#da4 fic

[wabart]

being a magister is hard work, guys

[profoundfics]

Tertiary Opinions I/IV

Unorthodox Introductions - VI: Careful Plans

Rating: Mature - Canon Typical Violence and Sex

Pairing: Rook Ingellvar x Emmrich Volkarin (Neve Gallus x Lucanis Dellamort | Lace Harding x Taash)

(A03 Chapter Index) | (Tumblr Chapter Index)

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The opening to the chapter is, essentially, depicting the circumstances depicted in the Codex entry A Distressing Sight.

-- --

The excursion with Harding, reaching the northern shores of Ferelden and the once glittering jewel of Amaranthine, should have been the perfect escape. It was a simple day trip, suggested when Harding had found Emmrich examining the Vi’Revas in the Lighthouse’s lower chamber. She wanted supplies, comforts from home despite being from further to the south, near Redcliffe. It was evident as soon as they joined the throng towards the city gates that desperation permeated through everything. Whispers of a new Blight tainted every conversation, but Emmrich could hardly begrudge them their fear. Amaranthine had fared poorly during the previous Blight; from Arl Rendon Howe’s treachery to Queen Elissa Theirin’s desperate push to save the city at the end the Aramathine Conflict, it appeared as though the city was fated to fall only to be rescued by the smallest whisper of grace. While the city had been rebuilt, and the physical wounds had healed, the devastating era was in the living memory of most of the population.

The city was unlike any of the others across Ferelden, Harding explained. ‘The Queen had a lot of the older buildings removed in the rebuild when she was Warden-Commander. She imported a lot of the stone from dwarven mines and outposts associated with Orzammar because it was stronger. It probably saved the city when the rifts opened,’ she continued, pausing outside a building that contained the city council’s meeting chambers and assize courts.

White stone stood gleaming above a still bustling market; although if Emmrich had learnt anything from Lucanis’ regular visits to Treviso, it would take the entire annihilation of the city to stop a market.

‘My da worked on this building,’ said Harding softly. ‘I always like coming to look at it.’

‘He’s no longer with us?’ Emmrich asked, catching the wistfulness of her tone.

Harding shook her head. ‘A few years ago now. He was older than ma, and she just woke up to him gone. But he built amazing things. He oversaw the repairs to Redcliffe’s gatehouse after the Venatori occupation during the Mage-Templar War.’ She smiled. There was warmth but unguarded sadness in the expression as she turned away.

‘They never truly leave us,’ he said, following her. ‘He must have been very proud of you?’

She huffed a soft chuckle. ‘Constantly moaned I didn’t come home often enough, but there was always too much to see. Too much to do. When the world gets opened up to you like it did for me, you just want to keep going.’ She fell quiet for a moment, looking at her hands. ‘But yeah, he was proud of me.’

Emmrich was beginning to see the value in that philosophy. Just two days ago, he’d been standing in the searing heat of Rivain, surrounded by flora and fauna he had only read about but never dreamt he’d see. Now, he was in the famously rugged coastlands of northern Ferelden, listening to a newly found colleague give him a brief history lesson of a much storied city through the lens of her father’s contributions to the rebuilding efforts. In a further two days' time, he might find himself in Treviso or Arlathan Forest with more aspects of the world to discover.

Their path brought them to a Chantry, a building carefully incorporating old styles and new design. Ferelden Chantry’s were famous for their humble sized buildings compared to the towering houses of worship across the rest of Thedas. Within the Necropolis, the Chantry of the Eternal Vigil towered up by ten stories, with white towers topped with spires and flying buttresses holding it up, dominating the view in every area of that level of the complex. The Eternal Vigil itself constantly echoed from its halls, audible all though the upper chamber, and could even be heard in the city above on a quiet day. The song of life and death spoke of the central tenets of Nevarran belief about the path all must take to find oneself at the side of the Maker. The song never ended thanks to a ceaseless cycle of choralist singing in shifts; not unlike the unending singing of the Chant of Light in Val Royeaux’s Grand Cathedral.

‘It was badly damaged in that final battle of that conflict,’ said Harding. ‘But it has some really old stained glass frescos, apparently, so it was saved.’

‘This is the reputed site of Andraste revealing the Chant of Light, is it not?’ Emmrich asked. ‘That is what Brother Bedine writes in his travelogue.’

‘So they say,’ replied Harding.

‘Are we permitted access to look?’

‘The doors aren’t locked,’ she replied with a shrug.

While she entered with him, Harding sat down in one of the pews, head bowed and eyes closed in contemplation. Around him, the soft singing of the Canticle of Threnodies filled the eaves and he paused for a moment to contemplate the Andrastian interpretation on the creation of the Fade. He’d always been uncertain about the story, more so now that he had seen the Black City in such close proximity. Its towers had more in common with the Elven ruins he had seen than any human design dating back to a similar era.

Emmrich continued his journey to the chancel, where Bedine had described a wheel window that shone beams of light down onto a mosaic of Andraste’s first teaching. The overcast day dimmed the spectacle Bedine had written off, but at least the ancient work had been saved despite the damage that had been clearly wrought in this part of the Chantry. He crouched to get a better look, the careful workmanship evident in the laying of each tiny tile, creating the face of Andraste within the larger fresco of her first teaching. True to Bedine’s explanation, it was not the usual presentation of Andraste hinting at an origin older than the Chantry’s traditional depiction. He glanced up while reaching into a pocket for the notebook he carried when he saw a tall fire, red flames licking up towards the grey sky. He walked towards the window, pausing when he had a clear look beyond.

He knew, of course, the mainstream practice beyond Nevarra was to burn the remains of their dead. Mere days had passed since he’d discussed the matter with Harding after expressing her fear of Manfred. It had been something he’d been able to put to the back of his mind long ago. He’d assumed he would not leave Nevarra long enough to witness such a spectacle. Besides, Lichdom meant he could release himself from the worry of what would become of his remains. He would still be within his body; flesh cast aside for gleaming bone and a never ending pulse of magic thrumming through his being.

Unless he died here, or some other location far from the Necropolis. He needed to be alive for the very first part of the ritual otherwise his soul would be lost to the Fade.

Outside a body, tightly wrapped in a shroud, was brought forth on the shoulders of eight men while cold nausea wrapped around Emmrich. He looked to his right, half expecting to find Rook beside him, her steely eyes on the ritual, watching with the quiet dignity befitting a member of the Mourn Watch when observing any funerary practice. Dignity he was struggling to maintain.

‘Perhaps we should go, Professor?’ Harding suggested from his left.

Back in the sanctuary of his laboratory within the Lighthouse, Emmrich sat with his pen poised over his personal journal, not even noting the drip straining the page. The paralytic fear of what his fate would be should his life end outside the carefully crafted plans he had set out for himself froze him in place. It was enough to reconsider this venture; he could return to the Necropolis and consult from the safety of his lectern.

And yet, there was a spiralling laugh. And a twist of orange and lilac. Besides, he wasn't sure that he could endure the look of disappointment Rook would surely give him were he to announce he was decamping to Nevarra. She had already anchored some part of him here, a friendship and bond, something not felt in years, building between them outside of his growing desires for her.

He needed to move. A walk to clear his head of the conflicting thoughts. He had barely closed his door when Bellara’s voice rang up from the library.

‘It feels like we’re at war,’ she said, her voice uncharacteristically solemn. ‘Lots of little wars.’

Moving closer to the mezzanine’s balustrade, Emmrich looked down to see Rook pacing with her arms crossed over her chest. Silence had fallen over the assembled team. Only the brush of her velvet coat was audible until she spun. She dropped her arms with a sigh of frustration.

‘I don’t think our allies amount to being able to fight a war, especially lots of little ones,’ Rook concluded, pausing beside her chair and placing her hand on the backrest revealing a cream skirt indicating that she had not left the Lighthouse through the day.

‘No,’ Davrin agreed. ‘You need an army to fight a war, and they’ve got two.’

‘So, how do we fight back?’ Bellara asked, looking down, fear crossing her face.

Rook clicked her tongue, pushing a lock of hair over her shoulder. ‘Just because they don’t amount to an army, doesn’t mean we can’t look to them for help. The Veiljumpers,’ she said looking at Bellara, ‘after D’Meta’s Crossing, Strife must have some desire to push back?’ Bellara nodded. ‘And the Crows,’ she continued, turning to Lucanis, ‘driving back that dragon must have earnt us something?’

Lucanis nodded. ‘You impressed Viago. Not an easy feat, especially for someone outside the Crows.’

‘The incursion into the Necropolis is not going to be left unanswered either,’ Rook continued, glancing up in Emmrich’s direction, revealing she had been aware of his presence despite not commenting on it. He nodded slowly. ‘We have the Mourn Watch at our side, so what else?’

‘This note was waiting for me when I got back,’ Harding said, holding up some folded parchment. ‘Lady Morrigan has requested a meeting at the Cobbled Swan in Minrathous.’

Rook pushed away from her chair to resume her pacing, a slight stiffness still present in her movement. ‘Has she found some trace of the gods?’

He headed down the steps to join the conversation as Harding informed the group that Morrigan wasn’t a frequent visitor to crowded Taverns in the middle of besieged cities.

‘I’ve also had word from Antoine and Evka in the Hossberg Wetlands,’ said Davrin. ‘Antoine says there is something strange is happening with the Blight there. Sounds an awful lot like what you described in D’Meta.’

Rook held up her hands to pause the stream of information coming at her and walked to the table in the middle of the room. ‘Let me get this straight a moment,’ she said, pushing the books aside and opening what appeared to be her personal journal to a blank double page. She picked up one of the lead pens often left there. ‘We have the Veil Jumpers, and D’Meta’s Crossing,’ Her hand slid across the page leaving an elegant scrawl of words in its place. ‘Then the Crows, a dragon, the Antaam and whoever their human traitor is. The Watch, thanks to the Venatori.’ A pattern emerged with the addition of the Necropolis at the bottom left, she was placing the words geographically. ‘Morrigan in Minrathous’ she continued, speaking more to herself than the group, ‘and Wardens in the Wetlands with weird Blight on their hands.’ She looked up at Davrin. ‘The First Warden wasn’t all that impressed when we last met, wanted to arrest me actually, so will he be there?’

Davrin laughed. ‘I don’t keep track of his movements,’ he said, ‘but the First Warden is a political mover. It’s Warden-Commander Janos you need to be wary of, get on his wrong side and there’s no chance to get the Wardens on board. Even if the First Warden is more involved than he might normally be, he can’t stop you from asking a few questions. Evka and Antoine know you're keen to help, and if we get out there fast enough, your involvement might not even get back to him.’

‘Ghilan’nain has lain low since we hurt her dragon,’ she said, straightening to address the whole group. ‘And Elgar’nan has yet to show himself, but where they go, the Blight spreads. So, it’s a lead and there are no better people than the Wardens to track the Blight.’ She tapped her pen against her thigh. ‘The Wardens and Morrigan seem like our best leads on finding the gods, but the others may have leads on how they plan to act,’ she concluded after a moment.

‘Are they really gods?’ Taash asked, speaking up for the first time since Emmrich arrived. ‘Or just really powerful, ancient mages? It isn’t clear?’

As she spoke, the door opened and Emmrich looked around. By his count they were all there.

‘They’re gods,’ drawled the dark haired woman with a Tevinter accent. ‘Or the closest thing to them.’

The oldest members of the group, the ones there from the start all shifted. Lucanis straightened to attention with her name a soft utterance he breathed out while Rook spun around in a flurry of velvet. Bellara squeaked as Neve Gallus strode to the table, every other step a metallic clink from her prosthesis. Rook watched with narrowed expression, eyes steely as she tracked the newcomer come to a halt beside Bellara. The two women briefly clasped hands in greeting and delight stirred in the elf’s eyes.

‘You’re back,’ said Rook, the words lingering between a statement and a question.

‘Yeah, I am,’ she replied, a touch of frost in her voice and eyes when she turned her attention to Rook.

Rook nodded curtly. ‘Then, a couple of new people have joined since you’ve been gone.’ She pointed in Emmrich’s direction first. ‘This is Professor Emmrich Volkarin. He’s our Fade expert, and a fellow Watcher - ‘

‘Charmed,’ he interjected, with a slight bow in her direction as she cast an appraising glance over him.

‘- and Taash, our dragon hunter.’

At the introduction, Neve looked away, turning her attention to the Qunari. Neve looked Taash up and down, another appraising look and a downturned expression on her face as she turned the information over before her shoulders dropped.

‘Minrathous could have used you,’ she said sadly.

‘What’s going on? In Minrathous?’ Rook’s voice was softer than usual.

Neve clasped her hands together and fixed Rook with a daunting stare. ‘What isn’t? Look, you made an impossible call without enough information, and you did what you thought was right. I get it. It’s the corner the gods put us in.’ She looked away from Rook to the floor. ‘It just might take some time to shake off.’

Rook nodded her head, expression saddened and resigned. Emmrich was aware of the decision she’d been forced to make before seeking him out in the Necropolis. No one, bar for some remarks of gratitude from Lucanis, had spoken of the terrible decision that had left the Tevinter capital overrun by the Venatori.

‘But you’re back right?’ Asked Bellara, turning to fully look at Neve, reaching for her hand again.

‘Yeah, Bel, I’m back,’ she reassured her friend, taking Bellara’s hand in both of hers.

‘After everything…’ Rook trailed off, expression open, vulnerable even. ‘Thank you.’

‘With everything that’s happened in Minrathous, Rook, I’ve got even more reason to go after the gods,’ Neve replied, not exactly warmly but with less frost than she had begun with. ‘If anyone has a shot at this, it’s the people here. I’m still on the job. Count on it.’

A hopeful smile lifted Rook’s face, warmth kindling in her eyes. ‘Then let's follow up on some of these leads.’

‘I’ll let Morrigan know we’re ready to meet,’ said Harding.

‘And, Antoine and Evka are holed up in a village called Lavendel,’ said Davrin. ‘Can your mirror get us there?’

‘Bel?’ Rook inclined her head towards the Veil Jumper.

‘We’ll have to go out into The Crossroads, the Heights, but if Harding can help we should be able to skirt any lingering Darkspawn, if they’re back’

Rook frowned. Emmrich had deduced early on that the Heights were considered the most dangerous part of The Crossroads, habitually infested with darkspawn. Harding nodded.

‘Right, you should all rest, the fight might come sooner than we expect,’ said Rook.

The dismissal in her voice was clear. Bellara linked arms with Neve while Lucanis darted around the group to catch them up, falling in step before reaching the door. Harding had already begun speaking with Davrin to discuss seeking out which mirror would get them as close to the Warden’s location as possible, while Taash approached Rook.

‘Hey, there’s a situation out in Rivain that could use your attention,’ she said. ‘Might help get the Lords on side.’

Rook bent to the table, pen on the paper in the approximate location of Rivain in relation to the rest of the notes, humming in encouragement to continue.

‘Isabella has been getting supplies out to Treviso for months, she‘s got a lot of Crow ties, but the contact has gone missing in the coastlands near to where we tracked the Vinsomer,’ Taash explained.

‘So, tracking down what happened to the contact, and finding the supplies?’

‘Might help with the Crows as well?’

‘Extra collateral with anyone will help,’ agreed Rook, setting down her pen. ‘Are you settling in okay?’

Taash blinked, then her eyes flicked towards Emmrich, a crinkle forming between her eyebrows prompting Rook to look over her shoulder. His fellow Watcher raised her eyebrows then turned back, Taash’s expression schooled back into place.

‘I’m fine,’ she replied. ‘It’s not what I’m used to, but I can get home easily enough when I need to.’

‘Anything you need, just ask.’

Taash nodded her head in thanks then followed the others. Dreamlight briefly flooded the room before enclosing Emmrich and Rook in the usual cool darkness of the library. She half turned in his direction, tilting her head towards him.

‘I’ve been meaning to thank you,’ she said, her fingers absently twisting through a lock of hair. ‘For healing me the other night, but I feel you may have been avoiding me?’

‘No.’ The lie tasted like ash. ‘There is a lot to catalogue.’ True. ’Harding and I also visited Ferelden after she found me examining the mirror downstairs. Amaranthine, in fact.’ Also true. ‘She said I couldn’t just visit Orlais, and not Ferelden.’

Rook chuckled. ‘They are patriotic people,’ she said. ‘You’ll be more travelled than me once this is all over. I’ve not been to Ferelden either.’

She looked at him, that steely indomitability swirling in her eyes, pinning him in place. Again. The sensation settled heavily in his chest, banishing any desire to leave her side. Her fingers had ceased their fiddling, but she chewed on her lip as if she wanted to say something but couldn’t capture the words. He was in no better situation, mind blissfully blank under her attention.

Then she sucked in a deep breath, looking away, down at the map she had sketched with her notes. ‘Well, thank you.’

As with the others, the note of dismissal was clear. With a bow he left her to the quiet fortress of her thoughts. But when she didn’t arrive for dinner, he fixed her a plate with a goblet of wine, which he set down before her in the library. She’d been staring off into the middle distance, and she startled when the plate clinked on the table top. She blinked, shaking out her thoughts.

‘She’s never going to forgive me,’ Rook said quietly as he took his usual seat opposite her. ‘Neve, that is.’

He remained quiet for a moment, focusing on the haphazard collection of chairs and green sofa that had become a regular meeting spot, desperately not looking as she moved her hair over her shoulder, exposing her neck and sharp line of her jaw.

‘If that were true,’ he replied, keeping his voice as soft as hers, ‘I doubt she would have come back.’

Rook swallowed, dragging his attention back to her neck. ‘I don’t really know her well enough to say,’ she admitted. ‘I thought she was going to rain down all her icy fury on me when we finally reached Minrathous. But she just looked tired. Broken. I did that.’

‘You didn’t send those dragons,’ he told her gently, watching her take a gulp of wine. ‘And if what I’ve been told is true, which I suspect it is, you saved hundreds of innocent lives in a city that had no defences.’

‘The people of Minrathous were undefended,’ said Rook, settling the goblet down. ‘Even without the Venatori having a stranglehold on the city, the Magisterium would never have used their defences to help the people who actually need it. They’d have driven the dragon off the upper city,’ she continued with a flick of her hand, ‘left the lower city to burn, and still called it a victory.’ She tapped the table with her index finger, her nail rapping loudly off the polished wood. ‘I could have stopped that happening.’

‘At the expense of what you did save,’ Emmrich countered gently. ‘War produces casualties, you know that. Would you rather Lucanis’ wrath? Potentially further fuelled by Spite?’

She sighed. ‘No.’

After taking another sip of wine, she began moving the food around her plate. He winced at the scrap of metal against the porcelain. Noticing the gesture, she put the fork down and rested her arm on the table beside the plate.

‘Sorry,’ she whispered. ‘And thank you.’

‘For what?’

‘This,’ she said with an encompassing wave of her hand. ‘The food. The talk.’ She leant back in her chair, fixing him with that anchoring gaze he wanted to drown in. ‘You know the others are going to gossip if you start bringing me food whenever I don’t show up for dinner.’

Emmrich couldn’t help but meet her gaze. ‘Let them,’ he replied, flicking his wrist in dismissal.

Rook’s lips pressed together then lifted into a smile that tightened his whole body.

-- --

The Canticle of Threnodies is the sixth book/song to the Chant of Light, they are considered dirges and laments that recount the creation of the world and the fall of man. Threnodies 8:3 appears on screen in the opening of Dragon Age: Origins

The Chantry of the Eternal Vigil, and the Eternal Vigil, are made up elements for this fic, but it's derived from Cassandra Pentaghast's experiences when she grew up within The Grand Necropolis following the execution of her parents. For Cassandra, this constant singing was something she grew to hate, along with The Grand Necropolis. In some criticism of Dragon Age:The Veilguard was the criticism that this element of Necropolis life didn't feature, but The Grand Necropolis is meant to be massive, bigger than Egypt's City of the Dead. It stood to reason that both Cassandra's experience and what we have in-game could exist together.

[littlelovelyra]

Of Chains and Crows

Chapter 1/?: "Little Crow"

Word Count: ~ 1,800

Minors DNI - 18+

ao3 if you prefer

Female Rook (named) x Lucanis

Summary: After an almost shared kiss, Lucanis loses his self control and indulges in one night of passion.

Notes: This is a bit of a re-imagining for Lucanis' romance - I'm still finding my footing with this pairing and there will be some moments of pining and angst after this chapter coz things with Spite will get complicated in my story :) Also this was written quite fast as I write on my lunch breaks haha so please excuse any errors or if things feel rushed etc

______________________________

Lucanis:

Mia de Riva was captivating, and it wasn’t just her looks that snatched your attention, no, her effortless form in combat while fighting alongside you had magnificent beauty. Finding someone who complimented your blade craft was hard to come by, yet she fit perfectly. It was as if the gods made her just for you. 

Since the first moment you saw her when she rescued you from the Ossuary, her presence has nestled comfortably in your mind, much to Spite’s disgust, and now the yearning has grown stronger each day. How you wish you could weave your fingers through her soft curls while you whisper sweet nothings against her skin; the thought alone sends a blaze of desire coursing through you. “Mierda. You need to stop this Lucanis.” You mentally urge yourself to break free from the temptation she brings you because you know that nothing could ever happen. Who would want to be with someone that has a demon attached to them?

“Ahhh yes, who would want the baggage you carry, Lucanis?” Spite hisses, enjoying his new weapon of torment to use against you. “Although… I am sure you must have noticed her interest in you, no?” He continues his mind games as you desperately try to block him out. 

Admittedly, there have been moments where you have felt her express interest but you are unsure whether that is delusion or real… so you play it safe and respond politely. You have been out of the game for quite some time now and you fear you may have lost your touch with women.

As if summoned by your thoughts, a light rap sounds at your door, and it sickens you knowing that you have memorised how her knocks sound. Before you have time to respond, Spite uses your momentary distraction to take over and once again you are a prisoner in your mind.

________________________

Mia:

Maybe you didn’t knock hard enough? He usually hears and invites you in so this raises alarm bells instantly. You cautiously push the door open and enter his room.

“Lucanis? I hope it’s okay that I let myself in, I wanted to-.” You stop yourself as you examine the sly smile that has spread across his face, his eyes glowing that eery magenta and you know that it is not Lucanis. 

“Now we get to talk.” Spite hisses in your direction.

“We have nothing to talk about.” You say through gritted teeth. This has been a regular occurrence lately and it’s growing tiresome seeing someone you care so deeply about lose control of themselves. 

“Lucanis. Made a deal. He has not kept. Break our chains. Kill. Escape Prison. And Live. I want Lucanis to honour the deal! I WANT OUT! TELL HIM! MAKE HIM-.” A frustrated growl pours from his lips as you watch Lucanis’ body double over, he is fighting Spite… Lucanis is trying to regain control and to help you softly place your hand on his shoulder, hoping that it can be an actor for him to take hold of. 

“Rook? What happened? Did I- did he hurt you?” Shame fills Lucanis’ face as his gaze examines your body.

“Nothing happened, I’m okay.” You offer him a soft smile and gently squeeze his shoulder.

“How… how do you always do that? Break apart my perfectly gathered clouds of doom? You deserve better than to deal with my mess…” His brows furrow in frustration and his voice breaks ever so slightly. 

“You are more than what you’re going through… and besides, I like messes… well… I like your mess… you wear it well.” Your cheeks flush and you feel like a teenager struggling to form the right words as he approaches you. Lucanis leans his arm over you, gently pressing your body against the wall and a heat pools at your center. 

“This is not a good idea… you like to walk a little close to the edge.” His pitch lowers as his eyes lock in with yours, he is so close you can smell his scent of cinnamon and coffee beans.

“So do you…” you breathe out and place your hand delicately on his chest.

“At least I know I’m doing it, little Crow.” In a hushed, gravelly voice, he leans in further, and you can feel his breath against your lips. Your eyes close as a feather-light touch cascades across your jawline, and you tilt your head, trying to catch his mouth with yours, only to be met with him suddenly drawing away. Confusion and embarrassment settle in the pit of your stomach as you lock eyes with him 

“I… need to clear my head. Excuse me.” Luncanis pushes off the wall and offers you an apologetic smile as he exits his quarters, leaving you with confusion and a longing that aches to be held. 

As you enter your room and lay on your day bed, two little words flit across your mind. “Little crow” … a new heat ignites at your center as your hands gently caress their way around your body. You replay those two words over and over again as you fantasise where that moment could have taken you.

___________________________

Lucanis: 

“Mierda! What is wrong with me?!” You run your hands through your hair in frustration at your cowardice. She was right there… you were so close to tasting her lips, her scent still lingered as if it desperately clung to you, begging you to find her again. 

“You’re a coward, Lucanis. Deep down, you always were.” Spite’s words slither out menacingly and entangle around your thoughts. “You had her, and you ran. HAH” 

“Shut up, Spite! SHUT UP!” Rage fills your veins as you listen to his deception. He’s playing games with you, he always plays games with you, and it seems you always let him win. You did have her… maybe you still do. Fuck it. You think to yourself as you hastily make your way to her room, shoving Spite out of your thoughts as he attempts to sabotage your decision. After years in the Ossuary you have learnt how to shut him out when necessary even when you knew how much it angered him… but tonight, he was not going to win. 

As you reach her door, all etiquette fades amid your urgency as you burst through and take in the sight before you. She lays outstretched on her day bed, wearing nothing but her undergarments, which sends a surge straight to your throbbing core. Her cheeks are flushed as she abruptly sits up, staring at you with her mismatched blue and lavender eyes. 

“Rook… I’m sorry-.”

“Mia. Call me Mia.” She holds your stare and slowly pads across the concrete floor. Once she reaches you, her fingers lace themselves through your hair, and a shiver runs down your body. “Just tonight… then you don’t have to touch me ever again if you don’t want to.” You feel her warm breath against your ear as she gently pulls your face down towards her. 

“Little Crow… if I indulge tonight, I fear I may never want to be without you again…” Your right-hand tangles itself in her curls, and they are softer than you imagined. “Are you sure?” You whisper against her lips and as she nods slowly in response a low groan escapes you as you bring your mouths together. 

Your lips meld together, moving in synchronisation as if they had found their home. She tastes of a sweet hazelnut praline, and you inhale her scent, savouring each moment, searing it into your memories. Your free hand encircles the small of her back as you pull her in tightly against you, earning a small gasp from her as she feels your arousal through your clothing. 

Momentarily, you break free from her lips and watch her, taking in her beautiful form. She laces her fingers between yours, pulling you to her day bed and slowly lays herself down, never breaking eye contact. You tilt your head ever so slightly in curiosity, and then she seductively spreads her legs. Whatever willpower you had left crumbled at her unspoken invitation, and you found yourself crawling your way over her. Fuck willpower. You think to yourself as you scatter hot, wet kisses down her body and release her underwear with a swift flick of a hidden blade. 

Before you dive into her depths, you glance up and meet her gaze as she watches you, sending another ache to your throbbing cock. Without breaking eye contact, you take the plunge, gliding your tongue through her dripping wet folds, and you release a deep groan into her sex. She tastes better than any coffee you could ever make, and if you could swap for this to be your chosen beverage, you would do it in a heartbeat. As your pace quickens with urgency, you feel her legs begin to shake and suddenly her back arches as she shatters around your face, gripping your hair tightly as you slowly work through her waves of pleasure. 

You remove your clothes with haste and hold yourself up over her, taking in the small beads of sweat that have now settled over her brow and across her body. She once again spreads her legs on either side of you and tilts herself up as if she were just as desperate to feel you inside her. 

“So eager, my little crow… Are you ready? There’s no going back after this.” You bring your mouth to her ear as you rake your hardened length teasingly down her slick seam. 

“Yes. Please.” A low groan escapes her lips as she lifts her hips once more. 

Please… the word undoes your self-control, and you push into her immediately. “Fuck.” The word slips from your mouth as you begin to pump in and out of her, the feel of her naked body against yours sends electricity through you. Mia pulls your face towards hers and kisses you deeply. Her tongue slips past your lips and entangles itself in a dance with your own and you release a cry of pleasure at the intimate act. 

Your hand snakes its way down her body and lands on her swollen bud, sending a jolt of pleasure through her body as you tightly circle the sensitive flesh. 

“Lucanis… I’m... going to…” she pants through sharp breaths as you feel her body shaking beneath yours.

“Let go for me. Come for me, little crow; I want to hear my name on your lips.” Your pace quickens as you feel her walls tighten around your cock as she comes undone, sending you over the edge with her. 

You collapse beside her and pull her close, stroking her hair as she leans her head against your heaving chest. A calm settles in the cool air as you lay there with her, and for the first time in what seems like forever, you feel at peace. 

“Peace, for now, Lucanis. You cannot shut me out forever. We still have a deal, and if you do not hold your end of the bargain, Rook will be in danger.” Spite’s voice distantly echoes in the back of your mind, and you pull Mia closer to you, silently vowing to find a way to make this work. 

[profoundlyfaded]

WIP Wednesday

That most hallow day, when WIP and Wednesday meet, forming a pleasing bond of alliteration. And we have an excuse to tease our readers…

[stormwifewrites]

Finally able to share this gorgeous commission from @yelenhol to go with the final chapter of Darkness at the Edge of Dawn 🥵💙 I am in awe 💚

[albaharu]

Continuation of Rook!Oghren ; I was like "i need to do some solrook toxic enemies to lovers after the trapped-forever-together-with-someone-you-hate bad end. it has to be a dwarf and a grey warden so solas hates him extra... WAIT" anyways soghren otp 5ever

[redwyvernan]

something something something the magic in the elvhenan’s haven section of the crossroads making the companions smell home. but not rook. rook “can’t place it.” neve smells dock town after it rains. harding smells her mom’s apple pie. but rook cannot recognize the smell of home.

after all is said and done, do you think rook smells the lighthouse there? do they smell lucanis’s complicated antivan cooking, or davrin’s woodcarvings, or the electrical burn from bellara’s magical projects? or the smell of dusty pages from emmrich’s books, or the flowers from harding’s garden, or the fried fish and ink from neve’s office, or the woodsmoke from taash? do you think the scent of varric’s old leather duster is in there somewhere? do you think rook finally recognizes home?

[askfordoodles]

My brain, choosing violence:

hey, don't think about how Emmrich watched Manfred die the same way his parents did, a large structure falling on them

and for a moment Emmrich regresses to the age he was when it happened, a scared helpless and lost little boy

That, right there, is little Emmrich, being brought right back to the worst moment of his life as a child, just look at that body language the devs chose for him in this moment.

Me, to my brain: hey can you maybe chill, Satan

(I know we don't know for certain if he actually witnessed the building collapse, but wouldn't it be fucked up if he did)

[trialsofthedas]

Some Random Crow: Don’t go picking a fight with me. I could make your life extremely difficult.

Rook, who only fears Viago or Teia : put up or shut up fucking loser

[wabart]

(FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT!)

The demon was a flurry of rabid scrambling and flares of violet light. He rounded back to where Illario still lay on the floor, gathering himself. Octavian stood in his path, a weeping cut spread horizontally across one cheek; Lucanis's lucky wyvern-tooth blade was in his grasp, having been stolen from Spite's hand. He tossed it aside with a clatter that echoed against the walls.

"Move!" Spite barked, wings stretching wide to beat at the air. He remained in a hunched stance, prepared to rush the man the moment he didn't get his way. "Zara! Was! Ours!"

[profoundfics]

Tertiary Opinions II/II

Paths of Light - II: Vaults of the Beloved

Rating: Mature - Canon Typical Violence and Sex

Pairing: Rook Ingellvar x Emmrich Volkarin (Neve Gallus x Lucanis Dellamort | Lace Harding x Taash)

(A03 Chapter Index) | (Tumblr Chapter Index)

-- --

It was just the two of them. Manfred ambled far behind after receiving strict instructions to remain out of harm's way. And none of the others had expressed any particular keenness to venture into the dead-filled depths of the Necropolis again. Emmrich had been forced to take the lead to the Vault. Rook trailed behind him, thumbing her way through a thin tome as she walked, muttering to herself about a certain incantation being in the book.

Somewhere.

‘They really should put indexes in the back of these things,’ she groused, pausing under a wall brazier of veilfire and began flicking through the pages with increased speed.

Emmrich had only caught a glimpse of the book when she first pulled it from the small shoulder bag she brought. But in the greenish light he could see it was ancient; the fabric cover was worn at the corners, the spine abused with thin cracks webbing up the length of the book and any indication as to the title of the book appeared lost to time.

‘Ah-ha,’ she exclaimed, opening the book fully.

Emmrich walked back to Rook. She was looking at a page with a twelve line evocation centrally positioned on the page. Notes in Rook’s elegant scrawl covered what had once been the blank margins around the printed words. He blanched at the sight, only realising that he’d made a sound when Rook looked at him.

‘I take it you disapprove?’ She asked, closing the book slightly to meet his gaze.

‘If it is your own property, it's yours to do as you wish,’ he replied mildly, but she was shaking her head. ‘This is an ancient practice,’ remarking on the spell.

‘I know,’ Rook agreed, reopening the book again. ‘But I noticed the candles when we fought our way through the vault the second time around, and I figured…’ She jabbed at the page. ‘The alterations should allow the spell to awaken the wards quicker than the original casting.’

‘Isn’t there mimetic value in following the original invocations?’ Emmrich enquired.

‘If that were the case, we’d still be casting in Elvish,’ she remarked, folding over the page then closing the book around her finger. He frowned at her and a frustrated growl rumbled from her throat. ‘Academics.’ She made it sound like an insult. ‘When you have something like the door upstairs and you don’t know what’s behind it, then yes, perfect mimesis is the ideal solution. But the vast majority of the time? No. Altering the spells, be it through the wording or even the casting gestures can strengthen wards considerably, improving their durability and even allowing for extra protections to be added. Also time saving if whatever is trying to kill you is bearing down on you.’

She smiled at him. A bright, dazzling expression while tucking the book into a large pouch that asked him to trust her. He did. She’d more than proven her necromantic abilities and instincts during their last excursions in the Necropolis. She moved around him, the usual brush of her perfume wrapping around him, encouraging him to follow. She paused at the end of the corridor and peered around the corner to observe the walking dead.

‘There are a lot of them,’ she remarked solemnly, turning back to him and pushing a lock of hair from her eyes. ‘What’s causing it though?’

‘Solas’ ritual has had a far reaching impact on the Fade,’ Emmrich replied, matching her solemnity. ‘Spirits are still aflurry with activity following the gods' escape. Our inability to tend to the dead here make them perfect hosts for hostile entities to reach this world.’

Clearing their way through was an easy feat, a harmonised pattern of attack developing between them. Emmrich found himself being able to read her movement as she danced her way through battle stances and shield throws to cut a path through the vault. Around it all she also kept track of his attacks, timing her most devastating moves with his recovery rates as though she could visualise the mana within him. While she focused on her martial skills, he did begin to see hints of her more powerful abilities. A club to her abdomen was answered with a draining spell tugged at the lifeforce of the attacker. The spell reduced the cadaver to ash, healing Rook’s injury before it began to cause her any pain.

At the far set of candles, Rook unshouldered her pack and carefully lowered it to with a soft clink. She withdrew a thurible and what appeared to be a premixed cleanser, a bottle of clarified water and small lumps of charcoal.

‘At the end of each stanza,’ she said once she got the charcoal burning with conjured veilfire, ‘if you’d be so kind as to repeat that line and light both sets of candles at the same time, I’d be grateful.’

Soon, the thurible’s smoke changed colour to a pinkish hue, the smell of frankincense, calendula and cedar wrapped around them and Rook got to her feet, shouldering the pack and they made their way back up along the chamber. They walked at a solemn pace. Emmrich kept his actions precise, cautious that any change in the spell could have an unintended impact on the room, but stanza by stanza the etheric murk lifted.

‘Admit it,’ Rook said once they reached the entrance again. ‘You thought it was going to cause some sort of cataclysmic explosion and let a massive pride spirit through?’

‘Nothing quite so dramatic,’ Emmrich replied as he turned to admire their handiwork. ‘I was concerned it wouldn’t work as well as you hoped.’

She held the thurible up, still emitting the cleansing smoke. ‘What do you think this was for? It wasn’t like I could test the incantation before we arrived, mainly on the count of not being able to find it. This was the back up.’

‘Then you made the adaptions -’

‘Years ago,’ she finished for him, opening the thurible and dampening the charcoal with magic. ‘Found something similar in a crypt during the Rift Crisis, I’d like to say in the lower levels but it’s probably moved somewhere else. The original was actually pretty ineffective so I adapted it, and used the new spell.’ She got to her feet and admired her handiwork. ‘Should take a day or so to settle the chamber then we can go through to the next room. Any idea what’s back there?’

‘I have some idea,’ Emmrich replied.

They returned in companionable silence to the belfry chamber, but on their approach, a raised voice alerted them to commotion. Beside him, Rook went pale as she slowed to a halt. Even the colour appeared to drain from her eyes leaving a swirl of grey mist around her pupil.

‘Rook?’

‘The Commander.’

He didn’t need to hear anymore. Reaching over he grabbed her hand, the pressure of his fingers prompting her to look him in the eyes. Fear swam in her expression, her hand developing a small quake and for a moment he was dumbfounded as to what he could say to her. But then she curled her fingers around his, blowing out a steadying breath.

‘I’m going to have to face him at some point,’ she said.

‘And I’m right with you,’ Emmrich assured her. ‘With any luck, if needed, my word will carry weight, given I outrank the Commander in the hierarchy of the order.’

‘What?’

‘Academic schools outrank military corps,’ Emmrich explained gently. ‘I was prompted to refamiliarise myself with our charter after you told me why you left, should you require an intercession during any of our visits.’

Rook frowned. ‘I’m not going to hide behind you.’

‘I don’t expect you to, I’m more than sure you don’t need me to step in on your behalf, but if you do, say the word,’ Emmrich told her. ‘Shall we?’

She took a moment to compose herself, taking a deep breath then blowing it out slowly and letting go of his hand. He let her get a few steps ahead of her before he followed, his hands behind his back.

Her entrance into the belfry caused silence to fall.

Commander Lucien van Markham would have been an imposing, stocky figure were he not two inches shorter than Emmrich. He did, however, tower over Myrna, and to her credit, she was having none of the posturing occurring before her. Hands on her hips, she met the commander's cold, icy glare with swirling dislike. Rook moved closer to the fray, her steps getting surer as she reached the centre of the room.

While Emmrich could not see her expression, he could tell by the hardline he could just make out from the jut in her jaw, that she had schooled her face into an expression that would brook no argument. The same one she had used in the Minrathous with Neve the day before.

Van Markham had not come alone. In a four-by-four formation behind him, sixteen senior Reapers stood in their famous Pillar of the Departed armour like imposing sarcophagi waiting to strike. The Commander wore his ceremonial robes as if he had rushed here from another engagement. When she stood ten feet away from the gathering, Rook drew up to her full height, slammed one foot down with a metallic clang and saluted with her right fist over her heart.

‘Arrest her,’ Van Markham ordered, pointing in the direction of Rook.

‘You will do no such thing,’ Myrna shot back immediately. ‘The matter is long since out of your hands, Commander.’

The retinue had not moved. As Keeper of the Seals, Myrna far outranked any member of the Reapers. She outranked Emmrich. Van Markham turned his head to look at Rook with utter disgust around his thin mouth. He’d been an attractive man in his youth, with pale blue eyes and dark blonde hair, but all that had gone to seed now. Deep furrows marked his forehead and his hairline had retreated so far back he had grown the hair at the back of his head long enough to comb it forward.

‘Out of my hands?’ Markham bellowed, turning back to Myrna. ‘This woman,’ he spat the word, showering Myrna with a thin film of spittle, ‘disobeyed multiple direct orders and destroyed three generations of Van Markham reliquary. It is a matter for the Reapers.’

‘Casual Destruction of the Dead,’ said Myrna, delicately patting her face down with a handkerchief she had withdrawn from her sleeve, ‘is a matter for the High Council to consider. Not the court marital chambers. You overstretched. Were you keen to discipline Watcher Ingellvar’s refusal to stand down, you would have charged her with insubordination or dereliction of duty at the time. As you did no such thing, one might go as far as to say your actions carried a certain air of personal retribution.’

Markham’s eyes bulged at the accusation to such a degree that Emmrich was certain he was about to suffer a fit of apoplexy. The flickering vessel twitching above his eye certainly suggested it was possible. He looked poised to shout again, but he seemed to realise his audience had grown and he was significantly outnumbered by figures of higher authority. Particularly now that VORGOTH had arrived.

‘THE GRAND COUNCIL HAS ABSOLVED WATCHER INGELLVAR OF ANY CHARGE REGARDING HER CONDUCT,’ they announced, its voice more something felt within than heard.

‘Of course they have,’ Van Markham declared with seething sarcasm. ‘Just as they absolved her the last time she insulted my family’s honour.’

‘Insulted your honour?’ Rook cut through the conversation. Higher than usual pitch Emmrich was used to, her voice rang against the towering walls, bouncing off the still bell above them. ‘Your nephew is the one who insulted your honour through his conduct. Or do you believe that women are to become nothing more than leibeigene upon taking nuptial vows?’

It was as if the bell above Emmrich had tolled at the small fact. Rook had pulled herself to her full height, not as tall as Van Markham, but enough that she could look him straight in the eye. There was a twitch to her gauntlet covered fingers, flexing them as if she wanted to punch him. Emmrich had a burning desire to wrap the man in spirit cords to make the job easier for her.

Again, Van Markham sputtered but finally sensing he was on the wrong side of the argument, or at least outnumbered enough that it wasn’t worth his while to continue trying to make the argument, he turned. A flick of his wrist ordered his retinue to part so he could leave with some dignity intact. The march was loud, stone and metal clanging together as the sixteen soldiers followed their commander under the scrutiny of the assorted witnesses. Skeletal assistants closed the doors behind them leaving Emmrich free to return his attention back to Rook. VORGOTH had his gloved hand on Rook’s shoulder, its hooded head inclined down towards her, in a gesture that could be considered sympathetic, perhaps even fatherly in nature.

‘The man remains an insufferable fool,’ Myrna announced. ‘Ah, Professor, a pleasure to see you, though I had little doubt you were too far away.’

‘Indeed, we were seeing to the cleansing of the Vault of the Beloved,’ he informed his colleague walking to join the group. ‘Rook has masterful skill within her wardweaving abilities. It must be quite a blow to the Reapers to not be able to call on her aid.’

‘AND YOUR TRAVELS? ARE THEY BEARING FRUIT?’ VORGOTH asked.

‘Quiet so,’ replied Emmrich. ‘It will make for quite the presentation should we fulfil our mission.’

‘That should make for a pleasant diversion,’ Myrna said, then turned to VORGOTH. ‘We will need to arrange for further sanctification of the vault before they can return to their full use. Professor, if your work here is not done, there is a matter of concern we would discuss with you, regarding the Basalt Hypogeum.‘

--//-*-\\--

His office, his academic bastion, was surprisingly empty. Emmrich knew he had removed a large amount of his collection to the Lighthouse but as he’d done so in a manner that resulted in him returning when he had needed something extra he hadn’t fully noticed just how much he’d decamped. The room reminded him of his first days as a Professor fifteen years earlier when he had been presented with this empty room for his use. Associate Lecturers shared offices and it had been a nightmare as his companion had no concept of tidiness. He sat in the chair, having given up hope of finding the journal he’d been looking for, knowing it would likely be back at the Lighthouse.

The loss of the Basate Hypogeum was more than concerning, having coincided with the recent Venatori incursions. He had known their intentions had been to siphon energy from the Necropolis but the removal of a whole room. That seemed inconceivable. Myrna had shown him, and Rook, the gaping hole left behind, a bottomless chasm with swirling mists. Reshuffles were normal, but the Necropolis always put itself back together in a way that left no gaps. A strange nothingness hung in the air with a howl to the winds that sounded like mourning.

New seals were in the process of being enchanted so it could not happen again but it would still be some time until they were back in place. There was a tap at the door, followed by Rook entering as if they were back at the Lighthouse. VORGOTH had extended an invitation of luncheon to her after the tour. She no longer wore her armour, which Manfred had brought here an hour earlier, adorned in yet another floor length velvet coat, this time of midnight blue with fleck of silver threading at the hems and through the buttons.

‘Find what you were looking for?’ She asked, glancing around the office with interest before frowning. ‘Have you moved it all to the Lighthouse?’

‘In my bid to have as much knowledge at my fingertips,’ he said, rather sheepishly, ‘yes.’

Rook chuckled. ‘I should really ask Myrna for some of my belongings for the Lighthouse. Leaving didn’t really allow me much in the way of creature comforts.’ She picked up a dusty canopic jar. ‘Anyone famous?’

‘Found at the Charnal Bridge before the Nightmare Fog descended,’ he replied.

‘It’s still there?’ She asked, putting the jar down carefully. ‘We should really get someone to banish that thing.’

‘Multiple attempts have been made,’ he replied, tracking Rook as she moved around the room, assailed by a strange sense that she simply belonged here just as much as she did in his study within the Lighthouse.

Rook ignored the chairs and perched on his desk, mere meters from where he sat. She rapped her nails across the surface of the desk. ‘I feel as if I owe you further thanks even if in this case, it was hypothetical. You'd have had my back with Van Markham, had he not already been crossing his swords with Myrna.’

‘He’s a fool,’ Emmrich replied. ‘Always been more concerned with his own standing. A poor attribute for a member of the Watch, but a common one amongst the lesser nobility.’

‘He’s so far down their line of ascension, I don’t think we can even call him lesser nobility,’ said Rook quietly. ‘But I fear Myrna is right, his umbrage with me is a personal matter over his jilted nephew. It is not an argument that can be won by hitting him over the head with the founding charter, or any of the subsequent amendments.’ She huffed out a soft laugh that brimmed with sadness. ‘I might never be able to return if I have to watch my back for him.’

‘It would appear crossing you means crossing VORGOTH,’ he observed lightly. ‘There are very few who would openly do that. VORGOTH’s fury is not to be taken lightly.’

‘And yet, the annals show there is always one,’ she said. ‘Someone who thinks their transgressions will go unnoticed by their near omniscient observations.’ She sighed. ‘What’s next in terms of reaching the Greater Spirits?’

The change of subject caught him off guard for a moment. The reminder of VORGOTH’s reach churning with thoughts of desire he had for the woman before him. He had witnessed VORGOTH’s terrify powers when dispensing justice and yet, it did not dampen his desire for her. That he’d be willing to cross VORGOTH‘s wrath to have her was testimony within itself.

‘I believe the Memorial Gardens lie beyond the Vault of the Beloved,’ Emmrich finally replied, regaining his senses. ‘We’ll need to perform the Sacred Rites of Remembrance to reaffirm our pledge to the dead so we may consult the Greater Spirits. I’d be honoured if you’d join me.’

-- --

Translation -

leibeigene - serf, chattel or thrall

[lavellaned]

Solavellan fic recs

If you're like me and was disappointed by veilguard, here are some of my favorite post-Inquisition solavellan fics that are *chef's kiss* in my opinion.

Little Arrow by playwithdinos - post trespasser solavellan kid fic that is very angsty with some sweet, sweet papae!solas

Everything Stays by beaubashley - domestic bliss, Solas and Lavellan living in a cottage. They adopt a cat. The coziest damn fic.

Vir'vhen'an by RogueLioness - post trespasser. Well of Sorrows has actual consequences and Solas fucks up big time. Almost like the da4 regret prison but actually good.

Verhas'alhan - To Yearn for Wilderness by RosemaryBagels - Veil came down, Lavellan hides from Solas and makes a life in a little village. Solas is in prime yearning, sad, wet cat mode here.

Memory (series) by MistressDragonFlame - pre trespasser. Pure angst, hurt no comfort. Lavellan forgets all the events of Inquisition and the anchor is killing her. Solas finds out, bad times ensue.

Love Is Not A Victory March by Myrime - post trespasser, Solas and his forces are winning. Solas and Lavellan have a meeting. Angsty. Like something that I had hoped we would've gotten in da4.

Barefaced by playwithdinos - post trespasser but also Arlathan AU. Some time travel stuff involved. Lavellan has amnesia, but Solas remembers everything. Not finished but what is there is worth the read. Lavellan is Ghilan'nain's slave. Andruil is also there.

but never doubt I love by cedarmoons - Jaws of Hakkon angst. Post Inquisition, pre trespasser but with moments during Inquisition as well. Lot of angst, hurt but with comfort this time.

the diver's wife by magesamell - Lavellan makes herself tranquil kind of Seeker-style in order to defeat Solas, then needs him to come back to herself. Angsty solavellan road trip.

Hobo Apostate by broomclosetkink - Lavellan shows up when Solas is about to tear the veil down. Points out the hilarity between hobo apostate Solas and ender-of-worlds dread wolf Solas.

It Is Not Enough by NamelessShe - This is a chonky fic but it is one of my favorite post trespasser ones. Very lore heavy, I recommend this one for anyone who laments the lost lore and story threads in da4.

sleep like this by mortaltemples - The most da4 relevant fic on this list. Lavellan is a ghost, 10/10.

I will make you whole again by amorficzna - Solas tears down the veil, kills everyone, goes back in time to the beginning of Inquisition to be with Lavellan as Solas (...as he wanted).

Between Heartbeats by houndinghell - Ameridian/Telana parallel lovers are eating so fucking good in this fic. Lavellan makes the ultimate sacrifice to stop Solas during his final veil dropping ritual. Hurts so good.

The Healer's Bloodied Hands by geekyjez - post trespasser sick-fic. Classic hurt/comfort.

i'd rather flail like a mortal (than flail like a god) by crossingwinter - post trespasser. Angsty but with a hopeful ending, more hurt/comfort, another instance of Solas coming face to face with his vhenan's mortality.

The One Where Lavellan is a Nug by Feynite - I think this is my favorite solavellan fic of all time. Just please read it if you haven't, and read it again if you have.

[profoundlyfaded]

Tertiary Opinions

I: Unorthodox Introductions - III: The Spitefilled Assassin

Rating: Mature (Canon Typical Violence and Eventual Smut)

Pairing: Rook Ingellvar x Emmrich Volkarin (Lucanis x Neve / Harding x Taash)

——

‘You can hear Spite? Even when he doesn’t take me over?’ Lucanis asked with surprised incredulity.

‘This close? Yes,’ he replied simply.

Lucanis turned to Rook. ‘Can you?’

She shook her head, lifting her shield. ‘Shield slinger, remember. I’d have to cast a spell to do that as my attunement to the Fade is slightly different to that of a Spirit Caller.’

Emmrich frowned at her use of the derogatory term for Reapers. It was used by those who considered themselves pure mages. Before he could remark on her language, she turned and continued into the side chamber that spiralled around the Belfry to the upper levels. A barrier had been erected and Rook looked at it with a sardonic kink to her eyebrow.

——

Chapter One for New Readers -

Chapter Three for Returning Readers -

[lynnlovesthestars]

Mending.

Pairing: Lucanis Dellamorte x Rook x Spite (gender-neutral) Genre: hurt/ comfort, protective Lucanis, protective Spite, Smitten Lucanis, Lucanis personal quest spoilers, Bisexual disaster Lucanis, first kisses, spite being spite, wingman spite, angst with a dash of fluff. Synopsis: in the aftermath of the fight with Illario, something doesn't go as expected. WC: 2k~ Ao3 link AN: is this me finally getting out of my writer's block again?

Lucanis’ eyes darted around the opera house, something was missing. So much had happened so quickly: the fight, deciding what to do with Illario, being announced as the new First Talon, that once he was handed the glass of celebratory wine and had a moment to think, he realized that he had lost sight of Rook.

He was so absorbed by this family drama that he didn’t ever realize when the room had been cleaned up from the bodies and guests started crowding the lower level of the theatre.

“Can’t believe. You lost Rook” Spite shook his head as he glanced around the room, pacing between the Crows and the guests, looking for the missing one.

He wanted to follow Spite so bad, abandon the glass of champagne and focus on Rook.

He was not quick enough though. One at a time the guests started approaching him. Some with compliments, and some already trying to get in his graces.

He hated every second of it. He wished Caterina had not pushed all this on him, had not forced him to take the mantle of First Talon, had not shoved on him all these expectations. He didn’t want to play the part.

He just wanted to look for Rook and leave.

Yet he had little choice, he just hoped Rook would find him, that the feeling that was harbored in his guts was just a fiction of his mind, one of the many attempts of his brain to let him cave in.

Minutes passed quickly, and of Rook there was no trace. He had prayed Rook would show up between the guests stopping him over and over again, looking for them in every interaction, in every greeting, in every congratulations. Of all the people crowding the room, the only one he wanted to see, it was Rook,

There was nothing to worry about, right? He thought as he followed the demon around the opera house with his eyes.

“Smells like blood” Spite walked past another small gathering of people, approaching one of the corners of the room and disappearing behind the throng.

Rationally he knew that it was normal for the opera theater to smell like blood. At the end of the day there had just been a bloody fight right there where a small horde of Venatori was taken down, but nothing stopped Lucanis from overthinking and wondering if the smell of blood belonged to Rook.

Dread filled his lungs as he excused himself, leaving one person after the other behind himself, following Spite’s taunting voice as he sniffed around. “Found Rook” The demon hummed as he stopped on his tracks and kneeled down. “Rook hurt” He hissed as he leaned forward, inching closer to their face.

They were sitting on the floor, their head lolling to the side as one arm was holding their abdomen tightly.

“Mierda” He swore under his breath as the view solidified in Lucanis’ eyes, the glass he was holding was quickly abandoned, shattered on the floor as he rushed by Rook’s side.

He could feel everyone’s disapproving gaze falling on him as he kneeled down, his composure down the drain as Caterina’s eyes burned holes in his back. “House Dellamorte never kneels” Her voice echoed in his brain, yet for once all he cared was beyond her opinion. All that mattered to him was Rook.

“Rook, you alright?” He murmured the futile question as he cupped their cheek, his palm gently turning their head towards them to take a better look. Blood was dripping down their nose, their eyes were half closed while their mouth hung slack, trying to catch their breath. 

“Yeah” They mumbled under their breath, leaning in the touch carelessly. “Feeling dizzy” Their beautiful complexion was slowly drained of color, and yet even on the brink of exsanguination they were stunning. 

“Gonna kill Illario” Spite hissed; he could feel the demon’s anger rising in his stomach and mixing with his own worry, a deadly concoction that was not going to bring anything good if Spite was not kept in check.

“Let’s get you out of here” He whispered as he sneaked his arms around Rook’s waist and brought them to his chest. He had to be quick, looking for a safe spot to mend whatever nasty wound Rook had and make sure they were okay.

The halls of Villa Dellamorte were home to him, so much that sneaking past the hidden corridors to his room was kid’s play, and there he was going to be unbothered, focusing on Rook only.

“You still with me, Rook?” He asked as he gently laid them on the softness of his bed, their head falling back against the pillows as he realized no answer was going to come from them any time soon. Shit. Shit. Shit.

“I’m sorry” Lucanis mumbled to himself as he quickly undid the buttons of Rook’s vest, discarding the ruined clothes to the floor and exposing the wound.

“Why are you apologizing.” Spite asked, his head tilting to the side as he stared at the scene unfolding in front of his eyes.

“I suppose you don’t understand” He held his breath as he carefully threaded the needle, battling with himself to keep his hands steady, something that should have been normal to him. 

“Explain”

“I undressed them, without their knowledge. That’s..” He weighted the words on his tongue, hoping they’d make sense for the demon, ‘cause of all things, he was not going to sit there and overexplain himself when his.. lover could have been on the brink of death. “...Disrespectful”

“Disrespectful” Spite repeated, letting the word linger on his tongue as he stared at Lucanis carefully.

“Now if you’ll stay silent, I’ll patch them up” Lucanis turned resolute towards the demon, pointing the sharp needle his way and earning a groan and a nod.

“Be quick” He sat at the edge of the bed, next to Rook’s feet. “Miss Rook already” Spite mumbled as he crossed his arms, and for once, they were on the same page.

Lucanis was quick to focus again on Rook, his eyes tracing the countless scars on their exposed chest; he wanted to know their story, how Rook got them, how many they had to patch alone at the edge of consciousness, how many carried regret. He wanted to trace them with his lips as they got to learn about each other. He would have torn down walls for them, even if just for a moment.

Lucanis reached over for the folded towel, the gushing wound oozed so heavily that he wondered for a moment if Illario had pierced something vital.

He tried his best to steady his hands, pressing the cloth against the open skin to take away as much blood as possible before starting to stitch it up.

How long had Rook sat there bleeding out before being found? He wondered. 

Why had they not asked for help? Question over question flooded his mind as he stopped just a moment to take a better look at Rook.

He expected to see some sort of reaction, to see their face contorted in a painful scowl, anything to remind himself that he was not going to lose them anytime soon, yet even while they were unconscious they tried their best to look calm.

It was something he admired about Rook. They always seemed in control even when things were slipping between their fingers. Even when the worst outcome was at their door, they always knew what to say. And yet, when they needed help, no one was there to see them, to notice the bloodstain growing on the fabric of their shirt.

What a fool Lucanis Dellamorte was for such oversight. Especially when he wanted to be around Rook all the time, when he wanted to pluck the stars from the sky for them, and  when he wanted to protect them with every fiber of his being, despite the fear of uncovering the monsters hidden in his closet.

“Lucanis’ a sap” Spite rolled his eyes as he climbed completely on the bed, laying next to Rook. Lucanis hated sometimes how loudly Spite could read him. Even when he didn’t understand humanity, and when Lucanis couldn’t properly process his feelings, he was always asking those uncomfortable questions, leaving him questioning.

“I told you to-” 

“Tell them” Spite stopped him before he could finish his sentence. “You want to. I don’t understand why you don’t”

“It’s..” He let out a groan as he looked down again, the wound already covered in blood once more. “Let me do this” Lucanis quickly dismissed Spite.

“I don’t get you” Spite shook his head, returning to his own thinking. He ghosted his hand over Rook’s itching to feel what Lucanis felt whenever his hand met with theirs, wondering if it would feel the same way. It was all futile wondering in the end.

The downsides of having a personal demon included hearing all their thoughts all the time, and he hated that his demon was just a mirror of his own feelings, so loud in his head it was impossible to drown him out.

The moon was shining high in the sky when Lucanis finally dropped the needle, a sigh of relief followed the clunk of hitting wood as he closed the little box and pushed it back under his nightstand and looked up at Rook.

He itched to touch them, to glide their fingers through their hair, to caress their cheek, to lean in and steal a kiss.

“Do it” Spite taunted.

“I’m not listening to you” Lucanis rebutted without a second thought.

Rook was still dazed, the sunlight shining through the blinds waking every nerve in their body as they adjusted to the unfamiliar environment.

The coffee aroma lingered in the air as they slowly opened their eyes. The last they remembered was gripping Lucanis' shirt and rushing through corridors. 

Lucanis was near, sitting on a chair right next to the bed, one hand wrapped around Rook’s and the other holding a cup of coffee.

“What happened? Where are we?” Rook murmured, their voice still laced with the weight of sleep.

“I had to stitch you up” He smiled as he rested the cup on the nightstand and leaned forward. His free hand gently reached forward, cupping Rook’s cheek and caressing the soft skin. “I brought you to my room” 

“Ah”

“How do you feel? Does the wound hurt?” He asked, leaving no time for Rook to think, his voice barely a whisper. He itched to lift the blanket, to ghost his fingers over their chest- and check the wound himself, obviously.

“I’ve seen better days” Rook slowly tried sitting up before being hit by a wave of pain, betraying his words right away. 

Lucanis was quick, his arm was quickly wrapped around their waist. “Careful..” He cooed as he guided the other to sit up, trying his best to ease the pain of movement. He couldn't miss how Rook's cheeks ignited, their beautiful complexion shining with warmth at the small care.

“But thank you, if it wasn’t for you…” Rook resumed despite the itching pain, a soft smile spreading upon their lips. 

They were so close as Lucanis still held his arm around their waist. Their warm breath mixing in the middle, as if to torture him, reminding him that they were just inches away from each other, so close yet so far.

“You should have told me Illario wounded you, you know?” His voice lowered as he sat at the edge of the bed, his arm not yielding from the new spot it occupied. He liked the way they felt in his arms.

“You found me, didn’t you?” Rook matched his tone, as if they were whispering secrets and the walls of Villa Dellamorte had ears to steal them away.

“Yeah”

Silence filled the room as Rook’s eyes fell on their intertwined fingers. Their heart leaping in their chest as they committed to memory the way his hand felt in theirs, the way his arm held them up protectively.

They felt safe, right there. Despite the wound on their abdomen, despite the world as they knew it about to fall apart. 

“Kiss them. Kiss them” Spite chanted as they still laid near Rook, propping up only to meet his host’s eyes with a smirk plastered on his lips. Lucanis wanted to kiss them, to steal just one moment, but was it fair? Was it fair to selfishly graze their skin one more time and press their lips together just like that? Many times he had thought of it, daydreaming of the moment before his eyes, yet he had wanted their first kiss to be different.

He savored the idea on his lips, wondering if they'd taste as sweet as the words that came from their mouth. He wondered if they'd feel the same way he did.

One moment he was deep in his thoughts, and the following he couldn’t hold himself back. His lips gently crushed with Rook’s, and the stars he wanted to give them were around him; the universe he wanted to fight was in his palm.

He swore everything around him disappeared. Worries, thoughts, responsibilities. Vanquished.

There was just Lucanis and Rook and nothing else mattered.

[vixenofcadmea]

Lucanis and those eyes…

[maythedreadwolftakeyou]

the fact that Spite seems able to read/interpret Lucanis' thoughts as they happen, but that Lucanis is NOT aware of what Spite's been up to while he (Lucanis) sleeps even after he wakes up, implies a fascinating and also terrifying partition of memory. like Spite can decide not to tell Lucanis things and we don't really get information on if Lucanis is capable of the same. on the other hand, this does mean everything Lucanis learns/knows through Spite is stuff Spite has very intentionally told him... and it probably WOULD be terrifying for a human man to suddenly have a vast amount of spirit/demon knowledge just lurking in his skull. presumably the degree of cooperation of thought sharing on Spite's half is something they worked out in the Ossuary.

the other interesting half is that Lucanis is constantly putting up doors/locks in his mind NOT on purpose, but Spite is doing so very intentionally. no wonder he got mad about Lucanis not controlling it since it's clearly something Spite learned really, really fast--and part of why Spite takes it as intentional rather than accidental when Lucanis does it.