Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Chapter 1: You Can’t Change the Past

The fall of the Evanuris had ushered in a phenomenon that was felt throughout all of Thedas. Change. The devastation of the South meant the people there would have to rebuild. The blighting of Treviso meant the Antivan Crows would have to step up and be more than assassins to help their people survive. Weisshaupt’s fall and the defeat of the last archdemon meant the Grey Wardens would have to discover their new purpose to protect the people of Thedas. For the Veil Jumpers, Arlathan it meant raising the last remaining griffins to be protectors of the forest. For Tevinter, it meant being dragged into a new age.

There was a new archon in the palace, Dorian Pavus. Archon Radonis had died during the dragon attack and since Elgar’nan had killed most of the magisters in his blood ritual, it left a vacancy with minor pushback. The few that did object, the majority being the heirs of those magisters, were either strong-armed into submission or met a swift end thanks to a new alliance with the newly appointed, First Talon of the Crows.

In the six months since the attack on the city, Dorian had made several changes to the empire’s regime. Slavery had been abolished across the country and all former slaves, the Liberati, as well as any non-human citizens were now a protected class. Anyone who would do harm or attempt to do harm based on discrimination would face punishment and be dealt with harshly. Same-sex marriages were now honored and legal among all citizens regardless of status. Soporati and non-humans, Liberati included, could now become and be fully recognized as magisters and have an official say in the courts. Dorian was even able to secure a peace treaty with Par Vollen due the Antaam splintering and the help of an old friend, allowing Tevinter to reclaim several occupied cities such as Ventus and Vyrantium.

These changes did not go unchallenged and many citizens, especially those of Altus status, were looking for ways to undermine them. Although severely weakened, the Venatori remained a threat, needing only angry citizens to be swayed by their propaganda to regain strength. This meant a lot of work for the Shadow Dragons, who were technically still underground.

Due to Rook saving Minrathous and Thedas from the Evanuris, they had gained good public standing. Especially with the poor and non-mage citizens. To stay relatively hidden, they had selected representatives to act as independent agents. These agents would pose as community organizers, wealthy patrons, or aspiring politicians performing good works to protect the lower classes and newly, freed slaves as well as help them get established within society.

Change had caught up with Rook as well. Since he’d returned to Minrathous, the trajectory of where he thought his life would be when he initially moved there so many years ago had shifted severely. He had metamorphized from an aspiring artist to a wanted criminal and now to a celebrated hero. Though he had been exonerated of his “alleged” crimes, he remained behind the scenes to plan out, with the aid of Tarquin and Neve, where in Tevinter the Shadow Dragons should establish new cells and how the agents they send there should move about in the city. It was different from the foot soldier and guard dog roles he had played when he first joined, now he was a leader in the faction.

When he initially moved to Minrathous, he lived in the Mercar compound in the Soporati district with his mother and brother as he studied at the Imperial Circle. He then became an artist’s apprentice, and he lived alone in an apartment. Now, he still lived in an apartment, but with the love of his life, Davrin.

However, the one thing that hasn’t changed for the young mage, was the haunting dreams. Though he wasn’t a dreamer, his connection to the Fade was strong and his dreams that always lingered in his mind. Sometimes they were visions, but usually, they were memories. With all that had occurred in his crusade against the Evanuris, his dreams had been swathed in grief over Varric and Harding. Tonight, however, he dreamed of a memory that had plagued him since his teen years, the day that fractured his bond with his family.
...
Ventus, four years before its occupation. At high noon, a sixteen-year-old Rook stands on the wall of a garrison just outside of the city near a battlefield. He takes in the vastness of the blue sky, the way the sun and clouds affect the lighting, and then stares meditatively into the sea, drinking in the blue and green of its waters. ‘This view would make a wonderful painting,’ he thought to himself. It had been a year since he’d visited Ventus and nearly 5 years since he had lived here. He’d been studying and honing his magic in Minrathous’ Imperial Circle at the behest of his father. He missed his home dearly.

He inhales and exhales deeply, breathing in the crisp air and letting the wind flow through his white and gold fashionable robes. As he inhales again, his nose is assaulted by the stench of blood, corpses, and steel causing him to twist his face in disgust. He looks down to see a string of broken, bloodied Qunari and human bodies. A skirmish had occurred from a small platoon of Qunari seeking to infiltrate the city, but it had been squashed decisively. The grisly carnage clashed with the beauty of the view, and he shook his head in sadness.

“Amir!” The young mage turned his head in the direction of the call, only to see a young boy with copper-toned skin, dark brown hair braided into intricate, ornate plaits and wearing plain, but well-tailored citizen’s clothing. It was his little brother.

“Amir!” the boy called to him again, this time with a slight crack in his voice.

“Yes, Lucius?” he asked annoyed at the interruption.

“Father said to come inside and meet him in his office.”

“Alright, I’ll be there in a minute.” He turned his head back towards the view.

“Come on,” Lucius was persistent “We only see him a few times a year because of your magic.”

Amir rolled his eyes and replied, “If I’m going to use my magic, I need proper training. Besides he was the one that sent me to the Imperial Circle. So, if you’re going to be frustrated at anyone it’s him.” He turned his nose up at him and walked into the entrance. Lucius sneered and strutted behind him.

The two brothers walked down the wall’s staircase and into the courtyard of the garrison. The yard was full of soldiers training, exercising, and performing drills as well as few soldiers walking around with injuries from the skirmish that had taken place. It was a familiar scene to Amir, his father had brought him here several times and even made him perform some of the same activities before and after his magic had emerged. He looked around and said to himself in a low voice, “What a miserable scene”.

Lucius was just able to make out what he said and retorted. “No, it’s not! It looks cool! Look how strong they all are!”

The elder brother shook his head ‘Was I this naïve and annoying when I was thirteen?’ Amir thought to himself.

As they continued to make their way there, Lucius noticed that Amir’s face was completely bare and asked “Where’s your colors? Your make-up? Why aren’t you wearing it?”

Amir lets out an exasperated sigh “Why do you insist on asking so many questions?”
Lucius just shrugged in response. Amir thought for a moment and replied, “It’s not appropriate for the setting.”

Lucius pondered the answer and then teased “You’re just afraid of what father would say about it!”

“Shut up Lucius!” He began to lose his cool.

“Did I strike a nerve?” he chuckled and began smirking at his older brother.

“No, but I’m going strike you with lightning, if you don’t quit it!”

Lucius let out a mock gasp, pretended he was hurt and said, “I’m telling Father!”

“Whatever.” He was nearly tempted to summon a real lightning bolt to scare him but decided against it.

The brothers entered a hallway that would take them to the Legatus’ quarters. Just as they went through Lucius noticed an unattended sword sitting on a bench nearby and ran after it.

Amir wore a puzzled look as the boy took off suddenly. “Where are you going?” he asked.

“Keep going! I’ll catch up!” He reached for the blade and swung it around with flashy inefficient moves.

Amir rolled his eyes and mumbled under his breath as he continued down the corridor. He reached the door guarded by two soldiers adorned in heavy armor, with blade-laden polearms in their hands. As was the norm.

“Who is it that wishes to speak to Legatus Mercar?” One soldier asked.

Amir had grown used to the formalities necessary to speak to his father “Amir Mercar, the oldest son of Legatus Mercar,” he announced.

The two guards looked at each other before standing aside. As he walked passed them and up to the door, he heard one whisper. “He doesn’t look like Legatus Mercar at all.”

“I’m adopted!” answering before the other could respond, “Any more questions or curiosities?” he was met with complete silence. “As so I thought.” Amir focused his attention on the door to the office. He let out a deep breath and knocked on the door.

“You may enter,” a familiar voice spoke from the other side.

Amir pushed open the door and saw his father, standing at his desk and looking over a map and making notations. Charon Mercar, a man whose titles carried as much weight as the gold and grey armor he wore, which was impressive for a Soporati. To his soldiers, he was Legatus, commander of legions, to many of the people of Tevinter, he was protector and bastion of security, but to Amir, he was simply father, though this title may have been the heaviest he carried.

The scruff-laden man looked up as the patter of light footsteps announced the young mage’s arrival into the room. “Son! You’re here!” He cleared the distance between them swiftly and embraced him in a firm, tender hug followed by pats on the boy’s back.

“It’s good to see you too, father,” he said returning the embrace before pulling apart to meet his father’s brown eyes.

“Look at how much you’ve grown! You’re taller than me now!”

“Not like I had to grow much,” he taunted playfully.

The dusk-skinned man responded playfully with a tap on the shoulder. “How’s the Imperial Circle and the city treating you?” Charon asked as he walked back to his map.

“It’s had its ups and downs, but overall things are going well, and I’m set to complete my harrowing when I return,” Amir clasped his hands together and straightened his posture.

“Playing modest, are we? I’ve heard word from the enchanters that you’re prodigious in primal magic, especially weather-related spells and that you completed one of the more daunting projects with relative ease,” he spoke proudly as he begun making more notations on his maps.

Amir was taken aback by the knowledge of his father but wasn’t too surprised. He was a master in gathering intelligence on people including his own sons. “Yes, that’s true, but…”

“Good!” his father interrupted. “You’ll be ready to join the ranks in no time. Your natural talent for primal magic will make you a force to be reckoned with on the battlefield!” He looked up from the map and looked around before asking, “Where’s your brother?”

Amir wanted to tell him about the opportunity his mentor had secured for him, but he’d have to word it carefully. “He ran off right before we entered the hallway… Said he would catch up.” Amir rolled his eyes at the thought of the boy’s impulsiveness.

“Where to?” the man asked, his question shrouded with both confusion and concern.

Amir shrugged and replied, “I don’t know?”

Charon’s face became twisted, and his prominent nose flared in frustration. “What do you mean you don’t know? He’s your little brother, you’re supposed to be watching him!”

Amir was ready to retort, but if he wanted to present his plan to his father he would need to be in his good graces. He sighed “Yes sir.”

Charon was taken aback by the quick acquiescence. Amir would usually defend himself or slither his way out of the accusation. He may have been adopted, but he had his mother’s serpentine tongue. A charmer through and through, much to Charon’s chagrin.

“What is it?” He’d deduced that Amir had to want something to not challenge him.

“I’m not sure of what you ask father?” Amir asked innocently.

Amir definitely wanted something. “I know you like the back of my own hand child. You’re as stubborn as a mule and for you to not come up with a counterargument or an excuse of some sort means something’s amiss,” he said with growing suspicion.

There was no use in hiding it any longer and Amir decided to go for it. “I was thinking about your plans for me to join the Tevinter army to help elevate the family’s status.”

“And?” Charon asked dryly.

“What if there was another way for me to do so?” Amir walked cautiously closer to his father.

Charon inhaled and exhaled deeply, “Go on.”

He walked even closer, positioned himself next to his father’s shoulder, and waved his hand over an invisible canvas to paint the picture in his father’s mind. “As you know father I’m an excellent painter and mother has sold a few in one of her many stores. The people in Minrathous have begun to take notice, including a merchant friend of mine who knows the famous painter, Cassisus Orbenas. He’s the artist that incorporates magic into his paintings to make it look like they’re moving.”

“I know who he is!” Charon’s tone turned sharp and harsh on the ears.

“You do? Good, because my friend was saying he was looking for an apprentice and I was thinking..."

“No!” Charon was already following Amir’s train of thought and was not pleased with it.

“What?” The boy asked in bewilderment. He hadn’t even gotten to the part about how this apprenticeship could eventually land him a seat in the magisterium.

“I didn’t even finish my..."he was interrupted by Charon again.

“I said ‘No!’”

Amir’s countenance began to fall, and he opened his mouth to speak, but Charon was already ahead of him.

“This path will not guarantee you security and at best will be a waste of your magical potential.”

“I disagree,” Amir retorted. “If you would just let me explain, Father.”

“I need no further explanation, and we will not have this conversation again...” the warrior moved a lock of his hair back in place and gave a stone-faced glare to seal the argument.

Amir returned the same look and sneered,” And I thought you’d abhorred slavery. I guess your son doesn’t count.”

Charon scowled and stepped forward to meet the boy in the eyes again. Amir wasn’t that much taller than him and what he lacked in height he made up for in bulk. “Don’t. You. Dare.”

Amir readied a retort but was interrupted by loud stomping coming from the hallway. Father and son turned in its direction only to see the rambunctious thirteen-year-old running into the room with a sword in hand.

“Look what I found!” He waved and swung the sword, this time, with a surprising amount of skill. No doubt stemming from the laborious, intense training sessions his father put both his sons through.

“Lucius put that down and come give your father a hug.” Without question, the boy sat down the blade and ran into his father’s arms.

It was at this moment Amir was reminded of the blood relation between Lucius and his father. Lucius was a perfect blend of both Charon and their mother, Calista. His copper skin was a mix of Charon’s tanned skin and Calista’s dark brown skin, which was the most prominent feature Amir had in common with her along with hair texture. Lucius had his mother’s tight, voluminous curls and his father’s hair length, though Charon kept it short. He had his father’s build and his mother’s soft facial structure as well as Charon’s nose. He was a reminder that Amir was technically an outsider even if they accepted him as one of their own.

Amir turned around to avoid looking at the reminder of this truth.

As the two pulled away from the embrace Lucius asked, “Why’d you have us meet you at the garrison instead of our home?”

“That’s an excellent question, Lucius,” he stepped and walked towards the center of the office. “I wanted you to see the reality that is war.”

“As if we hadn’t already seen enough of it” Amir words were cloaked in anger and resentment.

“I can assure you haven’t even seen the beginning of it.” Charon began to pace back and forth with his hands behind his back.

“Amir says that war is a waste; a clash of selfish, entitled egos and a failure of statecraft,” Lucius said the words in singsong to mock his brother’s supposed wisdom.

Charon paused and slowly tilted his head upward. “There is some truth in your brother’s words, but he fancies himself a serpent who can slither his way out of anything.”

Amir sucked his teeth at his father and stared back in anger.

“What will you do when those entitled egos come knocking at your door? Demanding to hand over your land, your family, and your life with the promise that it’s for your own good.” He took a step forward and met Lucius in the eyes “If you are to survive in this world my boy, you must learn to be both the serpent and the dragon.”

Lucius’ eyes widened in awe at the wisdom and Amir rolled his eyes at his brother's idol worship.

Charon whistled at the guard attendants at the door, who left and came back dragging a visibly young Qunari, who was caught spying on the garrison.

They pushed him onto his knees and Charon turned to face the boys and asked, “What should we do with him?”

Amir answered first. “Strip him of his belongings and send him to the dungeons where can be questioned for what he knows.”

Charon walked up to the prisoner and grabbed his face. “He’s a spy. How do we know it’s not a part of his plan to be captured? To learn more about the inner workings of Ventus? What if there is someone in the dungeons, he’s familiar with? An inside man that we aren’t even aware of.”

Amir knew what answer Charon was trying to get out of him, and he would not give his father the satisfaction. “That’s all circumstantial father, but if you insist. Perhaps we can negotiate with him? Strike a deal for him to cooperate and let us glean information from him or release him back to his people and use him as a double agent.”

“Sharp as ever, little serpent, but you haven’t considered that he could decide to spin several lies to us and betray us, too,” Charon said in a matter-of-fact tone. He let go of the young Qunari’s face and looked at Lucius to answer.

The boy pondered carefully over the question and analyzed the back-and-forth between Charon and Amir’s responses. He responded confidently, “We should end him. He’s too much of a liability and could put others at risk!”

A small smirk appeared on Charon’s face and a feeling of pride swept over him. “Good assessment, son.” He then proceeded to pick up the sword Lucius had been playing with earlier and placed it in the boy’s hand. “Do it.” He commanded.

Lucius and Amir looked at their father and then at each other in shock. “D-Do what?” Lucius asked wanting to make sure he wasn’t imagining things.

Charon looked at him unfazed by his hesitation and responded, “Kill the prisoner.”

Amir stepped forward to object, “Father you can’t be...” the hardened warrior raised a hand to signal silence.

“Go on, boy.” He repeated flatly.

Lucius gripped the handle of the blade and looked at Amir and then back at Charon as if trying to choose between the two of them. He swallowed his saliva and walked forward to the tall, but lean Qunari, who had closed his eyes in preparation for the fatal blow. Lucius looked at the prisoner and began to take in his features. Despite his size, the man’s face was very youthful, and his eyes were slowly beginning to produce tears. Lucius realized that the Qunari was likely closer in age to him and his brother.

His hands began to tremble uncontrollably and tried to get a solid grip on the blade, but it was useless. He looked back again at Amir, who’d turned to look away from the anticipated violence and then back Charon once again. “I can’t father. I’m sorry, I can’t.” He dropped his head and shoulders down in defeat and avoided looking his father in the face, not wanting to see his disappointment.

“It’s alright son.” Charon placed a reassuring hand on Lucius’s shoulder. “Taking a life is no small feat and comes with a lot of weight you must be willing to bear.”

Amir sighed in relief but couldn’t restrain himself from one last remark that was laced with just a touch of smugness. “Perhaps it’s a sign from the Maker for us to show mercy.” For once, he smiled at his brother for making his own choice and defying their father’s wishes.

Charon detected the underlying defiance in Amir’s tone and gently took the blade from Lucius’s hand. He then walked up to the spy, blade still in hand, looked him over once more and sighed, they had both failed the test. Charon then turned to face his sons, he wanted them to see this and remember the lesson he was about to bestow upon them. The blow was quick. A flash and it was over. The experienced swordsman spun and with a clean, decisive swing of the blade, Charon had cleaved the prisoner’s head from his shoulders.

“The Maker may bestow mercy, but the dragon will not.” Charon was unfazed. Years of battle experience had desensitized him to grisly the scene.

The brothers stared in shock and horror as blood from the head and neck began to pool on the floor.

Lucius, still in shock, tried to pull himself together and put on a brave face, but the same couldn’t be said about his older brother. Tears welled up in Amir’s eyes as he turned away from the horror of what just took place before him. How could his father kill so mercilessly? So ruthlessly? In front of his own children, no less? It was such a waste of life!

Charon walked up to Amir and grabbed his chin so that he would face him. He spoke to his son succinctly, but dryly. “I was hoping I was wrong, but this set of events that took place only reinforced that my doubts were correct.”

Amir looked at him in bewilderment, yet he waited for him to finish to finish his thoughts.

“You aren’t cut out for this Amir. To be a warrior. To lead. You’re too soft. The naivety of your idealism and romantic notions of pacifism clashes with the pragmatism, decisiveness, and violence necessary for war."

Amir was speechless. The words of his father stung harder than any scorpion could as Amir tried to process what was being said. The blood and the severed head were a hindrance. On some level, Amir couldn’t deny that he agreed with his father.

Charon called for one of the attendants. “Escort them back to the compound. I must clean up another of my son’s messes.” The statement was followed by a disparaging glare that he aimed straight at Amir.

…
Rook shot straight up in his bed gasping for air and clutching his chest tight. The sight of the beheaded Qunari still lingered in his mind. He continued to let out deep and exasperated breaths when he felt a strong, firm arm reach out to grab him.

Rook jerks at touch and reflexively raises one of his hands in a defensive posture. He conjures a ferocious spark of lightning and prepares to hurl it.

“Rook! It’s me!” The deep, warm voice called out, but the darkness of the room and the fog of the nightmare clouding his mind made it hard for Rook to make out who it was. All he could determine was that it was someone big with defined ears… a Qunari? No… that was the guilt. An elf, maybe? Yes, an elf.

The large elf raised his hands in surrender to show that he meant no harm.

The frazzled mage started to ask, “Who the hell is Roo..." and then suddenly, like the snap of a finger, the nightmare let go of its hold on him and his eyes adjusted to the darkness.
Everything had become clear, he had relieved his worst memory but now he was back in a wonderful reality, hopefully.

“Davrin…Is that you?” He asked, wanting to be sure he wasn’t still in the Fade.

“Yeah. It’s me.” Realizing that Rook was becoming aware of his surroundings, he relaxed.

Rook sighed and allowed the electricity in his hand to fizzle, before burrowing his face in both of his hands.

Davrin stretched an arm around him and started to pull him close when they heard “SQUAWK!” Assan came bounding through the door, leaped on the bed, and began to look around while raising his wings in a defensive posture.

Davrin and Rook looked at each other stunned. “What’s wrong boy? Is everything ok?” Rook asked worryingly. He began to wonder if his nightmares had attracted a demon to their home.

Assan flapped his wings and trilled loudly before raising them again and making sure his wings covered his parents.

Davrin studied him for a bit and then, “Ahhhh, I see.” It clicked. “It’s alright boy we’re okay. Rook just had a bad dream.” Assan turned around and looked at Rook before nuzzling him gently.

“Oh! You were trying to protect us!” Rook nuzzled him back and stroked his feathers.

“He must’ve heard the commotion and thought we were in danger.” Davrin surmised.

“Well, you kind of were for a moment.” Rook teased him while continuing to stroke Assan’s head. “Thanks for coming to my rescue Assan, but I’m fine.”

“Good reaction time though!” Davrin got in some pats and hugs of his own. “You can go back to bed, boy; I’ll have a special treat for you in the morning.”

Assan hopped in excitement and then jumped off the bed. The little griffon proceeded to walk out the door but paused. He turned around and decided to sleep on the floor near the foot of the bed, just in case.

Davrin turned to face Rook and for a brief moment, the golden tattoos that covered his lover’s shoulders, hips, and thighs seemed to almost… shimmer. He ignored it. It wasn’t the first time the tattoos had done this, and he decided to focus on his wellbeing instead.

“Are you ok?” he asked, placing his arm once more around Rook.

“I…” he hesitated. The pool of blood and the rolling head flashed across his mind one last time. “I- I think so.” Finally answering the elf’s question.

Davrin wasn’t satisfied. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, hunter. I’m fine,” he gave him a smile to reassure him.

“Alright, if you say so. Let’s get some sleep,” he said cautiously while fluffing their pillows. Davrin began to lay his head back onto the pillow. While doing so, he pulled Rook into his embrace and then onto his chest.

Rook placed his hand and head on the elf’s chest and curled his body slightly onto him. He placed his thigh over Davrin’s, as the monster hunter so often requested, he exhaled and as he felt the big warden’s hand slide down from his shoulder to wrap around his waist, he relaxed.

As a Grey Warden, Davrin was familiar with those suffering from bad dreams. He had suffered from them though the nightmares had mostly subsided since the fall of the gods. Rook’s dreams, however, had gotten more intense than he was used to. They had started soon after he’d escaped the fade prison. Solas’ blood magic had prevented him from truly grieving Varric and after the team defeated Elgar’nan and redeemed Solas, the grief of losing Varric, Harding, and the countless lives lost in Treviso hit him all at once. The emotions continued to come in waves over the past six months, especially during the night.

The shimmering he’d seen of the tattoos had also become a reoccurring thing since his escape, but Rook never seemed to notice or care, and he wasn’t sure how to address it. All he could do was be there for him.

“Was it about Varric, again?” Davrin asked out of curiosity.

“No.” Rook’s response was slightly muffled.

“Harding?” he asked again.

“No.” The mage responded and Davrin was surprised by the response since it was usually Harding.

Still curious and persistent, he asked again. “Was it Trev…”

Rook interrupted him.

“It was an old memory, and I’d rather not talk about it right now.” The young man curled his body a little more onto his lover and buried his face into his chest.

Davrin chuckled, but he took the hint and asked no further questions. He would, however, further reaffirm him.

“I love you, Amir,” Davrin said in an almost whisper.

“I love you too, amatus,” Rook replied drowsily.

Davrin kissed him on the forehead and the two lovers began to drift off entangled in each other’s arms.

As Rook began to sink into the darkness, he felt an uneasy pull in his heart. For though the nightmare had been a memory of the past, he knew it was also a forewarning of the future. He would have to face his family again. Soon and very soon.

Chapter Text

Sunlight filtered into the window of the bedroom of the Minrathous apartment. The light crept slowly onto the face and shoulders of the young weather mage. It made a slow pass over his eyes and caused his face to scrunch in annoyance. He shifted his body to get away from the light, but it crept on to his face once again. Rook threw the covers over his head for one last attempt to squeeze in more rest but was disturbed by Assan’s loud squawking and cooing from the other room. He tried to drown it out, but it was no use. It was morning and it was time to wake up. The smell of crepes, coffee, and bacon flowing in from the kitchen was the final straw.

Rook let out a defeated breath and slowly sat up in bed. He stood up and stretched his arms upward while twisting hands together. He began leaning sideways to loosen the muscles in his back as the golden tattoos that adorned his body seemed to glow in the sunlight. Afterwards, he walked to the bathroom in which he decided to forgo his usual morning bath. Instead, he washed his face as well as applied his skin butter and scented oils to his body. After a quick cleaning of the teeth and sliding into his tunic noir, he walked into the kitchen where Davrin was preparing breakfast.

“Well, look who finally decided to get up,” he teased with a smirk.

“Good morning to you too, Davrin. Breakfast smells good,” he said as he plants a kiss on Davrin’s cheek.

As Rook heads to the table, the smell of the oils he applied wafts into the elf’s nose. “So do you,” he replied almost tempted to follow him.

“Thank you.” Rook grabbed two cups and began to pour fresh, hot coffee into both.

“You don’t have to do that,” Davrin protested.

“It’s fine. It’s the least I could do since you’re doing the cooking.” Rook pulled a container of sugar from a cabinet and milk from the cold storage and doctored his cup to his liking while also making sure to pour a dash of milk into Davrin’s cup. “Besides, I don’t think I could wait any longer for the coffee.” Davrin shook his head in response, smiling as he went back to cooking.

He grabbed a spoon and stirred the mixture until the coffee changed from dark to light brown and grabbed both cups and sat them on the table. He sat in the chair and picked up the cup. He was interrupted by a loud trill from Assan and reached down to pet his fluffy hero, “Good morning, Assan! Thank you again for coming to my rescue last night.” Assan squawked and nuzzled his hand before going to eat the rest of his breakfast.

As Rook went to take a sip, the brown mixture turned to a deep red. He let out a silent breath and sat the cup back down immediately. He stared at the cup of blood in horror as the dream from the night before began to rear its head in his mind. He looked at Davrin, whose back was turned as he was beginning to plate the food, and then back at the cup. It was still red. He closed his eyes, inhaled, and then exhaled. He opened his eyes to see the cup was back to normal.

Rook let out a silent breath of relief, but the memory was now fresh in his mind, and he couldn’t get the image of the dead Qunari, his frightened brother, or his disapproving father, out of his mind. He stared into the cup as if he could see the memories in the reflection of the liquid.

Alongside the memory, he also began to ponder on the ‘what ifs’. What if his father had just listened to him? What if he hadn’t followed behind his old lover and joined the Shadow Dragons? What if he hadn’t taken the Nessus job? Maybe a better Shadow Dragon could’ve done the mission, maybe they could have been a better Rook, or maybe they could’ve been from one of the other factions, maybe they’d have saved both Minrathous and Treviso or even stopped the fall of Weisshaupt.

He looked up from the cup to look at Davrin finishing the food plating. Maybe Davrin would’ve liked the ‘better’ Rook? Maybe they’d be a Grey Warden? Maybe they’d be more of a warrior, like him? Would they be more attractive? Would they be lighter in complexion? Davrin wouldn’t care about that, would he? He looked back down at the cup and sighed, “Am I enough?”

Davrin set down the two plates of breakfast he’d prepared and placed one in front of Rook and then himself. As he sat down, he noticed that Rook’s eyes were glossed over and that his mind seemed to be elsewhere.

“Rook?” He asked trying to get his lover’s attention. There was no response, only a faint glimmer of his tattoos across his shoulders damped by his clothing. Rook has had intense dreams before, but the one from last night seemed to linger longer than usual. “Rook?” He asked again, the worry in his voice was apparent, but still no response. ‘Was he possessed?’ he wondered for a moment. No. He had greeted him initially when he walked into the dining room.

Davrin had to get his attention. “Rook, are you ok?”

The man’s eyelashes fluttered as he looked back at the elf, “Hm?”

Davrin exhaled in relief, “Are you still thinking about your nightmare?”

“Yes and no.” Rook was processing both the dream and the several memories that came with it. Rook began to think about the decisions that led him to being a Shadow Dragon and the Nessus Job. ‘What if I hadn’t taken the job?’ he asked himself. ‘Where would he be now?’

“Have you ever wondered where would you be if you hadn’t left your clan? Or never became a Warden?”

Davrin could tell that there was more to what Rook was asking, a deeper inquiry. “Every now and then. Why? Are you thinking about becoming a Warden?” He replied with a smile. He knew the answer, but he wanted to lighten Rook’s mood. Rook looked at him in surprise and answered, “What? No!” Rook had no interest in any form of military life. Especially knowing the process behind becoming a Grey Warden.

“You sure? Evka and Antoine would be happy to have you.” He had begun beaming at the thought of it. “Why not? You’d make a good warden. You’re a good leader, you’re good in combat, and you look good in warden gear.” Davrin smiled a devilish grin and winked.

Rook snorted and rolled his eyes but couldn’t help himself from smiling at the praise.

“Thanks but being a Shadow Dragon is hard enough. I’ll pass.” He let out a small chuckle, before a wave of frustration washed across his face. “Besides, if my father was right about one thing, I’m not cut out for the military life.” Rook stared at the cup of coffee and took a sip. Davrin raised an eyebrow in surprise, “He said that? I thought he literally trained you for it.”

Rook sat up straight and cleared his throat. He shifted his facial expression into a serious, cold demeanor and began to imitate his father, “The naivety of your idealism and romantic notions of pacifism clashes with the pragmatism, decisiveness, and violence necessary for war.” Rook shifted back into his normal posture and shook his head.

“Rook…” Davrin could see that the pain of those words left an invisible but lasting mark on Rook.

“My father wanted me to use my magic to elevate the Mercar family to Laetan status through the military, but I wanted to do it my way. As an artist. I was always an artist even before my magic emerged.”

Davrin decided to just listen and sat in silence.

“I rejected his plan for me. I studied for years as apprentice under an accomplished artist who incorporated his own magic into his paintings.” Rook’s hands gripped the mug of coffee tight and ice began to creep its way around the rim. “I’d developed my own style, established my own clientele, and was preparing to fully strike out on my own. I was so close Davrin.” He closed his eyes, inhaled, and exhaled in attempt to stymie his emotions when he felt Davrin place his hand over his. “Then I took the Nessus job and everything went to shit!” He placed one of his hands on the bridge of his nose and then his forehead.

Davrin tried to encourage him again, “You did the right thing, Rook.”

“I know. I don’t regret freeing the slaves, but the consequences that came with it.” Rook shook his head, and a tear streamed down his cheek. “The Shadow Dragons were forced to one or two bases and the Venatori and the magisters in their pockets tried to strip my family of their holdings due to their association with me. I was branded as a criminal and my reputation was tainted; my career sundered just like that.” Rook hung his head and let the tears continue to fall. “If I’d just listened to my intuition and brought my staff or let someone else take the job. Someone better than me. I could’ve proved him wrong! My way!”

Davrin reached out and grabbed one of Rook’s hands and placed it in his then scooched his seat closer to him.

“Hey now, you remind me of myself after Weisshaupt.” He took one of the cloths on the table and wiped away his lover’s tears.

“Listen to me Rook,” he said softly. “While I don’t regret my choice to join the Wardens, I do find myself wondering sometimes what my life would be like if hadn’t left my clan… But then I remind myself that if I hadn’t left, I wouldn’t be the hunter I am today. I wouldn’t have seen the return of the griffons or met Assan. Davrin lifted Rook’s hand and kissed it. “And I wouldn’t have met you.” He flashed his best smile at his beloved. “And the same goes for you. The path you took; The choices you made; They lead you here, to me.” Davrin watched Rook’s frown fade as he continued to wipe away his tears, “We both took road less traveled, Rook and I don’t regret it.” Davrin grabbed his other hand and placed it in his, “Do you?”

Rook, now wearing a calmer face and smile, took a deep breath and responded. “No. I guess I don’t.”

“Glad to hear it.” He leaned forward to give him a quick peck on lips, “Besides you proved your father wrong in the end.”

“I did?” Rook replied in confusion. Davrin looked at Rook in shock. Did he forget all that he did during their campaign against the Evanuris? “Of course, Rook!” He squeezed his lover’s hands tighter. “You were decisive and pragmatic in many of your decisions as well as deadly on the battlefield. Ask Elgar’nan.”

Rook’s face began to slowly widen into a grin, “I guess you’re right about that too.”

“Is that what your nightmare was about? Your father’s disapproval of you,” asked the warden.

“Yes. I thought I had put it out of mind years ago, but I shouldn’t have been surprised it returned in the form of a dream. Rook shook his head trying not to think of the guilt that came along with the memory. “Our food is going to get cold we should go ahead and eat,” he wanted to redirect their conversation.

“You sure? I can just reheat it in the oven, if need be,” the elf offered.

“Yes, I’m sure. I’m positively starving!” Rook poured a bit of honey onto the crepes and began to eat.

Davrin shrugged and followed suit. The two proceeded to eat breakfast and make small talk. Due to the nature of Rook’s nightmare, however, Davrin was hesitant to tell him about what came in the mail.

“So, I’m not needed on Shadow Dragon business for the next few days, and you’re not needed in Treviso or the Upper City. Do you want to do anything today?” Rook asked.

“Like what?” asked Davrin.

Rook began to think about it before responding. “We could go to a museum or the theater in the entertainment district, stroll through the gardens with Assan, or visit the marketplace…”

“I don’t think it’s best we make any plans, Rook,” the elf interrupted.

“Why not?” Rook’s bewilderment was clear on his face. Davrin reached into his pocket and pulled out an envelope with a broken seal.

“This was dropped off this morning.” He handed it over to Rook. Rook took the envelope in hand and noticed the broken seal. “You read my letter already?” he asked in annoyance.

“Yeah, I know. I just wanted to be sure it wasn’t that weird Venatori fan again,” Davrin scowled at the thought.

“Valid point,” Rook replied.

The front of the envelope read ‘Amir Mercar’ and was written in well-written handwriting. Rook recognized the handwriting but turned the letter over to look at the broken seal just to be sure. Though broken, he could make out that the seal was verdant green with a gold and red insignia. There was no longer any doubt that this letter was from his father.

“It’s…him,” Rook sat forward in his seat and, with his hands trembling, pulled the letter from the envelope. ‘What would it say?’ he wondered. Would he still be disappointed in him for screw up at Nessus? Would he be angry at him for not reaching out sooner?

Davrin could see fear in Rook’s eyes and gently took one of Rook’s hands in his, “It’s okay, read it.”

Davrin’s comforting presence gave Rook the assurance he needed, and he proceeded to unfurl the letter to read its contents.

My dear Amir, My son. It has been far too long since we’ve spoken, both in correspondence and in person. I’ve had several informants reach out to me about your return to Minrathous as well as your many exploits here and around northern Thedas. Firstly, my sincerest condolences on the loss of Varric. I know he was there with you during the Nessus incident and protected you during your exile. Secondly, I can’t believe you’re the infamous “Rook” that I’ve been hearing so much about, but I guess a lot has changed the past two years. Your mother, Lucius, and I miss you dearly and would like to celebrate your return home. We will host a dinner party in your honor in two days’ time in the family manor in Vivazzi Plaza. If you’d like to visit us beforehand, we’ll be in the Mercar compound, which as you know isn’t that far from your apartment. Either way, I hope to see you soon. Your Father, Charon Mercar

Tears began to well up in Rook’s eyes and he blinked to flush them immediately. He stood up from his chair and leaned on the kitchen counter. Davrin followed suit and walked over to him.

“You alright, Rook?” Davrin whispered.

“I- I just…” he tried to gather words by painting a picture in his mind of how he felt but couldn’t. “It’s a lot to take in, you know?”

“Indeed. We could go the compound today if you want to,” he asked warily not sure how he would respond.

The still air in the room began to dance and then went to muggy and then cold. “No. I’m not ready to see them…not yet,” Rook inhaled and exhaled to temper his emotions. He could feel the veil shifting around him as father’s words ran through head to causing the temperature to drop. The mere thought of seeing his family making his magic more difficult to control. He let out a sigh, his own breath now visible.

Davrin placed a hand on Rook’s shoulder, “That’s perfectly fine, but I think we should attend the dinner. Life is short, take it from an expert.” He slid his hand down to Rook’s back and began to rub it gently.

Rook looked up at him and nodded, “I’m just not sure how I’ll face them after all this time. My actions in Nessus led to a lot of problems for them and our last conversation before going into exile was a sour one. After I joined Varric, I was only allowed to write to them one time lest the Venatori track me down,” Rook let out an exasperated sigh and the tears started flowing once more.

The big warden took him into an embrace as he wept into his shoulder. “Hey, your father didn’t sound disappointed or upset in that letter. If anything, he sounded sorrowful, but proud and it’s clear he misses you.” He held Rook close as he continued to rub his back, “I’m sure they’ll receive you with open arms.”

Davrin couldn’t help but think of his own family as he comforted his lover. He wondered if they’d feel the same about him as it had been several years since he last saw them. ‘Would they welcome him back?’ he wondered to himself. ‘Maybe I should write a letter like Eldrin suggested?’ Rook’s stirring from his shoulder snapped him back into the moment.

He placed a hand under Rook’s chin and lifted his head to meet his eyes “Regardless of whether they do or not, I’ll be with you every step of the way.” Davrin gave him a quick peck on the lips and kept a firm hand on his back.

“Thank you,” Rook replied as he wiped the tears from his eyes. “I guess this means we’ll be getting packed soon.”

Assan let out a high-pitched trill then began to bounce up and down in excitement. The two lovers glanced at each other and smiled.

“That’s right boy! You’re coming with us too,” Davrin reassured the griffon with firm rub on the head. “Your parents won’t mind him, will they?” he asked.

“Of course not. Not like they have a say anyways,” Rook gleamed a bright smile that Davrin hadn’t seen in a day, maybe two. Either way it was a day too long for his liking.

“Good! You know maybe after this dinner party, we could get away from the city for a while,” the elf suggested.

“Where to? And what’s a while?” Rook asked curiously, though he had a feeling that he knew what Davrin would say.

“I was thinking we could go to Arlathan…” was all Davrin could get out before he was interrupted.

“There it is! Let me guess, you’re missing Eldrin and the griffons, again?” Rook responded in jest. He knew Davrin too well by now or so he thought.

“Actually, I was hoping we could drop Assan off with Eldrin,” He started to say and then took Rook by the hand and spun him around until he could grab from him behind and then whispered in his ear “Then you and I could stay in a nice cabin for a few days,” he paused to kiss his neck, “A week” he paused again to kiss Rook’s cheek “or even longer if you like.” He gave a passionate kiss on the lips and then nuzzled into his neck.

“That sounds…” Assan interrupted with another squawk. “Sounds like we’ll have to discuss it later,” Rook continued.

Davrin let out an exasperated sigh and asked, “What do you need boy?” Assan spun in circle and hopped. Davrin let out another sigh, “You need to go again, don’t you?” Assan replied with a trill. “Alright, alright. Let’s go.” Davrin grabbed his boots and strapped them on. “We’ll be back in minute, Rook.”

“Good. I’m going to change into something more presentable, and we’ll head to marketplace soon after you get back,” he stated it as if he was giving an order, slipping back into old habits.

“Why?” the monster hunter asked in surprise and confusion.

“It would be rude of me to return to them with no gifts,” the mage clarified.

Davrin shrugged, “I guess,” and headed out the front door with Assan in his shadow.

As Rook headed to the bedroom, he reread the letter again to make sure it wasn’t a dream or his imagination. After finishing he sighs and says to himself “It’s just dinner. What could wrong?”

He pondered and then answered his own question, “Everything.” Unfortunately for him, he was right.