Chapter 1: Made it out alive, but I think I lost it
Chapter Text
Rook paced the meditation room alone.
Her mind was a jumbled mess. Not like that was anything new, since apparently Solas, that lying bastard, had been manipulating her mind with blood magic for months. But ever since she’d been pulled out of the Fade it had just been a whirlwind of bad news on top of bad news without a second to let herself catch up.
And now that she’d stormed off from the planning room table, she was left alone entirely with her thoughts. Dangerous, desperate thoughts.
“We’ve had a few weeks to try and find another solution-”
“Wait, weeks? I… I was in the Fade for that long?”
Bellara’s lips had tightened and she closed her eyes, like she immediately regretted what she said. Her next words were a jumbled mess.
“Well, we were able to craft the new dagger, and check in with our allies, and try and get a read on what is going on in Minrathous-”
Rook felt a sharp pain in her upper chest as she recalled the conversation in the planning room. How the realization hit her harder than when she’d been thrown against the pillar after Varric died.
Weeks. Harding had been gone for weeks. And Neve…
“Bellara…” It took Rook’s quiet plea for Bellara to stop rambling. Around her, there was a tense silence, swallowed up by the gentle sounds of Emmrich’s healing magic the necromancer had been slowly applying to Rook’s shoulder, which she was pretty sure had just been spared from being dislocated after Solas sent her tumbling through the Fade. But she could live with the pain. Her next words were shaky for an entirely different reason.
“And… we still don’t know where… or if…” she couldn’t get the second part of her question out. Didn’t want to.
In the Fade, she’d held onto a single scrap of hope that Solas’ prison was playing mind games with her. That Neve was still out there, still fighting, and Rook would maybe be able to cope with the choice she’d made. Live with it by doing something about it. But she was back now. She’d been brought back to the safety of the lighthouse for all of fifteen minutes and it felt like her worst fears were about to be confirmed.
From the table, Davrin and Lucanis shared a glance. Rook felt Assan's feathery mane gently press against her hand. “We don’t know where she is. But we do know what Elgar’nan promised.”
“He said that Neve would see her city reborn,” Lucanis added, crossing his arms. “It’s not a location but-”
Rook felt her patience snap.
“I remember what that bastard fucking said,” she snarled. “I was there!”
Rook had never seen Lucanis flinch before. But then again, she’d never snapped at the team like that either.
The silence that followed was deafening. No one dared to speak a word, instead standing tense and still as Rook's body shook. Rook could feel their stares pressing down on her, heavy with worry and exhaustion. She shut her eyes, exhaling sharply through her nose. Her fists curled at her sides.
It wasn’t their fault. She knew that. These people had bled for her, dragged her broken body from the Fade, and stayed by her side despite everything. They’d given her everything they had. But the truth was a bitter thing. And right now, none of it mattered. She was the one who failed Neve.
“Whatever it takes.”
She thought in the moment she was being inspiring. But now, those words were a heavy poison that flooded through her whole system.
“I-” Rook sighed, squeezing her fists together tightly twice before looking back at her team. A habit she’d picked up from Neve, though coming to that realization now would have broken her entirely, so she pushed it down. “I’m sorry, Lucanis. It’s just a lot to take in.”
Her friends all glanced at one another again. Bellara looked like she was near tears. But it was Taash who broke the silence.
“It is. We get it, Rook.”
A heavier pressure fell over the table. Rook felt the back of her throat tighten. Taash had their arms crossed, attempting their usual nonchalance, but their eyes betrayed just how much they meant their words. Another person who’d suffered at the consequences of Rook’s choices. Another person who’d have to live with it, just like her.
As fellow Lords, Taash and Rook had always exchanged smirks and tough punches to the arm to show their affection. For gold and glory was what they lived and breathed. But right now, Rook reckoned she and Taash would trade every scrap they’d ever gotten of either for Harding and Neve to be with them right now.
Taash stood up, placing a hand on Rook’s shoulder and giving it a squeeze. “We’ll find her. But you need to rest.”
Emmrich, who had somewhere along the way finished the magic on Rook’s arm, leaned against his staff. “Taash is correct. Being in the Fade that long… it’s taken quite a toll on your body.”
“I’m fine,” Rook muttered, reaching up to mindlessly tug on the braid near her ear. Really, who cared if Rook was injured? If she was stressed? None of that mattered when Elger’nan was still out there. “We need to strategize. We need to find her.”
“And we will. But not until you’re ready,” Taash retorted. “And right now you’re not.”
Rook felt like she’d swallowed rocks. She knew, rationally, Taash was right. But her body screamed at her to move, to work, to get back out there. To find her. She had a feeling Taash could sense it, because they glanced back at Lucanis and Davrin, who both looked at Rook with an expression she’d never seen before on either of them, but was certain she never wanted to see again. “So come on. Let’s wrap up the whole talk about the Shadow Dragon’s shit so Rook can get it.”
So by the thirtieth or fortieth pile of bad news, and some mumbled promises to Emmrich about taking it easy, Rook had stormed off to here. The meditation room.
She tried to sleep. She really did. But after hour 5 of staring at the ceiling, she gave up completely. Instead, she just gave in to those dark and desperate thoughts. She was so sick of trying to fight them.
Harding was dead. Neve was missing. Minrathous was in shambles. Treviso was still blighted. Her allies were all scattered to the winds. Neve was missing-
“When do the tables turn, Rook? Because they do. They always-”
“Aaugh!”
Rook screamed as she flipped the table in front of her, the stupid jewelled pitcher she’d been carrying since she joined Varric shattering against the floor with a crash. But neither the adrenaline rushing through her body from the quick movement nor the shattering of terracotta brought her shaking hands any relief.
So instead, she ran them through short locks of hair, grabbing fistfuls to give her shaking hands something productive to do. Tucked in her elbows and straightened her sore back, which had taken beating after beating in the Fade and probably wouldn’t let her sleep right for weeks even if she was able to. If she would still be alive tomorrow to attempt sleep anyway.
“I’m here for you. I meant that. I still do.”
And she had. She had meant it, with every roaring, screaming, desperately in love fibre of her being. Had said it over and over, so many times, never wavering even once for her.
For Neve’s quiet determination and steely focus that she carried with her on every job. For the faintest clink of her prosthetic on the ground when she trailed elegantly next to Rook. For her gentle nature behind closed doors, and the confident sway of her hips when she finally figured something out. For her too-sharp eyes and her wobbly smile as she looked down at the floor every time Rook told her she was there for her.
Because gods, this woman was so perfect, how could she not say it? Promise over and over, because she’d never stop trying for her-
“The gods can break that promise for you.”
Rook fell to her knees.
She’d been right. Neve had always been right. The gods broke every promise Rook had ever made to Neve in a matter of seconds. Tearing Neve away from her, and then shunting her off to the Fade to make sure she couldn’t follow.
Rook’s mind replayed that moment over and over again. It’d happened so fast. One moment, Neve was celebrating, almost smug as she got the ward down. She’d been smart too. She knew they were coming for them. Knew that they knew Rook and her companions were closing in on them.
And in a flash, the sharpened blight tendril wrapped around her waist and tugged. And Rook had been right there. She’d reached and missed snatching at her coat by just a half second, and by the time her brain even processed what had happened, she was gone.
And gods, the way she had screamed as she was taken. Reaching back out for Rook and her useless too slow hands.
Taken, to be used in whatever game Elgar’nan wanted to play next. To them, they were all pawns for his conquest of Thedas. If Neve was still alive, still being used in Elgar’nan’s game, then he wouldn’t be making it easy for her.
Gods. What if she was in pain?
Suddenly, the anguish left her body in a rush and was replaced with nothing but white, hot, anger. She took a ragged breath and wiped at her eyes, practically throwing off the water that had collected there.
It was like her brain shuttered back into autopilot like it had back at the ritual site. Because in all her panic and pain at realizing she was gone, that single thought had never occurred to her. That if she wasn’t dead. If she was still out there, she might be hurting.
Rook stumbled to her feet quickly, abandoning the mess of the jewelled pitcher she left behind. There was too much to do. The stakes were too high. She needed to gather the rest of the team. They couldn’t wait any longer, and Rook wasn’t going to be getting any rest anyway.
Not when Neve was still in danger.
When she sauntered through the Lighthouse to assemble her team, Rook’s mind and body became as hard as the heavy steel she gripped in her right hand.
The assault on Elger’nan in Minrathous had been as calculated and intentional as she could make it. After all her team's hard work, all the effort to make allies and connections, and to strengthen the factions of Thedas so they would be ready, it had all paid off when it counted.
Davrin and Assan, with the help of the Mourn Watchers and Grey Wardens, had dropped the juggernaut like a sack of potatoes, and taken out a Venatori-occupied building while they were at it. Even after being temporarily buried in rubble, the Grey Warden had popped out ready for more, kicking and yelling and throwing rock after rock to prove it, Assan cawing victoriously above him.
Emmrich had gone with Strife and the other Veil Jumpers to disable the Venatori barricade and with the help of his boyfriend and Manfred (to which Rook got the greatest pleasure of seeing absolutely body a Venatori on his way over) had let Rook, Bellara, and Taash advance onward to find Solas.
And Lucanis, of course, was successful in fulfilling his contract on the Venatori war captain. It was his specialty after all.
That left the rest of Rook’s team to finish the job.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” Rook snapped when Solas had finished a monologue that would likely, once again, end in him betraying her and the team. But, unfortunately, the god of lies wasn’t wrong. They needed to kill that Archdemon to make Elgar’nan mortal. And if that meant teaming up with the insufferable bald mage one more time…
So she led the ancient elven god and the rest of her companions through the shattered streets of Minrathous, intent on this being the very last time she ever did anything with Solas that didn’t involve spearing him through the chest with her sword.
As they walked, Rook’s heart clenched. The team had been right back at the Lighthouse. Minrathous was in shambles. After everything she and her team had done to save it from the dragon weeks ago, it still ended up blighted and in ruins.
At least the Shadow Dragons were safe for now. She’d owed Neve that at least. She and her team carried on as quickly as they could, slicing and cutting down darkspawn whenever they crossed their path. Rook relished in every moment her sword cut the neck of a Venatori, imagining that every one she killed had been the one to set up that ward back on Tearstone Island that had taken Neve away from her.
Bellara, for her part, seemed to be thinking the same thing. Rook and her worked in tandem, a throw of Rook's shield smacking between two Venatori before she would release a bolt so laced with magical electricity the cultists barely had a second to think before the light left their eyes.
Back to back with the elven mage, she glanced back towards her other teammate, hoping Solas hadn’t royally fucked her resident dragon expert along the way.
“I would have given myself hair,” she heard Taash say to him before a brutal swing of their axe that cleaved a hurlock in two. “Had you never heard of hair before?”
Rook spared herself a grin. Ever since she’d been pulled from the Fade, she hadn’t had a single reason to smile. But knowing her friends were ready to rally behind her against Solas for what he’d done was enough to bring her even the briefest second of affection.
And then…
“I can accompany you no further,” Solas was saying, but Rook wasn’t even listening. Because ahead, one of the Blight tendrils had almost looked like…
The rest of what Solas said was a blur. She tried to listen, she really did, but when he was shoving the dagger into her hands all she could think about was the familiarity of that shape wrapped around a blight tendril. It couldn’t be. Why here? Why now? But her heart was screaming at her to turn from this vital conversation and rush towards it. Just in case. Just to be sure.
And she got her chance. Because suddenly Solas was gone, a wolf was lunging at the Archdemon, and Rook had her opening.
Rook bolted forward, her heartbeat pounding louder than the clash of steel around her. She sliced through two Venatori without breaking stride, her sword cutting through their flesh as if her anger itself had sharpened the blade. The courtyard stretched ahead, shrouded in the shadow of the blight, tendrils twisting up like skeletal fingers toward the heavens.
She didn’t stop to check if her companions were behind her. Didn’t care if the others were still fighting or shouting her name. The only thing she could think about was that glimpse of a figure she would recognize anywhere.
Her boots hit sand as she skidded down the embankment in a spray of grit and ash. Blight tendrils shuddered and shifted around her, and as they recoiled, she saw it again.
And she was certain then in that moment, it hadn’t been an illusion from blood magic or a trick of the light from the lack of sleep she’d gotten over the last few weeks. It really was her.
“Neve!” she screamed, her voice breaking with something raw and desperate.
Rook’s whole body seemed to be vibrating as the tendril flicked again, and peeled back a little further. And it was Neve, but as her eyes blinked and her mouth opened to speak, something was oh so terribly wrong…
“Neve is gone,” she said. But it wasn’t her. It was something else, echoing over the courtyard causing it to quake as the tendrils moved.
And Neve, no, the blight, it spoke again, using her voice. But Rook didn’t care what it was saying. Not when her anger was rising as that monstrosity spoke for her. It made Rook's blood boil and her vision spot red. And when it flung metal together to create some kind of awful device with the intent to kill, Rook had never been so happy to direct her sword at something in her life.
She swung and slashed and roared, necrotic energy seeping through her with every strike. She leaped under a bolt of fire and pulled at the leg, bringing it down towards her so she could jam her sword through the humming red crystal over and over again. All her training back in Rivain left her. She was nothing but a violent, humming storm tearing down everything in her path.
“Rook!” Bellara shouted, and at the time she thought it was a warning about the Magister who’d started throwing fire at her back. She turned and threw her shield. Barely looking as it sliced through his abdomen, sickly green and almost severing his torso in two. It wouldn’t be until long after the fight that she realized that Bellara had been scared in that moment. Scared of Rook.
And when that awful creation finally crumbled to the ground, Rook finally had a chance to throw herself at the tendril, dropping her weapons entirely as she leaped and wrapped her legs around it to keep it in place. Ripping the dagger from her belt, she stabbed and stabbed and stabbed, ripping it open and spraying blight everywhere until suddenly it released its prize and Neve came falling out.
And Rook’s reflexes were finally fast enough. She caught Neve around the waist, holding her upright while she caught her breath and Rook’s whole body hummed with the pure euphoria of it all because she had found her. She was holding her. She was alive.
Neve jerked away from her suddenly, and Rook came back to herself. Something was still so wrong. The veins around her eyes were black, splitting like spider webs from every corner of her face. And her eyes…
“Get out of my head - and out of my city!” She roared, throwing out a hand as she steadied herself. But she wasn’t talking to Rook. She could tell by the way Neve was still looking up at the horrific bursting boils above them. Worry rushed through Rook in a wave, as she just watched, hoping, praying Neve was alright.
And then Neve’s shoulders pulled back and she turned slowly to Rook, her eyes finally focusing on her, and it was like Rook just took a breath for the first time. The blood-red eyes might not have been the deep brown she’d fallen for, but they soften the same way they always did when they met Rook’s own amber. It was all the reassurance Rook needed.
“He had me,” Neve said, her voice breaking on the last word. Rook felt her heart breaking at the grief in her voice. “I controlled the blight for him. It was all I could think about.”
Then, she softened, and the barest hint of a smile pulled on her lips. “But now you’re here.”
Rook felt all the apologies she’d wanted to give her since she was taken spill over her lips, all the promises she wanted to say about how to make it right flooding over her in a wave that was cut short by Neve’s own desperate interruption about she needed to be careful.
But before either of them could talk again, have even a semblance of time to make it right, the Archdemon appeared and they were running again. And Rook pulled Neve tight against her side as the four of them ran, her urge to keep Neve tucked under her shield never fading until eventually they were someplace dark, secure, and quiet-
And before she could even really process what had just happened, she practically dropped Neve into Emmrich’s arms insisting she take a second to be seen by a healer. Because as much as it killed her to attend to her duties, she knew she would not be able to see Neve again until she knew she’d done everything she could to secure her and the rest of the team in this temporary hideaway as best as she could.
And eventually, she did get her moment to see her again. When Neve’s back was pressed against the makeshift war room table as the team all rushed to greet her. When the reality of the situation set in for all of them as Neve told them the truth. That blight was flowing through her. That she could still hear it, and it had changed everything. That luck was once again not on their side.
And Rook was not having it. Not even for a second. Not through the rest of the war table discussion about what to do about Solas, not when she told her team to say their goodbyes and get ready, and not when she walked up to Neve to make sure she got to say everything she wanted to say. Even when she could feel Neve holding back from kissing her, could sense her anxiety over her new form, worried what she might do to Rook…
But Rook had Neve back again, even if they only had a moment together before they both threw themselves back into danger. And she would make it right. Whether that be finding the wardens later, or ripping the last of the blight from the world with her bare hands, she would make this all right.
And she didn’t have to say much at all for Neve to understand that.
“You’re stuck with me, Trouble,” she whispered. “Until whatever end finds me.”
And Rook didn’t care if the gods would once again try and force her to break her promise. Because if they did, it would be over her dead body.
“I’m right here, I promise.”
As Davrin took off to help hold off Elgar’nan’s forces, she grabbed Bellara by the arm right before they started the climb. The elven mage squeaked in alarm, and Rook quickly let go apologetically.
“Sorry,” she muttered. “It’s just… I have a favour to ask.”
“You want me to watch out for Neve.”
Rook blinked, though at this point she shouldn’t be surprised at how direct Bellara could be with these sorts of things. She swallowed. Neve, in Rook’s eyes, had always been the most powerful and capable mage she knew. And she knew better than to underestimate her. But this was the end of the world. And Neve didn’t have her armour, barely allowed Emmrich to finish a series of simple healing spells, and Rook didn’t even know if she had the full capabilities of her magic right now.
And she didn’t need to explain any of this to Bellara. The elf seemed to understand immediately, reaching forward and gently resting her hand on top of Rook’s.
The kindness in her face made the guilt still simmering in her core slowly rise back up in her throat like a bile. "I'm sorry for snapping last night."
"Oh, Rook," she replied, squeezing her fingers. "You have nothing to apologize for."
And Rook knew that wasn't true. But there wasn't enough time to focus on apologies. And Bellara knew that too.
“You just keep your focus on Elgar’nan,” she said. “I’ll keep my sister safe. You both deserve your happy ending.”
And suddenly, Rook was fighting back tears. Because she didn't know if after what she'd done, she would ever deserve that. But Neve did. And so that was enough for Rook. Because it had to be.
And even if there was some merciful god somewhere who decided she deserved a happy ending, if Rook ever wanted to return to that previous conversation with Neve about an after, she needed to lock in and focus.
She owed Neve that much.
Chapter 2: Said that I was fine, said it from my coffin
Notes:
And I'm back with part 2.
I actually played both endings of the game, with Blighted Neve and Blighted Bellara, so I've been thinking of writing a second little 2 parter from Neve's POV when Rook gets taken. LMK if that's something you'd be into, but I might just write it anyway. She's horrifically occupied my brain as of late.
Anyways, Happy Friday! Enjoy the angst.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Rook and her team blew through darkspawn like they were nothing. The blighted cobblestone was slick with ichor, and the air reeked of rot and magic, thick enough to make her throat burn. But she didn’t slow down. She couldn’t.
Every enemy they felled brought them closer to the throne room, closer to Elgar’nan. Closer to the end.
And Neve, Maker’s breath, was right there with them. Even without her full strength, she controlled the blight as though it bent to her will alone, the tendrils thrashing at the darkspawn as if they feared her. Every movement of her hands sent waves of corrupted energy tearing through the enemy lines, carving a path for the others to follow. Rook could hardly take her eyes off her.
But they didn’t have time for awe. Each step toward the throne room carried with it the weight of everything they’d sacrificed. And Rook prayed, silently and desperately, that Neve’s promise to help Solas would be enough.
It gave Rook the opportunity she needed to get closer. And when she finally got to the throne room, she felt like her whole life was leading up to that moment with Elgar’nan. And naively, she believed that for just a second, they had the upper hand.
Then, it went wrong. Solas couldn’t kill the Archdemon in time, and Elgar’nan used that opportunity to unleash blood magic on her and the team. And as she was stuck there, frozen, desperately trying to break his iron grip on her will, out of the corner of her eye, she saw her.
Neve was racing down to the throne, Bellara and Lucanis nowhere to be seen. Rook didn’t know if Neve had just outpaced them or if… gods what a horrible thought.
But nobody could stop Neve from sitting on that throne, forcing the blight to release Solas against Elgar’nan’s raw magic with the sheer willpower Rook had fallen madly in love with.
And the worst part was, it worked. Solas was released, and he latched around the Archdemon's throat, killing it instantly.
The throne pulsed beneath her like a living thing, tendrils coiling and snapping at her as if trying to reclaim their hold. But Neve held steady. Her jaw was set, her eyes blazing with the sheer willpower that had always left Rook breathless. But then, Elgar’nan snarled with a violent rage, curling his fist. Neve gasped, eyes screwing shut in pain, and Rook felt her heart stop.
Rook wasn’t a mage. She didn’t know the first thing about magic. But in that fraction of a second, even she knew that Neve had lost her fight for control.
“No!”
Rook screamed as the blight wrapped around Neve in a single, devastating motion. The sharpened tendrils curled tight, encasing her body like a twisted cocoon, her silhouette disappearing behind waves of pulsing, blackened corruption. All at once, Rook’s knees gave out. She fell forward, her palms scraping against the stone as the magic that had bound her faded.
“Neve,” The name escaped her lips in a hoarse whisper. Her body felt cold, empty and numb, as if her soul had been ripped away with her.
Neve… she was…
Rook could barely think. Barely focus on anything except for a ringing in her ears. A half scream and half sob tore from her lips, completely out of her control. A sound she barely recognized as her.
It was only Solas’ threat that brought her rage back in full, making her stand and clutch her sword with a fury that was about to kill a god.
“You are mortal, Elgar’nan. Enjoy it while it lasts.”
Taking a deep, furious, shuddering breath, Rook gritted her teeth and got to her feet. Because Rook was sick of the games. Sick of the ones who claimed to be gods using people like Neve as nothing but pawns.
And Rook was eager to make Elgar’nan, and Solas for that matter, understand just how dangerous a mortal's rage and grief could be.
The rage she took out on Elgar’nan. With her companions no longer stunned, and Rook using every scrap of training she could remember under the simmering corrosive fire she expelled with every single swing of her sword and slice of her shield, her strikes were quick and lethal. And while she was seeing red, Rook had long mastered taking her cold and calculating rage and turning it into something necessary. Something she could use.
And as Elger’nan stumbled back and Rook dropped her weapons and rushed with nothing but the dagger in hand, her rage thrummed hotter through her veins than the waves of magic that radiated off both lyrium daggers as they collided. And when Rook pushed back, Elgar’nan, for the first time, had no retaliation. So Rook swung, first across the chest, then a slice across the throat that finally gave her the satisfaction of knowing she finally did her damn job.
Her grief, on the other hand, she wasn’t as used to harnessing. But it came out when she tricked Solas into trapping himself in the veil.
When the world around her started to crumple with waves of magic that tore the blight back and away from the throne room, and Solas started yet another one of his fucking monologues, Rook leaped for the dagger without missing a beat. She caught it in her hand and skidded face-first in the cobblestone, and though she heard the sound of Solas begging her to give in behind her, his words sounded like they were being shouted from the other side of the meditation room aquarium.
But there was nothing more devastating to Rook than being face down on the ground, staring straight up at the hardened blight tendrils that wrapped around the throne. Nothing stung like the echoing waves of grief that flooded through her, tears pricking at her eyes as she clenched her teeth to avoid making any kind of noise at all, because she knew all that would come out would be sobs.
Neve was under there. And after everything Rook had done to try and get her back, it meant nothing in the end. She still failed her.
But she would not let Minrathous, and the whole of Thedas for that matter, be failed by her too. Not when Neve had to sacrifice everything to save it.
And she looked down, staring at the dagger in her hand before discreetly pulling out the one on her belt.
And then she turned and lunged.
As she hovered, frozen in place while Solas stared at her with almost pity, a flash of grief tore through her. But not because she’d been stopped. And certainly not because she was about to fail the world.
Grief, because the two people she’d started this journey with weren't here with her. And that Neve wouldn’t get to see in this moment of victory that she’d been right the entire time.
She could almost hear the way Neve’s voice had tilted up in that infuriating attractive nonchalance. The way she’d meant it as a comfort to Harding at the time, in her own cynical way. That even one of the smartest elves in history wasn’t immune to going off-book.
“People can surprise you.”
A lesson Solas was going to regret never learning. But then again, he’d always been too proud for his own good.
And the grief didn’t fade for a moment. Not when the fake dagger slammed his back against the veil with a sound that Rook would have once taken satisfaction in, but now could feel very little else at all besides the hold slowly cutting its way through her chest. Not when she was released from his magical grip and could walk up and snatch his hand with little more than an afterthought and slice through it with the real dagger. Not even when he attempted to make a humourless joke about her wit, and all she could do was sneer at him in response, completely out of any kind of empathy for anybody who called themself a god.
Not even when she thrust out a hand to slam the dagger against his chest, sending him back through the veil for good.
And as she stood there, watching as the veil slowly closed up, returning Minrathous to a state of calm amidst the damage Elgar’nan and Solas had done to the city, the grief couldn’t make way for any sense of relief. Relief that this was finally over.
The hole had been carved far too deep.
And even when Emmrich and Taash took careful steps up next to her, as if to see for themselves if it really and truly was over, Rook could barely lift her head high enough to acknowledge them. She didn’t know what she would do now. Not when she’d lost everything she wanted for an after.
And then, she heard it.
Thud. Thud.
Rook turned her head sharply, over to the sound that had come right from the center of the throne. Her heart, her hopelessly hopeful heart, thudded once against her chest.
Surely she’d imagined it. And then-
Crack!
The dried-out tentacles gave way, and a single teal-manicured hand reached out from its core.
And all the breath left Rook’s body at once.
The force of the break was enough to immediately crumple the abomination wrapped around the throne to the ground, and out with it came Neve. Spilling across the cobblestone, Rook watched her take a deep, shuddering breath before tilting her head up and opening those deep brown eyes to lock with hers.
And Maker. The look on her face. The softness, the disbelief, the relief. It sent Rook’s whole body into motion in an instant. Rook practically stumbled cross the courtyard, skidding up to Neve on the last few steps, not even caring about adding another two bloody knees to a body already scarred from countless battles.
And Rook wasn’t usually a crier.
But she threw herself at Neve, wrapping her arms tightly around her, hands sliding up her back as she buried her nose into her hair, sobbing. And Neve met her where she was, shaky and exhausted hands clutching at Rook’s waist like she was the only thing keeping her upright. She tucked herself against the crook of Rook’s neck, nose pressed against her pulse point, like she could also barely believe she was alive.
Rook eventually pulled back, furiously blinking away tears. Her hands slid from Neve’s back to her face, cupping her jaw and letting her thumbs run across her cheeks as she took her in. Her hair was a beautiful mess, her dark eyes flooded with tears of her own, her teeth biting down on her lower lip to keep it from trembling too hard. The dark spidering blight veins across her face had receded, leaving small scarring trails where they’d once been strongest. Rook’s hands moved down from her jaw to hold her arms, an impossible grin stretching across her face.
She was a mess. And she had never looked more beautiful.
Despite the odds. Despite her choices. Despite the loss her team had experienced. Despite the ruin that had rained down on the city around them. Neve was here. And they’d made it.
“I never thought I’d see you again,” Rook said. And for all her bravado, all the height and the presence and the strength she’d carried on her shoulders since Varric had recruited her, her words were barely more than a cracked whisper.
Neve hesitated, her hand hovering midair for an impossibly long moment. Rook could feel the tremor of uncertainty radiating from her, the tension in her breath as she fought whatever fear was clawing at her chest.
But then Neve closed the gap, her hand slipping around the back of Rook’s neck with more resolve than she probably felt. She tugged her close, her forehead pressing to Rook’s with a faint, almost imperceptible tremble that gave her away.
“It’s going to be harder than that to get rid of me, Trouble,” she murmured, her lips twitching upward into a crooked smile. And then she laughed. Soft, nervous, like the release of something that had been building for far too long.
The sound made Rook’s heart stutter, the warmth blooming through her chest faster than she could catch it. Her grin broke free, wide and unrestrained.
“Try me,” she whispered back, her breath ghosting against Neve’s lips.
“Well,” Neve replied with a playful smirk, steadier now, her fingers lingering at the nape of Rook’s neck. “We have all the time in the world. Now help me up. We still have to climb down a tendril.”
Rook laughed. Neve always made the best points. She would make sure she spent the rest of her life listening to them.
And so Rook, with strength that she was certain was only still left in her from pure relief and adrenaline, scooped up Neve and helped her to her feet.
After that, Rook barely had a moment to process the chaos. As she led the rest of the team around the throneroom to look for Bellara and Lucanis, she found them surrounded by a fleet of dead darkspawn and Venatori, each of them bleeding heavily, but alive. Then, they ran into Davrin and Assan, who had held off Elgar’nan’s forces and rushed up to meet them, relieved more than anything they were all mostly ok and intact.
The biggest surprise to Rook, though, was the treatment she got from the people of Minrathous. Hailed a hero, an overwhelming number of cheers greeted her, bombarded with thankful civilians or other members of her allied factions.
It was… a little overwhelming. Rook had never shied away from glory (or gold) but this was a lot, even for her. She was grateful the attention seemed split mostly between her companions, especially when it was directed towards Neve.
The inspiration of Dock Town was finally getting the notice and attention she deserved, and though she was as modest about it as ever, Rook couldn’t help but savour in the twill of happiness Neve let fall over her expression as she walked through her home.
But she’d have been a bigger liar than Solas if she didn’t admit that her favourite part of the whole night was the trip back through the Shadow Dragon’s eluvian. While some of the team had opted to stay out and celebrate, drinking whatever the city had left at the Cobbled Swan (which had, somehow, almost been completely untouched by blight) Neve had turned to Rook during the middle of the festivities, fingertips ghosting over her waist as she leaned into her ear.
“Not that I don’t love parties,” she purred, “but there’s only one person I want to celebrate with tonight.”
Rook should have been embarrassed with how quickly she had said her goodbyes, some of her companions snickering at her back as they headed through the eluvian. But she couldn’t find it in herself to care. Not when they reached the library together and Neve pulled her in again to press her palms against her shoulders.
“I’m going to wash up,” Neve said, her voice steady but softer than usual.
Rook frowned, the barest twist of her lips. She couldn’t help it. It wasn’t that she didn’t want Neve to take care of herself, it was just… she’d just gotten her back. Every second away felt like too much.
Neve’s lips twitched into a smirk. A lopsided, crooked thing that Rook knew meant she was probably on the brink of calling her trouble again. Not that Rook minded. But instead, a chuckle slipped out of Neve, short and warm, and it sent a little shiver through Rook’s chest.
“Don’t be so impatient,” Neve teased, though her voice wavered slightly, almost like she was deflecting. But that smirk was still the most beautiful thing Rook had ever seen.
Rook hummed softly, stepping forward, and closing the space between them. She slid her hands gently to Neve’s waist, the contact light and deliberate, but the movement felt almost instinctual. Neve didn’t step back, not that she’d expected her to, but Rook felt a flicker of something in the way her breath hitched for just a moment.
“You don’t need to wash up for me,” Rook murmured, her voice dipping lower, warmer. She wasn’t sure what answer she expected, but the way Neve laughed, soft and quick, almost reflexive, caught her off guard.
“I need to wash up for me,” Neve said, shaking her head slightly, her words quick and firm but just a little too rushed. She straightened her shoulders and added, “Were you encased in blight for two weeks?”
The words landed like a slap, and Rook stiffened. Her hands dropped from Neve’s waist, guilt rushing back into her chest so fast it felt like it might crush her.
But before she could pull away entirely, Neve frowned and reached for her hand. Her grip was firm but hesitant, her fingers wrapping around Rook’s as though she wasn’t entirely sure she had the right to stop her.
“Wait. I’m sorry,” Neve said quickly. Her voice was quieter now, and the smirk had slipped from her face, replaced by something softer, something that made Rook’s chest ache differently. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
Rook shook her head, trying to shove the guilt back into whatever corner of her heart it had clawed its way out of. “No, I’m sorry. You’re right,” she said, though her words felt clumsy in her mouth.
Neve’s hand tightened around hers just slightly. Her thumb brushed over Rook’s knuckles in small, uncertain movements, like she was searching for the right thing to say. Rook tilted her head and watched her carefully, noticing the faint furrow in her brow and the way her lips parted slightly before she finally spoke again.
“I don’t want to make you feel...” Neve trailed off, the words dying somewhere between her mind and her mouth. She exhaled slowly, her grip on Rook’s hand shifting slightly as if she wasn’t sure she should keep holding on.
“Neve, it’s okay,” Rook said gently, cutting her off before she could spiral. She raised their joined hands to her lips, pressing a soft kiss to Neve’s knuckles. The flush that spread across Neve’s face was immediate, colouring her cheeks and neck with something Rook could only describe as endearing.
The sight tugged a grin from Rook, soft and unrestrained, something she couldn’t have held back if she tried. “Go,” she said, her voice warm and quiet, her thumb brushing over Neve’s wrist in a small, reassuring motion. “You can come find me in my room when you’re done.”
Neve hesitated, her hand lingering in Rook’s for a moment longer. Her eyes flicked to their joined hands before she nodded, a faint, almost shy smile flickering across her lips. “I won’t be long,” she said, though her voice faltered slightly at the end.
At that, Rook’s grin grew, her voice dipping into something playful. “Please don’t,” she said, aiming for coy but landing somewhere closer to open adoration.
Neve laughed again, a soft, breathy sound that seemed steadier now, and finally let go of Rook’s hand. Her fingers brushed against Rook’s one last time before she turned away, walking toward the door with a quiet urgency that left Rook watching her for a moment longer than she should have.
So Rook returned to the meditation room. It was exactly how she’d left it, the jewelled pitcher still in shambles on the floor, cushions astray from her tossing and turning. She sighed, heading first to the little tub room opposite to the wardrobe. She quickly scrubbed herself of blood, dirt and grime, before changing out of her armour and back into her simple tunic. She ran wet hands through her hair, feeling herself truly relaxed for the first time since the team had left for Tearstone Island.
She was safe. Neve was safe. Most of her team was safe. It was well and truly over.
Rook had never considered herself a lucky person if that broken jewelled pitcher had anything to show for it. But here she was, months later, miraculously in one piece and an entirely new person. From the journey, to the battles, to the loss, to the love-
Love. Because if she was certain of anything, it was about the deep and thrumming feeling she got in her chest whenever she thought of Neve. And while Rook had been enraptured by the Tevinter detective since probably the first day she’d met her, now that it was finally over… maybe Rook could look forward to finally finishing that conversation about after.
Neve, true to her word, didn’t take too long before pushing open the doors to the meditation room. Rook had only just finished cleaning up the shattered pieces of the pitcher before she sat down against the leather couch when the door flew open, Neve walking in with an urgency she’d never really seen the detective direct at her before.
“Here we are,” she said, ever so softly. And despite the fact that Rook had held Neve less than an hour ago, she felt a slow tension spread around the room. Like she was a magnet, being tugged ever so gently towards Neve. And Rook couldn’t help but let herself sink into that moment. Sink into how borderline impossible it was that she was here right now.
“You came back.”
Neve huffed, the sound almost a laugh. “I had help.”
She never gave herself enough credit. Rook would spend the rest of her life reminding her to.
“Rook I-” and this time she did laugh. Before she was even able to stand up, Neve was there, leaning against the sofa in a way that sent her heart fluttering. “You’ve got me at a loss. I don’t know where to start.”
But Rook did. Because she would never forgive herself for not saying it at that moment, acknowledging to the mage who had been through so much the real truth of their situation.
“It was my fault,” she said, feeling every word with every ounce of her being. Because it would kill her inside if Neve thought for even one second it was hers. “I should have…”
And Rook didn’t have an answer for that. Because she didn’t know what she should have done. All she knew was that she should have done something. Protected her and kept her promise from the beginning, instead of at the end of so much pain. And pain buried deep in her chest when Neve wouldn’t look at her, and Rook knew right then that she would never fully understand what she had put Neve through, no matter how sorry she was for it.
Because Rook knew more than anything that Neve should hate her for what she’d done. But yet, all the same, the detective didn’t. Because she was here with Rook in the meditation room instead of back in the city she loved. Because that’s what she’d told Rook she wanted to do. But she didn’t know how to even begin saying all that.
“I lost you,” Rook said instead, and suddenly she couldn’t just sit on the couch anymore. She stood up quickly, rounding the side of the couch just as Neve clenched her eyes shut.
“Rook, no-” she started, trying to control herself by putting a hand on her jaw and squeezing, clearly holding back tears. But Rook wasn’t having any of it. She wouldn’t let Neve just brush this pain off. She could only be sorry it happened, and that it was her fault.
“Neve,” she breathed out, and Rook lifted a hand to tilt her chin up, forcing her to meet her gaze. And she put everything she had into her next words. Every bottled-up feeling of grief and rage. Every tear she’d ever shed over the woman in front of her. Every single piece of affection she’d ever felt for the woman looking at her with so much of her own mirrored back. “I’m sorry.”
Neve let out a shaky little exhale before something in her expression softened. It sent a pool of warmth through Rook’s whole body, and for just a moment, she felt completely weightless.
“Table’s turn,” she said, like it really just was that simple.
And suddenly Rook couldn’t bear not touching her. She wrapped her hands around Neve’s waist, lifting her off the table she’d been leaning on. Neve inhaled sharply, and Rook pulled her impossibly close, wanting to etch every shade of her eyes, every line on her face, every angle of her nose, and every new scar Rook’s choice had caused into her memory forever.
Neve leaned in, deft fingers sliding up her tattoed arms. “Just… kiss me. So I know it’s real.”
Rook still had so much she wanted to say. But Neve rarely asked Rook for anything. So she was more than happy to oblige.
Besides, unlike the night of the eclipse, there really would be time for “I love you” later.
Notes:
And thats a wrap on my Rook's POV.
Thanks so much for giving this a read! Hope you enjoyed.
bloodydifficult on Chapter 1 Thu 09 Jan 2025 04:31PM UTC
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CraftyFics on Chapter 2 Sat 11 Jan 2025 06:40AM UTC
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natsora on Chapter 2 Tue 04 Feb 2025 11:34PM UTC
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