Birdie (Rook) struggles to cope with the loss.
No matter what Solas said, Birdie couldnât shake it. The lingering fear, the doubt. She wasnât made to be a leader. Chest crushing guilt even after her conversations with Davrin, Lucanis and Neve.
Her apologies didnât make it better. She had failed the Wardens, her team. They had expectations and they had failed. Lucanis hadnât delivered the final blow? She didnât give him a good enough opening. Davrinâs death, or lack thereof, had she taken that from him? She had been the one to bring down the archdemon in the first place so he could get his clean kill. And Minrathous, and Neve. Birdie cannot look her in the eyes.
Everything was wrong. With ever present guilt gnawing away at her stomach, she could hardly stomach seeing her team again. Maybe sheâs avoiding them, can she be blamed?
No amount of peace or meditation will fix this. Birdie sits before the piano in the music room, the setting sunlight washing over her and warming the ever present chill on her skin. Her fingers rest on the keys, yet she doesnât hit the note. Who sat here before her, fingers dancing over keys? Did they struggle such as she does?
She hits a B, allowing the note to ring out slowly. Her foot presses onto the pedal, and she hits it again, sustaining the note before releasing it and the pedal.
She doesnât hear the door bang gently against the walls, too busy staring at the keys, lost in her thoughts. She smells him before she sees him, something soft and floral with also hints of earthy undertones that remind her of home.
Home. Nevarra. Birdie canât even begin to describe the wayâ
âRook?â Emmrichâs tone cuts through the haze of self loathing like a hot knife in butter. The fog in her gaze clears and she looks up, watching his expression shift to concern.
âMy dear, have you been crying?â
âNo- no! Emmrich, I donât cry.â Birdie scowls, her ears reddening as she turned to glare at him. Sheâs deflecting and the two of them know it. The real question is if sheâs brave enough to admit it. And they know sheâs not.
âRook, do you think I cannot see whatâs in front of my eyes?â Emmrich asks, his tone sharpening slightly to hint at his disapproval for her terrible lying.
âI donât know, Professor, okay? Iâm not crying. I have terrible allergies.â Birdie turns away, her hair hiding her red cheeks and wet eyes. Her right eye stings, and she blinks awkwardly to clear the tear to relieve the burn.
âYou havenât so much as sneezed nor sniffled in the time weâve traveled together, and youâve barely left my side. Whatâs changed?â Emmrich asks, taking a seat beside her on the pianoâs bench. When Birdie doesnât turn to face him, he reaches forward, gently nudging her chin up and forcing her gently to face him, his thumb giving her chin the softest of reassuring strokes, the touch fleeting and leaving her aching.
âMust you be so secretive? We are a team, are we not? You have so much on your shoulders. It is okay to confide in us. Even expected, really.â Emmrich chided gently, his heart clenching as Birdieâs face scrunched up to cry. He placed his free hand onto the piano, joining her hands on the keys.
âI canât do this, Emmrich.â Birdie chokes, gritting her teeth as the overwhelming urge to sob tightens her throat, her eyes reddening. She doesnât give him the chance to interject before she breaks down, sobbing. Her fingers jam into the keys, playing a discordant note as she allows her head to drop, tears flowing freely.
âI was never supposed to get this far! Varric was! This was his expedition and I was never supposed to get this involved!â Birdie seethed, sobbing into the keys.
Emmrich hesitates, realizing heâs a bit out of his depth. He settles for placing a warm hand on her back and onto her shoulder, pushing her to sit up. He guides his Birdie into a hug, letting her bury into his chest, her warm breath panting against his collared shirt and vest. Her hair gets caught on the golden chain adorning his collar, and his gentle hands begin to untangle it, pulling it back and out of her way, twisting it gently into a small section against her back and out of the way. Her hands are warm from the exposure of the sun, as is the rest of her skin. They rest awkwardly at his back and side, twitching as if she doesnât know what to do with her hands, as if sheâs never had a hug before.
âOh, Rook,â Emmrich sighs, feeling nothing but sympathy for his young companion with so much burden to carry. How she had even gotten caught up in this mess was beyond him, for just two years ago she had been a mourn watcher.
âI failed them, I failed them all,â Birdie whispered into his vest, trembling with the force of her stifled sobs. Her sobs sound like sheâs drowning, struggling to breathe and stay above the churning sea of guilt that sheâs currently wading in. Sheâs clinging to Emmrich like heâs her lifeboat and yet even he cannot save her from herself.
âI sent them all right to their deaths. The First Warden, the-â Birdie is cut off by her own choked sob, and she can do nothing but struggle to catch her shaky breaths as Emmrich strokes her hair softly. His fingers run through her hair, pulling it gently to the side when his fingers run through it, twisting it gently.
The motion is soothing to Birdie, reminding her of what life could be. In her anguished exhaustion, she goes limp in his arms. He knows sheâs still awake by the ragged breathing and the occasional shift for comfort as the position strains her spine. Sheâs been so stiff lately, itâs hard for him to ignore. Delicate bones and all that.
âYou need to relax, my dear Rook,â Emmrich tells her softly. Exhausted, Birdie just nods, not even bothering to fight it as she loses herself in the warm comforts of his scent. She can smell the aftershave clinging to his clothes and the sweet smell of a flower she doesnât recognize. The smell tingles pleasantly in her nose, and Birdie sighs audibly, earning a soft hum of amusement from the man holding her.
Much to Birdieâs disappointment, Emmrich pushes her up to face him again, gently nudging her chin again, which she protests with a jerk of her head, yet follows anyway.
âYou must learn to communicate with us, my darling. We are your team.â Emmrich says, giving her cheek a gentle caress. At Birdieâs nod, he leans in, pressing a warm kiss to her temple. His mustache tickles against her skin, and she smiles despite it.
âNow, on to more pleasant topics. You chose this room for a reason. Why donât you show off what you know?â Emmrich asks, guiding her attention to the piano. The two sit side by side, hands on keys as Birdie walks him through a scale, her graceful fingers playing a gentle melody in the warm room. Sheâs not healed, but itâs a start.
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