#Lucanis blink twice if you need help

[lizzybeeee]

The Lucanis vs Illario story would have had greater emotional depth/intrigue if the writers didn't water down how fucked up the Crows are as an organization.

Just some thoughts about how, out of all the side villains, Illario had some great potential to be a really interesting/tragic character in my opinion.

TL;DR: Zevran Aranai has a knife with Caterina's name on it for good reason and Lucanis/Illario need therapy...or whatever the Thedas equivalent is called...talking to Rook, I dunno

Going into DATV as a new player, or even as a returning one, the whitewashing of the Crows has a lot of the potential complexities of that life simply ignored or barely touched upon. The entire 'Illario vs Lucanis' boils down to: Illario seething in the shadows about Lucanis being the 'best boy'™ of the family while Illario is an after thought - which he is.

Let's be real, Illario is not subtle and immediately comes across as the Scar to Lucanis' 'Mufasa'. It's a questline with a very straightforward villain who has pretty lackluster motivations from what info we're provided - being 'I want power and to be the First Talon'. The game does very little explore what motivations he may have beyond being jealous of Lucanis/wanting more power.

However, if you play the quest line knowing what previous games have set up about the Crows - about how cutthroat and brutal the life is behind the glamour - then you can see that the entire Lucanis vs Illario conflict has amazing potential to be a dramatic tragedy.

We've seen how the life of Crow can affect Zevran - someone who was sold into the life through child-slavery. How interesting would it be to see how the life of a Crow can affect someone who was born into it? It's pretty clear in-game that Caterina intends for her grandchildren to carry on the family tradition - despite the fact that this 'family tradition' has likely led to the deaths of most of her grandchildren and however many children she had.

If there's banter about how Illario's/Lucanis' parents/cousins died specifically I haven't heard it, but the impression I got in-game was that it was likely linked to the Crows/politics in some way? Feel free to correct me! Still majorly fucked up that she pushes her grandsons into this life regardless!

Lucanis/Illario's situation was not like Zevran's - who was sold into the Crow's through slavery, with no one to speak up for him. Caterina was a woman who had power, who knew what the life of a Crow meant, and who still pushed those she 'loved' into it because is consolidated her place in the system. For all the Crows talk of 'family' Caterina doesn't seem to give a shit about them unless if they're contributing to the family business in some way - not to mention the whole 'you fail and we kill you' clause of being a Crow in the first place.

In the 'Wigmaker Job' from Tevinter Nights Lucanis talks about how Caterina hit him [also Illario] with her cane for mistakes and had him spend days without food/water. How he used to hate her but now 'realizes' that it was her way of ensuring he survived the life of being an Antivan Crow. Did it end up protecting them? It likely pushed them both to refine their skills out of fear. It's likely that simply by association with her they would be targets and thus needed to know how to take care of themselves and fight.

But why have him as a Crow in the first place? Why not simply train them well to defend themselves? You can't deny that she doesn't benefit from having her grandchildren in the family business - intentionally wanting Lucanis to take over her position as First Talon. The Antivan Crows are a force to be reckoned with and being one brings a whole lot of power in Antiva - being part of the elite of that group even more so.

If the game showed us the ugly reality of the Crows - the brutality of the lifestyle and how cutthroat the organization is, it could have really added some depth to Illario's betrayal - having it be more than "I want more power/respect" to "this is the result of what you taught me was valuable in life."

Warden: "Do you actually enjoy being an assassin?" Zevran: "And why not? There are many things to enjoy about being a Crow in Antiva. You are respected. You are feared. The authorities go out of their way to overlook your trespasses. Even the rewards are nothing to turn your nose up at."

Illario, bitter about Caterina favoring Lucanis - resentful of the fact that she has already decided that Lucanis will be her successor, being offered power by the Venatori (at the expense of the Crows) and accepting because why not? How different is it from what the Crows do? Isn't power and status the whole point of working yourself up in the Crows? Getting into a relationship with Zara because why not? Isn't sex part of the allure of being a Crow? Why can't he have this? Why shouldn't he have this?

Rook: "When we met, it didn't seem like Illario and Caterina were close." Lucanis: "It was hard to be close to her. Even for me. And...I was her favorite."

Why would he have connections to his family? Why should he? Caterina certainly never seemed to value 'family' beyond what they could do for her and their family legacy. Most of his family is already dead, and of those that remain the only parental figure he has obviously favors Lucanis. We don't have a lot of evidence in-game to show that Illario ever really cared for Lucanis, but the prequel story 'The Wake' and Lucanis' own banter imply that they were practically brothers, best friends. Perhaps he did care and then ceased to at some point, perhaps he didn't at all, or perhaps he accepted that an early death for them both was inevitable like everyone else in their family. Dead now or later - what was the difference? At least if Illario sells him out now to the Venatori then he'll get something from it instead of another dead family member to bury.

It's the tragic result of raising a child in an environment where he was taught and experienced the need for self-preservation at all costs. Constantly threatened, punished, and made well aware of that fact that his life was an expendable commodity. Then, when things in the world went to shit he picked the only option that made sense to him. To save himself.

The irony of the potential fall of the Crows, the fall of House Dellamorte, coming at the hands of one of their own - not because he had a change of heart but because he was taught too well by them. The Crows view those that fail them as disposable, someone to be discarded - if the Crows fail Illario, what is to stop him from applying that mindset to them?

But this would require the writers to acknowledge how messed up the Crows are and we can't do that to our 'Noble Freedom Fighters'™. They'll also need to address Zevran's existence and what lore was established in past games...and we can't have that either lmao.

[himluv]

Losing Control

Oh my goodness! My last post for my Rookanis fic, Say My Name (Say it Twice), received SO MUCH LOVE?! You all are amazing and I am just floating around on a fanfic author cloud of joy. Thank thank thank you!

If you want to catch up, or read again from the beginning, you can read it over on AO3.

Lucanis woke with a start. Blood. Everywhere, blood. Up to his elbows, soaked in his leathers, splashed on his face. He would never be rid of it, never be rid of Zara. She was soaked into his skin.

NO! Spite growled. Zara. Is. Dead.

Lucanis blinked and the bloody haze of his memory faded to the familiar dark of the pantry. He sat up and groaned at the ache in his head. He felt like he’d drank Viago’s entire liquor cabinet. 

“How did we–”

Rook.

Right. Of course Rook would get him back to the Lighthouse. He just didn’t remember any of it. He remembered the fight. Mierda, the blood. So much blood, the iron stink and persistent itch behind his eyes would stay with him for a long time. 

He remembered Zara offering to talk, to give up the traitorous Crow who had sold him out. And then–

Illario. Spite growled his cousin’s name, like he wanted nothing more than to shred the man to pieces.

Lucanis rubbed his eyes. “Fucking illario.”

Used blood magic, Spite seethed. On. US!

“What?”

Yessssss. Remember?

A wave of distorted purple images flashed through Lucanis’s mind. The metallic tang of blood filled his nose and mouth, so potent it made him gag. But he was helpless against the images. He could not look away, could not block them out. He had no choice but to watch as his cousin broke Zara’s neck in just one hand. As Lucanis lunged for the only family he had left and struggled for control of his own dagger. 

He heard his voice, yelling for help. For Rook. And then Illario pressed a hand to his chest. “That’s enough,” he said, and Lucanis fell back to stare up at his cousin. Illario stared down at him, anger, pity, and a hint of fear warring over his face. Then he raised a hand and said, “relent.”

Lucanis remembered nothing after that.

“How? He isn’t a mage.”

Neither. Are. You!

He shook his head. “But, that was Zara–”

Yessss, Zara, Spite growled. He. Betrayed. You! Betrayed US!

“No,” he said. But, even as he did, he couldn’t deny that something was very, very wrong with his cousin. Lucanis might have a heart, might be too sentimental, but he was not a fool. “I need coffee.”

Lucanis got dressed and tried not to think about how all that blood had been washed from his skin. 

Mages, Spite said. 

Lucanis sighed, but let the matter drop. When he stepped out into the dining hall, he was greeted by the smell of coffee. Rook sat before the fireplace, a cup cradled in both hands. Mierda. Rook. She had seen him… like that. Out of control. Had seen him nearly kill the only family he had left. What must she think of him?

She looked up at the sound of the pantry door opening and gave him a brittle smile. “You’re awake.”

“Yes,” he said. He approached the percolator with some trepidation. “You made this?”

“I did,” she said. “It’s…” she tilted her head from side to side. “Drinkable.”

He sighed, but poured a cup and took a cautious sip. He suppressed a cough as he worked down the bitter brew. Mierda, what did she do?

“At least I didn’t boil it,” she said. 

“I would never forgive you if you had.”

She smiled at that, but was a fragile thing. They both knew they were avoiding the unpleasant conversation that came next. 

He sighed again and took another bracing sip from his cup. “I’ve been trying to figure out what to say to you. And…” he shook his head. “There aren’t words enough to apologize. I never wanted you to see me like that.” He didn’t want anyone to see him like that, least of all her. 

Her smile was sad, but genuine. Her crystal grace eyes unflinching as she met his gaze. “And yet, I’m still here.”

He wanted to shake her, to yell at her that she shouldn’t be. That she should run far, far away from him. But, selfishly, he couldn’t bear to think about how it would feel if she walked away from him right now. So he stuffed those feelings down and moved on, like he always did.

“We need to talk about Illario.”

Spite growled as he paced back and forth before the fire. 

Rook nodded, her eyes distant as she stared into the flames. “He wants you to stay away from Treviso,” she said. Her voice was dull and passionless, as unimpressed with Illario’s wishes as she was by the man himself. “From the Crows. He thinks you’re a danger to your family.”

“He’s not wrong,” Lucanis said. 

Her head snapped up, a glint of outrage in her eyes. 

“If I cannot stay in control…” he shook his head. Even if Illario had betrayed him, Lucanis would never forgive himself if he’d killed his cousin.

Bah! Spite spat. Deserves it!

Lucanis ignored the demon. “He used blood magic to control Spite.”

Rook frowned. “What? How? He’s not a mage.”

He looked down at his cup, the liquid steaming gently. “I don’t know,” he said. “But something’s not right.”

Zara, Spite hissed. 

Rook fidgeted with her cup, rotating it idly while she considered his words. Finally, she shook her head. “I didn’t say anything, because he’s your cousin,” she said.

“… but?”

The look in her eyes was pure apology. “The night you were captured, did Illario know you were boarding that ship?”

His stomach clenched and a chill cascaded down his spine. He’d asked himself this question countless times in the Ossuary, and no matter how many loopholes he contrived, the answer was always the same. 

This time it was his voice that was devoid of any feeling. It had to be, or he’d lose control all over again. “Yes.”

Betrayed. You, Spite said. Hurt. US!

“Maybe there’s an explanation,” Rook said. Lucanis might admire her eternal optimism if he wasn’t convinced it would get her killed one day. 

“There’d better be,” he said. “For my cousin’s sake.” 

Rook met his gaze, and he knew it matched his tone – dark and lethal. She understood him in a professional sense, knew he excelled in bringing death to powerful mages who deserved it. But that was work, clinical and precise with no emotions attached. If Illario had betrayed him, then this was personal. It would get ugly. Better she understood that now.

“Rook,” he said. “If he did– If I have to–” Mierda, he couldn’t even say it. 

“I’m with you, Lucanis.” She said it so quickly, so firmly. As if she had no doubts.

Why?

The answer to that question scared him more than he liked to admit. It made him want to hope for something he shouldn’t. 

Rook.

But, after what happened? Losing control so completely? No matter how badly he might want to pursue these feelings, he couldn’t do that to her. She deserved better than an abomination. Which meant he needed to draw that line between them again.

He didn’t think he was strong enough otherwise. 

He looked down and shook his head. “I need proof,” he said. “I’ll talk with Teia and Viago.” He turned away and headed back toward the pantry. “I’ll let you know when I have something.”

Lucanis didn’t wait for her response, but he still caught the confusion and worry in her voice when she said, “okay.”

Then the pantry door closed, cutting off Rook’s voice and sinking Lucanis back into silence.

[queenmuzz]

Sleep is a Shallow Death

A one-shot story set after Weisshaupt, with heavy implications of Emmrook. Based of fthis idea I had.

Zea is pretty adept at passing out when she knows she’s safe.  That’s what life in the Necropolis does to you.  She can rival Lucanis when it comes to staying awake and alert when need compels her in the Lower Depths.  And yet, despite the horrors she saw at Weisshaupt, the death, destruction, the Blight and blood, the moment her head hits the pillow, she is dead to the world.  Her body demands that she rest, and she will not deny it.  Even her mind aids her by giving her a slumber untroubled by dreams or nightmares.  She’s safe in the Lighthouse, and must take full advantage of it, for who knows when the next crisis will deny her rest?

So, her body is unprepared for the insistent prodding it feels.  First the fleshy part of her upper arm, which she is completely unaware of, to the side of her torso, which she ignores.  It’s just a loose piece of straw, her mind rationalizes, you are safe here.  There is no danger.  Rest while you can.

It’s when her cheek gets poked that her mind decides that something is wrong and starts alerting her muscles that they must awaken.  She blinks.  Once.  Twice.  Three times.

The first time, she sees two green shapes, a few inches from her face.

The second time, she see’s an off white oval behind them

The third time, she sees it for what it really is.  A skull.

“SPIRITS PRESERVE ME!” she shrieks and topples off the couch, landing in an undignified heap.  She grabs her dagger, ready to brandish it…

Oh…it’s Manfred.

“Oh, hey there!”  She lets out a sigh of relief, “Listen, I know you’re curious, but you can’t go around poking people when they’re sleeping. You could get yourself hurt doing that, especially if you tried it on Taash.” She goes to get back on the couch, to slip  into sleep once more, but is stopped by Manfred, who yanks on her arm.  He’s making a strange sound, somewhere between a hiss and a whine.  There’s something agitated in his manner, and her blood freezes cold.

“Emmrich?  Is he in trouble?”

The skeleton nods and goes to yank her towards the door, but his boney hand clings to air, as Zea is already sprinting out of the room.

Her mind races.  Was he hurt? How had she not noticed? It must have happened during the siege of Weisshaupt.  Afterwards everyone was so pumped up with adrenaline, anger, and frustration that perhaps even Emmrich hadn’t noticed that he was injured.  Still, it’s no excuse, she’s their leader, she ought to have paid attention.

She doesn’t bother to knock,  deciding to burst into the room, ready to assess the situation.  He’s not at his desk.  Nor in his upstairs balcony.  It’s only after she looks downstairs again, does she notice one of the bookshelves out of place, swung open like a door, leading to a room she’s never seen before.  The lighthouse has seen fit to give him a cozy bedroom, it seems.  She still can’t see Emmrich, but she notices that the bed is unmade, something that seems very out of character for the ever fastidious professor. He can’t have gone far.

“Emmrich?”

There’s a pained wheeze from the far side of the bed and she runs towards it, her mind playing out worst case scenarios.  A broken bone, internal bleeding, head injury?

She finds him curled up in a ball, his hands clutching his chest, leaning against the mattress, almost unrecognizable, his tailored nightwear disheveled, his usually combed back hair now limp and damp with sweat, his ever alert eyes dull and unfocused.  She’s never seen him in this state, and it frightens her.  He’s always been so full of confidence and vigor, a smile on his lips and a helping hand always available.

“Emmrich!”  she collapses to her knees, her hand already reaching out to him, trying to assess the situation.  Instead, he makes what seems to be a sobbing gasp, and flinches away from her touch, as if her hands were red hot iron brands.  She doesn’t try again, afraid that she will make things worse, deciding to attempt to figure out what he’s suffering from by sight and questions.

“Emmrich, please tell me what’s wrong.” She waits for him to answer, but he doesn’t respond, almost doesn’t seem to know she’s there.  He’s just gasping for air, like he’s drowning, and his eyes just stare straight ahead.  He looks so lost, so terrified, like a small child trapped in a…

“House collapse. Quick deaths”

“That’s when I discovered a great terror of dying”

The words from the Memorial Garden seeped back into her memories and she understands. He’s suffering from a panic attack, no doubt fueled by the near death experience of the previous day.  

“Oh Emmrich…” she sighs, not out of aggravation, nor even out of pity.  It’s more like helplessness, with her unable to break through to him, to assure that he is safe, that death will not touch him here.

There’s a worried hiss coming from the foot of the bed, revealing Manfred looking on with concern.

“Manfred,” she asks, knowing that he cannot give her a detailed answer, but trying anyway, “has this happened before?”

The skeleton nods with a sad rattle.  That means Emmrich has gotten through them, (although the thought of him being in this situation multiple times during his life causes her chest to hurt), maybe he has a way of dealing with them.

“When Emmrich has one of these episodes, what does he or you do to make the…” she doesn’t know how much Manfred understands about panic attacks.  This sort of thing isn’t part of Curiosity’s wheelhouse. “How do you make him feel better?”

Manfred animatedly goes to the side of the bed, pointing at roughly stitched together pillows and blankets, no doubt of his own handiwork, all bundled together around where Emmrich would have been sleeping.  If it wasn’t the seriousness of the Professor's condition, her heart would have swelled with how adorable it was for the spirit to try to comfort the older man.

“Hmmm, didn’t work this time”

Another sad rattle.

“Well, it’s not your fault, he’s had a… pretty rough day.”  That was an understatement.  Between the fall of the impregnable fortress, the death of so many brave wardens, and yes, even the fate of the First Warden himself, it was a wonder anyone had come back mentally whole.  Mila and her father seemed to be the most well adjusted of the bunch, followed by Evka and Antoine, but the other Wardens?  Davrin?  Lucanis?  Even Zea herself, despite how easily she had fallen asleep, knew that the horrors she had seen that day would never be forgotten.  Emmrich had hidden his burden from them all, being the diplomat that had defused a tense situation after, while no doubt trying to keep the terror of what they had just been through at bay.  She should have checked in on him, should have known his preoccupation with her own wellbeing was a front.

Well, there was no changing the past.  She can only hope that her presence would help calm him down.  Although…  She has an idea.

“Manfred, could you make a cup of tea for Emmrich?  Just need one cup.  Do you have that blend you made for us in the Memorial Gardens?”

The emerald eyes light up, and he nods, before scurrying away, happy to help.  She sits down beside Emmrich, close, but not too close to be threatening.  She’d love to give him a reassuring hug, tell him everything will be alright, but she knows that even if he wasn’t in such a vulnerable state, it would cross a boundary she dares not touch.  This man is her friend, nothing more.  No matter how much she wishes otherwise.  So, instead, she does what comes naturally to her, she talks.

“What a day we had,” she starts off in a tone reserved described by Varric as ‘talking about the weather’, (she wonders if she can wake Varric up to assist her once Manfred returns, he’d know what to do… but just the thought of it makes her head hurt, for some reason.  No, she’ll stay here).   “I know when I asked you to help us stop the Gods, I may have neglected a few small details of what it would entail…okay, maybe a LOT of details.”

Emmrich doesn’t respond, but he doesn’t seem to be getting worse.  His forehead is dripping in sweat, but it takes all her willpower to resist the urge to wipe it with her sleeve.  She mustn't touch him, not in this state.  

“I have to thank you, Emmrich.”  she chuckles to herself, trying to exude an aura of joviality that she doesn’t quite feel, “For the first time in my life, I wanted to actually punch someone out who hadn’t attacked me first.  The First Warden, his attitude… his complete buffoonery.  But…” she thinks back to that moment where everything stood in the balance, “You were there, and I KNEW you’d be disappointed in me if I didn’t at least attempt to be diplomatic.  And the craziest thing… It worked!”  Were the present situation not so serious, she would have laughed.  She could sense even Davrin rooting for her to knock him, his own boss, down a peg or two.  But it was Emmrich alone who seemed to be relieved that she hadn’t resorted to violence, and that had made her feel… good.  “The man was being an arse, yes, but I realize now he was terrified out of his mind.  He refused to look Death in the face, tried sticking his head into the ground, tried denying it was there, and by doing so nearly got every single Warden killed.   I can’t fault him for being terrified, it’s a natural, uncontrollable reaction,  but I can’t in good conscience condone his actions.  He should have been leading, if not from the front, helping the evacuation.”  

If Emmrich hears her, he gives no sign, save for rocking back and forth a bit.  His breathing is hard, and if she can’t somehow soon calm him down, he might pass out.   And while that would solve the immediate problem, she feels it wouldn’t help the situation, or his mental state.

There's a cheerful hiss, and Manfred clomps over, arms outstretched as he shows off a single tea cup, steaming hot with a warm brown liquid, set on a hexagonal shaped plate, with two sugar cubes.

“Ah, thank you Manfred!” she smiles, truly thankful for the distraction, and nods as she takes it from him, setting it on the nightstand.  This action earns her a quizzical wheeze from the Spirit, as he clicks his  jaws together in confusion.

“Oh, he’s not going to DRINK the tea” she explains, “it’s the smell of the tea,” she idly wonders if Manfred CAN smell, that’s something she’ll have to inquire about when Emmrich is back to normal and well rested.  If he wishes her to never mention this particular incident again, she won’t.  She has a feeling that this sort of thing is a shame to him. “Hopefully the smell of the tea will remind him of pleasant, peaceful times, and will slowly remind him that he is safe.”

A metaphorical bouquet of floral scents  begins to permeate through the air, and it has its desired effect, both on Emmrich, who ceases his rocking, but keeps himself tense as a wound spring, and herself, who momentarily remembers her first (but sadly not last,) clumsy attempt at flirting with him.  She shakes her head, now is not the time.

Instead, she positions herself so that she is kneeling in front of him, an arms length away.  Close enough to reach out to him, but far enough to give his space.  He is still clutching his chest, his shirt is partially unbuttoned, revealing pallid skin that shines with sweat. On closer inspection, his left hand is actually clutching something tightly.  She can’t make out what it is, but for the briefest of moments, she sees the unmistakable brilliance of gold peeking between his white knuckles.  An amulet of some sort?  Something he apparently finds great comfort in. 

“Emmrich, may I…” this is a critical moment, and she must be careful.  “May I touch you?”  

For a brief moment, there’s no response, and she despairs.   She’s failing him.

And then, he stirs, and she sees the glimmer of recognition for a split second.

“Rook?” His voice is ragged, but her heart swells.  It’s like he has only noticed her presence, or finally recognized her after much struggle.

“May I touch you, Emmrich?” she repeats, and he gives out a faint nod.  Carefully, she places her right hand on that exposed skin.  He flinches slightly at her touch, but does not shrink away.   She feels how clammy he is, that he’s liable to catch cold from how much he's been sweating.  She feels his heart beat, faster than a runaway gear in the Necropolis lift.  No wonder he’s terrified, if she felt her heart racing like that, she’d think she was dying too. 

With as much gentleness as she can muster she takes his free hand, and brings it to her own chest, letting him feel her heartbeat thrumming along at a slightly higher than normal rate.  Hopefully, this will ground him, remind him that he’s not alone in this, that death will not claim him, not yet.

“Breathe with me, Emmrich, one breath in… hold it in …3…2…1, let it out.   Breathe in again… hold… 3…2…1, let it out…”

His breaths try to follow instruction, but he’s clearly having difficulty, with the pattern being interrupted with gasps and hiccups.  Worse yet, his eyes are becoming glazed over, as he no doubt is reliving the previous day’s events.  All the times he could have nearly died.  She must find a way to avert those thoughts from spiraling him into darker depths.  Distraction will not work, she must change his perception of them.  

“I saw you at Weishaupt, saw how you fought.  How when that Ogre noticed Mila and ran towards her, YOU were the one that cast the spell to distract it, putting yourself in danger.”  His eyes begin to regain their focus as he recalls that memory. Good, she thinks, I’m getting through to him.  

“I saw you there on the battlements, as the walls crumbled, and Davrin would have fallen with them, had you not extended your hand and caught him, despite the risk of you plummeting down with him.”  His breath begins to slow down, still rapid, but he’s no longer at risk of hyperventilating.

“I saw you Emmrich Volkarin,”  his eyes snap up to lock on hers at the sound of his full name, and he goes completely still.

“You looked Death in the face, and You. Did. Not. Flinch.”

It’s working!  His heartbeat is slowing down, still rapid but losing its intensity.  His chest now rises and sinks with hers, with only a few hiccups along the way.  The worst is over, but the task is not done.  He must be assured of her support, that he does not have to go through this alone, or even just rely on Manfred.  

“Upon my honour as a Cryptguard, Death shall not touch you.” 

His eyes now look completely alert, and hep gasps, perhaps catching an errant breath, or more likely, at what she’s just uttered.  He knows all about Necropolis oaths, and the price for breaking them.

“Rook… you cannot…”

She gives out Oaths sparingly, and usually with not such insurmountable conditions, but in her heart, she knows she means every word.  The world would be much darker without Emmrich Volkarin in it.  HER world would be much darker without Emmrich Volkarin in it.  She smiles at him, shoving that last thought deep down.

“I just did.  I would be a terrible leader if I didn’t protect you all to the best of my abilities. After all,” she pushes her hand on his heart, “I’m merely doing what you did yesterday, protecting people.”  Hopefully he never notices that he’s the only one who received that binding oath.  For the others, it’s more of a ‘handshake’ agreement.  She would do anything to ensure their safety, of course, but Emmrich, she’s especially fond of him.  She can’t let him die, not again, not like she did with-

She winces, a stabbing shoots through her skull  for a brief moment, but quickly goes away as she focuses on the man in front of her.

His heart is now matching hers beat for beat, while he utters the most relieving sound, a chuckle.  A weak one to be sure, but considering what he’s just been through, it’s much better than she would have expected.

“You are…” he’s thinking of a word, pausing for a moment before settling on one, “remarkable.”

That’s not the word he wanted to use, she thinks, idly wondering what he really wanted to say, as she slowly, reluctantly withdraws her hand.  She doesn’t mind that his hand lingers on her chest for a few moments longer, missing its warmth the moment he pulls it back.  There’s a brief moment of tension, where each of them are unable, or unwilling to do anything that will break this moment of peace.  Finally, she takes the plunge.

“You feeling better?”

“Quite so.”  It’s a bit over-confident, and definitely a lie  but the fact he’s able to put on that mask of quiet bravado is a good sign that he’s over most of it.

“We ought to get you back to bed, Manfred’s brought you some extra pillows and blankets to keep you warm and toasty.”  She suggests, as she looks up at the Spirit, who's been watching this all transpire with rapt interest.  She helps him up, ignoring the pain in her ankle that has flared from both the battle and from kneeling.  She’ll tend to it later.  Right now, looking after Emmrich is her priority.  Taking a towel off the nightstand, she mops up the sweat off his forehead,  trying to be as gentle as possible.  Already, his eyelids are half closed, he’s probably exhausted from the panic attack, not to mention the battle. She idly wonders if she can take whatever is in his hand to set it on the nightstand, to prevent him from losing it, but thinks better of it.  It obviously brings him comfort.   Manfred is rearranging the pillows and blankets, tucking him.  It’s frankly cute how much the little guy cares for him.  Emmrich is in good hands, and she decides to make her exit.

“Rest well, Emmrich.” She murmurs as she leaves his side, intending to head back to her quarters.  She should have no problem passing out, now that the danger has passed.

What she does not expect is how quickly his hand shoots out, how strong the grip on her wrist.  Instantly, her eyes snap up to his, worrying  how wide they are.  Not frightened, but… something else?

“Stay…” he rasps, “Please.”  There’s a pleading in his voice, one that  her iron will, despite being so strong that it stood up to the First Warden, crumbles to bone dust with those two words.

She doesn’t have to fake a smile as she nods.  If it will help him sleep, she’ll do anything for him.  She lets him pull her down until she’s sitting beside the bed, in the same place as he once was.  Only then does he release her.  

“I’ll be here however long you need me, Emmrich.  You’re safe.”

He doesn’t respond, although the sound of his breathing, now slow, deep, and even is thanks enough.  It’s not much longer until she’s pretty certain he’s fallen asleep.  She hopes that whatever dreams he has, whatever journey through the Fade he takes, it will be pleasant and peaceful. Still, she made a promise to stay, and just like her oath, she’ll honour it.  She settles down to keep watch as Manfred approaches.

“Thanks for coming to me Manfred,” she smiles at the skeleton. “You really helped out Emmrich there.”  The spirit hisses softly in happiness.

“Listen, if Emmrich ever has any more trouble like this, you come to me, okay?”  If she needs to spend a week, a month, a year here to make sure that Emmrich doesn’t suffer from another attack, she’ll gladly do it.  Besides, this room is quite cozy, and even sitting at the side of the bed is just as comfortable as laying on her couch.  She’s safe, there’s no dang-

She remembers no more of that night.

Emmrich blinks the sleep out of his eyes as he wakes up, rather more refreshed than he expected.  Yet, he feels odd.  His eyes feel gummy, like he had finally recovered from a day spent surrounded by copious amounts of gravedust.  And his pajamas  they feel stiff,  like they’d been overly starched.   His left hand aches, and upon further examination, he realizes that it’s been tightly clutching something the entire night.  Wincing slightly, he opens up to see the skull brooch he’s carried on his person since he was a boy.   Ah… he comes to the sad realization as he surveys his bed, covered with pillows and blankets, all of them created by Manfred.  He must have had another panic attack the previous night.  It was to be expected, he concedes, after the horrors of Weisshaupt.  Still, he thinks, he was quite impressed that at the time, he had not faltered when things looked dire, nor collapsed in terror at the horrors he saw. That they were able to save as many poor souls as they could.  He could have frozen in fear of sight of the Archdemon, but he hadn't.  Facing off against almost certain death he…he…

He did not flinch.

He frowns, wondering why that particular phrase came to his mind. He sighs, breathing in deeply and then freezes.  There’s a scent in the air, familiar and comforting, but out of place.  It reminds him of the memorial garden, of that particular blend of tea he’d found while perusing the Nevarran market.  He’d only had it once, with Rook, which was a pleasant enough memory, but why did he smell it now?

He surveys the room, and finds his answer, although it leads to more questions.  There’s a cup of tea on the nightstand, room temperature based on the lack of steam, and full.  This is exceptionally odd.  He never drinks tea while in bed, due to the risk of spills and scalding.  And definitely he would not let a cup of tea sit there going cold, risking staining the porcelain.  And as helpful as Manfred was, and as much as he enjoyed the task, he only made tea upon Emmrich’s request.  Unless…

The memories come back to him in sickening clarity as he covers face with his hands. It was one thing for him to have one of his attacks, he’d dealt with them his entire life.  It was quite another to have someone witness them.  Manfred, innocent soul that he was, gave no judgement on these episodes, trying his very best to make him comfortable until it passed.  Johanna surprisingly had been rather kind, in her own unique way.  She’d just pretend she saw nothing.  But she’d pat him on his head, calling him a ‘foolish cowardly man’ as she patiently waited until he recovered.  But she’d never used it against him, even when she could have used it as leverage or, even in revenge when he’d stood by as she was expelled from the Watch.  She had even prevented others from discovering his shameful secret, letting people that were looking for him while he was ‘indisposed’ that he was far too busy for whatever ‘trifling’ matter they had.  He never had told her how grateful he was for that small act of kindness.

But Rook?  Not only had she witnessed his weakness, she’d seen him in the worst state he’d been in for years, perhaps decades.  He could only imagine how wretched he looked to her now.  He was supposed to be a learned Fade expert to her, not a boy she needed to coax back into bed after a bad dream.  What must she think of him now?  He knew exactly what she’d think.  That he was pathetic.  Or worse, she’d pity him.  Leave him here at the Lighthouse, safe from the danger of the outside world that she knew he could not handle while she faced the Gods without him.  Somehow, the thought of her, hurt, alone, with him unable to aid her, drove into his chest like a knife, deeper than any fear of death.

Still, he needed to get to her. To explain himself, to assure her that whatever she had seen was not all who he was.  That when she needed him, no matter how dire the situation, he would not…would not…flinch.  

Her words echoed through his skull. She had said them with such conviction, hadn’t she?  Like she truly believed that he’d be willing to stand against the Maker Himself if she asked him to.  Still, the darker part of him argues, she merely said it to calm you down, you deluded old man.  Did you expect her to believe a man with night terrors would be worth anything in a fight?  The only reason she stayed is because you asked -no, BEGGED- her to.  She probably left the moment you fell aslee-

He stops, hearing a noise coming from the side of his bed. It goes quiet, then starts up again, a slow rumble, like the shudder when the Necropolis halls shift.  He looks down…

Rook is there, sitting there, legs sprawled out, head tilted back as she softly snores.  There’s a look of peace and contentment on her face, free of care or worry, a side of her he rarely has seen.  It would be a shame to wake her up, especially after all she’s done for him. His heart pounds rapidly in his chest, not out of terror, but of what it meant.  She had promised to stay… and she did.  So instead of getting up, rinsing out his gummy eyes and changing out of his sweat dried night clothes, he lays back in bed, willing to tolerate them a bit longer if it allows her to rest a bit longer. Perhaps he can even slip back into slumber again.

He can’t help but notice that someone has carefully covered her with a badly stitched up quilt.

[thewardenisonthecase]

Moments in Between

Lucanis x Grey Warden!Rook

Read on AO3

Summary: First meeting between Rook and Lucanis. A small rewrite of what happens in game.

The concept of time had long evaded Lucanis, ever since he had been trapped in the Ossuary. Minutes morphed into hours that morphed into days. How long since he had last seen the sun, felt the wind on his face? 

How long since he and the demon had been forced to share one body? 

He tried to ignore Spite best he could. Having a demon inside of him was bad enough, listening to its temptations would only make it worse. 

But after so long…the two of them had finally come to an agreement. 

You get us out. We are freed. We kill Zara. We make her pay. 

If this would condemn his soul to the lolinest parts of the Void, then so be it. 

Lucanis sprung from his prison, killing everyone who had held him prisoner. His heart hammered in his chest, adrenaline pumping in his veins as he killed every Venatori on his way. A reminder of the way things were before. 

Once the carnage was over, Lucanis breathed heavily, feeling Spite’s satisfaction reverberating through him. 

And that’s when he noticed the two women before him. 

“Who are you? Who sent you?” He asked the two of them, a frown on his face. 

“I’m Rook, this is Neve.” She spoke. “Caterina sent us.” 

Lucanis shook his head. “Caterina?” Long ago, he had made peace with the fact that no one would come for him. He should have known better than to doubt that the First Talon would let go of him so easily. “But…why would she send you? You’re not a Crow.” 

Rook raised a brow at him, looking him up and down. “And you’re not fully human. There’s a demon in you.” 

How did they- 

It was then that Lucanis realized the magic he felt emanating towards him wasn’t from the dead Venatori or the prison itself. It came from her. 

Of course it was a mage who would break him out. He sighed. “It’s complicated.” 

She shook his head. “Regardless of it, Caterina promised us a mage-killer…” 

A question was left hanging in the air. Could he still do what had been promised on his behalf with a demon on his body. 

He huffed. “I can still work.” 

“Good, because I am almost certain there are more Venatori coming our way.” The other one, Neve, had spoken. “We have to move.” 

Lucanis took a deep breath. “The Venatori…they have a vial of my blood. They can use it to control me. I cannot leave it in their hands. And I had a contract when I was captured. One of my targets is here. Calivan.” He had to kill him. “Crows don’t break contracts.” 

Rook sighed but nodded. “Alright. We’ll help. But I need a guarantee you’ll help killing some things in return.” 

He put his hands on his waist, agitated to get this done with. “I’ll owe you.”

“I’m sure we’ll all owe each other before this is done, but it works for me. Let’s get going.” 

. 

Rook had expected that the Crow would probably be…perturbed after killing his mark. One year in a small prison, possessed by a demon would sure mess anyone up. 

But she hadn’t expected for him to just stand there, silently, as if listening to someone that wasn’t there. 

She had called his name twice, but he hadn’t heard it. She touched his shoulder, gently. “Are you alright?” 

He flinched, shaking his head and moving away from her, as he finally turned his gaze towards her. 

“What were you staring at?” She asked. Lucanis once again looked at something next to her, before putting his hands on his hips.

“You cannot see him. I wondered.” 

Rook blinked at him. This was too much to deal with right now. She shook her head. “Cleary, we have things to discuss once we’re back on land.” 

“Agreed. I think…it's time I get some air.” 

. 

One year. 

That was how long he had been kept away - from his city, from his family, the Crows. 

And so much had changed in such a short period of time, even if it felt like a lifetime to him. 

His hair blew softly and he felt the wind hit his beard, both which he had grown while in the Ossuary. 

Not that he had had much choice. The Venatori wouldn’t just give him a knife to trim his hair. 

But he hadn’t been the only one to change, as Lucanis soon discovered that Treviso was under occupation by the Antaam. Rook and Neve tried to explain to him as best they could, but too much had been going on at the same time for him to fully understand. He could think on what he had missed later. For now, he only wanted to see his family again. 

. 

Rook could only watch as the Crows spoke. In the time they took to get Lucanis out, the Venatori had sent a message, with Caterina being killed in the chaos. 

She couldn’t help but feel sorry for him as he tried to make sense of what had happened. Rook looked at him, trying to show some support. “I’m sorry.” 

He gave her a small, tight nod, before turning to the others. “I need to work.” 

“Are you sure?” Teia had asked, and Rook looked at him with surprise, listening to him say he just needed a target. 

‘Whatever helps with the grief, I guess.’ she thought to herself as he argued with his cousin. 

“You just got here, and already you want to leave again?” 

“Caterina gave me a contract. I’m not breaking the last deal she ever made.” Lucanis said, his face hardened as he looked at Ilario. “And I owe Rook. Once that’s done…I’ll come home.” 

He turned his gaze to her and she nodded, giving him and his cousin a reassuring nod. “I promise to bring him back in one piece.” 

. 

The trip to this Lighthouse had passed in a blur to him, his thoughts too scrambled for him to concentrate on where he was. 

He was free. Caterina had sent for him. Caterina was dead. Elven gods were real and trying to destroy the world. He would have to kill them. How do you even kill gods? 

And there was also a Blight. Great. The day just kept getting more and more confused. 

They had reunited in the kitchen, and he absently listened to the women talking as he looked into the fire. This was all too much - these explanations and revelations and these feelings. 

His mind returned to the present just in time to hear them talking about how they would get Spite out of his body. 

He turned to look at them. “You’d have to kill me.” 

He contemplated. Perhaps death would be the better option for him after all. Why confront this twisted reality, where he was not even fully himself, when they could just end his suffering more quickly. 

‘You can’t. Give up.’ Spite told him. ‘Not now. We made a deal!’

Lucanis ignored the demon, instead choosing to listen to Rook saying “That can’t be the only way. Do you think we could talk to Spite? Maybe convince him to leave.” 

He shook his head. While that had been a lovely sentiment, he knew the truth. “Talk doesn’t work on Spite.” 

From his peripheral vision, he saw the demon walk away from him and go next to Rook. “She won’t hurt you. How sweet.”

Lucanis’ jaw clenched as he looked away fromthe fire. Taunting was the last thing he needed right now. He bit his tongue as Spite said “I want to talk to her” while looking at Rook. 

The women talked amongst themselves over other options, and he turned his head away from them as the demon continued to shout “Let me talk to them! I want. To talk. To Rook!” 

Soon, there was a pain in his nose, followed by the sound of soft gasps. He touched his nostrils with his fingers, getting them covered in blood. 

“Lucanis!” Bellara had said, rising from her chair. 

“No.” He said, calmly to them. “It’s fine. I’m fine.” 

He saw a frown form on Rook’s face. “Was that Spite? Did he just beat you? Why?” 

“Throwing a tantrum when he doesn’t get his way.” 

She shook her head. “And he’s done this before, yes? Enough that you just...shrug it off.” 

It was then that he saw something in Rook’s eyes. At first, it seemed like pity, but it wasn’t that. It was understanding. 

How? 

It didn’t matter. He decided to say “He’d do this in the Ossuary. The Fade does whatever a spirit wants. Real walls and chains, not so much.” Lucanis sighed. He didn’t want to cause such trouble because of Spite. “Just…give me a minute. He’ll get bored once everyone leaves.” 

“Are you sure? I don’t like the idea of leaving you alone with a demon after-” 

Lucanis shook his head, looking at Rook. “You don’t have to worry about me.” She tilted her head, with a soft gaze, which he dismissed with a hand. “Please.” 

Rook sighed one last time and nodded, motioning for the others to go outside. He heard the door of the kitchen close and he was once again alone.

.

Rook walked back to her room, thinking on the assassin that had joined their team. He had been with them for little over a day and already he had a lot to cope with - escaping prison, the death of his grandmother and now they’d have to think on how they would get Spite out of him. 

Could he even be ready to face the Evanuris if he was possessed? 

Those thoughts were just added to Rook’s ever growing list of problems. 

When she reached her room, she laid in bed and closed her eyes. Of all that had happened, there was one thing that had troubled her the most.

Rook looked at one of her arms, rolling up the sleeve to reveal the several burn scars littered across the limb. 

And he’s done this before, yes? Enough that you just...shrug it off

As her words echoed in her mind, alongside his nonchalant reaction to getting his nose punched, memories of a past she’d wish to forget surfaced. 

“Why didn’t you say anything? Speak out?” 

“It wouldn’t change what happened. Nobody would care. I just…dealt with it.” 

“But you shouldn't have to. No one should.” 

Rook sighed, getting up from her bed. This would be a long night.

[blackjackkent]

So I was going to say that, astonishingly, no one had any conversations waiting in the Lighthouse after Blood of Arlathan, but then I went to do a bunch of selling at the various merchants and upgrading the Caretaker and suddenly a few people want to chat. So that will teach me.

We've got two quest pickups and a conversation between Neve and Lucanis which should be cute. XD

Quest pickups first:

Taash> "Hey. I got word from my mother. She wants to talk." Helena> "Have you talked with her since..." Taash> "Nope. Not since I told her I was non-binary. But her note said she wanted to talk about that tablet we found. The old Qunari one. Of *course* that's what she wants to talk about. We can go whenever you're good." Helena> "I'll let you know."

XD. Helena is determined to stand by Taash through this business but she's not greatly looking forward to the awkwardness that will likely be involved, again.

-----

Davrin> "Rook? Evka and Antoine sent word. A Warden's arrived at Lavendel with news. He might have a lead on Isseya." Helena> "Then we've got to get to Lavendel." Davrin> "Agreed. Thanks."

OK, that sounds ominous. O.O;

-----

And now for the cute. Helena walks in on Lucanis fidgeting with something on Neve's desk.

"I made a fresh pot, and--" He hesitates, stops, cocks his head. "Ah. That's Rook's walk."

Helena comes to a halt, looking amused. "Yeah, just me," she says. "You brought Neve coffee?"

Lucanis laughs, with an air more sheepish than she's ever seen from him before. "I brought an excuse," he says wryly. "Spite thought I could talk to her." A pause; his cheeks darken subtly. "Well, not just Spite. But I'm... only good with knives."

Helena's smile widens. She's long-since picked up on Lucanis's interest in Neve and is all for it; her friend deserves people caring about her. The trouble, of course, is convincing either of them that they're worthy of the experience. Not that I'd know anything about that, she thinks dryly.

"You made pie," she points out.

"Gooseberry," Neve says, striding into the office and the conversation so abruptly she makes them both jump. "You made it twice."

Lucanis shifts his weight awkwardly from foot to foot. "It was nothing," he mumbles.

Helena shoots a teasing look in Neve's direction. "Nothing?" she says cheerfully. "He blushed when I asked about the pie. It was cute."

He is definitely blushing now, too, and gives her a sharp swat on the shoulder. "I wasn't--" he stammers, embarrassed. "You're not making me look good."

But Neve - who has also gone rather red around the face, shakes her head. "I wouldn't say that," she murmurs.

Lucanis, uncertain how to take this, blinks and then takes a hesitant step towards the door. "Well," he mumbles, "you have the coffee. And you probably have a case or something, so--"

Neve looks at Helena - and for a moment, Helena thinks that self-deprecating, self-isolating streak is going to win out, and she braces herself for a fight to drag Lucanis back into the room. But then Neve smiles, and shakes her head again, taking two quick steps forward to place herself back in Lucanis's line of sight.

"I don't need pie," she says, her voice unusually soft. "But you remembered my favorite. You find me at midnight just to talk. Maybe I like that. Maybe I like..." She trails off, suddenly losing her nerve a little, but the meaning is clear anyway.

"Really?" Lucanis says, barely above a whisper, as if this is an illusion he is afraid to shatter.

Helena, still grinning, backpedals a few steps towards the door. She helped get the wheels in motion; now the best thing she can do is get out of the way. "Right," she says casually. "I think you've got this."

She can still hear their voices as she disappears out into the courtyard.

"You know I won't make your life easy," Neve says, rueful, a touch tired. "I don't make anything easy."

Lucanis laughs. "But you do make it better."

"I, uh--" Neve's composure breaks unexpectedly, and she laughs almost shyly. "Well. Don't use your charm all at once."

Lucanis grins as the door to the office falls shut. "I have more than *that*, I hope."

[himluv]

Distraction, pt. 2

As promised, here is Chapter 40 of Say My Name (Say it Twice). In which Embria teaches Lucanis something new.

Find an excerpt below and read the rest on AO3.

Embria had told Lucanis before that he was in control. That they could stop whenever he wanted. He set the pace. How far they went was entirely up to him. He simply needed to decide. 

Stop, or finally learn what came next?

“Shirt,” he said. He’d meant to ask her to take off her shirt, but his voice was so tight with need it sounded like a command. 

She obeyed, pulling her tunic over her head and throwing it across the room. He’d expected undergarments, a breast band or something, but Rook’s torso was completely bare before him. Her breasts level with his face and –Maker, help him– her nipples hardened as they met with the cool air of the pantry. 

He stared. What else was he to do? She was stunning, her breasts moving with every breath. And that crimson flush trailed from her neck, down across her chest and into the valley between her breasts. 

“Okay?” She asked. 

He gazed up at her in awe, but no words came. He knew he needed to find them, or they would stop and he did not want to stop. Not now. 

She put her hand to his cheek, brushed her thumb across his cheekbone, just beneath his eye. “Lucanis?”

He blinked. Right. Words. He needed words. He frowned at her. “You expect me to talk now?” He glanced back at her chest and moaned. “Maker, you look amazing.”

read it on ao3

[blackjackkent]

All right! We have reached a Significant Moment.

Turns out we don't get to meet Antoine and Evka just yet, because about five separate people have warned me that this is a point of no return quest, so we have some other stuff to clear out first.

Currently on my to-do list I have a couple region quests I'm explicitly underleveled for, a bunch of gift-giving, and Caterina's funeral. The research I've done and guidance I've been given suggests that the main thing to clear out here is Caterina's funeral and anything else relating to the set of Treviso questlines, so we're going to go do that next, and then I'm gonna maybe do a little bit more map exploration. And then probably Tuesday we will go forward with A Warden's Best Friend.

If anyone has any suggestions for other sidequests I haven't picked up that I need to do right now immediately, please let me know!

For now, quick stops around the Lighthouse. I was going to wait and try to give everyone their gifts together, but turns out they're just automatically gifted when we go talk to them atm, and Neve has a new quest to pick up. Anyway, it turns out that the gift-giving "quests" are literally one line of thank-you dialogue and a shot of the gift in its new home:

Bellara gets an elven frog statuette.

Neve gets some "collected evidence" from a local legend in Dock Town that she likes to chase.

Lucanis gets an Antivan tea set .

-----

We also get another super cute interaction between Bellara and Neve (and Helena), with Bellara coming into Neve's office this time.

(IDK if these scenes between Bellara and Neve always happen or if it's specifically because they're Helena's standard party right now, but either way I love it. :D )

"This was with my things," she says eagerly, placing an envelope on Neve's desk. "It looks like your handwriting." A pause. "I didn't read it," she adds quickly. "Well, a couple words. I thought it might be one of mine. I don't even know how it got there."

Neve chuckles. "It's the wisps. I need more wards," she says wryly.

"Oh!" Bellara brightens. "I can help with that!"

Neve tries to wave away the offer of assistance. "I started this," she says. "I'll deal with it."

Helena grins, leaning against the desk with her hip. "Solas lived here. The Dread Wolf," she points out. "It was gonna have quirks."

Neve rolls her eyes. "Solas is the worst tenant I've followed," she quips. "And that's saying something."

There's a sudden burst of magic almost at her elbow, and a sheaf of paper goes flying into the air like confetti.

"Maybe they like you?" Helena offers teasingly. Neve sighs, rubbing at her temple.

Bellara immediately scampers across the room to start collecting the fallen papers... and in so doing finds a small medallion underneath them which has also fallen to the floor.

"Do you follow the Chantry?" she asks Neve curiously. "I noticed it's Andrastian."

Neve smiles tiredly. "I barely follow the holidays," she murmurs. "It's from an old job."

"Ooh, which one?" Bellara asks eagerly. "Maybe I read about it in a Tevinter paper."

"I'm barely in the papers."

"Oh but when you are, it's on the edge of something exciting." Bellara bounces a little on the balls of her feet as she shuffles the papers into an orderly stack and sets them on the desk. "What about that one story with the demon, the diamond, and the deadbeat magister? Oh, they mentioned you twice!"

(A/N: I love her, your honor.)

Neve's smile flickers a little. She takes the medallion from Bellara and carefully sets it back down on the desk again. "That was a hit piece," she says.

Helena smiles commiseratingly. The Dragons are occasionally in the papers by name (she's been in there a grand total of once), and it's never particularly complimentary. "Of course," she says. "Do the papers write anything else?"

"They write what sells," Neve says with a shrug. "But their aim was at the magister, not me. The real trick with that job was the client ratting me out to the demon..."

"What?" Helena blinks.

Neve chuckles again. "It's always something. Funny how that didn't make the print." She squints at Bellara sidelong. "Tell me you read the rest of the paper too."

Bellara laughs brightly. "Oh, yes! Sometimes they have these stories - serials? They're thrilling. Except they come out in pieces. I only see a few papers a year; I never know how the stories end!"

Helena almost makes a sardonic joke at this moment - Tevinter, in her experience, isn't a place where light and gentle stories get much traction. But... this is Bellara she's talking to, not one of the street-hardened Dragon veterans. So she deliberately holds back, changes her tone. "Happily ever after," she says. "Why not, right?"

There's a strange, knowing look in Neve's eyes as she grins. "Aren't you some sunshine?"

"Some Shadows are optimists," Helena says, a little defensively.

"I hope you're right," Bellara says happily.

Neve chuckles again. "All right, Bel. You get me the name of your serial, I'll try and track the ending. No promise on the happy part."

Bellara's eyes widen to the size of dinner plates. "That's fine!"

"I'd like to go back anyway," Neve adds. "Spend time in Dock Town, pick up gossip."

Helena perks up eagerly, as she does at any mention of returning to her city. "Want company?"

"Why not?" Neve says. "Ready to go when you are."

(A/N: Well that was cute as fuck. XD This gives us another side quest to go back to Dock Town with Neve, so we'll do that before AWBF as well. :D )