Chapter Text
Idiot:
I hope you're reading this. If the trail really has led you to Tevinter, it'll be harder to get messages through. The Antaam in Antiva are prickly about anything to do with our neighboring kingdom.
Back home, things have cooled, but they are not forgotten. Killing all those Antaam may have felt righteous in the moment, but the Talons are still complaining that your actions ruined weeks of setting up a larger, more effective strike.
I am one of the Talons still complaining. Consider this trip with Varric a contract. Crows don't fail contracts, especially Crows from House de Riva who may need to improve their judgment. But there is more at stake than honor. Whatever this "Solas" is up to needs to be stopped. I've seen enough of his handiwork to know that.
Don't get careless out there. Don't fail. And don't get yourself killed, or I will come after you in the Fade myself.
Viago
Rook rolled her eyes at the note’s opening. Of course, that was how he’d start. If she’d been naive enough to expect polite correspondence from Viago, she would have been sorely disappointed. The letter practically dripped with his usual sarcasm, every word calculated to needle her.
“Still a little salty, are we?” she muttered, folding the letter and tucking it into her pack.
The sharpness of his words didn’t sting, not anymore. She’d known Viago long enough to hear what lay beneath the jabs: concern. It was his way of saying he cared, even if he’d rather chew glass than admit it.
Leaning against the cool stone wall of the Lighthouse, Rook let her gaze drift to the swirling fog beyond the windows. The horizon here was unlike anything in Thedas, a perpetual haze of bright clouds that made it impossible to tell when the night ended and the day began. The stillness was unnerving, almost suffocating, broken only by the faint hum of distant magic that seemed to seep into the very walls.
The Lighthouse was meant to be a refuge, but it felt more like a waiting room between battles. Her team’s missions had taken them from the ancient forests of Arlathan to the labyrinthine streets of Minrathous, forging tenuous alliances with Veil Jumpers and navigating the precarious politics of the Shadow Dragons. The work had been relentless and exhausting, but there was no room for failure, not when the stakes were this high.
She closed her eyes briefly, letting out a slow breath. Despite the supposed safety of this place, rest didn’t come easily. It was too quiet, too empty. A strange mix of sanctuary and obligation, the Lighthouse offered no real peace.
Her fingers brushed against the well-worn letter tucked in her pack, the creases soft from months of handling. It was a reminder of how often she’d returned to Viago’s words, whether for guidance or just to hear his voice in her mind. She hadn’t exactly volunteered for this journey with Varric. Her last mission in Treviso had gone spectacularly wrong. Killing the Antaam patrol had been the right call in the moment, but it had unraveled months of carefully laid Talon plans, earning her a reprimand sharp enough to leave scars she still felt.
Viago’s scowl had spoken volumes, but it was the sharp, cutting disappointment in his words that had lingered longest. He hadn’t let her forget it, not in the moment, not in the days that followed, and certainly not in this letter.
“You’ve got fire,” he’d told her once, years ago, after catching her trying to lift his coin pouch in the crowded markets of Treviso. She’d been a scrawny orphan with nothing but desperation to her name, but he’d seen something in her that day. “Now let’s see if you can use it without burning yourself.”
That moment had changed everything. Viago had plucked her from the streets and dragged her into the world of the Crows. He’d trained her, shaped her, turned her into one of their most promising operatives. But he’d also made her answer to him, holding her to standards so high they often felt insurmountable.
Now, years later, she was halfway across Thedas, embroiled in a mission she didn’t fully understand, yet his voice still echoed in her mind, sharp, sarcastic, and as familiar as her own.
With a sigh, Rook pushed off from the wall, her boots scuffing faintly against the stone floor as she left the quiet halls of the Lighthouse. Stepping outside, she crossed the courtyard, the cool air carrying a faint hum of magic that seemed to settle into her bones. The glow of the ethereal sky cast long shadows across the ground, the silence broken only by the soft crunch of her steps.
Neve’s door was slightly ajar, and through the gap, Rook caught sight of playful wisps darting and flickering around the room. They swirled and bobbed, trailing faint trails of light as if they had no particular destination in mind. Rook couldn’t help but smile, they were pests to Neve, who often grumbled about their constant mischief, but to Rook, they were undeniably charming.
Inside, Neve sat at her cluttered desk, her sharp eyes scanning a parchment with a focus that could carve stone. She didn’t look up immediately, but Rook had the distinct impression that Neve was always aware of her surroundings, even when she seemed absorbed in her work.
“You’re late,” Neve said, her voice carrying that signature mix of dry wit and calm authority.
“I didn’t know we had a meeting,” Rook replied, leaning casually against the bookcase.
Neve glanced up, arching an eyebrow. “We do now. Come in and close the door.”
Rook obeyed, her curiosity flickering to life. “What’s this about?”
Neve gestured to a map spread across the desk, the cities and territories of Thedas meticulously marked with notes in the margins. “We’re going to need more than sharp blades and clever plans to deal with the Evanuris,” she began, her tone matter-of-fact. “They have magic we can’t even begin to counter, and that puts us at a disadvantage.”
Rook folded her arms, stepping closer to the desk. “I’m guessing you have a solution in mind?”
Neve nodded, her expression grim but resolute. “A mage killer. Someone who knows how to fight magic on its own terms.” She tapped a finger on a name scrawled in the corner of the map, beneath the city of Treviso. “The Demon of Vyrantium.”
Rook blinked, the moniker sparking immediate recognition. “The Demon of Vyrantium?” she repeated, a note of skepticism in her voice. “I’ve heard the stories. Everyone in the Crows has. But no one knows who he is, just that he’s... efficient.”
Neve’s lips curved into a faint smile. “Efficient is one way to put it. If half the rumors are true, he’s more than just a Crow. He’s a weapon. And if we’re going to have any hope of standing against the Evanuris, we need him.”
Rook tilted her head, studying Neve’s face for a moment. There was no hesitation in her tone, no doubt in her eyes. The weight of the situation settled heavily in the room. “You think he’ll help us?”
Neve shrugged lightly. “He’s a Crow. He follows the contract. We’ll just have to make sure the terms are appealing enough.”
Rook’s lips quirked into a wry smile. “You make it sound simple.”
“It’s anything but,” Neve admitted, leaning back in her chair. “But we don’t have many options.”
Rook’s gaze lingered on the map, her fingers brushing lightly over the name scrawled there. The Demon of Vyrantium. She’d always been curious about him, who he was, what drove him, and why he operated in such anonymity. And now, it seemed, she might finally get the chance to find out.
“Alright,” she said after a moment, her voice steady. “We’ll go to Treviso. Let’s see if this ‘Demon’ lives up to the stories.” She smirked faintly, adding, “And Viago will undoubtedly greet me with open arms and a heartfelt speech. As usual.”
Neve gave her a faint nod, satisfaction flickering in her eyes. “Good. We leave tomorrow.”
Rook turned to leave, already imagining the exaggerated scowl Viago would wear when she arrived. As she reached the door, she paused and glanced back over her shoulder.
“If nothing else,” she said with a sly smile, “it’ll be worth it just to see his face.”
With that, she slipped out of the room, the faintest chuckle escaping her lips as she disappeared down the hall.