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Back at the Lighthouse for the first time since Minrathous was attacked, Neve slowly turned to survey her office. What a mess. Had she really left it that way?
Possibly. She’d left in enough of a hurry, grabbing her coat and her wand and leaving everything else.
Now she was back.
It would have been nice to say it felt like she’d never left. In fact, everything felt subtly different. The light in their bubble of the Fade shone brighter. Some of the rubble had vanished, or mended itself. She thought even the buildings stood a little straighter. She’d walked into a team meeting and found new faces: a gentlemanly necromancer from Nevarra, a bracingly tall dragon hunter from Rivain. She’d only barely met the Warden monster hunter before the attack, but he’d stood beside her while her city burned, and she felt some sore gratitude for that.
Unfair of her, perhaps, to wonder if the gap she’d left was being filled by others, but everyone had seemed glad enough to see her.
Her office sat strangely untouched by dust, but there were papers everywhere: loose sheets scattered over the desk, more piled in drifts on the floor, bound journals tipping precariously out of their slots on the shelves. There were even papers on top of the spare coats she’d left piled by the window. She didn’t remember putting anything there. The wisps must have moved things around.
The office itself, quiet and still, Fade-light angling through the windows like afternoon sunbeams, felt a world away from the stricken, blood-stained streets of Minrathous.
Neve sighed, and set to the task of sorting her muddled notes. She found page after page of her own writing: lists of suspected Venatori, thoughts about Bataris and the smuggler, scraps of gossip pulled out of the papers and overheard conversations. Older notes, from cases closed ages ago, were mixed in somehow. Methodically, she sorted and stacked.
Touching the pages took her back. That earlier time in the Lighthouse felt like an age ago, though it had only been… what, a week? Ten days? She’d lost track, which grated. There hadn’t been a lot of sleep while she was scrambling around from one Shadow safehouse to another, days and nights blurring together. There had been too many people needing help to get hidden, or out of the city entirely. Neve had darted around Dock Town under a cheap glamor since rumor said her name was on a list, passing the gallows set up in every plaza with the dread of seeing a familiar face. Too many people were still missing, either seized by the cult or gone so far into hiding that even the Shadow Dragons couldn’t find them.
It had been maybe two days, she thought, before she’d gone round to her own apartment and found the whole block scorched and still smoking. She’d been shocked into staring, flat-footed, until the Shadow with her caught her arm and nudged her away.
The apartment hadn’t been much, but it had been hers. She hadn’t had all that much there, but enough: spare clothes, books she’d kept since she was in school, a handful of mementos, her favorite coffee cup that she’d somehow never brought to the Lighthouse with her…
Good thing she’d taken all her notes to the Lighthouse, she supposed.
Neve shook her head and resumed her sorting with an effort. She was back. She wasn’t entirely sure she should be, but she’d committed to the job, and here she was. If she was going to be here, she’d better focus.
She bent to pick up a few pages that had dropped to the floor, and went still as she read the heading.
Case Notes: Rook
Elf, Grey Warden, probably early 30s. Wears Dalish markings, but mentioned growing up a city. Some sort of story there. Good-looking but doesn’t dress or act to take advantage.
Armor and cloak a bit shabby, not Warden issue; weapons well maintained. Does wear Warden colors day-to-day; tidy but noticeable mends. Travels light, has been on the road for a while, hasn’t acquired much new.
Usually jogs around the Lighthouse, sometimes runs flat out. Working off some energy? Almost always in motion, constant fidgeter.
Pets every street cat in Minrathous. Going to end up with fleas someday.
Drinks coffee sparingly, mostly with added sugar. Prefers chocolate. Never complains about anyone’s cooking, even mine.
Back when she’d been trying to figure Rook out.
Well. Maybe she was still trying to figure Rook out. But back when that curiosity had been new and full of possibilities.
She remembered how she’d smiled to herself at those constant overtures to animals. How Rook had also dropped a coin or two in every beggar’s cup. That casual kindness charmed her. So did his alert interest while they trooped around Dock Town, buying up papers and searching out gossip. He’d seemed interested in everything: boats on the water, all the sorts of papers you could buy, where to get the best food and supplies. He’d asked a lot of questions about Neve herself. He’d answered questions when she turned the tables on him, breezy but honest.
He’d offered to help when she would have chased that missing relic by herself. A calculated move, trying to win her loyalty? Or testing, trying to see how she operated?
Or just genuinely willing to help.
He’d tracked down those demonic murder victims, too, an even more thankless task. Which pointed to: genuinely willing to help.
But he’d left Dock Town to fend for itself, against the dragon and the Venatori.
Varric said Rook cuts a straight path. I wouldn’t exactly agree. Follows the twists and turns, patient, at least up to a point, but willing to make a risky or unexpected move. Reckless? Maybe. Breaking up the ritual speaks to that tendency.
Knocking over the giant statues, breaking up the ritual, had gotten both Rook and Neve hurt. She’d known the risks of interfering with a ritual drawing that much power, probably better than Rook did. Even so, she’d willingly followed his lead and put her shoulder to the battered scaffolding right along with him.
Neve knew herself by this time: she ran toward trouble and got into the mud with it, if she had to. Rook did too, without a second’s hesitation. They were alike, that way. Harding and Bellara seemed like that too, in their own ways. Maybe they all had to be, or they wouldn’t have jumped into this mess. But Rook… ran toward trouble ahead of the rest of them.
Take that day in D’Meta’s Crossing, for example. When the dragon appeared – a real damned dragon – Neve had frozen, staring up at it, too conscious of herself as a small and vulnerable creature. She’d barely even spared a thought for any useful shield she might be able to cast between it and them. And Rook, just a few days removed from a head injury, had stepped forward and shouted, had drawn the dragon’s baleful attention and held it for a heart-stopping moment before it flew away.
Rook had spent the previous two days checking in with each of them, making sure people ate, lightly joking everyone into a halfway decent mood before they ventured through the eluvian again, and then that.
What she’d written was:
Natural leader. Makes a point of checking on everyone. Sense of humor occasionally questionable.
It was so terribly incomplete. Neve sat back in her chair and ran her hands over her face, taking a deep breath. She took notes on everyone, allies and enemies both, and here was one case where her notes seemed to be failing her.
She looked up, and and her eyes drifted to Rook’s gift from weeks ago: scraps of documents in an ornate serpentine frame, still hanging on the wall. “It’s not even Satinalia,” she’d said, laughing, and he’d answered, with a smile, “Just because you like puzzles.”
She didn’t remember any more what she’d said in response, but she’d been touched every time she’d looked at it, since. Not just for the generosity, but that he’d thought of her, particularly, had taken the time to find something specific to her interests. They hadn’t known each other that long, and he didn’t have anything to gain from giving her gifts out of the blue. It was unnecessary, almost whimsical, not part of the job.
Now, looking at that frame on the wall felt like poking a fresh bruise.
Neve shook her head and turned back to her notes.
Doesn’t talk about Varric. Consistently supportive of Harding. Trying to stay positive as team leader?
Lace Harding had come into Neve’s office one day, a couple of weeks after Varric died, and said, “Can I talk to you about Rook?”
“What about him?” Neve had asked.
Lace bit her lip. Neve had waited, attentive and encouraging. If you didn’t speak first, usually the other person would fill in the silence for you. She’d learned how to outwait people.
“Does it bother you that he never really talks about Varric?” Lace asked finally.
Neve took a breath and put her pen down. “Everyone handles grief differently.” She’d noticed, but she certainly didn’t make a habit of talking about her losses, either. Rook might just be one of those people who kept strong feelings private. She couldn’t fault him for that.
Most of her losses weren’t as fresh, though.
“I know, I just…” Lace rocked from one foot to the other. “He’s been great, honestly, he’s always sympathetic when I say something about how I’m feeling, but he never brings it up himself.”
“He’s taken on a lot,” Neve had said slowly. None of them had talked about it in so many words, but Rook had obviously stepped into the role of team leader. Without missing a step, really, and Neve could freely admit that was a relief. She certainly had no appetite for taking charge of this complicated mess of a job. She’d thought Harding felt the same.
“He really has, do you think it’s too much?” Lace frowned, hands on her hips. “Maybe I should do more to help?”
“I think we’re all doing our part,” Neve said gently. “But maybe he’s just focused on what we need to do now, our next steps. You knew Varric longer.”
“That’s true…” Lace allowed, still frowning.
“You traveled with them both,” Neve said thoughtfully. “Does it seem out of character, not talking about Varric?”
Lace’s frown deepened. “I don’t know. Not exactly. Rook doesn’t take anything too seriously, I guess.”
“I don’t know about that,” Neve had said, finding herself unexpectedly defensive on Rook’s behalf. “He’s serious enough about this whole business with the gods.”
Lace wrinkled her nose. “I mean, yes, but… you know what I mean.”
She did. Rook could almost always find a way to make light of a situation. If anything, Neve sympathized. She was prone to dark humor herself. If Rook kept his hurts close, what of it? He always looked you in the eye, and if he answered questions with a joke more than half the time, he also followed through when you asked for something. Neve liked that.
“Sometimes it’s make jokes or scream all the time,” she said.
Lace had laughed a little. “I guess I’d rather have the jokes, then.”
“I wouldn’t worry about it, Lace.” People did carry both grief and responsibility differently, and Rook was carrying on well enough.
“Well, I’ll try not to, then.” She’d hesitated, and then added in a rush: “I think he likes you.”
“Mm, do you?” It wasn’t as if Neve hadn’t noticed. She generally tried to notice when someone was watching her, even in a friendly way. And Rook joked with everyone, but the two of them had occasionally fallen into the kind of banter that felt exhilarating, and almost intimate. And she’d certainly noticed the devastating cheekbones, the ready smile, the beautiful eyes...
“I do! I mean, I just thought you should know.”
“Well, consider it noted,” Neve had said, amused in spite of herself. Noticing these things didn’t mean she had to do anything about them.
Things had seemed simpler then, which was a strange thing to say considering they were living in the abandoned hideout of the Dread Wolf while tracking down any scrap of information on the plans of blighted elven gods. But, as big as the job was, they’d been working it, moving forward bit by bit. Neve had allowed herself to enjoy a little flirtation, and even flirt back, from time to time. It didn’t have to be serious. Something to lighten the day, that was all.
Neve had learned the hazards of relying too much on other people a long time ago. But with Rook, she’d forgotten those lessons, it seemed. She’d started to lean on him, more than she’d even realized. Until he’d left her on her own.
If she was being scrupulously fair: not entirely on her own. He’d sent Lace and Davrin after her to help. But when they’d caught up with her, fighting her way through the streets of Minrathous, she’d looked behind them, and the realization that Rook hadn’t followed had felt like something had torn open in her heart.
“Hey, Neve.”
She looked up from her papers with a start, and there was Rook. Just like he’d used to drop by, before, with a bit of a smile, easy and inquisitive.
Something clenched in her stomach. She might be back, but she couldn’t just go back to how things had been before the dragon.
“Look,” she said. “I’m back on the job, and that’s all I want to say about it right now.”
The smile fell off his face as if she’d slapped him. She kept her own face still and dropped her eyes back to her notes. Stay busy, working the job. Don’t get attached. That was the ticket.
After a moment, he said, “Sure, Neve. I’ll see you later.”
“Later,” she echoed, and resolutely didn’t watch him go.
She waited until the door closed behind him. Then she stacked the pages of notes and set them aside with a sigh. There was more of that file, but reading it just left her feeling sore and unsettled. She didn’t have any new insights to add, and it wouldn’t get her any further to understanding what the gods were up to.
Movement outside the window caught her eye. Rook jogged across the open platform outside of her office, went over to Assan and tousled his feathers, and then stopped. A rarity, for someone almost always in motion.
His shoulders slumped and his head tipped up. She watched his shoulders rise and fall: a sigh. Had to be a reaction to her brush-off, and she felt a spark of something sharp, even vindictive, that almost immediately made her ashamed of herself.
He’d had an impossible choice. She’d told him so herself. She’d even meant it. One stricken city or another, only moments to decide. A choice to make and no good outcomes. If she was being fair: what difference would one more person have made?
She didn’t particularly feel like being fair.
It would have made a difference to me, she thought.