Archive of Our Own

Everything ached like she’d been caught in a stampede of druffalo.

Rook groaned, shivering as she rolled over onto her side. Stone bit into bruised ribs, making her hiss in pain, but she managed to get herself to her hands and knees, then upright onto just her knees to assess the damage. The dark, humid air was thick around her, a faint but sickly green color she hadn’t seen since she’d first entered the Fade prison, but for now at least she seemed safe.

Nothing, at least on first check, appeared to be broken. Considering Rook didn’t remember landing – but given the state of her body, she must’ve hit pretty hard – the fact she was in one piece was a miracle. A quick inventory showed she was missing a knife and one dagger which, while annoying, still left her with a decent arsenal in case of any issues.

The last thing she remembered was a maelstrom of wind and magic picking her and Solas up and tumbling them into darkness. The remnant of the Fade’s Ossuary had faded away around them into a pinpoint of light, as through from a lens rapidly drawn away from them. Something had smacked her shoulder in midair, spinning her violently in the air, then another blow had knocked the wind out of her.

Then, nothing.

Rook rubbed her shoulder, feeling the raised bruise on the bone there, but thankfully everything still worked. The skin of her face burned from several shallow cuts, but either they hadn’t bled or the blood had already dried because Rook’s hand came away clean and dry. The rocks beneath her knees were starting to hurt, so with another groan she pulled one leg up so her foot was flat and, bracing herself with both hands, pushed herself to her feet. She wobbled a bit but managed to stay upright. The fog around her was thick, not allowing her to see further through the gloom than maybe a body’s-length from any direction. The unnatural silence was new though; she’d grown used to the constant clacking and crashing of dream remnants bursting around her within the Fade.

Now, there was nothing. It was unnerving, to say the least.

Rook spat out the dust still inside her mouth, peering around. It took a moment, but she also realized there was another glaring thing missing.

Solas.

Annoyance spread through her. Maybe he’d fallen past her and was lost in another part of the Fade. That would be a relief at least; being forced to remain beside him in this prison was interminable. It didn’t seem likely, however: every time so far she’d tried to get away from the ancient elf, the regret prison just dumped her right back beside him.

That might be what all the fog was, honestly, a reminder that she was borderline too far from the egghead for the Fade’s liking. The reprieve from his presence was nice, and she’d take what she could while she could.

If he dies though, wouldn’t that bring down the Veil?

Rook growled at her own thoughts. The old elf had surely survived worse; he was immortal and made of lyrium after all.

A flicker of memory stirred, his bloody face and battle-worn body after the fight with the archdemon. Elgar’nan had died, as had Ghilan’nain. Strong as Solas was, he was no more invulnerable than the other two Evanuris they’d defeated. Both of them had died, weakening the Veil until she’d forcibly tied Solas to it, thereby trapping them both inside the Fade prison.

For the sake of the world at least, she needed to keep him alive.

Fuck.

Grumbling under her breath, Rook reached out to try and sus out her surroundings. The ground was solid beneath her feet and she took three steps to one side but met no walls. However, when she glanced up, she saw that there was dark stone above her, just maybe three feet or so above her head. Lines of pale green tendrils almost like glowing roots or veins of lyrium clung to it, the mist and low light obscuring it from her understanding.

Rook frowned. How did someone fall down into a tunnel? Unless there was an opening somewhere nearby?

Carefully, she picked her way across the uneven floor, eventually realizing she was in a cavern of sorts. Not a very deep cavern though, but wide enough that it took several disorienting minutes to find a wall. From there she mapped out the room mostly by touch, following the walls with her fingertips. The green lines were part of the walls as well, lines of some mineral that shone dimly in the darkness. It was enough to see inside the cave now that her eyes were adjusted for the low light, and while the air held a damp quality the walls themselves at least were not wet to the touch.

A pity, perhaps, because Rook realized she was getting thirsty.

Still following the wall and mentally mapping out the cavern with her left hand, Rook heard the faintest puff or sigh from somewhere to her right. She turned her head towards the sound but could hear nothing else. Listening for a long minute, she resumed her course, keeping her pace steady. The room was roughly oblong, a jagged oval, but so far no exits visible along the outer walls.

Another sigh, again from deeper within the center of the cavern, but the area was still obscured by the mist. So trained on the hazy center where the sounds were coming from she almost didn’t notice the moisture beneath her feet until she slid on slick rock. Instinctively her hand fumbled along the wall, catching on something soft.

A puff of air came from beside her, engulfing her face and raining dusty particulate over her upper body. Staggering away from the wall, Rook tripped on an uneven surface beneath her and fell hard on her backside, coughing to get the unknown matter from her lungs. She swiped at her face but didn’t feel anything; the low light however revealed a slightly sooty residue on her fingertips. More swipes showed the same particles on her neck and chest. Fear shot through her but she controlled her breathing: panicking now, here where she could do nothing, wasn’t going to help.

Easier said than done though.

The damp spot she’d slipped in seemed to come from whatever had blown the matter onto her. It stuck to her pants where she sat on the floor, viscous but not particularly sticky. Rook scrambled to her feet, wiping her hands on her shirt and dancing away to where the ground was dry once more. Trying to be rational, she figured that at the very least this damp patch of ground could be used as an easy reference point for her mental map. But all thoughts of diagramming the room had fled at the air attack; she’d forgotten where she was and what the rest of the room look like.

All she could do was start again, and be more diligent this time.

Another puff from nearby further in, and Rook realized that these puffball things, whatever they were, had been the sighing she’d heard earlier. Praying to whatever gods were in the universe that nothing would come from inhaling it, she moved slowly away from the wet spot further inside the center of the cave. There had to be somewhere to escape; surely the Fade wouldn’t lock her inside here forever.

Surely.

Her eyes darted all around herself with each step, and as she drew closer she realized the cave wasn’t as wide open as she thought. Water or other fluids collected in puddles nearby columns, stalagmites and stalactites fused together over who knew how long into one structure. They were rough in texture, but Rook looked with her eyes, not her hands.

Another louder puff from nearby and Rook danced away from the sound, then froze when she heard a groan.

A very living groan.

“Solas?”

Nothing answered back. The groan had come from the same direction of the last puff, and Rook really didn’t want to get another face full of whatever-the-hell that was. But if Solas was there, dying from whatever might be around here…

Shit-fuck.

Steeling herself, Rook moved toward the sound, keeping an eye out for anything. A few steps in, she saw several round shapes on the ceiling above her, black silhouettes against the veins of green crisscrossing the stone. She edged around them, keeping a close eye on whatever they were. They were attached to the wall, too spherical to be part of the stone itself, and she swore she could see them pulse slightly. They reminded her of the round fungus growths she’d seen on trees in Treviso before, or the blight boils.

Neither thought made her feel any better.

Another groan, much more nearby. Keeping an eye out for any more of the fungus pods (god, she needed a better, less repulsive name for the things), she made her way towards the sound and almost stepped on Solas’ outstretched hand.

Kneeling down, Rook checked his pulse first, then laid a hand just over his mouth. He was alive at least, but seemed out cold despite the earlier noises. For now, she refrained from checking for injuries: he had all his arms and legs, all extremities seemed to be pointing the right direction, and there wasn’t blood pooling around him.

They needed to get out of wherever this place was, and since the Fade had shown her several times now she needed his presence to move around, she’d have to either wake him up or drag his ass with her to get out. Not that they actually had anywhere to go yet as she’d yet to find an escape route.

Lovely.

Leaving Solas where he lay and backtracking a bit, she managed to find where she’d left off on her search along the far walls. Mindful of any more of those fungus spore blowers, Rook felt along the walls until her path took her a bit further to the left, and a wall appeared to her right less than three feet away. The floor also tilted upwards here, and while it was faint she thought she felt a breeze coming from that direction, a cool balm across her skin.

Good. It was starting to get stuffy down in the low cavern. Sweat was already beaded on Rook's skin, the humidity stifling and cloying. She wasn't usually claustrophobic, but to be fair she hadn't had many chances in her life to test that fear. Now wasn't a good time either.

Rook reversed her steps back to Solas' body. The elf was still unconscious, and as loathe as Rook was to wake him, she also didn't want to drag him. Calling his name however didn't do anything, nor did nudging him with one foot. It crossed her mind to slap him across the face - oh, that would feel amazing - but she refrained from doing so. Somewhere further inside the cavern another poof and sigh came.

They needed to get out of here. Whatever was in those puffball things, it didn't seem to be immediately fatal but who knew what would happen with prolonged exposure.

Grabbing both the man's hands, she pulled with all her strength but only got Solas turned around and maybe a foot across the ground. Shit, the man was heavy. His armor, the gilded bits glinting in the low light, had to go.

Getting clothing off a limp body wasn't easy work, but Rook wasn't a novice at the practice. Solas was tall for an elf, at least those in her experience, and his armor seemed molded together in places. Eventually though she got most of the heavier pieces like the chest and backplate off, as well as his greaves and vambraces. All he had beneath it was a simple linen undershirt and leather breeches. Only in hindsight did Rook realize she might've gotten an eyeful had the other elf not been wearing much beneath the armor.

Thank the Maker for small gifts.

Truthfully, removing the clothing didn't make a whole lot of difference but it was enough. She was able to slide him across the fairly smooth floor and into the corridor leading wherever. The mists here had thinned a bit but, even with the glowing walls, she still couldn't see how far down it went. Pulling him along did however get her blood going; she was getting really warm inside the dark Crow leathers, but she didn't have the luxury of underclothes that covered enough to strip out of them.

So she dragged the elf's heavy ass along the tunnel, feet scrabbling somewhat in the wetter areas along the pathway. The mists cleared pretty quickly, but her skin still felt warm and flush, sweat pouring off her face and down her chest. There wasn't much of a breeze now - not that there had been before either, yet at least there had been something - but Rook just grit her teeth and kept going.

Eventually, the tunnel widened, the roof above her disappeared, and she stepped back into a much wider open area that was clearly an old mine. Scaffolding rose along the walls, and as she stepped into the open area fires appeared in braziers scattered throughout the area, including one only a couple feet away. Rook sank to the ground beside Solas, exhausted and struggling to catch her breath. She fanned her face with one hand, glancing over to check on Solas. The elf was still out, and now that she had light and (hopefully) no more of those puffball spore-makers, she could take some time to inspect him for any wounds. The scrapes and bruises across her own body still smarted, but small pains like flesh wounds and bruises were easy enough to forget.

Crow training taught you quick to move past things like that, because it could always be worse.

A quick examination of Solas' head showed a few extra bruises, including one large knot on the back of his head which was worrisome. Probably why he was still out after so long too. A few bruises along his arms and collar, but his armor seemed to have borne the brunt of his impacts.

Not jealous. Not at all.

She skimmed her fingers over some bloody scratches on his cheek, likely from debris whipped up in the maelstrom. Even as Rook watched, the thinnest red lines closed up slowly into a pale line, healing before her eyes.

That Evanuris healing factory was something else for sure.

A faint sheen of sweat coated his skin, moisture dimpling along his brow. Unconscious like this, Solas looked almost peaceful. No haughty derision, no self-righteous smirk twisting his lips. At that last thought, Rook's eye fell to his mouth, and she wondered what it would be like to actually kiss the Dread Wolf.

What the actual FUCK?

Snatching her hand away, she cursed loudly, annoyed at herself. Where the hell did that thought even come from? Grumbling under her breath, Rook tied her hair back with a leather strap she kept inside her pocket, looking around the large cavern. There didn't seem to be any easy outlets here, no daylight poking through convenient exits in the rock above. To be fair, this was the Fade after all; beyond the walls of the "mine" there could be nothing but the floating nothingness they'd been travelling through since their arrival.

Something dragged Rook's gaze back over to Solas, still laying prone on the ground near the brazier. The laces of his shirt weren't tied tight, and in the small opening she could see the line of one pectoral muscle in the firelight.

Rook swallowed, her nethers clenching. Scowling, she tore her gaze away, hatred curdling in her chest. Tamping down the insane urge to aim a kick at the unconscious man's ribcage, she stomped away from him, looking for a way out. Even with the scaffolding around them however, there were no ladders leading upwards and the wood was old, splintering with age and wet through with rot.

They were trapped.

FUCK!

What she needed was to wake Solas up and see if his powers could somehow be helpful here. The ancient elf was good; Rook remembered watching him manipulate those giant blight tendrils in Minrathous. Surely he could do something here now, move them higher up the scaffolding to a different vantage point. Maybe there were paths further up leading out to…wherever the Fade wanted to take them next.

But waking him up meant getting close to the man; touching him, talking to him.

And right now, Rook wanted to do that far too much for reasons entirely not about escape.

Fuck, indeed.

* 

One of the things about belonging to House De Riva was that its leader made absolutely certain anyone carrying the name of that House knew about poisons.

The Crows made sure that all their recruits knew the basics about various poisons, potions, elixers and other mixtures they might come across or need during contracts. Viago de Riva's training however went well beyond the basics. He taught his people not just the uses for the potions, but the individual ingredients, how each worked, how the way they were process could produce different results, and everything in between. Rook had been fascinated by the process but, despite her best efforts, had never developed a knack for the practice to the extent of her mentor's skill.

Not for the first time, Rook wished he was here right now, if only to help her figure out this latest problem. Preferably before the elf behind her woke up.

Rook knew aphrodisiacs existed. The Crows often utilized them along with known pheromone perfumes and tinctures for contracts. Such things had never been big parts of her repertoire; she preferred to be the hack-and-slash part of any team, or to take contracts that utilized skills other than seduction. But she did remember that those drugs also occurred in nature, and while perhaps not plentiful or easily to bottle, still produced similar effects among certain portions of the races.

Great. Rook had discovered sex spores. Bet if she could bottle it, they’d name it after her. Lovely thought, Viago would be so proud.

Grimacing, she wiped her fingers across her chest. Pale streaks followed her fingers; when she lifted her hand to the light, she could see the muddy smear across them, her sweat mingling with the spores.

She’d gotten a face-full of the stuff; lung-full too, if she was being honest with herself. Who knew how much had gotten into her lungs, or if it worked just by skin contact. Those puffers had been down there for a long time too; the damp air probably kept the spores airborne for a long while too. Who knew how much of the stuff was in the air, how pervasive it was.

Also, how would Solas react to the stuff? He’d been down there just as long as she had, and while oblivion may have kept him from feeling the effects, he’d eventually wake up with the spores still in his lungs or on his skin.

Probably. Hopefully, if only for the world’s sake.

Rook’s eyes fluttered shut as a wave of raw need ran through her body. It wasn’t painful or debilitating in any way, but for a moment Rook felt as though she’d do anything for… She swallowed again, breath coming in pants as it passed, but refused to look back at the unconscious elf.

Mierda, she hoped he stayed that way until whatever this was passed.

She looked around the floor of the mine for something to wipe herself with, at least wash off whatever residue remained stuck to her skin. Nearby the corner where Solas’ body lay was a small lean-to, the only structure on the ground besides the tall scaffolding legs. While she couldn’t make out much, it did have a table inside that looked to hold something. Possibly nothing, but confirming that would require moving close to Solas again.

This man killed Varric. He turned Neve and Davrin to stone. You saw this, watched him do it to all of them. Hell, he tried to kill YOU in the end!

And still, need curled around her insides like a tendril blight, just as diseased and tainted as anything the Titans could’ve created with their rage.

Rook danced from foot to foot, staring at the crumbling scaffold post before her. Finally, making her mind up, she stomped across the space towards the small lean-to, placing a hand on the side of her face to shield her view of Solas.

It was silly, and it didn’t work at all. She knew he was there, and that was enough for her traitor body.

Please stay unconscious, please stay unconscious.

The lean-to didn’t have much: a single bedroll at one end, a table with some engineering and survey equipment, and a map of the caves. That last bit got Rook’s attention; she couldn’t decipher the writing but the simple lines she could decipher. The map, much like the rest of the mine, was ancient and tattered; she didn’t dare touch it but leaned in close to decipher some of the lines. There were several cave systems within the lines, each another color than the last. Different levels maybe? A large X was placed over one open section of the map, presumedly where they were located now.

Sparing a quick glance at the thankfully still-comatose ancient elf, Rook edged out of the lean-to and did another quick run of the room. Sure enough, she managed to find a decent vantage point and saw another cave entrance atop scaffolding perhaps fifteen feet above that led somewhere; she’d need another look at the map to know exactly which—

The crinkle of a boot on gravel was her only warning, but it was enough that Rook’s grip was around the hilt of her dagger when Solas grabbed her by the upper arm. She pulled the dagger and instinctively slashed at the arm holding her, but was jerked away, her momentum causing her to miss. Staggering back a step, Rook quickly regained her balance and crouched into a defensive posture, lip curling into a snarl as Solas advanced on her.

Perhaps she couldn’t kill him, but there were other ways to stop a person. Especially, she thought furiously, when you didn’t care if you hurt them otherwise.

A wave of cold power washed over her but Rook was already moving. She launched a knife at him with her free hand, slashing with her other hand as he batted the first out of the way. He parried her dagger hand with his arm, coiling his hand around and through to try and gain a hold, but Rook was already mirroring his movement to keep herself free. She danced away from him and Solas followed. This close, Rook could see his pupils were blown, taking up most of his iris.

There was no lightening in his gaze yet, nothing that lit his eyes with power. She was on borrowed time and she knew it, but like Viago always warned her during training, her anger overrode logic. Solas killed her friends, dragged her into the Fade, brought her to this mine and its fucking sex-fungus.

He needed to pay, as much and as often as possible.

Rook readied her detonator but before she could launch another attack, a breeze from somewhere high above lighted across Solas and straight at Rook. The other elf’s scent was faint – it wasn’t preternatural, she just had a good sense of smell – but the fragrance distracted her. Rook’s loins clenched, desire spiking through her, and sudden indecision made her fumble the attack.

That momentary lapse was all it took for Solas to have her in hand. His fist closed over hers holding the detonator, keeping it locked in place, even as the other hand far too casually pulled the dagger from her grip. Then Rook’s world turned end over end, and she landed hard on her back, the air driving out of her lungs.

Then Solas’ hand was around her upper arm, his other hand holding both wrists above Rook’s head as he knelt above.

Rook’s hands curled into claws as she tried to break his hold, scrabbling uselessly at his hand locked like a manacle around both wrists, but it was no use. He slid a knee between her legs, laying his body atop hers to anchor her to the floor, and Rook’s breath choked in her throat. She tried to hold onto the anger still, the rage that had been her refuge since entering the Fade prison with Solas, but it was like trying to hang onto the wind.

She shut her eyes tight, jaw trembling as Solas’ cheek brushed past her own, his nose brushing the alcove of her neck just below the ear. Hot breath swept along the side of her neck, his chin running along her clavicle. Rook surged up against him, bucking for her freedom, then stopped dead as the Dread Wolf growled right into her ear, his hand wrapping around her throat.

And she was completely and utterly lost.

* 

The Crows were masters of seduction.

Rook’s trainer has been Teia herself, as Viago had found it distasteful to teach such matters to those vying for spots within his own House. Teia had been an excellent teacher, but Rook a terrible student. Not for lack of trying, honestly. Rook knew how to make herself look incredible, knew how to walk and talk to draw attention, but could never quite get the nuance of conversation. Specifically, subtlety and patience had never been her best virtues. They were weaknesses both the Crows and Rook herself had tried to beat out or learn to work around, but both had failed.

Rook was, however, very good at reining herself in, denying her body and mind things thought necessary. She could go days voluntarily without food; extended solitary confinement did not lead to madness as with some other recruits. She’d gone years without sex before, even at her own hand – not her favorite way of denying herself, but it was possible. Separating herself from a situation, both in mind and body, was a skill Rook took seriously, one that she prided herself on. Even with friends, even with those she loved, she had the ability to be cold and calculating when necessary. There was often regret afterwards, especially recently with the consequences her choices had led to, but she could make hard choices.

Which was why the first real emotion she felt, besides a passionate hunger that threatened to consume every last ounce of sense she had, was shame. Shame, that she could allow herself to fall prey to some cave blob fungus and a man’s hard body above her.

Shame, however, didn’t stop the desire coursing through her body. But it cut through the feeling in a way logic couldn’t right at that moment.

“Solas,” she murmured breathlessly, jaw trembling and fists clenching together as stubble scraped the side of her neck. “This isn’t…you’re not…”

The hand around her neck tightened, thumb digging into her jaw as he roughly tilted her head up and back. The air stuttered in Rook’s lungs; she trembled as teeth scraped across her collarbone, tongue darting out to taste her. “Sex fungus,” she bit out, even as one of her legs wrapped around his upper leg, urging him closer. “Not…real.”

The firm thigh between her legs shifted, pressing hard against her core. Rook arched up with a strangled cry, rubbing herself against Solas’ body, the clothes between them both too much and not enough. He was like a statue above her, unyielding and hard, but his lips running along her neck and jawline were achingly soft.  

The dichotomy was absolutely killing her resolve.

He killed Varric. Neve and Davrin petrified. Tried to destroy reality by tearing down the Veil.

The hand around her neck lifted, hard fingers skimming across her chest and down the side of her body, squeezing the dip of her waist. Rook kept her eyes closed, too scared to see his face or eyes as if that would undermine everything.

Varric. Neve. Davrin.

“Fungus spores.” Her words were panted out. “Pods releasing…pheromones. This…isn’t real. Solas, please.”

The last sentence was a whine as his nose rubbed the spot behind her ear, lips pressing against the dip of skin just below her earlobe. But at the whined please, he stopped, breath shuddering above her. He murmured something against her neck in Elven, a word or phrase Rook didn’t know or understand.

“I… I don’t know,” Rook whispered back, trying to keep herself stock still even though every fiber of her being wanted to rub against the body above her.

“Lovesbane.” Solas’ voice sounded harsh so close to her ear. His lips found the bottom of her earlobe, giving it a soft kiss before releasing his grip on the wrists still above her head. Rook gave a small whimper of complaint as he pulled his body away from hers, hating herself for that final bit of weakness. Pulling her hands close to her body and rolling away from him, Rook rose unsteadily to her feet as Solas did so as well, using the nearby table to stabilize himself.

“You’ve been out a while.” Rook’s voice was a croak, whether from Solas’ hand around her neck or trying to hold her breath so she wouldn’t smell the other man. She cleared her throat. “Head injury. I pulled you out of the lower levels; needed to lose your armor to do it.”

“The trade-off is…” Solas’ voice had a raspy quality that made Rook’s thighs clench. He cleared his own throat. “Acceptable. Distance helps.”

“There’s, um, exits further up the scaffolding. But I, uh, there’s no…” Words were especially hard for Rook at that moment. “We need to leave,” she just said finally, exasperated at her fumbling.

Solas, who had been peering around the cave, glanced over at her. His lilac eyes pierced through her, especially when his gaze lowered to her lips then lower still before he broke away again with a jerky nod. “Which scaffold?”

Rook pointed, scrambling out of the way as Solas walked past her. He gave her a wide berth, as if not wanting to be close either, which Rook was fine with.

Solas did his magic and ladders lowered from the landing. They took turns going up, one at a time, ensuring neither was too close to the other. It didn’t help much, honestly. Rook still stole glances at Solas’ form, specifically his ass, as he ascended, then tore her eyes away and stared at the ground until he called to her that he’d made it up top. For once, Rook let Solas lead the way; he had a ball of light trailing between them, illuminating the corridor, and Rook stayed at the tail end of its light, putting as much distance between them as she could. There were no glowing lines in these rocks; whatever was being mined below wasn’t here.

But the Fade couldn’t be simple and consistent, at least never for long.

The corridor was long, and eventually solidified into something not hewn from rock, but built with walls and, eventually, hardwood floors. Still a hallway, but closer to something inside a great house. When the first lantern lit automatically to their presence, Solas discontinued his magic light, stopping to observe their new surroundings. The architecture was decidedly Orlesian, that much was certain; too many accents and fripperies to the sconces and ornamentation lining the walls.

It was a great house, albeit still just a corridor of one. Ahead was an archway leading to something with balusters, likely a staircase, but neither of them moved.

A house meant rooms. As in, bedrooms. That was all that was going through Rook's brain. That, and Solas being far too close even though he was several carriage-lengths away within the narrow corridor.

"How long since we were exposed?"

Solas' voice startled Rook; the question took longer to penetrate her brain than it should. "Um, an hour, maybe two? I'm not sure how long I was out but I got us out of where the spore pods were within half an hour after I woke."

"Long exposure then." The elf sounded curiously out of breath, as if he'd been the one dragging Rook out of the mine. She didn't dare look over at him however; the strange feelings were still intermittent, but Rook was far too aware of the man's presence.

"How long do the effects last?"

Solas however seemed distracted, staring at an ornate doorknob beside him. Rook didn't realize her feet were moving her closer until she was maybe ten feet away and Solas' head snapped around to look at her. She stopped, feet rooted in place as power flickered across his eyes…then he wrenched his head away from her.

"Oh. I didn’t help this time, did I?"

Rook gave a startled gasp, leaping away from the blond figure that was suddenly at her side. She hadn't seen him appear, didn't know he was beside her. She unsheathed her dagger, holding it blade-out against her forearm as the newcomer stared at her placidly.

"Cole."

The relief in the ancient elf's voice had Rook looking at him in confusion, then at the blond man standing where she'd been only a moment before. Perhaps man wasn't quite the right word; he wasn't an adolescent, but from the frail build and smaller stature, he seemed to be young. His eyes were covered by a mop of blond hair, barely a different shade than his pale skin, and he wore rags like a beggar.

Rook’s gaze flicked between the two of them. "Friend of yours, I take it?"

"How is he here, I knew it must have been him when the chest appeared but the prison shouldn't allow entry, did I fail in my safeguards, is there really a way out?" The being called Cole cocked his head to one side and studied Solas, his odd recitation done. Solas' face was carved from stone again, as impassive as ever, even if a sheen of sweat still coated the ancient elf's skin. "I wanted to help so brought myself in fully so you could not use me to escape. I did not wish to tempt you into using another friend."

Sorrow flickered across Solas' face, the furrow between his brows deepening. “I am so sorry, Cole.”

Rook cleared her throat. The mystery newcomer was a welcomed distraction from the…other things distracting her. "What, and sweetie I mean this as kindly as I can, the fuck are you?"

“I am Cole.” He cocked his head at Rook. “What a strange kid, where the hell did he come from, I thought this place was locked tight against anything. Maybe Solas was lying about that part too, but at least he’s distracting me from what I want to do to that ancient elf motherfucker and his ass that won’t…”

“Enough Cole.”

Solas’ voice had just enough bite to stop the boy’s words. A flicker of worry crossed the younger man’s face. “I am not helping, am I?” He looked distressed. “I thought the house would help, brought you here to…” He trailed off, fidgeting in place.

Mierda. Rook was glad he didn’t finish that sentence – unfortunately, her brain finished it for her. Face flaming and refusing to even notice Solas still far too close, she still had a bit of pity for the boy. He looked miserable that he wasn’t being more helpful, and she wracked her brain for ideas. “Are there at least showers here?”

He perked up at that. “Yes! I made sure because I know you didn’t like the sex spores staying on your skin any longer than they must.”

Rook stared at his earnest face, her mouth working soundlessly, then shook her head. “Why don’t you point me out a room that has one and we’ll start there?”

It was almost adorable how eager he was to help. Despite her frustration, Rook was glad she didn’t snap at him like she’d wanted initially. Her nerves were already raw and exposed; the last thing she needed was to go off on some poor boy who obviously had shit taste in friends.

Cole walked down the corridor away from where they’d jut come. Rook glanced back and saw that, instead of a rocky tunnel, the hallway dead-ended into a framed picture of fruit. So no going back the way they came.

Good.

Rook gave Solas a wide berth as she passed by him, rubbing the wall with her shoulder to keep the distance between them. She could almost feel the Dread Wolf’s eyes following her down the corridor. She just hoped wherever he went ended up being FAR away from her.

Only when she locked herself inside of a spacious bedroom with an adjoining bathing suite did she realize Solas never answered her about how long the effects would last.

*

The raw neediness got no better even after she’d showered the spores off her body. If anything, the feeling just became more acute, gaining edges that bordered on painful.

Rook tried to gain some release by herself. Her hands rarely ever failed her before, and she had herself a panting and needy mess quick enough. But her thoughts kept sliding to Solas, the way his backside looked in those leather pants, that brief flash of electricity in his eyes he quickly hid… Those thoughts drove her wild, and made her stop everything.

Because, gods damn him, she refused to use him as a fantasy. And yet, he was all she could think about, the only person that kept springing into her mind. Maybe because he was the only person available at the moment? Their brief tussle in the mine, the way his hand felt around her neck, that motherfucking growl when she tried to escape…

Moaning, she laid her forehead against the edge of the tub, hating how desire pierced through her, a spiked chain of craving that blazed a trail through her inside. Rook didn’t want Solas; she hated the man, loathed the motherfucker with every fiber of her being. He murdered Varric, petrified her friends in front of her, manipulated and stabbed her so he could annihilate the entire world by lifting the Veil.

And she wanted him. Gods, she wanted him so badly.

Attempting to think about Cole in the same context made her mind shy away. Even though she barely knew the kid, spirit, whatever he was, she couldn’t even think about him like that. It wasn’t revulsion really, just a deep aversion to even the idea of it.

The only saving grace was that, if she was feeling this badly, Solas had to be in just as much pain. Good. That made her feel a tiny bit better about the whole deal; misery loved company and all that.

Ugh.

Rook laid back in the tub, sliding her eyes closed. Please, she begged the universe, anyone but him…

*

The ball was Orlesian, that much Rook knew for certain. The masks on everyone’s face gave at least that much away. She and her partner were on the dance floor in the middle of an Antivan waltz. Thankfully, dream-her was much better at the fancy footwork of the dance than she’d be in real life.

Didn’t hurt that her partner was very good on his feet as well. He was masked as well, a black wolf with silver accents along the edges, but it did nothing to hide who was behind the disguise. “Your lips give you away,” Rook said conversationally, stepping lightly in time with the music.

“And here I thought it would be the ears.” Solas’ rich voice was amused, twirling her around the dance floor.

“Well, those are fairly obvious too.” Not too many elves typically caught dancing with Orlesian nobility. At least, that was what those around them looked like. Rook sighed, relief settling across her shoulders. “I take it you needed a break too from those sex spore things?”

Solas didn’t immediately answer, but the hand behind her back pulled her closer. “I had hoped the Dreaming would shield me from what happened in reality. It has done so before, but even now I feel it bleeding through.”

Rooked nodded, giving him a wry smile. “You never did answer my question out there. What are we looking at here?”

“Lovesbane. It is found in the deepest mines and was used as an aphrodisiac. The effects can be pleasant or torture, depending on the situation.”

“That much was painfully obvious.” Rook tapped his shoulder with the fan she tied around her wrist. “Key word being torture, by the way. How long does it last?”

Around them, the music transitioned seamlessly into a much more lively tune. Solas didn’t miss a beat, pulling Rook along the dance floor to the new tempo. Her feet moved easily to the music, and Rook wished she could be this graceful in reality.

“In small doses, it can be a satisfying diversion for lovers. Usually that was done with tinctures and extracts, something small to quaf for an evening of pleasure.”

“And in the event of a massive overdose?”

Solas never missed a step, but his repeated silence concerned her. “Just tell me,” Rook murmured, swallowing hard when the hand at the small of her back fisted into the material of her dress.

“In later years, when the Evanuris held sway over the People, it was used for torture.”

Rook winced, a darkness settling over her. “Yeah, I figured it would be something like that.”

He didn’t elaborate, but Rook didn’t need him to explain any further. She’d met some of the Evanuris before; she had an inkling how something like this could be used for torture.

Solas spun Rook once, then pulled her in close to his body and dipped her. As she rose again, Rook noticed that all the dancers were mirroring their moves – or were they mirroring the dancers? The dream was confusing but was beginning to fray along the edges, the people and structure outside the dance floor blurry and jumbled.

“Is it dangerous?”

“Very.”

She gave a jerky nod, focusing her eyes on his shoulder. “How long does it last?” When he stayed silent, annoyance poked through and she sought his eyes, but his gaze was fixated over her head. “Just tell me what I’m getting into Solas. I’m a big girl, I can handle it.”

“Sexual gratification is the only cure.”

Rook drew in a shuddering breath as they twirled around the floor. Darkness crept from the edges now, dimming the world beyond the other dancers. One by one, slowly but surely, the dancers entered the void, slipping in silently and not coming back out.

“I’m assuming…with a partner?” The wolf mask nodded once. “How bad will it get?”

“Excruciating.”

Lovely.

Inky blackness surrounded the dance floor but still they twirled along to disembodied music, the musicians long since swallowed by the darkness. Only two other couples remained, and as Rook watched each twirled along the edges and fell into shadow – first the one, then the other.

Then they were alone.

“Rook.”

A hand cupped her cheek softly as their dance stilled. Lilac eyes, barely visible in the dimming light, shone brightly even devoid of magic. “Don’t come and find me. I don’t want to hurt you, I don’t know if I’ll be able to stop if you…” His throat bobbed. “This will end for you, eventually. Painful, but it will end.”

“What about you?” Rook leaned in to Solas’ hand, laying a kiss on the inside of his wrist. Even as Solas drew in a shuddering breath, somewhere just beyond the darkness a beast raged, a brutal howl splitting the air.

“Don’t find me.” His hand slid to her hair, fingers entwining with the strands. “I deserve far worse than this for all I’ve done.”

What did that even mean? The shadows along the edge of the floor were alive, eating the edges of the lit dais. “Solas…”

Another roar from the beast beyond the darkness, and magic lit the lilac eyes behind the wolf mask. The fingers cupping the back of her head tightened in her hair as Solas’ lips curled into a snarl, jerking her head back even as the inky blackness surged in.

*

Rook screamed as she awoke, an orgasm ripping through her body. Her back arched against soft bedding, one hand scrabbling for purchase on the solid wood headboard behind her as her body pulsed, every nerve on fire. Panting, Rook pushed against the headboard, struggling to breathe as if she’d been strangled, or running full tilt from some enemy.

Both somehow felt true at the same time.

Catching her breath was difficult. Aftershocks rocked through her body, doing little to quell the desire still coiled in her belly still needing release. Still, there was a tired clarity now, the feverish demand for sex momentarily abated.

Then there was the question of how the hell she’d gotten from the tub to the room’s bed.

A towel was beneath her, spread out like it had been wrapped around her at one point, but she didn’t remember either getting out of the tub or wrapping herself in the cloth. Trying to steady her breath, Rook rubbed her fingers together, the pads still slick with her own juices.

Well. That explained the orgasm at least.

She closed her eyes, struggling to get her breathing under control, then rolled off the bed. Padding back into the bathing chamber, she picked up her clothing, then winced as the smell wafted to her. They needed to be cleaned first before she could wear them again. Laying them back on the vanity, she looked around and her eyes fell on a green satin robe hanging next to a closet.

Better than nothing, at least for the moment.

Rook had barely gotten the robe over her shoulders however when the tormented roar of something rent the air. Her head snapped towards the entrance to the room, hand automatically going for the dagger not currently on her hip. Then she jerked sideways, startled nearly out of her skin, when Cole appeared at her side, a frantic look on his face. “He is dying.”

“Doesn’t sound like it,” she muttered, sniffing disdainfully. “Deserves to have a bit of torture for what he’s done anyway.”

But Cole seemed frantic, his movements fluttery and anxious. “No relief, not even my own touch. Ar suledin nadas, the pain is too much, no less than I deserve. Ar din’an sahlin, they must stay away, pray they do not come. I need, it is too much.”

Rook stared at the boy, trying to decipher the old elven phrases. Ar suledin was ‘I endure’ which, good, he was suffering. But din’an mean death, right? Maybe it felt like he was dying? She smirked. Maybe a touch melodramatic, but then everything was with Solas somehow.

“Pain, too much pain. Ar lasa ma revas, may you find a way out of here. Ir abelas Rook, I should never have, no, Cole, you cannot…” The boy jolted, blinking and staring around him. “He cast me out.”

“What did all that mean?” He’d spoken to her…or thought about her? Ir abelas meant I am sorry – but she didn’t want his apologies, they meant less than the air used to breathe them. Solas, no matter how sorry he might be, kept on lying and betraying and stabbing people in the back. But what did the rest mean? What should he have never done?

“Ar din’an sahlin, my death is come. Halam’shivanis, the sweet sacrifice of duty.”

Rook’s head whipped around to Cole, who was staring back at her. His eyes were wide, visible even through the mop of hair covering his face. “What did you say,” she whispered.

“It’s killing him.” Cole shivered, drawing in on himself as somewhere in the keep, came another agonized howl. “You have to help him.”

Din’an sahlin. Death is come. No. Rook shook her head. A few extra hormones never killed anyone.

But Cole was nodding his head vehemently. “He is not anyone though, he is Solas. He is Pride, and lyrium, and ancient, and immortal but not undying, and it will kill him.”

Rook’s frown deepened. That couldn’t be right, he was… He couldn’t… Rage suffused her as it hit her all at once – that’s why he’d warned her away, why he cut out Cole before he could reveal anymore, why he told her not to find him in the dream.

The motherfucker wanted to die, to complete the ritual he’d begun in Arlathan and sunder the Veil with his death.

“You son of a bitch!”

Cole jumped out of her way as Rook stormed out of the bedroom and down the hallway. She shouldn’t have known where she was going, but her feet and the Fade led her through a maze of halls to a door at a dead end.

Rook didn’t even stop, just twisted the handle and entered the room.

*

There had been a moment in her training as a Crow that Rook thought she would be ejected from the organization.

It had been her third mission, still as a trainee so little more than a lookout for the real assassins to do the actual work. Fifteen years old, with a chip on her shoulder and a desperate need to prove herself to the organization that saved her life, gave her a calling. Perched alone on the edge of the rooftop, an elven gargoyle peering out over the city, her only assignment being as a lookout.

Unspoken had been the requirement she not engage with any potential threats. In hindsight, perhaps the words should’ve been spoken.

An unfamiliar figure appeared at the door her comrades had only moments before entered, kneeling at the lock with a pick in one hand. They were not dressed in Crow leathers; it could be anyone, and they would walk right into a Crow operation. That was all the justification Rook needed.

Padding silently across the ledge, Rook jumped down onto a flagpole jutting from the building then swung to the ground, alighting directly behind the newcomer. They startled, whirling around with a dagger already in their hand, and the fight was on. Rook didn’t recognize him, but then Treviso was a big city and the Crows did not let her get out much. He fought like a Crow though, all easy movements with minimal overreach, and it took less than a minute for Rook to realize he was toying with her, a distraction.

Her confirmation came when she saw dark figures alight on the ledge she’d just vacated, rushing inside the top window of the house she’d meant to safeguard.

Rage suffused her. Pulling the small knives from her cuffs and pinching them between her knuckles, she threw them at several points of her attacker’s body and sprinted to the nearby trellis, ignoring the pained grunt behind her and hoping he didn’t respond in kind. Somehow she made it up to the roof without a dagger in her back, diving through the now-open window and racing through the hall. The muffled sounds of scuffling ahead had Rook armed to the teeth, a dagger in each hand as she burst into the room then stopped in confusion.

Viago glared down at her, a familiar scowl on his face. He hadn’t been part of the original mission; was he one of the figures she’d seen enter the window? Beside him however laid three bodies dressed in dark clothing – were they who she’d seen enter? She turned a puzzled look to Viago, not saying anything because silence was the game during missions, but his lip curled in disgust before he ventured deeper inside the building.

The disappointment she’d seen in his eyes hurt worse than any blade-wound.

The mission, despite her bungling, was a success: a murdered diplomat, made to look like it was done by a foreign Coterie family. The bodies of the three extra killers that stole past Rook were taken with the Crows as they did not fit the narrative the client requested. Shame at her ineptitude had kept her quiet all the way to the Diamond, then Viago had ripped her a new one and given her to Heir for nearly four months. Even to a critical eye, his response seemed unfair – she had reacted to the breach as best she could – but Rook took the censure silently even though every fiber of her wanted to rail against it.

The hardest part was Viago ignoring her presence the entire time she retrained with Heir and the new recruits. Up until that point, Rook hadn’t realized how much her Antivan savior had personally carried out her training, and how rare that kind of attention actually was within the organization. To know she had disappointed him enough to jeopardize her potential standing with House de Riva was enough to throw her into a depression for weeks. Even after that wore off, motivation to train alongside literal children was difficult to find but she’d do it for her mentor.

Up to that point, she hadn’t realized just how much the approval of one person meant to her. That loyalty – and what she would do to regain it – etched something inside Rook, a reminder against forming bonds that could be used against her. She’d kept even her Veilguard team at arms length for as long as she could because she knew, knew, that at some point she may need to sacrifice some of them.

That attempt at distance didn’t last long, however. She’d felt it as painfully as everyone else when, one by one, they’d died under her watch.

And Solas. That one rankled the worst, because she hadn’t wanted to want his approval. It should’ve been the last thing she’d ever want or need, and yet when he betrayed her it had still been a shock. When Rook confronted him in Minrathous, that fact had slipped out almost against her will. He’d seemed apologetic, but the fact he knew what their brief interactions meant rankled more than anything else.

She couldn’t afford to make that mistake again, but had no idea what waited on the other side of the door.

The reality wasn’t quite as dramatic as she expected.

From the animalistic cries she’d heard ringing through the corridors, somehow Rook thought the bedroom would be trashed. However, it mirrored hers in nearly every way except for the color of the decorations, tending more toward gold and similar hues versus the reds in her room. It was just as spacious, the large bed a centerpiece against the far wall. She eyed it warily, then her eyes slid over to the other elf.

Solas stood looking out the window, his back straight, hands clasped behind his hips. He still wore the thin shirt and leather pants, but they were neatly tucked and arrange. She could still see the scuffed areas along his backside and hips where she’d dragged him across the rocks. Only when she realized she was once again staring at Solas’ ass once more did she tear her eyes away.

“You should go, Rook.”

His voice betrayed nothing, his posture as regal as he’d been during their parlays in the Fade, but she watched him like a caged beast. Now that she was here, Rook wasn’t sure what to do. Anger had motivated her entrance, but that protection now deserted her, struck momentarily dumb and unable to come up with a ready quip or insult.

It didn’t help that, more than anything, Rook needed to see his face.

Instead of listening to him, she moved further into the room, closing the door behind her. It clicked with a weird note of finality, and she saw Solas tense slightly, little more than a tightening of the muscles in his forearms, the fingers of his hands curling slightly. Rook became painfully aware that she was only wearing a thin robe and carried no weapons.

This wasn’t a fight she was ready for. At the very least, she should leave now and come back better prepared.

So why the fuck were her feet taking her further into the room, moving silently along the rugs so that only the bed was between her and Solas. The ancient elf didn’t move a muscle, no acknowledgment or sign of life other than his earlier warning. Rook swallowed thickly, then cleared her throat. “I heard this stuff could kill you?”

No answer. From a man who loved to hear himself talk, that silence was actually worrying. Rook chewed her lip, casting about for a convenient weapon, but nothing was around that would work on an almost-god. “Can’t have that, not after all I did to keep you alive.”

She tried for levity but it fell flat, probably due to the nervousness in her voice. More than anything, that annoyed her: the idea of showing any weakness around him. Annoyance at least managed to loosen her tongue a bit. “Look, tell me at least what we’re looking at here.”

Rook thought he would ignore her again, but after several seconds he spoke. “The effects are progressive; it will steadily grow worse until it peaks. How long depends on exposure. Those under the influence may not be coherent at that point depending on…” He trailed off.

“So it’s gonna get worse before it gets better.” Lovely. “And the whole, um, sexual gratification angle? How does that work?”

This time Rook knew she saw him shudder, felt the tension in the air hike up even as her skin prickled, recognizing an imminent threat. Still, he did not turn to look at her. “Leave now, Rook.”

She opened her mouth to tell him where he could shove his demands, except at that moment another uncontrolled wave of desire flowed through her body. Her eyes fluttered closed and, while she managed to keep from moaning, she couldn’t stop the surprised intake of breath, the way her body clenched or how she could feel her own heart beating between her legs.

Rook took her eyes off Solas for a second – surely no longer than that – but when she opened her eyes again he’d disappeared from the window. There was no time to react: hands grabbed both her wrists, pulling them behind her into the grip of a single slender hand. Rook stumbled backwards into a hard body, and before she could fight the hold a hand snaked out from behind, closing around her throat and holding her back against him.

She shivered, her head falling back against his shoulder as Solas nudged her temple with his chin, breath hot against her skin. When his teeth bit the top of her earlobe, Rook couldn’t stop a short groan from escaping her lips.

“You should have gone,” he murmured into her ear, thumb digging into the underside of her jaw to tilt her head as lips dragged across the side of her throat, leaving a trail of fire. “Why didn’t you just leave?”

“Fuck off.” Rook’s voice held no bite, no anger or scorn. It was all she could do to speak the words, letting them be the only resistance she could offer.

Solas growled, the sound rumbling impossibly from every part of the room. He released her wrists, spinning her around until her back hit the wall beside the archway to the bathing room. The breath was driven from her lungs, then Solas loomed over her, pressing her against the wall with his body. A strong thigh slid between her legs, parting the robe and tugging at the tie that held it together. Panting, Rook held onto the thin linen of his shirt, all thoughts of fighting back scattered from her brain. She smoothed one hand over a pectoral muscle, felt the hard nipple beneath her palm. Her hand clenched into him, fingernails digging into the skin.

Solas shivered, one hand snaking around the robe to the small of her back and pulling her flush against him. “Is this what you want, lethallan,” he asked, running his other hand down the side of her face, skirting across her neck and collar bone. Long fingers grabbed her jaw, tilting her face up to look at him. “To lie with the man who petrified your friends? Who killed Varric, would murder millions in your world?”

The words gripped her heart, breaking it into a million small pieces, but even that pain wasn’t enough for her to break through the drug’s chokehold. Rook’s jaw trembled in his grip, moisture pricking her eyes even as she glared up at him. “Just another regret in a sea of disappointments,” she grit out, holding his gaze and trying desperately not to arch into his body.

Solas toyed with the lapels of her robe, smoothing the satin trim between his index finger and thumb before gripping it and sliding it from her Rook’s shoulder. Trembling, Rook splayed her hand across the center of his chest, eyes fluttering shut as her body was slowly exposed to him.

“Why didn’t you run?” Solas’ voice was ragged, whether with desire or anguish she couldn’t tell. “Why couldn’t you listen just this one…”

He pressed into her and this time she did push back with her hand, a token resistance, but it seemed to unleash something inside him. Solas grunted, his hands winding down to cup the cheeks of her backside in each hand, lifting her between them. Rook grasped his shoulders, eyes widening in shock as he pressed himself between her splayed legs. He grabbed her wrists, pinning them beside her head as his lips fell on her throat, all teeth and tongue and wet lips.

Rook tried and failed to bite off the moan that came from her throat. She struggled against his hold, wanting desperately to touch him, but he growled against her, thrusting his hips against her naked core. Her head thunked back against the wall, squeezing his waist with her thighs and grinding against the hard length of him still tied behind the leather breeches.

Solas raised her arms above her head once more, gripping both wrists in one hand, then reached between their bodies. Rook thought he was going for his breeches, but when his fingers slid instead between her folds there was no stopping the cry pulled from her lips. She was still wet, possibly wetter than when she’d been alone in her room, and his fingers slipped across her core easily, her hips jerking into his touch.

He groaned into her neck, thrusting against her with his hips. A finger slid inside her, then another, teasing and stretching even as the knuckle of his thumb found her swollen clit. His lips sucked at her neck, teeth digging in as he pressed as deep inside her as he could reach, and Rook cried out at the welcomed invasion.

His hands never left her, working her hard and fast, but when he finally pulled away his fingers his breeches were somehow gone and his cock already there to take its place. She moaned loudly in his ear, rubbing her cheek against the soft skin of his head as he slicked himself first with her juices, then positioned herself at her entrance and thrust in with no preamble.

There was no tenderness, no time for her to adjust to him; he fucked her hard against the wall, both hands now holding her hips and backside. Rook scrabbled at his back, gripping his waist with her thighs, her cries echoing alongside his panting and grunts. Solas kept his head along the crook of her neck, teeth and lips playing with the skin there, but didn’t stop the relentless assault with his hips, spearing repeatedly into her hard enough to bruise.

Rook didn’t care. He was so deep, so far inside her that she couldn’t tell where he ended and she began. The pain of his thrusts looped back into pleasure, the dueling sensations driving everything higher, and for the second time in less than an hour she came as he bit down hard just beside her collarbone.

Still he didn’t stop, driving into her, his fingers digging painfully into her hip and backside. Rook tightened her arms around his shoulders, hanging on for dear life as he pushed her lower body hard into the wall behind her. Then, with a loud groan, she felt him spasm inside her, the teeth near her shoulder biting hard enough to draw blood.

For a moment, it was just the sound of their shared ragged breathing. Solas remained hard inside her, but when he pulled out she gave a small hiss of pain. He laid his forehead on her shoulder, breath hot across her skin, as Rook leaned her head back against the wall, staring up at the ceiling, then closed her eyes again as she caught her breath.

*

The warm sun actually felt good on her face.

Rook was laid back against the grass, staring up through the trees of Arlathan Forest. She recognized the area; they’d explored it enough while working with the Veil Jumpers against Elgar’nan and Ghilan’nain. The white-barked trees, their multicolored leaves; it was familiar enough to make her heart ache.

Someone stirred beside her, just a soft susurration of fallen leaves and grass, but Rook already knew who it was. “This is another dream then?”

“Yes.” Solas’ voice was soft, tone a far cry from the command he’d spoken so often with her. She waited for him to continue speaking – the man loved to hear himself talk as much as Varric – but the only sound was the wind rustling through the trees.

She tipped her head to the side, looking over at the other elf. Solas stared up at the sky above him, a placid expression on his face. He had his armor back on here, the pieces she’d divested from him down in the mines. Belatedly Rook wondered if he could recraft it out of the Fade again; or was there a difference between what was created in the Fade and the real world.

“I am…” He trailed off, then sighed. “No apology can be words enough for how I feel.”

Rook just hummed a response, merely an acknowledgment he spoke than anything concrete like forgiveness, and turned back to stare up into the sky. “Is this from my mind or yours?”

“I visited the Arlathan ruins of your time extensively before you first bound me in my prison. Perhaps that is why this feels so much more real; it comes from both our minds.”

They lapsed into silence again, staring up into space. If Rook squinted, she could see what looked like the faintest stars shining through the blue skies. Even in the real world, those would never be visible to the naked eye; just another sign this was indeed the Fade.

As if she needed any further proof.

“I apologize for my words to you about your friends. Before we…before.”

“It was only the truth.” Rook took a shaky breath, blowing it out slowly. “You were trying to make me leave, drive me away.”

“The words were still cruel. I should not have spoken them.”

Rook grinned, although there was no mirth behind the smile. “They aren’t the first barbs we’ve tossed at one another, and likely won’t be the last once…this…is over.”

“Indeed.”

Even though the conversation was stilted, Rook didn’t feel uncomfortable. What an odd thing. “I’m sorry you have to go through this as well.”

He says nothing, but this time, when she turns her head to look at him, he’s frowning at her. From this close, Rook could see just how vividly lilac the other elf’s eyes are, pale but no less vibrant a color. “You’re as powerless in this as I am,” she murmured, tracing his face with her eyes, remembering how his cheeks and nose and lips felt against her skin.

His face spasmed, pain flashing across his eyes before he schooled his expression again. “I do not deserve your sympathy,” he said, his voice perhaps a bit too harsh, but Rook didn’t argue. For a moment, she thought about throwing his use of blood magic in his face; how this was karmic payback for his own subtle manipulations of her own mind. But the thought died almost as quickly as it appeared.

“We’re in this together, whether we want it or not.” Rook stared up at the sky, reveling in the warm sun on her skin. She left so many things behind when she was dragged to the Fade; this was just one more thing she’d taken for granted. “I’ll judge you on a lot of your bullshit, Solas, but I won’t blame you for this.”

“You should.” His thoughtful voice betrayed nothing, and Rook didn’t look back over at the man. Somewhere around her, she thought she heard the cry of a wolf, plaintive and sorrowful, but she didn’t react. “I do not believe I would have allowed you to go. Had you run as I requested, I would have still hunted you down.”

“I know,” Rook admitted. “Just as well I came willingly.”

“Yes,” he murmured. “Just as well.”

*

The first thing Rook noticed when she awoke was that her entire body ached.

She groaned softly, shifting against the sheets around her and wincing as they pulled against her skin. One hand went to her collarbone where she felt the crusty remnants of blood, the skin ragged and pained from the final bite wound. At least, the final one she remembered. Whatever might have happened between that and when she ended up in the bed, she tried not to dwell on it.

An arm was wrapped over her waist, the hand tucked between the mattress and her hip. While not holding her in place, it still barred much movement without waking the person behind her.

For the moment, she was loathe to do so.

On the small table beside the bed sat a familiar potion. Careful not to move too much, Rook stretched out and managed to grab it with her fingertips. Quietly removing the cork, she gave it a whiff: elfroot, like she thought. She downed the bottle, and felt the effects flow through her body before she’d even swallowed it all as minor injuries healed instantly, including the remnants of the bite on her chest. Less inclined to leave were the bruises, which still ached but not as sharp as before. Her wrists were a mixture of green and purple bruises, the purple lines almost like invisible fingers wrapping around her arm. Between her legs still ached, no longer painful but still throbbing as if to remind her the drug was still in her system.

Pressing gingerly at the bloody bite on her chest and finding it no longer stung, she wiped off the flaking blood, cringing as it fell onto gold satin sheets. She went to brush it off the bed when the arm around her waist tightened and Rook froze in place.

Solas pulled her back flush to his body, nuzzling her hair and neck. It certainly wasn’t fear that made Rook swallow. He was hard against her hip, and she felt the throbbing between her legs intensify, her belly tightening in response. Solas’ hand splayed across her belly, moving up to cup one breast, his thumb brushing across the hard nipple.

Rook’s eyes fluttered closed, breath catching in her throat. Solas’ fingers pinched the nipple, not hard just rolling it between a thumb and forefinger, then his hand skimmed along her flat stomach to dip down between her legs. She grabbed his wrist, not sure if she meant to stop or guide him, but he found what he wanted unerringly, sliding between her folds and circling the small bud.

She opened her mouth, trying to stifle the moan but unable to stop the panting breath that escaped her. Solas’ fingers worked her clit in slow lazy circles, his fingers gliding easily between her already-slick folds. One finger slid inside her; not far, just working the entrance, and Rook sank her fingernails into his forearm even as she clenched around him. Solas chuckled against her ear, then took the tip of her earlobe lightly between his teeth. Rook hissed out a breath, unable to contain her groan as she ground back against his hard length, needing more already and unwilling to wait.

Solas pushed against her shoulder, rolling her over onto her stomach as he straddled her hips. His hand pressed between her shoulder blades as he positioned himself between her thighs. Rook dragged her knees up under her, tilting her hips upwards and gasping into the pillow when Solas leaned down over her, nails skimming along her spine. He spoke to her in Elven, words and phrases she didn’t understand but her body still responded to. One hand dipped back between her legs, middle finger sliding along the seam of her, and she surged forward, gasping hard at the contact. Solas’ fingers slid through her hair, fisting a handful and pulling her head back. His teeth nibbled the tip of one ear and Rook keened, scrabbling back at the hips already slotted behind hers.

Solas let go of her hair, arm curling under her and latching onto one breast, holding her against him as he surged inside. This time they both gasped, Rook digging her fingernails into his forearm as Solas speared into her, hammering her from behind. He let go of Rook’s breast, his hands gripping her hips hard enough to bruise as he drove into her again and again, hips snapping hard against hers.

Rook scrabbled beneath him, hugging the pillow for support and bracing herself against the wood headboard. It fucking hurt, both the hands on her hips and his cock driving into her, but she needed it, craved it in a way that had her wordlessly begging for more, pushing back into his thrusts.

He growled and bent over her, pushing her upper body down onto the bed with a hand between her shoulder blades. His strokes grew longer and slower, slamming into her then drawing out slowly only to repeat. She didn’t even comprehend the words coming out of her mouth, just begging, pleading for more, and harder always harder.

The orgasm took her entirely by surprise; she screamed his name, unable to brace herself on the headboard. Solas grunted, fingers digging into her hips and backside, but the kisses he laid along her spine were soft, so soft and totally unlike anything else in that moment. Tears stung her eyes as she convulsed around him, but when his hand snaked around to work her clit she was crying out again.

Too much. It was all too much.

This time, the orgasm rose up, the pleasure peaking but not quite cresting. It was misery, it was ecstasy – Rook couldn’t stop the sounds coming from her throat, but from the soft crooning words in her ear, Solas seemed to like them. Sobbing, Rook found Solas’ hand still evenly circling her clit, then moved lower, wanting to touch where they met, touch him.

At her contact with him, the kisses on her back became bites, teeth hanging on for dear life. Nails dug into her hips as Rook pressed along the length of his cock thrusting inside her, needing that connection. Then with a loud groan, Solas came, spilling inside her. Rook felt him pulsate beneath her fingertips, milking the last honeyed drop inside her body.

They collapsed sideways, still connected and both breathing hard. Solas pulled her back close to him, one hand trailing up to wrap around her neck, but he just held it there without squeezing, his thumb stroking her jawline. Rook covered his other hand still hanging onto her hip as if for dear life, and laid her head back onto his shoulder.

She’d barely just woken up and already felt like she wanted a nap. However, as liquid pooled between her thighs she realized she needed to clean up first. Solas however seemed loath to let her go; his arms circled around her waist keeping her close, his nose rubbing against her neck. Rook shifted just a bit, pulling her trapped arm out from under her, and his grip on her tightened. It also shifted him inside her and she clenched in response.

He growled in her ear, and Rook swallowed. Solas nipped at her ear, undulating his hips and moving within her, and she gave a strangled whimper.

She already wanted him again, and it had been minutes. Fucking sex fungus.

Solas didn’t seem to be in any rush however. He palmed over a breast, thumb circling one hard nipple as he nibbled her neck. Rook tilted her head to allow him access, tilting her hips back to allow him better access. The hand around her neck skimmed down her breastbone, dipped between her legs, circled the hard bud there that was still sensitive from the orgasm moments before. Rook slid her leg back over his hip, widening her thighs, and he slipped between for deeper access.

He fucked her lazily, raining kisses along her shoulder and back as Rook shuddered in his arms. She clutched at his hand, wanting more, but his touch was slow and steady, frustrating if it didn’t feel so damned good. He seemed almost amused by her neediness; she felt rather than heard the soft laughter rumble through his chest, but it didn’t change his pace.

Rook had to clench her jaw together to keep from begging him. For now anyway, she had at least that much control.

Despite coming twice in less than an hour already, it didn’t take long for those knowledgeable fingers, solid strokes, and lips along her neck and ears, to wring another orgasm from her. She sobbed her release, tears pricking her eyes for no good reason, and didn’t protest at all when he rolled her back onto her belly, his touches and thrusts becoming more demanding.

*

He did eventually let her go to the water closet, grudgingly releasing her from his bed and arms. Rook closed herself inside longer than was necessary, cleaning herself while she tried and failed to get her mind back in order. She could handle the man when he was angry or when he was being an arrogant prick. That was easy to navigate, familiar territory at this point.

But Solas being gentle? That was something entirely new and treacherous in a different way.

She heard the bath start to run and the soft sounds of Solas exploring his bathroom. Rook stayed where she was until the water eventually turned off, knowing she’d have to leave at some point but unwilling to do so just yet. Part of her wanted to stay hidden behind the gilded door for as long as possible, while another part of her – a very vocal part of her – wanted to join him in the bath tub.

Confusing, to say the least. She almost wish he’d take her to the Dreaming again, but either he didn’t feel it was necessary at that point or he lacked the control.

Either way, she’d only find out by going out there.

Opening the door just a bit, Rook grabbed a towel from the nearby hook and wrapped it around herself before emerging self-consciously. Thankfully Solas was already in the bath and deliberately didn’t look at her as she padded over to the vanity to sit down. Trust the Orlesians to gild everything they could; even the seat was covered in gold leaf, and somewhat uncomfortable. Despite everything, she was a bundle of nervous energy but something told her not to move much and poke the proverbial bear.

Or wolf, in this case.

Solas still wasn’t looking at her, which suited Rook just fine. It felt wrong to do so but she turned her back to him and stared at her reflection in the vanity’s mirror. Most of her torso was concealed by the towel, but her neck and upper chest was covered in red marks. The bite near her collarbone was the most pronounced, a discolored bruise that stood out from her otherwise pale skin, but she could see scratch marks across her shoulders, hickeys along her neck, and the red trace of finger marks on her upper arm and neck. Rook turned over her hand, seeing the finger-shaped bruises along her wrists and forearms.

And this was after the healing potion. Yikes.

She hadn’t meant to look at him, but Solas was reflected in the glass and it was like her eyes were drawn to him on their own. The other elf was staring back at her, and she met his gaze as boldly as she could. For now, the fires were tamped back for Rook; maybe the same could be said for Solas, because his face looked sorrowful. She watched his eyes trace over her shoulders and wondered what wounds were back there she hadn’t seen yet.

“I would like to heal you,” he said after an agonizingly long moment. “If…that is alright with you?”

Wow. It must be pretty bad then.

Rook gave a jerky nod but didn’t move, not willing at that moment to go any closer than she had to the other elf. Almost immediately, a warm glow suffused her, tingling across her skin. When it faded, she flexed her shoulders, skin no longer tight and scratchy, and looked back at the bite mark that had been on her collarbone. It was all but gone, a pale scar that wasn’t visible at all unless you know what and where to look.

Oddly enough, that made her feel bereft, like she’d lost something important.

“Thank you.” Rook’s voice was rough, as though she hadn’t spoken in a while. She cleared her throat. “How are you doing?”

“The fungus is still in my system.” Solas’ voice was harsh, but Rook could tell it wasn’t directed at her. “The effects have not yet peaked.”

“Yeah.” They sat in silence again. Finally, Rook swallowed. “How long do you think this will last?”

“Until it is metabolized out of our system.”

Solas’ reflection held out a hand to her, palm up, and an aching loneliness filled Rook’s chest. Part of her wanted to resist – this was just the spores, it wasn’t real – but the yearning was so acute suddenly she wanted to cry. Swallowing again, she stood up, padding slowly beside the tub and taking the proffered hand.

His grip was warm and real, firm but soft. He tugged her close and she followed, kneeling beside the tub when all she wanted to do was step inside and hug her body close to his. Solas’ hand left hers, cupping her cheek, and Rook leaned into the touch, chin trembling.

“This will pass,” he murmured, pushing a strand of her hair behind one long ear. “I wish I could spare you this, but I have seen the effects before. I have seen what it can do to my people, and to yours.”

“What happened?”

Solas said nothing however, just traced her cheekbone with one thumb, then up to stroke her brow. His other hand reached for hers again, taking her wrist and pulling her in closer to him.

Almost of its own volition, the towel wrapped around her fell to the floor of the bathroom as Rook rose and stepped into the water. It was warm and welcoming, and while there wasn’t much room for two people she still managed to straddle the ancient elf. She could feel his hard length against her belly but for now that wasn’t what she wanted.

Rook leaned into him, flattening her torso against his and curling her face up under his neck, arms wrapping around his chest. A soft sigh escaped her when his arms wrapped around her shoulders, pulling her into his embrace.

Cocooned here, in the warm water pressed against his soft skin, Rook was content for the first time in what felt like ages.

Solas’ hands made lazy trails along her spine, his chin pressed lightly atop her head. It was relaxing, soothing almost. A thought struck her, and Rook gave a small chuckle.

“What is it?”

Rook nestled harder into him, rubbing her nose along his neck. Had he always smelled this good? “I was just thinking,” she murmured. “Once this wears off, we’ll probably go right back to hating each other’s guts.”

She felt his huff of breath against her neck, the slight buck of his chest as he laughed softly. “I never hated you.”

Her eyes snapped open, staring at the man’s ridiculously chiseled jawline. Slowly, she lifted her head to glare at him. “Solas,” she said, enunciating her words carefully and trying not to let her incredulity bleed into her voice, “you fucking stabbed me.”

His lips quirked. “I said I did not hate you. I never said you did not annoy me.”

An argument was right on the tip of Rook’s tongue – the man needed a swift kick to the head – but instead her attention seemed fixated on his mouth. God, she wanted to kiss him so bad…and just thinking the words made her heart break. Her chin wobbled as her mind shifted to Varric, to Neve and Davrin petrified on the dais. “I need to hate you,” she whispered, unable to stop staring at his mouth which now turned down in sorrow.

“Ir abelas, lethallan.” Solas reached up and cupped her cheek, bringing her forehead to his. “It will never be enough, but I am so sorry.”

His words did nothing to ease the grief flowing through her in the moment, nor did they reduce the way her body still responded to his proximity. Solas must have felt it too because his hands went to her hips under the water, squeezing the skin there, but didn’t nothing else as if waiting for her move.

Rook laid her face back against his shoulder, tears pricking her eyes even as she laid a soft kiss to the side of his neck. Solas’ grip tightened on her hips, his fingers squeezing into the skin. Rook could feel his pulse beating fast against her lips, the way his hard length jumped between them, the tension in his body proof how he was trying to hold himself back. She tightened her hold around his neck, pressing harder against him, her hips pressing her core against him – needing him, and wishing she didn’t.

“Forgive me,” Solas murmured raggedly into her hair, his voice torn and full of regret as his grip shifted under her backside, lifting her easily and settling down over him again. Either the water or her own desire had him sliding into her easily, and Maker it was the most beautiful feeling in the world.

She hated herself for even thinking that, hated the needy whimper that escaped her lips. Yet that didn’t stop her from riding him, from glorying in the way his fingers dug into the twin globes of her ass, how fucking good he felt deep inside her, how his own small gasps and truncated groans only made her want more, louder, harder.

And when she came, his name on her lips, a single tear trickled down one cheek.

*

After that, time seemed to blur.

Sometimes the sex was achingly sweet, an act of worship for each other’s bodies. Usually though, it was hard and rough, and oddly possessive from both sides. The elfroot potions were always there on the table, but at one point Rook stopped taking them. The bruises, the marks on her skin, felt necessary somehow; proof of what they’d done, marking her as his as much as any Valleslin ever could. She wanted to be marked by the Dread Wolf, be possessed by him, whether because she thought it erotic or that she deserved to carry the scars of it with her forever.

Solas healed her as much as he could, when sex gave him momentary clarity from the spore’s effects. He would only marked her back up again moments later however, as intent at possession as Rook was at being possessed. Sometimes he drew her into the Dreaming, short jaunts that were a calming respite from the constant need. There, when she asked him again whether the spores really would kill him, he told her of the time Falon’din angered Elgar’nan enough that, in a fit of pique, the Evanuris snuck the spores into Falon’din’s drink during a party in his honor. Falon’din, unable to temper the effects of the spores in his system and apparently not the benevolent god of the stories, killed five of his servants while slaking his hungers on them.

After that, Rook drank the elfroot potions whenever she saw them beside her bed.

At some point, moments in the Dreaming ended as the effects of the spores peaked. It was all sex, all the time, but Rook was as drunk on needing him as he was her. She gloried in the pain he gave her, met him thrust for thrust, dug her nails in and tried to sink into his skin so they’d never be separated. There was no respite and she wanted none, nor did Solas give her a chance. The bottles by the bedside table were all but forgotten; even sleeping, they stayed joined and unwilling to part, with one waking the other to begin anew.

But finally – finally – after who knew how long, they slept like the dead, with no dreams to pass between.

Rook awoke curled back against Solas, the desperate fire no longer burning a hot brand throughout her brain. Vestiges still remained, the memories of their couplings not dimmed or diminished in the slightest. She remembered all they did, all that she felt, and wasn’t that just the motherfucking cherry on top of a shit salad.

A larger bottle of potion stood on the bed; Rook grabbed and quaffed it automatically, wrinkling her nose at the elfroot flavor. If she never tasted the herb for an eternity, she’d happily take the respite.

Solas seemed well and truly asleep. For the first time since she’d entered the bedroom, he did not claw her back when she pulled from his grip to turn around and face him. The satin sheets were all but pulled off the mattress and stained stiff in places with things Rook didn’t want to think about, but truthfully she’d slept on far worse before. Even after the potion, her entire body was sore inside and out, and a bone-deep weariness made her lethargic and feeling lazy. Settling her head back against the pillow, Rook stared at the sleeping Solas, following his features with her eyes. His features were softer in slumber, the stressful lines to his brow gone. Even knowing he was thousands of years old, he still looked so young and oddly vulnerable, neither of which Rook knew she’d ever ascribe to the ancient elf if she was in her right mind.

So, some remnants remained in her system. But at least the worst of it had passed.

Rook reached out and traced his brow with soft fingers, skimming down the side of his face. Still he slept so she grew bolder, pulling in closer to run her fingertips along the edge of his ears. He did stir at that but didn’t open his eyes, just gave a soft sigh and reached out for her. His hand curled around her waist but he didn’t pull her in, content just to touch her.

For some reason, that simple realization made Rook want to cry.

Gods-damned spores making me a fucking emotional wreck, what the hell?

The thought made her smile. At least some part of her brain was working right again. But the anger, the virulent hatred, she remembered from just a few days prior for the man before her felt like a distant memory.

Rook wanted to hate Solas – desperately, fervently hate the man who had done so many despicable things not just to the world but to those she herself loved and lost. But even the anger was no longer easy to find, blunted perhaps by the spores but, more worriedly, by what they had both shared the last hours, days, however long it had been. Neither of them had wanted it, but they’d passed through the trial together. Rook knew how that kind of shared experience changed people, but couldn’t yet tell how much of her feelings were the drug and how much were permanent.

Guess I’ll find out soon enough.

She traced a finger down his nose, smiling ruefully as his eyes opened. “Morning, sunshine.”

Solas watched her through half-lidded eyes, arching his body in a sleepy stretch but not reaching out to take her like he’d done previously. Instead, his hand mirrored hers from only moments before, tracing the side of her face and down her neck, skimming along the top of her arm. The soft tingling of his healing magic pushed through her, taking away the lingering aches and pains that elfroot couldn’t fix.

Rook moved closer, leaning into his other hand as it came to cup the side of her face. “This changes nothing,” she murmured, eyes flickering to the sad smile that pulls at his lips.

The brilliant lilac of his eyes drew her in close, and without conscious thought their lips pressed together. The kiss was chaste, soft and tentative, an exploration with no obligations behind it. Rook’s tongue licked at Solas lips, her heart beating harder as the hand cupping her cheek twitched, and the kiss deepened into something more.

Rook was the one to reach for him, pressing her body against his, but it was Solas who rolled them over so that Rook was atop him, straddling his hips and kissing him for all she was worth.

Like this was the last time, and she wanted to savor every moment.

She sat back, running her nails across Solas’ chest; grinning at the hungry look he gave her, the small intake of breath as she rolled her hips back against the hard length jutting behind her hips. He bucked up beneath her and she ground down against him, a small gasp flying from her lips at the contact. One of Solas’ hands left her hip, pressing between them and finding the hard bud of her clit, and Rook jerked at the sensation. Moaning loudly, she leaned back down, once more claiming his lips but unable to kiss him properly, too distracted by how his fingers pressed and played with her.

Solas, for his part, seemed content to allow her to set the pace, but Rook needed more. She drew her hips back, rubbing him through her slick folds, and it was Solas’ turn to stutter, for his breath to catch, for a groan to escape his lips. His fingers worked her expertly, tongue and mouth hungry and devouring, and Rook needed him inside her.

It was her choice to lift her hips, to press him to her entrance, to push down slowly over his hard length and let her envelope him slow inch by agonizing inch. Solas’ head arched back into the pillow, his beautiful eyes fluttering shut, but kept his hips still allowing Rook to set the pace.

Only when she was fully seated, felt him pressed against places that were still sore even after the multiple healings, did she permit herself to move, grinding against him deep inside.

His hands worshipped her, touching every inch of her torso as she rode him, making sure her pleasure was as acute as his. Rook couldn’t stop kissing him; every time she left his lips to change the angle or the momentum, she felt bereft. They drew her back constantly, and when he began thrusting up inside her, massaging that place deep inside that fingers could never reach, she could only hold her lips against his, needy moans and pleas escaping her into his mouth.

Her first orgasm had her crying into his mouth, wordlessly begging for more. She was still riding that high when he rolled them over, his lips sealing over a spot on her neck as his hips drove into her, drawing out the pleasure. It was more akin to rutting than anything else, his skin slick with a sheen of sweat, and Rook licked eagerly at him, drawing him close and voicing her approval. Her second orgasm caught her by surprise, ripping a loud cry out of her, and then it was Solas’ turn to groan as he spilled inside her, teeth grazing her neck but not biting hard enough to bruise this time.

Panting, they both laid like that for a long moment, Rook’s hand moving along Solas’ shoulder blades as they both caught their breath. She crossed her ankles around his back, holding him in place when he tried to move away, and he seemed content to stay, murmuring soft words in Elven that she didn’t understand but cherished in that moment anyway.

It couldn’t last, she knew that, but for a little while Rook allowed herself the comfort of his body over hers, his soft voice lulling her into a contented rest.

*

Leaving the bedroom felt weird as Rook realized she hadn’t done so in far too long.

Cole was outside and fluttered around the hallway nervously, but didn’t stop or try to talk to her as she went into her room and closed the door on the spirit boy. Rook laid her head against the door, holding her robe firmly together against her chest, then with a small sigh went to bathe.

Her leathers were cleaned and laying atop her bed when she emerged from the bath, and alongside them were some lighter linen travel clothes she didn’t recognize as well as a pack of supplies. She took a swig of water before stowing the canteen again, peered between the two sets of clothing before picking out the linen pair and packing her Crow leathers into the bag. Snacking quickly on some dried fruit, Rook eyed the exit quietly for several minutes before checking to see she had everything she’d need and opened the door.

She followed Cole quietly through the hallway and down the stairs to the manor’s main entrance. Orlesian opulence dripped all around her but she barely noticed; gold and riches did no good here in the Fade.

But when she opened the door and saw the huge stone column lying across the entrance, blocking access from nearly all sides, she couldn’t stop the colorful words coming from her lips.

Above her, she heard Solas’ deep chuckle, and looked up to see him standing atop the column staring down at her. He no longer wore the linen shirt and leather pants, but unfamiliar raggedy robes of an apostate mage. Rook narrowed her eyes at him, looking for any kind of mocking in his tone or demeanor, but his smile was fond, his eyes mischievous. Kneeling down and bracing himself atop the stone structure, he held out his hand to her, silently offering his help.

Rook stared at it for a long moment of internal debate, then with an irritated huff took the elf’s hand and allowed him to help pull her over the obstacle and back in to the rest of the Fade.