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b-icetea · 25 days ago

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Feeling as though Rook is secondary to Neve? You shouldn’t, not really at least because Rook is irreplaceable for the same reasons people are holding animosity towards Neve.

‘Neve gets him without doing any of the hard work.’ Rook is the only person alive who could even be able to. That’s the whole point.

Saving Minrathous results in the Inner Demons quest never happening.

Meaning an unhealed Lucanis never makes peace with Spite.

Meaning he goes on to enter a relationship with a woman (to no fault of her own) who could never, and would never, force him to face his fears and give him the unyielding encouragement needed to live without compartmentalizing every important thing to ever happen to him.

Without Rook completing that quest— Lucanis remains chained down by his debilitating fear of disappointing Caterina, the shame of being made into an abomination against his will, the guilt of being the one who got off easier than Neve and the pain and anger Illario’s betrayal brought onto him.

“Thoughts live here. Ideas. Feelings.” Disappointment. Shame. Guilt. Betrayal. All of which Lucanis felt were too big, too messy to face.

Solavellan is Rookanis’ foil. Except Rook is if Lavellan had succeeded in persuading Solas to face his regrets.

And what was the crux of the replacement Fade prison Solas crafted for the Evanuris? It was a prison built on regret, and the only way to leave would be to face them. Which Ghilan’nan and Elgar’nan would never be able to do.

Spite says “Lucanis is here. Behind locked doors. I can’t break through.” But Rook can.

In his mind’s eye, Lucanis makes Caterina, Harding, Neve and Illario his jailers of negative emotions in a prison of his own creation.

And in all that inner turmoil, his idea of Illario says, “Rook, you’re too good to be here.”

Rook isn’t one of his jailers, not because they don’t matter enough compared to the others, but because Lucanis’ thoughts, ideas and feelings for Rook are too good.

Rook opens doors, they’re not a jailer who throws away the key. In Lucanis and Spite’s eyes, Rook is the key. They are a liberator, a hero, the only one he’ll listen to.

Love, understanding, the unwavering promise of companionship (platonic or romantic) despite the risk to themselves sets Lucanis free.

I’ve seen people who are disappointed in his storyline complain that it feels as though ‘Rook strong arms him into a committed relationship’ that he somehow ‘feels obligated to indulge’ and engage in as a result of saving Treviso. I believe these claims just end up ignoring the really good diamonds in the rough we’re given in terms of Rookanis relationship development.

A romanced!Lucanis gives way to lines like “I don’t know what Rook sees in me. I’m happy to just be around them.”

And paralleling scenes like when Caterina chastises a kneeling Illario with “A Dellamorte never kneels.” Only for Lucanis to later walk over to a post-Fade trapped Rook and literally kneel at their feet like they’re the only deity he cares to worship like this is Take Me To Church by Hozier.

And what is Rookanis as a ship, if not Rook teaching him it’s okay to assert himself, which leads to Lucanis reclaiming his humanity through an act of love? Just saying. Given time, and love, he turns into a Gomez Addams sort of romantic figure.

If Rook were associated as any feeling to Lucanis then they’d be love. Affection. A state of understanding. Purpose? Freedom?

Better yet, Rook could be determination. After all, Rook’s defining characteristic is that they ‘just can’t seem to quit’— in the face of the man they care about saying ‘give up on me, i’m damaged goods’ why wouldn’t they win him over in the end?

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b-icetea · 25 days ago

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Just Sweet Enough

Pairing: Lucanis x f!Rook

Summary: Rewrite of the relationship lock in scene

Notes: I need them to kiss here and I need it to be sweet and this happened. Bioware please hire me to write a dlc for u I'll do it for free I swear. Spite dialogue in italics.

"Emmrich, I need your help."

Emmrich looked up from the tome he'd been reading. A fascinating history on Arlathan that Bellara had thought he might enjoy.

"Lucanis," he said jovially, glad to see the man was feeling better, looking slightly more rested.

"Rook told me about your little fade expedition," he said. "Is there something amiss?"

He'd ached to go and ask Lucanis and Spite about exactly what had been going on with them, but Rook had told him not to. Told him to let them get some rest, so he'd settled for grilling her about it instead, until she'd been all but falling asleep on his shoulder.

He did think sometimes she indulged him a bit too much.

"No," Lucanis said, pulling Emmrich back to the present, "I think we've... reached an agreement. Somehow."

We have. A deal. Spite sounded different. Not happy, persay, but... Emmrich struggled to think of a word for it.

Determined?

The younger man's hand went to the back of his neck.

"With Rook's help, no doubt," Emmrich said. "Remarkable young woman."

"She is," Lucanis said, and Emmrich did not miss the way his voice softened when he did.

"That is... actually what I wanted to talk to you about," he said. He gestured at the couch next to Emmrich.

"Of course, my dear boy, sit!" He scooted over slightly. It was his favourite place to sit, beneath the astrolabe in the library. Oh, he could spend hours on that couch, provided Manfred brought him enough tea.

"Is something the matter with Rook?" He asked.

"No," Lucanis said quickly. "No, nothing is the matter, not that she has told me. I just... want to..." he trailed off, his hands clenching into fists on his lap.

Faintly, Emmrich could hear Spite talking.

Thoughts are too loud when he thinks of her. Feel. Too much. Honey and lightning and home. He's stupid.

"I want to do something for her," he said finally, quietly.

"And I'm sorry to ask you, but Davrin would talk to me in hunting metaphors as if they are even remotely the same thing, Bellara would start talking about something else entirely, and Neve wouldn't know about any of this if it stabbed her in the neck."

Emmrich supressed a grimace. An accurate summary of their travelling companions, if a tad unsympathetic.

"She is- she deserves- " he sighed, he ran a hand across his face in defeat.

"Well, then," Emmrich said, taking pity on him, putting a hand on Lucanis's shoulder. "I'm sure she'd be delighted. If it came from you."

"But that is the problem," he said, almost panicked. "I am an assassin, Emmrich. All I know is death. What could I ever possibly do for her?"

He looked down at his hands, open now in his lap.

"How could I ever thank her for... " he closed his eyes, blew a long breath out of his nose.

Emmrich thought about it for a moment. Oh, there was no question that young Rook was infatuated with him, and he with her. No question at all. But how could they prove it to each other? To themselves?

"Hmmm," he hummed as he thought, and then an idea came to him.

"Surely," he said, his brows raising innocently, "You can think of one other thing you might be good at?"

Lucanis looked at him, lost. Emmrich almost laughed at him.

Good at making. To eat! Slice things! BURN THINGS! HA!

"I think Spite has the right of it, there," he said with a grin. "Sort of."

"Cooking?" Lucanis asked. "You think I should cook her something?"

"I think our Rook has a lot of worries," he said. "I think that she would appreciate someone taking the time to think of her, and do something special. Romance, or whatever you would like to call it, Lucanis, is about the small details."

"I know that," Lucanis replied. "But cooking? I cook every day. Almost every day."

"Do you make something with her in mind? Something to bring her some comfort? It's no small thing, making a meal for someone."

Lucanis sat for a moment, frowning at the floor in front of him, then his expression lifted.

"Emmrich," he said, grinning, "I think you might be right. I'll see you at dinner."

We go to Burn Things! For Rook!

He stood and walked to the door, then turned with his hand on the handle.

"You wouldn't... happen to know a dessert that pairs well with coffee, would you?"

***

Lucanis was just adding the last sprinkle of chopped hazelnuts to the torte when the door opened.

"Rook!" He said, his voice pitched too high. He cleared his throat.

Oh, mierda. He should have put someone outside the door to keep her away. Spite should have told him she was coming. Damned demon.

"Lucanis?" She said uncertainly, frowning at him. She walked toward the kitchen, and he tried to stand in front of the stove so she wouldn't see what he was making.

"What are you doing here?" He asked.

"I was... hungry?" she said, one eyebrow lifting.

"I wanted to see if someone had started on dinner already. What are we having?"

She peered over his shoulder, and he could see her expression change as she beheld the pot, smelled the contents and connected the two things. He'd realised when he'd started cooking that he'd never made anything special for her before. It was always other people asking him for things. Katchapouri for Neve, spiced rices for Taash, turnips for Harding.

She never asked for anything, not even her mother's rabbit stew. It was Orlesian, she'd said, and the library had helpfully provided him a recipe.

A part of him felt ashamed, because it was such a small thing, the simplest thing he'd cooked since getting here, but he'd been so busy thinking about Illario, and Caterina, and Minrathous that he hadn't thought about what it might mean to her to have something from home.

A different part, a bigger part, the part that her presence in his life had woken up, that part was determined to make it up to her, no matter what.

"Wait..." she said slowly, her eyebrows lifting in surprise, "Is that...?"

"You said it was your favourite," he said, and he couldn't help that his voice became soft as he said it.

"In a passing comment weeks ago," she said, shaking her head. His heart broke when she looked at him, because there was disbelief on her face, as if he wouldn't remember everything she'd ever said to him. As if he'd dare forget any little thing that added up to who she was.

"You remembered?" She asked, her dimples appearing as she smiled. Her voice was so small and fragile that he almost couldn't bear it.

"Of course," he said, trying for a grin. "And a hazelnut torte for dessert. It pairs well with the coffee you like."

"You- " she stopped, shook her head. "You made all of this for me?"

"There is enough for everyone," he said, trying for levity. Immediately, he knew it was the wrong thing to say. She wilted slightly.

Wrong, wrong, wrong! It made her smaller!

Of course he felt like saying something now, Lucanis thought, annoyed. More at himself.

"Well," she said, and he heard how she tried to hide how much it meant to her, crossing her arms in front of her chest like a shield. Mierda, he didn't want her to hide anything from him, ever again.

"As long as they're fine with having my favourite meal."

"They won't complain."

She was quiet for a moment, frowning at the stove.

"You didn't have to do anything special for me," she finally said, quietly.

You are. Making it. WORSE. Make it. BETTER.

"Yes, I did," he said quickly, and she looked back at him. Maker's blood, he was listening to a demon tell him how to talk to her. He wasn't used to this, to holding something as fragile as her heart. "I still don't know how to apologize for... everything."

And there was so much to apologize for. To thank her for.

"And you- "

"You made Orlesian stew, and dessert," she said, and she gave him a grin that punched straight through his chest. Mierda, she was still trying to make him feel better.

"Just for me."

"It's nothing," he said, earnestly. Just then, Emmrich's idea felt decidedly laclustre. He felt decidedly laclustre.

"Or, not enough."

"It is."

Her smile was soft. Soft enough that he almost believed it when she said,

"And you are."

And you are.

Then her grin turned more crooked, her eyes sparking with mischief.

"And I'm perhaps too easily bribed by sweets."

"I'll... keep that in mind," he said, smiling back. He realised he could stare at her forever, if she let him. He also realised he'd been doing it too long, and quickly cleared his throat.

"Thank you, Rook," he managed after a moment. "I suppose that is what I wish to say."

"Oh," she waved a hand dismissively, her grin turning decidedly crooked. "What are friends for, if not to break you out of your mind... fade... prison... thing?"

He looked at her, and those weeks of trying to pretend that he felt nothing, that it was just Spite, that he wasn't good enough, that an assassin should not get attached, worried that her kindness and trust was something to be wary of, piles and piles of excuses, all went through his head. Weeks of being so worried about Illario and Caterina that he'd missed the fact he'd never made her dinner before.

For once, he agreed with Spite. Because he was an idiot.

She changed everything. And perhaps the world might end, and he might have to kill his cousin, but just then, looking into her eyes, he wasn't scared anymore. Not of this.

"Friends?" He asked softly.

She blinked. Then frowned at him.

"What else- "

Her eyes widened, and her mouth dropped open.

"You mean- ?"

Then her expression melted, and his heart broke, because before she turned away from him, he could see her write this off as something she didn't deserve, as one more thing that could go wrong. As if there was anything she could do that would change what he felt for her. As if she wasn't the best thing he'd ever been given a chance to know.

"You don't have to- "

Whatever she was going to say was cut off, because he kissed her.

Despite his fears and excuses and dissmissal of his feelings for her, since that first coffee at Cafe Pietra he'd pictured this moment so many times it had almost become rote. He'd pictured it happening in Treviso, at Cafe Pietra. On the beach in Rivain, beneath the stars, or in Arlathan, with drops of rain falling off the leaves they were sheltering beneath. In his dreams, there'd been lightning, and fire and ice and butterflies after he'd said exactly the right things, done exactly the right things, charmed her the way Illario would charm someone, and given her a first kiss worthy of a romance book.

This was not that.

It was a peck, and he hadn't even thought about it, and she was looking at him like he'd grown two heads.

"I want to," he said, breathless. Maker, he wondered if a proper kiss would kill him.

Hesitantly, he cupped her cheek with his hand. To his relief, she didn't pull away.

"You know my mind better than anyone," he said. From this close, he could count the little brown specks floating in the grey of her wonderful eyes. "I've wanted to. But I was... scared. And an idiot."

Her hand came up and closed around his wrist, like she was trying to find something to hold on to.

Or trying to keep him from leaving.

"What changed?" She asked, and if he didn't know any better, he'd say she looked scared.

"You," he said simply. "You change everything."

Rook opens locks.

She smiled hesitantly, and the only thing he could compare it to was the first breath of fresh air he'd taken outside of the Ossuary.

It wasn't in Treviso, beneath the lantern light, or on the beach beneath the stars. He hadn't said the right things, not the way he wanted to, but she'd understood. And when she leaned forward, her soft lips were warm against his own. Warm, and unsure, and sweet.

Not what he'd dreamed. Better. Because this was real.

He wondered where he should put his hands. He wanted to pull her closer, or perhaps run his fingers through her hair, or maybe he should keep a hand on her cheek...?

"What is it?" She asked quietly, pulling away slightly, her eyes filled with uncertainty.

"I don't know where to put my hands," he said, stupidly. But then she laughed softly, and suddenly it seemed nothing else in the world truly mattered.

She took his hands and put them around her waist, and her own arms closed around his neck, pulling him close again.

"I think this is good," she said, and Maker help him, he could smell the lightning on her hair she was so close.

"So?" He asked her, allowing a satisfied grin to steal across his features, "How would you describe the taste?"

She looked up at the ceiling, considering.

"Just sweet enough," she touched her nose to his, then frowned, as if in thought.

"With a hint of hazelnut."

He laughed, breathless.

"You're blushing," she breathed when he stopped, grinning, her eyes filled with wonder, a finger gently tracing along his cheekbone.

"I'm happy," he said, realising he meant it for the first time in a very long time as his hands splayed across her back. "You make me happy."

He kissed the grin off her face, deciding that was a better use of both their breaths than talking.

"Oh!"

Lucanis almost pulled out a knife when Rook pulled away, startled by the noise.

Neither of them had heard footsteps, and he realised belatedly that the door was still open from her earlier entrance. Sloppy, dangerous, but just then he'd never felt further removed from Caterina's strict lessons on discipline.

"Bellara!" Rook said, staring at the elf, who was staring at them. Lucanis watched as a blush spread across her cheeks, and couldn't help but feel a strange pride at it's appearance.

"We were just- " she looked to him for help.

"Finishing dinner," he said, aware he was still smiling, aware he still had his arms wrapped around her, aware he didn't care, not in the slightest.

"Oh, that's ok!" Bellara said, striving for casual and not achieving it in the slightest.

"I'm... gonna go. And come back later!" She said, "And definitely not tell Neve!"

She was gone before either of them could say another word, the door closing behind her, leaving them alone together in the firelight.

Rook turned back to him, her head dropping onto his shoulder as she laughed tiredly.

"Who's blushing now?" He asked her softly.

She lifted her head and levelled a playfull scowl at him.

"Shouldn't you be cooking?"

He grinned, pulling her closer to him.

"In a second," he murmured, before he kissed her again, and somehow, every time, it seemed to get better.

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