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serensama · 28 days ago

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Weekend challenge weekend (cont’d)

For my lovely @thedissonantverses because I love her and she deserves the world.

It had taken the better part of an hour for Rook and Neve to psych up their friend. Plus half a bottle of honey wine to calm her nerves when she became frantic. It was already quite late in the evening when Bellara had knocked on Davrin’s door - not that anyone could tell by the Lighthouse’s perpetual daylight facade.

He came to the door shirtless, causing her to squeak and flush, turning her gaze away for a moment before succumbing to her desires and taking in how beautiful he truly was before coughing into her hand, embarrassed at herself.

“Hey Bellara, what can I do you for?”

Her eyes searched his as she recalled Rook and Neve’s encouragement, that she could do it, that she was a strong, fierce, wildly intelligent woman who could go after what she wanted. Even if what she wanted was a tall, handsome, marvellously kind warrior with a gryphon for a son. She could do it.

“Bell? Are you okay?” Davrin moved from his spot leaning against the doorframe to hold her by the shoulders, concern etched on his face. Oh, goodness, just look at him.

“… Bellara?”

She could not do it.

She muttered something about shirts, gryphons and needing more honey before spinning on her heels and walking back to her room. Well, that would have been the case if her sleeve hadn’t been caught by the railing of the stairs leading back to the courtyard. Instead she marched on the spot growing more and more confused as to why her room was not getting any closer.

Bellara heard a throaty chuckle behind her before one hand running down her right arm in a comforting caress to help steady her, another untangling the threads of her blouse from the wooden rail.

“What’s up Bell, you seem a little agitated.”

“I do not!” she replied. Agitated.

Davrin stifled a laugh and pressed his lips together to stop a smile from forming. “Sure. You’re not. But you don’t normally make social visits so late in the day. You okay?”

The mage crossed her arms and fidgeted with the loose threads in her sleeve, twirling them around her fingers as her quick mind worked to come up with an answer. Unfortunately for her, honeyed wine just made her quick mind think of all the things she never admitted to anyone. How the smell of a campfire reminded her of him, how the flapping of a bird’s wing around her made her think that Assan was close by and she’d instinctively look for him, or how she would feel when she wrote her story… instead of imagining some faceless hero or Rook, she could see herself and Davrin in their places.

Bellara sighed and laced her fingers behind her back. That would never be her, she wasn’t courageous enough to be the hero, certainly not enough to confess her own feelings to someone else who had never shown interest-

“If ever in doubt, you are friends and he loves you and will never purposely hurt you, Bell.”

“Thanks, Neve.”

“And also… he’s really fucking hot-”

“Not helpful, Rook!”

“Am I wrong, Neve?”

“Well. No. But still- no more wine for you, Rook!”

“Trust me Bell. He’s noticed that you are also, really fucking hot!”

She was! He was! They were going to be hot together and- oh goodness, what a thought. Them. Together. Doing- being together and- oh thank goodness she didn’t have an ancient elven god in her head listening in and judging her. She did that enough all on her own.

Davrin hunched down slightly to catch her eye again and smiled when she looked up at him. “Ah, there she is! Had me worried for a sec. Do you need me to walk you to your room? Don’t want you falling off the edge.”

Bellara shook her head and balled her fists. She was going to do it and even if he rejected her, she’d be back with the Veil Jumpers and he on his grand adventure- she’d be able to lick her wounds in the safety of Arlathan Forrest, get lost in ancient artifacts and elven history. Somewhere she’d definitely not be reminded of the Grey Warden at all, even if she spent days with his uncle and feathered nieces and nephews. Not at all.

“N-no thank you. I’m just fine. I did come to talk to you about something,” she said, steeling her resolve. Summoning the courage from the wine and her two best friends, Bellara took his hands into hers and held them, hoping to any benevolent gods that may be listening that her palms weren’t as sweaty as they felt.

“O-Kay,” he blinked, but did not pull away.

Breathe. Find your words. He will listen.

“Right. Yes. So… I like your Uncle Eldrin.”

“… Excuse me?

“Oh no. That’s. Okay yeah, upon second thought not the best way to start that. Not to say I don’t not like Uncle Eldrin. He’s wonderful. And so kind and knowledgeable-”

“Bellara, you’re not cleaning anything up.”

“Right. Oh goodness I’m bad at this!” she growled at herself. She shook her head to clear the thousands of unnecessary thoughts that clouded what she had wanted to say. “I like your Uncle. I like the gryphons. And Antoine and Evka. Assan. Your figures and your passion to find purpose and fulfil your dreams.”

“Thanks Bellara, I like you too.”

“See that’s the thing. I like you more than that. Like, a lot more. I like you as much as my mother’s hearth cakes. Or my father’s stories he told me as a child. Or the sounds of the Lighthouse as we all sat around the dining table or library just being together and laughing. I like that all so much but I like you more so I think I’m… that I’m…” she faded off, her bluster losing steam the closer she got to admitting the depth of her feelings to the object of her affection.

“That you’re?” Davrin gently asked, stoking the truth from her. She unconsciously squeezed his hands before inhaling deeply.

“That I’m… in love with you,” she whispered so softly he almost missed it.

Bellara watched as Davrin slowly exhaled and pursed his lips in thought, probably to find a kind way to let her down as softly as he could. She didn’t need it, she just wanted to run away and ask the Nadas Dirthalen if there was a way to turn back time to before she was born and just not exist anymore. She moved to release his hands but saw his hands turn in hers, his calloused fingers entwining with hers. Strong. Sure. Safe.

Bellara stood staring at their joined hands for a full minute before she took in a surprised gasp. “D-Davrin! You’re holding my hand!”

He chucked and nodded, bringing up their hands level to his mouth, pressing chaste kisses on the backs of hers. His deep brown eyes firmly fixed on hers.

“So… so you don’t mind? You’re okay with my feelings? You don’t have to feel the same way, though it would be very nice if you did. Did you want to talk about it? Did you want to go out? Did you want me to leave you alone to think about this more?”

Davrin placed another kiss on her hands and smirked at the pretty red the apples of her cheeks turned. “I would just like to bask in the moment, with you, if that’s alright? It is not everyday a hunter gets such wonderful quarry.”

Bellara giggled and stepped closer to him. “I’ve never been called a hunter before, even with the whole magical bow thing.”

“Oh no, my dear sweet Bellara-”

-he called her his-

“I am still very much the hunter here,” he grinned, closing the space between them, forcing her to tilt her head back to look into his eyes.

“But… I just… it was me who confessed- me who came up to you-”

Davrin pressed a soft kiss on the centre of her vallaslin, quieting every thought she had in her mind. He was always good at helping her find quiet and peace. Though this was new. Not unwelcomed by any means. But new.

She liked new.

“All the best hunters know there are some prey you chase, and others you need to let come to you. Those that do, are the most precious of all.”

Bellara could feel her heart thrash behind her ribs as he moved to kiss her, she had dreamed of that moment for so long, to know the feel of his lips against hers-

-Oh too much! Too soon! She was going to combust!-

She yelped and jumped back, red as a beetroot but still clinging onto his hands, Davrin chuckling at how adorable she was. He could wait, he had waited for so long already for her to catch up to him, now the real thrill of the chase could begin.

“How about I put a shirt on and I’ll make us some tea?” He offered, releasing her hands much to her disappointment.

“Oh I love tea! But you don’t have to wear a shirt. Oh damn it- that’s not what I meant.”

“Noted. Yes to Tea. No to the shirt.”

Bellara was about to correct him but as he turned around to head back into his quarters, his broad muscled back disappearing into his room, she thought better of saying anything at all.

Writing Challenge Weekend

Thank you @thedissonantverses for always being such a dang peach! This was just what I needed to detox from my last piece and get me ready for the next!!!

I chose the following prompt for a quick write about the darling Bellara Lutara ❤️

"But with all my education I can't seem to command it."

A picture of Lil Bell for effect, thanks @turnbaseddave

(I wrote this on my phone and I did not review anything, no edits, we die like men)

———

A loud crash caught Rook off guard, with only a couple of them left at the Lighthouse, she hadn’t expected for there to be such a commotion without Taash running around after Assan, or Emmrich chasing after Manfred who had learned how to summon actual fire. Lucanis had gone ahead of her to get his apartment ready for them to move into and Neve had been called back to Minrathous by the Threads for an urgent matter. The regular sounds of life around the Lighthouse had diminished into silence almost overnight. Rook ran out to the courtyard to investigate the noise, reminding herself that the gods were gone and that they weren’t under attack. She hoped.

A wave of relief washed over her when she saw it had been Bellara clamouring about, only to be replaced by a sense of dread when she realised it was Bellara clamouring about. She was by no means shy or meek, especially around their team, but she was never one to throw her belongings out of her door and into the yard in a fit of anger- the caretaker diligently retrieving any items that fell off the ledge.

Rook dodged a tome about astral projection or projecting atoms or something- the title flashed by her eyes too quickly- and dashed into Bellara’s room, hoping to escape a concussion from her unintentional aerial assault. The girl had wicked aim even when she wasn’t aiming. Rook called out to her but she was too far gone, screaming and crying in such rapid broken Elvhen and Common, it was hard for her to keep up with what she was saying.

“BELLARA!” Rook screamed, startling the her into stopping. “Bell! What is… who… are you okay?!”

Bellara stood in the centre of her room, panting heavily and her shoulders hunched forward. She sniffed and wiped the tears that marred her face on the back of her glove, succumbing to more as the silence dragged on.

“Bellara, take your time. Tell me what’s wrong, you know I’m here to help you.”

The veil jumper made a sound at the back of her throat and nodded sadly, doing her best to smile reassuringly to her friend, the thin watery offering looking more like a wince than anything close to being ‘okay’, let alone ‘happy’.

“I’m.. I’m fine, Rook. Thanks.”

Rook sighed softly and sat on Bellara’s green chaise until her friend was ready to talk. She looked around her normally well organised room and found it littered with loose papers, random tools and pieces of half finished artifacts she had been working on. Whatever was happening to her, it was serious. Bellara never let two active projects too close to each other in case their parts were accidentally interchanged, she would never allow such a breach in her own protocols unless she was going through something earth shattering.

“Is… is it about Cyrian?”

Bellara shook her head and sniffed again, trying to stabilise her hiccups. “No, it’s fine Rook. You have so much on your plate as it is, the last thing you need to do is-“

“-The last thing I need to do, is be a bad friend after all we’ve been through. Talk to me Bell. Big. Small. Normal. Weird. I’m here for it all,” she grinned, hoping to brighten up her spirits.

“It’s… you see the thing is… and then I… the real issue here is… oooooh, I can’t even get my thoughts right to tell you!” she groaned, crumpling her shirt collar in frustration. “Okay. It’s fine. Breathe, Bellara. Breathe.”

Rook smiled at her kindly and continued to wait. She knew that Bellara would be able to tell her what bothered her if given enough time and patience.

Bellara paced the room for a few minutes, her body slowly releasing the tension held in her muscles as she allowed herself the grace to find her words. She pushed away her journal and other notes from her desk and perched herself on it, her leg bouncing upon her stool unconsciously.

“I’ve thought about it. Over and over. Did my due diligence and wrote down what I observed. I tried to pick it apart and put it back together, a hundred, no- a thousand ways! I even asked the Nadas Dirthalen and it wasn’t able to help. It’s just another problem that I can’t work out!” she cried, her eyes welling up with tears as her nose started to redden. If she weren’t in such distress, Rook would have squealed at how adorable her friend was. "I’ve disciplined myself. Put limitations on what I could and could not do to see if I could change it, then I stopped that to see if it made any difference- but nothing Rook! No changes! No understanding! I’ve done everything I could viably do, but it still won’t listen to me!”

“What? The Nadas Dirthalen?” Rook asked, confused as she thought she had the archive spirit figured out for the most part, even if it was a sassy little shit half the time.

Bellara frowned and waved her hand. “No, not that. This is much worse. I even asked Emmrich and Neve what to do but they said it was up to me to work it out, but I can’t Rook! That’s the problem! I’m tearing my hair out trying to figure it out so I can handle this on my own, but I can’t! I’ve read everything I could get my hands on, spoken to experts and in my desperation, I prayed for anyone to grant me the knowledge I needed. But with all my education I can't seem to command it."

Rook stared at her friend, completely lost.

“Uh… sure. But um- handle what? Command what, exactly?”

Bellara’s eyes widened and her mouth dropped as she realised that she hadn’t actually explained it properly. She cleared her throat and felt her face flush from her embarrassment, she had been talking a mile a minute again.

“Right. Right. I uh… my heart.”

Rook blinked and paused for a minute, to ensure she heard correctly. Her- heart? Did Bellara have a crush on someone?!

“Ooh! Don’t look at me like that!” Bellara whined, reddening further, playing with the hem of her skirt to avoid looking at Rook. “I just… I can’t help it. I didn’t mean to feel this way-”

“We rarely do, Bell.”

“And I don’t want to cause trouble or make things difficult-”

“Bell, you never do that-”

“I just know that he plans to go travelling and do some really amazing things, but I can’t go just yet, Strife would kill me, and it would be selfish for me to say anything to him and burden him with my feelings and force him to stay if he feels the same - that will mean his dreams will be on hold, Rook, that’s not fair!- but if he doesn’t feel similarly and nothing is going to come about anyways then is there any point in me discussing this with him and-”

“Wa-hey! Slow down there Bellara! Remember. Breathe.”

“Right. Breathe. Gotcha. I can do that. That I can command. Breathing. That’s what I’m doing. Breathing. Cool.”

Rook shook her head in disbelief at the flustered elf, always everyone’s biggest cheerleader when it came to their love lives but oh so anxious when it came to her own. “Bell. Do you… do you like, Davrin?”

She wrung her hands together, jingling the cuff on her wrist. “No! No, of course not! Don’t be ridiculous, it would be preposterous for me to like him. He’s so calm, assured, confident, kind and wonderful. He’s always able to talk me down and listen to me, even when others have long stopped listening to me. Even if he doesn’t always understand what I’m talking about or agree or get as excited as me- he’s always there and listening and being more amazing than I deserve. So no? No. I don’t like him. Wait. No. I do like him. Just not like like him.”

A large grin spread across Rook’s face as she looked upon her friend, understanding dawning on her even as the other elf fidgeted nervously under her gaze.

“Yeah, totally. You don’t like him. Or even like like him. Bellara, you’re in love with him.”

Bellara let out a yelp before hiding her face within her hands, feet stamping on the stool with frustration at herself. She peered out from between her fingers, clear cognac eyes saying everything she needed to say to Rook, without uttering a word.

“Bell, you are wonderful and you need to tell him and give him the benefit of the doubt. He’s your friend first- remember? He will never think your feelings are a burden, even if he doesn’t feel the same way.”

Bellara nodded, knowing that she was probably right. The math was always in Rook’s favour when it came to understanding their little rag tag team. She had been right about her and Cyrian, after all.

“I’m right here for you Bell, always. And Neve will be back by dinner and between us three, we will have you ready to confess to our resident warden in no time! But I need to know… when did you start feeling this way?”

A soft giggle escaped Bellara’s lips as she bounced on the spot, her quill rolling off the table from the abrupt movement. “Okay- so you know how we’ve been going to Arlathan a lot since the gryphons found their home with Uncle Eldrin? Well, we got to talking and…”

Rook watched on as her friend excitedly spoke, the kind elf flushing and biting her lip whenever her giddiness overflowed. She chuckled, shaking her head at her sweet cluelessness. Her heart never had to be commanded, it just wanted to be listened to, and it would be able to speak freely, always knowing the right words.

Just like Bellara. Luckily for her, Davrin was an excellent listener.

#weekend writing prompt #bellara lutare #Davrin #Bellavrin #davlara #are those tags? I’m making them tags now 🤣#dragon age the veilguard #quick write #no edits we did like men

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guacamolleee · 1 month ago

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Hey !!!! Sorry that my prompt comes so late! I am so happy to see you are taking prompts

I am torn between

"i can't lose you again. "

and

"you are my biggest regret."

from the Angst prompts for your wonderful Thana and Emmrich. So if anything inspires you, I would love to read it

thank you for the prompt <3 also inspired by this post by @thequeenofthewinter. Featuring Lich!Emmrich and a reincarnation AU :)

For @thedasweekend

Set post-Veilguard. CW for major character death. 1762 words.

The knife was lodged in her chest and it was surprise — not fear — that came over Rook’s face as the color drained from her. “Emm—rich…”

“Hush, darling.” He caught her just as her knees gave out and she crumpled. “It will be alright. Just a little pain, my love.” Pain was but a small price to pay for eternity. Rook would forgive him for it, he was sure — his wonderful, beautiful, brave girl. This too she shall overcome.

“Why…” Confusion distorted her features, and he pressed a wrapped bony finger to her forehead, soothing the pinch of her eyebrows.

“You will understand soon.”

She did not, could not, and as she slipped into unconsciousness, Emmrich watched as the Fade shuddered around her, pulling at her spirit, her life essence spilling around her in tendrils only he could see, curling up into the air like smoke.

Emmrich held his breath, lungs long gone but the habit remaining, and waited.

And waited.

Her warm blood soaked the wrappings around his fingers, body rapidly cooling in his arms as he tried to press her close to the cavern of his ribcage. Something was wrong — the colors of her cheeks were gone, chest no longer rising and falling, lips slack and parted. The diamond thread of her life unravelling too quickly.

He pressed his palm to her temple, slid it down her cheeks, cupping her face and calling her name. “Rook. My darling. Rook, Rook—”

She did not answer, no spirit pressing back into her body, no flesh stripping away in a flash of necromantic magic.

Something was terribly, horribly wrong.

Magic sparked at his fingertips, surging from his form to hers, willing her to return, willing color to form on her cheeks, willing the breath back in her lungs. And for a single moment, the Fade shuddered again, smoke clinging close to her body. He wrapped it around his hand, a steady beat in his palm as if he carried her heart, and pressed it to her chest, over the knife, smoke seeping into her blood.

But Rook did not stir — and the smoke retreated and disappeared to somewhere beyond what even his Lich senses could make out. A keening sound left him, rasping on bone and choking on air he didn’t need.

The ritual failed.

Rook was gone.

***

Emmrich buried Rook after an eternity of holding her in his arms. At some point, he had even taken her to their home, healing the rot and the decay until old friends convinced him it was time to let her rest. And so he did — brought her body to the burial vault he had prepared for himself when he was still with the living, left pieces of his grave gold with her as he interred her under marble and dirt.

And time passed as it was wont to do. Years slipped by like sand between his fingers, turning into decades upon decades, new ages dawning and dying in the blink of an eye.

The loss scabbed over like a badly healed wound, a bone that had not been set properly before flesh knitted itself back together. But he visited her often, under a glamor, care taken not to scare the apprentices tending to the Memorial Gardens or the families making their own visits. In that, there was a semblance of peace — the phantom pain for the heart that no longer beat in his chest easing only when he stood at the foot of her grave.

No one bothered him on these visits, there was nothing so interesting in a widower in mourning, tending to flowers and speaking only to himself. And the apprentices knew better than to disturb the strange old man that teemed with even older magic, their skin pebbling with goose flesh and hairs rising on their necks just by standing too close to him.

“Ser?”

Most of them, anyway.

Emmrich turned, intent on shooing away what was most likely just a well-meaning apprentice, but he froze when he saw them.

A young man — no more than twenty, twenty-one at most, if Emmrich had to guess, but all mortals looked so young to him these days. An easy smile on painted lips, hair the color of a crow's wing — or a rook's. Oh, if Emmrich hadn't seen his own heart buried, he would swear it was pounding in chest, rattling in his ribcage like an animal.

“I'm sorry, ser.” The smile turned shy, and a pretty flush rose to the young man's cheeks. “I've seen you come here every day since I got here. I thought… I thought you might like some company…?” He turned to the gravestone, voice turning soft. “It's… easier with company. Or so I'm told.”

“I—” Emmrich started, but found his voice had left him. He cleared his throat, another habit he'd never managed to shake off. “Just so, my dear.”

Their eyes met and the young man grinned up at him, wide and toothy, pleased and oh so familiar.

It wasn't Rook — but it was, wasn't it? Emmrich would recognize her anywhere. Even beyond the trappings of her mortal coil, his soul would know hers at a glance.

“Who were they?” The young man nudged him.

You, he wanted to say, but that was… inadvisable. Instead, he replied, “My wife. I… lost her a long time ago.”

“Oh.” The young man's eyebrows pinched in just the same way Emmrich remembered. “I'm so sorry.”

Emmrich shook his head.

“Were you together long?”

“Shorter than I would have liked.” The truth, though he doubted the other man knew just how much.

“That's the way things are when you're in love, I guess.” The young man smiled sadly. “Someone always has to go first.” Then he froze, cheeks coloring with mortification. “I’m so, so sorry, that was insensitive. I didn’t mean— I wasn’t thinking—”

Emmrich raised his hand, and the young man stopped stammering. “It’s quite alright.” He smiled, unpracticed through his glamor but — hopefully — still reassuring. “What’s your name?”

“Oh, I’m Rook. It’s what all my friends call me.”

“… Rook.”

“I know, I know, kinda weird but—”

“No. It suits you perfectly.”

***

There was no distinction between Rook of the past and Rook of the present — they were the same as far as Emmrich was concerned. A little different, but didn’t time change all creatures? Rook simply… changed a bit more than others.

It was the same wide smile, a dimple on one side of his cheek — she had one on the other, a perfect mirror — when Emmrich asked him about his stay in the Necropolis. An exchange student from Tevinter, a minor noble family with ties to Nevarra, eager to have their son rub elbows with the rest of his noble peers. But he liked the gardens more than his classes and found himself simply admiring the flowers more often than listening to his teachers. That was how he caught Emmrich, something tugging at his heart to comfort the sad stranger. It took a week to gather the courage.

But oh, how glad Emmrich was he did. They met in the Memorial Gardens nearly every day since, first at the foot of Rook’s grave, then the little tea table where Emmrich prepared a few refreshments — what sort of homecoming would it be otherwise?

Nevermind that Rook didn’t remember a thing, preferred lemon cakes to the chocolate ones, took his tea with not even a single spoon of sugar, and a whole host of other things. Time changed people, Emmrich reminded himself. It was lovely to learn new things about an old lover, wasn’t it?

It was still his Rook.

It was. It was.

The same gleam in their eyes. The same way they tucked their hair behind their ear. The same look they got when they met Emmrich’s gaze, blushing and looking away half a second later.

The same way they kissed — that very first time, under a canopy of conjured Fade lights and Shroud's Kiss, memory transposed over reality.

It was perfect.

***

Fear.

It was only fear in Rook's eyes when Emmrich revealed himself — skin turning into bone, his chest hollowing out.

Horrible, aching fear when Rook finally reached out to him, flesh of his palm meeting the bone of his cheek, careful, oh so terribly careful as if Emmrich would turn into dust if Rook touched him too hard.

“Emmrich…” Rook's voice shook.

“Darling.” The glow of his eyes danced on Rook's skin. “It's only me. I promise.”

“You promise?”

“Yes. Nothing has changed.”

“Okay.” Rook swallowed, retracting his hand before returning it to Emmrich's face, knuckles over his cheekbones, tracing the hollow of his eye socket. “Okay.”

Emmrich's wonderful, beautiful, brave Rook. Nothing had changed.

***

Emmrich fed Rook the secrets of lichdom slowly, preparing him as he did before. He went wrong somewhere back then — perhaps moved too fast in his eagerness, his fear, that first time, and had not prepared her enough, had not whispered the right secrets into her ear.

He will not make the same mistake twice. He will not lose Rook again.

***

It took years, decades, before Emmrich would try again. But time was what he had in abundance, and his darling Rook had grown to be a respectable mage on his own merit in the time between, traveling frequently between Minrathous and Nevarra, with most none the wiser, Emmrich having taught him the secrets of the Lighthouse and the Crossroads.

Why wouldn't he? The Lighthouse belonged to Rook, the place and the person forever intertwined in his mind. Emmrich was the last of the Veilguard until he wasn't, its sole keeper until Rook returned to join him in eternity.

And now it was time.

***

The knife was lodged in his chest and it was surprise — not fear — that came over Rook’s face as the color drained from him. “Emm—rich…”

“Hush, darling.”

Rook crumpled in his arms — again.

He caught Rook — again.

Soothed the same pinch between his eyebrows, felt the same bloody warmth seep into the wrappings of his finger bones.

And waited.

The blood dried. The body cooled. Rot settled into its new home.

The ritual failed.

Rook was gone — again.

***

There was no version of this story where Rook did not love Emmrich.

There was no version of this story where Rook was not loved by Death in return.

Just as surely, there was no version of this story where Emmrich did not try again.

And again.

Regret haunting the halls of the Necropolis as old as time, too well entangled in his soul.

#emmrook #emmrich volkarin #rook #dragon age #dragon age the veilguard #datv #guacamole writing #guacamole prompts #thedas weekend #oc: thana ingellvar #emmlich #lich!emmrich volkarin

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