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Rook was gone.
From the moment Rook had taken the dagger from Ghilan'nain's pulsing body, Neve knew something was wrong. The way her eyes suddenly glazed over, her grip faltering as she swayed as waves of magic whipped around her. The force of the magic had been too strong for Neve to get close enough to slap the damned thing from Rook's hand. And by the Maker she wish she had, because from the wreckage of Ghilan'nain's body Solas had simply stepped through a tear in the Fade. He'd opened his hand for Rook to drop the dagger into and then with a flick of his hand, Rook was soaring through the Fade tear.
She wasn't proud of herself for her actions immediately after that. She liked to think she was smarter than wildly throwing magic at a fellow mage, but the incandescent rage that was pouring out of her had her throwing everything she had left in her at the ancient elf. He'd given her such a sympathetic, pained look, that Neve was almost fooled into thinking he regretted what he'd just done. But of course, how could he? He had no idea what Rook meant to everyone out here. What Rook meant to her. But Solas barely even bothered to raise a hand to block the sharpened walls of ice she was throwing at him.
"I understand your rage. But know that you have no chance against the foe before you. This is for the best. For you all." He'd called, before disappearing through another rift in the Fade to follow Elgar'nan.
Neve couldn't even stumble after him, with Lucanis holding her back as she screamed curses and sobbed at the elf as he left. After he was gone all they had left was bitter victory. And more losses than they could bear. Bellara stolen away, Davrin and Assan sacrificed to give Lucanis the opening he needed, and then Rook, whisked away into the same prison that Solas had been trapped in. Her luck always turned. She knew that. Things had been going too well. Minrathous finally recovering from the dragon assault, her blossoming relationship with Rook, the strides they'd made in routing the gods' forces...
She should have known better.
But now all she was left with was bitter agony. Regrets. Words left unsaid.
She didn't even remember their trip through the Eluvian back to the Lighthouse. It was all a haze of Emmerich checking her over for injuries and Harding and Taash wandering in and out of the basement to report which regions still stood and they could get to. Minrathous was completely cut off. They'd have to rely on lucky messages getting in and out of the city, and any sending crystals still working to get any information out of the besieged city.
When it rains, it pours, as the saying went. And for Neve Gallus, well, this felt like the sort of rain that could drown her. She might even let it sweep her away, with how small she was feeling.
"We could get Rook back," Harding offered, as they all sat nursing their wounds over a somber dinner with coffee and tea, "We're in the Fade after all. If the prison is here, surely there's a way for us to find it. A ritual we can use to crack it open."
"We need that fancy dagger." Taash grumbled, "The one Solas made off with. That thing can tear through anything. Even a prison." Their hands flexed into fists, brow furrowed, "We don't have Bellara with us to help us make another one."
"The other Veil Jumpers then," Lucanis offered, "Strife and Iralin. Surely they would be able to assist. And Harding's contacts in Kal Shirok may be able to source the lyrium needed to make a replacement."
"Nothing would be pure enough," Harding shook her head, "No one works lyrium like that anymore. It's too potent. That's why it did what it did to me when I picked it up the first time." She huffed out a frustrated sigh, "But maybe it would be enough for what we need. I'll reach out to my contacts. See what can be done. Hope it's not as far gone as Orzammar."
Neve was taking all of the discussion in, her hands curled around her cup of coffee. Lucanis had pressed some of his more expensive brew in her hands, shaking his head when she tried to give it back. It was delicious. And it should have been something she could savor. But all she could think was how it tasted as bitter as ash in her mouth. How wasted it was without Rook sitting here taking a sip with her and screwing her face up into an exaggerated disgusted expression. She would make a joke about only being able to handle tea and hot chocolate, maybe make a silly pass at Neve saying coffee only tasted good on Neve's lips. But Rook wasn't here next to her.
"Neve?" Emmerich probed, his voice gentle. He waited for her to lock eyes with him to continue, "If I may ask, I would appreciate your assistance with putting together some of Bellara's notes with me to try and find a way to pierce the lock on this prison Rook is in. If Solas could exit it, so can Rook. Especially if we help."
Neve wanted to snap back at the elder man, to scold him for having such a flight of fancy. There was no hope for Rook. This was a prison that had stood for thousands of years. What hope did a few plucky wannabe saviors of Thedas have?
Emmerich had to have noticed her stormy expression because he reached across the table to place a hand on one of hers. His expression was kind, the sort of expression that could only come with years of helping people through the worst days of their lives. He squeezed her hand, and nodded to her, "We mustn't give up hope, Neve. We'll find Rook. Whatever it takes."
There were murmurs around the table, echoing Rook's motto. Whatever it takes. How many times had Rook told her that? Dozens at least, in a joking way when having to stomach Harding's cooking, or as serious as death when covered in grime and blood at the siege of Weisshaupt. She'd meant it every time too. She was devoted to the cause. To the job. To Neve.
"Whatever it takes to prove I'm with you," Rook had murmured when Neve had returned to the party after triaging the disaster in Minrathous, her green eyes contrite and serious, "I'll wait as long as you need me to. I'm not going anywhere."
What a liar.
She couldn't bear to let the others see her breakdown. So she'd simply nodded and excused herself, her cup still nearly full of coffee. Her vision was already blurring with tears as she hurried out of the kitchen and even breezed past her quarters until she was back in the Lighthouse proper, climbing the stairs to Rook's quarters. A small part of her, the foolish hopeful part she could never kill despite years of being beaten down by reality, hoped she would open the doors to find Rook resting like nothing had even happened. That maybe she would see the mop of unevenly cut red hair, mussed up from laying on her chaise in a funny way, pop up from behind the tall back of the couch and give her that cheeky grin and apologize for being caught napping on the job.
That she would amble over, a mix of a warrior's confident swagger and shy expectation, with that dopey look on her face. She would apologize for making Neve worry, and the scar that bisected her eyebrow and cheek would crinkle as she smiled and offered to make it up to Neve. Then Neve would be swept up in those strong arms, pulled against the Warden's form. Neve would beg her to hold her tighter, and Rook would laugh, and warn her 'I might hurt you, y'know. I'm pretty strong.' And Neve wouldn't care, because sometimes the pain was good. Was worth the reminder they were both here, both alive.
Together.
But that wasn't what happened. Neve burst through the doors and was met with only silence and the lazy movement of the fish in the magical tank on the far side of the wall. There only sign that Rook had been there recently was the plain top that she wore to bed, flung haphazardly across the back of the chaise, and the whetstone she used to care for her blades sitting on the dresser, out of place from it's usual home in the wardrobe.
The rest was just the usual various knickknacks and mementos that Rook brought with her to the Lighthouse and the ones she'd accumulated through their travels since this job has started. Barely a thing out of place.
Neve had teased her for it, at first, when she parted with her coin in Dock Town for a set of truly awful serials, romance novels, and a small dragon figurine. Rook had given her that trademark sheepish smile, the one that Neve found she had a hard time saying no to, and shrugged. "I like having something physical to remember my travels by. Even if it means I end up lugging all sorts of things around."
Later on she managed to pry out of Rook that she did it because she'd been forbidden from keeping these sort of sentimental things in her barracks in Weisshaupt when she was stationed there. Ever since she'd been sent out into the world to fight Darkspawn, she'd made a point to have as many belongings as she could, so she could feel like a real person. Not just some nameless Warden.
"We don't get to keep much, y'know," Rook had murmured as they swung their legs over the edge of a dock, eating some of Hal's fish, "So stuff like this...It's something real. Physical. For when I..." she'd trailed off, going uncharacteristically maudlin for a long moment, gazing out across the sea like she was a million miles away, "When the Calling takes me. I'll have these things with me. To prove I made a difference. To help me finish my watch." Neve remembered her heart clenching at the sound and sight of it, unable to help.
Rook had never spoken too much about the grimmer parts of being a Warden. Neve knew, of course, that the Order was a mismatched bunch of former miscreants, true believers, and the truly desperate folks touched by the Blight. But if you caught Rook walking around the Lighthouse or out in the world you wouldn't know that she had essentially volunteered for a guaranteed grim fate, what with her whistling and humming as she went.
She seemed very much at odds with the image Neve's mind conjured when she thought of Wardens. She thought of solemn and serious warriors, grizzled veterans. Davrin, with his cocky swagger and stories of monstrous conquests far better suited the image of a Warden. Not the tall but awkward redhead who made bad puns and nicked herself on her own sword as she sharpened it.
She was an investigator though, so she wasn't going to let not knowing enough stand. She'd peppered Davrin and Rook with thousands of questions about the Joining and the Blight and what it did to a person. Especially since Ashur had been infected, it had been a constant worry.
But she'd noticed how much it pained Rook to talk about, and how solemn Davrin was over the whole thing. She knew that the Warden's were secretive, that there were things that no one would tell her. And she knew snooping would only get her in trouble. So she'd tried to drop it. Took what she could with the scraps of information she'd gotten.
She knew that they were connected to the Blight and that connection gave them strength, power, and immunity. But there was a heavy cost. A death that would come years early, with no warning. A Calling. That and their endless war against the Darkspawn meant that there was no promise of a tomorrow.
Which was as good a reason as any to not get too attached to a Warden. A rule Neve had every intention of following. She had already had too many painful reminders of why getting too close to people caused nothing but anguish. She couldn't add a Warden to that mix. Not when she knew the ending of that story.
But then there was Rook.
And damn her, but that sunny grin and earnest attitude had made subtle cracks in Neve's carefully constructed wall. Until suddenly one day, when Neve wasn't even paying attention, Rook laughed at one of her jokes a little too hard over dinner and had leveled a look of such open affection at her that Neve felt the moment the wall came crumbling down. She felt the breath swoop out of her chest, and her heart seemed to skip a beat as they locked eyes. She had no idea if Rook noticed. Probably not, given how she'd turned to Davrin a moment later to repeat the joke a little louder, swatting at his shoulder as she laughed through it.
And what had that gotten her? An empty gnawing in her gut, a hole carved in her chest where Rook had somehow made a home, and a silent room filled with reminders of a woman who wasn't here. She managed to force the doors closed behind her before the first gasp of a sob escaped her lips, and after that there was no stopping it.
She was stumbling over to the chaise, collapsing on it like some poor sap out of a serial. She let her shaking fingers wrap around the discarded top and curled it up to her face, not even caring that her tears were dampening it. It still smelled like Rook. That heady mix of steel, leather, and sweat. There was always the hint of something smoky, even after Rook bathed using some of Neve’s soaps and lotions. The sort of smell that made Neve relax in an instant, and would bring a smile to her face without her even realizing. Was this the only way she'd smell it now? Was last night the last time she would ever be that close to it again?
She should have let Rook sweep her off her feet last night.
They’d been so close. Rook’s warm hand on her wrist, her thumb sweeping circles over her pulse point. The way she’d leaned in, murmuring promises of them coming back together. The way her eyes were so soft, so full of love, and kept flickering towards Neve’s lips, asking, waiting.
She should have been braver. She knew tomorrow wasn’t promised and yet she’d let her moment slip through her fingers like fog. As if by denying herself what she wanted she would be sheltered from the pain.
Fat load of good it had done her. Here she was, sobbing over a shirt, and Rook was gone. And she’d never gotten a chance to tell her the truth. Never told her how deeply she cared, despite her best efforts.
She loved Rook. She did. She loved the trouble she brought, the excitement and joy.
“I’ll never get to tell her.” Neve whispered, squeezing her eyes shut. This was pathetic. There was no one here to hear her, and yet she was talking to the air like it would magically conjure up the right words for her.
She’d been crushed once, watching Minrathous fall to a dragon and the Venatori. But Rook had been there, shining, bright, Rook, to pick her up and remind her that together they could change things for the better. And there had been Bellara too, chattering away about everything and nothing, sitting together in the kitchen over coffee and tea, to help her remember that good people did exist.
But both of them were gone. And she had no one to go crying to now. Not that she’d let them see her like this. It was bad enough she was sobbing over ‘could haves’ and ‘should haves’-the last thing she needed was someone like Harding or Emmerich walking in and trying to make it better.
Her head hurt. Her chest hurt. Everything ached softly, like it knew a part of her was lost. Neve’s fingers dug into the cushions of the chaise, grasping at the single pillow Rook slept with, yanking it towards her haphazardly. She needed to get it together. She wanted to. If she could just stop crying, damn it all.
However, as she dragged the pillow away from the head of the chaise, Neve caught sight of something. A crumpled up set of paper, with words scratched out and blots where water had hit the pages. Suddenly, Neve could stop the jagged, heaving sobs. Her investigator brain switched on and she snatched the pages up, smoothing them out against the chaise, heart stuttering in her chest.
They were out of order, as Neve scrambled to put them in the correct sequence to see what had been written. Her breath left her when she realized at the top, in Rook’s lopsided handwriting, was her name. Normally she had no qualms about reading others’ correspondence. Especially discarded ones. It was an easy way to get clues and locations and names, in her line of work. But with Rook…She’d hidden it away. Clearly hadn’t meant for anyone to see it.
And yet-if Rook was gone-
Well, she couldn’t complain from the Fade prison could she?
Neve,
You know, when you become a Warden, they tell you to write some letters to keep at Weisshaupt. Letters to go to your loved ones for when your Calling takes you. Words you can leave with them to make the sudden exit less painful. When I joined the Wardens I only had my parents to write to. And I barely wrote them anything. Stupid words about being proud to sacrifice my life like the Hero of Ferelden did. How I hoped I made them proud and that I loved them. I figured it’d be the only letter I had to write.
But then I got kicked to the curb, joined Varric, and started on this insane quest.
And I met you.
And suddenly, selfishly, I knew I was going to end up writing another letter.
Fuck, Neve-
There’s a long scratched out section, the ink too heavy and the light too low for Neve to make out, before it starts again.
This isn’t quite the same thing. The letters at Weisshaupt are all undoubtedly gone, torched in the siege, or buried under rubble. So even if I did have one waiting for you there, it would have been lost. Of course, before Weisshaupt all I could have written was how sorry I was about Minrathous and how I hoped you’d forgiven me.
Shit, sometimes I still wonder if you’ve forgiven me for making that call. I never explained myself-I never wanted you to think it wasn’t because I didn’t care about you Neve I cared so much even then I wanted you to know I—--
Fuck me, this is hard.
I saved Treviso because I was confident in you. In the Shadow Dragons. You had the numbers to save more folks than the Crows. I couldn’t have accounted for the Venatori. I had so little time-All I knew was that Treviso would fall if I didn’t go to save it. Either it would go to the dragon or to the Antaam. But I knew you would do anything to save Minrathous. I was so sure you could do it, even if I wasn’t there to help you.
But fuck, Neve, I wanted to be there. I was terrified for you. You can’t know how happy I was to see you alive. How much I wanted to sweep you up in my arms, even then. How much my heart broke that you left. That you stayed in Minrathous for all that time.
I know you needed space. You needed time. I wanted to write. I wanted to talk to you. To joke with you. But I knew I’d broken your trust.
How could I write then, knowing that every time you thought of me you probably hated me?
Neve had to stop reading, squeezing her eyes shut at the mere thought of Rook's face after she sprinted through the streets of Dock Town to try and find her. The soot on her cheeks, sweat plastered bangs sticking to her forehead and cheeks, the stark fear and acute relief in those bright green eyes as her eyes locked with Neve's. The way she sagged in her armor as she took in the sights of the ruined district around her. The pleading expression on her face and she reached out to try and explain, to soothe, to comfort. Neve should have stopped Tarquin from yelling at her. Should have stepped in and pulled her aside. But it had felt good, in that moment, to see Rook cringe and deflate.
It was an ugly sort of feeling, but all she remembered was feeling so angry and she had nowhere to aim that anger. But Rook-Rook was an easy target. She hadn't deserved it, and Neve had wanted to apologize for the hissed words the moment they'd left her mouth, but her damned pride-
In the hours after the attack, in the days after it, she'd felt empty, lonely. She'd always said that Minrathous was rotten but that didn't mean that the people needed to suffer for the elite's choices. She wanted someone to blame, not just the gods. But even so, trying to pin any of the blame on Rook -She should have told Rook that she didn't blame her. Not like that. She'd made an impossible choice. It had put space between them, space that Neve had purposefully put there. No matter how charming Rook was, Neve needed to prioritize Dock Town. But damn if Rook hadn't worked hard to undo the hurt. Soft words murmured in the Lighthouse, spare coins in every beggar's plate in Dock Town, the way she would check in on the job boards every time she was in town to make sure she could help whoever she could.
Rook had put in the work. And yet she still thought that Neve blamed her for the attack? That she hated her for it? Was that one of the regrets that would eat at her in that cage? She thought Rook knew-after everything they'd done together to save Dock Town together-that she was more than forgiven. But Neve had never said it so many words. She'd just assumed the actions were enough.
Cold comfort that was, when Rook's shaky handwriting and crossed out sections proved otherwise. But she forced herself to continue reading, swallowing the painful feeling to finish the letter.
I don't want to talk about Dock Town. I shouldn't bring it up. Sod it all I'm going to have to rewrite this.
I went to see you. Just a little bit ago. I saw everyone-of course-but I was hoping-I just-
Fuck
There were blots of dried wetness and ink smeared as there was a hasty scratched out set of words.
You're scared. I get it. I am too. And I'm hoping you never have to see this letter. Because that means I lied to you about doing my best to get to our 'afters'. When I started as a Warden-it was hellish. And when we first started searching for Solas, it was a constant slog. It was all I could do to take things one day at a time. And I should have told you that. That we could have our afters, one day at a time. Would you have let me kiss you, if I said that?
Should I have held you tight, and forced you to stay with me for a little longer? I couldn't-I'd never--
I'd never force you to do anything you didn't want to. Even if I was dying inside hoping you'd stay with me just a little longer. I'm terrified of what's to come. Of fighting the gods, again. Of having to fight another Archdemon. For fucks sake, a Warden is only ever supposed to see one of those their whole lives and somehow I'm supposed to kill two? I'm getting ahead of myself. One thing at a time. Ghilan'nain first. Then the bloody Archdemon, and then Elgar'nan. And then tomorrow. And the day after that.
Can I tell you something? Fuck it, I'm probably burning this letter before you ever see it, I might as well. Sometimes I daydream about what comes next, after all of this. Varric is always telling me that a hero's job is never really done, unless they hide away from the world. He says that's not a hero's style though. They fight until they finally call it quits. And by then they're so tired they can't even enjoy their rest. I don't want that. If we kill this last Archdemon, that's the end of the Blight. If we seal the Fade back up beyond the Veil and kill Elgar'nan and Ghilan'nain, that's the end of it. Forever.
Does that mean I don't have to fear the Calling anymore?
They don't tell you about that part until it's nearly too late, did you know that? It's not until you've nearly got the Joining Chalice to your lips that you find out that one day you're going to walk into the Deep Roads and never come back. And that you'll never know the day. Could be tomorrow, could be when you're so old you can't even fight. Could be you die before it ever gets to you.
But if we kill the gods who unleashed it, and destroy the Archdemon that controls it-once we route out the last of the Darkspawn, does that mean I'm free? That all Wardens are free?
And if I'm free-that means I don't have to feel guilty for loving you. For wanting to stay by your side forever. I don't have to worry about waking up one morning and having to say goodbye to the best thing in my life. I don't think I could do it-I'm not strong enough to leave you while there's still life left in me. I want to be with you forever Neve I want to stay with you no matter what I-
The next line is blotted out by tears, and Neve had to hold the paper further from her to make sure that her own tears didn't smear any words further.
Love.
Rook loved her. And damn it all, Neve loved her too.
So this is what I want. I want to kill these gods. I want to get Solas out of my head. And then I want to be with you. Whether that means I have to move to Dock Town or we travel the world together, it doesn't matter. As long as it's with you. You say I'm trouble. That I keep you on your toes. I like that. I want to keep doing that. I want to be your Trouble. I love to hear you call me that. It makes my stomach do funny things and all I want to do is kiss you. Please, please, if we live-stay with me, call me Trouble, let me love you, let me show you how much I care, how much I want to-
I wish I were kissing you right now, to be honest. But I know I need to focus. The team is depending on me. So I'll carry that hope with me, and treat it like the reward waiting at the end of this job. I'll sweep you off your feet and kiss you, in front of everyone. I don't even care who sees it. We're going to win. And I'm going to spend the rest of the night loving you the way you deserve. Fuck, Neve, I want to have you so badly---
There was a large dot where Rook had let the ink sit on her quill as she attempted to think of the next thing to say.
I can't leave this letter for you. It's too much. It feels like I'm admitting defeat and then making all sorts of promises I can't keep. Because I'm gone. Because the only reason you'd read this is if I'm gone. And I can't--I won't--I'm not giving up. I'm coming back. To you. I'm not leaving. Whatever it takes.
I love you, Neve Gallus.
And I'm burning this letter once I finish it.
Your Trouble
The crumbled papers were shaking in Neve's hands. She was fighting the urge to hold them tighter, lest she rip the paper that Rook had already attempted to destroy. Instead she pressed the tattered pages to her chest, hoping that maybe through transference she could soak in all the longing and love that Rook had poured into the letter. It was just paper, of course, not some magical spell. But all the same-
"Whatever it takes." Neve murmured, sniffing. She sat up fully, and with tender care, folded the pages in her hands into a small square and tucked it away at her hip. It was just paper. But it felt like it was burning a hole there. A reminder of Rook. Her last words. She wasn't giving up. So how could Neve? It was an impossible task, but that seemed to be their specialty these days. "Save the world, get the girl. Isn't that how these stories go?" She whispered to the empty room as she stood. She tucked Rook's shirt against her side and let her eyes sweep over the room one more time. She wouldn't come back in here. Not until Rook was back. And damn it, even though the chances were slim, she'd work towards it. She had to.
Rook would never let her live it down if she didn't give her best. She'd give her that cheeky smirk, eyebrows waggling, and bump her shoulder into Neve's. "What, you're telling me that the hard boiled private eye, Neve Gallus gave up on my case? Doesn't quite sound like her. Must've been switched with a doppelganger. My girl would never give up." Then she would press a kiss to Neve's cheek and let the teasing go, being far more interested in having Neve in her arms to reacquaint themselves together.
She wouldn't hope. That was too much. But she'd work hard with everyone. And maybe, just maybe, after this supreme bad luck, she'd get lucky one more time. That was all she asked. For one more lucky streak.
She took in a deep breath and stood, and walked calmly to the doors. She let her eyes roam the room one more time, allowing just one more moment of weakness, before she twisted the handle on one of the doors and opened the door to the rest of the Lighthouse.
It was time to get to work.
Rook wasn't going to save herself.
And she'd be damned if she didn't at least try.