Archive of Our Own ^beta

Lace Harding lies in the dark, caught between bewilderment and horror. This latest dream was the weirdest yet. And now, she can’t get back to sleep. 

Light snoring reminds her she’s not alone—Rook, asleep in the bedroll beside her. Separate, but close enough to touch, if she reached out. She doesn’t. Instead, she extracts herself from her own bedroll and slinks away into the night. 

Outside the perimeter their fading camp fire, Lace hugs herself and lets the serenity of the steppe settle her nerves. They’d camped at the top of a low ridge line. A vast expanse of grassland stretches for miles below to the east and south. Mountains line the other side. The moonlight leaves it all looking desaturated, reminding her uncomfortably of Elgar’nan’s Fade trap in Arlathan.

Not that she’d ever admit as much—certainly not to Rook. She was raised out there, grazing sheep on those grasses, and traversing these mountains. All through their hike here, she’d scampered over them like a goat, sure-footed and giddy, a big, dorky grin splitting her face. 
Normally, this isn’t Lace’s preferred climate—she’s really more of a forest girl—but she could listen to Rook reminisce about dust storms all day, for the simple way her voice softens when she does.

A familiar thrum resounds through her bones, like a plucked bow string. Lyrium, rising to the surface. Worse than a blush for the way it lays her emotions bare. Lace sighs.

Behind her, Rook stirs. Her brows pinch together in a faint frown, and she utters a low, disgruntled moan. Can she feel it, even from here? Lace retreats further, as close to the cliff’s edge as she dares. A spindly little tree had grown out of the stone, far enough back not to trigger Lace’s vertigo. It looks sturdy enough. She climbs it in a blink, and settles herself onto a branch with a good view of her surroundings.

And there she sits, feeling sorry for herself.

Much as she cares for Rook, their relationship—if it could even be called that at this stage—had gotten off to a rocky start. Heh. This new magic of hers was both a gift and a curse. Well, she supposed most mages felt that way about their powers, right? Except they weren’t at risk of sending their lovers into lyrium-enduced comas from a single kiss.

That left her and Rook at something of a stalemate. Heh. They’d made do so far with words and lingering looks—and when they didn’t suffice, gloves. Thick gloves. But she sees the disappointment in Rook’s face whenever they have to pull apart, even when she tries to hide it. She’s been so sweet thus far, but how long before she gets fed up and moves on?

Lace bites her lip. Moving on. From Rook. The thought makes her guts tangle themselves in knots. She wouldn’t blame her, of course. But she’d be lying if she didn’t admit—at least to herself—how much it would hurt. To be shown, yet again, that she’s not enough.

Shit, what if this problem never goes away? What will she do if the possibility of intimacy is out of her reach for good? What if—

“Lace?”

Rook’s voice nearly startles her from her perch. She looks down to see Rook standing at the base of the tree, looking up at her with a worried frown.

“Um. Hi.” She feels just a little ridiculous, like she’s been caught doing something she shouldn’t. “Sorry, did I wake you?”

Rook gives an amused snort. “How would you, from all the way over here?”

“Right.” Warmth creeps into her cheeks—just a regular blush this time. Why does she feel like she’s in trouble? “How’d you know where I was?” While she’d kept the camp fire in her line of sight, she’s well out of range of its light.

But Rook just smiles. “You always look for the nearest crow’s nest when picking camp sites. I figured that’s where you’d go if you needed to think. Room for two up there?”

“Are you sure? I could come down—”

But Rook was already reaching for the nearest handhold. In no time at all, she’s settled onto the branch beside her, closest to the trunk. “So,” she huffs, adjusting herself, “couldn’t sleep?”

“…Not exactly.” When Lace doesn’t elaborate, Rook merely accepts that with a nod, seeming content to sit in silence for a while. Never pushing. Always patient. “What about you?”

A shadow passes over Rook’s face that makes her regret asking. “Lusacan. Now that he’s awake, it’s wreaking havoc on my sleep.” 
Right. Wardens can sense darkspawn. And Archdemons magnify the effect to an insane degree. “I’m sorry,” she says, because what else could she say? “I can’t imagine…”

Rook nudges her gently with her shoulder, and the fleeting touch is enough to send a pleasant tingle down Lace’s entire arm. “You have nightmares now too.” 
Lace scoffs. “Yeah, but mine are about stupid stuff. Like trying to prepare a Wintersend feast at the last minute with half the ingredients missing—along with my breeches, for some reason.”

Rook laughs. “Maybe I should try that with Lusacan.”

“I don’t know if the ‘imagine them naked’ trick works on Archdemons.”

“You’re right. I should try it with Elgar’nan instead.”

The absurdity of that image makes Lace giggle hard enough to snort. But then, because her mind hates her, the image morphs into Rook, and the inner hum starts to get louder. Stop it! She desperately tries to imagine very unsexy things. Blight boils. Rotting corpses. Sick mabari puppies.

Slowly, the hum dissipates, and she breathes a little easier. “Sorry,” she mutters.

“It’s okay.” Rook gives her an indulgent smile. “I told you that you don’t have to apologize, right?”

“Yeah, you did. Sorry. I mean—” Lace groans. “Ugh, I hate this! I wish I could touch you. I wish you could touch me. I could really use a hug right now.” Stop making this about yourself, idiot! Humiliating tears start to brim in her eyes. She angrily wipes them away. “Sorry,” she repeats.

“Shh, it’s okay.”

Rook reaches out to caress her cheek, and that’s when Lace notices she’s wearing her thickest gloves. She’d known Lace would need comforting, and brought them with her. Absurd, how much that one little gesture means.

The tears overflow, pouring out while she’s helpless to stop them. Lyrium sings in her blood, making her veins glow through her skin. Rook waits her out, looking miserable and uncertain, whispering encouragement and endearments that mean nothing and everything. Until eventually, Lace is able to wrestle her emotions under enough control to quell the glow.

And then Rook, fearless, dearest Rook, frames her face with both hands, wiping the tears away with gloved thumbs. This is backwards. Lace should be comforting her. Much as she longs for it, she gently and regretfully extracts herself from Rook’s touch, offering a smile to show she’s alright.

“Enough about me,” she says. “Do you need to talk? About your dreams?”

“No.” Rook shakes her head firmly. “The less said about them the better.”

Fair enough. “Then… tell me something about you. Something I don’t know yet.”

“Yeah?” Rook sounds uncertain, but her lopsided grin returns. “You sure I won’t bore you?”

“You could never bore me,” Lace assures her with full confidence. “If it’s interesting to you, I wanna know all about it.”

Rook’s grin turns wolfish, and a glint of mischief sparks in her eyes. “Challenge accepted.”

While she launches into a long diatribe about the trials and tribulations of shearing uncooperative sheep, Lace rolls up her blanket into a makeshift pillow and lays it on Rook’s shoulder, where she rests her head. A soft wind sends pleasant goosebumps across her skin, and soon the soothing drone of Rook’s voice has her dozing.

They stay like that until dawn starts to creep over the horizon, and Rook wakes her up to watch the sunrise. As they watch the sky fill with color, Lace takes Rook’s hand and lays a kiss across the knuckles.

“Thank you for being so patient with me.”

“No need to thank me.” The way Rook’s face brightens sends Lace’s heart soaring. “I’m right where I want to be. Just being with you is enough.”

Lace’s breath catches in her throat, and for a moment she’s afraid of more tears. How could she know the exact right thing to say? “I feel the same,” she tells her, almost in a breathless whisper. Her hand lingers in Rook’s, and for a fleeting moment her gaze is drawn to Rook’s mouth. Slightly parted, full and promising. And a warm ache travels from her chest southward. “But don’t you worry,” she adds with renewed determination. “I’m going to fix this. Somehow. And then,” she lets her voice dip lower, “you and I have a lot of time to make up for.”

Rook beams at her with a look of pure heat that liquefies Lace’s insides. “I can’t wait.”