#da fanfiction

[elf-trash]

Solavellan Recommended Reading

I made a post like this for SilverV a million years ago and wanted to make one for Solavellan as well!

A few of these fics overlap with the ones I have linked in my current pinned post, but there are soooo many fantastic Solavellan fics out there that I decided to make a longer rec post so I could include more of them!!!

Without further ado, here are some of my favorites, in no particular order. Some of them are one-shots or shorter multi chapter fics, and some of them are massive long fics and everything in between. Some of them are new and still in progress, some of them are completed, and a handful of them are older fics. All of them are absolutely worth your time!

walk you to the shore - Scaryanne A beautifully written post-Veilguard one-shot about Solas and Lavellan having it all out in the Fade. Highly recommend!

the sun to burn - Pip (Moirail) An Inquisition re-write that goes off canon and does a phenomenal job at exploring a ton of aspects of the lore and story. Features fantastic character writing and takes really thought-provoking directions with the lore!

love is not a victory march - Brunchatthebookstore A Veilguard retelling where Lavellan is present at the ritual at the beginning that goes off book from there. It's beautifully, heartbreakingly written and off to a REALLY strong start with some truly devastating moments, so this one is absolutely one to watch.

miles below the surface of the dawn - gostak This fic is one of the most beautiful things I have ever read, period. On its face it's just 6 chapters of "there was only one bed" Inquisition-era Solavellan smut, but I stg the writer was channeling the spirit of Solas Dragon Age himself because it is the most perfect Solavellan smut I can imagine. Read this one, just trust me.

Martyr - existential_naptime If you like Solavellan angst, this one delivers in spades!!! It's set during Veilguard and explores what would happen if the Evanuris kidnapped the Inquisitor (and more specifically, how Solas would react). It is DELICIOUS and also extremely painful but well worth it!

Requited - cursedhag A beautifully written, pitch perfect Inquisition rewrite that fully checks all the boxes! Features a lot of excellent Solas POV that incorporates all the new lore reveals we learned in Veilguard. Do yourself a favor and read this!!!!

rook wins in the end - wiltedartist A great exploration of Rook's relationship with Solas in Veilguard. Solavellan, but focuses on the one-sided unrequited feelings that Rook develops for Solas. Really interesting angle that I haven't seen done better.

And Yet - say_lene Beautiful Inquisition-era Solavellan one-shot. All of this writer's fics are so beautiful and well-written, so I kind of picked this one randomly but ALL of their Dragon Age fics are worth reading. We stan a good smut character study!!!!!

In the Colours of Your Regrets - scribeofmorpheus Another excellent smut character study! Solas sadly jorkin' it in the Lighthouse to his own sad murals of his wife. 11/10 no notes.

Roses Where Thorns Grow - Bdafic This one explores what would have happened if, after Crestwood, Lavellan learned the truth about Solas and they rekindled their relationship. It's a beautiful story that stays true to character and explores some of their messier and more complicated relationship dynamics.

Servitude - niceasspavus Another really, really solid Inquisition rewrite that explores Solas and Lavellan's romance. Well-written with excellent details and characterization. Highly recommend all of this writer's other fics, as well.

These Hands, If Not Gods - Gefionne An AU where a pre-Inquisition Lavellan accidentally discovers an eluvian that lets Arlathan-era Solas time travel to her. Beautifully written smut and character development. AUs aren't often my thing, but this one is absolutely worth your time.

Looking Glass - Feynite This one is theee classic Solavellan fic and probably needs no introduction. It's a time travel Arlathan AU, and it still holds up even after all these years, even unfinished. If you haven't read this one yet, stop whatever you're doing right now and fix that.

Wildest Dreams - elf_trash Finally, this one is mine!!! It's a retelling of Veilguard with Lavellan as the protagonist (aka Lavellan IS Rook) that focuses on her complicated relationship with Solas. Starts near the end of Inquisition and will continue through Veilguard and slightly beyond. I plan on reincorporating a lot of scrapped ideas from Joplin.

This list is in no way comprehensive, as a) there are sooo many good ones and b) I haven't read everything (yet lolol), so please feel free to reblog this and add your favorites!!!

But in the meantime, do yourself a favor and check out all of these fics! Top tier stuff all around.

[treviso-nights]

✨ rookanis drabble/mini-fic about gifts & acts of service :') ✨ ✨ read on AO3 ✨

°❆⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❆⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❆⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❆⋆.ೃ࿔:･°

At first, it began with coffee.

Specifically, coffees, plural. Just the way Rook liked it, with enough milk and sugar to kickstart them into their morning routine. The coffees would appear wherever the Crow thought Rook would look first upon awakening—beside the candles in their meditation room, then on the ground beside the couch. Later, the coffees would migrate to the ledge bordering the aquarium, so Rook could not in fact, miss them. Eventually, Rook took to leaving the empty mugs on the desk beside the dresser, so the Crow would see this and stop worrying about his gifts not being received.

When the Crow decided morning coffee was no longer enough, he took to sharpening Rook’s daggers whenever time and sticky fingers would allow. These, too, were lovingly placed beside the morning mugs of coffee, the room’s lowlight launching mysterious, irregular glints of light against the wall. When Rook attempted to tell the Crow that it was fine, that they’d service their own weapons (and thank you very much), the Crow had half-heartedly cursed at them before pushing another mug of something hot and sweet into their calloused hands.

Then came the poison. (And their corresponding anti-venoms. Just in case.) The Crow took particular care to place these a further distance away on the desk, not desiring to see Rook sleepily, and in spite of all their Antivan Crow training, mix a lethal dose into their morning mug. Truth be told, Rook had been neglecting their poison studies, so these occurrences were especially welcome—as was the new, uniform collection of tiny vials. Glass-made, of course, for easy shattering, with a peculiar sigil stamped into each of the curved bodies. Crow wings, spread from side to side.

A second mug soon joined the first, appearing each morning in tandem. “I’ve noticed you don’t eat breakfast,” the Crow said during a sparring match. Rook, explaining that they get stomach aches from eating too soon after getting up for the day, had only been able to feel sheepish when the Crow glared their way. “Fine,” he’d grumbled. The mugs of bone broth began appearing the day after, complementing Rook’s proclivity for a sweetened breakfast coffee blend. Knowing that the Crow was just trying to take care of them, Rook made sure to drain the broth too, painting the wooden desk in a fresh maze of mug rings which spoke of sustenance and love.

It all came to a head when Rook got sick. A fever—nothing more worrisome than the muscle aches and full-body sweat often associated with such. Rook, stirring in the haze of this illness, lifted their head off the futon in their meditation chamber to see if the Crow had delivered more coffee, daggers, poisons, and bone broth, because tradition now mattered. But it was the Crow himself they did not expect delivered, kneeling beside the futon. “What are you doing?” Rook hissed, scowling as the Crow lightly dappled the sweat from their brow. “Dellamortes don’t kneel! Not for me.” The Crow only smiled when Rook attempted to shove him away, batting their hands back with one of his own. “If you insist on throwing a tantrum, then it’s my responsibility to point out that Rooks do not tell Dellamortes what to do,” he grumbled happily, returning to his work. And what was there to say beyond ‘thank you’? Beyond ‘thank you for all of it, and thank you for you, too?’ So, Rook did. And then Rook slept, the Crow’s tender hands on her face like a flowered beak.

°❆⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❆⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❆⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❆⋆.ೃ࿔:･°

[heylavellan]

cuddlebugs

do you think lucanis deserves to have two big qunari lovers? me too!! @riadoodles let me borrow their lovely esha for a sweet little fanfic where they get to cuddle up in bed. it's sweet and fluffy!!

[oftachancer]

Thank you, @maxkennedy24, for this incredible portrait of Anders, Karl Thekla, and Cecily Hawke, from Aisles of Memory and Regret!

Also reposting for the fans of @tranquilweek!

[covertleathers]

Pulling Cords (Rookanis Fanfiction)

Chapter 4: The Verdant Wyvern

Title: Pulling Cords

AO3 Link

Rating: 18+, Explicit, Gradually intensifying sexual tension, nudity, etc etc

Relationships: Lucanis Dellamorte/m!Rook (They/Them pronouns)

Key words: Yearning, teasing, jealousy (if i get there)

The cup had grown cold.

There was also a growing pain in his left side that was begging to be addressed, it is likely Lucanis has broken a rib from his last excursion to the Anderfels a week before. Very rarely did pain linger for him, however, getting hit with a meter long club from an ogre had clearly left its mark. Harding should have some elfroot in her garden that he could use. First thing in the morning he will have to catch her before Rook leaves again.

He was alone, as usual when the rest of his comrades excused themselves for the night after dinner. At the table, he sat in his normal place at the right hand of the head chair. An old, yellowing book and various scrolls splayed out before him. Focus was slipping through his fingers.

A small part of Lucanis had expected Rook to make their normal appearance; gliding into the kitchen as if suspended in air. In anticipation, he had prepared the drink he knew they usually craved at the small hours of the night. 

However, it was the second time since their return from the Wetlands that they didn’t show. He disliked wasting chocolate, it was slightly more difficult to get with the Antaam leaching from Treviso’s ports. Though, throw in a few more sovereigns and there is always a shipyard hand eager to assist. They always remember who pays. Perhaps it was for the best to have this time to research alone. Rook could be…distracting from time to time. 

The quiet was eating at him. Even the murmuring fireplace had become soothing white noise. Crackling, simmering, and the occasional sound of the logs splitting under the intense heat. It was lulling him into a state of quietude that felt dangerous. 

Nevarran scholars didn’t have to complicate their writing with unnecessary details, but of course he had to chew through two hundred pages detailing the deviating familial Pentaghast lineage to learn about some poor possessed bastard of a mage who was locked away in a dungeon under his family’s estate. His end was a drawn out and painful transformation.

NOT. DONE.

Abruptly, he stood. Push it down. Not tonight. He wasn’t going to lose time again.

Another cup of the steaming black. Down the throat. He clutched the coffee counter with shaking hands. A splitting headache traveled from the back of his neck to his temple as if a giant’s cleaver came down on his skull. His eyes, dry from lack of sleep, ached. Spite was pushing against his psyche like mad.

LET. ME. OUT.

“No prep tonight?”

“Rook.” Lucanis let out an inaudible sigh of…relief? And straightened, rolling his neck coolly. Again, he was unsure how he never heard their arrival. He hummed, “You’re late.”

“Ah, well, I got caught up in some reading,” They said with a small laugh, a salve to his mind. “I’m sorry.”

 A balm seemed to settle in the air. He turned to Rook, in their usual night robes, standing at the open doors of the kitchen, a green book cradled against their hip, and a gentle breeze following close behind them. Without hesitation, Rook strode to his side and grasped the cold mug of chioccolata calda, then swiftly shook their head to stop him before he could protest it.

“It’s Bellara’s turn to cook tomorrow. I’m doing research instead.” The assassin poured himself another helping of coffee, trying to ignore that Rook had closed the distance between them. Though, he did not step away, either. 

“Whatever you’re reading, it’s better than that.” He gestured to the book and scrolls he had spread out on the table. Lucanis moved back to his seat, running a hand through his hair to check it wasn’t as disheveled as he felt. Eyes up. Breathe. Rook waited for a brief moment, as if they knew following closely behind would put him on edge. Then, they followed with silent, delicate footsteps to stand beside his chair.

Lucanis tried to ignore that his face was about the same height as Rook's navel. He also tried to ignore that they had draped a golden chain around their waist, intertwined with the Mourn Watch green sash.

“Oh, The Drakon Manuscripts on Demonic Dominions Volume Seven,” Rook mused as they leaned over his shoulder to get a closer look. The chain clattered against the armrest. Lucanis took another gulp of his drink. “I was forced to read that as an apprentice. Horrible to get through. I will never understand nobles and their obsession with pedigree.”

“We can agree on that,” he replied with a grunting laugh. 

Rook’s skin smelled like cinnamon and charcoal. Smokey plum hair fell around their shoulders like storm clouds. Lucanis could tell they had recently washed it with the way a vanilla scent breezed his way when they moved. Always overwhelming the senses. They pulled out the chair to his right and sat, looking at him excitedly with the book propped up before them.

“I was hoping to keep you company while you worked,” They ventured with a steady gaze. “Oh well, we can read together anyway, if you don't mind company. There’s a story in here that I think you would like.”

Lucanis raised an eyebrow as he met their eyes over the rim of his cup. “What’s this about?”

“Wyverns,” The young mage said affably, crossing their legs with an electric look in their lavender eyes. A jolt of excitement made Lucanis nearly drop his coffee. Rook laughed, “I knew that would get your attention.”

“Why wouldn’t it? I love wyverns.” Now curious, he tried to peak over the edge of the book as Rook opened it, who tutted and pressed it against their partially exposed chest.

They had placed one of Assan’s feathers as a bookmark, the tuft of grey peeking from about a third-way into the pages. Rook placed it aside amongst the many scrolls on the table. 

“This story is called The Verdant Wyvern. It’s Nevarran.” They continued with a one-sided smile Lucanis knew too well. “You should know we have a great appreciation for them culturally. Can I read it to you?”

“Of course.” He sat forward a bit.

Rook mirrored him, leaning over the book like a lover.

“A daughter of the great King Witoslav was born under a sapphire moon. In celebration of her birth, he gathered all the highest beings to his High Court to celebrate her naming. Elves, Dwarves, Kossith, and even Spirits danced among crystalline lights in peace,” Rook rested their head in their hand as they read, a look of serenity painted their features. “All was not in amity, however. The King and the Queen had neglected to invite the powerful yet wicked Meredite, Witch of the Chaparral—”

“Rook, you said this was about wyverns,” Lucanis muttered. He was beginning to wonder if this was some kind of ruse to get him to listen to one of Bellara’s writings. 

The young mage hissed defensively, “If you’d let me bloody get to it.” Clearly, this meant quite a bit to them. Lucanis sighed into his drink, realizing that it would soon be empty. 

“Anyway, where was I…right. Meredite arrived in a burst of emerald smoke, so all encompassing, the jubilant attendees fainted from it. In her fury for being overlooked, she cursed the baby girl with poisonous touch.” Lucanis’ ears perked at this. “Every human that would try to touch her bare skin would surely perish by sunset, the witch declared, before disappearing the same way she came. The Queen rushed to calm her crying babe, but just as the witch said, quickly fell ill with plague. She passed before the night was over. 

“With great sorrow, the King sent the babe, Oteria, to live and grow in a tower at the edge of the world. This way, she would be no danger to anyone else. Oteria grew well-read, but isolated and lonely. One day, she is roaming in the fields outside her tower when she comes across…” They paused, looking at Lucanis excitedly. 

“A wyvern?”

They chuckled. “A wyvern. Tall as a man, long as a rowboat with glittering verdant scales. It was curious about her. Oteria cried in terror at its glistening venomous teeth. She fled to the ocean, where she nearly drowned, refusing the wyvern’s offers of help as it swam behind her—”

“Wyvern’s don’t swim. They both would have drowned.”

Rook’s lilac gaze turned almost deadly for the second interruption. He smirked, feeling their irritation delight him a bit. Lucanis swore he could feel a certain something snicker at the back of his mind. 

“You’re impossible,” they said. For what it was worth, Rook could never stay mad for long. They matched his grin, rolling their eyes before they continued: “Oteria wakes in a lavish suite in a castle far away from her tower. Little did she know, the wyvern who rescued her was King Stanimir, a once beautiful man who was cursed by none other than Meredite…”

Black.

Lucanis’ eyes snapped open with a tense breath. Coming back felt like coming up for air after being held underwater. It was too similar to being waterboarded at the Ossuary. Blinking the darkness away, his head was swimming. He was in the pantry, sitting up with his back against the wall. Candles still lit. Where was Rook? Had they seen…?

“Spite finally gave you up, did he?” A silky voice asked from the doorway. Rook was leaning against the doorframe watching Lucanis with soft care. 

Lucanis had to stand. Frustration boiled in his chest. “How long was I gone?” 

“A couple of hours,” They mused. “He really seemed into the story. I told him he couldn’t be out of your room and could only hear the rest if he stayed in the pantry.” 

Rook, for whatever reason, didn’t seem fazed by what had happened. Maybe it was because of their Mourn Watch experience? They took a few steps inside. The book was still in their hand. 

Looking them in the eye was suddenly very difficult. The question came out as a low rumble, “He didn’t do anything to you did he?”

“Ha, no. A little resistant, but for whatever reason he listens to me.”

Lucanis crossed his arms, trying to blink away the pain in his eyes. For whatever reason, it was lingering more and more. He rolled one shoulder, then the other. “I missed the rest of the story. It was just getting interesting.”

They laughed. Like honey to his senses. 

“I am going back to my room,” They said as they stretched and yawned. Lucanis turned his gaze to the stone floor. They paused and he could feel their gaze singe his skin. 

“I wouldn’t mind reading it again. Just don’t fall asleep next time.”

[imakemywings]

The Regrets of Mythal

When Solas tilted his head to deepen the kiss, Lavellan delicately withdrew, as she had done repeatedly since they had entered the Fade. She had made no complaints, nor reprimands, nor in any other way indicated he was behaving inappropriately, yet in the past he had known her to have more tolerance for such things. Unable to suppress his concerns any further, Solas probed carefully.

            “You are distracted,” he observed, keeping his tone light. Lavellan was looking off into what constituted the horizon of their world. “What has ahold of your thoughts?”

            Lavellan hummed. “Nothing,” she said, matching his lightness, looking up at the sky as if there were something there of surpassing interest which he should also find compelling. Solas had grown accustomed to the tells of Lavellan’s lying, even if she had managed it more adeptly in this instance.

            Using a tack which was generally reliable for getting information from her, while keeping his voice gentle, he said: “I wish you would tell me what troubles you.”

            There was a lengthy pause, while Lavellan tugged at the sparse Fade grass around them, debating whether to make another effort at lying. Finally, she spoke.

            “Do you remember when I drank from the vir’abelasan?” Solas snorted in disapproval.

            “Yes, I would not forget.”

            “Well, that piece of Mythal…she is with me still. She does not make herself known often, but she is there. And she is…most …vocal when you and I are close.” They were close more often than not these days. There was no one else for company but the spirits.

            Solas cocked his head to the side, intrigued.

            “Perhaps it—the fragment—is responding to something,” he said. “A memory of Mythal’s, or some association she once had?”

            Lavellan hummed again, in the way she did before she drastically understated something. “No, I don’t think that’s it,” she said, still picking at the grass and not looking at him. Solas studied her profile a moment.

            “What do you think?” he asked, since she was the one with a bit of Mythal in her head.

            “Ah…” Again, he watched her consider lying. Again, she eventually fell out on the side of cautious honesty. “I believe she is…uncomfortable developing such an…incarnate knowledge of you.” 

            As usual, Lavellan phrased herself so obtusely that Solas had to consider her words a moment before grasping what she was putting so tidily.

            And when he realized, he could not stop himself from laughing.

            “Has the fragment spoken to you?” he asked.

            “No,” Lavellan said. “But the sentiment is present.”

            “And what is the sentiment?”

            “I imagine it is similar to how I might feel about suddenly sharing a mind with my sister-in-law,” said Lavellan, and Solas let out another burst of laughter, briefly consumed with the thought of Mythal’s expression at having to be party to Lavellan’s experience of his romantic advances, then sobered as he realized the problems this presented. “I am working on soothing her,” said Lavellan. “But she is still…fussy.” She exhaled loudly. “I must admit you were correct when you warned me that there would be consequences to drinking from the vir’abelasan of which I had not yet conceived.”

            “And I will confess I had not foreseen this particular consequence myself,” Solas replied.

            “Well,” Lavellan sighed with some chagrin, at last turning her attention back to him directly. “At least we have quite some time to sort it out.”

On AO3

[sternentreue]

So I haven't really figured out yet what the fandom's consensus on fanfiction ratings is. I come from fandom spaces back in the day where people wrote and read very explicit (very nsft) stuff and it was normal to publish those but I would like to get the Dragon Age fandom's opinion.

For clarification: I refer to the rating system used on AO3. If you want to know the difference between E and M, this post explains it quite well.

[jb-nonsense]

Extra Dessert

Summary: After making a hazelnut torte for him, Ogden wants to show Lucanis just how much he appreciates him. They spend their first time, Lucanis's first time ever, together, and Ogden wants to make it as perfect as he can. Characters: Lucanis Dellamorte, Ogden Thorne (Rook) Ship: Rookanis Word Count: 5,061 Rating: Explicit AO3 Tags: Smut Fluff and Smut Intercrural Sex First Time Lucanis gets a nice first time with support and love thank u

[isk4649]

Fuck it, I’m drunk. I’m working on a modern AU set in December 1936 that has Rook (a Greek college boy returning to a dictatorship) and Lucanis (a Spaniard going to fight in the Civil War) meet, debate modern politics (i.e. slowly rolling toward an unimaginable apocalypse), and fall in love-ish on a train from London. Who’s interested?

I am, and you’re getting it. Because I’m trauma dumping on all y’all.

[ab121500]

My Fake Husband is a Billionaire Heir?!

Pairing: Lucanis/Rook Aldwir Rating: Teen & Up Tags: Modern AU, Fake Marriage (More tags on AO3) Word Count: 11,728 Chapters: 4/10

Lucanis Dellamorte just wanted a normal life, which is part of the reason why he ran away. Things spiral from there. Based on those hilariously bad dramas that spam their ads on Instagram/Facebook.

It's time for a honeymoon! What do you do on your honeymoon if you aren't actually together? Guess we'll find out.

Read Chapter 3 on AO3 Now!

[treviso-nights]

what the fuck color are solas's eyes? i'm trying to write another fanfic but i can't keep calling them gray-violet lmao

[heylavellan]

Happy Friday!How about "tripping, but being caught in the arms of the other" from your RomCom tropes for Emmrich x Rook?

it is time for barry to reveal himself. to be absolutely shit at comprehending his feelings. veilguard ahead! @dadrunkwriting

tell me there's a chance!

rating: m

words: 621

additional notes: referenced sex acts (not in detail), rook being terribly bad at feelings. barry uses he/him!

qReally, Barry should have been paying more attention. Everyone knows that in a foreign place, paying attention to your surroundings is paramount. A dwarven warrior should know that. A former Proving champion should know that. And, especially, a Grey Warden should know that.

Still, the Grand Necropolis is a place of wonder. The skeletons are very strange, after all they were once inside people and used to have tendons and blood vessels surrounding them. Their bones are very clean and a fine grey colour, no black or yellow discolouration. Many of them are digging tunnels, clearing away debris, and generally tending to the maintenance of the necropolis. A bit like the few working golems in Orzammar. But far more macabre. Oghren would shit his pants.

Bellara leads him through a few winding passageways, and spies a well-dressed skeleton. Well, compared to the other working skeletons at least. A hardy pair of goggles, a well-worn leather backpack and a waterskin tucked in his ribcage. The care and attention to that skeleton is actually kind of adorable. Like a freaky little cat.

He misses whatever Bellara says, and immediately trips over something. Barry didn't quite have time to see what caused him to trip. Instead, he careens into a broad chest, hidden behind fine fabrics. A green velvet waistcoat adorns a pin-tucked shirt with two rows of pearly buttons now pressing into the dwarf's cheek. A thick leather coat presses in on either side of his face as lithe arms wrap around his body.

Truly, a phenomenal entrance. "Are you alright?" asks the smoothest Nevarran voice He's ever heard. Right. Not a problem. Just a nice voice.

He leans back and finally gets a decent eyeful of the man who caught him and bronto shit. In that moment, Barry Thorne learns a few new things about him. First, he is a sucker for a refined sounding voice. His previous two wives spoke like filthy dusters. At the time, that was what he wanted. A strong woman who knew how to make even a proud warrior like him feel small. This man, whoever he is, presents him with a new experience. He hopes he gets to hear more of that voice.

Second, he learns he likes men. He always knew it was a possibility that his preferences might change. His second wife didn't need any gadgets to peg him, she had her own prick to use on him. Never bothered him much. After joining the Legion and then the Grey Wardens? Not much attraction at all. But looking at this fine specimen reminds him of more youthful days, when he brought home plenty of women after winning a Proving match. The longing he felt for this spindly man is as intense a passion as he had twenty years prior.

The third is that he doesn't know how to react to this. Hello? After so many years of accepting that he is dead to Orzammar and quite literally dying to the Blight in his veins, Thorne figured there would never be time for anything more. Or finding someone who would willingly help him tend to his needs at 53. He knows he's gone through the wringer. He doesn't keep up with his grooming as he should. Paragons know he hasn't-

"Rook?" asks Bellara interrupting his thoughts.

"Nothing stops this old dwarf," Barry responds with a half smile to the girl.

The fourth thing he realises is that the man he tripped into is looking at him with concern. Rook properly introduces himself, and shakes the necromancer's hand.

"Professor Emmrich Volkarin, of the Mourn Watch," the mage chirps.

The fifth thing hits Barry harder than he can swing his hammer: there might actually be a chance.

[arlathanxchange]

Arlathan eXchange is returning!

IMPORTANT DATES

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Visit our website to see the above schedule in your local time.

NOMINATIONS OPEN IN 3 WEEKS

Changes and Updates

→ Please welcome our new moderators! @Dirthenera @Inquisimer @Plisuu @Thedaselcor

→ Our rules and FAQs are undergoing some changes - stay tuned for more information and updates!

→ The event's use of Twitter/X will be phased out this year. Please make sure to follow us on other social media for announcements as we make this transition.

→ This event is officially affiliated with The Hanged Man! The Hanged Man is an unofficial collective of Dragon Age fans who try to make a positive difference in the fandom community by giving fans a place to chat, share and create content, and interact. You can read more on our website.

[covertleathers]

Seven Sentence WIP Weekday

Thank you @thedissonantverses for the tag!

I hope everyone's week is going well. I am tagging some lovely folks (no pressure to post!) @corvus-frugilegus @hyperions-light @erin-unknown @postcardsfromheapside @virusq @himluv

I'm including a snippet from Chp3 of Boogie in Murderland :>

[littlemissgeek8]

Chapters: 2/? Fandom: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Female Cadash/Varric Tethras, Female Hawke & Varric Tethras, Fenris/Female Hawke (Dragon Age) Characters: Female Cadash (Dragon Age), Varric Tethras, Female Hawke (Dragon Age), Bran Cavin, Fenris (Dragon Age) Additional Tags: Slow Burn, Arranged Marriage, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, (For whatever reason Inquisition doesn't happen) Summary:

9:43 Dragon. It's been a year since Varric Tethras was voted in as Viscount of Kirkwall, and despite the seat being hereditary (along with head of his House) he remains stubbornly still single. The Carta, however, know a blackmail opportunity when they see one, and pose an offer: he marries someone from one of their Houses, and the Carta doesn't leak the location of some of his wayward friends. --- 9:43 Dragon. Minor Carta agent, Darvia Cadash, is the latest in a long line of women sent to Kirkwall as candidate for the Viscount's hand in marriage. But she finds the city ominous, the locals unfriendly, and her intended husband unsettling.

If he agrees to the match, will she ever adjust? Or will he stall for enough time to wiggle out of the agreement entirely?

Or maybe, just maybe, might there be a spark there after all?

CHAPTER TWO IS UP!!! I’ve been sitting on this for ages but I want to make sure I have a buffer so I won’t post new chapters until the following one is finished. But aaah, it’s so nice to get things posted!

And thanks so so much for the people who have been sharing and commenting, your feedback means the world to me!

[sternentreue]

15 and 16 for the Rook and their partner ask game, please!

Okay first of all! I'm so sorry that this took forever but you will see why. I have this (bad) habit of getting carried away if I have too many feelings and thoughts about something and then I go on and write three pages about it before I have to stop myself. I tried to shorten everything but this was actually harder than leaving it as it is and took even longer, so I decided to just leave it. 😭 I think you can almost call this a oneshot asdfjkl I'm sorry!!!

15. What was the partner's reaction to Rook being imprisoned in the Fade? How did they cope? How did they react upon seeing Rook again?

Lucanis was devastated. Rook pulled the dagger from Ghilan'nain and the shockwave flung him back. He had to check on Rook, had to know if he was all right. But he was dazed, he could only hear muffled noises and, as hard as he tried, he couldn't see Rook. But he saw something else - someone else - an elf? But not Rook, another figure was standing there, walking past him, proud and with determined steps. Then they were gone, and as he was pulled up by two pairs of arms and dragged along, he gradually regained consciousness. The earth shook, the air grew hotter and everything around them seemed to turn to ash. Where was Rook? He tried to turn round, frantically scanning the spot where Ghilan'nain had died, but there was no one there. He suddenly realised what was happening around them. Elgar'nan wanted to burn them all alive. But he couldn't leave, not until he knew where Rook was. 

“Where is he?” He shouted, trying to wriggle out of Davrin's and Taash's grip.

“Gone. We have to get out of here.” Davrin's voice was loud and insistent, but the strain in his voice made it obvious that he had to force every word.

“I'm not leaving, not without him!” Lucanis turned, his eyes gleaming with purple smoke, and with a flap of his wings he pushed his companions away. 

“Not. Without. Rook!”

He had to go back. Spite could still smell him, he still had to be here somewhere. Lucanis thrashed around as Davrin and Taash tried to hold him down while the ground beneath their feet gradually began to burn. A sharp demonic scream rang in his ears and then suddenly everything went dark.

When he regained consciousness, he was alone in the familiar surroundings of his pantry. Someone must have brought him here. A sudden twinge in his chest reminded him painfully of what had happened. Rook was gone. He was somewhere, all alone, and they had simply abandoned him. Like an echo, he heard Rook's voice in his head, desperately calling for him. His eyes began to burn and he pressed the heels of his hands into his eye sockets to stifle the sensation. He took a deep breath, trying to focus. Maybe he had just had a bad dream. Maybe he would see him sitting at the kitchen table at any moment, surrounded by their friends and with a charming smile on his lips.

The kitchen was deserted. Lucanis walked on. Maybe he would find Rook outside in the courtyard, his axe balanced casually on his shoulders, sweaty and glowing from his afternoon training. Not even Assan was to be seen. Lucanis felt his heart beat faster, his stomach began to churn. His steps quickened. Maybe he was in the library - it was empty. He walked quickly up the stairs, past the frescoes and stopped in front of the tall iron door. He could hear his heart pounding in his ears now. He had never been here before. Rook was always there for them all, always had an open ear for them and a shoulder to lean on. And so, it was an unwritten law that none of them would enter this room otherwise, to give him the opportunity to withdraw once in a while. Lucanis dropped his forehead against the cool surface. 

“Not. Here. Any more.” It haunted his mind. 

He felt stupid as he knocked on the door - anything to maintain the last vestige of this illusion. There was no answer. It felt familiar, just as back then when he was trapped in his own mind, unable to escape it. He knew he was doing the same thing again. He put up a wall, an illusion, to protect himself from the vicious truth that would await him as soon as he entered the room. Back then, Rook had helped to free himself from it. Now he had to face it all alone.

Lucanis opened the door and entered the room. It was cold and empty, stripped of its soul. Only a few mementos here and there suggested that someone had settled in here. He slowly crossed the room, stroking the furniture with his fingertips as if to reassure himself that this was real. His gaze fell on a crumpled shirt that had been carelessly left on the couch. He recognised it; Rook always wore it when he was training in the courtyard. Lucanis slowly sat down on the couch and took the shirt in his hands. He imagined how the fabric would feel when it was warmed up, when it was smooth against Rook's skin, how it would feel when he would wrap his hands around Rook’s waist. He felt that twinge in his chest again, growing stronger by the second, and the room began to blur before his eyes. He pressed his face into the fabric and when he recognised the smell that was so familiar and so dear to him, he began to sob and his whole body shook with grief.

Spite sat next to him. He had fallen silent.

Coping was the hardest part. The sleep deprivation of the past months and the unbearable sorrow were gradually catching up with him. His body was unable to take it anymore and he no longer cared if he fell asleep - because it was the only time when his heart wasn't torn apart by the thought of Rook. But there was irony in that; Spite wouldn't let him sleep. He wailed in his head, night after night, not understanding, unable to comprehend. 

“Where. Is. Rook?”

Several times a night he awoke in a different spot in the Lighthouse, awoken by the whimpers of his own voice, his throat hoarse. Spite couldn't bear it, his inaction, his inability to do anything. And so he languished, in a constant state somewhere between semi-sleep and nightmare. Lucanis was a heap of misery. The circles under his eyes were even darker and deeper than usual, his cheeks sunken. He cooked constantly to keep himself busy - mostly Rook's favourite dishes - but when they sat at the table together, he hardly ate any of it. There was nothing he could do to contribute to the search for Rook. He could only rely on the mages to find a way.

And when they finally set off, armed with the fake lyrium dagger, to look for Rook in the Fade, he didn't dare to hope. The fear of being so disappointed and hurt again was too great. What if they didn't find Rook after all? What if they did find him, but he was no longer alive? He didn't want to, couldn't, think about it. But Spite pushed him on. Spite still had hope, had been revitalised by the search for Rook. And he was playing his part. Lucanis still couldn't explain how, but Spite had gained full access to his sense of smell and guided them from the location where they had lost Rook - to a spot where Spite claimed to smell Rook and where the pressure behind his eyes became particularly uncomfortable. And lo, Emmrich did manage to open a rift. Lucanis’ heart began to beat faster and hope sprouted within him. Was it really Rook? Had they found him?

He called out to Rook, almost wanting to throw himself into the Fade to get to him. He reached for his hand and once again he felt tears pricking at the corners of his eyes as he felt Rook's familiar warmth. He was here. He was actually here. 

Rook knelt on the cold stone. He didn't seem hurt, but he was distraught, searching their faces for something familiar. He looked as if he hadn’t really recognized them yet. In his mind, he was still there. Lucanis knew the feeling all too well. He knelt down in front of Rook and carefully took him in his arms.

“You are here. You are here with me.”

He tightened his grip and slowly Rook returned his embrace and they sank into each other. Lucanis swore to himself that he would never allow fate to separate them again.

16. How did your Rook react to getting trapped in the Fade and separated from their partner?

For Firion it was slightly easier. At least that’s what he liked to tell himself. He was a master at suppressing his feelings. When he saw Lucanis’ lifeless body in front of him, his gut had twisted, he felt sick and he wanted to throw up the lump that had formed in his throat. But the feeling was quickly replaced by the anger and rage he felt by the experience that Solas put him through. He knew this wasn’t real. He knew he was trapped in a place so far from reality that he knew he couldn’t trust anything he saw in there. Lucanis couldn’t be dead. He was with him the whole time. He couldn’t quite place the exact moment when he was torn from reality but Lucanis wasn’t there. He was somewhere else, he was with the others, and he was safe. He had to believe it.

The prison, however, still took its toll on Rook. He wandered aimlessly, searching every nook and cranny for clues on how to get out of here. The vast expanse was oppressing, the dark shadows crawled on him and made him jump in his moments of inattentiveness, the thoughts on Lucanis, how he laid there lifeless and turning to stone haunted his memories and every time he tried to subdue them by focusing on the path ahead - just to be replaced by the images of Harding getting impaled and thrown to her death. Could she still be alive? He felt guilty, the prison made sure of that. Not because of her sacrifice per se, he knew it was her own choice, but because he couldn’t be there. He couldn’t be there to look for her, to see if there was a chance to bring her back, to tend to her injuries. He couldn’t be there to retrieve her body or to tell her family that she was gone. Or to console Taash. And every minute that he spent in this prison was a minute that he couldn’t make plans on how to find Neve. He had to get out, no matter what.

[Questions for your Rook and their partner]