So this idea actually predates your ask by about a day, BUT, when I saw your emojis I started laughing because they fit this idea I had really well actually? MINIMAL adjustment to make it perfect lol. I hope you enjoy.
This was also fun for me because it’s… Davrin’s POV. There are going to be a few chapters of AWAAC that are from other team members’ POVs — notably at least one in Neve’s POV after The Choice, and then I don’t really know how else so handle the Time Rook Is Gone other than exploring the rest of the team coping in that time. This however is not that and developed really organically and makes me think that, when the story calls for it, anyone could get a POV chapter 😌 please note, I don’t really know where this GOES yet, chronologically. So I’ve written it for just after the Cauldron (canonically the point at which Davrin starts thinking of Naimy as family, not just a job), but I’m not POSITIVE that’s actually where it’ll live, so some of this may change a bit to accommodate a timeline shift (her reaction to him bringing up Lucanis will change drastically in particular).
I gave you soft earlier today so now I must give you angst! 💪🏻
Assan was sprawled contentedly across the entire bed. Davrin considered shoving his feathery butt to the side and simply dealing with the consequences — he was bone tired.
He chuckled wryly to himself. Bone tired. After standing in the ribcage of an archdemon mere hours ago. What a choice of words. He watched Assan sleeping for another moment, remembered the other bones they’d seen. He felt the corners of his mouth pull down sharply, and he dragged his hand over his face in aggravation. No, better to let the pain in his ass sleep.
A bath ought to soothe his sore muscles, he decided, turning away from the snoozing griffon and gathering his things. Maybe by the time he got back, Assan would have moved, and he could fit into his own damn bed.
The dining hall was uncharacteristically silent as Davrin padded softly through it. Normally, Lucanis would be in the kitchen, making himself coffee, or sitting by the fire with a knitting project or a book, or at least could be heard doing something in the pantry. He smirked to himself. Maybe the Crow was across the courtyard, checking on that broken ankle Neve had already sorted out.
It was this thought that allowed Davrin to be caught so off guard when, upon entering the steam-filled bath chamber, he was met with the sight of a blue-haired elf already relaxing in the hot water. He jumped, nearly dropping his toiletries and clothes, eyes bulging as he stopped dead in his tracks and spun away.
“Sorry about that, Rook! I’ll wait!”
He started out the door, but there was no response. No startled splash or utterance, no kind or encouraging or teasing word, nothing. He frowned and glanced back over his shoulder.
“Rook?” He called softly, his deep voice echoing slightly through the stone chamber. No response. He turned fully around. Her head lay back on the tile floor, the water still around her scarred collarbone. His frown deepened. Her lips were parted, and her breathing was shallow and even.
Dumbass was sound asleep in the bath.
With a heavy sigh, an exasperated half-chuckle, and a roll of his eyes, Davrin laid his items on one of the benches along the right side of the bathing pool and closed the distance between them. He crouched next to her, turning his head away and tapping her shoulder. “Naim.”
Davrin cleared his throat, closed his hand over her skin, and gave a gentle shake while repeating, “Naim.”
She awoke with a jolt and a little yelp, and he struggled to stifle his laugh as he continued to stare towards the door. Water sloshed across his toes as she scrabbled to find her composure.
“Cover yourself up,” he told the wall with a roll of his eyes. Bare feet squeaked across wet tile, then he heard the rustling of a towel as she wrapped one around herself. “You decent?”
“Yeah,” she grumbled. “Can’t believe I fell asleep.”
“I can,” he chuckled good-naturedly at her, spinning to look at her as she sat next to him, returning her feet to the water. “You’re always exhausted, ever since Weisshaupt. Do you sleep better when you’re not in that room?”
Rook grimaced. “Solas does seem to have a harder time reaching me elsewhere, yes.”
“Gotta find a better spot than this,” Davrin teased, waving a hand towards the surface of the bath. “What if you’d slipped in?”
“I’d like to think that would’ve woken me up,” she mumbled, rubbing her hands in aggravation over her face, as though she could rub the tired off. Davrin felt himself frowning. She looked… sick.
Compared to her hands, her face was pale, almost blue-tinged. When she brought her digits away to fiddle with her towel, the whites of her eyes were noticeably red, and a quick glance in his direction revealed that even the iris of her blind eye was tinted with the shade. Shock and trepidation squeezed his stomach as he searched for signs to disprove his theory. Instead, he noticed how dark her scars were looking — particularly those caused by Darkspawn, such as the ones on her face, shoulders, and upper arms. He noticed how around those scars, her veins were becoming visible through her skin.
A non-Warden might not notice. The changes were subtle, and to the untrained eye, it might look like nothing. Davrin had seen it before.
“Ten years in is pretty early for you to be in the state you’re in,” he heard himself murmur. Her wince was confirmation that she was, in fact, aware of the physical toll the Blight was beginning to take, and had certainly hoped no one else would notice. If he’d learned anything about Rook, it was that she never wanted any of them to know when she was hurting.
“Maybe I’m just unlucky,” she recovered quickly, flashing him a cheeky smirk. Davrin wanted to take the bait, play along, pretend t wasn’t serious. But… it was serious. Rook shouldn’t show signs of Blight poisoning like this for another fifteen years, give or take. Thirty years was the average post-Joining lifespan of a Grey Warden, and supposedly the last five were the worst — intense nightmares, Blight poisoning… the Calling beginning to sing through every though, waking and dreaming. Could she hear it, already? Why was she experiencing such accelerated effects?
Seeming to sense his concern would not be so easily quieted, Rook sighed and stopped looking at him. That was her tell, he was learning, if she had a truth she’d been keeping to herself that she didn’t want to share.
“It’s… Ghilan’nain,” she said softly, kicking her feet a little. “Whatever she’s doing to the Blight it’s… fucking with what’s inside me. I started noticing it after D’Meta’s Crossing — I thought my eyes were just bloodshot from lack of sleep, but then they never went back to normal. Once we faced that Blighted dragon in Treviso? I’ve been having more nightmares — when Solas lets me sleep deep enough to have nightmares, anyway. I had a… horrible one after Weisshaupt. And that’s when I started noticing this.”
She brushed her fingertips across the scars on her cheek nearest him.
“That’s really serious, Naim!” Davrin hadn’t meant for his tone to be so sharp, scolding. But this woman could be so infuriating. She never let anyone take the lead, not even him. She was always so wary of how Antoine studied the Blight, and for how long, and what precautions he was taking while doing it. Now it made perfect sense! She knew the new Blight was hastening the Calling, and was trying to protect Antoine without panicking everyone else. Why hadn’t she told him?!
“Maybe you should stop sloshing through Blight pools and charging headlong into those damned boils,” he continued hotly. “Sometimes it’s almost like you’re trying to get yourself killed!”
“It’s not like I want to die,” she protested, a quizzical expression crossing her face as she shrugged one shoulder. When she opened her mouth again, her next words hit hard enough to crack his armor. “But also, would it really be so great a loss? Better me than one of you.”
Davrin couldn’t breathe. She sat there, so calmly, asking him a question like that? With a calm, straight face no less? He’d known her self esteem was trash, but this… his mind conjured the memory of Rook, after Weisshaupt, in his room, comforting him. How she had made him realize that he had more to offer the Wardens, the world, than simply dying. How she had been so softly self-assured that his life meant something.
That she could not see the same merit in her own life was… heartbreaking.
It took him a moment to recover, and when he did, he felt his heart swell with affection for this reckless, chaotic, dumbass woman who had simply appeared in his life. Whatever else she was, she was his family, of this he was painfully certain. And the only thing Davrin knew to do for family was to protect them — even if that meant from themselves.
“Don’t say that, Naim,” he was impressed his voice held so steady, given that it wanted to tremble with anger. “What you’re doing here is important. You’re important. To all of us. How do you think Lucanis would feel if he heard you say that?”
He knew Lucanis was a complicated subject for her. He knew she still thought the Crow didn’t care for her the way she carried a torch for him. He also knew the answer to his question.
Maybe if Lucanis heard her say something so devastatingly self-deprecating, he’d finally do something about it.
But Rook’s eyes grew huge and round, and she gasped out a “Shit!” before leaping to her feet, nearly slipping and falling in her haste to gather her clothes.
“What, what?” Davrin asked uncertainly, rising as well, though he quickly turned his back to her as she began to struggle to get dressed.
“Did you see Spite when you came in? I was only planning to take a quick dip — fuck. I got in a fight with Lucanis and made him go to sleep and then I fell asleep and I’m supposed to be watching Spite —“
