Chapter Text
Patience ran in Neve's blood the same way cautiousness had been learned and etched into her thoughts like second nature. It came with the job, she supposed: slinking in the dark for a target or a chance, pouring over clues and proof until her eyes became blurry and her head ached. The point was, Neve Gallus had long made peace with the dreadfulness of time ticking away and not being able to do anything to stop the world from getting worse.
She was used to waiting, but not like this.
Not when Minrathous was burning around her, its people wailing as they scrambled away from the dragon’s attacks and—damn those bastards—the Venatori as well. The timing was too convenient, but she couldn’t be bothered with suspicion as she peered down at Ashur. His skin was of a sickening pale shade and his eyes… Though the hat concealed most of his face, Neve already got a glimpse of what was underneath. It was a cruel reminder of D’Meta’s Crossing, of what the Blight and those things were capable of.
In the midst of chaos, she had kept hoping for a flash of dark purple rushing towards her, determination and stubbornness in golden eyes. A pair of horns—Neve's breath hitched, but she quickly masked the disappointment when it was just one of the few Qunari running away from the commotion. It was already too late; Rook’s presence wouldn’t undo the damage done to Minrathous, but she just-
“Neve!”
Shokkari—Rook looked like she had just gone through a storm as she stumbled into their makeshift shelter. Her clothes were torn, dusted with frost and traces of magic. There was a large hole at the center of her chest where Neve could still see remnants of ice clinging to the leather undershirt. She looked drained, barely stable on her feet as she dragged herself towards them, and Gallus saw emotions flashed through her face one by one: relief, worry, fear and finally, guilt. The Qunari's gaze darted between Neve's stern expression, Tarquin's scowl and Ashur's writhing body—at that moment, she looked like a child who just got caught doing something bad.
“What…” The Qunari looked around, hand clutching the handle of her bow. “What happened?”
“This is all you.” Tarquin glared at her. “The risen gods. The blight. The dragon.” He grunted, taking a step forwards, and Rook fell back immediately. “Now the city’s lost to the Venatori…”
Golden eyes sought her out in desperation—she was panicking, and Neve suddenly remembered the assassin standing in front of her, despite harsh words and sharp arrows, was still too young and naive to comprehend the weight of her actions. How could she fathom the idea that people were dying and destruction was raining down on a city when she had been living for no one but herself, when all of her choices had never mattered in a world where she was just a tiny cog?
Neve understood, pitied the young woman even, but she couldn’t accept that. Lives were lost here; streets were splattered with blood; houses were engulfed in fire—Minrathous had fallen, and somehow, Rook played a part in it when she chose to abandon this city to its bleak fate.
Her city.
“You should go,” said the mage, keeping her voice even. “I need to be here until,” a blast from afar almost threw them off their feet, “things settle down.”
Rook opened her mouth, then shut it with an exhale, turning her gaze to the side, as if looking at Neve was harder than witnessing the cruelty of the Venatori. Her shoulders shagged in defeat, but she only nodded wordlessly, before walking back to the ruined Shadow Dragons hideout, heavy footsteps somehow echoing in Neve’s ears despite the chaos around them.
“Your little team came back to Minrathous a few days ago,” Rana shared as they slunk in the shadow of the slums; the Venatori was getting aggressive, and the Shadow Dragons hardly recovered from the previous attack.
“What were they doing here?” The question was genuine, despite the bitterness tightening her throat. It had been days, and she hadn’t exactly come to terms with what happened to Minrathous yet.
None of them had.
“A missing person,” she stopped for a brief moment, listening to the approaching movements—just a drunkard, “and clearing the darkspawn in the tunnels.”
“Sounds busy.” Neve’s gaze flickered towards the far side of the street, where a clump of beggars were gathering around a fire pit, trying to warm themselves after a downpour ambushed Minrathous. She thought of her damp room and its damper bed, the sheets cold and taking too long to soak up the heat from the fireplace, but she would have fallen asleep immediately had she been given the chance to lie down.
She was too tired these days, apparently.
“Rook asked about you too.” The mention of that name made Neve stop in her tracks for a split moment, before lifting the pipe up for a quick smoke, masking her hesitance with pondering instead.
“Is that so?” Rana’s nose scrunched up as the familiar bitterness filled the air between them, yet said nothing as the detective took another drag. Usually the templar would voice her complaint, but Gallus looked too worse for wear—she decided that she wouldn’t mind the lingering smell this time. “What did she say?”
“What you were doing, whether you were injured.” Savas thought for a moment, then a smirk drew across her lips, one that caused Neve to furrow her brows, the pipe forgotten between her fingers at the strange sight. “You know, this was my first time seeing a Qunari being so nervous. It was rather amusing.”
“Huh,” Neve replied nonchalantly. Guess the kid was more sensitive towards people’s feelings about her than she thought, not that her disapproval had stopped the assassin from abandoning the mayor to whatever fate awaited him in D’Meta’s Crossing though. “That’s a first, I guess.”
“Gallus.”
“Yes?”
“She’s sweet on you.” Rana heaved an exasperated sigh. “Don’t act like you don’t know that.”
“She isn’t,” the mage denied, a little too fast, and she suddenly caught herself thinking “why am I so defensive about this?”. “Rook is just…” Lonely? Naive? Bored? Rook was a puzzle she sometimes mulled over unconsciously, drawn to like a hard case or a looming mystery. The answer lingered on the tip of her tongue; yet, Neve couldn’t spell it out, for that even she didn’t know what it was supposed to be. They had stayed together long enough that Gallus believed she had a firm grasp on her character, but more often than not, she wondered if this was an elaborate act to deceive her and everyone else. “Young. Once she knows what’s good for her, she’ll stay away.”
Sometimes she wished she could trust Varric’s judgment and call it a day, instead of giving herself a headache over such problems.
Despite looking unconvinced, Rana didn’t press further, and Neve was left with her thoughts again. Her mind wandered to the little snippets Rook shared when they first arrived in Treviso to seek out Lucanis: a rough childhood of petty thefts and living off scraps, before somehow winding up in the Fifth Talon’s hand as the latest addition of House De Riva. There were blanks—large ones, on how Rook went from this to that, but Neve hardly felt entitled to that information, especially when the Qunari wasn’t even one of her people of interest.
The sky was still gray and gloomy; but there was work to be done, so Neve pushed herself off the wall and walked towards the market, burying the last of her lingering thoughts about an impulsive assassin somewhere deep enough that memories of golden eyes would stop haunting her, for now.