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lemonmoxy · 3 months ago

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Ships in the Night (3)

Summary: Mimir Ingellvar and Lucanis Dellamorte keep meeting each other for the first time during some of the worst moments of their lives.

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Chapter Three: Rook and Lucanis

Mimir is having a bad day. Like how it tends to go for them, it is a bad day in a series of bad days. However, it is not the worst day - that day was a week behind them. Though they aren’t foolish enough to think that today can’t suddenly become a new worst day ever if they aren’t careful.

It’s bad, not just because of the shit situation Mimir has found themself in since interrupting Solas’s ritual but because of the particulars. Mimir has never been a strong swimmer. As an academic who lived within a Necropolis, there were not a lot of opportunities for swimming in deep waters. This had never bothered Mimir before. They weren’t scared of water. The Lighthouse had seen fit to grant them a room that was more of an aquarium than a bedroom, and Mimir liked it. However, Mimir was suddenly very aware of how poor a swimmer they were when they were in a bubble of air on the seabed, and that bubble of magical air was leaking.

“You okay, Rook?”

“Oh for sure.” Mimir lies to Harding. The Ossuary is a nightmare. An ancient elven building that was sunk to the bottom of the ocean (Bellara would know when, and she will be devastated she wasn’t here to see it) turned into a Venatori prison, because Tevinter mages like nothing more than to desecrate elven history with their filthy blood magic.

“You keep looking at the edges of the prison.”

“Indeed I do!” Mimir agrees, stepping over a dead Venatori cultist. There were a lot of them. “That is because the spell is fracturing.”

Harding startles, nearly dropping her arrow. “What? Do we need to leave?”

“Well, we can’t until we find Lucanis Dellamorte.” Mimir reminds Harding of the deal they had made to the First Talon. It would be one thing if Lucanis was already dead, the First Talon would probably understand that. It would be quite another to actively abandon him to drown because they were scared. “The good news is, it’s very obvious that the barrier is cracking. And, presumably, the Venatori don’t want to drown. So they should be doing something to keep the barrier from collapsing.”

The next Venatori Mimir came to they paused at, crouching down to examine the corpse. They wish they had thought to bring any of their examination tools, but this was supposed to be just a social call on the Crows for contract negotiation, not an impromptu rescue. However it is probably for the best as they don’t really have time for anything but a surface examination.

Mimir moves the corpse, finding the most likely causes of death. The lacerations are vicious, done quickly, but are still precise. They are positioned at the weakest points in the armor, at spots Mimir knows death will have come quickly (though not painlessly). There is little tearing, the cuts are clean.

“You never mention good news without bad news.” Harding’s tone is dubious, pulling Mimir from their thoughts. Harding’s tone is however completely fair because Mimir did, in fact, have bad news.

“Well, the bad news is that there’s a lot of dead Venatori. And you would probably need a lot of powerful mages to strengthen the barrier.” Mimir rubs the tacky drying blood off on their shirt, a Dalish poncho like top that had loose but cut sleeves so their arm movements weren't hindered. It is not Mimir’s usual clothing, but the strange lyrium infested goulish darkspawn (and Mimir is still wrapping their head around what the fuck that was) had completely wrecked their only set of armor they had brought on their hunt for Solas. So Mimir had been forced to find something amongst the Veil Jumpers to wear. They miss having shoes as well. The sand squelches unpleasantly between their toes and Mimir realizes they might not be a beach person.

Harding looks around, at all the dead Venatori, and thinks about the fact that they have not found one living person despite waltzing right in. “So… what you’re saying is that the barrier is still coming down.” Harding clarifies.

“Well…” Mimir doesn’t want to say that. With Varric injured, it falls to them to lead now. It’s probably bad for morale for Mimir to just say they could die at any moment. “It’s coming down slower?”

Harding looks a little green.

Mimir rushes to reassure. “But, we’ll find our Demon of Vyrantium soon.” They tell her. “This corpse is his work - or else the work of a Crow - but we know he’s the only Crow here.”

“How… can you possibly know that?”

With it confirmed that they could die at any second, Mimir decides to keep moving, walking, but at a quick clip. “I’m a Mourn Watcher.” Mimir reminds Harding. “I’ve done autopsies on hundreds of corpses, Harding. I know the work of an Antivan Crow.” Their tone is patient.

Tevinter chanting cuts them both off. Harding gestures to the closed doors up ahead. They both move softly over. Mimir doesn’t speak Tevene, but they can tell from the repeating words and phrases and the magic in the air. “They’re trying to strengthen the barrier.” Mimir tells Harding.

“Confident?” Harding asks in a whisper.

Mimir makes a face. “I know the Tevene word for water?”

“...Should we leave them to it?”

Mimir frowns. Leaving blood mages at their back as they walk into a Venatori prison seems foolish. However, killing the mages who are holding the barrier together seems even more foolish. “We’ll try diplomacy.”

Varric had once said Mimir was too charming for their own good so Mimir thinks it has a shot of working (they’ve talked Venatori down before, even if only for brief intermission). Besides, the Venatori shouldn’t want a fight in these circumstances either. If Mimir wants to take Lucanis off their hands, really they should be tripping over themselves in gratitude.

Mimir opens the door. “Good evening!” They smile. Harding is ready to draw an arrow but Mimir keeps their hands off their spell knife. “While we are natural enemies, but that does not mean we need to kill each other at this very moment.” Mimir quickly reminds them. “I’m only looking for Lucanis Dellamorte. I’m pretty sure he’s been tearing his way through you guys like butter. So why don’t you just point me in his direction and we end this- oh”

The leader of the spell actually stops the spell cold (which you are not supposed to do, what does the Circle of Vyrantium teach these guys?) to start channeling a different spell directly at Mimir’s face. He’s a pretentious Tevinter mage so even though Harding is standing right there with a bow, he does not pick a quick spell to cast.

Harding shoots at his staff and knocks the crystal focus free with practiced aim. Since diplomacy has clearly failed. Mimir closes the gap between them. Their knife is still sheathed but their hands glow with death magic. However, before they can do more than grab the mage by the collar of his robes, he is dead, and so are all the other mages.

Nothing about the man indicates he is a Crow. He’s Antiva, Mimir doesn’t have to hear him talk to know. He’s scruffy: unwashed, uncut hair, a beard that has taken over his face like a fungus. His clothes are threadbare and stink this close. His knives are Tevinter made, clearly stolen given the balance problems, it's not a set. Alarmingly though, more than the smell of his clothes, is the smell of the Fade on him, unnatural for a human. Though so are his spectral wings that wink out of sight as soon as the last Venatori stops breathing.

Mimir doesn’t have to ask. They can sense it, a spirit of twisted determination (Spite perhaps?) clings to him, draping over his shoulders, a panther in the forest. It’s not good . Mimir had hoped to find Lucanis Dellamorte in one piece, but a year in a Venatori prison and he is lucky to be alive. (It’s a research lab, whispers the part of Mimir that is clever before it is stuffed down by the part of Mimir that doesn’t want to think about what that would entail).

“Lucanis Dellamorte?” Mimir asks, hopeful.

“You’re not a Crow. Who sent you?” His voice is suspicious and though Mimir does not want to be standing this close to a suspicious Crow, they dare not move.

“Caterina sent us.” Mimir says, because a familiar name that Mimir shouldn’t know if they weren’t a friend should soothe him. “I’m Rook. This is Harding. We’re here to rescue you. Though you seem to have it in hand.”

Lucanis’s smile is a bitter thing. Mimir watches his eyes. The presence leaves his shoulders, shifting inside him, but his eyes stay brown. They can sense something behind his eyes looking back at them, but it is also very clear that Lucanis speaks with his own voice, sees with his own eyes, and smiles with his own mouth. The movements are too clear, nothing jerky or uncertain. Spirits, even those very settled into their stolen or bargained for bodies, have tells, and Mimir sees none of those tells. It is possible they are being tricked, or he just hasn’t shown those traits yet. But Mimir suspects that the possession is, genuinely, incomplete.

“Rook.” Harding speaks up, and Mimir knows it won’t be good from just her tone. “He’s an abomination.”

Mimir winces. “Doesn’t matter.” They tell Harding firmly. Lucanis hasn’t attacked them nor has Determination, and Mimir will never attack a spirit unprovoked. They fix their gaze on Lucanis. “We need a mage killer. Is that still you?” They challenge gently.

“I can still work.” Lucanis promises.

“Good enough for me.”

“I’ll need my phylactery.” He tells them, which naturally the Venatori would have to leash him and Determination, and obviously they can’t leave it. “And I have a contract, on Calivan. He runs this facility. I cannot leave it unfilled.”

That does give Mimir pause. “Crows really don’t come cheap, do they?” They sigh. “You might have let them finish their ritual before killing them, if you wanted to linger.”

“I’ll owe you.” Lucanis offers as if his favor is worth risking being crushed to death by tons of water (Mimir stops the part of them that is actually doing the math as to how many tons of water is above their head right now).

“...It’s fine.” Mimir remembers enough about Crows to know how weird they are about their jobs. If he won’t leave without killing Calivan, then they simply need to kill him quickly.

Harding scoffs, but they are set upon by Venatori before the air can get awkward again.

~X~

Lucanis is having a bad day. Not the worst day of his life, these days it is hard to pick which day is the worst day. But even if he’s had worse days, it's not a good day, because today is the day he dies. But it is also the day he takes down every fucker who ever hurt him in his time in the Ossuary. His only regret is that Zara Renata, the witch who put him here, isn’t present today for him to kill too. However, his bad day is spoiled by the appearance of Rook.

Rook . Spite echoes their name with a reverence that makes Lucanis’s skin crawl. Melon and woodfire, and home . The Fade. It likes them. Spite has never been anything but annoying or ominous in turn, but that is really up there for him.

Rook is a mage. They have a sweet mouth, though they deflect often with humor. They are a good mage. They follow in his wake as they tear through the Venatori that set upon them. Their hands ghost Venatori, touching bare skin that rots under their touch. They are a necromancer, and from their skill, he would not be surprised if they were Mortalitasi. Though he doubts they are. His memories of Mortalitasi are them draped in gold. Rook’s ears are pierced many times, but none of the earrings can cost more than a handful of coin.

“Hold on.” Lucanis had moved to unlock a door to move on to the next part of the prison but Rook speaks up. He turns to look at them, and they are practically glowing with death magic. He can barely see their pupils through the glow.

They dart back into the chamber. “Oh Harding, Lucanis, bring hmm… bring three bodies please.”

Harding obeys. Lucanis does too, but reluctantly.

Death. Blood. Spite warns.

Rook, for some reason, has green chalk in the pocket of their shorts (which should be too tight for pockets). They draw around the ice, kicking sand off the stony floor to keep their lines connected and neat. They direct Harding and Lucanis to where to put the bodies and then drain the death magic seeping from their own body into the runes and wards.

The creaking and popping from the barrier doesn’t stop but it slows.

“Did you fix it?” Harding asks.

“What? No.” Rook’s voice trills in offense. “Harding. I just took over an abandoned Tevinter spell that was interacting with an ancient Elvish artifact I know nothing about, while replacing its primary school of casting with necromancy instead of blood magic.” Rook explains, incredulous. “We’re lucky it worked even a bit.” They rub sweat off their face. They had been frantically moving around drawing before doing an intense bit of spellcraft quickly. They end up getting more chalk on their face then the sweat off of it.

“How long did you buy us?” Harding asks instead.

Rook’s expression pinches. “Longer.” Is all they offer. “But we shouldn’t linger.”

Honestly, Lucanis would be impressed with Rook, and their skills, if it wasn’t for the certain slap togetherness they had about them. Their clothes are mismatched. The arm bracers are clearly human made, but the rest is Dalish (with the exception of their shorts which have to be Rivaini made because no one else would think anything that short was acceptable for combat), but they have no vassaslin so they are not Dalish. The spell knife on their hip is from Nevarra and is clearly old though well maintained. Their hair is cut short, clearly by no professional given the uneven edges of the fluffy bob, and the cheapest black hair dye he has had the displeasure to see. It is an affront to the Maker. He wants to stick their head out of the bubble and use the saltwater to scrub it off immediately. Spite is thrilled at the idea so Lucanis abandons even pretending that he would.

“Was that blood magic?” He asks instead.

“What? No.”

“But the bodies.”

“Ugh look . Normally, you’d bind something like that to another object. Those blood soaked ice crystals for example. Or if you aren’t an evil blood mage, you’d pick an object capable of channeling the Fade or that has been soaked in the Fade long enough that it's near the same. But that would take time and a lot of people, or a lot of time if you had no other people to help. So what I would do if I was in a hurry would be to pull on spirits, either here in or through the Fade, to hold the spell for me, until I didn’t need it anymore. But I can’t do that, because the spiritual energy here is rancid . No spirit would answer my call. And if they did, it would be twisted quickly. So, and I’ll admit, what I did was mean but it wasn’t blood magic.”

They shove a lock behind their ear that keeps bouncing free as they walk. “When a person dies, their spirit goes to the Fade.” They explain as if that’s not heresy. “I caught them before they died and bound them in their bones. The shades of the dead Venatori will fuel the spell. But the spell is… probably the most shoddy spell I’ve ever cast since graduating, it won’t last long so they’ll be free then. It wasn’t nice but I do think it was fair.”

It was spiteful more than fair. And Spite purrs at Rook’s explanation. Lucanis can see Spite, a twisted purple tinted mirror image of himself, leering at Rook from the corner of his eyes. They understand. Lucanis ignores Spite and marches ahead to ruin its ability to leer at Rook.

Lucanis leads them through the facility that he barely remembers through the haze of pain and disassociation. But he does remember this room, or rather, Spite does. This is the room that made Spite, Spite. Lucanis wants to rush through it, because Spite is angry and wants to break everything in the room, and they just do not have time from what Rook said. However it is Rook who pauses.

“They… they tortured spirits here.” Rook says. Lucanis looks back. Rook looks like they can see it happening. Their skin was already pale but now it is so white, Lucanis feels an urge to grab them, so they don’t keel over. “They twisted their natures. Why?” Their voice peeks, enraged. Then they take a deep breath. “Well, the whys don’t matter. Do they? Let’s just kill them.”

Lucanis can’t help but smile, and he doesn’t even frown when he feels Spite tugging at the edges of his mouth, smiling with him.

Rook throws themself into fighting as soon as there are enemy in sight. They show not a flicker of sympathy for Venatori who get in their way, but their hands hesitate when they come across undead.

They’re sad. Spite plucks at the emotions radiating from Rook. Friends? What’s friends?

Lucanis doesn’t answer, but he takes the lead to bring down the undead, letting Rook focus on the Venatori. At the end of it, Rook looks at the slaughtered undead, their lips thinned.

“I don’t understand.” Harding speaks up. “They summoned them, so why are they fighting with each other?”

“Just because you summoned something, doesn’t mean it has to listen to you.” Lucanis explains. “Blood mages never seem to understand that.”

“Spirits listen if you talk to them. They care, often more than people do. They want to follow their natures.” Rook’s words are explanatory, but really they are venting their feelings. They open their mouth and then shut it, thinking better of continuing the thought. Lucanis can see how they shift with their thoughts, moving on from a thought they won’t voice. “Undead though? That’s not like the Venatori.”

“Those are the failures.” Lucanis informs them.

Rook’s face goes too neutral at that. “The failures.” They repeat.

Spite laughs, in Lucanis’s voice, but mean. Hot! Burning in them like fire! They burn so pretty.

“Well, I’d hate to see the successes.” Harding smiles tightly.

“There aren’t many left.” Lucanis reassures. “Zara took most of the successes out a few days ago.”

Rook’s eyes flash at that and Harding raises an eyebrow. “It’s not like you to look for unnecessary fights.”

“We can’t help them if they’re not here .” Rook points out.

“You can’t help them at all.” Lucanis is quick to say. He knows all about Mortalitasi and their bleeding hearts. Rook is a contractor given to him by the First Talon. He cannot let them die, especially not before he’s even seen Caterina again.

Rook shoots him a look of fire, unlike any of the gentle looks they’ve been giving him since they’ve met. “Maybe you can’t.” They say, spitefully.

Spite laughs so hard Lucanis feels his teeth rattle in his skull. Rook! Rook helps! Sweet Rook! Lucanis just hopes they don’t run into any demons at all.

Unfortunately, they do. Rook hands have a slight tremor to them, that they are quick to ball into the fabric of their loose top. There are half a dozen demons just over a chasm. The chasm is jumpable, but it is a big jump. Harding draws an arrow. Lucanis isn’t looking forward to jumping in, but Rook is a mage and Harding an archer. The frontlines only have him. Rook has taken to keeping to his back, but in such a crowd, the mage shouldn’t wade in. “You two stay back on the high-” Rook goes whizzing past his head.

“Merida!” Lucanis swears in Antivan.

“Rook!” Harding sounds horrified, though not particularly surprised.

Rook lands straight in the middle of the mass of demons and they don’t even draw their dagger. “Let me help you.” Lucanis can feel the magic in their words. It burns behind his eyes. “You’re hurt. You’re trapped. You can-” They swipe at Rook.

Rook dodges the attack. They are so, so close to the demons. They dance just out of reach, twirling closer to the demons to dodge the grabs and slashes. “You can’t make me angry with you. I know you. You’re in pain and lashing out. I understand. I won’t hurt you.”

Rook is doing an admirable job dodging, but there are a lot, and one catches them off guard. They stagger towards the chasm.

Rook! Spite sounds concerned. Lucanis doesn’t hesitate to throw himself in after them. He catches them by the shoulder before they can topple over to their death.

“I told you, they won’t listen!” Lucanis’s anger is so loud he can’t even hear Spite crowing in his ears. He hasn’t felt a lot in a long time, but he feels anger now. “You stupid-” He swipes hard at one of the demons that draw too close, but they are quickly encircling them. “You cannot fix this-”

Rook draws their blade and Lucanis cuts himself off, because he needs Rook’s goodwill when he can tell Harding is one sour look away from trying to kill him (and he’s learned very quickly just how dangerous she is).

“I’m sorry. It won’t hurt for much longer. I will send you home. May we meet again in gentler times.” When their hands come down on the demons this time, there is no gentle glow to their necromancy.

They’re. Not. Fighting back? Spite notes, his tone strangely solemn.

Lucanis couldn’t disagree more. A few swipes send him to the ground to avoid losing an eye and a few strikes have him rolling. He is having to work for each kill. The demons are certainly fighting back. Rook is at his back and they thump against him a few times. He can smell their blood in the air. But he had seen the work of the demons on the Venatori. They do, he can admit, seem slower.

Eventually the herd thins and the last demon falls. Rook is panting and out of breath. Their hands on their knees, and their (terribly) dyed hair is obscuring their face, but their shoulders are shaking and Lucanis doesn’t think it's exhaustion.

Gentle Watcher. Tried their best. It’s thin here. Misery can smell them. Can’t have them! Listen! Do something!

Lucanis doesn’t want to deal with a misery demon falling through a crack the Venatori made in the Fade. “You. You did help. They’ll be back in the Fade now, right?” Lucanis has never cared to learn about the Nevarran way of things, and only remembers a few scant details from the Mortalitasi he’s spoken to.

“Yes.” Rook says. They straighten and Lucanis pretends he can’t see tear tracks on their face.

“Maker.” Harding swears, jumping over to join them. “Zara has more of those demons?”

“Yes.” Lucanis says.

Rook and Harding exchange a look, but say nothing. Lucanis suspects it has to do with their contract, but there isn’t time to ask. Rook smiles at him instead. “Let’s get your phylactery, shall we?”

They find his phylactery a few rooms later. Behind a barrier powered by red lyrium.

“I think there are anchors, if we could shatter them-” Harding is thinking, but Rook just walks up to the barrier.

They are still glowing with energy that they took from the Venatori from the last fight. They expel it as they reach forward and grab the centerpiece of lyrium in the barrier and it shatters in their hand. Lucanis’s stomach does a somersault at the display of raw strength.

“You really shouldn’t be touching those things with your bare hands, Rook.” Harding sounds unimpressed.

“I don’t. I compress the entropic magic out in a small burst after conve-”

“Maker! Please don’t explain again.” Harding begs.

Lucanis’s nose pinches just a touch. He had thought it was Rook’s actual strength, but even though the poncho obscures most of their body, it’s clear they have a traditional mage figure.

All of them move past the shattered barrier. It’s almost anticlimactic. One second Lucanis has the threat of his freewill being taken from him on a whim hanging over his head like an executioner's blade, and the next he doesn’t. And the only thing that changes is there is blood on the floor. Rook holds out a hand and burns the blood until it bubbles and evaporates. “Just in case.” They tell him with a wink.

Spite purrs in his mind. So sweet. Freedom. They’ll never bind us again. On this, Spite and Lucanis agree.

All that is left now is putting a dagger through the eye of Calivan. His target. The man who trapped him here. And he’s just one lift and a hallway away.

“Rook.” Harding intones as they head to the lift. She hangs back and pulls Rook back as well. But Lucanis can still hear them.

“It’s fine. I know you’re not big on Crows but-”

“Oh yes, you know all about Crows all of a sudden.” Harding sounds disapproving.

“I.. I don’t.”

“An abomination. Rook” Harding stresses.

“So, that is not an accurate term to refer to him with. He said he’s not a mage and that Spite didn’t willingly enter his body.”

“Rook.”

“This isn’t the South, Harding. We do things differently here. And I certainly don’t turn on people just because I’m scared of what they might do. If you suspect the worst out of people, that’s what you’ll get, and that goes double for spirits.”

“It’s a demon.”

“There’s no such thing. Just because you have a word for something doesn’t make it real.”

“I can hear you, you know.” Lucanis says. Harding shoots him a nasty look. Rook looks flustered, the tips of their pointed ears go pink.

“Sorry! Sorry. Let’s talk about something else.” They jog over to him.

Lucanis has sympathy for the situation Rook is in, constantly defending him to their companion and he’s grateful too. So he offers the conversation. “So you aren’t actually that strong? It’s just magic? Why use it up close then, why not at a distance?”

“Well, it’s like throwing a punch.” They explain. “The more distance the weaker it is. I could put more magic into it but then it’s just kinda wasteful.” They reach the lift and Rook fiddles with the controls while waiting for Harding to catch up. “It’s more telekinetic than strength that’s true, but-” they cut themself off for a moment as Harding joins them.

“We all good, ready to take on the big strong prisoner keeper?” They ask.

Lucanis nods, but Harding starts downing an elf root potion. Lucanis freezes but Harding tosses him one, avoiding any eye contact. Rook follows their lead.

“-But, I can do raw strength.”

Lucanis chokes on the potion. “What? You can?”

“Mhm!” Rook finishes the health potion and then unstops a lyrium one and downs that too. “It’s… like advanced healing magic stuff but powered by… schools more popular in Nevarra. I did a lot of reading on Arcane Warriors in school. I can’t produce as much raw power as I can with a ‘punch’ and I can’t hold it for long but I can like, lift and toss a qunari.”

The image flips his stomach uncomfortably. “Oh.”

Rook flips the switch and the lift starts its ascent.

I want. To see. Let them throw. Calivan. Spite demands.

Lucanis considers it. Calivan would probably find it humiliating. Maybe he offers. It’s a mistake because Spite starts insisting on a yes.

“Why?” Lucanis asks if only to shut up Spite.

“Well, everyone expects a mage to throw a fireball. And lots are good at it, better than me for sure. But like, if I tried to punch you, and you didn’t know, would you dodge?” Rook smiles. “And you only have to make that mistake once for me to win.”

Want. To. See!!!

“You’re a battle mage then?”

“No. I’m an academic.” Rook insists, like they didn’t just shatter stone with their fists. “It was just a hobby and a thought exercise, well, until I needed it.”

“About your contract then.” Lucanis guesses.

Rook nods. “Yeah.” The lift arrives, and it's time to end this. Calivan dies today.

And he does. He dies screaming about how he cannot die because Magisters are better and honestly Lucanis couldn’t hear him over the cackling of maniacal glee from Spite. Rook shattered Calivan’s blood spears so hard they flew in his face becoming shrapnel. Lucanis took advantage of his surprise and Calivan went down before he could fully get a barrier up. “The crows send their regards.” Lucanis tells him, as the light leaves his eyes.

Lucanis expects a quip from Rook, but he doesn’t get one. Rook’s lips are thinned and their eyes are glossy and far away. He’d worry they were possessed if he didn’t know better. They were looking at the Veil. They don’t seem antsy so he looks down at Calivan. A year. A year of torment. It ended in an hour, a handful of minutes if he only counted the fight.

“Oh.” Rook sounds surprised.

Lucanis’s eyes snap up, immediately on guard. Spite is circling Rook, and their eyes are tracking him. “You can see him?” Rook hadn’t seemed to earlier.

“No. Not exactly. I can sense he is there. Like… hmm… no I can’t think of a good example. I can see in a sense, but not in the way people usually see.” When Lucanis follows Rook’s gaze, and it’s off. They aren’t tracking Spite as well as he first thought. Rook’s eerie green eyes snap to his. “But you can see him. And hear him too, I imagine.”

“Yes.”

Harding shifts. There’s an arrow in her hands, ready to be drawn.

“Fascinating. I have so many questions. But! I really don’t think my slap-together spell will hold for much longer, so let’s go before we all drown.”

“Yes… It's time I got some air.”

We. Spite corrects.

“And a bath.” Rook suggests lightheartedly. Lucanis laughs at that.

#dragon age #veilguard spoilers #oc: Mimir Ingellvar #dragon age the veilguard #dragon age rook #lucanis dellamorte #lucanis x rook #rookanis #rook ingellvar

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