#niamh lavellan rutherford

[greypetrel]

Glósóli ☀️

First art of the year is a pensive nepo baby in technicolor. (my cullavellan baby, Niamh)

[greypetrel]

Space Awareness 💃🐦‍⬛️🕺

Nothing like dancing, if you need to teach your demon spirit friend to better distinguish space. The Lighthouse is in the Fade, after all, and a somniari -albeit a young one- can and will blast a nice song on repeat until said friend learns. (Lucanis was supposed to be lured too, but he will only have the song stuck in his head for the next two weeks.)

If you reblog this: please don't tag it as rookanis, she's Niamh, my cullavellan baby, and she's still a minor.

[greypetrel]

Next-gen Triumvirate 🌋🏴‍☠️🦅

Day 5 of OC Kiss Week, 14 of Kiss Art February. When the prompt list put The Reluctant Bride by Auguste Toulmouche, I knew the one in the centre had to be Niamh. The death glare was hers. Adding the other two teen blorbos: Adriel, belonging to @dungeons-and-dragon-age, and Fluffy the Harpy of @cao-the-dreamer. Surprise! :P

Niamh's not waiting to be married off (if she was, I guess the poor groom just said he had to go back home, the dog ate his homework and his grandma died, he can't do it, he's sorry), but they're clearly plotting something all together. Revenge, world conquer, a raid in the kitchen to get the full cake which just came out of the oven, your choice.

[greypetrel]

WIP WedThursday

Tagged by @inquisimer, thank you so much!

Loveliest weekend away + work to catch up + ten thousand things, the most I drew and I can show, beside studies, is...

Sloooowly going forward with nepo baby dresses. The one on the right is the new one, and it's her final armour. Have the grumpiest ballerina around.

Inked this Whale non-AU thingy, finally. I inked it on a tablet, with the usual brush at less than half the stabilization I usually use and partly on a bus. Surprise surprise I was that much quicker and it isn't horrible. Studying daily helps! (but also napping.)

Tagging: @ndostairlyrium (esci l'oca) @salsedinepicta (for next week) @shivunin @pinayelf @rosieofcorona @saltyowlets and YOU

[greypetrel]

Timely saving 🐦‍⬛️🌈🦅

Day 7 of OC Kiss Week, 16 of Kiss Art February. Niamh is being gently helped up by @diesvitae 's Nadir, on Psyche Revived by Cupid's Kiss by Antonio Canova. She isn't getting revived today, thank you very much.

It's really their moms forcing them to pose for a nice picture, really. "Aaaw, look, they get along so well! :)". (Il Signor Canova will forgive me if I changed the boob grab.) (they have some disagreement over Nadir's plan. Niamh could help... Once convinced.)

(I have two extras for this challenge so it's not over)

[greypetrel]

Throwing shade and scoffing is apparently an important lesson for every new Mourn Watch pupil. And for once, Niamh is listening for real.

But also "That hand looks so cool hey listen my mamae lost one too can you tell me how- Ehr, I mean. Buuuuuh, trapping poor spirits is bad!"

[greypetrel]

The Diva and the Gremlin

Couldn't resist a nice template, and I did it for both of them. Niamh isn't my main Rook but a companion, but I'm playing with her as Rook and wanted to include her. Priscilla finds jersey incredibly offensive if not for sportswear ONLY, but she'll wear a long velvet sheath dress to the post office.

Download the template here!

Original post by @otherpigeon

[greypetrel]

Post game, whenever Niamh goes to Minrathous (some junior project in politics run by Dorian, no doubt), she works part time at the café Rook bought Lucanis.

She may be spoiled and a nepo baby, but her time with the Veilguard taught her something. So: she does work hard, is good at it -easy not to spill a thing if you can have it levitate before hitting the floor, but still. She's always employee of the month, whenever she's there!

Sure, the only other empolyee is Spite, and Spite refuses not to spit in the nasty client's orders, possibly when they're looking. There's not much of a challenge, but still.

[greypetrel]

I was very unsure on what I would choose for Emmrich's personal mission with Niamh as Rook.

On the one hand, she wouldn't say goodbye to Manfred, not that way.

On the other.

She saw Varric die and blames herself for it (She told him to go talk with him). Mamae didn't stay with her, she went back south. Rationally she knows she was left up north with Harding and Dorian to protect her, the situation South is dreadful.

On the other hand... She grew attached to Emmrich. He's kind to her, doesn't seem to mind that she's abrasive and won't listen to him easily when he tries to teach her.

She's not ready to face the fact that he's going to die sooner than the rest.

... She could jump at him gaining lichdom.

Manfred can reform as a Spirit and have a new body if they all remember him strong enough, no? Maybe there's a spell, Spirits don't really die.

She asked if all the others in the Veilguard could become liches. And papa too.

[greypetrel]

Dream!Illario is losing his pants and gaining a clown make up in 3... 2... 1...

(I didn't have this mission on the first run and WAH. Glad I had it with Niamh. They're besties, by the way.)

[greypetrel]

25 for Niamh!

It’s half Niamh, half not. I compensate the angst I lacked with the Raina one. I’d like to add that this is full on DAV spoilers, and this is very much an AU.

The more I grow, the more I dislike the "teen sent to battle" trope. Not because it's bad, but because it SELDOM explores the implications. "But Arja, you did it too!". Oh yes, I did, but because the ending if you do certain choices is...

Just Like Falling Asleep

25. Cost/Consequences [ 2710 words | CW: Major character death; DAV ending spoilers. ]

He was my north, my south, my east and west, My working week and Sunday rest, My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song. I thought that love would last forever; I was wrong. The stars are not wanted now; put out every one. Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun. Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood. For nothing now can ever come to any good. - Funeral Blues, W.H. Auden

Niamh rolled around just in time not to be trampled by a humongous scaly paw, with too big, too sharp talons.

The pavement under the paw cracked and collapsed, and Niamh yelped as the slided down. Her butt fell on the debris, and she stopped just when her feet pressed on scales, a jolt of fresh pain exploding on her ankle.

She still had her staff in her hand, and even if said hand was scraped raw to the side it was good. In spite of the burn, she could wave the staff, flopping with her back to the ground and aiming a fireball to the huge eye that lowered to look at her, too big, too blood-streaked, malevolent in a way she wouldn’t have imagined an animal to be.

But that wasn’t an animal, or it wasn’t anymore, no more than the giant wolf at her shoulders, struggling to get back on his four paws in spite of blood trickling down one shoulder.

The fireball was big, but it flickered, and when it hit the muzzle of Lusacan, it all but exploded in a firework of sparkles, as the Archdemon shook his head. Barely annoyed by her spell, as one of the horses back home would just shake his head to shoo off a fly that buzzed too close to its head.

It didn’t work.

It wouldn’t work to use dream magic - Solas had warned her not to, the Blight might spread and corrupt her too, more deeply than it would have just by drinking blighted blood. If elemental magic was equally pointless…

For a moment, the dragon snorted aloud, very annoyed, and hesitated to look at her, up above, the two sets of horns making him look like he had been crowned. Niamh wasn’t her mother, she knew not to read animal much more than just 15 years of living in close proximity to some of them, but she still distinguished a distinct predatory streak.

Confidence’s grasp let go of her, she felt the Spirit slipping away from her conscience, with a last warning that Niamh couldn’t hear. Her heart beat too quick, too loud, the waking world was just too present. The Fade felt far, in spite of the Veil being paper-thin and fragile, and for the first time since she could remember, Niamh felt truly, completely alone.

She was terrorized.

But when the dragon moved, terror made her quick. She ignored the pain in her ankle, and kicked herself up, scrambling out and away from the small crater the giant paw made. She had just the time to evoke a barrier around herself, before jaws full of sharp teeth snapped around her. The barrier crashed, and she was pushed forward by the impact, landing on her front and sliding forward. It hurt, it hurt a lot, her stupid heart wouldn’t stop beating too hard and fast, she felt her teeth weirdly soft from fear, her stomach was knotted, no one whispered encouragements to her anymore. Alone. The pain at least was a good distraction.

She felt weirdly empty. When she tried to reach for the Fade, scrambling on all four and away, tears filling her vision without her really wanting to, she found it void. There was no Confidence there, no Cole filling her with warmth, no Love, no Curiosity, nothing.

All she found was a tall and lanky figure, with pale blond curls as dirty and matted as she felt her own, with limbs too thin, ribs protruding, and spider-like legs gently moving towards her. It smiled at her, stretching a hand.

I’m the only thing you got. Come, child, it’ll be easy enough, I am already here.

Run. Came a second voice, one she knew.

Niamh groaned aloud, squeezing her eyes and averting her attention. Fear was never a good spirit, or one she would trust, even without the Dread Wolf’s warning not to. But as she scrambled back up her feet and ran away, ducking between four oversized canine paws running between her and the dragon, all she could find was Fear. No matter how hard she scraped the Fade.

She let herself fall behind a column, panting hard for exertion and pain, and just those, she forced herself to think.

Maybe mamae was right in saying she shouldn’t be there on the final battle. Maybe mamae had been right all along.

No.

No, absolutely not.

She could help. She could, her friends trusted her as such. She was good, she did help already, she would help again, two Somniari were better than just one, against an Archdemon. She wouldn’t have let everyone down once more.

She owed it to mamae and papa whom she had to show that she could take care for herself, so they could stop worrying, to Lucanis who taught her to move better on a battlefield and wield a dagger and found a way so broccoli wouldn’t taste so foul just for her, to Spite who was her friend, to Neve who had cared for her and brought her snacks and taught her ice magic better, to Emmrich who had promised her he would have accepted her in his class next year, to Bellara that had helped her with the Veil Jumpers and always involved her in experiments around the Lighthouse, to Taash that she was just learning to know better, after her mom’d death brought them closer, to Harding who had gone out of her way to keep her safe and sound and was another aunt.

Most of all, she owed it to Davrin.

Even if the thought still brought tears to her eyes. She owed it to him, who had looked out for her, never treated her like a child, listened to her when she told him of what she thought Assan needed and found a way to let her play with him, let her feel happy and like a child again, who had been the first one she had told about her home and the farm and her family, who had let her nap on his armchair, hugged with the griffon, who had told her about the Dalish and what was a clan like without ever making her feel like she was out of place in asking. Davrin who checked she ate and who praised her every goal, who cheered for her or patiently taught her what she was doing wrong, as she was an adult.

Davrin who had died when she had been left at the Lighthouse.

For Davrin, she rubbed the tears from her cheeks, fixed her grasp on her staff and rose back on her feet, as he would have told her to do.

Limping on her right, she rounded the column.

She would not be afraid of a giant (and quite mangy) wolf fighting with a giant dragon. She couldn’t use dreams against a dragon, but Rook had assigned her there, so she had to do something. She could.

She had no offensive power against a creature so big, but maybe…

“Hey!” She yelled at the top of her lungs, grabbing the bottom of her staff with both hands and swaying it around in a big circle. It gave the spell more momentum and reach, uncle Bull taught her it was the main difference between one and two-handed swords, a lifetime ago when she never had thought it could have turned out useful. But it did: the fireball flew quick in a wide arc, and exploded on the muzzles of the two beasts.

Sorry! She whispered, mentally, to Solas. She wasn’t that sorry, but it was the polite thing to say.

It didn’t serve as Niamh had hoped: sure, it was a distraction, but it was a distraction for both, not just for Lusacan.

The dragon was quicker -less wounded- to recover. He roared and pushed the wolf away, raising on both front paws and pushing on the wolf’s chest.

Wolf that landed back and rolled, wobblying to get back on all four.

The dragon, tho, wasn’t looking at the Dread Wolf.

The dragon was looking at Niamh, the weak link.

The annoying fly that he should have crushed way sooner.

“Come on, come on.” Niamh hissed, directed at Solas, as she turned and ran away.

Lucanis, Harding and Davrin, and Strife and Irelin before them, all had been focused, when training her for a fight, on how she should take advantage of being smaller and leaner and quicker.

Duck, run, gain distance, not tank, never tank.

Niamh remembered, jumping between fallen stones and debris, zig-zagging around, as quick as she could. There was an opening in a palace upfront, which seemed sturdy enough. A door fell from its hinges, leaving the opening wide. If she could reach it-

The dragon roared closer, she heard Solas’ cry in her head for her to run. And a not so nice calling her foolish, but she ignored him. She gave him an opening, after all.

The thuds of the dragon’s paws sounded closer.

But the door was closer, as well.

Adrenaline made her forget the pain in her ankle, her being sore, her breath coming in ragged.

She was almost there-

- sharp pain, all of a sudden, in the middle of her chest.

She didn’t feel shame, for once, as she called for her mamae, her mouth filling with hot liquid.

It lasted but a moment.

A blink of her eyes, and then it was just like falling asleep.

---

Aisling looked at the body and felt more lucid than she had in years.

She observed her face. Her dear face she hadn’t taken a closer look at in more than a year. A face she could never, ever forget. Straight nose, slightly upturned, and hooded eyes, just like her father. They were closed, but she knew they were the same hazel as him. Her upper lip was bigger than the lower, like her. The gentle, adorable taper of her ears, when she delicately moved the wild curls she loved so much behind it. She had grown in the time she was away, and yet she still had pimples.

She would have protested the gesture, complained that she wasn’t a child anymore and that she could fix her hair herself, normally.

Now, she dind’t.

Oh, how she wished for those lips to curl in a smile, when she bent to kiss her cheeks and her nose.

She fixed Niamh’s hands on her belly, fingers crossed together. Her nail polish was chipped, but still there, nails coloured in lilac, turquoise and peach, alternatively. Delicately, delicately, as if any stronger movement could wake her.

Foolish.

She must not wake her.

She wouldn’t wake up.

She should let her rest a while still.

Rest was the only think she would ever do.

She didn’t hear Emmrich talking, at her shoulders. Or well, she did, but his words were meaningless. She didn’t want some minutes to say goodbye, she wanted her daughter back.

“I know what to do.” She announced, with a last caress over soft, cold skin, calmer than anyone would have expected.

“Aisling-”

Cullen tried to stop her, closed his hand on her shoulder. But his voice was broken, so Aisling just placed her hand on his fingers, and gently moved them away. She turned and smiled at him.

“I know what to do. And I’m sorry about it.”

She insisted, as polite and composed as Josephine ingrained in her brain, all those years ago.

She rose, listening to no one, watching without seeing. She knew perfectly well, with the greatest clarity, what she had to do now, and so she did.

Ghilan’nain for guidance.

A couple of tentacles would have been nice, indeed.

She climbed her way up, to where Rook, Morrigan and Radha were trying to talk Solas down. A battered, wounded, finally looking like he was facing down his wrongs Solas.

Once the vision would have made her compassionate.

Now?

You won’t see me again, if you do it.

The Veil was so thin that she heard Cole speaking even in waking.

Aisling wondered if it was always like that, for Niamh.

She wondered so many things, so many ifs, but none of them mattered. Cole didn’t matter, either. Not now, not anymore.

“Goodbye, my friend. I am so grateful I met you and had you by my side.”

She didn’t turn to look and see whether Cole was disappointed. She knew he was. Kin spirits just know about each other, the Augur had taught her.

But if one thing would have changed a person, she wondered, and this thing was the one that mattered, it was the death of a daughter. And Aisling was now, after cleaning the dead body of her daughter and the hole in her chest (right on her heart) that the dragon left, tired of being compassionate.

The next step she took, with the same clarity of before, she felt the snap, and Cole drifted away.

The Veil was so thin, frayed, minutes away from breaking.

But she didn’t need it.

Rook’s hand on the dagger was bleeding.

Good.

Morrigan saw her, and from the expression on her face, Aisling knew the Witch understood. The Witch closed her eyes, in an assent.

Also, good.

A snap, and she saw Rook gasp, a shock ran through their body as Lavellan took control. Aisling forced Rook's fingers to loosen, maneuvering the blood that ran through the veins. Freed the lyrium dagger so she could easily take it for herself.

Radha turned, alarmed, and her eyes grew big.

“You asked me if he really had a heart, once.” She just told her, not breaking her hold on Rook, even if she felt some fight to her grasp. Pointless, since Aisling had magic over her blood. Years since the first and last time she used blood magic, but apparently it was a little like swimming.

Desperation was there, but she wasn’t afraid of it anymore.

She didn’t care anymore.

Solas looked at her and his expression froze, mouth agape.

But a split of a second.

Her sister couldn’t move fast enough.

She rose and downed the lyrium dagger deep, deep in Solas’ chest.

Over his heart, almost where Lusacan had dipped its talon in her daughter’s. Just higher enough that he wouldn't have died from it.

Someone yelled, Solas groaned, black blood trickling out of his mouth.

Aisling didn’t care.

She retracted her hand, dagger easily slipping out of flesh and armour.

“You took my daughter.” She reproached him, what had been her hahren, her friend, the person she spent 18 years convincing everyone he still had some good in himself.

He had all the good he needed to let her do, close his eyes and not protest when she pushed him back to fall into the Fade Rift and, finally, meet his fate.

A shockwave, as the Dread Wolf fell back and entered the prison.

Aisling’s concentration broke, and she had to let go of Rook. All four people left fell to the ground, blinded by the flash of light.

When the elf opened her eyes again, the sky was once more intact, the Veil felt further away from her conscience, but not flickering and shattering anymore. They were just amongst ruins and destruction.

Aisling didn’t feel any better.

But she doubted she would have ever felt any better.

She rose, brushing the front of her armour.

Rook groaned, scrambling back sitting and away from her. Terror marring their features, which felt satisfactory, but very out of character with what Aisling had known.

“You brought her here, on the field.” Aisling told them, not angry, not desperate, but with the same coldness she had had as Inquisitor, judging Erimond and mayor Dedrick. Stating the fact. Niamh wouldn’t have come if Rook hadn’t enabled her, they all knew. “If I ever see you again, you’ll wish I pushed you in that Rift as well.”

And with that, having said all that she had to say, having cleared her stance with all the parts involved, she turned her back, leaving the lyrium dagger there on the ground, and left the battlefield.

To a world saved again, but right there and then, the cost felt way to steep for it.

[greypetrel]

WIP Wednesday

Tagged by @shivunin, thank you hon!

Nothing much this week, what I had in drawing I posted it, and there's nothing new I can show. Something written under the cut tho. Ended Veilguard a second time, with Niamh as Rook. And pondering over what she would do after.

tagging you who are reading!

[ 646 words, DA4 ending very minor spoilers - No it doesn't follow the last thing I posted with her worry not ]

Niamh hated to admit it, and for at least a couple of years after the war, it left her totally furious.

She wasn’t there to hear it, but she’d been told. She had asked both her mother and Morrigan to tell her exactly what happened, in the very same words. And that single, one sentence, stayed with her ever since like a woodworm eating away at her thoughts, never truly seen but always on the backburn.

The Titans' dreams are mad from their imprisonment. I cannot kill the Blight, but I can help to soothe its anger.

It enraged in those first years.

Because if Solas knew how to soothe the Blight, why didn’t he.

Maybe Davrin would have been still alive, the thought brought so much anger to her that she just had to throw a fireball or a punch.

Mamae told her it was only normal, she saw too much, it was actually ok that she was angry, she should let it out. She showed her safe ways to let it out. Papa agreed, and when she felt it, he tossed her a training pole and nodded to the courtyard, at first, teaching her better form, sparring her every hit.

Later, when she moved to the Grand Necropolis to study, she was quick to find ways to end up into troubles. Vorgoth didn’t complain too much if she vented out throwing fireballs at random stone columns. The wisps she made angry, she could soothe, when she was done. It was dangerous to show so much emotion in the Necropolis, Niamh was there to see what happened. It was soothing, in a way, to turn and see she collected a group of wisps who now glowed red in anger, heated the atmosphere and reflected what she was feeling. It made her feel less alone -in those moments, she could not hear Confidence so well, and Cole only irritated her. But she had power over dreams and spirits, and she could easily calm them down. So it was ok for Vorgoth and Myrna, and the rest of the Mourn Watch. Emmrich could look at her with a worried face all he wanted, and wrote back home. As she never noticed he did. As there wasn’t a long letter full of trivialities and sappy reminders that everyone back home cheered for her and missed her so much, exactly the next day, each time it happened.

With time, it got better.

She concentrated on her studies, and put a real effort in them. A distraction enough from everything else.

And oh, she understood, now, why everyone had called her young in the Lighthouse. What she thought she knew was but a speckle of it. She had had basics, but she had lacked finesse.

Spirits were naturals at magic, they lived and breathe it, in a way that made explaining difficult. Such as Niamh had had difficulties in explaining Spite how to fake breathing, last time in Minrathous, when he had asked for her help. He was sure it was the fact that he wasn’t breathing to creep the customer of the café out. Niamh had not had the heart to tell him that no, it was the fact that Emmrich had tied him to a Qunari skeleton that caused fear. The talking Qunari skeleton that had too many golden baubles around his neck, a brocade waistcoat and rings, and now also breathed, only made the customers more creeped out, but Spite was happy. It was something.

Four years in the Necropolis, following Emmrich like a shadow and taking notes of everything he did, how he did it, exercising alone in her room at night taught her finesse and subtlety.

The professor was happy about her, and she was full with pride when four years later, she got an official proposal to join the Mourn Watch.

She refused it.

[greypetrel]

9, 15, 48 for both gals! :]

Hello Laya!! Thank you so much :3 The last one had me thinking LOL, I'll keep her first because it's shorter, the rest under the cut!

Tis the prompt list

48. A color, flower, animal, and weather to describe Rook:

Priscilla:

Colour: Electric pink Animal: Secretarybird Flower: Bougainvillea (passion, liveliness, life experiences) Weather: Sunny summer day

Niamh:

Colour: Periwinkle Animal: Goshawk Flower: Lupine (hunger for life, imagination, renewal) Weather: Misty sunrise

9. What is Rook like on the battlefield?

Priscilla: She's steadfast and as per her usual, a primadonna. Even on a battlefield, you will notice her. She's eye-catching, tall and broad, a flashy armour and a gold-plaqued shield with gemstones. You also notice her because she's charging you, but so you can admire her fashion choices from up close and die looking at something pretty. She fights on first line, has nice footwork, but prefers to be a bit slower and defend with her shield. Shield she'll use often and with pleasure to bash the enemy. Launch to hit an enemy that got too close to her friends. She tends to put herself in first position and tank. Partly because she's more used to fight on her own than in a group, partly because she can take a hit, she's paid to take a hit. Let her take that hit and give it back. There's some playfulness in her style, she smiles and laughs. If there's a joy to be found in a fight, she always finds it. She definitely is playing to win, tho.

Niamh: Papa told her to stay on the line and study her surroundings, first. "Work smarter, Nee, not harder". And that's what she did. She learnt in the Fade that papa was right, it's always better to know where you move and your enemy. She keeps silent, attacks you from afar, at first. Her fireballs are big and flashy, burns hot, but she's not very precise. Usually, it labels her as the weak link in the group, the easy one to get rid of. Except. Except, the scowling puppy was waiting for you to get in a better position to throw a meteor on your head. No need to be precise if you're causing a big crater. Oh, and she learnt to corrupt the ground from Emmrich. You manage to escape those? Oh that's good! You also managed to dodge the people protecting her? Good for you! A pity that aunt Radha, aunt Sera, and newly uncle Lucanis taught her where to stab you not to kill you, but to hurt you the most. :) She refrains from killing people, it doesn't mean she can't defend herself. She *can* and she *will*. Oh, have I mentione that she can snap and make you believe you're in the middle of your worst nightmare, and on top of that you're not even wearing pants?

15. What’s the first thing people notice when Rook enters a room?

Priscilla: Her presence. She has a large presence, between the flashy clothes, always very curated, very thought for, hairdos that on any other person with a bit less confidence will just look silly, graphic eyeliner in hot pink. She has a smile for everyone and a laughter for people who says something remotely bad. Will enter conversations naturally, make you feel like she's *someone*, like she's important. She's charismatic.

Niamh: Her hair if she's keeping it loose. She loves it long and loose and wild, even if it's unpractical. She ties it when she works, that's it. Next second is her eyes: it's intense, it's generally scowling at you, there's something burning behind them. That's the glance of a person who wants something and won't stop until she gets it. And she makes a lot of questions. But like. A lot.

[greypetrel]

3, 10, 13, and 14 for Niamh please! 💗

Hi Mo! Thank you so much!!

Tis the prompt list

3. What was Rook’s life before their faction?

She was happily living with her parents down in merry Ferelden. Her days were spent between helping out in the farm, pretending to be cleaning but really hiding with a book in the stables, or just climbing over the roof to avoid chores. The one chore she likes is in the clinic, actually! She helps mamae with the ex-Templars, they realized she is a somniari because she insisted on entering the clinic, and when she did magically everyone was asleep. She still helps them sleeping (she learnt to ask first).

Mamae teaches magic to the children of South Reach, and Niamh joins the lessons. She doesn't have friends her age but doesn't really care, they're all so boring (and tends to get scared when she talks about spirits), but she doesn't mind much. She can sneak a nap more to go and have fun with the Spirits in the Fade, after all. Or cause some other shenanigan with aunt Sera. Or try once again to convince her brother that going to sleep on the hammock outside is the best idea ever, think of how many stars he can see! The snow only will make the experience more magical. In summer, she and her brother spends the hottest months in Stone-Bear hold. She's an unofficial apprentice to Augur Sigrid. (Mamae and papa are a little worried about her, she does tend to sleep a little too much. Cole says she's ok, just a little lonely, but...) The best time is when all the aunts and uncles reach there and everyone is together and praises her for being clever and good with her magic. Uncle Dorian always brings her the best books from Tevinter!

10. Does Rook know their history? Do they know of the HoF, Hawke, the Inquisitor?

Hawke is aunt Raina *papa groans*, HoF is Lady Mahariel the wife of aunt Morrigan and mamae to Kieran. Kieran doesn't know it yet, but when she'll be of age they'll marry and live happily ever after. Or well, she told him, but he just laughed and called her cute. It wasn't very nice, she was serious. (she was also 8, he 22, but in her words "Age is relative Spirits don't care so why should we").

She knows mamae was the Inquisitor, of course. She hadn't been told all the worst details yet, but yes, she knows her history very well. To the point that she never touched a lyrium vial and will openly protest seeing anyone drinking some.

"Do you know what that thing does??"

13. Did Rook bring any trinkets/sentimental items to The Lighthouse?

She retrieved her mamae's grimoire -which she stole- from the Veil Jumpers. Bellara borrowed it and is using to help. Her staff was her present for the last birthday she spent with her family, she refuses to change it. The sweater she was wearing when she left was knitted for her by aunt Mia.

The Lighthouse recreated her and her brother's room (she tried desperately to have it change... But it's the one thing in the place she can't modify to her taste and it drives her crazy). So she still has her mabari plushie, Elnora, which was actually a gift she tricked Solas into gifting her (she has... Mixed feelings). And all the amulets her mother built to have her sleep more soundly. They're all projections but...

[greypetrel]

Second prompt from @shivunin, thank you so much! This helped me a lot defining stuff and a direction where her companion piece should go! :3

(if you reader wants to send a prompt... Tis the prompt list )

21. A letter from an enemy regarding Rook

The paper was found crumpled in the office of a Venatori base at the Docks. The calligraphy is elongated and elegant, but written heavily on the paper.

Rufus.

I do not care how many people you need to employ: I want that child in custody, possibly before the end of the month. Deploy as many people as you see fit to get rid of the bodyguards she travels with, it's important she gets in our hands.

She was seen with elements that notoriously works with the SD, she will be the key to prove DP works with them and finally cut the head of the snake for good. I have suspects on who she may really be: investigations in Arlathan brought forth that Aldwir is not a family name there. Probably fake. Whatever that girl is hiding it will be ammunition for us and for the glory of the Gods.

Re: your concerns.

It's just a child, if you and your henchmen are so easily bested by a girl that didn't even learn how to get rid of acne, I am seriously doubting your position amongst our ranks, and your right on even belonging here. All the impediments you listed are but excuses for your incompetence, show me I understand it poorly.

Don't make me take care of this myself, I already gave you plenty of chances and here I am, explaining the obvious all over again.

And since we're still reviewing all the basics: I want her alive. If she's to die, let me decide that.

You won't get another chance. Lucilla.