#the drowned rook

[bodhranwriting]

A little hint into a future character in the Arcane Skies trilogy…

She dreamt a lot.

They weren’t quite nightmares, exactly, more like something next door to them in her personal dreamscape.

They always started the same: twelve doors, each of a different colour and material, stretching deeper and deeper underground. She had the keys to each and every door, the pockets of her ink-black dress seemingly infinite and – at the same time – quite empty until she reached her hand inside.

The keys were all different too. She pulled out great, ornate silver monstrosities, tiny pearl-inlaid delicacies, rusted brass keys straight from her childhood music boxes, even once a key which she was sure was carved from bone.

The bone key was the last one. The door it opened was the only real one; a cell-door with polished bars and arcana padlock.

Always, always, the voice in her head told her not to open it, to leave it alone in the depths of the dungeon.

Every night she opened it.

Every night it was seemingly unoccupied. The bed was perfectly made, the plates empty of food and wooden cup desert-dry. Sometimes she had time to run her finger through the dust before the realisation dawned.

She had been followed.

She’d turn, fear rising in her gullet, and she’d see the angel.

He was more beautiful than he’d ever been in life; neater, smoother, dressed in a robe of indeterminate colour which hurt her eyes like the midday sun. Always, he’d tower above her with parchment cream wings peppered with lead-silver and black ink.

He never spoke because they did not need to.

She knew what she’d done to him.

But before the white fire descended upon her, she’d stare into his face that she both knew and did not know, searching for his eyes.

They were dark and full of hatred, yes, but there was something which made her heart sing before she died.

He might hate her, this dream-version of her oldest friend, but he knew her.

And that was all that mattered.

[caitmayart]

Gimme a minute I'm GONNA make that jump

[jeeaark]

[tiiracotta]

There was a lot of loot on that final beach. And also water.

[doriansbutt]

did I need another new rook? no. did I make one anyway? yes.

Ottavio de Riva, obnoxious and perpetually tired younger brother of Viago lol

[vaguely-concerned]

just for fun this time during 'sea of blood' I counted out all the venatori corpses I think we can be pretty sure were lucanis' handiwork before we show up (not including the ones he kills in his initial cutscene, and with an assumption that he's been at work mainly up and down in the areas we move through until we find him, not behind the locked door -- I think that's mostly the work of rampaging undead and other venatori-hoisted-by-their-own-petard suchlikes). can thus happily inform you lucanis has killed at least 32 venatori before rook and company get there. at least one of them he's impaled on their own weird crystal spike things the venatori mages cast as an AOE attack and that they're trying to keep him contained with when we find him. so he's clearly been keeping busy lol. that's my boy dispensing poetic justice and claiming some enrichment in his enclosure while he's at it good for him!

[vigilskeep]

really enjoy a habit i’ve noticed in lucanis fic of forcing him to fly down to catch a falling and/or drowning rook. that’s good

[offorestsongs]

my only goal in the new year is to draw even more incredibly sappy bullshit

taglist (ask to be added <3): @thehollowwriter @tixdixl @scint1llat3 @s-t-y-x

[fishysaltine]

Lucanis: The Drowned District has had many names, but none of them stuck. Antivan’s love drama.

Taash: Hope Antivan’s know how to swim

Crow!Rook:

[the-warmest-machine]

Can you imagine the imposter syndrome Rook feels as a leader of convenience?

We see glimpses of it, but because Rook compartmentalizes it, it makes us see how the companions see Rook: tall, unshakeable, and unbothered. But in between the cracks, look deep enough and you see Rook’s turmoil. Here are some ruminating thoughts about it:

Rook feels imposter syndrome in twinges, after the first Fade dream with Solas. This is their mess to clean. Nothing makes them equipped for the job other than they have to step up and make the best of a shit show. As you discuss the next steps with Harding and Neve, you notice them both look to you. You were, after all, Varric’s second in command. Did Varric see this coming? Is this what he trained you for? The position feels like decay, enjoy encumbered by guilt. It shouldn’t have happened this way. But you’re here now, and you’re making calls. You just wish it felt right.

In fleeting moments, the unease returns, but sometimes it’s Big. The next Big moment Rook feels inadequate is when, for the first time, the core team is gathered around the Lighthouse table. For a second, you’re brought back to when Harding and Neve looked to you. This time, it’s also Bellara, Lucanis, Davrin, Taash and Emmerich. Rook would dig their fingertips into the chair’s wood, if they weren’t surrounded by observant company. Instead, Rook twists their toes as anxiety threatens to seize them. The choices they make and the orders they give—are they really the best course of action? Are they decisions a successful leader would make? Can they tell you’re in over your head and have no idea what you’re doing? The thoughts rise and are quashed, but they nonetheless still exist. Where Rook is clumsy, they compensate in precise motor control—for the “important” occasions, anyway. A determined face and authoritative tone masks the fear clutching their heart. They take a deep mental breath, box the worry away, and get to business.

Once Elgar’nan is slain and Solas is bound to the Veil, Rook and the remaining team stand in the dawning light. Survivors rise from the rubble and cheer them on. Rook has a smile on their face, hands on their hips in accomplishment… but in their head, they’re wondering if they actually belong there. If they deserve the cheers and exaltation. Their gut twists with unease because they know the beginning of this started with them. Varric would say, “You did well, kid,” and disapprove of Rook’s festering thoughts. In his honor, Rook again sets aside the ick. But still, it was there.

[a-lyoshka]

Mourn Watcher Emmrich is terrified of the death after his parents suddenly passed 🤝 Lord of Fortune Laidir is terrified of the water after almost be drowned trying to escape from the slave galley

[robo-milky]

I guess I do have a type(s)…? [Male Edition]

Like I see patterns but it’s not like all of them have something in common- You now all have grounds to flame me for my shit taste ig- You’re lucky I didn’t put Bill Cipher up there- /hj (I swear my fem edition will be my redemption arc)

[proserpiiart]

I drew my 2 Rooks (so far)

I started with a lord of fortune himbo and now I'm doing a shadow drawing tiny ball of rage ♡

[dopethingnut]

[bearlytolerant]

couldn’t have timed that better

[secret-smut-sideblog]

Leave the Bodies Where They Lay

Lucanis x F! Rook

PG-13 - jealousy/rivalry, dubcon groping, hurt/comfort, grief, anger, descriptions of mortuary practices

After receiving the gift of her touch, Lucanis finds himself raw with regret. And with another mourn watcher joining their ranks, Rook must endure her rage at being turned away from her home...

Prev Chapter, Masterlist

-

Davrin.

The man's eyes followed her with clear interest. Only a day in their company, and he was honed in on her. The sharpened edge she approached all newcomers with had charmed him, the opposite of its intention.

Lucanis could lie to himself and say his distrust was purely protective, the way his hackles raised at his lingering driven by only chivalry.

He was never a good liar.

She had just emerged from his new lodgings, greeting his little griffin with a crouch on her haunches and an inquisitive lean of her head. The pup squawked at her excitedly, bouncing its head. She smiled and offered her hand to sniff, the creature's nose dove into her palm, snuffling loudly. Her body stiffened, overwhelmed by the enthusiasm, but offered an awkward pat on its head regardless.

She prefers cats.

The thought came to him with unearned venom, watching from the opposite balcony.

Her eyes rose to his, feeling his gaze.

True to her word, nothing had changed between them. Well, besides a slight chill from his misguided grab for her to stay after her... gift.

The shame in his belly should have pulled him through the earth by now. His... performance was the exact opposite of what he intended. What he could have only hoped for in late night musings. Mortified was putting it lightly.

It had just been so long, and her touch was masterful. Pulling pleasure from him as easy as pulling water from a well. He had lifted the bucket to his lips and drowned in it.

Even further... she had saved his home. She had chosen Treviso. The roar of his heart when he saw her running toward him as he watched his world crumble. Barely breaking her step as Teia and Viago caught her up on the carnage unleashed around them.

The heat in her eyes was terrifying as she cut through bodies. An avenging angel struck down from heaven, unleashing fury on those that would dare to take his home from him.

No less intense when facing down the false god and the dragon she sicced on them. Taking deep slashes and blows without blinking, knocked to the earth to rise again, teetering at the edge of death. Striking lightning from the core of her being, slashing at scales in a whirlwind of precise anger.

How could nothing have changed?

He had paced circles into the pantry floor the following morning. Chewing a hole into his cheek, only stopped by the taste of blood.

Spite didn't even speak, just watching his torment with lidded eyes, feeding from a feast. Watching him with the same hunger he bore into her with that night. Purple eyes demonic from the black corner of the room, clawed hands pressing to the walls from the dark, breathing heavy through a growled throat.

The demon's touch on her had slid from a possessive drive for attention to a sickening sensuality. Hands running up her sides, head buried into the curve of her neck. Touching her in all the ways Lucanis ached for.

That he had been too selfish to give.

Watching him with vicious glee as her body responded. Subtly leaning her head back, blinking slowly, hips pushing just a touch into him. Imperceptible to those blind to the demon, but undeniable signs of her reception to what he was pushing into her. Never fully crossing the line. Not yet.

He was sleeping about two hours at a time. Sometimes, just curling against the floor. Collapsing down into the dust and grime, taking twenty minutes to keep his body mobile. Insomnia usually sharpened him, but he was pushing it to the extreme. The dark circles that had become a feature of his face were accompanied by bloodshot eyes and a scowl. Only broken when she approached him.

His eyes wandered in exhaustion now, hazy and unfocused. Startling as she appeared next to him on the balcony.

"Sit down." She commanded.

He followed instinctually, too tired to even fathom arguing. Settling against the ground, leaning his head back into the banister.

She sat behind him, her thighs encircling his hips. Hands raised under his armpits, she pulled him by the shoulders back into her chest.

He fell back into her with a sigh, body giving entirely to the solid warmth behind him.

"Good." She encouraged in a hush against his ear. Her fingernails drug lightly along his scalp, and an involuntary groan left him, eyes fluttering up into his lids. Melting into the pleasure lines lit along his skin.

"Sleep, Lucanis." She whispered. "We have time."

His body could have wept in relief. Nodding limply, he turned his head into her neck. Her arm draped loosely over his waist, fingers scratching heaven into his scalp. A deep sleep pulled him down into the earth.

-

Rassou sang softly under her breath, an old hymn she had led many times in the shrouded choir. Hushing the mournful melody into the crown of his head. Breathing in the intoxicating scent of him, crushed lemon and wood smoke. Rocking slowly with the tempo of the song. The deep of his breath an instrument of its own.

"Rook?"

Bellara's whisper broke the reverie gently. Rassou looked up at her, waving for her to intrude. Adjusting her seat to get the tingles out.

"Sorry to disturb you." She rushed in a soft hush. "Disturb you both. Is he... is he okay?"

"He will be." Rassou brushed his hair from his brow, smiling at the quiet snore that ticked in his throat. "Did you have something for me?"

"Yes! I've been writing to our Fade expert!" She continued in a fervent whisper. "He's eager to meet us!"

"Well, that's good news..." Rassou led, feeling the complication coming.

"It is! He's even a mourn watcher, like you!"

There it was.

"How high ranking?"

"Oh... uh. Pretty high? I'm sorry, I'm not sure what the standard were measuring by is."

"You're not in trouble." She assured. Bellara's posture loosened slightly. "Just wanted some indication of how much venom I need to endure."

"Well... he knew you by name, but that was about it. That's good, right?"

He knows. He knows damn well.

"It is. Thank you, Bel."

She did a happy little hopping dance. Rassou creased a smile at her.

"We can leave as soon as you're ready. Oh, I have so many questions for him!" She bounced from foot to foot.

"I could answer some for you." Rassou offered.

"Oh! I always figured you didn't... well..."

"Speak freely." She directed.

"Right!"

Bellara plopped down next to her, fixing her with wide eyes.

"Why did you leave Necropilis?"

Her breath paused. Right to it, then.

"I was sent away after the civil war. The War of the Banners."

"Did you do something wrong?"

Her jaw clenched.

"By official standards, I had."

"What did you do?"

"I took out both sides."

"Oh... That's pretty big. I could see why they were mad."

Rassou chuckled despite herself.

"Did you mean to? To send soldiers after both sides?" Her voice came out soft.

"No, you misunderstand. My men weren't involved. I lost control. I... I decimated them all."

"Oh, wow..." Her eyes fell down in thought, going still. "Is that why you were afraid of us?"

Her breath caught. A lump formed in her throat, averting her eyes from her sweet, inquisitive gaze. Tears glazed her vision.

"I'm sorry!" She held her hands up in surrender.

Rassou held up her own palm in a bid for pause. Taking breaths deep from her belly.

"Whoa!" Bellara raised her forearm, pulling her sleeve back. "My hair is standing! The air changed!"

Rassou smiled again, pushing through a few more breaths. "Yes. That would be me."

"You can change the atmosphere? That's incredible! Is that where your lightning comes from? Does it build up like in a cloud?"

She stood, pacing in fast little strides.

"If it builds like it does in a usual cloud formation, I could build something to harness it! Maybe. A chest harness? Oh! Gauntlets! It would need a vent and something to catch all that electricity. A battery?"

"That would solve the lightning." Rassou agreed, smiling gently at her enthusiasm. Curling her leg around Lucanis' knees as he settled onto his side. "But not the rain."

"There's rain?!" She exclaimed excitedly. Lucanis stirred, grimacing his face, gripping into her shirt.

"Sorry!" She whispered loudly, holding her hands up again. "Oh, I have so much to think about!"

"You gonna be able to introduce us to your contact?" Rassou teased through a smile, absentmindedly running her fingers through the hair at his temple.

"Yes! He's excited to meet you!"

"That's a rare sentiment. Maybe he really doesn't know me."

"I was excited to meet you! I think you're really cool."

"I think you're cool too, Bel."

She bounced again, her arms shaking back and forth in excitement.

"Okay! I think I need to lay down!"

"Go lay down." Rassou smiled.

-

"You okay?"

Lucanis' hand came to her shoulder. She cupped her palm over it.

"Let's just go."

She stepped through the eluvian, closing her eyes tight, the drop in her stomach nearly familiar by now.

They stepped into swirling dark, the scent of ashes and incense. Far structures with extended bridges, brutal and lit with spectral green light. The feeling of being somewhere deep beneath the earth, even within a vast landscape.

Necropilis. How dare it be exactly the same.

"You lived like this?" Lucanis looked at her in unabashed shock.

All the tight unfolded from her body as she burst into laughter. Doubled over onto her knees.

"Did we break her?" Bellara whispered from behind her hand.

"Come on." Rassou laughed, wiping her eyes. "I've got people to upset."

The descent into the catacombs was a scar slowly opened. Desperately homesick and nauseous with smothered anger. Running her hands along stone, the cool of them a tainted balm. The soft shuffle of bone sand under their feet a mocking hush.

She used to run through it barefoot, her feet stained a near constant grey. Her more proper elders found it vexing to no end.

A deep ache sat in her chest as reminiscing hit her at every turn. Blades struck into her side until she was pincushioned by childhood memory.

An older man stood at an altar, necromancy pulsing from his body. In the process of reviving a vessel.

"Oh, it's him!" Bellara exclaimed.

The man turned, standing with a tall back. A ceremonial death mask obscured his face.

"Visitors!" A posh voice rang out from behind, warm with welcome. "What a surprise! Any trouble with the lift? Our last guests were stuck for hours, poor souls!"

Bellara stared lost with wonder at the ghostly visage of the skeletal face.

"Oh!" He chuckled, waving the death mask away with a flourish.

"Professor Emmerich Volkarin, of the Mourn Watch." He stepped down stone, held with the same poised dignity only her most esteemed elders carried.

"Oh, he's not going to be a fan of me." She hushed into Lucanis' ear.

"Hm, he doesn't seem that thick-skulled."

"Why do I even talk to you?" She sighed. Lucanis only smiled wide.

Bellara and the professor chatted happily, catching up like old friends. Rassou stood back from them, content to move on without introductions.

"And who are your companions?" He offered cordially, waving his fingers good naturedly at them.

"He's not going to bite you!" Bellara encouraged, waving them over.

"I'm more the bite risk." Rassou agreed, stepping forward.

"My word..." Emmerich stepped close, peering down at her face in curiosity. "Where did you get those eyes, my dear?"

"Wow, we're starting early huh?" She couldn't help the bristle up her back. Taking a deliberate step back from his crowding. "I haven't been studied like an experiment in a long time. But if that's what we're doing, so be it."

"I'm so sorry." He took a further step back in apology. "That was far too familiar. I meant no disrespect."

Lucanis caught her elbow, speaking low in concern. "Would you like me to lead?"

She let out an exhale of defeat, stepping behind his shoulder.

"We've had a hell of a time recently." Lucanis soothed, approaching in her stead.

"Of course. What is your name, my friend?"

Rassou stared at her feet as the pleasantries were exchanged, resentment hot in her throat. She knew this man had nothing to do with her judgment. But the rage sat so deep in her it held up her spine. Burning. Always burning.

This was the only thing she had ever believed in.

Her fist trembled by her side.

"Rook?" Bellara hushed.

She shook her head, rubbing her thumb into her palm to release the locked muscles.

"Are we ready to move on?" Emmerich offered with a smile.

"Where are we needed?" Rassou directed.

"Ah! Follow me!" He led with a flourish of his hand.

She worked in silence, cutting down wave after wave of undead. An old job, one she had always excelled at. Worth something, at least.

Rage was a fuel, one she could siphon readily in this setting. Shredding through enemies as the well-oiled machine she was. Driven forward in the momentum of a hurricane.

"Your reputation certainly precedes you!" Emmerich praised.

She knew she was being unfair, he had been nothing but lovely so far, but she wanted nothing to do with this man.

"I'm efficient." She stated, stalking forward again. "Point me where you need me. Let's get this over with."

"Of course." His tone soft with understanding.

They descended into the bell atrium.

"Last thing, we need to unlock-"

"The bell needs to be freed to cleanse the despair demons, I know. I'll handle it." She pushed forward, running up the stairs to the great chains. Going one by one to shatter the barriers over them, killing everything that stood in her way.

The rage was burning too hot, too close. Storm bursting from the seams of her body, ripping up her throat. On the edge of catastrophe.

She could hold it together. She could. She had use.

"There! It's ready!" Emmerich cheered from the atrium below. The tolling of the huge bell hummed through the catacomb.

Descending down the stairs soaked in blood, she teetered on her feet. Eyes drifting in exhaustion under lids, shaking her head sharply to regain her edge.

"Good job all!" Emmerich smiled, turned towards her companions.

"Mierda! Rassou!" Lucanis rushed to her, catching her under her arms. "What-" His eyes frantic in confusion.

She could only brace her hands on his chest, shaking her head as he reached for her. Angry tears smeared down her cheeks.

Outside, rain began to pound against stone.

-

"Hey." Rassou leaned against the door of the library, arms tightly folded.

"Hello, there." Emmerich smiled, placing his books down on a table.

"I'm sorry. About before." She sighed, staring at the chair next to him.

"As am I." He stood straight, eyes gently creasing with his smile. "I would very much like to start over."

"I would like that." She stepped into the room as he invited her in with a roll of his hand.

"It is nice. To have a mourn watcher here." She admitted, leaning against a bookshelf.

"I feel the same, your friends are already a little wary of my necromancy."

"You're doing fine." She waved her hand in gentle dismissal. "They were terrified of me, you're a puppy in comparison."

"A puppy?" He laughed, a bright sound. "Fascinating word choice."

Quiet fell over them. She picked at a seam on her elbow.

"I was born with these eyes."

He paused the setting of books on a shelf. Turning his attention fully towards her.

"I looked it up once, when I was small. Why animals have black eyes. It's a social mutation. Animals that live in communities have white sclera, easier to see where they're looking. Gauge if they’re friendly, form bonds, cooperate."

Her eyes stayed on the table.

"Predators have black sclera. Camouflage in the dark. Harder to read. Ideal for lone hunters."

Her arm looped around her waist, digging fingers into her side.

"When the mourn watch found me... I was where I was supposed to be. It was the only thing I'd ever had any faith in. It was the only place where I could belong. Then they sent me away. People can't abide unnatural things like me."

"Oh, my dear. You're not-"

She held up a hand to pause his platitudes.

"I'm sorry I put that anger on you. That wound goes deep. I keep sewing it up but..."

"I understand." He hushed.

"Thank you."

"Would you like some tea before you go?"

She smiled.

"I prefer coffee."

-

"I need your arm."

Lucanis looked up from his whetstone, leaning on knees, sharpening his blade. A soothing repetition.

He set his tools down, holding his forearm out to her.

She sat opposite him and produced several small pots of paint and a thin paintbrush. Setting them next to his knee, she cupped under his elbow and gently lifted his arm. Squeezing from his wrist down.

"Care to share what you're looking for?" He watched her gently probe him.

"I'm helping Emmerich process a cadaver. I'm rusty on anatomy."

"Process?"

"Clinical term." She painted a smooth line from his wrist to his elbow. "There's a lot that goes into body preparation. Dying is a very involved cycle."

Another parallel line was drug up his skin, the paintbrush soft and precise. Inexplicably soothing in its sure strokes. Her massaging of his muscles in her search relaxed them.

"Death happens in steps, around eight. But depending on the location where the body ends up, it can move through decomposition very quickly or slowly."

He recognized the outline of his bone taking form. The paint cool on his skin.

"You can map my anatomy by feel?" He marveled.

"I used to be able to do it by sight." She pressed along him again, massaging into the back of his arm.

"There's your ulna..." She sighed. "Generally, cold slows and hot quickens decomp. But..."

She pressed below his wrist, much softer now.

"Strong tendons." She appraised quietly, switching paints. "Moisture changes everything. High moisture speeds things up, low slows it down."

She painted thin lines in green up into the bone paint.

"Low heat, high moisture, the body is held in stasis. High heat, low humidity, mummification, and so on. That's not factoring in scavengers. Given how changeable a body can be after death, it's important to know where things should be."

"I thought you just worked with bones."

She pulled his forearm onto her thigh as she worked. "Most of my colleagues did. But some researchers are surprisingly squeamish. And when dead came to us recently deceased, that's where those like me would come in."

"Like a surgeon?"

"Not that complicated." She smiled. "There was no need for an autopsy by the time they got to me, I was doing fluid draining, breaking rigor mortis, things like that."

"Did you ever cremate a body?"

She glanced up at him. Seeing beyond his question. The ache that dug at his chest.

"A few times. Caterina would have taken about..." She looked up in thought. "Two hours, maybe two and a half, to immolate."

It still didn't feel real to him. An absurd reality that he wanted to refuse to acknowledge.

"It's not going to feel real for a while." She hushed, reading his mind. "I preferred when the family helped me prepare the body, it gave them... well, not closure. Closure is bullshit."

He let out a strained laugh.

"It helped them feel closer to it. Involved. Made it feel more tangible. Something they could touch."

"When does it start hurting?" He murmured.

"Depends." She turned his arm, appraising her lines. "You'll feel numb for a while after the shock wears off. That's your body trying to get you through the busy part, kind of shut things down. Hold off the grief for a better moment."

"But it usually hits all at once when it's ready. A smell, a song, someone in a crowd has their laugh. Then it's suffocating for a while. Comes and goes in waves."

"I hate it already." His voice came out thick.

"It's going to be rough." She agreed. "Between wanting to throw up and scream, you'll have to do laundry. Insult to injury."

He wanted to laugh but could only clench his jaw. Throat raw and aching.

"These come off with oil based soap." She tapped the art she had painted on his skin. A mesmerizing crossing of green, purple, and red lines. Aligning his body to the surface. "Thank you for letting me practice."

She made to stand.

"Wait."

She held.

"How does a cremation work?"

Settling down into a seat, she appraised him.

"It's a lot." She warned.

"Tell me."

So she did. Walking him through each step, what happens to the body, how bones get to ashes. Explaining in that clear way, answering his questions with thoughtful care. Calmly untangling the angry thread of it late into the night.

Staring at the ceiling of the pantry, tears slipped silent down his temples. Leaking from him as his breath moved calm and full through his chest.

~

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