#dav evka

[calcium-draws]

close enough, welcome back hiccstrid

[proffbon]

ANTOINE 😭

[catebees]

Time allowing and muse willing, I'd love to see your interpretation of Evka Ivo, a dwarven Grey Warden from DATV!

She's so beautiful her hair is so fun!

[knife-eared-jan]

Look at all our Tevinter Nights babies T_T

We've waited so long for them and they are all perfect

I've only seen pictures and gifs of the Crow ones so far and tbh they're my faves too, but guys, Strife! And Irelen! And Evka!

I love them all so much!!!!! (Not you, Caterina!)

(Now just give me Hollix as well, Bioware, and I will sell you my very soul!)

***

Edit: Important addition (thank you @armorofhexes for letting me know): Baby boy!!!

[lords-of-fortune]

Do you think isabela is the only faction leader without a dynamic duo so you can imagine a hawke that's supposed to be there (but maybe isn't bc they got left in the fade)

[fridgemeats]

bird watching

[realvsable]

Hot Veilguard Take of the day

Evka and Antoine have the best romance of the game

No I will not be taking questions

[stardustandash]

it doesn't matter who you romanced, what faction or class you chose, not even whether or not you ship solavellan.

The one true unifying experience of Veilguard is loving Antoine and Evka (and wanting in on that relationship)

[sageadvice]

*whispering* this game is just way too pretty…

[sky--phantom]

I love seeing Crows together. Everyone else has some colour, and here they are, standing dramatically in dark leather

[thedissonantverses]

I am really, really enjoying playing as a Grey Warden this run. This is the most I've loved the Wardens since origins. Esha Thorne. Antoine and Evka forever.

[amarmeme]

If this is our last Dragon Age, I will go off imagining a perfect circle where it starts with two wardens falling in love symbolized by a rose, growing despite the blight, and ending with two wardens in love, flowers growing again as they beat back the last blight.

[basket-of-cats-and-witches]

Codex Entry: Friends in Southern Thedas

Davrin, Rook-

A letter arrived from the South. It's certainly seen better days, but I think you should take a look at this.

-Evka

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

To Warden Evka,

Hello from Skyhold. I've never been very good at writing these damned things, so forgive me if it comes off rather stilted.

The shock of Weisshaupt’s loss has reached us even here. It's a guilt that weighs heavily on our minds, knowing we couldn't make it.

When I received the missive from the First Warden calling all of us back, I couldn't help but think of the South. Ferelden is where I began my journey, and I couldn't leave it to weather the Blight alone.

Some of the Wardens agreed with me.

So, we took a risk.

You are not alone. Our numbers have diminished, but there are still those of us fighting for every inch we can take. The Darkspawn will not win. Thedas will not fall.

All of us have fought against impossible odds time and time again, and still we return.

We cannot return to your side, as there is still so much to do here.

Nathaniel should be in contact with “your Orlesian fellow” soon. He'll be helping to make sure we're keeping each other well apprised during our fight.

You've done well. Know that I am keeping you and all our fellow Wardens in mind as we help the Inquisitor here.

In War, Victory.

Signed,

The Hero of Ferelden, Veteran of the Fifth Blight

[elfsroot]

Become a Warden. Hear the blight. Kind of a bad trade. The Lords just throw a party.

[soupandsorcery]

Beaux wakes up to see five faces hovering over his. All of them look drawn, tired, but there's not a dry eye out of of the lot. Even Davrin, stoic unless he's angry, collected unless he's laughing, looks like he might have recently been crying, and Beaux has to blink several times to get his head on straight.

He was...in the Fade. Right. Solas' prison, a monument of regrets. It was cold there, bitterly so, and every breath felt like glass in his lungs. He remembers Harding's voice, Neve's, urging him on. Varric's, revealing what Beaux probably knew all along.

It still aches, a shard of pain in his chest that he's been ignoring for months now, still digging in deeper, like a splinter.

"Rook?" Bellara breathes, leaning in closer. Her eyes dart anxiously over his face, her hair falling into her eyes. Her bun is uncharacteristically messy, which feels like a strange, yet important thing to notice right now.

"Present," Beaux says. His voice comes out raspy. There's a headache behind his eyes.

"Is it really..." Her eyes well up and she claps a hand over her mouth, pulling away. Emmrich replaces her, relief, worry, and something cautious etched into the lines of his face.

"Rook," he says. "How do you feel?"

Beaux frowns. How does he feel? Numb. Angry. Tired. Aching. Hurt. Yeah, that's a big one. His whole body is one giant scab, throbbing with the pain of it all. But he doesn't have the words for that, so he takes a deep breath. "Fine, I think. A little dizzy, maybe?"

"Here." Davrin is behind him in a second, his strong, broad hands coming to Beaux's shoulders. "Sit up slowly."

"Right." He lets Davrin help him, even though the movement makes the pain explode in his forehead. Everything spins for a minute, and Beaux squeezes his eyes shut.

"Focus on your breathing," says Emmrich's voice. "In, then hold, then out."

Beaux obeys, dragging in a deep breath, expanding his lungs, and holding it for two beats before releasing it in a messy rush.

"Good," from Emmrich. "Again."

It comes easier the second time, and then the third. When he opens his eyes again, the room is still. And he realizes where he is. Lucanis' pantry is warm, bathed in the light of flickering candles and magical lamps. Everyone is packed in, save for Manfred and Assan, but he can hear them having a conversation in squawks and hissed words just outside the door.

"How much do you remember?" this from Taash, standing towards the back of the room, arms folded. Their face is shadowed, both by the light and by the pain they must be feeling.

Maker, they'd come so far only to lose so much.

"All of it," Beaux answers. "Tearstone Island. Neve. Harding." His voice breaks on her name. "Lucanis killed Ghilan'nain, and then Solas—"

There's a broken off noise of anger from Beaux's right, and he turns his head to see Lucanis there. Of all of them, he looks the worst. Shadows under his eyes again, Beaux notes. Those had been going away, once he and Spite made their agreement. He hasn't been sleeping. His hands are clenched at his sides, and his hair is a mess, like he's been dragging his fingers through it.

"Perhaps we should...give them a moment," Emmrich suggests, looking between the two of them. "We can all convene in the library later?"

Davrin hesitates, eyes flicking over Beaux for a second. "We are sure this is Rook, right? We didn't accidentally pull some demon out in his place?"

"What are you suggesting?" Emmrich asks, sounding more than a little affronted.

"Stranger things have happened. To us."

"I don't think a demon would know you secretly asked Lucanis if he thought griffons needed sweaters in the winter," Beaux says.

"I told you than in confidence," Davrin replies, directing the grievance at Lucanis, who can't even manage a rebuttal with how tightly he's wound. "Fine, you're you. Good." He claps Beaux on the back and slides past the others to leave the pantry.

Everyone touches Beaux somehow before they leave. Bellara throws her arms around him, clinging tightly for a second before she's off again. Emmrich touches the back of his hand, giving him a reassuring smile. Taash ruffles his hair, and when Beaux catches their hand, trying to figure out what to say, they shake him off.

"Later," they say, cutting their eyes to Lucanis.

Beaux nods.

The door closes behind them all, and their hushed voices linger in the dining room beyond. It warms Beaux through to know they're not going far.

Lucanis hasn't moved, though. He stands like a statue, eyes staring at the wall, unfocused. There's pain in the way he's holding himself, like if he doesn't hold himself together, he'll shatter into a million pieces. Beaux wonders how often Lucanis has felt like this. How many times he's had to put himself back together after having the rug pulled out from under him. Too many in recent memory.

"Lucanis," he says softly.

The only response is a low sound of not quite distress.

Beaux moves slowly, but with purpose, swinging his legs over the side of the cot, bracing himself on the thin mattress to try to lever himself up to stand.

But Lucanis is there in an instant. Or rather—something shifts, and Spite is there, blocking the way.

"Hello, Spite," Beaux says, smiling up at him. "Will you help me?"

"Smells like the Fade," Spite growls. "Cold. Bitter. Lonely."

"That about sums it up, yeah. It was..." he trails off, shaking his head. "Bad. What's going on in Lucanis' head?"

"Anger. Betrayal. Not again. Loss. Fear. NOT AGAIN."

"Help me?" Beaux asks again, reaching a hand out. Spite takes it, hauling Beaux to his feet. He sways for a second, off balance, and the world goes spinning again. There's a flash where he's almost sick right on the scrubbed wood of the pantry floor, but it passes, thankfully. Spite doesn't let go, and he's grateful for the lifeline. "Okay, let me talk to him."

The purple of those eyes recedes, giving way to deep brown, and Lucanis is there again.

"I thought—" Lucanis says. Falters.

"I know."

"I promised myself, Beaux. I promised you. I would lose no one else. And then Neve. Harding. You were gone."

"I know," Beaux says again. "But you found me. You found me, and I'm here."

He reaches up to cup Lucanis' face in his hands, stroking his thumbs along his beautiful, beautiful cheekbones. Lucanis grips Beaux's wrists, hanging on tight. "You're here," he repeats. "Mierda. When you disappeared, I— I could have killed Solas. I wanted to."

"He has that affect on people." The words are dry as a desert in Beaux's mouth. "How long did he have me trapped there?"

"Weeks," Lucanis says. "I cannot say how many. Days lost their meaning, after a while."

"Weeks?" Beaux sways again, and Lucanis tightens his hold. "Maker, the fucking Fade. It felt like hours for me. I think so anyway? It was hard to tell. I'm so sorry, Lucanis. I never wanted to worry you like that."

"No," Lucanis growls. "You owe me no apologies. If I had been faster—"

"You killed Ghilan'nain. You watched one of your closest friends die to help give you the shot." He thinks back to all those weeks ago, when Lace and Lucanis had been discussing him hiring her to watch his back. None of them could have known just how good she'd be at it. "I knew Solas would betray me before it was all said and done, I just didn't think it would be something like what he did. No one could have predicted that, and this isn't on you."

"He was in your head. He used you. Manipulated you. Then he just disappeared into an eluvian, like he had done nothing. Like it did not matter." Anger sharpens Lucanis' accent, bitter around every word.

"Yes," Beaux says very faintly. "He did."

Something in his voice drains the anger from Lucanis in a rush. He leans forward (well, up and then forward), pressing their foreheads together. "Forgive me," he breathes. "I should not make you dwell on it."

"There's no time for that anyway. If I've been gone for weeks, we have to get back to it. I need to know what's been going on."

Lucanis looks like he's going to argue for all of a second, then he nods. "You need the work to focus you."

"We've always been alike that way."

A smile ghosts over that handsome face, and Lucanis pulls Beaux down into a kiss. It's tender, and nothing has said 'you're home' so much as Lucanis' mouth on his. The last of the chill of the Fade is wicked away, leaving behind only a simmering warmth that spreads all the way down to his toes.

When Lucanis pulls back, he looks less haggard. There's life in his eyes again, at least. "Come," he says. "We will discuss with the team. I will make you something to drink."

He threads their fingers together, and Beaux holds on tight.

[fridgemeats]