#when you go to make gifs for rook and end up making gifs of lucanis instead because LOOK AT HIM

[theoncomingchaos]

Who loves Rook: Spite or Lucanis

I've been seeing a lot of discourse about this, and I just want to add my thoughts.

I might be totally wrong about this, but here we go. When Spite was put into Lucanis, he was still Determination. The fact that he changed throughout the torture, forced insertion, and imprisonment suggests to me that they have been put into a speedrun of a similar situation to Anders and Justice/Vengeance where they have started to meld. (As Anders put it, you wouldn't know where one begins and the other ends). Just like Anders and Vengeance, Lucanis and Spite can have separate consciousnesses and even disagree about things, but their core values have started to influence one another and become a part of one another- heightening certain aspects.

I think this melding is why we see some dialogues where Rook tells Lucanis that he sounds like Spite and similarly it's also the reason for the shared attraction- which I fully believe is coming originally from Lucanis.

I'll be honest my first time through I romanced Lucanis and was very disappointed. I didn't even see him and Neve ever flirt (she only ever encouraged us!) But still, it seemed to go from 0 to 60 with him. Now, I am on my second playthrough and I only just met him, but I am starting to see some really subtle looks and dialogues that suggest that Lucanis wasn't lying later when he said he was attracted to Rook from the beginning, but was afraid to really pursue anything or even acknowledge the possibility of being with them. With his fear of trusting people, ptsd from the prison, failed history in romance, and his new situation with Spite that he still hadn't worked out yet, he never thought anything would or could ever come of his feelings. We know Lucanis loves romance stories and likely longs for one of his own, but in such a situation it must have seemed truly impossible and terrifying to let someone else in. Especially someone you really care for and are starting to trust. So, he pushed it all down. Rook flirts? Maybe a small smile, but then quickly lock it all up with everything else he can't handle. Focus on work. Don't think about Spite, or Rook, or anything difficult.

However, if the melding has already happened as I suspect, then the feelings Spite is expressing are shared with (and likely sourced from) Lucanis, he's just better at expressing it directly- which makes sense for a spirit that was once Determination. When you first talk to Lucanis after the rescue, the thing Spite says about Rook changes accordingly to your tone, but to me the responses still sound like they come from Lucanis and are then echoed in Spite: "He doesn't want to hurt us." Even the "He's more fun than you" is something Lucanis seems to think about himself as he is fully aware that much of his life has not been his own and believes "all he knows is death."

Leading back to the main point, Lucanis's trust and interest in Rook would be heightened by Spite the way Anders' anger towards the templars was heightened. Even though they are finally free from the prison, their is a sense of constant suffering from still feeling trapped by fear, regret, and pain- Spite feels that suffering too. The elements of determination are still within him the same way justice is another side to vengeance. Both spite and vengeance are the results of failing to achieve their goals of Justice and Determination. Spite sees Rook as a way to free them from pain and restraint, a glowing and beautiful key to the prison door, and he is determined to do what needs to be done to solve the problem. That's why he doesn't hesitate. He has no fear. He wants to talk to Rook. He wants Rook to come in and free them.

After Rook has freed them, they become a source of comfort and safety, once they encourage Lucanis and Spite to find a way to cohabit comfortably, the two continue to meld, and the need to protect Rook, to love Rook, to keep them, is very deeply shared. Now, IF Spite was somehow removed or even somehow restored (Both of which I think are impossible) that would likely change. Determination outside of Lucanis would likely become more like Compassion. He would likely forget the horrors he experienced to return to his original purpose.

So, that leaves some final questions, particularly one Hawke helpfully asked Anders- Is Spite an unwilling party in the threesome?

That's up to everyone's own morality. While both Spite and Lucanis didn't have a choice to become like this, it is the situation they are in and the way they have to find a way to accept and live with because there really doesn't seem to be any real way to change it. Through their time together, Lucanis and Spite have influenced each other and grown into something new. Part of that is Spite also loving Rook. In that way, for those who are feeling (rightfully) underwhelmed by Lucanis's romance, Spite can almost be seen as a symbolic expression of Lucanis's love.

All that being said, I think there were some small things they could have done to make the romance more satisfying over all...but I'll save that for another post.

[rom-e-o]

You Failed Us All. [Emmrich/Rook]

Glimpses of the aftermath of Tearstone Island, when Emmrich watches Rook slip into the Fade.

[Inspired by a convo you can have with Hezenkoss in Emmrich's office. MAJOR SPOILERS for the end of the game. I hope you enjoy!]

“We’ll talk back home, Emmrich. I promise.���

She’d promised they would talk. She said that they would both make it home – whether that was the Lighthouse of Nevarra, he did not care – to talk. They’d put aside their disagreements and formally apologize for what they’d each said. They’d make up, and everything would be right as rain again. Unlike the others before, she would not leave him broken-hearted. They’re reunite, and he’d pull her into his arms and kiss her until all potential doubt of his enduring adoration was vanquished.

Then, in a flash of color and sound, she was gone.

Spirited into the Fade before anyone could lift a finger to help.

Emmrich stood in wide-eyed stupefaction at the slightly bloodied slab of pavement where, just moments before, his love had been crouching and extending an arm to pull Solas’ dagger from the thickly corded throat of Ghilan’nain.

One blink of the eyes later, and she’d slipped beyond dimensions, like the ground beneath her had turned to fog and she’s plummeted through.

For a moment, the world stood still. The vision of nothingness before him held his hostage and voiceless, even as the voices of his companions slowly coalesced around him.

“…nain! Ghilan’nain is down!”

The call came from Taash, whose voice bellowed even over the roar of flaming carnage on the horizon. They rushed up behind Emmrich, chest still heaving from the battle before. “Harding, where is Harding? Harding!”

Meanwhile, Neve’s eyes landed on the same spot where Emmrich was staring – the spot Rook had vanished from.

“S-She was just there." Her normally composed voice trembled like the wing of a frozen bird. “S-She couldn’t have …”

Then, Davrin’s resonant voice cut through the haze of confusion.

“Everyone, fall back!”

His command was punctuated by a furious screech from Assan. He waved everyone away from the carnage, calling to Lucanis for assistance. He looked like a true commander, poised and practiced.

Yet, even the Grey Warden’s tone, while effortlessly practiced at shouting demands, wavered slightly.

“We can’t stay here!” he shouted, his eyes darting about as he continued to watch for danger. “We need to move before any reinforcements come. We’ll be overrun. Everyone, regroup, now!”

“B-But we don’t have Rook!” Neve argued. She was reluctant to leave, despite her obvious injuries. “Or Bellara! Dammit, Elgar’nan still has her!”

Nearby, Taash paced about in panic. “Shit … Shit … No. This can’t be happening. I-It can’t be. Harding, Bellara, and Rook? W-We lost all three?”

“Taash, stay calm.”

“You want me to stay calm? That's vashedan, and you know it!"

“Listen, we can’t form a plan here,” Davrin repeated loudly. Once again, his voice wavered, but his tone left no room for objection.

The Warden turned to see a lone team member standing at the precipice of the platform, eyes trained on the darkened patch of pavement inches away. “Emmrich!”

The necromancer was lost in a storming sea of thought, his stare frozen to the spot that she had vanished from.

He’d told her to go, the man realized to his horror. It was his fault.

After Ghilan’nain had fallen from Lucanis’ strike, he’d called out to her over a blast of energy. The Fade had started to tear itself asunder, and plucking the dagger from the corpse was the only way to stop it. Those were the last words he’d shouted to her over the roar of the expanding abyss. “The dagger! Rook, you much break its contact with Ghilan’nain!”

She had done just that … and now, she was gone.

"Emmrich, we have to go."

Emmrich barely registered Lucanis sprinting up to him, forcing and arm around his shoulders, and pulling him away. He mumbled an apology as he pulled him away from the landing.

The backs of Emmrich's boots skipped along the smashed stones as he tried to dig his heels into place. No, they couldn't leave, he thought. Not without her.

“No,” he gasped meagerly, but the Crow spread his wings whisked him away all the same.“No!”

He tried to wrench himself free, but Lucanis held firm.

“I'm sorry,” the assassin whispered.

Emmrich would not hear him.

Instead, he screamed his lover’s name as loud as he could, hoping it could transcend realms and reach her.

He extended a gloved hand out, grasping at the air as if he could summon Rook’s fingers to twine with his. This gesture yielded no results.

With tearful eyes and racing minds, the team was forced to leave the Isle of the Gods. One elven god was slain, yet they limped away with their tails between their legs.

The Veilguard was down three pieces on their board.

One was dead.

Two were missing, one of whom was their leader.

And their secret weapon for the final gambit, Solas’ dagger, had vanished right along with her.

Into nothingness.

Following the Veilguard’s narrow escape from Tearstone Island, what remained of the team hunkered down in the Lighthouse to toil away ferociously.

With an absence of three usual voices, the halls were more silent than they should have been. The formerly vibrant hideout had become a shell of its former glory.

Harding's groan-inducing puns. Bellara's amicable chatter. Rook's humming, which had become an almost constant background noise to the team.

Their laughter, conversations, and their bustling energy ... all distractingly absent.

With or without their comrades, their final objective had not changed, and they could not afford to remain idle.

Davin took charge in her absence, as Rook has previously deemed him as a good second-in-command in the event something happened to her. Nobody else argued with this, as terrible as it felt to see the power change hands. It was a silent acknowledgement of the team’s worst fears, in a way. Rook was absent, but they needed to persist regardless. The mission went on, with or without her.

He and Assan worked to communicate with each faction the Veilguard had worked with. There were loose ends to tie up and supplies to replenish. Basic requests. He filled these requisitions and touched base with all their allies, making sure to keep all channels open and flowing. They were too far into battle to lose any pieces, and they’d need every ally in their corner possible to call upon soon for a final battle.

Neve was tasked with establishing any contact in Minrathous she could with the Shadow Dragons, Maevaris or Dorian. Lucanis also assisted her dutifully, tapping into whatever connections he could to help her keep taps on the Archon’s Palace.

“Elgarn’nan and Solas are going to want to make headway there,” Neve had reported shortly after their return. “It’s only a matter of who gets there first, and how.”

They received their dreadful answer when a tendril of blight snaked its way into the heavens to seize control of the Divine’s Manor in Hightown.

In the meantime, Taash created a memorial for Harding, and helped make sure the plants in her room were watered. It was likely a worthless task, they knew, but they carried it out with the utmost devotion in honor of the woman they loved. Had loved.

In between bouts of mourning, Taash trained mercilessly, until their muscles shook from exhaustion and standing became impossible.

Like Neve and Lucanis, they also hardly slept.

That left Emmrich.

Emmrich, with his knowledge and experience with the inner workings of the Fade, had arguably the biggest job of the remaining bunch.

If Rook was lost in the Fade, he was the one with the expertise and knowledge to find her.

Not to mention, the wildcard of Solas’ dagger was also still in play. It was a missing piece of the puzzle. There had to be some way to plan ahead for what play the Dread Wolf would want to make, he thought.

He had a choice to make on what to prioritize:

Rook, or the dagger.

After twenty-four hours of solitary grief, skipping bathing and shaving for the first time in his adult life, Emmrich reemerged into the Lighthouse library with renewed resolve.

Swinging open the mighty doors with both hands, he strode in from his private bedroom and faced a startled Manfred and a slightly panicked Hezenkoss.

“Back!” Manfred observed gleefully, gloved hands flying over his head in elation at the sight of his paternal guardian. Then, the lad glanced around in pained confusion. “No Rook?”

Upon returning from battle, Emmrich had been too emotional to tell the boy what had happened. He'd retreated to his room and hid, like an animal on the brink of death.

“Manfred,” the man ordered, his voice clipped, “Bring five pounds of every organic material we have in storage here at the Lighthouse to the library. Please."

The robed skeleton hesitated for only a moment before nodding and making his way to the reserves kept in another part of their fortress. Emmrich strode to his desk and began to pull out every

“You look disturbed,” Hezenkoss’ skull barked. “What in blazes is going on out there now?”

“We’ll speak on it later,” he said dismissively. “Perhaps you can make yourself useful in some way in the meantime.”

“So snippy. It’s hardly becoming of you.”

“I daresay I’ll live.” He sounded absolutely weary, he realized. All the sobbing had left his voice practically threadbare. He wondered if Johanna had heard him.

Then, the answer to his question was delivered as swiftly as an arrow to the back.

“Also, did I hear correctly? That our fearless leader slipped into the Fade?”

Shutting his eyes against the onslaught of memories and tears, he nodded breathlessly. “…Yes.”

“So it is!” Her words were stones thrown onto him, and he knew he deserved each one. “How could you let that happen, Volkarin? You of all people!”

“Johanna.” Emmrich’s normally bell-bright voice was laced with unusual finality. In a turn of events she never could have anticipated, her former associate was not in the mood for chatter. “I-I can’t. I must focus.”

“Focus now? It’s a little late for that, don't you think?”

“No.” The glare he aimed at her could have curdled milk. "It can't be. I will not accept that."

In all their years of friendship, he’d never spoken to her in such a way. With such venom, and also, such fear.

Something had shifted in him, she noted.

“You know,” she started, and heard him grumble (of all things!) at her disobedience, “Well, be like that. I was going to say something about that beloved little songbird of yours.”

He turned on his heel. Plum-colored circles under his eyes made the green in his hazel eyes blaze more than usual. “Spare me your sarcasm, please. I’m not in the mood to hear—”

“Something positive, Volkarin. Believe it or not, she and I had an enlightening conversation before you all departed. I thought perhaps you'd be interested in hearing it while you toiled away on whatever you need to do."

His face, and shoulders, fell at the admission. “You and her ... spoke?"

"Yes, actually."

"...And you want to tell me about it. Why?"

“You look like you could use some charitable inspiration," she offered. "And a shave. Heavens, no wonder you keep yourself groomed. Seeing you with such a dark shadow is uncanny!”

"Johanna, I-I ... I don't ..."

“I’ll choose to ignore that genuine confusion in your voice for now,” she said. “Just get to work, but listen. You seem to be in the mood for it, for once.”

“That young Watcher again.”

Belisma Ingellvar turned toward the idle skull on a nearby table. She’d been looking for Emmrich on her journey into the library, but he was absent for the moment. Disappointment clawed briefly at her heart, but she crested it as she stared at Hezenkoss with interest.

Well, she thought, perhaps it would be good for her and Johanna to speak. She and Emmrich had been friends, once. Long ago.

With a smile, she dropped into a perfect curtsey. “At your service."

“There’s those Necropolis-begotten manners,” the skull answered, eyes flashing green with each syllable. “…Look at you.”

Belisma straightened her back vertebrae by vertebrae, her dancer’s poise still perfect even at 35 years of age. “What about me?”

“A necromancer wasting the prime of her life solving the problems of others,” Hezenkoss practically tutted. “Tragic. You would have been taught much differently if you were my apprentice. I can see your potential.”

Everyone with something to gain seems to have the easiest of times seeing the potential in complete strangers, she thought with some amusement. Then again, who was she to talk? Her own bright cheer about finding common ground was what steered her into the current conversation with a woman she had almost been forced to kill in battle mere days before.

Belisma crossed her arms and stepped forward. Even when sauntering idly, her heels always clicked back together into First Position. “You seem to hold a powerful grudge against the Mourn Watch.”

“I wisely cast off all their talk of obligations to the long dead,” the half-lich answered. “But I assume you’re more of a traditionalist Watcher. Like Volkarin. He’s skilled enough. If only the man possessed any vision.”

“Assumptions? From you?” Belisma asked, chuckling softly. “You’re better than that.”

“Hm. Perhaps I misjudged you. Perhaps you’re different. You seem to process sharper insight than some others here.”

“There is nothing different about me.” Belisma’s hands came together behind her to rest comfortably against her lower back. It also hid the obsessive fiddling she did with her nails; a habit that only came out when she was uneasy.

And despite the powerful wards (not to mention the hilarity of her humiliating confinement) Hezenkoss did make her uneasy.

“Well, there is something about you,” Hezenkoss said. “A certain quality that magnetizes people. Some of the little pawns you’ve attracted are … interesting. Surprising.”

“Like Emmrich?”

“The man has always been more comfortable in a crowd,” Johanna recounted with a sneer (or, what could sensibly be discerned as a sneer). "Can’t you tell from how perfectly he has wedged himself into your little group?”

“Well, ‘wedged’ is harsh.”

“As students, he would always drag me to some preposterous party or salon. It’s a wonder that chattering gadabout got any work done, the way people fawned over him.”

“The life of the party, was he?” Belisma asked, her voice warm. “Always in demand?”

“Oh, he was," she grumbled. "Annoyingly so, and he still somehow aced all his studies."

A man with a full dance card. It sounded befitting of a charismatic gentleman like him.

She imagined it briefly; a twenty-something Emmrich with his ink-colored hair stylishly in disarray as he laughed over a coupe glass of maraschino liqueur and crème de violette with a band of other rambunctious students, all while Johanna huffed about being pulled along. It was an amusing image, she had to admit. Yet, a sadness gripped her heart at the thought.

Even back then, he'd craved human connection so openly.

A man beloved by all, yet desperate to belong. A man with no family, searching for companionship the only way he knew how.

“I believe you,” Belisma said. “Quite easily, actually.”

The ghostly visions of Emmrich’s past life danced through her mind. How adored he was; and how much he’d be missed by his peers and students if something were to happen to him.

The man was an absolute paragon, and here he was with her, risking it all to save the word. He was an inspiration, she thought. Certainly more worthy of acclaim, and living, than someone like her.

As if reading her mind, Hezenkoss pierced her veneer of calm with a simple question.

“Do you know what I think, young Watcher?”

“I couldn’t say.”

“I think you have anger deep down inside you,” Hezenkoss remarked. “I see that same fury in you that I once saw in myself. That barely contained rage.”

“Once saw? Barely contained?”

“We are not so different, Ingellvar,” she hissed. “You don’t want to admit that, do you?”

“Well, we do share a similar taste in lipstick. But that is as far as the confirmed comparisons go, I’m afraid.”

Johanna didn't miss a beat in bringing down her reply like the blade of a hatchet.

“You are too poised, too polite,” the half-lich continued, undeterred. "Too calculated."

"Poignant."

"Your ankles always comes together between steps. You always braid your hair to the right. Your livery is always pressed to perfection. You're always the last to accept food at meals. You cover your mouth when you laugh. Always."

"All things you've noticed?"

"All things I've been told."

The statement nailed her tongue to her jaw.

“You’ve lived a life of restraint, have you not?" Johanna continued. "Discovered in the crypts as a Foundling. Then roamed the streets of Nevarra before finally accepting the Watchers. What happened next? Certainly you didn’t go right into the academy.”

Ah, so Johanna was curious about her. Such preamble, all to ask her about her past.

Well, she could oblige her in a little entertainment. After all, what else did a sedentary skull have?

The slender woman floated to the red armchair nearby and angled it so they could sit face-to-face. Once seated, the two were practically at eye-level.

Knowing that her earlier years of life lacked any useful information for Hezenkoss to weaponize, she answered truthfully.

“Well, I needed some time to adjust to life in the Necropolis,” Belisma said. "As most do."

Before becoming a member of the Mourn Watch, Belisma had been found by the ambling undead inside a Necropolis tomb as a wailing baby.

“I was raised by fellow necromancers and joined the order when I was old enough,” she said. “I paid my dues. Dusted tombs, cleaned dishes, the usual tasks. I swept a lot. Danced while I did it, when I could. Then, when I was 18, I caught the eye of a visiting coordinator for the Nevarra Royal Ballet.

"He was in the Necropolis to seek assistance with a disputed will after a recent death in the family. While there, he requested to see how Watchers were trained in combat. He needed some new talent, I suppose. My lesson was the one he caught on his excursion. He came back three times every week until he finally recruited me. He said I looked like I could handle the demands of the art. Oh, I was delighted. I hoped for such a day for such a long time! A chance to leave the Necropolis, see the city, and just ... dance."

"The Watchers allowed such an arrangement? Sounds like a dreadful distraction."

"Well, I was only a student, not a more esteemed researcher like you or Emmrich."

The obvious flattery earned an appraising hum, allowing her to continue.

“They believed that it would bolster positive relations between the Watchers and Nevarra’s prominent nobility to have a beloved performer in their ranks,” she said. “And it did, for many years. Until there was a conflict among the undead nobility—”

“The War of the Banners, yes? Some bickering between two noble simpletons.”

“Yes.” The admission came with a heavy sigh. “I … I led the attack on the rebellion's dueling leaders to redirect their attention, and put a stop to the conflict before it could grow further."

"Why bother?"

"Nobody else was doing anything to stop it, and someone had to step up. Others had families and children. Partners. I was unmarried, with no prominent family name to sully or disappoint. It was natural that I bear the responsibility.”

“How stupidly selfless of you,” Hezenkoss quipped. “So, in battle, you were victorious. Very commendable.”

“That depends on who you ask,” Belisma answered carefully. “The war they wanted to wage, at its fullest scale, would have killed innocents. But Nevarra’s nobility are a passionate and—”

“Moronic.”

“—Persnickety bunch. Always have been, from what I’ve studied. Nobody can decide on who is best to rule, what that should look like, if King Markus is actually … anyway, they do not like to be challenged, or humbled. They saw my interference as an insult to Nevarra’s bygone pillars of society.”

“Pah! That sounds like them.” While she and Emmrich shared precious few beliefs following recent events, Belisma did note with amusement that they shared a distaste for nobles.

“The families of those nobles went to the Mourn Watch, insulted by what I had done,” she said. “I was summoned that night and told that I had insulted the order's aristocratic patrons. As such, I was encouraged to travel for a while.”

“Disappear, you mean.”

“Yes. Until things calmed down, at least.”

“So, you took one for the team,” Johanna said, “And you alone paid the price, and ended up a rogue on the streets of Minrathous.”

“Well, someone had to do it.”

“You sound pleased as punch about that,” Johanna quipped. “I suppose Nevarra had no traveling troupe for you to join?”

“I was dismissed immediately after the incident,” she admitted. “Nobles had no interest in seeing a traitor on their ballet’s stage, and I would have ruined the company's chances of survival, even if they would have wanted me to stay."

Struggling to keep her voice even, she said, "I doubt I’ll ever be able to dance again in Nevarra.”

“…So, you were ‘traveling’ when you got wrapped up in this little adventure?”

“I, apparently, invite confidence from strangers. Lucky me.”

“You don’t like leadership.” You don’t want to be here. “You hide it with a smile and your little bows and swoops and curtsies, but you don’t want this responsibility.”

Belisma’s lips stretching into a tight grin. “You catch on quick.”

“Or you’re simply bitter.”

“So, lipstick and bitterness bind us,” Belisma admitted with a light laugh.

Johanna barked out a laugh. “A fool who isn’t foolish. What a leader you are.”

Right. Some leader she was.

Some Watcher she was, uselessly puttering around the Fade with a dwindling hope of escape. She was weak, freezing, and terrified. Worst of all, she didn’t know the status of her companions. What had happened to them now that she had fallen into this dimensional cage?

“I never wanted this,” Belisma said. She faced the hazy apparition of Varric, her former mentor and friend, in teary shame. “I’m sorry. I’m … I’m horrible at this.”

The porcelain-pale apparition stared back at her with the same comforting stare he'd offered in life. "Hey, now. Cut yourself some slack, kid. I don’t think many people would handle this well, given the circumstances."

“I should have never become the leader of this team. How did I ever think I could do this? I should have ... opted out when I could."

"Opted out? Shit, I don't remember getting that paperwork when we confronted Solas. Though, I wouldn't have put it past him to have a policy overview drafted."

"Varric. Please. You know what I mean. I should have—"

“Did you just forget that you and your team just took down one of the blighted eleven gods?” Varric asked with a smirk. Even as a ghost in the Fade, he still snorted in infuriating amusement at her stress. “I wouldn’t diminish the effort that took. Or the sacrifice.”

Right. The sacrifice. Sacrifices, more accurately. How many had actually perished so far? How many elves? Wardens? Soldiers? Friends.

Harding.

“All of this happened because I disrupted the ritual,” she carried on, undeterred. “I should have never opened my mouth.”

“I recall it being my call to try and talk Solas down,” he said. “Neve and Harding were there too. Nobody else was coming up with any better plans, Rook. You did what you had to do.”

Right. Isn’t that just my life. Stepping up when nobody else wants to, then paying the price.

“My choice left Treviso in ruin,” she said. Each word left her as a ragged rush of air. Panic was sinking in. The doubt. The anger. Everything blurred into a mist of panic. “H-Harding is dead because I asked her to lead the distraction team.”

“You made impossible choices,” Varric reminded her. “That is what every leader must do. Your team knew the risks. Just like I did.”

Belisma tipped her head to the sky and laughed. “I’m leading this team to their deaths, Varric.”

“You know that’s not true,” he said. “You don’t want to die, kid. You might think you deserve it, but you don’t want that.”

“Don’t I?”

He stared her down, his gaze hard as concrete. In that moment, he looked more like a father than a friend. It lured the truth out of her.

“…You’re right. I don’t. Want to die, I mean.”

“Who does?” Varric joked. “Most avoid it for as long as they can. Too much to leave behind, you know?”

Inevitably, she thought of Emmrich. Was he okay? Had he made it off Tearstone Island? His voice had been the last one she’d heard. He'd sounded so far away. So worried.

"You've got someone to go back to, right?"

Oh, Maker, she hoped he was well.

She prayed with all her heart that he was well ...

Even if that meant he was mourning her.

Hope you enjoyed! <3

Next up: their reunion.

[livefromthedas]

That Time Flirting Accidentally Worked

(Also up on AAO3, here)

Summary:

Rook Ingellvar, famously a dumpster fire amongst Mourn Watchers, manages to fall face-first into dating one Emmrich Volkarin.

Nice.

Notes:

I swear to God I intended to start DATV fanfic writing for my Lucanis/Rook playthrough... but this came out instead. Strike while the hyper-focus iron is hot, I guess.

I tried to write this Rook (F, Mourn Watcher) as vaguely as possible while still making sure she was reflection of the character in my head, so hopefully that works for readers.

Please note that while I'm utilizing quite a bit of canon knowledge about Navarra and Navarran culture, here, there is also a ton about the place that we just do no know, so a lot of information here is extrapolated (aka, pulled directly out of my butt.) I had fun though, at least, exploring more of the place, and creating my own little pocket of extra romance content for Emmrich and Rook as well.

And yeah, this will probably get spicy. Just a heads up.

———————————

Chapter 1: Hot Date for a Hot Mess

The needling fire of over-exertion kept a purposeful momentum in Rook’s stride the entire journey home from their latest magic-riddled battle with the Venatori in Arlathan.

That fight, deep in the autumn hewn forest - an apparent ambush - had been jarring and brutal. Had Davrin not been with them, with Assan to serve as their own surprise attack from the sky, Rook was quite certain that, for all of their combined competency, she and Emmrich Volkarin may very well have met a swift, very bloody end that day.

There had just been so many of them - Scarlet scythe’s crackling with arcane energy, and corrupted magic churning in the air like a turbulent storm. Then again, when it came to Venatori, there always seemed to be a limitless supply.

Rook breathed in deep as she strode through the Vi’revas - the eluvian unique to the Dreadwolf’s hideaway in the Fade - close on Emmrich’s heels. One moment they were in the Crossroads, wild and untethered to reality as it was. The next, they were striding into the cool, dark nethers of the Lighthouse.

“Ugh,” Davrin grumbled, reaching to pull something that looked suspiciously like viscera from his hair as he strode through the eluvian’s surface in the pair of necromancers' wakes, “I’m going to go wash up. See you two at dinner?”

Rook smirked bemusedly - of all of the blood the Gray Warden was soaked through with, Maker forbid a bit of viscera get in the handsome elf’s hair. She nearly went to nod, when Emmrich spun on his heels to face the pair of them.

“Actually,” the Professor poised, hands clasping before him as his bangles glimmered in the unnatural light of the corridor, “Would you be so kind as to let Lucanis know to be expecting two less settings at the table this evening? Rook and I will be dining in Navarra.”

Rook’s eyebrows rose curiously - this was news to her.

“Yeah, no problem,” Davrin grinned. He gestured a hand over one shoulder as he made for the door, “You kids have fun.”

Kids . The word lingered humorously in the air - Emmrich barely stifled a chuckle at it, even in the gray warden’s absence.

“A trip home is a nice surprise,” Rook mused, mischief and curiosity a glint in her eyes.

The senior necromancer, dashing as ever, offered her an arm, and she was quick to place a hand at his elbow as he guided them from the room, and up the stairs.

“Forgive me, darling, I had hoped to ask you properly once we were settled in,” Emmrich said, gloved hand resting warmly upon the slender hand she’d offered him, “Reservations at the Pnemoix are scarce at best this time of year, and I received word of an opening just prior to our departure to Arlathan.”

“Yeah, that got chaotic rather quickly,” Rook admitted, ever as tired, but relieved they were alive to tell the tale at all. For all of her raised hackles that needled up her spine over the ambush in the woods, a tickle of excitement wiggled its way into her belly, “And I’ve heard of the Pnemoix!” Her sudden excitement was palpable. Word amongst her peers back at the Necropolis had it that the Pnemoix was one of the most exclusive- and enchanting - dining experiences in all of Navarra City. It was not far from the city’s main entrance to the Grand Necropolis itself, in fact. Emmrich could scarcely stifle the humorous glimmer in his eyes as the bounce in her step hastened as they strode. He finally slipped a chuckle when her expression then screwed with uncertainty, “Aren’t they ridiculously expensive, though?”

“Hardly any concern of yours, my darling,” Emmrich laughed.

Cresting the top of the stairs that overlooked the Lighthouse’s eerie library, the Professor stopped before the long hall that led to his study. Rook watched curiously as something shifted in his demeanor - warm laughter settling into something warmer still, slender hands and their menagerie of golden rings gracing her arms with an almost reverential care.

“I had hoped, should the temptation arise,” Rook felt a wildfire blush ignite to the tips of her ears at his sudden unusually intimate word choice, before he’d so much as finished his sentence, “We may enjoy the privacy an overnight at home might afford us.”

Emmrich’s grin broadened at the blatant blush that flooded the young woman’s typically cocksure expression, a softness in his gaze despite the hint of mischief that lingered there, “You so scarcely find a moment alone in the Lighthouse, my love. You’ll forgive an old man his selfish desire for attention undivided.”

“I-I… of course,” Rook managed, despite her blush, a dizzying flutter in her chest and her tongue-tie of nerves.

“And the decision is entirely yours,” her breath caught in her throat as he pressed a kiss upon her forehead, one hand affectionately upon the back of her head, “But do consider it, darling, hmm?” He seemed absolutely tickled at Rook’s uncharacteristic shyness as she nodded, green eyes alight with racing thoughts. This was hardly a woman prone to speechlessness, after all. “I’m going to change, and request Neve look after Manfred until we return. Meet me at the Vi’Revas when you’re ready.”

Rook managed a nod before Emmrich swept off airily, stride as confident as ever.

——————-

“Okay… Oookay,” Rook finally managed to breathe again once the ancient chamber doors of her quarters sealed shut behind her. Gaze darting around the dancing light of the aquarium that dominated the far wall, she huffed a ragged sigh, palm to her forehead.

Embarrassment immediately flooded her veins.

“He finally brings it up and you… freeze? Seriously?” She groaned morosely.

At best, Rook was disappointed. It was hardly how she’d imagined reacting to such an opportunity, after all. The Rook of her imagination was unflappable in her confidence - *she* surely would have managed an air of alluring …. *Something* in response to such a proposition. A wicked flirt. A lingering kiss. A clever quip of any make or model at all.

But no. Only overwhelm. Rook had been flooded with a timidness utterly foreign to her usually fearless brogue.

Scythe-wielding Venatori, raging demons, blighted gods… Such larger than life dangers too surreal and too vast to seem anything shy of absurd? That she could handle with a finesse and fearlessness that defied logic. It was precisely why Varric had brought her into the fold in the fight against Fen’Harel to begin with.

“But actually have the fellow you’ve been pining over for the last decade make a pass at you, and your brain breaks ? Maferath’s balls.”

The sordid swear she’d picked up from Varric early in their journeys together at least managed a smile from the woman. She shoved off from the door, kicking off muddied boots and unbuckling the patina’d gloves of her Mourn Watcher gauntlets as she went.

Rook had had little choice but to be honest with the Professor once her shoot-for-the-moon flirtations had, to her own genuine surprise, actually succeeded in swaying his interest so many weeks prior.

This was all… very new to the junior Mourn Watcher. So much of her time growing up had been spent clawing desperately for a sense of self. For the sort of identity that a complete lack of kith, kin or clan denied her for the whole of recent memory. Certainly until one Varric Tethras had swaggered his way into her life and corralled her under his wing.

Something as complicated as dating just never found its foothold with her focus, amid so many years of simply trying to find herself.

She was an elf in a largely human community, a non magic user - despite her endless fascination with the craft - in a society that prized its mages above all. Both facts of which pushed many of her superiors throughout her collegiate studies to blow off and even mock her ambitions towards more magic-focused areas of study.

Rook was an academic at heart - A voracious learner and reader. But for all of her passion, she was still very much an outsider. She was the foundling discovered abandoned deep within the Necropolis - lucky to have been found alive at all - Taken in by a kind and doting pair of elderly Mortalitasi, Gunter and Eloise Ingellvar, who had even gone as far as bequeathing their inheritance to her upon the last of their dual deaths some years later.

But they had gone too soon - Rook had barely been 12 when the old woman had died - and she was once again left as a ward of the Necropolis and its Watchers, who seemed to see less value in an orphaned elf with no magical talents to speak of. Frequently outright denied access to her preferred areas of study due to their prized and limited availability (such courses should be reserved for mages who might make the most use of them after all, and the university’s donors were rife with promising young mages as heirs) she was relegated, instead, to training as a fighter. A protector. A watcher of the Watchers themselves.

Just one extra corpse between demons and the ones whose work actually matters, more like, she thought. She swung open her ornate wardrobe, eyes scanning her limited choice in clothing critically as her thoughts poured from one memory to the next.

Those days were rife with turmoil. Rook had volleyed equally between hours of grueling fight and defense training, classes in basic sciences, necromancy, anatomy, funerary preparations and the Fade, and time dedicated purely to stirring up shit in the streets of Navarra City.

Fights. Petty theft. Stirring up chaos in the market square with a prank or three - one of which had, to her own amusement and pride to that very day, saw a surprisingly large number of bees in a leading role.

Throughout her years of collegiate learning, Rook carried the rage of a clever mind stifled and of dreams dashed, and it had landed her under the threadbare patience and steely gaze of the headmaster more times than she could count. That the Mourn Watch had been tasked with her care as much as her training was likely the only reason she hadn’t been thrown out for good.

It also hadn’t hurt that Rook had proven incredibly adept at combat despite her general lack of interest in the task (outside of a good tavern fistfight, at least.) There was also the curiosity that was her study habits. Her grades in basic courses were passable at best from sheer lack of interest, yet when time and little pockets of determination allowed, she could be found holed up in the Necropolis’s expansive library for hours, even days on end, pouring over every tomb her low-level clearance would allow, creating many tombs further of dense, meticulously detailed notes.

She was at least trying, in her own way, her superiors knew. And where their interest in her full potential failed her, her own thirst for learning minded the gap. Even if she was denied the chance to pursue her major of choice… lectures in the Grand Necropolis’s halls of learning were as free and frequent as the availability and seating of its various expansive lecture halls would allow.

Those educational sermons were hardly for the faint of heart or feeble of mind. They required many dedicated hours, copious notes, and a level of existing understanding of necromancy, the occult and Navarran history as a whole that *should* have been enough to bar a student of Rook’s study tract access by sheer lack of access to advanced classes alone.

But Rook had done the work. Had soaked up every scrap and parcel of knowledge she could, entirely on her own. And in each and every lecture, perched dutifully in the shadows at the back of the room, she soared.

Which was precisely where the good Professor had graced her peripherals, time and time again.

Even nearly a decade prior, Professor Emmrich Volkarin was something of a legend on campus. Prodigiously intelligent and equally skilled in both oration and genuine fondness for the eager young minds he fostered, Rook was hardly immune from the childish swooning over the otherwise utterly unattainable genius that captivated his students with every speech and demonstration.

“Volkarin’s hangers-on.”

Johanna Hezenkoss’s recent jeer at Rook’s expense still made her cheeks run hot. Rook had never been that - certainly not as the insult Hezenkoss intended.

But Rook and Emmrich were both well aware of whom the half-Litch referred to.

Hair a little darker and warm eyes a little bit brighter then, The Professor was too clever and adept at reading people around him to have remained oblivious to the fact that not only were the large majority of doe-eyed students trailing him from office to lectern and back largely of the female variety, but they were also almost always a bit more coy than was comfortable to be sharing a room with for too long. It was always impressive, then, to Rook, just how coolly and kindly said attentions were quite unanimously blown off by Emmrich himself.

He was never once cruel or condescending, but ever the consummate professional. He paid his students’ motivations no mind outside of whatever question he was fielding, or what knowledge he wished to impart, either.

Rook later overheard whispers among a gaggle of gossiping young mages in the privy that, apparently, “half of the fun” of flirting with the man to begin with was trying to “find a crack” in their charming yet unflappably stoic Professor’s perfectly tailored facade.

Of which there was nary a one, as far as Rook knew at the time. The man simply did not budge.

Which was why, despite never having had the stones to so much as approach Professor Volkarin with a question before meeting with him in the catacombs with Bellara months prior, and with nearly ten years of confidence that only incredibly hard work and some life experience could provide, Rook was genuinely floored when her own good-humored and (mostly) unserious swings at flirting with the man *actually worked.*

Rook had only dared shoot her shot with the man with the full confidence that in all likelihood (and at absolute worst) he would simply glance past the attention with his usual jovial kindness. She took a swing at it for younger-Rook, who would have thought it the coolest thing ever, future-Rook finding the sort of confidence her younger self found so foreign.

And the man actually expressed interest. Just fully (warmly as ever but with a degree of coyness Rook had no idea actually existed prior) stated that if, in fact, her projected interest went beyond mere flattery… he was down.

“Hell of a bullseye on the first draw, there, Ingellvar,” she had mused to herself and inevitably shared with Emmrich multiple times since, much to the Professor’s amusement.

Rook pulled the only pretty, non-Mourn Watch related article of clothing she owned - a deep purple gown and its immaculately tailored overcoat - from the wardrobe, before clipping the doors shut with her heel.

Naive shock aside, it wasn’t as though Rook hadn’t been equally delighted by Emmrich’s unexpected response. She had become even more enamored with the fellow in the past many months, as he spoke with her not as a student but as a colleague. An equal.

He adored her thoughts and her intellectual curiosity, and had said as much - often. He was ever the academic, as enthusiastic about answering any question she had as she was to learn the answer. But he was also genuinely interested in all of the knowledge she had gathered in the past ten years - Her interests in Navarran archeology within the ever-ancient Necropolis halls. His in Necromancy and the Fade. It had become a frequent, deeply adored line of conversation between the two of them, in fact - just how often their individual fields of study crossed in application.

Emmrich Volkarin was every bit as charming as his passionate yet professional demeanor would imply. But what Rook came to learn very quickly upon reconnecting with the man was that, on a personal level, he was one of the most compassionate individuals Rook had ever met. He cared deeply, about everything - particularly, it seemed, about the ragtag troop of adventurers she and Neve had since managed to assemble. At 52 years of age, he also, as it turned out, had zero qualms about dating someone - regardless of gender persuasion - over 20 years his junior. He’d simply taken his work as an educator far too seriously when he was young enough to find any interest in university students, let alone misuse the power dynamic between teacher and pupil - and they had, decades later, well since lost their appeal.

So, now, here she was. Two months into the most absurdly romantic courtship she could imagine, given the sheer chaos that surrounded them otherwise.

Fancy dinners. Time spent exploring the Necropolis to feel more grounded - that little bit of home going a long way to keeping them both fixed on the battles that just kept on coming. A recent night stroll through the streets of Navarra City during the ancestral pageants, their darkly artful city glistening with lanterns and wisps.

Emmrich Volkarin was ever a man of his word, too. Early on, when a bashful Rook mentioned her lack of experience in any such relationship, he had promised they’d take things slow, and they absolutely had. Endeared and warm as they were, his kisses were chaste, and his presence around her respectful of her space and autonomy. It had only been since she had started pushing boundaries that he had reciprocated in kind.

Longer, deeper kisses. Tousled hair. Hands wandering with far more bravery - and far more urgency - from both parties, amidst long nights full of even longer conversations.

The cracks in Emmrich Volkarin’s perfectly tailored facade were showing. And, Rook grinned to herself despite the blush reaching her ears, they were admittedly * delicious.*

Rook fastened the copper skull-shaped buttons upon her overcoat before fishing for Varric’s shaving mirror and checking her hair.

She wasn’t entirely sure how she’d expected the acceleration of their relationship to go. Perhaps more spontaneously, and likely in the Lighthouse, despite neither of them having particularly comfortable quarters - his with little more than a cot to sleep on that was otherwise hidden away, and her own space often as chilly as being overlooked by an enormous deep water aquarium would imply.

She certainly didn’t expect it to turn into a Pnemoix-worthy event.

It was, frankly, the first time Emmrich had taken the lead on the direction of relations between them. He had planned every romantic gesture their messy schedules and frequent travels would allow, sure, but every acceleration where intimacy had been concerned had been entirely on Rook.

But, it felt right, the timing.

She wondered if this was his way of saying he felt the same.

Rook slipped on a pair of gold-rimmed glasses (her vision never had been the best, but she’d only just taken to wearing them more faithfully at Emmrich’s encouragement, and insistence that he thought them, “Positively charming.”)

With a flutter of excitement in her chest Rook spared a careless hope that she might make it all the way downstairs to the Vi’Revas without any of their friends asking enough questions to rattle her nerves anymore than they already squirmed.

——————-

The journey was quick and blessedly uninterrupted. Punctual as ever, Emmrich had already arrived. He turned to greet her as she strode his way, having been surveying the towering Eluvian with an air of curiosity just moments before.

Lean and immaculately dapper as ever, golden rings and bangles over luxurious shades of black and jade, a smile swept his features so genuine that it stole a smile from her own.

“Rook,” he mused warmly, “You look exquisite.”

“Could very well say the same to you, Professor,” Rook teased, hand once again gracing the elbow he lent her.

“Shall we?”

[selunesdreams]

Chapter 17: No One From House Dellamorte Kneels

“The Crows abandoned me.” She said, shoving him off. “I just had the sense to go where I was welcome.” Viago shot to his feet, gesturing around the room. “Is this where you’re welcome, Fiammetta? Jeopardizing your life in a conflict you should have no part in? Parading yourself around a leader while-” HOW DARE- “Viago!” Lucanis snapped before Spite could break through. “This is not the time or place.” “He’s right.” Teia said, pulling Viago by the arm towards the courtyard. “Clearly the de Rivas have some things to work out, but right now, saving Caterina and stopping Illario is priority.” Viago worked his jaw as his eyes flitted between Lucanis and Rook.  HE DOES NOT LIKE YOU NEAR ROOK. DOES NOT LIKE US. “The meeting begins at dusk. In the Opera House. We’ll hold Illario’s plans off as long as we can until you arrive.” He tore his gaze away from Rook and stormed out of the kitchen, Teia casting an apologetic glance over her shoulder as she hurried after him. As the doors swung shut behind them, Lucanis grasped Rook’s wrist and drew her towards him. “He’s worried about you. Don’t take his words to heart.” “Too little, too late.” She said, wrenching her arm away. “Just get me out of here so I can kill someone who deserves it.” YES. GIVE ROOK - GIVE US - SOMETHING TO KILL. Lucanis pursed his lips, exhaling through his nose as he glanced in the direction of the courtyard.  “I’ll talk to Davrin. The others have too much going on right now. You should take some time for yourself. I’ll come get you when we’re ready.”  Out of respect, Lucanis pretended not to notice the tears pooling in Rook’s waterline. He walked to the courtyard, giving her a moment of privacy, despite how badly he wanted to pull her into his arms and comfort her. He was going to throttle her cousin later.

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

Summary: Viago tours the Lighthouse, Davrin learns about Crow customs, neither Dellamorte ends the evening how they imagined, and Lucanis practices his brooding.

Word count: 5k

Things of note/warnings: 18+ fic, MDNI! This chapter contains content from Lucanis' veilguard quest, A Murder of Crows. Warnings for: violence, blood, Viago yelling. Please read on AO3 if you need to track warnings, they will be inevitably detailed better there (or just want to be real sweet and give me hits/kudos/comments).

Read on AO3

─── ⊹⊱♤⊰⊹ ───

“So my cousin makes you sleep in a closet?”

“I chose the pantry.”

Viago sat at the kitchen table in the Lighthouse, watching Lucanis pour himself his fourth cup of coffee that morning. He and Teia had wandered through the eluvian with news of Illario, and after last night, Lucanis had suggested Teia be the one to wake Rook up.

“Hm.” Viago drummed his fingers on the table thoughtfully. “I suppose it has good choke points.” 

As he leaned against the mantle, Lucanis glimpsed his reflection in a pot hanging by the stove. Deep circles were carved under his eyes, evidence of his paranoia of Spite sleepwalking them into Rook’s chambers again last night. 

A few more beats of uncomfortable silence passed before Viago spoke again.

“You know, Teia and I broke up over that shit Rook pulled last week.”

“Just over Rook?” Lucanis raised his eyebrows skeptically, his voice echoing inside his mug. 

“I need to work on my tone, apparently.”

Lucanis swallowed and nodded, suppressing a grin. “How long this time?”

“Ten minutes.”

“A record,” Rook sneered, following Teia into the kitchen. She perched atop the table, her legs dangling over the side. “You have news for me?”

“Illario is making his move.” Viago said, sliding an envelope across the table to her. “An invitation. To celebrate our new First Talon and discuss the situation in Treviso. It came across my desk this morning. He’s hosting nearly every Crow House at Caterina’s villa.” 

“Cousin, you look so melancholy. I thought you loved parties.” Rook ignored Viago’s scowl as she drank from his untouched cup of coffee and turned to Lucanis. “Are we crashing?”

“This is our best shot at getting Caterina out. Then, we stop Illario.”

“All the Crows in one place.” Rook said. “I’m sure an abomination and the embarrassment of the de Riva household will be more than welcome.”

“Your poor decisions would have been easily forgiven had you not deserted Treviso entirely.” Viago interjected. 

Rook froze, slowly turning to face him. 

“Excuse me?” Her voice pitched higher as she slapped the invite down onto the table in front of him. “I’m fulfilling a contract fighting elven gods . I chased a dragon out of our city. Give me a fucking break.” 

Viago stared, unflinching. “You abandoned your family to take a contract I didn’t approve.”

“Vi…” Teia warned.

“I abandoned no one!” Rook snarled.

Lucanis shifted, feeling Spite bristle in reaction to her anger.

“Where were the Crows when my father lost his mind? When he drowned me every day as some part of his sick training regiment? When he beat you senseless for trying to protect me? When I was starving, because he poisoned what little meals we coud afford to build my immunity, until I was petrified at the thought of eating breakfast? ”

Viago remained silent, his fury simmering beneath the surface. Teia bit her lip and Lucanis set his coffee on top of the mantle, both moving closer in case they needed to arbitrate. 

“And then, when I made a well-intentioned mistake, my own cousin makes a mockery of me by having me serve as the First Talon’s glorified maid, all because he decided I needed to be made an example of!”

As Rook held Viago’s glare, Lucanis reached for her shoulder, pulling her several steps back. 

“The Crows abandoned me.” She said, shoving him off. “I just had the sense to go where I was welcome.”

Viago shot to his feet, gesturing around the room. “Is this where you’re welcome, Fiammetta? Jeopardizing your life in a conflict you should have no part in? Parading yourself around a leader while-”

HOW DARE-

“Viago!” Lucanis snapped before Spite could break through. “This is not the time or place.”

“He’s right.” Teia said, pulling Viago by the arm towards the courtyard. “Clearly the de Rivas have some things to work out, but right now, saving Caterina and stopping Illario is priority.”

Viago worked his jaw as his eyes flitted between Lucanis and Rook. 

HE DOES NOT LIKE YOU NEAR ROOK. DOES NOT LIKE US.

“The meeting begins at dusk. In the Opera House. We’ll hold Illario’s plans off as long as we can until you arrive.”

Viago tore his gaze away and stormed out of the kitchen, Teia casting an apologetic glance over her shoulder as she hurried after him. As the doors swung shut behind them, Lucanis grasped Rook’s wrist and drew her towards him.

“He’s worried about you. Don’t take his words to heart.”

“Too little, too late.” She said, wrenching her arm away. “Just get me out of here so I can kill someone who deserves it.”

YES. GIVE ROOK - GIVE US - SOMETHING TO KILL.

Lucanis pursed his lips, exhaling through his nose as he glanced in the direction of the courtyard. 

“I’ll talk to Davrin. The others have too much going on right now. You should take some time for yourself. I’ll come get you when we’re ready.” 

Out of respect, Lucanis pretended not to notice the tears pooling in Rook’s waterline. He walked to the courtyard, giving her a moment of privacy, despite how badly he wanted to pull her into his arms and comfort her himself.

He was going to throttle her cousin later.

─── ⊹⊱♤⊰⊹ ───

“So, where are we headed?” Davrin asked as Rook pulled her blade from the heart of a Venatori mage.

“The Opera House. It’s…” Lucanis stopped in his tracks and scanned the rooftops on the horizon. “You know it’s across the grounds. In the guesthouse.”  

“Opera House?” Davrin echoed. 

“Caterina hosts galas there, Crow business. Those kinds of things.” Lucanis leapt down onto a balcony, motioning for them to follow. 

“No Opera?” 

“Rarely.” Rook interjected. “It’s a bit of an inside joke.”

“How?” 

“It’s ah….where we make people sing. If you catch my drift.” 

“Uh…” Davrin offered her a hand as she hopped across a gap between roofs.

“They interrogate people. Torture them.” Rook ignored his hand, landing safely on the rooftop beside him. Chivalry wasn’t dead amongst Crows, but underestimating a lady certainly was. Out of her periphery, she caught Lucanis observing with amusement as the warden awkwardly wiped his palm on his armor and muttered something to himself. 

“There.” Lucanis pointed out a tower with a stained glass window. “That will get us where we need to be.” 

“Estate’s pretty big already. Does it really need a second house?” Davrin asked. 

“It’s for guests.” Lucanis replied, as if the answer should be obvious. “You don’t think we’d just let them stay in our rooms? Risk them cutting our throats?”

“I had my own room in the main house.” Rook bragged, catching up to Lucanis on the next rooftop as they neared the villa. 

Lucanis smirked. “You were…special.”

Rook’s mood had lightened after a few hours of uninterrupted rest, but she was certain the second she was in the same room as her cousin and Illario, her fury would return. For the time being, she chose not to be bothered by Viago’s earlier comments. 

With a polite touch to the small of Rook’s back, Lucanis ushered her ahead onto a fallen beam between platforms. 

“After you.”

She nodded graciously, holding her arms out and stepping carefully across. 

“I get it. He can be a gentleman because he knows all your bird customs.” Davrin grumbled, balancing precariously on the walkway behind them. “Remind me why we couldn’t just go through the front door?”

“Rook already tried that. It didn’t end well for her.” Lucanis said, earning himself a jab to the ribs as she passed him. “Besides, there’s no way my cousin would let me in-”

“-HE FEARS US. GOOD. HE SHOULD.”

Rook slipped inside a broken window, descending over stacked crates and barrels to the landing below. As they arrived at a gate, Lucanis pried some freshly placed boards off the secret passage to the villa.

“I had to come back and conceal the escape route again after you tried to die here.” He said as Rook shot him a questioning look. “I thought I was the only one who knew about it. I found it playing as a boy.” 

“I found it when I left the villa. Illario doesn’t know it’s here.” She said, effortlessly slipping through the narrow passage. Lucanis followed her, Davrin grunting as he squeezed himself inside.

They crept through the cavernous tunnels until they reached the underbelly of the house in silence. Rook pressed an ear to a pair of wooden doors, listening carefully to a conversation on the other side. 

“They mentioned an old woman.” She relayed, closing her eyes to better make out their voices. 

Lucanis scowled. “Caterina.”

“Must be a difficult prisoner,” Davrin mused. 

“She’s difficult in any scenario.” Rook mumbled, earning herself a glare from Lucanis. He cracked open the door before motioning them on. In a blur of violet, he advanced ahead, running his blade through two Venatori standing guard in the hall.

“Ugh. Illario let them in here?” He wrinkled his nose, wiping his sword on their clothes as they choked on their own blood, “I’m going to have to have the entire place cleaned.”

His footsteps were silent against the intricate marble flooring as Lucanis led them through the villa. White sheets covered the furniture and sculptures, just as they had over a year ago, albeit dustier. 

“This is your home?” Davrin asked, looking around from floor to ceiling. “No wonder your cousin wanted to inherit.” 

“I lived here until I was 18. Caterina made us get our own homes after that. But she still kept rooms for us. Ilario abused that privilege. Insufferably.” 

Spite inhaled deeply. “Home? Smells like dust and linseed oil.” 

“Don’t say that when Catrina is in earshot.” Lucanis chastised him.

“So, Rook, what was so bad about that cushy assistant job?” Davrin asked. 

“Illario.” 

“TRAITOR.”

Lucanis motioned them towards the den. “Caterina’s room is up here.”

Slowly and soundlessly, the three ascended the stairs. At the top, Rook pressed her back to the wall, peeking around the edge. Two Venatori were stationed outside Caterina’s door, bored and yawning. With an outstretched hand, she delivered a swift electrocution to one, stunning the guard beside them in time for Lucanis to cut their throat, discarding the body into the corner. Davrin nodded, his mouth forming a line as he watched them work. 

“The door is barred from the inside.” Rook said, tugging on the handles. 

“I’ll go first.” Lucanis said, pulling her aside. “If my grandmother is in there, better she strikes me with that cane than you. I’m at least used to it.”

He leaned back and delivered a swift kick to the doors. They swung open, revealing Caterina’s room precisely as Rook remembered it, save for the mess of broken furniture that had been served as a barricade. As Lucanis stepped inside, his hopeful expression dimmed, finding it empty, but out of the corner of her eye, Rook caught a flash of amethyst just above his head. Before she could open her mouth to warn him, he caught the First Talon’s cane before it made contact with the crown of his head. Lowering her weapon, his face fell, as if he’d seen a ghost. 

“Caterina?” He breathed.

“Lucanis! My poor boy.” She lamented, kissing both of his cheeks affectionately. In shock, he returned the gesture vacantly, going through the motions before shoving a hand in his pocket. 

“I believe you dropped this,” He said, handing Caterina the opal ring she had slipped under the door to signal Rook of her presence. The two exchanged a somber look before she slid it onto her middle finger, kissing Lucanis’ cheek again before her eyes fell upon Rook. 

“Fiammetta. You kept your word and returned my grandson to me.”

“You can thank me later. Right now, we should get you to safety before we stop Illario.”

“Do not speak about me as if I cannot fend for myself! Have I not survived these Venatori on my own?” Caterina snapped. “There’s no time for heroic nonsense. I will come with you.”

“Illario is reckless, Caterina. Don’t make Lucanis lose you all over again.” Rook pleaded. 

The old woman squinted, assessing both Lucanis and Rook before giving a resigned grunt.

“Go.” she grumbled, appraising Davrin as she pushed past him out the door. “I’ll meet you in the Opera House.” 

Lucanis flashed Rook a faint smile.

“Welcome back to House Dellamorte, De Riva.”

She took his hand in hers, running a thumb across his knuckles. “It’s good to be back.”

He clasped his free hand over hers affectionately, searching her face intently.

“When this is over I-”

From the hall, Assan rushed in, inspecting every corner of the room. Lucanis’ smile faltered as Davrin entered behind the griffin, clearing his throat.

“I thought we were in a hurry.”

“We are,” Rook said, dropping Lucanis’ hand. “Come on, we can scale the window to the gardens.”

Rook bristled as they stepped inside the Opera House. It was ominous, as it had been the night she’d been misled to kill an innocent man. Since then, she had been to Crow gatherings in the space, but never under such grim circumstances or with the knowledge she now possessed about Illario’s motives.

Chatter and whispers traveled through the stairwells from above. Nearly every Crow in Treviso must be present tonight. If things didn’t go their way, it was certain death for her and Lucanis.

“Caterina’s death was a tragedy.” Illario’s voice echoed through the building as Rook and Lucanis dispatched two Venatori in the Opera’s anteroom. “But to get Lucanis back from the dead, only to lose him to a demon? For me? That is a deep personal loss.”

At her side, peering through a crack in the door, a low rumble escaped from Lucanis’ throat as he gritted his teeth. 

“Keep your head…” Davrin urged. 

“And so I take the mantle of First Talon with a heavy heart.” Illario continued, “But the Crows will rise from the ashes-”

Lucanis rose to his feet. “I’ve had enough of this.”

“Do you even have a plan?” Rook hissed.

“Knives are involved.” He replied as she followed him. 

“-with our new Venatori allies, we could claim Antiva-”

“Over my dead body!”

Illario turned, his eyes narrowing the sight of his cousin kicking open the main doors. Behind him, Viago and Teia exchanged a glance as two other Talons unsheathed their blades. 

Cutting his fingertips on the Crow brooch upon his breast pocket, Illario drew a red haze of power between his palms, making Rook’s stomach roil with dread. 

“That could be arranged.”

Several Venatori stepped from the shadows, and the remaining Talons drew their swords. Rook quickly worked to assess who would side with them as she cut through a Venatori on her right. Teia and Viago were a given, and Bolivar, Sixth Talon, usually sided with the Dellamortes, but tonight, it was impossible to tell: Which Dellamorte did he consider the true heir? Could any of the Crows in this room trust a Dellamorte after this?

“Yield!” Illario commanded, summoning his reserves of blood magic. 

“You can’t…overpower…us both!” Lucanis gritted out, Spite’s wings unfurling behind him. The crowd gasped collectively, and Illario’s smug expression wavered.

“Now you fall.” Spite and Lucanis snarled in unison. 

“You should have stayed dead, cousin! All of this is on your head!” Illario roared as he unsheathed his blades, one clashing with Lucanis in an instant. 

“You started this, cousin.” Lucanis said with a cloying sweetness. “I’m ending it.”

A Venatori blade nearly hooked Lucanis from behind, and he turned to engage them. Rook pointed Davrin towards the rest of the incoming Venatori as she stepped between the Dellamorte cousins, not allowing Illario to get the upper hand. His face slackened as she swiped at his middle with the sword he’d gifted her so many years ago. 

“Keeping your grandmother locked in her room?” Rook demanded, dodging his half-hearted attempt at cutting her. “What is wrong with you?”

“It was for her own good.” He seized her by the wrist as her free hand attempted to drive a dagger into his ribs. “I would have never harmed her.”

“Damn it, Fiammetta!” Viago barked from across the room. “Do not let him get the upper hand!”

Rook ignored her cousin, freeing herself from Illario’s grasp with a flick of her wrist, just as her father had taught her. 

“Was poisoning me for my own good? Did you know I would have died without Viago’s intervention?”

“I never wanted to hurt you-”

“Or how about your alliance with Elgar’nan?” As she threw her blade at his face, Illario dodged, turning to watch it lodge itself in the wallpaper and rip a line through the ivory embellishments. “You know he wants me dead, right?” 

“Fi-”

She silenced him with a slap to the face. Illario’s hand came to his cheek, pressed against the red flushed skin there as he returned his gaze to her slowly, a lethal look in his eyes.

“You were one of my oldest friends.” She snarled, “I trusted you above so many others. And you lied to me. Betrayed me. And Lucanis! Your own blood . Your ambitions really know no bounds.”

Illario threw her against the wall, knocking the wind from her.

“What I did, I did for the Crows!” 

He pinned one hand above her head, the dagger in his other hand hovering over her neck. 

“You did it for yourself!” Rook shrieked. 

Just above Illario’s shoulder, she watched as Lucanis dispatched three Venatori, desperately trying to reach her. Illario followed her gaze and, with a cry of frustration, thrust Rook ahead of him, blade pressed to her throat. 

“Stop!” He shouted, wrapping an arm across her torso and walking her to the center of the room, as if she were a human shield.

Lucanis threw aside the final mage he’d been fighting just as Viago leapt from the Opera stage. The two met them under the grand chandelier, weapons drawn, while Davrin checked over his shoulder as he and Assan continued pushing back the remaining Venatori.

“You don’t want to make an enemy of me, Illario.” Viago advised, circling them. “Let my cousin go. Don’t do something you can’t take back.” 

“You decide what happens next!” Illario warned, his blade digging further into Rook’s skin. 

“You think you’re in too deep, Illario,” Rook murmured as she felt a single bead of blood run down her neck. “But you can still fix this.”

“Stop talking, Fiammetta.” He hissed, but his hold relaxed, giving her room to breathe. 

“What’s your endgame here?” Rook asked him, “Because Lucanis doesn’t want to kill you, but Spite will. This little standoff only lasts as long as I’m alive. Harm me, and it’s all over for you.”

“Maybe that’s your problem, Fi. You’re on a first name basis with my cousin’s demon.”

“I tried playing nice.” Rook said, slipping one hand through the crook of his elbow and wrapping her fingers around his knife. An electric current danced up to the hilt, causing Illario to flinch, and his grip on her to falter. Blood stained her palm as he recoiled, inadvertently slicing open the skin where she held his blade. Illario shoved her forward to break the static that surrounded them, and Rook tumbled to the floor, leaving a trail of crimson handprints as she scrambled backwards. Viago bent and pulled her up, fingertips digging into her shoulders as he restrained her, keeping her from intervening.

Lucanis approached his cousin, pointing the tip of his sword at his heart.

“I’ll kill you for that.” He growled.

Illario scowled, clutching his chest as he fought to steady his pulse, falling to his knees. 

“So I’ve heard.” He said through clenched teeth, “What are you waiting for, cousin? Finish what you start.” 

Spite’s wings disappeared behind Lucanis as he sheathed his weapon with a look of contempt. He gestured to the Crows leaning over the balcony with bated breath, the Talons standing with disappointed expressions behind him. 

“I already did. What am I ever going to do that is worse than this? On your knees? In front of every house?”

Illario stared at the crowd, jeering and booing from above. Hope and malice faded from his features, replaced by the sting of humiliation. 

“Get up, Illario.” Caterina commanded, her cane falling on the floor with a resounding knock between each step as she entered the room.

“Caterina!” Teia cried, “Thank the Maker!”

Viago released his hold on Rook, yanking Illario to his feet as the First Talon stood over her grandson, disgusted. Both hands poised atop her cane, the bejeweled eyes of the carved Crow head beneath her fingertips stared directly at Lucanis. 

“No one from House Dellamorte kneels.”

Rook felt a pang of empathy for her old friend. He looked like a boy again, scolded for playing in the gardens too roughly. Proven inferior to his cousin, once again. 

“He’s your family.” Rook moved to Lucanis’ side, resting a hand on his arm. “You said he was all you had, besides Caterina…”

“That was before you.”

Lucanis drug a hand over his face and sighed.

“But you’re right. He’s family.”

Illario scoffed.

“You think you can show me mercy? That’s not up to you, is it? Caterina is still First Talon.”

“Enough, Illario! Lucanis is the new First Talon.” Caterina announced over a roar of cheering from above. “His decision stands.”

Both Dellamorte cousins’ faces fell in unison. Whether or not Caterina intended for it to be, Illario’s loss was a punishment for each of them. What one desired most in the world, the other desperately had tried to run from. 

Lucanis schooled his expression into something focused, commandeering, void of the remorse and aching etched there moments ago.  

“Viago. Keep him out of trouble.” He directed.

“I’m no miracle worker,” The Fifth Talon said, tugging Illario aside, “but I’ll see what I can do.”

Illario leaned towards his cousin as he was escorted from the premises.

“Lucanis…” he taunted, holding out each syllable.

“Don’t.” Lucanis voice was hard and clipped. “Not now.” 

Caterina walked slowly to a nearby table, picking up a goblet of wine and passing it to her grandson. Reluctantly, he stared at it in his hand, panic flickering across his face as he lifted his head to meet Rook’s stare. Before she could react, a glass of wine was shoved into her own hands, and Teia began making a toast. Rook’s ears rang as she watched Lucanis swirl his drink, lost in his thoughts.

“To Lucanis!” Davrin called out with a proud smile. Well-intentioned as their friend was, something about the way everyone raised their glasses, the way Lucanis brought his wine to his lips like a death sentence, made her want to choke. She mimicked a drink, and discarded her goblet, watching from the perimeter of the room as Lucanis was congratulated by each Talon, save Viago, who was likely giving Illario a beating somewhere between here and the casino. 

Davrin joined her on the wall, wine in hand and Assan at his heels. 

“I thought you’d be happier for him.” He nudged her with his shoulder. “Does this make you Queen of the Crows or something?”

“This isn’t what he wants.” Rook whispered, voice catching in her throat as she watched Lucanis smile and nod in a sea of congratulations.

All those years of Crow training, just to feign happiness.

“In that case, try not to be offended if I don’t stick around to celebrate. Those Venatori landed a few good blows on me and I’m ready for a hot salt bath.”

Rook nodded and gave an appreciative, thin-lipped smile as her friend disappeared. In silence, she observed the party from afar until she was interrupted by a scraping sound against the marble floor beside her. 

“Dellamortes, get all the praise.” Caterina muttered, tapping Rook’s shin with her cane. “Come. Walk with me.”

Suggestions were never optional with Caterina, and knowing better than to decline, Rook uneasily followed her out the patio doors to the gardens. 

They strolled past the rose bushes and sat on a stone bench under a willow that was not native to this area of Treviso, but that Caterina had insisted to have imported decades ago. Rook had to admit it was thriving here. 

“Do you recognize this opal?” Caterina asked, slipping off her ring. Rook took it gingerly between her thumb and forefinger, letting its iridescence catch in the moonlight.

“It’s the same gem Lucanis stole and gifted to me when we were children.” She smiled softly, her breath rising in the fog as she spoke. “I still remember the look on my father’s face when you came to our door.”

Rook passed the ring back to Caterina, and she held up her hand to decline, shaking her head.

“Keep it. I’ve outgrown it.” She said firmly. “Consider it a token of my appreciation for saving my grandson, and myself.”

“Caterina! I can’t possibly accept this.”

“You would insult your First Talon by declining a gesture of her gratitude?”

“To be fair, you just gave that title to Lucanis.” Rook knew she was in dangerous territory, but felt bold enough to test the waters. Riling Caterina was a risk, but one with an amusing payoff.

“Precisely. I gave him a title. He knows I won’t retire until long after he buries me.” 

Rook carefully slipped the opal over the ring finger on her right hand. So strange how it found its way back to her, given the circumstances.

“Maybe I was too soft on Illario. I stoked the fires of his resentment by favoring Lucanis to take my place. But I knew Illario would never be cut out for Talon. He was prone to fits when he didn’t get his way and spent too much time fretting about what was fair or unfair. In the Crows, there is no such thing as fair.”

Caterina lifted her head towards the stars and frowned, as if they shared her disapproval.

“From a young age, Lucanis always saw the world for what it was. He would cry for dead birds in the garden, and then wipe his tears and bury them under this willow tree, because he knew it needed to be done. He has an impeccable talent for leaving no job unfinished, even when no one is watching. His internal compass is strong, where Illario’s is easily led astray.”

Rook remained silent. It was rare that Caterina was talkative, and rarer that she showed even a glimmer of regret.

“I was hard on Lucanis, focused my lessons on him because I needed him to have what it took to survive. Being First Talon doesn’t just make you a target, it makes the people you love targets. Lucanis showed exceptional talent and caught the attention of the other Crows even as a boy. Whether or not he wanted my title, I needed to ensure he’d survive long enough to turn it down.”

Uncertain Caterina would let her live to regret it, Rook spoke anyway. 

“You hardly gave Lucanis an opportunity to say no, announcing his change in rank before every Crow in Treviso.”

Surprisingly, Caterina’s cane remained firmly planted on the garden cobblestones.

“Sometimes we are burdened with things not because we desire them, but because we are the best person for the job. Lucanis will make a good First Talon precisely because he does not want it.”

“You knew?”

“I knew. Illario was talented in charming people, but being skilled in manipulating others put him at risk of being manipulated himself. My grandson could change his colors to suit whatever person or situation he needed them to, because his own identity was so unstable. Lucanis is who he is. He’s a lethal assassin, and an excellent Crow, but he cannot resist doing what he believes is right.” 

Rook blinked, certain she’d been poisoned when Illario’s blade nicked her throat, and that she was hallucinating this entire exchange. 

“I will not insult you by telling you your parents would be proud of you, Fiammetta. I think you already know that. And we both know it’s not their approval you desire.” Caterina continued, “You are like Lucanis in many ways. You did what you felt was right, and when you made a bad call, you accepted your punishment with your head held high. You never complained. You paid your debts, and you moved on. You accepted the role of leader against gods, because it needed to be done. Your cousin believed you were neglecting your responsibilities, abandoning your family, but wherever your battles lead you, you will always embody the spirit of a Crow.”

She rose to her feet and nodded towards the manor. 

“Come. My grandson is spying. I think he’s worried I’ve brought you out here to kill you.” 

Rook glanced towards the Opera House, where Lucanis was brooding against a foggy window pane, hands buried into his pockets.

“The guest room is as you left it. Several of the gowns in the closet belonged to my daughter-in-law. She was about your size. We might be assassins, but there’s no reason to be covered in blood at a party.” She said with a wink. “Rest assured, she fitted all her clothing to be suitable for an ambush. You’ll be at no disadvantage.”

─── ⊹⊱♤⊰⊹ ───

Rook assessed the opera house floor as she descended the staircase, dressed in a sleeveless black gown that took her nearly half an hour to lace herself into. Caterina wasn’t joking - the dress fit her like a second skin, and she could kill someone in this ensemble just as easily as she could in her leathers. The trouble would lie in getting it off. Wearing heels, against her better judgement, Rook decided to allow herself the enjoyment of one last Dellamorte soiree.

A dense crowd surrounded Caterina, Teia close to her side. Even though former First Talon had opted for the party to continue despite the disgrace her grandson had made of himself, everyone present was on edge. Repairing the distrust between Houses would take time, but at least the First, Fifth and Seventh Talons still had faith in one another. And, at the end of the day, Crows never really trusted one another.

“There you are.” 

At the sound of a familiar voice, Rook’s footstep faltered on the final stair, and she caught herself on the guardrail as a hand slipped around her waist.

“I’ve been looking for you.” 

[jaspercafe]

FIVE for Silver (AO3)

Pairing: Lucanis Dellamorte x Rook

Words: 1247

Rating: General Audiences

He sits her down on the chaise, rummaging through each drawer in her chambers for whatever he can find — linen straps, bandages, elfroot — anything to make the bleeding stop.

But she can barely register him, her focus fixed on her arms — on the blood painting her skin like red ink, telling a story she’s so tired of reading.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

And five.

Five more scars to add to her collection — each one proof she’s survived, but never proof of the fight actually being over.

She doesn’t know why that stings as much as it does. Fighting isn’t new to her — how could it be? She lives in a world of dragons and demons, cultists and dictators, each one clawing for more power than they have any right to.

The Shadows taught her early on that the moment she stops fighting is the moment she hands her power over to someone else.

And like hell she’s going to do that.

Yet, as she watches Lucanis frantically wipe the blood from her wounds — as if he can erase them, as if they won’t still be there in the morning, or next month, faded but never gone — a thought slips through the cracks. One she’s tried to drown out, to chase away, only for it to return more determined, curling around her mind like smoke, whispering itself back into existence until she has no choice but to listen.

What if she does stop?

What if she puts her sword down for the last time?

Maybe then, she’d remember what her skin looks like beneath the wounds, before they piled up like trinkets in a collection she never wanted.

Maybe she could wash her hair without watching the water swirl red at her feet.

Maybe her shoulders wouldn’t ache with the phantom weight of a shield she no longer feels strong enough to carry.

Maybe, just maybe, she could remember what it feels like to be beautiful again.

—

Lucanis feels something fall onto his hands as he sterilizes Rook’s arms.

A wet droplet.

Then another.

And another.

Until the storm that’s been brewing finally unleashes, the tears streaming down her face like a heavy rainfall.

He reaches for her, the vial of antiseptic in his grasp tumbling to the floor as he trades it for her face, cupping her cheeks and forcing her watery gaze on his.

“Rook,” he pleads, brushing away each tear with his thumb. “Talk to me.”

“Is this all that’s left?”

Lucanis’s brows knit together. “What do you mean?”

She gestures to herself, a hollow laugh escaping her. “Is this all I am now? Blood and dirt, scars and bruises. Is there anything left of the person I used to be — before Solas’ ritual, before Varric, hell, even before the Shadows. Is she still there?”

“Of course she is, Rook,” Lucanis replies immediately, his hands falling from her face to wrap around her fingers.

"I don’t know about that," she replies, her eyes squeezing shut. “That girl used to wear dresses, not armor. She used to wear necklaces, not bruises leftover from Antaam hands wrapped around her throat too tightly."

“Your life does not have to end where the fight begins," Lucanis counters. "You can still have what you once craved — the things that remind you of who you were, before this all began."

"Those things are a luxury," she mutters, bitterness curling around the words. "And luxuries aren’t meant for people like me."

Lucanis studies her, his jaw tightening.

No.

He refuses to let her believe that.

She’s the one who showed him there’s more to life than killing and death. That life can be as sweet as it is bitter.

She’s the one who taught him that feelings don’t always have to be filed into the shape of a weapon — that they can be raw, boundless, like an ocean drenching him from head to toe. That she could be the harbor that offers him safe refuge when that ocean becomes too overwhelming.

She’s the one who defied the odds when they were never in her favor, who made him dare to hope, even when he was taught that hope was just another hole in his walls for enemies to exploit.

And now, the woman who shattered every rigid belief he held — about life, about himself — wants to reduce herself to nothing more than her scars.

No. He won’t let her.

“Stay here,” he instructs, pushing himself off the chaise. “I will be back soon.”

And before she can question it, he’s heading for the door, a new resolve in his eyes as he makes his way to the Eluvian leading to Treviso.

—

When he returns, he’s relieved to find her still in her chambers, swiping away stray tears as she hears him enter.

“Lucanis,” she whispers. “Where did you go?”

Wordlessly, he takes her hand, threading his fingers through hers as he guides her to the far end of the room, where a floor-length mirror leans against the wall.

He grabs her hips, shifting her body to align her with her reflection.

“Keep your eyes forward,” he murmurs, slipping a hand into his pocket. When he withdraws it, a silver gleam catches the low light.

He moves behind her, his fingers brushing aside her curls, exposing the delicate curve of her neck. Slowly, he presses his lips to the skin beneath her ear. Then, along her jawline. The soft dip of her throat. And finally, one last kiss to the juncture of her shoulder — a kiss that lingers, like the final, drawn-out note of a love song.

She's so lost in his touch that she barely notices when his lips leave her, until, suddenly, something cold slithers over her neck, replacing his warmth.

Her breath catches.

A silver necklace.

“Most people see silver and think of nobility — kings, queens, emperors,” he murmurs, securing the clasp. “But the ones most worthy of silver are those forged like it — tempered by fire, bent, beaten, but never broken.”

His arms slip around her waist. “Like you.”

She stares into the mirror, her reflection blurred by unshed tears. Her fingers brush the metal, her lips parting softly.

How long has it been since silver touched her skin?

“It’s beautiful,” she whispers, turning in his arms to face him.

Lucanis shakes his head, his eyes locking onto hers with a quiet sincerity — like he’s trying to will the truth into her bones. “You’re beautiful. You always have been, and you always will be. Nothing in this world can take that away from you."

Something inside her gives way. A dam breaking, a tether snapping. She surges forward, her lips colliding with his, her hands tangling into his hair.

Words aren’t enough. They could never hold everything she feels for him — all her love, all her gratitude — but maybe a kiss can breach the surface.

He doesn't hesitate to kiss her back, his tongue brushing hers softly, his hands fisting into the fabric at her back as if he can pull her into him entirely. Each kiss grows longer, deeper, and he savors them like the first taste of Antivan coffee after a long, sleepless night — until they're breathless, forced to breathe the air of the Lighthouse instead of the breath in each other's lungs.

When they finally part, she presses her forehead to his, her next words exhaled like a prayer. “Thank you, Lucanis.”

He runs his thumb over the silver resting at her collarbone. "For you, anything."

—

A/N: This was written as part of the Counting Crows collab on the Lucanismancer Discord! Please check out the rest of the series, as each of these authors is incredibly talented! <3

[girlwithadragonheart]

Chapter 4 - Ashes to Ashes

This story contains major spoilers for Dragon Age the Veilguard. Read at your own discretion!!

Rook x Lucanis

Summary: Kalais has to choose to save her city or Lucanis's. Things don't end well.

Word Count: 4k

Warnings: Swearing, Mental-emotional breakdown, Kalais snaps a little

A/N: I love when I develop a character that ends up not taking any shit it's so healing

Chapter 3 DATV Masterlist Chapter 5

We met with Harding’s Warden contacts in the High Anderfels. Antoine and Evka were both very sweet and seemed like they wanted to help. They said they had noticed some things about the Blight that lined up with what we were seeing, everything the First Warden didn’t believe.

They told us about another Warden in the area who was pulled into another mission. Lucanis and I made our way to his last known location. There was a tent and a fire still halfway burning.

“Well, I’d say we found the camp.” Lucanis crouched down on the opposite side of the fire from me. “So did some darkspawn, looks like.”

“They left the fire burning,” Lucanis said.

“Were they ambushed?” Lucanis and I glanced at each other.

We heard a screech, both looking toward the sound. I crossed behind him, putting a hand on his shoulder. He rose from his crouched position behind me as I tried to find the source of the sound.

The creature screeched again, this time louder, and a ball of feathers was fiving at me, about the size of a mabari. I held my hands out, trying to keep the creature from attacking me. By description, it looked like a griffon, but that couldn’t be right. Griffons were extinct.

“Assan!” A deep voice yelled close by. I looked over seeing a handsome, dark skinned elf. The griffon pounced over to him as he walked up to us, sticking close to his side. “Easy boy.” The man smoothed a hand over his feathers.

“I’ll be damned… a griffon,” I said.

“Trouble is, he’s not sure what you are. Neither am I,” the man said.

“Rook,” I said. “Evka and Antoine sent us. We’re looking for Davrin.”

“You found him. Mind telling me why you smell like darkspawn?” He asked. “Griffons hunt darkspawn.”

“We don’t smell that bad. It’s the tent,” I explained.

“Blight? Where are Lancit and Remi?”

“The camp was empty when we got here,” I told him.

We heard a raged cry from somewhere distant. “Assan! To the trees!” Davrin commanded. “Try to keep up!” He told us.

After killing lots of darkspawn, and finding all of the griffons locked up in cages sealed with blood magic, we found what Davrin called the “Gloom Howler”. Some kind of Darkspawn, undead, bitch queen.

She got away and took the griffons with her before we could stop her.

The four of us made our way back through the eluvian and the Caretaker took us between islands in the Crossroads.

Neve, Harding, and Bellara came running toward us, looking panicked. “What’s happened?” I asked with a furrowed brow.

“The Viper just sent word. Minrathous is under attack by a blighted dragon,” Neve said.

“Has to be the one we saw at D’Meta’s Crossing,” I said.

“Well, one of them has to be,” Harding replied.

“What do you mean, “one of them”?” Lucanis questioned.

“Teia also got in touch. Another dragon is attacking Treviso, too,” Harding told him.

“Mierda,” Lucanis cursed.

“You got back just in time,” Harding said to me.

I took a breath, putting my hands on my hips. “Alright. What do we know?”

“Two dragons at once? Has to be the gods behind it,” she said.

“Teviso’s a merchant city. It has no defenses. And the canals run everywhere,” Lucanis told me. “If we don’t stop that dragon, people will die. Innocent people. My people. They either die right away, from the dragon. Or slowly after, from blight in the water. We need to go to Treviso.”

“And leave Minrathous to burn?” Neve questioned. “You’re a Shadow Dragon, Rook. You know the Viper, Tarquin, every damn Shadow… We’ll fight to the end. But people will get hurt. Or worse,” she said. “And if we fail? The Venatori will take advantage. They’ll make a push for the throne. And hand the gods the entire Tevinter Empire.”

“If we decide to—”

“Damn it! There’s no time!” Neve interrupted me. “It’s my city. Our city. I need to be in Minrathous.”

“And I must go to Treviso,” Lucanis said. “Go where you feel you must, Rook. We cannot wait.” 

Without another word, Neve and Lucanis both ran off. “What’s our move, Rook?” Harding asked.

I ran over what I knew for certain in my head. Minrathous had defenses, including the Archon Palace. I was certain that me and two others would not be able to make much of a difference against a dragon. But I did know that Treviso was already under occupation and its people wouldn’t survive without some extra aid. I also knew that as much as Neve said Minrathous was my city, I was its slave long before I was its savior.

I took a breath, my chest feeling tight with the weight of this decision. “We help Lucanis in Treviso. We have to trust that the Shadow Dragons can take care of things in Minrathous. That said… two of you should join Neve there. See if you can help. And we’ll head to Treviso.”

“Understood,” Davrin said.

“Let’s all try to make it through this alive, all right?”

I brought Davrin with me, leaving the other two to go to Minrathous with Neve. I had to trust that they would be alright. I couldn’t afford to be distracted right now, lest I risk my own hide. When we got to Treviso, the city was burning.

Davrin and I made our way through the city, killing Antaam as we went. With the dragon trying to kill everyone, I suppose they saw their chance to really take over. Or, even worse, they were working for the Gods. ‘Cause that’s what we needed. More enemies.

We ran through the courtyard, seeing Lucanis and Teia up ahead. Lucanis looked so relieved to see us. “Rook! You’re just in time. Where the dragon attacks, the Antaam soon follow.”

“It is strong and fast. You must get its attention, then lure it onto the ground,” Teia said, hands on her hips.

“We’ll figure out a way,” I said, mimicking her stance.

“Draw up your courage,” she said. “We will need it.”

We took up position in the field, Davrin on my right and Lucanis on my left. Ghilan’nain, the horrible beast that she now was, all tentacles and no heart, demanded the dagger from me and said that Treviso offered nothing more than a pawn for Elgar’nan. She clearly couldn’t see the beauty it held.

She sent the dragon after us to retrieve the dagger. Most of my time was spent dodging blows as I tried to keep it off the other two, allowing them to actually hit it.

Enough of my panic built up, that I was able to aim some of it back at the dragon in the form of lightning and fire, beamed directly at its heart. Before we could bring it down, Ghilan’nain called it away, saying she had need of it elsewhere.

“You fought it off!” Teia ran over to us.

Lucanis clutched at a wound on his leg as he limped over to us. “If Ghilan’nain hadn’t called it away…”

“It’s more important that it stopped attacking the city,” I told him, casting a worried glance at the blood staining him.

“Everyone with a home that still stands will agree,” Teia said.

“That thing was tough. It’ll be hard to put down for good,” I sighed.

“What happened to Treviso would’ve been worse if you hadn’t arrived when you did. I cannot imagine how much worse,” Lucanis said looking at me gratefully.

“Still have to help with that dragon in Minrathous,” Davrin said.

“Let’s go,” I said.

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

Minrathous was covered in Blight by the time we reached it. The streets were crawling with darkspawn and buildings were on fire. Even as I knew I made the right choice, it hurt to see this place like this. I had more bad memories here than good ones, but the good ones outweighed the negative. This was where I met Varric, after all.

We found Neve and Tarquin huddled around Ashur who was on a table, looking miserable and wounded.

“We’re here. What’s the situation?” I asked.

“Where were you?” Neve demanded.

“Treviso. The dragon—”

“This is your city! I thought—”

“My city?!” I almost laughed in her face. “You mean the city I was enslaved to? You mean the city that showed me and other people like me no kindness? The city that’s been corrupted since the beginning of Thedas?”

“And because we were busy fighting the bigger evil, the Venatori took large parts of the city!” She yelled. “We lost people. And Ashur…”

“I’m fine,” he grunted. “She’s right.”

“You are not fine,” Tarquin said, standing. “He took a claw to the gut. A claw from a blighted dragon. Think about that,” he said to me.

“The blight’s in his blood. But that means…” All my fire was gone, and I was just exhausted.

“A slow death,” Neve finished. 

“You’ve brought nothing but trouble since you came back,” Tarquin growled.

My brows furrowed, pained and hurt. Dorian led me to them and all I did was fuck everything up. Lucanis stepped closer, almost protectively.

“It’s not Rook’s fault,” Ashur said. “I chose to engage it.”

“Because it was going for a safe house! Because half of us were already dead!” Tarquin shouted.

“Do you honestly think one more fucking person would’ve changed the outcome?” I questioned.

Tarquin spun on me. “No, but maybe you would be dying instead of him.”

I physically recoiled from the hatred in his eyes, my gut twisting with nausea. I bumped into Lucanis, and he steadied me with a hand on my waist.

“Just go. There’s nothing you can do here,” Neve said, looking over at Ashur.

—-------------------------------

I stumbled through the eluvian in the lighthouse, clutching my chest. My stomach churned, and I thought I might throw up.

“Rook!” I heard Bellara behind me, but I didn’t stop, heading straight through the hall and up the stairs. I couldn’t do this, I couldn’t lead, I wasn’t cut out for it.

I let my feet guide me and before I knew it, I was in the infirmary. Varric looked alarmed as I collapsed to my knees beside his bed, tears rolling down my cheeks. “I fucked up,” I whimpered. “I fucked up, Varric.”

“Hey, hey, hey, kid, take a breath.” He shifted, and I felt his warm hand on my shoulder, gripping me just tight enough to bring me back to reality. “What happened?”

“Minrathous---” I started, getting cut off by a sob. “Minrathous is burning. They took it- The gods took it, and Neve…” My body shook, wracked with sobs as I tried to breathe. “She’s so mad. I don’t think she’s coming back, Varric.” I looked up at him with bleary eyes.

He moved, sliding to the edge of the bed until I was between his legs, and he pulled me into his chest. “Easy, kid.” He had one arm tight around my shoulders, his other hand smoothing my hair. “You can’t save everyone. That’s the life.”

“Neve trusted me. She trusted me and Minrathous is burning now,” I whimpered, squeezing my eyes shut and trying to suck up the warmth he was giving me. It was so hard to breathe.

“You made a decision based on what limited knowledge you had,” Varric said. “No one can ask any more of you than that. Neve will come back around. Give her time.”

“We don’t have time, Varric,” I said desperately.

“So keep moving forward. That’s what you do, Rook. That’s what you’ve always done,” he said. “She’ll either come around or she won’t. But you can’t afford to spend what little time you have regretting your choices. Let me ask you something: Do you regret the choice you made? Or just Neve?”

I felt silent in contemplation. “I made the right choice,” I said carefully. “Treviso has no defenses, and it’s under occupation by the Antaam. I couldn’t have changed the outcome in Minrathous.” I had to believe that, if nothing else.

Varric squeezed my shoulder, and I pulled back, looking up at him. He smiled with that softness in his eyes that was just reserved for me. He put his thumb and forefinger under my chin so I looked at him. “Then you did the right thing,” he said simply. Carefully, he used his thumbs to wipe my face of tears. “Cheer up, kid. The night may be long, but it isn’t all dark.”

I heard what he said and what he didn’t. Minrathous was doomed to fall some day. We had been fighting a losing battle regardless, much as I hated to leave behind the people there. Half of them were under Venatori control, and the other half were too helpless to fight against it.

“Chin up, Rook. I think the others need you,” he told me.

I nodded, sniffling and wiping the remainder of my tears from my chin and jaw. “I need to talk to Solas.”

“If Chuckles pisses you off too much, hit him for me,” he said as he slid back up to the wall.

I couldn’t help but laugh a bit, shaking my head as I left.

---------------------------------------

“When last we spoke, you were hunting for followers of Elgar’nan and Ghilan’nain in hopes of finding “specifics”. Has your search been successful?” Solas asked.

“You could say that. It looks like both the Venatori and the Antaam are working for Elgar’nan and Ghilan’nain,” I told him.

“Unsurprising. The Venatori want magical secrets, and the Antaam want to destroy anyone opposing their brutal expansion. Both will readily bow to anyone who promises them power.”

“It’s more than a promise this time. The Antaam and the Venatori both have dragons doing their bidding.”

“Dragons?” He said surprised. “That is worse than I had feared.”

“Yeah. We drove off the one the Antaam brought to Treviso—barely,” I crossed my arms.

“Have you determined how the dragons are being directed? If it is blood magic, it may be possible to disrupt their control.”

“The dragons are blighted. We think that’s what let the gods control them.”

“The blight. Of course.”

“The blight seems to be the gods’ favored tool right now. We ran into Venatori who could control darkspawn,” I said.

“Elgar’nan would not bestow such power unless the darkspawn were to serve as the main force of his army. And I suspect Ghilan’nain will see the darkspawn as new subjects for her… modifications.”

“We’ve already run into a few darkspawn nobody has seen before. That’s in addition to the blighted dragons.”

“That is the fate Elgar’nan and Ghilan’nain plan for this world, then. Corruption and blighted slavery,” Solas said, hands clasped behind his back.

“Right… Everyone should be free and uncorrupted when your demons and raw magic kill them,” I narrowed my eyes at him.

“Do you truly believe my goal was to destroy this world?” He asked.

“I believe you’re ‘goal’, like you said, was to transfer the gods to a better prison—the one you’re stuck in now. And you were willing to tear down the Veil and destroy with world while you did so,” I spat.

“The Veil is a wound I cut into the Fade in a moment of desperation while aking their prison. It should not exist. I had a host of spirits ready to help when the Veil fell. They would have minimized the loss of life.”

“Do you have any idea what you sound like? You could’ve actually saved the world from the blight, but instead you chose to kill thousands of people with your vanity project!” I shouted.

“It is not vanity! I broke this world. I am the only one who can fix it!”

His shouting didn’t faze me with the huge ravine and the Fade between us. “Spoken like a god,” I said with all the contempt I felt.

“I am not a god! I am as I have always been: a man, all too aware of his failings… But equally aware that if he did not act, accepting the judgment it would bring, all would be lost. They called me the Dread Wolf. What will they call you, when this is over?” He wondered.

“I don’t care what they call me. If they’re calling me anything, it means they’re still alive. That’s all that matters.”

“Acceptance. You are willing to face the consequences your actions may one day bring, because the world needs you. I believe I can work with that.” He smiled, though it felt anything but sincere. “If the gods are using dragons, you will wish to find someone trained to fight them. Have you unlocked the lighthouse eluvian?”

“Yes. We found the Crossroads. It’s still confusing, though.”

“I cannot help you from in here. You may need to find an expert in the magic of the Fade. And if the Darkspawn are to be Elgar’nan’s army, you will need Grey Wardens to fight them.”

“I’ve got a few of them. Their leaders don’t trust me right now, though.”

“I have faith in you, Rook,” Solas said. “You seem to have a knack for gaining the cooperation of your adversaries.”

---------------------------------------

I woke up in a cold sweat---as I often did these days---to someone thumping against my door. I moved over to it quickly, brows furrowing. When I opened it, I had to catch Lucanis. He was struggling to stand, but when he spoke, it was Spite coming through his teeth.

“The idiot is still bleeding. Help him.”

“Walk with me,” I supported him with his arm over my shoulders, and I led him to my chaise lounge. When he sat, the purple glow from Lucanis’s eyes was gone, and he slumped, unconscious. “Fenedhis.”

I could see the blood seeping through the bandage on his leg, staining his loungewear dark red.

“Gods dammit, Lucanis,” I grumbled. I looked up at his unconscious form, regretting what I was about to do before I could even do it. I reached for the buttons on his pants, undoing them and pulling them down to his knees, keeping my eyes on the bandaged wound.

My fingers fumbled with the knot before finally getting it undone, unraveling it, lifting his boot onto my knee to pull the bandage from under his leg. When I got to the wound, I looked at it with furrowed brows. It looked like there was a piece of jagged rock stuck in there, which would explain why it didn’t clot properly.

I sighed, hovering my hand over the wound and pulling the piece of shrapnel with my magic. Lucanis winced. “Sorry. I’m sorry,” I whispered, putting just a bit more power until it flew up and smacked my palm. I set it with the bandages next to him. “Nasty little thing.”

Carefully, I held my hand over the wound again, pushing warmth into it and watching it seal closed beneath my magic. When it was healed, I stood, moving to my wardrobe for a fresh cloth to clean the blood up on his leg.

Before I came back around, I heard a startled grunt from Lucanis. His chest seized, staring at the wall of the aquarium across from him. I internally panicked, realizing he spent a year in the bottom of the ocean tortured.

I moved around the chaise with the cloth, putting myself into his direct line of sight. He looked up at me with wide brown eyes. “Rook?”

Slowly, he loosed a breath, looking around. “Hey, it’s alright. We’re in my room. Spite brought you here because of your wound.” I knelt down in front of him again, starting to mop up his blood.

“Of course he did,” he grumbled, looking down at his lap. He cleared his throat. “Isn’t it customary to ask before removing a man’s clothes?”

I rolled my eyes, hitting him with the cloth. “Well, I’m glad you’re feeling better. Well enough to clean yourself.” I stood, throwing the cloth at him.

He caught my wrist as I turned away. “Vuelve mi pequeña polilla, I meant nothing by it.”

My cheeks warmed as he crooned in his native language, and I was pulled back to my knees in front of him, resuming to clean his wound. “You had quite a nasty cut. This was keeping it from closing.” I picked up the piece of jagged rock. 

“Mierda,” he cursed, taking it to inspect it. “I wondered.”

“You would be lost without me,” I teased, wiping my hands on the cloth.

“You have no idea,” he muttered.

“I hope the next time we’re like this it’s not because you’re bleeding out,” I grinned, standing and collecting the dirty bandages to dispose of them. I saw Lucanis’s cheeks flush, and I smiled to myself as I left the room to avoid embarrassing him further. I was sure the last thing he wanted was for me to see him indecent and turned on.

❈❈❈

Lucanis pinched the bridge of his nose, looking up at the dancing reflections of water on the ceiling. It was bad enough that he had awoken half naked in a place of his nightmares. But then a complete one-eighty occurred, and he had the woman of his dreams kneeling in front of him with those mismatched eyes and warm smile.

Spite had brought him here, of course he had. And Kalais had just taken care of him like it didn’t take a second thought. And the things she said, mierda, he wished she would stop trailing him like a moth to a flame. It was dangerous, and it wouldn’t end well for either of them. Spite was Lucanis’s only future. To hope for anything else was futile.

Of course that didn’t stop all blood from running southward when she hinted at something more. Something unattainable, something beyond his imagination. Something impossible, and yet all too good for him anyway.

“She. Wants. You!” Spite growled in his ear. “We want. To taste her!” 

“Enough, Spite,” Lucanis said, standing and buttoning his pants. He didn’t look at the demon. He wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

“We. Want. Rook! Why?” he questioned.

Lucanis sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I don’t know why you want Rook. Possibly because she’s the only one who’s kind to you, though I can’t figure out why,” he muttered.

“No! You want her,” he said. “Her touch. Soft. Her hair silk. Her breath warm! Her lips. What do they taste like?”

“Enough!” He snapped. “She is not ours to have.”

❈❈❈

We all met around the fire in the dining hall. I filled everyone in on what Solas had said.

“So this elven god thinks we need a dragon hunter and a Fade expert?” Lucanis asked.

“He’s right about the dragon hunter, at least,” Harding said. “The Shadow Dragons did all the could. The dragon was just too much.” I frowned, staring into the fire. “The moment the dust settled? The Venatori rushed in. Guess they knew it was coming.”

My chest suddenly felt tight again.

“Neve’s staying for now. She said she’ll be back soon, but… At least you took care of yours,” Harding said to me.

“We hurt it, but didn’t kill it. The dragon flew off before we could put it down,” I said.

“Treviso could have used a dragon hunter. That much is true,” Lucanis said.

“Don’t remind me. Fewer people injured, and we wouldn’t have to worry about it coming back.” My brow furrowed, and I crossed my arms over my stomach.

“We shouldn’t forget about Minrathous, either. We need to do what we can to help. Though there’s no telling how long Neve will be helping the Shadow Dragons…” Lucanis added.

“Hey, let’s not get stuck in our regrets, all right?” Varric came hobbling over.

“Hang on a minute,” Davrin interrupted. “Not only have you retained the services of a demon assassin, you’re also taking advice from the elven god who attempted to tear down the Veil.”

“Spite is my problem,” Lucanis said defensively.

“That’s what they always say,” Davrin retorted. “Rook, Lucanis is one thing, but do you really trust this Solas?” He asked.

“Trust is such a strong word, you know?”

“So you don’t trust him.”

“Ehhh.”

“All right then.”

Harding said she would ask around about Dragon Hunters, and Bellara said she would get a message through to a Fade expert immediately.

“See, Rook? Nothing to worry about,” Varric said.

“All right. We all know what to do. Let’s get going,” I said to dismiss them.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A/N: I hope you enjoyed! Let me know if you want to be added to the tag list

Have a good day/night!

Tagged: @colombia-chan @bleummie

[cherriesforheaven]

A needlessly thorough review of DATV so I can move on with my life:

WHAT I LIKED:

The story pacing flows better without all that open world slog from DAI I am not bombarded by 50 side quests that have no baring on anything other than rp flavor

The game is pretty, CC is nice

They gave you far more opportunities to flesh out your Rook's background than in DAI and da2 but it's not as fun has having a mini origin story from DAO

no fall damage and if u run out of a combat zone ur companions follow u too

Hossberg wetlands really remind me of dragon age awakenings and I like the way the blight looks there, it gave me a nice nostalgic feeling for the older games

WHAT I DID NOT LIKE (IN DETAIL)

Voice Acting & Dialogue

It is really hard to be invested in a game that feels the need to recap everything you just experienced from 5 minutes ago, (verging on insulting my intelligence) and the silliest part is while i do hate this I got so checked out after act 2 I needed the recap 

A lot of the dialogue and banter is just empty small talk and meaningless pleasantries that sucked the life out of me, had me longing for the days of hearing Ohgren's beer belches reverberate off the walls in the deep roads:

 Voice acting is really consistent, I hated it when you never knew how your inquisitor would sound in DAI sometimes too serious for a funny comment or like yelling at Cassandra and cullen over nothing - Rook is more consistent but it comes at a loss of personality every line is uttered in the same annoying tone that had me being like damn can he stfu already (da2 was ideal voice acting for me if they cant deliver that again just go back to a voiceless protagonist)

Me whenever my rook opened his mouth: i was getting violent on that skip button

The dialogue between rook and their companions holds it back from being enjoyable at all really- here's some examples:

Emmerich's personal quest in act 2: "I want to do this immortality rite it's a very high honor in my order but rook I might die in the process permanently, I am an orphan and afraid of dying" Rook: "You could die?!?! That's awful". In Origins you can have a conversation with Wynn about her inevitable death and respond in a manner similar to rook and Wynn teases you by saying "well i'm not going to live for ever dear" it made me smile and sad about not being able to really help her. Did not feel that way Emmerich though, Im so uninterested in him as a character my response and feelings are "old people die all the time" and then 'wait why the fuck haven't you done this immortality ritual yet instead dragging me over here to collect some flowers"

Companions & Romance

the flirt options aren't all that flirty, its just rook being nice, all the romance content seems behind a 'romance locked in' moment (that comes in so late in the game u already forgot who u were even flirting with at times) so you can't hop ur way from one bed to another before deciding on 'the forever one' (remember when I could ride the iron bull then break up and be with Cullen- I don't think that’s an option here)

The companions are all pretty forgettable, I did everyone's personal quest (with the exception of Taash tried to kill a dragon for them n failed so bad i just moved on) and forgot there was even an approval system with them or that I was supposed to pick choices for them. It felt like i was on a train going in one direction where it did not matter what I said or did to them they would be fine. It’s like I've lost and gained nothing by doing these quests. The deepest thing I learned about Emmerich is that he is a 50 yr old orphan scared of dying. And it makes me not care all that much about them beyond “I just need you to function enough to get me to the end of the game sure Taash embrace being Rivaini, yes Harding live peacefully w that Titan shit inside you idc… Lucanis..ahh what was ur issue again I forget”

I made Lucanis live peacefully with Spite (stuck as an abomination that's supposed to be as volatile as Anders & Justice) Let Emmerich become a lich and no one batted an eye. Everyone just heehee haw hawing over Emmerich's new skeleton form and I forget about spite a lot unless he comments on something i've killed. Was there supposed to be some moral quandary? to make Emmerich a lich I had to "kill off" Manfred... the walking skeleton who might as well have been a rock with a pair of googly eyes attached to him for all i care

I don’t want to help Bellara light funeral pyres in a puzzle game play style that isnt a deep message about death. I want Aveline's speech about reading her favorite book to her dying father after hawke lost thier mother.

For Neve's romance, it took the whole world falling part and everyone dying for her to kiss me for a 2 time and then pity fuck me and afterword she’s like I’m leaving don’t want to be too distracting. All these lines carry no weight like bad actors w no chemistry

jaw on the floor comparing this (first time I said "i love you" to neve)

to the first time I said it to cullen and how he treats u before the big battle

I get that she isn't lovey dovey but at 70 hrs in and 2 kisses it feels like she just dont love me </3

Combat - as a spellblade mage*

combat was this weird mix of sometimes fun sometimes a new and unique form of human torture (wydm press shift 4 times n hold down e then press V C and 2 IM ON A KEYBOARD!) Once u make it past level 20 u are immortal but ur enemies are sponges I dreaded every single dragon fight despite that being my favorite thing to do in DAI. Don't ever want to see another Ogre in my life they body me into corners that hitting space can't save me from.

At some point u just gotta run around the place a lot hoping ur companions can do the damage for you bc the mobs aren’t interested in them at all. i was spamming 2 n slamming on that E key hopping it would be over n done with already, If i wanted to play a flashy monster hunter game, well then id play tw3 at least that combat is fun.

Lore & Story building

At the end of Trespasser, I was under the impression that the conflict in DATV would revolve around solas amassing an army of elves all over Thedas to rebel against the Evanuris. He had a whole network of Spies working against the Inquisition and the Antaam, and planned to restore the elven people, upend their religious views, and try to tear down the veil as a way of atonement. So I was understanding of there only being 3 import choices ( 1- who you romanced, 2- Save or redeem Solas 3- Disband or Keep inquisition). But that's not the story we get; instead its this??

The veil jumpers are like engineering mages with no ties to Solas beyond being an elves. There is no religious struggle they just seem to accept that these Gods have always been evil and need to be stopped. Solas is just a one man army trapped in the fade off screen for like 70% of the game. Should I have just kept the inquisition around after all? The only mention I got was my disbanded inquisition choice was inky going "my name still carries weight in southern thedas" and it seemed like disbanding or keeping it would have an affect on how easy or hard it would be to stop Solas but no it really doesn't at all

“It doesn’t feel like a Dragon Age game”

A criticism I rarely take seriously because that can mean so many different things? Like what is it the atmosphere? The aesthetics? The “dArK fAnTasy” none of these things have ever stayed consistent in any dragon age game. And I’d say DA franchise lost its teeth/edge when dai rolled around it was pretty light in the world of dark fantasy

However…theyre kinda right this time around....

It doesn’t feel like a dragon age game because they removed a lot of the lore your were exposed to in the previous games to the point where this might as well be another game all together. (i am not even a lore nerd but i do need something there to feel like i am in a dragon age game)

Yes the city is named Minrathos you were are told of its cultural significance and history as the seat of the empire but looks like a shittier version of kirkwall (and I kept getting lost going around the map so I hated it even more for wasting my time) Honestly the city felt super high tech and out of place in a fantasy setting imo, I missed it when everyone lived in a wooden hovel in the middle of the woods.

There is no reason for the venatori to follow Elgarnan and ghilian'nan or for the Qunari either but it all gets hand waved away with "they offered us power"

Reading the Inquisitors letters made me feel like im in a spinoff game and the real story is happening somewhere else. And sad to like baby take me with you!! i want to save u from this nightmare

A lot of the factions are sanitized to the point of being boring Darvin's little 'we're warden we don't do blood magic that's just not right" baby I let the wardens sacrifice elves to Corphyeus 3 weeks ago :/

Qunari Culture

So the whole reason you were fighting the Antaam in DAI was because they believed you were in cahoots with Solas, who's whole plan to them is to sow chaos and disorder- that is a HUGE no no in the Qun so they see it as their sacred duty to stop you. The Qunari we meet in DATV mindless npc mooks who attack you not because your with Solas but because the Evil elven gos promised them uhh power n shit for stopping you. Like I know I did not just waste my time in DAI reading about how egalitarian the Qun is everyone is like a Hive, they depend on each other so selfishness is rooted out so wtf was going on in Treviso with these guys. A whole culture decimated down to being darkspawn mobs part 2

What made me never want to play another DA game ever again:

Everything you ever did in Orlais, Ferelden, Kirkwall is pointless. No matter what the last letter from the Inquistor is "yeah the blight reached the south Denerim is gone, ferelden is blighted beyond repair, we took back Skyhold but barely. The Venatori disposed of whoever you put in charge of Orlais and there's giant leviathans rising out the sea in Ostwick"  There is no conclusion to this it's just the state of the world now

I cant even pretend my non solas romanced Inky is happy and safe after all this? My hof and Alistar might as well be dead for all that it ever mattered. I get that the devs wanted a clean slate but did they have to burn my house down and salt the fields? It feels so spiteful and mean, like they wanted to make a whole separate game and tack on the "dragon age" title to it for money. If they're not interested in the lore or world building why should I? it made me fully checked out of the rest of the story. Like damn idgaf about elgar'nan and the other one give me back Redcliff

TLDR I dont know if i should be sad that I still care about this or glad its over either way im blocking all datv tags n moving on

[ximmortalis]

Emmrich Volkarin/Rook: Revelation.

Part one.

Summary:

They stare at one another for what feels like an eternity; normally she would have conceded by now but this time she isn’t going to let Viago walk all over her. She’s had enough of that.

‘’You wouldn’t have to, if I could trust your judgement.’’

Just like that the embers of her rage sear once again; Rook stands her body tense and jaw clenched tightly. Viago has the audacity to look relaxed; a smug look on his face knowing that he’s pissed her off and gotten a reaction out of her. He just can’t help himself but twist the knife even more.

‘’Going to stop mid battle so that he can plough you against the nearest surface? Like that night?’’

The burn inside of her turns to ice.

Rook feels like she can’t breathe.

A/N: Mentions of past non-con.

Teia watches as Viago paced back and forth an amused smirk on her face as she takes a sip of wine. She lounged comfortably, listening as Viago rants, from what she can gather he’s talking about Rook – when is he never talking about Rook. Contrary to belief despite his cold exterior, he’s nothing more than a big softie and cares about the young Crow. Teia had been with him when Rook had no choice but to leave and saw how badly it affected him, his mood had been soured for months, and many were at the receiving end of his venomous tongue.

‘’A Mortalitasi!’’

‘’Come now Viago, she is a grown woman.’’

‘’He might as well had snatched her from the cradle!’’

He stops abruptly with his hands on his hips and stands silently, Teia bites back a laugh clearly enjoying being witness to his crazed outburst. Viago lets out a grumble before turning on his heel and walking away.

‘’Where are you going?’’

‘’To see Rook!’’

Teia puts down her wine and follows him. “Idiota!”

Rook and her companions are sharing a rare evening of peace, an assortment of meats, cheeses and wine spread on the table. She’s sat on the floor, back resting against Emmrich’s legs, he never did understand her preference to do so. Taking a hearty sip of her wine, she’s engrossed in one of Davrin’s stories. Assan curled in her lap lets out a purr as she strokes his feathers. Manfred hisses loudly enjoying playing out his role of an angry Hurlock, full of dramatic flair that he’d clearly picked up from Emmrich. Davrin is about to deliver the killing blow, when the thudding of footsteps sound from the stairs.

It’s a very flushed Viago who is closely followed by an apologetic looking Teia.

“Rook, a word.” When she doesn’t move his jaw clenches, “Privately.”

With a roll of her eyes Rook stands and hands her wine to Emmrich, their fingers brushing as he gives her a concerned look. She smiles at him sweetly, hand grazing his shoulder as she walks by. Sauntering over to Viago, her arm sweeps in the direction of the stairs.

“After you.”

On her way up the stairs, she catches Lucanis ‘what’s up with him’ look and she shrugs her shoulders. She hopes that its nothing serious but for him to venture through the crossroads to get to the lighthouse, it’s a cause for concern. However, his frustration is clear, and it’s aimed in her direction. She ushers him inside her room, he strides inside and stands in the middle of her room like he owns it. His silhouette illuminated by the aquarium. Rook stands behind the sofa, arms crossed against her chest; they both stare at one another for a while. Tension building in the air, Rook waits wanting him to show her the cards he holds.

‘’The Mortalitasi.’’

She doesn’t care for his tone; the way he says it with such repugnance. Regardless of her relationship with Emmrich, she will not tolerate it.

‘’Emmrich is a Mourn Watcher, a Senior one at that and an expert of the Fade. I will not stand for disrespect towards any of my team.’’

Viago laughs, ‘’Senior is the correct way I would describe him.’’

And there it is.

Of course, once again Viago comes to judge her for the choices she makes; Rook is sure that he forgets she is a fully grown woman.

‘’Who I choose to be in a relationship with is of no concern to you.’’

‘’He is twice your age!’’

Rook shrugs, ‘’Your point?’’

Her dismissive tone is like a flame to a barrel of gaatlok and the tension between them explodes. It’s a battle between them and Rook isn’t backing down. They stand toe to toe; she can feel the spittle from his words on her face. An inferno blazes between them burning with intense rage and the long-standing feud fuels it.

Outside, her companions sit shocked. They’ve never heard Rook lose her cool like this, even in times of high stress where she’d had spoken in a cold and calculated manner; her voice raising only a few octaves when her frustration gets the better of her. This is a whole different level, it’s a clash of outraged voices, words spat at each other with no care of how they land. The colourful words coming out of Rooks mouth is enough to make even the most stoic of persons’ blush.

‘’Ten gold that Rook kicks his ass,’’ Davrin offers with a smirk on his face. Bellara cringes when Rook uses a particular vulgar swear, much to Taash’s delight.

‘’CROW. HAS. FANGS!’’ Spite cackles.

‘’We should check on them, right?’’ Harding full of concerns asks to which Taash shakes her head, ‘’That’s like fighting a dragon in her den, you’ll just get mangled.’’

‘’Taash is right,’’ Neve speaks, ‘’Wouldn’t want to get in the middle of that.’’

Emmrich would like if the Fade swallowed him up whole right now; he’s actively avoiding eye contact with everyone in the room. With the term Mortalitasi being thrown around it doesn’t take much of a detective to work out who they are talking – well screaming, about.

‘’Why does it matter so much to you,’’ A finger jabs into his chest, ‘’Of who I chose to be with?’’

Viago pushes her back while shooting her a look of disbelief, ‘’A man like him couldn’t possibly- ‘’

‘’Love me?’’  

Rook lets out a humourless laugh, ‘’You don’t think I question that myself? How possibly a man such as him, a man who is kind, gentle and patient could even spare a glance my way?’’

Her anger deflates and she lets out a breath as her body sags down onto the couch, Viago stays standing arms crossed against his chest.

‘’If anything, he is more than what I deserve,’’ Rook looks at Viago, ‘’I don’t have to explain my choices to you.’’

They stare at one another for what feels like an eternity; normally she would have conceded by now but this time she isn’t going to let Viago walk all over her. She’s had enough of that.

‘’You wouldn’t have to, if I could trust your judgement.’’

Just like that the embers of her rage sear once again; Rook stands her body tense and jaw clenched tightly. Viago has the audacity to look relaxed; a smug look on his face knowing that he’s pissed her off and gotten a reaction out of her. He just can’t help himself but twist the knife even more.

‘’Going to stop mid battle so that he can plough you against the nearest surface? Like that night?’’

The burn inside of her turns to ice.

Rook feels like she can’t breathe.

All her instincts tell her to move as the panic inside of her builds; her mind screaming at her to run, to find safety, to go to Emmrich. She fights against them, she won’t let Viago take her place of safety away from her. Breathing slow and deep to quell the fear that nips at her heels, just like Emmrich taught her but it’s not working; the more Viago speaks the worse it becomes. She wants to yell at him to shut up, but the words are lodged in her throat. The sound of his voice no longer reaches her ears, replaced by a buzzing.

She wants – no needs Emmrich.

He can make it better.

Make her feel safe.

But she can’t her body won’t move pinned in place by the look of disappointment on Viago’s face. It all feels scarily familiar; she isn’t in the safety of her room anymore; she’s back at the night her life was effectively taken from her. Back with a furious Viago who she just wants to look at her and see the marks that litter her body, the pain she feels. How she wants to just be held and told that everything will be okay.

Look at me. Look at me. Look at me!

Rook opens her mouth to tell him to stop but the words that come out are not by her own choosing.

‘’I was raped.’’

Viago freezes at her words and the air around them becomes stagnant; for a long time, he just stands and stares directly at her, expressionless. He looks at her, sees the dissociated look in her eyes. Rook might be looking directly at him, but she is looking through him.

‘’Rook.’’

‘’That night, on the recon mission. I was watching for the target.’’ She whispers, ‘’He grabbed me from behind.’’

In slow and brutal details, she recounts the events of what happened speaking in a whisper throughout. She looks like a small, traumatized child and it makes Viago’s heart clench painfully in his chest. How could he have missed this? The answer was obvious he had been too furious to hear her out, when she’d hadn’t turned up at the agreed meeting spot with the information, they needed to complete the assignment, he remembers the white-hot rage that churned in his stomach. When she finally showed he released holy hell on her, it was clear that his anger had blinded him.

He calls her name as he slowly approaches her, but she’s too far gone locked away in the prison of her own mind. Breathing sharp and fast, afraid so very afraid. This is new territory for him, Viago has seen her express many emotions but fear; his Crow has always been undeterred and has stared death square in the face and smiled. Now, she stands in front of him adrift in a sea of terror; with silent tears streaming down her face.

Once again, he calls her name and she doesn’t answer, so he tries one last attempt.

‘’ Piccolina.’’

Like a flipped switch the light returns to her eyes, and she looks at him.

‘’You haven’t called me that in years.’’

Rook wipes the tears from her face taking a moment to press the palms of her hands against her eyes, her head pounds with each beat of her heart. Mostly taking a moment to gather herself, she had no intention of telling Viago the truth of what happened that night, despite it not being his intention he’s forced it out of her. She feels utterly exhausted and can’t gather the energy to be angry anymore. A silence has filled the room, but it feels suffocating, uncomfortable even; yet she finds herself unwilling to break it. Viago looks at her with sadness in his eyes, there is a guilt there embedded within.

‘’You,’’ He licks his lips, ‘’You never told me.’’

‘’You never gave me a chance to.’’

It comes out harsher than she intended but she can’t bring herself to care.

‘’I was embarrassed, let someone get the drop on me.’’ Rook looks down a scowl on her face, ‘’Some crow I am.’’

Viago pulls her in for a bone crushing hug which for a moment startles her, his hold on her tight. The aroma of his aftershave assaults her senses, but she finds a familiar comfort in the smell of it. He murmurs in his own language as his hand pets down her hair. His mind reels as it puts together everything, how her behaviour changed so dramatically, he understands now why she was so angry and disobedient and why she held no respect for him. He recalls each violent spat between them; Rook had been showing him that something was wrong for years, but he ignored her, favouring to be blind to it all.

If he had only gone further back in into his investigation of that night.

Rook had given him no reason to not trust her, he should have known that something had gone wrong.

He failed her.

‘’You are my best, a pride to House De Riva. I failed you as your Talon and for that I am sorry.’’

Its words that she’s wanted to hear come from him for years, although it doesn’t take the pain away, doesn’t solve the issues that they have in their relationship. It’s a step in the right direction.

Viago takes a small step back keeping a loose hold on her upper arms and keeps her close.

‘’The Mort- ‘’ She shoots him a point look and he clears his throat, ‘’Emmrich.’’

‘’Yes, he knows, and he’s helped me a lot.’’

Viago nods, ‘’What can I do?’’

‘’You listened Viago, there is not much else you can do.’’

She knows that he isn’t satisfied with her answer, but he accepts it, nonetheless.

‘’Teia will know something is wrong, you can tell her but nobody else.’’

‘’Teia wont –‘’

‘’Please,’’ Rook interrupts, ‘’The woman knows you better than you know yourself.’’

The offended look that he gives her makes her break out into a fit of giggles and he can’t help but smile.

‘’Go home Viago, let me know of any troubles back home.’’

He squeezes her arm as a way to say goodbye before making his way to the door; he pauses for a moment looking over to her once more. ‘’Don’t die out there, Rook.’’

It’s as close to an ‘I love you’ she will ever get from him, a bit to sweet of an ending for her tastes so she can’t help but mess with him just a little.

‘’Don’t worry, I’ve left my corpse to Emmrich.’’

Viago looks at her in utter horror, stumbling over his words before he finally raises his hand waving it at her, ‘’I don’t want to know.’’

He can still hear her laughter as he reaches the top of the stairs.

All eyes are on him as he descends but he pretends not to notice; he keeps his head held high. Like Rook said he can’t hide from the knowing look that Teia gives him, he shakes his head and motions with his hand as if to say ‘later’.

Emmrich keeps his eyes on him, now stood with his shoulders squared; poised with a look of discontent on his face. Despite his age, he looks intimidating – not that he frightens Viago, but it is clear that he isn’t happy. It’s eerily like he knows what transpired upstairs. Just before Viago leaves to go down the stairs to the Eluvian he sends a knowing nod Emmrich’s way; which the Mourn Watcher returns before making his way to Rook.

Emmrich finds her lied on the couch an arm slung over her face; he isn’t quiet on his approach to avoid startling her.

‘’Dearest?’’

Her arm moves from her face, he can see the redness in her eyes and the tightness in her brow. She reaches for him guiding him to where she wants him, he’s sat down with her head in his lap; a hand pressed to her forehead as he lets his magic slowly seep out to ease the pounding inside. Rook relaxes and lets out a satisfied hum as the pain dissipates.

‘’I told him.’’

‘’How do you feel about that?’’

Rook shrugs her shoulders, ‘’I don’t know, better? Kind of.’’

She isn’t lying she does feel better but it’s not the same lightness from when she told Emmrich. More will come from this, and she knows it; as Emmrich sees this as something that happened, Viago will see it as something he needs to fix. However, he can’t fix this, it isn’t a contract that he can finish.

‘’His intentions although misguided, come from a good place my love.’’

Rook smiles, ‘’Reading my mind, are we?’’

‘’Of course not, just an educated deduction.’’

She smiles up at him, one of her hands finding the back of his neck and she gently pulls him closer, meeting him halfway for a soft kiss. Rook sits up so she can better sit in Emmrich’s lap, and they stay like this for a long while; with no words exchanged between them, just intertwined, sharing feather soft touches.

Upon the return to Treviso, it’s evidently clear that something still plagues Viago, he’s pacing, running his hands through his hair and talking to himself. There is a tension in his posture that unease’s Teia; the last time she saw him like this was when Rook had to be sent away.

‘’Whatever is the matter, Viago?’’

He stares out of the window, ‘’Do you remember the contract we had for the commissioner, the one I sent Rook out on for recon?’’

Teia approaches him a look of confusion on her face but nods; of course, she remembers that contract and how badly it had gone due to them not having the information that they needed.

‘’She got hurt,’’ He croaks out, ‘’A man, put his hands on her.’’

Her hand clutches his shoulder, and she shakes him, ‘’What do you mean Viago?’’

Viago doesn’t speak his eyes bore into hers and the longer he stays silent the more frantic that Teia becomes.

‘’He-,’’ Viago takes a deep breath, ‘’He forced himself on her.’’

One moment she’s stood eyes wide looking at him and then the next she is on him like a wild animal. Landing several smacks on his face; fists pounding into his shoulders and chest, throwing insults at him. Her anger isn’t unjustified; Teia had told him that something was wrong, but he had ignored her. He overruled her decision to set out to look for Rook, causing her to leave. They didn’t speak for weeks after. She moves away from him; collapsing on the couch and finds her abandoned glass of wine and chugs the contents in one go. Viago joins her pouring his own glass and refills hers.

‘’She’s kept this to herself for years,’’ Teia speaks emotion in her voice, ‘’Dealt with it alone.’’

Her statement is full of blame, and it’s aimed towards him.

They sit in silence, but Viago’s mind is loud as he thinks of a way to do something about this. He was the one who train Rook, she was perfect, and he wasn’t selling her short when he said she was the best. Rook had always thrown herself into training with enthusiasm.

It couldn’t have been just anyone.   

‘’Teia, who else was on that contract?’’

As sharp as ever Teia is on the same wavelength as him, ‘’I’ll get the names.’’

She leaves him and he goes back to the many unanswered questions; there is a lot that he doesn’t have the answers too.

However, Viago knows one thing.

Only another Crow could be responsible.  

[plasticfreckles]

🪶 rookanis origin story feat. davrin enjoy 🪶

"Is anyone else hungry? Maybe I should cook something."

Lucanis doesn't even get to finish his sentence before the sound of Rook's rumbling tummy drowns his words out entirely. So that's a yes on the question.

Rook wraps both arms over her belly, her blush even visible on her tan skin in the candlelight.

Davrin says something to her, but Lucanis' mind is already on the food. The dough he'd made in the morning should be good to go; if there's still some lardon left, maybe a firecake.

Rook sits down in the chair next to Davrin, kicks off her sage green friulanes and pulls up her legs to hug her knees as she answers.

"Neve and Harding didn't tell you about our hunt for Solas, then?"

Funny how her voice halts all other thoughts in his mind and makes him hone in on the sound of it, now.

"They don't tell it the way you would."

She hides her shy smile behind her knees.

"I mean, it ended with the elven god of lies in my head. Is that enough to win the 'worst job' contest?"

"You're joining us, then?" Rook nods, then hits her chin on her kneecap so hard it audibly knocks her teeth together. She holds her jaw in both hands like a scraped elbow.

"Fine," Lucanis says, and puts down his coffee cup. "I'll cook something, if Rook's staying."

"Oh, you don't have to cook just because I'm here," Rook mumbles into her fingers. "I was gonna get some fruit and chocolate to melt."

He doesn't tell her his mind about cooking was made up the second she walked through the door.

"It's no trouble. I have some overdue dough sitting around, anyway."

"Can I help?"

"No, no. You sit down. Let me get you some juice." Davrin groans and takes a generous swig of sugar rum straight from the bottle.

Lucanis had forgotten he's even there.

"Gods, you two are gross."

Lucanis can feel Rook's eyes on him as he walks to his dough basket, and knows the way she's relaxing into her seat, hears the playfulness in her voice as she retorts.

"We're not doing anything!" A creak, as someone leans over and plucks some fruit from the platter. The sound of the fabric makes him think it's Rook; satin snagging on woodsplint.

"Exactly. Don't even wanna know what you get up to when you're alone."

"What we're getting up to when we're alone is no business of yours!" Her tone simmers down. "Lucanis, could you pass me the blanket, since you're already up, please?"

"You're sitting on it." Lucanis sets down her quince juice, steadies her with a hand on her elbow as she hovers mid-air and pulls the fabric out from under herself. Davrin groans again and takes another sip of rum.

"Rook," Davrin says, after both of them hover near each other for an amount of time it became awkward even to Lucanis, who needs to share her space like he needs air to breathe. "Antaam. Go."

Rook does that elf thing with her eyes, where she both blinks and flicks her irises back and forth at such an odd pace he can witness both actions frame per frame. She's annoyed with Davrin. When Lucanis returns to his kitchentop, to roll out his dough and spread the cream ferment on it, she settles back into her chair and fidgets with the tassels on her blanket.

"Well, I got off a contract, went back to the Diamond, and passed these unreasonably large Antaam rounding up civilians. Asked them why."

"You asked the Antaam why they rounded up people of the city they occupy?"

Rook sniffs. Lucanis wants to sniff, too, but for him, it's because of the shallots he's chopping up. First Trevisan batch of the year is always so full of oils.

"No. I asked the civilians. We were close to the canal openings, just outside Drowned Treviso, so I figured they were begging for scraps or peddling what little belongings they had left."

"That's a shit reason to arrest somebody," Davrin replies, as though the Wardens have any leverage to judge people's arrests.

"Yeah, but at least it is a reason. Someone somewhere cared enough about - I don't know, reputation or some shit - to pull some half-cocked explanation out of their ass. Even if it's just I never fucked a knife-ear and you're unfortunately the first one I came across." There's a familiar bitterness in her words that makes Lucanis turn from his firecake and look at her.

He's the human heir to the First Talon of the Antivan Crows. He tends to forget the hardships of others - especially elves that aren't under Crow protection.

"But no. Nothing. No reason at all. Girl I asked was hysterical. The Antaam closest to us smacked her so hard she went flying. Broke her nose landing and everything. And then I lost it." Rook laughs, suddenly, glances over at Lucanis, flour on his fingers and holding onto the ovenpaddle.

"Imagine being an Antaam occupying Treviso and not knowing how to deal with Crows. Five Oxmen twice my height in under three minutes. Personal record."

Davrin whistles. Rook carries on without a care. Oh, not an uncomfortable laugh, then. Lucanis returns to shoving the firecakes in the oven.

"Anyway, it turns out - Lucanis, what are you doing? I thought you said snacks, not second dinner."

"Coffee," he replies, shrugging. Some of the water in the kettle spills to the floor. "The residual heat from the oven will make the water boil faster."

"What are you making, anyway?"

When Rook wanders over to the stove, Davrin trails behind her.

"Firecakes. I had some sourdough leftover from the bread. Quick and easy."

"Wicked."

Davrin reaches past Lucanis, grabs the cheap white cooking wine from the shelf and retreats back to the coffee table.

"Rook. What did it turn out?"

"Hmm?" She tears her eyes away from Lucanis' forearms. What is it with her and his forearms? It makes him both relieved and ashamed he hasn't inherited the Dellamortes' extra hairy arms.

"Before you got your eyes stuck on your boytoy like teens in the hay-" Rook scoffs. Lucanis could swear she rolls her ears as well as her eyes. "You said your Losing It turned something out. What was it?"

"Oh." She takes the seasondish and walks back over. She sits back in her seat, but Davrin's no longer in his - he'd moved over, so Rook and himself could sit together.

Lucanis might just get him a good wine next time he goes for groceries.

"Turns out a couple of those folks rounded up by the Antaam were in fact planted by the Talons. They were supposed to figure out where their cells are."

"That sounds like a suicide mission."

"I agree." When Lucanis presents her with a plate of firecake, she spares him a small, grateful smile that somehow outshines the Rivaini sun on polished gold. "Think that I actually said that in front of the other Talons was what got Viago to oust me. Of course I mess up one time and that's when he decides to get a big head about stabbing his own mother."

"He killed his own mother?"

Rook and Lucanis shrug in unison. He knows this without looking over to her because her shrug moves her blanket and with it, the tassels that Spite started chewing on the second she sat back down. Lucanis hopes she won't notice the wet.

"Normal Crow ascension. Also, not the point of the story. Oh, this is good. The dill really puts a spin on it I didn't expect."

"Well," he says. "Most everything's better with dill on it." Her elbow digs in the skin of his forearm. It hurts, just a little, at the wound that never really healed that he doesn't care to cut back open to properly sew it shut.

Despite it being his dominant hand, he can't close cuts with his right to save anyone's life.

Rook smiles and agrees with him all the same.

"So what is the point of the story?" Davrin doesn't stop eating to ask. His S'es get worn down with his biting off his cake slice while talking.

"Hm? Oh, Varric was with those uprounded folks. Tracked me down and recruited me to hunt down his old pal who needs a stern talking-to. Not like I had anything better to do. Or anywhere else to go."

Lucanis turns to look at her. The kettle's wheezing, and his own firecake slices are growing cold, but it doesn't matter.

Not when his question is burning on his mind like that.

"How did that make you his second-in-command?" Rook leans on his shoulder, without a care in the world. Takes another bite and turns to look up at him.

Lucanis finds he doesn't mind her affections in front of others. He finds he doesn't even know why he would care to.

"Fuck if I know. But it turned out all right in the end. I met you, didn't I?"

How could he mind it, if it drives Davrin up the wall like that?

🪶

powered by i don't know how to feed myself ✌️

davrin seems like the kinda guy to do that bts namjoon pissy jawpop thing ⏬️

the jawpop thing i find so incredibly sexy and due to my rona-induced hyperfixation with bts I've had for like a whole entire year that made me adopt the jawpop thing

[~rina]

[mx-pastelwriting]

Just wanna show off my Rook!

This is my second game play (We don't talk about my first rook :)).

Spoilers up ahead!

Isn't she pretty~ Pronouns are She/Her and is Non-Binary! Also is a mage.

Her name is Lavellan! Yes, that's her first name. Why? Let's get to her backstory I made in my crazy little head! NOT CANON (I know my made-up backstory for her isn't going to make sense with the game's timeline, but let's pretend it's more than ten years!)

Lavellan's backstory (In my head) is that she is a Shadow Dragon being adopted as a foundling with an unknown origin found only with the name "Lavellan" attached to her (A name or filing marker from being stolen??). Her adoptive parents, wanting her to have as much of her Elven origin as possible, kept it as her name.

Raised in a military family, later joining the Shadow Dragons before meeting Varric. Varric, trying to find traces of Solas, hears about a child born months after his disappearance, along with echoes of the inquisitor's mourning of a child (Mourning or cries of her child having been kidnapped?).

If you haven't pieced it together by now, yes, my backstory for my Rook is that she is the secret love child of my Inquisitor and Solas…🧍I don't care if the timeline doesn't make sense.

Of course neither Solas nor the Inquisitor, or even Rook, knows when coming face to face, but Varric does as soon as he finds her, seeing both Solas and the Inquisitor in her face, bringing back old memories of fighting alongside Solas and the Inquisitor. (I wanted to spice up my second gameplay, so I created all of this on the support beam of a toothpick.)

I tried my best to give her their looks. Giving her a similar vallaslin to her mother. Also, it doesn't show much, but her eyes are a mix of Solas's purple eyes and her mother's amber eyes.

Now what features are from who? Jaw and some of her shin came from Inky. Eyes and hair color are from Solas. Color in the cheeks and cheek plumpness are from Inky, though cheekbones are from Solas. Lip shape from Solas and plumpness from Inky. Finally, the eyebrows being the shape of Solas's and Inky's thinness.

My Inquisitor before and after:

Definitely had a glow up! I took more time on this Inky compared to my first playthrough.

Meeting her mother. (My headcanon for this scene is that the Inquisitor, when looking at Rook, feels some kind of connection but can't put her finger on it with all that is going on with the world; she can't think on it too much, sadly.)

Now meeting Pop Pop. (Also feeling a connection with Rook when looking at her but thinks it's because she has similar features as the Inquisitor, so doesn't think on it anymore than that as two tyrant gods are running around.)

Last thoughts. No Solas or the Inquisitor or even Rook would ever know they are related. Though when Solas and the Inquisitor when in the Fade, they would comment on Rook's features and the name, but they have other things to do and passes the name off as a clan thing.

The Inquisitor would open up to Solas about both of them having a child out there somewhere in the world, not knowing if they are alive or dead, but with them both having painful wounds still open needing to be healed, the topic would drop off, but the thoughts and questions would still linger in their heads.

NOW ROMANCE!! Bit of Spoilers!!!

Romancing Lucanis this time around, as my first playthrough, I romanced Emmrich. Which was amazing! But my jaw is dropping with this scene, so I'm excited to see what's next!

I haven't gotten that far in the romance or game, so I don't have the great ending clip (Solavellan ending) just yet, but I'll post it when I get there if my console doesn't shit the bed on me again. yes again. I'm still bitter.

Thank you for reading my rambles! Hope you had fun reading it!

Heres more gifs of my Rook! GIF DUMP!!!

The lie detector test determined that you are the father!

[ofcrowsanddragons]

Paradox and archetype!

Mags de Riva on blood magic:

Thank you for the ask! I'm always happy to answer. (Mags de Riva lives in a gothic horror story, so the Literary Asks are a lot of fun for them! See the list here and ask your own.)

#12. Paradox: What’s Rook’s opinion on Blood magic? Would they or have they ever participated in blood magic (casting it, providing blood for it, was it their own or someone else's)? (Morality)

I actually feel like this is best answered with a couple of excerpts. Keep in mind that Lucanis, below, is using an alias:

“Did you actually just ask me if I use blood magic?” I asked him, incredulous. “Is that a question you throw at everyone you work with, or am I just special?” “I wasn't asking,” he said, with that pull of the lips that made me think that this was the smile he used when discussing the bloody end of a contract. “It’s subtle, but the veil grows thinner when you use your magic the way you did.”

And in response to "I'm not judging you, I just need to know what your limits are:"

“I kill people with electricity!” I told him, with increasing volume. “I’m given a contract, and then I load the victim up with lightning bolts until they’re dead. Sometimes there’s stabbing, bludgeoning, drowning, poisoning and on special occasions, mutilation of a corpse for the purpose of sending a message.”

Which doesn't particularly answer the question!

This being gothic horror, we very slowly start to realize exactly what Mags has been doing to themselves, as they notice a particular type of magic attached to their mother's locket:

There was nothing safe to say. I hadn’t been paying close enough attention, and the lapse had been incredibly stupid on my part. Now that I knew to look for it, I could see the memory charm woven into the chain the pendant was attached to, and I tried not to think about the only type of magic that should have been able to lock away that important of a memory.

#24. Archetype: Describe what another character might notice about your Rook physically. (Physicality)

It really depends on the character that Mags is portraying at any given time! Mags is a chameleon, although obviously certain physical traits aren't going anywhere: they're not particularly tall, they have fairly delicate features and they are perpetually dealing with their quite curly hair.

Their features are also very elven, although technically you can hide the ears.

Mags can appear as a bumbling scribe (a boy who might look too young to be a journeyman), a confident woman, or an exceptionally dangerous man. It's all in the body language—more so than the clothes, even.

As a Crow, they're leather and knives and the smell of ink on parchment. And they want to make the world better than it is: preferably by creating the opportunities that other people can choose to take. Sometimes, that means a knife into someone's heart.

[phoenixspencer]

HELLO I am here to harass u about your rooks

For Seneca: Hierophant, Justice, Hanged Man, World

also may inquire about The High Priestess and Death for Re'vhen? 👉👈

Thank you for your questions, bestie 🥰 prepare for a long post here!

The Hierophant: Is Rook religious? How do they feel about the religious organizations that impact their life the most?

Seneca isn't religious - even before they found out the elven gods were just powerful mages, they had always thought that the stories were more myth than fact. As for how they feel about the organizations - the main one that impacts them is the Imperial Chantry, which they mostly ignore. Except for their boss secretly being the Black Divine, but that's neither here nor there. With elven religion, the only mother figure they ever had was the elven slave that their master gave them to to raise, and she had believed in the elven gods - so they respected the religion and heard many of the stories from her to calm them down enough to sleep at night. The Qun never really impacted them much in Tevinter, but they heard enough about the way the Qunari treated mages to feel anxious when it was mentioned.

Justice: How does Rook feel about the circumstances that led to them leaving their faction? What does returning feel like?

Seneca will go to their grave knowing with certainty they did the right thing. They would sacrifice themselves a hundred times over if they saved even one person from slavery. But they also understand why they needed to leave. They're still a wanted runaway slave themselves, if any of the magisters had figured out who they actually are it could've been disastrous for them, the other Shadow Dragons, and all the people they're protecting. And there's little better than the feeling of returning to the Shadows - they know they're saving the world with the Veilguard and to save more people in Tevinter, the world has to come first, but they missed Minrathous dearly. It's the only home they've ever known and the Shadow Dragons are their family.

The Hanged Man: What does Rook do when their hard work doesn't pay off? How do they cope with failure?

If it's not a complete loss, Seneca will try again and again and again, until they have nothing left to give or they finish what they started. They're stubborn as a bull and loyal as a dog. And always refuse to quit, especially if it's a cause close to them (like freeing slaves). If it's something they can't come back from, they cope the same way they cope with most things - bottle the feelings up and joke it off, until the bottle bursts and they have a breakdown.

The World: What does happily-ever-after look like for Rook? Is it attainable, or just wishful thinking?

A true happily-ever-after for Seneca would be one where they could settle down with the person they love (Lucanis) and not have to worry about people living as slaves in Tevinter - a Tevinter free of slavery and Venetori is all they want in this world. And with where they are at the end of the game, it seems closer than it ever has been. For the first time in their life, they think they might live to see it happen. They are already settling down with Lucanis, the pair spending their time between Treviso and Minrathous, and with the new archon... it seems possible, and that is thrilling to them. They're already half way there.

The High Priestess: Which does Rook obey more: their head or their heart?

He's constantly overthinking things, so his head is what he listens to the most. If he could plan out every step of his life, write it down in a little journal and just follow that for the rest of his days, he would. He wishes he could be more impulsive, and be better at making decisions on the fly, but his brain wants to know every angle before he makes a decision and it makes it difficult for him when he has so make split second decisions - especially when they end up with someone getting hurt. His anxiety gets the better of him and tells him that if he'd only thought more that it all could have been avoided, even if that's not the case.

Death: What part of Rook do they need to kill to become the best version of themselves?

For Re'vhen, he has to kill his obsession with his own past - he holds on to everything that he's done wrong and it holds him down. He sits up at night questioning how things could have gone better, how he could have changed things, when - often times - they were completely out of his control. He also struggles to move further in his transition out of fear of change. He knows he is a man, has wanted to be a man for a long time, but his anxiety over the drastic changes, that niggling little "what if I'm faking it?" in the back of his mind, and clinging to what is left of his family relationships after their poor reactions to him coming out have all made it difficult for him to move further than social transition and hormones, no matter how much he wants to feel fully himself in his body. I've been roleplaying that (with the help of the other trans characters in Veilguard), he comes more to terms with himself and his identity and pushes further into his transition as the story progresses.

The questions are HERE if anyone else wants to ask something 🥰

[dorian-kaffas-pavus]

So I'm cemented into playing this whole game and ending it with my Crow!Rook, an Elf named Roric.

It was my first file before I got distracted by Emmrich and left Lucanis in the dust to see what a) romancing bone peepaw was like and b) to save Tevinter. My other favorite city *god damn you bioware-*

Lucanis was SO. SAD. So fucking sad. Sad in his little pantry saying he needed time and AGH. I had seen him happy in my first file so I was like 'WAIT NO THIS SUCKS-'

Like spoiler: it's AWFUL to sacrifice Tevinter. There's a lot of blood and bodies. Treviso gets it better(????) with a poisoned water supply because at least they could leave and not be hunted like dogs and executed. But this one little sad short king--who I wasn't even that crazy about! At least I thought I wasn't--made me 'time chamber go to past' myself back to where I gotta wade through bodies and blood in Tevinter...but my apparent blorbo is fine.

I can not express how much the man snuck up on my ass and made me a fan of his. I didn't!! Like him!! When he popped out of that prison I was like ':\ oh so this is the Crow guy' and I didn't care about his voice. I wasn't even that interested in Spite.

But now *but now* I can't leave the man alone. He has arrested my attention utterly. Who is this sweet man?? He kills people?? He keeps up with everyone and makes sure they're fed and okay. He talks about murder like it's a business (I'm into it, I've got the mercantile autism). He is SO. FUCKING. LOVING. To strangers, practically! He's not brooding, he's holding himself together with string chewing gum and paperclips as the passenger in his brain screams at its own ass like a raccoon that thinks every sensation is something to eat--a tiny toddler going 'MCDONALDS MCDONALDS MCDONALDS' in the back seat of his conscious.

I'm just shaking him every time in my party with Taash like 'how dare you, how dare you become my new obsession'

[mamamittens]

She ends up writing a soft confession/rejection letter and, since Lucanis is VERY THOROUGHLY AVOIDING HER she decides to go to Lace (Rook suggested knowing DAMN WELL LACE IS A FUCKING GOSSIP but also EXTREMELY PROTECTIVE) and Nyla is proven very wrong in deciding this as Lace teased out the truth about the letter.

Taash comes in like "hey, why are you in my girlfriend's lap? It's comfy and all but I will kick your ass if you're making her uncomfortable."

"I'm having HORRENDOUS BOY PROBLEMS AND I HATE IT and Lacey is consoling my stupid ass in my time of great, unending suffering."

"Oh... Sounds rough. Wanna talk about it? Should I get the girls--we can do a girls night. Would I have to leave?"

"no, you can stay. Might as well laugh at my suffering."

"She's got it bad." Lace laughs, petting Nyla's head with a grin. "Its like pulling teeth getting her to explain what happened."

"Well they've been making eyes at each other for weeks now, I'm not surprised. Am kinda surprised they're not a thing."

"I DIDNT KNOW HE WAS FLIRTING AND THAT I WAS FLIRTING BACK!!?! UNTIL HE NEARLY KISSED ME!!! BUT HE CANT AND IM MORTIFIED THIS SUCKS--please just shoot me, Lacey. Make it quick and clean, I trust you." Nyla begs pathetically.

"Hey! No! No one is shooting you! Especially not over boy problems." Taash protests.

"B-But it would be a mercy!"

"No."

Cue Nyla dramatically wailing, face red as Lace's sash.

"I'm so UNLOVED IN THIS HOUSEHOLD!"

"I thought the problem is that you were too loved." Lace teased.

"UN! LOVED!"

"Woah, what's gotten into Nyla?!" Bellara peeked in.

"LACE WONT SHOOT ME!"

"Uhhhh... Neve! A little help here?!?"

"Amazing. Another witness to my mortification." Nyla huffs.

It's a very entertaining and dramatic affair.

Eventually, when Lace does deliver the letter, it's at arrow point and firmly telling Lucanis if he breaks Nyla's heart she's not waiting for the gods to be dead to kill him.

Spite, unseen to her, approves and once more calls Lucanis a fucking coward for running away.

I've been planning that damn pantry scene in my head for ages AND I STILL HAVEN'T GOTTEN LUCANIS IN THE FIC YET

so! Here's spoilers for the current dialogue idea lmao

So, it starts off with Taash having gotten Nyla to deal with Spite in the pantry, obvs

And so, Lucanis is standing there, glowing eyes and all.

Spite is super pleased, naturally, since he's been wanting to talk with Nyla for a while now

"Now. We get to talk." He grins, too much teeth for Lucanis' normal, restrained smile.

"Sure thing! Been meaning to for a while now-- What did you need, baby?" Nyla smiles, pretty damn sure that Spite wasn't currently threatening to her. He looked pleased at least.

"We had. A deal. And Lucanis won't! Keep it!" He complained with a snarl.

"That doesn't sound like him, he's very particular about his word. But it would explain the issues you two have been having. What'd he promise? Maybe I can help?" If it was possible, Spite would be preening right now.

"Yes! Help! He promised!" Spite barked. "Break our chains. Kill. Escape our prison. And live."

Nyla wanted to protest that they did that, but... She looked around the pantry.

"Ah... I imagine Lucanis understood that more literally than you did. And while you're both living, this can hardly be considered really living, can it? Sleeping in a pantry? Food is great, but sleeping with the cheese wheel is usually considered beneath someone." Nyla sighed with a shake of her head.

Spite snarled, throwing up his hands in frustration.

"I want! Out!" Spite nearly screamed.

"Hey, easy there baby, I get it. This isn't ideal for anyone!" Nyla hesitantly reached out, shocked that Spite let her approach. Allowed her to place her hands on his face soothingly, leaning into the affection. "Oh, honey. This has to be so rough, people saying things but meaning something else. And when you try to explain how bullshit it is, they get offended!" Spite nodded, almost drunk as his breathing leveled out.

"Lucanis. Won't listen!" Spite hissed.

"Yeah? And you two can't just walk away to cool off, either. He doesn't understand what's got you so riled up, assumes you just want to rip everything apart because you're a 'demon'. And anytime you try to explain, it doesn't get through to him either, does it, baby?" Nyla asked softly. "I know it's hard, and you're certainly not used to it, but you're going to have to be more patient with each other as you find a middle ground. Unless we find a solution to your... Living arrangement, you've got the rest of Lucanis' life stuck together. That's quite a while to be at each other's throats, dear."

Spite's lip curled in a low hiss.

"He. Promised!" Spite narrowed his eyes at her, hands gripping her wrists harshly. "I. Want. Out!" Nyla winced at the bruising grip and Spite froze, letting go of her and stepping back suddenly. Expression at war between frustration and disgust. A snarl rising in his throat as his anger overwhelmed him.

"TELL HIM! MAKE HIM--!"

Despite clearly losing control, Spite maintained a healthy distance from her until it all suddenly disappeared. Tension lifting from his bent frame all at once, Lucanis looking up with confused brown eyes. Utterly perplexed to see her standing there.

"Wh-What? Nyla, why... Was I...?"

"You were sleepwalking. And I suppose Spite sleep talking? Nothing happened though, I promise. Taash noticed and got me as quick as they could." Nyla reassured him, but Lucanis looked horrified.

"Mierda. I-I... I didn't want you to see that. Again." Lucanis breathed out heavily, looking down in shame.

"Oh, love, there's nothing to be ashamed of. I'll always come see you, even if you didn't ask, technically--in fact, you'll have to try a lot harder than that if you want to get rid of me." Nyla smiled.

Lucanis looked up at her in surprise.

"How do you always do that?"

"Do what? Be stubborn? I'm not the one literally carrying 'Spite', thought you'd know more about that than I do." She joked, but Lucanis shook his head, lips quirked in a crooked smile.

"No. Dispell my carefully gathered clouds of doom." He looked so resigned about it all as he spoke, like he was already certain, "You deserve better than to deal with my mess."

Nyla laughed at that, her mouth running from her without thought.

"Haven't you heard, baby? Every cloud has a silver lining--and lucky for you, you look utterly dashing in silver. So wear those dark clouds all you want, it only makes you more handsome when you do." Nyla teased, watching his expression shift in a way she hadn't seen before.

Almost... Sultry.

Which was weird. Because she'd certainly never had someone look at her like that before.

Lucanis didn't speak as he slowly crossed the distance between them, bracing himself on the wall beside her. Leaning in a little closer than she'd ever had him outside of a fight. Coffee and expensive cologne drifting around her in a gentle haze.

"This isn't a good idea." Lucanis informed her softly, voice low and very pleasing with a soft, gravely rumble.

"You know, of all the things I've been called, 'sensible' isn't one of them." Nyla pointed out curiously.

Lucanis meant being his friend, right? Because, yeah, being close friends with a master assassin was objectively a bad idea.

But Nyla wouldn't trade him for anything! All of her friends here--she never wanted to let them go.

Rook, a soft, distant voice, sighed in the back of Nyla's head. A heartfelt curse in Antivan somewhere between 'Andraste's knickers' and 'why must I suffer fools'.

Which was weird, because while Rook usually didn't comment much, it usually made more sense when she did.

Lucanis jerked, a restrained snort catching her sensitive ears.

His dark eyes considering her closely. Even more so than before.

"You like to walk a little close to the edge."

His words caught in her head.

He didn't mean--she knew that.

Nyla knew he couldn't mean that. Had no way of knowing--Nyla smiled, all too practiced at distraction on that topic.

"Is that worry I hear? From the master assassin? You live on the edge, it's only fitting that I'm comfortable there too." Nyla said, the words tasting like ash on her tongue.

Three quarters of an inch had never felt so far that day.

"At least I know I'm doing it." Lucanis countered, his eyes drifting lower. His body leaning in closer...

She was all too aware--

Then, something happened.

Nyla realized how close Lucanis was.

It was silly to think now of all times. He'd been well in arm's reach for a good bit now. His handsome face suddenly feeling too close. Far closer than he, or anyone else, had ever been to Nyla. The warmth of his breath and body settling onto her like a comforting blanket, scented of coffee and expensive hygiene products befitting a wealthy assassin with pride in his appearance.

But rather than be utterly repelled, wanting her personal space back, Nyla bizarrely wanted Lucanis closer. A sudden desire that she'd never felt before. So ridiculous, in fact, that it left her frozen, staring into his soft, heated brown eyes until there was a flash of something in them.

A flicker of pink.

"I... Need to clear my head." Lucanis jerked back suddenly, hand coming up to his nose as he retreated from the room.

"A-Ah! Lucanis! Wait a second--Honey, this is your room?!? Why are you--" but he was already gone. Nyla left with the lingering heat of his breath on her lips and face flushed.

"You're an IDIOT! HE WAS TRYING TO KISS YOU!!!" Rook screamed in her head, Nyla jerking back from the sheer volume.

"What? No--that doesn't sound right. I can't kiss him, this is your body that would be wrong!" Nyla protested.

"Oh? So you also wanted to kiss him, hmm? Because I was talking about him, not you!" Nyla froze, sitting with that challenge for a moment.

Slowly, her fingers pressed onto her lips.

"Oh..."

"Yeah, 'oh'! Andraste's flaming knickers, how did you not realize that?!?"

"... I never wanted to kiss someone before. Oh no... I did want him to kiss me, didn't I?" Nyla's heart sank. "Oh, honey... What a mess I've gotten myself into! I can't! I can't possibly do that!"

"Why the fuck not?! I say, go find that dumbass and grab him by the lapels and kiss the shit out of him!" Rook declared with fire.

"Rook, baby, I can't do that in your body!"

"Why not?! I say go for it! What's holding you back?! I promise I don't care--at least he's easy on the eyes and a damn good assassin! I've slept with worse!" Rook swore.

"I--No! Absolutely not!" Nyla protested. "I can't... I can't have my first kiss like this. As someone else! Or even more than that--only to go back home and wonder if I'd ever had a chance as myself. I can't... I can't do that to myself, Rook. And I won't disrespect you by trying anyway when you can't stop me!" She hissed.

Rook fell silent.

"Oh, hermana... I'm so sorry. I promise it's okay if you do, but... Alright. I won't push... Now get out of the damn pantry before he realizes he ran out of his own room." Rook huffed.

Nyla laughed wetly and nodded. Suddenly realizing her wrists ached, the tanned skin coloring darker with bruises.

"Ah, beans... I should take care of those before someone makes assumptions." Nyla mused.

[rookedcrow]

“so i’m going to have to start hiding my amaretti cookies from you too, now?” or perhaps it’ll just give her another reason to bring a tin of them along with her the next time she wanders over to the dining hall. at least that’s something she can have control over --- the idea of earning any sort of proper retirement has always felt more like a myth than a reality. ( but with the way myths and legends seem to readily crash into her reality lately, maybe the thought of there being a life after all this isn’t too far out of the realm of possibilities. )

“and you’re welcome to practice on sombra, she’ll appreciate the extra attention.” because permission turns out to be the true offender here --- at least that’s how he’s framing it. crows do plenty without needing permission; they’d be poor at their job otherwise. but this isn’t a contract they’re talking about. it’s peaches. supposedly. despite the short stops --- first hers, then his; she doesn’t think to move at all. the only apology she offers up for not leaving enough space at the end of the branch is the grin that’s made it’s way up to her eyes.

“permission?” she can practically feel the way his voice hums when he’s this close, even with two sets of guards between them — the start of a laugh gets interrupted, and almost as quickly as she’d caused them to come together, the qunari has managed to get lucanis to move back with a single word … at least a half step's worth. the sole of her boot becomes incredibly interesting; a bend of her knee and back making it so her eyes stay low as a way to finish the laugh she’d started without getting caught. ( they’ve already been caught. ) and she succeeds for the most part; at least until she hears lucanis bring up her fear of heights.

“idonot — ” she practically chokes on the sudden inhale that follows; a sound far more suitable for a nug than a crow. wide - eyed, there isn’t much else she can do in the moment; especially since taash had already had their fill of whatever ---- this was. a quick clearing of her throat has rook believing she’ll at least sound like herself again, several slight nods hoping to help shake the blush away from her face. “mmhm, go on. we’ll be right behind.”

braska.

if there’s a way they can get through the rest of this assignment without her having to make eye contact with taash, she’ll be looking for it. along with the marker that has them out here in the first place, like she’d promised bellara. but for at least another moment or two, they can talk. or whatever. like taash had said.

“so is that all?” she lets them get back out of earshot before she chides him softly with a click of he tongue, trying to right herself after his ‘fear of heights’ explanation. “what made you think you didn’t already have it?” it’s about as close to an open admission as she’ll make in front of others — a pretty bold one, at that. even now that their companion has gone off ahead instead of being caught somewhere behind. ( they’re the ones behind now; and the color in her face is going to need a little bit of time to settle back down. ) still. she allows herself just a little bit more fun before it's time to move on again. before taash has to herd the two of them like cats a second time. “permission?” she feigns reaching over to pick a bit of greenery off the shoulder of his coat.

“s’pose all that’s needed now is that personal time.”

"Please, of the many activities I've partaken in ... if never eating an Orlesian peach is the straw that breaks the griffon's back I feel I am doomed to an eternity of utter misery."

Mirth. For the first time since being freed from his literal prison there was a dash of it in his tone. Sincere to the point of near laughter, even if it was just the rumble of a chuckle at the back of his throat. Rook had a way of chasing the darkness away, reflecting ... or perhaps projecting sunlight in way that shamed the rays in Arlathan. It felt nice to have them both warming his cheeks, to drown the dark circles that surely painted beneath his eyes.

It felt almost wrong to enjoy it. Comfort in another ... ah, but that was shameful. (He could almost feel the weight of Caterina's cane ...)

"You? Ah, both of us. If I'm lucky I'll grow old enough to retire and I can spend my fortune of blood on sweets. I'll eat until I nearly burst, grow fat and happy, and keep cats."

In this imagined scenario he could be happy. Lucanis allowed the thought to linger for a moment before he chased it away. And instead of that gathering storm coming to rain on his parade, or Spite to tug his ear with complaining and shouting and smelling, there was Rook. And an empty head.

How nice.

She stopped short and Lucanis followed suit, a whisper of distance between them. He heard the leathers against his chest groan where they gently knocked into Rook's shoulder and while he didn't have much height over her he felt as if he loomed. He considered her with dark eyes, glittering onyx things which only seemed to shimmer in the ray of light between them.

She said such sweet things. Spite agreed, looming at her other shoulder. If she could only see him ...

His own answer took conspiracy of its own. His tone was something of a hum, low at the back of his throat, the sort that made chests vibrate pleasantly.

"I never needed a reason. Just permission."

"Hey."

Taash's voice cut through the space between Rook and Lucanis, defined only by perhaps the Fade itself. He didn't move. It didn't seem like Rook was interested in moving, either.

"Spite rubbin' off on you? You smelling her? You're being weird."

He wasn't before she mentioned it but --- honey and lavender. Caramel and vanilla. Oiled leathers. The faintest hint of citrus. The constant undertone of blood that all Crows had. And---

SHE SMELLS GOOD. DIFFERENT . SWEETER.

When he moved, just a half step back, it was convincing in gesture, in stance. His hand, which had been covered by the jacket that barely hung onto his shoulders, appeared as if it had been bracing at Rook's hip. An illusion. Crows were good at them.

"Afraid of heights, remember?"

As if every under-her-breath comment on Treviso's ziplines hadn't been caught. She couldn't swim, either but Lucanis refrained from pointing out how far from any bit of water Rook put herself. It was endearing.

" ... 'kay." A beat. "I'm gonna go look at those ruins. You two talk, or whatever."

He really admired Taash's bluntness. He'd find it funnier if his laughter wouldn't give it away. Off went the Qunari, purposely keeping their back to the Crows.

"Perhaps a sampling of peaches is better reserved to personal time. If you're still curious."