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Reading the adventures of her long-time hero had always been enough to calm Rook down when she was feeling anxious and give her motivation to go on.
This time, it wasn’t working.
She put The Tale of the Champion down. It was the copy her father bought her when she was thirteen and the book had been out for just a few weeks, and the cover was now worn in some areas and the pages had turned yellow with time. But on the inside it was still perfect, which was the important thing for Rook.
The fact that she’d read the book so many times in the last fifteen years that she could cite some paragraphs by heart had never spoiled her enjoyment, but she’d been through so many things lately.
Varric’s plan to stop Solas’s ritual had been a spectacular failure, two ancient elven gods had escaped their prison and were trying to take over Thedas, the Blight had returned, and last but not least, she’d been forced to choose between saving her city or Treviso.
It had been a though choice, and Rook didn’t regret saving Minrathous, but seeing how the Blight had infested Treviso, knowing she had some responsibility in it, had been devastating.
What broke her even more, though, was the immense pain in Lucanis’s eyes when she finally reached Antiva. He’d been a prisoner for one year, had been tortured and had a demon shoved into his body, and, as if it wasn’t enough, he’d seen his city just for a few weeks before it was destroyed.
Lucanis had told her he’d stay in Treviso to help the Crows, and Rook understood his need to do something for his city because she’d do the same for Minrathous, but his absence was a weight she could barely bear.
Sometimes, she had thought about sending him letters, but Lucanis had asked her for space and she respected it. So, the floor of her room was littered with unsent letters, some of them filled with questions about how he was and how helping Treviso was going, others where she poured her heart out and told Lucanis how much she missed him and how the consequences of her choice were weighting on her, too.
Rook had lost her sleep over the lives she’d decided to sacrifice, thinking that, besides killing hundreds of innocents and Blighting one of the biggest and most important Antivan cities, the gods had managed to drive a wedge between the team.
Her mind felt like stuck on those thoughts, and even the stories of her hero couldn’t distract her. On the opposite, Rook’s eyes slid over the words without understanding their meaning, just a nonsensical sequence of printed letters.
She sat up from the couch in her room, looking for her boots among the unsent letters.
(She knew someone cleaned it because she’d been leaving her papers all over her room and, in the morning, her floor was spotless again. Rook wondered if it was the Caretaker, and, in that case, if they’d read her desperate paragraphs.)
She knew what she had to do, because despite it all they all could put up a new plan together. Rook knew that Harding was in contact with a dragon hunter, and Bellara had mentioned she knew a Professor from the Grand Necropolis who could help with the Fade magic.
But before that, she needed to talk to someone. Rook couldn’t bring herself to do anything until the burden on her chest felt lighter.
Neve was out of question. Her fellow Shadow Dragon was too biased to give her an objective opinion, and she would reassure her that the whole of Tevinter would have fallen into chaos if she hadn’t chosen to save Minrathous. Bellara and Harding would be worried about her state, and the last thing Rook wanted was to meet their concern about her emotional turmoil. Davrin looked kind and he would probably listen to her worries, but she barely knew him—they hadn’t talked much after they all came back to the Lighthouse from the Blighted dragon’s attack.
And, after all, she was the leader of this crazy mission. If she showed herself helpless, the team could fall apart, and that was the last thing Rook needed.
No, there was only one person with whom she wanted to talk.
Rook grabbed The Tale of the Champion, walked into the infirmary and knocked on the doorframe to alert the only occupant.
Varric looked at her and addressed her with a kind smile. “What are you doing here, kid? I thought you were going to Rivain or Nevarra.”
“I will, but I want to talk to you first.”
She walked in and took a look at his bandages. There was something that tickled the back of her mind, something about Varric still being severely injured after months—
Rook shook her head, unsure of why she found it weird. Of course he’d still be wounded after being stabbed with a lyrium knife.
“Take a seat,” Varric told her.
She sat on the bed next to him and took a deep breath.
Varric had lived many adventures—either good or bad. He’d been at Hawke’s side the entire time she’d been in Kirkwall, and he’d been with the Inquisition, too. There was no one else that could guide her better than him.
In addition to that, during their travels together, Varric had become the closest to a father figure since Flavius Mercar had died, and she kept his opinion in high regard.
She showed him The Tale of the Champion. “How did Hawke do it?”
“You must be a bit more specific, kid. Hawke did a shit ton of things in Kirkwall, as you certainly know after all the questions you’ve asked me.”
Rook couldn’t help but smile for the first time in days. When the Viper had told her she would be traveling with Varric Tethras, her favourite author of all time and Hawke’s best friend, it had felt more like an award than a punishment.
She’d spent the first few weeks asking him all the questions she had about Hawke, and which parts of The Tale of the Champion were true and which, instead, were fictionalized. Rook had also asked questions about Hard in Hightown and when the next book of Swords and Shields would come out, but the adventures of Hawke had occupied most of their conversations.
She thought a moment about how to word the question she wanted to ask.
“How did Hawke never lose hope? I feel like I’ve been trying to keep a candle lit in the middle of a winter storm.”
Varric sighed. “You know the answer to that, Rook. You’ve read the book many times, and I think most of our conversations at the start have been about her.”
True.
Rook sighed and put the book down on the bed. A memory came to her.
It had been a few hours before they tried to stop Solas’s ritual, and she’d asked Varric a similar question. He’d smiled and told her, “She had people to fight for. Her mother when she was alive, her brother, blondie and her friends—including me. You know her as the Champion of Kirkwall, but she is a person before that, and she has someone to come back to.”
“Is?“ Rook had asked. “Do you mean Hawke is still alive? I assumed she died or—”
He’d winked. “That’s a secret, kid. After we stop Solas, I may think about telling you.”
But Varric had never told her if Hawke was alive or not, because they’d spent the rest of the evening looking for Solas, and they found him when he was about to perform his ritual, and then he’d stabbed Varric—
A sudden headache made her wince. It was so painful that her skull felt like it was splitting in a half.
Rook reached out for a healing potion, but, as abrupt as it came, it left.
She blinked a few times, unsure of what had just happened. She shot a look at Varric, who seemed unbothered.
Had it been just her imagination? Or was it the distress for all the things she was going through?
She took a deep breath.
“Hawke had someone to fight for.”
Varric smiled at her in a way that reminded her of her late father—despite the two men had never met each other.
“There you have your answer, kid.”
He was right. She’d spent the last few days avoiding her friends, but probably they were the only ones who could help her.
They were the reason why she was fighting the gods so fiercely. Varric, who’d become her guide and mentor, and Harding, with whom she’d shared the journey for the last year.
Neve, her long time acquaintance and fellow Shadow Dragon, Bellara who’d became the person with whom she’d bonded faster in her life, and even Davrin and Assan, who’d just joined the team and were already willing to help. The Shadow Dragons with whom she’d spent a good part of her life.
Even Lucanis, who didn’t want to see or talk to her now.
She was fighting to be sure nothing would happen to any of them, and the thought that they would do the same gave her the strength to go on.
Rook took her book and stood up.
“Thank you, Varric. I’m going to talk with the team.”
He smiled.
“Good luck, kid.”
She promised she would and left the infirmary. She put The Tale of the Champion back into her room, and then walked outside.
Hope could be found in strange places. She looked at the Lighthouse, which had become her new, strange home. With every new addition to the team, it seemed to become more alive.
With every new addition, she would get closer to defeating the gods.
What she’d called a candlelight in a storm now felt like a raging fire in her veins. Rook walked to Harding’s room to ask her if the dragon hunter had decided to meet them, and then she would bring Davrin along to ask him about how to help Treviso deal with the Blight.
Rook knew she could do it. She could convince the dragon hunter and the Nevarran Professor to join the team and fight the gods.
She could meet Lucanis again and win his trust back.
Yes, Rook told herself, she was capable of doing it.
She had someone to fight and live for, and that awareness not only rekindled her hope, it turned it into a fire impossible to put out.