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Several years ago… Taash was in a dragon hunt with the other Lords that involved fighting a well-known Vinsomer— on the shores of an island on the borders between Antiva and Rivain. The dragon stumbled late into the fight; the damage it took rendered them unable to process their own legs and that was enough to make it memorable.
It was not an easy hunt. It was routine but it was still familiar. Everything about the Vinsomer is so familiar to them. Dragons and how they work and live is familiar and learned. The beach they live in and their tics and how they shake the sand and water off…
Boredom sets in and Taash count days like every grain of non-existent sand.
Day one. Two. Three and five and seven. Eight and ten and—
No Rook in sight.
Taash isn’t so particular with days before — they’ve gone on for way longer without seeing Rook. They are not brought all the time on missions and missing isn’t an expected thing. Not once. Never.
It's just a distraction.
The memory plays back all the time. Tearstone Isle burning so strong and so bright that glass forms on the shores. It doesn’t work that way… But sometimes they see Rook reflecting back on the shards.
A reflection.
The gold in their rooms reflects the green of Taash's horn when it's clean enough but something in that gold feels missing. Was it something Taash did? Supposed to do but couldn't read? Was Taash supposed to feel all this time? It's so hard to voice out the frustrations. They feel too much. They don’t feel enough. It’s either one or the other.
They are feeling something now.
Yearning. A certain kind of hurt.
They’re left pacing around the lighthouse like a hunter around their prey… except there's no prey and they just look stupid. They worry. And they hate that they worry. They shouldn’t care. They can see all the signs that Mir is real and yet the Lighthouse smells… empty.
The smell of old books Mir had been reading. The sea smell of the ink on the grocery list with Mir's notes at the bottom. And Taash isn't free from it even with visiting with their companions — Rook is there as physical proof on their desks or as something that cannot escape their thoughts and ramblings either. Everyone is just as obviously distraught with their disappearance.
They're all worried.
And Taash — physically — cannot do anything about it.
They're not a Fade expert like Emmrich. They're not a mage or someone that manipulates things or people because Bellara and Harding and Neve know all that. There are people to kill but Lucanis is better than them at showing restraint with their blades. And Davrin…
Shit.
It has been a long few days.
Everyone is busy. Maybe Taash should be busy too.
Taash does the rounds of chores they usually do. It helps clear their mind. Making their own tea is easy; ginger burns just right against their throat. They cook for themselves and for the other people in the team. They're all probably too busy to do those kinds of things and it clears their head to do those anyway.
They do like doing those things even when they'd like to deny it. To take care just feels… natural. But it's not a thing they brag about. They're more than their seemingly "feminine" capacity for care and it's only reserved for the right people anyway.
They would rather not think too hard about it.
Going around the lighthouse to give everyone refreshments is a chore but there's quite literally nothing else to do. Emmrich's room is the first in the list and they'd rather get him out of the way. He's messy in a way that makes him look smart and Rook always asks him if he even has a bed… Maybe it's a hammock up top. Taash has never really been up there to know.
He asked for an earl grey. They have that. They push past the heavy doors of their office room thing and immediately smelling both the dead and whatever flowers Emmrich covers it up with.
"Hey."
"Hello!" Emmrich looks tired despite his cheerful tone. It seems he's been up for a long time. "Thank you for the tea."
"I got nothing better to do." Taash pours him a cup. Emmrich looks busy browsing a large tome and waving his free hand for something. "I'm not a magic guy."
"Have you reached out to your fellow Lords, perhaps? Maybe they'll have an idea?"
"About what?"
"Rook." Emmrich seems to know why they're feeling off. "Or they might have an idea on Elgar'nan and Ghilan'nain's whereabouts after the isle."
That does seem like a better use of their time. Checking on Isabela does sound better than moping.
"Right." Taash tries not to look too dejected. It almost seems too obvious. "Thanks for reminding me. I'll pass by Rivain."
"Do say my greetings to Rowan for me!"
And Emmrich is back to his tome to sip his tea that is definitely a little too hot for his tastes. It almost doesn't seem right to end things like that. Taash feels like they should be here for something. Like they have to ask Emmrich a specific question or it would bother them like a blister until they die.
"Emmrich." Taash never calls him by his own name — it just feels strange — but Mir does. "I want to ask you something."
"What about?" Emmrich is busy. This isn't a good time.
"Not much." It is much. "It's Mi— It's about Rook."
He gulps the tea and takes his time with it. He takes a few moments. "What about them? We all know about you and Rook, after all."
Taash did not need to be reminded that everyone knows because everyone has also been asking them about how they feel. There's only so much nonchalance they can pretend to muster up and it's beginning to feel nauseous. It's almost annoying. But on what way? Why is this a bother? They do miss Rook as much as everyone else but—
"It's just— Are they coming back?" Taash makes gestures as if that can encapsulate feelings. "How do you deal with this kind of thing?"
Emmrich is quiet for a while. Taash felt like they just bared their soul within two questions — everyone knew what they've gone through. And with Mir's disappearance—
"It's a complicated thing, Taash." Emmrich seems sure of it even as they look into the distance. He's enjoying the tea as they think. "Everyone deals with loss differently, and that can only be defined by you and how they meant to you."
"Yeah." Taash doesn't need the specifics. They want a definite answer. "But I want to deal with it now."
"Closure is what you're looking for…" Emmrich flips through the comically large pages of the tome as they figure some things out himself. "Which we are working on. Bellara has been of great help, and we're seeing some progress, but…"
Emmrich looks at them with that sort of look as if realizing something. As if he suddenly knows what they need.
Can Taash leave now? Is this what they're itching to do — to be stupidly vulnerable?
“You know, Taash," Emmrich starts. "Rook's room is just next to mine."
They know this. Why is Emmrich—oh.
“Don’t act like Rook’s dead.”
“It's a possibility, Taash.”
It is. But they'd rather not think about it. That's why they're even here in Emmrich's room tolerating the smells.
“They aren’t dead. They’re stuck in the Fade." There is an emotion welling up Taash's heart but this isn't the right place for it. "This should be your job.”
“Time will pass, anyway." More of that page turning. At this point they don't know if Emmrich is actually doing anything. "Use that time to think and it will prove beneficial once we pull Rook out of their predicament.”
“Won’t Rook mind?”
”They’ll have worse things to worry about. If they complain, I’ll take the blame for the decision. What’s important is—“
“Fine." Taash might as well do it if it actually helps. "I’ll go through their things. Thanks.”
“No problem at all!”
Oh… there are a lot of problems.
The room looks so familiar. It speaks to Taash like a hoard of jewels and relics.
They have been here once… maybe twice. Everything is where it should be. The bathtub in the corner and all their valuables. it is Mir's hoard.
And it speaks to them of sentiments and memories and less of physicality. Taash remembers them telling things about each displayed thing like a museum of artifacts. They got it from a market stall of curious origin. It’s a gift from someone from home. It’s a memory of a mundane moment.
Their makeup vanity holds the honor of being held everyday — call it a memory of touch perhaps. It's strange that Taash can name every single makeup item on it and how they use it and in what order. Their perfume and their gold vitaar and the brush they use for that specific gold vitaar… the eyeliner and the mortar and pestle to make said eyeliner and the medium or whatever to make it.
A dragon paints their scales sometimes. Sometimes a Vinsomer also shakes their scales before they fry their enemies to a crisp. It's almost like flirting or playing with their food.
No more playing.
The wardrobe seems like a good place to start. Circle the prey and plan their route by knowing their habits.
And the wardrobe is filled with things Taash can name the origins of. Clothing with memories in them… A dragon's hoard of identities. The stains and the smell… they already smell fairly musty for something that’s gone untouched for a week. And somehow that fits Mir — herbs and the fungi of Arlathan somehow in the pores of their skin and clothes that it just mixes.
Dark leathers that are stitched green and gold. Casual wear and several colors of the same shirt with different embroidery. They remember one shirt — Taash still thinks about the shine of the metallic thread against sunlight as he and Harding spent an afternoon mending everyone’s clothes for the fight ahead.
Broken and whole armor — outgrown despite the short time it’s existed. Clothing that hasn’t been worn before in teal and green and orange. Scales against the sunlight and scales against the muck. Scales with sand and water. The rope almost looks like blood as it clumped and—
"Ropes?"
Rook never wears ropes.
Taash pulls it out of the pile to inspect. Darsaam is not easy to learn. Sure enough… they're all beginner's knots.
They're not the only one learning something new.
"They can't even get these right." Taash couldn't help but muse as they pull the rope taut and the knots immediately unravel like a whip. "I'll teach them when they get back."
If they get back.
Not another reminder.
The aquarium looked so bright that they can't help but look. Water used to calm them down and it probably has the same effect for Mir. They kneel (sit cross-legged would be more correct) as they do in their lonesome on Mir's emerald couch and try to calm the mind. Watching the fish dance as they appear and disappear behind aquatic foliage and the eternal bouquet of Brona's blooms…
Fish hunt too. They eat the leaves and other fishes— plankton. They're not quite dragons but Taash is fairly sure some dragons used to be fish. They're idiots. They love the water. Sometimes they even jump out of the water for food and die as they see their own reflection—
A reflection.
It's incomplete.
An aquarium — a system — cannot survive when organisms are missing. Dragons cannot survive without their prey… but prey also depend on dragons somehow. The water almost calls to Taash. They miss the sea and how it smelled like it stings… hurts like alcohol over wounds. They miss how the sand feels against their fingers.
They also miss Mir.
Shit.
This is all where it leads to. Anxious about something that didn't occur and—
"Oh, Taash!"
Taash turns around. It's Bellara. She seems confused as they are and is already looking around for…
"Perfect! I need you for something."
"What is it?"
Bellara stands at the closet door and does a poor job of hiding their hesitation. "Well, the whole looking-for-Rook operation, you see, is going great, it's going swimmingly, don't worry! We found a way to find their frequency and all… but I need something."
Taash stands up and walks closer. "What's that?"
"I don't know the specific item, you definitely know Rook better nowadays…" Bellara looks at the closet door again. "We need something Rook has touched often and fairly recently. It's like how mabari with smell, you know, but magic, so we can sort of find Rook's frequencies or vibrations, whatever we read first, then—"
"That's it? I know something you can use."
Rook is always gold. Taash picks out three items from Mir's vanity — their eyeliner. Their gold vitaar. The brush to apply both of those — they push the items into Bellara's hands.
"They use this all the time." Taash emphasizes the brush. A tool. Much like a pen or a sword. An extension. A claw to scratch with.
Bellara cannot read Taash's mind so they nod— she's just as excited as they are for the thought of Rook returning. "Thanks!"
"Let me know if you need me for anything else."
There's a heavy pause as Bellara inspects the brush. It's generous to call it a brush. It's a stick with bunched strands of white hair that already stained gold and brown from the vitaar and held by a hammered-in ferrule.
Rook does not have straight white hair and the Veil Jumper knows her friend well.
"I want to know something, actually." Bellara avoids eye contact — easy to do. She's small but she feels smaller now. "But you don't need to answer this, I'm just curious."
"What?"
"Do you…" A pause. Bellara doesn't know the right word so she changes angles. "How close are you with Rook? I mean— well, we go way back in the Jumpers, but they left and I didn't see them until Solas' ritual, and you kept getting brou—"
Taash can only say one thing. "Close enough."
"Oh." Bellara gets it. She's not stupid. Taash has gotten better reading people and her curiousity seems sated. "I know this would work, then."
She doesn't ask any more and leaves in a sprint to rush to—
Rook!
Rook – Mir – is unconscious as they pull him out. Taash remembers pulling so hard as if they would lose Mir in the pit of the Fade if they loosened their grip. And when they finally got him out —
A split second of a sparkle as the Fade crackled and spun behind him. A smile to Taash.
"Hey."
As they fall on the floor unceremoniously, the Veilguard seems to collectively sigh in relief. They're alive. They check their pulse. Their reaction time… their breathing. Alive.
Mir's here.
But he's also on the floor. Taash's bed just seemed like the most obvious choice — Davrin's bed is nice but his room has a non-existent wall on one side. No one else really had a decent bed to rest on. Rook in Taash's bed would have been far more exciting in a different circumstance — but there they are. Alive but still unconscious.
He's heavy— not in a weighty way somehow. There's a lot more that fills in the armor than skin… a weight that feels strangely melancholic. They can still smell the remnants of the Fade that clung on his skin somehow. And whatever shiny dew is in the edges of their closed eyes smells salty.
Taash suddenly feels tight. Something is missing.
Missing? Dragons don't miss a single coin lost in their hoard. The Vinsomer definitely didn't miss the stone tablet that basically predicted their own existence several hundred years ago — it's not like the dragon could read.
They'll get back on that thought cabinet when they get there.
His face is still warm against their palm as Taash laid them to sleep on their own bed. They got water in their room and they got the oils and it feels wrong to just let their makeup be. There's already a trail of ruined mascara Taash has been itching to clean up… so they do. Just to make sure they're clean.
They wonder what Mir has been crying about. Taash fully admits not knowing anything about the Fade… or Mir's life. They hope to listen someday if Mir cares to tell it.
The sticky sheen of their skin is gone. Mir's clean. They instinctively lean against their palm as they slept and Taash finally realizes why they yearned.
A blip of movement on Rook's eyes. But slowly they begin waking up.
"Hey. Mir."
Mir takes a moment to process where they are. Blinks. Not surprised. Sleepy. Tired.
"Taash."
"You're alive."
"Yeah..." Mir hesitates — shakes— as if he isn't so sure himself. "I am."
"You were gone for a month."
Mir hums noncommittally. "It didn't feel that long—"
"It felt like a month to me."
Mir grips Taash's hand tighter. Almost like something they stole and aren't quite ready to give up yet. Taash almost feels their own warmth being imparted back at them. "I'm sorry."
"Don't be." The callus in their own fingers feels just right against the skin of their hand. They fit together nicely. "You're here."