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A wisp of fragrant steam—a mixture of salt, savoury chicken with just a touch of garlic—wafted up from the bowl as Rook made their way up the stairs. Clear broth rippled with each step. The white porcelain trembled, shifting slightly from its spot on the wooden tray.
This was what? The twenty-sometyth time that they were bringing the Crow’s recipe to him. Another stone dropped into their stomach. It was a good thing that the meeting was today. One talk with Neve and their worries about the future would be lessened.
All Rook had to do was pretend that it was a day like no other. Simple, right?
Their arms didn’t agree with that notion. The grip needed to maintain their hold left their fingertips pale. Slight tremors ran from their wrists to their elbows. Rook pulled the tray closer to their chest.
On a good day he would chastise them for this. The Caretaker existed for a true purpose. Not to change the Lighthouse’s decor based on Rook’s whims.
Sour Wolf. Rook shook their head. Years of hoarding and stuffing valuables in secret rooms and cabinets must have blinded him to the truth long ago. Whatever ‘trinket’ they took back from their little trips—when was the last time they had even gone on one?—could not simply be placed in a room. It had to match. Fit the environment. It would ruin the whole picture otherwise.
Raising their knee, a dull ache tugged at their hip. On second thought, perhaps they should have asked the Caretaker to bring Solas his breakfast. If only the spirit wasn’t so terrible at it.
Rook’s fuzzy slipper landed upon the dark stone of the next floor. The spirit was great at what it existed for, but each coin had a flip side. The Caretaker was terrible at all the things it wasn’t meant for. Autonomously holding conversations was one of them. True empathy was another. On good days that wasn’t much of an issue. Full conversations would soar from his fingers with ease.
But good days were the currency of an era long buried.
Shovelling onto the deep blue carpet, Rook made their way into his room. Solas’ back and neck were propped up against thick pillows. With his face leaning to the side, the taint’s grasp was impossible to deny. Clinging to his cheekbones for dear life was skin pale enough to rival Emmrich’s skull. Wiry and cracked lips still echoed their once soft and plump nature.
Rook swallowed. As of late, good days had become harder to unearth. Whatever had remained in his coffers was long gone. Especially the last couple of weeks.
A constellation of near-black veins pierced through his skin like ley lines mapped onto his body. Once the brilliant shade of forget-me-nots and lilac, Solas’ eyes burned a feverish red. He hadn’t noticed them yet. A by now familiar occurrence. With dark pleading brows, his gaze was focused on a non-presence in the back corner of the room. The last Titan to soothe.
The movements of his lips were too small and too fast for Rook to make out. Fervent prayers aimed at someone he had been connected to ever since that fateful battle. A drop of Lusacan’s blood was all it had taken. Back then, he’d told Rook to see it as a blessing. Solas wouldn’t need to be physically near their blighted spirits to save them.
Rook furthered into the room. Placing the tray on the wooden nightstand, they took the nearest chair and sat down beside him.
Solas blinked. His eyes softly floated left and right before settling on them. The ghost of a smile spread across his face. A bead of sweat rolled down his forehead as he pulled his arm from beneath the wool blankets. He tucked a grey curl behind Rook’s ear.
“Time for breakfast,” Rook signed.
With bird-frail hands, he responded. “You should not have bothered. I have no appetite.” Solas’ arms remained close to his lap. Small tremors caused them to slightly flutter up and down. Another day he was unable to hold the spoon.
“That is the Blight telling you not to eat.” Rook dipped the silver utensil into the broth. Lucanis, now close to retiring, had gifted them the recipe when Solas’ nausea first reared its mug. How they were ever going to repay him for this, Rook didn’t know. An assassin by trade, yet he had saved Solas’ skin. Granted, his death would doom all of Thedas with the Veil and all. But he had been there with them in the kitchen. He had even stayed when Rook fed him. Their fellow Lord, Taash, would never go that far.
“Blighted Titan,” Solas corrected them. “I am close to getting through to her, Vhenan. I can feel it.”
Smiling, Rook blew on the broth. He had been parting the same words of hope onto them for the last couple of months, each time as sincere as the last. Seeing him like this… It made the very might of the ocean crash down on them.
Solas wasn’t going to like it. He might even lash out at them. Rook’s actions were going to stab him where it hurt the most. A diseased ego. But there was no other choice. Seeing the taint nibble at him more and more each day made one thing clear. Rook had to think of the future.
Pressing his lips against the spoon’s edge, Solas sipped the liquid. Rook didn’t refill the spoon until he had sucked up the last drop. The first ten spoons went well. But at the twentieth, almost halfway through, Solas pressed his head deeper into his white pillow with a slight shake.
“You need your strength.”
His eyes narrowed, gaze drifting to somewhere beyond them.
Not now. Rook placed their hand on his and pulled his attention back with a squeeze. Their skin formed a dark contrast with his. Wrinkled, golden-brown, and filled with a life that was slipping through their fingers, versus his see-through skin as smooth as the day they had met.
“Do it for me.”
With a laboured breath, Solas nodded, patting the empty spot left to him. One intended for them. Back in the early stages, back when hope had still washed ashore in heaps, Solas and Rook had made the decision to buy a two-person bed for his room. Someday the illness would pass. On that day, they would finally sleep together without any fear of contagion.
That had been decades ago. Hope was nothing but a ship that had long sailed them by.
Rook took the tray and sat down beside him. Within the span of a few seconds, his bald head leaned on their shoulder. The muscles beneath complained; the power of its nagging tugs radiated towards their spine. Rook ignored it. There weren’t a lot of things they got to enjoy anymore.
Getting the bowl empty was like cleaning ancient coins spit out by the depths of the nine seas. A long process worth every penny. The broth had lost its steam before the final sip had made it onto the spoon. Solas’ mouth pressed a minor ‘thank you’ into their turquoise tunic.
Rook answered it with a kiss on top of his head. Sweat seeped between their lips, salty and sour. After his nap, Rook was going to help him take a bath.
Steadily, his chest rose and fell. With his heavy eyes shut and his forehead and mouth relaxed, he appeared younger. About a decade or so. A man who had never known the weight of Thedas.
Most days Rook would stay with him. Sleep, with its never-ending allure, stroked their cheekbones and tiptoed up towards their eyes. If only Neve wasn’t waiting on their call. Should he walk in on them, his cheeks might burn, and his fingers might coil into fists. It was the only reason why they had to do it like this. In secret.
At a turtle’s pace, Rook gently lifted his head, adjusted the pillows and shifted his body until they knew he lay comfortably. Leaving the blankets with their varying shades of green and yellow tucked beneath his arms, Rook got out of bed and sneaked out of the bedroom.
On their toes, Rook stole down the stairs and settled in the living space. Solas’ pride and joy, a system of rings spinning around a golden sphere, cast the room in cool-toned purple light. Years of their Wolf’s spare time during the Rebellion had gone into its perfection.
Rook rubbed their hands together. The future was going to see him engineer more of such beauties. Perhaps even something that would benefit the spirits or citizens of Thedas. But for that day to come, Rook had to sit down.
Leaning into the chair’s velvet upholstery, Rook moved closer to their dark wooden desk and tapped the sending stone with a sequence that danced between fast and slow. Finding a variant suitable for the deaf had been quite the headache for Neve. Something Rook had made up for in spades by using it regularly.
Mist and light jumped up from the red crystal’s upper point. A mixture of greys, blues, and browns projected a Warden before them. The woman, still strapped in her shining armour, was bent over the crystal on her end. Sitting down, her long pointed ears and vallaslin came into view. Touches of silver were spread throughout her coily hair.
Rook’s throat tightened as they swallowed. Davrin never got to reach that age.
“Is Neve preoccupied at the moment?” There was no reason for Neve not to be there. They had planned this meeting weeks ago. Nestled safely between two away missions, there should be no scheduling conflict on the ex-detective’s part. The odds of an emergency mission were rather small too. With only one angry Titan remaining, the Blight hardly formed the danger it used to.
“About Warden Gallus…” The Warden’s dark eyes fell. She bit her lip. The movements of her hands and fingers were stilted, unsure what to say. “She heard her Calling three nights ago.”
Their heart dove to the bottom of their stomach. “And she didn’t contact…”
“In our experience, immediate contact tends to result in Wardens fleeing with the false impression that the care of their loved ones will enable them to beat it.” Light streamed in from behind as someone peeked into the tent. The Warden shouted a command. Life at Weishaupt Fortress was continuing without Neve. It was wrong.
The Warden attempted a smile as her attention returned to Rook. “She has written some letters. Yours should arrive in a couple of weeks. A month at most.”
Neve would be long gone by then.
Heat crept up their cheeks and blurred the bottom of Rook’s vision. Soon Neve would join Manfred and Davrin. That left Bellara, Emmrich, Taash, Lucanis, and Harding, though the dwarf has ceased all contact upon discovering the extent of their relationship with Solas. Understandable, of course. There was much that Solas had taken from the dwarves.
Pushing air between their trembling lips, Rook straightened their back. “Did Neve inform you of the purpose of this meeting before—” Rook’s fingers faltered. “Before she left.” Left for a last stand in the Deep Roads. At least she would die a hero.
“Your partner has been working to end the Blight, permanently. He needs to be cared for because he carries the taint, preferably by someone immune to the disease.”
Rook nodded, wiping at the tear trickling down their cheek.
“Normally, I would recommend that he undergoes the Joining. Healthcare isn’t exactly our area of expertise. But as we cannot risk losing him, we have selected a few of our mages who—” Her mouth fell into a perfect ‘O’ as her fingers froze mid-movement.
Shit. Behind them, Solas leaned against the bookcase. His legs, wiry limbs hidden within his loose trousers, trembled beneath his own weight. With his fingers, he aimed daggers at the Warden floating above the desk.
Ending the call with a flick of their arm, Rook rushed to him, slipped their arm behind his back and guided him to the chair. He shouldn’t have been up yet. The last couple of years, his morning naps had taken hours., not a mere twenty minutes.
“Is something wrong?” Besides everything that is.
“What were you discussing with that Warden?” The muscles in his jaws tensed when his fingers threw up the final sign.
Relief flooded their chest. He had stood too far away to read their discussion. Rook could still turn this around. They just had to be clever about it. “I hadn’t seen Neve in a while, so I inquired about her health.” If Solas had taught them anything during their fight against the Evanuris, it’s that partial truths weather storms better than lies. “Her time has come.”
Questioning, his gaze shifted left to right before settling on them as Solas raised a brow and tilted his head. “You are even worse at this than I am.”
Well, that didn’t work. “You’re right.” Rook pinched the bridge of their nose. Guess they were going to have to do this sooner than anticipated. “But for the record, I am doing this for you.”
His nostrils flared. “Go on.”
“Someone needs to care for you after I’m gone.”
Solas leaned forward, ready to force himself back on his feet. So Rook moved closer and patted his shoulder. Now was not the time for him to tire himself.
“I know you don’t want to acknowledge this,” they began. “That you want to keep your head in the dark and never face the truth, but I age. Every day my body is drawing closer to its end, and if I don’t find a replacement now, you’ll have no one.”
Solas, forever stuck in his forties, scrunched up his face as tears started to prick his eyes. “As I have told you before, you do not need to care for me. We have the Caretaker—”
“But it can’t meet all your needs. You need someone to talk to. To care for you. Why won’t you just let me do this?”
“Because there is no point!” Tears ran down his cheek as he threw his arms up in the air, chest heaving with every gulp of air. “The elves will never gain back what I took from them. The spirits continue to suffer. Those fragments of Mythal are nothing like the real woman, and the taint…”
His breathing stuttered. With a wave, Solas motioned at his own body. Clear snot leaked from his nose, leaving a trail towards his trembling upper lip. “You are all I have left, Vhenan.”
Absentmindedly, Rook’s hand began to spell out his name. How were they supposed to respond to that?
They lowered themself and looked him in the eye. Bad idea. A dull ache spread across their knees. Bone and veins pushed into their flesh as their thumbs wiped away his tears. “It won’t be so bad. You’ll learn to live with my loss and find someone new. Someone you’ll love just as much.” That’s how this sort of stuff worked, right?
“How can you say that?”
“I’ve lost people too.”
“But not like this.” Solas grimaced and bit his own lip. “You are withering before my eyes.”
“Dying of old age was a wish I used to think was nothing but a dream.” Thin bones pressed into their lips as they kissed the back of his hand. “You have given me everything I have ever wanted and more. For the Universe’s sake, you are ending the Blight. Is this not enough to ease your pain?”
Solas tugged his hand free from their grasp. “Except, I am not.” His whole body trembled as he rose. Rook stepped forward, ready to wrap their arms around him for support. Stepping away, he waved them off and shook his head. “I have been lying to you.”
Rook’s mouth dried. Was he having some kind of episode? Their heart pounded in their throat. Had the taint dug its claws deeper into his brain than they had suspected? Rook slid their hand across the desk. Only one person could tell them what to do?
Taking a few more steps, Solas turned around. Sweat stained the neckline of his wide shirt. “The final Titan cannot be soothed. She wants retribution. My death. The one thing I cannot give her.” A bulbous tear hanging from the tip of his nose fell and spattered into a million pieces upon the floor. With reddened cheeks, Solas turned his head.
Drawing closer, Rook placed their fingers on his chin and gently turned his head. “Does she know what will happen if you die?”
His throat bobbed. “That does not matter to her. Anger is all she knows.”
“This hopelessness is the Blight trying to twist you as much as imprisonment has changed her. And I know, words won’t make this easier, but please, try not to let her get to you. These feelings are fleeting and will pass like everything else.” A smile tugged at Rook’s lips. “Like me. And it will make you feel horrible, and some days that pain may return, but you will learn to live with it as you have with everything else. You will calm the Titan just as you will find love after me.”
Rook pressed their forehead against his. His skin was cool and clammy. Between the tang of salt sticking to his shaking form was a touch of pine, sharp and sweet. A reminder of the person he was beneath the disease. Solas’ head remained steadfast in its place. No kind of reply. Not that Rook needed one. He hadn’t believed a single word. How could he? Rook did not have a Titan in his head. Was not bound to Veil and, worst of all, would one day be liberated from this mortal coil by merely ageing. Solas would remain stuck.
A slight frown spread across his face as Rook pulled away. They patted his shoulder. “Is there anything you’d like to do, now that you’re awake?”
“A good book sounds welcome.”
With his weight resting on theirs, they walked over to the bookcase. Spindly fingers ran across the covers until they halted on a thin leather-bound novel. Date Nights in Arlathan by Bellara Lutare.
Sitting right next to him with their head resting on his shoulder, Rook’s eyes roamed across the pages. As Solas turned to the next page, the two lovers washed each other’s hair in the lake.
Washing. Rook’s eyelids dropped. They still needed to help Solas with his bath after this.
Fingers slowly ran through their curls. The comforting warmth of a thousand stars dotting the night sky, leading the way from ocean to the shore, danced up to meet his touch.
Rook lowered their body and sank deeper into his. They could stay like this for a while. A minute or two. Or maybe a bit more. But just a bit. There was still much that needed to be done. A new meeting with the Warden. Lunch. Bath. Cleaning…
The starry balm spread across their limbs as he pressed a kiss onto their forehead.
Blessedly, Rook slipped into unconsciousness. For now, they could rest. A short nap wouldn't hurt.