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Chapter Text

A letter, on fine quality parchment. The parchment is edged with a silver pigment, somewhat faded with age, along with a delicate green and silver geometric border. The Mercar family coat of arms centres the header of the letter.

Dearest Ulrike,

It has been several months since my previous correspondence and I must begin my letter with a sincere apology for the delay; I had envisioned my retirement from the army to bring peace and tranquillity, but managing the family estate since father’s untimely passing has brought a whole new set of challenges. Your previous letter was well received; your anecdote about young Kelsine had Jacob and I in stitches and I have simply lost count of the number of times I have reshared it. Fear not, for I'm finally returning the favour with my own anecdote for you to scandalise over before the other ladies spoil the news. For you see, it appears that I have recently acquired a niece.

No, you did not miss any official news; my brother remains a widower with no intention to remarry. It seems that he has gone quite mad and brought home a young girl found on the battlefield during his latest reconnaissance mission. A raider troupe brought down an entire village near Ventus, and this girl lost her mother. She is not known to the village, it seems they were passing through.

The girl is a scrawny thing, fair skinned and haired, and tall for her age. She's showing signs of magic, which may help reduce questions about her parentage once she enrols into schooling, but her accent is atrociously Marcher. I can barely understand her, but we’re finding our feet as the days progress.

I know that you will be home soon; I cannot believe it has already been two years since you went on your mission. I believe the girl is around the same age as Kelsine, so maybe a firm friendship whilst both girls learn to integrate into Tevinter life and society will help. I fondly remember our scrapes and hijinks at that age. Your return can’t come soon enough; I miss you terribly, for our weekly games of Wicked Grace in the veterans meets haven't been the same.

All my love and best wishes for your travels ahead,

Frances

--

A formal looking letter, the ink used has faded over time, indicating low quality. However, most words are still legible.

Despite being warned several times about her behaviour, Adella has continued to disrupt her class and is no longer welcome until a formal apology is received from her. I understand that she was not born into our society, however she has been at school with us for four years now, and we would expect better decorum in the classroom at this point.

Miss Mercar may also benefit from additional tutorship in her fire magic; she is clearly a very talented girl, but her emotions are getting the better of her. Next time, it may not be the school desk that she sets alight.

--

A letterhead from the Mercar family

Brother, I am not exactly sure what you want me to do, when you are currently in Ventus with the child, and I am currently in the mountains with my ill husband. Ultimately, you decided to give her the Mercar name and therefore the responsibility falls with you. 

Try as you might to justify her behaviour with her age, Adella will soon be thirteen, and must start to consider behaviour in line with our family values if she has any hope or desire of following our footsteps into the military. As it stands, I cannot see the Tevinter army accepting such a wayward, obstinate, ill-tempered girl for recruit training, no matter her firepower. Pun unintentional, but interpret it however you wish.

I will be returning to Minrathous in Winter as planned, and I will be happy to act as guardian to Adella and bring her to the family estate here upon my return. Once that time comes, we can work on a plan to bring her back in line with what I would expect.

As an additional side note, please may I recommend some elocution classes for Adella? When I was last home, I could barely understand her in my native tongue. Her Tevene is suffering due to her accent, and she seems to be using a lot of slang; many institutions may refuse entry for further study until this is rectified.

Your loving sister,

Frances

--

A similarly sophisticated parchment. The handwriting is nice, tidy, but evidently from someone too young to be using such nice paper.

Mother said that I can't spend time with you anymore until you stop talking about the servants and their rights. Really sorry. Maybe just apologise and replace her reception lounge curtains?

Don't worry, I understand that you’re passionate, but we can't really do anything, can we?

Sorry sorry sorry

Kelsie

PS: that fireball was really something.

–-

Another letterhead from the Mercar family

I enclose an agreement for 235 coins to replace the curtains, Ulrike. I can only apologise for the destruction, the protestation, and the abundance of ill manners from my ward.

I have read Adella’s response to Kelsine’s note, and she will be suitably punished. I have absolutely no clue as to where she learned such language.

Frances

--

A school report.

Adella now seemingly has control of her magic and is doing well in her lessons overall.

To support her improvement in attitude going into her final year of schooling, I decided to have Adella partner with Soren Havar for laboratory science. Adella continues to question authority, but her work will hopefully show considerable promise and improvement due to the support and mentorship from Soren, who is one of our top achievers on the Soporati pathway of learning.

--

A scribbled note, on a rough piece of parchment. The back includes an incomplete algebra equation.

Thanks for helping me with the alchemy test. Any plans tonight? Frances is out playing Wicked Grace with her old army friends.

A response on the same parchment, in smoother writing, the ink a beautiful violet.

Fancy coming down to Dock Town? Going to see an ensemble at the Swan. Wear some makeup so you look old enough to get in. 

--

An old folded leaf of writing paper. A crude but very cute drawing of a cat had been hastily drawn. Notes scribbled across the back.

-Happy 17th, Adella! Got a surprise, reckon you could sneak out later?

S

- Thank you! Nope, F watching me like a hawk.

- Even if I pose as your chaperone?

- My aunt hates you.

- Good. I’ll be at your window at 8.

- Can’t you read?

- Got it covered.

--

A note hastily written on the back of a trading invoice. Ink is smudged, handwriting is poor.

Sorry, didn’t want to interrupt you and your friend. I saw you looking over, and you are the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.

My parents run the tavern so I’m around most days. Swing by sometime.

Evan

--

A formal letter, on silk paper.

Dear Adella Mercar,

The department has received and accepts your withdrawal from advanced study for the upcoming academic year. If you decide to reapply for the next academic year, please note that you will need to reapply through the standard application process.

Yours faithfully,

Rona Demaris

–-

A letter using the familiar Mercar family crest. This parchment has been crumpled and torn, as if carried in a pocket or backpack for some time.

Adella,

I am quite disappointed to learn that you have decided not to take our preferred route of advanced study, and that you have also withdrawn from army preparation training. Your father tells me that you are looking to become an activist. That’s his polite way of saying ‘unemployed’.

I know that you have found me little else but overbearing over the years for your protection, but if you take any advice from me, please heed this - stepping into Tevinter social issues is ultimately a suicide mission. I know your passion, however there is a reason so many of these causes are underground. They are full of overambitious fools that have no real concept of how society functions. And those who do often end up deceased. I in fact fear that you do not understand the real world outside of the guardianship of the Mercar estate. The best way that you can support your country is to support the people living there through protection and loyalty. You are (normally) an intelligent woman; reconsider your options. I will be returning home in a fortnight and we can discuss this then.

Your aunt,

Frances.

--

Another scribbled note and response between Adella Mercar and Soren Havar:

I can’t live with that woman any longer, I will actually kill her. If she calls that house an ‘estate’ one more time, I will not be responsible for my actions.

I’ve found an apartment by the water in Dock Town. Address is below, I’ll have a bottle of wine ready.

I know things are rough at home. I can make some room for you if needed.

A

--

I’m in. Let’s do this.

S

–-

A sun-faded note, on the back of a tavern trading invoice. Handwriting seems to have been smudged again.

Adella,

I’ll be blunt. It’s been impossible to see you. In the last month, the only time I have seen you is when you’re drinking in here with Soren.

I know what you two are doing, by the way. You’ve tried to hide it, but I’ve seen enough rebels in the tavern to know how one acts.

You’ve never let me in. Maybe to protect me. But I think it’s the thrill of it all for you.

I don't think this is going to work out. You're a great girl, but it's clear that I'm not your priority. I thought we would be married by now. I don’t think it ever even occurred to you what I may want.

I’m sure the right man will sweep you off your feet. I don’t think that’s me.

Evan

A scribbled note at the bottom of the letter, added some time later.

He wanted to marry you? Has he forgotten that you are twenty two ? Flannel.

S--

A series of hastily scribbled notes, decoded.

A,

Not sure what name you're using at the moment, so I'll keep it short. Got a lead on that group. I’ll meet you at our usual spot at dusk.

Viper

__

Soren,

Use Ignis going forward, don’t want people tracing me back to my father. Not many people with my name in this part of the world.

A

--

Last night was fun. You’re just as fiery between the sheets as you are in battle, Igs.

Thanks for your help on the mission. I'll keep you posted on any leads.

And if you fancy a replay of last night…you know where to find me.

G

–-

Iggy,

Got your note, seems we keep missing each other at the moment, Tarquin is keeping me busy with my ear to the ground with any rumours. Got a tip from Julian that the Venatori may be targeting military families for recruitment. I’ll let you know if your cousins’ names come up, but it seems our families haven’t taken them up on their offers yet, thank fuck. Don’t think I could live with the embarrassment.

-S

PS: Shame about G. Why are there so many gorgeous men out there that don't know how to fuck? Plenty of fish out there, Igs. Though you might have already caught half of them at this rate.

–-

S,

Do you mean Julian Caius? Julian who used to try and beat you up after school, until he got a fireball up his arse? The one that I got a month of lunchtime detentions for? THAT Julian?

Didn’t think he’d help us. The more you know.

Wish Tarquin would just let us pair up again to be honest. All of these newbies that he keeps making me patrol with make me want to rip my hair out. They all make me feel ancient. And none of them can aim for shit.

Igs

PS: Met a gorgeous guy at the tavern last night, went upstairs, took off his clothes, and his wedding ring fell out of his pocket. Can’t wait for him to try and explain the burn on his arse to his wife. Men are pigs. Yourself mostly excluded.

PPS: Actually, scratch that. You're a pig too. Half of Dock Town? Cheeky git.

–-

Iggy,

He likes me a lot more than he did in school. I’ll be taking no further questions at this time.

-S

PS: Miss your stupid face. No one else talks shit around here, it’s so fucking boring.

--

A letter from the Mercar family. This one has been kept in excellent condition.

I hope this finds you well, Adella, though I hear you're not using that name often these days. I do find that a shame, as it was the only thing you had when I found you.

I’m surprised it's taken until your twenty-fifth year to approach me on the topic of your parentage - you were only seven years old when you entered my care, and the details you were able to recall were understandably hazy. However, forced retirement from the army has not suited me, as a man who likes to keep busy, and I needed a project.

We had a few clues on your mother's origins from her body when we found you. Your mother was born in Starkhaven, an only child. She was not a mage - her family traded textiles. It seems that your mother left the family home shortly before your birth and settled in the village that you remember calling home in the Marches. I think it’s a fair assumption to make that she was travelling to Tevinter to escape the threat of templars taking you once your magic started to manifest.

Unfortunately, whilst your birth was recorded, records do not specify your natural father's name, and your mother never married. It's likely that your father was an apostate or from Tevinter, hence why your mother came here -  that trail has gone cold.

I hope you realise that the information means little to me in any case. I may not have been a present father, and I often lost my way in providing the structure you needed, but giving you an environment to become the determined woman you are today is probably my biggest victory.

Stay safe out there - it's a noble fight that you're undertaking. Don’t listen to Frances - she’s only doing what she thinks she should be doing, not what she would want to do, in your shoes.

--

Some additional notes, more recent, decoded.

Ignis,

You’re needed in Nessus, need a bodyguard for someone investigating a slaving ring. Looks like Venatori are involved.

Entourage leaves at dawn, don’t be late.

Viper

–-

Iggy,

Heard what happened, hope you made those Venatori bastards pay.. I would say that I was proud of you, but I’m not because now I need to go find a new partner, and no one else will get shitfaced with me after patrol.

On a serious note, I hope you’re okay. I know Tarquin told you to keep yourself low but not everyone agrees. I’ve set up a few wards to keep you safe at home whilst I’m not.

Take it easy, rest up. You did good.

-S

–-

Got a tip about you from a mutual friend. Heard you're good at finding people, and you're looking for work. What do you know about elven gods?

--

Varric,

What kind of name is Rook, anyway? The bird? Or the chess piece?

I have a codename. Don’t make me change it again.

--

Sorry kid, the name is final. No refunds.

Meet me tomorrow. Bring your gear.

–-

A letter, written on plain parchment.

Soren,

Just sending a quick note to let you know I'm fine. For fuck’s sake, stop asking Tarquin for updates. I was in Dock Town a few days ago, and had him demanding that I contact you or he'd personally make sure you get a notification of my death.

I am genuinely sorry I concerned you, though. The plan went sideways. You probably saw the light show outside our place.  A couple of bad injuries on our side, and we’ve been scrambling ever since to get back on track. 

Some updates: I’m now working with the infamous Neve Gallus (who you would LOVE) - yes, she does actually exist.  I have an elven god in my brain. And I might have accidentally started the end of the world.

Once I’ve figured out which way is up, I'll let you know when I need you.

Rook

(Yes, the name has stuck  - please use it going forward)

Chapter Text

Rook folded the letter to Soren in thirds and placed it on Neve's desk, ready for delivery. She flexed her hands from the ache of writing the note so quickly - she had foregone her calligraphy script in favour of speed. Rook didn't think she would ever need to write such wordy letters again. However, finding herself in the middle of world-changing events meant that she had started to receive very important letters from very important people. Magisters. Faction leaders. Even a letter from the Inquisitor; she wasn’t quite ready to read an advisory missive from someone who had found themselves in very similar shoes to hers. It made the impending doom far too real. Besides, she wasn’t one to communicate via words; fire and fists usually involved less effort and more direct results.

She paced around the room, going anxious. She didn't like giving herself too much time to think. They would be leaving for Antiva shortly, once Harding had finished preparing their equipment; the scout refused her help, knowing that Rook would try and bring too much into her travelling pack. Like muscle memory, Rook repeatedly tapped over her belt and pockets to check she had everything, grounding herself.

She had barely left Tevinter prior to signing onto Varric and Harding’s investigation. It had been an incredible change of pace, traipsing through elven ruins throughout Thedas. In the past few days alone, she had been awestruck at the floating ruins of Arlathan, and enamoured with discovering new routes and rooms within the Lighthouse. This called to her inquisitive and bold nature that had done her well with the Dragons through her young adulthood. But now Varric had been seriously injured, she was the one taking up the lead; no small task, especially now that they were hunting down not one god, but two. But she had disrupted the ritual and let the gods out of their prison, and therefore it only seemed right. Her mentor had been optimistic, and he asserted that she was ready to take the reins. It was uplifting to have Varric’s confidence, but Rook already felt exhausted, this early in the game. 

Sharing dreamspace with Solas had made her reluctant to sleep much, too. Their initial meeting in the Fade had been both unwelcome and disorienting, their shared connection to the lyrium dagger now in Rook’s possession the conduit for their meeting. Rook had been her usual headstrong self, which Solas didn’t respond well to, and the conversation was nothing short of a disaster. She had read enough to know that any word out of his mouth had a motive. She had met people like him many a time in Tevinter, and they were all deliberate and cautious in tone right before trying to sell her out. She had an advantage this time, for she had prior knowledge of his trickery. God of lies, indeed.

She had awoken in the Lighthouse. She and Neve had found their way to Arlathan, recruiting Bellara as an expert in ancient elven history and artefacts. Then D’Meta’s Crossing. One of her first encounters with Blight…and the blighted. She couldn’t help but draw comparisons between her own experiences in Tevinter with the town mayor’s corruption and greed. She left him there to suffer his consequences. Neve hadn't been impressed, but Harding backed her decision, which gave her all the validation she needed. She'd come to trust the dwarven scout’s heart for her moral compass over the past year. Rook would be the first to admit that the lines sometimes blurred when she was determined to just get the job done. Steadfast. Resolute. Sometimes a bit foolhardy. But it had worked so far.

Even then, once she had the support of the Veil Jumpers and the strange Morrigan, she didn’t get to rest. Neve suggested for the pair of them to return home, to their familiar streets of Dock Town. She thought it would be easy, a slower tempo after the pace they had been traversing Thedas, but the nasty run-in with the First Warden had proved otherwise. She hadn't reacted well, and narrowly avoided arrest thanks to Dorian Pavus of all people, revealing that he was also a Dragon. Frances would have been over the moon that she had the recognition of a magister.

Really, the whole thing had been overwhelming. A whole year getting up to speed with Elven history, events of the Inquisition, the map of Thedas. If she had known that it would become her versus the elven pantheon…well, she might have stayed home, instead of meeting Varric for that pint.

--

Lucanis had been everything she had expected, plus some things that she hadn't accounted for. The fine cooking skills. A moderate caffeine addiction. A kind heart. That was all surprising enough, even without the demon invading his body. Rook had seen plenty of rogue possessions in Tevinter, but it was the first time she had seen someone with such a calm, firm grip on one sharing the same body. If she was honest, she saw a lot of herself in that demon.

She was self-aware and realised that she had read far too many novellas as a teenager, but couldn’t stop herself from trying to charm the assassin in the first few weeks of working together. Lucanis hadn't taken any notice, causing her to wonder whether she had lost her touch. But then they had a nasty run-in with a group of Antaam soldiers in Treviso, where Neve had taken a sickening blow to the back of her head. Lucanis rushed straight to her side and brought the attacker down at lightning speed. One look at the expression on each of their faces as Lucanis helped Neve clean up the bleeding, and Rook knew that she would never have a single flirty thought about him again.  She hadn’t really had many female friends before growing up in the cliquey Minrathous hierarchy, but she quickly realised that they broke the mould with Neve Gallus. Rook's fiery determination to get the job done balanced well with Neve’s cool and sharp perspective, and Rook often found herself at Neve’s study whenever she needed to vent about a passive aggressive letter from a supposed ally. They would sit together, side by side, and Neve would objectively pull the letter apart and suggest a rational response. Neve was her girl.

And so after she had a pep talk with her ego, sincere friendship between the three of them bloomed. They shared recipes from their respective nations for Lucanis to try and replicate with varying success. They worked out gambits that would help them bring down enemies quickly, and spent many an evening playing cards and talking about Neve’s ongoing cases.

Then Treviso happened, and Rook and Lucanis’s perceptions of one another were splintered, like a cracked, blighted mirror.

--

Rook thought it would be a simple meet and greet, establishing connection with some more rational Wardens to help with their Blight troubles. It had started that way, meeting Antoine and Evka, but it quickly escalated into battle, resulting in her being the witness to the kidnapping of an almost extinct species. 

Griffons. Soren was going to think she’d gone completely batshit in her next letter.

Rook immediately felt more reassured that they finally had a classically trained warrior on side. Davrin was tall for an elf, though still shorter than her, and strongly built, with the ability to pick everything up in his stride with ease. He was a wind-up merchant though: “Not bad, for a Shadow Dragon”, he remarked smartly when she brought down a darkspawn single-handedly.

“Is that going to be a problem?” she had glowered, her staff still illuminated with flame. Most people would have stood down, but Davrin just laughed her off and carried on his way.

They would get along fine.

Rook initially thought that the others had come to meet her and Davrin at the Lighthouse jetty, and was ready to rinse them, however the mood quickly shattered as soon as she jumped off the Caretaker’s boat, seeing Neve’s hands quaking.

Dragons over Minrathous and Treviso, the gods taking aim at the two cities most likely to fight back in Northern Thedas. And of course, in classic decision making, time to save only one. Rook looked at Lucanis and Neve in horror, realising that the decision making was now sat with her. Her two friends would be going to their respective cities to defend them, and were just waiting for her to know where she would be going. 

Treviso was vulnerable, a city of commerce, not war strength. The markets were a dream, the people so warm and welcoming to her despite her background, and the ongoing Antaam invasion. They had little to defend themselves, except for the Crows, who were not trained for dragons. The city would be incinerated.

Minrathous was strong, but already burning. A city almost entirely led by corrupted magisters, many Venatori, left more vulnerable to further invasion of that bloody cult. They were more prepared for a dragon, but if it fell to blight and cult…they would lose the entire north west. And Nevarra would be in the firing line.

And the Shadow Dragons. Her family. Soren.

She didn’t know what to say, so simply nodded towards Neve and Davrin, and headed out.

--

They had done it. They had fought off the dragon before any grave damage was done and Minrathous was safe, for now. She had leapt back through the eluvian, and straight to the one leading to Treviso, thinking maybe she could get there in time.

Blighted. The sky was no longer the starry twilight that she had come to know, but a hateful, bloody red. A devastated Lucanis was waiting for her to arrive. He had waited a whole year to return to his beloved city after being confined, and Rook could feel the bitterness and resentment radiating. She nodded, knowing that she didn’t have the words for him right now. She had let the Crows down, and she hated herself for it. When she later marched back through the Crossroads to the Lighthouse, her thoughts spiralling, a fiery shockwave rippled around her, smashing vases and other leftover trinkets in the vicinity. 

But she refused to cry. She was furious. Fuck the false gods. Fuck the Veil. Fuck Solas.

--

A plain piece of parchment, with beautiful penmanship.

Neve,

I have already sent a note to Rook, but I fear she may be too afraid to open it. She avoids letters like the plague when she knows there will be something in it that she doesn’t want to face.

Treviso needs me, and I will do everything I can to bring it to some sort of normalcy. Spite is digging his claws in, but he won’t win. I don’t know if things would’ve been any different if Rook had come to Treviso instead. But I can’t help but to think…

I miss our late night chats, Neve. Send me some of your latest stories and theories. Keeps my brain busy.

Yours,

Lucanis

--

A scrap of parchment, rushed words, spiky handwriting.

Neve,

If Varric had told me that I would get a griffon to play with as a work perk, I would've signed up much sooner.

Have you heard from Lucanis?

R

A response on the reverse side, smoother handwriting, an elegant teal ink.

Sorry, Assan and I are best friends now. Sucks to be you.

You made the right call, Rook. Don't spiral on me, and stop avoiding things. Read his letter.

N

--

Rook had come into the pantry to check their supplies and got distracted by the empty cot on the far end of the room. She had previously tried to encourage Lucanis to take a more comfortable room, the Lighthouse forever expanding to accommodate their growing party, but he had stood his ground, so the pantry was his domain. She made a mental note to find some items to decorate the place before his return. There had been some beautiful trinkets and hangings at the market in Treviso. 

If the market even still stood.

If he returned. 

She sighed heavily, sitting on the cot. Sipping from the cup she was holding, she grimaced. She missed his coffee.

--

A roll of parchment, written in green-black ink. The handwriting is a far departure from the usual hurried words of Rook; time and consideration has been given to this letter.

Lucanis,

I hope you and your family are faring well in Treviso. Neve rarely complains, but I am not appreciating my attempts at coffee; we just cannot do it like you Antivans.

I finally read your letter, and I want you to know that we are doing everything we can to make them pay for what happened that night. I'm not going to bullshit you because you will see straight through it. No right answer, but I chose the one that was right for me, and I'm sorry that was wrong for you.

We're going to fix this. I promise that I will get the blight out of Treviso. To start with, I'm sending a Shadow Dragon contact your way to help. His name is Soren, he is a friend, he can be trusted, and the way he works a blade could even challenge the Demon of Vyrantium himself. Trust me. He’s saved my life several times over.

Neve and I are waiting for you at the Lighthouse when you're ready.

Your friend,

Rook

--

A scrap of parchment, familiar rushed handwriting.

Neve,

Think I just missed you this morning. I went back into the Fade prison with Solas. Place gives me the creeps. I still don’t trust the Dread Wolf, but he’s given us some sound advice. We need a dragon hunter. I remember one of Varric’s contacts is a Lord of Fortune - I’ll get Harding to reach out.

Solas also said to look for a Fade expert. To be honest, I’m not sure what a Fade expert could tell us that a Veil Jumper and TWO Shadow Dragon mages wouldn’t already know, but Bel seemed keen, so I’ll humour her, though her contact is a professor. My aunt will tell you that I famously don't do well with academia. He better be good.

Rook

--

Response on reverse, in teal:

Rook,

You never know; you might learn not to set your cloak on fire. THREE times this week.

The way I see it, they can research, and we can spend more time bringing down Venatori.

N

--

A letter on fine parchment, a beautifully intricate patterned border surrounds the text. The ink is black, written with a beautiful flourished calligraphy.

Dearest Bellara,

It is lovely to hear from you again, thank you so much for your letter. Given current events happening in the Necropolis that I fear may be related to what you have outlined, I am more than happy to discuss your current predicament with yourself and your leader. It will be wonderful to meet you in person at last, and the name Rook certainly evokes a sense of adventure and exploration.

I’ve enclosed the details of my current workspace in the Necropolis, but please let me know if there is any way I can facilitate your journey here. I should warn you beforehand: our lifts are quite compact.

Kindest regards,

Professor Emmrich Volkarin

--

The professor wasn’t wrong; the lift shafts were miniscule, and clearly not well maintained. Rook had been stuck in the Dock Town lifts enough times to know how to get them moving. Still, she and Bellara gripped onto the side of the lift hard enough to turn their knuckles snow white.

They had then been walking for about an hour, with little disturbance other than the occasional whisper, and the rush of wind through the tunnels. It was so quiet down here, so unlike anywhere Rook had ever been, but she found it a welcome break, until Bellara broke the silence by fretting about disturbing the professor’s work, fraying on Rook’s nerves. She hadn’t quite found common ground with the Veil Jumper yet; her incessant chatter did not flow well with Rook’s stoicism when working, though off duty, she found Bellara a lot more agreeable. She reminded her of some of the new recruits in the Dragons. Overexcitable, mostly harmless.  Annoying.

She spotted a tall, willowy figure illuminated in the dark. Shushing Bellara, the pair approached the man waving his hands above a plinth, clearly lost in concentration. Was that magic he was weaving? Rook had never seen anything like it. Her and Neve's magic was emotion manifest, rage and disenchantment in turn. Bellara's magic was bright and dazzling, and often gave Rook a headache if she stared too long, much like Bellara herself. This magic was different, soft, green and delicate, almost like broken spider silk, or flowing water. The cautionary tales of her youth conjured up a different image of necromancy; Shadow Dragons from more privileged backgrounds were Mortalitasi of course, but she hadn't worked with one, or seen such energy up close.

The man sensed their presence and turned, a green skull blazoned above his neck where his head should have been. She took a step back in surprise. Noting her apprehension, the spell was lifted, revealing the face of a man in his fifties. Rook clucked in tongue in self-beration whilst Bellara excitedly introduced herself; the professor’s face lit up, delighted to finally meet his penpal. They started to get deep into conversation, chattering away about the lifts and their correspondence. Rook realised that she was very much a spare part to the discussion, but cut in regardless:

“Rook. Shadow Dragon.”

“Charmed” - Emmrich either didn't notice, or simply chose to glaze over her impatience. How polite. Even with her considerable height, towering over Bellara, Rook still found herself looking up at the professor. His greying hair perfectly coiffed, fine attire finished with a structured coat with high shoulder epaulettes in classic Mourn Watch colours, and a variety of gold adornments. She couldn’t see a loose thread or even a crease in his clothing, despite him obviously being down here working for some time. She absentmindedly brushed down her own clothing, a well loved and dusty cloak and tunic, and just about suppressed the grimace threatening to appear on her face. She'd promised Neve that she would be nice before they had left, and she didn't want to upset Bellara either, after all the effort she had made in building rapport with the professor. But within an hour of being in Professor Volkarin’s presence, she was despairing. Was this middle aged man really going to join the mission? He looked like he'd never slept in a tent in his life, and spoke in flowery prose, especially for the Trade language that they commonly spoke.

Rook was horrified to realise that she was acting like her aunt. But it was absolute: this man was going to drive her mad.

As they travelled up the chambers of the Necropolis, they were ambushed by several groups of Venatori. She quickly took charge, shouting at the others to destroy the lyrium crystals protecting the cult first before tackling their aggressors. When it was all over, she turned towards her allies, poised to start ranting, whilst wiping blood off her face with the back of her hand. She noticed that the necromancer was deep in concentration watching her, assessing her. She frowned, causing him to snap out of his trance and comment:

“Your fighting style is quite unusual. Where did you study?”

“Minrathous, mostly” she answered sharply, “Why?”

“Oh, just curious. Your casting arm is a bit loose when you go for that third hit in your chain of four.”

“Right.” She brought a blunt end to the topic, not wanting to be evaluated. “Did you find anything on them?”

“A hand of glory” he gestured towards the ground, where the hand lay.

Rook wasn’t typically squeamish, but seeing the hand detached from anything else turned her stomach. If this was Nevarran death magic, she’d probably seen enough. As the professor went on to explain the hand’s purpose, Rook’s thoughts turned to the Venatori they had just defeated. They were looking into death magic. Weird, rare death magic, from what the professor had said. 

She realised that she was going to have to write to Tarquin. Wonderful.

Chapter Text

A roll of parchment, neat fine handwriting, but written in a rush, a couple of smudges on words.

Rook,

Treviso is struggling. Darkspawn are tricky fuckers.

The Crows have been mostly accommodating. I think they just want all the help they can get right now. But I do worry about what will happen when Lucanis leaves. I feel a few stares on my back. 

Plenty of Venatori here to bring down, so tell Tarquin that if he tries to push his agenda on to you. I'm loyal to the Dragons. But I'm more loyal to you, and you want me here.

Speaking of loyalty, I hear you're trying to help anywhere and everywhere; rather you than me. Glad to hear that you’ve ticked off another country, but that mortalitasi shit creeps me out.

I know we don't do affection and you will probably hate this. But times are tough out there. Take care. I miss you.

-Soren

–-

“I know you're scared of me, Rook. You didn't have to come out here.”

Rook’s heart dropped. She hadn't realised that was Lace’s takeaway from their first discussion about her magic.

“Harding, I’m not scared of anything.” She gritted her teeth “Especially not you. I'm worried what this magic will do to you. Not how you use it.”

“What, because I’m dwarven?”

“No, because it's already changed you” Rook leaned against a tree to adjust her bootlace, a trickier task than she first thought, as the laces were wet; she had slipped into a stream further down the path. She swore and sat down to concentrate. Harding threw her pack down and bent to look at the boot, extending all the way to Rook’s knee.

“Thanks” Rook grumbled.

“Is that why you haven't been taking me out with you?” Harding had her tongue sticking out in concentration; she was undoing the knots on top of knots. Rook never untied her boots if she could help it. 

“Tale as old as time where I’m from: friend starts playing with magic after being scared of it for years. Almost always the same outcome.”

“I wasn't scared, Rook. I was aware . Besides, this isn't blood magic.” Knots untied and redone, Harding slapped Rook’s calf and stood back up. “So you haven't seen magic like mine in Tevinter?”

“No, but I'm not an expert. It was almost like a possession. But you don't have a demon floating around like Lucanis or anything.” Rook shrugged, “You’re asking the wrong mage, here.”

“Yeah, I asked the professor about it. He said he’d do some reading.” Harding shrugged.

“Listen I…” Rook sighed “I seem to be pissing everyone off. You, Lucanis…Volkarin hates me, I'm pretty sure. He keeps commenting on everything I do. I’m not used to working with so many people.”

“Eh, it's fine. Well, not fine, but we're all just making it up as we go, you know.” Harding smiled. “Thanks for coming along anyway.”

A cry above them broke their conversation, and they both jumped into action. Rook tried to grasp into the rock face, but it gave way under her boots. Swearing, she started looking for an alternate route, tree trunks, hidden pathways. She heard a sound of movement behind her, and as she turned, Rook saw Harding use her stone sense to craft a way up the rock to an injured Veil Jumper. 

As they escorted the Veil Jumper back to camp, Rook felt her resentment evaporate; the scout had just saved someone’s life. Really, she needed Harding, and told her as such, promising to take her out on more excursions going forward. The universe seemed to be listening to her promises, as a missive was waiting for her on their return to the Lighthouse: Morrigan, with a date and time for a long overdue rendezvous.

–-

Rook had spent a lot of time in the Swan since moving into Dock Town in her late teens. The panelled walls and live music were space for both work and pleasure, and she felt strength in being back somewhere familiar. But in all that time, she had never seen the Swan so empty; how had Morrigan managed this? They couldn’t even empty the tavern when they had a rat infestation the winter before last. Suspicious of this arrangement, Rook turned over her shoulder towards Neve and Harding “Stay on guard.”

The advice fell on deaf ears, as Harding's face broke into a beaming smile, running over as two figures approached from the back of the tavern. Rook recognised the first as Morrigan, the strange but beautiful witch that had approached them in Arlathan. Harding clasped her free hand in one belonging to the other figure, an elven woman. Short, slender frame, an intricate curved dagger strapped to her hip.

Inquisitor Ellana Lavellan. The sketches blazoned on Venatori propaganda captured her angular facial structure, olive skin, and long dark hair, but could not replicate her gentle but powerful presence. They had also missed her Vallaslin, though that had probably been intentional from the Venatori, the weaving tree-like pattern covering her forehead and the bridge of her nose. Rook tried but couldn't place the elven god they honoured, her studies now feeling like aeons ago, and her brain tired. Mythal, maybe?

How many years had it been since the Inquisition disbanded, anyway? Eight? Ten? Surprised to see that the elf looked around her age, a wave of inferiority washed over Rook. How did this woman endure being the face of a religion that wasn't her own? Repairing a tear in the sky? Being around people who saw her as lesser, because of her heritage? Rook grinded her teeth. How was she going to form an alliance with someone so otherworldly?

Not to mention being the former lover of an elven god. Harding had previously alluded to Solas and the Inquisitor, but Rook would have immediately known this from Ellana’s wistful handover of the statuette. Her dark grey, almost black eyes soul searched. A silent question: ‘Can I trust you with this? Can I trust you to keep him alive?’

Lavellan was placing her faith in Rook guarding the north whilst she tried to save the south. Rook felt an anger brewing as she silently nodded, a pact made. An anger towards the trickster who had betrayed this woman. The entire world. She reached over, and dutifully took the statue. Harding stepped into the conversation, demanding updates on Ferelden, and Rook took a backseat, relieved that the intensity of Lavellan’s stare had been broken. Neve leaned in and whispered:

“She didn’t do it alone, neither will you.”

–-

A torn out page from a diary, in beautiful, neat, even handwriting. The original page is crumpled, indicating someone had tried to throw it away.

I've been here for almost three weeks now, and have managed to house most of my vital tomes for study. Manfred has been an excellent help as always, though I must say that climbing up and down the ladders and stairs has done wonders for my knee joints. I must remind myself to keep up with such practice when I return home.

The Lighthouse is a marvel in itself, and most people have been very accommodating. However, I regret to say that the leader of the operation and I have a personality clash already. I see why Varric Tethras named her after the hardy, foolish chess piece. She charges in without any real focus or strategy. She appears to loathe conversation, preferring to act first, question later. Her magic is impressive but completely misshapen.

I dare say she is brash and rude.

Yesterday afternoon, she had taken me and Harding out to Arlathan to speak with Veil Jumper Strife (a very articulate, interesting person, as a side note - we spoke for some time about some artefacts that I am keen to follow up on). Why she decided to take me is a mystery, though I suspect it was so I could inspect Harding’s newfound ability in action.

We did find the missing agents, I will give her that. However, we were accosted by some rogue spirits (she called them demons but I shall refrain). She barged straight into them, spellblade doing relatively little all things considered, and sent a barrage of fire down to the ground. She nearly sent poor Harding flying down a waterfall. Very inconsiderate behaviour.

She also seems to rebuke any attempt for instruction or constructive advice and correction on her technique. I fear she may be somewhat of a ‘rogue spirit’ herself.

Her main saving grace is that she does seem very fond and interested in Manfred. Occasionally I see her teaching simple childhood games to him. It's moments like that - albeit incredibly fleeting - that I observe the leadership qualities that dear Bellara has endorsed. That makes me trust Rook with the mission, despite her apparent desire to irritate me in all avenues.

She is apparently planning on taking both Scout Harding and I to Rivain in the coming days. Let's see if -

The diary page is damaged further beyond this point, the ink running in places, making any remaining text illegible.

–-

After the battle in Minrathous, Rook was determined not to be on the back foot again. She had a new scar on her right shoulder from the beast’s claw, and the repair had been rough, even with the healing potions they had available. Neve had dressed her down thoroughly for diving straight into that battle. Davrin simply slapped her on the back, a huge grin on his face, impressed with the show.

She would have ideally brought both of them to meet their new ally, but both needed rest, and Bellara was holed up trying to access the archive, leaving Emmrich and Harding to accompany Rook. They had agreed to meet with Isabela, Varric’s old contact, to discuss the terms of service Rook was looking for. One of Isabela’s sentries checked over their equipment upon entry, and whilst he had been efficient and quick with both Harding and Emmrich, he took significantly longer with Rook, his gaze lingering over her, a man besotted. Rook repaid the flattery in kind, fluttering her eyelashes and tossing her hair, giggling away at his comments. Emmrich leaned in towards Harding, who was re-lacing her boots.

“Does she usually do this?” he inquired, seemingly unimpressed at Rook’s praise. It was brazen acting, and perfectly apparent that Rook had no interest in the gangly brute. 

Harding was equally exasperated “Just you wait until you meet our contact. Thank the Maker that Rook isn’t into women, or we would be here all day. Varric had all the tales to tell about Isabela when they ran together in Kirkwall.”

“That was the start of the mage rebellion, correct?”

“Yep. Varric and Isabela were front and centre of the Chantry explosion, along with Evangeline Hawke. She was involved with the guy behind it. Well, until that happened, anyway. Turfed him out of Kirkwall herself, if Varric was telling the truth.”

“Will Hawke be joining us for this expedition? I’ve heard such engrossing tales.”

She sighed: “We lost Hawke during the Inquisition, unfortunately.”

“I see, I’m very sorry to hear that, Lace. I hear Hawke was a force to be reckoned with.”

“Oh, Maker…” Harding held her hand up to her eyes to protect them from sun rays emerging from a rain cloud. “I only met her a few times before she passed but from what I saw, and from what Varric said…my ma would say that she and Rook are cut from the same cloth.”

–-

“Who is in charge here, Volkarin?” Rook’s temper flared, flames flickering around her fingers. She shook them off, keen not to have the professor comment further on her magic. 

He noticed of course, but chose his battle: “You simply can’t wade into a sand dune full of deepstalkers without any plan or technique” he said pointedly, trying to maintain his usual calm tone.

“Well, unless you have a better idea, that’s what we're doing” she snapped, “We don’t have time for silly little meetings about who should step where, we should just go.”

“A marvellous way to get yourself killed, Rook.”

“So is just standing here. Give me an alternative.”

“Note the rock face over there. Harding and I could climb up there, and disperse our ranged weapons. Then, as you clearly have a death wish, you could distract them on the ground.”

She paused, considering the environment for advantage. Emmrich spoke again: “I think you may be surprised.”

“I think you need to shut the fuck up.”

The cutting remark wiped the smile from Emmrich’s face. That was unnecessary.

“Rook!” Harding interjected, but the mage had already stormed off down the path, ignoring all suggestions. The scout turned and gave an apologetic look to Emmrich.

“Don't you dare think to apologise on her behalf, Harding. It's quite alright. I'm sure she’ll realise the merits of prior planning once she has an example to work from” he pointed to the uphill path up the rock “Let’s demonstrate my suggested method”

As Rook sliced the throat of the final stalker, she realised that she was fighting alone, and turned to the rock face, where Emmrich gave her a small wave. She scowled. Smug, satisfied prick. 

Believing his point had been made, Emmrich decided to follow Rook’s advice from that point and remained quiet as she spoke with Taash, their reluctant dragon hunter. 

Rook was getting a taste of her own medicine, encountering the towering Qunari, who looked less than thrilled at their arrival. He gave a knowing smile at Harding, who giggled under her breath. Rook’s brow was knitted in a frown, challenging Taash’s attitude, and for a few minutes, it was a verbal sparring match of the unstoppable force versus the impenetrable object. But eventually, Taash requested help with the dragon on the beach. Stealth was needed, and Emmrich considered raising the point that Rook was the exact opposite of such. But, he had already said enough, and she had declared her desire to take down a dragon this time after Minrathous; how dare he try and stop her? 

Alas, it seemed that the Shadow Dragon and the Dragon Hunter quickly found common ground in their shared disdain for the professor, so he offered to retreat to camp so they could proceed in a smaller group. On his return, he pulled from his reading pile and sat on his bedroll on the rock ledge, surmising that this would likely be one of the few times that he would be able to take in the Rivain coastline, for he would not be Rook’s pick going forward for future missions.

--

Hours later, as dusk began to roll in, the hunters returned to camp. Rook led, with a triumphant look on her face. Harding and Taash followed fifty paces behind, talking animatedly, replaying the fight with actions and poses as they walked.

“A successful mission?” Emmrich commented, without looking up. He turned a page.

“Antaam used some dirty tactics. I don't think it counts. But I’m sure Taash can find me another dragon.” Rook responded, unstrapping her shoulder and shaking out the sand gathered beneath “Ugh! Taash, how do you deal with this?”

“I don't know, guess I'm used to it.”

“It hurts!” Rook hissed, trying to brush off the grains from her skin.

“That’s what you get for having soft human skin. It’s good for it anyway.” Taash smirked “Do Shadow Dragons go outdoors much? Doesn’t look like it.”

“I’m sunburnt, and getting torn to shreds by sand. Great day all around.” Rook said sarcastically, unlacing her boots and tipping them out. The wind picked up and blew the sand from Rook’s clothing into the pages of Emmrich’s book. He gasped, and flipped the book upside down, losing his page in the process. He swiped at the pages, desperate to get every grain away from the spine, but it seemed a lost endeavour.

He turned and stared disapprovingly at Rook.

“It's sand.”

“And this is an antique text from long before you were born.” He disparaged her, tutting. Her face hardened, not liking his tone.

“What d’ya bring an old book for?” Taash interjected. Rook raised an eyebrow, clearly in agreement. 

He sighed and put the tome away in his pack, muttering: “The lack of decorum, Rook.”

Rook’s hands crackled like kindling on a bonfire. She went to bite, but Harding spoke first, raising her hand in protest: “The Caretaker at the Lighthouse might be able to help with cleaning the pages. Until then, we shouldn't fret. But Rook, you should apologise.”

Rook flushed, her already pink skin receiving a further flush of colour in her face. She stared between Harding and Emmrich, before sliding into her tent to finish undressing indoors. 

“Was it something I said?”

Harding looked around at the tent, then came up to him, speaking in a low tone that wouldn’t carry with the wind: “She’s from Tevinter. Talking about decorum and stuff like that tends to get her back up. Especially as she’s adopted.” Harding shrugged, “She had a hard time.”

Emmrich suddenly felt a glimpse of guilt. He hadn’t intended to embarrass or undermine her. But she wasn’t going to believe that. And besides, she had been hostile towards him.

--

Rook had been silent on the journey back to the Lighthouse the following day, and abruptly left the travelling party as soon as they arrived back, muttering to Taash that she would check in later. Stripping back the harness and fastenings of her pack, Rook threw items across her room haphazardly, searching for the new spellblade she had picked up in the Warden fortress along the Rivani coast. She wanted to show Davrin to see if he had any particular insight on the weapon; the blade itself was fairly simplistic, but the handle was intricate.

She half marched to Davrin’s hangout. Rook had been a little jealous of when the Lighthouse had unlocked the room for the elf; it was a good space, with lots of natural light, the complete opposite of the meditation suite that she had adopted, even if she had decorated it with items from home to make it feel more personal. She would’ve taken the view, though, if the Lighthouse had given her the choice. No such luck.

She marched in without knocking, calling out: “Hey, know anything about this?”

Davin was laid on the ground, in the middle of sit ups. He groaned and sat up, and noticing Rook, quickly wiped the sweat from his brow.

“Oh hey, Rook. What is it?”

“Found this spellblade in a Warden base in Rivain. I need to replace mine, but I wanted to check that I hadn’t stolen a precious relic or anything. Do the symbols mean anything to you?”

He examined it “Hell, I’m not a historian. But I think you’re good, it doesn’t look like anything I’ve seen before. Finders keepers.”

“Nice” she gripped the blade, brandishing it “Fancy giving this a whirl? I need to vent.”

“Alright.” He got up and threw on his shirt “What’s got you pissed?”

“Don’t get me started. Less talk, more sparring.”

“Works for me.”

Davrin grabbed his shield and they walked out into the courtyard. He reached the far side and turned, his shield raised. With a yell, Rook started to slash through the air, sending barrages of flame towards the Warden. He held firm, the shield high.

“Come on Rook, I know you can do better than that.”

“I just spent three days tracking down a dragon hunter. Give me a break.”

“Hmph. Typical Shadow Dragon, a little bit of hardship and they crumble.”

She held her blade, charging her mana for a strong attack. She rolled forward, and unleashed her reserves. A wave of fire crashed over Davrin and he took a few steps back. His shield lowered: “Not bad, but I think you can go for another. Or are you going to let me get the upper hand?” 

She smiled knowingly, and shaking off her hands, she went to charge again:

“What in the heavens are you doing?”

A voice cut through her concentration. A voice that she knew all too well by now, to her detriment. She opened her eyes to see Emmrich standing outside of the dining hall, a tea tray in hand.

“What does it look like?” she asked rhetorically. Of course, the professor had an answer regardless.

“It looks like you’re using a blade of unknown origin, untested, without knowing whether it has any curses or other nasty afflictions.” He stated plainly.

She rolled her eyes “I work with items like this all the time chasing Venatori, I’m not stupid.”

Emmrich sighed, trying to maintain his patient tone “I never said such a thing, please don’t put words in my mouth.”

“I don’t have to.” She stood down, lowering the blade, sighing “Fine, do you want to test it?”

“I can at least research the insignia for you.”

She rolled her eyes at a bemused Davrin, and placed the blade on Emmrich’s tea tray “Enjoy.” before marching off. 

Davrin looked at the professor: “What’s your problem? Don’t you think she has enough going on?”

Emmrich looked down at the tray “Yes, and that is exactly why she needs to be more careful.” he walked away, disapprovingly. Returning to his quarters, he put down the tea tray and rolled up his sleeves, frowning. The heat from the spellblade had cracked the saucer for his teacup. His lip curled. That had been his favourite.

Chapter Text

A small note, in teal ink. Handwriting is a neat cursive, with thicker lines, a well worn nib on the writing tool.

R,

Heading to Dock Town to scope out some leads. Want to come with? Thought you’d want some familiar ground under your feet.

N

--

Rook sat at the bar of a tavern, swirling her beer and taking in her surroundings. When was the last time she had found a moment like this? Probably just before that fateful night where they tried to confront Solas. She leaned back, trying to recollect.

Yes. Her thirtieth birthday. She had taken Harding and Varric to see a Ventus musical troupe. She wanted to show them something new; it was so easy to tar every Imperium citizen with the same brush, especially for outsiders who had seen little else but the corrupted culture of the upper echelons. She smiled remembering the troupe dancers, who had been very amused that she knew the steps. Varric and Harding had lapped it all up, and celebrated with her long into the night.

That felt like forever ago; it had been four months. Four months of endless tasks.

She shouldn't have even been taking the time now, if she was honest. But Neve had gone to speak to some of the evening market traders, her expression suggesting that this would require a more subtle touch than what Rook would offer.

No skin off Rook’s nose. She was brooding. Lucanis had returned from Treviso the previous night, promising allyship, and thanking her civilly for sending Soren. Yet, Rook could still feel his burning gaze behind her whenever she wasn’t looking. He was not the same person who she freed from the Ossuary. He was different… Spite may have influenced him more than he realised. She just wanted her friend to forgive her, and all anyone advised was to give him time. Rook wasn't used to that.

She downed the dregs of her glass. Whilst she couldn’t resolve that problem, she could cultivate a healthy bar tab, and burn a couple of hours before she met Neve back at the eluvian. She signalled to the barkeep for another beer, catching the eye of a handsome dark haired man from the opposite end of the bar. She spent a few moments conversing in an unspoken language, smiling and tracing the glass with her finger, leaning forward so he could see the curve of cleavage under the vest she wore beneath her light armour plates. He gazed up and down, taking a moment before he signalled her to move closer. His smile became an intense stare, a glare. 

A prickle on Rook’s skin, a second too late. A dagger flew through the air. She swooped low and evaded, taking the barstools down with her. She turned around, ready to send a flurry of fire bolts towards her assailant. But the stranger was already on the floor, knocked out. Rook was mortified as her vision fell upon Emmrich standing over him, staff in hand.

“Ah barkeep, I would like to settle my associate's bill, if you don't mind. And an unopened bottle of Tevinter red to take away.” he called across the bar.

“I don't drink red” she spat, temper rising, and her magic flaring in an aura around her. Not only had she been caught off guard, she was furious to see that she hadn't been left to herself as she wanted.  She had bitten her tongue in the rush. And had he been watching her the whole time? 

The landlord’s eyes rapidly switched between her and the bar behind him, and she realised he was afraid that she would cause further damage. She took a step back, hands raised, but glare fixed on Emmrich.

“A shame, but irrelevant. The wine is for me.” Emmrich didn’t even flinch at her tone or the flame pulsing around her. He smiled, then raised his voice: “Plus whatever my friend here would like to drink.”

She rolled her eyes and sucked her bleeding tongue, taking a moment: “The house white. Bottle.”

Once the tab was settled in awkward silence, the pair left in the direction of the eluvian, taking the side streets. Rook took a few angry, but deep breaths. How embarrassing. How infuriating .

“Apologies, Rook. I saw you go into the tavern alone, and felt obligated to-”

“This is my home, professor,” she interrupted, “women are allowed to travel alone in Tevinter. They don’t need chaperones.”

“Of course, but this is not a typical time. And you are not a typical woman. As your friend, I -”

“I’m not your bloody friend.”

A moment of silence. “My apologies,” Emmrich cleared his throat “but concern for your safety remains. As your comrade, I would like to remind you that our group falls without its leader.”

“Why were you skulking?”

He stared blankly, “I wasn’t skulking, that sounds awfully perverse. I didn’t approach you because you obviously wanted to drink in solitude, and I’m hardly your first choice of drinking companion. Why else would you go alone?”

She glowered, though somewhat relieved that he had chosen not to comment on what she had actually been doing at the bar: “What were you doing out in Dock Town anyway?”

“I do have commitments outside of our mission, Rook. I was visiting an old friend, getting some materials for reagents. I'm teaching Manfred some basic alchemy.” he sighed “He loves the clouds of smoke.”

Rook’s expression softened a fraction. She had taken a shine to Emmrich’s manservant, even if his guardian grated on her. Spirits were fun, something shockingly low in supply at the moment.

“Yeah, well. Lots going on'” she dismissed, as she squeezed between two piles of crates to head down an alleyway.

“A long and arduous story on young shoulders, I fear. Lean on us more, Rook. We’re here to help.” he paused whilst he followed behind her through the maze. Once they had both emerged into a cobbled square, he continued:  “We could even be friends if you so desired.”

She laughed, making him double take. It wasn’t a laugh of mirth, but rather bitter, sarcastic. She halted in her tracks.

“Are you fucking kidding?” She shook her head  “I know that you don’t trust me. Besides, have you ever heard of a stuffy professor being friends with a Shadow Dragon with no decorum ?”

“Stranger things happen. Moreover, I don't think you've made a very fair assessment.” Emmrich paused. “And potentially, neither have I.”

“No?” she turned to face him. Emmrich noted the hurt on her face, and felt another rush of guilt.

“I do apologise for my comments about your decorum. I always choose my words carefully, but I am not a man without fault or flaw. I should have considered the nuances between our cultures.”

“Right.” She nodded, tongue in cheek “You should.”

“Please could we start again, Rook? I feel like we got off on the wrong foot.” he breathed out, relieved that he had got her to stop marching for a few moments. “I want to know more about you. I don’t think you realise how fascinating your life has been for a man such as myself." He absentmindedly brushed down his coat. “As for your comment on trust…yes, you are rash and brash and I don’t always agree with your attitude. But that does not mean that I distrust you.”

Rook felt her cheeks flushing.

He shook his head, then took a deep breath, trying to de-escalate “I’ve seen you watch my magic. I could teach you how to focus that flame aura of yours that keeps spiking, or even teach you some necromancy, if you'd like. You'd find that I'm not …I believe your word was ‘stuffy’?” He raised an eyebrow.

She had been too defensive; the professor was genuinely hurt by her words too. She was grinding her teeth, and she felt a prickling along her neck - she thought she had outgrown this feeling of inferiority. But she wasn’t going to let him know what she was feeling. She instead side-eyed him: “I don't do well with being told what to do.”

“Clearly.”

Well, he had a sense of humour after all. She snorted and nodded at the street ahead, before they started walking again, side by side, the tension starting to break. They were close to the hideout.

“Shit. Volkarin... Emmrich. Thank you. For helping me back there.”

“Any true gentleman would have stepped in, but you're very welcome,” Emmrich leaned on his staff “and the offer remains for tutorship, anytime.”

“Thanks, but no thanks.”

“The offer remains.” he repeated more firmly. He raised his arm up towards the hideout “Now, forgive me for being pushy, but do you think we could enjoy a glass of wine together back at the Lighthouse before retiring for the eve? You may have said we're not friends. However, if we're going to all survive this and work together, I think we need to remedy that.” his eyes twinkled, creasing into a smile. Rook looked over at him, and despite her scepticism, she found herself unable to deny his sincerity.

“Fine. One glass.”

–-

A note, on pale blue parchment. The ink used is a rich indigo this time, and probably far too expensive to be used so frivolously.

Sorry I had to bail on the drink.

Heard you up late with the professor (wisps again, before you ask). Told you - He's a kind man, and quite the storyteller when you ask the right questions.

He also told me what happened at the tavern. Looked into the guy. Venatori of course.

I know there’s a lot going on. We’ve got this.

N

–-

The Weisshaupt eluvian was not where it should have been. 

As Rook, Emmrich and Neve walked through, they found little more than a supply cupboard, and a small girl cowering in the corner. For a moment, Rook thought they had made a grave error, and they had taken the wrong eluvian in the Crossroads. But then she saw the girl wearing the blue and bronze of the Wardens, and felt even more concerned; did the Wardens recruit so early, like the Crows?

An explosion from behind and the thought was put on ice. She looked behind to see the eluvian tilting away from them, the wall supporting it disintegrated. Fortunately, the mirror did not have far to fall. She hung her head over the new impromptu entrance to Weisshaupt, looking out for the rest of the party.

“So much for being quiet!” She heard Lucanis hiss as he now climbed through the eluvian. She suppressed the smile growing on her lips. Now wasn’t the time for the team to crash out.

“Get going” she ordered “we’ll find a way to meet. This place can't be that big!”

“It is, but I know my way” Davrin called back “Head through the courtyard and up, we’ll meet you there.”

“Got it” she turned away, back to Emmrich and Neve, who both looked nervous.

“Three mages walk into Weisshaupt. Sounds like the opening of a terrible joke.” Neve quipped, trying to lighten the mood.

“Yeah, not really the plan, could’ve done with Davrin being here” Rook sighed, running a hand through her hair, trying to think. “But we’ll go with it. Let's ask the girl what’s going on.” She walked a couple of steps, then turned back, her face flushing “I hate children. Anyone good with them?”

Neve wilted and held her hands up in protest. Emmrich rolled his eyes and relented, going up to the girl and introducing himself. The girl lively explained herself and where they needed to go. Emmrich came back, shaking his head, chuckling.

“What's wrong?”

“If I needed any indication of what you were like as a child, Rook…” he tailed off, chuckling again “Mila has just challenged us to get her through. Escort her to her father, he’s a blacksmith for the Wardens. That's why they were here.”

“Right” she frowned “She doesn't think we can get through?”

“No. There's darkspawn up ahead.”

“Wonderful” she paused, the revelation hitting a beat later “Shit. Darkspawn? In Weisshaupt?”

—

The fortress was in ruins; warden casualties littered their path. Rook gritted her teeth, ordering the others to keep marching ahead. As she opened the large doors to the outer battlements, all she saw was the giant form of Ghilan’nain, hovering as a huge cloud above them. She swore, ducking back behind the door.

“That is precisely why we don’t just ‘keep marching’!” Emmrich chided, pulling her back further away from the door.

She just laughed, more through nerves and adrenaline than mirth. “She didn't see us, she's too busy sending darkspawn at the Wardens. We should be able to get through.”

He glared at her “This place is a fortress. It has stood for decades, centuries. It must have some secrets to survive that long. We should find another route.”

“Emmrich, the place is collapsing, blight is spawning out of nowhere. If we don't go now, we might not get to Davrin’s team at all” she countered.

He couldn’t fault her logic, and yet his trepidation in having to place his faith in luck and speed alone, not his wits… it was unfamiliar territory. 

“If it was just us three.” she continued, murmuring to him in confidence, leaning in close “I would maybe consider it. But we need to get Mila to her father. He doesn’t seem to be a fighter. The longer we wait…”

He could hear her rapid breath, and realised that under her bravada, she wasn’t as fearless as she portrayed herself to be. She was trying to regulate, her flames flickering between her fingers, and  her eyes flickering back and forth between him and Mila. A wave of understanding washed over him. He smiled sadly “Alright, I understand. Let’s go.”

–-

Rook’s grace was already thin, and yet the First Warden continued to challenge her. She’d had enough. 

No magic was needed, instead opting for a swift clean punch across the face, with a shout of protest from both Emmrich and Neve. She turned and glared at them both, arms raised in indignation, before allowing Evka to take charge. As they left the hall and continued down into the next courtyard, Emmrich called from over her shoulder:

“You are more than articulate enough to talk someone down, Rook.”

“Oh, don’t start. He was wasting time!” she protested, “It might have been the last thing I ever said.”

“I pray that you are right, because the First Warden is not a man to have as your enemy.”

“He couldn’t even take a punch to the face from me. I’m not exactly strong, am I?”

“You know that is not the point I’m -”

A rumble above them, and the wall next to them started to collapse. Rook swore and pushed Emmrich back, before diving next to him. They watched in horror as the path where they had just been arguing had disappeared under a pile of rubble.

“Neve?” Rook called out.

“I’m fine.” The response was a relief “Mila too. But you might need to find a way around, unless you want to risk the rubble climb. It’s a drop if you slip.”

One sharp look from Emmrich, and it seemed her course was set. She looked round, and saw a much smaller drop to another chamber. She started to clamber down, taking a small jump to the floor, Emmrich closely behind. It looked like a holding cell, or a processing chamber. He walked up to the iron door blocking their exit, rattled it. Rook’s eyes lit up. She pulled out a small roll of calico and unravelled a lockpick set. 

“Rook, do I truly have to remind you that we are both mages and perfectly capable of unlocking a door?”

“Do you really want to risk magic when the walls are already crashing down on us?”

“But how novel. You can think ahead.”

“Fuck off, Volkarin.”

“And miss out on your misadventure? Absolutely not.”

“Don't think I can do it?” She challenged, turning her face away from the lock towards him.

“You snapped three bootlaces last week. I don't see how you could possibly have the dexterity to-”

A click and the door swung open. She stood upright and shrugged “What was that, Volkarin?”

Silence, except for a small huff from the professor.

“That’s what I thought” she said, dashing off before Emmrich could offer any further comment.

–-

The route seemed impossible; Rook’s mana was running low, as was her morale. The only thing that seemed to keep her going was the potential humiliation tactics from Mila, who had employed backhanded comments. The kid was smart, because it was working. They had reached a small dwelling. Rook took a moment to breathe, her throat burning, her breathing raspy. She flexed her arms and fingers, trying to get rid of the tingling that came with overuse of magic. Emmrich looked over, concerned.

“Are you well, Rook?”

“I’m fine.” she lied, wheezing. He observed her colouring. She was looking grey, muscles twitching in her neck.

“You’re swallowing a lot. You’ve inhaled something. Some acidic substance or gas is the likely cause” he noted, diving into his coat for a health potion. He offered it to her.

She shook her head in protest: “Someone else will need it more.”

“I told you before, you are our leader.” He extended his arm out. “Drink it.”

“Since when did you tell me what to do?”

“Since wanting to get out of this alive. Three present far superior odds than two, Rook.”

She stared at him for a moment, hesitating. His facial expression was stern, but his eyes betrayed him, softer with concern. She noted the crinkle in his forehead; he was worn out.

“I’ll take half of this,” she offered “if you drink the other half. I can tell that your eyes are strained. You’re feeling it too, huh?”

He was surprised at her observation and insight “A deal is struck. You first.”

She removed her gloves, uncorked the bottle, and swigged before passing the vial over. He grasped it, feeling the sparking pulse beneath each other’s fingertips, before taking the vial and finishing the rest. He could feel his eye muscles relaxing, reserves of magic were rebuilding. They looked at each other for verification that what they had taken was enough to keep going. Emmrich noted the flush of colour across Rook’s cheeks returning, and smiled. The gaze held, Rook checking his eyes for any further strain. They were actually quite kind, warm eyes, when he wasn't narrowing them in her direction.

“You look a lot better.”

“As do you. Clearly a short rest was needed” he looked up the staircase “Neve, are you ready to proceed?”

A few clanks, and Neve came down, a staff in her hand “Found this upstairs. I noticed your staff was looking a little bent after that wall collapsed. This will work better” she tossed it over to Rook, who equipped it without really looking at it. No time to waste.

“A fine weapon, and should see us through to the library.” Emmrich evaluated.

“You don’t want to test it first?” Rook snarked, holding it out to him. Emmrich’s eyes darkened and he hummed his disapproval, but decided to let her comment slide.

They proceeded out of the building, and further up the stairs, another horde of darkspawn. Rook sent down a meteor of fire and dived into the fray, her spellblade red hot. She heard a shriek right above her head, but before she could take aim, a streak of green necrotic energy flew over her, hitting the darkspawn trying to get a preemptive strike. She traced back the direction of the magic, looking over to see Emmrich around twenty feet away, staff illuminated.

“Cheers.”

A brief nod and a flash of relief appeared on his face. She felt another presence at her side, and swung around. Neve, also unharmed, but out of breath. They all looked in the same direction, towards the library door, where the rest of the Lighthouse party were battling waves of darkspawn.

“Just another day at the office.” Neve quipped, before leaping back into action.

–-

Emmrich Volkarin’s diary, dated the morning after Weisshaupt.

I believe last night was the first time that I have seen Rook visibly upset, rather than angry or determined. Whilst several of her decisions in Weisshaupt were not what I would have chosen to do, she did a valiant job of making sure that we got to the library, and reunited Mila with her father. I will always give credit where it is due, and she was a committed leader. I fear that I have been hypocritical, in that I have been too rash with my evaluation of her. After all, she does not have the same life experience, or indeed the same lived experience, as I. Even at my age, I continue to learn.

It is oftentimes easy to forget that Rook is not infallible. Her conversations with Davrin last night proved that. I was unable to hear their conversation at first, my ears ringing and not wanting to eavesdrop, but something our young Warden said tripped the wire, for her voice became far more audible for the latter part of their conversation.

Archdemons require a Warden to make the final blow, at the cost of the warden themselves. Davrin was resolute in being the one to do it. Rook was not happy about this revelation, punching bookcases and yelling, despite her sore throat from her earlier affliction. She said a lot of things that I wouldn’t dream of writing down anywhere. I had not realised they were so close, but I do suppose that they spar together regularly. She stormed off, and I could hear them continue to bicker from the other side of the library. It did not help that Lucanis was goading Davrin either.

A fraught night for everyone. But some success, albeit with a high cost of Warden lives. And our dear friend Davrin lives to see another day.

–-

A letter, addressed to Soren Havar, but no postal address. Letter was likely hand delivered by a mutual ally. The contents are messy, with a series of small ink splatters and blots, the writer clearly in a hurry.

S,

You’re right, stop being nice. It’s weird.

Seriously though, it was good to remember that I’m not alone in this. After the past few nights, I’m not doing so well. I’ve been flying around Thedas for weeks, holding onto the hope that if I just keep my head on straight, we can pile through.

Weisshaupt is supposed to be a place of hope, strength, and unity. I didn’t feel any of that. I have barely slept since that night. The things that I saw, Soren. We’ve seen some horrible things in our time in the catacombs, but Weisshaupt was beyond anything I could and would want to write about.

But we hurt Ghilan'nain, even if we didn’t defeat her. It’s a glimmer of hope, in all the darkness.

I keep beating myself up. If I had been more composed when I first met him, and if the First Warden had listened, we might have been ready. Maybe we would’ve saved more Wardens.

I wish I could see you.

- R

PS - Lucanis spoke highly of you. Fuck knows why, you're an absolute menace. But good to know that you’re doing us proud out there. For the Dragons. For Treviso. Stay safe.

–-

Emmrich sat at the dining table, a half eaten breakfast in front of him, deep in concentration on the chapter he was reading, until he heard the door swing open. He frowned with concern and put down the tome.

Rook looked different. She had none of the usual black pigment she used around her eyes. He realised that he could see her face properly for the first time, the hair usually covering her right eye swept back into a braided bun. She always looked like she hadn’t slept, but today…she looked like she hadn’t even tried to close her eyes. Her clothes were different too, a longer winter coat trimmed with feathers and a high neck vest. An outfit made for the tundra; he knew she didn't usually feel the cold, with so much fire coursing through her. He pulled a chair out from next to him.

“Would you like to talk about Weisshaupt, Rook? Or anything at all, really?”

She stared at him for a moment, and nodded, taking the seat. Emmrich noted but chose not to comment on a small tear brimming in her eyes, which she quickly brushed away, embarrassed. Her head low, she didn't look at him as she spoke: “I’ve got a question for you. How do you manage to do it? Being surrounded by death and dying all the time?”

He smiled sadly, and poured a cup of tea out for her: "Remind me to take you to the memorial gardens next time we're in the Necropolis. There is so much I could show you there. There are so many nuances and shades to what the Mourn Watch do.” he said softly.

She grasped the cup, hands slightly shaking. She held it to her lips but didn't take a sip: “Okay. Any tips for now?”

He adjusted his cuffs. “Stay strong. We will ensure that those souls we lost at Weisshaupt can rest easy knowing we have it in hand.”

She nodded, finally sipping the tea and pulled a face, inducing a chuckle from the necromancer. But the warmth of the cup and the light scent of peppermint was invigorating, so she kept it in her hands, letting the steam cleanse and soothe her face. They sat together in silence, staring over the hearth for several moments, before she spoke:

“Sorry to bring this to you, I know you’re busy” she muttered “I just…with Davrin having some sort of fucked survivor’s guilt, Lucanis beating himself up, both of them fighting the other night…I needed a friend.”

He looked at her, she returned a small, sad smile, before returning her gaze to the fire.

–-

A note, on parchment with an elegant decorative border. The ink is black, with fine, even handwriting.

Rook,

I didn’t want to raise this in front of everyone else, but I know that you’re not sleeping well currently. I hear the pacing from next door. I have a herbal tea that I regularly drink after the more intense hauntings that I deal with. Please let me know if you’d like this, and Manfred will bring you a cup. I think you will enjoy it more than the peppermint.

I also find the most comfortable garments and a particularly dry book chapter a great combination.

And of course, I’m here if you need to talk.

Kind regards,

Emmrich

--

A response on the back of the same parchment, the familiar spiky and rushed script.

Emmrich,

You’re the third person to suggest a sleep remedy. I can take a hint, but I’m fine.

Maybe we could take that trip to the Necropolis, if you’re not busy?

Rook

Chapter Text

It hadn’t been an easy walk to the gardens; the undead were more restless than usual, and one of Rook’s fire projectiles had smashed a vase by accident. She wasn’t sure which of these Emmrich fretted about, but whilst his face was painted with concern, he said nothing on either topic. Rook felt a little bit guilty; he was probably keen to avoid another argument. She didn’t want people to be afraid of her. She wanted them to respect her, but perhaps she hadn’t quite got that right yet.

A click, and the doors to the gardens swung open. Rook anticipated something largely theatrical, but instead felt a strange feeling of calm. She stopped in her tracks and Emmrich turned from halfway down the stairs, concern on his face.

“Rook, are you well? I know that this might be a culture shock. I want you to be prepared, but if-”

She held up a hand, and shook her head with a crooked smile, before following him down the stairs “After the hand business, I think we’re good. Give me the tour.”

He smiled, and held out the crook of his arm. Rook found it quite amusing that anyone would think to treat her like a lady. But she humoured him, grasped it and let him lead her down the steps.

When Emmrich first mentioned the gardens to her, she thought he had been using the term loosely, or it would be similar to the ornamental indoor botanical gardens that she had seen in books about Orlais. After all, they were miles below ground, how could anything grow? But there was a soft magic in the air, reminiscent of Emmrich’s. She realised the same energy was likely imparted onto the plants, growing tall and abundant with blooms.

“I have a few duties to perform while I’m here, candles in remembrance of the dead. But of course, I can give you an introduction as we work.”

“We?”

“Of course, more hands makes lighter work.”

As they walked, Emmrich explained how Nevarran culture honoured the dead and their legacy, using necromancy to help understand and resolve historical, social and political issues. Rook couldn't help but wonder whether Tevinter would learn from its mistakes if it used the same methods. It wasn't uncommon that historic texts were instead burnt, or hidden behind layers of exclusivity, maintaining elitism. Bastards. No wonder Nevarra split off from the Imperium.

“Rook, there are many things that I feel I could discuss with you to answer your question from the other day, and not nearly enough time at this moment to cover them all. Let me address my work in the Mourn Watch, for now. Perhaps that will grant you comfort.” Emmrich brandished his staff, and the skull atop it began to glow with the now familiar green kinetic energy: “I have tried to come up with a suitable analogy as we have been talking. The best I can muster is to think of the Mourn Watch as a hospice service, for those who have already passed on. It has given me such comfort to know that we can help others get to where they need to be to move on, and support those still living. That is our ethos, and it is an honour to be one of our few corpse whisperers within the Watch.”

Rook nodded “Okay, makes sense. So I guess it's quite a lot like your other role?”

Emmrich looked at her, puzzled.

“Teaching. You support others, make sure they have the best chance.” She shrugged, “I don’t know.”

Emmrich raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Why, how perceptive. Maybe that is why I enjoy both so much.” He walked over to a nearby mausoleum, and carefully brushed away some dirt from the placard, tutting under his breath. Rook bit her lip to stop herself laughing; he clearly wasn’t impressed with the current apprentices.

“About that, actually. Do you think…” Rook began “...that your magics would work for me?” She quickly shook her head and laughed at the idea once she heard it out loud “Never mind, answered my own question. I sound ridiculous. My magic is unpredictable at best. Probably not very compatible with the dead.”

Emmrich was careful in his wording: “I wouldn’t be so sure. I’ve had students from Tevinter wanting to expand their knowledge beyond the element-based magics that Tevinter schooling largely focuses on. It would be hard work, but not entirely impossible. Pyromancers such as yourself often carry a lot of weight on their shoulders. Bold characters. Strongly opinionated.” He couldn't resist raising an eyebrow.

Rook smirked, folding her arms “If that’s your roundabout way of saying I have a temper, not news.” Her smile faded  “I’m having to be involved in things that are much bigger than me, bigger than anything I had to do with the Dragons. I need to be able to make decisions without losing my head. I could hurt someone.”

“Do you regret physically assaulting the First Warden, by any chance?”

She shrugged, and Emmrich pulled a face. They could have bickered about that decision for years, if the wall hadn’t collapsed. That had shut them both up quickly.

“I rarely dwell. Get the job done, go home.” She sighed “This might sound weird, Emmrich, especially as some of the necromancy stuff really freaks me out. But when you cast magic, it seems…peaceful. I’m not sure if that’s you or the magic itself but…” she shrugged “I’m willing to try anything at this point.”

“Rook, are you asking me to teach you? Forgive me, but you did say that you weren’t interested before.”

“I don’t want a teacher. Or lectures,” she asserted, eyes fixed on him, “That won't work for me. I want…a space to try and practice. Somewhere safe, with someone who knows what they’re doing.” She pulled a face “Tutoring, I guess?”

“Well, it is certainly not my usual style, however...” he leaned towards her, balancing on his staff, and smiled “...it would be my absolute pleasure. I could certainly try to help you with rechanneling your energy.”

She side-eyed him once again, grumbling: “You’re feeling a little bit smug about this, aren’t you?”

“Absolutely.” He clasped his hands together in glee, as wisps gathered around, keen to experience the sudden spike in joy.

“They really like you, huh?”

“Oh, we haven’t discussed this yet, have we? Please, allow me to tell you about my kinship with the spirits that dwell here.” Emmrich raised his arm towards the path and they recommenced their walk, Rook listening intently, suddenly reassured. The wisps were harmless, after all.

--

Emmrich Volkarin’s diary, dated the day after his return to the Lighthouse. A few sentences have been crossed out, the professor perhaps not being as decisive in his writing as he would usually be.

I’m not sure why I decided to confide in Rook about my terrors surrounding dying. Perhaps it was her honesty in admitting her own faults and asking for guidance. But I do feel a strange sense of relief, and she was surprisingly sensitive about the whole thing, once she realised that I was not speaking in jest. I appreciate that my fear is incredibly ironic, especially to someone without the full picture of being raised by the Mourn Watch. She actually seemed a little bit angry on my behalf once the reality of my situation sank in, which certainly makes a nice change from her being angry at me. She probably now realises why I am cautious in conflict.

I admit that we had a very pleasant, revelatory day together, for we have far more in common than we realised on our first meeting. She is equally fond of fine textiles as I, though our personal tastes greatly differ. She offered fantastic insight into the Shadow Dragons; I look forward to hearing more of her tales, for it seems that she has had a colourful upbringing.

Of course, we also share the less fortunate trait of both being orphaned and taken in by others at a young age. We discussed that briefly, neither of us keen to discuss the finer details, but her mother’s passing was just as sudden and unexpected, and at a similar age to when I lost my parents.

On a much more cheery note, she seemed to greatly and genuinely enjoy the refreshments at the gardens after our long discussion. She is as much of a fiend for Orlesian vanilla macarons as I am, which may cause further conflicts down the line if we are forced to ration. But dare I say it: I think we may have finally found our footing, and for that, I am beyond grateful.

--

Two notes, on one piece of paper. The parchment is washed over with a soft blue-green tint.

Harding,

Do you know of any lakes in Thedas where we could take Rook?

She grew up in Minrathous. She lives in Dock Town. HOW can she not swim? How has this never been a problem before?

-N

Neve,

Let's make a deal. I'll go scoping out swimming spots if you find someone who can supply more replenishing potions. Emmrich can't keep up with all of her scrapes and bruises.

Maybe we should have a word?

-Harding

--

Rook winced as she examined the latest bruises in the mirror. The largest spread from just below her breast band to her right hip, and across to the middle of her back. Never mind what the Crows said, that was the last time she was using a trellis to climb up a wall. She prayed that zip lines never came into fashion in Minrathous, though she had recently used one there too. Good grief.

The only silver lining: knocking herself out had scared the daylights out of Lucanis, prompting him to beg forgiveness for his recent behaviour. In three different languages, no less. She didn't even know he spoke some Tevene; he never mentioned it when they previously spoke about his exploits in Tevinter. So who did he learn that from?

Perfect timing, her prime suspect knocked on the door of her room. Gingerly and reluctantly, Rook let Neve in to examine the damage, feeling too vulnerable in her state of undress to use the infirmary. Neve clicked her tongue as she observed the bruise “Well, I think you’ll live. This time. Maybe try putting your feet on the wall instead of the vines? Ah, ah, language.” she chided as Rook swore under her breath, pain flaring at Neve rubbed in the healing salve across her back.

“And since when were you the expert in climbing Antivan walls?” Rook smirked “Or maybe it translates? Climbing Antivans walls, climbing Antivans in gener-”

She winced as Neve quickly, and probably too firmly, rubbed in the remaining salve, got up, and left the room muttering darkly, wiping her hands as she went. Rook tried not to laugh. It had been weeks . Surely she and Lucanis were already involved…surely one of them had made a move by now?

Her eyes widened. Oh. Oh shit.

--

Rook could still feel a tautness in her body that would hinder her in battle, even as days merged into weeks. The mission didn’t stop with her, though, and she had used the time wisely in delegating duties. She had sent Neve and Lucanis out together to trade valuables in Dock Town. They needed coin, and they were simply the only two available to do it.

Harding and Bellara were to scout Arlathan after receiving word on some interesting elven technology. Taash quickly volunteered to go with them. This had amused Rook; Neve could take a few pages out of the dragon hunter’s book. There was evident chemistry between Harding and Taash right from their first meeting, though the former had been surprisingly coy with Rook when quizzed.

Satisfied that the key missions were covered, Rook decided to spend time with a sullen Davrin. After the team’s collective fallout at Weisshaupt, she wanted to at least smooth things over between herself and the Warden, given how often they teamed up. Whilst others in the team may have had a more sympathetic ear, she instead did what she knew best: banter.

“You’re like the kid that gets upset when someone else blows out their birthday candles.”

Davrin was whittling away, leaning against his woodworking bench, whilst Rook sat on it: “I bet you were the one who always blew the candles out. Besides, Dalish don’t do the whole candle thing. Or the cake, really. It’s all a lot more symbolic.”

“Sounds a bit shit.” She paused, realising she might have caused offense “Oh. Would you want that for your next birthday?”

“Gods, no. Besides, I doubt we’ll be here for my next birthday. For better or worse.”

“Ugh, way to bring down the tone.” she poked him in the ribs, making him jump, which then made Assan jump, a flurry of feathers. She quickly apologised to the griffon between giggles.

“Why are you apologising to him ? I’ll have to pick the feathers up.” Davrin rolled his eyes. She raised her hand to her forehead, mocking him, and he frowned deeper: “Even if we do survive, do you think we’ll all still be here? We’ve all got commitments. And not sure Lucanis will come to my birthday party, Rook.”

She sighed dramatically at the mention of the ongoing feud, moving over to the arches overlooking the sky. Assan came up to her, and sat on her feet, clucking away. Davrin remained silent for a while, brooding. Rook was unfussed; she was happy where she was. She’d been spending quite a lot of downtime with Assan with her injury, under the guise of training, feeding him truffles and giving him scratches under the neck.

“Assan needs a proper training schedule. Starting today. No interruptions.”

“Alright, I can take a hint, Davrin. You don’t want to talk about Lucanis, and I’ve got things to do today anyway.” She gave Assan one last ruffle, clapped Davrin on his shoulder, and left, grinning. At least she had given Davrin something else to focus on. 

She hadn’t been lying either. She had plans with Emmrich today.

--

The fire was burning in Emmrich’s room, and Rook quickly removed her coat. The furniture had all been pushed against walls and bookcases.

“Hello there, Rook. Our dear Manfred is preparing us some refreshments, for we may need caffeine. But don't you worry, I told him your preferences, and he's preparing coffee.”

Emmrich had his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and Rook could see all of his gold jewellery sparkling in the firelight. She wondered how he could wear all of that constantly, for she struggled to keep on the two rings that had been picked out for her by Harding for combat.

“Now Rook, before we begin, I need to see your starting stance when you cast magic with your staff, rather than your spellblade. I know you don’t want to be taught as such, but I noticed it when we first met, and I dare say it may help with some of our other exercises.” Emmrich was standing by the bookcase, but his head was down, reading something on his desk. He had been preparing for this, she realised.

“You’ve been watching me, have you?”

“A bold adventurer at work, how could I look away?” He smiled. She side-eyed him, and pulled out her new staff, the one they had recovered at Weisshaupt. It was more impressive looking than her previous one; her flame magic radiated through its dome. She took position, tensing as she awaited her critique: 

“Ah yes, there we go. You favour your left wrist, don’t you?”

“I’m left-handed, if that’s what you’re saying.”

“Indeed. Strange, because you hold your staff with your right.”

“Oh, that’s Tevinter. They don’t like a leftie.”

“I see.” Emmrich hummed in discontentment. “Well, that seems like an easy enough fix. You’re not in Tevinter now, after all. Please humour me.” he asserted, looking at Rook’s bemused expression. He walked across the room towards her: “May I touch your hands and arms, Rook?”

She almost flinched with surprise, before nodding. She couldn’t remember anyone else asking permission to touch her before, and Emmrich was so featherlight in his touch that she might not have even noticed it anyway. He was sensing her tension points, loosening her grip, changing her hand placement on the staff so her left was further up the stem. He stepped behind her, and Rook realised just how much taller he was than her. It still surprised her; she often stood nearly as tall as most human men, if not taller.

“There, that’s perfect. Now, try and cast from that position.”

She sighed, and brandished her staff. The dome started to blaze, and she noticed that it was brighter than usual, but not half as draining. She narrowed her eyes at Emmrich jokingly: “You know, that’s a decade of Tevinter schooling you’ve just undone.” she swung the staff, emulating a chain of four magic blasts.  “That feels great.”

“Most excellent. I appreciate some things from your country, Rook. I must say education is not one of them.”

“Well, I didn't help myself either. I hated school. Bunked a lot with Soren.” she flicked the staff, and the flame died. 

“Soren?”

“Nosy.” She commented, looking over her shoulder. “He’s my best friend, the one I sent to Treviso to help the Crows.”

Emmrich nodded, remembering what Neve had told him about the impossible decision Rook had to make before he came onboard. He made a mental note to try and be more considerate of her burdens going forward, next time they got into an argument.

“If anything, you’ve made my magic more powerful. That’s the opposite of what we need.” she twirled her staff between her hands, unable to keep still for long.

“Ah, you are forever impatient. All in good time.” He chuckled at her annoyed expression “Trust me, Rook. We need to know the range of your power before I can assess the best method to control it.”

--

Rook sat in a chair by the fire in the dining hall, working on mending her beloved walking boots, the sole wearing thin.

“Is it really worth the effort, Rook?” Lucanis asked, as he diced vegetables on the countertop: “Mierda. You should have more than one pair of boots. I’m sure one of us could go buy some for you..”

“Hmm.” She cut out her paper template dutifully as she spoke, “now there’s an idea. I could send you and Neve to the markets together again. Make a date of it.”

Lucanis stopped chopping, slowly and turned his head over his shoulder to look at her “...is it that obvious?”

“What, you fancy Neve? Mate, why do you think I stopped hitting on you?”

He sighed “To be honest Rook, I didn’t realise you had been.”

“Oh.” Rook pressed her lips together, trying not to laugh “Well, that explains it.”

“What?”

“You really have no game, do you?”

“I...” He put the knife down and turned around. “I’ve been pretty preoccupied for the last year or so, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

“And before that?”

“Being a Crow.” he folded his arms “You were actually hitting on me? I’m flattered Rook, but you’re not…”

“Oh, get over yourself, I flirt with everyone.” she swore as the knife caught her finger and she sucked it before continuing “I stopped when I saw how you look at her. Not to mention how you cried when your madeleines got burnt.”

“I was frustrated! Bellara distracted me for five minutes and the whole batch was ruined.”

“Uhuh.” She grinned “So I’m guessing you haven’t told Neve how you feel?”

“I…no.” He kept his eyes on the door, cautious on being overheard.

“Tell you what.” she put down her project “I’ll buy a new pair of boots if you ask Neve out.”

“Sometimes Rook,” he put his hand to his head in frustration, “I wonder if I ever actually left the Ossuary at all, or if you’re just another demon here to plague me.”

“Not even the first time someone has said something like that to me.” she shook her head, laughing “Do you want me to speak to her instead?”

“Mierda, no. I’ll do it. Just…give me a while.” he turned back and continued dicing, swearing in Antivan under his breath, before declaring: “You are playing a very dangerous game with an assassin brandishing a knife.”

“Gooseberry pie is her favourite, by the way. Tevinter style, not the stupid Ferelden version that’s just stewed fruit with a lid.”

“I…” he sighed, but Rook could see the hint of a smile from her limited view. “Thank you.”

--

The constant light in the Lighthouse made timekeeping tricky, especially as she was unable to leave currently, but Rook was finding some structure in her tutoring sessions with Emmrich. After reviewing her overall magic abilities, Emmrich had designed some mindfulness exercises. She had pulled a face at first; the concept sounded like the pseudo-magics and science being peddled by impoverished, bereaved widows in Dock Town. But after her first session, she had found a plane of calm that she didn’t know existed in her psyche. 

As the Fade was unpredictable, Emmrich had drawn some protective wards on the floor of his quarters and they sat either side of the circle. With the patchouli incense burning, and the dimmed lighting, the professor had created a cosy atmosphere.. She had even fallen asleep in her third session, only rousing with a gentle shake and a hot chocolate from the necromancer.

“Apologies, Rook. But the floor is bad for your ribs to heal. I did leave you for an hour, you clearly needed it.”

“Fuck the ribs, I’m so comfy.” she turned over, trying to ignore him, but realising that he wasn’t going to budge, she swore again and sat up, her hair half-fallen out of its bun.

“Alas, I’m afraid Neve would not be impressed were I to allow you to destroy your recovery, after all her efforts.”

She drank the hot chocolate quickly, trying to bring her brain back to focus, groaning: “For fuck’s sake, Emmrich. I’m wiped.”

“Up you get now.” he asserted, adopting the tone he usually used with his students, to their equal horror.

“Fuck off.” she whined, elongating the vowels. But he didn’t crack. He smiled, and opened his palms. She rolled her eyes, grabbed them, and they stood up together, leaning on each other for support.

“Even being confined to the Lighthouse, you run yourself ragged, dear friend. Please take more care of yourself.” He let her go, and brushed down the invisible dirt from his trousers “But at least I have proof that you are capable of calming that fire of yours.”

“How does this prove anything?” She was confused, agitated, as she tried to redo her bun.

“Well, you just woke up in a bad mood. You got considerably irate with me. And yet, I’m not seeing that aura of yours.” He folded his arms in satisfaction.

She stared for a moment, his observation sinking in. He was right. She was annoyed that her sleep had been interrupted, and that he had probably let her fall asleep for this very reason, but…everything else felt secondary at that moment. There was none of the usual prickling in her skin, burning in her fingertips. She was warm, but she was calm. Maker. 

“This was the easiest way to demonstrate. I did take precautions.” He added, leaning against the desk, humour in his tone.

“Alright, don’t push your luck. This is probably a fluke.” she smiled, rubbing the corners of her eyes with her thumb and index finger “Besides, it’ll be a lot different when we’re in the middle of everything. I can’t just sit and find a moment of calm in battle. Or conversation.”

“Maybe not. It’s a start. You must learn to give yourself credit.” he mused, making a noise halfway between a grumble and a sigh. “Allow me to offer you some commentary, Rook. Should you continue to progress in the same manner that you’re doing now…” he held up his palms as she frowned “Ah ah. I know your reservations about some areas I work in, Rook. But we could start small with some minor necromancy. Channelling your energies into another school entirely, if we feel that having a reserve of energy will be a problem.”

“If you can get me to stop embarrassing myself, that would be more than enough.”

Emmrich was surprised to see a tiny crack in the usually bold, unapologetic persona. But he knew that expression well; he had seen it on many students’ faces.

“Rook. I wouldn’t offer if I didn’t think you were capable. Our safety is of paramount importance, especially given our current mission.”

She looked at him, and he took in her eyes. Usually piercing, commanding, they were softer this time. A clear, lovely brunnera blue.

“Let me think about it.”

“Of course, I would expect nothing else.”

--

Rook sat around the dining table with Lucanis and Neve the following night, the first time they had done so as a trio since before Treviso. She had expected apprehension from Lucanis on Emmrich’s offer, the assassin’s eyes dark with suspicion and concern. He was already critical of necromancy and altogether quite squeamish for someone so accustomed to death. 

“I just don’t like it. Spite has a different opinion.”

“Does he?”

“He and Emmrich speak all the time in the background. He likes him, so he’s biased.”

“Oh.”

She decided not to pry further, and wanted to hear any new arguments that she hadn’t already considered. Really, she was more interested in Neve’s opinion.

“Tricky,” Neve leaned back “It depends on your opinion of necromancy and where it sits on the morality scale. Some people argue it’s just as bad as blood magic. I often find those people are blood mages looking for justification.”

Rook pulled a face “Right. It’s not sacrificing anyone, or spilling lifeforce for power. It’s calling on spirits, using their support.”

“I guess there’s a whole philosophical argument to it, using departed spirits for the living.” Neve shrugged “But you don’t strike me as a philosopher, Rook.”

“Fuck, no.” Rook shook her head. She turned back to the Crow “So you’re saying to reject the offer?”

“It’s your decision, Rook. But searching for more power, more magic…it rarely ends well. Trust me.”

“Speaking from your own experience, or the gods’?”

“Mierda, did you really have to ask? Both. Of course, both.” he sipped his wine, glowering.

“And if you want my opinion, as someone too familiar with people going beyond their means for power....” Neve spoke up, ignoring the dramatics from their companion: “Emmrich has faith in you” Neve topped up their wine glasses: “We play the hand we’re dealt, Rook. We could do with anything we can get for the fight ahead.”

She looked between them: “Well, you’ve been no fucking help in me making this call. Thanks a lot.”

Neve grinned, and Lucanis sighed. They all sat with their thoughts, sipping wine. Later, as Rook retired to bed, sleep did not come naturally to her, lost in indecision. They didn’t have time for deliberation over this.

--

A note on rough parchment, ripped from a longer piece. Script is surprisingly neat for the sender.

Emmrich,

I’m in; let’s see where we end up. No risk, no reward.

Rook

--

A response, on a separate piece of parchment, with the now familiar script, border and ink colour.

Dear Rook,

What wonderful news, I am delighted that you have decided to take up the offer. Let me know your availability for your next session, and we can discuss the matter then. Thank you for having such an open mind to this magic, I know it is not so easily received outside of Nevarra.

In the meantime, please keep up with the mindfulness routines; we’ll revisit them in our next session too.

Kind regards,

Emmrich

--

A response written on the bottom of the letter, in spiky, green-black ink. Letter has clearly been pinned to a door.

You didn’t tell me there would be homework, Volkarin.

I’ll see you after supper  - thank you.

-R

Chapter Text

A letter in fine, neat handwriting. The note was clearly pinned to a door, a small hole in the top left.

Dear Rook,

I’ve returned from Nevarra. As previously agreed last week, I’ll see you tomorrow, midday, for the corpse whispering. Please try to be on time; I am not opposed to sending Manfred along to drag you from whatever else you’re doing.

Kind regards,

Emmrich

--

In between other events, getting back into combat and expeditions, Rook had completely forgotten about the hand of glory, along with Emmrich’s invitation. She had initially been quite nervous and dismissive about seeing Emmrich’s necromancy in full swing, especially after her visceral gut reaction to the hand. He had mentioned a body, which all felt quite macabre. Still, she couldn’t resist, knowing it was a rare occurrence to see such things performed outside Nevarra. Besides, she had dipped her toes in, with the gardens, Manfred, the tutoring. It was perhaps time for a more open mind to other areas of necromancy. If she could keep her lunch down.

The room was dark, with the upstairs arches curtained off, and green flame lighting the candles around them. Possibly veilfire; she had read about that during her year chasing Solas, but she didn't want to interrupt the professor to ask. As the practice began, she was impressed and envious of Emmrich’s ability to remain cordial and professional with the spirit he was conversing with. She wouldn’t have the patience in a million years to chase the roundabout answers and riddles that these souls liked to employ. But they got their location: Blackthorne Manor.

Taking her attention away from the body on the table, she observed Emmrich’s refined hand movements as he wound down the conversation, releasing the spirit. His hands weaved and glowed, illuminating his face and for the first time, Rook felt like she was really looking at his face. She obviously knew that he was well dressed and kept up appearances, but she had never quite noticed just how striking Emmrich was. He looked quite…

The ritual ended, and Emmrich closed his eyes, looking to ground himself back to reality, and Rook snapped back to focus. She handed him a cup of tea.

“Ah, thank you kindly, Rook. Please pour yourself a cup too, you seem to be a little shaken. I know it can be a shock to see my magic in action.”

Thank the Maker that he wasn't telepathic.

“You know I don’t like tea.”

“Indeed, one of the most tragic things I’ve learned about you. I shall not be polite next time.” he winked.

Afterwards, once the pair had tidied up, and the curtains had been pulled back, the room resumed its usually cosy interior, and they returned to the table. He seemed almost apologetic for taking her away from their main priority of the wardens, but she waved her hand dismissively: “It was really something to watch you do that. Not even a flinch.” she smiled “You really know what you’re doing, huh?”

He nodded, appreciating her genuine positivity “Experience and an open heart to what the spirits need, that’s all.”

Before she even registered what she was saying, the words fell from her lips: “I bet not every death mage looks so dapper when they’re working though.”

Emmrich was silenced for a moment. He looked at her face for any sign of mirth or sarcasm, but could see none. That was unexpected…but not unwelcome. She was a very pretty woman, after all. But what in the heavens was she doing, flirting with him? His jaw dropped for a moment, before his response: “You choose the most extraordinary moments for compliments.”

“Is…that bad?”

Emmrich was even more surprised that she was doubling down. That was…a very unexpected thing, indeed. But he knew her games; he had seen them play out before.

Maybe he was game to participate, though. He smiled, and placed his hands on the table, leaning across: “Quite the opposite.”

They stared at each other for a moment. Rook took him in again, wondering whether it had been a brief, impulsive thought. But no. The same face. The same kind, handsome face.

She sharply cleared her throat, and reverted the subject back to the body on the table, and with the tension now broken, Emmrich eagerly jumped back into the matter at hand. Rook with almost overenthusiasm agreed to accompany him to the manor estate when they had time. The Venatori were the ones with the hand after all, it was her job to take them down, elven gods or no.

As she bid him farewell and left his quarters, upon agreement of their next tutoring session, her thoughts involuntarily flickered back to the moment where he conjured his magic. His rolled up sleeves, the surprisingly muscled forearms beneath. His face when she called him dapper. Dapper . Had she ever even used that word before? She could feel her face going red.

She needed to get out of the Lighthouse for a bit. Close proximity was doing her very few favours.

--

“Are you sure you should be out here when you’re not fully healed?” Harding asked, already sceptical of any answer Rook could give “You gave me such a hard time when I tried to go out after the ritual.”

“Think I just need to start moving more.” Rook responded, a little too rehearsed. 

Taash’s arms were folded, squinting at Rook with further scrutiny: “You sure about that? You seem nervous. Adrenaline.”

“Ah, just a little bit about stretching myself too far, you know?” Rook had learned over the years to play things casually but she hadn’t come across someone who could scent things out before, and wasn’t sure she could pull it off: “We need to get things done. I hate sitting around waiting to heal.”

“Are you going to meet Davrin? We saw him on the way here with Assan. Think they were going training.” Bellara piped up, arms filled with notes, books and surveying equipment.

Rook made a semi-committal noise. She hadn’t really thought that far ahead. But that seemed like a good option, versus being scrutinised further by Taash.

“Okay, good. I feel better if you’re with someone else from the group. Just in case, y’know?” Harding added and Rook rolled her eyes. This was definitely the last time she worked with a team. It was like being back with Aunt Frances.

--

It was late afternoon by the time she reached Davrin’s campsite. He squinted at her from a distance, before raising a hand in greeting: “Wasn’t expecting you out here. Thought you were milking that injury for a bit longer.”

“Needed to get out. I’ve started going mad.” Rook raised a hand to her forehead.

“Started?” Davrin grinned, hitching the satchel he was wearing around his shoulder.“Nah, I’m glad you’re here. Let me call Assan in. I actually got something for you.”

“Oh?” Rook was puzzled.

“Well, not just for you, but you can have some. We went hunting for gingerwort truffles. Emmrich was telling me that the flowers can be made into tea. Supposed to be a relaxant, y’know. I reckon the professor had a wild phase.” Davrin chuckled at the mental image of a young, stoner Emmrich: “Did you really hike all the way up here?”

“I got halfway here, realised that I was in a lot of pain, but too stubborn to go back down the hill and admit to the others that they were right.”

“Don’t blame you. Get a fire going for us and I’ll make the tea.”

–-

A series of notes between Emmrich Volkarin, Rook, and Davrin. Davrin’s script is similarly rushed to Rook’s speedwriting, with simplistic lettering, a sharp contrast to Emmrich’s measured, consistent handwriting.

Dear Rook,

Davrin has just been to see me about the incident in the forest. Apologies, perhaps I had foolishly believed that Davrin would be able to tell the difference between a teaspoon and a tablespoon. I shall be more explicit in my instructions going forward.

It seems that you experienced a somewhat mild hallucinogenic episode in addition to the relaxing properties that come with gingerwort tea. That does unfortunately happen to a few people, though I suspect that you would’ve been fine if the dosage had been correct. There are some interesting studies that indicate that those episodes can unlock new areas of the mind, better spellcasting, more control in the Fade in dream state, and so on. Let me know if that’s the case, I’m intrigued to know.

Otherwise, no lasting damage done, other than upsetting our tutoring schedule, which is easily remedied. Sorry I missed you before I went; I’m heading to Nevarra this evening for a corpse whispering, but I’ll be back tomorrow morning if you need anything, and of course, we have our tutoring session tomorrow evening.

I look forward to seeing you.

Kind regards,

Emmrich

–-

Volkarin,

Got a few questions for you on spirits/demons/whatever. See below. No rush on the answer, just whenever you have time.

Also, do you have anything in those archives of yours on griffon communication? Rook seemed very sure that Assan could talk. I ripped her for it but…you never do know, do you?

–-

Davrin,

I encourage critical thinking and hypotheses, but please be rational. Griffons cannot talk.

Regards,

Professor Emmrich Volkarin.

--

A further note from Neve Gallus, plain parchment, indigo ink. It seems that Neve’s letters are largely dependant on whichever ink colour is closest to her at the time of writing.

Rook,

I know we’ve all been busy the past few weeks. Thinking that we should get the team altogether for an evening. Catch up with everything. Have dinner, drinks. Dare I say it: have fun for a few hours.

Let me know what you think.

-N

The note doesn’t seem to have a written response, but instead hastily drawn love hearts in a familiar green-black ink over the words ‘dinner’ and ‘drinks’

–-

It had been a further fortnight since Neve’s note. Rook had been away to see the Wardens, and the team were passing ships in the night with the other tasks she had redelegated. It had been a long time since they were together, perhaps since Weisshaupt. Rook loved how the dining hall felt so…full. Lively. Almost like a tavern. She missed Tevinter pubs.

Neve had spent time going through the latest gossip in Dock Town. Dorian and Maevaris had some quite vicious debates that had other Dragons talking. Questions about the magisterium. Archon rule, if it came to it.

“We talking fists? Magic?” Taash questioned, eyes shining with the possibility of a magister death match.

Rook laughed “Dorian and Maevaris? No, one of them would have called the other difficult or something just as devastating.”

Taash stared deadpan for a moment, then abruptly turned their attention to the other end of the table, where Harding and Davrin were engrossed in scouting talk. Emmrich, sitting on the same corner of the table, choked on the wine he had been sipping. She looked over, and pursed her lips, trying not to laugh at the Qunari’s reaction.

“Apparently, things are getting quite heated. They seem to have very different opinions on how things should be run, should the Dragons come to have more seats at the table. Dorian hasn't been covert either.” Neve injected, folding her napkin in half as she spoke.

“They should be thankful that they have a table left” Lucanis muttered. Neve looked over apologetically and placed a hand on his arm. “Mierda, that was uncalled for. Apologies. It's not that dire just yet” he drained his whiskey glass.

“No, you’re right. There are other things we need to be focusing on right now.” Rook nodded “How is Treviso?”

“Well. I just missed seeing him apparently, but your guy is doing well. Teia is impressed. Viago…eh. He's never impressed.”

Emmrich frowned. Her ‘guy’? Rook hadn't mentioned a beau.

“I wouldn’t send anyone shit, Lucanis.”

“Yes, but when people recommend their close ones they uh…don’t always live up to the hype, shall we say?”

“Good that Soren hasn’t lost his touch. Did I ever tell you about the time he brought down four mages in one go?”

Ah, Soren, her school friend. Of course, Rook had mentioned him several times. Emmrich looked down at his drink, puzzled. How much had he drunk? A yell across a table brought him back to the conversation, as Harding and Davrin had started a debate further down the table.

“Are you serious? The incline in the Frostbacks is much harder terrain to navigate than the Anderfels.”

“I’m saying that the terrain itself is more difficult.”Davrin held his hands out in frustration “Get yourself a good pair of boots, and the Frostbacks are a breeze. But the Wetlands is just…swamp.”

“B-But snow blindness! And the added risk of being spotted, and-”

“The Wetlands are full of Darkspawn, stealth isn’t even an option there.”

“Nah, third option.” Taash slammed their fist on the table. “Rivaini quicksand. I lost four pairs of boots in one Summer.”

“Well, that just seems careless” Davrin’s eyebrows twitched as he looked away, tipping his tankard.

“Hey, when the sun is that high, all the sand looks the same.” Taash protested, sulking in their seat. Harding just laughed and slapped their thigh in jest.

“Oh come on, four pairs?!”

Taash stared blankly at her for a while, before cracking up “Yeah alright. But yep. Rivain is the worst. Sand everywhere.”

Emmrich looked over his shoulder at Rook, who stood up to give her exact opinion on Rivaini sand, half standing from her seat to make sure her point was heard. Her bun had loosened, front pieces framing her face. Her makeup smudged together from wear and rubbing her face. Her clothes, a loose silk blouse and hemp cropped trousers, similarly crumpled.

Their leader. Headstrong. Obstinate. Radiant. Gorgeous.

He promptly took a larger swig of wine than usual upon completing that thought. Since their conversation in his quarters, Emmrich had started noticing Rook from a different lens, down to minutia. The crinkle in her forehead when she was intensifying her magic. Her slightly crooked grin when she said something cheeky to annoy him. Her eyes sparkling as she pulled a bottle of wine out of her pack in camp. The two of them and Davrin spent hours talking that night, and Emmrich could have easily spent longer listening to her accent thicken whenever she had a strong opinion.

How very embarrassing to have a crush, at his age no less. The slightest bit of attention and he had his head turned. Like she didn't flirt with everyone. Even now, she had one hand on his shoulder briefly as she moved down the table, before doing the same thing to Taash and Davrin, her delicate long fingers brushing across their shoulder blades. Whilst Taash seemed oblivious, Davrin looked up and lightly clasped her hand, both of them sharing a tipsy grin before letting go to allow her to sit.

He sighed to himself, taking another sip. Very silly indeed.

--

Lucanis and Neve were sitting together at the corner of the table, huddled. Neve leaned against the Crow’s arm as they almost silently conversed. It was cute and intimate, and Rook felt she was interrupting by sitting nearby. 

She instead scanned her gaze across the room. Across the table from her, she saw Emmrich and Harding discussing the upcoming expedition, with Taash in the corner falling asleep with a mug of beer in hand. Davrin was behind Rook, by the fireside with Assan, teaching the young Griffon to wait. He never seemed to get incredibly drunk; warden stamina, no doubt.

Varric was nowhere to be seen, which wasn't like him, but he seldom left the infirmary at the moment, tiring quickly. And Bellara had already left, wanting to spend some additional time with the archive. Her solitude concerned Rook, but she knew better than to try and convince her to stay once her mind was set.

Stretching out lazily, she nodded to Neve and Lucanis, unconvinced they had even noticed, and left the dining hall. As the bright light outside hit her, she realised she was a lot more drunk than she had thought, and silently prayed that Harding did not want to leave for Kal Sharok first thing upon waking. She made it across the courtyard to the library, and marched through with confidence as the large doors opened for her, but instantly gave up the ghost when she saw the stairs to her room. 

She instead sat on the sofa in the central room. The team had dubbed it the library, but she found the name fairly redundant, considering Emmrich’s book collection in his own quarters. Looking around, she saw two statuettes illuminated in the dim light and she groaned, raking her hands through her hair. A horrible tangled weave this was all playing out to be. Elven gods. A trickster. An inquisitor. Shit, she had another missive to read from Lavellan. Not to mention a long list of things to resolve.

But this evening…it gave her some hope. The team was strong. She was fighting fit once again. Things were looking…better.

The door clicked open, as Emmrich entered. Of course, he looked the same as ever. Smartly dressed in a lavender shirt, a grey waistcoat and his signature pin. Not a hair out of place. He noticed her and approached “Ah. Gave up on the stairs, did you?”

“Too much effort.” she dismissed, closing her eyes softly for a moment “Sit with me a while, Emmrich. I think there's still enough for a nightcap in the decanter over there, if you want one.”

“Ah no, I’ve already had more than usual. But of course, I will sit with you. After all, we’ve not had many chances to speak this evening.”

“We speak every day at the moment.” she smiled “But sit down anyway. I want to ask you something.”

He sat on the other side of the sofa, plumping up a finely embroidered cushion as he did so. He considered the fine detail; did one of the team embroider this or did Solas? Or did it magic itself into being, a design of someone’s creati-

“I don't bite. Sit closer.” Her eyes opened slightly, peeping at him. Another grin. Oh, Maker.

Distracted again. He obliged, placing the cushion behind him. A mystery for another day.

“You know when we had that argument in Dock Town…”

“You’ll have to be more specific, Rook. We have a lot of disagreements, after all.”

He had been trying to be playful, but she frowned. “The night with the Venatori at the tavern. Do you still think the same things that you did then? About me?”

“What in the heavens inspired this conversation?”

She sighed before answering, her words a little jumbled and slurred “Just watching everyone tonight. Everyone seems different. More grown. Focused. I don't know, really.” she hiccoughed “I just want to know if you think I’ve grown too. And whether you trust us all to get the job done. Because I think so.”

He chuckled “Dear Rook.” her eyes snapped open upon hearing the endearment, and she leaned forward to focus. “For once in my life, I wholeheartedly agree with you. You rally the team, and make everyone want to do their best. I include myself in this, even though I do think you have a death wish.”

She laughed, her hand over her face, before answering: “Good to know.” She clasped his hand and swallowed, trying to prevent another hiccough forming. “You’ve been a good friend to me, Em. Even when I didn't deserve it.”

He looked: “Em? Since when have I been considered an ‘Em’?”

“You've never been called that?”

“I didn't say that” his eyes twinkled. “It’s a name that very few people have called me.”

“Well, better I call you Em than what Taash calls you.”

He chucked, and placed his hand over hers, a wave of gratitude: “Indeed. I must thank you for offering to come with me to the Manor. We have more pressing matters but…it is nice to have someone I can rely on when the time comes.”

“Of course, it’s important to you.”

They then looked at each other, hands still clasped together.

“You looked lovely tonight, Rook.” he slipped. Her eyes widened slightly, but she lowered her gaze, and murmured in a tone that she had never used with him before:

“You don't have to tell me I'm pretty. I know. But I like you saying so.”

Maker, he was in the direct line of fire. The wine had made him feel bolder than usual, and she was…

“I did say lovely. But pretty is a perfect substitute.” he quipped, gently stroking her hand.

“Shut up, Volkarin” she smirked, hair hanging low over her face.

“Never, my dear.” he loosened one hand to brush the hair from her face, just for it to fall back into place.

She looked back up at him: “Yeah, it does that.”

He hummed in mild frustration, but accepted defeat. His hand hovered, deciding to eventually place it under her chin, his index finger balancing, his thumb almost grazing her bottom lip. He caught his breath slightly, realising that this was a very intimate thing to do in the middle of an area with a lot of through traffic, but the buzz from her staring back at him with anticipation in her eyes was intoxicating.

Rook was staring. His eyes were darker, focused on her, and she felt a pleasant shiver down her spine, as she breathed out. He leaned in a fraction, testing the waters, hesitated. He did not want to make any rash decisions.

“Rook I…” he sighed “Forgive me, I have had too much wine.”

“I don’t mind.” she whispered, leaning in further, but Emmrich shook his head, taking his hand away.

“I’m afraid that I do.”

She stared for a moment, then giggled silently, hand moving to her face, dispersing the tension, before she hiccoughed again, making her laugh audibly. Before he knew it, he was chuckling along with her. Yes, it was definitely time to retire. He stood up, offering his hand:

“I hear you and anything elevated are notorious enemies these days. Let us ascend these stairs together, for your safety. The universe does depend on your survival, after all.”

She rolled her eyes, but allowed him to pull her to her feet. Once they reached the meditation room door, Emmrich bowed, slightly overextending from poor balance.

“Goodnight, Rook.” he departed. Rook entered the room, quickly threw off her clothes, and laid on the sofa. But she couldn’t sleep. Her brain was whirring.

Emmrich called her lovely. She didn't think anyone had ever called her that before.

Chapter Text

Rook wasn’t finely tuned, but even she could feel a thickness in the air, an unsettling magic permeating the grounds as soon as they entered the gates of Blackthorne Manor. Bellara could sense it too, stopping in her tracks, frowning. Rook placed a hand on her arm for reassurance.

“Ah no, I’m okay. Don’t worry. It all just feels…”

Rook nodded: “I bet it’s a sign that the necromancer working with the Venatori is still knocking about. Let’s keep going.”

“There’s a malaise amongst the spirits here. Some form of confinement. It has to be the place.” Emmrich agreed from behind her. As he moved ahead and into the light of the nearby torch, Rook realised that his shadow had one too many hands and she grimaced. Whilst Emmrich had started teaching her ways to communicate with spirits, she had firmly decided to leave any corpses to the resident expert.

“Remind me, why did you have to bring that with you?” She asked, feeling nauseated.

“Oh, the hand of glory was essential - it should direct us straight to our necromancer.”

“It is so hard not to make fun of something called the ‘hand of glory’.”

“What’s so amusing?”

He had to be kidding. 

“Never mind.”

Bellara walked ahead, bow drawn. Emmrich followed her for a few steps, before turning back towards Rook, and winked. Of course. She smirked in response, and met his pace as they approached the manor. He continued his appraisal: “Whoever killed the donor of this hand left their mark. That is likely whoever is helping the Venatori. Ah, it would have taken considerable skill to layer involutions on this artefact. Such a waste of talent.”

“Oh yeah, because that’s what we should be focusing on.”

“Of course not, I merely mean-”

Rook shot a look, making it plain that she wasn’t interested. He looked away, unimpressed: “We must stop them regardless. Such forces can twist spirits.”

“Into demons?”

“Ah, an interesting topic of discussion. I myself tend not to use that word. But yes, the spirits will likely become hostile as they embrace a darker nature.”

“So, demons.”

He grumbled, admitting defeat for now, though he made a mental note to bring it up in their next tutoring session. ‘Demon’ was so reductionist .

--

It didn’t take long for the team to find the cause of the disturbance throughout the estate. There was some cruel magic in play, spirits bound in ethereal chains. The first encounter had shaken Rook; it reminded her of several rescue missions across Tevinter. Anger flared in her chest, an orange glow around her. She had turned to Emmrich, suddenly wary that this was standard practice in necromancy, but his jaw was clenched, his brow furrowed and his hand raised to his chest. She felt a strange sense of relief in knowing that this was well outside of Mourn Watch morals.

The spirit was well guarded, though little threat to the trio. Bellara’s quick thinking had their enemies dazed, making it easy for Rook to attack, not only casting flame, but physically shoving between armour plates and bone.

“You’ll shatter the blade if you keep doing that.” Emmrich remarked as the shade dissipated. 

Wiping the weapon with her cloak, she knelt beside the spirit still enchained to the floor, and looked up at him, a determined expression: “Can you free them?”

“I must.” His hands started to weave. The spirit lifted into the air and faded, their anguished screams silenced, but a sharp cry of pain from the professor.

“Are you okay prof-Emmrich?” Bellara asked, moving towards him.

“I’m fine, though I appreciate you asking. Someone has been stealing the life essence of those who knew they were facing death. The effects…they persist.”

Bellara frowned, but Rook understood immediately; the pain was not merely physical. She stood up and moved to him, a hand on his arm, a rare moment of sympathy from her.

“Ah, not to worry either of you. Merely a fleeting moment.” he reassured. Nodding, Rook moved on ahead, keen to keep up the pressure. The other necromancer would know they were here now. Time was of the essence.

--

Rook thanked whoever gave her the foresight to bring Bellara to this investigation. They had searched the manor high and low for ways to open the portal where the hand was indicating them to go. With the Veil Jumper’s skillset, they had turned over every possible nook and cranny, released every bound spirit connected to the barred door, and had managed to get through. 

Emmrich and Rook illuminated their staves and started to navigate the dark and winding, broken paths on the other side. But the Shadow Dragon was going far too quickly in her determination to follow the hand, and her foot slipped on a ledge, her balance lost. Emmrich grabbed her arm, like a reflex. Her magic recoiled with the shock and he hissed in pain, the sensation similar to grasping a hot iron, a hand too close to flame. But he did not - could not -  let go until her foot was back on solid ground.

“Will you please mind where you are going, Rook?”

Rook turned over his hand hastily, blistered skin: “Shit. My bad, sorry.”

“Don’t worry, I can fix that in no time.” Bellara dropped the contents of a replenishing potion on Emmrich’s palm and he thanked her warmly, bowing his head, before turning to Rook.

“Apology accepted for not being careful with your footing, Rook. But please, don’t apologise for the injury, you were caught off guard. Although…” His mouth twitched into a smile, “...hearing you say sorry is quite the historic moment.”

Any gratitude or guilt she had been feeling towards the necromancer was quickly stamped out and she narrowed her eyes: “Come on, we have a lot of ground to cover here.” she looked around, her staff shining in front of her face “Does this feel like…”

“The Fade? Yes, indeed.” Emmrich asserted “Let us proceed. Maybe we can find our culprit, as well as an escape route. We don’t want to remain here for long.”

They made their way down what seemed like an almost endless path, opening out into a huge cave. Another spirit bound in the centre. Then, footsteps ahead. Large black heavy work boots pounded on a staircase, and a nasal voice called out: “Late as always, professor. But of course, what else could I expect from Nevarra’s most eminent meddler?” A crack of magic. A woman appeared before them,  bright goggles over her eyes.

“It can’t be.” Emmrich’s eyes widened in a mixture of mortification and despair “Johanna Hezenkoss!”

“You’ve met?!” Rook looked at him with disbelief.

“The professor and I have known each other for ages. But I was the only one of us to realise that the Mourn Watch was no place for those with ambition” Johanna looked Rook and Bellara up and down, seemingly unimpressed at the company Emmrich was keeping, and Rook’s fist clenched. Her magic crackled in her hands under the pressure.

“Fuck me, you’re full of it.” she spat, prompting a sigh from Emmrich and a flash of indignation from Hezenkoss. Her eyes flicked over to Emmrich: “Didn’t think to mention that you had a prime suspect in all this? Or is there another evil Watcher we should know about?”

“She may not be beyond redemption.”

“Oh, spare me.” Hezenkoss waved her hand, and the bound spirit’s energy dissipated, flowing into a lantern hanging over Johanna’s head. Rook went to strike, but Emmrich stayed her hand.

“No. The stolen energy in that lantern could cause a Fade tear. We’re not equipped to deal with that here.”

“Correct! Only the foolhardy would dare to shed blood here. So indeed, let the Watch mourn your death here, Volkarin.” she barked a laugh “Those left after my return, that is.” A portal opened behind her, and Hezenkoss vanished, saluting as she did so. Rook rushed forward, but the portal closed well before she could intervene. 

Emmrich was ashen. Rook moved in front of his eyeline: “Hey Volkarin, don't you dare flake on me. We need to get out of-”

A scream from behind. She drew her spellblade. Bellara had retreated to a vantage point, bow poised ready to fire. Emmrich had quickly snapped himself out of the trance and had his staff drawn: “We need to find an exit.”

“This is your thing, right? Bellara and I will fight the demons, you go figure that out.” she turned and slashed her blade, sending arcs of fire towards the demons rapidly approaching.

“Alright, but Rook,” he called as he went wide of the battle, in the direction of the steps where Hezenkoss had appeared from, “...now might be a good time to utilise the skills you learned last week.”

She gripped her spellblade tighter and she swung for a stronger blast of fire magic. She didn't think she was ready; their first session in necromancy had limited success.

“You know the technique, Rook. Try to focus.” He shouted as he searched the ruins. Rook weaved and dodged the demons, blocking them from following Emmrich. Bellara sent a shattering arrow screaming across the cavern, causing her ears to ring. She backed onto the stairs.

“Focus is a bit hard right now, if you couldn't tell!” She cried out. She switched to her staff and cast a wall of fire. She heard a “Aha!” behind her, and then Emmrich was immediately behind her, staff back in hand, finally joining the battle.

She raised her staff and swung, striking true with a blast of flame; the demons fell. A hand on her shoulder. She kept her eyes fixed ahead, but patted the hand in return, indicating she was fine, if a little worn out: “Find anything? That better have been worth it.”

“Yes. This candle should do the trick, its twin is over yonder.” Once the flames died down, he marched:  “I’m afraid that you’ll need to catch your breath quickly, Rook. I don't doubt Johanna will have left something on the other side to welcome us.”

--

They escaped back into the physical realm, the Manor. Emmrich ran ahead, keen to catch Hezenkoss before her departure. Rook followed, for once failing to match his pace: “We can’t attack her with that lantern, like you said.”

“Indeed not, the impact will result in a maelstrom that would consume half of Nevarra, at the very least.” he pushed through doors with both hands, ensuring that both she and Bellara were through before heading to the next set. “But I need to try one last time to make her see sense.”

“Think that’s a lost battle.” She gasped: “For fuck’s sake, Volkarin - slow down . This isn’t like you.”

With a final push, he opened the doors to the main hall, catching out Hezenkoss, who hadn't yet vacated, not even close. She clearly hadn’t expected them: “So, you crawled your way out of the Fade?” she sneered, hand on hip.

“It’s not so difficult for those of us who treat spirits better than tools to an end, Johanna!” Emmrich expulsed, a growl of anger in his voice by the end of the sentence. Rook was taken aback; not even when they were at each other’s throats was he this irate.

“Ugh, sentimental drivel.” Hezenkoss dismissed him easily, an air of superiority radiating. Rook’s aura started to glow in response. Hezenkoss looked her up and down once again and her upper lip trembled into judgement and disgust “Associating yourself with such sloppy mages, Volkarin. How disappointing. You may have stopped my work here, but Nevarra WILL know its new ruler.”

“Are we doing this or not?” Rook cut in, grabbing her spellblade.

“Oh, a death wish!” Hezenkoss hooted “You and Volkarin must be quite the pair, indeed. Though he clearly avoided telling you about his dear colleague in exile.”

“We made every attempt to bring you to reason.” Emmrich said flatly, hand on hip.

“And I gave you every chance to join me instead of whining endlessly about your mortality!” A disturbing smile on her face “Oh, but I must thank you for returning something dear to me. So lovely to have my hand back.” She raised her arm, and Rook could see a faint outline of a phantom hand, green and translucent. Emmrich balked as the hand of glory leapt to the floor, and clambered back to its original owner. 

Hezenkoss sensed their hesitation and smiled wider, almost a caricature: “I’d exchanged it with the Venatori for some favours, you see. After entering this particular…condition.”

She raised her goggles and Bellara let out a muffled shriek behind her hands. In place of the necromancer’s eyes, nothing but eerie light. Emmrich stepped forward, a tone of total disbelief “Johanna, what have you done ?”

A scowl “What you never had the courage to!” Her hands shook. Rook looked at Emmrich, feeling the vibration in the ether. The largest demon Rook had ever seen tore into the hall. Bellara, quick off the mark, shot an arrow to produce a smokescreen; the trio retreated, Rook and Bellara choosing to hide behind a pillar. Emmrich was nearby, knelt behind a bench. He looked over at them both, surprisingly calm given the scenario.

“Just for the record, considering that there are two necromancers who have said this now; I do not have a death wish.” Rook asserted “Want to tell me why she has no eyes?”

“Afterwards, Rook. Please, prioritise.” he admonished “And remember what I said before.”

She rolled through the air, moving beside him with a Fade step: “We don’t have time for that, Volkarin.”

“Do you trust me, Rook?”

She nodded, exasperated, and he continued: “We could channel our energies together. I dare say that would spur on your abilities.”

Bellara’s smokescreen was clearing, they were out of time. “Shit, okay. Tell me what to do.”

“Take my hand. Trust the process, my dear.” She could feel his smirk, and wanted to tell him exactly what she thought of his mantra, but no time. She counted. On two, he reached for her hand, their magics, spirit and flame, enveloped each other’s wrists. She gasped, as they both felt a rush of power. A shared pool of mana, in tandem.

On three, he released her hand, and her instinct kicked in. Their staves both radiated green, spiritual energy. Emmrich’s was paler, ribbons wrapping around their attackers; hers a bolder, brighter green, staccato shots striking the demon right at its centre. A dazzling arrow from Bellara perfectly timed, and the entire hall was alight, a firework display. Emmrich raised his staff, and the world around them slowed as they regrouped. A time freeze spell; the sparks from each other’s magic fell slowly through the air around the bubble he had created.

“Nice work there, both of you!” Bellara called from the pillar, waving her hand “Looks like those sessions are working!”

A smile on Emmrich’s face. At first, she thought it was self-satisfaction, but bit her tongue when she realised that it was intended for her. He nodded, and whispered “Well executed.”

“Hezenkoss is gone though, Emmrich. Sorry.” Bellara added dejectedly, looking at the railings above where the rogue necromancer had stood.

Emmrich looked frustrated. Nevertheless, he maintained his composure in his tone: “Not to worry, Bellara. We’ll get her next time.” He waved his staff again to break the time bubble “Well done, both. Let’s dispatch these remaining foes and depart immediately.”

The hall pulled back into realtime and Rook dashed through the air. She felt a deep scratch across her brow as the demons swiped, but she persisted, raining down fire. 

Bellara barely had time to reload her bow. She looked up to see Rook stood in the centre of the room, laughing from the adrenaline rush, blood dripping down her face, as the final demon fell, and she hesitated, looking to Emmrich for guidance. He headed towards their heightened leader; he felt the same tingle beneath his skin: 

“You’re bleeding, Rook.”

She couldn’t feel anything: “Fuck me, what a rush!”

“Indeed. Let’s not make a habit of doing that, however. You’re already far too brazen in battle.”

She rolled her eyes but retracted her weapon: “Yeah, you’re welcome.”

“Of course, my apologies. We were successful, and the spirits that Johanna bound are no longer chained. The Fade feels…still. Thank you, Rook. The Mourn Watch…in fact, I owe you, a significant debt.”

As they departed the manor, Rook and Emmrich fell quiet, as Bellara carried on her usual stream of consciousness. The adrenaline had faded, but embers of their earlier connection revealed much to one another. Rook could almost taste the deep seated fear within Emmrich’s magic. It was cold, dull, metallic, alien to her. That fine line of death and survival that they had traversed today terrified him, and she felt a new, unexpected protectiveness. In return, Emmrich discovered inferiority twisting. A frustration; his words may never be enough to loosen that knot. But heavens, he would try to make his friend see her worth.

As they walked back up the hill, behind Bellara, Rook silently reached for his hand, without thinking. He had been taken aback at first, before he gently traced the back of her hand with his thumb, a sad look as their eyes met. A new understanding between them, their friendship a more powerful asset in all they faced. 

It came with a price: the knowledge of what the other was feeling in such dire scenarios, living their own personal nightmare, over and over, until the gods were defeated. 

Maybe even longer than that.

--

They had set up camp for the evening a few miles away from the manor estate. Bellara had retired to bed. Emmrich and Rook were prone to being night owls at the best of times, but the events of the day had secured their insomnia for at least another evening.

“So, you used to work with Hezenkoss?”

“I did, we were colleagues for a time. She was banished for embracing the darker elements of necromantic arts. Forbidden magic, blood sacrifice-”

A curse from Rook, muttered under breath.

“-nothing was out of the question for her, if it gave her status, recognition or power. Her ego, her downfall.”

“Her digs seemed personal. I’m guessing you knew her before all that. Were you two like… close or…?”

“Good heavens.” Emmrich seemed genuinely appalled by the suggestion “We were friends for a time, nothing more. She truly was brilliant, is brilliant. We partnered together on papers, research, and rituals. But we had very different ideas on the Mourn Watch. It seems that she’s gone completely rogue.”

“So you won’t be upset if we need to bring her down?”

“I…that is a complex topic.” He looked down, and she put a hand on his arm. 

“Maybe it won’t come to that.” She pulled a face “Shit. Sorry, Em.”

“Two apologies in one day?” he mused, but his smile faded as soon as it arrived. “No, you’re absolutely right, I must be prepared for that potential outcome.” He hummed. “We got along so well as students. But even then, she found the Watchers quaint. It’s not the first time we’ve crossed paths since she was exiled.”

“Wait, she's the same age as you?”

“Younger, actually.”

“I would not have guessed that.”

Emmrich didn't think it would be gentlemanly to comment further: “Returning to your previous point, if she is in fact planning on conquering Nevarra, I will take whatever action is necessary.”

“I mean, we actually have to find her first. She’ll probably go underground for a bit.” she paused “Guessing her eyes weren’t always like that?”

“They were not. I will need to read up on the topic, but if she’s done what I think she’s attempted to do…I think she's tried to turn herself partially undead.” 

“Oh. Shit.”

He looked at her, considering whether now was a good time to talk about his own personal journey on the same path of which Johanna had embarked. He knew it wasn’t the time. Rook was dishevelled, sporting a cut just above her eyebrow; the blood spill on her face earlier had been far less grave than it looked on the battlefield, but she was probably sporting a black eye. It was difficult to tell under her eye makeup. And yet, it was the concern on her face that worried him; it wasn’t in her typical nature. He smiled wearily “Lots to consider, but I am well versed in that by now. Thank you for your assistance as always.”

Her hand moved from his arm to his hand once more: “I know I give you a lot of grief, but… I’m here for you, you know that, right?”

“Of course, and the same to you. Alas, I believe I simply need to wallow. Fall back to my familiar escapism in reading and research. I’ll be back to my usual self in no time, don’t you worry.”

“You’re such a bad liar.” she quipped. “Talk to me, Em. You have someone who does…care, y’know?”

“That’s very kind of you, but I will be fine…eventually.” He smiled and slid his fingers in between hers “You know, you are always so warm, my dear. An open palm is always welcome on a chilled night like this.”

She laughed at his sudden charm and deflection, and reached for his other hand, gently pulling him to his feet: “You should’ve said earlier, you know I don’t really feel the cold. Let me do something. You trust me?”

“After the trust you placed in me today, it goes without saying.”

She closed her eyes, and focused. Emmrich felt a warmth radiating from her reaching to him, like being stood in front of an open fire, or within a cosy tavern.

“You feel that?” she asked, one eye half open to gauge his reaction.

“An inspired use of pyromancy. I daresay I feel much better now. Thank you, Rook, once again.”

“More of that where it came from, if you need it.”

“Oh, I wager.”

Her face flushed, a rosy glow. She looked up at him, their eyes locked and once again, Emmrich could feel that magnetic pull to her once more.

They hadn't yet spoken of that night in the library. He had intended to of course, but it felt altogether ludicrous of him when she had continued on the following day like nothing had happened. Indeed, why would she even consider him, in the light of morning?

But Rook was, in fact, considering him. Until now, on nights where she found herself alone and her thoughts led to him, she had credited the trifecta that served her through her mid to late twenties: alcohol, proximity and thrill-seeking. But she was sober this evening, exhausted, and yet her mind wandered freely to the thought of his lips on hers, hands in her hair, descending down her body…

No. Not tonight. He’d been through enough.

He bowed to her. “I know sleep evades us both most nights. But we should try to retire for the evening, Rook. I know that you have plenty on your plate with the Wardens in the Anderfels. Thank you again for diverting here.”

She nodded, letting go of his hands at last: “Anytime. It’s been a long day, and I know you won’t but…try to sleep well, Emmrich.”

--

A scribbled note, on a scrap of parchment. Letters are small and squeezed together; Rook needed more room to write.

Lucanis tried out that recipe from your mum, and wants your verdict. I’ve left a slice with Manfred to keep guard, before everyone else descends.

Let me know if I can help with Hezenkoss. I don’t even know where to start with the necromancy stuff, but if you need any Venatori info, I’m your girl.

– Rook

--

Emmrich knew hiding away would not resolve anything, but Hezenkoss’ state had given him pause. He hadn’t quite realised how much it had affected him until he returned to the Lighthouse. Why had she done it? Syncing up with Venatori. Stealing valuables from the Mourn Watch. Her terrible state of half-lichdom. The absolute object horror of it all.

He definitely needed to tell Rook about his prospective bid. He hadn’t divulged into what he already knew Hezenkoss had become, afraid that it would open up the conversation; as the younger mage had said, he was a terrible liar. He’d been spending time re-reading old tomes to reaffirm what he already knew, in case he missed any crumb of information that would prevent him from suffering a similar fate to his old colleague. The reading pile had grown as tall as he.

But he knew he couldn’t stay locked up for much longer. He had already promised to assist Neve with her investigation into the fearsome Aelia, a whispering already scheduled. Then there was Rook’s tutoring. He unravelled her note again, re-reading the last three words:

I’m your girl.

He berated himself immediately. A simple turn of phrase, and how silly of him to get sentimental over it.

On some levels, his initial impression of her had been right on the money. She continued to be stubborn and flighty. She left in her wake a string of apologies for others to make. He was constantly pulling her away from dangerous missteps, both physical and social. She worried him constantly, and he disapproved of her methods often and considerably.

But no matter what she had been made to believe in Tevinter, she was very intelligent, a fast learner in the right environment. She was determined, and she delivered on her promises. Off the clock, she brought levity, something missing for quite a few years in his life. He wasn’t sure why an adventurer had chosen him for a friend but he was so glad for it. Not to mention that they seemed to enjoy each other’s company…

He had to focus; he couldn't. He had been thinking about the night in the library. Those looks they kept sharing. Maker, she was a shameless flirt. But he hadn’t realised that he still had it in him to respond in kind. It had been a year since his last casual fling, which had been considerably lacklustre, dying off from a lack of interest from both parties. That encounter had left him believing he was done with any sort of entanglements…but the way Rook had looked at him the other night by the campfire…

He closed the text he was reading with a firm motion. He definitely wasn’t going to concentrate now.

Chapter Text

Whilst Rook had perhaps burned bridges with some Wardens, Antoine and Evka remained on side, and required her help. Antoine had not been what she had expected in a Grey Warden. He was a gentle soul, with a deep insight into the Blight and the gods, finding deep seated knowledge and emotion in his connection to the taint within him. Rook had doubted at first, thinking that he could get blown away in a gust of wind with his willowy frame, yet he emerged as a plucky fighter when cornered, and once again, she had been humbled by her prejudice. Evka meanwhile was exactly what she envisioned, a fierce warrior, determined, principled. Rook couldn’t imagine a better person to take on the mantle of acting First Warden since her predecessor was missing in action, admiring Evka for the careful balance of resilience and compassion.

She felt getting anywhere near Evka’s level of leadership was little more than an aspiration, but she was trying. Looking for any possible advantage against the darkspawn, Rook sought Assan for scouting and battle, specifically if the young griffon cadet could be trained to take orders from her, or anyone else from Team Lighthouse. The aerial advantage would be invaluable in the swamp maze of Hossberg, if nothing else. Davrin was sceptical about her proposal, but asked Rook to accompany him to Arlathan to test her hypothesis. The weather was humid, warm. The elf hitched his pack further up his back as they started climbing up stairs up to the clearing.

“Struggling there? Are those muscles just for show, or do they actually do anything?” She teased, taking long strides, a few steps ahead of him.

“Alright, you’re carrying half the weight I am. Come back to me when you have any muscle. You mages are all so skinny.”

“Mate, I haven't spent years running down alleyways and leaping over crates to be called ‘skinny’. I am…” she searched for the word, ducking under a tree branch “... streamlined . Shadow Dragons can’t be made of glass.”

“Yeah. Rarely seen a mage who just tumbles around like you do, though. Even with other Dragons I’ve met. They all tend to sit back and let the warriors do the work”

“No way, have you seen Emmrich? He's probably more in shape than I am.”

Davrin smirked, an eyebrow raised: “At his age, that probably says more about you than him.”

“Oh, fuck you.” she said, laughing. She loosened her under-armour as she broke a sweat from the climb: “I sparred a lot with my friend when I started out as a mercenary. Picked up a lot of things from him. I’m too impatient to sit back.”

“You're telling me.” He stopped, catching his breath: “Friend, huh?”

“Yeah. I do have them, you know.” Seeing his smirk, she realised his actual question and quickly clarified: “Ah no, not like that. Actual friend. Soren likes men.”

He raised his hand to halt her for a moment, listening for movement. A rabbit emerged from a shrub. Satisfied, they moved on. 

“So, no one waiting for you in Minrathous?”

“Plenty. They just don't know it yet.” Rook smirked. Seeing the summit, she started taking the steps two at a time, marching ahead before Davrin could respond.

Reaching the top of the staircase, Assan descended, sitting on the ground poised, waiting for his next command. Davrin threw a truffle to Rook as he threw this pack to the ground; she caught it with a grin.

“Right Assan, show me what you're made of. Reckon you could follow a few instructions?” she asked, knees braced.

The griffon’s head tilted. With whirlwind speed, he grabbed the truffle out of her hand and flew back into the air. Gobsmacked, she turned to Davrin, her hand frozen. He just chuckled and shook his head, throwing her another truffle before raising his hands and calling Assan back down to the ground. Her eyes narrowed, hand grasped on the treat. Assan crash-landed behind her, sending her flying, and grabbed the now airborne truffle. With a squawk, he ascended once more.

“You know, I might ask Bellara instead.” Davrin folded his arms, rolling his eyes “Should’ve known you’d just cause more chaos.”

“Fuck off, Davrin.”

--

They had returned back to Lavendel. Davrin and Assan were out scouting for any immediate threats. For now, the base was safe, but Rook felt her skin prickling with pins and needles. She wanted to move, fight, find something to do. Sensing her discomfort, Emmrich suggested a tutoring session to pass the time, and Rook snapped up the offer in a heartbeat.

Pyromancy was as familiar as breathing. Necromancy was intense; even weeks after the events of the manor, it still took a lot of her mana and concentration when drawing from her own reserves - Emmrich advised against pooling their magic together again, to avoid reliance on it. His recommendation had been to try attacking from range instead to grant herself more time, which was met with a reluctant scowl. But there she stood, breathing in through her nose and out her mouth. She felt that if she could just master this moment of silence…

“Rook, take a look.”

She opened her eyes, and saw herself surrounded by a perfect circle of green energy. Oh. She almost felt emotional, hand rising to her mouth in disbelief. Emmrich clasped his hands together “Oh well done, Rook!”

“Thanks. You…might have had a point about allowing myself more time to hone in.”

“The spirits do need time to respond, they’re not as freely summoned as elemental magic.”

“Fair.” She admired her work before letting the field fade: “Just need to try and do that in the middle of a battle now. It's a bit different when there's nothing trying to kill me at the same time.”

As soon as she finished her sentence, she heard the wings of Assan above their heads.

“Well, I would predict that we may be able to put theory into practice.” Emmrich chimed, grabbing his weapons. “Let’s inquire with Davrin.”

--

Venatori were breaking into warden archives, using Darkspawn as their defense line. Davrin, visibly angry, nodded towards Rook, and they went off to discuss tactics. Emmrich meanwhile couldn’t help feeling a little out of the loop; Davrin had spent a lot of time with Rook before the professor had signed onto the mission, and his two companions seemed to have developed a code of hand and arm signals, reading each other as easily and readily as Emmrich could read a page. Their discussions on battle tactics did feel somewhat redundant - Davrin and Rook were both battering rams in combat, and opted for such almost every time. Emmrich would naturally disagree with them, then he and Rook would get into a squabble. It was their modus operandi.

He flexed his hands; his right wrist was giving him some trouble. He had performed some Mourn Watch duties the previous night, and had some trouble keeping a particularly feisty spirit in check. Nothing Emmrich hadn’t encountered before, but he had definitely pulled something. He focused on that, trying to tune out his comrades, Davrin holding up his hand for a high five and Rook responding in kind whilst laughing, openly, genuinely. He wasn’t jealous, per se, but…

Oh, how very immature of him.

“Hey, Emmrich.” Rook called over, beckoning him over. Her staff was alight with flame, their main light source in the swamp: “So here’s the plan. Davrin just filled me in on the Darkspawn defense line…”

He braced himself.

“...thinking that we could go in with some ranged attacks from us, stay as far back as possible whilst we shrink numbers, and then take down the big guy last. Davrin can send in Assan for some dives if he thinks they’re getting too close.”

Oh. That was…unexpected logic from the leader. How alarming. Maybe his counsel was finally getting through to her.

“...then, I get the last strike in with my spellblade, maybe a fireball.”

And there it was. The Rook signature. He nodded, “Sounds like a plausible methodology.”

Oh, she didn't like that; no arguing felt like a bad omen. They clambered to the top of the hill for a better vantage point. Below was an elaborate network of blight boils and roots, blocking the entrance to a larger construct. Davrin shook his head when he saw the scale of the blight: “Shit, didn’t expect this. We can’t go in there underprepared. Let’s concentrate on getting into the archive for now.”

Rook looked over at Emmrich, and the courtyard “I’ll take the left tower, you the right?”

“Good heavens. You actually sound like you planned this.”

“It’s almost like I’ve done this a thousand times before.” This response prompted sarcastic agreement noises back and forth between the mages until Davrin raised his arm to silence them. They nodded to each other and split off. Rook was quick to clamber up the ladder to the platform, her armour lightweight, and her mana bubbling.

The horde spotted Assan and Davrin. Her staff brandishing her wildfire, she unleashed, trying to capture as much ground as possible, swallowing up the swarm descending on the pair. The tutoring was paying off. Emmrich had been pushing her in their sessions, and she was starting to see the impact of those exercises and observations. On the other side of the courtyard, she could see his death magic flying through the air, taking out blight boils and smaller monsters.

There it was - the ogre, much bigger than she had been expecting. She swore, gripping her staff tighter as she cast a fireball upon the monster, trying to deflect attention away from Davrin, deviating from their original plan. The creature’s eyes met hers, and let out a shriek, before starting to advance. She realised too late that she had put herself in a very vulnerable position in the tower with little ground space, and she didn’t have time to scale the ladder. She put her hands in a quick prayer motion before leaping off the tower into the courtyard, using her staff to break the fall force. She still landed heavily, rolling across the floor, but quickly recovered and got back to her feet.

“Rook!” she could hear Emmrich exclaim anxiously from the other tower.

“I’m fine, keep going!” she yelled back. She pulled out her spellblade, and started speedfiring at the ogre. She rushed towards Davrin, using her magic to propel forwards, but her mana was now wearing thin and she needed time to recharge. She tumbled behind Davrin, and crouched behind his shield, slammed into the mud as a barrier.

“Well, plan A has gone to shit, now you're down here” the elf stated, wiping his brow. “So now what?”

“Just give me a moment, I need to breathe.” In between rasps, she fired her blade towards the advancing ogre before crouching behind the shield once more. Davrin looked at her, concerned, and placed a hand on her shoulder.

“You alright? You’ve not cracked anything again, have you?”

“Fine.” She brushed him off with a frown, irritated. She unclasped and swigged a vial from her belt, and  felt an instant kick of adrenaline.

“Alright. Stay here.” he swung his blade back towards the creature he had been fighting, rising to its feet, whilst Rook turned her attention to the ogre. But it was no longer heading towards her.

Streaks of necrotic energy fired towards the beast, and the ogre was climbing up to the east tower. To Emmrich. She swore, and charged, ignoring the pain in her body as she leaped, and the yell of protest from Davrin. The force blast from the ogre’s swing knocked her sideways, but she recovered quickly. Her eyes scanned for the professor.

The bottom of the tower. On the ground, but definitely alive. His staff was just out of reach, and the ogre was poised for another strike, leaping into the air.

She felt something deep, guttural, and she raised her staff towards Emmrich. Around him, a field of death magic bloomed. Much bigger than before, much brighter. As the ogre landed, the field was triggered, and blasted the beast twenty feet away. It landed with a thump, and didn’t move, green energy smothering its body like a fly in a spider web.

She quickly looked for Davrin, scanning her eyes around. Ah, there he was, absolutely fine, his creature downed, cleaning his blade. They were out of danger. Gasping for air, Rook ran, heart pounding. She threw her weapons to one side and crouched beside the necromancer.

“Emmrich, are you alright?”

He coughed “Yes, all thanks to you. Apologies, I was off kilter… but that was impressive, Rook. A palpable hit.” he smiled at her, wearily.

“I didn't know I could do that .” she wheezed, quickly checking his body for any immediate casualty. Blood trickled from a cut on his cheek. She threw off her gloves, and moved forward to inspect it, then paused “May I?”

“Of course.”

She examined the cut briefly, checking for any signs of blight. “Just a scratch from the rubble.” she sighed in relief. Her thumb was tracing his cheekbone. It was then that Emmrich noticed the tears in her eyes.

“Rook, my dear.” he smiled “I’m fine. You’re fine.” He sat up, reached out and brushed the tear that had fallen on her cheek. “I can’t quite believe I’m saying this, but I do believe that I prefer your fiery aura to your tears. Strong magical outputs can evoke this reaction, of course.” He smiled sincerely “Please don’t be embarrassed. You know, I think I cried every time I spoke with the dead until I was twenty-one.”

She nodded, and swallowed. “I can see why. Fuck, the death magic is quite intense.” She blinked the tears away, removed her hand, and passed Emmrich a replenishing potion from her belt. “Is this how you feel when I get knocked down?”

“Every time, dear girl” he responded earnestly, taking his hand away to grasp the vial.

“Fucking hell.” she laughed through the remaining sobs. She felt her anxiety subside, her breathing normalising. She placed her hands on her hips in jest: “In that case, what are you doing down here? Are you slacking during company time?”

“Oh, perish the thought.” He smiled, and swigged from the emerald-coloured vial. The colour - what little he had -  instantly came back into his face “Thank you, Rook.” He took one of her hands and kissed the back of it, then her fingers, like instinct. Their shared glance held for a moment longer, before she looked away, and with a jolt, withdrew and stood up, pulling on her gloves. Emmrich followed her gaze; Davrin had made his way over to the pair, covered in dirt and ash, but otherwise unharmed.

Emmrich studied the Warden as he approached. Had he seen their interaction? Yes, he definitely had. Davrin looked crestfallen, and Emmrich felt a tiny pinprick of guilt. The moment was fleeting, and the elf quickly jumped back into action mode “You alright?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Rook batted her hand in the air. She was flustered.

“I shall be momentarily. Panic over.” Emmrich responded, moving to stand up. He watched as Rook and Davrin moved away, retelling their version of events, Davrin berating her for breaking formation, reverting to their secret language. Rook waving him away dismissively.

But through his slight delirium from the potion and the knock to the head, Emmrich gazed starry-eyed at the retreating blonde and smiled. It would seem that he and Rook also had a language of their own.

--

They had few opportunities to reconvene for tutoring, but Rook had been taking her study seriously for the first time in her life, and the payoff was showing. One evening back at the Lighthouse, a few weeks after defending the archive, Rook discovered that she could now siphon energy from other sources to recharge her stamina.

“Could I use it to heal?” she asked “I picked up this really annoying graze just before we came back that isn’t scabbing over”

“I'm afraid to ask you this, but how did you do that?”

“You were there. The mistimed jump between the two planks near the manor in Hossberg. Scraped my arm pulling myself up.”

He grumbled his discontent “As time progresses, I realise that your recklessness is incorrigible, Rook. But to answer your question: yes, you could transfer that mana into healing power. Spirits are always keen to help when respect is shown.”

She grinned, and enthusiastically rolled up her sleeve. Emmrich pulled a face as she pulled back the makeshift bandage, strips of woven cotton discoloured with old blood.

“I do wish you would be more careful, my dear.”

“And I wish you’d stop fussing.” she hovered her hand over and focused. Green threads wrapped around her arm and she laughed with delight as the magic weaved between layers of skin, renewing it.

“Be careful to maintain your concentra-”

He didn’t have the opportunity to finish the sentence; Rook’s over-excitement sparked, the dancing green energy morphed into fire, and sent a misdirected projectile towards him. He promptly ducked, arms over his head.

“Oh shit Emmrich, your shirt!”

“No matter, I wore my least favourite today just in case. Besides, I always take a potion of fire resistance before every session.” His eyes sparkled with humour, patting out the remaining flame on the cuff.

“That shirt was probably one of my favourites.” she remarked absent-mindedly. Emmrich raised an eyebrow, to which she rolled her eyes “You wore it for dinner the other week. The fabric’s nice, and it suits you. I can be nice, sometimes, you know?”

“Oh, well thank you.” He muttered. He could feel a warmth flush his cheeks, and he adjusted the collar. He didn’t think she cared for his attire; his structured lines and pleats a contrast to Rook’s affinity for silky, floaty, wraparound silhouettes when she wasn't in armour. He shuffled some papers on his desk, trying to bring the conversation back to the session: “Please remember to breathe Rook; once you’ve done it a few times, it won’t be as exciting, don’t forget.”

She bit her lip, frustrated “Still a loose cannon though, aren't I?”

“Always.” His smile faded upon seeing her disappointed face, and he softened “You’re putting a lot of pressure on yourself, learning a new school of magic that takes decades to master. Be patient. Be kind.”

“But I’m doing this to try and control my magic. I need to put pressure on myself.”

“Rook.” He wanted to shake her. Comfort her. Both. He sighed: “You are a powerful mage, but I implore you, please stop thinking of yourself as a liability; I wouldn't have agreed to tutor you if I thought you were such. Please give yourself some grace.”

She sighed in return, dissatisfied with that answer. She wasn’t sure any answer would have appeased her. Her hair had come loose from the bun; she swept her hands through her hair to refasten it, but her hands were trembling. Without really thinking, he moved over to help, but she instead marched towards the door, losing her temper.

“I can't give myself any fucking grace, or patience. I have none.”

She stormed out, leaving the door wide open. Emmrich sighed heavily and went to close the door, only to be beaten to it.

“Ah, thank you Manfred.” He side-eyed the door. “Very considerate.” He wasn’t sure how the tone had changed so suddenly, but that was Rook. He removed his charred shirt, threw it over the stair bannister, and hastily replaced it with another from his chest of belongings; Manfred had already ensured it was immaculate, of course.

He sat in his chair, lost in thought. She was right, they had so little time. He needed to tell her about his desire for lichdom; it would make sense for proceedings to start before they confronted the gods, after all. The new power he could access would be invaluable in their quest. But he was apprehensive. He didn't want her to think any differently about him. Rook was new to necromancy, to his work, she didn’t know the intricacies and yet…her opinion meant a lot to him, as it happened. 

And he still needed to find Johanna first, regardless. He sighed again.

--

A small card, folded neatly in half.

Rook,

Manfred and I worked on mending this shirt as a collaborative project last night, testing his dexterity. Sadly, the arms are now too short for myself. You said this shirt was your favourite of mine, and I would hate for such a fine garment to be condemned to the Fade forevermore, so we made some further alterations.

I hope it is a good fit for you. Clothing for people as tall as you and I can be a rare find, after all.

I meant what I said in yesterday's session. I appreciate that you are struggling with the tutoring, and have a decision to make on that front. For now, I would highly recommend you joining the whispering that Neve has requested tomorrow morning; for your own curiosity, if nothing else. We can discuss the next steps then.

Your friend, 

Emmrich.

--

A response, on a separate piece of parchment, edges creased from being pushed under a locked door.

Emmrich, it’s perfect.

Talk later.

R

--

Fresh bread was cooling on the side in the dining hall, along with a fruit preserve. Rook suspected Lucanis was evading sleep once again; at least he was keeping busy and the team well fed.

“Coffee on the side too” Neve piped from the corner, sat in one of the cosier chairs near the fireplace.

“You’re awake early” Rook commented, piling bread on her plate.

“Have to go to sleep to wake up.” Neve retorted “I was up thinking. Stayed with Lucanis for a while too.”

Neve caught Rook’s quizzical expression and they both broke out into a wide, close-lipped smile. Aha .

“Say no more. Not right now, anyway.” She poured out a mug of coffee. “So this whispering that you’ve asked for-”

“A lead on the Threads situation.” Neve interrupted, “I would’ve asked you to join before but I wasn’t sure if you would.”

“Why?”

“I think it might be a Shadow Dragon.”

“Fuck. Do you know who?”

“Afraid not. The body was…” Neve grimaced, reluctant to say more. Rook’s grip tightened on the handle of her coffee mug, her jaw gritted, but nodded.

--

The Shadow Dragon’s spirit, contained in a small skull in Emmrich’s palm, was reluctant. Going against every piece of advice he had given on communing with spirits, feeling his sceptical gaze on her, she interrupted Emmrich’s questioning. She started speaking code, with a heavily accented Tevene that Emmrich couldn't understand, despite his basic knowledge of the language. He was ready to admonish her, when the spirit started to talk freely, giving the information Neve had desperately sought for almost months. The ice mage was keen to get moving as soon as possible with their newfound intel. Rook agreed, caveating a prior commitment to Taash first.

“I’ll go ahead of you, then. Get some intel on the ground. But you, me, Bel. We need to get her away from that archive for a bit - she’s only gotten worse since we found out about Cyrian.” Neve nodded to them both, and left her study to inform Bellara of the plans. Meanwhile, Emmrich was rolling down his sleeves again, and carefully re-buttoning his cuffs.

“Need any help cleaning up?” Rook offered, but Emmrich simply shook his head.

“No need, a skull is a far less demanding task, and Neve’s office does not have the same challenge of blocking light that my quarters do.” he fastened a cufflink and straightened himself up “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you speak Tevene before. You don’t use it with Neve.”

Rook shrugged “It’s my third language, that’s why. Tevene isn’t really used much amongst us mere working class folk. Trade is my mother tongue.”

“Ah, of course. Then what is the second?”

“Oh, still Tevene, I guess. But a dialect. I spent a lot of time with my father’s kitchen staff when he took me to Ventus. Servants, not slaves. They used to take me with them to see their families on their afternoons off. They tended to live further out, more rural villages. Trade isn’t used as much there.”

“And how did you end up in Minrathous?”

“My aunt came to visit us. She was mortified that I was not only speaking the dialect, but speaking it in my very strong Free Marches accent. Hauled me off to the capital to live with her.”

“So your accent is from the Free Marches?”

“Well, it’s definitely not Tevinter. Can't you tell that I don’t sound like Neve? Or any of your students from the Imperium?” Rook smirked, “Yeah, as soon as I found out my aunt hated my accent, I did my best to keep it.”

“Now why doesn’t that surprise me?” He leaned forward smiling and in faux-indignation, she folded her arms. He walked across the room, reading some of Neve’s notes pinned to the wall. “Whilst I have you, Rook. You do not need to provide me with an answer now, but have you given much thought on how you would like to proceed with your tutoring?”

Rook moved towards the desk, reluctant: “Ah, yeah. I…” she paused, trying to form an apology, but it didn't come naturally to her “You haven't done anything wrong, but I'm pissed off. It's the first time that something like that has happened because I was…happy. It usually only happens when I’m angry, or upset”

“Ah.”

“Yeah. And this is all one big…” she sighed “That’s a huge fucking problem, given what we face. I don’t think I should risk it.”

“Rook, I-”

She interrupted him: “I’m pushing too much, too soon. I can’t risk it right now, with everything going on. I nearly hurt you and…” she trailed off, face scrunched, reluctant to talk further.

He took a moment to compose his response: “I quite understand, though I disagree with you; mistakes are all part of the process. I do so wish you would give yourself the same allowances that you make for everyone else.” He walked around the desk and stood beside her “I know better than to try to persuade you, but please let me know if you would like to revisit this topic.” He sighed, shaking his head lightly as he folded his arms. “It is quite a pity, however. I have truly enjoyed tutoring you, and you clearly have a gift for the school of necromancy. Please keep practicing it, along with the mindfulness exercises.” He looked at her, kind eyes seeking: “The company has also been most welcome.”

“Oh, don’t worry. You’re not getting rid of me in a hurry.” she purred, leaning against the desk, her left hip brushing his right.

“Well, thank goodness for that.”

He adopted a similar position to her, hands on the desk, and their fingers brushed. But the moment was instantly dispelled when Neve re-entered the room, striding across the office, pulling down notes and throwing items into her travelling pack. Nodding, Emmrich took that as his cue to leave, before Rook could say anything else.

--

A knock on the door. Manfred opened it and let out a happy hiss.

“Emmrich, are you here?”

He peered around the side of his armchair “Oh Rook, good evening. I thought you were spending the evening with Taash and their mother.”

“Yeah, me too. Shathaan left.” Rook had her hands in fists. “She wasn't very kind when Taash tried to tell her about exploring their identity. We all lost our temper.”

He frowned. “I see. How unfortunate. It surprises me that Shathaan reacted so poorly. How is Taash?”

“Pissed off. Harding is going to have dinner with them instead. I didn’t want to play third wheel.”

He chuckled: “So I get the pleasure of your company after all. I can only apologise that I was not expecting you, and my appearance is somewhat dishevelled. You look wonderful, of course.”

Rook seemed taken back with his compliment, which Emmrich found endearing.

“Ah, and you’re wearing the shirt! I’m so pleased.”

“Of course. Had to show Manfred what a great job he did.” Rook winked. “Thanks for thinking of me. You’re right, long torsos are a nightmare .”

She was wearing the shirt far differently to how he wore it, the top four buttons undone, and untucked into the linen travelling trousers she was wearing beneath. The sleeves were rolled to her elbows messily. She had managed to make it her own, but heavens…the fact that it was one of his shirts stirred something in him. That hadn't been his intention when he gifted it to her, and yet…

He was treading water in his emotions underneath, but on the surface, he maintained his neutral expression. He rose up from his armchair, and ushered her in, nodding to Manfred to make some supper and refreshments, and closing the door behind his manservant. “My pleasure. It seemed obvious, especially as you were so complimentary on it, though I didn’t realise you were keen on lavender.”

She smiled. “I love purple, actually.” 

Rook was feeling bold. She had been fiercely protective of Taash during the argument with Shathaan, and she was riding that high. She took in the sight of Emmrich, looking a little less proper and smart in the dwindling hours of the day. His hair was starting to fall away from its usual coiffed shape; he wasn't expecting company. His collar was loosened, the top two buttons undone. Fuck it. She decided to throw caution to the wind:

“Besides, this was the same one you were wearing when you were going to kiss me. The first time.”

He looked over at her, his mouth slightly agape. They hadn’t ever talked about it, even after all their bold flirtation. He wasn’t even sure if she had-

“Yes, I remember.”

Ah .

He leaned against the wall and sighed. “Apologies Rook, I had a lot to drink that evening and-”

“I did tell you that I wouldn’t have minded, Em.” she interrupted.

He tilted his head to one side and smiled “As you say. So we are clear…” he felt a little stifled; he loosened his collar further, a third button undone  “I’ve certainly considered it again since.”

“No shit.” she raised an eyebrow, tongue in cheek, looking at his loosened collar. He stalled. Before she could jump back in, Manfred returned, tea tray in hand. That gave them a moment of pause.

“I did actually come here to tell you something, by the way. I got angry with Shathaan. Really upset.” A small, proud smile “My magic didn't flare. I just followed some of your mindfulness exercises and…yeah. Nothing.”

He stood upright, feeling a wave of empathy “Oh Rook, that is just wonderful to hear. Truly wonderful.” Without thinking, planning, he embraced her. Rook was surprised, considering he was apologising only moments before, hands closing around his waist. This close, she could smell the notes of what Taash had exclaimed one day out in Rivain. Oakmoss. Something else herbal, or woody. Incense, maybe? Then ink. He'd been writing in his journal. His arms around her, he could feel the almost innate tension in her body, and her blonde hair tickling his skin, carrying a light floral scent that he knew, but couldn’t quite place. They stood together for a few moments, and his hand moved to the back of her head, in her hair, stroking it.

“Taash is right. You do smell really nice.” she hummed, her voice barely above a whisper.

“A blend created for me by a friend. Excellent perfumier. Terrible necromancer.” he chuckled. He lowered his voice to match hers: “Rook, what are we doing here?”

He felt her tense up further, though her voice remained even: “‘What do you mean?”

“You know perfectly what I mean. We keep finding ourselves here, don’t we?”

“I just came to tell you about my magic. You're the one who held me.”

“I’ll grant you that. But then…” he moved his mouth closer to her ear, a new softness to his voice “…why haven't you let go?”

Rook could feel herself melt, catching breath as she realised he was challenging her to make a move. They both wanted this, it was obvious; their bodies and minds had been screaming it for weeks. All she needed to do was turn her head towards him and she would have his lips on hers, his hands all over her…

…so why wasn’t she taking her chance?

She groaned internally  -  because he was her friend . There never had been any overlap with her lovers and her friends before; this was unexplored. She wanted this but…she pulled her face away, though her hands remained on his waist. Not quite ready to break the connection. Eyelids low, she pursed her lips and blurted: “Can’t a girl show appreciation to a friend?”

“A friend?” he leaned back.

She looked up, cautious of his reaction. A reluctant tone: “A…friend.”

Noting the hint of apprehension, he smiled to reassure her: “But of course you may show appreciation, providing that you allow me to in return.”

He placed a small kiss on the top of her head, holding her there for a moment, before stepping away, breaking the hold. He crossed the room to his desk. When he turned back towards her, her face broke out into a genuine, open-mouthed smile. The look she gave him hit straight in the stomach. Maker, she was enchanting.

“Rook, please keep me company this evening.” He held up his hand. “Ah, allow me to elaborate. I'm in the middle of writing a few things. It is terribly dull work, and your conversation would definitely keep me motivated.”

“What, just sit here?”

“I know, it's a very challenging endeavour for yourself.” his voice dropped with irony, as he adjusted the rings on his slender fingers.

Her usual demeanour had bloomed once more. She rolled her eyes, leaning against the bookshelf.

“Of course, if you have other plans, don't feel obligated,” he continued, picking up his parchment and walking back over to his armchair. He signalled to the other chair “...but I'll always be happy for the company of a friend.”

She considered for a moment before agreeing “...but pass me a few sheets of that nice parchment you've got. I've got letters to write.” She flexed her fingers in preparation for the inevitable hand cramp she was about to have. “Thanks, Emmrich.”

“Whatever for?”

She crossed the room and took her seat, cross legged. Manfred rushed over with a ledger for her to lean against, as well as the parchment and ink she required. She paused for a second before answering:

 “For being a gentleman.”

--

A well-composed, beautifully handwritten letter. No smudges, stains or errors.

Dear Strife,

I must thank you for your latest correspondence, and I appreciate you taking the time to answer my questions. It is wonderful to see how these ancient elvhen technologies interact with the Fade when compared to more recent inventions. Truly a fascinating topic; I can see why you dedicate your livelihood to it.

I am also incredibly flattered with the invitation to spend time together when we next meet, however I must regretfully decline your offer of dinner. Please forgive me for the vagueness of my reasons, but please understand that it is no fault of your own, or indeed anyone’s fault at all. Simply put, it would not be fair to you, given my current circumstances.

I genuinely hope that this does not affect our working relationship, and we can continue to discuss our academic interests. I will happily seek your opinion on my findings once I have written them up in full.

Yours sincerely,

Emmrich

Chapter Text

Once again, Emmrich worried as to whether Rook was getting the rest she needed. She had fallen asleep in the armchair opposite him and he hadn't the heart to wake her, instead asking Manfred to find a blanket. The following day, having arisen early with a stiff neck from sleeping upright, Rook performed her usual check-out routine of speaking to everyone before leaving the Lighthouse for the expedition. She left him until last, and this time around, Emmrich noted that she was distracted, repeating questions she had already asked, and becoming irritable when he pointed this out to her.

He was long overdue a research week, and Manfred also needed his tutelage. Yet even with Emmrich’s obligations, the farewell between the two mages had felt bittersweet. He had found adventuring quite exhilarating with everyone's company, even Taash’s once their bank of insulting names had been exhausted. His usual duties were never particularly lonesome but…he had felt such camaraderie in the past few weeks. Rook had also been quieter than usual on her departure, and Emmrich was unsure as to whether this was due to fatigue, or the same wistful realisation of parting after spending so long in each other’s company. For a brief moment, he thought he saw her extend her wrist as if to brush, or even hold his hand, before changing her mind, giving him a casual, lazy salute, and departing without any further comment.

He let out a bitter laugh as he sat back with his cup of tea. He was a foolish old man that should definitely know better. Rook was merely a flirt, and he loved to indulge her. To think beyond that would be a folly.

--

A beautifully written note, with smooth, artistic writing and hand drawn five point stars along the header and footer. It is distinctive, making sure the recipient opened it as soon as she laid eyes on it.

Hello stranger,

Neve said she would pass this along (you were right, I'm obsessed with her).

I’m back in Dock Town for a couple of days, sharing intel. Let’s make an evening of it, as the world is falling down.

Soren

--

Soren looked older. A few streaks of grey in his long brown hair that hadn’t been there previously, a couple of new lines around his soulful dark eyes, and a new small scar across his lip. But whilst he physically showed the almost eighteen months they’d been apart, he certainly didn’t act like any time had passed. Instead of getting up to greet Rook, he simply looked her up and down disparagingly. He had clearly been rehearsing this in his head before she arrived:

“Well, look what the tide brought in.”

“Says you!” Rook exclaimed excitedly, unable and unwilling to play the game of nonchalance, slapping his arm “You look like that old tomcat that used to live in the alley.”

“Oh fuck you.” he stood and pulled her in for a fierce hug that nearly sent her flying. They held onto each other, realising just how it had been. Too long. Far far too long. She kissed his cheek and he squeezed her tighter. When they pulled away, they both scrunched their faces at their sentimentality.

“Ugh, you’re still wearing that damn awful perfume.” he said, wrinkling his nose even harder. Bottle of wine in hand, she sat opposite, and tapped the table in anticipation, waiting for him to pour the glasses. He squinted at her: “And why are you wearing your hair up? You never wear it like that.”

“Ah ah ah. Business, then pleasure. That’s the rule and you know it. Otherwise we never get to anything we actually need to talk about.”

“True. Something the Antivans should work better at, by the way. The number of meetings I’ve had with contacts where they start with a shot…”

She grinned, but stood her ground. He looked around, checking for anyone listening in. He pulled over a plant to cover his face, which earned an eyeroll. So dramatic. But finally satisfied, he began:

“So, I already shared this with Viper, but I think I have info linking something big. There were some docs in a camp in Treviso and I think it tallies up with what you said about the Venatori in the markets…”

--

An hour later, their official business had concluded, as had their first bottle of wine. But whilst Rook remained sober, Soren was obviously feeling the effect, incredibly out of character for the same man who had been drinking her under the table for years. She leaned forward: “Mate, you look like shit. Have you eaten?”

The silence was evidence enough. She called over the barmaid for food, then sharply turned back to Soren. He wilted, knowing that look meant a telling off was inbound.

“I’ve not really been eating much. I’ve been…fuck, you're going to think I'm stupid. I’ve wanted to make sure the people in Treviso are getting what they need. It feels selfish to indulge” he admitted “Especially here, when people are suffering there. I’m fortunate in that I can access the eluvians. I can leave at any time, if I wanted to. Most Antivans can’t.”

She put her hand to her face, balancing her head on her palm “You're right, you are stupid. Stop being a dickhead. You need to stay strong if you want to help those people.”

He frowned: “Right. Yeah.” He leaned back and stretched his arms, almost touching the picture frame behind him. “So. Any good gossip?”

“You fucker.” She leaned back in her chair pondering what to start with, the renewed glass of wine balancing in her hand, holding it by the glass rather than the stem. Grinning, she posed her opening question:

 “Do you want to start with Lucanis and Neve, or the death magic that I’ve been learning?”

“Now that is quite possibly the hardest ‘would you rather’ question you’ve ever given me.”

--

“Wait wait wait, you waited until we were three bottles deep to tell me?!”

“I didn’t really know how to tell you! It’s not something that you put in a letter.”

“You bastard . I’ve been sitting here babbling, and you’re engaged ? I didn't even know you were seeing anyone!” Rook’s voice reached a whole new pitch. People were starting to look over. Soren waved his hand dismissively, an apologetic look around the room, and people turned back around.

“Keep your bloody voice down," he hissed "...and you’ve been busy.” He smiled, a soft look that Rook had never seen in his eyes before: “Besides, it’s a very recent thing. To give you the short version, his name is Antonio. He's a Crow. We were paired together on a few missions, and it was always bickering, tense. He didn’t trust me, and obviously, you should never trust a Crow, right? This went on for weeks, and got worse after Lucanis left. Viago almost turfed me out after we both fucked up a courier delivery one night. Our package got destroyed by Antaam, because I got caught off guard. Anton came to my lodgings. He was up in my face and we were both having it out. Yelling. Right up in each other’s face. Then he just...stared at me. Kissed me. Things escalated, and he ended up in my bed.”

“Oh, that’s….” she smirked, “Pretty sure that’s a chapter of one of Varric’s smutty books.”

“Oh, it gets even more clichéd. He gets up and leaves, straight away. I thought he had regretted it, a heat of the moment thing. Absolutely fucking mortifying. I was ready to ask for a new assignment from Teia, or even to just go home to Tevinter. I’d even started writing a letter to you to apologise. But then the next night, I open my door to leave and he’s there in the doorway, in the pouring rain. Like a bloody novella. We locked ourselves in my room for three days. That was like two months ago.”

“ Two months ? Fucking hell, Soren. You moved quickly.”

“Feels like a lifetime in Treviso. The night before I left to come here, he asked me to marry him, when all of this was done.” He looked down, almost apologetic. “I don’t even know if we can get married, in any official sense. But anything will do. And before you go and say something else judgemental, I know it’s crazy. You somehow managed to turn everything upside down, sending me to Antiva. You have a knack for doing that.”

“What do you mean?”

“Take a look around you, Rook.” he smiled “So yeah, it’s all been very fast but y'know, the world could be ending. We…have the time we have. And even if we do somehow survive, I can’t come back here. Tevinter…my family…you know the score.”

That revelation hit her like a ton of bricks, and her usually casual detached nature, her safety net, was marred by the wine. She and Soren had been joined at the hip for over a decade, but things were never going to be the same again, even if she did somehow manage to overcome the Evanuris. A mixture of emotions overcame her, love, care, sadness, and her eyes filled with tears that she very quickly brushed away. What was wrong with her recently? She had never been a crier. But Soren had no place to comment, his eyes were brimming too. How embarrassing . They both shook it off and clinked glasses in celebration.

“Well, shit. Now I definitely have to save the world.”

“Yeah, I would like to have a husband, if you don’t mind. No pressure.”

They clinked glasses again, and went back to their usual gossip babble for some time, until a barmaid placed down a piece of parchment, winking at Rook as she leant her head in the direction of the sender. Rook opened it:

Fancy a drink once your friend has left? Your smile left me weak at the knees.

Soren snatched the note and read it, chuckling “Need me to clear off?”

Almost like muscle memory, she looked over. Slender, with a dark, curly mop of hair. Gorgeous face, chiseled jaw. She leaned back and brushed the loose tendrils of hair behind her ear. Smiled with closed lips, tipped her head back. But…her gut flipped. As easily as she switched on the charm, she disengaged and shook her head. The man nodded disappointedly, and looked back to his pint. Soren put down his own drink and stared at her.

“Right, who is it?”

“What?”

“That man over there is the spitting image of almost every man I have seen you leave a bar with in the past eight years. So come on, we've talked about my love life, what's going on with you?”

“Nothing. Literally nothing. Besides, I came here to see you.”

He just continued staring at her. Through her, almost.

She sighed “Look, I've had thoughts about someone. A lot of flirting. But it’s a no go. I even tried my usual thing and…” she thought back to a few nights previous, her hands on Emmrich’s waist, and the way he was holding her, the lovely kiss on her forehead, his soft, forgiving eyes searching for the answer she couldn’t bring herself to give: “...I’d been dying to get with this man for weeks and when I had the chance, I flaked.”

“Adella.” She jumped and glared at the use of her real name; she hadn’t heard it aloud in years: “Oh shut up, I'm allowed to call you that.” Soren slapped the fingers of his well worn leather gloves on the table, for emphasis: “The world is quite possibly ending. You haven't stopped working on this mission for over a year. You're turning down casual fun with a stranger, something you have - don’t try to object because we both know the truth - done many times. Now call me a genius, this man clearly means something to you, if you're not even looking at anyone else, and haven't bedded him yet either.”

“You just said it yourself, I’ve got to undo the apocalypse I started. The job takes priority. The team takes priority. I can't jeopardise friendships and alliances for fun .” Her lip curled at the thought. This was all too important. She needed to see it all through, and keep as many people alive as possible. Job done, go home. The way she had always worked.

“That sounds like a bullshit Rook response. I want Adella’s opinion.”

She gritted her teeth; he knew exactly how to push her buttons. She sighed, and lifted her glass again. “I’m a bitch, Soren. He's possibly the nicest man I’ve ever met.” She downed the glass, expertly, not even wincing as the sharp burn hit the back of her throat.

“Opposites attract.”

“He’s also older. A fair bit older. Not even sure how much older.”

“So? You've been with older guys before.”

“I know, but this isn't sex. This feels…this is different. I think.”

Soren raised an eyebrow and opened his mouth, but Rook quickly interrupted, frowning as she poured another glass of wine: “Also, you're supposed to say that I'm not a bitch.”

“That would be lying.” He smirked, and adjusted the sleeves on his shirt. When she didn't bite back, he frowned “This is fucking weird. You don't do this. You've never done this. Ever.”

“I know’ she refused to meet his gaze, slumping in her chair.

“You sure about this?”

“I've been trying to talk myself out of it.”

“And how's that going for you?”

She balanced the glass against her face “Fucking terribly. I haven’t stopped thinking about him since we arrived here.”

--

A scribbled note on a bar tab ledger.

R,

Tab settled. Hope this is all over soon.

Go get your necromancer. You'll regret it otherwise.

S

--

Emmrich had letters.

Neve wanted to verify the origin of runes found in the catacombs. Bellara had questions about the Fade, seemingly no correlation to their investigations in Tevinter, a whim. Answering their queries had been an afternoon well spent, a welcome reprieve from his search for Johanna, and other obligations.

He had not received a note from Rook, and was more concerned about his unease of that fact, rather than the fact itself. After all, he was accustomed to not hearing from colleagues and friends for months at a time, all of them lost deep in their research projects and theses. In addition, Rook hated writing, and she had been gone for little over a week, unlikely with anything to report. He was well aware of his irrationality, and kept busy during daylight hours, Manfred keen to learn. But the evenings soon came, Manfred would potter around the Lighthouse to seek the others, and it was then that he felt her absence acutely. 

Perhaps their conversation the night before she left was playing on his mind. Perhaps he had spent too many hours looking over the same twenty vials he was currently experimenting with.

It took him another two days before he finally cracked, under encouragement of two large glasses of Tevinter red.

--

The clock struck on the midnight hour. Lucanis sat alone with a coffee in the dining hall, once again fighting sleep. He cracked his neck and leaned back.

“Good evening, Lucanis. Are you still planning on travelling to meet Neve and the others tomorrow?”

Emmrich approached the table and Lucanis nodded in greeting: “Good evening. Yes, I should arrive in the evening, why?”

The professor pushed two letters across the table; his responses for Bellara and Neve. Then, hands shaking slightly, he pulled out a third letter from his waistcoat and handed it over. Lucanis read over the name, written in fine calligraphy, and then looked at him bemused. A silence passed and Emmrich feared the response. But the Crow surprised him:

“I will ask her to read this in private.” Lucanis reached for the letter and tucked it into his own waistcoat.

Emmrich paled: “How do you-”

“Spite.” Lucanis said bluntly, returning to sip his coffee.

“Ah, of course.” Emmrich cleared his throat “I would prefer-”

“I can be discreet. Consider it between us, Emmrich. And Rook, of course.”

Emmrich nodded, and silently retreated to his quarters. It was now objective; Rook had driven him completely to distraction, perhaps madness. Just in time for the final sifting of his soul, no less. Life had such peculiar timing. 

The following day, he buried himself in study, as if to somehow obliterate the letter from his mind, soon realising that he liberated himself from one torment, only to exchange it for another - the anticipation of her response.

--

Neve asked Rook to join her for a walk along the pebble beach. Bellara would have been the better option for this, and Rook seethed, but her sense of duty won out. The lift to the shore had been a struggle; she had finally hit the age where hangovers persisted for at least two days, and she was still fragile from her evening with Soren. However, the beach paired perfectly with a fish supper, the universal cure. So she went, observing as Neve started picking up rocks from the foreshore, inspecting them.

“What are you doing?”

“What are you doing? You need to find your own rocks for skimming. You're not using mine.” Neve responded, placing her small collection into her coat pocket.

“We’re going to go rock-skipping? Like kids?”

“Nothing better for getting the brain working.” Neve laughed at Rook’s judgemental expression, “No, really. One thing the Lighthouse is missing. Maybe I should put in a request.”

Rook shook her head, but picked a few stones from the shore to humour her friend. “Bet it doesn’t work.”

“Loser buys supper?” Neve extended her hand and Rook clasped it eagerly, never one to bow down, a determined stare.

“Deal. So, is this for work or pleasure?”

“Both. I have questions for you.” A sly look and Rook’s demeanour quickly paled. That smile was never a good thing.

On the jetty, Rook leaned back against a crate trying to unblur her vision driven by the unforgiving headache, as she watched Neve do her thing. Occasionally, the stone would leap like a salmon across the gentle waves. But most stones sank instantly, much like Rook’s stomach as Neve started to needle her:

“So. I notice things. You’ve been spending a lot of time with Emmrich.”

Rook let out a harsh laugh. Her hand went to her hair as the wind picked up, the front pieces tickling her face: “ That isn't a question. Hasn’t anyone got anything better to talk about?”

“Better than talking about my love life. I know that’s been a hot topic.” Neve turned her head: “Lucanis told me you gave him a nudge…thanks.”

“Fuck, now I have to buy the boots.”

Neve chuckled, rolling another stone between her fingers. “Now, there's a blessing.” She adjusted her balance as she swung her arm once more: “It’s been nice. Difficult, sometimes. Spite doesn’t care for me, but can't win them all. Knowing someone is looking out for you though…well, you probably know.”

Seeing Neve's smirk, Rook snapped: “Ugh, can we talk about something else? Anything else? We have so many things going on. Hit me with your thoughts on Aelia. Surely one of these stones will give you the answer.”

But the stones did not want to talk; Neve had drawn a blank, and Rook highly suspected this was why she wanted to discuss other topics. Both women, now disenchanted, called it a day just as the sky turned grey and burst with rain. A complete washout: the fish supper would need to wait.

--

Bellara had tried filling the silence, forever an optimist, but a sharp look across the table, and she quietened. Rook’s eyes then fixed on Neve’s notebook, where she had been writing notes, questions. They had been ambushed on the way to the tavern that evening, an assassin in Venatori colours. 

The trio had picked a secluded table far from the bar, and the three of them had cast wards around the area as an additional measure. They could easily take on Venatori - that didn't phase Rook - but if their faces were known, it was going to make the investigation into Aelia nigh on impossible. She was considering options. Safehouses, couriers, regularly switching party members, glamours. She sighed, and downed her pint. Nothing could be straightforward.

“Look, we’ve probably bought ourselves some time by defeating that agent that came for us.” Bellara spoke up again, leaning into the table so she had their focus. Rook remained quiet, her thoughts muddied.

“And don’t forget Lucanis will be returning this evening, Rook. He can keep guard while we work.” Neve added.

“Let me think.” Rook said bluntly, slamming her hands on the table, before wincing and lifting them away. Her palms had jagged criss-crosses against them; the Venatori agent had jumped her first, and she had put her hands up in defence, rather than any shield, leaving deep cuts. It was a rookie error; she had yelled at newbie Dragon mercenaries until she was blue in the face for less than that.

“Let me look” Bellara reached for her hands and poured a healing potion on them. The scratches immediately started sealing together and Rook winced; the potions worked quickly, but the healing process was uncomfortable.

“Stop using those, Bel. I can heal myself now.” she pulled her hands away agitatedly, examining any remaining marks. She pulled off her rings and dropped them onto the table with a clatter, finding them uncomfortable where the rings met the neighbouring fingers.

“Cuts get infected if you leave them too long” Neve commented, tutting at the marks: “You’re unfocused; it won’t be just your hands they get next time if you keep this up.”

Rook sighed “I don’t know what you’re talking about. And the irony is incredible, Gallus.”

Neve kept her neutral expression; a sharp contrast from Bellara, whose hands had raised to her face, eyes wide. Rook swore under her breath and walked off to the bar. Bellara looked over at Neve: “You think she's okay? She’s got a lot going on. Do you think we’re asking too much?”

“She’d have a lot less going on in her brain if she stopped avoiding things.”

“Does she do that?”

“I don’t see her at the table anymore, do you Bel?”

--

Lucanis was already waiting at the hideout when they returned, speaking with Dorian by the fireplace. He greeted Neve first, a low bow and a clasp of eager, but soft hands, clearly wanting to save his real greeting for when they had a moment alone. He then bowed towards Bellara and Rook, a knowing look in his eyes as he approached the latter.

“A word before you retire for the evening, Rook. If you don’t mind.”

He extended his arm towards the room on their right. A storeroom, stacked high with bolts of fabric and finishings. She followed him, a puzzled look shared between the three women as she passed. Once in the room, he closed the door, and pulled out a letter from his pocket. Rook immediately recognised the wax seal. Emmrich’s. Seeing this, Lucanis extended his arm to her.

“I would probably read it when you have a moment in private.”

“Have you read it?” Rook frowned, turning the parchment over. The letter looked untouched.

“I have not.”

“So how do you know it's private?”

“I am not at liberty to discuss.”

She felt her pulse in her temple. She needed to focus on something else. She stepped back and splayed her hands up and down: “Notice anything different?”

His eyes scanned, reaching her feet, and he smiled: “So Neve did tell you. You have excellent taste; that is Antivan leather, no?”

“Of course. Found them for sale with the Dragons’ vendor, oddly enough. Not cheap, but they need to last.”

“Ah, you probably could’ve gotten them much cheaper from the markets in Treviso.”

“Yeah, but strangely coincidental timing, I broke the heel on my old pair this morning and decided enough was enough. There’s barely anything left of the original boot now. But I did keep them, as a momento.” she teased.

It dawned on Lucanis what she was doing; the classic Rook evasion, taking him off course by distracting them both. He wasn't going to let her. Ignoring her japes, he tapped the letter again, and left sharply before she could stop him, muttering about Neve.

She stood there, turning the envelope over in her hands for several minutes, wondering if she could stave off the curiosity under the dread. No dice. Sighing, she leaned against the shelving, ignoring the trinket she knocked over with her elbow, and she opened the letter.

--

Emmrich’s usual beautiful, neat script. A fine decorative border, the paper silken, heavyweight, clearly the finest parchment in his writing kit.

Dearest Rook,

I hope this letter finds you well and in the midst of yet another grand venture. Whilst life at the Lighthouse has most definitely been far less eventful than Minrathous, it has certainly been productive. I have made some significant progress in my research, of which I will need to discuss with you once you’re back. Some interesting movements in the Fade here that are simply fascinating. I’ve also been working on improving the efficacy of our healing potions, but nothing of note to report as yet.

But, that isn’t my reason for reaching out to you. Truthfully, it has been a strange time over the past fortnight. Allow me to borrow a word from your third (!) language, Rook -  in veritas , I have missed you. Time apart has made me aware that your company has come to mean a lot to me, beyond our mission.

I sit here and wish for another one of our evenings together, over campfire or hearth. It’s our conversations, including our arguments, for they are very much part of your magnetism. Our wonderful candlelit moments of candour, where it's not only wine, but you that I drink in. Your stories, your smile. Those devastating eyes of yours, and the way they watch me. Waiting for me to act. In battle. In comfort.

We have had multiple occasions to address and explore our very obvious chemistry. You know this, and we have faltered, not wanting to ruin a beautiful and hard earned friendship. But I have felt nothing but regret since the night before you left for your expedition, and I wish to resolve that on your return. I will let your imagination decide as to how, because mine has been going altogether wild whenever I’ve thought of you in these prior days.

Even in your absence, you continue to challenge me, Rook. As you have done from the day we met. 

The handwriting from this point looks slightly different on close inspection; the ink appears darker from a more pressured nib, and the lettering is more tightly spaced. It appears Emmrich took a break from writing before resuming the letter. Perhaps an extra glass of wine for bravery.

Of course, I remember your assertion. I am aware that I could be acting a complete fool here. If I am, please forgive me, and I dearly hope our friendship survives my selfishness in this confession.

I will be ready to discuss this whenever you are, but I will insist on two things only in this note: first, please take your time before you make any decision. You are notoriously terrible at doing that, and I am willing to wait as long as you need.

And secondly: please, come back safe.

Yours,

Emmrich

--

She read his letter. Read it again. She crouched to the floor, letter in her hands, head reeling. Shit.

Her snap reaction was to burn the letter,  throw it out to sea, claim that she had never seen it. Now wasn't the time for such nonsense. They had a mission. A camaraderie to uphold. These words were not ones that could be taken back easily. She was not made for romance and its soft, delicate words.

But Emmrich’s words were made of something different, for Rook found herself reading the letter over and over, a hand now in her hair in minor despair, feeling the warmth and care in his words and trying to decide how they fit with her own scattered thoughts in her head. 

He was so sincere, so articulate, so nuanced in his wording. So unlike her, forever black-and-white thinking. She had always been fickle, chasing pleasure, not promises, and she didn't want to hurt him. He had helped her in so many ways, he was kind and charming, intelligent and- she stopped herself. No, she wouldn't do this. She couldn’t. But…she might already have done.

Fuck. Today had been too much for her to process anything. She put the letter away in her pack, heart racing.

Chapter Text

The ambush still fresh in her mind as dawn broke, Rook decided her next move; her old apartment was not too far away from the inn they were staying in. She set off down her familiar alleyways, taking wide strides. She wanted to go and come back quickly, before the others emerged from their rooms.

Turning the stiff handle of her apartment, she entered and immediately sneezed. But whilst a thick layer of dust had settled on top of everything, it was otherwise untouched; it seemed that the Venatori hadn't found it yet. Good. She got to work quickly, filling her travelling pack with items that she could sell on; a quick swipe of tabletops and drawers, a rummage through her clothes. After all, she had survived over a year without such items,and she would hardly miss them. Folding up the garments, extravagant fabrics and impractical styles, she realised just how far removed she felt from the woman who owned and wore these items, the women who left for the expedition with Varric and Harding. She laughed to herself, musing how she was entering an age of becoming and discovery, at the exact time when they faced the end of everything. She always had terrible timing though -  why would it be any different?

Leaving the apartment, she waved a series of wardings across the threshold, allowing entry only to herself. Soren would no longer be returning after all, and she wanted to make sure the party had one safehouse, should the inn be compromised. She felt like laughing at herself being overly cautious. But perhaps not, for as she returned, she could feel that she was being watched. Her hand reached for her spellblade, but she kept walking, deciding to take a diversion towards the docks. Keeping her breathing steady, she started to hone in on magic weaving between her digits of her free hand.

“Wouldn't do that, Rook.”

She breathed a sigh of relief. Tarquin. She dropped the bag to the ground.

“Why the fuck didn't you say anything before?” She turned, glaring.

“Wouldn't do to see two known Dragons out together in the open streets, would it?” An accusing tone. Ah. He had heard about the ambush. “Last thing we need is two valuable people being eliminated. Especially now.”

“So why are you always glued to Viper’s side?” She smirked and Tarquin stared daggers at her. Viper always was a sore spot. Rook loved to prod it.

“Stop changing the subject.” He walked up to her “Why do you always feel the need to challenge people?”

“Because people don't let me get on with things.” She said pointedly.

“Because you don't think of the wider picture. You never bloody have.”

And there it was, the barb. She tried to fob him off, but he grabbed her arm: “Where are you going?”

“You caught me on the way back to the tavern. There were a few things I needed to get from home.”

“Need someone to come with you?”

“Since when did I need your protection?”

“Since you seem to be the linchpin in everything going on. Elven gods, bloody Venatori, Antaam, demons. Maker help us all.”

“Aw, you do care after all.” a mocking tone, twisting her face.

“Rook, you're not too old for a clip around the ear.” He nudged her forward “Let's go.”

He went to push her again but paused, hand going to his blade. Rook sensed it too, a chill in the air. She drew her staff.

Demons. Here? Why?

No time. Rook quickly scrambled and moved back, charging her staff for a concentrated radial blast: “Tarquin, get the fuck out of the way!”. She unleashed her flame, knocking back the smaller demon. Tarquin swung his blade. But the larger one remained and swung, knocking him off his feet again, before charging towards her.

She didn't have time to charge her weapon again. She threw her staff to one side and grabbed her spellblade, ready to evade. But her mana was flickering under her skin, like a candle in a breeze. She wouldn't make it out of the way in time. The demon struck and knocked her to the ground. Her vision was fading, her grip barely a tremble in her fingers.

As the creature descended upon her, her body and mind went into survival mode, flickering through every possible consequence if she died right here, right at that moment. Bellara, Neve and Lucanis wouldn't know where she was. Tarquin wouldn't be able to finish this on his own, and the Dragons would likely fall without one of their key players. The Evanuris would prevail...

And Emmrich would never get a response to his letter.

Her spellblade glowed red hot as her fireball struck the demon, knocking it down. That gave her the time to evade, grab her staff, and pull Tarquin to his feet.

“Come on, pick up the pace!” She yelled at him. He stood, teeth clenched. A primal roar, and he charged towards the demon. Her magic now a green orb held between her hands, she started to siphon away the energy from the demon, allowing her to catch her breath, before blasting it towards the enemy. With a final swing of Tarquin’s blade, the demon let out a screech, and collapsed into nothingness.

Tarquin sighed and turned, holding his shoulder briefly. As he did so, Rook prepared herself to be berated once again. But it was a look of shock in his eyes.

“Since when were you a fucking mortalitasi?” 

Rook swung her bag around, narrowly missing him, causing him to tut. She ignored his question and set off again. Tarquin followed.

“Stop. Talk to me.”

She spun on her heel “Oh, now you want to talk?” She squared up to him: “You didn't want to know me before, when I was unimportant.”

“I couldn't speak to you, Rook. Strict orders.”

She saw red, and the bag dropped to the ground once more. She pinned him against the wall, causing him to cry out in pain, his hand reaching for his shoulder again, whilst flame burned in her eyes: “Everyone else checked in. I got letters, notes thrown through my bedroom window. You left me to fucking rot for months .” She threw her hands up, releasing him, but keeping her eyes fixed “I'm in this mess, because I needed work. I'm in this because of you. Then to top it off, I finally got back to Minrathous after a year. I see you, and you act like you barely know me?” She laughed harshly: “I get it. You're all big bollocks now, aren't you? Didn't want to show yourself up in front of Viper? Dorian and Maevaris? Get fucked .”

“Igs, I-”

“Don't call me that. I haven't been Ignis for a long time now.” a wave of nausea hit her; she swallowed it down. She hadn't felt right since she had cast the fireball at the demon, but she wouldn’t dare show weakness, not now. She placed a hand against the wall, making it look like a casual lean.

“Look, I'm sorry, alright? I was trying to keep you safe.”

“Keep yourself safe, more like. In nice and cosy with the mag-”  She winced, held her hand up to her head. Tarquin’s irritation morphed to concern.

“You've gone white as a sheet, you alr-”

--

She awoke back in the hideout, damp cloth at her neck, and a pillow under her head. The same back room where she had read the letter the previous night.

“Overexerted herself, then?” Rook heard Neve's concern through the door.

“I would hazard a guess that she’s not eating a lot at the moment? Not sleeping? Both? Seen it all before.” Dorian Pavus. Oh, how humiliating. If she could just die here, that would be so helpful. Mere days after she had told off Soren for the same thing, too. Thank the Maker he had already left for Antiva; he’d never let her live this down.

“We’ll make sure she gets food and rest. Our investigation can wait, no?” Lucanis.

“It'll have to.” Neve murmured “Can't do it without her.”

“She went home for this.” Ah, there he was, man of the hour. She heard Tarquin throw down her bag, charms jangling. A few muffled comments, and she heard footsteps approaching. She had expected it to be Neve or Bellara, but it was Lucanis who entered, a jug of water and some bread in his hands.

“Thank fuck you're not Tarquin.” she breathed relief, sitting up.

Lucanis chuckled “No. He left, thought you might still be upset.” He crouched down and offered the bread to her, before setting down the jug to pour her a glass. “You worried us, Rook.”

“Sorry, I meant to be back before long.”

“He explained what happened. Said that you had to push hard, saved his life.”

“We’d both be dead if I hadn't.”

“Hmm.” Lucanis nodded “Alright. You need to take a time out. Rest up.”

“You aren't going to let me do anything else, are you?”

“No.”

“Fucking wonderful.”

She had protested; if she could walk to the tavern, she could continue to help Neve in her investigation, but she was outvoted three to one, and sent into her room to rest up. So she did. Over two days, she dozed, and in between spent time planning their next steps. But her thoughts eventually returned back to the battle in the street with the demons. That was something in itself to investigate when she was recovered; the demons were stronger than most she had faced before - something bigger must be going on. 

But really, she was less intrigued as she was disgruntled. She had always thought it a myth, a life flashing before one’s eyes as death approached. As the demon charged towards her; it felt almost certain that she would be crossing the threshold. And who had she thought about in that final moment? She had saved herself, as she always had done, but who had kick-started her mana to do so?

That damned charming necromancer.

For fuck’s sake. She was a mess.

She dug his letter out of her pack and read it again, line by line.

But I have felt nothing but regret since the night before you left for your expedition, and I wish to resolve that on your return. I will let your imagination decide as to how…

--

She groaned as she pulled the heavy iron latch and opened the door. Lucanis sat opposite, mouth open as if to immediately quiz her, but paused when she raised her hand. She hadn’t realised he’d been keeping guard - stopping people getting in or her getting out, she wasn't sure. The stiff wooden chair he was sitting on was an interesting choice given the other upholstered chairs nearby on the other side of the landing, but he was clearly trying to stay awake. Spite would definitely let her free, no questions asked. Would even hold the door for her on the way out. It was late, candles lit, and Neve and Bellara had retired to bed.

“Just the man I was looking for. I need you to take this to Emmrich.”

He smiled, taking the letter “Is this my role now? From Crow to carrier pigeon?” He frowned, “Why me, Rook?”

“Because you delivered Emmrich’s letter untampered. I know I can trust you.”

“And you can’t trust Neve or Bellara to not open it?” A pause “No, a fair point. But it is late, Rook. And someone needs to keep watch.”

“I can do it.”

“No, you can’t. You should be resting.” He considered “It would take me a few hours to get there. A good half day to get there and back, even. Can it wait?”

She leaned against the doorframe, sighing. That was a fair suggestion, but she was impatient. Lucanis noted the rapid eye movement, her hair clearly raked by fingers, the ink blots on her fingers and her blouse.

“Or is this important to you, camarada?” he leaned forward, a soft look in his eyes.

“I wouldn't ask if it wasn’t.” A confession, in her own way. She looked back at him, a mixture of pleading, reluctance, desperation. He nodded. He knew that look very well. It had been looking back at him for weeks in the mirror.

“I cannot leave Neve just yet. I promised I would help her mission. But I will depart once the investigation here is done. A fair compromise, no?”

“Deal. And I think I can help speed things up on my side.” She produced a vial from her pocket, amethyst in colour. She shook it towards him.

“What is that?”

“A sleeping vial. Crafted by Magister Dorian Pavus himself. He gave a few to me as a gift when we left earlier. Said he used to knock these up all the time for Inquisitor Lavellan back in the Inquisition days. Not surprised she couldn’t bloody sleep.”

“A gift from a magister? Well, who are we to argue?” He mused, leaning back.

“I’m taking one tonight, to make sure that I’m fully rested.” She offered the vial out to Lucanis “Have you tried sleeping potions before, by the way? For your Spite… issue?”

“Obviously. It didn’t end well. I’m not doing that again.” he sighed “And I know that look in your eye. I am not telling you what happened, either.”

She grinned “I’ll just ask Spite, don’t you worry.”

“Mierda. Go back to bed, Rook.” he dismissed, waving his hand towards her whilst she cackled at his response: “I'll see you bright and early.”

--

The jetty, once more. This time, Rook had sourced the stones and presented them to Neve in a small silk pouch with a knowing smile. The ice mage looked at her cooly, wondering how Rook had got these, but swiped the bag from her hand: “Tried to get us lunch, but Hal’s fish-fry wasn’t working. Double or nothing?”

“You’re on. Is Lucanis in position?”

“He and Bellara are keeping watch. We’re good to go, Rook.” They stepped to the end of the dock and Neve’s hand reached into her pocket: “I usually go through my notes, but I had a couple of days to review them with you being out of action. Know them by heart, pretty much. I just need to clear my head.”

“Well, if I’ve learned anything from the past days…shit needs to get done, but taking time is…maybe as important. Sometimes.”

“If only things would stay done.” Neve leaned back “You can’t count on a lot here in Dock Town, you know this. When I started all this, I wasn’t going to save Minrathous, never mind Thedas.”

“Ha. Same.”

“ Right ? But if I could take a job, see it through? Well, maybe people could count on me .” she scoffed “But what have I done here? Chasing down someone who will come back ten times stronger each time I knock her down. If Aelia comes back for more…”

She sighed, and they were silent for a while, before Neve spoke again, skipping another stone “I’m fighting. But this city seems to want to betray everyone trying to live honestly. I’m just waiting for that knife on my back. All it takes is one person to sell us out to Aelia, the Venatori-”

“Hey. We will get that bitch. I promise you.” Rook’s voice was firm, a hand placed on her friend’s arm “I know the price if we don’t bring her down for good. I won’t let our town fall into their hands.”

“Getting mixed up in my problems is not the smart play, Rook. Look at Rana’s partner, Brom. Where did it leave him? Where does that leave you? Lucanis?”

“Both of us at your side, fighting back. It’s our problem, not yours.”

Neve looked at her, her signature sly smile: “Didn’t have you down as a sap.” Before Rook could respond, a realisation grew, and Neve’s eyes widened “She was there. We didn’t see her.”

“Shit, the rock-skipping helped?”

Neve’s voice was softer “Maybe. Come on.” They ran down the jetty “It’s a long shot but…willing to chase it? We need to go to the Spillway. She was there, hidden. During the relic deal we interrupted.”

“How do you know?”

“When we went to rescue Damas for the Threads. She mentioned it. Why would she care about it? Know about it?”

“Oh, shit. Damn, you’re good.”

“It’s kind of my thing.”

--

A small card, with tiny and neat looped handwriting to match.

Rook,

I spent a few days looking into the demons you fought, checking newspapers, bulletins, just in case anyone else mentioned anything - these events rarely happen as a one-off. I think I have something, if you have time. I know you’re busy. I’ve included the clippings below, and I’ve highlighted any key details.

Bellara

--

A simple parchment, decoded.

Rook,

Tarquin has brought me up to speed with everything going on. We will keep our ear to the ground on any threats on you or Gallus.

If you need us, you know where we are. No matter our differences, we need to stand together right now.

Viper

--

A short note, teal ink. Parchment slightly bent, shoved under a door.

Rook,

Remember - you owe me fish supper tomorrow evening. Extra scraps, and I’ll have all the trimmings too.

Thanks for your help today, finally getting somewhere.

-N

--

Emmrich had been working with Manfred, testing the viability of enhancing the health potions that the party all devoured like a plague of locusts in combat. It was late, his eyes grew heavy and he was making small mistakes. He couldn't risk spoiling the materials and so decided to retire for bed, just as there was a knock on the door. He opened it to a very fatigued Lucanis, brandishing a simple piece of parchment. A beautiful calligraphy script across the front : ‘Em’.

He didn’t recognise the fine script, but the colour of the ink caught his eye immediately, as well as the name. He gasped and took the letter. Bowing to him, with a smile, Lucanis left, and Emmrich closed the door. He opened it, hands trembling.

--

A note on plain parchment, few frills, but a beautiful, considered calligraphy throughout, in a green-black hue. This took time, effort, patience - especially surprising given the sender.

Emmrich,

Sorry for not having the same eloquence in my words. Not all of us have the gift.

I need you to know in the simplest terms. No game, lies, or agenda: I can’t stop thinking about you. And I have tried. The world is collapsing around us, after all. Romance feels so small in the scheme of everything.

Except it doesn’t. You are a great friend. But being apart from you has made me accept that there’s something else there, no matter how much I dance around it, or try to push you away. I can’t concentrate.

There are moments . When I woke up the other morning in your armchair with a blanket. When you asked permission just to touch my hands. When you kissed those hands and comforted me. 

Watching you cast your magic. Watching you. Maker, you are gorgeous, and I don't think you even realise that.

I have spent hours fighting with myself as to whether I'd even send this letter. But, I knew I couldn’t leave you hanging, nor could I contain my thoughts once I knew how I wanted to respond to you - so here I am, jumping straight in as I always do. As always, doing the opposite of what you told me to do.

The story behind my sudden revelation is a good one, and it needs to be told right. A night by the fire, with a glass of wine. You can hold me to that. I will be back in a couple of days. Let’s talk then. 

Yours,

Rook

--

The sun was setting over Dock Town. Rook approached the railings outside The Cobbled Swan, three fish suppers tucked under one arm, covered in paper. In her other hand were three mugs of beer. She searched around and saw a dock worker waving at her, a middle-aged man with chapped skin and rough hands, and a young apprentice stood beside him. As she approached, the dock worker waved his hand in front of his face, and suddenly, Neve and Bellara were standing in their place, grinning.

Rook laughed: “Nice glamour. How long did that take you?”

Bellara shrugged “Oh, a couple of nights. Struggled to get the ears to stay human on mine. Should work long enough for us to eat, though.” 

She reached out to the beers, and Rook signalled the one belonging to her on the right: “Don’t worry, yours is mixed with lemon. I know you don’t like it strong.” she advised, handing it over.

“Thanks, Rook. You got served quickly.”

“Oh, I’ve known Nova behind the bar for years. And Hal recognised me from before. Lucky day.” Rook said, balancing the food on the ledge, leaving Neve to grab and unwrap it:  “And I didn’t want to keep you out here for long either. Even if there are more free elves here than elsewhere in Minrathous, people are dicks.”

“Oh, I’m sure it’s nothing I haven’t heard from humans before. Don’t worry about me.” Bellara took a long swig of beer, and Rook suspected she wasn’t being entirely honest. Neve sensed it too and sighed.

“Bel, I could’ve sent for Harding if you felt uncomfortable. I assumed you were okay because you’d been here before. Don’t tell me you’ve been putting up with things on my behalf.”

“Nonono, I wanted to be here for you. Besides, I got to do some digging into those demons. That was actually pretty fun, though people didn’t always want to speak to me. But hey, a couple of the Dragons helped me out in the end. They’re good people, I’m jealous you get to work with so many brilliant minds.”

“You’re a Veil Jumper, Bel.”

“But you guys are doing good work. Work that will change lives.”

Rook pulled a face “I wouldn’t go that far. You’ve seen the nicer side of the Dragons; there are a lot of things behind the scenes that are…not so great.”

“Well, I don’t know about that. You’re good. Neve is good. The others were helpful.”

Rook smiled “Neve is good, though technically not a sworn-in member. I…I’ve not always been.”

Neve rolled her eyes, gesturing at the paper “Eat up while it’s hot, Bel. The gulls are merciless around here if you leave it too long.”

“You’re doing good when it matters. That’s the important thing.” Bellara continued, tearing off a piece of paper to pick up the fried fish with her hands.

“Well I-”

“Take the praise, Rook.” Neve cut in “If anything…” She dunked her fish into the sharp tartare sauce and squeezed a wedge of lemon “...you’ve been showing the Dragons what they should be doing, instead of arguing all day.”

“Oh. Well…” Rook could feel herself burning up, her cheeks flushing “Thanks. It’s been fucking exhausting. But at least we’ve got to the bottom of a few things.”

“For sure. Face it, Rook.” Neve leaned back, beer in hand “You’re becoming quite the hero.”

Rook pulled a face, earning a laugh from both her companions. They clinked their tankards, and enjoyed their feast in the golden hour, before heading back to the Shadow Dragon hideout, ready to depart via the eluvian. As they walked through the streets once more, Rook was hit with a strange wave of sadness, realising it would likely be some time before she returned once again. It had been chaotic, almost deadly. It was home.

Neve leaned in to her as they walked up: “Figured out what you’re going to do about Emmrich yet?”

“Keep up, Gallus.”

Neve was taken aback, enough that she spoke her next sentence without consideration: “What do you mean?”

Rook smirked and in a moment of silliness, stuck out her tongue. Getting anything past Neve Gallus felt like an achievement, but a sentimental letter felt like an absolute triumph.

Chapter Text

Rook hadn't paid much mind to the mysterious Caretaker of the Lighthouse. They appeared and aided whenever she needed, and that was enough for her -  such easy wins had been few and far between - but even she had to admit that the spirit’s ability to read people was uncanny. Returning from Dock Town in the early hours, she awoke in her room the following morning to find a copper tub for her to bathe in private. The water was warm, the perfect temperature, scented with dried petals and herbs, with fine sea salt and soft soaps on the side to remove the city grime. Sliding into the water, she felt muscles loosen that she never even knew about, and she looked to the ceiling, hands clasped, a silent request to make it a permanent fixture.

Later, bare feet padding across the room, she thought she would struggle to find any clean clothing that wasn’t torn, scorched or stained, but to her delight, any clothes she hadn’t taken to Minrathous were hanging up perfectly neat and pressed. Manfred had been busy; her favourite travelling trousers looked almost new. She pulled them on immediately, excitedly.

Once dressed, she tried not to appear overly eager on her approach to Emmrich’s study. Fortunately, her enthusiasm was equally met by a waving Manfred. With a small bow of her head, he hissed and raised an arm toward the stairs, escorting her, and she chucked under her breath. Social etiquette had apparently been on the spirit’s timetable whilst she was away. Reaching the top, she felt her stomach flutter as burning incense reached her nose. Emmrich had his back turned, murmuring. She quickly realised that he was counting, in deep focus, and hadn't heard her approach. Winking at Manfred, Rook leaned against the arch window frame.

“Thirty-eight, thirty-nine. Ah yes, I did think so. Manfred, it appears we’re missing a vial, please could you search downstairs?”  he called out behind his shoulder. Manfred hissed, prompting Emmrich to follow up: "Yes, I’ve checked thrice, but fine, let me come downstairs and-” he broke off as he turned. Stopped in his tracks as his eyes met hers. A beat.

“He does seem really sure.” she quipped, smiling.

He flushed: “My apologies, Rook.” He nodded to Manfred “Please go check the reagents.”  The spirit clattered back down the staircase, and watching his protegé depart, Emmrich leaned against the table he had been working at: “Welcome back. Have you been back long?”

“Got back last night. Or this morning I guess. Early hours. Tevinter took longer than planned.”

“Indeed. Of course, Neve’s correspondence was very detailed and thorough on the subject.’’ he raised an eyebrow pointedly “Unlike someone else I know.”

She rolled her eyes.

“Although, I have to say, when you do write…” he trailed off for a moment, looking down at his desk, where Rook's letter laid open “...your thoughts radiate.”

“We need to talk.”

"I quite agree. However, we must not neglect our mission. I want to show you something first, if you don't mind. Please, give me your hand.”

“What?”

“Your hand, my dear. I've been studying the Fade whilst you were gone. I did mention it in my letter, though of course, that detail may have been somewhat overshadowed.’’ In his other hand, he produced a skull, teeming with death magic.

She hesitated a fraction, but after a deep breath to ground herself, she made contact with the skull, and the room illuminated with wisps and magic. Even with the eternal Lighthouse sunshine beaming through the windows, she could see them clearly. There was also a hum in the air, the same lilting energy of the gardens, as the magic ebbed and flowed around them, almost like a dance.

“Ah, so you see it too. The ancient elvhen magic here is concentrated. Focused.”

“Hm. The magic here does seem to be pointing us towards things we need to find. Even if we’re not aware that we need them”

He smiled and nodded, keeping his eyes focused on the skull. He moved his hand over it, his fingertips just brushing hers: “I thought I would be happy even if I saw nothing else but Nevarra. But then I came here, and the wonders just keep presenting themselves. And then, the things you've seen, done. It's been wonderful to be at your side and witness it too. You've seen more of Thedas in the past few months than most do in their lifetime. Not to mention your stories of your time as a Shadow Dragon. What a life you lead.”

She took her hand away, and the energy dissipated from her view: “You cut a pretty intriguing figure yourself, you know. Do you really think of me as some sort of bold adventurer?”

“Well, it is rather thrilling to be travelling with a daring young woman racing to stop an apocalypse. Especially…” he looked at her hesitantly “...when she's shown unexpected interest in a new companion.”

She swallowed, finally arriving on the topic she had been waiting for: “I knew you would be a powerful mage. I didn't expect you to be so kind. I didn’t expect to...” She grew quiet, and Emmrich could tell that she was conflicted about being vulnerable, sentimental. He offered a lifeline:  

“Let me show you something of the Greater Fade here. Close your eyes.”

She obliged, but snuck a small peep, and he frowned: “Ah, close them. This time, breathe slow. Deep.”

He most definitely said that last word on purpose, and she tried not to laugh, before settling into a mindful rhythm. This time, when Emmrich extended the skull to her outstretched hands, the room shone brighter than ever, threads of energy weaving together. And when she opened her eyes, her smile widened in pure wonder. Not her usual close-lipped smile, nor the smug grin usually directed his way, but a soft, genuine smile that brought out the dimple in her cheek, and reached her eyes.

Emmrich felt his breath catch. She had never looked so beautiful.

“Rook, when I speak with the dead - their echoes abide. This is what I feel, what I see. Passion, thoughts, hopes, desire…” He put the skull down on the desk, bringing her sharply back to reality as her hand left the skull once more. He folded his arms and leaned against the desk once more: “I must know truly, now that we’re face-to-face. If your intentions were to go deeper than your flattery, that would interest me indeed.”

She moved closer, close enough to feel his quickened breathing. His heart raced against her palm like a hummingbird. Emmrich brushed the loose hair from her face and leaned in. She spoke so softly, no one but them would hear it.

“Em, I thought I was clear enough in my letter. They already d-”

A shriek from behind sent Rook jumping almost a foot in the air. The tension broke, she swore loudly. Emmrich showed the briefest flash of annoyance, before exclaiming: “Ah Manfred, you've finished the reagent, how splendid!”

Of course. Of course. She laughed, openly, loudly, at the absurdity of it all. Emmrich chuckled and he moved away, patting Manfred on the shoulder.

“Forgive me, my dear - I must see to this. Time is of the essence with such things.”

She shook her head: “Really, Emmrich?”

“Unfortunately so. I would have to start the whole experiment from scratch if I leave it more than an hour. But…” he smiled “...I think I have the answer I was seeking from you. Please, meet me later. We’ll go to the gardens, alone . I have another ritual to perform and we should have some privacy there.”

She placed her hands on her hips and stared for a moment before breathing out audibly, her cheeks puffed out: “It’s a good thing you’re handsome.” She passed, and descended down the staircase, whilst Emmrich stared at her, slack jawed. His chest was filled with butterflies, but once the rush of their shared confession had settled, it gave way to guilt, a sinking feeling in his stomach.

He couldn’t put off the conversation any longer. It was beyond time that they discussed the rites.

–

She couldn’t quite believe that she had agreed to travel again when she had just returned, but fortunately, both time and distance to the eluvian mirroring the Necropolis was much shorter than Tevinter. Why, Rook wasn’t sure. But then, the entire network didn’t make much sense to her. She huffed, imagining the Dread Wolf’s voice scolding her, saying that the design was beyond her understanding. Or something equally snide and humiliating, because Maker forbid that any logic were applied to the situation. Solas had thankfully been silent in the past few weeks, at least.

Emmrich struck a rather serious figure as they travelled through. Almost as if he was holding back. And indeed, he was - Emmrich quietly considered through their journey, going over his wording in his head. But once they had reached the gardens, his surroundings and wisp companions providing him with moral strength, he was ready to begin: “Do you remember that I mentioned another ritual that I needed to perform? Let’s work on this together as we talk. There are some things we need to discuss. Important matters.”

Emmrich supposed she had heard those latter sentences often as of recent, and sighed. He would only be adding to her burdens. But she simply nodded, unfussed. He stopped to take a clipping from a nearby bush whilst he began: “Firstly, do you happen to know what a lich is?” 

Rook frowned, perplexed by the choice of topic: “I remember something about that from old folklore in Ventus. A lord of death?”

“In necromancy, a lich is an undead being that retains its memory. Its sense of self.” he paused, the weight of his next words potentially catastrophic: “Rook, lichdom is my life’s work. I have begun the rituals, and have been granted the opportunity to attempt the final rites. If successful, I will ascend.”

“Ascend? Do you mean that you’ll become undead?’’ she had walked ahead of him, but stopped sharply, turning to look back at him. A curious look, not criticising.

“Yes. I will shed my mortal form. There’s nuance, as always. But, I will ascend past death.”

“Well, that explains why you’re doing it.”

“I do appreciate that it may be a lot to take in. Any questions you have, please feel free to ask.”

The crease in her forehead deepened for a moment, and Emmrich could see her fingers tapping on her belt. Counting. She stared at him, considering him, a storm of emotional brewing behind her thoughtful expression. It wasn't anger, but concern, and a deeper guilt set in. He should have told her much sooner, he realised.

“Is that what Hezenkoss did to herself?”

“Poorly, it seems lichdom rejected her. She is a half-lich, at best.”

“And that's why you locked yourself away after we came home?”

“Not the entire reason, but the foundation, indubitably.”

“Hmm.” To his surprise, she let out a deep, dark chuckle: “Well, fuck. Talk about a twist, Volkarin. So, all this flirting we’ve been doing…does that have to stop?”

He paused. “I would hate to lose your company whilst I'm still mortal.”

“Answer the question, Emmrich.” she insisted, and folded her arms. Still staring. Finger still twitching, now against her bicep.

He hadn’t expected her to think, and definitely not ask, about what happened after. He hadn’t considered there even being an ‘after’ between them. Whilst not worded in the most articulate manner, it was, at its root, a very good question.

“My memories would be intact. Lichdom wouldn’t invalidate my mortal experience.”

“Keep it simple. You’d still be you?”

“Again, a little complicated, but simply, yes.” 

She nodded, and finally broke eye contact, pulling out her spellblade to prune the plant in front of her. She seemed at peace, which caught him off-guard; her finger tapping had ceased, and her aura had been kept at bay.

“...I can only apologise that I didn’t bring this up sooner. I wasn’t sure if I would be ready. And I would most definitely need to resolve the Johanna issue beforehand. But even then, with the utmost preparation… I could die for good in the attempt.”

“Well…” she considered “We could die literally any day, so I can’t hold that against you. And whilst I think it's a crime for you to get rid of that face...” She was trying to keep things light, but when Emmrich didn't join in, she quickly sobered and continued “...I’m here for you. And y’know, neither of us were expecting this, were we?” She sliced away a cutting, but unimpressed with the size, dived for another.

“Lichdom?”

“No. Well, maybe. But I meant this.” Her hands flitted back and forth “Us.” She stood up and handed him her second attempt.

"Absolutely not.” He looked around the garden, sighing heavily. “And after our conversation this afternoon, I knew that I had to tell you about this before we go any further.”

“Ugh, Em. Don't be so dramatic. This is your life’s work. You've known me for what…three, four months?”

“Almost five.”

“Almost five” she echoed “Barely any time at all.”

He pulled out a handkerchief to clean his pruning shears. “That is the perfect segue to my next point. I am significantly older than you, Rook. Surely, you would want someone closer in age? Davrin is a very handsome man, and fond of you.”

She narrowed her eyes: “Volkarin, you’re doing a horrible job of this. First lichdom, now age?”

He grimaced, and started walking ahead, but she was quick on his heels. She touched his arm, a silent request for him to stop. A sparkle of mischief in her eyes: “How old do you think I am, Em?”

He considered her for a moment, a knowing smile; “It's impolite to guess or ask a lady her age.”

She laughed warmly: “But I'm not a lady, so you're fine.” She walked over to the final flower bush, bending down: “I’m not always sure how much time has passed. I even had to check the newspaper in Dock Town for the date the other day.” She extended her hand with the last cutting. When he went to take it, she retracted from his grasp: “I’m thirty years old. Nearly thirty-one, now. Does that make you feel better?”

He breathed a small sigh of relief: “Well...that isn't as large a gap as I'd feared.” he raised his eyebrows “Your spirit is timeless.”

She laughed: “I'd think you were from Tevinter if I didn't know better. Probably one of your more backhanded compliments.” She tilted her head as she handed him the cutting finally “How old are you?”

He pondered “I’m fifty-two. I'm quite aware that I look older. Taash especially loves to drill that particular point. They did suggest I was an octogenarian the other day though, which was quite devastating.”

She shrugged: “Who cares?”

Who, indeed? It had been so easy to write out his feelings alone with a glass of wine. In practice, with her standing before him, it all seemed quite imposs-

“Emmrich.”

Her voice brought him back to ground. She spoke softly, using the low voice that she seldom used. “You’ve told me you want to become undead, and that you’re two decades older than me, give or take. And I. Still. Don't. Care.” She got up from the ground, wiping down her trousers and cloak: “And Davrin? Really?” wrinkling her nose.

“He is handsome, objectively." he piped up in protest.

“I mean, yeah - he’s good looking. But we are far too similar. Never thought of him like that.”

“You may want to tell him that.” Emmrich huffed, thinking of the disappointment in the young elf’s face in the Wetlands. She laughed at first, quickly turning to shock when Emmrich’s face remained stern.

“Oh shit, really?”

“You didn't notice?”

She let out an almost angry, impatient breath through her nose before answering “No. I’ve been too busy looking at you.”

Emmrich decided to take that as a compliment. With his hands now occupied with dutifully tying the flowers together, they continued walking, his burdens somewhat lightened. At the very end, he halted, clearing his throat and Rook briefly glanced over at the graves in front of them. Volkarin. 

Oh .

She read their names out under her breath and he nodded.

“My parents. They were a butcher and a baker. A bittersweet thing that their loss granted me the path to the Mourn Watch, although it was the making of me. I was able to have these placed in their honour some time ago.”

She looked over at his bouquet. Unimpressed, she beckoned her hand, asking him silently to hand it over. He obliged, reluctantly. To his relief and surprise, she carefully curated a new bouquet, taking her time to weave the flowers together into a wreath-like shape.

“My aunt had me take finishing lessons for a season” she explained “when she found out about my overactive magic. Thought that if I learned to act like a lady, it would hide it. You can imagine how that went.” She smirked “I did enjoy making flower adornments for my hair, though. Until I burned half of it off by accident. Frances was furious.”

She turned away from him to approach the gravestones. As she did so, Emmrich quietly asked if she could introduce herself to them. She looked back at him, nodded, and crouched by the graves.

“Hi. My name is Adella, but I go by Rook these days. It’s a pleasure.”

His gaze softened. That was the first time he’d heard her true name. A piece of herself given. A secret. A bond.

“What do you think they would want for me?”

She looked over her shoulder, and got back to her feet, holding out her hand. A chance that he wouldn’t miss for the world. He clasped it, fingers woven into one another She didn't answer the question immediately and started to walk back down the path slowly. When he went to speak again, unsure if she had heard, she raised a finger to his lips, his moustache tickling the digit.

“They'd want you to be happy. With someone who…really cares for you.”

He raised his free hand towards the statue they had been walking past, realising the poetry of the moment. Looking up, Rook took in the sight; two skeletons - carved in stone, not bone like the educational scenes that Emmrich had shown her before. The statue depicted the couple caught in an embrace. It was stunning.

As she gazed, he plucked a flower from just above her head: “Ah, Shroud's Kiss. They say that this grows on lovers’ graves, and those who capture their scent grow closer to the Fade.” He handed the bloom to her.

“Is that true?” she asked, the bloom raised to her nose.

He smirked: “It is when I will it, my dear.”

The flower evaporated under his spell, and the air lit up with sparks of energy. It reminded Rook of the boats in the Dock Town harbour at night. Lantern filled streets. The wisps. Emmrich’s magic in the darkened tower room. 

“And what else?” she whispered, placing her now free hand on his arm.

“What else?”

“I thought you were listing off reasons why I wouldn't be interested.”

“Ah. I think I have exhausted that list.”

“So kiss me already.”

Her eyes glittering in the refracted light, Emmrich smiled and leaned in. It was altogether imperfect when their lips met for the first time; a brief kiss, light, cautious. He pulled back, gauging her reaction before smiling:

“What a day of unexpected splendor.”

Rook hated flowery words. Hated theatrics. But if Volkarin was planning on talking to her like that…apocalypse be damned. She pulled him to her, mouth crashing against his, trying to articulate everything she had tried to describe in her letter in their next kiss. He closed the gap between them, his arms surrounding her waist, hands splayed on her lower back. Hers remains gripped on his lapels, her lips parting as their kiss deepened. 

If time hovered in the Lighthouse, it flew in the gardens. Once they could bring themselves to break apart, Emmrich took her arm gently and linked it with his own, bringing her to a stone bench to sit. He pulled her close again, their foreheads naturally falling into place, touching.

“What do we call this?” he murmured, staring into her eyes once more. Oh, he could get lost in those. In her.

“Well, you definitely can't be my tutor anymore.” A cheeky grin, and his own widened. He pulled away slightly, chuckling.

“I certainly did my best to reinitiate those sessions. But you’re absolutely right. I do not want to earn myself such a reputation.”

Rook joined him in his laughter. She knew that this was all so silly, in the depths of everything going on. She couldn't believe the ridiculousness of the most romantic moment of her life being in a graveyard. With a necromancer. Varric would have a bestseller right there. Oh, when he found out about this…

She took his hands away from her body, interlinked her fingers: “Look, let’s see how this goes. I don’t know if we will work, and that worries the fuck out of me when we're working together. But...”

He kissed her hair, above her ear, and whispered “Indeed. Truthfully told, I am just as cautious as you. We are so very different. Not to mention that I didn't even know your name until I heard you introduce yourself to my parents.”

She let out a small gasp and leaned back “We’ve been travelling together for months, and I never told you? Didn't Neve? Harding?”

“Your loyalty is well placed in those two.”

She smiled: “Adella Mercar. Now you know.”

“Mercar? Old Tevinter family name, is it not? Military? I believe some of your family tombs may be here”. Ah, there was the professor sneaking out, he sounded positively delighted. But realising his enthusiasm was not shared, he returned to their conversation: “Adella. Not the name I was expecting, I must admit.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Well, I assume that it’s an offshoot of Adele. A popular Nevarran name. Meaning ‘serene’.” He smirked. She pushed him away playfully, moving to stand up. He followed suit, and offered his hand, bowing slightly: “My darling Adella, shall we do a couple more circuits of the garden before we return? I'm not quite ready for this day to be over.”

She took his hand, a warning tone in her voice. “You better not make a habit of that. Everyone calls me Rook.”

“Naturally. I'll keep your name for our more…intimate moments.”

–

They reached the corridor where Emmrich usually departed her company. Only this time, he lingered. He brought his hand to her face, once again trying to brush back the loose tendrils of her bun.

“You might be able to brush it back now, it’s grown a lot.” Rook said lightly. He smiled, but kept his hand on her cheek.

“What do you want to happen now, Rook?”

She was so used to making a quick exit. She didn’t know. Seeing this, he spoke again:

“Ah, it would appear that you want my opinion. Let's take one step further into rarity, and please indulge me. I would like to do this properly, take you for dinner, so we can get to know each other more romantically.”

“A date?” She was incredulous. “Em, we have so much to do.”

“I'm sure the world can wait a few hours. Besides, you need to rest after everything in Dock Town. I'm sure the team wouldn’t begrudge that.” He leaned in and gently kissed her mouth. “And if they protest…” he murmured, mouth trailing down to her jaw, her neck, taking in that intoxicating floral scent: “...they'll have me to deal with.”

“Is tomorrow too soon?”

Emmrich laughed softly in her ear: “Perhaps. But I can make it happen this week, if you truly wish.” He dove in for a final kiss on her lips, softer, slow, before he backed away, adjusting his shirt collar and pin: “Sleep well.” he nodded, raising her hand.

“Sure you’re not staying?”

His eyes darkened and she felt her breath catch at the sight: “An invite that I am all too tempted to accept. But forgive this old-fashioned soul; good things come to those who wait.” His lips met the back of her hand. With a half bow, he departed back down the steps before his willpower became forfeit, his composure already melting under her touch.

–

A scrap of parchment on Rook’s chest of drawers. Golden ink - it seems that someone restocked their supplies during their latest excursion.

Rook,

I heard someone was talking with the professor in the halls last night. Something about a date?

-N

A response on the reverse. The same ink as ever, along with a broken nib. A small hole from being pinned to a door.

Neve,

Give me a shout if you hear anything about Aelia. She remains top priority.

Make everything else wait. I have dinner plans.

-Rook

Chapter Text

Rook sifted through a pile next to the bookcase in the library, with a determination she usually reserved for missions. The pile was made up of trinkets and other miscellaneous items that the team had picked up over time. She was looking for one item: a blue silk dress, the last birthday present she had received from Soren before the Nessus job. Whilst she had turfed most of her valuables to the Shadow Dragon vendor before returning home, she couldn't bring herself to hand the dress over. Pulling it from the pile, she held it to the light. It was silly of her, really; she could buy it back after the gods were taken down. The glass beading alone would fund upgrades for the whole team. Soren would understand if she did have to sell it.

But it wouldn't hurt to wear it one last time.

“Oh, that is beautiful. Blue is really your colour.” Bellara had entered the room, arm full of gadgets and tech.

“I love this dress.” Rook sighed, now holding the dress in front of her by the shoulders: “Bloody stupid thing to get sentimental over, though.”

“Oh, not at all! Everyone has their favourite item to wear. Besides, Emmrich would die if he saw you in this.” Bellara gasped, hands flying to her face, and gadgets to the floor “Oh! Does anyone else know yet?”

“Fuck, who told you?”

“Oh, umm. No one? I came in when you were talking last night. I wasn't eavesdropping but...” Bellara was blushing.

“Ah, so you’re Neve’s mystery source. I see.”

“Oh good, you're not mad. Great! In that case, tell me more! Is that what Neve was talking about in Minrathous? Who confessed first? How?” The elf beamed, kneeling on the sofa, fingers clinging onto the back as she leaned forward.

Rook was stalling, she needed an out, she needed-

“Bel, let the woman breathe.” Neve’s cool demeanour was a compress to Rook's rapidly burning face as she entered the room. Bellara gave an apologetic smile and stood back up, turning to pick up her dropped items. Approaching the pair, Neve leaned back and appraised the dress: “Nice. Wear that.”

“I mean, options are limited.” Rook snarked, eyebrow raised as she folded the dress over her arm.

Neve smiled “Wouldn’t worry. You could wear a potato sack and Emmrich would still be mesmerised.” She bent down to pick up the trinkets that Bellara was now scooping back up “Bel, what were you doing with all these?”

“Archive again?” Rook asked, eyebrow twitching.

“Uh, yeah. A little, but then something came up. That’s actually why I came to find you just now, Rook. It’s about my brother. He wants to meet.” Bellara babbled, holding her arms out so Neve could pile up the items as she went.

“And you're considering it?” Rook threw the dress on a nearby chair; the blissful bubble of sisterhood burst: “After what we saw him do? Are you fucking insane ?”

Neve shot her a warning look, telling her silently to calm down. The trip to rescue the Veil Jumpers had been rough; they had lost a lot of people, all because of Bellara’s formerly presumed dead brother and his new patron. Rook had been ready to tear both their heads from their shoulders, but Bellara had been surprisingly mature and level-headed, choosing to retreat instead of following them. Yet now, Bellara looked torn, her hands twisting every which way. Rook sighed, her impatience soaring: “Fine. I don't understand it, but fine. Let me come with you. Not this evening though.”

“Or tomorrow morning,” Neve added with a smirk. Rook glared at her in protest, ignoring Bellara’s squeal of glee: “Don't look at me like that. It's fair game after what you said about me climbing Antivans.”

Rook’s frown morphed into a shrewd smile: “Worked though, didn’t it?”

“The coffee has been a lot better recently.” Neve sipped the cup that she had brought in: “Let us both come, Bel. We’ll hang back and intervene if we need to.”

“Okay, deal.” Bellara clicked her fingers “Oh! I finished those volumes you found for me in Tevinter by the way. So disappointed with the ending! They just got married and stopped adventuring? I mean, it's romantic, but…”

“Sorry, Bel.” Neve soothed “But we did warn you about those serials. Maybe you could write a new ending for it? You did say you wanted to start writing.”

“I already started, actually. Nothing worth sharing yet though.”

“Give me a draft copy when you're done” Neve asked, placing a hand on Bellara’s arm: “And get some sleep, instead of staying up with that archive. With Harding scared of dreams, Emmrich performing rites, me investigating, you tinkering, Lucanis…well. I feel like Taash is the only one who gets the full nine hours every night.” Neve looked over at Rook “and you’re the worst for it.”

“I’ll sleep when I'm dead.” Rook sighed, turning her attention back to the pile.

“You and Tarquin nearly did die, remember? Let's not do that again.”

--

A note left on Rook's door. A fine calling card, with a detailed floral border.

Dear Rook,

Apologies for using your usual moniker, but apprehensive that our correspondence will be intercepted. I'm almost certain Taash and Harding heard us returning the other night, for the former's commentary this morning was decidedly graphic.

Meet me in our usual spot in the memorial gardens, around eight o'clock. I'll be travelling ahead of your arrival, and will make the appropriate arrangements.

Emmrich

--

Rook had travelled through the eluvian in her usual mage armour, and had been pleasantly surprised to discover on arrival to the Necropolis that a chamber had been made available for her to change. She had envisioned a very hasty change into her formal attire behind a mausoleum or somewhere equally disrespectful.

“Professor Volkarin told us to expect you.” Myrna explained, nodding solemnly, but with the briefest glimmer of knowing a secret in her eyes. ‘“I trust you know your way to the gardens by now?”

Rook bowed her head before quickly departing. The path had been cleared; she had brought her staff for insurance, but hadn't needed it. Someone had been busy. She opened the gates to the gardens, and found Emmrich at the bottom of the steps awaiting her, pacing. He was dressed finely, in a longer coat than usual, almost a cloak. His shirt collar wasn't as high as his usual everyday attire either, a silver variegated fabric.

Emmrich was awestruck. Rook’s hair looked closer to silver in this light, swooped into an Orlesian style pleat, and her usual heavy black makeup had been done with a lighter hand: “Oh, you look wonderful” he breathed, arm poised ready for her to link with him. As she did so, he brought her hand to his lips before making the link.

“You’re looking sharp, Volkarin. Never seen this one before. Although, I thought we were having dinner. Do the gardens offer catering?”

“I would never make promises I can’t keep.” He said in faux-offense, hand over heart. “I had time to return to my old quarters in the Necropolis for this particular ensemble.” He looked her up and down: “But I would love to know where you've been hiding this.”

“Trade secret,” she shot back, “I’d have to kill you.”

He chuckled, and off they went. They walked through to the far end of the gardens, where the bandstand stood. A small, but decorative, table had been set up with beautiful flowers and table placements. He took her staff and balanced it next to his, against one of the columns.

She was moved: “I don't think anyone has ever gone to this much effort for me, Em.”

“This? Oh no, this is nothing.” he said flippantly. Sensing her tension, he looked at her,  mouth parted in surprise: “Truly?”

“No lies.” she affirmed. Emmrich sighed.

“More fool them, my dear.”

He motioned for her to sit on the other side. As he did, he got the first look at the back of Rook’s dress, and caught his breath. Most of her back was exposed, the cowl of the dress sitting at the small of her back, the glass beads in strings across her shoulder blades. She turned, briefly confused.

“You look exquisite, and you are certainly making it more difficult to get through dinner.”

She raised an eyebrow, turning just so her back was in his view again, before she laughed and took her seat opposite.

--

“Wait wait wait, you got approval for an undead, former royal kitchen to cook for us?”

“Of course, why else would I bring you here for dinner?” Emmrich's eyes sparkled: “I couldn’t march the kitchen brigade through Minrathous, could I?”

“Points for originality.” she laughed, swirling her wine glass.

“I had hoped it would impress.” Emmrich’s cheeky tone switched to one more serious “I do worry about how much you take on, Rook. There is a lot on your shoulders, and responsibility takes its toll. Lucanis told me about your fainting spell.”

“Yeah. I have been more tired recently.”

“More so than you might even realise. I do ask that you at least avoid putting pressure on that stiff left wrist.”

“Oh. It is a little stiff.” she considered, wrapping her hand around it “I landed funny on it when I fainted. Impressed you even spotted it.”

“Well, I am familiar with the finer points of anatomy.”

She stared at him, testing to see whether he was intentionally suggestive. The jury was out.

“It’s good that we were able to make time for this.” he continued “We know each other perfectly on the battlefield, but in comfort, we should take time to get to know one another.”

“Dig into our feelings?”

“If the mood moves you, of course.”

“Hmm.” She thought about it for a moment before speaking. “You seem to know…. Are you…” Rook searched for the words “Have you gone to this much effort before?”

“I’ve had my share of companions. There's been no one serious for the past few years. Asides from that, I think we can keep my liaisons in the past.” he nodded, seriously “But Rook, believe me when I say that I save my best gestures. I was admittedly afraid that I had lost my touch, between teaching and Manfred and…there hasn't been time.” He leaned back, allowing Manfred to top up his glass “Ah, thank you. Very kind.” he cleared his throat “What about you?”

“Oh please, you know I’ve had lovers. I haven’t been secretive about that.” She frowned, taking a moment: “And I guess one relationship. I was too young really, for it to be anything meaningful. It lasted a few years, but it was never…I didn’t…” she sighed “I haven't bothered since. Until now.”

“I understand. Decline to answer this Rook, if you wish, but have you ever been in love?”

“No.” Her response was honest, sharp, and delivered so quickly that she made both of them flinch. Silence fell for a moment. But then he smiled, and said “I believe I would answer the same.”

“Really?”

“Oh, I have admired, cared, desired, romanced. But in love? Not if the hundreds of written works on the subject I've read over the years are to be believed.” He took a sip of wine.

She laughed softly, placing her elbow on the table, head on her palm “You are not like anyone I’ve been with before.”

“By which you mean honest?” He raised an eyebrow, and his glass once more: “Or older?”

She grinned, the tip of her tongue sticking out "Older isn't anything new.”

He choked a little on his wine.

“But seriously?” She held her glass stem between her thumbs, both hands on the table. “What did you even see in me? I can't be your typical date.”

“Asides from the complement of your interest?”

She laughed, “Go on.”

“Darling girl, it’s gratifying that a fresh-faced, bold adventurer even noticed me at all, and your fiery spirit can be charming when it's not in my direction. But to be frank, Adella…” he paused “...there's simply something quite indomitable about you. You inspire. So no, not my typical date. Better.”

“Oh. Thanks.” She was genuinely touched. She moved her hand up the stem of the glass: “I've had to fight my whole life to not be treated just as something to be appraised, or bought.” With her last word, she downed the remaining mouthful of wine in the glass: “Even when you didn't like me…” she shushed his protest and held up a finger “Don't lie, you didn't like me. But even then, you respected me. Trusted me.”

“Liking you came quite easily in the end though, once I got through your stubborn nature.”

She laughed under her breath: “Glad to hear it.” She paused “You’re so patient, Em. You're kind. You listen.”

He smiled, knowing such comments didn’t flow easily or falsely from his date.

“...not to mention you look so good when you do your thing. The other week when you brought down that Venatori without barely lifting a finger in the forest?” She breathed out “I nearly kissed you there and then. Although, if I had, I probably wouldn’t have gotten your letter. And things might’ve turned out very differently in Minrathous.” she paused “Not to be dramatic or anything.”

“And you say you're not eloquent.” He mused. They sat in silence for a moment before:

“What's your favourite colour?”

He laughed, loudly. A palate cleanser of a topic.

“No, let me guess! Red? Dark dark green? Yellow, but like a bone yellow?”

“Lilac.”

A sly smile in return: “Ah. ‘Course you went to a flower.”

“It's such a pretty shade. My favourite flower. And you?” he eyed her up “Royal blue, perhaps?”

“A good guess, but no. I really like those rich dark purples. The ones you get with really expensive dyes.”

“Another colour of royalty in some countries.” he offered, and she nodded. He leaned back, smiling “Two different shades of purple. I think that reflects us quite well. A contrast, but ultimately a good combination.”

She tilted her head “Are you this smooth with everyone?”

“Only those I want to charm, my dear.” He looked over “Ah, and here are the final petit-fours. How delightful.”

--

The feast over, Emmrich pulled Rook up to her feet and spun her in a circle.

“Have you ever danced before, Rook? I'm sure your finishing school days taught you some steps.”

“I love to dance," she admitted, "but it's been a long time since I did any ballroom.”

“Do you know the Nevarran foxtrot?”

“I did, but it's been forever, so it’s your fault if I stand on your toes. We’ll need music.” As soon as she said it, the bandstand burst into sound and light from an undead orchestra, making her laugh. Of course he had planned for that. Once she had composed herself, Emmrich placed one hand on her waist, the other in hers. Racking her brains for the correct posture, she took up position and with a nod from Emmrich, started to step in time to the music. 

“And where did you learn to dance?”

“Part of the Mourn Watch education. Pupils are expected to take a recreational activity to promote interests in other areas for a more rounded learning experience. It was this or a choir, and sadly I am completely inept.” A mischievous twinkle in his eye: “Something else we have in common, I fear. I've heard you and Harding singing that Ferelden tavern ditty.”

She narrowed her eyes, but smiled and they continued to sway. As her confidence grew and the music swelled, wisps of curiosity gathered around them.

“They’re wondering what we’re up to. Wisps are ever attracted to the gardens.”

“Like you?”

He smiled: “The Fade is close here. As are spirits and wisps that I count as friends, counsel, guides. But in addition to that…my abilities mean that I can feel mysteries beyond comprehension, beyond magic and deeper within The Fade than most experience. In the gardens, I sense those brief, fleeting moments of exploration and discovery. I am fortunate.”

“Philosophical. But what about the flowers here?”

“It’s the purpose of the gardens, to uplift our thoughts to something higher than us.”

“And there we are again.”

“Sometimes my dear, I think you may actually care to indulge me.”

“When I’m in the mood.” she reached for a small kiss, their first of the evening. She leaned into him, her head against his shoulder as they continued to dance.

The music swelled to its finale, and Emmrich released her hands to applaud with his own:  “Thank you, that was truly magnificent. You may return to rest.”

She moved away as the band departed, her hands on the bandstand railing, overlooking the gardens. It was calm, soothing. Like the man who now stood beside her, taking her hands once more. She looked at their clasped digits.

“I didn’t think I would enjoy being wined and dined by someone. Especially a gentleman.” she smiled briefly, before she frowned “Why are you doing this, Emmrich?” she murmured.

“We deserve a little frivolity before we go into battle. It would be so easy for us to simply rush things in the face of adversity.”

“But all the effort of everything, it must have taken you-”

“Adella, you are worth every minute of preparation I spent. Thank you for your company. The conversation has been…strangely non-combative for us, but altogether incredibly pleasant.”

“Told you, I can be nice when I want to be. Thank you, Emmrich. This has all been…really lovely, actually.”

“Perhaps you’re more of a romantic than you believe yourself to be.”

He had expected her to retort with her usual curse, but instead, she smiled, albeit whilst rolling her eyes. Her hands cupped his face and she kissed him. He responded in kind, hands buried in her hair. Her hands descended to his chest as their kiss deepened, a tiny noise escaping her, their foreheads pressed together, unwilling to completely break contact as she broke the kiss.

“I know you wanted to take this slow.” she murmured, lips brushing his as she spoke “But you know I love to disagree with you. Especially when you look so good.”

“Tonight, you look truly divine.” he placed a hand on the small of her bare back, leaning in to whisper against her ear: “This dress notably has been a highlight.” He spun her around, making her back flush with his body. He kissed the back of her hand, then a series of smaller kisses up her arm, her shoulder, her neck. Her skin was surprisingly soft for someone who spent their days in battle and brawl: “I am not completely opposed to upping the tempo. But I don’t want you to think that I’m trying to merely seduce you. I want to do this properly.” he murmured, hands moving down her body.

“I don’t think that, you bloody fool. But you’re doing an excellent job of it anyway.” She reached behind, sliding her hand up his thigh. 

He sighed, his dexterous hands exploring, reaching her hips, and lowered his voice even further: “Adella, forgive me if this is too bold, but the thought of you betwixt my bedsheets has been an almost constant thought since I laid eyes on you in that dress.”

Maker, she didn’t stand a chance. A sigh escaped her as she asked: “Emmrich, are your quarters nearby?”

“A short journey.” His adorned hands moved again to her lower back, pushing her away from his frame. His hands were becoming more playful, occasionally slipping below the cowl. The bastard.

“Em, I-” he spun her around and interrupted her with an open mouthed kiss, pulling her towards him. Her senses spiked, the force backing them into the dining table clumsily, glasses tumbling over, cutlery clanging, breaking them apart to assess the damage. It was then that he paused. Waiting for her assent before he went any further.

“We’ve been dancing around this for so long, Em. This evening was beautiful, and I know what you were trying to do.” she gasped as Emmrich's hands smoothed over her thighs upon hearing her confirmation: “But I want you. I’ve wanted you since that dinner party.”

Emmrich didn’t answer; he simply groaned before capturing her kiss once more, breathing deepening as Rook’s hands mirrored a similar pattern on his body to what he was tracing on hers. She was being incredibly delicate in her touches, a whisper, a promise of more. His hands had reached under the layers of silk chiffon, his hands finding the split in the dress skirt, sliding up her leg to her inner thigh. She broke off their kiss and moved away from the table.

“Let's go, Volkarin. Before we end up giving the wisps a real show.”

--

Emmrich had immaculate taste; simple but high quality furniture, with beautiful hand painted illustrations in gold. The lanterns flickered into life with a wave of his hand. He closed the door behind, bolted it. She removed her sandals and tidied them by the door. Everything was so precisely in place, she didn’t want to detract from it with her items. She balanced her staff against the corner, and silently prayed it wouldn’t fall.

“Rook, I promise this will be the last time I ask this evening.” he said, starting to remove his jewellery, placing it in a porcelain dish on his mantlepiece “But are you sure you want to do this tonight? I know the excitement of the evening could induce certain thoughts in the heat of the moment. Now you’ve had time to consider…”

“Emmrich.” Her hand slid up to start unpinning the first string of beads from her dress from across her back “Are you trying to tell me you want to stop this? Because we can if you are unsure.”

His eyes darkened as he saw what she was doing. He continued to undo his jewellery as he continued “Absolutely the opposite. I just want to make sure the feeling is mutual.”

“Believe me, I’m sure about this.” she unpinned the second row of beads, pacing herself, and turning her back to him, making him watch “But I’m happy to give you all the time to consider. I can take this off as slow as you want.”

He groaned, running his hand over his face: “Have you always been this outrageous?”

“Oh, I think you know the answer to that.” - the third row of beads unpinned, she turned to face him “And just so you know, once I step out of this dress, I won’t be wearing anything .”

He watched her slowly reach up behind her back. His fingers went to unclip his cloak, then his shirt buttons. She walked up to him and pushed the shirt off his shoulders, before backing away to clasp the final pin. With a click, it came loose, and she started to shuffle her way out.

“Please, allow me” Emmrich's hands were upon her from behind, brushing the shoulders of the gown away, and she pulled her arms through. The silk was more structured on the bodice, and gave way with his pressure, but the gown did not fall completely from Rook’s body. He kissed the back of her neck, sending a thrill through her, and his hands moved around her breasts. With another push, the dress fell to her hips. She turned round, and Emmrich could take in the sight of her bare torso for the first time. Her soft pale skin was dotted with freckles across her shoulders and chest, interrupted only by the scar on her shoulder from the battle in Minrathous.

“Emmrich?” she asked, surprisingly soft, vulnerable. Her hand went up to her scar, suddenly nervous. He realised that he had gone silent.

“Sorry, darling. I was captivated.” He reached for her, grabbing the back of her head hungrily, and covering her mouth with his. His hands moved to her breasts, her nipples the same colour as her flushed face. His fingers rolled over them gently, and his lips descended with butterfly kisses down her neck. She swore under her breath, biting her lip. He chuckled softly.

“These quarters are completely soundproof, just so you know.”

“How do you know?”

“I’m certain that you would much rather I demonstrate.” His mouth was on hers again, and his hands were pushing the fabric of her gown further down. She laughed breathily, one hand in his hair, the other on the back of his neck. She felt her thighs squeezing, her desire growing. She needed him to go further, but…

“Ah ah.” she moved her hands to his trouser waist, slipping a couple of fingers in the band “I need to see you first.”

“I don’t see how that’s fair.”

“I don’t think you’re in a position to argue.”

“Challenging me here? Now?”

“Drives you wild, doesn’t it?”

He smirked, and backed away. He unlaced his trousers and removed them, taking his undergarments with him, and stood tall before her. Taking in the view, Rook pushed her dress down, exposing herself to him. She kicked the dress to one side. She was flushed, breathing heavily, as she gazed upon him, the dim light highlighting the toned muscle of his arms and chest. Emmrich wanted to take his time, but in watching her gaze lower, his body quickly overtook his brain. His lips crashed against her, and his hands roamed all over her, caressing, teasing.

“Follow me.”

They proceeded along the hallway to his bedchamber, desperate kisses between steps, not wanting to break their connection now it had been set. They fell onto the bed without pulling back the covers, and Emmrich immediately clambered upon her. With teasing kisses, he moved down her neck, her chest, her stomach, kissing the inside of her thighs. He stopped momentarily, gazing up at her, before placing his hand between her legs, with one small stroke, parting her.

She sighed at the brief moment of contact, and with a smile, he descended, his tongue spread, quickly finding her desire. She gripped the bedsheets, eliciting a hum in response from him in return. His long fingers entered her slowly and retracted, curling. A slow, careful pattern that somehow brushed every nerve that wanted attention, making her gasp and moan. Oh Maker, it had been a long time since someone had made her feel like this.

“Focus on me, Rook.” His fingers now set in a rhythm, her hips rolled, and his eyes met hers; it ignited her, her breathing now shallow, spurring on Emmrich to apply more pressure with his mouth, adhering to her clit. Moments later, he could feel her back arching, and he lifted his head up, but refusing to relent, his thumb fell in place of his tongue.

“Are you close, darling? It seems that way.”

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” Her voice was unrecognisable to him, breathy, light.

“Watching you come undone? I can’t think of anything I’d rather do, Adella.”

The sound of her name on his lips sent another spark to her core, and she could feel herself cresting. With a cry, she came, riding out her orgasm on his hand: “You are truly so lovely.” he murmured between kisses, allowing her to catch her breath.

She reached down to him, taking him in her hand. He sighed, rolling his hips into her grip. Seeing her climax had made him so unbelievably turned on. But she wasn’t going to let his teasing slide: “Do you still want to take things slow, Volkarin?”

Her lips were swollen from the kisses, her cheeks bright pink from her peak, her eyelids low. His hair was free from its usual shape, darker strands peeking through from where his hair had not yet greyed, his desire-darkened eyes devoured her from head to toe as he tried to speak: “Truthfully, I didn't think we would succeed, despite my intentions.” He sighed into her neck as her strokes deepened, her hand pulsing with her magic “My imagination brought me to your touch whilst you were away. The reality of you is far superior.”

Rook bit her lip as his hand descended once more, and began circling her clit, causing her to twitch. His mouth moved to her ear, and he whispered “Would you like me to fuck you, Adella?”

“You never swear.”

“Rarely. And the question remains.”

“I thought the answer was obvious.” An insistent, firm press and she moaned, before whispering “Oh, fuck playing games. Fuck me, Em. Please.”

Smiling, he climbed on top of her once more and he positioned himself, locking eyes with her as their bodies met, with each roll of his body entering her deeper, until he was fully within. He let out a moan in feeling her warmth, and Rook immediately wanted to draw out another; hearing him lose composure made hers falter in equal measure. She brought her legs around his waist and he descended upon her, mouth pinned to hers, moving with a ferocity she hadn’t counted on, but was thrilled to discover; it seemed he could read her perfectly. Tilting her hips further to take him in deeper, he brushed the sweet spot within her and her legs threatened to cramp from the pleasure.

“Emmrich, I-”

“Adella, you feel…” he interrupted his own sentence with a moan, before pulling out of her body “I don’t want to rush this. This is….”

“We can slow down if you want.” she suggested, sitting up on her elbows. Kissing him, she pushed down so he lay on his back, and she climbed on top. She removed the pin from her hair, shaking it loose as she poised herself over him, and slowly took him in. He groaned at the sight of her, hands moving to her hips as they rocked, excruciatingly slow, over and over. She could feel herself tensing, keen to feel every inch of him. She sighed, wanting to speed up but painstakingly maintaining her pace, watching Emmrich slowly fall to pieces. His hands moved up to her breasts. The sweat from her body made her glow in the lamplight, and as Emmrich watched her, a thousand sweet sentiments filled his mind, but only one tumbled from his lips.

“You are a goddess.”

She grinded hard against him in response, causing them both to moan, and her hips found a new rhythm.

“Darling, I’m-”

“It’s okay, me too.”

Inhibition lost, they let their pleasure take the reins, and Emmrich flipped her onto her back once more. With her voice cracking in his ear, Rook came, clenching hard on him. That took Emmrich over the edge and with a shout moments later, he climaxed, their hands clasped together, their breathing hard and heavy, and they kissed forcefully, laughing into it, bathing in each other’s glow. Moments later, they parted, and Emmrich rolled onto his back once more.

“That was…” Rook could barely speak, she was out of breath.

“I think that summarises it nicely.” he said, wiping the sweat off his brow “Oh, Adella. I've wanted to do that to you for far longer than I should admit to.”

She laughed, and a hand raised to her brow, realisation setting in. She placed the back of her other hand against his chest: “A goddess?”

“Don’t play coy with me, my dear. You seemed to enjoy it in the moment.”

“Shut up.” she grinned, her face flushed “Well, we should’ve done that a long time ago. Fuck. Sorry.”

He smiled and turned over, leaning on his elbow “Of all the times to hear an apology from you. Whatever for?”

“Being too stupid and stubborn.”

“Stubborn you may be, but never stupid. Moreover, you’re more than forgiven.” He kissed her cheek and got out of bed.

“Where are you going?”

“That dress of yours is Antivan silk, my dear. I simply can’t bear the thought of it laying on the floor all night.”

She grumbled under her breath but the smile refused to budge from her face, as she pulled the sheet over her “Could you bring a glass of water as well?”

“Of course. But pray tell, what did your last servant die from?”

“Well excuse me, but someone has made my legs fucking useless.” She lightly threw a pillow at him, laughing.

--

Rook awoke confused, eyes blurry, in unfamiliar surroundings. But then she saw a few items about the room; two magic staves, including her own. Her blue dress, perfectly hung up on the front of the armoire. A nude figure in bed next to her, dozing, that now familiar oakmoss scent. She sat up, looking for a chemise to pull over her head. As she did so, a voice broke the silence.

“Don't you dare get out of bed yet.” Emmrich murmured into her ear, pulling her back into an embrace.

“Did I wake you?”

“Yes, but I certainly do not mind.” he kissed the top of her head “I fear that we will have to leave shortly and return back to our mission. Let me have this time with you, unspoiled. We don’t know when we’ll get to do this again.” He mumbled into her shoulder.

She conceded, settling back into his embrace: “How much time do we have?”

“A couple of hours I'd say” he brushed his fingers through her loose hair. He hadn't seen it down for months, and delighted in the now chest-length strands glimmering across the pillow. Her hands wandered downwards, caressing his arms, chest. Smiling, he brought her into a kiss, hand brushing her breasts, her stomach, and then…gods, those hands were dangerous.

Through heavy lidded eyes and short breaths, Rook looked at him:

“I think I might keep you around.”

He smirked “Well, allow me to convince you if you remain unsure” he descended, pulling the bedsheets over his head.

--

A short note, left on Neve’s desk. Parchment has been torn from another missive on the table.

Neve,

You and Bellara are right; I can't sell that dress.

-Rook

Chapter Text

They both knew the high of the evening in Nevarra would be fleeting. Returning to the Lighthouse, the mission brought them crashing back down; Rook needed to be in at least five different places at once, and she wasn’t going to get the respite that they both had hoped for. She flicked through the thick pile of missives on her desk, sighing heavily. First to Treviso, to track down the lead on Zara Renata with Lucanis, before she fled once more. Then the Wetlands, the Wardens still reeling from the fallout of Weisshaupt.

Whilst she was in the weeds of blight and blood mages, Emmrich was instead heading to Ferelden with Harding, the scout finally following up on a promise made many moons ago to help him locate potion ingredients. Rook had gone to say goodbye, only to find the duo bickering over equipment. A discussion that was rapidly dispelled once she had stepped in and told them both off for wasting time.

“Hang on Harding, did you say you were taking your writing kit?” she verified as Emmrich wandered away to pack, muttering under his breath about his razor.  Rook pulled a letter embellished with a wax seal. “I have a letter for Inquisitor Lavellan. Would you be able to tuck this into your kit? I assume that's who you're going to visit.”

“Of course,” Harding nodded, taking the parchment with an eager hand. “I told Lan - the Inquisitor, I mean - that we were heading to Ferelden. She wants to check in on whether you’ve heard from Solas.” Harding’s jaw clenched, and she quietened, tucking the letter into her bag.

“I did tell her that I’d keep her informed, but he’s decided to go silent on me. Hopefully my letter is enough to tide her over.” Rook hummed “I’m getting a vibe. You didn't approve of their relationship, then?”

“Most of us didn't. Dorian hated him, especially after they ended things. And Sera…oh, Maker.” Harding shook her head. “After he left, she used to smash eggs on the ground and say that she was practicing for the next time she saw him. She was a funny girl. One of the Jennys?” Rook shook her head, unfamiliar with the name, and Harding continued “Hard to believe she was so close in age to Lan. Like chalk and cheese, as Ma would say. Speaking of...” The scout looked over her shoulder, watching Emmrich carefully pack his garments. “...I guess you won't see each other again for a while, huh?” Harding whispered, side-eyeing her.

Rook glanced over at the tall figure, silhouetted by light of the upstairs windows, painstakingly folding up clothing, and nodded. She could feel a knot in her stomach, and didn’t care for it; she was annoying herself. Pushing it down, she clapped Harding on her shoulder and winked “You have a writing kit. Let me know if he misses me too much.”

“Just…be careful, Rook.”

Rook’s jaw clenched, feeling the scout’s judging eyes upon her. Harding and Emmrich were good friends, and she knew that it was Harding’s strong sense of justice coming into play, usually a valued trait. But when she was the target, it felt altogether different. A scolding. A warning. She ran her hands over her belt, a final check, trying to distract herself from the whisper of flame tickling down her spine; she refused to bite. She instead smiled oh-so-innocently and tilted her head “Can you give us a moment? I'll be leaving soon.”

“Sure, tell Emmrich that I’ll be waiting in the greenhouse when he’s done.” 

Harding, still wary, grabbed her gloves and departed. Sighing once more, Rook approached Emmrich from behind, and wrapped her arms around his waist. He chuckled, placing a hand over hers, before murmuring: "Ah. Leaving already. Should I expect a letter this time?”

“If you're lucky.” She let him go, allowing him to turn and kiss her. A long deep kiss that left her feeling dazed. Maker, she wished they had more time. They bloody well deserved it.

“Come back safe, Rook.”

“No promises. But you too.”

—

As soon as they stepped through the eluvian to the Cantori Diamond, Lucanis started to shake with fury, the shocking violet traces of Spite coursing around his body, settling under his shoulder blades and grasping his wrists. The blood red skyline of Treviso also triggered an incandescence from Rook, causing her to glow in the shadowed casino. But this time, she shook it off, fuelled instead by determination, for Rook was finally going to make good on her promise back in the Ossuary, so many months ago. 

They had their lead. Rook had never been religious, and the Treviso Chantry was altogether different from that of Minrathous, but it still felt wrong that the building had been violated in such a manner. A sanctuary for so many…if the Lighthouse had been desecrated in such a manner, or even her apartment…her hands clenched in her gauntlets, feeling the steel pinch against her palms. 

They had advanced silently on the Venatori surrounding the altar, both she and Neve trying to replicate the smooth glide of Lucanis’ footwork through the pews. On his mark, they struck in unison, a blast of ice and necrotic energy across the hall.

“Mortalitasi, be on guard!” she heard one of the Venatori call out. She almost spun round, half distracted, expecting to see Emmrich beside her. But then she realised: they were talking about her. Powerful. Validating.

They hurried through corridors and crypts, following the path laid by Venatori guards, finding the route to the lower levels. The metallic smell hit Rook as soon as she reached the bottom of the staircase, and her stomach turned. But turning the corner into the baths, the view was far worse: Zara Renata, beautiful, beastly, bathing in blood. The Shadow Dragon spat on the ground, trying to placate the feeling of nausea rising. How many had been slain to fulfil the ghoulish magister’s whim? Flame building, she raised her staff and swung.

She could see Neve taking too much time to build her mana, racing to the opposite side of the room, and Rook realised that she was preparing to send a blizzard to freeze the blood over, preventing bloodweaving. As Zara raised her spellblade, Rook leaped forward with her magic, radial blasts of necrotic energy to dispel any other attackers. Zara was almost upon Neve, and the pyromancer became desperate, trying to fade step across to the other side of the baths. Her mana wore out, and she landed squarely in the bath, her robes immediately soaked. Rook cried out with disgust, already accepting that the sight before her would fuel her nightmares for weeks to come.

Lucanis had got there first, and plunged his daggers cleanly, before Renata could land a single strike. Out of breath, Rook fade-stepped again and leaned against a pillar as Neve deployed her magic, freezing the bath with an arctic blast. The magister shrieked with fury as Lucanis came back around with another solid hit. Rook found her spellblade nestled in her bloodsoaked robes and clasping it, sped into the fray, hitting Zara with a bull rush of fire.

With Lucanis standing over their downed foe, he began to question her. Renata looked past him, groaning:

“Amatus…”

The word caught Rook off guard. Tevene, and a title not easily earned. She turned in horror as Illario approached and ended Zara with a snap of blood magic.

A betrayal layered upon another: “Lucanis” she began, astonished, grabbing his arm. 

But he already understood. Of course he did.

–

A series of notes written the same evening, Rook’s handwriting reverting back to her rushed, spiky scrawl. Ink blots cover the page, a broken nib not yet replaced.

Emmrich,

Hold your surprise that I'm the first to send a note. I'm afraid that this letter is strictly business, though.

The Crows have dispatched a body that we’ll need for a whispering: Lucanis’ target, Zara Renata. We have questions for her. It seems that she may have backing from the gods themselves. Another ally down for them, at least. I've asked Teia to send the body to the Necropolis for preservation under your care authority. I hope that's the right thing to do - I wasn’t sure when you’d be back from Ferelden.

She was a powerful blood mage, and I'm afraid I don't know enough about necromancy to know whether that makes any difference, but thought I’d tell you, just in case you need any extra wards for things like that.

On the bright side, we’re ahead of schedule. Maybe I’ll be back sooner than I thought.

Yours,

Rook

–

Soren,

Typical - you and your future husband are both away on guard duty when I’m in Treviso. Had lots to tell you as well, but sucks to be you, you’ll have to wait until we meet again. To quote this smug dickhead I know: ‘it’s not something you put in a letter’.

You didn’t tell me that Anton is a de Riva , by the way. I had to learn that from Viago. He’s been more willing to listen to me this time around, probably your influence. It's a bit bizarre thanking you for jumping into bed with an assassin, but we live in bizarre times. So thanks, I think?

Speak soon,

Rook

-

A much more elaborate parchment, smooth, careful ink and script.

Mi amor,

You are currently sleeping beside me, and I dare not wake you, for it is so rare to see you so peaceful. Today has been a trial, and Spite has raged within me, more ferocious than ever. In recent months, it has been harder to draw the line between his ire and mine. But when I am with you, I feel myself at the surface. I am not yet lost, for you keep me afloat in these stormy waters.

I know you will be leaving tomorrow and I want you to have my words close to you, whilst I cannot be there to say them myself. I will continue to follow Rook in her quests, and keep her out of trouble. But my mind and my heart will be with you, every possible moment.

I know that you don’t always make your feelings known, but your eyes tell me everything. 

Know that I am yours, Neve. I always have been.

Lucanis

–

Neve clasped the letters, and tied them together with a silk band from her hair. She turned to Rook, shaking the parchment in her hand: 

“I’ll make sure Emmrich gets this.” Then, to Lucanis: “Looks like I'm back to bad coffee again for a while.”

He weakened “Neve…”

“You be careful out there.” She kept her usual even tone, but lowered her head, her hat covering her expression. A small smile underneath. She stepped through the eluvian, out of sight. Rook looked over, and Lucanis bowed his head, before turning towards her:

“Thank you. I have my revenge, in part.” he sighed, ”We are so short of time, as always.”

She slapped him on the back. “Mate, tell me about it. Let’s get the job done, earn back any time we can.”

He hummed in agreement, staring back at the eluvian. Rook rolled her eyes, and prayed she would never become so lovestruck. But then, she couldn't blame the Crow.Everyone loved Neve. 

“She’s already read your letter, by the way. The wax seal was loose."

A small hum of laughter as he walked on: “Should’ve known she wouldn't wait.”

–

The warm balmy temperature of Treviso gave way to the fresh winds of the Crossroads, then into the cold, muddy surrounding of the Wetlands. Rook was fortunate and had her fire magic to keep her warm. Lucanis gritted his teeth, but said nothing. Davrin had not yet arrived, much to the assassin’s annoyance, and the latter decided to head into the village to keep himself busy. 

The tension between the two men had persisted after Weisshaupt, and Rook tired of their avoidance of one another in the Lighthouse; they would never defeat the gods if the team was so fragmented. Even she - who hated working in groups - had to accept that it was the only way to bring down the Evanuris. They had a job to do, and so re-launching their investigation into the Cauldron would have to do instead of group therapy.

Rook decided to go back to the clearing where she and Emmrich had trained during their previous visit whilst waiting for Davrin’s arrival. It was calm; the wind blocked by the nearby battlements and twisted tree bark. She sat and meditated for a time, then gently placed her hands on the mud-frosted ground and focused in on the surrounding fade energies. Responding to her in kind, necrotic magic formed a circle around her. When she opened her eyes, she was annoyed to discover that the circle was not as large as the one she'd conjured at the archive. She hadn't been able to replicate that since, in fact. Strong emotions, indeed. She smirked, thinking of Emmrich’s observations after that battle. 

Annoyingly, he had a habit of being right.

“Nice.”

A comment cut through the silence; she looked up to see Davrin at the edge of the clearing. She dissipated her magic and stood up to greet him, brushing down her armour: “Good afternoon” she snarked, the daylight - what little there was through the thick grey stratus cloud - had not quite reached its zenith. 

Davrin grunted in response: “Don’t start, Antaam blocking the way to the eluvian, had to double back and get Taash to help.” he stretched, frowning: “It’s been a few weeks, huh? Your magic is looking a lot more…deadly these days.”  he pointed out, folding his arms.

“Is that a problem?” Rook replicated his pose.

“Hm. Would've been nice to see you when you were back. It seems you and the professor are getting pretty…tight.”

“News travels fast.”

“Would’ve travelled faster if you had told me.”

“Do I have to ask again?” she asserted. No answer. She pushed him lightly, goading him “Do we have a problem?”

“Rook.” Davrin dug his heels in, a bitter laugh contained in his words. She grumbled, and he sighed: “I don’t have a problem with you.”

“So is it a problem with Emmrich?” she rolled her eyes “Fuck’s sake Davrin, spit it out. Because as far as I see it, your problem seems to be everyone. You don’t trust Lucanis. You don’t trust Shadow Dragons.”

“I don't think now is-”

“Don’t fob me off. Is it the death magic? Or because he’s a necromancer? Or is it the age gap? Because you didn't have an issue with him before.” When he stood firm, she felt her temper explode: “If you don't tell me right now, I will light a fire under your arse so tall-”

“Rook-”

“-so fucking tall that you won’t be able to-”

“Because he’s not me , alright?”

Shit.

She hadn’t really believed Emmrich. She thought he had maybe just been jealous. That she had a strong ally in the Grey Warden. Someone she could count on. Perhaps it had been under the wrong assumption. He looked away, mouth pursed, annoyed that the truth had been forced out, and now it seemed there was no stop, much to Rook’s discomfort:

“We spent a lot of time together when this all started. Took Assan out to the woods. You were upset at Weisshaupt when we thought I was going to…y’know. I thought we…” He grunted in frustration “It doesn’t matter. I knew about Volkarin weeks ago. Probably before you even did. Never seen you look at anyone else like that. When he nearly got wiped by the ogre.”

“Ugh, for fuck’s sake. I just…I thought we were friends.” she muttered, rubbing her goosebumped arms protectively.

“We are friends. This…it sits outside of that. But… are you with him?”

She nodded, a flash in her eyes “We don’t have time for drama over who I’m sleeping with. The world is ending, Davrin. So I’ll ask one more time, do we have a problem here? Because if we do, we part ways.”

A moment of uncomfortable silence. He sighed: “Nah. I'll get over myself eventually. I’ve got your back, same as it ever was.”

She backed off, unclenching her jaw “It better be. I won’t be as tolerant of your bullshit next time.”

“He better look after you.” he muttered, letting out a deep breath.

She sighed in return: “Well thanks for that, at least. Everyone else seems to be saying that to him.”

–

Emmrich realised that Rook hadn’t been exaggerating when she spoke about Inquisitor Lavellan. Graceful, with a quiet intimidating confidence, and eyes far wiser than her years. Whilst she was a perfect host - as much as she could be in a mostly desolate camp - he was secretly pleased when Harding offered to leave a day earlier due to poor weather conditions. Now back in familiar surroundings of his study, he read the hastily written letter handed to him, taking some extra time to decipher Rook’s scrawl. Neve, hovering over his shoulder, noticed this and chuckled: “The famous Rook coding system.”

“She has such beautiful penmanship when she takes her time but alas…” he tapped the parchment with the back of his hand “...I think I’ve got the measure of it. I'll head to the Necropolis shortly to prepare the body for communication on Lucanis’ return. I have a couple of other matters to attend to in any case.”

“Any news on Hezenkoss?”

“Not yet. I'm consulting with other senior necromancers to see if they can find anything whilst I’m working outside of Nevarra.”

Neve nodded “Oh, one last thing…did Fred find any buttons to replace the one I lost on my shirt?”

“Fred?”

“Yeah, Manfred. He likes it. I think.”

Emmrich blanched at the nickname: “Ah. I believe he did some repairs last night. Manfred, have you mended Neve’s garment, perchance?”

A rasp and a rattle, and Manfed appeared with a perfectly folded white blouse, adorned with brass buttons.

“Thanks, Fred.” She smiled warmly, taking the item and shaking it out “Just like new.”

A happy hiss.

–

A note contained within a parcel, thick black lettering.

Volkarin,

We found the Gloom Howler in the Cauldron. She was a Warden, used to go by the name of Isseya. Hoping you can fill in the blanks - another Warden gave us a journal (included in the parcel) - are you able to find out anything else in your archives, or with your contacts? Anything might help track her down again - she got away again.

We’re all fine, by the way. Rook asked me to tell you that.

Davrin

–

A response, the usual decorative parchment. 

Davrin,

Nothing in my library on Isseya, I'm afraid (Warden tomes are rare outside of your own managed archives) nor any other names we know she has had. But fear not - whilst nothing in my own collection matches the story in the journal, I’m more than happy to send a request for access to the wider archives in the Necropolis. Our senior librarian has a penchant for Thedosian mythology, so if anyone outside of Weisshaupt has any ancient texts on griffons, it will be her.

Please send my well wishes to the rest of the team; the Lighthouse is considerably quieter without you all.

Emmrich Volkarin

–

“So, you and Rook huh?”

Emmrich took a sip of tea. He, Harding and Taash were sitting at the dining table. With none of them having the same talent for cuisine as Lucanis, they were each unenthused about the meal in front of them: “We’re…exploring the matter, yes.”

Harding hummed a note of…something Emmrich couldn’t quite determine. But before he could ask any further question, Taash spoke again:

“How did you manage that?”

“I…” Emmrich felt disarmed. He wasn’t exactly sure himself.

“Nah, I’m just kidding. It’s good.” Taash paused, “Don’t do any corpse stuff in bed, though.”

Harding choked on her mouthful of food and Emmrich’s jaw dropped “What?!”

“No wait, that’s completely up to you both. Just don’t let us know about it.”

“Thank you, Taash.” he said pointedly, suddenly feeling ravenous, as he piled the food up twice as high on his fork. Anything to escape as soon as possible. He cleared his throat and turned towards Harding: “Any plans for this evening?”

“Just a stock check and fine tuning some equipment. Snapped my bowstring on our last excursion and the replacement isn't quite right.” She commented, seemingly relieved to change the topic “Got some weird things going on with my magic, though. Would you have time to discuss later?”

“Of course, my door is always open when needed.”

“Thanks, Emmrich.”

“Yeah, thanks.” Taash pulled a face “Close the door if Rook is already back, though. Don’t need to see you both bent over your -”

“ Thank you, Taash . ”

–

A note from the acting First Warden, the Grey Warden emblem in the bottom right corner. Evka’s hand is slightly unsteady, and written simply, without any cursive or loops, but remains neat and tidy.

Rook,

Thanks for your help with protecting Lavendel last night, I’ve asked Holden to give you the Warden discount, if you need anything.

There are a few people in the village that would appreciate some help with other things going on, if you have time. Only if you have the time. I know you don’t like saying no to people.

Stay sharp. We’ll keep you posted.

Evka

–

Rook had scraped herself off the floor more times in the last two weeks than she could count. Fights, physical and verbal, had started to take their toll, and she wasted no time in returning to the Lighthouse as soon as she bid farewell to Antoine. She practically threw off her armour - Maker, she was sick of the sight of it - discarding it into the corner of the meditation room. Cleaning it was a task for another day. Another week, if she could help it.

Once bathed and dressed, she immediately made a beeline, marching down the adjacent corridor to her room. Emmrich was on his way out of his chambers, deep in concentration. He halted for a moment as he spotted her. His expression softened, and in three swift steps, he dropped the letter he had been reading, and collided into her, kissing her with a fervour that she hadn't expected.

“Miss me, then?” she breathed between kisses, smiling for the first time in what felt like days.

“Did you even need to question that?”

Emmrich took her hand. Reaching his quarters, he shut the door and bolted it. Turning back, he barely had a moment before she had pinned him to the door and pressed her mouth against his: “I'm sensing that you don't need to rest up, then” he murmured against her neck, as her hands started to undo his belt fastenings.

“Volkarin, are you trying to wind me up?”

“Of course I am.” He chuckled, unbuttoning her shirt and pulling it off her shoulders “However, it’s important that you're not just doing this because you feel like you have to, after being apart. I can wait.”

“I can’t” she laughed “so shut up and fuck me, Emmrich”

A whisper against her ear: “Well, if you insist, darling. Welcome home.”