#[ and it's not like lucanis is making this easy ]

[dejareves]

hearth cakes

for Bellara Appreciation Week 2025, day one: elven traditions, magic. Davrin crashed the party, hope she won’t mind

1.8K words | One bad word, otherwise G | Bellara & Davrin

It's the smell that gets his attention first. Warm, a little sweet, a little char. Considering his room usually smells like sawdust and dander, it's not a bad change. And… familiar, but he can't place it. He ignores it at first—Lucanis has been on a bread kick lately. It's probably some version of that roll he's made with dinner a few times recently. But after twenty minutes, half an hour, curiosity gets the better of him. And hunger.

"Be right back, boy," he says. Assan, sprawled comfortably by the fire, cracks an eye and doesn't move. Yeah, yeah. Maybe he's tired because he was up squawking for food at fuck-o'-clock in the morning. Who woulda thought?

The smell gets stronger as he nears the dining hall. He was wrong. It's too sweet to be the rolls. But he knows it. What is that?

It's not Lucanis in the kitchen when Davrin swings open the door, but Bellara.

She's got her head down, eyes focused on the stove but mumbling to herself the way she does when she's splitting attention between what her hands are doing and what her brain is. And the smell. Two steps in, and it hits him.

"Hey," he says, and she jumps. Whoops. Probably should have seen that coming.

"Oh! Davrin. Hi! Sorry. I didn't hear you come in. I was making these for later but… you want one? The ones on the plate over there are probably cool enough to eat, by now."

It's not a big pile, yet. It looks like most of her dough is still in the bowl. But on the plate, unmistakable: hearth cakes .

"Lucanis and I were at the market this morning and one of the stalls had this enormous basket of raisins, and I just…" She glances up at him, smiles faintly, shrugs. "I don't know. Just felt like a taste of home, I guess. Did your clan make them?"

"Yeah." Weekly, at least. The hahren and a few others around the fire, making enough to wrap in leaves for the hunters' packs before they left the next morning. Good luck. Be safe. Come back. They looked a little different than these. Bellara's got a large skillet over the flame. Back home, they used to flip the lid of a stew pot, and it had taken some abuse over the years, so there were always a few spots just a little softer than the rest. But otherwise… yeah. Just the same.

"We usually used cranberries, if we could get them. In Orlais, I mean. They were my dad's favorite and he made them the best so he got to pick." She's still working as she goes. Plops a dab more butter into the skillet and swirls it around, another mound of dough that starts to sizzle on contact. "Cyrian was so weird about it, he hated cranberries—who hates cranberries, right?—so he'd pick all of his out and give them to me. We, um…" Her easy smile falters. She holds the back of the spoon against one edge that's spreading a little too far, keeps it in place until it starts to set.

"Anyway. I saw the raisins and I just thought, well, close enough! So. Hearth cakes. I hope everyone likes them."

"They'll like them." Well, they might not taste like not much to Taash. They'll probably have to cut Harding off, though. Rook, too.

Bellara flips the cake. Davrin inhales through his nose. Vanilla. Cinnamon. Butter.

"We used whatever," he says. "Didn't get cranberries too much. But raisins, apricots. I always liked the dried apple best."

She blinks up at him, attention briefly caught. "Ooh, I've never tried it with apples! That sounds really good though. If these come out okay, maybe I can try that next time."

"It is good."

Flip again. Done. On to the plate. More butter. More dough. "You don't want one? I made a double batch, there should be plenty. If they come out, anyway. We'll see." She watches the dough spread, slow, start to settle and form up from the outside in.

"They look right to me." Davrin works one out from a little further down the pile. Still warm in his hands, but not enough to burn. Smells right, too. Feels right. Just the right amount of crisp.

Bellara's face scrunches up, a sheepish grimace. "We don't have the halla butter, obviously. I just used regular. It seemed kind of silly to go all the way out to Arlathan to ask Irelin if I could have butter but… well, I hope it doesn't change the flavor too much.

Davrin wouldn't have thought it was silly, but… yeah. Okay. "Next time I visit Eldrin, I'll ask him for you. Bet he has plenty."

"Oh, thanks! That'd be great. It's just… I mean, it's not a huge difference, but it's not the same, you know?"

He knows.

Flip. Hiss. Sizzle.

Bellara is watching him, expectant. "Well?" she prompts. "Try it! I mean if they taste alright to you that's pretty much it, right? It's not like anyone else is gonna know. We can just tell them it's supposed to taste like that!"

He's… not sure why he's hesitating. It's a hearth cake. Flour, sugar, salt, milk. Same all over Thedas, apparently. He never really helped make them, but he remembers watching. Remembers how impatient they all used to get, waiting for the dough to rise. Felas'gen'adahl, the hahren always told them. Cool it. At the time, she'd been the oldest person he'd ever seen. He can't decide, now, if she really was that old or just…old to him.

Bellara—still waiting. Eager, weight up on the balls of her feet and bouncing just a little, lips curled in on themselves like that's what's gonna hold back the question again, if he doesn't get moving.

He gets moving. Takes a bite. And just like that—like some kind of magic—he's home again. Ten years old. Underfoot, impatient, bored to tears by the same old stories but not so much that he won't ride them out for the snack waiting at the end.

She makes it… ten seconds? Fifteen? "Soooo?"

Davrin chews. Swallows. Clears his throat. "They're good."

"Great! Whew, okay. I mean, it's not like they're hard. How wrong can you go? But it's one of those things, right? It never tastes the way you remember it unless you make it exactly the same. I was really worried about the butter."

He can actually taste the difference, with the butter. It doesn't matter.

The one on the skillet is done. She slides it onto the plate, dampens the fire with a wave, sets the skillet to the side, wipes her hands on an apron dusted with flour. "I was gonna wait until they were all finished, but since you're here… I mean, might as well appreciate it with someone who gets it, right?"

She's quiet for a few minutes, tugging one out from the bottom of the pile with two careful fingers, leaning back against the table next to him, chewing. He'd been expecting a review after the first bite, but Bellara’s far away.

"It's my dad's birthday," she says, eventually. She looks out towards the door, not at him. "Tomorrow, not today, but when I saw the raisins, they just reminded me so much of him and…"

Davrin takes another bite. A small one. He doesn't want to rush it.

"I hope the letter I sent got there in time. I miss being there, for things like this. Not that it's not amazing, everything I've seen in Arlathan, but—"

"You give stuff up," he says.

Bellara looks at him now, a quick glance sideways. "Yeah."

"My clan did this thing, when the hunters were going out. A couple of the elders would make a big batch to wrap up and put in their packs while they were gone."

Her smile is warm and wistful. "That's really nice. To remind them of the clan?"

"And bribe them to come back. They were good."

Davrin's mother had been…furious, when he'd made up his mind to leave. Not surprised—he didn't think anyone was, by then. But so angry she could hardly look at him for the days leading up to it. She'd made a point to leave with the rest of the hunters in her group before the sun was up that morning, so she wouldn't have to watch him go.

That was fine. The way she'd said goodnight the evening before, he'd kind of expected it. She'd always been like that. His father had been dead for years, by then. It was Eldrin who'd walked him as far as the nearest trade road, winding west out of Tantervale.

He'd gone until he felt like his legs were going to give out that first day. He'd had a plan: Hasmal first. Find some work, enough to buy passage up the river to Hunter Fell. Then—Orlais? South. Probably south. Maybe it wasn't a particularly comprehensive plan, but it was a plan.

He'd made camp a little ways into the woods, far enough from the road to stay out of sight. Unrolled his bedroll, fished around for the bundle of jerky he'd tucked in the middle so it'd stay dry—

—found the hearth cakes, nestled in beside it. Wrapped in leaves. Four days worth. Just enough for one hunter's pack.

Good luck. Be safe. Come back.

Bellara's watching him, head cocked. Curious, but also maybe a little knowing. She's got her cake still held lightly in her hands, half eaten.

Davrin clears his throat, swallows the rest of his in one bite. "These are good too," he says, after. "Really good."

Her smile is kind. "Good. I'm glad."

"Thanks for making them."

"Any time." Her own bite, now. Small. Chews. Looks thoughtfully at the dough still resting in the bowl, the streaks of flour and sugar across the tabletop.

And then: "Oh! Did your clan make mushroom soup? That was, like… every other dinner for us in the fall."

"I hated mushroom soup. Tasted like dirt."

Bellara laughs, head tipped back. Lets out a heavy, wistful sigh. "It did," she says. "It did always taste a little bit like dirt. Okay, so maybe I won't make that one."

"Maybe not," he agrees. Davrin nods his chin towards the bowl. "The cakes, though."

"So good. Yeah. I definitely want to try the apples next time. Oh! Or remember that fruit Taash brought back a couple weeks ago, the mango?"

He's not much of a chef, unless you count campfire oats and strip jerky. But he stays anyway, keeps Bellara company, helps her clean up when she's done and the plate is wrapped up for later. Grimaces when she brings up some forest stew that apparently started with bugs. Not a Marches thing.

"Thanks for this," she says to him on their way out, for some reason.

"For eating your food? Hey, if I gotta.”

"For talking. Nobody else gets it, and sometimes it's just… nice to remember where we came from. You know?"

Not always. But today—yeah. He knows.

- - -

Notes:

Felas'gen'adahl = slow (tree) roots. Made up with the help of the Elvhen Project Dictionary. Used to mean “be patient” (not ‘chill out’, Davrin.)

Hearth cakes are from Dragon Age: Tastes of Thedas.

[void-bitten-ghost]

Thinking about Lucanis going back to that brothel. Thinking about him seeking out that card player for something so stupid he refuses to ask thier name out of sheer embarrassment.

"How much for an hour of your time?"

"A whole hour?" Not-Rook grins, brow practically up in thier hairline. "Feeling a bit ambitious tonight, I see."

Thier current company, a busty woman with a feather scarf in thier lap, snickers. Lucanis doesn't rise to it.

"I need advice," he relents. "And I know your time is valuable."

"Huh." They sit up, gently helping the woman to her wobbly feet. "That's a first."

They stand themselves, much more stable but hiding it under the guise of merry drunkeness. They give a flouncy wave and a blown kiss to the rest of the table.

"Alright, birdy. Let's go somewhere you're more comfortable talking."

They go upstairs, into a series of hallways with many a closed door, and thankfully the entertainer facade drops. They enter the second door from the end and the silence stretches as Lucanis tries to put together the sentence that best says what he wants it to without making himself look like an idiot.

Remember this is younger Lucanis. Wee lamb. Still figuring out some things about himself but needing to be the best Crow he can.

The silence is near unbearable. They shift in thier seat on the end of the plush bed. One he hadn't even noticed but really should have. He knew the exits (a window just beyond, another back at the end of the hall), sure, but knowing the obstacles was probably just as beneficial.

"You know, an hour isn't that lo--"

"I need to know how to kiss someone properly," he barrels ahead, arms crossed and fingers tapping on his elbow. And Rook-but-Not just stills, mouth slightly agape, brows crinkled in a concerned sort of curiosity.

"I have a contract," he states, as if that clears up everything.

"Riiiight." They look at him, all tense muscle and evident sleep deprivation, and decide to throw him a bone.

They pat the bed next to them. "Alright. Come here."

"That wont be necessary. I just need instruction--"

"No you don't, Birdy," they sigh, and they see the nickname grates at him. They love that. "You need guidance. And you ain't gonna get that from six feet away."

They pat the bed again, scooting over as to not crowd the man who looks about ready to bolt. "Sit. I don't bite unless I'm asked to."

That, surprisingly, gets a snort. Quite a nice reward to be honest. Felt properly earned.

He shakes his head, looks like he's about to leave, maybe leap out the window, and then slowly, in measured strides, makes his way over to sit.

"Okay," they grin, weirdly proud of him for deciding to stay. "So. You need... kissing? Lessons?"

"Meirda, it sounds even worse when you say it--"

"No no no, this is some weird, deadly, Crow business yeah?"

He nods.

"Then you need to do it right the first time," they encourage, turning to him, one leg folded under them. "It's not easy, you know. It's a skill like any other. Right--" they lean forward, think better of it, sit back with thier legs crossed rogue-ishly under thier elegant robes. A glint of Something in thier eye at spending thier time doing something different for a change.

"Okay. Let me try and explain--"

After the second hour of learning 'proper tongue placement and maneuvers' Lucanis feels like his plan for some simple training has run away from him.

They're clinical about it, which puts him at ease. As much at ease as he can be at least, given the situation. And they only touch him to tap his jaw once, telling him to relax the muscles there.

In the end, Lucanis has enough theory to write a full report on the subject of, of all things, kissing.

"Why didn't you just ask that brother of yours? He clearly gets around."

"Cousin," Lucanis sighs. "And he'd be insufferable about it."

"Ah."

"Thank you for your help."

"No problem. The Old Lady downstairs takes the payments. Oh wait--" They ruffle their own hair before leaning over to do the same to him, and strangely enough, he lets them.

"Need to look like something happened," they explain, purposely rubbing thier eyes to smudge their make-up down their cheeks. "The old lady likes to overcharge if she thinks we're just taking up a room for no reason."

All in all, that is one of the most bizarre nights Lucanis has for a good long while

[vaguely-concerned]

the barista lady in the treviso café fucking giggles every time you buy the fancy coffee lucanis likes from her btw. can't believe the game is calling out rook and me like this

[lordgeneralsix]

I can't be the only one who thinks it's so lame that spite ultimately had 0 effect on lucanis whereas the writers made anders suffer for just wanting to live.

[rowanisawriter]

overripe

rook/lucanis, food as a metaphor for love and ust, 2.3k words

.

Lucanis spears a piece of peach with his fork. There is no resistance. The peach is soft enough to fall apart with just a look. “I think perhaps the fruit was overripe. Just a touch. It isn’t a concern,” he adds quickly. “It still tastes good.”

Fahad frowns down at the pie. “What? We tested all the fruit.”

“One bruised piece must have passed our notice. This type of thing happens when I’m at the market with others.”

“Did I distract you?”

Lucanis shrugs. “Perhaps we can say this small piece of bruised fruit is a price to pay for your company. And,” he adds, looking down at his pie. “I would pay the price every time.”

[proffbon]

Me after finishing a Veilguard playthrough:

Okay, technically I still need to do the final quest but after that it's another one for sure. I just don't know which one to go for.

(Honest/Humorous/Stoic is basically Blue/Purple/Red personality-wise but matching to Veilguard's descriptions for each personality)

[lliquidllyrium]

I like seeing my favs happy as much as the next guy but like sometimes it’s not about a happy ending for me it’s about the most interesting conflict and Lucanis sticking with the job and all the drama that comes with it is ten times more interesting in that regard if I want a runaway crow I simply already have Zevran

[collegeoflore]

i feel sick they’re soooo…….

[spitedriven]

ah yes, the dagger lucanis gave viago.

i'm generally running with: lucanis wanted to show interest in viago and had a poisoner's dagger commissioned. he hadn't yet found His Blacksmith™ so while the work was excellent, it wasn't perfect. you can see in lucanis' romance, he does make a dessert especially for rook, but it's not followed with any sort of romantic talk on his part--rook's the one leading the conversation that way, saying how much that means to them, with lucanis downplaying the gesture entirely. lucanis has difficulty expressing his feelings, so i imagine the scene went something like this:

lucanis hands viago a dagger with little more than a "here, i got this for you"

viago, with a sharp eye for fine things, begins critiquing the dagger

lucanis, both flustered yet not one to wilt when hurt, asks for the dagger back

viago claims that since the dagger is a gift, it's rude to ask for it back

lucanis leaves, frustrated

lucanis' takeaway is that he's bad at romantic gestures. also, that the fastest way to the heart is still through the fourth and fifth ribs, despite what anyone says.

[taamlok]

taash asking lucanis how to cook food muireann likes is so funny because this diva lives off dried fruit, nuts, spicy noodles and bread like 90% of the time

[lavenderprose]

Thank you God and also Jesus for giving Emmrich the most rizz of any character in this game. It would have been so easy to make the goth academic fifty-year-old the butt of every 'awkward loser' joke that anyone even slightly to the wrong side of nerdy has ever heard. Instead he's a fucking beacon of game in a sea of thirty somethings with crippling social issues. Neve says 'I love you' like someone is forcing her to do it at gunpoint, Davrin does nothing but hookups because he's decided he's constantly seven seconds away from death, Harding is repressed as fuck, and don't even get me STARTED on Lucanis. My man has cried through every orgasm he's ever had.

Meanwhile Emmrich's making wisps dance for Rook and taking them on romantic cemetery dates and making tender love to them in a COFFIN. He KNOWS Rook is into him and he immediately lets them know it. He's fun and funny because he likes dead things and books a bit too much but he can also look at you from across the room and stroke a finger over his mustache and you KNOW where you'll be sitting at the end of the night. Unambiguously this man fucks. Thank you for my life Sylvia Feketekuty.

[merrinla]

More finds in the cut content. What's interesting is that this is post-game content. I don't know if these are pieces of DLC or an extended epilogue. Rook and Lucanis drink wine in a gondola. In one version, Lucanis refused to be First Talon and left the crows. The Viper arrives to Treviso to hire Lucanis to kill the local Venatori. The lines in the localization file are out of order. I've organized them as best I could, but I'm not sure if everything is correct.

The gondola scene

Rook: What are we celebrating? Revenge? Saving the world? Lucanis: How about a quiet moment? Rook: Is it quiet? Really? Lucanis: If it's not quiet, it's at least clear.

Option: If only the Antaam were gone. Rook: Treviso's beautiful. Too bad it's filled with Antaam.

Option: You're surprisingly romantic. Rook: Who knew you were a romantic? Lucanis: You bring it out in me. Rook: Yeah, yeah. I'm a bad influence.

Option: Let's not go back. Rook: Let's stay here forever. Lucanis: A little. Not forever.

Rook: What? No fancy glasses? Lucanis: That's Caterina's style. I'm more pragmatic. Lucanis: Well, more pragmatic than her anyway.

Option: Learn from your elders. Rook: There's nothing wrong with a bit of class. Lucanis: (Chuckles) I'll remember for next time. Rook: Oh yes. This is so pragmatic. Lucanis: I know.

Option: Casual's better. Rook: Less clean up. Rook: That's why we're having drinks in a gondola instead of the kitchen. Lucanis: Knew you'd understand.

Lucanis: Is it wrong? Enjoying ourselves while the Antaam terrorize our home... (Crow Origin) Lucanis: Is it wrong? Enjoying ourselves while the Antaam terrorize Antiva... Rook: Does it feel wrong?

(apparently Rook moved, causing the boat to rock.) Lucanis: Careful. Gondolas are more fashionable than they are stable. Rook: They're plenty sturdy. Rook: See. Nothing to— Rook: Oops? Lucanis: You were saying? Rook: Sorry. Lucanis: (Chuckles) Classic Rook. Rook: Classic Rook, he'll/she'll/tehey'll never change. Rook: I've made things awkward. Lucanis: I like this side of you. Lucanis: More wine? Rook: I saved the wine? Lucanis: (Laughs)

(Talon's version) Rook: How are you settling in as First Talon? Lucanis: There was some initial... friction with Caterina, but she got over it. Lucanis: She thought I'd do things her way and was surprised when I had my own ideas. Rook: Really? You'd think she'd be the most welcoming. Lucanis: No.

Rook: Have you spoken to Caterina or the others? Lucanis: Letters here and there. We haven't met since the party. Lucanis: I don't want to cut ties. Lucanis: But Caterina needs to get used to the fact that I'm no longer her heir. Rook: Are you used to it? Lucanis: I was never comfortable with the role to begin with. Rook: So, no regrets? Lucanis: (Sigh) Rook: It's a yes or no question, Lucanis. Lucanis: It's not. You've enough experience with regret to know that.

Rook: I respect your decision to walk away. Lucanis: It wasn't an easy decision. Lucanis: It was hard. Walking away. Rook: It was hard watching it. Lucanis: Let's not talk about me.

Rook: It's not an interrogation if you care. Lucanis: Why not? I've been thoroughly interrogated. Rook: (Snorts) Is that how it works?

Option: Your priorities have changed. Rook: You've changed your tune. Lucanis: I am. On what's important.

Lucanis: Rook. I owe you. For my life, my freedom.

Option: Consider it paid in full. Rook: That debt was paid when you helped us defeat the elven gods. Lucanis: No. That was a job. What you've done for me...

Option: I needed a mage killer. Rook: I had selfish reasons. Lucanis: Rook. I'm serious. Lucanis: Whatever your reasons...

Lucanis: The Venatori killed the man I was. Lucanis: You put the fight—the life—back into me. Rook: I... Thanks.

Lucanis: If you need someone taken care of... Just say the word. Lucanis: Your enemies are House Dellamorte's enemies. (Talon's line) Lucanis: Your enemies are my enemies.

Option: You make murder sound sweet. Rook: Awww. That's sweet. And scary. Lucanis: Of course those are the same thing to you. Rook: I was only teasing. Lucanis: How am I supposed to argue when you say things like that?

Option: I'll settle for friendship. Rook: Or we could just be friends? No killing required. Rook: I still care about you—as a friend. Lucanis: Didn't want you to get the wrong idea... Lucanis: We're still friends. Lucanis: If that's what you want... Rook: Appreciate it.

(non romance/friendship version?) Rook: Oh, I'm aware. Just haven't figured out what I want in return. Lucanis: (Chuckles) Lucanis: For a price. Rook: And you'll charge me... Lucanis: Like I said—a fair rate. (Talon's line) Lucanis: I'm not a Crow anymore. Rates are negotiable. Rook: Still sounds pretty Crow-y to me.

Rook: It's passed sundown. Lucanis: (Sighs) Rook: Time to go? Lucanis: I've business before we return. Rook: What kind of business? Lucanis: Competitive analysis.

Lucanis: Don't worry. I'll collect. Rook: Fun time over? Lucanis: I've business before we return. Rook: What kind of business? Lucanis: Competitive analysis.

Possibly lines from a subsequent quest.

Rook: Business at a Chantry. Not very Andrastian of you. Lucanis: What in our experience together makes you think I'm a good Andrastian? Rook: (Chuckles) Fair enough.

Rook: You sound like you have a plan. Lucanis: Always another mark. Rook: I take it the Antaam are the subject of this so-called analysis? Rook: Why do I get the feeling there's going to be less "analysis" and more stabby-stab? Lucanis: Keeps Wrath content. (Wrath is Spite's previous name?)

Lucanis: Viago said it'd be a fitting spot. Rook: You've proven it's a good spot for an ambush. Lucanis: And you're loud. Which do you think will attract the Antaam?

Meeting with Ashur. It seems as if Lucanis and the Viper were discussing their business, and then Rook came.

The Viper: If you don't trust my intel— Lucanis: I trust your intel and... Lucanis: Fortunate the Rook is here to save the day. Rook: The Rook can detect sarcasm!

Option: Ashur, you shouldn't be here. Rook: This isn't Minrathous. Rook: Ashur, if the Antaam find out you're here... The Viper: I've paid the right people so that they don't.

Option: You two make quite the pair. Rook: The Viper and the Demon. Sounds like a nursery rhyme to scare children.

The Viper: I was just leaving. Rook: Leaving so soon? Rook: You don't have to. Lucanis and I could show you the sights. Rook: There's wine tasting, Antaam assassinating, gambling— Lucanis: Rook. The Viper: You're ruining Rook's fun. Rook: Think about my offer.

The Viper: Should I pay now or— Lucanis: Just go.

Rook: What did he want? Lucanis: Some of us have work to do. Lucanis: It's about time I take care of things at home.

Rook: Who's the mark? Lucanis: Venatori who fled Minrathous after Elgar'nan's fall. Rook: That's why Ashur was here. Lucanis: He's the one who hired me to dismantle the Venatori in the first place. Lucanis: Might as well finish the job.

The most unclear part. Maybe it's related to the quest to kill the Venatori that Viper pointed out.

Rook: Can't take the huge door. Lucanis: The Venatori are inside. Strike from above and we'll take them by surprise. Rook: Above, eh? Rook: Good thing I'm not afraid of heights.

Rook: Not sure why Antivans even build doors. Rook: We never use them. (Crow Origin) Rook: You never use them. Lucanis: We're the Antivan-fucking-Crows.

Rook: We need to be cautious. Rook: If we're not careful, he'll kill the girl. Lucanis: Not if he's dead.

Lucanis: Focus on the self-important bastard. I'll take care of the rest. Rook: They're all self-important—and why do you get so many? Lucanis: Their predictability makes them easy targets.

Venatori: Two, four, six piggies come to slaughter. Venatori: Be grateful. Your meager existence will serve a higher cause. Rook: I'll show you a higher cause right up your— Venatori: (Grunts!) Venatori: Uh—God killer! Right he— Lucanis: Mage killer. Venatori: (Yells in pain) Rook: Lucanis! That's cheating! Lucanis!

Lucanis: Fucking Venatori. Rook: (Sigh) You can take the blood mages out of Minrathous, but…

[maxx-the-queer]

The Siege at Weisshaupt is honestly one of the best missions of any Dragon Age game, let alone Veilguard.

The stakes are already high: kill an Archdemon and then kill Ghilan'nain.

Killing an Archdemon - the big bad at the end of Origins whose very presence means apocalypse and certain sacrifice - is just the first step to killing an even greater force.

Ghilan'nain - an Ancient Elven Goddess blighted beyond recognition, whose unchecked ambition unleashed great horrors upon the world - is the real threat to face or else the Darkspawn Army will be the least of Thedas' worries.

The leader of the Grey Wardens, the only mortal force who have thus far been able to protect Thedas from utter annihilation, categorically refuses to face reality. Rook only has a ragtag team of half a dozen guys from all over to face an entire Darkspawn army with.

It's exactly as terrifying and daunting as it sounds, and neither task is something anyone treats with any amount of levity. Everyone is confident in their abilities to perform their task and get Lucanis to the right place to finish this contract, but there's no playfulness or divine certainty about their success.

Rook, whose only game plan is "get in and win by any means necessary," is then immediately confronted with the reality of their situation as absolutely everything goes wrong.

The Eluvian isn't where they thought it would be, the Grey Wardens are overwhelmed by Ghilan'nain's forces, and just to add to the sheer horror - there's a young child running through this battlefield of Darkspawn in search of her father and she will not listen to your pleas for her to get to safety.

All of that happens in the first ten minutes of the mission, mind you. This isn't even including the fact that Ghilan'nain appears as a damn spectral cloud face - which Lucanis rightfully points out is who he has to kill and "how am I supposed to kill a damn cloud?!"

Rook runs through the fortress, makes it to the East Battlements and hears the sounding of a horn begging for reinforcements, only to realise that they're the only ones coming and everything is falling apart, but they have no choice but to keep going.

Retreats are called, everywhere Rook goes is the wrong way, the forces are overwhelming beyond measure, and this battle is no longer about killing but surviving, because they're cornered like prey by horrors beyond comprehension.

When all of a sudden, the world's bravest little girl rushes in like a hero and guides them through impossible odds to somewhere with some semblance of safety. She's the only reason they haven't succumbed to death already and despite the waves upon waves of Hurlocks, Spikers, and Ogres - she finds her father.

Thanks to Mila, there's a moment of reprieve. Rook gets a chance to breathe. The Veilguard regroups, replans their approach. Distract Ghilan'nain with the dagger, trap her Archdemon in a dragon trap, and kill it to render her mortal. With time to breathe comes time to doubt, to fear.

A Warden has to die to kill the Archdemon. Davrin knows this, and is ready to go. But is Rook? What if they can't do this? What if this is how they die? Can they even spare the time to think about it?

Regardless, they fight through to the dragon trap. The Archdemon approaches as Rook all but dangles the dagger within reach. She takes the bait and sends her Archdemon forth, it seems all too easy - like putting cheese out for the mice.

The Archdemon is trapped. Davrin says his goodbyes, but the First Warden surges forward insistently. He plans to end this according to tradition. He'll die with dignity, he's not asking for your permission to do what all wardens must. He steps forward. Sword in hand, ready to end the Blight.

Ghilan'nain will not be so easily beat. She will not play by the rules they're used to, and the First Warden does not get to die a hero. She seizes him in her grasp, sucks the life out of him to empower Razikale, and changes the game once more. Her Archdemon is unlike any seen in history, and there's no time to revel in it because it's do or die and Rook cannot afford to die yet.

Every blow brings it closer to death, and therefore Ghilan'nain herself as she becomes more and more desperate. One snakelike head becomes two, becomes three, with blight everywhere - the time is at hand.

Davrin is the only one left who can kill the Archdemon, his death is inevitable, and he's ready to go as he sinks his sword in for the final blow.

Except, if there's one thing this seige should have taught them all, it was this: the rules have changed. Davrin is still standing, and he doesn't have time to think about why, because Ghilan'nain is mortal and the time to strike is now.

Rook tosses the Lyrium Dagger to Lucanis. He surges up, wings of Spite propelling him up to kill a goddess like she's any other target, because it's all that he came here to do.

And then, he misses.

With everything at stake, and everything to lose... Lucanis Dellamorte misses.

They don't have time to try again. If they stay, everyone dies. And so, the Veilguard flees through the Eluvian and back into the Lighthouse. It was a victory, but at what cost?

Nothing is how it's supposed to be. Weisshaupt is fallen. The Wardens are scattered. Razikale is dead, Ghilan'nain is mortal. And yet...

It wasn't enough.

[antivancathedral]

Even if you don't subscribe to the idea that Spite also loves Rook....he and Lucanis share a body. The body that is having sex with Rook. Like Spite also lives in there. Are we all getting that

Okay Lucanis fandom, we need to have a discussion because “he’s like a single dad to Spite” and wanting Spite to possess him in order to have sex with Rook are not things that can coexist.

[bossuary]

Neve is painless. Rook is real.

Lucanis likes Neve because she represents what he is desperate to regain. He wants to feel normal, to work and cook and focus on the things he used to enjoy (such as they were) before the Ossuary. He wants capital R Romance, right out of a book.

Most importantly, he wants to get rid of Spite. He wants to pretend that he is the man he was...not this abomination.

Without truly knowing her, Lucanis believes Neve is a pathway to all of that. He's attracted to her, and she to him. Their flirting has an edge, but it's also friendly. She dislikes Spite, and her presence makes Spite disappear.

Neve will tell Lucanis that he's still himself, and that Spite doesn't change that. She will never be the one to reconcile Lucanis with Spite, to get them to accept each other. So, yeah, he gravitates to the charming, flirty, warm person who (through no fault of her own, really) feeds his desire to pretend he's not an abomination.

Even early on, I think he's smart enough to know that accepting Spite is his only option, but he...just... can't. With what tools? Nothing in his life has prepared him to deal with this. Rook does that. When denial tears Lucanis apart, Rook puts him back together with acceptance. Rook accepts the reality of Spite, and deals with it head-on every time.

Neve will remind Lucanis that she's not going anywhere. She'll tell him to open his eyes and look at facts, but she (probably) won't be the one to push him out of his own prison. Lucanis knows this, so Spite knows this, and therefore Spite will not look to Neve for help.

It's important for Lucanis to accept that Spite has changed him. But when it's Rook who says it--for whom Lucanis has developed real feelings, not idealized ones--well, it destroys the fantasy Lucanis clings to so vehemently, the one where he isn't this.

For me, the Lucanis/Rook romance feels the way it does NOT because the writers "preferred" that Lucanis and Neve get together, but because Neve is simply easier for Lucanis to accept. She's easier to talk to, unchallenging. Easy isn't bad! Comfort isn't bad! God knows they both deserve some comfort.

Loving Rook is a profoundly complex choice. There's not a lot of cute ways to work that profundity into sexy banter. It makes sense, then, that Lucanis doesn't have as much dialogue for a romanced Rook as he does with Neve. What he can do is cook, make small gestures. He can, heartbreakingly, tell Rook, over and over, that he doesn't have the words to express how he feels. That's such an awful state, knowing that the person you care about needs to hear words you simply cannot locate. As soon as he does have the words, he shares them.

Rook is real. And real is not easy.

To Lucanis, Rook represents a difficult path to recovery, a path he has to keep choosing to follow, every day. At a time in his life where he is incapable of seeing Spite (and his own PTSD ) as anything but a 'distraction' to shove aside, Rook shows genuine interest in helping Lucanis heal. Rook takes consistent action toward that goal, particularly when it's clear that Lucanis doesn't know how.

Lucanis also has to believe that he's worth the effort, his own and his love's. Neve is great, love her, but I don't see this struggling cynic, this chronic worrier, being very helpful in the self-worth department. No, people in a relationship do not have to perform therapeutic roles. But, partners do have to respect each others' boundaries and needs.

Of course Lucanis goes all-in for Neve, romantically, even while he and Rook are dancing around each other. Accepting how much he loves and cares for Rook means looking at himself the way Rook does. That is so much harder than whatever will happen with Neve.

The fact that Lucanis isn't afraid to pursue Neve, even if Treviso is blighted, tells me that Neve is an indulgence for him. Again, that's not a value judgement. If they treat each other with respect, then the merits of the relationship don't have to fall on whether Lucanis 'heals' as a result. Sometimes not hurting all the time is enough.

BUT. Contrast the ease he feels with Neve with his feelings about Rook:

"When I was afraid to want you..."

That is a powerful admission.

What was he afraid of? The annihilation of neglect, worthlessness, and shame. The awful but knowable pillars of his existence.

Wanting Rook means that Lucanis wants to dismantle everything he knows in pursuit of something he doesn't. To love Rook is to love and accept himself, exactly as he is.

Then...then...Lucanis finds real comfort.

[vaguely-concerned]

I don't know what I love more, the fact that as rook you can make a statement in NO uncertain terms that you are NOT responsible one way or the other for the theological implications of the shit you're discovering in the 'regrets of the dread wolf' memories. not my jurisdiction. quite simply none of my business. not my chantry circus not my chantry monkeys. irrelevant to the matter at hand here we'll kill that god if we get to him he can get in line. or if the best thing about it is seeing the lone little 'lucanis approves' that pops up right after choosing it. corvid with a knife about to commit deicide keeping it real and sensibly, pragmatically, wilfully agnostic with me here in this magical lighthouse today