pausegame - Tumblr blog

pausegame · 7 hours ago

Text

On Matters of Inertia: Chapter Ten

Summary: Camina finally has a plan to move forward. 5k, Lucanis/Rook. Hey, ToBP, this one is for you.

Also on AO3.

____________________________________________________________

Something catches in Camina's chest the first day that refugees enter the Crossroads in any real number. Most of the people she walks the paths with do not know who she is, do not care what title she holds, or what heroic acts she may or may not have done. She is there with confidence and a smile and a promise that this journey will be safe. Some groups have carts they pull themselves, and the less lucky carry only what they have on their backs. Camina holds children's hands, carries packs, and does her best to point out the beauty of the Crossroads to the nervous people who follow behind her like little ducklings.

Taash is the best at this part, their perfunctory, but kind nature more calming than any reassurance that Camina could give. There are Veil Jumpers everywhere during the first few days, flitting about the paths, waving and protecting. Most of the refugees in the first wave are coming from Denerim or the other hardest-hit parts of Ferelden. Many head for Antiva City, the promise of warm weather and a city untouched by the blight fueling hopes for better lives.

Surprisingly, Neverra accepts its fair share of refugees as well. Camina finds that she loves escorting those groups the best. It allows her to tell them of her home, of Nevarra City, the Necropolis. She answers wide-eyed questions from small children about having skeletal constructs and wisps as friends and then hands them off to her fellow Watchers, who greet them at the eluvian.

It's not perfect, and she knows that every group with control of their eluvians is doing it differently. Strife has done all he can to negotiate for the free movement of refugees, but she knows that she's still walking with the lucky. Behind every group she meets, there are those who will never have this chance. And she tries not to let that knowledge swallow her whole. Even now, it is a struggle not to make every problem she sees in the world hers. To remember where her influence and power end.

"Rook!" Strife calls to her from his make-shift office at the nexus. She's just finished escorting a group from Orlais to Antiva City, so she hurries over.

"Everything alright?" she asks.

Strife folds his arms and nods. "Actually, for once, yeah."

She laughs. "You could sound happier about it."

"This has gone better than expected," Strife admits. "But I'll hold off celebrating for a bit longer."

Everything about the Veil Jumpers' position here still feels rather precarious. Strife continues to fight the good fight, but she knows that it hasn't been easy, and that it certainly hasn't been without conflict with other leaders, including her. The Crossroads change everything, and not everyone loves change.

"Fair enough," she replies.

Strife shifts a little uncomfortably, so Camina waits him out. Eventually, he clears his throat. "I know it's not exactly part of our deal, but I have a favor to ask."

"What do you need?"

Strife's hands rest on his hips. "A Dalish clan found an unmarked burial ground in Arlathan. We'd have expected it to be ancient, but our best guess is that it's only about thirty years old. I know, like Emmrich, you've got bone magic."

Camina nods. "I'm a bone reader."

"Do you think you could go? Help them figure out who these people were or what happened? They're being pretty insistent that they put them to rest before moving on, and I could send some Jumpers, but let's face it. You'll be faster."

Camina isn't used to being asked outside of the Necropolis for her expertise. "Don't you need me here?"

He shakes his head. "I know where to find you. Talk to Nath'il, he'll tell you where to find them."

"Alright, I'll probably take Davrin and Assan with me."

Strife gives her a nod, and she knows him well enough by now to know that the conversation is over, so she turns to go. "I think after you do this, you've earned some time off."

She pauses and looks back at him. "Time off?"

"My reports say you've been here every day for the last three and a half weeks."

Every day since Lucanis went back to Treviso. She's not sure what else to do with herself, and working is a hell of a lot better than moping around the Lighthouse. "That a problem?"

Strife shakes his head. "No, but you've been working pretty much nonstop since Minrathous."

She crosses her arms. "That was the deal."

"Help the clan, and then take a few days off."

With a few days, she could go to Treviso. She could see Lucanis…she could figure out what's going on there. What's keeping him there. "I want a week."

She expects an argument or a negotiation at the very least. What she doesn't expect is for Strife to look pleased. "Just send word on how to get in touch."

A few hours later, she and Davrin and Assan hike through Arlathan Forest. It's been a few weeks since she's been here, and the disquiet gets to her a little. Arlathan feels old, feels like it's watching. The foliage is the bright green of late summer, the trees cracking and creaking in the slight breeze as they walk the rock-strewn path.

"Strife tell you anything about this particular clan we're meeting with?" Davrin asks.

Camina shakes her head. "Just that our contact is Keeper Olwin. Familiar to you?"

"No, but I haven't exactly kept up with Dalish clans…even my own since I joined the Wardens."

"Thanks for coming," she says. And she means it. It hadn't been until her year traveling around Thedas with Varric that she'd met any Dalish, but not every experience had been a good one. She's an elf, but she's not Dalish. Before Davrin and Bellara, her experiences talking with Dalish elves had often felt like standing on opposite sides of a river. The river is the same for them both, but there's a distance, a difference. She looks like them, but their culture isn't hers. Even as she learned more about it, she's never been sure how much of it she has a right to anyway. And then everything they've learned in the past year about the elven gods has only complicated it all further. Bellara and Davrin have always made it a point to include her, and they've never made her feel stupid for not knowing the same things they know, but she never forgets.

They reach the Dalish encampment first, catch sight of the tips of the aravel's sails in the trees. The aravels are circled up together in a grove, forming a little courtyard where people cook and work and children play. Most of them ignore them, but there are more than a few curious stares. An older woman, hair completely white haloing her brown, suntanned face, approaches them, eyes flicking first to Davrin's face and then to hers.

"Andaran atish’an," the woman inclines her head slightly. "Ma serranas gara sahlin."

Camina takes a deep breath and tries her best to repeat the greeting. "Andaran atish'an."

"I am Keeper Olwin. You must be Rook," Keeper Olwin says with a gentle smile. "And Grey Warden Davrin."

Davrin laughs. "Just Davrin is fine. Hope you don't mind, we brought a griffon too." As he speaks, Assan lands beside him, preening proudly.

Keeper Olwin looks delighted. "You honor us by bringing one of Arlathan's protectors with you."

"Strife said you requested help identifying a burial ground you found?" Camina asks.

"Yes. We cannot figure out who they are or piece together what happened from what we have searched thus far."

Camina steels herself for this next bit. "I'm happy to help, but did Strife explain that I'll have to touch the bones? It means disturbing the graves. If that's not okay, I'm still happy to take a look and do what I can."

Keeper Olwin nods understandingly. "I understand how your gift works, Dirth Din'an."

Camina doesn't know enough elvish to put together what that means. Davrin leans in and quietly explains. "It means Death Speaker."

"I didn't realize you had a name for what I can do," Camina says. She's never heard of bone readers outside the Mourn Watch, and if she has, they're usually divinationists…reading bones to tell the future or read the Fade instead of what she can do.

"Death gifts are rare, but not unknown to us," Keeper Olwin says. "Come, I will show you what we have found."

***

Camina finds the work in Arlathan familiar, even if the people are not. She spends the next day and a half with the Dalish clan, cataloguing and making notes of everything they find. Most of the graves were shallow, the bones already exposed to the elements or stolen away by the animals of the forest. Already, they are digging new graves to lay the dead in after she reads their bones.

The day passes swiftly, most of the clan helps with the work, so she spends most of her time on the soft ground, diving in and out of the past. She's reminded of her favorite days in the Necropolis, while working on her dissertation, the sense of accomplishment, and the mysteries unraveled. She pieces together a story, a sad one, but a story nonetheless.

This group was traveling through Arlathan, and they were attacked. After she describes the weapons, the injuries she sees as she reads the bones, one of the members of the clan tells her it matches those used by Tevinter slavers. The group was perhaps escaped slaves, hoping to leave their pursuers behind by coming into the forest, dangerous as it was. But they had been found anyway. Whoever had survived had buried them as best they could. There are no trees planted here, so there had been too many, and there hadn't been time for the proper rituals. She wonders what would have driven the slavers to merely slaughter the group rather than drag them back to whatever city they'd escaped from. It's a mystery they might never know, not without a corpse whisperer…but even after this long away, the violence of their deaths. Camina would be surprised if the spirits would answer.

"This is the last one," Davrin says, carefully cradling a skeleton in a dirt-covered blanket with a member of the clan who's been friendly and inquisitive. Hemuel, she thinks his name is.

She looks the skeleton over, trying to mark which bones might be missing, trying to see if any of the bone pieces scattered on another blanket beside her might match. They will bury them all regardless, but if they can, they will try to make the bodies whole.

But the skeleton looks mostly intact, dirt-covered, less sunbleached than others she's seen yesterday and today. "Looks mostly intact."

"This grave was less disturbed than the others," Hemuel explains.

She nods, that tracks. And then she reaches out, touching the talus and reaching for her magic. It answers, and she is pulled away. She sees images, trees in the darkness, rather similar to every other foot bone she has read. But there's something else, something in the darkness, something…new.

She presses deeper, trying to look around, trying to feel for the difference with her magic. She feels the presence bending close. Suddenly, something grabs her.

"Rook!" The voice is loud, not in the memory, but instead, it is as though someone has yelled it beside her in the forest.

She pulls back, retracts her seeking magic, pulls it around her greedily in her panic. She's suddenly back in the sunlight. And she is alone. Davrin and Hemuel have long since walked away. Across the green grove, the clan moves about digging new graves, planting trees over the dead. And there is no sign of the voice, no sign of what might have called out to her. It is like the Crossroads, this voice. She's almost sure it is the same one, but it has never called to her outside of that place.

Already, she feels rather untethered to her body, a side-effect of diving so much into the bone memories. But this voice…doesn't help. She shuts her eyes and takes a few deep breaths, hand in the soft grass below her, trying desperately to ground herself in the here and now. She is done reading bones for today.

Two elves come for the body, carrying it to the waiting grave, to fill it and set a sapling in the soil as they cover it. Camina watches them go, and tries to get control of her breathing, tries to hide the fear she feels. It is one thing to hear voices in the Crossroads, another entirely to hear someone calling to her….as though they were reaching through her magic…through her connection to the Fade.

Keeper Olwin gathers everyone around her in a semicircle, and Camina brushes the dirt of her robes and steps up to where Davrin stands. He's in the back, part of the group, but keeping a respectful distance. She knows this is complicated for him, too, just in different ways. He craves the community, the belonging that comes with living in a clan, the shared history, but he doesn't want to be tied down by it. Sometimes, he talks like he hasn't quite forgiven himself for leaving in the first place. She wishes she knew better what to say.

But then Keeper Olwin bows her head and begins the ritual. Camina cannot understand much of it, but she knows it is a prayer, feels the meaning even when she cannot understand the words. It's nice until she begins to hear the names of the Creators: Elgar'nan and Ghilan'nain, especially. She knows she reacts because of the way Davrin wraps an arm around her, tucks her in protectively close.

"Perhaps they don't know," she murmurs, just loud enough for her to hear.

She bites back everything she wants to say, every protest that would leave her lips. She had assumed, clearly incorrectly, that this clan requesting her help must then be a clan that had put aside the elven gods. That being friendly with Strife and the Veil Jumpers would mean that they would have accepted, like many others, that Elgar'nan and Ghilan'nain were tyrants, that their history and their religion were false. But there is none of that, they chant and they pray and they worship the very beings that would have enslaved them. The very beings that had killed her friend.

She takes the comfort Davrin offers, fisting her hand into his cloak where no one can see and tries to tune it all out. Assan seems to sense the tension, pressing into them both with a soft chirp. It doesn't last long, but by then she is more than ready to leave. Unfortunately, some things the Mourn Watch drilled into her are too difficult to forget. She finds she cannot leave without at least telling Keeper Olwin goodbye.

The older woman waves off their excuses. "You cannot leave without first coming to my aravel and having some tea."

"I appreciate the offer, but we've been gone almost two days, and I'm sure the Crossroads-"

"You have time for tea," Keeper Olwin says firmly.

So she and Davrin follow her to her aravel without further complaint. The aravel sits open, revealing a seating area covered by the colorful sails of the aravel. Keeper Olwin presses her hand against the kettle, and Camina recognizes the heating spell used, then she invites them to sit on the cushions scattered on the rug.

"You seemed uncomfortable during the rites," Keeper Olwin says as she sets three small wooden cups on a little tray.

Camina and Davrin exchange a look, and she fumbles for a polite half-truth, for something to say that will not offend. But Davrin is faster. "I think we were simply surprised to hear reverence for the Creators when you had also invited us here."

Keeper Olwin pours the hot water into the cups, the smell of vanilla, lavender, and other herbs filling the air as the steam rises. "Not all Dalish have been as keen to put aside the old ways as many who have joined the Veil Jumpers' cause."

Davrin had told her that there were some clans who didn't accept their story, who didn't believe that Elgar'nan and Ghilan'nain were who they said they were. "So you don't believe us? That we fought and killed two elven gods?"

Keeper Olwin sighs as she sits down across from them, folding her legs beneath her. "We believe you."

"I don't understand…" Davrin says. "If you believe us…then why do you still pray to them?"

"What would you have us believe in instead?" Keeper Olwin asks. "The Maker? The Avvar's Lady of the Skies? Do you find it so easy to put off faith?"

Camina has never known what to believe. She was raised praying to the Maker, but joining the Mourn Watch had complicated her feelings about the Chantry. Being an elven mage had further distanced her from it. Once, she had studied the elven gods, hoping that some part of that knowledge would connect to her, give her that sense of belonging she'd so longed for. She didn't find it, had always assumed it was her own fault. She's not about to admit how relieved she'd felt when they'd discovered the elven gods weren't gods at all, just how much knowledge was lost.

"I've always found faith difficult," Davrin admits.

Camina's hands twist in her lap as she nods in agreement. "Coming face to face with supposed gods does complicate belief a bit for me. Not just yours."

"Understandable," Keeper Olwin replies. "And perhaps you can hold space in your soul for those complexities. Not everyone can. Some need faith to provide their lives with meaning. Sometimes, it doesn't matter what is true, but what meaning you can pull from it. Are the lessons of the Creators any less helpful because they may not be true?

"To have faith is to hope for things you cannot see, but my people have been given surety. Our Creators existed. In that, our faith was not misplaced. And maybe the lesson we draw from their tyranny is that even the most powerful among us can be corrupted."

"So you're saying the truth doesn't matter so long as people take lessons out of it?" Davrin asks.

"I'm saying that faith and truth are not the same, and perhaps that is okay. Our stories can change, and little by little, they will. We have learned much of what the ancient elves were, we can see that what we have tried to keep, what we have preserved, is merely an echo of what was. Perhaps it is not Falon'Din who guides our spirits to rest, but if it provides comfort for some to believe that we are not alone after we die, where is the harm?"

Camina thinks she understands. "All you can do is give people space, give them the truth, and try to help them make sense of it. But it is ultimately up to them."

Keeper Olwin smiles faintly. "I spent so many years as Keeper and First worried about being a good steward of the knowledge entrusted to me. Worried that I might forget something I had been taught, or fail to pass something down. And then we find that much of what we thought we knew was wrong…you cannot understand the relief it was to realize that the chains of knowledge were broken long before me."

"So how do you decide what to keep?" she asks.

Keeper Olwin gestures at the aravels gathered around. "Whatever is important to them. My responsibility is to them and them alone now."

Keeper Olwin's words echo around in Camina's head even after they leave, even after they say their goodbyes. She and Davrin walk in comfortable silence through the forest.

"I wish I knew better how to disagree with her," Davrin says, finally. "I get what she's saying…it's just…I don't like it."

"Yeah, but she's not wrong. People need something to believe in. I just…I don't know. I forgot how much tradition matters to people; I wish truth mattered more."

Davrin sighs. "If there's anything we learned from Solas, it's that truth is subjective. We have our truth, Olwin's clan has theirs. You can't force people to believe something else. Especially when they've spent their whole lives in it. All you can do is make space for them, show them other ways, and hope they come to it on their own."

"I think that requires patience I'm not sure I have."

Davrin shakes his head. "I don't know. You did pretty well helping them."

And despite how it ended, she did enjoy being here. Learning from the Dalish. Even when it makes her feel a bit inadequate, even when she is reminded of everything she doesn't know. "Maybe there will be others who need my help…Maybe I can bone read for more people outside the Necropolis, the Dalish especially. Help them piece together their history. However jagged or incomplete."

Davrin smiles. "Yeah? Not just going to disappear back into the crypts?"

She shrugs. "I think…maybe it's time that more Mourn Watchers spend time out in the real world. Our gifts can be used for more than just venerating our noble dead…perhaps I'll show them that."

Davrin nudges her and smiles. "I think you already have, Rook. But that sounds like a pretty good plan to me."

"Thanks for coming with me. And making sure I didn't make a scene at their ritual," she says.

"It's personal for us in ways I don't think anyone who didn't fight them understands. What's next?"

Camina hasn't voiced her plans for after this to anyone yet. "Strife said I could have some time off once we did this. I think I'm going to head to Treviso."

Davrin laughs. "It's about damn time. Let's go."

***

Lucanis isn't sure how long this meeting with Teia has been dragging on, but he's almost desperate enough to drink the coffee here if it keeps him awake. The meeting had begun well enough, with important details about her party and who was invited. It will be here, at the Diamond, of course. But it's quickly devolved into things he doesn't care about, like table linens and flower arrangements. Viago is bearing it better than he is, but both of them are looking to avoid Teia's wrath by looking at least somewhat attentive.

It's getting harder and harder by the minute.

Spite is also restless. Which isn't exactly helping matters. Lucanis doesn't blame him, but he tries not to communicate too obviously with Spite in front of anyone but Camina. Teia and Viago are supportive, but it's there's still a sense of unease anytime his being an abomination is too obvious. The other day, Spite had nearly hit Viago in the face by popping out his wings rather unexpectedly. Viago had looked somewhat pale, and Lucanis had profusely apologized. Spite, for his part, seemed pleased. So he doesn't blame their nervousness around him, but it does mean that he's never quite relaxed with them. Besides, they're not exactly alone tonight. Chance is also present, and a few of Teia's handpicked Crows that shift and move arrangements and linens for her.

"I don't think having a dress code is too much to ask," Teia replies.

Viago sighs. "I thought this party was a trap. Are you really trying to make it harder to get them there?"

Teia shrugs, her dark curls bouncing. "We need them not to be suspicious. What do you think, Lucanis?"

"I suppose it depends on the dress code," he replies evenly. He truly doesn't care. If House Dellamorte truly is their target, then all that matters is that they're there, out in the open, looking like easy targets. These assassins have already shown themselves to be brash and overeager.

Over Teia's shoulder, Viago shoots him a long-suffering look. Teia nods. "Nothing too complicated, but everyone should look good even if we're killing a few of them."

The door to the meeting room swings open, and a Cantori Crow hovers at the door. "Uh, Seventh Talon?"

Teia doesn't bother looking up from her notes and papers. "What is it, Evelyn?"

"A visitor, here for you," Evelyn smiles.

Spite perks up, and Lucanis quietly hopes that this means he'll be excused. But then he catches sight of a familiar set of robes, the green and purple as unmistakable as the fall of her long, dark hair. Camina.

"Rook!" Spite exclaims, already halfway across the room.

Lucanis would like to do the same, but instead he remains rooted to the spot, trying not to look too utterly surprised. If it were up to him, she'd already be in his arms, and they'd be on their way out of the Diamond. But they have an audience, so professionalism wins out.

"Rook, how good to see you," Teia says, switching smoothly from Antivan to the Trade tongue to accommodate Camina. Teia throws a glare his way. "I didn't realize we were expecting you."

Camina flashes him a smile before greeting Teia. "By design, it's a bit of a surprise. Strife says I work too much, gave me a few days off."

"Does this mean you're here for my party?" Teia asks, eyes bright.

"I wouldn't miss it," Camina replies smoothly, as though she was aware of it. As though he'd bothered giving her any information about it. He sees the way her gaze cuts to him, the slightest question there, and he wishes he'd been able to warn her off visiting now, but he's just so glad she's here, it barely matters.

"Rook," Viago nods coolly. Teia has clearly forgiven her for Minrathous, but Viago has always been more cautious with his trust.

"Good to see all of you," Camina replies as she steps near Lucanis's side. "Is this the super important Crow business that keeps Talons busy?"

Spite keeps flitting from either side of her, saying her name and looking at Lucanis with unbridled joy.

"Party planning is an art form," Teia replies.

Viago huffs a laugh. "Especially, when it is also a trap."

Lucanis's fingers brush against Camina's as she draws close. It's the most overt he'll be in front of others. He knows his attachment to Rook is a poorly kept secret by now, and that they can trust everyone in this room, but he doesn't dare show more than a reserved joy that she's here. A part of him also worries that she's here with bad news, and he's also not exactly sure where he and Camina stand, so he'll have to wait until they get a second alone. Still, Camina's fingers press back gently against his.

"Do Crows ever have parties that are just parties? A trap for what?"

It is then that he, Teia, and Viago fill her in on the happenings in Treviso. He watches understanding drift across her features as she puts together the pieces. He hasn't written a thing about the trouble in Treviso, only insisting he must remain here. He has no insight into how she feels about that, only watches her frown as they explain the plan, the hope of drawing their enemies out. He swears he can all but see her mind working, the pieces of the plan drawing together.

"And you think that House Dellamorte is their only target?" Camina asks.

Lucanis shrugs. "Thus far."

Viago looks gratefully at Camina though. "No, I've brought up this same concern. What if the attacks on House Dellamorte are simply one prong of their goal?"

Chance steps forward then. "All speculation at this point, but I can keep an ear to the ground."

"You don't happen to have a body of any of these unsuccessful assassins lying around still, do you?" Camina asks.

Oh. Well. He hadn't considered making use of her gifts. They've definitely already put those bodies to the pyre. Viago speaks up first. "Do I even want to know?"

Teia shakes her head. "No, but Rook brings up a good point. Perhaps even if they die, we can still get answers." Teia had been nearby when Camina had read an Antaam's bone to lead them to Ghilan'nain when the city was under attack. She'd stepped away, but clearly knew what had happened.

Viago shakes his head, muttering something about necromancers.

Teia glances knowingly between him and Camina. "I won't bore Rook with more party planning this evening, but we should meet the night before the party, finalize everything."

Lucanis does his best to hide his relief and his eagerness to get out of this room. "Of course."

They quickly make their goodbyes, and he leads Rook out into the upper levels of the Diamond. There are fewer Crows about tonight than there usually are, but they still draw curious glances. He leads Camina through a series of hallways, and then the moment he sees the opportunity, he pulls Camina down an empty hallway, far from prying eyes and into his arms. Wings emerge from his back encircling them both, and he cedes control to the very insistent demon who presses his face against Camina's neck and breathes her in.

"Mmmm, Rook," Spite says. Lucanis feels his hands clutching her just this side of too tight. "Smells like flowers and books. We. Missed you."

Camina cradles his face in her hands. "I missed you, too, both of you."

Now that he's had her acknowledgment, Spite is content. Lucanis feels him recede, no longer so adamant about being near Camina. That doesn't mean Lucanis isn't though; his lips crash into hers. He swallows down her surprised laugh, can feel her delight in every brush of their lips. When he pulls away, he is not the only one breathless.

"You're here," he whispers, forehead resting against hers.

Her fingers snake through the layers of his armor, holding him to her. "Strife gave me a week."

A week? After nearly a month away from her, an entire week with her sounds like an eternity. A glorious, beautiful infinity of time. "Generous of him."

"Would have loved the heads up about the party though," Camina replies, the annoyance mostly a tease.

He presses a series of kisses against her jaw. "Well, if you'd written in advance, I could have warned you."

"And miss the look of surprise on your face?"

#Dragon Age: The Veilguard #Rookanis #Lucanis Dellamorte #Camina Ingellvar #Rook Ingellvar #Rook x Lucanis #fanfiction #slothquisitor

15 notes · View notes

pausegame · 3 days ago

Text

On Matters of Inertia: Chapter Nine

Summary: Camina investigates something odd in the Necropolis, and Lucanis has to attend family dinner. Lucanis/Rook, 3.5k.

Also on AO3.

____________________________________________________________

Camina returns to the Lighthouse and wants nothing more than to crawl into bed and disappear for a while. She's spent the day shaking hands and making nice with Thedosian leadership as they had finally opened the Crossroads to refugees.

The ceremony itself had been rather ridiculous. Every important leader walking a family on the path from Denerim to Antiva City. Strife had her lead the way with him, armor polished to a shine and staff strapped to her back. As if she'd need it with all of the Veil Jumpers lining the path.

She's a Watcher, so she knows the importance of ceremony, of rituals. What happened today isn't anything like what she'd done in the Necropolis. It's meaningless fanfare, power on display. She used to be Rook, and now she's merely a pawn. And she'd played the part perfectly, shaking hands and talking with everyone who wanted her attention, and then she'd kindly beckoned the family along the paths. So everyone can see just how safe they really are.

This is something she cares about, really, it is. She's glad that refugees will be able to use the Crossroads to travel to new cities, new places for fresh starts after the blight. Her problem with it all is the pomp and the circumstance. They could have relocated dozens of families in the amount of time that was taken for the ceremony.

Camina knows she's grumpy because she's tired and because she misses Lucanis and because everything feels terrible right now, so she heads up to her room and hopes for a quiet evening. Only the lights are on in Emmrich's study, which can only mean one thing: Emmrich and Willow are here.

She travels down the corridor to his study, overhearing the quiet rise and fall of their voices. "I don't know, my darling, the disturbances in the Fade feel different than before. I don't know how to describe it. You'll just have to trust me."

"I do trust you, but I'm telling you, the etheric readings are the same as before. So whatever it is that makes them different isn't affecting the Veil in the same way," Willow replies.

"Perhaps it is linked to Solas's work repairing the Veil. What was it Rook said he said before disappearing into it?"

Camina leans casually against the stone wall by the door. "'My life force now sustains the Veil. With every breath I take, I will protect the innocent from my past failures. The Titans' dreams are mad from their imprisonment. I cannot kill the blight, but I can help to soothe its anger.'"

Both Watchers turn in surprise. Emmrich's face breaks into a bright smile, and Will looks happy to see her until she frowns at the ceremonial armor. "Rook! It's lovely to see you," Emmrich beams.

"Tell me that's not what they make you wear," Will says.

The armor itself is…impractical. Especially for a mage. It's heavy, the gold of the breastplate polished to a high shine. The rest of it is Mourn Watch frill at it's finest…or worst in her opinion. All high collars and too many damn layers. She's pretty sure this getup could even give Lucanis's most complicated Crow armor a run for its money.

She overexaggerates a bow. "How else would anyone know who I was?"

"Maker," Will says with a grimace.

"There's supposed to be a cape. I drew the line on that one," Camina says. "You were discussing the Fade?"

Emmrich looks thrilled to be back on the previous topic. "Quite right. Rook, have you noticed anything strange in the Crossroads?"

Camina wants to sigh. Is this what Bellara meant when she said she'd look into the voices? She supposes she should have kept it a little closer to the chest. "I'm hearing voices."

Will glances at Emmrich, some meaning passes between them. Camina does actually sigh then. "It's not like when Solas was in my head."

"We believe you, Cam," Will says gently. "We're noticing strange things in the Necropolis, too."

"Voices?" Cam asks, feeling weirdly hopeful.

"Lyrium," Emmrich replies.

Camina stares at them both. "What? There's never been lyrium in the Necropolis. For there to be lyrium…" They had learned with Lace what lyrium really was, what the veins of blue meant. If there's lyrium in the Necropolis, that means there's a titan there…or part of one.

"Deep within the Shrouded Halls we have seen it," Emmrich explains. "I don't believe there is a titan there. It must be coming from the Fade somehow. I thought I'd confer with Bellara, but we need some books first."

"What do you think it means?"

"I wish I knew, Rook," Emmrich says. "Could be something…could be nothing. I'll let you know the moment we find anything."

Will places a hand on his arm and then arches up onto her tiptoes to press a kiss to his cheek. "Why don't you go meet with Bellara without me? I'd like some time with Cam."

"Of course, my darling, I'll update you on the conversation later," Emmrich replies. "Lovely to see you, Rook."

As he leaves, Will gestures her over to the sitting area before the fire. "Want to talk about what's bothering you?"

Camina drags herself over to the chairs before sinking heavily across from her best friend. "I'm just tired of being a figurehead."

"So you've made some progress in the 'what am I doing with my life' dilemma?"

Camina nods. "At least I know what I don't want."

Will smiles softly. "Progress."

She snorts. "I guess. How's the Necropolis? How's yours and Emmrich's research?"

"Not too trivial to discuss?" Will replies with slight admonishment.

Inwardly, Camina groans. "Fuck, Will. You know I didn't mean it that way. I didn't mean the work you're doing is trivial…or that-"

"I know, but you also know that I've spent my life trying to be seen as an academic within the Mourn Watch; that despite not having magic, I could still contribute. I get to do that now, and it's not trivial to me."

"I was a shit. I'm sorry," she says.

"It's okay. I know what you meant…and it wasn't the time before to bring it up. But…it did sting."

"And I was too wrapped up in my own shit to see it." Maker, now that she replays the conversation back, she can see where she'd hurt her friend. She really hates that it took Will bringing it up for her to notice.

"Happens to the best of us," Will replies, offering her a smile, an olive branch. They've been friends too long for something so small to drive a true wedge between them, but that doesn't mean that they can't hurt each other. Or that they don't occaisionally owe each other apologies.

Camina runs a hand through her hair. "I've certainly not been at my best."

"Still no Lucanis?" Will asks.

It's been a week and a half since she'd last seen her friend and a week more than that since she's seen Lucanis, and nothing has changed. A handful of notes, mostly from Spite, a few from Lucanis. Devoid of anything specific, a book he's reading, he misses her, but no more invitations to join him.

"No. Did you really find lyrium in the Necropolis?"

Will nods.

Camina isn't sure it's connected to the voices, but it can't be a coincidence, can it? "Will you show me?"

***

Growing up, Lucanis had always had dinner with Caterina and Illario. But as he got older and Crow work became more important, the dinners shifted to once-a-week affairs. According to Caterina, this had been the way things were before as well. And her expectations had not changed. There was no getting out of the meals, not unless you were away from Treviso on a contract or dead.

Tonight, Lucanis might have taken either opportunity to avoid the evening meal.

He hasn't seen Illario since their ill-fated meeting in Treviso, and he's definitely not looking forward to seeing him again. Caterina is, surprisingly, the easiest of the two of them. He eats breakfast with her most mornings, and meets with her almost daily about the running of the House. Since his first days in Treviso, she hasn't broached the issue of his being gone for so long. There is still a distance between them, something not quite right, but he's not sure if that's Spite's presence or not. Still, it feels like he'd always hoped it would, on more equal footing with her, if such a thing is even possible.

It just also feels fucking empty.

Is this what his life is going to be? All it will be? Him in Treviso worried about House interpolitics and keeping her and his ridiculous cousin safe? Is this all there is?

The dining room is quiet. He and Caterina and Illario sit in uneasy silence as the first course is served. Normally, Lucanis would be glad for the silence. Tonight, it's making his skin crawl.

So he fills it. "Teia has come up with a plan to lure our enemies out of hiding."

Caterina looks unfazed. "I saw Andarateia's invitation."

"Invitation to what?" Illario asks.

"She's throwing a party," Lucanis replies.

Illario grins. "I do love a Crow party. Though the last one I attended ended rather poorly." He is, of course, referring to Caterina coming back from the dead and naming Lucanis First Talon in one fell swoop. Lucanis can't disagree that it ended poorly, but at least, he'd had Camina with him then.

"Try not to kill anyone or fake anyone else's death this time," Lucanis says.

Illario looks thrilled to see Lucanis willing to spar with him, and Lucanis is reminded that he's somehow played right into his hands. Again. "Oh, come now, hardly the most scandalous thing to happen that night. Caterina wins that one for naming an abomination heir."

"Enough, Illario!" Caterina says, voice unyielding.

Once, it would have been enough to silence his cousin. Once, Illario would have shrank in admonishment, knowing he'd displeased her. But that is not what happens now. "Do you not like being reminded of that fact? Do you pretend he isn't what he is? You knew what he was, and you named him anyway."

"Illario," Lucanis warns.

But his cousin merely smiles and returns his attention to their grandmother. "Well?"

Her gaze is flat. "You are not owed any explanations, Illario. Lucanis is First Talon, it is done."

Illario laughs. "And you still avoid the question!"

"Illario, stop this now," Caterina says, gripping her cane tightly.

His cousin leans forward, eyes bright. "Or what? I won't be invited to dinner again?"

The whole exchange is deeply uncomfortable for Lucanis to watch, but then realization dawns on him with horror. Illario has nothing to lose anymore. He doesn't have to pretend to be okay with what Caterina does or doesn't do, he doesn't have to court the good opinion of the Crows since he's already irrevocably lost it. He had shown too much of his hand in his attempted power grab, but Lucanis and Caterina had shown too much of theirs, too.

Illario couldn't kill Caterina, but neither of them could bear to kill him either.

Love is both a blessing and a curse. Illario lives, but he has nothing to live for. Lucanis had tried to tell himself it was crueler to leave his cousin alive, but that was only a justification, an obfuscation of the truth. It is cruel to keep him alive, disgraced and angry. But it is also because he cannot bear to live in a world without him. His cousin. His brother.

He remembers a lesson from Caterina, so many years ago. She had whispered to him when his favorite book had gone missing that it was dangerous to give anything or anyone power over him. But all he can seem to be is a series of overlapping wants, Caterina, Illario, Camina, Spite, all of them with too much power over him.

Caterina has remained silent, taking in this outburst. When she finally speaks, her voice is dark and dangerous. "Do not mistake mercy for kindness, Illario. There are plenty of ways your life could be worse than it is now."

Illario grins and takes a drink of his wine. "I'll take my chances, if it's all the same to you. Besides, it's not up to you anymore, is it?" Then, Illario turns his gaze on Lucanis.

Lucanis is aware that he has sat too silently for too long. "You don't need to stay."

Illario laughs and takes a bite of his food. "And miss family dinner? I don't think so."

***

"Just a little further," Willow says, striding confidently ahead of their group. She's got her bow in her hand and her dark hair pulled back in a long tail.

Camina hangs back with Emmrich, Taash trailing just behind them. They're deep in the Shrouded Halls, deeper than she's ever ventured before. It's cold down here, and their breath puffs out ahead of them like ghosts. The wisps aren't even following anymore, they skittered away as their group descended further and further.

The chambers around them are big and wide. Small crypts dot the room, and the names upon them, if there are any, are in old Nevarran. This section of the Necropolis is old. Part of her is itching to get into one of the rooms to figure out just how old.

There's something thrilling about being this far down in the Necropolis, in knowing that they are walking through the less explored areas, that there are secrets hanging around every corner. This is what drove her deeper and deeper, to the tombs and the crypts and to the attempts to understand. She's missed it in a deep, aching way; she only really feels the edges of now that she's back. She is reminded of the ways this place called to her as a child, and there's not quite the clarion call she expects. Instead, there's just something welcoming, something familiar in the air. A quiet belonging she hasn't felt in months.

"The fuck is that?" Taash asks, their head tipped up to see a passing mass of shadow creepers crawling along the corner of the towering ceiling.

"Ah, shadow creepers!" Emmrich points out.

"Oh great. They've got a name that doesn't explain what they are," Taash says, mouth pulled into a frown. "They look like that hand thing you used at Blackthorne Manor."

It's an easy mistake to make. Shadow creepers are small, hand-like creatures that move around the Necropolis in packs, but only in the lower levels. They seem to really dislike any sort of light. Harmless little things.

Emmrich laughs cheerily. "Not quite! A Hand of Glory is made from the hand of an actual body; no one knows where shadow creepers come from."

"You've got hands crawling around down here like spiders, and you don't know where they come from?" Taash asks, looking between her and Emmrich with concern.

Camina sighs. "In fairness, there's a lot of stuff down here we don't really know where it comes from. And they look like human hands, but they don't have the same anatomical system. Their brains are in their palms."

Taash looks a little pale. "I'm kinda sorry I asked."

"You were the one who volunteered to come," Camina reminds them.

"You need someone watching your back," they mumble in reply.

Will pauses ahead of them, holding up a hand, and they all fall silent and freeze. Camina listens, and there's something in the air. Something that feels…strangely heavy. There's a weight bearing down on them. Will glances back at her, and Camina moves as quietly as possible up to where her friend crouches.

"There's a malignant spirit ahead of us," Will whispers.

Camina searches with her magic, feeling the fluttering of the Veil, the Fade around them. She detects nothing. "Seriously? This far down? I'm getting nothing."

Will rolls her eyes and points as she mutters something about mages. "Look."

So, she does. She peers around the corner, and like a moth trapped near a light, there it is. The spirit is flying and crashing against the upper walls of the chamber. It isn't quite made of despair, but that isn't far off. Whatever it has become, it isn't happy about being down here. It's odd, but Camina should be able to sense it, sense the disturbance.

"I can't feel it with my magic," she whispers.

Will frowns. "That's…odd."

"Does it change how we handle it?"

Will shakes her head. "No."

There's no calming spirits in this state, so Camina readies her magic. The best they can hope is to injure it enough it drifts back to its side of the Veil. Will nocks an arrow, and without communicating further, together they take separate sides of the cavernous room.

The spirit hasn't seen them, not yet, but the moment they release either magic or an arrow in its direction, they will lose the advantage. She glances at Will across the dimly lit space, and together they attack. The spirit goes from bumbling and directionless knocking about to suddenly focused on the two living things in the room. As expected, it bears down on Camina, her magic acting as a sort of beacon. She watches its limbs elongate into claws, the open maw of its too-wide mouth an empty void of teeth.

She had assumed it was despair, or something like it, but she realizes now it's not that at all. She's never seen anything like this before. She manages to knock it back with a shield of fire, and Emmrich and Taash are right beside her. Will keeps shooting it with her bow, but there's something strange about how they hit, hollow almost.

Camina is doing the double job of fighting the thing off while also trying to get a good look at the thing. She's got more experience with spirits than most, but there's something off about this one.

Taash swings one of their axes at it, a slice that should have sent it limping back to the Fade, but it only seems to anger it. "The fuck is this thing?"

Will has abandoned her bow, is instead coming at it with her daggers while Emmrich tries to use his magic to bind the spirit closer to them. And then Camina sees it, an electric blue dripping from the rows of razor-sharp teeth.

"It's ingested lyrium!"

"That's not possible!" Emmrich calls back, twisting his hands and slowing time around the spirit.

"Because everything we come across follows the rules?" she calls.

Camina pulls her power back into her before channelling it into a beam of necrotic energy aimed straight for it. Will takes the opening, the spirit is knocked back, and she rushes in, plunging two daggers into its neck and chest.

Emmrich moves forward, his magic like music, and dispels it. The spirit fades quietly away, and they are left alone in the room, the only sounds their rapid breathing.

Taash leans on their axes. "That was dope. I didn't think we'd actually see any action down here."

Emmrich, Willow, and Camina exchange a look. "There shouldn't be. Not like that."

"You're sure it had eaten the lyrium?" Will asks.

Camina nods. "Very. It was in its teeth."

"The implications!" Emmrich says. "We need to let Vorgoth know."

"Is the lyrium close?" Camina asks.

Will nods. "This way."

They pass through a series of winding rooms, but then, branching its way out of a stone wall is a vein of lyrium. A portion of it broken, likely where the spirit had munched on it. Its existence here, of all places, feels impossible. Camina had expected that upon seeing it she might come up with some explanation, some feeling in the air. She knows better than to touch it, but she still bends near. She can almost hear it.

"We're not in a titan, right?" Camina asks, looking toward Emmrich and Willow. "This isn't how we learn that the Necropolis is actually within the body of something the size of a mountain?"

"No, I don't believe so," Emmrich says. "Because I've been here before. And this…this is new."

"So where did it come from?" she asks, mostly to herself.

"IT HAS EMERGED FROM THE FADE ITSELF," a familiar voice says. Taash jumps as Vorgoth appears beside them.

"You can't just…say 'hi', first?" Taash asks, gripping their axes a little more tightly.

"The Fade?" Camina asks.

Vorgoth inclines its head. "WE BELIEVE IT IS A MESSAGE."

"From who?"

Emmrich steps forward. "Solas did tell us he was working to calm the titan's dreams. This could be part of that."

"PERHAPS."

Will narrows her eyes. "You know something."

"THERE ARE WHISPERS. VOICES IN THE FADE. WE MUST RESEARCH FURTHER. WE WILL PROTECT THIS VEIN, ENSURE NO OTHERS DISTURB IT."

Well, Camina has never known Vorgoth to share information a second sooner than he wanted to. "You'll keep me updated?"

"OF COURSE."

They could leave now, but she finds she doesn't quite want to. Not only does leaving mean going back to a too empty Lighthouse, but she's caught in the spirit of their little expedition. She wants to delve further. She's fucking missed this.

She glances towards Willow and Emmrich. "What else have you found down here?" she asks with a grin.

Taash lets out a very long-suffering sigh, but follows them anyway.

#Dragon Age: The Veilguard #Rookanis #Lucanis Dellamorte #Camina Ingellvar #Rook Ingellvar #Rook x Lucanis #fanfiction #slothquisitor

12 notes · View notes