Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

They’d been hiking the High Anderfels for two days, with not a single sign of the monster hunter, Davrin, Antoine and Evka had suggested several days ago. The thrum of darkspawn and blight in the area, initially able to be shoved to the back of her mind, was bordering on a migraine and becoming more difficult to ignore by the moment.

Yet they’d encountered so few darkspawn, not nearly close enough to the amount that would explain the level of pain she was in.

Still, even though they'd found neither hide nor hair of the monster hunter, if they took down some darkspawn, the mission wouldn’t be a total failure.

The presence of nearby blight pressed against Rook’s skin like the humidity before a gale struck a coastal town, and Lucanis was not unaware of how often she scrubbed at her exposed flesh. Every time she did, he took note and scanned their surroundings, listening for the telltale shrieks of approaching darkspawn. None ever came.

He’d heard of the Grey Wardens, of course, but he’d never travelled or worked alongside one in a team. It made him antsy that Rook could pick up on an enemy’s presence before he could see them. He wanted to know how long they had before an attack, but she appeared more concerned with finding the monster hunter’s trail than going after the darkspawn.

To disguise another involuntary shudder, she scratched at some dried blood on her chest plate with a nail, frowning. The armour she’d picked up while on the move with Varric wasn’t going to last much longer, but until she could find a Warden camp or stronghold, this was the best she could do. There were more parts of her body exposed than she would have liked, but being virtually ex-communicated from the Order meant she couldn’t afford to be picky.

Hopefully, what she did have would keep the darkspawn from scratching or biting any exposed skin. Even though she already had the taint, she didn’t feel like having to deal with an infected wound from their filthy claws.

She shivered again, nauseous at the feeling of the horrid creatures.

They were getting closer to the source.

“We should rest, Rook,” Lucanis said wearily, blowing out a breath. “It’ll be dark soon and we’ll need to set up a camp.” He didn’t sound pleased at the idea of sleeping, once again, on the ground.

Turning her gaze to the horizon, she cursed at the sight of the sun dipping so low. “Shit.” She met his stare, guilt surging in her stomach at the shadows under his eyes.

Harding and Rook had only just pulled Lucanis from the Ossuary recently, and he’d made it known quickly how much he appreciated having his own space again. A bed, blankets, a door.  Warmth.

Being encased in ice after going on a rampage through the prison had done a number on just how much he appreciated being warm. Even though he’d taken over the Lighthouse’s pantry as a sleeping area and had made it admittedly quite cosy, he’d offered to come with her anyway. To stretch his wings, he’d said.

The flash of purple in his eyes almost too quick to catch had Rook wondering if he’d not been speaking metaphorically.

He offered a smile and turned, leading her back a ways to a clearing they’d passed not long before. “This looks safe enough,” he muttered to himself, cocking his head to the side as if listening to a reply from Spite.

The area would do, Rook agreed mentally. The most suitable location they’d seen to make camp since that morning.

The sheer cliff faces of the Anderfels meant the chilly wind surged around them as they’d walked during the day, whipping tendrils of her hair from the braid she’d put it in and slipping through the cracks in her armour.

“I’m sorry, Lucanis, I thought this would have been a quick in and out mission, like finding you,” she explained, dropping her pack to the ground and fishing around for the bedding.

He let out a groan of relief as he sat down against a tree, stretching his legs out in front of him. He rifled through his own pack, having offered to take food and cooking duties for their excursion, while she carried the bedrolls and blankets. “It’s no bother, it’s part of the contract, but this…” he trailed off, resting his head against the tree. “I’ve heard of Grey Warden stamina, but this is too much, even for Spite.”

She smirked at that. Grey Warden stamina meant more than just hiking and beating back the blight, but she and Lucanis weren’t close enough for those kinds of jokes quite yet. “Tell Spite he’ll have his rest soon enough.”

Regrets twisted through her mind like the gnarled roots of a diseased tree before she could stop them.

Antoine and Evka had said this monster hunter was solid, but they hadn’t found even a hint of him. If they didn’t find him soon, Rook wouldn’t be able to justify continuing the search, not with how weary both her and Lucanis were becoming. There was too much at stake for a wild goose chase through the Anderfels, no matter how good he was claimed to be.

She’d heard of a Warden named Davrin during her time at Weisshaupt, but their paths never crossed. From the stories, he was steadfast and loyal, holding to their Oath in a way she probably should have tried to emulate but never really felt the need to.

Rook imagined he was like the higher ranking Wardens, stuffy and somewhat boring, rigid and strict on following the rules.

She wasn’t particularly excited to have another Warden like that around, but she couldn’t afford to be picky. And she wouldn’t put her pride over the team’s safety by spurning the assistance of someone else trained to fight darkspawn, no matter how much it would rankle to have another Warden try to give orders.

Lucanis hadn’t seemed all that keen on receiving instructions from a Warden either, though he’d been too grateful for the rescue to show any sort of outward disdain to her leadership. Hopefully he would feel the same towards Davrin, but she wasn’t sure.

Maybe she should have brought Harding, like she’d asked, Rook thought. Neve was still resting from the outcome of the ritual and almost had to be locked in her room in the Lighthouse to be kept from coming, but Rook had been awake enough nights since the rescue from the Ossuary to see Lucanis wasn’t the greatest sleeper either.

He needed to get out into the real world as much as she did.

A low, pleased hiss echoed from his direction, which she took to mean Spite was also happy for some reprieve.

They worked in quiet for a few moments. Rook dug out the sleeping mats and placed them strategically to see both angles of the entrance of the clearing, and Lucanis began to make a campfire. Even though they hadn’t yet hit the snow of the High Anderfels, the air was freezing at night. Eating something warm and then sleeping next to the fire would hopefully lift both their spirits for the next day.

She turned her gaze back toward the setting sun, frustration coursing through her again that they’d made so little progress, with anything.

Bellara was still tinkering with the eluvians, and both Neve and Harding were working their contacts hard. Varric was out of commission and looked to be for the foreseeable future, and though Rook put on a brave face for the team, she wasn’t sure she could hold the line until he was back on his feet again.

He was always better at rallying people than she had been, able to encourage and bolster someone at their lowest with a few words and a pat on the arm. She was too sarcastic, utterly incapable of taking something seriously in the moment and unable to show the attributes of a real leader. Unable to follow orders and think of the bigger picture, instead too focused on the situation in front of her to be reminded of the political repercussions.

Or at least that’s what the First Warden had said.

The whispering of the blight peaked, stabbing like a hot blade through her mind, before receding just as suddenly as it came, making her cry out and clutch her head with both hands before folding over her knees.

“Rook, what is it?” Lucanis was by her side in a flash, scanning the clearing.

It was relatively protected, with a large wall to their backs in a U shape, blocking most of the elements and keeping them somewhat out of sight, even with  the light of the fire.

Digging her fingers into her scalp and breathing deeply through her nose, she tried to remember what they’d taught her at Weisshaupt, in training.

Grey Wardens go where they are needed most, fight darkspawn wherever they appear, and do whatever it takes to stop them.

The mantra had practically been beaten into the recruits.

“Rook,” a voice that sounded like Lucanis but was not him all but snarled, grabbing her wrists to pry her fingers from her hair.

The tighter than normal grip was enough to make her forget the blinding pain she’d never experienced before to meet his eyes. “I’m okay,” she said, tugging her wrists free and scanning the clearing for anything that might explain what just happened.

Wind rustled through the sparse brushes, the dirt crunched under their boots as they shifted their weight and the insects chirped and buzzed. Nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing to indicate a possible attack heading their way.

And the pain was gone. The whispers had even died down some, an indication that whatever darkspawn were in the area didn’t have a lock on her location and were moving in the opposite direction.

He leaned back, scanning her doubtfully. “What was that?”

She rubbed the back of her head, where it had slammed into the stone pillar at the ritual site in Arlathan, pondering his question.

Was it the Calling? She blanched at the thought. It was too early. She was too young, surely, even for an elf. She hadn’t been a Warden long enough for the Calling to take place, but…

Nausea churned through her guts. Maybe the gods reappearing and changing the blight meant she had less time before the Long Walk would take place. Weeks though? That felt too quick. It had to be.

Steadying herself and shoving aside the latest fear on a lengthening list, she replied, “The blight.” The answer was short, clipped, but there were certain things people outside the Grey Wardens couldn’t know about, let alone understand. She hadn’t heard tell of such sudden headaches from blight she was barely in range of, but with the gods in play, nothing was certain anymore.

Lucanis still looked unsure, hesitating before standing and returning to making the fire. He struck the flint, staring intently until the small flame caught on the few bits of kindling he’d gathered before she had yelped.

“I’m okay,” Rook said again, mustering up a smile that looked more like a grimace when he glanced at her. “I’m probably hungry more than anything.” She slid her eyes to his pack then back to him. “Did you bring anything good?”

He knew she was lying, but he also knew what it was like to not be ready to bare one’s soul to someone he’d just met, even if she had been the one to rescue him from the underwater prison. “I always bring something good,” he said, letting the moment slide. “Honestly, I don’t know how you survived without me, eating the way you all did.” He tsk’d and gave Rook her space, turning to his pack to pull out the food.

A chuckle was the only response he received before a bedroll landed at his feet with a thump. “You sleep first,” she commanded, not looking up when his eyes shot back to her.

“I—”

“Thought I was in charge?” she teased, standing to rip the bushes apart for kindling and fuel for the fire.

He watched her wrestle with the small plants, then start hacking at the bare trees with one of the daggers she kept on her belt. She was the one in charge, he supposed. “You’ll dull the blade,” he said instead of arguing about the sleeping order, bordering on miserable at her lack of care for it.

She let out a laugh, surprising both he and Spite, who had made an appearance now that he was so tired he could barely keep his eyes open.

“Blade. Should be. Sharp!” he tried to insist to Rook, frustrated that once again, she couldn’t hear him.

“When we get back to the Lighthouse I’ll clean it up, but right now, we need to sleep. And I’m getting cold.” She tossed the leaves and sticks down next to the small fire, heading to the other side of the clearing to do the same thing. “Tell Spite not to worry.”

Lucanis started. “You can hear him? How?” he asked suspiciously, looking at her in a new light.

Was Rook one of the mages from the Wardens? She’d never made it obvious she was listening when Spite spoke, but he’d been surprised before. He wasn’t sure how he felt travelling with another mage. Neve and Bellara were enough, though they’d been nothing but kind thus far, if perhaps a little too eager to learn more about the demon.

He eyed her as Spite followed her around the makeshift campsite, prowling like a predator stalking its prey. The demon would not allow someone to lock them away again, no matter what she’d done for him. They would never go back to the Ossuary.

She didn’t move like a mage, Lucanis thought. She certainly didn’t fight like a mage, what with her shield and heavy armour. In the Crossroads, it had been her right next to him, instead of Neve or Bellara, who had held back like most mages during a confrontation, flinging spells at their enemies while the heavy hitters got up close and personal and the rogues danced out of reach of enemy weapons. In the Ossuary she’d even punched one of the Venatori during a skirmish when they’d knocked her sword from her hand, while Harding had fired arrow after arrow at her targets.

“No,” Rook said simply, grunting as she snapped a branch off one the trees. “But you move different when he talks to you. I figure if you’re upset about my useless dagger going blunt, he would be too.”

Meirda. He didn’t realise how scared he was of the idea of another betrayal until the thought of Rook stabbing him in the back speared through his mind. He also hadn’t realised how easy he was to read.

Spite returned to his side. “She’s smart. I like. Rook.”

Lucanis ignored his demon, fully aware that she had endeared herself to Spite and knowing it would cause trouble while hoping he would be proven wrong, and pulled out the food he’d prepared before they left. “We could have brought a better tool,” he grumbled. When they returned to the Lighthouse, he’d hunt for an axe. A club. Anything to keep her from using a dagger to cut firewood.

Rook grinned, arms full of splintered and hacked apart branches, sitting down in front of the small fire. “I didn’t expect to need one, in all honesty,” she said, carefully placing sticks into the flames.

He handed her one of the few remaining meals they had, unwrapping his own. “We packed everything else,” he pointed out.

Her green eyes shone gold as she stared into the growing fire. “The plan was to be back in a day, maybe two at the most.” She ate absently and fed another piece of wood to the fire.

Teia’s eyes were like that at night too, he recalled. It was somewhat eerie to be surprised by what looked like a cat’s eyes appearing from nowhere in the dark, locked on him, knowing the elf had spotted him long before he’d seen her.

“Rook, do your missions ever go according to plan?” he asked in an attempt to hide his discomfort.

A mischievous grin appeared on her face at his question. “We got you out, didn’t we? With minimal casualties.”

“The Venatori—”

“Don’t try to pretend your care about them.”

Well, no. He didn’t. “It was a lot of fighting,” he argued weakly.

She shrugged, taking a bite of the fruit she was picking at. “I was just glad the prison didn’t collapse on our heads. I see that as a win.”

His stomach dipped. He’d been so concerned about the vial of blood and eliminating Calivan, he’d completely forgotten that tearing through the Ossuary had actually damaged its foundations.

“Try not to twist yourself into knots,” she said, uncharacteristically serious for a moment. “We have enough to worry about besides my plans not always working perfectly.” She brushed the crumbs from her hands and grabbed her sleeping pack, tugging the blanket around her shoulders. “Sleep, Lucanis. I’ll wake you in a few hours for my turn.”

He copied her, tucking himself into the bedroll to stave off the cold, trying not to ruminate on her words.

She was right. There was more to be concerned about, including his home, than spending an extra night in the wilds, as much as he wished he was back in the Lighthouse, or better, Treviso. The loss of his grandmother weighed heavily on his mind, but as he always did, he forced himself to push the thoughts aside and focus on what he could control at that moment. 

Rook tended the fire, listening to his breathing even out as he fell asleep. She kept an eye on him to see if Spite would make an appearance, but evidently even the demon was exhausted from their hike through the Anderfels.

She wondered what Varric would do, in her situation. Would he have continued onwards, or would he have gone back to the Lighthouse to rest and regroup, to try again another day?

Lucanis’ question about her plans going awry made her think about how she’d met Varric, during a large darkspawn incursion in a remote village. He’d even helped her during the attack, deciding afterwards that she was the right person for the job he was about to take on.

They’d travelled together for almost a year before Solas’ ritual, before it all went wrong. He’d become a mentor to her, someone she could go to for advice, someone she could count on. And the one time she’d been the one to make the decision, he’d gotten hurt. She was a soldier, someone who could take orders, most of the time anyway, and get the job done. She’d not signed up to be the leader of this team.

The choices she made had an awful way of coming back to bite her in the ass, something she was struggling with. Neve had gotten hurt, almost as badly as Varric, Harding had been affected by the lyrium dagger to the point of gaining new powers, Bellara was working all hours of the day and night, and Lucanis was literally battling a demon. How could she keep everyone happy? Safe? Alive, even?

The thoughts rattled around in her mind in an endless loop.

She rolled her shoulders, trying to ease the tension headache before sighing and reaching over her shoulder to pull her braided hair forward.

It was a mess. She frowned and eased the fraying leather cord from the end, combing her fingers through to try to reason with the tangles, but short of bathing and a comb, there was only so much she could do.

Some of the Wardens used to help each other, Rook remembered fondly, her fingers twisting through the long strands. Once she’d decided to grow her hair long, they’d shown her how to style it to keep it from getting in the way or used against her. She missed the companionship, Greta’s especially, and how they would sit in her quarters at Weisshaupt and try new ways to keep their hair out of their faces.

For now, the long, simple braid would have to do. She was sure Bellara would be able to help and would gladly offer, given her enthusiastic kindness, but there was something keeping her from asking. She felt a friendship had to be formed first before she could ask her to help with her hair.

She finished the braid and retied the leather cord, tossing another few branches onto the fire and flicking her eyes to Lucanis, startled to find him awake and staring back at her. Her hand flew to her weapon out of instinct before she clenched her fist and relaxed. “Is that how you got your name, by scaring people to death?”

His eyebrows rose, but he didn’t comment on her neater hair. “I prefer knives, but whatever gets the contract done.”

She didn’t know what to say to that and turned her gaze back to the fire, adjusting and readjusting the wood so it would burn longer. Hopefully it would keep them both warm.

The Crow remained where he was, not taking his eyes off her, she could feel it. “It’s your turn to sleep, Rook,” he reminded her.

“You weren’t asleep that long.” She held her hands to the flames, trying to warm her fingers, now clumsy and stiff with the cold.

He shifted in his sleeping pack, sitting straighter against the tree. “The sun is almost up.”

“What?” She turned to the horizon, surprised to see the faintest glow of the sun creeping into the sky. “I need a new way to keep the time,” she muttered to herself.

He snorted. “We struggle with the same thing. I lose track of the days when I don’t sleep enough,” he said pointedly.

Yawning, she didn’t bother to respond, instead curling up in her sleeping pack and trying to ignore the feeling of the thick braid under her head. She drifted off to the sound of the crackling fire and Lucanis’ breathing.

Chapter Text

The loss of yet another Warden would weigh heavily on her shoulders. Remi's last stand, though inspiring, appeared to be for naught. Rook couldn't help but wonder if they'd gotten there sooner, made the trip to the High Anderfels earlier, they might have been able to prevent the death. She ran a hand through her hair and blew out a breath, unsure of what she could say that would make her new comrade feel any better. 

Davrin sighed heavily, bowing his head for a moment before taking a deep breath and standing. “We have to keep going. Let’s go through here.” He gestured to the doors, keeping his eyes downcast. “The statues are the spare key. Line up the symbols.” While Rook heaved the statues into position, he searched Remi’s body for any supplies or treats for the rest of the griffins.

“What did you mean by it’s back?” she asked, panting and tucking her braid back into her armour.

“Something’s stalking Grey Wardens. We call it the Gloom Howler. I’m hunting it,” he replied tersely.

She blanched, looking to Lucanis. His eyes widened as they met hers. They didn’t need something else after them. Maybe Antoine and Evka were wrong and maybe there was another Warden who could help them. And maybe the gods would decide taking Thedas wasn't worth their time and give up. Rook doubted she would be that lucky.

Davrin continued, “Started happening seven, eight months ago. Darkspawn obey it. Has some kind of hold over them.” He sounded thoughtful and let the quiet stretch out as as they pushed through the large wooden doors. “Assan, on me!”

The griffin soared into view, so close she felt the breeze from his wings as he passed by them.

“No time for hide and seek, Assan. This is real,” he called out, sounding irritated.

The squawked reply sounded just as irritated, and Rook couldn’t help the smirk as she jogged towards a ladder.

“Assan,” Lucanis pondered, turning the word over. It wasn’t familiar to him. “Does it mean something?”

“It’s elven for arrow. Hope he grows into it.”

The response did not leave much room for conversation, so the three felt silent again until they crossed a narrow walkway.

“More darkspawn here,” Rook announced, resisting the urge to kick the corpses off the cliffs into the abyss.

Davrin’s eyes widened at the amount of bodies. “Lancit’s trying to stop the Gloom Howler. It’s going after the other griffins.” He scanned the skies for his griffin, relieved to see him circling above them once again, eyes locked on his trainer.

“More griffins?” the Crow asked, his curiosity obvious. He’d heard of them before, of the legendary beasts, but never seen one. The chance to see more filled him with excitement. It was one of the few good things he'd seen since he’d been freed from the Ossuary.

“Whole family. Assan’s brothers and sisters.”

Rook examined the cliffs surrounding them, spotting a ladder with a heavy looking lock to their left. She pulled her shield from her shoulder, weighing it and the integrity of the rusty padlock and chain. It would probably work. With a grunt, she jumped and launched the shield at the padlock, whooping when it shattered and the ladder unfolded. “I can’t feel any darkspawn and I can see supplies up there,” she said to the obviously antsy Davrin when she moved to clamber up the ladder. “Can you?”

His brows furrowed as he probed with his senses. “No,” he said finally. “Be quick.”

She saluted and scaled the ladder, relieved to see a green vase with a healing potion stashed inside at the top. She shoved it into a pouch on her belt and rounded the corner to see another crumbling spire. Just inside the tower was a nest, and many, many carvings of what looked like nugs. “What’s all this?” she asked slyly, turning to her new companion.

His eyes widened. “I wondered what happened to them. They’re mine. I like to carve.” He sounded reluctant to admit it, still eager to get back to finding Lancit.

She looked over the pieces. They were very detailed, exceptionally close to the nugs she’d seen in Arlathan Forest with Bellara. “How’d they end up here?”

Davrin smiled ruefully, crouching to pick up one of the carvings and pocketing it. “The griffins. They take things to make a nest, or play pranks. I don’t know.”

Humming in response, she cast one last look over the collection and the nests, placed as close to each other as possible. It didn’t seem like the griffins liked to be be apart from each other. The trio left the ruined tower and slid back down the ladder, Assan flying close overhead.

The sticky feeling of darkspawn tugged the two Wardens further down the path and the Crow followed close behind, a hand resting on one of his many daggers.

A Warden seal caught Rook’s eye and she crouched, tugging a piece of rolled up parchment from under some rocks.

Today we received a message from Weisshaupt that warned us about some manner of monster stalking Grey Wardens. They’re concerned for the griffins’ safety and are sending another Warden, Davrin, to keep guard. I hope the griffins like him. They’ve known few people in their short lives and can be a temperamental bunch when they put their minds to it.

— Warden Remi

Wordlessly, she handed the note to Davrin, who read it quickly, then as with the other note from Lancit, tucked it carefully into a pocket in his armour. She nodded when he looked up, but he turned away without another word, striding purposefully towards the feeling of darkspawn.

“The bridge is out,” she muttered, mostly to herself, as they approached what used to be a pulley system for supplies and a pathway.

He whistled for Assan, who dove from the sky with a screech, copying what he’d done earlier to the hinge. “Good job!” he called to the griffin.

Assan responded with a satisfied squawk and wheeled about again.

Rook hauled herself up the ladder, feeling the weight of the shield and horridness of darkspawn pressing against her skin. “What I wouldn’t give to be back in the bloody Fade of all things,” she said tiredly, rolling her shoulders. It had taken a while to get used to the feeling of entering and exiting the Fade, to not want to vomit at the feeling of her body being pulled in a thousand different directions, but she'd come to think of it as home. Strange concept for her.

A spear embedded itself in the ground a few inches from her foot, and she glanced at it before dodging the next one.

A second glance told her it wasn’t just a spear, but a spear made from bones.

Nausea, and not the normal kind from the presence of darkspawn, stirred in her stomach, but she shoved it down, swallowing the bile. Gods, what was wrong with these things? They were different to all the Warden lore she’d read and ghouls she’d killed in her time.

“Rook, you’ve got darkspawn!” Lucanis shouted from below, racing up the ladder behind her.

“Yeah, I know,” she grunted, unsheathing her sword and swinging her shield into position.

Davrin bared his teeth at the ghouls. “Make this quick! We have to get through here!” He swung his blade into the ribs of one of the ghouls. “Assan can help with the fight!”

She ignored them, focusing on the pulse of the darkspawn presence, letting it guide her movements. The blight in her veins helped her to lunge a moment earlier than others would, aiding her in ducking out of the way a second before the hurlock’s axe landed right where she’d been standing.

“Watch it, there’s a big one!” Lucanis yelled, diving out of the way of another projectile launched by a horrific looking ghoul. Gods, there was the one with bones sticking out of its back. It was ripping them off and hurling the spears through the air at them, apparently unconcerned with the pain it was causing itself.

“I see it,” Davrin snarled, bashing his shield into the face of the hurlock still aiming for Rook. They locked eyes for the briefest of moments, communicating without words that while they appreciated the warning, they didn’t necessarily need it.

The hum intensified as the monstrosities got closer, the nausea increased, and the instinct kicked in. They’d both been exposed to the Warden’s training methods, and it was not gentle. You either fought back against the darkspawn, passing the tests to become eligible to attempt the Joining and survived it, or you died.

Both Rook and Davrin had excelled in their tests, passing with flying colours.

Assan dove from the air, true to his name, extending his talons and scratching the eyes of the thing hurling the bone spears at them.

Its scream was loud enough to make her ears ring, but she grit her teeth and plunged her sword deep into its chest, driving the monster to the ground. She wrenched the sword free and spun, barely dodging the axe swinging down on her while her back was turned.

Once the risk of projectiles was gone, the trio were able to launch into the fray in earnest, spilling their enemy’s blood and turning the sand into a muddy terrain.

With a grunt, she drove her sword through the skull of the hurlock that had been pursuing her so relentlessly, panting heavily as she looked up to see both her companions finishing off their enemies. They both appeared to be okay, with no new injuries. Something shrieked further up the Anderfels and pain cleaved through her head, turning her vision white for a moment. From the grimace on Davrin’s face, he felt it too.

“That cannot be good,” Lucanis said wearily, using sand to clean his blades.

“It’s coming from the aerie,” Davrin said, shaking off the pain and turning to sprint towards a rickety wooden construction. “There’s an elevator we can use to get up there.”

They followed him, entering the elevator close behind.

The anticipation of finding the Gloom Howler and ending it thrummed through Rook’s veins. The griffins were Grey Warden legacy. Now that she knew they were alive, she was just as motivated to keep them safe. She could finally say she'd done something right by the Order again. She pulled the lever and the lift groaned before beginning its ascent.

After a moment, he said hesitantly, “I’ve never seen darkspawn this bold. Not unless there’s a Blight.”

Meeting his eyes, she replied grimly, “There’s a Blight.”

He blinked once and tightened his grip on his sword. “Would explain the weird things I’m hearing.”

Lucanis looked at him sideways. He’d been with Rook for a few days now and could still hardly believe it, even after seeing some of the enemy movements in the Crossroads, but their newest companion apparently needed no convincing. Maybe he wouldn’t be so bad after all.

“The First Warden hasn’t said anything,” Davrin continued, trying to probe gently for more information.

She grit her teeth, recalling how he’d tried to drag her to Weisshaupt to sit in the dungeon, how he called her a deluded girl. “He doesn’t want to listen.” It was the most civil thing she could manage.

Sensing there was more to that story than she let on, he let the matter drop. “He’s a stubborn one.”

The silence dragged on between the two once again. He didn’t want to speak ill of his commanding officers and she refused to pretend the First Warden was in the right. Rook wondered again  if this was the right Warden for the job.

Lucanis cleared his throat. “What does this darkspawn want with griffins?”

“The real question’s how it knows about them. Up until now, it only went after Wardens. Now it shows up here with a rabble of darkspawn? These griffins are a secret.”

Neither of them knew how to respond to that, but they were going to help him keep the griffins safe from the Gloom Howler. Their tenuous alliance depended on it.

She grimaced when they approached a zip line. There were plenty of them in Treviso, but she could at least see the ground if she were to fall, or the canals where someone would hopefully fish her out before she could drown. A zip line over the High Anderfels was a different story. Reminding herself that Varric wouldn’t hesitate to make the crossing, she gripped the handles and went sailing over the abyss, holding her breath.

Assan shot out of the darkness below her feet with a excited squawk, making her falter for a second.

“Hi?” she responded uncertainly, tightening her grip and lifting her feet as if that would stop her from plummeting to her death. She reached the other side and staggered with the landing. The sensation of darkspawn clung to her skin.

“Keep moving! The aerie’s not far!” Davrin said, landing smoothly and running headlong into a ghoul, tackling it to the ground. He stabbed a small knife through its eye and straightened, already looking for the next one.

She was exhausted, close to her limits, and knew Lucanis was too, but she took a deep breath and raced after him. Each horde destroyed meant one less the gods could use against them, she reasoned as she tried to parry a blow from yet another hurlock. She missed and caught its backswing in the gut, wheezing out a breath.

The Crow saw the hit and flung a dagger at the beast, aiming for its eye. In his own weariness, he missed, but the blade landed in its neck, distracting it enough for him to rally and take it down.

“Let me. Out,” Spite demanded, probing at the edges of his mind. “I. Can fight.” Lucanis relented, loosing the tight leash he kept on the demon just enough for it to fill his limbs with its unnatural strength. Spite’s wings unfurled and launched them up the stairs towards the darkspawn with the spears, eviscerating it with glee.

Rook turned to follow him, surprised he would take the risk but seeing it for the borderline desperate move that it was. They needed to finish this.

“That was the last one,” Davrin announced as she destroyed the blight boil hiding what looked like a body. “Dammit, it’s Lancit. I want this thing’s head on a pike!”

She agreed silently, and not just because the Gloom Howler was hunting Wardens and Griffins. She wanted it dead so the day could be over and they could return to the Lighthouse and rest.

Lucanis bent over the body, pulling another note from the dead Warden’s pocket.

Training going well. The griffins learn faster together. One picks up a trick, then the others try it out. How loud they get: the little mischief makers! They’re also growing faster than I thought. I’ll ask Davrin to—

The rest was too bloodstained to be legible.

He handed it to Davrin solemnly.

“Let’s keep moving,” Rook said tiredly, rubbing her stomach where she was positive a large bruise would appear later. If she stopped now, she’d never get back up again, so she gripped her sword and trudged up the stairs, using her shield to destroy the blight blocking their way.

A grey, humanoid-shaped thing draped in tattered robes floated in the clearing, summoning more darkspawn.

“What is that?” she demanded, adjusting the shield. Her head pounded in its presence in a way most unusual. Even being in D’Meta’s Crossing hadn’t caused such a headache.

“Meet the Gloom Howler,” Davrin all but growled, shoving past her in his desperation to get to it.

It made an inhuman sound and soared away, leaving them to fight the ghouls.

She grabbed his arm before he could get too close and swung her shield towards the bulging heads, waiting for it to detonate before releasing him.

Lucanis flung another dagger at the next one. He would have to pick through the remains quickly to recoup all the blades he was throwing.

The Warden stared at the newest creatures in shock. “Exploding darkspawn? What is this?” How could he kill them if he couldn’t get close enough? He wasn’t used to fighting at a distance and wasn’t sure Rook’s shield tosses would work so well for him.

“Like I said, this Blight’s different. Everything’s wrong!” Gods, she was aching everywhere. She couldn’t wait to get back to her couch and collapse onto it. She could introduce Davrin to the others once they’d had a nap, or Lucanis could do it for her, but her first priority was to bathe and change. He could manage.

Assan flew into view, screeching and urging them to hurry.

“I can hear the other griffins! Let’s get in there!”

They rounded the corner to see the animals in cages, a shimmering red haze over the metal, as the griffins squawked and flapped at the sight of Davrin.

“More griffins!” Lucanis said in amazement, catching up to them.

Rook grabbed one of the locks, rattling it. “We have to get them out of there.” The padlock looked easy enough to break, but it felt wrong. She clenched her first, raising it over her head in an attempt to smash it, but Davrin caught her arm.

“Can’t. Some kind of blood magic on these locks.” He was dismayed. They’d battled through too many darkspawn to count and now he couldn’t even get them out. Judging by the expressions on his new allies’ faces, they wouldn’t be keen on spending the night in the aerie until a mage could be summoned to break the spell on the cages.

She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to think about what Varric would do. Bellara or Neve would have been able to do something, but she hadn’t thought to bring a mage, and now they were stuck. Maybe Spite could… no. She wouldn’t ask Lucanis to surrender himself to Spite again, not when he’d already done it once.

Davrin was trying to soothe the frenzied griffins, reaching through the bars to pet them. “It’s okay, Heidas, calm down. You too, Rumptail. We’ll come back for both of you.” He met Rook’s eyes, hoping it wasn’t a lie.

Guilt clawed at her mind as she turned away from him. They needed him, but she couldn’t risk promising something she couldn’t keep, not when the gods were the stakes. If they fell in battle today, the lyrium dagger could end up in the wrong hands. For now, she would do what she could to free them.

Lucanis stroked the smooth feathers of the griffin, heart aching at the sight of them behind bars. But he saw the way Rook straightened her shoulders and how her face hardened, realising what Davrin did not just yet. He felt for the Warden, but he knew she wasn’t going to sacrifice their mission, no matter how much she wanted to save the griffins.

Without another word, she burst through the blight boils blocking their way and threw herself into the next fight with renewed vigour. She would contemplate being willing to turn her back on another Warden later, but right now, they had to at least try to stop the Gloom Howler and save the griffins.

The Gloom Howler screamed its fury at their interruption, but the three ignored the sound and slaughtered their enemies.

When an ogre appeared, Rook faltered, reaching for the blue dagger on her hip. She didn’t like to use the abilities it granted her. She felt it gave Solas another thing to hold over her head, but the monster was huge, swinging its club relentlessly. They were barely able to land hits on it, and it was doing more damage to them than they could do to it. Even Assan was hanging back, unable to get close enough to help.

She gripped the dagger, preparing to unleash the strange power, ready for how it made her body feel, as if she was being torn apart. It would hurt but it wouldn’t kill her, unlike the darkspawn flinging the three of them around as if they weighed nothing.

“The Wolf. Is nearby,” Spite hissed to Lucanis, and he whirled, shouting her name, remembering Neve’s warning. He tensed, feeling Spite’s possessive side furious that the Dread Wolf would try to manipulate someone the demon had come to like, in his strange way. He’d seen her use the power once, in the Ossuary, and it had been both stunning and terrifying to witness. It only took seconds, and it definitely helped to turn the tide in the fight, but he didn’t like how her eyes looked empty after doing it.

Neve was of the opinion that the blood magic Solas used to forge the connection between him and Rook was something the god might be able to use to control her entirely, though the detective wasn't sure if it was possible with him stuck in a prison in the Fade. Solas had said it was only a small amount of blood, but none of them knew for sure how much he really had. Or even what a god could do with a small amount of blood. It was too risky.

The ogre locked its eyes on her too, distracted by the all-encompassing power emanating from the dagger, and the brief hesitation was enough for Davrin to drive his sword up and into its chest, his muscles straining with the effort. The ogre collapsed.

With shaking hands, Rook let go of the lyrium dagger, feeling the energy drain away. She took a shuddering breath as if breaking the surface after being under water for too long, lungs burning, and leaned over, bracing herself against her knees.

Lucanis staggered over to her, resting a hand on her shoulder silently. He could feel her trembling.

Davrin, intent on his goal, didn’t realise what had almost just happened. “Yell all you want!” he shouted at at the Gloom Howler, searching the skies for the creature. “You’re not taking these griffins!” He barely spared the other two a glance as he made his way towards the highest part of the aerie. “They’re up there!”

With a heavy sigh, Rook straightened and followed, patting the Crow on the hand in thanks. She clambered up the rocks behind the other Warden, breathing hard, stopping short at the sight of the Gloom Howler hovering in the middle of the rest of the caged griffins. Her heart pounded as she scanned the area for any advantage they could get.

“Their blood is mine,” it hissed, not even turning to face them.

“So it can talk,” she said, raising her brows in surprise. She’d never seen the likes of it before and had half expected it to be a mindless beast, incapable of thought or reason.

Davrin stepped forward, blade high. “I’ll spill mine before that happens.”

The Gloom Howler turned to face them, and cold crept up her spine.

Its eyes were yellow, hollowed deep into its face, and its greyish skin looked to be sloughing off. One of its arms was deformed, the hand missing fingers. “And I’ll collect, Warden. On both of you.”

She exchanged a glance with him, drained but ready for one last fight. “Yeah? Let’s give it a go.”

He nodded in agreement, tightening his grip on his sword.

The thing examined her for a moment before its eyes flicked towards the ogre they’d killed. “Your time will come.” Black smoke filled the aerie, obscuring their vision, and the wind became deafening, and then the Gloom Howler was gone, along with the griffins.

Panicking, Davrin ran towards it, swinging the sword blindly. “No!” he yelled, but it was too late.

“Mortal threats are a dull blade,” the Gloom Howler hissed as the smoke cleared.

He roared his frustration at the sky, spinning in circles to try to find any sign of the animals he’d sworn to protect. And failed. His shoulder slumped in defeat. A single feather drifted down, and he caught it before it could hit the ground. Assan landed and padded to Davrin’s side, head hanging low. He squawked sadly as he sat, looking around for his siblings.

Rook approached the two of them slowly, beyond sorry that they weren’t able to stop the abduction. She didn’t know what to say.

He stared at the feather, unable to speak. Then, “There are only thirteen griffins alive in Thedas. That monster just took twelve of them.”

“What if we could help get them back?” she offered, a plan beginning to take shape in her mind. Maybe she wouldn’t have to abandon him after all.

He tucked the feather safely into a pouch, then looked at her. She’d mentioned hours ago that she needed his expertise. He might be able to spin this in his favour to rescue the griffins. “I’d ask, what’s the catch?”

She didn’t back down from his searching gaze. “I need a monster hunter. For the Blight to end all Blights.”

Lucanis nodded grimly when Davrin glanced at him questioningly, but didn’t say anything. This was Rook’s game, where she excelled. Even though he hadn’t wanted to join her, he’d found himself not only unable to say no, but in her debt and under contract. If anyone could get the Warden to join the team, it was her.

“The First Warden agreed to this?” He sounded incredulous.

She flicked her index finger against her thumb, assessing him. She had to hope he was willing to go against orders just one time, if only for the sake of the griffins. “The First Warden is wasting time, treating this like any other Blight,” she answered finally. “We can’t wait for him to take action.”

He chuckled in disbelief. There was the Rook he’d heard so much about. He was almost surprised it had taken this long for her to stop holding herself back. “Going against the boss?”

Planting her hands on her hips, she fixed him with a look. “I don’t have a choice. There are powerful mages behind all this and we have to hunt them down.”

So she’d lost her quarry. That was why she needed him. He looked down at the pitifully sad griffin at his side. “Well, you did save Assan back there, so you’re no lightweight.” She narrowed her eyes at the half compliment. “And if you can help get the other griffins back…”

Assan chirped at her hopefully.

She smiled at him before returning her gaze to Davrin. “He likes the idea.”

“He’s hoping you brought food,” he replied, offering an olive branch for the attitude from earlier. His pride would not be the downfall of the griffins. “All right. Come on, Assan, let’s get to know our new friends.”

Chapter Text

They returned to the Warden camp at Rook’s request so she could replace her armour. The fight with the ogre had ruined what little integrity that remained and the wind nipped at her exposed skin in the new gaps.

Davrin couldn’t help but notice the tattoos on her arms and the scars that peppered her skin, but he shoved aside his curiosity. Talking about those would come with time, he thought. Bonding with another Warden usually took place after battles with darkspawn, when they could decompress in a tavern somewhere and trade war stories. Not while they were still on the road and in need of a good rest.

As she sorted through the remaining supplies in the camp, she huffed at the choices before her. The Wardens hadn’t packed much so the pickings were slim. Remi and Lancit had been wearing the heaviest armour sets, and there was no way she was going to strip it from their bodies, so the thick leathers she found would have to do. There wasn’t a lot of metal plating, but there was at least one piece she strapped around her right thigh, matching the vambrace for her right forearm. It would offer a small amount of protection for her sword arm at least.

She changed in the tent quickly, leaving the tattered remains of her armour on the ground, almost sad to see it left behind. She’d found the set with Varric, shortly after being told to leave the Order for a while after her antics. He would definitely have something to say about the leathers she was wearing, knowing she favoured heavy plated armour to get closer to the enemy, but the teasing could wait for the next day.

It was good odds that Remi was roughly her size. The boots fit almost perfectly, she thought when she tugged them on. She’d had the misfortune of wearing ill-fitting armour before, and it had been unpleasant and cumbersome.

As she exited the tent, she found Lucanis crouched down in front of Assan, patting him more enthusiastically than she would have expected. “What?” he asked defensively when she raised an eyebrow at him.

She shook her head, glancing around the abandoned camp. “Where’s Davrin?” Surely he wouldn’t have up and left without the griffin.

“Saying goodbye to Lancit and Remi.”

“Ah.” She probably should have offered to help, or at least pay her respects, but she wasn’t sure if he’d want the company. She didn’t like having others around when she was feeling particularly vulnerable. “Are you doing alright?” It felt like a stupid question, but she had a duty to check in with the team. It was what Varric would have done.

Lucanis straightened and crossed his arms over his chest. “As well as you are.” The look on his face told her he knew what had almost happened earlier.

“Spite?” she guessed, kicking a small rock over the edge of the cliff.

He nodded. “I don’t know how he knew.”

She hummed a response. She hadn’t seen Solas in her dreams for days now, but she was sure she was going to get a visit of some sort after this. The feeling of the power taking over her body could come from no one else. She’d only used it a few times, when it felt like they were about to lose a fight and she was desperate to stay alive, and she wanted to keep it that way.

Solas was a source of information, but the two of them were definitely not willing allies. She hoped to have a less contentious relationship with him eventually, but she was still furious that his ritual had caused Varric and Neve to get hurt and demons to escape.

He, however, was still of the opinion that her disruption of his ritual was the cause of their injuries. He’d waved away the demons and their destruction, believing they were part of the price he would have to pay to bring down the Veil.

Lucanis scanned her. Her makeup had smudged with sweat and he saw for the first time the dark circles under her eyes. “Are you alright, Rook?”

Like a switch flipped, an easy smile slid onto her face and she wiped the makeup with the backs of her hands, trying to fix it. “Of course. I can’t wait to bathe, but other than the smell, I’m fine.” She turned away, heading back to the gate they’d closed behind them what felt like days ago and pulling the lever to lift it.

As it clanked into position, she considered the last few days. Gods, did he think she was as incapable of leading the team as she did? She needed to talk to Varric, get some advice on how to proceed. She also wanted to check in with Harding to see if she knew anything more about the lyrium dagger and what it was doing to her.

She picked at her nails to distract herself from the silence, somewhat saddened to see how damaged they were. Maybe Bellara could help her fix them when they returned; she was friendly and kind, something Rook had missed after her dismissal from the Wardens. She was set on taking a few days to actually rest and recuperate, and using the time to bond with her team felt like a good idea.

Davrin rounded the corner, taking a deep breath, and forced his face into a passive expression. He didn’t need the new team to see the hurt of saying goodbye to Remi and Lancit, especially his new boss. He was surprised to see Rook already changed into the spare blue and gold leathers and waiting at the gate, arms folded across her chest. He was doubly shocked to see Assan leaning on Lucanis’ leg, preening at the attention he was receiving.

“Ready to go?” she called.

He nodded, whistling for Assan to take to the skies, and followed her out the gate. He was sure they’d combed through the supplies from the camp to take back to their home base so didn’t bother looking back.

“We’ll show you the Crossroads,” she said as he fell instep with her. “It’s what we’ve been using to get around.”

“What is it?” He’d never heard of the Crossroads, and he’d travelled extensively. He’d never even heard a whisper of it, indicating it wasn’t something the Dalish were aware of either.

She pondered his question, wondering best how to answer. “It might be easier to show you. Saying it’s a bunch of floating islands in the Fade doesn’t paint much of a picture, does it?”

No, it certainly did not.

Lucanis stopped at a tall, golden statue Davrin hadn’t noticed when he arrived to the Anderfels. The blue gem at the top of it was glowing, and it made a soft pinging sound. “Rook, I’m going to go straight back to the Lighthouse. I’ll see you there.”

She turned to him, wondering once again if the days in the Anderfels had been too much too soon after being freed from the Ossuary. “Okay,” she agreed after a moment, guilt eating at her stomach. “See you soon.”

Davrin watched in astonishment as the gold statue made another noise and then the Crow was gone.

The smile on her face was genuine this time. “I don’t know how it works, before you ask.”

He shook his head ruefully and let it slide. He suspected that there was going to be a lot of things he wouldn’t understand and were unable to be explained in the coming weeks, but he was ready for it. He’d left his clan to have adventures, and he couldn’t think of any better way than following this strange woman into hers.

“We’ll use them eventually,” she said, pulling him back when he started walking down the main trail. “I’ll show you the way we came so you know how to navigate the Crossroads, but I don’t think there’s an eluvian in the Anderfels.”

“Eluvian?” He glanced down at her hand on his arm, and she jerked it away quickly. “What is that?” He didn’t recognise the word, though he felt in his bones it was elven.

She shook out her hand, surprised at how warm it was after the contact. “They’re, uh, big mirrors essentially. Solas used them during his rebellion years ago to get around, and because we’re in the Lighthouse, we can use them too.”

A cloaked being with a glowing nervous system appeared out of nowhere, startling Davrin to the point of reaching for his weapon. “Hello, dweller,” it said, its voice echoing.

Rook patted his arm again, apparently unfazed by the presence of this thing. “We want to go back to the Lighthouse.”

“To deeper currents,” the figure responded, a boat spawning from thin air, hovering next to to the edge of the cliff. Over nothing.

She climbed in without hesitation, turning back to him when he didn’t follow her aboard. “It won’t sink.”

His expression was exasperated. “There’s no water for it to sink in.”

“Thank the gods for that,” she muttered. “Come on. We’ve been sailing around without a problem for days now.”

He was still unsure, though Assan scrambled aboard, turning in circles several times before curling up at Rook’s feet.

A sly grin crept over her face. “Are you scared of heights, Warden Davrin?”

He scoffed at that, though she was right. “I’m sure there’s something that scares you,” he snapped, his heart in his throat at the thought of how high they were.

She laughed, wincing when it pulled at muscles in her stomach. The hit from the ogre was growing more tender by the minute. “How are you supposed to ride a griffin into battle if you’re scared of heights? Assan flies.”

He glared, crossing his arms over his chest. He hadn’t considered that yet, especially because Assan was still only young, but it was a bridge he would cross when he had to, and not a second before. “He’s not big enough to ride on yet,” he said finally, refusing to look over the edge of the cliff to the abyss below.

“If it sinks or falls or whatever it does and we die, I promise you can find me in the next life and whack me over the head. How does that sound?” she offered, lips twitching as she tried to hide her mirth.

Examining the boat carefully, he weighed his options. His griffin appeared to be calm and settled, eyes closed and head resting on his paws without a care in the world. Rook didn’t look worried either. She was taking her long hair out of her braid, massaging her scalp with her fingers.

She closed her eyes, relieved at releasing the tension. She truly couldn’t wait to get back to the Lighthouse, a feeling she was slowly getting used to. Since they’d found the Caretaker, the Lighthouse had begun repairing itself, which thankfully included places to wash. She hadn’t wanted to admit it to the others, but she’d wholeheartedly agreed with them that it had been brutal only being able to go back to Arlathan to bathe in the cold rivers.

“Fine,” Davrin grumbled, climbing aboard and sitting opposite her. “You’d better fill me in on what’s happened so far.”

A grim expression crossed her face, and as the Caretaker directed the boat into the Fade, she told him about what had led to them needing a monster hunter.

~

Davrin still struggled to make sense of Rook’s story. He believed it, but he didn’t want to. He’d felt the changes in the blight, in what he heard when training Assan, but he’d figured it for some freak encounter, not the influence of old elven gods.

The Caretaker had been silent the entire time, something that felt strange, but he’d seen and killed stranger things, so he let it be.

As they approached and then docked at a floating jetty, he climbed out, relieved to be on somewhat solid ground again. It was simply instinct to turn back and offer her a hand out.

She looked surprised, but took it, jumping out of the dinghy and letting go of his hand almost immediately. She hadn’t been with anyone romantically since before she was dismissed from the Wardens, and getting involved with the team she was arranging or accidentally sending the wrong signals was not in her plans. She actually couldn’t think of anything worse, what with the threat of death constantly on the horizon.

As surprised as she was, he asked one more question to cover the awkwardness he felt as they walked down the dock towards a odd looking statue of a tree. “So this is where you live, huh? In the Fade?”

“Yeah, it’s cosy. And the gods can’t find us here.” She couldn’t feel the blight as much either, in the Lighthouse, which took time to get used to but was something she now considered a blessing. To not constantly hear the whispers? She wouldn’t trade that for anything. The nightmares were something she was still working on though.

“Right,” he said. “Never going to get used to that.” The sudden lack of hissing from the blight left him reeling too, but he didn’t want to mention it just yet.

“We’ll find you and Assan a nice—”

“Rook!”

A brown-skinned woman in a green overcoat, a pale and freckled dwarf in red leathers and another elf with dark eyes and in a uniform that looked like overlapping leaves raced towards them from what indeed was a giant mirror, with Lucanis bringing up the rear.

She didn’t even look at him before she jogged to meet them halfway. He followed her without a word. “What’s wrong?” she asked, already reaching back to start tying her hair away from her face.

Lucanis looked to be on the verge of a breakdown. “Everything’s wrong. Treviso and Minrathous are both under attack.”

“Blighted dragons,” the woman in the green said. “Two of them. One for each city.”

Rook paused her braiding for the briefest of moments before taking a breath. She could panic once she had more information, she thought. “Damn it. So the dragon at D’Meta’s Crossing wasn’t the only one.”

Harding looked the most relieved to see Rook, brows furrowed in concern. “You got back just in time.”

She glared at the ground, trying to think. Two dragons? Including Davrin, there was only six of them. How could they get to both cities in time and make sure they all came back alive? “Then grab your gear and let’s go.” She still wasn’t even sure where they were going to go.

Lucanis spoke before Neve could. “Go where? We cannot be in two places at once.” He looked at his companions, fear in his eyes. “Treviso is a merchant city, it has no defence. And the canals run everywhere. If we don’t stop that dragon, people will die. Innocent people. My people.”

Rook nodded, still staring at the ground, and finished securing her hair.

He was right. Treviso was already weak from the Antaam’s presence, it wouldn’t be able to withstand being blighted. If it got in the canals, it would take decades for the city to recover.

He continued earnestly, trying to appeal to the Grey Warden in her, “They either die right away from the dragon. Or slowly after, from the blight in the water. We need to go to Treviso.”

Neve turned to him, a cool expression on her face. “And leave Minrathous to burn?”

Rook’s stomach turned over at her question. Minrathous had barely survived the demons being released from Solas’ ritual. A dragon could devastate the city. And Dorian had come to her defence against the First Warden. Losing an ally like that could weaken her fight against the gods.

“Neve…” Lucanis pleaded.

She turned back to Rook, her hat no longer hiding the black eye Davrin could now see. “The Shadow Dragons will fight. Right to the end of it,” she promised fiercely. “But we’re the only ones keeping the Venatori in check. And if we fail? The Venatori will take advantage, they’ll make a push for the throne.”

Davrin glanced at Rook, trying to guess which city she’d decide to send the team to. He hadn’t anticipated fighting a dragon so soon, but given how she and Lucanis had tried to help the griffins, he couldn’t really say no.

“It would hand the gods the entire Tevinter Empire,” the woman in green, Neve, continued. Her shoulders were rigid, but he could see how desperate she was for them to go to her home.

He did not envy Rook at all for having to make this call.

A decision that probably felt very similar to the one she’d made that got her kicked out of the Wardens, he realised. Decimate a building and go against orders to destroy the horde, as well as their path to the surface, or listen to her commanders and let the village fall to the blight and darkspawn.

Save Treviso, or save Minrathous, only this time there was no one else she could turn to for guidance or command. As he looked at the others, he saw that they were all waiting on her to decide. He couldn’t imagine having that kind of pressure on his shoulders.

Rook played with the end of her braid, fiddling with the leather tie, trying to find a solution. “If we decide to—”

Neve threw her hands in the air. “Dammit, there’s no time! I need to go home, I need to be in Minrathous.”

“And I must go to Treviso,” Lucanis interjected. “Go where you feel you must, Rook. We cannot wait.”

Before she could reply, both he and Neve turned and bolted back towards the eluvian, each heading for their home.

Harding met Rook’s gaze evenly. She’d been with her long enough to trust whatever she decided to do, she just needed to be told. “What’s our move?”

Nausea churned in her stomach as she met Bellara, then Harding, then finally Davrin’s eyes.

Each of them waited. They didn’t have a stake in this fight and would fight to the bitter end for either city, but the weight of the decision settled heavily on her shoulders. People were going to die, no matter what she did. Something Solas had said during his ritual, she remembered.

People are always dying. It’s what they do.

Chapter Text

Treviso.

They’d gone to Treviso. She had gone to Treviso.

Rook sat down in the armchair hard, staring listlessly at the items scattered on the table. Was it the right decision? She’d had minutes to make the call, but sitting in the Lighthouse now, trying to remember every tiny detail, she wasn’t sure she’d made the correct one. She could never know, she supposed. No matter what she’d done, people would have died and the blight would have been spread.

Lucanis had been right. The canal city was utterly defenceless. The Crows had done what they could, but even then, the losses… the bodies in the streets. The Antaam picking off survivors trying to flee. If the blight had gotten into the water, Treviso would have surely been lost entirely.

But Minrathous… and the Viper. Their dragon hadn’t landed, so the Shadow Dragons never had a shot at taking it down. They’d had some sort of defence though, or at least Rook had thought they did. When she was there with Varric before recruiting Neve, there was a giant floating city shooting magic missiles at the demons appearing due to Solas’ ritual. Why did the Magisters not use it during the attack?

Why had the dragon risked landing in Treviso?

Why—

“Rook.”

Her head whipped around to see Davrin and Assan standing by the doorway. She was surprised she hadn’t felt him coming.

The cuts on his face and neck had scabbed over finally, and the swelling on his lip had gone down.

She probably didn’t look much better. She, Davrin and Lucanis had each taken the tiniest sips of a healing potion, enough to stop any major injuries from getting worse, before collecting as many as they could find and taking them to Minrathous. The eluvian, miraculously, hadn’t been destroyed in the attack, though it teetered on the edge of the destroyed Shadow Dragon hideout.

They would have to find a way to secure it and make sure it didn’t fall.

Neve had accepted the healing potions before sending Rook away. Probably for the best, given the way Tarquin had unleashed on her when they’d arrived to offer aid.

“Am I interrupting?” the other Warden asked, glancing around the library. He had initially  planned on going back to his quarters, but he wanted to check in on his new boss. There hadn't really been much time for them to discuss the Gloom Howler, the griffins or even the mission they were now on before they’d had to go fight a dragon.

She shook her head. Varric was in the infirmary and Bellara and Harding had gone to their rooms immediately after returning. Lucanis had arrived a little while ago from helping the Talons restore a small amount of order in Treviso, but he hadn’t lingered, pausing only to say a brief thank you for choosing his home. It was just her still awake.

“What do you need?” The question was meant to come out sounding helpful, but instead couldn’t have sounded more defeated if she’d tried.

Davrin looked her up and down, taking note of the black eye that was definitely forming and the way she kept clenching and unclenching her sword hand. His questions about finding the other griffins and tracking down the Gloom Howler could wait, he decided. “Is there a cooking schedule?” he asked instead.

Relief had her shoulders relaxing. That was easy enough to answer. “Bellara and Lucanis have offered to do most of the cooking, but we usually just make extra if we’re in there.”

He’d spotted the grocery list tacked on the wall when Harding had given him a brief tour and showed him to his room. “I see.”

Playing with the end of her braid draped over her shoulder, Rook eyed him.

He’d eased up on her since their fight with the Gloom Howler and he’d realised she was on his side, but he was still a Warden. He could still try to haul her off the Weisshaupt like the First Warden had attempted before Dorian Parvus intervened. He would be unsuccessful, of course, but she needed allies, not enemies. And she needed the Order more than any other faction.

Davrin, realising she was still mildly suspicious of him, strolled toward the shelving behind what he imagined was their war table. He kept his pace casual, trying to put her at ease. He’d now fought two major battles with her and Lucanis and seen they were more than capable. He needed Rook and her team to help find the griffins as much as they needed him. He didn’t want to scare her off or let her see how desperate he was for her help.

Assan’s nails clicked as he followed before stopping next to her, looking up at her with big eyes.

She reached out hesitantly, slowly so the griffin could pull away if he didn’t want to be touched, before resting her hand on the side of his neck. She stroked gently, marvelling at how soft and warm the feathers were. “You were a hell of a shot today, Assan,” she crooned.

He stretched his neck, giving her more room to scratch, seeming pleased with the compliment.

“He did okay,” Davrin said, watching the interaction.

She scoffed. “He took on a blighted dragon, I’d say he did more than okay.”

“Yeah, and nearly made my heart give out.” He recalled the moment Rook had been pinned between the dragon and the face of a cliff, eyes searching frantically for some way to escape the giant teeth far too close to her face.

The dragon was smart though, and held its wings spread wide to keep her trapped as it advanced.

A blur of purple had caught Davrin’s eye and then suddenly Lucanis was there, slashing his swords at its vulnerable back leg, trying to distract it. The Warden whistled for Assan, directing him to claw at the wounds, attempting to give the Crow and Rook a fighting chance to get out of the way.

The griffin had been thrilled to obey, tucking his wings and hurtling for the rear leg with speed Davrin hadn’t yet seen from him. Assan tore the deep cuts open even more, exposing bone and sinew, before screeching a challenge and soaring out of reach of the dragon.

It had been enough. Lucanis, roaring with fury at his city under attack, threw something that definitely looked acidic into the wound, giving Rook a chance to dive out of the way of the now rampaging dragon.

Then she’d done… something. There had been a flash of light, she’d held out her hands, screaming with effort or pain, he wasn’t sure, and the ground had been torn asunder. He’d never seen anything like it, or even read about other Wardens doing it when they killed an Archdemon. He’d almost been worried she was about to try to kill it before they’d managed to ground it properly, but it was over before he could even begin to think about the consequences of that.

Ghilan’nain had called off her dragon soon after.

Lucanis had gripped her arm after the fight, eyes searching hers, worry creasing his brow. She’d shaken him off, but not before Davrin had seen the strange interaction. And the way her hands shook.

“You have questions,” Rook guessed, smoothing her hand down Assan’s neck to scratch behind his ears.

“So many,” he admitted. “But I don’t know where to start.”

Her green eyes slid to his, assessing, before she looked away again. “That’s fair.”

He turned back to the shelves, realising there were items he definitely recognised from his childhood among the Dalish. There was even a halla statue. He smiled at it, running a finger down the spine of the tiny carving.

She didn’t speak, leaving him to his musings, focusing instead on the griffin sitting in front of her.

The intelligence in his eyes told her he understood far more than they’d been giving him credit for, he was just choosing to ignore Davrin’s commands most of the time. She smiled at Assan. He needed someone like Assan to keep things light. In their short time together, she thought he took life far too seriously. He could stand to disobey orders here or there. It was good for the soul.

“Pawn of the Dread Wolf, huh?” he said, turning back to her and crossing his arms over his chest.

“You heard that?” She’d been hoping that in the haze of battle, he wouldn’t. Bellara was already spinning out over their old gods being the cause for all this madness, she didn’t know if she had it in her to soothe someone else.

Davrin snorted, rolling one of the large logs that was supposed to be for firewood over to the table and sitting next to her. He leaned his forearms on his knees, meeting her gaze evenly. “Hard not to.”

Shifting uncomfortably in her chair, she looked away, trying to avoid his piercing stare.

He waited, not taking his eyes off her. He’d learned the hard way with the halla to not waste time chasing them through the forest. He had a feeling Rook wasn’t one to back down, and he certainly wasn’t. So he would wait as long as it took to get answers.

She untied the leather cord at the end of her braid and pulled it apart. Sighing at the relief of the long strands no longer tugging so tight on her scalp, she rubbed her forehead and looked back to Davrin, resigned. “You know who Solas is, right?”

He raised an eyebrow, remembering the ritual she’d described in the boat ride back to the Lighthouse. “I’m familiar with his work.”

Heat warmed her cheeks. “Right. Well, this is his.” She pulled the lyrium dagger from her belt and handed it to him, wondering if he’d feel anything weird like she did. Bellara hadn’t reported anything when she’d examined it, but maybe another Warden could.

So far though, only Harding had noticed anything strange, after she’d gained her powers. She could feel it humming, she said, but it didn’t feel different, like it was charged or hot, or even cold.

He took it, weighing it. The blue stone was lighter than he’d expected and glowed faintly. “This is what Ghilan’nain wanted,” he realised, remembering the echoing voice of the god as it demanded the dagger. “It’s why the dragon landed in Treviso but not Minrathous.”

Rook had been hoping against hope that she’d been wrong in thinking so, but to hear Davrin confirm it too made bile rise in her throat. Swallowing the guilt, she nodded once. “Yes.” She had no other answer, no snappy retort, nothing she could say to try to inspire confidence in her fledgling team.

He handed the dagger back to her, understanding now why she’d been so quiet since returning from seeing Neve. “We can talk more later, once everyone has gotten some rest. You and Lucanis especially.”

She huffed a laugh.

The Crow had retired immediately to his pantry, but not before quietly asking her to find something to block the door in case Spite made an appearance in his exhausted state. She’d acquiesced, shoving the back of a chair under the handle.

“This is the longest day I’ve had in years,” she admitted quietly, rubbing her eyes and wincing when she pressed the bruise. “I really didn’t plan on finding our monster hunter and then immediately going to fight a dragon.” She was almost dazed by the events of the day.

“Weisshaupt didn’t prepare us for this,” Davrin offered, standing from the log. “Harding already gave me the tour, so you only have to keep your eyes open long enough to get to bed.” For the first time, he wondered where she slept. The floating rooms outside had all been claimed, and surprisingly not by her. He’d assumed the leader of the team would pick the room with the best view of the Fade, but it looked like she’d let the others choose theirs before taking whatever had been left.

Barking another laugh, she pulled herself from the chair, looking as if her limbs weighed as much as a hurlock did. Each. “I can feel Solas,” she said, turning and trudging up the stairs. “I need to talk to him before I can sleep.”

“Isn’t Solas in—”

She reached the top of the staircase, aiming for her room. “Trapped in a prison in the Fade? Yes, but he’s also in my head.” Realising she should probably thank Davrin for his help in the dragon fight, she spun back around to face him. “Thanks for agreeing to join us. And for Treviso.”

He nodded, still stuck on the idea of the elven god of lies and trickery being in his new boss’s mind. Maybe he shouldn’t have agreed to join her before getting the full picture.

Slightly disappointed, shoulders drooping, Rook made her way down the hallway.

“Maybe being as tired as we are will stop the nightmares. For tonight, at least,” he called from the lower level, trying to think of something to say to keep talking to her. He felt like an idiot the moment the words left his lips. It wasn’t really the done thing, talking about the blighted nightmares with a Warden you didn’t know that well.

The thought hadn’t occurred to her, but she was eager to test his theory. “If it does, we can fight the Gloom Howler and dragons any day of the week.”

Relieved he hadn’t offended her, he chuckled at the response as her door clicked shut behind her. “Come on, Assan,” he said to the griffin, who miraculously had been waiting silently, still sitting by Rook’s chair. Maybe he was just as tired as the rest of them. He’d never fought a dragon, or as many darkspawn, as he had today. “Let’s get some sleep.”

The griffin flapped his wings enthusiastically and led the way out of the library.

Rook waited for the sound of the double doors closing behind them before breathing a sigh of relief and sinking to her knees in front of the massive windows in her room. She wanted nothing more than to curl up in a ball on the green couch and fall asleep, but Solas had been prodding at the edges of her consciousness for some time now. And she needed his advice.

Closing her eyes, she let the sound of her breathing lull her into the meditative state she used to talk to the god, feeling him reach out to her almost immediately.

“When last we spoke, you were hunting for followers of Elgar’nan and Ghilan’nain in hopes of finding ‘specifics’,” he said almost mockingly. “Has your search been successful?”

Taking a deep breath and shoving the burning anger inside her deep down, she was determined to get answers to help her team. So she would be polite and treat this check in like she would giving a report to a Senior Warden. “You could say that. It looks like both the Venatori and the Antaam are working for Elgar’nan and Ghilan’nain.”

“Unsurprising,” Solas replied with disdain. “The Venatori want magical secrets, and the Antaam want to destroy anyone opposing their brutal expansion. Both will readily bow to anyone who promises them power.”

Not ideal. “Now we’ve seen that power firsthand. The Antaam and the Venatori both have dragons doing their bidding.”

The usually unflappable Dread Wolf’s eyes widened in shock. “Dragons? That is worse than what I had feared.”

“Yeah,” Rook sighed. “We drove off the one the Antaam brought to Treviso — barely.” She couldn’t bring herself to mention Minrathous, still ashamed at not being able to help more.

“Have you determined how the dragons are being directed?” he asked thoughtfully, looking like his mind was already turning over the possibilities. “If it is blood magic, it may be possible to disrupt their control,” he continued before she could reply.

She recalled the overwhelming feeling of blight emanating from the once great beasts, how it pressed against her skin and made her feel like she was swinging her sword through a vat of honey. “The dragons were blighted. We think that’s what let the gods control them.”

Solas’ lip curled up in a sneer. “The blight. Of course.”

Allies, she reminded herself. She needed to work with him, not against him, so she continued sharing her theories. “The blight seems to be the gods’ favoured tool right now. We ran into Venatori who could control darkspawn.”

“Elgar’nan would not bestow such power unless the darkspawn were to serve as the main force of his army.” He closed his eyes, dismayed. “And I suspect Ghilan’nain will see the darkspawn as new subjects for her…modifications.”

She nodded in confirmation, the image of the exploding ghouls coming to mind. “We’ve already run into a few darkspawn nobody has seen before. That’s in addition to the blighted dragons.”

“That is the fate Elgar’nan and Ghilan’nain plan for this world then,” he mused, the pieces falling into place. “Corruption and blighted slavery.” He sounded disgusted.

Before she could stop herself, before she could remind herself that she needed Solas’ input and advice, the emotions from the past days and the horror of the dragon attacks bubbled over. “That’s rich coming from the guy who wanted to drown the world in demons,” she snapped. “Your bullshit ritual would have destroyed the world just as badly.”

He stared back coolly, posture rigid. “Do you truly believe my goal was to destroy this world?”

“I believe your goal, like you said, was to transfer the gods to a better prison—the one you’re stuck in now. And you were willing to tear down the Veil and destroy this world while you did so.”

His right eye twitched. “The Veil is a wound I cut into the Fade in a moment of desperation while making their prison. It should not exist.” The words poured out of him, his frustration at her evident. “I had a host of spirits ready to help when the Veil fell. They would have minimised the loss of life.”

“Not good enough.” He looked as surprised as she felt at her insolence, but then again, Rook never really knew when to back down.

“There was no better option,” he argued.

“So best guess, how many deaths? Hundreds? Thousands?” she demanded.

Sorrow flitted across his face. “At least. Those deaths would have been on my conscience, but the world would once again be as it should be.”

His excuse only made her angrier. “Oh, and here I was worried.”

“What would you have me do, Rook? What other option was there?”

“Not killing thousands of people. There’s your better option.”

“Many would have died, I know. But afterwards, flowers would grow again.”

She was aghast. Maybe there wasn’t a way to be allies with him, if he thought all those lives were worth bringing down the Veil. “Spoken like a god,” she practically spat at him.

Anger clouded his features. “I am not a god! I am as I have alway been: a man, all too aware of his failings.” A moment passed, where he seemed to be collecting himself before speaking again. “But equally aware that if he did not act, accepting the judgement it would bring, all would be lost.”

She reeled back at the very pointed comment, the memory of the collapsed building she’d dropped onto the darkspawn horde surging back into her mind.

Sensing he had the advantage, he pressed on. “They called me the Dread Wolf. What will they call you, when this is over?”

The thought kept her up sometimes, when the nightmares tore her from sleep. She didn’t want Solas knowing that, but judging by the look on his face, he’d already guessed. “I don’t care what they call me,” Rook said finally. “If they’re calling me anything, it means they’re still alive. That’s all that matters.”

His gaze pierced her soul. He had her and she knew it. “Acceptance. You are willing to face the consequences your actions may one day bring, because the world needs you. I believe I can work with that.”

She had a feeling the entire conversation had been an elaborate test, and she wasn’t fully sure if she’d passed or not. She clenched her firsts and kept her mouth shut, not wanting to give him anymore ammunition by speaking when she was still so angry.

“If the gods are using dragons, you will wish to find someone trained to fight them,” he said. “Have you unlocked the Lighthouse eluvian?”

She grit her teeth. He’d riled her up, forced her to show her hand and now offered advice. She would be a bigger fool than the First Warden thought her to be if she spurned the Dread Wolf now.

And Solas knew it.

“Yes,” she said finally. “We found the Crossroads. It’s still confusing though.”

He nodded in understanding. “I cannot help you from in here.” He sounded almost regretful. “You may need to find an expert in the magic of the Fade. And if the darkspawn are to be Elgar’nan’s army, you will need Grey Wardens to fight them.”

She’d suspected as much, but having it confirmed felt like another blow. “I’ve got a few of them, and I’m a Warden myself. Maybe that’s enough?”

Any hope she had that it would be was erased with his answer. “Doubtful. You will want an army.” He looked her over, examining the slumped set of her shoulders, the wounds on her face and the tiredness in her eyes. “I believe you will find a way to obtain one. You seem to have a knack for gaining the cooperation of your adversaries.”

She stared at him, disbelief clear on her face.

This wouldn’t work, he realised, if they spent every meeting sniping at each other. They had to work together, or everything would be for nought. “I have faith in you, Rook.”

As she disappeared, finally falling asleep, Solas hoped the small encouragement would be enough to give her the motivation to do what she had to.

Chapter Text

She woke with a start, hands clenched into fists, at the soft knock on her door. She’d slept dreamlessly, something that occurred so infrequently since the Joining she could count how many times it’d happened on one hand.

“Rook?” a voice called, knocking again.

Rolling off the couch with a groan, she opened the door, muscles stiff and tight, tucking her hair behind her ear. “Hi, Bellara.”

The Veil Jumper peered at her, gaze lingering on the black eye and yellow bruises on her face and neck, then offered her hand, already glowing with green healing magic. “I came to check on you, no one’s seen you for a few days.”

Her eyes widened. “Days?” She let Bellara reach out and rest her hand on her shoulder, goosebumps breaking out on her skin as the healing magic washed over her body, easing the aches. She touched her face gently, relieved to feel the bruise around her eye gone.

Bellara nodded, eyes wide. She’d wanted to wake Rook yesterday, but the others had insisted they let her rest for a while longer. She’d cornered Davrin the night before and demanded to know if it was usual for Wardens to sleep so long, because all of them had seen Rook awake at night, pacing the length of the island. To sleep for more than a few hours was unusual for her in the time they’d known each other, but to sleep for days was downright worrisome.

Bellara had even joined her once or twice, when neither of them could sleep. They’d sat on the edge of the Lighthouse and gotten to know a bit about each other’s factions. She had enjoyed learning more about the Warden, and Rook had listened to her rambling about elven artefacts without once showing boredom or disdain.

Davrin hadn’t been concerned, though he also hadn’t answered whether it was normal for Wardens or not.

Lucanis had been the one to put his foot down, explaining that hiking the Anderfels had been tiring enough, but the additional fights with the darkspawn, the Gloom Howler and then the dragons had pushed her over the edge. If she didn’t wake by dinner the next night, they could force entry to her room and check on her, but until then, she was to be left alone.

He himself had slept for a solid 18 hours after he’d returned from helping the Talons restore some semblance of order in Treviso. He’d also had to wait for someone to enter the kitchen and remove the chair Rook had placed in front of his door at his request before he could leave the small pantry he’d claimed as his.

“Come to the kitchen. We’re about to eat and we can fill you in on what’s been happening.” Bellara gestured for Rook to follow her down the hallway, wondering why she chose to be so far away from the rest of them. Maybe she could ask the Caretaker to conjure up another island so she could be closer. It was something she looked forward to researching, especially because the Nadas Dirthalen was a dead end.

She made to follow her, then grimaced. She was still in the leathers she’d taken from the Grey Warden camp, and she needed to bathe. Desperately. “I’ll meet you there. I need to get clean.”

A smile tugged at the corner of Bellara’s mouth. “I didn’t want to say anything…” she trailed off with a laugh as Rook retreated back into her room, slamming the door shut, cheeks red.

She heard her summon the Caretaker to open the strange doors to the bathing chamber that was in a pocket dimension somewhere outside the Lighthouse as she made her way back outside. She was relieved that she’d been able to wake her at all and was half worried she’d fall back asleep, but when she’d answered the door, she’d been alert enough, eyes clear.

Harding appeared at Bellara’s side, falling into step with her as they crossed the courtyard. “She’s up?”

The elf hummed her reply. “She’ll join us soon, she’s gone to bathe.”

Assan squawked a greeting as they passed by him, not getting up from the nest of leaves he’d collected on his trip to Arlathan with Davrin and Harding the day before. He seemed to enjoy the sunlight in the Fade, even if it wasn’t true light and warmth, and spent most of his time out there. Sometimes he’d patrol the skies immediately above the Lighthouse, but he’d get bored quickly and return, hoping for scraps of food.

Harding opened the door to the dining room, spotting Lucanis and Davrin already seated at the table, making stilted conversation. They paused at their arrival, both looking relieved to see them.

“I was right, wasn’t I?” Lucanis asked as the two women sat down at the table as well. “She was just sleeping.”

Bellara pulled her plate towards her. “Yes, but it didn’t hurt to check. She would have slept through another meal if I hadn’t gone up there!”

He nodded. He’d felt like with Rook practically unconscious and Neve gone, it was on him to check in with the others, making sure they were okay.

Bellara had been a ball of anxious energy the previous evening, and he’d finally convinced her to just sit in the dining room with him, reading and trying to quiet her mind, instead of tinkering with the crystal she’d found.

The quiet hadn’t lasted longer than twenty minutes before she’d started fidgeting and he had relented, agreeing to join her in Arlathan to check in with the Veil Jumpers and buy more supplies instead of returning to her room to tinker relentlessly with the artefact she'd found and think herself into a vicious cycle of worry.

They’d asked around the Veil Jumpers’ camp if anyone had heard tell of the directions the dragons or gods might have gone, but aside from condolences for Treviso and Minrathous, Strife and Irelin didn’t have much. They had promised to send a missive immediately if that changed though.

Harding had spent the days since the dragon attacks reaching out to everyone she knew from the Inquisition, even going so far as to send a letter to the Inquisitor herself, though she hadn’t had a response yet. She was hesitant to speak to Lady Morrigan again, somewhat intimidated by her presence even though she’d been nothing but kind in Arlathan, but if she didn’t hear from any of her previous colleagues, she was willing to do it.

Davrin had spent his time clearing away some of the rubble in his room and taking Assan to the Crossroads to get used to travelling via the eluvians. The last thing he needed was the griffin getting spooked and flying off into the Fade, never to be seen again. The trip to Arlathan with Assan and Harding had been a quick one, both too uneasy about being there, but he’d wanted to know if there was any blight close to the Veil Jumpers. Luckily, in their short exploration, he hadn’t felt any.

He’d slept like the dead too, so exhausted from the battles that for the first time since the Joining, it had been a sound rest, without nightmares, but he’d at least woken up the morning after they returned, not slept another day away. He’d also woken up famished, so he couldn’t imagine how hungry Rook was. “Where is she now?” He was eager to start discussions about finding the other griffins but didn’t want to risk coming across as too pushy.

The kitchen doors opened again and Rook strode in, freshly bathed and in black leather pants and a white blouse rolled up at the elbows. She’d washed her hair, rinsing the blood and darkspawn guts from it and tied it in a knot on top of her head, wanting it out of the way so she could eat. She hadn’t reapplied her makeup, forgoing it in an attempt to check in with the team quicker.

She’d checked in the mirror before leaving her room, frowning at how pale she’d become since stepping up as the leader of their group. Even her vallaslin looked lighter. The griffin inked onto her sternum appeared faded, which certainly shouldn’t be possible seeing as it was less than a year old.

Davrin’s eyes lingered on her face before dropping down to the meal in front of him. She still looked tired, he thought, but it definitely wasn’t his place to bring it up.

“Sorry I’m late.” She pulled the seat at the head of the table out and flopped into it, dragging a plate closer. “Thanks for letting me sleep,” she said in a smaller voice, eyes downcast.

She’d spent her very brief bath contemplating what she would say to them, how she would try to justify her decision to go to Treviso, but now that she was in front of them all… she found it difficult to speak. She was trying to keep her cool and do what Varric would, but she felt out of her element.

“Meirda, Rook, of course we’d let you sleep,” Lucanis replied immediately, nudging a mug of tea in her direction. He was relieved that she was okay, but he was also eager to hand the leadership of the team back over to her. It had kept his mind busy, for a time, but once the sky got dark and the others went to sleep, it was difficult for him to think of ways to bolster morale when Spite and memories of the Ossuary haunted him.

She smiled weakly at him in thanks. He’d remembered she preferred tea, even if he couldn’t stand it. Maybe this meal wouldn’t be as difficult as she’d feared, if he’d bothered to do that.

Harding looked her over, satisfied that Bellara’s healing had worked for the most part. “Are you feeling okay?”

She nodded, mouth full of food, scanning each of them in turn.

The wounds they’d returned to the Lighthouse with after the dragon attacks were gone, probably courtesy of Harding and Bellara, and they all looked more rested than they had before she and Lucanis had gone in search of Davrin.

“We were almost ready to send out a search party when we didn’t hear you walking around at night,” the dwarf joked.

Davrin’s eyes swung back to Rook. He’d gathered from Bellara’s questioning that she slept the typical amount any other Warden did, but he hadn’t expected that she’d spend the night pacing around, especially on a floating island with no guard rails.

She cleared her throat, unwilling to open up that topic of discussion. “No search party required. Fill me in on everything I missed. Are you all okay? Have we heard from Neve?”

Bellara launched into a summary of the last few days, updating her on the situation in Minrathous. It was hard to get word from the Shadow Dragons, but from what she could gather, Neve was alive and fighting back hard against the Venatori, eager to dole out punishment for what they’d done to her city.

Lucanis explained that Treviso was prioritising recovery and fortifying itself. Even though it had been devastated, the Crows had been able to use the chaos to eliminate some of the Antaam’s forces, taking a small amount of pressure off the citizens. The Antaam’s presence hadn’t been entirely removed, but the attack had been the opening the Crows needed to pick off some of their foot patrols.

Rook listened to her companions intently, taking mental notes of how they could aid the cities decimated by the dragons. She knew going back to Minrathous was risky, and Neve was hurt by the decision to go to Treviso, but she couldn’t sit by and not help. Especially when the Wardens could lend help, and particularly to the Viper.

“We should try to get back to Minrathous,” she said, cutting off whatever Lucanis had been saying. She felt guilty about it, but now wasn’t the time for perfect manners. “The eluvian is still working?” she asked, thinking back to how it was perched on the edge of the now destroyed Shadow Dragon hideout.

Bellara nodded, pushing her plate away. “As far as I can tell. The resonance is still thrumming, but we didn’t want to risk going without you.”

Surprised, Rook looked to the others, but they appeared to be in agreement. “Why? You’re all capable enough.” And they were. She trusted them fully to take care of themselves and each other. None of them needed her to chaperone them.

Harding cleared her throat, shifting uncomfortably in her seat. “Since the ritual in Arlathan…” she trailed off, unsure how to continue.

The reminder of her decisions being the cause of Varric’s injury felt like a knife in Rook’s gut. She set her fork down, resting her forearms on the table. This was the part she’d been dreading while she’d bathed. “I can understand if you wanted me to step down,” she said, meeting their eyes one by one. “The calls I’ve been making haven’t been the greatest, and I want what’s best for all of us. There are better people suited to lead than me.”

Davrin’s brows rose at her statement. Again, she’d surprised him. He’d seen Wardens make truly horrible decisions and refuse to stand down from their position of leadership, yet here she was already offering to do it, and she hadn’t even done anything wrong.

The dynamic of the group was something he’d have to get used to, he thought. They acted as if they were actually friends, not just people thrown together by circumstance.

“No!” Harding exclaimed quickly, realising what she was saying. “That’s not what I meant at all!”

Lucanis looked equally surprised, then clenched his fists, the veins in his neck going taut. “I like. Rook,” Spite hissed. “Helped us.”

Reaching for the small dagger in his boot, Davrin prepared to attack, now understanding that the strained voice coming from Lucanis was certainly not his own and the purple flashes he’d seen in the Anderfels and Treviso were not some Crow powder or flourishes to an attack sequence. When none of the others reacted at all, he hesitated. That was a demon. Lucanis was possessed. Why were they not worried about this?

Bellara patted the Crow’s hand as he struggled to regain control of his body and turned to the dejected looking woman at the head of the table. “We don’t want anyone else leading us,” she said fiercely. “We trust you.”

Harding nodded in agreement. “Since the ritual, since Varric—” She paused when Rook flinched, but continued, determined to make sure she understood they wanted her to remain their leader. “You were his second in command for a reason,” she said, more gently this time. “He trusted you to make the hard decisions, and so do we.”

“And you chose to go to Treviso,” Lucanis said, sounding like himself again. “I can’t thank you enough for coming to help my city.”

Swallowing the emotions, trying not to let them see how much their words meant, Rook blinked. The weight that had been pressing against her shoulders eased, and she took a deep breath, leaning back in the chair. “Are you sure?”

Even though Varric had faith in her, there was still a voice in the back of her mind that sounded a lot like her old commanding officers that said she wasn’t fit to be the one in charge. Working with another Warden made the voices a lot louder. She felt the pressure to live up to her oath, the colours she wore, with Davrin on the team.

“One of the strongest pieces on the board,” Harding said, resting a hand on Rook’s.

Her eyes burned with the reminder and she squeezed her hand in thanks.

Lucanis glanced between the two women, not understanding the reference. “What does that mean?”

The dwarf chuckled. “It’s how Varric introduced Rook to Neve when we found her in Minrathous.”

Rook smiled for the first time since she’d sat down, a true smile. “Harding and I found her a while back. Thought we could use an expert on trouble,” she said, mimicking Varric’s deeper voice and accent.

Davrin snorted at the statement. Expert on trouble definitely sounded like her. He’d enjoyed the brief time he’d spent with her though, something he hadn’t expected, but it certainly hadn’t been smooth sailing. “How did your talk with Solas go?” he asked.

Bellara’s head whipped around to stare at her, eyes wide. “You saw him again? When? What happened? What did he want? Did he say anything helpful?”

Lucanis and Harding both stilled, sharing a glance.

Shooting a glare at Davrin for spilling the beans, she leaned back in her chair again, letting her hand slip from Harding’s. “He had a lot to say,” she grumbled, recalling how he’d thrown her past in her face as if they were anything alike. “He always does.”

“What exactly did he say?” Lucanis asked, wondering if Solas could be included in his contract for the other elven gods. From what the legends said about him, he wasn’t to be trusted. And using blood magic on Rook to force that connection between the two of them made his eyeballs itch. He didn’t like it at all.

Staring into the flames that danced in the massive hearth, Rook recounted her conversation with the Dread Wolf, leaving nothing out. If they trusted her to be their leader, she had to trust them with the truth.

“So this elven god thinks we need a dragon hunter and a Fade expert?” he clarified when she was finished.

“He’s right about the dragon hunter at least,” Harding said thoughtfully. “The Shadow Dragons did all they could. The dragon was just too much. The moment the dust settled, the Venatori rushed in. Guess they knew it was coming.”

Rook’s gaze turned distant as she listened.

Davrin noticed. It was a look many Wardens had worn before.

“Neve’s staying for now. She said she’ll be back soon, but… At least you took care of yours.”

“We hurt it, but didn’t kill it,” she replied, voice even. “The dragon flew off before we could put it down.”

“Treviso could have used a dragon hunter, that much is true,” Lucanis interjected, trying to picture how many more lives could have been saved if they’d gone in more prepared. If they’d had more time to build the team, even time to rest after recruiting Davrin, it meant the fight might have gone in a different direction.

“Don’t remind me,” Rook said quietly. “Fewer people injured, and we wouldn’t have to worry about it coming back.”

Bellara nodded in agreement.

“We should not forget the second dragon, in Minrathous,” he replied. While he was grateful Rook had chosen to prioritise Treviso and help his people, he felt a pang of remorse at the thought of Neve and the Shadow Dragons trying to fight off the dragon without their help. “We ought to see what we can do to help. However, there is no telling how long Neve will be helping the Shadow Dragons with the aftermath.”

Her stomach dropped and she shut her eyes briefly. She would make sure they went to check in with Neve as soon as she possibly could. It was just another thing added to her already long list of things to worry about later.

Varric appeared, limping over to the table, as if drawn by her guilt. “Hey, let’s not get stuck in our regrets, all right?”

She nodded once, unable to speak.

“Hang on a minute,” Davrin interrupted, almost overwhelmed with how quickly this group moved. “Not only have you retained the services of a demon assassin, you’re also taking advice from the elven god who attempted to tear down the Veil.”

“Spite is my problem,” said the demon assassin, meeting the Warden’s eyes unflinchingly.

He scoffed. “That’s what they always say.” He turned back to her, somewhat pleased to see the dazed look had retreated from her expression. “Rook, Lucanis is one thing, but do you really trust this Solas?”

She shook her head. “Of course I don’t trust him. He’s the only option we have. If it makes you feel better, we’ve checked every piece of information he gave us.”

“That does make me feel better.” Sleeping in the room next to who he now recognised as the Demon of Vyrantium, however, did not.

Harding spoke, seeing the brewing tension between the two men and not wanting it to go further. “So a Fade expert and a dragon hunter,” she mused, looking into the fire. “I’ll ask around about dragon hunters and see what turns up. Come talk to me in a bit.”

“And I’ve been corresponding with someone about the Lighthouse’s reverberative oscillations and the resulting dimensional peculiarities—” At the blank looks from the others, Bellara remembered she was no longer surrounded by Veil Jumpers who shared the same enthusiasm and knowledge. “Sorry, not relevant,” she said shyly. “I’ll get a message through to a Fade expert immediately.”

Varric chuckled. “See, Rook? Nothing to worry about.”

She almost laughed out loud at that. As if needing a dragon hunter and Fade expert meant their lives were any simpler. “All right,” she said, mustering a semblance of calm. “We all know what to do. Let’s get going.”

Everyone turned to leave the kitchen except Davrin, who gave her a long look before striding out without another word. The thrum of the blight in his blood faded as he went to his quarters.

Chapter Text

Davrin returned to his room, mind spinning with what just happened in the kitchen. The others had been on the job longer than he had, sure, but they were all so blasé about their mission, acting as if the fate of the world didn’t depend on their success. He was familiar with dire stakes, but he felt out of his depth with this mission, something he wasn’t used to.

Assan lifted his head from his front paws at the sight of him entering the room, squawking a greeting. Or saying he was hungry. Probably both.

He sat down in the armchair he’d found and placed in front of the fireplace, resting his elbows on his knees and leaning forward. The heat of the fire on his skin felt lovely, almost like the sun. It was as close as he could get to real sunlight whilst in the Fade, and until he had a more solid grasp on his role in the team and the mission, he was hesitant to leave the Lighthouse. He was also not completely sure how to use the eluvians and didn’t want to risk getting lost somewhere the others wouldn’t be able to find him.

The sticky feeling of the blight approached and had him sitting up straighter until he remembered there was another Warden in the Lighthouse. Just another thing to get used to, he supposed.

Assan huffed at him again.

“What?” he asked as Rook entered his room. “You’re hungry? I found a yam in the kitchen.” He held it out to the griffin, who stared back at him unhappily. “Stubborn just means you’ll starve.”

“Trouble settling in?” she asked, holding her palms out to the fire. She hadn’t known if she should intrude, but at the sound of indignant squawking, she figured it was safe to do so. She’d also wanted to check in with the newest member of the team and thought then was as good a time as any. Things couldn’t get any stranger, could they?

Davrin scanned the tattoos he could see on her arms now that she was out of her armour.

It looked like the wings of a griffin on each arm, likely accompanied by old Warden symbols elsewhere on her body. He recognised the inkings from the person most from the Order went to at Weisshaupt. The art was very different to the vallaslin on her face. He didn’t recognise it.

She definitely didn’t come from the same clan as him, but maybe he’d heard of it. She’d taken her hair down too, apparently preferring it loose when she wasn’t in battle, and it hung down to her waist, parting only over her pointed ears.

“Doing the best I can,” he sighed. “My job was to keep the griffins safe, not fix their dinner.”

Chuckling, she turned to the griffin staring hopelessly at the yam. “I meant Assan.”

“Oh. I guess we’re both adjusting.” He could feel her eyes on him.

She wasn’t really sure how to go about building a friendship with Davrin, but she guessed that Warden talk would be appreciated and easy to navigate. “I’ve always wondered about our history with the griffins. Their emblem is everywhere.”

His eyes drifted the tattoos on her arms again and he raised a brow in question.

She cleared her throat and rubbed her forearm self-consciously. Probably a dumb thing to start with, but she was still too excited that there were griffins alive in her time and she got to see them to care.

Understanding that this was her attempt at trying, Davrin humoured her. “I could swear Assan knows it too. Gives him a big head.”

The griffin in question squawked in disagreement and flapped his wings.

“Back in the day, Grey Wardens raised them as aerial calvary. When a Blight got going, Wardens rode them into battle.” He still wasn’t sure about riding Assan, but luckily he had time to work out a way to quell his fear of heights. “Eventually, war took its toll. They died out.”

“How did Weisshaupt find Assan and the others?”

He shrugged. “I only got involved in this a little while ago. Most Wardens are still in the dark.”

She snorted. She would have been on her best behaviour if she’d known a job looking after griffins was on the line.

He smirked, apparently understanding where her mind was going. “Way I heard it, someone found a journal a few years back that mentioned a secret clutch of eggs. They’d been hidden for centuries, protected by a ward. Started hatching, and out came thirteen talkative griffins. Now down to just one.” He kept his voice even, but on the inside, he felt like a mess. They were his responsibility and now he only knew the whereabouts of one of them.

“Even for a griffin it has to be hard losing your brothers and sisters,” she said gently. She recalled how close the nests were in the Anderfels and her heart ached at how Assan must have been feeling.

“They’re a talkative bunch. Always squawking at each other.” He gazed at Assan, wondering if he knew what he happened, what he’d lost. “Maybe it means something?”

“Well, a confused and chatty griffin should fight right in around here,” she replied, scanning his face. He was upset about the loss of the griffins to the Gloom Howler, that much was obvious. She wanted to help, but didn’t know what else to say.

The smirk softened into a smile. “Appreciate it. There’s no training manual for them anymore.”

“I guess we’ll figure it out together.” The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them. She hadn’t intended on promising Davrin anything, just that she would do her best to help.

Assan made a noise that sounded happy.

“Griffins don’t trust easily. Lancit and Remi had to work to win them over.” And gods, he’d seen them work hard. Rumptail in particular had been a tough nut to crack. “They said a Warden and a griffin have to move as one, think as one. They called it turlum, a sort of unity. But now they’re both dead.” He said it unflinchingly, trying not to let her see that he was upset about their deaths, but he had a feeling she saw right through him.

Rook definitely saw right through him. It was the soldier in them both, to pretend to not be saddened by the loss of a comrade, a friend, not when being a Warden meant death was around every corner. But she knew it hurt, and she knew it was hurting him.

“Why’d the Gloom Howler attack the aerie?” she asked instead of pressing him for his deepest emotional secrets.

Setting his shoulders, he again wondered how she knew when not to push. He appreciated it nonetheless. “I intend to find out,” he said firmly. “First it stalks Wardens, now it’s after the griffins.”

She rested her fists on her hips, anger seeping into her features. “Doesn’t seem right that they’d go extinct twice.”

“Not if I have anything to say about it.” He paused. Was now the time to bring up her offer of aid? He hadn’t wanted to in front of the rest of the team, but he was desperate for an answer. The night they’d returned from Minrathous had definitely not been the time, and he wasn’t about to go wake her just to ask, but he needed to know. “You sure you’ll have time to help? You’ve got a lot on your plate.”

She stilled. She thought she was starting to understand Davrin a little bit. She saw that he had a hard shell that took time to soften, but she liked it. He was someone she could see herself becoming friends with. And the idea of letting down a friend filled her with dread.

The small tendril of hope in his chest died at her hesitation. He could roll with the punches though, so he steered the conversation towards the mission he’d promised to help with. He’d been let down before, he would survive this one and save the griffins once he’d defeated the gods. “Elgar’nan and Ghilan’nain. Hard to believe.”

“Our very own elven gods are ending the world,” she replied, trying to keep her expression neutral.

“That’ll endear us to the rest of Thedas,” he said wryly, staring out of the open wall into the Fade. “But I have to say, killing a monster is one thing… Taking down the goddess of all monsters and the god of vengeance while you’re at it?”

She understood his concern, but trying to lie and make it seem smaller than it was wouldn’t help any of them. “I know. Our problem around here is we think too small.”

He chuckled, unable to help himself. “Okay. Good to know the boss can laugh about it.”

She wasn’t a fan of being called the boss. “Not really,” she admitted. “But dwelling on things won’t help. Every life in Thedas depends on it.” She said it simply, because it was simple. Either they did it, or the world would end.

He nodded, begrudging admiration on his face. He could respect her stance, at least. “Fair enough. It’s also good to know where you stand.”

“Pretty much at the world not ending.”

“I can get behind that.” After all, he couldn’t save the griffins if there was no world left for them.

Assan interrupted them with a chirp, gazing up at Davrin beseechingly.

“What? I told you, it’s yams or nothing.”

She smiled down at the griffin. “Or maybe you need a new menu?”

He nodded absently in response, but it was clear to her that he was disappointed she hadn’t really answered his question. Regret rolled in her stomach, twisting her into knots. She made to leave but turned back, clearing her throat when he wouldn’t meet her gaze. “Davrin?”

“Yeah?”

She hesitated. If she promised to help and they failed, would it be worse than if she’d not helped at all? To hell with it. She was going to save the griffins. They were Warden legacy, she wouldn’t allow them to come to more harm. “I’m going to help you get them back,” she said firmly.

His eyes shot to hers. She was being serious. “Are you sure?” he asked, something warm in his chest growing. “You’ve got the rest of the team to worry about too, so—”

She stepped closer, resting a hand on his arm. “I promise. We’ll find them. Together.”

He let out a sigh, shoulders slumping in relief. “Thank you, Rook.”

Smiling, she squeezed once and retreated. “We’re Wardens. Even if I didn’t like you, I’d help you,” she told him, heading towards the door.

“Does that mean you do like me?” he chuckled.

Pausing at the door, she tossed her hair over her shoulder, something that felt as uncharacteristic as it probably looked. “You’re a bit inflexible when it comes to rules, but that can be easily fixed.”

His laugh followed her out of his room, as well as the excited squawking of Assan as he demanded something to eat.

Smiling again, she descended the stairs from his room and made her way towards Harding’s room, feeling lighter, even if the presence of the blight in his blood felt like walking through syrup. It was almost a comfort, that familiar feeling, to be around another Warden again.

While she didn’t regret what she’d done to save the village, she definitely felt the loss of being away from the Order. She missed the camaraderie, the banter in the camps and at the fireside. She’d spent years with some of them, and now only Antoine and Evka took the risk to send missives or try to help. The fact that they’d even taken the chance to meet with her and set her on Davrin’s trail meant more to her than she could express.

Her growing team was starting to feel a lot like her old platoon. The familiarity of it was enough to drain the rest of her worries away, at least for the time being. She would endeavour to get to know them all better. If they were to kill the gods, they had to be cohesive, almost moving as one. Becoming friends with the team was the first step to that.

She picked her way over the vines that connected Harding’s room to the main island, noting that green tendrils were starting to creep up the walls. They were small, but it looked like Harding’s green thumb was taking full effect. She knocked on the door, waiting for permission before entering. “Hi, Lace.”

She was sitting at a small table, quill in hand and a stack of letters to the side. She looked up at her, setting her quill down carefully to avoid ink spilling.

Rook flopped down in the other chair, stretching her legs out in front of her so her knees wouldn’t disrupt the dwarf-sized table. “What are you doing?”

Shuffling through some of the letters, the dwarf pulled one out. It had the stamp of the Lords of Fortune on the bottom. “I’ve found someone who might be able to help us with the dragons. You remember Isabela?”

She pulled the letter towards her, scanning it before setting it aside again. Apparently there was a dragon hunter in Rivain that agreed to help them. “She worked with Varric a while back, right?”

Nodding, she said, “They broke into the headquarters of the Crows with King Alistair, so I wouldn’t recommend taking Lucanis with you.”

“I can’t imagine why the Demon of Vyrantium wouldn’t want to meet one of the few people who can get into their headquarters and then get away alive,” Rook said with a smirk.

Harding’s grin widened. “It’s worse than just breaking in. She saved Alistair from Claudio Valisti.” At her friend’s blank expression, she explained, “Claudio kidnapped Alistair after they went to exchange information. The King agreed to go with him if Claudio let Isabela and Varric leave, but then they stormed the camp to rescue him.”

“So?” Rescuing a king sounded like a good plan to her, but fortunately, she’d never had to do that.

She gave her an exasperated look. “I can’t believe Varric never told you the whole story, he loved this one. So Alistair is tied up in Claudio’s camp, and he’s getting the information he needs to discover who hired him, it’s all going according to plan, but when Isabela and Varric arrived Claudio was able to overpower them. It looked like he was about to kill them all when Isabela cut off his hand, slit his throat and stabbed him through the heart.”

Rook whistled, impressed. “Sounds like a woman after my own heart.”

“He was the Third Talon at the time too.”

“Ah. I see.” So she definitely would not be taking Lucanis. She didn’t know their mage-killer well enough yet to know if he was aware of the connection between Isabela and the previous Third Talon, but it wasn’t a risk she was willing to take. They needed allies.

Nodding in acknowledgment, Harding reread the letter from Isabela. She almost knew the words by heart at that point, but she still had no idea who the woman was that she’d recommended, just that she was a hell of a dragon hunter and slayer. “When do you plan on leaving?”

Gazing around the room Lace was slowly turning into her own, Rook contemplated the question. She knew they had to move swiftly, but she needed a day or two at the least to wrap her head around everything that had happened in the last week.

It felt like they’d been moving at a breakneck speed ever since the ritual and now they were suffering for it. Mistakes were being made because they were all exhausted, something she couldn’t afford to risk anymore. She wanted to go back to Minrathous and see if they or the Wardens could lend aid, but she didn’t know if Neve even wanted them there.

“A few days,” she decided. “Can you try to get word to Neve or the Shadow Dragons and see what we can do to help them? Lucanis was right earlier.” She stood from the chair, stretching her arms over her head.

“Of course. I’ll tell Isabela to expect you soon.” She folded a corner of the letter over, looking down at the fraying edge of the paper, unsure if she should say what was on her mind. “Rook?”

She turned back from the door, surprised by the uncertainty in Harding’s voice. “Yeah?”

“You’re doing a good job.”

Warmth spread through her chest at the unexpected compliment. “I…Thank you.” It was strange, receiving positive reinforcement, especially after the First Warden’s scathing review of her abilities and mental aptitude, but she appreciated it nonetheless.

Lace scanned her face, trying to get a hint of any influence from Solas. When she was satisfied it was unlikely the Dread Wolf was eavesdropping, she continued. “I know neither of us expected to be here without Varric, but I’m glad you’re the one leading us.”

Rook cleared her throat and looked down at her feet, embarrassed. “Well, with the glowing recommendation from the First Warden, what else could I do except assume command?”

The words were flippant, but the dwarf knew better. She’d been the one to go with Rook to the meeting in Minrathous to request the Grey Wardens’ assistance and had heard the interaction between her friend and the First Warden. He’d torn strips off her, called her deluded and tried to arrest her.

She’d come out of the meeting solemn and had gone straight to the infirmary for some quiet. Very different to her usual demeanour.

She hadn’t wanted to interrupt her, but Neve had encouraged her to bring her the news about Antoine and Evka to see if it would help lift her spirits. At the mention of her old friends, a little bit of light had returned to Rook’s eyes.

“I know you’re not great at being serious,” Harding said, ignoring her sound of protest. “But I am. We wouldn’t have gotten this far without you.”

She rubbed the back of her neck, uncomfortable with the earnestness of the statement. “We’re a team. We’ve made it this far together and we’ll finish it together.” She turned to leave the room again, wanting to get away from the intense look on her friend’s face.

Fine. Harding would try a different tactic. She was determined to get Rook to show a little vulnerability, to get some of the pressures she was under off her shoulders, even if only for a short while. “How does it feel having another Warden on the team?” she asked before she could escape.

Pausing and internally cursing the scout for having a gaze so sharp she could have been a hawk, Rook turned around to face her again. “It’s nice.” The heat on her cheeks was surely leftover from her bath. Surely.

“Mmhmm.” She gave her a knowing look. “You know, almost a year travelling together and I never noticed you sneaking off at night to meet someone.”

“We were hunting Solas. That doesn’t really leave a lot of time to find someone to f—”

It was Harding’s turn to blush at the language, but she wouldn’t be deterred. “No one would blame you for blowing off some steam now that we have a proper base.” She shrugged. “It doesn’t even have to be anyone from the team, but with the Grey Warden stamina and all… well, it would be hard for someone else to keep up.” She waggled her eyebrows suggestively.

“I should never have told you that story,” Rook said, flinging open the door and leaving the dwarf behind, chuckling to herself.

Chapter Text

Muttering to herself about Harding’s skills at observations, Rook stormed back over the vines to the courtyard, passing the Caretaker at its usual post.

“Hello, dweller,” came its standard greeting.

She waved at it absently and began her usual trek around the Lighthouse as she considered her friend’s words.

Of course she’d wanted to duck away from Varric and Lace to find someone to help her decompress, but there truly hadn't been time. They were on the move constantly, trying to track down Varric’s old friends to see if they knew how to find the Dread Wolf. There had been some excellent leads and suggestions, but they’d never caught up to him.

The bastard had even left a letter behind for her friends to find in Arlathan, telling them he would try to limit the amount of damage his actions would cause. He’d dropped breadcrumbs, almost teasing them, acting as if the search for him was a giant game he was in control of.

She knew why she’d been recruited. She was the wildcard Solas wouldn’t see coming, even if he’d done his research about her while they’d been tracking him. He’d been able to predict Varric’s movements and counter them, avoiding or escaping from them at almost every turn. So far, he hadn’t been able to guess hers.

Though him being stuck in that prison and also in her mind was something no one had anticipated. Sometimes it almost felt like he was looking out into the world through her eyes, trying to guide her in a direction he wanted or push for a different solution. It appeared he now even felt somewhat guilty about causing harm to Varric. Didn’t stop him from stabbing him in the first place though.

“God of lies and trickery indeed,” Rook growled, pacing the length of the island, shaking her hands out to try to dispel some of the energy she could feel building in her limbs. This was the longest she’d gone in months without a daily fight or hike through some hills Varric insisted was a short cut, and it was making her jittery.

Even before joining the Wardens she’d constantly been on the move with her clan, never really settling in one place. It was rare to stay in one spot for more than a month or two, let alone sleep as much as she had in the past days.

She wondered what they were doing. If they were even still alive. Her family hadn’t been thrilled when she’d joined the Order but they still cared for each other. She decided she’d speak to Irelin next time they went to Arlathan to see if she’d heard anything about them. They might have even travelled back to the south of Fereldon.

On her second lap, Assan glided out of Davrin’s room and did a few laps of the Lighthouse himself before settling in his leaves to watch her pace.

Harding’s words rattled through her mind again. It was true that the rest of Thedas found it difficult to keep up with Grey Wardens, in battle and in the bedroom. There were few other factions, save the Crows perhaps, that were so brutal towards their recruits, though the Crows trained theirs from childhood. Wardens were usually adults before signing up to the Order. Usually.

She’d been trained to stay alive on a battlefield, where reinforcements were not a guarantee, and to take out as many darkspawn as possible before becoming overwhelmed and going down swinging. It meant that finding someone who could keep up with her grew more difficult with each fight she’d won.

Even before joining the Wardens, joining Varric, she’d had too much energy for the people she’d been in relationships with. She could spend the entire day in the forests her clan travelled, hunting for food and climbing the old trees, and still keep her partner up all night. Most of her relationships didn’t last very long because of it.

Rook had resigned herself to only having brief flings, unwilling to develop an attachment for someone only for them to break it off soon after because of her intensity.

It was different with other Wardens though. She’d been challenged by her first foray into sex with one. A human woman, Anna, had kept her up all night. For the first time in a long time, she’d finally been at rest when they were done.

She wondered if Anna was still alive, or if she’d been killed by darkspawn already. She would ask after her next time she saw Evka and Antoine.

Patting the griffin on the head as she passed by his nest for the sixth time, she was surprised to see Bellara standing outside her room, gazing into the orange and purple sky of the Fade. She hadn't been there before.

The environment around the Lighthouse seemed to somewhat mimic that of Thedas and the sun was setting, casting long shadows. Another night of being wide awake, she thought bitterly.

Pushing aside her memories of her clan and her past, she approached the other woman. “What are you doing?”

Bellara jumped and spun, eyes wide. “Oh! Hi Rook,” she replied, resting a hand over her pounding heart.

She glanced around, seeing the new decorations she’d hung outside her door. “They’re pretty.”

“Thanks. The chimes remind me of some of the artefacts we find in Arlathan. Sometimes it’s too quiet here, you know?”

She did know. While it was nice to have peace from the whispers, not hearing animals or the sound of swords and shields clanging together was unnerving. “When did you get those?”

“Lucanis and I went back to Arlathan last night to see if Strife or Irelin had any leads for us. Irelin gave them to me before we left.”

Rook looked at her sidelong, her ears figuratively perking up. They couldn’t get more up if she tried. “A very thoughtful gift to give to a friend,” she mused, tucking some of her hair behind her ear.

“Oh, Irelin knows I don’t like it when it’s too quiet.”

Okay, she would try something else. “You must have been pretty close friends for her to know something like that about you.”

Bellara blushed and ducked her head. “We dated, for a while.”

Well, that was the least amount of words Rook had heard her say in a sentence since they’d met. “We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” she offered.

Her eyes returned to the chimes. “It’s not that I don’t want to,” she reassured her. “There just isn’t much to talk about. We drifted apart. She actually helped me pack to come with you.”

“Really?” Even though she didn’t have any complicated past relationships of her own, there weren’t any lovers she felt comfortable enough with to ask to help packing up her life. “That’s kind.”

“Irelin is kind,” Bellara said quietly. “She was there for me after Cyrian died.”

“She spoke highly of you.”

Her gaze shot to Rook’s in surprise. In the fading light, both elves’ eyes shone golden. “Did she?”

“Mmhmm. She said you were the expert on ancient artefacts and lore and we’d be stupid to not have you on the team.”

She laughed at that. “She would never have called you stupid.”

“I don’t know, she looked pretty sure we wouldn’t survive the forest without you.” They probably wouldn’t have either. Rook had asked Neve to stay with the Veil Jumpers to rest, still injured from helping her during the ritual, and her and Harding would have been lost without a mage.

Bellara’s cheeks remained pink and she thought back to how Irelin had helped her collect the amount of journals she would need for their expedition. She knew how Bellara loved to document everything and made sure she brought extras. She hadn’t given her any grief about the amount of pillows she’d packed either. She probably still felt bad about Cyrian.

Rook could see her mind turning over and over, and nudged her with her shoulder gently to bring her back to the present. “About Minrathous…” she started, but trailed off. She knew Bellara was becoming friends with Neve and figured if anyone would be able to help them get in contact with the Shadow Dragons, it was her.

“We tried to kill the dragon,” she said miserably, shoulders curling inward. “It stayed out of reach of our spells and Harding’s arrows. There was nothing we could do.” Her eyes stung with tears.

What would Varric do? She needed to bolster her, help her see that none of this was her fault. “I know,” Rook said quickly, placing a hand on her arm. “I’m sorry I sent you there.”

She shook her head, wiping her eyes furiously, needing to make her understand. “I would have gone even if you hadn’t asked us to. It was just so hard to see so much death. And Neve, well you know how Neve is, she plays it cool, but I’ve never seen someone fight so fiercely. I wish we could have done more for them.”

Guilt wormed its way into her mind at the statement. Neve had been quick to pledge herself to their cause, and she, the leader of the team, had all but abandoned her and her city for Treviso. “I wish we could have done more too.”

“Do you think she’ll come back?”

Rook hesitated before answering. “I really don’t know,” she said finally. “I hope she will, and we’ll offer them any help we can in the meantime, but we have to keep planning in case she doesn’t.” It would hurt them all if Neve chose not to return, but she wouldn’t blame her if that was the case.

Sighing, Bellara looked out into the Fade again. “When you go back, I’d like to come with you,” she said firmly. “I might be able to help with some of the clean up efforts.”

“Of course. We’ll try to get there in the next few days.” She hoped it was enough time for the team to regroup and prepare themselves for what they’d find there.

Lucanis had obviously seen death, and so had Harding during her time in the Inquisition, but she wasn’t sure about Bellara, and she was almost positive that none of them besides her and Davrin had seen death on the scale they would see on the streets of Minrathous. That wasn’t including the blight they’d almost definitely discover, most likely in the catacombs the Shadow Dragons used to smuggle people to safety. It wasn’t going to be pretty, and then there was the risk they wouldn’t even be welcomed.

She would have to think carefully about who she took with her. She’d seen the slaves and the work pits when they’d used the rooftops to move around the city, though she’d kept her mouth shut at the time. If there were any alienages in Minrathous, they were likely the first places that were overrun by darkspawn. She’d seen the city-elves crouched in the gutters, begging for spare coin or food. She dropped a few pieces in each dish she saw, ignoring the filthy looks she received from the humans.

“Rook?”

She pulled herself from her musings with effort. “Yeah?”

“Thanks for listening to me,” Bellara said, surprising her.

She faced her, brows furrowing in confusion. “Why would I not listen to you?”

“People usually think I talk too much, or for too long, or about boring things. I’ve been trying to tone it down around everyone because I don’t want to bore you. I spent a lot of time by myself in the forest, so it’s nice to talk to people again and—”

Rook interrupted gently, “I like talking to you. You’re nice.” She meant it too. Even though she felt significantly outmatched by her intelligence, she enjoyed her conversations with her. She always learned something.

For the first time in a while, Bellara’s mind slowed. She wasn’t thinking about seven different things she had to do at once. “Really?”

“I’m a lot of things, but I’m not a liar. Most of the time,” she added quickly. “And if I really thought you were a bastard, I would have found someone else to join us, although I think we’d probably be worse off for it.” She smiled at her, hoping to convey her sincerity.

“I think you’re nice too.” Maybe leaving the Veil Jumpers to join Rook’s team wasn’t going to be so bad.

She laughed at the comment, loudly. Not many people considered her to be a nice person. She’d always found it difficult to make friends, too intense, too honest and with an attitude most authority figures didn’t appreciate. “We’ll see if you still think I’m nice when this is all over. I’ll see you later.” She turned away, leaving Bellara with her wind chimes, and made her way back to the kitchen.

“Before you go, how are your headaches?”

She whipped back around, eyes wide. “How did you know about that?” she demanded.

Bellara held up a hand, the green healing magic twinkling at her fingers. “I could feel it lingering earlier.” She paused. “And Lucanis told me about what happened in the Anderfels.”

“Gossip travels fast,” Rook muttered, glaring down at her feet.

“I think he was more worried than gossiping. He seemed concerned and now I am too. Do you think it’s something to do with Solas? Lucanis said you almost used the dagger during a fight with some darkspawn. Is that true?”

She rubbed her forehead. “I don’t know if it’s something to do with Solas, and yes, it’s true. I had to use it during the dragon fight in Treviso and I didn’t get any pain.” Aside from the feeling of her body trying to tear itself in two, but she didn’t think Bellara needed to hear that. Before she could get pulled into a conversation she wasn’t ready to consider, she said, “I’m going to go talk to our gossipy friend.”

And discuss the importance of what happens when out field, stays out field. She could forgive Lucanis this one time as he was used to working solo on his assignments, but now that there were a few of them on the team, a conversation about keeping some things private was evidently needed.

Bellara laughed and waved, going back to her little island room, though she made a mental note to write down somewhere to keep an eye on her. Sometimes she felt like there was an otherworldly presence looking out from her green eyes, something much older and more cunning than her friend. It unsettled her.

Rook shoved open the kitchen doors, calling out for Lucanis.

He opened the pantry door immediately, a knife in one hand. “What is it?”

“You can put that away,” she said, pulling out her chair and sitting down. “Or not, if it makes you feel safer while we talk.”

His eyes widened momentarily. Maybe he would be safer if he kept a weapon. “Ah. You spoke with Bellara.”

She raised an eyebrow and dipped her chin in the direction of his chair.

He sat.

She held his gaze, waiting.

He stared back. He could wait too. He was actually very good at that, having sat perched on rooftops for long periods of time before a target showed themselves.

She drummed her fingers on the arm of her chair, making sure it was loud enough for him to hear. She could keep this up for hours if she had to. Her training hadn’t necessarily taken place in classrooms, but there had definitely been boring elements and she’d had to find ways to keep herself awake. She wasn’t good at long silences, but she was good at taunting people.

While she waited for him to crack, she used her unnatural sense of the blight, probing the Lighthouse, searching for anything out of the ordinary. It was habit, ingrained into her, to reach out and see if a pack was approaching when the world went quiet.

Davrin was walking around in his room. Rook could feel it. The feeling of the blight grew stronger, then fainter, as he moved.

She would need to get used to his presence, having become somewhat accustomed to no longer sensing blight whilst at the Lighthouse.

After several minutes of the incessant tapping, Lucanis’ lips twitched and he glared down at her hand. “Fine!”

She grinned and ceased.

“Yes, I spoke to Bellara,” he said. “It’s something I thought she should know about.”

“You thought she should know I got a headache?” she asked dryly. “One of the most talented and intelligent mages I’ve ever come across needed to know about that?”

He crossed his arms over his chest. “We both know it wasn’t just a headache, and we also know what almost happened fighting that ogre. The risk you took in Treviso…” he trailed off, shaking his head, the sound of her yells as she used the abilities Solas cursed her with to fight off the dragon ringing in his mind. “I know blood magic, Rook,” he said earnestly. “Every time you use that dagger, he has something else to use against you.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “The headache could have been the Gloom Howler for all we know. It controls darkspawn, it could do something to Wardens too. Solas is trapped in the Fade, he can’t do anything to me from there.”

He leaned back, resting his chin in his hand, examining her. She looked better, more rested since they returned from the Anderfels, he could admit that, but something was screaming in the back of his mind that Solas was a step closer than he was a week ago. “Do you forget the Ossuary so quickly?” Lucanis asked quietly.

“Of course I don’t.” And she wouldn’t. The bodies, the dried out husks that used to be people, lingered in her memory. The thought of being held there for a year made her stomach clench. No, it was something she would never forget.

“It appears you do,” he remarked. “Calivan had my blood. I could do nothing until we destroyed it. He could have taken control of me at any point.”

“Yeah, in the real world. Solas is in the Fade,” she reminded him. “Trapped in his own prison.”

“An elven god could probably do a lot of damage with just one drop of your blood, no matter where he is. We don’t know how much you lost at the ritual site.”

She knew he was probably right, but she was annoyed that she’d taken the risk to save his city and was now being admonished for it. “What would you have done?” she asked after a moment. “If you were in my position and it was my home we were trying to save from a blighted dragon that was about to kill us and then all the people I loved, would you have used the dagger?”

He paused. He hadn’t considered that. He had been so focused on saving Treviso and then how the Dread Wolf was almost certainly trying to manipulate Rook into becoming the perfect pawn, he’d not once thought about what he would do if the situation was reversed. “I don’t know,” he said finally.

She gazed into the fire. “Whatever it takes.” When she felt his eyes on her, she elaborated, “Solas asked me what makes me the right person to lead the fight against Elgar’nan and Ghilan’nain. I told him I do whatever it takes and powerful people don’t frighten me.”

He recalled her history with the Wardens. How she ended up with Varric. How she and Neve had almost died trying to stop Solas in the first place. How she’d broken into one of the most secure prisons in Thedas to break him out and then killed one of Zara’s generals, all because one person said he was the best assassin the Crows could offer. Never mind the hundreds more that were easily accessible. She’d fought across the High Anderfels in order to bring Davrin to their cause, exhausting herself. She hadn’t even flinched, nor complained, when the news of the dragon attacks reached her, she simply carried on.

“I meant it, when I said I do what it takes to finish the job. If saving Treviso and trying to save Minrathous means I have to use the Dread Wolf’s knife, I will.”

Lucanis almost felt guilty for doubting her. “Rook, I—”

She shook her head, plastering a smile back onto her face. It wasn’t his job to make her feel better about their lot. She’d needed him to see the reason for her actions, and now he did. The rest was on her to figure out. “Back to you telling Bellara about the mild headache,” she said, redirecting the conversation.

He looked sheepish but lifted his chin defiantly. “Was it the Calling?”

Rook’s eyes shot back to him in surprise. “How do you know about that?” It was one of the Order’s most closely guarded secrets, there was no way he had found that out on his own.

“Not every Warden is as honourable as you. Some hire the Crows before they go to the Deep Roads.”

Her lip curled at the implication. She wasn’t the best Warden, but she at least didn’t give out its secrets to the other factions in Thedas. Hell, they weren’t even told about the Calling until after they survived the Joining in an effort to not let their numbers fall too low. If people were scared they would eventually lose their minds and travel to the Deep Roads to take out as many darkspawn as they could before becoming overrun, the Order would never have enough to continue.

“Do me a favour, Lucanis, and don’t tell Davrin about that,” she said solemnly. She’d felt the tension between him and the Crow and didn’t need it getting worse. She had a feeling their newest recruit wouldn’t be happy to hear that some Wardens took out contracts on themselves.

“Of course.”

Her thoughts were jumbled, but kept returning to the moment of pain she’d felt in the Anderfels. At the time she had wondered if the headache had been the Calling, but now she wasn’t so sure. It had receded too quickly, like a flash of lightning. “I still think it was the Gloom Howler.”

As loath as Lucanis was to admit it, he was determined enough to get answers that he would speak with the other Warden in the Lighthouse again. “We can just ask Davrin about the Gloom Howler, he’ll know better than anyone.”

“Ask Davrin what?”

Rook turned, surprised that she’d not felt him approaching. Again.

He was standing in the doorway of the kitchen, lingering as if unsure if he should enter the tension filled room for a snack or if he should back away and pretend he hadn’t heard anything. The sound of his name had given him pause though, and the mention of the Gloom Howler had made him decide to stay.

Lucanis asked before she could stop him, “Does the Gloom Howler make your head hurt?”

She dropped her head into her hands, sighing.

Davrin approached the table, leaning on the back of the chair he considered his and pondered the question. “Sometimes,” he said slowly, trying to remember all the encounters he’d had with the monster. There had been so many since he’d joined Lancit and Remi that they’d started to blur together. “It seemed to depend on what it was doing. If it was controlling a large pack, then yes, my head would hurt.”

She lifted her head to look at him, relief on her face. “Really?”

He nodded. “Did you get them too?”

“Just the once. I wasn’t sure if it was…” she trailed off, shrugging.

Ah. He understood then why the conversation had looked so fraught when he’d arrived. “It wasn’t what you thought it was,” he said kindly. Rook was still somewhat new to the Order, he could see why the thought of the Calling happening so early in her career would have been cause for panic.

Her shoulders relaxed and she sat back in her chair, running a hand through her hair. “Thank you.”

Lucanis used the moment to try to slip away, but before he could get out of his chair, Rook pinned him to his seat with a glare.

“I’ll give you a pass this time,” she began. “But usually, what you talk about when you’re in the field with someone stays with them. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

It was the first time she’d pulled rank like that since he’d joined them, and he was surprised by the tone. “I—”

Shaking her head, she interrupted. “We have to be able to trust each other. You need to trust that if I’m worried about something that will effect the team, I’ll tell you all. Can you do that?”

The question was loaded. His eyes shot to Davrin, who very pointedly looked down at his hands, clearly unwilling to get in the middle of whatever had happened between them on their hunt for him.

Lucanis paused. Did he trust her to fill them in on her thoughts and plans? He was used to working alone, maybe with Illario if the job was a large one. This was an adjustment he would have to make though, if he was to fulfil their contract. And he wanted to trust her. “I’ll try,” he said finally.

Rook was pleasantly surprised by his honesty. It was all she could ask for though, as she was still finding her way in leading the team. “Okay. Friends again?” She smiled at him.

He smiled back and stood, going back to his pantry. He needed a coffee.

Chapter Text

She wasn’t sure why she’d agreed to accompany Davrin and Assan on their trip to Arlathan, but when he’d asked after Lucanis had disappeared into his pantry, she couldn’t help but say yes. Maybe it was her desire to feel an actual breeze on her face. Or maybe it was her wanting one day where she didn’t feel like the world would end if she didn’t race around to save it.

Assan looked thrilled to be out of the Lighthouse again, soaring around her and Davrin as they jumped down onto the broken bridge and ventured further into the forest.

They’d both worn their armour and had their weapons just in case, but Rook hadn’t bothered to tie her hair back. She didn’t anticipate needing it out of her eyes and preferred it down anyway, using it to shield her face and ears from view if necessary. Though it was hard to hide her ears, she found people noticed her longer than usual hair before seeing anything else.

They hadn’t encountered anyone since leaving the Veil Jumpers’ camp, elf or otherwise. The demons were taking a day to rest as well, it seemed. Or maybe the Veil Jumpers were taking full advantage of the team’s excursions into the forest, sending scouts in the opposite direction to eliminate other enemies.

“I’ve been thinking,” he started, remembering what the trainers had used and asked him to bring from Weisshaupt when he first got his mission. “Lancit and Remi used special food to train the griffins. Said it was the fastest way to start a bond.”

Rook agreed with that. Food was the quickest way for her to build a relationship with someone. “Right. The… what’d you call it? Turlum?”

“That’s it. And gingerwort truffles were the griffins’ favourite treats. They grow around ruins,” he explained. “We’re going to teach Assan how to find some.”

Assan squawked and landed, racing ahead of them.

Rook had to jog to keep up with him. Strife warned them of darkspawn presence since she’d been there last when they passed through the camp, and she didn’t want the griffin to get caught on his own. She stretched her senses out and lifted her nose to the air but didn’t feel anything. If there was blight in the forest, it wasn’t anywhere near them.

Assan led them through a dark cave, mercifully void of enemies, and back out into the sun.

“How did you end up with the Grey Wardens?” She was never good at long stretches of silence, and everyone had a story of how they joined. The Wardens took anyone, criminals included, and she wanted to indulge her curiosity. She also wanted to know if they were harbouring a criminal.

Davrin was wondering when she’d ask. “Grew up in a Dalish clan, and I’d hear all these stories about things that happened thousands of years ago.”

“The Dalish do love their history,” she replied, thinking back to the lessons her Keeper used to espouse.

He glanced at her out of the corner of his eyes. That was a very polite answer. “Except I wanted to make history,” he said, deciding not to push. “Didn’t fit in, got bored. So I went looking for adventure.”

“How did that go over with your clan?” she asked, as if she already knew the answer.

“Poorly,” he replied simply, curious about what her own story was. “They felt like I rejected them.”

She looked at him then, a wry grin on her face. “Did you?”

He shrugged. “Yeah, I suppose. Clan life wasn’t for me.” He scanned her vallaslin pointedly. “I had to get away.”

She ignored the look. “So then what happened? You’re out in the world, looking for adventure…”

He chuckled. “Got my ass kicked. Went broke. I couldn’t go crawling back to my clan a failure. I doubt they’d take me back anyway. It forced me to figure out what I was good at, and I always had a knack for hunting.”

Maybe they weren’t so different after all, she thought. Though her clan would be thrilled if she returned and told them she’d given up on being a Warden, even if she'd still leave for her Calling eventually. “Hunting for food and hunting for monsters are different things.”

Davrin kept his eyes glued to Assan, worried he might disappear into the trees chasing after something. “Yes, but once you get on the trail of whatever it is you’re looking for, all that matters is catching it.”

Hunting was not her area of expertise. During her childhood, Rook had mainly used snares to catch food, not finding herself as accurate with a bow as some of the other children in her clan. It was one of the reasons she preferred the shield and sword of a warrior over the short swords and archery skills of a rogue.

“And you?” he asked, following the path under a waterfall.

She eyed the deep water and angled herself to walk closest to the rock wall on her right. “What about me?”

He noticed her behaviour but made no comment. “What drew you to the Wardens?”

She figured that of her team, he was most likely to know of him. And the most likely to keep it a secret. “Have you heard of the Hero of Ferelden?”

“Who hasn’t?” He was a legend, one of the pillars of the Grey Wardens, someone Davrin looked up to not only as a young man, but as a Dalish elf. He’d never met the man, but the stories told at Weisshaupt were the stuff of legend.

“We’re of the same clan,” she said simply, eager to get off the wooden walkway, out from under the waterfall and back onto solid land.

Davrin stopped short, grabbing her arm in surprise. “What?”

She looked amused but didn’t shrug off his hand. She’d had a feeling this was the reaction she’d get. It was one of the reasons she was glad the Wardens didn’t address each other by clan name, or last names for humans. She would have either risen through the ranks on her cousin’s merit or be judged harsher because of it. “We’re cousins,” she replied. “Or were. I haven’t heard from him in years.”

He knew his mouth was probably hanging open, but he couldn’t help it. “Your cousin is the Warden-Commander.”

“Is, or was. Like I said, I haven’t received a letter in a long time.” She wouldn’t be surprised if he’d perished somewhere in the South. He was a fierce fighter and had well and truly earned his reputation. The last correspondence she’d received had been shortly after the Fifth Blight ended. Theron was 21 when Urthemiel was killed, in his forties now if he was still alive. She wondered if his hair was greying from the stress of it. Maybe that’s why hers was getting lighter.

“That’s why you joined the Wardens?” Davrin asked, still stuck on the revelation that he was standing with a clan member of one of his heroes.

Rook smirked, but shifted her feet uneasily. “Yes and no, but don’t tell the rest of the team. Not even the First Warden knows.” She wasn’t even sure if Theron knew she’d joined the Order.

Davrin understood the need for secrecy. “Of course.”

If anyone found out, even more expectations would be heaped on her shoulders, and not just from other Dalish elves. The Wardens would rally, of course, but her reputation as a troublemaker had far-reaching consequences. Where some from the Order thought she’d done the right thing by disobeying instructions to save the village, there were others that would have seen her excommunicated entirely for it. If the wrong people found out she was related to the Hero of Fereldon, they’d all but demand her head, insisting she should have known better.

Her shoulders dropped in relief. “Thank you.”

He had one more question. “How much older is he than you?”

“Isn’t it rude to ask someone how old they are?” she asked, grinning slyly. She could see him doing the mental calculations to try to work out her age.

Chuckling, he shrugged, letting go of her arm. “I’ll tell you how old I am.” He leaned down to rub his bad knee. “This hurts when it rains.”

Rook threw her head back, laughing loudly. “Everything hurts when it rains. I think it was even part of the Oath, to accept that our bodies ache when the rain starts.”

She was probably right, he thought. “I’m 32,” he said plainly.

The grin softened into a smile. “31,” she said, pointing to herself. “Varric calls me ‘kid’, even though it’s not like he’s a senior citizen.” She shook her head ruefully.

Davrin’s brow furrowed. Varric Tethras? She spoke about him as if he were still alive, but maybe she was just adjusting how she referred to him. His death was recent, and it sounded like they had been close.

“Don’t tell anyone,” she continued, tucking her hair behind her ear.

“I can keep a secret,” he said, nodding to Assan, who was sitting down, watching them. He would look over his old notes from his time at Weisshaupt about the Warden-Commander once they returned to the Lighthouse. For now, he could put it aside.

She smiled warmly at the griffin. “So can I. No one else knows about your fear of heights,” she teased, almost forgetting they were on a rickety old bridge.

“There’s nothing you’re scared of?” He had an idea, but he didn’t want to come right out and say it.

“Of course there is,” she said, trying not to let her eyes drift back to the deep water. She had a feeling he’d put the dots together, but she felt almost childish about her concerns.

He waited to speak until they were off the wooden bridge. “Can you swim, Rook?”

She ducked her head, letting her hair cover the side of her face he could see, lips pressed shut.

It was answer enough. “Your secret is safe with me,” he said. “I can teach you, if you want.” It was strange that a Dalish elf couldn’t swim, but maybe Clan Sabrae hadn’t spent much time near rivers deep enough to learn in.

She appreciated his offer, but didn’t reply. The thought of water coming higher than her knees made her feel sick.

Assan dove head first into a bush, scattering the nugs that had been dozing there.

“What are you doing?” Davrin called, exasperated. “That’s not a truffle, that’s a nug. You’ll get fleas.”

Chuckling and relieved her swimming skills were no longer the topic of conversation, Rook replied, “At least he’s having fun.”

Ignoring the griffin’s squawks, he said, “Truth is, he purrs when you scratch him.” It made him happy to see Assan enjoying himself. He was content enough in the Lighthouse, with people around to pet him, but Davrin could tell he missed his siblings.

The griffin plopped himself down in the middle of the path, looking beseechingly at his trainer.

“Maybe we can speed things up by helping him. Let’s search the bushes.”

Not afraid of getting her hands dirty, she stuck her hand into the closest one without looking, wincing and yanking it back to examine her glove. “That was a thorn.”

From the other side of the trail, Davrin laughed. “Keep looking,” he suggested, being more careful in searching the bush in front of him.

“Nug droppings. Yuck.” She scraped the bottom of her boot on a rock, trying to get it off.

“The nugs pretty much own Arlathan Forest.”

Assan followed her to the last scraggly plant. “Nope. This is harder than it looks,” she said, patting his head soothingly. No wonder he looked so sad.

He sat down again, shaking out his feathers.

She crouched in front of him and Davrin followed suit. “It’s fleas, isn’t it? What’d I tell you?” He would have to give him a bath before he was allowed back into the Lighthouse, or everyone would be scratching themselves raw.

Rook examined the dirt in front of them, keen eyes picking apart the berries from the rocks from the— “Actually, I think it’s a truffle.”

Assan’s gaze zeroed in on the mushroom, ears perked up high, before he snapped it up eagerly.

“Huh.”

“Maybe the nugs like truffles,” she said slowly. “Could Assan know that if you follow them, you might find truffles?”

The word truffle was losing all meaning, but judging by the grin on her face, she knew that. “Are you really that smart, boy?” He knew his griffin was intelligent, and Lancit and Remi had always said they were brilliant, but he wasn’t entirely convinced yet.

“Seems pretty clever to me,” she crooned, reaching out to scratch under his chin.

“If only you’d be clever enough to listen.”

She suspected there was more to that statement than she knew, but she didn’t pry further. “Well, you’re still getting to know each other,” she said gently. “Remember, turlum.”

Davrin sighed, frustrated, and wiped his mouth. He wasn’t the trainer and he had no manual to guide him. The way he’d been shown in the Wardens was obviously not going to work with Assan.

“Remi was probably right,” Rook said. “Remember how she said he needed a lighter touch?”

“If I go soft on him the world will chew him up.” The thought of harm coming to Assan made his throat feel tight, but he didn’t let his expression change.

It looked like she saw through it anyway. “Let’s give you both a chance and see if he can find any more of these.” She stood, holding out a hand to help him up.

Surprised, he took it, even if he didn’t need it. “How?”

She shrugged. “Find some nugs, see what happens.” She turned and followed the nugs. “So how did you go from hunter to slayer of monsters?”

He was grateful for the change of subject, still not sure he was fully prepared to have the fate of the griffins on his shoulders alone. “Uncle Eldrin, an old elf I knew growing up. When I was a kid, I’d hunt just about anything. Rabbits, deer, fox. Eldrin gave that purpose, taught me the Way of Three Trees.”

Rook was familiar with the Way of Three Trees. She wondered if he knew of the fourth way, the Vir Banal’ras. “Sounds noble,” was all she said instead.

“Eldrin taught me to hunt the unnatural so the natural can thrive. Be a force for good. Besides, it was either that or starve. Monsters paid good coin.”

“But why become a Grey Warden?” she asked. Monster hunting sounded like the adventure he mentioned looking for earlier. “If you were making money on your own…”

Hunting had fulfilled the urge to roam, but soon enough, another gaping hole in his life appeared. Wandering listlessly did little to ease it. “I didn’t leave my clan to get rich. Had to prove it was all worth something. I needed a cause.”

“There are easier causes than dying in the Deep Roads,” she replied heavily.

“Darkness is a sparring partner. The greater the shadow you confront, the stronger you are for winning.”

“’Til you meet one you can’t beat.”

“Haven’t yet,” he said cockily. The scars all over his body told a different story, but he was still alive, and that was enough.

They followed Assan up a winding path that opened to a clearing full of nugs. They scattered at the sight of the griffin bounding toward them, wings spread and ears up.

Davrin couldn’t help the tiny smile at the sight. “I think he found something.”

Rook saw the expression and suppressed her own grin. She’d been right. The two of them just needed time to get to know each other better and learn to trust one another. She crouched, easing Assan out of the way of where he had his beak pressed against the ground, sniffing insistently.

“I’ll be damned. Follow the nugs.” He squatted down next to her.

She sat back on her foot, smug. “Like I said, he’s a clever one.”

He turned back to his griffin, pride warming him. “Might make a tracker out of you yet. Hungry?”

An indignant squawk was his response.

“What? It’s gingerwort. Eat it.”

She nudged him gently. “Remember, light touch.”

He turned back to Assan. “I mean…” Gods, what did he mean? How could he convince a very stubborn animal to eat something good for him? “It’s dessert, fit for a prince!” The sarcasm could not have been clearer, but Assan believed him, leaning down to eat the mushrooms. “See?”

“It’s for your own good, Assan,” Rook said, trying to offer some encouragement to Davrin. Maybe a united front would get the griffin to eat.

He met her eyes briefly. “That’s a Grey Warden talking. Listen well.”

Surprised by the compliment, the tips of her ears got hot and Harding’s words rang through her mind like a bell.

“With Lancit and Remi gone, if something happens to me, he’ll have to stand on his own,” Davrin said, taking a risk in sharing another fear of his with Rook. She hadn’t laughed about him being scared of heights, so he didn’t think she’d laugh about his concern for Assan. As far as they knew, he was the last griffin alive in Thedas.

“So don’t let anything happen to you,” she said simply.

He rolled his eyes. “We’re both Wardens. Death’s around every corner.” He paused, taking note of the pink tips of her ears. “Not that I don’t enjoy punching it squarely in the face.”

To hell with it. “I like that confidence,” she said, taking the leap.

He wasn’t sure if she meant it to sound like she was flirting with him, but he almost hoped she was. “That’s how you win.”

She tilted her head to the side, studying him like a hunter watching her prey. “It’s not all about winning. Sometimes I enjoy the pursuit too.”

For the first time in his life, he didn’t mind being viewed as prey. “Ah, the thrill of the chase.” He went to lean forward, but Assan reminded them of his presence with an excited chirp.

She held his gaze for a long moment, the sun making her eyes glow, before looking away.

Slightly disappointed at the interruption, he stopped the griffin from digging a deeper hole. One of the Veil Jumpers would break their ankle if he let it continue. “Okay boy, that’s enough for one day.”

“But he’s having fun,” Rook protested. So was she, but she didn’t want to push for more so soon.

Davrin could have stayed there with her longer, but he knew she had other things to do. “He overeats, and you’ll find out how fun griffin puke is.”

She shot to her feet, suddenly no longer in the mood to flirt. “Assan, you heard him. Let’s go.”

Chuckling, he stood too, watching the griffin take to the skies again. “Thanks for coming with us,” he said, following her back down the path in the direction of the Veil Jumpers’ camp.

“It’s nice to get out of the Lighthouse for something other than life or death jobs,” she said. There was still more to do, but she had the afternoon for that. Arlathan wasn’t her home, but the forests felt familiar enough to soothe her restless mind.

“What did sleeping for two days straight feel like?” He’d been dying to know but hadn’t wanted to come across as nosy. He felt like their trip to Arlathan had helped bridge the gap of being new to the group and away from the others was a good time to ask. It wasn’t necessarily a secret that Wardens struggled to sleep, but it was personal.

She hummed thoughtfully, flicking her nail against her thumb.

Davrin’s eyes tracked the movement. A nervous tic, perhaps?

“It was strange,” she said finally, leading him a different way to the one they’d taken. One that avoided the deep pool beneath the waterfall. “I didn’t hear the music or the whispers this time, and when I woke up I felt like I had too much energy.”

“Is that why you were awake all night?”

Her brow furrowed and she turned to him. “How did you know that?”

He forgot that she hadn’t been around other Wardens for months. “I could feel you pacing around.”

“Oh.” She had been so consumed in her thoughts that she’d barely taken notice of the feeling of his blighted blood coming and going, depending on where she was in the Lighthouse. Her route took her up and down hallways to dead ends, staircases to nowhere and then back again. She was slowly learning the parts of the Lighthouse that were open to the team, but the thick vines across some of the doors had her curiosity piqued. She wanted to know what was behind them. “I’m sorry if it kept you awake.” She would have to be more considerate going forward.

He shrugged, not worried in the slightest. He would have been awake regardless of her movements. “I’m used to it,” he said simply. “You’ve had months to get un-used to it.”

“Are you sure?” She walked across a fallen tree, arms out for balance. It took her over the water, but the crossing wasn’t as long as the wooden walkway.

“It’s fine, Rook,” he said, following her. He saw the subtle signs of her fear of the water, now that his suspicions were confirmed. The way her fists were clenched and her eyes were glued to her feet. “Assan is still getting settled anyway, he doesn’t sleep much at the moment.” Though Davrin wished he could. He was much more stubborn when he was tired and cranky.

Her eyes searched the horizon for the griffin. “If he keeps you awake, you can send him out to me,” she offered. “I don’t have a leash long enough for him to fly very far, but I can keep an eye on him.”

He laughed. “I’m usually up anyway.” He’d found a carving set the other day with Harding, and he spent most of the night whittling small figures into the wood that appeared in his room the day after his arrival.

“You could always join me,” she said, wishing she could take the words back the second they left her mouth. She didn’t want it to sound like an invitation for anything other than company, and she was finding she enjoyed his. He had a wry sense of humour and could hold his own in a fight. With Varric unable to leave the infirmary, she missed companionship.

He knew what she meant. It would have been hard to go from being surrounded by her friends, feeling their presence constantly, to nothing. He was still able to tell the subtle difference between another Warden or a pack of darkspawn, even if her blood felt strange, but to her it probably all felt the same.

As they approached the Veil Jumpers’ camp, Davrin whistled for Assan. “If I feel you walking around at night, I’ll find you,” he said.

She smiled at him. “That sounds nice.” She stepped through the eluvian, still unprepared for how entering the Fade made it feel like she was being torn apart, piece by piece. The mirrors made it more tolerable, but it still wasn’t entirely comfortable. It was much like using the abilities from Solas’ dagger.

Bellara was standing on the other side of the Lighthouse’s eluvian, waiting for their return. “Rook!” she exclaimed the second they appeared. “I’ve been communicating with a Fade expert. He’s in Nevarra, the Grand Necropolis to be exact, and he said he has some time between teaching to offer his experience.”

“You think he’ll be able to join us?” Rook asked. If they could recruit a Fade expert, their luck might change for the better. There might also be a chance to do something about having the Dread Wolf squatting in her mind too, but she didn’t get her hopes up.

“Yes! Are you ready to go now?”

Bellara’s enthusiasm was radiant, filling her with the same excitement. She’d never been to Nevarra, not really interested in meeting the famed necromancers, but if nothing else, it would be an experience. “Let’s go meet some dead people.”

Davrin took that as his cue to depart, leaving them in the eluvian room, chuckling at Bellara lecturing Rook on proper decorum when visiting the Necropolis. Apparently joking about the deceased was frowned upon by the Mourn Watch.

Assan followed eagerly, quieter now that he’d had something to eat and some exercise.

He stopped in the middle of the courtyard to take in the view of the Fade, more content than he’d been when he first arrived. He felt like he was finally finding his feet again, and now he could focus on tracking down the monsters Rook needed found.

To do that though, he needed a proper description of what they looked like. He also needed  to update his journal on the new types of darkspawn they’d fought. Rook refused to go back to D’Meta’s Crossing or even discuss what had happened there, so he would need to ask one of the others who’d been there what it was like.

“Hey Davrin,” Harding said, exiting the kitchen. She had what looked like white mush and some sort of stew in a bowl. “Want some? I made extra.”

He eyed it, wondering why there were unidentifiable floating bits in it. He’d eaten worse, he decided. “Sure, thanks.” Before she could leave, he said, “Can I ask you some questions about the new darkspawn?”

She raised her eyebrows in surprise, but nodded. “Sure, but I figured Rook would have filled you in.”

He shrugged. They probably should have spent their trip to Arlathan discussing the latest Blight, but it seemed like she needed an hour or two away from the doom and gloom of their mission. “Assan ran us ragged,” he said instead.

The griffin squawked indignantly, apparently offended.

Harding chuckled. She had a feeling they’d spent less time training him and more time talking, and not about the task ahead, but she was relieved. Rook tended to keep to herself, apart from the rest of the team. If it took making friends with another Warden for her to lean on them all a little more, she wouldn’t be the one to discourage it. “Come to my room when you’re ready.” She shuddered. “I won’t forget what they looked like anytime soon.”

Davrin thanked her and beelined for the kitchen, stopping short when he opened the doors, almost gagging at the smell.

Lucanis looked up from his seat on the wooden platform, next to the door propped wide open. “Imagine how my room smells,” he muttered, returning to the book in his lap. When he’d smelled what Harding was making, he had practically begged her to let him help, but she’d waved him away, saying it was her turn to cook for the team and she was happy to do it. He had watched in dismay as she threw whole potatoes and a few root vegetables into the pot of water. No seasoning. No spices. No meat.

Covering his mouth, Davrin retreated from the kitchen. He had eaten plenty of questionable things, but he had to draw the line somewhere.

He swung by his room to grab a notebook and quill, stopping at the walkway to Harding’s room. It didn’t look very sturdy, even if vines were slowly weaving themselves between the bricks and tiles, and the abyss of the Fade yawned beneath him.

She opened the door, waving him across. “Come on!”

He squared his shoulders and marched over the path, barely breathing the entire time, only exhaling once he’d entered her room and the door shut behind him.

“Still getting used to the Lighthouse?” she asked, sitting down at her table.

“It’s not something I’ve come across before,” he admitted, thankful she didn’t comment on the lack of her soup in front of him.

Harding nodded in understanding, pushing her bowl to the side. It was disgusting. She knew she should have let Lucanis help, but she’d wanted to be the one to make something for the others for once, instead of letting him and Bellara do all the cooking. “What do you want to know?”

Davrin flipped through his notebook to an empty page and readied his quill. “What kind of darkspawn did you see?” This would help fill out his monster hunting manual, but he would also present the information to the Order. They had to be prepared for the changes and restructure their tactics, especially for the exploding ghouls.

She pulled out her own journal, where she’d written down her thoughts about returning to the ritual site and D’Meta’s Crossing. The images were burned into her memory, but she found writing them down helped to keep her from ruminating on them. “There was one with spears on its back, we fought it before we got Solas’ dagger back.”

He had her explain what it looked like, sketching the beast and tweaking the illustration until she was satisfied. It looked like the ones he’d seen in the High Anderfels, he remembered, brows furrowed. It was concerning that there were more of them than they’d thought.

The range they could throw the spears was impressive and made it much more challenging to manoeuvre a battlefield in the way he was used to fighting.

Tapping the drawing, Harding asked, “Is there a name for this type?”

“No. They’re new.”

“How about spikers?” she offered, feeling subconscious when he didn’t answer immediately. She’d been thinking about it since they’d come across the first one at the ritual site, but she should have broached the topic with Rook first.

He nodded. “I like it. Direct and to the point.”

She watched him scrawl the name for the new darkspawn in his journal, wondering what else he’d seen in his time as a Warden. “Davrin?”

He didn’t look up, adding some extra shading to the diagram. “Yeah?”

“I know you can’t tell me everything about the Grey Wardens, but I was wondering…”

That made him look up. “Wondering what?”

She recalled the mayor of D’Meta’s Crossing, how Rook had left him there after saying he’d be packed off to Weisshaupt. “How does someone… become a Warden?” She’d agreed with Bellara, that the mayor had deserved to rot in the blight he’d been trapped in, but she’d been surprised when Rook had returned to the Veil Jumpers without another word on the matter.

He sat back in his chair, eyeing her. “That’s not what you really want to know, is it?” Even though the exact details of the Joining were kept secret, most everyone knew it was the major element to becoming a Warden, and he knew she’d seen them, even worked alongside some, in her time with the Inquisition.

Harding fiddled with her quill, turning it over and over. “Do you really take anyone?”

“We do,” he answered slowly.

“Traitors too?”

“Why don’t you tell me what you really want to know?”

She hadn’t realised she’d been so transparent. “We found the mayor of the village,” she began. “He was left alive by Ghilan’nain, probably to keep luring the Veil Jumpers there so she could perform more blood rituals.”

Davrin’s lip curled in disgust. He’d heard of the small Dalish village being blighted, even up in the High Anderfels. “I’m glad you stopped him.”

“Oh, it wasn’t me,” she said, shaking her head. “Bellara and I wanted to leave him there to die. Neve didn’t though, she thought it was unfair because the Evanuris had twisted his mind and manipulated him into doing it.”

“Okay…” He didn’t know where she was going with the story. It didn’t appear that any darkspawn had actually been left in the village, so he wasn’t sure what the problem was.

“Neve suggested Rook send him to Weisshaupt, and she agreed, but then we left. I don’t think she went back to get him later, so… I guess I was wondering if she lied to us.” The thought made Harding miserable, but she understood if it had been a lie on her part.

Ah. He got it now. “She would have sent a message to the Order for someone to go and collect him.”

Harding narrowed her eyes at him. She couldn’t tell if he was trying to cover for Rook or if he was being honest. “Really?”

He nodded. “There are a few outposts around Thedas, nowhere near as big as Weisshaupt, but they exist. A detachment would have gone from the closest one to D’Meta’s Crossing to get him and take him back.”

Her shoulders drooped with relief. “That makes me feel better,” she said, sighing. She hadn’t wanted to doubt her friend, but when she hadn’t mentioned it later, she’d started to feel them creeping in.

His stomach rumbled and he used that as his excuse to stand, intending on picking his few remaining field rations than risk whatever it was she’d cooked. “I don’t know your boss as well as you do, Harding, but I get the feeling she’s not one to bullshit you.”

Lace chuckled. “She definitely isn’t.”

“Then trust her,” he said simply. “And if you do have more actual questions about the Order, you can ask either of us. Mostly.”

“Thank you, Davrin,” she replied as he left her room.

Chapter Text

“This is going to make my hair go grey,” Rook said under her breath to Davrin. “Fighting that many Antaam wasn’t on my to do list.”

He chuckled as they followed the Qunari, Taash, back to the Lords of Fortune base. “It might be easier to hide in the crowds with different hair.”

She tugged on her hair thoughtfully. She’d taken it out of the braid once they’d killed the Antaam, figuring the fighting was over for the day. “That might not be a bad idea,” she mused. It would be nice to be able to try to help Dock Town without being swarmed by its angry citizens again. The last time they’d gone back hadn’t gone well. “I’d have to change the colours of my whole wardrobe though.”

He raised an eyebrow at her. “Why?”

They arrived at what at a bar before she could explain the need for the colour change. There were four armchairs around a low table, one already occupied by a woman in a pirate outfit.

She eyed Rook, twirling an ornate dagger, point down, on the arm of the chair. She didn’t seem to care it was damaging the old leather. “I’ve heard a lot about you,” she almost crooned. “Adaran atishan.” Enter this place in peace.

She stilled, recognising the lilt of her clan. “Isabela,” Rook said, sitting down in one of the chairs. She nodded at Davrin when he titled his chin towards the bar, and he leaned against the smooth wood, eager to watch her work.

He was curious to see how she recruited the rest of the team when there wasn’t a creature that could control darkspawn raising the stakes.

Isabela turned to the dragon hunter, saying in common, “Wonderfully done, Taash. While you played with the big scary dragon, we looted the shiny stuff from her cave.”

Taash didn’t reply.

“I see Varric wasn’t making shit up this time,” she said, looking back to Rook. “They call me Isabela, among other things, but I think you knew that. Enasalin.” Victory.

Davrin cocked his head to the side, wondering what she meant. It was a strange way to phrase that word, but maybe she just wasn’t as familiar with their language and was repeating the word other elves in the Lords of Fortune said after winning a fight.

Rook ignored the way her throat tightened and forced her thoughts to Varric instead. She’d checked in on him before they left, but he still looked fragile. “Do they call you the Talon Killer in Antiva?” she asked, redirecting the conversation.

He nearly choked. He’d heard that someone had murdered the Third Talon of the Crows years ago, but they’d kept the details of the assassination secret. He’d assumed it had been due to infighting, as had most others. He shouldn’t have been surprised that Rook would somehow know about it, let alone use the information in such a way.

Even Taash appeared intrigued by the question, up until that point not showing much interest in why the two Wardens were there.

A wry smile crept across Isabela’s face and the dagger stopped spinning. “They might, if they were foolish enough to spread how easy they are to kill.”

Rook was more glad than ever that she hadn’t brought Lucanis to this meeting. “Good thing they’re not all foolish.” Her opinion on Illario aside, Teia and Viago were smart enough to not provoke an enemy they wouldn’t be able to beat. And Isabela seemed like someone they might not even see coming.

“Some would say it’s even more foolish to let a good king die for a silly reason. Wouldn’t you agree?” She scanned the elf in front of her, spotting the way her shoulders had gone rigid when she’d spoken in elven. How interesting.

“I’ve never met a king,” Rook said, shrugging. “The closest I’ve come to a king is the First Warden at Weisshaupt, and… Well.”

Isabela snorted. Yes, she knew quite a lot about the Wardens of Weisshaupt.

“What did you find in the cave?” Taash interrupted, uninterested in hearing more quips from the two.

“A lot of dragon shit, gold, some fancy trinkets, and this.” She waved her hand at the green tablet with gold etchings carved into it.

“If it puts a smile on your face, that’s good enough for me,” Rook said. As much fun as bantering with Isabela was, she was there for a reason. Neve deserved her at her best so they could get revenge for Minrathous, and a dragon hunter with Taash’s reputation was the best.

“Oh, it does,” Isabela replied, looking up when an older Qunari woman approached, sitting in the chair next to Rook.

The older woman looked to follow the Qun more closely than Taash did, with her dar-saam wrapped around her horns and neck and the lack of gold jewellery adorning her body. “Thank you for all your efforts,” she said pleasantly. “This is just as I had hoped.”

“Rook, this is Shathaan. She’s our expert on Qunari artefacts.”

Excitement shone in her eyes as she leaned forward, explaining, “This piece predates the Steel Age by centuries. It comes from an earlier attempt at settlement, one that left no survivors.” Her gaze turned to Taash. “You used your fire.” It was an accusation, not a question.

“What? No.” She sat back in her chair, the nervous expression on her face betraying the very obvious lie.

“Were you seen by the Antaam?”

She looked away, silent.

“You promised you would be more careful, Evataash,” Shathaan scolded.

Rook and Davrin exchanged a glance, uncomfortable.

“You need to be away for a while. It is good you are joining Rook’s team.”

That got her attention. “I’m what?”

Oh gods. “Wait, were you not aware of this?” Rook asked, looking between the three women. She leaned back in her chair, feeling awkward. “Our contact here said you’d agreed to join us.” She wouldn’t force Taash to come with them, but to lose the dragon hunter would be a blow. She was sure they’d be able to manage if they couldn’t find another, but their chances of success dropped without her.

Isabela appeared just as uncomfortable. “Didn’t Shathaan… I thought you and your mother had agreed on this.”

“Nope!” She glared at her mother.

“Oops,” the leader of the Lords of Fortune said. “Well, you’ll work it out. You always do.” She turned to the young woman, understanding the frustration on her face. “For gold and glory, Taash,” she encouraged. “You’re welcome back whenever. Rook, pleasure doing business with you.” She got to her feet and left, eager to be out of the way for the argument she could feel brewing in the air. She had letters to write.

Rook wanted to follow her, but that isn’t what Varric would have done. She stayed seated, though she shot Davrin a pleading look.

He shrugged in response. This wasn’t his area of expertise, and he wasn’t the boss. He’d never been more thankful to just be a part of the team instead of leading it.

“Mother. What did you do?” Taash demanded, crossing her arms over her chest.

“I thought you would enjoy the chance to work with Rook’s team,” she answered calmly. “Do you not wish to stop these blighted dragons?”

“Of course I do. I might have decided to join on my own. Maybe after you talked to me!” She shot out of her chair, pacing behind it.

“I talked to you about not using your fire in front of the Antaam.”

Taash glared at her, lips pressed into a thin line. She was mortified that her mother had signed her up to this without even asking her, and she was mortified that the discussion was taking place in front of Rook. She didn’t want to say something she’d come to regret later, so she chose to seethe quietly, not keen on another lecture.

Shathaan lowered her gaze, guilt ridden. Perhaps she should have spoken to her daughter in private, but she wanted Evataash away from Rivain as soon as possible. If she’d given her a chance to argue or say no, the risk of her staying grew. “I will prepare potions for you to take,” she said after a long moment of silence. “Would you prefer ginger or lavender?”

It was a peace offering, and Taash knew it. She sat back down, sighing. “The ginger.”

“As you wish,” she replied. “Rook, you will keep her safe,” she said firmly, fixing her with a stern look. The elf was still young, Shathaan thought, but there was something in her eyes that was much older. The scars on her face and neck that she could see meant she was a fighter, and being a Grey Warden meant she was used to protecting people. She could only hope that Rook would dedicate some of that energy to her daughter and that she was making the right choice in entrusting Evataash’s safety with her.

She didn’t reply, taken aback by the sincerity in the older woman’s words. She watched her leave, thinking that Shathaan would likely get along with her own mother.

Taash met her eyes without a word, arms still folded tightly over her chest.

“She strong-armed you onto the team just like that, huh?” She felt like it was the wrong thing to say the moment she said it, but there was no taking it back now.

“Looks like.”

Okay. “Anyway,” she said, leaning forward. “Welcome to the team. Might not be what you wanted, but we could really use the help.” She was barely above begging at that point. At night, her thoughts were consumed by choosing to save Treviso. The citizens of Minrathous, the elves there, were suffering. Because of her choices.

“I’ll get my stuff.”

This was off to a bad start. She hung her head, letting her hair fall to hide her face from Davrin, who had seen the disastrous recruitment attempt. Gods, that was embarrassing. She would almost fight the Gloom Howler again instead of trying to navigate complicated familial relationships. At least finding Emmrich had gone better, though Bellara’s sunny disposition had evidently been a huge part of it. She wasn’t cut out for this, being a leader.

Davrin pushed off from the bar, intent on going to her and offering her some support when Taash turned around, beating him to the punch.

“Hey. It is.”

Rook looked up from her hands immediately. “Sorry?”

“Joining your team. It is what I wanted.”

Her eyes widened in surprise for a moment before she smiled, relieved. “Glad to hear it.”

Taash nodded and left without another word.

She blew out a long breath, slumping back in the chair. The end result was what she'd hoped for, but that had not gone smoothly.

Sitting down in the chair next to her, he waited to see if she would speak first. When she didn’t, instead staring at the piles of gold coins on the table before them, he tried to comfort her. “That went better than I thought it would.”

She looked at him then, incredulous. “What?”

He nodded. “I almost expected it to come to blows.”

“I don’t punch everyone,” she grumbled weakly. “Only people that deserve it.”

“You don’t think Shathaan deserved it?” He understood where Taash was coming from and wouldn’t have been pleased to be volunteered for something without a discussion first.

She shook her head immediately. “Not at all. I think she’s worried about her kid more than anything else.”

“How do you mean?”

“Doesn’t she remind you of your mum?” Rook asked. “Cause she reminds me of mine. She doesn’t know how to show it, but she cares deeply.”

Considering her words, Davrin compared Shathaan to his mother. She’d been kind, almost too kind, and worried about he and his siblings more than she should have. She was furious when he left the clan. “My mother was a little different,” he said finally.

She propped her chin on her hand to examine him. “I bet you were a cute kid. How long did it take for you to grow into your ears?”

He laughed. “They were too big for me until I was ten. What about you?”

Said ears got warm. “I’m afraid it appears I was a lot cuter than you. Mine were appropriately sized from birth.”

He snorted, and before he could yell at himself to stop, he reached up, tucking some of her hair behind her ear to get a better look, his touch lingering.

Her breath caught and she froze.

He stilled too, trying to work out why he’d done that. He shouldn’t have. Most elves had incredibly sensitive ears and it wasn’t appropriate to touch them in public, let alone hers. He let his hand drop, fingers grazing the shell of her ear.

Rook was trying not to moan or whimper or make any sort of embarrassing noise, and she was definitely trying not to imagine his teeth on her ear. “Um…” She blinked, trying to go back to their conversation, but she couldn’t focus. Were they talking about parents?

His cheeks were hot and his fingers tingled, but he couldn’t think of anything to say. He used to be smoother than this. He also used to be a lot smarter. What was he thinking, touching her ears? She was his boss!

“Your mum,” she said suddenly, voice hoarse. “I bet you ran her ragged.”

Davrin could talk about his mother. It would certainly help cool the fire in his veins. “You’re hardly one to talk about running people ragged.”

No, probably not, she thought, clearing her throat. She didn’t know the meaning of the word rest at the moment. “We’re sitting down now, aren't we?”

He rubbed his face. “Yeah, and my feet are killing me now that we are sitting down.” He wasn’t exaggerating; his feet were throbbing after all the climbing and hauling ass they’d been doing since he’d joined her.

“I’m sure a strapping Warden like you can keep up,” she said, getting to her own feet. “Come on. I’ve got more to do before I can call it a day.”

Gods, she really didn’t take a break. He wondered for a brief moment if he refused to get up, would she sit back down? He was used to being on the move a lot, especially during a hunt, but her determination put his to shame.

Taash appeared, a bag slung over her shoulder. “Ready to go?”

“Yeah. Taash, Davrin is our monster hunter,” Rook said now that there was time for a proper introduction, waving a hand between the two of them, eager to get out into the cool sea breeze.

“Hey.” She hadn’t had much to do with Grey Wardens, but Isabela had mentioned something about two cities to the west being attacked by blighted dragons. She figured she was about to get real familiar with them.

He stood, nodding at her, and forced himself to think about battle strategy. Fights. Darkspawn. The Gloom Howler. Assan. Anything but the expression on Rook’s face when he touched her ears.

She turned to Rook expectantly. “Where are we gonna be staying?”

“Have you heard of the Fade?” She led the way back to the eluvian Bellara had found and connected to the Lighthouse.

“Yep.”

Rook should have expected that. She knew people from the Qun weren’t as comfortable with mages or the Fade as the rest of Thedas was. Hopefully Taash would get along with her mages, but she wasn’t a betting woman. There were going to be teething issues, she could feel it. “We’re in the Fade at the moment, somewhere called the Lighthouse. Solas used it during his rebellion to coordinate his movements.”

“Kay.” It didn’t bother her. She was used to working with strange people and finding strange things.

Rook looked over her shoulder, taking in the other woman’s hair. It was a bit longer than hers and she didn’t appear to have any trouble during the fights with the Antaam and deepstalkers. “Who does your hair?”

Taash plucked at her hair, shrugging. “I do.”

“You do it yourself?”

She shot her a bemused look. “Yeah?”

Rook was impressed. Her mother had kept her hair short as a child. Easier to manage, she’d said. Her own braid kept it out of her face, but she’d never learned more than that, and even then, strands of it fell out more often than she would have liked. “Could you show me?”

Unsure if she was being mocked, Taash stopped, searching her face for any hint of teasing. “You’re being serious,” she said flatly.

The Warden stopped too. “Right now I am. Not usually though.”

Davrin snorted. “You’ll know if she’s not being serious,” he offered. “There’s this tone she gets—”

Rook smacked his arm. “I don’t make fun of people,” she said firmly, picking up on the clues Taash had been dropping since they’d found her on the beach. “Unless they’re a Warden.” She smiled sweetly at him.

She cracked a grin at that. Maybe it wasn’t going to be as bad as she had feared. “You don’t like Wardens? But you are one.”

“How much time do you have?” he asked.

Smacking him again, Rook turned her back on him. “I like less and less every day. Let’s go, I’m tired and I still have things to do.”

Chuckling, he followed the two women back to the eluvian, dropping back a few feet to let them talk. He had a feeling Taash was more comfortable talking to Rook than with him.

Assan trotted alongside him, happy to be out of the Fade and in the real world again. He’d done well against the Antaam, especially the ones with the gatlock cannons. He wondered if some time away from his siblings had been what settled the griffin, at least enough to start listening to the commands he was trying to teach him. Or maybe he felt a new sense of responsibility and was missing the mischief he used to get up to with them.

“So what other stuff do you have to do?” Taash asked, a little self-conscious about her hair now.

Rook sighed, rubbing her face. “There’s a spirit in the Lighthouse called the Caretaker, and its asked us to help sort the Crossroads out. The Evanuris deployed some of their forces there and it’s our job to get rid of them.”

“I can help with that, if you want.”

She hadn’t expected the offer. “That would be nice. Thanks.”

“No worries.” She sniffed, curious about the scent lingering on her. She didn’t know if Davrin could smell it, but she thought it would be something her new boss prefer to talk about in private. She watched silently as Rook nodded for her friend to go through the mirror first.

He and the griffin disappeared, the mirror rippling as if someone dropped a stone into a pond, before the surface smoothed again.

“Bellara, our Veil Jumper, has fixed a bunch of eluvians for us to travel around the continent quickly,” she explained.

“That’s how you got here without the Lords seeing you.”

“Mmhmm.” She patted the frame of the mirror fondly. “They’ve gotten us out of some tight spots. One of the few good things Solas has given me,” she muttered bitterly, looking down at her feet.

She knew that name. Taash’s eyes widened in sudden realisation. “That’s what I can smell!”

Rook was confused, looking around, searching for whatever it was. “Uh, what can you smell?”

She scrunched up her nose. “There’s something… around you. Or in you. It doesn’t smell good.”

“I don’t smell good?” She knew she should have bought more armour when she was in Treviso last. The leather set she was wearing had definitely seen better days.

“No. You smell good, like honey and chocolate. Whatever is attached to you doesn’t.” She inhaled again. “It even covers the blight in you.”

“Oh. Thank you.” Rook felt her cheeks get hot, and for the second time that day, she was flustered. She leaned against the frame of the eluvian, trying to collect herself. “Do, um, do all Qunari have a good sense of smell?”

“No. It’s part of the fire-breathing stuff.”

“Huh.” She examined her, the dar-saam wrapped around her arms, the armour that she wore. Harding’s comments from the other day flitted back into her mind. Gods, what was wrong with her? First Davrin, and now Taash? She needed to get it together, leave the Lighthouse for a night and find someone to bed, or she would end up combusting.

Taash cocked her head to the side, studying the elf. She was pretty, with her tattoos and scars. The marks looked like claws or scratches, probably from darkspawn, and it appeared they stretched down her neck too.

“We should probably get back,” Rook said, feeling her heart race. This was dangerous territory, she could tell. Flirting with Davrin and now talking about what she smelled like with Taash? She had a feeling discussing smell with a fire-breathing Qunari meant something more than it did to elves, dwarves or humans.

She could hear the other woman’s heartbeat picking up speed, but her mother’s words about coming on too strong for most people rang through her mind. “Okay.” She stepped through the mirror, mouth dropping open at the sight of the island in the sky. There was a golden tree in the centre and docks going off in different directions and she couldn’t see the horizon. It made her a little queasy, knowing there was nothing beneath her feet.

Rook followed, almost bumping into her. “It’s looking better than it did, but we’re still chipping away at it.” She gazed around, hands on her hips. It filled her with a small amount of pride to know they were actually making a difference, even if the people of Thedas couldn’t see it. “Come on.” She strode up the stairs without looking back and stepped through another, larger mirror.

Taash followed, amazed. Isabela would have a stroke if she could see this place. The room she found herself in was dark, shadowed, with ornate wooden doors at the end of the raised walkway.

“The Caretaker has been opening up rooms as we recruit people,” Rook said, gesturing for her to follow. “If I’m guessing right, yours will be next to the infirmary. Not far from mine, so if you need anything, I’m usually awake.”

Right. Cause of the Warden stuff. “Yep.”

She cast a curious eye over the taller woman. “You don’t say much, do you?”

She shrugged. “Nope.”

“O…kay. I can get on board with that.” She was lying. She was terrible at being silent, for the most part. Probably one of the reasons she wasn’t sent on the griffin babysitting job. Young animals didn’t usually like being around someone as chaotic as she was.

Taash eyed her dubiously. She didn’t seem like someone who could stand to be quiet for long.

She pointed down a hallway caked in dust but now miraculously clear of most of the rubble. “Get settled in, then I’ll introduce you to everyone. Okay?”

“Okay.” She strode down the hall and into her new room, dropping her bag on the table next to the door. The room was massive. Plenty of space to set up an area to work out in. It would do.

Rook made sure the door closed behind her before going downstairs and sitting in the armchair she’d claimed as hers. She hadn’t received any word from Neve, but she assumed Bellara and Harding were in touch with her. She didn’t blame her for being upset and needing time away, but she was saddened that her decision to go to Treviso had driven a wedge between them.

Varric limped down the steps from the infirmary, coming to stand next to her. “How you doing, kid?”

“I’m not that much younger than you.” Her joints certainly didn’t feel it though, and her head was starting to hurt.

He shrugged. “You’ll always be a kid to me.” He searched her face, brows furrowing in concern. “Why the long face? You’ve got your fade expert and your dragon slayer, as well as a monster hunter, a mage, the Demon of Vyrantium and one of the best damn scouts I’ve ever met.”

All in all, things were starting to look up. But she still felt the devastation of Minrathous deep in her soul. It was an ache that wouldn’t go away. “I pushed away your detective.”

Sighing heavily, he nodded. “I have faith that Neve will come back, even if it’s only for revenge.”

The sound of footsteps outside made them both pause, unwilling to discuss Rook’s worries with the rest of the team just yet. She wanted to have a clear head before giving them anything else to be concerned about.

Bellara pushed open the doors to the library, followed by Lucanis and Harding, who were deep in discussion about spices she could find at the market in Treviso. He sounded adamant that they purchase some immediately, making Rook chuckle. She’d heard about Harding’s attempt at cooking and was relieved she’d been knee deep in demons in the Necropolis for it.

Taash strode down the stairs, apparently finished unpacking. “Who’s gonna fill me in?”

Walking down the other staircase, Emmrich nodded in agreement, settling into a high-backed chair. “I’ve picked up on disruptions to the fade, and Bellara’s letters told me a little more, but I’d like to hear the whole story please.”

Davrin was the last to appear in the library, changed into a clean set of clothes, and stood behind the seat he was carving into the the large piece of wood.

Rook felt self-conscious about not changing out of her armour immediately upon returning, remembering Taash’s comments about her smell. She sniffed her shoulder discreetly, trying to see if she smelled like something other than honey and chocolate. All she could smell was the leather.

Bellara was eager to explain, pausing for Harding’s additions, telling the fateful tale of their attempt to keep the Dread Wolf from tearing down the veil.

“Now the Antaam worship elven gods for power? Hypocrites,” Taash spat once they were done. “But it explains why they pushed so hard into Rivain.”

“With this, D’Meta’s Crossing and the blighted dragons… and everything else we’re all dealing with,” Bellara said, “It feels like we’re at war. A lot of little wars.”

“What the Venatori ultimately intended with their incursions into the Necropolis worries me,” Emmrich added. “Whether or not it was directed by the gods, the timing serves them well. Chaos, I fear, is their ally.”

“So instead of one giant fight, we have a lot of smaller ones,” Rook said. “I bet that won’t make things any easier.”

Davrin agreed. “The Evanuris have made bargains with the worst people in Thedas, offered them all power. And it’s not as though the Antaam or Venatori will care about the price.”

No, they certainly did not. The destruction of Dock Town flashed through her mind, and she flinched, closing her eyes in hopes of reprieve. It didn’t work. The dried out husks that used to be people, the victims of the Venatori’s hangings, the hunt for surviving Shadow Dragons… It was all on a slideshow through her head.

“So how do we fight back?” Bellara asked.

It was a good question, and one Rook had been hoping no one would ask yet. She rubbed her temple and opened her eyes. “We don’t have an army, but we do have allies. Like the Veil Jumpers.” Gods, what she wouldn’t give for an army, or at least a battalion of Wardens she could call upon.

“After D’Meta’s Crossing? It’s personal for them,” Varric added.

“The Crows,” she said, looking pointedly at Lucanis. “Particularly after we helped save their city.”

He could see through the mask she was trying to wear. The choice between the two cities weighed on her still. “Teia and Viago know what is owed. They will make good on that debt,” he said, trying to offer what little encouragement he could.

Harding cleared her throat. “Also, Lady Morrigan requested a meeting. At the Cobbled Swan in Minrathous.”

Just what Rook needed. “Could she have found some trace of the gods?”

“Probably. Morrigan doesn’t visit crowded taverns for fun.” Or at least, she hadn’t during her time with the Inquisition.

“I also heard from Grey Wardens out in the Hossberg Wetlands, Antoine and Evka,” Davrin said. “Something strange is happening with the blight there. I’d bet it involves the gods.”

Drumming her fingers on the arm of her chair, she rested her chin on her other fist. “The First Warden hasn’t been… thrilled with how I’m carrying out my duties.”

“Tore you a new one, huh?”

“If we go to the Wetlands, I’m hoping the First Warden is safely over in Weisshaupt,” she replied.

“Couldn’t say. Still, you can’t get in any more trouble with the Order than you already are.” He’d meant it as a joke, but it looked like it cut deeper than that.

She sighed, looking down at her feet. “Yeah.” Then she remembered she needed to keep the team motivated. Talking about her failures as a Warden would only bring them all down. “Any details on the blight in the Wetlands?” she asked instead of wallowing.

He shook his head. “No. But you know how Antoine’s normally got nice, neat handwriting?”

“Yes?” The letter he’d sent her after her antics got her sent to Varric was still in her pack. She had no idea how it had arrived in the Lighthouse, but she treasured his and Evka’s friendship now more than ever.

“Could barely read his note,” Davrin said. “He’s either excited, scared, or both.” If he was a betting man, he would have put money on it being both. Antoine was almost too in tune with the blight. It unnerved him sometimes.

She turned her gaze back to the table that was slowly getting more cluttered with the team’s stuff. “Ghilan’nain has laid low since we hurt her dragon. But the blight spreads rot wherever the gods go.”

Varric looked at her knowingly. “And no one’s better at tracking blight than Wardens.”

“Morrigan and those Wardens feel like our best leads on finding the Evanuris,” she agreed.

“Are they really gods? Or just ancient mages?” Taash asked. “It’s not clear.”

The off-beat metal clunk of Neve’s prosthetic leg announced her arrival. “They’re gods,” she said, striding in to stand next to Bellara. “Or the closest damn thing to them.”

Rook’s spirits lifted a fraction. “Neve,” she said, surprised to see her. “You’re back.”

“Yeah. I am.”

Oh. “Good to have you back,” she said, trying to cover her discomfort. “This is Professor Emmrich Volkarin, our Fade expert. And Taash, our dragon hunter. They joined while you were away.”

“Hey.”

“Charmed.”

“Right,” Varric muttered, looking around the group. “Not everyone has met.”

Neve looked Taash up and down, begrudgingly impressed by the strength she possessed. “So you’re a dragon hunter? Minrathous could have used you,” she said sadly.

Rook, trying to ignore what felt like a verbal jab but likely wasn’t, asked, “What’s going on?” Her mind started ticking over, trying to come up with the ways they could help.

“Back home? What isn’t?” She rested her hands on her hips. Returning to the Lighthouse had been difficult, but she’d thought long and hard about the few minutes they’d had as a team before Rook had chosen Treviso.

If she were in her shoes, she might have even done the same thing. To an outsider, Minrathous was defended, protected by the magisters. Unless you lived there, there was no way to know the corruption that spread through the city officials from the top down and how they wouldn’t protect Dock Town or its citizens. Minrathous had been built to hold off sieges and survive years in isolation if necessary. Even a darkspawn horde led by Zazikel had failed to take the city. A Grey Warden would know that the city was impenetrable and any soldier would prioritise the city without a standing army that had already been invaded. It didn't take the sting out of the decision, even if Treviso made more sense.

“Look,” she said finally. “You made an impossible call without enough information. I get it. It’s the corner the gods put us in. It just… might take some time to shake off.”

Bellara couldn’t help herself. “You are back though? Right?”

She smiled at her friend. “Yeah, Bel. I’m back.”

“Good to have you back,” Rook said. “Whatever the circumstances. Everyone needs to be a part of this. That’s the only way we’ll win.”

“After what happened to Minrathous? I’ve got even more reason to go after the gods.” She smiled ruefully. “If anyone’s got a shot at this, it’s the people here. I’m still on the job.”

“Great. Let’s follow up on some leads.”

“I’ll let Lady Morrigan know when we’re ready to meet,” Harding said.

“I’ll send word to Antoine and Evka,” Davrin offered. “They’re holed up in a town called Lavendel.”

Rook nodded. At least they had a way forward now. “Everyone else should rest up. Be ready to move when I call.” She watched as they filtered out of the room, going back to their own spaces in the Lighthouse.

Varric stayed, hobbling over to her chair. “Never easy, is it, kid?”

“What do you mean?”

“Making the big choices. Then living with the consequences.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. Was he testing her? “If I don’t make the tough decisions, no one else will. So I live with the consequences.” She looked away, back at their table. Their belongings. The consequences of the tough decisions were heavy.

“And you don’t blame anyone else for them. That’s why I recruited you,” he reminded her kindly. “Anyway, you’ve got a meeting with Morrigan to organise, and dealing with whatever the Wardens found.” He patted her on the shoulder before turning away, saying, “All this chatting has taken it out of me. Think I’ll rest for a bit.”

She watched him leave, heading back to the infirmary.

“Good work, Rook,” he called over his shoulder, as if an afterthought. “You’ll find your way through this. I know it.”

She wasn’t so sure, but she didn’t say anything. Her body was tired, but her mind was racing.

The team was assembled. She had at least three other Wardens she could count on, and the Veil Jumpers, while not an army, had more knowledge of the ancient elves than anyone else she knew. She had an expert on the Fade who was already eagerly exchanging notes with the most intelligent mage she’d ever met, and Davrin and Taash were incredible warriors, experts in their fields of monster and dragon hunting. The Crows had loaned her their best assassin, a man who survived a year in an underwater prison and literally had a personal demon.

So why did she feel like they would fail?

Neve’s return made her feel like maybe the world wasn’t going to end as she slept, but memories of whispers of the the blight ebbed and flowed, reminding her the gods strength grew every day she wasn’t out there fighting back against them. She still couldn’t actually feel the blight in the Lighthouse, but she could never forget it.

She rubbed her forehead, sighing, and turned her eyes to the floating rubble circling above her, tracking its rotation with her gaze.

After several dozen circles, she was lulled into an uneasy sleep.

Chapter Text

Grey. Everything was grey.

She was at the ritual site, where Solas had stood right before he’d tried to kill Varric.

The maelstrom of magical energy whipped her hair around her face, tiny bits of debris slicing into her exposed skin. She squinted against the wind but couldn’t make out anything except the statues, still standing instead of crumbling like how she’d left them.

Lucanis’ voice echoed around the space, ringing in her ears. “They either die right away, from the dragon. Or slowly after, from blight in the water.”

“We have to trust that the Shadow Dragons can take care of things in Minrathous,” she heard herself say.

“And leave Minrathous to burn?”

Her knees went weak, and she almost crumpled to the ground, but she caught herself, fighting to stay upright.

“That dragon razed Minrathous,” Neve’s voice growled. “Where were you?”

The location changed, morphing into the field they’d fought Treviso’s dragon in so quickly she felt dizzy. “I sent the others to help,” Rook practically pleaded, spinning on the spot, trying to make out anyone, anything, in the haze of smoke and dust.

“You’re just in time,” Lucanis said, sounding relieved to see her.

She still couldn’t see either one of them, but the anger and disappointment from Neve beat against her like a hurlock’s axe.

“The Venatori had a clear shot at the palace while we faced a dragon we could barely hurt.”

The accusation cut through her like a knife. It was her choice to go to Treviso. Her fault Minrathous was devastated. Her fault the Viper got blighted.

“Rook’s a Grey Warden, isn’t she?” Tarquin demanded, his voice as cold as Neve’s. “Do something. Or are you only good for bringing bad news?”

“Despair,” Ghilan’nain hissed. “Ignorance. Mortal confusion.” She almost sounded gleeful. “Yet this city offers nothing better than a pawn of the Dread Wolf.”

It sounded like Tarquin was standing right next to her, hissing the accusations into her ear. The words were like acid against her skin. “This is all you. The risen gods. The blight. The dragon. Now the city’s lost to the Venatori.”

“Draw up your courage,” Teia said. “We will need it.”

Rook stumbled, almost tripping down the flight of stairs behind her. She raised a hand, trying to shield her face from the shards of ice. She could feel something being taken from her, draining her soul.

She had to get out of there, but as she staggered down the steps, she kept slipping on blood.  She caught herself before she landed in a pool of it at the base of the staircase, but her hands were covered. She tried to wipe the blood off on her pants, but no matter what she did, the stain never left. It was caked under her nails, in the creases of her palms.

She was tired. She didn’t have anything to offer her team, her friends. She was out of ideas.

Darkspawn dragged themselves out of the pools of blight bubbling up from the Deep Roads, rushing for her.

She had no weapons, no shield, no allies and no friends. She had nothing to fight them off her, but she clenched her first and swung at the first ghoul that was foolish enough to get close to her.

Come on, Varric. We didn’t come all this just to talk to him.

It went down, but another took its place too soon after.

That was her voice. She raised her shield arm, trying to protect herself from the gaping maw coming her way, but the weight of the shield was absent. There was nothing there.

They clawed at her, ripping her armour from her body, tearing into her flesh. She could feel their teeth on her skin.

Wave after wave after wave of ghouls, and she struggled against them, trying to beat them back. She had to get back to the others. She had to try and make things right with Neve. She had to stop the Evanuris.

She called out, but no one answered. No one came to help her. So she kept fighting.

~

Taash could smell blood.

Not fresh blood, from an open wound, but something older. Fouler.

She rolled out of her bed, pulling a wicked looking dagger from beneath her pillow, and tiptoed to the door, easing it open.

The Lighthouse was silent. The clacking of the death mage’s assistant had finally ceased an hour ago, once he’d finished unpacking some of his many boxes. There wasn’t even any wind in the Fade for her to pretend was the ocean, crashing against the cliffs in Rivain.

Noiselessly, she crept down her hallway, inhaling, trying to get a lock on whatever was causing the odour. The ambient lighting of the library wasn’t helpful for hunting in an unfamiliar location, but she’d made do with less before. She approached the staircase, spotting Rook still in her armchair. She looked asleep.

The library door opened.

Taash clenched her fist around the handle of the dagger, ready to throw it if necessary, but it was just Davrin and Assan.

The griffin slunk into the room, head low and ears back.

Davrin prowled in behind him, sword in hand, eyes darting around the library in search of the blight he could feel prickling against his skin. He’d been sleeping in fits and starts, not really getting much rest, when he felt the sickening sensation of darkspawn wash over him. He didn’t know how they got into the Fade, let alone the Lighthouse, but he wasn’t going to let them take the team by surprise.

A whimper broke through the haze of the hunt.

Taash launched over the bannister, landing in front of the shelves on surprisingly silent feet.

He wasn’t proud, but he jumped at her appearance, not expecting anyone else to be awake.

She pressed a finger to her lips, waiting for him to nod, before approaching the still sleeping Rook. She was pale, her hair pink in the grey light. Even her vallaslin looked washed out. Inhaling again, Taash found that the smell of the putrid blood was coming from her.

Davrin strode around to back the Qunari up, surprised to see his boss in her armchair still. It was early morning, very early, and he’d expected her to retreat to her room as everyone else had.

She groaned, one hand clenched into a fist, the other twitching as if she was holding something.

He thought she almost looked sickly. There was a light sheen of sweat on her face and her lips were wan.

Taash reached forward before he could stop her and grabbed her shoulder, startling her awake.

Rook lunged up, the Dread Wolf’s knife in hand, and shoved Taash back into the bookshelf by her neck, pressing the dagger into the column of her throat with her other hand. Her lips were pulled back in a snarl and her eyes were wild, the green glinting in the strange light of the library.

Assan shrieked in alarm, flapping his wings.

Moving only enough to loosen the grip on her knife and let it drop to the ground, Taash froze, waiting. She probably should have known not to wake a Grey Warden that looked to be in the midst of a nightmare, but she’d ignored her instincts and done it anyway. She could feel the cold blade practically caressing her jugular and her eyes darted to Davrin.

He had seen this before, in the older Wardens. “Rook!” He didn’t come any closer, wanting to stay out of reach of the weapon. “Dian.” Stop. He didn’t know if she would understand, but he figured if anything was to get through, it was elven.

She didn’t reply, but she did blink. Once. Then twice.

“Atish. An'daran atish'an.” Peace. You will not come to harm.

“Ar dea u,” she whispered brokenly. I was alone.

He let out a breath of relief. Slowly, carefully, he edged into her field of vision, setting his sword down on the table so she could see he was now weaponless. He approached, palms up. “Ame here.” I am here.

Her eyes left the Lord of Fortune to flick to his, weighing his movement. She could still feel the icy claws and teeth of the ghouls, ripping her to pieces. A small part in the back of her mind was screaming that Taash posed no threat to her, but that part was overridden by the terror coursing through her body. She’d never been so alone, even after she was sent away from Weisshaupt, but the familiar feeling of a fellow Warden was breaking through the fog. Safety. Kinship.

He nodded, seeing the drop in her shoulders, and held her gaze, one hand reaching for the Dread Wolf’s dagger. “Ar’na.” Me and you.

The Qunari was barely breathing. She’d been cornered by dragons before but had never in her life felt so mortal. She didn’t know what the two elves were saying to each other, but she could only hope he knew what he was doing. Her last words to her mother had been an argument, she realised. If she survived this, she promised herself she would see her mother the next day to make sure the last things they said to each other were not in anger. This team was clearly more messed up than she’d initially thought.

“Ane seth,” he said quietly. You are safe. “The banal’rasen harel, asa’ma’lin.” The shadows are deceiving you, sister.

She recognised that word. Sister. She’d heard Isabela use it before, but she only ever directed the term at Wardens.

Rook’s eyes never left Davrin’s as his hand closed around hers, tugging gently. She let him take the blade, and once the cool stone broke contact with her skin, she sagged, releasing Taash and sinking to the floor. She landed on her knees, staring down at her now empty hands, silent.

The smell of old blood faded, as if someone had opened a window to air out the Lighthouse.

For a while, no one spoke.

He examined the Dread Wolf’s knife, now that he had it. It didn’t look any different to the last time he’d held it, and it certainly didn’t feel strange. He had a feeling it wasn’t just a Warden night terror they’d stumbled upon, but he had no proof that it was anything else. He set it down on the table, not wanting to hold it any longer.

Taash leaned heavily against the bookshelf, trying to make sense of what just happened. “What the fuck?” she demanded when neither of them said anything.

From her position on the floor, Rook snorted, as if coming back to herself. “Great question,” she muttered, still fixated on her hands. She turned them over, flexing her fingers. The blood was gone. She stood, grabbing the buckle holding her armour in place across her chest, wrestling it open. The two others followed the same fate and she threw the jacket to the floor, searching her torso for the wounds she was sure she would bear.

There was nothing.

That was wrong. Her internal organs should have been peeking through her skin at the very least. She’d felt the crack of her bones. She ran her hands over her shoulders, up her ribs, down her back, trying to feel for the torn skin or oozing blood. Still nothing.

Davrin averted his gaze immediately, even though he was used to seeing people naked, especially other soldiers. There wasn’t much room for privacy or modesty when you shared a tent or room with ten other people, but it didn’t feel right for him to see her shirtless for the first time after a nightmare.

Knees still a little wobbly, Taash didn’t care that Rook was in her undergarments and didn’t bother looking away. “What are you looking for?” The old scars cut through some of her tattoos and across her muscles, evidence of her skill in battle, the marks stark in contrast to her still pale skin.

She looked over her shoulder, convinced there would be something left over from her nightmare. “Is there not…” Frustrated, she practically turned in a circle to try to check every part of her body she could see.

“You’re not bleeding,” Taash said, now understanding what was happening. “I could smell it before though.”

“You could smell Rook’s blood?” Davrin asked, examining her upper body clinically. If there was a wound, they needed to get her to Bellara. He tried not to notice the griffin inked onto her chest and the way the tattooed wings on her arms curved over her shoulders. No, he didn’t notice those at all. Or the strange geometric flower in between her shoulder blades.

She shook her head, feeling some of the strength returning to her legs. “No. It was old blood. It smelled wrong.”

He sniffed, trying to get a sense for what she was talking about. Nothing was out of the ordinary, and even Assan had calmed now that she was awake. “Could be the blight,” he offered.

“Nah. Blight smells different.”

Satisfied that there were in fact no injuries, Rook finished her inspection, planting her hands on her hips. “What the fuck.” The harder she tried to remember the dream, the more it slipped out of reach, like sand through her fingers. All she could piece together was that she was alone.

“Are you—”

She cut him off, leaning down to pick up the jacket she’d flung to the ground. “I’m fine. Was just a nightmare.”

He exchanged a look with Taash, who appeared just as skeptical as he felt, but he didn’t argue. He didn’t know Rook well enough to push back. Maybe her nightmares were that bad. He wasn’t the one to argue and say they weren’t just because he’d never tried to kill a fellow Warden after being woken up.

She saw the glance and squared her shoulders, trying to keep the anger she could feel rising at their well-placed doubt in her at bay. “I am fine,” she said, snatching up Solas’ dagger from the table. “Ghouls, hurlocks, emissaries, all normal stuff, right?”

Taash shrugged. “I dunno.”

“It’s normal for Wardens,” she replied. “One of the perks of drinking—”

Davrin cleared his throat. That information was supposed to be secret.

“Ma serannas, isa’ma’lin,” she said to him through gritted teeth. My thanks, brother. “Must be something leftover from the Gloom Howler,” she lied. “It does strange things to the blight and Wardens.”

He sighed, but he wasn’t surprised. He wondered if she’d revealed the secrets of the Joining to anyone else since she’d been kicked out.

Lucanis had told Taash the story of their fight through the High Anderfels and against the Gloom Howler. She made a revolted sound, retching. “Is that what that smell is?” She sniffed again, but she could only smell the two elves and Assan. The blight was there, layered under honey and earth and griffin, but it wasn’t what had pulled her out of bed with a knife.

Rook shrugged and turned on her heel, marching up the stairs and down the hallway to her room, saying over her shoulder, “Sorry, Taash, but you’ll have to get used to the smell.” She shut the door, letting her head fall back against it. She was mortified that they’d seen her in such a state. Did they think she was as incapable as she felt?

Letting the armour slip from her arms and crumple onto the ground, she collapsed onto the green couch, throwing her arm over her eyes to block out the light from the strange fish tank, too drained to think about removing her pants and boots. She tried once more to see if she could recall the dream, but when nothing came to mind, she decided to pretend it never happened and rolled onto her side to watch the fish, letting it lull her into a half sleep, pushing the feeling of isolation away.

~

Feeding birds on the beach the next day was definitely not how she thought her day would go after such a shitty night, but Rook couldn’t deny that the sound of the waves crashing against the rocks was… nice. She kept well clear of the splash zone though, lest she slip and drown.

“Some for you,” Taash said, sprinkling the food for the seagulls. “Some for you. Hey! Don’t be a dick. That was for the little one.”

“I wasn’t expecting…”

“What?”

“I don’t know,” Rook replied. “You with the birds. It’s… this is fun.”

“Oh. Good.” She was secretly pleased. She hadn’t been able to to get back to sleep the night before, determined to know what the source of the smell was. It had been fruitless. She’d tossed and turned all night, but she’d never encountered anything like it. Taash figured that going to her beach and feeding her birds would help settle her mind. She also thought it would be a good idea for Rook to get away from the people that were far too focused on their goal and get some fresh air.

“Can I help?” She accepted the pile of bird feed and tossed some on the sand, watching the gulls peck away at it.

“Sometimes I practice with the fire out here,” Taash said after a moment of quiet. “It’s safer. No people around. Lots of water.”

Yes, there was certainly lots of water. “Is it magic?”

“It’s not magic. My mother says the Qunari used to be closer to dragons. Something in our blood.”

“The Antaam called you ‘adaari’.” It was less a statement and more a question.

“Yeah. Old Qunari word for fire-breather. A few like me are born every generation. My mother thinks adaari were meant for something special. She’s always looking through the old texts for clues.” Shathaan spent more time with her head buried in those texts than she ever had with her, but she didn’t say that.

Rook didn’t respond, instead feeding the birds again.

Taash noticed the way her eyes kept darting to the water. “Come on,” she said. “Don’t want to scare the birds.” She led the way over a wooden beam, waiting for the elf to cross behind her. If she hadn’t been looking for the signs, she wouldn’t have seen the way her lips pressed together. “My mother left the Qun not far from here,” she said, hoping to distract her. “She got herself transferred to Kont-aar from Par Vollen. Smuggled me there and then walked out.”

Despite being above water that looked deeper than she was tall, Rook’s curiosity raised its head. “I thought Kont-aar was well fortified. How did she escape with a child?”

“The Qun isn’t a prison. People can leave if they want.” She threw more bird feed down to the next flock of gulls on her path. They’d learned to expect her there, waiting patiently for their free food.

“Do you miss living under the Qun?”

She shrugged, leaving the birds. “Not much to miss. I was a baby. My mother misses it. She was an ashkaari back then. A scholar,” she explained at the look of confusion on her face.

“Why’d she leave?” Rook asked, working exceptionally hard to not glance down as they edged across a ledge no wider than her bicep.

“Me.” Taash watched carefully, wondering if she’d have to jump into the water to drag her out like a drowning cat if she fell in.

“Ah.”

“Shathaan was worried about what the Qunari would do with a fire-breather like me.”

“What would they do?”

She led the way up through the ruins. “She said they’d have me put in the Antaam. Used me as a berserker. The idea scared her enough that she left her library and walked away from the Qun.”

Wow. Rook couldn’t think of anyone she would leave the Wardens for, not that she even could. She was more convinced than ever that Shathaan loved her daughter intensely, just lacked the words to express it. She followed Taash further into the fortress, scowling at the flags the Antaam had put up. “The Antaam must be marking their territory.”

“Not on my beach,” Taash replied. “Vash-vartaari.” She growled and let the fire out, melting the banners into a liquid puddle she didn’t bother to wash away. The ocean would take it when the tide rose.

Raising her eyebrows, impressed, Rook followed her as she turned and left the steaming metal behind. “Nice. What does it feel like when you do that?”

“It’s more like spitting.”

“Ew.”

“Something inside my throat opens up and lets stuff mix together. Then there’s this rush of heat as I roar it out.” It was the clearest way she could explain it and she hoped the elf would understand.

“I’m surprised it doesn’t hurt your mouth to do that,” she mused.

“It can,” Taash said simply. “One time my tongue got in the way. Got a mouthful of fire.” She had to be careful during sex too, when she was losing herself in her partner. One time she relaxed a little too much and almost set the curtains on fire.

Rook winced. “Ouch.”

She shrugged. “Enh. Didn’t hurt much. My mother has to make food extra spicy so I can taste it.”

“I guess that’s the tradeoff for being a fire-breather.”

“It’s fine. I smell stuff better than most people,” she reminded her. This was the opening for her to talk about the previous night, if she wanted to. Taash wasn’t going to judge her, even if she’d been taken by surprise. It had been a long time since someone got the jump on her like that, and it had been even longer since she’d genuinely felt in danger. She was reluctantly impressed.

Rook didn’t reply.

The Qunari couldn’t fault her for it. Talking about a nightmare seemed pretty personal. Even Davrin hadn’t elaborated before returning to his room. He’d simply said it was something to keep an eye on and that almost every Warden experienced a terror like that at least once in their life.

She still wanted to know what the source of that scent was though. It was driving her crazy, not being able to find it. She’d inconspicuously sniffed at Rook when they’d left the Lighthouse earlier, trying to see if it was indeed the blight in her blood, as she’d suggested, but the almost overwhelming smell of her covered the taint easily. It was still there, but not nearly as strong.

“Karash,” she called, approaching the campfire. “It’s Taash. I brought food.”

“Evataash,” he replied, greeting her. “It’s good you came early. The feather-clouds are getting lower. It’s going to rain. Who is this with you?”

She was suddenly nervous. What if Rook was an asshole to Karash? She didn’t think she would be, but she didn’t know her that well. Maybe she’d been lying when she said she didn’t make fun of people. It wouldn’t be the first time Taash had misread a situation.“This is Rook. She’s a friend.”

“A friend. All right. Make sure you both dress for the rain,” he said, taking it in his stride. “Drip-rain, not mist-rain.”

She tried not to let her worry show, but she was concerned Karash would be the butt of the joke. She’d throw the elf into the ocean if she was rude, even if she’d have to dive in and fish her out afterwards.

Rook smiled kindly. “Nice to meet you.”

“And you,” he replied.

Oh. Okay. Taash relaxed a bit. “Karash was a worker caste navigator,” she explained. “Got dragged along with the Antaam when they invaded.”

He added, “They told us it was ordered by the Qun. I was not taught war. I was taught the weather.”

Rook could empathise with that. Few people were taught war.

“Red clouds for thunder,” he continued. “Grey clouds for rain. Green clouds for the devouring storm. And black clouds for the Antaam cannons.” He looked down, frowning. “After what they did in Ventus, I ran away.”

He was probably right to do that, she thought. “I’m sorry the Antaam did that to you,” she said instead.

“I do not have my old life or work, but I remember who I am. The Antaam have lost even that.”

“You saw their banners?” Taash asked. “They’re in the area.”

“I will not be seen,” he assured her.

She smiled then. “Okay. Let me know if they bother you.”

“I am at peace, Evataash. I have the clouds to watch and fish to eat.” He turned his gaze to the skies, scanning them.

“More than just fish,” she said, handing him the care package her mother had put together. “Shathaan said to eat the fruit before it spoils.”

He took the wrapped goods, almost disappointed. “I like the cookies better.”

“Everyone likes the cookies better,” she agreed.

“I’ll eat the fruit. Thank you, Evataash.”

Good. He needed to eat more, she thought. “Panahedan. I’ll see you soon.”

He nodded and turned away, searching the clouds for something only he could find.

Rook waved and followed Taash. “So the dragon hunter has a softer side,” she said, once they were out of earshot of Karash.

“The Qun says you take care of people.”

“So you’re a little Qunari, a little Rivaini, and a little dragon?”

Taash liked the way she said ‘little’. Her accent was strange, but she liked it anyway. “Yeah?”

“I get that.”

She wasn’t sure how the pretty elf could understand being torn in different directions, but she wasn’t going to tell her how to feel. “Come on,” she said instead. “I should tell my mother how Karash is doing.” She led her away from his small camp, but she couldn’t help herself, asking, “So how do you get it?”

“I had to leave my old life behind when I joined the Grey Wardens. Then I had to leave that to help stop Solas.” Sometimes she missed her clan, but not enough to abandon her oath and go back to it. “So you take what works from each part, right?” Some of the humans she’d fought alongside with tried to act as if the elves in the battalion weren’t superior in hunting, especially at night, but she’d thrived off it, preferring to chase darkspawn once the sun went down. They didn’t like the way her eyes looked in the dark, they said.

Taash hadn’t considered that. “I… yeah.”

“I had to learn how to be something other than Dalish if I wanted to pay the same price as humans at the markets,” she continued. “At least until I paid. Once I did, the shape of my ears weren’t my concern.” Not when it came to the price of bread, anyway.

“I had to take Qunari language classes growing up. I had to learn how to tie these stupid knots. It wasn’t so bad when the Qunari and Rivain were at peace, but now the Antaam have broken from the Qun and started attacking. People look at me like they’re scared I’ll switch sides.”

Rook rested her hand on Taash’s bicep, squeezing in support. Gods, her skin was warm. No wonder she wore the armour she did, she’d sweat right out of anything else. “I understand that,” she said. “Here, Treviso and Arlathan aren’t so bad, but Tevinter…” She shuddered. “People who’ve only ever been one thing will never know how big the world is.”

“Maybe. Is that why you helped Treviso with the dragon and not Minrathous, because they treat elves worse in Tevinter?”

She was floored by the question, stopping short. She’d never considered if there was some sort of subconscious bias in her choice. It certainly hadn’t crossed her mind when she’d decided to aid the Crows over the Shadow Dragons, but now she couldn’t help but wonder. The idea of it made her cold. Neve had been nothing but kind to her before the dragon attacks, apparently unbothered by taking orders from an elf. No, she decided. That wasn’t why she’d helped Treviso.

Taash didn’t appear to notice the conflict she was wrestling with and continued on, leading her back past the seagulls. “Mother,” she said, surprised. “What are you doing here?”

She chuckled. “You used to call me Tama.”

“I also used to wet the bed. Want me to start that up again?”

“I’d rather you didn’t,” Rook interjected absentmindedly, chewing on her thumbnail, still thinking about Taash’s question. Then she caught the look on Shathaan face. “Because she’s sleeping in my base, which means I own the bed. I’m actually next on laundry detail.” She used to be so much better at lying.

Shathaan’s eyebrows quirked, but she hid her amusement quickly. “She always did like the mouthy ones. In truth, Evataash’s tastes are quite varied, although it is uncommon for her to be attracted to men.”

“Mother—” She was cut off before she could stop the comments she could feel coming.

“Perhaps, because in some ways, she acts more like a man herself.”

Taash crossed her arms over her chest. Her mother had a knack for making her feel like a child again, as if nothing she did was ever good enough. “Why are you here?” she asked, instead of letting the verbal jabs turn into a brawl.

“I came to ask Karash about the tablet your group recovered. I wondered if some of the symbols might be used among the Antaam.”

“Be gentle,” she commanded. “Don’t make him talk about the war.”

Shathaan nodded sagely. “I see the wisdom of your suggestion. I also see that you used your fire again. Shokra toh ebra.”

“Shokra toh ebra,” she repeated in a monotone.

Her mother wasn’t done. “Remember to keep your consonants crisp. Qunari do not slouch, and neither does our language.”

Even Rook straightened her shoulders at the light scolding. Yes, Shathaan would absolutely get along with her mother.

She smiled once her daughter was standing tall. “Panahedan, Evataash. You did well bringing Karash his food.”

“Tama,” she called before she could leave, remembering her fear from the night before.

Shathaan paused expectantly.

“I’ll see you at dinner this week?” It was less of a question and more of a statement, but she didn’t really know what to say, how to explain that she didn’t want their last exchange to be one of anger.

“Yes. I will go to the market.” She nodded at Rook and left, once again consumed by the tablet they’d found.

“Sorry,” Taash said. “She’s like that.”

Rook met her eyes. “So… the mouthy ones, huh?” She wasn’t sure if she should be offended or not. Mouthy was probably the most polite thing someone had said about her in some time, but Shathaan’s tone indicated it hadn’t been a compliment.

She laughed. “Let’s go.”

Catching her arm before the Qunari could get too far ahead, she lowered her gaze. She hadn’t known what to say to her after last night, but she had to say something. “Last night, I…”

She looked down at the hand on her bicep. Her fingers were freezing. She covered them with her own, hoping to offer some warmth. “It’s okay.”

She shook her head. “I need to say this, Taash. Please.”

Examining her, she thought Rook still appeared pale. Her hair was lighter and the tattoo on her face looked like it had almost been… bleached. It was faded, dark grey instead of black. “Okay.”

“I owe you one hell of an apology,” she said, gazing out to the horizon. “What I did—” She coughed, clearing her throat. “I’m so, so sorry.” Her voice was hoarse. “It’s inexcusable. If it happens again, I don’t expect you to be as kind as you were last night.”

“Kind?” Taash hadn’t intended being kind the night before. She’d been frozen, hoping Davrin would take charge and do something about it.

“Yes, kind,” Rook said, squeezing the bicep her hand rested on. “You think I don’t know what you can do with these? You could have thrown me across the room without a thought, but you didn’t. Thank you.”

She didn’t think a bad dream was worth being tossed around, but she also didn’t think it was a standard bad dream. “Do all Wardens have nightmares like that?”

Something behind her eyes flashed, a blindingly bright green, so quickly Taash thought she imagined it, but then an easy smile slid onto Rook’s face. “Not all of them, but most.”

She stepped back in alarm, every instinct in her body screaming at her to get far, far away.

“What’s wrong?” she asked immediately, reaching for her sword.

Taash stared at her suspiciously, sniffing, trying to work out what just happened. She smelled like herself, no hint of the rot that had lingered in the library. Maybe there was something in the Lighthouse, not in Rook. “Nothing,” she said slowly, eyeing the elf.

“Okay…” she said just as slowly, her brows furrowing in confusion. “You’re kinda weird, you know that?”

She barked a laugh, appreciating the honesty. Maybe it had been a trick of the light. “So are you.”

She started climbing the ruins, making her way back to the eluvian. “Let’s go. Lucanis is on cooking duty today.”

Following, Taash mulled on the one elven word she’d recognised the night before. “Asa’ma’lin,” she said, sounding the word out awkwardly. It felt clunky, not nearly as elegant as when Davrin had said it, but she wanted to understand. She didn’t think they were related at all. Maybe it was what elves called each other?

Rook paused, turning back, surprised to hear the Qunari say something in her language. “Sorry?”

“Means sister, right?”

She nodded, a little shocked. “You speak elven?”

“Nah,” she replied. “But I’ve heard Isabela say it to Wardens when they’ve come through Rivain. Why did Davrin call you sister? Are you related?”

Ah. She understood then. “No, I mean we’re both Dalish, but we’re not family or anything. It’s a Warden thing.”

“How is it a Warden thing?”

Rook cleared her throat, uncomfortable. She didn’t really want to talk about it, but after the night before, she was owed some kind of explanation. “Before the Joining — I’m not going to tell you what the involves,” she said, seeing the questions forming on Taash’s face.

The Qunari pouted, crossing her arms over her chest. She just wanted to know the new social customs she would need to be aware of.

“There aren’t classes, like a school or anything,” she tried to explain. “But we train and fight together, sometimes for years, before we do the Joining. Not everyone survives it.” She looked out to the crashing waves again, recalling the faces of friends who hadn’t made it. “Join us, brothers and sisters,” she repeated sombrely. “Join us in the shadows where we stand vigilant. Join us as we carry the duty that cannot be foresworn…” she trailed off, swallowing hard.

Taash had more questions than answers, but she had a feeling that was all Rook was willing to share. “That still doesn’t explain the brother and sister thing.” It was weird to think about the Wardens getting it on with each other while also calling everyone their sibling, because she had no doubt they were definitely fucking each other in Weisshaupt.

“In arms. Brothers and sisters in arms. When you fight together for as long as we—” She caught herself, remembering that she was on her own now. “They do, you form a bond. You depend on the person next to you to make sure you don’t go down, same way they depend on you. It’s trusting them to keep you alive, or at least give you a fighting chance to stay alive, and even if you can’t win the battle, it’s an agreement to take out as many darkspawn as you can together before you get overwhelmed by them.” She pursed her lips. “Am I explaining it right?”

“Not really.”

She bit her lip, trying to find another way to word it. “I could despise Davrin,” she began. “Hate him with every fibre of my being, want to kill him myself, but if someone else tried? Then I would stand between them. Even if I wanted to see him suffer, I wouldn’t let someone else hurt him.”

“Just because you’re both Wardens?”

“Pretty much.”

Huh. That actually didn’t sound so bad. “Okay.”

Rook raised her eyebrows. “Are we done with discussing the oath I took years ago?”

“For now,” Taash replied, still thinking on her words. The sense of loyalty, of duty, that meant protecting the person next to you at all costs was something she liked. It was all or nothing, much like her.

She could see the Qunari had resonated with the part of the ode she’d recited, but her stomach growled. “Come on. We can come feed more birds later if you want, but you’ll be upset if you miss Lucanis’ cooking.”

Chapter Text

“I need to watch where I’m walking,” Rook muttered to herself, trying to shake off the slimy feeling of stepping through what she now saw was a portal. The dagger on her hip vibrated and their surroundings looked muted, as if the world had been drained of colour.

“This isn’t like the Fade we feel in the Lighthouse,” Bellara said slowly, gazing around with wide eyes. “It feels ancient, harsher almost. Like how some of the artefacts act when we can’t contain them anymore.”

Taash leaned to look over the edge of the floating bridge. Like with everything else in the Crossroads, there was nothing beneath them. If the bridge collapsed or they went over the side, they would fall until they died. “It smells old.”

“Glad you made it here safely,” an elf with violet eyes said as the three women crossed the bridge. “I didn’t love our odds without you.” He stood on a rock overlooking several other elves, all clothed in ancient armour.

“Who, me?” Rook asked, exchanging a glance with Taash, who shrugged in response.

He continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “All right, everything’s in place. We hit Elgar’nan’s island fortress tonight. This is our best chance to free the people he’s enslaved. Get in, save as many as you can, and bring them back here to sanctuary.”

Bellara furrowed her brows at that, studying the armour the others wore and their surroundings.

“Be fast and be safe. I’ll meet you on the other side. Fen’Harel’s scouting ahead. For freedom! For the Dread Wolf!”

“Pala,” she spat. Fuck. She turned back, intending on walking right back over the bridge and pretending they’d never come here, but the bridge was gone. “Pala!” Fuck!

“I think…” Bellara plucked a strand of magic out of the air, examining it. “I think this is a memory, from Solas’ rebellion years ago.”

Rook scrunched her face up, running a hand through her hair. She hadn’t anticipated a fight today, intending on mapping more of the Crossroads, and hadn’t bothered braiding her hair, but judging by the sound of swords and shields clanging against each other beyond the wall, they were in for one. “Is there any way we can go back?”

Humming, the Veil Jumper tugged another string of magic, trying to find a pattern in it she recognised to rebuild the bridge. Every time she almost had one, it dissolved, melting into the air. “It doesn’t look like it.” Her mind was whirling with possibilities of what being in a memory in the Fade meant. She couldn’t wait to get back to the Lighthouse and discuss it with Emmrich, and she wondered what he would think of the make up of the enchantments around them.

She swung the shield from her back, tightening the straps around her forearm with a grim expression on her face before unsheathing her sword. “Let’s push through it then.”

Enemies rushed out to meet them, the plain metal armour a similar design to the fashion of the Ancient Age.

“So the Dread Wolf is testing his noble rebels against my stronghold,” Elgar’nan’s voice mused. “How courageous.”

The echo around them and inside her head was enough to distract her and she took a fist to the cheek for her lapse. “The memories can hurt us,” she warned her friends, slamming her shield into the apparition. It disappeared in a cloud of smoke and ashes, same as the elf with the purple eyes had after finishing his speech. Another took its place, undeterred. She drove her sword through the weak spot in the armour under the apparition’s arm, hissing at the bolt of fire launched from across the battlefield burning through her pants and melting the leather to her thigh. “Taash!”

The Qunari looked up from the enemy on the ground in front of her. "Yeah?"

“The mage! Kill it!” she ordered, limping her way to Bellara, who pressed her hand flat against the burn immediately. “Gods ma halani,” she said through gritted teeth, but the pain only lasted a second before her skin stopped oozing and healed over, for the most part. Gods help me. She launched back into the fight, pushing the guards back from her mage, giving her room to work.

Taash hurled her axe, eliminating the fake-but-real mage, breathing hard. The rest of the guards were dead before she knew it, the sand dry of blood and the weird ashes disappearing in the breeze. She retrieved her weapon and waited for the other two by the stairs, frowning with distaste at the magic.

“Elgar’nan sent his guards to attack the Dread Wolf’s rebels,” Rook said, picking at singed edges the ruined leathers in dismay. Her skin looked smooth and shiny, and she bet if she poked it, it would feel thicker than the rest of her leg. She was thankful it was the thigh with the smaller tattoo; the chalice on her other leg would have been a nightmare to get fixed.

“The bastard,” Bellara said forcefully. “I hope Solas won that fight.”

She couldn’t agree more, and followed Taash through the next doors into the next fight.

“You persist for naught,” the All-Father’s voice boomed again. “The people under my rule are not yours to plunder.”

She staggered, pressing the back of her hand against her eyes, trying to drown him out, hoping the others could take care of the guards. She blinked furiously, clearing the spots that danced in her vision as Taash and Bellara eliminated the enemy forces.

“Glad to see we all made it!”

Rook knew that voice. She forced her eyes open, squinting against the brightness, unsurprised to see Solas standing next to the elf from before. The dust of their enemies floated away in the wind.

“Elgar’nan’s forces are making things interesting, Felassan,” he mused, sounding the exact same as he did when he spoke to her.

The other elf pointed at her. “You, keep moving, no matter what. Free those slaves. We’ll take everyone else and give the guards something to think about.”

“We must be swift,” Solas told them. “Elgar’nan is coming.”

She’d been hoping that their appearance meant the memory was almost over, but it seemed her luck didn’t extend that far. “Solas sounded frightened.”

Taash snorted and ran ahead, engaging the latest defenders. “You blame him?”

Bellara didn’t. Fighting in the Fade bubble they were in made the consistency of her magic thinner, easier to use but quicker to be expended. She didn’t know how much longer she could keep setting up explosives, or how effective her healing abilities were. The burn on Rook’s thigh had at least healed over, but it wasn’t her best work. It would likely scar, and that wasn’t to say what would happen if one of them received a more serious injury.

Trying not to tear the freshly healed skin, Rook set to work freeing the slaves behind the large iron grate as her friends fended off the soldiers, blood boiling at the state of the prisoners. She guided the wisp gently into its cradle, searching for the next key to unlock it.

“Quickly!” Solas urged, appearing again. “Elgar’nan approaches.”

“Stop his guards,” Felassan ordered. “We need to buy time for the captives to get to safety.”

She bit her tongue. She didn’t see either of them doing any of the fighting, but she continued hunting for a crystal to power up the beam.

“I will hold off Elgar’nan himself for as long as I am able.”

“How noble of you,” she muttered, ignoring the concerned look from Bellara. She found the power crystal and unlocked the grate, jogging across the bridge forming before her after the slaves fled.

“The vermin keep coming,” the god of vengeance snarled. “Go. I will deal with that ragged wolf.”

She paused, waiting for the suits of armour to get close enough before stomping her foot, using the advantage the shockwave gave her to tackle the mage aiming at them. She slammed its head into the ground, stumbling when the apparition disappeared and her knees hit the dirt, but got to her feet quickly.

Taash kicked the next guard off the edge of the cliff, turning to find another already racing for them. She swung her axe, cutting into the neck of the closest one, working hard to keep Bellara safe in between her and Rook.

The Veil Jumper was panting, sweaty and tired, only able to heal the smaller injuries the two warriors received instead of her usual explosions, but it would have to be enough. They just had to last the fight, then they could sit down and rest. She wasn’t so exhausted to not feel the wash of blood magic though. She searched the weave of the Fade for it, trying to track it, but in the chaos of the battle, it was lost to her.

“Nadas,” Rook murmured to herself. Endure. This was no worse than her training as a Grey Warden.

But it was. It was so much worse. They were losing. Elgar’nan’s forces were endless, and they kept getting lucky shot after lucky shot. Their mages were out of range of her sword and the rogue she was fighting was too quick, its sword coated in something that made her feel sluggish.

You need to listen.

Her limbs locked up and she took the pommel of a sword to the temple.

“Rook, get it together!” Taash shouted, seeing the blow.

Blood ran down her face and she screamed her fury at the reminder of Varric’s injury, of her mistakes, and the power Solas loaned her exploded out of her, tearing the ground around them to pieces as she slammed her fists into the ground. Something was ripped from her, but she didn’t care. Her previous failures cut like a knife, but she wasn’t going to fail her friends, the people that trusted her, again. She would do whatever it took to keep them safe, even if it meant putting her body through hell to do it.

The waves of energy sent the remaining guards flying, knocking them down long enough for Taash to swing her axe into whoever was left, feeling the bolts of energy from Bellara’s bow whiz past her to get any of them she missed.

She planted her sword in the ground, uncaring that it likely damaged the blade, and used it to push herself back to her feet, knees unsteady.

Bellara hurried to her side and pressed her palm to Rook’s cheek, trying to heal whatever she’d just done. It had looked brutal, violent, and she understood now why Lucanis had been so worried. Something didn’t feel right about it, but she wanted to talk to Emmrich before voicing her concerns.

“Thank you,” she said hoarsely.

The two ancient elves stepped into the clearing as Elgar’nan said, “There will be a reckoning for this, Solas. No matter how far you run.”

Felassan grinned in the face of their victory. “Let the big arsehole rant. Everyone we’ve freed is safe in the Crossroads.”

One of the freed elves, a former slave, bowed her head in respect to Solas. “Without all of you… well, thank you. But can Elgar’nan find us here?”

He shook his head immediately. “He cannot. I have made sure—” He hissed in pain. Felassan looked alarmed, but he was cut off before he could speak. “Elgar’nan is a powerful opponent,” he said, waving him away. “My apologies. It is of no consequence.” He turned to Rook, looking her dead in the eye. “What matters, my friends, is that today, all of us are free.”

The slimy feeling from earlier crawled its way up the bodies of the three women and the colours of the world returned, no longer grey.

“I… think that’s it,” she said.

Bellara approached the small, blue statue in the shape of a wolf, but she didn’t touch it. Something about it was wrong, twisted. “It’s so strange, seeing Solas back when he was… well, a hero.”

Taash scoffed, hanging back to avoid getting closer to the blue statue. It smelled like the memory had, old, but tainted by something else she couldn’t place. “Too bad he didn’t stay all heroic like that.”

Rook didn’t want to touch the blue wolf either, but it was obviously important. They needed to get it back to the Lighthouse where her mages could examine it safely. “Come on,” she said, grabbing it. “Let’s go.” She led the way, trudging back towards the gold beacons the Caretaker had so kindly placed throughout the Crossroads. Gods, she was aching everywhere. She was eager to bathe and then find the bottles of wine she was sure would be stashed around the Lighthouse somewhere.

“Did anyone else see Solas had hair?” Taash asked.

~

Bellara took another sip of her wine, giggling at Rook’s reenactment of a conversation Davrin and Lucanis had while they were out in Treviso a few days ago.

The elf stumbled, nearly tripping over one of the tools on the floor. “And then he says…” She hiccuped and lowered the timbre of her voice, copying Davrin’s lilt. “Lucanis, if you lose control of Spite, I’ll have to put you both away. No harding feelings.” She closed one eye. That didn’t sound right.

“What did he say back?” she slurred, either not hearing or uncaring about the atrocious grammar.

She cleared her throat, mimicking the Crow’s accent. “Good, but you should know, I’ve killed everyone who ever tried. Or something like that.” The memory was getting a little fuzzy, but that was exactly what she wanted. “And then my favourite Grey Warden said Taash will have his back and that Lucanis can’t handle both of them.”

Bellara flopped back against the cushions, laughing again. It had been so long since she’d had some time, or the desire, to relax and wind down, it was a pleasure to talk about normal things instead of end of the world things or ancient artefacts or tears in the Fade.

“Do you think I could handle both of them?” she asked, searching for the bottle of wine they’d found and squirrelled away before anyone else could. She’d put it somewhere, but it was gone, and she didn’t feel confident she could navigate the short path back onto the main island without falling off to go find more.

“In a fight?” There was a long pause, so long that Bellara rolled onto her side to face her again. The tips of Rook's ears were bright red and her green eyes were glassy, but she had a devious look on her face. “You mean in a fight, right?”

She let out a peel of laughter at the mage’s expression. “I know the serials you read when you can’t sleep,” she said, pointing at the stack of books next to the bed. “You don’t get to act shocked with me about sex.”

She gasped, blushing. “How do you know what’s in them?” she demanded, knocking the tall pile over in an attempt to hide them.

She winked. Or blinked. At least one of her eyes closed, she knew that much. “When I’m not hunting gods or darkspawn, there isn’t a lot else to do in the Anderfels. Grey Warden stamina and all that.” She plopped down on the workbench, crossing her legs beneath her. The wine dulled the pain from the burn on her thigh, but it felt like it was being stretched taut at her movements.

Her eyes widened and she burped, trying to make the two Rooks become one. “Is the stamina thing really true?”

“Yeah,” she sighed sadly. “I’ve been left disappointed tooooooo many times to bother with most people from other factions.”

Bellara reached for her quill and notebook, eager to jot this down. She hadn’t realised the rumours were legitimate. The Wardens were so secretive. “Can you… what do you mean?”

Humming in thought, Rook tapped her chin, trying to find the words to explain it. “It almost burns, and the only way to stop is to keep going,” she said finally. “It doesn’t stop for hours. I don’t stop for hours. The refractory period is, like, two minutes for most of us. The first orgasm—” She laughed again when Bellara’s cheeks reddened. “Orgasm is like stretching before working out, it’s a warm up, but once it starts, it doesn’t stop.”

The quill scratched across the page furiously as she considered what that would feel like. “Wow.”

She shrugged, finding the bottle of wine and taking a large sip. “It was never like that before I joined though. It must be something in the darkspawn—” She slapped a hand over her mouth, remembering at the last second Davrin’s reminder that the Order had secrets.

Bellara narrowed her eyes at her. “You’re not telling me something.”

Still covering her mouth, she shook her head, eyes wide.

“Why won’t you tell me?” she almost whined.

A smirk crossed her face as she dropped her hand. “I can’t tell you! What I can tell you is that not everything in your serials is doable with just one person.”

“Really?” Thoughts of Warden secrets fled the mage’s mind immediately.

She nodded emphatically, leaning back to tip the last drops of the wine into her mouth, frowning when she realised the bottle was empty. “Mhm. Sometimes you gotta have two people to hold you up.”

“For what?”

She clapped her hands, recalling the night before she’d stopped the darkspawn horde. “This is my favourite story. Are you ready?”

Bellara nodded eagerly.

“So we could all feel the pack approaching, right? We had warning because it was so big so we had time to set up sentries. Not many, mind you, but enough to find my other two favourite Wardens and sneak away with them.”

“How many favourite Wardens do you have?” she asked suspiciously.

Rook held up a hand, counting them on her fingers. “Four or five, I think. Theron, Anna, Will and Davrin. Oh! And Evka and Antoine. How many is that?”

Bellara tried to count the fingers she was holding up, but her vision was swimming. “So many.”

“Right. We all thought this was surely the night we were gonna die, so Anna and Will and I went and found one of the empty rooms in the inn and we—” The door swung open, interrupting her story. She pouted at Taash. “I was telling a tale.”

“I could hear you from my room,” she replied. It was the truth. The two elves had been cackling together all night, unaware that it was the wee hours of the morning. “It’s good that most of the people on the team don’t sleep much.”

“Oops.” Rook wasn’t at all sorry. She was trying to forget the burdens on her shoulders, not be reminded of them.

Bellara patted the space on the floor next to her, inviting her to sit down and join them. “Rook was telling me a story about her and Anna and Will, just before she stopped a big darkspawn… group?”

She stood on wobbly legs, intent on finding more wine. “Pack or horde, not group.”

Taash blocked the door and grabbed her shoulders, turning her and guiding her back to the workbench. “Sit.”

“Sitting.” She tried to stifle the giggles, but it turned into a snort. It made her dizzy, so she laid back on the table, trying to focus on one of the floating things near the ceiling. Maybe that would help stop the nausea.

Taash smiled, despite herself and the thoughts that had kept her awake, and leaned against the door, lest either woman decide to try another excursion. She took in the papers scattered all over the floor. “Were you writing in your book a little bit ago?”

The mage sighed, looking down at the notebooks morosely. “I’ve been trying to get this story going, but it’s been so hard! I’m writing when I have the chance.”

“Gotta be hard to concentrate with Rook talking all the time.”

Her head popped up at the comment, blinking blearily. “Hey! Fair, but hey.”

Bellara shook her head. “It’s easier actually. Helps me focus to have some background noise.”

Ugh. Rook rolled over, trying to get comfortable, turning her back on the other two. “Again, hey,” she grumbled.

Taash watched to make sure she didn’t fall off the table. “I get that,” she said to Bellara. “I like to think by the ocean. The sound of the waves washes away the little stuff.”

Finishing her rotation, Rook finally settled on her stomach facing the wall, her arm dangling off the edge. “The sound of the waves sucks when you can’t swim,” she said sleepily. “I heard Emmrich and Davrin talking about a lurid book the other day,” she added.

That got Bellara’s attention. “A lurid book? Here?”

“Mhm. Sulrahn aron isalan dera na aron tuelan,” she mumbled, fighting a losing battle with consciousness. This was perfect. The room was warm, she was drunk, and she was finally having fun again. It had been so long since she’d had fun.

Taash looked at the mage for an explanation, confused by the sudden language change.

“Something like ‘I will touch you like a goddess’,” she translated for her.

“Oh.” She wondered if they were finished with the book.

Rook shushed them, pressing a finger to her lips. “Souver'inan isala hamin, Bellara.”

“You’re in my room on my table!” she protested. “And stop speaking elven, it’s rude!” While it was nice to know she was fluent in their language, it was the height of bad manners to not include everyone in the conversation, and she was affronted on Taash’s behalf.

The Qunari was amused more than offended. “What did that mean?”

Sighing, Bellara adjusted her cushions and laid back too, throwing an arm over her face to block the light. “She said ‘weary eyes need resting’.”

That sounded like a smart idea. She would be able to return to her room if she wasn’t worried the two of them would stumble over the edge of the courtyard and never be seen again.

“I wish I could breathe fire,” the mage said suddenly. “I don’t know, it just feels like the kind of thing that could be useful, you know?” She raised the hand not covering her eyes, purple electricity dancing around her fingers.

“Sometimes it helps to burn through stuff,” Taash replied, wondering if the room was suddenly going to become full of static.

She sat up, so quickly it made her stomach turn, but she ignored it. “I wonder if we could make it go further! Or hotter! How long can you hold her breath?” She lunged for the notebook full of random theories that came to mind, intent on jotting down her stroke of brilliance.

“Not long. Healers say it’s because breathing fire hurts my lungs.”

“Oh. Never mind then.”

Taash didn’t want to leave, she realised, a little disconcerted by it. She didn’t usually like being around people for that long, especially ones as talkative as these two, but she’d been drawn to their laughter like a dragon to treasure. “Bellara, that elf in the memory had the same tattoo as Rook does.” It had been bothering her since they got back, but she’d tried to restrain herself from asking, unsure if it was rude to comment on.

She didn’t look up from the doodles she was scribbling over the genius idea of trying to make the flames go further. “The vallaslin? Yeah, I thought that was strange too.”

“What’s a vallaslin?” She wasn’t familiar with the word.

That broke through the haze in Rook’s mind and she rolled back over to face them, groaning loudly. “Blood writing. And can we not talk about this right now? I’m having such a good time pretending it’s not true. It’s too ominous.” She’d considered writing to her Keeper to see if she knew anything about it, but had put it off, not quite ready to know what it meant to have the same vallaslin as someone Solas had worked with before.

Taash understood the feeling of not wanting to discuss the big things until she was ready and let the subject drop. “Big words from someone who can’t stand up on her own.”

The elf threw a wrench at her.

She sidestepped it easily. “Usually have to dodge traps and fight spiders to see this much old elven stuff,” she said, pointing to some of the antiques Bellara worked on when she wasn’t fiddling with the big crystal. “Talk to Isabela if you want to sell any of it. She’ll get you a good deal.”

“Spoken like a veteran treasure hunter,” Rook muttered, groping around for the next item she could throw at her.

“Yep. For gold and glory. The Lords make runs no one else can. Isabela’s undies would catch fire if she saw all this.”

She was pretty sure Solas would set her on fire if anything in the Lighthouse ended up on the black market. “Bet you deal with a lot of nasty traps during those treasure hunts,” she said instead, not wanting to think about the god of trickery.

“Yep.”

“What’s the most complicated one you’ve dealt with?”

That was a good question. “Old elven armoury. Had letters on tiles. Probably supposed to spell out the name of a god or something.”

“Probably?”

“I don’t read elven. Found handholds in the ceiling and swung across.”

“That sounds more like a puzzle than a trap,” Bellara added idly, now shading in her masterpiece.

“Ugh,” she grunted. “Puzzles.”

“I cheat at puzzles,” Rook admitted, shifting in discomfort. Something was under her, digging into her spine. “You’ve got the right idea, going across the ceiling.” She squinted, trying to make the blurriness go away, examining Taash’s arms. Now that she thought about it, she actually wasn’t sure if she could take both Davrin and Taash, in a fight or otherwise. “Varric and I ran into an old elven puzzle once while hunting for Solas,” she slurred instead of letting her other thoughts out. “There were these talking statues that talked far too much.”

Bellara looked up then, at the mention of the famed author. She’d heard a lot about him, but not much from Rook. The stories came from Harding or Neve mostly.

“Riddles?” Taash asked.

“One only lied, one only told the truth… I think.” The recollection was hazy.

“What’d you do?”

She waved a hand, smiling at the memory. “Varric gave them an autographed copy of his book. Turns out he’s really popular in the Fade.” She dug a large tome out from under her back, letting it fall to the floor. “Why do dragons care about gathering treasure? It’s not like they go to the market,” she said, not wanting to talk about Varric anymore. 

“Dragons like metals and gems. Anything glittery catches their eye.”

“So they’re like really large magpies?”

Taash grunted indecisively. “Kinda? And they live for centuries. Lot of time to gather a bunch of shiny crap. Plus all the gear carried by idiots who thought they could kill a dragon.”

Lucanis had likened her to a magpie when they’d found Davrin, she remembered. “Rook likes shiny things,” she said, trying and failing to copy his accent again.

“Rook needs water,” Taash replied firmly. “And sleep. I’m going to lock you both in here.”

She hiccuped. “Probably not a bad idea.”

Bellara pouted. “But we’re having so much fun!”

“Won’t be fun when you fall off the island,” she said, leaving the two elves to their future hangovers. She didn’t actually lock the door, but they didn’t need to know that.

Chapter Text

She strode the length of the island, eyes returning to the wooden door, wondering if his offer was still on the table.

The sun had set hours ago and almost everyone was asleep, except for Neve. A light was still on in the detective’s room, where she was probably hard at work trying to find a way to piece Dock Town back together. The smell of coffee lingered in the air, meaning Lucanis was likely still up too.

She and Bellara had woken with the hangover from hell and Rook had decided then and there she wouldn’t be leaving the Lighthouse until her head stopped spinning. She’d staggered back to her room, trying not to vomit at the smell of breakfast, and collapsed on her couch, content with rotting the day away and taking tiny sips of water. It was much more comfortable than sleeping on Bellara’s work table, and the aches in her body were certainly telling her how stupid it had been to fall asleep on top of notebooks, ink bottles and quills instead of the floor.

But now she couldn’t sleep. She didn’t want to risk another night terror, but there was one more reason for her being wide awake. The statue they’d found in the Crossroads, where they’d travelled through the past and experienced one of Solas’ memories, haunted her. Specifically, the elf with violet eyes who had acted as if he were a general haunted her. Felassan. They had the same vallaslin.

Bellara hadn’t recognised it when they first met, or known what it was the night before, so Rook wondered if it was more closely tied with her own clan than that of the Veil Jumper’s. It had hurt like hell when her Keeper had applied it, but she loved it when she was younger and still loved it now, even if it was somehow tied to Solas.

The vallaslin had taken hours, but she’d laid there in silence, meditating as she’d been instructed to do. It was the first time her mind was still for long enough that such a thing was even possible. She’d found the feeling so calming that it was the reason she’d decorated her body with the rest of her tattoos, appreciating the pain for how it soothed her.

The door opened and Davrin poked his head out. “You’re worried about something,” he called to her.

She paused before jogging up the staircase to his room when he held the door open for her. “I did say I’d try to be more aware of the pacing.” She wasn’t doing a very good job of it, but it didn’t look like he’d gone to bed yet either.

He resumed his position behind the wooden bench, picking up the knife again. “Doesn’t bother me.”

“Carving monsters, huh? Didn’t figure you for an artist.” Asking questions was a good way to avoid sleeping and distract herself from the ancient elf with the same blood writing as her.

Shooting her an exasperated look, he answered. “This? It’s by necessity. If you know your enemy, their weak spots, maybe you live another day.”

She cast her eye over the other carvings and the notebook open on a sketch of one of the new darkspawn they’d encountered, headed by the word ‘spiker’. Well, that was disgustingly accurate. “When the army of miniature monsters invade, we’ll know how to beat them.”

“Size is nothing. A rygar can ruin your day with one bite. The poison swells your brain.” He checked the block of wood he was working on, looking for the change in the grain he could feel catching on his blade.

“That could explain Solas.”

He snorted. “Standard bestiaries are always some mage drawing things they’ve never seen, taking the piss out of it. They don’t understand how went the hunt ends, and you come nose to nose with an ogre, someone’s going to die. So I’m making the real monster hunter manual.” He wanted to speak with Taash about it too. She’d surely seen things he hadn’t.

Rook couldn’t argue with that. She recalled the beasts she’d defeated in her time with the Wardens, how sometimes she’d had to fight it for hours before finding its weak spot. A manual would have been exceptionally helpful then. “Who are you doing it for?”

“Balmor, that imbecile in Tevinter, lecturing on things he doesn’t know about. And Ludrik, over in Rivain?” He scoffed. “Thinks taking a rock wraith down with a lucky shot makes him a champion.”

“You’d think he’d know better,” she mused, smirking when Davrin nodded, too absorbed in his work to hear the sarcasm. “It’s sculpting toy monsters that makes you a champion.”

“That’s right. He never understood—” Her words sunk in and he chuckled. “You’re a funny one.”

She shrugged. “I couldn’t help it.”

“Okay,” he conceded. “Maybe I’m taking this a little far. But if you say you’re an expert, show me some expertise.”

“Just remember it’s spelled R-O-O-K. The heroine who took down the gods.”

He stopped carving. “That chapter’s going to be mine.”

“We could both have chapters. We hunt different things, after all.” Remembering the tension she’d felt between them in Arlathan, the way he’d touched her ear, she decided to see if he was still interested, or if it had been a simple flirtation. “For example, I like a hunt with some challenge to it.”

His ears perked up when her voice lowered. “What’s your quarry?”

“I’m thinking… a Grey Warden. Maybe an elf. Maybe both. I can’t decide.”

“That too much to handle?”

Heat licked up her spine. “It’s best if you keep them guessing.”

Davrin set the carving knife aside, dropped the block of wood, and met her gaze. “Well, you’ll need special bait to lure that sort out. Doesn’t just fall for anything.”

Trying to dispel the want gathering in her body, she replied, “Noted.” She could respect him not wanting to get involved with someone he worked with so soon after joining them, but gods, what she wouldn’t give to have a roll around in the hay. Her conversation with Bellara the night before hadn’t helped matters. She didn’t remember everything, but she had a feeling she’d almost told her about one of her escapades with Anna and Will. She definitely needed to get out of the Lighthouse for a night. She made up her mind to do it as soon as possible.

He didn’t want the conversation to end and mentally scrambled, searching for something to say to keep her there. “How would I spell it?”

Rook reached for one of the tiny monsters she’d spied earlier, picking it up to examine it more closely, as unwilling to leave as he was to let her. “Spell what?”

“Your name.”

She raised a brow at him before choosing another sculpture, running her fingers over the smallest details carved into the wood. “R,” she said slowly. “O. O. K.”

Chuckling again, he picked up the knife. He deserved that. “Mar true melin.” Your true name.

She jolted in surprise, her eyes flicking to his. She was unused to speaking elven in conversation, outside of formal ceremonies and greetings, or nightmares apparently, but she knew it had slipped out with Bellara and Taash. “Ahn makes ma sil that’s tel ma’melin?” What makes you think that’s not my name?

“Ahnsul re it’s a chess prear, tel a melin,” he replied.  Because it’s a chess piece, not a name. There were a few elves from his time at Weisshaupt, but he’d been away for so long he hadn’t had a conversation in elven in months. It felt like going home, to speak with her.

Her eyes sparkled at the annoyance on his face over not knowing her name. “Ar’an that mith yet.” We aren’t that close yet.

“Ar'm a on ghi’myelan,” he replied evenly. I’m a good hunter.

She was thrilled to be speaking their language again, not realising she’d missed it so much since joining, and then getting kicked out of, the Wardens. “Mah leads to enasalin,” she said in response, smiling widely. That leads to victory. She wondered if he would put the pieces together.

He cocked his head to the side, something tugging on his intuition. There was a hint there, he could feel it. Was it something to do with the Wardens, or her cousin? “Atish?” he guessed. Peace? It would explain why she’d responded so quickly after her nightmare, if peace was her name.

Biting her lip to keep the grin in check, she shook her head.

Davrin’s brow furrowed and he put his tools down again, leaning his fist on the table. He was genuinely stumped. “Din?” Death? It would have been a controversial choice from her parents, but death always had the last say, that final victory. He had a feeling it was something to do with that.

“Ama dara,” she encouraged. Keep going.

He searched his memories, trying to find a clue in any of their conversations thus far, but nothing was jumping out at him. “Ar ema banal,” he admitted finally. I have nothing.

Rook put the small carving back down carefully, turning it to face the same way as all the others. “Vena em when ma ema sulrahn.” Find me when you have something.

Maybe it wouldn’t take special bait to lure him out, he thought.

“Where’s the Gloom Howler in all of this?” she asked, returning to the common tongue. It felt almost too intimate, to speak with him in a language only they understood. Well, them and Bellara, but she was in bed, still too hungover to be bothered leaving her room.

He wouldn’t let his disappointment show. It was clear she was interested, but he was the one stalling, for more than one reason. He couldn’t let his focus stray from the griffins, but he’d also seen Wardens try to start something with another. It always ended badly. “Can’t carve it ’til I know what it is.”

Assan squawked angrily, flaring his wings in a territorial display. The words Gloom Howler were said enough around him for him to associate it with the loss of his siblings. This was his Lighthouse. They were his people.

“You want a piece of the Howler, boy?” Davrin asked.

Rook inspected the young griffin. “Is he ready?”

“Was I ready the first time I fought a hurlock?”

“I don’t think anyone can be ready for that,” she said. “But you’re still alive…”

Barely. “I got my ass handed to me. Broke four ribs and cracked my jaw, then I got back up and drove a blade through its skull. In this line of work, Assan and I are only as strong as the quarry we hunt.”

“It’s also a good way to get yourself killed. You got lucky with that hurlock. And he’s still getting the hang of things, you should go easy on him.”

“If he runs into an ogre, it won’t care. It’ll eat him for lunch.”

She crossed her arms over her chest, leaning her weight on her left leg. The burn from the day before pulled tight and her leather pants weren’t all that comfortable against the new skin. “It keeps him safe. And fed.”

He didn’t want to admit she was right, but the pressure of having the only living griffin with him was too great to take the longer route. Assan had to be ready. “’Til he meets an ogre.”

Realising this was a conversation she wasn’t going to win, Rook rapped her knuckles on his workbench. “Right. Itha ma later.” See you later.

“Sule sal’melana,” he replied, going back to the carving. Until next time.

She headed back to her room, intent on writing a missive to her Keeper, but she was surprised to see candles still lit in Emmrich’s. She knocked on the door.

“Ah! Come on in, Rook,” he called, taking a book from the box Manfred was holding.

She entered, checking out the room newly open to her. She’d tried to climb the brambles that used to block her way, but it had been to no avail. “You look moved in.”

He smiled, clasping his hands in front of him. “Just a few essentials. Manfred was a great help with the boxes.” The skeleton let out a friendly hiss, walking between them, to return to his job of moving yet more boxes.

She smiled at him, absolutely delighted by everything he did. “I’m sorry I haven’t checked in on you sooner.”

Emmrich waved away her apology, unperturbed. “Not at all. I’ve been quite busy and wouldn’t be good company anyway.” He gazed around the room, excited by the possibilities. His books were still being organised for transport in the Necropolis, but he finally had enough space to display them all properly. “What a fascinating place this Lighthouse is! What do you make of it?”

“It’s great.” Reminders of Solas everywhere aside. “Big, mysterious, lots of art. And everyone’s got their own room.”

He nodded. “It’d be easy to fall in love with such a place.”

“I think Bellara has,” she said.

“She’s been quite welcoming,” he agreed, though his thoughts turned towards the others. “However… I noticed a few of the others taken aback by Manfred. And I overhead remarks about my skulls. My necromancy won’t cause any undue worry, will it?”

“Nah.”

He raised an eyebrow at her.

“Well, maybe a little,” she acquiesced. “A few people might not get it, but we’ve all got something going on. Lucanis is possessed by a demon, Bellara is obsessed with the Nadas Dirthalen, so much so I can barely pull her away from it, Taash clearly has mummy issues, Harding is gaining weird rock powers, Neve is still rightfully pissed at me because her city got destroyed by a dragon, and the two Wardens on the team have the same nightmares as darkspawn.” She  was almost breathless at the sudden outburst.

Emmrich didn’t know what to make of all that. “Oh.”

Oh, indeed. She hadn’t expected to unload on him like that. Rook patted his shoulder kindly. “Bellara is excited you’re here, everyone else just has to get to know you. And if they complain about your skulls, don’t be afraid to give it right back to them.”

He didn’t want to come across as rude, but he had a feeling most of the others were as direct as she was. Maybe there was some truth to her words. “And yet…”

“We’re still getting used to one another. Give it time. We’ll settle in.”

He turned to Manfred when the wisp hissed impatiently. “In a moment, there’s one more thing I want to ask Rook.”

She leaned against the desk he’d found and gotten in there somehow. “If it’s something about the Wardens, I need Davrin to supervise. I keep almost spilling our secrets.”

He chuckled at the serious look on her face. He had no doubt it was something she struggled with. “No, though I am curious about the Order.”

Chewing on her thumbnail, her eyes darted to the door. “There’s a reason I wasn’t given his job of looking after the griffins. Several reasons, actually, but—”

Before she could delve too deeply into a list of flaws, he cut her off. “No, no, I promise, if I have any questions about the Grey Wardens, I’ll make sure to ask the both of you.”

“All right,” she said slowly. “What did you want to know?”

“It’s the small matter of Solas in your mind.”

She stilled, and her eyes flashed. “What about it?”

Turning back to his bookshelves, Emmrich searched for the one on spirits taking over a mortal’s mind, tugging it free. “I’ve seen possessions of course, but never one quite like this—”

“I’m not possessed,” Rook snapped before closing her eyes, taking a deep breath. “I’m not possessed,” she repeated, calmly. “It’s a connection, Solas said. Enough for him to speak to me when I’m asleep in the Lighthouse, but that’s it.”

The magic the necromancer could feel felt far too similar to the dominated wills he’d experienced in the Necropolis, but he wasn’t going to argue with her. It was evidently a touchy subject. He handed the book to Manfred to set aside for later. “How did the link get established?” he asked instead.

“Blood magic,” she answered shortly.

Emmrich closed his eyes in despair. That was what he’d feared. She wouldn’t even know if she was being manipulated.

She felt the need to explain herself, though she didn’t know why. “Solas is our best source of information against the Evanuris. We can’t stop them without what he knows.”

“We could draw up some wards—”

“Varric already suggested that,” she interrupted again. “We do what we have to in order to survive, right?” She shrugged and straightened. “I appreciate the concern, and if I ever feel the sudden urge to begin a life of trickery and rebellion, you’ll be the first to know, but for now, he’s been helpful.”

He faced her again, trying to ignore the presence lingering just behind her shoulder. It was heavy, grief-stricken, full of righteous anger. “Of course. I apologise if I overstepped.”

An easy smile slid onto her face and the shadow dissipated. “I have a feeling we’re all going to get a lot closer over the next few months. Don’t worry about it.” She waved to Manfred, leaving the room before doubling back, poking her head through the door. “Want to come to Minrathous with me soon? Harding and I have to meet with Morrigan, but I’ve got a feeling we might need a mage.”

Ah, Tevinter. Yes, the elf would almost certainly need a mage with her. He wondered why she hadn’t asked Neve. “When do you expect to go?”

She made a face. “I’m hoping to put it off for as long as possible, honestly.”

“Of course. I’d be happy to go, just let me know when you’re ready.”

~

“So you have your team.”

Rook sat up, surprised to find herself opposite Solas once again. She shot to her feet, dusting off her pants. “Yes.”

“What do you intend on doing next?”

She crossed her arms over her chest, trying to ignore the emptiness she could feel in her heart. It had been years since she felt the sensation, and across from the Dread Wolf was not where she wanted it to reappear. “Why do you always ask the questions? You’re incredibly nosy, for someone who’s lived for thousands of years.”

“I was asleep for thousands of years, I have a lot to catch up on. So many details to be nosy about, and so little time.”

Her lips twitched in spite of herself. “The elven god of sarcasm is back.”

“You’re aware this is your fault, that we’re both trapped here, aren’t you?”

She picked at her nails, knowing it would annoy him. She could practically feel his blood pressure rising. “You’ll have to be more specific. A lot of things are my fault.”

“Are you incapable of being serious for any length of time, Rook?”

“Is that another question, Solas?”

He sighed, waiting.

“Felassan,” she said immediately, taking note of the subtle narrowing of his eyes. “He and I have the same vallaslin. Why?”

He clasped his hands behind his back. He had no idea how she’d even found mention of his old general, but there might be a way to spin it in his favour. “The Dalish have legends of the Evanuris,” he began. “I do not care for them.”

“You are aware I’m Dalish, right?”

“Yes.” He didn’t elaborate.

She glared at him.

He chuckled. “You know the history of the vallaslin?”

“Yes.”

“I very much doubt that. They used to be the mark of ownership, of slavery,” he said, disgusted. “They were twisted even further when the noble houses the Evanuris believed embodied their ideals forced the blood writing on their slaves, dedicated to their patron gods.”

“That isn’t what they mean to us anymore,” she protested.

“I suppose not,” he conceded, albeit condescendingly. “During my rebellion, I offered to remove the vallaslin from the elves I saved. Most accepted, relieved to be able to become their own person once again and find their way in the world. Some did not, though that was their choice to make. I never forced the removal on any elf.”

“What does that have to do with my vallaslin and how it matches your general?”

Sometimes Solas forgot how young Rook was, but her impatience swiftly reminded him. “It is not your vallaslin. It is a dedication to Mythal, the Protector, the All-Mother. She was the patron of motherhood and justice. Felassan believed strongly in justice and protection, and fought for the elves still enslaved to give them a better life. He chose the vallaslin devoted to her because of it.”

She flicked her finger against her thumb. “I’ve never seen anyone else with it.”

He shrugged, appearing unconcerned. “The Sentinels at her temples were adorned with similar blood writing. Who is to say your Keeper didn’t see it in passing and believe it would be applicable to you as you grew up?”

“Keepers are supposed to protect us from Fen’Harel.” The verbal jab landed.

His jaw tightened and it looked like he was trying to bite back his own retort. “Yes, but they also responsible for your clan’s ancient lore, are they not?” He smiled bitterly. “How is Marethari?”

Rook flinched. She was young when Marethari was killed by Merrill and hadn’t really understood why, sheltered from the truth by the adults, even though she’d witnessed from a distance the arrival of the strange group as they approached where they were camped near Kirkwall.

Varric had been the one to explain some of the details during their search for Solas, once he found out the clan she was from. A woman he’d travelled with, Hawke, apparently specialised in a very specific type of chaos, and had agreed to help Merrill fix what Rook now understood to be an eluvian. Marethari had been possessed by a demon and attacked the First, forcing Merrill, Hawke and their friends to defend themselves. If the two hadn’t been in love, it was unlikely that Merrill would have ever returned to Sabrae. Varric had refused to say much more or tell the rest of the story, no matter how many times Rook asked, a shadow crossing his face whenever the topic came up.

“I thought so,” Solas said quietly, as if he hadn’t just brought up one of the most devastating things for Clan Sabrae to go through in recent history. “Mythal, one of the Evanuris the Dalish apparently did not need protection from, was said to right wrongs with kindness, or sought to punish the wicked. But to others, she was vengeful and vindictive. Felassan believed in those ideals, as I think you do. It seems fitting to me that you share the same blood writing.” He was being truthful. The two of them shared many similarities, and would likely share more, by the time this was all over.

She stared at her feet. She shouldn’t have asked, and she certainly shouldn’t have tried to win a verbal battle with the Dread Wolf.

“The Way of Three Trees isn’t always as practical as the Dalish make it out to be,” he mused.

“I’m not a hunter,” she reminded him. “I’m a soldier.”

“Ah, the Vir Banal’ras.” He rocked back on his heels. Ah, the Way of Shadow. “In nan i enasalin, no?” he asked pointedly. In vengeance and victory, no?

“Fenedhis lasa,” she snarled, fighting to wake up. Go suck a wolf’s dick.

He let out an elated laugh and released her mind, allowing her the rest she did in fact need.

Chapter Text

At the sound of the knock on her door, Rook finished tugging her leathers up over her hips. “Come in,” she called, reaching for the jacket. She’d done her best to sew up the hole the mage had caused in the Crossroads, but it was looking rough. She’d have to find more pants somewhere.

Taash entered, nervous. Even to her, it had been obvious Rook was extremely uncomfortable with sharing the same blood writing as the elf in Solas’ memory. So she’d dug through the piles of previously useless treasure she’d accumulated since being in the Lords and pulled out the circlet she remembered finding a few years ago. “Is now a bad time?”

“Nah.” She did up the buckles on the jacket and faced the mirror to fuss with her hair. She had to start wearing it down even more now in the hopes it would hide the vallaslin from people who might recognise it. “What’s up?”

“I found this.” She thrust the circlet towards the elf, feeling awkward.

Her eyes slid to it in the reflection. It was gold with a black stone in the centre, large enough to cover her entire forehead. “Wow.”

“You don’t like it.” Ugh, she knew this was a stupid idea. Her mother was right.

“No, I do!” Rook faced her, taking the circlet and examining it. “It’s gorgeous. Where did you get it?”

She shrugged. “I dunno, found it in my stuff.” The fact that it had taken hours to locate would go with her to her grave.

Spinning back to the mirror, she put it on, turning her head this way and that to see it from all angles. It actually did a reasonable job of covering most of the vallaslin, and it had the added bonus of keeping her hair out of her eyes. “It even matches my armour,” she said, smiling. “Thank you, Taash!”

“It’s nothing.”

It wasn’t. It meant a great deal to her. She did not want to be sighted with the same vallaslin as Felassan, lest someone who’d seen the elf during Solas’ rebellion recognised it. She doubted there was anyone still alive who would, but it had been passed down through her clan somehow and she didn’t want to take the risk. She didn’t want to be associated with the Dread Wolf anymore than she already was. “Davrin and I are going to the Wetlands to meet with Antoine and Evka,” she said. “Do you want to come with us?”

“Is there gonna be darkspawn?”

“It’s the Anderfels, so most likely.”

“I’ll get my stuff.” She retreated back to her room, changing quickly. She’d been itching for another fight, but everyone had decided the day before to copy Rook and Bellara and use the day to take care of any of the other things they’d let fall to the wayside. She had spent the day hauling equipment from Rivain to her room in the Lighthouse, setting up a space to work out in. Even Assan appeared content, dozing in his leaves and accepting scratches from anyone who walked past, and the treats tossed his way by Neve.

Rook finished adjusting the circlet and strode towards the eluvian, recoiling when she opened the door to the room. “Yuck.”

Bellara and Emmrich looked up from the panel they were examining. “What is it?” he asked.

She made a face. “Blight.”

“That means it works!” Bellara said excitedly. “We’ve been trying to locate other eluvians throughout the continent but some are dark, like they’ve been turned off somehow. After Davrin told us about your friends being in the Wetlands, we’ve been working to establish a connection with one I thought I could feel through the ambient magic of the wards around the Lighthouse, but we couldn’t confirm the link had even worked, so you being able to feel darkspawn through it means it has.”

Emmrich saw Rook’s eyes glaze over at the explanation and chuckled to himself. “It should be safe to use now.”

She shook herself from the stupor her mage’s description had put her in and plastered a smile on her face. “Great work, both of you. Thanks.” She felt Davrin approaching before she heard him, but she was surprised when Assan looked to be attempting to drag the Warden through the eluvian, bumping his face into the back of his knees to keep him moving.

“He wants to start hunting,” he explained, ignoring the insistent squawks.

Bellara scratched under Assan’s chin. “Are you taking anyone else with you or is this a Warden and griffin only trip?”

“Taash is coming,” Rook replied. “I haven’t been to the Wetlands in years and we have no idea what we’re going to find.”

Davrin thought that was wise. “Can you feel it too?” he asked, nodding to the eluvian.

She wrinkled her nose. “It was nice while it lasted, to have one place in the world where we can’t feel it.”

Adjusting the neck of her armour, Taash finally appeared, nodding a greeting to the mages.

“Technically, we’re not in the world,” Emmrich interjected. “We’re in a bubble in the Fade.”

Before he and Bellara could pull them into a conversation Rook was certain she wasn’t smart enough for, she nudged Davrin and Taash forward. “Let’s go.” The trio stepped through the mirror into the ruins of an old castle decorated with remnants of the order, the two Wardens grimacing at the blight pressing against their skin.

“Smells bad,” Taash said, sniffing.

Assan’s ears flattened and he ruffled his wings, tucking them close to his body. Davrin agreed, lip curling. It hadn’t been this bad in the High Anderfels. “Not a great sign.”

“Rook,” Evka greeted her, not commenting on the circlet hiding the tattoos on her face. “Welcome back to the Hossberg Wetlands. I’d say make yourself comfortable…” She nodded to Davrin and the Qunari woman with them.

She planted her hands on her hips, frowning. “I could sense blight before we were through the eluvian. What’s happening?”

“That’s the question, isn’t it?” Antoine asked, barely looking up from the mechanical looking object in his hand, a tool in the other. “Or one of them.”

“The blight’s always a problem in the Anderfels, so it’s not strange to find a corrupted patch of forest or swamp,” Evka said, leaning her weight on her hammer.

“What is strange is the sudden surge of blight through the Hossberg Wetlands,” he added. “Much like the village you found, the blight struck too quickly, and in strange forms.”

“It’s choked the whole area. The local village, Lavendel, was caught in it.” She jerked her chin outside, where the snow gave way to blackened, dead blight tendrils. “But there’s survivors. We can be grateful for that.”

Rook wasn’t sure how long they had to be grateful. “How many people are here? We need to help them.”

Antoine answered immediately. “Of course. Evka and I are doing what we can.”

“So you keep your eye on the big picture for now,” the dwarf said.

“As far as we can tell, the gods you’re chasing weren’t here directly.”

“If the blight’s really changed, then the changes are widespread. As for how much…” she trailed off, shrugging.

“I… I can almost sense something in there. Another sound under the blight’s usual song.”

Davrin and Rook exchanged an uneasy glance. “Sensing the blight is one thing,” she replied slowly. “What you’re saying is… concerning.” It was beyond concerning. It was downright worrisome.

Evka thought so too. “When we met,” she said to her husband, “You tried to block the sound out. Now you hear too much.”

He shrugged, apparently not as perturbed as the other Wardens. “If it helps, that’s what we’re here for.”

“Okay,” Rook sighed. “This all sounds awful. And we’re standing in the middle of it. Which is normal for me.”

The dwarf chuckled. “We know.” Antoine snorted. The couple had been in the middle of it with her a few too many times now, but there was nowhere else they’d rather be.

“Is it sass Rook week or something?” she demanded, throwing her hands in the air.

Taash laughed.

She glared at her but didn’t bother dignifying the taunt with a response. “What’s the plan?” she asked instead.

“We heard rumours of the surge here and volunteered to investigate. The First Warden expects a report. Soon.” Evka made a face at the mention of their commander.

“If we want proof the blight’s changed, then this is the place to find it,” Antoine said.

“But the way the blight left the village… we’ve had our hands full just keeping it back and helping the sick.”

Rook had a feeling she was going to need several baths after this. “You need more to study,” she said, recalling how the elf from Orlais liked getting his hands literally dirty.

“Yes!” he said. “The odd growths the blight has formed, like boils, have surrounded Lavendel. I need more samples.” He rummaged through the jars on the table behind him, handing several smaller ones to Rook.

Davrin remembered the growths in the High Anderfels. If Antoine could give them an answer about what they were and how the darkspawn were using them to travel from the Deep Roads, he was willing to find whatever he needed.

“Samples,” she mused, glancing at the dead blight outside. “That’s gonna be… gross. Probably the best word for it.” Maybe Bellara was right and it should have been a Warden and griffin only trip today. She’d need to warn Taash not to get any in her mouth or eyes.

“Probably,” Evka replied. “Have fun, and be careful.”

A devious smile spread across her face. “You know me.”

“Last time we worked together, you dropped a building on a pack of darkspawn.”

“You might know me too well.” She led Taash and Davrin out of the ruins, aiming for caves that were covered in dead blight. As they passed through the town square, she said, “Whatever happened here looks like D’Meta’s Crossing.”

He was almost taken aback that she’d even mentioned the Dalish village. “It’s still standing,” he reminded her. “And I’ll fight to keep it that way.”

She grunted in response, unwilling to talk more about it. Lavendel wouldn’t fall if she had any say in it.

“There’s a blight boil,” Taash said, pointing at the mass.

Rook made a disgusted face and collected some of the pus oozing out of it. Thank gods she was wearing gloves. “I’m guessing they’ll need more than one.”

“Knowing how Antoine experiments, yes.” Davrin knelt in the brown water, trying not to think about why it was that colour, and scooped up the blight from the next one, dropping it into the jar she held out to him.

“They talk like they finish each other’s thoughts,” Taash commented, thinking about the way the couple seemed to bounce an idea between them before even speaking.

“I guess it’s a hazard of the job,” he replied, wiping his hands on a rag he kept in his pocket for just this purpose.

“How do you mean?”

“They’re married,” Rook answered before he could. “Evka found him and saved him after a darkspawn attack in Orlais, and they’ve been inseparable ever since. Fight with another Warden long enough and it becomes pretty instinctual to know how they think, how they move. Add in the sex, I’m not surprised they can practically read each other’s minds.”

Taash turned to Davrin, unsure if she was pulling her leg.

He nodded. “I haven’t been married so I can’t confirm that part, but the fighting sounds about right.”

“Oh. Okay.” It made sense. “Do you two fight like that? Can I learn to do that?”

“We’re not having sex.” Rook stopped short, shaking her head at herself. “And I would never ask someone to take the Joining just to fight better,” she said seriously, hoping to change the subject. “Besides, two Wardens on the team is more than enough, no? We’ll start competing about whose whispers are louder soon enough.”

He pressed his lips together and looked away, unwilling to open up that particular topic for discussion. “I’ve got years before that happens,” he said instead.

Taash glanced between the two of them uncertainly.

She continued, hoping that if she talked enough about anything else they’d forget her slip. “The First Warden is still kicking, in spite of how many people who want to kill him, and you’re mildly more tolerable than he is so—” Her breath whooshed out of her when his elbow collided with her ribs.

Her words about the bond between Wardens came to mind again. These two hadn’t known each other much longer than they’d known Taash, but they bantered as if they’d been friends for years. She wondered what exactly went on at Weisshaupt to build people into warriors who could fight for hours side by side, go without seeing each other for a decade, and then come back together as if nothing happened.

“I’m sure we’ll all learn how to be in sync with each other soon enough,” Davrin said, not really wanting to think about how in sync with Rook he felt when fighting next to her already. Her style complimented his, and his hers, and what one of them lacked, the other made up for. He wasn’t sure what to make of it. “Has Rook told you how her and Lucanis found me?”

“He told me how the Gloom Howler took the griffins.”

The elf crouched to scrape another sample into the jar, tucking it into her pocket, studiously avoiding meeting his gaze. “That story would go better with food and wine, surely,” she said.

"Okay." Taash wrinkled her nose at the ooze, food and wine last thing she wanted to think about right then. “Ew.” It smelled like death and decay, the way a decomposing body did. She’d seen far too many sailors washed up on shore to not know the stench.

“Right, the smell thing.” The prickling feeling of darkspawn crawled up her neck and she spun around, cursing at the sight of the ghoul with the bulbous head stumbling its way towards them. “Don’t get too close,” she warned, flinging her shield at it.

It shrieked and exploded before Taash could even pull her axe free. “What was that?”

“Something new,” she muttered, picking her way over the remains and collecting the shield. She needed to ask Bellara if there was a way to enchant the shield to return to her or something. “Tell me if it gets on you.”

“Why? What’ll happen?”

“Nothing good,” Davrin said under his breath.

She didn’t need to know, Taash decided. Or not right then. She could ask later, once they were back in the Lighthouse, far away from any creepy ghouls with exploding heads. “So you’re Dalish,” she said instead of thinking about what could be crawling beneath their feet. He, Bellara and Rook all had tattoos on their face, the blood writing, but each one looked different to the next. Those who followed the Qun didn't get tattoos, but the more people around her with the ink, the more curious she became about them.

He followed Rook across the rotting wooden planks, angling himself so he was between her and the deep water on their right. “That a question?”

She wondered why they weren’t aiming for the white ball of blight bigger than she was, but if the Wardens were steering clear of it, so would she. “I thought the Dalish stuck together. Why aren’t you with your clan?”

“Blunt and to the point,” he observed.

“You piss ‘em off?”

“Well… a little.” His mother’s words when he left echoed through his mind.

“Yep. That fits.”

“I can see a day coming where you and I smack the crap out of each other.”

“I’m free tomorrow.”

He grumbled, but Rook sniggered at their conversation, apparently content to let them brawl it out. “Darkspawn,” he warned suddenly, the whispers louder in this part of the Wetlands. He stepped back just in time to avoid the spear piercing his foot.

The spiker was on the other side of the water, hurling bone spears at them.

Taash waded through the brown lake without hesitation, aiming for it, Davrin following close behind, whistling for Assan.

Rook stayed on the wooden path, feet practically rooted to the boards. The water wasn’t so deep that she would have to try swimming, but it looked like it would come to her chest and she couldn’t bring herself to dip a toe in it. Luckily, the spiker wasn’t alone and the fight was coming to her instead of her having to go to it. Ghouls rushed for her and she leapt into the fray, trying not to slip off the path, gritting her teeth when the wound on her leg tore open again. She would attend to it later, not when it looked like brushing past the wrong plant would give her an infection.

The fight only lasted a minute or two, with Taash’s fire-breathing making quick work of the spiker, complimented by her axes nearly chopping its head off. Assan wheeled about to assist Rook, ripping the intestines from the ghouls with his sharp claws.

“Is everyone all right?” she asked, keeping her eyes down. She hoped neither one of them would notice she hadn’t been next to them.

“Nothing a pair of Wardens can’t handle,” Davrin replied. He had definitely noticed that she’d hung back, but he couldn’t fault her for it. “I’ve never seen a surge like this.”

She made her way across the rest of the decking without reply, collecting the next sample and slashing through the blight blocking their way.

Taash grunted. She’d heard the elf fighting from a distance, and it took a second to her to remember why, but they hadn’t actually discussed her fear of the water. “Sorry your clan kicked you out,” she said to him, continuing their brief talk.

He shot her a look. “I never said they did.”

“Did they not?” she asked, raising her eyebrows.

“Since you’re so nosy, I’m the one who left.”

“Cause they were pissed at you?”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Because I didn’t see a future with them. Not the kind of future I wanted.”

“I don’t get it.”

“Neither did they,” he sighed. “They acted like I rejected them.”

“‘Cause… you did?”

“I wanted to go my own way, not their way. Something more than doing the same thing all the time because it was ‘tradition’.”

“So that's how you pissed 'em off,” she said with satisfaction. It had annoyed her, to not have the full picture.

“Are you gonna back me up here?” he asked Rook, who had been silent during the exchange.

She hadn’t really been paying attention. The whispers felt wrong here, almost enticing. “I already explained Grey Warden stuff, it’s your turn to explain Dalish stuff,” she replied, gazing around the farmlands they found themselves in. There was less water, though it looked like it had definitely been flooded at one point.

“How do you two speak elven so well?” Taash asked. “My mother said it was mostly a lost language.”

“I can’t speak for Clan Sa—” He was cut off by a hacking cough from Rook’s direction. Right. “What I mean is, I can’t speak for all the Dalish clans, but my Keeper was dedicated to teaching us as much as she could about our past. Our language was the only part of it I enjoyed.”

Clearing her throat, she nodded in agreement. “Our Keeper was similar.”

“Oh. Okay.” That made sense to Taash. “They were like my mother.”

“Keepers aren’t scholars in the traditional sense, but probably close enough.”

~

Exhausted, covered in blood and intestines and definitely the taint, the trio trudged back to Evka and Antoine, where the samples were finally handed over. Rook had felt the weight of them as they traversed the Wetlands, trying to ignore the louder whispers emanating from her pockets. She also tried not to think of the foul water getting into the wound on her leg.

The Wardens had to empty their water canteens over Taash’s head to clean the ogre’s blood  that had been flung onto her face off, using rags Evka handed them to scrub the black sludge from her skin.

To her credit, Taash had tried valiantly to close her eyes when the spatter flew in her direction, but she’d not been fast enough to turn away completely. She held still as they rinsed her as best they could. “Yuck,” she commented once Davrin gave her the all clear to open her eyes and mouth again. “Don’t you two need to wash it off?”

He shook his head. “Perks of being a Grey Warden.”

Rook’s eyes shot to Evka when her husband didn’t comment on the impromptu bath.

His face was almost pressed against the large glass jar, his eyes roving over the samples greedily.

“Antoine?” No response.”Antoine!”

“Yes?” He pulled back, apparently with some effort. “Ah. Yes. The samples. They’re like nothing we’ve seen, or anything in the Warden records. And Rook, I believed you, but to hear it… I almost hear voices in it. The gods calling the blight.” He shuddered.

Evka squeezed his hand. “We knew things were bad, but if the blight’s being called, the situation’s more unpredictable than we thought. We need to—”

“I give you two rein, and this is where it leads, chasing Rook’s lies?”

She rubbed her face tiredly. Well, at least her nickname from Varric went all the way up the chain. Evka and Antoine had been happy to go along with it, but she hadn’t been sure if her superiors would.

Davrin’s back went ramrod straight as the First Warden stalked around the corner. Rook’s statement about being rogue when she tried to help him stop the Gloom Howler ran through his mind.

She had to explain quickly. She didn’t want her friends bearing the brunt of his anger. “First Warden, I—”

He wasn’t interested in hearing it. “You were told to stay away. Or does your allegiance to us no longer matter?”

“My allegiance is to all of Thedas. If you won’t listen—”

“Finish that thought, and I promise you’ll pay the price for your insolence,” the First Warden growled, shooting a glare at Davrin. He thought the younger Warden was better than throwing his lot in with her, but apparently he was mistaken.

She thought it would almost be worth it, to take a swing at him. There was little else he could do, except completely stripping her of her duties, but they both knew the Order needed her more than she needed them. “Is there any answer that would be good enough for you?”

“Rook,” Evka warned, dropping her husband’s hand.

She didn’t heed the warning. “What do you want me to do? Stick my head up my ass and pretend nothing’s happening?”

“She doesn’t mean that,” Antoine said quickly

She crossed her arms over her chest, glaring at the First Warden, who glared right back at her. “Yeah. Didn’t think so.”

“She knew something was wrong,” the dwarf tried to explain.

“I can hear it in the samples,” Antoine added. “The gods…” He was unable to get their voices out of his head. “She’s telling the truth. The blight has changed, and that changes everything.”

The First Warden sliced his hand through the air. “It changes nothing. Your sensitivity to the blight is useful, Warden Antoine, but you’ve had more than one snake in your ear.”

Even Taash’s lip curled at that. She expected Davrin to speak up, to defend her, but he said nothing. She glanced at him, confused. Weren’t Wardens supposed to protect each other? Maybe it didn’t count against other Wardens.

“I took the same vows as you,” Rook snapped. “We’re on the same side.”

“You’re on thin ice,” the First Warden replied evenly. “You tampered with a ritual the unleashed blight. You did not know what you were doing then, and you don’t now, much like the one time you were entrusted with command and then proved your inability to lead.”

She flinched, the words burrowing their way into her brain, reinforcing the doubts she already had about being the one in charge.

Davrin blinked in surprise. He’d heard the First Warden give a good verbal lashing before, but it seemed personal towards her. The malice he threw in her direction was almost cruel. And she’d saved that village. Now that he knew her a little better, he didn’t understand why the rumour mill made it out to seem like her recruits and the village had perished, leaving her the sole survivor.  He hadn’t realised Evka and Antoine were in the battalion either until she’d mentioned it when they arrived, yet they didn’t receive the vitriol Rook did.

Evka tried to regain control of the conversation. “If gods control the blight, we need to change how we approach it—”

“Archdemons control blight,” the First Warden interrupted. “And we’d sense if one had risen. We’d make the sacrifices needed to fight it.”

“But we—”

“The blight has increased,” he conceded, not letting either of them speak. “Now is not the time to lose focus. Wardens Evka and Antoine, are you sworn to combat the blight?”

“Yes, but—”

“Then report back to Weisshaupt and do so.” He turned on his heel and left.

Rook stared at the wall behind them, fuming, flicking her nail against her thumb.

Evka sighed, shaking her head in disappointment. “That went poorly, even for a talk with him.”

“Does a talk with him ever go well?” she hissed, clenching her fist. She definitely should have hit him. It didn’t matter that it would likely end up with her arrested and rotting in the dungeon at Weisshaupt, it was an opportunity she shouldn’t have passed up.

“Not with us.”

Anger crackled through her body at the First Warden’s dismissal of her. Again. “I’m a Warden. I know what I’m doing. Why won’t he listen?”

“You’re a good Warden. And don’t catch yourself thinking otherwise.”

“A lot of people are going to die for his arrogance.” She sighed, looking down at her feet. She certainly didn’t feel like a good Warden. “But I need the Order’s help.” So much for convincing them.

“There’s you, Davrin, me, and Antoine. We make it work with the four of us. You two work with your new friends. Antoine and I will track darkspawn, and the blight.”

She wasn’t so sure she could include Davrin in that number, but she reined in the hurt and resentment, keeping her mouth shut.

“In so-called peace, vigilance,” Antoine said. “If we learn the gods’ plans, you will too.”

“You need to head back to Weisshaupt,” she said. “There’s no sense you getting in more trouble.”

“Soon,” Evka assured her. “We can risk a small delay before we’re missed.”

Antoine pulled out the object he’d been working on earlier, saying, “We’ll continue helping here for a while, and help you on the way if we can. Oh, and Davrin told us about your friend, the Viper. If he changes his mind about our Joining ritual, or needs anything from us…”

She rubbed her face. “Thanks. I’ll ask Neve to pass on the message. We’ll see you again soon.” She jerked her chin at Taash and Davrin, limping towards the eluvian. By the time they’d caught up with her, she was already slipping through the mirror, the ripples fading.

Taash grabbed his arm before he could follow. “What was that?”

He looked confused. “What was what?”

“You didn’t say anything!”

He was lost. “About what? What are you talking about?”

“That asshole in the fancy armour was tearing strips off Rook and you didn’t say anything.”

“We have ranks in the Order, Taash, I can’t just stop the leader of the Wardens from being an asshole because I don’t like what he has to say to my friend.”

“Some friend.” She scoffed and released his arm, rolling her eyes. “She said Wardens protect each other.”

“We… do,” he replied, still not entirely sure what was happening.

What had Rook said? What were the exact words? Because Taash’s words weren’t working. She regretted not intervening herself, but she’d been so taken aback by how much of a dick the First Warden was, she’d not been able to think of anything to say. “She said the other day that she could hate you and want to kill you herself, but if someone else tried, she’d stand between you because you’re both Wardens. Does it not count when the other person is a Warden too?”

She wasn’t even being sarcastic, he could tell. She genuinely didn’t understand why he’d not said something. And she was right to be confused, because he well and truly felt like an shitty friend now. “Oh.”

“Yep.”

He rubbed a hand over his mouth. “You’re right.” He needed to apologise for not stepping in. He knew she could handle herself, but if he’d been in her shoes, he would have appreciated someone backing him up.

“Yep.”

“I’ll talk to her.”

“Great idea,” Taash replied, definitely sarcastically that time, and disappeared through the eluvian.

~

It had taken three baths, and a very gentle washing of her leg, but Rook finally felt clean enough to get dressed instead of laying on her couch in a towel. She wanted to touch base with Neve to see how she was and if there was anything she could do to help. She refused to consider that the reason she’d locked herself away from the rest of the team was because of how mortified she was about her encounter with the First Warden and the lingering doubts he’d reinforced about her leadership abilities.

With a heavy sigh, she rolled off the couch and tugged her clothes on, creeping out of her room and across the courtyard on silent feet so as not to attract anyone else’s attention. She was successful, even though she could feel Davrin in his room, apparently just as unsettled as she was.

Neve was sitting at her desk when one of the wisps chittered next to her ear, announcing Rook’s arrival. She set down the coffee cup and clasped her hands together in her lap, waiting for the door to swing open and the Warden to appear.

“Settling back in?”

“More or less. Lots to catch up on, but when isn’t there? I’m ready to get back to work. If we could skip the personal catch up,” she added. “Not the day for it.” She didn’t miss the way the elf’s shoulders curled inward. She almost felt bad, but then the memory of the Viper’s new blighted nightmares flashed through her mind.

The dismissal could not have been more clear. She reminded herself of the horrors she’d seen in the fleeting moments after their arrival to Dock Town following the initial attack and shoved her frustration down deep. Neve’s feelings of hurt were entirely valid. “Take all the time you need.” She left, closing the door quietly behind her, disheartened. She knew that Neve’s friendships with Bellara and Harding had survived the choice, so it hurt to feel like she held Rook entirely responsible for the decimation of her home.

“Dweller.”

Her head swung to the Caretaker. She didn’t have another fight in the Crossroads in her and hoped it wasn’t going to ask for one. “Yeah?”

“The Wolf’s Den is open to you,” it replied before vanishing.

“The Wolf’s Den?” She turned, eyeing the structure of the Lighthouse. She’d thought it odd how large it was for only a few rooms to be inside the main building, but it made sense that Solas would have squirrelled his own private space away from others. That actually sounded good. She followed the trail the Caretaker left her, surprised when the door on the left hand side of the library slid into the ground, revealing a tunnel.

It led to an office, with tall statues on either side of the polished wooden desk. Another door opposite the desk opened to a balcony, high above the courtyard. Where no one would be able to see her. She could investigate the office properly another day, but for now, she just wanted quiet. The Lighthouse had become a place of solace — she snorted at the irony — where she couldn’t hear the whispers of the blight, humans weren’t sneering at her or her friends for the shape of their ears, and where she could pretend, even if only for a few hours, that the world wasn’t ending.

Rook sat down, leaning against the stone wall, and stared out into the Fade.

Chapter Text

Rook woke with a start, the whispers from the dream fading away, with a crick in her neck. She winced, rolling her head to try to ease it out, but she had a feeling it would take more than a gentle stretch to loosen the knot. She’d fallen asleep on the balcony of Solas’ office, apparently still enough of a soldier to be able to sleep anywhere. The thought filled her with a little pride, that she still had that part of herself. No matter what happened, with Solas, the Evanuris, the team, she was still a Warden. And that was enough.

She got to her feet, stretching her arms over her head. Judging by the shadows over the courtyard, it was early morning and she’d slept through the night for the first time in years, aside from when she fought dragons. Gods, she must have been more tired than she’d thought. She followed the scent of coffee to the kitchen, not expecting to see Neve and Taash in there.

“Why do you run around in fancy mage clothes?” Taash asked.

Neve glanced at Rook, uncertain. “Because I like them?”

She shrugged and dug around in the cabinets for the tea Lucanis had begrudgingly picked up for her, wincing when the crouch pulled the wound on her thigh tight.

“You’re barely even wearing a shirt,” the Qunari said.

Raising her eyebrows and looking at her outfit pointedly, Neve replied, “You fight Antaam with a bare midriff.”

Okay, maybe it was time for her to play referee. “Everything all right?”

“We’re fine, just trading fashion tips.” She turned back to Taash. “So what I wear is a problem for you?”

She shook her head quickly. “It’s not! It’s just… why dress like that? Are you trying to make your mother happy?”

“What’s going on? Something is clearly bothering you.” She gave up on finding the tea and poured a coffee instead, heaping sugar into it to make it less bitter.

“My bet’s on mothers and dresses,” Neve said.

Crossing her arms over her chest, Taash lifted her gaze to the ceiling. The conversation wasn’t going how she’d anticipated. “It’s just something my mother said the other day, that I act more like a man than a woman.”

Ah. Rook recalled the comment. It has been kind of a dick thing to say to one’s kid, but she didn’t know the mother and daughter well enough to intervene.

“And you feel like you should wear dresses to make her happy,” the detective concluded.

She scoffed. “No. Can you imagine me in a dress? I’d look stupider than I — I’d look stupid.” She caught herself in time, but barely.

“This isn’t about the dress, is it?” Rook asked.

“You don’t wear dresses!” She waved an arm at her attire. She’d never seen any of the women wear a dress or even a skirt in the Lighthouse, though she supposed the overcoats Neve and Bellara wore counted as dresses. She didn’t know why it was such a big deal to her mother that she dress in more feminine stuff, but being surrounded by others who didn’t care whether she wore pants or not was the first time she’d felt truly comfortable in years.

Rook glanced down at her pants. “I’ll only wear dresses that are absolutely festooned with ruffles.”

Taash cracked a smile. “Ruffles are stupid.”

“They are. What’s really going on?”

She looked down at her feet, uncomfortable. She’d just wanted to understand why Neve wore such feminine clothing, and now she felt backed into a corner. “It’s… I don’t know. She always says stuff like that. About how I dress. How I act.”

“And?” Neve asked, feeling there was something deeper at play here. She’d not had too many interactions with the Lord of Fortune, but it seemed like she struggled with something.

“It feels… right. When she says I act more like a man. It feels right.” She hesitated. It had been on her mind since she was young, but to actually verbalise it, say it to people who had their own shit going on and probably wouldn’t care one way or the other how Taash dressed or acted, was a relief. “Why does it feel right?”

“Taash, do you like being a woman?” Neve probed gently.

She scoffed again. “Nobody likes being a woman.”

“Ah.” She nodded in understanding, her friends in the Shadow Dragons coming to mind.

“This is stupid. Forget I said anything.”

“It’s not stupid,” Rook said. “I do like being a woman, but if you don’t maybe that’s something to think about.”

Oh. She couldn’t fathom what it must feel like to actually enjoy being a woman. Once she figured out her own emotions on the matter, she could ask the women on the team how they felt, because she wanted to know that sentiment for herself. “What does it mean?”

She blew out a breath, feeling entirely out of her element, but she liked Taash. She wanted to say the right thing, to show she was supportive of however she wanted to dress, or act, or refer to herself as. “It could be about your mother’s expectations, or how it feels to be a woman and Qunari. Or maybe it’s being a woman, period.”

“Some of my friends in Minrathous talk about not feeling comfortable in their own skin,” Neve added. “As a man, as a woman… I could see if they’d like to talk. Maybe what they say fits how you’re feeling.”

Taash wasn’t so sure it would help, but she was willing to try it. “Thanks. You do look really pretty.”

“Oh?”

“To look at. I’d smudge your makeup.”

She smiled. “Thanks for letting me down gently.” She picked up the serials she’d been collecting for Bellara before Taash had arrived and left the kitchen, nodding at Rook.

Baby steps, the elf reminded herself. It would take time for Neve to trust her again. She ran a hand through her hair, waiting to see if Taash would speak first. When she didn’t, she hooked her arm through the Qunari’s and led her out of the kitchen, heading in the direction of the eluvian. Breakfast could wait. It was still early enough that they had an hour or two before the others woke up.

“What are you doing?” she asked, a little amused, letting her drag her around the Lighthouse.

“We’re gonna go feed some birds.”

That sounded nice. “Okay.” Then she assessed what they were both wearing. “You’re gonna go to the beach in leather pants?”

Rook shrugged. “It’s not like I’m going to go swimming. I think I’m next on laundry detail anyway, so if they get ruined it’s my problem to deal with.”

~

They went to a different part of Rivain, close to where Taash showed Rook her birds, but instead of the edge of ruins they were on a small beach.

She sat on a log and stretched her leg out, waiting for Taash to initiate the conversation. If she wanted to anyway. Rook just wanted to give her the space to think about it and get it off her chest if she wanted to and figured Rivain was a better place to do that than the Lighthouse. She found a stick and started digging in the sand, content to let the sound of the waves fill the silence.

Taash stared out at the ocean, ignoring her birds. Her mother’s teachings throughout her childhood were at the forefront of her thoughts, but she’d grown up in Rivain. She loved Rivain. She loved being in the Lords of Fortune, who didn’t care that she was Qunari, or adaari, or a woman who happened to be a warrior instead of a scholar. They wouldn’t care if she maybe… wasn’t a woman.

Piling sand up in the shape of a pyramid, Rook used the stick to form a mote between the sandy fortress and the waves growing nearer as the tide came in. If they got much closer, she’d have to retreat further up the beach, but Taash didn’t appear to notice the water lapping at her feet.

“The Qunari have something called Aqun-Athlock,” she said suddenly. “It means born as one gender but living as another.”

“Is that how you feel?” She didn’t look up from the village starting to take shape in the sand, giving her friend privacy to work through her thoughts without someone staring at her.

“I don’t think so.”

She hummed in acknowledgment, expanding the trench to protect the smaller sandcastles.

“They even divide how they do research by what’s between your legs,” Taash spat, kicking a rock into the ocean. “They would hate that I’m a warrior.”

Rook scoffed in derision. “Their loss. You’re one of the best fighters I’ve ever seen.”

She turned then, almost unsurprised to see the sand village taking shape. “Really?”

“Mmhmm.” She tucked the stem of a leaf into the biggest sandcastle. That was the main stronghold, what needed to be fortified the most. “I could be backwards in thinking this way, but how you feel is more important to me than what the Qun says you should be because of what’s, and I am quoting you here, ‘between your legs’.”

Taash sat down hard opposite her, ignoring the waves. “I’m not supposed to breathe fire. Am I not supposed to feel like this?”

She looked around for a shell or small stone, something she could use as a drawbridge across the mote. “How long have you felt this way?”

“Years,” she admitted miserably.

“I don’t know your mum that well, but she reminds me of mine,” she began, hoping she wasn’t saying the wrong thing. “They mean well, but they don’t know how to show it in a way you or I get. They might say something stupid or say the right thing in the wrong way, but they’re showing they care the only way they know how to. I had so many fights with my mother because she meant one thing but the way she said it came across a different way.” She shrugged. “We worked it out eventually, but speaking to her can still be difficult, for both of us.”

She handed a few shells to her wordlessly, considering her statement. Shathaan did love her, enough to abandon her treasured library and flee to a potentially hostile kingdom. “Mothers don’t raise their children, under the Qun. The Tamassrans do it, but they do it so everyone can be evaluated and then assigned to their role. And it’s not all Tamassrans either, only the ones suited to raising children.”

“Tamassrans?”

“Priests,” she explained. “My mother was a priest and a scholar.”

“That’s why you call her Tama,” Rook realised.

“Yep.”

It was a sweet nickname, she thought. “Did your mother ever try to stop you from being a warrior?”

“She didn’t love it, but she never stopped me.”

“Maybe because she wanted to be the powerful person that you are, instead of trying to shove you into a box defined by the Qun.”

“Person? Not woman?” Something warm opened up in her chest at the word.

Rook dusted her hands off, finally glancing up at her. She felt supremely out of her depth, but she hoped she was being helpful, or at least not making things worse. “You tell me, Taash. What feels right to you?”

“I need to talk to Neve’s friends first.” She didn’t know the right way to begin deconstructing all of this stuff. The Qun’s way of identifying gender and forcing a role upon someone because of it had been in the back her mind all her life. She didn’t want to get it wrong.

“Okay,” she replied simply. “Do you want me to call you a woman still?”

“I’m…” She frowned, stumped. “I don’t know yet.”

She got to her feet, brushing the sand off her pants, and held out a hand. “Will you tell me when you do know?”

She took the hand and stood. “Yeah.” She didn’t have it all worked out, but she felt lighter for finally giving a voice to the thoughts that had plagued her for much of her life. It was a start.  She shook out her arms as if shaking off the years of hiding herself. To know that Rook and the others just wanted her to be herself, whoever that might be, spread the warmth in her chest to the rest of her body. “Wanna see what’s behind the waterfall? There’s usually treasure.”

The elf hesitated, eying the rushing water.

“I know you can’t swim,” she said. “But the water’s shallow.” She stepped into the small pool, demonstrating that it indeed only came up to her ankles.

“How do you know I can’t swim?” she hissed, looking around to see if anyone heard. The beach was deserted, completely empty.

Taash snorted. “Because you’re obvious about it. You wouldn’t go in the water in the Wetlands.”

“That water was disgusting,” she snapped. “I’m shocked you and Davrin didn’t get a disease from it or something.”

She wasn’t wrong. Her armour still reeked of the foul pool she’d waded through, but the spiker had to be killed and doing it from a distance hadn’t been an option. She approached her. “You don’t care about darkspawn guts on your face, but a puddle worries you?”

“Darkspawn guts can’t kill me.”

“Rook.” She crouched.

“Do you know how easy it is to drown in a puddle of water?” She backed away with a pleading expression on her face. “Taash, I swear—”

She lunged for her, grabbing her above the knees and swinging her over her shoulder, ignoring the fists pounding against her back. “You’re not even in the water.”

Trying to get her hair out of her face, Rook realised it was probably smarter if she didn’t move too much, lest she get dropped in the water. “You’re the worst,” she grumbled, going limp and ignoring the warmth of Taash’s hand on the back of her thighs.

“Deep breath,” she warned, not breaking stride as they approached the waterfall.

“What—” She choked, water going up her nose and in her mouth, her hair sticking to her face like a wet sheet.

Chuckling, she set her down, grabbing her arm when she stumbled. “See? Not so bad.”

The words that exploded out of Rook’s mouth were not in the common tongue, but the venom with which she spat them was more than enough for Taash to get the picture, and she couldn’t help laughing at the elf. She was drenched, her hair plastered to her face and her clothes clinging to her, making her tattoos visible through her shirt, yet she stood there, hurling obscenities at her in elven, waving her arms in the air.

Once she was finished cursing the Qunari, she smoothed her hair back from her face and took a deep breath. Her leather pants were indeed ruined, and it was likely her boots were as well.

“You done?”

She glared at her. She would definitely remember this and get her revenge. “Fenedhis lasa,” she spat, pulling her blouse from the waistband to wring it out.

“What does that mean?”

“Go suck a wolf’s dick.”

“Ha! I like that one.”

Bending over to tug off her boots, Rook replied, “The treasure in here better be worth it.” She flinched when the cold water touched her now bare feet and looked around for somewhere to place her boots. She would need to leave them out in the courtyard for days for them to dry.

“You can get new boots from the Lords. And more clothes.”

“I like these clothes,” she muttered, picking at her ruined trousers. They clung to the wound from the fight in the Crossroads. Her drunken stumbling and the confrontation with darkspawn in the Hossberg Wetlands had definitely opened it up again.

Taash’s gaze zeroed in on her thigh and she sniffed. “You’re bleeding.”

“Yeah, it’s the burn from the memory.”

“It smells infected.”

Her eyes snapped up to her. “Just how good is your sense of smell?”

“Pretty good.”

Heat crept up Rook’s neck. “How good?” There had definitely been a night or two, nightmares in armchairs and sleeping on balconies aside, when she’d had to take her sexual frustration into her own hands since they’d recruited her.

“Good enough to know all about the Grey Warden stamina you joke about.” It had been a shock, to leave her room and be hit in the face by the smell of her arousal, and she’d turned around and gone right back to bed.

Her eyes widened and she clapped a hand over her mouth, horrified. “Gods, I’m so sorry.” The other side of her, the one that was borderline desperate for some sort of sexual contact, was practically purring at Taash’s recognition.

“I’d tell you if it was a problem.” She tilted her head to the side. Was that… Surely talking about it wasn’t turning her on?

A different kind of heat shot down her spine at the look on the other woman’s face and she dropped her hand. “Still…”

“We’re both adults, Rook,” Taash replied, prowling closer. She could definitely smell her arousal again and it was awakening something in her own body.

She backed away, feeling like she was being hunted. It thrilled her. She’d been worked up for days, her fingers not even close to getting the job done the way she liked it, and flirting with two members of her team certainly wasn’t helping matters. She hit the wall of the tiny cave they were in and pressed her palms flat against the cool rock.

Taash saw the way her pupils dilated, even with the darkness in the cave making the irises shine. It wasn’t the unnerving green she’d seen the other day, but something that felt inherently… her. “Your eyes are pretty,” she murmured, placing a hand on either side of her head and leaning down.

It was such a basic compliment, but it made her knees weak. “So are yours,” she replied hoarsely, tilting her face up. Whatever was happening, she was enjoying it.

Waves of honey washed over Taash and she slid a hand down the wall to settle on Rook’s waist, feeling the goosebumps even through her shirt.

“In my daydreams, this is where you lean over me and slap the wall.”

She huffed a laugh, but grabbed her thighs, picking her up and pressing her into the wall. “You always have something to say, don’t you?”

She looped her arms around her neck, the warmth of her skin seeping into her body, her bones. She was about to reply and confirm she did, indeed, always have something to say, when Taash rubbed her thumb over the apparently infected burn on her thigh and she hissed in pain, jerking her leg away.

“Shit, what happened?” She set her down immediately, wondering if she’d come on too strong, too soon. She hadn’t thought she was, and judging by the scent in the air, Rook hadn’t either, but she didn’t want to assume anything.

Through clenched teeth, she said, “I think you were right about it being infected.” She pulled Solas’ dagger from her hip and sliced through the leather, tearing it open further to inspect her leg.

“Is there any part of you that isn’t tattooed?” Taash asked, kneeling so she could see the wound better in the dark, focusing intently on the injury and not how much stronger her arousal was now that she was closer to the source of it. She could just make out the lines of a griffin inked into her skin, the burn ruining some of the line work on the wings.

The sight of Taash on her knees in front of her, with her hands back on her thighs, was not helping the situation at all. “Not much,” she answered instead of saying something she might regret later, poking the reddened skin around the burn. Her skin was hot and swollen, painful enough to distract her even more from their interrupted moment. “Fucking mages. If we see any more of those portals, we’re not going in them, not until Emmrich and Bellara can tell us more about them.”

That sounded like a great idea. Putting some distance between herself and Rook was a good idea too. “We should go back to the Lighthouse.”

She looked between the dagger and the festering wound on her leg. Cutting the infected flesh out might be an option. It would hurt, but she’d had to do it for other Wardens in the middle of combat before.

She saw the contemplation on her face and snatched the knife from her. “That would be stupid.”

She sighed. “Fine. Let’s go.” She grabbed her boots and hobbled out of the cave, gripping Taash’s arm tightly when she waded through the small pool of water and holding her breath when they passed beneath the waterfall again.

Taash handed the dagger back to her once they were in the sunshine, still not liking how it felt, even though it appeared dormant. “How can you not swim?” she asked to distract herself from what had almost just happened between them, her mother’s words about coming on too strong again ringing in her ears. The dragon inside her roared its disapproval; the two of them were obviously attracted to each other and there was nothing wrong with exploring something physical between then.

She shrugged, unaware of the internal war raging inside her friend. “Fereldon gets snow, especially in the southern parts. I don’t like being cold or wet, so learning was never a priority.” She’d watched her cousins play in the water, diving into the lakes and cutting through the water as if it came naturally as breathing, but she’d enjoyed climbing trees more. Considering how much climbing they’d had to do recently, it had worked out well.

She was surprised, unsure how someone who apparently grew up in forests would never have learned how. Surely there were rivers or lakes her clan would stay near. “You don’t like being cold or wet but you became a Warden and spent years in the Anderfels?” She led her to one of the golden towers the Caretaker was sprinkling through all of Thedas for them. They’d need to find a way to lock them somehow, or they’d end up with uninvited guests to the Lighthouse.

“Weisshaupt was not pleasant,” Rook agreed, touching the golden tower. They reappeared in the Crossroads and she released Taash’s arm, limping up the stairs and through their eluvian. “Can you get Emmrich and meet me in the kitchen?”

“Why not Bellara?” She did not want to enter the death mage’s room at all, or hear the unsettling noises coming from the animated skeleton.

“She sleeps as much as I do and wakes up late,” she replied, trying to ignore the pulling sensation in the muscles of her thigh as she made her way up the stairs to the library slowly. Why were there so many stairs? “I won’t interrupt the little rest that she does get.”

Taash was taken aback by the underlying command in her voice, understanding that she was not to wake the mage. She’d never noticed that Bellara joined the rest of them later in the day, but Rook had. She wondered what else the elf noticed when the team wasn’t paying attention. “I’ll find him,” she muttered, ignoring the smell of dust and moss as she strode down his hallway, pounding on the door.

The clacking of the skeleton sounded and then Manfred opened the door, hissing in… greeting?

“Hey,” Taash called into the room, not moving a step further from the threshold. “Corpse guy.”

A long suffering sigh echoed through the room and then he appeared. “It’s Emmrich. Please.”

“Right. Sorry.”

He clasped his hands in front of him. “What can I do for you, Taash?” He was a little surprised she’d come to his door, believing she was the person in the tower most uncomfortable with his necromancy.

“Rook needs your magic, she’s in the kitchen,” she blurted before turning and almost running away. The overwhelming scent of incense and tree sap made her stomach twist. “Thanks for helping out,” she said over her shoulder.

He sighed again and went to collect his things.

~

Rook eased into her chair, finally alone and able to stretch her leg out. If the water hadn’t ruined her pants, slicing yet another hole in them definitely had. She scrubbed her hands over her face, smoothing her still drying hair back again. The list of things she needed to do were piling up and going hunting for clothes was not one she looked forward to adding to that list.

Something clattered to the ground in Lucanis’ pantry and then he appeared in the doorway, his eyes glowing purple. “Hello. Rook.”

So much for a few moments to herself. “Hi Spite,” she said wearily.

He inhaled deeply. “Smells like. Honey and rot.”

Gods, did she smell like honey to everyone? She pointed to her leg. “Is that what it is?”

He prowled around the table, coming to stand in front of her, staring down at the wound. “Yes,” he hissed. “No. Pride is. Nearby.”

She had no idea what that meant. Usually when the demon made an appearance, she was able to understand what he was getting at, but it was just them in the kitchen, and there was no one on the team she would consider so arrogant that Spite would nickname them pride. “What are you talking about?”

The door opened before he could reply and Harding strode in, stopping short at the sight of Lucanis’ purple eyes. “Rook!”

“He’s fine,” she said, waving away her concern. “What did you mean someone prideful is nearby? Everyone here is good. And mostly okay with you lurking in the back of Lucanis’ mind,” she added pointedly.

Spite grinned, an unnervingly wide smile. “I. Like watching. Not. Lurking.”

“It’s the demon,” Harding warned, wondering if she’d taken a blow to the head recently and that’s why she was willing to be sitting down with a demon standing above her. “He’s not fine.”

With what looked like a great deal of effort, Lucanis wrenched control back from Spite, blinking the fog away. He was surprised to find himself looming over Rook and stepped back immediately, feeling awkward. “Ah. Spite.” He must have fallen asleep. He and the demon would be having a conversation later about boundaries and personal space.

She wasn’t worried. She knew he hated when the demon took him over, but he seemed to know where the limits were. Or at least, he did with her. “He was playing nurse,” she said instead of mentioning Spite thought someone on the team felt they were superior to the rest of them.

He rounded the table and grabbed the coffee pot, setting it down between them and sitting next to her. “What did he want this time?”

She accepted the cup he offered to her. “He didn’t want anything,” she said honestly. “And he didn’t try to go anywhere either.” She rubbed the skin around the burn, trying to ease the pain. “Harding, sit down. You know it makes me nervous when people are taller than me.”

The dwarf scoffed, but did as requested. “I was going to make breakfast.”

Rook and Lucanis exchanged a glance. “Are you sure—”

She laughed loudly. “I’m kidding, but I’ll do the dishes for whoever does cook.”

He relaxed back into his chair. It had taken hours for his room to air out from the last time she’d attempted to cook for the team. “What time is it?”

“It’s still early,” she assured him. “I don’t think the others are awake.”

“Taash and Neve are up,” Rook said, tearing more of the leather away from the wound to see how far the redness stretched. It wasn’t looking good. “I asked Taash to find Emmrich for me.”

“I’m here,” the mage said, striding into the room, a small bag in hand. “She said you needed my—oh, my word. What happened?” He knelt in front of her immediately, eyeing the wound. It was most definitely infected, but it wouldn’t take long to heal.

“It’s from when we found that blue wolf statue,” she said, digging her nails into the arms of her chair as he went to work.

“Do we know what it is yet?” Lucanis asked, watching the mage in fascination. He’d seen festering wounds before but had never been interested in how a mage healed them. He was used to using poultices and herbs, something the Warden was apparently unfamiliar with.

“Bellara and I have made no headway, I’m afraid,” Emmrich replied, pulling a cloth from his bag to wipe away the pus oozing from her leg and then used his magic to probe the burn, seeking to know how far the infection had spread. She jerked in her chair, going rigid. “Sorry, sorry. Almost done.”

“Morrigan would know what it is,” Harding offered. “And she did want to meet with us.”

Rook groaned, resting her forehead against a clenched fist, at the feeling of Emmrich drawing the infection from her body. It felt like something being tugged from deep within the muscles of her thigh. “Gods, that’s awful.”

He didn’t look up from her leg, searching with his magic for any remaining infection in the tissue. She was lucky sepsis hadn’t set in, but she wasn’t far from contracting it. “This is a partial thickness burn,” he mused, furrowing his brow. “How on earth have you been walking around on it?”

“It doesn’t hurt that much.”

He tsk’d, knowing that was most definitely a lie. “Why didn’t Bellara heal it?”

She tried to recall what the mage had said before the wine blurred the memories. “She said something about how fighting in the memory made her magic… more powerful, but she burned through it quicker. By the time I got this, she was almost empty.”

That would explain it. “You should have told us earlier,” he reprimanded, wiping her now fully healed thigh once more.

Stretching out her leg and turning it this way and that, Rook marvelled at the brand new skin. Aside from the damage to her tattoo, it was like she’d never been injured in the first place. “Hangovers do wonders to make you forget about everything else.”

He pursed his lips in disapproval and stood, going to wash his hands. “Yes, well. Don’t let it get this bad next time.”

She rolled her head to wink at him. “You already know me so well to know this will happen again.”

He shook his head. Their battle through the Necropolis had been fierce and he had no doubt Bellara had been healing Rook as they went, her magic already more in tune with the Warden after being with her for a few weeks. “I’m happy to help.” He sat down at the table.

“Thank you,” she said sincerely, though she wondered where Taash had gone. Maybe their exploration through the waterfall was too soon after she’d started to work out who she was and didn’t want to be around Rook. She should check in with her, but the reminder about Morrigan’s request for a meeting unfortunately needed to come first. Harding had been right in saying that the woman didn’t visit crowded taverns just for the atmosphere. “You said you and Bellara haven’t been able to work out what it the statue is… I think Harding is right that Morrigan is our next best bet.” She really didn’t want to go back to Minrathous, but she would if it meant they’d have answers.

“Tomorrow?” Harding asked.

“I want to take Neve to Treviso,” Lucanis said. “To show her…” He looked down, trailing off. He knew Neve directed a lot of her hurt over Minrathous at Rook and he hoped showing her his home would help her to understand why exactly she had made the strategic decision she had. If the mage saw how few defensive capabilities Treviso had, she might let up a little bit. “I was going to show her around,” he finished finally.

“Take Taash with you,” Rook said. “Her and Neve were talking this morning, getting out of the Lighthouse might give them a chance to finish that talk. Emmrich, are you still happy to come with Harding and I to Minrathous?”

He nodded. “Of course.”

“Bellara and Davrin can keep an eye on things here while the rest of us are out then.”

Chapter Text

Rook kept her head down, grateful for Emmrich’s suggestion to wear a hood over her hair and ears. She was too recognisable in Minrathous after her failure to save them from the dragon, and the fact that she was also an elf only made things worse to many of the citizens. Harding had helped her make sure her hair was completely hidden from view before they left the Lighthouse, tucking the shawl into the neck of her armour so it wouldn’t come loose and reveal her heritage.

“I’m pleased to travel with you, Scout Harding,” he said in an effort to do what Rook had encouraged as they made their way towards the Cobbled Swan.

“Just call me Harding.” She paused thoughtfully. “Should I call you Professor Volkarin?”

“Oh no, Emmrich will do,” he replied. “This doesn’t seem like a group to insist on formality.”

“I’m surprised some of us still wear pants,” she said pointedly, chuckling.

“If I am given the option to not wear pants, why would I wear pants?” Rook demanded. “We’re all grown ups and legs aren’t that scandalous.”

The dwarf laughed heartily. “You could wear a dress.”

She made a disgusted sound, mentally agreeing with Taash that dresses were not for her. “I haven’t worn a dress since I was a child.”

“What about robes?” Emmrich offered, waving a hand at his own. They were exceptionally comfortable.

“Darkspawn don’t care too much about my sense of fashion,” she reminded them. “Armour keeps them from giving me nasty infections too.”

“I suppose we have to be on the lookout for mages in the Fade giving you injuries you don’t tell anyone about until you almost get sepsis, as well as darkspawn?”

Despite the admonishment, she was proud of him for stepping out of his comfort zone and joining in on the teasing. “Exactly,” she replied, winking.

“You should have seen Varric’s face,” Harding said to the mage. “It was two days after we recruited Rook and she came out of her tent with no pants, just a shirt. The poor guy nearly fell over.”

Despite herself, she laughed fondly at the memory. “You can’t tell me my legs are the first he’s ever seen, though they could be the tallest,” she said, then reconsidered. Nah. He would have met countless people taller than her, though she was definitely planning on asking him once they got back to the Lighthouse.

“I think you lose to the Iron Bull on that one.”

That absolutely caught her interest. “The iron who?”

Even Emmrich appeared curious. “I’ve heard of him, he was a spy in the Inquisition, wasn’t he?”

Harding shifted her feet, looking away evasively, unsure how the necromancer knew that. “Something like that. Oh look, we’re here!”

The Cobbled Swan appeared empty, though that wasn’t surprising after seeing all the death in the streets. People were too busy trying to find food and shelter to spend much time in a tavern listening to live music.

“Shall I wait out here?” he asked.

“No,” Rook said immediately. “We stick together. Find a table somewhere close by.” She didn’t like the idea of separating the team, as capable as Emmrich was. There were too many enemies with too many eyes in Minrathous for them to risk it.

He nodded and did just that, sitting down. He was ready for anything. Luckily, no one seemed to recognise he and Harding, and the idea to cover Rook’s ears and hair, her most distinguishable features, while not sitting well with him, had indeed kept their arrival to the decimated city from the Venatori. How much longer their luck would hold was a different story.

“Why did Morrigan want to meet in Minrathous?” Harding asked. “Isn’t she helping the Veil Jumpers in Arlathan?”

“Indeed,” the mage answered, appearing from the shadows. “But today, we have a guest, and she needed the anonymity that only a city provides.”

A smile broke over her face at the sight of the woman with Morrigan. “Well, look who it is!”

“Good to see you, Lace,” Inquisitor Lavellan replied.

“Rook, you remember how Varric and I served in the Inquisition? Well, this is Inquisitor Lavellan, the woman who led us all.”

She was taken aback by how normal she looked, strange metal hand aside. She’d expected her to be eight feet tall and breathing fire by the way people made her sound. “How many famous people do you know, Harding? Should I expect the Divine to show up?”

“She also served in the Inquisition, but we didn’t talk much.”

Remembering her manners, Rook said, “Andaran atish’an.”

“Aneth ara. I wish we could be meeting without our gods threatening to blight the world.” Ellana had heard of the young woman before her, and not just from Varric’s letters. It was nice to finally put a face to the name.

“A blight that spreads wider with each passing heartbeat,” Morrigan reminded them.

She nodded. The mage was right, this was supposed to be a brief visit to establish contact with Rook and her team, to offer any advice she could, and then return to her own battles. “Morrigan and Harding have told me about what you’ve accomplished since taking over for Varric. You’ve put together an impressive team, and you’ve got the best chance — maybe the only chance — to stop Elgar’nan and Ghilan’nain..”

Rook blew out a breath, more expectations adding to the weight resting on her shoulders. “We’ve been doing what we can, but I’ll be honest. Right now, it feels like we’re in over our heads.”

The Inquisitor nodded. She’d heard about the ritual being stopped, and the costs of stopping it, but right then wasn’t the time to grieve Varric. He was not the first friend she’d mourned, and it was unlikely he’d be the last. She could only hope that Hawke and Varric had been reunited somehow. “You’ve already faced setbacks, and you’ll face more. Your actions will have consequences.”

“Have you seen the blight all over Minrathous?” Harding asked. “We know all about consequences.”

Regret, cold and sharp, speared through Rook’s mind, making her wince and press a hand to her eyes.

Morrigan caught the flash of pain on her face. “Such thinking is a trap you can ill afford,” she advised, unsure if what happened was something more than a painful reminder. The ancient presence in her mind stirred. “Minrathous was blighted because of Elgar’nan and Ghilan’nain, but Treviso was saved because of you.”

“I wasn’t ready to become the Inquisitor,” Ellana admitted. “I wasn’t ready to have to choose between helping templars or mages, or decide the fate of every Grey Warden in southern Thedas. Eventually, when the choices I made caught up with me, I turned the Inquisition over to the Chantry rather than create even bigger problems. Maybe someday, you’ll face the same situation. But I’m asking you not to worry about that future until we have one. Right now, we need you to stop the gods.”

Lowering her hand from her face, Rook could see how the woman before her had been able to command an entire Inquisition. She was inspiring. “All right. I’ll do my best.”

“And while you do so, Rook, the Inquisitor will do her best to ensure the rest of the world remains intact. A daunting prospect, given that most of the South is under siege by darkspawn.”

“It’s that bad?” Harding asked.

“If not for the Inquisitor, the South would have collapsed completely. She has not been idle while you assembled your team.”

Images of towns overrun like D’Meta’s Crossing played like a slideshow through her thoughts and her heart ached for the losses Fereldon must have been taking. “I thought the Evanuris were mostly active up here,” Rook said, her mind turning to her clan, to Theron and the forests they’d roamed as children. “It’s really that bad in the South?”

“Elgar’nan and Ghilan’nain have indeed restricted their activities to the North, but the forces they deployed to the South — the strange new darkspawn — have spread a corruption greater than any blight in history,” Morrigan explained.

“Darkspawn have cut through the centre of Orlais. Val Royeaux and Halamshiral are barely holding out,” Ellana added. “Fereldon would have fallen already if not for the help from Orzammer. With Denerim lost, the Fereldons are holding the line at Redcliffe. The Free Marches have the worst of it. Acting Viscount Aveline Vallen led the evacuation of Kirkwall.”

Her heart sank. Kirkwall was the last place anyone could confirm seeing Theron, and the last place she’d received a letter from. If Kirkwall had been evacuated, it was unlikely he was still alive.

“She’s taking her people and what’s left of her army to help Prince Vael keep Starkhaven,” she continued.

“Maker,” Harding breathed. “We didn’t know. My ma…”

Ellana smiled kindly at her. “Don’t worry, I called in a favour with the Divine. Your mother’s safe with some old friends.” She was in the process of calling in other favours, but she didn’t want to get Rook’s hopes up just to dash them.

“Thank you.” She didn’t have any other words to express her relief, but she would send a letter the second they got back to the Lighthouse to confirm her mother’s safety for herself.

“The Inquisition might be gone, but my name still carries some weight. I’ve used it to get people working together where they can. The South is my problem, not yours, Rook,” she said firmly. “You stop the gods, and I’ll make sure the rest of Thedas doesn’t fall to the blight.”

“If the South is in such turmoil, why come up here just to talk? And how did you get here so fast?” she asked, her mind still firmly on her own family. Would warning them do any good? Would the missive even get there in time?

Morrigan gave her a knowing smile. “Did you think you were the only ones to unlock the secrets of the eluvians?”

Rook had a feeling there was something much more… more in the mage than she presented to the world, but Harding spoke before she could ask. “Morrigan helped the Inquisition use the eluvians to travel,” she explained.

“While I lack the Dread Wolf’s Vi’Revas, I may still scurry between the walls of this world to be where I might do the most good. The Inquisitor asked to meet you, and I thought it might help you to meet her.”

“I have a team,” Rook said. “But not much in the way of forces. If there’s any military support you can spare…” She would prefer Grey Wardens, but she would take anyone. The First Warden would have a conniption if a detachment of Wardens suddenly appeared without his authority, but luckily for her, she had connections. More than she’d realised, apparently. The Inquisitor’s experience might be what helped them turn the tide.

Ellana’s expression was grim and her thoughts turned to her husband and friends trying to hold back the tide of darkspawn. There was little she could offer in the way of numbers. “I’m sorry. Our forces in the South are stretched thin already. And I’m afraid the Grey Warden leadership doesn’t think much more highly of me than they do of you.” While some of them didn’t hold her responsible for what happened with Corypheus, far too many blamed her to be able to use her influence to beg for additional troops.

“The Inquisitor did not come all this way to leave you with empty words, however. She brought something no one else could,” Morrigan said, glancing at the blue statue Ellana placed on the bar.

Rook wrinkled her nose at it. “We found one of those in the Crossroads.”

“Something to do with Solas?” Harding asked.

Ellana nodded. “I found it right around the time his ritual failed, when he was pulled into the Fade. We’ve examined the magic, and it’s tied to the Veil. To him. Somehow.”

Well, that gave her mages something more to work with, Rook thought.

“Solas is ancient,” Morrigan said. “And his magic is part of him in a way far beyond that of mortals. I suggest you take it to the Crossroads and see if something in the Lighthouse calls to it. Perhaps it will yield some insight into your new ‘ally’.” Her tone suggested she did not think he was allied with Rook out of the goodness of his heart.

“I appreciate it,” she replied. “Solas has been helpful while he’s trapped in the Fade… but anything that can help me get inside his head will counter him getting inside mine.”

The ancient presence in Morrigan hissed in approval. She was pleased that one with the vallaslin dedicated to her appeared to be aware of the manipulative tactics of the Dread Wolf.

“Wisely spoken,” she said, agreeing with both of them. “Solas rarely lies directly, but he finds ways to weave the truth into a noose you find yourself wearing.”

Ellana nodded again. “I considered Solas a friend,” she said, looking down at her hand sadly. “I’d hoped to convince him to see reason. It’s too late for that now, but still… if this can give you some insight, help you understand him… whatever it turns out to be, I hope that it helps.”

Morrigan’s gaze snapped to Rook when she felt another primeval force reaching out, probing the world around them. They needed to leave. The longer they could keep the Dread Wolf in the dark, the better. “We should go, Inquisitor. The armies in the South need you.”

She nodded, understanding that the intensity on her face meant something was amiss. “Right. Harding, stay sharp. You’re my eyes in the North.”

“Always, Inquisitor,” she replied.

“Rook, good luck. If I come across anything else that can help, you’ll be the first to know. I’m here to help you, so please, if you have questions or need advice, write to me,” she said earnestly, determined to make sure the younger woman knew she wasn’t alone in this fight. She knew far too well what it was like to be thrust into the position of leadership against her will, and she knew how Solas would twist it in his favour.

“Thank you,” she said, blinking when the two women disappeared in a flash of purple.

Emmrich stood and approached the blue statue, bending to examine it more closely. It was almost identical to the one Rook, Bellara and Taash had found. Even the magic felt similar. “I suggest we do what Morrigan said and take this back to the Lighthouse.”

She agreed, but she wanted to touch this statue as much as she wanted to touch the last one. When neither of them moved to pick it up, she snatched it from the bar and tucked it under her arm. “Let’s go then.”

~

“You cannot do this, Elgar’nan!” Solas cried. “You swore that we would give up our commands when this horrific war was over.”

“Our people need leadership. If you’re unwilling, leave.”

“Our people must rebuild,” Mythal countered. “And we must help unite them.”

“So we did not fight for freedom, but to conquer this land and our own,” Solas said, sounding disgusted.

“We fought to win, and now the Evanuris are as gods. I do not answer to Mythal’s annoying lapdog.”

“The people are afraid,” Mythal agreed. “They must believe in something.”

“They need strength,” Elgar’nan growled.

“And wisdom.”

“They need gods who can protect them.”

“We are not gods,” Solas said. “You will learn that.”

“Every lapdog hides a wolf inside,” the All-Father sneered.

Rook squeezed her eyes shut and then opened them, her gaze refocusing. The headache she'd felt in the Cobbled Swan was back with a vengeance. 

“That was strange,” Harding said. “They were speaking elven, but I understood it.”

Emmrich was astounded. He’d never seen magic like this. “I believe we have experienced a memory in each of our native languages.”

“Not just any memory,” Neve corrected. “One of the Dread Wolf’s.”

“And the mages who declared themselves my gods,” Bellara added. “Well, mine and Davrin’s and Rook’s.”

“They’re not gods at all,” she replied harshly. “Much less my gods.”

“I’m with Rook,” Davrin agreed.

She was somewhat surprised. They hadn’t really spoken since they’d returned from the Wetlands after the disastrous encounter with the First Warden, but she had a feeling he’d been wanting to speak with her. She’d honestly been too busy, and had barely had a moment to herself let alone one for him too. “All right,” she said, leaning back in her chair. “What else can we take from this memory?”

Bellara answered. “Elgar’nan was hungry for power. Did anything he could to get it, and to hold on to it.”

Emmrich nodded, continuing her train of thought, “Then Solas, furious at Elgar’nan installing himself as a despot, started his rebellion.”

“Felassan,” Rook murmured, recalling the general who had seemed so pivotal to the rebellion.

“There’s another moving part in this,” Neve said. “Mythal. She was keeping the peace.”

“Mythal and Solas were close,” Harding supplied. “The Inquisition found a temple to Mythal, and there were wolf statues everywhere.”

Lucanis sipped his coffee. “Then she sides with Elgar’nan over him. A betrayal.”

“It sounded like Solas was loyal to Mythal,” Rook mused. “What did Elgar’nan call him? Mythal’s lapdog? And then she grabs power alongside Elgar’nan instead of standing for her principles. I’d be angry too,” she admitted, though she hated siding with Solas.

“Angry enough to start a rebellion?” Neve asked, raising her eyebrows.

“That’s not how he’d see it,” Davrin said. “He didn’t destroy the world, Elgar’nan did. Solas did what he considered necessary to stop him.”

“Solas would try to justify what he did,” Harding interjected. “But he’d also blame himself for what happened.”

Emmrich waved a hand at the second blue wolf. “Perhaps… these murals aren’t simply memories. They’re what Solas wishes to forget.”

“His regrets,” Lucanis realised. “That means they’re a way to learn his weak points.”

“Why are we worried about Solas?” Taash asked. “He’s trapped.”

“Right,” Bellara agreed. “But the Dread Wolf was the god of trickery. He’s looking for a way out. Bet on it.”

Rook was not a betting woman. She could almost feel Solas watching through her eyes; he was definitely looking for a way out. “Meanwhile, we keep our eyes open in the Crossroads. If there’s a way to restore the other murals, Solas would have kept it in his hideaway. It’d be nice to get inside his head for a change.”

“Should we look at the one from the Inquisitor now?” Lucanis asked.

She rubbed her face tiredly. Her couch had been mighty tempting when she’d changed upon their return from Minrathous, but it looked like a nap was not yet to be. “Let’s do it.”

“I was not certain you would come.”

“You are the one who walked away,” Mythal reminded Solas. “I never turn my back when my friend needs me.”

“The Evanuris seek the magic of the blight,” he warned her.

“Impossible. The blight is safely sealed away forever.”

“Though I wish I could believe you, I have sensed the breaking of the wards.”

“I will investigate your claims. If they forget the danger of the blight, I will endeavour to remind them.”

There was a pause. Then, “What if instead you left the Evanuris and remained with me? Do you not wish for freedom from this struggle?”

“Be at peace, love,” she replied soothingly. “I will stop them.”

“As you must. The blight is our mistake.”

Rook stared at Davrin, mouth hanging open. The blight was their mistake? How? What had they done? No one really knew where the blight had come from for sure, though there were definitely theories, such as the Magisters breaching the Golden City and unleashing the blight, thus turning the city black, or it coming from the Forgotten Ones in the Void. Had it truly been the Evanuris who apparently fucked things for the rest of them?

He looked just as rattled.

A letter to the Inquisitor to ask the many questions forming in her mind was the first thing she’d do once the team meeting concluded.

“Did Mythal call Solas ‘love’ in that memory?” Neve asked.

“That’s what it sounded like,” Lucanis replied.

Taash frowned. “So they were doing it?”

Bellara shook her head. “The elven gods were free with their emotions. They felt things deeply. The way they expressed things, well, it feels romantic to us, but that wasn’t really how it was. Back then, I mean.”

“Nah,” Taash said. “They were doing it.”

“Whether they were doing it or not, Solas cared about her,” Rook said. “That’s what matters.”

Neve nodded absently, trying to put the pieces of the puzzle together. “So the Dread Wolf goes to Mythal. They might be fighting, but they have a history.”

“And he warns her about the gods using the blight,” Davrin said. “That’s more important than his rebellion. It’s like kingdoms coming together when an Archdemon rises.”

“Mythal didn’t think it was possible,” Bellara said. “She said the blight was sealed away.”

Not sealed away good enough, Rook thought, but she kept quiet.

“There’s an old legend about it,” the mage continued. “Davrin, the one with Anduril’s armour. Not sure it matters.”

“I’ve heard that story too,” Rook said, dismayed. “The Armour of the Void, right?” Rumoured to be where the Forgotten Ones resided, maybe where the blight was discovered and weaponised by them.

“Yes! Anduril, the goddess of the hunt, put on armour made of something called the Void, and it drove her mad.”

She sighed. “And the other gods were worried, because she was doing horrible things.”

“Sounds like an elven god twisted by the corruption of the blight,” Davrin finished. They were on the same page.

“Right. And then Mythal turned into a dragon and fought Anduril in a huge battle.”

Taash started, sitting up. “She what? Why didn’t you start with that?”

Bellara suppressed her smile. “Anyway, she took Anduril’s armour away, then Anduril’s madness left, and peace returned.”

“Intriguing!” Emmrich said, leaning forward in interest. “So it’s possible Anduril stumbled onto the magic of the blight.”

Neve nodded. The picture was coming together. “And when Anduril went mad, Mythal took it from her and locked it away.”

“Until someone started using it again,” Lucanis reminded her.

“If there’s one thing Solas loves, it’s telling people they were wrong,” Rook said, remembering the time he’d taken great joy in telling her how wrong she’d been after they’d stopped his ritual. “And here he’s got the perfect opportunity. ‘Oh Mythal, you thought your fellow gods were so great? If only you were as smart as me!’”

“Is that what he sounds like?” Davrin asked, smirking at the smooth accent she put on to mimic the Dread Wolf.

“Yes,” she grumbled, shifting in her chair. “The bastard has a nice voice, I’ll give him that.”

Neve cleared her throat when Harding laughed, needing them to get back on track. They could crack jokes about Solas’ superiority complex when the world wasn’t ending. “So Mythal goes off to investigate what Solas says. Then what? It’s too clean.”

“Seems plenty messy with them going it,” Taash replied.

“But this isn’t just a memory,” she protested. “It’s something Solas wants to hide. What’s the crime? What did we see here that he feels guilty about?”

Harding frowned down at her hands. “I think I might know. When the Inquisitor was saving the world from the Breach, she met Mythal.”

“What?” Bellara gasped. “Like in a dream?” Knowing that her gods were walking Thedas during their lifetimes was mind-boggling, but to find out that Mythal had been present so recently? Her thoughts were racing.

“It was complicated. She helped the Inquisition, there was a magic pond, and a dragon—”

Taash listened intently. Finally, the conversation was getting interesting. “Nice!”

“The point is,” Harding said, “She also said that the other elven gods betrayed her. Killed her.”

Rook raised her brows. “Solas goes to Mythal, the one semi-reasonable elven god, for help, and the other gods kill her for it.” Great. “I imagine the Dread Wolf’s rebellion heated up significantly after that.”

“Right,” Bellara agreed. “And Mythal wasn’t there to keep the other gods in check anymore.”

“It’s not just that she died,” Taash said, recalling the fear she’d felt during Rook’s nightmare and that she wouldn’t have to chance to say goodbye to her mother.

“What do you mean?” Harding asked.

She shouldn’t have said anything. “It’s… ugh. There was stuff he wanted to tell her. But he waited too long. And then she was dead. He never got to make it right. That twists you up.”

“That’s it!” Neve said. “There’s our crime.”

“Doesn’t really tell us anything we can use though,” Davrin said.

“We know more than we did,” Bellara interjected. “That’s something.”

That was true. “Then I guess we need to find more of these memories,” Rook said, her thoughts on the legend of Anduril’s armour. With everything else about the elven legends being true, was it possible the armour was real too? Could it be used, or wielded, by someone? A Warden maybe? No, that would be incredibly unwise. She was so absorbed in her thoughts about finding an advantage over the Evanuris, she failed to notice it was just her and Davrin left in the library until he called her name, startling her. “Yeah?”

He set his shoulders. “I wanted to apologise.”

She was confused. “For… what?”

“For not backing you up with the First Warden in the Wetlands.”

Oh. “You don’t need to apologise,” she said, about to get up from her armchair. She was already over it, ready to keep moving forward with their mission.

He doubted that, but Taash was right for chewing him out. “Please, Rook.”

That made her pause before she sat back down, crossing one leg over the other. “If having the uncomfortable conversation will make you feel better for not backing me up when I risked my life, my assassin’s life and the security of our mission to help your griffins, then by all means, let’s have it.” Oh. Maybe she was more upset about it than she’d realised.

He raised his eyebrows at the small rant. “That’s exactly why we’re having the uncomfortable conversation.”

She played with the hole in her pants that she still hadn’t had time to replace yet, not wanting to look at him. It had hurt her feelings, even though she didn’t know why, when Davrin hadn’t said something to the First Warden. She didn’t need him to fight her battles, but it would have been nice for him to say… anything.

Exhaling, he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees to meet her gaze. “The First Warden shouldn’t have said those things to you, but I should have backed you up like Evka and Antoine did.”

“He didn’t let them speak,” Rook said. “He probably wouldn’t have let you get a word in either.”

Davrin shrugged. “Probably not, but they at least tried. I didn’t.” He hung his head, the First Warden’s verbal jabs at her running through his mind again. “Ma're a on Warden i ma'll prove him del.” You’re a good Warden, and you’ll prove him wrong.

“Is's the telam’ala,” she replied, trying not to let him see how much the compliment meant to her. He’s the worst.

“Vin,” he agreed. Yes. “Ar'm abelas,” he repeated earnestly. I’m sorry.

“Ma serannas, ma’falon,” she said quietly. My thanks, my friend.

He stilled. He’d been worried that when she hadn’t come to speak with him after returning from the Wetlands whatever they’d been dancing around was finished. He’d tried to find her the night they came back, but for the first time during a hunt, he had no idea where she was. He could feel her, so he knew she was in the Lighthouse, but it was like she’d melted into the walls or something. To hear her call him ma’falon filled him with a little bit of hope.

Rook twirled a lock of hair around her finger, watching him. “Do you want to take Assan to Arlathan soon?”

He looked up then, smiling at her. “He’d like that.”

She got to her feet, squeezing his shoulder. “Me too.”