#can’t wait to meet her in veilguard

[falonfen]

Leonel Lavellan, 12 and 42.

[twistedappletree]

DRAGON AGE VEILGUARD GAMEPLAY LOOKS SO GOOD YALL

[hydrangeapartridge]

Neve's visit (Manfred learns about rings part 2)

As part of my EmmRook post game collection, I wrote a short fic about Manfred learning about rings (their use in magic but also their symbolism) which can be found here.

Here is the sequel. Enjoy! (could contain spoilers for the end of the game)

(Side Note: all my EmmRook fics can be found on AO3)

Emmrich was pacing. It was an unusual behaviour for him, reserved only to his reflexions on the most complex scientific questions he faced as a scholar. However he was not working now, but the fact remained that he was crossing the living room for the umpteenth time under Rook’s half amused, half worried gaze.

She sat on the meridian, waiting for Neve to arrive. It was the first time they would see her since Manfred bought her a gift; a pretty snake-shaped silver hairpin. If Emmrich had always had a very good relationship with Neve amongst the Veilguard, the prospect of the gift giving visibly caused him some distress.

“I never thought I’d get to experience a meeting with the in-laws while being the in-laws” Rook’s usual jest had the benefit of stopping Emmrich in his tracks.

He turned to her, a slight frown creasing the perfect line of his dark brows. “ Darling, this is nothing of the sort” He corrected her “Merely a reunion with an old acquaitance, in which Manfred will happen to gift a significantly costly jewel to a charming woman” Emmrich was talking with his hands, which he did when passionnate, but mostly when nervous. “People exchange gifts all the time. There is no particular stake in this particular exchange”

So he tried to convince himself. Rook shook her head, a fond grin splitting her lips. She got up and slowly stepped up to her husband.

She placed a hand on his elbow in a gesture that became as familiar as breathing. “Then why are you more tensed than before an important watcher’s assembly?” She teased him, caressing up his arm until her hand was on his stiff shoulder. “We’re seeing Neve. It’s going to be nice. Relax. ”

Emmrich sighed. “I can’t” He breathed in defeat, lowering his head until his forehead was resting against Rook’s.

“If we had more time, I’d offer plenty of ways to distract you” Rook whispered, her lips drawing closer to his.

Emmrich was usually a master of self-control. In the Watch, her learned meditation and breathing techniques to ground oneself, and how to be detached and impassible. But his naturally emotional nature still came back when dealing with matters important to him; more often matters of the heart than of the mind. Matters he couldn’t reason with.

Another sigh, but Emmrich didn’t pull back. “Dearest, you always do choose the most interesting times for your advances” He placed a hand on Rook’s waist and brought their faces closer. “I could certainly be tempted to indulge in you. It would make the wait far more pleasant indeed”

Emmrich’s poetic way with words always made Rook melt. She was surprised her flirting went through but needn’t be convinced any further, and pressed her lips against his in a tender kiss.

If their kissing started chaste, slow and comfortable, Emmrich grew bolder as he gladly lost himself in the distraction and comfort his wife offered. His second hand came to craddle the base of Rook’s skull, fingers carefully threading in her hair as he gently but firmly angled her head to deepen the kiss. His bangles sang as he teased her bottom lip with his tongue, and when she parted her lips, wickedly slipped inside, in a move only he held the secret to, that still made Rook’s knees weak even after years of practice.

Rook pressed closer to him, lacing her fingers behind his neck in an embrace that was only known to true kindred spirits. Together they formed a perfect entity, in a pose that could remind one of the romantic tableaux exposed in Orlais, painted to praise the devotion of eternal lovers.

While he thoroughly lost himself in Rook’s mouth, Emmrich moved his legs with intent so that his thigh ended up pressed flush against her center. Rook’s resulting moan was music to his ears, so promising. Too bad the next thing those ears caught was the sharp noise of a knock on the door.

The two lovers barely had time to step away from each other before Manfred came rushing down the stairs. The spirit made a beeline for the door, eager to be the one to welcome their guest. In his hurry, Manfred thankfully didn’t notice how breathy and flustered his caretakers were. They gladly let him open the door while they recovered from their promising but interrupted tryst.

“I’ll get the tea” Emmrich offered, reluctantly moving away from his wife.

Rook nodded, and after running a hand through her hair to make sure it was still in place, she headed to the entrance to greet Neve.

- - -

Neve Gallus was as always delightful company. Under her strict and cool appearance was a heart of gold. Ever thoughtful, she brought an offering of Carastian candy, chocolate coated treats from Tevinter, that she knew Rook enjoyed (Emmrich didn’t have as much of a sweet tooth as his wife, but he was known to indulge in them sometimes while grading papers).

She came alone, Lucanis being busy on a contract; which was probably better given Manfred’s generosity was reserved to her.

Neve got them up to date with the situation in Minrathous in more detail than she did in letters, and once it was done, they discussed more casual matters: recent activites and funny or scandalous anecdotes. Emmrich, ever the social butterfly, was absorbed in the conversation, but his never ending stirring of his tea told Rook that part of him was still slightly nervous.

At one point, Neve asked about Manfred’s learnings. The skeleton had been quietly sitting beside her, but he perked up when prompted with questions about his training at the Necropolis. While Manfred told Neve a few stories in his own imperfect way with words, Rook wondered if maybe he could be nervous about giving Neve her gift. Wisps were drawn to Neve, and Manfred was no exception. He always enjoyed her best amongst all their friends. But could he have learned reserve after spending so much time with humans?

It turned out Rook was completely wrong about that part, for two mere seconds after the skeleton finished explaining the most recent spell he learned, he announced. “Present for you” And promptly stood up to retrieve the pretty gift-bag he previously hid behind the couch.

Manfred proudly handed Neve the bag, and her usually hooded gaze widened. “For me? Really?” She asked incredulous as she took the package.

“Yeay!” Manfred confirmed and Neve chuckled.

“I’d say you shouldn’t have, but that wouldn’t be elegant of me” She opened the bag and peeked inside before she retrieved a squarred black velvet box from it. “Wow, this looks fancy. What’s the occasion Fred?” She asked, incredulous.

Rook heard Emmrich gulp beside her. She was hanging onto Manfred’s every word, eagerly awaiting his answer.

“To thank you for the coat!” Manfred replied casually.

A beat of silence. Rook felt stupid.

Given the circumstances of Manfred’s purchase for Neve, Emmrich and her automatically connected it to the rings they bought and their meaning. They didn’t even think to ask why Manfred wanted to get Neve a gift, probably too afraid of the answer. It didn’t occur to them either that Manfred could feel obliged to Neve for gifting him a new coat as a reward when he graduated from his first cycle of apprenticeship. That day Emmrich had given Manfred a gift too, Rook remembered; his first ever magic staff. It had been a wonderful day of celebrations.

A muffled chuckle beside her made Rook turn to her husband. Emmrich’s laugh then turned light and airy, relieved and joyful. It wasn’t often that Emmrich was caught laughing freely, and if the delightful sound of it surprised Neve, it sent butterflies in Rook’s stomach. She was grinning impossibly wide as her lover tried to cover his reciding laughter with the back of his hand in front of his mouth.

Neve looked to the couple with a frown but was unable to hide her own smile. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing. Just that Emmrich was so afraid Manfred wanted to elope with you he almost gave himself an ulcer” Rook offered, voice singing with mischief.

“Rook!” Emmrich protested. The pink slightly dusting his cheeks was adorable.

“We were worried about the intentions Manfred put behind that gift and obviously made a too big deal out of it” Rook continued explaining more seriously, not minding the glare Emmrich sent her.

Neve raised one thick and pretty eyebrow, visibly judging Manfred’s caretakers.

“Well, can I open it now?” She asked, admiteddly a little amused.

Rook nodded and Neve opened the velvet box under Manfred’s undivided attention. He had observed their exchange but didn’t comment on it. Maybe he didn’t understand everything and was more eager to see what Neve thought of his gift than to understand what all this was about.

A little gasp of surprise escaped the ice mage when her eyes landed on the refined piece of jewelry.

“I understand your worries now” She lowly whispered before she turned to Manfred. “You truly shouldn’t have... but I appreciate it. This is beautiful Fred. I love it”

Manfred let out a victorious hiss, visibly happy with himself. Neve undid her coiffure, letting her long dark locks cascade on her shoulders. She took the hairpin and skillfully twisted her hair around it in a pretty updo. She turned her head both sides and asked. “How is it Fred? Suits me?”

Manfred clapped and cheared, making Neve chuckle fondly at his antics.

Emmrich watched the exchange, arms crossed over his chest, but a smile on his lips. Rook let her hand travel to his thigh and inched closer. “Relieved my love ?” She whispered in his ear.

He sighed through his nose before he gave her a warm smile that lit up his rich brown eyes. “Impossibly so dearest”

[spookyvalentine]

8, 18, 28, and 48 for Lascaux!

Eeeee thank you I am in the pits over them rn

8. What makes Rook a good leader?

Clear communication, integrity, accountability, flexibility, confidence. Quick decision-making, receptive, and sheeit, charming as fuck (they’d be doing numbers on LinkedIn lmfaooo)

Lascaux has been a Grey Warden for twenty-three years, so they’ve got more than plenty of experience in positions of authority—they were even Clarel’s Warden-Constable until their falling out over Corypheus’s false Calling (they’re Hawke’s Warden friend that the Inquisitor meets!). Lascaux also honed their skills through their years as a chevalier and jousting tournament circuits

18. Their fondest childhood memory:

For their ninth birthday, Lascaux’s father took everyone to visit with the family’s business partner, the Thorne’s, renowned horse breeders in Ostwick (the family estate is named Thornestead). The Thorne’s gave Lascaux a horse as a gift—a red dun that they name Magdalena. But this visit is special also because that’s when they first met Amicia, their first great love and eventual wife

28. Does Rook have any pets/animal companions?

Magdalena was Lascaux’s companion nearly all their life. She’s also just as well-known as Lascaux in the jousting world

Lascaux retired Magdalena several years before being named Warden-Constable of Orlais. She returned to Thornestead to live out her days in comfort, and her filly Delphine (a buckskin!) becomes Lascaux’s next warhorse.

Delphine is still with Lascaux during Veilguard! She carried Lascaux and Varric’s bodies for Harding and Neve, and very obediently followed through the eluvian. Her name is the first thing Lascaux says when they wake up, like literally Delphine!!! putain de merde ou est ma belle fille—oh hey Varric, have you seen Delphine? The Lighthouse creates a stable for her, and Lascaux spends a lot of time doting upon her and making sure she is well-groomed. When they can’t sleep (increasingly often, as the Calling grows louder and stronger) Lascaux will grab their lute and sit with Delphine while composing music along to the Calling

(Magdalena passed away just shy of 40 years old, months after Lascaux escapes the Fade and convalesces at Thornestead—she was waiting for them)

48. A color, flower, animal, and weather to describe Rook:

Color: tarnished gold

Flower: signet marigold

Animal: yellow labrador

Weather: warm summer sunset with the scent of rain on the breeze and thunder in the distance

[elcor-thespian]

Finally finished Veilguard and you better believe I immediately started a new game.

Have you ever seen a woman so beautiful you started crying?

Meet Nasreen Aldwir. She’s a mage and she’s gonna get that old man.

And my non-cannon Inquisitor (as in they were there but not the actual Inquisitor), Eruthea Lavellan

Yes that man took her valaslin. Yes she cut off all her hair and had a minor break down, but it’s been 8 years, she’s got a fresh new look, and she can’t wait to tell that stupid egg that she’s over his corny ass.

[vir-tanadahl]

Timeless

Summary: Isera Lavellan is living in modern Thedas completing her research on plants when her research takes her to a place in the Solasan Mountain range. The discovery of a strange glowing mirror takes her to a world she has never known before where she meets someone she never thought existed. (Find on Ao3) Fen'harel (Solas) x Lavellan

This is the final update before Veilguard releases tomorrow! Our ten year wait is finally over! While this chapter does not have any Veilguard spoilers (all information has come from information, conversations, or codex entries from DAI and Trespasser), future chapters might include lore from Veilguard! If that is the case, I will give you a warning at the start of the chapter! :)

Chapter 27: The Shattered Heritage

Since uncovering her memories, Isera had grown more introspective, lost in the tangled threads of her past. She knows the memories are hers, but they feel distant, almost like stories that happened to someone else. There’s a strange detachment to them, as though she’s observing a stranger’s life rather than her own and certain fragments trouble her deeply, lingering at the edges of her mind.

First, where had her mother been when the Seers performed their ritual to block her memory and magic? The absence feels glaring, as though something important is missing from the scene. And then, there is the memory of the explosion—the one that had shaped so much of her life. It feels... off, like a painting with colors just slightly out of place. It wasn’t merely suppressed; it feels as if the memory itself had been altered, reshaped into something different. But by whom, and for what purpose?

Questions swirl in her mind, haunting her each time she replays the memories. Why would someone manipulate that specific moment with the statue, and why did they manipulate it to be a forest she wandered off in? The temple’s architecture—she can’t recall ever visiting a place like it, not in her childhood or any time after.

Then there’s the question of the Seers themselves. How did they even manage to suppress her memories and magic? From everything she knows, the Seers were not truly magic-wielders—not in the way she understands it now.

Magic in her time feels nearly impossible, a forgotten myth. So how could the Seers have accessed enough power to seal away her connection to the Fade? And if they somehow did, what else might be hidden, buried beneath the surface of her time?

These thoughts spiral, leading to even more questions, each one unsettling. ‘If magic still exists in her world but is suppressed, locked away—why?’ Who would be powerful enough to hide it, and for what purpose? She feels as though she’s glimpsing only fragments of a much larger, concealed truth, and the weight of it presses down on her.

An image of Solas flickers in her mind bringing with it the old Dalish tales. ‘Fen’Harel, the Dread Wolf,’ the trickster who deceived both the Evanuris and the Forgotten Ones. His cunning led him to trap them all, the Evanuris sealed away in the Fade, the Forgotten Ones banished to the Void.

The thought lingers, heavy and unsettling, weaving itself into her other questions. For a brief moment, she wonders—'what if there’s truth to these stories?’ 

But she quickly shakes the thought from her mind. Yet, as she tries to push it away, the image of Fen’Harel remains, haunting her with the possibility of truth buried within the stories she once dismissed.

Isera walked slow, thoughtful laps through the garden, her mind adrift as memories surfaced and faded. She paused, grounding herself in the feel of the cool grass beneath her feet, the earthy scent of flowers mingling with the soft rustle of leaves around her. She closed her eyes for a moment, breathing it in, savoring the calm before her thoughts pulled her back in.

There had been something almost...freeing about seeing her younger self in those memories—moving so easily among the spirits, her face unguarded, her heart open, unburdened by fear or hesitation. The ease with which her younger self embraced the spirits left a bittersweet feeling blooming within her; she longed for that innocence, that confidence, as if they were treasures lost in the shadows of her past.

The more Isera reflects on her connection to the Fade and the spirits, the stronger her resolve becomes to reclaim and fully understand it and to wield it with the same freedom she glimpsed in her younger self. Finally, she turns back toward the fortress, her path clear in her mind as she makes her way to Solas’s private library.

He had given her unrestricted access to study there whenever she wished, a privilege she treasured. Within those walls, surrounded by ancient tomes and magical texts, she felt an unspoken encouragement to dive deeper into her craft, to experiment, to learn.

Once inside, she immerses herself in the creation of wards, finding an unexpected joy in the process. Crafting wards felt like creating and solving puzzles of her own design—each one could be as simple or intricate as she desired. Some wards succeeded, forming shields or barriers as intended, while others failed.

One ward in particular, meant to repel attackers by forming a protective shield, had an unexpected outcome. Instead of pushing away, it drew inward, creating an almost magnetic pull. Confused, Isera examined the glyphs and runes, trying to understand where she went wrong.

After a moment of studying her notes, she realized her mistake: one of the critical runes was inscribed in reverse, inadvertently creating an attraction effect rather than a repulsion. With each attempt, successful or not, her confidence grew. She could feel her connection to the Fade sharpening, becoming something she could understand.

Isera began to feel a profound connection with the Fade, as though it were a living presence intertwined with her own being and the world around her. The more she practiced, the more her confidence blossomed, each successful spell reinforcing her bond with the realm of spirits. Magic started to feel like a natural extension of herself, an effortless flow that grew stronger with each moment she spent immersed in her studies.

She could feel the presence of spirits now with increasing clarity, their energies faint yet unmistakable, like distant melodies calling from the depths of the Fade. This connection felt so intrinsic, so undeniable, that the Fade became as essential to her as breathing.

The door to the library creaks open softly, breaking the quiet with a faint squeak as Felassan steps inside. “Ah, there you are,” he says, his gaze sweeping over the scattered papers and sketches that litter the table around her—drawings of wards in various stages, some meticulously detailed, others scribbled over in frustration.

He raises an eyebrow, a hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. “You do certainly enjoy making wards,” he remarks, stepping closer to peer at her work. His tone is teasing, but there’s genuine curiosity in his eyes as he studies the array of designs she’s created.

Isera glances up at him with a smile. “They’re fun,” she says with a shrug, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

Felassan chuckles, raising an eyebrow. “Ah, well, I think you’re in a rare minority. Most would beg to differ.” His tone is light, teasing, and Isera rolls her eyes, feigning exasperation.

“Let’s see if you can bring that enthusiasm to practicing your offensive magic.” He gestures toward the door, his expression turning slightly more serious. “The wards may keep things at bay, but offense has its own merits.”

Isera groans, “But I’m not good at it.” She begins gathering the scattered papers, reluctantly tidying up despite her protest.

Felassan shrugs, unfazed. “All the more reason to practice,” he replies, crossing his arms as he waits patiently, a knowing look in his eyes.

Once she’s done, they start down the corridor, heading toward the familiar garden where she’s been honing her skills. But as they walk, Isera feels a shift in the air—an underlying tension she can’t ignore. There are more guards and soldiers than usual, their movements brisk and purposeful. The atmosphere feels heavier, charged with an unspoken urgency.

She glances up at Felassan, her brows knitting together with concern. “What’s going on?” she whispers.

Felassan’s expression darkens slightly, and he lets out a quiet sigh. “Movements of war,” he murmurs, his voice carrying a weight that silences any further questions. The words linger between them, pressing down like a shadow over their path as they continue toward the garden.

Isera lowers her gaze, the weight of Felassan’s words settling heavily in her mind. ‘Movements of war.’ The seriousness of the situation feels like a shadow stretching over her thoughts as they make their way to the garden in silence.

Once there, Felassan begins instructing her, his tone steady but his gaze distant. “Let’s focus on elemental abilities,” he says, gesturing toward a row of practice dummies lined up before her. “Each element has its strengths; see if you can find yours.”

Isera takes a deep breath and steadies herself, casting her first spell. The flame sputters, barely reaching the dummy, but she tries again, frustration and determination mingling as she works through each element. Fire, ice, lightning—she stumbles, but eventually, with each attempt, manages to strike the dummy with enough force to hit her target.

Felassan observes her progress with a slight nod, instructing her to keep practicing. Just as she refocuses, two more soldiers enter the garden, their faces set with grim determination. They approach Felassan, casting quick glances toward Isera as if appraising her or perhaps assessing the scene.

Felassan steps aside to speak with them, his expression hardening as he listens. Isera, glancing over between spells, senses the gravity of their conversation. The soldiers’ voices are low, their words muffled by the rustle of leaves and the sound of her own casting. She attempts to concentrate on her spells, but her gaze flickers to Felassan and the soldiers.

The air thickens with tension, each glance from the soldiers landing on her like a silent question. Their presence is heavy, and Isera feels it prickling at the edges of her focus, disrupting her attempts at casting. She stops, her attention drawn to fragments of their hushed conversation, catching only bits and pieces.

Unable to ignore her curiosity, she turns toward them, stepping closer, her gaze fixed on Felassan. His expression is grim, his voice carrying a note of bitterness she’s rarely heard from him.

“Ghilan’nain fancies herself a Creator,” he says to one of the soldiers, his tone laced with open disdain, “but I doubt she’s ever considered the true cost.”

The words hang in the air, weighted with an unspoken accusation, and Isera senses the darkness behind them. She watches Felassan’s expression closely, a flicker of something unguarded in his eyes before his face becomes impassive once more. The soldiers exchange glances, the tension palpable as Felassan’s words sink in.

Felassan glances over his shoulder, his gaze landing on Isera, unreadable yet sharp. Then, with a slight turn, he addresses the soldiers. “Dismissed.”

The two soldiers snap to attention, their respect evident in their posture. “General,” they reply in unison, giving a crisp nod before turning on their heels and departing, their footsteps fading down the corridor.

Isera watches them go, her mind racing as she turns back to Felassan, confusion etched on her face. ‘Ghilan’nain?’ She recalls the stories she grew up with, the lore that has always been part of her heritage. Ghilan’nain, revered by the Dalish as one of the People before being elevated to the ranks of the Evanuris. She was known as a huntress, a chosen of Andruil, the goddess of the hunt. The Dalish call to her for guidance on their journeys, for safe travels, to help them find their way home.

Felassan’s words linger in Isera’s mind, their tone sharp with a disdain that feels at odds with the reverence she grew up hearing in stories of Ghilan’nain. It’s as if there’s a darkness to Ghilan’nain’s story, something hidden that defies the familiar tales of the huntress, the guide, the protector.

“What did you mean?” she asks, her voice edged with cautious curiosity.

Felassan’s expression hardens, a frown creasing his brow as he meets her gaze. “About Ghilan’nain?” he repeats, his tone guarded.

Isera nods slowly, her gaze fixed on Felassan, her eyes searching his face for answers. “Yes,” she replies softly, her voice urging him to continue.

Felassan’s expression turns somber, a shadow crossing his face as he begins. “Ghilan’nain has always had a taste for creation,” he says, his tone laced with a subtle bitterness. “Experimentation, reshaping life… creatures of all kinds. Giants, monsters, and beasts that once roamed sky, water, and earth alike.”

He pauses, the weight of his words settling in the air between them, and a flicker of something darker crosses his gaze. “But it wasn’t always so,” he continues, almost reluctantly. “The halla… they’re pretty, graceful even,” he adds, his voice softening, as if remembering a kinder legacy from her creations.

Isera’s brows knit together, trying to reconcile this image of Ghilan’nain with the revered figure she’d always known. The halla, sacred symbols to her people, contrasted starkly with the image of monsters and twisted creations that Felassan’s words conjured.

“I don’t understand,” Isera says, her voice trembling as she struggles to piece it together. “I thought the war was against the false gods?”

Her question hangs in the air, laced with a hint of disbelief. Felassan watches her, a flicker of confusion crossing his face as he considers her words. “Yes,” he replies slowly, as if uncertain what part confuses her. “It is.”

He studies her, his eyes narrowing slightly, as though trying to understand the reason behind her distress.

“Like… people pretending to be the actual gods?” Isera presses, her heartbeat quickening as she tries to grasp the full meaning.

Felassan’s confusion deepens, disbelief flickering across his face as he studies her. “They liken themselves to gods,” he replies, his tone edged with frustration, as if the answer should be obvious.

Isera’s brow furrows, a hint of urgency in her voice as she clarifies, “But… do they liken themselves to the actual gods?” She stresses the word, her mind racing.

Felassan’s eyes narrow slightly, his response coming slowly, deliberately. “To godhood, yes,” he answers, as if every word carries a weight of its own.

Isera’s mind reels, the implications crashing over her like waves. Could it be true? Could the elven history she’d known and cherished—the stories passed down through generations of Dalish—be wrong? The thought shakes her, unraveling the very foundation of the tales she grew up with, stories that painted the supposed gods as powerful, ancient beings beyond question.

Though she wasn’t raised within a Dalish clan, the legends had always been part of her, woven into the fabric of her heritage. To question them now felt as though she were questioning herself. ‘What if those so-called gods were never gods at all?’

“But… are they misrepresenting actual gods?” Isera asks again, her voice laced with uncertainty as a heavy pit forms in her stomach. The question feels strange on her tongue, as if she’s challenging truths that have always been unshakable.

Felassan turns to face her fully, his gaze narrowing, a hint of impatience flickering across his face. He tilts his head, studying her with a mix of exasperation and disbelief. “You’re not usually this dense,” he murmurs, a sharp edge to his words. He lets the statement hang for a moment before continuing, his voice flat but intense. “No. They are not misrepresenting ‘actual’ gods. They want to be gods—and they’ve done much, sacrificed much, in pursuit of that power.”

His words settle heavily between them, and Isera feels a chill run through her. This was no mere misunderstanding; it was a twisted ambition, a hunger that had driven them to unimaginable lengths.

Isera’s hand rises to cover her mouth, her mind racing as she tries to process what Felassan is revealing. Memories flicker through her mind—moments when Solas had shown her glimpses of the past, the images of elven lives sacrificed in Andruil’s name. She had watched, horrified yet certain there had been some misunderstanding, that someone had twisted Andruil’s teachings to justify bloodshed.

But now, the truth begins to settle heavily over her, cold and unrelenting. She had been wrong.

‘It wasn’t someone misrepresenting Andruil,’ she realizes, her heart pounding. ‘It was Andruil herself who demanded those sacrifices, who sought power at the cost of her own people’s lives.’

The weight of her misinterpretation presses down on her, and she feels a chill spreading through her chest. The gods the elven people revered in her time, whose tales had inspired generations, were not gods at all—they were dangerous.

A coldness seeps through Isera’s body as the realization settles, her stomach twisting painfully. Without a word, she brushes past Felassan, her movements slow and unsteady, as though moving through a thick fog. The shock grips her so tightly that his voice barely registers as he calls after her.

Her mind races, her hands beginning to tremble as she walks, almost in a daze. Each step feels heavier than the last, the weight of her newfound understanding pressing down on her. The truths she had taken as pillars of her heritage now feel shattered, leaving her hollow and unsettled.

Still in a daze, Isera wanders through the fortress, her thoughts too jumbled to piece together any coherent question or plan. She’s barely aware of where she’s going, her feet moving of their own accord until she finds herself in an unfamiliar wing of the fortress. She stops in front of a heavy door guarded by two spectral figures, their eyes shifting to her as she approaches. Across the hall, she pauses, hearing faint echoes of Solas’s voice mingled with others behind the door.

Her mind feels blank, fragments of her discovery slipping through her fingers as she tries to make sense of it all. She has no idea how long she’s been waiting when, finally, the door swings open, and two armored figures step out. They exchange a startled glance at the sight of her but say nothing as they pass, their footsteps fading down the corridor.

Inside, Solas stands, his expression momentarily softening with concern as he sees her. He studies her carefully, confusion flashing in his eyes before he gestures for her to enter. She follows him inside, her senses sharpening as she realizes she’s stepped into a war room. Maps and markers cover the table, symbols and plans she doesn’t understand—but she recognizes enough to know their gravity. Without a word, Solas guides her to a small sofa set apart from the war table, allowing her a quiet space to collect herself.

He sits across from her, his gaze steady, but after a moment, he breaks the silence. “What’s going on?” he asks, his voice gentle but probing.

Isera inhales deeply, glancing around the room as if hoping it might somehow anchor her scattered thoughts. Her gaze lands on the war table once more, and she rises, drawn to it, her eyes tracing the various pieces and symbols. She doesn’t know what most of it means, but she can pick out the markers representing the gods—no, the false gods. She hesitates, her hand reaching out to one of the figurines. Solas watches her, tense but silent, his eyes following her every movement as she picks up one of the pieces, her fingers brushing over its surface.

The weight of it feels strange in her hand. She takes another steadying breath, the question forming on her lips almost without her realizing it. “What did they do?” she asks quietly, her eyes fixed on the figurine as if it holds the answer.

Solas’s gaze darkens, his expression shifting as a heavy silence falls over the room. He steps closer, his movements measured, and gently takes the figurine from her hand, placing it carefully back in its position on the war table. His fingers linger for a moment, as if the small figure holds more weight than its size suggests.

Then, without a word, he wraps his arm around her shoulders, his touch both grounding and protective, guiding her back to the small sofa. He sits beside her, the gravity of the moment reflected in his eyes as he studies her, gathering his thoughts.

“Perhaps,” he murmurs, his voice soft yet carrying the weight of unspoken truths, “it’s best if I begin at the very beginning…”

[strawberry-halla]

well it only took until less than 2 weeks before veilguard releases to come up with a name and what background i will be going for! but here’s the idea:

calypso ingellvar (female city elf death caller, mourn watch background) romancing emmerich!

i have some ideas floating around in my head in terms of appearance, but i really love the idea of rook being a mirror of solas - might take that and run with it by making calypso resemble solas in some fashion.

i really want her to be sort of the ‘cocky and arrogant’ youth that has a good heart, little bit of a nerd for necromancy and a not-normal relationship with death. im kind of taking inspiration from jinx from arcane, but more of a loose foil. like calypso thinks death is a mercy, no matter if it was ‘their time’ or not. but she still struggles with not wanting to let people she cares about leave or move on.

i feel like calypso was really lonely growing up despite being raised by loving people. she never knew her real family and didn’t grow up in normal means, so calypso feels like an outcast that is trying to blend in with the crowd.

i don’t know if veilguard will go into too much detail about how varric meets rook and how he recruits them, but i like to think calypso is really attached to varric despite barely knowing each other. she had never been tasked with something so important and doesn’t want to let him down. calypso sees him sort of like an uncle. i like to think varric sees calypso like he saw merrill, just a ball of curiosity and naivety that tries to do good despite her weirdness.

anyway im so excited!!!!! i can’t wait to bring calypso to life in the cc and play the game!! i might fiddle with some picrews for inspo…

[ly-art]

Chapter 26 of my Solavellan fic!!

My God, I finally posted it. I actually was already finished with this two days ago but since I have schedule which I don't want to fuck over I waited till today and that was a mistake. I started Dragon Age Veilguard today and fucking forgot about everything else lmaooo but now I present my chapter with some serious bits, a lot of fun, and the appearance of Mythal!! Little snippet underneath the link!

She laughed again, the sound spilling out before she could catch it. "Fair enough, I guess," she admitted, voice light but teasing. "So, what’s next after your grand, heroic rescue? How on earth did get*Cassandra* mixed up in this?" Varric rubbed his chin thoughtfully, shooting her a look that was equal parts mischief and mystery. "Oh, wouldn’t you like to know?" She pulled away from Dorian to pinch Varric’s cheek. *Hard.* He yelped, slapping her hand away. “Why do you always have to be so violent?” he groused, rubbing his now-reddened cheek with exaggerated care. “Curly helped us. He and Cassandra both agreed you've been grinding too hard. I mean, sure, you *are* our leader, but even you need a break. Ruffles might be a workaholic, but the rest of us? Not so much." Dorian nodded sagely. “Even our stone-hearted spymaster took pity on you. Now tell me, my dear, what is it that *you* wish to do?” Amatisha tilted her head, considering, but before she could answer, they interrupted, voices quick. Dorian was first. “If you so much as *think* about meeting Solas, I swear to Andraste, I’ll end this delightful relationship right here. Choose wisely.” Varric chimed in, "I get that you and Solas have... whatever that is, but come on. We miss having ypu around, it's not the same without your charm." She gaped at him, utterly taken aback. Varric held his hands up, palms out, ignoring Dorian's glare. “Hey, hey, you could always *invite* him. Just saying.” Her gaze darted between the two men, and she couldn’t stop the laughter that began as a chuckle but quickly turned into full-blown howling. They exchanged baffled looks as she clutched her stomach, trying to catch her breath. “You done?” Varric asked, looking somewhere between curious and mildly offended. She nodded, still giggling. “You're adorable, you know that? I wasn’t planning on seeing him. I don't owe him my constant attention. I was thinking we could hit up the Herald’s Rest instead—cards, music, maybe even some dancing. Anyone can join, even Josie. We can’t hide from her forever.” “We can certainly try,” Dorian quipped brightly, snapping his fingers as if summoning luck. Varric just shook his head, sighing. “This from the man who *allegedly* understands time magic.” Dorian’s arms crossed. “I’ll pretend I didn't hear that.” “Pretend this, too?” Varric crooned, flipping him off with a grin. Amatisha rolled her eyes, shoving the two men forward. “Save it for later, please. Move it, both of you.

[nerdlydelicious]

1. I started with Dragon Age Origins. Played the Dwarf Noble as my first origin and got the SHIT scared out of my arachnophobic self when I received a very sudden and unwelcome revelation that there were going to be giant spiders in this game.

2. Probably Origins. All three games have something I love about them, but the story for Origins is the best written one so far, in my opinion. Though I would not at all be upset if Veilguard took the top spot when it comes out.

3. I play Warrior most of the time. My canon Warden, Hawke, and Inquisitor are all warriors, and my Rook will most likely follow the trend.

4. The Arch Demon was slain by a Dwarf Warden, who shockingly did not in fact die killing it. And if that had anything to do with him boning his hot witch wife the night before the big battle, then he ain’t saying.

Hawke was a pro mage warrior that fought to protect the circle when Meredith went sailing off the deep end. After the mage rebellion kicked off in full he and Merrill went into hiding together until he was forced to leave her too.

My Inquisitor is a Qunari Warrior who sided with the mages in the rebellion, despite later training to be a Templar after the attack on Haven. He fell in love with Josephine, and disbanded the Inquisition in Trespasser like his predecessor did before him ages past. He wants to stop Solas’s plan without killing him, regarding the Dread Wolf not just as a friend, but as a brother. Leliana took the throne of the Divine.

5. I usually take my time and build a character that I like the look of. The only exception is Hawke, whose base design I loved.

6. I’ve got my first Rook pretty well fleshed out. City Elf, Grey Warden, Warrior. He was a slave in Tevinter that was freed by a Grey Warden that took pity on him and ‘recruited’ him (read: abused the Warden’s right of conscription) and brought him to Weisshaupt. He didn’t force Rook to undergo the Joining, he just wanted to give Rook a chance at a free life. Rook joined of his own volition. Because of his time as a slave Rook has an innate distrust of mages and magic in general.

Which is gonna make romancing Neve or Belara very interesting.

7. I really want to see Dorian, Iron Bull, and Fenris again. As far as we know they’re all in Tevinter, so I’m crossing my fingers and hoping for the best.

8. I’m interested in learning more about the Mortalitasi, but I also really want to see what’s happened with the Grey Wardens since the events of Inquisition.

9. I’m thinking of pursuing Neve first, since my Rook is going to initially distrust magic and mages.

10. I really hope we get to explore Minrathous, but Weisshaupt is a very close second.

11. Greater impact of player choices on the world with a lot of divergence in the story depending on our choices, good or bad.

12. I can’t really think of a good answer for this one. Maybe, uh… a bad story? I dunno XD

13. Having a Keep like system baked into the game instead of having to go to a separate website, link your account, and pray the site doesn’t crash.

14. I don’t like the party size being reduced from 4 to 3, and not being able to directly control your party members.

15. No unpopular opinions as of yet, but who knows.

16. I know you probably meant for DAV specifically, but: Josephine totally has a thing for Qunari. If you play as a Qunari she comments on your size (giggity) when you first meet her, and if you romance Iron Bull the advisors walk in on you and Bull, and she asks ‘who wouldn’t be curious?’ Josie 100% likes em tall and horny (again: giggity).

17. I love lore and speculation. I feel it adds to the base game and story if we can take known info and extrapolate on it further.

18. Art and memes, for sure. Can’t wait to see what people come up with.

19. I’m going to try and beat the three previous games before Veilguard releases, as well as take in as much extra content as I can.

20.

Dragon Age: The Veilguard HYPE Q&A

What was the first Dragon Age game you played?

Which Dragon Age game is your favorite so far?

Do you usually play as a warrior, mage, or rogue? Which class are you planning to try first this time around? Which subclass?

What does your worldstate look like going into DAV?

Do you typically use a preset character and name or spend hours in the character creator coming up with a custom one?

Do you have your Rook(s) planned out to any degree? If so, would you share some details or ideas you have?

Which character from the previous games or other media are you most hoping will make an appearance in DAV?

What faction are you most excited to learn more about?

Which romance, if any, do you plan to pursue first?

Which location are you most excited/hoping to explore in-game?

What's one thing you'd really like to see in this next game?

What's one thing you're hoping we DON'T see in this next game?

What's one thing you've seen confirmed so far that you're a fan of?

What's one thing you've seen confirmed so far that you're NOT a fan of?

Do you have any unpopular opinions about DAV so far?

What's one crack theory you subscribe to (yours or someone else's)?

Are you interested in all the lore and speculation or do you focus more on the games and stories themselves?

Which aspect of fandom are you most looking forward to? (e.g. reading/writing fic, the bounty of gorgeous art, getting to know new people, etc.)

Are you planning to replay any of the previous games, watch Dragon Age: Absolution, or read any of the books/comics/short stories, or are there other games you want to play in the meantime?

Post a picture or gif that conveys your current level of excitement for Dragon Age: The Veilguard!