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It had been gruesome. Terrifying. How the promise of absolute safety and resilience could be broken so harshly, how reality tramps ideals one might’ve been fed all their life. Thoughts that threatened to dismantle her completely. But she was Nadira Thorne, a Grey Warden, and the whole purpose of her existence was to be a protector, a hero; there was no space for doubts, fears, regrets. No time.
Be that as it was, the Shadow Dragons, now mostly back to their respective homes or laying drunkenly in some chair or another, had invited the team to their shop in Dock Town for a celebration after defeating the two dragons together. A forced respite. But it was hard for her to feel the victory. The justice that had been done for Treviso. Not after so little time had passed since the events at Weisshaupt.
So, evidently, she drank. Alongside her fellow Warden, mostly in complete silence, hand mindlessly stroking Assan’s head while staring into the crackling fireplace, harmonizing with the rain outside. She smirked to herself – she’d chosen to join the Wardens, nothing had pressured her into it. The life of a Tal-Vashoth just wouldn’t cut it, especially in such close proximity to Tevinter. She’d needed something to anchor her, and something to protect her from bias somehow. A purpose. But who could’ve predicted the amalgamation of sheer insanity that followed?
“What are you thinking about?” Davrin asked after a big swig of wine, noticing Rook’s bitter smile.
She sighed, taking the bottle he’d offered. No use bothering with glasses. “The strangeness of it all.”
Davrin huffed amusedly. “Don’t I know it.”
“Maybe I should’ve just stayed home that day,” she said. She took a sip of wine then passed the bottle back to her companion. “When I came to Weisshaupt to become a Warden, I mean. Should’ve become a farmer or something. Maker knows my mother would’ve been elated.”
“I’m having a hard time picturing you living a normal life. How would you put those daggers to good use on a farm?”
Rook shrugged. “Slaughtering pigs?”
“You’d’ve hoped they were possessed, I’m sure.”
They laughed. It was comfortable. Warm, and not just due to the already empty bottle joining the other two. Rook wondered how she’d have handled it all without a familiar figure such as Davrin. Who else could have understood her better than someone from the same background? A thought similar to what had led her to more than a couple drunken tumbles in Taash’s bed. No substance to that, though. No sober acknowledgement of it either. So, probably, no point to it, she mused when the temptation gnawed at her inebriated mind again. Or, rather, at her body. Besides, that had recently started to serve a different purpose: taking her mind off of something she definitely wanted more. Someone. Shit. Not this again.
“Up for another?” Rook asked, gesturing with her head towards the empty bottles.
“Ah, what the hell. We're the only ones still standing, might as well go out with a bang. I’m sure Emmrich has some anti-hangover potions or whatnot.”
Rook chuckled, and stood up, patting Davrin’s back as she did. “I’ll be right back.”
Thankfully, the wine cellar wasn’t too many stairs away. Her legs felt wobbly enough as it was. As she descended and approached the door, her breath hitched for an almost imperceptible moment: she could hear laughter coming from inside, a laughter she’d recognize anytime, no matter how drunk or tired she might’ve been. Neve. Ugh. They hadn’t exactly spoken since their wisp-hunt-turned-almost-kiss moment. And whenever they did, it would be solely related to the mission. Her nose scrunched in awkwardness. She’d just faced a giant head in the sky, plus her triple-headed Archdemon, then two dragons at the same time. So why did this feel like so much more of a hurdle?
Either way, she took a deep breath and opened the door. The sight that greeted her did nothing for the nausea that had already started creeping up her stomach. Neve was leaning against the table, the eternal mug of coffee in one hand, and the other had just left the back of Lucanis’s hand, who was leaning next to her. They seemed to be having a good time, laughing and drinking coffee. Whatever had possessed Rook to feel like someone had just dropped a building on her heart?
Noticing the Warden, Neve’s laughter immediately ground to a halt, and the hand that had touched Lucanis’s clenched into a fist. The latter’s demeanour didn’t seem to change, though, so the contrast was quite striking.
“Don’t mind me. Just here to pick up some more wine,” she excused herself, but the casual tone she was going for didn’t quite match the result.
Neve cleared her throat, and just nodded. So awkward. Whenever they’d bump into each other after the tragic event in Neve’s office, the interaction would be dreadfully similar.
“Right. My cue to get back to the Lighthouse,” Lucanis said, seemingly unaware of the tension. “You should, too,” he told Neve. Rook’s jaw tightened inadvertently. “And, maybe…” he said, sheepishly turning his gaze toward Rook. “Slow down a bit?”
Rook shrugged, simultaneously forcing her shoulders to relax. “You know how it is.”
“More than I’d like,” he admitted. His own experience with Treviso’s destruction mirrored Rook’s with Weisshaupt. Although his hadn’t ended in any victories. He smiled politely at the two, then retreated up the stairs.
Rook realized she hadn’t even taken a step towards where the wine was stored. So, albeit tentatively at first, she started walking towards the back of the room, passing by Neve without a word. It wasn’t lost on the latter how teenage-y it all felt. Nevertheless, she pushed herself off the table and went to leave, quietly enough that she hoped Rook wouldn’t notice.
“What’s that about?” Rook asked, snapping Neve out of her concentration, and stopping her in her tracks.
“What’s…,” she started, but hearing how hoarse her voice was at first, she cleared her throat again before continuing, “…what’s what about?”
“You and Lucanis,” Rook turned to face her, bottle in hand, a mischievous smile plastered across her drunk expression.
Neve raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”
“Oh, come on,” Rook pressed further, masking the true intention under what she hoped was a friendly invitation to gossip. “The giggles, the hand holding. Seems like there’s a story there.” Only now, speaking with a sober person, she realized she was slurring more than a little.
“He was feeling down regarding the events with Ghilan’nain. I offered to talk about it over coffee. That’s the story.” Neve replied, and Rook could physically feel the bite in her voice, also noticing the way her knuckles threatened to turn white while holding the mug tightly with both hands.
“Huh. Alright then,” the Warden shrugged. Neither of them moved, probably not even blinked, for a good couple of seconds.
“What’s the story with you and Taash, though?” Neve broke the silence, and instantly chastised herself for it. Too late. Out for blood now.
Rook’s eyes widened for a moment – she’d hoped it wasn’t a widely known fact. But of course the detective would pick up on it. Why not use it to her advantage, though? She was drunk enough to have fun with it, anyway. “It’s something to do,” she shrugged, unable to contain her grin.
Neve could feel her cheeks turning a painful shade of red. She clenched her teeth before regaining her composure. “Is that so?” she asked, cocking her head slightly in an attempt to mimic Rook’s gossipy tone.
Rook huffed, barely able to contain her satisfaction. “It is,” she admitted, the amusement palpable in her voice. Silence followed again. It was nothing short of hilariously bittersweet how they both seemed to distance their replies, while standing on opposite sides of the room, analyzing each other’s reactions. “Or was,” she rectified after a while, not wanting to play too harshly. “They’re pretty into Harding lately.”
Neve shifted her weight from one leg to the other before speaking. “Oh?” Her expression softened at the thought of her friends, but quickly hardened again all things considered.
“Nothing like that with you and Lucanis, then?” Rook continued to be a pestilence with a huge shit-eating grin on her face. One she’d sorely regret in the morning.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Neve answered defensively. If looks could kill, Rook would’ve been long since dead and buried, she thought.
“If you say so,” Rook giggled briefly, then started to walk towards the door.
As she passed by Neve, the latter’s hand almost unthinkingly darted towards her arm, fingers closing around it. The eye contact that followed, the suddenness, paired with the unhealthy amount of alcohol in her blood, made her drop the bottle, but her quick rogue reflexes, fumbled as they were, helped her catch it just as it was about to hit the floor. So she found herself holding onto it for dear life while kneeling in front of Neve. The latter burst into laughter. “A sign to lay off the wine, maybe?” she mocked.
“Is that why you stopped me?” Rook asked, and only afterwards realized that her voice had dropped an octave or two, looking up at Neve and being so close to her she could smell her perfume.
Neve swallowed. Sometimes, she wished she wasn’t so perceptive. She offered her hand to help Rook up, and the moment she felt the warm, deceptively gentle palm over hers, she feared she might also fall. In more ways than one. If she hadn’t already. Sort yourself out, Gallus. “It is,” she replied as Rook stood up, and the way the Qunari towered over her made her swallow again. “Don’t drink yourself to death. The team needs you.”
Rook paused, her eyes searching Neve’s for a moment. And for just a split second, darted towards her lips, and back up. She could feel her own lips drying up as she did, but resisted the temptation to lick them. “Is that all?” she asked, voice barely more than a whisper.
Neve huffed, tilting her head slightly with a smile. “You keep asking that.”
Damn. Clocked. Rook straightened her shoulders, attempting to divert the attention. She nodded, then stepped away, walking towards the wine rack to return the bottle. Neve felt a familiar pang in her chest as distance settled between them again.
Rook turned to face her again, raising her arms in mock defense. “There.”
Neve chuckled, more than a little affectionately, at the woman’s antics. “Good girl.”
Rook raised her eyebrows, higher than she thought possible, eyes widened, and cheeks taking on a pink hue against the grey tones of her skin. Had she heard wrong? Was that the way humans spoke to their friends? Was it a joke?
Neve shifted uncomfortably at the realization of what she’d just said. Or, more to the point, of how it was received. Not that she’d intended for this sort of reception. Not for a second. Absolutely not.
I think you might be trouble. But no words escaped their lips. Just simultaneous sighs, then a nod goodbye. A hope that they wouldn’t meet each other on the way back to the Lighthouse… and a hope that they would.