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Rook made her way through the deep gloom of the Hossberg Wetlands, listening to Davrin and Taash in one of their endless arguments about who was the tougher monster hunter. It was soothing. Familiar. Both of them respected each other deeply, and there was a sibling-like warmth in the teasing that made Rook happy.
Not much else was making her happy right now. Troubles right and left. Everywhere she went people stacked up jobs for her to do on top of each other, as if taking down Ghilan'nain and Elgarnan wasn't enough of a task for one person. Were there really no other adventurers out there willing to take on this work? Her own Shadow Dragons kept calling her in … and after they had kicked her out of Minrathous in the first place!
No word had come about the gods' location, either, and she was growing increasingly worried about what they were up to. If they weren't found soon, would it be too late?
The appearance of darkspawn was almost a relief from her dark thoughts, and she threw herself into the combat, dodging and leaping and twirling.
When the darkspawn were down, Davrin came to her, pulling a clean cloth out of his pocket. He put one strong hand on her shoulder and held her there while he carefully wiped her clean of any trace of darkspawn blood. "You don't want to swallow any of that stuff," he said, as he had before, every time they faced darkspawn.
Rook couldn't help but notice he didn't show the same solicitousness over cleaning Taash off. Of course, Taash would probably have knocked him into next week if he'd tried, but still … There was a softness in Davrin's face that bothered her. He had taken a flippant remark she'd made once entirely the wrong way, and no matter how much she tried to keep all further conversations firmly on a friendly footing, she was concerned that he still harbored some kind of unreturned feelings she was going to have to deal with at some point.
Which, of course, led her back to what she was trying not to think about—the undeniable fact that Emmrich Volkarin was avoiding her. He was always too busy to talk; he claimed experiments or other work kept him at the Lighthouse every time she suggested he come through the eluvian on a job with her; and he spent inordinate amounts of time with Bellara.
Rook hated to be jealous. Emmrich and Bellara were well suited to one another. They got along well, they had similar interests … they even had the same vocabulary. Rook got lost in the middle of their conversations more often than she cared to admit. They would no doubt make each other very happy. And if that didn't make Rook happy … if she couldn't stop hearing the softness in his voice in her memories, could still smell the mysterious dark scent that clung to him, if she still lay awake at night wondering what it would feel like to have his hands on her …
Well, that was her problem, wasn't it? And she would get over it, because she had to.
Emmrich looked toward the door again, the fourth time in as many minutes. Not that there were any clocks here, but … he could feel the passage of time. The painfully slow passage of time.
How long was she going to be in the Wetlands, anyway? He should have gone this time, when she asked him. He should get out of the Lighthouse, back into the world. If only he wasn't so afraid. Of her, for her, of everything that threatened everywhere they went.
It was miserable turning her away, over and over again. But he must. Even if he hadn't imagined the brightness in her brown eyes when she looked at him, he had no right to ask for her to feel anything special toward him. Just when he was counseling the others to look to their own distractions, he had no right to be hers.
Unless … unless she needed a distraction. Unless she needed someone to care for her, to look out for her, to see that she ate and slept and laughed when she had a break. Couldn't he be that person? Maker knew he wanted to be.
"Right, Professor?" Bellara said gaily, and he turned to her, startled.
"What?"
She repeated herself, and the words made no impression on his mind. "Of course," he said, hoping it was the right answer.
Apparently it was, for Bellara happily went back to tinkering with the mechanism she had brought to the dining room. It was emitting odd flashes of light, but Emmrich trusted her to know what she was doing. She usually did.
Emmrich retreated into his thoughts. Yes, it was time he stopped avoiding Rook, he decided. She needed her team at full strength, needed their counsel and their strong arms in a fight and their support. He was adding complication by withdrawing his.
And if … His breath caught in his throat at the idea, his heart thudding against his ribcage. If there was to be something more between them, then … there would be time enough to worry about whether that was a distraction if it happened. For now, there was no sense borrowing trouble. Enough of it landed in their corner without asking for extra.
His decision made, Emmrich turned back to Bellara, focusing on her words, and was soon equally engaged in trying to decipher the secrets of the flashing mechanism.