Chapter Text
It became apparent almost the moment that she opened her eyes that this was not the fade as she knew it. It was not the Lighthouse with its familiar warmth and friendly wisps, little balls of light tugging playfully at her short hair whenever they passed. No, this was different. The air was filled with a thick green haze, like the kind that hung in her skull during a particularly bad migraine.
Rubbing at her eyes, Rook pushed herself to a seated position, the cracked concrete rubbing awkwardly into her back from where she had lain. Memories came flooding back to her, the dagger dragged across her palm, a promise and the look of worry in the eyes of her companions, though no one moved to stop her, certainly not the Inquisitor, despite the guilt in the elven woman’s eyes as Rook followed Solas.
Solas.
He was nowhere to be found, the immediate surrounding area void of any life. She didn’t know what she expected, Solas had merely raised an eyebrow and gave a slight scoff when she told him she would follow into the fade as well. Perhaps because he had not outright protested she thought he might have at least had the grace to wait until she awoke, to help her get her bearings. But Rook was wrong, as she so often was.
Taking a deep breath, the young elven woman pushed herself to her feet and took stock of her surroundings. It wasn’t the same prison of regret that Solas had tricked her into the first time. This was something far more pleasant looking at least. It was still a mishmash of confusing landscape, half-crumbled buildings and eternal daylight, but it wasn’t filled with her worst memories and seemed much more expansive than the regret prison. She was no expert, but Rook was fairly sure she was in the fade proper, which meant she could potentially find her way back to the Lighthouse.
As a mage and a Mourn Watcher, Rook probably should have had an easier time navigating, but she had not been the most studious apprentice, preferring to hide in the corner in a desperate attempt to disappear rather than actually engage in her studies. Now, she was paying the price for it, she supposed.
There was no reason to wait around, no reason to assume that Solas would pop out and offer her a tour, so Rook began to move on her own, trying her best to get a sense of direction. After a few minutes of useless pondering, she picked a direction and marched on.
It seemed like an age that she walked, losing her sense of direction and time as she marched over floating concrete. Fragments of figures and familiar landscapes swirled around her, pulling at her out of the corner of her eye. She seemed to be going everywhere and nowhere at the same time, which eventually resulted in her sitting crosslegged in the dirt, head in her hands and a long groan escaping her lips.
It was useless, traipsing around in a constantly shifting environment, looking for the Lighthouse and potentially Solas. She should never have volunteered for this, never tried to give Solas the kind of comfort that had never been offered to her. It would have been better for her to slink off on her own, try to carve her own niche somewhere far away where she could isolate in peace without worrying about a demon happening upon her or the ground shifting underfoot.
Perhaps it was the fade itself enhancing these emotions, but Rook was suddenly overcome with a wave of regret intermingled with deep misery. It started in her chest, swelling and aching as it swept through the rest of her. Tears began to spill from her eyes and down her freckled cheeks. Rook couldn’t remember the last time she had cried. Even when she found out about Varric the tears hadn’t come, she only felt a strange sense of emptiness at the loss.
Pulling her knees to her chest, Rook let out sobbing breaths, pressing her eyes to her knees to try and stem the flow of tears. Her shoulders shook with each inhale, but she couldn’t stop herself. It was like a damn burst and every pent up feeling poured from her like blood from a wound.
Every emotional ache and pain came to the surface. She was a bad mage, a poor Mourn Watcher, sent away by the only family she had ever known. Even after saving the world, they seemed hesitant to take her back. She could barely call herself an elf, struggling to understand the references Bellara made or the words she and Davrin tossed back and forth, looking at Rook as if she should understand.
She was a failure, unable to even follow someone correctly. Why it was all coming up now was a mystery to her, but it was impossible to dismiss after being pushed deeper and deeper for years now.
Rook had never been forward with her feelings, hiding behind a smile and a well placed segue into other topics. Bellara and Emmrich had tried harder than most, poking and prodding whenever they were back from a particularly hard mission, yet she was adept at dismissing them to lick her wounds on her own, insecurity and shame festering in her like an infection.
It took her longer than it should have to notice, but Rook was beginning to grow exhausted. Time was conceptual at best in the Fade, so she was unsure how long she had been sat down crying, but she felt as if the energy was being sapped out of her. It was a different exhaustion than she was used to, it seeped into her bones and dragged her eyes closed, the tears still springing free at the corners.
“What,” Rook muttered, barely able to get the word out of her mouth. The ground lunged towards her and Rook’s head hit the dirt, somehow still able to cry despite feeling as if every ounce of energy was being stolen from her lungs.
Rook was dragged from consciousness into inky darkness, like being dragged into the dark of a dreamless sleep. The kind of sleep that offered no rest, merely a reprieve from the weight of being alive and conscious.
Then, as suddenly as it had come, it was going. The exhaustion receded from her bones to a simple fatigue, air filling her lungs and the tears drying upon her cheeks. Rook inhaled, dragging her eyes open to make sense of her surroundings and what was happening.
“Begon, Despair,” The voice that haunted both dream and nightmare broke through her half-slumber. “You’ll find no easy prey here.”
Rook dragged herself to her side, fingers scrambling in the dirt for purchase as she looked for the source of the voice. There was a flash of bright light and Rook felt as if something released her, yet she could not come to full consciousness. Still she clawed towards awareness, seeing vague sharp features and wary eyes. “Solas?”
The Dread Wolf approached, kneeling in front of the young elf as he waved a hand in front of her face. Sleep began to drag her down again as Solas’ voice pervaded her dreams once again. “Hamin, Lethallan.”
When she awoke, her surroundings were familiar once again. Soft padding replaced hard ground underneath her body and a soft blanket had been placed over her. The air was warm and smelled sweet. As she blinked, Rook became more aware of herself and where she was. The infirmary of the Lighthouse.
“Finally awake,” a voice startled her and Rook quickly shifted on the cot to find Solas sitting in the corner of the room. The Dread Wolf looked…comfortable. He no longer wore battle-ready robes, instead sitting clad in a pair of soft green trousers and a grey tunic that opened at the neck. His feet were bare and a wolf’s tooth hung from a bit of string around his neck. Solas seemed to barely pay attention to her, his focus on the crafting of a potion.
He had evidently moved a workbench into the infirmary, a new table now scattered with various ingredients and books. His brow was furrowed in concentration, strong fingers holding onto a mortar and pestle.
“Solas,” Rook breathed his name and the taste of it on her tongue felt closer to worship than she wanted to examine. A part of her was relieved to not be alone, to have been acknowledged by the person she trapped herself here for. Another part of her was weary, wondering if he was going to sneer and condescend to her. “What happened? How did I get here?”
“I brought you here,” Solas answered matter-of-factly, no influx of emotion at having rescued his once-pawn. He still wouldn’t look at her. “Your…wailing had attracted the attention of a rather tenacious Despair Demon. It intended to feed on you before I stopped it.”
“Why?” Rook asked, furrowing her brow at the once-spirit. She couldn’t imagine why Solas would have saved her now that she was no longer useful. He didn’t seem interested in her company, his scowl when she traipsed into the fade after him was the best indicator of his feelings towards her company. The fact that he had promptly disappeared before she regained consciousness in the fade had been the second best.
That one word finally got his attention. Solas quirked a brow and let out a breath, taking a moment before striding over to where Rook lay, a vial of strange liquid in his hands. “Would you prefer I left you to your fate?”
“I didn’t say that,” Rook sat up straighter, the blanket pooling around her hips. “You just seemed to have contempt for me at best. I could imagine it would have been easier to let it feed off me.”
“Easier, yes,” Solas agreed as he came to stand by her side. He held the strange vial towards her. “Ver min, da’ sa.”
“What?” Rook blinked up at him, earning another critical look. Her cheeks warmed with embarrassment at her lack of knowledge of the elven language. Growing up in the Necropolis gave her little chance to learn about her heritage and it wasn’t like she had any parents to teach her Elvish.
“Take this,” Solas clarified, waiting for her to take the vial. Rook seemed hesitant, yet she did as she was told, opening the vial and swallowing it. “It should help you feel better, though rest will help as well.”
Rook made a disgusted face at the taste and she could have sworn she saw a look of amusement pass over Solas’ features before they were carefully schooled into neutrality. Smacking her lips a few times, Rook turned back to the elder elf. “You never answered my question.”
Solas gave a hum and took the empty vial from her, returning to his workdesk and once again avoiding looking at her. “You do not speak elvish.”
“No,” Rook admitted, looking down at her hands in her lap. “Nothing beyond a few greeting phrases.”
The Dread Wolf gave an absent nod as if he were not truly listening, yet something told Rook that he was acutely aware of every word she said. “The Lighthouse is open to you, since we are both stuck in this world. The Caretaker remains if you are in need of any assistance.”
Rook saw it for what it was. A dismissal and a request to keep her presence from him. It seemed as if her choice to follow Solas to the Fade may have been the wrong one, but she was here now, her own blood mingled with his, keeping her from escaping. She would have to make the best of it and that seemed less difficult now that she had the familiarity of the Lighthouse back.
Carefully, Rook slipped from the cot, her legs unsteady and her skull beginning to pound. On shaky legs, she made her way out of the infirmary, only stopping when she heard Solas’ voice break the silence one more. “One can’t help but wonder what could weigh heavily enough on the hero who protected the Veil to attract a Despair Demon.”
Rook bit her lip, chancing a glance over at the elder elf. His eyes were steady on the herbs in front of him, yet the line of his shoulders was tense as if in anticipation of her answer. She could not give him one. Could not bare her insecurities to a man who seemed apathetic to her presence. With a half shrug, she dismissed him. “It was probably just picking up on my disorientation.”
Solas huffed, yet did not continue the conversation. He peaked at her from the corner of his eye, suspicion in his gaze. With a soft nod, Rook took her leave. Just as she reached the doors, she could hear a soft whisper.
“On era'vun, da' sa.”