Chapter Text
“Solas is gone.”
Those words yanked Rook's attention away from the map beneath his fingers, which was scattered with wood-carved representations of his team. He stared at Neve, her face grim in the flickering torchlight.
“Gone?” he repeated.
“He disappeared a few days ago,” said Neve. “He made some mileage on the Archon Palace before then, helped the Shadow Dragon’s advance, but then he just... vanished.”
“Just like that?”
“Just like that.”
Rook had a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. Did this mean Solas had been killed? Otherwise indisposed? Or was this part of his plan to tear down the Veil? Too many questions with too little time to pursue answers. Having one major player MIA wasn’t something he’d anticipated, nor planned for, but his team was watching and waiting and he couldn’t let them see him worry.
“I doubt he’ll be out of the picture for long, and we’ll be prepared for him no matter when or where he shows up,” said Rook, straightening his back and forcing his voice into a steady register. “In the meantime, Elgar’nan is our focus. We get up to the Archon Palace, slay the archdemon, and kill Elgar’nan. That’s the plan.”
The mission awaited, and they would face it - with or without Solas.
The moment they reached Minrathous, the team broke off into their assigned positions. Taash with the construct, Neve with the wards, Lucanis with the mages, and Davrin and Lucanis with him. They fought their way through swarms of Venatori and Darkspawn, clawing over jagged terrain and wading through blood and blight and corpses. With their long, winding path through the wreckage of the city, the journey to the Archon's Palace felt almost as endless as their advance on Tearstone Island had.
Elgar’nan’s dominion had progressed significantly during Solas’ absence. There was now nothing to quell the spread of the Blight now, and it infected water sources and coiled atop buildings and snarled its way into any open space it could reach. Rook and his Davrin were practically dripping with its black ichor as they drew closer to the palace, while Lucanis had to take care to avoid a similar state since he didn’t have a Grey Warden’s resistance. Lucanis getting infected was the last thing they needed during the final leg of their journey.
The closer they got to their destination, the harder it became to claw themselves onward. Not because of Venatori or Darkspawn, but because there was so much blight that they were constantly needing to find alternate routes. They had to scale entire buildings and blast through debris to make any progress.
And then, suddenly, their progress stopped altogether.
Darkness.
He was in the Weisshaupt Fortress barracks, curled up under a thin blanket and listening to the gentle breaths and restless shifting of his fellow Wardens. It was a familiar lullaby after growing up in the tight, overpopulated quarters of a Circle of Magi, and he’d grown to find it relaxing rather than a disturbance to his rest. He yawned into a fist and watched the warden closest to him slumber, their chest rising and falling and soft sighs fanning their unkempt hair. His tired mind helpfully supplied a name: Joseph. They weren't well-acquainted, but they’d eaten together in the dining hall a few times, and Rook vaguely recalled that Joseph was one of the few who enjoyed the nettle soup the kitchen served when supplies were low.
There was something wrong about him lying there, his chest moving up and down, his fingers twitching in the depths of slumber, but Rook couldn’t place what it was.
His eyelashes fluttered as sleep beckoned. He was so tired, but wasn’t he meant to do something before he rested? He couldn’t remember why he’d stopped, nor when he'd laid down to rest, but the task couldn’t have been that important if he couldn't recall it.
Right?
He continued to watch Joseph's steady breaths. He had large arms, a strong, muscular chest, and a few scars running from the side of his mouth to his forehead. The scars made him look a little monstrous, with one missing eye and his lips twisted and deformed, but he had a kind smile and was as friendly a man as you would ever meet.
Rook yawned again and blinked away the blur developing at the edges of his vision, and it was then that he noticed something odd. Joseph had stopped moving. No rise and fall of his chest, no twitching of his fingers; just an unnatural stillness, and Rook's first instinct was to propel himself out of bed in a frantic tangle of limbs to check on him. He stumbled over his own feet in the process and hit the ground, and somewhere above a brilliant, blinding light made his retinas throb. But there weren't lights that bright in Weisshaupt. He blinked until his disorientation subsided, and he found himself sprawled not in Weisshaupt's sleeping quarters, but upon a cold metal floor.
The side of his head throbbed. He touched his fingers to it and felt something crusted and glutinous there, and his fuzzy mind informed him that it was blood. The memory of how he'd received the wound came to him in fragments: Elgar’nan descending from above, a brief, chaotic struggle, a heavy blow, and then – unconsciousness, and now he was in a dimly lit metal box with veilfire flicking within a lantern high above. He’d been subdued so fast, so effortlessly. It’d all gone so wrong. What had happened to Davrin? Lucanis? Were they still alive? Had they been captured as well?
Don’t panic, he told himself, because that wasn’t going to help anything.
He took a deep, steadying breath and turned his attention to examining his surroundings. The metal under his fingers struck him as familiar, claustrophobic in a way that reminded him of his Circle. Not of its sprawling hallways and cramped living quarters, but its dungeon, and it didn't take Rook long to realise that the cell was made of the same material as the manacles in his Circle's dungeon. It carried a magic-suppressing ability - a boon to the Templars, though there wasn't enough for more than a few sets of manacles in each Circle. It was meant to be a rare material. Yet, somehow, Elgar'nan had managed to build an entire cage out of it.
He shuddered and sat back on his haunches. It felt like a personal touch, a cage designed just for him.
The room smelt vaguely damp and gritty. There was a hole in the floor to serve as waste disposal. The walls gleamed sickly under the overhead light. On the far wall of his cell, he noticed another room, seamlessly attached but separated from his by eight long, metal bars, too light and smooth to be made of the same material as the box. Venturing a little closer, he realized he wasn’t alone. Hunched over in the dark, taking in deep, shuddering breaths, was Solas. He’d been stripped of everything but his leathers and his clothes were oddly bare without the pauldrons and chest plate.
“Solas,” he whispered.
The man stilled like a deer in headlights before slowly lifting his head. The bags under his eyes were deeper than Rook had ever seen them. He stared at Rook, looked him up and down, before sliding closer to the bars with jerky motions Rook associated with the blighted. But he wasn’t blighted. He couldn’t be. Rook would have sensed it.
Elgar’nan must have done something to him to make him move like that. There were no visible injuries, but Elgar’nan had an arsenal that could hurt without leaving behind any physical scars. In the haze of green light, he could just about make out the strange flush to Solas' skin.
“You look like shit,” said Rook helpfully, and Solas scoffed, which was reassuring. After everything Solas had done to him – trapping him in the Fade Prison, hiding Varric’s death from him – he should have been furious, but mostly he was just relieved not to be alone.
“So do you,” said Solas, his voice soft and measured. “How do you feel?”
“Hm.” Rook scratched away some of the blood crusted on his hair. “Like I got trapped in a prison in the Fade, discovered my mentor was dead and the guy I’d begun to develop a positive rapport with, just a little, had killed him and hidden that from me, and then when I managed to escape that prison, I was struck across the head by the man I’d spent the last six months fighting and shoved into a metal box.” He gave Solas a meaningful look.
Solas cleared his throat in a decidedly sheepish manner. “I meant your injury, Rook.”
“It’s fine," said Rook. "I’ve been concussed a bunch of times.”
“I can tell.”
Rook rolled his eyes. “Oh, no, you are the last person who gets to sass me. After what you did, the only thing coming out of your mouth should be apologies. You screwed everything up.”
At these words, Solas visibly deflated, his shoulders crumpling in and head lowering, and it wasn’t the reaction Rook had anticipated or even wanted. Such open grief made things feel even more hopeless than they already did. “I am sorry, Rook," said Solas. "I have failed us both.”
“Solas, it's-” Rook pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. His first instinct was, stupidly, to tell Solas that it was alright, even if it very much wasn’t. “Just tell me what happened. Tell me how we ended up here. Does Elgar’nan have the dagger?”
He tensed all over in anticipation of an affirmative.
“No,” said Solas. And then, even better: “I managed to destroy his and cast my own into the Fade before my capture.”
“That’s...” Rook closed his eyes because suddenly the back of them stung. He'd almost cried from relief so many times throughout this journey that it was a familiar feeling by now. They’d lost the dagger, but Elgar’nan had lost his too, and that meant there was still hope. “That’s good. That’s good.”
“Rook?” said Solas slowly.
“I’m okay,” said Rook, keeping his voice steady. He didn't need Solas seeing how much that affected him after the man had castigated him and thrown him into a cage for being - by his estimation - a weak leader. “Will my team be able to find the dagger?”
A pause. “They should,” said Solas. “The Caretaker was entrusted with this contingency plan. Your friends are set to receive it when next they visit the Lighthouse.”
“Gods, that's good to hear.” Feeling lighter, Rook rose from the floor to examine the door. It was a thick, metal slab sitting almost seamless where it connected to the wall, with a single rectangular port in the middle. Rook tested the port, trying to find somewhere he could get his nails in and pull. “Has anyone used this?”
“Food and water has been delivered,” said Solas as he moved to sit in front of the bars, watching Rook try and fail to pry the port open.
“When?”
“My estimate would be once a day, but I have no means to confirm that.”
With a quiet sigh of frustration, Rook withdrew his hands from the port. It was shut tight. And should he have managed to get a hand through, it was doubtful he’d have been able to do much anyway. There were keys to steal, no magic to utilize, nothing; not even a traditional lock if the smooth metal on his side of the door was anything to go by. He’d never felt more impotent in his entire life. Varric had often said there was always a way forward, but he couldn’t see one here – he could only hope his team would be able to forge ahead without him.
“Why didn’t Elgar’nan just kill us? Or blight us?” he asked, dropping his head against the door with a thunk.
“Punishment,” said Solas.
Not a surprising answer in the least. It did seem Elgar'nan's style to draw this sort of thing out instead of providing a quick, easy end to either their lives or autonomy.
"What kind of punishment?" he asked.
“For killing Ghilan'nain, he intends to humiliate us both.”
Rook tried not to let that revelation shake him. “By... locking us in a box?”
Solas opened his mouth, and after a lengthy pause, all that came out was a breath. He turned his head away, his hands twisting restlessly around the bars. “He means to use me to...”
"What?” Rook prompted, all the moisture in his mouth drying up at the thought of what Elgar'nan might have Solas do to him. Trapped in this little metal box, there were some horrific possibilities coming to mind. "Kill me? Torture me? What, Solas?"
Solas choked out his response: “I’m sorry, Rook.”
The beating of Rook’s heart rose to a thunder and he stumbled away from the door to deposit himself next to the bars, in front of Solas, reaching for the man to try to force an answer out of him. He needed to know.
“Solas, tell me what-”
Before he could finish, Solas’ fingers tore through the gaps in the bars like talons, and Rook wasn’t quick enough to retreat before they were dragging him in and pulling him so hard against the barrier that the metal ground into his cheek. The sound of the impact was loud in the quiet of the cells, a shrill, resonating thud. For a heartbeat, Rook was still, his mind caught in the shock of it all, but then Solas was pressing hard against the bars and twisting a hand into his hair and he began to struggle, writhing and squirming, trying to get a leg out from under himself so he could kick Solas in the stomach.
“Solas- Solas, stop! Let go!”
He punched at Solas' shoulders and tore his nails into Solas’ forearms and the man barely reacted. His eyes were wide and wild, ravenous, his teeth bared and dripping saliva. He managed to flatten Rook against the bars long enough to bury his face in Rook’s neck and take a deep, groaning inhale, and Rook shuddered. Adrenaline pumped through him with such ferocity that his entire body shook. “Solas, get off-”
“Be still, Rook,” murmured Solas, his words breathless, his hands touching Rook everywhere he could reach without giving him an inch in which to struggle free. His nails left red lines and deep crescents in Rook’s skin and Rook knew it was only a matter of time before he thought to apply his teeth as well. Through the bars it would be difficult, but not impossible. “Ar isalan na,” he hissed, hot breath fanning over Rook’s neck.
I need you.
Under different circumstances, he would have liked hearing those words, and he hated that, hated himself for it, hated the ceaseless trials and tribulations of his life, hated that anything good in his life had been crushed over and over and over.
His efforts to free his leg became a thrashing, his body contorting and twisting in painful arrangements until finally, finally he wrenched his leg free so hard that his kneecap popped. The pain didn’t register through his panic. He slammed his foot as hard as he could between two bars, and that propelled Solas back just long enough for him to scramble away. Solas' hands lashed out to chase after Rook’s retreating feet, but not fast enough to prevent Rook from tucking himself into a corner.
“Rook,” groaned Solas, still pressed against the bars, his hands twisted around them so tight that his knuckles shone bloodless. “Rook, just- come here. Come here. I won’t hurt you.”
Rook let out a hysterical little laugh. “What the fuck do you mean, you won’t hurt me? You just jumped me!”
“Rook, please,” said Solas, teeth grinding now. “Come here. I need you to come here.”
“There’s something wrong with you.”
“Come here!” Solas roared, eyes flashing white, and Rook thought for a terrible moment that he might be able to wrench the bars apart and claw Rook back to him. But he didn’t. Couldn’t. He remained trapped in his cell, trembling and panting, with the saliva on his lips gleaming like oil under the sickly green of the veilfire.
Rook tucked himself so hard against the wall that his bones ached. It made the headache throbbing under his blood-crusted hair beat even harder. “Solas, you’re scaring me.”
Solas’ lowered his head and squeezed his eyes shut as though in pain. “Rook, please. I- I need...”
Something had been done to his mind, that much was clear. Rook had experienced first-hand how Elgar'nan could twist your brain matter to suit his purposes.
“What did Elgar’nan do?” He gasped out his question. “What did he do to you?”
Several minutes of silence elapsed, with Solas panting and twitching spasmodically, before Solas’ grip on the bars finally weakened. His chin came to rest on his sternum. “He got into my head,” he said, voice thick with effort. “He rearranged things in there until I was suitable for his purposes.”
Rook clenched his teeth. If he loosened them, he feared he might scream. “What purposes?”
“Debasement,” said Solas. “Humiliation.”
“You already said that. I mean- more specifically, wh-what kind of...”
Solas made a frustrated little sound. “Of an intimate nature, Rook.”
Rook had guessed as much, but the answer still made the back of his neck crawl. “I’m sorry.”
Solas shrunk back into the shadows of his cell. “It was not you who did this to me.”
“I’m still sorry, Solas," said Rook, swallowing hard. “Is there anything I can do to make it easier?”
“You could-” Solas cut himself off, gritting his teeth and shuddering. “Do not ask.”
“Right,” said Rook, his heart feeling like it was vibrating in his throat. “Are you...” He spoke uncertainly. “Going to be alright? It’s not going to make you lose your mind or anything?”
Solas gave a shaky sigh. “It matters not. I will not allow you to sacrifice yourself on Elgar’nan’s altar for my sake.”
“I wasn’t...” Rook trailed off, since that was exactly what he’d been prepared to do; he’d just needed justification. As willing as ever to set himself on fire to keep others warm. “I just… I feel useless.”
“You,” said Solas slowly. “Have succeeded against Elgar’nan at every turn, while I have failed and dragged you down with me. You are not useless. You are going to do what I could not.”
The words were heartening, even coming from Solas. But he still buried his face in his knees. “How am I going to do that from inside a cage?”
“The people you gathered to defeat Elgar’nan are, notably, not in this cage. And I expect they’ll hear through the grapevine sooner or later that we are alive.”
Solas’ words had their intended effect, jarring Rook out of his spiralling thoughts.
Elgar’nan didn’t have his dagger, and his team would soon be in possession of Solas’. With any luck, his team would find out where he was and launch another attack on Elgar’nan’s stronghold. They’d done it before, and he was sure they could do it again, even without him. It was something to hold onto after having Elgar'nan's horrific intentions for them unveiled.
He lifted his head, a question rising unbidden up his throat. “Did you feel bad at all for locking me in that prison?” It was a rawer question than he'd intended, and he immediately wanted to take it back, but Solas answered before he could.
“Would you believe me if I said yes?”
Rook had to give this question some thought before he answered. “You know, despite everything, I want to believe you didn't do that easily.”
“Then yes,” said Solas. “Despite the stories propagated by the Dalish, I am not a cruel man; I do not enjoy cruelty.”
“Then why do what you did?” asked Rook quietly. "You say I've achieved things you were unable to, but you still locked me in that place."
Solas' mouth folded in on itself, tight with tension. “I was backed into a corner, desperate. I felt the world would fall if I were trapped any longer. There was no other recourse.”
“That seems like a common refrain,” said Rook. “I’ve seen the best and worst of you, Solas. A man fighting for others and affronted by cruelty, but also a man who sacrifices and steps over others to further his goals.”
“And what did you make of me?” asked Solas.
Rook leaned closer to the bars. Not within reach, but close enough to look Solas in the eye. “That you’re someone who has had to make so many painful choices that you don’t know how to choose anything else."
“I see.” The observation must have been uncomfortable for Solas, because he flinched. Whatever Elgar’nan had done to his mind, it’d made a wreckage of his composure. “I am choosing something else now,” said Solas. “I will get us through this, Rook, so you might finish what you started and what I failed to achieve.”
“I want to believe that,” said Rook. “But if-” No. Not if. “When we get out of here, I’ll still be waiting for the knife in the back."
“I understand,” said Solas, a dull acceptance of the distrust he'd woven between them.
The only upside to Rook's new, hopefully temporary home being a few degrees above freezing was that it soothed the ache in his head. He settled down, curled up on the floor, and tried to rest, but the same cold that soothed his concussion also prevented him from drifting off. The hard floor wasn’t helping matters either, and folding his gambeson in half to use as a pillow just left the rest of him chilled.
It took some time for his headache to subside to something manageable, and then Rook was well enough to get up and scrub the blood out of his hair and scalp, which left him with a stinging that was just as uncomfortable as the headache had been. He miserably lay back down on the floor, on his back, since he now had an open wound on his head and no means to cover it.
He’d only managed to close his eyes before something skin-warm struck him in the face and side. Glancing down, he found Solas’ outer coat half-draped over him.
“You need rest if you’re to heal,” said Solas, now looking rather small in a sleeveless leather shirt and trousers. But if the cold bothered him, he gave no indication of it. “Try to sleep.”
“What about you?” asked Rook.
Solas shook his head. “I do not need sleep. Elgar'nan has put me in a similar state to Uthenera.”
That explained the dark bags under his eyes. It couldn't have been comfortable, being forced to stay awake for so long.
“How does that work when you're not... sleeping?” asked Rook.
“How Elgar’nan wants it to work. It is similar in execution, less so effect.”
Which probably meant Solas didn’t know how it worked. “Right. Okay. As long as you're not going to die from sleep deprivation or anything.”
"I will endeavour not to."
"You're going to make me feel bad about sleeping myself," said Rook, chuckling weakly.
"Don't," said Solas, nodding toward his coat. "Get some rest. I will watch over you."
The idea of Solas watching him as he slept was a little worrisome, all things considered, but he still offered Solas a grateful smile before lying back down to sleep.
He was almost a head shorter than Solas, so the coat was large and long enough to encase him completely. When he cocooned himself in it, it was like being wrapped in a blanket, the leather deliciously insulated and the interior softer than he’d expected considering the age of the garment. He tucked his feet in, wrapping them in the tails of the coat, and removed the sash on his waist to use as an additional pillow. It wasn’t a perfect arrangement by any means, but it was a great deal more comfortable than his previous sleeping arrangement.
“Thank you,” he said.
“Sleep, Rook,” was all Solas replied.
He closed his eyes, and thankfully, this time he did manage to subside into slumber.
The Fade rose around Rook, and he was surprised to find himself lucid instead of wading mindlessly through a dream (or, more likely, a nightmare). This didn't usually happen to him outside of his talks with Solas. While he possessed decent combat prowess for a mage, dominion over dreams was another matter.
He looked around the dull grey of the hallway he'd appeared in and grew excited - not because of the hallway, which was unusually non-descript for a location within the Fade - but because it'd occurred to him that he could employ a spirits help with getting a message to his team. If he was lucky, he might even come upon one of the spirits allied with Solas. It was the first bit of good fortune he'd had in a long while.
He began his search in earnest, locating the nearest exit and stepping through, finding himself in a decrepit library that had books and scrolls scattered across its filthy floor. A chandelier with dead wicks hung precariously from the ceiling, and several large, broken windows framed swirling debris outside. Towering above the ruins were statues of the so-called 'elven gods', their imposing figures casting long shadows over the decayed space.
He sped through the cavernous rows of bookcases, keeping an eye out for any signs of a spirit of Curiosity among the shelves, or perhaps Wisdom, but his search yielded nothing, not even a wisp. A little disappointing, but since books in the Fade rarely held text, it wasn't all that unexpected.
He proceeded out of the building to continue his search. The murky green sky was an almost welcome sight after seeing nothing but grey walls and grey bars for the past several hours. The Black City hovered high above, like always, and he stared at its sprawling spires and the radiant gold beacon extending from its topmost building. The Blight was in there, he thought. Elgar’nan’s blight; Ghilan'nain’s blight; Solas’ blight.
Rook moved on.
The landscape was difficult to navigate, a vast mountainous expanse with no clear landmarks beyond the statues. Every so often, he would come upon the buried foundations of castles or homes or things with no modern equivalent. He encountered a few mindless, low-level demons on the path and was relieved to find he could still use magic here, which he used to strike them down.
Except for one. One demon approached him not with hostility, but with cordiality.
“You look lost, little mouse, as much in this place as among the reeds of your own mind.” Its voice came up soft and sibilant and didn’t seem to emerge from its mouth. “So many search for salvation here and so few find it. What do you flee from?”
It was an unsightly thing, with skin as white as bone and a toothy maw encased in gums that gleamed wetly. Its face was framed with ragged cloth, and that did little to make looking at the thing any easier. Rook would have struck it down without a second thought if it didn’t speak so gently.
Rook rubbed his forearms to soothe away the gooseflesh rising there. It was unlikely he’d get answers from a Despair demon, but he would try all the same. “I’m- I’m looking for a spirit of... Curiosity, or Compassion, or- anything like that. Have you seen any?”
“Just me,” said the demon. Its long fingers fluttered like spiders as it gestured to itself. “Only me. What is it you seek?”
“A... message I need to convey to an uncorrupted spirit,” said Rook slowly.
The demon tilted its head. “This message feels rather dire. And even here, time crawls forward, and it is ever short.”
“If you’re trying to persuade me into a deal, it won’t work," said Rook. "I’m stuck in a cage, in any case. There’d be nowhere for you to go if you got my body.”
The demon ventured closer, emanating an unnatural chill. “A cage, you say? Dire indeed. What other recourse do you have, little mouse?”
“I- I need to find...”
“You will not find anyone else, and this may be your only opportunity to convey a message. Your captor will not be pleased if your gallivanting about the Fade is discovered, I am sure.”
He hadn’t considered that. If Rook being able to enter the Fade hadn’t occurred to Elgar’nan before being caged, it probably would after. This might be his only chance to send a message to his team.
Rook pressed his fingers against his eyes so hard that white spots bloomed behind them. He was letting the demon get to him. Maybe for good reason, but he couldn’t let himself fall for its tricks.
“I’ll be in an even worse position if I make a deal with you,” he said as he dropped his hands to his sides. He tried to look threatening now, willing a swell of flames to his palms that licked up his fingers without burning him. “There are spirits around here. There has to be. Tell me where they are.”
“There are none,” the demon crooned. “Attack me, if you must. But you will die alone in that cell.”
“Why don’t you attack me?” He hesitantly killed the flames. “That’s what demons usually want to do.”
“You reek a desperate miasma. I do not kill the hopeless; I give them another option.”
Rook didn’t know how to deal with this, a demon who didn’t want to – didn't care to – kill him because he reeked so deliciously of despair. But there was hope there too, wasn’t there? Just not enough of it to attract the right kind of company.
Or maybe the demon was lying to him. That was just as likely.
“Well, I’m not taking that option,” he said, voice firm.
The demon didn’t seem perturbed in the least. It gestured to the twisting path ahead and the islands beyond. “Then go. Search. You will find nothing.”
“You’re... letting me go?”
“There is nothing,” said the demon, which made Rook shiver. “You will return.”
“Not to take the deal,” he said, before shouldering past the demon and hurrying up a narrow trail. He didn’t look back, and the demon didn’t give him reason to. It remained prone in his peripheral, watching his retreating back until Rook disappeared behind the slope of a mountain.
Once out of sight, Rook climbed the highest rock he could find and tried to orientate himself. To the back of him was the library, a mere dot in the distance now, and to his left and right were islands that looked reachable with a few well-aimed jumps across the floating debris. The front, he wouldn’t bother with; as far as he could see, it was just an endless, winding path disappearing into the horizon.
He chose a direction with Eeny, meeny, miny, moe. Which was perhaps not an appropriate way to choose his trajectory, but there wasn’t much to distinguish any of the islands from each other. Too much terrain and mountain and shattered ruins to see if there was anything of value occupying them.
He leapt for the first platform, and then
A thud.
He awoke with a start, disorientated and clumsy as he shook off the vestiges of his dream. He didn’t know what had startled him awake until he heard another, softer thump, and realized someone had dropped a loaf of bread, a waterskin, and a small slice of fatback through the food port. The port closed before he could so much as glimpse the person on the other side of it.
He immediately staggered to his feet and lunged at the door, striking it with his fists so hard his bones ached. Solas’ coat fell from his shoulders in his scramble to get the attention of whoever had made the delivery.
“Hey! Hey! Come back!”
No response. Of course there fucking wasn’t. Dejected, Rook gathered up his food and water and slathered the stale bread in the fat to make it at least somewhat palatable.
He’d barely taken a bite before Solas tossed his own food into Rook’s side of the cell. Rook swallowed so fast to comment on his gesture that he almost choked.
“Don’t you need to eat?” said Rook.
Solas retreated back into the shadows of his cell. “I can manage without, for a time. You are injured and need to keep your strength up.”
He hated to think of Solas starving himself for his benefit. “You’re being awfully nice,” said Rook as he retrieved Solas’ food from the floor, taking care to keep a wide berth between them.
“I’m doing what is necessary to attend to your health,” said Solas.
“What about yours?” asked Rook with a frown.
“As I said, I can manage without.”
Rook hesitated before taking the bread. He tore off half, wedged some of the fat into both ends, and tossed one to Solas. “Eat. I don’t need this much.”
Solas didn’t object. He took the bread and smeared the fat, and he ate it in large, almost wolfish bites, perhaps trying not to taste the staleness of it.
“I went into the Fade,” said Rook mid-chew, the surprise of the food’s arrival having briefly driven it from his mind. He remembered the demon, long-limbed and toothy, and shuddered.
“Don’t speak with your mouth full,” said Solas. “Did you find anything of value while you were there?”
Rook swallowed before he spoke this time. “Only a demon. It tried the typical demon thing. I was hoping to find a spirit that could let my companions know I’m still alive. I’ll keep looking, provided Elgar’nan doesn’t cut me off.”
“It is curious that he hasn’t already.” Solas tongued the back of his teeth. “Perhaps he assumes this cage enough to cut off a mortal’s access, or perhaps he doesn’t regard you as enough of a threat to control you to that degree. His mind may be too ravaged to make rational choices without Ghilan'nain to curb the full force of the blight.”
Rook took another bite of his bread, chewing and swallowing. The fat made the dryness of it slightly easier to bear. “I guess that’s... convenient.”
“It has not stopped him from taking precautions with me, however,” said Solas. “I will not be able to join you in the Fade.”
“Because you can’t sleep?” asked Rook, eyebrows jumping. “Has he cut you off from the Fade completely?”
Solas shook his head. “No. Cutting me off from the Fade would require Tranquility. I am simply unable to rest enough to enter, much less lucidly.”
Rook shifted uncomfortably at the mention of ‘Tranquility’. It hadn’t occurred to him until now that Elgar’nan could subject them to such a fate. He took another bite of his bread and chewed this one slower to give himself time to recover his bearings.
"His control over minds seems extensive,” said Rook. “Why hasn’t he just... forced us into being allies with him?”
“He might do so later. He was never one for solitude.” Now it was Solas turn to shift uncomfortably. “But he seeks recompense first.”
“With our humiliation.”
“Yes.”
Rook pressed his knuckles to his forehead. “We need to get out of here.”
“Was that in question?” asked Solas, a little dry. “We will, Rook. That you can still access the Fade in slumber is a boon.”
“I won’t be able to every time I go to sleep,” said Rook. “I’ve never been that good at lucid dreaming. I’m not like you. That I managed to remain lucid this time was pure chance.”
“Then I will attempt to guide you.”
Rook tore off another chunk of bread with his fingers, compressing it into a small ball before popping it into his mouth. “Is the connection between us still present? I always found it easy to slip into the Fade when we were connected. Didn’t need lyrium or herbs or anything.”
“It-” Solas paused. “With your blood, I could have reasserted it. But currently, it is dormant, and as we are currently in a magic-supressing cage, it will remain so.”
It made Rook shiver a little that Solas only needed his blood to reassert their connection. A contingency plan. “It’ll have to be the old-fashioned way, then," said Rook.
After brushing the crumbs from his meal off his thighs, Rook retrieved Solas’ coat from the floor and wrapped himself in it, preparing to lie back down. He might not be able to go to sleep, but with Solas’ guidance, maybe he would be able to slip into meditation.
“Given your extended stay in the Crossroads, your visits with me, the blood magic, and the time you spent carrying my lyrium blade, you may find it easier than you did before all of this.”
“Does that mean I've changed? Internally?” asked Rook, a touch concerned.
“Not in any way you should find concerning,” said Solas, which did little to ease his worry. “Get comfortable,” he instructed, shifting into a more comfortable position himself, one knee bent with an arm draped over it.
“Going to be hard after what you just told me,” said Rook. He swathed himself just as warmly as last time and pillowed his head on his sash and gambeson.
Solas sighed. “Then try not to think on it. Close your eyes.”
“Fine,” he murmured, closing his eyes, and Solas began.
His words were soft, soothing, and lulling, but they weren’t enough to draw him back into slumber, nor did he have any success with meditating his way back into the Fade. He would just have to try until he got it right.
Or until Elgar'nan discovered what they were doing.
The hours within the cell dragged on. There wasn’t anything to occupy themselves with except conversation and Rook’s periodic attempts to enter the Fade, which had thus far been unsuccessful. Solas’ voice was gentle and lulling, but now that Rook had slept, his mind was too awake to detach from his consciousness.
Truth be told, it was starting to get… well, boring. Rook wasn’t a man accustomed to remaining still for long stretches of time. He wouldn’t have become a Grey Warden if he enjoyed a sedentary lifestyle, so he ended up pacing his cell between attempts to enter the Fade, like an animal in captivity. Back and forth, back and forth, and while Solas probably found this unpleasant to witness, he didn’t complain nor comment on it.
Sometimes he would catch Solas staring at him in his peripheral, too intense not to be unsettling, but Rook did his best to ignore it. It would only serve to embarrass them both if he acknowledged the ogling.
“Being in here gets kind of boring once you’ve gotten over the existential dread, doesn’t it,” said Rook.
Solas frowned at him, which was fair. “I can’t say I share your sentiment.”
“You’ve been alive for thousands of years,” said Rook. “It probably sets in slower for you.”
“There are enough things to occupy my mind to stave off boredom, and that should be applicable to you as well.”
“Well, it isn’t." Rook stopped to lean against the wall of his cell, arms crossed. “Doing nothing but staring at a wall for hours is boring, regardless of the circumstances.”
Solas sighed and said, “Pawn to e4.”
“What?" said Rook, blinking owlishly at Solas.
“You heard me," said Solas. "Pawn to e4. Take what time you need to visualize the board.”
While Rook wasn’t a huge fan of chess, they had to wile away the hours somehow, and chess was about the only pastime available to them. He took a moment to assemble the board in his mind before responding. “Pawn to e5.”
“Knight to f3," said Solas, his response coming fast. He could clearly imagine the board much easier than Rook.
“Knight to c6."
“Bishop to c4.”
“Uhh..." Rook hesitated, closing his eyes to better picture the position of his pieces. "Knight to f6.”
“Already floundering, Rook?” teased Solas. “Knight to g5.”
“Give me a break. I've never played like this before."
"That much is evident. Your move?"
Eyes back open, Rook scowled at Solas. "Pawn to d5.”
"Pawn to d5," repeated Solas.
First loss of the game, and Rook was disappointed it was his own. He would have found it satisfying to rub that little victory in Solas' smug face.
They exchanged a few more moves, both their Knights claiming a pawn each, before Rook decided to risk his King. Some people were so eager to claim it that they made mistakes in their pursuit, and maybe, if he was lucky, Solas would be one of them.
“Queen to f3,” was Solas' next move.
"King to e6."
"Knight to c3."
"Knight to d4," said Rook, before realising he was about to lose a Knight. But there was nothing he could do about it now.
“Bishop to d5,” said Solas, and there it was. Down a Knight.
Rook sighed and thumped his head against the wall behind him, trying to think. Until now, he hadn't thought he was bad at this game, but he got the distinct feeling Solas was playing with him instead of engaging in serious strategy. "...King to d6.” Another risky move.
“Queen to f7," said Solas.
Well, shit. That was a very advantageous position for Solas’ Queen to be in, among all his most vulnerable pieces. “Bishop to e6,” said Rook, hoping to claim the invasive piece.
“Bishop to e6,” said Solas.
Down that bishop, now. Rook swore, and Solas chuckled.
“This game requires quite a bit more planning than is standard for you,” said Solas, gesturing for Rook to take his turn.
Rook flushed. “That’s why I have a team to compensate for my shortcomings," he muttered, then claimed Solas' Bishop with, "Knight to e6."
“And you're right to lean on them,” said Solas, sounding amused. “But it won’t serve you well here. Knight to e4.”
Fuck, his King was checkmated. Rook raked a hand through his hair. How was a chess game managing to be more nerve-wracking than some of the battles he’d fought?
“King to d5," said Rook tentatively.
Solas smiled. “Pawn to c4.”
“Oh for-” His King was in a precarious position again. “King to e4. Got your Knight.” Though his King was sinking too far down the board for him to find much comfort in it.
Almost spitefully, Solas said: “Queen to e6.” And there went Rook’s Knight.
They both moved their Queens; Rook's to d4, Solas to g4, and Rook ended up checkmated yet again. He groaned softly. There was no way he could win this game now. The best he could hope for was to put off defeat for as long as possible to make it marginally less embarrassing.
“King to d3, I guess.”
"You guess?" said Solas, and Rook barely resisted the urge to make a rude gesture. “Queen to e2.”
“King to c2," said Rook. His King was far, far too low on the board now, and being able to claim Solas’ Bishop on his next move would be a bitter consolation prize.
“Pawn to d3."
“King to c1.” It was only as these words left his mouth that Rook realized what a terrible mistake he'd just made. Solas’ King and Rook pieces occupied the same line, and all Solas needed to do to checkmate him was swap them. “Solas-” he began, only for Solas to speak over him."
“Rook to f1," said Solas, his smile far too wide. "Checkmate.”
He’d been Castled, and the irony of it wasn’t lost on Rook. If the board had been physical he might have thrown it at Solas for his gall. “You really are the worst,” said Rook.
“Not at chess, evidently. Would you like another round?”
“I just got beaten by Castling,” said Rook miserably. “I think that forfeits my right to ever play chess again.”
Solas chuckled. “You won’t learn not to be Castled without practice. But we could always play charades if that is more your steam.”
“Oh, you’re such a-!"
The cages suddenly groaned and rattled and Rook leapt away from the wall in alarm, putting distance between himself and the walls in fear they were closing in. But he quickly realised that couldn't be the case, because not only were they not moving, but the sounds were coming from somewhere beneath their feet. Solas had risen as well, and he too must have realised something was happening below them because he threw his hands out in front of him like he was preparing for a plummet.
It occurred to Rook, belatedly, that he didn’t know what was beyond this cage. Elgar'nan could have all sorts of torments waiting for them outside these cages. He held his breath, waiting for the revelation...
And one of the bars began to descend. Slowly, sluggishly, disappearing into a hole that had been completely unnoticeable until now. Once it reached the bottom, the flat top of it was almost seamless with the floor.
Rook looked up. Solas was staring fixedly at the new gap in their barrier, and then at Rook, and the ravenousness that had overtaken his face made Rook recoil, tucking himself back into his corner. For a time, he’d almost forgotten Solas’ hungry, desperate attempt to seize him through the bars.
“Shit,” he whispered.
Solas threaded a hand through the new gap, sliding trembling fingers up the side of the wall. It wasn’t yet big enough to squeeze through, but it would be, eventually.
“I am so sorry, Rook,” he said, because he knew what would happen once those bars descended completely.
Rook swallowed around the knot forming in his throat.