Chapter Text
Rook wakes with a sigh, looking around the too-familiar room with dread. It's back here again. Why can't it just rest?
"Hey, kid. You doing alright?" Great. Just great. Will the lie be silent if Rook ignores them long enough? "Kid? Is something wrong?" It groans, rolling over to stare at the apparition. It's easier to see through it every time. The lines are fuzzy, and the face is almost blurred as if all of this is just a dream.
It laughs bitterly at that. If only.
"Nothing, Varric. Just tired and sore." It's only a half lie, but after so many attempts, it's all it knows.
"You've got time. Wouldn't hurt to get some rest." It would, but the cruel joke plaguing its mind wouldn't know that. Rook peels itself off the bed, heavy limbs feeling just that bit heavier than the last time it did this.
Harding strolls in, the newly fresh wounds mocking it. She babbles on about something it no longer cares to hear about, focusing instead on the one thing it can never change. It hurts less this time. Lucky. Sometimes, it wakes up feeling even worse about her injuries than the first time.
"Everything okay, Rook?"
"Yeah. Just tired." It repeats, knowing she'll leave it at that for now.
"Okay." She's skeptical, understandably so, but leaves it to their brooding.
The minute it has a moment to itself, Rook pulls off its pants. The last line it'd etched into its flesh mocks them relentlessly. With a sigh, it grabs the only available tool and records the record of its latest attempt.
Rook's still missing something, and its once fabulously thick thighs only have so much space left. The oldest notes, the ones made during its first few attempts, have long since healed into scars edging on unreadable. That's alright. It'll chronicle them in its journal like always, remembering what they say even after so long. Hard not to when it's written the same sentences too many times to count.
Slapping ointment and bandages over the freshly bleeding wounds, Rook takes stock of what it knows and where to go from here. It'll be leaving soon to head back to Arlathan. After, it'll have to send word to the Crows and help out in Minrathous. Maybe Bellara will send her letter early. Emmrick's nice to talk to, or at least believes it when it inevitably cracks and starts spewing 'nonsense' about the time loop. Well, most of the time.
A bitter chuckle escapes. Out of all its companions, the future Lich is the only one that survives. And all it cost was Manfred and a larger part of Rook's sanity each time. Why can't it find a solution? Surely, there has to be some way to save Manfred from Hezenkoss' magic. Surely, it'll find out how to get through this without a sacrifice. It has to. It can't be trapped here forever.
Well, the necromancer's not the only one it has to collect. Davrin and Assan, Taash. Spite. A chill runs up its spine. Right. It has to retrieve Spite sooner rather than later. Should it just go alone again? It hasn't had problems in combat for ages now, and it's not like Spite can hurt it easily unless he chooses to get in Rook's head this early.
It could always send Neve, Harding, and Bellara to Minrathous to start on things there. It won't endear it to the others, but Rook's so tired of trying. It's not like anyone will remember the effort, and it's so much easier to be on its own.
Oh, wait. Bellara's not here yet. Which means it has to get the fuck up and actually do something. Damn. Would it really be so bad to just lay down and go back to sleep for eternity?
With an effort almost bigger than it can bear, Rook pulls itself away from the infirmary bed and trudges through to the next room, leg aching with each movement. Bandages pull at the raw, angry flesh beneath them, reminding it of every failure, every misstep.
It can start its journal later. For now, it needs to check in with Harding and Neve before this stupid magical anomaly decides it's done something wrong again.
Once, the view here actually awed it with its sweeping spaces and floating buildings in the same way everything else did. Now, it's all too easy to ignore. Briefly, Rook considers simply letting the void below take it. The Fade's relaxing when it gives up on trying to save the world. But then, it'd have to wake up in that blighted infirmary again.
Deciding it's not worth the trouble for now, Rook makes its way to Harding, having the same conversation once more. Chiming in at all the right places comes naturally to it by now. Luckily, or perhaps unluckily, Harding releases it to speak with Neve after only a few minutes. A shame. It likes Harding more when it can dredge up the energy to care.
Neve's conversation varies only in that she asks why it's so exhausted before diving into the same old monotony it's experienced countless times. It's out of there quickly, though it's clear Neve doesn't believe it when they say it's just tired. She's going to keep digging. And here, Rook hoped for an easy loop. Too bad for it, it supposes.
Debating if it's the time to start anything before it leaves, Rook ends up just heading to the Eluvian in the basement. Might as well get this over with so it can start its journal while avoiding sleep as long as possible. Maybe it'll even drink some of that disgusting coffee to keep awake instead of the tea it can sometimes still find care enough to love.
Not bothering to change and only just caring enough to grab a knife, Rook makes its way to the mirror. Sparing half a thought to its companions, it debates on whether to inform them. Nah. It doesn't really matter. Harding can get her magic unlocked by the dagger at any point as long as she touches it, and it doesn't really feel like dealing with others right now.
Shrugging, it pushes its stupidly long hair out of the way as it steps through. Why does it keep it so long anyway? It's not like it enjoys it anymore, and the silvery-white strands just get caught up on things at the most inopportune moments. The thought of cutting it crosses its mind, but that stupid pang of the last remaining dregs of attachment still its hand. Maybe the Veil Jumpers will have something it can tie it back with.
Wind picks up the strands, blowing into its face and leaving its mood even worse. A commotion starts in front of it, and Rook only just has the energy to remember that it's important. Or something. Its attention drifts to the scenery the moment it stops focusing.
"Is there something we can help you with?" Oh, right. It still needs to interact with people for things to happen.
"Lookin' for Bellara." It mentions, knowing it's doing a shit job at masking right now. "Heard she'd gone missing right as I was lookin' for her."
"You're right about that." One of them says. Was it Strife? It's not sure. "She's only been gone a few days, but with all the missing Veil Jumpers…"
"Right." It mutters. "Well, I'll go find her." Does it have time to grab the dagger? It'll be easier if it doesn't have to fight a bunch of darkspawn for it. Maybe it'll just go after finding Bellara. She can hold her own well enough, and besides, it's not hard to get to D'Meta's crossing from there. Yeah. It'll do that.
It almost enjoys the mostly quiet walk to Bellara's location. At least there's no one it has to make some attempt to converse with. Conversations are tiring, and it's really the last thing it needs. Which sucks, since if it doesn't, the entire team will die. Again. Which is about the only thing anywhere as close as exhausting as this bullshit time loop fuckery.
Sadly, its mostly peaceful walk comes to an end far too soon. Now, it gets to follow around the tinkerer until it can leave this stupid space. It listens with all the care it can muster before shaking off some of the exhaustion pulling at its limbs and following after her.
She babbles on about this or that, fixing some artifact here or there while Rook fights off whatever decides to come for them. It's boring. Sure, the automations might get a scratch in here or there, but there's no danger. No thrill. Only the dull monotony of yet another chore. It won't be able to feel anything in battle for a while, and then it's only because it still doesn't have a good way to fight off two dragons trying to eat it at the same time.
"Rook?" Bellara inquires, "Are you coming?" Oh, right. It's been standing here a while, hasn't it?
"Yeah," It mutters, following the mage boredly. It's not long before they've collected the asshole of a spirit archive, and even less time to ensure she gets back to the Veil Jumpers. It'll pick her up soon. For right now, Rook has a dagger to find and zero patience for other people.
After a trip full of too many annoyances, Rook finds what it's looking for just lying on the ground. Fantastic. Now, it doesn't have to come back here later. Slaying the few Darkspawn that try to come after it, Rook looks around, gets its bearings, and heads in the direction of the crossing. The sooner it gets that done, the sooner it can head back to the Lighthouse.
It finds the boat that'll take it to the blighted wasteland that was once a village. And Bellara. It'd be more surprised if this didn't happen around half the time.
"Oh! You're here! I wasn't expecting you to come back!"
Rook sighs. "Let's go." It'd really prefer to do this on its own, but now that the mage is here, she won't leave. Whatever. It's ready to get this over with and go back to its room. Might as well get going.
The fake gods must love it this time. Bellara barely complains the entire time and even keeps her whining to a minimum. Rook manages to clear the stupid blighted village in record time. All that's left is the mayor; then it can go mope about. Let's see. Could leave the prick here, but then they'd get blighted, and really, no one deserves that. Could stab him, but they're really not in the mood to deal with the blight tentacles. Same thing for letting him go.
Fuck it, it's not let the mayor live in a while. Might as well see what happens. Ignoring Bellara's vocal disapproval, it frees the bastard, loots the horde, and walks off with the elven mage complaining behind it.
Leaning on the balcony, Rook looks over the courtyard. What was it expecting? No one's bothered including it in a long time. Apparently, today it's feeling over-sensitive, seeing as it's got this nasty, depressed ball of lonely curling and twisting in its chest until it's swallowed up anything and everything that tries to stop it. It hurts, and it doesn't know why. It's never included in conversations with the others unless they need something from Rook. It should be used to this.
It's almost bad enough that it considers talking to the lying specter in its head.
Shaking that thought away, it thinks over its plans for the next few days while ignoring the way those feelings make it feel shittier by the moment. Its letter to the Crows would be reaching its destination about now, and Neve's contacts should be getting back to her. Bellara's agreed to contact Emmrich for them, so with any luck, it'll have someone to speak to about all of this soon enough. So, it just needs a way to contact Davrin and Taash.
It shouldn't be too hard to deal with them, but it's not looking forward to collecting Spite again. A shiver runs down its spine, and a series of images replay in its head, stealing its breath. It can do this. Spite shouldn't be nearly as powerful right now. Surely, he won't be able to torture Rook again for a few weeks, at least. If nothing else, it can just avoid the shit out of Spite until it has to interact with him.
Harding's voice cuts across the courtyard, interrupting its thoughts. Right. Everyone wants to talk with everyone except for it. Turning on its heels, it makes its way to its depressing aquarium of a room. It's tired, but sleeping only makes things worse. Nightmares won't help. Rook just wants to jot everything down for now and maybe start looking things over. Maybe it'll find its mistake this time.
It takes a few minutes to shuffle its way into the fish viewing area and another to find its journal. It's yet to figure out why the book spawns in a different place each time, but at least it's getting better at locating it. Once the journal is acquired, it turns to the table it uses as a desk. An inkpot and quill manifest at its approach.
Settling in, it begins the record of everything it's learned. Pages upon pages of carved, painfully learned information get recorded on paper for yet another round. A few times, it loses the plot, and its painstaking notes are checked while transcribing.
It blinks and finds itself in the Fade with one of the bastards that caused all this. "What do you want?" It spits, glaring at the shade.
"Something about you has changed."
"Either tell me what you want or leave me the hell alone."
"I'm not sure what could have happened in the past day for you to harbor such animosity towards me."
"Really, now?" It mutters. "Of course you don't. No one ever remembers. Why would this time be any different?" By the fake gods, why can't it just rest? Maybe when it finally gets out of this, it'll find someplace quiet and disappear forever. Maybe get a Crow to ensure the job gets done. It's so tired.
"Hm?" Solas mutters. "There's magic flowing around you in wild, unpredictable ways. Several spells from different casters have come together to form something unknown."
"Oh, I know very well what it is." It snaps. "Now, get out of my head since you have nothing to add." The asshole mutters curiously but finally leaves it alone.
"You look like shit," Teia states, meeting it in the markets. "You're going to worry Vi."
"He'll get over it."
She doesn't seem convinced. "Not when you look like you died two months ago."
"It's been busy..."
"What's up with you? You've barely been gone six months, and now you seem like a completely different person."
"Sorry?" Why does it matter? This same conversation's happened at least a few dozen times. Probably. It's not sure.
"Hey," Teia states after a moment of silence. "You still like tea? We can take a moment. Besides, Vi won't let me hear the end of it if I drag you back to him looking like this."
It's about to refuse, but the thought of having tea with its once-companions soothes something deep inside it. "Fine..." She smiles, leading it into what was once its favorite cafe. It chooses a table while Teia orders their drinks.
"So." Teia states, waiting for it to speak. It debates, going over its past experiences. Teia's sometimes willing to listen, but it's never found the right mood for her to actually believe it. "Come on! Don't leave me in the dark!"
It blinks, dragging its tired eyes to the dark ones across the table. "How fantastical of a tale are you willing to listen to?" Might as well get through that bit.
She raises a brow. "I'm going to go get more coffee." She hasn't even started on the one in her hand. "Then, you're going to tell me everything that's been going on, and I'll decide how much I want to believe." That's fair enough.
It takes the time it has while Teia's gone to order its thoughts. Should it leave out the parts about Spite? Should it be as vague as possible?
Two chairs scrape against the ground. It looks up, finding Viago now sitting at their table. "Look who I found! Now, we have coffee, and Vi's agreed to listen to what you have to say."
It sighs, takes a long hot sip of tea, and starts its story. "Guess the elven gods are real." It mutters. "Got some real powerful magic. Saw this city survive and crumble. I saw the world fall and saw those who were supposed to be my comrades die all around. Death comes, then doesn't." They don't seem impressed. "Over and over again, until there's nothing left but the loops."
"I'm going to need more details than that," Viago states. "You've clearly been through something, and I'm not going to let one of my best Crows deteriorate because of some magical nonsense he won't even fully describe." It blinks skeptically. "I understood something about elven magic and death."
Huh. Weird. That's a new reaction. It wonders why. "Yeah," Something buzzes, blocking out what might have been a name. "Tell us."
What the hell? It's not like they'll remember any of this soon enough. "Fine." It sighs, ordering its thoughts once more so it can put some fragment of effort in. "The elven gods are real; they're blighting the world, and for some reason, I'm being forced to relieve things over and over."
"How long?" Teia demands before it even finishes speaking.
It shrugs, feeling off in a different way from normal. "Dunno. Stopped counting somewhere after the three hundredth reset." Its body feels heavy, but they can't place why. "…So tired of this. It resets if someone 'important' dies or if I don't do specific things…" It's really starting to feel exhausted. This isn't right. Wrenching its eyes open, it glares at the pair of Talons, wondering what they've done.
It blinks, unable to keep its eyes open, and hears a thud.
Waking up, it feels oddly well-rested.
"You're up." Oh. Viago sounds annoyed. "Teia and I talked it over with the other Talons. We've decided to see what you have to say." It sits, wondering how it's not dead after being drugged. "What can you say to prove your information?"
"Why aren't I dead?"
"We aren't going to poison a fellow Crow when they're in the middle of a job. You should know this."
Right. What was it thinking? "Spi- Lucanis is currently held in some underwater prison. Illario's the reason he's there. Sold out his cousin as a first step in taking the position of First Talon. Illario's going to try to kidnap Catarina and make it look like a murder. Some chick named Zara is involved." Viago's brows furrow. "Oh, and the Governor's the one that sold the city out to the Antaam."
"Right. You did mention something about time repeating." Its brows furrow, wondering at Viago's weird reaction. "I'll send someone to look into your information. For now, explain what you meant in your letter." It pulls itself out from under the warm, welcoming covers, staring vacantly at the floor.
"Just what I said. I'm going to go rescue the First Talon's grandson, and he's going to help me stab some gods. Just needed to let you know first since this is Crow business."
Viago stays silent. Whatever the head of its house is thinking, it doesn't know. "The sedative we dosed you with should be out of your system. If you're going to perform a prison break, you should be good to go. Let Teia or I know if you need something." It nods, knowing full well it's not going to take them up on the offer.
Getting up, it takes a moment to throw on whatever pitiful excuse for gear it has, collects the shitty kitchen knife it brought, and prepares to have all its old wounds ripped open once more.
The Ossuary sucks. It hates this underwater prison almost as much as it hates Spite itself. At least it doesn't have to deal with the guards for a while.
Strolling through the haunted underwater prison, Rook wonders how long it can put off finding Spite. He'll find it eventually; Spite always does. Should it wait, or should it get Spite and get the hell out of here?
Water drips on its head, annoying it more than the simple act has any right to. Fuck it, find Spite and leave is now the plan. If it's lucky, Spite will even leave it alone for a while.
It heads deeper into the prison. Bodies pile randomly along the halls, and blood spills over the sandy floors, leaving a slick good in its wake. When Rook finally comes across living guards, they're dispatched with little more than a flick of their fingers, lightning sparking and jumping through the air with negligible effort.
Ruffling through the guard's pockets rewards it with the fifteen silver this guard always has. At least it's starting to build up funds again. Saving the world while poor fucking sucks.
It looks around, seeing a trail of bodies that have never been there before. Weird. Is this just another part of the loops? Something possible that it's simply never seen, or has something changed here, too?
It doesn't take long to recognize where they're leading. The storage room with the vase of blood. Why? Spite doesn't know where it's at at this point. There's no way Spite would've veered this sharply from pre-existing events, especially since it always finds Spite in a locked room.
Something's fishy here, and it's not the wildlife.
It sighs, resigning itself to walking straight into the trap and resetting this early. It won't be the first time, and it might even figure out what the trap is before it dies. As long as it gets new information, it'll be happy.
Stumbling into the now-wrecked storage, it finds Spite standing there, blood scattered across the ground with broken glass flickering in the light. Great. Just what it needed -- Another change to the program.
Spite turns around, eyes those once calming, now traumatizing dark color. Some emotion it doesn't have the energy to describe plays across Spite's face as he takes a few steps towards it.
"Rook? House de Riva?"