#sola fathom

[cinni-kgallery]

Merry The Steam Rises Premiere everyone

[brooklynisher]

Age headcanons for the steambots Youngest to oldest Let's go

Below are my reasonings. There will be character specific spoilers!

Tristan and Daisy are well established to be kids kind of. The way they're talked to and talked about suggest that they are children. Especially because they talk about their childhoods like it was just a year ago. Tristan is still too young to understand how traumatic his childhood was. Daisy is similar but I think she at least sort of acknowledges that her childhood wasn't the best.

Poe and Beacon just seem younger to me. Poe I feel is very knowing for her age, but I think that's due to being raised to scam people. She probably had to grow up faster than most to be able to see everything as a money making opportunity. And Beacon, well, Beacon seems college student age. I don't remember where they were exactly, but it involved rocket-science level machinery and I can't think of many reasons they'd be there if not college. College deals with those sorts of stuff kind of.

Chimney seems like she graduated college not too long ago. Her affinity for roughhousing and drinking just gives off the vibe of a college party. I mean, where else would she find a group of friends like that?

Quincy and Wesley were hard to decide on. All the dialogue I'm getting from Leeway tells me he is a young adult. He's definitely AN adult, but he's not too old considering how new he is with certain things and the amount of times he said "I wasn't even assembled back then!" He probably would've been younger if it wasn't for Wesley. They're established to be "Old friends" which obviously they knew each other in their younger years. And because it's rather uncommon for kids or teenagers to be friends with people noticeably older than them, I figured they'd have to be in the same age range. Wesley is why they're not younger. Considering that he's been in war, has been in higher education, was there with Leeway both when the Submarine was lost AND found(In fact, he found it), I figured, he should probably have some time to do all that. 27 and 29 isn't that old anyway. Sure, I think they still qualify as young adults.

Sola and Crowbar, I had no idea for Sola, but Crowbar seems to be just a smidgen older considering how many how many crews she's been on. Not too much older because she's quite the fickle. Sola was originally going to be the same age as Leeway bc I can see some nerdy 27 year old working at an aquarium or something, but then I remembered there are like 3 people that ship her with Crowbar, and that's a lot considering the number of ships in this fandom, so I didn't want their age gap to be too crazy even if it's technically not that bad bc they're both over 25 years old.

Judy and Cornelius are both well established to be old. If the gray hair doesn't give it away, then it's the talk about their life experiences. Cornelius apparently used to be a super terrible guy, and he thinks he'll need to spend a lot of time apologizing for this. Also I think he used to serve for the Royalists in SWH?? maybe not I'm not sure. Either way, he's done a lot in his lifetime, and apparently most of it wasn't good. IIRC I don't think he feels redeemed even after defeating the Kraken. And Judy talks about her past experiences all the time. She already was something of a hero before she joined the crew and all her dialogue suggests she's super experienced so I'm giving her time to do all that.

[grandwitchbird]

PSA

Solas didn’t kill Felassan because he thought Felassan was wrong. He killed Felassan because he knew Felassan was right.

Solas lies to himself more than he does to anyone. He’s always known that everyone is real. He can’t believe or acknowledge that because it means he can stop. He’s fighting for his life to maintain a justification for the role he had to assume and the choices he had to make to survive the war and his own rebellion. The cognitive dissonance is the point.

[steampunksilver]

HumanWorld Heist II

(Chimney, Cornelius, and Tristan will be finished another time)

[ir-abelas-vhenan]

Daily Dose of Solas-Posting Time/just a love of what love can achieve I guess?

I think a lot of people in this fan space struggle to distinguish the apparently very blurred line between "oh look, this poster likes Solas and must therefore condone murder to achieve one's goals", and "rad, she understands that this is a game in which characters do things she would never approve of in real life but given the fact that these are all tiny people on a screen she enjoys extrapolating larger themes"

And for those of you in that second camp how freaking beautiful is it that we get to see one of the oldest saddest elves go on an absolute bender and still get the chance to make things right because he has a friend/lover who knows his heart and refuses to let him hide from it any longer.

Varric disapproves of trying to save him at the end of Trespasser and clearly at some point within the next eight years goes "you know what? This sassy nerdy passionate guy was my friend once and I believe in what he could be if he gives up on the self-destructive path he's chosen"

Harding struggles to fathom what the Inquisitor sees in a disingenuous clefted egg but knows that if nothing else she trusts her friends and for all my critiques of Veilguard I do think Bellara gets a baller of a line with the "trust your heart, it is a good one" banger. Harding may not know exactly how she feels about Solas (and yeah that is so fair) but she knows the Inquisitor's heart is a good one, and if they're trying to save him, she trusts it. She chooses to believe that in an ever-darkening world there is power in restoring a little bit of light.

Your Inquisitor has the option to be like "wow this guy was my friend, occasional confidante (and potentially the most brutal love of my life), fought alongside me and guarded my life as I guarded his, and spoke so wistfully of things I did not understand at the time but now realize came from a place of deep grief. The way he's acting now stems from hurt and trauma and I know it'd be easier to just stab him with his own dagger but what if what if what if..."

And if you're able to look at his story at its simplest (if you're able to see past the broken man and into the spirit of wisdom he once was, if you will) it's really just the grandest version of pre-EA Bioware's bread and butter theme for at least a few companions per game: even the most broken people are capable of changing themselves and ultimately the world for the better if those who can reach out a hand do. And the Inquisitor only has the one hand to reach out, in fact they only have that one hand because of the very man they're hunting down, but if they can find it in themselves to extend it, damn. It brings a broken man back to his feet after an absolutely brutal confrontation of his past and helps him stand tall and face what's coming next in a way he wouldn't have been capable of otherwise. It lets Solas, who is at his absolute lowest, know that someone he strongly admires, who can relate to the challenges he once faced as the young leader of a massive movement, sees the parts of him that just want to do what's right but can't quite remember how anymore.

And to someone who hasn't fought in a war or forged the tools that wrecked entire civilizations, sure maybe that wouldn't hit as hard. But who amongst us hasn't betrayed the core of who we are to make others happy and regretted it? Who hasn't charged down a path that sent thorns digging into their skin with every step because to stop and turn back means facing everything they've done to get there? Means admitting they were wrong? Who hasn't hit a low and crawled their way back to themselves again because that hand came down and refused to let go?

To someone like that, like me, it can make all the difference in the world to see it go down on that tiny little screen.

Mmmmm there's just so much power in having even one person who sees you self-destructing at your worst and goes "not on my watch" and I love that most of these games have brought us such beautifully simple yet meaningful ideas in so many different ways.

[creaturefeaturecommando]

I used to be friends with a girl who’s heavily into Helluva Boss and Hazbin Hotel and she’s a full white girl, she claims she’s mixed but she’s white and was adopted by POC and whenever I see anything Vivziepop related I remember how she’d used to shout slurs in the cafeteria, like straight up yell nigga with a hard er because she thought that shit was funny and then she’d cry when I’d slap the shit out of her and would insist she could say it because her sisters kids were black and could not fathom why she couldn’t say it even though she’s white as hell

Anyways now she works at a job where she apparently abuses disabled people. Like will scream at them, yell at them, call them the r slur and threaten to beat them. Tried to get the friend that told me all of this to tell me where she works so I can report her or something but no dice

This doesn’t have shit about fuck to do with Helluva Boss or Hazbin Hotel really I just think about her whenever I see anything related to that and because I’m still friends with her on Facebook so whenever I go on that once a month my feed is spammed with her posts about how hot Angel Dust is, how hot Alastor and the TV man are, her gushing over Solas and her posting bad Solas and Blitzø ship art

I have stories about her. So many stories. It makes me question why I was friends with her.

[riverwinde13]

I just had an epiphany today that the Crestwood break-up scene is a third act break-up scene so common in romance novels. I despise third act break-ups. I don't find them to be executed well for the most part, and seeing the characters have to work their way back to each other over what is usually a trivial thing just annoys me. But...this one. Solas fell in love with Lavellan by accident. He doesn't know how to cope. He pushes her away. Then, he draws her back in. And then he can't fathom how they could stay together so he sacrifices the last piece of himself that allowed him to be close to another person. In doing so, Solas sets the stage for Lavellan to save him from himself. These two will figure out how to overcome major adversity together rather than Solas attempting it on his own. In saving Lavellan during Trespasser, he sowed the seeds to his own undoing. He knows they are better together. He just can't see how to make it work at that point. So he gives up. And he walks away.

Gah...I need more third act break-ups that work just so well. Like THIS is the whole point of the trope.

[krastbannert]

Having a rare dose of Thoughts I want to Share while playing Dragon Age: The Veilguard.

I got to the third cutscene where you talk to Solas in the weird Fade-That's-Not-The-Fade place, and it occurred to me: Solas is probably one of the only people in the world who knows what Rook is going through.

Rook is leading an unwinnable battle against people of unimaginable power, power they can't even hope to come close to matching, just like Solas did thousands of years before. They're staring in the face of horrors they can't even imagine, power that can reshape the world in hours, and they have no real counter, nothing except bad choices.

And yes, maybe Rook doesn't like Solas. Maybe they hate him for trying to tear down the Veil, for trying to wreck their life and their world and not showing the slightest bit of remorse. Maybe Solas hates him for ruining his plan that had been decades in the making, maybe Solas is frustrated because he's trapped in a prison of his own creation. Maybe they really, really do not want to see each other.

But maybe...maybe every time Rook sleeps (when they do sleep, because they don't want to see Solas, because they don't want to listen to his ideas or his half truths), maybe they see Solas. Maybe at some point, out of sheer boredom, they spend more time either of them think they should talking to each other. Maybe at first it starts as arguments. Then maybe it becomes debates. Then maybe it becomes conversations, and ideas, and maybe even a chuckle, now and then.

Maybe they're in a horrible situation, but they're the only people either of them can talk to who have been in a situation like this. And maybe Solas decides that Rook, this young kid who's trapped in a horrible situation by circumstances so far out of their control that he can't even begin to fathom how they got there, really isn't so bad. Maybe he decides that even if Rook ruined his plan...he can help them deal with the Gods.

Maybe they don't become friends. But Solas and Rook...I think they reach an understanding. And I think they can't put a name to it, but in some weird way, they trust each other, and they know that if one of them needs it, they can talk to the other, at least for a little while.

[dardisorange-blog]

On a Cage of Regret

I have conferred with Vorgoth and Myrna, and our extended notes on your experience within Regret's grasp are available. But as your friend, I offer a gentle summary.

Solas could not escape the cage he built until he traded places with you. That suggests the regret at the core of the cage, however personal it felt, was also his. He recognized the impact of Varric's fate on you because he felt it as well.

It was this similarity that he manipulated, possible in your earliest conversations. The initial denial-for your mind to retreat from the shock of the moment-no one could fault you for that. But Solas capitalised on it, and his treatment echoes an ancient blood magic we still cannot fathom.

I would offer, however, that your escape shows the true difference in how you and Solas suffered this regret. Solas escaped through evasion. In many ways, he addressed Varric's fate as he did the problem of the Fade: a puzzle to be navigated or, where possible, denied.

But when you were confronted with the truth, you moved-as you said-forward. And in doing so, your chains of regret went slack.

An immortal life founded in denial risks becoming an endless collection of loss. It would appear that, in the shadow of eternity, a god might regret but cannot accept.

I pity him.

- A note from Emmrich

----

A bugged codex after the reveal of Varric's fate

I ugly cried...

[widowling]

I am once again writing solavellan fanfiction.

Title: Martyr

Category: F/M

Fandom: Dragon Age (Games)

Relationships: Female Lavellan / Solas

Summary:

Solas is trapped in the Fade when he hears the news that the blighted gods have taken Inquisitor Fen Lavellan.

Excerpt:

Between other, more ancient regrets, Solas can catch glimpses of her. There is a flash of her bright eyes. The flicker of her hair in the void. He thinks that maybe the hands holding up the island must be hers. It’s the hand that he marked, that he kissed, that he removed as the flesh boiled and the bones disintegrated.

Sometimes, he swears he can hear her as though she was right beside her. She presses her body against his side, warm and comforting, just to whisper in his ear, “Which do you regret more? Loving me? Or leaving me?”

He wants to lean into her. He wants to give in and turn around, capturing her ethereal form in his arms. But he knows that when he does, she will dissipate. She will dissolve into the eerie nothingness of his prison. He has made this mistake many times before. It is only a matter of time before he makes it again. He must pretend that he does not notice her presence so that she will stay and haunt him. Her ghost is the only comfort he has here. So, he stands, perfectly still and lets her presence glow in the corner of his eyes, a breath away from his memory. If this is all he gets, in the infinite emptiness, then it is enough. He is a starving man, savoring scraps.

As he walks up the endless stairs of the prison, he encounters people from his past. Most, he just ignores. Felassan is there, crying after him and asking him why. Mythal is ever-present, dominating the black skyline. But she lingers between them, as if she is carefully holding the entire world together. She flits ahead, just out of his line of sight, twirling around corners and disappearing. He follows her at a measured pace, keeping a careful eye on the mere flicker of her form. He turns a corner, expecting the pattern to repeat and is instead met with a figure he did not expect.

He stops short, “Cullen?”

In his time with the Inquisition, Solas had not interacted with the man in any meaningful sense. They had been cordial at best, respectful at worst. They spoke only briefly. Played chess together once or twice. He could not fathom why the commander might be here. Had he committed so many sins as to forget some entirely?

“She should have chosen me,” Cullen said, his voice small and sad against the howling of the void.

Ah, Solas thought. This is not Cullen. Merely another facet of her. 

Solas had been aware of Cullen’s affection for her but could never blame him for it. He understood how difficult it was not to love her. Solas had thought, many times, that perhaps they were better suited for one another. It had been a stray, meaningless thought. The Commander and the Inquisitor, the leader of the army and the head of an organization that would shake the world. They could have been perfectly matched to one another. Surely it made more sense than the Herald of Andraste and an Elven apostate. Of course it was better than a Dalish First and the Dread Wolf. It had been idle thoughts at the time, but Solas should have known that the Fade would take its liberties where it could.

“I would have loved her better,” Cullen continues. “I would have loved her longer. I would have loved her more.”

Solas seethes beneath the words. His pride bristles. He wants to swipe his hand through the shade of the Commander and for her shadow to return to him.

“Better?” He grits his teeth and admits it, “Perhaps.” 

Cullen would have been able to share parts of himself that Solas never could. He could have given her affection freely, without fear, untainted by regret. Cullen would have married her, given her children. All Solas ever gave were lies, half-truths, and tainted dreams. In the end, he admitted it. Cullen would have loved her better. But Solas was prideful and would not concede on all fronts.

“Longer?” Solas continues. “Maybe. But only in the sense that you mortals can comprehend.”

Cullen had stayed while Solas had left but the sky would burn, and the moons would crumble before Solas could stop loving her. His love for her would be the last thing to exist in a dead and dying universe.

Solas snaps. “But more? More? Not possible. I almost gave up a world for her."

Then, the weight of her hand on the center of his back and her whisper in his ear, “Almost.”

Before he can stop himself, he whips around. He needs to see her. He needs to see the brightness of her eyes and smell the forest in her red hair. He needs her like the starving animal that he is. Even if it was just for a moment, it could sustain him for an eternity. In the end, he does not even get that. She is gone before he can even turn around. Something inside of him shatters. It is a mistake that he has made before. It is a mistake that he will make again.

“She would have lived longer if she had chosen me.”

Solas turns around again to face the apparition of Cullen. Carefully, he says, “She is not dead.”

“Not yet.”

[maintitle]

One thing I don't think gets talked enough about with the whole Solas/Morrigan tension is that Solas seemingly is well aware of who Morrigan is.

While yes, Morrigan deserves the backtalk that she gets from Solas in these scenes, I think it's telling of what Solas believes about Morrigan that he responds so vitriolically. What we know about Mythal and Solas' relationship is that, despite their differences, they had a very close relationship, akin to something maternal or romantic in their own way. Yet, when confronted with a woman whom he can easily deduce is her daughter, he treats her with an unrivaled scourn. It's possible that Solas DIDN'T know who Morrigan was until the Eluvian incident, but considering they both bear similar features and considering just how obsessed Morrigan was with the Well (largely because of Flemeth's grooming of her) he might well have known.

I suspect something might be true of Solas that is the opposite of how the player feels; Solas can't accept the reality of Morrigan's confrontational relationship with her Mother, because to do so would be to admit that Mythal is different than who he once knew. She might have been a maternal figure in ancient Arlathan, but to Morrigan she was a monster who abused her and groomed her to be a perfect child, built to do exactly what Mythal would want and not to wander outside of that, raised to be ruthless and cold. I wonder if, from Solas' perspective, those attributes are either too close to a Mythal he doesn't want to believe exists despite having seen that side of her, or is a side of her that grew far worse after they were sealed in the Beyond, and therefor Solas can't fathom that behavior.

Of course it really could just be ego meeting ego, a quiet god annoyed with a humansplaining mage assuming to know all. But I have to wonder if that only compounded his frustrations, but wasn't the basis of it.

[plisuu]

happy friday! how about ❛ you knew who i was with every step that i ran to you. ❜ for connor/solas?

Thank you!! The prompt kind of got away from me, so here is Solas trying to convince himself that he's not as attached to Connor as he actually is. Something something strangers something something Connor is a big ol sweetheart and Solas is Solas about it.

wc: 1090 @dadrunkwriting

To say that they were little more than strangers was an understatement. The Herald of Andraste, in the wake of freshly broken Tranquility, was little more than a stranger to any of the inner circle, save perhaps the commander.

For Solas, to say they were strangers would have been extraordinarily generous. An apostate, an elven wanderer with nothing more than the knowledge of the Fade, meant little to someone now raised as a figurehead of the Chantry. They had fought—if one could call an interaction with the Tranquil a fight—about religion, about spirits, about magic, and yet…

And yet, Solas found himself at the Herald’s side with increasing frequency over the days in Haven, found himself searching the Fade in the face of death and bitter chill, found himself directing the scraps of the Inquisition to what was once his place of former glory, a thrill of pride and something else blossoming in his chest at the Herald’s look of awe as they stood at the precipice of change.

But still, they were strangers at best.

Every moment they spent in each other’s presence was a moment of confusion, of learning magic and unlearning biases, and every time Solas thought he discovered something about the newly-titled Inquisitor, he found that very discovery dashed. The man was unpredictable, always forming and reforming opinions, absorbing new information like parched soil drinks down water, unquenchable, constantly seeking more, constantly changing. Every time they met for scheduled lessons, the Inquisitor was different in ways that Solas could not fathom nor keep up with. The only certainties were his thirst for knowledge and quiet stoicism that hid a tumultuous current of emotion behind it. He knew little more about the Inquisitor than he did the first day they met, when he lay unconscious beneath Haven’s chantry, unaware of the depth of mistakes he bore in his palm.

That is what Solas told himself, at least. It would be easier, that way. The less involved with the Inquisitor’s personal quirks and inner machinations he was, the better for everyone involved—a sentiment much easier said than done as short magic lessons stretched into afternoons of lengthy explanations and of questions he would have never expected the Inquisitor to ask about the nature of spirits and the Veil.

As it turned out, the Inquisitor was quite complex. He was lost and desperate, forced to make decisions equal to those made in some of history’s greatest moments. He was as afraid of magic as he was interested in learning it… but he was also much simpler. He liked birds. He frowned at the snow and huffed at the prospect of inclement weather. He fidgeted with his sleeves when he was nervous and liked his tea lukewarm.

It grew harder still, as those afternoons stretched into evenings. Questions turned to conversations over small meals, conversations turned to quiet introspections and moments of vulnerability. But even so, as much as Solas knew, he also knew that he divulged little information about himself. He felt the imbalance, the shift of the scales in his favor.

Evening stretched even further into dreams, and as much as Solas might try to deny it, there was a certain intimacy to dreams that could not be given words in the waking world.

“Does it not bother you, Inquisitor?” Solas ventured to ask one such time, as they walked side-by-side through the Fade, the ground turning to sand beneath their feet, warm as it slipped through their toes.

“Does what bother me, Solas?” Connor stopping to look at him. His gaze was piercing, grey-green, the same color as the sea that lapped against the sandy shore he had conjured. Solas turned away, looking over the expanse of water. Nothing reflected on its surface, an imperfection that reflected the Inquisitor’s lack of practice, through the stretch of rolling waves was ambitious, he would give him that.

“How little you know of me? You are an endless stream of questions, yet you never ask about anything other than what I have seen in the Fade.”

Connor shrugged. “Honestly, I never thought to,” he shook his head, “I figured you would tell me, if you wanted.”

“Truly?”

“Truly. Would have even told me if I asked?”

“That is… unlikely.”

“Exactly.”

“Fair enough,” Solas chuckled, and they lapsed back into silence, letting the sound of the waves wash over them.

“Besides, I do know more than you think. Probably,” Connor continued. He paused, looking back at where their footsteps should have been, where, for a moment, only one pair marked their path. Solas raised an eyebrow, but the expression felt forced, stilled to hide the bite of anxiety that rose at the back of his throat.

“Oh?” He tried not to hold his breath, tried to steady himself. Perhaps this had been a mistake after all. The Inquisitor’s pause seemed to last an age.

“It’s nothing so dire. But you’re not as mysterious as you think.” Connor extended his hand, a small gesture that Solas had become strangely accustomed to over the months, and their fingers intertwined as Solas offered his own in return, attempting to relax some of the tension he held.

“Do tell,” Solas pressed, all but choking on the words.

The Inquisitor laughed softly, raising their hands to press his lips against Solas’s. “I know you are an expert on the Fade. I know your past is storied—I hear the way you talk to Blackwall. I know you are passionate about freedom, I know you are friends with many spirits. I know you are good at chess. I know you hate tea.”

He paused again with a warm huff of breath into the skin of Solas’s palm, and Solas watched him curiously. This wasn’t what he expected—he wasn’t sure what he had expected, really.

“That’s not all though,” Connor murmured, as if suddenly shy. He closed his eyes for a moment, before fixing his gaze on Solas again. “I know you are wise. I know you are kind, and that you care deeply about people. I know that you’re my friend. I don’t need to ask about you to know the things that matter.”

Solas simply blinked, unsure how to respond as the sand beneath them slid back into the stone floors of the rotunda, the walls of fresco rising around then once again.

“Thank you, Inquisitor.” he sighed, slowly pulling his hand back, and turning into one of the arched doorways as the Fade began to slip away. “You are too kind.”

[inquisitorsenchanters]

Trembling fingertips brushed past Solas’s cheek as his shoulders fell, a deep yearning settling in his aching chest as he slumped into his herald. Her breathing sounded in his ear, the cool metal of her armor pressing into his skin as he peered down at the woman pressed against him.

“I trust you,” she repeats, voice firm and gaze unwavering.

Solas was a controlled man. Keeping up a front, disregarding his innate desires, those were easy things for him, except for when it came to her. The way Ellana trembled against him and her magic soared in his ears with a strange unfounded excitement sent his mind into an almost animalistic frenzy.

He needed her to the fullest extent of the word. He longed for her in every way their forms could possibly exist. He thought of her wild magic in the fade, her toothy grin and loud laughter in his ears when he met her clan, and before he could even begin to fathom keeping his distance from her, Solas’s hand slid down her waist and around to the small of her back.

Ellana’s breath caught in her throat, the emerald of her eyes sparkling with want even as she let out a surprised gasp of “Solas-“

“Do not,” Solas breathes as he surged forward, capturing his herald’s lips in his own. His free hand slid to the back of her head, cupping it gently as her cold fingertips rested on his chest, her body melting into his.

He would find another way to keep the world together if it meant he get to keep Ellana by his side.

He would even tear down the fade if it stood in his way.

-

I colored it guys-

[dragonbabes]

The Thorns that Bind

A/N | I had to completely rewrite this chapter because word didn't save any of my edits to the very rough draft, so that's what it took so stinking long. I also struggle to get anything done when I feel even the slightest bit of pressure to complete it...

Pairing | [OC]Crow!Rook x Lucanis, Solas x [OC] Lavellan

Warnings | Several, actually: death, and also very dark themes are going to start coming to play in these coming chapters, starting with this one...

Words | 8,490

Ch 1 | Ch 2 | Ch 3 | Ch 4 (In progress)

Chapter 3 | How Deep It Cuts

“So?” Isehari couldn’t really fathom how large Bell’s eyes grew when she was excited. Those bright brown eyes were akin to Fiori’s; she’d hoped to introduce the two someday. They both were spurred by curiosity and had a predisposition toward looking for the bright side of things. “What do you think?” Bellara leaned forward in her seat at the dining table and cast a curious glance at the journal in front of Ise.

“It’s sweet.” Isehari smiled softly, rubbing the rough pages between her fingers and scanning the words on the page before her again. It was a romance — something Lucanis was much more adept at reading than she was — full of tension and longing, smoldering stares, and stolen glances. It was hitting close to home, and the assassin shot several sneaky glances to the other Crow perched two seats away. Suddenly, it was hot in the room.

Ise flicked to the next page, read a bit more and gasped. The others, who had broken off into their own small and quiet conversations, looked up and assessed the elf at the head of the table. The rosy color that had taken up Rook’s cheeks and the roguish grin on her lips piqued their interest; she always caused trouble when she dawned that look.

“Sweet and scandalous!” Ise laughed as Bellara noticed that she had read a bit farther than intended. Ise’s eyes greedily ate the next few words before the startled Veil Jumper could snatch her journal back; words about tongues traveling and hands grasping, desperately. “Oh my, Bell!”

“What is it?” Neve, ever the curious spirit, tore away from Lucanis and leaned over in her chair trying to catch a glimpse.

“Nothing!” Bellara blurted, and Ise snapped the journal shut, handing it back to her friend.

“That’s nothing?” Ise questioned with a teasing look at her friend, which only caused the red hue taking up Bellara’s cheeks to spread up into her ears. Rook bit back her giggle.

“Ise!” Bellara took to giving her friend a scrunch-nosed, narrow eyed look before giving Neve a significantly softer, bashful look. “It’s nothing, Neve.”

“Scandalous? From my sweet Bell?” Neve chuckled and, determined to not let Bell brush this one off, leaned her chin into her palm and batted her eyes at the Dalish elf, “I’d have to see it to believe it.”

“Oh,” Ise replied with a wink to Neve, “It’s always the sweetest ones you have to worry about.”

“Tell me about it.” Neve leaned back in her chair. Rook’s eyes, when panning from Neve and back to Bellara, snagged on Lucanis. All the teasing left her at that point, and she suddenly felt the need to apologize to Bellara. Staring at the object of her affections while laughing about roaming hands and adventuring tongues had Ise’s stomach up in knots; she couldn’t imagine where Bellara was. Her hand found her friend’s arm.

“I’m sorry for reading too far.”

“Oh, it’s okay.” There was a sheepish smile on Bellara’s lips. Ise squeezed her arm and leaned to catch her eye. When she did, she continued with a glint in her eye.

“If it’s any consolation, I thought it was good. I’d read more, if you’d let me.”

“Really?” The elf perked at that. Ise grinned back.

“Yeah! I am, after all, a fan,” her green-blue eyes returned to Lucanis, “of wandering tongues and grasping hands.”

He tore his gaze away from hers instantly, and Isehari giggled to herself under the assault of Bell’s playful smacks. There was a redness that settled in the apples of his cheeks that made Isehari feel that she was on top of the world. No god stood a chance against her, because she had made the Demon of Vyrantium blush. She drank in how he shifted in his seat, stared down at the drink in his hand, and then… Trailed his eyes to Neve.

What that look meant, Rook didn’t know, but it was a punch to her gut. It wiped the smile from her face and made her run cold.

“Rook!” Bellara cried. Rook jumped and only managed to return the sly grin to her lips, cooing and leaning back into her chair. She sucked in a huge breath and folded her hands over her stomach in a white knuckled grip.

“You wrote that?” Neve cried. “Let me read it! I love smut.” Bellara scoffed and crossed her arms, safely locking the journal under her arm; her eyes darted the length of the room, landing everywhere except for Neve. Ise tried to keep her attention on the two bickering in front of her, but she couldn’t help but check if Lucanis was still looking at Neve…

He was. With a fond smile tugging at his lip. Rook tore her eyes back to Bellara; she wouldn’t be looking again.

“No! I didn’t –“ She cleared her throat and gave another snort, “That is not what I wrote!” Bellara took the time that everyone shared their snickers to give Ise another sharp look. She shrugged back at her, but couldn’t form a sentence to defend herself from it.

Who cared who Lucanis looked at? If anything, she was glad it was Neve… Right? Neve was beautiful and strong and so, so smart. She was everything someone could want… If Lucanis wanted her… Rook couldn’t blame him. And if Neve returned those feelings? Ise looked at her friend; how her chocolate eyes shimmered and her rich, olive skin seemed to glow in the candlelight.

Well, she definitely couldn’t blame her, either.

“So, Neve,” Rook would do Bell the mercy of redirecting the rooms attention, “You read smut?”

The room falls silent as Neve deadpanned and processed her admission from earlier.

Ise giggled over her drink as she watched a devious grin curve Bellara’s lip.

“She wrote… Like you.” Isehari turns her head in Varric’s direction.

“Oh yeah? What about?”

“Scandalous things, really.” Ise hoped that a joke would snap her out of it, out of the dead stare she’s shared with the ground for the past… Well, she doesn’t know, really… it doesn’t matter anyways. “She wrote about love.”

Her hand finds a brittle twig, and begins to wring it between her hands… It handles her abuse surprisingly well, but after a particularly harsh twist, it snaps.

“And now, I won’t write ever again.” The elf flinches at the sudden echoing of words. That she won’t.

“I’m sorry.” It barely comes out as a broken whisper. She can’t bear to look at Bellara — even if it’s not really her — so she looks past and to the murky green clouds about.

She hopes the team will look for Bellara and Davrin first. If she has to return — if she can return — and face the world without them in it… Ise turns her eyes to Varric. She’s not sure she can stand that.

“That’s all you’ve got, huh?” The words spit at her sound unnatural on Bellara’s lilting voice. “Empty apologies, empty promises.” She’s not sure when it happened, but the stone figure had brought her face dangerously close to Ise’s, forcing her to look; she holds her breath with a wobbling lip and looks down.

“You can’t even look me in the eye.”

~*~

There’s a rumble that water makes when it collides against glass. Those currents — invisible to the eye — would be enough to sweep anyone away. Even the Demon of Vyrantium. He tenses when he hears it; the warble of a bubble traveling, water being cut by a fish’s fin, and the hissing rumble of murky depths.

The clinking of a chain, the sting of a cut around his ankle; the weight of cold metal around his neck.

Lucanis shoots up, reaches for a dagger, and finds none. His hands will do. Rigid and upright, the assassin takes in the cell about him with dilated pupils; a large window with golden trim, schools of fish and bubbles floating by just outside, an empty table with half burned candles, the figure of a halla on a small table to his left… The plush and soft green fabric of a sofa beneath him.

Lucanis slaps a hand against the sofa and lets out a relieved breath through his panting. Thumb tracing over the fabric, he listens closely to the sounds around him. No screaming. No moaning or whipping or rowdy guards joking the hours away. Lucanis snaps his mouth shut, forcing his rapid breaths out through his nose, and nods to himself.

Right. He left the Ossuary. He has been free from it for months. Rook… She freed him.

Turning his stiff neck to the left, Lucanis takes in the ebony mask placed at the center of the long dresser against the wall. He takes another steadying breath and stands on shaky legs. He really should take the mask to get the large gash on the point of it buffed out. He’d bothered her about it before — appearance is very important to a crow, after all — but she’d only snickered back at him. Something about her liking the look of it; makes her look a little more intimidating, she said. It had made him chuckle, wondering who would be scared of her.

First, he stops to run a finger along the edge of finely maintained daggers, laid out next to each other on the table behind the couch. Next, he looks through the collection of carefully labeled poisons on the worktable by the door. He sobers to the thought that Isehari really is a woman as dangerous as himself. He knows she is a force to be reckoned with, but when he’s heard the heavens sing through her laugh, seen how her eyes reflect the sun and the moon, the way the stars dim next to her smile… He pities her enemies; both for being at the end of her sword, and for never having the privilege of knowing her.

“Strawberry Keel Over?” He blinks at the name of the pink liquid swishing about in the bottle he picked up. “What even is that, Rook?” He mumbles. What sort of things does she mix up in her free time? He pops out the cork and wafts the liquid. A strong scent of strawberry and cream assaults him. The faintest hint of vanilla… No, honeysuckle?

“Belladonna.” Spite hums, suddenly appearing and inhaling deeply. Lucanis pops the cork back in, replaces the bottle, and closes the dark chest.

“She really is a de Riva.” He sighs to himself, tapping his fingers against the top of the chest affectionately, before turning back to the couch. The room is relatively bare, but there are small things about that sing of Rook. A stack of books here, quills and ink next to stacked parchment, a violin tucked away in the corner. Her scent hangs on everything. He begins to wonder just how he’s ended up here, since the last thing he remembers is reading in one of the most uncomfortable chairs in the dining hall, fighting the weight of exhaustion.

Taash, who is sitting on the ground halfway down the hall with their arms tucked and a light snore coming from them, clears up any confusion. Spite was back in action last night, it seems. He kneels silently next to the Qunari and gently shakes their shoulder til they stir awake.

“You should get to your room.” He says, “I’m fine.”

“Spite’s been coming through a lot lately.” He can hear the question in their words but ignores it. A tight smile and a short nod are the only response he gives while helping them to their feet. Since Rook went into the fade nearly a week and a half ago, the demon has been a lot harder to keep leashed. He thrashes about more, bangs against the confines of Lucanis’ body, and howls in his head day and night. Spite is a sore loser. From the day they met, the demon has had the habit of calling Rook his; one of the many reasons Lucanis pushed back against her little flirtations.

“He didn’t try to leave this time. Just went straight to Rook’s room; said he needed to find something.” Lucanis ticks his head to the side; what? “I don’t mind spirits… I’m-“

“Ravaini… Yes.” Lucanis finishes for them and turns to them with a smile. “Still, you should be careful. Spite is a demon. If I cannot control him,” especially now that Rook’s disappearance has him twisted up in knots, “I cannot say what he’ll do if you continue to stand in his way, Taash.”

“Is that worry I hear from you?” The young hunter asks with a lopsided grin. He waves them off.

“Don’t act so surprised. Go. Rest.” He shoos them away by jutting his chin toward their room. He waits until he hears Taash’s door click, and then spins on his heel, returning to Isehari’s quiet room.

He casts his brown eyes about again. Her wardrobe is shut and the clothes within nicely folded or hung. The books stacked atop her dresser, housed on either side of her ebony mask, appear untouched. As he turns to continue his perusal, he takes note of one of the books; leather bound and untitled. From the pages he sees scraps of parchment jutting out at awkward angles. Curiosity gets the best of him, and he is pulling open the covers before he can think of the intrusion.

Written in neat hand on the front page is a short note:

                Ise, I hear you’re off to stop the Dread Wolf. I’m pretty sure Viago’s gonna rub a hole in his head already, so I guess it’s best one of us stays. No need to stress the poor talon out more, no? Since you’ve forbade me from coming (really, a terrible choice) you have to write everything down in this journal. You know how I love your stories. To think my own sister will be the hero this time!

                Stay safe, Lethallan. Whatever you do, make sure to bring my home back… And don’t let the Dread Wolf take you; if he tries, give him my regards. - Fiori.

He begins to thumb through the pages. The first entry is dated to nearly a year ago, and in rushed script that he’d expect from Rook. It begins as a letter, addressed to Fiori, and details a day of traveling and a git at the bar that Ise had to knock some sense into. They continue like that, in the tone of an annoyed and impatient young crow, ready to complete her contract and make it back home. He is warm, reading her words, can almost hear her saying them, and lets out a soft chuckle.

Lucanis takes a seat on the couch and devours each word. She was positive – happy, even – in the beginning of it all; glad to be out and seeing the world in a way she’d never had the chance to before. This seems to be the part of her that she’s hidden – or tried to – from the rest, until he reaches a blank page.

Blank aside from eleven words:

                Solas started his ritual. Varric is hurt…

                What did I do?

Varric’s name rarely crossed Ise’s lips. He was her good friend; Lucanis has always wondered why Ise didn’t talk about him more. The others told him wonderful, extraordinary stories of their time with Varric… But Ise?

She only ever looked away, as if she could still see him. He always assumed that his passing affected Ise more than she could admit, and she only needed time… But he reads her words again.

Varric is hurt…

He wonders at it for only a second, before he continues to the next entry; just as short, it’s simply a bullet list of things they did, things she felt we’re important and she needed to remember, or things she needed to do circled frantically or crossed out. Between the frantic notes and scribbles, he would find the occasional address to her sister.

We broke the Demon of Vyrantium out today, Fiori. You should meet him… He has a sweet voice and even sweeter eyes. I think you’d like him.

Lucanis quickly slaps the book shut and blinks at the wall until the burning in his eyes goes away. Should he even be reading this? He turns the journal about in his hand, as if it would spout a mouth and tell him if he’s wrong or not… The words in here are things she didn’t intend for the others to see, things she didn’t want to say…

Things he didn’t allow her to say.

He curses in a thickened voice, as his mind escapes him like a mabari slipping out of its collar and runs to the memory of her last visit to him before Tearstone island. The rosiness in her cheeks, how she stared directly into his eyes and at his soul, how she has started to say it. Those dreaded words.

Those beautiful, dreaded words he’d cut off. He was scared of it. All of it, and what it might mean; for her… For him… He dreaded the thought that the first time those words were said between them could be a goodbye…

He hears his name on Neve’s lips from the lighthouse’s library. What Emmrich says back, he can’t quite make out, but he assumes the professor pointed her this way since her heels start clicking down the hall. Should he hide the journal? What would Neve do if she knew he was snooping in Ise’s journal? He’d never hear the end of it. He’ll hide it, then, back under the pile of books. Before he can stand, Neve lightly raps her knuckles on the door and enters.

“Lucanis?” His back is rigid, and his hands tighten on the journal. “Emmrich said I could find you in here.” The scent of coffee hits him and he turns his head to her slightly.

“Did you bring coffee?” She rounds the couch and holds the cup to him.

“I did.” Lucanis raises a brow.

“Did you boil it?”

“No.” She quips back, “I watched you do it the other night, remember?” He hums and slowly takes the cup.

“Thank you.” Neve turns her eyes about the room and lets out a heavy breath.

“Keeps a tidy room compared to the rest of us.” She comments. “I wouldn’t expect that.”

“Crows don’t make a habit of unpacking too much in one place…” He swirls the coffee around and watches the dark liquid; he’s wary of drinking it. But Neve made it for him. He brings the cup to his lips.

“What’s that?” She motions to the journal in his hand. His grip tightens until his knuckles are white, but she continues her slow walk around the room. She eyes the ebony mask, reads the spines of the books, pokes at the nose of the halla statue, and then picks up the small silver mirror.

“Isehari’s journal.” How can he hide it? He clears his throat, taps his fingers on its cover, and chances a look at Neve. She watches him from over her shoulder, and he swears he sees a flash of pity ghost over her expression.

“Are you reading all of her secrets?” There’s a teasing tone in her words, but a softness in her eye. “You find anything good?”  

“I…” He opens the filled pages and flips to the entry of the day of the ritual. “Read this.” Handing the journal to Neve and tapping his finger on the short entry, he turns his attention to the coffee. Her expression crunches in confusion and her dark eyes dart back to his.

“She did take a bad blow to the head that day… She was out of it for a while after.” Neve bites her bottom lip and reads the lines again. “It’s no surprise that she didn’t realize when she wrote this…”  Lucanis only hums back and stares at his rippling reflection in the coffee. The sound of pages flipping fills the silent room; he’s convinced she’s not actually reading what’s on the pages with how quickly she sifts through its contents.

“Oh.” Suddenly, she stops flipping through the pages, and Lucanis turns to see what’s caught the Shadow Dragon’s eye: a page with Neve’s name written along the top. A fond chuckle falls from Neve, and Lucanis takes note of the dimple in her right cheek. “Look at this,” she turns the journal toward him slightly and reads, “Neve knows people. Go to Neve for people things. Eats fried fish — lots.” She laughs, “Wisps of curiosity hang off her; can’t blame ‘em… She knows interesting things. Always finding answers.”

“She kept notes on you?” Neve’s head falls back with a laugh Lucanis rarely hears from her.

“She did!” She continues to read, the smile slowly melting off her face as she reaches the bottom. Turning the page, Lucanis reads Harding’s name.

“Every inch of these pages are covered with notes…” Neve turns the page, “Looks like she was keeping notes on all of us. Favorite drinks and foods, even our favorite colors. Emmrich’s is lilac, apparently. Who we work best with, what worries us…”

“Interesting.” Is all Lucanis can think to say back. He desperately wants to snatch the journal from Neve and read what’s written on his page; but he stays still, ‘peacefully’ sipping his coffee.

“Is it good?” Neve motions to the drink. “Do I pass?” Should he lie? He raises a brow as he takes another drink and considers the bitter and burnt taste blanketing over his tongue.

“If you want coffee, just tell me.” Neve sags

“Just say it’s bad.”

“Your effort impresses me everyday, Neve.” She laughs and smacks his arm lightly with a roll of her eyes. Her attention turns back to the book, and his goes to the untouched room. What was Spite looking for in here? The room hardly looks ransacked by a manic demon; Lucanis has nothing to go off of.

“What were you looking for in here?” He asks the demon suddenly. Neve raises her head to him, eyes darting around with a punch between her brows…

“You?” She points to the coffee, “I figured you’d-“

“Not you.” He shakes his head. “Spite. I woke up in here this morning… Taash told me that Spite had been looking for something in here…”

“Huh...” Neve turns herself toward him on the couch and holds the journal up. “Was it this?” Lucanis shrugs.

“Maybe? It doesn’t look like he was searching for anything in here… And I don’t think he would’ve cleaned up after himself.”

“Well… What did he say?”

“What did you want to find in here, Spite?” The demon appears before him, like an earie reflection the assassin is still adjusting to, and looks around the room, stopping on the ebony mask.

“Rook connected to Pride. Here… I was looking for Rook.” Lucanis looks to the journal.

“He was seeing if he might be able to find a way to Rook from here… Since this is where she meditated to reach Solas.” The investigator extends the journal to Lucanis and considers with a hum.

“Makes sense. I think you should be the one to read through this…” He gingerly removes it from her hands, as if it would burst into flames just from his touch. Lucanis doesn’t intend to argue with Neve on it, both because he wanted to read every line between the covers of the journal, and he knows Ise would trust him to read it.

He didn’t deserve her regard, but she always gave it. He rubs his thumbs over the leather-bound journal as if it was Ise herself. His hands tremble, and he opens the journal to where he left off…

For now, this is the closest he’ll get to hearing her voice again.

~*~

“What?” The sniffling elf — who usually holds herself quite high — is scrunched into a ball a ways away from where Bellara had just been tearing her a new one. Varric surrenders his hands and turns away.

“Nothing!” Then quieter, more collected, “Nothing… Just… Been here a while, huh?” His hands find purchase on his hips as he rocks on his heels and looks everywhere than at her blotchy face.

“Then, by all means, leave! I’d hate to keep you.” Ise feels worse after snapping that at him and rests her head on her folded arms. “You make it sound like it should be easy.”

“That it’s not just tells me I chose the right person.”

“You’ve said that already.”

“I have?”

“Yeah… And now look where we are.” Trapped in an impenetrable prison, never to talk to another person, never to touch someone. Never to see Lucanis or tell him… She’ll never get the chance to tell him the truth. “I’m stuck here, and you’re-��� she can’t say it.

“Dead.” He finishes for her. She flinches at it.

“Yeah…” She deflates again and continues to trace idle flowers in the dirt. Fiori loves botany, and spent all their quiet nights shoved into their small room reading textbooks that Ise “bought” (she stole them) and spewing every little fact to her… It’s no surprise that Ise always finds herself drawing the petals of a rose or azalea while mumbling their scientific names or properties.

She misses those days. When it was simple… well, simpler.

Who’s she fucking kidding it’s never been easy. Though, she guesses if she’s here, she won’t have to worry about much of anything anymore…

“There she goes again. Giving up. Just like that.” His voice sends a cold rush through her, as if she fell into a frozen lake.

“Had I known she’d be so weak, I never would have trusted her.” Bellara’s voice hisses around her.

“It’s a bad idea to trust Isehari… I trusted her until the very end. And look where it got me.” There’s a gasp from Ise when she opens her eyes. Directly in front of her lies a colorless form — small and twisted — with round cheeks and curly hair. It was red, like hers. His eyes were hazel, now frozen in a dead stare, suck her into an icy and desolate place.

“Illen.” That name burned on her quaking lips like salt in a wound. She hasn’t uttered that name in eighteen years. Her dirt and blood covered hands move to hover above the beaten form before her… As if she could still save him. Her body is tense and heart hammering like it did that night.

“You remember.” There’s a hint of surprise in that cherubic voice. Ise lightly runs a finger over the freezing surface of his cheek, and she looks over his body; she remembers the black bruises over his pale skin, can hear the thudding of the blows that made his lip break and swell like that, can feel the slippery warmth of his blood on her freezing skin.

Of course she remembers. She will never forget.

“How old was he?” Varric’s hand on her shoulder makes her start, and she shoots him a quick glance from the corner of her eye; she recognizes the rage, disgust, and pity mixing on his features… It looks unusual.

“Eight.” His jaw clenches.

“And you?”

“I was ten years old.”

~*~

Viago stares – with a frown – at the skeleton pouring him his tea. The crow is rigid, obviously uncomfortable with being in the same room as a possessed skeleton and not taking a weapon to it. Manfred hisses with joy and brings his face level to the cup, watching the steam drift up and up. Viago’s brows pinch, he looks Manfred up and down and pulls his drink away. The crow angles his body away from him on the couch and tries to keep his attention on Lucanis.

“Manfred, come sit here.” Emmrich pats the chair next to him, where his companion happily bounced to.

“We’re sorry to drop in so suddenly.” Lucanis shakes his head at Teia’s words while sitting food down on the table. “We have news on Solas.”

Lucanis stills.

“Good. Pride owes us.” Spite growls, suddenly appearing and bending to be in his view, “We will make him pay.”

“What news?”

“He was spotted in Minrathous.”

“I figured you would want to be there, Lucanis.” Viago leans forward, sitting his cup down.

“You’re right. I’ll go get ready.” He spins on his heel and begins to stalk toward the door. His heart hammers in his chest, that thudding beginning to spread into his fingertips, all the way down to his toes. His hands twitch with the thought of being able to wring that wannabe gods neck. He’d take more pleasure in stabbing the bastard, but he needs answers first.

How does he find Ise? How do they get her out?

How could he betray her?

Then, and only then, would the Dread Wolf answer for his transgressions against Rook.

“I want to be there.” A voice Lucanis doesn’t recognize sounds just as he begins to push on the doors. He quickly turns over his shoulder to find the owner, a young elven girl with curly blond locks framing her round face. He brings in a sharp intake of breath as he recognizes the hue of her eyes. Eyes identical to Rook’s. Teia is up within a second with a noticeably concerned expression.

“Fiori! How did you get here?” Teia takes to checking the girl for any wounds but finds her intact. Fiori begins to respond but stops when Viago’s towering form appears behind Teia with an expression that could wither a flower in seconds.

“Why are you here?” Lucanis watches the girl squirm for just a second, before she balls her hands into fists, and lifts her chin.

“She’s my sister. I have just as much of a right to be there as any of you.” She scans the others standing around the circular table, eyes stuttering on Manfred. She only brings her eyes back to Viago when the talon lets out a short laugh.

“You? You’ve got to be kidding me!”

“Why shouldn’t I go? I’m trained. I’m ready.” Viago laughs harder this time.

“You’re ready? To kill a god? You haven’t even taken your first contract, and you’re ready to kill Solas?” Fiori shifts.

“She is my sister.” She repeats. Lucanis raises his brow and looks to Viago. The talon places his hands on his hips and stares back just as stubbornly as Fiori is. There’s silence around the room until Viago snorts, spins on his heel and takes his spot on the couch again. He takes a sip of his drink – eerily collected – and sits it down before answering her.

“No.”

“But-“

“Fiori, do you know how dangerous it was for you to follow us through the Crossroads? Without any of us knowing?” Teia, knowing a lost battle when she sees one, begins to lay into the elven girl.

“I got here fine, didn’t I?” Fiori crosses her arms over her chest and moves to sit down in a chair as if she’s lived in the lighthouse her entire life.

“That’s not the point. You put yourself at an unnecessary risk-“

“A stupid risk.” Viago interjects, Teia doesn’t miss a beat before continuing.

“What would you have done if you came across Darkspawn? Or Venatori?”

“I would’ve been fine. I’ve trained just as hard as Ise.”

“You would’ve gotten yourself killed. It’s dumb luck you made it through.” Viago raises his voice, effectively getting the girl to shrink back in her chair with that stone cold tone, “Then what, Fiori? Ise comes back and finds out that all she has done for you was pointless, because you went and got yourself killed?”

More silence follows. Lucanis has studied every expression and every spark that would find its way into Rook’s eyes over the months they’ve been together. He recognizes the stubborn line that Fiori’s mouth settles into, and the genuine disregard for Viago’s warning in the girl’s eye. She is going to follow them no matter what the fifth talon says. Lucanis steps away from the door, and the girl jumps as he silently places himself a bit to her left.

“She’s going to follow anyways.” Lucanis raises his brow at Viago, and the way his friend sighs, tells him that he knew that as well. There’s a bit of a gasp from Fiori as she stares up at Lucanis with wide eyes.

“You’re the first talon? Lucanis Dellamorte?” He draws back slightly, but nods to her. She stands quickly and closes the distance between them.

“Teia said you and Ise were close.” Lucanis sends a lidded look to Teia, who has suddenly found the tips of her hair very interesting. “Did she ever tell you why she wouldn’t visit me?” Lucanis’ mouth opens and closes as he tries to find an answer for her.

“She wanted to keep you safe. She faced three gods… If they discovered what you are to her?” Lucanis rests his hands on her shoulders and gives a reassuring squeeze. “She absolutely would not risk that.”

“And you would just throw that away. Walk yourself before the very gods she protected you from.” Viago grumbles at her; Fiori shoots a very quick and very sharp look at the talon. “Now, can I get to what I came here to take care of, or would you like to waste more of our time, Fiori?” The girl rolls her eyes at him.

“Thank you.” She mumbles to Lucanis before taking her seat again.

“I’ll go with you, Lucanis. If Solas really is in Minrathous, the Shadow Dragon’s are sure to have more information on him.” Neve says, standing from her seat and nodding at the two crows on the couch.

“I’ll write the Inquisitor. She’ll want to know.” Harding stands and scrambles out alongside Neve. Emmrich takes to discussing with Teia and Viago the progress on the dagger. Lucanis quietly takes his leave.

~*~

The team travelling to Minrathous didn’t speak a word from the time they’d left the lighthouse to the moment they step out of the Minrathous eluvian. The sun is high in the cloudless blue sky. It’d be beautiful, he thinks, if it weren’t for the crumbling remains of the sitting area this once was framing it. He chances a peak to Neve at his side, and notices that she’s already started to stalk through the dark remains of the Shadow Dragons base. He waits until they’ve stepped through the threshold of the shop before speaking – something he’d picked up from Ise, after the dragon attack.

“Still no word on the Venatori?’

“No.” He watches her cast her eyes about. His right hand instinctively reaches to the hilt of a dagger, Spite seems to awaken as each of his senses are heightened, and he begins his own surveying of the empty Minrathous street. “The Shadow Dragons have taken to lying low with everything that’s happened.”

“It’s… Quiet.” Viago comments. The mage straightens, her own hand braced on her weapon and turns to the group slightly. The fifth talon suddenly reaches out and latches tightly onto Fiori’s arm. “Listen to every word that I say like your life depends on it,” Viago begins with his finger pointed at her, and bringing his eyes level to hers, “because it does. You are not trained to be a full-fledged crow. That was the deal between Ise and I. You make poisons, and you stay safe. You stay close to me. If you can’t, you are glued to Teia or Lucanis. Do you understand?” Fiori casts her eyes around the ruined streets of Minrathous, eyes widening on the bodies still left rotting on their noose. Lucanis steps to Neve as Viago shakes the young girl and repeats himself, “Do you understand, Fiori?”

“Yes!”

“Not even guards.” Lucanis mumbles to Neve.

“I was thinking the same thing…” Tossing another look about, she gives him a firm nod, “We move quickly and quietly. Get to the hideout and see what’s been going on here.”

“Lead the way.” He offers his own firm nod back and sets his shoulders. They begin a quick weave of Minrathous’ twisted streets. No guards, windows drawn. His ears catch the faint sound of fast footsteps in the alley parallel to the one they’re passing through. Their direction changes suddenly and heads straight for-

“Neve!” There’s only a moment to react before a small, scraggly form slams into her, and lets out a panicked shriek. In a flash, Teia has them by their hair, and a knife to their throat. It’s then that Lucanis notices the face; a young boy with tousled and knotted shoulder-length brown hair, dirty cheeks, and missing one of his front teeth. The boy is dressed in rags, feet bare, and bangs kept back by a fraying red sash.

“Oh,” Teia releases the child and sheathes her dagger, “Sorry about that.” The boy only backs away from her and bumps into Neve, who steadies him by the elbows, turns him to her, and looks him up and down.

“Hey.” She begins simply. The child seems to shrink under her gaze – which Lucanis notes is a surprisingly warm shade of brown – so she continues softer, “Are you okay?”

He begins a wide and blank eyed nod, before blinking and giving a vehement shake of his head. Neve kneels at this, and Lucanis moves closer. Viago and Teia take up positions on each side of them, so that every direction is under the watchful eye of a crow. Fiori, to Lucanis’ relief, stays close to Viago.

“Can you tell me what’s wrong?” Neve asks.

“The Venatori.” The child whispers, as if he’s scared just speaking that name will bring the bastards. She waits for him to elaborate.

“The Venatori?” Neve urges when he doesn’t speak up for a few more beats. He nods, then leans forward, cupping his hand over his mouth.

“They’ve been taking people. Everyone’s hiding now. I lost my sister on our way home… I’m trying to find her, but the Venatori saw me first.”

“Where’d you lose your sister?”

“By the market. I was hoping to give them the slip over here, but they have eyes everywhere.” Tears line the child’s reddening eyes. Neve shoots Lucanis a look. He gives her a nod; they’d get the boy to safety and see if there’s any trace of his sister after they check in with the Viper.

“Listen-“ She stops short, shifts, then asks, “What’s your name?”

“Aulus.”

“And your sister’s?”

“Lora.”

“Good. Aulus, I’m going to take you to a safe place. With the Shadow Dragons-“

“The Shadow Dragons?” The kid seems to shoot to life, now housing stars in his honeyed eyes. Neve pops a smirk onto her lips.

“Yes, the Shadow Dragons. But I need you to listen to everything my friends and I say.” Her eyes cast to Lucanis, and Aulus’ follow. The assassin gives him a short smile; Aulus only stares back with a blank expression. “Okay?”

“Ok.” Neve stands and adjusts her gloves.

“Seems we’re collecting children today.” Viago grumbles. Fiori gasps at him.

“I’m almost twenty-one!” She exclaims. Viago raises a brow and casts her a sidelong glance.

“Really? Could’ve fooled me, with the way you act.” Her cheeks redden, and she purses her lips as she gives him yet another glare… Is that all they do in House de Riva? Glare at each other and dig their elbows into each other’s guts?

“Alright, now stay close and-“ Neve’s cut short by the explosion. Lucanis is flat on his back and blinking at that pretty blue sky – now slightly obscured by thrown up dust – in the blink of an eye. He sees the writhing form of a blight tendril craning above them, like a predator eying its meal before striking. The hair on Lucanis’ neck stands.

“Up!” His warning is short and breathless, “Move!” He rolls to his right, Neve rolls to the left, yanking Aulus with her just a breath before the thick tendril slams down, throwing up stone from the ground and buildings. The city that was once holding its breath in complete silence, is now wailing; its hiding citizens pouring out from their homes that are being torn to pieces by blight and shielding themselves from the falling debris with hands over their heads. There’s a flash of pale blue light before Lucanis is hit with a frigid burst of air. The tendril separating the two convulses, and he swears he hears some twisted sort of shriek come from it, before it begins to draw away from the ground. Lucanis presumes it’s rearing for another strike. Just when there’s enough space, Neve pushes Aulus forward, and ducks under it quickly.

“Vi! Fiori!” Teia cries, rushing closer to the groaning mass of muscle and flesh; Lucanis can see the relief soften the lines of her face as Fiori is shoved into her arms and Viago dashes out next. They scatter away from the tendril, and sure enough, it strikes again where they had just been standing.

The ground shakes, and there’s a distant rumble; another area of the city being ransacked like this part.

“It’s spreading fast!” The mage cries, eying its rapid growth through building windows and up their walls. A young elven woman scrambles past Lucanis and knocks shoulders with him; when she stumbles, a tendril lashes out and wraps around her ankle. His companion latches onto the girl’s hand and begins a futile tug of war with the blight. She’s being dragged away with the girl. Lucanis swiftly takes a dagger into his hand and lunges forward, cutting mere inches away from the girl’s ankle, at the thinnest point. The blight recoils as he slices clean through.

Lucanis quickly returns to Aulus, who is still frozen a few paces away, grabs firmly onto his arm, and checks the others. He looks to Neve who is helping the woman up.

“We need to get back to the eluvian.” She gives him a despairing look and opens her mouth as if she is going to fight him on this. “We can’t outrun this, Neve. Best we can do is get who we can out.”

“I am Elgar’nan. First of the Firstborn. Last of the Evanuris.” Lucanis runs cold as the gods baritone voice slithers through his head. Still as disgusting and disorienting as before. Lucanis looks to Neve with a knowing look, finding horror fresh in her expression as well.

He keeps her eye with his mouth in a thin and grim line as tears build, and spill over onto her cheeks. He moves to her and raps her firmly on the shoulder, and she seems to start out of that dreadful state he knows all too well.

“Come to reign over you with a fine and gentle hand. Citizens of Minrathous, give yourself to me…” The assassin snorts, and nudges at Fiori’s frozen form.

”Elgar’nan is in my head.” Her wide eyes turn to Lucanis, “You hear him?”

“Let’s go.” He says to both her and Neve.

“Right.” Neve’s voice shakes. She draws in a trembling breath before shouting, “Follow me! Everybody!” Some notice, some don’t, “Follow me!” Only a few more begin to tag along.

”And together, we shall unleash magic so glorious,” the building towering over them begins to groan as blight rapidly grows around it like a snake, and it collapses inward under the weight, “So limitless… That all the world will be transformed.”

They scatter as the rubble of the building comes crashing down around them; some people aren’t so lucky as they are in dodging the jagged stone.

They’d only made it a short distance from the eluvian, but weaving through the crumbling streets while dodging the swinging and crushing of blight tendrils, tiptoeing around pools of the sticky black beginning to ooze from larger boils of blight festering in the cracks of houses, and avoiding being snatched up and torn away like flies proves a slow process. Lucanis chews at Elgar’nan’s words; that the world would be transformed. Looking at the grotesque landscape, the blood and ooze now coating the streets that he’d once found a charm in, he wonders how any creature could find this desirable.

Heavy steps and a warbling growl warn Lucanis of the Hurlock that soon bursts through a crumbling wall on their right. He dives out of the way of the blow and angles his blade so that the darkspawn’s sloppy swing is angled upward, giving Lucanis just enough of an opening to ram his second blade deep through its ribs. It lets out a cry that deafens out the shrieks of the city. Putting both feet to its chest, he kicks off it while yanking his sword from it. It stumbles backward but doesn’t fall.

He hates how many times he must stab a darkspawn before they die.

“Lucanis!” He casts a glance to Neve, who is holding off an onslaught of ghouls of her own. He waves her off.

“I’m fine! Keep going!” Teia is quick to appear at his side, throwing a small smoke bomb that begins hissing out smoke immediately. She then turns to Lucanis and begins to push him with the flow of the crowd.

“No time!” Is the only explanation Teia gives. He didn’t need much of one, anyways. They scramble backward through the narrowing street – the door to the old Shadow Dragon hideout is visible and looks relatively intact to his relief – while throwing the occasional spell or dagger at the horde on their heels, and dodging falling debris loosened by the blight’s wrath.

Lucanis scans the head of the small group they’re ushering and finds his target; Fiori’s golden curls whipping around as Viago spins her away from another ghoul throwing their heavy, clawed hands at them. There are too many of them swarming at his friend.

“Teia, Viago.” Lucanis breathlessly nods toward them. She doesn’t give him any sign that she’s heard him other than shooting in that direction. Lucanis keeps at the tail of the group as they begin to shove their way through the doorway to the eluvian. It’s a frustratingly slow process, but as soon as he’s close enough to his fellow crows, he flings himself into their fight. Heavy pounding on the ground – nearing quickly – tells him they didn’t shake the Hurlock from earlier.

Lashing out at a ghoul’s throat, he nearly cuts its head clear off and then buries his other sword to the hilt in another’s chest. He can hear the hurlock’s large axe scraping the ground to their right and starts as another large blight tendril bursts from the buildings across the way. It would crush the hideout – and the eluvian – to smithereens in one blow. They would all lose their way out of this mess.

“We need to go! Now!” Lucanis grabs Fiori by the hood of her cloak and yanks her to him. He runs, with her held tightly under his arm, to the dark doorway.

“Viago!” She cries, trying to push away from him, but he has her in an iron hold.

“He will follow. You need out.” Lucanis growls at her, navigating the overrun and darkened rooms; the eluvian’s glowing and shifting glass is a welcome sight. Neve is hurrying people through and meets his eye as soon as he steps into the room. As the last of the civilians disappear, he guides Fiori to it.

“No! I can’t go until Viago and Teia-“

“Go!” Lucanis hisses at her, almost desperately. If Fiori died while under his watch, Ise would never forgive him; he couldn’t live with that, whether he sees her again or not.

“I won’t!” She tears his hand off her cloak and looks toward the door with a contorted and twisting tearstained face. “Viago-“

“Go!” Lucanis takes her by the collar this time, and meets her eyes with a blaze in his, and then he shoves her through. He’d apologize later. Neve looks to the doorway again, “Go, Neve.” Lucanis urges her through, and she listens.

“Mierda!” He hears Teia curse after there’s a huge rumble and the ground shakes beneath Lucanis’ feet. The curly haired elf slams into the doorway, with Viago close behind and guiding her forward.

“Quickly!” Lucanis yells, shifting his feet and casting his eyes up to the reddening sky; just as it did at Tearstone.

Lucanis steps through the eluvian with Teia and Viago. The sound of the blights screeching and the animalistic gargles that come with darkspawn is gone in an instant. But, with the stillness of the Crossroads, comes the wails from the people they’ve managed to get out. He counts the heads.

Ten. Only ten managed to make it out with them.

“No!” The scream has Lucanis drawing his blades again, but he stops short when he finds the older woman leaned over the body of a boy of fifteen, if he had to guess. Stepping closer, Lucanis notices the boys hand clasped over his stomach, and the blood trickling over his pale skin… Skin with black already beginning to cut jagged patterns - like a million lightning strikes – just below his skin. Lucanis’ stomach twists and somehow his frown deepens.

“He’s been tainted.” Viago quietly says, coming to stand next to him. Lucanis nods, and his eyes flutter.

“We can take him to the Wardens and see if they can perform the Joining for him. It’s his only chance.” Neve is quick to be at the mother’s side, one hand on her shoulder, and the other reaches to hover over the boy’s wound; a milky blue light emanates around her hand in a sphere. His struggling slows, and his rapid panting slows; but not enough. “We need to move if we are to help him.” Neve urges the mother, and the woman seems to snap out of her trance. Entire body visibly shaking, she nods.

“Yes. We’ll get you to the Wardens, darling. You’ll be okay,” Her quaking hands brush the sweat soaked, sandy brown hair away from his forehead, “We’ll save-“

“No.” The boy stops his mother and shakes his head. “No, mom. I don’t- I can’t…”

“Yes, you can. I promise-“

“I can’t live like that mom.” His face twists with a sob, “I would rather die.”

“You… you’re not thinking clearly right now. Once you undergo the Joining, you’ll feel better!” She begins to sit him up, but the boy pushes away from her.

“Mom, please… I cannot live like that.” The boy keeps his mother’s stare, and Lucanis’ own eyes sting as he watches her shoulders sag and her head fall.

“It will be painful.” Neve tells him, almost in a whisper. Then, the boy’s eyes are on Lucanis. Why is he looking at him? He can’t help the slight shake of his head as the boy’s eyes trail down to the sword in Lucanis’ hand, making his expression fall, along with his heart.

Lucanis can hear the mothers sobbing worsen. He sees the boy turn back to his mother. He says something. His smile is soft, chin wobbling. His mother’s hand wipes at the tears falling from his blackening eyes, but really, she just smudges the blood and dirt around. She kneels and places a long kiss on his forehead… Lucanis wonders what that feels like.

The kiss of a mother on the forehead.

Neve and Teia’s shadows shift over the boy as they take his mother by the shoulders and gently pry her from him. She holds him until they part at the fingertips. Again, he meets the boy’s eyes. Viago slaps Lucanis heavily on the shoulder, walks to kneel at the boy’s side, and takes up his hand.

Lucanis kneels. The boy looks from Viago to him and then smiles at Lucanis. The dagger is heavy in his hand…

“Mercy, please.” It’s but a broken whisper on dying lips.

Prev | Ch 4: Mercy, I Beg (In progress)

[divinevivtoria]

For everything this game got wrong, Solas was not one of them. If anything, they stuck to their guns on Solas the hardest. Aside from their decision to unceremoniously cut his agents and his reasoning behind it, Weekes did not suddenly decide that he should be changed for the sake of the game. There is nothing OOC about him here. No, not even him declaring "I am a GOD."

One of the few joys I derive from this game as a certified Solas hater is the vindication of him repeatedly revealing himself to be a bigger unrepentant asshole than the last cutscene he was in.

In his very first appearance before we could even interact with him directly, he killed Felassan mid-sentence for 1.) having the audacity to disobey him 2.) daring to think those living today are deserving of life. Felassan, someone who was among his closest comrades, was disposable in the end. Along with the disruption spirits, Mythal, Varric, and the Inquisitor romanced or friendly.

He remains in character as a hypocritical self-serving egotistical ghoul to the last second of his story and I can't fathom what the fandom is upset about regarding him at least.

[hustlemeanokay]

Some rando thoughts about Solas in Veilguard. About how I think they did such a great job allowing him to be able to fit a lot of headcanons out there. Spoilery so it's below the cut.

So. If you've played through DA:Ve (I refuse to call it anything else in acronyms because I think that is the funniest one ever) - then you know that Solas began life as a Spirit of Wisdom. And if you're well versed on spirits in the DA canon - then you know that spirits will mirror the world around them / become what is expected of them depending on whoever is encountering them. They become what you expect. And I think, personally, they did such a good job of this when it comes to Solas in the game.

Yes, I know - they laid down such a rigid Inquisitor backstory for him and I do agree with the fact that they could have allowed players to be like "no, actually, my Inquisitor loathed Solas and Solas loathed them." but ¯\_(ツ)_/¯. So, they wanted the Inquisitor to have at least been on friendly terms with Solas. (If you select they vowed to stop Solas, he says they were friendly once or something along those lines and if they say they vowed to save Solas, Solas will say he still considers them a dear friend or something like that - I can't remember the exact dialogue). And yes - it is a better story if the Inquisitor and him were in a relationship. It adds another layer of awe and tragedy. Because this dude is hella old and here he is, falling in love with a mortal that he now knowingly puts in mortal danger because he has to fix his mistakes. I mean, we can (and have) go into great lengths about it.

But! What I think they did so well is that Solas... for all his past deeds, for ill or good, will be whatever you want him to be in the end. If you want Solas to be this vulnerable spirit who is just out there doing his best, making choices he has no idea how to make, with no context, with no idea how to be mortal because the dude takes thousands x thousands of years long naps - he'll be that. If you want Solas to be Fen'harel - hell bent on burning the world - an advisory, an asshole who will straight up finally say that he is a god? He'll be that.

Up until this point, we've only known the gentle Solas. The apostate hobo who gawks at an Inquisitor who punches him like he couldn't fathom such violence though he himself has done untold atrocities in the past. But here? In the Veilguard? We can witness him straight up killing a friend (accidently but still) and blatantly manipulating another person. And I mean, I can't be the only one who was like "dude, shut up" during the only time you get to have him along side you fighting and he's going on and on and on about how good Rook is at being the one to fight this fight. (Insert Rook's "I will pay real gold if he'll shut up" about Elgar'nan.)

I mean, Solas is almost painfully transparent towards the end. But, even still - he can be saved. Granted, the relationship with the Inquisitor has to exist but still - that just makes a certain amount of sense. Because he'd need another something drastic there to really change his course. I've put it in countless fics of mine, often said by Varric. You don't save the world for the world, you save it for the people in it. And Solas will have had one meaningful relationship with one person still living. And that would be the Inquisitor. And friendship is fleeting - he's had friends. Many of them over the years. Some who he had never dreamed would have betrayed him (Mythal) and others he's betrayed (the list is endless). But he's only ever had one love. No matter if you think him and Mythal had a thing (they didn't, sorry Taash).

ANYWAY, that's not the point - the point is that all the interactions you can have with Solas, you can mold him into whatever it is you've HC'd him as, really. He can be a little smart-assy, a little sassy, a little funny, a little humble, a little joyful, a little bit of a hero (he's not a really good one though, poor guy), a little bit of a protector, a little bit of a total asshole, a little bit of a bad guy, etc, etc. And I think they did that so well. They did it without it feeling forced or fake (except those praises he did for Rook there at the end but I think that was more about us knowing that he was tricking Rook in real time).

So, yeah - I'm just glad they didn't lock it down into Solas is this and nothing more type narrative.