#antivan crow rook

[blackwall-my-tiny-husband]

Chanting nug e cheese nug e cheese over and over since it rots my brain (lovingly) finally got a full page of Rooks as Kids

The bottom is @davrinsleftpectoral and my own Rooks: Osla Ingellvar, Esha Aldwir are hers and then Zalan de Riva, Rian de Riva, Nelta Thorne, and Nels Thorne are mine

The top row is Fife Rutherford - @mythals-whore Sabi Ingellvar - @seaglassmelody Ilene de Riva - @kabsey

And then I added the people who were in the latest chapter as kids still just for funsies (and then did Turvi too because he deserves cute child art) so Xiqaa Laidir - @genjyoandgojyoandhakkai Caodi Aldwir - @notyourmamasdeerbat and then little Turvi Laidir

[plasticfreckles]

🪶 "i miss you" rookanis enjoy 🪶

Lucanis could have collected every finger of his every last target and still not have enough to count the times he's heard the echo of his own name being yelled through the Villa's halls bouncing off its many walls.

Summonings. Illario getting into trouble. Their other cousins ratting him out and Illario drawing Lucanis into it, as well.

The countless times Caterina stood on the fourth step from the ground, yelling his name like she'd caught him to lure him out of his hiding place. The countless times he fell for it.

The quiet fury when he'd still not gotten up for breakfast even after the fifth servant tried to rouse him with a young messere and knuckles rapping against his door.

Yells that imply abuse and punishment and shouts of leather belts whipped across his growing shoulders.

The sound of his father coughing out his name, cut down in front of him as his nursemaid hauls him to safety through the hidden corridors inside the walls.

Never before, though, did it come accompanied with the thud of a heavy bag hitting the ground and flat, nimble feet losing their shoes as he's trying to find a hidden corner to have his coffee and his book.

Rook is sprinting across the foyer and hurling herself into his arms like a drunk man into sheets. Coffee splatters against a jacket and his book falls to the ground.

"You're home."

"So are you."

"This is my house!"

Rook's lips, already inside his collar, split into a smile, teeth against his skin. Her fingers grab the mouth of his coffee cup, steadying it mid-air, to keep the liquid in the porcelain and off her clothes.

"Like you'd ever say no to an opportunity to get out of here."

"If it means I can't be there waiting for you to come back? I would never."

Rook pulls him into her embrace again, so tight he has to hold on to the small of her back, but they tip back against the door, anyway. The handle digs uncomfortably into skin and muscle below the left shoulder blade.

"I missed you so much, Lucanis. I've gotten used to having you along for every single job."

"Well." He pushes against her, his hand moving to the side of her hip, until she sinks back down onto her heels and he can detangle them - just enough to shuffle to the sofa hidden in the corner. "That can be rectified easily enough."

"How?" She pulls at him easily, making him rest against her like it's all they both were made to do. "People will notice the First Talon running along on another House's jobs."

"Rectified easily enough," he says, again.

A snort, somewhere above him. "Good luck hashing that out with Viago."

"First Talon. Stealing a Crow. I don't have to hash out anything with Viago."

There's a beat of silence.

It's rare for him to have the last word when talking to Rook. On the (so very rare that it borders on inexistent) occassion that she doesn't have a retort, it's usually Spite taking her side, on principle.

No matter how often they've both tried to explain to him that they're not on opposing sides. They never have been.

But you're wrong so often. So is Rook. Different kind. Curious kind. Fuck around and find out kind. You're wrong because you're stubborn. You say that as though you weren't. As though she wasn't. Different kind. Does that mean a better kind?

Spite pauses, slinks down from his toe tips and stops trying to catch the flame of the wall candle with the splitting overgrowth of his fingernails.

No. Just Different.

"Oh, before I forget!"

Rook moves out from her position as his backrest and retrieves a poorly bound collection of papers.

"So, bad news, my contract was on the author of that serial you've started the other night."

"The Truths Between?"

A hum, affirmative.

She says it as though they hadn't taken turns reading it aloud to one another.

"But the good news is: I brought you the manuscript for the last part."

The bundle of papers is dropped into his lap. The sheets are crumpled, bloodstained, the stitches holding them together uneven, the thread just a little too thick, dissolving a little where it emerges from the needlehole.

Like the author had been led to believe hastily binding and handing out the manuscript would leave them alive.

But that's not Rook's way to do it. He doesn't think. From the way she moves on the open battlefield, even cutting the Dread Wolf's hand to tie him to the Veil when she just as well could have pinned him to it with his own dagger through his heart - a killer, yes, flamboyant, yes, but not deceitful, or cruel. Never that.

Which means someone else tried to kill them before she ever got to him. Perhaps even before the contract reached Viago's desk.

Something to look into. Later. Tomorrow, maybe.

For now...

"Last part? Does that mean you read it?"

"Yeah."

"How do you feel about it?"

Lucanis knows, with every fibre of himself, that Rook would never ruin the ending for him. Nothing he, or anyone else, could ever say to her would make her spill it.

Not until he's read the ending himself and asks to discuss it with her.

Lucanis also knows, also with every fibre of himself, that right now, she's dying to tell him.

He can tell from the crease in her lips, the furrow between her brows, from the way her index slides off the pages and taps impatiently against his knee.

It's terrible. You don't know that. The serial is terrible. The ending will be terrible. Look at her. She HATES it. You hate the serial, Spite. Don't impose your thoughts and feelings onto her expression.

Spite opens his mouth, then clamps it back shut again instantly when they hear Rook inhaling to finally speak.

"Ettore doesn't deserve all that."

Something about the deadpan, resigned way the words escape her mouth, as if Ettore were an old friend of theirs who keeps getting into difficult dalliances with habitually unfaithful people, makes Lucanis burst out laughing.

He laughs and laughs until the sound of a vase shattering against tiles, followed by the rough, sleep-deepened voice of his grandmother shouting runs through the halls like children through tall grass.

Even when he and Rook collect their things and quietly make their way back to their own chambers, he's still giggling to himself.

🪶

i overthought on this so much i no longer like it lmao. I'm not in my writing era rn apparently and tbh that terrifies me. I don't want to abandon my fic. I dont want to phase out of Dragon Age Brainrot :(

shoutout to @chubritza for helping me fix it

[~rina]

[bargu]

Rook will obliterate every barrel and crate he finds like any graceful and sublime assassin should. He is truly the pride of Antiva.

And Viago is at his limit.

Lucien de Riva and art made by Barguest, do not copy or reupload please.

[raoneven]

~💜~

[maxx-the-queer]

I do enjoy the fact that each faction gives Rook a couple of unconventional familial figures.

Antivan Crow Rook gets the perpetually together-and-split-up Teia and Viago, whose love languages are bickering and poisons. Rook is Viago's favourite and he would never admit it to them, even if Teia is all too happy to expose his affection with her playful barbs.

Mourn Watch Rook gets Myrna and Vorgoth, the former of whom is akin to a college professor who found a baby in their science lab and the latter of whom is most definitely one of those mysterious executors from across the sea but it's fine because they're just Vorgoth and nobody questions it.

Shadow Dragon Rook gets T4T icons Tarquin and Ashur, a Templar who absolutely despises his job and the literal Black Divine, whose anti-slavery group is so full of queer people it may as well be a gay club. Same bickering energy as Teia and Viago, minus the poisoning and cyclical divorcing.

Grey Warden Rook gets Antoine and Evka, the most married wardens to ever exist. Antoine is the absolute sweetest man alive, and the only Orlesian allowed ever. Evka is incredibly competent and has everything under control. Their dates end with explosions. Everything is perfect.

Veil Jumper Rook gets Irelin and Strife. Strife is battling Viago for the grumpiest and meanest dad award. Irelin is clearly the golden child and favourite sibling and he makes that clear to Rook.

Lords of Fortune Rook gets Isabela and Rowan, a pirate turned allegedly somewhat ethical treasure hunter and Rivaini seer who regularly convenes with spirits. Neither of them are parents to Rook, they hold the most insane much older cousin energy though.

[loustica-lucia]

DATV — Rook teaching Spite how to play Wicked Grace

"- Spite and I can play cards or something. - Don't say that, I haven't taught him Wicked Grace yet."

(Lucanis Dellamorte, Spite & Alba de Riva/Rook[he/they])

A silly comic that was living rent free in my mind since I got that cutscene💜😈 Silly Alba & Spite bonding time hehe

Timelapse & Sketch:

[lizenzkreuz]

His coffee!!!!!!!!!!

[flowersforthemachines]

Useless Veilguard fact of the day: Day 90

It's likely common knowledge that an Antivan Crow Rook will comment on someone eavesdropping on them, Lucanis and Illario during the Coffee with the Crows quest. However, a Shadow Dragon Rook will also show awareness of potential spies.

[If Rook is an Antivan Crow] Rook: So... have we done enough "three Crows in a coffee shop chatting about nothing" to bore the spies? Illario: Just about. The most persistent one gave up when Lucanis started getting all romantic about roasts. Lucanis: It's a very good roast.

[if Rook is a Shadow Dragon] Rook: Nobody's listening. Should we get to business? Lucanis: There's still the one at table three. Illario: She just left to follow the waitress.

[if Rook belongs to any other faction] Rook: So... is there a reason we're not talking about Illario's information, or what? Lucanis: We're still being spied on. Illario: No, the last one just left. Couldn't take your coffee talk.

Check out the tag for more useless facts: #useless davg fact of the day!

My DAVG Extracted Audio Masterlist

[inkzncowfolk]

originally intended to have him in the vitaar, but ended up liking him better without… so u get both versions, as a treat :) anyways hello emmrich romancers let me in i am one of u!

[invinciblerodent]

if you wouldn't drown each other in a spoonful of water for exactly one copper piece, are you even really (half-)siblings

[rookinthecrownest]

utilizing my remaining brainpower for the evening to imagine how much of a beast a mage-class (spellblade subclass) De Riva Rook could be.

Imagine an assassin who could genuinely turn invisible. Who could put sound-proof glyphs on walls. Who could turn into a fly or a rat and get into a locked room, assassinate someone, then turn back into an animal and get out the same way without anyone knowing or seeing.

inspiring, tbh

[selunesdreams]

Eating Crow, Chapter 29: The (After) Life of the Party

Pairing: Lucanis x Rook

Summary: Rook sees a different side of Illario. Lucanis helps Rook see a different side of intimacy.

Things of note/warnings: 18+ fic, MDNI! chapter specific warnings in AO3 notes.

─── ⊹⊱♤⊰⊹ ───

“Sit down.”

Illario thrust Rook towards the bed in one of the casino’s dimly lit guest rooms, her knees buckling as their backs hit the worn mattress. With a frustrated growl, she pushed herself up, only to be shoved down again. After two more tries, she remained seated, glaring at him as fury simmered in her gaze. He returned the look and folded his arms over his chest.

“Please.” She smoothed the anger coating her voice into something more desperate, her eyes pleading. “You brought me the man you believed responsible for my father’s death all those years ago. You knew how much I needed revenge, more than anyone. But you gave me the wrong man. And now the one truly responsible is within reach and you’d deny me retribution? He’s a threat to the Crows, to everyone we care for-”

“You are in no state to confront anyone, Fiammetta. You’re too emotional, you’ve had far too much to drink-”

“Since when did you become rational?” She sneered, wrapping her fingers around the carved ridges of the bedpost, and pulling herself to her feet. The tips of her fingernails dug through the wood’s finish as she carefully slid one foot forward, her heel scraping across the marbled floor with a screech. Her attempt to move with seductive grace was spoiled by the four glasses of champagne that swam in her blood, nagging at her joints and blurring the corns of her vision. Her former friend remained impassive, one eyebrow raised in skeptical amusement.

“Since you decided you have a death wish, apparently.”

“I’m as good as dead anyway, Illario. Not all of us will survive the gods.”

“You doubt yourself so much, and yet you fight anyway?”

“I trust my team. And I know I can make the sacrifices necessary-”

“So what? You’ve assembled an escort to your own suicide? Is that what this is, Fiammetta? All of this because you just can’t endure any longer?” He scoffed and let his hands fall at his sides, hitting his thighs with a dull slap. “And what of my cousin? You’ve let him believe he’ll have you in the end just so you can yank the rug out from under him?”

“You saw what happened when Cortez took him. I am a distraction. I nearly cost him-”

“And what will it cost him once he’s lost you? Grief is just as much a distraction as love. You should know, Fiammetta, you’ve thought of little else in your entire miserable life!”

“As if you don’t wallow in self pity yourself!”

“Spare me, Fi. It’s not the same. I don’t dwell on the past. But you… you live there.”

Rook opened her mouth, desperately searching for words to shout back. Verbal weapons to silence him, to shake him to his core, but she came up empty.

“He’s never loved anyone, Fiammetta,” Illario pleaded, “Not like you. Don’t do this to him.”

“As if you care-”

“Of course I care!” He charged forward and seized her shoulders, his face an inch from hers as his fingertips bruised her bare skin. “I thought I was doing him a favor. Zara twisted my mind until I truly felt only death could spare him from the fate of becoming First Talon. I was wrong, and it cost me my family. And Lucanis… it cost him everything . He will be an abomination for the rest of his life because I believed Zara’s lies. I betrayed him, my own blood.”

Illario began to tremble, and his grip loosened as his eyes fell to the floor. Shame was etched over every crease in his face, the hollow, dark rings under his eyes.

“Don’t make him suffer like that again,” he whispered, “Don’t lead my cousin on, only to throw yourself on the pyre and make him watch you burn. Spare Lucanis that fate, I beg you. Because I cannot take back the damage I have already done. He has somehow learned to trust despite my failure, but if you betray that trust… no one comes back from that.”

Rook blinked rapidly, her breath hitching as her eyes shimmered and burned. “Why tell me this?”

“I think you may be the only person left in Treviso who would believe me capable of remorse.” Illario released her and angled his head towards the window, unable to bear the weight of her gaze.

“For once in your life, Fiammetta, just do what Viago asks of you and be patient. Ivenci will fall, but politics never move quickly.” A bitter huff of air escaped Illario’s nose, and he shook his head, staring at one hand as he rubbed his thumb and forefinger together. “Rich, coming from me, I know.”

Rook narrowed her eyes. “Am I to believe you’re done scheming your way into power? That blood magic won’t corrupt you the way it has every other mage that has dared to touch it? If we survive, what happens to you when this is all over?”

Illario turned and yanked the door open, stepping into the hall.

“You forget, Fiammetta, I am not a mage.” He said over his shoulder. “As for your second question… I don’t know. I hear Dairsmuid is nice this time of year.”

Full Chapter on AO3

[plasticfreckles]

🪶 dream ossuary rookanis enjoy 🪶

Lucanis wakes with a start, with the unpleasant lightning strike through the body after dreaming of falling.

Only he doesn't find himself back on the raised courtyard between the big statue and the Lighthouse.

Instead, he finds himself back in the frozen, cone-shaped cell, so deep underwater that even the suspiciously clean air feels suffocating. He's so cold even the skin between his asscheeks stands up in goosehives.

Probably because he's naked, save for the shredded fabric that he snatched from the hips of the poor soul in the cell next to his, only moments after she (Nastia, he reminds himself) had succumbed to her starvation and her hunger demon had burst out of her like filling from an overcooked pie.

Not his finest moment, there.

Lucanis rubs his forehead with a sigh.

Of course he's still here. This entire business with blighted gods and archdemons and remote brain-parasites did always seem a tad too absurd to be real.

NO! Spite shrieks. He's circling him like a vulture waiting for its food to die. Gods were real! We killed them. We tore into Ghilan'nain with our teeth! We chased Elgar'nan into Minrathous! Stuck Solas to the Veil for snatching our Rook! OUR ROOK IS REAL. SHE'S SLEEPING, RESTING. IN OUR ARMS. WHERE SHE BELONGS. OUTSIDE YOUR STUPID STUBBORN SPONGEHEAD.

As if she'd walked out of the latest romance serial, took one look at his miserable self and thought I have to have him.

NO REASONING WITH YOU HERE. RESOLVE TO BE MISERABLE. WHEN WE COULD BE FREE. FREE AND - You're surprised? There's a reason you were once Determination, before we joined.

Spite rams his elbow into the back of Lucanis' head, then dissolves into thin air.

Lucanis huffs warm air into his palms, rubs them together for friction and then wraps his hands around his toes.

There's a commotion, somewhere between the space behind his eyes and the back of his head, and he feels as though he's prodded at in another plane of existence.

SEE? Spite pushes at somebody until they kneel down in front of him. ROOK IS REAL. If she were real, she wouldn't be in here with us. She'd be far above the surface, as she should. I WOKE HER. I BROUGHT HER.

Lucanis dreads what his demon might have told her to pull her from her precious rest and into his mind. Again. Judging their trajectory lately, it likely wasn't Help us, he listens to you this time.

"Hi." There's hands on his cheeks now, and whoever it is that Spite conjured up does look exactly like the woman from his escapist dreams. Her eyes are puffy, rimmed in red - has she cried?

"What's wrong?"

Oh, so. Only real if for you to fix? That's what's happening? Shut it. MAKE IT MAKE SENSE. THEN I SHUT IT.

"Spite brought me. He thinks you went back."

Lucanis can't bite back his dry chuckle. When he pointedly looks around, her hands slip from his cheeks, cradling his jaw now.

"Evidently, I did do exactly that."

"Has.. Did something happen today, before we went to sleep, that brought you here?"

"You don't need to do this. I don't need my own subconscious trying to fix me."

Fingers twirl the ends of his hair.

"I've been here before, remember? Spite brought me then, too. He - we - don't want you to feel as though you're stuck in here by yourself."

He doesn't need to tell her he did not willingly walk in here, that sometimes he still just finds himself back in his cell. She knows. She knows intimately, by virtue of caring to know him.

"I shouldn't keep returning here," he manages, eventually. "You broke me out. I'm done with this place. There's nothing left for me, here. Not even death."

When Rook stopped being a figment of his imagination, or when she'd shifted to rock the both of them left to right to left with her cheek by his hairline, he doesn't know.

"Maybe this place isn't done with you."

Letting this, however accurate and plain to see, suggestion sit with him makes him nauseous, like trying to eat after having been hungry all day.

"How do I stop coming back here, Rook?"

Her silence and her hands in his hair, strangely grounding him into the reality of this Fade-dream with the nails on his scalp, are answer enough.

Eventually, she sits back down, cross-legged, takes his hands.

He knows what that means; I have an idea.

Do it! Spite leans over her shoulder, pushing her deeper into her hunched posture with both hands on her back like he was trying to mount a horse from its backside. Rook has good ideas! Rook is smart! She will fix us. Splitting us is not in her repertoire. Breaking us out of here is!

"Well, for this specific instance, there's multiple options of what we can do," she starts. She's barefoot, too, the tops of her feet pushing into his soles. "If you'd rather be alone, I can leave - Spite won't like that, and neither do I, frankly. I don't want to leave you alone here."

She must be real, Lucanis thinks after all. How else would he know the way the space between her brows creases means But your feelings in this matter more than mine?

"But if that's what you need, you shall have it. We could leave this place together, too. Or, we could stay here together. Whichever you want. Whatever you need. If it's for me to give to you, you will have it. I promise."

He looks up from their feet, when her hand settles soft and warm and startingly familiar on his jaw, her thumb through his beard.

"I.. I can't get up."

Rook nods.

"Would you like me to stay?"

"I... If you'd rather leave-"

"I know. That's not what I asked."

Her eyes are wide and soft and endlessly loving.

"Stay. Please. Just a little longer."

"Of course."

It should be intimidating, the way she rises to stand before him, fingers working the cord that holds her dressing gown closed.

Were it anyone other than Rook, he would be, deep down. He'd never display it, of course, but he'd still feel it.

With her, though, he can freely display his - concern. Why is she undressing? In the prison of his brain?

"Rook, no. You're barefoot. We're encased in a cone of ice. You'll be so cold. Don't take off your dressing gown."

But he doesn't fight her, and the soft yellow silk-lined robe drapes warm and comforting over his shoulders.

"I am wearing more than a loincloth. I'll be all right."

Even here, somehow, in this nightmare prison that his mind keeps returning to, it's baffingly easy and natural to settle against her. She willingly offers her warmth to him, shifts with him like that's all she's made to do.

Eventually, he's curled up on his side, covered up to his eyes by the gown, her right hand rubbing his arm through the fabric and the other petting his hair.

As he closes his eyes, there's the start of a giggle in Rook's throat, hastily bitten back and covered with a breath.

"What?"

"Your ears are so small. And round. Small and round and cute."

"Is that.. good?"

"I think so. I tried to picture you with ears like mine and - no. Your ears are perfect like this."

"Thank you?"

Her body curves above him, and her lips press against his forehead. It must be a strain in her neck, how she's curling to meet him with his head in her lap.

But when he attempts to rise, to meet her halfways her hand slips from his arm to his chest and pushes him back down.

So he shifts until all his weight isn't squarely on the joint of his shoulder. Closing his eyes again under her gentle touch and soothing warmth is an easy thing. Even here.

Were he not so confused and tired and therefore sopping up her soul as though the Ossuary turned him into a wet biscuit, he might be a little scared of all that.

"How do you like your eggs?"

"I'm sorry?" He almost can't hear it, his left ear cushioned by her thigh on all sides, Spite trilling happily at her scratching over his scalp in the other.

"When we wake up, I'll make you breakfast, for a change. Something nice and simple."

"You don't have to. I know you don't enjoy cooking."

"I want to, Lucanis. Let me do something for you, just this once." He knows she'll say the exact same thing she resolves to cook for him the next time. And the time after that. And probably for the rest of all time, if she'll have him. "So: how do you like your eggs?"

"Sunny on bread."

Her thigh shifts under him, and her lips press against his right ear.

"Sunny on bread you shall have."

Instead of leaving, however, she settles down beside him, her thigh still cushioning his head, the crown of hers barely in his lap.

"After you wake up. After you have a long, long, well-deserved rest, and wake up in my arms at the Lighthouse. At home."

She says more, but he soon falls away into sleep, when she drapes her dressing gown over him like a blanket once more and reaches for his hand under the fabric.

-

He wakes again, before her, this time, though his face no longer lies squared in her lap.

There's no blanket covering him - it must be somewhere near the end of the bed - but Rook's body against his back is enough to to warm him through an entire Age of winter.

Her fingers are hooked into the seam of his pants, her breath warm on the back of his neck.

Sunlight filters through the massive fishtank, into the hidden corner where their bed sits.

A marvel, that. Their bed. For her and him.

See? Real. All of it. You're right. And thank the Maker for that.

A bare legs hooks over his hip.

Lucanis closes his eyes again.

🪶

directly influenced by this post by @lunammoon <3

@lanafofana this may be of interest to you

@manhattenstops p e r c e i v e

[~rina]

[bargu]

"Ours."

Dragon Age: Veilguard and Lucanis Dellamorte are living rent free in my brain. I somehow also love the idea of possessive Spite.

I've heard that people doesn't like when there is so much purple in the Veilguard so I made this extra purple just for you xD No spite (heh), I love y'all!

Art made by Barguest, do not copy or repost thank you!

[raoneven]

~ how does his touch feel like? ~

Full

[blackwall-my-tiny-husband]

The life cycle of a Crow

For @rookappreciationweek day 2: de Riva - poison - Treviso - resistance

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

At 4 years old Zalan knows his parents love him. They give him goodnight kisses when they tuck him into a little bed and dance with him in their arms around their tiny house until he’s crying with laughter. He knows what happiness is.

At 5 Zalan doesn’t really know what money is but he knows they don’t have enough of it. He knows sometimes his mother cries and sometimes she doesn’t eat. She doesn’t like to let little Zalan know and he pretends right along with her. But he stops asking for hot chocolate and snacks and remembers to share his bread on bad days with his mom with fibs about being full. He thinks he is helping.

At 6 Zalan is on his knees in the rain on a little side street watching the blood leave his parents bodies. The big man who stabbed his parents and stole their belongings is long gone and he is alone. He cries but pretends it’s only the rain.

At 7 he has been on the streets for months, he does little odd jobs for apples or molding bread or the barest of coin. He doesn’t have a bed but he has a spot on a rooftop he really likes with some crates to hide behind and an overturned barrel to sleep in. He wants to survive.

At 7 and a half years old Zalan kills someone for the first time. In self defense while trying to courier a note. He feels sick but also a sort of pride because he did not die there, he won that fight. Viago had seen him and offered Zalan a home and a name and he thinks anything is better than the streets. He has to sign his new name with a pen dipped in the blood still falling from his open cuts but the idea of being a person again never looked so good.

At 8 he is rethinking his choice but only because Viago’s poisons are bitter and they make him dizzy and weak until he gets used to them. He thinks he’s loved but not like his parents loved him. This isn’t a laughter and joy sort of love but Viago bandages his scrapes and catches him when he almost falls off of buildings whenever they train. And he thinks maybe that’s a sort of love too.

At 11 years old Zalan thinks he might die again. This time because he’s been pushed into the canal, cannot swim, and his clothes got stuck. He is sad he never told Viago he loves him too. An older crow pulls him free and forces water from his lungs. He is cold and afraid but will not show it to the other fledglings gathered around him. He lies and says he’s fine and lies some more when he swears he can swim so the others will give him the day off. He finds he is afraid of drowning after that.

At 16 the only thing he and Viago do is butt heads. His new nickname is idiot and he gets smacked around at every slip up. There are yelling matches and slammed doors. But Viago always runs a careful speed when Zalan is on missions so he’s not left behind and always catches him by the cape when he slips while roof jumping even if he’s also yelling the whole time. Zalan knows this is family and love but doesn’t have the words to say thank you.

At 17 and a day Zalan proudly shows off crow wings tattooed down the length of his arms to Viago who rolls his eyes and grumbles but doesn’t have a truly negative thing to say. Zalan is about to become a full fledged crow and is excited to have his friends with him and Viago’s teachings.

At a week before 18 years old Zalan is hanging by his hands over the dead bodies of his friends in a hot cramped shed on what should have been his last mission as a fledgling. There are painful bloody carvings etched into his skin and he thinks he is going to die again and still hasn’t told Viago how much he cares about him. He can’t talk anymore from the lack of water and all the screaming and he knows he doesn’t like torture.

At 18 Zalan is back in Viago’s house and healed enough to become a crow. They have a celebration and Zalan finally tells Viago he loves him like a father. Zalan is drunk and can’t quite remember what was said in reply but Viago was embarrassed and flustered and Teia laughed and Zalan smiled a lot and almost couldn’t feel the itch of healing wounds and missing friends.

At 20 the sky burst open and rifts tore holes all over Thedas. The de Rivas were okay and so Zalan put it from his mind, that was a problem for someone else, he had his Antiva to worry about.

At 22 he’s wearing fancy suits and dancing with the nobles of Orlais. He’s undercover and courting a sweet girl whose father has to die. He kisses her and tells her he loves her and watches her face light up when he proposes. He finds his opening before the wedding date is decided and once his contract is fulfilled he slips away quickly, faking his death and swearing never to come back. He knows what betraying someone and breaking a heart feels like.

At 29 Zalan slowly watches the antaam take over his city. It is a flash fire, sudden and intense and Zalan knows bitter hate as the Qunari take his streets and hurt his people and beat down his homeland.

At 30 years old Zalan meets a dwarf with a strange sense of humor when he’s freeing hostages from an antaam patrol. He destroys the Qunari because they are prisoners and he knows the pain of torture and refuses to let others feel the same. But Viago is angrier than he’s ever seen him and the fight is louder and meaner than either of them mean for it to be and Viago sends him away. Zalan feels like he is losing another home.

At 30 and a half he thinks maybe this is his home away from home. Verric is like a mentor and Harding a friendly rival. He’s found a sense of peace being on the road with these people he hasn’t felt in some time and he thinks he could belong here with them.

At barely 31 years old Zalan is standing over the body of one of his best friends though he doesn’t know it yet yelling into the ritual-gone-wrong’s wind for Harding. Solas is so close but so far away and then gods are showing up and everything is going dark and Zalan can only hope Harding and Neve will be ok.

At 31 and a piece Zalan is falling on his ass with veins of lyrium running down his face and arms from kissing Lace Harding. She might be freaking out in the moment but Zalan is pretty sure he’s never been happier than he is right now while blurting it must be love.

Still at 31 and a piece Zalan is loosing friends and escaping regret prisons made to hold gods. He doesn’t know what the future will hold, is unsure if he’ll survive to see 32, and trying to hold together a team long enough to do the impossible- destroy a god, redeem solas, and save the world.

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I really love seeing clips/snippets of a characters life, i find it’s a fun way of showing a characters backstory without having to write everything out, I have something similar for just about every rook so I have backstory points and stuff (I totally think you guys should write things like this too, try it it’s fun, you should totally do it)

(Luckily I had this one finished already lol so it was ready to go. I’m still working on my Harding week stuff, it’s all coming even if it’s all late lol I refuse to give up)