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“Oh, fuck off,” Rook groaned, glaring at the figure across the chasm. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“Rook,” Solas greeted in turn, unperturbed by his demeanor. “I did not expect you to return so soon.”
"Unintentional, I assure you," he snapped.
Rook had sought Solas out two nights ago after their return from Weisshaupt. They formulated a plan, and had said their goodbyes; neither had expected to see each other again the following evening. At the time, Rook had assumed he had more questions about facing Ghilan'nain and Elgar'nan, and that his subconscious had urged him to visit Solas once more. Now, having seen each other again for the third night in a row, he wondered if there was something worse as play.
He scowled when he realized he wasn't able to shift his dream to anything more pleasant— namely, anything without Solas. "So you're telling me I have to come and deal with you every night? Every night? For the rest of my life?"
Solas watched him come to terms with their new arrangement, amused. "Who could have imagined that interrupting a ritual ten years in the making would have unexpected consequences?"
"If it's a consequence for that, it's weeks late. This has nothing to do with the ritual and you know it," Rook countered. He pinched his hand, as if he might be able to will himself awake. When he remained where he was, Rook cursed, settling down on a boulder. "For the rest of my life. By the Gods."
"If it provides any comfort," Solas said, a wolfish grin spreading across his face, "I do not expect 'the rest of your life' to be exceptionally long."
"...you'll be a short-lived nuisance, then." Rook noted a miniscule clench of Solas' jaw at the joke. "At least I won't have to see you once I die."
"You sound anticipative." Solas cocked his head to the side, curious. "Do you not fear death?"
"I'll know peace and my remains will give a home to a misplaced spirit— don't even think about it." Rook held a hand up before he could say anything. "You're not misplaced, you're exactly where you're supposed to be."
"That is a... curious stance."
"About your imprisonment?"
"About death."
"Well, there's no use in being afraid of something we can't find out," Rook figured. He paused, narrowing his eyes and giving an unimpressed look. "Don't tell me you actually know what happens."
"I am, after all, the cause of elven mortality," Solas reminded him. "Would it not make sense?"
"You're having me on."
"...I am," he admitted. Rook huffed, taking satisfaction in his ignorance about the afterlife. "I would not presume to know more about death than a Watcher of the Grand Necropolis. Is your viewpoint shaped by Nevarra?"
"Chatty tonight, aren't we?" Rook muttered, his eyes focused on a wisp that had taken the shape of a beetle by his foot. "But yeah, that's how most of the Watch thinks of it."
"Curious," he said simply. "I would have assumed your views to be more similar to the Dalish."
"I'm not Dalish," he countered flatly.
"And yet you still marked yourself. Sylaise's, is it not? The... hearthkeeper. Lesser known, an exemplary architect." Solas said, his eyes tracing Rook's vallaslin. "You know the language, as well. Or what little of it the Dalish cling to."
"One of the other Watchers taught me," he explained. "Did my vallaslin for me when I was old enough."
"I would have expected Falon'Din's mark on a Watcher."
"When raised in a crypt, you take what you can that isn't macabre," Rook joked. "Being elven is the only thing in my life not drenched in death."
There was something unreadable in Solas' expression, and Rook gave him a flat look. "What?"
"Hm?"
"You're looking at me weird," he said. "What nefarious plot did you think up in the last ten seconds?"
Solas raised a brow. "I hope, Rook, to one day have half the foresight of this monstrous tactician you've constructed in your mind."
"Deception, lies, and treachery," he reminded, unamused with the wolf's play at humility. Solas blinked slowly, the familiar facade of a calm smile on his face.
"I had simply never heard that proverb before."
"Hm?"
"'When raised in a crypt, you take what you can that isn't macabre’,” he quoted. Rook looked puzzled.
"Oh, it's not a proverb."
"...oh?"
"It's— you literally said you looked into me, how did you not know this?"
"Are you implying that you were raised in the Necropolis?" Solas asked, unable to keep his surprise out of his tone.
"Is that judgement in your tone?" Rook said incredulously. "Am I really being judged right now by the guy who was a spirit?"
"It is not judgement, merely... curiosity," he corrected delicately. "If I may, when did you first step out of— as you put it— the macabre?"
"They didn't keep me locked up," Rook defended.
"Yet you evade the question."
"...I visited Nevarra proper when I was nine."
"It must have been quite the shock."
"Let's just say I understand the dwarves that get worried about falling into the sky."
They fell into a companionable quiet— though Rook would never admit it to be anything expect tense silence. The wisp-beetle climbed a smaller rock, settling down on its surface. Solas glanced toward the horizon, where the first rays of a sunrise's facsimile began to shine behind the mountainside. "You'll wake soon."
Rook stood from his stone seat with a grunt, nodding. "Fine by me. I've got things to do, gods to kill. The usual."
"You took down a spirit strong enough to possess the corpse of a high dragon," Solas acknowledged, and for a moment Rook might have even said he sounded impressed. "That is not an easy task.”
He narrowed his eyes, cautious. "How do you know about that?"
"I have been imprisoned in the Fade, in which my only connection to the waking world is through the eyes of a man intent on killing elven mages several millennia older, and much more powerful, than him," Solas said instead. Rook took a moment to parse through the answer that was not an answer, before stating bluntly,
"Stop looking through my eyes."
"Are you concerned about me learning of your group's plans to keep me imprisoned?" Solas asked. "Or is this about me seeing your attempts at flirting with the Crow?"
"This is exactly what I mean by you deserving to be here."
"You needn't worry," he reassured Rook. "There is only so much second hand embarrassment I can bear before I leave the two of you be."
“Yeah, how do you think I feel?” he muttered under his breath.
"There is something else on your mind," Solas surmised. "You have not typically been so... pessimistic during our conversations.”
“Oh, this isn’t pessimistic. I haven't even tried to dream up a bottle yet," Rook joked. He let his smile fall a fraction, a fighter too exhausted to keep up his shield. "Maybe the futility of it all is catching up to me. Maybe I'm not ready to die fighting gods. Or maybe I just really wanted a nap without having to see you."
"I believe in your ability to see this through,” Solas said. ”You will succeed. If not tomorrow, the next."
"That's... surprisingly kind of you."
"I'm known to have my moments," he mused. "You must succeed. Should you fall, all of Thedas will fall with you."
"No pressure there."
"On the contrary, there is as much pressure as the universe could possibly put on your shoulders." He clasped his hands behind his back. "And yet, you still stand."
"For now," Rook's smile returned, back into its defensive position. Solas fell silent for a moment, studying him. He stood tall under the scrutiny.
"Do you recall the first time we met?" Solas asked suddenly. Rook furrowed his brows.
"What's that got to do with anything?"
"I had just received word that the hilt of my dagger had been uncovered, hidden away in one of Dirthamen's temples on the coast of Rivain. Yet when we arrived, the temple appeared pillaged."
He nodded, remembering the encounter. "Right, the ambush."
"Yes, an ambush," Solas agreed. "A trio of Varric's scouts— at the time, immemorable soldiers— had laid explosives in the temple earlier that day, and set them off with us inside. As the dust settled I made eye contact with the leader of the group, standing atop a hill."
"Oh, wait," Rook interrupted, grimacing. "I—"
"Before I had the chance to do anything, that leader had called out to me and said— I do believe this is verbatim— that I should perhaps 'spend less time growing a faulty spy network'—"
"Okay, yeah, you don't—"
"— 'and more time growing a pair of balls.'" He finished eloquently.
Rook cleared his throat, scratching the back of his neck. "Maybe not my finest moment."
"On the contrary," Solas said. "At that point it had been eight years into Varric's pursuit, and yet you were the first to uncover and utilize one of my agents. Rather than killing them, you fed them false information, and managed to set our search for the dagger back months."
"Yeah, well, that's what the Crows are for this time around."
"Your own spy network," he mused, grinning. "We can only hope it is not as faulty as mine was. But that was not what had caught my attention."
"Really?"
"It was afterward, when two of our spies had been found dead in Arlathan forest." His tone went cold. "They had been devoured by wolves."
"Wow, that's... an unfortunate accident," he said through gritted teeth. "Everyone knows you have no relation to actual wolves."
"And yet," he continued, "the paranoia it had sown in my people made them overly cautious. They refused to give any information they had received without thoroughly vetting it in fear that if they were to give a false report, they would face similar fates. By the time they were able to verify any credible information, it was outdated, useless to us."
Solas gave him an unamused glance as Rook was unable to keep the grin off his face. "All because of a bad accident in the woods?"
"It was... irksome. The entire situation had revealed that there was a man in Varric's ranks that had no qualms with sacrifice in the name of what he believed to be the greater good. Once I recognized it, I almost found it... admirable. Knowing what I know now, I should have sent someone to kill you then."
"But you didn't."
"An error, on my part." Belatedly, he added, "At the time."
"Right. At the time," he drawled, amused.
"The point of this was not simply to reminisce," he said. "It was to remind you of your capacity to overcome obstacles and succeed where others fail. You stood against a man you believed to be one of your gods, armed with only your words and a few explosives. I believe you are capable of doing it again."
Rook mulled over his words. "My team."
"Hm?"
"My team stood against you," he said. "Varric didn't trust my plan at first. He said it was stupid, that it was dangerous, how you wouldn't fall for it. But if my team hadn't been willing to trust me, to spend time, energy, resources, everything we had in the hopes that it convinced a fucking Elven god that he had found a weak spot in our team. If they didn't do that, we would have never gotten the drop on you."
Rook looked across the ravine, his expression serious. "And my team will do it again. We've already made Ghilan'nain mortal, we proved to the world that she can bleed. We can take down the gods."
And Solas smiled, all teeth, as he nodded. "I believe the impossible may be achieved, Rook, with you at the helm."