Chapter Text
Neve’s labored breathing echoed in her ears. Her grip was sweaty on her scepter, and her exhaustion grew heavier each time she drew on her magic. But, she couldn’t stop now. Not when they were this close to killing Ghilan’nain. Her dark eyes flitted around the battle; darkspawn leapt from the puddles of blight, her companions fighting them desperately. The peal of metal on metal rang through the air, accompanied by grunts and warning shouts. The blight boils glowed a sickly orange, pulsing as though they had a heartbeat, and the smell of blood, of darkspawn ichor, clogged her nose.
In the center of it all, Ghilan’nain waited, all elongated torso and numerous tentacles, protected by the blight itself. Neve scowled, rage at what she had wrought at Weisshaupt, at D’Meta’s Crossing, at Treviso and Minrathous, smoldering in the back of her mind.
“We need to free Lucanis!” Davrin’s deep voice yelled through the chaos.
“Working on it!” Rook replied, dodging an axe swing from a hurlock. Neve’s stomach twisted at how close the blow had come to lopping off one of Rook’s arms. Be smart, Trouble.
As though sensing her gaze, Rook glanced around, blue eyes finding Neve’s. Worry and fear and determination were written into the lines on her face, and her white hair was stained with blood and mud and who knows what else. She was still beautiful though, all lean muscle and long limbs.
“Neve, on your right!” Emmrich warned from behind her, and Neve’s focus snapped away from Rook, toward the ghoul that dashed towards her. Gritting her teeth, Neve summoned shards of ice and sent them flying at the darkspawn. They impaled it, and it sagged limply to the ground. It was replaced by two others–which she dispatched just as easily, though she could feel her energy waning. They needed to finish this quickly. Before the were simply overrun by this never ending stream of darkspawn.
Neve spun–just in time to see Rook, blood dripping down her cheek, yank Lucanis free of the blight. A half-smile tugged at her lips.
But then, as always, the tables turned. Time seemed to slow as blight tendrils wrapped around Rook’s ankle, dragging her back and into the air so she dangled in front of Ghilan'nain like prey captured in a hunter’s trap. Rook twisted desperately, trying to escape, but to no avail.
The ice mage couldn’t hear Ghilan'nain's taunts over the silent scream in her ears, but she saw Rook’s determined expression, the fire and the resignation in her eyes as she spat a reply at the god. Please, no.
No god answered her prayer, but Harding did. Arrows struck Ghilan’nain in the back and she shrieked in pain and rage, whirling around to face her attacker. Another arrow joined the first two, and the god dropped Rook, seizing Harding in her stead.
The next few seconds blurred together, everything happening all at once. Rook thudded into the hard earth, the breath whooshing out of her chest, her head colliding painfully with the ground; Ghilan’nain, snarling, stabbed Harding even as another arrow pierced her body; and, at last, Lucanis tore free of the blight and launched himself at Ghilan’nain.
His knife struck true, but Harding was already gone.
Neve felt cold inside and out, as though she had cast an ice spell on herself. Harding was dead. How was that possible? She had been with them since the beginning, a touchstone of optimism though all the obstacles and challenges. And now, just….gone. At least the monster that had killed her, that had caused so much suffering and loss across Thedas, was dying.
She started towards Rook, the need to touch her, to make sure she was alive and safe, overwhelming any sense of self-preservation. But, before she had made it two steps, energy, like at the ritual that had started this all, surged from Ghilan’nain, from the lyrium dagger that jutted from her chest.
“Rook, you must get the dagger!” Emmrich shouted.
Rook nodded, shoving herself to her feet. Her countenance was grim, exhausted, but resolved, and she struggled, step by step, towards the dead god. She reached the corpse, dropping to her knees. Her hand reached for the dagger, her fingers wrapping around its hilt; there was a flash of blinding light, and, when Neve could see again, Solas stood calmly, hands clasped behind his back, where Rook had been.
***
Neve had known the risks. They all had. How could they face a god and come out unscathed? There had already been so many times where they could’ve died. Where, Neve thought, they should’ve died. In her experience, the good guys rarely won, and, if they did, the victory was bittersweet at best.
It was why she had built her walls taller than those that surrounded Minrathous. It was why, the night before, red sunlight streaming through her windows, wisps chittering worriedly to each other, she hadn’t said what she longed to say.
Neve buried her face in her hands. I should have said it.
The silence pressed on her ears. She sat in Bellara’s room–it was mere hours after Tearstone Island, but it felt like days. Her body ached from the battle, and exhaustion made her eyes gritty. But she couldn’t shut them, not now. Not when all she could see when she closed her eyes was Rook: her lopsided grin, her sparkling blue eyes, the intense way she looked at Neve, as though trying to memorize each freckle, each curl of hair.
Rook had promised she would always come back. That Neve would never be alone.
But now, she was. Neve was all that remained of the group that went to stop Solas’s ritual, all those weeks ago.
“Why’d you make a promise the gods could break?” She murmured, voice cracking. Tears burned at the back of her eyes and she swiped angrily at them.
Because that’s who she was. Optimistic, obstinate. Why didn’t I say it when I had the chance?
Neve knew the answer–she was afraid. She was afraid of opening up. Magisters and Venatori and turncoats had taught her time and again no one could be trusted. That someone you cared for could be torn away at any time, no matter how unjust or unfair. That was life, after all.
She wasn’t quite sure when, or how, Rook had wormed her way through her defenses. It had been a slow erosion, until, one day, on the docks, skipping stones in the rain, she had realized how much Rook meant to her. How warm and wonderful Rook made her feel. Those feelings had only strengthened since then; long nights over coffee and bad wine, their bodies close together; bad puns and jokes that broke the monotony of sloshing through the Hossberg Wetlands or wandering the beaches of Rivain; Rook bursting into her room randomly just to say hi and make her smile; little touches, a soft caress of a cheek, wiping away dirt or mud, verifying they were alright after a hard fight.
“Neve?” Davrin knocked on the door. “You in there? Emmrich needs your help with something. He thinks he can locate where Rook is, in the Fade.”
I’ll always come back. At least I’ll try.
Rook’s words resounded in her mind. Neve pushed to her feet. Rook would always try. She would too.