured I’d lend my talents elsewhere, see the world.”

"You're not gonna stay then? Now that Neve's back?"

Xan comes to a halt, staring at Davrin—it’s clear how genuine he’s being. What does he think happened between her and…

“Stay? Davrin, we’re… we aren’t together anymore.” 

He looks...heartbroken. "Damn, I… I'm sorry, Xan. It never came up in your letters. With the way she never took—and she was always writing. I thought… it was to you."

The air left her lungs in disbelief. “No… not me.” Xan continues walking, taking another sip from the bottle. There are questions she wants to ask, but something holds her back. She shouldn’t want to know anything about her, because why would it matter? What would it change?

"I guess… that's why you weren't at the shop when we got in. Assan barely fits through the Eluvian now. Had to have him fly out the side window and meet us around front cause he definitely doesn't fit through the door." He shakes his head. "Damn. I'm sorry, Rook. I'd have written more often, said more when I did, to keep you in the loop."

“It’s okay, it’s not your fault. I was always happy to hear from you. Besides, correspondence about relationship drama feels so… immature.” It’s coming; the urge to ask, to know. Her heart races in her chest as it screams to find out: where is she now?

"Well… you've got me now. And tonight! We got invited to that big party Tilani is throwing. Bet they've never seen a Warden and a Crow drink, or it wouldn't be an open bar, right?"

“You’re damn right,” she says as she recalls rowdy nights together, ending with the two of them waking up in precarious places around the Lighthouse. She remembers this one particularly funny time when Neve…

Xan fidgets with her hands as she walks. “So… if she’s back like you say… where is she?” she asks, desperate to convey a casual tone in her voice. 

He grins awkwardly. "Well… the idea of the hometown girl riding a griffon in a parade? And giving me a chance to eat lunch without Assan begging? It was a win w—" He looks at her, catching something out of the corner of his eye. As his head turns and he opens his mouth, her own view of him suddenly lists. She can feel a pull on the back of her dress as she's lifted and spun about.

"Assan! No! I didn't say ‘Help Up!’" There's a victorious squawk as she’s slung up onto Assan's back. The bottle in her hand sloshes whiskey, almost hitting her dress… but it freezes solid in a spray from the rim. Xan looks up to find herself… face to face with Neve, fingers chilled by the mage’s touch to the bottle she still clutches. Neve looks just as stunned as her, leaning back. At least, until instinct casts an arm about Xan to keep her from sliding off, pulling them flush to each other. 

Xan’s eyes meet hers, and she can feel the red hot blush travel from her cheeks all the way to her ears. The arm wrapped around her was so strong, so supportive that it was… distracting.

Neve is dressed like a Warden; the rumors Xan chased coming together all at once. She dons a rough spun linen tunic under a mix of brown and grey leather armor, a capelet in that signature dusty blue, and a hand axe at her side. The rogue’s eyes trail down to see the gleaming silver steel of a new prosthetic, Neve’s lower leg cupped by a griffon's curved wings. Its beak and front claws shine in front of her knee, the tail extending down and curving into what appears to be a flexible foot. For all its details, it actually looks simpler than her cobra. Does this mean she took the Joining? Did she— 

Neve’s arm tightens about Xan again as Assan shakes a bit, and she leans to stare at the back of the griffon's head. "Feeling real smug right about now, aren't you?" Her voice, still so deep and inviting, sends a rush to Xan’s head.

Another squawk in answer, and a content grinding of his beak. Neve sighs, straightening again in the saddle. Her gaze doesn't meet Xan's eyes, even as her arm doesn't withdraw. "Hey, Trouble," she manages, and it sounds like the words are dragged from her throat over broken glass.

The old nickname hits the rogue’s ears like claws on a board, sending her heart racing… but a small warmth flutters in her stomach as well. She feels sick; it’s all she can do to inhale and exhale on repeat, like she has her entire life. “Neve…” she says, the name foreign on her tongue. This shouldn’t be happening, she was going to steer clear until the end of the festival. By that time, she’d be halfway on a boat somewhere else. “I… I gotta get off.”

"It-it's so crowded, we're almost there—" The crowd is pressed to their sides, petting the griffon in admiration as they walk. 

“No, now—“ Xan argues. She looks for a way off, an opening, anything. The Crow is trapped, and she can feel herself growing frantic. Her breathing picks up in pace as the onslaught of colors and noise takes over her senses.

"Hey, hey…" Neve's arm around her cradles her back firmly, the other reaching to hold the back of her head as Xan is pulled into an embrace. "You don't have to look. It… it doesn't have to mean anything. We're almost there, I just… don't want anyone getting stepped on. I… I'm so—" Her chest heaves against Xan's, legs tightening around Assan—a steady anchor the rogue didn't want—with words unspoken bursting in her chest. 

Her words reach Xan’s ears, but they’re impossible to process. All she can hear is the sound of her own breath and heartbeat as she leans into the embrace. Without thinking, she wraps her own arms around Neve’s waist to steady herself. She holds on tight, wanting the ride to end, yet secretly hoping it never would. 

The woman under her touch feels so different, all firm muscles and a practical uniform. She even smells different, like wood smoke and stone dust, with a hint of whiskey. Maybe, just for a minute, Xan can pretend it’s someone else. Maybe she can pretend there is nothing wrong and—

The illusion shatters as she feels long fingers stroke the back of her head in soothing patterns—exactly how Xan remembers. How they have so many times before. She tightens her grip, further sinking into the other woman.

They come to a stop and Neve doesn't move, but for a tremble that runs through her. As her breathing steadies, the rogue pulls away slowly, arms still resting around Neve’s waist. Xan looks up, eyes finally meeting hers. 

There’s tears standing on Neve's lashes, her forehead resting against Xan's for the briefest moment. Her lips are moving but there aren’t any words. ‘I’m sorry,’ she thinks she sees, maybe just hopes she sees. And then Neve pulls away, kicking her leg over Assan’s haunch and climbing down with the help of the waiting crowd. She holds a hand high, light dancing at her fingers to show the waiting onlookers she’s a mage, asking to be let through.

Still on Assan’s back, Xan has the perfect view of her taking Brom’s dim light in her hands, pouring a bit of herself into it and setting it aloft. For a beat Neve watches it rise… before turning to join the line of mages volunteering their services to the people today. 

Xan kicks her leg over in a similar fashion, descending from the griffon. When she reaches the ground, Assan’s big head and beak turn to nuzzle her. She manages a smile, breathless and dazed, as she pulls the griffon into a hug. Davrin weaves through the crowd, making many apologies as he bumps into people, but finally rejoins her. “Damn, Xan, I’m sorry, I never would have thought he’d—”

She releases the griffon and waves away his apology. Xan makes her way to the collection of orbs, waiting to be honored. She picks one up and gets in line.

The Crow is overcome with emotion, and the whiskey definitely didn’t help. Davrin reaches for the bottle still clutched in her other hand, breaking off a frozen tendril to suck on while they wait in the heat. The line progresses and she finds herself waiting for Neve’s spot, not for any other reason than dedicating this light to Harding. When it finally opens, they stride up to her, Xan pushing aside her feelings for the moment. “For Harding,” she says.

“For Harding,” echoes over her shoulder, Davrin at her back.

By the time they’d gotten through the line, Neve had ditched her cloak and bracers in a bundle on the bench beside her as she had sunk onto it. She’d lit so many lanterns, a faint sheen of sweat had come over her. She’s barely recognizable from the woman Xan remembered, looking more like she’d spent the last year laboring than… whatever she's convinced herself Neve would leave for.

Neve looks up at both of them, brow pinching with her own memories, and reaches out for the lamp. Where she’d typically give Dock Town’s others a sympathetic brush of the fingers, she’s careful to avoid Xan’s. “For Harding,” she says, eyes screwed shut as she pushes just a little more of herself into it, a light now a little brighter for their tiny Titan.

Davrin is glancing between Xan and Neve, before he tilts his head toward the latter with a look that clearly flips the mage’s stomach. Where they were more like respectful peers back in the day… they now had a wordless understanding that Xan wasn’t sure how she felt noticing. But she was at least grateful to see Davrin putting some sort of pressure on her.

“Later,” Neve tells him simply. She withdraws her coin purse. “I want to do what I can here until I’m spent. Can you rent me something to wear to the party tonight? They couldn’t tailor any of my old clothes in time.”

“Evka offered a dress uniform.”

Neve palms her face. “Warden fatigues because nothing fits anymore is one thing, a dress uniform is another.”

Davrin’s lips twist as he glances at Xan, but takes a few coins and a slip of paper with her measurements from her all the same. “I’ll set you up, but you better keep your word about later, cause I’ve got questions.”

Xan shuffles awkwardly as Davrin steps back. The crowd around them continues bustling, but in this moment with Neve, the rogue feels suspended in a timeless space. Words she had rehearsed in her head, cried into her pillow, or shouted drunkenly… don't come to her. She regards Harding's light. "Thank you for this," she says solemnly.

Neve takes a moment with her, and to drink some water before the next person in need. “No need for thanks. She was my friend too.”

A chill rushes straight to Xan’s core. So it’s like that, then. “Right,” she says sternly before dismissing herself to catch up with Davrin. She doesn’t see the hand Neve reaches out toward her, or how it eventually falls away before she returns to the waiting crowd.

Assan, at least, seems oblivious of the tension, vigorously sniffing her and fluffing his head feathers for scritches. An act he had to lower his head for now, being about the size of a small horse.

"Warden life suits you, Assan," Xan says, running her hands through the feathers on his head. She looks to Davrin who is studying the paper measurements with ignorance. Rolling her eyes, she drags him by the arm along the street leading to Hightown.

"Come on, I know a place she likes." She flashes back to the last festival, her first, where Neve surprised her during her performance. The mage sat front and center, a vision in a beautiful dress Xan had never seen before. Not only did she find the shop it came from, but she found the specific designer. 'Information for the future' is what she had told herself… back when there was a future with her. 

“You don’t gotta do her any favors, Rook. I can find a place if you’d prefer to just split. Because that was…” He whistles long and low. “Not what I was expecting. But I guess I shouldn’t be shocked that she broke a heart on her way out, given the wreck she was when she showed up in Lavendel.”

Xan huffs. "It's a favor for you. Pick the wrong dress and she'll have your head." A half truth, but a truth nonetheless. She can't deny how her heart skips a beat at the mention of her arrival in Lavendel. Neve… a wreck? Over her? "Yeah, so… what happened when she got there?"

He rubs the back of his head. “When you get Blighted… everyone might notice the nausea and pain first, but… the nightmares catch up to you. It’s never restful. And some of the others told me it always seemed to be harder on mages. If their dreams get all twisted up, it’s more dangerous in the Fade, right? It was like no matter how much she slept, she’d be a dead woman walking the next day.”

Guilt sinks like a rock in Xan’s stomach. Would she ever forgive herself for her decision? Would Neve? When the woman she loved was Blighted, the Crow didn't allow herself the chance to wallow in regret around her. Whatever Neve was experiencing was far more important than Xan's feelings, so she'd keep her guilt to herself until it made her so sick she'd vomit.

"Right..." She says to Davrin, his words sinking in. Maybe this is an opportunity for her to finally acquiesce and share some of this weight. "It's my fault," Xan confesses, hanging her head low. 

He and Assan both startle and look at her. “I’m sorry, what? ” Davrin punches her arm. “You didn’t blight her. That bastard Elgar’nan did.” Assan squawks in agreement with whatever Davrin was saying; that tone always meant agree because fact.

Xan exhales with doubt, as if it were that simple. "No, I… I think a part of her blames me, and being with me was just a reminder of that." She knows there are other reasons Neve left, Xan just wasn't sure which were real. Every possibility crossed her mind while she was gone, and some screamed louder than others. 

“I don’t think so,” Davrin says. “Not with how Evka… kept…” a blush goes up his neck. “Encouraging her.”

Her head shoots up at him. "What? What are you talking about?"

His face twists with embarrassment, and Assan starts pecking the top of his head to try to get a sound out. “Hey, quit it!”

"Davrin!" she yells, waving her hand, about to smack him. "Focus!"

He sighs and pulls her aside a moment, leaning against a shop wall. “When you go through the Joining by choice, it’s not as… noticeable of an infection. But for people who joined because they had no choice… we see that worry. How did they get it? Can they give it to others? I’ve watched it break up families, Rook. And lovers.”

Her heart stops. "...She took the Joining?" 

He shakes his head. “That’s the thing. Once Antoine got a chance to do some tests, he figured the Joining would do more harm than good. But she stuck around to get studied.” His cheeks darken again with a chuckle. “Evka was the shameless one joking she wouldn’t rest until they knew if she could get laid without worry again. Leave it to the married couple to think of that.”

Xan remembers back to her and Neve's last time together, and how… devastating it felt. She tries to see the humor in it all, but instead it just makes her uneasy. "Okay, so is she free of the Blight? Is she going to be okay?" The questions rattle off in a curious panic.

“That’s just it. We don’t know. She stuck around as long as she did because… the whole order is in a quiet chaos. This might have been the Last Blight. ” He chews his lip a moment, patting Assan. “You can see on her face she’s still sick. As for whether she can pass it on? You should probably ask her that. I did not want to know about all those tests.”

The implication of Neve testing if she can still 'get laid' causes Xan’s throat to tighten. "Yeah..." she mumbles, continuing her way to the Hightown shop with frenzied thoughts. 

A shadow looms over her, and Davrin pokes an accusing finger. “Assan, no. She doesn’t need help.” The griffon lowers his head and pouts. “I swear, ever since we taught him to sling wounded onto his back, he’s been rag dolling recruits all over the Wetlands…” At least there was still something to laugh about. “You wanna ride him there though?” He’s got a twinkle in his eye.

She relents, not wanting her bad mood to spread. Assan stares at her with those same dopey eyes of his, but they hold a maturity to them now. Xan grabs ahold of the harness and hoists herself up with Davrin's help. It isn’t a bad seat, riding a griffon above a crowd of people. She’d prefer to do it in pants, though. 

Davrin clambers up behind her to avoid getting left in the dust as everyone makes way for the excitable mount. "Alright, bud. Let's go," she says, patting him on the head. 

The city guards are too awestruck to even object. Xan guides them to the streets of Minrathous' Hightown.

The shop they're looking for sits just off the main road with a large sign that reads "Flora's" in bold script. Flora, the designer, is known for her bold accents and ingenious layering of fabric. "Alright, here's where you're gonna find something for her. You might even be able to drop her name." They pull off to the side as they climb down from the saddle. 

Davrin tries to convince Assan to lie down and not be a menace as Xan sets her bottle aside, leaving it to melt in the sunlight. “I got it from here,” he says, catching up to her at the door. “I mean, if you don’t wanna deal with anything for her. I’d get it.”

From where Xan’s standing, she eyes a row of mannequins in the shop modeling the latest Tevinter fashion. One in particular sports a long black suit coat with a high collar and an intricate pattern of gold snakes along the sleeves. Xan catches a glimpse of her reflection in the window and groans. If this is to be her last hurrah, she’ll do so in her own style.

“You know what, I’m going in,” Xan says, grabbing the doorknob. “And not for her!” she cuts him off, pointing a finger as she enters the shop.

Chapter Text

The brightest mages in the world were able to establish that the calcified Blight was inert. That allowed them to first focus on removing it from places in the city where it caused the most structural problems. As such, the spire rising from the house of the Divine to the Archon’s Palace is actually still intact. It’s… ominous. But artists from all over the country submitted plans for how it could be transformed into a memorial. All the plans that seemed the most feasible will be on display at the party to gauge the feelings of a slice of society.

Luckily, no one is forced to climb as teleportation circles are laid out all about the Divine’s garden to accommodate the influx of guests. Though, the most popular concept for the spire did include the installation of stairs. The artist themselves is pitching a group on the idea, explaining that pilgrims could ascend to the Palace along the same arduous path as the heroes of the realm, not even recognizing Xan as she passed.

She rolls her eyes. ‘Arduous’ is speaking kindly of the climb that threatened to turn her limbs to jelly. As Xan emerges from the teleportation circle, she adjusts her jacket; an expensive rental but oh so worth it. She’s layered it atop a black dress shirt and slacks. The sleek black and gold suited her so much better than that dress Cida had put her in. She winces—she’ll have to break the news to the lead singer somehow, but hopefully not until she’s had a couple of drinks. Her first goal: find anyone she knows.

Xan spots Tarquin apparently conscripted into guard duty… or volunteered for it, in his full military uniform, armor gleaming. She makes a beeline for him, relief settling in at the familiar face. As she approaches, she models her jacket for him with a little spin. “What do you think? Kept your flair, of course,” she says, opening the jacket to show off the leather cincher.

Tarquin snorts. "It's alright, I guess." High praise from him.

“Aw, you love it,” she jokes. She looks around to the crowd of guests filtering into the Palace. “You’re not gonna be here all night, are you?”

He shrugs. "There's shifts, but I like having an excuse to not dance."

“I’ll save you one anyways. Seen Rana yet?”

"Save me a drink instead. And Rana's here somewhere. That one's always early."

Xan gives him a nudge as she departs. Hands in her pockets, she takes a deep breath and joins the crowd as they enter the Palace.

The gold of the embroidered serpents winding up her arms catches the light a bit more than she's used to, but Xan is definitely more in her elements in a black suit. A bit taller as well, having opted for some polished riding boots with a modest heel. While wading through the crowd, she nearly runs straight into Cida who pulls up short to look her up and down.

Xan holds up her hands. “Before you say anything! I kept the flowers,” she says pointing to the arrangement Lorelai put in her hair.

Cida plucks two glasses of champagne from a server, and holds one out to her. "Honestly, I wish I'd thought to put you in that." She points toward the massive hourglass, the dust within glittering like gems. "Quarter fallen, head backstage to get ready, but we're all mingling until then."

“Sounds good,” Xan says, taking the glass and clinking it against the other woman’s. She admires the hourglass as she steps further into the room, sipping casually on her champagne.

While continuing to explore, Dorian intercepts her with a twirl. "Hello, darling! Glad I caught you!"

Careful not to spill her drink, Xan playfully twirls. “Dorian, always an event running into you.”

"If it wasn't memorable, it wasn't truly me. I wanted to be sure I got to you before introductions were had with someone you absolutely haven't met before." He's grinning, but with an intensity in his eyes usually reserved for dangerous operations.

“Come to warn me about them, have you?” she asks playfully.

Dorian squeezes her shoulder as a small retinue approaches that everyone is parting the way for. "Something like that."

The man that approaches is quite handsome, and there's something familiar about his eyes, but his garb commands the most attention—clearly a holy man. Based on the guards, the surrounding sycophants, and the fact this palace is hovering over the manor of—

"Magister Pavus. A pleasure to see you as always." She'd know that voice anywhere. The Viper.

Dorian immediately bows low, tugging Xan with him. "Imperial Divine Aequitas the Second. An absolute honor."

Xan does a double take before realizing she’s being rude. “Most Holy,” she says, arm behind her back as she bows beside Dorian.

"Alexandra ‘Rook’ de Riva," he holds a hand out to her. "I should think after all you have done for Tevinter? For the world? You bow to no one."

“Of course not,” she says, taking his hand. “Just those worthy of it.” There’s a glimmer in her eyes as she stares into his. Ashur, of all people, the Black Divine.

He smiles broadly with her hand in his, bowing to her himself, and a murmur runs through the crowd. That the Imperial Divine would show deference to an elf… he is certainly making a point tonight.

The heat rushes from Xan’s cheeks to her ears, but she stands proudly. “Be sure to catch me in the performance later,” she says.

"I wouldn't miss it."

He can't linger, and with the crowd attached to him it would likely be more bother if he did, so they part amicably. Dorian breathes a sigh of relief, downing a glass of champagne in one go. He pats Xan on the back. "Good show. Try not to step on any explosive wards. There's more than you think in company like this," as he flits off, ever the social butterfly.

Xan downs her champagne as well, having just survived a whirlwind. As a server passes, she swaps glasses for a full one. “Thanks,” she says and takes another sip as she surveys the room looking for Rana.

It takes a bit of searching, but there are small gardens on large balconies toward the center of the Palace. The crystalline cannon floating in the open air looks, for all the world, like a sculpture that can be admired from the assorted hedge mazes. One of which is occupied by a pair Xan knows on sight. It appears Rana finally found Neve, and the rogue doesn’t need to get close to tell the two are having it out with each other.

Xan sighs, not sure who she feels for the most at this moment. Most likely Rana, considering Neve has… a way about her. A look; one that could bring even the Imperial Divine to his knees. The Crow approaches slowly as she looks around, feigning interest in the architecture.

"—and leaving me with the agency?"

"I knew you'd be more than capable—"

"It was supposed to be a joint venture."

"You left my name on the sign."

"Too expensive to have it remade."

"And didn't change the locks."

"Fine, your name might have still had weight for securing contracts. Of which rent on the office would be far easier to make if there were double the investigators."

Xan thinks to intervene before they cause too much of a scene. She approaches the two women, and it almost feels like it used to before. Neve would say something to which Rana would nag about, both bickering until one decides to walk away.

“Well, glad everyone’s getting along,” Xan says, making herself known. Her breath catches in her throat as she looks Neve up and down. She'd tried not to pay attention when Davrin had picked out a gown earlier, her mask of nonchalance the only lifeline she had at the time. It might have been wiser to look then to help avoid staring now.

Of course it would be teal. Soft waves in many layers fell gracefully from a high collar into an asymmetrical twist, cinched at the waist with a silver chain that complimented her new steel prosthetic. A structured shawl perfectly framed her shoulders, but let the lines of them show through a thin light fabric, adorned in silver embroidery.

As Neve spins about to stare at Xan's approach, it becomes clear that Rana might have had the upper hand without her realizing; Neve’s makeup is running.

Xan can feel her face morph to that of concern when her eyes meet Neve’s. Despite the running of her makeup, she is still the most beautiful woman Xan has ever seen. Regardless of their feelings towards each other, she would always think that—especially when she stands as a vision in teal and silver.

Her heart aches to reach out to Neve, but she turns to Rana instead. “Are you okay?” she asks. They had been through a lot over the last year, de Riva and Savas, and Xan hopes she knows she has an ally in her. The silence that follows is deafening.

Neve looks away. "I'll leave you two to catch up. I need to freshen up anyway."

Rana throws a hand out in frustration at Neve's retreating form. With a sigh, she looks at Xan. "I'm fine, Rook. Thought you were planning to run the other way."

When Neve leaves the balcony, Xan feels a piece of herself leaving too—it pulls at her. “Lost the chance when a griffon forced me to share a saddle with her. Don’t ask.” she says in response to the confusion on Rana’s face.

One hand on her hip, the other kneading her brow, Rana shakes her head. "I can already imagine. I spotted her in the procession. So did her parents. You getting roped in must have happened later."

Neve’s parents… the mage didn’t speak of them much, nor fondly. She wonders if they’re at the Palace tonight. “Must have gone for the kill if you got the Neve Gallus to cry,” Xan says, approaching the rail of the balcony.

Rana follows her, leaning on the stone. "Honestly, not much worse than I have in the past. I think all that time with your lot softened her up. I'm used to her disappearing acts. She just… never tended to make promises before vanishing." She smirks at Rook. "Call her a bitch, she won't even flinch. But tell her that a little Crow stayed to fix up Dock Town while she ran like a coward, and that mask finally cracks."

“Oh…” Xan says, hands gripping the balcony. Of course Xan stayed; the city was different without Neve. She couldn’t fill the gap herself, but at least she tried. The rogue clears her throat. “So… did she say what she was doing back here?”

"At the party, or back in Minrathous?"

“Either. Both, I guess.”

"Didn't bother asking. She always comes home in the end. More wondering where she gets off treating you like this."

‘It’s what I deserve.’ Xan lets out a deep sigh into her champagne glass. “I should talk to her,” she says, not even entirely convinced that was the right thing to do.

"Damn right you should," Rana says with a jab of a finger at her chest. "Just save it until after your performance. I, at least, can drink my frustrations out. You need to be able to stay upright and sing."

“Who says I can’t do that drunk?” Xan jokes, taking a sip. She eyes the hourglass, wondering if she has time to track Neve down. There’s a bit of time, but it’s close. “Guess I should head backstage,” she says, finishing her drink. “See you after?” The Crow exits the balcony with hurried steps, searching for the nearest washroom.

"You look good," Rana calls after her, sounding exhausted but… she’s trying.

“I know,” she calls back cheekily.

Before she can locate a washroom, Xan spots that distinct flash of teal out on the dance floor. She ducks and weaves her way in a hurry around other guests, trying to get a better look.

The current band is good, but it’s the sort of tune you expect to hear amongst high society, and the dance reflects that in its structure and precision. Neve put herself back together skillfully, no sign of her prior upset, though Xan could see her face twist in a different kind of discomfort as she dances with Davrin. Neither are missing a single step, two people that knew each other inside and out in perfect sync, and she can't help but wonder what they went through over the last year to build that. Neve’s face more closely resembles that of a soldier trying to remain stone faced while their superior dressed them down, however.

Xan takes a spot against the wall, watching from the sidelines. Neve had once told her she doesn’t dance, and it was a challenge the Crow looked forward to overcoming. Seeing her now, though… it seemed someone else got there first. Her heart aches, and the alcohol isn’t hitting hard enough to help.

"I'd hope my parties would be happier affairs, but I can understand the longing. There's a lot of places I'd rather be myself." Xan finds herself beside none other than the new Archon herself. Maevaris surprisingly doesn't have the same obsessive following the Divine did as she settles next to her against the wall.

Xan straightens her posture as the other woman’s approach. “Oh, Mae—shit,” she stutters, fucking up in front of the party’s damn host. “It’s great, really,” she says earnestly. Her eyes fall on Neve again, but she pretends to look elsewhere.

"No, it isn't. Events like these are often about keeping up appearances. Luckily as a politician, I don't have to pretend to be nice like Ashur does. I'm allowed to scare people off because I just have to be effective." She smiles sweetly at a particular magister and waves, only for him to duck his head over his drink and try very hard to pretend he didn't see her.

“This suits you,” Xan says. “I wish I could stick around to see Minrathous flourish under your leadership.”

"You're always welcome here, Alexandra. I meant it when I offered you a place in Hightown."

“And live amongst the Minrathous elite?” Xan finally pulls her gaze from the captivating teal on the dance floor. “Thanks, but Dock Town has my heart in a way I wasn’t expecting.”

“But not enough to stay?”

"I mean… would you?" Neve leaving Xan is no secret, especially not in the city where information is everything.

Mae sips her own drink. “I’ve seen worse heartbreakers in the Shadows. Small comfort, I know. But they’re good about not picking sides. You’re very well liked, Rook.”

She lets the words sink in a moment. "And if it's not about sides? If it's simply a matter of keeping yourself from more pain?"

Mae’s touch is featherlight, but as heavy as the world on her shoulders. “Then I’d miss you terribly, but wish you nothing but the best.”

Davrin and Neve leave the dance floor, the latter certainly seeming more flustered as she heads toward the bar. Mae tilts her head toward the hourglass. “You might want to check in with your fellow performers, Rook.”

As Xan's gaze drifts to the bar, she curses herself for ever agreeing to perform in the first place. Her heart is pulling fiercely, reaching desperately towards unanswered questions and unresolved feelings. "Thanks, Mae," the rogue says, dismissing herself. She grits her teeth and heads backstage, mourning the opportunity slipping away from her.

The way Xan sees the other woman angrily able to down shots like she’s never seen before… just raises more questions about how much she’s changed.

Cida is giving everyone a pep talk backstage as Xan adjusts her suit coat. Another girl is pinning down the flyaways in her hair for her. "Everyone loves to look down on Dock Town from all the way up here, but half the wealth of this city flows through those ports. We're going to give them something to really dance to."

The set list is quite a bit faster than the regency songs from earlier in the evening, even featuring a few pieces from around the world. It’s a reflection of how this neighborhood, the one receiving every weary traveler, would keep a part of them forever. Xan is set to sing on a couple of songs that have a definite Antivan influence.

Her chest feels tight with every breath as her palms start to sweat. Everything about tonight’s performance is more her style than last. Suit? Check. Music with ties to Antiva? Check. The one thing she doesn’t have, though, is someone in the crowd waiting for her. Watching her. Wanting her. That definitely feels different than last time, worse even.

There's a light knock at the door as a server brings in pitchers of water and a couple of drinks that were special requests. One in particular is brought for Xan. The smell alone tells her it's a rich coffee, likely from Antiva, but definitely spiked. "From one of the guards," the server says, handing her a folded up scrap of parchment with it.

Stop overthinking, dumbass. We actually like you. ~Tarquin

The note warms her heart as the coffee does her throat, especially with the added kick. That idiot, knowing exactly what she needs when she needs it. Xan pockets the note as she looks to Cida, locked into her pre-performance ritual.

These last minutes are spent touching up appearances, tuning instruments, and flicking through sheet music. Cida gives special attention to each and every performer as they head out onto the stage ahead of her. As a guest of honor, Xan is right toward the end, ahead only of Cida who is still the lead singer. "Knock 'em dead, de Riva," she says with a squeeze of her shoulder before gesturing her ahead.

Xan downs the last of her coffee before she takes her place. With Cida’s encouragement and one last adjustment of her jacket, she strides proudly onto the stage. Her eyes adjust slowly to the stage lights, allowing her to see a bit of the crowd. She can’t help but search for teal.

The Crow finally spots her drinking with Dorian. The Magister turns a vibrant shade of red as Neve points out a particularly muscular Qunari, currently regaling guests with stories on the other side of the room. Back to her usual self, it seems, ribbing even the Altus.

Maybe it’s the drinks she’s had or the heat of the lights shining down on her, but Xan can almost see herself in the crowd—another version of her life before her eyes. She’s there, her arm around Neve who leans comfortably into her side. They laugh at something Dorian says, sharing a knowing glance. Xan whispers something into Neve’s ear that makes her blush. The vision starts to fade as the performance starts.

The first notes play, and she’s part of a choir for this piece, all of them swaying in time. The low notes lure the crowd in with a seductive saunter, Cida’s hips already suggesting a dance they might not know but can feel. Still able to watch the crowd, Rook can see Neve discussing something with Maevaris, a look of actual hope on her face. She’s come home to a broken Minrathous, but at least it’s on its way to being a better one. Mae actually gestures to the stage, and Neve’s eyes flick to Xan a moment before she ducks her head, hair obscuring her face from everyone but Mae.

Xan’s heart surges at the eye contact, and plummets as soon as it’s gone. As she sways in time to the music, she finds herself annoyingly wanting those eyes back on her. She immerses herself in the song and dance, biding time until her big moment.

During the second song, Xan spots Neve sneaking Tarquin a drink. He punches her arm. She kicks him back. They laugh pretty easily before moving on. Toward the song’s end, she even seems at ease with the Divine himself, being one of the few that knows his secret, as the lingering fanatics watch their rapport with confusion. For all her talk of sticking to Dock Town, Neve certainly feigns ease with high society well enough.

The rogue’s eyes can’t help but follow Neve as she effortlessly works the room. Each stop gives Xan a glimpse of the life that could’ve been—kisses and longing glances between rounds of socializing. Neve looks at home among her people, the people Xan has gotten to know very well over the last year. Dock Town has started to feel like her home too, so why is she the one leaving?

The drums thrum to life, and it's Xan's cue to step up for her duet with Cida. The sound seems to rouse Neve from where she’s strayed back towards Davrin. The mage bites her lip when Rana catches her eye across the room, and downs another drink. A quick exchange with Davrin, and surprisingly… she doesn't stop him taking a knee to help adjust her leg while Rana approaches.

Xan can’t help the tightness in her chest as she watches. Davrin is a good guy, the best of them… but Neve is very cautious with her leg, at least she was with Xan early in their relationship. She blinks away the thought as she strides up beside Cida. The beat of the drums reverberates through her body, soothing her soul.

There's no lyrics, all vocalization, which almost makes it a more difficult piece; voices pivoting without words as signposts to follow. But it’s a tune Xan knows, one that drove people to dance in the streets of Treviso during their own festivals.

It seems to have that effect here as well; Rana grabbing Neve's hand as Davrin finishes tightening her leg. He gives a shit eating grin as she’s tugged onto the floor. The two are an aggressive blur, and one might question whether they’re dancing or fighting. Likely a bit of both. The waves of Neve's dress flare wide as Rana spins her about, so much so that others on the floor give them plenty of clearance. Of course the girls from Dock Town would recognize a tune you could really move to.

Xan nearly laughs during her harmonization with Cida. It feels good to see Rana smile and let loose for once. Their enthusiasm for the beat encourages her as Xan pours everything she has into her vocals. These moments are her favorite; the ones where she can just close her eyes and feel the vibration of each note in her throat. She comes alive with the tune. It only seems right to join in on the fun, too.

Xan approaches Cida, grabbing her by the arm as she guides her into a dance. There was no talk of choreography, so she prays her partner will lean into it. A woman of impeccable showmanship, Cida immediately takes the change in stride, following her lead.

With Cida’s hand in hers, she places her other on her waist and leads them into a pattern of steps. The footwork is simple once timed right, and allows for a strong synergy. A twirl here and a dip there has the crowd raving. Xan catches a glimpse of Neve on the dance floor—how easy to imagine she’s twirling teal and silver instead of Cida’s red.

She loses herself in the song, singing and dancing with every ounce of feeling she has. It takes all her discipline to hold enough breath for the song and dance as both reach their climax. When it finally arrives at its raucous end, the crowd erupts and Cida seizes the lead from Xan, showing her off with a last twirl and a bow. The applause is deafening, or so she thinks with her head spinning and lungs burning. All eyes on her, she revels in this moment and takes a gracious bow. Xan rises with a large smile and a massive exhale as her eyes search desperately for Neve's.

Neve and Rana seem on far better terms, leaning on each other as they clap. Rook can spot Rana giving her a loud whistle and a nod as their eyes meet, even if it's incidental, while her gaze hones in on the woman that has consumed her thoughts all night. Neve's smile is far more… shy. Clearly watching, but when their eyes meet, a blush creeps up her cheeks, and she looks down. Her hands continue to clap, though.

Xan flashes one more smile to the crowd as she returns to her spot on stage. She’s not sure how, but this feels like a win. A win that comes with a grave acceptance. Watching Neve with Rana, Tarquin, Mae—everyone, really—she looked so alive. This is Neve’s home and these are her people; it wasn’t meant to be Xan’s and that… had to be okay. A last hurrah, indeed.

A few of her fellow performers crowd Xan for a shake of her hand or a hug. Try as she might to oblige, she is in a rush to get back on the floor for one very specific reason.

“You were just as brilliant!” Xan says to one of the other singers. She looks at the hourglass; time is running out. “Excuse me, but I think I’ll finally check out the bar,” she dismisses herself with a wave. The rogue returns to the sidelines of the dance floor, scanning the room.

She spots Neve and Rana sharing what seems to be a genuine embrace, not far from one of the doors. When they part, Savas gets her attention pulled by a former peer, based on his armor. Neve starts to make her way toward the hall to the teleportation circles.

Xan’s heart sinks—Neve can’t leave. Not yet. She breaks into a quick stride after the mage with unwavering resolve. When she catches up, she reaches her hand out to lightly grace the other woman’s arm. “Neve…”

Neve freezes more at the sound of her voice than the touch, a visible shiver running up her spine. She looks over her shoulder, guarded, but… with a glimmer of hope.

"You get one free shot at me. Same as everyone else tonight."

The rogue opens her mouth to speak but is caught off guard. “I… what?”

Neve turns to face her, and holds her arms out. "Wouldn't have been right to fight it out at the Wall of Light. Most people have been getting their barbs out here instead. So go ahead. I can take it."

Xan almost laughs. Maybe in the depths of her raging heart she would start a fight in public. However, seeing Neve settle back into her home throughout the night… Xan relents. She chooses the peaceful option, the unexpected one.

“I was going to ask if I could have this dance.” It’s Xan’s turn to hold her hands up. “I know, I know, you’ve said you don’t dance, but I was hoping you’d make an exception… for me.”

Neve’s expression softens. She takes one step forward, watching as if this offer might be rescinded at any moment. Her mouth moves silently, at a loss for words, before finally taking Xan's hand.

The Crow holds her hand delicately, like a treasure. She turns on her heels and leads them to an empty space near the back of the dance floor; a haven just for them. Xan spins around to face Neve fluidly in time with the music. It’s a softer ballad, one that floats through their ears allowing for a more intimate dance. As she turns, she pulls Neve by the hand until the mage is flush against her. With that hand raised, Xan wraps her other around her back. Their faces are a breath apart as they start to sway to the music.

"I wouldn't have taken you for one to enjoy an Orlesian love song." Neve’s hands aren’t as soft as Xan remembers. Every curve is firmer, stronger. Yet… they still fit together so easily.

“A lot can change in a year. Perhaps I’ve developed a liking for them,” she says, a sly smile on her lips. Xan couldn’t—wouldn’t take her eyes off Neve. If this were to be the last moment they had together, she’d commit every detail to memory.

"Better by far than the drinking songs Davrin taught me." Her free hand trails up Xan's shoulder, just barely able to toy with her hair. Neve closes her eyes, taking in the moment in a very different way, surrendering to the other's pull across the floor.

Their bodies sway together in perfect time; the entirety of the Palace irrelevant to them. Xan’s fingers trace soft patterns across her back. She brings her forehead to rest against Neve’s and it’s the warmest comfort, so unlike her earlier panic astride Assan. Their breath mingles as Xan keeps her eyes open just enough to count the perfect freckles on Neve’s face. It aches, how much she’s missed them. “So, shall I refer to you as Warden now, or is it still Detective?”

She chuckles. "Maybe just Neve. Never actually took the Joining, just… helped. And I don't think I get Detective back until Rana says so."

“Neve it is, then. Suits you.” Their heads drift, slotting beside each other in a comfortable embrace. Xan can see over Neve’s shoulder as she angles her cheek to rest against brown hair. She breathes in the scent of her, heart growing heavy even while her senses rejoice. “I’ve missed this...” Xan whispers.

"So did I," Neve's own arm winding around the other's back to hold her tight. "I didn't think… I'd ever get the chance to hold you like this again."

They move comfortably with one another, arms and hands holding fast. Xan’s eyes finally fall shut as tears threaten to escape. She turns her head, barely gracing the edge of the other woman's ear with her lips as she steels herself for what's to come. Xan wouldn’t do it with a note, she couldn’t. “Neve… I’m leaving.”

They’re so close together, she can feel Neve's breathing just… stop. She keeps up with the dance for a few steps more before her feet are firmly planted, pulling back to look her in the eye. Nothing could have prepared Xan for how openly crushed she is.

It tore into the depths of the Crow’s heart, sure to leave an everlasting mark. Xan’s eyes shine with tears as she looks upon Neve’s face. “Dock Town has its hero back now.” Not so long ago, the Crow had given Neve her heart with the promise of forever; now she hardly has anything left. A small gesture is all she can manage.

Xan places a kiss against Neve’s forehead as a tear falls furiously down her cheek. Neve closes her eyes to hold back her own tears at the touch, her lips briefly chasing the other's as they pull away.

The song comes to a soft end as the instruments fade out. Despite the tears and the way her chest shakes, Xan musters up the best smile she can. She places her hands gently over Neve’s. “As far as going away gifts go… this one is definitely my favorite.” Xan releases Neve’s hands and steps off the dance floor. She can feel Neve's fingers twitch as if to hold fast, to refuse to let her go, but force was never something that could stop Alexandra de Riva.

As she left the Archon's Palace, had she looked back, Xan might have realized her words had just pierced a heart deeper than any blade she'd ever wielded. Neve Gallus, Dock Town's Dutiful Daughter, just the latest victim of an exiled Crow and Hero of Thedas.

Chapter Text

The streets are bustling with activity as always, but spirits are higher during the festival. Xan emerges from the teleportation circle, greeted by the bright lights of Minrathous shining down on her. The path back to her apartment curves off to the side, a quieter and more straightforward route. If she were in a rush, she'd go that way… but this being her last night here, she'll take it all in once more. Xan sets off down the busy city street, content to just exist and appreciate. The noises, lights, and colors help drown out the ache in her heart. 

Treviso has its nightlife, but it pales in comparison to Minrathous with its magical lights lining the avenues. There are musicians busking on the corners, whole streets cordoned off for parties, and food and alcohol still flowing. Most don’t have flowers in their hair anymore, their lower breeches or skirts soaked from a trip to the bay. Here downtown, even a few strangers wave, inviting her toward further festivities, bright and welcoming.

Xan plays along, offering up a bit of time and herself to the people of Minrathous. There's laughter and joyous celebration that has her breathe a sigh of relief. She and the rest of the Veilguard made a difference and gave these people an 'after.' As Xan flits from group to group down the streets, she knows they’ll be in good hands. With Mae as Archon and Rana and Neve burying the hatchet, these festivities could continue for years to come. The rogue made her mark; if she could do so here, why not elsewhere?

Arms full of treats are pressed on her in thanks as she gets closer to the apartment. The biggest question is whether to head out tonight, or wait until morning. Xan swallows the last bite of a particularly good skewer, deciding she’ll pack first. She litters some of her food in a nearby alley, wishing the cats of Minrathous a happy festival as well.

The rogue approaches the building’s front door, digging the key from the inside pocket of her jacket. It’s quiet as she closes the door behind her; most residents are probably still out celebrating or already asleep. Xan takes the stairs two at a time until she reaches her floor. 

There’s light spilling out from under the door frame, and Xan’s breath catches. As she cracks it open, the dust is still heavy, but there are new paths cut through it. A bouquet of flowers sits in a vase on the kitchen counter with oil lamps lit around the apartment. A rented teal gown hangs by the window, barely cracked open to allow the fresh scent of the sea breeze in. Around the corner in the bedroom, a heavy bag rests on the bed and a familiar white wool and brown leather coat is draped over the chair that sits in front of a long unused desk. 

It’s almost like Neve had never been away. There is something nostalgic about it, as well as supremely arrogant—as if she still has any claim to this place. But isn’t that why Xan couldn’t let it go?

Her anger makes way for loathing, mostly at herself. Of course Neve would come home to her apartment; did Xan really expect her to find lodging elsewhere? Her throat tightens as she tries not to panic. It feels too familiar, being here with so many pieces of her. Maybe she could just leave—grab the essentials and make a break for it. Her feet don’t move, though. She calls out, instead. “Neve?”

There’s no answer. The Crow goes to the window and peers outside; maybe she just missed her? The streets are alive, but not with Neve. She goes to check the bathroom as an uneasiness settles in her chest, and… nothing. There isn’t much apartment to search. It appears she just dropped off her possessions, perhaps pulled away by another acquaintance.

Xan sighs, out of relief or disappointment, she’s not sure. She heads to the bedroom and digs her bag out from underneath. There isn’t much room to keep things organized, and the bed is currently occupied by the other woman’s stuff. Rolling her eyes, she moves Neve’s bag to the floor.

The rogue accidentally knocks over Neve’s crutches and the stand holding her cobra prosthetic, so close at hand on the side of the bed once more. Eyes are pulled to where the fallen items lay, and she notices drag marks through the dust on the floor. It looks almost like Xan’s old bag had been moved earlier. She opens the bag curiously. Inside is a bound bundle of paper, parchment, full sheets, and small scraps all pristine, tattered, or stained. Twine is wrapped around to contain the mess.

Xan takes a seat at the foot of the bed, Davrin’s words from earlier floating to the surface of her mind. “She was always writing. I thought… it was to you.” 

And it was always her. Neve had just never been brave enough to send these.

A cold chill runs through Xan’s heart as her hands tremble, papers in hand. She casts a glance over to the wall next to the desk. The last letter she read from Neve ended with her sobbing there on the floor. This couldn’t be like that… could it?

Papers are tumbling over each other, sliding over her lap as the ties are undone. It’s hard to tell where to start. Individual lines jump out:

—able to brush the clouds with fingers, but there’s something there, under the skin. Writhing, biting, taking. I keep waking up with the blood in my veins burning—not like fire, but like ants, invading. Is this what the Titan would have felt when we accompanied Lace to its heart, were it still alive? Was death no object, and it felt it still, ensuring now that I would too?  

—Tranquility was never something we were taught much about. Even the worst criminals tended to land in warded cells, not get magically lobotomized. Tevinter has its lines, and that one is so rarely crossed. But it’s a severing of dreams. Isn’t that what was done to them by the Evanuris? Titans struck Tranquil, their bodies left to rot in apathy—their orphaned dreams quarantined in a golden cell, a gilded cage?  

—this is going to drive me to madness, Xan. I can’t risk you feeling this, too. The pain, the nightmares—I’ve dealt with worse, but that itch beneath the skin you don’t even realize you’re scratching until the blood is already beneath your nails—

—Sometimes you meet your heroes and they’re just as lost. The Wardens don’t even know who they are anymore. Is it over? Should they be doing Joinings? Why were those in Minrathous so much better off than those who weren’t? Antoine wonders if my own body might tell the tale, or hold a key. Maybe I could help them. Maybe I can be of some actual use—  

Drawings of blight blooms, theories broached and crossed out, logs of dreams, tearstained confessions, revelations, tests, trials, struggles. It’s like seeing Neve fray apart in words, but something was trying to hold her together.

—Davrin taught Assan how to kick the underside of the cot just right to flip me out of bed. I’m going to have to give up my pillow to the floor just to have something to land on in the mornings. I miss when the feathered menace would just run off with my blanket.

—I might miss the chase of a good case, but there’s something satisfying about seeing your work come together one piece at a time. The civil engineers I know sent a better mortar recipe. The Cauldron’s walls will be fixed before long. Though being on the line moving stones to “work for your supper” has been killing my back, the company of the Wardens has been kind.

—Antoine thinks he’s figured out how to test the blight in us, using a plant sensitive to it. It’ll take time, but all the Wardens have been interested now that they might have a longer life. Evka asked if I’d need a room to share with you. I didn’t have the heart to tell her I’d hoped you’d moved on to someone else. Someone who wasn’t selfishly imagining you waiting while she -

— I don’t know why I keep writing these like you’ll see them. Maybe I miss the days in the Lighthouse when I could talk through these thoughts with you instead of with myself.

—I keep trying to convince myself it was for the best. Just… leaving. You deserve the world. Someone you can touch. Someone you can grow old with. It wouldn’t be fair to send these and hope… when you have a chance at a life I likely don’t.

Xan feels her heart still, breath suspended in her chest as she reads letter after letter. A whole year’s worth of words that never reached her. Every night when Xan fell asleep crying into her pillow, Neve was out there still longing for her. Thoughts, reasons, and feelings trapped in parchment awaiting her eyes, only to be revealed just as she plans to take her leave? It wasn’t fair. Any of it. 

Another on a proper sheet, folded like Neve almost sent it, sticks out of the pile. 

It’s five days until the Spring Festival in Minrathous. Antoine just told me I’m not infectious. Not blood or spit or—I can’t pass the blight.

Oh, Trouble… what if I can’t fix this?  

‘Fix this’ echoes in Xan’s mind. After all is said and done, Neve continues to hide behind letters and notes; she can’t just say it to her face. And if Xan had discovered these letters while halfway back to Treviso, what then? Her heart rages like a tempest and the person responsible is nowhere to be found. Again. 

Xan rises to her feet, pacing the room, unsure if she wants to scream or break something. Neve’s letter clutched in her hand, she’s overwhelmed by the frenzied tangle of her emotions. There’s anger, of course. Xan had been angry all year, cursing the other woman for leaving the way she did. It was red hot and easy to pick out. She throws the letter to the ground.

There’s sorrow. Her heart weighs heavy for all Neve has had to endure. To see the woman she loved suffer was its own kind of torture. She’s sad for her and for their future, the one that felt so far out of reach.

But there is also relief. Neve can’t spread the blight; she no longer has to fear the touch of others, of Xan. Their last night together had the rogue in pieces, consigned to be a bystander out of fear. All she wanted was to feel Neve’s love, to show her the depths to which Xan’s heart used to beat for the other woman. ‘Used to.’ She’s kidding herself. Neve staked a claim on her heart untouchable by anyone else; even if it meant surviving the rest of her days alone. There’s uncertainty as to whether or not she could give it up again, especially to the one it beat for.

Xan manages to untangle some emotions, but others are woven in too deeply. She feels their weight as she collapses to the floor, surrounded by letters. The rogue lets her head fall into her hands. 

The apartment is old and rickety in some places. She can hear steps on the stairs, a key in the lock, the creak of the boards, the scrape of the door. But all sound stops at the door to the bedroom they once shared. Head low, Xan can only see feet in the doorway, unmoving.

The Crow finds herself trapped again, but this time she won't try to break free. Xan lifts her head to greet her visitor, a pathetic look of surrender on her face.

Neve sets a small canvas bag on the floor, the fruits of her errand spilling out. A bottle of wine rolls over the floorboards to thump against Xan’s knee.

She approaches cautiously, but when Xan doesn’t run, Neve kneels down to scoop her up easily, moving her to the bed. The mage eyes the scattered letters before kneeling in front of her, head low. “When I saw you dancing with the teens from the scroll shop, I thought I’d have more time to sort those. Every time I tried to start, I… needed a drink.” She gestures pitifully to the wine. 

Xan’s legs feel like they’re weighed down by cinder blocks as they hang over the side of the bed. Of all her woven feelings, love is persistently wrapped around every edge. She thinks she feels it reflected back to her, leaps and bounds more alive than a year ago. It’s not enough to undo the ice that pierces her heart, though.

“You left,” Xan starts, her voice low, “and like an idiot, I stayed. I stayed and I tried to help the city, but really I was just… waiting for you to come home.” She says the last words through gritted teeth and teary eyes. 

Neve hangs her head, letting it come to rest on Xan’s knee, her breath shallow but heavy. The rogue’s instinct to run her hand through the other’s hair pulses loudly, and she submits. Xan rests her hand softly atop the mage’s head, a foreign feeling but hauntingly familiar. 

“I know why you had to go,” she says. “I do. But it’s how you left, Neve. And you didn’t even give me a chance to…” The tears start running against her will as Xan bites down on her lip, shoulders shaking. She doesn’t see the tears of Neve’s that run over her knee until they freeze, crystalline regret in a stationary cascade.

“I couldn’t risk you convincing me to stay.”

Something snaps in Xan, her jaw tightening as she removes herself from underneath Neve. “To stay?” she repeats. The rogue storms over to the desk, opening the top drawer. It doesn’t take her long to find what she needs before she slams the drawer shut. “You didn’t even let me try to go with you! You didn’t give me the chance to be there.” Xan unfurls the paper in her hands, worn from being balled up countless times. She drops it at Neve’s feet. “Is this really all I was worth to you? ” she asks, eyes piercing. “Two fucking sentences and no chance?” 

Neve doesn’t lift her head, but picks the old letter up to hold. “And if you had come? What then? A year in separate beds while I turned my mind inside out until I could barely recognize my own reflection? You think I could have survived having to push you away every night?” She’s still staring at the note. “Why stay? You could go anywhere, have anyone. Why me?!”

The fury on Xan’s face is palpable. “You must think so little of me,” she bites out. “Of us.” She goes to the scattered piles of parchment, sifting through them in a rage. “Everything in these letters, everything you went through! You honestly think I would abandon you through”—she shakes the papers at Neve—“through this? For someone else?”

Neve finally meets her eyes. “Maybe I wanted you to! Maybe I couldn’t risk killing the woman I love!”

Xan’s heart steels. The guilt she carried with her for a year overwhelms her, and she’s finally ready to bare her soul for retribution. “And if you had, then I would have deserved it.” She wipes away tears furiously from her jaw down her neck. “It’s my fault you were blighted!" Xan confesses, gripping her suit above her chest, above her heart. "Death by your hand would’ve been just!” 

“Deserved—your fault—?” Neve tosses the letter she holds in her hand, and scatters the ones in Xan’s. She grabs the Crow by the shoulders, grip nearly crushing. “You and I are truly the greatest morons this side of Thedas.” Before she even knows, Neve has pulled her into a bruising kiss.

Xan burns. It takes a second for her to realize that the burn is spreading from her lips, down her chest, and throughout her body. It’s as if she’s finally found warmth, untouchable by the raging blizzard around her. But it's too much, the kiss striking her like a searing heat she isn't strong enough to handle. Xan grabs Neve by the shoulders, pushing her hard against the wall with a grip equally as strong. 

"Fuck, Neve!" She hangs her head, arms outstretched to keep the other woman at a distance. Her heart teeters on the line between breaking and rejoicing. "You can't just..." 

Neve lets herself hit the wall, a mirror hung a yard away rattling. It doesn't take much to bend the arms Xan holds her back with, before grabbing a fistful of her shirt to draw her in. "No... I can't." Neve drags one of the rogue’s hands from her shoulder to her throat. "But you can. It was never your fault. You deserved more. So take it." She swallows hard, and Xan can feel it beneath her fingers. "Please." 

Xan leans in, the thrum of her pulse beating under her touch. Neve is here. She’s alive. “I didn’t protect you,” Xan says through gritted teeth, her voice heavy. The rogue rests her forehead against Neve’s, wanting desperately to close the unbearable distance. “How can I forgive myself? And how am I supposed to find my way back to you… when you pushed me away?” 

"Protecting me was never your job," Neve says, hands cradling Xan's hips. "I can't tell you how to let go, when there's nothing you’ve done in need of forgiveness. I'm the only one here that"—another tear burns its way down her cheek—"that has anything to apologize for."

The hand on the mage’s neck moves down, balling into a fist on her chest. “Was it really that easy? To let me go with a note?”

Neve tilts her head just enough to murmur right against her lips. "No. That was the hardest day of my life."

Xan nearly falls to the slight brush of Neve’s lips. She doesn’t dare move. “And now that you’re back? What do you expect me to do? What do you want, Neve?” 

Neve shakes her head, turning both of them with the motion. "I can't ask for anything. I'm not allowed to want."

The rogue’s lips tremble. “Do you want me, Neve?” 

"More than anything," she admits, eyes drifting shut. "But if you don't want me anymore, I can't make you stay."

“I don’t want anyone who doesn’t want to be here,” Xan says, hands wrapping around Neve’s neck. “And even if it’s killed me…” Her fingers travel up into Neve’s hair, a firm grip on the mage’s head. “I have never stopped wanting you.” 

The hands on Xan's hips pull her closer. "Enough to let me fix this?" 

“Enough to let you try,” Xan says, licking her lips. “But you have a lot to make up for.” She pulls her in, lips meeting Neve’s fiercely. The rogue pushes her firmer against the wall, finally welcoming the searing heat that burns through her heart. Their argument is left on the tip of her tongue—the one that is currently fighting to reach Neve’s.

The mage’s mouth welcomes that seeking tongue readily, a sharp contrast to their last chaste kiss, so long, too long ago. Neve’s lips leave the rogue long enough to draw in a ragged breath, before kissing away fallen tears. "Oh, Xan… I'm sorry." Another kiss, another tear lifted from her cheek, from her heart. "I'm so, so, sorry." 

Finally, the one word she was owed for so long. 

Xan has a chance to catch her breath until it shakes into a broken sob. Neve’s lips on her, whispering to her like she used to—it’s enough to pull her apart, and she welcomes it. “Neve,” she whispers, finding the other’s lips again as her fingers cradle her face.

Neve’s hands glide up from Xan's shoulders, one hand trailing back into her hair, caressing an ear, the other tracing her jaw. Her desperate kisses are only interrupted by their need to breathe, a gentle thumb over her lips. Xan moves her hands to her waist, softly caressing until she squeezes. Neve’s softness now stands in the shadow of her strength. Xan would find it—the soft and sensitive parts of the mage that made her melt. Not before showing strength of her own, though. 

Neve’s head hits the wall with the force of Xan’s next kiss. It’s hard and unwavering as she bites down on her lower lip and pulls. That draws a low moan, and Neve drags her hands down over the other, slipping under her suit coat. 

"You… carried my home in your heart… even when you didn't have to. Even when I didn't deserve it." The mage’s eyes flutter closed indulgently, but only for a moment. "The least I can do is carry you." 

When Xan is caught in a blizzard, Neve is always the eye of the storm. With a surge, the mage's arms encircle Xan’s waist and lift her easily to toss on the bed, letters scattering with a bounce on the mattress. The mage hurries to pull at her tunic, tossing aside greys and blues. She's actually wearing a binder for the first time in… forever. 

"We could have—" Neve shakes her head, flinging her belt aside as the hem of her breeches slides over chiseled abs. "I don't care how long it takes. I'm giving you back the year I should have given you. Tonight."

Xan feels helpless under her touch, but it’s a far cry from that night. Where Xan had laid in submission to fear, she now lays in submission to passion. She runs her fingers down the front of Neve's bound chest, down her abs, and hooks them in the loops of her pants. Xan tugs Neve closer, starving for her. “I want all of you this time. I need to feel you.” She lavishes kisses along the mage’s neck as her hands reach the fastenings of her binder, a silent request of permission to remove. 

"Don't hesitate on me now, Trouble," Neve’s fingers skillfully plucking the buttons of Xan's blouse open. "I was always yours to take. I just wish I knew that sooner." 

The Crow’s mind cries out at her words. After last time, how could she not be cautious? Not be hyper vigilant about how she touches her? The painful memory of Neve recoiling at her touch lingers in a sad corner of her heart. With deft hands, she unfastens the binder and guides it over Neve’s head. Xan aches to press that chest to hers, tugging away at her own blouse and sending the remaining buttons flying. “I have wanted for nobody else,” she confesses. “I never stopped carrying you in my heart.” 

Neve's hips are already grinding against her greedily as Xan bares her chest. Capturing one of those skillful hands, she guides it until Xan finds her hand over Neve's heart, cupping her breast. At least some parts of her body are still as soft as she remembers.

"Neither did I. Even when"—Neve swallows hard, running her nails softly from Xan's neck to her breeches—"even when others offered a warm bed… I could never take it. You've ruined me in the best way, Trouble." She leans down over her, one arm holding her up as the other slips under the waistband of her pants. "I'll never find comfort with anyone but you."

Xan palms her breast with unshakable familiarity. Her other hand hooks around Neve’s head as the rogue pulls herself up the distance to meet her, faces a breath apart. “I couldn’t. I wouldn’t,” Xan whispers hot over the other woman’s lips. “Ruin me, Neve. Please.” She surges her hips forward, yearning for more. 

Neve doesn't need more prompting than that, sliding her hand between Xan's legs, lips and teeth along her neck. A moan escapes the rogue’s lips as her senses catch fire. When Neve’s fingers glide teasingly along her folds, Xan trembles under her touch. Her weight is crushing her to the bed, but it’s a press she'd longed for every night—even when she was furious, even when she couldn't admit it. 

"Put those hands to work," Neve rumbles against her neck, kissing her way up Xan’s jaw to her ear. Her hand moves instinctively, not needing to explore what she already knows so well, finding just the right spot to make her jump. "Your pants," she growls with a nip to her ear lobe. "Take them off."

Eyes closed in bliss, Xan finds the buckles of her pants to unfasten them. She slides them down her legs, kicking them off leaving only slim black boxers behind. Her hands glide up past the hem of the boxers as she splays herself helplessly on the bed. “Help me with that, would you?” Xan breathes cheekily with a sway of her hips against the sheets. 

"You sure?" Neve asks with a firm stroke over her clit in time with the question. "I only have so many hands, darling."

Xan shudders, but boldness takes over. “You have a pretty mouth. Use it.” 

The growl she gets in reply rumbles through Xan's entire body as the world spins, Neve easily flipping their places to drag the rogue atop her. Her nose flicks one side of her blouse and blazer aside, that pretty mouth taking in a nipple as teeth hook Xan's attention firmly. Hands scratch down her back for good measure before running under her boxers. Strong hands knead the rogue’s ass a moment before sliding the garment the rest of the way down.

Xan barely has a moment to get her bearings before Neve sends her into a daze. As she dips her chest even lower, begging to be consumed, she kicks off her boxers and slots a leg between the other woman’s thighs. A hitch in her breath is all Xan needs to push, drag, and grind. 

The fabric of Neve’s pants becomes too large a barrier to ignore. Xan descends Neve’s front, dragging tongue and teeth along brown skin. She slides until her feet hit the floor and she’s faced with Neve’s prosthetic. It’s different from the one Xan knew so well—so much of Neve is different under her gaze, under her touch. The rogue couldn’t wait to rediscover every detail. “Tell me how.” 

Neve bites her lip, pulling at her pants. "It goes a bit higher than the decorative part." The cuff is tucked behind the wings of the griffon, but under the roughspun linen, there’s leather running up her thigh. There are three straps, but instead of buckles, there are tiny ratcheting mechanisms. "I think they felt bad when my other leg broke," she looks away with a laugh. "Went all out to make something that could stand up to the mud."

“It’s beautiful,” Xan admires, eyeing more than just the leg. With only minor fumbling, she successfully detaches the griffon prosthetic and sets it gently to the side. The rogue leans a knee on the bed, reaching to cup Neve’s breasts, giving a firm squeeze. With a long exhale, Xan drags her hands down smooth skin, savoring every second until she reaches the hem of her pants. She does away with them quickly, tossing them aside before she dives forward. “Let me taste you,” Xan purrs. It’s a desire as much as a question. Her heart lurches again at the memory of Neve flinching at her touch. “Please.” 

Neve props herself up on an elbow to get a proper look at her, reaching down with her other hand to cup her chin. The last time they were in this bed, a pall of fear tainted every touch. Now? Her hand runs up to settle atop Xan's head, eyes hooded, heart thundering loud enough for her lover to hear. "I've wanted nothing more than that for so long," and she presses down, encouraging her. 

Xan allows her head to be guided down as she hooks her arms around strong thighs. Everything comes rushing back to her—her first time between Neve's legs, the last time, and every move that made her come undone. 'Savor this,' she thinks, 'You never thought you'd have this again.' She kisses up inner thighs, dragging tongue and teeth maddeningly slow. Every flavor hit her tongue like a memory that sent her head spinning. The moan she makes as her tongue takes a long, slow swipe up her slit is filthy. Xan belongs here. 

It's a moan that is echoed by the other, Neve letting her head fall back against the pillows. From between the mage's legs, she can watch her drag a hand up over her own body, through a small cascade of flower petals that have fallen from Xan's hair. Her hips roll against her lips with an abandon she hasn't seen in so long, kneading her own breast indulgently. "Don't go too slow now, Trouble. I think we've both waited long enough."

“Have to savor it,” Xan says, lapping every surface she can reach. “Don’t know when you’re gonna run off on me again.” A low blow, but she means it.

Neve's thighs box in her ears. "Who says I won't just take you with me? You're a lot easier to lift these days."

Xan huffs, lavishing her with long strokes. She traces patterns with her tongue as she glides her hand to cup her ass. “I’m sure there are plenty of heartbroken Wardens awaiting your return.”

Neve's one heel digs into her back. "They knew not to ask when it was your name on my lips at night."

“Lucky me,” Xan says. She buries her face in further, lapping with added pressure all the way to her clit. The rogue smirks, drawing maddening circles around it. To her absolute relief, Neve still tastes the same and it warms her to her core. “What did you think of when you thought of me?” she breathes between swirls of her tongue and kisses on her cunt.

"Your tongue," Neve whispers. "Your hands," her own trailing down to toy with her clit when Xan's lips stray lower down hers. Her breath shudders. "The way the glow of the aquarium would light your face." She grinds against Xan's chin. "How your laugh could leave me dizzy and light."

Xan nearly stills, not expecting something so… heartfelt. She nudges Neve’s hand away with her nose, staking her claim. Before she resumes, she drags her hand along Neve’s inner thigh. “Mmm. Sounds like you may be in love with me.” Xan sinks two fingers into her, latching onto her clit with a delicious combination of licking and sucking. She moans, the wet heat closing around her, warm and inviting. Xan pulls out with a curl of her fingers, only to push back in even deeper. Her pace grows as her own wetness gathers between her legs, eliciting the most beautiful moans. 

Those moans turn to whimpers as Xan fills her, Neve’s walls clenching eagerly around her fingers. "Always have been, Trouble. Even when I couldn't admit it." She moves a hand to her mouth, biting down to stifle a cry. "Even when I couldn't believe… anyone could want to get mixed up with me."

Xan lifts her head, replacing her tongue with her fingers. “I’d wait a hundred lifetimes, just to get mixed up with you.” She adjusts, fucking her with one hand and rubbing with her other. “Don’t,” she says as Neve bites down on her hand. “I want to hear you.”

Neve manages a light laugh between moans. "I had to… lock it down in the barracks. Would have been"—a sharp gasp as fingers stroke just the right spot—"rude, otherwise."

“Thankfully, this is our bed.” The rogue pumps in and out, dragging with extra care against her walls. “Our home.” The fingers on her clit rub rhythmically in time. “So don’t be rude, and let me hear you come for me.”

Breathing ragged, Neve throws an arm over her eyes instead, allowing herself to writhe . "Please… please!" She melts under Xan's touch. "I can't… I shouldn't… I don't deserve you… but… ah! Xan!"

Xan’s own heart threatens to break as her arms and wrist start to burn with effort. She doesn’t let up as her fingers pump hard into warm slick. “That’s it, Neve. For me.” As much as this is for Neve, Xan needs it just as badly. She needs to see that her touch, her mouth, everything about her isn’t poison to the other woman. That Neve feels safe enough to let her in. To let Xan love her. 

And let her she does, back arching from the mattress, voice singing Xan's name to the heavens… and inadvertently to their neighbors, a disgruntled thumping heard from the floor beneath them. 

When Neve cries her name, it’s a sound Xan wants etched into every corner of her memory. She feels her clench around her fingers, hips and legs writhing through her release. Neve’s back hits the bed and her legs still, her breathing ragged. Xan takes a moment, withdrawing her fingers eliciting one last whimper from the mage. She sits back on her knees, admiring while catching her breath. Neve is a vision, her strong sculpted body splayed out and spent just for her. Xan’s shirt and jacket hang open over her exposed chest, a faint sheen of sweat glistening against the warm light of the room.

Neve uncovers her eyes, staring skyward with a lopsided grin. "Only back a day and going to get evicted for the noise. Always Trouble."

“I’d buy the damn building if it meant hearing you scream like that,” Xan says, wiping her brow. She looks around, dust still coating surfaces untouched for months. How she feared coming back here, and was so prepared to leave it all behind.

"Well… rather than risk that," she says, propping herself on a shaking elbow to reach out and stroke a single finger up Xan’s stomach and between her breasts. "Would you trust me"—a petal flutters down from the rogue’s hair to light on her nose, which Neve flicks away with a giggle—"to make a small wait worth it?"

Trust is a thing that lies fractured between Xan’s mind and her heart. She couldn’t speak on trust, not yet at least. Neve has her heart, but the Crow’s trust in her is shrouded by doubt. She doesn’t want to drift away and lose this moment, so she gives what she can. “I’ll certainly let you try.”

Neve's smile softens, sitting up and reaching for her small clothes. "Get dressed, then. I've got somewhere you can be as loud as you like."

Xan nods as she slides from the bed, walking over to retrieve Neve’s prosthetic and placing it next to her. Notes and parchment litter the floor when she collects her boots. She still wants to read them—every word meant for her that never reached her. The cool breeze from the window hits her chest and abdomen, still bare without the buttons of her blouse to hide them. Xan scoops the lone bottle of wine that rolled away and holds it up. “You’re sharing.”

Neve looks up at her with a soft smile, tugging a sleeve over her stump of a right leg, still bare to behold otherwise. "Tastes sweeter when shared, anyway."

She places the wine back in its bag and places it on the floor by the door. Neve’s dress hanging catches her eye. “The dress… did you like it?” she asks, leaning against the wall to gaze upon her.

As she dresses, Neve eyes it a moment before smirking at Xan. "Did you? I likely would have worn an old standby if they fit, but it can be fun to be fancy for an evening."

Xan feels heat rising to her cheeks; she is so absolutely floored by the rental that she wants to buy it outright for her. “It’s lucky Davrin just happened upon the same designer as your dress last year…” 

"Hmm," Neve hums. "You had to show him so he didn't stumble around haplessly for hours, didn’t you?" She contemplates her options, reaching for her old cobra prosthetic.

“Yeah, you’re welcome…” Xan says sheepishly. Her heart races at seeing her choose the serpent; it’s just another thing that has Neve looking like her old self. The Crow could love any version of her, but she misses the one she knew: painted teal nails on soft hands with pants to match, a shining gold cobra, and open collared shirts showing off that one mole that drove Xan crazy.

She might not be in teal, but as Neve tugs her hair up into its messy bun and stands, testing her weight on her old leg, that smirk could turn back time. "Grab a couple of towels. You're going to get the full festival experience this year."

Having repacked the bag of groceries with a few towels, Neve leads her toward the water. "I know after the last festival we didn't have a chance to finish the night out. Always another fight. Though you and Bellara scattering your flowers into the Fade did look like a lot of fun. Did anyone actually explain the tradition to you?"

“No, I just went along with it,” Xan admits. “Tell me about it.” She falls into an easy pace with the mage as a warm familiarity sinks in.

"The exchange of flowers helps you to remember all the people that care about you. The good things you've had." Neve diverts down a side street away from the crowds, heading toward the open beaches with roaring bonfires and food vendors. "Then at the end of the night, the representation of all those people in your life help carry away the pain of the last year, setting the flowers adrift in the bay." She looks down at the bouquet she'd made of her own, letting her hair down alone as soon as she'd gotten back to the apartment. "I was going to wait to part with mine until I knew for certain.... whether or not I could fix this."

Xan listens, admiring the bouquet with sadness in her eyes. “Would you have let me go if you couldn’t?” 

The gaze turned upon her says more than words, a deep sorrow at even the thought of it. Though she’s not sure any answer would have satisfied her, Xan understands. She reaches to tuck loose strands of hair behind Neve’s ear. “Come on. Let’s send off the last year for good. Together.”

As they reach the edge of town, Neve leads her over a crumbling wall, moving further and further away from the lights and festivities of the city. There's a walkway along one of the cut stone spillways. It crosses over a bridge that looks as if it were meant more for maintenance that hadn't been done in years, and leads to a steep but not too high embankment. Neve tosses the bag down to the sand below, and slides down after it with practiced familiarity. At the bottom, lit only by moonlight, Neve holds her arms out to Xan. "Come on. I've got you."

There’s that trust again—a scattered mess within her, but in this moment Xan believes her. She holds her hands out for balance as she slides down. Sliding or falling, Xan puts her heart on the line, hoping Neve will be there to catch her. 

And she does, easily, arms closing around her warm and solid. "I don't bring others here," Neve murmurs in her ear, before stooping to pick their bag up. Xan can feel the ground give a little more than usual under her feet, the sand so soft with very little in the way of larger stones here. They’re closed off from the rest of the shoreline, like a tiny private beach—the embankment, trees, and bushes shielding them from prying eyes. There’s a fire pit that looks as if it hasn't been used in a long time, beside it a pile of firewood that sits untouched and has started to become overgrown.

Xan takes in the view where the lights of Minrathous can’t reach, allowing the sky to sit in inky blackness against the water. She can see the moon and the stars fully for the first time since living here. “It’s beautiful. Did you come here a lot?”

"I usually stayed closer to the city." Neve pulls the hand axe from her belt she'd been carrying earlier, and there's a faint glow. Xan hadn't noticed the spell casting focus she must have had embedded in it. With a flick of the wrist, she buries it in the pile of aged firewood. "But there were days I didn't want to be found. They got more frequent when I was a teen. Ebbed away when I got older." She starts to toss pieces into the fire pit. "Maybe I just got so good at concealing how I felt right to a person's face, I didn't have to hide from them fully." There's a smirk for Xan she can barely see in the dark. "Just another thing you don't let me get away with." 

Xan lets out a breathy chuckle as she watches Neve fill the pit. Her toned arms and shoulders flexing with every lift, how good she looks when she bends down for more. The Crow tries to regain her focus, but has a feeling the other woman noticed anyway. She clears her throat. ”I had something like this in Treviso—a ledge between two buildings that looked out over the city. It’s not quite this, but it served a similar purpose.”

Neve smiles. "I'm sure the view was beautiful." She struggles a moment to get the fire lit, an element of magic that doesn’t come as naturally to her, but eventually her fingers throw enough sparks for the tinder to light. "Maybe you can show it to me one of these days." Looking out over the water, she pulls at her belt, getting undressed slowly, without preamble.

Xan winces. “Teia and Viago may have feelings about that,” she says, remembering Viago’s very serious threats with poison to mend her broken heart. “But I’ll sneak you in.” Xan moves to join her, kicking off her boots on the way. She pulls her shirt and jacket off in one go and tosses them in the sand. Her eyes remain solely on Neve as the light from the moon bathes her in an ethereal glow. She’d forsake all of her gods then and there for the woman standing before her.

As the last pieces of clothing hit the ground, Neve looks back at her with bright eyes, holding out a hand. Forget about forsaking them, Xan would drown them out of their empire just to erect a new throne for her. Xan shimmies out of her pants and walks, forging a path in the sand to Neve. She takes her hand.

With her own flowers in hand, Neve leads her to the water. Her gait is an awkward limp without her left boot, leaving her right leg longer as the prosthetic is sized for a heel, but she manages. "Many just release their flowers into the bay, but most enjoy letting them come loose as you float among them." She presses a kiss to Xan's cheek. "Clothed, of course, but… if we have the beach to ourselves, why not indulge?"

Floating in a sea of flowers with Neve in her arms sounds too good to be true, but it’s real. Xan doesn’t know if she’s ready to let the pain of the last year go, or if she would even be able to at all. Pain latched onto her and sunk its teeth into her heart. She wants nothing more than to be free of it, to be with Neve fully again. If only it were that simple, but long ago Xan uttered the words “I’ll always try” and she wants to mean it. Her heart skips a beat as she offers an arm to Neve, ready to support her as they wade into the sea.

Neve takes it warmly, taking each step together, swaying in time to the push and pull of the tide. When the water reaches their waists, Neve pauses to look down at the flowers in her hand. Xan knows many of those came from her services at the Wall of Light, but many others are from a day of reconnecting with her home, her roots. She takes her arm back to loosen the tie binding them together.

“May the water take what ails my soul. May the tide return all I need for the year to come.” Neve lets her arms sink with them, and the gentle movements of the water break the bundle apart, setting flowers adrift around them. She doesn’t behold them long, eyes drawn to look at Xan with a sad smile. Arms wind about her as if to dance, ready to dip her low. “I can help you. If you’re ready. I’d understand if you aren’t.” It’s not even about the water. It’s whether she’s ready to let go.

Before Xan gives her full weight over, she looks to Neve with insecurity hiding in her eyes. She opens her mouth to speak, but has a hard time finding the words. "You'll hold me up?" she finally whispers, asking in more ways than one for a hope, a promise. Neve nods, eyes never leaving hers.

Xan wills herself to believe, to trust the other woman with her body, her mind, her heart. She pulls Neve in for a chaste kiss on the lips before sinking back into the water. As her head floats above the surface, the water in her ears muffling every sound, she tries to relax. She's incredibly vulnerable in this position, and it goes against everything she was taught. Her eyes find Neve's, a buoy to keep her mind from spiraling.

Neve is right there beside her, crouching just a bit under the water to more easily run a hand beneath her back. Xan is from Treviso, she’s more than capable in the water. But this meant more, to hold her, to be here. Neve’s other hand slowly begins to loosen all the ties and braids in Xan’s hair, massaging her scalp. One by one, each flower falls to float in the water beside her as fingers comb through black strands gently. “May the water take what ails your soul.” Xan’s hair drifts in the water like a halo, framing her face. “May the tide return all you need”—with a gentle kiss to her forehead—“for the year to come.”

Xan sighs at the release of her hair, swaying freely in the water. The hand supporting her sends warmth straight to her core, and she feels safe. Hot tears creep to the corners of her eyes, and she desperately wants to be rid of them. With a large inhale, Xan allows her body to drop, sinking barely under the water's surface. Feeling the shift, Neve moves her hand to let her dip under, but it stays upon her, just in case. The rogue’s face, submerged in the sea, stills. Her eyes squint closed as she feels her tears escape into the water. She emerges with a breath and a quiet sob.

Neve’s arms encircle her, pulling her up and cradling her to her chest, silently. One of the Bronna’s Blooms that had occupied Neve’s hair drifts past Xan’s cheek, petals softer than skin. It carries one of her tears away toward the horizon on the ebb and flow of the waves—a push and pull that felt like the beating of her heart.

Xan cries, hand on Neve’s chest as she tries to catch her breath. Her fingers trail upward, gliding against wet skin up the mage’s chest, to her neck. She looks up to her, eyes imploring, with a request she could never entrust to another. ‘Take care of me.’

Neve rocks her back and forth in the water for a time as she presses another kiss to her forehead. Both arms settle under Xan, and she’s lifted easily. With a look out toward the bay, eyes filled with moonlight, Neve turns back to shore, carrying her like the most precious thing she’s ever held.

Xan gives herself over fully, feeling lighter than she had before the water. It isn’t much, but maybe the sea really did carry some of her pain away. Her voice is a whisper above the waves hitting shore. “Neve…” Xan never could reign in her fierce heart, not when it beat for another. Despite the healing that still needs to be done, she allows herself this moment. “I… I love you.” 

As Xan’s settled on a blanket next to the fire, Neve smiles down at her, flames casting every dimple, every line at the corner of her eyes in gorgeous contrast. “I love you too, Trouble.”

When she takes up a towel, Neve’s touch on her skin is so… gentle. A far cry from the panicked scrubbing a year ago that left her skin and heart raw. Now it’s like every inch of Xan is being worshipped, featherlight kisses following in the wake of each stroke.

Xan is mesmerized, swept away under her care. She doesn’t want any part of her going untouched by Neve Gallus. With every wipe of the towel, she’s pulled further away from the memory; when her eyes were locked on the ceiling in resignation, and her touch unwelcome poison. It fades away until she is left ever-present, reveling in the other woman’s love. 

The rogue leans back on her hands, admiring. “Will you tell me,” she starts, nervously, “what you hoped for, so long ago? And… do you still hope for it now?”

Water drips from Neve back onto Xan, but it just serves as an excuse to keep touching her. "I wanted..." She takes a deep breath. "I wanted. I didn't get to do that before you. For years"—she presses kisses to her neck—"it was just one case to the next, one meal to the next. Maybe a thank you. Maybe a door slammed in my face." When they're both dry, she pulls Xan against her, hands roaming. "But with you… I could feel a body well rested. Wake up to a warm bed every morning. Have an ear to bend with the twists and turns of every case."

Xan leans into her touch as her heart races. “And you don’t think we can have all that?”

Neve's hands still, arms curling about her a bit more… possessively. "When I left? No. Not with the nightmares, or the burning in my veins. Not with the fear I'd force you to suffer the same. But now?" A hand cups Xan's cheek tenderly. "Maybe some of that is still in reach."

“I’ll make sure it is,” Xan says, closing the distance. As their lips press together, Neve runs a hand firmly down her back, skillfully digging into muscles on the way to cupping her ass greedily. She tugs Xan's leg over her hip, sliding a knee between her legs. 

"You can tell all the stars above about the heaven I'm about to show you," Neve murmurs before her tongue slips against Xan's teeth.

“Fuck…” Xan moans into the kiss, opening her mouth to take more of Neve. She squeezes her legs tight around the mage and grinds up to meet her. “You must be sent by the Maker,” she coos, using her teeth to bite the other’s lower lip and pull.

"I'm going to have you in far too sinful a fashion to be that." Pushing her back into the blanket and the soft sand beneath, Neve pulls her lips free with a smirk to work her way down. Teeth graze Xan’s breasts, followed by a soothing tongue right after, the warmth of the fire pouring over them both.

Xan wraps her hands around her back, nails dragging as the mage works her way down. She’s completely wrapped in Neve, her skin catching fire for every kiss or drag of her tongue. “Who says I’ll go easy?” the rogue asks coyly as she squirms under her touch.

Neve chuckles between Xan's breasts. "I was chopping wood piles as high as you are tall, and lifting stones your weight for a year to earn my keep. If you want the thrill of a struggle, you can have it." Her knee pushes up further against Xan's wet heat. "But it feels to me like you're a bit too eager to sell that act."

Xan’s hips give chase probably a bit too quickly as she bites into her hand, stifling a moan. Her stubbornness won’t deign that with a response. Instead she grinds down harder, breathless. “Go on, then. Earn your keep.”

Neve’s fingers scratch over Xan's abs before they comb through the hair at the apex of her legs, teasing curls just long enough to draw a whine from her. Smiling against the other's breast, she captures a nipple between her teeth just as her hand slides between leg and cunt, knowing all too well how to make Xan’s body sing.

The rogue hisses, fingers dragging through Neve’s hair and pulling her closer. Her legs widen of their own accord as Xan feels her wetness spread. The fact that they still fit together so well is a cool relief to her anxious mind. She feels like she used to under the mage’s touch, amplified by the distance and longing.

Neve circles Xan's clit firmly, over and over, and she kisses her way back up. She takes her time, enjoying the press of their breasts together as she runs the tip of her tongue along the tattoo on Xan's chin. "Now... I need to remember." She presses a kiss to her jaw. "Which fingers…" And just the tips ghost over her entrance. "Did you like best? Middle?" Only one knuckle deep has her hips jumping for more, but Neve's body pins her down. "Pointer?" A withdrawal, then another exploratory touch.

“You’re a detective,” Xan pants, “so detect.” With each new finger, she groans to reflect how badly she wants. Middle receives the filthiest moan of them all from the rogue. “Well? Any discoveries?” She asks breathlessly.

"Oh, I think I remember," Neve murmurs into Xan's hair. "Is it—" and without warning she nips the tip of her ear, burying her middle and ring finger inside her up to the palm, rubbing her clit roughly.

Xan’s body burns white hot as she takes Neve in. The bite of her ear sends a jolt through her body, hips surging frantically. It’s still not enough. “You… forgot… one more,” Xan moans, desperate for Neve to fill her, to claim her as her own.

"Oh?" A drag of Neve’s teeth along the entire length of her ear lobe. "You really think you're ready for that?"

The rogue takes Neve’s face in her hands, pulling her close. “I’m ready to take it all from you, Neve.” Xan grinds her hips down slowly as she licks her lips.

A low chuckle, and Neve's other hand cradles her neck. "Breathe," she whispers before a crushing kiss, adding a third finger to her next thrust between Xan's legs.

Xan cries into her mouth, biting hard on the mage’s lower lip. She can feel her jaw shake as Neve growls at her bite, fingers running from Xan's neck up into her wet hair, tilting her head further into their kiss. Her fingers slide in and out so easily, curling each time at their furthest reach. When Neve pulls her lips back to breathe, she's grinning. "Don’t ask anymore about what I wanted, Trouble. Give me more moments like this. Because this is better than I imagined."

“I’m yours,” Xan cries, every curl of Neve’s fingers bringing her closer to the edge. Her mouth moves to the mage’s neck, biting and sucking in time with her thrusts. The harder her walls are hit, the harder Xan bites down.

Neve arches her neck and groans, hooking a leg around Xan's to pull between hers to give herself something to grind against. Pressing her palm to Xan's clit, she snaps her wrist over and over to work them up to a brutally quickened pace. "Just think… I'm going to have you like this all night… and in the morning… and every day forward."

Xan’s hand moves to rub Neve’s clit as she grinds harder and harder, her pace matching the other woman’s. “I’m so… I’m close, Neve.” The rogue is skating dangerously along the edge, but she would wait for her. She would always wait for her. “Mi tesoro,” she whispers into her ear, giving it a tug with her teeth. 

"Mea tribulatio," Neve groans through clenched teeth, feeling how Xan tightens, pushing, not pulling her hand away anymore. Fingers buried deep and playing a song of pleasure out in the instrument of her body.

Neve’s name falls from Xan’s lips in a cascade, echoing to the heavens as she comes undone. She rides that high as she loses herself to the other woman. Neve’s tender strokes between Xan's legs slow with her breathing, pulling her hand away only when she knows she's drawn her climax out as long as possible and eased her down from the heights. With a stretch, Neve rolls on to her back, but still holds the other close. "I missed you."

“I know,” Xan says breathlessly. “I’d miss me, too.” The rogue jests, but her heart threatens to burst with how much she’s missed her. It’s been a year of anger, sorrow, and words unsaid, but tonight has granted them hope for their future, their after. One kiss on her cheek, and one on her lips before Xan curls her body into the other woman. “Welcome home, Neve.”

Chapter Text

One Year Later

It never ceases to be odd how natural it feels to traverse the Crossroads, the Fade. Xan has done so many times what others would never experience even once in their lives. But as soon as they're beyond the Eluvian, Neve is... distracted. "Yes, Rana knows we'll be gone. I closed up any work she needed me for..." and trails off, eyes drawn skyward.

The rogue drops off their bags with the Caretaker, ever ready to traverse the Fade on their ship. She greets them like an old friend, and though they’re not known for displaying any kind of emotion, Xan somehow feels the sentiment is shared. She turns around to see Neve still by the mirror. Xan approaches slowly. “Doin’ alright there?”

Neve blinks with the slightest start, but hides it well. "Yes, it's—I'm alright." A soft smile returns. "Given the time zone difference... should we wait a bit before going to Kal-Sharok? Maybe head to the Lighthouse?" She bites her lip, the slightest pinch around her eyes. "Maybe water Lace's garden?"

Xan’s face lights up. “That’s a great idea!” Her excitement is palpable as they make their way to the ferry. “I know I left a knife or two stashed there,” she says as she hops aboard. Xan turns to Neve, still on the platform, and her mind goes blank. To see Neve with the ethereal lights and colors of the Fade behind her… it’s something she didn’t realize she’s missed so much. Xan holds her hand out, ready to help.

Neve takes her hand gently, stepping aboard. "If we're lucky, there might even still be some coffee beans left in the kitchen."

It’s... quiet. Dusty. But there is still the odd feeling of coming home as they cross the mirror's threshold to the Lighthouse. The times they’ve walked this hall, in victory and defeat, echo through their memory. Xan feels something akin to pride as she stands there, a new version of herself. She looks at Neve with a smile and squeezes her hand. “I still can’t believe you and Harding dragged my unconscious body all the way here from Arlathan.”

“Mostly Lace. I was dragging…” She trails off. “I’m still just shocked I managed to close your head wound. My Spirit Healer Professor back at the Circle would be slightly less disappointed in me.”

With Neve’s hand in hers, Xan walks them out of the room and up the stairs. The soft glow from above cascades over them and the library. Many of Solas' books were taken by Bellara and Emmrich back to scholars that could make much better use of them, but the entire group had actually contributed their own to leave behind. In case they ever came back. In case anyone else had to seek refuge here, many years in the future. It’s like the story of them across the shelves. Action, adventure, terrible corny romance. Davrin had carved a few bookends to help keep everything upright.

"I'm sorry we didn't invite you to the book club," Neve whispers. "We thought you needed to sleep more."

Xan lets out a loud laugh, unsure as to why the other woman is whispering. She plays along. “S’alright, you couldn’t handle my literary genius, anyway.” Xan’s eyes roam the library, coming to a halt as she sees the hall to the infirmary where Varric... She lets out a breath she didn’t even realize she was holding.

Neve squeezes her hand, feeling the shift even if she hasn't quite placed it yet. "Do you... want to walk together? Or is there anything you need to do here alone?"

The Crow shakes her head. “No, I… I’d rather share this with you.” The smile Xan gives is genuine, hopeful. She turns her gaze toward the meditation room. “Gods, I can’t even tell you how many times I’d walk down these steps to go to your study… just to run back up and hide.”

“And you have no idea how many times I’d almost knock on your door with a new revelation about a case I was so proud of… but I didn’t say anything because it had nothing to do with the mission.” Neve presses a kiss to her cheek. “No more missed opportunities.”

Xan’s heart flutters; her returning to the Lighthouse with Neve as more than just coworkers, more than friends, hits her hard. Standing in the space where she lusted after her so much, now hand in hand with her is a beautiful feeling. “Come on,” she says. “Let’s check outside. And we can always go back to my room and… reminisce about what went on in there.” The smirk on her face and wiggle of her eyebrows is too much.

As they head out into the courtyard, they notice the light has shifted. Where before it was like perpetual noon, the sky is now painted in shades of red and orange. Not the blood red of Elgar’nan’s eclipse… but the gentle shades of a sunset that would fall on weary travelers, promising rest.

“Wow… wish it looked like this when we were here,” Xan says. Her feet instinctively start on a path towards the study.

"We are now. And we can be again in the future." Neve allows herself to be pulled along easily.

They pass the fractured steps to Bellara’s room. How many times had they caught one another sitting there listening to the elf’s excited ravings? The memory makes Xan smile, but it’s the stairs leading up to the farther end of the courtyard that get her heart racing. She motions towards the study. “After you.”

Neve smirks, stepping up to open the door for her, inclining her head with a sweep of her hand to welcome Xan inside. 

The rogue enters, like she had so many times before, but it still gives her butterflies. Her eyes land on the desk. “You know, it’s a shame we never—” Xan's bangs are suddenly blown into her mouth mid sentence as a cascade of blue light fills her eyes. A flock of wisps surge past her to mob about Neve, chiming excitedly.

“Oh, I see how it is,” Xan calls after the wisps, trying to act hurt. It doesn’t last, though, as she breaks out into laughter.

Neve actually allows herself to laugh freely, lifting her arms as if to embrace them. "Oh alright, come here you little trouble makers. Did you go through my things while I was away? I left a few mystery novels for you to flip through."

As Neve struggles to enter and close the door behind her, it strikes Xan that this room is quite a bit less dusty than the others. The rogue hops up onto the desk, legs dangling as she looks around. “Wait, have you been working here?”

"A bit, during that year away. Maybe once or twice a month. When I needed the quiet. And no mud." She points to the board behind Xan, now filled with what they know of the Titans, the history of the Darkspawn, and at the center of it all: a sketch of the Black City. That didn't explain the keepsakes, though. Xan hadn't asked at the time, but there were so many touches of Neve still here that she never packed up after Elgar'nan fell. It isn’t as densely packed but... there are still stray comforts. Even a spare set of clothes. Her clothes from Minrathous, not from the Wardens, sits folded up neatly on her old cot.

“I never thought to look for you here,” Xan shrugs, trying not to sound too disappointed. “So, any reason this stuff is still here and not crammed in our apartment?”

"Not surprised you didn't look here. I was pretty vocal about not trusting the dreams and lies of this place, but there was something about it that felt more stable. Minrathous is home. Always has been, always will be. But it's always been a place I had to figure out how to survive from one day to the next." She runs a hand over the desk beside Xan before leaning into it next to her. "Running off when my parents infuriated me and having to crowd up next to Hal's fry oil fire to keep warm on colder nights. Trying to convince a landlord I could actually make rent. Getting evicted when a case went wrong and the wrong sorts followed me home and trashed the place." She gestures around her. "But this place always felt a bit... frozen in time. Like it would always wait for me. For us. Just in case."

Xan leans her head in, kissing Neve on the cheek. “It really is something else. I just…” She looks at the pieces of Neve that linger here so strongly. “I hope it’s not a backup plan.” Everyone needs a place to escape, of course. But what if Neve kept it this way as a place to escape Minrathous, and her, for good?

"To be fair, it is. Just... not one I ever want to use. You know how close my apartment came to burning down when that dragon attacked?" She shakes her head. "That and... I can't afford a bigger place, but I grew up with so little that parting with anything is..." She picks up a small stack of letters from the desk, some of them dated years before Xan even met her. Messages of gratitude, updates on lives saved, even a drawing from a child for her hero. "Any time I make any headway, it's hard to let go. A place like this doesn't force me to."

Xan wants to understand, but the Lighthouse doesn’t feel like that for her. Her room here is just a reminder of a time when her mind wasn’t her own. Or the infirmary down the hall, which held a ghost, a trick to keep her complacent. 

“Well, now that we’re…” Xan picks up Neve’s left hand, tracing her finger over a beautiful ring, one that’s secretly more than it appears. “What if we got our own place? A real one, not some single apartment where our neighbors bang on the walls.” She can feel the nerves spilling out of her throat into her words. “I’ve been looking… There's a building in Dock Town that just became available. It’s only two stories, but there’s room enough for you to have a space to work at home. I worked a lot the year you were gone, and only paid rent for half of it, so I have a lot saved up—“ 

Neve chuckles at the thought. "A whole building? For sale and not rent, that two women could afford? In Dock Town? I'll need to make sure it isn't a scam first." She shakes her head with a disbelieving smirk.

Xan rolls her eyes. “Okay, fine! If not there then somewhere! I want you to have a place of your own that feels… like it’ll be there for you.”

Neve blinks, gaze softening. "It's not that I don't want that! I just… can’t even imagine it. But I suppose... I shouldn't take anything off the table when it comes to you."

Xan gets up to walk in front of Neve, humming in agreement. She nudges the mage’s legs apart, leaning her hands on the desk around her. “You should know by now, detective…” Xan leans in deathly close, her lips nearly gracing Neve’s. “I have ways of getting what I want.” Just as the rogue is about to close the distance, she pushes off the desk and walks to the back wall. 

Neve sighs dramatically, still leaning forward, and lets her head fall with a dark chuckle. The wall that greets Xan is a bit more of a mess than usual, given how much is theory versus fact. A sketch of the lyrium dagger hanging from Xan's belt is along the length of twine stretching to a list of the Dwarven cities, each rated for how strong a connection their small group has with them. There are several old letters from Harding pinned up as well.

"If you're going to dig into that right away, shall I check the kitchen for any coffee?" 

Xan nods at the wall, hand on her hip. Walking up, she unpins a note, only to pin it again an inch over. Xan backs away, arms raised and nodding as if she had made an incredible discovery. Just like she’s seen Neve do countless times when she’s working a case. She turns around, sending a wink in her direction. “Sure, but I’ll take mine unboiled,” she jokes.

"Given all the Wardens agreed with Davrin that my coffee is worse than the Joining, maybe you should make it. Because if I get one complaint, you're sleeping on that couch alone tonight."

“I trust you, mi vida. No complaints.”

She presses a kiss to Rook's cheek before heading to the kitchen.

Xan watches her leave before turning her attention back to the wall. She sighs, scratching the back of her head. That could have gone smoother, but at least Neve was open to getting a place together. She tries making sense of what she sees laid out in the intricate patterns of notes and strings. Her late night talks with Neve are the only thing that help it all make sense. 

The Titans had their dreams severed by ancient elves. In essence, they were made Tranquil. Those dreams festered in the Fade, becoming the blight. Almost like a demon on a grand scale: a titanic one. And sometimes that can bleed through to the material world, like other demons and spirits. But maybe it can be calmed back into something resembling a spirit more...

She takes her time reading it all over, paying particularly close attention to the pinned letters from Harding. Xan doesn’t remember reading these, but she was aware that Lace's mother had sent Neve a number of her daughter's things as part of her vision for the future. Harding had wanted so much for the Dwarven people after having her mind re-opened to dreams. Her mother was still a farmer at the end of the day; it wasn't a mission she felt she could take on. But she was willing to give anything to her daughter's friends to see it through.

There’s a pang in Xan’s heart as she imagines embarking on this adventure with Lace and Varric, like they had before Solas. Her eyes turn to the drawing of the lyrium dagger. She unhooks it from her belt and holds it next to the sketch—not half bad. Xan has kept the dagger affixed to her person, even after the gods were defeated. It’s become a part of her, and she contemplates having to give it up if it means getting closer to answers. The rogue spins the dagger around, pondering as she awaits Neve’s return.

She's waiting... awhile. Just as it starts to sink in that it might be abnormally long, one of the wisps starts rustling her hair for attention. Xan turns, watching it move toward the door, then back to her again, repeatedly.

“You’re right,” Xan says to the wisp as she refastens the dagger to her belt. “She has been gone suspiciously long.” The rogue opens the door of the study and makes her way to the kitchen.

The wisp flies ahead, not through the door, but instead off around the left side of the building, where a small balcony is attached. Xan enters through the kitchen, making her way up the stairs to the balcony door. It’s slightly ajar, she notices before opening it and stepping back outside. The kettle is whistling on the fire, ignored, when she exits. 

Neve is leaning on the railing, eyes fixed skyward. Following her gaze, Xan can see the Black City in the distance; visible no matter where they are in the Fade. She approaches with soft footsteps, walking to lean next to her. “The wisps thought you could use some company.”

Neve startles, turning to face the rogue, but her eyes dart back to the sky for the briefest moment. “Xan! Oh, sorry, I—” and then she hears the whistling. “Kaffas,” and she runs back inside to pull the kettle off.

Xan sighs, shaking her head as she looks up to the Black City herself. She waits.

The wisp tugs her hair again.

“And I thought I was a worrier,” she says to the wisp, heading back through the door and down to the kitchen. 

Neve is... visibly struggling. Her hands are shaking to lay out cups for them. Luckily she wasn't even trying to pour the water yet in this state. 

Xan rushes over, steadying the other woman’s hands with her own. “Hey, hey…” She tugs their hands to place a kiss on them. “What is it, Neve?”

Neve lets the rogue take the cups from her, sinking into a chair and running her hands through her hair.

Xan watches, concern seeping into her heart. She sets the cups down and goes to kneel beside her. “Boiled coffee finally got the better of you, huh?” The Crow jokes, ignoring the pit forming in her gut.

Neve leans forward, wrapping her arms around Xan and leaning their heads together. "I can't stop hearing it. Being able to... see it just makes it harder."

Xan holds her in return, rubbing soothing circles on Neve’s back. “I know…” She doesn’t. “We can go right now. Just… tell me what you need.”

Neve takes a deep breath. "For now... a cup of coffee would help."

Xan leaves her with a kiss on the forehead. She starts preparing the drink, using what she can of the present ingredients to make it more… palatable. When she returns with cups in hand, the rogue pulls up a chair with her foot and sits, gently placing one in Neve’s hands. The wisp cuddling into her grasp reluctantly makes way for the cup.

"Thank you." Neve blows lightly on the drink to cool it before taking a sip. "It shouldn't be me, going to Kal-Sharok. I adored Lace... but... a Tevinter Mage telling the Dwarves the blight is actually the tortured dreams of their ancestors?" She shakes her head. 

“It’s… a lot.” Xan sets her own coffee down, instead placing a hand on Neve’s leg. “And I wish she were here to see this through, but… what we’re doing, what you’re doing, is going to help. It’ll stick.”

One of Neve's hands slides over her thigh, rubbing back and forth. "I hope so." Another sip. "We don't have to leave. I figured it out when I worked here before. Though I... lost a bit of time," she confesses. "Just... stay close, Trouble?" 

“I wouldn’t be anywhere else,” Xan reassures. She picks up her coffee and takes a sip. Her wish to go to the Black City itself and burn it all down sits at the front of her mind. Her wish to see Solas one more time, if only to deck him in the face, resides just behind it, but ever-present.

Once caffeinated, Neve seems ready to face the hardest part of being here. "Shall we check on the garden?"

The rogue nods, rising and offering her arm to Neve. She steadies her breath as they walk to Harding’s room. The stairs leading up to the room itself seem to be slightly more fractured than before. Maybe it's sensed the loss of its previous inhabitant.

Neve hesitates, but knowing how hard this was for both of them, takes the leap. She grasps the handle and opens the door.

A few areas appear shriveled, but it’s still green within, in a way that shows life is stubborn and can find a way. Or that shows Lace was thinking about what could happen if she were gone. It’s beautifully overgrown, roots pushing over even sections of bare stone to claw their way to the pool in the center of the room. Lace's tent and bedroll are still in the middle of it all, flowering vines layering over the canvas.

Without words, Xan unsheathes a knife from her belt and gets to work discarding any dead vines and leaves. It feels good to just clean it up around the edges—show it someone out there still cares.

Neve goes to the watering can, filling it from the pool. "Do you think we'd be able to carve irrigation channels? Maybe not today, we don't have the tools, but... we could come back. I did something similar before." She was much more lithe now than when they'd reunited a year ago, given there were less demands for physical labor when she'd settled back into her role as an investigator. But Neve is sometimes still the first one to grab a hammer and fix things in their apartment. They even ended up with a tiny herb garden on their roof the landlord doesn’t know about. Sadly, she’s still a terrible cook.

“I think that’s a great idea,” Xan says, assembling the discarded vines in a pile. “Hear that? Neve Gallus is going to change your life,” she says aloud to the plants. When Neve gives her a look, she shrugs. “Harding said the plants like it when you talk to them.” 

As Neve carries the water to some of the neglected back corners, she gives it a go as well. “I’m sorry I didn’t come by more often for you all.” The can is heavy in her hands as she tips it. “I’m sorry Harding couldn’t be here herself for all of you.”

The rogue looks at her with worry. This isn't something she needs to burden herself over, but she would anyway because she cares so fiercely—the Crow loves that about her. Neve always tells Xan she has a 'bleeding heart,' but it seems hers bleeds just as fiercely. After a few more trimmings, she takes a step back to admire. "See? Better already."

Neve lingers among the flowers, fingers softly running over petals. Between the tent and the window, there is a line of twine strung up in the sun, a number of fairly large leaves pinned to it with what looks like a list, dried.

Xan tidies the pile of discarded vines before approaching the string of leaves. She lifts one gently with her finger to read in the light.

Drying and curing instructions of some sort. Too many steps to just be herbs. There are markers tied into the twine, sections of leaves in different colors. Different treatments? There are notes in the margins about flavors, a whiskey suggestion starred.

“Hey, check this out,” she calls to Neve.

Neve dusts the dirt from her knees as she stands, and joins her by the window, eyes welling up a bit. She holds one of the leaves delicately between two fingers, breathing in the scent, and gives a sad laugh. "Thank you, Lace.”

Xan rests her hand on the small of Neve’s back, a silent reassurance. Neve pulls one of the leaves down. "These have been drying a long time. I think I'll be packing a pipe bowl in her memory tonight."

“Right, the one that’s not a pen,” Xan jokes. She swears she’s seen Neve, pipe in hand at the Lighthouse… only to be told it’s just a pen.

Neve lifts a brow at her. "Look, I work best with something in my hands," she says, cuffing her upside the head.

“Is it strange I wish I were a pipe right now?”

Neve steps closer, waving the dried leaf just under her nose, the scent of tobacco and whiskey distinct. Her other hand runs up Xan's arm, comes to cradle her neck, and pulls her into an embrace. "I had some dirty retort to that, but I just can't here." 

“I’m sure it’ll come up later,” Xan says, hands resting on the other woman’s waist. She rocks back and forth with her slowly, breathing in the space. The room still holds all the light and love that was Lace Harding. Xan would do anything to keep it that way; starting with cleaning it up, then seeing Neve’s ideas for irrigation channels through. Another day. 

“Ready?” Xan asks, her head resting just beside Neve’s. 

"No, but... when are we ever?"

Tomorrow they would head into the depths of Thedas and stumble over their words to try to return to a people, not just their history, but their dreams. But tonight, Xan and Neve have a pipe to smoke, a bottle of moonshine Davrin had left behind for emergencies, two sandwiches Rana had stealthily packed for them, and each other. 

Half undressed but within a nest of blankets, Neve stretches before settling back against Xan's chest, blowing a ring of smoke into the air. Her other hand toys with the moving parts of her ring. They admire the Fade from Davrin’s old bed, agreeing to keep this between them. It really does have the best view.

The sunset mimicked by the Fade bathes the walls in warm light. Xan watches the smoke ring expand as it rises, fading into the orange glow of the study. She lazily guides Neve's hand holding the pipe to her lips, breathing the smoke deep within her lungs. Rather than releasing back into the air, Xan gently cups Neve's jaw and brings her lips to hers. She feels the other woman's mouth welcome her as she exhales the smoke.

"Tarquin is still giving me grief about your ring. Wonders what business an engagement ring has moving around like that." Xan watches as Neve turns the ring. Two golden halves separated by a thin, winding snake at its center, able to be spun round the entirety of the ring until slotting back into its proper place. 

The smoke curls out from the corner of Neve's smirk before she answers. "If he wants to critique, he can finally settle down with someone and pick a ring himself." There hadn't been a single day since Xan proposed that she didn't catch Neve fiddling with the puzzle ring. It had gotten to the point she could take it apart and put it back together with one hand. She always seems so much calmer after.

“Doubt we’ll see the day,” the rogue laughs. “He was impossible to share a bathroom with.” Xan runs her fingers along the other woman’s arm until she reaches the ring. She gives it a small spin as she kisses Neve’s shoulder. “Have you given any more thought to telling your parents?” 

"As much as it would be satisfying to see their reaction to me marrying another woman... not worth the time." She lifts the bottle of alcohol to her lips, drinks sparingly, and still ends up coughing.

Xan pats her on the back with a chuckle. “Guess they’ll have to read about it in the papers like everyone else. What is it that one called me? The Detective’s Daring Dalliance?” 

Neve groans, offering the other the bottle and covering her eyes with her arm. "Why do they even care!?" 

The Crow gladly takes it with a righteous swig, the burn down her throat hitting deep. “Because you’re Neve Gallus, inspiration to Dock Town. Not to mention you’re half of Minrathous’ ‘It Couple.’ Viago even heard about it before I could tell him.”

"Should I expect to get poisoned at the wedding?"

“I’d say it’s a safe bet,” she says, pulling the blankets closer. “Don’t worry, I’ll have you immune to them in no time.” Xan turns on her side to face Neve, her head resting on a pillow. She can feel her eyes grow heavy with sleep, but dammit if Neve didn’t look heavenly in this light. Maybe the mage’s time magic could capture them in this moment forever.

Neve groans dramatically while cuddling into her side. "Can we visit Lucanis and hide the low dose poisons in his cooking, at least? Been awhile since we've eaten that well."

“Speak for yourself, I just ate fabulously.” Xan doesn’t even try to hide the grin pulling at her lips.

The blankets shift as Neve crosses her legs under them. "Incorrigible."

“Yet somehow you love me.”

Neve nuzzles her head into the pillow beside Xan's. "I really do." A smirk. "How did that happen?"

The Crow’s heart skips a beat, and she gently rests her forehead against Neve’s. Her eyes drift shut as she wraps an arm around the other’s waist to bring her closer. An earnestness hits her heart when she speaks. “You let yourself,” she whispers. “You trusted me with your softest parts. And I’m grateful for it.” 

"And I'm forever grateful you let me back in, Amata."

Through hurt and healing, they built a foundation strong enough to support them for a lifetime. The weight of all they’ve endured sits like a quiet memory in the back of their minds, overshadowed by the future awaiting them. Neve Gallus will marry Alexandra de Riva. Whether a big ceremony or a small gathering, it will solidify what the two women already know: their hearts belong to the other. The tricks of the Fade lull them to sleep with the sound of waves, a sky of warmth, and genuine hope for tomorrow.