Rook
Minutes Before the Blast...
Rook had to be in a nightmare. She knew things could go wrong.
But she didn't realize how wrong things could go until she had Varric in her arms, with Solas's dagger embedded in his chest, barely breathing, as if each breath might be his last.
As if her best friend were about to die.
In desperation, Rook called out to her companions. Neve turned her head slightly but had to deal with a demon charging towards her, unable to respond to her call. Meanwhile, Harding was similarly occupied, having to use her bow as a melee weapon against a monster that dared to get too close to the dwarf.
Rook swallowed, trying to think of something, anything, while her gaze remained fixed on Varric, who was only groaning in pain, hardly moving. She tightened her fingers around him as anxiety, that old friend, enveloped her helplessly. But then, an idea occurred to her.
The miracle of white hair.
She looked up, staring at the seemingly endless stairs, searching for her. And when she found her, leaning against the strange barrier that separated them from Solas, she called out to her without delay.
—YOU!
The albino girl clenched her fists upon hearing her shout, as if it had broken her concentration. Her face was filled with genuine fury, infinite hatred and pain, all those feelings directed towards Solas, who seemed paralyzed as he looked at her, as if spellbound and unable to break it. As if he could hardly believe that this girl was there, so close to him.
The elf seemed almost like an unstoppable force of nature. A torrent of magic, mingling with the existing magic in the air, emanated from her. Even her hair, white as snow and long, was lifted around her, giving her a terrifying presence, almost like a ghost or, nearly, a vengeful goddess seeking revenge against her enemies. Her eyes shone with a faint ghostly glow, reflecting off the magical barrier, obscuring the true color of her eyes, melted into that magical green.
A visceral fear settled in Rook's chest upon seeing her, wanting to distance herself from her as quickly as possible. In all her years as a Raven (and even being considered one of the most effective mages of recent ages), she had never seen anything like it.
Such raw magic emanating from a single person, as if her very essence was made of it.
Still, Rook didn't let herself be intimidated. She needed her help. And she needed it urgently.
Varric couldn't wait.
There was no time to lose. If she wanted to rip off the head of whoever had prevented her from going after Solas, she could wait in line.
—I don't know who you are, but help me! Help Varric! —she pleaded desperately with another shout, tearing her throat a little in the process. The elf closed her eyes for a moment, as if she needed to concentrate, as if she needed to think. Then, she pulled her fists away from the barrier, cracking it in the process, while the magic around her halted as if it had never existed before.
Rook inhaled, holding her breath.
By the Maker, how terrifying she was. She couldn't take her eyes off her as she approached, gritting her teeth. Her body froze, ready to jump at the slightest threat this danger might pose.
She couldn't take any risks, even if she had asked for her help.
She crouched next to Rook, ignoring her apprehension, placing her hand on the dwarf's chest. Her eyes had returned to normal, with those unique tones, as she analyzed her dwarf friend. Rook's body visibly relaxed when she realized that she was finally going to help them without putting him in danger. Still, her old friend, named anxiety, peeked its head, betraying her.
She began to get restless, trying not to waste time analyzing more of the elf's features beside her.
Varric. Varric was the priority. Everything else could wait.
The pink-haired girl looked around again, searching for her other companions, trying to find all the help possible. This time, Neve and Harding hurried over, having momentarily freed themselves from the demons that were harassing them.
And that was all Rook needed, to be honest. She needed only an instant, a single moment, not to have to deal with this alone, to have the support of her companions.
Then, she looked down at the dwarf, worried about his condition, trusting that her friends would keep their surroundings free of demons. She watched as the other elf used a cloth to plug the wound around the dagger, trying to stop the bleeding.
But suddenly, a gasp of horror made her turn away from the dwarf, fear spreading within her. She saw Harding pointing ahead, towards the top of the stairs, where Solas stood. Harding had a look of pure fear, pure terror, etched on her face, making Rook swallow nervously, afraid to look away.
—What is that? —Harding asked, almost in a whisper, as if afraid of disturbing something or someone with the mere sound of her voice.
Rook had no other choice. She looked towards Solas, slowly, while a primitive fear settled deep in her soul. From the breach, two enormous, powerful figures began to rise, making the world shake for a moment. Rook tightened her grip on Varric, who was moaning in pain, knowing nothing. Solas, up there, clenched his fists. As if wearing a mask, his expression changed to one of defiance, his violet eyes glowing green with that characteristic glow of his magic. He turned slowly, clenching his fists defiantly, baring the teeth of a predator, as his nickname suggested. Rook visibly swallowed again.
—Mierda—she couldn't help but say aloud, while internally, something was setting off alarms, her inner voice urging her to run, to find shelter as fast as possible.
Too bad not all wishes come true, Rook couldn't help but think, with a bit of sarcasm towards the voice.
Suddenly, a wave erupted and threw them into the air. She tried to hold onto her friend but it was useless. Rook felt herself flying, then a blow, and everything instantly went black.
Rook awoke with a start, overwhelmed by intense dizziness. The ground seemed to be coming at her from above, crushing her. Everything was spinning, making her nauseous, unable to avoid it. Then, out of nowhere, she felt someone lifting her up, setting her on her feet. Rook had a reflex of nausea that she barely managed to suppress while her head began to throb like a drum. She groaned, unable to help it.
—Come on, come on!—yelled a voice in her ear, causing her pointy ears to shrink a bit from the noise, pained.
She tried to take steps, one after the other, but it felt as if she had run a hundred marathons in a row without rest. Her body felt heavy, exhausted, as if she were carrying additional weight in every part of her body. Her feet ached, but she forced them to move, determined. She looked back, still dizzy, searching for the rest of her friends, trying to understand what had happened after that explosion.
Then, she saw her.
The albino girl was kneeling beside Varric, emitting a strange green light as she held the lyrium dagger in her hands, without removing it from the dwarf's chest. Her head was bowed, and she was whispering, almost like a prayer. Her vision blurred again, preventing her from seeing anything else clearly, while her ears were ringing. Rook gritted her teeth, trying to endure, as the dizziness gradually increased, but unfortunately, everything turned black once more.
Everything else that happened was a whirlwind of blurry, unsteady events, some sticking in her memory, but others dissolving like a grain of sand in water. She would wake up only to faint again, unable to help it, as her head throbbed more each time, feeling a certain dampness trickling down her neck, giving her chills. Rook could still feel someone insisting she keep moving, relentlessly.
Seeing—or rather, feeling—her physical state, she could only think that she owed a great debt to whoever was helping her.
Then, she felt herself being propped up against a cold metal wall, the chill seeping through her shirt, which had torn in places due to her clumsy escape. She looked around while trying to focus on something, concentrating on avoiding the dizziness. She saw Neve and Harding struggling to fight, also wounded, but without any of their own blood visible, just that of the demons. The same could not be said for the albino elf, whom she saw limping and staggering somewhat, with blood on her face and one eye closed, presumably from pain, while deftly using daggers to defend herself, despite her injuries. Rook groaned in pain as she felt a sharp sting in her forehead. Her head throbbed with pain, matching the rhythm of her heartbeat.
She raised her trembling hand and touched the back of her head, noticing a lump and something wet. She lifted her hand, with a mix of fear and confusion, seeing that it was stained with blood.
Her blood, specifically.
Unable to avoid it, the dizziness consumed her once more, and she fainted again, this time falling into a pleasant unconsciousness that felt longer.
—You have no idea what you've done.
A deep, ancient voice pulled her from her unconsciousness. Opening her eyes, she looked at her hands, surprised to find herself standing instead of lying down, as she remembered being before. She felt her body light, weightless, without pain.
Where was she? she wondered as she turned around with extreme confusion.
This place was... strange.
Everything was frozen, suspended in time, with grayish, muted tones, as if the color palette, upon forming, hadn't been saturated enough with color. Rook turned a bit, carefully analyzing her surroundings. It looked like the ruins of the altar where they had found Solas, but everything was... destroyed. As if time had stopped right in the middle of the explosion of magic that shook them, irreparably. As if the hurricane of magic had tired of them all, smashing everything in its path. But it wasn't the time to begin to think about architecture.
Rook knew she was not alone.
She inhaled several times and turned toward the voice that had spoken to her upon waking, mustering courage, recognition dawning on her mind as she furrowed her brow, confused yet threatening.
—Solas? —she asked, somewhat hesitantly, almost in a whisper, invoking the god as if it were a prayer.
His figure, imposing and tall, appeared before her slowly, stopping at a certain point, making the ground echo with each step. Rook then realized the abyss that separated them, preventing her from getting closer. The elf advanced toward him in two strides, raising her head to look at him, having to look very far up, not only due to the distance.
Por la Sangre del Hacedor, he was really tall for an elf. Or whatever he was, let's say. She analyzed his features, curious to see him so close for the first time. She had to admit that the god was handsome: his skin had a rich light tan, and small freckles dotted his face, which was hard, masculine, with some scars that looked like faint burn marks, almost invisible. There was no trace of facial hair apart from his eyebrows, but that only made him more attractive, just like his lack of a full head of hair, giving him an almost dangerous appearance that was accentuated by a perpetual smirk, yet with an innate seriousness. Still, the most notable feature was his eyes, a deep, dark violet, almost like a shining gem. They were not ordinary eyes; they held a spark of ancient knowledge, thousands and thousands of years old, something that did not belong to this time, framed by something fierce, almost animalistic in their gaze. They were eyes meant to not blink a second longer than necessary, sharp as they scrutinized her. His expression was filled with indignation and disappointment, yet his bearing was elegant, like someone used to dealing with problems far greater than her.
All of this was meant to remind her of the huge difference between them.
Rook, a simple elf, mortal, small, weak compared to him.
Fen'harel, an immortal elven god, who had lived a thousand lives more than she, holding knowledge she would never reach, even if she wanted to or could.
The elf didn't let herself be intimidated, however. She placed her hands on her hips and lifted her chin, proud, making the god raise an eyebrow at her challenge, with a hint of silent mockery.
—I know perfectly well what I've done, DreadWolf. I've prevented you from destroying the world—Rook replied, pointing at him with an accusing finger, as if she didn't care that she was standing in front of an all-powerful god.
Or, at least, a good deal more powerful than her; that must be admitted.
She took a step closer to him, determined not to be intimidated in any way, carrying her surname as a shield. The De Riva could withstand whatever was thrown at them and more.
A stone fell away when she reached the edge, carefully, and plunged into the void, without making a sound. Rook swallowed at the realization.
She better not fall. Or the surname would hardly matter.
Solas fixed his gaze on her, with disdain and disappointment, but also a shadow of anguish and exhaustion in his eyes, heightened by the dark circles surrounding them, as if the god hadn't slept well in a long time.
—I was not going to destroy the world! —Solas denied, desperate at her accusation. Then he clenched his fists in fury, closing his eyes for a moment, trying to calm down, knowing he had let himself be carried away. A few seconds passed, with tension in the air, as Rook blinked, not expecting that outburst from the god.
Varric had always told her that he tended to be controlled, calm, as if he knew everything that was going to happen in advance. And that had been entirely the opposite of how he had acted with her in the few words they had exchanged.
The god fixed his gaze on her again, coldly, more calmly now, regaining that composure characteristic of him.
—When you interrupted me, — he began to speak again, with a certain edge —, the magical forces dragged me here. To where we are now.
He raised his arms, emphasizing his anger towards her, with tense muscles, while his armor shimmered slightly, though its colors were somewhat dull due to the gloomy environment, making the golden plates appear almost brown, while the leather seemed almost gray.
—Welcome to the Fade—he commented sarcastically, twisting his lips with disgust as he said it. Rook frowned, confused by his words.
The Fade? She looked around skeptically. Then she looked back at him, making a brief observation from top to bottom of his body, assessing his mental state at the same time.
So much magic must have affected Solas, definitely. But she played along, trying to make sense of this unsustainable situation. In the end, it was the only thing she had left before losing all the little sanity she was still holding. She tried to listen to her inner voice to know its opinion, but for once, it was calm. She presumed it was listening, like the busybody it was. She shook her head, which was starting to ache slightly, causing her short pink hair to flutter around her.
—Alright, that's you—she said, biting her lips from the pain. She pointed to herself, pressing her palm against her chest, while confusion enveloped her slowly—. But what about me? What the hell am I doing here?—she asked, in a bad mood, with annoyance rising and unloading it onto the elf, almost involuntarily.
But she wasn't in the mood for nonsense, to be honest. The situation had gone terribly wrong. And the one responsible for it all was right in front of her, almost unpunished, with disappointment painted on his face.
As if he were disappointed in her. Stupid arrogant idiot.
—You spilled a few drops of blood at the ritual site. Enough to create a weak connection—incredibly, Solas answered her quite calmly, despite her outburst, which didn't seem to please him, as his lip curled when he heard it. Rook thought that she, in his place, wouldn't be so calm, considering that someone entirely unknown had ruined plans that had probably taken at least eight years, if her contractor had specified correctly.
But he was Fen'harel, the god of trickery, lies, and rebellion. He was the Dread Wolf, who had once deceived an entire institution, manipulating it like a puppet under the false title of being an apostate mage. It could very well be a well-studied mask, she thought distrustfully while narrowing her eyes at him.
He raised a hand to his head, where the bump was, and snorted, drawing on what she knew, revealing her magical knowledge.
—Blood magic, then—Rook commented, unable to prevent some of the distrust she was starting to feel from seeping through, helplessly. Nothing good came from someone who wielded that type of magic effortlessly, forbidden throughout Thedas, even though Tevinter had a loose grip on this type of sorcery.
Solas let out a huff, almost a sarcastic laugh, while twisting his expression with a slightly cruel, yet mischievous smile. In a blink, he disappeared, only to reappear behind her, opening another chasm between them, causing Rook to jump to the side, needing to regain her balance.
Damn Solas, she thought with a frown of annoyance, hearing the god let out a chuckle as a result of having startled her.
It seemed the afterlife didn't want them to touch or be close. Fine by her, if anyone were to ask. The further away from Solas, the better, considering the danger a god like him represented.
The god growled at her, that little smile still on his face, almost animalistic, leaving the fun behind as his eyes lit up green, slightly.
—First, I hate blood magic—he said, raising one finger. As he spoke, he raised another, numbering in turn—. Second, if I wanted to control you, which is what you're thinking, I would have done it a long time ago—he rebuked her in a low, dangerous voice, reading her thoughts.
Rook shrugged, hiding her fear behind a mocking mask. Damn, a little help wouldn't hurt right now, she thought, pondering a way to placate a god who was extremely angry with her.
Then, out of nowhere, a hand rested on her, gently touching her back. Rook felt a shiver run through her as her body tensed slightly. Her inner voice started running a marathon in her mind, frightened by this sudden danger.
Fuck, fuck, fuck. And she was unarmed, she thought, terrified, while she continued to look at the god with an expressionless face, which seemed not to notice the new presence beside them.
And that made her inner voice stop, just as her head had joined in on the frantic run.
Did Solas, the god who wanted to have everything under control, not notice the appearance of something else alongside them?
Strange. Very strange.
—Act as if you can't hear me, please—whispered a voice in one of her pointed ears. A soft, somewhat distorted voice that she didn't recognize at all, for the moment, of course. But it sounded pleading. And it hadn't done anything to her yet. She inhaled and complied, not without a mental punch for trusting something unknown so quickly. Although, to be honest, she was more afraid of the elf in front of her than of this mysterious presence, which only transmitted calm to her. Besides, Solas didn't seem to see her in any way. The enemy of my enemy is my friend, Rook supposed, for once in her life wanting to get a proverb right.
Rook gathered all her willpower to not turn around, praying all she knew (which wasn't much) and tried to maintain her face as immovable as a poker face. With a gesture, trying to hide her nervousness, she pointed around and spoke, with a calmness she didn't possess, toward the god.
—I'd like to wake up, if you don't mind—she asked, with false kindness, even making a mocking little bow that caused Solas to narrow his eyes, somewhat annoyed.
In the end, Rook was going to get herself into trouble if she kept this up. But, first, she would give him a hard time, she told herself, convinced of annoying this egocentric god as much as possible.
She wasn't called one of the most powerful mages of recent times for nothing.
That voice, the same one that had whispered to her ear before, huffed with some amusement at her little stunt. It seemed to have pulled away a bit from her back, but its presence was still tangible, as something very real behind her.
—Don't pay any attention to him. He's lying—she whispered in a low voice, advising her, as if she didn't know Solas couldn't hear her.
Rook felt a mini shiver at the sound of her voice. This time, she almost turned around, but managed to hold on, barely, while she hummed a little tune in her head to distract herself.
Damn, she repeated, as cold sweat trickled down her back. Now, she had to deal with a furious god and a ghostly presence that didn't seem much kinder than him, regardless of how much calm it transmitted.
Just great. Just fucking great.
On the other side, Solas, who still seemed not to see who was accompanying her, crossed his hands behind his back after a few minutes of pondering to himself, locking his violet eyes onto her with coldness.
—Unless you're an expert in lucid dream control,—Solas began, sarcasm dripping from his voice and body like a second skin—, you'd better listen to me. I have things to tell you, Rook.
She rolled her eyes, as the cold sweat coursed through her once again. She didn't question how the god knew her name, no, although it was strange that he had researched her among all things. She was more concerned that between the mysterious presence that Solas didn't seem to see and the Dread Wolf himself, this was looking really bad.
For Rook, of course.
She raised her hands in a gesture of peace as she approached her interlocutor, who kept staring at her, piercing her with his gaze.
—Alright, alright, fine. What about?—she asked, finally surrendering to listen to him, with no other option.
He raised his eyebrows, opening his eyes a bit in surprise, perhaps at Rook's sudden willingness to speak. What he didn't know, Rook thought, dodging the grimace she was about to make, was that she was worried about other, much closer things. Things that were literally at her back.
Solas crossed his hands behind him and diverted his gaze, as his eyes wandered into ancient memories, slightly shadowing him, as if they were not entirely pleasant.
—About the Evanuris. Or, as your people call them, the elven gods—he turned his gaze toward her, his violet eyes glowing with a strange, almost inhuman light—. Basically, the creatures that have escaped. In older times, they ruled over the elves, but they didn't just want to rule—his gaze drifted toward the horizon, an indecipherable feeling on his face, though anger could be glimpsed in the tic of his jaw—. They sought adoration. They turned many into nothing more than will-less slaves, repressed. As if they were no more than toys for them. For everyone.
Solas fixed his gaze on her, making the elf swallow. His gaze was intense, like a storm about to unleash, ancient, powerful. His body was tense, like a predator ready to pounce on its prey, prey that was only in his memories. Although, apparently, according to recent events, they had escaped from them, finding a freedom that seemed undeserved.
—I rebelled against that—he proclaimed, raising his chin with pride, as if he were used to having his decision challenged, perhaps labeling it as unnecessary recklessness—. I became the Dread Wolf in search of the people's freedom—he diverted his gaze again, fixing it on that opaque horizon where the ruins floated, unyielding—. Yet, they took advantage of all that resentment to spread the magic of ruin wherever they could. They didn't stop until I managed to trap them—the leather of his gloves cracked as he tightened his knuckles so hard that it stretched the material, fueled by the fury that saturated his posture.
Then, the presence behind her, which had previously been calm, chuckled softly, sarcastically, as if it didn't care that an elven god was standing in front of her, terribly furious. Although, for once, in the little time she had known him, it wasn't because of her, Rook thought, with an optimism perhaps not quite fitting for the occasion.
—At least that's true—whispered that voice, with the same distortion, though it seemed clearer each time, as if its presence were settling more comfortably in the afterlife.
What the hell? Rook thought, surprised by the animosity in the voice towards Solas. More than the one she felt, and that was saying something, especially after seeing him stab Varric. Yet, it seemed that this entity held a grudge against the Dread Wolf (perhaps too much), as if it had a past with him, a history that she didn't know.
Solas continued, unaware of the inner monologue she seemed to have had that lasted much longer than it actually had.
—But now, you've freed them, and I'm stuck here with no way out—he accused, with annoyance and even a bit of disappointment, laying all the blame on Rook.
She let out a snort of amusement, refusing to be intimidated by Fen'harel's complaints.
Arrogant idiot, she repeated to herself.
—Of course. Now you're the hero—she said, with the same sarcasm he had directed at her earlier. She crossed her arms, rolling her eyes—. Do I remind you who was performing a ritual to free them?—she gestured dramatically with her hand as if it were holding a hat—. Not me, for sure, dear Solas.
The presence behind her clapped slowly, congratulating her for her rebuttal to the god. Rook smiled, slightly, glad that at least someone was enjoying her antics, the result of extreme nervousness.
—Free them? My mortal enemies?—Solas gave her a crooked smile, mockingly, as if she had said the biggest nonsense in the universe—. The only thing I was doing was ensuring they didn't escape from where they were imprisoned, Rook. Until you cruelly interrupted me, of course—he said, using the same tone she had employed.
Touché.
—Tearing the Veil in the process?—Rook stepped forward, indignant, dropping the nonsense as fury consumed her, unyielding. She approached the chasm that separated them, reaching the edge, where she nearly stumbled forward, losing her balance slightly. Before she could curse herself for her stupidity, the presence placed a warm hand on her shoulder, pulling slightly towards her, preventing Rook from falling. The elf regained her footing and sighed, slightly, shaking off the scare and feigning that nothing had happened.
She owed her ghostly friend one. One more for the list of people she owed something to, she noted distractedly.
Solas looked at her with a serious expression for a moment, unaware of her little imbalance. He clenched his fists at his sides while his lips pursed disapprovingly at her reproaches.
—I was going to take them to another prison—he inhaled slightly, making his chest rise—. I had a plan.
—Plan?—Rook laughed, somewhat hysterically, not believing the words coming from the elf's mouth.
This guy had to be mocking her. And, from the snort of derision that her accompanying friend let out, she wasn't the only one who thought so.
This time, it was she who clenched her fists at her sides, her gloves, thinner than the god's, visibly wrinkling.
—Varric already warned me that you always had a justification for your "plans" and your blame—she spat, reproachfully. Rook took a breath, intending to continue rebuking him, but when she opened her lips, ready to do so, the presence's hand rested again on her shoulder, crossing her with a strange sensation, almost of extreme warmth, burning her slightly from within. Then, her lips opened once more, but different words came out, her voice colder, as if another person was speaking through her.
—That's your style. You don't lie, but you speak half-truths artfully, convincing others that you're doing the right thing. As always, Fen'harel—she emitted a small, bitter laugh, while she ran her tongue over her lower lip lightly and raised a hand to her left arm, squeezing it—. You haven't changed after eight years, Solas.
Rook abruptly closed her mouth, diverting her gaze from Solas, who had widened his eyes like saucers at those words, even biting his tongue in the process, triggering a spike of pain that he ignored while beginning to sweat cold.
Damn it. Shit. What the fuck, she couldn't help but curse inwardly.
That presence spoke through her, as if her body had been nothing more than a puppet, moving even her own form.
But what the hell?
And not only that, she thought, overwhelmed, as she discreetly rubbed her chest. That... thing had tightened its grip on her shoulder, and for a moment, she felt what it felt.
Betrayal. Pain. Hatred.
And something warmer... like love. But romantic love. A love capable of scorching even destiny itself, if it wished. But wait a moment... Love? Her? Toward Solas?
She blinked, confused, feeling herself blush slightly at that thought.
It was impossible, she reasoned, shaking her head mildly, logic returning to her. So, there was only one possible option, which was that all those feelings came from another source.
Another source, which was probably that ghostly presence.
That piece of information was stored in the list of "Important Things to Analyze" in the back of her subconscious, for later. She sighed lightly and crossed her arms, looking again at the elf, who had remained frowning, watching her as if trying to decipher why she had said what she had said.
But Rook didn't give him the chance to do so. It was too dangerous, for her and for his particular presence.
—Still, look what you did to Varric, your friend—she emphasized, continuing the thread of those previous words, those that were not hers, trusting and knowing that, in a way, they had been completely true—. He trusted you, and look how you repaid him. With a dagger deep in his chest, leaving him gravely wounded—she reproached him, with fury towards her dwarf friend.
—Varric is...—Solas stopped abruptly. His gaze fell to the ground, darkening, with guilt on his face and something else, which he skillfully concealed before Rook could see it—. Varric is skilled at hiding the truth—Solas whispered, with a hint of sadness in his voice. His fists relaxed and his shoulders dropped as he slightly closed his eyes, as if he truly regretted his actions. But, in a matter of seconds, before Rook could even analyze it, he returned to his usual defiant posture. He straightened up, looking at the elf with that little smirk, which was starting to feel like a kick in the stomach.
Rook turned slightly to her right, thinking about how to continue, not believing the god's act of pity. The presence turned with her, always staying behind her, hidden. Rook couldn't help but smile mischievously at the presence's intelligence. It had perfectly sensed that Rook had turned to see it, anticipating her movements.
Hey, she was starting to like him. At the very least, she knew they had a common enemy, she thought, glancing out of the corner of her eye at Solas, who remained silent, giving her space to think. And if he was also intelligent, he had a point in his favor with her.
She liked intelligent people who could get ahead. Well, thinking about it, she liked intelligent people, except for Solas.
He still had a long way to go with her to win her over, for now.
Taking a small step forward, as if she didn't want to, she changed the subject, looking at her nails and cleaning them while glancing at the god out of the corner of her eye.
—Well, then, those things...—she waved her hand casually, as if they weren't talking about all-powerful immortal enemies—. Those... gods...
—False gods—Solas interrupted her, earning a dirty look from Rook, who raised an eyebrow at being interrupted, stopping her nail inspection while closing her hand into a threatening fist. Her gaze dropped dangerously below the god's waist, in a silent threat. Fen'harel raised his hands in a gesture of peace, not wanting to provoke the ire of an elf who measured at least two times less than him. She pouted, annoyed, but continued speaking, placing her hands on her hips and diverting her gaze towards the gloomy horizon.
—These false gods—Rook corrected, with a sneer, stretching the word "false"—. How do we stop them?
—These "gods"—Solas said, using the same tone Rook had employed—required all my strength millennia ago to be stopped—Solas turned around, gesturing with one hand while keeping the other behind his back. He turned his head just a little to look at her, with that annoying little smirk—. But I'm sure you can do better, dalish elf—he commented sarcastically, tilting his head slightly, with an irritating tone.
This time, Rook couldn't help it. She drew on all the theater and improvisation she had done in her life and dramatically turned her head towards him, placing a hand on her chest theatrically, as if the surprise were overwhelming.
—Wow, so you're the god of ~sarcasm~ now—she covered her mouth, shaking the other hand as if she couldn't believe what she was hearing, while holding back laughter and elongating the words mockingly.
Solas looked at her with a furrowed brow, annoyance spreading across his face. He turned towards her, closing his hand into a fist, making the gold of his glove shine.
—I had a ritual dagger of lirium. An army. A transportation network through eluvians that took me from the lighthouse to anywhere in the world in an instant—he boasted, raising his tone with each phrase, causing Rook to roll her eyes as she returned her hands to her hips. She raised one of her hands, gesturing as he spoke, looking towards the sky and asking for patience from whoever might be listening.
—And a lot of lip—commented the unknown voice sarcastically as Solas finished speaking. Rook held back laughter as best as she could, covering her mouth. Nevertheless, the god didn't miss any of her actions. He looked at her again, with even more annoyance, his brow furrowing so much that his forehead wrinkled considerably, showing that his anger was no small matter.
Rook lowered her hand, crossing her arms and huffing quietly.
Okay, maybe it wasn't the easiest way to win the god's favor by laughing in his face. But between his arrogant behavior and how much she was starting to like that voice, it was almost irresistible not to tease him.
But she remained still, looking at Solas with a bored expression, listening to him without interrupting.
—You don't seem to have any of that—Solas continued, intertwining his hands in front of him, with mockery—. Are you planning to knock down another statue in his ritual? It seems that it was very... effective—he paused, giving more emphasis to his words, which were sarcastic, aware that it was going to annoy her even more.
And boy, did it annoy her, thought the elf, as she made a face, her boredom giving way to irritation as she stomped her feet in small movements while crossing her arms.
—So what do you recommend to me, oh great lord?—Rook raised her arms in indignation, asking again for patience from whoever would listen to her prayers—. Maybe listening to the advice of the god of lies seems like a better option to you, Solas?
By the Maker, someone give her patience with this arrogant elf because if they gave her strength...
Solas turned away from her, crossing his hands at the small of his back.
—The God of Betrayal, Rebellion, and Lies, depending on the story, Rook. Remember that—he gave her one last look, with a sly smile that made his violet eyes shine with a hint of mockery—. Good luck with those plans so... magnificent.
He disappeared into the mist, leaving her alone before danger. A force began to pull at Rook, urging her to awaken, making everything blur out of nowhere. She resisted, wanting to do one last pending thing, writhing in place.
—Wait, wait.
She tried to turn to see her mysterious companion presence, to put a face to it, but everything darkened before she could even glimpse anything. Only a voice, her voice, now completely clear, accompanied her as she stirred awake.
—Easy, Rook. We will meet again very, very soon.
Then, everything around Rook quieted, leaving her with no choice but to let herself be taken by unconsciousness.