#echoes of arlathan

[the-tropes-are-hungry]

The next 3 chapters of Hearthkeeper are all me beating my Grey Warden with a 12lbs cinder block and he deserves it he’ll be better for it promise.

[lizzybeeee]

Calling it now:

If there's ever any future installments of Dragon Age there will be no mention of the differentiation between the Dalish or City Elves.

Like in DATV they will simply all be 'elves' and the vallaslin will be reduced to 'cool looking tattoo's that some veil jumpers have' - no mention of the elven pantheon either, because why bother! They're all dead now!

They're all dead and responsible for every lore plot point in Thedas, and there's nothing of mystery or substance left in the world now.

No mention of the culture in the alienage, of the vhenadahl tree, of the horrific racism and systematic abuse the elves have been through...now its just elves. With the way the Veil Jumpers have been set up, and the fact that the elven gods were the enemy in DATV, I find it extremely unlikely that the Dalish will even exist as a group either. Why would they? Their Gods returned and blighted the world - not that the fact is even truly discussed in the game. Elves are just elves, and the notable elves are Veil Jumpers.

Maybe you'll walk in a city, pick up a codex, and get a copy and pasted explanation of history from a DAO codex - a reminder of what we used to have and what BioWare absolutely demolished in their attempt to build a new IP on the bones of Dragon Age. The absolute whiplash in writing, story, and character between DAI and DATV is staggering. How on earth could the studio that made such a gorgeous, rich world of lore surrounding the elves in one game end up utterly bastardizing and reducing it to nothing?

How can you look at a place like the Temple of Mythal and go from those gorgeous golden murals and emerald tiled roofs that reached to the heavens to a place like the Lighthouse? From the Emerald Graves to the ruins of Arlathan - devoid of halls that reach to the heavens and golden murals replaced with stained glass? The entirety of the Trespasser DLC had more character and reverence for what the elven empire once was, and DATV feels as though it's approaching it with the perspective of 'generic elven bullshit with triangles everywhere'. All that unique architecture has been obliterated by adding in World of Warcraft focus crystals and automatons.

How can you go from the atmospheric/environmental storytelling of the Lost Temple of Dirthamen to Solas just blurting everything out? No weight, no double truths or hidden meanings - just blurting it out, getting it said and done with no gravitas? That was Solas' entire thing! People have made threads literally dissecting what Solas says and does not say - now he spits lore out as though it were common, everyday knowledge.

How can anyone justify the sudden emergence of magical automatons everywhere in old elven ruins? As if Dragon Age didn't have a host of enemies/creatures available to use in their stead - or the ability to create something unique to the forest of Arlathan. What happened to the spirit guardians? What happened to the lingering echoes of the elves slaughtered by humans in wars ages past like in DAO? Magic was their very existence - spells taking years or centuries to cast, weaving in and about each other - and you're telling me the ancient elves spent their time creating magical transformers?! It feels/looks so utterly seperate from everything we know of the elves from Dragon Age.

Or look at the Crossroads - listen to how Morrigan speaks of it - the reverence for the past, the misty atmosphere, and the heaviness of this pocket of the world that carries the fading memories of a world and people that no longer exists...now it's reduced to a hub world! People are just popping in and out of it at will!

In Trespasser, the few eluvians that we were available to travel to led to the most lonely, desolate spots of Thedas, which ensured their survival over the past millennia. The mirror in the Deep Roads, the mirror in the ancient stronghold in Ferelden...now they're everywhere!The 'few surviving' eluvians are in every major settlement of Thedas and all are in operating order! More than that, everyone who sees an eluvian knows what it is - this ancient marvel of a world long gone has lost all worth and is reduced to a 'world building' justification for fast travel.

Poor Merrill, slaving for a near decade to try and restore a small sliver of her history, only to have all gravitas and wonder of her discovery utterly made void. All that accomplishment wasted, especially when Bellara can wave her magic omni-tool and fix an eluvian in a matter of hours.

If you took every specific Dragon Age terminology out of the Veilguard and replaced it with generic fantasy bullshit you would never be able to tell the difference. The world of DATV is so divorced from its predecessors its astounding.

[felassan]

The Slightest Ones bard song:

Arlathan fell so deep onto the ocean floor

Dalish elven lore:

"It is said that the Tevinter magisters used their great destructive power to force the very ground to swallow Arlathan whole"

The Adventures of the Black Fox by Gaston Gerrault:

"The stories all agree that, at some point, the Black Fox disappeared: He and his fellow adventurers voyaged into the heart of the Arlathan forest seeking the sunken city of the elves and never returned"

Solas dialogue:

"Imagine [...] palaces floating among the clouds."

Codex entry: Vir Dirthara: Homecoming

"a city of glass spires so deeply blue they ache. The city's outskirts are wrapped in lakes of mist, and figures stroll along the pearly, glowing strips as if they walked on solid ground [...] other elves walk below a river churning along an invisible shoal in the air."

Tevinter tries to mimic some ancient elvhen magic and Minrathous has a floating castle.

Location in Dragon Age: The Veilguard -

Arlathan Crater: one, two, three

Definitions of "crater":

- a landform consisting of a hole or depression on a planetary surface, usually caused either by an object hitting the surface, or by geological activity on the planet - a bowl-shaped pit that is formed by a volcano, an explosion, or a meteorite impact

Was the city of Arlathan a floating city kept aloft by ancient elvhen magic in a way that was intrinsically dependent on the presence of the Fade, and when the Veil was erected, with that tie severed it crashed to the ground like an asteroid? Did the ground swallow it whole? When Solas created the Veil, in that reshaping of reality was it physically spacetime-displaced deep into the heart of the Fade? When he made the Veil, did it "fall" (warp) into the Deep Roads like the elven library found by Genitivi in Genitivi Dies in the End? Did it fall to the bottom of the ocean? Did it fall into the other ocean, the Fade (the "Waters of the Fade", "the sea of dreams", the "emerald waters", "vast oceans, containing not water, but memories")? The Fade sort've reflects reality and is shaped by dreams, so is The City [by this I mean The Golden/Black City] the Fade-mirror-image or echo of Arlathan as opposed to literally physically it? the wild and fun thing about Dragon Age is that more than one of these things could be true at once.

ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ

[rookinthecrownest]

Bedtime Stories For a Demon, Night 2: Swan Lake (Lucanis x Rook Fanfic)

The next night, Lucanis finds himself arranging a few plates on the dining table ahead of Rook’s planned arrival. He arranges, then rearranges, doubts what he made, or if it was weird thing to do in general. But he remembers his conversation with Neve from earlier in the day, and that seems to hold his nerves steady for the time being.

He had walked into her office-room with a question. And Neve, unsurprisingly, knew exactly what that question was before he even got to her front door. She was a damn good detective, he had to give her that.

“Planning something special for Rook?” she asked coyly.

“You know her better than I do” He admitted, scratching the side of his beard. “She’s … helping me. I want to do something nice for her”

“Is that all?” Neve quirked a brow and leaned back in her chair. An errant wisp floated by her hair, which she quickly swatted away gently.

Lucanis frowned. “Yes. That is all. Just tell me what I should make for her”

Neve crossed her arms, “Information rarely comes free in Minrathous”

“We’re not in Minrathous” he pointed out.

“You can take the girl out of the city, but you can’t take the city out of the girl” she said wistfully, closing her eyes and grinning.

Lucanis groaned and ran a hand down his face. “Fine, what do you want”

“Fried fish for dinner tomorrow night”

“I was going to make Paella tomorrow night”

“Well, now you’re making fried fish” Neve quipped.

“Mierda, alright. But I’m also making vegetables” He pointed at her, “You people need to get better eating habits”

Neve grinned and steepled her fingers together, then leaned forward on her desk. “Make the churros again. You might not have noticed her sneaking an extra one or… five, during dinner, but I certainly did. She wouldn’t stop talking about them the day after you made them”

“Churros” He repeated thoughtfully, as he rubbed his beard. He could do that. He should still have some ingredients left over from the first time he made them last week.

Rook likes sweet things. Smells like sweet things. Spite echoed in his head. He ignored that.

“Thank you, Neve” He gave her a curt nod before he turned to leave. “There will be fresh coffee in the dining hall in a few minutes if you’ve a mind for a real cup of it.” He called over his shoulder.

Lucanis left to her chuckling behind him and closed the door to her office. He had spent the rest of the day gathering supplies, and later in the evening when he was certain the team was asleep, he began preparing. The routine of baking and cooking was as calming as sharpening his longsword on a whetstone. Slow, methodical, rhythmic. But unlike sharpening his swords and knives, the end product was something that could bring joy, rather than misery and death. He tries to hang on to that.

When he finishes the churros, he decides that’s not enough. He makes a chocolate sauce to go with the churros. But maybe she prefers caramel? He should have asked Neve. So, he makes a caramel sauce as well. Then, he wants to see if she’ll like cioccolata calda and starts preparing that. It’s fairly late in the evening when he finishes the croissants he wasn’t planning on baking.

No sign of Rook yet.

He’s not sure when he started pacing with his second cup of coffee in hand.

She had accompanied Bellara to Arlathan – something about Veil Jumpers going missing deep in the forest. He shouldn’t worry. He’s seen Rook fight, she’s more than capable. But she does have a certain recklessness to her way of fighting. No - he doesn’t need to worry. He isn’t worrying.

He continues pacing. Then, he’s once again finding flaws with his arrangement of the desserts on the table. Would she find this strange? Too much? Off-putting, and not in a charming way but an unsettling way? Was there even a way to be charmingly off-putting?

He's pacing again.

“Am I interrupting something?”

He stops in his tracks.

Her voice has caught him off guard two nights in a row. That is a problem.

“Rook” He says stupidly.

“Hi” She waves meekly, and limps into the dining hall with a groan. She’s dragging her left foot on the ground. “Sorry I’m late – ran into trouble in Arlathan.”

He takes a few tentative steps closer. He wants to extend his hand, but some unknown force keeps it to his side, his entire body wound tighter than Harding’s bowstring.

If his body won’t move, his mouth will have to pay the balance.

“What happened? Are you alright?”

Rook winces and draws closer to the large wooden table.

“Rage demon” she answers, pulling out a chair by the fireplace “And I’m happy to report it lived up to its name! It wasn’t very happy to see us”

He pulls out a chair beside her. She turns to him and laughs bitterly, “Have you ever been burned and stabbed on a job? Because I found out what that feels like today, and it’s kind of awful. Thankfully Bellara was able to patch me up”

Lucanis looks down at her left leg. Whatever injury she sustained is covered by her pants, but he can surmise from the way she’s shifting nearly all her weight onto the other leg it must have been bad.

“You leave your left flank wide open when you fight” he says, absent-mindedly. And immediately wishes he hadn’t.

“What?”

Mierda.

“You have a habit of leaving your left flank open.” He says quickly, then looks into the fire. Anywhere but her confused face. “Something I’ve noticed on the field.”

He feels her staring. He’s said something he shouldn’t have said. He doesn’t know how to right it other than by offering her food as a distraction. Lucanis turns to his handiwork and reaches for the bowl of churros, all but thrusting it in front of her.

“Churro?” He asks hopefully.

If Rook is taken aback by the odd exchange, she has the manners not to say anything. She blinks twice and looks down at the dessert.

“You made this for me?” She tilts her head.

Lucanis rubs the back of his neck.

“I … yes” He sets the bowl back on the table after she gingerly takes one in her hand. He wonders if they’re as soft to touch as they appear. “I thought dessert might pair well with your stories”

Rook chuckles, and leans in closer “It’s a good thought”

Smells like Blood and Ashes and Brimstone, Spite’s anger reverberates through his chest. She’s supposed to smell like sweet things.

For once he’s grateful for the demon’s interjection as it keeps him from staring at her while she eats the churro. And licks the cinnamon sugar from her lips. He shouldn’t be paying attention to this.

“Mmm” she sighs, an expression of serene delight passing over her features. His chest tightens.

Rook grins, oblivious to the effect she has on him, “These are dangerous you know- you can’t keep making them for me or it’ll be all I’ll eat”

Lucanis sighs and pushes the chocolate and caramel sauces towards her. “You and Neve are peas in a pod evidently.”

Rook squeals in delight and wastes no time dipping the dessert into the chocolate sauce.

She prefers chocolate.

“So” He starts, awkwardly shifting in his seat, “What tale will you tell tonight?”

He pretends not to notice her wiping a smear of chocolate sauce from the corner of her lip with her finger.

“Oh, right” She reaches into her side pocket and pulls out the small journal. Rook flips through its pages, humming thoughtfully. She lands on a page near the end of the journal before stopping.

“This might be a good one.” Rook snaps the journal shut and places on the table beside her. “Have you ever heard the tale of Swan Lake?”

Even if he had, he would say no. If she wants to tell him a story, he won’t sway her.

“The original story is from Nevarra, but it was adapted into an Orlesian ballet some time ago” Rook continues, not giving him a chance to answer before barreling ahead with her explanation. “Apparently it was one of Emperor Judicael’s favourites. He liked it so much he had the ballet house play it nearly every night, and producers of the other ballet’s threatened to quit en masse. It was so bad, the play was actually banned in Orlais for about fifty years because of that whole debacle. Caused quite the scandal”

“Must be a good ballet” He remarks, before getting up from his seat. “Wait here for a moment, Rook”

Rook nods and reaches for another churro, “Sure”.

Lucanis returns with two steaming cups and passes one to Rook. She takes it gratefully and lifts the warm beverage to her nose. “Mmm! What is this? Smell’s divine”

“Cioccolata Calda. An Antivan specialty”

“Is it coffee?”

“Try it”

Rook does as she’s told and takes a curious sip. Her eyes widen and her lips split into a large smile. “That is amazing. I think I have a new favourite drink”

“They make it better at Café Pietra, but this will do for tonight” Lucanis sits back down and takes a sip of his own cup. It’s a little too sweet for him, but the look on her face assures him it was a good call. “If we find ourselves in Treviso again, we can –“

“I like the way you make things” Rook says quietly, gripping her cup a bit tighter. She’s looking down at her cup, and it’s probably for the better. He is certain the tips of his ears are a furious shade of red.

“Thank you” He whispers, after a few moments of quiet pass between the two. “That’s… very kind of you to say”

“You’re welcome” She replies, crossing her legs in her seat like she did yesterday. She looks like she wants to say something else, but a quick shake of her head and a clap of her hands brings her focus back to the reason she came here.

“Okay, umm, let’s see here” Rook’s gentle features twist in concentration.

Her hands begin glowing with that familiar blue light, and as she raises her arms and gives a flourish with her left hand.

A castle once again fills the empty space between their chairs. This one has a central dome surrounded by four gilded towers with pointed roofs – different in style and architecture from the one yesterday, but no less impressive.

“Once upon a time, in a kingdom far, far away, there lived a handsome and gentle prince by the name of Siegfried”

The castle ripples out of existence, and in its place, is the form of a young man with short, cropped hair, a broad chest, and a large bow on his back.

“Prince Siegfried was one of the most accomplished hunters in the kingdom. It was said he could hit any mark, no matter the distance. His aim would always be true. Some versions of the story mention his crossbow being enchanted, others chalk it up to pure skill. Either way, he’s a good shot” Rook grins and makes the figure of the Prince aim an arrow right at Lucanis’ chest with a crook of her finger.

Lucanis raises an eyebrow and holds his hands up in mock defense, “Tell the Prince he should stick to animals – I might be above his paygrade”

Rook bursts out into laughter and as her concentration breaks for a moment, the image of the Prince flickers in and out of existence.

“Sorry, carry on.” Lucanis smiles as she rights herself in her seat and places her hands back into position.

“Yes – where was I?” Rook flicks her wrist, and the Prince is back in view. This time, he’s joined by another figure. A tall woman, dressed in a long, flowing dress with an ornate crown on her head, comes to stand next to him.

“His mother, the Dowager Queen, comes to inform him of an upcoming ball that will be held at the royal palace. ‘At this ball, my son, you will choose a royal bride. For I am late in my years and wish to see grandchildren in these palace halls before I depart’” As before, the Queen’s mouth moves in rhythm with Rook’s words – like magical ventriloquism.

Rook waves her hand and the Queen disappears. The form of the prince cradles his head in his hands.

“The Prince is despondent at this news. He wanted to marry for love, not political power. Surely, he has a right to his own heart, at least?” The Prince sinks to his knees and stays like that for a few moments.

Another flourish from Rook, and a new figure appears. Shorter, portlier than the Prince, but with kinder features.

“His friend Benno sees how upset he is, and wonders how he can help cheer up the Prince”

Both figures disappear as Rook pauses to take a sip of her hot chocolate. He tries to ignore Spite’s impatient rippling at the edges of his consciousness.

Siegfried and Benno return soon thereafter.

“Benno looks out the window, and happens to see a flock of swans flying outside”

Rook waves the swans into existence, and they flit around Siegfried and Benno in circles before disappearing. The figure of Benno tugs on the prince’s shoulder sleeve.

“‘Your highness, a hunt!’ he exclaims, pointing out the window” The figure of the prince straightens, his interest piqued by the animals.

“Benno gathers a few other men from the castle, and along with the prince, they all ride out to the forest to hunt the swans”

The scene changes to Benno, Siegfried, and three other men riding horseback through a dense forest canopy. He will always be in awe of the imagery she’s able to bring to life with her magic. Never in a hundred years would he have thought of using magic in this way. Then again, Rook is anything but a typical mage, so he shouldn’t be surprised.

“At some point, Prince Siegfried becomes separated from the group”

One by one, Benno and the other men disappear, until only the prince remains, trotting horseback through the air on the spot.

“He comes to the lakeside clearing and finds the flock of swans.” The swans reappear, now floating on the edge of an invisible lake. The figure of the Prince draws his crossbow and pulls an arrow from the quiver. As he nocks the arrow, one of the swans transforms into a beautiful young woman. She has a long plait of hair spilling over her left shoulder. She’s wearing what Lucanis assumes, from its puffy construction, a ballet dress. The skirts are feathered, and feathers even fall from the dress, winking out of existence moments later.

He leans in closer to observe the finer details.

“You have quite the imagination, Rook” Lucanis smiles at her.

She returns it in kind and brushes a stray curl behind her ear. She looks shy, almost, and like she’s avoiding looking at him. “Some say over-active”

“I think it’s just right” He pulls back and takes a sip of his own hot chocolate.

“Thanks…” She whispers, drawing her legs closer together. When she sees her figures flickering again, Rook’s brows bunch together and the blue light in her hands grows brighter.

“The … ah … the Prince was so transfixed by her beauty and grace, he had to know more about her”

The figure of the prince begins moving closer to the woman, but the woman begins to back away.

“But she was frightened, for she did not know this man, and feared the crossbow in his hands”

“‘Wait!’ The prince calls just before she leaves his sight” The prince holds out his hand and tosses his crossbow to the ground. Well, the air. “‘Please stay, I’ve not a mind to hurt you. Won’t you tell me who you are?’”

The young woman stops and rests her hand on her chest.

“‘My name is Odette, and I cannot leave this place’”

“Why?” Lucanis is leaning forward, practically on the edge of his seat.

Rook leans in closer. Too close. Close enough to reach out and touch. Her large, doe-like green eyes, framed under long and wispy eyelashes, feel like they’re burning themselves into his soul.

Chocolate and cinnamon. Spite shrieks gleefully, and he wants to draw back. His heart throbs loudly in his ears, almost drowning out the demon. Almost.

“The prince had the same question” She winks and returns to her previous spot before he has the chance to pull away first.

“Odette explains she’s been placed under a curse by a powerful, but wicked mage. His name was Von Rothbart, and he was obsessed with Odette.”  

The prince disappears and is replaced by a taller man with hair tied behind his back and sharp, hawk-like features. He was dressed in a finely tailored doublet, with a side-cape hanging by a large broach affixed to the right shoulder. A faint red light shines from the broach.

“He kidnapped her from her home and used her blood to bind her soul to the gem in his broach. ‘Marry me’, he asks her every night. Every night she refuses. Every morning thereafter, she turns into a swan. And every night, she is called back to Swan Lake and turns back into a human. Such had been her fate for the last five years. It’s a powerful spell, born of ancient magic – but not an invulnerable one.”

Rook arced her hand over Odette, who’s form morphed from human to swan to human again with every back-and-forth motion of her palm.

He doesn’t have the words, none that will meaningfully add to the conversation at least, to describe how he feels about the way she uses her magic. Amazing, incredible, inventive all seem inadequate.

“There was one way to break Rothbart’s spell. A man would need to profess his love for her and remain faithful to that vow forevermore”

The figure of the prince kneels down on one knee, evidently ready to profess that love immediately.

Lucanis is resting his elbow on his knee, and his chin rests in his hand. His cup of hot chocolate rests forgotten by his side, as do the churros and croissants. He is certain she doesn’t realize how captivating she – her stories, are.

But they are interrupted by Rothbart, suddenly appearing beside Odette. He grabs her roughly by the arm and holds her beside him.

The prince stands with righteous anger. He has an arrow pointed at the figure of Rothbart.

“‘I shall slay this wicked mage, and free you from his grasp’” Siegfried declared”.

As the prince was about to loose the arrow, Lucanis is surprised to see Odette step in front of Rothbart, her arms spread wide in defense. The prince lowers his bow hesitantly.

A low growl escapes his throat, his eyes flash an angry violet “Why would she do that?” Lucanis’ voice is drowned by the deep and unnatural timbres of the demon, echoing together in a discordant symphony.

“Spite” Rook says calmly, like one would address a misbehaving child. “May I have Lucanis back so we can finish the story? You’ll find out why in a moment”

Lucanis’ face contorts with frustration. His violet eyes burn bright with anger, “Want. To know”

“You will, soon. Now bring Lucanis back”

Lucanis – well, Spite, growls again. When the demon refuses to relent, Rook hesitantly touches his forearm and frowns. “Please?”

The violet in his eyes dims, and Lucanis shakes his head. It was rare for Spite to surge to the forefront so quickly.

He couldn’t understand why the princess would protect someone who hurt her.

Lucanis takes a deep breath, and exhales slowly.

“Are you alright?” Rook asks quietly. The figures are long gone now, dissipated by the distraction that was Spite.

He realizes she’s still touching his forearm. Warm, and calming. Gentle. They both look down and she quickly pulls away. He feels the withdrawal of her warmth like gust of cold settling on his skin.

“Yes, I’m fine – don’t worry” He gestures to her, “Please, continue with your story”

Rook still looks hesitant, like she doesn’t quite believe him. He wouldn’t either, he supposed. He needs her to continue the story. Needs to distract himself from the feeling of her soft fingers lingering on his skin, like a brand.

She relents and her hands glow blue again.

The three figures of Siegfried, Odette, and Rothbart return.

“Odette explains that her life is tied to Von Rothbart. If he dies, then the spell imprisoning her can never be broken”

The figure of Rothbart retreats into a deeper part of the forest she’s conjured.

Odette and Siegfried share an embrace.

“’Come to the royal ball in three days’ time. There, I will profess my love to you in front of the entire court’ Says the Prince, resolved to defy his mother and marry her instead of a princess.”

The figure of Odette nods and disappears soon after.

“What they don’t know is that Rothbart heard the entire exchange, and he had a plan to make sure Odette could never escape him” Rook frowned.

The prince disappears next, and they are back with Rothbart and another young woman. This one slender and petite, with the same sharp features as the man next to her.

“Rothbart had a plan. He would use magic to disguise himself” Rook waved a hand and Rothbart morphed into the dress and appearance of an unassuming peasant. “And his daughter, Odile” She waved her hand again, and the young woman became an identical copy of Odette – but her dress, was glowing with an ominous black light.

“There’s no way that’ll work” Lucanis throws his arms up and leans back in his chair. “He has to know that Rothbart won’t just let her waltz into the ball”

Rook merely shrugs, “You’ll have to wait and see”

Lucanis crosses his arms over his chest and frowns. “Continue”

Rook laughs, “Alright, alright”

Odile and Rothbart disappear. They are replaced by a grand ballroom floor, with guests dressed in all sorts of finery decorating the dance floor like little spinning jewels.

At the top of a grand staircase sees Benno, Siegfried, and the Queen gathered together.

“Siegfried anxiously awaits the arrival of Odette” Rook explains, before waving her hand and bringing to life the disguised figures of Rothbart and Odile-as-Odette.

“Overcome with joy when he sees her, he immediately asks her to dance”

The two come together, and the rest of the ballroom disappears. They twirl about the ballroom in an elegant pas-de-deux.

“At the end of the dance, Odile asks him one simple question”

The pair part, and the prince drops to one knee in front of her.

“’Do you love me, and only me?’”

Lucanis watches intently as the figure of the prince bows his head in front of the pretender.

Sadness washes over Rook’s face. “The Prince, none the wiser, proclaims his love to the entire court ‘Of course I love you’ – but it wasn’t enough. Rothbart, masquerading as the girl’s father, asks him to make a binding vow in front of the Queen. Siegfried, thinking nothing of it, does so immediately”

Rook waves her hand and the figures of Rothbart and Odile return to their original forms. Suddenly, the real Odette, in her pure white dress, is inside the ballroom. She crumples to the floor as she witnesses the Prince profess his love for Odile.

“Odette, heartbroken, flees the ball and returns to the lakeside clearing. The prince follows after her, distraught at what he’s done.”

The two figures stand in front of each other on the lake.

“Odette eventually forgives him, realizing that he was under Rothbart’s spell just as much as she was. But the damage was done. His actions consigned her to live as a swan forevermore”

Lucanis frowned, unable to see a path to a happy ending. But Rook was full of surprises, maybe her stories were as well.

“Odette and the Prince resolved to leave this world together, rather than be bound by Rothbart’s magic”

The figures of Siegfried and Odette walk towards the lake, hand in hand. They slowly sink together under the willowy depths.

Well, he wasn’t expecting that.

A moment later, they both disappear under the water.

The figure of Rothbart returns into view. The red light of the broach on his shoulder flickers in and out, before dying out completely. Rothbart collapses to the ground and remains still.

“It’s true that Odette’s life was bound to Rothbart’s – but the magic worked both ways. Rothbart’s life was also tied to hers. And when she left this world of her own will, he left it against his”

A moment later, Rothbart disappears and in his place are two ghostly swans, flying in circles together.

“The spirits of Siegfried and Odette are reunited in the Fade, until they decide to pass on together”

With a final flick of her wrist, the birds disappear, and there is nothing but empty space between him and Rook again.

“The End”

Lucanis exhaled.

“Not the most cheerful ending” He remarks, taking another sip of hot chocolate.

“What was it you said about that one brew at Café Pietra? Bitter and sweet - like a kiss goodbye?” Rook nods and absent-mindedly chews on another churro. “That’s how I think about this ending. Not every story has an overtly happy one”

He’s dumbfounded she even remembers that throwaway comment.

“I still don’t understand how the prince doesn’t question Odette appearing at the ball. With a father she hasn’t seen in five years, supposedly” He wants to change the subject. Away from kisses, goodbye or otherwise.

Rook shrugs, “That’s a question for the author- though he’s likely about four hundred year’s dead.” A light twinkles in her eyes, “Maybe we can find him here, in the Fade, and ask his spirit!”

Lucanis laughs, “Now there’s an idea”

“I’m full of them. Some better than others” Rook grins sheepishly. She begins massaging the side of her left leg.

“What’s wrong?” He asks, following her gaze down.

“Nothing – it’s just starting to ache a bit” Rook winces. “That demon got me good”

“Let me see” Lucanis drops to his knee in front of her. “If that’s alright”

Rook removes her hand and drops her gaze to look at him.

“Oh – it’s fine, Lucanis, really. I’ll bug Bellara about it in the morn- “

“It’s better if you bug me about it now. It might get worse over the course of the night”

He gestures to her pant leg, “May I?” He asks again.

Rook bites her lip, before relenting. “Sure… go ahead” she answers softly and lifts her leg so he can support it in his right hand.

He clicks his tongue when he sees the damage under her dressing. The lateral portion of her lower leg is covered with an irritated and inflamed superficial burn. Three parallel gash marks, likely closed thanks to Bellara’s healing magic, create tracts of bright crimson skin. She hisses when he gently presses on the skin of her leg.

“I have something for this. Wait here” He carefully lowers her leg and returns a moment later with a small jar from the pantry.

“Embrium and Elfroot paste, good for burns and skin irritation. It’ll also prevent infection. Apply it twice a day” He sets the jar on the table beside her. “Let me know if that gets worse”

Rook grins, “I didn’t know I was getting a doctor and an assassin in my contract”

Lucanis chuckles, “Any Crow worth their salt knows how to close a wound just as well as they can open one. Consider it on the house”

“Is the all the cooking on the house too?” Rook slowly stands up, and they’re only a few inches away from each other now.

Lucanis nervously rubs the back of his neck, “I think it has to be, with the way you people eat”

“Hey! I’m not that bad” She places her hands on her hips and frowns. “I eat vegetables … sometimes”

“I’ve seen you pick out the eggplant in every dish”

“Okay, I don’t like one vegetable”

She shakes her head and gathers a few churros and croissants onto a plate. Rook sticks a croissant in her mouth, and speaks around it, “Just for that, I’m eating nothing but these for the next two days”

“You’re going to miss Paella night” He deadpans.

Rook swallows and places another croissant defiantly on her plate.

“Three nights”

Lucanis sighs. At least she seems to like the food.

Rook’s laughter fills the dining hall. “On that note – I should get some sleep. I hope Spite doesn’t give you too much trouble for the rest of the night”

“He won’t” Lucanis doesn’t know that but says it to give her some reassurance. “Good night, Rook”

“Madeleina”

“What?”

“My name … it’s Madeleina. You can call me that if you want” She smiles widely. “Rook is fine too, though”

“Madeleina” He repeated softly. He smiled, and for the first time all night, he feels like he can keep her gaze. Their eyes meet, and it feels like an entirely new conversation is happening between them. “It suits you”

Rook toys with an errant curl and smiles. “Thank you”

“I – umm… I should get going. Goodnight, Lucanis” she adds quickly.

She quickly rights herself and for good measure, steals one more churro from the bowl. Madeleina then turns and begins hobbling out of the dining hall, leaving Lucanis and Spite to mull the feeling of her new name over in his mind.

He would have to thank Neve for her advice.

[edda-grenade]

"Try to reinstate the Circles, and there will be consequences…"

a little evil inq au, as a treat (and fic!)

Green fire eats its way through stone arches and soaring pillars, melts metal frames and colored glass. Smoke fills the grand cathedral’s halls. Solas pads on wolven paws along the nave. The flames part for him, licking warm and affectionate around his ankles. His claws click on the floor, echoing despite the hissing and crackling of the inferno.

Saar stands before the sunburst throne, looking up at the looming statue of Andraste behind it. She raises her hand, she closes it to a fist. Stone screams. Breaks. Andraste’s body is split down the middle, the halves crashing to the sides and sending up clouds of dust and debris that the fire hungrily swallows.

Solas takes a moment to behold her: she is incandescent like this. Her towering shape, the power pouring out of her, adorned by her black horns and white hair, as a crown of obsidian and opal.

Saar sends a glance at him over her shoulder. “Did the servants make it out?”

“Most of them, yes.” Solas slinks into elven shape and steps to her side. “I stalled the fire long enough from reaching those parts of the palace.”

Here, the fire reaches ever higher. The ceiling groans.

“I doubt the Divine will realize in time that their loyalties have shifted,” he adds.

Saar smiles, pleased and full of teeth. It is a radiant expression, shining with a different warmth to the flames all around them.

“They’ll have a hard time electing a new one,” she says, tilting her head. Listening beyond the Grand Cathedral’s walls, beyond Val Royeaux. For a moment, Solas can almost feel the world’s heartbeat, throbbing through her veins. “Ataashi has eyes on Lydes. Kaltenzahn will be on Val Chevin within the hour. Montfort may have warning in time, but…”

It will only serve to further her declaration. Solas takes her left hand and kisses her knuckles, lingers there with his lips soft and warm against her sparking skin. Saar draws close to him, her presence embracing him. She tilts his face up to hers with a gentle finger beneath his chin.

“Kadan…?”

They both understand the need for monumental, fundamental change to the order of the world. If to be a god is to alter the world, it is a power he would see in Saar’s hands and none other. She carries a vision for a different future inside her heart—not akin to Arlathan as it was, but what it should have been.

Solas returns her smile, gazing up at her. “Would you like to celebrate, vhenan?”

Saar’s smile widens, wonderfully sharp. “Have something in mind?”

He steps away and guides her up the dais to the sunburst throne, beckoning her to take the seat. The fire melts away, framing the throne like a true sun. Saar sits, filling the throne that is excessively large on a human frame as though it was made for her. She sprawls, as she always does, exuding power and a comfortable confidence that runs as deep as the roots of the mountains.

All fire surrounding them could turn to freezing ice, all smoke to blinding snow, and Solas would still burn for her.

“What now, little wolf?” she asks, a dragon’s purr carrying the words. “Gonna sit in my lap so I can fill you up?”

Solas shivers; makes no attempt to hide it. He steps between Saar’s knees, trailing his hands along her thighs.

“I will,” he murmurs, “but not yet.”

He goes to his knees. The flames on either side of the throne surge and roar, as if a pair of massive wings had snapped open.

[butchvamp]

i finished the game last night, here are my unpolished thoughts about the final act and what i liked & didn't like. this is very long and probably incoherent lol

what i liked:

the whole final battle was awesome, i loved the combat, and i really enjoyed the huge cutscenes of everyone fighting together. i had been really disappointed earlier about the lack of a battle scene at weisshaupt a la ostagar in origins, and this definitely made up for it

i liked the suicide mission and actually getting to assign people their roles in the battle

i LOVED Solas's betrayal, that whole section in the fade prison with the statues was one of the strongest scenes in the game, i think the entire relationship between Rook and Solas is really well developed. as the player, we know Solas is manipulating them, but i think they did a good job making it so it's still believable for Rook to fall for his tricks, especially with the Blood of Arlathan quest before this. (also it's very obvious Solas is Weekes' favorite, wish they would have just stuck to him and not all that other dogshit...lol)

i liked the idea of Varric's role here, but not the execution. i'll come back to this lmao

the giant dread wolf and archdemon fight was cool as fuck. no notes. that's just classic rule of cool, baby

also i had Davrin in my party while fighting alongside Solas and i really enjoyed his banter with him and how hard he laid into Solas's ass. it was very satisfying. yippee go Davrin!

okay. now. what i didn't like (sorry not going to bother with bullet points, it's going to be longer down here lol):

while i liked the suicide mission structure, i hated how the game all but told you who to assign where. there were no stakes at all, there was no way to get it wrong unless you did so intentionally.

this also brings me to. The Choice. between Davrin and Harding. i understand the need for a "fallen hero" here, it ties into the entire theme of regret with Solas as we see in the fade prison, it was necessary for Rook to be the person "at fault" (aka directly make the choice that ends with someone getting killed) but this choice was dogshit. it also was really fucking stupid to see Harding climb up and stand atop a giant stone pillar, and then NOT use her stone magic!!! i don't hate the idea of someone dying here, but this was just a series of failed choices over and over again. we should not have pitted returning fan fave Harding against the single Black companion (who comes in late and barely even gets his own story outside of his damn pet)-- it should have been Harding (narratively satisfying, she's been here since the beginning and dies for the fight) or Lucanis (he is literally the guy taking the shot), we also shouldn't have tied all the dwarf lore revelations to a character that can just fucking die at the end, and we shouldn't have had her stand on a giant stone pillar when she has STONE MAGIC!! i knew this choice was coming but her death still caught me off guard cus i was fully expecting her to collapse that stone pillar on her, not use her stupid puny bow 😭

i think this choice is also weakened by the fact that it's THEE only choice. it's obviously an echo of the earlier Treviso and Minrathous choice, which also didn't really seem to affect much outside of potentially losing the corresponding factions (and i think Lucanis's romance gets locked out?) i saved Treviso, so i got the Treviso questline later, and i assume that you get a Minrathous specific questline with the Shadow Dragons if you save the other instead (haven't seen myself tho so i'm not sure, just guessing). but it's very easy to recover the Shadow Dragon's reputation, and the final battle takes place in Minrathous no matter what. the only way for companions to die or the battle to fail is to just straight up ignore quests. you can't lose a faction's support at all unless you intentionally try to do so. i don't even think you can lose companions at all unless you intentionally ignore their quests and place them in the wrong spot. though the game still holds your hand through the battle and basically Tells You who to put where so they survive.

and to be fair. this is true for the suicide mission in mass effect 2, but the thing is, there is so much more dialogue and variations with how you can play your character and interact with the companions and the world than there is in veilguard, it makes it feel like you do have more control over your character and the narrative, even if it's just the illusion of choice.

and then with Solas, it doesn't matter, he always ends up trapped/linked to the Fade, it just changes how he feels. (they also do this with the First Warden. i was excited for a potential variation between punching/not punching, but all it changes is his attitude when you find him later in Davrin's quest) okay.... well. is he going to return again after that post credit scene? and are they really going to write 3 (or 4, with lavellan i guess) different branching personality variations?

i think the powers that be just wanted to get rid of him in a way that would still leave the dragon age setting ultimately unaltered and open for more games in the future. especially given the secret post credits scene. which i also have an issue with. we're going to go from "it was all the Evanuris fault" to Actually, it was this secret third thing and everything we did was for nothing! AGAIN! if they want to make more dragon age games, they can just... start a new story. do they know that. (the fact they're implying Loghain was influenced by some outside force to do what he did at ostagar actually has me livid lol. leave origins alone!!!!)

anyways. now the fade prison. i have two issues, my main one being Varric. i actually started to suspect early on something was up with him, because he just sits in that damn infirmary the entire game, no interactions, barely any dialogue. i think Varric was horribly underutilized in this game, and it results in all of the emotional beats around him falling flat for me. of course, it's emotional for ME, the player, because Varric is a fan fave returning character and one of my own personal favorites. as far as i've seen in game, though... Rook has no relationship with him at all. i think this game would have been vastly improved with short playable origins that showed the two meeting and developing a relationship, and also he really really needed to have more scenes and dialogue in general. he's barely in the second half of the game, literally just sitting all by himself in that damn room, and even when he is in the cutscenes he has one single line that everyone obviously just ignores. it sucked. very disappointing finale for a really beloved character... it could have been so good if it was good....

because i DO love the idea of Solas using him to manipulate Rook (and i really like Varric and Solas's relationship & the way they contrast against each other), and also the idea of how being tricked in that way would actually affect Rook-- what's real, what's not, can they even trust what they're seeing at all anymore? especially when Solas "glitches" between Varric and Lucanis (idk if it's always him or your LI? would be cool if it's your LI, that's what i assumed) after slaying Ghilan'nain-- this could have tied in with the final romance scene. but of course the game doesn't get into any of that at all.

and now issue 2. how the fuck did Solas do that LOL. how did he switch places, how did he get out, how did it take Rook in his place when it was designed for elven gods? where are the other elven gods (did i just miss this explanation? did the other two just kill them in there)? 🤷 when did this place suddenly turn into a prison of regrets? was that Solas's presence influencing it, or did he do that intentionally for Rook? dont know! who cares. moving on...

i romanced Lucanis, and i was really disappointed with his romance. the final scene was sweet, but.... i think particularly with Lucanis you can tell so much of his story and arc ended up on the cutting room floor, it feels disjointed and as if we're missing pieces, and you can feel it in his romance, too. i also really didnt understand the "keep flirting (not a lock in) or end it now" choices that didnt feel like they did anything at all. why was i given like 3 different times to break up with him when we weren't even dating yet lmao. the romance was a bummer, of course i love the setting and the story but i go into these games expecting strong romance along with it and i was really banking on that being the highlight in this mess of a game but. alas

this also segues me back into the whole "trapped in the Fade prison" section. why was there no reunion with both your LI and everyone else? apparently Rook was in there for WEEKS!!! they hardly communicate this and Rook just reappears and jumps straight back into leading the team, no tears or questions asked about how they found them, how they got out, what everyone was thinking while they were gone... we also get a deus ex machina knife, how convenient that they did all that while i was gone and no explanation is given as to how it could possibly fool Solas, just trust us bro! 💆 i feel like trying to craft our own copy of the knife should have been something actively happening in the background throughout the entire game, and it gets finished while Rook is in the Fade. but this truly came out of nowhere lol

again i think it's obvious things were cut and rewritten and maybe this was the result of a frantic scramble to come up with something that would work, and i'll be generous and blame it on that, i guess...

when we finally get to the final confrontation with Solas, i was very excited, because again i feel like Rook and Solas's relationship is the best in the game, Solas's writing is consistent and strong, i knew this scene had to be good.... and i guess it was? but it felt so unsatisfying. i chose to fight him (my Rook would do anything to get him to shut up) and i was hoping for. an actual fight. you can do it with Mythal earlier in the game, and we already saw his giant wolf form, i was so excited. and then. no<3

okay! sure. we beat him with the power of friendship (not surprised and not even making fun of it here, it makes sense narratively, i knew some version of this was coming after the whole comparing Rook versus Solas bit in the Fade) but come onnnnn i wanted to fight the giant wolf.... sigh. i did check out the other endings as well, and it's clear the redemption ending is the "true" ending and also the best written one imo.

overall. this was a bad dragon age game. i had a lot of fun playing it though, so it's not a bad game game. the gameplay loop never got boring, i never got tired exploring or doubling back, i loved the maps, i loved the combat, and i did love the companions. but the writing is atrocious and racist. this is a horrible dragon age game. i don't know where i fall on recommending this. again, i've had a lot of fun playing and dissecting it, but i dont know that i could recommend this to dragon age fans. this would have been way more successful as a completely different fantasy game. the changes to the lore, disregarding the majority of the games that came before it, the horrible depictions of returning characters (the inquisitor and isabela were the worst offenders for me) the setting and characters feeling watered down and incomplete, the complete lack of the classic "grey morality" shtick (even if it's not always been implemented well)... idk man. bummer! it's obvious there was a cohesive vision at one point, i do think this game is a casualty of the current state of the gaming industry (i was honestly surprised it was functional on launch. not shade at bioware just in general that is rare to see now) we know EA thrashed bioware throughout development, and bioware made a lot of really bad choices, too (the racism is absolutely their doing, they made that choice back in inquisition). but we can see, particularly in the artbook, that there were good ideas & an intention to actually tie everything together and give this story the finale it deserved... but it all got lost along the way in a very ugly, chaotic development. and the game really suffers for it.

[uhbambii]

A Day in Arlathan

The morning light filtered through the towering trees of Arlathan Forest, casting long, golden beams over the mossy ground. The air was thick with the ancient hum of magic, a pulse that seemed to echo in every stone, every leaf. Rook usually found comfort in the wild stillness, but today, her thoughts were… distracted.

Walking beside her, Davrin cut a striking figure. His dark, hair fell in waves, a stark contrast to the sharp planes of his face. There was a roguishness in his expression, his deep, amber eyes always carrying a spark of mischief that could easily be mistaken for something far more dangerous. The blade at his hip was missing today—his insistence that their outing be “a true respite,” though she was certain he’d tucked at least one dagger into his boots.

He noticed her glance and smirked, his lips curving just enough to make her pulse quicken. “Caught you staring, Warden.”

“I was looking for the knife you’ve undoubtedly hidden,” Rook countered, her voice steadier than she felt.

Davrin’s laugh was low and rich, and he leaned closer as they walked, his voice dipping into that maddening, teasing tone of his. “Maybe you’ll find it later. Or maybe I’ll let you think you did.”

Rook felt her cheeks heat, but she refused to look away. They were always like this: sharp banter, stolen glances, tension simmering just beneath the surface.

As the path widened into a small clearing, Davrin stopped abruptly, turning to face her. His usual smirk softened into something more genuine, though no less intense. “You’ve been on edge lately,” he said, his amber eyes searching hers. “I thought some fresh air might do you good, but… there’s something else on your mind.”

“I’m fine,” Rook said, though even to her ears, it sounded hollow.

Davrin tilted his head, the corner of his mouth quirking up again. “You’re terrible at lying.”

Rook sighed, running a hand through her hair. “It’s not just… one thing. It’s everything. The Veil is thinning, we’re losing ground against the Blight, and every day it feels like we’re one step closer to—”

“Hey.” His voice was soft, yet commanding enough to pull her from her spiraling thoughts. “That’s not all on you, Rook. You’re not alone in this.”

She met his gaze, the sincerity in his eyes cutting through her defenses. It was infuriating how easily he could disarm her, even without a blade.

“You know,” Davrin said, stepping closer, “I don’t do this sort of thing for just anyone. But for you? I’d fight anything. I’d burn the world down if it meant you’d finally let yourself take a damn breath.”

The words hung between them, charged and electric. Before she could respond, he took her hand, his touch surprisingly gentle. “Come on.”

He led her into the heart of the clearing, where the sunlight painted the grass in warm hues. With a flourish, he knelt, plucking a few wildflowers and offering them to her with mock solemnity.

“For you, Warden,” he said, his smirk returning. “A token of my undying devotion.”

“Devotion, huh?” Rook arched an eyebrow, though she couldn’t suppress the small smile tugging at her lips.

“Don’t make me regret admitting it,” he teased, standing and stepping closer, his voice dropping. “Or maybe do. I wouldn’t mind a bit of punishment if it’s from you.”

Her heart thudded painfully against her ribs. “You’re insufferable,” she murmured, though the words lacked any bite.

Davrin chuckled, his hand reaching up to brush a strand of hair from her face. “And yet, you still haven’t walked away.”

She didn’t have a chance to reply before his lips captured hers. The kiss was anything but tentative—bold, searing, and laced with a desperation that left her breathless. His hand slid to the back of her neck, pulling her closer, while her fingers found the fabric of his tunic, clutching it as though anchoring herself to him.

His lips parted slightly, deepening the kiss, and she responded without hesitation, the tension between them finally snapping like a bowstring. The rest of the world faded—no Blight, no Veil, no responsibilities. Just the two of them, pressed together in a sunlit clearing that felt impossibly far from the chaos of their lives.

And then a sharp squawk shattered the moment.

Assan, Davrin’s ever-faithful griffon, swooped down from above and landed just feet away, his wings kicking up a gust of wind. He squawked again, this time more pointedly, his head tilting as if to say, What do you think you’re doing?

Rook pulled back, laughing breathlessly as she tried to compose herself. “Your griffon has impeccable timing.”

Davrin groaned, throwing his head back. “Assan, I swear, I will feed your gingerwort truffles to Manfred.”

The griffon flared his wings indignantly, clearly unimpressed by the empty threat. Rook crouched and reached out, scratching Assan under his beak in the spot she knew he liked. The creature’s grumbling squawk softened into a contented purr.

“Traitor,” Davrin muttered, crossing his arms as he watched them.

Rook straightened, her lips quirking into a smirk. “You can’t blame him. He’s just looking out for his favorite.”

“Is that so?” Davrin asked, stepping closer again, though this time his grin was slow and dangerous. “We’ll see who’s your favorite, later...”

Before she could retort, he grabbed her hand and pulled her against him, his voice low in her ear. “We’re finishing what our feathered chaperone interrupted. Later.”

She shivered at the promise in his tone but refused to let him see how much it affected her. “We’ll see,” she replied, her voice steady despite the heat pooling in her chest.

As they walked back toward the lighthouse eluvian, Assan trailing behind them with an air of smug satisfaction, Rook couldn’t help but smile. The forest may have remembered its ancient magic, but now it also held a memory of her own—one she knew she wouldn’t forget anytime soon.

[justacatiguess]

Wandering the Broken Halls of Thedas - A Love Letter (And a Plea) to Bioware

In Trespasser, we visit the Library of the Elvhen, and through the fragmented narrative of the Archivist, we learn of the last moments of the elves trapped within its walls when Solas created the Veil.

The library, a culmination of all Elvhen knowledge in Thedas, stands shattered—both in its narrative and its architectural form. It serves as a fitting metaphor for what we, as players, now face: a world of Dragon Age where the vast and intricate stories we've carefully crafted over a decade are reduced to small "cameos and one liners," discarded for the sake of larger, overarching narratives.

For over ten years, we, the players, have been carefully building our worlds of Thedas. We met characters we loved, hated, and everything in between. We explored every possible story, every avenue, adding these to our own personal collections, our own "libraries."

Each game rewarded our effort by showing us how our choices shaped the world. Thedas felt alive, vibrant, an entity we could nurture, change, and influence in our own ways.

But now, we are told that Veilguard will focus on Rook’s experience, Rook’s choices. Narrative choices from past games will not move forward. We, the curators of this library, are now reduced to passive observers. Where is our agency in deciding which books to place on the shelves?

Instead of allowing us to remain as caretakers of Thedas, where its complex web of stories once felt like our own, Veilguard binds us to a single viewpoint—that of Rook. Whether we walk the narrow alleys of Minrathous or traverse the shifting forest of Arlathan, our story has been set, reducing what was once a vibrant, multi-dimensional world to something far more limited. The rich colors of experience, the vast tapestry of choices and connections —all has been spun into a single, faded thread.

The Dragon Age series grew over time to nurture large scale choices and consequences, where even the smallest actions reverberated throughout the world and left their mark - sometimes in small poignant ways, sometimes in large broad strokes.

With the new approach in Veilguard, that subtlety has been stripped away. The past friendships we’ve forged, the enemies we've faced, the relationships we’ve nurtured—now all seem distant and irrelevant, with little hope of reconnecting to them in any meaningful way.

It feels like we are living in a world of Tranquils—past characters and events disconnected from the meaning, purpose, and depth that once defined their journeys.

It took Solas a thousand years to wake up to the consequences of his actions. I hope the team at Bioware wakes up a little sooner.

Dragon Age has always been strong because of its stories—stories that grow by building on the past, reusing, alluding, and expanding. Great myths and epic tales thrive on subtle connections, on the echoes of previous choices that ripple through time. By dissecting these stories down to only the most obvious threads, so much is lost.

We now wander the broken halls of a once-great library, its volumes scattered, its knowledge fractured. What was whole is now lost to us—because of the vision of one. And yet we wait and hope that one day the library can be rebuilt.

[galavantinggiant]

"Just For Tonight"

Enjoy the product of my sleep deprived, solavellan infested brain. Can also be read on Ao3 here.

...

...

Sounds of a forest echoed through the dream, the ghostly rememberants of a mind who dreamed of familiar landscapes. Tonight it was a forest in the free marches. A bubbling stream cut through sandy shores, brightly coloured wildflowers decorated the grassy banks and the gnarled roots of giant trees twisted together to form natural arcs. Overhead the melodies of unseen songbirds could be heard. Their songs hauntingly beautiful.

A peaceful memory from one's youth, Solas mused. The forest reminded him of Arlathan Forest, though less grand in stature and untouched by the closeness of the fade. He padded along the mossy undergrowth with his ears prickling at the quiet humming of an elvhen melody. The tune still known by dalish but the words as lost as his people. He recalled the song being sung by lovers awaiting the return of those they were parted from. How fitting, Solas thought bitterly. Did she know? Or was it another pretty song the Dalish believed holy.

He continued through the twisted roots, keeping to the shadows so that he might catch a glimpse of the one he tracked without revealing his presence. It never stayed that way. No matter how many times he tried to remain hidden a traitorous part of him would betray his resolve, allowing her to catch a glimpse before he forced himself to flee. It was cruel. To both of them, he knew it and yet could not stop his nightly journeys into her dreams.

Perhaps it would be best to leave, to go before he saw here and they're nightly ritual had begun in earnest. There would be a chase, as there had been every night since he started to haunt her dreams. She would see him, call to him. He would flee and she would give chase. She never caught him, he wouldn't, couldn't allow it. Yet as the thoughts of abandoning his folley tempted him they were just as swiftly banished. Wandering the banks and bathed in soft rays of light was she. Inquisitor, Herald, Vehnan. Her voice low and smoothly humming the song that had guided his feet. The vision of her gave him pause and his heart ached. He wished to reach for her, to take her hand in his and finish the ballad she sang. To rest in her arms and know he was not alone. All it would require was for him to step from the brushes, to show himself to her. But he did not. Instead he watched her song come to an end and her eyes to close as the warmth of sun touched her face.

He found himself moving before the better part of his judgement could stop him. The bush rustling with his every movement as he revealed himself. She turned now aware of his presence. This was it, she would call to him and the chase would begin.

Her lips parted and his name passed her lips but was cut short. Eyes widening she turned away from him in a panic and gasped, her arms raising to protect herself from an unseen assailant. In that moment she was gone, torn from slumber to leave him in a fading dream. The warmth receded, the vibrant colours of the wildflowers became muted with her disappearance and a hush fell across the forest. The atmosphere around Solas crackled as cool mist curled from his figure. The fade reflecting the cold shock which had possessed him. The look of fear that had painted her face in the brief moment before she awoke frozen in his memory. Something was wrong. Very wrong.

He spun on his heels and marched back the way he came spurred on by single minded purpose. The world lurched, sending him to the dreams of another. An elven woman, one of his various agents he had in Fereldan, who dreamt of her alienage. Dreamt of the warm fire in her childhood hovel. He needed not announce his arrival, his presence was felt by any he deemed fit to enter the dreams of. "Fen'Harel," She bowed in respect. "How may I serve?"

"I require a report on the Inquisitor's current whereabouts and state," Solas's tone was level, betraying no hint of the turmoil he felt inside.

"It shall be done." The elvhen woman was gone, her dream with her.

Solas awoke amongst the warm furs of his bed. His hands came to clench at his chest as he calmed his breathing. Once he had he rose and dressed before wandering from the room. His path took him directly to the Eluvian through which he could access the crossroads. He stared at the magnificent mirror as he infused it with magic, opening the paths that lay past it.

Solas fsltered, where would he go? Skyhold was mostly abandoned now and his knowledge of Lavellan's location rough at best. Even if he knew there would be no promise that she had remained there, or that this was not a trap set to lure him.

Clenching his fists he turned from the Eluvian. He would have to wait it seemed. Until the evening when she would sleep again.

...

...

He paced in circles, frustration easily taking his mind. In the privacy of his abode the mural his love, his vehnan stared down at him. His eyes flickering between her and the ground, his mind restless. Two days. It had been two days since Lavellan had slept. Or at the very least dreamt. He had been unable to reach her in that time and the constant worry that gnawed at him had impacted his plans. The situatiom was a distraction he could not shake.

His agents had tracked her location down by the evening of the first day. Their news solemn. An attempted assassination, they had reported, by a noble who felt slighted by past actions of the Inquisition. The man had not survived long after that, he had been found mutilated in his bed in the wee hours of morning. There had been no struggle, no entry to the otherwise secure room, his death a mystery. Solas only regretted that it had been over so quickly.

The Inquisitor had escaped with her life. Yet she had not returned to the fade in her dreams and Solas had been forced to wait. He stared out at the shifting landscape and sighed. It was time, though he feared another night of wandering the fade with no sign of her. Yet he had to see her, even a glimpse to ensure she still drew breathe.

He felt it the moment she slipped into the land of the dreaming. It was stuttered as if she had struggled against the inevitability of sleep. Three quick strides and he was in her dreams.

He faltered for a moment at the familiarity of the landscape. The air was cold and heavy, mist hung in lazy wisps that fled from him and the light was muted. The two massive halla statues seemed sadder in the shadows, their stone eyes watching his passage. A pang of regret stung him.

He swallowed the thick wad of emotion threatening to bring him to tears and steeled himself. A small part wished to turn and flee but it was ignored. He had to see, had to make sure she was alive with his own two eyes. Solas pressed on, each step fuelled with purpose and need.

It was exactly how he remembered. The faint blue glow of moon on water and misty spray of the falls immersing him in the memory of that night. The night he had almost revealed everything. Everything was as he remembered, even the woman with her back to him.

He forgot how to breathe the moment his gaze found her. She stood in the shallows bathed in moonlight she wore like an aura. There was a hunch to her stature, he noted, like she was being ever so slowly crushed by an invisible weight.

"I knew you would come," Her voice barely a whisper but it carried across the distance between them. "Sometimes I wish you wouldn't, then maybe I could finally rest." Her voice cracked, a sob barely stifled. Still she did not turn to face him.

Solas's mouth was dry and his words insufficient as he spoke them softly, "Ir Abelas, Vehnan." Sorry, he was always sorry but it would never be enough.

She turned finally to face him. Tears, turned silver in the moonlight, trailed down her pink cheeks drawing his gaze downwards to the exposed neckline of her outfit. There a cruel permanent reminder of how close she had come to death was etched into her clavicle. Mere inches from being a killing blow. Rage and sorrow took shape as static in the air around him. His jaw locked in place as he resisted the urge to find the one who had landed the blow. It would be in vain however, the would be assassin already long gone from amongst the living.

He stumbled toward her, his footing unsteady, till he came to a pause at the edge of the lake. She stood just out of arms reach with only empty space between them. With slightly hunched shoulders, a tear stained face and a tiredness to her eyes he was unfamiliar with, she looked fragile.

"I did not wish to sleep... Varric and Cassandra, they promsied I would be safe but...," She trailed off but he could see it clearly. To have the illusion of being safe in ones own bed while dreaming of sweeter times ripped so violently away would cause anyone to fear the moments of vulnerability sleep brought. Even to someone accustomed to being constantly at war to survive. At times it had been easy to forget the woman behind the title of Inquisitor.

Lavellan moved to reach out to him. Solas flinched backwards. It had been too long since he had felt her and he knew he would not be able to leave this place so easily if he allowed it now. He turned to leave, now that his purpose for coming here was complete he had no reason to remain.

Her eyes, which had not till this moment been able to look directly at him, gave him pause. They were filled with a silent plea as they met his own.

"Solas, please don't leave me."

How the words he had heard before in a not so distant memory cut him deep. In this place of all places it was even crueller.

"I- I can't," He echoed, but he didn't not move, did not flee from her as he had the last time. He saw it in her eyes and face. The weakness of his rebuttel renewing her resolve.

"Just for tonight can we pretend that neither of us are who we are. There is no Inquisitor, no Dread Wolf, no veil. Just us, here, together." Each word was a blow to his heart. He yearned for her, to hold her, to forget everything but her. Even if only for a moment. But it was dangerous, he could lose himself to this sweet dream and that was not an option... not for him.

"Vehnan," The word soft and genuine shattered the last of his resolve. She knew it too.

His hands found her face and his thumb swept away the last of her tears. Foreheads pressed together and noses touching with lips inches apart they breathed heavily in unision. "I will stay, just for tonight," the words soft on an exhale. Her lips soft against his own. Tension seeped from her in a sigh. A wave of desire crashed upon them, threatening to drown him. He held tight to her, his one life line, as his hands and mouth memorised every inch of her body. Phantom touches would persist upon his skin when he awoke, he would forever feel the trace of her fingers on his jaw and the brush of lips against his own. Tonight he would allow himself this moment, this illusion of what could have been, and in the morning when cruel reality would tear them both apart again a small part of him would not survive.

[nerdee-blondee]

**more theorizing on solas' connection with rook**

after i heard that solas will somehow be able to commune with all the companions, i wondered how his connection with rook would be a unique one if he can just communicate with everybody eventually and not just rook.

so meesa thinking. the fade echos what's going on in the real world. when we first meet him in the fade, its clearly the fade version of the ritual sight (with all the tall elven statues in the background and everything).

SO IMMA TAKE A GUEST that wherever we go in the world, solas is always there with us as well, just in the fade.

like, i believe the part following the ritual is the arlathan forest. solas is there with us, learning info as we go but obviously, we can't see him currently cause he's in the fade version of the forest. so he sees us and what we are doing but we don't notice him.

and thats probably why solas' connection with rook is special because he's connected to rook. wherever rook goes, solas is also there.

and also maybe while we are seeing solas' memories in the crossroads, he in turn is seeing rook's memories simultaneously??

i suppose we shall see 🧐

[silurisanguine]

Teleri De Riva's backstory

When i created my Rook, Teleri i just went with what i thought was aesthetically beautiful. I gave her Vallaslin because they are gorgeous on the elves, and i picked Mythals because i thought after playing Inquisition, she would be one of the 'good' Evanuris to represent. But after playing the game, i felt like Teleri needed a reason to have them, a backstory to her. (edit added some extra as it came to me as a fell asleep...as ideas are want to do)

NAME: Teleri De Riva Nicknames: Rook. Faction - Antivan Crows (Formerly Dalish Elves) Parents: Bran and Macsen of Clan Tasallan. Her grandfather Tomás was Keeper of the clan. (Later, adopted into House De Riva. )

When Teleri was nineteen she and her clan travelled from the border of the Free Marches deep into the north of Antiva close to Arlathan to partake in a new Arlathvhen meet there as her grandfather's old clan were from there, and he hoped to see them one last time as his age was catching up on him. On the way Teleri was finally chosen by the Keeper to get her Vallaslin, thanks to finding an old elven ruin on their way that called to him after seeing it in a dream and knowing that was the place it had to be done.

They had to go on their own to the ruin as the ritual was sacred, but before she left, Teleri felt unease, so she kissed her mother, hugged her father and brother, told them she loved them, and tried to brush off her her concerns, thinking it was about the arduous nature of the journey and her grandfather's health.

She left with the Keeper and was offered three designs - Elgar'nan, Andruil or Mythal as they represented aspects of herself the Keeper saw - leader, defender or arbiter. He believed the Vallaslin echoed the best aspects of their gods rather than subservience to them, a belief he hoped to share at the meet. Teleri chose Mythal because she deeply believed in justice and if need be, retribution. Her grandfather had already set the design out, feeling deeply that she had chosen well.

She sat in silence as the Vallaslin was applied to her face, bearing the pain and channeling it into what she would be after, a clan defender like her brother or next in line to be Keeper.

But on the way back they saw black smoke near their camp and when they returned…the clan had been slaughtered. Her parents and older brother murdered along with their halla and pets. She didn't know who'd done it - there were signs of magic, but their clan did have a couple of mages as they honoured magical ability rather than feared it in their clan. Those mages had been in particular, brutally killed.

Teleri was heartbroken, but also enraged at the injustice. She had just got her Vallaslin and and lost her family all on the same day and no amount of consoling by her grandfather would quell the fire inside her. She wanted blood for what happened.

She believed these assassins known as the Crows might have done it due to travelling through Antivan land, and after her grandfather had told her tales of the crow faced killers who stole lives like Dirthamen's raven's Fear and Deceit, she believed they had to have been the culprits.

She told the Keeper after helping to bury her clan, once she'd brought him to the meet, she would then head to the first Antivan city she came across to demand answers. The Keeper gave his sad blessing, performing the last rites for their clan, feeling once they arrived at the meet and Teleri was gone, she would never return, knowing in his heart where she was heading was her true calling, she just didn't know it yet.

She ended up in Treviso, but the beautiful city could not sway her from her need for vengeance. She came across a Crow in the market and knowing the basic shemlen language well enough thanks to her father, demanded to be taken to their leader. The Crow was amused and entertained the angry elf, escorting her to the dwelling of House De Riva and this young angry little Dalish demanded right of combat as were her clan Tasallan's rights over what she believed had happened.

De Riva's 5th Talon at the time, concerned why this Dalish would think they had anything to do with it, put out a request to see if any House really had killed this clan and what the contract was as they hadn't gone after any Dalish in decades, as Antiva was always on good terms with them. He held Teleri securely but comfortably at the mansion, whilst enquiries were made and after confirming no contract had been taken, told her the Crows did not kill her clan.

Teleri didn't want to believe it, she had it right, it had to be them. But once the realisation she was wrong kicked in, she didn't know what to do. She had nothing to go back to, her clan was gone, her Keeper the last remaining Tasallan and he had told her to take the journey here.

She knew she could not face her grandfather without avenging her fallen family. The 5th Talon, admitted that would be a contract any Crow would be honoured to take, so he offered her a duel with his second to see what she was made of and to let out some of that rage her saw behind her eyes.

Viago was chosen to fight her and he offered her the choice of weapons. She took a bow and dagger as she had been trained in the way of Three Trees and Teleri held her own, she'd learnt to fight well by her brother, but up close she couldn't match the dagger play. Viago had her pinned, but was impressed and requested that she be allowed to join as a Fledgling and trained. That if she wished, and if the 5th Talon agreed, they would allow her to find who really killed her clan and she would take the contract to eliminate them as her initiation into the Crows.

She agreed, knowing now why the Keeper agreed so easily to letting her go, that he probably sent her to the Crows hoping they would take her on. It took five years of being a Fledgling, training and investigating to find that it was bandits - Nothing fancy like Venatori or Qunari ...just bandits. But well armed and powerful ones that were led by a couple of ex Templars who attacked the mages in the clan out of bitterness when they came across them.

She found their base outside Rialto and killed them all, as her training had taught her - silent, fast and brutally efficient. Except for their ex Templar leader who she poisoned to have a slow painful death, making sure the last thing he saw as he coughed up blood, was her face wickedly smiling at him.

Since then it has taken over a decade before she was promoted to be a full Crow, due to acclimatising to Antivan culture, fully learning the Antivan language of the Shemlen, (though she never lost her Free marches's Dalish accent) and her spirited 'initiative' during missions.

But Viago, even though he chastised her, believed she had potential to be one of the best, though he wasn't going to tell her that. Still he convinced the 5th talon to fully adopt Teleri into House Riva, once she became a full Crow.

As she settled, she considered removing her Vallaslin. She didn't want Antivans to think she was a taken slave like the Crows of old did, but it was her only connection to her old life and her family. So she kept them, honouring them rather than the god the Vallaslin were named after. But she never did see her grandfather again or go back to that camp in the woods...until she glimpsed it during her time in the fade prison.

She became good friends with another elf Crow Andarateia Cantori, the 7th Talon, who alongside Viago, took the former Dalish under her wings, bringing out the more playful nature of Teleri and helping her to over come her grief and blossom into the good natured person she is today. During that time, Teleri worked mostly with House De Riva and sometimes Cantori, but outside of that, didn't really interact with other Houses as she never was high enough rank to do so. She'd seen the First Talon Catarina Dellamorte and knew she had two adopted grandsons, but that was all. Lucanis had heard of Teleri through the 7th Talon, that she was as dangerous an elf in House De Riva as Teia was. He never thought he'd meet her though, since his work was so specialised. That would all change when Teleri, now a full Crow taking her own missions, took too much initiative into her own hands and jeopardised a big Crow mission against the Antaam. Her punishment- to go with the dwarves Varric Tethras and Lace Harding who were after a target called Solas, that would take them all away from Antiva. Although it was a form of temporary exile and technically a punishment, Viago knew this would be where her skills would shine and although he would not admit it, he worried for what she would find in her hunt for the ancient elf. So when she turned back up requesting the aid of the legendary Demon of Vyrantium in her hunt, he wasn't sure how to break it to her, it was a lost cause.

[the-tropes-are-hungry]

Echoes of Arlathan, My Beloved My Project Eternal on AO3

Because I'm honestly more in love with this fic and this series overall, a link to some of my best work over the last five years. This Now-Five-Part series is my Dragon Age AU that originally kicked off with wanting to take DAO/Inquisition's Connor Guerrin from In Hushed Whispers and toss him into the Fereldan Grey Wardens.

The Connor stories (2) are separate from Echoes, and I am currently writing and posting Echoes' Book Three, The Hearthkeeper.

Echoes of Arlathan's basic premise is my HoF Surana is haunted by his past in the Circle of Magi and, to deflect from this, abuses a tranquil elf in Vigil's Keep. This abuse sends the Tranquil home to build an alienage life for himself while the Archmage faces his past and suffers a terrible injury in the ruins of Kinloch Hold.

In the third book, the three built-up factions (Circle elves; Alienage elves; Dalish elves) come to a head in the Decennial Dalish religious festival, the Arlath'vhen.

[headachecat]

The Hours Found – Chapter V

———

An anthology of hours in Lucanis and Rook’s relationship unseen in the game, but very much needed.

—

Timing: After 'A Cage for Gods' quest.

———

It must have been weeks now, but Lucanis couldn���t be sure. 

Minutes turned into hours, hours into days, days into eternity, it felt like. Every moment bled into the next, a ceaseless march of time that offered no respite, no clarity. He could not stop moving, could not stop looking, searching. If he did, he would collapse and let the Void consume him entirely.

He had found himself lingering around Emmrich’s office more often than ever, sharing drinks with the Necromancer on a daily basis as they discussed their next steps. The cluttered, yet organised, dimly lit room became a  refuge – a place where the exhaustion didn’t feel quite so overwhelming, and the burden of his thoughts could be shared, if only for a little while. 

They planned so much. Every meeting was a flurry of ideas and possibilities, desperate attempts to find a way forward. Between regular travels to Arlathan Forest, Necropolis, and Rivain, the delicate threads of time slipped through their fingers like sand. Emmrich would scratch notes into carefully categorised journals, diagrams of ancient magic and rift patterns sprawled across his desk, but every lead dissolved into disappointment. All for nothing. There was no place in Thedas where the Fade would part for them, no stone unturned, no rift undiscovered where even a trace of Rook was seen, felt, or sensed. And every failure added another crack to the fragile foundation of hope they clung to.

Lucanis felt himself going mad, spending more and more time in the company of Manfred. The skeleton had taken to making him coffee at least four times a day, his curious eyes never leaving Lucanis as he paced restlessly from the kitchen, through the library and down to the infirmary. Though he found the spirit’s presence peaceful and quiet – a comfort in some aspects – it pained him to notice how much it reminded him of Rook. The cheerful hisses echoed down the halls as they made their way through the Lighthouse, hauntingly reminiscent of her laughter. Books, carefully chosen to match his tastes, appeared on the library seat in the early morning hours, as though it was her leaving them for him, just like when they spent long nights reading together to keep him awake. And then there were the small, tireless attempts to make him smile – endearing, but gut-wrenching, as they mirrored how Rook had tried so hard to lift up his spirits, even when she herself was in pain. Lucanis couldn’t help but see her shadow in every gesture, every sound, and every fleeting, tender effort Manfred made. The ache of her absence pressed heavier with each passing day, blurring the line between the comfort of her memory and the torment of losing her.

‘Mourning is fascinating this way,' Emmrich told him once, in response to his worries. They were walking through Arlathan Forest, heading towards one of its counties spiritual power sources. The ancient trees towered above them, the air heavy with the earthy scent of moss, and sunlight streaming through the canopy in golden steaks, lighting their path. The day was warm, the clear skies overhead offering a sense of fleeting optimism. Ahead of them, Harding walked with an lightness in her step, her boots barely seeming to touch the ground. There was a subtle, almost playful skip in her pace – a sign of hope.

They were so determined back then, tumbling on the edge of what they believed could be a breakthrough. It was only their fourth attempt at opening the prison – one of many that would follow without success. After everything they had endured, it seemed reasonable, if not necessary, to share their thoughts and feelings as they travelled together. For Lucanis, though, it had never gotten easier.

‘It makes one search for familiar patterns in the things that remain around,’ Emmrich continued, his voice steady as the path grew darker and the air heavier, as if the forest itself was listening. The faint glow of the wisps danced around them, their whispers brushing against them, raising goosebumps on the backs of their necks. ‘It favours the representations of the happiest of memories, only to fill them with a sense of gloom so dreadful – it keeps us bound within our own minds. Anchored to the person we remember, or perhaps prefer to remember so fondly. Now that they are gone, that is.’ 

He paused, tilting his head slightly as though considering something he hadn’t spoken aloud before. ‘But,’ he added, his tone sharpening just slightly, ‘you must not mourn those who are not dead. It is the cruelest trick of all. To grieve for what still lingers, just out of reach, is to tear yourself apart.’ His voice was reassuring and calm, as if the realisation of what his words meant wasn’t exactly there. Or perhaps he understood it so well that he no longer thought it scary.

Lucanis had grown used to the Nevarran easiness in discussing the dead. What first felt alien, now became a curious source of solace. Emmrich’s calm empathy, his ability to speak of loss as if it were a natural part of the air they breathed, was one of the few things that kept Lucanis from being entirely consumed by his own spiralling thoughts. It was a fleeting feeling though, disappearing as soon as they failed again, and again, and again.

Lucanis would kneel next to Emmrich as the mage performed his magic tricks, the soft glow of his hands illuminating their companions’ faces. The hum of ancient power wrapped around them, blending with the faint whispers of curious spirits drawn to their efforts. Lucanis would close his eyes, inhaling deeply, letting the forest's energy swirl through him. For a moment, he would let his thoughts drift towards the Fade, calling out for Rook. He imagined her in the forest with him, the familiar voice ringing out between the trees. He could see her skipping past the trunks, her figure darting in and out of the faint light as she ran away from him. He followed her in his mind, tracing her footsteps in the soft, muddy soil beneath their feet. Every so often, he would catch a glimpse of her curly hair or hear the soft crunch of her boots ahead. It was almost as though she were truly there, just beyond his reach. Always beyond his reach. 

The moment stretched, bittersweet and fragile, until the inevitable pull of reality brought him back. And then, as always, he would feel Emmrich’s hand on his shoulder, its warmth grounding him. The mage’s touch was gentle but firm, a silent reminder that they were still here, still trying. Lucanis would look up, meeting the mage’s gaze – saddened yet kind, carrying the weight of the failure with grace.

‘I’m afraid it is not our lucky day,’ Emmrich would say softly, the resignation in his voice tempered by the faintest flicker of hope, as if he dared to suggest their luck might change next time. Lucanis recalled this moment as he stood before the entrance to Rook’s room, a place he had not dared to enter since the day she disappeared. He often walked past it, feeling an invitation coming from within, as if she would call for him from the Fade, but never once had he crossed the threshold. He wasn’t entirely sure why he avoided it for so long. Perhaps it was because he knew that once he entered, Rook’s ghost would no longer be a passing feeling, something he could escape from if it became too much. No, this room held so much of her memory within, that it would drown him, burying him underneath the overwhelming burden of her absence. He placed a hand on the door, hesitating. A quiet pull urging him forward, a deep fear holding him back. With a resigned breath, he took a step closer, pressing his forehead against the cold metal. ‘Rook,’ he whispered, his voice barely audible. He closed his eyes, picturing her once more.

In his mind, she was inside. She sat on her bed, her posture casual yet expectant, her elbow resting on the headrest. Her gaze was steady, observing him with that familiar curiosity, as though waiting for him to say something, as if her existence depended on his next words. He could feel her spirit, like she was waiting just on the other side of the door, a breath away from him. He exhaled sharply, startled by how vividly she appeared before him, the memory so sharp it almost felt real. ‘Come back to me,’ he thought, the words rising in his chest, but he could not voice it properly.

As if summoned by his plea, a presence materialised next to him, the coldness of its appearance making the identity clear right away.. Lucanis turned his head slowly towards Spite, his body too exhausted to react with anything more than a hollow stare. Spite’s brow was furrowed, his expression unreadable. His hand rested lightly on the wood, just beside Lucanis’s, as they shared an unusually long, silent look.

In that brief moment, Lucanis felt a strange tension between them – a connection, perhaps. Spite, who had always been strongly distant, aloof in his own cryptic way, seemed different now. Lucanis could feel he weight of their shared loss affect the spirit as well. He couldn’t quite place it, but he noticed the change in Spite ever since Rook had disappeared. It wasn’t just the usual detachment of a creature of the Fade. There was something more. Something like longing, like a hunger for what had been lost, yet not quite reflective of any mortal emotion. Spite, too, had been touched by Rook, changed, and the bond had appeared between him na this host – forged in that shared grief. They both felt it – the need to find her, to bring her back, to put an end to the emptiness that haunted them both. Lucanis turned his gaze back to the entrance.

‘We find. Rook.’ Spite pressed harder against the door, as if his will could somehow force it open. Lucanis followed his lead. The door creaked in protest as it began to move, the sound loud in the stillness of the hallway, inviting them into the room that had been sealed for so long. Lucanis stepped inside. His senses immediately were taken over by the sweet smell of Andraste’s Grace, its flowers wilting in the vase by the door. He stood still for a moment, taking in the sight before him.

The room was a testament to Rook’s journey – a scattered collage of artefacts and mementos gathered during their travels. The things in front of them, the possessions gathered over months of their travels, were a mixture of function and meaning, each piece telling a story that Lucanis was all too familiar with. His eyes drifted across the room, lingering on each item as though trying to decipher a secret code, to find some clue that might lead them closer to her.

On one side of the room, the walls were covered with sketches. Rook’s art was always raw, unrefined, but there was a beauty to it that drew you in. Lucanis’s gaze wandered from one drawing to the next: delicate sketches of trees bending under the pressure of the wind, the outline of distant mountains against a setting sun, the intricate patterns of the flora and fauna she had observed. His mind wandered back to a moment they had shared, as though the air in the room had carried him back to a campfire in Rivain. 

They had been resting during their journey, sitting in silence as the night stretched on during their guarding hour. The warmth of the fire flickered between them, casting long shadows on the ground. 

‘You know,’ Rook said, her voice quiet, and cautious to not wake up their companions. ‘Growing up in Necropolis – there’s not a lot of variety in your surroundings.’ She gestured behind her, taking in the lush landscape around them. ‘And this? Maker, isn’t this breathtaking?’ Her gaze had drifted across the beach they settled on. ‘The land, the sky, the animals,’ she continued, her voice thick with awe, before she paused for a moment.

Lucanis had caught the subtle shift in her gaze as it dropped from the horizon to his face. She studied him tenderly, almost as if she were memorising every detail of him. A soft blush crept onto her cheeks, and for a fleeting second, she looked at him as if the world around them had faded entirely. 

‘The people,’ she added, her voice softer now, like a secret shared only between them. His heart skipped a beat then, the sincerity in her words sending a warmth through him that had little to do with the fire.

Now, as he stood in her room, surrounded by her sketches, the memories flooded his mind. The tenderness in her voice, the way she had looked at him – he hadn’t realised back then how much he would miss it was he to lose it. He looked across the room, placing a hand on his heart. 

Near the far corner, a wooden cabinet held a collection of trinkets and curiosities: polished stones, an assortment of decorative skulls, a few books, and a well-worn map of Thedas, its edges curling upwards from constant folding and unfolding. A small wooden box sat atop the shelf, its lid slightly ajar, revealing a golden necklace in the shape of a bird skull. Lucanis reached for it, his fingers brushing the cool metal. He recognised the handiwork as one of the Treviso’s jewellery  merchants. ‘Is that a crow skull?’ Neve asked with the usual intrigue in her voice, her tone teasing as they made their way through the Market district. Lucanis kept a few steps ahead of them, shamelessly listening in on their idle chatter. The sounds of the market faded into the background as he heard Rook's soft chuckle. She was fiddling with something in her hands, the faint clink of metal resonating between them, before she answered, a touch of mischief in her voice. ‘I thought it might be a nice little reminder.’ She slipped the necklace around her neck.

Neve raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a playful grin. ‘A reminder of what, exactly?’

Rook didn’t hesitate in her answer, her voice quieter now, directed only to her companion, but laced with a sincerity that made Lucanis’ chest tighten, though he couldn’t quite place why, ’Something very dear to my heart.’

Neve let out a muffled laugh, and Lucanis could almost hear the eye roll in her words. She elbowed Rook’s side with a soft thud. 

‘You’re such a sap!’

Lucanis held the necklace up to his lips, his grip tightening on the delicate chain. The intricate details in the design spoke of time and care in its craftsmanship. Rook always paid attention to such small details.

For a moment, he allowed himself to close his eyes. The sound of the market, once so distant, now seemed muffled, as though he was hearing it through the Veil. His mind replayed her soft laugh, the teasing, playful exchange taking place behind him. He looking back over his shoulder discreetly, noticing the way her eyes had softened when she spoke of it. It was clear now, as he held it in his hands – this was her way of carrying him with her, of holding onto something, no matter the distance between them. He’d never been good with words, never been able to say what he truly felt. He was always more comfortable with action, with gestures. Even with Rook, even now, when she was so close in his mind, so real and tangible in the memory of the necklace, the words still escaped him. His heart ached with longing for what could have been, had he voiced his love for her. The irony wasn’t lost on him. He’d spent so much of his life avoiding the weight of his own emotions, keeping them tucked away where no one could see them. But now, when it mattered most, the silence between them was a vast, endless space.

He held the necklace close for a while, before placing it back into the wooden box with a precise touch, closing the lid slowly as though sealing away a piece of himself. He had to. There would be a time to linger on this feeling, when Rook is back.

He took a slow stroll around the room, his footsteps echoing softly in the quiet space. Spite trailed behind him, sneaking just a few paces away as they searched for memories, for clues, for anything that would bring them closer to a solution. But then, their eyes fell on something that drew their attention. A hand mirror, laid carefully on the stone table in the middle of the room. The  silver frame was old, worn with use, but it was unmistakable. Lucanis’ breath caught as he recognised it as one of Varric’s possessions. His fingertips hovered over the mirror.

They were sitting in the library, searching through several misaligned maps in order to find the right path through the Deep Roads into the ancient Thaigs. It wasn’t long after they saved Treviso from the dragon attack, their wounds still healing. Rook leaned on the table, absorbed in a dwarven transcript she found. Lucanis and Hariding were skimming through some books when she had casually mentioned it, her tone light but laced with confusion.

‘You know,’ she had said, glancing up from her journal, ‘Varric gave me this strange thing once.’ She paused, looking down at the journal again as she turned the pages, seemingly lost in thought. ‘A gift. A mirror.’

Lucanis raised an eyebrow at Harding, who quickly caught his gaze in a silent understanding. 

‘His shaving mirror?’ Scout asked. 

Rook chuckled, clearly aware of how strange it sounded. ‘That’s the one. He was acting all funny about it. Said it could show a person’s most hidden secrets. All the things we try to hide from ourselves,’ she shrugged, pausing for a second, deep in thought. ’Regrets.’

Lucanis had leaned towards her, but giving her enough space not to disturb her. 

‘He’s so serious about it.’ she let out a soft laugh, rolling her eyes. ‘Of course, I’m pretty sure the only thing Varric regrets is not shaving that overgrown beard.’

Harding sent a reassuring smile Rook’s way, before quietly returning to her search within the book’s pages. Lucanis watched Rook for a moment longer.

’Is there something you regret, Rook?’ he asked gently. She looked up at him, taken of guard for a brief second, before dropping her gaze on the table between them. Lucanis followed her lead, noticing the map of Tevinter laid out in front of him, the paper old and torn in several places. Rook sighed, before turning back to her reading.

‘Sometimes, I wish I could have done more.’

Spite hissed out in an twisted laugh of sorts, pointing at the mirror eagerly, ‘A prison. Built. From regrets!’ 

Solas’ words echoed in their memory, as the spirit jumped on the bed with quickened, suddenly reignited determination. It struck Lucanis then, like a sudden, blinding lightning running across his brain. If her regrets were the bars of her prison, then perhaps – just perhaps – they were searching for her in the wrong place all along.

‘Minrathous’ he exhaled, his mind racing. This was where they had gone wrong. Without another thought, Lucanis spun on his heel and bolted for the door. Spite watched him for a moment, before vanishing into his mind, the illuminated, violet wings shooting out of the Crow’s back. Lucanis burst into the main hall, calling out to the team. As he ran, a sense of clarity surged within him – Rook wouldn’t escape the pain of the destruction. She would confront it. And in that confrontation, she would finally be free.

It wasn’t long before they gathered at the Crossroads. They stood at the edge of the Eluvian, watching the distorted reflection shift and writhe in front of them. The image that stared back was a fractured version of Minrathous, twisted by the chaotic influence of the blight, tainted by the war that raged beyond. The reflection was darkened, like a wound that would never heal, and Lucanis felt his stomach twist as it seemed to reach out toward him, beckoning him to step through.

Harding and Taash were standing a few paces behind, watching warily. Harding’s arms were folded tightly across her chest, her eyes narrowed. Taash’s hand rested on the hilt of his axe, their grip tight, as though they were ready to face whatever might come at them in an instant. Neve was standing at the edge of the Eluvian, her fingers twitching as she examined the shifting reflection.

‘If we performed the ritual on the other side, the disturbance within the Fade might alert Elgar’nan’s forces,’ she turned to Emmrich, her brow furrowed in the usual silent question.

‘And Solas’ Taash groaned, a sense of disgust in their tone, ‘Vashedan.’

‘We do not need to cross,’ Emmrich interrupted calmly, stepping forward. ‘We might be able to draw the spiritual influence of the city through the portal. Shall we?’

With the flick of his wrist, a soft, emerald glow began to emanate from his fingertips, lighting up the Eluvian’s surface. The others remained still as the magic pressed against the reflection. The mirror rippled, the surface twisting like an upcoming storm, but slowly, under the touch of his power, it began to clear, like fog lifting from a sleepy valley. A faint outline of the city, the memory of Minrathous before the blight, emerged beneath the distorted layer, its streets and buildings visible but shrouded in an eerie, unnatural silence.

Neve stepped up beside Emmrich, her fingers brushing against the cool surface of the Eluvian. She closed her eyes for a moment, focusing on their intention, her own energy reaching out to help guide Emmrich’s, amplifying it. Her hand glowed with faint, blue light as she pressed harder, and the reflection began to stabilise. Soon, the chatter of every day life emerged from the vision, the banter of Dock Town’s residents reaching their ears. Neve looked back at her companions with a sad smile, the memory bringing out the pain she tried to cover up for months now.

Lucanis could feel the change as the ritual started – the whispers of spirits appearing. At first, they were soft, a mere murmur at the edge of his hearing, but soon they became louder, more insistent. Soon, they changed drastically. The shrieks of unknown entities echoed around them, the voices wild with rage, confusion, and fear. He was unsure if the sounds were coming from the Fade, or from the streets of Dock Town itself, where the raging war lured in spirits and demons alike, hunting the dreams of the citizens.

Taash observed the reflection with caution, glancing warily at the swirling wisps that surrounded them. They haven’t encountered this in their previous attempts at the ritual, which meant that they were either getting closer, or have possibly uncovered something completely different. Something dangerous. ‘Tell me this is what we’re looking for.’

‘Precisely,’ Emmrich’s concentration deepened, sweat appearing on his forehead as the Eluvian’s reflection slowly began to stabilise. ‘Now, call out to Rook, would you? We must create a path.’

The spirits grew louder still, shrieks and whispers mixing into an indistinguishable cacophony that rang in Lucanis’s ears. He took a deeper breath, fixing his gaze on the vision in the mirror, trying to make out the shifting shapes within. He reached to his belt, grabbing the hilt of Rook’s blade, a familiar shiver running up his fingertips. 

‘Rook!’ he shouted, stepping closer, Harding and Taash following his lead. They readied their stance, grounding themselves, as they yelled out towards the Eluvian. The reflection brightened in front of them, a blinding flash hurting their eyes as a sudden lightning of energy shot at them. Electricity flickered in the air between them, as Harding gasped, grabbing the bow and aiming it at the portal. ‘Stay focused,’ Neve murmured beside Emmrich, her voice almost drowned out by the spirits. The sound was maddening, a clamour of desperate voices trying to escape, trying to reach them. The presence of such despair spirits was unsettling and overwhelming, their whispers tugging at the edges of the group’s minds like claws scraping against glass. Finally, with one final ripple of magic, the reflection before them cleared completely.

An unexpected silence fell over them, as a familiar shape appeared within. Lucanis could feel his heart race as he stared at the shimmering figure in the Eluvian, a knot tightening in his chest. His grip on the Nevarran blade at his side clenched reflexively. Taash, however, was faster in their reaction. 

‘That’s her!’ they shouted, pushing in front of Lucanis. Their gaze darted briefly to Emmrich, seeking the slightest confirmation. Emmrich gave a short nod. They reached through the reflection without hesitation, their other hand gripping the golden frame of the portal tightly for support. The faint shimmer of the Eluvian’s magic wavered around their arm like water breaking apart, distorting their figure slightly.

‘Rook—’ Lucanis whispered, stepping forward to join Taash. His voice caught for a moment, but he steadied himself. He focused on the shadow, fixated, like it might vanish if he blinked. He extended his arm through the surface of the portal, the coldness of the Void surging through his arm, sharp and biting. He sucked in a sharp breath, the frost creeping up his skin and settling deep in his bones. It wasn’t just cold – it was an emptiness, a hollow that seemed to pull at something far deeper than flesh and blood. Lucanis pressed forward despite the pain.

Taash’s grip on the Eluvian’s frame tightened as they leaned further in. Their voice was firm, yet tinged with the slightest edge of desperation, ‘Come on, boss! We’re here!’

The shadow shifted slightly. The outline became sharper, more distinct. It was her. He knew it, even if the details were still obscured by the Veil. The familiarity of her presence was unmistakable. The thought of stepping back, of retreating now when they were so close, was unthinkable. ‘Rook!’ he called again, his voice trembling ever so slightly. ‘We’re here for you!’

The figure turned, slowly at first, then more sharply, as though startled by the sound of his voice. For a moment, Lucanis thought he saw her face – her eyes meeting his, so full of tears, of pain, of regret. A faint flicker of recognition. Taash’s arm trembled as the cold of the Void gripped them harder. ’Come on, don’t make us wait all day!’ they groaned, their voice rough but affectionate.

The shadow within stepped closer to the edge of the reflection, and the air around the group grew heavier. The connection seemed to weaken, as the surface of the Eluvian trembled violently. Lucanis didn’t move, his hand still reaching, still searching. 

Within the chaos of the portal, another figure appeared – shorter, sturdier, standing just behind Rook’s shadow. Lucanis inhaled sharply in surprise. Varric. His outline was faint, a memory, but it was enough to realise. 

‘He will always be with you, Rook,’ It took another moment for Lucanis to speak again. But there was no time to waste. He called out, his voice echoing through the Fade, resonating with the wisps within, ’And so will I.’ The figure’s outline faltered for a moment, flickering like a candle, before steadying. Slowly, almost hesitantly, it raised a hand toward him. The cold intensified, and Lucanis grit his teeth, against the biting chill, refusing to pull away. Beside him, Taash cursed under their breath, their body leaning further into the portal. Lucanis could see the faint impression of their arm wrapping protectively around Rook’s shoulders. 

’I got you,’ they muttered. The Eluvian shimmered, and the shadow flickered once more. Emmrich spoke up suddenly, his hands shaking, as he worked furiously to hold the fragile connection steady. ‘Shall we bring you in, my dear?’ he coaxed gently. The shadow surged forward suddenly, and the bond between Lucanis and Rook solidified. The Crow gasped softly as he felt the familiar softness of her skin in his hand. The cold of the Void receded slightly, overshadowed by the comfort of her presence. Taash grunted with effort, their grip tightening as they pushed them together, sealing the connection. And then, with a burst of bright light, the Eluvian stilled. 

Lucanis’ sighed as he saw her, truly saw her, for the first time in what felt like eternity. She was there, vivid and real, trembling but safe. He pulled off his cape, wrapping it around her shoulders tightly. With a sharp, desperate motion, he pulled her closer, his arms catching her as she stumbled forward. Her breathing was disturbed, her body trembling against his as though she were still fighting the pull that had tried to keep her away. She was cold to the touch, her skin pale and her lips chapped. Maker, she was as beautiful as ever. ‘Mi Amor,’ he whispered hoarsely, his voice shaking, as he held her tightly. He buried his face against her shoulder, the familiar scent of her hair – a memory made real – threatening to undo him. Relief surged through him like a flood, overwhelming and uncontrollable. His heart ached with the weight of everything he had felt since losing her – the fear, the guilt, the pain. And now, finally, the reality of her in his embrace. Her hands clutched at his arms, her grip strong but trembling as she was finding her place in the world again. Lucanis pulled back slightly just for a moment, to take in her face. Her gaze wandered, drifting over the faces of the group standing before her. Each one wore a look of relief and worry, their collective presence a reminder that she was no longer alone. But her eyes soon found their way back to him, and he saw something there – a spark of realisation.

She didn’t speak at first, her fingers tightening slightly against his skin, as if she feared letting go. Then, her lips parted, as she found her voice. ‘That’s new’ she whispered tenderly, the corners of her mouth lifting in a faint, exhausted smile.

Lucanis exhaled a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding, his own lips curving into a gentle smile. He brushed a thumb across the scar on her cheek, his touch careful not to startle her, afraid she would vanish if he wasn’t gentle enough.

‘What else did I miss?’ she added, her voice rough but carrying a dry humour that was so undeniably her it made his chest ache. The Crossroads stretched around them endlessly in every direction. Wisps floated in the air ever-present, undisturbed,. Around them, the group exchanged glances – expressions of exhaustion, of quiet joy, of renewed determination. For now, no more words were needed – Rook was back, and that was enough.

[broodwolf221]

Happy friday!!! For Solas x Mythal "they deserve better." from the as said by Solas prompts??? >:) it seems juicy

this one was so funnnn thank you! i love exploring these two, they fascinate me uwu @dadrunkwriting 644 words cws: mentions of slavery and war

“Why do you treat me so well?” He asked, with her hand on his face. It was a foolish thing to ask, revealing too much, pushing too far, but he was exhausted and she had a way of weakening his resolve. She did not pull her hand away, thumb stroking soft across his cheek. 

“Too few question,” she said at last. “Either they have given up, or are furious and impertinent. The former do not interest me, and I cannot be seen tolerating the latter. But some are like you, knowing when and how to press, seeking advantage without being destructive. It is a pleasure to see the way you move through the court, to recognize the precision of your efforts.”

It was not the answer he was expecting. If anything, he would have assumed a physical interest, at most an appreciation of his skills—but not his maneuvering. “My efforts are for you—” he began, but she shook her head.

“This is sloppy, my little pride. Do not lie.” After a moment she resumed her gentle stroking. He had the distant thought that she could be petting her loyal dog. “I know you intend to betray us.” He forced his expression to remain calm, only belatedly realizing that he should have acted as if the thought was shocking. She smiled, the white glint of her teeth visible. “You intend to save the slaves. You are already stealing them away. You are subtle, my Solas, but you cannot hide your efforts entirely.”

So, she knew. She knew and yet she spoke to him with such warmth. She had not demanded he return the slaves. As he puzzled over her reaction, her smile grew. “Ah, the gears turn. I enjoy watching you think.”

“They deserve better,” he said and she nodded, but he was not so naive as to think she was agreeing with him. She was simply confirming her own suspicions. 

“Perhaps they do,” she admitted after a moment, “but how do you intend to give them what they deserve? A war will devastate Arlathan, my sweet pride. The very people you seek to save shall be slaughtered in the battle you begin.” Her words chilled him, for they echoed his deepest fears back at him.

“I do not need to do this alone.” His voice was soft, pitched low and intimate, and she looked approving.

“You reach without reaching. Is it an offer that I join you, or a statement that you have already swayed others? Or perhaps you count the freed slaves as your allies.” She shook her head, growing somber. “They may be many things, but they do not have the strength to stand against the Evanuris. The only way for you to win is to divide us.”

“Why tell me all this?” She tilted her head and studied him, as if searching for the truth behind his question. But for once there was nothing beyond the statement, a simple, honest curiosity.

“I am not opposed to your goals,” she said at last, and this did shock him, “and if you can find a way forward that will not destroy us all, I wish for your success. It costs me nothing to give you this small advice, and may save much. Or,” here she grinned, “it may do nothing at all. The days feel the same, pup, but looking back it is all change. You seek to shape that change, but all I can guarantee is the change itself.”

He turned into her hand, his own rising to cradle hers as he kissed her palm. He would not spurn her wisdom. Perhaps it was a trick, but there would be easier ways to stop his efforts. More entertaining ways to encourage his failure. This advice, by contrast, seemed to support his own observations.

He did not understand, but he would not ignore.

[amaryllis-sagitta]

Ancient elvhen & death

As discussions about the DATV gameplay reveal go on, it is often brought up that by establishing the Veil, Solas brought mortality onto elves - which adds a layer of depth to his "People die all the time" line. But it is worth remembering that the ancient Elvhen did not seem to be strangers to death altogether; they were only strangers to aging, which was something humans and animals did.

The narrative of "eternal Elvhenan" is a myth told by the Dalish Keepers, that emphasizes the leisure and slowness of ancient elvhen existence in contrast with that of transient humans:

Before the ages were named or numbered, our people were glorious and eternal and never-changing. Like the great oak tree, they were constant in their traditions, strong in their roots, and ever reaching for the sky. They felt no need to rush when life was endless. They worshiped their gods for months at a time. Decisions came after decades of debate, and an introduction could last for years. From time to time, our ancestors would drift into centuries-long slumber, but this was not death, for we know they wandered the Fade in dreams. (Codex: Arlathan: Part One)

This state of affairs is confirmed by some codices found in Trespasser, that hint at decisions and rituals taking many years to finalize. I don't think this narrative is entirely false; I think it describes the chiefly ancient elvhen idyll in times of peace.

What we need to remember is that ancient Elvhenan waged at least two devastating wars: one against the Titans, and the other against the Void, personified by the Forgotten Ones. There must have been a tremendous amount of senseless loss in these wars, considering that Titans could shape the earth and the Void is a universally corrupting and depleting force.

When we confront Solas in DAI Trespasser, the word "immortality" is used in a double context: one is the lack of aging, the other is the Evanuris having the magical prowess to circumvent death almost completely. It is significantly harder to kill them. Which means an average elvhen person still had to mind dying from wounds or plague.

Solas: The elven legends of immortality? All true. It was not the arrival of humans that caused them to begin aging [emphasis mine, AS]. It was me. (DAI Trespasser)

What the Quickening really introduced is senescence and the shortening of the lifespan in consecutive generations of elves. The depiction of how the Quickening took hold seems to echo ancient stories at the base of the Western culture, depicting humanity's deterioration as it left the perfect "default" state of the Golden Age/ life in Paradise: what happened to first humans in the Old Testament, and Hesiod's and Ovid's depiction of the Ages of Man. In both instances, the "default" state implied that people lived in perfect harmony with their gods (in Dragon Age this also includes Fade spirits!) and endured for a very long time in a youthful state, and that there's been a progressive shortening of life expectancy in consecutive generations - linked with some kind of a transgression on the humans' part, being respectively the Biblical Original Sin and the Olympian Gods' act of overthrowing Cronus.

It is noted in The World of Thedas that the elves first noticed the Quickening around -2850 Ancient or -1655 TE. If we assume that humans could only expand and thrive in the post-Veil reality, then the date -3100 marking their approximate arrival in Thedas would not be long after the Great Betrayal. By this estimate, it would take 300-500 years until the elves noticed something in their biology was off.

It is entirely possible that the ancient elvhen had concepts and rituals for many kinds of sudden death. The Uthenera also seems to be some concept of "lesser death" - they aren't here, they probably won't return, but the spirit is roaming. This could also imply that, for them, the post-Quickening death of the body equals the death of the soul/spirit in the person, so it's "more finite". If someone departed suddenly, the ancient elves could rationalize it as something avoidable. Or perhaps they had rituals to regenerate the body and thus revive the dead as long as the soul/spirit has not left yet.

The entire cult of Mythal being focused on sorrow and loss is a fertile ground for theory crafting that concerns mourning and precautions against the death of personality or memory.

The weight of the shock that came with the Quickening was about the inevitability of decay, and about gradually losing time. So it doesn't come as a surprise that, since things now inevitably deteriorate and the memory of elders won't serve the people as well, the effort goes into preservation of heritage. Solas seems to be partly in denial of this shift, he fixates on the thought that the deterioration can be undone if he tries hard enough.

This really hammers it home that ancient elves had an entirely different philosophy around the passage of time, that the pressure of time is something inherently terrifying to them.

[lynnerdo]

* Deadly Encounter *

Lucanis Dellamorte x BloodMage!Reader

Slow burn, angst, aggression, enemies to lovers, death threats, OOC!Lucanis, blood and injury, slow romance, threats of violence.

Current chapter - Misfortune First chapter - Arlathan On A03

***

You pushed through the trees, each step more determined than the last. Your frustration built with every passing moment, Lucanis’ cold, biting words ringing in your ears. “You’re a liability.” The echo of that accusation gnawed at you, cutting deeper than it should have. What did he know? You weren’t a threat. You had done everything you could to prove yourself, to show that you could be trusted. But no matter what, it never seemed to be enough for him. He didn't see you as a person, just a needs to an end. 

“Fine,” you muttered under your breath, brushing past a low-hanging branch. “If I’m such a problem, I’ll just leave.” 

You didn’t need Lucanis. You didn’t need any of them. You knew it was childish, you felt cornered and defensive. Your lack of sleep, and your degrading health not helping with thinking straight. The Inquisitor would understand—she would listen. You could help in other ways, away from the constant scrutiny, away from his judging eyes. You weren’t about to let some self-righteous crow dictate your worth. He shouldn't let his personal grudges shine through, you certainly didn't. 

The further you went in the more you noticed that the forest around you was dark, the thick canopy of leaves blotting out most of the moonlight. The only sounds were the crunch of leaves beneath your boots and the distant rustling of the night creatures. But even as you stormed through the woods, something felt… off. You had a sixth sense for danger and it didn't help when the hairs on the back of your neck prickled, a sensation that sent a chill through your spine.

And then you heard it—a twig snapping somewhere behind you. You weren't alone. Or you were hallucinating. Your magic had been pulled and strained over the last few days, it was hard to recognise real from fake lately.

Your heart skipped a beat, but you kept moving, forcing yourself to believe it was just the forest playing tricks on you. Probably an animal, nothing more. Still, you couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling creeping up your back. A few more steps, and then—snap. Another twig. And another. Someone or something was following you. And they were doing a poor job at it. 

You whipped your head around, eyes scanning the trees. The shadows moved with the sway of the branches, but nothing seemed out of place. Keep walking, you told yourself. Don't be obvious.

But it wasn’t nothing.

Before you could react, something snapped beneath your feet—a trap. In a split second, your leg was yanked from beneath you, and you were violently flung upward, dangling several meters in the air. Your neck whipped at the sudden impact and you were sure this would leave a lasting injury. Your cloak fell over your face, disorienting you as your body swung back and forth like a pendulum.

“Damn it,” you hissed, reaching up to pull the cloak away from your face. You couldn’t believe it—you’d walked right into a trap like some naive fool. Your staff lay useless on the ground below you, out of reach.

A rustling sound caught your attention. Two figures emerged from the trees, both bandits, grinning like wolves who had cornered their prey. One had a bow slung over his shoulder, the other a crude sword. The archer nocked an arrow, aiming right at your chest. You snarled back at them, trying to establish that you wouldn't go down without a fight.

Panic surged through you as you twisted in mid-air, narrowly dodging the arrow that whizzed past your head. It thudded into a tree behind you, but there wasn’t time to celebrate the close call. They were closing in, and you were defenseless.

You kicked, trying to free yourself from the trap, but it only made the rope dig tighter into your ankle. As they got closer, desperation clawed at you, and in a last-ditch effort, you reached for the dagger hidden in your boot. Your fingers fumbled as you unsheathed it, but the sharp edge nicked your skin just enough.

Blood. 

You felt the familiar pull, the surge of power as the blood magic took hold. A dark haze clouded your vision as you sliced the rope, allowing your blood to fuel the magic coursing through your veins. Pain shot through your leg as you hit the ground hard, but the bandits were already closing in. There simply wasn't time to be hurt.

The archer fired another arrow, but this time, you were ready. With a wave of your hand, the blood magic coiled through the air like serpents, deflecting the projectile with a pulse of crimson energy. The bandit with the sword lunged at you, but you were faster, sending a sharp tendril of blood toward him. It wrapped around his neck, tightening with lethal force.

He choked, gurgling as his feet left the ground, and you felt the pull of his life force as it fed into your magic. The archer, wide-eyed with terror, tried to run, but you were already on him. With a flick of your wrist, you sent a wave of blood forward, a sharp whip of crimson slicing through the air and cutting him down before he could escape.

It was brutal. It was messy. Blood splattered the forest floor, soaking into the dirt beneath you. But you weren’t done. The second bandit, still gasping for air, fell to his knees, clutching at the tendrils of magic that tightened around him like a vice. You could have stopped there, could have let him die slowly and walked away. But something snapped inside you. An anger you didn't recognise in yourself. The exhaustion, the frustration, the fear—it all came crashing down in a single moment.

With a final surge of power, you clenched your fist, and the bandit exploded.

The force of it knocked you back, blood and viscera spraying everywhere, painting the trees, the ground, and you in a slick, dark red. The forest fell silent, save for the sound of your ragged breathing. You stared at your hands, shaking, covered in blood. You had never… you had never done that before. You hadn’t known you could. You realised what you had done, fell to your feet and covered your face. Embarrassed almost.

And then, through the trees, you heard footsteps—heavy, hurried. Lucanis and Rook appeared in the clearing, weapons drawn, eyes scanning the scene. They stopped dead when they saw you, standing amidst the carnage, blood dripping from your hands, your face, your cloak.

Lucanis’ eyes widened, the horror evident as he took in the scene. “What the hell…?” he breathed, his voice barely above a whisper.

Rook grimaced, his hand tightening around his blade. “Is she… are they all—?”

“Gone,” you said, your voice hollow. You were still in shock, your body numb from what you had done. “They’re gone.” As you looked up you saw their shocked expressions. "I'm not possessed, if that's what you're wondering." You looked Lucanis dead in the eye, but there was no fight left in you honestly. You just wanted to collapse.

Lucanis stepped forward, his expression unreadable, but there was something darker there, something wary. His eyes flicked from you to the bodies, then back to you, blood still smeared across your face, your hands trembling slightly at your sides.

“You…” He trailed off, his voice thick with something between awe and fear. “What did you just do?”

You swallowed, your throat dry. “I… I don’t know.” You looked at your hands. "I was in danger..."

But the truth was, you did know. You had lost control. You had let the blood magic take over, let it drive you into a frenzy. You hadn't felt the presence of a demon, but then again, you wouldn't know how that felt if you hadn't experienced it once.

You stood up and decided to walk back to camp, you needed a bath and to sleep for 5 days.

As you were walking back Rook asked you what happened. Lucanis trailing behind, checking for other bandits. Rook’s anger was palpable as he listened to your recount of what had happened. His eyes flicked to Lucanis with an intensity that made the crow flinch.

“You were going to leave?” Rook asked, incredulous. You nodded, unable to meet his gaze, still reeling from the aftermath of the fight.

“Yes,” you muttered, your voice hoarse. “I thought—”

“No.” Rook’s voice cut through your explanation like a knife, his tone final and unyielding. “Under no circumstance. We need you here, I don’t care about your infighting.” His gaze shifted sharply between you and Lucanis, his exhaustion clear in the dark circles under his eyes. “Both of you, get a grip.” 

Lucanis didn’t say anything, his jaw tight. You could tell Rook was at the end of his patience, and deep down, you knew he was right. This wasn’t the time for your conflict with Lucanis to interfere with the mission, no matter how much it weighed on you. The artifact still hadn't been found and all three of you wanted nothing more but to return to the lighthouse and rest. 

But walking back to camp wasn’t easy. The exhaustion from using your magic had drained you completely, leaving your body weak and sluggish. Your leg, still sore from the fall, throbbed with every step, and you struggled to stay upright. You were limping, and slow at that. Your mana completely drained, you wondered if you were still able to make it without fainting.

Rook, despite his obvious irritation, softened enough to help you. He placed his arm around your waist, bearing your weight as you limped back toward the camp. “Come on,” he muttered, his voice low but not unkind. “You didn’t go too far.”

The walk was short but felt like an eternity, each step harder than the last. By the time you reached camp, you were nearly collapsing from fatigue, your body drenched in a mix of sweat and blood. The heavy, sticky feeling of it clung to your skin, making your clothes stiff with dried crimson.

“We need to clean you up,” Rook said, his tone now more practical, the heat of his earlier anger dissipating as he knelt down, rummaging through what little supplies you had left. He handed you the last of the healing potions, pressing them into your hands with a look that told you there would be no argument. “Drink them all.” His eyes were soft.

You obeyed, wincing as the potions worked their way through your system, easing the pain but leaving the heaviness of exhaustion clinging to your bones. It helped enough to make you move again, albeit slowly. Rook pointed toward a stream nearby, a more secluded area of the forest, sheltered by thick trees and the natural bend of the water.

“You need to wash off,” Rook ordered. “Get that blood off of you. I’ll make sure we’re set for the night.” He gave you a once-over, his brow furrowing at the state you were in. “You’ll feel better.”

Reluctantly, you made your way to the stream, feeling Rook’s eyes on you as you disappeared into the forest. When you reached the water’s edge, you slowly began peeling off your robes, the blood not yet crusted but heavy, sticking to your skin. The water was cool as it lapped at your ankles, but the sight of your reflection—covered in blood and grime—made your stomach twist.

You knelt by the stream and began washing the blood away, scrubbing at your arms, your face, your hair. You had found some crystal grace while roaming the forest earlier today, using its scent as a perfume when you washed off. The dark red streaked the water, swirling downriver in a grotesque display of violence. No matter how hard you tried, the blood didn’t seem to fully wash away, its stain lingering on your skin, a reminder of the horrors you had faced and the power you had unleashed.

As you removed the upper part of your robe, exposing your back to the cool night air, you didn’t notice Lucanis nearby, hidden among the trees. He had followed you, though whether out of guilt or curiosity, he wasn't sure. His gaze flicked to the scars on your back, deep and jagged, etched into your skin in a pattern that looked both deliberate and cruel.

His breath caught when he recognized it—the symbol. A mark of the Venatori. Not just any symbol, but one he had seen before, long ago. It was the same mark he had seen carved into the backs of innocents, people forced to become part of that brutal group under torture and manipulation. Lucanis had fought them in the past, helped eradicate a faction that had enslaved people through fear. The memory hit him like a punch to the gut. He had been completely mistaken. You hadn’t chosen this life.

Lucanis’ throat tightened, a mix of guilt and something else flooding him as he watched you in silence. He realized, with a sinking feeling, that he had misjudged you more than he ever thought possible. The image of you, blood-soaked and exhausted, was seared into his mind, but now there was a new weight added to it—an understanding of what you had survived.

He turned and left quietly, retreating back to camp without a word. His mind raced, conflicted between his anger, his hatred of blood magic, and the undeniable truth of what you had endured. When you returned to camp, still dripping with water but cleaner than before, Rook was waiting. He gestured for you to sit down by the fire, his expression less stern, more focused. You had washed your clothes as well, the best you could at least. Thankfully they were already a dark colour to begin with.

“Let me see your leg,” he said, crouching down beside you. You hesitated, but you were too tired to argue, so you let him inspect the bruise. His touch was gentle as his fingers probed the area around the swollen skin, his face creasing in concentration.

“It’s bruised badly,” he muttered, shaking his head. “You’ve taken a real beating today. Don’t push yourself so hard next time.”

You nodded weakly, the events of the day starting to catch up with you. The adrenaline had worn off, leaving nothing but the bone-deep fatigue and the dull ache in your leg.

Rook’s hands were steady as he wrapped your leg with bandages, the fire crackling softly in the background. It was strangely quiet, the tension from earlier having shifted into something else—something heavier but less immediate.

Lucanis sat at the edge of the camp, his back to you, staring out into the darkness. The weight of his silence hung between the three of you, but you were too drained to care.

Rook finished his work and stood up, giving you a nod. “Get some rest,” he said, his tone softened with concern. “We’ll talk in the morning.” Rook returned to his tent, ready to collapse himself. 

You closed your eyes and leaned back, feeling the warmth of the fire on your skin, trying to forget the blood and pain in your heart. Lucanis finally glanced over to you, seeing you softly breathing sent a shiver down his back.