Chapter Text
She closed Isseya's journal and set it on the bedroll beside her.
Davrin didn't look up. The charcoal kept moving. Outside, Assan breathed slow and even against the tent entrance, the sound of an animal that had decided the night was settled.
She lay down and told herself she would rest for a little while. Her eyes were tired. The blight in the air had been pulling at her magic all day and the edges of her were fraying in the way that came from a body performing at a deficit for too long.
She closed her eyes.
◇ ❋ ◈ ❋ ◇
The Fade came for her quickly, the grey borderland resolving before she'd fully let go of waking.
She recognized the space. Not the open formless between-place where she sometimes found him in meditation. Something more constructed, walls of pale stone carrying the quality of memory rather than architecture, assembled from the echo of somewhere that had existed and no longer did.
Solas stood with his back to her.
She didn't waste time.
"You lied to me."
He turned. His expression carried the quality of someone who had been waiting for this and had prepared accordingly.
"I told you your brother was not in danger," he said.
"You told me he was safe." The words came harder than the Fade's ambient quiet usually permitted. "And then I find out he's with the gods. The ones we are fighting. The ones who drain elves for power." She took a step toward him. "How is that safe?"
"Your brother is safe," he said. Simply. Directly, in the way he rarely was. "That is not a comfortable truth, but it is the truth."
"Illario told me Vir'revas came to them willingly."
Something sharpened in his expression.
"Illario," he said, and the name carried the particular quality of someone setting something down carefully that they would prefer to throw, "is lying to you."
She held his gaze. "How do you know?"
"Because I know what Illario Dellamorte is, and I know what he serves, and I know that the gods are aware of who you are." He held her gaze and his voice was direct in a way it almost never was with her, the careful architecture of it stripped back. "They know your weaknesses. They have catalogued them. And your brother is the one they will reach for first, because it is the thread most likely to pull you off course."
She was quiet for a moment.
"Illario told me exactly what I was afraid of," she said.
"Yes," Solas said. "He did."
The simplicity of it landed harder than an argument would have.
She turned it over. Thought about Treviso, about the small room, about Illario's hand at her jaw and the specific warmth of his voice when he said your brother knows it, he didn't come to them unwillingly. Thought about how precisely it had hit the thing she'd been most afraid of.
"He knew what would work," she said.
"He was chosen for this conversation because he would know." Solas's voice carried no satisfaction in being right. "The gods do not send amateurs to recruit someone like you. They sent someone who could read you well enough to find the crack and press it." A pause. "You are not the first person they have tried this with. You will not be the last."
She looked at him. At the honest line of his expression, the thing that was holding steady behind it.
"My brother," she said. "You said he was safe. You mean it."
"I mean it," he said. Quiet and certain.
She held that for a moment.
"Then where is he?"
The honesty retreated slightly. Not gone. Just back behind the old careful glass.
"That," he said, "I cannot tell you yet."
She exhaled through her nose. "Of course not."
"Not because I wish to withhold it from you." Something moved through his expression, brief and genuine. "Because telling you now would not help him, and I think part of you already knows that."
She didn't answer. Which was its own kind of answer.
"Be careful in the Deep Roads," he said. His voice had softened into the register he used when he was being as honest as he knew how to be. "What you find there carries grief of its own. Do not let it blind you to what you are actually facing."
"I won't."
"And Rook." He waited until she looked at him. "Trust what you know of your brother. Not what Illario tells you. Not what the gods would have you fear." The grey borderland pressed close around them, sourceless light and old stone. "You know who he is. That does not change as easily as they would have you believe."
She held that for a moment. The shape of it. The certainty in his voice when he said it.
She had spent enough time in this grey borderland with him to know the difference between the things Solas said because they were true and the things he said because they were useful. His voice when he told her Illario was lying had been direct and unguarded, the voice he used when something was genuinely urgent. His voice when he said your brother is safe was different. Careful in a way that was not the same as honest.
She didn't say that.
She looked at him and filed it behind her eyes where he couldn't reach it, and thought that wherever Vir'revas was, whatever had happened or was happening, she was not going to hand that thread to anyone who might pull it in a direction she couldn't follow. Not the gods. Not Illario. Not even Solas, who knew more than he was saying and had his own reasons for everything he chose to say or not say.
Her brother was hers to find. No one else got to navigate that.
"Alright," she said. Not agreement. Just the word that closed the conversation without giving anything away.
The waking pulled at her and she let it take her, the grey dissolving at the edges, the tent and the lamp and Assan's steady breathing coming back around her.
She lay still.
She would find Vir'revas herself. On her own terms, through her own channels, without telling Solas or anyone else what she knew or what she was planning.
She closed her eyes and sleep took her and it was not quiet at all.
◇ ❋ ◈ ❋ ◇
Stone walls. Torchlight that moved wrong, casting shadows in directions shadows had no business going. Someone was working with their hands, bent over a table she couldn't see clearly, and she knew the shape of those shoulders even without the face, the particular hunch of someone making themselves small in a room where being noticed was dangerous.
She knew that posture. Had worn it herself.
She tried to move toward him and the floor tilted. The torchlight thickened into something amber and slow, the way light moved in Tevinter's underground rooms, in the places Zara had kept her people, and the walls breathed with the particular authority of somewhere that decided who left and when.
The hands kept working. Head down. Not because of the task. Because eyes up meant being seen.
She opened her mouth and the dream swallowed the sound before it reached him.
◇ ❋ ◈ ❋ ◇
The second dream had no torchlight.
Just the dark, and the stone, and the ceiling that had been high enough when she'd walked in and was lower now. Lower than memory. Lower than it had been a moment ago. The walls breathed with a cold that lived in deep places, the kind that didn't come from temperature but from the knowledge that up was a direction that no longer applied.
Her magic reached for something and found the blight sitting on top of it like a hand pressed flat.
Somewhere behind her, something moved.
Not footsteps. Not the hard chitinous sound of darkspawn she could name and fight. Something wetter. Something that had been moving for a long time before she'd heard it, something that knew these passages and what was at the end of them and what happened there to the ones who were taken rather than killed.
She knew what happened there. She had always known, the way you knew the thing you were most afraid of, from whispers and warning and the cold specific logic of what darkspawn did with women they decided were worth keeping.
The ceiling pressed lower.
The passage narrowed.
The sound got closer.
Then the passage opened.
She wasn't running anymore. She was on the ground, and there were chains, not iron, something organic and wrong winding around her wrists and ankles, and the darkspawn moved around her in the torchlight but none of them touched her. None of them even looked at her directly. That was the worst part. The deliberate not-looking. The way they moved around her like she was something set aside. Something saved.
She understood without being told. The understanding arrived whole and terrible, the way the worst things did in dreams.
She had been selected.
She opened her mouth and the sound that came out was not words.
◇ ❋ ◈ ❋ ◇
"Rook."
A hand on her shoulder, firm.
"Rook. Wake up."
She came up swinging and Davrin caught her wrist before it connected, his grip steady, his voice level in the specific way of someone who had done this before and knew the most important thing was not to startle further.
"It's me," he said. "You're in the tent. You're in Grey Hold. You're safe."
She was breathing like she'd been running. The tent was real. The lamp was real, its light low and warm. Assan pressed his beak against her knee from the entrance, grounding and present.
She put her free hand over her face and breathed.
Davrin didn't let go of her wrist. Not restraining. Just there. Solid and certain in the dark.
"Bad one," he said. Not a question.
"Yes," she managed.
She didn't think about it. She leaned forward and put her arms around him, her face against his shoulder, and held on. He went still for just a moment the way he always did before a decision, then his arms came around her, solid and certain, and she felt the shivering start before she'd known it was there.
He didn't say anything. Just held her in the low lamplight while the shivering worked its way through her, his hand moving once in a slow deliberate pass across her back the way you settled something frightened.
When it eased she kept her face against his shoulder and didn't move.
She didn't want to think about the nightmare. Didn't want to think about the Deep Roads waiting tomorrow, or Solas's careful non-answers, or Illario, or the Lighthouse and everything she'd been carrying since Treviso. Didn't want to think about any of it.
She pulled back just enough to look at him.
He was watching her with that unhurried attention, reading her the way he always read her, quiet and present and not asking for anything.
She kissed him.
It was softer than she'd intended. Less about forgetting and more about the specific warmth of him, the steadiness, the fact that he was here and real and had shaken her awake without hesitation and held on without making anything of it.
He broke the kiss gently. Pulled back just enough to look at her.
"Rook."
"I just want to forget," she said. "For a little while. All of it."
He looked at her for a long moment. At her face in the lamplight, the remnants of the nightmare still visible in the set of her expression, the honesty of what she'd just said.
Then he kissed her back.
Slow and deliberate, his hand came up to her jaw. The moment his thumb brushed the small scar there, flashes hit her hard. Illario's fingers gripping her jaw in that small room in Treviso. Viper's careful touch the last time they were alone. Lucanis's hand tilting her face up before he kissed her. All of them had touched that same spot.
Guilt twisted in her chest. She had been with all of them. She had let every one of them close, yet she belonged to no one. The thought made her stomach turn. Except Illario. Fuck him. She did not want to think about him right now.
She pushed the guilt down and kissed Davrin harder. She needed this. Needed him. Needed something real and good to push everything else away.
Davrin made a quiet sound against her mouth and pulled her closer. His hand stayed gentle on her jaw even as the kiss grew deeper. He tasted warm and familiar. Safe. When he broke the kiss to look at her, his eyes were dark and full of care.
"Are you sure?" he asked softly.
"Yes," she whispered. "Please, Davrin."
He kissed her again, slower this time, like he wanted to learn every part of her mouth. His hands moved down her sides and slipped under her shirt. His palms were warm against her skin. She lifted her arms so he could pull the shirt off. He took his own off right after, and she ran her hands over his strong chest and shoulders, feeling the solid muscle and old scars there.
They lay back together on the bedroll. Davrin covered her body with his, careful not to crush her. He kissed her neck, then lower, taking his time. When his mouth closed over her breast, she breathed out his name and arched into him. He was patient and gentle, but she could feel how much he wanted her in the way his hands gripped her hips.
She reached between them and tugged at his pants. He helped her push them down, then removed the rest of her clothes too. Skin to skin felt so good she sighed. Davrin settled between her legs, hard and warm against her. He looked down at her with those steady eyes.
"I have you," he said quietly. "Just us right now."
He pushed inside her slowly. Rook gasped at the stretch and held onto his shoulders. He filled her completely, and for a moment everything else disappeared. No nightmares. No Illario. No guilt. Just Davrin and the way he looked at her like she mattered more than anything else.
He started to move, deep and steady. Every thrust felt perfect. She wrapped her legs around him and moved with him, chasing the pleasure that built between them. Davrin buried his face in her neck and whispered her name like a promise.
Rook ran her hands over his back, feeling the strong muscles move under her palms. She kissed his shoulder, then his neck, then the line of his jaw. He felt so solid and warm against her. She wanted to touch every part of him. Her fingers traced old scars on his shoulders and down his sides. Davrin made a low sound of pleasure and kissed her deeply in return.
They moved together without rushing. Sometimes slow and gentle, sometimes a little harder when the need grew stronger. Rook kissed him again and again, tasting his mouth, feeling the way his breath caught when she touched him in certain spots. She loved how he watched her face, like he wanted to remember every second.
After a while Davrin rolled them over so she was on top. Rook sat up and braced her hands on his chest. She looked down at him in the soft lamplight. He was beautiful like this, flushed and breathing hard, his eyes full of heat and care.
She lifted her hips and slowly sank back down onto him. They both groaned at the feeling. She started to ride him, rolling her hips in a steady rhythm. Davrin watched her with dark eyes, his hands sliding up her thighs to her waist. He let her set the pace at first, his thumbs brushing over her skin in soft circles.
Rook moved faster, taking him deeper each time. Pleasure built low in her belly, hot and bright. She leaned forward and kissed him again, her hair falling around them like a curtain. His hands moved to her breasts, gentle and warm, thumbs brushing over her nipples until she shivered.
"You feel so good," he whispered against her mouth.
She sat up again and rode him harder. Davrin gripped her hips firmly. He started rolling his hips up to meet her, thrusting into her from below. The new rhythm made her moan louder. Each time she came down he pushed up, hitting just the right spot inside her. The pleasure grew sharper and stronger.
Davrin's grip on her hips tightened. He kept rolling up into her, steady and strong, matching her movements perfectly. Sweat slicked their skin. The sound of their bodies meeting filled the quiet tent. Rook closed her eyes for a moment and let herself feel all of it. Just him. Just them. Nothing else.
The heat inside her finally broke. She came hard, shaking on top of him as waves of pleasure rolled through her body. She cried out his name, clenching tight around him. Davrin groaned deeply and followed her over the edge. He held her hips down against him as he came, pulsing inside her while his body tensed beneath her.
Rook collapsed forward onto his chest, breathing hard. Davrin wrapped his arms around her right away and held her close. One of his hands stroked slowly up and down her back. His heart beat strong and fast under her ear.
For a long time they stayed like that, still joined together, just breathing and touching each other softly. He pressed gentle kisses to her hair and temple.
Rook closed her eyes and let herself rest in the warmth of his body. The guilt tried to creep back in, but she pushed it away for now. In this moment, she only wanted Davrin and the safe feeling of his arms around her.
His hand moved in slow passes up and down her bare back. Not asking anything. Not expecting anything. Just the steady rhythm of it, warm and unhurried.
She kept her eyes closed and let herself feel it.
The guilt came back anyway. It always did. She thought about the Lighthouse and Lucanis in the kitchen, the set of his jaw when he knew something was wrong and wasn't asking. She thought about Treviso and the room above the canal and the thing she'd told herself was strategy. She thought about all the ways she'd been reaching for things in the wrong direction lately.
Davrin's hand kept moving. Slow and steady and there.
She pressed her face against his chest and felt the guilt sit in her like a stone and decided she didn't have to do anything about it tonight. She could figure out what she owed and to whom and how to carry it all without dropping something she couldn't afford to lose. Tomorrow. She could be a person tomorrow.
Tonight she was just this.
His heartbeat under her ear was slow and even. He wasn't asleep yet. She could tell by the quality of his breathing. He was watching over her the way he watched over things he'd decided mattered, that quiet unhurried attention turned inward, keeping her.
She didn't deserve that tonight.
She let herself have it anyway.
Sleep came slowly and without ceremony, and when it finally arrived it was dark and quiet and empty of dreams, and she slept in his arms until the grey Anderfels morning found its way through the tent canvas and the day began.
◇ ❋ ◈ ❋ ◇
She woke to warmth and the particular weight of someone else's breathing beneath her cheek.
Davrin's hand moved through her hair, slow and careful, pushing it back from her face the way you did with something you didn't want to disturb. She lay still for a moment and let herself be half-asleep, her cheek against his chest, the morning grey through the canvas above them.
They were still tangled together, skin warm where they touched, the bedroll a lost cause somewhere underneath them. Outside the tent, Assan's shadow moved against the canvas in the early light, large and unhurried, and she watched it for a moment trying to work out what he was doing.
The shadow dipped toward the ground. Came back up. Dipped again.
She squinted at it.
"Is he eating something?" she asked.
Davrin tilted his head to look at the shadow. His chest moved with something that was almost a laugh. "Truffles, I think. He found a patch last time we were here. He's been looking for them since we arrived."
The shadow dipped again with great satisfaction.
"He has opinions about truffles," she said.
"He has opinions about most things."
She lay there another moment. The morning was coming in properly now, the grey brightening toward something that passed for daylight in the Wetlands. Outside Grey Hold would be waking up. Evka would be checking on Kryson. Emmrich was probably already taking notes about something.
She sat up.
They dressed without making a production of it, the particular efficiency of two people who understood that the window was limited. She laced her boots and he buckled his bracers and Assan's shadow continued moving contentedly along the tent wall, entirely unbothered by the urgency of anything.
She picked up her coat from where it had ended up near the tent entrance. The Illario letter was still in the inner pocket. She felt it without meaning to, that small flat weight, and didn't let herself think about it.
She was reaching for the tent flap when Davrin's hand closed around hers.
She turned.
He was looking at her with that quiet unhurried attention, the one that never demanded and never pretended it hadn't noticed.
"Are you alright?" he asked.
She looked at him. At the steadiness of him in the grey morning light, the question asked simply and with no conditions attached to the answer.
"I will be," she said. Which was different from yes, and he would know that, and she meant it anyway.
He held her gaze for a moment. Then he nodded once, let her hand go, and followed her out into the morning.