#and is that my boy viago in the back?
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atoastbw · 1 month ago
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the conversation thread where Emmrich asks Lucanis for relationship advice is so cute but also really funny when playing as an Antivan Crow Rook, so I decided to write a little something imagining how a later conversation between Rook and Lucanis would unfold
“Overheard your conversation with Emmrich the other day.” Rook mentions one night, as he and Lucanis are preparing dinner for the team. 
“Hmm, and?” Lucanis replies somewhat noncommittally, focused as he is on chopping the vegetables. 
“So… you had a crush on Viago?”
“That was a long time ago.” Lucanis’s eyes are still on the veggies, but despite his attempt at being nonchalant Rook hears the slight embarrassment in his tone.
“Uh huh.” Rook slides in a little closer next to him, bumping his hip with his own. With a cheeky grin, he asks, “And now, you’re with me. Do you have a thing for us de Riva boys? Should I be worried about you getting cosy with anybody else from my house?”
“Don’t worry, I only have eyes for you.” Lucanis looks up then, with an affectionate smile. “The only de Riva to have captured my heart.”
Rook feels a swell of emotion. He started this conversation intending to just tease his boyfriend a little; he certainly didn’t expect such a heartfelt response. “Lucanis…”
“Besides, even if I wanted someone else - not that I would ever want to - I don’t think Spite would let me. He won’t admit it, but he’s grown attached to you too.”
There’s a sudden shift in the air, and then, “Rook. Smells good.”
Rook chuckles. “Thanks Spite, I like you too.” 
Seemingly pleased, there’s another shift, and he knows that the demon has receded back into wherever in Lucanis he likes to reside. Rook smiles brightly at the man next to him. “And I like you a lot as well, Lucanis.”
“Good, because you’re not getting rid of us that easily.”
“Wouldn’t want to,” Rook says. There’s a pause, but because he can’t resist, he also adds, “But seriously though, you liked Viago? I hope you didn’t tell Teia.”
Lucanis playfully rolls his eyes, exasperated. He’s about to retort, but before he can say anything, Rook leans down to capture his lips in a kiss. It takes a second, but Lucanis quickly kisses him back, and Rook can’t help but smile against his lips, heart light with adoration.
Thanks Viago, you picky bastard, Rook thinks warmly. If you weren’t so particular, I wouldn’t be able to have this.
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selunesdreams · 2 months ago
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Chapter 5: Honorable Intentions
“So how does Spite feel about Illario?”  “SPINELESS. WHINY-” “About how he feels about most people.” “And that is…?” Taking his coffee from the counter, he sipped it slowly before responding.  “Impatient.” “Even me?” She batted her lashes. “Do you ever think he’ll just get fed up and-” “Why don’t we talk about something else, mm?”
Pairing: Lucanis x Fem Rook/OFC x Spite???
Summary: With both Spite and Rook keeping him on edge, Lucanis looks for distraction in meal prep...
Word Count: 2.6k
Things of note/warnings: 18+ fic, MDNI! warnings: I use the word cock ONCE. (sorry) Please read on AO3 if you need to track warnings, they will be inevitably detailed better there (or just want to be real sweet and give me hits/kudos/comments).
─── ⊹⊱♤⊰⊹ ───
Aunt Viama stood barefoot on the couch, peeking through the window nervously. 
“Viago, take Fiamma to her room!” She hissed, “Dante, what is she doing here?”
“Relax, she doesn’t bite. It’s probably a contract,” said Fiamma’s father, as the two children snuck to their favorite eavesdropping spot in the hall and exchanged a look.
“Are you kidding me? My sister’s been in the ground one week! You’re grieving! We’re grieving!”
He motioned her aside and opened the door, ignoring her objections.
“Caterina, to what do I owe the honor?” He beckoned her inside with a polite gesture.
Calm and collected, the First Talon entered the den, her cane tapping against the wooden floor. A boy, roughly Fiamma’s age, clung to her coattails as she walked. Lucanis trailed behind them, his head bowed. 
“I’m sorry to trouble you during such a painful time, Dante,” she kissed him on each cheek in greeting, “but my grandson has gifted your daughter something that was not his to give away.” 
“What did you do, Fiammetta?” Viago demanded, pinching her arm.
“It wasn’t me. It was Lucanis!” she whispered, slapping his hand away and running to her bedroom. Throwing herself under her bed, she retrieved one of her mother’s old hat boxes and pried off the lid, sifting through her trinkets in search of the opal. The sound of Caterina’s muffled voice carried through the wall from the next room.
“I encourage my grandson to steal whatever his heart desires, if he can get away with it, presuming he’d go after sweets or knives. Instead, he takes books and gems.” She huffed. 
“The makings of a good Crow,” Dante said. “An eye for knowledge and beauty.” 
Caterina made a noise of disapproval. “Any other would have been inconsequential, but this one…has history. I was having a new setting made for this one and he swiped it before I could get it to my jeweler…”
With a pounding heart, Fiamma carefully took out the gem and cradled it in her palm one last time, before she closed her fist around it, stashed the box back under her bed, and shuffled into the den.
“Miss Caterina.” She straightened her posture, extending her hand. “Please don’t be mad. Lucanis just wanted to make me feel better.”
Dante’s mouth fell open in surprise as Caterina bent down and plucked the opal from his daughter’s hands. His eyes widened as she held it in the light, examining it. “Is that…”
“Yes.” Caterina retrieved her coin purse from inside her coat and slipped it inside. “You are a very honorable girl, Fiammetta. My grandsons could learn a great deal from you.” 
Behind her, Lucanis raised his head, his brown eyes heavy with embarrassment. “I’m sorry for getting you in trouble, Fiammetta.”
“Nonsense, Lucanis. She isn’t in trouble for your oversight.” Caterina snapped.
Fiamma’s father crouched beside him. “It was a kind gesture, Lucanis.” He said, placing a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sure you meant well.”
Caterina nodded. “I apologize for the intrusion, Dante. My deepest condolences…but if you don’t mind lending me just a bit more of your time, there’s some Crow business I’d like to discuss.” She glanced around. “Is there somewhere we can chat?”
Dante rose to his feet. “Of course. I’ll have Viama put some coffee on.” He turned to Fiamma and kissed the top of her head. 
“Why don’t you take Lucanis and Illario to play with Viago? I’m sure he’s not far...” her father murmured, frowning with gentle disapproval as his gaze drifted toward the shadow in the hallway. 
As the adults departed, Viago emerged from the hall, nudging Lucanis with his elbow and gesturing towards the front door with a subtle tilt of his head. With a shameful look, Lucanis tore his eyes away from Fiamma’s and followed her cousin outside. 
Charging forward, the youngest Dellamorte seized her hand, shaking it a little too hard.
“I’m Illario.” He said earnestly. “Can I see the rest of your house? I bet it’s not as big as my Nonna’s!”
Fiamma blinked, her gaze moving past him to the door as it shut behind the older boys. Forbidden from leaving the house without her father’s escort, she had no choice but to stay behind.
“Um…sure.” She said, trying to hide the disappointment in her tone. “Do you like art? My papa has lots of paintings in his office.”
Illario grinned, giving a charming bow, as if reenacting something he’d seen an adult do. 
“I like whatever you like.”
─── ⊹⊱♤⊰⊹ ───
Not even a dragon attack could close the Treviso markets. The following day, they opened as usual, with a nervous undercurrent of chatter among the merchants. Lucanis browsed the stalls, taking the opportunity to shop while Rook slept in. Viago and Teia had already left to handle Crow matters at the casino, and he needed some time to clear his head.
Spite’s unpredictable nature gave him an aversion to sleep these days, and thanks to Rook, he wouldn’t have slept last night even if he wanted to. Lying on Viago’s couch, he stared at the ceiling, struggling to dismiss the images her words had evoked as his cock strained uncomfortably against the front of his trousers. Worse, Spite took a maddening amount of delight in Lucanis’ discomfort, and even more so at Rook’s mischievousness. It worried him - how would Spite react to Rook the next time he took control? He couldn’t risk sleeping, couldn’t risk Spite climbing into bed with her when she was inebriated, vulnerable, alone…
“MAYBE ROOK WANTS YOU IN HER BED. SPITE IS JUST HELPING.”
He shuddered and deposited a few gold coins in a merchant’s palm, wrapping up his purchase and heading back to Viago’s apartment. If he was lucky, Rook would wake with a nasty hangover and have forgotten the entire evening.
Upon his return, the house was still quiet. Lucanis deposited his groceries on the counter and lit the stove, setting a kettle of water atop it, before venturing down the hall to knock softly on Rook’s door. He cracked it open, knowing if he let her sleep any longer, she’d be furious at him for not waking her. 
Through the gap, he watched her lift her head, brushing her tousled hair from her face to look over her bare shoulders at him. Her white sheets slid down, settling just below the curve of her waist, and he shifted uncomfortably in the doorway. Holding them over her breasts, she squinted at him and rolled onto her back. 
“Lucanis?” She muttered, shielding her eyes from the light pouring in through her windows, “What time is it?”
He averted his gaze, preferring to stare at the sun than endure this any longer. 
“Midday.”
She jerked forward. “Why did you let me sleep so late?” 
“I thought you might need it.” He said, turning back to the hall, “Get dressed and come get some coffee. I’ll make breakfast.”
Lucanis moved with measured steps, his eyes glued to the floor until he reached the kitchen. He prepped Viago’s glass coffee maker, admiring the craftsmanship, and pulled out a cutting board, peeling and mincing several cloves of garlic. 
Rook wandered in soon after, hair freshly brushed and clearly having capitalized on the availability of her old wardrobe. She wore a lace-necked blouse, a crow brooch pinned at the base of her throat, and a pair of loose, black trousers. Around her shoulders, she had draped a velvet purple cloak that fell just above the soles of her leather boots. 
He glanced up with a raised eyebrow, then returned his focus to the tomato he was coring.  
“I made coffee.” He said stiffly. 
“Of course you did.” As she went to pour herself a cup, her hip brushed against his. 
“SMELLS LIKE LAVENDER AND CITRUS BLOSSOM.”
He cleared his throat, picking up another tomato. 
“How are you feeling?”
“Morning hangover aside?” she sat down across the counter from him and took a sip from her mug. “I appreciate you trying to relieve me of some of my guilt yesterday, but let’s keep the vintage away until after we’ve killed a few gods, hmm?” 
He smiled, letting a huff of air escape from his nose. “Of course.”
“How did you sleep?” 
“Fine.” He lied, dicing a bell pepper while admiring Viago’s kitchen knives. They were sharp enough to make a clean kill if they needed to. Maybe that was the point.
“Can I help?” She nodded towards the stove. Did she remember a single thing she said last night? Was she toying with him? Or too embarrassed to bring it up? 
“YOU BRING IT UP!”
“The pan should be warm enough. You can oil it.”
She stood and rummaged through Viago’s cabinets, retrieving a bottle and uncapping it. “So how does Spite feel about Illario?” 
“SPINELESS. WHINY-”
“About how he feels about most people.” Lucanis scraped garlic and onion into the sizzling oil, adding an assortment of spices. 
“And that is…?”
He incorporated the tomatoes and a dash of cream, stirring as he tried to ignore her curious gaze over his shoulder. Taking his coffee from the counter, he sipped it slowly before responding. 
“Impatient.”
“Even with me?” She batted her lashes. “Do you ever think he’ll just get fed up and-”
“Why don’t we talk about something else, mm?” Lucanis suggested, pulling out one of his market bags and retrieving a few eggs. He steered Rook aside, placing his hands on her shoulders so he could reach the stove.
“THE COUNTER. SHE’D LIKE TO BE BENT OVER-”
“Oh. Sure.” She returned to her seat. “Thanks for making me breakfast.”
“It’s not entirely unselfish. Viago has a nicer kitchen than the Lighthouse does.” He said, breaking the eggs into the stewed tomatoes.
Rook rested her chin on her hands. “True.”
“Is it nice being back?” Lucanis asked, removing the pan from the stovetop and dividing its contents across two plates. He gave her one, then took out a baguette and sliced off a few pieces for them to share. 
“In some ways. When I was on Viago’s bad side, it wasn’t always so nice.”
Lucanis settled beside her, mopping at his eggs with his bread, letting the yoke bleed into the tomatoes. 
“I might still be on his Viago’s bad side. Who knows?” Fiamma said and took a bite of her food. She uttered a soft moan of pleasure, and Lucanis dropped his silverware. Rook remained oblivious and continued eating. 
They finished breakfast in silence, the hallmark of a well-prepared meal, and Lucanis rose, picking up her plate and mug and taking them to the washbasin. They needed to get out of here, for more reasons than one. 
“I told you, Viago is used to picking up after me,” Rook said with a grin. 
So she did remember last night. 
“If he has a good side, I’d like to stay on it.” Lucanis said, scrubbing the dishes clean. Rook joined him near the sink, grabbing a towel and holding her hand out. He passed her a plate, and she dried it carefully. 
“Are we…good?” She asked, pushing the plate aside to take the next one. 
“We’re good.” Lucanis said, shaking water from his hands and wiping them on his pants. “Let’s get back to work.”
─── ⊹⊱♤⊰⊹ ───
The days that followed dragged on. Devastated by Neve’s absence, Bellara became determined to find a dragon hunter and a Veil Expert, furiously taking notes and charging ahead with renewed vigor. And find them she did. After excursions to Rivain and the Necropolis, Emmrich Volkarin, a Mortalitasi, and Taash, a Qunari with a talent for fire-breathing, joined their team. Emmrich arrived with an animated skeleton assistant, Manfred, who was quickly becoming Rook’s favorite recruit. More odd, but enjoyable personalities, to add to their collective. 
“So Lucanis, you’re an Antivan Crow?” Taash asked, their feet kicked up on the dinner table as Lucanis prepared dinner.
“Yes. Like Rook.” He replied from the stove. Rook could feel his disappointment from across the room - he undoubtedly missed the accommodations of Viago’s kitchen. 
“Do all Antivan Crows have demons?”
“What? No!” He spun around. “Spite was put into me by the Venatori.”
Since their arrival, their new companion had bombarded Lucanis and Rook with endless, bizarre questions about Crow customs. Varric would have relished the chance to spin his wild tales for Taash. Unfortunately, he took most of his meals in his chambers and wasn’t keen on visitors other than Rook.  
“Demons typically infect mages through manipulation, but Lucanis’ situation is…rather unique.” Emmrich explained. 
“Oh. That’s messed up.” Taash removed their feet from the table and leaned forward. “What’s Spite like?”
“Angry. Impulsive. Annoying.” Lucanis said, taking the soup he was making off the fire. 
“If he’s so unhappy, why doesn’t he just leave?”
“It would likely kill me.”
“No offense, but why would he care?”
Lucanis hesitated. 
“Because we have a deal.”
Rook’s head snapped up as she set Emmrich’s bowl down in front of him. “You made a deal with a demon? ”
Manfred let out a hiss of discontent, stomping his feet in a panic. 
“Oh, Lucanis…” Emmrich lamented, shaking his head. “That was a very foolish thing to do…”
“Zara was waiting for Spite to break out of my body like a moth in a cocoon. I convinced him we wanted the same thing and promised I’d give it to him.”
“And that was that?” Asked Taash. 
“Her. Dead.” Lucanis said, bringing the soup to the table and ladling it into the bowls Rook had set out. The large doors to the kitchen swung open, and Davrin entered, Assan playfully nipping at his heels. He took the furthest seat from Lucanis at the head of the table. The two hadn’t gotten on particularly well ever since Davrin found out about Spite. 
“Play nice,” Rook warned in a low voice, handing the Grey Warden a goblet and filling it with port. She took a seat beside Lucanis, whose end of the table always filled up slowly, everyone wary of his demonic passenger. 
As she blew on her spoonful of soup, Rook caught sight of Bellara entering with Harding and, to her astonishment, Neve. The three appeared to be mid conversation, putting her slightly on edge.
“Are they really gods, though?” Harding asked, looking up at the detective.
“They’re gods. Or the closest thing to them.” 
“Neve!” Rook breathed, setting down her silverware and bracing her hands on the table. “You’re back.”
“Yeah.” she said, not sparing her so much as a glance as she took her seat next to Davrin. “I am.”
The cold shoulder stung, and Rook lowered her head, taking a measured inhale. Neve’s feelings were her own, and she had the right to be disappointed.
“A couple of new people have joined our team since you left,” Harding, seeking to ease the tension, chimed in. “This is Professor Emmrich Volkarin, he’s our fade expert. That’s his assistant beside him, Manfred. And there’s Taash, our dragon hunter.”
“Hey.” Taash said.
Emmrich gave an elegant wave. “Charmed.” 
“A dragon hunter?” Neve asked Taash, “Minrathous could have used you.” 
Rook stiffened as something grazed her knee beneath the table. Startled, her eyes flicked to Lucanis, who offered a tight smile and reassuringly squeezed her knee.
Mierda. This was trouble. 
“So what’s going on?” Rook asked Neve, tearing her gaze from Lucanis. He withdrew his hand and glanced down awkwardly, returning to his dinner.  
“Back home? What isn’t?” Neve sighed, mustering all the civility she could. “Look, you made an impossible call without enough information. I get it. It’s the corner the gods put us in. It just…might take time to shake off.”
Rook dipped her chin. “Of course.” 
“You are back, though, right?” Bellara asked. 
Neve lifted her wineglass and took a deep drink. 
“Yeah, Bel. I’m back.”
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hextechmaturgy · 2 months ago
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lucanis' romance is disappointing because like many other aspects of this game you can practically smell all the wasted potential
spoilers below!
we know from the stories that came before veilguard that cousins lucanis and illario grow up knowing caterina has a favorite grandson she intends to make first talon one day. it's implied and sometimes outwardly said that lucanis is indeed a better assassin than illario, and being a better assassin in a FAMILY OF ASSASSINS is a big deal. at the same time, we find out that illario is the more personable between the two. lucanis says he can charm just about anyone and zara calls him 'amatus' right before illario fucking kills her, so we know that's true. we find out through banter that lucanis had a crush on viago and failed miserably to show him because his only idea was to get him a knife, and, should you have an active romance with him, he will also admit to your companions that you are his first relationship
lucanis spends his entire romance backing away from you. he barely reacts to your flirting, he ducks away from a first kiss to 'clear his head', he won't shut up about coffee, and the moment you commit to him is just a quick scene where he SAYS he made you dessert, meanwhile, pretty much every other character is kissing you and declaring how much they care for you, emmerich's first kiss happens relatively early into the second act and it's such a sweet scene.
all this tells me is the writers were going for 'fail boy's first romance', packed with the slow burn of someone who has no idea how to show you how much he cares for you. it's sweet! i romance alistair every time for pretty much the same reasons. there's something very disarming about a strong, capable man who turns to mush around you because you're just that precious to him, because he's afraid you'll cringe and run away at his inexperience/awkwardness/eagerness.
but while i think that idea was perfectly executed with alistair, i think what we got for lucanis is extremely weak, to a point where i started wondering if my game was bugged and i had missed a romance flag somehow, or soft locked myself into someone else's romance. that's when it becomes a problem for me. when i flirt with him and he DOESN'T REPLY, it's not even him looking awkward, it's him not looking interested. he certainly sounds cute and awkward around neve, why does he show her that side and not rook? it felt like they were meant to be together, especially with the whole 'pick between treviso and minrathous' storyline, but i checked out neve's romance and that one is really good, one of my favorites in fact, SO WHAT GIVES? it's not that lucanis is reserved as a character, it's more like the game wasn't programmed with his reserved nature in mind. so he shows you he's committed by making you desert... couldn't we have had a scene where we watch him baking, instead of hearing him say he did it? we run into him preparing a surprise and he's out of sorts, or he asks us to go on another grocery run and you piece together what he's planning from peeping the ingredients. SHOW DON'T TELL IS THE MOST BASIC OF WRITING ADVICE, SO PLEASE ???? they did it with kaiden in ME3, he cooks for you and burns the garlic because you're just so distracting. there were multiple opportunities for cute and unsure, neve's romance is surprisingly tender and this one could've been too.
as it is right now, lucanis' romantic interactions feel like game bugs, his pet demon seems to be far more entertaining than him/is generally mega underutilized (can you imagine a scene of spite getting done with lucanis' bullshit and sleep walking some more to tell you he's smitten), and if you are planning to have lucanis as your romance, you should go into it knowing that after your first good, dare i say EXCELLENT first romantic chat at that coffee shop ("like a kiss goodbye" charmed me there and then) you'll be waiting until literally the end of the game for any sort of pay off. there's a good romance to explore here, the complete opposite of zevran as far as crow romances go, but sadly these fun dynamics will only get decently explored in fanfiction i fear
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deathvalleyqueen · 4 months ago
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listen no matter how convinced in my bones it was Illario that betrayed our beautiful mullet man, it could be someone else. Maybe but really logically think about this. Who within the Crows would gain the most with Lucanis gone? Not emotionally - I am talking about position and power. Illario. Viago and/or Teia potentially but from what we have seen them already through the expanded media - they are so much lower on my suspect list. Honestly, Viago ain't even on it - if he really wants to bruh could become King of Antiva but that's whole different theory I have. Teia could, but she has never given me vibes of someone with a level of ambition for power that you would need to betray someone close to you like this and she calls Catarina 'Nona' so I am guessing she was close with the whole Dellamorte family. Illario though - from the wigmakers job to the scenes we have seen with him - he reeks of ambition. For all we know a rivalry could have been ingrained him by his parents when he was small - maybe Illario's parent and Lucanis's parent who were siblings were bitter rivals both grasping at the positon of their mother's heir - maybe there is more for us to find out why Catarina ended up raising both boys... I even think I remember one of the Devs mention we will learn more about Lucanis's parents in later parts of the game.
This isn't a new thought of mine. Honestly since the Wigmakers Job -I didn't trust Illario. The whole heir talk never sat right with me. Lucanis is either named heir or would be named Catarina's very shortly. While Lucanis doesn't want the position (and my guess the neon target on his back that comes with it) of First Talon, he would take it if that's what his grandmother wants (Wigmakers Job) even though Lucanis thinks Illario maybe is better suited for the position. But like the good Antivan Boy Lucanis is - if his Nona asks him - he will. Illario on the other hand seems to want this more than anything else. To me the whole 'who is heir' thing reads sooooo a Game of Thrones in my mind - it just gives me such strong Targaryen infighting energy.
Also Illario while he has a very handsome face - it just gives me "don't fucking trust him" energy. Also from the recruitment mission video (maybe mild spoilers here) but that man is putting on act - he sounds way more upset than I think would be called for given the fact Lucanis is very likely alive now, there is this anger in his voice that feels out of place. Would you not be excited to find out your beloved cousin who was more brother to you - is in fact - not fucking dead? I also think the fact he doesn't go with Rook on the rescue - is so telling. The excuse made - super lame and I don't think it's bad writing. I think it's breadcrumbs and foreshadowing. And what has honestly been said about the Crow related questline - we are going to see the politics of it all...
Lastly - Why Spite? Wynn was a Spirit of Faith and she in fact had been a woman who believed in what the Circle was doing - Faith makes sense. Justice with Anders - makes so much sense because of who he is and what he experienced. Compassion for Cole also makes sense if you read Asunder. So why was Spite of all things able to be bound to Lucanis? They had tried others but Spite is what took. I think it's connected to the person who betrayed him, put him in the position that he was in for year... that whatever Love he may have had for that person turned into Spite... get what I am throwing down.
IDK this is living in my head in a nice 4 bedroom condo rent free right now.
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empresskadia · 2 months ago
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I have never in my life have wanted to write a scene more than Lucanis and Rook getting down and dirty skinning dipping in Tevinter like narrative sketches have shown.
Like y'all, featuring my Rook because she is on my mind,
She’d really never have guessed that the infamous Demon of Vyrantium could, well, could have such ideas. If there was one thing Rook had learned about Lucanis, it was that beneath the armor and reputation, he was a romantic at heart. But this? This wasn’t romance—it was reckless abandon, the kind of thing Viago would absolutely chew her out for if he ever found out.
“Wow, Lucanis,” Rook started, already grabbing the hem of her shirt. “I didn’t know you were such a bad boy.” Her words were teasing, but there was something about the way he looked at her—his eyes glinting with mischief in the soft glow of the moonlight—that made her heartbeat pick up.
She didn’t wait for him to answer, didn’t need to, before peeling off her shirt, pants, and boots. The crisp air kissed her bare skin as she dove into the water. The lake was stunning, the surface shimmering under the moonlight like liquid silver, but it was the thrill of it all—the sheer ridiculousness of skinny dipping with Lucanis, of all people—that made her laugh as she surfaced.
“You call this reckless?” His voice was a low rumble from the dock, amusement dancing on his lips. He was already shedding his coat, boots, and that damn tunic, his movements unhurried but deliberate. Rook had seen Lucanis fight a dozen times, but there was something almost mesmerizing about watching him now—so at ease, so unlike the legend she’d first heard whispers of in De Riva's darkest halls.
“Oh, this isn’t reckless?” she called back, treading water. “Viago’s going to kill me if he finds out. But, hey, you only live once, right?”
“You think I’d let Viago near you if he even tried?” Lucanis chuckled as he stepped into the water, the sound intimate as it echoed across the quiet lake. “Relax, Rook. For once in your life, stop overthinking.”
That's all I got for a start for now, but the romance!!!
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arduousflame · 2 months ago
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Perrepatae’s Vintage - Part 2
Please read Part 1 for the backstory.
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Lucanis had insisted Rook be taken to his old room in the villa. Propriety be damned—it was the safest place for her. He knew every inch of that room, every shadow and crevice in the surrounding wing. There were no hidden corners, no concealed spaces where a blade could lie in wait, or a servant could slip through unseen. Rook hadn’t woken yet, still lost in the aftermath his cousin’s final act. Viago thought it might be some time before she did, and that was no surprise. She had been truly dead for those agonizing minutes before he and Viago brought her back.
Illario, you fool. Lucanis sighed at his reflection in the mirror, running a hand through his hair. It was getting long, he realized.
Viago was with Rook now, while Bellara had returned to the Lighthouse to inform their companions of what had happened and that they’d be staying behind for a while—at least until Rook woke up. Teia had stayed with Lucanis, her quiet presence grounding him.
Yet the last hour kept replaying in his mind. Realization finally settling in on what had happened. What they could have lost. How had he failed to see it earlier? He’d known the poison—dammit, it had been crafted for him. He should have caught the signs. But all he had seen was a grinning Rook, breathless, her cheeks flushed after the battle’s rush. He hadn’t noticed the subtle hitch in her breath or the way her pulse fluttered too fast against her throat.
Too fast for her.
Not that he’d ever counted. Not that he’d memorized its rhythm.
But he had.
Of course he had.
He was a Crow, after all—a damn good one at that. Observation was second nature. He knew the quirks and tells of every member of their crew. Harding, playing with the hem of her shirt when she got flustered. Neve, getting defensive meant she’d tap her arm. No way anyone was getting any answers out of her if that happened. Davrin’s gruff replies at dinner when a darkspawn had gotten too close for comfort.
And Rook, their leader. Always drawing them out, encouraging them to share stories and laughter. She had a knack for it—making people feel heard.
Rook—wearing her loose tunics at the Lighthouse, the ones that left her neck bare. Bare enough that he couldn’t help but notice the slope of her collarbone, the way the fabric dipped just so.
He’d noticed her heartbeat then, too, its rhythm betraying what she tried to hide behind that practiced calm. The faint quickening when frustration flickered—whenever someone pulled her aside with yet another request. And still, she’d listen, patient and kind, offering soft smiles and reassurances.
And at night, when the conversations died down with the embers in the fireplace, he’d seen the weight of her fears. Fears she’d never voice aloud, not to burden them. But her heart would tell him.
It would also tell him something else. How it stuttered and raced, just a little, when he spun his wild, exaggerated tales late into the evening. How it jumped in time with her laugh, especially when he managed to make her truly smile.
How could he have missed it this time?
And still, he’d failed her. He’d realized only when it was too late, when her body lay lifeless before him. His stomach twisted at the memory of her stillness, the absence of any beat beneath his fingers where he touched her neck. He could still feel the cold dread as he’d leaned down, forcing air into her lungs. Was that their first kiss? The thought hit like a blow. The kiss of life, stolen from death. It was. He had denied her a kiss before, at the Lighthouse, hadn’t he?
He shuddered, trying to push the image from his mind. But it lingered, sharp and unforgiving.
“Now, Lucanis, my boy.” Caterina pulled him back to the now. He reluctantly tore himself away from the window to face his grandmother. This should have been a joyous day, he thought. Caterina alive and well in villa Dellamorte. Illario’s plan foiled, shackled but not lost to the Venatori. Or the fury of the other Houses. Lucanis now First Talon. Mierda, he would deal with the implications of that later.
“We have a lot to catch up on. Now, sit.” Her hands where folded over the cane in front of her.
Her voice still carried command. Even if he now did outrank her.
So he did.
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stitchzin · 15 days ago
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Letter from a Crow
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As soon as Rook disappears, Lucanis is the one who decides to tell Viago, the word spreads as Rook's friends begin to read books on how to rescue her. Lucanis goes to Caterina, they meet at the Cassino, and says he stopped her from confessing because he didn't wanted bad luck. Now he feared he would never hear this again.
"She wanted to call me Vhenan... do you know what it means... It means, my heart."
"My poor boy..."
"Raise your head" Illario appears behind him. "You won't avange her while having it down." They were a weird family but they were there, healing some woulds.
But Viago's family was Rook and Teia. And both don't know what to do this time. One day the owner of one of the city's theaters enters the Cantori Diamond, and gives Teia a letter that looked like it had been read several times.
She said that regardless of whether Rook was found or not, Viago should read it.
Rook was unique in relation to many crows, she did not move from the main house after she started earning her money. In fact, she even has a rented room near the theater, but she only used it when she had her nights with friends. Her "real" room was positioned next to Viago's room. Every morning he opened her door and said "Those who earn money lying down are whores, get up", even if Astraea was already awake.
He drank coffee Rook drinked her chocolate, talked about various subjects, nobility and Crow gossip, new poisons and the weather. Teia adored that, It was rare that she and Rook shared the breakfast table, but it was pure entertainment to watch Rook and Viago have the same mannerisms.
Viago was training when Teia delivered the letter, the exhausted body of a man who tried to throw his emotions on anything but those around him. He had returned from a visit to Caterina, who had been through something similar. There was no way of knowing what the first Talon had advised him, but it had had an effect on him.
And reading that yellowed paper, with purple ink and a dried jasmine branch on the page made him freeze. Rook had had the courage to say what he had never said explicitly. And without her there for him to provoke, or correct.
He didn't know what to do.
The only person he wanted to talk to about his favorite's disappearance was herself. Teia and he sat on the balcony drinking wine. The balcony of Rook's room, surrounded by her things he asked the servants to keep it neat. The vases of jasmine that never died made everything smell like her. And he read it again out loud.
Nesryn,
I remember the day I arrived in Treviso, the way I followed Viago because I thought I could rob him he was covered in silver and good quality leather, only to witness a murder. I didn't even feel afraid it was so quick and ellegant. He dragged me by the ear to you, thought I was one of your children and apologized afterwards and turned his back. I think he thought my Vallaslin was a theater painting because of its unique lines.
Despite everything, the following week I followed him, he told me to mislead people and I did it, he told me to deliver messages and I went.
He would give me a candy, a bag of fruit or a silver coin. If he was having a good day, a full meal before correcting my acrobatics. Funny two weeks. But... If I hadn't stolen keys from that smuggler and entered that warehouse and freed him of that trap, he might never have taken me to Villa De Riva. If Viago had been impressed by my peculiar way of moving between the rooftops before, he didn't show it until that day, always so critical. In my 12-year-old mind he hated it, but today I know he corrects it, because he cares.
"Astraea is your name now, Sitara is dead in that desert." I didn't want to stop being Dalish, and when Viago said he would never ask for such a thing, I accepted. I think he just accepted that I would always be this slightly wild thing with blue hair.
I arrived at the Crows knowing much more about hunting and survival than murder and became my unique self, always thinking of a way out, a new trick. Even so, with all this transformation I still saw myself arriving at your house. With bruises, cuts and sore muscles. Learning to make medicines, cook with you or play one of your instruments. You asked me to leave thw Crows, and I asked where. Still you were there when I became a crow, and when I did so well at my job that I earned the family name.
I heald high for many years.
When Antaam arrived, when he caught you, I had to show my gratitude by saving you. Obviously, the Talons weren't happy, but I trusted Viago. Even though I was afraid of being abandoned again. After a lot of yelling, Viago sent me away. I knew he was risking his neck by doing this, so I obeyed. And I didn't regret saving the friends I made at the theater. Nor did I regret traveling together. We passed through villages while I hid half of my face. There I saw a different family, light conversations at the table, lessons on sewing clothes, who would wash the dishes, putting feelings into poems and songs.
It was a beautiful time. And thank you for showing me this family that was made up of our friends. It was beautiful to see worlds within the world, realities marked by a veil that separates them from the rest. Dancing gave me new ways to practice sword and dagger, so beautiful that you had me as a nighttime attraction, using a ribbon to disguise the murderous beauty of my hands.
The thing is, my world is different from yours. In my life, I learned to get up when I fall, to keep walking because no one will save you, to endure pain so that it becomes a surmountable difficulty, to feel the effects of poison before receiving the antidote and to build up resistance. It wasn't easy. But that's what my family taught me. And that's what saved me many times.
Nessie the issue is... staying with you, away from Treviso without being able to return reminded me that Viago is my family. He and I are within the same veil. And the difference between you two is brutal.
You told me that "It's possible to live even after discovering that the world has gone bad, as long as I don't allow the world's evil to seem normal."
Viago told me "We carry death in the shadows, and at the same time we look in the eyes and say: not today."
We have different lifes, different sayings to keep our heads held high in the world we live in.
Being in this family these days rekindled my light and I'm going to use it to deserve to return home. That's why I'm leaving with Varric and Harding. I promised I would only send a letter to Viago through a contact, but life is as untamed as I am.
I'll see you again in Treviso.
Love, Astraea De Riva.
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sirnotsircos · 27 days ago
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Monroe "Money" De Riva
dunno what is it but the Crow background in Dragon Age: Veilguard has got me obsessed with creating fandom content again so here's a little (too long) backstory for my sweet prince Money and how they meet Viago.
It's worth noting that Money uses They/Them pronouns however only discovered this in their later teens, for the purposes of gender exploration and a reasonable amount of self insert-ness going on here, Money is referred to with the pronouns assigned at birth in this first installment of self indulgent writing.
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4.3 K words
Canon typical death and gore
themes of abductuion and trafficking discussed
Crows and Coin
All along the borders of the Tevinter Imperium, the bright dancing lights of the circus filled the dark nights of war time. For years a traveling band of performers moved from city to city, town to town, collecting cheers and coin, bringing smiles and laughter and whisking away worry. During the winters they would lug a big tent around, park near a town for weeks at a time and bid visitors welcome, and during the summer just a stage and clearing would do.
In the front wagons was the coin, the acrobats, the stage manager, in the middle wagons the provisions, the chests of contriband, stowaways, and in the rear the set, and the crew. Money, no older than six when she’d wandered into the tent during the circus’ brief stint in the Free Marshes, was never allowed anywhere near the middle wagons. They were always filled with crates, the extra plain looking ones with long sealed lids and too much hay, then there were the people she couldn’t talk to. Sometimes they were dressed in dark boring outfits that stood out only on account of the fact they were travleing with a circus, and other times they were garish and spoke loud with sing songy accents.
Either way, Money was to stay away.
 Baron made sure all the kids’ stayed away in fact. There was “real honest work to be done” and work Money did. When Baron had first found Money she’d had no name and matted eggplant hair that needed shaving, there was a generally irritated grunt that meant her and that’s all she knew. She’d only been named Money after he found she had a pension for finding it and stowing it in her pockets or shoes and anywhere no one could find easily. A joke, Money would later learn to appreciate the morbidity of. 
“Gon’ call you Money, you’ll never be without it,” Baron chuckled to himself, “but ye’ got to give me mine back.” 
Baron was a big man, his real name wasn’t Baron, no one used their real name in the circus. He was a qunari with a wild mane of white-grey hair and horns he kept cleaved at the root and filed down. He wore hats at all times, the only time Money could remember seeing Baron without one was when it fell off in his sleep, if he slept at all. He had ashen skin but he bathed in red mud and kept covered so that he passed as an unusually large human. He was loud, his laugh louder, and his anger loudest.
It was Baron who’d petitioned for Money to stay, he’d been the keeper of most of the kids who resided with the circus infact. It had also been Baron who started Money on her words and letters, and Kelon, the eldest boy, on her numbers. It was Hymn, the second oldest who taught her to look sweet so she’d get in less trouble and Huin the second youngest who showed Money where Baron kept his best sweets. Although Money’s hands grew calouses in the six years she lived with the circus, she stayed for family and the coin was a happy coincidence. 
At twelve Money was broad shouldered and kept her hair shaved to a shadow, it was a habit now and people stared less than the few times she’d let her curls grow out. Baron had always preached that the first rule of working for a circus is that you work for the circus, you are not the circus. Keep it simple. Money had no intention of performing or entertaining, she liked hanging out in the rafters and hauling the sand bags best. And so when she was too lazy to lather and shave her head she rubbed inked mud across her hair and wore hats like Baron. Keep it simple. 
The first really cold night of the year, the circus crossed over into Antiva for the first time. Aslo, the ringmaster said it was warmer and he could delay the hassle of the big tent for longer but Money knew it had something to do with their guests. Since they’d joined the caravan at the outskirts of Minrathous they’d been making a pretty direct haul towards Antiva with less stops and shows than were typical for this area. Money knew better than to ask any questions, and in all honesty she wanted to see the Antivan Coast enough that she was glad for the pace with which they were moving. 
As soon as they crossed the border Baron grew grim and tense and all together displeased. He led the caravan onto lesser traveled bumpy roads, the kind that made Money’s legs feel like jello when they’d finally stop for a rest. Four days into Antiva, they made camp no more than a kilomete outside of a town, the first place they’d set up a show since arriving in the country. It was warm enough for no tent as Aslo had guaranteed but the show was trimmed down so when it would get to it’s coldest everything would be packed away. This was also the first night their guests left their carriage since joining, they stretched their legs during dinner but kept to themselves.
Kelon said the woman looked like her name was Frivolousia with her long gown and incredibly intricate braids, and the man looked like a Craig with his poor form and rounded shoulders. 
“I dont know,” Hymn, with her long golden hair and sprite-like features, stared after Frivolousia and her long red gown, “there’s nothing wrong with dressing for your station.”
“Hm?” Money looked over her shoulder and stared intently, that woman looked like a bloody blotch to her. 
“You don’t ever think about wearing gowns like that?’ Hymn asked whistfully.
Money shrugged.
“If you had all the money in the world to buy whatever you wanted, what would you wear,” Hymn posed the question to all of them.
“First Warden Vestiges!” Huin puffed his chest out.
Kelon rolled his eyes, muttering something about clothes being the last on his list of things to buy if he had that kind of money.
Hymn turned to Money expectantly.
“Um-” Money chewed her cheek, “a cape?”
The books Baron would read to her always had people in capes on the front. “What's that fuzzy stuff called again?”
“Velvet?” Kelon raised his brow.
Money shrugged again.
For Money, shrugging either meant yes, no, maybe or sometimes possibly, I dont know. Money didn’t talk much. Luckily for her, the regular crew learned to understand what she meant most of the time.
“Okay so a velvet cape, a blighted tin can,” Hymn pointed to Money and Huin respectively, then to Kelon “and naked?”
Kelon huffed and began to defend himself, Huin spraying a mouthful of potatoes across the table. Hymn was equal parts proud of herself and vexed by the onslaught of starchy spray. It was a night like any other show night, they ate early and all together, the kids got shushed half-heartedly a handful of times despite the rest of the company being equally as raucous.  
As night fell and the camp settled Baron took up his normal post of insomniac. He fed the caged animals extra rations he knew Aslo wouldn’t appreciate, checked the wagons, the tent stakes and the horses. All was just as it should be, as it always was. Except for a door, a carriage door. It was a middle carriage. The door hung open, not ten minutes ago when he’d passed it the first time, it was closed. He peered inside from ten feet away, darkness swallowed the interior. The only thing Baron could make out was the distinct gleam of thick liquid running in a thin trail off the step.
Money awoke with a start, the wind rattling the canvas wall of the tent next to her. She was a light sleeper, always had been. Once awake it was nearly impossible for her to fall asleep, especially with Kelon’s snoring. He sounded like a bear, gruff deep gargling snores swelled in his chest with every long breath. Money hugged her blanket close and stepped down into her boots, keeping the laces loose so she could slip them back off once she got to her destination.
There was one place she could always go when she needed to sleep, Baron’s wagon. 
It wasn’t until she was nearly halfway to where Baron had parked his wagon that morning that Money felt the heavy silence that lay over the camp. There was no light, no stray lanterns or dimly glowing tents, not even the cats that somehow followed the caravan wherever they went were wandering about. The stillness felt oppressive. Money almost wanted to freeze in place feeling as though the silence was watching her, judging her for moving. The thought of being outside in the open any longer than she had to be overruled that instinct. 
She scurried along, staying close to the sides of the tents and wagons. When Money reached Baron’s wagon she found the flap wasn’t tied down and someone had been rummaging around. Baron wasn’t a particularly organized man but he had piles and his piles had a method to them. These piles did not. Money noticed the chest he usually kept as the foundation for his stacks of books was open, the inside cleaned out. 
A hand came down right infront of Money’s eyes and clapped down over her mouth, another wrapped around her shoulders tight. She howled. Money didn’t have a flight instinct, she’d never had that luxury before so she never took it now. Her hands were up and clawing in an instant, flesh raked off under her nails.
“Fu- Maker!” was Aslo’s hiss of pain.
In one sweep Aslo spun around, letting go of Money as he went. She sailed through the air for what felt like much farther than the six or so feet she did. She hit the ground hard, grass shredding beneath her as she skidded to a halt. In a second she was scrambling to her feet, Aslo was already launching his foot into her. Aslo was slow and not entirely prepared for most sorts of fights, however he was neary six and a half feet tall and his foot was heavy enough to throw Money back into the ground. 
Then came the fire. 
The sky was dark and starless, though any other stargazer that night in western Antiva would have had a clear view. Dark smoke had filled the air, billowing off the benches set around the perimeter of the stage. As Aslo’s foot made contact with Money’s chest the flames that had been eating away at the wood of the benches finally hit the black powder barrells used in the show’s pyrotechnics. Flame and combustion filled the air, wood splintered everywhere. Aslo stumbled back and winced away, his long gaunt face darting back and forth between the explosion and Baron’s wagon. 
Money wheezed in a breath, the hit left her chest feeling empty and aching. The air was hot now, the cool crisp air of the evening gone with the flames. She pushed herself backward as Aslo looked away and rolled herself under the trailer next to Baron’s wagon.  She came out the other side and scrambled to her feet, not wasting a moment’s breath looking backwards, she bolted. She ran away from Aslo, and away from the fire which lead her back towards her tent. As she ran, tent flaps were thrown open, people scrambling out. 
Those who’d traveled with the circus for as long as Money remembered scrambled for water buckets with bare feet and sleep quaffed hair. Those who Money didn’t know, the new hired hands from Minrathous carried drawn blades and already laced boots. Baron always had laced boots. Shouting filled the camp, and soon followed the clear ringing of blades on blades. Money’s veins froze in her skin when she realized what she was hearing. 
Everything was moving fast, too fast. The flames were roaring now, the sky swirling and everyone who rushed past Money was nothing but shadows.
A great big hand found her shoulder, and at first her breath caught in her chest and her fists balled. She pulled away hard and as she raised her fist she looked up into two familiar glassy grey eyes. Baron. 
“Money,” he was panting, thick dark blood covering his front, “what are you doing out here?”
“You’re bleeding-” There was a lot of blood.
“I’m fine, Money you have to get inside-” Baron grunted as Aslo barrelled into him. 
Aslo was younger than Baron, but Baron was bigger and a fighter through and through. It wouldn’t have even been a contest if Aslo hadn’t already skewered him through the ribs with a tent stake. Baron roared and swung a big fist in a wide berth, making contact with Aslo’s head. Aslo was nearly thrown to the side, if Baron had been at full strength Money had no doubt Aslo would be out cold.
Money held a shriek down, her throat pulled tight. The blood that had previously painted Baron’s front was now flooding with his own. It was darker and swelling so quickly Money couldn’t imagine it all coming from inside of him. She rushed forward. Her hands, small in comparison to Baron’s hulking frame, pressed down on the wound. Somehow it was to stop the bleeding — or maybe leaving the stake in there already did that — or should she be cleaning it or —-
Baron shoved Money away with his forearm, not hard enough to throw her off her feet but enough to get her out of the way as he rolled to his feet between her and Aslo. Before Aslo could even get to his feet a series of sharp thuds hit him, one in the neck, two in the chest. Three gleaming daggers. Aslo gasped and rattled, then sputtered and fell face first into the grass. Hissing. Choking. Then stillness.
Baron and Money turned in unison, the source of the daggers a young man, no older than his early twenties, in fighting leathers was perched atop a trailer. He was sporting a cloak, heavy and bearing the viasage of feathered wings.
“Crow,” Baron grunted, his chest heaving to take a single full breath. He was rattling.
The young man barely acknowledged them. Instead he turned his back and slid off his perch. He drew three more small throwing daggers and in the flash of an eye launched them towards what Money thought was object darkness. The thuds and groans that echoed after the singing of the blades begged to differ.
“Crow,” Baron called again, this time his voice was commanding, as if he had business that could not be ignored.
The young man turned to face Baron and looked him over thoughtfully, his styled moutache twitching with what Money could only guess was annoyance.
“Please,” Baron huffed, his big hand nudging Money, “there are children here…”
“They are not our marks,” the man said dryly, “they will not be touched.”
“Not good enough!” Baron shouted, a cough ripping through him and sending him onto one knee.
Money turned to him but he kept an arm out and held her at a distance.
“Money go,” he huffed.
‘No!” Money sobbed, hot tears welling in her eyes.
“Not with me, she’s not,” the man Baron called Crow scrunched his nose, “she’s a kid.”
“Exactly,” Baron was more ragged breaths that voice now, blood seeping into the fabric of his trousers.
The man stared at Baron, a strange look that Money didn’t bother to decipher crossed his features. He played at being stoic but he had yet to leave. Baron withdrew his hand from his back waistband. A roll, several layers of thin paper thick, of twine tied documents in his hand. “A contract,” he started, “for her safe delivery from this camp to a city.”
The man’s chin dipped sideways, his brow knit with peaked interest.
“The payment,” Baron thrust the papers forward past Money’s face, “Qunari  battle plans, logistics, code phrases- you name it, it’s here.” 
The man looked around, a cautious scan before jumping over the trailer and striding towards Money and Baron. He closed the distance quickly, he was agile and nimble and Money barely saw the grass beneath his feet shift. He snatched the papers from Baron’s hand and with a quick glance at the outermost document his eyes lit up. He looked over the roll and surveyed Baron carefully.
“Who were these meant for?” he asked, his eyes intense and probing.
“Highest bidder,” Baron gave a rueful grin, his eyes drooping, “Magisters passed —  biases ‘n all that.”
Crow raised a brow and he looked Baron over again, a gloved hand reaching forward almost reluctantly. Money made to intercept what she thought was no doubt a blow, the man was a killer after all. He swatted her hand away like it was nothing and yanked Baron’s knit cap from his head. 
“Ah,” Crow blinked, “we Crows are more open to… possibilities.” 
He placed the cap on the ground and held out his hand. Baron stared for a moment, Money could tell he was losing lucidity. It took a deep steadying breath and a few good long blinks but Baron mustered the strength and focus to raise his hand, coated in his own blood and clasp it in Crow’s. They shook hands, both Baron and Crow grimaced. The moment they let go, Crow wiped his gloved hand on his leathers and stood, depositing the roll of papers into a pouch at his hip.
“Very well,” Crow nodded, “a Crow always fullfills his contract.” 
In one swift movement Money was limp in his arms, braced against his chest and he was off into the dark tree line, a spattering of crows following him into the night.
***
The trees were dense and lucsious for this time of year, the sun barely poking through save in whispers of gold through the shifting leaves. Money felt heavy, like her body was an hourglass and all the sand had flowed to her back pinning her to the ground. This was a level of exhaustion she’d not felt since she was on the streets weighed down by hunger and illness. Only then the emptiness that gnawed at her was hunger, tangible pain born from neglect. This was different, so ravenous and crippling the bruising in her chest merely an inconvenience in comparison. Money had never lost anyone, before Baron and the circus she simply just didn’t have anyone.
She kept her eyes closed, the glowing greens and golds of nature untouched by her own cataclysm, mocking her. She wished she were melting into the plush earth below her, swallowed whole and forgotten.
“You can’t fool me, kid,” Crow’s melodic voice broke her solitude, “I know you’re awake.”
Crow. Rage boiled in Money’s gut, her muscles suddenly alive with vendetta.  He’d started this, him and his contracts. Money had never taken to sharing Baron’s rage, she’d always had been hard to stir any great emotion in. The world was cruel whether you screamed about the injustice or not. And yet, she was on her feet, bare against the tangled vines and charging. The thought that Crow was a trained assassin and not so easily sundered as to fall to a child’s fit of grief, hadn’t crossed her mind until she was already sailing downwards. Crow had side stepped her charge with ease and pressed a guiding hand to the back of her neck, steering her left away from a still smouldering fire pit. 
Dirt filled her mouth as she grunted on impact. Crow didn’t touch her after that, waiting patiently for her next move. In a series of clumsy movements Money rolled to her feet, dug into the earth and surged forward again. This time as Crow side stepped she reached out and latched onto a knife hoslter strapped to his thigh. She latched on and didn’t let go even when he parried her again, her momentum sending her spinning to the ground. Her weight on his leg was enough to pull him down too, the two kicking up dust and dirt. 
He’s down. A small victory considering he was a trained assassin and she was a child.
“Alright, that enou-” Crow began to chastise when Money interrupted him with a solid fist.
She made hard contact with his nose. She’d never punched anyone before. It hurt. Crow’s eyes nearly buldged from his head and he growled in pain. In one smooth movement his arm threaded up between them and came down on the side of Money’s head sending her world into orbit. He planted a foot at her stomach and shoved her away from him. 
“Mierda-” Crow huffed, his hand scooping up and amount of blood running down his face even Money was startled by, “-stupid fucking contract-”
He spat a glob of blood a little too close to Money for her liking.
“What is wrong with you?” He grunted rolling to his feet.
“You,” Money growled,the bruising in her chest was starting to feel much less like a mere inconvenience now. 
“Why?!” 
Money’s voice caught in her throat. Why? He’d technically killed Aslo. Why? Why did Aslo kill Baron in the first place? Why? Baron was the only good thing to happen to her. Why? 
Money threw herself onto her side, her eyes blurring with hot tears. She made it to her knees before a deep sob came, the blurred silhouette of Crow swayed awkwardly before her. 
“Why-” she breathed shakily, “whe were you there?”
“What?” Crow blinked.
“You ruined everything,” tears rolled down her cheeks, “why?”
“I’m a Crow I dont owe you-”
“WHY?!” She’d wanted to sound stronger, she’d wanted to be demanding like Baron had. Instead she found she was begging.
Crow hesitated, his bloodied hands awkwardly hovering above his hips and pockets. He settled with crossing them, tensing only a little as his blood spoiled his sleeves.
“We had a contract,” he spoke carefully, “the man I killed, he was in the contract.”
Money didn’t know what she was hoping for, what she thought knowing would do for her. She could have guessed that much, it still didn’t answer why. 
As if reading her mind Crow sighed.
“What your father gave me-” Crow sounded less sure of himself now, “ in exchange for your life… the Qun reports are a very large bounty, one so large perhaps the Crows would be willing to dismiss a contract to obtain.”
Aslo was trying to save himself.
Blood boiled in Money’s veins. Crow had been the one to kill him and that fact was melting her from the inside out. She felt it consuming her, revenge.
“Don’t do that,” Crow stepped forward and nudged Money’s foot with his own, “he’s dead, he got what he deserved.”
Money was starting to feel exposed with how Crow seemed to be able to read her. She didn’t like being so known. She took a long, deep breath. The air of the forest was cool and smelled sweet. She stared ahead, keeping her eyes still and willing the tears to stop. She didn’t need him, not with her, not in her head, not as a bodyguard. 
“Stop that,” Crow cleared his throat, “stop wallowing. That man was a slave trafficker, he smuggled nobels who deserved worse than death to safety all for a little  gold. There were a lot more people than just you who deserved a pound of flesh, but they couldn’t. I could. The crows could. You didn’t even have to pay to see him gone.”
“Who was he?” Money looked up at Crow. No one used their real names in the circus. 
“Marus Caldori, a slaver and real piece of work,” Crow scowled, the least neutral expression he’d had all day save after Money broke his nose, “he had many enemies throughout the Free Marshes.”
“And they paid you to kill him?” Money ground her teeth together, she imagined the other people who’d wanted him dead. 
“They paid for the Crows to kill the Orlesian nobles you had traveling with you,” Crow looked away, “ but his name was mentioned in the contact.”
“Why then —you killed him?” Money frowned.
“I Kirkwall, while we followed their trail north I met he parent’s of a little boy and little girl who were taken in the night, sold into slavery in the Tevinter Imperium by one Mr. Marus Caldori.” Crow uncrossed his arms and looked over the drying blood. “Some contracts are more worth taking than others, but all contracts are necessary.”
Money imagined all the Aslo’s Crow had gotten the chance to kill, all the wrongs he’d gotten to right. Perhaps she was conflating his accomplishments, perhaps she was thinking better of him than he really was.
“Why’d you become a Crow?” Money looked up at him, annoyed now how much taller he was than her.
“W-what?” Crow’s facade faltered for no longer than a breath, “that’s… none of your business.”
“Revenge?” Money pried, Crow knew too much for it not to be, “did you get it?”
Crow was quiet for a moment, his lips pressed together in a firm line. 
“Soon,” Crow conceded, “I’m working my way up.”
Money nodded, she thought hard about it, “I could be a crow.”
“You?” Crow laughed, an actual smile on his blood crusted lips, “ A crow?”
“I broke your nose,” Money grumbled.
“I let you,” Crow huffed.
“You didn’t let me!” Money pouted, “I got a good hit in!”
“Sure” Crow rolled his eyes, “and I certainly was not holding back at all against a child.” 
“No need to be embarrassed,” Money shrugged, “so, uh, how does it work? Being a crow?”
Crow looked her over as if he was making a final judgment. His arms crossed again and for a moment he looked unsure. 
“Well,” he held a hand out to Money who was less than enthused about taking the soiled glove, “for starters what’s your name?”
“Money,” she scrunched her nose as she took his hand.“De Riva,” Crow said in response, “you’re new house name. I’m Viago, your house Grandmaster. Don’t make me regret this… starting with your name, what the fuck is that?”
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veiledvvitch · 25 days ago
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Meet my new rook, Lucrezia de Riva. I have a spicy fic written about her and Viago allready 😭❤️ Should I post it?
Background: Born and orphaned by a Dalish clan that allready had its first and second to a Keeper. As a young child she was abandoned in the outskirts of Treviso, as was the ways of the Dalish with excessive mages.
Lucrezia had notably earned herself the fearfull nickname "the Vampire", after she had defended herself against a jealous peer who had attacked her as she slept. With her bare teeth she had fought back unarmed as the boy had lashed at her with his knife. She had ripped out his throat and then, presumably returned to sleep, covered in his blood. Lucrezia's fury had caught the attention of Talon Viago de Riva, who made her a fledgling under his house. During the torturous training period, Lucrezia worked hard to prove herself, not knowing Viago allready favored her.
One day the infamous Ricter Cordova of the Antivan Crows had come to notice her promising talents after he had witnessed her fight against slavers. She had mortally wounded one of them with her magic, and when Cordova offered his assistance she had charmed and pickpocketed him. After tracking her down again he took her off the streets and into training with the Crows. There she outshined her peers of vastly more age and training, quickly catching the attention of more higher ups in the organisation.
As a fully fledged Crow, her bloodied nickname remained alongside the scar on her neck. There were even rumours she had her teeth filed down to fangs as a weapon. Lucrezia remained under Viago's wing, unaware that she was his most treasured jewel. After he exiled her following her controversial handling of Antaam slavers, she discarded her past nickname and started anew as Rook.
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roguelioness · 2 months ago
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Thinking about my Rook not in a veilguard context though
Six year old Isobel, chestnut brown hair in pigtails, learning the basics of tailoring at her widower father's knee. He sings to her of lush fields and blue skies, of birds gliding in the air. Her stubby little hands are deft as they weave the needle and thread through the cotton. She looks up at him when he stops, asks him to sing again. He does.
Ten year old Isobel, surly and sullen, hiding a younger child behind her to protect them from the orphanage caretaker. She tells the little boy to flee as she's gripped by the wrist, screams and swears as she's dragged towards a stern, waspish-looking older woman. She hurls insults from a swollen, split mouth as she watches coin be exchanged, kicks and flails as she's carried to a bar-lined carriage. A second slap sets her to silence.
Eleven year old Isobel, still sullen, still surly, still suspicious and feral but silent as she watches a silver blade slice across a man's neck. It's wielder frowns as he looks at her. "You are a loose thread I did not expect," he grumbles. She shrugs. "Threads can be used in many ways," she replies, enjoying the way his brows rise, the surprise on his elegant features, stares unflinchingly back at him even as he threatens her.
Fourteen year old Isobel, body bruised black and blue, jaw clenched and hands curled into tight fists as she glares at the Crow trainer. She stands her ground even as the whip cuts yet again and again across her back, teeth gritted to keep in the scream she wants to make. The tears fall when she's alone beneath the sheets, bites them back when she hears Viago enter. He works the salve into her skin in silence; the door is a fraction of an inch from fully close when she hears his quiet words. "You did well." She feels his pride as if it were her own.
Seventeen year old Isobel, newly dyed blond hair long enough to pull a look of distaste from the First Talon, face blank as she is welcomed into the Crows as a full member. She does not think about the way her target had begged and pleaded at her feet, at how loud the silence after the kill was, at the red that stained her palms and yet lingers beneath her nails. When she returns to the de Riva mansion, Viago is waiting for her. He does not speak as he folds her into his arms and neither does she, but her composure shatters when he hums the tune her father had sung to her all those years ago. "I am sorry," he says. She does not respond.
Thirty year old Isobel, sipping on questionable wine in a crowded Vyrantium bar, rolling her eyes as the stories of the Demon of Vyrantium grow ever more unbelievable. She observes the two dwarves entering from the corner of her eyes. Masks her surprise as they shuffle through the crowd towards her, nods when they ask if they can join her. The older dwarf - she recognizes him as Varric Tethras, wonders what he could possibly want with her - has a glint in his eye she doesn't quite trust. "What do you say to saving the world," he says and though his mouth is lifted into an easy smile, his gaze is somber and serious. She finishes her drink, signals the waiter for a refill. "Tell me more," she says, leaning back in her seat.
Thirty year old Isobel, dazedly staring at her own blood on her palm, desperately wondering when and how it had all gone so wrong...
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selunesdreams · 2 months ago
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Chapter 11: Truth Hits Everybody
“I am a coward.” He said breathlessly, “But only because I don’t want you caught in my mess.” His bottom lip caught on hers for just a moment, and he released her with a tormented expression.  “You deserve better, Rook.”
Pairing: Lucanis x Fem Rook/OFC x Spite???
Summary: Illario tries the "make her jealous" act, a missive from Viago delivers devastating news, Harding walks into the middle of a tense moment between Rook and Lucanis, and Ghilan'nain loses two dragons.
Word Count: 3.6k
Things of note/warnings: 18+ fic, MDNI! warnings: typical DA related violence, death, mention of murder.. Please read on AO3 if you need to track warnings, they will be inevitably detailed better there (or just want to be real sweet and give me hits/kudos/comments).
─── ⊹⊱♤⊰⊹ ───
In the middle of the villa gardens, Fiamma slid a vial of fish oil over the iron bistro table towards the First Talon.
“Caterina, please just take it. Let’s be done with this.”
Her early weeks at the Dellamorte residence hadn’t been entirely awful. By some stroke of luck, she and Caterina got on well, and typically took their breakfast together amongst the rose bushes, weather permitting. Their only point of contention? Caterina’s health. 
“Pretend I did, and I’ll tell your cousin how fabulous a job you’ve been doing around here.”
Fiamma swapped Caterina’s coffee for a glass of carrot juice. “You were going to do that, anyway.” She said, “Take it, or I’ll give you decaf.”
Caterina expressed her displeasure by ignoring her and poking at the half-eaten grapefruit on her plate. With an exasperated sigh, her breath visible in the crisp morning air, Fiamma examined the gardens. The flowers were bare and wilted from the autumn chill, and a few stray leaves drifted from the trees, sprinkled with dew from last night’s rain. Serene, save for the occasional rustle of foliage as birds skipped the surface, pecking and tugging freshly surfaced worms from the dirt. 
Suddenly, Caterina threw her arms wide with a loud gasp, interrupting her thoughts.
“Lucanis! My boy!”
As he strode across the courtyard, she shivered and gathered her cloak closer. Fiamma never understood how a man so close to her in stature carried himself as if he were seven feet tall. Stooping to plant a kiss on Caterina’s cheek, he grimaced as his grandmother squeezed his face between her hands, showing off a warm smile she only reserved for him. 
“How was your contract?” She asked, patting the empty seat beside her. 
“Too long.” He eased himself into the chair and reached for the carafe of coffee, pouring himself a cup. Leaning back, he nodded at Fiamma in greeting.  
“Enjoying your stay?”
“I would enjoy it more if your grandmother wasn’t so stubborn.” She said, returning her attention to Caterina and dropping her voice. 
“Take. The. Fish oil.” 
“Caterina, why do you give Fiammetta such a hard time?” Lucanis asked.
The First Talon scowled at her grandson’s admonishment and threw back the vial, her rings glinting in as sunlight peeked through the clouds. She chased it with juice and held out her hands expectantly.
“She abuses me, Lucanis.” Caterina grumbled, snatching her coffee from Fiamma’s grasp.
“De Riva, how can you treat a poor, defenseless old woman like this? After all she’s done for you?” His wink turned into a cringe as Caterina knocked her cane into his shin under the table.
“Call me old again and see what happens, boy.” She growled, standing up and shuffling past them. 
“Oh, come on, don’t be dramatic!” Fiamma called after her. “You’re not going to finish your coffee after all that?”
“You two deserve one another’s company!”
Fiamma leaned in towards Lucanis. “You saw her spit that fish oil into the carrot juice, right?”
“Old Crow trick,” He said, drinking his coffee. “People usually reserve that method for poisons.”
“Caterina thinks all medicine is poison. She’s going to be the first Crow to die a natural death.”
Lucanis smirked. “She’s too stubborn to die.”
Fiamma’s chair scraped over the patio stones as she stood and gathered the remnants of breakfast from the table. “I should go make sure she’s not putting out a contract on me.”
“Allow me.” Lucanis offered, swallowing as he set his cup down. He stacked the empty plates, taking the rest of the dishes from her hands and adding them to the top. 
“No need to pick up after the help, cousin!” Illario called in the distance, rounding a corner by the pond, arm in arm with his latest paramour: a wide-eyed wisp of a girl who clung to him, shivering, far too scarcely dressed for the cold. Illario’s influence, no doubt. 
Lucanis frowned, and Fiamma elbowed him in the ribs before he could speak.
“Just let it go,” she said under her breath.
“De Riva’s here as punishment.” Illario explained to his date, pulling out a chair for her.
“You couldn’t even spare a blanket?” Fiamma asked cooly, turning on her heel and pushing past Lucanis. “Classy, Dellamorte.”
His lip curled, and he shrugged off his cloak, draping it around his companion’s shoulders. The girl opened her mouth in protest and he shushed her, muttering something in her ear. Fiamma ducked under Lucanis’ arm as he held the kitchen door open, casting a disappointed glance over his shoulder towards his cousin.  
“He was sweet the first week.” She said as she set the dishes in the sink. “Then when he realized I wouldn’t jump in bed with him, he started parading around women to make me jealous.”
“Are you? Jealous?” Lucanis asked, nudging her aside and filling the sink.
“Of yet another victim of Illario’s facade?” Fiamma braced her palms against the marble countertop and hoisted herself up. “I pity her. He’s become such a selfish, cruel brat. I don’t even know who he is anymore.”
“I’ll talk to him.” Lucanis said, scrubbing at the plate in his hands harsher than necessary.
Fiamma hopped off the counter, reaching for a towel. “You’re such an old-fashioned romantic, Lucanis. How did you end up that way?”
“Probably the brief influence my parents had over me.” He said, passing her a clean plate to dry.
“Make sure whoever you end up with someday remembers to thank them for that.”
A huff of air escaped his nose as he watched her from the corner of his eye. “Death is my calling, Fiamma. I fear any fool who fell in love with me would only share that fate.” 
“Don’t fall for a fool, then.” she quipped.
Lucanis’ smile faded as he watched her put away the dishes on a nearby shelf.
“My cousin is an idiot, Fiamma. Just ignore his antics. He’ll get bored, eventually.”
“Why are you cleaning?” Caterina’s cane clacked against the tile as she stormed into the kitchen so quickly Fiamma wasn’t even sure if she needed it. “If the maid doesn’t have enough work, she gets lazy!”
“We’re avoiding Illario. Have you seen his newest conquest?” Fiamma inclined her head towards the window. “She’s quite the catch.”
Caterina stood on her toes, peeking through the curtains, and scowled. “Too young for him, but sufficiently naïve.”
“A shame. I’d hoped he might have finally found the one.” Rook murmured, giving Lucanis a wink.
Caterina lowered herself, having seen enough, and tapped her long fingernails on top of her cane. “Take your cousin to Viago and find him a contract, Lucanis. He clearly has too much time to spare.” 
He snorted and wiped his hands dry on his trousers, returning Fiamma’s wink. “I’ll be seeing you, De Riva.”
Caterina’s eyes narrowed, shifting between them as her grandson stepped onto the patio. She motioned towards the den with a contented grunt.
“Come, Fiammetta!” she said, “I need you to pen some correspondence for me. My carpal tunnel is acting up again.”
─── ⊹⊱♤⊰⊹ ───
“Mail.”
An envelope hit Rook in the face, and she sat up with a start. Glaring at Taash, she snatched it letter from the floor. “Can someone with a more delicate touch handle that?”
“Got a specific abomination in mind?”
“Get out before I kick your ass.” Rook threw a candle and Taash ducked with a smirk, watching it crumble as it hit the wall behind them. 
“I’d like to see you try.” 
They flopped beside her on the chaise hard enough that it rocked back. Rook braced her arm on the seat to keep from toppling onto the floor. 
“So I’ve got this thing with my mother later. Can you come with me?”
Rook gave them a bewildered look. “You’re asking favors? Now?”
“Uh. Yeah? That a problem?”
She sighed. “No, Taash, not a problem. I’ll be there when you need me.” 
“Thanks.” 
As they departed, Rook stared at the envelope in her hands bearing the De Riva seal. She hadn’t seen Viago in a week - the longest span of time since they’d reunited. It’d been a heavy week, too. She, Davrin, and Emmrich had descended into a nightmarish Grey Warden stronghold called the Cauldron, filled with blight and darkspawn. Hopeful to find where the gloom howler had taken the missing griffins, they discovered her plans to blight them instead - a twisted idea of freeing them. Davrin was rightfully distraught, but kept a cool head, turning his attention to researching obsessively in search of answers. 
The tension between her and Lucanis hadn’t helped, either. He was sulking in the pantry more than usual, carrying a look of shame every time she glanced in his direction during dinner. Why should she feel guilty about him wandering around like a kicked dog? He was the one who wanted to play the role of tortured romantic.
Rook took a dagger from her belt and worked its tip underneath the wax seal, tearing the parchment free and skimming her cousin’s missive. She squinted, trying to make sense of it, before she rose from the chaise and left her chambers. In a daze, she descended the worn stone staircase and crossed the courtyard as she reread it, her attention never leaving the page until she pushed through the kitchen doors. They creaked loudly on their hinges in protest, breaking Lucanis’ focus from behind the stove.
“Rook?” He looked up in surprise, carefully removing a steaming pot of water from the heat and setting it aside. “Are you alright?”
With a trembling hand, she extended Viago’s letter towards him. “What do you know about this?”
Perplexed, he reached out and took it from her. His eyes darted back and forth on the page, his frown deepening the further he read.
Cousin,  I hope this finds you well, and that you understand how deeply I regret our last encounter. I have feared for your safety my entire life, and never more than now, as you take on these gods. Know I will always come to your aid whenever it is in my power. Do not be afraid to call on me.  I’ve passed on your parcel, but I have many questions. You should not feel obligated to take care of Manius Casini’s family. Hear my words when I tell you they have more than enough gold for a good life in his absence. The Crows made sure of it ever since we recovered his body from the canals.  Your generosity is admirable, but do not spend another silver on the Casini family’s behalf. If you feel so inclined, perhaps that money could be put to better use on a place of your own in Treviso? That way, your vagabond strays can stop sleeping on my couch. -V
Lucanis scratched his cheek and passed the letter back to her. “I thought you knew, Rook.”
Her mouth felt dry. “Knew what?”
He tilted his head to the side. “Viago and I killed the Antaam responsible for your father’s death. The same night of the murder.”
“But Manius Casini murdered my father.” Rook protested.
Lucanis hesitated before continuing, clearly uncertain he should. With a sigh, he pulled out a chair, the wooden legs scraping against the stone floor, and gestured for her to sit.
“I don’t need to tell you that Dante De Riva was losing his mind, Rook. He was suspicious of everyone, even Viago. Casini was a double-agent in a Crow operation against the Antaam. The only reason your father wasn’t aware was because he’d stopped taking contracts and isolated himself so much. Casini came to warn him, but your father didn’t believe him, despite their long history of working together. He fled for help, but by the time he reached the Crows…”
The room suddenly felt suffocating and Rook’s knees, already trembling, gave way as she slumped in her seat. Lucanis’ lips parted in astonishment.
“You killed him.” He breathed as he drug out another chair, his eyes never leaving hers as he sat down. “That’s why you’re sending his family money.” 
“I thought he-I didn’t-” 
“I’m not judging you, Rook.” He reassured her. “You don’t have to justify it to me.”
“I thought it was him, Lucanis. Illario told me-”
“Illario?” He straightened in his chair. “What does he have to do with this?”
“He read the report-”
“Then my cousin must be illiterate. I wrote that report myself. I was very clear.” Lucanis leaned forward, his demeanor softening. “Tell me what happened, Rook.”
She swallowed hard. “Illario brought Manius to the Opera House. On my birthday. He had him tied to a chair like a gift. He gave me this…” She tore her shortsword from its hilt and flung it across the table. It knocked against the wooden surface, rolling to a stop at the center.
“You’re not at fault for this, Fiamma.” Lucanis said, taking the sword and examining its blade in the firelight before setting it on the mantle. “Illario is.”
“I think a part of me knew. I just thought if I had revenge, it would go away. This feeling-this empty horrible-” 
“My cousin restrained an innocent man, handed you a weapon, and told you where to aim all that grief and pain.” Lucanis crouched in front of her, taking her hands in his. “You’re an assassin, Rook. Illario knew what he was doing.”
She watched as he traced circles over her knuckles with the pads of his fingertips. For the work he did, his hands were surprisingly soft, where they weren’t calloused from years of wielding his blades.
“Manius claimed my mother was addicted to lyrium.” she whispered. “Is that true?”
“She got clean, but died from complications during withdrawal.” He shook his head. “I’m sorry, Rook.”
“So my father was paranoid and a liar?” She sniffed, drawing her hand away and wiping her nose with her wrist. “And everyone knew but me?”
“Don’t let it change who he was to you. Grief blinded him, and he hunted down every Antaam running lyrium through Treviso. Unfortunately, it put a target on his back.”
Rook squeezed her eyes shut, fighting back tears. “Why did no one tell me?”
“Viago asked them not to, to preserve your parents’ memory. He was trying to protect you. But he should have told you himself by now.” 
“I deserved to know then,” she said hoarsely.
Lucanis’ thumb brushed against her cheek comfortingly. “You did.”
“I can’t forgive Illario for this. Not ever, Lucanis.”
He tilted her chin up to meet his gaze. Firelight gently illuminated his brown eyes, shadows emphasizing the contours of his face. “I’m not asking you to.”
“He’s the coward. Not you. I should have never-”
“Rook…” A defeated sigh escaped through his nose, “I’ve been trying to figure out what to say to you about that day. There aren’t words enough to apologize-”
“No, I shouldn’t have called you that, you’re not-”
“I have been. With you.” He rose with her as she stood, one arm snaking around her lower back, pulling her against him. She blinked in surprise as he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. Rook rested her cheek against his palm, and a slight smile played on his lips.
“Fiammetta, I-”
The kitchen doors burst open, and they simultaneously recoiled. Clearing his throat, Lucanis turned towards the fireplace, watching the flames, and Rook planted her hands on the table as Harding entered.
“Rook! I’ve been looking for you…” she paused, glancing between them.
“What is it, Harding?” She asked, glaring at the patterns in the wood, trying to compose herself.
“Right…” Lace seemed keenly aware she was interrupting something, even if she didn’t know what that something was. “The Wardens sent word. One of Ghilan’nain’s blighted dragons is in Hossberg. Not far from Lavendel.”
Lucanis turned around. “The one that attacked Treviso?”
Harding nodded. “No sign of the one from Minrathous, as of now.” 
“Get the others.” Rook pushed herself up. “We shouldn’t waste any time.”
Lucanis caught Rook by the arm as she moved to follow Harding.
“Now? Are you sure about this? You should take some time to process-”
“Not to sound religious, but I don’t get to decide when these things happen. The gods do.” She tried to pull her hand free, but his grip tightened around her bicep.
“Lucanis! Let me go-”
He pulled her in and smoothed his hands down the sides of her hair until he was cradling her face between his palms. His eyes searched hers desperately as his mouth hovered above her own.
“I am a coward.” He said breathlessly, “But only because I don’t want you caught in my mess.”
His bottom lip caught on hers for just a moment, and he released her with a tormented expression. 
“You deserve better, Rook.”
Her fingertips brushed against her parted lips as she watched him leave. Shoulders slumped in self defeat, Lucanis pushed through the doors without a glance behind him. With a shaky breath, she composed herself, reluctantly retrieved her sword from the mantle, and followed.
─── ⊹⊱♤⊰⊹ ───
“Damnit!” Neve shouted across the battlefield, “We need more hands!”
Rook’s knuckles turned white around her weapons as Ghilan’nain’s Icetalon extended its long neck and roared, spreading its wings wide as it took a menacing step in her direction. They’d put up a good fight until a second dragon, the very one that attacked Minrathous, arrived. With an endless supply of blighted blood at Ghilan’nain’s disposal to feed her thralls, Rook and the others were getting nowhere and only growing weaker. Even with Taash, a seasoned dragon hunter, on their side, they couldn’t seem to subdue them.
Lucanis and Assan soared overhead, striking at weak spots just as a streak of green blasted through the sky and lodged itself in the side of the dragon’s head. The Icetalon staggered back, falling to the ground. Rook turned around to search for the origin and cried out in relief.
“Viago!”
The ballista aimed for the Seartooth and fired another bolt, disorienting it. He leaned over the edge of the wall with a cocky grin.
“Thought you could use a hand!”
She smirked as the last dragon standing roared. Seizing the moment, Rook jumped over the dead Icetalon’s tail and dispersed a chain of lightning across the field. Stunned, the Seartooth barely caught Lucanis coming down upon its head, burying his blade in its skull. With a shriek, the beast shook him off and stumbled, collapsing in a heap.
Davrin cut in, sprinting and launching himself onto the dragon’s back, just as Assan dove through the air, swiping at its eyes. The Grey Warden drove his sword into its throat, gripping the hilt as he swung in the air, yanking hard to tear a line down the front.
Blood rained over the battlefield and Ghilan’nain’s thrall flapped its wings in a panic. With a feeble cry, it took to the sky only to plummet, shaking the ground beneath Rook’s feet with such force that it knocked her on her back.
The walls behind them erupted in cheers, and an ominous sense of déjà vu came over Rook as Ghilan’nain seethed above.
They were celebrating too soon. 
“She’s reanimating the dragons!” Neve warned. “We have to stop her!” 
Rook nodded, ducking under floating limbs and blighted tentacles to reach the closest ballista. She employed all her strength, digging her shoulder underneath it, lining it up with Ghilan’nain.
With a sharp inhale, she found her shot, just as her father had taught her during archery lessons. She fired on her exhale and took a step back, watching as the missile embedded itself in Ghilan’nain’s core. The dragons fell motionless, as the elven god howled in pain. The Wardens on the walls rallied, charging closer and Rook fell to her knees, exhausted. She grinned up at Neve as she caught her breath.
“For Minrathous?”
The detective smiled, offering a hand and yanking her upright. “For Minrathous.” 
Their faces fell as the air stirred with magic, static crackling above them. Neve threw out a shield just as a nearby group of Wardens were propelled back, and time slowed. Rook raised her head against an invisible force as Elgar’nan appeared beside his sister. He surveyed the field, frowning as his attention fixed on Rook.
“One resists…”
“The Dread Wolf’s influence.” Ghilan’nain rasped, “His presence lingers.”
Elgar’nan scowled and waved his hand. “Ever defiant, for now.” 
The air crackled again as they disappeared into nothing. Time progressed, marked by the sound of falling bodies - alive and dead - as they crashed to the ground with haunting thuds.
Neve released her shield and doubled over, chest heaving, and Rook scanned the field anxiously for her allies. Above, Viago, the other Crows, stood with Emmrich, Harding, and Bellara. To her left, Assan licked Davrin’s face as he sat up from where he’d fallen. Taash sheathed their weapons not far behind.
“Where’s Lucanis?” Rook asked in a panic. 
“Here.” 
She turned as he heaved himself from a deep puddle with a grunt, thick mud clinging to his boots and armor.
“We survived,” Neve said bitterly, staring at the sky. “Some of us, at least. Too bad the gods got away.” 
“We have our revenge. And so does Minrathous.” Viago interjected, casually descending a wooden staircase and leaping over a pile of debris. With a sob of relief, Rook rushed forward and flung her arms around his neck. He stiffened, attempting to pry her off.
“You’re making me look soft in front of the Wardens.” He hissed.
“Just let her.” Lucanis clapped a hand on his shoulder as he limped past. “She needs you right now.” 
With a resigned grunt, Viago encircled Rook with one arm, giving in to a reluctant half-embrace. 
“You did good, Little Flame.” He said. “You did good.” 
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oceaneyesinla · 7 days ago
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FINALLY i found the writing momentum to write about my beloved Rook and her beloved boys
A small introduction to her: her name is Emmariel Thorne, and she's an elven Warden rogue. she's also a little shit with a heart of gold
beware spoilers for Veilguard under the cut, referencing a major choice and a key story mission
divider by @/cafekitsune
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"Has anyone seen Rook?" Harding asks the room at large, standing in the doorway to the kitchen, "Viago just sent over ... you know, I'm not sure what it is. It's got her name on it, though."
Lucanis speaks up from where he's preparing the vegetables for dinner, "Knowing Viago, it's either poison or a new blade. He and Teia are growing rather fond of her, though Viago will never admit it."
"Rook did look very excited the last time she came back from Treviso." Neve doesn't look up from the papers she's reading, but there's a small smile turning up her lips. Minrathous falling to the Venatori had driven a wedge between them, but in the aftermath of Weisshaupt, their bond seemed less fraught. Especially since Rook helped her with some work back in Dock Town.
Davrin is the one to actually answer Harding's question, "Haven't seen her, but I'll let her know you're looking for her if I do."
A lie, but no one else needs to know that. Not that he'll tell her about the 'gift' from Viago - he'll take great pleasure in telling her about the package, and in watching her face light up, blue eyes bright and mischievous. Lucanis is right - Emmariel has endeared their new Crow friends just like she has everyone else, and even the Fifth Talon isn't immune to her charm. That mystery package is almost certainly a knife.
No, the lie is that he actually does know where Rook is. She's exactly where he left her; fast asleep in his bed, using Assan as both a pillow and a plush toy. The griffon was all too happy to spend some time with his second favourite person - after all the trouble Remi and Lancit had bonding with the griffons in the beginning, he never expected Assan to take to Emmariel as quickly as he did. She gravitates to him almost every time she passes through the courtyard, and Assan just chirps happily as she taps his beak and cradles his head in her hands and throws her arms around him.
Davrin has spent more time with Emmariel lately, just like Assan - both of them grew up in Dalish clans, and both of them found a new home with the Wardens, though their path to the Order differed. Being around her feels easy - she's warm and friendly, with a quick wit that draws a laugh out of him every time. Her heart takes pride of place on her sleeve, and she has a knack for seeming so empathetic but so strong. He can see why Antoine and Evka speak so highly of her.
That big heart comes with a cost, and Davrin hates to watch her pay it. He can still see the first time she let all of them see just how badly Weisshaupt affected her in his mind. The sheer disbelief on her face as a Warden stumbled through the doors to the dining hall, supported by Antoine and Evka. The big tears that rolled down her cheeks as she tripped over herself to reach him, and the shuddering sobs that left her shaking in his hold.
The Warden was her mentor and the man who saved her life when she was blighted; Samuel. For over a week, she helped them with their problems; listened to him and Lucanis take petty shots at each other, and supporting Neve in Minrathous through the mage's distrust and her own guilt. All of that, while carrying the burden of not knowing how many of her Warden friends were dead, or if her beloved mentor had survived.
Watching her cry into Samuel's shirt, Antoine rubbing her back and looking close to tears himself, Davrin made a silent promise to himself - he would take care of her; give her a safe place to shed the weight she carried and let herself be vulnerable. It's no hardship - he finds himself thinking of her when she's away from the Lighthouse without him, and he can't help the smile that tugs at his lips when she comes to see him and Assan.
When she fell asleep in his room, curled up in the armchair by the fire with Assan keeping watch, he didn't hesitate to lift her into his arms, cradling her against him as he moved her to his bed. He can't take away the grief of Weisshaupt, or the guilt of Minrathous, but he can let her have a few hours of uninterrupted rest, safe and sound in his room and his bed.
************
He's quiet when he returns to his room, just in case Emmariel is still asleep. A cheerful chirp greets him, and moments later, Emmariel is peeking around the corner, all tired eyes and sleep ruffled hair, making her pretty blue curls even more unruly than usual. He's not a poetic man, but the smile she sends his way feels like the soft sunshine of sunrise, and some small part of him hopes that whatever future comes his way after all this, she will be by his side.
He's pleasantly surprised when she closes the distance between them, wrapping her arms around his middle and burying her face into his shoulder. He doesn't hesitate to return the gesture, relaxing into the warmth radiating from her. In a spark of bravery, he drops a kiss to the top of her head. She stays quiet, but the way her arms tighten around him speaks volumes.
"Sleep well?" He asks as they pull apart; she looks better than she did before her impromptu nap. Her eyes are bright again, clear cerulean sky staring up at him.
She lets out a little laugh, reaching out to scratch Assan between his ears, "I did. Assan makes a good cuddle buddy." Assan lets out happy little chirps, approving of both the attention and the praise from his second favourite person. When she looks back up at him, the sheer emotion in her eyes makes his heart skip a beat, "Davrin ... thank you, for letting me sleep." He's pretty sure she's thanking him for far more than that, but his answer will always be the same. Maybe he's an idiot - a Warden falling for another Warden at the end of the world, but he can't find it in himself to regret it.
"You're always welcome with Assan and me. Who else will feed him snacks on the sly?"
His playful tease pulls another bright peal of laughter from her even as she tries and fails to look innocent, "I would never feed him gingerwort truffles when his father isn't looking, and a good boy like Assan would never accept illicit treats."
There's that spark of mischief, of life he's been missing. She's still laughing and looking up at him with those big blue eyes that give her away and it would be so easy to reach out and -
"Oh, Rook! There you are!" Harding's voice breaks the moment building between them, and Emmariel's happy little bubble. He watches her tense up infinitesimally, her hand stilling on Assan's feathers, using him as a comfort. She's expecting the worst, and after everything they've been through, he can't blame her, "Viago sent a package for you. Lucanis thinks it's poison, Taash is hoping it's a cape."
Emmariel's grin is immediately restored, bigger and more concerning than before, "My knife! Viago said he was sending a little knife for me to keep hidden away. For emergencies." Davrin has seen Emmariel with a blade - the only person having an emergency would be the person crossing her.
She grabs his hand, tugging him along behind her. Not that it takes any effort for her to make him follow her. He pointedly ignores Harding and her knowing smile as he lets Emmariel lead him across to the dining hall, Assan trotting along by her side. All he wants to focus on is the warmth of her small hand in his.
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sky-fire-forever · 27 days ago
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Viago/Rook ❛  if only you knew how much you truly mean to me.  ❜? 👀
Thank you for this prompt!
@dadrunkwriting - Dragon Age: The Veilguard
My Rook in this one is Wyker de Riva, who uses he/him pronouns.
CW: Incest, age gap, and power imbalance.
Wyker is bloodied and bruised after the fight. His right eye is swollen shut and his bottom lip is split open. There’s a nasty cut across his arm where the target had managed to slice him in an attempt to cut his throat that he’d narrowly avoided. The struggle had clearly been an intense battle rather than the stealthy assassination it was meant to be. 
And of course Viago is left to clean up the mess. 
“Idiot,” he mutters as he busies himself with stitching Wyker’s arm back together. “You could have gotten yourself killed.” 
“You’re the one who sent me on this job,” Wyker snaps back, always needing to be the one with the last word. He can never just take his lectures in silence. Brat. 
“I had believed you would be able to accomplish the task without foolishly getting yourself put in harm’s way.” If Viago is more forceful than necessary when he jabs the needle back through Wyker’s skin, well, that’s his own business. “It was supposed to be a simple job.” 
“Hey, I got it done, didn’t I?” Wyker says with a growl to his voice. 
“Yes, and now look at you.” 
Wyker rolls his eyes before a smirk plays its way onto his lips. “You just can’t stop yourself from looking at me, can you?” He purrs. 
Viago scowls. “Stop. This is serious.” 
“More serious than you lusting after your protegee?” He bats his eyelashes in Viago’s direction, playing the part of seductress in an attempt to avoid consequence. 
“Damn it, Wyker!” Viago throws down the needle, causing Wyker to flinch. “You almost got yourself killed! If you knew how much you mean to me–”
He cuts himself off, rubbing a hand over his face. “I will not lose you,” he says firmly. 
Wyker stares at him, taken aback by the outburst. “How much?”
“What?” 
“How much do I mean to you, if it matters so much?” 
Viago scowls and turns away, leaving the question unanswered. He can’t answer it, not in a way that will be satisfying. 
“That’s what I thought.” Wyker crosses his arms, the thread from the stitches still hanging from him. “How exactly am I supposed to know what I mean to you if you refuse to admit it?” 
“You–” Viago tries to come up with something to say, but cuts it off in a growl. He turns his gaze to Wyker’s arm and focuses on finishing the stitches he’s already started. His blood boils and he wishes he could just get this boy out of his head. 
But he can’t. Of course he can’t. He’s never been able to before and he’s beginning to fear that he’ll never be able to at all. 
“Viago.” Wyker’s voice is softer now. “It’s okay to care about people, you know.” 
Viago’s eyes flit to meet Wyker’s gaze. He looks so battered and bruised, like the child he used to be during training. He still is that little boy to Viago in many ways, which just makes his feelings for him curdle into shame. 
“Become someone worth caring about, then,” he says as he finishes up and rises to his feet. He turns his back on Wyker and leaves the room, his emotions at war with his mind. 
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arduousflame · 2 months ago
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For just one night
I'm still just playing around with who I want Rook to be. So have a little bit of the team finally getting a breather and a little backstory on Rook. I think I have settled on her being part of the Crow's but not an assassin per se. No spoilers at all.
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For just one night
Lucanis moved behind the three women seated at the table, clearing the last of the evening’s dishes as his eyes skimmed over the pages of Rook’s book. Neve and Rook had relocated the detective’s case notes to the dining hall after dinner, working together to decipher coded messages. Rook’s knack for shorthands and cants had proven invaluable, and her personal key—a small leatherbound book—lay open on the table. It was filled with snippets of stories and songs, shorthand exercises, and codes she had accumulated over years as Viago’s eyes and ears.
“Westford Bay? Why does that sound familiar?” he wondered.
“Oh, that’s a classic! It used to be all the rage with the Ferelden minstrels” Harding chimed in, grinning from her seat near the hearth. “Rook, you know how to sing that one?”
“It is indeed a classic, but it’s been a while sing I last sang it,” Rook agreed, with a faint smile “I used to pull it out as a surefire way to keep a bar full of drunkards entertained. Works surprisingly well on Grey Wardens, too.” She flashed a toothy grin at Davrin, who shrugged but returned the smile. “We’re simple folk,” he replied. “Doesn’t take much to entertain us—a sweet smile, a song, a dance…”
Lucanis bit back a sharp retort—Spite’s retort, not his own—just as recognition flickered across his face. “The Castillon job! That was a joint contract—de Riva and Dellamorte. Illario insisted on a lookout for that one, someone who could entertain a crowd. Viago hesitated, but good thing we had one. That job went sideways fast when that paramour started screaming in the closet. The lookout got the whole bar singing—it drowned out the noise and gave us a clean escape.” He paused, his gaze locking onto Rook. “That was you?”
Her cup hid most of her face, but not the faint blush creeping across her cheeks and ears. “Yes,” she mumbled into the rim, avoiding his gaze.
He leaned in closer to examine the lyrics, catching the shorthand scribbled in the margins: Vi, you owe me for this one. offspring of that old vulture or not, if he dares that again, I’ll give them a reason to draw up a contract on me. I’d sign it myself.
Before he could ask her about the comment, Taash piped up. “Rook, you sing?”
From where he stood, Lucanis swore she was trying to crawl into her cup.
“Show us! It must have been good if Lucanis here remembers it,” Taash was oblivious to the embarrasment of their leader.
Rook groaned. “I don’t think I said anything about the skill of that lookout,” Lucanis replied with a smirk, “just that she managed to distract a bunch of drunkards.”
She shot him a mock-pained glare, but he grinned back. “Knowing the people in that bar, I doubt much skill was required.”
“I don’t think it would be wise to expose Manfred to this kind of music,” Rook deflected, gesturing toward the skeleton.
“Nonsense, my dear, any exposure to art, even those considered more folkish, is very educational.” Emmrich joined in. She sighed at the eagerly hissing skeleton. “I was counting on you”, she mumbled. Manfred gave her a thumbs up instead.
"I don’t have any instruments here…”
“You didn’t need any that night either, if I remember correctly,” Lucanis replied, his tone laced with a mock challenge.
This time, she shot him a look brimming with betrayal. “They were too drunk to…” she began, grasping at a final excuse.
“Easily fixed,” Davrin interrupted, cutting her short as he rose and headed for the bottles of wine and spirits stashed in the kitchen.
By the hearth, Harding and Bellara sat side by side, their eyes alight with expectation as they looked to Rook.
Rook turned to Assan with mock severity. “And what will you add to this treachery, boy?”
The griffon spun in a quick circle, then flopped dramatically in front of the two women, who were still watching with eager anticipation.
“Of course,” she muttered, resigned. “It seems I’ve met my match.” With a long-suffering sigh, she stood and leveled a finger at Harding and Davrin. “You’d better join in at the chorus.”
Harding nodded enthusiastically, while Davrin leaned back with a shrug and a grin. With a sigh, their leader stood up and gave a theatric bow to her audience. And started to sing the well-known ballad.
He did remember that job—and that young lookout. He must have been, what, twenty-five? Which meant she would’ve been in her early twenties. Illario had handled the preparations. He’d even petitioned Viago for a backup. Just in case it goes sideways, Illario had said.
He recalled how Illario had asked for someone specific. How had he described her again? That silver-tongued one, Gwynn is her name, no? The one whose wit’s sharper than a dagger.
Viago had tried to dissuade him. Warned him that she was a lightning rod for trouble.
All the better, Illario had replied with a grin. I might even help the Fifth Talon file down some of those burrs from her. Temper her, if I can.
He flinched at the memory now, realizing what Illario’s “tempering” of the younger fledglings usually entailed. They had met briefly before the job began—she’d been quiet then, wary of both Dellamortes. By that time, Lucanis had already earned his moniker, so he had not thought more of it.
They didn’t see her again until they reconvened at House de Riva. She’d been present for the debrief, where Illario had given her a glowing commendation. A nightingale among Crows, he had practically purred. A glance back between her and Viago and he had stepped in front of her, pushing her further back—a rare and uncharacteristic show of protection from the Talon.
Oh, Illario… That memory cast fresh light on the tense meeting at the Diamond, after they’d left the Ossuary. Whatever had transpired back then, it was clear Rook hadn’t forgotten—and had certainly not forgiven.
Her voice was more mature now than he remembered—more assured and steady—but still just as clear and melodic. The ballad told the tale of a sailor falling in love with a spirit on a drunken night. A lively dancing tune, despite its tragic story.
It didn’t take long for her to pull Bellara and Harding—who kept her promise to join in at the chorus—into the rhythm, dancing with her. The three women moved together, laughter spilling from their lips as Assan bounded playfully around them. At the table, Neve was laughing too, both she and Taash clapping along with the beat.
If Lucanis didn’t know her better, he might have accused her of weaving a spell through the song. She had enchanted their little group. Davrin hummed along, and even Taash had risen, joining the impromptu dance. With a graceful twirl, Rook handed Harding off to the laughing Qunari and swept Bellara into the steps, leading her with ease. The Dalish elf took to the Ferelden dancing steps with natural skill.
Manfred swayed at the edges, content to just watch. Emmrich, though he remained seated, tapped his foot to the rhythm. Lucanis couldn’t help but smile at the sight.
And then, just for a moment, Rook’s eyes met his. Her smile—genuine, unguarded—caught him off guard. Spite crooned in the back of his mind. Make her. Smile. More! Smells of cinnamon and cider. Just for a split second, before a twirl took her away again, to the other side of the room. He had not paid much attention to her that night all those years ago. He would not make that mistake again.
The song ended fartoo soon, with a floorish and a bow. Bellara collapsed in front of the fireplace, still laughing as she stretched out on the floor.
“Rook, you need to do that more often!” the elf gasped. Rook dropped into a chair, gratefully taking the beer Neve handed her. After a deep swig, she laughed breathlessly. “I’m severely out of practice. This is harder than taking on darkspawn, I’ll tell you that. Viago severely underpaid me, now that I think about it.”
“Oh, harder than killing Darkspawn, really?” Davrin took the obvious bait.
“I’d like to see you coordinate song and dance, Warden,” Rook shot back with a grin. “In my experience, Wardens are a bit… single-minded.”
She ducked just in time as a wine cork sailed past her head, prompting a round of laughter.
“But I’ll admit,” she continued, hands raised in defense, “some of my best stories came from Wardens. I’d be honored to add yours to my collection.”
The case notes were forgotten as the evening turned to jokes, stories, and laughter. Davrin eventually relented, sharing a tale of his own after Rook bribed him with another beer.
Rook, as Lucanis realized as he sat back down in front of her, did what she always did best: disarm and distract. He caught her looking at him when he reached for the wine bottle in the center. The smile she offered him was tired, but just as warm as before. Spite did that crooning again, somehow content for once. For just one night, they laughed, sang, and drank. Morning would call soon enough. But for now, they could breathe.
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pentuppen · 2 months ago
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Luthor 'Rook' de Riva pt.2
Yes i'm back to thrust my Rook into the masses because I'm honestly falling in love with him the more I play him. As someone trying to be a writer, its been very easy to actually construct a personality for this dude as I play along, and I have to say, the big bastard may have to have a cameo in an actual story one day (sans being a qunari obviously)
So Spoilers below for those still making their way through the game.
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Luthor likes Neve a lot, and immediately cast her into the 'big sister who may or may not kick my ass', a position solely occupied by Teia up till now. Having her and Harding around is a big relief to Luthor. H has no fucking clue how he ended up in charge of everything, so its a comfort to know Neve will have no issues chewing him out if he starts fucking up. He has a deep respect for the motives behind what she does...which is why choosing to save his home before tending to Minrathous hits the poor guy hard.....They both knew he had an impossible choice, but that doesn't make it suck any less that Neve doesn't quite trust him as much.
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Davrin is one of those guys that reminds Luthor that he'll never be as cool as all his new friends. But beyond that, he can see parallels between his and Davrins lives. Luthor also found himself on his own when young, and his need to not be alone, coupled with being built big, made him an easy target for people that wanted to use him. From pit fighting to 'enforcing' for shady people. He was essentially a people pleaser who met all the wrong people. Luthor could have ended up down a very dark path if Teia hadn't seen something in him enough to push him on Viago. But Davrin chose an honourable path, that led him to the Wardens, an institution that Luthor admires despite some of the more unsavory elements coming to light over the years. He probably admires Davrin a lot but likely privately compares how much better Davrin handled that start on life. But mild unspoken resentment is all it is, because Davrin is a solid guy and he has a freakin Griffon!!!
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As for Lucanis? Oh boy, poor Luthor was never prepared for that. He took leaving the crows with Varric pretty hard. Teia and Viago put a lot of work into turning a young thug into a force to be reckoned with, as well as providing him with that sense of family that he always lacked. He loved the crows and leaving felt like he'd let himself down hard. It took Varric's patience and a lot of time to think to balance him out while they hunted for Solas.
Then along comes Lucanis. Not only does this put him in the position to have to face Viago and the others, but Catarina, the scariest lady in the world as far as Luthor is concerned. They rescue this dude who is like....10,000 times more cooler than he is, and its about half a week before my poor big lad realises he has about the most ill advised crush on Lucanis, who compounds being hot as hell with being a decent person....for an assassin.
This guys is the likely heir to first Talon, of an institute luthor got half kicked out of. He has a demon in him, but that's not even half as scary as the fact that he's Catarina's grandson! He's impeccable in every way, and for Luthor, ever the people pleaser, hearing that man yell encouragement and praise in the middle of the battlefield, i swear......
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....this expression right here, is Luthor's expression every time. If he were an animal I would label him as a super friendly but loyal Cane Corso, and if he had a tail it would fucking wag every time the Demon of fucking Vyrantium, yells "Beautiful Rook!"
I have issues, but I also have writers block and building Luthor up hour by hour as I play helps!
There will likely be more!
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kaiarablackfire · 5 days ago
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I thought I was free of my shit ass Crow, but no. They're back. Turns out, starting up a mage run isn't the answer to freeing my brain, cause after playing rogue for so long, mage kinda feels bad. I'm not biased, your biased. So here, more Quinn. And because I have 0 chill, we're getting sad boi hours this time. (Below the cut for spoilers.)
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After the Antaam incident, Quinn knew just how bad things were not by being all but kicked out of Antiva, but by the silent simmering too quiet rage from Viago. He didn’t yell, or glower or call them names. He was stern, and quiet as he told them they were to leave, to go with Varric on his fool’s mission. And the thing that hurt Quinn the most, more than Viago’s anger, more than the hurt and worry they could see in his eyes that they knew he would never voice, was being denied their name. Rook worked well as an alias, and they were grateful to Varric for the nickname, but it still stung every time they heard it in place of the name their brother had given them, knowing that he had also taken it away. (Of course Viago wasn't actually taking their name from them. They were to hide. To be safe. Not that Quinn took it that way. Nor would it have made the hurt any less.)
No one among the Veilguard knew just how the name Rook added to the salt in Quinn’s heart every time they spoke it, the Crow masking it easier and easier as they heard the name more and more. Only Spite, always far too aware, knew something wasn’t quite right with ‘Rook’. Though Quinn hid their pain well enough that not even the demon could really understand. Shame? Regret? Spite didn’t know, only that it was wrong. Early on, Lucanis ignored the demon’s incoherent ranting, but later, once they came to an understanding, Lucanis started paying more attention and agreed that something about the nickname didn’t sit quite right with the other Crow. But without time to really dig in, and with Quinn deflecting anything approaching their own personal problems, he would have to wait to needle the group’s leader on their twitch at the name.
It wasn’t until after taking down Ivenci, when Viago looked Quinn in the eye and told them. “You’re a damn fine Crow, Quinn.” Giving them their name back. The stiffness of their muscles, the clench of their jaw, the signs that they were holding back something. Spite’s voice in Lucanis’ ear only confirmed his suspicions. “Belonging and pride. Truth and relief. A shame forgiven, a loss reclaimed. Not a Rook, never a Rook.”
Quinn held themselves in. They just got their name back, they weren't about to give Viago a reason to take it again by showing the depth of the vulnerability that the name alone ripped open in their heart, nor the twist of the figurative knife that was the accompanying complement, one without a snide aside attached. Viago was proud of them, pure and simple. It wasn’t until they were back at the Lighthouse, in their room alone, that they let the emotion out.
On the lounge that they used for a bed, Quinn sobbed into the stupid cape they wore out on missions, the one that matched Viago’s, the one that they insisted they wore only to annoy their Talon, the one that they would never admit was the only thing holding them together after returning home following a year in exile. Their brother’s cape that they were punished harshly for clinging to when they were a kid. Once again Quinn was clinging to the familiar fabric, though no stinging pain accompanied their grip. They still maintained the presence of mind to be silent in their tears, just huddled on the stupid couch, silently sobbing into the cape like it was a blanket.
It was all too much to force back down when they heard the door open behind them. So they did the only thing they could think of, they emulated their brother, affecting an annoyed tone at being disturbed and without turning around spat out a single word. “What.” The hesitation in the steps they recognized as Lucanis’ ripped at their heart anew and they nearly broke again, but the image of Viago’s disapproving stare in their mind held them still.
And while Lucanis nearly turned and left, Spite would not allow it. “They hurt. Fix them.” The demon was forceful and demanding and it was the clear concern in his demands that kept Lucanis moving forward. “Rook…” The tensing of Quinn’s shoulders and the angry growl from Spite made him reconsider. His voice was quiet, hesitant as he tried again, using the name he heard Viago use, the one that clearly affected them so strongly. “Quinn?” The choked sob that was his only response had Lucanis’ steps hurried as he approached the couch.
The sight of their leader, always ready with a joke, or a kind word, who always knew what to say or do, was always so strong, curled up on the couch, eyes red from their tears, clinging to their cape (Viago’s cape) like a lifeline, looking so small and vulnerable… Lucanis felt his heart break. As Quinn realized what he must see and tried to pull themself together, the desperate need to hide that weakness lest it be turned on them, Lucanis felt the low simmer of rage, though it was quickly stamped out, knowing full well the lessons that would have lead to the instinct. And Spite was in his ear, demanding they “Fix. Them.” and he knew, Maker did he know, how delicate this situation was.
So, it was with all the care of someone approaching a cornered animal, that he slowly sat on the couch near Quinn, and simply held out a hand. And Quinn, poor kind Quinn, who clearly had not had their heart truly hardened by the training of the Crows, looked in the eyes of the man their brother had warned them away from all those years ago, the man they had, despite their best efforts, fallen in love with, and all that training, all those fears and suspicions and expectations melted away. The cape was forgotten in favour of burying their face in Lucanis’ chest, his form now muffling the pained sobs ripping their way from Quinn’s throat. And while they’d clearly have to talk about this later, for now, Lucanis simply wrapped his arms around Quinn and let them cry.
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