Chapter Text
Rook exhaled, slow and even, as the connection flickered to life. She hailed Varric through her ship, thumb grazing the comms interface out of idle habit more than need. The line hummed faintly.
She hoped he wasn’t going crazy out there, over two weeks alone on the perimeter, his only company static and one brief conversation to interrupt his solitude. He hadn’t complained, of course. He rarely did.
They hadn’t reached Treviso yet. Bellara’s quick thinking and Neve’s flair for trouble had steered them through another eluvian first, straight into Minrathous.
The detour had been worth it.
The city was sprawling, vibrating with arrogance and secrets. Neve had offered them a tour with the enthusiasm of someone born to both, detective and guide all in one. She loved this place, even if it frustrated her.
Rook had enjoyed the time more than what she expected. She missed the erratic rhythms of a true metropolis: the crush of bodies, the arguments in three languages, the scent of street food tangled with alchemical fumes. Even here, where magic ran thicker than water, Minrathous hadn’t solved the age-old puzzle of refuse. Overflowing bins, discarded vials, fish bones wrapped in newsprint: civilization’s universal signature. It was gross. But, relatable.
She’d turned down a fried fish skewer even though it smelled divine, but Neve had snapped up three orders with the pragmatism of someone who knew the value of good food on long missions. The vendor, a wiry man with an eye for potential repeat customers, had promised her this: find plantains, and I’ll fry them the same way. The thought made her mouth water. But that was for another night.
Tonight was about peace and sky.
She’d sent the others ahead, claiming she wanted to watch the sunset over the city. That wasn’t truly a lie.
She’d found a high building near the Circle district and climbed it easily, boots skimming sandstone and iron piping like she belonged in the rafters. At the top lay a forgotten rooftop garden, overgrown ivy, broken crates, the ghosts of benches left to the wind. She uncorked a bottle of rosé from their market haul, letting it breathe.
Tomorrow was Risotto Day, a growing tradition their ragtag band had somehow elevated to near-sacred status, and she’d insisted on saving the drier whites for cooking. But this bottle, this view, this hush before the night, were hers.
Then came Varric’s voice, cutting cleanly through the static, lighter than she expected.
“Well, look who decided to check in,” he drawled. “Your guy Jan’s been keeping me entertained on the comm out here. Turns out he’s got a whole saga about Truce, bandits, time travel, a near miss with an alien. I’m taking notes. Might make a decent chapter.”
Of all people, they had Jan keeping Varric sane. But that meant the signal was crossing the anomaly faster than before. “Jan’s talking to you?”
“Oh, sure. Man of few words, but when he starts, he’s got range,” Varric said, amused. “Just needed me to draw out his inner poet.”
She shook her head, smiling, then dropped into a cross-legged position on the sun-warmed roof and began to talk. The words came easily, hours condensed into a story of code and coincidence. She gave him the whole bloody mess in full technicolor, sparing only what she hadn’t yet found language for. She lingered on the pieces she knew he’d want: the corpses, the strange symbols, the chance meetings that were too pointed to be chance at all. On the other end of the line, she heard him scribbling. She loved that sound more than she’d ever admit; it meant someone was listening. Someone would remember.
A pause, then, “How’s Chuckles?” Tone full of mock innocence.
Rook groaned. “You’re never letting that name die, are you?”
“Not a chance. So? He still trying to fix the world with tragic monologues and excellent cheekbones?”
Despite rolling her eyes, she didn’t hold back. She told him everything, how Solas was infuriatingly composed, how his plans were vast and terrible and yet somehow earnest. How he spoke of creation myths like he was building them from memory. How their arguments kept turning into real conversations, about stars, sorrow, and second chances. How he’d walked through the woods with her, listening more than speaking.
It was maddening. The entire thing was maddening.
And Varric, heavens bless him, didn’t seem surprised.
When he spoke again, it was with that honest gravity she trusted. “Yeah. That sounds about right for him. And, I did warn you he was smart, not some cackling villain hiding like the Dalish stories said.” There was no judgment in it, just his kindness.
Rook leaned back against a cracked chimney. She wasn’t sure what any of this meant, her work, her strange alliances, the tether that held between her and Solas. “It’s frustrating because I’m trying so hard to despise him, for being willing to sacrifice so many. Including you.”
“Oh, believe me, I haven’t forgotten,” Varric replied. “But you were there and you’re probably the most dangerous person I’ve met.”
“Well, gee, thanks for that.” She gulped her drink, hard.
“Hey, I’m just the guy stuck out here listening to a man who has to be pried open like a locked safe to share a single detail of his grand adventures.”
She squinted into the last rays of the sun. “Did he actually say ‘adventures’? Because escapades would seem far more likely.”
Varric gave a short snort. “Nah. He prefers plotting, scheming. He bides his time, basically anything that makes him sound like he’s the villain. I’ve gotta assume he’s just sulking.”
Rook snorted into her bottle. That absolutely was Janus. “Yes, well, you’ve sized him up. Keeps us grounded, and he’s an excellent drinking partner when you want to get smashed, wallow in self-pity, and somehow make grand plans to fix the universe.”
The wind shifted. Lanterns flickered to life on the distant towers, glimmering against the encroaching dark. Somewhere far below, music began. It may have been a harp.
“So I just need to get him drunk?” Varric asked, as if he were already drafting the plan.
“Absolutely. He crumbles like a cookie and tells you everything. Mind you, it’s never in an interested voice. He sounds bored by his own life story. Except sometimes with Talaj.” Rook smirked, picturing Jan’s precision even in the middle of an emotional confession.
“Who’s Talahj?” Varric asked, mangling the unfamiliar name with deliberate care. This would end with a quill, a glass of brandy, and a new chapter. The idea that Jan had somehow married a renegade ruler driven out of the Dominion? Pure story gold.
Rook could hear his delight through the comms.
“Are they still coming?” She asked, trying for casual.
Varric didn’t make her wait long. “Seems that way. And when I finally get him talking about his wife, I’d bet good coin he’ll be the first to come through. Probably just to prove it’s safe for the others. Damn Lucca’s tests.”
Rook huffed, it was barely carried by the wind.
It was strange comfort, knowing an old friend was now speaking to a new one. She pictured Jan dryness bumping against Varric’s easy exasperation, and the thought made her falter. Even if Varric grumbled about being dragged into another role, another title, he’d do it. He’d curse it up and down, of course. But he’d do it. He always did. So she kept the idea of him being an ambassador to herself. Heavens knew, the man barely tolerated being Viscount of Kirkwall.
“…There was one thing Chuckles wanted me to tell you.”
The words weren’t meant for this moment, or this version of him. They belonged to a ghost, to the Varric who had already passed beyond this realm in Solas’ mind. But she had promised.
She cleared her throat. “He wants you to know he regrets what happened.”
There was a heartbeat, then Varric barked, genuine. “Oh, I cannot wait to hold that over him.”
Rook’s mouth tugged upwards despite herself. Of course he’d take it in stride. She should have known. “Well,” she added, mild but the memory pressed close, understanding the wolf more than she cared to, “he thinks I told you yesterday, when I spoke to your illusion.”
“See?” Varric chuckled. “Everyone’s keeping secrets. Don’t take it so seriously, Shiny. Remember the old adage you like, we don’t make it out of life alive.”
Her chest tightened at that. She had said it too, more than once. Now, with his laughter echoing across the air, she found herself hoping that truth wouldn’t be tested. “I’d rather you live a very long life, Varric. Long enough to see my home world. Truce can keep you around, even if Thedas can’t.”
Silence followed, stretched thin across the vastness of stars and distance. She could almost hear the gears turning in his head. Varric, ever the pragmatist, had likely never pictured himself as someone who might outlast this year.
She smirked. “All it takes is a ship, a few good stories, and patience to wait out the centuries.”
At last, he whistled, releasing a hundred untold thoughts. “That’s a long life, Rook. But I’ll think on it. Guess it wasn’t something I needed to worry about till we actually got Solas to agree to the plan.”
She smiled and hoped that warmth carried through the comm’s ether. “Thank you for thinking about it. I’d love to have you along for the ride, and I’m sure you’ll have a few admirers waiting for you on Truce.”
He chuckled again and it curled through the distance like pipe smoke from an old tavern window. “Well, we’ll just have to see if I manage that, or if my books sell there first.”
A grin flickered across her face. “Do you want in on some juicy gossip?”
“Rook, it’s like you don’t even know me sometimes.”
Her tone turned sly, sing-songy, mischief ringing. “The Wolf’s library has a bit of scandalous literature, you know. If you’re interested, I can sneak some up to you.”
That earned a laugh, full enough she could feel the vibration.
“Leave the poor man alone,” Varric managed. “He’s been alone for centuries and needs to keep warm somehow.”
She scoffed, pressing a hand to her temple in mock despair. “Oh, Varric, I’m glad to hear you’re not that lonely yet. Tell Jan to send me a blip when he gets here tomorrow, I can’t imagine it’ll be more than a few hours after you ask him about Talaj.”
“Maker, I hope you’re right,” he said with a huff. “Get in touch when you can. I’m just up here writing about your exploits, you know. Those tablets you gave me aren’t just for scribbling, they’ve got access to stories from your world, all of them. Thedas is going to have the best tale about you to keep them entertained for the next century.”
Rook leaned back, caught somewhere between awe and exasperation. Dwarves, she decided, never get enough credit. She’d expected ink and parchment, a bard’s tale only whispered through rumor if she were lucky. Instead, Varric was weaving her life into the digital ether, to carry her story through stars and screens alike.
“Please,” she said, sardonically, “be mindful on what you write out there. Don’t go ‘Swords and Shields’ with anyone’s quivering member, or the first homecoming I have with family might not end so well.” [1]
The grin was audible in his reply. “Don’t you worry about me, Rook. We’ll come up with a plan and set this right. You just keep the worst at bay, and Jan’ll be there before you can start another argument with Solas.”
***
[1] Rook falsely accused me with a cute joke. Everything I have written about her personal life is exceptionally tasteful. She probably won’t read it, so maybe no one should mention it to her. Not that anyone who knows her, or me, admits to reading my work.
[2] That “only thing we have to fear” line she said to Chuckles. Rook says it’s from an old politician. Apparently they elected him four times, which I gather is several times more than is customary. I asked if he was any good. I quote: “He kept people alive in the Great Depression, helped with the Second World War, then died in office.” Don’t know if that’s a yes. And didn’t ask why the whole nation was sad or about that first war either.
- V.