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Rook went past the eluvian last, just barely missing blighted tendrils, and had to duck from Taash’s axe from when she swung at the eluvian full force to destroy it and prevent Ghilan’nain to follow him to the Crossroads.
Then it was chaos– seeing some grey wardens who escaped through the same eluvian he did, wounded, groaning, delirious– some dead. Curious spirits and wisps fluttering about, while Bellara and Harding helped move them to an eluvian leading to Lavandel– a safe haven for now, with other grey wardens and civilians from Weisshaupt.
Emmrich came through the eluvian from the Necropolis, bringing along a handful of Watchers– past students with some talent in healing for the living, he explained as briefly as he could, none of them that Rook had ever met.
It wasn’t until the chaos subsided slightly– the yelling turning to a minimum as survivors filtered to Lavandel, that he could stop arranging and planning and ordering– that the adrenaline slipped entirely and he felt cold dread.
How many people died tonight?
Rook felt sick. Some of them were still there lying on the crossroads's stones, uncovered because they didn't have enough sheets. Someone should bury them– was his first thought before he yanked it back, too late– Grey Wardens don’t bury their dead. They burn them.
The thought of all those corpses turning into unrecognizable ashes.
Somebody touched his arm gently, at a spot on his coat that had ripped, skin on skin contact, and he just about jumped out of his skin. Harding. Her touch felt like lightning against him, goosebumps climbing up his arm from just that brief exchange. She pulled her hand back in surprise as he did.
Lyrium.
He’s completely out of mana. That’d also explain the growing lethargy.
“Sorry,”
“No, sorry–” Rook cut her off, he swallowed harshly, shook his head once. Get it together, Ingellvar. “Uh,” He cleared his throat roughly, “We’re going to have to arrange for supplies to be sent to Lavandel, the survivors are going to need all the help they can get. And–”
“I know, Rook, we can handle it for now. Maybe.. Uh… sit down…? You’re bleeding.” She motioned to her temple.
He lifted his hand to mirror her and brought his fingers to his front to find it bloody. A wave of déjà vu passed through him. Damn. He didn’t even feel that. When did that happen?
“I’m fine, it’s not deep.” He swallowed a lump in his throat as he wiped at the blood. Slight comfort that fresh blood didn’t gush out readily.
What’re you going to do about Ghilan’nain?
“Are you okay, Harding?”
She’s going to come back. You need to have a plan on what to do if she does– who’s going to help us now? Why should they?
“I’m fine, Rook, really, I wasn’t running around getting chased by darkspawns like you and Davrin and Lucanis were.” Harding reminded him softly. She gently put her hands on his arm again, this time careful to touch the clothed part. Observant as ever.
“Maybe just… grab an elfroot potion from the infirmary? Get some juice in you first.” She smiled at him, shakily.
Rook smiled back, half-heartedly, “Yeah, might be a good idea. And you get some rest soon too. I think we’ve…” his voice cracked, and he cleared his throat again. It comes back, scratchy and raw, “We’ve done all we can today.”
–
Rook walked into the infirmary to find Davrin cornering Lucanis against a wall, both their fists at each other’s collars. Davrin sported a nasty, fresh bruise on the side of his face. They were both filthy: sweat and blood and dirt from Weisshaupt… but even that didn’t cover the fact that they’ve been at each other’s throat for a while now.
“Hey!”
They were still struggling to beat each other, and Rook putting himself between them only made matters worse, “HEY! KNOCK IT OFF!”
Lucanis pulled away first, eyes that could kill at Davrin who Rook still had to hold back. The warden yelled, “You HAD her!”
“Davrin–” Rook said warningly.
“You fucking HAD her, and you MISSED! I told you, Rook, I told you he’s NOTHING but trouble. That demon of his is sabotaging us!”
“And what’s your excuse, warden?” Lucanis sneered, voice level but entirely venomous. Rook had to double his efforts to hold Davrin back, could feel the warden’s body tense entirely at that line, “You said all wardens die after they kill an archdemon. You’re still standing– is there something else you’re hiding? Ghilan’nain controls the darkspawn, doesn’t she? How easy do you think it would be for an elven blighted goddess to control an–”
“Lucanis.” Rook hissed, turned to look at him sharply, finish that sentence, I dare you. Lucanis heeded the warning this time, but Davrin knew the implication anyway. He pushed Rook aside, roaring and they were about to start fighting again.
“I said ENOUGH!”
A small burst of uncontrolled necromantic magic spawned between the two of them, bright veilfire light, that pushed them both back, making both of them hit the walls on opposite sides of the room.
There were loud whispers that faded into murmurs as the veilfire disappeared, and Rook felt blood trickle down his nose. Great. He pinched his nose shut, sighing annoyedly. Pushing magic out when you run on empty just means it’s going to take it from somewhere else. A dozen more of those and he’d probably properly pass out.
That, or he’d attract a nasty demon that’d try and possess him while he’s too out of it to control his magic. It’s a toss up.
Davrin kept his distance from Lucanis now, glancing at Rook warily. Lucanis was wincing against something, then turned to look at Rook. His anger was still visible, but something else was brewing underneath it.
Fear, maybe? Against a mage losing his composure?
From the mage killer? That seemed unlikely.
For a brief moment, Rook thought he saw Spite hovering behind Lucanis. Large purple wings, perched like a crow on top of the cupboard in the corner of the room. Then he blinked, and he couldn’t see him anymore.
He’s really losing his grip on his magic. Something hurt in the back of his brain. An itch, as he checked to make sure his nose had stopped bleeding. Rook broke the tense silence, “Cool off in your own rooms and tend to your wounds. We’re having a proper meeting about this tomorrow morning with the others to discuss what to do next. And if you two even think of laying a hand on each other like this again–”
“Yeah? What’re you going to do, Rook?” Davrin provoked. Lucanis let out a loud distasteful tsk.
Rook felt his jaw tick at that, “I’ll kick you out of the team.” The bite in the air got a lot harder at that. His magic slipping again. “Don’t try me. The Evanuris isn’t going to be taken down by us fighting each other. I’m sorry, Davrin, for what happened today, but your grief can’t be an excuse.”
Davrin’s glaring, but one could still see him swallow a reply back down his throat. He shook his head, went to the nearest shelf, grabbed a bandage and left the room, leaving the door open.
Rook watched him go like a hawk, then turned to Lucanis who was pointedly not looking at him.
Rook let out a long-suffering sigh, then ignored him too, if he was going to be that way. He walked over to the cupboard to take a bottle of elfroot.
Lucanis must’ve had to swallow the equivalent to nails to say, “I apologize, Rook.”
“Yeah, you should be.” Rook muttered, “We do not need infighting on top of everything that–”
“About Ghilan’nain.” Lucanis cut him off, clarifying.
Rook’s next words died on his tongue. He turned to look at Lucanis, but the assassin had silently crossed the room, and made his exit.
–
Lucanis was brooding.
He hated the word, but truly there was truly no other way to describe what he’s doing.
The team meeting earlier this morning had left a sour taste in his mouth. The argument he had fished out of Davrin, and the abrupt stop of it from Rook, again. Weisshaupt rattled everyone. Davrin was probably the worst off out of the lot of them. Lucanis could spare some sympathy to the warden, losing his purpose and losing his home were things he intimately knew about. He’d even be cordial about it, if he wasn’t so busy replaying what he did wrong.
He’s locked himself in the pantry, pacing and frowning at the wall and floor in waves. He’s been here ever since the meeting was adjourned. Had heard everyone left– and thought he heard Rook talk with someone quietly after, though maybe that was just his imagination, since surely there was only a single person’s footsteps that exited the dining room afterwards.
How could you miss?
Spite materialized in the corner of the room, as unhappy and agitated as his host.
Had he actually been that distracted? Was he just rusty? What would Caterina have said– Lucanis gritted his teeth, halting those thoughts. How could you face the others? This was the only thing you were brought in to do–
Spite’s snapping against his ears, wings flapping angrily and boisterously against the shores of his soul.
Your fault–
Ungrateful, stupid Lucanis–
“Shut up Spite.” Lucanis hissed back.
I did what you asked… we had a DEAL…
Let me out, let me out, letmeout, letmeout–
Lucanis tightened his fists, then perked his ears up when he heard the dining room’s heavy doors creak open, and entered a pair of light footsteps, clumsy– almost tripped on an uneven tile leading to the fireplace.
Bellara.
Lucanis leaned onto the wall, sighing softly. So much for his idea to make coffee. He wondered if she was going to make lunch. Was it his or her turn to cook? He waited, but Bellara didn’t make any move to the pantry to get any ingredients, and he suspected she’s doing her own brand of brooding.
Who knows, maybe everyone in the team is doing it.
Somebody else walked in. This one’s footsteps Lucanis had committed to memory.
“Oh, hi Rook.” Bellara greeted him as he walked closer to her. Their position in front of the fireplace meant that Lucanis was technically facing them, separated only by the pantry’s wall. “Can I ask you a question? Actually, never mind. Don’t worry about it.”
“Okay, you’re several lines way ahead of me here.” Rook said in good humor. “Let’s start with me saying: ‘Hi, Bellara’.”
Spite’s wings brushed against the pit at the bottom of his throat. More out of curiosity than his usual pain-inducing anger. The demon’s partial to Rook, Lucanis knows this. It worries him, sometimes. Makes him wish he could not eavesdrop to not fuel the demon’s curiosity further.
“Right. Okay.” Bellara squeaked out, then sighed, “It’s just… you know… the… elf thing…” She must’ve swallowed nervously before quickly adding, “We’re fighting gods. Our gods! I grew up listening about their kindness, their benevolence… I still…” She let out a soft, mortified laugh, “Fenedhis, Davrin has Ghilan’nain’s vallaslin! He took her mark to hope for her guidance in adulthood and he just tried to kill her. It all just feels so surreal. And I know surreal after working with the Veiljumpers in Arlathan…”
Lucanis stared at the ground, something like regret and shame settling into the seams of his anger at the mention of the warden. The implication of the insult he hurled at Davrin yesterday was made without that knowledge. He had wanted it to hurt, of course, always choose the sharpest blade for the job, Caterina’s lesson… but maybe he’d reconsider the blade he wielded if he knew.
“Yeah, you and Davrin have it rough.” Rook sympathized, “... At least we’re only fighting your gods because they’re evil?” Lucanis winced at the wall at that. Whatever face Bellara’s making, Rook amended with, “Maybe not the most helpful point to make.”
“No… it actually helps a little. But still… those are our gods out there, rampaging around. Maybe people don’t trust us? Maybe they shouldn’t?”
Fire and blight. Dirty, sticky guilt– Spite whispered. Lucanis swatted the demon away.
“You know it’s not just elves, Bellara. Every culture in Thedas has skeletons in their closet. Orlais, Ferelden– most of Tevinter’s skeletons aren’t even trying to hide. But that’s not who the elves have been in centuries.”
“That feels too easy, like we’re not taking responsibility.” Bellara whispered out, “I don’t know.. I just… I feel guilty, every time I think about it really.”
Guilt. Spite’s earlier mocking observation cuckooed in Lucanis’ ears. He sucked a spot in his inner lip.
“So who’s that helping?” Rook asked matter-of-factly, cutting through his thoughts.
“Who’s what helping?”
“Feeling guilty.”
Lucanis stared daggers at the wall, he had a few comebacks in his head but none to actually say because the conversation isn’t with him. Eventually Bellara answered much more gracefully than he could: truthfully. “Well, no one, really. But then what should I do?”
“You know we are still fighting two of the elven gods?? That’s a good start, right?” Rook asked.
“I wish that felt enough. Like I’m making up for… well, everything… Can I really do that? After what my people did?” Bellara asked.
“Your people didn’t do those things, Bellara. The Evanuris did. They did it to your people too before they turned it to us now.”
Bellara sighed, “Yeah… It’s just… hard. Really hard, sometimes. But thanks for listening, Rook. I feel a bit better just talking about it.”
“I’m no bard, but I can talk. Glad it helped.”
Lucanis could hear the smile in Bellara’s answer, “Well, you’re good at it.”
He is. Lucanis thought, and it surprised him that he couldn't tell if that was Spite’s nudging thought or his own. As if the second hand comfort he had gotten from Rook had muddied the line even further.
-
Davrin was chopping down wood so much that it could last them a whole winter at this point. Assan was nudging Rook's thigh, a gurgle-like chirp from his beak.
Rook threw another gingerwort truffle at him, which Assan caught mid-air happily. Rook twisted the bag of truffle in his hands. He's thrown far too many to Assan already since he entered silently sometime ago. At this point, Davrin should've yelled at him to stop spoiling the damn griffon, but Davrin just grabs another wood and slapped it with an axe in one quick motion and then moved on.
Assan nudged his thigh again. Rook twisted the bag further, an audible crinkle as he did. The little beast should eat actual meat instead of just snacking. His handler too, as a matter of fact. Rook knew Davrin purposefully missed lunch. Another chopped wood, thrown to the pile.
Rook spent hours in silence with spirits of questionable origin in the Necropolis. He could stay like this forever. So Davrin breaks first.
"Are you here to hear me apologize?"
Rook lifted the bag high up, Assan had started to nip at it. "I'm sorry about Weisshaupt, Davrin."
"Yeah?" Davrin snapped, CHOP! He dropped the axe down, sighed, hands on his bare hips. Chest heaving from the exertion. Maybe he was hoping for Rook to fight back, but the all-eating silence got Davrin to just confess. "... Weisshaupt was my home."
"I know." Rook said, "I'm sorry."
"It wasn't your fault."
Assan circled Davrin, soft mmrpp. Davrin ran his fingers through Assan's feathers, kneeling down to scratch behind his ear.
Rook brought the bag down now that Assan isn't an active threat to it. He dragged his nails on the bag. Traces the cap of a truffle underneath it. Yes it was. Enough of a fault for it to matter.
Sometimes Rook blinks and see the First Warden's terrified face as Ghilan'nain rose her archdemon back to life-- which is funny because he hated that bald fuck. He was a prick, and it took an archdemon razing Weisshaupt for him to even half-listen to Rook, and then the man just died. Now Rook just feels sorry at how the poor sod's coffin can't even hold a body, and that split second of his face that Rook caught just before he got swept down is forever burned into his memory.
Rook nodded at the carved wooden figurines next to him on the table, "Friends?" They were still works in progress, but the grey warden insignia on their shields were clear enough.
Davrin nodded. "That's Rounald. Malmont. Anya." A hollow snort came out of the warden, "We used to argue which one of us would be first to take down an archdemon. Who gets to die to let the others live. Not sure we even believed it'd ever happen."
"When the moment came, you did the wardens proud." Rook said, seriously.
"Did I? Because I'm still here, and they're not." Davrin swallowed harshly. "It doesn't make any damn sense. A Grey Warden kills an archdemon, they die. Maybe the damn Crow's right. What if--"
"Oh, fuck that, Davrin! Lucanis don't know shit." Rook cut him off, scrunching his face in disgust at how Davrin of all people would allow that kind of thought in. The warden let out a surprised laugh at Rook's abrupt outburst. He seemed surprised at his own laughter, and swallowed, shaking his head softly. Rook sighed, shrugged. "Who knows what actually happened? Maybe the gods came back and changed the rules. Let's not overthink it--Personally, I'm glad you're here. We still need you."
"Really? You were pretty ready to kick me out."
"I was pretty ready to kick you both out, you two were being stupid idiots." Rook shook his head, frowning. "Much good that'll do. I'm pretty sure you'd just keep showing up to fight along us. I don't think I can even physically push you out the eluvian."
"You can't." Davrin agreed.
Rook tilted his head. See.
"Might do us good if you did kick Lucanis out, though." Davrin mumbled.
"I think he'd also still show up here. Maybe in the middle of the night. With a knife. He might even be glowing purple."
Davrin groaned, "I really don't like that demon of his."
"He doesn't either." Which might be the entire problem, if you want to believe Emmrich, Rook thought, but doesn't say. He believes it, but there's so much Davrin can take on spiritual friendliness. "Give him a break. He's having a rough time too."
"I know. ... That was an incredible shot he got at Ghilan'nain. And I know we all kept saying he missed but-- he drew blood, so that's not true either."
"Well, fuck, Davrin, if that's what you really think then why even fight him all the time?" Rook said, exasperated.
"Because I still think trusting an assassin possessed with a demon is a bad idea, even if he's right that I shouldn't be here." Davrin said bitterly, and Rook threw his hands up, frustrated.
"Davrin, why is being alive such a problem for you?"
"Because I didn't expect to BE alive!" Davrin yelled, almost in hysterics, "Grey Wardens have an expiration. It pushed me!"
"There's still more fight to go. You might get lucky." Rook said, gallows humor not hitting the mark, because Davrin groaned, "And then what if we manage to pull that off?"
"You'll do what you do best: hunt more monsters."
"Plenty of people can do that! I'm talking purpose-- I feel like, like a blade, sharpened for all these years for this one singular moment, to confront the worst of all the darkness in the world and then I struck true and-- and nothing. What-- what now?" Davrin stopped his rant, as Assan had snuggled up against him, tail whacking against his hip.
Rook let out a soft laugh, threw the bag of truffles to Davrin who caught it in surprise. "I think now your griffon's hungry."
Davrin had one hand on the bag, looking down at it then at Assan in intervals, as if he'd forgotten what to do with his hands.
"You get to raise Assan." Rook offered. "You get to do the wardens proud. You get to hunt down the mother of all monsters herself. You get to be a professional truffle hunter--"
"Alright, don't start." Davrin cut him off, but he ends it with a chuckle, shaking his head. He took out another truffle from the bag, feeds it to Assan who licked it up from his hand. "Looks like you're stuck with me, now, boy. No getting rid of me now."
He looks up at Rook, eyes softening. Maybe it was meant for Rook too.
"No more death wishes." Rook warned him, it's low, quiet, but it's still a real order. Davrin blinked, then smiled, nodding. Rook smiles back this time.
A loud squawk from Assan got Davrin to stand back up shaking his head, "Someday I'll find out what that actually means."
Rook laughs, then jumps down from the table. He lost his balance immediately, almost falling. Davrin put a hand out to steady him, but Rook managed to upright himself before needing him.
"You alright, Rook? You look like death warmed over."
Rook laughed, "Why thank you."
"... 'S not a compliment." Davrin frowned.
"It is in Nevarra." Rook brushed him off, and he slinked away before Davrin could ask more questions he wouldn't answer truthfully. Stepping down the stairs from Davrin's spot in the lighthouse, he decides to pay Lucanis a visit next-- might as well see if the assassin is as amicable to change his mind as the warden was.
–
It was late when Lucanis’ attention to the book he’s reading was diverted from the loud clangs from the dining room of items falling down. A hearty swear in Nevarran followed next.
Lucanis sighed, collected his book and peeked out of the pantry. “Everything alright, Rook?”
Rook was squatting on the ground, one hand still holding the coffee pot, the other was trying to clean the coffee beans that had scattered all over the ground.
Lucanis’ eyes scanned the scene quickly, and he relaxed when he figured it wasn’t his stash. This conversation would’ve gone a very different way if it was.
“There goes your chance for some late night coffee.” Lucanis assumed, crossing his arms, one finger still stuck inside his book, keeping it on the page where he last read.
Rook groaned, putting the coffee pot down as he used his fingers to messily try and clean up the beans, “Not true. I was going to steal Neve’s stash.”
Lucanis raised his eyebrows. Even he’s not that desperate for coffee.
“Shouldn’t you be sleeping? Quickest way for you to replenish your mana.” Lucanis pointed out.
Rook looked up at him in surprise. The fireplace casted shadows that accentuated his dark circles more severely than it probably was. “I hunt mages, Rook. I capitalize on times when you’re at your weakest.” Lucanis explained.
The soft laugh that came out of Rook was more amused than offended. The mage went back to picking up the mess. “Can’t sleep.” Rook muttered.
“Can’t? Or won’t?”
Rook doesn’t look back at him at that.
Lucanis hummed knowingly, then, “Why don’t you sit down? I’ll brew you something.”
Rook looked up at him then, pleasant surprise visible. He threw the mess he had collected on his fingers to the trash, before dusting his hands and sitting on the sofa that Taash had moved earlier from the edge of the room to the front of the fireplace. It was an effort to keep warm when the dining hall had mysteriously seemed to be unwelcoming lately, forcing them to retreat to their own quarters.
It didn't take long at all for Lucanis to present a steaming cup to Rook, holding one cup on his own, to further seal the deal.
Rook took it gingerly from him, a polite and almost automatic thank you out of his lips as their fingers brushed against each other. “This doesn't smell like coffee.” Rook accused him.
Lucanis made a motion for Rook to drink it anyways, and Rook, despite it all, obeys him.
The delight in his eyes from the first sip was palpable.
“Ciocolatta calda.” Lucanis explained before inquired. “Organic grown Trevisan chocolate, melted to perfection. Enjoyed usually with caramel biscuits. Unfortunately, we did not stock any.”
“That’s alright.” Rook said, he sipped it again and sighed heartily into the mug, “Oh, that’s really good. It’s really sweet.”
“Too sweet?”
“No, no, just… different. Back in Nevarra we call our chocolate shokolad, and we spike them with hard liquor.”
Lucanis grimaced. Rook let out a soft laugh, “It tastes better than it sounds! And it keeps you warm during the harsh winters.”
Lucanis hummed, and sat down next to Rook sipping his own cup. Spite twisted and twirled as the liquid passed down his throat. A mix of childhood nostalgia, where he clearly remembers loving the drink, sneakily brewed by the servants who took pity; and only vague memories of the reason why they took pity, the bruises from Caterina’s cane and the split lips.
The drink was far too sweet to reminisce about training.
“What're you reading?” Rook asked, rescuing him from unwanted thoughts.
Lucanis lifted up the book. “The Joyous Wyvern. It showed up in my room this morning, and is identical to the copy I had as a child.”
Rook lifted a leg up to sit criss crossed on the sofa, asking for the book to inspect. Lucanis gave it to him.
“Do you still have the original copy?”
“No, I lost it years ago. You don't think…?”
Rook shrugged, giving the book back, “We're in the Fade. I don't think anything when anything can happen.”
Lucanis caught on the yawn Rook was trying to cover with his knuckles, and quickly hid it further by drinking his chocolate again.
“Emmrich advised me to read it, to help Spite learn more words and understand finishing tasks from start to finish.” Lucanis told him.
“That's a good idea.” Rook mumbled, he made a little bow with his hand, “Don't make me stop you.”
Lucanis let out a soft hum, then opened the book again, reading where he last stopped. Rook laughed, soft and airy, “No, no, you have to read out loud.”
“What?”
“Like how you teach a child to read, you have to read the words out loud for them to have a grasp on what to say and how to say it.”
“Spite is already possessing me. He can use my head to read.” Lucanis said, pressing his lips thinly and unhappily.
“It doesn't work like that–” Rook protested.
“Oh and you know this because you're the one saddled with him?” Lucanis bit and Rook retreated in quick strides, clamming up. Lucanis was almost sorry for the outburst. Their earlier conversation came up.
Mierda, he hadn't wanted to think about that. Rook calling his brooding out immediately. The way the mage seemed cornered, flustered to submission when Lucanis had unfairly snapped at him about his own mistakes, missing the damned cloud–
“Forget about Ghilan’nain for a second–”
“How am I supposed to–?! Rook, you shouldn't go easy on me.”
“I know, I just– I’m just glad you're alright, Lucanis. That you're still alive.”
The uneasy silence after. He’s just saying that because he's a good person. He probably says that to everyone else in the team too. He’s not just a superior, he's a friend– or closest thing to a friend you ever had beside Illario.
There's truth in that, of course. Because Rook was his friend. He might not be able to say it out loud, but he was.
But Lucanis was astute enough to know there’s also something else. Something maybe even Rook can't name either, stitched along that sentence he blurted out.
Lucanis had deflected with a sigh, an I need to work. And that was something Rook could recognize he needed, just as Lucanis could recognize Rook needed to sleep.
Lucanis opened the book again, from the first page, fingers tracing worn-down letters. Spite nipped at his heel, like an unruly dog, chastising him for something Lucanis didn’t bother to listen.
He cleared his throat, and then read out.
“Había una vez,”
Rook looked up at him, but Lucanis read on, reading in Antivan.
Once upon a time, there lived in a deep well, a sorrowful wyvern. Every morning he picked at his scales, and every night he howled at the circular sky above him, where stars twinkled and winked at him.
The wyvern wished nothing but to see the stars closer, but he has only known the well all his life, and did not know how to fly.
One day, a crow flew past the well, and saw the wyvern laying there. “Pitiful wyvern, why trap yourself so?” The crow croaked.
The wyvern says, “Hark, dear crow–”
Lucanis turned the page softly.
He didn’t have to look to know Rook was already asleep. But he looked anyway. Rook’s still holding the mug, though it’s almost empty now, and posed little risk to fall and spill chocolate all over the sofa. His head’s tucked to the crevice between the sofa’s wooden frame and the velvet linings, his breathing even.
Lucanis felt an uncomfortable tug at his heart at the sight.
He didn’t like that Rook might meet Solas during his sleep, didn’t like that Rook clearly had apprehensions against talking to the god of lies that was doing blood magic against him and had no choice in it. Lucanis has suspicions that the migraines he gets around Rook wasn’t all just from being in the fade, or because Rook was a mage, but something much sinister altogether.
But he also knew that Rook was running on empty for days now. Lucanis knows it’s ironic of him to talk about proper sleeping schedules, but still. There’s relief in that, he supposed, and he settled on that.
Spite curled around his ribs, caging that feeling, as he closed the book with a soft thud.
He pried the cup out from Rook’s loose fingers, putting it on the dining table as gently as he could.
When Rook wakes up later, he’ll find a straw pillow wedged behind him, and a knitted blanket thrown on him carefully; and he’ll find Lucanis’ storybook, sitting right next to him. He’ll know the assassin stayed there reading for a few hours next to him.
For now, though, Rook doesn’t wake when Lucanis hesitantly brings his hand to the mage’s short singular braid that had fallen awkwardly across his cheek, brushing it away; and he doesn’t stir when Lucanis rubs his thumb across his knuckles after, feeling all sorts of raw.