Chapter Text
Grey. Everything was grey.
She was at the ritual site, where Solas had stood right before he’d tried to kill Varric.
The maelstrom of magical energy whipped her hair around her face, tiny bits of debris slicing into her exposed skin. She squinted against the wind but couldn’t make out anything except the statues, still standing instead of crumbling like how she’d left them.
Lucanis’ voice echoed around the space, ringing in her ears. “They either die right away, from the dragon. Or slowly after, from blight in the water.”
“We have to trust that the Shadow Dragons can take care of things in Minrathous,” she heard herself say.
“And leave Minrathous to burn?”
Her knees went weak, and she almost crumpled to the ground, but she caught herself, fighting to stay upright.
“That dragon razed Minrathous,” Neve’s voice growled. “Where were you?”
The location changed, morphing into the field they’d fought Treviso’s dragon in so quickly she felt dizzy. “I sent the others to help,” Rook practically pleaded, spinning on the spot, trying to make out anyone, anything, in the haze of smoke and dust.
“You’re just in time,” Lucanis said, sounding relieved to see her.
She still couldn’t see either one of them, but the anger and disappointment from Neve beat against her like a hurlock’s axe.
“The Venatori had a clear shot at the palace while we faced a dragon we could barely hurt.”
The accusation cut through her like a knife. It was her choice to go to Treviso. Her fault Minrathous was devastated. Her fault the Viper got blighted.
“Rook’s a Grey Warden, isn’t she?” Tarquin demanded, his voice as cold as Neve’s. “Do something. Or are you only good for bringing bad news?”
“Despair,” Ghilan’nain hissed. “Ignorance. Mortal confusion.” She almost sounded gleeful. “Yet this city offers nothing better than a pawn of the Dread Wolf.”
It sounded like Tarquin was standing right next to her, hissing the accusations into her ear. The words were like acid against her skin. “This is all you. The risen gods. The blight. The dragon. Now the city’s lost to the Venatori.”
“Draw up your courage,” Teia said. “We will need it.”
Rook stumbled, almost tripping down the flight of stairs behind her. She raised a hand, trying to shield her face from the shards of ice. She could feel something being taken from her, draining her soul.
She had to get out of there, but as she staggered down the steps, she kept slipping on blood. She caught herself before she landed in a pool of it at the base of the staircase, but her hands were covered. She tried to wipe the blood off on her pants, but no matter what she did, the stain never left. It was caked under her nails, in the creases of her palms.
She was tired. She didn’t have anything to offer her team, her friends. She was out of ideas.
Darkspawn dragged themselves out of the pools of blight bubbling up from the Deep Roads, rushing for her.
She had no weapons, no shield, no allies and no friends. She had nothing to fight them off her, but she clenched her first and swung at the first ghoul that was foolish enough to get close to her.
Come on, Varric. We didn’t come all this just to talk to him.
It went down, but another took its place too soon after.
That was her voice. She raised her shield arm, trying to protect herself from the gaping maw coming her way, but the weight of the shield was absent. There was nothing there.
They clawed at her, ripping her armour from her body, tearing into her flesh. She could feel their teeth on her skin.
Wave after wave after wave of ghouls, and she struggled against them, trying to beat them back. She had to get back to the others. She had to try and make things right with Neve. She had to stop the Evanuris.
She called out, but no one answered. No one came to help her. So she kept fighting.
~
Taash could smell blood.
Not fresh blood, from an open wound, but something older. Fouler.
She rolled out of her bed, pulling a wicked looking dagger from beneath her pillow, and tiptoed to the door, easing it open.
The Lighthouse was silent. The clacking of the death mage’s assistant had finally ceased an hour ago, once he’d finished unpacking some of his many boxes. There wasn’t even any wind in the Fade for her to pretend was the ocean, crashing against the cliffs in Rivain.
Noiselessly, she crept down her hallway, inhaling, trying to get a lock on whatever was causing the odour. The ambient lighting of the library wasn’t helpful for hunting in an unfamiliar location, but she’d made do with less before. She approached the staircase, spotting Rook still in her armchair. She looked asleep.
The library door opened.
Taash clenched her fist around the handle of the dagger, ready to throw it if necessary, but it was just Davrin and Assan.
The griffin slunk into the room, head low and ears back.
Davrin prowled in behind him, sword in hand, eyes darting around the library in search of the blight he could feel prickling against his skin. He’d been sleeping in fits and starts, not really getting much rest, when he felt the sickening sensation of darkspawn wash over him. He didn’t know how they got into the Fade, let alone the Lighthouse, but he wasn’t going to let them take the team by surprise.
A whimper broke through the haze of the hunt.
Taash launched over the bannister, landing in front of the shelves on surprisingly silent feet.
He wasn’t proud, but he jumped at her appearance, not expecting anyone else to be awake.
She pressed a finger to her lips, waiting for him to nod, before approaching the still sleeping Rook. She was pale, her hair pink in the grey light. Even her vallaslin looked washed out. Inhaling again, Taash found that the smell of the putrid blood was coming from her.
Davrin strode around to back the Qunari up, surprised to see his boss in her armchair still. It was early morning, very early, and he’d expected her to retreat to her room as everyone else had.
She groaned, one hand clenched into a fist, the other twitching as if she was holding something.
He thought she almost looked sickly. There was a light sheen of sweat on her face and her lips were wan.
Taash reached forward before he could stop her and grabbed her shoulder, startling her awake.
Rook lunged up, the Dread Wolf’s knife in hand, and shoved Taash back into the bookshelf by her neck, pressing the dagger into the column of her throat with her other hand. Her lips were pulled back in a snarl and her eyes were wild, the green glinting in the strange light of the library.
Assan shrieked in alarm, flapping his wings.
Moving only enough to loosen the grip on her knife and let it drop to the ground, Taash froze, waiting. She probably should have known not to wake a Grey Warden that looked to be in the midst of a nightmare, but she’d ignored her instincts and done it anyway. She could feel the cold blade practically caressing her jugular and her eyes darted to Davrin.
He had seen this before, in the older Wardens. “Rook!” He didn’t come any closer, wanting to stay out of reach of the weapon. “Dian.” Stop. He didn’t know if she would understand, but he figured if anything was to get through, it was elven.
She didn’t reply, but she did blink. Once. Then twice.
“Atish. An'daran atish'an.” Peace. You will not come to harm.
“Ar dea u,” she whispered brokenly. I was alone.
He let out a breath of relief. Slowly, carefully, he edged into her field of vision, setting his sword down on the table so she could see he was now weaponless. He approached, palms up. “Ame here.” I am here.
Her eyes left the Lord of Fortune to flick to his, weighing his movement. She could still feel the icy claws and teeth of the ghouls, ripping her to pieces. A small part in the back of her mind was screaming that Taash posed no threat to her, but that part was overridden by the terror coursing through her body. She’d never been so alone, even after she was sent away from Weisshaupt, but the familiar feeling of a fellow Warden was breaking through the fog. Safety. Kinship.
He nodded, seeing the drop in her shoulders, and held her gaze, one hand reaching for the Dread Wolf’s dagger. “Ar’na.” Me and you.
The Qunari was barely breathing. She’d been cornered by dragons before but had never in her life felt so mortal. She didn’t know what the two elves were saying to each other, but she could only hope he knew what he was doing. Her last words to her mother had been an argument, she realised. If she survived this, she promised herself she would see her mother the next day to make sure the last things they said to each other were not in anger. This team was clearly more messed up than she’d initially thought.
“Ane seth,” he said quietly. You are safe. “The banal’rasen harel, asa’ma’lin.” The shadows are deceiving you, sister.
She recognised that word. Sister. She’d heard Isabela use it before, but she only ever directed the term at Wardens.
Rook’s eyes never left Davrin’s as his hand closed around hers, tugging gently. She let him take the blade, and once the cool stone broke contact with her skin, she sagged, releasing Taash and sinking to the floor. She landed on her knees, staring down at her now empty hands, silent.
The smell of old blood faded, as if someone had opened a window to air out the Lighthouse.
For a while, no one spoke.
He examined the Dread Wolf’s knife, now that he had it. It didn’t look any different to the last time he’d held it, and it certainly didn’t feel strange. He had a feeling it wasn’t just a Warden night terror they’d stumbled upon, but he had no proof that it was anything else. He set it down on the table, not wanting to hold it any longer.
Taash leaned heavily against the bookshelf, trying to make sense of what just happened. “What the fuck?” she demanded when neither of them said anything.
From her position on the floor, Rook snorted, as if coming back to herself. “Great question,” she muttered, still fixated on her hands. She turned them over, flexing her fingers. The blood was gone. She stood, grabbing the buckle holding her armour in place across her chest, wrestling it open. The two others followed the same fate and she threw the jacket to the floor, searching her torso for the wounds she was sure she would bear.
There was nothing.
That was wrong. Her internal organs should have been peeking through her skin at the very least. She’d felt the crack of her bones. She ran her hands over her shoulders, up her ribs, down her back, trying to feel for the torn skin or oozing blood. Still nothing.
Davrin averted his gaze immediately, even though he was used to seeing people naked, especially other soldiers. There wasn’t much room for privacy or modesty when you shared a tent or room with ten other people, but it didn’t feel right for him to see her shirtless for the first time after a nightmare.
Knees still a little wobbly, Taash didn’t care that Rook was in her undergarments and didn’t bother looking away. “What are you looking for?” The old scars cut through some of her tattoos and across her muscles, evidence of her skill in battle, the marks stark in contrast to her still pale skin.
She looked over her shoulder, convinced there would be something left over from her nightmare. “Is there not…” Frustrated, she practically turned in a circle to try to check every part of her body she could see.
“You’re not bleeding,” Taash said, now understanding what was happening. “I could smell it before though.”
“You could smell Rook’s blood?” Davrin asked, examining her upper body clinically. If there was a wound, they needed to get her to Bellara. He tried not to notice the griffin inked onto her chest and the way the tattooed wings on her arms curved over her shoulders. No, he didn’t notice those at all. Or the strange geometric flower in between her shoulder blades.
She shook her head, feeling some of the strength returning to her legs. “No. It was old blood. It smelled wrong.”
He sniffed, trying to get a sense for what she was talking about. Nothing was out of the ordinary, and even Assan had calmed now that she was awake. “Could be the blight,” he offered.
“Nah. Blight smells different.”
Satisfied that there were in fact no injuries, Rook finished her inspection, planting her hands on her hips. “What the fuck.” The harder she tried to remember the dream, the more it slipped out of reach, like sand through her fingers. All she could piece together was that she was alone.
“Are you—”
She cut him off, leaning down to pick up the jacket she’d flung to the ground. “I’m fine. Was just a nightmare.”
He exchanged a look with Taash, who appeared just as skeptical as he felt, but he didn’t argue. He didn’t know Rook well enough to push back. Maybe her nightmares were that bad. He wasn’t the one to argue and say they weren’t just because he’d never tried to kill a fellow Warden after being woken up.
She saw the glance and squared her shoulders, trying to keep the anger she could feel rising at their well-placed doubt in her at bay. “I am fine,” she said, snatching up Solas’ dagger from the table. “Ghouls, hurlocks, emissaries, all normal stuff, right?”
Taash shrugged. “I dunno.”
“It’s normal for Wardens,” she replied. “One of the perks of drinking—”
Davrin cleared his throat. That information was supposed to be secret.
“Ma serannas, isa’ma’lin,” she said to him through gritted teeth. My thanks, brother. “Must be something leftover from the Gloom Howler,” she lied. “It does strange things to the blight and Wardens.”
He sighed, but he wasn’t surprised. He wondered if she’d revealed the secrets of the Joining to anyone else since she’d been kicked out.
Lucanis had told Taash the story of their fight through the High Anderfels and against the Gloom Howler. She made a revolted sound, retching. “Is that what that smell is?” She sniffed again, but she could only smell the two elves and Assan. The blight was there, layered under honey and earth and griffin, but it wasn’t what had pulled her out of bed with a knife.
Rook shrugged and turned on her heel, marching up the stairs and down the hallway to her room, saying over her shoulder, “Sorry, Taash, but you’ll have to get used to the smell.” She shut the door, letting her head fall back against it. She was mortified that they’d seen her in such a state. Did they think she was as incapable as she felt?
Letting the armour slip from her arms and crumple onto the ground, she collapsed onto the green couch, throwing her arm over her eyes to block out the light from the strange fish tank, too drained to think about removing her pants and boots. She tried once more to see if she could recall the dream, but when nothing came to mind, she decided to pretend it never happened and rolled onto her side to watch the fish, letting it lull her into a half sleep, pushing the feeling of isolation away.
~
Feeding birds on the beach the next day was definitely not how she thought her day would go after such a shitty night, but Rook couldn’t deny that the sound of the waves crashing against the rocks was… nice. She kept well clear of the splash zone though, lest she slip and drown.
“Some for you,” Taash said, sprinkling the food for the seagulls. “Some for you. Hey! Don’t be a dick. That was for the little one.”
“I wasn’t expecting…”
“What?”
“I don’t know,” Rook replied. “You with the birds. It’s… this is fun.”
“Oh. Good.” She was secretly pleased. She hadn’t been able to to get back to sleep the night before, determined to know what the source of the smell was. It had been fruitless. She’d tossed and turned all night, but she’d never encountered anything like it. Taash figured that going to her beach and feeding her birds would help settle her mind. She also thought it would be a good idea for Rook to get away from the people that were far too focused on their goal and get some fresh air.
“Can I help?” She accepted the pile of bird feed and tossed some on the sand, watching the gulls peck away at it.
“Sometimes I practice with the fire out here,” Taash said after a moment of quiet. “It’s safer. No people around. Lots of water.”
Yes, there was certainly lots of water. “Is it magic?”
“It’s not magic. My mother says the Qunari used to be closer to dragons. Something in our blood.”
“The Antaam called you ‘adaari’.” It was less a statement and more a question.
“Yeah. Old Qunari word for fire-breather. A few like me are born every generation. My mother thinks adaari were meant for something special. She’s always looking through the old texts for clues.” Shathaan spent more time with her head buried in those texts than she ever had with her, but she didn’t say that.
Rook didn’t respond, instead feeding the birds again.
Taash noticed the way her eyes kept darting to the water. “Come on,” she said. “Don’t want to scare the birds.” She led the way over a wooden beam, waiting for the elf to cross behind her. If she hadn’t been looking for the signs, she wouldn’t have seen the way her lips pressed together. “My mother left the Qun not far from here,” she said, hoping to distract her. “She got herself transferred to Kont-aar from Par Vollen. Smuggled me there and then walked out.”
Despite being above water that looked deeper than she was tall, Rook’s curiosity raised its head. “I thought Kont-aar was well fortified. How did she escape with a child?”
“The Qun isn’t a prison. People can leave if they want.” She threw more bird feed down to the next flock of gulls on her path. They’d learned to expect her there, waiting patiently for their free food.
“Do you miss living under the Qun?”
She shrugged, leaving the birds. “Not much to miss. I was a baby. My mother misses it. She was an ashkaari back then. A scholar,” she explained at the look of confusion on her face.
“Why’d she leave?” Rook asked, working exceptionally hard to not glance down as they edged across a ledge no wider than her bicep.
“Me.” Taash watched carefully, wondering if she’d have to jump into the water to drag her out like a drowning cat if she fell in.
“Ah.”
“Shathaan was worried about what the Qunari would do with a fire-breather like me.”
“What would they do?”
She led the way up through the ruins. “She said they’d have me put in the Antaam. Used me as a berserker. The idea scared her enough that she left her library and walked away from the Qun.”
Wow. Rook couldn’t think of anyone she would leave the Wardens for, not that she even could. She was more convinced than ever that Shathaan loved her daughter intensely, just lacked the words to express it. She followed Taash further into the fortress, scowling at the flags the Antaam had put up. “The Antaam must be marking their territory.”
“Not on my beach,” Taash replied. “Vash-vartaari.” She growled and let the fire out, melting the banners into a liquid puddle she didn’t bother to wash away. The ocean would take it when the tide rose.
Raising her eyebrows, impressed, Rook followed her as she turned and left the steaming metal behind. “Nice. What does it feel like when you do that?”
“It’s more like spitting.”
“Ew.”
“Something inside my throat opens up and lets stuff mix together. Then there’s this rush of heat as I roar it out.” It was the clearest way she could explain it and she hoped the elf would understand.
“I’m surprised it doesn’t hurt your mouth to do that,” she mused.
“It can,” Taash said simply. “One time my tongue got in the way. Got a mouthful of fire.” She had to be careful during sex too, when she was losing herself in her partner. One time she relaxed a little too much and almost set the curtains on fire.
Rook winced. “Ouch.”
She shrugged. “Enh. Didn’t hurt much. My mother has to make food extra spicy so I can taste it.”
“I guess that’s the tradeoff for being a fire-breather.”
“It’s fine. I smell stuff better than most people,” she reminded her. This was the opening for her to talk about the previous night, if she wanted to. Taash wasn’t going to judge her, even if she’d been taken by surprise. It had been a long time since someone got the jump on her like that, and it had been even longer since she’d genuinely felt in danger. She was reluctantly impressed.
Rook didn’t reply.
The Qunari couldn’t fault her for it. Talking about a nightmare seemed pretty personal. Even Davrin hadn’t elaborated before returning to his room. He’d simply said it was something to keep an eye on and that almost every Warden experienced a terror like that at least once in their life.
She still wanted to know what the source of that scent was though. It was driving her crazy, not being able to find it. She’d inconspicuously sniffed at Rook when they’d left the Lighthouse earlier, trying to see if it was indeed the blight in her blood, as she’d suggested, but the almost overwhelming smell of her covered the taint easily. It was still there, but not nearly as strong.
“Karash,” she called, approaching the campfire. “It’s Taash. I brought food.”
“Evataash,” he replied, greeting her. “It’s good you came early. The feather-clouds are getting lower. It’s going to rain. Who is this with you?”
She was suddenly nervous. What if Rook was an asshole to Karash? She didn’t think she would be, but she didn’t know her that well. Maybe she’d been lying when she said she didn’t make fun of people. It wouldn’t be the first time Taash had misread a situation.“This is Rook. She’s a friend.”
“A friend. All right. Make sure you both dress for the rain,” he said, taking it in his stride. “Drip-rain, not mist-rain.”
She tried not to let her worry show, but she was concerned Karash would be the butt of the joke. She’d throw the elf into the ocean if she was rude, even if she’d have to dive in and fish her out afterwards.
Rook smiled kindly. “Nice to meet you.”
“And you,” he replied.
Oh. Okay. Taash relaxed a bit. “Karash was a worker caste navigator,” she explained. “Got dragged along with the Antaam when they invaded.”
He added, “They told us it was ordered by the Qun. I was not taught war. I was taught the weather.”
Rook could empathise with that. Few people were taught war.
“Red clouds for thunder,” he continued. “Grey clouds for rain. Green clouds for the devouring storm. And black clouds for the Antaam cannons.” He looked down, frowning. “After what they did in Ventus, I ran away.”
He was probably right to do that, she thought. “I’m sorry the Antaam did that to you,” she said instead.
“I do not have my old life or work, but I remember who I am. The Antaam have lost even that.”
“You saw their banners?” Taash asked. “They’re in the area.”
“I will not be seen,” he assured her.
She smiled then. “Okay. Let me know if they bother you.”
“I am at peace, Evataash. I have the clouds to watch and fish to eat.” He turned his gaze to the skies, scanning them.
“More than just fish,” she said, handing him the care package her mother had put together. “Shathaan said to eat the fruit before it spoils.”
He took the wrapped goods, almost disappointed. “I like the cookies better.”
“Everyone likes the cookies better,” she agreed.
“I’ll eat the fruit. Thank you, Evataash.”
Good. He needed to eat more, she thought. “Panahedan. I’ll see you soon.”
He nodded and turned away, searching the clouds for something only he could find.
Rook waved and followed Taash. “So the dragon hunter has a softer side,” she said, once they were out of earshot of Karash.
“The Qun says you take care of people.”
“So you’re a little Qunari, a little Rivaini, and a little dragon?”
Taash liked the way she said ‘little’. Her accent was strange, but she liked it anyway. “Yeah?”
“I get that.”
She wasn’t sure how the pretty elf could understand being torn in different directions, but she wasn’t going to tell her how to feel. “Come on,” she said instead. “I should tell my mother how Karash is doing.” She led her away from his small camp, but she couldn’t help herself, asking, “So how do you get it?”
“I had to leave my old life behind when I joined the Grey Wardens. Then I had to leave that to help stop Solas.” Sometimes she missed her clan, but not enough to abandon her oath and go back to it. “So you take what works from each part, right?” Some of the humans she’d fought alongside with tried to act as if the elves in the battalion weren’t superior in hunting, especially at night, but she’d thrived off it, preferring to chase darkspawn once the sun went down. They didn’t like the way her eyes looked in the dark, they said.
Taash hadn’t considered that. “I… yeah.”
“I had to learn how to be something other than Dalish if I wanted to pay the same price as humans at the markets,” she continued. “At least until I paid. Once I did, the shape of my ears weren’t my concern.” Not when it came to the price of bread, anyway.
“I had to take Qunari language classes growing up. I had to learn how to tie these stupid knots. It wasn’t so bad when the Qunari and Rivain were at peace, but now the Antaam have broken from the Qun and started attacking. People look at me like they’re scared I’ll switch sides.”
Rook rested her hand on Taash’s bicep, squeezing in support. Gods, her skin was warm. No wonder she wore the armour she did, she’d sweat right out of anything else. “I understand that,” she said. “Here, Treviso and Arlathan aren’t so bad, but Tevinter…” She shuddered. “People who’ve only ever been one thing will never know how big the world is.”
“Maybe. Is that why you helped Treviso with the dragon and not Minrathous, because they treat elves worse in Tevinter?”
She was floored by the question, stopping short. She’d never considered if there was some sort of subconscious bias in her choice. It certainly hadn’t crossed her mind when she’d decided to aid the Crows over the Shadow Dragons, but now she couldn’t help but wonder. The idea of it made her cold. Neve had been nothing but kind to her before the dragon attacks, apparently unbothered by taking orders from an elf. No, she decided. That wasn’t why she’d helped Treviso.
Taash didn’t appear to notice the conflict she was wrestling with and continued on, leading her back past the seagulls. “Mother,” she said, surprised. “What are you doing here?”
She chuckled. “You used to call me Tama.”
“I also used to wet the bed. Want me to start that up again?”
“I’d rather you didn’t,” Rook interjected absentmindedly, chewing on her thumbnail, still thinking about Taash’s question. Then she caught the look on Shathaan face. “Because she’s sleeping in my base, which means I own the bed. I’m actually next on laundry detail.” She used to be so much better at lying.
Shathaan’s eyebrows quirked, but she hid her amusement quickly. “She always did like the mouthy ones. In truth, Evataash’s tastes are quite varied, although it is uncommon for her to be attracted to men.”
“Mother—” She was cut off before she could stop the comments she could feel coming.
“Perhaps, because in some ways, she acts more like a man herself.”
Taash crossed her arms over her chest. Her mother had a knack for making her feel like a child again, as if nothing she did was ever good enough. “Why are you here?” she asked, instead of letting the verbal jabs turn into a brawl.
“I came to ask Karash about the tablet your group recovered. I wondered if some of the symbols might be used among the Antaam.”
“Be gentle,” she commanded. “Don’t make him talk about the war.”
Shathaan nodded sagely. “I see the wisdom of your suggestion. I also see that you used your fire again. Shokra toh ebra.”
“Shokra toh ebra,” she repeated in a monotone.
Her mother wasn’t done. “Remember to keep your consonants crisp. Qunari do not slouch, and neither does our language.”
Even Rook straightened her shoulders at the light scolding. Yes, Shathaan would absolutely get along with her mother.
She smiled once her daughter was standing tall. “Panahedan, Evataash. You did well bringing Karash his food.”
“Tama,” she called before she could leave, remembering her fear from the night before.
Shathaan paused expectantly.
“I’ll see you at dinner this week?” It was less of a question and more of a statement, but she didn’t really know what to say, how to explain that she didn’t want their last exchange to be one of anger.
“Yes. I will go to the market.” She nodded at Rook and left, once again consumed by the tablet they’d found.
“Sorry,” Taash said. “She’s like that.”
Rook met her eyes. “So… the mouthy ones, huh?” She wasn’t sure if she should be offended or not. Mouthy was probably the most polite thing someone had said about her in some time, but Shathaan’s tone indicated it hadn’t been a compliment.
She laughed. “Let’s go.”
Catching her arm before the Qunari could get too far ahead, she lowered her gaze. She hadn’t known what to say to her after last night, but she had to say something. “Last night, I…”
She looked down at the hand on her bicep. Her fingers were freezing. She covered them with her own, hoping to offer some warmth. “It’s okay.”
She shook her head. “I need to say this, Taash. Please.”
Examining her, she thought Rook still appeared pale. Her hair was lighter and the tattoo on her face looked like it had almost been… bleached. It was faded, dark grey instead of black. “Okay.”
“I owe you one hell of an apology,” she said, gazing out to the horizon. “What I did—” She coughed, clearing her throat. “I’m so, so sorry.” Her voice was hoarse. “It’s inexcusable. If it happens again, I don’t expect you to be as kind as you were last night.”
“Kind?” Taash hadn’t intended being kind the night before. She’d been frozen, hoping Davrin would take charge and do something about it.
“Yes, kind,” Rook said, squeezing the bicep her hand rested on. “You think I don’t know what you can do with these? You could have thrown me across the room without a thought, but you didn’t. Thank you.”
She didn’t think a bad dream was worth being tossed around, but she also didn’t think it was a standard bad dream. “Do all Wardens have nightmares like that?”
Something behind her eyes flashed, a blindingly bright green, so quickly Taash thought she imagined it, but then an easy smile slid onto Rook’s face. “Not all of them, but most.”
She stepped back in alarm, every instinct in her body screaming at her to get far, far away.
“What’s wrong?” she asked immediately, reaching for her sword.
Taash stared at her suspiciously, sniffing, trying to work out what just happened. She smelled like herself, no hint of the rot that had lingered in the library. Maybe there was something in the Lighthouse, not in Rook. “Nothing,” she said slowly, eyeing the elf.
“Okay…” she said just as slowly, her brows furrowing in confusion. “You’re kinda weird, you know that?”
She barked a laugh, appreciating the honesty. Maybe it had been a trick of the light. “So are you.”
She started climbing the ruins, making her way back to the eluvian. “Let’s go. Lucanis is on cooking duty today.”
Following, Taash mulled on the one elven word she’d recognised the night before. “Asa’ma’lin,” she said, sounding the word out awkwardly. It felt clunky, not nearly as elegant as when Davrin had said it, but she wanted to understand. She didn’t think they were related at all. Maybe it was what elves called each other?
Rook paused, turning back, surprised to hear the Qunari say something in her language. “Sorry?”
“Means sister, right?”
She nodded, a little shocked. “You speak elven?”
“Nah,” she replied. “But I’ve heard Isabela say it to Wardens when they’ve come through Rivain. Why did Davrin call you sister? Are you related?”
Ah. She understood then. “No, I mean we’re both Dalish, but we’re not family or anything. It’s a Warden thing.”
“How is it a Warden thing?”
Rook cleared her throat, uncomfortable. She didn’t really want to talk about it, but after the night before, she was owed some kind of explanation. “Before the Joining — I’m not going to tell you what the involves,” she said, seeing the questions forming on Taash’s face.
The Qunari pouted, crossing her arms over her chest. She just wanted to know the new social customs she would need to be aware of.
“There aren’t classes, like a school or anything,” she tried to explain. “But we train and fight together, sometimes for years, before we do the Joining. Not everyone survives it.” She looked out to the crashing waves again, recalling the faces of friends who hadn’t made it. “Join us, brothers and sisters,” she repeated sombrely. “Join us in the shadows where we stand vigilant. Join us as we carry the duty that cannot be foresworn…” she trailed off, swallowing hard.
Taash had more questions than answers, but she had a feeling that was all Rook was willing to share. “That still doesn’t explain the brother and sister thing.” It was weird to think about the Wardens getting it on with each other while also calling everyone their sibling, because she had no doubt they were definitely fucking each other in Weisshaupt.
“In arms. Brothers and sisters in arms. When you fight together for as long as we—” She caught herself, remembering that she was on her own now. “They do, you form a bond. You depend on the person next to you to make sure you don’t go down, same way they depend on you. It’s trusting them to keep you alive, or at least give you a fighting chance to stay alive, and even if you can’t win the battle, it’s an agreement to take out as many darkspawn as you can together before you get overwhelmed by them.” She pursed her lips. “Am I explaining it right?”
“Not really.”
She bit her lip, trying to find another way to word it. “I could despise Davrin,” she began. “Hate him with every fibre of my being, want to kill him myself, but if someone else tried? Then I would stand between them. Even if I wanted to see him suffer, I wouldn’t let someone else hurt him.”
“Just because you’re both Wardens?”
“Pretty much.”
Huh. That actually didn’t sound so bad. “Okay.”
Rook raised her eyebrows. “Are we done with discussing the oath I took years ago?”
“For now,” Taash replied, still thinking on her words. The sense of loyalty, of duty, that meant protecting the person next to you at all costs was something she liked. It was all or nothing, much like her.
She could see the Qunari had resonated with the part of the ode she’d recited, but her stomach growled. “Come on. We can come feed more birds later if you want, but you’ll be upset if you miss Lucanis’ cooking.”