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Rook’s feet felt like he was dragging chains as he stepped through the Eluvian into the Lighthouse, Lucanis and Harding close behind. He took a slow breath to steady himself and struggled not to cough against the lingering smoke in his throat.
“Get yourselves cleaned up…get some rest,” he told his companions without turning to look at them.
“Rook…” Lucanis’s voice trailed off, concerned, questioning. The assassin came up beside him.
“Don’t worry about me,” Rook murmured. They needed to look after themselves.
Lucanis hesitated as though he wanted to say something else, but he turned and headed across the walkway.
“You should rest, too,” Harding said. Ash and mud smudged her clothes and face, darkening the bruises still left behind from their previous semi-disaster. But somehow, the mark of what she’d seen tonight hadn’t erased the kindness in her eyes.
Rook nodded, turning his gaze to the floor, and stood there until she’d hesitantly left. His mind rocked between numbness and horror. For a moment he thought he’d be sick. Deep breaths. You’re the leader. You absolutely cannot throw up on the Eluvian room floor.
The leader. And he had led them to this: one city barely saved and another decimated, overrun with blight, and in danger of being taken by the Venatori. They relied on him to come up with the plans, to improvise, to find the way through. And he had failed spectacularly.
“Treviso’s a merchant city. It has no defenses. Blight in the water…”
“You’re a Shadow Dragon, Rook. It’s my city. Our city.”
Rook squeezed his eyes shut, exhaling hard.
“Where were you?!”
“You’ve brought nothing but trouble since you came back!”
“You should…just go.”
“Half of us were already dead!”
“Keep it together,” he told himself aloud, trying to drown out the voices in his head. Breaking down wouldn’t help things. Wouldn’t earn back Neve’s trust, or cleanse the blight from the Viper’s blood, bring the dead back to life or defeat the false gods.
But still, it cut through his chest like a jagged blade: he had failed his city, his home, his people. Being a Shadow Dragon meant helping the helpless. Today that seemed like Treviso. No Archon’s palace, no powerful mages, no city guard for what little they were worth. And Lucanis…Lucanis was away from the city only because Rook had recruited him, and the man had just lost his grandmother, the Crows their First Talon. It seemed right that Rook help them again in return.
Had he been wrong to make that choice? Had he cast aside a loyalty he owed Minrathous, betrayed the people he belonged to, for what he thought was the bigger picture?
I should have found a way to save both. He’d sent Davrin and Bellara to help Minrathous. Bellara had volunteered right away when he asked two of them to go to Neve. She was a good shot with her magic bow, and a capable enough healer to keep those around her on their feet. Davrin was a monster-hunting warden. Rook thought, if anything, they’d be more help there than he would.
Rook realized he still stood in front of the Eluvian. His vision blurred with exhaustion, and an ache in his chest and side began creeping into his awareness. He should…sleep, maybe, and hope that Solas had the decency to leave him alone for now. The last thing he wanted was to listen to that smug, condescending bastard rub his failure in his face while images of fire and blight and mutilated corpses and Neve’s angry eyes threatened to eat Rook alive.
“Okay, move your feet…you can do this,” he mumbled. The distance to his room seemed impossibly far, and the number of stairs…he felt dizzy just thinking about them.
Rook shuffled down the walkway, up one staircase, and around what seemed a very inefficient curve to the next one. He’d never really cared about the layout before, but now it seemed like a personal taunt from the Dread Wolf. “Fuck you, Rook, you have to walk as far as architecturely possible to get to your room. I totally planned it this way.” That…was definitely what Solas sounded like.
His breath came in short gasps, the pain in his chest more and more insistent, by the time he reached the hallway to the meditation chamber. Rook leaned against the wall for as long as he dared. He didn’t want any of the others finding him like this. They would all be as tired as he was, and he didn’t need to shake their faith in him any worse than he’d done tonight.
Rook clenched his eyes shut as tears rose and threatened to escape. Gods, what had he done. But what could he have done?
He pressed his forehead against the wall. The cold of the stone shocked his thoughts away for one fleeting moment of relief.
“Rook?”
He started at Lucanis’s voice, heat rushing into his face, and then froze. I’m caught. What do I do?
Footsteps sounded on the floor, closer and closer, which meant Lucanis, capable of moving in perfect silence, was making noise on purpose.
“Are you all right?”
Rook felt a brief, light touch on his arm, felt the presence of the Crow beside him. He lifted his head and tried to blow hair out of his mouth. “Just taking a break. It’s a long walk to my bed.” Or sofa, whatever the fuck it was. Making a dumb joke was always the way to go. Never failed. Well, almost never.
Lucanis made a noise that was part exhale, part grunt, which seemed to say, “How are you this stupid? Mierde, I can’t believe you’re still alive.” Though perhaps Rook was projecting a little. Even the man’s little noises sounded so elegant. How did he do it?
Rook pushed himself away from the wall. Now it was his turn to grunt, with far less elegance, as a sharp pain laced through his side.
Lucanis grabbed his arm to steady him. “You’re injured? Why didn’t you say something?”
Rook looked up into Lucanis’s frowning face and noticed it was clean along with the clothes the man now wore. Has it really taken me that long to get to my room? And I’m not even there yet, damn.
“Rook?”
Oh, he wants an answer. “I…it’s not that bad. I didn’t even notice until now.” Or a few minutes ago, or something.
“Perhaps we should go to the infirmary instead.” Lucanis turned as if to lead the elf down the other hallway.
Shit, no. “No, Lucanis, I want to go to my room,” Rook said, embarrassed at the tinge of panic in his voice. He just…he couldn’t see Varric right now. The thought of explaining his failure to the dwarf…realizing how terribly he’d just let Varric down, when his friend had trusted him to lead the team, save the world, it flooded Rook’s chest with an almost overpowering sense of grief. Besides, the dwarf was still recovering. Rook’s present condition might worry him, and Varric didn’t need another thing to worry about. He would face him in the morning.
Something like concern filled the assassin’s dark, steady eyes, and Rook’s heart twisted even further. He didn’t care to examine that feeling.
“Whatever you want,” Lucanis said. He kept a gentle but firm grip on Rook’s arm as they made their way down the hall and didn’t let go until the elf was seated on the plush green thing.
The dark walls and strange, blue light from the water moved around him in a hazy, dreamlike swirl. Rook felt as though he was sitting down for the first time in his life, the tension easing out of his legs and a deep soreness replacing it. Going to meet Davrin, chasing the Gloom Howler, fighting darkspawn, losing the griffons, returning to the Crossroads…all of that seemed a lifetime away now; how had it been today? Rushing to Treviso, fighting a dragon, rushing to Minrathous, seeing…seeing what happened…even that started to feel distant, disconnected, like it happened to someone else. The pain in his body was fading.
Rook closed his eyes. A mistake. The scent of smoke and burning flesh filled his nostrils. The light of a dozen fires roared in the dark. Corpses littered the ground, blackened and blighted. The blight…it was everywhere. In the streets. In the Viper’s blood.
“Rook? Rook!” Someone was calling him…Neve or Tarquin perhaps, to tell him how badly he’d messed up…
A hand cupped the side of his face and another braced his shoulder. Rook realized he was swaying in his seat. He looked up and found Lucanis kneeling in front of him, the man’s expression calm despite the urgency in his voice. How was he always so calm?
“Are you with me?” the assassin asked.
“Sure,” Rook said. What did he mean by that?
“I’m going to check your injuries.” Lucanis watched him as though waiting for permission.
All the various pains were coming very distractingly back, including a stab of guilt that one of his team was trying to look after him. He was supposed to be here for them, not the other way around.
Rook took a deep breath to steady himself so he’d sound convincing, but results were mixed as his lungs pressed against his sore ribcage. “It’s not bad, really. I’ll be fine. Take care of…” He had to pause and breathe again.
“Rook.” Lucanis narrowed his eyes, and then something near the doorway caught his attention.
“I made tea,” came Harding’s voice, accompanied by footsteps. “I know you like coffee, but…I don’t know how.” She appeared around the corner with a tray holding three cups.
“Eh, thank you,” Lucanis said politely. “Would you help me with him? He’s being stubborn.” He cast Rook a glance.
“I don’t need…” Rook trailed off, sighed, and put his hand to his face. Tea sounded good. Less pain sounded good. Maybe if he just quickly let them have their way, they’d leave, and Harding would get some sleep and Lucanis would at least get a really nice cup of coffee.
“Rook, let us help you,” Lace said. He couldn’t see her face, but her voice sounded frowny.
“You should take care of yourselves,” he answered. “I’ll be fine.”
“Are you really going to make us fight you while we’re tired?”
Oh, ouch. She’d gotten him. He looked up at her with a combination of annoyance and respect.
She gave him a knowing little smirk.
“Nice,” Lucanis murmured.
Harding set down the tea as she continued, a few drops spilling onto the tray. “Besides, Lucanis and I have already cleaned ourselves up and you’re still a mess, so who needs taking care of now?”
Okay, rub it in. Rook put on an expression of great forbearance but kept silent; he didn’t want to give away that the room had started spinning again, or that he could have sworn he heard the crackling of fires and the scream of a dying person.
Perhaps the exhaustion was a mercy, as it kept from him caring too much as he let them strip his upper clothing like a child who couldn’t dress himself. Rook kept wincing as muscles moved that very much wanted to be still. He gasped at the pain in his ribs as he tried to assist in getting his sleeves off.
“Sorry.” Harding gave him an apologetic look.
Rook guessed saying, “I’m fine,” again wouldn’t convince them. He watched in a daze as they tossed his dirty, discarded clothing onto the floor.
“Mierde,” Lucanis whispered.
Rook frowned up at him and then followed the assassin’s eyes back down to his own torso. Dark, stormy bruises spread across his side and chest. That makes sense, he thought idly, distantly. Images floated in his mind of the dragon in Treviso flying up and crashing into the ground, sending rocks and debris and Rook flying. He seemed to recall a close encounter with some of those rocks.
“Ouch,” Harding breathed out. “I’ll go get some supplies.” She must have left the room, because Rook realized a moment later that he was alone again with Lucanis.
The Crow lifted a cup of tea from the tray and cast a doubtful glance at it, but he held it to Rook’s lips. “Drink this. It’s…probably good for you.”
Rook inhaled the steam rising into his face. Comforting, like Lucanis’s hand on his cheek earlier. Wait, what am I thinking about? He raised a hand to the mug to give himself some sense of control and parted his lips, letting the smooth, warm liquid into his mouth and swallowing with difficulty. He hadn’t noticed how dry his throat felt. The taste mixed with the memory of ash on his tongue into something indiscernible, but it was relieving all the same.
Gray spots started floating around the room. Rook pulled away to catch his breath again and sank against the back of the couch. The physical pain, the internal chaos, the confusing and conflicting experience of whatever was happening right now…he couldn’t process anything. He just wanted to be asleep.
But he’d let Harding and Lucanis start with him, so he felt some sense of obligation to stay awake until they were through. Or would they leave if he just sort of flopped over? That could be a win-win.
The dwarf came back into the room at some point. Rook was vaguely aware of wet cloths on his skin, then deft fingers smoothing a kind of ointment across his side and chest, warm and featherlight. He sighed softly and opened his eyes—when had he closed them?—to find Lucanis seated beside him as Harding held a jar within the Crow’s reach.
Lucanis met Rook’s gaze for a moment with a quirk of one eyebrow and continued his work. He and Harding wrapped the elf’s torso with a long roll of cloth, and then she poured part of a potion into Rook’s remaining tea and wouldn’t let him off the hook until he’d downed it all.
Woah. The room was really, really fuzzy now. Or was that his head? So warm. Someone had placed a blanket around his shoulders. They had blankets here? He would have to remember that.
“He’s—” Lucanis started, and then Rook felt strong arms around him as the world made a sudden dip.
He was lying down now…that was nice. Convenient, because he couldn’t keep his eyes open, and didn’t think he wanted to sleep sitting up. He’d done that before, and it was…
The thought faded into the dark.
***
Rook woke with a gasp, trying to push himself up. The sudden soreness dropped him back down again, and his head bumped against someone’s leg.
“Hey, it’s okay,” Harding said. She was here? Where was he? “You’re safe. For now, at least.” That teasing lilt at the end.
Rook pushed himself up more slowly and found the leg belonged to Lucanis, with Harding curled up on the other end of the couch. A sudden heat flushed his face. They’d stayed with him all…night, or however long it’d been?
“Nightmares?” the assassin asked casually.
No need to go there. Rook cleared his throat. “Thank you, for…” Everything? How could he sufficiently thank them for this? Rook felt tired and sore and his heart monumentally heavy, but still so much better than yesterday.
“Of course,” Lucanis said.
“You take care of us,” Harding added. “It’s okay to let us take care of you.”
Rely on each other. Perhaps he could try extending that beyond the battlefield, every now and then.