Chapter Text
They’d been hiking the High Anderfels for two days, with not a single sign of the monster hunter, Davrin, Antoine and Evka had suggested several days ago. The thrum of darkspawn and blight in the area, initially able to be shoved to the back of her mind, was bordering on a migraine and becoming more difficult to ignore by the moment.
Yet they’d encountered so few darkspawn, not nearly close enough to the amount that would explain the level of pain she was in. Still, even though they'd found neither hide nor hair of the monster hunter, if they took down some darkspawn, the mission wouldn’t be a total failure.
The presence of nearby blight pressed against Rook’s skin like the humidity before a gale struck a coastal town, and Lucanis was not unaware of how often she scrubbed at her exposed flesh. Every time she did, he took note and scanned their surroundings, listening for the telltale shrieks of approaching darkspawn. None ever came.
He’d heard of the Grey Wardens, of course, but he’d never travelled or worked alongside one in a team. It made him antsy that Rook could pick up on an enemy’s presence before he could see them. He wanted to know how long they had before an attack, but she appeared more concerned with finding the monster hunter’s trail than going after the darkspawn.
To disguise another involuntary shudder, she scratched at some dried blood on her chest plate with a nail, frowning. The armour she’d picked up while on the move with Varric wasn’t going to last much longer, but until she could find a Warden camp or stronghold, this was the best she could do. There were more parts of her body exposed than she would have liked, but being virtually ex-communicated from the Order meant she couldn’t afford to be picky.
Hopefully, what she did have would keep the darkspawn from scratching or biting any exposed skin. Even though she already had the taint, she didn’t feel like having to deal with an infected wound from their filthy claws. She shivered again, nauseous at the feeling of the horrid creatures.
They were getting closer to the source.
“We should rest, Rook,” Lucanis said wearily, blowing out a breath. “It’ll be dark soon and we’ll need to set up a camp.” He didn’t sound pleased at the idea of sleeping, once again, on the ground.
Turning her gaze to the horizon, she cursed at the sight of the sun dipping so low. “Shit.” She met his stare, guilt surging in her stomach at the shadows under his eyes.
Harding and Rook had only just pulled Lucanis from the Ossuary recently, and he’d made it known quickly how much he appreciated having his own space again. A bed, blankets, a door. Warmth. Being encased in ice after going on a rampage through the prison had done a number on just how much he appreciated being warm. Even though he’d taken over the Lighthouse’s pantry as a sleeping area and had made it admittedly quite cosy, he’d offered to come with her anyway. To stretch his wings, he’d said.
The flash of purple in his eyes almost too quick to catch had Rook wondering if he’d not been speaking metaphorically.
He offered a smile and turned, leading her back a ways to a clearing they’d passed not long before. “This looks safe enough,” he muttered to himself, cocking his head to the side as if listening to a reply from Spite.
The area would do, Rook agreed mentally. The most suitable location they’d seen to make camp since that morning.
The sheer cliff faces of the Anderfels meant the chilly wind surged around them as they’d walked during the day, whipping tendrils of her hair from the braid she’d put it in and slipping through the cracks in her armour.
“I’m sorry, Lucanis, I thought this would have been a quick in and out mission, like finding you,” she explained, dropping her pack to the ground and fishing around for the bedding.
He let out a groan of relief as he sat down against a tree, stretching his legs out in front of him. He rifled through his own pack, having offered to take food and cooking duties for their excursion, while she carried the bedrolls and blankets. “It’s no bother, it’s part of the contract, but this…” he trailed off, resting his head against the tree. “I’ve heard of Grey Warden stamina, but this is too much, even for Spite.”
She smirked at that. Grey Warden stamina meant more than just hiking and beating back the blight, but she and Lucanis weren’t close enough for those kinds of jokes quite yet. “Tell Spite he’ll have his rest soon enough.” Regrets twisted through her mind like the gnarled roots of a diseased tree before she could stop them.
Antoine and Evka had said this monster hunter was solid, but they hadn’t found even a hint of him. If they didn’t find him soon, Rook wouldn’t be able to justify continuing the search, not with how weary both her and Lucanis were becoming. There was too much at stake for a wild goose chase through the Anderfels, no matter how good he was claimed to be.
She’d heard of a Warden named Davrin during her time at Weisshaupt, but their paths never crossed. From the stories, he was steadfast and loyal, holding to their Oath in a way she probably should have tried to emulate but never really felt the need to. Rook imagined he was like the higher ranking Wardens, stuffy and somewhat boring, rigid and strict on following the rules. She wasn’t particularly excited to have another Warden like that around, but she couldn’t afford to be picky. And she wouldn’t put her pride over the team’s safety by spurning the assistance of someone else trained to fight darkspawn, no matter how much it would rankle to have another Warden try to give orders.
Lucanis hadn’t seemed all that keen on receiving instructions from a Warden either, though he’d been too grateful for the rescue to show any sort of outward disdain to her leadership. Hopefully he would feel the same towards Davrin, but she wasn’t sure.
Maybe she should have brought Harding, like she’d asked, Rook thought. Neve was still resting from the outcome of the ritual and almost had to be locked in her room in the Lighthouse to be kept from coming, but Rook had been awake enough nights since the rescue from the Ossuary to see Lucanis wasn’t the greatest sleeper either.
He needed to get out into the real world as much as she did.
A low, pleased hiss echoed from his direction, which she took to mean Spite was also happy for some reprieve.
They worked in quiet for a few moments. Rook dug out the sleeping mats and placed them strategically to see both angles of the entrance of the clearing, and Lucanis began to make a campfire. Even though they hadn’t yet hit the snow of the High Anderfels, the air was freezing at night. Eating something warm and then sleeping next to the fire would hopefully lift both their spirits for the next day.
She turned her gaze back toward the setting sun, frustration coursing through her again that they’d made so little progress, with anything.
Bellara was still tinkering with the eluvians, and both Neve and Harding were working their contacts hard. Varric was out of commission and looked to be for the foreseeable future, and though Rook put on a brave face for the team, she wasn’t sure she could hold the line until he was back on his feet again.
He was always better at rallying people than she had been, able to encourage and bolster someone at their lowest with a few words and a pat on the arm. She was too sarcastic, utterly incapable of taking something seriously in the moment and unable to show the attributes of a real leader. Unable to follow orders and think of the bigger picture, instead too focused on the situation in front of her to be reminded of the political repercussions.
Or at least that’s what the First Warden had said.
The whispering of the blight peaked, stabbing like a hot blade through her mind, before receding just as suddenly as it came, making her cry out and clutch her head with both hands before folding over her knees.
“Rook, what is it?” Lucanis was by her side in a flash, scanning the clearing.
It was relatively protected, with a large wall to their backs in a U shape, blocking most of the elements and keeping them somewhat out of sight, even with the light of the fire.
Digging her fingers into her scalp and breathing deeply through her nose, she tried to remember what they’d taught her at Weisshaupt, in training. Grey Wardens go where they are needed most, fight darkspawn wherever they appear, and do whatever it takes to stop them. The mantra had practically been beaten into the recruits.
“Rook,” a voice that sounded like Lucanis but was not him all but snarled, grabbing her wrists to pry her fingers from her hair.
The tighter than normal grip was enough to make her forget the blinding pain she’d never experienced before to meet his eyes. “I’m okay,” she said, tugging her wrists free and scanning the clearing for anything that might explain what just happened.
Wind rustled through the sparse brushes, the dirt crunched under their boots as they shifted their weight and the insects chirped and buzzed. Nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing to indicate a possible attack heading their way. And the pain was gone. The whispers had even died down some, an indication that whatever darkspawn were in the area didn’t have a lock on her location and were moving in the opposite direction.
He leaned back, scanning her doubtfully. “What was that?”
She rubbed the back of her head, where it had slammed into the stone pillar at the ritual site in Arlathan, pondering his question. Was it the Calling? She blanched at the thought. It was too early. She was too young, surely, even for an elf. She hadn’t been a Warden long enough for the Calling to take place, but… Nausea churned through her guts. Maybe the gods reappearing and changing the blight meant she had less time before the Long Walk would take place. Weeks though? That felt too quick. It had to be.
Steadying herself and shoving aside the latest fear on a lengthening list, she replied, “The blight.” The answer was short, clipped, but there were certain things people outside the Grey Wardens couldn’t know about, let alone understand. She hadn’t heard tell of such sudden headaches from blight she was barely in range of, but with the gods in play, nothing was certain anymore.
Lucanis still looked unsure, hesitating before standing and returning to making the fire. He struck the flint, staring intently until the small flame caught on the few bits of kindling he’d gathered before she had yelped.
“I’m okay,” Rook said again, mustering up a smile that looked more like a grimace when he glanced at her. “I’m probably hungry more than anything.” She slid her eyes to his pack then back to him. “Did you bring anything good?”
He knew she was lying, but he also knew what it was like to not be ready to bare one’s soul to someone he’d just met, even if she had been the one to rescue him from the underwater prison. “I always bring something good,” he said, letting the moment slide. “Honestly, I don’t know how you survived without me, eating the way you all did.” He tsk’d and gave Rook her space, turning to his pack to pull out the food.
A chuckle was the only response he received before a bedroll landed at his feet with a thump. “You sleep first,” she commanded, not looking up when his eyes shot back to her.
“I—”
“Thought I was in charge?” she teased, standing to rip the bushes apart for kindling and fuel for the fire.
He watched her wrestle with the small plants, then start hacking at the bare trees with one of the daggers she kept on her belt. She was the one in charge, he supposed. “You’ll dull the blade,” he said instead of arguing about the sleeping order, bordering on miserable at her lack of care for it.
She let out a laugh, surprising both he and Spite, who had made an appearance now that he was so tired he could barely keep his eyes open.
“Blade. Should be. Sharp!” he tried to insist to Rook, frustrated that once again, she couldn’t hear him.
“When we get back to the Lighthouse I’ll clean it up, but right now, we need to sleep. And I’m getting cold.” She tossed the leaves and sticks down next to the small fire, heading to the other side of the clearing to do the same thing. “Tell Spite not to worry.”
Lucanis started. “You can hear him? How?” he asked suspiciously, looking at her in a new light. Was Rook one of the mages from the Wardens? She’d never made it obvious she was listening when Spite spoke, but he’d been surprised before. He wasn’t sure how he felt travelling with another mage. Neve and Bellara were enough, though they’d been nothing but kind thus far, if perhaps a little too eager to learn more about the demon. He eyed her as Spite followed her around the makeshift campsite, prowling like a predator stalking its prey. The demon would not allow someone to lock them away again, no matter what she’d done for him. They would never go back to the Ossuary.
She didn’t move like a mage, Lucanis thought. She certainly didn’t fight like a mage, what with her shield and heavy armour. In the Crossroads, it had been her right next to him, instead of Neve or Bellara, who had held back like most mages during a confrontation, flinging spells at their enemies while the heavy hitters got up close and personal and the rogues danced out of reach of enemy weapons. In the Ossuary she’d even punched one of the Venatori during a skirmish when they’d knocked her sword from her hand, while Harding had fired arrow after arrow at her targets.
“No,” Rook said simply, grunting as she snapped a branch off one the trees. “But you look different when he talks to you. I figure if you’re upset about my useless dagger going blunt, he would be too.”
Meirda. He didn’t realise how scared he was of the idea of another betrayal until the thought of Rook stabbing him in the back speared through his mind. He also hadn’t realised how easy he was to read.
Spite returned to his side. “She’s smart. I like. Rook.”
Lucanis ignored his demon, fully aware that she had endeared herself to Spite and knowing it would cause trouble while hoping he would be proven wrong, and pulled out the food he’d prepared before they left. “We could have brought a better tool,” he grumbled. When they returned to the Lighthouse, he’d hunt for an axe. A club. Anything to keep her from using a dagger to cut firewood.
Rook grinned, arms full of splintered and hacked apart branches, sitting down in front of the small fire. “I didn’t expect to need one, in all honesty,” she said, carefully placing sticks into the flames.
He handed her one of the few remaining meals they had, unwrapping his own. “We packed everything else,” he pointed out.
Her green eyes shone gold as she stared into the growing fire. “The plan was to be back in a day, maybe two at the most.” She ate absently and fed another piece of wood to the fire.
Teia’s eyes were like that at night too, he recalled. It was somewhat eerie to be surprised by what looked like a cat’s eyes appearing from nowhere in the dark, locked on him, knowing the elf had spotted him long before he’d seen her. “Rook, do your missions ever go according to plan?” he asked in an attempt to hide his discomfort.
A mischievous grin appeared on her face at his question. “We got you out, didn’t we? With minimal casualties.”
“The Venatori—”
“Don’t try to pretend your care about them.”
Well, no. He didn’t. “It was a lot of fighting,” he argued weakly.
She shrugged, taking a bite of the fruit she was picking at. “I was just glad the prison didn’t collapse on our heads. I see that as a win.”
His stomach dipped. He’d been so concerned about the vial of blood and eliminating Calivan, he’d completely forgotten that tearing through the Ossuary had actually damaged its foundations.
“Try not to twist yourself into knots,” she said, uncharacteristically serious for a moment. “We have enough to worry about besides my plans not always working perfectly.” She brushed the crumbs from her hands and grabbed her sleeping pack, tugging the blanket around her shoulders. “Sleep, Lucanis. I’ll wake you in a few hours for my turn.”
He copied her, tucking himself into the bedroll to stave off the cold, trying not to ruminate on her words. She was right. There was more to be concerned about, including his home, than spending an extra night in the wilds, as much as he wished he was back in the Lighthouse, or better, Treviso. The loss of his grandmother weighed heavily on his mind, but as he always did, he forced himself to push the thoughts aside and focus on what he could control at that moment.
Rook tended the fire, listening to his breathing even out as he fell asleep. She kept an eye on him to see if Spite would make an appearance, but evidently even the demon was exhausted from their hike through the Anderfels. She wondered what Varric would do, in her situation. Would he have continued onwards, or would he have gone back to the Lighthouse to rest and regroup, to try again another day?
Lucanis’ question about her plans going awry made her think about how she’d met Varric, during a large darkspawn incursion in a remote village. He’d even helped her during the attack, deciding afterwards that she was the right person for the job he was about to take on. They’d travelled together for almost a year before Solas’ ritual, before it all went wrong. He’d become a mentor to her, someone she could go to for advice, someone she could count on. And the one time she’d been the one to make the decision, he’d gotten hurt. She was a soldier, someone who could take orders, most of the time anyway, and get the job done. She’d not signed up to be the leader of this team.
The choices she made had an awful way of coming back to bite her in the ass, something she was struggling with. Neve had gotten hurt, almost as badly as Varric, Harding had been affected by the lyrium dagger to the point of gaining new powers, Bellara was working all hours of the day and night, and Lucanis was literally battling a demon. How could she keep everyone happy? Safe? Alive, even?
The thoughts rattled around in her mind in an endless loop. She rolled her shoulders, trying to ease the tension headache before sighing and reaching over her shoulder to pull her braided hair forward. It was a mess. She frowned and eased the fraying leather cord from the end, combing her fingers through to try to reason with the tangles, but short of bathing and a comb, there was only so much she could do.
Some of the Wardens used to help each other, Rook remembered fondly, her fingers twisting through the long strands. Once she’d decided to grow her hair long, they’d shown her how to style it to keep it from getting in the way or used against her. She missed the companionship, Greta’s especially, and how they would sit in her quarters at Weisshaupt and try new ways to keep their hair out of their faces.
For now, the long, simple braid would have to do. She was sure Bellara would be able to help and would gladly offer, given her enthusiastic kindness, but there was something keeping her from asking. She felt a friendship had to be formed first before she could ask her to help with her hair. She finished the braid and retied the leather cord, tossing another few branches onto the fire and flicking her eyes to Lucanis, startled to find him awake and staring back at her. Her hand flew to her weapon out of instinct before she clenched her fist and relaxed. “Is that how you got your name, by scaring people to death?”
His eyebrows rose, but he didn’t comment on her neater hair. “I prefer knives, but whatever gets the contract done.”
She didn’t know what to say to that and turned her gaze back to the fire, adjusting and readjusting the wood so it would burn longer. Hopefully it would keep them both warm.
The Crow remained where he was, not taking his eyes off her, she could feel it. “It’s your turn to sleep, Rook,” he reminded her.
“You weren’t asleep that long.” She held her hands to the flames, trying to warm her fingers, now clumsy and stiff with the cold.
He shifted in his sleeping pack, sitting straighter against the tree. “The sun is almost up.”
“What?” She turned to the horizon, surprised to see the faintest glow of the sun creeping into the sky. “I need a new way to keep the time,” she muttered to herself.
He snorted. “We struggle with the same thing. I lose track of the days when I don’t sleep enough,” he said pointedly.
Yawning, she didn’t bother to respond, instead curling up in her sleeping pack and trying to ignore the feeling of the thick braid under her head. She drifted off to the sound of the crackling fire and Lucanis’ breathing.