#elfroot and words

[elfroot-and-laurels]

no idea if the PLEASE was to send prompts but 15 for Badhbh and Lucanis GOGOGOGOGO

It ABSOLUTELY was. And I thank you for your service.

15: Shaking Hands

Lucanis’s hands are shaking. Badhbh can hear it; though he holds them by his side, just far enough away from his daggers and belts and accoutrements of assassination, he cannot stop the shivering sound of leather rustling. Badhbh would like to say something. They would like to stop everyone, to tell the others to go ahead into the eluvian and back to the Lighthouse. They would like to stay here, in Treviso, covered in the remnants of Zara Renata’s macabre bath, even though they can feel the blood squelching in places blood should never be, if only for the chance to comfort Lucanis. For the chance to take his hands in theirs and stop the shaking. “You okay?” It’s pathetic, what they end up with. Two lousy words. But Lucanis pauses, and he looks at them, and he lets the tears gather in his eyes, even if he won’t let them fall. “Illario is right,” he says, and his hands still tremble. “No,” Badhbh says firmly. “He’s not.” “How can you be sure? Back there, I nearly—” Badhbh doesn’t look for the others, walking along ahead, back to the Diamond. The two of them will catch up. Instead, they take Lucanis’s gloved hands in their own, prosthetic fingers squeaking across the smooth leather. “I know who you are.” Slowly, Lucanis stops shaking. Slowly, Badhbh lets his hands go, back to his sides. “I’m not sure even I know that.”

[elfroot-and-laurels-moved]

"Biting your lover's lips amidst a kiss" for the kissing prompts 💗

I missed writing for Shadowheart and Imvae so. Here goes. :3

                “Do that again,” Shadowheart said, her voice playful and admonishing, “and I will have no choice but to assume Astarion has done more than sup on you.” Imvae grinned, shifting their lover’s weight on their lap and wrapping their arms more tightly around her waist.                 “You mean you don’t like it?” Above them, Shadowheart rolled her eyes. Really, she rolled her whole head, setting her long, white braid swinging with the motion. She brought her hand up, moving it from Imvae’s neck to their smiling face, tapping their dimpled and tattooed cheek with a single finger.                 “Naughty tonight, are we?” Not answering, Imvae mimed biting for Shadowheart’s finger, relishing in her giggle as she yanked it back. “Very naughty tonight!” Now Shadowheart moved, standing and extricating herself from Imvae’s grip only to bend over in front of them, her hands on their knees and her nose almost touching theirs. Her braid melted and rippled over her shoulder, and Imvae wanted to grab it, to pull her closer. It wasn’t often they had their own room, after all. Why shouldn’t they make the most of it? But Shadowheart spoke again before they could decide on their course of action.                 “If you have been turned into some dilute vampire spawn, I’d have no choice but to slay you.”                 “You’d have plenty of choices,” Imvae retorted, leaning forward. “Last I checked, we’re not monster hunters, and you never said you didn’t like a little bit of biting.” Pretending to think about it, Shadowheart looked toward the ceiling for a moment, and then the smile she was holding in her eyes broke free, and she kissed Imvae once more.                 “Say I do like it,” Shadowheart murmured against Imvae’s mouth. They grinned once more, standing up and pulling Shadowheart up with them as they did. “What then?” Imvae didn’t answer. Instead, they grabbed Shadowheart’s waist and sucked her lower lip into their mouth once more, biting down.

[eureka-its-zico]

Chaos in Their Bones Ch. 4

Ongoing Series

Synopsis: All your life you’d listened to your friend, Usopp spin wild tales about pirates and adventure. Pirates weren’t a thing that came often to Syrup Village, but one straw hat pirate and his crew changed all that the day they arrived. Now, you aren’t so sure if your sleepy little village was always pirate-free or if no one had been paying attention.  

Pairing: Roronoa Zoro x Reader

Genre: friends to lovers, frenemies to lovers, slow burn (I hope y’all like aching) eventual smut

Words: 8.7+

A/N:  This chapter is mostly filler from 1.04-1.05. This chapter also, once again has a POV from Zoro. I kept going through my options of what I could do to possibly give these two idiots more alone time and this was the result. The beginning, and introduction, of Sanji begins right at Chapter 5 and I already have too many ✨ideas ✨ that I know what to do with. Also, I did add in Zoro working out. It’s a brief mention, but I just found it weird he didn’t have any of those scenes (probably for damn good reason). As always, thank you guys for all the love and support. I hope you all continue to enjoy this story🖤 Much Love, Jenn

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Previous Next

“I don’t know, Doc. You’re starting to look a little pale.”

“And green.”

You’d been hugging the side of this particular railing since you’d sailed out of port. It was your first time ever on a ship and it wasn’t going too great. You’d heard about seasickness and even had sailors come asking for Naan’s Elfroot to chew to stem the tide while they were out at sea. You always thought they were being ridiculous. How bad could it be? 

Well, if your dry heaving was any indication - pretty bad. Of course, Zoro just had to make it worse. 

You glanced up from looking at the water that was gently tapping the side of the boat to the growing bane of your existence. One hand was tucked into the pocket of his jeans while the other rested on the hilt of his swords. He looked effortlessly cool as he watched you with - was that a smirk? 

He’d changed into a yellow shirt with fine detailing of gray lines running horizontally and vertically, which matched perfectly with his gray pants. 

Zoro was more of a fashionista than he’d let on. 

“It’s just the reflection of your hair,” you shot back at him. 

You could feel the next wave of nausea thrashing around in your stomach and you prayed you could keep it down. You were going to lose more cool points if you hurled again. Zoro squinted over the sun's rays to regard your current state. He must have been able to tell you were 0.2 seconds from hurling because, instead of replying, he simply twirled his finger indicating for you to turn around. 

You did as he instructed, but made sure to follow it up with a middle finger salute. 

“Man, you two always like this? You just met.” Usopp asked. 

Usopp tried doing the dotting friend routine by patting you a few times, awkwardly, on your back. It felt more like he was trying to get a burp out of you than soothe you. 

“It’s because they like each other.”

Nami pranced out of the galley and chose violence. It only took both you and Zoro to register her words before you both shouted: 

“I don’t like her.”

“I hate him!”

Nami wrapped her arms around herself as she looked you both over. A devious smile tilting the edges of her mouth and you had to look away before it turned into the shit eating grin you’d come to expect. 

“I’m sure you both do,” she teased. 

You wanted to prove to her that you meant it. Zoro would be the last person you would say you liked, like- like that. The man was literally the biggest pain in the ass you’d ever met. 

“Usopp,” you croaked, “can you get my bag, please.”

“I’m on it, Doc.”

At the sound of his feet hitting the deck, a groan of discomfort resonated in your chest. How could anyone think that sailing was fun? This felt like the absolute worst. 

When you first entered the Going Merry you couldn’t believe how beautiful it was. You’d heard Usopp tell you stories since he cleaned it everyday. It was as finely crafted as he’d described, and the white ashwood against the walnut was a stark contrast but complemented each other beautifully. There wasn’t another ship like the Going Merry and a one-of-a-kind ship should belong to someone as extraordinary as Luffy.

The minute you’d cast off into the giant blue you’d almost panicked. What if this was a mistake? You’d never been out in open water before nor had you ever left Syrup village. This could either be one of the greatest adventures of your life or a disaster. The only thing that kept you from flinging yourself over the side and swimming back was when you’d walked the stern and the glint of the sun shone down on the water. 

The sun’s rays illuminated the water like light reflecting off a crystal glass. One minute it was the deepest blue. The color was solid enough that your reflection was easy to see and in a matter of seconds after a ray of light touched its water, it took on a cornflower hue that made the water translucent. 

You’d been able to admire it for all of three seconds before you were embarrassing yourself over the port bow. 

“I’m back, Doc,” Usopp spoke softly as he placed a soft hand on your shoulder. He lightly tapped the bag against your hands to try and coax you to grab it. “Do you need me to get you water or anything?”

“Water is not going to help. It’ll make it worse.” 

You thought he was trying just to be his usual monotoned “Hi, I’m Zoro and I could care less,” self, but when you finally peeled your forehead off your forearm and looked at him he wasn’t even looking at either of you. He was curled up, like a lazy cat, against a couple of crates with his eyes closed and faced tilted towards the sun. With his hands infamously stuffed inside his pockets. 

“It would?”

You nodded your head only once in recognition before you started searching through your bag. Your hands started scrambling inside it a soft, “No,no,” building into a frenzy before you stopped searching.

“I’m guessing your magic little root isn’t in there.”

Zoro was still sitting without a care while you felt like you wanted to throw yourself overboard. 

“No. It isn’t.”

Mental note: Ask Luffy to stop at Irkhaven Isle to get supplies. 

Suddenly, Zoro stood in one graceful motion and walked off towards the galley. 

Ass. 

You turned back to the Going Merry’s railing and held on tight. Your stomach felt like you’d swallowed glass and got punched, it was so empty. Another groan was building in your chest when a cold bottle touched the back of your arm. 

The coolness to your skin sent a yelp of surprise from you, and sent you whirling to the presence beside you. Zoro was leaning back against the railing, looking as calm as ever, with a beer extended out between you. 

“Isn’t it a little bit too early to be drinking?” 

He rolled his eyes as he switched positions. He was now mimicking your current position against the rail but looked effortless and was still holding that damn beer out to you. 

“It’s for you.”

“For me? Zoro, I don’t think now is the time to be drinking-“

“Just drink it,” he growled, an obvious annoyance replacing his earlier calm. 

What hell, what was a beer going to do? At most, it would at least give your stomach something to actually throw up instead of dry heaving yourself into a six pack. 

You reached out and took it from him. Zoro continued to watch you as you placed the bottle to your lips, waiting for you to take a sip. 

“Could I get some privacy here?”

Zoro rolled his eyes but did as you asked looking off into the southside of the ship. You took that moment to take a long pull from the bottle. Surprisingly, it was damn good beer. You waited for the bitter aftertaste to kick in, but found it replaced with the tang of citrus. You immediately took another drink and another. It wasn’t until you were halfway to the middle of the bottle that you noticed the ship had been rocked a few times by the waves and yet…

You went to turn your attention back to Zoro and found him already staring at you. 

I am not blushing. 

You turned quickly to look back out at the ocean with both arms leaning over the railing as you took in the picturesque view. You couldn’t believe beer was making your sea sickness disappear. Out of your peripherals you waited for him to turn away from you. Unable to say it to his face as you played with the label that was peeling off from condensation. 

Alcohol. It was brilliant. You were sure your body was still feeling sick, but the depressant in the beer wasn’t allowing those receptors to acknowledge it. Tilting the bottle at him you asked, “How’d you know this would work.” 

“It’s how I survived all my boat trips. Old guy I’d met aboard my first ship when I was seventeen taught me that trick.” 

“Is that why you have so much booze? Cause you have a weak stomach?” 

Your question came off worse than you intended. You genuinely weren’t trying to insult him. He’d just helped you. Zoro has helped you. 

“No. I just like to drink.” 

His tone was void of all emotion. The little bit he’d given you quickly washed away and you wanted to kick yourself. 

Foot meet mouth. Mouth meets foot. 

You weren’t very good at this. The only friend you’d ever actually had was Usopp. The both of you know the tone of the other and every secret in between. You’d tried to make friends with the other kids in town, but holding up a frog as a friendship gift didn’t seem to go over too well. And on that wonderful trip down memory lane…

You straightened up and took a smaller sip from the beer before you leaned down to pick up your abandoned satchel. 

“Thank you, Zoro.”

The both of you stared at the other until the silence was washed out by the squawking of seagulls and the rush of water. Even now in this weird game of chicken, you knew you would be the first to give. His dark eyes staring straight through you until you felt exposed. You tipped the bottle for good measure and turned on your heel to make your way inside the safety of the kitchen. Your hand clutching the bottle close as your brain tried to make sense of what happened. 

Zoro helped you. He didn’t have too and for all intents and purposes you were surprised he didn’t just let you suffer, but he’d chosen not to. What did that even mean? He was just being friendly. It didn’t mean anything more than that. 

Instead of dwelling on the question, you sat down in the corner booth and took another pull from the bottle. 

——————-

After you finished your first bottle, you found another, and another until you’d ended up blissfully passed out in the booth. You were vaguely aware that Luffy and the crew had come into the galley at some point. The sound of Usopp and Luffy struggling to talk over the other was what forced you out of your nap.

“We all know who the Captain is.”

“It’s me.”

Two voices rang out as one with each ending in a high-pitch of surprise. It was his first day and already Usopp was trying to stir up mutiny on the ship. If you weren’t interested in staying unconscious you were positive you would’ve smiled. 

“Just call me Captain Usopp.”

“We already know I’m the Captain.”

It didn’t surprise you they were still giving out declarations of who was Captain. You waited for it to become a campaign, like when Townsfolk ran for Mayor, but the sound of Nami’s laughter followed by - was that Zoro?! - ended both men’s rant. 

“See, this is what it’s all about,” Luffy’s voice chimed in. “From now it’s going to be smooth sailing.”

He was his usual happy sounding self. You were willing to bet it was infectious, making everyone’s earlier laughter remain in the small creases by their eyes and the raise of their lips. Luffy was indeed a Captain and one of the best kind. 

Enjoying the moment abruptly ended, however, when you caught the sound of a whistle outside. It grew more intense by the second. Whatever it was, was slicing through the air with a force that was audible. You weren’t sure why it took so long for your brain to register that it wasn’t a natural sound. It was rectified, however, when something violently slammed into the Going Merry and sent everything trembling. 

Your back immediately shot up off the cushion of the booth. Eyes open wide as you stumble to your feet watching Nami and Zoro do the same. 

“What in the hell was that?”

“Luffy opening his damn mouth,” Nami replied as you followed behind her. 

You were wondering how Luffy’s mouth could have anything to do with the current sounds coming from outside. Your response died in your throat the minute you got out onto the deck. You followed them to the stern of the ship and finally saw what was waiting for you all was a very large, very metal, Marine vessel trailing behind you. 

All the blood drained from your body and whatever buzz you’d had left over from earlier was now completely gone. 

“It’s the marines! We’re under attack!” 

Nami rushed to the wheel to begin to try evasive maneuvers to get you all out of the way of the oncoming cannonballs. Another shot rang out from the marine vessel and you waited to be struck by steaming metal and found yourself vaguely relieved when it crashed into the ocean a few feet from you. 

“How did they find us?”

“Does it matter? They’re trying to blow us out of the water!”

What the hell were you supposed to do? 

What in the hell could anyone do against being shot at by cannons and a marine vessel that was gaining on your small ship by the second. You could see three figures standing at the bow of the ship, eerily watching as if waiting for something - or someone - to appear. 

Luffy grabbed the telescope and peered through the lens. You all waited for him to give an order and what he said next surprised everyone. 

“Grandpa?”

“Grandpa!”

“Did you just call that guy grandpa?” Zoro asked, his eyes carefully watching Luffy as he glanced through the telescope back at the ship. 

He didn’t answer right away. The sound of another shot being fired made all of you space out from one another. You could feel the tension singing through your nerves. The adrenaline was demanding you to move or do something else besides just hopelessly stand like a damn target. The fight or flight in you erupted to life with one key thought hoarding every inch of clarity besides one: run. 

This time when the cannon came crashing down it came right at the edge of the stern. An eruption of water covering you in a fine mist of water. You didn’t get a chance to decide on what to do when another shot rang out. 

“Hit the deck!” 

Usopp’s scream was frantic enough you didn’t ask why, and did as he instructed and became one with the wood. Seconds later, the sound of speeding metal whizzed by you and smashed into the railing behind sending wood fragments everywhere. 

You couldn’t stop the scream that tore its way from your lips as your body curled in on itself. 

What the hell did I sign up for? 

You could hear the sounds of feet clumsily finding their footing again as everyone began to get up. You wanted to stay where you were, but the sharp sound of Zoro calling you a coward resonated inside your chest. 

You could do this. You could totally hundred-percent do this. 

It was your turn to begin to get up from your place on the stern deck, and just as you moved to your knees someone offered their hand for you to take. Color you shocked when you looked up to find that hand was attached to Zoro. You must have been staring too long because he looked away, hand still out, and grumbled, “You going to keep staring at it or take it?”

Yup, and there was the Zoro you’d grown to know and loathe.

“It just burns you up inside to be so helpful, doesn’t it?”

Your voice oozed with sarcasm as you took his hand - maybe a bit too aggressively - and started to get up. Zoro saw your passive-aggressive hand smack and did you one better. He pulled you quickly to your feet, but that quickness came at the cost of your balance. Your feet couldn’t catch their footing back on the deck and you ended haphazardly colliding into his chest. 

As fast as it happened, it was equally as fast that you both dislocated yourselves from each other.

“Is everybody okay?”

“I think so.” 

“No. Not okay. Not even close to okay.”

“I second, Usopp,” you said. 

You weren’t sure why you raised your hand. It could’ve been you just really needed them to know that no - no, this was definitely not okay. 

Luffy took your concerns with a grain of salt, however, and ran over to the cannon - the only cannon - on deck. You’d only just meet him, but Luffy didn’t strike you as someone who held onto any ill will. So, you were surprised to see the determination burn in his eyes and the scowl to cross his face. 

What did your grandpa do to you? 

If you weren’t mortally in danger of drowning at any minute or being shredded in half by a cannonball, you might have asked. 

“Usopp! Fire back at them!”

“Or how about we sail away as fast as we can?”

“I like that idea, actually,” you chimed in, a hand scratching the back of your neck. “That’s a solid plan if I ever heard one, Usopp.”

“Run from the marines?” 

Luffy looked between the three of you. He couldn’t believe that Usopp, Nami, and you were apparently so quick to not want to put up much of a fight. You did enjoy not being a sea decoration. 

“No. Never! Nami trim the…sail thing. Let’s sink their ship!”

“Wait, what? Are you crazy?”

You had to back up to stand next to Zoro as Luffy waved for Usopp to join him on the stern. The two of them grabbed a hold of the cannon to bring it towards an opening in the back. 

“Let’s sink their ship.” 

“Luffy, we don’t have time for this!” Nami interjected, but Luffy wasn’t listening. “They’re going to come up alongside us! If they do, we are finished.”

“Our odds keep sounding better and better,” you mumbled as you made your way over to Nami. 

“You are our Navigator. Do something.” 

Nami let out a groan before her whole demeanor changed. No longer was she trying to flee or get Luffy to see reason. Suddenly, she turned to Zoro and ordered him to go down and pull the sheet in. He didn’t waste a second before he brushed past you and down the stairs. 

You waited for her to order you to do something, anything, but she must have known it would’ve been like explaining math to a baby. You didn’t even know what she’d even just asked Zoro to do. Apparently, neither did he. 

“Which way is port?” 

A heavy sigh left her as she shouted back, “It’s the left!”

“Have you ever loaded a cannon before?”

“Yeah, yeah I’ve loaded tons of them,” Usopp replied coolly.

You had to give Usopp props. He was literally the master of bullshit and could keep a straight face even though you both knew the only thing he loaded was his imagination. 

“This is just a different model I’ve never seen before.”

“Usopp, you load the cannon in the barrel. Light it and then get the hell out of the way!”

Following Nami’s directions, Usopp rushed forward towards the barrel. You thought he was going to make it when the ball slipped out of his hand and landed with a heavy thud on the deck. You rushed forward to grab it before it rolled down the stairs, but didn’t notice Usopp rushing to join you in the hunt. What neither of you failed to notice was that the vibration from dropping the cannonball dislodged the others. 

In a split second, you and Usopp collided into one another and when you stepped back to stand up your heel caught a ball. You had barely enough seconds to lean yourself forward as you slipped down the stairs, taking each stair with a thud just like the cannonballs. 

Your knees slammed into the edge of one of the stairs, but the balls under your hips kept you slipping. You tried bending your knees to slow your descent only to have them successfully bump every step on the way down. 

“Oh shit, Doc are you okay?” Usopp shouted down after you. 

“I’m fantastic,” you grunted as you came to a stop before the last steps. 

You weren’t trying to remove yourself from the stairs. You could feel the pain in your knees growing with each passing second. You were willing to bet when you stood up, that dull throb that was beginning to resonate under your skin would shoot out like lightning the minute you stood up. Unfortunately, you’d forgotten who was at the bottom of the stairs with you. 

“Are you going to get up anytime soon or do you enjoy just laying there?” 

You were ready to tell Zoro where he could shove his swords when a gruff voice you’d never heard cut over the chaos. 

“Pirate vessel, by order of the marines, lower your sails and submit to my authority.”

You were willing to bet a million berries if that man wasn’t Luffy’s grandpa that wouldn’t even be an offer on any table. Ever. The sound of Zoro’s boots coming closer caused you to peel yourself up just enough before he - did he really just step over you? 

“Oh, you asshole,” you seethed. 

You scrambled to your feet to chase after him when you noticed another cannonball headed straight for the Merry. But where was the sound of the gunpowder? What felt even more unbelievable was what came after. 

Sure, Luffy told you he’d eaten a Devil fruit. He’d told you his body was made of rubber but seeing was believing. You watched as Luffy began to inhale air and his body blew up like a…balloon. Luffy was becoming an actual balloon of skin until the cannonball landed in the center of his stomach. He took the entire impact and flung it back at the marine vessel. One minute, you could hear the return fire whistling through the air. The next, you watched as the crow’s nest above the mast exploded and seconds later it came crashing down. 

Everything grew silent aboard the Merry as you all registered what you’d just witnessed. You were still staring at Luffy and back to the now very much on fire marine ship when Usopp’s surprised laughter cut through the silence. 

“That was amazing! You just saved us!”

“You didn’t tell me you could do that.”

You could feel your own smile slide across your face as the adrenaline began to bleed away. The aftershocks of the thrill of battle - no matter how unsuccessful - left you feeling ready to do it all again. Or take a nap. 

You were joining in on the laughter as you looked back at Nami, and at Usopp who was jumping in excitement with Luffy. You looked over at Zoro and found your earlier excitement drained from your body. Sure, you’d seen him smirk and look like the grumpy cat who ate the canary, but you’d never seen him smile. 

Sometime during the battle the wind had tussled up his hair making him appear like he’d just woken from a nap. It made him softer, less broody, and the grin that lit up his face actually reached his eyes and scrunched his nose. 

It was safer in the village. 

You wanted to say the thought was because of what had just happened. Even as Luffy ordered Nami to get you out of the area, you knew it wasn’t because of the danger. Hell, as much as it was a mess of a first battle, the adrenaline of it all was demanding for a release. Maybe you’d be able to use that as an excuse for why your heart was beating so wildly as you watch Zoro run a hand through his hair. 

The ship suddenly felt too constricting. It didn’t allow enough space between you and the swordsman who resided on this ship. You tried to shake your head clear of all those thoughts and turned to run after Luffy. You called his name as you carefully took the stairs down after him. 

“Something wrong, Doc?”

“No, no,” you waved him off. “I just - I wanted to ask a favor.”

“You can ask me for anything.”

You weren’t sure if you would ever get over how genuine Luffy was. Every word he said to you he meant it. You could probably tell him you needed the sun, and whether physically attainable or not, you knew Luffy would try his absolute best to bring it to you. 

Because Luffy was just that kind of Captain. 

“Would it be a bother if we stopped at an island? I’m in need of some supplies.”

———————

Luffy didn’t hesitate to say yes to your request to stop at Irkhaven. It only took you all of four seconds to explain what it was, where it was, and why you needed to go before he sent you to Nami to give her the coordinates. While you’d never physically gone with Naan to harvest the ingredients you’d grown up using, she made sure to tell you often how to get there. 

Just in case the day came she couldn’t. 

What you hadn’t expected as you walked through fields of lavender was to have Zoro trailing behind you. 

“How much longer are we going to be out here?”

“Until I have enough of everything to last us a while,” you called over your shoulder. 

You didn’t need to look behind you to know Zoro was shooting daggers into the back of your skull. While he hadn’t been happy being volunteered to go with you onto the island, he hadn’t argued with Luffy either. 

You stopped midway out of the lavender fields and took out your small knife to begin cutting gently through the stems. After you had a good enough bundle, you sheathed the knife back in its place on your satchel where you reached inside to grab a pre-cut piece of string. 

You could still feel Zoro watching you, as you tied the lavender together in a tight bundle. 

“I wasn’t aware picking flowers was life-saving medicine.” 

This time you did look over at him. Zoro, the strong and proud pirate hunter. The demon, Luffy said was his nickname. Looking at Zoro now, even in an endless field of lavender, he resonated power. You held no doubt he had earned such an intimidating name through grit and blood-soaked swords. 

He looked out of place next to you in a place meant for healing and you couldn’t help but wonder if it was more what he projected than who he was. While Luffy told you happily about the scary parts of Zoro (which Luffy by no means actually saw as scary) he’d also mentioned Zoro never went without a specific sword.

Remembering Luffy’s words, your eyes quickly darted down to the white-sheathed katana. If you had to put money on it, that was the one that held a deeper meaning to him. It was the one he clutched the tightest and his hand fell on absentmindedly. 

Once you knew the bundle was secure, you playfully poked it in his direction. 

“It does heal. It calms the mind and spirit. It creates restful sleep.”

“It stinks.” 

“You are absolutely impossible,” you grumbled, your eyes rolling as you turned away from him. 

You placed the bundle inside your satchel and started forward. You didn’t need to look back to know that Zoro would be behind you. This time you were leading him towards an eyeline of trees you’d spotted a few feet back. They looked promising to hold green chiretta. 

“So, why did Luffy send you with me?”

You came out first from the field and onto a path that was being taken over by the vegetation. 

“Because you don’t know how to protect yourself.”

“I can too.”

“A pot doesn’t count.”

You spun on your heels, satchel swinging, and caught it with your forearm just before it swung into your hip. You were pleased to see the unexpected action had caught him by surprise. Not the typical surprise that Usopp, or others, gave where it might be exaggerated or a gasp and step back. No, Zoro’s was the briefest flinch in the corner of his eyes. Blink and you would’ve missed it. 

“Hey, that pot kicked ass.”

“You got lucky.”

“Okay, Mosshead, then what do you call this?”

You lightly tapped your cheek to indicate the very noticeable bruise that was just beginning to fade from his left cheek. 

“I call that luck.”

You let out a huff as you turned and faced forward. Leading him towards where you needed to go and reminding yourself that you needed to focus on the task at hand. Not Zoro. 

“You carry a knife with you but you don’t use it.”

He stated it as a fact. Not a question. Zoro already knew that it wasn’t used for self-defense. 

“I use it to treat and clean infected wounds and forage for ingredients.”

“But not for self-defense.”

You found yourself whirling on him again and this time he was prepared. His hand resting on the edge of his sword and hand infamously tucked inside his pocket. 

“I’m a doctor, Zoro. I follow Naan’s oath to never do harm to anyone-“

“And what if to help someone - yourself - it meant that you had to take a life to save theirs?”

He’d taken a step towards you. His whole body radiated with an intensity you hadn’t been prepared for. You could feel your muscles straining to stay in place; to not retreat. Zoro had closed what space you’d had between the two of you until all he’d left were a few measly inches. 

“I try not to let it come to that.”

“You don’t always get to decide like that, it's not how the world works. You keep thinking like that and you’re going to be a liability.”

Your eyes narrowed in on him and you felt yourself get on your tippy toes without thinking. Your index finger pressed into his stupidly hard chest as you looked up at him. 

“It is not a liability to give a shit about people, Zoro. To care about who they are with their own wants and dreams. What makes someone a liability is not knowing who is worth that effort and who isn’t.” 

You dropped back down onto your heels and turned to stomp your way into the trees. What did he know? So, you weren’t exactly a swordsman or incredibly stretchy, and while Usopp wasn’t necessarily the bravest man on the planet he was a damn fine shot. Nami could kick ass and was the best navigator. What did you bring to the table? 

No. You wouldn’t let him make you think that way. 

You hadn’t realized you’d gone farther than intended into the forest of trees until you noticed not only the green chiterra growing all over the sides of them, but also what looked like gold cap mushrooms. One that you knew to be poisonous. 

You put it in the back of your mind. You weren’t here to get things to harm people. That wasn’t who you were and you wouldn’t let this newfound journey, or anyone, change that. You unsheathed your knife from your satchel and started carefully scraping off the moss from the bark of the tree. 

“I could train you.”

Those four words stopped you mid-scrap. It had been roughly a few minutes - only a few - since you’d both been silent. You expected the rest of your time out here collecting ingredients to go relatively dull with you both pouting in your respective corners. Out of everything you could’ve expected, those four words were most definitely not it. 

“Huh?”

God, you really needed to get it together. 

Zoro grunted out a, “Fuck me,” before he gave you his full attention. 

“I said I could train you. If you want.”

Was it possible that Zoro, the demon pirate hunter, was nervous? You couldn’t believe it, and for that exact reason you didn’t think twice about it. However, you couldn’t pass up the chance to tease him. Just a little. 

“Did Roronoa Zoro - the demon pirate hunter - just offer to teach me how to kick ass?”

This whole entire trip was turning into one unexpected thing after another. The last thing you would’ve thought you would earn from your teasing was a grimace, maybe a smirk if you were lucky. Instead, your words generated an actual smile from the demon himself and you were devastated. 

“I thought you said you never heard of me?”

Oh, right. He was talking and he needed you to word back. Right. You could do that. 

“Luffy,” your voice cracked on your captain's name and you pretended to cough to clear your throat. “Luffy was telling me about the first time you guys met. It was truly a riveting moment.” 

“Okay, let’s back up,” you began, your fingers motioning like a wheel. You’d been sitting with Luffy at the table eating breakfast. What had come over you to ask about how he met Zoro was still currently pending investigation. Luckily for you, Luffy wasn’t going to question you on why you wanted to know. “Did you just say you met him tied up inside the marine yard?”  “He’d given himself up. Never told me exactly why he’d done that actually.” Luffy was perplexed for all of a millisecond before he sank his teeth back into the dry meat in his hand.  “Oh, well I’m sure he was happy you let him down.” “Actually, he told me to get lost.”  Yup, you were choking on a piece of toast. Luffy just stated it like it was useless information. Not that his first mate didn’t tell him to essentially fuck off during their first meeting.  “He told you to get lost?” “Yeah, he did.” “So, why did you even bother staying there? You could’ve just left.” A smile began to grow on his lips. It wasn’t his usual radiant one that could rival the sun, but a thoughtful one. It told you the memory of meeting Zoro meant something special to Luffy, and it made you regard the interaction a little less harshly.  “I couldn’t just leave him there. Not when he has a dream to fulfill.” While you were still debating on whether Luffy was a real person, there wasn’t any denying that he searched for the good in people. Whatever it was he’d seen in Zoro told Luffy he was a good guy.  “So,” you drawled out the o, “he told you to get lost and for some reason your brain heard those words as, ‘follow your dreams’.” “He isn’t a bad guy, Doc. I know Zoro is more than just a pirate hunter with a scary nickname. He is someone with a dream, just like you, and I’m going to make sure he reaches it.”

Looking at Zoro now, you could see what Luffy saw in him. Sure, he was quick to anger and even more quick to say shit without thinking it through, but who wasn’t at times? You had experienced first hand the good that lived inside of him. 

He’d helped you when he didn’t have to when you were sick. He shared a part of himself, a small part but still a part, to see who he was underneath all the attitude. While you weren’t in the business of hurting anyone, you debated on whether letting him train you would at least make you useful enough to save other members of your crew - maybe Zoro - if something came up. 

You did hit someone with a pot and punch Zoro in his face. What could learning a few moves going to do? 

“Alright, demon pirate hunter, I’ll consider it.”

—————————

He wanted to throttle Luffy. 

The way you kept looking at him - saying his nickname - was stirring something foreign in his chest. He may not know exactly what it was but he didn’t have too. His body was telling him plainly he should take back his invitation to spend more time alone with you. You were only going to get in the way of his goal. 

All of those made sense why he should retract his invitation and head back to the Merry. And yet…

“If it pumps up your ego, I’ll say it as many times as you like. For a price.” 

You wiggled your eyebrows at him and it was so unexpected Zoro wanted to laugh. His offer to help train you had been in the back of his mind, but when he went to offer it, it’d gone rougher than he’d intended. He hadn’t meant to make you feel bad - to call you a liability.  It wasn’t that he thought you would be an actual liability for Luffy. 

You were a liability for him. 

The way you were looking at him now, the smile on your face, gave him all the warning he needed to know you were a dangerous wildcard. He’d made a promise to Kuina and you felt like the one thing that could keep him from it. 

Whatever the feelings you were stirring in him were something he needed to be wary of. Zoro wasn’t going to have any of it. He made a promise a long time ago and he wasn’t going to let you or anyone else get in the way of him keeping it. 

He was so lost in thought that he wasn’t aware you’d gotten so close. It wasn’t until your fingers slid over his ear, placing something behind it, that he was jolted back into the present. 

“Oh, shit I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to freak you out.”

Your voice was breathy and sweet with your wide eyes looking up at him with something dangerously close to reverence. Close like at the dinner table. Close like when he’d tumbled out of the well and landed on top of you. Zoro still had the way your body felt under him burned into his memory. One he’d tried to erase with the bottles of liquor that now sat empty inside his room. 

His hand moved up to feel what you’d placed behind his ear, and his fingertips were greeted by the soft give of flowers. 

“Did you seriously just put flowers in my hair?”

Your response was maddening. Zoro watched as you brought your hands up to join your shrug, as if he wasn’t standing there, flowers now pinched between his fingers. 

“I think you look cute.”

Cute. 

“Yeah. That’s not me.”

In a show that it wasn’t him, that you and your stupid flower giving were just another nuisance, he opened his fingers and let them fall to the ground. Zoro watched as your eyes that had been brimming with sunshine were darkened by clouds of sadness. Even your earlier giddy step was replaced by slouched shoulders that suddenly looked as if the world weighed heavily on them. 

“Okay.”

Your reply was meek. If he wasn’t straining to hear it he would’ve missed it. You didn’t give him another glance or yell at him for being an ass. That was what he had expected; what he was still waiting for. Zoro had known you for a couple of days and within that time came to learn you were the most maddening person he’d ever met - second to Luffy. This? He didn’t like this. He liked it better when you fought back. When you told him what an asshole he was and when you touched him without thinking. 

Zoro watched as you went back to gently maneuvering your knife under the bark; skilled hands that removed pieces of that weird-looking fungus. You pulled an empty glass from your bag and, with the same gentleness, pushed it past the lip of the bottle to hold it inside. 

Cute. 

That’s what she’d called him. 

I am not cute. I’m the demon pirate hunter, Roronoa Zoro. 

He could feel his jaw flexing at the thought. Cute. Zoro has been called many things in his life, but cute was never one of them. His hand clenched and unclenched on the Wado Ichimonji as if asking - begging - what he should do. 

He couldn’t stay here much longer. Zoro didn’t know what to say and you obviously had no intention of speaking to him anytime soon. 

“Fuck this,” he whispered as he stalked off back out of the trees. 

He made it to the edge of the clearing where the sun fully broke free from the shade of leaves when you called to him. 

“Try not to get lost, Zoro. We both know you’ve got shit directional

skills.” 

He refused to admit he was happy to hear you say something. Even if that something was your usual shit-talking. Zoro grunted as a reply and quickly went back to walking out of the clearing when something - small and pure white - caught his eye out of his peripherals. 

It was huddled against the bark of a tree. Its petals were open and stark against the darkness. It took him a moment to recognize those white petals. What he found amusing was how the flower always seemed to be carrying its own weight on its shoulders; the neck of it dropping down like it’d just received devastating news. Zoro didn’t know why he gently plucked it from its resting spot. He couldn’t explain why after that he turned to head back in your direction. 

Zoro was trying to get away from you and here he was bringing a fucking flower back. You turned at his approach, your mouth already forming over some word. You never spoke what it was you wanted to say and you didn’t seem like you wanted to try either. 

Zoro placed the snowdrop behind your ear. Perfectly placing it to where the hanging bulb hugged the top of your ear to hang against your hair. 

“You left to go find flowers?”

Zoro shook his head. He stepped back just enough to see how it looked. He was a dumbass for doing this. 

“No, I was going to head back to the ship-“

“Figures-“

“When I saw this snowdrop by itself,” Zoro continued over you. “It made me think of you.”

“That feels oddly specific.”

He didn’t like how you were looking at him. More accurately, he didn’t like how you looking at him was making him feel. 

“It’s a snowdrop. They’re one of the most delicate flowers in the world.”

There it was. The darkening of those previous clouds now cracked to life with the spark of your anger. Zoro had to admit, he enjoyed getting you all riled up. What he wouldn’t tell you, is because they only grew at certain times and usually in the snow, it made them one of the most resilient flowers because they could grow under any conditions. 

“Are you calling me delicate?”

A huff left him as his eyes rolled up into the treeline. 

“I was trying to apologize earlier.”

“Oh.”

You’d started all that storm building just to deflate but also- 

“You sure have a way with words,” he teased. 

“My bedside manner is not the best, I’ll admit. I once told a dying man a joke about a pirate and marine having an entanglement. Naan said it probably wasn’t the most appropriate time.”

For some reason, Zoro could picture it. A man dying and you, being your nervous self, trying to make him laugh to ease his passing. The thought of it alone made a smile curl at his lips, and he tried to gently shake it away. To look at anything else but you. 

“What do I gotta do to hear one of these world-famous Doc jokes?”

He waited until his face was neutral to look back at you. Both hands rested on his swords as he watched you fill the bottle to the brim and place it securely inside your satchel. 

“For that kind of service? You have to be dying.”

“You’re a real pain in the ass, you know that?”

You were a pain in the ass. A pain in his ass. From the moment he met you until now and probably would continue to be. A pain that made him think of things outside of his goal. You made him think past his promise. Who was he if he didn’t keep it? He should’ve never offered to train you or willingly spend more time with you. He was going to have to take it back. It didn’t matter if it hurt your feelings or made you hate him. Maybe that’s what he needed to do to make you hate him-

“What are you doing?”

Zoro prayed that his face was devoid of any emotion. The panic that bloomed in his chest didn’t spread to where you could see. You’d placed your hand over your chest in a way Zoro knew too well. 

“I,” it was the first time Zoro ever heard your full name. “Promise to be the biggest pain in your - Roronoa Zoro’s ass - from now until whenever.”

For the second time, his hand was clutching onto the Wado Ichimonji today. While you spoke, Zoro could swear he saw flashes of Kuina standing behind you. The look of disappointment growing on her face. 

“You made a promise.”

Zoro couldn’t bring himself to speak. He couldn’t trust what he would say. So, he simply turned back on his heel and made a beeline back for the edge of the trees. This time when he reached it he didn’t stop. He had to get back to the safety of the ship where he could barricade himself from you behind wooden doors and booze because Zoro could really use a drink.

————————-

It has been two days inside the fog. Two days of Zoro avoiding you like you carried the plague back with you from Irkhaven. 

When you’d made that promise it was only meant to be good fun. You replayed over in your mind to see if you’d said something wrong - done something wrong to warrant the sudden extreme cold shoulder. 

Besides the time you’d been with Nami and Usopp, all of you shared thoughts about the naval battle that had happened and, who could forget, his very real vice-admiral of a grandpa. Who could launch cannonballs like paperweights. After that, Zoro didn’t come around you or close to you.

Sure, you would see him when he lounged on the deck napping like a cat in open spots. Hell, if Zoro wasn’t sleeping he was either drinking or training. You’d catch glimpses of him on the upper deck lifting weights with his arms and, sometimes, his mouth. 

The first time you saw him lifting eighty pounds with his teeth, you had about a thousand questions racing through your mind. If you thought he would answer you if you spoke, you might have asked him. 

You weren’t sure why it bothered you so much. It shouldn’t have even mattered whether he talked to you or not, but he’d offered to train you. Why bother asking to do something that required his time if he wasn’t willing to give it? These sorts of questions had been your own personal plague since he’d begun to give you the cold shoulder. 

You’d been sitting with your legs hanging out of the side of where the cannonball had blown an unfortunate hole through the Merry’s railing. It killed you to see her so broken; her intricate leafling design ruined all because of what felt like a family spat. Letting out a sigh, you pulled your legs out from over the side with a hand holding onto the rail so you didn’t fall into the sea. 

Once you were securely standing without fear of going overboard, you wrapped the leather cord that secured the pages of your journal around it. You were just finishing up tucking it in when Usopp began to shout, “I see something.” 

How anyone could see anything in this mess was beyond you, but then again Luffy was at the front of the Merry using his nose to guide you guys out of the fog so…yeah. Stranger things could and did happen. 

It was enough to garner your attention and bring you walking up to join the rest of the crew that had assembled. 

“I see nothing,” you stated. 

“I don’t know how anyone could see anything in this soup,” Nami agreed as she stirred the ship in the direction Luffy called. 

“You guys don’t see the red lights? How can you not see them?”

“Because, Usopp, I don't have eyes like an Eagle.”

You could feel the happiness your comment brought him as he continued to point in the direction of said light.

“Just keep your eyes posted right here in the center and you’ll see it, Doc. 

“3 degrees starboard, Nami and keep it straight.”

“I really wish you wouldn’t sit up there Luffy,” you called up to where he sat, legs wide, on the Merry’s headpiece. “What happens if you slip?”

“You're his crew mate. Not his mother. He doesn’t need you coddling him.”

You turned to find Zoro standing a few feet behind Usopp. He wasn’t looking at you but he’d just spoken to you. His first words in two days and it didn’t surprise you in the least they were his usual asshole tone. 

“Oh, so he can speak. What a shocker.” 

Zoro side-eyed you but still refused to acknowledge your presence. The soft bruise that was there two days ago at Irkhaven was all but a faded memory. You were tempted to make it a fresh one. 

“Okay you two let’s focus on-“ Usopp stopped mid-sentence as his eyes scanned over something in the distance. “What’s a baratie?”

You looked where he was and finally saw it. Red neon was bleeding its way into the fog. It was enough to make you forget about Zoro, your lack of clean clothes, or what had happened the last couple of days. It was land. You were finally going to actually put your feet down on something solid that wasn’t just the Merry. 

Nami stirred the Merry in and easily parked it at the next available dock. Immediately, people rushed out to begin tying the ship's ropes to posts to secure it in place. 

“Is it just me or does this look like a restaurant?” 

You meant your question to be open-ended. To allow anyone to answer in case what you were seeing was in fact a floating restaurant in the middle of the ocean. However, you were leaning against the rail next to Nami, with whom you pressed arm and arm. 

“I think it is.”

You were all still staring over the railing when Luffy asked excitedly, “Do you guys know what this means?”

“We stock up on supplies and keep going so the marines can’t find us?”

“We head back to Syrup village where it’s safe?”

“No - let’s go eat!”

You felt the blood drain from your face. You didn’t have much in the way of something to wear at an establishment like this. You were willing to bet you couldn’t just walk in wearing - or smelling - like you all did. You were getting ready to tell Luffy you’d hang back on the ship when you felt a hand gently wrap itself in yours. 

Glancing down at your interwoven hands and back up, you found Nami, her lips together in a soft smile, as she gave you a light tug to follow her. 

“Come on. You can borrow some of my clothes.”

You let out a raspberry, your hand squeezing hers briefly in relief. 

“Nami, you are a lifesaver.”

“That fish better have a bar.”

You weren’t going to say it out loud, but you agreed with Zoro. You were going to need the blissful ignorance of alcohol to make it through a dinner where you possibly ended up sitting next to him. 

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

As always, thank you so much for reading. Comments and reblogs are welcome.

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[armyvulcan]

ok, ok, w knowledge that emmrich was the LEAST romanced companion it has me churning my noggin for EMPHASIS of how rook and emmrich function as a couple

1) when emmrich heads to the kitchen after his routine studies, he anticipates his favorite blend of tea, but smiles when the teapot is already steaming, and his particular blend of herbs and spices are already awaiting in his preferred fainted lilac teacup he brought from the necropolis

2) after unsheathing her filthy, mud-ridden and bloody armor, rook’s body whines for an hour long soak to her (un)surprise of a bath, hot and humid of elfroot, and bergamot, bubbling over onto the tile, her silk robe — deep, blue/red purple — draped on the side table

3) in their few evenings free, away from their companions and other gods-fucked-the-world disasters, they read; rook enticed w missives from inquistor lavellan, unaware at the few moans leaving her lips as emmrich massages her foot, his thumb working the ball of it — he wonders if she knows she’s a toe-tipper

4) emmrich arrived at his wash basin, his face caked with soot and debris, making his crinkles more prominent, doesn’t question the newly wrapped package of his preferred lotion, and face oil, but instead applies it more liberally in his cleansing — it’s rook’s turn to sleep over

5) at the conclusion of their group council, where tensions are high and words were strewn across without remorse, and everyone left unsteady, unconvinced, rook doesn’t move from her chair, but instead burrows her head in emmrich’s navel, and huffs small, agonizing cries, emmrich’s hold on her hair tightens as they grow louder

6) when faced between his life-long determination, or the reanimation of his first, his once only, companion, panic barely sheds light to emmrich’s body besides the white knuckling of his grip on the anatomy table, and rook to the left of him, her arms draped over him, secure and steady, ready to catch him should he fall

Tldr; don’t you DARE tell me they don’t have such an understanding for each other, their love is sooooo fucking pure besides the crazy sex they have

[inquisimer]

For arlow and viago 😭 ❛ i don’t want to understand, i want you to stay. ❜

THANK YOUUUUUUU I am ALL up in my feels about them ;-; this is set well pre-canon, right after Arlow is released from (my version of) "how not to get possessed" Crow Edition

Arlow de Riva & Viago | 972 words | cw: implied/referenced torture, child abuse | @dadrunkwriting - veilguard

-

She is ragged, rubbed raw when they dump her on the stoop of Viago's estate. They rap on the door, once, twice, three times, because she could not lift an arm to do it herself. And then they leave her there, shivering and utterly drained, still bleeding where the manacles had held her. Still aching where the Fade had dug its claws into her.

But she is alive. That is more than most of the others can say.

Viago opens the door himself--of course he does, because he does not employ a staff, would not give anyone such access, no matter how thoroughly vetted. She wonders, as a soft string of curses fall from his lips, how they even knew to leave her here. Its location is a closely guarded secret.

(She will never know about the gold and threats exchanged, when first she was taken. As soon as she has passed, he insisted. Not a moment longer.)

His arms are gentle, slotting carefully under her legs and at her shoulders; he is trying to avoid the bruises, the welts, the weeping wounds. If she could find her voice, she would tell him not to bother--there is nowhere that does not ache, in some shape or form. But he is trying, and she focuses on that, rather than how the world spins as he lifts her, carries her down the hallway to a familiar room. It is not hers, but she spends a great deal of time here, being poked and prodded--poisoned--pressed for answers and learning how to describe what he needs to know.

The cot she usually sits on is made up with softer blankets and pillows than is typical. As if it were waiting for her, and knew that she would not be in a state for the harsh, cold crinkle of paper. But that is foolish--there is no one in the estate except Viago, and Viago is not the type to prepare such creature comforts. If her mind were not so muddled--

She blinks, and Viago presses a vial to her lips. He does not need to tell her to drink; she lets him tip it down her throat without hesitation. Bitter elfroot, and acidity. At her side, over her knuckles, and where it is seeping down her temple, blood clots as her skin knits itself back together. Though the gash over her shoulder blade only gets about two-thirds of the way there, and she knows that it will be a scar.

Experimentally, she reaches for it with her magic. It is new, this power within her, and awkward like a third arm, or second tongue. It is also weak, drained by the price the Crows have exacted. But she has paid it--she is alive. She has been judged, and not found wanting.

For once. Perhaps for the last time.

"Stop that," Viago snaps, as if he can sense that she is pushing past limits that have long since been flattened. "You will make it worse."

The tendril of mana blinks out into nothing. He cuts her ruined tunic away, pursing his lips together as each snip reveals bruises, burns, and more ribs than he'd been able to see three weeks ago. But he is not surprised. Necessary, as so many painful things are. When the pain fades, confidence will take root--in confidence, safety.

With short, clinical strokes, he cleans her skin and a tiny sigh parts Arlow's lips. She has nearly forgotten what it is like to be touched with an intention that is kind.

He takes his time. Tends each of the wounds with the appropriate salve, or balm, or serum. His gloved hands are more gentle than they have ever been when he urges her to lean forward, but he offers no apology when he draws the needle through her flesh, sealing another mark into her skin.

When he is finished, he wraps her in fresh clothes and brings her to rest before the fire. Hands her another potion, diluted this time, and gives strict instructions to sip, slowly.

Despite the fire, despite the ghost of his care lingering over her skin, Arlow feels a chill. This is the part where he leaves. She knows--understands, even. So much more than a child should have to. Of all the ways Viago covers his skin, he has never treated her with kid gloves.

She does not want him to leave. But it is not her place to ask him to stay.

Her eyes drift closed; for a moment, her heart stutters, afraid of the darkness that waits behind her lids. But the fire makes it warm and orange; the cold and dank to which she has been relegated remains firmly--if a bit too near--in her memory.

In that halfway place between waking and sleep, she imagines tender hands tucking a blanket around her. Shifting her on the pillow so that her neck will not be so terribly cricked in the morning. It is nice of her mind, to cushion her recovery with such niceties.

Gloved knuckles brush a stray hair back behind her ear. A softness that she will not remember in the morning, nearly gone to the Fade already as she is. Which is why he offers it, of course.

"Well done, parajito," Viago murmurs. She will not remember that, either, or the smile that tugs at the corner of his mouth. When he is stern and exacting in the morning, she will not remember that he was proud of her, or relieved to have her back under his purview.

But that does not change the fact--he is.

He tucks the blanket more snugly under her chin, smooths the wrinkles over her legs. For the first time in three weeks, she is resting easy--and he leaves, for the first time in three weeks, to do the same.

[rosykims]

very still, without reaching

(ashara lavellan x solas. 2250 words. post-solavellan ending. hurt/comfort. major veilguard spoilers. read on ao3)

The nature of her own regrets become apparent soon enough. Mostly, as they appear to her in the fade, they relate to her regretting so very little.

There are exceptions, of course. She and Solas pass them sometimes on long, silent walks together; small, ugly things carved into barren rock, almost impossible to catch in the shadow of Solas's own towering monuments of despair. But they are there, and Ashara can always sense them before she sees them. Her least favorite recurrence pertains to a rock she threw at some shemlen farmers when she was a girl. They had returned later in the day, but they could not distinguish the difference between Dalish vallaslin , and so chose to take out their vengeance on the whole of her clan, instead. 

They had never truly forgiven her. Of all the statues of contrition this place has manifested over the months they've been here, this is the one she can't yet bring herself to face.

But there are, unexpectedly, great works of beauty here, too. Oftentimes she sees herself and Solas carved into the cliff faces, or jutting out of canyons. Old echoes of embraces, stolen kisses, intertwined fingers. She suspects their prison doesn't quite know what to do with these complicated memories, but it does its best to use them against her even so. She had regretted those moments once, after all. Or at least she thought she had. Her time in this place offers an alternative school of thought; that she had never truly regretted the choices leading her down this dinan'shiral of theirs, but rather the heart of her shame is more that she could never truly bring herself to regret them at all.

Once the fade understood this, it course-corrected. Now if she sees those statues at all, it is because she wants to.

Solas has made little progress. It is harder for him, with his regrets so numerous and so at odds with his ego. On a good day he makes her worst mistakes look infinitesimal by comparison. Sometimes he disappears for days on end, wandering aimlessly, pulled one way or another by the compass of his guilt alone. When he returns, as he always does, he says nothing, only holds her very tightly and does not let go.

In all the months (or perhaps even longer) that they've been here, they have spoken very little. More time is needed before either one of them is ready to face that looming conversation. For now, quiet comfort takes priority. For now, sex suffices. For now they sit on the edge of yawning chasms for hours on end, watching the shifting rocks, the starless skies, the shadows in mournful, flittering dance at the edge of their vision, and find solace through a tender silence in which no words are yet necessary. And when he begins to get it in his head that perhaps they are necessary, she stops him with a long, languid kiss until she feels those worries melt away between them.

It is a terrible place he's built, but it is not so terrible facing it together.

And it gets easier still. The nature of the Evanuris' prison was always to contain the regrets of beings who thought themselves gods, but she is not a god, and neither is he. Her regrets are not so insurmountable to overcome, given time, and soon, slowly, she finds the world around her starts to mirror the world inside her. At first, a singular star in the sky. Then, below it, a wisp of elfroot growing between the crack of a barren rock. The fade cannot be mapped by mere cartography or magic, but a learned mage can always find their way with enough discipline. And Ashara was, before stepping through that final rift, a very learned mage.

When Solas departs on his lonely journeys, she cultivates the place in secret. She was never one for dishonesty, and so it's the only real secret she has. She shapes the space sporadically over many months in the image of her late mother's patch of camp among their clan. With some . . . creative liberties here and there. The tent is warm and green like her mother's was, but with all the ample space and utility (and — admittedly — luxury) she had grown accustomed to over her many years as the Inquisitor. Some ugly shemlen cottage wouldn't do, and she never had a full night sleep in her Skyhold quarters, anyway.

She dreams up the smell of incense, and many multicolored rugs, and a bed that's warm but not too soft. Books; a table with two chairs; a big bathtub to share. The small fire pit in the centre might have burned the whole tent down around her were it abiding by the laws of the physical world, but it does not. It abides her.

The hardest part was the damned trees. Several times she nearly lost everything, locked in a seemingly endless standoff against the will of the very prison itself. But Solas made this place to contain monsters, and Ashara need only remind herself that she is not one. She never was. Whether the magic of this place recognises that — or if she truly did best the fade by sheer audacity alone — she couldn't really say. All she knows is that one day the trees stood tall — leafless but very much alive — as if they'd been there all along, and her impossible little clearing was all but complete.

"I've found a place I think you ought to see," she tells Solas soon after, reunited in their usual spot after several long days apart.

He seems especially exhausted this time around. He buries his face in the crook of her neck and breathes deeply. "Then I am yours to guide, as you see fit." 

He clings tightly to her hand as she leads them on, aided by the lonely light of her beloved star. Samahl , as she's come to calling it — named after her nephew. Solas would see Samahl too if he ever looked up, but he keeps his eyes defiantly low, avoiding the overhead statues of a handsome, crumbling man with Mythal's vallaslin , whose wounded gaze seem to follow Solas wherever he goes.

He will find it in himself to meet those eyes one day, a long time from now. In the meantime she lifts her head to the sky for both of them, and presses onward through the gloom.

He stops short when he sees the clearing of trees in the distance, bordered by infinite wasteland. Ashara squeezes his fingers with her own and urges him forward. "Come."

"That . . . cannot be."

"It is. Come."

Soon the cracked earth beneath their feet sprouts small, unassuming blades of grass. The riverbed they pass remains as dry as bone, but carries the unmistakable smell of wet earth after recent rain. Closest to the centre of the clearing, Ashara herself notes leaves on trees that were not there the day before. 

Solas's brow furrows, and he makes a strange noise when they reach the point where the grass is most concentrated. As it exists now, the grass is too patchy to be called a meadow, and yet it grows strongest and greenest in a perfect circle around her little tent as if it were the sun itself, nourishing by proximity. 

The tent glows faintly, lit up by the hearth and candlelight within. But it is a strange glow, which seems to extend to the whole of the outer clearing, cutting through the endless mist and shadow. For months her world has been a haze of muted gray and monochromes. This space, by comparison, bears a subtle vibrancy she might've missed if she hadn't grown so used to its absence.

The violets of his eyes are clearly visible for the first time since they arrived, shining as they scan about the clearing. "How can it be that I feel you so vividly in this place?" he finally whispers, incredulous.

"I made it," she says. "It's mine. Will you come with me a little further? I didn't bring us here to watch grass grow."

She had hoped he might at last be baited into a smile, or a sultry retort, but he only frowns at her with those same sad, uncertain eyes, and takes her hand once more. 

"It's much larger inside," she says. "Come."

"As you say."

He has to duck his head to slip inside the tarp, but the interior is as large and spacious as promised. Her fire bathes the walls in bright flickering hues of yellow and orange, and Ashara watches him give an involuntary shiver of pleasure as its warmth passes over and through him. It's a nice sight. Her pyromancy has inspired no shortage of pain and terror over the years, but in truth, it was always watching the relief of her companions faces when she warmed their soup in midwinter that had made her feel the most accomplished. 

Maybe she could dream up soup next? There are several potted plants next to her little bed. Elfroot and crystal grace, and some others even she doesn't recognise. Not quite right for soup, and yet . . . Had she put those there? Or has this dream of hers now taken a life of its own? She ponders as much, settling in amid her thick fur blankets, waiting for Solas to compose himself.

"I made this place for you as well," she tells him when he makes no move to join her.

He shakes his head despairingly. "No."

"What?" Ashara scowls. " Yes ."

"No."

" Yes ."

"This cannot be, Ashara," he snaps. "The very will of this domain is such that —"

"I don't know what to tell you. I outwilled it."

He scoffs. "The greatest tyrants of the Evanuris could not outwill it."

"I am not the Evanuris. Neither was your little bird friend, and she flew free."

"That is different. Rook had —" 

He stops himself. For a moment he looks briefly shocked, as if struck. And then his features settle. Lips pressed tight, eyes down. He seems impossibly small inside this place, and not just because it's bigger on the inside. The light doesn't touch him quite so eagerly as it touches everything else. His very presence in her room casts a long, misshapen shadow which seems to crawl unnaturally across the floor, cutting through the glow of her fire until it's very nearly pooled at her feet. 

A chill follows. 

" Varric ." Ashara holds his gaze in silence until he looks at her. "Deiadre had Varric ."

Beside her, a candle flickers. "Yes."

Ashara reminds herself: his regrets made this place. They unmade Skyhold, and nearly the world itself. They will do worse to them both now, if she allows it. 

"She had Varric, Solas."

Even in the rapidly dimming light, she can make out the unsteady rise of his chest. "She had Varric," he echoes.

"And you have me."

Solas's face falls. But then the room brighten. A little. 

He lets out a long, unsteady breath and closes the distance between them. Her little wooden bed creaks under his weight. She shifts the blankets to better drape over his broad shoulders, and he reaches out in turn, hesitating before resting his hand on her thigh. He leans down to press a kiss to the gooseflesh raised on her clavicle, courtesy of the lingering chill.

"That you would offer such a thing at all is more a testament to you than any clemency I've not earned," he murmurs against her collar. He tilts his head up as if to look upon the room, though his gaze remains soft and steadily focused on her. "This is a gift, asha'era. I did not mean to undermine your efforts, or the feat of having made this. It is perfect, just as you are. But it may not survive my presence."

"Why not? I did." 

Now Solas looks away. She cringes; inhabiting the fade has done nothing to improve her eloquence. Quickly she continues, "But even so; if it does not, we'll just have to get over it and bring it back come morning."

"And do you think you'll feel the same a dozen centuries from now? Perpetually warring with my regret?"

"I know which side I'd place my bets in a fight between regret and love."

If he has a retort for that, he's wise enough to keep it to himself.

Time in the fade passes imperceptibly. Surely their kiss lasts days, and what comes after even longer. The candles are less a gauge for the passing minutes but instead the strength of her resolve when his own doubts creep in. When the light flickers, when the incense sours, when the wind outside picks up to a roaring howl; then she focuses her efforts. Her fingers scraping down his chest, a well timed roll of the hips, a kiss with enough tongue to remind him how much he used to enjoy using his own. And still does, apparently.

In the morning — or what, at least, finally feels like morning — the trees have dried up and grass outside their tent is dead. But the tent itself is warm as ever and the air outside feels crisp and fresh and, above her, if she squints, she can make out the faint but ever-present glint of her Samahl in the sky. 

The grass will grow back. She will see to it . . .

. . . Tomorrow. This morning, she would sooner crawl back into bed and see to other things.

[rookinthecrownest]

Bedtime Stories For a Demon, Night 3: The Girl Who Knew Despair (Lucanis x Rook Fanfic)

*Endgame spoilers for Veilguard ahead

** No seriously if you havent played to the end of the game dont read this

Soft candlelight flickering. An exuberant chorus of voices outside the door, celebrating victory. The smell of alcohol and Embrium and Elfroot in the Diamond’s infirmary. The Cantori Diamond, still standing like the rest of Treviso. Free of the Blight and the wrath of a God’s anger.

Thanks to Rook.

Madeleina.

Lucanis sits on a wooden chair by her bed. He asked Teia for a private room in the infirmary – a request she was happy to accommodate for Treviso’s saviour.

As grateful as he is for her help in Treviso – and he is incredibly grateful, he’s equally infuriated by her recklessness in battle. Not many can claim to have injured a Blighted dragon and lived to tell the tale, but even fewer would have been stupid enough to try and conceal a mortal wound until they were bleeding out on the ground.

He remembers the blood spilling like a crimson waterfall from her mouth. Choked gasps for air as she drowned in it. The thud of her body as it hit the ground while Viago was mid-sentence thanking her for her help.

A shard of ice from the dragon’s last attack before it fled had lodged itself into her chest, piercing her right lung. She must have quickly removed it before anyone else noticed, and her thick mage’s overcoat hid the worst of the damage. The dragon’s attacks only left them with enough time to worry about their own survival – hurling cold, sharp death their way with brutal force and terrifying speed. Even with Spite’s wings, he was barely able to dodge them.

He and Davrin quickly dragged her back to the Diamond, with the help of Teia and Viago to clear the way for them.

Madeleina was still choking on her own blood.

Hemothorax, he thought bitterly. Mierda.

The idiot actually apologized to him for getting her blood on his nice coat while her death rattles filled the air. He is fairly certain he told her to shut up. He desperately hoped those were not the last words he would ever say to her.

Lucanis started barking out orders for supplies – alcohol, a thick needle, and a mage who could heal. He needed to decompress the pressure on her lung and get the blood out before it completely collapsed. One of their mages, Lucrezia, stood at the ready to assist. She had given Madeleina a cloth to bite down on. Davrin, Teia, and Viago stood around the bed and held her limbs down.

Mercifully, Spite was quiet enough to let him get through the procedure. One he hadn’t done in a long time, but still remembered well enough.

He poured alcohol over exposed chest to sanitize the skin.

He inserted the needle through the fourth and fifth ribs in the mid-axillary line. The mage sucked the blood out of her chest, using wind magic to create a vacuum. The blood came flowing out and spattered onto the floor. Agonized cries through the fabric of the towel. Terror on her face, limbs shaking, while he stitched her back up. The mage casts a healing spell to help mend the rest of the damage and hopefully restore some of what was lost.

Then, silence as she finally fell asleep.

Davrin, the new member of the group, stood beside her after Teia and Viago had left.

“Is she going to be alright?” He asked quietly.

Lucanis didn’t have an answer for him. He was fairly certain she was out of immediate life-threatening danger. But she lost a lot of blood, and nearly lost a lung. Only time would tell how well she would recover. If she would fully recover.

“I’ll watch over her – you should go back to the Eluvian. See if you can help Neve and the others in Minrathous. It might not be too late” He answered, nodding towards the door. “We’ll meet you back at the Lighthouse when she wakes up”

When, not if, because he refused to let her die for the crime of choosing to help him. He didn’t need that on his conscience.

Mercifully, Davrin didn’t fight him on it and left soon after.

He’s not sure exactly how much time has passed. There’s no windows in the infirmary, so he measures it in forehead towel changes. Four by now, at least. Maybe a few hours he estimates.

A soft and pained groan, and the rustling of bed sheets fill the quiet room. He looks up to see Madeleina’s green eyes fluttering. She hisses and holds her right side, her face twisting with pain. She coughs, but this time, no blood comes sputtering out of her mouth. The warm towel on her forehead slips off.

“L-Lucanis?” she asks quietly, blinking at him with glassy eyes. She groans again “Ahh… Venhedis…”

“Hey, take it easy” Lucanis holds a hand in front of her, “Try not to move too much right now”

Madeleina frowns, and speaks with no small amount of strained effort “We … won … right?”

“We did. But you almost died” He points to her chest, “Would have died, if that wound kept bleeding out. Why did you try to hide it?”

“Didn’t want … to ruin the …  ‘we survived… a Blighted dragon attack’… party” She smiled weakly. Her voice was raspy and uneven. She was gasping between words. “You … know me … I hate to bring… down the mood…”

Lucanis clapped a hand to his forehead, “Mierda… unbelievable”

His frustration only grows when he sees her trying to sit up, grunting with effort. “What did I just say? You’ll rip your stitches.”

I worked hard on those, he wants to add.

“Min…rathous …. Need to get … back” She winces as another wave of pain sweeps through her body. Madeleina manages to get herself upright and leans against the headboard of the bed. “Neve … Shadow Dragons…”

Lucanis frowned deeply, “You’re not going anywhere. And if you are, it’s back to the Lighthouse.”

Madeleina sighs and leans her head back, hitting it against the headboard softly. She looks utterly defeated.

“They need my help Lucanis…” she whispers, staring at the opposite wall. She’s starting to blink away tears. “I … I left my city to burn”

He’s not sure how to comfort her. He settles by saying what is in his heart, uncertain if it will be enough to assuage her guilt.

“But Treviso lives to fight another day because of you. Free of the blight, free of Ghilan’nain” He pulls his chair closer to the edge of her bed. “And none of us will ever forget it. I won’t forget it”

Lucanis realizes she was forced into an impossible decision. Madeleina was a Shadow Dragon, she was from Minrathous. He didn’t expect her to aid Treviso. But the relief that flooded his chest when he saw her come to his home’s defense was indescribable.

A tense quiet passes between them. He watches, helplessly, as she bites her tongue to keep a deluge of tears from streaming down her face.

“You saved a lot of people today” Lucanis says quietly.

Madeleina shuts her eyes tight and bit down on her bottom lip. Her voice is quivering as she replies, “And doomed so many more.”

“You don’t know that” He leans forward. “Davrin left some time ago to help, he might have- “

“Don’t” She hisses, her chest heaving. “Don’t … do that”  

His brows lift in surprise, taken aback. “Do what?”

The defeated look on her face as she turns to him makes his heart sink into his stomach.

“Give me hope …” Madeleina says weakly, as her shoulders start quaking. “I … I don’t … deserve…”  

He isn’t sure if letting her cry it out is the right thing to do, but lets the sound of her quiet sobbing fill the little room. The weight, the magnitude of the choice she had to make is not lost on him. How unfair it all was. Few things in life are fair, he knows that better than anyone. But forcing someone as young as her make that kind of choice had to be up there.

He sees Spite manifesting beside her bed, a purple doppelganger of him. Spite leans in closer, it’s face – his face, twisting with anger.

Smells like salt and ice and smoke. Not right. Not RIGHT. The demon howls. Lucanis pinches his nose bridge and sighs. Spite’s gaze drifts between Madeleina and Lucanis. He frowns at Lucanis, Make. Her. Right.

“Mierda, not now Spite…” Lucanis whispers, exasperated.

Madeleina sniffles and stops crying for a moment. Her eyes are red and puffy. She wipes her nose with the sleeve of her tunic. “Spite’s bothering you?”

Lucanis crosses his arms over his chest and frowns, “Don’t worry about Spite. You have enough to deal with right now”

She looks around the room, as if she could see him.

“Would Spite … like a story?” Madeleina asks, after a few moments of silence.

Spite tilts his head and leans in closer to Madeleina. He grins maniacally and nods. Yes. Story. That will make her Right.

Lucanis is quick to answer, “Absolutely not. You need to rest, Madeleina. Leave Spite to me”

He’s still not used to the feeling of her name on his tongue.

She sucks in a deep breath, one hand holding her right side. Then, she’s looking at him with an uncharacteristically stern look on her face. “You … always say that”

“Say what?”

“That Spite… is only your problem” She grips her blanket tighter.

“He’s my demon. Of course he’s my problem”

Madeleina sniffles again, her brows drawing together. “That’s not … how being on a team works, Lucanis. We help each other”

“You’ve helped me more than enough” He replies, gesturing around the room, “You saved my home. I can’t ask any more of you than you’ve already given”

Madeleina blinks slowly and draws her knees to her chest, considering his words.

“I … want to help …” She frowns, and she’s staring at the opposite wall again.

Spite’s apparition has disappeared, but he can still feel the demon rattling in the back of his mind.

“You can help by resting” Lucanis rises from his chair, “Are you hungry? I can bring you something to eat”

Madeleina shakes her head. “No… but … will you stay? Just for a little bit”

He stands above her for a moment, letting the request hang between them. He knows he should let her get some rest before they make their way back to the Lighthouse. Before she has to face the other side of her decision. Yet, he finds himself increasingly unable to say no to her bright green eyes and tired smile, and that worries him deeply. What it means, what it could mean.

He sits back down in the small wooden chair, and she gives him a weak smile.

“Thank you”

“It’s the least I can do” he returns the smile in kind.

Madeleina is quiet for a moment. Thoughtful.

She raises one hand, and it starts glowing a familiar blue.

“Madeleina – “

“Please – just let me tell the story” He knew her well enough to know that tone would brook no argument. He can do nothing but gesture for her to continue.

“At least one person ought to know”

Her face awash in eerie blue light, Madeleina flicks her wrist.

She looks like she is struggling to keep the illusion alive. He sees a bird’s eye view of a small village, nestled between a dense forest and a mountain range. It flickers in and out and lacks the usual care and detail of her illusions.

“Once… upon a time … in a land far, far away…” her voice is shaking, and she’s using her free hand to keep pressure on her right side. “There was a small farming village. And… in that village… lived a family.”

Another flick of her wrist and the mountainside village vanishes, now replaced by three figures. The man is tall and lanky. He has a lyre strapped to his back. His hair is wild and curly, much like Madeleina’s. His eyes look like hers too. The figure of the woman is maybe a head shorter, with long, pin-straight hair. She has Madeleina’s high cheekbones. The same nose and lips and heart-shaped face. Finally, he sees the figure of a young girl. A young Madeleina. All wiry limbs and wild curls.

“Eurydice, Orpheus and their daughter”

The figures rotate in the air between them.

“Eurydice ran the town’s bakery, and Orpheus played at the local tavern”

The figures ripple and a young Madeleina is now helping the figure of her mother bake bread.

Madeleina’s glassy eyes looked sorrowful.

“They didn’t have much. The village was small… there were no mages … only regular people.”

She smiled ruefully. “But they were happy. Orpheus,” She paused and waved him back into existence, “Kept their home alive with music and stories” He’s playing the lyre for his wife and daughter, while he chases her around an invisible room.

“And Eurydice made sure a warm meal was always on the table”

Her mother brings a plate of something to the young Madeleina, who wastes no time devouring it.

Madeleina sucked in a deep, shaky breath, before continuing.

“One day, their daughter discovers she can use magic”

The figure of young Madeleina is laughing as blue spheres of light dance around her. The figure of her mother brushes a hand through her unruly hair and pulls her into a tight hug. The figures ripple, and she furrows her brow to concentrate harder. They become solid again.

“Her parents are so happy for her. It means she will become Laetan, instead of Soporati. A chance for a better life. Her mother wants to do something for her”

Madeleina winks out of the scene, and Eurydice is pulling a garment out of a small chest.

“A new dress, she thinks… One from her youth. Her daughter is finally big enough to wear it” Madeleina blinks another tear from her eyes. “But wants to dye it her daughter’s favourite colour. She can’t afford a fancy dye but can make her own. Her daughter wants to help. She’s old enough to go pick the elderberries deep in the woods.”

The figure of the mother disappears, and a young Madeleina is in the forest bordering the village, placing berries in a large wicker basket.

“But the girl didn’t know what was coming for them, or she never would have gone to the forest that day”

He frowns, and a feeling of dread takes hold deep in his chest. He knows that whatever comes next is not likely to lead to a happy ending.

“A Venatori blood mage had escaped capture in Ventus.” The young Madeleina flickers out of existence and is replaced with a tall, cloaked figure, holding a stave in one hand and an amulet, glowing bright crimson, in the other.

“He held a dangerous amulet in his possession. The Amulet of Liberum” Madeleina whispers, “Forged by a Dreamer centuries ago, it held a pocket of the Fade inside it. Allowed the wearer to store an infinite number of demons and summon them at will with blood magic”

The cloaked figure arrives at the border of the village, her village. It takes a knife and runs it across his hand. The blood seeps onto the amulet in the other. The bright red glow becomes even more intense, and a horde of demons springs forth. They rampage through the streets, tearing the nameless and faceless villagers apart.

The scene shifts to her parents, backing away from the demons. The father, Orpheus, stands in front of the mother with a small dagger. It does him little good. They are both swiftly torn apart by demons.

The figure of the mage comes back into view, and sucks them back into the amulet, before disappearing.

Madeleina’s expression shifts between anger, grief and sadness. Something he is intimately familiar with.

“The girl comes back from the forest to see her entire village slaughtered”

The form of young Madeleina drops the wicker basket. She is walking through the main path of the village, by ruined houses and bodies torn apart. Bodies of people she once knew.

She comes to a lone house on a hill. Her home.

Madeleina breathes in sharply.

“Madeleina – you don’t have to …” He begins, but she holds a hand up to stop him.

“Yes, I do” she says, resolute. She shifts on the cot and brings the illusion back to life.

The young Madeleina is standing over the bodies of her parents, mutilated beyond recognition. She falls to her knees, and the figure starts screaming. He can almost hear it. The raw anguish rippling in the air like a shockwave.

“She screams and screams until her throat is dry” Madeleina says quietly, “Keeps going until she’s cried herself to sleep.”

The young Madeleina is still on her knees, her eyes closed, and the bodies of her parents disappear.

“In her dreams … a voice finds her in the Fade”

A faceless figure, layered in several layers of tattered cloaks, hovers above her.

“‘Have you lost all hope, child? Has it become too much to bear?’ The voice asks her. And it was … it was all too much …” Madeleina says, her voice barely above a whisper. “The voice offered to take her pain, her regret – everything, away. ‘So much for one so young’ it said”

Lucanis frowns. Spite’s rage prickled under his skin like a starved beast gnawing at the bars of its cage. Spite hates Despair.

He watches as the familiar blue glow of Madeleina’s figure starts to change colour. Veins of black light crawl up her legs.

“The Demon’s name was Despair. And it would eat everything she was, everything she would be”

As the tendrils of black light crawled further and further up her body, Madeleina continued.

“It ate her love, her hope, her joy” her lip quivered, and the figures flickered again. “It ate up her life until nothing was left”

Lucanis made a fist as waves of rage surged through the back of his head, the pressure behind his eyes mounting.

The tendrils were now creeping along the left side of her face. The figure only looked up at the Despair demon above it and continued to be consumed.

“But the girl didn’t know that the Templars who had tracked the maleficar had arrived at the village. One of them, a young man by the name of Tiberian Mercar, found her” She waved the figure of a tall man, adorned in Templar heavy plate armour, into existence.

“He would have been right to strike her down where she stood. She was becoming possessed. She was becoming an abomination” Madeleina wiped a stray tear from her eye with her free hand.

“To this day, she’ll never understand why he didn’t.”

The Templar, instead of drawing his sword, steps closer to the young girl. Lucanis watches with bated breath as he pulls the girl into a hug.

“’It will be alright child, you are going to be alright’” She says, her voice hitching. “Whether he really meant it, or he was just trying to comfort a girl moments away from dying, she’ll never know”

A bright, golden light shines from the figure of the Templar, and then slowly envelops the young Madeleina. The black light is dying out, overcome by the warm glow shared by the two figures.

“But that simple act of kindness brought her back from the brink of despair, from the brink of the abyss” Madeleina’s lips quirk into a sad smile. “He saved her that day, in more ways than one”

The Templar and the girl stand and begin walking away from the cloaked figure.

“The Templar couldn’t take care of her, so he asks his brother to adopt her into his family” She waves to life four new figures – a man, a woman, and two small boys. “His brother agrees, and she goes to live with them” The young Madeleina walks away from the Templar and towards her new family.

“The Mercars are a military family. One of a precious few non-mage families in Tevinter who enjoy more than a modest life” Madeleina explains, “She’s given an education, nice clothes, and a seat in the Circle of Minrathous. But everything comes at a cost”

The figures all wink out of existence, and are replaced by Madeleina, in apprentice robes, standing alone amongst a sea of other robed figures.

“She can never whisper her old name – the one her parents gave her. She can never tell anyone she’s not a true Mercar.” She fists her blanket, gathering the fabric in her right hand. “When the family agreed to take her in, they erased all of what she was. She was not a foundling, but a long-lost member of the family. She’s named after a great-great-great-great-grandmother, the last in their lineage to be born a mage. It gave them more legitimacy that way”

Madeleina’s eyes fall and all the figures disappear. “And in time… she forgets who she was before she joined them. Forgets her own name”

She brings her knees closer to her chest and wraps her arms around them. Lucanis releases a breath. He wants so badly to reach out. A hand on her shoulder. A hand on her arm. Anything to provide some kind of comfort. But all he can do is listen, as if some invisible rope binds his arms to his sides.

Madeleina gestures with her left hand, and a young Madeleina is standing next to an older, tall, rather handsome man.

“But she wants to help, so she finds those in the Magisterium working for the greater good” She continues. “She finds Magister Dorian Pavus, and he brings her into the Shadow Dragons. He gives her a cover to use so her family doesn’t grow suspicious. She tries to do good, tries to make use of the second chance she was given”

The figures blink out of existence a moment later. Her face falls. “But she never feels like she’s ever going to get there. Always feels like she's falling short of some unattainable goal”

“Madeleina…” Lucanis starts, but he doesn’t know where to go from there. What to say.

“That’s why I chose to come to Treviso” Madeleina is looking at him now. “I… I didn’t want another defenseless city to suffer the same fate as my home town – as Arvanitum did”

Lucanis clasps his hands together in front of him and leans forward.

“Whatever the reason you chose to help us … just know we’re grateful” He gives her a small smile. “Thank you for sharing that with me”

Madeleina gives him a weary smile in return. “It feels nice to have someone know … the Shadow Dragons, Dorian, Neve – I was never able to tell any of them. On paper, there are no survivors from Arvanitum. On paper, I am dead”

Lucanis rises to his feet and takes the towel from her pillow.

“For whatever it’s worth …. I’m glad you’re only dead on paper” He chuckles and twists the towel in his hands. “But you need to stop tempting fate, hm? Contract is no good if the employer dies”

Madeleina snorts, “I promise if I get another mortal wound, I’ll come right to you”

Lucanis grins, “Deal”

He motions to the bed, “Get some rest, we’ll go back to the Lighthouse when you’re ready”

Madeleina groans as she slithers back down into the bed. She yawns and turns to her side. “Alright … I should… need…. to check in with Varric soon ….”

Lucanis hesitates a moment before leaving the room. As he closes the door, he wonders to himself.

Who is Varric?

[hoboblaidd]

little Inquisition headcanons that are too mundane for a 5000 word meta post:

Solas always places heating runes beneath Varric’s tent.

Once, in the dead of night, he methodically tried the different kinds of tea in Skyhold's kitchen. They tasted like leaves. He hated all of them.

He has beef with owls (Falon’din and Andruil, but mostly Andruil).

He’s drawn in the margins of every book Josie finds for him from libraries. He tells her it’s something he does unconsciously while he reads. He really does it because the human libraries can suck it.

Also, he snorts like a twelve year old whenever someone says fenhedis lasa.

He has beef with Leliana’s ravens (Dirthamen).

He smokes more elfroot then he lets on.

Every time they visit Keeper Hawen’s clan in the Exalted Plains, he rotates their Fen’harel statue an inch to the left.

He has beef with bears (the animal) (Dirthamen).

He keeps a flask of honeyed brandy on him at all times. He only shares with Varric.

The hat "fell off" as the Inquisition marched into the Winter Palace.

The Courser and the Wolf was not actually about a dog chasing him. It was Desmal. Solas has beef with dogs anyway (Elgar’nan).

Grapes really do make him sick. Doesn't stop him from drinking wine.

If someone asks about any of his scars, he tells them the truth. The way he tells it, however, sounds like he's bullshitting: "How'd you get that burn scar, Solas?" "Sunburn." It was Elgar'nan.

Halla have beef with him (Ghilan'nain).

Solas is the reason Maryden wrote Sera was Never. Don’t put lizards in the Dread Wolf’s bedroll.

[shivunin]

WIP Wednesday

Thank you for the tag @bitchesofostwick! I will tag @exhausted-archivist, @layalu, @inquisimer, @bumblewarden, @pickelda, @dreadfutures, @pinayelf, @star--nymph @greypetrel, @ndostairlyrium, @jtownnn, @idolsgf, @elfroot-and-laurels @saessenach if you are working on something you'd like to share!

Here's a bit of a Rookanis arranged marriage AU that's been simmering in the background this past week. For context, Lucanis is watching Lenore from the rafters of the Chantry while she plays her violin alone.

(470 Words, no warnings)

The music rose in a golden line, smooth as a bird soaring the thermals, circling and circling. Lucanis’s hands hung loose between his knees, though he often tapped them against his leg in time with her. Music was not something he’d had ever needed to learn, with the exception of the basics of sheet music. Code was sometimes hidden there or he would not know even that much. Anything else was beyond him.  “Tell Caterina I am guarding her interests,” Lucanis told Illario. “There was an attempt last week.”

No, Lucanis had never been a musical creature. But she—Ingellvar, her surname was; he’d yet to hear anyone use her first—she played with the ease of long practice. More than that; she played as if she was unspooling some horrible, painful thing from her chest. She always left more relaxed than she’d arrived, shoulders even and loose, hands gentle on her case. It was a pleasure to listen to her. It was a puzzle, an enigma, to watch.  Neither of those were the reason he came here so often. Spite’s fascination took precedence; Lucanis’s questions followed some distance after.  “I heard nothing of this,” Illario said, scowling. “She was meant to inform our people if—” “I took care of it. She never knew anyone was watching,” Lucanis said, and nodded to a dark stain on the adjacent rafter. There had been blood dripping below while Lucanis had hauled the body away, but she had not seen it. Too focused on her music. If she was not careful, that lack of attention would get her killed. Already, it nearly had. Twice. He saw no use in mentioning the second to Illario. He had already told Caterina.  “Why her?” Illario asked unexpectedly. Lucanis looked at him.  “The Necropolis has other orphans. Some of them are prettier, at least; some of them are stronger. Surely others are are more expendable. Whydid they send her?” “She said that the Necropolis chose her,” Lucanis said.  The key had changed while he was talking. The song was deepening, slowing; a flying thing grounded. He had missed its transition.  “She said that the others were found in the Necropolis, but she belongs to it. The liaison who brought her said—” SHE IS BELOVED OF THE DEAD, the creature had intoned, and she had bowed her head. He still hardly knew what she looked like; she had worn a spell, some sort of mask that'd shown him only her glowing skull. They remained all but strangers to each other. “It does not matter what it said,” Lucanis told Illario, impatient. “Carry your message. I will keep watch until she returns to her guards.” Illario laughed at him again, looking down at the small figure below.  “It isn’t too late, cousin,” he said, and clapped Lucanis on the shoulder. “I could still take her off your hands.”

[bitchesofostwick]

codex: notes from the inquisition

i'm rewriting that letter (THAT one; minor veilguard spoilers for those who haven't gotten there) not because i didn't like it (i loved it) but because i can and because i wanted ellinor to be able to respond. tag list: @elfroot-and-laurels @captastra @mournholdmushroom @vvakarians @galaxywhale @creaking-skull

My love,

It seems one of the pups got to my half-written work before I could, or before Tara could, for that matter. She’s a good mum and usually keeps a close eye on all of them, but if it takes a village to raise a child, I’d dare to say it takes two villages to raise a litter of mabari.

I’ve wrapped up all I could at Skyhold. Our quarters here felt strange enough to return to after all of these years. They feel stranger still without you here beside me. But I leave the fortress behind in good hands, and although I’m surprised at how many Inquisition veterans so quickly answered our calls for aid, I am eternally grateful. I make for Minrathous tomorrow morning, though I loathe to imagine how I’ll fare at sea again for the first time since returning to Ferelden from Kirkwall. I know what you’d say—take the longer route through Orlais. But first, we both know that’s counterintuitive to the urgency at hand, and second, I’d rather let Dorian win a score of chess games against me before I spend a minute longer in Orlais than I have to, for anything.

Speaking of Dorian, he told me in his most recent correspondence that you’d already tried to adopt about ten cats from the streets of Minrathous. Darling, we both know Cat isn’t fond of competition, we’ve got a full house as it is with the new pups. How do we plan to feed these cats? To house them? To transport them back to Ferelden? Please consider…reconsidering.

I digress. Ellinor, I know you are more than capable—of anything, of everything and more that I could never dream of doing myself. You are the strongest person I know. Still, it goes without saying that I worry for you. I fear for your safety—it’s kept me awake, tossing and turning, every night since you left my side. All these years, and I’ve never been able to stop worrying. If I could be there now, be your sword and your shield and your advisor all over again, I’d do it in a heartbeat. In a single breath. All this is to say please stay safe and be careful, and I will be there as soon as my feet can carry me.

All of my love, yours, eternally, Cullen

~~~

Darling,

You’re right about the urgency we’re dealing with. I don’t even have to say this, because you’ve seen it firsthand as well as I have. But in better times, I certainly would suggest you take the longer route to get here. I know you despise Orlais. Believe me when I say you’re going to despise Tevinter as well. In fact, when I told our friends you were on your way, Harding took on an especially sympathetic expression, and Dorian merely cackled in my face. There’s magic abound here, love. And I know you’ve gotten more used to it, and I know you cope better now than you used to, but I still need you to know. It’s not like the south. It’s unchecked and it’s everywhere, and I just want you to be prepared.

Maevaris is looking forward to meeting you—Dorian’s all but sung your praises to her—and so is Rook, though she reminds me at times of Hawke and I imagine your personalities may clash a bit, were the situation at hand not so dire. Morrigan is here as well. I can just about see your eyes rolling as you read this. So get it out of the way now, before you arrive.

As soon as your feet can carry you? Poor Lady. She’s quite spry for a mare her age, and it’d wound her to know you discredit her efforts this way. I promise not to tell her you said that.

I’m sorry—it’s not fair for me to joke. I know you mean every word that you say. In truth, it hurts my heart to see you worry this way, especially after all the pains we’ve gone through to build a quiet life for ourselves after the Inquisition. I wish it were not so. I wish this wasn’t happening. I wish we were at home again, picnicking in the fields with no bigger concern than what fruits we want from the market the next day, or which friends we want to visit with next. I hate that I have to be here. I hate that I’m without you. Worst of all, I hate that you have to travel to Tevinter of all places just to be with me again. If it were in my power, I’d have made sure you never set foot in the city of Minrathous, because I know you’re going to hate it here.

Dorian saw me write that. He said you need to grow a thicker skin.

Anyway. I’m being careful. I promise. I will see you soon, my love.

Yours, Ellinor

P.S. I did not adopt ten cats. Dorian made me put one back because apparently it belonged to the fruit merchant, and I was “stealing.”

[guacamolleee]

Heck yeah Thedas Weekend! How about the fluff prompt:

“Sorry, I didn’t hear a word you said, I was too busy thinking about how much I wanted to kiss you.”

With Emmrich and your Rook, Thana!

thanks for the prompt!!! featuring Thana's terrible crush for one Emmrich Volkarin. For @thedasweekend

Set during Veilguard, but pre-relationship. 538 words.

“As you can see here, the etheric reticulation found in the spiritual—”

Emmrich's chest contracted and expanded as he breathed and talked, his shirt and vest taut on his torso, well-formed and tailored to a fit, taking in air then expelling it as his mouth and tongue shaped the words. Spirits and bonds and the flow of the Fade's energies — sounds left his lips but Rook couldn't quite hear it, distracted by the bob of his throat, and the crinkles around his mouth.

Rook wondered what it would be like to trace it — the wrinkles on his brow, the crow's feet by his eyes, following his hairline with her fingers, until she brushed his jaw and her thumb was under his lip. It would be soft, she thought, his lips — speaking of spirits and the Fade as she climbed onto his lap, ground onto him, her heat against his, her hands on his starched collar, unpinning his—

“Rook?” Emmrich's tongue darted out to wet his lip, a pause as he cocked his head at her.

She snapped back to the conversation. What was he talking about again? Something about the spirits in the Lighthouse. Or the Crossroads?

“I'm sorry, what was that?” She reddened, mortification coloring her face at being caught.

His eyebrows furrowed, concerned. “Are you alright, my dear? You seem unfocused.”

“I'm—” Her voice was high-pitched, and she cleared her throat, face flushing further. She tried again, trying to keep her voice even. Be cool, be collected. Right. “I'm fine.”

Emmrich looked unconvinced. “If you're feeling unwell, please do not hide it, Rook.” He stepped forward into her space and Rook froze in place. This close she could smell his aftershave and cologne, potash and oakmoss in her nose. “Allow me to help you.”

“I— uh—”

“You’re unusually red.” He inspected her face, frowning seriously. Rook only flushed further. “May I touch you?”

Rook blinked, then blinked again — brain not catching up to her mouth, saying the only thing running through her mind. “Yes, please.”

Her voice was breathless, maybe just a tinge desperate.

Yes, please? Yes, please? Andraste's fucking tits. She silently begged the Maker to strike her on the spot right as the words fled from her mouth. Or perhaps He could find her a nice hole to crawl into, or a cliff she could throw herself off of. Rivain was nice this time of the year, the sea was right there—

Emmrich pressed his ungloved hand to her forehead, brushing her bangs aside with a heart-seizing sort of gentleness, muttering softly. “Warm, too warm, my dear.”

His hand slid down to her cheek and she leaned into him, pressing her nose into his palm. He smelled like magic, the sharp edge of ozone dulled by the smell of sage and elfroot and Emmrich.

They both froze and blinked at each other.

“Rook, I—”

“Just a little under the weather.” She laughed like an idiot, high-pitched and screechy, recoiling from him as if burned and running to the door. “Don't want you to catch it — talk to you later!”

“Wait, Rook—”

Rook fled before he finished, the memory of his warm hand and soft lips bright in her mind.

[elfroot-and-laurels]

Days 3 & 5: Faith and Home

An excerpt from A Study of Dalish Clans: On Tradition and Ceremony, by Brother Genitivi.

Clan Lavellan is among the many Dalish clans that have evolved their own unique style of vallaslin, the ‘blood writing’ that marks the full entrance of a child into adulthood and therefore into clan membership. In Clan Lavellan, and their nearest relative clan, Clan O’Cathasaigh, all blood writing dye is made with the vibrant—and rare—dye of the royal elfroot plant, whose leaves, when crushed and treated with the proper assemblage of herbs and magic, turn to a blue more rich and royal than any human dyes. When a child prepares to become an adult and choose their vallaslin, Clan Lavellan engages in much celebration, and there are many days of ceremony that precede the actual event of the vallaslin application.

First and most important are the retellings of their oral histories and traditions, in which the child entering adulthood must join with the clan’s Keeper to share the stories. By the end of the storytelling ceremony, the child will have demonstrated their knowledge of their chosen god and therefore their chosen vallaslin, proving their worthiness for taking on the markings that will shape their future. Second, and most complicated, comes the process of making the dye, which sometimes requires weeks of foraging to produce the amount of royal elfroot leaves needed, as well as the additional components secret to the clan’s Keeper. The third and final step is the ceremony of the blood writing itself, a private moment for the new adult and the Keeper, meant for reflection, contemplation, and commitment.

[elfroot-and-laurels-moved]

for the kiss promps: finally kissing the person you’ve been pining for . - for cullen and la''ara?? (also good luck with your grant applications!!)

Thank you Rhia! Nothing more humbling than having to write why you believe you should get funding so you can finish your degree 🥲 And I already have their first kiss written out for their canon but...technically this still counts since Cullen is the one who instigates that kiss.

                La’ara’s heart thrums in their chest, like the beating of a bird’s wings. The sudden space between her mouth and Cullen’s is strange and unwelcome—a sudden shift of reality after so long spent wanting to kiss him. When they focus their eyes once more, are really able to see Cullen in front of them, they understand why. Cullen looks down at her with eyes half drunk and half terrified, searching her face for any telltale sign of regret. A strange thing to do when their fingers are still twined with the ends of his curls at the nape of his neck.                 “I—I’m—” he begins, and already La’ara can feel him pulling away, back into himself, rationalizing his self-denial.                 “No,” she says, cutting off his apology before it can begin, pressing her lips to his once more, the first time she’s ever done so. This kiss is even more hungry than the first, more conscious and aware, more purposeful and seeking. This kiss is everything that has been building in La’ara’s chest since they first met Cullen back in Haven. This kiss is the end and the beginning and it is not enough, she isn’t close enough. They stand on the tips of their toes, palms flush against Cullen’s cheeks now, and despite themself, they can feel tears welling in the corners of their eyes.                 When the two of them break apart this time, Cullen is smiling.

[secret-smut-sideblog]

It Happened Quiet

(a short lucanis x f! rook drabble. cause I'm normal and not impaled in a spike pit 👍)

PG-13 - developing feelings, drug use (weed), sloppy makeout yesss, spite being a shit, yearning, pining, the works

Masterlist

-

"You're kidding." Rook's eyes stayed on the ceiling. Taking the royal elfroot cigarette as he offered it back.

"Cross my heart." Lucanis edged a smile, his body heavy and still.

The herbs had been her idea 'Old elf remedy,' she claimed. Something to help him sleep. Rook had offered to stay in case he had a bad reaction. And he had been planning to sleep, but they had fallen in loose limbs on the pantry floor. Just enjoying each other's proximity and pleasantly lost in deep winding conversation.

It was all very new to him. The imbibing herbs, sure, but moreso, the pleasure of her company.

He liked her voice, the way her Nevarran accent softened and fluttered over words. He liked how easy it was to be near her. Like she had always been there, he just hadn't looked up at the right moment yet.

How the conversation had landed on intimacy, he wasn't sure, but talking with her proved to be a journey led with many delightful detours. But the herbs had taken most of the shame out of him, so he didn't mind.

She propped her head on an elbow, peering down at him good naturedly. Pointing with the two fingers holding the cigarette.

"All that suave and you've been with 'two, maybe two and a half' lovers?" She appraised him, but then seemed to really consider it. To consider him. "Well, I guess you were probably not afforded a lot of private time, huh?"

He tapped the tip of his nose, confirming her. He liked how intuitive she was. Explaining himself was often a shameful exercise. One he was always in fear of failing, somehow.

"Hmm, I mean, I don't have much room to talk." She mused, falling back in a flop. "I'm only experienced from my little impromptu trip from Necropolis." She waved her hand above her head.

"Is that so?" He led.

Keep talking. Talking to us. Talk all night.

Spite's distant, hazy voice demanded. He couldn't even refute it. He wanted the same.

"I mean, for the most part. I'm still not used to all the touching. The living are so warm." She offered the word almost in disgust, and Lucanis couldn't help but laugh. Finding his own hangups not that strange in her disclosure.

"Gloves help." He offered.

"True. But people usually aren't into being fondled with gloves that have handled the dead."

"My gloves are blood-soaked, too, cariño."

The endearment slipped out before he could catch it, but she took it without breaking her stride.

"Oh sure, but the whole assassin thing, it's romantic, no?" Her accent picked up, lilting through words. Setting his foolish heart fluttered under the calm of his limbs.

"Eh, whose to say." She sighed as if he had verbalized his disagreement. "I should let you sleep, anyway."

No! Don't let her leave!

"Goodnight, Lucanakis."

His heart fully shuddered in his chest. Bolting up onto a forearm to pause her gathering her things.

She stared wide-eyed at his sudden intensity, but didn't pull away from it. Appraising him more with curiosity after a moment.

Panic hot in his belly.

Now what, little man? Spite cackled. Tick, tock! She's waiting!

But he was wrong. Cause it was her.

She smiled sweetly, seeing his intention. Sitting cross-legged across from him. Only taking his hand.

Her touch was a shock to his system. Skin cool and rivaling a petal, curling his fingers over hers. Thumb gently grazing his knuckles.

Just that small intimacy was overwhelming. Spite hissed demand after demand in his ear to let him in. But Lucanis narrowed his world to just the sweet of her caressing. Staring at their joined hands in astonishment.

He wondered how she learned this. This tenderness. Was it inherent in her? Was it in him as well, somewhere deep and dormant? Or is this how she touched corpses as they were tended?

The thought sent no disgust through him. He imagined the peace of being still and cracked open down the middle in her care. Her kind hands soothing him on a gurney. No longer there to feel her touch but given softness regardless.

Such a silly thing. To be gentle with a corpse.

He liked her so much.

Oh. Oh no.

His hand reached out tentatively to her knee, watching the appendage as if it was foreign to him. Cupping the curve under his palm. Strong and solid beneath his uncertain grip. Testing that same sweeping of his thumb, looking up to gauge her reaction.

Her lips had fallen in a soft part, hazy eyes seeking his own reaction. Darting over his lips in turn.

She leaned toward him, the air softened in anticipation. A warm and heavy miasma surrounded them. A pocket of the world where only they lived.

His hand trembled on her knee, frozen in place as she drew ever closer. Heart crashing into his ribcage. Eyes darting over every inch of her beautiful face. So near him that he could feel the breath leaving her.

Her hand raised and slid over his cheek. Fingers splaying and holding the tender of him. Pressing her cool balm into the frantic skin.

He nearly whimpered as his eyes closed, leaning his cheek into her palm like a hopeful stray rubbing against a leg. Basking in just one fleeting moment of comfort.

This was more than enough to last him for months. Years, even. Then the plush of her lips slid against his mouth.

He moaned, a small sound. Maker, she felt like lightning. Arcing across him in urgent pulses. His body fired on all cylinders as he gathered her to him, grasping into her sides. Kissing her back with rising fervor.

No, closer. He needed closer.

He crushed his lips into hers, moaning in earnest from deep in his chest. Rising onto knees, pulling her up with him. Smearing his need into her perfect mouth.

Fuck, more. More!

More!

Spite's roar pulled him away. Gasping and reeling back from the animal hunger he hadnt even known had been coiled inside him. Shame flipped in his belly.

But Rook only found his eyes again.

"You okay?"

"It's Spite." He shook his head mournfully.

"I could entertain him for a while, give you a break." She rose back to feet, smiling down at him with her cardigan folded over her arm.

"No!" He shuffled to feet.

Yes! YES!

Spite danced gleefully around her.

She gave a little jump and laughed, feeling him there.

"I have a lot of experience with spirits, Lucanis. All kinds. I'll be okay."

Yes, she's fun! You're never fun!

"Don't go far." He urged in a solemn hush.

"I won't. Get some rest." She smiled as Spite had already started playing with her hair, surely in an effort to annoy her. But she seemed to find it endearing, appraising her invisible tormentor with the teasing scowl you give a misbehaving child.

Spite seemed delighted by this turn of events, fully devoting his attention to her. Following as she left the pantry in a quiet sweep of feet.

Lucanis closed his eyes, settling in a slump against the wall. Alone. Maker, he hadn't been truly alone in so long.

Reverent in the silence.

A gift. A moment of peace.

He leaned his head into his palms. Groaning out through fingers.

"Mierda..."

He really liked her.

~

[jaspercafe]

FIVE for Silver (AO3)

Pairing: Lucanis Dellamorte x Rook

Words: 1247

Rating: General Audiences

He sits her down on the chaise, rummaging through each drawer in her chambers for whatever he can find — linen straps, bandages, elfroot — anything to make the bleeding stop.

But she can barely register him, her focus fixed on her arms — on the blood painting her skin like red ink, telling a story she’s so tired of reading.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

And five.

Five more scars to add to her collection — each one proof she’s survived, but never proof of the fight actually being over.

She doesn’t know why that stings as much as it does. Fighting isn’t new to her — how could it be? She lives in a world of dragons and demons, cultists and dictators, each one clawing for more power than they have any right to.

The Shadows taught her early on that the moment she stops fighting is the moment she hands her power over to someone else.

And like hell she’s going to do that.

Yet, as she watches Lucanis frantically wipe the blood from her wounds — as if he can erase them, as if they won’t still be there in the morning, or next month, faded but never gone — a thought slips through the cracks. One she’s tried to drown out, to chase away, only for it to return more determined, curling around her mind like smoke, whispering itself back into existence until she has no choice but to listen.

What if she does stop?

What if she puts her sword down for the last time?

Maybe then, she’d remember what her skin looks like beneath the wounds, before they piled up like trinkets in a collection she never wanted.

Maybe she could wash her hair without watching the water swirl red at her feet.

Maybe her shoulders wouldn’t ache with the phantom weight of a shield she no longer feels strong enough to carry.

Maybe, just maybe, she could remember what it feels like to be beautiful again.

—

Lucanis feels something fall onto his hands as he sterilizes Rook’s arms.

A wet droplet.

Then another.

And another.

Until the storm that’s been brewing finally unleashes, the tears streaming down her face like a heavy rainfall.

He reaches for her, the vial of antiseptic in his grasp tumbling to the floor as he trades it for her face, cupping her cheeks and forcing her watery gaze on his.

“Rook,” he pleads, brushing away each tear with his thumb. “Talk to me.”

“Is this all that’s left?”

Lucanis’s brows knit together. “What do you mean?”

She gestures to herself, a hollow laugh escaping her. “Is this all I am now? Blood and dirt, scars and bruises. Is there anything left of the person I used to be — before Solas’ ritual, before Varric, hell, even before the Shadows. Is she still there?”

“Of course she is, Rook,” Lucanis replies immediately, his hands falling from her face to wrap around her fingers.

"I don’t know about that," she replies, her eyes squeezing shut. “That girl used to wear dresses, not armor. She used to wear necklaces, not bruises leftover from Antaam hands wrapped around her throat too tightly."

“Your life does not have to end where the fight begins," Lucanis counters. "You can still have what you once craved — the things that remind you of who you were, before this all began."

"Those things are a luxury," she mutters, bitterness curling around the words. "And luxuries aren’t meant for people like me."

Lucanis studies her, his jaw tightening.

No.

He refuses to let her believe that.

She’s the one who showed him there’s more to life than killing and death. That life can be as sweet as it is bitter.

She’s the one who taught him that feelings don’t always have to be filed into the shape of a weapon — that they can be raw, boundless, like an ocean drenching him from head to toe. That she could be the harbor that offers him safe refuge when that ocean becomes too overwhelming.

She’s the one who defied the odds when they were never in her favor, who made him dare to hope, even when he was taught that hope was just another hole in his walls for enemies to exploit.

And now, the woman who shattered every rigid belief he held — about life, about himself — wants to reduce herself to nothing more than her scars.

No. He won’t let her.

“Stay here,” he instructs, pushing himself off the chaise. “I will be back soon.”

And before she can question it, he’s heading for the door, a new resolve in his eyes as he makes his way to the Eluvian leading to Treviso.

—

When he returns, he’s relieved to find her still in her chambers, swiping away stray tears as she hears him enter.

“Lucanis,” she whispers. “Where did you go?”

Wordlessly, he takes her hand, threading his fingers through hers as he guides her to the far end of the room, where a floor-length mirror leans against the wall.

He grabs her hips, shifting her body to align her with her reflection.

“Keep your eyes forward,” he murmurs, slipping a hand into his pocket. When he withdraws it, a silver gleam catches the low light.

He moves behind her, his fingers brushing aside her curls, exposing the delicate curve of her neck. Slowly, he presses his lips to the skin beneath her ear. Then, along her jawline. The soft dip of her throat. And finally, one last kiss to the juncture of her shoulder — a kiss that lingers, like the final, drawn-out note of a love song.

She's so lost in his touch that she barely notices when his lips leave her, until, suddenly, something cold slithers over her neck, replacing his warmth.

Her breath catches.

A silver necklace.

“Most people see silver and think of nobility — kings, queens, emperors,” he murmurs, securing the clasp. “But the ones most worthy of silver are those forged like it — tempered by fire, bent, beaten, but never broken.”

His arms slip around her waist. “Like you.”

She stares into the mirror, her reflection blurred by unshed tears. Her fingers brush the metal, her lips parting softly.

How long has it been since silver touched her skin?

“It’s beautiful,” she whispers, turning in his arms to face him.

Lucanis shakes his head, his eyes locking onto hers with a quiet sincerity — like he’s trying to will the truth into her bones. “You’re beautiful. You always have been, and you always will be. Nothing in this world can take that away from you."

Something inside her gives way. A dam breaking, a tether snapping. She surges forward, her lips colliding with his, her hands tangling into his hair.

Words aren’t enough. They could never hold everything she feels for him — all her love, all her gratitude — but maybe a kiss can breach the surface.

He doesn't hesitate to kiss her back, his tongue brushing hers softly, his hands fisting into the fabric at her back as if he can pull her into him entirely. Each kiss grows longer, deeper, and he savors them like the first taste of Antivan coffee after a long, sleepless night — until they're breathless, forced to breathe the air of the Lighthouse instead of the breath in each other's lungs.

When they finally part, she presses her forehead to his, her next words exhaled like a prayer. “Thank you, Lucanis.”

He runs his thumb over the silver resting at her collarbone. "For you, anything."

—

A/N: This was written as part of the Counting Crows collab on the Lucanismancer Discord! Please check out the rest of the series, as each of these authors is incredibly talented! <3

[lucinedoodles]

Katica Lavellan seeing Solas again after so long.

He knows how broken she was after Trespasser- how her mind fell into insanity when she saw the blood on her hands.

She was never meant to be a leader. She is too kind and her heart too soft for the cruelties of leadership that he indirectly thrusted upon her with his Orb.

He knows she knows the truth now- knows the kind of evil he unleashed on the Titans and the things he had done in pursuit of the greater good

Solas expects anger and betrayal.

He needs her to be angry and to lash out, to hit him and demand answers-

But she doesn't.

She touches his injured face with her good hand and he finds himself pressing his cheek into the palm of her hand, the familiar warmth and scent of elfroot breaking down the last of his weakening resolve.

He chases her touch when she draws her hand away.

He watches as her hands sign the words, "You look tired, ma'vhenan."

My heart.

After everything he had done to the world, to her, he is still her Solas. He is still her heart and always will be.

She knows his greatest fear and she refuses to let him spend the rest of eternity alone.

She takes his hand and walks with him into the Fade.

Two broken pieces- finally becoming whole together.