#datv fic

[stormwife-writes]

📚 A Learned Man (NSFW) ❤️‍🔥

A Learned Man (3193 words) by stormwife on AO3

Rating: Explicit Relationships: Female Rook/Emmrich Volkarin

Summary:

Emmrich hums as Rook's fingers find firmer purchase. “I take it you’re not requesting a mere coda to our literary discussion, my dear Rook?” She leans in to whisper in his ear, “I want you to talk dirty to me.” Emmrich draws back, curiosity brightening his guileless face. “Whatever do you mean?” Professor Volkarin holds forth at book club. Rook requests a private lecture, and Emmrich delivers.

Tags: Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Smut, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Age Difference, Banter, Shameless Smut, Penis In Vagina Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Praise Kink, Dirty Talk, but soft romantic dirty talk, Emmrich is bad at dirty talk but also good?, book club is foreplay for magic professors, Emmrich is a gentleman and a scholar and a simp, Emmrich’s desk was too easy we had to desecrate the piano instead, no beta we die like Rook jumping off a half-built bridge

Series: Part 3 of The Bell Tolls the Tempest (all are standalones and can be read independently)

---

Emmrich tries, fails, and then succeeds at dirty talk. that's it. that's the tweet.

ngl I love this one 🤷🏻‍♀️

[wabart]

Arbiter / Headhunter

to go along with what I'm writing

[girlwithadragonheart]

A Court of Crows and Rooks

Rook x Lucanis

Requested by @cirillabelle

Summary: What happens when the First Talon of the Crows requests you by name for a job? All eyes are on you and the Demon of Vyrantium as you take to the floor of a Trevisian Masquerade.

Word Count: 2.9k

Warnings: Assassination, creepy man

A/N: This was so fun to write! I hope you enjoy <3

DATV Masterlist

The note arrived with the scent of lavender and the heavy, unmistakable wax seal of the First Talon. You didn’t touch it at first. It sat there on the table, pristine and foreboding, as if opening it might unleash something you can’t take back. The address was what unsettled you most. Not “Veilguard Operative.” Not “Agent.” Just your name.

Rook De Riva.

It was signed in the slightly shaky, swooped script that you knew was Caterina’s handwriting.

You had sent for Teia as soon as it had arrived, needing the moral support before you could even open it.

“Congratulations,” Teia says, leaning over your shoulder with that sharp grin of hers. “The First Talon doesn’t call for just anyone. You got her attention.”

You scoff, pushing the note toward her. “If it’s so special, you read it. This is clearly a job for a Talon, not… me.”

“Don’t be a coward,” she teases, snatching it up before you can protest. Her eyes flick across the elegant Antivan script. “Well, well. Looks like you’re going to a masquerade.”

Your stomach twists. “A what?”

“A masquerade. You know, dancing, intrigue, a den of vipers dressed in silk and lace.” Teia folds the letter neatly and presses it back into your hands. “And you’ll need to dress the part.”

You glance down at your worn leathers, the daggers strapped securely to your thighs. “This is the part.”

“Not this time,” Teia says, already calling for an attendant. “You’re going to look stunning. “Deadly, but stunning.”

--------------------------

The mirror feels like an enemy, but you can’t tear your eyes away.

The gown Teia had commissioned fit like a second skin, the dark blue silk pooling around your feet like shadows. When it caught the light, the fabric sparkled like stars at midnight, just enough to look expensive without being gaudy. The dress was skin tight with a deep V cut to accentuate your chest and curves. There was a high slit, nearly up to your hip on one side. The hem was embroidered with silver vines, adding a touch of elegance you’ve never thought to claim.

The mask, silver filigree laced with Sapphires, hid enough of your face to make you feel anonymous, though it left plenty of room for scrutiny.

You don’t recognize yourself, staring in the mirror. Your lips have been colored with a seductive burgundy, making them look fuller than you thought possible.

“That’s the point,” Teia says, grinning as she adjusts the mask on your face. “They’ll never see you coming.”

When you step into the main room where the others wait, silence falls. Teia’s grin widens as she steps back to admire her work. Viago gives an approving nod, already slipping into his own role for the mission.

Lucanis is the last to react.

He stands near the door, and for a long moment, he just looks at you, his expression unreadable.

“You are not going alone,” he says finally, breaking the silence.

You blink. “Excuse me?”

“I’m going with you.” His voice is steady, leaving no room for argument. “For your protection.”

“I don’t need--”

“Yes. You do.” He steps closer, towering, but not intimidating. There’s something resolute in his tone, something that makes you pause. “I won’t let you walk into that room full of snakes alone.”

I wasn’t sure what he meant by that.

-----------------------

The ballroom is overwhelming the moment you step inside.

Golden chandeliers hang high above, casting a warm glow over the sea of silk and satin. The air is thick with perfume and intrigue, every masked figure playing a part in a grand, dangerous game.

You glance up, seeing Lucanis crouched in the rafters in his leathers. He gives you a subtle nod, and you tear your eyes away, trying not to draw attention as you head inside. Head high, don’t let them smell your fear.

A dance begins soon after your arrival, the music shifting to a lively rhythm. Teia and Viago have already melted into the crowd, leaving you feeling exposed.

Your eyes scan the room slowly, your hands folded delicately in front of your midsection as you gaze at the onlookers. Many sets of eyes are on you; you can feel the weight of them as you walk. Men and women rake their eyes over your form, some practically drooling.

A heavy-set magister with a leering smile---appears before you. His gaze lingers a little too long on your figure as he extends a hand.

“My dear, may I have this dance?”

Your stomach twists, but you force a smile, placing your hand in his. “Of course.”

The dance is a careful game. You keep your movements precise, your steps measured, all while his hand slides lower than it should and his grip tightens.

“So,” he says, his tone dripping with false charm, “you must be new to this sort of thing.”

“I get by,” you reply coolly, resisting the urge to yank his hand away.

He chuckles, leaning in closer. “Perhaps we could---”

Before he can finish, a shadow looms behind you.

Lucanis, now dressed in formal attire with a sleek black mask, steps in smoothly, his hand covering his heart as he bows slightly. “My apologies, I couldn’t help but notice your beauty among these dogs. May I have this dance, my Lady?”

The magister hesitates, his gaze flicking to Lucanis before he forces a tight smile. “Of course.”

You let out a quiet breath as Lucanis guides you away, his hand steady against your back. “I had it handled,” you mutter, though your heart is still racing.

You take a moment to study the crow---his dark Antivan suit tailored perfectly to his broad shoulders and thin waist. His mask is simpler than yours, a sleek black piece that lets his brown eyes show through. Lucanis glances down at you, his expression unreadable beneath the mask. “You shouldn't have to.”

The music slows, and the couples around you draw closer together. Lucanis doesn’t let go, his hand still firm at your waist. His other hand takes yours, his touch warmer than you expect.

“You’re blending in better than I thought,” he murmurs, his voice low enough for only you to hear.

You smirk faintly. “Part of the job, right?” Your gaze holds his, but your smirk falters. “Lucanis, you look…” Your voice trails off.

“Clean!” Spite hisses through his teeth.

You can’t help the slight laugh that bubbles from your chest, tight with anxiousness. “Nice,” you say. “Handsome.”

His lips twitch in the ghost of a smile, but his eyes remain sharp, scanning the room even as you move together in time with the music. His focus is unshakable, though his grip on you doesn’t waver.

“You’re staring,” you tease lightly, trying to break the tension.

“I’m watching,” he corrects, his tone steady but quieter now.

You move as one, each step drawing you closer to the center of the room. Your heart pounds in your chest, but you keep your face neutral, aware of the eyes watching you. As the song draws to a close, Lucanis dips you low. The motion is fluid, practiced, but as he holds you there, his grip tightens just slightly.

You’re close enough to feel his breath against your lips, his chocolate eyes locked on yours. For a moment, the rest of the room falls away.

Then he pulls you upright, the spell broken as quickly as it was cast. “Focus,” he says gruffly, releasing your hand.

You exhale slowly, forcing yourself to steady your breathing. “I am focused.”

Lucanis doesn’t reply, but the faintest flicker of a smile crosses his face before he steps back, the mission pulling him away once more.

It isn’t over yet, but your breath catches as you watch Lucanis slip into the crowd. For a man so popular, he disappears like smoke, weaving through the throng of silk and secrets with a grace you hadn’t quite been able to appreciate until now.

Your heart still pounds, the echo of his lips leaving your skin warm and your mind foggy. Shaking it off, you glance around, searching for Teia or Viago. They’re somewhere in this sea of masks, playing their parts as flawlessly as always. You envy their ease.

Lucanis’s words echo in your mind. Focus.

Easier said than done.

By the time the next dance begins, you’ve managed to slip into a rhythm. The first few exchanges were tense---too tense---but now you move with calculated grace, careful to keep your face neutral and your voice light. The target is watching you again, his lecherous gaze sweeping over you as you pass by.

You force yourself to smile, to keep your movements slow and deliberate. If he thinks you’re easy prey, all the better. A pretty, oblivious smile and doe eyes was all it took to entrap a man like him.

“Careful,” a familiar voice murmurs in your ear, and you nearly jump.

Lucanis is at your side again, his broad frame cutting an imposing figure even in formal attire. He doesn’t look at you, his eyes scanning the crowd, but his presence is a relief you hadn’t realized you needed.

“I thought you were blending in,” you say quietly, keeping your voice steady as you turn slightly toward him.

His lips twitch in the barest hint of amusement. “You’re drawing too much attention.”

You arch a brow. “Isn’t that the point?”

His eyes rove over you, following the dips and curves of your skin and exposed flesh. “Not all of it is friendly.”

You glance past him, noticing a pair of masked figures watching you from across the room. Their posture is relaxed, but there’s something about the way their heads tilt toward each other, their whispers concealed behind their masks, that sets you on edge.

Lucanis follows your gaze, his expression hardening. “Stay close.”

He doesn’t wait for a reply, his hand brushing yours as he steps closer. The touch is light, barely there, but it sends a shiver down your spine.

When the music shifts again, Lucanis offers his hand. His posture is formal, the gesture deliberate, as if daring you to challenge him.

You hesitate for only a moment before placing your hand in his. His grip is firm but careful, his touch steady as he leads you onto the floor.

The eyes of the room are on you, everyone else dancing branching out to give you space. You can feel it, but Lucanis’s focus never wavers. He’s calm, confident, and entirely unbothered by the attention.

The music kicks up, and he spins you, pulling your back to his chest, one hand splayed over your stomach, the other guiding you by the hand. The steps are simple at first, the kind you’ve practiced a dozen times in training. But Lucanis moves with an elegance that makes it feel effortless, guiding you with a confidence that’s hard to ignore.

“I didn’t know you could dance,” you murmur, your voice just loud enough for him to hear.

“I’m full of surprises,” he replies, his voice smooth and low, his beard tickling your ear as he speaks right into it.

A second later, you’re spinning away from him, his grip on your hand warm and firm as it pulls you back, clutching you close. His touch is like fire, burning through your skin straight to your soul. You let out a breath, trying to keep up with his steps.

“You’re good at this,” you admit reluctantly, your hand covering his on your stomach.

He doesn’t reply right away, but you can feel his eyes studying you intently. “You’re better than you think.”

The compliment catches you off guard, and for a moment, you falter. His grip tightens, steadying you before you can fumble.

“Focus,” he says softly, the word almost teasing now.

You roll your eyes, but a quiet laugh escapes you. “I am focused.”

-------------------------------

The target watches you from the edge of the room, his expression unreadable behind his mask. You’re acutely aware of his gaze, of the way he lingers a little too long, as if trying to decide whether to approach again.

Lucanis notices too. His hand shifts slightly, his fingers brushing against the small of your back in a subtle but protective gesture. He leans down to your ear, murmuring so only you can hear. “Get him to the balcony. This ends soon.”

You nodded subtly, and Lucanis disappeared into the crowd again. Immediately, you missed his warmth. The absence of Lucanis felt like stepping into shadow after basking in sunlight. Without him at your side, the weight of the room seemed to press in on you. You let out a steadying breath, forcing yourself to relax into the role you needed to play.

The target was still watching, his gaze lingering on you like a spider waiting for its web to tremble. You met his stare with a coy tilt of your head, your lips curving into a faint, inviting smile. Slowly, you began to weave through the crowd, your steps deliberate, drawing him in like a moth to flame.

He took the bait. His hulking form detached from the edge of the ballroom, his movements smooth but predatory. The mask obscured his features, but his posture screamed arrogance. He thought he’d won already.

You led him toward the open doors leading to the balcony, the cool night air brushing against your skin as you stepped outside. The space was quieter, the music and chatter from inside muffled. Stars sparkled overhead, their light glinting off the silver trim of your gown.

“I couldn’t help but notice,” he began, his voice thick and dripping with false charm, “you’ve captured the attention of the entire room tonight.”

You turned to face him, the corner of your mouth twitching upward. “And yours, it seems.”

“Of course.” He stepped closer, his shadow swallowing the soft glow of the lanterns. “A beauty like you doesn’t go unnoticed. Though I must admit, I’ve been curious about who you truly are beneath that mask.”

His hand reached for it, but you stepped back with a playful laugh, keeping the distance just enough to leave him wanting. “Now, where would the fun be if I gave away all my secrets?”

He chuckled, but there was an edge to it, a hunger. “Perhaps I can persuade you.”

The air shifted, the predatory undertone in his voice setting your teeth on edge. You glanced toward the shadows near the balcony’s edge where you knew Lucanis would be watching. The target was close now, too close. His hand grazed your arm, and your pulse quickened---not with fear, but with the need to act.

“You’re quite bold,” you said, your voice light but firm as you stepped back again, toward the railing. “And here I thought Tevinter men were supposed to be more subtle with their charms.”

The target smirked, following you like a hound to prey. “We are, but I’ve always found boldness more… rewarding.”

His hands grabbed your hips, sliding lower as he pulled you into him. You hummed, your hands splaying out over the railing behind you. The cool stone was solid beneath your palm, grounding you. 

“And what is to be your reward tonight?” You asked coyly. 

He smirked. “Oh, my dear. The reward is you.” He leaned in, flashing his teeth in a predatory smile. Your hand slipped to the dagger hidden on your thigh. As he went for your neck with his lips, you went for his with the blade. Your touch was light with your free hand, tilting your head as though to allow him access. Before he could taste your flesh, your dagger sunk into his skin. 

Blood splattered across your cheeks, matching the darkness of your painted lips. The magister tried to cry out, but gurgled as blood filled his throat. You stepped out from under him, watching his body tumble over the side of the balcony.

“Ta ta, darling. So sorry, I must’ve slipped. A shame you couldn’t catch me.” You smirked, hearing a dull thud from the ground below.

A hand started to slip around your waist, and you turned, pinning them to the wall with a dagger to their throat. Lucanis’s lips upturned. You pulled the blade away, sheathing it back under your dress.

“That was exquisite, Rook,” Lucanis said. “For all of Viago’s complaining, he was right about one thing.” His hand slid to the small of your back, pulling you close to mutter in your ear. “You make a wonderful Crow.” He pulled back to look at you.

“Lucanis, you’re staring again,” you flushed from head to toe under his gaze.

“Perhaps I’m simply watching. It’s hard not to with such a beautiful woman before me,” his lips turned up, chocolate eyes appraising you.

“Who knew the Demon of Vyrantium was a flirt,” you teased.

“Ah, no, you seem to have mistaken me for Illario.”

“Just shut up and kiss me.” Your hand fists in the collar of his formal sirt, pulling him toward you.

Your lips meet, and Lucanis pulls you close, one hand on the small of your back, the other gripping your hip. You hear the music swell inside, fireworks going up into the air and exploding, bathing the gardens below in warm light. Lucanis leans over you, bending you backward, your hands gripping his shoulders as he holds you up.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A/N: Let me know if you want to be on the Lucanis tag list!

Have a good day/night!

[ode-to-fury]

Other Plans for the Evening

Pairing: Lucanis x Rook

Summary: Scene after the Illario fight, but the way I would have written it. It's not that deep or different, but I think it's better. My Rook but mostly I wasn't specific.

Disclaimer: Whoo first Lucanis fic! I'm still trying to find the DA companions' voices so you might have to bear with me a little bit. This has been in my brain since the MOMENT he said "I have other plans for the evening". I tried to make him that weird mix of awkward and smooth so lmk if I did that or if I need to work on it. Might come back and edit.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"You came back here just for coffee?"

Rook's voice startled him out of his thoughts.

When he looked up at her, his heart gave a lurch, the same lurch it had given every other time he'd laid eyes on her.

Her hair was damp and sligtly wavy from her bath, still, and she wore leather trousers and a shirt. It was difficult to see in the dim firelight, but he knew the blue of the shirt would be reflected in her eyes, twinkling above the bemused grin she was giving him.

"What, the stuff in that gigantic villa wasn't good enough for you?"

She folded her arms across her chest, eyebrows raised and dimples clearly visible as she grinned down at him. Mercifully, Spite was being quiet for once. He idly wondered if demons ever got tired, or overwhelmed after a long day. Something to ask Emmrich about, perhaps.

"It's better if I make it myself," he said, not quite managing to smile back at her, despite the lightness that smile brought to his chest.

"And besides, I wanted some quiet."

He hated that her smile melted slightly, her shoulders tightening ever so slightly. He doubted anyone else would have noticed, but he did.

"So," she said, "First Talon?"

"First Talon," he said, and if he was honest with himself, it did not fit right in his mouth.

"I still cannot believe Caterina did that."

Lucanis is the new First Talon. His decision stands.

The corner of her mouth lifted slightly, but her fingers tensed where they rested on her arm.

"Does that mean you're leaving?"

Ah.

He almost grinned.

"No," he said simply. "We have a contract. Besides, Caterina might have named me First Talon, but there's no stopping her from giving all the orders."

This time her smile was wider, and she tilted her head to the side so her hair shifted, glinting golden in the firelight. He ached to run his fingers through it.

"You know," she said, her eyes twinkling with laughter again, "You could have said, 'Of course not. I would never leave with you still here.'

Her Antivan accent was good. Too good. It made his chest feel tight whenever she pretended to be him. He grinned back at her despite himself.

"I would never leave with you still here," he said. "You'll have me for as long as I can put off the Crows."

He saw her brow furrow slightly, but she hid it quickly.

Before he could let his nerves interfere, he stood up, setting his half empty cup down on the table as he did.

"I may have had another reason for leaving the party early," he said, letting his voice drop slightly. He saw her eyes narrow, but then she gave him a crooked grin.

"Besides coffee, you mean?"

He walked past her, to the open space between the dining table and the door, and held out his hand to her.

"Dance with me," he said softly.

It was the first time he'd seen her truly taken aback. To his delight, her mouth even dropped slightly open.

"Dance with you?" She asked, as if he'd just asked her to jump into the Fade.

"What?" He asked.

"There's no music. Also, I told you," she said, shoulders tensing again, "I'm a terrible dancer."

She had. Technically she'd told all of them.

You'd have to get me drunk first, I'm afraid, it's mortifying otherwise. I got told I have about four left feet.

"You did," he said, still holding out his hand. "But you also said you loved to dance."

She tilted her head to the side, almost pleading.

"It's only me," he said softly.

"That's what's worrying me," she said, almost too quiet for him to hear, and he remembered that this was as new to her as it was to him.

What would a first kiss taste like?

Like hope.

She held back for a moment longer, then hesitantly, she placed her fingers in his hand.

They were warm, and her callouses scraped against his own as she allowed him to pull her close to him. His heart thumped in his chest, as if it was trying to get to her.

"I don't know how to do this," she said, and he knew she wasn't only talking about the dancing.

"Like this," he said, curling his left hand around her right, and placing the other one on his shoulder.

"Your elbow has to stay up," he said seriously, lifting said elbow so it was almost in line with her shoulder before dropping his hand to her waist. "Caterina would smack me with a cane if I got it wrong."

"If you try and smack me with a cane..." she started, leaving the threat unfinished.

"I couldn't find one," he said. She tried to hide a grin, but her dimples gave her away, and suddenly those hours with Caterina and her cane seemed worth it to him.

"Now," he said, "step back with your right foot."

She did, looking at her feet, and he followed, relishing the warmth of her hand on his shoulder, the way his hand fit perfectly on her waist.

"Back and to the left with the other."

She did so, and he followed.

"Now bring your feet together, and do the same with the other foot."

They went slowly, and he enjoyed watching the crease between her eyebrows as she concentrated.

Gently, he let go of her waist so he could tilt her face up to his own.

"You should look your partner in the eyes," he said, aware that his voice had dropped lower, but not really caring, "Not where you are going to step."

"And if I step wrong?" She asked, her voice slightly breathy. It felt like soft fingers tracing their way down his spine.

"Trust me to guide you," he replied, his hand going back to her waist.

The corner of her mouth curled up ever so slightly.

"Alright," she said. "I trust you."

As they moved slowly through the room, the firelight caught her eyes and hair, gilding her in gold and taking his breath from him. In fact, breathing felt suddenly like a very big effort.

"What is it?" She asked quietly, almost as if she was scared he would run if she spoke too loudly. He wasn't too certain he wouldn't.

"You are so beautiful," he said, before he could think about it too much, though his voice was markedly less smooth than it had been.

Her eyes, her beautiful, sparkling eyes, widened slightly.

"Really?" She asked.

"Would I ever lie to you?"

She smiled. It was small and soft this time.

"No one's ever called me that before," she whispered.

"Good," he managed to whisper back. "I would have to kill them."

And she laughed. By the blood of the Maker, she laughed and every terrible moment up until just then seemed as though it had a purpose.

"There's that smile," he said, when her laughter died down.

"Yours too," she replied, still grinning happily at him.

"Thank you, Rook," he found himself saying.

"You don't need to thank me."

She leaned in slightly, mischief in her eyes.

"For you, it's on the house."

His stomach tightened slightly when she did the accent, but he tried his best to ignore it.

"Did Illario hurt you?" He asked. "I'll skin him if he did."

She touched the scratch on her neck from Illario's, thankfully unpoisoned, blade.

"A scratch," she said dissmissively. "He hurt my pride more than anything else."

They moved for a few seconds in silence while he waited for her to ask the obvious next question.

"Do you regret..."

"Giving him a chance?"

He'd been thinking about it since they had left Villa Dellamorte.

Didn't you tell me he was basically your brother and your closest childhood friend?

"No," he said. "You were right. He's family."

Family. The word tasted sour in his mouth.

"I didn't even suspect him," he said. "When the Venatori caught me on the boat in Tevinter, it never even crossed my mind."

Almost without meaning to, he brought her right hand to his heart, his fingers tightening over hers. She lay her head on his shoulder as he pulled her closer, a solid weight against him. A comfort, for the first time in his life.

"He's better than I thought," he said, absently resting his cheek against her head. Her hair smelled of lightning, and a faint, almost unnoticeable trace of honey. "Maybe there is hope for him yet."

She snorted a soft laugh through her nose, making him grin. It vanished quickly, though.

"But this wasn't a mercy. Being watched by all the Crows, with their knives out? He will never live down being the Traitor Crow, brought down in front of everyone. There is nowhere he can run."

"I was surprised you listened to me," she said. He felt her breath tickle his neck, involuntarily clutched her closer against him.

"So was I," he said. "But... I don't have a lot to lose. What there is... Caterina, this team... you, even my idiot cousin. I'm not giving that up."

She stopped moving, lifting her head up to look at him. She wore the softest smile he'd ever seen on her face.

"What's that look?"

"You have a big heart," she said softly, "For an assassin."

He tried to look away at the tone of her voice, at the emotion in it, but she gently turned his face toward her again.

"That's not a bad thing," she said.

"If it brought me here," he said, taking her hand again and kissing it on a whim, "To this moment with you, then it cannot be a bad thing. I just... I cannot believe he would do all of this, only to be First Talon."

She frowned up at him.

"He said you didn't want to be First Talon."

"I don't. But how am I supposed to trust him with it now? How is anyone? The funny thing is, he might have finally proven he has the abillity for it."

"Right before getting humilliated in front of everyone," she said, grinning slightly.

"Exactly."

He sighed, though it came out as more of a frustrated growl.

"Fucking Illario."

"Hey," she said, gently reaching up and smoothing out the crease between his brows. The gesture made his chest ache.

"We'll work it out," she said softly. "Together. But for now... "

He took her hand again, holding it to his chest so she could feel his heartbeat.

"Just be here with me," she said. "Just for a little while."

"I can do that," he said. "For a little while."

She smiled, and he could see the day was starting to get to her, the tiredness starting to reach her eyes.

"Rook..." he started, not sure what he was going to say, but needing to say something before his chest caved in on itsself. She cut him off before he could.

"Shhhh," she said gently, kissing him for a long moment before laying her head back on his shoulder. He forgot, sometimes, that he could kiss her. Usually, Spite was there to remind him, with enthusiasm. It scared him, how much he ached to feel her lips against his own.

"Don't ruin it."

So he held her close, and kissed her forehead, and later he let her fall asleep on his lap in the chair, savouring the way she held on to his hand even in sleep, and finally letting his fingers run through her hair, softer than silk against his skin.

[tethrras]

show me where my armor ends, show me where my skin begins

vittoria de riva x lucanis dellamorte. smut/porn with plot. click here to read on ao3.

-

Vittoria de Riva is going to die tomorrow.

She is tired of deluding herself. Tired of pretending that she’s going to survive this. She will tell the others that this is not the end, of course, insist that there is still so much more left in the fight, but Harding and Neve are dead, their allies are tired, and Vittoria herself feels like a dead woman walking. She’s going to die tomorrow. One moment - a lapse in focus, a mistimed assault - is all it will take. 

But for now, all she needs to think about - all she deserves to think about - is Lucanis.

Spite’s wings come to settle on either side of them. Lucanis kisses her. Like all his other skills, his kissing is well-honed and precise, and for a moment, she’s left struggling to find an even footing. She hasn’t done this in a long time, after all, doesn’t know where to put her hands or how to move her legs, but in a few seconds, and after enough distraction, all those unwelcome thoughts and worries leave her head. In their place is a list of sensations: the scrape of his beard on her chin, the gentle intrusion of his tongue in her mouth, the feather-light sensation of his hair falling against her cheek. One of his hands comes to rest at the base of her neck, the other fisting the fabric at the curve of her waist, and Vittoria arches her back on an instinct she didn’t know she had. She feels sensitive, vulnerable, like a burn with no scab.

“Lucanis.” 

“Vittoria.” Even the sound of her own name makes her shiver when it comes from him, and she’s so distracted that she almost doesn’t notice him pulling the tie from her hair and letting it fall across the cushions. “What do you wish of me?” he asks, running a hand through the tangles above her head. “Tell me and I will do it.”

What does she wish of him? She wishes he could bundle her up in his arms and take her far from here. She wishes he could go back in time and take notice of her sooner - train with her, stroll the canals with her, invite her to coffee at Cafe Pietra in the evenings and watch the sunset over Treviso for another decade. She wishes that he would take off his pants and fuck her. “Everything,” she answers instead.

He chuckles and presses a kiss to the skin beside her mouth. “You’ll have to be more specific than that.” 

“Fuck me,” she says, then nips at the lush curve of his bottom lip. “Fuck me however you want. Make me forget.” Make me forget I’m going to die tomorrow. Make me forget that you might die first.

He takes a sharp inhale. She knows him well enough to know that he’s thinking about the next steps before he’s even started. “I can do that.”

Of course he can. He can do anything. It’s why she loves him. “Then show me.”

Lucanis sits back in her lap and reaches for the buttons of his shirt. Vittoria sits up, at first to watch and then to help, pressing kisses to each sliver of bare skin as it’s revealed, reveling in each of the sounds that he makes - the helpless sighs and strangled groans and breathless invocations of her name. She didn’t know he would be so sensitive - he, with all his confidence and experience - and like all good assassins, she takes note of it for later as he shrugs the shirt off and tosses it into an unseen corner of the room. “Your turn,” he tells her, reaching for the buttons of her shirt the same as he had with his own. But she swats his hands to the side instead.

“Let me look first.” 

Scars cover his torso, some sharp and white, others dark and deep. In another world, at another time, she would ask him where each of the scars came from and listen to the stories that lie beneath them, but she makes peace now with the knowledge that it doesn’t matter where the scars came from - all that matters is that none of the blades responsible for the scars struck true. 

Aside from the scars, decades of fighting has sculpted him into a marvel of muscle and flesh. While she can’t see his back from here, she runs her hands over the muscles there at the same time she trails kisses down the front of his chest, over those scars. How long she spent wanting this, she thinks, how long she spent watching him train, watching him walk the halls of the Diamond or the streets of Treviso, wishing that he would look at her the way he’s looking at her now; how long she spent wanting him, then wanting him to want her in return, and all it took was the elven gods returning to Thedas to get his attention. If Vittoria could find a way to tell her younger self that, she wouldn’t have believed it - which is good, because if she had, then she wouldn’t have trained as hard as she did to get where she is right now, and instead died a meaningless death all those lonely years ago.

“That’s enough touching.” He pulls at her collar, the roughest he’s ever been with her, at the same time he pushes his lips onto hers. The following command is muffled between kisses as he fists at the fabric of her shirt: “This. Off. Now.”

She pulls her hands from him and fumbles with her own buttons while Lucanis watches. His face is dark and shadowed, and she knows without question that he holds all the cards now. She can feel it - feel Spite stirring under the surface, feel that Dellamorte stubbornness rearing its handsome head. When she finishes with the last button of her shirt, he tears it from her torso and throws it onto the other side of the room. He uses that same hand to grip her shoulder and shove her down onto the cushions, not giving her a moment to catch her breath before reaching for the laces of her pants.

“It’s been… a while.” Vittoria watches as he works the piece of clothing off. She’s not sure which of them is breathing harder. “Since I did this.”

“Vittoria.” He shakes his head and, despite his fervor, a small smile appears on his lips. “Do you honestly think that matters to me?” He moves off her lap for a moment so he can pull her pants down over the swell of her muscular thighs and then stops, looking up at her from underneath his eyelashes. “Does it matter to you?”

“No.”

“Good.” He finishes with his task and then crawls on top of her to kiss her hard and flatten her underneath him. “All that matters to me is that you’re here, that you’re alive, and that I get to do this.” 

She hears the words before she feels his fingers, first one and then another, brushing through the hair between her legs, his hand moving to cover the surface of her cunt. It feels indecent to have him touch her there, to watch his brow furrow with focus, not for a kill but for delving deep inside of her, deeper than she’s ever gone herself. She’s so wet that she can hear it, and she’d be humiliated by the sound if it weren’t for how much she loves him. She loves him, she loves him, she loves him. Her hips cant upwards into the cradle of his hand, chasing the pressure, the pleasure, the relief that his fingers offer her, and when she reaches for his face, he turns his head to take her thumb into his mouth. 

To have him taking her in so many ways at once…

“Lucanis.” She has said his name so many times but knows she’s never said it like this, like she’s trying to suck the marrow from each letter. “Please, I -”

Her thumb falls from his lips and she winds her arm around his shoulders to hold him as close as possible. “I am fucking you with my fingers, Vittoria,” he states with a raised eyebrow, somehow managing to sound unimpressed even with his pupils blown black the way they are. “Is that not enough?”

“No. It’s not.”

“You want my cock, then, hmm?”

He moves his fingers fast inside of her, pulling farther out and diving further in each time, and her face flushes with a heat she's never felt before. This is the most vulnerable she’s ever been with another person, after all. As a Crow, you learn to never let your guard down - anyone can betray you, any location can leave you exposed. And right now, all of her weakest points have been exposed to him. Any assassin worth his salt could kill her in an instant without even pulling his fingers out from inside of her. But Lucanis does not want to hurt her. He crooks his fingers inside of her like he wants to anchor himself to her forever. She did not know it was possible for a man to feel that way about her, let alone this man.

“Lucanis...”

“I’ll give it to you, Vittoria, I promise.” He nuzzles his nose against her cheek. “On one condition.”

“Anything.”

His fingers slow to a crawl. She doesn’t know if it’s better or worse, but her thighs tense regardless. “Tell me that you won’t leave me again,” he says, “now or ever.”

She’s glad he didn’t ask for a promise, because she can’t give him a promise. “I won’t leave you,” she tells him anyway. It’s not a promise of her survival, but a vow that she will do whatever she can to achieve it. Because she will. Even if she has to go to the end of the world and kill a god to prove it. “I won’t leave you again. Now or ever.”

“And tell me that… that...” His mouth opens and then closes and then opens again, uncertainty creasing his features. “Tell me that I’m yours.”

“You’re mine.”

“And tell me that you’re mine.”

“I’m - I’m -” She wants to tell him what he asked of her, wants to reassure him of her feelings, but his fingers shift inside of her, and even that small movement renders her speechless. 

By now, her fingernails are cutting crescents into the meat of his neck, but if he feels the pain, he doesn’t let on. His fingers start to move again, faster and deeper and harder than before, and he clenches his jaw in concentration. “Come for me, Vittoria,” he says through gritted teeth.

The pleasure splits her open at the seams and seems to fill her with the same blinding light of a falling star. She can’t remember the last time she came like this. Perhaps she never has. Perhaps she was waiting her entire life for Lucanis, for his touch to bring this ecstasy out of her. When the wave finishes washing over her, she tries and fails to catch her breath, and when her vision clears, she notices that he’s doing nothing but watching her come back to herself with a gentle tilt of his head. She meets his gaze and gives him her best attempt at a reassuring look. He gives her a look of his own and then raises his fingers out from between her legs, lathing his tongue along them and licking them clean.

The silence hangs between them for a moment, dense as a fog. And then, as slowly as she can manage in her near-delirium, she draws his hand towards her mouth and repeats what he had done moments ago, licking the last remnants of herself from his skin. A flash of violet light flickers through his fluttering lashes, and, sensing his impatience, she pushes her hips towards him. 

“Now,” she demands, and though the word is muddied around the width of his fingers, she doesn’t want him to take himself out of her mouth. She won’t do it, either. She wants him everywhere inside of her all at once, and even when she has him, that might not be hard enough, fast enough, deep enough. Nothing with him could ever be enough. But she’s tired of waiting, and she can tell that Spite is, too. “Please, Lucanis, please.”

“Whatever you want.” He pushes his pants down his thighs with his free hand and kisses the part of her mouth where his fingers aren’t. “Anything you want.”

Lucanis makes quick work of the rest of his clothes and shifts on top of her to line himself up with her entrance. Vittoria would watch if she could look anywhere other than his face. How is she so lucky? Yes, the world is ending, and yes, she might die tomorrow, and yes, there are people out there with the power to move the moon over Thedas, but she gets to be here, with him, gets to count the moles on his forehead, gets to press her hand into the small of his back, gets to feel the burn as he stretches her out around his cock. She wouldn’t change a thing. Glory, godhood, all the gold in the world - she wouldn’t take any of it if it meant losing this, and none of it matters if she loses it tomorrow.

There’s pressure that she’s not used to as he pushes inside her, and fresh tears cling to her lashes. He kisses her closed eyelids, and then, in one quick move, sheathes himself to the hilt.

“Mierda.” She almost doesn’t hear the word over the sound of her own moaning. He tucks his face into her neck. “You feel so good ,” he whispers, starting to move with slow, exploratory pumps of his hips. “So tight. Mmm… So wet.”

She answers with a whimper, wishing she could take his fingers further down her throat.

“You are so beautiful, Vittoria. Have I told you that before? How beautiful you are? It's too much, sometimes, to look at you.”

Another whimper. Her face must be as red as the blood in her veins, but her embarrassment means nothing if the sounds bring him pleasure.

“You have saved my life more times than I can count.” The confessions sound strained in his effort not to come before she comes a second time. “You have not only saved my life, but you have… made my life.”

It’s impossible to lie still with the onslaught of feelings and she throws her head back, breathing hard. He takes it as an invitation to sink his teeth into her neck, and when she clenches around him, the answering bite is strong enough to draw blood. But she doesn’t care. How many scars does she have on her body from people who mean nothing to her? She would take a scar from the man that she loves. She’d take a hundred.

Instead of continuing to bite her, he sucks a bruise into the skin of her neck. She clenches around him again. The even pace of his hips stutters. She’s not going to last much longer, and she doesn’t think that he’s going to, either.

“I am not losing you.” He hits a place inside of her that feels different than the others and her hips jerk into him of their own accord. It punches a moan out of him, which prompts a similar one from her. She loves the sounds he makes. She loves the feeling of him inside of her, and clenches around him again in the hopes that it will keep him there. “There it is. Ohh. Oh, there you are, mi vida. Stay with me forever, Vittoria, just like this.”

“I will.” A tear falls down Vittoria’s forehead. Lucanis keeps fucking her into the cushions. “I’m yours, Lucanis. I’ve always been yours.”

After they finish, after they return to themselves, he draws his fingers out from between her lips, brushes the hair from her face, and laughs. She laughs, too. Whatever happened in the previous months, whatever happens tomorrow, she forgets it all for one long, shining moment, and for that moment, it’s just the two of them held tight in each other’s embrace. She and the man she loves. But did she tell him that? In her mania? She can’t remember. Unwilling to waste the moment but unable to form words, she kisses his forehead, across his temple, down to the hollow of his cheek, hoping each brush of her lips serves as a confession. He chuckles as she continues to make her way from one side of his head to another. After her eyes have been opened long enough to focus, she can see that he’s blushing.

And then his lips meet hers again, the resulting kiss intense enough to make her toes curl. He licks into her mouth like he thinks he can find salvation inside of it, inside of her, and... maybe he can. Maybe he already did. She knows that she found the same in him. Because no matter what happens, no matter how hard it gets, she does not want to die tomorrow, and, if nothing else, loving him has taught her that the things you want the most have a way of coming true, even when it seems impossible.

[emmg]

Okay, everyone shut the fuck up and go read this Emmrook fic because it’s got me losing my goddamn mind. It’s making me chainsmoke like I’m in a noir film, and I don’t even smoke. I’ve become a philosopher, sitting in the dark, muttering about the meaning of life and love and why we’re all here.

The angst? Chef’s fucking kiss. The Emmrich POV? So good it feels illegal. The way it digs into the disparity between their worlds—age, experience, social class—has me in a chokehold. And the prose? Holy shit. It’s so good I’m pretty sure Nabokov crawled out of his grave, stole a laptop, and said, “This one’s mine, bitches.” Like, fuck, what are we even supposed to do after this?

[starlsen]

The Whisper That I Know

Fem!Rook x Emmrich Volkarin ✶ NSFW ✶ 2.4k words

Read on AO3

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Rook was feeling tightly wound.

It certainly could be due to the journey she and her companions had found themselves on, searching high and low for something, anything to help them stop Elgar'nan and Ghilan'nain from blighting the world. Perhaps the fighting was taking its toll on her body; whether it was darkspawn, demons, the Venatori or the Antaam… from battling the guardians in Arlathan Forest to clearing the blight from the Hossberg Wetlands, it was relentless. Unforgiving. Exhausting.

Quieter days were few and far between, leaving little time to unwind and recover before doing it all again the next day.

She dragged herself up the stairs, her feet like lead in her boots, each step a herculean effort. She rolled her shoulders, rubbed her neck with one hand and gripped the balustrade with the other, longing for a hot bath to soak her aching muscles and try, if only for a short while, to forget any of this was happening.

As she reached the top of the stairs, however, a flicker of green caught her eye and she paused, her gaze falling upon the statues that beckoned her towards the quarters she had become very familiar with in recent weeks. Thoughts of bright hazel eyes, secret smiles and hushed whispers settled over her, quickly giving way to thoughts of laced fingers pressed into silk sheets, breathless moans and lips trailing kisses on skin.

She inhaled deeply through her nose, letting it out slowly as she tried not to think about how long it had been since she’d felt his hands on her; how long it had been since she was kissed like it was the last time he’d ever do so. She suddenly became very aware of the tension in her shoulders, the longing in her heart, the throbbing ache between her legs.

She sighed.

Yes, she was feeling tightly wound indeed. And despite knowing she should probably head straight for her own quarters for a hot bath and a good night’s sleep, she instead found herself knocking on Emmrich’s door, opening it upon hearing his voice on the other side.

And there he was. Sitting by the fire, one leg crossed over the other, a book was cradled in his hands - Gods, his beautiful hands - his jewellery glittering in the firelight as he slipped a bookmark between the pages and peered over towards where she closed the door behind her.

“Darling,” He greeted, rising to his feet and oh, he wasn’t wearing his usual waistcoat. Rook swallowed. “I thought you’d be resting?” The decorative chain was missing from his shirt collar, which he’d unbuttoned to the base of his throat, exposing his neck and she was sure it had never looked more inviting. He looked utterly ethereal bathed in the warm glow of the fire and her lips parted at the sight before meeting his gaze, already crossing the space between them.

“Rook?”

She took the book from his hands and leaned around him to drop it onto the armchair, returning her gaze to his own before leaning up onto the tips of her toes, taking his face in her hands and pulling him into a kiss. Not a moment later, she felt his hands on her hips, and she pressed her body into his as she parted her lips to kiss him again. Gods, she'd missed this; the way he smelled, the way his lips felt on hers, the way he tasted. She pulled back just slightly, their breaths mingling between parted lips.

“I don’t need sleep,” She whispered, nuzzling his nose with her own. “I need you.”

His eyes searched her own for just a moment before they darkened and fell to her mouth, leaning in and capturing her lips in an open-mouthed kiss. He brought a hand up to cradle her jaw, the other winding around her middle and pulling her tightly against him. But then the hand pressing into the middle of her back stilled, and Emmrich pulled back slightly, earning a small sound of protest from Rook as she leaned in to chase his lips.

“Darling,” He said gently, fingers applying a slight pressure to the side of her neck, thumb brushing along her jaw. “You feel tense.” Violet eyes met his own, the light of the fire igniting the small ring of amber encircling her pupils.

“Nothing you can’t fix.” She said, sliding her hands down to the buttons on his shirt. A breathy chuckle escaped him, then, before placing his hands over her own, stilling her. Her brow came together, but he offered her a smile and brushed a chaste kiss to the corner of her lips.

“Lie down,” He said, and a moment later her brow relaxed, the smallest hint of a smile softening her features.

“Okay.” He stepped back to allow her to do so, settling on the thick, soft rug by the fireplace and watched as he slid the gold cuff from his forearm, and removing the leather glove underneath, setting both on top of the book on the armchair. The sight of his bare fingers tightened something in her core, and she willed her heart to slow down when he turned his attention to her once more, running his eyes down her body. His gaze was slow, purposeful, analysing, and she propped herself up on her elbows.

“There is something I would like to try,” Maker, his voice had dropped an octave. “Do you trust me, Rook?” Her chest tightened.

“You know I do.” He glanced down at her body again, and she quirked a brow. “What are you-”

She gasped, heat flooding to her cheeks as a phantom touch suddenly pressed against her core, fingers stroking over her leather pants. A familiar green glow emanated between her legs, his magic encircling his fingertips, and her chest began rising and falling quickly as her heart started beating a little harder, a little faster.

“H-how,” She breathed, fighting the urge to rock against the gentle, rhythmic pressure as he approached her.

“There are a great many things my magic can do, my dear.” He said as he knelt before her, and she inhaled sharply when she felt lips on her neck, pressing soft kisses to the skin just below her ear. Her eyes fluttered, holding his gaze as he crawled over her, desire coiling tightly within her, squeezing and burning and aching as he settled between her legs. “And I think it’s high time I showed you.”

She surged forward to kiss him, needing to kiss him, and let out a frustrated whine when he placed a jewelled hand on her chest and gently pushed her back.

“Relax.” She laid back as instructed, and he offered her a smile before sliding his hand down her abdomen, raising the other and rolling his fingers before his magic placed a kiss on the other side of her neck. A breathless moan escaped her lips with a sigh and his fingers brushed along the hem of her shirt, tugging it out of her pants and popping the buttons one by one.

“You are holding so much tension, my darling,” He mused. Cool air met the bare skin of her chest as he opened her shirt, and she watched as he leaned down to press a kiss to her sternum, his eyes never leaving her own. “It simply won’t do.” She couldn’t help the wicked grin that spread across her lips, and his own turned up in a devilish smirk in return.

“Is that so?” She whispered, and he hummed before pressing his lips to her abdomen. Her eyes slipped shut, tipping her head back and arching into his touch, reaching to thread her fingers through his hair. Her fingertips had barely brushed his silken strands before a phantom touch gripped her wrists, raising her hands above her head and pinning them to the floor. Her breath rushed from her lungs, and she felt him smile against her stomach as his lips trailed lower still, fingers gripping the waistband of her pants and underwear.

“Up.” Was his only command and she lifted her hips obediently as he tugged them down her thighs, using his magic to slip off her boots and remove her pants and underwear with ease. She peered at him through her lashes to find him kneeling between her legs, eyes fixed on her sex. She blushed furiously at the hunger in his eyes and gasped sharply when he motioned with his fingers, his magic suddenly there, a tongue sliding through her folds.

“Fuck,” She moaned, throwing her head back and arching her back, pleasure surging through her core as his magic rolled over her, circling her clit, sliding rhythmically over her slit. She felt the warmth of his body over her as his fingers slipped around the back of her neck, guiding her face to his and he claimed her lips in an open mouthed kiss. She whimpered as his tongue flicked over her bottom lip, and Maker take her because there were mouths all over her body; lips trailing kisses down her neck, over her chest, along the inside of her thighs. Hands cupped her breasts, thumbs brushed over her nipples, fingers gripped her hips.

It was all she could do to moan shamelessly into the kiss, almost on the verge of sobbing, the dizzying sensations utterly overwhelming her senses as Emmrich worked his magic; it was beyond anything she could have possibly imagined, and it was him, only him. She writhed beneath him, her breaths hot and heavy between kisses, needing more, needing him.

And then he slipped a hand between her legs, his fingers becoming slick with her pleasure, and she barely had a moment to register the feeling of his digits working in tandem with the phantom touch of his magic before he slid two fingers inside her. She cried out, breaking the kiss and she couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t think; he curled his fingers and brushed the spot that left her body trembling, his magic still sliding a tongue over that sensitive bundle of nerves. She panted, her heart pounding in her chest, her blood like fire in her veins and roaring in her ears.

“Breathe.” He said, and she opened her eyes, damn near falling apart at the sight of his eyes appearing so dark, half-lidded, cheeks flushed and lips swollen from their kiss. She tried to catch her breath, though they came in short, sharp gasps. “Slow,” He said, voice low, and continued to steadily pump and curl his fingers inside her. “Deep.”

She nodded, words failing her, inhaling through her nose and letting it out shakily through parted lips. The smirk that tugged at the corner of his mouth left butterflies swarming in the pit of her stomach, her core tightening around his fingers and he leaned in, lips barely brushing over her own.

“Good,” He murmured, threading his fingers through the hair at the nape of her neck. “Very good, darling.” Her eyes fluttered shut once more as he pressed a kiss to her lips, and she parted them all too happily for his tongue to sweep in and slide against her own.

Mouths pressed against her neck and shoulders, teeth gently grazed her earlobes, hands massaged her breasts and tongues swept over her nipples; she arched into the touch, the featherlight caresses along her thighs, the fingers digging into her hips.

Something pulsed inside her. A strangled moan tried to escape her throat, muffled by his kiss, as tendrils of his magic spread within her, draping themselves over her core and pulsing rhythmically against that spot, again and again and again as he pumped his fingers harder, faster. She wasn’t sure if she was moaning or sobbing as tears burned behind closed lids, the pleasure mounting rapidly, her entire body tightening and trembling and oh, he was relentless. The magical restraints slid from her wrists to lace phantom fingers through her own, pressing them harder into the floor above her head. His kiss was punishing, bruising, swallowing her cries; and when he moaned into the kiss, that was all it took to push her over the edge. She tightened around his fingers, her thighs squeezing his hips, and the air was forced from her lungs in a silent scream as her mouth fell open and he took her bottom lip between his teeth.

Her orgasm erupted, a tidal wave of pleasure crashing through her entire body so ferociously it left her toes curling and fire coursing through her veins. Her ears were ringing and she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think; relief came when her lungs opened and she gulped down air, sweet, precious air, and she was certain that in that moment, the world stopped spinning and the earth shattered around them.

“That’s it,” He purred, brushing his thumb over her cheek, trailing kisses along her jaw as his praise melted away any lingering tension in her body. “Let it go, darling.” Her pleasure slowed to a gentle ebb and flow as his magic calmed and she whimpered as he eased his fingers out of her sex. Her heart was racing and she felt the grip loosening from her hands, though she couldn’t move, couldn’t think, couldn’t speak; she simply laid there, catching her breath, her chest rising and falling as his magic left her body and it was just the warmth of the fire and his body over hers.

She felt his fingertips brush a strand of hair from her forehead before cradling her cheek with his hand, and she turned into his touch, pressing a kiss to his palm. His breath was warm and ghosted over her cheek as he chuckled.

“Rook,” He said gently, and she hummed, nuzzling into his hand, his rings cool against her skin. “Look at me, my love.” Her eyes opened slowly, though remained half-lidded as she obliged him, violet meeting rich hazel, and she smiled. He returned the gesture, fine lines branching from his eyes as he did so, and she positively swooned as her heart soared in her chest.

“You are so beautiful.” She said, bringing her hands from above her head to hold his own that still cradled her cheek. His brows rose slightly before a bashful laugh escaped his lips as she leaned into his touch, into his warmth, and sighed. “That was…” She trailed off, and he bit his lip briefly before smiling broadly.

“Yes, I’d hoped it would be.” She snorted, and his eyes softened before he leaned down to press a sweet kiss to her lips. “Do you feel better?” He asked, brushing his nose against her own.

“I don’t think I’ll be able to walk any time soon,” She quipped, and he laughed heartily. “But yes.” She sighed. “Better than ever.”

[momofantas]

Rooftop Follies

Taash/Rook | NSFW | 1855 words | AO3 Link

Kione ran her hands down the feathers that covered the front of her new jacket… and hardly any of her body. The jacket opened to reveal nothing underneath, just her bare chest and a few necklaces. Lucanis had said it was trendy among the Crows but Kione had never seen anyone in Treviso wearing anything like it.

But the openness felt like freedom and she would never fight against that feeling. In fact, as a Shadow Dragon, it was something she had always fought for.

With a sigh, she pushed open the door of the small room she had changed in and stepped back into the Antivan Sanctum where the rest of her party waited. Lucanis seemed to puff up like a proud father at the sight of the Shadow Dragon in the Crows’ finest (in fact, she was sure she had seen the same smile on Davrin’s face during a training session with Assan).

“It suits you well. Are you sure you don’t wish to join the Crows? We could always use another axe-weilder,” he said lightly. Kione smirked and shook her head in response before looking to her other companion.

Taash’s arms were crossed as they looked her up and down. Their face was almost unreadable, but Kione had known them well enough to see how they just barely bit the inside of their lower lip and the hint of hunger behind their eyes.

Their opinion was the only one that mattered to Kione, but she wouldn’t admit it.

“Looks good,” they finally said with a nod as they dropped their arms. “Not as good as Lords’ armor, but it looks like it’s easier to fight in than the other vashedan you’ve found in Thedas.”

Kione couldn’t help the small snort that escaped her. While Taash wasn’t the most delicate, they were always right. Other armor had been constricting for an axe user and at least in this leather-and-feather design, she would have good mobility.

The three began to discuss where to head next when Viago approached the group with “important things” for Crows’ ears only, leading to the exit of him and Lucanis.

That left Taash and Kione to themselves.

“So what do y–”

“Let’s go for a walk,” Taash said, almost a little too quickly. Their hand just barely moved in the direction of Kione’s, but they walked ahead before their hands could touch. The two walked out to one of the balconies that the Crows often frequented and Kione was prepared to hop onto one of the ziplines.

Instead, Taash turned and led her to a quiet corner of the balcony where no visible peering eyes could see. The Qunari motioned for their elf companion to stand by the railing. “Face me.”

Kione obeyed, leaning back against the railing to relax while her mind raced with confusion. She hadn’t seen Taash like this, but something about the situation was making her heart race.

Suddenly one of their large hands was beneath her jacket and caressing her breast. Her eyes widened in shock and she opened her mouth to say something but was quickly silenced by Taash’s large tongue rubbing against hers. A weak moan escaped her as she felt a calloused thumb gently run over her nipple, causing it to go erect.

After what felt like ages Taash pulled back to reveal their chin slick with spit from their rough and hurried kiss. They pulled their hand away from her breast, ensuring that she was partially bared to the world with no feathers to protect her modesty.

“So… I take it you like the new outfit?” Kione said breathlessly. She moved a hand to readjust her jacket but was stopped by a gentle touch.

“You look really hot.”

The bluntness always brought a smile to her face and she couldn’t help the airy laugh that escaped her. It brought a smirk to Taash’s face as their free hand moved to the first of many belts that held her pants tight to her waist.

“I know you like it when I say that,” they teased before leaning in to take a deep breath next to her neck, pulse racing beneath her skin. “You can’t hide it from me.”

She felt her cheeks burn red as Taash pressed their lips gently against their neck and gasped as that gentle kiss turned into gentle nips along the lines of her tattoo. Both of their hands had moved to undo her belts and soon one was dipping beneath her small clothes and fingers were pressing against her pelvis on their way down between her legs.

Kione’s mind began to race–where they really going to do it out here? They were up above street-level but there was still a chance of a Crow watching from any direction. No one was visible from where they were, but by the Maker there was always a set of eyes around in Antiva.

“W-Wait,” she fumbled, her hand reaching down to grasp at Taash’s wrist in a weak attempt to stop them. She knew that they could smell her arousal and there was no chance of stopping their intimacy that day, but perhaps she could convince them to postpone until later.

“Scared?” They murmured against her skin. Suddenly they were turning her around to face the city, the wind caressing against her face and bare breast. Their chest was pressed against her back as their hands traveled down her front, one returning to her chest and the other to her pants.

“Someone will see–”

“Not like this… All they’re going to see is a tall Qunari hugging their favorite Elf. And if they see more, I’ll beat it out of them.” Taash’s voice was soft and reassuring, different than what they used on the battlefield. There was no rage, just gentle excitement and tenderness.

A thick calloused finger softly pressed between Kione’s legs and she knew that she wasn’t going to convince Taash to wait.

“Besides,” the Qunari said, lips moving up to the edge of her ear, “I need to make sure that I fuck you in this outfit before anyone else gets to see you in it.”

Kione bit down on her lip in an attempt to silence the moan that refused to be stuck in her throat as she felt that finger move inside of her body, spreading her like no one had spread her before. It was still embarrassing to admit that Taash was her first, but so far they hadn’t spoken a word about it. It helped that they took control in every situation, making sure that Kione was completely satisfied (or at least a shuddering, whimpering mess).

“Still so tight… Are you sure you’re okay?” Taash said, breath right against her ear as she continued to nibble and kiss the sensitive skin.

“Y-Yes… I just… need more time,” Kione replied weakly, stammering as she tried to remind her body to relax and accept her partner.

They were patient and held their finger still to give her time to get used to the sensation while their other hand pushed the feathery jacket back to completely bare her chest to the wind. The air wasn’t too cold for being so high up, but her skin still reacted with goosebumps and her nipples hardened almost immediately. Their hand moved to gently flick and pull on her erect nipples as their mouth dropped back to her neck.

“Ready?” They growled as they nudged their way to her shoulder.

Kione took a deep breath and nodded. “Ye– Mngh!”

Suddenly their teeth were in her shoulder, sharp enough to break the skin if they truly wanted to. Their finger was joined by a second and Kione felt her knees go weak. If they hadn’t been holding her up she would have fallen to the floor as an orgasm ripped through her muscled body.

“Taash…” She said weakly as her head rolled to rest on theirs. A growl ripped through Taash’s mouth and reverberated on her shoulder as the smell of her climax reached their nose.

Their hold on her chest roughened as they pulled her nipples further and faster, nails dragging across her skin. Their two fingers inside of her began to thrust in and out, slowly at first to help her accommodate before spreading themselves out as far as they could inside her small body. Each movement made her shudder and shake, warmth building at the base of her spine as her partner fucked her. It was so hard to keep herself quiet to the point that Taash had to move their hand from their chest and place their fingers inside her mouth. Drool was running down her chin as her tongue was played with, and the embarrassment was so much that she felt like she was going to fall over dead before she was able to cum again.

Their bite had finally released, leaving a dark red mark around one of her old scars and a bit of one of her tattoos. Kione could tell that they were tempted to leave a similar mark on her neck, but with the new armor it would be far too visible. Instead they nipped at her ear to push her closer ot the edge.

“Taarala… Taarala, I know you want to cum… I want to taste you,” they growled as their thrusting fingers began to lose their gentle pace. “Cum for me.”

As if Kione’s body had been trained for it, all the warmth that had been growing at the base of her spine and stomach overflowed and released. It covered Taash’s hand and flowed out around her small clothes and down against the leather of her new pants. Her head was spinning as she found herself hanging desperately to the balcony ledge, though Taash would never let her fall. Her face was flushed, her hair stuck to her forehead with sweat, and her tongue followed their fingers out of her mouth.

She looked an absolute mess but Taash would have said she was the most beautiful woman in the world.

They slowly pulled their hand out of her pants and licked at their fingers, but patiently waited for their partner to recover. The hand that had been in her mouth rested on her stomach to hold her steady as Taash kept an eye out for any onlookers.

Finally, after a few minutes, Kione was able to stand on her own and assess the damage.

“I think this will be the most uncomfortable walk I’ve ever had.”

“Why?”

“Wet. Leather. Pants.”

Taash laughed as they helped redo the buckles of her belts and rearrange her jacket. They paused a moment, eyeing the bite mark they had left on her shoulder before covering it.

“I’ll just carry you, then.”

Without a pause they pulled Kione up into their arms as if she was a princess. They smirked down at her as she floundered in their hold.

“This is more embarrassing than what we just did!” She protested, though they both knew she wasn’t trying too hard. Warrior versus warrior, one could have easily escaped the other’s hold if they wanted to.

[elspethdekarios]

Atonement

Hello fellow Solavellan sufferers!!! I've written a little fic about what I imagine goes down between Solas and Lavellan once the game is over. I'll have you know I listened to the Lost Elf Theme on repeat while writing it, if that tells you anything. Anyway, read below the cut or on AO3 here!

SFW, Angst, Hurt/Comfort

Words: 2,821

! HUGE VEILGUARD SPOILERS !

When she stepped into the Fade, hand in hand with her love, Sulah had no preconceived notion of what to expect on the other side, nor did she spend a moment speculating about what it could possibly be. She was with Solas, after all, and there was no use in trying to predict his actions. It was funny, really—how she found him predictable and surprising all in the same. No, there was little use trying to guess where in the Fade he would lead them. Nonetheless, she wasn't sure she would have ever expected this.

The pocket of the Fade they walked into was dull and gray as stone. In fact, most of it was stone. Fragments of buildings and debris floated slowly through the foggy sky above. Tendrils of winding roots grew up through cracks in the stone. There were staircases that seemed to lead to nowhere, and twisted, barren trees clinging to broken columns and walls. The air was so still it felt stifling in Sulah’s lungs. And Solas, downtrodden and bruised, looked like he belonged there. Like he was part of the backdrop. As if he could hear her thoughts, he spoke.

“It is a reflection of what I am. What I don't want to be.” He paused, dropping his head. “What I don't want to face.”

“This is how you atone?”

“I told you it would be terrible.”

“And I told you forever.” Sulah turned to him, heart aching for the bloodied mess of his face. “I meant it.”

Solas lifted his head enough to look at her through glassy, violet eyes. “I don’t deserve you, vhenan.”

“I think that’s up to me,” she said, wiping away a stray tear on his cheek. “Let’s talk, my love. Before you start making your amends.”

They sat with their backs against a nearby stone wall. Solas’s eyes alternated between being heavy with sleep and haunting despair. He looked so much older than she remembered him—not physically, really, but in the way he seemed to be held down with millennia of burden. On the other hand, he had the heartbreaking demeanor of a child unable to emotionally grasp the multitude of his feelings.

“I don’t know… where to start,” he breathed. With one look at her, a hint of hope glimmered amongst the sadness in his eyes. “I have missed you. Desperately so.”

“I’ve missed you, too.” Sulah’s voice cracked as she spoke, a stream of tears steadily falling down her cheeks. She brushed them away and smiled sadly. “So let’s start there, shall we?”

His kiss tasted of salt and metal. She didn’t care about the wounds on his face or the small gash on his lip still swelling with blood. It had been a decade since she tasted him, touched him, spoke to him. Even though she knew he visited in her dreams, he never made contact—only watched, a dark figure in the distance. How she longed to reach out for him every time, to pull him close and find solace in his arms like she used to. Sulah crawled in front of him, her knees aching as they pressed into the cold stone, and wrapped her arms around his neck. After a brief hesitation, Solas rested his hands on her waist, his touch timid at first, like he was afraid of doing something wrong. But his touch grew more confident by the second, and soon his arms were wrapped around her so tight she could barely breathe. It felt as if a missing piece of her heart had been restored, held in place by molten gold.

“I don’t know that I can possibly tell you all of it. Perhaps I could… show you, instead.” With a single thought, Solas willed into the Fade a blue crystal statuette of a wolf, not unlike the one Sulah found when his ritual failed. He held it, concentrated on it, and its core radiated bright blue magic. He held the figure out to her. As Sulah took it from him, their destitute surroundings swirled and dissolved, leaving her in front of a young Solas. His face was not quite so worn with pain and exhaustion like the one she knew. Long, auburn hair cascaded down the center of his head, falling over his shoulder as he turned to face the other elf in front of him.

“Solas, how could you?” the other elf asked. His skin was tan, his hair was dark, and his face was marked with Mythal’s branching vallaslin. The same branches that Sulah had tattooed underneath her eyes.

“I do not expect you to understand, Felassan,” Solas said, standing tall and proud as ever. “It was necessary for the enemy to believe we were committed. A heavy sacrifice, but one that gave us a real chance to end the war.”

“You knowingly sent those spirits to their deaths!” Felassan shouted. “We’re supposed to be better than this.”

Felassan spoke to Solas with the intimacy and confidence of a close friend, unafraid to confront his wrongdoings. Sulah could make out a hint of remorse in Solas’s eyes before his face hardened into a scowl.

“I did what had to be done.”

The scene dissipated. Ruins were replaced with the glorious landscape of ancient Arlathan, sprawling greenery among grand, floating palaces. Solas argued with an elven woman who Sulah now recognized as Mythal. She was identical to the spirit fragment she had seen before stepping into the Fade with Solas, only solid and real. The words they spoke were jumbled, as if Solas couldn’t remember the exact things said when he transferred the memory to the statue, but Sulah knew what they were discussing all the same: the Blight. Solas protested, pleaded with Mythal, before finally giving in to her demands.

“I will follow you always,” he said. Sulah had never heard him sound so defeated. A distinct and overwhelming sense of shame settled over her as the scene faded.

The memories continued like this, one after the other, each one brief but enough to show her the actions that haunted him. And enough to leave her with thousands of questions. She saw his regrets from centuries ago—memories of Mythal, Elgern’an, Ghilan’nain, the other Evanuris. She saw him destroy the legacy of the titans, and the corruption that introduced the Blight to the world. She saw his sorrow at the creation of the Veil, the loss of the world he knew, the unbreakable tether he had to Mythal, similar to a commandeering mother and a child eager to please her, desperate for her approval. She saw his plans to give Corypheus the orb go awry, the conflict raging inside of him as he fell in love with Sulah, the way he almost told her the truth that night in Crestwood. She felt the guilt he carried afterwards—that he still carried. She saw him devise his devious plan to mold Rook into someone the prison would take in his place. His betrayal and desperation.

She saw the despair in his eyes when he killed Varric.

Sulah stood on the raised platform where Solas orchestrated his ritual, watching as Varric climbed the stairs in an attempt to stop his friend. Even in a memory, the air was charged with powerful magic, culminating in a swirling wind that blew her hair into her face, obscuring her view. She could only make out fragments of the argument.

“You need to listen—”

“You have come a long way and made a valiant effort, Varric—”

“—able to give me a straight answer—”

“—rather than admit this is mine to solve—”

“—who are you trying to convince here? Me or yourself?”

Varric’s last statement stung like a knife. His words echoed as time slowed. Sulah felt the heavy burden of self doubt imbued in Solas’s memory as the two men locked eyes, their argument hanging in the air between them. In a chaotic flash, several things happened: Solas turned to continue the ritual, Varric attempted to pry the lyrium dagger from Solas’s hands, and the monuments of the Evanuris surrounding the ritual site began to fall. Somewhere in the chaos, while wrenching the dagger back from Varric’s grasp, the blade pierced through his chest. The sound of ripping flesh. The gasp from Varric’s mouth.

“NO!” Sulah shouted. Time had slowed, and she rushed to catch him as he stumbled, forgetting that it was no use. Her arms moved through him like a ghost.

Solas watched his friend fall to the bottom of the stairs, regret bubbling up inside of him at what he’d done. And still, the sense of doubt from Varric’s words lingered, sullying Solas’s certainty as innocent blood seeped through the fabric of his gloves.

He steeled himself with cold resolve and turned away.

The gray of the Fade prison came back into view. Sulah felt like she had been in Solas’s memories for hours, but neither her body nor his had moved from the ground against the wall. He watched her with bated breath, his jaw clenched, eyes glossy with fresh tears. Moments ago, she watched him command a rebellion, steadfast and resolute and proud. A powerful god among mortals. But the Solas in front of her now held little of the immense ancient spirit she’d seen. He was only a man, broken from the weight of his regrets.

“I cannot ask for your forgiveness, vhenan. Not even your understanding.” His voice broke, his next words spoken through a sob. “I am so sorry that I let you fall in love with a monster.”

Solas hugged his knees to his chest. His hands shook and his body trembled as he cried. It was pure, raw, searing emotion—and it was the first time she had ever seen him lose control of himself. Sulah had been lonely for years, yearning for the man who felt like home while sleeping cold in an empty bed, but she’d never felt as alone as she felt now, sitting in the vast emptiness of the Fade with a god shedding centuries’ worth of repressed agony that she could never possibly comprehend. He was the one who always seemed to know what to do, who had a plan for everything. He was the one more familiar with the Fade than the waking world. But he was also the one who had to face his regrets. His pain. And he had already proven that he couldn’t do that on his own.

“Solas,” she said, quiet and sad. “You killed Varric.”

“I’m sorry,” he choked through tears.

“I… I knew he was gone, but no one…” she trailed off, thinking back to the letter she received from Morrigan shortly after she met Rook and the others. Varric was gravely injured in an altercation. He did not make it. I am sorry you have to find out this way. “No one told me it was by your hand.”

“They were protecting you,” he said. “From the truth of what I am. Perhaps they shouldn’t have done so.”

Sulah sat in silence, trying to piece it all together in her mind.

“I never meant to hurt Varric,” Solas whispered. “I have harmed so many people, innocent people, and Varric… Varric….”

He stopped speaking and rested his forehead on his knees, letting the tears fall on his armor.

“My love—”

“How can you possibly still love me, Sulah?” he snapped, a wolf showing his fangs. “I deserve whatever cruel fate awaits me here. You do not.”

“Solas—”

“Would you truly—”

“Let me speak,” she said, stern and commanding. Her Inquisitor voice, the other members liked to call it. It worked. Solas nodded for her to continue. “To heal from your past, you have to confront it. It will be painful, but you must. Tell me about Varric.”

Solas sighed and let his head fall back to the wall, the apex of his throat bobbing as he swallowed.

“Varric was a good man. He was my friend.” He closed his eyes and Sulah watched as a single tear ran down his bloodied face. She tried to hold back her own tears, but they streamed warm down her cheeks nonetheless.

“What would you say to him if he were here?”

“That it is one of my greatest regrets, one that I desperately wish I could take back. That I enjoyed his company on our journey years ago, and that I have missed him in the years since. And that I am terribly, terribly sorry.”

Like a prayer, the final words escaped Solas’s mouth in a despondent whisper. In the distance, a structure resembling the skyline of Kirkwall crumbled. Sulah recognized it from her visit several years ago. She had only made it to Kirkwall once in the time that Varric was viscount, a position he reluctantly accepted, but one that she always suspected he secretly enjoyed. He took her to the cliffs of Sundermount, where Dalish sometimes set up camp. It looked remarkably like the area of the Free Marches her clan frequented before she left.

“I thought it might remind you of home”, he had said.

“I came here to see* your *home, Varric.”

“We’re doing that too.” he pointed across the water to the silhouetted, square buildings.

She smiled at the memory and let herself cry as the Kirkwall replica became an avalanche of stone plummeting into the abyss. When its final, broken pieces fell, Solas turned back to her and took a long breath. She looked at him, attempting to reconcile the Solas she knew and loved, the Solas in front of her now, with the Solas she saw in his memories. There was a cruel pride deep inside of him, one he tried to keep from her for so long. She could see it now, and it was fractured.

How could she possibly come to terms with all he had done? He had taken Varric away from this world, a man who, despite his faults, brought hope and friendship and humor into the world around him. She could feel the empty, aching shells of all the hearts who missed him—including her own. There were more adventures to be had, more books to be written, and Solas took it away. Away from Varric, away from the world. Sulah couldn’t bring herself to consider the even larger things he had done. The man she loved was responsible for the Blight. He tranquilized the Titans. He murdered his friends—sometimes on accident, sometimes for what he considered betrayal.

Sulah steadied her breathing and closed her eyes, focusing on the rhythm of the air flowing in and out of her lungs. She let the world fall away until she could feel nothing but the essence of her soul spreading into her limbs, making her weightless. If Solas was a spirit of wisdom, what was she, deep down? A word stirred somewhere in the depths of her heart: patience.

“This is going to take a long time, vhenan.” Solas’s words roused her from contemplation.

“Yes,” she said. “For both of us, I think.”

For the first time since reuniting, he touched her of his own accord, studying her prosthetic arm with gentle fingers before resting his hand on her thigh beside it.

“It’s a good thing time doesn’t exist in the Fade, then.” Sulah placed her remaining hand on top of his. “To answer your earlier question, I choose to still love you despite your mistakes, Solas. I love you because I tried to move on, to meet other people, but none of them could touch whatever piece of my soul that you do. Every person I tried to give my heart to was a flimsy bandage over a gaping wound. And I had to reconcile with myself that I love someone who would tear the world apart for his own stubborn pride. I know your heart, Solas. You are more than your mistakes.”

Sulah felt as if a small part of the rift between them had stitched itself back together; a fragile scar translucent and deep, but healing nonetheless. For a moment, the insurmountable hurdles she would have to help him overcome fell away. It was just the two of them, together in the Fade like all those years ago. She knew how the world would see them: the lovestruck Inquisitor and the Dread Wolf. The cautionary tale of a Dalish girl who fell right into the jaws of Fen’Harel himself.

“Sulah,” Solas reached for her face with both hands, holding her like he had to be sure she wasn’t a mere reflection of his desire. “As long as you will have me, I swear to you: I will never abandon you again. You will have me, always.”

His kiss was soft, but charged with intention. Devotion. As they broke apart, he pulled Sulah into his arms, resting his cheek on the top of her head.

“Ar lath ma vhenan. Bellanaris.”

[citrusai]

their yearning is intertwined, as though there were no spatial or temporal interval between them.

Summary: Inspired by my own dog-gone post about Solas watching his heart through the eyes of Rook, incapable of doing or saying anything to reach out to her. 1.7k words

Warnings: None, but it's more Solas POV obviously. Bittersweet, obviously. No grave Veilguard spoilers but read at your own peril.

A/N: As always, crossposted to ao3. Love u all.

This was not Solas’ plan. It was never his intention to bind Rook to himself, to be trapped in a prison of his own making. The bond was thin, a crumb of a thought floating through the fade, it wasn’t much to go on.

The last thing he’d heard was that Rook was intending to meet a possible ally somewhere in Minrathous. His patience was wearing thin. Had it not been for their meddling, the veil would have been torn, nature restored to balance. And perhaps, Solas could… No. He won’t dwell on that treacherous thought, on the impossible.

The Cobbled Swan is empty, save for Rook sat at a small table. The situation weighs heavy on their mind. They’d been anxious about this, more so when Morrigan and Harding had started speaking about utmost privacy, just you two, we shouldn’t be here for this.

Rook seems to be incapable of sitting still, bouncing their leg as they look around the empty pub. How curious. What kind of person would have an entire establishment shut down? They glance through the window, eyes studying the movement of people living their day to day. A sigh escapes their lips.

A cold hand creeping up behind their ear and down their neck.

“Boo.”

Rook jumps in their seat, hand clutching onto their chest. Their head swivels in the direction of the voice, and they’re even more taken aback. They bow their head in greeting.

“Inquisitor.”

A sound of a raspberry being blown. “Wrong. The inquisition’s been disbanded. It’s Gan’freya now, or Lavellan if you wish to be formal. May I?” The woman gestures towards the chair in front of Rook, and they motion for her to sit.

Gan’freya sits down, folding her arms across her chest, her gaze bears no steeliness and yet it’s not entirely kind. She studies Rook for a moment. Their face, their outfit, the way they hold themselves. Rook notices the glint of metal on her hand, a prosthetic.

“You’re not entirely what I expected.” Rook speaks.

Gan’freya has to hold back an eye roll. “I suppose you expected a saviour, someone who invited you here with words of encouragement.” Her arms slip down to rest on the armchairs. “I’m afraid I don’t have any to spare. If you think what’s going on here in the North is horrid, you have yet to see the scourge released on Southern Thedas.”

“Why ask to see me then?”

“Morrigan and Harding had asked so politely, and what with Varric hiring you on my expense, well.” Her voice trails off, eyes looking out the window. A snort escapes her mouth. “Apologies, I think we both expected something different when you went to disrupt that ritual.”

“Do you think I failed?” Rook’s mouth runs dry, knee bouncing faster and faster.

Gan’freya looks at them, and there’s a hint of pity in her eyes, it’s gone as soon as it had arrived. She reaches her hand out to clasp Rook’s. “No.” She says, voice firm. “Nobody could’ve predicted the consequences.”

There’s a warm roll of familiarity that washes over Rook, but they can’t pinpoint why. They’d heard tales of the Inquisitor, and the stories had brought comfort on the long days chasing the Evanuris and the Venatori. The very stories Varric regaled.

But this felt different. As if a foreign mind had bled into theirs, trying to reach for her through Rook. They zero in on her speaking, shrugging off the sensation. She tells them of a statuette, and in return Rook tells her of what they’ve found.

It’s a glimmer. A foggy window, but Solas knows that figure better than he knows himself these days. Surely, the prison mocks him. Every move, every plan made in his lighthouse, buried under secrecy until Rook seeks him out. But now, the fade ripples and opens itself as if arms outstretched, daring him to confront himself.

Her hair is shorter, and there are bags under her eyes. She is both how he remembers her, and more. Yes, he had watched over her in her dreams, even before the night of the ritual. But seeing her, physically seeing her, through the eyes of Rook, it makes his heart leap into his throat.

The humour in her voice, quick to deflect Rook’s questioning. Always so perceptive to what others want from her, always ready to keep them at arm’s length.

He did not want this for her. Did not want her to follow him, to resign herself to a role she never wanted to begin with.

Herald. Inquisitor. Martyr. A symbol larger than life itself.

When she reached for Rook, when her hand had touched theirs, it’s as if that warmth washed over him too. How he wished he actually did bind that fool to do his bidding, if only to feel the softness of her hand in his once more, even through a proxy body.

The image becomes clearer upon her touch. And the punishment continues. Her pained cry, from when he’d removed the orb from her arm, echoes through the fade. The very sound mocks him, as his gaze falls on her prosthetic arm. He’d saved her, had given her another chance at life, or so he told himself.

His hand reaches for her, and the view ripples in between his fingers like water. His heart hammers in his chest, as if trying to break through skin and flesh and crawl out from the fade into her arms.

The prison echoes with more cries of anguish, the hiss of words in anger, mistakes that had been made before he’d met her. Solas dares not acknowledge them, their very existence a heavy weight upon his shoulder.

So he closes his eyes. His ears tuning into her voice as if it were a guiding melody. Everything else is just noise.

Rook scratches their temple, it feels as if a fog has fallen upon their mind.

“Are you alright?” Gan’freya inquires.

She’s no mage, not well versed in anything arcane, and her brother has been no help what with his speciality being healing. But something about Rook’s behaviour feels odd.

Morrigan had sent word, updates after the ritual was disrupted, when blight had descended upon Thedas once more like a disease. Harding had urged her to meet with them, to alleviate their fears now that Varric was gone. And through Morrigans eluvian she went.

She knew of Rook, in a way. Varric had written enough letters for Gan’freya to make sense of who this person was, what they could do. Yet something about their eyes fighting not to glaze over as they scratch and prod at their temple, fingers moving towards the back of their head, makes her eyes zero in on them with an analytical gaze.

“I am. It’s just…” They place their palms on the table, as if willing their body to still. “Ever since I hit my head when we disrupted the ritual, it’s like there’s this buzzing in my head.”

Her eyes give them a once over. “A concussion, you mean?”

They shake their head. “No it’s like, like something crawling around in there, biting on my brain.”

“What like something controlling you?”

“No..” Rook trails off, eyes cast down at the table, fingers scratching on the surface. “It’s more like... Something’s watching me, or at least trying to.”

“And by someone you mean…”

“Solas.” Rook finishes. “But it’s not constant, sometimes it’s a dull throb, but right now it’s like… Like my brain is on fire, in a way.”

Gan’freya hums, eyes giving Rook a once over. She rises from the table, approaching Rook as her hand reaches for their scalp, a questioning look in her eyes.

“May I?” She asks.

Rook simply nods. Unsure of what her fingers carding through their hair might achieve. Her touch is soothing, in more ways than one. It seems she’s inspecting their wound, fingers gently prodding the scab.

“I’m not oozing, am I?” They jest.

Something between a laugh and a snort escapes her mouth. “No, no you’re fine. No oozing, no bleeding, no tentacles or horns.”

Their body stills, and they hear the rustle of a bag, and a smear of something wet on their scalp. It’s cooling, relaxing almost. They listen to her hum as she layers whatever she’s smearing over their head.

Solas wonders if smell can travel into his prison, the scent of lavender and verbena overwhelming him. He cannot feel her touch, nor feel the balm she’s generously slathering Rook in. But he remembers, remembers how she used to tend to his wounds and his scrapes, how she used to bandage him and place soft kisses upon his scars afterwards.

And now all he has is this. A memory. A faint touch that cannot reach him.

The sting of tears in his eyes, his throat closing up, fists clenched at his sides.

“You’ll be fine.” Her voice, hushed, reverberating through the fade.

A part of him hopes she knows he’s listening in, another doesn’t dare to assume this kindness is aimed towards him.

It’d be so much easier if she had come to the lighthouse. The veil is thin there, he’d have more opportunity to reach out, to engage. But he cannot, he’s resigned to being a backseat passenger.

Solas watches her pull away, a solemn expression on her face, lips downcast in a frown. He’s always hated seeing her like that. The view grows foggier as Rook begins getting up, Solas watches as Gan’freya’s hand slip the jar of the salve she rubbed on them between Rook’s palms.

“You need it more than I do. Whenever you feel an itch just… you know, smear away.”

But there’s something in her voice, a tone that’s indecipherable to Rook, but all too familiar to Solas. There’s no bite, no sadness, but there’s a lilt of knowing. Her eyes catch Rook’s gaze, but it’s as if she’s staring through them, right at Solas.

When they bid their goodbyes, the image blurs altogether. As if it were never there with him to begin with.

And when Rook comes to him in the fade, he tries his hardest to bite back the upturn of the corners of his lips as the all too familiar medicinal smell wafts into the air, paired with something far more familiar, and sweeter.

Just as Rook pretends they did not meet with her under secrecy, Solas pretends he did not watch it through their eyes, hands folded behind his back. Their conversations clipped, filled with jabs and insults. But when they leave, and Solas is alone in his prison once more, the smell remains.

And it sparks a feeling of hope in his chest.

[thewardenisonthecase]

Of Nightmares and Sleepless Nights

Lucanis Dellamorte x Grey Warden!Rook

Read on AO3

Summary: Lucanis was enjoying the quietness of the night, driking his coffee in the pantry when he hears an intruder in the kitchen.

A/N: so i recently finished the Veilguard and romanced Lucanis and I love him and decided to write something between him and my grey warden Rook. This is before they're in a relationship and there's a very small mention of his past.

word count: 1,258

The pantry was a strange source of comfort for the assassin. After spending a year in the Ossuary, one would think he’d prefer somewhere with more space, more freedom but Lucanis had chosen to stay in the pantry. It was small and quiet, a good place to be when the outside world became too much. 

After all, a year in isolation heightens the senses. 

There were other upsides to the pantry. If he fell asleep and Spite took over, he would be the farthest from most, especially from Rook, and so, less chances of someone getting harmed. Then there was the fact that he had easy access to food when he wanted to cook, and he could keep track of the storage. 

But the best reason for staying in the pantry is that, on nights like this, when it was quiet and Lucanis was on his second cup of coffee to drive away sleep, he could hear if an intruder entered the kitchen. In the months they had stayed in the Lighthouse, no one had braved the kitchen at this hour. 

He heard footsteps walking around, chairs being moved until the noise started to come his way. He stood near the entrance, with a dagger in hand. Years of training kicked in as the door slowly opened and he prepared himself to hit whoever has invaded the Lighthouse when he heard

“Maker’s balls Lucanis, it’s me.” 

Standing mere centimeters from the dagger��s blade was Rook. She took a step back as he sheathed the weapon. 

“Rook…” he said, embarrassed “what are you doing? It’s late.” 

“You’re not the only one who has trouble sleeping.” Looking past him, Rook motioned to the shelves of the pantry. “Do you know if there’s anything sweet in there?” 

He furrowed his brows, confused. “I…we ran out of chocolate last week.” 

“Damn it.” Rook sighed and began to turn to leave.

“I could brew you some coffee, if you want.” Lucanis offered. 

She looked at him, contemplating the offer, and saying “I’ll take it, but only if you keep me company.” 

Lucanis gave her a small nod and smile. “Of course.” 

Rook made her way to the table, sitting on one of the chairs close to the kitchen door as she waited. Once he was done, Lucanis handed her the coffee, sitting on the opposite chair and holding a cup of coffee of his own.

She blew the steam coming of it before drinking it. She sighed contentedly. “You make really good coffee.” 

“Thank you.” He drank from his cup. 

“How many have you had tonight?” 

“This would be my third.” 

“It’s probably not good for your health to be drinking this much coffee at night.” 

He smirked. “Probably. But I’m also sure attempting to raid the larder late at night is also not good for you.” 

Rook raised a brow “Touché.” She sank into the chair, making herself more comfortable. She only wore her pajamas, a sleeveless shirt and a short, and for the first time, Lucanis had noticed the various burn scars across her arms and legs, ones usually kept hidden underneath armor. On occasion, he had caught a glimpse of them on her forearm, but he never realized the extent of them. 

He wondered what was the story behind them, if she would share it if he asked but instead, he looked away, hoping she hadn’t noticed him looking. 

“You said you had trouble sleeping?” Lucanis asked. 

Rook nodded. “Nightmares, but I’m used to it.” 

“What were they about?” 

Rook looked at her coffee, biting her lip before looking at him “I’ve heard you and Davrin talking. How much do you know about what’s like being a warden?”

His brows furrowed, confused at the question. “Besides that you’re all going to slowly die of the taint, have a secretive order and are supposedly the only ones who can kill Archdemons, I know as much as everyone else. Why?” 

She sighed. “When you’re a Grey Warden, you are connected to the darkspawn because you’re all blighted, right? It’s how we’re able to sense them, because we’re a bit like them.” He nodded as she explained. “One of the side effects of that is that just like them, we also dream with the Archdemon.” 

Lucanis raised his brows. “I…I didn’t know.” 

“I guess most people don’t know.” She shook her head, looking at the fire. “It’s hard to explain if you don’t have them but you just…it’s like you’re a darkspawn, listening to their call. The Archdemon, it-it looks at you, like it’s staring into your soul, compelling it to them, knowing you’re not one of them. It’s…hard.”

“I’m sorry, Rook.” 

She shrugged. “It’s fine. You learn to deal with it. But with this whole blighted gods and two of them walking around…it gets more difficult to sleep.” 

“I see. At least, you have Davrin.” 

“Yeah…” she said, but there was a certain…sadness? or unease in the way she said that. “I don’t know if I’d want to talk to him about this though.” 

“Why not? He probably would understand it better than I do.”

“I know but he’s him and you’re…” she hesitated, and for a second, Lucanis swore he could see a blush on her face, though he believed it must be a trick of the light. 

“I’m what?”

“You.” She said and looked down. “Do you ever deal with this? Nightmares, I mean.” 

“One of the upsides of not sleeping is not getting nightmares.” He joked and she chuckled. “But sometimes, I do get the occasional bad dream.” 

“What are they about?” 

“Nowadays, the stuff done to me and Spite in the Ossuary. But other times…” he hesitated. His other nightmares consisted of his childhood. Of being starved and beaten into the assassin he was. Of past mistakes. Of losing the ones he loved.

Her voice brought him back to reality “You don’t have to say it if you don’t want to. Makers knows there’s things I’d rather forget that still haunt my dreams.” 

He looked at her, seeing a kindness in her eyes he hadn’t felt in a long time. Lucanis offered her a small smile. “Thank you, Rook.” 

“Always.” 

After that, the two continued to drink in silence. It was a welcoming silence, not one brought on by discomfort, and Lucanis couldn’t help but think of how nice this was. 

Once she was finished with her drink, Rook placed it on the table and yawned. “I think I’ll go back to my room now. Maybe the coffee will ensure no more bad dreams.” 

The two of them stood up and Lucanis chuckled, as he grabbed her empty cup. “You’re the only person I know who gets sleepy after drinking coffee.” 

“Well, you know how I am.” She said before making her way to the door. 

Before she left, her said “Rook, wait.” 

“Yes?” 

“If you ever have…trouble sleeping, I wouldn’t mind doing this again.” 

Rook smiled shyly, nodding. “I’ll know where to find you. Goodnight.” 

“Night.” He sighed, making his way to sink to wash her cup and Spite soon began talking. 

“Rook. Likes you.” 

“Rook likes everyone.” Lucanis tried to ignore Spite. 

“But with you. It’s different. I could smell it on her.” 

“Don’t talk about her like this.” He said harshly, but that only made Spite smirk. 

“You. Like her too. It’s why you offered to help.” 

“I…” Lucanis sighed, as the demon began to laugh and he poured himself another coffee. 

It would be a long night. 

[stormwife-writes]

Lightning Strikes Twice (NSFW)

Lightning Strikes Twice ⚡️(4677 words) by stormwife on AO3

Rating: Explicit Relationships: Female Rook/Emmrich Volkarin

Summary:

Lucanis expresses his disapproval, and Emmrich overhears. Rook mends the situation with a little romance. Emmrich turns the tables, or at least some books, and finds at least two reasons to stay.

--

Rook steps closer, her chest brushing his, Emmrich backing against the shelves. “And your last, uh, healing, let me feeling far more…” She leans in, backing him against the lines of books, pressing his spine against those endless spines. She slides her hand lower. “… focused.” At this, Emmrich blushes. It is a sight more precious than any treasure.

---

Tags: Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Feelings, Banter, Fluff, Angst, Smut, Eventual Smut, Age Difference, Hand Jobs, Vaginal Fingering, Penis In Vagina Sex, Vaginal Sex, Multiple Orgasms, but for Emmrich this time!, Mage Rook (Dragon Age), Female Rook (Dragon Age), Rook sasses and seduces Emmrich… again, Emmrich is a gentleman and a scholar and a simp, Act 1 spoilers, the title is about Chain Lightning and also multiple orgasms, no beta we die like Rook in a foot of running water

Series: Part 2 of The Bell Tolls the Tempest

---

Slightly more feelings in this one before returning to true shamelessness for the next one, because it's a series now I guess 🤷🏻‍♀️

[wabart]

Vengeance / Spite

[girlwithadragonheart]

Chapter 4 - Ashes to Ashes

This story contains major spoilers for Dragon Age the Veilguard. Read at your own discretion!!

Rook x Lucanis

Summary: Kalais has to choose to save her city or Lucanis's. Things don't end well.

Word Count: 4k

Warnings: Swearing, Mental-emotional breakdown, Kalais snaps a little

A/N: I love when I develop a character that ends up not taking any shit it's so healing

Chapter 3 DATV Masterlist Chapter 5

We met with Harding’s Warden contacts in the High Anderfels. Antoine and Evka were both very sweet and seemed like they wanted to help. They said they had noticed some things about the Blight that lined up with what we were seeing, everything the First Warden didn’t believe.

They told us about another Warden in the area who was pulled into another mission. Lucanis and I made our way to his last known location. There was a tent and a fire still halfway burning.

“Well, I’d say we found the camp.” Lucanis crouched down on the opposite side of the fire from me. “So did some darkspawn, looks like.”

“They left the fire burning,” Lucanis said.

“Were they ambushed?” Lucanis and I glanced at each other.

We heard a screech, both looking toward the sound. I crossed behind him, putting a hand on his shoulder. He rose from his crouched position behind me as I tried to find the source of the sound.

The creature screeched again, this time louder, and a ball of feathers was fiving at me, about the size of a mabari. I held my hands out, trying to keep the creature from attacking me. By description, it looked like a griffon, but that couldn’t be right. Griffons were extinct.

“Assan!” A deep voice yelled close by. I looked over seeing a handsome, dark skinned elf. The griffon pounced over to him as he walked up to us, sticking close to his side. “Easy boy.” The man smoothed a hand over his feathers.

“I’ll be damned… a griffon,” I said.

“Trouble is, he’s not sure what you are. Neither am I,” the man said.

“Rook,” I said. “Evka and Antoine sent us. We’re looking for Davrin.”

“You found him. Mind telling me why you smell like darkspawn?” He asked. “Griffons hunt darkspawn.”

“We don’t smell that bad. It’s the tent,” I explained.

“Blight? Where are Lancit and Remi?”

“The camp was empty when we got here,” I told him.

We heard a raged cry from somewhere distant. “Assan! To the trees!” Davrin commanded. “Try to keep up!” He told us.

After killing lots of darkspawn, and finding all of the griffons locked up in cages sealed with blood magic, we found what Davrin called the “Gloom Howler”. Some kind of Darkspawn, undead, bitch queen.

She got away and took the griffons with her before we could stop her.

The four of us made our way back through the eluvian and the Caretaker took us between islands in the Crossroads.

Neve, Harding, and Bellara came running toward us, looking panicked. “What’s happened?” I asked with a furrowed brow.

“The Viper just sent word. Minrathous is under attack by a blighted dragon,” Neve said.

“Has to be the one we saw at D’Meta’s Crossing,” I said.

“Well, one of them has to be,” Harding replied.

“What do you mean, “one of them”?” Lucanis questioned.

“Teia also got in touch. Another dragon is attacking Treviso, too,” Harding told him.

“Mierda,” Lucanis cursed.

“You got back just in time,” Harding said to me.

I took a breath, putting my hands on my hips. “Alright. What do we know?”

“Two dragons at once? Has to be the gods behind it,” she said.

“Teviso’s a merchant city. It has no defenses. And the canals run everywhere,” Lucanis told me. “If we don’t stop that dragon, people will die. Innocent people. My people. They either die right away, from the dragon. Or slowly after, from blight in the water. We need to go to Treviso.”

“And leave Minrathous to burn?” Neve questioned. “You’re a Shadow Dragon, Rook. You know the Viper, Tarquin, every damn Shadow… We’ll fight to the end. But people will get hurt. Or worse,” she said. “And if we fail? The Venatori will take advantage. They’ll make a push for the throne. And hand the gods the entire Tevinter Empire.”

“If we decide to—”

“Damn it! There’s no time!” Neve interrupted me. “It’s my city. Our city. I need to be in Minrathous.”

“And I must go to Treviso,” Lucanis said. “Go where you feel you must, Rook. We cannot wait.” 

Without another word, Neve and Lucanis both ran off. “What’s our move, Rook?” Harding asked.

I ran over what I knew for certain in my head. Minrathous had defenses, including the Archon Palace. I was certain that me and two others would not be able to make much of a difference against a dragon. But I did know that Treviso was already under occupation and its people wouldn’t survive without some extra aid. I also knew that as much as Neve said Minrathous was my city, I was its slave long before I was its savior.

I took a breath, my chest feeling tight with the weight of this decision. “We help Lucanis in Treviso. We have to trust that the Shadow Dragons can take care of things in Minrathous. That said… two of you should join Neve there. See if you can help. And we’ll head to Treviso.”

“Understood,” Davrin said.

“Let’s all try to make it through this alive, all right?”

I brought Davrin with me, leaving the other two to go to Minrathous with Neve. I had to trust that they would be alright. I couldn’t afford to be distracted right now, lest I risk my own hide. When we got to Treviso, the city was burning.

Davrin and I made our way through the city, killing Antaam as we went. With the dragon trying to kill everyone, I suppose they saw their chance to really take over. Or, even worse, they were working for the Gods. ‘Cause that’s what we needed. More enemies.

We ran through the courtyard, seeing Lucanis and Teia up ahead. Lucanis looked so relieved to see us. “Rook! You’re just in time. Where the dragon attacks, the Antaam soon follow.”

“It is strong and fast. You must get its attention, then lure it onto the ground,” Teia said, hands on her hips.

“We’ll figure out a way,” I said, mimicking her stance.

“Draw up your courage,” she said. “We will need it.”

We took up position in the field, Davrin on my right and Lucanis on my left. Ghilan’nain, the horrible beast that she now was, all tentacles and no heart, demanded the dagger from me and said that Treviso offered nothing more than a pawn for Elgar’nan. She clearly couldn’t see the beauty it held.

She sent the dragon after us to retrieve the dagger. Most of my time was spent dodging blows as I tried to keep it off the other two, allowing them to actually hit it.

Enough of my panic built up, that I was able to aim some of it back at the dragon in the form of lightning and fire, beamed directly at its heart. Before we could bring it down, Ghilan’nain called it away, saying she had need of it elsewhere.

“You fought it off!” Teia ran over to us.

Lucanis clutched at a wound on his leg as he limped over to us. “If Ghilan’nain hadn’t called it away…”

“It’s more important that it stopped attacking the city,” I told him, casting a worried glance at the blood staining him.

“Everyone with a home that still stands will agree,” Teia said.

“That thing was tough. It’ll be hard to put down for good,” I sighed.

“What happened to Treviso would’ve been worse if you hadn’t arrived when you did. I cannot imagine how much worse,” Lucanis said looking at me gratefully.

“Still have to help with that dragon in Minrathous,” Davrin said.

“Let’s go,” I said.

—-------------------------------------

Minrathous was covered in Blight by the time we reached it. The streets were crawling with darkspawn and buildings were on fire. Even as I knew I made the right choice, it hurt to see this place like this. I had more bad memories here than good ones, but the good ones outweighed the negative. This was where I met Varric, after all.

We found Neve and Tarquin huddled around Ashur who was on a table, looking miserable and wounded.

“We’re here. What’s the situation?” I asked.

“Where were you?” Neve demanded.

“Treviso. The dragon—”

“This is your city! I thought—”

“My city?!” I almost laughed in her face. “You mean the city I was enslaved to? You mean the city that showed me and other people like me no kindness? The city that’s been corrupted since the beginning of Thedas?”

“And because we were busy fighting the bigger evil, the Venatori took large parts of the city!” She yelled. “We lost people. And Ashur…”

“I’m fine,” he grunted. “She’s right.”

“You are not fine,” Tarquin said, standing. “He took a claw to the gut. A claw from a blighted dragon. Think about that,” he said to me.

“The blight’s in his blood. But that means…” All my fire was gone, and I was just exhausted.

“A slow death,” Neve finished. 

“You’ve brought nothing but trouble since you came back,” Tarquin growled.

My brows furrowed, pained and hurt. Dorian led me to them and all I did was fuck everything up. Lucanis stepped closer, almost protectively.

“It’s not Rook’s fault,” Ashur said. “I chose to engage it.”

“Because it was going for a safe house! Because half of us were already dead!” Tarquin shouted.

“Do you honestly think one more fucking person would’ve changed the outcome?” I questioned.

Tarquin spun on me. “No, but maybe you would be dying instead of him.”

I physically recoiled from the hatred in his eyes, my gut twisting with nausea. I bumped into Lucanis, and he steadied me with a hand on my waist.

“Just go. There’s nothing you can do here,” Neve said, looking over at Ashur.

—-------------------------------

I stumbled through the eluvian in the lighthouse, clutching my chest. My stomach churned, and I thought I might throw up.

“Rook!” I heard Bellara behind me, but I didn’t stop, heading straight through the hall and up the stairs. I couldn’t do this, I couldn’t lead, I wasn’t cut out for it.

I let my feet guide me and before I knew it, I was in the infirmary. Varric looked alarmed as I collapsed to my knees beside his bed, tears rolling down my cheeks. “I fucked up,” I whimpered. “I fucked up, Varric.”

“Hey, hey, hey, kid, take a breath.” He shifted, and I felt his warm hand on my shoulder, gripping me just tight enough to bring me back to reality. “What happened?”

“Minrathous---” I started, getting cut off by a sob. “Minrathous is burning. They took it- The gods took it, and Neve…” My body shook, wracked with sobs as I tried to breathe. “She’s so mad. I don’t think she’s coming back, Varric.” I looked up at him with bleary eyes.

He moved, sliding to the edge of the bed until I was between his legs, and he pulled me into his chest. “Easy, kid.” He had one arm tight around my shoulders, his other hand smoothing my hair. “You can’t save everyone. That’s the life.”

“Neve trusted me. She trusted me and Minrathous is burning now,” I whimpered, squeezing my eyes shut and trying to suck up the warmth he was giving me. It was so hard to breathe.

“You made a decision based on what limited knowledge you had,” Varric said. “No one can ask any more of you than that. Neve will come back around. Give her time.”

“We don’t have time, Varric,” I said desperately.

“So keep moving forward. That’s what you do, Rook. That’s what you’ve always done,” he said. “She’ll either come around or she won’t. But you can’t afford to spend what little time you have regretting your choices. Let me ask you something: Do you regret the choice you made? Or just Neve?”

I felt silent in contemplation. “I made the right choice,” I said carefully. “Treviso has no defenses, and it’s under occupation by the Antaam. I couldn’t have changed the outcome in Minrathous.” I had to believe that, if nothing else.

Varric squeezed my shoulder, and I pulled back, looking up at him. He smiled with that softness in his eyes that was just reserved for me. He put his thumb and forefinger under my chin so I looked at him. “Then you did the right thing,” he said simply. Carefully, he used his thumbs to wipe my face of tears. “Cheer up, kid. The night may be long, but it isn’t all dark.”

I heard what he said and what he didn’t. Minrathous was doomed to fall some day. We had been fighting a losing battle regardless, much as I hated to leave behind the people there. Half of them were under Venatori control, and the other half were too helpless to fight against it.

“Chin up, Rook. I think the others need you,” he told me.

I nodded, sniffling and wiping the remainder of my tears from my chin and jaw. “I need to talk to Solas.”

“If Chuckles pisses you off too much, hit him for me,” he said as he slid back up to the wall.

I couldn’t help but laugh a bit, shaking my head as I left.

---------------------------------------

“When last we spoke, you were hunting for followers of Elgar’nan and Ghilan’nain in hopes of finding “specifics”. Has your search been successful?” Solas asked.

“You could say that. It looks like both the Venatori and the Antaam are working for Elgar’nan and Ghilan’nain,” I told him.

“Unsurprising. The Venatori want magical secrets, and the Antaam want to destroy anyone opposing their brutal expansion. Both will readily bow to anyone who promises them power.”

“It’s more than a promise this time. The Antaam and the Venatori both have dragons doing their bidding.”

“Dragons?” He said surprised. “That is worse than I had feared.”

“Yeah. We drove off the one the Antaam brought to Treviso—barely,” I crossed my arms.

“Have you determined how the dragons are being directed? If it is blood magic, it may be possible to disrupt their control.”

“The dragons are blighted. We think that’s what let the gods control them.”

“The blight. Of course.”

“The blight seems to be the gods’ favored tool right now. We ran into Venatori who could control darkspawn,” I said.

“Elgar’nan would not bestow such power unless the darkspawn were to serve as the main force of his army. And I suspect Ghilan’nain will see the darkspawn as new subjects for her… modifications.”

“We’ve already run into a few darkspawn nobody has seen before. That’s in addition to the blighted dragons.”

“That is the fate Elgar’nan and Ghilan’nain plan for this world, then. Corruption and blighted slavery,” Solas said, hands clasped behind his back.

“Right… Everyone should be free and uncorrupted when your demons and raw magic kill them,” I narrowed my eyes at him.

“Do you truly believe my goal was to destroy this world?” He asked.

“I believe you’re ‘goal’, like you said, was to transfer the gods to a better prison—the one you’re stuck in now. And you were willing to tear down the Veil and destroy with world while you did so,” I spat.

“The Veil is a wound I cut into the Fade in a moment of desperation while aking their prison. It should not exist. I had a host of spirits ready to help when the Veil fell. They would have minimized the loss of life.”

“Do you have any idea what you sound like? You could’ve actually saved the world from the blight, but instead you chose to kill thousands of people with your vanity project!” I shouted.

“It is not vanity! I broke this world. I am the only one who can fix it!”

His shouting didn’t faze me with the huge ravine and the Fade between us. “Spoken like a god,” I said with all the contempt I felt.

“I am not a god! I am as I have always been: a man, all too aware of his failings… But equally aware that if he did not act, accepting the judgment it would bring, all would be lost. They called me the Dread Wolf. What will they call you, when this is over?” He wondered.

“I don’t care what they call me. If they’re calling me anything, it means they’re still alive. That’s all that matters.”

“Acceptance. You are willing to face the consequences your actions may one day bring, because the world needs you. I believe I can work with that.” He smiled, though it felt anything but sincere. “If the gods are using dragons, you will wish to find someone trained to fight them. Have you unlocked the lighthouse eluvian?”

“Yes. We found the Crossroads. It’s still confusing, though.”

“I cannot help you from in here. You may need to find an expert in the magic of the Fade. And if the Darkspawn are to be Elgar’nan’s army, you will need Grey Wardens to fight them.”

“I’ve got a few of them. Their leaders don’t trust me right now, though.”

“I have faith in you, Rook,” Solas said. “You seem to have a knack for gaining the cooperation of your adversaries.”

---------------------------------------

I woke up in a cold sweat---as I often did these days---to someone thumping against my door. I moved over to it quickly, brows furrowing. When I opened it, I had to catch Lucanis. He was struggling to stand, but when he spoke, it was Spite coming through his teeth.

“The idiot is still bleeding. Help him.”

“Walk with me,” I supported him with his arm over my shoulders, and I led him to my chaise lounge. When he sat, the purple glow from Lucanis’s eyes was gone, and he slumped, unconscious. “Fenedhis.”

I could see the blood seeping through the bandage on his leg, staining his loungewear dark red.

“Gods dammit, Lucanis,” I grumbled. I looked up at his unconscious form, regretting what I was about to do before I could even do it. I reached for the buttons on his pants, undoing them and pulling them down to his knees, keeping my eyes on the bandaged wound.

My fingers fumbled with the knot before finally getting it undone, unraveling it, lifting his boot onto my knee to pull the bandage from under his leg. When I got to the wound, I looked at it with furrowed brows. It looked like there was a piece of jagged rock stuck in there, which would explain why it didn’t clot properly.

I sighed, hovering my hand over the wound and pulling the piece of shrapnel with my magic. Lucanis winced. “Sorry. I’m sorry,” I whispered, putting just a bit more power until it flew up and smacked my palm. I set it with the bandages next to him. “Nasty little thing.”

Carefully, I held my hand over the wound again, pushing warmth into it and watching it seal closed beneath my magic. When it was healed, I stood, moving to my wardrobe for a fresh cloth to clean the blood up on his leg.

Before I came back around, I heard a startled grunt from Lucanis. His chest seized, staring at the wall of the aquarium across from him. I internally panicked, realizing he spent a year in the bottom of the ocean tortured.

I moved around the chaise with the cloth, putting myself into his direct line of sight. He looked up at me with wide brown eyes. “Rook?”

Slowly, he loosed a breath, looking around. “Hey, it’s alright. We’re in my room. Spite brought you here because of your wound.” I knelt down in front of him again, starting to mop up his blood.

“Of course he did,” he grumbled, looking down at his lap. He cleared his throat. “Isn’t it customary to ask before removing a man’s clothes?”

I rolled my eyes, hitting him with the cloth. “Well, I’m glad you’re feeling better. Well enough to clean yourself.” I stood, throwing the cloth at him.

He caught my wrist as I turned away. “Vuelve mi pequeña polilla, I meant nothing by it.”

My cheeks warmed as he crooned in his native language, and I was pulled back to my knees in front of him, resuming to clean his wound. “You had quite a nasty cut. This was keeping it from closing.” I picked up the piece of jagged rock. 

“Mierda,” he cursed, taking it to inspect it. “I wondered.”

“You would be lost without me,” I teased, wiping my hands on the cloth.

“You have no idea,” he muttered.

“I hope the next time we’re like this it’s not because you’re bleeding out,” I grinned, standing and collecting the dirty bandages to dispose of them. I saw Lucanis’s cheeks flush, and I smiled to myself as I left the room to avoid embarrassing him further. I was sure the last thing he wanted was for me to see him indecent and turned on.

❈❈❈

Lucanis pinched the bridge of his nose, looking up at the dancing reflections of water on the ceiling. It was bad enough that he had awoken half naked in a place of his nightmares. But then a complete one-eighty occurred, and he had the woman of his dreams kneeling in front of him with those mismatched eyes and warm smile.

Spite had brought him here, of course he had. And Kalais had just taken care of him like it didn’t take a second thought. And the things she said, mierda, he wished she would stop trailing him like a moth to a flame. It was dangerous, and it wouldn’t end well for either of them. Spite was Lucanis’s only future. To hope for anything else was futile.

Of course that didn’t stop all blood from running southward when she hinted at something more. Something unattainable, something beyond his imagination. Something impossible, and yet all too good for him anyway.

“She. Wants. You!” Spite growled in his ear. “We want. To taste her!” 

“Enough, Spite,” Lucanis said, standing and buttoning his pants. He didn’t look at the demon. He wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

“We. Want. Rook! Why?” he questioned.

Lucanis sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I don’t know why you want Rook. Possibly because she’s the only one who’s kind to you, though I can’t figure out why,” he muttered.

“No! You want her,” he said. “Her touch. Soft. Her hair silk. Her breath warm! Her lips. What do they taste like?”

“Enough!” He snapped. “She is not ours to have.”

❈❈❈

We all met around the fire in the dining hall. I filled everyone in on what Solas had said.

“So this elven god thinks we need a dragon hunter and a Fade expert?” Lucanis asked.

“He’s right about the dragon hunter, at least,” Harding said. “The Shadow Dragons did all the could. The dragon was just too much.” I frowned, staring into the fire. “The moment the dust settled? The Venatori rushed in. Guess they knew it was coming.”

My chest suddenly felt tight again.

“Neve’s staying for now. She said she’ll be back soon, but… At least you took care of yours,” Harding said to me.

“We hurt it, but didn’t kill it. The dragon flew off before we could put it down,” I said.

“Treviso could have used a dragon hunter. That much is true,” Lucanis said.

“Don’t remind me. Fewer people injured, and we wouldn’t have to worry about it coming back.” My brow furrowed, and I crossed my arms over my stomach.

“We shouldn’t forget about Minrathous, either. We need to do what we can to help. Though there’s no telling how long Neve will be helping the Shadow Dragons…” Lucanis added.

“Hey, let’s not get stuck in our regrets, all right?” Varric came hobbling over.

“Hang on a minute,” Davrin interrupted. “Not only have you retained the services of a demon assassin, you’re also taking advice from the elven god who attempted to tear down the Veil.”

“Spite is my problem,” Lucanis said defensively.

“That’s what they always say,” Davrin retorted. “Rook, Lucanis is one thing, but do you really trust this Solas?” He asked.

“Trust is such a strong word, you know?”

“So you don’t trust him.”

“Ehhh.”

“All right then.”

Harding said she would ask around about Dragon Hunters, and Bellara said she would get a message through to a Fade expert immediately.

“See, Rook? Nothing to worry about,” Varric said.

“All right. We all know what to do. Let’s get going,” I said to dismiss them.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A/N: I hope you enjoyed! Let me know if you want to be added to the tag list

Have a good day/night!

Tagged: @colombia-chan @bleummie

[roguelioness]

Pharos

When Neria agreed to serve as Rook's advisor, she never thought she would meet Solas outside of a battlefield.

Pairing: Solas x Neria Lavellan Rating: G Words: 1540 dragon age: the veilguard spoilers ahead.

Read on AO3

Sleep does not come easy, her heart frantically drumming its excitement. Neria stares at the roof, lets her eyes trace the many beams that criss-cross and support the structure. It has been so long since she saw him, so many years spent with barely any news of his existence. How often she has worried about him, even as she fretted over his plans. 

Would he have forgotten her? Had he thought of her at all?

Did he miss her?

Well, she thinks, I will have all the answers I need once I fall asleep.

It is no easier, but sheer exhaustion soon consumes here. When her eyes open, she is in the Fade, familiarly green in an unfamiliar location. She glances around, waiting for her guide to show up; a few moments later a figure strides towards her, her silhouette familiar, and Neria’s shoulders relax.

“I thought you would never turn up,” Rook remarks.

“I could not fall asleep,” she confesses with a faint smile.

Rook nods abstractedly, her mind still clearly occupied by the disastrous turn of events. “Come,” she says as she starts to walk away, “the Lighthouse is this way.”

“How can you tell?” Neria asks. “The Fade is so vast…”

Rook’s expression is grim. “Interrupting the ritual had a price,” she says, voice and body stiff. “I do not know the specifics, but I am bound to Solas, and the Fade. I will always know where he is, and he will know where I am.”

She stumbles, emotion catching in her chest and clogging up her lungs. Bound to Solas? Tied so close to him that she would know his location at any time? It is what she has wanted the most the past years, and that this new hero, her successor, has been granted it while she, the one who had loved him and who still loves him, has not… The sense of being discarded, as illogical as it is, has tears prickling at her eyes, and her fingers curl into her palms, nails digging into the skin, to steady herself. I was his enemy, she reminds herself. Why would he want to let me know where he wanders when he knew I wished to stop him?

Still, the rejection stings, hot and angry, and she has to remind herself to calm those wayward emotions lest she attract the attention of demons.

“Is he-” Neria hesitates, then starts again. “Is he well?”

Rook throws her a sympathetic look over her shoulder. “You’ll see for yourself soon enough.”

Soon enough comes quicker than she expected, and it is with a near-overwhelming sense of awe that she glances at what Rook has called The Lighthouse. So this is Solas’ real base, his personal home. Once again that feeling of bitterness that she’s not the first to experience this, that for all he claimed to love her, he did not truly trust her enough to-

He gave you Skyhold, she reminds herself. 

He gave the fortress to the Inquisition, she rebuts. He gave the fortress to the Inquisitor. Not to me. 

He did not invite them, her mind patiently counters. It is Rook’s interruption of his ritual that has resulted in her presence here. He did not prioritize them over you.

For an indeterminate length of time she merely gazes up at the grand building, at the hues of gold and purple that adorn it. That it is his is impeccably clear; she has intimate knowledge of how his magic feels, and it is so thick here it is a physical touch against her non-corporeal skin. Large, gilded windows allow golden light to stream in; the stone that make up the walls gleam with a kind of mother-of-pearl sheen. The Fade here is warm, comforting, a balm to her riot of emotions – it is unsurprising that his space in the Fade is so heartening.

And yet, for all its majesty, there is something heart-wrenchingly lonely about The Lighthouse.

Rook huffs impatiently. Neria rouses herself out of her thoughts at the sound, and follows the other woman into the mansion. There is opulence everywhere, though it is not garish; wherever she looks are touches of that same purple and gold – on the border of the carpet, the edge of the drapes, the pattern on the cushions adorning the plush couches.

So much space, she thinks, for one person.

When they pass the dining hall – twice as long as it is wide, and it is so very wide – she spies a great table with more chairs than she can count, and it is empty, so, so empty save a single plate and knife and fork, with a solitary goblet to match, and it slams into her then just what a terribly isolated, lonesome existence he must have led. How many times had he been betrayed to be instilled with the belief that he could trust no one? How many friends, how many lovers had cast him aside, had turned away from him because of the rumors that accompanied his name?

“Why are you crying?” Rook asks. 

Neria wipes at her face, mildly surprised to feel the tears. “It’s nothing,” she shakes her head. “Let’s keep going.”

The library is their destination, Rook’s unofficial war room as Solas has barred entry into other places in his home. She can understand that; it must be hard enough for him to handle this intrusion into his fiercely-guarded privacy, he would not want to let these new interlopers into every little bit of this deeply personal space.

They pass what she thinks to be the library. It is- she has no words for it. A row of towering bookshelves line two walls, filled with tomes and tchotchkes and trinkets. Sofas carved from rich, warm wood and covered in soft, shimmering velvet rest next to mosaic-covered tables, atop which rest intricately sculpted lights that glow with a bright, cozy light. There are books everywhere – stacked on top of tables, scattered across the floor, spread open on the seats. This, Neria realizes, this is where he spends the most time, the true heart of his home. The urge to enter and give everything within a closer look is almost irresistible; were it not for Rook taking their arm and giving a gentle tug, she would have succumbed.

“Not that one,” she says simply as she guides away from that oh-so-compelling room.

They encounter one of Rook’s companions on the way to their destination; Neria thinks the russet-skinned woman exuding such confidence is the one Rook said was called Neve. 

“Rook, a moment if you would?” Neve says.

Rook turns to her. “The library is right around the corner,” she says. “Give me a few minutes, and we’ll catch up.”

Slightly insulted over her exclusion – did Neve not think she could be trusted? – Neria makes her way to the library, coming to an abrupt standstill at the doorway.

Standing by a window, gloriously warm amber light caressing his face, is Solas. His back is to her, and she takes advantage of his ignorance of her presence to take his in. He is dressed in dark leather armor – beautifully made with materials she doesn’t recognize – as though despite this being a safe place, he does not entirely trust the people wandering his halls. Shoulders and back stiff, his chin jutted forwards, he reminds her of a cornered wild creature that is ready to lash out and strike at any moment.

And then he turns, and she sees his face for the first time in almost a decade, and her heart skips a beat before beginning a galloping rhythm–

A deep furrow sits between his brows, but the scar she has kissed so many hundreds of times is still there. There are heavy bags beneath his eyes, but his irises are the same shade of blue-grey-violet she remembers. His face wears a touch more color but his freckles are still visible, and she wants to count them to ensure each and every one of them are yet there. He– he is thinner than she remembers, his cheeks more gaunt; he appears like a man who has been well-plagued by stress.

He looks worried and frustrated and anxious, though it soon gives way; first into an expression of shock and surprise, then muted sorrow and dulled regret, before going blank entirely. But his eyes, oh, his eyes – they are ravenously, desperately hungry, and she shivers under the weight of that rapacious gaze, her skin flushing and warming beneath the force of it.

“Oh, vhenan,” she murmurs, taking a step towards him, trying not to take it personally as he takes a step back in response, “you have not been taking care of yourself.”

Whatever he had expected her to say, it had not been that, and the tension bleeds from him. “Neria,” he says, so quietly and reverentially it pulls tears to her eyes, “ir abelas, vhenan.”

Unable to help herself, unable – and unwilling – to resist, she bridges the space between them with long, rapid strides, flinging her arms around his neck and rejoicing in the form and feel of him. “I’m here,” she whispers, making a soft, choked laugh as his fingers tighten their grip on her, “I’m here.”

[tethrras]

a soft place to land

vittoria de riva x lucanis dellamorte. 2.7k. fluff, hurt/comfort, flirting. click here to read on ao3.

-

Vittoria is no stranger to loneliness.

It keeps her bed cold and her nights quiet. Sometimes she’s grateful for it and other times the longing for something more, the same longing she’s felt since childhood, threatens to strangle her. But she’s a Crow, and Crows can’t afford connections like that, so she doesn’t complain and instead spends long nights sharpening her blades in silence. Sharpening blades or, when she feels longing’s hands tightening around her neck, sitting in the window of her apartment in the canal district and watching the civilians of the city go about their lives.

“Her” apartment isn’t her apartment at all. It’s an abandoned apartment overlooking the market that no one has lived in for what seems like a decade, if not longer. She found it after one of her first contracts, and it’s the only place in Treviso that she can escape to without feeling the need to look over her shoulder for Viago. On nights she can’t sleep and doesn’t want to think or train, she scales the surface of the tower and settles in the window, letting the heartbeat of Treviso lull her into something that might resemble sleep. Visiting the apartment is what she misses most about home, and after seeing what happened to Minrathous, after hearing about what's happening in the South, she wants to visit it again. Who knows if - who knows when - it’ll be the last time?

She intends to head for the Eluvian with little fanfare - the others don’t need to know about her trip - but when she reaches the bottom of the staircase in the library, she finds Lucanis sitting on a chair with a cup of coffee in his hand and a book open in his lap. He looks up at her as her footsteps slow to a stop.

“De Riva.”

“Dellamorte.”

Vittoria shifts her weight from one foot to the other as a slight smile creases Lucanis’s lips.

“You’re going out.” He appraises her armor with a raised brow. She should’ve cleaned it earlier like she had meant to…

“I am.” Vittoria rests her hand on the hilt of her sword. “But I won’t be gone for long.”

“Where to?”

“Home,” she answers, then, “Treviso. Ever since we got back from Minrathous…”

He glances down at his lap then. “I know.”

She can tell he feels as she does - guilt for what happened to Minrathous, to the Shadow Dragons, to Neve, but gratefulness that the same - or worse - didn’t happen to Treviso. It’s a poor consolation, but consolation at all is priceless in times like this. 

Vittoria clears her throat. “Would you…”

“Would I what?”

“Um. Nothing,” she insists, shaking her head. Of course he wouldn’t want to come with her - he’s clearly in the middle of something. She’s not sure she wants company, either. “Anyway, I won’t be long. If anyone asks for me -”

“Were you going to ask me if I’d like to come with you?”

“... No.”

“Then what were you going to ask?”

She knows very well that Lucanis didn’t know who she was before she rescued him from the Ossuary, despite the two decades that she has spent with the Crows. It continues to surprise her that he understands her better than Viago ever has after only a month or two. No wonder he’s such a good assassin - he’s very good at reading his mark. She clears her throat. “Alright,” she confesses. “I was.”

“I thought so.” He stands up, takes a long sip from his teacup, and then places it down on the saucer. “Let me get my things. I will meet you at the Eluvian.”

He doesn’t leave her waiting long, and they travel home through the Crossroads in companionable silence. Vittoria can’t help but glance over at him from time to time. While he didn’t notice her in the past, she certainly noticed him - she even thought she had been in love with him once, though she’s sure now that she didn’t know what love meant. Or means. But he and Illario had a life that all Crow recruits wanted for themselves, and Vittoria had been one of them. The acclaim. The attention from the Talons. The inherent talent. When she was younger, she thought that having the attention of someone like Lucanis would’ve made her life easier - easier than the attention from Viago, anyway - and she strove for years to get that attention. She grew out of it eventually, and then, of course, he died, and whatever leftover feelings she might have had died with him. But now, the fact that not only is he alive, but that she was the one to save him… Sometimes it doesn’t feel real, and she always catches herself looking at him to make sure he’s really here.

“We’re not going to the Diamond,” she says when the two of them reach the Treviso Eluvian. “If you wanted to check in with Teia and Viago...”

“Hm. Then where are we going?”

“I have a place in the city that I go to. I consider it… well… a home. Of sorts. I wanted to make sure it was still standing, after…”

Lucanis nods. “I understand. But maybe we can check in with Teia and Viago while we’re here…” At Vittoria’s wince, he gives her a smile. “Or not.”

“Thank you.” There is a part of her that loves Viago, however complicated and repressed that part is, but the last thing she needs right now is a lecture.

“Of course. No one understands the desire to avoid Viago as well as I do, believe me.”

She steps through the Eluvian with Lucanis on her heels. 

Most of the Crows are asleep for the night, so the two of them meet no resistance at the Casino, and from there she leads him through the familiar streets in silence. It’s a short walk, though, and soon enough she’s standing at the base of the apartment building and refreshing herself on her usual footholds. She hasn’t been here since before she saved Varric all those months ago, and she would hate to fall to her death from the building that she’s scaled more than any other - in front of Lucanis, no less. To her relief, the tower doesn’t seem to have suffered in the face of the dragon attack. She glances back at her companion, who is staring up at the surface of the building the same way she had been moments ago.

“It’s not as tall as it looks,” she reassures him.

He meets her gaze. “Good thing I have wings.”

Vittoria has been climbing her whole life. As a child, she would spend hours scaling trees until she reached the top and could settle down in the branches with a book or wooden toy that she had stolen from one of her siblings. By the time she was six, she could scale the tallest tree on her family’s farm in one breath. When she first arrived in Antiva, it was the only thing that made her suited to the life of a Crow - everything else, the fighting and the thick skin and the iron stomach, came later. So climbing is second nature to her, and in no time, she’s heaving herself through the window and rolling onto the floor of her apartment. Lucanis follows. They stand up from the ground, dust themselves off, and meet each other’s eyes.

“This is it.” She says it more awkwardly than she’d meant to, and winces at herself. She thought she’d gotten over her infatuation with him - she doesn’t dwell on those old feelings when they’re working together side-by-side, killing Antaam and Venatori and Sentinels - but now that it’s the two of them, alone in an abandoned apartment with no gods or dragons for miles around, that soft spot of her heart feels rubbed raw. She turns away from him. “I’ve been coming here for years,” she says again. “I’m glad to see it’s still standing.”

Lucanis looks around curiously, and Vittoria does, too, to familiarize herself with the apartment again. There’s a bookshelf with a few books in it - books that she bought from the market herself, but can’t remember the contents of now - and a collection of knives sitting on a stool next to a well-worn whetstone. Above the stool is a series of scratches on the wall, each scratch representing one of her successful contracts. There must be more than a hundred scratches, but she’s not sure if he’d consider that a high or low number, so she resists the urge to call attention to it. 

On one side of the room is the window from which she can see the market, and on the wall opposite is the window from which she can see the whole of Treviso spilling over the hills on the horizon, its silver spires sparkling in the moonlight. Lucanis lingers here, standing still for a long moment. When he speaks, it shatters the silence.

“I have never seen Treviso like this.”

“I haven’t seen it like this for a long time.”

She brushes past him and sits on the edge of the window. It’s what she would do if she were alone, after all, and that’s what she had been coming here to do - to be alone, to calm herself and soothe her nerves of steel. Even though she knows she won’t be able to do those things now that he’s here with her, she’s still going to pretend that she can. And it’s easy, because for a long, long moment, neither of them move. It's only when she turns her head to look at him that he sits down on the windowsill across from her, stretching his legs out until his feet are nearly in her lap.

She used to dream of this. Of sitting across from Lucanis, fighting alongside him, of him knowing her name and… knowing even more than that. When she was little, she always imagined what she would tell someone if they asked her about her childhood in Ferelden, and for some reason, sitting across from him, she feels the words leaving her mouth before she can think about it. “When I arrived in Antiva, all I could think about was how different it was from Ferelden. I hated it at first.” But even the word hate doesn’t capture her feelings, because she spent most nights in the year or two after she arrived sobbing in her bed until the other recruits realized that hitting her hard enough could convince her to be quiet. “But I can’t remember what Ferelden looks like anymore. I can’t remember my family. All I know is Antiva, Treviso, Salle. The Crows. Viago. If Ghilan’nain’s dragon had…”

Vittoria glances over at Lucanis. He seems focused on something in the distance, but she notices him shift in his seat and straighten up when she looks for long enough.

“Did you recognize me?” She doesn’t know why she asks him this, but she does. “In the Ossuary?”

Lucanis shakes his head. “I didn’t. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I didn’t think you did.”

“But I wish that I had.” He turns to face her. “I don’t know how I never noticed you before, truthfully.”

“And why is that?”

He smiles again, and she resists the urge to glance back out the window. “You are an impressive woman, Vittoria.” 

“Well.” She clears her throat. She doesn’t know what “impressive” means to him, if it means what she thinks it means or what it should mean or if it means something else, but her face flushes nevertheless. “I’ve worked hard to be.”

At that, his smile sours. “You know… You take very good care of us. Of the team. But I hope you don’t think that we can’t be there for you the way that you - ”

“I didn’t invite you here to give me a motivational speech.”

“Ah. You didn’t invite me at all, remember? I had to tease it out of you.”

Her face flushes even more at the word “tease”. 

“I just mean that… If there is anything I can do for you, any difficulties you might be facing that I don’t know about… please tell me.” He sighs. “I know that I can’t do much, all things considered, but I can try to ease some of the weight off your shoulders if you let me. I have wings, you know. I can take it.”

“Please.” Vittoria waves her hand at him to dismiss the thought. “You keep me fed - that’s enough.”

“Mm.” He crosses his arms over his chest and nods. “And you do eat a lot more than the others, that’s true…”

“Hey!” She kicks his foot. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing, nothing! It was merely an observation.”

“Watch it, Dellamorte.” She gestures to the open window. “You’d hit the ground before Spite realized what was happening.”

“Please don’t say his name right now. I don’t want him to ruin the moment.”

There it is - another word that might mean something to him but also might mean nothing. She didn’t realize that whatever’s happening between them right now could be considered a moment… but at the same time, she has started to notice that he’s been giving her more attention since she saved him and the Crows from the dragon. He sits beside her at dinner, keeps close to her side in fights and in their travels through the Crossroads… and what had he been doing tonight, sitting in the library of the Lighthouse instead of the kitchen? 

She tells herself that it doesn’t mean anything, though. It can’t mean anything. Vittoria could never live at Lucanis’s side. He’s in line to become First Talon, and his family has been a part of the Crows for hundreds and hundreds of years. No matter how much training she does, no matter what she does, Vittoria won’t ever feel like she belongs to the Crows or like the Crows belong to her. She doesn’t think she’ll ever rid herself of the fear that one wrong move will be the end of it - of her life here, or of her life at all. And she feels the same about Lucanis. If she pushes her luck too far, who can she trust to watch her back the way she trusts him? She needs to focus on finding allies right now. Not a lover.

If he was interested in her at all. Which he isn’t. He can’t be.

“We don’t have to talk, you know,” she tells him, more for her sake than his. If her face flushes any more tonight, she might burst into flames. “We can just sit here and… look out at our city.” 

“Our city.” Lucanis turns away from her and rests his head against the window frame, settling in and looking more at ease than she’s ever seen him. And while watching him in motion is enough to drive her to madness, seeing him at ease might be even worse. Watching his chest rise and fall with long, measured breaths. Watching his eyelashes flutter like he’s trying to keep himself awake. He is a beautiful thing, Lucanis. She’s sure being loved by him would be a beautiful thing, too.

“Before we stop talking, then, let me say one last thing: thank you for saving our city.” His voice is softer than a whisper, so soft that she has to lean in to hear what comes next. “And even though I didn’t know you before, I am glad that I know you now.”

As allies. As friends. As teammates. While she knows that’s all he means, it’s still something. Vittoria smiles at him. “Me too.”

True to his word, Lucanis doesn’t speak again for the rest of the night. Neither does Vittoria. (Neither does Spite.) They watch the sun rise over the mountains surrounding their home and then decide that it’s time to return to the Lighthouse to rest before they see the First Warden. But if things go well, if she somehow figures out a way to stop the gods, then she might bring him back here and tell him all the things that no one has ever thought to ask her about. He might even want to know.