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rookinthecrownest · 3 months ago

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Bedtime Stories For a Demon: The Day The World Disappeared, Part I (Lucanis x Rook Fanfic)

Rook is trapped in the Fade. Lucanis & Crew are determined to get her out.

Word Count: ~4500

Lucanis Dellamorte is a man with an excellent memory.

He can remember every part of his favourite childhood story, ‘The Joyful Wyvern’, with striking clarity. Reciting it in his head kept him sane in the Ossuary on some difficult nights.

He can remember the most minute details of a pages-long dossier for every job he has ever taken. It served him well to know every entrance, exit, chokepoint and weak point in case his plans went awry. Like that time he walked in on an orgy during a job in Minrathous, but remembered a note about a hidden servant’s entrance on the far side of the room he could sneak out of. Fail to prepare, and you prepare to fail, he would tell himself.

He can remember the meal preferences of every member of the Veilguard. It makes everyone’s life easier at dinner, even if it means he’s preparing up to three separate meals at times.

Yes, Lucanis Dellamorte has an excellent memory. And for much of his life, that memory was a gift.

Until the day Madeleina Mercar is sucked into the Fade, and he’s left with nothing but the image of her terrified face seconds before a Fade Rift swallows her whole, ripping her from the waking world with terrifying speed.

And he can’t forget.

He replays the moment in his mind on an endless loop.

Her green eyes – they only had a moment to widen before they’re gone from his sight. Her soft lips parted in confusion, then panic. No time to let out a cry for help. The ripples of raw magic as the Fade Rift collapsed in on itself sent everyone flying back, everyone but him. Spite’s wings unfurled and steadied them against the force. He braced himself, and walked forward, arm outstretched.

Only to pass through empty air.

First, came disbelief.

No, no, she’s not gone. She’ll pop back into existence in just a moment. She’s Rook, she always finds a way. But when the moments stretched on in deafening silence and Madeleina still hadn’t returned, white hot rage, fuelled by Spite’s power, quickly took the place of disbelief. The demon, who had become fond of Rook, barrelled forward and took over in a way he hadn’t done since Illario killed Zara in front of them.

NO. SMELL OF. LAVENDER AND ROSEWATER. NO THUNDERSTORMS OR SMOKE.

WHERE.! IS.! ROOK.! WANT.! ROOK.!

There is not much recollection beyond that. He thinks it took no small effort on Davrin and Bellara’s part to calm them down before they destroyed everything in sight. Zipping around the body of Ghilan’nain on purple-and-black wings as if he could whip the fallen God back to life and demand she bring Madeleina back. The Warden may have had to physically restrain them at some point – he doesn’t know. Doesn’t care, either.

Now, back in the Lighthouse, the void she left behind is palpable in every corner of this place.

He sees her reading on the couch in the library, long brown hair spilling over her shoulder, and brows drawn together in quiet contemplation. He sees her sneaking an extra dessert from the dining hall, one he made just for her because he knows she’ll want more. Chatting the hours away with Neve in her office, getting caught up on the latest comings and goings of Docktown – or, what’s left of it after the Venatori took over Minrathous. Excitedly debating magical theory with Emmrich and Bellara at dinner, or in the Professor’s study. She trips over herself when the topic shifts to something she has an interest in – her lips forming words faster than her brain can form them properly.

Then, the one that hurts the most.

Sitting across from him by the fireplace, telling a story. Face awash in soft blue light. Light green eyes sparkling with joy, crinkling because of her wide, warm smile. Her illusions dancing in the space between them. In his memories, she’s close enough to touch, instead of a world away. Close enough to kiss, if he had just leaned in closer. Lucanis tries not to remember the one time he did and pulled away at the last moment, crippled by his own fear and hesitation. The thought that he may never get to try again sinks his heart into his stomach, so he quickly turns to other memories.

And perhaps that’s why Lucanis has all but barricaded himself in her room for the past week. To surround himself with these reminders of her and take comfort in that because if he doesn’t, he’ll lose what little tether to sanity he has left.

He’s holding her gilded, silver hairbrush in his hand. It looks like the one from The Girl and the Glass Slipper. Something of hers to touch.

He lights the lavender-scented candles on the credenza. Something of hers to smell.

Casts his gaze over her room, eyeing her wardrobe – where a few pieces of clothing lie hanging on the open door. Then, to her magical contraption from her Circle days whirring and clicking autonomously on the round table by the window. Things of hers to see and hear.

Something, anything, to tie him to the remnants of Madeleina in this world. Proof that she was here, she was real. That he didn’t dream a saviour and a soulmate. Didn’t dream a love like the one in the romance novels he’s taken to reading with Bellara and Emmrich and Neve. A love like the ones in her fairy tales.

Lucanis can’t say how long he’s been holding onto her hair brush. Even at the best of times, telling the passage of the hours was tricky in the Lighthouse. Now, the days pass in a monotonous cycle, and there are no stories by the fire to measure the nights by. He grips the hairbrush’s handle tighter and exhales.

She’s here. Lost in the Fade, but not here. Not this part of the Fade.

Spite’s wrath crackles under his skin, begs and urges him to move. To fly off the edge of the Lighthouse and soar into the deepest recesses in the Fade to find her. The demon would take them to the edge of eternity to bring her back, and Lucanis would go to the edge of eternity for her. While he and the demon have struck an accord, in this moment in time, they are only unified by a singular thought:

We need to get her back.

Yet, where Spite demands action, Lucanis’ body doesn’t move. He has lain roots so deep in her chamber that even the strongest gale-force winds couldn’t dig them out. Lucanis feels the weight of her absence so deeply, it’s become an oppressive weight on his shoulders. It is a paralyzing loss – and inaction is something fundamentally contradictory to Spite’s nature. It doesn’t make for a quiet mind.

Lucanis Dellamorte is a man who has become entirely too accustomed to losing those he cares about.

His parents and aunts and uncles and cousins. For a time, his grandmother. His brother. Although Illario lives and walks free among the Crows (with every dagger at his back, albeit), he is lost to Lucanis until he is willing to face the uncomfortable concept of forgiving him. And that’s not something he knows he can even do, considering the magnitude of his betrayal.

Yes, he has lost much. Too much.

There is one thing that is not lost to him, however. It is the one thing of hers that he doesn’t yet have the strength to even look at.

Her father’s journal lays unopened, untouched on the table in front of the couch. Its faded leather is illuminated with flickering candlelight. Lucanis leans forward and steeples his fingers together. He stares at journal and releases a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

This journal was everything to her. He watched on so many nights as she handled it with the care one might use with a newborn babe. She held it so gently. Treated each page as if it were made of glass.

Lucanis takes the journal in his hands. He’s afraid to open it, like some terrible thing will leap from its pages if he does. Some secret he shouldn’t know. His thumb passes over the rough cover, and lets it linger.

Smells like. Rain in Spring. And mothballs. Like her. Sometimes. But Sharper. Older.

Gently, he pries the journal open to the first page. On the back of the cover, there is an inscription, written in an elegant hand.

Bedtime Stories for My Little Love.

Orpheus Arcturion.

He takes a deep breath and begins to flip through its contents. Most of the pages have been blotted out with bloodstains. They’ve dried a dark maroon, almost black. As if someone spilled a bottle of ink on the journal. In a kinder world, that is how the story of her family would have gone, but he knows better.

As he goes, he sees scrawled notes for stories – some familiar, some not. All as dear to him as the person who spent her nights bringing them to life so he wouldn’t be alone.

The Toy Solider. The Sleeping Princess. The Girl & The Glass Slipper. Swan Lake. Le Petite Sirène. Mother Gothel & The Rampion Babe…

Every title is like a mortar to his chest. His breathing comes deeper and quicker, as he is nearing the end of the journal, making out what he can.

Lucanis comes nears the end of the journal, he stops in his tracks when a few sentences scribbled in Madeleina’s familiar handwriting catch his eye. His breath hitches in his throat as he reads on.

The Charming Rogue & The Hapless Hero.

I know how to tell a good story but go figure I have no idea how to write one.

Bellara’s tried to help, but I don’t know if I can incorporate all of her suggestions (seriously, where are we going to find an inn with only one bed in a story like this?).

It starts with a Charming Rogue being held captive by a terrible, evil bitch Witch in an underwater prison. The Hapless Hero needs his help to slay two terrible monsters plaguing the land – I don’t know, is that too vague?

Ugh. I can’t do this. This is stupid. I’m stupid. Writing fairytales is harder than I thought.

I don’t know how to put the words – how to phrase it properly -.

Maybe I could try winging it with an illusion instead? The silly little fairy tale ending I want so desperately?

I’d make figures of us standing in front of a small cottage on a hill, somewhere in the country side. It has a tiled roof. I’ve painted the walls some obscenely bright colours – I’m thinking pinks, yellows, greens. There’s flowers of every kind in the window box. It has huge windows, to let the sun in from every direction. A nice spot on the windowsill for a cat to lounge on. I’d steal one of the strays from the Treviso market (I like the orange tabby who hangs by the lady who sells flowers). Dried herbs hanging from the ceiling for Lucanis (he will obviously be doing all the cooking). A small library for me so I can read all the books I’ve been meaning to, lost in their pages, but never lost alone.

A home. A little corner of the world just for the two of us, when this is all over.

Perhaps my magic will tell him what my lips cannot. That I love him. I have loved him for some time now.

I need to ask for Bellara’s help after all.

I don’t know what I’m doing. This would be so much easier if the world wasn’t ending. It would… right?

Maybe, just maybe he wants to share that dream together.

He is my happily ever after.

I hope I can be his.

M. Mercar

14 Ferventis, 9:52 Dragon

Lucanis grips the edge of the journal tight enough that the pages crinkle under his thumbs. He can feel tears welling up in his eyes, and bites down on his tongue to keep them from falling. He doesn’t want to ruin the pages, but he can’t help it.

A small part of him knew how she felt. He felt it too. That thing they were dancing around since that first outing at Café Pietra. The thing that neither of them had a name for until it was too late.

She loved him.

Loves him.

He loves her too, of course – hopes with every fiber of his being that she knows it wherever she is in the Fade but curses himself for never saying it aloud. If – when, he finds her again, he swears he’ll say it a thousand times over, until the words are burned into her very being, incapable of being forgotten.

Spite doesn’t understand love. But like any petulant child, he understands the sting of having something taken away from him that he holds dear, in his own strange Spite-like way. The demon bristles behind his eyes, stirring his thoughts again.

Smells like salt and coffee. Spite bellows, Time to Find! Lavender and Sweet Things Again! Find Rook.!!

“Lucanis?”

He snaps to attention at hearing his name. Lucanis hadn’t even realized someone had come in. Once again, he proves himself a poor assassin.

Bellara’s gentle and hesitant footsteps grow louder as she gradually makes her way towards the couch. She’s holding her hands together and looks like she’s almost afraid to approach him. A pang of guilt reverberates in his chest at seeing her like that.

“Bellara” He says, rubbing the backs of his eyes, pretending it’s sleep instead of tears he’s wiping away.

“Hey…” she whispers, coming around the couch to stand in front of him. She rubs her hands together and looks to the ground. “I’m … I’m sorry to bother you but – “

“Please, Bellara” Lucanis runs a hand down his face, “Don’t apologize. It’s no bother” He hates that he’s made her feel the need to apologize for coming to see him.

“I …” She starts but looks unsure of how she wants to proceed. Bellara takes a deep breath and steadies herself. “Emmrich and I think we may have a way to find Rook”

Lucanis’ eyes widen. He reflexively clutches the journal tightly in his hands. “Really?”

Bellara is quick to add, “We don’t know that it’ll work but … but we think it’s worth a shot”

Lucanis’ heart beats so quickly in his chest he thinks it’ll leap out and run away at a moment’s notice. He blinks away a few errant tears and sets the journal aside.

His Elven friend rocks back and forth on the balls of her feet nervously, “We’ll umm… we’ll be in the library when you’re ready. Make sure you bring the journal”

“The journal?” He repeats, tilting his head.

Bellara nods quickly. “It … it’ll make sense, I promise. Just come see us soon”

And with that, she’s practically jogging out the door, leaving him alone with his thoughts, and the key to Rook’s salvation beside him.

~*~

He finds the Veilguard gathered in the library, in the main building of the Lighthouse. Emmrich and Bellara are engaged in heated discussion. Manfred watches curiously. Taash is sitting on the couch, sharpening one of their axes. Davrin whittles a small figure of a griffon, and Assan lounges by his feet.

The room quiets when he enters, and you could hear a pin drop. They all turn to look at him as he slowly makes his way to the group.

Davrin clears his throat to break the tension, “Lucanis… you’re here”

He nods to Davrin but remains quiet as he stands beside Emmrich.

“Bellara tells me you may have a way to find Rook” He says. “Let’s hear it, Professor”

Manfred tilts his head at the mention of her name. “Rook” He hisses.

Assan perks up at her name and scans the room upon hearing it, one ear flopping wildly as he looks for her. Whines softly when he realizes she isn’t coming. Davrin gives the young griffon lying at his feet a soft, reassuring pat on the head.

“It’s alright boy, we’ll find her” The Warden smiles, and the Griffon settles again.

Emmrich’s expression softens at Manfred, before turning back to Lucanis.

“It’s… an idea.” He says, hesitantly. As if trying to measure his expectations, “We have no clue if it will actually work. And making it work will be exceedingly difficult”

“’Exceedingly difficult’ is becoming a specialty of ours” Davrin murmurs, as he blows some wood shavings onto the floor.

Bellara cuts in next, “We think we can temporarily weaken the Veil enough to pull her out” She pauses and runs behind the couch where Davrin and Taash are sitting. With some effort, she pulls out an Elven-looking contraption, with golden concentric rings and a blue crystal orb in the center. Bellara heaves it on the table in the middle of the room with a soft clank.

She wipes her forehead and lets out a breath, “This is a Resonance amplifier. We use them to stabilize weakened areas of the Veil in Arlathan forest”

Emmrich steps forward and points a finger, “Theoretically speaking, if Bellara can reverse the polarity of Resonance Amplifier’s magical effects, we can use it to weaken the Veil rather than strengthen it. We have a few of them, on loan courtesy of Strife and Irelin. Mages from the Veil Jumpers are on standby to help, but …”

Of course there’s a but.

“But?” Lucanis asks, folding his arms over his chest.

“She’s in the Fade. She could be anywhere” Taash frowns, pausing their work with the whetstone.

Emmrich nods, “Astutely observed, Taash. We can’t just go around weakening the Veil all over Northern Thedas. We could be searching for an eternity”

“How does the journal play into this?” Lucanis finally decides to ask the question that’s been burning in the back of his mind since he walked into the library.

At said question, both Bellara and Emmrich exchange nervous glances. It is Bellara who decides to speak next, after a tense moment of silence.

“We need something of hers that she has a strong connection with” Bellara explains, “The hope is that it would act as a beacon for her in the Fade and guide her home”

“Theoretically, of course” Emmrich adds quickly.

“Theory is better than nothing, Professor. If you think you can pull this off” Lucanis holds the journal out to Emmrich, “Do what you need to”

To his surprise, Emmrich gently pushes the journal back into his hands, “My dear Lucanis, it won’t be quite that easy”

Lucanis clutches the journal tightly to his chest and his brows draw together, “What do you mean?”

Emmrich hesitates for a moment and sighs.

“We are fortunate indeed to have a companion who hosts a being that can freely traverse the raw Fade”

Spite.

The demon feels like a bird fluffing its feathers in the back of his mind. Spite shakes his plumage loose, ready to take flight.

Find! ROOK! Me! YES!

Spite once pulled Rook into the Fade to help them. It’s only fitting he should pull her back out.

“That being said” Emmrich continues, his voice sombre. “It would require us to effectively destroy the journal in this world, that Spite might absorb its essence in the raw Fade and use it to find her. I know that journal means a great deal to her. I can only imagine the weight of its loss”

The pregnant pause after his explanation suggests he wants to add something else but thought better of it. The words left unsaid form in his thoughts.

I know it means a great deal to you as well.

He considers Emmrich’s words. Lucanis looks down at the journal. It was the only thing left tying her to her family. An entire lifetime before she was Madeleina Mercar. Before she was Rook. He grips the journal tightly and clicks his tongue.

“And you’re sure nothing else will do?” He asks quietly, but he already knows the answer.

Emmrich shakes his head. “It has to be something she has a deep, personal connection to. Something that…” He waves a ringed hand, and the soft clinking of his golden bangles fills the air, “Something that effectively embodies who Rook is – past and present. To find her in an endless, ever-changing landscape like the Fade, it has to be tied to her in a way no other object in her possession is”

Bellara’s voice is gentle, careful, as she adds, “Spirits … demons, are attracted to powerful emotions. For Spite to become an effective anchor and beacon, he needs to merge with something she’s going to react strongly to. If Spite has an attachment to the object too, we… well, we think it’ll work even better”

Lucanis runs his palm over the tattered, faded leather. This journal saw him and Madeleina through so many nights together. Memories come flooding of her as she flipped through its worn pages, bathed in the warm light of the fireplace. How her eyes lit up with mirth when she landed on the story of the night. The scent of lavender and rosewater. The warmth that settled in his chest. The comfort that she brought him. How he came to crave her company on the nights they couldn’t be together.

This journal was her story. Their story. To lose it forever…

Lucanis sighs.

If this journal is the key to bringing her home, to giving him another chance to say the words left unsaid – he has to try. He would take her anger and her tears at the loss of the journal. At least she would be around to be upset over it.

He looks back up at Emmrich, barely holding back tears.

“How do we do it?” He asks, voice hitching.

Emmrich puts a reassuring hand on his shoulder and gives him a warm smile. “All you have to do my friend, is go to sleep. Bellara and I will handle the rest. When you wake, Spite should have her location”

“This better work, Emmrich” Taash rises to their feet, axe in hand. “We lost too much already.” They didn’t have to elaborate. Taash had not taken losing Harding well. The team was afraid they might burn down the Lighthouse at one point. Eventually, they retreated to their room to work out, almost compulsively, as if they could punch the grief away. The fire-breathing Qunari made for the stairs to their room and was gone moments later.

“It’s a sound plan” Davrin added thoughtfully, nodding his head. “Let’s hope it pans out”

Assan gave an assenting squawk, before hopping up on all fours and bounding for the door.

“Hey!” Davrin calls after him, rising from his seat. Knife and wooden figurine in hand, he starts jogging after the Griffon trying to escape the Lighthouse. Manfred decides to give chase as well, because why not.

“Get back here, boy! It’s not dinner time yet!” Davrin cries, as the doors close behind him.

After Davrin and Taash make their unceremonious exits, the three of them left in the library start planning the ritual.

~*~

Spite Dellamorte has not been a demon for very long, and there are many things that are new to him. Chief among them, is his fascination with the young woman named Rook.

He has heard others call him Determination. He supposes he understands that well enough. One can be quite determined to be spiteful, after all. And he’s seen Rook possess determination in spades. The way she barrels through every obstacle in her path and relentlessly keeps going is something the demon thinks he could watch forever. Something he wants to watch forever.

Spite isn’t sure if living among the mortals of this world has changed him, but he is certain absorbing Rook’s journal did.

When he merged with her journal, he was bombarded with a flood of emotions and memories that were entirely foreign to him – because they were not him. They were hope, joy, love, compassion, sadness and so many more. But not Spite.

It was confusing and overwhelming. If he had a mortal body, he would have felt what Lucanis called ‘a massive headache’.

Spite Dellamorte stands in the Fade and begins his search for their Rook.

What he has heard the others refer to as The Black City hovers, much like the Archon’s floating palace, off in the distance. An imposing maw of sharp, jagged angles cutting the eerie green dreamscape of the Fade. No matter where he moves, he never gets closer or farther away.

He doesn’t linger on it, and instead, places a hand over his chest and feels for the piece of the journal resonating within his being. A faint blue light, mixing with his own purple glow, erupts outwards. Waves of resonating magical energy ripple out into some unknowable distance, and all Spite can do is wait until one of them comes back.

He stands in his lonely corner of the Fade. Emotions and memories that are not his own tumble back and forth in his thoughts, swimming around each other until they form new, unknown things he cannot understand.

Spite doesn’t know how long he’s been standing in his corner of the Fade, when he finally feels something pulling him in a certain direction. A ripple of that same magical energy, harmonizing with his own, drags his feet towards it. The demon does not have the patience to wait.

His wings unfurl and he flies, as fast as he can, towards that pull. He follows it through hordes of demons and spirits, with a fierce determination to find Rook. Spite is certain he’s never flown this fast in his short existence.

Time does not exist in the Fade, so he is unaware for exactly how long he has been flying. He follows the pull of the magical energy until he comes to a new landscape within the Fade. The Black City hovers in the distance as it always does.

There is a black void of nothingness vibrating in the middle of the landscape. That is where he feels the pull most strongly. He surmises that is where Solas has trapped Rook. Spite takes in his surroundings.

Tall, peaked mountains to one side. Bordered by a forest of high sycamore trees. Ruins of destroyed buildings. A lone house on the hill, decimated by demons. He’s seen this before. Lucanis has seen this before.

In one of her stories.

Arvanitum.

She’s back home.

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Big thank you to @thewardenisonthecase and @teawithshakespeare for helping me with this chapter. Writing out the mechanics of how the team would actually find Rook in the Fade was tricky. Originally I wanted to write this all as one fic, but then I realized it would be like 20k words. Hopefully I'll get to the next part soon.

This is meant to be a bit of a standalone story within the larger 'Bedtime Stories for a Demon' series. I've intentionally left a lot of things vague because I technically haven't gotten to this part yet in the main fic. I might have to rework a few things depending on how things go.

As always, thank you for reading! I love seeing your comments, reblogs and tags <3 I appreciate every single one of you who has taken the time to do so!

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bumblebeesweettea · 3 months ago

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Where's Rook? R!Lucanis

Fandom: dragon age Veilguard

Rating: general

Characters: Rook, Lucanis Dellamorte, Solas, Bellara lutare, Davrin, Taash, Emmerich, Neve Gallus, Harding

Relationships: Rook x Lucanis

Genre: Angst

WARNING! This Drabble has serious game spoilers mentioned in it.

Synopsis:

The reactions of romanced Lucanis and the companions to Rooks apparent death.

___

The Fade had become a tempest, its wild magic thrashing violently in a relentless gale. Lucanis felt Spite writhe within his mind, straining against the chaos. “Merida...” he hissed, throwing an arm up as a shield against the cutting wind. As Rook plodded toward the corpse of Ghilan’nain to retrieve the dagger, a chill seeped through Lucanis’s skin. Spite was uneasy; there was something sinister about the Fade’s current swirling frenzy.

A scent permeated the air—mossy earth mingled with the tang of ozone. It wasn’t Ghilan’nain nor their companions, but something else. Someone else. Lucanis started toward Rook, doubt twisting his gut, too tenuous to voice his fears. Battling the wind, his emotions churned, a storm of dread: he needed to warn them, to tell them something was wrong, that losing Rook was unthinkable. Just as his fingertips brushed Rook’s back, a brutal force flung him aside. He’d been through enough battles against mages to recognize a mind blast.

Lucanis rolled, scrambling to keep his footing, head darting as he sought potential threats. Ghilan’nain’s body lay still, the Fade felt has stopped tearing itself asunder, but Rook—Rook was gone.

“Rook?” Lucanis called. Frantic eyes scanned the shadows, desperation edging his tone, “Rook?!” No. No, please. Not Rook. Anyone but them. Panic unfurled cold and merciless from his gut, clawing up his spine, breath shallow and quick like a cornered animal. ‘Control yourself, you damn fool.’ He forced his legs to move, shaky steps around the crater that claimed Harding’s broken form. Maker... Harding... ‘Mourn later when you're safe. Find Rook first,’ he ordered himself.

“Professor! Professor, where did they go?” Bellara’s voice pierced through, frantic, yet it barely registered. Spite surged, scratching at his consciousness, but Lucanis was too shattered to restrain him. “Where are they?! WHERE ARE THEY?!” Spite roared, the creature's wings thrashing in agitated fury. Lucanis could feel the demon’s raw fear and bewilderment. Neither of them could stand the loss of Rook. Finally, with trembling resolve, he turned to his remaining companions.

“Emmerich, where did Rook go?” he demanded, his voice strained but steady. Emmerich, the Mortalitasi, a beacon of calm amid chaos, met his gaze with a gentleness that sparked a corrosive mix of anger, shame, and helplessness within Lucanis. It was the look Emmerich often gave those in distress to put them at ease. But Spite hissed, impatient and vexed. He didn't wish to be coddled.

"I don’t know, dear boy,” Emmerich replied, a furrow knitting his brow. “There was such a torrent of Fade and magic, and now it’s vanished. I can’t sense—ah!” The older mage abruptly fell silent, a smile creeping across his face, and Lucanis turned to follow his gaze. The blue blade of the Lyrium dagger shimmered, briefly unburdening Lucanis of his dread. There they were. They’d only been temporarily misplaced. Relief uncoiled in him, limbs heavy with anticipation as he took tentative steps toward the emerging rift, yearning to welcome Rook back.

But it wasn’t his beloved who emerged.

“Smells like moss and air before lightening. Old and dangerous,” Spite rumbled. It mirrored the strange scent they’d perceived earlier. The figure materializing before them was the one from the lighthouse memories: the Dread Wolf, Fen'harel. Lucanis’s instincts bristled, eyes narrowing as he regarded the new intruder with a cold fury. He had come alone, stepping from the rift like a challenge made flesh.

"Where’s Rook?” Lucanis demanded, his voice sharpened with menace. If this man had harmed Rook, Lucanis would escort him to the afterlife alongside Ghilan’nain. Solas considered the beleaguered adventurers, his gaze serene and distant.

“They are where they need to be,” Solas replied.

“What does that mean? Where are they?” Lucanis spat, a dagger sliding from his belt, intentions bare, in his grip. Solas cast him a look—a mingling of chiding and pity—that stoked Lucanis’s ire further.

“They have played their part here. Now they take my place in the prison so that I may complete what I began,” Solas said, calm and unyielding. “I’m sorry, but their sacrifice was necessary.”

Sacrifice. Prison. The words ricocheted in Lucanis’s mind, taunting him with visions of the Ossuary. Of the torment, pain and relentless fear. Was Rook trapped in such a hell? Suffering in isolation? Or, were they...? Spite, consumed by rage and confusion, surged forth. Lucanis’s body lunged forward, wings unfurled, dagger poised. Strong arms wrapped around him, yanking him back.

“Spite, no!” Davrin’s voice was urgent in his ear.

“Give. Them. Back!” Spite howled, thrashing against Davrin’s hold, desperation unrestrained. “Give. Them. Back. To us!” Lucanis felt his elbow connect with Davrin’s face, yet the warden held fast, tightening his grip.

“Spite, please!” Davrin implored, “you’re going to get Lucanis killed.” Another pair of arms encircled them both. Taash joined them, silent but Lucanis could feel the tremble in Taash's embrace.

“Taash...” he and Spite whispered in unison. Lucanis wasn’t alone in his grief; he wasn’t the only one who had lost someone they loved. And mere moments ago.

Solas watches the scene unfold, his expression a mask of enigmatic neutrality, yet there’s a flicker in his eyes—perhaps pity, or guilt, or a fusion of both. He raises the Lyrium blade, “I am sorry, though I know you won’t believe it. A victory like this, pitted against gods, demands its toll of suffering. Stay in the lighthouse, let yourself grieve, and ready yourself for the world that awaits. Your task is complete. Thank you for everything you’ve achieved.”

With a fluid motion, he slices the air, a shimmering rent into the fade, and slips away through it. Spite, seeing his quarry vanish, flares with renewed defiance, but Davrin and Taash’s grips are unyielding. Bellara races to them, her arms encircling Taash’s waist, her cheek pressed against the sturdy bulk of the Qunari. She doesn’t anchor Lucanis and Spite, but she steadies Taash, holding them together through sheer force of will. Neve, not given to embraces, steps to Lucanis’ side, her fingers curling around his forearm with a firm, chilling grip—a deliberate touch grounding him to reality tinged with ice magic. It gave Lucanis an anchor for his mind.

“Spite,” Emmerich murmurs softly, placing himself before Lucanis, “it will be OK, you need to let Lucanis out now.” Emmerich’s voice, the pressure from the arms around him, and Neve’s cold grip were a tether to the present. The storm within him subsides. The fierce battle for control ends, leaving behind a chasm of grief. His mind drifts to Lace Harding, her laughter a memory, and to Rook, whose absence leaves a gaping wound in his heart.

His shoulders sag, the weight of loss more crushing than any foe. “Rook,” he whispers, the name a prayer and a lament. Dellamorte’s do not kneel, but Lucanis would be lying if he said his knees didn't buckle dangerously. Bellara’s eyes meet his, understanding and sorrow mirrored in their depths. She releases Taash, stepping forward to clasp Lucanis’ hand, her warmth an offering.

“We’ll find a way,” she vows, voice steady despite the tremor of uncertainty beneath. She had tears in her eye and it was apparent she was barely holding on herself. “For Rook, for all of us.”

Davrin nods, a grim resolve settling in “We’ve faced darkness before,” he says, “and we’re still here.” Taash grunts in agreement, their presence a silent pillar of strength. Neve’s grip tightens momentarily, a silent promise of solidarity.

Emmerich nods, as calm as ever, though like everyone else there was a slight tremble in his fingertips. “We’ll mourn today. And tomorrow we will rise. For Harding, for Rook. And if Rook can be found. Then we will find them.”

#Bellara #dav spoilers #davg #dragon age rook #rook x lucanis #emmerich volkarin #davrin #neve gallus #taash #dragon age taash #solas dragon age #da spoilers #fanfic #drabble #datvg

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grimrevolution · 12 days ago

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Words: 1,108 Characters: Davrin x Rook - Radhika (pre-relationship) Rating: Gen Summary: In the midst of chaos, everyone needs a break every now and then.

Deep in the depths of Arlathan Forest, Davrin could smell the sea. The creak of the people frozen by magic sounded like the ropes of a ship, lake water lapped at the shore of a beach, and salt sat on the tip of his tongue. Sunlight filtered, dappled, through the tree tops, spreading out a pattern of seashells across hunting trails long trampled flat by halla hooves.

He had been dreaming about the ocean lately. The spray of the water, the sight of waves rising and cresting, the sound of it brushing against boat hulls and beaches and naked feet racing across the sand. Brushstrokes painted the sky in aquamarine with swirls of cerulean.

On the lucky nights, he dreamed of long, black hair veiling the sunlight. Of fruit-stained lips pressed against his own. Of palms braced against his chest.

Davrin breathed in. The salt became dirt and decaying plant life, the call of gulls turned into the sharp singing of woodland birds. Squawking and chuckling tugged him from his thoughts. The peace not broken so much as changed.

He turned.

Rook—‘you can call me Radhika, if you’d like,’ she had told him quietly during their first walk through the woods, digging for truffles—was holding a length of twine away from a bouncing, chirping griffon. Freshly caught fish hung from it, rainbow scales catching the sun. Trousers were rolled up to her bruised knees, sleeves to her scarred elbows, and neither had helped keep her clothing dry.

Out here, in the golden light of Arlathan, Radhika looked like something enduring. There was no slim plate armor hiding her slant of her shoulders, no shield weighing down her arm, no everite sword in her hand. Just the twisting, ritualistic scarring up her left forearm, geometric lines tattooed across her face, and sweat-smeared kohl that hid the bags beneath her eyes.

She was smiling. A worn thing that reminded Davrin more of the brand-new post-joining Warden recruits than the boisterous Lords of Fortune. Assan bounded at her dirt speckled, bare heels, chirping, warbling, and crooning. The fur and feathers along his belly and legs were dripping with the river.

Davrin stepped a bit further into the trees, letting the shadows of the boughs and leaves hide him from view. He couldn’t remember the last time he had seen Radhika smile. Or perhaps he never had, and they were all stolen away by the attacks on Treviso and Minrathous.

“No, Assan,” she said, sternly but fondly. Her grip was gentle as she grabbed the griffon cub’s beak before it could catch one of the fish. “These are for supper. Besides, let me gut and debone them before you stuff your face.”

Ears and wings dropped. Baby-blue eagle eyes widened. If he was an elven babe, the damn beast would be pouting.

Good thing he was born with a beak and claws. Davrin hated to think what he would get up to if he had thumbs.

Radhika merely laughed. It was a tender, quiet sound, all lotus blossoms and mud-stirred water. “That won’t work on me as much as it does on Neve,” she told Assan, brushing her fingers gently across the speckled silver feathers on his forehead.

He warbled at her and nudged his head into her touch, giving up on the fish. For now. There was something divine in the way the sunlight fell across her hair that not even the so-called gods could touch. Up in the ruins, the shadow of Ghilan’nain’s likeness glared at him for his so-called blasphemy.

Mother of the halla. Mother of monsters. Davrin hadn’t given her much thought after taking his vallaslin. Not until recently when her hand dealt the death blow of a thousand wardens.

“Davrin?”

Turning away from the shadow of the tyrant, he glanced towards Radhika.

Her shoulder length black hair was pulled up into a messy bun. A white and blue lily stuck out of the tie holding it together; a gift from one of the younger veil jumpers they had rescued mere days ago. It looked like a guiding star.

It softened her. Not with the plushness of rabbit fur, but like how dusk lessened the heat of the day. Twilight wiping away blood and dirt and the horrors the light revealed to firesides, drinks, and steadfast company.

She had tilted her head to the side and was watching him, checking in that way she always did for injuries, then for anything else.

“I’m alright,” Davrin said stepping out of the trees. “Got caught up in my own thoughts.”

Assan bounded past to go wiggle underneath the tarps that had been set up. The camping idea had been shamelessly stolen from Harding. Or, rather, Davrin had mentioned his plan to Harding only to get it whole-heartedly approved.

They were still waiting on news from the Crows, information from the Shadow Dragons, as well as whatever Antoine and Evka could scrape together. They had a small bit of time. Not a lot, but enough to go camping out in the wilderness.

Take some semblance of a break.

“If you need to head back—”

“I don’t,” Davrin told her, firmly. He carefully took the twine and the fish. “You said gutting and deboning?”

Radhika watched him. Her eyes were not blue despite the fact that she smelled of the sea. Even out here in the dirt, even at Weisshaupt when they were surrounded by blight and blood and death. It followed her, a phantom dogging at her heels.

There were some who believed that humans had come from across the sea. Perhaps had even come from it. All dirt and bones and light. A heaving, churning reminder that everyone was filled with a deep, restless soul. Elvens born from spirits made flesh. Humans born from water made to walk.

Whatever Radhika was looking for made her expression soften. “Yes,” she admitted. “Preferably before Assan decides to try and steal one.”

Davrin glanced down and—sure enough. “You heard the boss,” he said to the griffon that was trying to slink through the trees, eyes on the fish. “Nothing until supper.”

Assan warbled and flopped down on the dirt with a huff.

“You—” Davrin almost started before shaking his head. They could deal with the filth later. Probably back in the river. He spared a second to glance back at Radhika.

She was no monster to track through the wilderness nor a halla that needed patient herding. Something old lurked beneath the surface and he was no fisherman but he could learn. He could try.

“Shall we?” Davrin motioned with the fish.

Radhika smiled at him. “We shall.”

#dragon age #dragon age the veilguard #davrin x rook #davrin dragon age #Radhika - rook #fabulist tales

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weaveandwood · 7 days ago

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The Snake and The Crow: Regrets

Pairing: The Viper x Female Rook (Bianca, an Antivan Crow mage) Words: 3.4K Rating: Mature

Summary:

Bianca faces all of her regrets, both in the Fade Prison and outside of it. Ashur deals with a fading mind. AN: Surprise! I got the chapter done early and was able to get it posted before the scheduled Wednesday update date! I've had a lot of this chapter sitting waiting to be used for a bit now, and I'm so happy to get it out for you to read.

Comments and reblogs are appreciated! Read on AO3! Previous Chapter

Bianca blinked open her eyes. How long had she been out? Her head hurt, her vision was swimming, and every muscle in her body was screaming. The last thing she remembered was Ghilan’nain dying and everything going to shit.

What happened? Everything felt wrong, like the air was thick and the color had been leached from the world. It reminded her of something. Almost like…

She sat up quickly, her head spinning, and saw a yawning chasm, not unlike the one she was used to when talking to Solas. There was someone on the other side, a woman. Bianca tilted her head, squinting to get a better look.

Oh, no. Oh, no, no, no.

It was her.

“Your work is done,” he had said, looking down on her with a mixture of pity and disdain.

She curled in on herself, panic beginning to course through her veins. She was trapped. Solas had betrayed her, used her to escape this prison made for gods and left her to rot. Her breathing quickened along with her pulse. She looked around this greyed out wasteland, desperate for anything that could get her out of here. Something.

She thought she heard the faintest whisper on whatever would pass for a breeze here—there one second and gone the next, but it sounded so much like him. Like Ashur. But it couldn’t be him, not really, not when he was still alive, or as alive as the blight would allow him to be. It had to be either a trick of the Fade or her mind. Still, she stood up, following where she thought the voice went. He was impossible to ignore.

“There has to be a way out of here, I just have to find it. Then I can…What? Make things right?” she laughed to herself, bitterness replacing any humor. Her voice sounded loud and out of place here. Neve, Davrin, Assan, Lucanis…all dead. All because of her. Again. This is my fault, this is my fault, this is my fault . Her old ghosts came back to haunt her, like they had for weeks after the blighted dragon razed Minrathous.

“Hey, kid. Solas found a way out, now you need to find yours.”

She turned in a circle, looking for the source. Another voice on the breeze. First Ashur, now Varric? Her mind had to be playing tricks on her, craving something familiar, something comforting. Nothing in the Fade made sense.

Stairs, though. Stairs were good. Stairs made sense. She started to climb. Another voice filled her head, the familiar shape of a friend flooding her vision as larger than life statues appeared before her.

“I told you the enchantments were dangerous, but you chose me anyway. Who will protect Dock Town now? It’s like you want to see it wiped off the map. I trusted you, and it got me killed. Just like you killed Ashur.”

Each of Neve’s words were perfectly sharpened to cut her where it hurt the most, each syllable a quick stab, poised to kill. They echoed around her, a whirlwind of pain, dragging her out to the sea and pulling her under. This is my fault .

“Rook is not to blame.” That same faint whisper. Was it in her ear, or her memory? She couldn’t tell either way, only that it was Ashur once again providing a small act of mercy, stopping her from collapsing in on herself just as he did the night the dragon razed Minrathous. The flurry of daggers stabbing at her soul with every beat of her heart fell to the ground and she could breathe once more. This wasn’t her fault. This prison was locked by regrets—she couldn’t afford to dwell on them anymore, not if she wanted to get out and finish what they started.

“I made a choice. I live with the choices I make. The successes…and the failures. We all believed in this. The real Neve knew what it might cost.” She wasn’t sure who she was saying it out loud for. This fake Neve surely didn’t care. Maybe it was just for herself.

More stairs. With shaky hands, she continued. What would she face next? Who would she face next?

“Whatever it takes, that’s what you told us. You lived it every day. You asked a lot of us, of the team. But you asked even more of yourself. After everything you’ve done? It was my turn to make the sacrifice. And I’d do it again. Without a second thought.”

A tear fell down her cheek. Davrin was supposed to be living a new life, finding new purpose with Assan and the other griffons. He was more than his sacrifices, he mattered outside of his death. And now he was gone.

“I’ll make sure your sacrifice matters, Davrin.”

“What about mine?” Varric asked. He was no trick of the Fade, as real as anything here could be. She wished she was imagining things, that this was just a dream. Wake up, wake up, wake up .

Solas had betrayed her yet again. Used her this entire time. Fooled her. He certainly had earned his many titles. She felt her magic deep within her, dulled by this prison but heated and burning with rage all the same. He was lucky this wasn’t a prison locked by wanting to throw him off a cliff, weighted down by the heaviest of stones or she would never break out. She looked at Varric and her fire gave out, extinguished by overwhelming grief she had not yet been allowed to feel. He had been…all this time…

“I think I knew the truth, deep down, but I couldn’t face it because it would mean admitting I let you die.” This was my fault. “I made a call, and it got you killed.”

“Haven’t you learned anything, kid? I made the choice, even knowing the risks. My decision, my sacrifice. You don’t get to take that from me.”

Varric always had a way of making her see things clearly. Everyone made their choices, they knew the risks. She may have been the leader of the team, but it was not on her to shoulder everything. It was not on her to diminish their sacrifices, to take away their autonomy.

Even me , the faint whisper said. It is what it is .

She closed her eyes, allowing it to seep in, filling every empty space within her, grief replaced by acceptance. Of course Ashur would challenge a dragon by himself to save those less fortunate than he was. Of course Davrin would distract Ghilan’nain to allow Lucanis to take the shot. Of course Neve would offer to break the wards. Of course Varric would try to reason with his old friend. They were who they were.

It is what it is.

“Rook!” She heard Lucanis’s voice in the distance, relief flooding her so quickly she thought she might drown in it. An arm grabbed her through the pale light she had been walking toward the entire time without realizing it, the place where the veil was thinnest.

“I’d say good luck, but you don’t need it,” Varric called as she was pulled through, reunited with her friends once more.

She wanted to believe him.

Dear Ashur, if you’re reading this, I didn’t make it back from Tearstone Island .

Dear Ashur. Dear Ashur. Who was Ashur? Was he Ashur? He must be Ashur.

The thoughts in his head were dissonant, making it nearly impossible to focus sometimes, but when he thought of her, he was able to find himself once more. He was Ashur, The Viper, so many other masks, and she was Bianca, Rook. Gone. Betrayed. Pulled into the Fade by the Dread Wolf. The very one who was assisting Minrathous at this very moment with holding back the blight and Elgar’nan. It had taken all his restraint not to use what little magic he had remaining when he saw Solas. Had he been healthy, unblighted…but he wasn’t. He didn’t have the strength to focus his magic on anything but keeping the blight within himself contained, just for a while longer. Just a little while.

His brief hold on his focus was waning, the call of the Blight growing ever louder. It would be so easy to succumb to it. For some reason he couldn’t recall, he didn’t want to succumb to it.

Through blinding mist, I climb a sheer cliff, the summit shrouded in fog, the base endlessly far beneath my feet. The Maker is the rock to which I cling

The Chant always provided him with comfort in times like these, he had said to her the last time he saw her. He did not know then it would be the last time he saw her.

Her? Who was her ?

Bianca. Bianca. Wild curls, ocean blue eyes, spark and flame. The letter. He went quickly to the desk in his room, no longer at the Shadows hideout but in his home that was too grand for one who was just a man. A man, not a title. The letter lay there, well-read with edges crumpled and stained with drops and smears of black blight. He skimmed, looking for his favorite part:

I had already started falling in love with you.

Love. It made his magic spark to life once more, warmth flowing through his veins. Something it had not done these last weeks once he learned she was gone. They were trying to get her back. He could not do anything but pace his room, a fate worse than this blight for a man of action.

It called to him. Sang louder than The Chant at times. He had fought this for months, but it was winning. Tendrils of inky black coated his body, the dripping proof of his injury everywhere he touched. Perhaps it was better she did not see him like this. He read the letter again, his eyes stopping once more at her confession.

I had already started falling in love with you.

He had loved her from almost the beginning, that was one thing he remembered. He never got to tell her and now it was too late. So many secrets, so many lies, so many things he thought he was protecting her from. For nothing. She was gone and he would be soon. A faint thought of “It is what it is” echoed through him, anger rising. The blight sparked, feeding on it. He didn’t want acceptance. He wanted her. He wanted love. He wanted to be selfish for once in his life.

Why wasn’t he selfish? Who was he? A glance at the letter. Dear Ashur. He was Ashur.

A soft knock at his door. The blight within him surged, the song begging. Rip. Attack. Tear. Feast. He swallowed it down. His magic was so tired of swallowing it down.

“Enter,” he called, as much as he could. His voice was weak for the first time in his life, used to echoing through the Chantry or the hideout, leading his faithful. No more. A man opened the door. He had a vague flicker of recognition. Who was he? Tarquin. Tarquin.

“We just got an urgent missive. They have her—she’s back. They’ll be fighting Elgar'nan tomorrow.”

Something he once recognized as relief flooded through him. The end. It would be over tomorrow. He could hold on just one more day, join the fight. He knew he wouldn’t survive it, but he could help. He sat down and grabbed his pen, hands shaking from the effort.

Bianca, I have succumbed - either to illness or violence but either way I no longer remain on this side of the Veil and have gone to the Maker’s side. The truth of the matter is this…

It was time to write his own confession. For her.

It turns out, you don’t have to be trapped in the Fade to be in a prison of your regrets. Regret didn’t have to be a statue of a fallen friend, the memory of one you didn’t realize was lost, or the voice of someone you were on your way to losing. Regret could take the form of a pair of warm brown eyes looking down at you, a trusted friend who could be more. Who you thought you wanted to be more. It could take the form of a pair of violet wings wrapping around you in comfort when they were usually used to aid in violence. It could be the gentle press of lips followed by a more urgent one, whispers of “you’re here,” and “I promise.” It could feel like hands that are not the ones you truly want tracing the shape of your body. It could feel like dancing on the knife’s edge of love, but with the wrong person. It could feel completely right, but completely wrong at the same time.

She wanted this. She didn’t want this.

He wanted this. He didn’t want this.

“Wait,” Bianca said.

“What is it?” His brows knit together, the crease between them present once more.

“This isn’t…we shouldn’t, Lucanis. I’m not what you want. I can’t be what you want,” she said. She couldn’t be a statue in his own prison of regrets. Something he looked upon and thought if only I hadn’t.

“You—I want you, Rook, as you already are. I thought you knew that. I thought you felt the same,” he said, sitting back on his knees between her thighs. Lies. To her, to himself, to everyone.

I do. I don’t. You do. You don’t.

She was silent. She saw him start to retreat back into himself, the pedestal of her sculpture already formed in his mind. How do you tell someone that you want them, but that you want someone more? Someone you can never have, someone who will be on the other side of the Veil sooner than either of you would like, someone you would have gladly stayed in the Fade to meet once more? How do you tell them you know they feel the same about you—the wanting and the not wanting, constantly at war with each other.

“I thought I did. I want to.” She had thought, when he came into her room moments ago, that she could love him fully, that she would be able to forget everything else and have only him. He understood her, he trusted her, he had been there for her through it all. His was the first voice calling her name as she was pulled from Solas’s prison. She had been so close to falling before, what was stopping her now? She had been so good at lying to herself her entire life, why would her heart not let her lie about this?

She had fantasized about it, being with Lucanis. The Demon of Vyrantium, the First Talon, the rogue who almost captured her hardened heart. The man who would kill with pinpoint precision then come back and make her churros because he remembered her favorite drink was hot chocolate. Daydreamed how it would feel to be a part of something, fully, and have a family with the Crows she always felt like she was on the perimeter of, just inches away from belonging. She had wondered how those hands would feel on her body, in her body, and now that they were…they weren’t the right hands.

It’s not fair to him. He deserves more. She deserves more. She sat up, still in her undergarments but feeling completely naked in front of him.

“Lucanis, I–”

“I thought we had something, Rook. Why are you pulling away now? After all this time?” he asked. “Why would you—”

“Lucanis,” she interrupted, smiling softly. “You don’t want this either, it’s just easy . I’ve seen how you look at Neve. How you smile around her. You don’t smile like that around me. And I don’t think I can smile like that around you. Honestly, I don’t know if I’ll be able to smile like that around anyone, at least not until…”

His face softened. “At least not until you know…”

Neither of them could bring themselves to say the hard truth. Until he was dead .

She nodded, though her head barely moved. Her hands in her lap suddenly were the most interesting thing in this room—anything to avoid seeing the hurt on his face. “I’m sorry.” Her voice was barely a whisper.

They sat there in silence, moments dragging out into eternity. Would the Fade reclaim this space with the two of them frozen in this position, the stone of the Lighthouse crumbling around them while they sought to avoid looking at each other? Would the glass separating them from the aquarium crack and deteriorate with age, the fish long gone due to lack of care, the plants that brought her so much comfort with their rhythmic floating on the currents crumbled to the floor below while they avoided saying anything that mattered?

She felt a hand on hers. It may have been moments, minutes, hours, or decades later, she couldn’t be sure. She looked up to see him looking at her, his eyes warm and soft, a knowing smile on his face. A tear she didn’t even know had formed escaped down her cheek. He reached forward to brush it off her face.

“I still can’t believe we found you. I thought we’d never see you again, that I’d never see you again. That you were lost for good.” He laced his fingers with hers, still fighting the war between wanting and not wanting.

“You can’t get rid of me that easily, I’m afraid,” she said with a half smile. She brushed her thumb against his, fighting the same war. Her heart tugged and pulled, Lucanis and Ashur on opposite sides. Something growing or something dying, something expected or a beautiful surprise, something easy or one of the hardest things she’s ever experienced.

Why did she always have to choose the difficult path?

“You’re right. About Neve,” he said after a few moments. “You’re always right, Rook. It’s infuriating sometimes.” He cocked his head to the side. “Spite agrees.”

She let out a small laugh, her fingers sliding out of his after his confession. “Well if Spite agrees, who am I to argue that?”

She wanted to cling to him, to tell him it was a joke, that she was only kidding— “Oh, you know Rook, never serious!” She faced the prospect of being alone, truly alone, for the first time the day after tomorrow and she had to admit she was terrified. But that was her sacrifice to make, for Lucanis to be as happy as she was in those hours before the dragon attacked Minrathous and all of her hopes were as blighted as the man she hadn’t yet admitted to herself she loved. That she still loved. That she would love, until it was over. Maybe long past that.

“Will we…be okay?” she asked, tentatively. She didn’t want there to be any issues or unhealed hurts between them, especially when they both went back home to Antiva to resume their lives—him as First Talon, and her as a thorn in Viago’s side.

“More than okay, Rook,” he said softly, brushing a curl from her face and tucking it back into place. He kissed her softly, one more to add to her small collection of kisses from him that night. One tentative and sweet, one desperate and urging, and one for goodbye. She stared at her empty hands, lost in thought while he dressed and left, the door to her room closing with a gentle click.

She lay back on her sofa and turned toward the fish, her constant companions. She watched as they swam to and fro, free to go where they pleased, wherever the current took them. She wondered, as she contemplated how her life would look after tomorrow, if she could be afforded that same option. Throughout her entire life, she realized she had never had a say in where she ended up, always a pawn in someone else’s plan for her. To be able to go where she pleased…it sounded like a luxury she used to only dream about on those cold nights surrounded by other orphans in Treviso, or when she was huddled up under a threadbare blanket distracting herself from her growling stomach back in Vyrantium. She had seen so much of northern Thedas now, she was changed through and through. How could she go back to her old life? Did she even want to?

As her eyes fluttered and finally closed, she found her head at war with her heart. She knew her heart would win.

She always did choose the difficult path.

#viper x rook #ashur x rook #the viper #the viper datv #datv the viper #ashur datv #ashur #my writing #datv #dragon age the veilguard #the snake and the crow #the snake and the crow fic #bianca de riva #viper x bianca #ashur vesperian #Vianca #viperook

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sorceresssundries · 2 months ago

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The Warden's Watcher

Chapter 3

AO3 link

Pairing: Emmrich x Female Rook

Warnings: Talks of death, infertility. Will become explicit in later chapters.

Little note - Taash's journey will be covered briefly in this fic, and as such their pronouns will be altered in line with the events of the game <3

“What makes you the right person to lead the fight against Elgar’nan and Ghilan’nain?”

The arrogance of the man. The sheer audacity. She had spoken to him only a couple of times in this haunted and bleak place, but she understood why he was so vilified.

His entire demeanor bristled with confidence: the cocky lilt of his voice, the faint smirk tugging at his lips. He was a prisoner who believed himself a god. On what ground? Where were his worshippers? His temples? He was no god of Grace’s. He was a soldier who had lived so long that all he knew was war. A tired rebel who didn’t know how to function without a cause.

She didn’t know if this was truly the Fade, or some intrusion into her thoughts—or worse, some awful melding of the two. She didn’t know who was questioning who, who held the upper hand.

But Maker help her, she was tired. And angry.

“Someone has to do something,” she replied evenly, “and I am willing and able.”

“Is that all it takes?”

Solas was baiting her, of course. His words slithered in and around her defenses, searching for soft, malleable places to sink his teeth. A wolf in chains is still a wolf, and this one howled lies and half-truths. She didn’t trust him. And yet...

She needed him. Painful as it was to admit, she needed his knowledge.

Her gaze narrowed. How does one outplay the god of trickery? She tilted her head, mimicking his infuriating calm. No—she’d find his cracks, his weak points.

“Well,” she began, voice heavy with sarcasm, “unfortunately, I'm no leader of an inquisition. Perhaps, if I had a mark of Andraste...”

Ah, there. A slight tightening of his jaw.

“Is that what’s required? To be groomed by one God into the false herald of another?” she crooned.

The response was instantaneous.

“I did not groom—”

“Didn’t you?” she cut in, sharp as her Warden’s blade. “You just let her believe she was chosen? Gifted with a mark and a divine purpose that you caused ?”

His silence was damning.

“Is that what it takes, Solas?” she pressed, stepping forward, her voice gaining force. “Do I need to be another one of your pawns to be deemed worthy? You lied to all of them and used them for your ends. Am I next?”

Solas’ voice dropped low, quiet, and far too dangerous. “I suppose you’re nobody’s chess piece, are you... Rook ?”

Her lips tightened, but she didn’t respond. She knew exactly what he was doing—trying to prise apart her trust in Varric, trying to isolate her so he could divide and conquer. Chess moves upon chess moves.

“Have you been completely honest with your team?” His words slithered back in, needling. “Do they know each chapter of your past?”

The weight of his gaze pinned her in place.

“Do they know why you became a Warden?”

A cold wash moved under her skin.

“Do you ?” she bit back.

Solas tilted his head, as though to study her from a new angle. “You helped Varric pursue me for the better part of a year. It would have been foolish not to learn who was hunting me.”

Grace straightened her shoulders, masking her discomfort with a shield of indifference. “My past is of no consequence to the cause. A Warden sheds their past when they take the oath and survive the Joining. It’s what we get in return for our sacrifice.”

“So, your past is irrelevant, but mine condemns me?”

“Your past is all you are,” she snapped. “It consumes you—it is your future. Mine is dead and buried. I’ve made my peace with it. I am atoning for my sins.”

“As am I,” he said, clearly, unwaveringly.

Grace balked. Did he truly believe this was atonement? Atoning to whom? To a race long dead? To an age reduced to ruins and memory?

Surely atonement achieved through destruction could only pave the way for more destruction. For more apologies. For more empty gestures of growth built atop ash and blood. The cycle would continue, endlessly feeding on itself, each act of penance creating fresh sins to be answered for.

And atonement that only begets the need for more atonement—could that ever lead to true redemption?

Could he really not see that? Or was he willfully blind to the futility of his actions, convinced that the weight of his guilt demanded something—anything—even if it meant dooming others to pay the price for his absolution?

“They trust me, and I trust them. That is enough,” Grace said firmly, shaking the dark thoughts from her mind. “We have a strong group. We’ve just recruited a Dragon hunter, as well as an expert in the fade”

Solas smirked again. Even though the chasm between them was vast and uncrossable, for one brief, tempting moment, Grace considered risking the leap—just to punch him square in the face.

“I was a trusted Fade expert once, too.”

Her eyes narrowed, the edges of her temper fraying. “Well,” she retorted, voice dripping with venom, “this one’s far more charming—and isn’t an arrogant piece of shit. So, we’re already one up on the Inquisition.”

She had expected him to look thunderous, to bare his teeth like a hungry wolf. Instead, his expression remained infuriatingly calm—the smug face of trickery itself.

“Enough of this,” she snapped, her patience frayed to the edge. She was done trading barbs with him. “Ghilan’nain and Elgar’nan each control an archdemon,” she said, exhaling sharply as she rubbed her temples. Sparring with Solas was exhausting, and not the reason she had come here. “A blighted archdemon.”

The smirk vanished, replaced by a grim, thoughtful line.

“The life force of those archdemons is bound to the Evanuris as both power and protection,” Solas said gravely. “You will not be able to kill—or even harm them—until their dragon thrall is slain.”

The odds kept stacking, impossibly higher and higher.

“Anything else?” she asked, her tone dulled by weariness. The bite in her words was gone; she was too tired to flash her teeth anymore.

“Even with their dragons dead, they will not be easy to kill. You will need to use my dagger.” His words came measured and steady, as if weighing the burden he was about to place on her. “It will pierce their enchantments and end them once and for all.”

The edges of the Fade began to shimmer and blur. She felt herself slipping, like falling away from one dream into another.

“This opportunity will be fleeting and costly,” Solas continued, his voice turning somber. “You will not have another chance to catch them unawares.”

The blurring of the Fade softened him, his face flickering with something unfamiliar—genuine sadness, perhaps. Or regret. Grace couldn’t be sure. For just a moment, he didn’t seem like the arrogant wolf she had fought so hard to keep at bay.

“If you see the Inquisitor...” His voice faltered, and his expression tightened as if bracing himself. “Please tell her...”

But the words, like him, vanished into the Fade, swallowed whole by the shifting dreamscape.

The next thing Grace knew, she was awake—her body heavy, her limbs slow—as she returned to the room that wasn’t hers. Yet the Fade’s echoes clung to her, a faint hum of its magic lingering in her chest.

And as she lay there, caught in the fragile space between asleep and awake, she heard it again. The Calling.

It was still just a whisper, faint and distant, more a hum than a melody. A sound so small, so hidden, it was only discernible in the stillest of moments - the delicate hours when the night before surrendered itself to the day after, when even the sharpest troubles stretched, yawned, and softened. In that fragile quiet, the sound crept in, threading through her thoughts like a shadow slipping through cracks, settling itself down just at the edge of her awareness.

It was no bard’s tune, no hymn for a harp or lute. It was a whisper with a heartbeat, temptation with a rhythm. Both unknowable and inexplicably familiar.

It felt like turning to see the outline of someone following you, someone you half-remember from a time you wish you could get back to. I know you, you might say, though their name eludes you. Although disconcerting, there is comfort, it is a relief to see them there.

The song was like that - a longing you could not place, a desire as old as to feel familiar ground beneath your feet. It didn’t ask for much, just a moment’s indulgence, a step toward the pull. Just one step. And then, why not another? And then one more?

Grace knew when it called to her fully, there would be no hesitation. She would follow. It wasn’t coercion - it was inevitability. Perhaps that was the greatest comfort of all, to know there was no fight to be had.

Not that it mattered any more. She would never need to follow it now.

The Gods could not be killed until their arch-demons were slain. And, well, as a warden who was already hearing the Calling, it made sense that she should be the one to strike the blow and give what little life she had left in exchange for the dragon’s. It was logical. Straight-forward. Indisputable.

The months she thought she had left had dwindled down to mere hours, and she was relieved.

She wouldn’t have to endure the Calling growing louder, the insidious whisper of the darkspawn growing stronger in her mind. She wouldn’t have to watch her skin pale and her eyes redden until she became something ghoulish, a shadow of herself. She wouldn’t have to walk that mournful march below the earth, into the Deep Roads, to fight an endless tide of darkspawn until her strength gave out and they dragged her down to a painful end.

In Death, Sacrifice.

Maybe, her sacrifice could be more meaningful than she’d dared to hope. Perhaps she wouldn’t fall in some forgotten corner of the world. Perhaps she could take her sword and plunge it into the skull of an Archdemon, strip the twisted divinity from a vengeful god that threatened the world she had sworn to protect, and trade her life for a glimmer of hope.

She hadn’t told anyone about what she had been hearing, and now she wouldn’t need to. At least that was one weight off her mind.

It had been a few weeks since the full group had last gathered at the lighthouse. They were still new to one another, strangers navigating unfamiliar bonds. She had been so consumed by tasks and planning that the haunting melody of the Calling had been all but drowned out, leaving her with little time to dwell on it.

The stillness around her was broken by the unmistakable cadence of voices drifting up from the atrium. Grace stirred, the distant melody of the Calling pushed aside by the more immediate, bracing familiarity of Taash’s voice—blunt as a mace and often hitting just as hard.

“…if you had just left it alone.”

“Taash,” came Emmrich’s measured tone, a practiced counterpoint to her impatience. “There is no need for dramatics.”

Grace descended the stairwell slowly, her fingers brushing the railing, her expression carefully neutral. As she entered the atrium, she found Davrin seated at the table, arms crossed against his broad chest. Emmrich leaned against the back of a chair, his demeanor composed, while Taash paced like a caged animal, her movements sharp with frustration.

The trio had just returned from the Hossberg wetlands, where the spread of the Blight had been causing serious problems. Grace had stayed behind to talk to Solas. Judging by the tension in the room, it seemed neither mission had gone well.

“It’s bad,” Davrin said, breaking the strained silence.

Grace’s gaze snapped to him. “How bad?”

“The Blight is fast-moving. And worse, it’s… changing.” His discomfort was palpable, his words cautious as he glanced at the others in the room.

“Did you find Evka and Antoine?” she pressed, catching the subtle flicker of unease in Davrin’s expression.

“Yes, Antoine can sense something…” Davrin admitted reluctantly, his voice low.

“They’re gathering evidence for the First Warden,” Emmrich interjected smoothly, his tone less guarded. “I managed to gather some samples myself, I'm quite skilled at alchemy, perhaps with some further study of my own I may be able to…”

“The whole thing fucking sucked.” Taash said, arms folded. “Blight cysts and boils everywhere. Darkspawn running rampant. Demons down wells. It sucked.”

Grace’s lips quirked upward “I can always count on you for a thorough report, Taash.”

“They spoke highly of you,” Emmrich said, his voice lighter, as if deliberately steering the mood to calmer waters. “Lovely couple. They had a lot of interesting theories about the blight’s adaptability. They believe it’s developing patterns of behavior. Targeting places of greater strategic importance. As though something—or someone—is influencing it. Guiding it.”

Grace felt a cold weight settle in her chest. The implications of such a development were too terrible to ignore.

“Does the First Warden know?”

“Not yet,” Davrin admitted. “Antoine and Evka are to make the report in person. The wardens are being called back to Weisshaupt. Something big is coming.”

Grace glanced between them, her mind already racing through strategies. The world was shifting again, tilting closer to chaos, and she felt the all-too-familiar pressure of decisions that carried the weight of countless lives.

She wanted to ask more—press them for every scrap of information they had—but the ache of the Calling tugged at the edges of her mind, a reminder that her time was running out faster than she cared to admit. For now, she would focus on the present, on what needed to be done. She couldn’t think about dying now.

"Emmrich, I need to borrow a book from your study." She didn’t, she just needed to be warmed by the fire and his company.

"Of course," he replied.

They left Davrin and Taash to argue over blight and monsters and dragons, and she followed him into the room that had quickly become her favorite in the lighthouse.

A beautiful spiral staircase wound upward, coiling like a ribbon of dark wood to a small balcony near the top of the tower. Shelves lined the walls, filled with books, trinkets, and instruments whose purposes Grace could only guess at. The fireplace was alive with a crackling fire, sending out warmth that settled into her tired bones.

The study had surprised her. She hadn’t expected it to feel so welcoming. Every room in the lighthouse seemed to mirror the tastes and desires of its inhabitants, but this room? She had expected something austere, reflecting Emmrich’s darker sensibilities. Stone walls, perhaps, cold and smooth as marble. Flickering green lanterns that spilled veillight across a shadowed floor—something that spoke of his familiarity with death and decay. It still held a gothic charm, urns with imposing skull lids, an examination table stained with something she would rather not think about.

But the comfort, and vibrancy of his study was a pleasant surprise. The warmth of it drew her in, beckoning her to linger. She noticed how it had appeared next to her own room, as if placed there deliberately. The air was rich with scents that she couldn’t resist: spiced wine, the faint acrid sweetness of fireplace smoke, and the unmistakable crackle of magic.

The lighthouse had not offered Grace a room of her own. Instead, there were subtle, almost intimate hints of magic. She would come back to find bunches of delicate purple flowers arranged in vases. Books, ones she hadn’t noticed before, would show up, their pages folded at key passages. Trinkets, small and thoughtful - stones with strange markings, a carved pendant, even an old, weathered map with sections highlighted - would find their way onto the dresser.

For the others, entire rooms had appeared and formed and flourished to their needs and personalities. Grace was forced to stay in Solas’s old room, laying on the sofa with the light from the aquarium dancing across the walls. At least she had the scent of her favourite flowers.

But there was always Emmrich’s room, and no magic could create anywhere more inviting.

“You were after a particular book?” Emmrich asked, with a glint in his eye.

This was not an unusual step in their intricate dance. Often, she would knock on his door with some pretext to speak with him—asking about his history, seeking his advice, or simply to borrow a book and read by the fire. Each encounter added to the growing collection of stolen moments that she carefully hoarded, even as she reminded herself of the rule she had set.

She would not develop feelings for him.

That was the line she had drawn. She would not allow herself to dream of nights wrapped in his arms, of his rich, knowing voice whispering sweetness in the whorl of her ear. No. It was impossible. Disastrous.

But… a little flirting would be safe, surely? Why shouldn’t she indulge herself, just a little? If her time was running short, surely she could afford to spend some of it savouring the velvet comfort of honeyed words exchanged with Emmrich. He was a delight—a rare and intoxicating thing she wished to enjoy, if only for a fleeting moment. Just a taste. Just flirting. That would be fine.

She had never been in love, and didn’t plan on falling into that trap at this stage in her shortened life.

Since she was twenty, she had been a sword and shield against the dark, and others had always treated her as such. Sharp. Solid. Edges folded over and over again until she became a being of tempered steel.

Now, at thirty-five, as the end barreled toward her—merciless, inexorable—she found she no longer wanted to be the shield holding back her own oblivion. There was no beating back the inevitable. For a while, she longed to be something softer, stitched from silk and sighs. A sip of rich wine on a parched tongue. A balm, not a blade.

She wanted to be savoured like the last days of summer, all slow heat and light that lingers. She wanted to be Grace, and not Rook. But… such moments were no longer hers to hope for.

She had known romance, of course. There had been fleeting entanglements, most often with other wardens, but they had always carried an undercurrent of tragedy. Every touch, every stolen hour, felt like a prelude to the inevitable. Each affair began with flowers and shared wine, only to be set aside and left to gather dust. Beautiful. Impermanent.

That was fine. She had accepted it. Grace was prepared to make peace with a short, adventurous life that had never been centered in someone else’s heart. If love wasn’t hers to hold, she would settle for the steady thrum of her own, echoing in her chest. A rhythm that would persist, unyielding, for as long as it could.

For as long as she could.

Emmrich was speaking to her again, his voice a warm current that swept her away, carrying her thoughts to treacherous waters. She found herself wondering how he kissed. Would it be like a gentleman—deliberate and refined? Or like a cad, all heat and urgency, stealing her breath like a desperate thief? Or perhaps like the scholar she knew him to be, curious and thorough, exploring her with the precision of one seeking to master every sigh, every shiver?

“Grace?”

Her name, spoken in that familiar timbre, pulled her abruptly from her reverie. She blinked, realizing with a flush of embarrassment that she had missed whatever he’d just said. His head tilted slightly, and a faint smirk curved his lips, amusement glinting in his eyes.

Maker, that smirk was going to be her undoing.

“Sorry,” she said, her voice a little too quick, a little too light. “I got distracted.”

“Clearly,” he replied, his smirk deepening. “Should I be flattered or concerned?”

“Um…”

He just laughed at her as she felt herself turn even pinker.

“Your blush turns you such a beautiful shade.” He said nonchalantly, “Where did you drift off to?”

“Oh, sorry. A lot on my mind. Blight. Gods. The inevitable confrontation that we’re unlikely to survive. That sort of thing.”

“Right, of course. What a silly question.” He smiled and she tried her best not to melt.

“I was wondering.” It was his turn to look a little flushed, which was odd for him. “if you wouldn’t mind accompanying me to the Necropolis? I have a task to perform, and would like some company.”

There was a second of fear, where she looked at the line she had drawn and it shimmered and bent.

Flirting would be fine. A little time together would be fine. Harmless. Besides, she didn’t have many chances left to be alone in his company.

She would take a little warmth where she could.

⎯⎯⎯⎯ ♜ ⎯⎯⎯⎯

Emmrich met her at the entrance to the memorial gardens, his expression warm, his hand extending toward hers in a gesture both formal and intimate. Grace placed her hand in his, and he led her down the wide, well-maintained steps. They were designed thoughtfully, ensuring even the most elderly of mourners could descend them safely, but the gallantry of the gesture touched her anyway.

“Part of my duties here includes tending to these rites of remembrance,” he explained as they began their stroll through the gardens. “It’s an important part of my role. Even though I’m technically away on leave, there are some things I still feel compelled to attend to. When I can.”

They moved slowly, the tranquility of the gardens wrapping around them like a gentle embrace. The air was cool but not biting, and the faint rustle of leaves intermingled with the soft crackle of the candles they lit as they went. Emmrich would pause now and then, murmuring words that were too quiet for Grace to hear. As they passed certain corners, wisps of light trailed close beside them—spirits, bright and curious, drawn to Emmrich’s presence. He acknowledged them with respect, his interactions natural and unforced, as though speaking to them was as simple as breathing. Grace watched, fascinated.

“This is where I feel it most,” Emmrich said softly, “The presence of the Veil. The closeness of the spirits. They aren’t angry or vengeful here—just… watchful. Grateful.”

“You must live a busy life,” she said quietly.

He gave a faint, almost wry smile. “Teaching, researching, performing rites, guarding the necropolis… It does have a way of filling the hours.” He paused, his steps slowing. “But this place—this work—has always been more than just a duty for me.”

She could sense there was more to say, and so she waited, letting the silence stretch between them until he was ready.

“I came to the Necropolis after I was orphaned” he began, his voice steady but laden with a quiet grief that felt well-worn, like a cloak he had carried for many years. “A collapsed building. Swift deaths. After the funeral, the watchers took me in.”

The admission hit Grace like a quiet, unspoken blow. She tried to imagine it—a little boy suddenly without parents, ripped from his home and taken to live in a place where death was ever-present. Did it help, she wondered, being surrounded by others who mourned? Did their shared grief make his own any easier to bear? Or had it only made him feel more lost, more alone?

“How did you cope?” she asked softly, her words tender with genuine curiosity.

“I didn’t. When I first came here, I was terrified.”

“And you still joined the Watchers?” Her tone carried a note of admiration she didn’t bother to hide. “That’s… remarkable.”

“They’re what saved me,” he said simply. “It was terrifying in a way I couldn’t name then. To feel so small in the face of something so vast, so unchangeable.”

Grace felt her fingers twitch, an instinctive desire to reach for him, to offer some kind of comfort. But she held back, knowing instinctively that he needed to let this out, uninterrupted.

“The watchers showed me a different way to look at it,” he said, his tone softening with something akin to gratitude. “Death wasn’t just loss to them. It was… continuity. A thread that connected everything and everyone. They taught me to honour it, learn from it. And so, I did. Even though it still scared me.”

Grace nodded, his words drawing her in like a quiet tide. There was a stillness to the way he spoke of death. She felt the urge to open up, to share her own fears, the ones she usually buried beneath duty. But this wasn’t about her. Not now. She wanted to hear more of Emmrich, to know him better while she still had the chance.

“So, you’ve stayed here since then?” she asked softly. Her next words came with more hesitation. “And you… never… married?”

It wasn’t the first time she’d wondered. She’d spent countless quiet moments admiring the intricate jewelry he wore—grave gold, he called it. Bangles and rings, their worn surfaces catching the firelight as he turned pages in a book or gestured passionately in conversation. The way they adorned his elegant hands seemed so fitting, so beautiful, that she couldn’t help but wonder if one of the rings might be something more—a wedding ring, perhaps.

For a fleeting moment, she thought she saw his gaze flick to his hands, as if he, too, knew what she had been looking for all along. Then he smiled faintly and shook his head.

“Ah, no. I’m afraid not. I had a picture for a little while, as people tend to do. An imagining” He waved one of his hands as though it were a wisp to be shooed away. “Marriage and children. Little footsteps in a little house filled with laughter and clutter.”

His smile was a small thing that looked more sad than happy.

“What happened to that picture?”

He paused, his fingers tracing the air with practiced ease. A vine had uncoiled from its support, its tendrils twisting like a gentle serpent. With a subtle flick of his wrist, he guided it back to its place, the magic flowing through him like a quiet breath. The vine settled, curling gracefully, and in the blink of an eye, delicate white flowers began to bloom, soft and luminous.

“It gathered dust I suppose, as things left unattended always do.”

They walked for a little while, and Grace had to fight the urge to let her hand brush against his. Every now and then he would stop to read the message on a headstone he had read a hundred times before, or bow his head before one of the graves.

He was even more beautiful here, stately and ethereal. Kind to those who could never offer it back. It moved her in the little ways that turn moments of sadness into minutes and hours and days of hope. She understood now, why people like him were needed in a place like this. The gentle, and the warm - beings of persistent light in a place where it is all too easy to become lost in the dark.

“It isn’t too late, you know?” She offered

“Oh, well I am content with my teaching and research, and an occasional dash of adventure to keep me spry.” He glanced at her with a sparkle in his eyes.

For the briefest of moments, she allowed herself to indulge in her own fleeting imagining - a glimpse of a future she knew would never be hers. Not with Emmrich exactly, but just with somebody, somehow.

Her mind, though stubborn and fortified, knew better. She had steeled herself against such fantasies, reminded herself that a life of that nature was not for her. And yet, despite all the logic in the world, it did nothing to quell the ache in her chest. The heart, it seemed, had a way of feeling things before the mind could catch up. Those little sorrows - small, tender things - drifted there first, nestling into the chambers where logic had no sway, and in their quiet persistence, they made themselves felt. They throbbed and ached. Burning fiercely within her, all the more intense for being ignored, for being left alone to smolder in the dark.

As quickly as the image appeared, she folded it back up and put it away. It hurt too much to keep looking at it.

She was angry at him a little, for acting like he was nearing the end when there was so much further for him to go. He had the privilege of gathering dust, where she would only become it.

There were lines in his face that would never deepen on her own, etched there by years of frowns, of laughter, of experiences and moments so uncountable they had made themselves a permanent home in the kind, handsome features of his face. Like the creases of a well-loved storybook. A life well-lived. A life that was not yet finished.

“What does the future look like for you?” Emmrich asked gently, his tone inviting but not insistent.

What to say to that? That there was no future? That this was it? That her flame would snuff out in a matter of hours when she killed the archdemon?

“Oh, the usual things! Fighting darkspawn, killing dragons, one-upping the God of trickery that lives in my subconscious… you know, what every little girl dreams of.”

Her attempt at humor didn’t land the way she’d hoped. He didn’t laugh or even crack a smile. Instead, his expression softened into something that looked suspiciously like pity, and it made her angry in a sharp, immediate way. She didn’t need pity - it was useless. It took up too much space and offered nothing in return.

Grace hesitated. She wasn’t ready to tell him everything. But she owed him something, a piece of herself in return for the piece he had shared.

“When I was little, I wanted to be a blacksmith,”

“I think you’d make a fine blacksmith,” Emmrich replied, his tone so reflexively polite that it tugged a laugh from her despite herself.

“I used to play a game with my sister,” she said. “I’d be the blacksmith, and she’d be the horse. I’d coax her over with treats I’d stolen from the kitchen, stroke her hair, and measure her feet for horseshoes.” She chuckled, louder this time, her laughter rich with the sweetness of nostalgia. “She’d stomp around the garden, pretending to throw the shoes, and I’d chase after her, yelling about how she was ruining my finest work.”

Emmrich’s smile made the corners of his eyes crinkle. “Do you see her often?” he asked, careful but curious.

Grace faltered. The warmth of the memory faded, and the smile slipped, falling away to somewhere she couldn’t quite reach.

“No,” she said quietly, “Not at all. We write to each other occasionally. But when I became a Warden… I gave up my family. It was part of the agreement.”

“Wardens don’t have to give up their families, do they? They can keep their names and connections, as far as I’ve ever understood. The oath comes first, but I thought…”

“My circumstances were a little different,” she interrupted gently, not meeting his gaze. “There is no family for me. Not the one I was born into, and not one for me to make on my own.”

“You never wanted to…?” he began, his voice trailing off, careful.

“Oh, I never really thought about it.” Grace shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “I was engaged for a little while, just before I became a Warden.”

She sensed his surprise, though he didn’t voice it.

“It didn’t work out, obviously,” she added, her tone light and detached. “It was a formal, arranged thing that never particularly interested me. And then, when I became a Warden… well, I became a Warden. Relationships were sweet and fleeting, usually with other Wardens. And children…” Her voice trailed off for a moment, a flicker of something unspoken passing through her expression. “Children were not an option.”

“No?”

The question hung in the air, and for a moment, she hesitated. There were veils and shrouds draped over the truth of the Grey Wardens, hiding their sacrifices. Maybe to keep people from being dissuaded from joining, or maybe to maintain the illusion of the Wardens as unshakable heroes. But Grace had learned early on that the taint was more than just a curse that shortened her lifespan. It was a quiet thief, stealing things she hadn’t even known were precious.

“Wardens can’t… biologically have children,” she said finally, her voice steady but soft.

“Ah. I’m so sorry,” Emmrich said simply.

“What for?” she replied, forcing a small smile. “I never wanted children, really. But still, something that belonged to me was taken.” She shrugged. “It’s how it is. It’s what I chose. I’m a Warden.”

“You are many things,” he said, his voice filled with such sweet sincerity that it made the ache in her chest bloom anew. “And you should have had the choice to be many more.”

The words hit her harder than she wanted to admit, but she didn’t respond. Instead, she looked away, blinking against the emotions welling in her chest, and let his words settle over her like a quiet, lingering comfort.

“You told me you would tell me the story of why you became a warden, over a drink if I remember correctly.” He said

How she wished she could. What a joy it would be, to dust off her secrets and offer them out to someone who would treasure them. She couldn’t. Not now. It was too late.

“One day soon.” She said sadly, “When there are fewer Gods and dragons to worry about.”

They had stopped walking now, pausing beneath a great and ancient tree that dominated this part of the memorial garden. Its trunk was a labyrinth of twists and knots, as though it had once been many trees. Over time, they seemed to have reached toward one another, their branches entwining like clasped fingers. Together, they had grown upward, merging into one inseparable whole. The blooms that now drifted softly to the graveyard floor were all the same—identical petals falling from what had become one living thing.

Grace reached out and let a bloom land in her open palm. It was delicate and pale, trembling slightly in the breeze before settling. She studied it for a moment before releasing it again, watching as it spiraled down to join the others in a soft, fragrant carpet.

“You possess a bravery I could only ever dream of.” he said, unable to take his eyes off her.

“Oh? You seem pretty brave to me.” The urge to slip her hand into his, for even just a moment, was becoming more and more fervid.

“I’m afraid not. I possess a great terror of dying. It goes beyond dread. It can’t be reasoned with, or soothed over, it comes without warning. In the dead of night, in sunlit streets… A raw, strangling fear that strikes somewhere deep past the heart.”

She did reach for him then, to place a gentle hand upon the crook of his arm. She wished to clasp his hand between hers, or even to touch his face and lift his chin to look at her, but she resisted.

“That must be an issue, for a necromancer”

The look he gave her then, with her hand upon him, made her doomed heart stumble.

“There are struggles, but a watcher must always find peace amongst the graves.” His eyes flickered briefly to her lips, before he seemed to think better of herself. “Come now, I have been maudlin enough.”

To do what he did, to live amongst the dead - and to honour and respect and be so devoted to them despite his phobia of one day joining them, to her seemed like the bravest thing she had ever heard.

Grace’s hand lingered on his arm a moment longer before she let it fall away, though the warmth of the contact lingered between them. The great tree above them whispered in the breeze, its petals drifting down like snow, and for a moment, the world felt quiet and still, as if holding its breath.

The ache returned, sharper this time. It wasn’t the thought of her death that made her falter; it was the wish—raw, yearning, and impossible—that tore at her insides. She wished she could stay. Stay here with Emmrich. Walk the gardens a little longer. Sit beneath the ancient, entwining trees with him and feel his warmth beside her. Put her hand in his, even for just a little while.

“I think…” her voice came softly, tentative, as if speaking any louder would shatter the fragile moment between them, “I think I would like to be laid to rest in a place like this.”

She flushed as she spoke, the heat rising to her cheeks. The words felt like a request for something she had no right to, like asking for permission to intrude on something sacred that wasn’t hers. She wasn’t Nevarran. This wasn’t her people’s way. Wardens went to the Deep Roads, their bodies left to rot where they fell. In the Free Marches, the dead were cremated.

But she liked it here. The peace, the reverence, the idea that someone—someone like Emmrich—might one day come to light a candle or place a flower, to be kind to her even when she was no longer living.

Emmrich turned to her, his expression open but solemn. His lips parted as if to speak, but for a moment he seemed to hesitate, searching for the right words.

“Well,” he said at last, his voice firm but warm, “you don’t have to worry about that for a long time. I’m certain of it.”

It was both hopeful and unbearably naive, but she didn’t interrupt.

“I’ve heard of Wardens living decades after the Joining,” he continued, his tone insistent, as though sheer conviction could make it true. “And none of them could have been as…”

The ache in her chest sharpened further, pricking at the corners of her eyes. She felt the sting of tears but refused to let them fall. She wouldn’t look at him, couldn’t risk meeting his gaze, afraid that the sight of his kindness would undo her entirely.

“…as vivid as you are,” he finished softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

It was enough to crack her armour, even if just a little.

He had taken a step towards her, and she couldn’t help it, she looked up at him and she knew her eyes were misty and her cheeks were flushed and she wore her vulnerability bright and clear in front of him. She didn’t care at that moment, she just wished to look at him in the dim light of the garden, under the tree where the blossoms fell.

The line she had drawn between them wavered, blurred, and she longed to seize it—to bend it, break it. She wanted to be soft, just for a moment. To be gentle and unguarded, a woman of silk and fresh cotton instead of steel and leather.

“Grace.” He was so close now, she realised her back was bowing, pushing her towards him like a willow tree.

He took her hand in his, and without taking his eyes from hers, brought her knuckles up to his lips and placed a kiss upon them. Knuckles that had only ever been bloodied and bruised from fights, were now forever changed because Emmrich Volakrin had placed his lips upon them.

“I would very much like to spend more time with you. Alone with you. Times are fraught, and danger is imminent, I understand that.. But with you.. I…”

He hesitated, the words caught somewhere between his heart and his lips.

Her own heart screamed at her to give in. To let him finish.

But she couldn’t.

She broke the spell. Taking a step back, she withdrew her hand from his, the warmth of his touch vanishing like smoke from an extinguished fire. She turned herself back from Grace into Rook. From the woman standing under the blossom tree to the Warden in indelible armour.

“This has been lovely, Emmrich. I’m grateful for your company, and for showing me the gardens” She dared not look at him. She kept her voice clear, it didn’t sound like hers any more.

“But.. I don’t think that is a good idea. I think..” The ache was now a fracture. “I think we should focus on what needs to be done, and leave this here.”

She wished him farewell, without looking at him, and left him amongst the graves.

A bell rang out from where she had left him, mournful and slow. And she tried with all her strength, to feel glad that she had done the right thing. That a tough choice had been made to safeguard both their hearts.

At least his. Gratefully, his. And even though hers felt punctured and swollen and bruised beyond repair, she knew it would not hurt for much longer.

#emmrich #emmrich volkarin #Emmrook #Emmrich volkarin fanfic #Emmrich Dragon Age #emmrich x rook

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lavender-tea-fling · 2 months ago

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Here we go again, lads.

Summary: In all his 27 years of life, Rook never expected to get a happy ending — especially not after the fight against Elgar’nan and Ghilan’nain.

They said forever, and Emmrich had meant it just as much as Rook had.

Or: Manfred mistakenly gives Rook a letter from Myrna meant for Emmrich regarding a certain request. He realizes that an old promise is finally coming true.

Rating: Teen & Up

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Primary Relationship: Emmrich x Rook

Characters: Rook Ingellvar, Emmrich Volkarin, Manfred, Myrna & Vorgoth, Other Cameos

Main Tags: Established Relationship, Trans Male Rook, Fluff (SO MUCH FLUFF), Miscommunication (not between Emmrich & Rook, I promise), Post-Canon

#emmrook #emmrich volkarin #rook #dragon age the veilguard #datv #da veilguard #da: the veilguard #dragon age veilguard #rook ingellvar #veilguard fanfic #datv fanfic #fanfiction

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selunesdreams · 3 months ago

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Chapter 4: Choke Points

“You know, my room has good choke points, too.”

Pairing: Lucanis x Fem Rook/OFC x sometimes Spite??

Summary: Treviso is saved, Minrathous burns, and Rook has a mini-crisis over disappointing Neve. In an attempt to get her to stop moping, Lucanis drags her to spend some quality time with her family.…Link to Chapter 1

Word Count: 3.2k

Things of note/warnings: 18+ fic, MDNI! Blood, injury, the pain and agony of letting down Neve, protective Spite/Lucanis, Illario's snake collection, drunk Rook being a horny little shit. Also some references to plot lines in Tevinter Nights. A highly recommended read, but not necessary to follow the story. Please read on AO3 if you need to track warnings, they will be inevitably detailed better there (or just want to be real sweet and give me hits/kudos/comments).

─── ⊹⊱♤⊰⊹ ───

Rook used the back of her hand to wipe away the blood and sweat from her face, doubling over to catch her breath.

“I can’t believe we fought it off.” Teia said, her eyes following the receding silhouette of the dragon on the horizon.

Dense soot fell from the sky as flames simmered on distant rooftops. The air carried the scent of wood smoke, reminiscent of All Souls Day, when Treviso would remember its dead, and the Chantry would light fires across the city to mark the burning of Andraste. Tonight, there was no peaceful remembrance of the fallen, no parades marching through the streets. Only fresh death and palpable despair. Despite their half-victory, Treviso remained shrouded in dread of what lay ahead.

“It’ll be back.” Lucanis’ voice held a haunting quality. “If Ghilan’nain hadn’t called it away…”

Rook stood up straight. “Next time, it dies.”

“That thing was tough. It’ll be hard to put down for good.” Davrin warned. Behind him, Assan dug holes through the frost coating the governor’s lawn, the remnant of the dragon’s icy attack. No one stopped him - the Crows hated politicians.

“What happened to Treviso would have been much worse if you hadn’t arrived when you did.” Teia threw her arms around Rook. “I cannot imagine how much worse…”

“Fiammetta!”

Rook disentangled herself from the embrace and turned in the direction of her cousin’s voice. Viago, ever calm and collected, looked like an utter wreck as he approached.

“So he does have a soft spot,” Lucanis murmured to Teia.

“He has several.” She said with a wink. The Demon of Vyrantium raised both eyebrows and blinked uncomfortably.

“You saved our city, Fiamma. Our people. Our home…” Viago’s mouth fell open mid-sentence as his gaze drifted over her shoulder. “Is that…a griffin? ”

Rook nodded emphatically and Viago crept forward, staring at Assan with childlike wonder. The griffin squawked and swished its tail in the air.

“Never thought I’d see him get excited about anything other than snakes and poisons.” Lucanis mused.

“Says the guy obsessed with wyverns.” Rook said, squatting to clean her blade on the grass.

Davrin sheathed his sword. “While this is all endearing, don’t we need to check in on-”

“Minrathous...” Rook’s eyes widened as she turned to Lucanis. “Neve!”

Davrin whistled, signaling for Assan. “Maybe there’s still time to help.”

Viago reached for Rook’s shoulder. “Fiamma, don’t go running into-“

Lucanis stopped him mid-sentence, laying his hand on his arm. “She’s got this. And if she doesn’t, I’ve got her back.”

A long moment passed as Viago held his gaze before he acknowledged with a nod.

“Send word when you’re safe.”

“You worry too much!” Fiamma shouted over her shoulder, taking off after Davrin and Assan.

Lucanis delivered two reassuring pats to Viago’s back and then sprinted after them.

─── ⊹⊱♤⊰⊹ ───

Rook barely recognized Minrathous, relying on Lucanis to navigate its burning streets. It had been a miracle the Eluvian was even in one piece when they stepped through it.

They spotted Neve on a rooftop, along with Asher, the leader of the Shadow Dragons, and Tarquin, his second in command. Rook, with a dramatic flourish, pitched herself onto the roof from the highest rung of a nearby ladder.

“We’re here! What’s the situation?”

“Look around.” Neve waved her arms in a display of exasperation. “I don’t know where to start. Is Treviso alright?”

“It’ll pull through. I’m asking about Minrathous.”

“The Venatori had a clear shot at the palace while we faced a dragon we could barely hurt. The Viper drew it away from the safe house and took a claw to the gut as thanks. A healer could fix the wound, but the blight’s already in him...”

“I know of magic that may slow the corruption. It will give me more time.” Asher rasped. From Rook’s vantage point, the wounds appeared severe. Tarquin lunged at her, forcefully jabbing his finger against her chest.

“This is all you! The risen gods, the blight, the dragon! Now the city’s lost to the Venatori-”

A low growl emanated from Lucanis, his eyes momentarily tinged with violet as he intervened, positioning himself between them.

“Do NOT. Touch. ROOK! ”

He took a step backward, blinking rapidly.

Asher propped himself up on an elbow, suppressing a cough. “Tarquin, it is what it is. You know Rook isn’t to blame.”

A groan of frustration escaped Tarquin’s lips as he returned to his post alongside the Viper, burying his face in his hands.

“Tensions are a little high.” Neve said apologetically. “You should go for now. I need to be here a while. See to things.”

“Neve…”

“You had to defend your home. I don’t fault you for that, Rook. But it still doesn’t change what happened to mine.”

Lucanis, seemingly in control of himself again, laid a hand on Rook’s shoulder and gently pulled her towards the ladder.

“Come on, let’s give her some time.”

─── ⊹⊱♤⊰⊹ ───

Defeated and feeling guilty, Rook paced the halls of the Lighthouse alone. Judging from his snoring in the other room, Varric was asleep, and she didn’t want to interrupt his rest. Solas was an asshole , and confiding in any of the others was only likely to burden them, so Rook summoned her courage and approached the pantry, hoping there’d be at least once person she could commiserate with.

She rapped twice before cracking the door and peeking through. Lucanis lay sprawled on his narrow cot, tossing an apple into the air and catching it over and over again. He turned his head nonchalantly as she stepped inside.

“You know, we have other rooms and plenty of space. I don’t know why you-“

“You don’t know why the trained assassin would choose a room with only one entrance and good choke points?” He asked, raising an eyebrow. “It’s worse than I thought. You’ve forgotten all your training, Rook.”

“Hush. I don’t need to be reminded of any more of my inadequacies today.”

Lucanis sat up, leaning forward and clasping his hands together. “That bad, huh?”

“That bad.” With her back against the cold stone wall, Rook slid to the floor. “I know Neve doesn’t hold it against me, but…I can’t help but feel like her trust - and faith in me - are fractured.” She confessed grimly. “Just as I earned back Viago’s good graces…”

“Were the tables turned, she would have picked her home. She knows that. That’s why it’s hard for her to work out. She’ll come around. Just like Viago did.”

“I had to fight a dragon to change Viago’s mind.”

“You might have to fight another one to change Neve’s.” A small smile tugged at the corner of Lucanis’ lips as he rose to his feet. “Besides, Viago never really lost faith in you, Rook. You have to know that.”

“I’m not sure how well you know Viago.”

“I know what it’s like to be a big brother - cousin - but I think you know what I mean…” He squatted in front of her, resting his forearms on his knees. “He’s hard on you because he wants you to survive. It’s why Caterina was hard on me. And why I’m hard on Illario.”

“Please don’t compare me to Illario.”

“I would never.” Lucanis said, his grin widening as he rose to his full height. “You’re much more pleasant.”

“My father was hard on me, too.” Rook said. “Nothing like Caterina, I’m sure, but after my mother died, he changed. He was my protector all my life until he had to teach me to protect myself. I’m grateful, but…”

Lucanis’ expression softened as her voice trailed off. “I’m sorry. I wish I knew how to... comfort you.”

“I just came to strategize. I don’t need comfort .” Rook said coolly.

“Those are a lot of big emotions for strategizing, De Riva.” He took her by the hand and pulled her to her feet.

“Come on. I think I might know who can help.”

─── ⊹⊱♤⊰⊹ ───

“Cheer up, Fi. So we didn’t slay the dragon. It flew away! From us! That counts for something, right?”

A trip back to Treviso and a glass of one of her cousin’s best vintages later, Rook found herself on the receiving end of a pep talk from Teia. She sunk deeper into the green velvet cushions of Viago’s couch and glowered across the room at Lucanis.

“You thought this would make me feel better?” She asked, her voice heavy with exhaustion. She finished off her wine, the glass clinking softly against the side table as she set it down.

Lucanis, nestled in a plush armchair near the fireplace, shrugged, his eyes fixed on the dancing flames.

“Oh, come on, I know you missed us.” Teia extended her wineglass towards Viago as he entered the room with a fresh bottle. He topped her off and filled Rook’s to the brim again.

“You’re in my chair.” He grumbled at Lucanis, who reluctantly pushed himself up with a groan and relocated to the couch.

“I warned you.” Rook said as she made room. “Viago’s very particular about these things.”

Lucanis grunted as he eased himself down beside her.

“Where’s Illario? I thought you invited him?” Teia asked Viago. “Too good to celebrate our victory?”

“He’s sulking at Caterina’s Villa. I didn’t want to disturb him.”

“Fine by me,” Rook mumbled, snatching her wine back off the table. As the conversation continued, her gaze wandered towards a large terrarium in the corner of the room. A Death Adder, one of the most venomous snakes in Thedas, was coiled around a twig, flicking its tongue at her.

“So tell me, cousin, what’s up with the new pet?”

“Emil Kortez planted it in my wardrobe at the last Crow summit in Lago di Novo.”

“It’s bite nearly killed him.” Teia said. “Good thing our Viago takes his morning coffee with dilute poison.”

“And you let it live?” Lucanis asked. “You really are getting soft, De Riva.”

“That snake came closer to taking me out than any man can say. He deserves my respect and a good home. With all the mice he desires.” He brought his wine to his lips. “Besides, I can extract his venom for Adder’s Kiss.”

Rook stood, a little unsteadily, and crossed the room. Reaching out to feel the cool glass against her fingertips, she examined the snake, noticing a bulge in its belly, evidence of a recent meal. Its slow blinks seemed content, almost serene. As far as snakes went…it appeared fat and happy.

“Does it have a name?” She asked with a hiccup.

“Emil.”

Teia raised her glass. “May he rest in pieces.”

Rook flopped back down on the couch beside Lucanis, her wine sloshing dangerously close to the rim of her glass. He frowned and snatched it from her hand, setting it aside.

“With you off saving the world, I needed a new roommate. Emil’s quieter.” Viago said.

Rook ignored her cousin’s sarcasm, knowing it only veiled his hurt feelings. A heavy silence fell between them before he spoke again.

“I’m turning in, but this is still your home too, Fiamma. Your room is exactly as you left it. Perhaps you should sleep in your old bed tonight. I’m not sure I can endorse traveling through the Fade under the influence.” He rose from his armchair. “Lucanis, you’re welcome to the couch.”

“What about me?” Teia asked with a wink.

“I’ll expect to find you where you usually end up.” Viago purred, disappearing into the shadows of the hall.

Rook knocked her head back against the wooden frame of the couch. “I didn’t want to hear any of that.”

“You two are…?” Lucanis pointed between Teia and the hall, his wine glass balanced delicately between his ring and index fingers.

“Happened after your…funeral.”

“Teia!” Rook cried.

“What? Grief is a powerful aphrodisiac. Besides, with Lucanis back, that means someday we’ll get to grieve for him all over again...”

“I think that’s my cue.” Lucanis said, and pushed himself up from his seat. “I’ll give you two some time to catch up.”

As he slipped through a pair of glass doors onto the balcony, Rook reclaimed her half of the couch.

“Alright, we’re only doing this once.” She said, throwing back the rest of her wine. “Spill.”

After Teia went to bed, Rook joined Lucanis outside. Silhouetted against the moonlit sky, he leaned over the railing, tracking her out of the corner of his eye as she approached.

With a weary sigh, she sat down on the ground and slotted her legs through the gaps in the rails, dangling them over the ledge.

“I might be back in the Crows’ good graces after saving Treviso.”

“You impressed Viago. That is quite a challenge on its own.”

“You have no idea…” Rook muttered.

“Here, not that you need it.” Lucanis picked up a decanter on a nearby table and joined her on the ground, topping off her wine.

Rook took his offer appreciatively, “Thanks.”

Wordlessly, they sat together while she swung her bare feet in the open air below. A gentle breeze rustled through the night, carrying with it the remnants of the recent chaos. Mist and smoke floated over Treviso, the flames once painting the horizon finally subdued. The city was damaged, but it would come back, as it always did. Stronger.

“Why do you not mind when Teia calls you by your old name?” Lucanis asked suddenly. “I’ve never heard you correct her.”

Rook sipped her wine. “After everything that happened, nobody used my name to say anything nice to me - or about me. Only to scold me. But Teia…I’ll always be Fi to her. It feels like home when she says it. I think that’s what a name should be.”

“For what it’s worth, I’ve never scolded you.” Lucanis said, leaning in to bump his shoulder into hers.

“Your grandmother did plenty.” Her voice echoed inside the glass as she took another drink. “And your cousin.”

“Caterina only scolds people she likes.” He said with a smile. “Illario too, but I understand it’s not an honor to be liked by him.”

Rook laughed bitterly. “No, no, it isn’t.”

“What happened between you two?”

“It was never that serious, Lucanis. Not for me. I think Illario was more enamored with my father’s legacy than with me.”

“I mean…your father was an impressive man. He wielded fire with more precision than the best of assassins could wield a blade. The way he could set a politician’s home aflame and make it look like an accident, or cauterize a wound before his victim had the chance to draw the poison out…” Lucanis let out a low whistle.

Rook groaned. “You’re just as bad as Illario!”

Lucanis laughed. “I’m not, I promise. But I did have a high opinion of him. There aren’t many assassins of his caliber who turn down becoming Talon. I envied him most the day I learned Caterina was grooming me to become First.”

“The mage killer, idolizing a mage.”

“The Flame of Treviso wasn’t just a mage - he was a beacon of hope , Rook! He valued justice over titles and riches. He would be proud of you, Crow or no. You are the legacy he left behind. His daughter, his little flame, now a formidable fire…”

Lucanis reached out, crooking a finger under her chin and tilting her head towards him.

“It’s in your eyes. Not just the amber of your irises - your drive to do what is right. To protect those who cannot protect themselves. I don’t just owe you a debt - I think you’re a leader worth following. Fiamma, Fiammetta, Rook…”

His hand fell. “I’ll call you whatever you want.”

Warmth spread across Rook’s face as her cheeks flushed, and she tore away her gaze. The balcony spun slightly as she struggled to her feet, the effects of the alcohol pulsing through her body, a gentle buzz at her fingertips. She was a leader, she thought to herself, with some embarrassment. She should be acting like it.

“Mind if we crash here tonight? I think I’ll fall to my death if I try to venture through the Crossroads like this.”

“Not at all. I think a break from the Fade would be good for you.” Lucanis glanced at the empty bottle behind them. “Should we clean up?”

“Leave it. Viago’s used to picking up after me.”

She shuffled through the door and Lucanis followed, ducking under her arm and draping it over his shoulders, one hand encircling her waist as he helped her inside.

“Let’s get you to bed.”

Rook didn’t protest, allowing him to guide her while the apartment swam around her. He smelled like leather and cardamom, and she suppressed a drunken urge to shove her tongue down his throat. She hadn’t been with anyone since her last assignment in Minrathous several months ago. A one-night stand with a Shadow Dragon. She never bothered to learn his name. After all, he didn’t bother to give her an orgasm.

Down the hall, Teia giggled behind Viago’s closed door. With a grimace, Rook stepped inside her old room as it came into focus, finding it exactly as she remembered. The floor to ceiling windows cast faint lines of light through the panes, falling like stripes upon the furniture. Someone had neatly made her bed, and the vanity remained untouched. On the other side of the room, a thin layer of dust covered her collection of perfumes and poisons on the fireplace mantle. Even her ivy hanging from the ceiling was alive - Viago must have watered it in her absence. Hopefully he didn’t plant another snake in it.

“You’re okay with the couch?” She asked Lucanis, holding her breath as she waited for his response.

“It will be a slight upgrade from the pantry.” He grinned as he released his hold on her, hands hovering in case she faltered. “But lacking the good choke points.”

Rook crossed the room, taking a match from her nightstand and lighting a few candles.

“I like the way you say it… Fiammetta.”

Lucanis folded his arms, leaning against the door frame. “Is it so different from the way everyone else says it?”

“It sounds like poetry when you do it.” She said, a shy smile playing on her lips. The matchstick flickered, and she extinguished the flame with a quick flick of her wrist. “Maybe it would be okay if you used it - just between us.”

“We’ll see if you change your mind tomorrow. Once the wine has worn off.”

He let his arms fall to his sides and fell back into the hall. Rook stumbled after him, propping herself up against the wall as she peered around the corner.

“You know, my room has good choke points, too.”

Lucanis turned slowly, his eyes widening. Eyebrows knitted together, mouth slightly agape, only a quiet sound of surprise left his lips before she retreated inside her room and pressed her weight against the door, shutting it with a soft click.

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ollypopwrites · 18 days ago

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WIP Tag Game!

@lavenderprose shared some amazing excerpts for a WIP tag game and said if we wanted to go for it. I thought it sounded fun!

Rules:

You will be given a word. Then you share one sentence/excerpt from your WIP(s) that start with each letter of your word.

I have 3 WIPS I'm actively working on, all of them are still in that crazy unfinished first draft phase so please forgive me if they're a mess.

💜 May Our Demons Dance — Lucanis slow burn with a Shadow Dragon Rook, we are on Chapter 10/10

💚 A Beast of a Burden (title could be an probably will be changed) — Emmrich and Rook get vulnerable with each other, negotiate kink, and then have their fun.

💙Only on Holidays (VERY uncertain on the title) — A smutty Neve x Rook x Lucanis fic that is a glimpse into how their relationship continues after game events.

Key word is: FLAME

F from A Beast of a Burden

Flowers, good wine, food and her. These things would likely be lost to him. He could learn countless things, meet thousands of new friends, experience the world over and over and over. Yet it seemed a terrible loss, to never enjoy these flesh bound pleasures. Would the final memory of them be enough to sustain him?

He considered the responsibility of immortality; how Ghilan’nain and Elgar’nan failed to see their gift was a way to be of service.

He could understand, momentarily, their temptation when she looked at him like that. A powerful creature, unstoppable and inconceivably full of soul, at his whim. Eyes and brows pulled up into an expression of rapture, devotional body opened for him, mind emptied as the heart became full of faith.

A fleeting taste of Godhood.

L from A Beast of a Burden

Later that evening, he had her in his lap at his desk, the taste of wine still on her tongue as he had asked in between open mouthed kisses, “and what would you like this evening, darling?”

It was there. The momentary unschooled expression of irritation. A breath where she looked at him, like she wanted to scream and then the truth of her reaction flew away. She worked the clasp of his collar pin open, set it gently aside on the desk, and started on buttons.

“I think you should have your way with me here on this desk, before someone else comes through that door and asks me for something.”

A from May Our Demons Dance

Assan could be found curling around the feet of anyone who was staring straight into the distance, or crying in a communal space. He demanded pets and hugs and food, nipping at hands if someone was too caught up in their grief to properly give him what he wanted.

M from Only on Holidays

More than once they had kissed, almost fucked right there next to boiling pots of water for pasta. But it felt wrong to do it without her. So they never did.

Rook leans in for a kiss first, and Neve lets her. It is a holiday, after all.

E from May Our Demons Dance

Everyone in the room looked at Lucanis.

‘Find her, find her,’ Spite demanded through his lips. ‘Stop. Sitting. Move!’

There was a beat where everyone expected him to step in. Even Spite waited, then became furious with Lucanis’ lack of reaction. He felt his nose crack, the blood dripped hot into his moustache and then his lips. Spite took over, and they switched places. He was the spectral figure watching his body being puppeteered.

“That’s enough!” Emmrich was on his feet, hands glowing with his necromantic magic.

Tagging: Whoever wants to! mostly because i tagged people like twice today for these fun games and do not want to annoy anyone lmao

Keyword is DEMON

#tag games #emmrook #rook x emmrich #lucanis x rook #rookanis #neve x rook x lucanis #long post

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uhohspaghett1o · 10 days ago

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Ghilanrook but they’re both girlfailures that try to do evil shit but somehow get thwarted comically every time. Like “let’s release the Blight on someone lol” and it accidentally reacts with the person’s immune system and cures the cancer they don’t even know they had.

#ghilan'nain #ghilan’nain x rook #ghilan’rook #dragon age the veilguard #dragon age #ghilanrook

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girlwithadragonheart · 3 months ago

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Chapter 1 - The Demon of Vyrantium

This story will have spoilers from the game. Like entire quests. If you don’t want those don’t read this. You have been warned.

Rook x Lucanis

Summary: The gods strike at D’Meta’s Crossing. Neve suggests hiring the Antivan Crows and the most respected mage killer out there, turns out he has problems of his own.

Word Count: 8.9k

Warnings: graphic violence, mentions of slavery, cursing, let me know if I missed something it's so long I lost track

A/N: I told you I’d take more creative liberties with the next one didn’t I ;3

Prologue DATV Masterlist Chapter 2(WIP)

I sat across from Neve and Harding at the circle table in the lighthouse to go over next steps.

“So. We stopped the ritual,” Neve said.

“And Varric paid the price,” Harding answered.

“Hey. Varric made his choice to go talk with Solas. He knew the risks. We all did,” I said.

“And now Solas is… gone. And we’re here, wherever here is—besides in the Fade,” Harding thought.

“Solas called it the lighthouse,” I told them.

“He did?” Neve questioned. “When?”

“While I was out cold. He showed up in my dream, and he’s really mad that we stopped his ritual.”

“Good,” Harding said smugly.

“He’s also trapped in some kind of prison in the Face. Not happy about that either,” I explained.

“You’re sure that wasn’t just a dream? It’s a reasonable reaction,” Neve said.

“Solas can speak with people in their dreams. Even kill them,” Harding told her.

“I’m safe on that front. I bled a little when I got knocked out. Enough that he can gripe at me, but not enough that he can make my head explode.”

“So Solas is using blood magic. Like any normal mage would to play with your mind,” Neve replied.

“But he’s not a normal mage. Like I told you, he’s an elven god,” Harding said.

“Putting together a nice ritual doesn’t make him a god,” she shot back.

“The gods of my people were incredibly powerful,” I interrupted their squabbling. “I don’t mean they were powerful like a skilled mage. I mean they destroyed entire cities. They shattered mountains. So no, they might not literally be gods, but they’re a lot worse than whatever you’re thinking.”

“Alright. Well, we’ve stopped the ritual, and there doesn’t seem to be an immediate danger. For now. You’re certain Solas can’t use blood magic to affect your mind?” Neve asked.

“I’m certain that if he could he already would have, but I’m still pissed at him as ever. I’m not certain of anything else, but we’re not out of danger,” I said.

“What do you mean?” Harding asked.

“Solas had two of the other elven gods imprisoned. When he got trapped, they escaped.”

“So those things we saw come out of the fade when the ritual went wild… those are…” Neve’s voice faded.

“Elgar’nan and Ghilan’nain. Two of the ancient elven gods that Solas rebelled against. Solas warned me about them being evil, which is pretty rich coming from the guy who just tried to tear down the Veil,” I said.

“You don’t believe him?” Neve questioned.

“No, that’s the problem. I do believe him. He said they were horrific tyrants.”

“Tyrants so powerful elven history remembers them as gods,” Harding added.

“Solas says Elgar’nan and Ghilan’nain drew on the blight for power and became corrupted. That was when he imprisoned them.”

“So instead of one… god… running around, we have two. And they’re not just powerful, they’re blighted,” Neve scowled.

“We need to get out there and stop them,” Harding said firmly.

“Just like that? Without Varric? And you’re still getting back on your feet,” Neve looked over at her.

“I’m fine. We can’t just sit here and do nothing!”

“We need to investigate. Figure out what we’re dealing with before we rush in and make things worse,” Neve told her.

“And how many more people will get hurt—get killed—while we spend time investigating?”

I cut them both off. “If Elgar’nan and Ghilan’nain are worse than Solas, we can’t go in blind. We need to know what they can do and what they want.”

“But we only have Solas’s word about all of this,” Harding said.

I shrugged. “Then let’s go investigate for ourselves. We find out what we’re dealing with, and then we take our shot.”

“Fine. The eluvian led us here instead of back to Minrathous.”

“Let’s hope it goes back to the ritual site,” Neve said. “Maybe we can find some clues at the scene of the crime.”

“All right, then. Let’s get back to the ritual site,” I said.

—------------------------------------

The second we stepped through the Eluvian, a group of Veil Jumpers were running at us for their lives. Some kind of old elven construct was chasing them, swinging a massive golden axe at their heads. One of them, a woman, was using her magic on a device in her hands, trying to stop the construct, but it didn’t look to be working.

One of them got knocked to the side against a boulder, groaning from the impact. An older dark skinned elf parried the swings of the mighty axe, giving the girl time to work. The construct swung past the elf, the blade going through the device in the girl’s hands. As the device broke, the construct shut down, falling limp.

Harding seemed to know the older elf and the girl. She addressed them as Strife and Irelin. She told us that she met them with Varric when they first started the hunt for Solas. Veil Jumpers, she said they were called, experts in ancient elven magic.

Strife told us millions of artifacts are being faulty and coming alive because of Solas’s ritual, pointing the finger at us because we were supposed to stop him.

I informed him that we did, in fact, stop him, but Solas was now trapped in the Fade and two of the Evanuris escaped. The Veil Jumpers knew the extent of the horrors the Evanuris caused centuries ago.

“I was really hoping Solas was lying about all of this,” I told them.

Strife frowned. “The god of lies, but some things are sacrosanct, even to him. He might be a bastard, but he’s a damned sight better than the Evanuris.”

I snorted. “No kidding.”

They still had dozens of Veil Jumpers unaccounted for, but Irelin said if we could find Bellara Lutare it would be a massive assist. Apparently, she was the best there is at working with the ancient elven artifacts. She was off looking for one before the ritual shook everything loose.

Harding told them we would go and get Bellara, but I told her to stay behind and help the Veil Jumpers because they needed her. Definitely not because she was still injured and way too stubborn to see sense.

—--------------------------------------

“Protocol is to wait at least a week before sending anyone to look for me, I’ve only been gone for three days,” she said, twisting her hips back and forth in place like a child being scolded.

“Well, things have taken a turn for the worse, I’m afraid,” I told her. “Our gods are back and they’re trying to take over the world.”

“Our gods… I need a moment,” she said.

“Take all the time you need. It won’t help, unfortunately, I’ve known for days and it still hasn’t quite sunk in yet,” I replied.

“That is quite a predicament.” She sighed, looking around. “All right, but I need your help first, I’m on to something big here.”

“Just tell me what you need,” I smiled.

“We’ll take what we can get,” Neve told her.

As it turned out, Ancient Elven ruins could be tricky. Barriers and old mechanical devices that were rare in these times. Luckily, it was pretty straightforward to figure out and Bellara was a great help finding our way through the ruins. Whatever work she had done with elven ruins and artifacts would definitely come in handy.

It was all fine and dandy when we found what we were looking for, except for the ogre that decided to pay us a visit and try to wreck our shit.

A lot of its attacks I could parry or at least redirect. Some I could only dodge, and I spent most of the fight doing so, shooting firebolts in between its attacks.

It finally fell, and I sheathed my dagger, fighting to regain my breath.

Bellara found what she was looking for, the “Nadas Dirthalen” or the eighth archive or the archive spirit. Pick whichever you want to describe it, it was an artifact crafted with the knowledge of the gods and it could give us information we might need. If she could fix the crystal, that is.

We headed back to the Veil Jumper camp and they told us one of the towns they work closely with had gone dark. A place called D’Meta’s Crossing. With everything going on, it likely wasn’t a coincidence. Harding rejoined the three of us and we boarded a boat to go check it out.

—----------------------------------

D’Meta’s Crossing was on the far side of the lake. It was bleak when we approached on the water.

“This isn’t right,” Bellara said. “The dock usually has people bringing goods to market, bartering and shouting… It’s always busy.”

“Stay sharp,” I said as I climbed out of the boat.

The main entrance to town was barricaded. Clearly not to keep anything out. We moved to the side, seeing a smaller barricade. I pulled myself over it, eyes going wide as I dropped down. The place reeked, and there was blight everywhere. These masses, they looked like rotting tumors, not the decay or stagnation of the normal blight, this was alive.

There were cysts that popped like blisters when fired at or hit with anything and exploded. The second I stepped foot in this place I felt I needed a shower.

We moved further in, sticking close together. There was a villager standing by a home completely taken over with the blight.

His face was drained of all color and his eyes were black. “What happened here?”

He stared at me. Well, through me. “Keep them inside. Listen to the mayor.”

My brows furrowed. I waved a hand in front of his face. Unresponsive. “What’s controlling them? Blood magic? The blight?”

We moved deeper in. The town square was even worse for wear. There were bodies everywhere taken over by the blight-cysts. We continued on, keeping an eye out for survivors. There was no one that the blight hadn’t taken over, either their bodies or their minds.

We came to a part of town blocked off by a wall of the blight. A bright red bulb pulsated at the center of it. I shuddered, taking a couple steps back and blasting cold from my fingers to minimize the explosiveness.We had gotten through it, but only a narrow passageway. Squeezing between a corridor of the blight was not on the top of my bucket list.

I would desperately need a bath after this.

We came to the other side and a giant mass of the blight stood in the center. At the center of it looked like a person was being held there.

“Mihlva!” Bellara gasped, running over to one of the bodies.

“One of your fellow Veil Jumpers?” I asked, watching the blight tendrils wrap around them and pull them away. I moved to the mass at the center. The man in it was moving. “Bellara!”

She looked over. “Jahel! He’s alive!”

“Bellara?” The man groaned.

“We’re going to help you… we’ll get you down, Jahel,” Bellara said.

A tendril snaked around his neck. “No… listen. The gods… the gods have returned. I saw… them. I heard their voices.”

“The gods did this?” Bellara questioned, panic evident in her voice.

“A blood ritual,” he said. “To release the blight. The villagers… they said they needed power… Bellara… be careful…” That tendril looped around his neck twice over, caressing his lips as he spoke before tightening around his throat.

His body was strangled, blood spilled to the cobbled streets, the blight pooling at our feet. The ground shook, and I heard someone shout for help.

We ran through the remains of the village, shooting down the blight we could along the way. Coming through an archway of it, we came out to the other side of the village. A man was wrapped in barbed fleshy pink tentacles, a writhing mass of the blight.

“Help me! Hurry!” He yelled, panicked.

The ground shook and a dragon shot up into the sky, screeching as it landed, crushing debris underfoot.

“No! Please!” The man yelled as the writhing mass drew tighter around him. I looked between him and the dragon, feeling my chest tighten. I stepped forward, putting two fingers to my lips to produce a loud whistle.

It took a step toward me, and I stared it down as embers floated from its mouth. After a moment, as though fighting a command, I watched it back off and fly into the horizon, roaring as it went.

I took a breath, approaching the man in the mass.

“I know you,” Bellara said. “You’re the mayor of this town.”

“The village… the people… are they…?”

“Blighted. Dead. All of them,” Harding said.

“You gave them to the gods, didn’t you? Didn’t you?” Bellara spat.

The mayor sobbed. “They were in my head… infecting my thoughts. They made me do it… Please, help me!”

“Deep breaths… Tell me what happened,” I said gently. If it really was blood magic he may not have been acting completely of his own will.

“I tried to protect people. You have to believe me. The gods told me to lure the Veil Jumpers to the center of town. The others were to be rounded up and kept safe. They would be the first to witness the glory of Ghilan’nain’s new creation… She showed me gold. So much gold…”

“So you brought the Veil Jumpers to the middle of town…” I said.

“For a blood sacrifice!” Bellara cut me off.

“Because the gods needed power,” Neve concluded.

“Did you know what the gods would do?” I questioned him.

“The Veil Jumpers… they were just strangers. I thought if they were taken first, everyone else might be spared.”

“So you did know!” Bellara yelled.

“The gods exploited his greed and fear,” Neve said.

“I’m supposed to feel sorry for him? I say we leave him right here,” Bellara said.

“But I’ll die. The blight’s everywhere. What if the dragon comes back?” He panicked. “I understand what they do now. I won’t be tempted again! I swear!”

“Rook?” Harding asked.”

I sighed. “Let’s get him out of there.”

“What? This entire village is dead because of him.” Bellara argued.

“I know.”

“Then why spare him?”

“We don’t kill people. Not like this. We’re not murderers. We’re not like the gods. We are better than them,” I explained. “If we leave him to be a source of their power we’re no better than he is.”

“Thank you… I think,” he said.

“I didn’t ask for your gratitude,” I snapped.

“Then if I may offer some advice: steel yourself. I felt their power, the promises they made. It’s irresistible.”

“Then try harder next time. Don’t make me regret saving you,” I said firmly.

“Yes, of course. But you should be worried about the rest of the world. Or this will be our future.”

—---------------------------------

We made our way back to the Veil Jumper camp. We were speaking with them when an old friend of the Inquisition, Morrigan, made an appearance. She told us to find Solas’s ritual dagger and that the eluvian at the lighthouse should go anywhere there is an existing eluvian. Bellara offered to come with us to fix it.

I just wished Varric was here to give better advice. He was always stronger at speeches than I was. Doing this without him to guide me felt wrong.

Neve, Harding, and I made our way back to the ritual site. After a wild goose chase after a darkspawn that stole the dagger, and watching Harding get possessed by some kind of new strange dwarf magic—which doesn’t exist, mind you—I was ready for a nap.

We came back to the Lighthouse and talked about Harding’s new abilities. I encouraged her to explore them but be wary. It wasn’t like any magic I’d seen before, and dwarves didn’t have any connection to the Fade, so it was completely new territory.

I went up the stairs, seeing a new area branched next to the hall leading to the infirmary. I could hear Varric snoring from here. At least I knew he was still alive.

I headed down that hall, pushing the door open to see an aquarium of sorts. There was a bookshelf to the right and a wardrobe to the left. In the center of the room was a chaise lounge with a bookcase behind it.

I saw my pack sitting in front of that bookshelf. Neve or Harding must’ve brought my pack in here. It made sense, it was a better place to sleep than the infirmary. I suppose I could spare a few moments to unpack my things.

I pulled Varric’s shaving mirror out, placing it on the bookshelf behind where I would be sleeping. Varric and his life lessons. I asked him how we were supposed to stop Solas, and he gave me the mirror.

“Take a long hard look in it, kid. It’ll always show the face of a hero who can get it done,” he said.

I don’t know if I see a hero’s face, but it’s a face that has seen a lot. Got a few new scars. Some that show up in a mirror, some that don’t. But Varric believed in me then, and he believes in me now. I can do this.

I moved to the small armoire on the right side of the room, placing an elven scroll down. A peddler gave it to me after I saved his caravan from bandits. He said the scroll went back to even before Tevinter. Said that elves had a rich history, “even more than the rest of us.”

Too many humans look down on us, even though elves were here first. It was nice to have someone see how much our people have done. I just wish I could’ve been a part of it.

On the opposite side from the mirror, I put my broken chains. I helped a lot of Minrathous slaves escape to freedom the night I met Varric, including my mother. Freed only to be killed in the chaos. Another time Varric had shown up for me. I remembered his hand on my shoulder as I wept over her.

“Come on, kid. It’s time to go. I’m sorry.”

Then the magisters cracked down in retaliation, and the Shadow Dragons decided I was too much trouble to keep around. We could have taken a stand and dared the magisters to come after us. At least people are free because of what I did.

I sighed, brushing my fingers over the cold metal before going to sit in the chaise lounge. Carefully, I laid back, letting my eyes drift shut. I was wound tight despite my exhaustion. I don’t know how long it took me to actually fall asleep.

I woke in the Fade, Solas’s voice already penetrating my thoughts. “Back so soon. It must have been worse than I thought.”

“Hello, Dread Wolf.”

“Ah, but perhaps I am mistaken. You may be here to correct me, to tell me that my concerns were unfounded. I am, after all, remembered as the god of lies, treachery, and rebellion.”

Haunted, hopeless, hurting… a voice nagged at the back of my head. No, not nagged. Soothed.

“So you’re gonna be insufferable about it. See, this is the reason nobody likes you,” I told him.

“I led a rebellion for centuries that culminated the creation of the Veil and the destruction of the elven empire.”

“Okay, this is among the reasons nobody likes you,” I corrected.

“My information was accurate. Now you realize that the danger is real.”

“I need to know what the gods are planning,” I said plainly.

“You are asking for knowledge no mortal in this world is privy to,” he replied. “If I am to share it with you, I need to know what makes you the right person to lead the fight against Elgar’nan and Ghilan’nain.”

“Well, for starters, I’m the only one here,” I said, throwing my arms out and looking around the desolate prison. “And I stopped you, didn’t I?”

“You disrupted the ritual.”

“Yeah, I did. Even though I’m nowhere near as powerful as you. Even though I’m just a slave.”

His brow furrowed, and I saw him blink as the only hint of surprise. “You were a slave?”

“Yeah. Varric said you hated slavery. I suppose that’s one thing we can agree on.”

He only nodded. “Your plan is to tell me how powerful you aren’t?”

“I met Varric when he asked the Shadow Dragons for help with freeing an old friend from Venatori slavers. The Shadow Dragons had a safe plan that wasn’t going to work, and Varric wasn’t the only one with something to lose if we failed.”

“So you and Varric led an armed rebellion and dealt a devastating blow to the Venatori,” he finished for me.

“You did your research,” I said, looking him up and down.

“I would’ve been a fool not to. You and Varric were pursuing me for the better part of a year. I needed to learn who was hunting me.”

“Then you obviously also know that powerful opposition doesn’t frighten me. I find a way to get the job done, whatever it takes.”

“I suppose I was not so different when I started.”

“No,” a voice said, inches from me and lightyears away all at once. “You were not different. You are not different.” The voice of a friend.

“Cole.” Now, I did see the Dread Wolf’s surprise evident in his expression. “How did you…”

“You are trapped,” he said. “She is hopeless, haunted, hurting, just like before. Escaped one master just to be fighting another. You are not different,” Cole said, looking up at Solas. “Hello, Solas.”

“Hello Compassion,” Solas dipped his head in greeting. “It has been an age.”

“You left the Inquisition to free us, but it didn’t work. Instead you freed them. The Evanuris.”

“Someone got in my way,” Solas leveled a condescending glare at me from his high horse—or at least his slightly higher piece-of-floating-rock.

“People were dying. I heard their screams,” Cole said. “The Veil needs to stay.”

“Oookay, this is all fine and good, but what are you doing here, Cole?” I asked, turning to him. “I thought I’d seen the last of you when Dorian freed me?”

“I felt the Veil weaken, and I knew. I knew it was Solas behind it, I always knew, even when he didn’t want me to, even when he hid it from everyone else. I went back to that place where it’s still weakest, and I felt your despair. I followed it here.”

“The gods need two things to reclaim their dominance of the world,” Solas interrupted, clearly growing bored. “First, the blight. What exists in this world is a bare fragment of its power. The rest is imprisoned… until they release it.”

“What would they need to do to free the blight, and how do we stop them from doing it?” I asked.

“They will need to pierce the Veil to reach the blight’s prison. My lyrium dagger is one of the few artifacts capable of doing so.”

“We’ve already recovered it from the ritual site.”

“Excellent,” I could’ve sworn he almost looked proud, but I doubted the smug bastard was capable. “Then they will have to make their own. That will give you time. The second is followers. They have called themselves gods, and what is a god without worshipers to sing their praises?”

“I’m not gonna bend a knee to blighted murdering monsters just because their ears are pointed like mine. I don’t think many other elves are going to either.”

“Agreed. Elgar’nan and Ghilan’nain care little for the elves. They will find worshipers among those hungry for power. Tyrants and bullies. The cruel and corrupt, who fear their own vulnerability and seize any chance to feel strong. If you hunt them, they will lead you to Elgar’nan and Ghilan’nain.”

I laughed without humor. “You want me to pick fights with tyrants and bullies? Sounds fun.”

“I gave no orders. All I can offer are suggestions.”

“I’m on it. What else?”

“The Vi’Revas, the Lighthouse eluvian, can take you anywhere, if you master its secrets. Have you done so?”

“Not yet, but we’ve got one of the Veil Jumpers working on it. She’ll get it sorted, and we’ll see how it goes.”

“Yes. I suppose we will. And when you speak with Varric, please tell him that I… regret what happened.”

Cole put his hand on my arm, and the world spun for a moment before I opened my eyes. We were in a grove, the stars above us, trees towering around us.

“Woah.” I put a hand to my head. “Where are we?”

“The Fade.”

“Right…” I took a seat in the grass with a sigh.

Cole crouched down, fingers fidgeting with the blades of grass. “You feel heavy again. Like before.”

“Varric picked me up to help him, but I disrupted the ritual, Varric got hurt, and the gods escaped. That doesn’t much feel like helping.”

“Varric used to help me. He wanted me to understand things, I think.”

“I don’t know how to lead, Cole. I’m barely used to being in charge of my life.”

“You’re already leading,” he said simply. His head bowed, and he glanced back behind him, as though listening for something. “They need you, it’s time to wake up.”

I gasped sitting upright, my chest heaving and my palms sweaty. I hadn’t seen Cole in years. Not since I was a slave. Not since I was at my lowest in life. Shit…

I needed to talk to Varric. I wiped my hands on my pants, standing with a huff. Having Solas in my head might prove to be more hindrance than help if he wouldn’t let me sleep in peace.

I made my way out, rubbing out the kink in my neck, hoping he might be awake. If not, I would let at least one of us get some restful sleep.

I approached him, sitting on the end of the bed, legs crossed opposite where he was sitting up against a pillow.

“So Solas told the truth about the gods,” he said as I sat down.

“You heard? It’s bad, Varric,” I shook my head. “If you’d seen D’Meta’s Crossing…”

“The team needs to act fast… and it can’t do that with me leading from a bed,” he said. “You’ve gotta take point on this.”

My chest tightened. “I can’t do what you do. I’ve barely been holding it together in the short time you’ve been out.”

He shook his head. “You don’t need to do what I do. You just need to get it done. Rook, when I put this team together, what did I look for? A detective to find the Dread Wolf and a scout to get us the lay of the land. Exactly the people he’d expect me to recruit. Disciplined. Predictable. And then there’s you. Remember when we first met, kid?”

“Of course I do.”

“You risked your neck to bring down an entire slavery ring. Pretty much by yourself,” he grinned.

“I had help.”

“Sure. I got winded about five minutes in. You did most of the work. Ticked off a bunch of Minrathous big shots, but… You’ve got a knack, kid.”

I hugged my knees to my chest. “A knack for what? Almost dying?”

“Exactly. You’ve got a knack for finding a way through the wildest shit I’ve ever seen. With a plan that no one expects. You can do this,” he said with a softness in his eyes I’d only ever really seen when it was just us. The protective kind. “And don’t worry. I’ll still be here to talk if you need me.”

“There is something… D’Meta’s Crossing was awful. While we were there, we found one survivor—the mayor.”

“You took him back to the Veil Jumpers,” he said. Harding must’ve filled him in.

“Not everyone was happy about my decision…” I told him. “We’re just starting out and I’m already losing their trust.”

Varric sat up a little straighter. “The key to earning the team’s trust isn’t to only make decisions everyone agrees with. It’s showing the team that they can tell you whatever’s on their mind, even if they think you’re full of crap, and know you’ll listen. It’s showing them that you’re capable of making the hard decisions, even if they don’t agree.”

“When I took over at the ritual site, I had to make a call on who came with me to knock over that statue. It was the first decision I made leading this team, and Harding got hurt because of it.”

“You made a decision with the best information you had. Sometimes you do that, and people end up hurt. Or worse,” he said simply.

“What would you have done?” I asked.

“What would I have done? Probably gotten myself killed and failed to stop the ritual if you hadn’t stepped in,” he laughed. “A good leader isn’t someone who never makes mistakes: It’s someone who admits when they make one. That’s how you earn their trust.”

“Did Neve tell you about me talking to Solas in the Fade?” I asked.

“I had some good arguments with Chuckles back in the day. I can’t imagine being stuck with him in my head. But how are you feeling about it?” He asked.

“Your old friend is kind of an asshole, Varric.”

He chuckled. “I’d love to be a fly on the wall while the two of you get into it. Solas fought a rebellion against Elgar’nan and Ghilan’nain. He didn’t want to be a god. But he’s also a lot older and more powerful than any of us. He looks at us like we’re toddlers.”

“So how do I deal with him?”

“Act like you’re as smart as he is, and he’ll be insufferable. Show him you respect his age and experience, and he’ll remind you he’s just a man. Honestly, pick whichever of those pisses you off less,” he grinned.

“He also asked me to tell you that he regrets what happened. Hurting you, I mean,” I told him, letting my knees fall back to either side.

“Chuckles is sentimental. He could burn the world down, and the thing that would make him cry is a single flower with blackened petals.”

“He seems the type. Cole visited me. I know last time I told you about him you said he was with the Inquisition. He came to my dream with Solas too, and he looked almost… regretful, if you could even call it that.”

“Well, shit. How’s he doing? What was he doing?” Varric asked, shifting slightly.

“Apparently, he sensed my despair when he was checking out the ritual site because of how thin the Veil is there. He followed it back to me.” I sighed, standing and brushing myself off, whatever invisible dust there was. “I’ll let you rest.”

“You’re gonna be fine, Rook. Hey, one last thing before you go,” he said. “I’ve been racking my brain thinking of contacts who might help us with these gods.”

“You got any ideas?”

“Nothing. But being a leader isn’t about having all the answers yourself: It’s about knowing who does. Neve has connections to a whole world that Harding and I barely know. A world you barely got the chance to learn. Might be worth talking to her.”

“Will do. Thanks, Varric,” I offered him a smile. One of the few I was sure I would be able to give in the coming days.

“Any time, kid.”

I closed the door behind me so he could rest as I made my way out to Neve’s floating office. She told me we needed to hire the Antivan Crows, but specifically their most feared mage killer. The Demon of Vyrantium. I had heard of his work, and most of us in the wards and servants’ quarters revered his assassinations of our masters. They had given us plenty of reasons to side with the trained killer over them.

Neve said she set up a meeting with their bosses. Next, she said that we needed to take a trip back home. The Shadow Dragons of course made sense to take out the gods in the capital city of Tevinter where blood magic was strongest. We had done so much work against it and the Venatori, but I was a bit worried about seeing them again after the stunt I pulled. We trained to be the best at countering evil magic, it was time we proved it. Hopefully together this time and not just me and Varric.

The Antivan Crows seemed our best bet to start off. I wasn’t ready to go back to Minrathous yet. Not after everything.

Neve and I made our way down to the Vi’Revas, the eluvian, where Bellara was working. We watched her tinker with it for a moment before it lit up, showing the path to what Morrigan called The Crossroads. A spirit appeared beside it in tattered blue robes. Though I tensed instinctively, I felt nothing malicious from it.

“The wolf’s fang. You carry it now. Old paths. A new journey. Through there. I will wait,” he gestured to the eluvian before fading away.

When we entered, the spirit introduced itself as the caretaker who goes where they are needed. The Crossroads was a beautiful place in the fade. Paths branched out, the caretaker guiding us in a levitating boat to each island of Eluvians. This place was slowly becoming tainted, though. I could feel the blood magic and blight like invisible eyes or a forgotten touch. It caused the hairs on the back of my neck to stand on end.

We made it to the eluvian leading to Treviso after killing some Venatori trying to take over the crossroads. Neve and I glanced at each other before stepping through. Treviso… One of the finest cities in Antiva, or so I’d been told. It was now under occupation by the Antaam. Hopefully our contact would still be able to meet us.

Neve and I made our way to the coordinates given to us, seeing a petit woman leaning against the railing of the bridge. She looked over as we approached.

“Welcome to Antiva. You must be Rook. Follow me,” she said, running off, leaving me to follow in her wake.

“And you’re Andarateia Cantori. Of the Crows?” I asked.

“Teia, please. Come, my associate Viago is gathering the others.”

We ran through the streets of Treviso, through the market and up the lattice on the side of a building. From there, we ziplined to a casino, the headquarters of the Crows.

“Welcome to the Cantori Diamond,” Teia said as we went up the stairs to the right.

As soon as I entered, I felt as though I was going to be interrogated, stripped of my valuables and tossed to the streets, if the expression of the woman eyeing me and the cane in her hand were anything to say for it.

Teia took up her spot on the left, a man with a very well groomed mustache to the right of her, followed by the older woman in the throne, and on her other side a younger man who looked way too charming for anyone’s good.

The man next to Teia spoke. “You’re the client?”

“This is Rook,” Teia said with a smile. “Did you want a drink? I promise not to let Viago near it.” It struck me how pretty she was. And the man next to her.

“Viago de Riva. Fifth Talon,” he introduced. “And this is Caterina Dellamorte. First Talon of the Crows.” He gestured to the woman in the throne.

“An honor. And you are?” I asked, glancing at the man beside her.

“Illario Dellamorte. Her grandson. What brings you here?” He asked.

“Right,” I took a breath. “My target is a pair of elven gods—or that’s what they call themselves. They’re ancient blighted mages. My detective says you have a man who brought blood mages and Venatori to their knees.”

“Lucanis,” Caterina said. “My grandson. They called him “the Demon of Vyrantium.” He was the one who did those jobs.”

“Sounds like there’s more to it,” I said carefully, tilting my head.

“Lucanis Dellamorte is dead. He was killed a year ago, now,” Viago said solemnly.

“What I say doesn’t leave this room,” Caterina said slowly. “The body our people brought back was not my grandson. It was dressed in his clothing, but it had been altered with blood magic to have his face.”

“My cousin is still alive?” Illario questioned. “And you didn’t think to tell me?” Something was off about Illario. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but I knew that I would rather have dealings with Teia and Viago more than him in the future if we had any at all.

“His ship was attacked,” Viago interrupted my thoughts. “We knew someone sold him out… so you kept your suspicions to yourself.”

“But you’ve brought it up now. Why?” I asked, looking back to the First Talon.

“I’ve had eyes on the Venatori ever since they took my grandson from me. They were hunting your Dread Wolf. And what you did to his ritual threw them into disarray. They made mistakes. And now I have a location. The Ossuary. Where the Demon of Vyrantium is kept. Find this Ossuary. Free Lucanis. You’ll have your god-killer. And I’ll have my grandson.”

Something about the way she presented him twisted my gut. Like that was all he was, a weapon to be used and discarded. Even not having met him, the thought didn’t sit right with me. I knew what it was like to be seen only for what you could do for other people, and that was not a feeling I wanted for anyone else.

I wondered though, how a mage killer captured by the Venatori would feel about two Tevinter mages freeing him.

Illario led us to our lift to the Ossuary. I was almost relieved when he didn’t get in the boat with us. Surprisingly, he was the only Crow I had met so far that had major stab-you-in-the-back vibes.

We were boated out to the middle of the sea, the Crow mage with us parting the waters below us to grant us passage to the underwater prison. When we got there, bodies littered the sand, bloodstains running red. We passed over two dozen bodies as we made our way through the prison.

It seemed to have been some ancient elven ruins before being repurposed. It was a wonder it still functioned. If the wards on this place ever broke…

I didn’t want to think about what could’ve happened when the gods got released. I was more relieved I didn’t have to be the one fending off all the guards. We came to a Venatori barrier with three crystals connected to it that I beamed fire at before the barrier fell. A large corridor led down a set of stairs where a group of Venatori gathered.

“We don’t have to fight. We’re just here for Lucanis Dellamorte.” The mage in the center slammed his staff into the ground, the wisps of red blood magic gathering around its tip. “Get ready,” I said to Neve, who braced for a fight.

“Razikale, Dragon of Mystery. Lusacan, Dragon of Night. Hear your faithful call—”

A man in blue leathers flipped down from seemingly out of thin air, black and purple glowing wings sprouted from his back as he fell. He grappled the mage, pulling him as he spun so that the Venatori next to him stabbed straight through his comrade’s gut. He ducked as another sword came at him, kicking the Venatori in the gut. The cultist flew backward, impaling on one of the ice spikes surrounding us.

The man sprinted at the other two, a dagger in one hand and a rapier in the other. In a flash that was barely visible, he spun, slitting both of their throats before turning and putting his sword through the final cultist’s back.

He stood with his back turned to us, chest heaving. My eyes were wide. “I’m guessing you’re the reason we’re here,” I said carefully.

His wings flapped and dissipated as he turned back toward us. “Who are you? Who sent you?” He asked, the thick accent of Antiva coming through in his voice.

Something about his presence was calm, assured, even though he just murdered six people before my eyes. It drew me in, and I wasn’t sure I would have the strength to back out.

“My name’s Rook. Caterina sent me.”

“Caterina…” He looked at the ground. “But… you’re not a Crow.” He put his hands on his hips.

“I’m breaking you out of here,” I told him. “But… you’re not just you. Care to introduce me to your friend?”

“Rook. He’s possessed by a demon,” Neve said carefully.

“It’s complicated,” Lucanis said with a slight shrug.

“Caterina promised us a mage killer if we could get you out of here,” I told him.

“I can still work,” he assured me.

“Good,” I smiled. “Cause I’m pretty sure more Venatori are on their way. We have to get moving.”

“They have a vial of my blood. They can use it to control me. I cannot leave it in their hands. And… I had a contract when I was captured. One of my targets is here. Calivan. Crows don’t break contracts,” Lucanis said.

“All right, we’ll help. But in return, I need help killing some things,” I told him.

“I’ll owe you,” he said slowly.

“I’m sure we’ll owe each other before this is all over. Let’s go.”

We made our way back through the prison, coming to a huge gap that none of us would be able to jump across.

“What are you—Fine. He says he can help. There is something in the Fade close enough to grab onto.”

I watched Lucanis’s wings come out, energy flowing from his hands and a large piece of floating cobblestone came into being. “All of that… came from the Fade?”

“I’m as surprised as you,” Lucanis said honestly.

Eventually, we came to a room protected by at least six of the Venatori’s crystals powering the barrier. Behind it, was a massive garnished vial of blood. “Yeah, they can’t do anything subtle, can they?” I asked, aiming a beam of flames at it, making it explode on impact.

Through a close-by archway, there was a lift. We took it and it led to an audience chamber, a mage standing in the middle of it.

As we approached, Calivan did as all villains do, and started giving a long-winded speech. Something something, Zara said it would be ironic, he’s already the Demon of Vyrantium, now it’s just more literal. Lucanis smirked at me, glancing sidelong as Calivan went on his tangent, and I found myself smiling back. Something something she always leaves him to clean up the mess.

Maybe he should’ve picked someone better to follow.

I put my hands together, feeling the energy build between them as I loosed a death ray of fire and lightning right at his face. That’ll shut him up, surely.

Lucanis blinked at me as Calivan fell to his knees. “Sorry,” I said impulsively. “I know that was your contract. He was getting on my nerves.”

“Don’t be. Imagine how I feel,” Lucanis said, the corners of his lips twitching up. He spat on Calivan’s body. “The Crows send their regards.”

I glanced down at the ashen body, and when I looked up again I saw a purple version of Lucanis standing right beside him, and I blinked.

“The contract is done,” Lucanis said.

“Smells like blood. Ashes. Not done. Not yet,” The purple man said. From what I was sensing, this was his demon. Though he was closer to a spirit, not quite monstrous yet. I opted to ignore him for now. Not drawing attention to it was likely safer at least for the moment.

Lucanis just stared at him blankly. “Lucanis? Are you alright?” I asked.

“Careful, they know. We’re not right.”

“You cannot see him. I wondered,” he said, putting his hands on his hips.

“We clearly have things to discuss. Somewhere else,” I told him.

“Agreed. I think… it’s time I got some air.”

—--------------------------------------------

Back at the Cantori Diamond we found Teia and Viago looking at Illario who was leaned over against the table, breathing heavily. The two of them turned around and Teia’s face went whiter than I thought possible.

“Maker…” She said.

“Lucanis?” Viago’s eyes were wide.

Lucanis looked around at them. “What happened here?” He questioned.

Illario’s fist hit the table, and I flinched instinctively. “A message,” he snarled. “From Zara Renata. I can’t believe it. You’re home.” Illario put a hand on Lucanis’s shoulder.

“Zara… Her people got this close?” Lucanis asked.

“The woman who runs the prison?” I guessed.

“The Venatori witch who captured me,” he answered.

“Revenge for the breakout, maybe,” I said.

“Where’s Caterina?” Lucanis asked, eyes darting around at the three of them frantically.

“She’s…” Teia’s voice broke, and her head bowed with an impossible weight on her shoulders.

Viago came up behind her, hands on her shoulders comfortingly. “The Venatori got her in the confusion.”

“I got one of you back, only to lose the other,” Illario said, sounding devastated. I wanted to feel bad for him, but something still felt off.

“Lucanis…” I said softly. “I’m so sorry.” I didn’t know what else to say.

“I need to work,” he said, shifting on his feet.

“Are you sure?” Teia asked. “You should take some time.”

“I don’t need time—I need a target,” he said darkly.

“You just got here, and already you want to leave again?” Illario questioned. How he didn’t understand was beyond me.

“Caterina gave me a contract. I’m not breaking the last deal she ever made. And I owe Rook. Once that’s done… I’ll come home,” he told them.

“I’ll return him in one piece,” I promised.

“Thank you,” Illario smiled at me. “Cousin. When you find Zara, I want—I need—to be there.”

Viago shook his head. “We’re under attack. Antaam on one side and now Venatori on the other? Forget revenge, we need you—”

“No, Viago,” Teia interrupted. “Zara came for us here. In my house. She took Caterina from my house. You find her and cut her heart out, Lucanis. Vi and I will hold down the fort.”

“I’ll give her your regards, Teia,” Lucanis said.

“For Caterina,” she looked around at all of us.

—--------------------------------------

“They’re the same thing. Mostly. Well, kind of,” Bellara said as I walked in.

“Except one will manipulate you. Or kill you. Or both,” Neve replied.

“But how do you get rid of them?” Lucanis leaned against the fireplace, one hand braced against it, the other on his hip.

“What’s everyone talking about?” I asked.

“Spite,” Lucanis looked back over his shoulder at me.

“The demon in Lucanis,” Neve said. “When a person gets possessed—the demon usually takes control.”

“And they turn into a monster. The spirit just… molds them. However they want,” Bellara added.

“I’ve heard of abominations being cured by killing the demon in the Fade. That’s not a sure bet, though,” Neve thought.

“Well, there’s one way. But it’s well… we’d have to, um…”

“You’d have to kill me,” Lucanis finished.

“That can’t be the only solution. Can’t we… reason with Spite, maybe? Persuade him to leave?” I asked.

“Talk doesn’t work on Spite,” Lucanis said.

“She won’t hurt you. How sweet,” Spite crooned, the ghost of his form next to me. He vanished and appeared in front of Lucanis. “I want to talk to her!” Lucanis kept his gaze on me, no doubt seeing my eyes track the demon.

“Before we do, well, that. Let’s think this through some more. There has to be a solution,” Bellara said. I braced my hands against their chairs, leaning over them slightly.

“I have people in Minrathous I can ask, but I wouldn’t get my hopes up,” Neve said.

“All right. So, what’s next?” I asked.

“Let me talk to them! I want. To talk. To Rook!” Spite swung, punching Lucanis in the nose. Blood spattered, and Lucanis winced, his hand going to his nose.

Bellara and Neve stood. “Lucanis!” Bellara cried.

“No, it’s fine. I’m fine,” he said, putting his arm out.

“He’s done this before? Enough that you just… shrug it off?” I questioned, leveling a glare at the aspect of Spite next to him.

“He’d do this in the Ossuary. The Fade does whatever a spirit wants. Real walls and chains, not so much. Just… give me a minute. He’ll get bored once everyone leaves.”

I leveled him with a stare that said I would absolutely not be leaving even as Bellara and Neve got up and left. Neve shot me a glance that said ‘be careful’, but I just nodded to her.

He put his hand back up against the fireplace and stared into the flames as I walked around the table, sliding up to sit on the edge of it.

“I thought you couldn’t see him. At the Ossuary…”

“I didn’t want him to know I could see him. That was the last thing we needed there,” I told him.

“You can hear him too?” He asked, looking back at me with furrowed brows.

“When I can see him or when he’s showing through you, yes,” I answered honestly.

“But the others, they can’t. Why is that?” He asked, looking at me curiously, if not a bit suspiciously.

I shrugged. “I’ve always had a connection to the Fade. In worse times I was in such turmoil a spirit of Compassion appeared in my dreams or pulled me out of reality if things got bad. And now that connection is stronger than ever. Some of my blood is circulating around in the Fade from when we interrupted Solas’s ritual. That’s how he visits me in my sleep.”

“I am sorry,” he said. “I can’t stand him, I didn’t want him to be a problem for you too.” I just shook my head. “I would kill for a decent cup of coffee right now.”

“Have you? For coffee, I mean,” I grinned.

I saw the corner of his lip twitch up. “Not today. You’ve got questions. You might as well ask them.”

I chewed on the inside of my cheek, watching him. “You’re the best mage killer in the Antivan Crows. So how’d the Venatori catch you?”

“Someone set me up,” he said simply. “I had a contract for Calivan. In the Ossuary. I took a ship from Treviso to Minrathous. They were waiting for me. Knew which ship and when it would arrive. I don’t know how they convinced the Crows I was dead, but I woke up in the Ossuary with Zara gloating about it.”

“Blood magic.” I could tell him that at least. One thing I had the answer to. “Caterina said they had dressed the body in your clothes and altered it with blood magic to look like your face too. I can’t even imagine… I know she… “volunteered” you to work with us. Are you okay with that?” I asked sincerely.

“When the First Talon of the Crows gives you a job, you do it. Especially if she’s your grandmother. But, there’s plenty of reason for me to work with you beyond that, Rook,” he said.

“Such as?” I tilted my head, kicking my feet under the table.

“I owe you a debt, for one. And after a year in that hole, maybe I’m looking forward to stabbing a god or two in the back,” he answered.

“Two!” Spite hissed.

“The Crossroads can be dicey, but the Lighthouse is safe. Oh, and if you see a spirit around called the Caretaker, they’re friendly,” I smiled.

“After the Ossuary, that will be a pleasant change,” he said with a grin. After a moment’s silence, he put his hands on his hips. “You haven’t asked anything about Spite.”

“Based on what I’ve seen, I’d say he picked the right name.”

“He’s stronger when I sleep. So… I try not to do it much. No one was in the Ossuary by choice. Not even the demons. We both did what we had to, to get out of there,” he told me.

“I admire you,” I told him. “What you’ve been through would break most people.”

“I would not give Zara the satisfaction,” he smirked.

“I understand. Still, you must be a very courageous man,” I smiled.

“A very stubborn one, perhaps. But, that’s… kind of you to say. Leave Spite to me. If he’s trapped in this world, he has a good reason to fight for it. For now, I must honor our contract. Gods, magic, politics…” he hummed, the rumble in his chest trying to drag me toward him. “Things are going to get very bloody.”

I gave him one last smile as he turned back toward the fire. “If you’re stubborn, I’d say Zara picked the right demon. If I remember right, Spite is a demon of Determination,” I smirked, looking back at him.

His brows were raised. “Perhaps it was the only thing she got right. She was nothing if not fond of irony.”

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

A/N: Please give me your thoughts on this. I missed Cole and he was so important to me in Inquisition I wanted him to have a role in this story too, however minor. Also the back and forth with Solas gets me every time XD

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Have a good day lovelies!

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