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The door opened before Felassan, welcoming him in. The Lighthouse was empty lately, with only him and Rook staying here for longer than a few hours. The rest of the Veilguard headed out to deal with many things that accumulated over the past few months, they wanted to finish as much of them as they could before the holidays. Not that Felassan minded, he had all of the Lighthouse just for him and Rook to spend more time alone with each other.
On the other hand, being alone at the Lighthouse reminded him too much of the time he spent roaming the Crossroads with only silence as his companion. Solas's ritual left the world broken, changed, and no one knew how to bring everything back to the way it was, to the way they loved. Felassan had no idea whether it was all just Solas's plan or a mistake, one among many. No matter what Felassan made it his sole goal to find Solas and fix it all, make some amends and maybe beat him a little for thinking he could do that all on his own, little did he know how it all would turn out. And now here he was again; the world is shaken, but it still stands, and Solas somewhere away once again, but this time Felassan can reach him even if it's only through the Fade, and when he's not too busy helping out with dealing with the mess that was left.
He flopped on the couch with a thud; Rook should be at the Necropolis by now and will likely stay there for a day or two. New students swarmed the halls and classes of senior Watchers burying the rest in matters concerning the safety of inhabitants and visitors of the Necropolis as well as Nevarra's. Which of course meant more work for Rook and Emmrich and more time alone with himself for Felassan.
The table was cluttered with books, notes, abandoned cups and mugs as well as an abundance of bottles; all are traces of the last book club meeting. Felassan was designated by his own 'humble' persona to clear the mess. The process stopped at him willing the Lighthouse to rid of all leftover liquids; the result was a little too perfect. Felassan cast a glance at the wooden cup, shining in the light. The product of his thoughts no less no more, yet entertaining. He couldn't deny a certain charm that lingered in the mess.
However it was, he had had a few more days before everyone would start coming back to the Lighthouse, so Felassan snatched a book from the top of the pile. Judging by the cover it was some romance story and a corny one for sure; it would keep him from succumbing to boredom for a time being.
The time dragged on, as words blurred in unintelligible mess before the elf's eyes; his thoughts straying away to everything but the book. For the first time in centuries there was no goal to strive for nor any task entrusted to him; now that newfound freedom felt foreign.
Long elven ears perked up, catching the shuffling of the feet against the stone stairs.
"There you are," Emmrich's voice, unmistakably relieved, reached Felassan as the mage made it to the library.
"Professor!" The elf smiled yet his eyes remained glued to the words in front of him. "To what do I owe the honor?"
"I am sadly in need of your assistance, Felassan. Rook is being rather uncooperative," Emmrich approached the couch, seeing the book flying back on top of the pile, almost collapsing the whole construction. "You and Rook are close, she may listen to you."
"And it's all so serious that you've gone all the way here to ask me for help? I'm certain I'm not the only one Rook would listen to." There still was humor in Felassan's voice, yet by the way he fully turned to Emmrich it was clear he had the elf's undivided attention.
"Sadly, we tried all we could, but Rook kept pushing on. We can only hope that someone would drag Rook to infirmary or back here," Emmrich explained as Felassan listened intently, the corners of his lips falling the more he heard.
"Infirmary?"
"Rook's been coughing ever since she came to aid the Watchers. The coughing is causing a great commotion throughout Necropolis. Some wisps even refuse to work near her; the sound is scaring them. We tried to approach her, but she keeps on avoiding us and all our attempts to send her to infirmary are disregarded. You're the only one we know who could do something."
A sigh escaped the elf's lips as he leaned back against the couch. He expected many things from Rook after all she was like Solas in many ways. And disregarding her own health was among them. As a rule, he could persuade his friend to take that so much needed rest, but Solas was nothing but hard-headed when it came to his own well-being and a task he deemed 'too important to let it wait'. Days like those were frequent.
Rook's persistence was no less admirable. Few things could make her slow down her pace and even fewer could stop her. Just showing up and asking Danica to take a break wouldn't do it unless he'd push for it. Yet there was something in their shared stubbornness Felassan — with all his persuasiveness — couldn't fight. And if on the worst days it took several people telling Solas to take a break before he would actually heed to the words of his friend it would take no less for Rook.
Or one more.
"I am skilled with the herbs as well as with healing techniques, but I'm afraid even I can't talk Danica out of whatever she set her mind to. I know a friend, though. He could do that," Emmrich's expression darkened, the look in the elf’s eyes and how they slid momentarily to one of the murals as he pushed off the couch; the necromancer knew who that 'friend' was. "But I would have to ask for a favor from you, professor," Felassan continued, the usual humor was still absent from his voice; yet for Emmrich it all seemed like one of those puns Rook made when the mood struck.
Generations of Watchers yearned for even the tiniest piece of knowledge Solas possessed. Emmrich himself had a myriad of questions for him about the nature of the spirits and the Fade; the theories that could be disproved with ease by the elven 'god' and many more that could be validated by his expertise. The necromancer spent many days if not weeks in the Lighthouse, studying every corner of it, every little thing he could reach for. Solas's collection of books and artifacts was truly impressive, and if Emmrich was to meet him at some point then he could have as well prepared his set of questions only some one as ancient as Fen'Harel knew answers for. Or that's what the necromancer thought before the Tearstone island, before Minrathous, before one betrayal followed after another, before plenty more lies and manipulations added to an already hefty collection Solas had gathered throughout the ages of twisting the truth and fighting against the gods.
Then there was Felassan. He wasn't much younger than Solas, yet his knowledge wasn't as refined as that of his friend. Felassan couldn't answer all of the questions Emmrich accumulated through his research or gathered from centuries old works. But the elf was there when the spirits roamed free, he survived the creation of the Veil, lived through all human history; naturally, Emmrich couldn't avoid having at least a few discussions with Fen'Harel's former general.
To no surprise their conversations gradually moved from somewhat professional to personal and rather amicable even with all the disagreements they had in the beginning. That combined with Felassan and Rook growing closer was an insightful look into the ancient elf's life and worldview itself. But their conversations offered even more to Emmrich. For one a deeper understanding of the Dreadwolf himself as well as his actions throughout the recent years. And that the elf, no matter how privy he was to all of Solas's wrongdoings and painfully aware his friend wouldn't spare him if he was to try and stop him, still managed to hold on to his faith in Solas. And in Rook. Emmrich knew just as well how capable Danica could be so it wasn't unforeseen that she would be one of the few to challenge Fen’Harel himself and come out victorious.
Late at night when they both were too tired for any deep discussions, they shared stories. Felassan was the one to all out recalling the memories from centuries ago, on other times his 'recollections' sounded awfully like fables, and sometimes he would say the wildest things that no one in their sane mind would ever believe. To this day the craziest one was Solas's supposed love for Rook. Whether it was true or not, Emmrich couldn't say; Felassan knew Solas better than anyone and while most of the elf's stories seemed to be somewhere between fiction and reality there was something in the way he spoke about it that made it sound genuine if not a tiniest bit wild. Even muttered late in the night, it was uttered so perfectly clear that there was no room left for debating it.
The thought stuck with Emmrich. Even with all of Felassan's usual jokes and witty remarks, he always remained dead set on the goal before him, and when he got serious not even the Maker could hold him back from proceeding with his plan.
"That feels awfully like something the others wouldn't approve of, dear," Emmrich spoke up; on better days he could stand there and debate elf's sanity and methods of dealing with problems for hours; now, however, time was of value.
"Just trust me. I know what I'm doing," Felassan tried to sound as reassuring as he could master in the moment, yet judging by the necromancer's expression he didn't seem convinced. "I can handle Solas if he tries anything if that's what concerns you."
Emmrich's sigh brought back the smirk on the elves face; the gears already turning in his head.
"Very well. But I trust you, Felassan, not him," the necromancer walked back towards the stairs, the resignation evident in his tone. "We'll also give you the access to our stock rooms and all the herbs that are stored there as well as all the necessary ingredients," Emmrich's voice had dropped, before he turned back to meet Felassan's eyes again. "But Solas…"
"Won't be a problem, I assure," the elf interrupted, earning another tired sigh from the mage.
"I shall inform Myrna, then. Hopefully, the return of the Dreadwolf won't raise a bigger fuss than Rook already does. She'll show you or him where Danica is, when you're ready," Emmrich bowed his head before descending down the stairs.
"I'm going to need a hood and something inconspicuous to wear," Felassan spoke up as his ears caught the distant rippling of the eluvian's surface.
"Shall I look for the Wolf's old clothes?" The Caretaker inquired, before his form could properly manifest beside the elf; the air sparkling with magic.
"Yes, please," Felassan said, barely acknowledging the presence of the spirit, long used to their ways of moving around their domain, after all not much changed about it over the centuries.
The elf already knew a way to bring Solas back to the Lighthouse; he just needed a little help from him and then his plan would work out perfectly. Wolf's Fang remained in Rook's room — it was safer that way, less risks — and he didn't need the herbs for somniari trance now that Solas was in the Fade.
Smiling, Felassan jogged up the stairs. The elf wasn't that much of an expert on all the things connected to Fade, but there was one thing he was certain about. The Veil's stability wouldn't degrade if Solas were to leave the Fade. With the proper use of the Wolf's Fang than what was before. The situation wasn't ideal, Felassan had planned to push Rook and Solas together for months, but it proved to be a strenuous task as both stubbornly refused to acknowledge having any feelings for each other despite how obvious for him their lies were.
Felassan pushed the door open with haste, the candles flickered before the fire sprouted across the room, casting a soft glow over some dark corners. Without delays he made his way to the low bookcase, the dagger's blade gleaming softly among the books. Felassan snatched the dagger from under the pile, ignoring the books dropping on the floor.
The elf rounded the chaise, spinning the weapon in his hand, and settled on the floor before the cluttered table; the Wolf's Fang landed on his knees. Taking a deep breath, Felassan closed his eyes and slipped further into the Fade, to Solas.
"Felassan," the voice came from somewhere ahead before the elf's form could take shape. "Didn't we agree to meet much later?" Solas tilted his head; eyes trained on Felassan.
"Did we?" The smile spread on the former general's face, as his vision finally came into focus. "And here I thought you'd never refuse such a good company as mine," his voice was full of amusement.
"That doesn't seem like you came here simply to talk," Solas furrowed his brows, he knew his friend well enough to know Felassan was up to something; there was no doubt about it. But even Fen'Harel, with all his extensive knowledge, couldn't always foresee what ideas had formed in the head of the carefree elf.
"Nothing slips past you, huh? You are right, at least here," the other elf quipped, earning a steely glare from his friend. "There is a matter that requires your interference in the real world," Felassan spun the imagery of the Wolf's dagger in his hand, eyes trained on Solas who had already masked all traces of curiosity and irritation that had been plastered on his face.
"I'm quite busy here and have no intentions..."
"It's about Rook," Felassan interrupted him, as the grin slipped off his face.
"Rook?" Solas's eyebrows drew together just for a moment before he schooled his expression back to a neutral one. "And why would you come to me? I'm certain Rook's friends would happily offer you any help you would ask of them."
Felassan grinned again, the subtle worry, while brief, still didn't go unnoticed. Just as the way his friend kept gazing at Rook when he thought no one was looking. Solas would never admit it. At least not easily. Not that he had to.
"First, I saw those longing looks you gave her in Minrathous. And those looks, full of barely hidden admiration. And the way you kept an eye on her during battles. And many other things any less observant person would miss," Felassan said, observing in delight how his friend's expression was changing with every word until Solas let out a low huff.
"I did none of those!"
"Second," Felassan continued, stifling a laugh. "All of the Veilguard are busy at the moment. So, unless you want to keep on debating it here, until she collapses on the floor too sick to do anything somewhere out there in the dark cold Necropolis…" The tone of the tattooed elf was far from serious and close to exaggeration; yet Solas knew his friend wasn't prone to lie so blatantly. Rook was one of those to neglect being sick — he was as well — that one would be true. Solas narrowed his eyes, Felassan asked him for months to come back to the Lighthouse as well as moving their discussions to Rook every moment he could.
"I did not give Rook any 'looks'," Solas repeated before a tired sigh left his lips and he made his way to Felassan. "However, I do owe her much. And knowing you, I suspect you already have a plan."
The chair creaked as Rook collapsed on it with the last portion of books she carried over from the bookshelf. Her muscle ached yet again, making her work much more tedious. The influx of new students caused great commotion in the Necropolis even among some dead, creating even more work for all qualified to teach with other duties falling into the hands of those who weren't. And few senior Watchers remained in Neverra City to deal with them, and Rook couldn't allow some aching muscles and annoying coughing create even more work for those working in Necropolis.
Rook's desk was a disarray of books, parchments, and dirty handkerchiefs, that seemed to pile on since Myrna's first visit. Danica's eyes swept over the desk one final time, before a heap of books landed on the floor by the chair.
Her hand immediately flew to her mouth as another burst of coughing followed and echoed further into the halls of Necropolis, scattering some wisps in the distance. She pushed herself straight, snatching the book from the floor; it landed with a thud on the desk while Rook's attention turned to the journal.
She flipped through the pages filled with notes, her research was already extensive, as the search for the infamous, even outside of Necropolis, half-made bandit continued. He laid low during the Final Blight, some Watchers even considered him gone for good, yet now he resumed causing chaos throughout Neverra City. While not as harmful as other malicious spirits, he still took delight in the commotion his actions created.
The search however remained fruitless. Now the task fell to Rook and her little team. And first of the many problems was half-made bandit's ability to evade pursuit. Figuring out the source of that impressive skill would be an easy task for Rook. On any other day. But right now, the task seemed monumental, even more than taking out two gods and their pets.
Finding a blank page, she turned to works of the Watcher Erec. She wasn't sure if they would be of any use to her, but her attempts of skimming through the books in the archive offered no results, with her head splitting in pain, her muscles feeling treacherously weak, and every breath coming as sandpaper against her throat. Working at her desk seemed easier. Or at least a little more tolerable.
Rook rested her head on her hand, fingers pressing her temples if not to ease the pain than at least so the words before her eyes would stop blurring into a mush of black ink on the pages.
The minutes ticked by as the pain only seemed to worsen; the meaning of words kept on evading her.
The magic cracked behind her, pulling Rook out of her thoughts. She awaited a visit, there were reports of half-made bandits activity from the city guards to be delivered, and Emmrich checking on her every so often.
Rook didn't look up from her work, she didn't dare to, afraid any movements would send another jolt of pain right through her head. Yet the soft shuffling of the feet against the stone closing in on her so unlike the sound Emmrich's robes created was a clear indication that whoever it was they came to her. And that could only be one person.
"Thanks for delivering those, Adalin. Just leave them by the desk and let me know if anything new would come up about our half-made bandit," Rook's voice came up forced and hoarse.
A low amused huff reached her ears instead. "Half-made bandit?" The voice inquired, warm and so painfully familiar; the voice she thought she wouldn't hear again. "Is this what made you so stubbornly disregard your own health?"
Rook's head snapped in the direction of the visitor; another surge of pain rushed through her head in response to the movement. The corners of Solas's mouth dropped as he noticed her wincing in pain. With measured steps, the ancient elf made his way to Rook, his bare feet making no sound as he moved.
Rook lifted her head seeing a figure crouching less than an arm's length from her. Solas tilted his head from side to side with scrutinizing look; his eyes darted over her face, taking in the way her mouth was slightly open as she used it to breathe, in the way her skin was paler than usual, and in the way her brows furrowed in an effort to push back against the insistent beating in her head.
The elf raised his hand hesitantly, his fingers stopping just shy from her temple, eyes meeting hers.
"May I?" Solas's voice was soft, softer than Rook ever heard, almost suspiciously.
"How did you get here? Why are you here?" She asked, pursing her lips and searching his eyes for any sign of his true intentions. Rook's eyes darted around her improvised study to see if there was anything out of the ordinary. "Are we in the Fade?" The thought seemed wild, yet one can never be too careful with Solas.
The elf chuckled, tilting his head as the idea seemed to amuse him a little too much. "No, we're not in the Fade. As you can clearly see," he answered, motioning with his hand at their surroundings. "But if you wish to know, Felassan asked me to help him with your stubbornness," Solas explained with some humor. "Consider it a courtesy for an old friend. Someone has to manipulate you into taking care of your own health," his lips quirked in a bemused smile, his hand reached out for her face again yet still not closing the remaining distance. "Now, may I?"
Rook's eyes kept darting over the elf's face, noticing a few scars — from Lusacan she concluded. His expression was less tired, less sorrowful, instead there was something aching to worry in his eyes. Rook tentatively nodded, her mouth opened, and a cough erupted from her throat instead of an answer, muffled by her hand.
"Dry, could be a cold or flu," Solas said, his tone clinical. The worry in his eyes intensified. "How long you've been coughing?" He took her chin between his fingers to keep her head from turning and take a closer look at her face. Her skin was dry to the touch.
"It's just a sore throat, nothing too serious," Rook protested while the back of Solas's hand made contact with her forehead, leaving her chin. His brows furrowed.
"And a fever. You shouldn't be working, Rook," his voice was soft, despite his clear disapproval.
"And you shouldn't be here," Rook's retort was half-hearted, she couldn't be mad at the fact no matter how much she tried to persuade herself that it was something bad. Something that could be harmful in the long run. "You're supposed to sustain the Veil out there in the Fade. Though I don't see why is it a necessity," she wondered, her voice coming out rough yet again, her expression thoughtful. "The Veil didn't collapse with Elgar'nan and Ghilan'nain out of the Fade, except for…" Another violent cough interrupted her train of thoughts, while Solas expression remained greatly unimpressed by the way she refused to admit being sick.
With a long sigh, his faintly glowing fingers pressed to her temple, easing the splitting pain coursing through her head. Rook closed her eyes as relief washed over her, shoulders slumping. When the last surge of magic seeped into her, Solas's hand fell back to his side.
"What is it so important that requires your immediate attention?" Solas asked, standing up and scanning the mess on her desk with clear disapproval.
"An undead thief who resumed terrorizing Neverra City," Rook's eyes followed Solas, as she leaned back in her chair, grabbing the wanted poster and handling it to him.
"Oh. An undead thief? How very important," Solas's mouth quirked in a smirk as he barely regarded what was written on the poster, tilting his head.
"You'd rather he kept on terrorizing the city?"
"I'd rather you took care of yourself," Solas threw back before tilting his head. "Do you think you can help anyone by coughing every few minutes and looking like an undead yourself?"
"Maybe he'll accept me as his own and drop his guard down enough for us to catch him," she jested, while Solas's expression remained unimpressed.
"Can you even stand on your own?"
"Of course!" Rook pushed herself off the chair, her body protested against the swift motion as she stumbled back. Her fall was stopped by the strong hands pulling her upwards and steadying her.
"I'm taking you back to the Lighthouse," Solas's tone was almost commanding as he supported Rook with his hands under her elbows, as she tried to clear her throat.
"And if I refuse?" Rook lifted her head to look up at Solas, her protest was weak, but her curiosity stronger.
"Danica," Solas said softly.
The silence settled between them; Rook's eyes locked on the elf. Her name falling off his lips wasn't something she was used to; it sounded oddly pleasant, enough to make her heart race a little more. She wanted to press on, her work was important, but she also made no progress throughout the day whatsoever and unlikely would. Not with how determined Solas was to bring her back to the Lighthouse. Rook's sigh was all Solas needed before his hand slid to hers and he led her away to the eluvian.
Not a word was spoken between them as they traveled through the eluvian and to the Crossroads both locked deep in their thoughts. Rook's headache now seemed non-existent as if the hours she spent wincing from every strong source of light, from every loud noise, and every attempt to concentrate on something were nothing but a bad dream.
With her mind clear of pain, she could feel the shivering in her limbs as well as weakness and soreness in her muscle. Her only salvation was the Caretaker's boat that still served to connect different islands of the Crossroads.
The ride wasn't long, but enough to steal a few glances at Solas. His expression remained controlled as it often did, his hand still held hers firmly, and his eyes looking anywhere but at her.
The last time they'd met was less than pleasant. Since then, not a single day had passed without Rook's thoughts straying back to Solas. She should hate him as everyone else. But she didn't. She liked Solas's company, their conversations, the way her heart raced in his company. The time they'd spend together was brief. Too brief for her liking. Maybe it was all due to Felassan's influence and his stories about Solas. The cheeky elf could find any opportunity to talk about his friend, and Rook liked his stories. But deep down she knew it had nothing to do with Felassan and his tales. Just her and her own feelings. It mattered little as she was still in the waking world and he was out there beyond the Veil. At least until now.
Rook knew Felassan as a dreamer could speak with him in the Fade, so Solas certainly was that unreachable. But none of her theories ever brought her closer to figuring out how she could reach him. Or whether it was even possible for her to do that.
And now Solas was here, dead set on bringing her to the Lighthouse for treatment. Rook would be flattered by his care if her mind didn't race so much with thoughts and theories: how he'd got out of the Fade, why did he care so much about her and wouldn't accept her disregarding her illness, was it really the only reason he came back. Some part of her would rather be working right now with the new boost of energy that rushed through her with Solas's presence. Her body however didn't share the sentiment as her coughing only seemed to get worse. And maybe Solas's hand squeezed hers more tightly and his pace quickened with urgency with every violent outburst with how deep Rook was in her thoughts and illness she wouldn't even notice a wall in front of her.
The library was quiet when they reached it, Felassan's off somewhere and even the Caretaker didn't make his presence known. Rook spent many days and months walking around its halls and rooms and memorizing them. She could navigate it with her eyes closed and sometimes she even did that. Her legs would carry her on their own straight to her room, taking a turn when needed. Only right now she was stopped by the hand tugging her towards the door outside.
"You're not going to your room. You need rest. On a proper bed, da'len," Solas's tone was firm and left no room for objections and plenty of questions. Before the door outside swung open before them, Rook covered her eyes from the blinding light, and locked her eyes on the path before her.
"And where would that proper bed be?" Rook asked, trying to keep up with Solas, who seemed to start taking her upstairs.
"Felassan volunteered," Rook lifted her head to look up at the elf ahead of her. Felassan house was the closest to the Lighthouse, just up the left stairs.
The building was old, conjured out of the elf's memories. She spent many hours there; the peacefulness of the place was a welcome change to the hectic pace of the post-Blight world; now only broken by her violent coughing. Solas led her all the way to the second floor with such ease as if he lived there for years. And it coincided well with what Rook knew about the nature of their relationship.
"Felassan went to gather the herbs for a medicine," Solas opened the door to the bedroom, turning to Rook and tilting his head. "And some ingredients for cooking. He'll be back soon. But for now, you need rest," Solas fell silent before he reluctantly let go of her hand, his fingers lingering on hers for just a fraction more than necessary. "Felassan left some clothes for you here on the bed," the elf made his way inside, hands clasped behind his back. Solas didn't cast a single glance at Rook, remembering how weakly she followed after him, he had no doubts she wouldn't run off to continue her work.
"How well Felassan planned everything out," Rook approached the bed, despite herself she couldn't help some amusement creeping into her voice.
"Too well," Solas agreed before heading back to the door. "You can change here while I'll get something to measure your temperature. I need to know for sure which potions to make for you."
Rook nodded as she slumped down onto the bed, when she lifted her head to look back at Solas, he was already gone. Weakly she unclasped the bracers on her arms before taking off her coat. Her eyes fell on the clothes laying folded on the bed: a simple long-sleeved blouse and loose pants. Rook debated whether she actually wanted to change into anything or not. The faint shivering of her hands, swayed her to throw her shirt and the belt into the closest corner.
The temperature has lowered drastically ever since she first entered the Fade. Danica knew it was nothing but a product of her thoughts and her body's response to the fever, yet she couldn't help it. Ignoring the shiver that ran down her spine as the cool fabric made contacts with her skin, she kicked off her boots. She eyed the pants on the bed, but ultimately decided to remain in hers; at least the fabric of those was pleasantly warm to the touch.
From down below, Solas felt the temperature dropping, not drastically yet enough to feel it, accompanied by a muffled coughing. With a sigh he jogged up the stairs, stopping just around the corner for a moment before stepping back into the bedroom.
"I thought I told you to get changed, da'len," Solas came to stand right in front of her, noticing the small tremors in her hands and her mouth that was opened just enough to breathe in and out. The pants laid folded on the bed. "Have the pants insulted you in a way?" he tilted his head, lips curving into a faint smile
Rook cleared her throat before speaking in an amused lilt. "Yes. A grave crime against me. The coldness they've committed their life to. Instead of preserving the warmth like my own are."
"A fair point," Solas sat down to her eye level; his hand started to glow faintly, and the strings of magic flowed from Rook and to the small tube in his hands, wrapping around it.
"What are you doing?" Rook's voice broke with a cough, before she could ask any more questions.
"I need to measure your temperature." Solas's eyes kept locked on the tube, his movements practiced. "It's an old elvhen invention. There were and there are several potions that could be used for treating the fever. Some are harmful if the temperature isn't high enough. Many inventions have been created, but the magic in this one helps for a more precise result," Solas explained, noticing her interest and focused eyes.
"Did it lay somewhere around here all this time?"
"Many things were preserved here," the glowing subsided, magical strings thinned and dissipated. "The fever is high," Solas concluded after examining the tube. He expected that result, but there was little he could do right now, except for suppressing the tinge of worry in his eyes.
"Can any mage use it?" Rook's eyes were locked on the glowing tube that was set aside, mesmerized by the blue sparks taking off in the air and slowly dissolving.
"Yes, any mage can," Rook's eyes darted to Solas, anticipating more details to come, only to be met with a deep gaze locked on her. "But you certainly can't use it as a way to divert this conversation from discussing your condition?" Lips twitched in amusement for just a moment, before his expression softened again. "How do you feel, Rook?"
"Like Fen'Harel after meeting Lusacan," Rook jested, though she couldn't deny the truth behind her words; with how her muscles ached and how weak she felt, she wouldn't mind just laying down and avoiding getting up at all.
Stifling a laugh, Solas stood up before her and dusted himself off. "That sounds awfully like one of Felassan's many jokes."
"Maybe it is, but it's a good comparison."
"It may be, but I need more details, Danica," he reached out for her face, tilting her head back, so she could look up at him.
"Cold. Due to a fever, but you know that. My throat aches. And I can hardly breath with my nose. Also, all of my muscles ache. I don't thi–" she turned her head away sharply as another cough erupted from her throat. "I don't think there's anything more I can tell that you haven't noticed already."
Solas's expression remained contemplative as his hand fell back to his side. He had suspicions about her aliment, but there was little he could do right now. Except…
"Right now. Ned’an, Danica. I'll go and make you tea for your throat." Rook's eyes met his again, but Solas cut her off before she could even open her mouth. "Non-negotiable, Rook," He stepped away from her and created some distance between them before continuing. "I'll bring some potions after Felassan comes back."
This time Solas didn't wait for any response heading downstairs; his mind set on the task ahead of him. Felassan left long enough to gather everything and already be on the way here, but before that he had to do with what he had.
The kitchen wasn't too far off, and as far as he was informed, packed with ingredients, safe for meat and onions. Solas avoided asking Felassan about the lack of the latter in the kitchen; something told him that he would be better off without knowing it.
The door opened wide before him as he approached it; the room was dimly lit and much more homely than it ever did after he recovered the Lighthouse. The pantry was in its usual place and the cups hung above the table right from the fireplace. Felassan very kindly informed him which one belonged to Rook, so his work was cut short at least a little.
The teapot was spotted on the shelf on his left; the plan was coming up together in his head. Solas's eyes darted around the room one last time, before he made his way to the right. The elf scanned the shelves, taking out and checking some of the jars stored there.
Finding a pottery jar filled with honey, Solas sat the lid back and made his way to the small table by the stove. The lid clicked against the pot as it landed on the wooden surface, while the elf reached for a saucepan behind him.
With a flicker of his hand, the metal cooktop started to heat up, the process wouldn't take too long, so he hastened his movements. Solas dipped the saucepan in the water barrel, filling it to the half, and lifted it back right onto the stove.
Rounding the table and the stairs, he reached the shelf and picked up the empty pot. It fit well in his hand, so without any delays Solas headed for the Rook's cup. He hooked it with his finger, lifting it without making a sound, and returned to the table setting everything down with haste, only to disappear behind the door to the pantry just moments later. Right when Rook's figure entered the dining hall.
The door closed behind her, leaving her alone in an empty room. The water started to bubble gently and the vapor rose into the air. Rook reached the dining table in the middle, securing the blanket around herself. Her movements were sluggish, but she tried to step as steadily as she could.
Rook sat down at the head of the table just in time to see Solas, leaving the pantry with too small sacks; his brows furrowed almost immediately.
"Rook, I thought I told you to rest," his expression was schooled back to something serious and unreadable, but something inkling to disappointment in his tone didn't escape her ears.
"I am resting," Rook tried to keep her tone light, leaning back against her chair and keeping her eyes locked on Solas.
"In bed," Solas said as he placed all the ingredients on the table, taking out a knife and a cutting board.
Noticing her silence, he lifted his head, only to be met with her grey-green eyes gazing back at him; lips pressed together. For a while the bubbling of the water was the only sound in the room, as it slowly intensified. Solas broke down the eye-contact with a resigned sigh, missing Rook's wide smile at his defeat.
She kept her eyes glued to Solas as he picked up the small ginger root from the sack and placed it on the cutting board. His movements were fast, but precise as he sliced the ginger; his concentration solely on the task before him, too important to allow any distractions. Rook would continue, watching his hands moving so effortlessly, if not for another cough erupting from her throat. Leaning back once again, Danica rubbed the front of her neck as if it could somehow ease the pain.
"Did you know that it was my place?" Solas's voice broke the silence, his attention solely on the task before him.
"I didn't hear you claiming it before," she lifted her legs on the chair, fixing the blanket to fight back against the cold.
"And how would I possibly do that?" He inquired and finally lifted his head, his expression was softer than when she saw him enter the dining hall.
"Don't know maybe," she cleared her throat before continuing with a wide grin. "'Oh, by the way you certainly saw the chair at the front of the table, farthest from the pantry, it's my place please do not occupy it, I feel very protective of it, Rook'."
Solas tried to keep his expression as serious as he could, but the small lift to his lips was a tell-tale sign of his true emotions. "That was the only one with the plate next to it, da'len,"
"You could've just used it once and taken new seats every day," Solas huffed at that and lowered his head, putting the ginger and some cinnamon from another sack in the pot. "Still, that was a rather depressing look."
Solas remained quiet, taking the saucepan off the stove with care and pouring the hot water in the teapot. The steam was rising in the air until the lid was placed back on. Rook's eyes followed Solas as he approached the dining table. The elf set the cup in front of Rook and filled it to the top.
"Won't you drink with me?" Rook tilted her head.
"I planned for you to drink it in bed," he answered as he set the pot down on the table along with the pot. "And I detest tea."
"That's not really tea. More of a tisane," she corrected him, leaning over to lean on the table.
"Drink, da'len. It'll help you," he dragged another chair closer to where Rook was seated and settled onto it, his voice softened. "Felassan should return soon and he can make some soup," Solas didn't want to continue arguing about the semantics of what tea and tisane are, maybe because he didn't want her to exert herself or maybe because he knew he would lose.
"Why him?" Rook inquired, picking up the cup; the aroma of ginger and cinnamon was subtle with her stuffy nose, but she still could sense it.
"I could," Solas acknowledged with a nod, pushing the pot towards Rook; the dipper was already sticking out of the thick substance. "You wouldn't like the taste though," he lifted his head to gaze right at her.
"You can't cook?" Her eyes gleamed with amusement as she sweetened the team with the goal to ease her sore throat even if for a little than to add the flavor.
"I know the basics," he tried to keep his expression neutral, through Rook's laughter, but his brows furrowed just a little. She covered her mouth again, her laughter subsiding just a little because of the cough.
Solas didn't look away from her, he wouldn't, there was no real hurt on his face, yet his pride was hurt. "If you quite done, the tea will freeze before you drink it," his hand motioned to the cup on the table.
The laughter subsided, replaced by the quiet peacefulness of the dining hall. Rook lifted the cup to her lips; the taste was bitter, but pleasant, and the honey coated the throat, making her forget about the pain for a moment.
"The tea tastes divine. Ma seranas. Are you staying for long? I wouldn't mind having more of that tea. And some questions answered. And your company," Danica's voice came out softer than before with just some hoarseness to it, the last part quieter than the other. Solas blinked, his eyes opened just a little wider, and Rook could've sworn the color rose to his cheeks. The elf's head turned away sharply, before she could take a better look at his expression.
"I…" his voice came out more hesitant than he would've wanted it. Before he could finish the sentence, the door swung open, revealing another elven figure, darkened by the blinding light of the outside.
Felassan's eyes darted back and forth from Rook to Solas, with a slight lift of his eyebrows. His lips curved in a grin, he spent too many days trying to push them together even for a short conversation, that this scene before him was all he could ever dream. Or very close to it.
Taking off two small bags off his shoulder, he made his way inside, his steps steady but hurried. He had two tasks ahead of him and both were too important to waste any second. And he was half way through his plan.
He met Rook's grey-green eyes, his own violet orbs gleamed with satisfaction and some amusement. "Danica. Is my bed so uncomfortable that you preferred the chair? Or did you try to impress our 'god of rebellion' by rebelling against staying in bed?"
"Do you even know how cold it is there? And I think your 'god' is broken. He doesn't approve of rebellion anymore," both elves laughed, ignoring the sharp glares Solas threw at them both. He got up without saying a word and rounded the table, approaching Felassan. The jokes of his friend were a constant and a promise held, but he came back for a reason. And that reason is soon to be fulfilled.
The elf huffed in amusement at his friend's reaction and took the lightest bag in the other hand, with a grin. "I've got the ingredients both for the soup and the potions. Which one…"
"I'll handle the potions," Solas interrupted him, taking the lightest bag from his friend's hands, a little too hurriedly than he usually would. He needed a moment alone. He needed a moment alone too badly.
Solas knew his friend didn't call him just for help. He knew Felassan had a plan beyond what the tattooed elf told him. Solas thought he wouldn't fall for his machinations. He had suspicion about what Felassan truly wanted. But the tinge of protectiveness and worry that gnawed at him was too strong to refuse.
The two lovers observed how Solas moved with a purpose away from them and off to Felassan's house and the mixing table there. The doors closed behind him, leaving the two alone. Deep down Felassan felt a light sting of disappointment; his expression remained perfectly composed.
The silence settled down in the dining hall for just a moment, before the feet shuffled against the floor, approaching the chair taken by Rook, and the quiet thud of something falling on the carpet. Felassan leaned over and wrapped his hands around Danica's form in a tight embrace.
"I'd kiss you, vhenan," he pulled back, hands pushing off the chair and the smile coming back to his face, softer than before. "But I don't want to get sick."
"That… would be a bad idea," she agreed, watching him round the chair. The blue tendrils of magic reached for the bag that fell by the chair and pulled it after the elf. It stopped by the working table and fell down on the floor again.
"So, Solas?" Rook lowered her head, bringing the cup to her lips once again. The glimpse of satisfaction in the violet eyes didn't escape her and if there was someone other than Solas who could answer her question then it was Felassan.
"What with him?" He leaned over the work table, tilting his head; his vallaslin curled around his eyes
"Why is he really here?" Rook turned to him, noticing the amused smile on his face, she understood he would tell her everything right away.
"Because I asked him."
"Why exactly? If you'd insisted on resting, I would've agreed, there wasn't any need to ask him," she insisted in a flat tone. The corner of Felassan's mouth curled lips, he knew she wouldn't back off and he didn't want to hide the answers. Especially if he wanted his plan to work.
"So serious again?" He let out one last amused jab. "I know you would've agreed. But correct me if I'm wrong, wasn't it you who wished to spend more time with Solas?" Felassan's smirk returned as he saw Rook's eyes widen at his words. "He also needs company and some help. He wouldn't admit it though being as stubborn as he is. And, oh, you two have things to discuss."
"What are you getting at?" Rook lifted her eyebrow; they had many conversations before, and both shared many things they wouldn't admit again. But one could never be too sure with what was going on in the elf's head.
A knowing and faintly sly smile showed on his face, a telling sign for Rook to turn away and hope her flushed cheeks would go unnoticed to the other elf's eyes.
"Someone has to push him a little. I failed. But you have a chance," Felassan continued, his tone sincere, and his smile softened. If the elf noticed the blush, then he didn't make it known. Didn't have too, knowing everything all too well.
"Do I?" Rook tilted her head, before she brought the cup back to her lips, her eyes looking at anything but Felassan.
The last remains of warm liquid slid down her throat, the heat too brief to fight back the cold that settled in her limbs, but she didn't seem to notice. The chaos in her mind was a stark contrast to the peacefulness around her. Thoughts raced in her head, overshadowing her body's reactions to illness and the only conclusion she came up with was to follow Solas. Deep down however Rook knew it wouldn't be something her body could agree with. The cup swirled between her palms in half-circles, and her eyes darted to the door putting together all her ideas for the ancient elf could go.
"If you need to know, I'd wage my guess that he's at my mixing table," the other elf interrupted her train of thoughts. There weren't a lot of places where one could mix a potion, but if Felassan knew his friend he would only search in one.
A low short hum was the only response he was granted. Rook's eyes darted to the door just for a single moment, before settling back on the cup. She was tired and the cold started to seep in her bones again. Felassan's house wasn't far.
As she set the cup down with a sigh, she forced herself up and secured the blanket around. Getting back to bed seemed like the best decision and what if Solas was there too, he was the one who wanted her to rest in the first place.
Felassan pushed off the table, his brows drawing together as he looked at her with care. "If you need help getting there…"
"I can handle it," Rook interrupted him, making small steps towards the door. "Worry not. I got here, didn't I?"
"You sure?" Felassan asked, eyes locked on her wrapped form; his posture was stiff, ready to move if things would go astray.
"Yes. At least there I can," Rook reassured and shielded her eyes; blinding light poured through the open door almost immediately. For just a moment she stayed there, adjusting to the brightness of the outside.
Felassan stood ready to jump into action until the door closed after her slowly retreating for his house. He released a long sigh, Solas would take care of her and he needed to concentrate on the cooking; the oven beside him heated up again.
The ancient elf stood by the table mixing, herbs sprawled all around him along with some reagents, Rook couldn't identify under the masses of greenery. Solas reached for something that looked like spindleweed, his brows were furrowed in concentration. Rook's presence remained a mystery, until a violent cough broke the serene atmosphere of Felassan's house.
"You should really head to bed, Rook," Solas voice was soft, but his eyes were on the task before him. On the work one small vial already laid with a greenish liquid. "I'll bring the potions soon."
"Then nothing won't change if I stay here with you for a while," Rook made a firm step ahead, grinning at the long sigh that fell off the elf's lips.
Danica stopped by the table in time to see Solas put some ground plants in a small cauldron. The fire underneath it seemed to burn on its own lit by magic. Solas refused to look up at her, his fingers moved from a vial to vial, she couldn't see the names on them fully, but she remembered some on the shelves in Necropolis.
Rook lifted her head. "I talked with Felassan about you being here. I guess the Fade wasn't all that pleasant for you," she tilted her head, her tone curious.
Solas froze for a moment, enough to notice his hesitancy, his eyes darted to the bubbling liquid for a moment before he returned to picking a vial.
"I wasn't there to rest," his tone was flat, but his expression looked thoughtful, even a little sorrowful.
"But you didn't mind Felassan visiting you?"
"What makes you say that?" He picked up an empty vial, flicking his left hand once; the fire flickered and snuffed out.
"Felassan spoke about it," Rook turned away and covered her mouth as she coughed. Solas huffed, pouring the liquid in the vial. "He told many things about you," her voice grew hoarse again, when she looked back at him.
Solas met her gaze, his own seemed softer now. "He has that habit," he picked up two vials and moved his hand to her back, pushing her gently. "Come, I'll take you back to bed."
Rook didn't protest, letting him lead her upstairs again. Her eyes fell to the vials Solas held by the neck, the steam rising and disappearing from freshly brewed one. Pushing the blanket off, Rook settled quietly on the bed.
Solas held out the vial with greenish liquid for her, Rook's fingers brushed against his as she wrapped hers around its body. The elven Watcher lifted her head to look at the man before her.
"It'll help with your fever. And this one," he set another vial on the bedside table, "For your throat, but only after eating," he returned his attention to her, waiting for her to down the potion.
It smelled faintly of elfroot and something herbal. Taking a deep breath, Room downed in one go and graced almost immediately.
"That. Tastes. Awful."
"What did you expect? It is a medicine, da'len," Solas said, smiling at her reaction, his hands folded behind his back.
"I know," Rook's face was still contorted as she tried to gulp down enough saliva to rid her mouth of the bitter taste. "So, you can't cook but you can make potions?" She looked up at him, trying to smile.
"I can cook. I know the basics. But making food to sustain yourself and restore your energy is one thing, making food to savor it is another. The same goes for potions," Solas's tone was dry as he talked, almost giving another one of his lectures on his view of the things.
"Yeah, yeah," Rook said with amused half. "Felassan said that none of your generals ever dared to try your cooking. And those poor souls who did refuse to speak about the experience ever again," Rook stifled a giggle, she knew the story was made up, but the expression on Solas's face was worth mentioning it. "I didn't believe it at first. But now…" she grinned, looking up at him and fighting back the cold that seeped in her again.
"You should gather better sources than Felassan and his wild stories created for his own amusement, before coming up to any conclusions," Solas said almost in one breath, the corners of his mouth curled downwards. "And what other tales did he spin that I should know about?" He tilted his head, preparing for another made up and unflattering tale about him. Solas wanted to be ready to fight back other weird questions and allegations.
"Plenty. That you two were rather close before, and other stories about you two," Rook probed tentatively.
Solas fell silent, for a long moment, before closing his eyes and releasing another sigh. When he looked back at her, his gaze softened. "That was a long time ago…" he said, reminiscing about his time with Felassan. They've spent many years together, sometimes apart, and sometimes sharing lovers, usually chosen by the tattooed elf; he seemed to have a knack for that.
"Does it bother you that we…" Rook trailed off, earning an amused huff from the elf.
"And still Felassan's taste is greatly exquisite," his lips curved in a small smile and eyes gleamed with something subtle, but fond.
Rook's eyes widened a fraction. It took her a moment to find her voice again. "I'm not quite sure whether you compliment him or me," she said hesitantly.
"Why can't it be all three? It is a simple fact. One that doesn't need voicing," he said simply, but mentally chided himself for his slip up.
"Fact?"
"Yes."
Rook broke eye contact, as the heat crept to her face. That wasn't the first time Solas's words had such effect on her. He tended to say things that left her questioning the meaning behind all of their conversations and her own thoughts and feelings. The tone he chose and the look on his face didn't help the matter either. But if Felassan was to be trusted, Solas either always chose the words deliberately or they slipped out of him without a second thought.
She cleared her throat, coughing violently to ease the aching. Rook lifted her head; her demeanor was thoughtful. "So, you're here just to help me heal and then you'll leave?" Rook asked, her voice soft and a tad hopeful; she wouldn't let him run away from that question, or leave too soon. Not if she can help it.
"Danica," Solas breathed out, his violet eyes looking almost miserable now.
"The Veil didn't collapse with you out of the Fade. Did it not?" Rook pressed on, as she sensed another poor excuse forming in his head.
"That's…"
A low chuckle behind Solas interrupted him, as his friend and once a lover entered the room, carrying a tray with the bowl and a spoon in his hands.
"Well, it seems to hold on just fine," he added, approaching the bedside table; he turned his head to Solas with a sly smile.
"Felassan!"
"Are you implying I'm wrong?" Felassan sat the tray down, not a single drop of soup spilling in the process.
Solas bit back a response forming on his tongue, he didn't want to outright lie. Not this time. But now there was no reason to even pretend otherwise. With no word coming out of his mouth, his used the moment to turn his attention to his lover, sitting on the bed with a pleased smile on her lips. Leaning down, Felassan pressed a kiss to the top of her head, letting his lips to linger for a moment longer than necessary, before pulling back.
"I'll go and bring something to wrap you in, it's freezing here," Felassan's tone was soft when he spoke to her. "I hope you won't run off, leaving a sick person here all alone. Right, Solas?" Felassan taunted, his bare feet making no sound when he headed to the door. The elf didn't wait for the answer. Felassan set his mind on making sure Solas won't have a reason to leave and to bring everything Danica would need to get better.
Bending her legs on the bed, Rook leaned over to the bedside table. The smell from the soup made her stomach rumble, she hadn't eaten anything since she woke up hours ago. Her trembling hand was stopped before it reached the spoon on a tray by the pale fingers circling around her wrist.
Solas snatched the utensil, before Rook could question him. Releasing her wrist, he reached for the bowl and lifted it without an effort.
"I can hold a spoon," Rook protested, turning to face Solas as he sat on the bed beside her, his posture straight as a string.
"You can, but the bedside table is a poor substitute for the dining table, Rook. You'd likely spill the soup on the bed then actually eat it," Solas dipped the spoon and lifted it, his fingers glowed faintly for just a second before he moved it closer to her with care.
Pushing back the initial distrust, Rook leaned forward and took the spoon in her mouth. The soup was warm, not half as hot as it looked in his hand, with the steam rising in the air. Whatever magic Solas used was impressive and greatly helpful in the daily. The temperature of the soup was just right and the taste almost divine, the only bad thing about it all was her fever and Solas's insistence on avoiding her questions.
"Why are you here?" Rook asked, when the bowl was almost empty before her.
"I already answered that question," Solas said after a tired sigh left his lips. Bringing another spoon closer to her, he lifted his eyes to meet her own pining him down. Solas knew what answer she wanted to receive; he just couldn't bring himself to admit it.
"If you don't like being here and wanna go back so badly, you could've just said 'no'," she persisted, trying to analyze all his micro expressions, in between taking spoonfuls of soup into her mouth.
"I could," Solas's voice was barely audible; if they didn't sit so close to each other she wouldn't understand a thing he said.
"Why didn't you?" The answer hung in the air, met by the silence and the clinking of the spoon against the bowl. Rook leaned for the last spoon Solas had offered her, drinking it. Some warmth finally settled in her bones. Without a sound Solas got up and sat the bowl back on the tray. Rook sniffled, the sound loud in the quiet room, her nose was still blocked, but she felt better now. Or almost.
Her eyes softened, as she looked up at him. "If I asked something of you, would you do that?"
"You may do that," he said in a soft voice, handing her a handkerchief, brought with a tray.
"I want you to stay here with us," Rook took a chance, her tone sincere, and her grey-green eyes were stubbornly staring back at him.
Solas froze; his posture grew stiff. The elf tried to pick up the right words, to find some reason for him to refuse her request. But nothing worthwhile came to mind. "That…"
"The Veil won't collapse, will it?" Rook interrupted him once again, before any excuse could even form in his head.
"There are nuances," Solas found his voice again, the excuse felt weak, he knew that, overused, a year after year and so for centuries.
"Still," Rook leaned forward, not buying his answer.
"The Veil isn't the only thing that requires my attention."
"And you plan to do it all on your own?"
For once Solas had no answer prepared, no half-made excuse, not even a clever wording that could help him, save him in a way. He knew Rook had a point. He knew she wouldn't back off. And some part of him didn't want to.
Solas released a long sigh, his eyes softened. "I could prolong my stay here at least to ensure my efforts won't go to waste. However, I cannot promise anything more," he picked up a small vial and held it out for Rook, before continuing, with his lips curving upwards. "And if I am to stay here you have to listen to what I say. Now take the medicine and lie down, you need rest, da'len."
Rook grimaced, but soon a grin spread on her face. "Cruel," her tone mockingly hurt, as she took the vial and swirled it in her fingers. "Is this one as bitter as the other?"
"It's a medicine," Solas fought back a smile at her reaction.
"Feels like a 'yes'," with a deep sigh, Rook downed the medicine it tasted as bitter as the previous one, but at least had some pleasant aftertaste to it.
"Now, ned’an, Danica," Solas command, sounded soft, with his looking at her with care. "I'll make more tomorrow. Hopefully the fever will be down by then," Rook grimaced again, Solas chuckled, her reaction amused him greatly. "That's for your own good, Danica."
"But you could maybe make it less bitter. Please," Rook pleaded, leaning against the wall with her eyes up at Solas.
"That's a medicine," Solas repeated, his tone light.
"Come on, I know you like me and won't make me suffer," she was joking, but the hope that he would yield again still found her way in her tone.
A low hum formed in Solas's throat, as he gazed back at Rook, he sat down on the edge of the bed. "Did Felassan tell you that?"
"No," Rook's eyes were locked on Solas; shocked, though in a pleasant way, she couldn't help but smile. "Does that mean I'm right?"
"Maybe. I'll see what can be done," his hand brushed the stray hair clinging to her face. It lingered on her cheek for a moment longer before Solas pulled back. "So, you have a runaway corpse in Nevarra?" Solas inquired, Rook could practically see the gears turning in his head.
"Yes, he ran off from an anatomy class, before I arrived at Minrathous. Then he laid low while the gods were out. And now he's back on his stealing spree," Rook clarified.
"A chaos spirit more likely, though I have a few other ideas about his nature," Solas pondered, it wasn't too hard to guess a spirit by its behavior. However, some shared certain aspects or could be twisted into something opposite. Whatever it was it could be an interesting puzzle, Solas could solve if he were to stay here.
"Do you know how to catch it?" Rook's eyes gleamed as she appeared to forget her current state once again.
"I think I do, but first you need rest," Solas's tone was firm, bringing her back to the real world.
Rook sighed, covering her legs, her trembling hands froze mid action. She looked up at Solas with something playful in her eyes. "And if I asked you to join me? It got so cold here," Rook said as hopeful as she could manage, Solas's presence near legs brought some warmth to her limbs. She didn't want to wait for him to come back, she'd rather just curl into his chest, or Solas's if both appeared to be fine with this turn of events and even seemed them out.
A chuckle left her lips, as she noticed his cheeks gaining a pinkish color to them.
"Danica," Solas tried to take control of his own emotions, but Rook's little smile only made his composure shatter further. But the name came out softer than how he initially intended it to sound.
"Is that a yes or a no?" Solas's eyes darted to the entrance, Felassan was nowhere to be seen and something told him that was the tattooed elf's true goal.
With a corner of his eyes he noticed Rook, making space for him on the bed. Solas turned his head to her; it didn't take more than a few seconds for him to lay down on the bed. Rook shuffled closer to him, her settling against the crook of his neck, the warmth wrapping around her along with his hands. It didn’t take more than a few minutes for her body to relax at last, her breath got even Solas ran his hand up and down her spine.
Solas’s own mind grew weary as well, then the only thing standing in the way to rest was the voice behind him. "Took you long enough," he turned his head to the smug elf as much as he could, narrowing his eyes.
"Don't pretend you don't like it," Felassan entered, two folded wool blankets in his hands.
"I…" Solas wanted to rebuke, but he couldn't find it in him to commit to his plan.
"That's what I thought," the elf grinned back at his friend. "Anyway, I'm gonna leave it here," Felassan dropped the wool on the dresser, keeping his voice as quiet as he could. "I'll try to make something in the morning for you two."
"You won't be staying?" Solas asked, his tone soft.
"No. But don't you worry, Solas, I won't be joking about you getting sick because you refused to part with Rook when you got sick yourself," Felassan chirped, stopping by the entrance.
"How generous," Solas grimaced for a moment, he knew Felassan would joke about it anyway and that it was likely to happen if he stayed close. But the ancient elf felt too comfortable here to cut the moment short. "Was that your plan all along?"
"Yeah, more or less, now sleep well, vhenan. You can also kiss Danica for me, since you don't seem to be afraid to get sick," the elf laughed, leaning against the door frame.
"Felassan," Solas said through gritted teeth
"So, do I get a kiss?" Rook's groggy voice reached, Solas ears, and the heat crept to his face, making Felassan laugh again.
"You two…" Solas shot a glare to Felassan, before turning, back to Rook, his hand started to run up and down her spine in a soothing manner. "Get well first, then you may. Now sleep, vhenan," Solas voice was soft and quiet, but her ears still caught it. She smiled again, her body relaxing in his embrace.