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Neve could not believe the gall of the people she called colleagues. Not only had they taken their precious time to send her right into a trap, but also they just had to involve Rook in their scheme. Things had just started to get simple between them again. It had taken no small amount of effort on Neve’s behalf. To stop looking at Rook when she took off that coat of hers to drape around Fred’s shoulders. Skeletons couldn’t feel the cold, Rook knew that. But didn’t care. It was about the sentiment, she’d said.
Neve had never been good at sentiments.
It’s why she remained frozen in place when she made her way to the Cobbled Swan, following the directions given to her by Ashur, expecting an informant. The informant in question lounged against the bar, her elbow leaning against the weathered wood, her head tilted back as she took one long swig of her drink. The establishment’s specialty cocktail, which Neve had recommended to her. She’d never gotten to get to see Rook try it. There were always other things to do than sit around and have a drink.
“Are you going to say hello, or just remain frozen, Ice Queen?” Rook’s voice brought her out of her reverie. With a frown, she made her way to the bar, not bothering to sit down on one of the stools.
“So, the quartet had nothing better to do than to play a prank on us? Slow day in Minrathous, the day ought to become an imperial holiday.” Neve crossed her arms over her chest. “But we have more pressing matters than indulging them, do we not?”
Rook’s eyes finally met hers, the tankard going back down on the counter. “Thedas’ end will wait one night.”
“Told the Risen Gods that?”
Rook leaned back against the counter. “Can’t face an enemy when you can’t stand on your own two feet. Come on, we have a reservation.”
Neve followed Rook around as she led her through the Cobbled Swan, sliding into the booth opposite of Rook’s. “So, what’re you and the others planning?”
Rook chuckled. “You already guessed it, detective. No assignment, no one to rescue. Just dinner and a show.” Rook’s chin jutted in the direction of the stage where the musicians were tuning their instruments. “Nothing more, but certainly nothing less.”
Neve’s eyes scanned over the room, out of habit, before setting her scepter down into one of the pockets of her cloak. “And I am supposed to think that this has nothing to do with our earlier conversation?”
“Which one?” Rook asked, playing dumb. Neve pinched the bridge of her nose. She really did not want to have this talk now. Or ever. “Oh, right. The one where you nearly kissed me, said that I was, and I quote ,‘trouble’, so tenderly I thought the whisps were going to burst into veilfire—or was it the one the next day, where you said that we’d be better off as colleagues, as partners?”
Neve wondered how much trouble she would cause by slowing down time and throwing herself out of the nearest window. The harbor’s waters were filthy, certainly, but she’d take the swim over this discussion anytime. “You are many things, Rook. But certainly not stupid. You know the one. Is this going to be an issue?”
“Even then, you can’t put a word on it.” Rook said. There was more bitterness in that voice than in the Swan’s cocktail, which was a feat in itself. Though it caused a pang of guilt in Neve’s stomach, which she attempted to push down. “It won’t be an issue, when I’m certain that you meant what you said.”
“Don’t trust my word?” Neve asked with a grin that felt more like a pained rictus. “I’m a little offended.”
“Your words usually echo your actions. But not when it comes to us.” Rook paused as the waitress approached. She didn’t bring a menu for Neve—she’d seen the detective around the establishment enough to know that it was etched into her brain. Rook took one look at the menu before ordering fried fish with a side of potatoes. Neve’s favorite. Neve ordered the same, her eyes boring into Rook’s as she replied to the waitress’ flirtations with a grin as cool as Neve’s spells. Rook’s attention returned to Neve, her hands folded over the table. “Let’s not waste tonight quarreling. Let us talk of brighter things.”
“In this world? In this city? Wrong place. Wrong people.” Neve said, but took off her cloak and neatly folded it into her lap all the same.
That was one of the things that infuriated Neve the most when it came Rook. That nice, easy-going attitude and that optimism that could not be squashed down. She’d see a broken glass, held together by hope and linen and see it full, if not inspiring. But what drove her to insanity, above all, was how contagious it was. Since Neve had seen her, leaning against the bar, belonging to Dock Town effortlessly, she’d felt rage bubble up in her throat. At the Shadow Dragons’ meddling—who do they think they are? At Rook, that chess piece that moved forward no matter the cost. Maybe that’s why Varric had given her that codename. A Rookie and a Rook both. To move forward and on. Neve was no match for Pavus at chess, but knew enough to know that the chess piece was powerful enough to enact change and thus in the constant precarious state of being a threat, therefore targeted. In Tevinter, its piece, often carved out of marble for opulent players and out of wood for the least fortunate, represented a tower and castle walls. A fortress to protect the others.
Neve hadn’t come from wealth. The piece she’d had, it had been made of wood. And with the ever-present rain of Dock Town and its humidity, that piece had constantly slipped through her fingers.
“Copper for your thoughts?” Rook asked, her fingers glinting with grease. There was a trail of sauce from her lips to her chin that was starting to dry.
This Rook was more solid than wood. But even more slippery. “Are my thoughts that cheap?” Neve retorted, picking up a fry and bringing it to her mouth, though her appetite was the number one missing person case of Dock Town, alongside her sleep.
“Hey, be flattered, no one pays me for my thoughts.” Rook said.
“A shame, they’re quite entertaining—save for the terrible puns.”
“Excuse you, they’re a delight and so am I. And they make you laugh. That’s what matters most.” Rook said with fervor that should be reserved for the Gods that do not trample mortals. “And they keep morale up.”
“Davrin threw you into the water when you made seven different hand jokes in front of a statue in Arlathan.” Neve reminded her. “And Assan didn’t help. You know it’s bad when even the griffon is judging you.”
“But you came to the rescue!”
“Leaving you to drown in a river would have been counterproductive.” Neve wiped the corners of her mouth with the napkin, frowning at its quality. Somehow, they’d gotten shittier.
“Doesn’t matter, you came to the rescue,” Rook said with a grin. She’d been about to say something more when a man slid into the booth next to her. “Hum, excuse you?” Rook said, magic already sparking at her fingertips. Neve’s foot nudged Rook’s under the table, recognizing the color scheme of the Threads syndicate on the man’s scarf.
“Threading dangerous waters to rescue people I was I do best, isn’t it?” Neve said, setting down the fry that had been about to join the fried fish. “Is that what you’re there for?” She asked the man, who nodded.
“Venatori by the docks. They got people.” He said, his voice barely above a whisper. A new guy, Neve mused. No one came to the Cobbled Swan after dark without knowing that it was when the Threads and Dragons came out to play. Discretion was overrated after sundown all over the Imperium.
“How many?” Rook asked and Neve appreciated how quick the other mage was when push came to shove.
“The case’s for Gallus.” The man said, his hand on Rook’s shoulder, pushing her down when she tried to rise. Bad move.
“Get your hand off her.” Neve spoke, her tone glacial. Rook hadn’t had the time to open her mouth and the man withdrew his hand slowly, as if afraid that Neve’s eyes would shoot ice shards. Which was, one, an understatement and two, inaccurate as it was the scepter against his knee that was ready to give him the ability to predict the arrival of rain were he not to remove his hand from Rook. “My cases are her cases. If she wants them to be.” She added after a beat.
“And they say romance is dead.” Rook deadpanned. Neve understood what Rook had been saying about her actions not matching her words when it came to Rook. And decided to file that information in the ‘Not Addressing That’ drawer of her mind palace.
“Don’t ever say that I don’t keep you on your toes.” Neve said, pulling her scepter to her chest while wrapping her cloak around herself.
“Oh, I’d never.”
The man cleared his throat. “People could die.” He reminded them.
“Right. Don’t worry, sexual tension and rescues are the two things we never fail at.” Rook said, pushing the man out of the booth and marching out of the restaurant, a facepalming Neve on her tail.
“Add it to my tab.” She’d said in passing to the waitress, who informed her that the bill had already been paid for. Neve idly wondered if there was a date that she couldn’t ruin. But Rook was waiting for her and people needed them at the docks.
Her prosthetic clanked against the pavement as they jogged to the docks. The months spent running across Thedas and climbing every damned ledge in sight had reinforced their lungs despite Rook and Neve’s shared cigarette habit. Thanks to those months, Neve was able to have short conversations even when jogging to show the Venatori what happened when you messed with innocents.
“Sorry about the…” Neve began, but couldn’t quite use the word she had in mind without proving Rook right.
“The what, Neve?” Rook pushed forward. Rook didn’t know what was ahead—this was Neve’s territory. But she didn’t hesitate, she followed the winding streets, pushing ever onwards. And behind her, the woman whose eyes looked back whenever she tried to close them. “The what?”
Neve’s eyes were on Rook’s back as she repeated the question. She didn’t answer.
“You can’t even say it.” Neve knew herself to be a coward in that regard. This was no revelation, at most another visit to the graveyard of ‘what could’ve been’s, which had enough spots filled for Neve to empty Arlathan Forest of its flowers. “We’re getting close. Get ready. It’s just the two of us, no backup.”
That commanding voice. Rook only used it in battle, when bolts of lightning danced across the air and when death awaited with bated breath for the slightest opening. “Got it.”
The Venatori weren’t known for their discretion. People were attached to railings, tied together. Had she worked alone, she would’ve gotten up on one of the rooftops, spells flying from a safe distance. Inevitably, she would’ve had to leave her cover and expose herself to the poisons and fires of those that claimed that their legacy was worth sacrificing their future for. Had she been with other Dragons, she would have told them to fall back, that she would handle it herself and dashed into action.
But she wasn’t alone.
And so it was with a pit of snakes in her stomach that she watched as Rook threw herself headfirst into the fray, her fade-step leaving behind the smell of ozone like the calm before the storm. The first Venatori made the mistake of trying to overpower Rook, much smaller in size, only to find her ritual dagger clashing against his scythe, the edge of her blade trailing across its curve until it hit its shaft. With one swift move, she pulled and the scythe buried itself in his leg. He howled in pain, but the noise quickly died down as she kicked the buried weapon deeper and through an artery. Neve turned her eyes away from him as he yelled for a healer—it was already too late for him. He’d signed his death warrant by joining the Venatori. They were simply a waxseal at the bottom of a document, bright red like the blood that now mingled with the muck of Dock Town’s pavement.
Rook didn’t spare him a single though, fire pulsing through her fingers as she directed her attention to the spellcasters, scrambling to summon anything to stop them. “Neve!” She ordered. “Cover me!”
Rook didn’t need her confirmation. She knew Neve had her back—or at least, Neve hoped so. Neve summoned a hail of ice shards, one for each of her fingers of her left hand. Two at the feet of the warrior charging for Rook as she jumped up on the crates, reaching for the mages, fire bursting forth from her fingertips but only singeing their red coats. That did not stop her. She let her orb float around her, leaving her vulnerable to the archer aiming for her. “Watch your right!” Neve called out, three of her remaining bolts already flying for the archer. Rook didn’t even spare them a glance, even as they only faltered under Neve’s blows.
“Fool.” She muttered under her breath, bolting forward and launching herself, prosthetic first, the sharp fangs of her snake aimed straight at the archer’s throat. She heard one of the mages go down in a tempest of curses, gargled from lungs seized by lightning. She pulled her leg from the archer’s throat with a kick, feeling the flesh follow and cling to a part of her now long gone. She knew the remaining Venatori mage was attempting to profit off of her what he believed to be a moment of inattention. She felt the air and the fade shift as he teleported behind her.
But just like Rook knew she could jump for the mages without a worry because Neve was watching her back, Neve knew she had nothing to fear. Because the hairs on her arms stood up. She closed her eyes. Magic had always been a tool to her. In a society where it was a stepping stone and the only subject of conversation amidst the powerful, it had to be. It had to be the pen and she had to be the ink. It had to be the paintbrush. And Rook was the artist.
She’d grown attuned to Rook’s magic, so different from hers. Where Neve’s came in subtle, piercing strikes, Rook’s arcana was all-consuming. As electric as her soul and twice as unpredictable. It had unnerved Neve at first. To be fully unable to predict what came next when Rook was involved. Even now, countless battles and months later, all she could do was know when Rook would attack. Not how. Not who. Perhaps it didn’t matter. Because even as she saw the Venatori begin incanting a spell that he willed to pierce through Neve’s heart, she knew she was safe.
It didn’t matter where Rook would come from. How she’d take him down. She was going to protect Neve.
She saw the lightning crackle as Rook’s leg connected with the man’s neck, the roar of thunder covering the sound of his neck cracking, but not the sight of the bone protruding from his torn flesh.
“All good?” Neve asked as Rook came closer, wiping the flicker of blood that had landed on her jaw, right next to the now dried sauce from the fried fish.
“All good. You?” Rook kneeled in front of Neve, who raised an eyebrow. The other mage used her electricity to break away the flesh stuck on Neve’s prosthetic then wiped it clean with the napkin she’d kept from the Cobbled Swan.
“Good. No need to clean it, you know. I’ll do it tonight.” Neve said, pausing as the mage rose back to her feet, Neve’s prosthetic no longer hindered by the Venatori remains.
“Wouldn’t want it to ruin your pretty outfit.” Rook said, shoving the tissue back in her pocket.
“Well, if you insist on cleaning me up…” Neve said, stepping closer to Rook. She took her pocket tissue, her hand holding Rook’s face still and tilting it up. “Stop fidgeting. I know you cannot stand still for more than three seconds, but make an effort.”
Rook’s eyes drifted off to the side as Neve wiped the blood and sauce from Rook’s face. Though she knew such use of magic was petty, she focused her mana in small increments to form frail ice crystals that melted onto Rook’s skin. Rook closed her eyes, finally still in Neve’s grip as she wiped the rest of it off. “There you go.”
The stormy eyes opened again, meeting Neve’s. The ice mage was frozen in place by the tenderness in those dark depths, meddling with the hurt she saw there. “What’s wrong?” She asked, her thumb brushing over the smooth skin on impulse.
Rook’s brow furrowed. “Neve.” She took a tentative step back. Neve clutched her hand like a wound, holding it against her chest.
“I know. I’m sorry.” Neve looked away. The sight of the dead Venatori mage with a snapped neck was miles more pleasant than Rook’s hurt face. “I just. I do not want to hurt you. It’s why I… Why I said what I said.”
Rook’s chuckle held no humor, no light. “Even now, you cannot put the actual words on it.”
“Because it would make it all too real.” Neve conceded. “I mean it. I do not want to hurt you. And I… I do not want to get hurt, Rook.” She finally admitted.
“Get hurt by what, me?” Rook stepped forward, but Neve’s eyes still remained fixed on the cadaver. “Even if I did, I’d make it right. People hurt each other, Neve. That’s what they do. But people who… care for each other, they make it right. And you know I will. Hell, it’s what I was trying to do.”
Neve shook her head. “And now, who’s the one who can’t put a word on it?” She teased, trying to regain control of the conversation.
“I’m afraid of using that word because I don’t want you to hide from me even more. But I might already be too late for that.” The barely held back emotion in Rook’s voice forced Neve’s eyes away from the body and back to Rook. She was forced to confront the tears gathered in those eyes that burned like fire and crackled like lightning, making the ancient elven constructs of Arlathan dull in comparison. “How did I lose you, before even getting to see you?” Rook asked, her voice so meek it was nearly lost to the crashing waves.
Neve let her head down. She knew there were no answers in the uneven pavement of Dock Town. She’d checked before. She’d been at this exact spot before. Between a rock and a hard place was the one permanent address she’d retained through the years. When all else is bound to change, usually for the worse in Dock Town, that’s the one thing you can rely on. “This is what I wanted to avoid. It’s on me, Rook. It’s my fault.”
“No. You told me. I’m Trouble, remember? Should’ve taken the hint.”
Neve winced. “You’re good Trouble.” She admitted, reluctantly. “I keep you away for you sake. You may be trouble, but I’m bad news, Rook. I’m the knock on a door at night that no family wants to hear. I’m the midnight candle burning at both ends—dependable, but for how long? How long, before you get tired of me ditching dates for a case? How long until you realize I’m not worth the fight, that I’m constantly in over my head and that I’m always looking over my shoulder? How long will it take, Rook, for me to lose you and find myself alone with only myself to blame?”
Neve detested this. The weakness in her voice. What was threatening to spill, only held back by the little will she had left. The trembling of her throat and the clamminess of the hand that she held tightly to her chest as if Rook could physically break her heart—as if Neve hadn’t done that to herself long ago, over and over again. And she hated that Rook, sweet Rook, sweet Trouble, had shown her, time and time again, that there was enough left for it to break again. Hated the lengths Rook was going to, all to mend her. The patience, the kindness, the care.
“Neve, I won’t let you do that—”
“For the love of shit, untie us first! My wrists are burning!” Came a voice from further down the dock.
Rook closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. “My bad, my bad. On my way!” She called out.
“See?” Neve said in passing, though her cheeks were burning at the idea of anyone witnessing that sad, sad display. The only solace she could find was in the fact that it was Dock Town and that they’d already witnessed things thrice more deranged before lunch. She focused on the task at hand, cutting through rope and breaking shackles, not even hearing the grateful thanks as she worked. She’d gotten used to it. But there was something she hadn’t heard before.
“You’re being dumb, Gallus.” She finally focused on the man tied to a ship’s mast.
“Halos?” Neve blinked. “How’d they catch you?”
“Working late.” He said, rubbing his wrists once Neve had torn the rope. “Before you ask, it’s because certain people like their fried fish late at night when hunting for Venatori—the kind that refuse my free food. And the kind that are smart enough to save these streets, but too dumb to save themselves.”
“Excuse you.” Neve said, surprised at Halos’ sudden outburst. He’d scolded her once or twice when coming up to his shop battered and bruised, at all hours of the day or night. “That’s none of your business.”
Halos rolled his eyes. “You thinking that is part of the problem.” His tone softened as he looked at her. “You don’t let me get you free fish. You don’t let Savas tag along on the dangerous jobs—when you know she wants to. Don’t interrupt your elders, girl. And you don’t let Rook love you—I said do not interrupt me, Neve Gallus. I know you love this city. Half Minrathous knows you love it and the other half just hasn’t met you yet. But you’re more than Dock Town. There’s more to you than what you do. So, get back out there, say you’re sorry for being stupid and live for something else than others. Or else, no more fish for you.”
“Halos…” Neve began, but the old elf just slapped her on the shoulder, before turning tail and leaving, stopping only at Rook’s level.
“Break her heart and I’m shoving a skewer up your arse.” He said, loudly enough for Neve to hear and for the family that Rook had rescued to cover the children’s ears.
A little dazed from the very violent display of affection from her favorite fish-fry merchant, Neve made her way back to the harbor, where a little girl was pointing to a huge crate by the ship.
“’s my pet. Toto.” Was the words that Neve caught from the girl, clutching a rag close to her chest. Upon closer inspection, it appeared to be a torn blanket. “Please, sera.”
“Don’t worry, she’ll get your pet out of there. We don’t leave anyone behind.” Neve spoke softly, kneeling by the child. “Want to me to take a look at your friend, there?”
The girl looked at her with watery eyes, before nodding, her upper lip stiffened as she held back tears. “Please be careful.”
Neve knew the importance of dirty, raggedy blankets for the children of Dock Town. Sometimes, that was all they had. Hell, hers had been all she’d had. “I will work with the utmost care. I am a very good blanket surgeon.” She closed her eyes, her index pointed up as she created a fine ice needle. She used her magic to roam across the fabric, finding the least damaged thread and enchanted it, letting the needle thread through it. She opened her eyes, using the dim light cast by the moon and the torches overhead to very carefully stitch the blanket best she could. The little girl watched in awe, trepidation evident in her stomping feet as Neve worked. “Some of my finer work, I’d say.”
“Thank you! Thank you so much! It’s Toto and I’s favorite blanket, he only calms down when it’s on his head.” The girl all but leaped into Neve’s arm, who returned the embrace with a pat.
“Well, wouldn’t want you or Toto to get cold.” She said as she rose to her feet, looking over Rook’s progress. The Lyrium dagger was in her hand, meaning that there had to have been added security to the crate to warrant the intervention of one of their companions. She heard Bellara’s voice through the dagger, mumbling about energy fields. Poor girl must’ve been asleep. Then, with a click, the front of the crate fell down. Neve’s hand was already up, ready to freeze it lest Rook get hit by it, but the mage had already jumped back.
“Toto!” The girl exclaimed in joy. Neve wondered how many animals the Venatori had thrown in there. And why exactly they would abduct pets and—
“Is that a damn druffalo?” Neve let the curse slip past her lips as the gigantic head of the animal came into the light, its head low.
“It’s okay, Toto—Toto, no!” The little girl explained as the Druffalo charged forward, directly into Rook, sending her straight into the harbor’s dark waters.
“Trouble! Hold on, I’m coming for you!” Neve said, taking the blanket from the girl. She didn’t even need to incant or think about the spell, it just burst forth from her in a diffusion of raw magic as time slowed down. She leapt forward, throwing the blanket over the beast’s eyes, wondering how good of a detective she could be for putting stock into a little girl’s words. Thankfully, her gut had been right. The beast took a step back, its enormous nostrils flaring, causing Neve to raise her hand, ready to freeze the beast. She wouldn’t go as far as killing the creature in front of its little owner, but death by druffalo in Dock Town was not how she wanted to go.
The little girl ran to the beast and Neve remained at the ready, fully committed to putting herself between the child and the horn, but the animal just lowered his head and let his little owner climb up on his back. “I missed you, Toto.”
Neve relaxed. “Please warn people about Toto if you ever need help again. Most people don’t expect a druffalo in the middle of a city, little darling.”
“Neve!” Rook’s voice came from the waters, sounding strained.
“Coming, Rook. Danger disposed of, no druffalo headline for the papers.” Neve said, making her way to the edge of the water. “There’s a ladder on your left, do you need a light?”
“Help me!” Rook sounded panicked. Which was an odd thing.
Neve cast a light, as bright as she could muster, only to see Rook flail helplessly in the water. “Are you hurt?”
“Can’t—can’t swim.” Rook gasped out, trying hard to keep her head above the water.
“What?” Neve exclaimed. “You’re a Lord Of Fortune! Are you joking?”
Given the gasps and the added flailing and the desperate look Rook cast her way, Neve determined that no, she was not joking. She looked around for a rope, for something to throw to Rook.
“Please, help, Neve!”
It was a dumb idea, really. This close to the ships, with only the torches and the moon as light sources. Neve Gallus was a Dock Town girl, through and through. She knew that a piece of rope would do the work. But the idea of Rook staying in these waters, terrified, for one second longer, was too much. She didn’t even think as she jumped into the water, one hand extended over her head to find Rook.
“Keep kicking your feet and hold on to me!” She said, trying hard to see through the water that Rook was splashing around in her frantic attempt to stay above the water. “I know you’re terrified, right now, but you need to stop flailing your arms, I can’t see. Hold on to me, trust me. I won’t let you drown.”
She knew the saying. Drowning people will drag you down with them. And she understood why, the experience nothing short of absolutely terrifying for Rook. She didn’t say anything past a hiss as Rook repeatedly kicked her leg. “I got you, Rook, I got you.” She said, using her free hand to guide them towards the ladder. “Just hold on to me.” The air in Neve’s lungs left her as Rook held on so tight, the ice mage briefly wondered if she would wake up to cracked ribs. Worth it, she thought, as she let the hand holding the light go back to the water. Rook held on tighter, gasping for air.
“Don’t need the light anymore.” Neve said, using her arms to push them closer to the ladder, reaching for the rope and praying that for once, the corrupted city official in charge of harbor safety wasn’t corrupt enough to skimp on rope. She gave it a tug. Good enough. “Here, take my hand.” She said, reaching for Rook’s hand under the water, letting herself go under in doing so. She took the hand and pressed it to the ladder. The water was filthy. It reminded her of the many times she herself had been tossed in there. How she’d swim during particularly hot summer days, too young to know about diseases but just about to learn.
She’d expected Rook to let go of her and climb up the ladder. Neve would be more than fine. She was used to this. Swims in those waters were never pleasant, but she was a good swimmer. But Rook kept her other arm around Neve’s waist and pulled her up to the ladder. “Rook, are you okay?” She asked as the mage’s eyes were still on the water. “It’s over, you’re safe now.”
Neve thought she was very good at predicting things. Came with the job, after all. And when you expected the worst out of every situation, life had a way of proving you right. She’d expected Rook to climb up from the ladder with the speed and ferocity that only wet cats are capable of. Didn’t expect her to make sure Neve would be out of the water as well. But what she most certainly hadn’t expected, was for Rook to dive back into the water, hand still on the ladder, causing it to break.
“Trouble!”
“Toto! Do something!” She heard a squeaky voice and a heavy grunt before she followed Rook under the surface.
Neve forced her eyes open, her hands blindly reaching in the dark until they felt something solid. She pulled Rook to her with all the strength she could muster, dragging her towards the surface. She emerged with a gasp while Rook choked on murky waters.
“Sera, here!” The little girl called out. Through her blurry vision, Neve saw the druffalo’s horn, its enormous head bent over the dock’s edge. She wrapped one around it, her legs going around Rook’s torso, holding it as tight as she could. Rook, still sputtering and coughing, set—was that her hat?
Rook set Neve’s hat on her chest, pressing herself tight to the detective, both arms wrapped around her waist tightly as the druffalo pulled them out of the water.
The beast stepped back as the girl petted its flank with affection, her blanket draped around her shoulders like Neve’s cloak. “Good job, Toto. Thank you for the help, ladies! Come see us at the pastures whenever!” The girl posed triumphantly before climbing up on the druffalo, riding away while Neve Gallus, Dock Town’s detective and protector and Rook, leader of the Veilguard, were on the floor, covered in much, algae and other things that Neve really did not want to think about.
They could’ve died. Rook, certainly, could very well not have made it. Died in the Dock Town harbor, in the dark.
“You’re an idiot.” Neve said, through gritted teeth. “What got into you? What is the matter with you? A hat is not worth dying for!” She said, rolling over, grabbing Rook by the hem of her shirt. She took one look at the mage before rolling her onto her side, slapping her back a couple of times. “Oh, don’t you dare!”
Rook coughed up the rest of the water with a giggle before Neve climbing into her lap, her hands now gripping her shirt with a white-knuckled grip, shaking the mage vigorously. “What’s wrong with you! Why the hell are you laughing! It’s not funny!”
At that, Rook’s laugh turned into a cackle then a cacophony of hollering laughter and snort, to the point where even Neve could feel laughter bubble up in her own chest, alongside immense relief. She stopped shaking Rook for a second. “What kind of Lord Of Fortune doesn’t know how to swim?” She finally asked, this time joining in Rook’s out of breath laughter as her remark brought forth another wave of laughter. Rook fell back against the pavement, taking Neve down with her.
Rook swiped at her eyes, tears of laughter having joined the muck of Dock Town’s waters. Neve knew she should get off of Rook. But she just had to look at the face of the woman that was insane enough to throw herself back into dangerous waters, just for Neve’s hat. “Sorry,” Rook spoke, out of breath still. “I know you like your hat.”
“I like you alive a lot more than I like my hat.” Neve said. “That was reckless.”
“Worth it,” Rook said, looking at Neve with a wistful expression. “Totally worth it.”
“There’s something deeply, deeply wrong with you.” Neve stated. Just as out of breath as Rook, but she hadn’t nearly drowned in the harbor. Those eyes were to blame. Full of mirth. Delight. Not an ounce of anger left. Just for her hat. Just to make her happy. “I don’t deserve you.” She finally said. And it felt liberating. It was a simple enough statement.
“You don’t have to deserve anything,” Rook started. That was the infuriating thing about Rook. Clueless most of the time, or maybe just pretending. But hard to sneak anything past her. “You just have me.”
Neve sucked in a breath. Astride Rook, soaked to the bone with Dock Town muck, her hair likely sporting algae, her makeup certainly runny. But the adoration in Rook’s eyes never changed. It’s what broke her. What made her realize, the very first time, that Rook was trouble. That there would be a ‘before Rook’. But it wasn’t what Neve feared. It was what she craved. Those arms, around her waist, had felt right. That voice, those low whispers in side streets as they kept their eyes tracked on crowds. Those hands, so warm that they felt scalding when they’d pick her up after a hard-fought battle. That laugh, that climbed up to the skies and melded into a symphony with the song of birds overhead. She knew life before Rook.
She did not want to know life after.
“For how long?” She asked the question that burned her lips and had been scorching what remained of her heart since she’d realized that there was no getting out of this ravine without the thorns digging into her flesh. “How long, Trouble? Until you get tired of me—and that’s the best case scenario. How long, until our luck runs out alongside our blood? Before our names decorates headstones instead of headlines? How long, Rook, until you’re ripped from me?”
Neve’s head slumped as if she’d been hit, her mouth opening to say something sarcastic, something snarky. To bury the skeleton that comes out of her closet with a fanfare—her own personal dance macabre. But what came out is just another painful admission.
“I can’t lose you.”
Rook sat up, her arm coming up to Neve’s waist and keeping her there as she tried to shuffle off of her lap. Though Neve wanted to run, pretend this never happened, she knew it was too late for that. “You won’t.”
Neve shook her head. The smirk on her face one of a justified cynic. “You cannot promise that. No one can.”
“That’s true.” Rook said. Her thumb and index held Neve’s chin, forcing her to meet her eyes. “I will die, someday. So will you. It can be months from now, or it could be this very minute. Every day, we take the risk. You know that gamble more than anyone. It’s a worthwhile one, the gambit to live, to build that sandcastle knowing that the tide will wash it away. Maybe you’ll get bored of me, maybe I’ll get tired of you—I doubt it, but for the sake of this argument, let’s say it could happen. I’ll leave this place with parts of you with me, or you’ll leave it with parts of me. For me, that’s worth it. You will always be worth taking that gamble, every day. Even when you break my heart, even when you pull away. I’ll always bet on you, Neve. Just for a moment of knowing you, as you truly are, I’ll take the pain.”
Neve felt them prick at the corner of her eyes. Those damned tears, those damned eyes and that thrice-damned fool. Damned once by Solas’ schemes, twice by the Gods and thrice by Neve.
“Are you willing to bet on me, Neve?” The soft fingers brought her back from the darkest corners of her mind, onto those eyes that hold so much light. No matter how dark it got around them.
Neve’s sigh was one of resignation. A sentiment she’d gotten used to, over the years. But for once, it brought warmth to her heart and a smile to Trouble’s face.
“I don’t think I have a choice.”
She let her eyes roam over that face, splendid even covered in the now-dried muck. She let her hand reach out to Rook’s face, cupping that cheek that tensed with the bright smile that now adorned her Trouble’s features. She admired the way the corner of her eyes gave way to small wrinkles, enough youth in that body to be bold and brave, enough wisdom of the years to put it to the worst use—making Neve fall deeper and deeper in love.
“I knew you were Trouble. Couldn’t predict just how much. You’ll ruin me.” Neve said without any animosity in her voice. Only fondness and weary relief.
“Then we’ll fall apart and rebuild together. Misery loves company, after all.” Rook’s free hand came to rest against Neve’s, on her face. She nuzzled in, pressing a kiss to Neve’s wrist, eliciting a chuckle.
“You shouldn’t, we’re filthy.” Neve whispered, her voice soft and low as Rook looked up at her.
“We don’t lead clean lives,” Rook’s hand left Neve’s own and she mourned the loss, until it found the back of her head. “I’ll take the gamble.”
“And so will I.” Neve murmured, her eyes fluttering close as Rook brought their lips together. The first touch was electric, those soft lips against hers, that hand pressing her closer. Neve tightened her grip in Rook’s shirt, pulling her close. She was the drowning one, now. And she let the waves take her. She let Rook’s tongue past her lips as she did Trouble’s love through the walls she’d built. Neve wasn’t one to just sit down and let things happen—the hand on Rook’s cheek moved to her shoulder, pushing her back against the pavement of the city she’d bled herself dry for, until there was no more left to give but herself. And instead, she gave herself to Rook, nipping at her lips her teeth, her hand clawing at Rook’s shoulder through her shirt, the other hand tangling itself in Rook’s hair and pulling her impossibly closer. Rook’s hand did not remain idle either, one grabbing her fistful of her rear, eliciting a groan from Neve, the other getting lost in Neve’s mane.
It wasn’t a clean kiss. It was a hungry one, that turned into a flood, into a storm, into a blizzard. A flood as Neve’s hips moved of their own accord. A storm as Neve’s teeth found Rook’s neck, biting with a ferocity that she didn’t know she had left in her. And a blizzard as she looked into these eyes, bright and hooded with a fire that Neve had felt building in her for longer than she could admit. No, it wasn’t clean. But it Neve and it was Rook. It was Trouble and Misery.
It was them.
***
“It’s us.” Neve said, her hands raised as Lucanis greeted them with his swords drawn.
“You were supposed to be back before nightfall. We’ve been worried sick,” Lucanis said, sheathing his weapons. “They’re here!” He called out over his shoulder.
“Really, there’s no need—” Trouble began to explain, stepping in front of Neve as if it would help. The detective pre-emptively pinched the bridge of her nose. She should’ve seen this one coming.
“You really should relay a message to the Shadow Dragons, when you stay out.” Bellara and Lace came down the stairs, the scout already geared up as if ready to lead a rescue party—which she likely was. The elven mage, however, was still in her pajamas despite the bow slung over her shoulder. “What happened?”
Knowing that Rook was incapable of lying to save her life, Neve stepped forward. Lying by omission wasn’t too bad. “Venatori kidnapped people. We took care of it. Just took us some more time—we can all go to sleep now, thank you for watching our back—”
Taash’s voice rang out from the library. “Why does it smell like mating, all the sudden?” They called out.
It was done slowly. In increments. Neve wondered if her time-slowing spell had somehow triggered on accident. It started with Lucanis, who tilted his head to the side, took one look at the two of them and nodded his head with a smile, turning around on his heels and leaving at a speed that Neve and Rook did not know to be possible. Then, it was Harding. Whose cheeks turned rosy, then blew, as if trying to hold in laughter, before the dwarf decided to examine the tip of her boots.
Then, lastly, Bellara. She watched as Lucanis left, rubbing the sleep from her eyes, then at Lace who refused to meet anyone’s eyes, before looking at Neve and Rook.
“Oh! Congratulations?” She said, excited and mostly still a little confused. Oh, Bel, darling. “’s that why Rook looks like she was thrown into a puddle? Don’t answer, actually. I’m better off not knowing.” Bellara turned to leave, attempting to drag Harding with her, who was holding her laughter back with the strength of the Legion of the Dead, but failing miserably.
“No! Very much not, Bel, a druffalo pushed me into the harbor!” Rook called out after her, but they were already gone.
“We’ll have plenty of chances to clarify tomorrow, Trouble. I don’t doubt that they’ll have questions. Nosy bunch.” Neve said, offering her arm to Rook.
“Who fucked a druffalo in the harbor?” Taash called out from the library.
Rook was about to answer, but Neve silenced her with a peck on the lips. The stunned silence that ensued made Neve cackle. Finally found something to shut the mage up. “Come on, let’s shower and sleep.”
“Yes, whatever you say.” Rook followed obediently as Neve tugged her arm, walking down the stairs on shaky legs.
“A skullfucker, a druffalo fucker… weirdos.”