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Rook had no reason not to expect the usual – the overwhelming greyness of the Fade and a seemingly infinite abyss stretching between them. But when she opened her eyes, the sky above her was a rich, royal blue, while the grass she lay on tickled her palms with its softness. Wispy clouds danced before a golden light that brought no warmth to her face but somehow still managed to feel as real as the sun she knew and loved.
This could be the Maker’s bosom, indeed.
She blinked in confusion and fumbled to push herself into a sitting position. From there, she could see that the greyness was still present, just further away, circling this newly tranquil part of their shared Fade – a prison, Solas called it – as if kept out by a dome.
Solas sat further ahead, with his back turned. Rook was certain he still knew she was there. Didn’t he have three sets of eyes as the Dread Wolf? There was plenty of space left for them on that bald head of his.
“Well, this is certainly new. Your doing, I imagine?”
A concurring hum. “I might not possess the power to free myself, but manipulating the environment, at least for a while, is something I found myself able to do. I thought you might appreciate the change in scenery.”
“Since when do you care about my appreciation?”
“Since you and I are forced to work together, I would say.”
Rook stifled a snort. Very reassuring to hear that from the god of lies, treachery, and rebellion. Depending on the story.
She stood on uncertain legs, slowly turning around before making her way toward the elf. Her long hair blew behind her in some imitation of the wind, and for a moment or two, she thought she might have heard the cheerful chirping of songbirds. As a mage, she was more than aware of the million ways the Fade could trick you into submission if you were blind to its antics. She had experienced it; she had heard countless tempting promises whispered into her ears, felt the gentle caress of numerous hands offering help or companionship. None of them ever felt as real as this place.
“This must require a great deal of concentration. Does being a dreamer help? Even in this prison?”
“Being a dreamer, and being quite knowledgeable about matters of the Fade.”
Rook couldn’t help a chuckle. “Humble as always, I see.”
She sat next to him, cross-legged, supporting herself with her hands behind her back. The dome before them shimmered with those light shades of green and blue that she had begun to associate with the Veil. Solas’s eyes were closed, his breathing slow and even, meditative. Rook guessed he needed to keep his emotions in check, otherwise risking the change of landscape with a single rush of anger. Or annoyance. Or both. It depended on the news she brought him – or the size of her mouth.
“You said you can only do this for a while?”
“Correct. I could try to maintain it indefinitely, but I do not see the point in straining myself for simple comforts.” He then slightly turned his head toward her before slowly opening his eyes. As always, when she, a mere human, as ordinary as they come, was the center of a literal elven god’s attention – a far-too-common occurrence these days –, Rook felt discomfort creep up her spine, leaving goosebumps in its wake.
Discomfort and... something else that she refused to acknowledge. It was easy to simply bury her head in the sand whenever it emerged. She had become a proficient liar by practicing on herself first, after all.
“You seem tired, Rook. Is this visit a planned one, or a dream?”
“A dream. I accidentally fell asleep while answering some letters. I don’t even have anything new to report to you.”
They didn’t always meet when she was dreaming, only when her sleep was deepest. She had no idea why. Perhaps those drops of blood were truly too few for a stable, reliable connection, or it only worked if they were both actively seeking each other out; maybe Solas shut her out from time to time. Maybe her exhausted mind did the same to him.
“You should take better care of yourself,” said Solas.
“No rest for the wicked, Solas. We have multiple Blights and ancient gods rampaging around to deal with, in case you forgot,” Rook sighed and decided to lie back again. She was already asleep; she could try to make the most out of it.
The grass smelled fresh, even though it was long enough to stroke the tip of her nose.
“That is exactly why you need to be at your best.”
She never would have expected Solas to join her, but he did. Slowly, warily, and clearly out of his depth, if his stiff movements were any indication, he followed her example and sank into the grass. He looked so out of place with his armor and general distaste that her mouth curled upward without conscious thought.
“Never thought I would be doing this with you.”
“I assure you, the feeling is mutual.”
Silence followed, but it wasn’t an awkward one. The air between them rolled peacefully, like a lazy drop of rainwater on a round cheek, and it seemed that for once, neither of them was looking for an argument. Rook roamed his face shamelessly, because she felt it was allowed – and because she had seen him do the same.
His face was smoother than she had ever seen it, like the calm before the storm, with his eyes, those indescribable eyes, at the center.
Were his “imperfections” – the tiny scar on his forehead or the barely-there blemishes on his skin – always a part of him, something that he willed upon himself when taking this form? Or had they come with age and the hardships of living, shaping him as much on the outside as the inside?
Was it strange for her to enjoy the moment, to genuinely smile in his presence? To find herself wanting to hear his opinions, the way he would spin his words? Was it natural, maybe even inevitable, to slowly warm up to the clearly untrustworthy voice in her head that belonged to the most dangerous person she had ever known?
It did make her foolish, no question about that. But did it make her a traitor to her own cause, her own people, whom she had sworn not to let down, whatever it took?
Did she care if it did? Enough to snap out of it, at least?
Did he suffer the same conflict, or was it just her?
“What are you thinking about?” Solas asked in an uncharacteristically soft voice. The furrow was back between his brows. He had wrinkles associated with aging, at his forehead, around his eyes. That was a strangely endearing fact.
Answering honestly was probably not the wisest decision she’d ever made, but she did it anyway. “If I can trust you.”
Something flashed behind that sharp gaze. It could have been the same feeling that had burrowed itself into her very soul. It could have been him sharpening a knife meant for her back.
Whatever it is, at least it's passionate, she thought.
“You ask yourself questions I did not expect you would,” Solas said. He opened his mouth, then closed it right away, before trying again. “What brought this on?”
She sighed and looked up at the sky, avoiding his face. “What else could have brought it on? You. You confuse me. Half the time, I’m pretty sure you’re just saying anything that would make me question you less, bending the truth as much as you can without truly lying. But the other half? I think I’m seeing something real. Something you might not even realize you’re showing. Or you do, because you’re four steps ahead of me in this game instead of just two, and this is,” she waved her hand around them, at a loss, “just another trick.”
Rook could see from the corner of her eye the surprise etching itself onto Solas’ face before disappearing entirely, leaving behind nothing but a mask so solid, she believed not even he would be able to see through it. He appeared to be at a loss for words – or at least he couldn’t think fast enough to find a way to slyly turn the tide in his favor.
She was faster than him. “Do you ever think about betraying me when I’m right next to you?”
She simultaneously craved to know the answer and feared nothing more.
“I find myself thinking about you even when you’re not here.”
Rook’s heart skipped a beat.
“That’s not what I’ve asked,” she said, anxiously licking her suddenly dry lips.
Solas followed the movement as if it were the only thing worth focusing on. Rook felt like she might crawl out of her skin from the sheer want. Wanting more. Wanting less. Desperately wanting him to want the same things. “But you enjoyed hearing it anyway.”
“I would enjoy it more if I knew it was honest.”
An exhausted, maybe even irritated sigh had left his lips. “What could I possibly wish to gain with a lie like that?”
Suddenly, she couldn’t take it anymore. She shot to her feet, turning on Solas so abruptly that her hair almost slapped her in the face. “How could you ask that? You’d gain everything – my trust, my cooperation, my…” She bit her tongue before feelings could escaped. “I won’t even waste my breath asking asking how you could do this to me, but seriously, how could you do this to yourself? Don’t you get tired of constantly hiding parts of yourself to uphold your agenda?”
Solas’s expression hardened to something like a marble statue, sharp and cold. He sat up, his spine straight, movements rigid, as if existing in a body at all pained him.
“You speak of things you scarcely understand and strike a note that I do not think I’ve earned on this particular occasion.”
“Oh, you think?” Rook let out a hysterical laugh. She’d always known she would snap under the pressure of tying to save the world with the guidance of someone waiting for his turn to break it. A voice in her head couldn’t help but point out that she couldn’t have chosen a worse time. “Do you not think that destroying the fucking world I’m living in is enough for my anger? Do you perhaps wish to point out that I’m not even real, too, so what does it even matter? Yeah, Varric told me all about that.” She smiled cruelly, her eyes darkening with ire. “Is that really what you think? That none of us is as real as you, not Varric, not your companions from the Inquisition, not…“
Me?
Solas looked as flabbergasted as she imagined a god of lies could. His face flickered through emotions too fast to read, before settling on anger.
“That’s more than enough. We’re done here. Find me when you have news.”
Rook knew she was acting irrationally, probably damaging her cause, but she was too far gone to stop. “Do you really not care?” She pressed on. “Don’t you regret any of this?”
His voice was hard and final, commanding. “It’s time for you to wake up.”
And a heartbeat later, she did.
Her desk was as messy as she’d left it, but now the ink on the paper was smudged. She could’ve told herself that it was from saliva, not tears, but she did not have the energy to lie. Not even to herself.