Chapter Text
Swirling wine in a glass – his usual routine for the evenings nowadays. Velvet, blood-red indulgence flowing and weaving through itself – A beautiful sight, one that often had Viago fighting himself from draining an entire bottle. Though tonight, he drank in only its sight.
There would have been comfort in his indifference if it was simply the thought of poison. After all, when is it not? Every bite. Every sip. Every touch. He checks obsessively, almost fearfully. Oh, the irony of a Crow paranoid of his own skill; Teia never fails to poke at him for it. But not a drop of liquid death stained his thoughts tonight.
Perhaps the stress of the past few months was finally burrowing into him. Not that he would ever admit it. Viago, the Fifth Talon, Head of House de Riva: He had an image to uphold. Regardless of rank, he should be used to things going to shit by now. However, even he had recognised that the stakes were higher now than ever what with two mad, blighted Elven Gods running around and threatening the end of Thedas. Everything else was the icing on the cake – The Antaam charging in and seizing Treviso, Lucanis coming back from the dead, Caterina being assassinated, missions going wrong, traitors slinking around in their faction, Rook leaving.
Rook leaving.
A scoff slipped from his lips as fast the thought came. That daft elf was hardly worth getting worked up over. If anything, it should have been a weight off his shoulders. Stirring up trouble was the kid’s specialty, and Viago could still feel the frown lines between his eyebrows even now. Though, perhaps just a small part of Viago could admit that he admired him. Despite all the headaches he caused, Rook had a heart of gold and Viago knew it. It was the very thing that earned the kid his place in Viago’s house. In his eyes: Anyone could learn how to dodge and stab; Choosing to care, to love, was what differentiated a Crow, a de Riva, from a killer.
For every frown upon his face, there came a hundred apologies from Rook in a hundred different forms – He would have his head hung low, a guilty look plastered on his face, and, of course, a hundred 'Sorry's whispered to him. Acts like that were only scraping the surface however – Viago had a lot more peaceful mornings, the kid having burnt through several contracts and tasks, and there would be a treat sitting on his desk every morning, usually Café Pietra’s signature coffee, with a little note with familiar writing laid beside it, and the list goes on and on. It was hard staying mad at Rook, and even harder keeping a stern face around him.
Maker, help him, how could someone so vexing make him smile so much?
Rook was always smiling. Even with cuts and bruises, his lips were always turned up. There was only one day when he didn't smile, and it had been seared into Viago's mind since. He put down the glass, the phantom feeling of its pattern lingering on his fingers.
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He had never questioned his judgement before that day. The story was the same; Rook cared too much, had swooped in, despite orders, to save a couple more lives. He had utterly ruined the Talons' operation of infiltrating Northern Antaam camps. That night, Viago retraced the same depressed footsteps he had left in the floorboards a thousand times before to Rook's room. He had the same fury etched into the creases of his face. Same, it was always the same, so why couldn't it just have been the same that day? The door had slammed open as he stormed in, the curses hurling out his mouth before he had even spotted the kid. He had paced around, the blood screaming in his head, cutting into Rook with his eyes. Then he stopped. Stopped and waited. It had been Rook's turn then, his turn as always. His turn to strike back, to deflect, to evade, to smile, to do something, anything. Please do anything.
The kid hadn't even looked up once, just sat on his bed, his whole frame dragged low. The silence had towered over Viago. Had he been too harsh? Had an insult too personal slipped out? Maybe Rook was merely exhausted? Maybe-
"I think I'm going to leave the Crows... just for a while. At least."
What?
He slumped onto the bed beside Rook. Meeting his eyes had never been unbearable before. Then came his usual scoff, he didn’t know what else to do, “Cállate! What are you talking about? Did you hit your head earlier too? Stop spouting that nonsense and go to sleep, you’ll have lots to do–”
Rook stood up and faced him with a look on his face that Viago had never seen before, “I’m serious about this, V. I got an offer from Varric, one of the people I helped earlier. Something about stopping a ritual, it sounded important.”
He didn’t know whether to laugh or shout or what. “You’re telling me you want to run off with some dwarf you met today to stop a silly magic ritual?” he got up, watching Rook walk over to the window, avoiding his gaze, “We have actual issues happening right here and now; Treviso is knee-deep in an occupation and you know damn well that us Crows are its only chance of freedom! What the hell are you thinking?”
Only their breathing filled the room for a moment. The slight curl of Rook’s fingers into his shirt caught his eye. Viago walked up to Rook’s side, staring out at their city together with him.
“I know how it sounds, V, trust me,” Rook’s voice had been no higher than a whisper as he finally met Viago’s stare, “I turned Varric down at first, but he wouldn’t back off, kept explaining more and more. And V, if he really was telling the truth, it’s not just Treviso at stake, but the whole of Thedas.”
He didn’t trust whoever Varric was, but he did trust Rook. He always would. A sigh escaped from him under the weight of it all.
“So that’s it? You’ll be going?”
“Just for a while – until the contract is finished. Viago, you know I could never abandon Treviso or the Crows or… Yeah.”
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Why was he even dwelling on the memory? Rook wasn't dead, and it has only been around a few months since his departure. On top of that, Lucanis has been sending updates back to Teia and him ever since he joined that little group alongside Rook, and Rook himself visits every now and then to help with the Antaam situation. It wouldn't be long before the next letter arrives and Rook comes to see him again.
Viago felt his signature frown crawling its way onto his face again, and for once in his life, he wished he wasn’t a man of such expensive taste; His fingers itched to rip something apart, but he was surrounded by all he owned. Not even the damn glass of wine, one of Antiva’s best, was something he could bring himself to shatter against the wall.
Rook will be back.