#anyways davrin sweep

[sha-brytols]

veilguard faves from most to least btw. 0 people asked for this.

davrin

bellara

neve

emmrich

taash

lucanis

harding

[awardenandacrow]

FANFIC SNIPPET 26

NOTE: This snippet is Lucanis’s POV and the sister snippet to Snippet 7

[after Weisshaupt, after the fight at the table, Lucanis is fully aware he… fucked up.]

CW/TW: strong language

——————————————————————————

Lucanis paced the pantry, furious with himself. He’d heard the hurt in her voice when she’d curtailed his argument with Davrin. Realized what he’d said, too late to take it back. He kept forgetting she was a Warden, too.

It was all he could think about now. Rook, the Grey Warden. Rook, the Grey Warden, who had been brought to Weisshaupt as a young teenager, and lived there ever since. Rook, the Grey Warden, who had fought her way through her home, as it crumbled down and was destroyed around them. As it was destroyed. As her family was cut down.

Rook, the Grey Warden, who had prevented the very same fate befalling him. Who had run to the defense of Treviso, when Minrathos was the clear *tactical* choice. Who had fought off a dragon to protect *his* city, *his* people, *his* family.

Only for him to fail to do the same for her. Only for him to imply…

Lucanis could not take it. His thoughts, Spite’s uncharacteristic silence — the demon sat in the corner, arms crossed, *glaring* at him — the guilt. With a frustrated growl, he kicked a sack of potatoes out of his way and stormed out of the pantry. He couldn’t just let that sit. He couldn’t bear the thought of her thinking he actually thought that about her. Or Davrin, really. But mostly her.

How would he feel if, after the dragon had gotten away, she’d asked him if Spite had held him back from fighting his best? Likely *worse* than he’d felt when Davrin had just done so, and that hadn’t been in the failed defense of *his* home.

Rook never made him feel like being an abomination made him lesser, made him broken, made him *wrong*, regardless of what he himself believed on the subject. And yet he had, without hesitation, attacked *who she was,* in the interest of his own defense. It wasn’t her fault Davrin had struck a nerve. It wasn’t her fault Davrin had smelled blood in the water, had spoken aloud what Lucanis himself wondered.

He didn’t deserve her forgiveness, of that he was certain. But he could not let this pass without offering her his repentance anyway.

Without thinking, he pushed her door open the moment he reached it.

“Rook, I wanted to talk to —“

SALT.

Salt…? “—oh.”

Not salt. *Tears.*

“Lucanis!” Rook spun, her eyes full of them, her face streaked with them. “I — I’m so sorry —“

She raised one arm to hide from him. Her room was a mess. The little wooden rocking griffon lay on its side on the table. The Joining Tapestry she’d purchased from that shady merchant lay crumpled on the floor. And she — his chest ached. She fisted her hand against her leg and gasped out, “I’m so — so- sorry I, I just —“

Why was *she* apologizing to *him*? He took a step forward, wanting nothing more than to sweep her into his arms, to hold her against his chest until her tears stopped. He hesitated. What right did he have to comfort her? Surely she’d prefer Davrin, who knew how she felt. Who had *done* his job.

“I’m the one who should be sorry,” he told her, the words feeling utterly insufficient. “This is… *my* fault. I missed.”

His heart wrenched more as she shook her head. “Lucanis, Ghilan’nain was a face in the clouds!”

Why did she do that? Why was she trying to make *him* feel better?

“I asked you to stab a fucking *cloud*!”

Why wasn’t she *angry* with him? His own bubbled up and he took a quick step forward, all but shouting at her, “and I *missed* the damn cloud!”

He was standing on the tapestry now, and he wanted to hit himself. Insult after insult. Her temper finally seemed to flare, and she no longer hid her flushed, tear streaked face from him. She glared at him with overflowing eyes, shouting back,

“My point is, I asked you to do something *impossible*!” She yelled, her chest heaving with emotion. “And you almost did it! That’s not small!”

“Don’t… don’t do that,” he begged her softly. If she were actually yelling *at* him, if she were angry with him, if she’d attacked him as Davrin had done, he could have handled any of it. But this… he didn’t know what to do with this. Her shuddering breaths filling any lapses in their exchange, the way she looked at him through her sobs like she was *happy* he was there, relieved, even. “You don’t have to go easy on me.”

“I’m *not*,” she insisted.

“I’m a professional,” he began, preparing to tell her all of the reasons she should hate him now.

“Yes,” she nodded, her voice cracking.

“I should have —“

But Rook cut him off, saying just above a whisper, “I’m just so glad you made it back all right.”

“Wha—?” Lucanis was *certain* he must have heard wrong. But then Rook pitched forward, her arms circling his waist as she buried her face in his chest.

“Rook,” he groaned internally, the guilt threatening to eat him alive. He should not be the one there to comfort her. He should not be the one she *looked to* for comfort.

She should not *need* his comfort. He should have done his job in the first place.

HUG. ROOK. BACK! Spite snarled in his ear. STUPID LUCANIS.

He realized he had not returned her embrace. Did he have a right to? Would she even want him to? Hesitantly, he started to, but at that moment, she spoke again, her voice muffled in his shirt.

“I’m really sorry. This is *not* professional. I just —“

She gasped then, pushing away from him and standing straight, eyes wide as they met his. Why was she… afraid?

“I’m… I’m *so* sorry,” she wiped her eyes roughly and began to look anywhere *but* at him. “You came in here because you needed something, and I — I’m sorry. Um. What did you need?”

YES, WHAT?

Lucanis debated lying. Saying it was nothing, and leaving. She sniffled, and any such thoughts were dismissed.

He should view his apology as a contract. A Crow did not abandon a contract. And he… he could not abandon Rook.

He reached out slowly, thought better of grabbing for her hand, and gently wrapped his fingers around her wrist. He fought the urge to stroke her skin with his thumb. She turned her head to look back towards him in surprise.

“I came to apologize,” he told her softly. “I was out of line at the table. I… should not have said what I said.”

Rook’s face screwed back up. “Oh,” she whispered. She turned her face away from him again and covered it with her other hand. Her shoulders shook, a telltale sign of renewed tears. He’d expected her to snatch her arm away. Or pull away. Or maybe even tell him to leave.

He couldn’t stand it. How inconsolable would he have been, if Treviso had met Weisshaupt’s fate? And she stood there, silencing her tears, worrying about *him,* apologizing to *him*, for having a well-deserved moment of weakness. He knew he should not.

Lucanis stepped forward, closing the space between them, pulling Rook back into his arms. The dam broke anew, and when her legs trembled he sank with her to the floor. He held her tightly, and she clung to him, shaking, a periodic sob breaking her resolve. He wanted to talk to her, to reassure her, to promise her he would not miss a second time, to tell her it would be all right. But he said none of those things, because he did not want to dismiss *this*, the feelings she was having *right now.* She did not need empty promises.

For some reason, somehow, *he* was all she needed. What a thrilling and terrifying revelation.

But he could be what she needed. He could hold her, and gently stroke her hair, and let her weep. It was the very least he could do.

He was not sure how long it had been, but the tears slowly came to a close. He breathed deeply, the scent of lavender filling his lungs. Spite could smell the Blight in her, but he certainly could not. Without thinking, he dropped a kiss onto the top of her head.

Panic, white hot, shot through him. Rook, however, did not budge. Spite crouched in his sight line and *grinned* at him.

SHE SLEEPS. LUCKY FOR YOU.

Lucanis allowed himself to breath, rubbing his face in irritation. He was better than this. How could he have been so�� impulsive? Reckless? He could not allow that to happen again.

Carefully, he gathered Rook up off of the floor and laid her gently on the couch. Even in sleep, her brow was furrowed in worry, the corners of her mouth sharply downturned. He spotted her blanket on the floor under the couch, and pulled it out to cover her. She stirred slightly, but did not wake. Lucanis’s fingertips hesitated near her cheek.

GO AHEAD. PUSH YOUR LUCK. Spite cackled.

But he could not. With a last wistful gaze down at Rook, Lucanis turned to leave. His eyes fell on the trampled tapestry. Quietly, he picked it up. He’d send it to Teia, he decided. Either she or Viago would know someone who could clean it up for her. She may hate it now…

Lucanis shook his head to clear it, and left with all haste.

[jukkaricity]

Veilguard Appreciation Week 2025 - Day 5

I think this is my favorite entry so far, it's been a lot of fun to write. Not to mention it feels like stretching my muscles before Bellara Appreciation Week. (coming soon to a spooky forest near you).

There are some minor spoilers for Bellara's personal quest, but it's just a mention in passing and mostly from the earlier parts.

Today's prompts for the @veilguard-appreciation-week:

Arlathan Forest | Wisdom | "Sorry! Just breaking things!"

The weather was absolutely beautiful. Just warm enough for a comfortable walk through the forest, the sun rising high in the clear sky, a soft breeze ruffling the golden-red leaves and the birds sang in the distance. Truly a picture of perfect bliss if one didn’t look too closely, of course. As Hugo discovered with each visit, Arlathan had a knack for seeming completely normal while being anything but that. He still couldn’t get used to the people-shaped trees on the trail. The suspiciously limb shaped protrusions peeking out of trunks, rocks falling from empty sky, fade anomalies exploding if one stumbled too close. And the unending hum of wildlife everywhere. The sensation of someone or something always watching.

City-raised Hugo was used to background noise, but not of this type. Despite Bellara’s assurances and Davrin’s teasing he still didn’t feel comfortable in nature. Especially alone. But Bellara was gone from the Lighthouse when he reached her workshop during his morning rounds and he’d rather brave the forest than regret not checking up on her. She seemed perpetually worried these days. Hugo didn’t blame her for it at all. He was rather sure he’d take it much worse if a sibling he thought dead would suddenly pop up right in front of his face. And if said sibling would also be somewhat bound or cooperating with an ancient being… it would probably end up in a knife fight. That Bellara wanted to help her brother instead of condemning him was admirable all on its own. 

Much to Hugo’s relief he managed to reach the Veil Jumper safehouse without falling through any Fade Tears, getting eaten or turning into a tree. Quite a success for as far as he was concerned. He made it down the crumbling stairs, skipping two or three steps at a time and entered the vault. Right as the doors closed behind him, the ground rumbled ominously, a few tiny rocks and a couple of roots dropping from the ceiling. Hugo hung on to the door, blinking slowly trying to readjust his eyes to the dim light. 

As the details of the room became distinguishable he moved further inside following the sound of metallic clinks and clanks, and exasperated huffs. He could already see Bellara hunched over a shining golden relic when she shifted something on it and the whole vault shook violently. Bellara crouched down covering her head from falling debris and Hugo had to save himself from becoming a pancake by a desperate roll forward escaping a massive rock released from right above his head. A dumb, wide grin split his face when Bellara spotted him. 

“You sweep me off my feet today, Bel!” 

“Oh! Oh, Rook. Are you alright?”  She jumped up to help him up and tried to dust off his armor. “I am so sorry! I didn’t see you! But you know. It’s just me! Breaking things, you know?” 

“Don’t worry about it. It’s on me anyway, should have been prepared for the roof falling on me” Hugo joked with a big smile refusing to leave for even a moment. Bellara smiled too, a bit shy, a bit concerned. She walked back over to the relic and carefully placed a battery back inside.

For a while they remained in silence, Hugo leaning on a table slightly to the side, Bellara tinkering with the calmed artifact and making notes in her notebook. Hugo couldn’t help but notice the teal leather cover with a little dragon symbol pressed into it. Neve must have been spoiling her again. 

“Sooo… how are you here?” Bellara finally risked asking, her eyes firmly fixed on whatever she was trying to repair in the relic.

“Couldn’t find you in the Lighthouse. Made an educated guess to come to Arlathan” Hugo shrugged crossing his arms “Then I found Irelin in the Jumpers’ camp and she told me you came to the safehouse” 

“Ohhh. This makes sense.” Bellara smirked to herself as the stubborn part finally relented and fell into place  “Do you need any help?” She looked up finally, playing with the rim of her gloves. 

“Not really. Just wanted to see how you’re doing.” Hugo scratched the back of his neck. He didn’t really have a good reason to come over. Didn’t think of a convincing half-truth either. “See if maybe I could be of any assistance actually? You know hurl some insults at ancient artifacts, maybe get into a brawl with a spirit” he laughed waving his hands around as if preparing for a strike. Bellara giggled and it was honestly the best thing he heard the whole day. 

“I don’t think you could win a fist fight with a spirit.” 

“I could try cheating!” he offered and Bellara just shook her head going back to work. Soon she started explaining what she was doing. It was an unending stream of exclamations and phrases that Hugo struggled to follow. He’s fairly sure he knows maybe one in five words she used. But he nodded along and tried asking questions. It felt… right to be this way. He should make a point to come with her more often, he realized. 

“You know, I think I’m actually done” Bellara beamed wiping her hands into a towel hung around her belt. She looked rather proud — and since the artifact hadn’t caused the cave to collapse, Hugo was inclined to agree.

When they finally got out of the safe house the sun was already hanging low on the horizon. More importantly Bellara looked a lot less sad than she did before. And that was the best Hugo could have hoped for. 

[seaglassmelody]

Silly Saturday-Sunday

Thank you to @rookamell and @serensama for the tag!!

Rules: Go through your WIPs, or create something new, and find something with some laughter, jokes and levity!

So I posted most of my silly stuff for the moment but I did get struck with inspiration in the shower this morning so have more Kitchen Shenanigans ficlet under the cut:

----

Neve was starving.

Other than her requisite cup of (Lucanis-brewed) coffee that morning, she hadn't even had time to think about food.

She and Davrin had spent hours bent over notes about the Gloom Howler- where it had shown up, what it had said, guessing where it might go next. They hadn't gotten any closer to an answer by the time Assan started pacing around Davrin's room and sqwaking insistently.

Davrin had sighed as he leaned away from the table. "I guess it is about that time, huh boy?" He looked at Neve as she tilted her head in question. "Lunchtime. Might as well take a break anyway, since we're not getting much further right now."

It was then that Neve registered just how hungry she was, though she was loathe to admit it. She wouldn't give their resident mother hens the satisfaction of knowing that she did in fact forget to eat far more often than she should.

They had agreed to leave everything laid out to return to later in the day and headed for the kitchen to see if anyone had started making food.

The good news was, someone had started making food.

The bad news was the kitchen was now an absolute disaster.

"What…happened?" Neve's voice was incredulous as she took in the scene from the kitchen doorway.

Shards of broken plates were scattered across the floor, intermingled with stray cutlery. There was a large splash of water that seemed to have dimmed the fireplace (but not put it out entirely). Rice was everywhere. The air smelled heavily of burnt…something.

Bellara sat at the table, struggling to sit still while Rook wrapped a bandage around her hand. And tapping about the room was Manfred, who was slowly picking up vegetables from the ground and placing them on the tabletop. He seemed to be organizing them by color.

Rook glanced up from her work on Bellara's hand briefly. "Hi guys. Do you know where the broom is? We should probably get the plate pieces cleaned up before someone steps on them."

Davrin clicked his tongue at Assan to get the griffon to stay still while he went to the pantry to grab the broom. "You know, you two are usually a mess but this is a new level."

"We can explain!" Bellara insisted as Rook released her hand. "We were making fried rice for lunch, but we started talking about serials-"

"Well that explains a lot already." Neve interrupted, amused. She had wandered over to start picking up the cutlery and deposit it in the sink.

"I think the stove went on the fritz, because the pan should not have caught fire that quickly." Rook groused, "And Bel went to grab it and burned her hand, so I got her some water to clean it and put a compress on-"

"But at some point Manfred got in here! And he was way too close to the flames, so I tried to get him away from it but that knocked the water bowl off the counter, and the splash made Rook startle-"

"Which knocked the plates and silverware off the counter. Not sure how the vegetables wound up there though." Rook stared at Manfred's collection thoughtfully. "Maybe he threw them down there because he thought we were doing it on purpose."

Manfred gave a dissenting hiss.

"Or maybe not."

Davrin came back with the broom, shuffling behind Neve to begin sweeping up broken pottery. "Is it too early to say that you two shouldn't cook unsupervised anymore?"

Rook and Bellara shared a brief look and sighed in unison. "Probably." Bellara agreed.

A calmer quiet settled in as the group worked to clean up the disaster, interrupted only by the clacking of Assan's claws and Manfred's bare feet on the stone.

"Ah Manfred, here you are- my word, what happened in here?" Emmrich exclaimed as he entered, also in search of lunch, Neve presumed.

Bellara, Rook, Neve and Davrin all looked at each other and just started laughing.

"Maybe we should go pick up some food in Treviso today." Rook suggested.

"And then we can warn Lucanis not to come back for a few hours." Neve agreed.

"And not tell him what happened?" Bellara gasped.

Davrin sighed. "Blame it on me and Assan if you have to."

"Davrin…" Bellara and Rook chorused, touched.

"But only this once!"

[mythals-whore]

Seven Sentence (whatever fucking day)

tagged by @thedissonantverses ily

small excerpt that is not in the next chapter but the next next chapter (don't ask me what's going on. I am working on the next three chapters simultaneously ig.)

It is NOT seven sentences but idc it is the only bit of cohesive work I have that isn't combat related atm <3

“Rook,” Davrin’s voice is groggy. “Is there a reason you’re practicing takedown tactics in my bed?” She lets out a quiet, frustrated laugh, “No, I just…” she sighs through her nose, trying to breathe around the stitch forming in her chest. “Can’t sleep.” she presses the heels of her hands into her eyes, feeling all at once very restless. She sits up, unfolding the covers from herself, “I should—” “No.” his voice is still thick with sleep and laced with something like annoyance as he pulls her back down, clumsily pulling the blankets around her again. “I don’t mind.” He sighs somewhere by her ear and she shivers. Davrin pulls her into himself like an undertow sweeping her out to sea. 

I did not look at who has already been tagged so if you've already been tagged idc, here is another gentle nudge anyway @basedonconjecture @rook-laidir @flowersforthemachines

[waxlyricaloperaticmoon]

CALL AND RESPONSE / THE TWO-PART ROUND

AO3 or below the cut Not Explicit, but I write with 18+ in mind Day 7 Prompt : Free Day Word Count: 3600 CWs just in case: Major Character Death, Grief, Death, Terminal Illness

7 Short Stories about hope, life, and love (Davrin lives and it matters in the present and far into the future) OR a DavRook horror story about a possessed rock pestering a widow OR a reincarnation story - all of these bring me joy)

Written for #davrinweek2025 hosted by @datvcompanionweeks (thank youuu!)

23:52 LUNAR

"Good morning, 384.489/12c!" Yva’s decided to be chipper today, despite the early hour. The stela juts proudly from her plinth in greeting. The stone slab is over a thousand years old - not that you’d ever know it. She’s as spritely as the day she was hewn (the jokes are a new, temporary development).  Yva likes to think they are old friends. She’s been at the translation long enough that the ancient sweeps of cursive feel like supportive ancient sweeps of cursive, cheering her on in her endeavours.

Yva circles the stela appreciatively, careful not to disturb the wards. Funny. Not many people try to leave a tropical paradise, but she spent half of her life trying to get out of New Hossberg. And she did. She fell in love with a Thorne who liked to look back, who wanted to know all about old, old things. Who honoured that curiosity in her. Lathen proposed with his grandmother’s ring. It was all very romantic. They enjoyed few years of adventure, a few years of study, and a few years of looking at old, old things together. Then, the twins, the discovery at New Hossberg, and the plan to move home.

The kids were about ten when Lathen died. He’d hoped for the opportunity to see the stela up close and in person, but that wasn’t possible in the end. That didn’t stop him from contributing what he could to the research effort. In the end, after Yva, 384.489/12c knew Lathen best. It’s part of why she fought so hard to be here. Duty. The unfinished business of it all. Dad likes to talk about growing larger around the grief. It felt trite back then, but time, love and laughter (and schooling, The Teenage Years, broken bones, Antivan dance classes etc.) calcified over the devastation and made it a part of her. But it isn't all she is, not any longer.

384.489/12c refuses deciphering at every turn. Someone’s scrawled a few theories into a notebook discarded onto a nearby desk. It starts off neat and hopeful, and ends in a frustrated, desperate scrawl. Yva knows the feeling. She's the prodigal daughter, clawing and fighting to come back home and look back at old, old things. It took years of grant applications and studying the damn slab at a distance, before finally securing the funding to be here. Only to stare at a rock and prevaricate.

It’s been an awkward homecoming - Dad’s overjoyed, of course - he loves spending time with the kids. But being back here, starting over…Yva has a full life - friends, family, work. Hobbies. But, 384.489/12c, Yva wants romance and that feels like a treacherous and embarrassing admission. She feels like a clumsy pianist, plonking away at the flat notes to an audience of none.

Yva worries at her wedding band. It’s a chunky thing with centuries of Thorne legend crusted on, but Yva and Lathen resolved to give the ring some privacy - sometimes the mystery plays better than the truth. The craftsmanship, the inscriptions - an eagle, a lion, and a halla - speak to a maker who wanted the message to last. Everyone understands pictures.

Anyway. Yva’s seeing someone.  Now, this update has 384.489/12c riveted to the spot, positively hysteric with anticipation.  Yva backtracks sheepishly because she isn’t seeing someone, not in that way. But there is a woman. They met through book club. Neraine. She wears an orchestra of jewellery, funky prints and tassels and she speaks to Yva like they’re both in on a cheeky secret. She’s…kind, empathetic. She’s fun. Eagle-eyed and sharp-witted. The twins like her. Their father would’ve liked her too. In fact, Lathen would be first in line to cajole Yva into asking her on a date. And Lathen…live a full life, he’d said. There’s so much love out there. Pff. Easy for him to say. He married his high school sweetheart.

Wait. Lasting messages. This isn’t Elvhen. Well, it is, but - whoever inscribed this wanted the message to last. For anyone, everyone to be able to read it. Shit. Fuck. Shit. Fuck. Shit. Fuck! Yva fumbles in her pocket for her sending stone. On the fucking Veil itself, if she’s right, if Yva’s correct about what she thinks this is, then…

Unlike Yva, 384.489/12c doesn’t bounce around on her toes. She’s frozen in disbelief at the change in subject. The stela didn’t boldly present herself for rediscovery only to submit to Yva’s shilly-shallying. Yva could learn a thing or two from her dramatic re-emergence from the depths. Obviously, Lathen and the damn slab are in cahoots. Fine. No more plonking away. She’ll ask Neraine on a date.

🎵🎶🎵🎶🎵🎶🎵🎶🎵🎶

CALL AND RESPONSE

"Are you sure you know what you’re doing?"

Davrin smudges a thick pat of elf root cream onto his wrist for easy access, before he smirks away a laugh. Does he know what he’s doing. "I know what I’m doing, Rook." Of course he knows what he's doing. Rook’s coils might as well be fluid under his deft ministrations, and he races another braid down to the bottom before curling the ends around a finger and squaring off another section to braid. He’s done this for himself, for his mum, for his twin cousins and many more in the clan. When it comes to the glory of curly, coily hair, he knows what he’s doing.

"The question is," Davrin begins, shoulders shaking with slow laughter, "do you?" 

Rook grumbles under her breath and picks at the rug from her place of honour on the floor. The crackling fire casts a celebratory glow against her brown skin, and the room smells like pine and wood-chips. Davrin’s comfortable in the seat behind her, but Assan is less certain about this new development. He chirps curiously at them both, feathery tail swishing behind him.

"Don’t worry boy. You’ll get your spot back."

The griffon trills back his polite, but formal feedback. The work is meditative, almost, Davrin's fingers following the practised routine with ease. Something close to nostalgia unfurls in his chest.

Rook doesn’t say much, so Davrin speaks up again. "I remember you. From Weisshaupt - you took the Joining a few years after I did. Here, hold this." Davrin holds the comb out beside Rook’s ear.

She reaches back for it and fumbles their fingers together before properly recruiting it for her own. They move the comb between themselves every time Davrin hums for it. Assan doesn’t know to appreciate the impressive display of flawless teamwork, but he doesn’t interrupt, either. 

Rook’s answer is a sour huff. "Didn’t want to, actually."

Davrin doesn’t pick at old scars. He’s still thinking of a change of topic when she relinquishes a wry chuckle. "They don’t uh, take too well to pirates along the Amaranthine coast. I got my vallaslin before I became the Wrong Sort so I was definitely gonna hang. Thought I’d take my chance with the Wardens. Always one in the crowd, at a hanging. Are you sure you know what you’re doing? I can just do it myself, you know."

Davrin eyes her handiwork and is unconvinced. It’s not terrible, but he is better and faster and he has the time. He’s Dalish - they help each other out. Pass things on. "I know what I’m doing. Eyes on your knees, Rook." 

She picks at the rug again, head bowed. "Past barely matters now. We have gods to punch in the face. Repeatedly."

Davrin respects that about her. Rook is driven, focused. Knows her priorities and marches to the beat of her own drum. When she finally lets her guard down, she eases from begrudging to grateful. Her body brushes against his legs as she regales him with profanity-laden tales of her adventures.

Assan is quite insistent that it’s feeding time by the time Davrin’s fulfilled his duty. Rook clambers to her feet, and tucks her braids behind her ears with a sudden shyness.

"So, er…Thanks. I owe you."

"Nothing to do with hair - or food! No offense."

His joke breathes life back into her and she concedes with one of her raucous laughs. "I’m sure I’ll think of something."

SQUAWK!?

"Next time. Bye Assan, sorry Assan. Thanks, Davrin." 

"Sure thing, boss." He says it more for himself than to her, to keep his mind from revisiting the ear tuck.

🎵🎶🎵🎶🎵🎶🎵🎶🎵🎶

THE HARMONY

"So you know how we can sense Darkspawn, right? Well, if you’ve been a Warden long enough, you can do…this." Rook slides her palms up his, until their fingertips connect. "Don’t block the Song out. Let just a little slip through and-"

Davrin captures her hands in his. "Try to find you."

"Yeah." 

Easier said than done. Shutting out the Blight is the first instinct to calcify in every Grey Warden. It’s a sickly intrusion, and the body naturally tamps down on it. Davrin could no easier piss himself on command than open up to the corruption.

Rook taps at his fingertips with hers, gentle and reassuring. "I can help - I mean, I can show you, if you’d like? We could also stop."

Davrin considers his options. The battlefield advantage of knowing exactly where Rook is and vice-versa? That’s useful. Not to mention the tactical advantage to this Dalish boy of holding hands with the Dalish girl who looks at him like that. Just a little longer.

The advantages, and his curiosity win out.

Rook makes the magic look effortless. Small filaments of pristine light pass between them at every point of contact until... They are extensions of one other. His breath is hers, and her heartbeat is his. Ensnared, together, by the encroaching sickly hymn. There she is.

Davrin’s always been a quick study. He doesn’t need to let the whole song in - just Rook’s part in it. They survive Weisshaupt like that, tucked away into each other, plucking at what hope they can.  After Weisshaupt falls, Davrin commits to composing himself anew - a forward looking piece. Something for himself, for Assan. He lets himself look forward to building a life, starts to believe in echoes resonating out into the future. He starts to grow around the grief. So does Rook.

Davrin hums the first time he kisses her, and when the time comes, he’s a part of the serenade that pulls Rook back from beyond the Veil. A forward looking piece; the blight will always be there, but that’s not all he is. He can grow so much larger around that, too.

Before the final battle against the would-be god who moved the moon, Davrin makes the mistake of asking Rook what she calls her little trick. He fights on behalf of all life in Thedas to a ditty so experimental, it renders him briefly unkillable. (Taint-bonding? Or maybe, Taint-touching? Opening up each other's taints?! I dunno, Davrin. Don't ask me that now. Focus, don't laugh. I love you. We've got this. But be more serious please darling. I love you too. Hm? Yeah, I can still feel your taint - is everything? Oh. Ok. Love you. Ok. Let's GO everyone!)

🎵🎶🎵🎶🎵🎶🎵🎶🎵🎶

BUILDING ECHOES

Minrathous is a mess, after. Rook and Davrin stay behind to help with the Blight containment efforts. Not that there’s too much containing to be done. It’s a dry rot that eats away at all it touches, but it isn’t spreading. And a few people even start to recover from the blight-sickness. Rook, Finn and Antoine spend a whole lot of time poring over why that could be.  Not everyone recovers, though. Some take the Joining. Others succumb. The living is hard and painful. But Rook’s here, and so is he.  Rook insists she’ll remember everything she learns. It’s not that Davrin doesn’t believe her, but he takes meticulous notes.

When they have enough of Minrathous in a splint that the city can recover without them, they ensconce themselves in the Lighthouse for a few weeks. Davrin sings more. Rook teases him, but he learns that she sidles up real close whenever he hums a tune. Splays her hand over the centre of his chest and presses into the melody and everything. "Your voice is kinda like a…barrel. It um…resonates."  Uh-huh. Davrin can’t say he’s been propositioned this way before. Rook can’t sing for shit, but every time she does, he holds her real close. "Your voice is like a barrel, Rook." That spooks the quarry.

With time, spirits filter back into the Lighthouse. Rook strikes up new friendships. Learns some things. She says she’ll remember. Davrin takes meticulous notes. 

One day, they leave. First, Arlathan. To find his people. It’s an awkward homecoming - his Mom is overjoyed, of course. It doesn’t matter so much now, that Davrin doesn’t fit in the space he left behind. He doesn’t have to resolve the dissonance. It can just feel good to be back, to revisit things left unsaid, to leave on a better note every time he and Rook come by with Assan. 

Occasionally, they hunt monsters and steal their stuff. Assan loves it. Rook scrawls notes neither of them can read in the aftermath, but Davrin remembers, and his notes are meticulous. They still hunt darkspawn, sometimes - they’ll always be Wardens, after all. The Blight may be different but it isn’t toothless. Both Davrin and Rook resolve to follow up on the changes - they’re getting pretty good at taking notes. Assan grows HUGE.

They take their findings to Hossberg. Many people moved away, but many more still linger, eking a life out of what little the Blight didn’t rip out from under them. Weisshaupt still burps forth new horrors, and the Wardens stay vigilant.

It takes a few years of trying, but Davrin finds a way to filter clean water from blighted water.

New information, new research, new notes. New places to see, new things to discover. Antoine and Evka compile it all and put the Wardens to work. Slowly, steadily, Hossberg starts fighting back and life wins out. Naturally, because Rook won’t be told how to Warden and Davrin isn’t a man of half measures, they have twins.

Life changes. (First words, schooling, broken bones, The Teenage Years etc.)

🎵🎶🎵🎶🎵🎶🎵🎶🎵🎶

12:81 BRILLIANT

Cayel Thorne is finally ready to show the world what he’s made of. Well, more like he’s finally ready to report his findings to a small cohort of his academic contemporaries. Brummschädel, the Nevarran pseudo-intellectual will also be in attendance, claiming to be both his contemporary and an academic. How the man can publish research on the Blight without actually ever researching the Blight is beyond him. His works are speculation-riddled drivel plagued through and through with shambolic citations, possibly published under duress.

No matter. Cayel pushes his glasses up his sweaty nose and confronts his reflection like a worrier, voice shaking with uncertainty. "You can do this!"  He can. Cayel comes from a long line of researchers and theorists, dating all the way back to the Dragon Age. Helping each other, passing things on. He can do this. The Griffon Sanctuary is depending on him. Hossberg is depending on him.

A way to reverse the Blight.

This time, Cayel confronts his reflection like a warrior, throwing his arms out wide and standing on his tiptoes before unleashing a silent roar at himself. His reflection reciprocates.  Eyes of an eagle, roar of a lion, heart of a halla. His great-aunt’s words, passed down to him along with her ring.

Cayel gives the portrait above his desk an appreciative once over. His wife, his husband. The twins. Four more reasons to make this world better than he found it. Bolstered, he gathers his locs into a bun before adjusting his cravat and rushing out the door. His desk is a scatter of scrolls and leather-bound books. Perched precariously near the edge is a Second Edition of-

Cayel crashes back into his office with a bang! and gathers the Bestiary into his arms before racing off again, the scroll stuck to his boot unravelling in his harried wake. He knows it doesn’t literally look out for him. Still. For good luck. 

🎵🎶🎵🎶🎵🎶🎵🎶🎵🎶

CURTAIN CALL

They go out with a bang. One last time, in that dark place, his favourite duet. Davrin devotes himself to her, and Rook unspools for him - she is the melody itself. The lyrics to the song inside. The chorus and the harmony. He’s always had an empathy for the others, those who reached their time and found beauty in the horror. 

It’s been a comfort, over the years, as the corruption seeped into them both. The knowledge, the certainty that she would always, always, be beautiful to him. Because he loves her, and because his tainted blood cannot find fault in her waning, either. He always was and always will be incapable, down to his bones, to his blood, of feeling anything but pure rhapsody when he looks at her.  She needs to know that. "You are…the most beautiful woman to ever draw breath."

He forgets, for a second, that she left her ring behind. He’s used to feeling the unyielding metal of it on his jaw when she reaches for him.  Rook warbles her voice, aging herself by hundreds of years. "And you look a little like my husband, young man. So very handsome I might even invite you to…touch my bottom." She giggles into his throat, stifling a squeal. Asked, answered. Rook has a phenomenal ass. And Davrin has two hands with which to worship. She blesses him with an oh thank you young man that was very arousing that she giggles into and out of character throughout. Davrin trembles his own age-d gratification, which sends Rook into another fit of giggles that she punctuates with a mighty snort.  It’s all very hysterical, and they’re both so far gone the darkspawn don’t mark them. Lots of different ways of falling apart in each other’s arms - they’re proud to have managed three of them.

When Rook pipes up next, the warble is gone. "Davrin? Thank you. It was so, so good." Why try for better words, when the spoken word has none? "I know." Arm in arm. "All of it. All of it, Davrin." Nose to nose. "It was." "And the kids!" "They’re good kids."  "You were a good dad." Were. "And you were a good mom." Were. "I thought you should know."  

Their I love you’s are a fervent prayer in the dark but their song is the brightest thing they’ve ever felt. Davrin knows her so well he captures her lips before she casts her gaze upward. No need to look for an unfindable sky, now. He brings her eyes back to what matters. Not the end. Their lives, and the business of living it, even as the final notes trickle to an end. The future they built together.

Rook stutters in a shaky breath before something fleeting and familiar curls across her perfect lips. There she is. "And if there is something after…"  "There I am."

Then they really do go out with a bang. As planned, Rook casts a raging dome of fire that consumes them both instantly, along with countless darkspawn. And thanks to the explosive support from friends who came and went before, this part of history collapses in on itself. The horrors under Weisshaupt are no more.  And the harmony is complete.

🎵🎶🎵🎶🎵🎶🎵🎶🎵🎶

23:54 LUNAR

She fucking knew it. Lathen and the damn slab are in cahoots. He’s a right…chip off the old rock. (It’s too late. Yva cannot stop.) 

She chews on a thumbnail, and surveils the culmination of two years of work. 384.489/12c sang like a canary - she’s an epitaph. More accurately, she’s graffiti. On graffiti. As in the epitaph is also…graffiti. Plus a little more graffiti on her backside. Welcome to Hoesbog, indeed.  384.489/12c is quite the saucy minx, for her age.  And she’s the key to translating centuries of ancient script, like a hand reaching forward a thousand years.

The mage projecting the stela into the centre of the lecture hall is doing a great job of getting 384.489/12c’s good side. But what has Yva rattling around in her chair are the words Lathen bequeathed to her when he passed. The words she’s been staring at every day since.

Wardens Rook and Davrin, who bested gods, honoured their calling here They lived full and happy lives And that mattered I have no regrets cayelwazhere My love, the chase was thrilling In the end, I chase you here now Wherever you are, there I -

The remaining lettering is sanded down, and lost to time.

Fuckit. Fuckit. She’s doing it. Yva doesn’t think, doesn’t have a ring, doesn’t have time to wait, doesn’t have time for anything other than racing out into the sun, bounding across NH like a fucking halla on a rampage to ask Neraine a question. She’s a damn mess but Yva figures she’ll compose herself on the way.

[elvhenmage]

everything i have to say abt davrin lacks the extra nuance that i assume one gets from his romance scenes, but i still find him fascinating – that drive for Purpose that made him join the gray wardens, and yet, the pursuit of that Purpose often framing him in… sort of insignificant ways? ways that de-center him?

finding and caring for the griffins is important, but his way of speaking about it tends to position him as just The Guy Who This Task Falls To – the bodyguard, not as important as the actual trainers who died. (which shifts a bit over time, but initially……)

and like, being the one to slay the archdemon and die in the process is in no way insignificant, but it's not JUST that – he considers ALL the wardens that died in weisshaupt heroes, and thus, there’s that sense that he failed by not fighting till the bitter end like they did. even if he didn't die to the archdemon, and just fell to the army of darkspawn, he would have Fulfilled That Purpose still.

and he DOES take pride in a lot of the things he’s been able to do since joining the gray wardens, but even then, those sort of heroics seem to often be framed as A Gray Warden Thing (sweeping thru a town beset by darkspawn and saving the townsfolk) rather than… something that he, As Davrin, has done.

(wish i remembered more of the phrasing he uses when talking abt his monster carvings – done for a very noble purpose, and is more obviously something that he can do because of HIS specific experiences with monsters and HIS skills with woodcarving/whittling, but even so, i think what he says still decenteres him from the act a bit)

SO. that sense of loss and failure he has to grapple with… the guilt that comes with LIVING………. thinking you’ve found Your Purpose and then having to grapple with not fulfilling that and eventually finding A New Purpose………. and then facing the possibility of dying nobly anyway OR watching a friend carry out that last noble sacrifice in your place???? much and more could – and likely has – been said about him by those more eloquent that me but even so. even so…

this got so long LOL i'll put it under a readmore. also i hope i managed to stay at least sort of on topic, i kinda got carried away 😭

well as far as i've been able to tell, outside of locking in the romance during the feeding the halla quest, you only get the one extra scene near the end if he's been romanced, so 🤡 but i've only played his romance so far so idk what exactly is exclusive and what isn't. i won't get started on all That though bc i have a whole other set of complaints about his romance

but he absolutely is de-centered in a lot of his own story, which is a huge shame because at the beginning it seemed like it was setting up to BE something. one of the first real convos you have with him at the lighthouse is about how he feels about suddenly being a caretaker and not just a bodyguard. his role has completely shifted from "stand guard while someone else parents the griffons" to "i'm the one who has to make sure assan is properly cared for." and then he applies that logic to assan and the griffons: "these animals live to fight - but i wonder if there's another path for them?" at which point you can say yeah, everyone can find a new path. but then they don't deliver on that For Him specifically, it's just always about the griffons

like it just feels like it wasn't tied together properly. because there is so much to examine wrt how he feels/acts after weisshaupt and how he's had his main purpose in life ripped away from him. and i think you're right in that it is often framed as A Grey Warden Thing but i also think that could've been, like... part of his issue, yk? because he says in one of his journals that basically he felt like he had to prove himself to his clan when he left and he acknowledges that he was being bullheaded and has since chosen to stay distant. so i think him not allowing himself to be The Hero so to speak could be attributed to him trying to make being a warden MEAN something. if that makes sense. it's just that there's no satisfying follow up to any of it because the writing cares primarily for assan/the griffons

he just has so much potential. obvs we've had warden stories before and it's nothing new that a lot of them feel like they have one singular purpose in life, but this is the only one where he tries to fulfill that purpose and fails. the HOF didn't fail because they knew they weren't going to die if they did the dark ritual. but davrin fully expects to die! and there's no weight to it! they bring up the fact that wardens die killing archdemons as party banter for christ's sake - i sat through the first part of weisshaupt going "so is anyone gonna talk about this, or ???" only for him to have like two lines about it that you as the player can't even choose how to respond to iirc. and then he finds a new purpose after weisshaupt where he wants to live because he sees a future for the first time, and that can still be taken away from him. but all anybody ever wants to talk about is oh poor assan!! if davrin dies so does he so i guess i'll save davrin so the poor little baby griffon doesn't die too! and it's like HELLO?? what are you people even talking about. there is so much potential in davrin and his life and thoughts and feelings and how he could be swayed more towards the wardens or the dalish in the exact same way the griffons are but he's consistently ignored by both the narrative and fans.

and actually i will circle back to the romance point in the first paragraph - i don't know if it's romance-specific but during the final check in at the lighthouse after the point of no return, you get this very brief convo:

DAVRIN: wonder what my old dalish clan would think if they could see me now. ROOK: no reason you can't visit them after this is over. DAVRIN: yeah. i could. DAVRIN: (chuckles) and i'd definitely bring assan.

and it's just, like. MADDENING to me. to me, it feels like there's no real moment where you get to further press on the "everyone can find a new path" dialogue and his "was i born a monster hunter, destined to do this job, or did i have a choice?" journal entry to actually dig into how he feels about what he feels like he should be doing. you can't help him through the internal struggle of his warden duties vs his dalish identity even though it is a DIRECT PARALLEL to what do to with the griffons. like i guess the subtext is that whatever you choose with the griffons is also you choosing what his future will be like but they don't SHOW that. his final line isn't even about him!! it's only about the griffons!!

i dunno man. i feel like an insane person sometimes because i don't know if maybe i'm missing something or misunderstanding or not remembering or whatever. it just doesn't feel like he got the respect the rest of the companions did with their personal quests and it sucks because you can see the glimmers of potential in his storyline and how perfectly he parallels the fate of the griffons. they just didn't spotlight him enough for it to feel like his issues were resolved imo. which is exactly what so many people were afraid of as promo material was coming out, and now here we are, having to deal with people saying the final choice is "harding vs assan" and ignoring davrin completely.

but anyway!!! that's all i have time for because my lunch break is over and my boss is already on my case. thanks for the ask and for letting me ramble though <3

[gingervitus]

Character Inspiration

Thank you for the tag (like a million years ago now) @mythals-whore. I've had most of these inspo characters picked out in my head for a while, but here I am now.

Soft gentle super late tags if you want to play and/or haven't already @serensama @thatgaymerguyb @basedonconjecture @thedissonantverses @cute-ellyna @partially-controlled-chaos and anyone else who is reading this and wants to pick their brains.

Louise Belcher - Silvia gives off big youngest sister and also pain in the ass vibes all day long. She's always scheming and weaseling her way around things. Coexisting with the masterful art of being a little shit, though, she's loyal to a fault. When she cares about someone, she is all in for them.

Eleanor Shellstrop - There is a similar vibe here in that hair brained almost Scooby Doo-esque kind of way. Silvie, much like Eleanor, is also well aware of all the shitty things she does. For a long time, she's content with that life. Kill a guy, get paid, get drunk, get laid, wash, rinse, repeat. So ending up with all these good folks in the VG and she's in charge? What a wild ride for a girl who finds out she's deserved (and really could have been) better the whole time.

Tess (TLOU) - WHEN I TELL YOU I S C R E A M E D UPON REWATCHING HER ENTRANCE AT THE START OF THE LAST OF US. For anyone who is still here from the golden years, Tess is the love of my life. She's snarky and competent and will absolutely fuck your day to smithereens. Everything about her just oozes a hard exterior with deep DEEP trauma hidden underneath and sprinkles of sarcasm on top. Silvia is just her, and I may or may not have died when I realized this.

Meg (Hercules) - Again with the similar vibe. Hercules was my favorite Disney movie as a kid, and it holds up. Meg is not framed as the typical damsel in distress. She's hardheaded and self reliant, and I love her for it. However, when a big handsome jacked man comes to sweep you off your feet, sometimes you just have to go for it. Anyway, Silvia and Davrin, am I rite?

Mona Lisa Vito - Hear me out: loud Italian sister with a vast knowledge in her industry? Hello? The court scene in My Cousin Vinny: "It's a bullshit question!" She is confident with a wicked whip of a mind and stands for no bullshit. I mean in canon it's valid for Silvia but this is specifically modern AU Silvia hardcore.

Rei Hino/Sailor Mars - Okay, had to get some Sailor Moon in here (as I stare at my half sleeve tattoo solely dedicated to Sailors Mars, Mercury, and Jupiter), and Rei feels the most relevant to Silvia. She can get fiery and hot headed especially when it comes to leadership she feels is ineffectual (yes this is me relating bastard prince Viago de Riva to Sailor Moon somehow? Stay with me). However, through all the battles and headaches and cat fights, she remains staunchly loyal throughout it all. Rei also has that far off dream of being a singer if I recall correctly, so we've got an adjacent dream for Silvie because my sweet girl wants nothing more than to dance.

Anyway, this was so fun, and I want to give an honorable mention to Toph Beifong, who honestly almost made the cut. Idk. Love my silly like Crow

[teyrnacousland]

2, 4, 9, and 15 for Cassia and/or Asha 👀

Thank you! ♥ Also seeing other people say my OCs names is always wild to me, wow, I forget sometimes they exist outside of my head asghjkl;lhk

Rook & Companion Questions

2. Do they like Harding's cooking?

Cassia will absolutely tell you that she does. She will say it with a bit too much enthusiasm. She is lying. But she absolutely refuses to be seen as difficult or picky, especially when someone did something as thoughtful and caring as cooking for her. Cassia hasn’t had a real friend in so long that she’ll eat whatever weird garbage Harding could throw together, honestly. 

Asha has successfully managed to separate food for sustenance from food for taste in her mind. (Read: sweets are for enjoying, dinner is for nutrition.) If she was asked her opinion, she’d shrug and say it’s alright. It’s healthy enough, usually, and pretty filling. And almost definitely not poisoned, she trusts Harding that much, at least. Isn’t that what food is for? (Lucanis' cooking being so good changes this opinion later.)

4. Does your Rook like the walks in Arlathan with Davrin?

Cassia loves them! She hasn’t spent a lot of time in nature as a kid, growing up in Tevinter and all. Or as an adult, honestly. She was always more for bookstores and libraries than dirt and trees. But it's so good for getting out of one’s head and just existing, which my little ball of anxiety here could definitely use. I think she struggles with it at first, just relaxing and focusing on being part of the world, but Davrin had to learn to enjoy and connect with nature when he was younger too, so he knows how to teach her.

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

(And for Asha, I wrote this by accident instead of just writing an answer, oops.)

Asha’s eyes drifted over the sweeping archways of Arlathan. Or, what was left of them, anyways. She tried to imagine what it was like, when this place was new. When it belonged to the elves. Their people. Her people. 

“Does this make you feel anything?” she asked Davrin quietly, sweeping her hand over some engraved text she couldn’t read.

“Depends what you mean by that,” Davrin said, raising a brow at her. 

She looked at the decaying stonework in front of her.

“I feel like-” The words cut off, her mouth pressing shut. She took a deep breath through her nose, then out through her mouth, and then tried again. “I feel like I should feel… something. More. Like this should feel like a part of me, or something.”

“Because you’re an elf?” Davrin asked. 

“Well, I am, aren’t I?” She looked back at him. Davrin, with his pointed ears, and the lines marking his face. And his Grey Warden themed armour. 

Davrin nodded slowly at her. “You are. As much as I am.”

She kept his gaze for a second more before she turned away, her eyes fixing on the broken stone once more. “I don’t feel like it.”

“Ancient history isn’t what makes us who we are, you know,” Davrin said softly, coming to stand beside her. “We share a lot more than some old buildings and a cursed forest.”

She didn’t say anything. Just sighed and let herself lean into him, just slightly, just enough that she could convince herself he might not notice. 

“But, if you’re interested,” Davrin continued. “I could teach you some Dalish. Then you, me, and Bellara could talk about the others behind their backs.” He bumped her shoulder playfully with his own.

Asha shook her head at him, but she couldn’t hide the smile tugging at her lips. “Yeah. I think I’d like that.”

9. What is your Rook's favorite dish that Lucanis cooks?

Cassia would be fine with anything Lucanis cooks. But if she had to pick a favourite? Arancini. Rice and cheese are always good (maybe Harding’s love of cheese has rubbed off on her), but it’s also one of the first times she got to actually help him out in the kitchen. Rice is something she’s actually made before, so she knows how to do it. 

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

Asha will not tell Lucanis her favourite food. He’s asked her several times. They’ve gone grocery shopping together. But she won't give anything away, just shrugs and insists she has no preference and is fine with anything. Observing her isn't helping either; she seems to eat everything and anything indiscriminately. It’s become a matter of pride for him as an assassin, to gather intel from his evasive new mark. 

He gets the first hint when they meet with Illario at Cafe Pietra. Asha offers to take their orders to the counter, using the excuse that she wants to keep an eye on things, make sure no one slips anything into their drinks. She doesn’t say anything about the drinks when she comes back. But both Lucanis and Spite can smell the chocolatey scent of cioccolata calda coming from her cup.

The second hint comes when they’re at the market. He’s busy going through the whole bin trying to find an avocado that’s perfectly ripe, so he almost doesn’t notice Asha pocket a single strawberry off a nearby table when the clerk isn't looking. Interesting...

The next time she comes through the kitchen to check on him, he presents her with a chocolate tart, topped with a layer of sliced strawberries.

She stares at him. He stares back. 

“I hate you,” she says, though her voice is flat and completely devoid of any bite, and he can see the tips of her ears flush red. She snatches the tart, and grabs a second one off the tray behind him. She retreats back to her room, leaving him smiling with smug satisfaction.

15. Bonus: What is one thing a companion does to cheer up your Rook if they're feeling down?

Lucanis lets Cassia sit in the kitchen while he cooks. She’s not allowed to help, not after last time. But she likes watching. At first he writes it off as just a sheltered girl being fascinated by a skill she’s never seen in action before, but eventually he realizes she’s watching him more than his technique with a kitchen knife. Either way, it seems to do wonders for distracting her and lifting her mood. And she’s always so touched whenever he makes something specially for her. Spending an hour or two working away in a kitchen under her watchful gaze is more than worth it if it makes her smile and thank him in that soft, unguarded tone she gets when he presents her with homemade treats. 

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

Lucanis has a similar method for cheering up Asha. One night, when he’s sitting in his room not sleeping, he hears Asha come in and sneaks out to see her with a bag of ingredients she must have stolen from the pantry earlier. He recognizes them as the ingredients from the dinner he made earlier that night. He watches her for a few more beats before clearing his throat. He dodges the knife she throws his way on instinct, and leans against the door frame with his arms crossed waiting for an explanation. 

“I watched you. When you made it,” she grumbles finally, when it’s clear a staring contest isn’t going to make him go away. “I wanted to try.”

Lucanis ends up mostly watching her, piping in with an occasional tip or correction. From then on, he offers to teach her something new whenever he notices her looking upset. It’s comforting to her, it reminds her of when Viago would teach her to mix poisons. Only, if Viago had tact and was capable of kindness on occasion.

[queenmuzz]

💐 & 🌱 - 👀✨

💐 What is the relationship Rook has with their faction mentor? What was the moment they sent Rook away like?

Zea Ingellvar:

She is utterly devoted to the closest things she has to parents. She tries to remain formal with them in public, as a Watcher is supposed to do, but man... in private she's still a little girl with them. Especially Dadgoth... I mean Vorgoth. She's the only person who doesn't feel any unease around it. (Even a Senior Watcher like Emmrich can't help but feel chills down his spine when in its presence)

The moment she was sent out into the wide world she had never stepped foot in before in three decades felt like a death sentence to her. She understood why it was neccesary, but it felt like a betrayal. Aren't parents supposed to support their children?

Milo De Riva

To outsiders, Viago looks like he's one more snippy quip from strangling the boy. Milo is a blasted nuisance, egotistical, lies as easily as he breathes, and.... always gets the job done. He can't help be fond of him, although NEVER even imply that in his presence, lest your next glass of wine be your last.

Milo's relationship is a constant back and forth, a battle of the wills. A testing of how far he can go with Viago's tolerance for his shenanigans.

But an outsider will notice that when they walk together in the Treviso markets, Milo will always stay on Viago's left side, his left eye scanning for any potential dangers, his nearly useless right eye kept closest to the man he trusts with his life. His nickname given by other's as 'Viago's One Eyed Mabari' is very fitting.

His 'contract' to stop Solas at any cost causes a rift between the Talon and his protege. He's expecting his throat to be slit, or poison coursing in his veins as he spasms on the floor. But this... the only reason he doesn't disobey, is because his oath to his Talon, something he will never break.

🌱 Was Rook involved romantically with anyone before Veilguard? What was their partner like? How did the relationship end?

Zea Ingellvar

Despite her being in her early 30's, she's... never had a relationship. Not romantic, not sexual, almost nothing. A life spent in the lower depths of the necropolis, her odd origins, and her extreme reluctance to leave its hallowed halls have left her with very few people to form attachments with.

She has formed crushes though, like a teenage boy who was briefly served under Myrna, before he was transferred to another Mourn Watcher. It would have never worked out anyways, as he was already engaged to a lovely noblegirl by his family.

She saw him again nearly fifteen years later to escort him to the family tombs for a remembrance ceremony, along with his wife, and two children. He didn't seem to recognize her at all, and seemed so happy with his family, she didn't bother saying anything, save to look on with longing from a distance. Not for him, but for what he had.

Milo De Riva

Milo on the other hand, has slept with half of Treviso....

If you believe what comes out of his mouth, which Viago would heavily recommend you don't.

If you're in his vicinity, he's probably going to flirt with you. Doesn't matter your age, gender, race, he's got a line that would sweep you off your feet, if you let him. (Viago and Teia are OFF LIMITS)

Most people don't, on account of him being a Crow, the reputation they have for their lovers to experience Le Petit Mort followed immediately by Le Grand Mort turns off most people with wits. And there's also his bad eye, which he accepts is a turn off to most people.

So, it's a shock to Harding, when all of a sudden he stops hitting on her. She thinks she's done something wrong, or upset him. But then she notices he has completely shut down his flirting with Neve, Bellara, Emmrich, Taash and Davrin (much to the latter's relief). The only one he flirts with now is Lucanis.

That's when Harding knows he's down BAD for the guy.

[himbopunk]

alternatively it would be funny if hakim, separately, were also into yuvan. id already started to consider doing this with davrin a bit cuz i imagine like. less the frenemies to lovers homoerotic rivalry thing he has with lucanis but i do imagine yuvan and him maybe being a bit flirty, not in the way davrin is with rook with the whoe chase/quarry metaphor cuz that just does not work with yuvan but the like affectionate teasing Definitely does work on him and davrin does that a lot too. also hmm. imagining davrin feeling some way when he gets local chronic bitch face nihilistic grump yuvan to crack a smile or lik, burst out laughing and wanting to chase /that/, chase that feeling. something something hunter vs protector narratives with him fits in here somewhere, protecting the joy of someone who doesnt seem to carry much to begin with. (this angle factorsbin davrin/lucanis a bit imo as well which is why i kinda compared the two pairings at first theres. Parallels). discovering how much can actually be there when he pays attention, idk.

i dont know how much its reciprocated at least initially if just because i mean. one yuvan likes slightly pathetic little weirdos to begin with for the most part that seems to be his primary type across canons. but two i think like charming beefy hero boys like davrin or charming pretty rougish types like hakim are kind of just 1. Out of his league 2. Gonna think he's a freak and not be into him Anyways. i dont think hes as correct on this as he thinks he is but its A Thing

also i just really enjoy when the charming guy who can sweep most ppl off their feet have a mostly one sided thing with someone ppl wouldnt rly expect them to go for, yearning nearly to the point of desparation

[mythals-whore]

WIP Wednesday

thank you for the tag @thedissonantverses & @basedonconjecture I have honestly been looking forward to this bc I LOVE the chapters I'm working on right now!!!

I am tagging @flowersforthemachines @rook-laidir @thebarghestiest but no pressure ofc (:

As some of us may know, I am a psycho who only posts groups of 2-3 chapters at a time, so this is from a mostly finished chapter that won't be posted until I finish her sister.

“That’s not a requirement for conversation, you know.” Davrin manages to sound amused, and she’s aware of his presence at her back. “Maybe tomorrow.” is all she says, feet dragging on her way up the steps. “Are you going to bed?” She pauses halfway up the stairs and turns to find him waiting at the foot of them. Davrin stands with one hand on the banister stock still like one might do so as not to spook halla. Cyri wonders for a moment if that’s how he thinks of her.  It’s amusing enough that she can’t help the slight curve of her mouth.  “With you?”  “I didn’t say that,” but she can tell from the slight  quirk of his lips that she read the real meaning correctly. You deserve to be happy. Cyri isn’t sure she knows how to do that, but maybe she can try anyway.  “Will you bring me coffee again?” Davrin huffs a little laugh, casting his eyes to the floor for just a moment. And when he looks up again there's something so earnest in his eyes that something in her chest cracks open. “Yeah, Rook.” There are unspoken words at the end of that sentence. She pretends not to hear them.  “Okay.” He waits at the bottom of the steps, and when she reaches him, he falls into step next to her. The back of his hand brushes hers and it feels like a brand, but he makes no move to take her hand. She wonders if she should.  She doesn’t  They make the journey to his room in a companionable silence, and when they finally reach it, he holds the door open for her. The knowledge that she’s now treading entirely new waters follows her over the threshold.  Last night at least had involved sex. But Cyri has the sneaking suspicion that tonight won’t. That they’re on the verge of something far more intimate. Something she doesn't even have the framework to understand.  Rook pauses at the center of the room. Assan slinks past, undoubtedly crawling into bed. It occurs to her that she has no idea what to do with herself, but it feels far too late to run now. She turns toward Davrin, on the verge of making an excuse to leave. But he sweeps in, unphased by her uncertainty. Warm, calloused fingers slide over the nape of her neck, and he presses a chaste kiss to her lips, like he’s done it a thousand times. It’s startling and comforting. She’s not sure how that can be true, but it is.  Afterward, he just continues past her into the room, setting the small book on his nightstand. He unfastens the little buttons on his sleeves one handed before pulling his shirt over his head. The muscles in his back flex elegantly with the motion. Cyri watches, fascinated, as he takes the time to fold it and set it in a basket next to his dresser. He toes off his boots next.  She feels the distinct urge to look away, feeling like she’s intruding on something she was never meant to see. It’s different, somehow, to watch him undress himself. There’s nothing performative about it, nothing to indicate that he even feels her eyes on him. No little smirk playing on his mouth. No arched eyebrow thrown over a shoulder as he unlaces his trousers. He doesn't even turn toward her until he’s folded them and placed them atop his tunic in the basket, all while she stands there, quietly fascinated.