#Lucanis deserves peace

[partially-controlled-chaos]

Hey look I’m not going apologize in advance for using the same tropes in all my works because when I find something I like I run it into the ground and nothing has stopped me yet.

I’m going to find a traumatized character. I’m going to put them in soft situations. Their beloveds hands are gonna touch their face to soothe while they sleep. An index finger will trace the outer ear and the nose. I’m going to use the word gentle waaaayyyyy too many times. And then I’m going to throw in a mild hand kink.

And I’m very absolutely not sorry about it.

[vaguely-concerned]

so for obvious reasons, rye is not generally all that popular with most of the senior watchers. however. I think there is a certain type of younger watcher to whom he is The ultimate hot badboy icon and fantasy. (we're talking about a group of extreme indoor kid goth nerds who've barely been outside. it doesn't take a lot ot achieve bad boy status in this context and the only thing in this world that lasts forever is a bad reputation in a small insular group like the watchers.) it's SO funny because rye thinks of himself as such a disappointing fuckup of a son of the grand necropolis. and meanwhile there are novices kicking their feet and giggling as they're like

'Ingellvar is so cool. no one knows where he's from he was found down here as a baby. mysterious orphan appeal. he could be a secret dalish prince or something for all we know. (*annoyed extra nerd watcher novice voice*: umm actually the dalish don't have princes, merrivar?? read a real book sometime maybe???) he's a rebel. he doesn't care what the senior watchers think no time for politics he just gets the job done. (*small sad rye voice* I care a lot what the senior watchers think actually. a pathetic amount, in fact. it just rarely seems like it helps anything at all) I heard he graduated almost top of his class even though he spent all his time as a student partying up in the city and having a torrid affair with the son of a noble family. sometimes in his spare time he wears a cool punk leather jacket but like the fantasy version of that. he has tattoos apparently but no one's seen them for years. yuh-uh it's true too, I know someone who knows someone he dated once. they say he saw a knife fight once. like, in a bar brawl, with living people. all that, and he's even sneakily emotionally unavailable. *starry-eyed sigh* what a dreamboat'.

needless to say this only grows worse with the events of the game, after he takes out the formless one and rumours start to spread that he maybe killed a god or something too???? and this being nevarra, more importantly he's out there killing dragons with his sworn companions?? like a fucking fairytale prince but with that devil-may-care rebellious streak???? he's the safely unavailable first crush at a distance of many a young watcher. now imagine the reaction when he shows up home for the first time in a year after the war of the banners accompanied by The one true bad boy fantasy to rule them all: literally the sad brooding crown prince of the crows of antiva in leather pants who has WINGS and a dark tortured side of his nature that he has to constantly battle against for the sake of those he loves.

(the perception vs. reality situation for both of these characterizations is. so unspeakably hilarious needless to say. consider how much of the above lucanis characterization is accurate to the person he actually is and then you've basically found the level of distortion lens being applied to rye as well. is most of it technically true? sure. 'technically' is having to do a whole world of heavy lifting there tho fhdfska)

what I'm really saying here is that there is a subsection of this group that's been ferociously writing rye/lucanis rpf from the moment they were seen trotting down into the necropolis depths together (other pairings within the lighthouse gang as a whole, caught in tantalizing glimpses as they visit the necropolis, of course having their own devotees), and when this fandom subgroup eventually discover they were right it's with all the insane glee of a sixteen year old fanfic writer on wattpad (is that still where the kids are these days. idk i'm getting old folks) finding out that their dark mafia prince AU is basically true. varric might be gone but the legacy of friendfiction lives on after him. the king of thedas rpf being the shoulders of titans that young watchers are standing on to write fevered WILDLY inaccurate depictions of the private life of two of the most low-key domestic quietly devoted and undramatic people on the continent, one of them being varric's own poor little meow meow slash mentee, is something that can actually be so personal. rye does not end up terribly famous in the end considering the shit he manages to get done in this game, and he thanks his lucky stars for it. but to a tight-knit community of mourn watch fic writers he is blorbo from my apocalypse. it's all I could have wished for him.

(funniest possible outcome of all this: myrna gets so fucking tired of trying to understand what the novices are being so tittery about that she asks rye 'watcher ingellvar with the realization that this is a long shot and the admission that vorgoth and I have exhausted all other avenues of investigation: do you possess secret insight about what an 'x reader' is. and also 'ship war'. your name seems to come up in this context a surprising amount'. 9000000 points of incoming psychic damage about to hit the fan.)

[jarinnards]

Am I the only one who's sick and tired of the pan erasure that goes on in the DA fandom? I'm sorry (not) if you don't like it, but the companions are all pansexual. Don't piss me off.

[talesofesther]

an hour found

Lucanis Dellamorte x Rook

Summary: ❝If I have lost an hour this night, it is only to Rook. But lost is wrong. It is an hour found. An hour more clear than any other.❞

A/N: I wanted a deeper look into this sweet moment. <3

Masterlist

Nearing midnight;

It was quiet in the Lighthouse, the slice of the fade the team called home mimicked the night of the world outside and brought an air of calmness and peace. Everyone was already mostly asleep, or at least they should be—maybe Bellara was still up in her workshop, but she'd be calling it a night soon.

Everyone, except Lucanis. The resident assassin sat on the library's couch, a book in his hands and a half-full coffee cup on the center table. Hints of exhaustion showed on his face, on the dark circles under his eyes, but he was still skeptical about sleeping for too long. At least he'd ditched his vest, choosing to wear only his pants and button-up shirt to chase a resemblance of comfort.

The words from the book he tried reading blended together from time to time; he'd read the same page thrice over now. The soft hum of the astrolabe above him almost lulled him to sleep. Almost.

Until he heard a noise: the distant click of a door opening, and then the soft steps of socked feet coming closer.

Lucanis looked up from his book. It was Rook coming down from the stairs leading to her room. Her eyes were half-lidded, and she wore a sleepy smile on her lips. Lucanis felt his heart jump and stumble inside his chest, fingers gripping tighter onto his book. For some reason, his cheeks grew warmer the closer she drew.

"Rook…" The word had taken a softer, more gentle tone every time it came out of Lucanis's mouth lately, something akin to a breath of relief each time he saw her.

She smiled wider, walking up to him until she could sit right beside him. But Rook waited still, waited for Lucanis to meet her gaze and give a small smile in turn; only then did she make herself comfortable with him. It didn't go unnoticed by the crow how she was willing to respect his time alone if he so desired.

"What are you doing up this late?" Lucanis inquired, closing his book and setting it aside. She deserved his attention much more than the Orlesian romance tale he'd been trying to read.

Rook hummed, leaning back on the plush couch and allowing her shoulder to rest against Lucanis's. "Disturbing you."

The crow would be able to hear the smile in her words even if his eyes weren't locked on her; it stole one from him, too. He hesitated, all too aware of the warmth of her body against him. "Disturb is not… quite the word I'd use."

"Oh?" Rook raised a brow. One of her hands sneaked toward him and found his own. "And what word would you use?"

Lucanis looked down at their joined hands; Rook's fingers traced the faded scars on his knuckles and the back of his hand. Lucanis couldn't help but hold on to her. "Calming, maybe," he whispered. It was all so new, so fragile. Never in his life did he have something, someone like Rook. She was his first… everything. And it scared him, while at the same time, it made him want to drown in her presence.

His heart beat heavily inside his chest, near painfully. Lucanis raised his gaze only to find Rook much closer. He mapped the lines of her face with his eyes, following the curve of her cheeks, the slope of her nose, until he reached her lips. Lucanis's breath caught in his throat. His forehead touched hers, their noses almost bumping.

It was all intimate and tender, a moment tucked far away from the problems of the world, where only they existed. And he wanted to—oh, how much he wanted to just give in. But Lucanis felt his lower lip wobble with uncertainty and hesitation. Not because there was any doubt, no. But because his life had never been truly his; because a year filled with isolation and torture still haunted his dreams; because he loved her too much already, and it terrified him.

Rook saw it in his eyes; she had this way about her that always managed to break through his walls as if they were mere paper under the rain. And she smiled.

Lucanis felt faint with her love. He could crumble when, instead of pulling away, she took hold of his cheeks; her fingers brushing the area under his eyes, and she placed a lingering kiss between his brows.

He felt selfish as he raised a hand to close around her wrist, pushing the palm of her hand further against his cheek. Lucanis closed his eyes, gulping heavily. "I'm sorry. You deserve bette-"

The words stumbled and halted before he could finish, the culprit for it being Rook's thumb that came to rest above his lips, shushing him with a gentleness that felt almost foreign for the crow. A gentleness that came only with her.

"I've heard these words from you more times than I'd like to count," Rook's voice remained quiet and soft, so as to not break the moment. She held a pause, waiting until Lucanis opened his eyes again. "Why would you believe such a thing, Lucanis?"

The look on Rook's face made it seem as if his reoccurring affirmation of her deserving better than anything he could ever be, was as absurd a claim as saying Assan doesn't deserve his gingerwort truffles.

In the back of his mind, Lucanis knew that no answer he gave would ever convince her. So he relented, blaming it on the late hours of the night as he surrendered himself completely to her open arms.

Lucanis ducked his head, hiding the vulnerability that had begun pooling on the lower lid of his chocolate eyes. And Rook pulled him to her, arms circling around his shoulders as she allowed Lucanis to all but lay on top of her.

If the crow indulged in the warmth of her body for a few minutes longer that night, no one needed to know.

Maybe, in time, he'd learn to believe himself deserving of the happiness her mere presence brought to his life.

── ⋅ ஓ ⋅ ──

When Lucanis came back to his little room in the pantry, he reached for the aged paper on which he had scribbled down his routine for the day.

Right at the end of it, with an all too adoring smile on his lips, Lucanis added a final note; If I have lost an hour this night, it is only to Rook. But lost is wrong. It is an hour found. An hour more clear than any other.

⋆* ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Lucanis' taglist is open, let me know if you'd like to be added. Or you can follow @talesofesther-library and turn notifications on to know when I’ve posted a new story/chapter.

Thank you for reading this little story. Feedback and reblogs are literally what keeps me motivated to continue posting here, so I’d appreciate it if you could take some time to reblog and comment. <3

You do not have permission to repost, copy, or translate my works on any platforms (even with credit), please respect.

[mrsdellamorte]

✨peaceful, safe, warm✨

they’re so in love and they’re married now and getting a much deserved rest after saving the world

my thea and lucanis kofi comm from the lovely @mehyann ♥️✨

[inabstentia]

I’m going to make some people mad with this one, but no, the content in Lucanis’ romance is not “lacking”. It’s here. You just don’t like it.

Him not responding to the flirt options is not because he was “forgotten” or put on the side. It’s because he decides not to answer Rook's attempt at flirting with him. Not for a lack of interest on his part, mind you, but because his life is literally falling apart around him and he does not want to drag Rook with him in his mess - and it’s something that he tells you in the game, loud and clear.

I hc that before he reached "peace" with Spite, he actually had no intention in being in a relationship with Rook - to protect them or whatever - so he did not want to lead them on (during the almost-kiss he was probably just tired and forgot he was supposed to lock in.)

Like do I wish we had special animated scenes between him and our protagonist ? Sure ! But that’s not where the writers wanted to go.

Rook and Lucanis have no serious discussion about their relationship before Tearstone Island (which actually makes everything sadder because Lucanis thought he lost the one he loved and was never able to tell them). It’s clear for the both of them that the love is here, but they never truly expressed it or what they were for each other.

When Rook comes back and chooses to say “I don’t know how to feel” and he answers “I do. I know exactly how to feel” he’s finally accepting his own feelings and the fact that he wants them in his life, so for the first time, he’s completely allowing himself to love and, most importantly, be loved back. The kiss that they share here is their first and it’s for me the real beginning of their relationship as a couple.

They warned that all the romances would be different. Lucanis is a slow burn where you have to be patient with him and accept that he has, at first, more important things to deal with in his life than you.

I understand that people are disappointed. I was too. But that’s just how he is as a character. He needs time to process his emotions and let himself be appreciated like he deserves.

If that’s not what you were looking for in a romance, it’s fine, you have six others wonderful characters that could fit your taste more :) maybe Lucanis is just not the one for you.

(But he is for me and I love him)

[nemo-in-wonderland]

My home is my skin And in the world I've within All I have is my love for you

If I conceal my fear Will I be in the clear Or am I giving life to phantom pain

Cos it's playing out Every note in the score I surrender once more But as my tears fall they still

Kiss the feathers of a hummingbird in flight Breaking up into a million specks of light Take the shape of an angel in the night Carry you to peaceful fields

"ANGEL"- Poets of the Fall

----------------------------------------------------------

Nothing like falling asleep safe in each other's arms after enduring so much pain, after facing so much sorrow, and finally find some respite in the Realm of Morpheus, safe and sound in the comfort of the night.

And these two deserve a good night of rest.

So I like to imagine that, in Ravenna's room in the Lighthouse, she actually has a Chaise Lounge that is much comfortable to sleep into than her own bed. So I like to imagine that once her and Lucanis start sharing her room, that's where they actually sleep (and make love) most of the time lolol.

It was just a quick thing that I did anyway, but I have to be honest, I am loving this way of doing the lineart and the colouring. It's messy as fuck, but it feels 1000% me lolol.

I hope you will like this <3

--Nemo

[notyourmamasdeerbat]

A Word With Friends: 5/12

Late late late late late~

Hello hello, loves! I am here I bring gifts I apologize for both haste and delay. Thank you, @strugglinggranola for hosting this lovely game this week and thank you as always to darling @hedwigoprah for your brainchild.

This week's word is apricity

Definition: The warmth or light of the sun in winter

A noun.

Rules: Use the challenge word to write a sentence or scene and then tag a few friends. Happy writing!

Enjoy some senseless Rookanis pining and vague lore/angst/tidbits under the cut!

Neve was laughing at something Rook had said, tucked against the arm of the couch in the dining hall. Bellara leaned forward eagerly from the other side of the seat, eyes wide and rapt as Rook gestured grandly from where they perched on the edge of the round table, absorbed in the retelling of another story. 

The fire was crackling merrily in its place, and Lucanis had just finished brewing his third cup of coffee. 

It was a rare moment of peace, a few hours before the assassin would actually get started on dinner and the bag of brown rice waiting in the kitchen. The many threats of the outside world remained, and after Elgar’nan’s recent tipping of his hand, or rather, his appearance on the board, things remained teetering on a shallow precipice of the unknown. 

But Lavendel was safe, for now. Antoine and Evka were investigating this “new song” within the blight– Lucanis had no doubt that when the Wardens called for aid again, they would be ready. 

He leaned his shoulder against the mantle, coffee cradled in hand, watching the way Rook’s lips curved in their Maker-may-care grin, expressing with zeal how brave Harding had been in harnessing the rage of the Titans. And her own. 

The dwarf in question had been whisked away with Davrin and Taash to the Hilt for a much needed gladiatorial series of sparring sessions. Isabela had apparently insisted after Taash had run spices (and, secretly, weapons) to the Lords through Antaam waters with Emmrich just yesterday. The qunari army had apparently tightened their blockades since the twin dragon ambush in Hossberg, closing in on Rivaini docks to search for ‘contraband’- despite having no political power on the shores. They were continuing to harass the pirates from their outposts in the old warden forts, conflicts escalating more and more as accusations of colluding with Antiva flew.

  They were, of course. 

That is, colluding. Viago had just sent a very coolly worded letter of thanks (warmed by Teia’s commentary) for the influx of iron, veil crystal and paragon’s luster from Rivaini shores. But that was neither here nor there in Taash’s mind. 

The dragonhunter was having none of it, and delighted in defending their territory. 

Emmrich’s nose was still pink and peeling slightly from the unforgiving sun. 

On the topic of dragons, Lucanis was reminded uncomfortably of the one they had not yet slain. For all their efforts against fire and ice, and Rook’s recent triumph against the Formless One, a most ancient problem remained… unkillable. 

Occasionally, the Lighthouse walls still shook with the distant screams of Mythal's draconic fury in her cosmic prison. 

But he'd never seen Rook so angry. Raging, cold, brutal and efficient- yes, but never unreasonable, and certainly never uncompromising if someone hadn't already committed the cardinal sin of being Venatori. 

Also, not at the risk of all their lives. Because of course the elven protector goddess would turn into a dragon. 

It had started so well! Rook– sweet, hysterically funny and diplomatic. They offered empathy- and flattery. Protector of the elven people, “You must be Mythal. Asha’mirthadra, enasalin’mae. I am humbled to meet you.” They'd sighed, pleaded and nodded along when Mythal had gotten prickly. To be betrayed one last time by their friend… lover(?), who apparently never came to visit, had raised Rook’s hackles and they agreed vehemently that the goddess deserved justice. 

But when Mythal's fragment remained unmoved by the subject of the blight– and miffed at the suggestion that Rook had very politely put forth that perhaps the goddess might fix her deadly, unjust mistake involving titan blood and stolen dreams– that easy diplomacy and charm had snapped like a steel cable. 

“People have been dying long before the help of this blight,” Mythal had said with a scoff. “It is what they have done for centuries.”

A muscle pulsed under Rook's eye, and he watched as Emmrich's eyebrows rose. 

“Alright. I'm not going to sit here and stroke your ego,” Rook hissed, fire licking underneath their words. Lucanis had felt his stomach lurch into his boots. What was it about that terrible phrase that made Rook’s hope and gentleness drop like a mask?

The Veil Jumper had let their folded arms fall abruptly to their sides. “Let's get this fucking over with.”

They had proceeded to nearly die. Emmrich had dragged Rook's unconscious body up over the cliff face and out of the pit, panting, hair disheveled, one eye blackened and mana drained while Spite had to lift them out of the pit in a flurry of spectral wingbeats. The demon was still complaining of exhaustion and phantom pain– which mostly belonged to Lucanis, where the ancient lightning bolts had raced through his left side and locked his jaw spasming shut for nearly an hour. 

That had been… Oh, a week ago now. When Rook came to in the boat to the Crossroads, swearing fluently, they’d returned to the Lighthouse to lick their wounds. Mythal, luckily, had been unable to pursue. 

The Caretaker, in a rather judgemental manner, had dismissed itself after escorting them all to the infirmary. Rook resolved to deal with that ‘chestnut’ when they could all function as a team. Whatever that meant. Lady Morrigan had been little help, having disappeared back to wherever she’d come. On top of that, another letter from the Inquisitor had arrived just this evening. 

Rook hadn’t shown them its contents, but Lucanis could guess. Despite the rogue’s laughter, they were carrying themselves tightly. They kept kneading their thumb into the center of their palm. Over and over, hands in their lap, whenever things grew still. He knew it was bothering them. The South was not in high spirits. 

However, the little victory of seeing Ghilan'nain bleed once again (Rook shot her with a ballista! A crumbling ballista, wreathed in squirming blight and Rook had aimed and fired it! No hesitation, armor flashing– like a scene from one of Bellara’s books) and the doubly celebrated triumph of taking down two of the goddesses’ blighted pets… It lingered. A much needed buoy of hope for allies and factions alike. It seemed to ripple out from Rook in all directions, touching their companions and the local heroics like a drug. Their eyes were brighter, hands quicker to weapons. It was the same look a mark would have when they got lucky. Found a new weapon, tripped up an assassin’s rhythm. They were back in the fight. 

He tried not to think too hard about how most of the time, the assassin would simply adapt and the contract would be fulfilled. 

Rook let loose another whooping giggle, covering their mouth and drawing Lucanis’ attention back to the dining hall and its warm, crackling firelight. Bellara was laughing too, face red and ears pink, both hands clapped over her mouth. Neve looked extremely proud, smugly leaning back in her seat with her pipe in her off hand, trailing a lazy ribbon of sweet smelling smoke. 

“What is so funny?” Lucanis asked, smiling despite himself. Their laughter was infectious. A stabilizing influence, like sugar in a souffle. Existing in this in-between of quests and death was difficult to maintain, but nothing bound egg whites to a sweeter base like good company. He couldn’t ask for better, he thought as he watched Rook snort into their fist and pound their chest, nose wrinkling that sacred way. The way that made his stomach twist into knots and his chest feel too light. 

Careful, Spite buzzed, mocking. Rook is not sugar! Can’t be measured. And you won’t. Try! 

“Neve was joking around about Manfred– wondering if Harding’s control over minerals might move the crystal in his goggles, or even his bones! Rook, Rook suggested—” Bellara tried to catch her breath. “That if Harding could move skeletons, she’d have the Antaam dancing an– an–” 

“An Orlesian foxtrot,” Rook giggled. 

“Right,” Bellara wheezed, beaming so brightly Lucanis thought her face might crack. “And, and Neve said–” 

“I said,” Neve elaborated calmly, dark eyes settling on Lucanis’ face to gauge his reaction as if reeling in a particularly stubborn fish. “If Lace could make the Antaam dance, she’d march right into Treviso and have them all do a merry jig straight into Rialto Bay. Their armor would sink and the city could change their regional anthem to the ‘Empress of Fire.’” 

At that, Lucanis snorted. Rook burst into another flurry of giggles at the imagery, inconsolable. 

“Maker, I hate that song,” they groaned in between fits of laughter. 

“It doesn’t,” the Veil Jumper sighed. 

“Me too,” Bellara sighed, a little more sadly.

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, Bel, Celene’s having a shit time.” 

Another spool of laughter pulled itself from Rook’s chest, threadbare, hoarse and seemingly against their better judgement. Lucanis kept smiling and took another sip of his coffee to hide it. When Rook laughed... Deep and rolling, like it was a secret crime they didn’t mind committing when it spilled out of them in waves. Loud, colorful and unapologetic. A sudden and all consuming apricity despite the cold harshness of a silence, a subject, a fear. 

It was no wonder the despair demons fled from them in droves. 

Ugh, Spite huffed. Tell them! Tell them Despair fears their scent! Rook maims it! 

Quiet. 

You. Are. Quiet! You should be screaming! Let me talk to them. I will tell them. You want to hear. 

Mierda. For the last time, no. 

Neve was looking at him oddly again. Lucanis took another long sip and drained his coffee. It had been getting cold quickly anyway. The detective rose slowly with an exaggerated yawn. “Well. I have some work I ought to be doing. Elek wants some news– He sends his thoughts, Rook.” 

“Aw, sweet Elek.” Rook snickered, leaning back on their palms as they crossed one long leg over the other. “Thoughts right back. He still need his meeting?” 

“Soon. Damas requested it.” 

At this, the Veil Jumper’s eyes widened. “You mean the guy who kicked my ass? Or rather, the body Aelia used to kick it?” 

“The same. He likes you.” 

Rook groaned, eyes shut and head lolling back, baring the pale center of their throat in profile as their bangs fell out of their face in shimmering wisps. Lucanis looked back at the dregs in his coffee. “You know me,” the Veil Jumper was saying. “I just love collecting violent criminals.” 

“You make an impression.” Neve’s lips quirked. “On some more than others.” Her gaze flicked to Lucanis, before landing gently on Bellara. “Bel? Will you help me file some case notes? I’m still trying to send that ritual sword back where it belongs.” 

Bellara brightened. “Me? Help you?” 

“Sure, you do it all the time.” 

“I do?” 

“Yes. Even if sometimes you don’t know it.” With an easy sway, the detective turned on her heel, footsteps clanking towards the double doors. “Come on.” 

“Okay!” Delighted, Bellara gathered a few of her notes and various journals from her lap to scamper after the Shadow Dragon. “Bye, Rook!” 

“Oh. Bye! Let me know what you find out!” 

The double doors swung shut, and Rook hesitated, craning their neck as if they could follow the companions far beyond their sightline. Frowning, the Veil Jumper made to rise. 

“...You got a letter,” Lucanis blurted, without meaning to. 

Rook stiffened. “I… Yeah.” 

“It had the Inquisition seal.” 

“Yeah.” 

“How bad?” He cradled the mug in his hands, not sure what he wanted to hear. How much was really worth hearing. 

“...Bad.” 

“Do you have family in Orlais?” It seemed to be weighing heavily on their mind. The nation, anyway. 

“Some.” The answer was simple. Easy. Not enough. Why had he never thought to ask before now? Had anyone else? Ever since D’Meta’s Crossing… 

Rook couldn’t afford to lose anyone else. He knew how that felt. That churning pit in your stomach. The hole someone left, long after they’d gone to the one place in the universe you could not follow. And it might’ve been your fault. 

“I’m sorry,” he offered, sounding solemn and hollow to his own ears. 

“They may yet live.” Rook’s tone was light. Practically clinical as they rolled a shoulder. 

Lucanis shifted his weight against the mantle, crossing one ankle over the other. “...Were you close?” 

“To some. Friends. A boy.” 

“A boy?” 

“It’s complicated. I pray he’s safe. Fuck. Andraste guide him. He was so small when I left.” 

Rarely did Rook invoke the Chant. This boy was important. Lucanis’ heart ached. “Could you write him? See for yourself?” 

“No… I have no way to know where he is now.” 

“I see.” 

Rook sighed through their nose and glanced over their shoulder, flashing Lucanis a small smile. “Don’t worry about me, Lucanis. Best we can do is hold the North. Treviso is next on my shit list. I am going to get those Antaam out of your city. You and I are going to hear from Viago and once he lets me off the leash with whatever tip he finds… We’ll get you sorted. I promise.” 

Suddenly, it was about him again. How did they do that? Why did they do that? Despite his hesitation, his heart swelled with gratitude. “I know,” he murmured. He almost believed it. “Have you heard from Revas?” 

“Not yet.” Rook worked their jaw. “When I get to Arlathan again… There’ll be blood.” 

“Hmm.” 

“And not fucking mine. Will you come with me?” 

“Of course.” The words rushed from him like an oath. 

Rook smiled slightly, blue eyes soft. “Thanks, Lucanis.” 

He knew what it was like to have a home under siege. “Always.” 

Rook stood up. Lucanis loathed to see them make for the doors, but he was rooted to the spot. His own promise, both anchor and chain, seemed to weigh in his stomach and still his hands. Rook was leaving. 

The words escaped again, too quickly. “Rook. I want to–” Thank you. Help you. 

More. 

The Veil Jumper paused in the doorway, smiling over their shoulder as they waited a beat. When he couldn’t find it within him to say all the intimate and crushingly hopeful and Sweet, sweet like sugar, but you might not run out this time if you don’t run away– “...I wanted to ask. Are peppers alright? Taash likes them. But you never said.” 

He couldn’t place it, but the furrow in Rook’s brow looked familiar. Disappointed, just slightly, even as they chuckled. “I don’t mind a little spice. Whatever you can tolerate, I'll give it a shot. See you at dinner.” 

“...Yes. See you soon.” 

Gentle late tags, apologies darlings. @andthekitchensinkao3 @fenrelmercar @sunny374940 @jenn2d2 @spinfins @draco-illius-noctis AND YOU! YOU READING THIS! GRAB A SNACK GET A COFFEE!! <3

[awardenandacrow]

SNIPPET 60

[Lucanis hears a story Naimeryn has never told anyone.]

NOTE: this was inspired by a conversation I had actually ages ago with someone about the lore surrounding half-elves on Thedas, and how they just look like their non-elf parent. Friend and I were discussing if half elves had slightly pointy ears, wouod noble houses have their bastard children’s ears “docked” to hide that one of their parents was elven. I CANT REMEMBER FOR THE LIFE OF ME who this friend was 😭 if it was you please comment so I can tag you! This snippet is ✨adjacent✨ to that line of thought, but I would never have gotten here if we never had that conversation, so you deserve some credit.

ADDITIONAL NOTE: I headcanon that Spite remembers SOME of his life as Determination, following younger Naimeryn around, but not all of it. The more emotionally impactful the memory was, the more likely he is to recall it. It’s hard for him to remember specifics after the trauma and change into Spite, which is why he didn’t realize who Rook was right away. He remembers this.

TIMELINE NOTE: this falls after murder of crows/the scene they cut; I’m undecided if this is before or after their lover’s spat.

TW/CW: self-loathing, self harm

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“I have heard elf ears are quite sensitive,” he mused, his thumb sliding slowly across her cheekbone towards one. “Is this true?”

Rook swallowed nervously and tilted her head slightly away from his touch. “I — they *can* be, yes.”

DON’T. TOUCH. Spite hissed, materializing through the wall from the direction of the kitchen. This started Lucanis somewhat, and he pulled his hand away, frowning.

“Forgive me,” he said quickly. “Is it… painful?”

“No, no don’t be… sorry. It’s not… *painful,* not in the way you’re thinking,” there was something she wasn’t saying, he could tell by the way she wouldn’t meet his eyes. “And it’s not that I *don’t* want you to touch them. It’s just… I’m sort of the only one who ever… has?”

Lucanis found he could not will the frown away. He thought back to the night at the table, when she’d been drunk, telling him about her relationship with the First Warden. How she’d rubbed the tip of her ear between her fingers so roughly it had turned red. How he’d known despite her brave face that it hurt when she did it. He glanced to Spite, but the demon was watching Naimeryn’s face.

Afraid he would say the wrong thing, he asked, just above a whisper, “would you… like me to?”

Finally, her eyes met his. There were tears brimming there, a pain she didn’t seem capable of voicing. She nodded slowly.

LUCANIS. MUST BE. CAREFUL! Spite snapped at him. As though he’d be anything else.

Lucanis had never touched an elf’s ears before — why would he have? — but he’d massaged his own, and he decided the theory must be the same. He was much more gentle with Rook than he usually was with himself, unsure just *how* sensitive she would be. He caressed her earlobes between his forefingers and thumbs, and almost immediately she allowed a contented sigh, and her eyes slid closed as her shoulders relaxed. As he slowly worked his fingers up the length of her cartilage, being especially careful with her damaged left whorl, he thought to himself he had not seen her look so peaceful in quite some time.

At least he could give her that — a moment’s reprieve from the weight of it all.

His thumbs slid experimentally up towards the tips of her ears, and Rook *moaned.* Her eyes flew open and her face turned scarlet and she covered her mouth with one hand, but Lucanis has frozen for a reason that had nothing to do with her outburst.

“I’m so sorry —“ she started in embarrassment, starting to pull back. Lucanis dropped one hand to cup her face, leaving the other where it was as his chest squeezed and he searched her now-puzzled expression for a clue that he was wrong.

“Rook,” he said, swallowing thickly. “You have a scar… here, too?”

Beneath his thumb, nearly an inch from the tip of her left ear, likely unnoticeable now due to all the other damage that ear had sustained from the Darkspawn attack, was a tell-tale bump of scar tissue. Not jagged like a Darkspawn’s claws. Clean. Like from a knife. Unthinking, he checked her other ear, but there was no such old wound.

Rook sucked her lower lip between her teeth and dropped her gaze to her hands, wringing in her lap. The tremble was barely perceptible, but he knew it well. Tears.

I SAID. BE. CAREFUL! Spite snapped. Was this what she had meant? Not painful — *physically.* But painful nonetheless?

“Did you know, ah,” Rook was saying. “Did you know they… they’re really actually pretty… thick.”

“Naimeryn,” Lucanis tried to get her to lift her chin, but she nuzzled into his palm and still wouldn’t look at him. His voice trembled with anger he could barely force himself to swallow as he asked, “did the *magister* do this to you?”

She shook her head. “No,” her voice broke.

Spite needn’t have said it, but he hissed, *SHE* DID.

Lucanis released her head entirely and scooped her into his lap. She buried her face into the crook of his neck and played absentmindedly with his collar chain. He held her lightly against his chest, genuinely afraid she might break.

“Why would you do that to yourself?” He asked softly after listening to her cry quietly for a few minutes. His own throat was tight.

“I hadn’t been at Weisshaupt long,” she sniffled. “Maybe six months? I’d proven I couldn’t be trained with the other mages, and that I wasn’t getting anyone any closer to Saimaeria, so I had no one to eat with, or practice with, or talk to. The First Warden berated me every day — a charity case slave didn’t belong with the Wardens.”

“I was sixteen,” she said with a shuddering breath. “And this grown man made me feel like a *worm.* At least at the magister’s house, we were all treated the same. We were what we were. And even if I wasn’t *really* one of them, we were always together. I wasn’t *alone.* Not like at Weisshaupt.”

“I… I hated myself,” Naimy whispered, and he squeezed her a little tighter. Maybe he wouldn’t break her. Maybe he could hold her together, instead. “And I thought that really, the root of every problem I’d ever had boiled down to having been born an elf. And a mage, I guess. But *mostly* an elf.”

She shook her head into his shoulder. “I must have been out of my mind. It’s not as though mutilating myself would have made me any less what I am.”

“You attacked what made it the most obvious,” he said tightly. “But you didn’t finish. It is healed. What made you stop?”

“Lucienne,” she choked on the name, turning her face into his shoulder more fully as a fresh wave of tears caught her unprepared. Her arm snaked around his middle, and he nuzzled his cheek into her hair. He wished he’d known, when they were fighting for their lives through Ghilan’nain’s seige, that the old mage they’d passed had been her mentor. Knowing would not have changed anything, he knew. But maybe he wouldn’t have hurt her so badly. Maybe he could have better helped her navigate that grief. Maybe…

“Lucienne found me, hacking away at it. I couldn’t… I couldn’t get it off, and the *pain,*” Rook groaned. “I had passed out once, before she got there, trying. I was about to do it again, honestly.”

She chuckled wryly to herself. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone run *towards* a knife so fast. I’ll never forget her face. She knocked it out of my hand and she *slapped me.* ‘You foolish girl!’ She yelled at me. And then she…”

Naimy’s tears began anew. “She *hugged* me. She hugged me *so tightly.* She told me that no matter how hard other people tried to hurt me, I must *never* give them the satisfaction of hurting myself. She held me, and we both cried. She was a stern, strict woman, and that was the only time she treated me with that much care. She sewed it back together herself.”

Lucanis carefully used his thumbs to wipe away her tears. He had no words for what he had just learned. There was nothing he could say to change the past, to make that part of her life have been any less terrible. But maybe, just maybe, he could make *right now* good enough that it hurt a little bit less.

The way she was always doing for him.

Carefully, he took her head in his hands and kissed her ear where it was scarred. Through her subsiding tears, Rook giggled.

“Tickles,” she murmured, playfully pushing on his chest.

“I am so sorry you ever felt that that was something you needed to do,” he told her, pulling back to meet her gaze again. He thought back to the dress shop, how she had so casually accepted Gabriela’s treatment of her. “I am so sorry for every person who has ever made you feel lesser, purely because you are an elf.”

Rook smiled gently, cupping his face this time. “What did I do to deserve *you*?”

“Hm,” he smiled and leaned into her touch. “I wonder that about *you* nearly daily.”

She shifted uncomfortably, dropping her gaze for a moment. When she looked at him again, she whispered,

“Is this really okay? I’m… I come from nothing. I’m a poor, ex-slave elvish Grey Warden. And… and you’re… First Talon now.”

“Do you forget that Teia also came from nothing? And is also an elf? She is also a Talon, and Caterina’s favorite, at that,” he told her, though his heart threatened to pound its way out of his chest. Was she… looking for a way out?

“Right but… but she’s a Crow,” Rook chewed her lip. “Do you think Caterina would rather you… be with someone… better?”

“Stop,” he took her hands in his, shaking his head firmly and peering into her face. “Caterina has chosen everything for me my entire life. This is a decision that, whether she likes it or not, she can live with me making for myself. There is no ‘someone better.’ I have chosen. I choose *you.*”

He knew this was dangerous territory. This was precariously close to a profession he was not ready to make. Before he could worry about that, or regret the conviction of his words, Rook had clasped his face in her hands and pressed his lips in a hard, teary kiss. He kissed her back, letting the sweet taste of her and the scent of lavender numb his worries. It occurred to him vaguely that no one had ever *chosen* Naimeryn before. This only made him hold her tighter.

[lizardsquisher]

Live footage of Emmrich's reaction to this chapter:

The Pirate and the Professor

Chapter Seven: Spilling the Tea 🫖

Mealtime in the Lighthouse was always a lively affair. Friends talking and laughing. Cutlery clanging. The table being pounded over a good story. It was not quite as boisterous as a pirate banquet, but it was fun. Plus, in the Lighthouse, everyone kept their clothes on and no one ever lost an eye.

Today, the rich, zesty aroma of Lucanis’ paella lingered in the dining room long after the meal was over. So, too, did the Lighthouse’s denizens.

Rook sat in the corner reading a book, her legs thrown over the arm of her chair, her bare feet dangling. The others seemed to have caught on to her solitary mood. They let her be. But she liked being near their merriment. Maker knew after all they’d been through, they deserved it. And for all the quiet in her bedroom, it rang too loud with doubts to offer her any peace.

Taash, Davrin, and Bellara had adjourned to the far end of the table to play cards. Bellara initially lost an alarming amount of coin due to her inability to bluff. Taash, moved to sympathy, started slipping better cards into Bellara’s hand while she wasn’t looking. But sleight of hand was not their strong suit. A frown creased the whorls of the vallaslin on Davrin’s forehead as he noticed one such exchange. With a long-suffering sigh, he kept his observations to himself. He did eventually suggest that they play with wooden tokens instead of gold. For practice. Not because he was being fleeced by the world’s most innocent cheater.

At the center of the table, Neve was chatting with Emmrich. Emmrich was curious about how Neve’s investigative methodology might apply to scholarly inquiries. Neve talked him through her process—how she gathered clues, mapped them out on her board, and came up with theories.

“How marvelous!” Emmrich said. “It’s just like drafting a thesis. I’m sure you’d make an excellent scholar, Neve.”

“I hate to tell you this, Professor, but I used to fall asleep in my classes at the Circle,” Neve replied wryly. “I’m less of a thinker and more of a doer.”

“It takes all kinds of contributions to produce an academic treatise,” Emmrich countered. “Experimentation might be more to your taste.”

“Emmrich, please don’t make me do school work. I’d rather fight an archdemon with a spoon.”

Read more at the link below.

[shouldaspunastory]

For @tevivinter, @lasatfat and @dadrunkwriting

Elgaris 'Elegy' Ingellvar x Lucanis Dellamorte, (SFW, Pining, First date, first kiss) 1651 words.

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It’s not that Elgaris is ashamed of their body. Not anymore. You don’t put that much work into decorating something you don’t care about. Elgaris’s body is a tapestry of careful and purposeful scars artfully recreating the skeletal structure beneath skin, fat, and muscle, a few accidental scars that tell the story of what the battles and close calls they have survived, and the twin pink lines beneath each pectoral- their proudest and hardest earned- the battle for peace in their own body and to live as their most authentic self.

It's still a little surreal, still sometimes finds them lingering a moment longer than necessary in front of the full-length mirror after stepping out of the bath, eyes following the trail of water drops as they slide down their flat chest to their belly. But finally, for the first time in their life everyone else can see the person they always knew was inside. And if they don’t like what they see? Elgaris is secure enough not to be bothered by it.

This, though… it’s different.

Lucanis sees them. Of course he does. He always has, but tonight…

Elgaris can feel their heart hammering against their ribs as they slowly make their way down the hall from their quarters to the library and main living space. They take a slow, trembling breath, steadying themselves, then another. They focus on the cool stone beneath their feet with each step, a soft smile playing at the corners of their mouth as their dress swishes about them, the faintest whisper of the silks with each step.

“Holy crap,” Taash gapes as Elgaris steps out onto the terrace, eyes wide as they take in their new attire. “Lucanis seen that yet,” the qunari asks. Elgaris shakes their head, a gentle blush coloring the tips of their ears where they poke out from beneath their tight blonde spirals which free from any immediate concerns of conflict or work for them to interfere with, aren’t pulled back into their usual ponytail, but instead, hang loosely framing their face and ticking bare shoulders, a simple braid pulling back those few stubborn shorter pieces that would otherwise fall into their eyes.

“Omigosh, Rook, you look so pretty,” Lace exclaims excitedly as she makes her way to the top of the stairs.

“Yeah,” Taash agrees awkwardly. Clearly no better at compliments when the feelings are strickly platonic than they seem to be in what Elgaris has observed lately between them and their dwarven companion, though Lace doesn't seem too troubled by it.

“Thank you,” Elgaris smiles softly, the blush creeping up into their cheeks now, ducking their gaze shyly to their feet and the small, intricately embroidered flowers that adorn the dress- chrysanthemums, poppies, marigolds, dahlias, lilacs, carnations, lilies, roses, forget-me-nots, orchids, and tulips. Delicate, colorful reminders of the fragility and fleeting nature of life, and immortality and legacy of memory. It is a far cry from their Mourn Watcher robes they have continued to wear even after so long away from the Necropolis, and yet their origin and home is handstitched together into every inch of the fabric here too. “You- you don’t think it’s too much,” the elf asks, a little uncertainly.

“No way,” Lace grins, shaking her head. “You look lovely. I’m glad you bought it. You deserve to feel pretty, to take a moment for yourself. We’ve been doing nothing but running ever since the ritual, you especially.”

“Yeah, this is gonna give Lucanis a heart attack,” Taash add with a chuckle. “I mean, in a good way,” they add with a shrug when Lace looks up at them.

“Go get ‘em kid,” Varric chuckles softly, leaning against the wall to the infirmary with a fond grin. “They’re right, you deserve to have something for yourself and a little happiness in all this mess.” Elgaris nods, nerves soothed a little by their companion’s reassurances as they say their goodnights and make their way across the courtyard to find Lucanis.

“Rook, I thought it was my turn to cook, why is Bellara-“ Lucanis says as the elf opens the door to the kitchen and dining area, before the assassin turns to face them and all words seem to leave him, the silence broken only by Bellara’s soft giggles.

“I asked her to,” Elgaris smiles, quietly thrilled with the way his eyes can’t seem to decide quite where to look, but haven’t once left them since they arrived. “I thought perhaps you and I might go out for the night,” the elf says softly. “Have dinner at Café Pierta and maybe wander the markets together afterwards,” they suggest hopefully. “Unless you’d rather stay in,” Elgaris adds after a moment when Lucanis still hasn’t said anything.

“No,” Lucanis replies quickly shaking his head, taking several stumbling steps forward to close the gap between them, the slightest distortion, a chorus of his own voice and Spite’s as they answer them bringing another soft smile to the elf’s face as she watches him. “No,” he repeats as he stops in front of them, dragging his gaze back up from the low plunge of their dress that highlights the skeletal patterned scars over their clavicle, sternum, and ribs to meet their large violet eyes, sparkling with hope, tenderness, and an inescapable partiality that makes Lucanis’s stomach do flips. “A night out with you sounds… perfect,” Lucanis confesses softly with a smile that makes Elgaris feel weak at the knees.

“Meirda,” Lucanis whispers softly, shaking his head softly, still not breaking eye contact with them. “Should I go change? I feel like I should go change. I’m not sure I have anything here that’s-“ the assassin mutters softly.

“Lucanis,” Elgaris interrupts softly, one of their small hands reaching out to clasp his own and offering it a reassuring squeeze. “You look fine,” they reassure him with a fond and patient smile, “handsome as ever.”

“Yes, but you look...“ Lucanis starts to protest, barely registering the compliment in his urgency to somehow prove himself worthy of their company, “like you stepped out of a dream,” the assassin breathes before Elgaris can say anything more, causing the elf to blush furiously.

“Oh,” Elgaris manages softly, briefly registering a stifled, gleeful squeal from behind Bellara’s hand clamped tight over her mouth as she is clearly doing her best trying to pretend to be busy with the dinner preparations for the rest of their companions during this exchange, rather than the reality, which is that the elf is likely taking meticulous notes for their next attempt at a romance serial. “Do you dream of me often,” the elf replies, before immediately kicking themselves for not thinking before opening their mouth. Why in the Fade did they say that?

“YES,” Spite answers before Lucanis can reply or protest, causing the assassin to wince a little in a way that makes the answer clear even to Bellara who doesn’t have the luxury Elgaris does as a skilled Mourn Watcher of being able to hear Spite. Elgaris, at least, has the good grace not to laugh at his expense.

“Never anything as good as this though,” Lucanis says softly, looking down to where their hands still clasp his own with a small smile, his thumb gently rubbing the back of their hand. “Shall we? If you’re sure I’m dressed well enough to be seen with you,” Lucanis says, gesturing towards the door. Elgaris nods, still smiling, still holding his hand as they make their way to the Eluvian that will bear them on to Treviso.

“I’m relatively certain we’re awake,” Elgaris says softly with a smile as they take their seats at the café a short while later.

“Oh? Because of the coffee,” Lucanis asks, taking another slow and grateful sip from his cup. Elgaris waits for him to swallow and set the cup back down on the table before answering with a mischievous smile, emboldened by their date and the way he’s scarcely been able to take his eyes off them since they walked into the dining hall.

“Because in my dreams, we’re usually kissing,” Elgaris whispers. Lucanis inhales sharply, eyes snapping open, pupils blown wide as he stares back at them.

“Rook- Elegy, I-“ Lucanis replies hoarsely, momentarily glancing out towards the canals, looking embarrassed.

“NO,” Spite interrupts. “ROOK OPENS DOORS. STOP CLOSING THEM.”

Elgaris does their best to suppress a smile at the spirit scolding the assassin’s hesitation and self-doubts.

“I’m sorry I ran off,” Lucanis whispers softly, still looking slightly shamed despite his spirit’s dressing down and the elf’s patience.

“It’s alright,” Elgaris replies gently. Of course, it had confused them. Frustrated them. To have come so very close to what the pair of them had seemed to be dancing around for so long, to what Elgaris had scarcely allowed themselves to dream they might have, let alone to find it amid all this. But hearing him speak with some of their other companions, talking to Spite when they had freed them both from the prison of his own mind, they’ve come to understand it. That he might be as unsure, as anxious about irrevocably ruining things between them and losing them as Elgaris is, maybe even more so. The fear lingers, even now. But the hope, the pull around their heart in his direction is stronger. “Stay with me now,” the elf asks hopefully, mindful of their cups as they reach across the table to clasp his hand in theirs as his eyes lift back up to meet theirs.

“I can’t begin to imagine what you see in me,” Lucanis admits shaking his head softly, “but I pray you never stop seeing it.”

“Never,” Elgaris promises fondly, a brilliant smile taking over their face as Lucanis stands and rounds the table, still holding their hand and gently tugging them up to their feet, before pulling them into his arms for a soft, tender kiss.

[kirain]

@redheadsramblings Part 18 of my appreciation project. Just a little thank you for all the likes and reblogs!

Rowan walked the winding path outside the Lighthouse, her steps slow and unsteady. The cool breeze whisked through her dark-scarlet hair, but she barely felt it. Her head hung low, her eyes locked on the ground as her thoughts turned over and over.

Elgar'nan was defeated. The battle was over.

Soon, everyone would be leaving. Bellara back to her people, Lucanis to the Crows, Taash to wherever they pleased. Even Emmrich, who unlike her was well regarded in Nevarra, would have to return eventually. It was his home, the Mourn Watch his family. Though she too was a member, he was a professor; renowned, respected. They came from the same Necropolis, yet they lived worlds apart—worths apart. His life was written in gilded ink, while hers had been scrawled in the dirt.

"I'll miss you," she winced, her voice pained and quiet.

She had always known, despite his assurances. Their companionship, their love—it was fleeting, a fire kindled in the dark, meant to warm them for a time, but never to last.

She didn't belong with him.

He'd built himself up from nothing, and now he was something. A man who had saved the world, the Fade, the living and the dead. A teacher, a scholar, an expert, a symbol. Rowan was none of that and less—a reject, nudged out of the Order before they even met. Despite her accomplishments with the Veilguard, that shame would follow her, and inevitably mark him.

Surely he wouldn't allow it. For his own sake, for his reputation, he'd need to walk away.

Her fingers clenched against her sleeves as she accepted it. It wasn't fair to feel abandoned. No one owed her anything, least of all him. Her friends had fought beside her, laughed with her, held her when the weight of loss overwhelmed her. That had been enough. More than enough.

More than she deserved.

Yet, it still felt as though the ground was crumbling beneath her, ready to give way at any moment.

With a heavy sigh, she stopped in her tracks and shook her head. "Enough, Rowan," she told herself. "They all have lives, and you weren't a part of them until the Veilguard. We'll... write to each other. It'll be fine."

Suddenly, movement ahead caught her eye—Emmrich sat on a bench, with Manfred standing beside him, the skeleton's bones clicking softly as he shifted. They rarely left the interior of the Lighthouse, but Emmrich seemed lost in thought, and she didn't wish to disturb him. She stepped back, careful not to make a sound, but before she could turn away, a gust of wind sent a piece of parchment flying straight into her face.

She sputtered, pulling it away, about to crumple it—until she saw the words that had been penned.

A halo crowns your brow in crimson light,

Like rubies kissed by dawn's embrace so bright.

Your laughter, warm, turns sorrow into flight,

Yet shadows linger, whispered out of sight.

Your emerald eyes, a tide both fierce and deep,

Would pull me under, drowning with a smile.

If such a fate is love's own vow to keep,

Then let me sink and stay a long, sweet while.

I know the ghosts that whisper in your mind,

The echoes of a past that let you fall.

But here I stand, steadfast, forever kind,

No fate nor fire shall break this oath at all.

So burn, my love, shine bright, let sadness cease—

For in my arms, you'll always rest in peace.

Rowan's breath hitched, the words blurring as tears welled in her eyes.

He had written this. For her.

Overcome with emotion, she pressed a trembling hand to her mouth, her heart racing. Then, she walked towards him, her legs weak. She didn't know what she'd say, but she wanted to thank him—somehow. No one had ever seen her this way, described her so beautifully.

Manfred saw her first and clapped, his jaw hanging loose in excitement. "Rook!" he cried. "Rook, Rook, Rook, Rook!"

Emmrich turned sharply at the sound. When he saw Rowan, he smiled—warm and easy, but it faltered when he noticed her tears. He stood immediately, closing the distance between them.

"Rowan? What's wrong? Are you all right?"

She nodded, swallowing thickly. She tried to speak, but she could only muster the strength to hold up the parchment. Emmrich's gaze flickered to it, then back to her, and almost at once, his ears and cheeks blushed a vibrant red.

"O-oh," he stammered, looking away with such a shy expression that Rowan's own nerves coiled in ecstasy. "That was... a draft. You weren't meant to... that is to say... it wasn't finished. I couldn't quite—"

Rowan's eyes drifted past him, landing on the bench. A pile of parchment lay beside where he'd been sitting, each page covered in ink. Some had words crossed out, others were crumpled at the edges.

He'd been writing for hours.

Quiet sobs tore from her throat and, without hesitation, she wrapped her arms around the flustered man, her fingers curling into his coat.

Emmrich stilled only for a moment before he let out a soft breath and hugged her back, his hand threading through her silken hair—strands he cherished. He knew she'd been worrying, doubting herself, assuming she'd be discarded, and it broke him. He wanted to surprise her, to prove his devotion, and though this wasn't how he'd planned it, he had succeeded.

"You're not alone, Rowan," he whispered. "You'll never be alone again."

She buried her face in his chest, feeling the chill of her fears melt away. "Do you mean that?"

He smiled, tightening his embrace. "I promise, my darling. Never again."

[wardensantoineandevka]

y'know, maybe it's just because I love and really enjoy characters like Illario and relationships like his and Lucanis's, and I'm often a fool who hopes even burnt bridges can be mended, even if they're different now, but—

I do NOT understand it when people who DO spend time understanding and articulating that Illario is a complicated person whose motivations are tangled, his feelings toward Lucanis are messy and contradictory, he clearly carries and has to continue to carry a lot of grief and regret and heartache alongside that rage and resentment and bitterness, and the entire situation is full of a deep and often self-inflicted pain from all sides, and then they turn around and go, "And that's why Illario is an awful and despicable person who should suffer forever because it is the righteous and just hell for terrible monsters like him, and he should know a moment's peace and rest, and his soul should rot forever as he morally deserves because he's clearly incapable of getting better." (Not an exact quote, but I HAVE seen some these specific phrases and still this is not at all exaggerating some sentiment I've personally seen.)

Keeping in mind that like, this is different from wanting his life to be a living hell of his own design as a Put That Guy In A Situation and because it's interesting to gnaw on the idea of him having to carry that burden forever (same), I mean, when people acknowledge the complexity of his situation and how complicated and contradictory his relationship is to Lucanis and his tangled emotions about a cousin he seems to still love, and then they STILL vindictively want him to suffer bc they feel he's irredeemable and rotten and horrific to the depths of his soul. I don't personally and emotionally get that. (Do not take this as an opportunity to explain it to me. I see where it comes from intellectually. I don't comprehend it emotionally.)

I don't get this perspective on Illario especially when this is a game about how none of us are doomed to be that which we've become, none of us are doomed to play the villain we think we must be if we accept our own redemption, none of us are undeserving of a second chance or beyond saving if we only just take the hand when it is offered—and he is, after all, at Minrathous.

[victias]

My take on the letter from tearstone island prompt I've seen so many amazing fics of (if anyone knows who first did this please lmk so i can credit)

My Dearest Lucanis,

If you are reading this I did not return from Tearstone Island, if I am honest I always believed that this job would claim my life and maybe on some level that is why I accepted it, almost two years ago now, gods it seems like a lifetime. But this letter isn’t about me, not really, its about you. 

There is so much I wish I had been brave enough to tell you face to face despite you changing the subject every time I tried, well you cant redirect a dead woman so I’m saying it now and you’ll just have to brood about it ha! My soul has never felt as at peace as it does in your presence, my smile never as big, my laugh never as free, you have made me feel seen in a way that i never thought possible and I need you to know.

I wish I could help you see yourself as I see you, not only handsome but strong, resilient, kind, you use your training not only to spot weaknesses in your targets but to learn about those around you, how Emmrich likes his tea, picking out the perfect cape for Taash, and my churros, rarely do you ever have to ask but when you need to you do without hesitation, always willing to learn, to be there for those around you. You are determined and protective, more times than I can count you have saved my life. You care so deeply  though you try to hide it and give second chances even when people maybe don’t deserve them – yes i mean Illario (seriously watch your back there lest you join me sooner than your time), your witt is so fast and your heart so big. I truly never deserved the attention you gave me, the gentleness in your voice as we spoke and the way your concerned eye, makers breath your beautiful brown eyes, would linger on me when I would say I was fine and you knew I was hiding my pain, you always knew.

And Spite, you have grown so much, learned so much and whilst doing so you never cease to make me laugh. Your confidence in me to help Lucanis when he most needed it touched my heart in a way I can never truly express, to be trusted by a demon is a honour I never expected in this life, just know that it is mutual. I trust you with my life, Spite and more than that I trust you with Lucanis'. You have so much to offer each other despite this situation you were both forced in to and I hope you continue to make deal after deal until you find that perfect harmony. I am sorry I won’t be there to see it.

There is so much more I wish I could write, but we leave soon and I don’t have the time. Know that I love you. That the time we have spent together, reading, drinking coffee, holding hand, sharpening knives, me ‘helping' you cook, the simplest of things, have been the happiest of my life and I wouldn’t change it for the world.

I love you, always

‘Rook’

PS. A first kiss, I think, would have tasted like coffee and cinnamon, not honey and lavender cream.

[mrsdellamorte]

Codex Day 11: Letter from Rook to their love interest

A Letter to The First Talon

No drawings are on this sealed letter. The wax seal is stamped with ‘A.L.M’ for -Althea Loren Mercar- on orange parchment, with hints of lavender in the folds

Dear Lucanis,

As I’m writing this, you’re fast asleep next to me. You look so peaceful… beautiful even. You deserve that and more after everything you’ve gone through. Thank you for trusting me enough to see you this way.

The last few weeks have been so jarring between saving the clan, dealing with Aelius, clearing out Invenci and the Antaam-it’s hard to find a second to breathe. So, this letter is just to say thank you.

From the moment we saved you from The Ossuary, you haven’t left my side. I was nervous at first, that you felt as if you had to, like you owed me a debt. But now, looking back now, I’m so grateful you were there.

In the midst of all this chaos, with the weight of the world possibly ending, to know you were always within an arms reach or deflecting a blow I didn’t see, squeezing my hand through my panic-I wouldn’t have made it this far without you.

And tomorrow, we face the impossible, stopping the gods at Tearstone Island. With you by my side I feel I can conquer anything, and I know you don’t do promises but… I will do everything I can to keep you safe. I vow that to you. We will make it through this together.

You have brightened my life in ways I can’t even describe. To know you is a joy, to be known by you is something I will never take for granted. You have shown me so much patience, love and care, and that extends to Amalia as well. Thank you. You always make things better whether you know it or not. I hope you do. Thank you for being you.

Tomorrow, I’m not sure how things will go, and just in case I don’t have the chance to say:

My heart is yours. It’s been yours since I saw you unlocking the gate in Minrathous.

I love you.

-Althea

[lagunapoint]

I finished Vows and Vengeance, and below is a stream of consciousness, thoughts, tears, and spoilers for the podcast. Sit down next to me oh I have so much to tell you

I cried at the end of the podcast. And I was putting off listening to the last episode I didn't want it to end. Silly, right? I got attached to the podcast, to the characters, the atmosphere, to the way I could just disconnect from the world and not use up almost any energy.

I was just sitting there with a cup of chamomile tea, hoping it and the podcast would help me reach nirvana, but instead of peace and the reunion of the main characters, I was wiping away tears and gave up any hope of going to bed early. This is why I love the Dragon Age plots and characters.

And it’s so familiar, that bitter acceptance at the end… when you're wiping away tears but realizing that life goes on? That evil was defeated, but your heart is lying in pieces in the corner? And you just have to move on?

She tried so hard to save him. Nadia. She did everything she could. She learned to accept herself, the people around her, others' care and help. Do you think the Nadia we heard in the first episode would have trusted Lucanis or Emmrich so quickly? Or left him alone to perform the ritual? She deserved happiness. In my metaverse Nadia and Elio were supposed to be together, and Solas spanked. But something went wrong. As always. And I don’t understand. Is there a Solavellan context here, or my rambling become completely incoherent?

Solas is stuck in the Fade. He needs to be saved, right? Lavellan will worry and try to save him. We’re counting on a happy ending.

Nadia's beloved is stuck in the Fade. She worries and tries to save him. And what? He’s dead. She couldn’t save him because he died almost immediately and there was never any hope, to begin with. haha thanks a lot.

I’m trying, trying, I really am trying not to connect things that have no connection. But. But I can't help but stir up this storm inside me and project the story onto Solas and Lavellan. And I'm vibrating and shaking because it’s tearing apart my canon, my heart, and I can’t think about it anymore.

Yes, it was a great story. I want a second season. I want more of these audio dramas. I’m waiting for the game, but I loved listening and doing little rituals before each session, whether it was a cup of tea, a box of chocolates, or a short post here. It was awesome. How about you? :)