#and then thinking rook might be gone forever

[timethehobo]

The visual of Emmy being absolutely devastated and heartbroken during the period Rook went missing kept coming up. 😔

[vaguely-concerned]

thinking about not only the specific people lucanis pulls in to represent the 'locks' in his psyche, but the storytelling that happens in the structure/order of them. the underlying ideas are presented something like:

the lucanis who went into the ossuary never came back out again; he died down there (the boy caterina raised is gone forever) -> you're putting yourself in danger doing this (by being close to me), you should leave because I can't bear it if you get hurt because of me -> it doesn't matter even if we do try this, it won't work anyway (again because of me) ('you know what he's like, you can open the door but he won't walk through it' :'( oofie doofie) -> what if the real secret is that there was never anything but the monster in here from the beginning. you should leave, there was never anything here worth saving in the first place. (implicitly: what if I deserved what happened, all along.)

it runs pretty cleanly from outward-oriented attachment anxiety ('caterina won't even want me back like this, she won't recognize me (the same way I no longer recognize myself)) and gradually deeper inwards until we reach self-image and self worth. or you know, the harrowing basic lack of it lol.

"careful -- they'll know we're not right," spite says in one of their first scenes... but clearly, some very deep part of lucanis has feared or suspected for much longer than that that there's something inherently not right at the core of him, way before any demon entered the picture. and the voice he gives those lines to is the person who should know him better than anyone in the world, who he has loved more than anyone in the world -- and who deliberately chose to hurt him so horrifically anyway. 'It's better if I'm just a monster and deserved what happened than it is to allow for the idea that the brother I love doesn't really exist and maybe never did'. it's better if he's fundamentally flawed in some way that needed fixing to help him survive, and that's why caterina chose to hurt him again and again -- out of love. (this one I think he might have a very sad wakeup call on one day if he ever ends up with the responsibility and care of a child of his own in some way and realizes just how alien the idea of ever intentionally hurting them for any reason is to him. oh buddy. also interesting that he keeps caterina as the outermost lock -- there IS a distance he keeps there that he hasn't with illario. he doesn't resent her 'anymore' he says, but he also keeps her carefully further away from his deepest self.)

as far as I could tell the only note in the mind prison that's fully hidden and needs to be uncovered is the sad painful helpless stupid little truth that even after all this, even knowing what happened... he still loves his brother. is there anything illario could ever do that would make lucanis completely stop loving him, do you think? sometimes the trouble with unconditional love is that it is, well. unconditional, even when some terms and conditions probably would have been in order haha.

that's the pattern you see there again and again; he would rather destroy and abandon and imprison himself at every turn than let go of love, even when it's just scraps, even when there's only ever enough of it to hurt him. it's only when rook shows up and as it were takes his hand and walks along with him that he can entertain the idea of changing the story of what walking out the door might mean in the end.

[maythedreadwolftakeyou]

VEILGUARD SPOILERS FOR LUCANIS ROMANCE SCENE

I haven't seen anyone post this option version for the first dialogue wheel choice in Lucanis' romance scene yet, but it's by far my favorite because it's one of the few (perhaps even only) opportunities the game gives you to add a little depth to your character and the Lucanis relationship (even if it's never mentioned again). My comment below is just about that one choice and followup but ummmmm i recorded the whole scene anyway just for you know. Me. Anyway...

This is the only "anxiety/alarm" dialogue option I think I picked the whole game, but I think the timing of it is really perfect. Especially with the knowledge that Rook was trapped in the Regret Prison for WEEKS. Even if time moved faster for them, we can still imagine it probably wasn't as fast as it took us the player to go through it. But Rook has just gone through a series of awful things--losing one of their companions (and being the one to consign them to that role), learning Varric has been dead all along, Solas (who they were perhaps just coming to trust) betraying them, being trapped with no idea if they'll be able to leave. And they just got confirmation that Solas was using blood magic to make them hallucinate their dead friend speaking to them, so that they'd fall in line with his plans more easily. So when they're trapped and struggling to escape and suddenly hear their new companions calling to them, and come out to find everyone they hoped was still alive safe and waiting for them... wouldn't they doubt it? At least a little? I mean if Solas REALLY wanted to trap them in the Fade forever, wouldn't this be the absolute best way to do it--by convincing them they ARE out and everything might still be okay? And this is especially great with the Lucanis romance because he (and Spite) are the only one on the team who have first hand experience with that same thing. He escaped the Ossuary but he didn't, truly, at first. He knows what it's like to be trapped somewhere and then not really believe in his own freedom afterward. And THIS time, he gets to be the one comforting Rook, who's been his rock through the whole experience, and Rook gets to be the vulnerable one for a change as he finally steps into the more active/supportive role. I just think it's really nice symmetry, to have an option where the hookup scene is coming from a place of loss/desperation on BOTH of their sides, to convince themselves that everything is real AND there's a chance that everything might actually turn out okay in the end.

[heylittleriotact]

*banging pots and pans* Come get your angst! Delicious, heart wrenching Emmrook angst!

𝑀𝑜𝓇𝒾𝒷𝓊𝓃𝒹

adjective

1. near death

2.  stagnant; without force or vitality

One of us needs to consider my mortality.

Had he known what would happen hours later, he would have chosen very different words indeed.

It was a foolish assertion in hindsight - a weak argument and he knew it: Amina was always considering mortality. His, hers, and everyone else’s.

A study of Emmrich's perspective after Rook goes missing: we get to bear witness to a scruffy, smelly, devastated man up to his neck in self-loathing, as well as the spirits that help him.

Contains heavy Act 3 spoilers - proceed at your own risk!

Full under the cut or on ao3

Day 0:

It was extremely unorthodox thinking - there was no evidence or theory supporting any circumstance where it might work: without a body on this side of the Veil to serve as a ballast, it was wishful thinking at best, but he had to try. Not trying meant accepting, and he refused to accept that she was gone - lost forever to the Dread Wolf’s prison. Not with their exchange from the night before being what it was…

That couldn’t be the end. 

He excused himself curtly from the others upon their arrival back at the Lighthouse, expertly sidestepping any inquiries after his own wellbeing that followed him doggedly until they were silenced by the laboratory door slamming shut behind him. Might he have come off as callous? Perhaps. Did he care? Not presently. The time for contrition would come later.

Questions lingered about the specifics of what had happened, but it was easy enough to infer by the fact that Solas walked free and Amina had seemingly vanished from existence, she had been made to take his place in the prison he’d been trapped in. Solas had been able to survive there in that pocket of the Fade, so that meant that Amina could too… for a time at least, if not indefinitely. 

He was going to get her out. 

But first…

He stood in the middle of the room and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath in, holding it… then slowly letting it go in a measured, disciplined exhalation that helped to slow his racing heart as he forced his body back into a state of calm: no mean feat when one comprehended the heaviness of the air as it pressed in around him, the tragic gravity of his task weighing on him.

He lifted his hands, felt the comforting susurrations of the Veil playing over, through, between his fingers as he trailed them through seemingly empty space: a lonely conductor at the podium, leading an invisible orchestra… the melancholy composer of a poignant dirge. 

Threads unravelled with the morose, introspective swell of a cello’s baleful hum, and the vast mystery of Beyond sang to him, a faceless, nebulous chorus of voices, ageless and legion. Some were joyful, others despondent, but they all maintained a pristine harmony that would cause even the most cruel and unfeeling of souls to take pause for the sheer perfection of their sound.

He swallowed away the tightness in his throat. Forced strength into his craven voice. Focused on the familiar verdant light that filtered through his eyelids. 

“Hear me, Amina - with my voice I am calling you!” He sent the words beyond the Veil, where no one may ever hear them again. “I set this beacon for you now: a beacon that will guide you home. Follow my voice. Follow me home: we are waiting for you…. I am waiting for you.” 

With a gesture of his hand that would look very complicated to anyone observing, he tethered the invisible line he had cast into the Fade to the only body in the room: his. Traditionally this particular spell was called upon to guide wayward spirits back to their hosts, or in rare cases, draw the spirit of a dying person back from the Fade before it was too late to resuscitate them. That anchor point in the world of the living was vital for the magic to work, but since Amina left behind no body, Emmrich could only live in hope that her spirit was as tightly bound to him as he suspected his was to her. 

It was likely folly: what affection could survive his cowardice? His preening ignorance? His vainglorious proclivity for driving something away as transcendentally pure as love itself?

But he had to try: at the very least she could live to despise him for the rest of her days. 

The green light faded as his hands stilled and the notes of the symphony resolved. Silence returned so harshly it physically hurt. He opened his eyes and clasped his hands together as he so often did. 

“I need you, dear…”

Perhaps she would hear that too. 

Day 2: 

He was awake well into the early morning hours communing with the dead, listening through the Veil for a whisper, a rumour - any rumblings amongst the spirits that would avail him of his darkest thoughts: even confirmation that she was alive would be enough. 

The spirits were indeed talkative, but not a single one seemed aware of the presence of a mortal woman in their realm.

He wept for the first time that morning as her absence in its totality hit him all at once - the first of many times that tears would be shed in the coming days as he curled around her scent-heavy pillow on the settee in her room. 

The couch which ordinarily felt rather cramped when they both shared it now seemed devastatingly wide and empty without her tangled up in him, giggling softly as she slotted her thigh between his and slipped a hand up the back of his shirt to shock him with the coldness of it against his skin.

Gone. She was gone, and it was entirely his doing…

Day 4:

It had taken precisely eight words to destroy everything, as Johanna’s remains were so eager to point out before he had her temporarily removed to a quiet alcove elsewhere in the Lighthouse. It was an astute observation, and he couldn’t find it within himself to offer a rebuttal to her further assessment that he was a ridiculous gloating twat with a truly awe-inspiring gift for cataclysmically fucking things up for every single poor soul that happened to cross paths with him.

One of us needs to consider my mortality. 

Had he known what would happen hours later, he would have chosen very different words indeed.

It was a foolish assertion in hindsight - a weak argument and he knew it: Amina was always considering mortality. His, hers, and everyone else’s. If life was a sentence in a book, death was simply the appropriate punctuation that marked the end of it: without it, the sentence lost all of its weight and meaning. 

She always spoke so romantically about the inevitability of that final mystery - the peace and freedom from pain and fear that would come with it, and the comforting guarantee of an end in a world where one could seldom rely on the guarantee of anything: food, fortune… love. To her, it was part of a treasured natural order, responsible for everything from the stars in the sky to the worms in the dirt. She was enchanted by mortality… he loathed it.

He dragged his hands through his greasy hair, hunched over an old and fragile tome.A tear splashed on the page, and not wanting to damage the delicate paper even in this state, he wiped it away.

His eyes itched and felt swollen - he didn’t need to look in a mirror to know they were bloodshot from long hours of focusing on print, missed sleep, and periodic bouts of pain and regret that would descend upon him like some great, vicious bird of wrath. It ravaged him with its talons and plucked at his insides with its wicked beak, discarding his guts methodically as it rooted around inside of him for its favored meats: his liver and his kidneys - bloody and succulent. His heart was left untouched by the cruel raptor… it wanted him to feel everything, and he welcomed its agonizing ministrations as he toiled endlessly, trying to find a way to fix his mistake. 

It was his mistake after all. 

“It wasn’t your fault!” Neve had insisted the first time he dared to speak the truth aloud. 

A thoughtful sentiment, but worthless when held up to the light: he had instructed Amina to seize the dagger from Ghilan’nain’s corpse, and she obeyed without question because she trusted him implicitly.

He had been told after the collapse that the death of his parents wasn’t his fault either - as if that was of any real comfort to a traumatized child, newly orphaned and numb with grief. 

Of course it wasn’t his fault - even as a young boy he knew the catastrophic failure of the building wasn’t his doing, but people said ignorant things when they didn’t know what else to say. Things that took root in the heart of a young man, replacing his grief over the years with a solemn and defiant indignance: ‘it wasn’t your fault,’ ‘it was the Maker’s will,’ ‘they’re in a better place now,’ ‘at least they didn’t suffer…’

Why would the benevolent and loving Maker will that a small child should be made to grow up without the love and protection of his Mother and Father? What divine goodness was there in stripping him of that and forcing him to carry the burden of their fates for the rest of his life?

Did people really put any thought to the shallow platitudes they babbled to fill space and tidily rationalize that which is utterly and completely irrational? Or was it merely a performance to give the one who offered them some measure of absolution - a sense that they’ve done the ‘right’ and ‘helpful’ thing in such a circumstance, when in fact they’ve unknowingly heaped another layer of despair on top of an already smothering, lonely mound of it?

Dizzying, petulant questions he had pondered for years… bitter, angry little things that buzzed around his head like grave-flies: when one died, three more seemed to take its place. 

A small, dark part of him - a squirming, fanged thing with gnashing teeth and a tongue like a wooden switch had been sorely tempted to enlighten Neve to the futility of her words… perhaps subject her to what would come across as an overly curt and somewhat sardonic lecture on what one might instead choose to say to a bereaved person that wasn’t the verbal equivalent of spitting in a wound and rubbing salt in it. He might have made her cry, and he would have felt shameful for it later, but in the moment he would have taken what glee he could find in the seed of misery he planted in the world.

Instead he stuffed that wicked, bristling, fanged shade of himself away and reminded himself that Neve was grieving too… as were the rest of them. Not only was Rook gone, but Harding had bravely given her life to defeat Ghilan’nain. Bellara had been captured by the enemy, her fate unknown…

The Lighthouse had taken on the solemn stillness of a mourning parlor, and he should have been the most understanding and compassionate among them of their shared sorrow. He should have been helping them:  shepherding them ably through the tribulations and challenging waves of emotion they would grapple with over the days and weeks to come like he was solemnly sworn to do, but he couldn’t… not when his every thought was occupied by her and the sheer, unrelenting compulsion to right this wrong: he was responsible for her being caught in Solas’ trap - it fell to him to get her out. 

Her hips swayed with her familiar feminine gait as she strolled away from him in a memory, and her dark hair was piled on top of her head in a messy knot… she was breathtakingly radiant in the morning.

He never got to tell her that every morning he got to spend with her - disheveled, heavy-eyed, and often in a state of partial undress - was more precious than life itself to him. He never got to tell her how much he admired her maturity and well-organized mind, because the truth of it was that despite his enviable list of accomplishments and considerable years of experience, Amina possessed an enterprising bravery he knew could not be learned from a book. 

Before the day ended he called through the Veil to her again, and as it had each time, the echo of his words came back empty.

“Oh darling…” He said to the absolute silence of the laboratory. “I’m so sorry.” 

Just like Neve, he knew she’d tell him it wasn’t his fault.

Day 7: 

He had been immersed in the dagger: the act of shaping the raw shard of lyrium into something deliberate and precise. It hung in the air, rotating slowly as he manipulated the Veil around it, giving the material form and purpose. Solas’s dagger was the key to the prison, and he had reclaimed it when he freed himself. Rather than wasting valuable time trying to get it back, it had been communally decided that attempting to duplicate it would be a wiser course of action. Letting Amina go - abandoning her to her fate - was no more of an option for their companions than it was for Emmrich.

He had thrown himself into the work - it gave him purpose and an outlet for the despair that threatened to overwhelm him when his hands and mind stilled for too long.

It was momentum. A direction. 

“Pondering, planning, praying–”

Emmrich nearly leapt out of his skeleton - the shard of lyrium clattered to the workbench. He put out his hand to keep it from bouncing over the edge and shattering on the floor. 

“Never a man of faith - but what else is there to turn to when reason has fled? ‘Please keep her safe.’ Words whispered through a curtain of song: ‘Darling, come home.’”

He took a breath and turned around, finding himself face to face with a spectral woman with ragged, dirty hair and a tattered, stained gown. Her translucent, faintly glowing form was in an advanced state of decomposition: her tongue dangled morbidly from her mouth, attached by the smallest scrap of connective tissue. Her skin was mottled and discoloured and sagged tenuously from the outline of her skull. He could see all of her teeth - not due to a smile or a snarl, but because her lips had dehydrated and withered away.

A rather unusual form for a spirit of this variety to take, he decided. It was a blessing she decided to manifest here in the laboratory and not Taash’s room - she would have given them quite a fright. 

But was he truly so wretched that he had drawn Yearning to this place?

The spirit seemed to pick up on his moment of self-pity and it stiffened slightly, smoothing its decayed hands over the skirt of its ruined dress as it tossed what remained of its hair testily. 

“At least there exists one Watcher who can identify me correctly.” Her voice was an autumn breeze, sharp and stinging. 

He examined her closer, lifted a hand and felt her aura tingle against the bare skin of his palm. “Oh, my apologies,” he pulled the hand back and twined his fingers together in front of himself. “Devotion. I’m humbled by your presence given the circumstances. It couldn’t be that you’ve heard anything in the rippling currents of the Fade?”

“No.” The answer was abrupt but not unkind - the spirit did not dally with unnecessary semantics. “The Lost Watcher is hidden from all but the oldest and most sensitive of us, but she is a being of unique substance and did a great service and kindness unto me once - as she has done for many before me.”

Though the sting that came with confirmation that she was deeply, deeply hidden in the Fade hurt, he couldn’t help but be warmed with a sense of pride by the reminder that his Amina was a champion for spirits like Devotion and had spent her life aiding such beings… a fact that was clearly known amongst spiritkind. 

Glowing green eyes landed on the rough likeness of the dagger on the workbench. “I have heard of you, Professor Volkarin. The others whisper of you even in the deepest halls of the Necropolis as I soothe their loneliness and seek to mend that which has broken them. I would not have found them if not for her.”

He’d heard rumours months earlier of a spirit that had manifested in the deepest, most rarely travelled corridors of the Necropolis. Despite its lesser classification it allegedly sought out the maligned and tormented and cared for them stalwartly with a dedication that was nothing short of admirable. If Amina had been the one responsible for it manifesting in the Necropolis in the first place…

Another thing added to the ever-growing list of things he wanted to ask about - there were so many stories he wanted to hear… but he wanted to hear them from her.

“I will remain here with you, Corpse Whisperer while you toil to reunite with your beloved. I cannot do much, but I can keep the likes of Sorrow and Diffidence at bay, for they are drawn to your labours as I was. Work, Watcher… and I will keep you safe.” 

Day 11:

Was she even still alive? The thought burst into his mind unbidden, taking immediate precedence over the words he was half trying to read. Had she languished away by now, her mortal body incapable of sustaining itself in a prison designed for immortal gods? Beyond the need for obvious necessities like food and water, what horrors lurked in that place as retribution for the sins of the gods? Could she defend herself indefinitely? And if she had died, were those final moments peaceful: the welcoming of the sunset at the end of a long day? Or were they desperate seconds that stretched into eternity as she realized her impending and unavoidable demise, her entire being gripped with loneliness and terror as life slipped from her grasp like the finest grains of sand…

“No.” The assertion possessed defiance he didn’t think he was capable of. “I cannot think like that.”

She isn’t dead… she can’t be dead for the simple fact that there’s so much I have yet to say to her…

Denial, this was called, and it was a common coping mechanism amongst the bereaved. The mind was tremendously skilled at protecting itself during times of immense emotional and psychological strain. Comforting rationale would parse itself into a neatly packaged alternative that was easier to confront than the truth - a temporary neurological repair not meant to last forever, but rather allow one to withstand the immediate shock of a loss. But was he suffering the rigors of grief, or was he on the right path with his stubborn refusal to accept anything that didn’t result in Amina warm and safe and alive in his arms?

Did he even deserve her back after how he’d treated her? 

Devotion was a welcome companion and had been a tremendous balm to his soul with its presence alone, but as hours drained away and days seemingly raced past, it was becoming more and more difficult to ignore the mounting odds that there may not be a favourable outcome to this problem. 

He heaved a sigh and straightened in his chair, his spine protesting at the sudden shift in positioning. He ran a hand pensively over his chin as he stared at the pages upon pages of notes, figures, and calculations before him, decently lengthy stubble rasping against his palm. He normally wouldn’t be caught dead with even a day’s growth shading his jaw, but these were extenuating circumstances indeed. That’s what he told himself at least - the truth was that he couldn’t bear to look himself in the mirror for the guilt he carried. 

He could have just ignored it - that persistent tightness in his chest that forecasted the all-encompassing terror that would consume him in short order, stampeding through his body and reducing him to a shivering, clammy skinned likeness of a man. He could have done the intelligent thing and kept it to himself instead of trying to appease it by feeding it more pain. But no. He was Emmrich Volkarin - a smart man; an overachiever; an academic and philosophical force of nature - he knew what was best for him in that moment… and what was best for her, because for all of her quaint cheerful talk about death over breakfast, she hadn’t the faintest idea what she was talking about, and honestly, that pointy, vile little part of himself that he kept shackled with clever repartee and gentlemanly manners wanted to break that naive innocence.

So he bit. He lashed out like one of the dirty, malnourished, terrified strays that scurried between the narrow gaps of the crumbling buildings in the part of the capital that he called home in his youth. His brittle fangs caught skin and drew blood as he called her age and maturity into question, and he knew it wouldn’t be long before someone hunted him down and put him out of his misery - too dangerous, you see: the world has no need for a creature prone to such violence, even if it was shaped by its circumstances…

Perhaps he belonged in that prison with the gods. Perhaps the Maker had seen fit to free his parents from him: if they were dead, they no longer had to deal with the burden of a third mouth to feed while earning enough gold to maybe sustain one. Perhaps death had been freedom and relief for Rupert and Elannora Volkarin, because there was something wrong with little Emmrich, and it was in everyone’s best interests that he was alone. Perhaps the Maker looked upon Amina with that same kindness and called her away too, not willing to subject this kind, lonely woman to the wrongness that was Emmrich, and his carefully crafted palisade of goodwill that could only temporarily conceal the utter rot that dwelled beyond it. 

He stared sullenly at the now room temperature bowl of roasted tomato soup Lucanis had brought him hours earlier. He couldn’t remember the last thing he’d eaten. Maybe a handful of the spicy peppermint candies that Amina was so taken with. Shortly after she started spending more and more time in the laboratory with him, she strutted through the door one day with a bowl full of them that she set on the mantelpiece, declaring that she was tired of going back and forth to her room to get more every time she fancied another. 

He was always telling her that she couldn’t live on mints and needed to eat properly and look after herself. He ought to take his own advice, but the very thought of food only made his already unsettled stomach turn on itself more. 

His eyes returned to the page as he tried and failed to summon the formidable academic concentration that had gotten him this far in life. 

It was so odd how the words on paper kept replacing themselves with the words he should have said to Amina that night instead of hurling insults at her.

I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you…

He sniffled and rubbed his eyes again, wiping away tears with the heels of his hands. He was so tired of crying. He had cried so much already. Couldn’t he be finished with crying?

He knew if he asked her that question, she’d look at him with that serious but perceiving smile of hers… maybe run her hand soothingly down his arm and say, “I’m afraid it doesn’t work like that, but I’ll keep you company if you’d like: shared sorrow is a halved burden.” 

Fade take him… what a fool he was…

“Professor?” 

Emmrich flinched at the unexpected greeting and looked up. Had Davrin been standing there long? His eyes flicked over to Devotion standing by the door only a few feet from Davrin - it seemed that she was invisible to everyone but himself.

“Davrin,” he put on what he knew to be a cheerful, amiable tone that might have been believable if not for the complete absence of vitality behind it. “What can I help you with?”

He’d spent so much of his life helping the living and the dead to avoid confronting his own horrors… the loss of his parents, his fear of death, the deep and persistent suspicion that he wasn’t worthy of love - why stop now? 

The warden considered him, his handsome face grim and somewhat drawn; that usual fiery spark gone from his warm eyes. Emmrich watched those eyes take note of the untouched tomato soup, then the tear tracks on his gaunt cheeks. “Assan is going stir-crazy, and honestly I think I am too. I thought I’d see if you and Manfred wanted to come for a walk with us. The fresh air and a change of scenery might do you some good… inspire some grand epiphany or whatever you want to call it.”

The mockery of a smile slid off of Emmrich’s face. Davrin surely meant well, but even the fact that he’d asked was yet another painful reminder that she was gone: Amina was the one that usually ventured out with them. “Oh. That’s… that’s very kind of you to offer, Davrin, but I simply haven’t a moment to spare. Every second that passes is precious, and I believe I’m nearing a breakthrough with the tuning of the metaphysical oscillations in the lyrium dagger… I dare not walk away now.” 

It was a blatant and terrible lie: the dagger was on the other side of the room on his workbench where it had sat untouched for two days. Despite this, Davrin seemed to possess the decency to pretend he bought the falsehood. 

“You’re always on her case about taking care of herself - maybe consider taking your own advice, Emmrich: you can’t find a way to bring her back if you’re dead.” 

There was truth in the warden’s words that echoed his own thoughts, but Emmrich struggled to feel inspired by them. 

If he had been the one to retrieve the dagger instead, he could be the one to die alone in the Fade, and she would still be here… safe. Broken hearted, surely, but she would have recovered in time…

He bid Davrin farewell and paced over to the workbench, sitting into his hip and wrinkling his nose slightly. He stared at the softly glowing twin of the dagger bound to Amina’s fate. It would not be arrogant to say that it was an impressive fake. He’d never handled the original personally, but he’d watched Amina fidget with it enough that he was confident that he hadn’t overlooked a single seemingly insignificant detail - he was willing to bet that it was identical right down to the weight. 

A shame that a pretty fake was all it would ever be. 

Their plan to duplicate Solas’ dagger had screeched to a gutting halt when it became clear that there existed no means to enchant the dagger such that it would function the same as the original - not without accessing the unique aural resonances of the Fade that remained a mystery to anyone who didn’t happen to be an ancient elf. His theory was that Solas and the evanuris’ connection to the Fade was fundamentally different on a physiological level than that of a modern mortal. Whether that was a byproduct of their spiritual origin, or the result of them manifesting physically millennia earlier, he couldn’t rightly say… all that mattered was that unless he found a way to transform himself into an ancient elf, the dagger would remain as useless as Neve’s platitudes... 

It was a petty, childish fantasy to stare at the dagger and imagine what it would look like buried up to the hilt in Solas’ eye socket, but when he could feel himself becoming overwhelmed with hopelessness and despair, it helped keep him going. 

Few could guess by looking at him, but he was a creature driven by quiet anger: injustices and wrongs, big and small, collected and deliberately curated; claimed with the same detached fascination one might feel when they spot an interesting stone on a riverbank and slip it into their pocket. 

As he amassed success and wealth and renown, he remembered those who had done wrong to himself and others, and he learned how to smile easily at them with warmth and kindness in his eyes as he shook their hands. He even learned to forgive some of them. 

But he never, ever forgot what they were capable of, and he never ever let himself be fooled into believing that they were good and decent people. 

This ire for a spirit was unusual for him, but impossible to let go of: had Solas known? Had he any idea what Amina meant to him? That she was a beloved person, and so much more than the piece on the chessboard that she was named for? Certainly as a spirit Solas would struggle with the seemingly static, immutable nature of people, but that hadn’t been enough to stop him from falling in love with the Inquisitor, had it? He was not so bound to his spiritual nature that the concept of love was beyond him. 

The fact that Solas was originally a spirit and Emmrich was sworn to protect his kind did not excuse him of the fact that he betrayed Amina… perhaps even killed her.

Her. Amina. Rook. The woman he’d known for such a short time, and whom he could no longer imagine life without. He needed her back - was that so hard for Wisdom to comprehend? Life without her was as much a shallow mockery as the dagger he’d crafted. 

He had waited so long for her - all but resigned himself to a life empty of the companionship and love that he craved with a desperation that had hollowed him out over the years, etching unwritten sonnets and love notes into his ribs until he was certain those words would die with him: an epitaph on the monument of his bones. He would take them to his grave where they would desiccate and become dust with him - imbibed and consumed slowly by uncaring, unfeeling time. 

He could have spent their last night together reading those words to her: letting her peel away his flesh and muscle so she could split open his chest and bear sacred witness to every secret hope and abandoned dream. He should have breathed them directly into her lungs between long, hungry kisses that would serve as his confession that the that his sacrosanct duty as a Mourn Watcher was little more than a facade now, for he no longer belonged to the living and the dead: he belonged to her, body and soul… with what life dwelled in his breast and what eternity his soul could endure. 

But he had done none of those things, and he could almost hear the Dread Wolf laughing at what his hesitation had cost him.

All he could do now was keep working… keep trying. Keep thinking. 

Day 15:

In his dream, he found himself in the vast center of nebulous nothing. There was no sky, no ground, no walls. Nothing with which to orientate himself - up, down - such things appeared not to exist here. 

The only other thing occupying it aside from himself was a faintly shimmering golden haze. It stretched into eternity in all directions. Endless. Incomprehensible.

He might have been gripped with terror at the idea of being alone in a place as strange as this, but he knew better than that: he was most certainly not alone. Of course he was terrified, but more awestruck than anything: if this was what he suspected it to be, this was a very, very rare encounter.

“To what do I owe this great honour?” He spoke into the golden eternity.

Two small suns burst into existence before him. They glowed with white hot fire, but radiated only a gentle warmth that permeated every cell of his being. Slowly the miniature stars rotated around each other, and a voice spoke that he perceived not with his ears, but with his soul, the agelessness and sheer power of it driving the breath from his lungs.

“One who has been drawn to this place many a time as I wander to and fro. Were you aware that it was once a refuge for the newly liberated?”

Its voice almost hurt - it felt like it was vibrating through him at such a frequency that it might rip him apart. Not its fault… it was a trait that likely came with being older than measurable time…

“I was aware,” he responded collegially. “It makes sense that such souls would attract Hope.” 

The orbs of light circled each other slowly… passed through one another in a smooth, hypnotizing motion.

“Verily,” it said. “It stood empty and still for a long time, but still I would visit now and again, if only to revisit the memory of that which dwelled here once.”

“And now?”

“A lone spirit called to me without knowing it. By the time I returned, it was gone. I found you in this place instead.”

The lone spirit it spoke of could only be Solas…

“It’s as plain as anything that you are most certainly not Wisdom. There’s a sort of… desperate imprudence about you that gives it away.” The suns stilled for a moment, shivered, and resumed their languid orbit. “So what are you?”

Did Hope just insult him? How unexpected…

“Only a man of little importance on a journey of great urgency.” He felt emboldened, though he wasn’t sure why. Perhaps it was the spirit’s existence alone that made him feel such a way. “Perhaps you could be of assistance with the matter in question?”

The suns flared slightly, streaks of streaming colour sparking over its surface. His surroundings went slightly rigid, the auric mist prickling his skin. “You carry brittle echoes of death within your spirit. There is bone dust in your lungs. The scent of corpses lingers inside your nose though there are none nearby.”

Emmrich swallowed hard, but remained in place.

“You shepherd the living and the dead towards purpose and convalesce unsettled entities all while fearing your own demise. Despite this you willingly relinquished your only chance to live on in perpetuity - why?”

The immensity of Hope was overwhelming. The fact that a spirit of this magnitude existed was remarkable on its own - the fact that he was conversing with it… unimaginable. But it had asked him a question, and he knew that the manner of his answer was of utmost importance if he was to obtain the aid of this being.

“Because with her I am less afraid to face that fear. It may always hold sway in my heart, but with her beside me, I have hope that all of my days won’t be dark.”

The orbs of light rose and fell… trembled faintly as though excited…

“Fascinating,” it breathed and its air caressed him like a triumphant spring breeze, smelling of honeysuckle and luscious young grass. “I feel the pull of the one that you speak of: she is palpable.”

He was glad to know he and Hope were of the same mind in that respect. 

“The prison she is trapped in is designed specifically to keep me - and others like me - from penetrating its walls, but despair not - you are close to finding the one you seek: there is a ripple in the firmament that you may exploit - a fold in a place of significance to her… a crack.”

Emmrich’s stomach dropped - that could be almost anywhere, and even with a network of eluvians at their disposal…

“The beacon you have set for her is strong and although she cannot hear you, her spirit is joined with yours: look for her in the same place where the initial spark of curious infatuation between you quickened and became flame.”

He looked down at his hand slightly obscured by the actuality of Hope, and turned his mind to the puzzle: was there a single defining moment? Was it a culmination of weeks of stolen glances, shy smiles, and utterly fabricated excuses to find themselves in each other’s proximity once again - innocent and coincidental? 

Yes - there had been a lot of that: dancing around one another politely, both undeniably smitten but neither willing to set aside the consummate professionalism that their vocation burdened them with. 

It could have gone on forever. They might have passed like ships in the night for all their efforts if it weren’t for that one evening that seemed like so many other evenings until it wasn’t: a night of research and reading - both of them hunkered down in the library well past midnight when everyone else had retired. 

The comfortable silence that dwelled between the soft husk of a page being turned every now and then. The easy conversation that flowed between them as they discussed matters ephemeral. Their knees almost brushed more than a few times on that uncomfortable couch. Amina, smothered a yawn here and there; Emmrich glanced up at her every time. 

“What?” She’d ask, a confused little smirk on her divine lips.

“Nothing,” he’d answer. 

He suggested she get some rest: he could continue reading - it was more important that she slept. 

A defiant shrug and a polite refusal - but she did tuck her legs under herself and rest some of her weight against him - nothing familiar… just her shoulder against his. 

Shortly after, he asked for her take on Orlok’s Theory of Asomatous Transitory Regression, and he thought she was taking time to consider her response, but when she remained silent for far longer than he knew was typical for her, he chanced a look down to find her sleeping soundly, her head on his shoulder and her book still spread open on her knees. He thought to rouse her - send her to her room where she’d at least be able to stretch out properly, but something held him back and he found himself gently slipping the book from her hands and setting it aside. Felt himself readjusting his right arm slowly - carefully - so it was around her, and he could share his warmth with her in the drafty space. 

His heart had leapt into his throat, and apologies and placations lined up on his tongue a few minutes later when she made a soft noise from behind her curtain of hair and shifted, lifting her head enough so he could see slivers of green under heavy lids. 

His lungs ceased working.

But instead of lurching away from him, blushing furiously and stammering her own stream of awkward, rushed excuses, Amina just blinked… once… twice… smiled groggily… shuffled down the couch some, rested her head on his thigh and fell back asleep, her hand on his knee.

He read until the morning - the same book three times cover to cover, in fact - because he didn’t dare move her - didn’t dare be responsible for ending that moment because whatever he had glimpsed in her sleep-filled eyes when she looked at him was a kind of magic he had never seen before. 

Everything about it felt like home.

Even when he plucked up the courage to softly capture a strand of raven hair between his trembling fingers… even as he guided it away from her face as she slumbered, even as his touch lingered and he stroked down the silken length of it, his heart thundered. 

That was it. That was when everything had changed for him - and for her. 

“The library,” he croaked, throat tight. “It was in the library. I– I need to go. I need to go there now!” Tears filled his eyes as hope flooded him for the first time in days. A broken laugh burst from his lips and he clutched at his hair, aware that he looked like a madman. “Thank you!” He wept. 

The orbs flickered again - rather like twinkling eyes - and then blinked out of existence. 

“Live well, creature, and of all things that you may choose to abandon in the days to come, may hope be the last of them.” 

He woke on the too-large settee to the cool green light of an aquarium that made no sense. He scrambled to his feet, flipped his hair out of his face, and bolted for the door.

Muffled voices… all familiar - one in particular. His voice. 

Then his shape - his outline - a shape she would know anywhere. 

A hand - a beautiful, soul-shatteringly, heart-achingly artful hand that was capable of healing and holding… destroying, creating, and calming; teasing and caressing - and everything else in between. 

She heard herself sob as she seized that hand with her own and felt muscles and tendons reflexively tense in surprise for a fleeting instant before slender fingers clenched around her wrist in an unexpectedly bruising grip that wrung a clipped scream from her. Her feet left the ground as she was dragged into the bright light, and she was falling forward, up, down, and in directions that didn’t exist all at once. 

Then something solid. Something warm and firm. The feeling of well-worn wool and meticulously cared for linen against her face… a familiar scent, though it was more rustic than usual…

The excruciating pain in her wrist persisted as her eyes struggled to adjust and she looked up. She blinked… once… twice…

“Emmrich?” 

He had a decent start on a beard for one - that was new - and his hair was messier and dirtier than she’d ever seen it. The dark circles under his eyes were a particularly haunting shade of aubergine, and his sclera were dull and bloodshot. He looked like he hadn’t slept in a week. He looked terrible…

“Where’s Varric?” She demanded hotly, panic rising in her chest as she tried to step back so she could get a better look at him - he wouldn’t let her, and she already knew the answer to her futile question. The grip on her wrist tightened and so did her throat as her mind raced to try to comprehend the situation. The grief she felt in Solas’ prison at the revelation of Varric’s death was rapidly being replaced with incandescent rage directed at the Dread Wolf: she was going to destroy him - spirit or not, he had gone too far… “Emmrich!” She yanked her wrist free and let out a cry of surprise as he toppled forward into her arms, a disheveled, weeping mess that took them to the ground. She managed to keep them both upright and Emmrich caged her in an embrace that took her breath away.

“I’m sorry, darling - I love you - I’m s-so very sorry…” He half-sobbed into her ear as he stroked her hair. His voice was so ragged... She felt tears splashing against her, wet and abundant, and her own joined them: confusion and anger and joy converged on her in a baffling wave - she couldn’t house all of this. And Emmrich…

How long have I been gone?

She managed to pull far enough away from him so she could cup his scruffy jaw in her hands and meet his gaze - his haunted, hollow gaze. 

“It’s all right now,” she soothed, summoning up enough calm for both of them - she was beyond furious, but he was despondent, and like any experienced Watcher she knew she needed to meet him on his level - manage herself for the time being. 

She softly traced her thumb down the familiar plane of his cheek and he leaned into her touch, his hand covering hers. “I love you too… I’m here and I’m safe, and I’m–” her voice trembled and broke. “Oh Emmrich… I’m sorry too.” If what she was beginning to suspect was true - if she had been lost to that place of regret for much longer than a few hours - it meant that Emmrich had been sitting on that argument for days at least, judging by the looks of him - her promise that they would talk about it at home a dangling thread that would remain forever untied if she never returned… 

She pressed her lips to his and he sighed into her, some of the tension finally leaving him. “You found me…” she murmured against his skin. “You got me out. Of course you did.” Her arms tightened around him and she kissed him properly - deeply. 

“I couldn’t live with myself knowing the state I had left things in.” He rested his forehead against hers and twirled a strand of her hair around a finger as they sat on the floor, both aware of their audience of companions - both utterly unconcerned about their presence. “Will you forgive me?” 

“If you’ll forgive me,” she offered: she carried her own regrets about that argument… though evidently not as long as he had.

His mouth curved into a smile for the first time and he chuckled weakly. “There is nothing to forgive, my dearest Amina.” His eyes continued to sweep over her as he took her in, mapping every line and angle of her, committing it to memory as if it would ensure she could never be taken from him again. 

“You really love me, huh?” 

“I have for some time, and I’m afraid that rather than embracing that fact with the deference owed to it, I acted like a cowardly fool. If I had only–”

She silenced him with another kiss, his mouth opening as her tongue brushed the seam of his lips. Her fingers stroked through the coarse, straight hair that covered his jaw and she realized with a jolt somewhere around her midsection that she rather liked it. She made a mental note to discuss the future of the beard with him later on, but for now…

“No academic theories right now, Professor…” she whispered. She was exhausted and overwhelmed. She needed to take a minute and just… come to terms with everything. With Varric, Harding, and Bellara; with how long she’d been gone… what the hell she was going to do next. What she was going to do to Solas when she got her violent, creative little Reaper hands on him… 

“Humour an old man,” he smirked tiredley. 

“I’ll consider humouring him in the bath.” 

“You’re no basket of roses either, dear.” 

“Regret bringing me back yet?”

He caught her hand and brought it to his lips, placing a chaste kiss to the back of it, his eyes locked on hers - as red and puffy as they were, the love that dwelled within them was unmistakable, and Amina knew they would never be parted in this life again. 

“Never.” 

[jaal-ama-daravv]

Had an idea about Rook's time in the fade and wanted to share it

Johanna a necromancer who is on the same level as Emmrich and very much wants to break out of jail is like right there while Emmrich is spiraling trying to save Rook

If there was ever a prime time to manipulate a man it would've been in those few weeks

You've brought up once about how Emmrich has the potential to go down a darker path when Rook dies in the lich! path so I feel like he has the capacity to give in if things are looking dire or atleast be highly tempted to loosen Johanna's wards ever so slightly like she's been requesting

There's fic potential right there

I completely agree with you. Johanna is a shit-stirrer so I would definitely imagine her poking at a mortal Emmrich during that time,

"Bet you never thought you'd lose a beloved paramour to your beloved fade instead of your timely death."

or

"Looks like Volkarin's lovers have gone and lived happily ever after together. It's too bad you understand the fade more than people, they might be lost forever (disgusted noise)."

and a lich Emmrich might hear a line like-

"I can't believe I have to witness you mope around for eternity because the one person that was actually fond of you chose the fade over well, a bag of bones. Really Volkarin, did you think they'd fight to come back to suppers leftover rations? Please (scoffs)."

or

"So much for your enduring affection, Volkarin."

I can see a lich Emmrich pleading with Johanna for her to show him ways to access the fade to speak to Rook.

The amount of thoughts that run through my head at Johanna and Emmrich during that time Rook is imprisoned is unparalleled. Especially since emmrich could be so easily swayed in those fragile few weeks.

[thatnonameuser]

So… is cannibalism technically allowed if you eat your darlings heart because “you loved them too much that you wanted a part of them to be with you forever”

Darling murder is illegal in nearly every nation, but what happens after death. What happens after their one true love is gone from this world forever.

Some yanderes commit suicide, after their darling's death. But most get creative in their grief.

And to some, what better way to have their darling and their love forever, and ever, than to eat their heart.

The Queendom of Roses, the Scalding Sands and the Shaftlands are disturbed by the very concept. The love yanderes have for their darlings means that they should be safe from all harm, even in death. So the thought of consuming a part of them is just barbaric. So, Ace, Deuce, Trey, Cater, Riddle, Kalim, Jamil, Vil, and Epel won't.

But in the Sunset Savannah and the Coral Sea, it's a common funerary custom. It's meant to represent the idea that your loved ones never leave you, even in death. That they're waiting for you on the other side. As a result, Leona, Ruggie, Azul, Jade and Floyd would all do it.

Jack would if when you died, you left him all alone. If you had kids, he would still have a piece of you left behind and might not. But leave him completely by himself, then he will.

Rook absolutely would. A ceremony like that is absolument magnifique, la perfection incarnée. Rook romanticizes the whole ordeal, dressing you as a beauty in a glass coffin. A freshly sharpened knife never stained or tainted with another's blood will be used to sever the flesh from such a delicate organ. And it will be the most delicious thing he ever tastes.

Idia already has a till death and beyond tradition. The pomegranate. He doesn't need to rip your heart from your dead chest.

For the Briar Valley, it depends on the yandere. In this case, I think that in this case, and the canon episodes. Malleus would never given his very present issues with losing loved ones, and would spend the rest of his life trying to return you to life. Lilia would, he's lost many friends on the battlefield, keeping you with him forever by eating your heart feels in character. Silver and Sebek maybe, but for now, I'm not sure.

[rom-e-o]

*holds Manfred hostage* Spill the tea on Belismerich's proposal, or the skeleboy gets an earful of the nastiest, funnest-to-say swear words. ... Metaphorically speaking.

NO, MANFRED! 😭 (Although that does sound like a good time…I’m tempted. Manfred has gotten good grades lately, maybe he can say ‘fuck’ one, as a little treat.)

OKAY BUT YES - Belismerich proposal! To be honest, I had not thought about what this would look like specifically, so this was a really fun ask to receive! I had to think about it. We know Emmy says before the final battle that there is so much he wants to “say” and “plan” with Rook after they survive. (He can still die horribly in a cinematic after this if you mess up enough with your battle assignments, which KILLS ME INSIDE, but not in this universe.)

If you romance Bellara, she confesses something along the lines of, “Rook, I know we haven’t known each other that long, but I feel like I’ve know you forever” right before the end. So we don’t really know how long this adventure lasts. Maybe 6 months? Harding also teases Emmrich that “you and Rook are sort of moving quickly.” (Which is funny, his romance is the only one with multiple kisses and dates, whereas most of the other allies get … one/two kisses and bed scene rolled into one. So yeah, he’s amorous by comparison.)

So, after the final battle, I don’t think Emmrich jumps right into a proposal. Even with his lingering fear of death and insecurity about aging, I feel like his desire to give Rook a proper romance comes through, which is big for him. I do HC that, after they survive the final fight, they’re sitting together in a sickbay recovering, and Emmrich slips off one of his MANY rings and gives it to her.

(This gets long, so I’m inserting a “Read More”, haha.)

Belisma: Emmrich, what is…?

Emmrich: It’s…a promise to you.

Belisma: A promise? Emmrich, are you—

Emmrich: I-I know there is much we need to do. The cities needs to recover. The world needs to heal. The ancients are gone, and the everything has changed, my love. We need to rebuild, and mourn those we lost. But … through it all, no matter what we face, I want you to know my feelings were true. Are true. Our relationship was not a flight of fancy. I still long for you. For a future with you. If you’ll have me.

Belisma: Oh. I … Y-Yes. I’d very much love that.

I think Belisma worries Emmrich’s fancy for her might fade once she’s no longer the grand hero “Rook.” She goes back to being a normal, bookish Watcher with an affinity for ballet and jam sandwiches. Is their love the type that can shift from an environment of dangerous excitement to domestic bliss? Does he only love her because of her exciting, dashing hero persona and role?

With Belisma being a Watcher, I imagine it’s easy and natural for her to move into his lodgings in the Necropolis with Manfred. There is plenty of space, and it’s private. He takes an extended sabbatical, and works on making Rook feel at home. Their rooms were adjacent at the Lighthouse, but now? They’re sharing a bed. Rooms. A wardrobe.

Isma’s fears are quickly nullified as they spend more time quiet together. Walking the gardens, cooking together, reading together by the fire. They also walk the crypts hand-in-hand, and attend lectures/seminars together on necromancy. They tend to the funerary rites of all the people lost in that final battle, and as they prepare their bodies, they reminisce and pay very personal respects. They make sure Lace has a proper monument erected to honor her sacrifice. And they travel! They visit Treviso for the amazing markets, or Rivain to frolic the beaches properly. He always wanted to travel, and now he can. So, they still adventure a bit, but much more safely, haha. They also travel to provide aid across the country, especially to those needing assistance with burying/honoring their dead. It’s a sensitive process, and they are very, very tender.

They bond over teaching Manfred magic (there’s a few close calls with the flaming rocks.) She goes back to dancing ballet. He still privately tutors his most promising pupils, and grades assignments in is spare time.

It’s perfect. Then, six months in, he proposes.

The most obvious choice is the Memorial Gardens, but I imagine he also does it there because his parents are there. 🥹 And it’s private, and where they shared their first kiss.

They share wine and dinner, and end with a walk. Belisma expects nothing; they’ve done this make times before. Then, right at the end, he leads her off the path and to his parents graves. There, Manfred is standing with an overflowing bouquet, and a small box. But they aren’t offerings. He goes to them, takes them, and beckons her forward. She obeys, and he gifts her the flowers. Shroud’s Kiss, Blue Creepvine. Weeping Widower.

They walk eternity hand-in-hand, he reads. Their epitaph. “It’s always a sentiment that is touched me, even as a boy. Their affection so enduring that, even in death, they are intertwined. Bound by their mutual adoration. Their lives ended too soon, but they set a sterling example for what love could be. Should be. Warmth. Togetherness. I longed for that in my life. A-And with a loving soul to watch over or wait for, then join that new journey … even death itself seems more than bearable. With you.”

Soulmates, in every way.

Slightly breathless, he presents the ring, and sinks onto one knee while taking hers. “Flame of my heart, I ask … would you join me in that destiny? Will you marry me?”

He doesn’t trust himself to say much, because he’s so nervous. Here he is, on his knee before the woman he loves (and Manfred, lmao) laying his heart bare for her. The ring is gold with a smoky-quartz stone in the middle. It matches her hair and eyes.

Belisma buries her face in the bouquet, so happy she is without words, before nodding eagerly. Here she was, happy to be his love in all ways. But marriage? She’s almost 36 by now. She was content with being a quirky spinster/retired hero. Now, she’s wanted as a bride? As a wife. Her heart sings, and she wishes she could twirl.

“…My love, I need you to say it,” he says. “Please.” His heart can’t handle false hope.

“Yes,” she rushes to say, “I will … happily marry you, Emmrich Volkarin. Walk hand-in-hand with you for the rest of our mortal, and immortal, days. I want to share your life, your name, everything.”

The ring is slid onto her finger, and less than a second later, he rushes upward to crush her into a thankful, passionate kiss. “I’ll always love you,” he promises through pants. “Treasure you. Keep you company, and you’ll want for nothing, my dearest. I promise. Oh, I promise.”

Manfred turns away and shields his eyes with a squeal, then distracts himself with a rose bush (“Rose! Beautiful!”) Neither Belisma or Emmrich stop this, instead continuing to kiss and whisper loving please to each other between swipes of the tongue and sighs of delight.

Belisma also takes his name, which means a lot. After all, he’s the last Volkarin. And now, she has his name. She chose to be a part of his life, and his family. That, in addition to a long list of other things, leaves him besotted and hopelessly, undoubtedly, convinced he has found a soulmate in her.

[fadewalking]

Open Starter— Solas is alone. See tags for content warnings.

Had it been a week? Two? Since Rook last visited him? Perhaps it had only been a few days. Even if time in the Fade did mirror the waking world—and it did not—Solas could not track it. There was no sunrise or sunset, no shifting shadows, no stars to chart. Even when exhaustion pressed him into closing his eyes, he found no reprieve. His dreams were bound within the prison’s confines, in the same desaturated emptiness. Eyes open, eyes closed—it was all the same. A cage of relentless monotony and regret.

The only thing he could do here was think, and the solitude of his own mind was a torment. Sometimes.. he could not stand it, to be so trapped.

Yes, there was a plan, but it hung by a thread, a desperate hinge of Rook defying impossible odds. If they fell, it would all collapse. There was no contingency this time, no second act waiting to salvage what remained. Even if Rook survived, there was no guarantee the plan would come together in time. He might already be too late. The thought clawed at him: he might remain here forever. Forever. Or else be crushed beneath Elgar’nan's tyrannical hand. He didn’t know which was worse.

How had it come to this? He had been so close to making it all mean something, to ensuring that the sacrifices, the betrayals, had a purpose. But no. He had failed. Again. That was all he could do: fail. Everyone who had faith in him, every life lost in his name, every death he had justified for this cause.

Varric. Felassan. Mythal.

Each name cut deeper than the last, and there were more. A legion of ghosts haunting him across centuries. What was any of it for now?

This.

To die alone.

It was his greatest fear realized. Dread filled him. No one he hadn’t betrayed could reach him here. He had failed her. The Elves. Himself. And had betrayed every value that had once made the fight worthwhile.

Solas knelt on the jagged rock, the sharp edges digging into his knees. He welcomed it. It was the barest fraction of pain he deserved to feel. The true weight of it all bore down on him, an avalanche he could not endure. The walls of his mind closed in; his vision tunneled, edged with black. Tears blurred what little clarity remained, falling in sync with deep, ragged sobs that burned as they tore from his chest. Each one hurt, an agony that felt earned. He was history’s greatest fool, and fate would give him exactly what he deserved.

He was pathetic. Useless. A mockery of a villain, an insult of a hero. No one would ever dare to mourn him. Few would even spare him a thought if he were never heard from again. And perhaps that was how it should be. He was a lost cause. He was worth giving up on.

He should—he should just..

His head lifted, his gaze catching the precipice of the chasm that stretched beneath him into the infinite Fade below.

He should just do it.

A voice came unbidden, like his own but colder and sharper. It urged resignation.

Do it. Fall. Accept.

The suggestion coiled in his mind, insidious. At least then there could be no more expectation for him not to live up to. His eyes locked on the edge, wide and unblinking, tears streaking his face. His muscles froze, save for the trembling of his hands and the uneven rise of his chest.

No more devastating responsibility. No terrible purpose. Just the release of letting go. Perhaps that was the only escape left to him; the third option he'd been missing...

But he wouldn’t. He couldn’t. He was too much of a coward. Too afraid to admit that the only way out might be off. And wasn’t even that cowardice? What right did he have to give up, even when there was nothing to hope for?

No.

Even his adversaries deserved more from him than that. He would keep going, giving every last piece of himself to the cause until his breath was gone or his mind finally shattered. He owed that much. Everything. No matter what.

At least he could mourn himself, here and now. And he did. He wept into his open palms; his cries would have echoed but there was nothing to reflect from.

Lost in his despair, he didn’t notice the ripple in the Veil; the faint pull across the chasm. Someone was coming, someone was already here. His gasp broke the stillness, a sound caught between exhaustion and shock. He pivoted sharply, turning his face away from the presence. He didn't want to be seen like this.

[quill-pen]

@rom-e-o So, my turn, I suppose?

The Guineverich Proposal

Considering the Wolves relationship takes forever😩 I decided to stick to the idea in the game that Emmrich and Rook are supposedly moving at a pretty quick clip for the Ravens. Just for something different.

They first say "I love yours" and consummate their relationship around the 3 month mark.

Doesn't take long at all after for Emmrich to decide that, yes, he's going to propose. She's the one.

He just needs to find the right ring.

Ring secured, his next step is to ask her parents. They're wonderful folks that think the world of their G'iney and he wouldn't want to make them feel like he's stealing her right out from under their noses without letting them know. So he gets in touch with them, telling them he needs to talk in person and asks them if they might issue an invite for G'iney, Manfred, and him to come visit the next convenient weekend. G'iney has to think it's their idea or she will be suspicious. So they do. Emmrich and Manfred more officially meet G'iney's family in a non-funeral related setting, and he asks for Guinevere's hand. Of course, they give him permission. Manfred spends all weekend playing with G'iney's younger siblings and cousins and Kat, because of course the snake goes too.

With ring and permission sets in stone, Emmrich sets to work at crafting the perfect setting. While Guinevere likes her jewelry to be more flashy, her proposal is a different matter entirely. She's much too shy for a public or even semi-public proposal. So Emmerich prepares a lovely, romantic meal to be held at the Memorial Gardens where they went on the date where they decided to make their relationship official. He plans to propose to her at his parents' graves. (Sorry! But it just seems only right for him to do!😭)

He stashes the ring in the meantime.

Unfortunately, fueled by the playtime he had with G'iney's family, Manfred is in a pirate-loving phase and is looking to find "treasure" for his "treasure chest". Naturally, in his search and snooping, he comes across a pretty little box. Now, Manfred knows, even as a pirate skeleton, that sometimes boxes contain very important things for his papa to use or keep safe, so before he decides to put the box in his treasure chest, he needs to see what's in it. But he can't get the little clasp open, and Papa is out. So he takes it to Mum instead!

Guinevere is... surprised to say the least. Emmerich already has a ring? There is nothing else this could be but an engagement ring: It's too new to have come from a crypt, there's no enchantment about it but a small charm to make the longevity of the sparkle last longer. He's already planning to propose! But... they've hardly been together as a couple for six months! It's so soon! And yet... it feels perfectly timed. And so right. And Guinevere finds, if she digs past those vicious voices in her head that constantly tell her she's worthless, not marriage material, she'll only be a burden, and Emmrich will end up hating her for tying him down to her brokeness, that she has no reservations. At least, none concerning him and his genuineness, goodness, and love for her.

She supposes she could have Manfred show her where he found the box and put it back to try and keep her beloved's surprise, but in contrast to the proposal, lying to Emmrich like that, even for what seems a good reason, doesn't feel right. So she tells and shows him when he gets home. Of course he's disappointed. Everything was going so perfectly according to plan, he was trying so hard to keep up.a good pokerface and had actually seemed to be succeeding. And the happy surprise of it for Guinevere is now ruined.

"I suppose I'll have to cancel things now."

"No, please don't! It sounds like such a lovely idea and you've gone to so much trouble to set it up. I don't need the perfect surprise proposal--I just need a lovely night with the man I love and all the happiness in the world to make it a dream."

So, cheered by her assurances, Emmrich does just that.

The night goes off without a snafu, except for one rogue wisp that seemed determined to hog their attention for a few minutes.

"Maybe Manfred needs a sibling?"

"Unlike Manfred, I don't believe this wisp would take too kindly to an earthly tether. And Manfred still has much to learn; I'm not certain I'm ready to take on another wisp as of yet."

Emmrich does manage to surprise Guinevere however, by getting Manfred a "Will you be my mama?" shirt and dressing him in it. (Bellara handled the tracking down of that one for him.) Manfred is wearing it when they meet him at the Volkarin's graves.

Guinevere laughs and cries and says "yes" to Manfred as she hugs him and accepts his flowers. Then she turns her attention to Emmrich as he goes down on two knees with the ring.

"Guinevere Vynhalsyne, the life of a Mourn Watcher is a lonely existence; mine has been no exception. From the moment I was orphaned as a young boy, I have been incredibly alone, even when surrounded by teachers, tutors, spirits. It has been hard for me to find solace even among my own peers. An enduring affection, such as that which I've dreamed of for as long as I can remember, is an incredibly rare find. I thought I'd missed my chance to find it.

"Then you come into my life and suddenly that deep shadow of loneliness flees into the corners at the touch of your light. Colors become ever more vivid. The air becomes fresh and clear and full of life. What unexpected splendor to be found in just the creases of your smile, the musicality of your laugh! And, most unexpected and splendid of all, enduring affection to be found in the purity and kindness of your wonderful heart.

"I love you, Guinevere, as the wolf loves the moon. As the sun ignites a rainbow after a storm, you have ignited my heart and soul for you. You have awakened my enduring affection. I offer it to you freely and will chose to do so all the days of my life if you will allow it. My dearest heart, my most precious beloved , flame of my heart, my Rook, will you grant an old fool the greatest honor of taking your hand in marriage to become your most devoted husband? My darling Guinevere, will you marry me?"

And, of course, through tears and sobs (which she feels a little silly about because she knew this was coming after all) Guinevere says "yes". A thousand times "yes".

[thanatologie]

i guess it's just my life now that Deep Thoughts About Emmrich™️are some of the first things to brain worm me after regaining consciousness (waking up), but hear me out okay-

emmrich has, really, four - no, sorry, five - paths his story can take, right.

mortal and romanced

mortal and unromanced

mortal and dead

lich and unromanced

lich and romanced

it's the first and last two i really wanna talk about, and mostly the last, but let's consider:

the implication is, i think, when you choose to romance emmrich, it's an in it to win it kind of romance. it, more than the age gap, is why harding brings up how fast he and rook are moving (i'm sorry i love her and calling her lace is going to forever feel weird, forgive me), she gets that he's in deeper probably than intended, way faster than intended. like lich or mortal, it doesn't matter, it's very much implied rook becomes his Person™️in a way, say, an unromanced emmrich going out with strife doesn't have happen. that's just a date. but as a romanced emmrich progresses through the story, after the big fight he and rook have, after they kiss and make up post-fade prison and leading up to the last push for elgar'nan, there's a chance to have an interesting piece of dialogue with him where he talks about how he has so many plans he wants to share and talk about once everything's over and they're back home.

i don't think it's a stretch to assume where those plans lead, is what i'm saying, right. like...maybe more so than another of the other companions, emmrich finds his soulmate with rook. guy's just been handed everything he's ever longed for on a silver platter, especially in the mortal and romanced path, because he has manfred, and he has rook, and that's it. he's gotten his family. and i'd be lying to you if i didn't say he was probably terrified going into that last fight, because he could lose it again, just that quick, either by his death, by rook's, by something happening to manfred.

but this ain't about him.

where it really has interesting implications - and by interesting i mean horrible - is if emmrich's gone the lich and romanced path. because the tone changes in...a lot of stuff. the fight is different, because while both boil down to his fear of losing rook - which i will argue is actually greater than his fear of dying himself - a lich emmrich is very much kind of...overbearing? in a way? trying to get rook to hang back because now he's no longer as easy to kill (and i don't even know if kill is the right word there, either for me to use or emmrich, destroy might be more accurate). it's no longer an issue of his fear of death - if they've been all aboard the bone express with a lich emmrich, it's now all about rook. losing rook. how he's now afraid he'll mourn rook forever. and now he no longer has manfred.

so, my thought on this is - and not to make it dramatic, because emmrich's got enough of that nonsense for the both of us, dude just feels things incredibly deeply and 0/10 shows it - romanced and liched out is the worst possible ending for him. worse than a mortal him dying in the battle - that's quick, it's over in the blink of an eye. a lich emmrich...sure, he's got someone that loves him no matter what, that's nice. who supported his choice in becoming something more. but he has immediate buyer's remorse about that decision, because for all his talk about keeping rook safe, etc etc, the truth is, he's going to end up mourning them forever regardless. he's still lost manfred, and it clearly hits him harder than i think he would like people to think. i think the crushing weight of the certainty that, no matter what, he's going to lose rook regardless also comes crashing down on him.

all ground i've stomped on before, i know. but consider the implications of that. people like rook - heroes, is what i mean, i've got a lot of experience with heroes - don't die easy in their beds, you know? some people can settle down after something like this and live a quiet life forever after, but those types are going to be rare, because the types of people who answer the call to be a hero can't leave shit alone once they've been bitten. they see trouble and run toward it.

i think....a romanced lich emmrich goes bad. i don't mean a mwoo ha ha kind of bad, i don't mean...i don't know...a corypheus kind of bad (is that even going bad, though, considering- you know what, never mind). i think all those oaths he's taken as a watcher, and all those he probably had to take as a lich lord go out the window. i think there would be a lot of line crossing. a lot of big flashing no nos. mostly because no, i don't think emmrich is equipped for eternity. i don't think he can handle others passing through death when he can't. he might get, hell, forty+ years with rook, but what's a handful of decades with the love of your life when eternity stretches like a yawning void without them in front of you, right?

what that looks like, i don't really know. does he do what others have done before him and try to bring them back from wherever they go after death? i don't know, maybe. he's a necromancer, play to your strengths, i guess. whatever it looks like, i do think there's a distinct possibility for him to get pushed over some edge. like...it's hard to imagine, i guess, because he's so damn kind, but he's also not built for what he's asking himself to do, and i think instead of his (trauma-induced anxiety disorder) fear of death very quickly could become replaced by an all-consuming dread for the inevitable which could take him down some very, very dark roads.

[headachecat]

The Hours Found – Chapter VI

———

An anthology of hours in Lucanis and Rook’s relationship unseen in the game, but very much needed.

—

Timing: Just before 'When Plans Align' quest.

———

The setting sun on the horizon casted golden light onto the rooftops of Treviso, as if it tried to cling onto the buildings in a battle against the cool embrace of the night. The clouds started to gather in the corner of Lucanis’ eye, when he took in the view. They crept across the fading blue like whispers, dimming the warmth of the last rays of sunshine, which warmed his skin, as he made his way up the winding staircase of the Cantori Diamond. Below, the city came alive with the warm glow of lanterns strung between the narrow streets and hung from iron hooks along the canals. Their reflections danced on the water, mingling with the slow, graceful passage of gondolas gliding through. The footsteps echoed in a quiet, steady rhythm against the stone steps. The journey to the top seemed endless, and although he walked this path many times before, this time felt special. His heart trembled, each beat increasing the anticipation tightening his breath. It has now been almost a day since they found Rook. So much has happened in such a short time, that the exhaustion of the recent seemingly never-ending weeks disappeared, replaced by the sudden rush of adrenaline. Neve and Harding took charge, filling Rook in on Elgar’nan’s movements, Solas’ plans, and their countless failed attempts at creating another lyrium dagger. Taash kept busy in the kitchen, crafting one of the many rich Rivaini recipes to satisfy their hunger and offer comfort through food. Emmrich hovered over Rook, ever vigilant, ensuring she stayed hydrated and adjusted well to the real world once again. And then, there was Lucanis.

He couldn’t stop thinking about the moment they found her – the way he held her tightly in the Crossroads, his arms wrapped around her as if she might slip away again. The sensation of her presence, solid and real. He couldn’t believe she was back, the unexpected relief of it nearly bringing him to his knees. He replayed the memory endlessly: her warm yet tired smile, the soft exhale of his name, the way her hands clutched at him in return, as if anchoring herself. She came back to him. This memory etched itself into his mind like a strike of light after so much darkness. He wished he could have stayed like that forever, holding her, shielding her from whatever she went through and whatever might come next. He wished to never let go, yet he had to. And they haven’t touched since.

Lucanis lingered in the shadows, his arms crossed loosely over his chest, his eyes following her every movement with a silent worry lodged deep in his chest. What if his presence would only tire her more? He didn’t want to add to the weight she was already carrying, a burden he could see in the tension of her shoulders, the way her hands trembled ever so slightly when she thought no one was watching.

What if something had changed between them? He couldn’t stop the thought, couldn’t shake the fear that the Fade prison might have stolen something fragile from them. Something that could have been. He had no right to demand anything of her, no claim beyond the moments they had shared before everything had gone so terribly wrong. What if she no longer cared for him the way she once had? What if the bond they had forged, the trust that had grown between them, had withered in the cold and empty Void? What if it turned into a haunting regret she was forced to defeat?

The questions clawed at him, relentless. She had so much to take in now – so much to learn and adjust to after what she had endured. The sheer gravity of it all seemed enough to crush anyone. But not Rook. He could see determination in the way she spoke with the others, her eyes sharp even when her body betrayed her. She was fighting to stay present, as the world pulled her in a thousand different directions. All he could do was wait until the right moment presented itself. And so, it did. The day’s final meeting came to a close, their companions dispersing one by one from the library. Rook lingered behind, seated on the couch, her fingers wrapped tightly around an empty cup. Her grip was tense, almost too firm. Lucanis noticed how the faintest tremor ran through her hands when she exhaled. He could tell that if she let go, her hands might start to shake.

He stepped closer, careful to make no noise as he moved into the soft light cast by the Fade crystal overhead. His boots barely made a sound against the stone floor, but as he neared, her shoulders stiffened.

‘Rook,’ he whispered gently, his voice cautious. She flinched ever so slightly, her head turning to him as though coming back from some deep thought. ‘Are you all right?’

‘Lucanis,’ she breathed out, standing up. She turned to face him fully, her eyes glassy, but her smile unwavering. ‘We’ve still got work to do. I can collapse when this is all over.’

‘You should rest,’ he said, taking another step closer, the concern he had been carrying bleeding into his voice. ‘After all you’ve been through…’ the words trailed off, as he observed her letting go of the cup and reaching for his hand. Her eyes searched his, her expression softening as she seemed to take him, examine every little change that happened since she’s been gone. He smiled gently, offering her what little reassurance he could, though he could feel the nervous flutter in his chest. He nodded slightly, as though convincing himself as much as her that it was right to invite her into his company. ‘I’ll come by your room soon. To see how you’re doing.’

‘I’d rather not stay there,’ Rook said quickly, her words coming out faster than she intended. She cleared her throat and looked away briefly, as if trying to steady herself. Lucanis raised his eyebrows slightly, surprised by the suddenness of her reply. And then, before he could say anything, her fingers grazed his palm, cool but steady, and he froze, caught  in the tenderness of her touch. Her hand squeezed his gently, a shiver running through him. ‘It’s so cold and empty,’ she murmured, almost ashamed. Her gaze lifted to meet his again. ‘It’s like being back in the Void. Alone.’

She paused, her head dropping for a moment as if searching for the right words – or the courage to say them. Her hand remained in his, urging him to caress her knuckles calmingly. Then, she looked up at him again. ‘Meet me in Treviso?’ she said. ‘I just... I just need a moment.’

Lucanis blinked, momentarily caught off guard, but the certainty in her gaze left no room for doubt. He nodded almost instinctively, his grip tightening around her hand for the briefest second before he let go, careful not to cross any boundaries.

‘Of course,’ he replied, ‘I know just the place.’

Lucanis reached the final step, the evening breeze wrapping around him as he stepped into the rooftop garden. The air here was fragrant, alive with the mixing scents of soil, lavender, and elfroot. He scanned the garden. Oil lamps hung on trellises wrapped in ivy, their light casting a soft glow over the greenery. The world seemed to pause for a moment. Below, the city hummed with life, but here, high above the streets, it felt so peaceful and private. Then, he saw her.

Rook knelt by the edge of the garden’s central planter, her fingers brushing against the fronds of delicate ferns growing in the shadow of a fountain. She seemed absorbed in the moment, her movements certain and unhurried. Lucanis stopped just short of the area, unwilling to disturb her. In the soft glow of the lamps, she looked almost serene, but he knew better. He could see the tension in the line of her shoulders. He could see the way her hand rested against the soil, fingers half-clenched as though grasping for something solid to hold onto. As she moved, the faint, greenish glow of a tiny, levitating candle illuminated her hands. It floated just in front of her, casting emerald hues on her fingers as they grazed the plants and the soil. The candlelight flickered and danced, a soft companion to the murmured words escaping her lips.

Lucanis stepped closer, straining to hear her. The whispers were rhythmic, deliberate. Every so often, a high, soothing ring of a bell chimed softly in her hand, punctuating the tender spell. It took him a second, before he realised he’s seen her do it before. 

‘Let me know when you’re ready to leave. Preferably before this thing collapses on our heads,’ Lucanis grunted toward his new companions, his voice cutting through the stale, suffocating air of the Ossuary. He knelt beside Calivan’s lifeless body, rifling through the folds of his robes with practiced efficiency. Correspondence, notes, valuables – anything would do. The walls around them seemed to groan under the pressure of the water above, faint streaks of water seeping through and collecting in shallow pools on the ground. The elf, gave him a brief nod of acknowledgment before darting off down the corridor toward the prison cells they had passed earlier. Lucanis straightened, slipping a dagger onto his belt as his gaze shifted to the Dwarven Scout at his side. He raised eyebrow. Harding, as he had come to know her, shrugged lightly, a hint of compassion softening her expression. 

‘It’s a Mortalitasi thing,’ she explained simply. ‘She won’t be long.’ Intrigued, Lucanis followed down the path the elf had taken, his boots splashing through the wet soil. The faint gleam of bone sticking out from one of the cells caught his eye, a horrific reminder of the lives claimed within. 

It took him a minute to find her. She knelt inside one of the larger cells, her feet buried in the sand. Her hands brushed delicately against the bloodied walls. A faint, rhythmic chime reached his ears – the sound of the small bell she rang with a delicate movement. She whispered softly, her voice steady. Lucanis hesitated in the doorway, keeping his gaze fixed on her as he forced himself to ignore the decomposed bodies slumped against the walls around her. The skeletal remains seemed almost part of the cell, their forms half-consumed by the creeping mold and algae.

‘May your souls find their way undisturbed by the earthly passing,’ she murmured. ‘May the Fade claim your spirits and forgive the mortal taint. May you dream in peace.’

The realisation struck him – she was performing a memorial ritual. A rite, meant to guide the dead to their final rest. He stood silently for a moment longer, before slowly stepping inside and kneeling behind her, his movements careful not to disturb the sanctity of the moment.

Closing his eyes, he listened to the peacefulness of her words, letting them sink into him. The presence of Spite emerged beside him like a faint ripple in the air. Even before the demon spoke, Lucanis felt his gaze studying the Watcher in front of them.

‘She honours,’ Spite said, his voice lilting with intrigue. ‘The mortals. And the spirits.’

‘She didn’t even know them,’ Lucanis thought, though the words held no judgment. His eyes flickered toward Spite, as the demon moved in-between him and the elf. Spite nodded with subtle appreciation. 'Oh. I like her,’ Spite said, his form beginning to fade, yet his voice lingering in the space between Lucanis’ thoughts. ‘Rook.’ The name echoed within his mind, like he was tasting it. Simple. Strong. Inviting.

‘Lucanis,’ a voice got through to him. He blinked, realising he had been staring at her for longer than he’d intended. She had turned to face him, her expression tender and filled with compassion, although he noticed a glimmer of drying tears lingering in her glassy eyes.

‘I apologise,’ he said, clearing his throat as he scrambled for his usual composure. ‘I didn’t mean to interrupt.’

Rook smiled, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. ‘That’s quite all right,” she said, her voice warm. She stood up, extending her hand toward him. Lucanis took it with a brief nod of gratitude, but as he moved to let go, he noticed that her grip lingered – subtle but deliberate. Her fingers wrapped around his, her gaze holding his with a knowing look.

‘What happened here is terrible,’ she said with earnest compassion. ’But you shouldn’t carry your grief alone. Don’t let it drown you in this prison.’

Lucanis exhaled sharply, her words cutting through him in a way he hadn’t expected. He let go of her hand, almost reflexively, and rubbed his palm as if it burned.

‘I suppose I will owe you more than I thought,’ he said. Rook’s smile only deepened, illuminating her face. ‘Like I said,’ she replied with a jest, ‘I’m sure we’ll owe each other before this is all over.’

Lucanis recalled the memory, and warmth spread through his chest like a crawling flame. It was the first time he had seen her raw compassion, the weight of her empathy easing the heaviness of dread around her. Now, here she was, surrounded by the chaotic life of Treviso, carrying that same gentleness into the night. 

He stepped closer, his boots brushing against gravel, making his presence known. Rook glanced up at him, as if she had been expecting him. She slid the small bell she had been ringing into her pocket, her movements measured, and stood up. The candle, which had floated gracefully between her fingers moments before, now settled gently on the stone edge of the fountain. Lucanis recognised it instantly from Necropolis. A Nevarran memorial candle, an eternal reminder of the ones lost.

‘It’s just a little something,' Rook’s gaze flicked to the candle briefly ‘For Varric.’

Lucanis tilted his head slightly, as he followed her line of sight, which kept escaping him. She was looking out over the city, where Treviso’s lights burned brightly against the creeping dark of the horizon. ‘He would have loved the view,’ Rook added. 

Her eyes remained on the skyline, as if she could see him there. She made her way down the path, heading toward the stone railing at the edge of the rooftop. Her gaze fixated on the glittering city below, avoiding Lucanis’ eyes. It was only now, that he had noticed the rather large coat she was wearing, one he hadn’t seen before. It draped over her frame like an old relic, its leather scratched and worn, the marks of time and hardship etched into every seam – the black, patchy fur trimming the neckline singed with a memory of the fire that burned it. She wrapped it tighter around herself with every step she took. 

Lucanis followed, meeting her by the edge of the roof. ‘Is that his coat?’ he asked gently. Rook’s grip on the leather loosened slightly, as she nodded. Lucanis smiled faintly, studying her. 'It suits you.’

Rook let out a short, breathy laugh, her lips curling in a fleeting smile. ‘There were just a few things he left,’ she murmured. ‘The Inquisitor suggested sending his notes to a friend of his – Seeker Pentaghast, I think she said. Apparently, a fan of his writing.’ She shook her head slightly, a wry humour creeping into her tone. ‘And Bianca – well, Harding offered to find the Champion of Kirkwall and deliver it to him personally. She figured he might not take it well otherwise.’

Her hand slid across the edge of the coat, fingers brushing over the worn fabric as she pulled it tighter around herself once more. She exhaled slowly, her voice softening. ‘But this…' she paused for a second. ‘This I’ll keep for myself. He always knew I was jealous of his fashion sense.’ Lucanis took a small step closer. ‘He would have been glad you kept it. A piece of him survives, because you saved it.’ 

With a quiet sigh of disagreement, she raised her hand, pointing toward the breathtaking panorama of Treviso spread out beneath them. ‘This is the only thing I managed to save,’ she whispered, her voice quiet and distant, fading as if her thoughts were slipping somewhere far away from the moment. ‘Isn’t it beautiful?’

Lucanis watched her closely, his focus drawn to the sadness gleaming in her eyes. She seemed to fade away, disappearing into a memory he could not touch. His heart sank, a weight pulling deep within him. He couldn’t bear to lose her. Not ever again. He stepped closer, his hesitation melting away as he reached out to touch her hand. To bring her back to him. ‘You shouldn’t carry your grief alone,’ he recalled her words, her voice like an anchor in the storm of his memories. Only then did Rook meet his gaze, her expression softening as recognition dawned in her eyes. Lucanis didn’t hesitate this time. He lifted her hand, his grip firm but not forceful, drawing her closer with a resolution that surprised them both. The steady thrum of his heartbeat echoed in his ears. He felt the familiar stir of energy at his back, the telltale rush of magic coursing through him as the wings began to unfurl. Spite’s murmur crept into his mind, a mix of curiosity and approval. 

‘Bold,’ the demon purred, his presence a steady undercurrent in his thoughts.

The sensation of the wings was no longer foreign to him. They moved with him, becoming a real extension of his will. He steadied his arms with determination, as he let them trace lightly over the curve of Rook’s arms, then her shoulders, and finally the dip of her back. He paused, tilting his head slightly, awaiting her approval. ‘Would you like to see it better?’

Rook’s lips parted slightly as she nodded. Lucanis moved with certainty, his arms wrapping around her waist, pulling her close enough that he could feel the steady rise and fall of her breath. Without another word, he shifted his weight and leapt, the powerful beat of his wings propelling them into the sky. The rush of air whistled past them, crisp and cold against his face. Rook’s grip tightened around him instinctively. Spite carried them higher, moving the wings with practiced precision. Lucanis adjusted their position, letting the magic guide him until they floated in a comfortable hover, just above the casino’s highest spire. From here, Treviso stretched endlessly. 

Streets wound like veins through the body of the city. Shadows danced between alleys and plazas, echoes of the citizens’ lives playing out below – distant voices mingling with the faint notes of a tune carried by a busker. Laughter bubbled up from a corner where children chased one another in the dim light, while a gondola slid silently through a canal, its passengers leaning close in conversation. Rook’s eyes wandered over the scene in wonderment.

‘This is all thanks to you. Every single life down there. And maybe…’ Lucanis’ voice softened, his next words trembling on his tongue, ‘…maybe even mine.’

His gaze lingered on her face, searching for her reaction. The heat rising to his cheeks was impossible to ignore. He shifted slightly in their weightless float, the wings beating slower now, almost cautious. The city breathed steady below, oblivious his confession. Above, the clouds thickened, smothering the stars and wrapping the sky in a grey blanket. The last ray of sunlight vanished, the air turned brisk, carrying with it a scent both familiar and yet elusive. Rook turned her face to him fully, her eyes meeting his with an intensity that made his breath stop. He could see tears glistening in her eyes, but what struck him wasn’t the sadness—it was something he’s been searching for. The spark of happiness. Gratitude. Joy. All the raw, unfiltered emotion she always shared with him just like this, without any words.

Maker, how he had missed it.

Suddenly, the first droplets of rain fell, sharp like tiny needles against Lucanis’ skin. He blinked as the water traced his face, just now realising tears have formed in his eyes. The weight of it all pressed down on him – the grief, the pain, the endless nights he actually prayed for sleep to come, just so he could see her in his dreams again. His grip on her tightened ever so slightly as if to reassure himself she was truly here. He couldn’t lose her again. He wouldn’t lose her again. 

Lucanis allowed the wings to slow their rhythm further, lowering them gently back onto the rooftop. His boots thumped faintly as they touched the ground, the rain soaking into his hair and coat. He didn’t care. He placed Rook gently in front of him, keeping her close. Just to feel her presence. 

‘I cannot believe we found you,’ he whispered, his voice breaking as he looked at her through the curtain of rain. 'I thought I’d never see you again.’ His words hung in the air between them, his pain and relief pouring out like the rain around them. He could feel his throat tighten, but refused to look away. Rook chuckled slightly, her wet hair sticking to her face, as she shook her head. 

‘Oh, come on, we both know you couldn’t get rid of me that easily.’ The brief moment of hesitation in her jest didn’t go unnoticed. Lucanis caught it in her eyes. He reached out, instinctively, his hand lifting to touch her cheek. His fingers brushed against her wet skin, pushing a strand of hair aside, and for a moment, he simply lingered there, feeling the heat of her skin among the cool rain.

‘Rook,’ he murmured in a low tone, his thumb tracing the line of her jaw as he moved closer. His touch found the delicate curve of her neck, pulling her gently, irresistibly, closer to him. ‘You’re impossible,’ he whispered, a hint of admiration peaking through. Her eyes flickered up to meet his, studying him with a softness that caught him off guard. She tilted her head, her lips curving into her usual, playful smile.

'But in a good way?’ Her voice was breathy, teasing, yet there was a certain vulnerability in the way she spoke, as if she wasn’t entirely sure. Lucanis’ heart thudded in his chest.

‘That’s what I love about you,’ he said, his voice barely a whisper, before he closed the distance between them, pressing his lips to hers.

The kiss was sweet, almost gentle at first, as if they were both savouring the moment they’d been waiting for. His hands cradled her face, fingers running over the soft curves of her jaw as he deepened the kiss, pulling her closer. The hunger that had been simmering inside him for so long finally blew up, fierce and unrestrained. Her hands slid to his neck, her touch driving him wild with every subtle movement. It was all too much – too long, too intense – and yet it was everything he had hoped for. The rain continued to fall, a constant, soothing rhythm against the world around them, but in that moment, the only thing that mattered was the heat of her lips against his, the steady pressure of her body pressed close to his own, and the knowledge that they had found their way back to each other.

His fingers slid into her wet hair, tangling in the damp strands as he coaxed her closer, his mouth urging hers to respond with equal intensity. His wings, as if sensing the need to protect her, unfurled instinctively once more. They fluttered around, enclosing them both in a tight, protective embrace, the feathers brushing against Rook’s back and shoulders. A soft, yet strong barrier from the world outside, a way to keep her safe in this fleeting moment.

The kiss deepened, as Lucanis could feel her fingers wrapping around his shirt, pulling him closer onto her. It was the release of every bit of tension they held, the way they both needed to anchor themselves in a world that had ripped them apart. Their breaths mingled in the space between kisses, their hearts syncing in a rhythm of their own. ‘Vhenan’ Rook pulled back, breathing heavily. Lucanis opened his eyes slowly, the heat of her breath still lingering on his skin. He couldn’t resist, brushing his lips against hers once more, a gentle touch, as if to reassure himself that this moment was real. She pressed their foreheads together, guiding his hand to her heart. ‘Mi Amor’ he replied tenderly, the meaning of the elven word coming to him without thought, as natural as his next breath. He leaned in slowly, letting her close the space between them this time. 

It was no longer just a kiss. It had become something far more than that, a seal on everything they had gone through together. A silent acknowledgment of all the debts they had owed each other, debts now paid in full.And more than that, it was a promise – a vow of what was to come. Together, they would face whatever the future held. A contract, if you will.

And Maker knows, a Crow never abandons a contract.

[vaguely-concerned]

ohhhhhhhohohoho taash half-accusingly telling rook 'what would you know? you act like you haven't lost anyone' is soooo good and hits so perfectly for rye in particular (who incidentally was showing his true credentials as varric's spiritual son in giving good advice he has never, ever, not once in his life, actually followed himself. and probably never will! (also the only option at that point in the convo that doesn't give you approval interestingly. taash rightfully doesn't quite buy what rook's selling there lol.) of course it's okay for you to be sad and feel abandoned because your parent figure is gone even though she never meant to leave you. not me though. obviously. that's just going to have to be an untended open grave of a wound in my heart forever there's nothing for it). it's such a good hint as to how odd rook's reaction to varric's death must seem to the rest of the team even as they eggshell tiptoe walk around it. of course no one wants to be the first person to broach the subject with rook. would YOU want to be the first person to break through that weird serene lack of reaction and find out what's hiding beneath it??? because none of the potential answers to that have the outlook of being entirely comfortable. (the real answer being, of course, 'oh shit blood magic empowered denial stage!!!'. which is also not great but would have been good to know sooner probably lol)

in general I LOVE the relationship I've been able to set up and keep developing between these two. there's such a solid throughline that there is so much affection in this relationship... but taash consistently picks up on rye's bullshit (as much about what he tells himself and thinks about himself as anything else, I don't think he means to be deceptive necessarily he's just out of touch with a lot internally), on the lack of complete authenticity that's there however well-meaning. and (probably wisely) keeps that last little bit of distrust and distance because of it. no one in the world could want to help them more earnestly than rook, and his protectiveness and tenderness for them is genuine and from the core. but beneath it all rye is not in a place with himself to be what they really need because at the end of the day and in many ways they're probably already further along in the quest to be true to themselves without apology or obfuscation than he is. and also he's going to get their gf killed inadvertently in a hot second so like. layers. layers of stuff and resentments and broken promises never quite made and reflections never quite faced going on here despite everyone's best intentions every step of the way lmao (which could be the subtitle of this game in many ways so that works out excellently thematically). 'I feel like I'm always letting you down and I'm so sorry' cycle keeps grinding on.

at the same time taash is working through ways to reconcile with and find ways to live with their mother and the memory of her in all her shortcomings because they love her and she means so much to them that they don't want to let it go completely, 'I just have to find a way to hold you that doesn't hurt me so much even if that means I can't clutch you as closely as I might have wanted once'... they're having to do some of the same process with rook. forgiving someone for what they couldn't be for you and finding other ways to get what you need -- not because this person ever meant to let you down, but because they simply don't have the capacity for whatever reason not to, a bit. there's going to be an oh how the turntables moment at some point down the line where taash rounds on rook to bark 'hey asshole forgive yourself already. you can't be everything to everyone and no one's asking you to be but you. and if anyone is asking you to be that they're dicks because that's unfair. stop beating yourself up I don't like having to watch my friends be bullied.' and rye will have to lie awake staring at the ceiling for a couple of nights after that probably. but maybe there's some hope he'll finally listen.

(I think the only person who gets rye completely unfiltered is lucanis by the end. which is not at all reflecting on the rest of the crew -- RYE rarely gets rye completely unfiltered all of those relationships are still very important no matter what lol. but I think lucanis has both the eyes to see through to and understand the truth and the unflinching 'I said all in and I meant all in' nature to accept what he sees without hesitation or quibble when he does, which makes rye finally let the walls come down after the fade jail when everything is in shambles inside. the full mutual People think that intimacy is about sex. But intimacy is about truth. When you realize you can tell someone your truth, when you can show yourself to them, when you stand in front of them bare and their response is 'You're safe with me'—that's intimacy and so on and so forth deal. which basically is what that big romance scene is about and why it's. everything.)

[mentallyshattered]

This is part 3 of the "What if Yuu didn't want to go back?" Series!

(I, the author of this work, do not consent to this work being crossposted/translated without my knowledge or used to train an AI, ever.)

Masterlist

"Myaah, keep going!"

"Non, chat. You no longer need to be brushed. Vil, how is Yuu's hair coming along?"

Vil sighs. I've noticed he does that a lot. "Not as well as I thought, Rook. Even though the top layer was absurdly thick, the lower layers don't look much better. This is going to take longer than I expected."

I look up and into the mirror in front of me. Vil has cut my hair short, but the process of detangling the remaining mat of hair has caused the detangled hair to be noticeably longer than what's still a total mess. I'd say the hair he's worked through is about 4 inches, just long enough to cover my ears.

"Say, Monseur Mystery, how did you guess Monseur Chat's name?"

"Well..." I hesitate. Even now, the thoughts of his death still hurt. "When I was living in my world, I found a cat. He was my only friend. He was an alley cat, but chubby- not in a concerning or limiting way, just in a cute way- and he was grey with a large patch of white fur on his front, and his tail faded into black at the end, and... he had polydactly. I think that's what it's called, at least. Do you guys know what that is?"

"Nope!" Grim's reply is cheerful, like an island of comfort in a sea of mourning.

"Well, it's a condition where your limbs split off into multiple limbs. So, a two-tipped finger or extra toe or something. Well, my cat had it on the end of his tail. It looked, " I pause, reaching my hand toward Grim and trying, failing, to hold back tears. "Into three. A trident tail, just like this." I'm holding his tail in my hand now, careful, like he might break just as my voice is doing now. I can hardly speak through the lump in my throat, but I can speak.

"A-and that cat's name was Grim. And he was hit by a car when he was eight, and I've never been the same." I'm crying now, my eyes reduced to floodgates and my voice to a wreck. Vil is hugging me, his arms bringing some sense of safe to me, but that sense of safe pales in comparison to the comfort of holding Grim in my arms. His fur is soft, much softer now that he's been brushed, and Rook has joined the hug.

We stay there, just like that, for what feels like forever. Vil's arms are strong around me, as are Rook's, and I'm holding Grim again, and I don't want to lose him again. I can't. I barely survived the first time; I can't survive a second. The guilt would kill me.

"I guessed his name, too. I didn't know how. It just felt right. But... Yuu, you kind of remind me of someone. Another human. He fed me in my dreams, and his name was Yuu, and we were great friends, but one day he just stopped showing up. I never saw him again." Grim's previously sad face brightens a little, like a tea candle with just enough air to burn. "You look a lot like him, but older. Maybe... maybe he was you."

The tears come back. I let them. This time, they're happy tears, and Grim is crying them, too. Vil allows a few more minutes to pass, just like that, before he lets go and resumes his task of unmatting the other half of my hair. Rook pulls away, too, and waves his magic pen.

A tape measure, like you see tailors using in movies, appears in the air in front of him for him to wrap around my waist with skillful hands. Soon, he's removed the tape measure from my waist in favor of wraping it around my chest, and then my arms, and then Vil tells him off for doing something unnecessary.

I laugh. "Say, Monseur Mystery, have you tried to use magic since you arrived?"

I ponder. "Not really."

Rook chuckles. "Facinating."

"Are you okay with others being let into the room, Yuu?" Vil's voice is soft and soothing. I'm a little jealous, but who cares?

"Go right ahead." The lump in my throat is gone now that Grim is purring happily in my arms, just enjoying the sensation of being pet. Rook leaves the room- still holding his tape measure, I notice- and the door shuts behind him. Surprisingly, I don't hear his footsteps as he walks away, even before the door is closed and blocking my view.

Less than a minute later, the door opens again, revealing Rook, Korrak, and Korrak's familiar, whose name I do not yet know. Rook waves his pen, cleaning the cat brush with magic, and starts brushing the strange oppossum as he brushed Grim.

"Hey, what's your name? I'm Grim!"

"Call me Mandible."

Well, I guess I have a name to go with both of my roommates now. Unlike Grim, Mandible needs only a few minutes of brushing before his fur is even and soft, at which point Rook measures him, waves his pen, and voilá: five small stacks of clothing appear on the counter.

"What are those?" Mandible is already poking at the piles by the time he thinks to ask. I wasn't expecting Mandible to be more talkative than Korrak, but I guess Grim and I are no better.

"Uniforms! The white one is a lab coat for alchemy, the violet one is a dorm uniform, the one next to the lab coat is a PE uniform, the one next to the dorm uniform is a school uniform, and the one in between the dorm clothes and lab coat are some ceremonial robes. All are sized exactly for Monseur Opossum, of course." Rook looks quite proud of himself.

"Myaah, neato! Do I get some?"

"But of course, Monseur Chat! If you'll allow me a moment..." Rook starts measuring Grim just like he did with Mandible, and Vil lets out a triumphant "Hah!"

"Finally conquered my hair?"

"Not entirely, but I'm done with the hard part." With this, Vil pulls out a brush- not a cat brush, just a regular human brush- and starts running it through my hair in a soothing rhythm. Tired from the short day's events, I allow it to lull me to sleep.

[mocksfate]

LET'S GET REACQUAINTED ! hey rpc ! lets be honest, datv brought us all back in one way or another either you're a veteran or new, i'm sure there is stuff that has changed or we don't know each other so let's have a game about it to reintroduce each other ! repost this to do the same & tag some pals if you want !

Name / Penname: nora! from eleonora. ppl irl call me ele, but online i've always gone with nora. for veterans, did you go by something previously ? name &/or penname: nope, i'm nora wherever i go. forever. age & gender ( if comfortable sharing ): 27 yrs old, a girliepop 😔 what was your first dragon age muse: idt i had a first muse. i'm p sure i started with a multimuse because of my inability of writing just one (1) character at the time. my fondest memories go to zev.ran, of course. he is and always be my favorite character of the franchise. do you have any other darp muses / blogs: i used to have a single muse blog for my surana (which ended up being a ton of fun while it lasted) but again, i just have too much muse for other little guys and they're constantly rattling the bars of their cages. what muses / blogs do you have outside of darp: i had other multimuses (a hsr one & a general gaming-animanga one but they're inactive rn) and obv my main @malewifezevran ✨ thedas has two moons: and they're lovers 🩷

single line, para, or novella: max i can do is 2k words on a good day chief....... language barrier + my bare ass script writing style don't help. i prefer one-two paras replies. plotting or winging it: i'm a plotting kinda girl. i like to put muses into Situations, but i prefer to figure out a possible dynamic or how the thread might develop with my writing partner ^_^ fighting threads, you bold enough for them? i have written very few in these ten years, but idt i'd mind? my vocabulary might not be as large to get a satisfying one. what content warnings are on your blog?: i honestly try to avoid triggering topics on my blogs, and if there are some, they're in the backstory of my characters which i won't openly write about unless my partner is cool with that. everything gets tagged, obviously. what things do you need tagged for your comfort?: mostly irl nsf.w pictures? those give me a bit of a ick. noncon (i follow nobody who writes it so thankfully i never have to read anything abt it), syringes and childbirth also are big nonos.

shipping preferences: single | multi | no ship | polyship. aw god, i'm THE multishipper. i cherish all kind of dynamics and i think so many characters just have the potential(tm). poly i'd be down only with close friends, cuz i know we can always write to each other/there's plenty of communication. shipping boundaries: never jump on/force a ship with me - we will lose mutualship as it makes me uncomfortable (exception to this rule are close friends with whom the ship has been developed beforehand in dms): i am here for the slow burn. i also don't like +13-15yrs age gaps (but nora, you write emmri- I PLAYED WITH A 46 YRS OLD ROOK, NEXT) and inc3st (duh).

fun facts about yourself that may have changed since in the past ten years: i'm way chiller and i can easily shrug things off than i used to omd. i sadly was one of those 'weh nobody wants to write with me ):' roleplayers and dear lord. thank you for the character development me @ me

be honest, did you miss darp. come on now-- did i.......... uh, i didn't miss it as a whole, but i did miss specific people because it was so fun to thread with them. i'm glad some are back 🥺

challenge round! put a small top five facts unrelated to dragon age ! - - i've been dungeon mastering for 5 years and i'm super proud 🩷 - i'm enjoying dos2 a bit too much and that scares me, chat - i own a big, fat cat named puka - my favorite dessert is the one and only tiramisù despite not being fond of coffee (yes, i got my italian citizenship card revoked for that) - i've never gone ice skating and it breaks my heart........

tagging: @venombloom ; @fatewoven ; @mcurnwatch & @celestrahl 🫵 (if you want to, of course)

[wizardysseus]

writing patterns (tag game)

rules: list the first line of your last 10 (posted) fics and see if there's a pattern!

tagged by @theteaisaddictive

I DON'T HAVE THAT MANY POSTED FICS BUT I GOT A CUT ON MY FINGERTIP THAT MAKES IT HARD TO TYPE SO I MIGHT AS WELL DO SOMETHING WITH MY TIME.

no orphan (star wars, unfinished but maybe if someone talks to me about this i will finish it someday): The sound of celebration rose over the city walls.

easy to find (critical role, i actually finished this!): When Caleb accepts the teaching position at the academy that he’s been toying with for so long, Jester goes to check out his new digs.

if by the sun and moon I swore (critical role, unfinished, don't perceive me): The high priestess of the Traveler didn’t blame her god for making her a fraud.

the second lives of ravens (sandman, wip): When Rachel Moodie died, she realized first that she was dead and only after that she had been dreaming.

the traveler repays his debt (theban plays, wip): The trek from home to the palace steps and onward to the city gates was a weary one for Merope’s old bones and a cold one for her old heart.

your homecoming will be my homecoming (odyssey, wip): Odysseus told her about Tiresias’ prophecy, the unpaid sacrifice, and the last quest pinned to him twice that night.

the pragmatist's heart (odyssey, wip) (real) (will happen): The truth was that Circe hardly cared whether Odysseus lived or died when he left Aeaea until that moment.

the first warlock (original fiction): When she asked to cut her hair, Rook had not expected her request would be granted. She had not even been sure that the Archivists would have something as human as clippers or shears, and it was unsettling to have no guesses as to why when it turned out that they did.*

the witch's hound (original fiction): Our story begins with a wizard.

i was going to post the first line of my batb story but i forgot the revision is in shambles because i did an outline overhaul and haven't gone back to it. don't be like me, finish things

*i included the second line because it struck me that the first line is actually very boring and if i posted it everyone would, of course, hate me forever.

i don't think there's a clear pattern across all of them, but i can see what i've been trying to do. i like to see if i can put the characters in a physical space and tell you something about their frame of mind from the get-go. with fic i lean toward grabby lines or something that's going to get at the heart of the situation/setting quickly, because i feel like i don't have much time to get attention. the witch's hound is the outlier here, which makes sense because i am intentionally trying out a more stylized omniscient narration for a fairy tale.

tagging whoever wants to!

[shadowspellchecker]

<p>11. 10. The obligatory Ghosts AU.</p>

<p>Twins Luke and Leia inherit a mansion in Massassi, New York, and, along with Leia's boyfriend Han and his old squadmate Chewie, embark on the unique adventure of opening a B&B. But they have company! Joining them are Victorian era Chinese immigrants Chirrut and Baze (<u>1850s</u>), lost Spaniard Kay—something, Native American scout currently going by Cass, and bootlegger (or Buffalo Bill expy performer, for Saw Gerrera's Wild West show) Jyn Erso. Bodhi Rook, the unlucky first-gen immigrant <u>satellite TV installer</u> and aspiring pilot who died while installing a satellite dish on the roof in the 1980s, is the 'baby' of the bunch. Oh, and also Mon Mothma (wife of the man who built the house) or Shmi (who would be a bondservant from Ireland, second wife of the first white farmer on the land). In the Basement we meet the Company, headed by Cody– wwi soldiers who survived Jim Crow and the trenches of France only to die of the Spanish Flu. They find the underground comforting. (Fucking bombers! Ruined the sky for us!) In the next house over, owned by organic weed grower Maz Kanata, you have WWII corporal Draven. In the house on the other side there is fur trader/ revolutionary war spymaster Lucian (I burned my life to build a nation I knew I'd never live to see), who K and Cass used to spend a lot of time with before the stream and property lines shifted. He was completely wrong about Benedict Arnold. Mon Mothma's daughter is Mon's unfinished business, and so she gets to ascend at the end of the third season. In the condemned summer kitchen you have Rex, Gregor and Wolffe, who survived the flu and took employment in the town. At the time the heiress of the mansion was Miss Tano, who went missing during the Cold War. They assume that she had gone on one last mission and never came back. (Fact: she's stuck in an underground bunker on the estate. Alternatively she did go out on that mission, and will be summoned back during a Halloween episode.) These guys died in the incident that left the summer kitchen condemned, and are forever trying to work out what they did wrong with that new water heater. Their unfinished business is reconciling with the basement ghosts (there is some sort of bad blood, partial survivors guilt) and for Rex finding Ahsoka. </p>

<p>Kay, of course, died in the lightning strike and can affect electronics. Cassian was shot walking on the lake one winter while looking for his missing sister, and froze to death. Think the <u>death of Otzi the iceman</u>. His unfinished business will be finding her bones. His ghost power is cold spots. Jyn was part of an Indian act in <u>Esau Gerrera's Circus of Curiosities</u>. (Saw himself presented himself as an exotic Arabian prince or something. So people wouldn't think 'escaped slave' when he smuggled people to Canada. (Jyn wasn't exactly around for that part.) Yeah, Cass is pissed. She was left behind and went looking for some gold her father allegedly had stowed nearby. That, incidentally, is her unfinished business. Her ghost power is making people feel like they were punched. Leaves no marks, can't affect objects. People just think someone lightly punched them.</p>

<p>You know, it might be worth taking a look at it… </p>

<p>No, no Luke. It'll be like that gerbil. You see it, you get attached. It's old, it's historic, it's huge. What would we do with it? When would we have time? I say we sell it. Split the profits fifty fifty, you can get that old plane you've been saving for and I can pay off the rest of my schooling. </p>

<p>I thought you'd had that ironed out.</p>

<p>Not the point, Mr GI Bill…. Shit, sorry. I didn't mean it like that… it's covered, but it…</p>

<p>Gets to you. I'm sorry, I…</p>

<p>Sigh. No, i shouldnt havr snapped… </p>

<p>Han?</p>

<p>Yessss….</p>

<p>He won't find you upstate. </p>

<p>Nice try… but youre right. Let's take a look at the place. See what we're dealing with. But don't get attached, I'm selling my half. </p>

<p>We'll see.</p>

<p>Alright, so it's the summer of 93, and we'd just conquered the Demon's Pass. </p>

<p>Really? Another of your collective daydreams?</p>

<p>You could step up and talk for a change. </p>

<p>So. The invasion.  Chirrut and bodhi are optimistic, Kay and Baze dread the change, Jyn is pessimistic, Cassian is past caring tbh, mon tries to rally morale. </p>

<p>So there is an </p>

<p>Indian (Cass)</p>

<p>Arrow Guy (Cass)</p>

<p>Temporally unusual European (Kay)</p>

<p>Relatively modern dude </p>

<p>Repressed Victorian (Mon)</p>

<p>Officer (Luthen, Draven)</p>

<p>Kick-ass performer lady (Jyn)</p>

<p>Token repressed guys (Baze and Chirrut)</p>

<p>Troop leader (Bodhi)</p>

<p>Spiritualist practitioner (Chirrut)</p>

<p>Food smell aficionado (Sass→ Cass)</p>

<p>Superchill individual (Flower →Chirrut )</p>

<p>Dubiously ethical group member (Alberta, Flower → Jyn)</p>

<p>Alternative setups include Jyn as the new newcomer, and Cass as the misplaced Spaniard (1500, see <u>Lavrador</u> (1498), <u>Cabot</u> (1497), <u>Leon</u> (1513), <u>de Soto</u> (1540), etc.) while Kay is a downright ancient ghost whose isolation has caused him to lose most of his connection to humanity and a severe case of the personality flattening we notice when ghosts aren't in contact with the living doing living stuff. Cass "saves" him by pulling him out of that state. In that scenario, Maarva and Clem might have been around at the time. Alternatively, they could have come later as an immigrant and an escaped slave and have given the duo lessons in English. Either way, they're long since sacked off. </p>

<p>Deaths:</p>

Shot by arrow

Struck by lightning

Murdered

Illness

Drugs and heart attack

Violent accidental death

Unknown but didn't leave marks

Unknown but didn't leave marks and was probably the drug of choice for that time period

<p>Circumstances </p>

Volunteering

Lost in a foreign land

After a performance in the house

In a normal consequence of living in one's time period

While partying too hard/ carelessness

While on drugs

While depressed

Multiple choice

<p>After</p>

A fight with a loved one

Being abandoned by comrades

Being unknowingly betrayed

Accidentally killing someone you liked

Doing a good deed

Betraying your allies

Being rejected

Finally tasting freedom

<p>And before</p>

Being mourned by your family

Still being alone… despite that a family member was looking for you.

Your murderer gets away with the crime

Being mourned by your secret keeper but otherwise forgotten about

Your associates hide your body and never tell your family where it is

Your accomplice turns the reason for your betrayal into something decent

Being celebrated by your brand new lonely haunting partner

Your children continue to disappoint you

<p>Marks of ghostly stuff</p>

You still have the arrow that killed you stuck in your body

You lost your hat. This matters.

You are stuck in costume

You are forever stuck in full uniform

You are lacking a vital article of clothing

You have the damage that killed you on your body

Multiple choice

Multiple choice

<p>But hey! Guess what? You… </p>

Have a positive and upbeat personality

can make electronics short out

Can create auditory stimuli

You can make people feel a specific adverse sensation related to your death by walking through them

You can touch physical objects with your finger!

Can make people feel a specific adverse sensation related to your condition at the time of death by walking through them. But you experience it too! All the time.

Are the lady of the house too

Are an amazing liar.

<p>Baze. Something to do with opium, guilt. </p>

<p>Chirrut. Knew Baze in life. Scholar visiting Yale. Blinded by a fever and walked in the wrong direction at the wrong time. Was in a fight with Baze and stormed off. Drowned. </p>