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Neve isn’t talking to Rook.
An action Rook is trying their best to not take personally. Choosing Treviso over Minrathous will haunt them forever, choosing who lives and who dies should never be a decision anybody is allowed to make. However, Rook made their decision, as difficult as it is to live with.
“It’s never easy being the person who has to make the decisions, Rook.” Varric sighs, squeezing their shoulders in an attempt to make them feel more grounded. His words make you feel seen for your attempt to save both cities, but they don’t erase the overwhelming sea of guilt crashing into you. “Neve will come around. She just needs time.”
Rook needs time, but rarely are they afforded such an opportunity to unwind and forget about their troubles. They can’t imagine the horror and devastation Neve and the Shadowdragons are dealing with, but blaming Rook for everything feels…misguided.
“Treviso has no standing army.” Rook tries to reason, although they are unsure if they are trying to convince Varric or themselves, “Minrathous has ballistas, some of the world’s best mages, armies at the ready, and Maker knows how many secret organizations to fight. Treviso is a merchant city.”
Varric nods, “I know that. Neve does too. So does everybody else.” He knows, but does he understand? Does he see how they don’t hate Minrathous or Dock Town, but believed they could survive an onslaught just long enough to save Treviso? They sent their friends, warriors capable of distracting dragons. What more could they have done to prove their conscience?
“Treviso would have been blown off the face of the map. Their water would have been contaminated for generations. The Crows would have been in disarray, most of them dead or blighted, and the civilians-” their voice chokes as they think of Viper bleeding on a makeshift medicine cot, the screams of Dock Town citizens in their ears, and the hot glare on the back of Rook’s head from everybody around them. “We would be burying an entire city.”
The dwarf sighs, tired eyes full of sympathy, “Rook, you don’t have to try and convince me.” He sits on one of the seats next to them, pouring out one of the strongest drinks he managed to smuggle in here while the team was away, “Just between you and me, I would’ve done the exact same thing.” He chuckles just a little, “And I don’t think I would’ve even been half as successful as you were.”
“What if Neve doesn’t come back?” Rook wondered aloud this time, “She hates me. She blames me for the destruction of her home.” Fair is fair. This is less of a complaint and more of a statement of fact. Even if Rook desperately wanted to save everyone. They always want to save everyone, even if it's impossible. Even if they have to sacrifice themselves to do it.
“She’ll come back.” Varric assures, “She might not like you, but she’ll likely work with you to get revenge on those gods who actually destroyed her home.” Yes, they destroyed it, but Rook is the one who damned them to their fate to begin with. A fact and sin they will never be able to forget. Blood stains their hands, but not from any blade or spell, but from the decisions with no right answer.
“I thought they were strong enough.” Rook murmurs, placing their head in their hands, because the words were a thinly veiled lie. They didn’t think Minrathous was powerful, they needed to believe Minrathous was powerful enough to at the very least hold off against Elgar'nan and Ghilan'nain?. “I thought if I helped Treviso quickly enough, I could use the Eluvians to get back to Minrathous before any real damage occurred.” A fool’s hope, because what good did it do them? What good did it do Minrathous and Dock Town? What good did it do the Shadowdragons?
Varric frowns, because what is he supposed to say to something like that? “You aren’t a God, Rook. We are all painfully mortal. We make mistakes. We make assumptions. Sometimes they pan out, other times they don’t.” He knows exactly how difficult this job can be, and how much more difficult it will become. More decisions like the one made between Minrathous and Treviso will appear, and Rook is going to hate themselves for each and every one if they keep up this attitude. “You made a choice with the information you had at the time, and as far as I know you can’t predict the future, can you Rook?” He gives them a light chuckle and gently punches their shoulder in hopes of lightening their spirits.
They shake their head, “It’s not one of my talents, I suppose.”
“Then stop blaming yourself for what Elgar'nan and Ghilan'nain? did.” Varric orders, because at this point, no amount of empathy or soothing is going to get Rook out of this. “They sent blighted dragons to both of those cities knowing we would have to choose one or the other.” There was no feasible way of defending both cities at the same time in such short notice. “This is war, Rook.” He sighs and places a comforting hand on their shoulder, “It was supposed to be my war. I’m sorry I had to hand it off to you.”
Varric knows the blame should ride on his shoulders. Neve deserves to be angry for as long as she likes, grieve her home and fellow Shadowdragons, but not at the expense of Rook. They are doing the best they can with the limited resources and powers they can scrounge up. He put them in this mess, and it is going to Rook that takes them out of it.
“It’s not your fault, Varric.” Rook replies softly, in a voice so hollow it hardly even reminds him of the person he went out of his way to recruit. He forgot what it was like to feel this scared. Varric has experienced so many different near-world-ending disasters, he has gotten used to the whole idea of feeling powerless in a world of exceedingly powerful entities. Rook is still finding their bearings. “I chose this. If I wanted to walk away, I would’ve by now.”
The dwarf gives them a knowing smile, these are words he has heard before from different faces. Lavellan, Hawke, others whose names have faded with time and tragedy, “I’m sensing there’s a ‘but’ statement.”
“But I owe it to this team to stay.” Rook finishes, “I owe it to the people who don’t have a clue what’s coming.” Their face hardens, “I owe it to Minrathous. I can’t let their sacrifice be in vain.” Whether or not it is on purpose, Varric can feel their magic building. The hairs on his arms and neck stand up as if he is in the middle of a lightning storm. “I will make Elgar'nan and Ghilan'nain?, and everybody else working with them pay for what they have done.”
Varric nods in equal parts agreement and concern. He knows exactly why he chose to add Rook on to this team, for the bravery, cunning, and willingness to do what is needed. He isn’t sure why he never imagined them quite like this. Full of doubt and rage. Not a great combo considering they aren’t even at the tip of the iceberg for this situation.
“But Varric,” they say so softly, so fragile, so broken it makes them sound like a child looking for their parents. “Does it ever stop hurting?” Rook is trying their best not to cry, and succeeding very well at it, but Varric doesn’t comment on it. Every hero has to go through this phase, and it is imperative Rook succeeds. “Does the guilt…” they sniffle as their voice breaks, “does it ever go away?” Their voice breaks as their chest shudders, “Does it ever hurt less?”
What they mean to ask is, does the guilt of not being enough to save everyone ever stop chewing on their soul? Does the thought of burying the dead and seeing the wounded ever cease haunting their nightmares? Will the images of blight victims’ bodies being warped into creatures of despair and ruin ever fade from being branded on the back of their eyelids? The answer is no, not entirely, but that isn’t the reply Rook wants to hear.
Varric wipes a stray tear off their face, “I wish I could say no, kid.” He still wakes up from the nightmares of his old hero days, watching his friends and allies perish all around him begging for him to help them. “The weight of all this doesn’t get lighter with time. You just learn how to carry it.” He holds their hand and attempts to give them a comforting smile, “You’ve got friends, Rook. You’ve got to learn how to lean on them when the ground beneath your feet gives way.”
Rook keeps holding their breath, swallowing sobs and cries trying to claw their way out of their throat. “And what if I take them with me?” These companions they found, the ones who agree to follow them into the most harrowing places in this world. The people who know how the odds are not stacked in their favor, yet they continue to fight alongside them anyway. “What if I go down,” a wet gasp of air, “and then they try to help,” a broken strangled sob, “and they get hurt or worse?”
“Rook,” the dwarven rouge sighs, “you’re spiraling. I think what you need is some hot coco and sleep.” He doesn’t know the last time they fully slept, considering Solas is in their head, but they should at least try. “I’ll ask Lucanis to make some.”
Before he can pull away, a desperate hand grabs his arm, “Wait, Varric!” A manic look enter’s Rook’s face, anxiety lines their words as they speak, “You don’t hate me for what I had to do, right?” Of course he doesn’t, “You won’t hate me after all of this, will you.” If Varric can still manage to hold onto the idea that he and Solas are friends, albeit complicated friends with arrows, daggers and magic at each other’s throats, still liking Rook shouldn’t be a problem.
“Rook,” he gently pulls their hand off of his arm and cradles it against his chest, “I am here for as long as you need me.” Their tears are smudging their eyeliner, one of the few things they can control in this mad world. He once again wipes away the signs of their melancholy, “As a mentor, a friend, a listening ear,” a father figure if they continue going at this rate, “I will never hate you, Rook. I can promise you that.”
They give him a small nod and swallow feelings are still bubbling in their chest, desperate to be felt and seen, “Do we…do we still have marshmallows?” Rook picks at their fingernails, trying to not look as pathetic as they feel at this moment, “And those peppermint candies?”
Varric chuckles, “Probably. I’m pretty sure you’re the only one who eats that stuff.” He stands up, this time without being pulled back down into his seat. Part of him wonders if he should call in one of the others, Emmrich or Harding? Where are they, anyway? Emmrich is probably in his room with Manfred. “I’ll call Emmrich to keep you company.”
Rook offers him a weak laugh, “I don’t need a babysitter. I’ll be fine.”
“He needs a break from…whatever it is he’s doing.” Varric points out, “Stay here.” Although Rook has no official need to follow his commands, they remain seated with crossed arms and gritted teeth. Varric quickly limps towards where he believes the necromancer is and knocks on his door, “Emmrich, stop raising the dead for the minute and come out here.”
“I am not ‘raising the dead’, Varric.” Emmrich says as Manfred opens the door and hisses out his own version of an excited hello, “I am simply summoning their spirits in order to ascertain certain unanswered questions about their lives.” He earns an eye roll from Varric, who doesn’t care either way, but still has to listen to his diatribe on necromancy either way.
“Right,” the dwarf nods before cutting straight to the point, “I need you to sit with Rook for a few minutes while I go do something.” The throbbing of his knee singing in a discordant harmony with the persistent ache in his elbow try to persuade him otherwise, “Distract them with your scholarly shit.”
Emmrich makes an offended face at first, “I apologize, but please regard my necromantic teachings and studies as more than just ‘Scholarly shit’ next time, please, Varric.” Then he remembers what the other man said before insulting his magic practices, “Is Rook alright? I am afraid I am not the best healer for the living. Bellara or Harding might have a concoction for-”
“Just sit with them.” Varric interrupts, “they can’t be by themselves right now.”
“Oh.” Emmrich replies, realization washing over him, “They are still disturbed by the tragedy in Minrathous.” He thinks for a moment and looks back at his room. There are still bundles and boxes of books on the floor, magical ingredients strewn about waiting to find their proper place, “No worries, I will find a way to distract Rook while you…what are you going to do?”
Varric smiles, “Find a way to get them to go to sleep,” and hopes Solas won’t ruin it. “Maybe get some real food in them as well.” From what he has seen, Rook has been primarily surviving off of cheese, apples, and peanut butter. Which is fine if they are a mouse or something, but for a person going off and fighting Gods, Venatori, Antaam, and other undesirables, it isn’t exactly filling or nutritious.
Maybe even manage to push them into the bathhouse. Maker knows they could use it.
“I see.” Emmrich says, “I will do my best to ensure Rook does not avoid taking care of themselves any longer.” He turns towards his left and tells the skeleton to pick up some books. Apparently his plan is to bore Rook to sleep, but Rook is from Nevarra, maybe they will find his lectures more interesting than Varric could ever stomach.
He already knows where the Demon of Vyrantium is hiding. Unlike Neve, who is trying to piece together what is left of her hometown, Lucanis is allowing the fifth Talon and his wife to decide what is best for Trevsio going forward. At least until the Gods are taken care of, and then he will recall himself back into the Crow’s service.
“Lucanis.” He groans, finding the nearest chair and allowing his injuries to rest for a moment. Varric is getting too old for heroic adventures. Even with healing magic, he is pretty sure his knee and elbow will never be the same. “Make some hot coco for rook. With the marshmallows and the peppermint candies?”
Lucanis tilts his head in confusion, “Sure? But I recall you preferring coffee.”
“Not for me.” Varric groans, “For Rook.”
Lucanis’s demeanor instantly shifts from the
“They’re having a tough day.” Tough week, tough month, tough year, tough life more like it. “Needs a little ‘pick me up’, you know?” Varric gestures towards the small kitchen set up, “I figured you would know how to make one.” Out of everybody on this team, the only two capable of cooking something palatable and edible are Bellara and Lucanis. Everybody else’s cooking, even Rooks is an…acquired taste.
The Crow nods, “I’ll make some Pastina to fill their stomach and hot cocoa to help them fall asleep.” He frowns, thinking pensively, “They haven’t come to dinner in the past few days, what have they been eating?”
“Not nearly enough,” Varric retorts, “have you spoken to them recently?”
Lucanis shakes his head, “No. Not since the dragon attacked Treviso.” He looked a little ashamed of himself, “They said they needed some time alone.” He starts pulling out ingredients for his plans, “Should I…should I not have?” The Crow is still getting used to having other people around and relying on him. After a year in the Ossuary and living under Caterina's roof, he learned solitary, relying on his skill to get him out of precious situations.
“No, no,” Varric replies quickly, “they did need time. They just…” he pauses for a second to consider his next words very carefully, “They’re just a little off kilter at the moment.” Trapped with their own thoughts, a rather negative Varric has needed someone else to shake him out of on more than one occasion.
“Neve isn’t back yet.” Lucanis points out, “and when she is, she’s avoiding Rook.” There’s isn’t any malicious intent behind the action, just a calculated strategy in preventing more heartbreak and reminders of grief. “And Rook doesn’t know what to say, or how to apologize for not saving Minrathous.” He’s beyond grateful for them saving Treviso, but carries guilt for putting them in this position. “I don’t even know if Neve would take an apology from them.”
Varric sighs. There is always a degree of infighting amongst teams like thi. Not at all times of the day, nor is it predictable in when, why, and where it happens. “Neve prefers to grieve silently and most importantly, alone. She lost most of the Shadowdragons. The Venatori have taken over Minrathous, and her home is in a state of disrepair and invasion.” He picks at the seams in his pajamas, because Bianca is in shambles on the floor Elven ruins in the Arlathan forest “I’m sure she doesn’t blame Rook for choosing Treviso, but that doesn’t make the betrayal hurt any less.”
“I wouldn’t call it a betrayal.” Lucanis said as he put chicken stock in a pot and began to let it boil, “Rook didn’t have the intention to hurt Neve or Minrathous.” He would know about betrayal, considering half of his life was full of them.
“Intention isn’t always what hurts.” Varric reminds him, “It’s the person it comes from. You can’t be betrayed by your enemies.” He remembers being more hurt than surprised by Solas’s god reveal. He always knew Solas to be a liar with some sort of unknown pedigree. He just underestimated how much of a liar and how far back his pedigree went. “She thought Rook was her friend.” He frowns, recalling vividly Solas’s dagger piercing through his chest, “And she thought her friend would help her save her city.”
“Rook came as fast as they could.” Lucanis reasons, adding in part of an onion, sliced carrots, and celery. “It wasn’t exactly easy fighting a blighted dragon.” They barely came back alive. His daggers hardly even scratched the surface of that thing, while Rook’s magic practically bounced off of it. “They didn’t mean to make Neve feel like they don’t care about her or Minrathous.”
Varric shrugs, “They still left Minrathous to fend for themselves, even though their intention was to somehow defeat a blighted dragon with enough time to spare to fight another blighted dragon several hundred miles away.” There are the Eluvians, but that still requires time, precious time nobody could spare. “Neve is allowed to grieve. She’ll come around eventually, even if she trusts Rook a little less than before.”
“But it wasn’t Rook’s fault!” Lucanis argues, nearly throwing in a palm sized rind of what Varric believes is parmesan cheese, “I asked them to be there! For my family, for my house, for my city I would have…” he swallows his anger and stirs the pot, “I would have begged. If it meant Treviso would be safe, I would have gotten on my knees.” Varric Knows he isn’t lying with the way the assassin is staring at the bottom of his pot, meticulously stirring so he wouldn’t have to look Varric in the eyes.
“Even though you knew Minrathous would pay the price?” Varric points out, there is no heat in his words, no real accusation, because in truth, anybody would have done the same. Lucanis is silent, the only sound in the room is a crackling of the fire and the boiling of Pastina, “You can blame yourself all you want, but Rook made the call. They are the leader of this team, what they say goes.”
“But-” Lucanis attempts to say, but Varric cuts him off.
“Rook made the call.” Varric says in a tone of finality not even Tash could argue with, “ They have to live the consequences. You, Neve, Minrathous, and Treviso are some of those consequences.” He shrugs, “Rook just has to believe it's worth it, in the bigger scheme of things.” One day, they might look back at this moment and laugh, even though Varric can’t really think of a reason why. He just hopes they can find it in themselves to laugh about the end of the world.
“What should I say to them?” Lucanis asks, taking a bag of a pastina and pouring a small portion of it into the pot, “About everything?”
Varric stares into the fire, imagining it as the flames Rook needed to dodge while fighting Ghilan'nain’s blighted dragon. They are likely to fight things that are much worse and will have to be willing to sacrifice more than they are comfortable with to win. He isn’t looking forward to those updates. “There is no ‘right answer’,” he replies, “but I think just being there for them will be enough for now.”
No amount of ‘I’m sorry’s’, ‘I didn’t mean for it to happen this way’, or ‘I can still fix this’ is going to magically un-blight and de-Ventori Minrathous. Rook can have done the ‘right’ thing, and simultaneously allow for the wrong thing to happen. Right, good, and just are not mutually exclusive conditions. Mitigating damage tends to have consequences attached to it. It takes skill and an alarming amount of maturity to admit it.
Something Solas could stand to learn, when he gets out of that prison he accidently put himself in.
“Only bring it up if they talk about it.” Varric answers, “Just don’t let them spiral any more than they already have.” As much as he loathes trying to speed up the grieving process, the world is in danger. There are multiple crises popping up around the world, unfortunately their personal crises will have to wait to be solved until after the gods have been dealt with. “Be gentle with them, Rook likes to act blasé about this kind of stuff, but they are just as scared as everybody else.”
Lucanis pours a bowl, “I figured as much. They are a great actor though.”
“And they are running out of original source material.” Varric retorts, “I just hope this blows over sooner rather than later. We - you all, still have work to do.” It’s strange how Varric has been longing for a true break, a vacation, retirement even, and at the most important moment - he got it. Now he has to watch a ragtag team of mages, rouges, and warriors fight their way through the end of the world.
Was it always this stressful for everybody else watching the quote ‘heroes’ save the day?
“I’ll do my best.” Lucanis nods as he quickly makes a cup of hot cocoa to Rook’s tastes and begins to walk towards the lighthouse. “Have a nice nap, Varric.” There is a smile in his tone, one the dwarf isn’t used to hearing, but welcomed either way. “Get some sleep for me.”
“Uh huh,” Varric grunted, hobbling his way back to the infirmary, “just wait until you get old and broken. You’ll want to nap all the time too.”
Lucanis grins, “Crows don’t get old.”
“You better grow old.” Varric warns, “Don’t forget our Rook is a necromancer. You think they’d let you die before them?” He sees the stars in their eyes when they look at him, and is all too aware of how flustered they get when he pays attention to them. Their affections towards the Crow are as obvious as the sun in the sky, the only one unaware is Lucanis. Rook is truly in for a slow burn of a romance if they decide he is the one for them.
“What are you talking about?” Lucanis rolls his eyes, “I’m here for a contract.”
Varric groans under his breath, “Maker help me.”
He doesn’t stay in the main room of the lighthouse when they make their way towards the main building. Emmrich catches on rather quickly after Varric gives him a quick head nod to dismiss him. They both make them way up the stairs, Varris much slower than Emmrich. The older man does slow down to carry on a quick conversation before heading back to the room.
“It is so sweet of Lucanis to help Rook recover.” Emmrich smiles at the two over the stone banister, “They get along so swimmingly. They are such good friends. I hope I can build my relationship with Rook as quickly as he did.”
“ ‘Friends’, sure, that’s what they are.” Varric chuckles, cringing at each step he takes. Chuckles couldn’t have been bothered to put in a ramp, or some levitating platform for ease of access? Usually his ego makes him think ahead on these types of things.
Emmrich tilts his head in confusion, “Did I miss something, Varric?”
The dwarf pinches the bridge of his nose. How did Rook, Neve, and Harding manage to find the most experienced yet clueless people in the world? Have none of these people ever been in a relationship before? They can’t be that young, can they? “You all are hopeless.” He mutters to himself, “Absolutely hopeless.” Varric needs a break, but most importantly a nap.
A nap to at least take a break from these fools at the very least.