Rook couldn't quite convince her lips to lift and curve into a brave smile, but her expression softened some, and she nodded. "I do." Or at the very least, she'd hoped. She lapsed into silent contemplation for a moment, holding space for Scout Lace Harding, holding on to hope for Neve Gallus. As an afterthought, she remembered that she, herself, was missing in action at the moment, back home. She hoped the rest of them were alright, pulling together, pushing forward. Hopefully Varric was--

--that Varric--

--Varric is--Quite practiced at shading the truth himself--

An odd expression settled on Rook's face, a vague sort of nausea making her stomach churn and her head feel strange. Full of tiny pins, like blood rushing back into a limb gone numb from poor circulation. She pulled her hand back slowly and made a quiet sound of discomfort, pressed her fingertips to her forehead. Something wasn't right.