Chapter Text
After the chaos and horror of the attack of Weisshaupt, after staring an inscrutable god in the face, after running like mad to dodge and strike at her twisted, abominable creation, and after spending far too long trying to soothe the hackles of his prickly, grief-stricken teammates…
… after all that, Rook was perfectly satisfied to lie in the half-dark of his room and contemplate his headache.
Naturally, someone knocked on his door.
Usually no one came to his room. Normally when he made the rounds, he visited his team in their own chosen quarters. That suited him just fine. Sometimes he preferred having a space totally to himself. Like now, when the aftermath of the Archdemon’s presence throbbed at the back of his skull, and the loss of Weisshaupt sat like a weight in his chest.
Another knock, a little bolder, and Harding’s voice: “Rook? Are you there?”
He could pretend he was asleep and hadn’t heard the knock. But Harding knew from ample experience on the road that he wasn’t a heavy sleeper, so she wasn’t likely to buy the act. Besides, there was a chance that some other crisis – hopefully a minor one – had emerged that he genuinely needed to pay attention to.
With a sigh, he heaved himself off the couch. Moving recalled an assortment of other aches to his attention. Every muscle was bruised, strained, or both. He proceeded stiffly toward the door anyway, and felt mildly proud that he managed to open the heavy door without falling over. “Yeah, Harding, what do you need?”
Harding, in the doorway, also looked worn out. She blinked and looked up at him with her brow furrowed. “I know Davrin’s upset, so…”
“I talked to Davrin, don’t worry,” he said, cutting her off. “He’s… he’ll get there. When you’re a Warden, you expect to lose comrades, just… not so many at once.” The other part, how Davrin had steeled himself to sacrifice his own life, how he was staggering from that life continuing, that part didn’t feel like Rook’s to talk about. “And I talked to Lucanis, too, he’s still frustrated with himself, but he’s cooled off a little. They both know what’s at stake.” In all honesty, Rook hadn’t figured out how he could help their assassin. On top of struggling with Spite and a year of torture, Lucanis had a perfectionist streak a mile wide; no wonder this day’s miss was eating at him. Rook could at least try to be a friend, though, since it seemed like Lucanis could use a few of those. “They’ll get their heads together and we’ll sort things out, I promise I’m on it.”
Harding’s eyebrows climbed higher as he spoke. When he was done, she said, “Actually, I came to see how you were doing.”
“Oh.” They stared at each other while Rook contemplated several responses. He settled on: “I’m great, obviously.”
Harding snorted. “Obviously.”
He was, abruptly, tired of standing. He waved her in and returned to the couch, dropping heavily onto one end of it.
Harding followed, slowly, looking curiously around the room. “Why are there fish? How are there fish?”
“No idea. I asked the Caretaker and it said legacies of other times, so that told me pretty much nothing. Hadn’t you been in here before?”
“Nope.” Harding settled herself on the couch as well.
“Huh.” Somehow, he’d thought Harding must have put his pack here in the first place. Maybe it had been Neve. Or the Caretaker itself, come to think. “Anyway. Here it is.” He waved vaguely at their surroundings.
Harding nodded. After a moment, she said, “So, since you’re, y’know, doing great, I brought some poultices.” She set the bundle on the couch between them.
Rook laughed quietly. “Thanks.”
“I mean, I know you can handle a lot, but… it was a pretty rough day,” she said.
Understatement. “At least we got the Archdemon,” he said.
Harding narrowed her eyes at him. “You don’t have to try to make the best of it for me. Not right now.”
“I…” He stopped. “Guess I’ve gotten into the habit.”
She nodded. “You’ve been… you’re always trying to cheer us up, and keep us going. But you can talk to me, you know, if you want.”
He stared up at the fish, swimming about in colorful swirls, blurring a little before his tired eyes. “I don’t even know where to start.”
Harding shifted, tucking her feet up on the couch under herself. “I wouldn’t have expected Weisshaupt to fall,” she said quietly. “And not… so fast.”
Rook grimaced, remembering just how short a time had passed between each horn blast. “The order’s never going to be the same,” he said. “A thousand years of lore in that library, gone. Hundreds of Wardens…” Some of them had been terrible commanders, stodgy martinets, absolute nightmare officers. Some of them had been young recruits who barely knew what they were doing. People he’d fought alongside, argued with, owed money to, listened to the complaints of. Warriors who’d done their best to uphold their oaths, along with the healers, the quartermasters, the people who did laundry and scrubbed the floors. In death, sacrifice. Too many sacrifices. He didn’t even know which of his old comrades might have survived to retreat. “I don’t even know if there can still be an order, after today. It’s… I don’t know how to think about it.”
The Grey Wardens had been a constant in his life since the day he’d drunk from that cup: a rock he’d sometimes flayed himself against, but a constant nonetheless, unmoving as any mountain. The mountain had shattered, now, that vast labyrinth of a fortress overrun and reduced to ruin. He’d never stuck with anything for long before the Wardens, but he’d expected to stick with that oath until death. And somehow he was still here, while hundreds of his comrades weren’t. Did he deserve to be? Or had he just gotten lucky?
“I don’t blame you. It’s a lot to think about,” Harding said. “I don’t know if you’ve talked to anyone else… maybe Neve?”
The suggestion jarred so much that he laughed in spite of himself. “Neve doesn’t want to talk to me.”
Harding jerked in surprise, frowning. “What are you talking about?”
“She hardly talks to me any more. Ever since the dragon attack.”
“You were talking about an old case at dinner just the other night!” Harding protested.
Rook waved that off. “She was talking to everyone at the table, not just me. It’s different. She’ll talk about the work, she just…” He wasn’t explaining this very well. He hadn’t meant to talk about it at all, and the way his head was pounding made it hard to think clearly. “If I go by her office, she’s too busy to talk. All the time. Ever since she got back.”
He hadn’t meant to uncover this frozen, bitter little thing that lay between them. He’d been handling it. Neve was doing her job, and she didn’t owe him any more than that. He was just too tired right now to avoid exposing it. He should have pretended to be asleep.
“I knew things were a little strained with Neve,” Harding said slowly, “but I didn’t realize she wasn’t even talking to you. That’s… you don’t think that’s a problem?”
“It’s not a problem. She’s doing her job perfectly well.” Harding’s mouth twisted like she’d bitten into something spoiled. Rook shook his head roughly, wanting to ward off Harding’s judgment. “No, I get it. She can blame me if she wants to.”
“The dragon attack was not your fault,” Harding said.
“Maybe not, but I made a choice, didn’t I?”
Harding drew in a breath, probably to make some kind of argument, and then let it out, slowly. “We didn’t have any good choices that day.”
“Seems to be a continuing theme,” he muttered. Today had not exactly been loaded with good choices.
Harding shook her head. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize… I didn’t mean to bring up Minrathous. I just, um, I’d thought you and Neve were close, and maybe it would help to talk.”
“We were,” Rook said. It seemed like a long time ago now. “I don’t think she trusts me that way any more.”
Silence pooled between them. The fish circled in meaningless patterns. Harding fidgeted. “Well, I trust you,” she said.
“Thanks, Harding.” He raised a finger. “That makes one.”
Harding spluttered. “Plenty of people trust you! The whole rest of the team, to start, and after today, after taking out an Archdemon? We’re right about the gods, and now more people know it.”
That was true, though it was one thing for people to hear that Weisshaupt had fallen, and another thing to see that vast, pitiless face in the clouds. Another thing, still, to count out the cost of lost lives. “Now who’s trying to make the best of it?”
“Hey, I’m the one trying to build up your morale now.” She nudged him with her elbow.
She landed on a bruise. Rook flinched. “Ouch.”
“Oh no, I’m sorry!” Harding grabbed a poultice and pushed it toward him.
He rolled up his sleeve and let her press it into place. “Thanks.”
“It’s not much,” she said.
He shrugged. “It’s something.”
Harding frowned at him. “Were you really just going to sit here and not get anything to help with healing?”
He laughed. “It’s just aches and bruises. They’ll fade.” Another piece of luck, to walk away with nothing worse. “I’m tired, that’s all,” he added.
Harding watched him carefully for a second and then nodded, scooting off the couch. “I’ll let you get some sleep, then.”
“Right,” Rook said. “Solve everyone’s problems tomorrow.” He had a list in the back of his head: things to do, people to talk to, places to visit…
Harding chuckled. “Sure, after today they’ll seem like nothing, right?”
“Sure,” he said with a laugh. “One thing a time. You get some rest, too.”
“I’ve definitely got a date with my bedroll,” she said. “G’night, Rook.”
“Good night,” he echoed. The list would have to wait; he was already falling asleep. They’d start picking up the pieces tomorrow.