Chapter Text
Neve winces as she studies herself in the pocket mirror. Despite growing up in Dock Town, she has always taken great pride and care in her complexion. Now that’s all for naught as her face is completely mottled — one eye nearly swollen shut by bruises surrounding a deep, stitched wound on her forehead.
She hears echoing steps behind her, followed by a soft clearing of the throat.
“You don’t have to tell me,” Neve says dryly. “I look like shit.”
“I wasn’t going to say anything,” the elf called ‘Rook’ protests. “Except, well… when we have a moment we can try to get you to a proper spirit healer.”
“We have other priorities,” Neve waves her away, snapping the mirror shut. “I’ll heal myself.”
“Then…” Rook raises a brow. “Why haven’t you?”
Because she’s a damned ice mage, and despite her power healing has never come easy to her.
…but she’s not about to admit that to the elf who has effectively become her boss.
“Neve,” Rook chides her. “You’re a priority. You’re on my team, and…” her voice catches. “…and my decisions got you hurt.”
Neve scoffs, “I believe the falling debris is what struck me, not you.”
“I chose to take you with me to sabotage the ritual,” Rook babbles on.
“Yes, because I volunteered to,” Neve reminds her. “And before you blame yourself further, it was together that we knocked down that scaffolding, pushing over those damned statues. Assisting you is what I wanted to do. So don’t take credit for my own decisions… no matter how disastrous,” she adds wryly.
Rook continues to fret, and it’s bizarre to see this powerhouse of a warrior look so small and timid. “I just keep thinking, maybe if I had gone alone—?”
Neve groans, “Oh please. If you’re to lead this outfit, you can’t always run off and do everything on your own.”
Rook frowns at her.
“Oh yes,” Neve smirks. “I’ve heard of you, Rook.”
“…ah,” the elf tilts her head at Neve’s words, something between a bashful smile and a grimace fighting over her lips.
It is in this moment that Neve finally takes in the sight of the person before her — not a codename, not a figurehead — but the person.
This Rook is a short and sturdy elf with soft curves that hide the strength she had demonstrated throughout their battle in Minrathous and Arlathan. Varric had spoken highly of Neve’s fellow Shadow Dragon, and truly it was a wonder why their paths never crossed earlier.
“As much as I wish it were all good things, somehow I doubt it,” Rook laughs sheepishly.
“You’d be surprised,” Neve drawls, retrieving her pipe and lighting it with a flame upon her finger. “Despite being — what was it? A ‘loose cannon,’ your group respected your passion. Your heart was in the right place, despite the daring venture into danger.”
Rook gives her a tight, bitter smile. “Not that they’d ever say it to my face.”
“Do you regret it?” Neve asks curiously. “Disobeying orders, throwing out the plan, going rogue and telling your leader to—?”
“—go fuck himself? Not one bit,” Ryo flushes and glances away, mouth twisting. “I still have a portion of their chains, you know? Didn’t know why I kept them for the longest time but now they remind me of what happened. Why I should trust myself to do what’s right, even if…”
“Even if you lose others’ trust along the way?” Neve asks curiously.
Rook’s gaze is hard and fierce. She straightens up to full height — still well below Neve’s chin, but imposing nonetheless.
“Better than losing others altogether. I didn’t just protect that dignitary. I saved a dozen slaves that day,” Rook says emphatically. “If I hadn’t done what I’d done, they’d all be bloodstains — or unmarked graves at most, thanks to the Venatori. So yes, I’d do it again in a heartbeat.”
Neve gives her a crooked smile.
“I can see why Varric picked you.”
“Good,” Rook mutters, rubbing the back of her neck. “I’m glad one of us does.”
“And so you can see why I don’t regret joining you in that task,” Neve says pointedly.
“I mean… between us, I regret the task itself,” Rook admits. “I stopped Solas, but clearly I unleashed something impossibly worse.”
“Again, we did that together. And we didn’t know,” Neve grouses. “We acted only upon what we knew to be true.”
Rook chuckles, “Varric said something similar.”
“I bet he did,” Neve smiles ruefully.
There's a beat of thoughtful silence.
“Rook?”
“Yes?”
“Look… do us all a favor and don’t punish yourself for what happened,” Neve insists earnestly. “We could be in a world overrun by demons, smashed to pieces in the ravines of Arlathan if not for you.”
She softens her expression, satisfied that Rook must have gotten the message — judging by her abashed smile.
“We’re here to help, Rook,” Neve reminds her. “It’s why we joined up. So let us do our jobs, just as you do yours.”
Rook nods, and even through her swollen eye Neve can see how profoundly tired the warrior is.
“Sure,” Rook relents, running a hand through her shaggy black hair. “But how about you do me a favor in turn?”
“Depends on the favor,” Neve says evasively.
Rook smiles at her.
Softly.
“When it’s just us? Hanging out?” she murmurs. “Call me Ryo.”
Neve supposes she can manage that.
—
Together the burgeoning Veilguard has seen too many awful things in too quick succession. Every locale seems to have a metaphorical keg of Gaatlok beneath them. While the Lighthouse feels somewhat removed from this chaos, it’s hard to forget that its previous owner is why this all happened in the first place.
It has been an… interesting adjustment for Neve, to say the least. She has spent far more of her time these days fighting than investigating, and far more of those battles against blighted creatures rather than the Venatori.
This all to say, true rest and recovery is few and far between. While taking a Rook-sanctioned break between missions in Minrathous, Neve overhears a companionable conversation between the elf and Tarquin. The two Shadow Dragons seem to be bonding over being soporati coming from military families, but something Rook eventually mentions pricks up Neve’s ears, giving her pause.
“I’m adopted, which was obvious to most people who saw me with my family,” Rook tells the templar.
“Growing up in Tevinter as an elf?” Tarquin grunts. “Must’ve been tough.”
Rook chuckles.
“Yeah, I’ve been called rattus more times than I’d like. But not by my family, mind you,” she adds quickly. “They were good people; they really did love me. They just… kept me at home a lot.”
Tarquin’s mouth tightens, but Rook merely shrugs.
“When we were out, people just assumed I was a servant they could ignore,” she adds awkwardly, as if that makes it any better.
“That’s kaffas and you know it,” Tarquin growls.
“Yeah,” Rook sighs, rubbing the back of her neck. “Yeah… needless to say, we don’t talk much anymore.”
Tarquin grunts, stalking over to grab a bottle of wine from a shelf.
“Come on,” he beckons gruffly to the elf. “Lets drink to that.”
As Neve watches Rook and Tarquin leave together to find a table in the corner, she frowns at an odd pang of… what? Annoyance? Jealousy? About not being invited to join as a fellow Shadow Dragon? About Ryo — no, Rook — drinking instead of saving more people?
No — no they agreed today was a day to organize and rest. Their leader is absolutely allowed to drink and be social, even with a templar.
A handsome templar, Neve admits to herself, in that hasn’t-slept-in-five-days way.
Sleepless, broody men would be on-brand for Rook. Neve suspects there’s more behind how the elf is always loitering around the kitchens, jumping at every chance to talk with their recent recruit, Lucanis.
Admittedly, Neve’s not one to talk regarding that one. She has appreciated her share of his company too. After all, she’s not blind or deaf… and it’s not her fault Lucanis seems to be an utter flirt out on the field. Who said she couldn’t flirt back?
Rook’s grumpy scowl did at times, apparently, whenever the warrior was present for those exchanges. It often makes Neve want to laugh. Surely she knows it’s all just banter?
For now, Neve forces herself to leave Rook and Tarquin alone to chat. As she walks along the docks, watching familiar faces go through their familiar routines, she mulls over what details she had heard of Rook’s background.
To be treated as less than other members of your family? She supposes she shouldn’t be surprised, but still… it’s appalling to think about.
Neve spies a glitter of gold — an altus making his way through the market, his nose wrinkling at the fish stalls. With an imperious beckoning of a finger, one of his slaves — a collared, scantily-clad elf — hurries forth with an enormous feathered fan to fend off Dock Town’s apparently offensive stench and insects.
Wryly, Neve knows that the pickpockets are out in full force at this hour. She also knows that the Shadow Dragons of this district will find a way to make contact with that elf, planting the seeds to gain his trust and, hopefully, his liberation.
Neve’s thoughts turn once again to Rook. She wishes she could be a part of whatever intimate conversation she’s having with Tarquin. As ever, the investigator has so many questions. She wonders what it was like for Rook to grow up in Tevinter, when the only elves she’d see would be slaves, servants, or destitute. No doubt that’s one of the reasons that moved her to become a Shadow Dragon. No matter how decorated her family might be, the military would never take a soporati elf into their ranks.
Despite his antagonism, Neve wonders if Solas’s story of liberating slaves from the Elvhen gods resonates with Rook more than she’s willing to admit. She knows that the elf, Tevinter as she is, longs to learn what it’s like to be Elvhen. She’s already been clearly enamored with anything Dalish or involving the history of her people. When they first made contact with the Veil Jumpers, Rook’s eyes positively shone with excitement and curiosity. She has even taken to wearing their casual, colorful trappings around the Lighthouse, although fortunately she hasn’t gone so far as to start running around barefoot.
Rook certainly would have been a Veil Jumper in another life, Neve imagines, if she hadn’t gotten wrapped up in the Shadow Dragons or Varric’s hunt first.
But both groups have been lucky to have her on their side.
There are a dozen or so former slaves who would no doubt agree.
—
Ever since Treviso became blighted, Rook — Ryo, rather — has been working tirelessly to assist the Crows. It seems to be her valiant attempt to make up for choosing to help Minrathous over their city. Neve has joined her on several of these missions, and she can’t help but notice how tense Ryo is around Lucanis especially. Whatever companionable friendship they had cultivated before that battle has turned as icy as one of Neve’s spells.
During a late night drink in Ryo’s quarters, it doesn’t take much prodding before Neve uncovers that there had been something between Ryo and Lucanis; the briefest of mutual flirtation and furtive satisfaction, quickly extinguished by the devastation of the Blight.
But that didn’t matter any more, Ryo tells Neve adamantly. What matters now is supporting the Crows in protecting and eventually healing Treviso — Lucanis be damned.
“He still seems to like you,” Ryo hiccups only halfway through a bottle of wine. “Flirts all the time. Talks about you. I hear it. I have to hear all of it…”
“Why?” Neve asks, pouring herself another serving. “I also chose Minrathous.”
“Well I’m the one who had the dagger,” Ryo gesticulates, nearly spilling her wine. “I’m the one who could’ve gotten remotely close to stopping a blighted dragon.”
Neve knows that they are now dangerously close to an old and tired subject.
“It’s hard not to blame myself, you know?” Ryo mutters before Neve has a chance to say a thing. “I chose Minrathous. Our city. Even though I knew that unlike Minrathous, Treviso didn’t have a bunch of mages with the power to fight a dragon, not to mention all their defensive countermeasures.
“Treviso was already under occupation, and all they had for defense was an organization that used to be only shadowy assassins for hire. That’s not an army. But still I let them face the dragon without the lyrium dagger. Without hope.”
Her fingers have been wearing a hole into her sleeve, and on an impulse Neve lurches forth to stop her, gripping her hand tight.
“Ryo?” she says gently. “We don’t know what would have happened to our city, our people if we didn’t come to Minrathous first.”
“But—”
“I know you. You weren’t thinking of yourself when you decided where to go, were you?”
Ryo sighs, “No. I thought about the liberati — all the slaves we had freed, and have yet to free. And how they’ll be the first the magisters will sacrifice if it came to blood magic or Venatori rituals. I thought of all the work we have done to help Minrathous be better. I thought of my home.”
She looks up at Neve, imploring her.
“How can I not want to save my home?”
Neve has no answer for her. After all, she feels the same way.
“Lucanis said he understood that,” Ryo says dismally. “He understands, but that doesn’t mean he’ll forgive.
“But I don’t need him to forgive,” she sighs, rubbing at her flushed face. “I need him to fight. I need all of us to fight to get back at these so-called gods and make them pay for every life their Blight has destroyed.”
She manages a watery smile at Neve.
“I remember what you told me,” she says softly. “How I should remember that I’m not alone. That I’m not fighting alone. I think Lucanis could use that too.”
She tries to stand up, jostling the table.
Maker, how can a warrior like her be such a lightweight?
“You should go talk to him,” Ryo says, words slurring. “Tell him what you told me. He needs it. He’d like you… that… but also you…”
“And that’s enough for tonight,” Neve deadpans, stoppering the wine bottle and moving it pointedly aside. “Sit your ass back down. I’m getting you more water.”
“You… you gonna use magic?” Ryo asks.
Neve looks at her hopeful expression.
“…do you want that?” she asks incredulously.
“I like seeing your magic,” Ryo lilts. “It’s fucking awesome.”
Neve sighs.
“Alright,” she says, bringing over an empty pitcher. “You… do know that the Lighthouse pipes in fresh water from a magical spring of its own, right?”
“Don’t care,” Ryo mumbles, waving her hand vaguely around. “I like your pretty lights.”
“Well! My ‘pretty lights’ come from years studying… you know what? Nevermind,” Neve sighs, twirling her hands in a somatic gesture not at all necessary for such a simple water creation spell. “I’m only doing this because you’re being silly and sad, you know?”
“And because you like me,” Ryo smirks, the blue light glinting off of her eyes.
“Why wouldn’t I like you?” Neve asks. It’s meant to be a rhetorical question, but Ryo decides to answer it anyway.
“Because I like you,” Ryo says, resting her head heavily upon the table. “And life doesn’t play nice like that.”
Neve taps the moody elf upon her head.
“Wake up,” she orders. “Drink first.”
Ryo grouchily raises her head, accepting the goblet and taking a sip of water.
“Oh! That’s cold.”
“I thought you liked my ice magic?”
“Is that a…” Ryo rattles around her water with a frown. “...did you make me an ice snake?”
“Oh good. I’m glad it was recognizable after all,” Neve chuckles.
“Aw, Neve,” Rook grins, taking another sip and smiling fondly down at her hasty creation. “I love it.”