Archive of Our Own ^beta

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What happened at Weisshaupt was wrong. It was all wrong. For all intents and purposes, the First Warden was dead. Killed to empower Archdemon Razikale. When Razikale fell, Davrin took point. He dealt the final blow - because Rook was too important to the cause. They were both Wardens. He was a better one than they were. But Davrin didnt die. Razikale died and he didnt. Rook had felt it. They didn’t know what it was supposed to feel like when an archdemon died, but this felt wrong. It twisted something deep in their gut - something old and unfamiliar. Being around Razikale at all in the first place had felt wrong. And Corius in Minrathous felt the same. All of Ghilan‘nains creation were just wrong. The way Davrin had looked at them. The disbelief in his eyes. The pain. He‘d been ready to die to save everyone else; but he lived. And it was wrong. But by the Maker was it lucky. Maybe those prayers they‘d muttered had worked. Perhaps the Maker truly did smile on his Grey Wardens. There was no time for rumonating on that now though.

Rook missed it, but Lucanis didn’t kill Ghilan’nain. He missed his shot. Hed injured her, but she was still standing. He landed next to Rook after the impact “Get me another shot.”

Rook stood frozen for a split second. Ghilan’nain was angry. Furious. The blight was mutating around them “No time. Back to the Eluvian-! Davrin!” He was already racing towards them. He still had the instinct to survive. To fight another day. The Eluvian was so far, but they never stopped running. Holden was waiting for them “Is it working-?” Blight tentacles were at their heels, consuming the path behind them. Holden gave a noncommittal nod. He had no idea “Best odds all day!”

They were flung into the Fade. The crossroads. The Heights of Athim. Heights of Nothing. It was cold - so cold. It was always snowing here. Rook hit the ground hard, missing their feet completely and stumbling to their knees. They hadn’t realize just how badly they were doing until now. They had gotten clipped by rubble at some point, blood trickled down the side of their face from the cut. There was dust and blood and blight matted into their hair, smattered across their skin and armor, in their mouth. Had they bitten themself? They all stopped there in the snow. No one knew what to do. So no one did anything. They just all stood in the snow, beaten to hell.

Emmrich was the one to help Rook off the ground. “Come now.. We‘ve still much to do. And I suspect, much to discuss..”

He was always so level headed. So calm and collected. Rook had no idea how he did it. They faced the impossible every day and he never batted an eye. Their side ached.

Rook sat in their room now, kneeling in front of the velveted green lounge. They never sat on it. Their side ached because it was wounded. They didnt know when theyd taken such a hit. It didnt need stitches, but that didnt mean it hurt any less. They were good at cleaning and dressing their own wounds. Theyd done it so many times before. They knew when a wound needed a stitches and when not, when a wound was infected versus just healing weird. They would visit the kitchen later to find some herbs for a poultice. They didnt want to be in there right now anyway. Lucanis and Davrin were at eachothers throats. And to be frank, Rook had wanted to deck Lucanis too.

‘And what about the blight that flows through your veins?’ Lucanis missed because he wasnt good enough. Davrin didnt die because the Blight was changing. Rook didnt say that though. It would‘ve caused more infighting. They didnt need that right now. It hurt to hear though. Lucanis had no idea what it was like for a Warden. Especially not during a Blight. They hadnt sleep properly in so long. They didn‘t think Davrin had either. Their nightmares were more potent now. With two archdemons it had felt real. They felt like they were part of the darkspawn army. That they were on the wrong side of the war. A far cry from what they had experienced before. They wanted to talk to him. He was the only one that really understand how those felt. The only who understood how being a Warden felt. They sighed. Their side would ache for days. If not weeks. It would heal fine, but it would certainly be a thorn. They were tired, but they were home. They looked at the blade theyd kept from Weisshaupt. Commander Janos’s dagger. Theyd picked it back up when they left the War room. They weighed it in their hand. A sturdy blade, well balanced. Their other hand took one of their twin braids. They hesitated for only a moment before they dug into the tightly woven strands. It gave the way a rope does when cut. They held the braid in hand once it was separated from their head. No going back now. They repeated thst jagged motion on the other side. They couldn’t see how badly theyd done, but they knew it wasn’t good. They stood to retrieve the mirror Varric gave them. It had been his shaving mirror once.. but he reasoned the Rook would always need a reminder that they were who they were.

It was choppy. But not unsalvageable. Scissors were stupid, so Rook stuck with the blade of their former comrade. It wasnt terrible when they finally decided to stop cutting. Still choppy of course, but it would do. They felt better. They had peeled off their armor down to only the bare essentials of it. Thats how theyd discovered that nuisance of a wound. If it had been a Darkspawn they would have known. It must just have been from collateral when everything was falling apart around them. There was a lot of bruising - On their shoulder from a barely missed javelin, their knees from falling so many times, from hitting so many walls, they definitely had a black eye. Maker they were a mess. Still covered in blight and viscera.. They needed a bath. Did they have the will for that? Did they care enough to potentially risk infection? Though maybe the water would ease the swelling of those bruises..

The fade was certainly weird. Always seemed to know what people needed or wanted. The music room theyd discovered was certainly interesting. They were terrible at piano, but maybe someone here knew. Did Solas play piano? Why else would it be there? He was weird though. They were tossing their poor excuses for clothes aside ehen they heard the doors behind them open. They didnt turn because they were embarrassed, Avvar bathed together all the time. Natural springs were a delight when someone found them, lakes and rivers were a common fun. Wardens did too. Not for any real reason, they supposed, but it eas normal nonetheless. They turned because they were curious as to who it was. It had been a whole since theyd returned, they knew that. They would have figured that everyone else already got bathing out of the way - stewing in darkspawn blood was not a fun thing. Rook was just used to being stagnant that way, so it bothered them less. They were barely surprised to see it was Davrin. He, however, was surprised to see them.

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They didnt say anything. If he wanted to talk, he would. Rook didnt want to - didnt want to confront the reality of the friends they undoubtedly lost. They distantly hoped that maybe Greta got out. Maybe Tybalt survived. They knew that rationally it was stupid, but the heart can dream. They wondered how he felt though. How it felt to have been so prepared to die, only to be robbed of the glory of sacrifice. He‘d looked so distraught. They kicked their small clothes off, suddenly more self conscious than theyd ever been. They never really.. told anyone about themself. They told Taash, and Neve by proxy. But not really anyone else yet. It wasnt exactly obvious but they were.. far enough in-between both sides that no one ever really quite knew what to call them. Which was perfectly fine, well, and good. They didnt care. Maybe Davrin knew by proxy. Maybe Evka had mentioned it at some point, or some other Warden they may have mutually known. They didnt want to have… that… conversation again. It was always so stupid. The scars under what used to be breasts felt, for some reason, more visible than usual. They hadnt realized they‘d been just standing until Davrin said something. “Uh.. Rook? You alright over there?”

They turned way more suddenly than they meant to “Yeah. Yeah, no.. I’m uh.. I‘m all good” They tried to feign comfortability. He was a Warden too, this wasnt any different than bathing with Tybalt or Wilde. So why did it feel different? They tried not to look at him as they stepped into the bath. It was always just as warm as they liked. They wondered if the Fade made it so everyone would feel how they preferred to bathe.. They winced when their injured side sunk into the water. It was still fresh, still tender. “Looks like you took a beating out there”

His voice was smooth, always was. He had to know he was hot. Why else would he be like that. That Maker forsaken smirk was a concious choice, it had to be. No one just looks like that. “Yeah..” They touched the bruising under their eye, pulling back when it ached more than they had expected, before touching it again - testing the bone beneath their eye “Nothin’s broken at least..”

They sat in silence for a while longer. “Youre not broken at all are you?” They didnt look up at him to ask. They hadnt seen any sign of injury on him, besides maybe his pride. Definitely his pride. Between Davrin, Taash and Rook, there was certainly enough arrogance to go around. Broad certainty about their ability. Weisshaupt was humbling. In more ways than one. Rook had been tossed about like a ragdoll in a childs hands out there. Maybe they were too reckless. Maybe it would have gotten them killed. But could anyone blame them? They worked alone because they couldnt play nice with others, they dealt with hordes of Darkspawn alone because they had to. Why had this been different? It was just another horde.

“Rook.” Davrins voice pulled them out of yet another spiral. They were really off their game today.. They looked up at him, a signal they used to show they were listening without saying anything. “..Im not going to ask because youre too boar-headed to admit it. “ He wasnt wrong, but that didnt stop the words from grating on Morags mind “You‘re not okay.” They could feel the scowl pull at their face “Neither are you.” It was almost an insult. They wanted it to be - wanted to be mean.

“I‘m not.” The words left him like they were forced out and Morag actually looked up at him. He looked just as exhausted as they felt. “The Order is done for, Rook. Why would we be okay?” There was a small comfort in his words. Rook didnt feel much connection to the rest of the group, not with all the Warden ‘trade secrets’ they had to keep. But Davrin knew the same things they did. He knew what being a soldier was like.

“I’m sorry.” Rook turned their head away from him. They did mean to be mean, but he didnt deserve it. Of all people, never him.

“Yeah. I know.” He breathed heavily, like it was taking all his energy to talk “I used to argue with my friends about which of us would be the one to slay an archdemon. Me, Rounald, Malmont and Anya. It wasnt supposed to be like this. None of us ever thought it would come to a head..”

“You did is proud, Dav..rin.” They hesitated to call him anything but his name just yet. Especially not now. Seemed like a bad time.

“Did I? ‘Cuz Im still here. They‘re not.” Morag knew that feeling. Theyd actually seen someone they knew at Weisshaupt. Only to then watch them be burned alive by Razikale on the walls. “It doesnt make any sense-!” He was clearly getting frustrated the more he thought about it. “When a Warden kills an Archdemon, they die. Thats how it works.” It was eating at Morag too. They were glad Davrin was alive, but he shouldnt have been. “Emmrich says it might not work like that anymore. For all we know, it was never supposed to be like that”

“I wasnt supposed to be here-! Wardens have expiration dates! Thats what pushes us- pushed me. I feel like a blade sharpened to confront all the worst darkness in the world. And my blade struck true at Weisshaupt. What now?”

Morag didnt know. They had no idea what this meant for him. For all Wardens. “Now you stay alive.” Thats all they had “You.. raise Assan to be a light in the darkness. And you‘ll find the Gloom Howler and the rest of the Griffons. And you‘ll keep living.” Sometimes thats enough. Just to keep going. Thats all Morag had. Thats all they were doing. All anyone was doing really. “We’ll make it. We have to.”

The rest of the night was an experience too. Lucanis was in the kitchen when they finally decided to bite the arrow about it.

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Lucanis liked to cook. Morag sucked at it so when they recruited him and took it upon himself to handle the kitchen, they didnt complain. How could they? Lucanis was, for all intents and purposes - and as far as Morag was concerned - a rich kid who grew up in the pocket of Antivan finery. Sure he was a crow, but he wasn‘t really an orphan. He was never a homeless little rat on the streets, he never needed to worry whete he next meal was coming from. So yeah, Morag trusted the guy with the most stable of backgrounds with cooking. Thats the same reason they trusted Bellara with cooking, and absolutely refused to let Neve cook for anyone but herself. And barely for herself if they were honest. Sometimes Taash did good, but Morag thought that maybe they just didn‘t like Rivaini food. Then again everything they grew up eating rivaled Ferelden cuisine in its depressive status. A lot of it was dried meat, and dried fruit; a lot of things were dried. Sometimes pastry dough got involved, but that was sometimes. Oh but honey glaze was usually around, made most food more bearable. The Avvar that they had grown up with were really big on fish. Maybe thats why Neve’s affront to cooked fish bothered Morag so deeply. Warden food hadnt much better though, honestly. Field Provisions, Rations and everyones favorite; Hardtack. Morag remembered the first time Lucanis had made, or attempted, to make dishes from their home. He‘d done it for everyone as they came around. He‘d made stew for Harding and Ferelden, Khachapuri for Neve and Tevinter, He didnt know what to do for the Dalish so Bellara had helped him with that one. A salad of some sort. Morag felt a little bad for going to the kitchen later. Cheese toast for Emmrich and Nevarra, which Morag hadnt expected to be so hearty. And then came Morag and Davrin, from the Anderfels. Mostly at least, since Davrin was more Dalish than Ander. Morag remembered laughed when Lucanis presented that ham. Not because it was funny that he tried, but because it was good. They had no idea how he took a recipe designed for having little energy and resources and actually make it well. Better than well. Even the glaze tasted like it had been made in good conditions. Morag seemed to have been the only one that trusted him not to poison anyone to boot. They highly doubted the Crow that they broke out of blood-magic-prison would try to kill them. Especially after seeing Morag cut through Venatori like paper and go toe to toe with their Centurions.

Morag knew better than to keep their wound care herbs with the cooking supplies, that would be stupid. So they didn‘t. It was still in the kitchen, its dryer there than anywhere else in that gods-awful structure. Yarrow, Honey, Comfrey, and Linseed flax. For the inflammation and other such things. They didnt remember the properties, but they did remember the recipes they were given by their mother before they conscripted.

Lucanis buzzed about around them as they packed their scrap of cheesecloth. They paused when they heard his boots stop moving for a while. “..You brooding back there?” Barely turning their head over their shoulder to look at him

“Im fine.” His answer came quick. Morag laughed. “Thats not a ‘no’.”

“I had her. She should have never gotten away from me. That was our contract. Rook, I don‘t fail my contracts.”

They fought the urge to say something snappy. To get back at him for his comment about the taint in Wardens. They didn‘t need another argument though, so they took a deep breathe before speaking. “Call it like it is. Weisshaupt was a disaster.” There was real disdain in Morag‘s voice. That was a wound that would sting for a while.

“I thought.. I still had this. Whatever else I am, Im a professional. After the Ossuary I though I could at least take out one target. I need to work.”

“So focus on what you do well then. Hitting your mark when its least expected. Ghilan’nain wont forget what you did.” He mumbled something about it, but Morag didnt care to hear. “We didnt know what we were walking into before. But we do now. And next time; you wont miss.” That wasnt reassurance; it was a threat. Lucanis had exactly one job. One job to do. Morag wanted to see him as more than that but that was hard to do with anyone here save for Harding. Everyone had a reason to be here. Bellara was the magical applicant genius, Emmrich was the Fade guy, Neve was their detective, Davrin was the monster-hunter, Taash was the dragon hunter. And Lucanis was the god-killer.

“No. I won‘t.” There was a very tense sort of repetoire between Morag and Lucanis. They were both raised to be weapons, just different kinds. Morag had been raised to be a force of nature, blunt and heavy-hitting, aimed at keeping people safe. Lucanis was finer tuned, agile and precise. Maybe that was why they butted heads. A greataxe and a dagger put in the same space. Lucanis could cut Morag down easily, but that was assuming he could get close enough for long enough. They may not work as people for that reason, but as units they meshed better than expected. Morag could open an enemies stance up for Lucanis to finish them, and Lucanis could disorient to let Morag send people into their graves.

They both stayed on their own sides of the kitchen after that. Morag still packing their poultice and Lucanis cooking dish after dish. Eventually they turned around, finally applying the warmth of their labor to the ache in their side. It was a good feeling. Between the warming and pressure, and faint burn of the yarrow that is. “What are you even going to do with all that…” They finally managed to ground out. They looked around and very quickly realized he was cooling Anders dishes again. With a note that looked like it had been written by Antoine. “Wait is that.. for Lavendel?”

Morag very suddenly felt very bad for being so vindictive. “You said they didn‘t have supplies. We dont have much raw material to spare but a good meal goes leagues to lift spirits. Or so I‘ve heard.” He was helping. He‘d done the same after the attack on Dock Town. He felt bad. And Morag had been at his throat about it. “Lucanis-”

“The Wardens lost a lot. The world owes them a debt that cannot be repayed.”

He was right. That smug bastard. Gods why were they so angry all the time! It blinded them and they knew it did. They didnt answer him, instead they stormed out of the dining hall. They briefly considered just going to stew in the crossroads but they decided against it. The Fade liked to prey on emotions, especially anger and sadness. So instead they resigned themself back to the Meditation Chamber. Or they thought they would. Before they turned that corner they paused. The next frame led to the infirmary - to Varric.

Harding came looking for them in the ‘morning’, or whatever it was at the Lighthouse. They weren‘t in their room though. They were sitting beside that bed that held Varrics belongings. No one had moved any of it. It felt wrong, and Morag seemed to take comfort in it. No one really knew why, and no one knew what was really going on in that Wardens head.