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The Fade, unchanging, gave Rook little room for regular sleep. As a child, she had been used to ferreting herself away in the back of an aravel, letting the gentle back and forth whip of the sail in the wind lull her to sleep at night.
The Lighthouse was not cold. It was, in fact, a pleasant warmth. Little useless fireplaces dotted the interior nonetheless, aestheticism over necessity. The artificial air chilled her more than anything else.
Her designated room in the Lighthouse held only a chaise lounge for her comfort. Harding had offered to help her move one of the beds from the infirmary but Rook had declined; her problem wasn't really the bed itself. The room was ominous; swimming fish which she couldn't quite tell were real or not and an eerie seawater lighting being off-putting enough, but in her mind, it was also the room wherein she would have to seek out and speak with the Dread Wolf.
It was, understandably, not particularly conducive towards sleep.
She stepped out of the main building, legs heavy and eyes drooping. The glare from the light of the Fade's sky instantly made her squint, but her exhaustion didn't stop the discomfort creeping like bile down her throat. The windless Fade pocket held no heat or chill and her simple Dalish leathers and tunic were ultimately weather-appropriate in the absence of any possible weather-impropriety.
The scattered territories of her companions branched off from the crumbled courtyard. Harding's door was open, and she could see the dwarf crouched down by her plants - no doubt adding the next of her eclectic collection to the rest. The irony of a dwarf being more at ease in the Fade than an elf was not lost on Rook, but she was grateful for it nonetheless; Harding had been more than happy to let Rook join her, understanding the need to ground oneself in earth and dirt whenever the Fade felt too heavy.
Rook could see the faint flickering of wisps from the open sections of Neve's room; mischievous little things that clearly were drawn to the diligent detective. Bellara's door was not open - indicating she was either asleep or (more likely) tinkering away at her project without the desire for distracting and prying eyes.
But neither were her destination; the dining room held a similar artificial fireplace, but it also held food, courtesy of Lucanis' latest shopping trip. It was her hope that a taste of home - the familiar taste of seafood soup - might calm some of her discomfort.
As she double skipped up the stairs, however, she was distracted by the sharp yelp from her right. She turned towards Davrin's chambers, brow creased in worry.
She had not spoken much to the man since he had joined their motley group - other pressing matters had kept her and everyone busy, to say the least - but she hurried her way over to the door nonetheless.
"Did you just nip me?" She heard the disgruntled question coming from behind the door.
Raising a hesitant hand, she rapped a few times against the wood.
"Davrin?" She called out. "Is everything okay?"
"Yeah," she heard him reply. "Come in, everything's - no, don't try that again - everything's fine."
Eyebrows raised, she went inside.
The man was seated down behind a large chair, his unruly griffon in front of him, but what struck Rook immediately about the room was the sudden rush of heat. Her eyes flicked over to the fireplace just hidden behind the large chair and widened at the realisation.
"Is that…a real fire?"
Not expecting the question, Davrin took a moment of surprise before turning his head to follow her line of sight.
"Ah." He chuckled, and then glance down at the ground. "Yeah; I went and got some proper wood with Taash yesterday and, well…" He gestured towards the merry fire. "I just needed the real thing."
Rook blinked, and suddenly felt very foolish for not thinking of doing the same thing.
"Oh," she said, a rush of embarrassment coming over her and she dropped her eyes to her feet sheepishly. "I, uh…didn't realise you could actually do that." In fairness, it wasn't unreasonable to assume things might work differently in the Fade.
"Neither did I," Davrin replied, and shrugged. "Figured it was worth a try though." He paused, taking in her clear embarrassment and breathed out a quiet laugh; the sound effortlessly warm. "Well, you're, uh…welcome to enjoy it. Whenever you like."
She nodded, a bit too quickly for her own pride to accept.
"Thanks," she rushed to say. She frowned, suddenly remembering why she had actually come here, and glanced up at him again. "Are you okay? I heard you cry out."
He sighed, moving to stare down meaningfully at the griffon seated proudly in front of him.
"I'm fine, this one was just being a menace," Davrin grumbled. Assan merely chirped innocently. "I'm helping preen him, but he -" he sternly stared down at the griffon again - "keeps nipping me."
Rook couldn't help her laugh, but quickly cut herself off with a hand clasping over her mouth. Thankfully, Davrin didn't seem offended, merely quirking a lip at her reaction.
"Sorry," she said. "Have you helped him preen before?"
He shook his head.
"No, that was always Lancet and Remi's job," he replied. "I'm just trying to follow what they did."
Rook nodded.
"You might be trying to preen feathers that aren't ready yet," she said, approaching him and kneeling down. "I had an injured gull when I was young," she added, answering his unspoken question. "My clan travelled by the sea a lot, and I rescued this gull when its wing was injured. It could never fly again, but I took care of it. Learnt a lot about caring for birds."
Davrin smiled.
"Well, Assan's not quite a bird," he said dryly, "but I suppose he squawks enough for it."
Rook huffed a laugh and then nodded towards Assan.
"May I?" She asked, gesturing towards him.
Davrin gave a glance down at the griffon.
"You gonna let her help?" He asked. The griffon tilted his head and then gave a chirp. "I think that's a yes."
She spent the next few minutes explaining the process, showing him the ins and outs and how to identify which pin feathers were ready to be preened. Knowledge now on board, Davrin set to proper work with a much more contented Assan.
"What was your clan like?" Davrin asked before she could get up and leave.
She hesitated, but settled down properly on the ground. She was grateful he initiated the conversation - even though she hadn't had the chance to speak with him yet, she'd wanted to.
"As I said, we travelled by the sea a lot," Rook began, remembering the days following the halla by cliffside fondly. "I was so used to the smell of sea-salt that it was hard to get used to anything else when I joined up with Varric." She paused for a moment, thinking of her friend now laying bed-ridden in the infirmary.
Something must have shown on her face, as Davrin quickly pushed on.
"My clan were mostly in the forest," he said. "My friends and I used to see who could climb the highest in the trees." He chuckled at the memory. "My Keeper and the First must have hated us at times, the amount of injuries they had to heal." He gave a smug smirk at her. "I always won."
She raised an eyebrow.
"Always?"
There was a beat.
"Well…my friends might disagree."
She chuckled, and then stared down at her hands as she lapsed into a pensive silence.
"Was it hard to leave?"
He paused.
"I miss my clan, but I need to go," he answered, a crease in his brow. "I was young and reckless; I wanted adventure, glory and fame. That's not quite how things turned out, but I still don't regret it." He shrugged, a grim smile on his face. "There's no use in regrets. I can't change anything, so the most I can do is just move forward."
Rook felt a rush of admiration.
"Trust a Warden to be so accepting of their circumstances," she said with a laugh.
"Not every Warden is," Davrin replied with a slight scowl, referring to the thorn in their side also named the Warden-Commander. He softened again, glancing up at her in curiosity. "What about you? Was it hard to leave your clan?"
She was quiet for a moment.
"I don't know," she answered truthfully. She twirled her thumbs together as she tried to explain. "I love my clan. But when…everything came out about our past, things changed."
He was silent, and she knew he must have understood.
"My clan was split," she continued. "Half believed it, the other thought the Inquisitor was lying. I can't really blame them, the Inquisitor's Chantry-affiliated, after all; we'd be mad not to be a little skeptical. Half of the clan - including our own Keeper - broke off for the sake of peace."
It was an old hurt by now, but the tug at her chest was as real as the day she'd bid farewell to some of her oldest friends.
"I believed, but it hurt to believe as well," she said, voice soft. "Most of our group were young, more than half didn't even have proper vallaslin yet. But I did." She raised a hand and brushed over the markings that covered most of her face. "It felt…odd. Knowing what we knew."
Davrin gave a laugh.
"I know," he replied. "I'd left my clan by then, but it still wasn't easy. And now it's even worse." He shook his head. "Do you feel as weird as I do, going up against Ghilan'nain and Elgar'nan? Knowing they'll see us. Knowing what it means."
His eyes, crowned by the swirling horns of Ghilan'nain's vallaslin, were conflicted.
Rook raised a hand to brush against the golden markings of Elgar'nan that covered half of her own face.
"I was so proud when I got them." She said, noticeably not answering his question. She tilted her head to stare up at the roof. "Solas apologised to me, you know. Said he regretted that I would face Elgar'nan bearing his brand."
Davrin gave a huff, something between a laugh and a scoff.
"Of course he did," he said, shaking his head.
She smiled, but it wasn't a happy one.
"Bellara's lucky," Rook sighed, thinking of the envy she'd felt when she'd first met the other woman. "She said she'd just reached her time when the reveal came. I like what her clan did; made new markings, new meanings to something old and proud. I just wish…" She trailed off.
Davrin was quiet for a moment.
"You know, sometimes when I'd take on a new contract, I'd tie a piece of rope around my wrist and carry it with me. I wouldn't take it off until I'd taken the monster down. And then I'd sew part of it on my coat and carry it as a trophy; a mark of my success and an oath fulfilled." He paused, taking a moment to brush out a particuly stubborn pin feather. "That's what my vallaslin means to me now. I made an oath when I got them, but the way I see it, that became obsolete the moment the truth came out. Now I get to make my own oath."
She couldn't help but smile.
"The Mother of Monsters being hunted by a monster hunter," Rook said. "It's kind of poetic."
He gave a chuckle, but didn't deny it.
"As you said, something old and proud gets to become something new." Davrin sighed, and finally patted Assan's back, seemingly finished with his work. "So…what's Elgar'nan's vallaslin going to mean for you?"
She thought for a moment, and shrugged.
"I'm not sure," she answered truthfully. "I'm sure there's something poetic there too; King of the gods being taken out by a simple Rook." She felt a flush of embarrassed heat at the mere thought.
Davrin laughed, the sound warm and comforting, and Rook couldn't help the thought that she wanted to hear more of it.
"I was thinking something more along the lines of the Master of the Sun being burned by a single ray of sunshine."
Her eyebrows flew up her forehead, and the heat that ran through her entire body could have boiled water.
Davrin's eyes widened as he realised what he'd said.
"I just mean - well, you…when you smile, it lights up the room; everyone's said it, the whole team has - maybe not to you, but -" he cut himself off, hissing through his teeth and breathing out a heavy sigh as he stared anywhere but at her. "Sorry. That sounded really…awkward."
"No! No, it's…fine," Rook replied hurriedly, also refusing to meet his eyes out of worry that he'd see something too eager on her face. "Well, more than fine. But…thanks."
Davrin raised a hand to rub at his brow, but Assan seemed to take his movement as an invitation to nudge at his side, insisting on more pats. The warden had no choice but to acquiesce.
"I'm usually a lot smoother than that," he finally said, a sardonic edge to his voice.
She laughed, eager to ease the awkward but not entirely unwelcome tension.
"I like it," Rook admitted, despite the lingering embarrassment at the comparison. "I like the idea."
"I just think our vallaslin, our traditions, they all get to mean whatever we want it to mean," Davrin said, scratching at Assan's chin with a thoughtful look on his face. "I think our people have been through too much to let this destroy us." He shrugged, meeting her eyes with a gentle smile. "We've always been more than the gods."
She held his gaze for a moment, all conflicting feelings from earlier being melted away in a single moment. Finally, she gave a sigh and made to stand.
"I should go," Rook said, brushing herself down. "I have a fish soup to make, after all."
Davrin chuckled.
"The infamous Dalish fish soup," he said. "I've never tried it; maybe you could bring some over here sometime." He gestured with a nod over towards the fireplace, warm light flickering merrily away. "Enjoy it together by the real fire over there."
She couldn't help but smile at the image.
"I'd like that," she said, before bidding him farewell and going to enjoy a little taste of home.