Rook
Rook woke up with a start, her head spinning. The voices of Solas, Varric, and a high-pitched, feminine voice swirled in her head, like a discordant symphony of voices, causing her to groan in pain.
"You have to listen to me!"
"You have no idea what you've done!"
"SOLAS!"
The elf shook her head, trying to clear it, while a strong pain settled in the back of her head, a roaring sound that seemed to come from within, clouding her thoughts. Rook finally sat up, touching the bump on her head, still aching.
Then, she remembered everything in a rush.
The ritual. Solas, inside her head. Varric, with the god's dagger stabbed into his chest, barely breathing. She started to gasp, fear filling her chest.
No. He couldn't be dead. Not her best friend. By the Maker, by everything destiny held dear.
Don't take her friend away. That was all she asked. Not again, please. She couldn't bear more losses like that.
—Varric?— she asked, agitated, as she opened her eyes, looking around, scared, searching for him.
—Well look who's rising from the dead!—
Varric sat up beside her, with a half-smile, on a kind of bed that was acting as a stretcher. His chest was covered by a bandage, which seemed to cover the wound in his chest, while his face had some scratches, but nothing serious. He seemed exhausted, tired, but otherwise, he was perfectly fine, all things considered. Rook looked at him, dazed, as if she still couldn't believe it.
—You're alive— she said weakly, a lump in her throat.
That dwarf was tough, by Andraste. And how grateful she was now, she couldn't help thinking, as she remembered Solas's dagger, shining and powerful.
Varric chuckled a little, though that laugh turned into a painful cough, as he rubbed his chest, wincing in pain.
—It takes more than a lyrium dagger to kill me Rook— the dwarf teased her, with his characteristic wit.
Rook looked at him, incredulous, still not believing it. The images of the stabbing danced through her head, repeating in a loop, as if her mind was trying to analyze it.
—But... I saw how Solas stabbed you with the dagger, and you fell to the ground and...— a headache suddenly hit her, causing her to groan again, clouding her mind for moments. —What exactly happened, Varric?
—Harding managed to get you, Neve, and me out in one piece. I owe her a meal after all this— Varric replied, downplaying the situation. Then, Rook looked down slightly, looking at her hands, guilt washing over her as she remembered everything, little by little.
—I'm sorry, Varric— Rook clenched her fists and frowned with disgust at herself. —I wasn't able to stop Solas, and you, in return, ended up like this. What a great friend I am. I was afraid of altering the magic of the ritual and causing something worse if I started manipulating it, but if only I had been more...—
—Hey kid— Varric whispered affectionately, interrupting her tirade and using the nickname he only used with Rook, knowing it was very important to both of them. His face conveyed the peace she needed now, urgently, with anxiety rising in her chest. —Everything is going to be alright. Like that time you thwarted an Antaam mission, remember? And not only that, but you disobeyed your Crow superiors. The Antivan Crows, Rook, damn. You have balls sometimes.
Rook wiped the tears that threatened to fall from her eyes, trying to calm down. She nodded, although, inside, she was still frustrated by her indecision. If only she had thought of something, anything, her friend wouldn't have ended up like this. And everything would have been better, she reproached herself again.
Varric must have sensed what she was thinking, because he pursed his lips in a smile.
—I trust you, Rook. With my life, you know that— Varric patted himself lightly on the chest, emphasizing his words, while pointing to his wound.
Suddenly, the doors of the room where they were, which seemed to be a small infirmary, opened abruptly. Neve entered, with a look of joy on her face, as if something good had happened. When she saw her awake, she startled, surprised, but approached her hastily, with concern on her face.
—Rook! You're awake!— she exclaimed, clasping her hands together, relieved.
Rook smiled at her, a little sore, with her head still spinning, the roaring inside her diminishing.
—Bad weeds never die, unfortunately— she joked, running a hand over her neck. Then, she analyzed her friend, with a critical eye, looking for her wounds. —How are you, Neve?
She ran a hand across her face, pushing back her hair, which was loose. A bruise surrounded her whole eye, and a wound, still somewhat fresh, ran across her face, probably leaving a scar in the future.
—I've been through worse— Neve commented, shrugging one shoulder. Then, she hugged herself, looking around. —I was looking for healing potions here, in the infirmary. Sorry for interrupting your rest.
Rook made a gesture of negation with her hand and got up, slowly, leaning on the stretcher, while analyzing her balance on her feet.
It seemed that, despite the dizziness, she could walk calmly.
—I was going anyway. I wanted to stretch my legs a little.
Neve nodded to her, while rummaging in a cupboard, humming a tune.
—Be careful exploring, don't fall— she commented, casually, without looking at her, hearing her footsteps approaching the exit.
Rook stopped in her tracks. She looked at her, turning slowly, while tilting her head.
—Fall?— she asked, confusedly, to the detective, thinking that maybe some substance from the closet was starting to affect her friend.
Maybe there was a bit of expired elven root in those closets. Who knows. Neve nodded again, still not looking at her.
—The eluvian has brought us to a somewhat... strange place. The world of dreams. The Fade, maybe. Who knows— Neve gave a little cry of enthusiasm and picked up a flask from the closet. She passed by Varric and leaned on a table while releasing the flask carefully, its greenish-blue liquid moving inside it. —And another thing, Rook. It's not just us. I'm saying this so that you don't get the surprise when you see her.
Rook felt like her head was spinning again, unable to make sense of what Neve was mumbling. There must be some of that expired root in the closets, without a doubt.
—See her? Who?— she asked, repeating like a parrot and placing her hands on her hip, drumming her fingers.
Neve didn't answer, concentrating on her research with the potion, while looking at a book, which she had taken from one of the shelves, as if she already knew the place perfectly. Rook looked bewildered at Varric, not knowing what to think, but he just shrugged, with a crooked smile.
—Go investigate, Rook. I'm going to stay here, resting. Age doesn't forgive, you know.
Then, he turned around and fell asleep, snoring deeply almost instantly.
Rook stared at nothing for a second, thinking what she had done to deserve so many nonsensical things in her life, while shaking her head, sighing.
Carefully, she went down the stairs that were a little further from the infirmary. Then, she whistled, impressed, while looking around. The room she found herself in was huge, with a broken astrolabe floating above a central table, somewhat large, surrounded by floating shelves, which kept moving around her. On one of the walls of the room were shelves, full of books and strange artifacts, and from the ceiling, which was quite high, she could see a kind of strange grid.
She turned around, when she approached that table, leaning lightly with one hand. The room had two staircases that went down to a kind of basement, accompanying the two that went up (and where she had come down). Further up, near the infirmary, there were other corridors that led to more rooms, some closed by strange vines, which looked withered, as if they had been covering those rooms for a long, long time. Rook looked ahead, straightening up again. Further on, there seemed to be the exit door, which was presided over by a double door, quite large. As she headed towards it, Rook couldn't help thinking that the room seemed to be abandoned, as if no one had stepped on it for years.
Curious, said the small voice inside her, quietly.
Rook headed towards the entrance, wanting to breathe some fresh air for once and for all. When she opened them, the sunlight blinded her, making her close her eyes for a moment and covering her face with her hand, preventing the light from penetrating too much. After a few seconds, she half-opened her eyes, adjusting little by little.
—Fuck— she whistled, impressed, when she saw around her.
They were on a huge islet, which was divided into several smaller ones. A building rose further ahead, with elven features, and a wolf statue presided over the center of the small square, under its stone gaze, threatening in a way.
Just like who it represented.
But the worst thing, she realized, as she turned around again, was that everything was floating, suspended in the air.
They were on a freaking floating island, she thought again, disconcerted. Still, everywhere, there were dead plants, as inside, with that same look of not having been inhabited for centuries.
From where she came, there was a light shining towards the sky, huge, as if it were a lighthouse. But, in general, a slight light shone on the island, as if it were dusk, but neither night nor day ever came. And in the background, on the horizon, there were more floating ruins, under the grayish-looking sky. It was all... like being in a dream. Like being back in that dream with Solas.
I guess that makes sense, Rook thought, in a way. It seemed to be a dreamlike place, separate from reality. As if it were the Fade, as the ice mage had said, accurately. Just as the god had warned her, she thought again, unable to avoid it.
She walked forward, admiring the landscape with her hands behind her back, but something further ahead made her stop abruptly, tensing slightly.
There was someone in front. Someone who didn't seem to be Harding, being the only one she had left to see. That is, someone unknown.
She approached that figure, cautiously. As she got closer, she noticed her pointed ears, which protruded from a pure, snow-white and very, very long hair, that moved in the wind. The elf had her head raised up, also admiring the sky, as Rook did. She seemed taller, more slender, almost imposing, and, she realized, she had a metal prosthesis on her left arm, which shone with that mysterious light.
Then, something clicked in her head, bringing her a confused memory.
An elf, with white hair, looking at a god, who was watching her, stunned, with pain in his gaze.
Rook opened her eyes wide, remembering her all of a sudden.
—You— she sighed, breathless.
Then, the elf turned towards her, hearing her surprised sigh. Eyes from another world looked at her, while the world froze, their gazes crossing.
Pale blue, like the clearest sky, surrounded by the purest pink quartz, looked at her with surprise. When she blinked, they were covered by long eyelashes, also white, like her hair. Her complexion, somewhat pale, accompanied the set, as if everything was perfectly harmonious. The dress, which could not be any other color than white, moved with a phantom wind, while she analyzed Rook. The metal prosthesis shone, wanting to capture attention, with its almost white gray shining under that eternal sunset light. The elf recovered quickly upon seeing her, although she had taken a defensive posture, as if she did not trust that Rook would not attack her.
As if she distrusted everyone, indiscriminately. Still, automatically a few seconds later she straightened up, adopting an imposing, regal posture. A half-smile greeted her, stretching lips finished with a shiny black lipstick, decorating that purely political smile.
—Hello— she spoke, in a thin voice, somewhat high-pitched, but impressive and regal, revealing a seriousness that not only contained her expression, somewhat taciturn, but that she possessed all over, from head to toe.
Rook approached her, somewhat impressed by the elf, but not letting herself be intimidated.
If she hadn't done it with an elven god...
—You were in the ritual— she stated, without waiting for her answer or greeting her, getting straight to the point.
She nodded, somewhat wary. She also took a step towards Rook, letting her hands fall to her side, making her see that she didn't want to hurt her.
Intelligent. She was very intelligent, Rook realized, that the more she admired her, the more she seemed to be from another world.
Really, she was one of the most beautiful people she had ever seen. She didn't seem to be more than her age, maybe 25 or 26 years old, at the most. Her body was slender, feminine, with full breasts, but there was agility and fierceness in each step, marking trained muscles over the years, in incessant training probably, her Crow mind analyzed.
And her hair... Her hair was like a curtain of pure snow, reaching beyond her waist, beautiful, shining like a gem. But one of the most impressive things, or rather, that caught her attention, was something about her face. Or rather, the lack of something, Rook corrected herself.
Because, like Rook herself, there was no trace of Vallaslin, the traditional blood tattoo in elves. The redhead couldn't help but whistle in admiration, when she analyzed her, but took note of this last thing, being something not so common.
You didn't see every day a probably dalish elf without Vallaslin.
It was very, very strange.
—Damn, miss— she whistled again, speechless at the beauty that this majestic elf radiated.
It was lucky that Rook didn't fall in love easily (not to mention never), because, surely, she would have fallen to her knees when she saw her, thinking that a goddess had given her the honor of appearing in front of her.
And the truth is that she was a little tired of so many gods.
Out of nowhere, the elf began to laugh, quietly, at her bewilderment. Rook whistled again, unable to avoid it.
Was there anything wrong with this elf? Because she was beginning to think not. Her laughter sounded like a wind chime, crystalline, as beautiful as her owner. But then, another click made in Rook's head when she heard that laugh, fitting like the missing hand of a clock.
The dream with Solas. It was the same laugh (and voice) that she heard in the dream with Solas. Fuck, this elf was the mysterious presence that almost gave Rook a heart attack.
—You were that voice— she murmured, dumbfounded, while pointing at her and taking a step back, unconsciously. She had felt that presence as someone very, very dangerous. And now, she had her physically in front of her, a stone's throw away.
Definitely, today was not her lucky day, she said to herself, while she missed her double daggers. Just in case. Just in case. Because even if she had helped them in the ritual, that didn't mean that she was harmless now, directly.
The elf cut off her laugh abruptly when she heard her startle. Her expression became somewhat dangerous, pursing her lips, with that black lipstick announcing, perhaps, her premature death. Her mouth opened, trying to say something, but another voice interrupted her before she could speak, making her turn her head to the left, abruptly.
—Oh my god.—
Harding approached them, with a face of immense joy, when she fixed her gaze on the white-haired elf. She stood next to Rook, giving her a smile of greeting in passing. Then, she turned to the other elf and bowed deeply, as if she had seen the Divine Victoria herself.
—Inquisitor, how glad I am to see you awake!— she exclaimed, with joy.
Then, Rook opened her eyes wide. And, seriously, she asked herself again what she had done wrong in this life for destiny to play her like this, while looking at the Inquisitor Lavellan herself.
The same person who had given the Crows her contract, requesting her exclusively. But since Rook was very Rook, she had never asked about her appearance. And now, she was beginning to regret not having done so.
Fuck. This day couldn't get any better, of course, she thought sarcastically, while swallowing hard.
Then, she began to pray to all the gods she knew, elven or not.