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Rook sat at the head of the dining table penning her latest missive to Evka and Antoine, updating them about the Blight in the Minrathous catacombs, Arlathan forest and the city of Treviso. A few months ago, if anyone had told her she would forgo untold hours of sleep each week to correspond with old and potential new allies, she would have scoffed and told them they had too much to drink while handing them another mug of their favorite beverage. Even adding up all her years as a Warden travelling across Thedas, she hadn’t written or read as many missives as she had in the Lighthouse.
As she finished signing her name, the outer door of the dining hall opened and a familiar cadence of dwarven metal clanking on stone echoed through the room.
“Albin Bataris is dead,” announced Neve, coming to a halt at the table.
“Good riddance,” said Rook casually.
“You’re not surprised? You don’t have any questions?”
The Warden looked up from her work. “How did he die?”
“In his sleep. Nothing official, but they suspect poison.”
Rook hummed in acknowledgement then went back to folding her note in an envelope and stamping the back with a silverite wax seal.
Feeling Neve’s eyes on her, the Warden commented, “I’m not going to feel bad about a Venatori that got what was coming to him.”
“I’m not either, but…” The detective paused, as though gathering her thoughts. “Did you have anything to do with it?”
Rook froze for a moment, then placed the wax seal down on the table. “Possibly.”
Crossing her arms in front of her chest, the ice mage waited for further explanation.
The Warden looked up, her unreadable gaze meeting the detective’s. “Probably.”
Neve frowned, her dark eyes probing for hidden answers.
“Not directly though.”
“How does that work?” asked Neve, incredulity clear in her voice.
Rook sighed. “While in Treviso, I may have had a conversation with Lucanis about Bataris’ Venatori connection and how a bribe kept him out of prison. I may have said it in earshot of Teia and Viago.”
“So, you knew what they would do?”
Rook shrugged her shoulders noncommittally. “It was a good bet. Lucanis has no love of Venatori, especially mages. And after Caterina’s assassination, Teia wants to make the Venatori pay anyway she can. Viago is more pragmatic, but he wants to make them hurt, as well.”
The ice mage regarded the younger woman thoughtfully. “Why though?” she pressed. “You could have suggested we take the Thread’s deal and brought the evidence against Bataris to Rana.”
“We both know that even with the evidence there would be a good chance that Bataris would walk, no matter what Damas promised. And taking the Thread’s deal just gives them more footing in Dock Town.”
Before Neve could comment, Rook stood and moved to stand in front her.
“When we turned down Damas, I said I would find another way… and I did. And this way,” she explained, “no deals were made and there are no debts to collect.”
The detective ran a hand through her dark hair and sighed. “Look, I get why you did it.”
“Because I’ve got your back,” stated Rook firmly, resolutely.
Imploring brown eyes met the Warden’s. “But that can’t be part of whatever this is.”
“Whatever this is?”
“This,” stressed Neve as her hand made a vague gesture back and forth, “between us.”
Rook’s eyes widened, surprised by the turn of the conversation. She and Neve had spent time together and had stolen a few heated kisses since the day on the docks when their mutual interest had been revealed, but they had never talked about their evolving relationship. Anything relating to feelings seemed like a taboo subject, and in her own way, Rook understood the illusion of protection and control that avoidance offered – the boundaries it created.
However, here was Neve, stepping over the boundary.
Her confusion must have shown on her face because the detective continued, “I don’t ask for much, but-”
“Okay,” said Rook, interrupting quickly.
“Okay?” questioned Neve, a tone of disbelief in her voice. “Just like that?”
“Just like that,” the Warden confirmed, nodding her head. “Nothing like this will happen again.” Smiling playfully, she added, “unless you give your consent.”
The detective’s eyes narrowed, giving the younger woman a long speculative look, silently assessing her answer.
Rook held her gaze, projecting what she hoped was a steadfast, honest expression. With a little hopeful mischievousness laced in.
Apparently satisfied with what she saw, Neve gave a curt nod, and without further word, spun around and headed towards the entrance.
Rook watched for a moment, wistfully contemplating the abrupt exit, knowing she would never fully understand the acumen and deductive brilliance of the departing figure.
Chuckling softly, she shelved the mystery of the detective in the back of her mind and turned back to the table to work on another missive. The Mourn Watch was expecting an update on a haunting found in the Crossroads.
As she reached for a blank sheet of parchment, she heard the metal rhythm of Neve’s prosthetic footfall pause, then start again, but instead of receding, the sound got louder.
“Did you forget-” Rook’s question was interrupted as she was spun around in a swift but delicate move and pressed against a chair, effectively pinning her in place.
Then, she felt warm lips possessively capture hers in a fierce, passionate kiss as strong hands securely fastened at the base of her neck and on her hip, keeping any idea of escape a futile possibility.
Her arms instinctively wrapped around the detective, pulling their bodies closer together. Surprise and elation were replaced by unbridled hunger when demanding lips parted and tongues began a sensual dance of blissful entanglement.
The kiss ended as Neve pulled away, placing a hand on the Warden’s chest, keeping her lips from following.
Shaking her head, the detective breathlessly asked, “What am I going to do with you?”
Rook, striving to rein in her own rampant desire, found it difficult to swallow. “Anything you want,” her voice a tremulous whisper.
Neve smiled affectionately, her hand moving to gently caress the younger woman’s cheek.
Pulse still pounding, Rook leaned forward until their foreheads barely touched. She held herself still in quiet devotion, drinking in the heady presence of the detective. A salty sea breeze. A chill in the air. An earthy aroma of parchment and ink.
She sighed in contentment.
The ice mage’s fingertips tenderly brushed the back of the Warden’s neck, leaving a subtle, pleasant chill along their path. “Join me for supper?” she murmured. “In Dock Town.”
Feeling emboldened, Rook asked, “A date?”
“Do you want to call it that?”
“I do.”
“Good.”
Taking in a deep, grounding breath, Neve stepped back, her eyes revealing a fire that still smoldered within their dark, alluring depths. Without further ado, she turned around and walked toward the door.
Fully entranced, Rook watched as the detective reached the entryway and paused to look over her shoulder, flashing a provocative smile before retreating.
Biting her lower lip in enamored wonder, Rook contemplated the departed figure.
Neve was a perplexing mystery she would never fully decipher but she was willingly to spend a lifetime in the attempt.