#amara rook ingellvar

[chaosherald]

A Word with Friends

Avarice (Excessive or inordinate desire of gain; greed for wealth)

Hosted by @hedwigoprah

Thank you @woundedsoul12 for the tag! Friendly no pressure tags for @seaglassmelody @blackwall-my-tiny-husband @davrinsleftpectoral @jukkaricity @dags-over-caravans @kabsey @serstolas (and anyone else <3)

This was inspired by a post from @madamemortem, reblogged by and commented on by @void-bitten-ghost about the gooseberry pie conversation with Lucanis when he is romancing Neve and what the flip side of that might have looked like if he is romancing Rook. Thank you for the inspiration!

(In this house, we went the Rookanis route but we love and respect Neve Gallus and what she means to both Lucanis and Rook. 💕)

Market trips with Lucanis were generally an efficient affair. The man shopped with a purpose, a neatly annotated list, and an intimate knowledge of the Treviso market. Neve had agreed to go with him assuming today's endeavor would be brisk. A nice little break from her pile of notes. A chance to clear her head and stretch her legs and exchange sardonic observations with her friend.

Instead, she was stuck waiting while a master assassin agonized over his selection of produce, watching the sun climb higher in the sky and feeling every bit of the time that passed coming directly out of the work she needed to get done that afternoon.

Sideling up to Lucanis, Neve looped her arm through his. “Alright. You have been vacillating between different fruits for far too long. I know I'm not an authority on what meets your standards, but you're clearly in need of a second opinion. What are you stuck on?”

Lucanis grumbled, glancing at Neve before looking back at the paper in his hand. Following his gaze, Neve saw it wasn't one of his fastidiously planned lists, but a recipe. “Oh, trying something new are we?” she asked.

“Perhaps. I am second guessing myself.” Lucanis spoke quickly, like he needed to get the words out of his mouth before they ran off. “Does Rook like lemon?”

Neve blinked slowly. “Lemon?”

“In a sweet preparation. Like a pastry. I know this will go well with the tea she has been favoring, but I'm not sure…”

And now Lucanis was intentionally not meeting her eye. Evasive, tenser than usual. And Neve was pretty sure it wasn't the angle of the sun adding some color to his face. She grinned, shifting the arm still looped through his to elbow his side. “Oooh. You're planning something special for Rook. Well, isn't that a twist on the case we've all seen coming.”

Lucanis looked upward, seeking divine intervention or still avoiding her eyes. Probably both. “It's a foolish idea, I shouldn’t…”

“You should.” Neve interjected. 

Lucanis ignored her, folding up the recipe. “I shouldn't. It complicates things. It's…”

Neve plucked the recipe out of his hand, opening it and looking it over. “Clearly, it is the very soul of avarice, to want something nice, something a little selfish, for once in your life. Something Rook clearly wants too.”

Now he looked at her, eyes a little wider than normal. “Please tell me we haven't been that obvious.”

“Oh, you have, if one knows what they're looking for.” Neve patted him on the shoulder. “Moot point though. Taash and Harding got Rook talking last time they took her drinking at the Hilt. Half the Lords of Fortune know where she stands.”

“Mierda.”

“And lets see. Bellara told me keeping her mouth shut when she's around you two is causing her physical pain.” Neve started looking over lemons, placing some in their basket. “Davrin has assumed brotherly duties and teases Rook about the two of you whenever you aren't around. I also caught the tail end of Emmrich and Rook discussing the ethics of consent when two entities are sharing a body just the other day.”

Lucanis looked slightly mortified. He also replaced several of the lemons Neve had picked up with ones that met his ridiculous standards. “In this one thing, Spite is not part of the problem.”

“Fair. He has been pretty keen on Rook from the get go. I shouldn't be encouraging you though. We have a bet going. If you wait another month, I'll cut you in on my take.”

Lucanis looked at her, his expression slipping into the dangerously intense stare he used to intimidate targets and to make really sure he wasn't revealing actual feelings to anyone.

“Joking. Mostly.” Neve handed him back the recipe. “There's a baker in Docktown who makes Orlesian style pastries. Rook got one of the lemon ones last time we were there and said it was the kind of thing she used to buy in Nevarra when she had the chance. The tart’s a good choice.”

Lucanis looked at her a moment more then nodded, turning away to pay the vendor for the fruit. He gathered up their purchases and they both started walking back through the market.  When Lucanis spoke again he sounded almost calm, with just the tiniest hitch giving away his nerves. “Do you really think she'll like it?”

“Rook is a giant sap with a sweet tooth. She'll love it. Just make sure you actually talk to her after bringing out the baked goods. I'll discreetly clear the room for you two after dinner.”

“Thank you, Neve.”

“Sure. Least I can do. Just try not to get overly sentimental with each other in public once you figure things out. I like seeing my friends happy, but I have my limits on sap.”

Lucanis smiled slightly. “I don't think I have ever been accused of being overly sentimental.”

Neve rolled her eyes, but knew she wasn't entirely hiding her smile. “Only because most people don't pay attention.”

[chaosherald]

Beautiful work by @seaglassmelody Amara and her Mourn Watch siblings from alternate timelines 😍

Team Crypt Baby Go!!

Here they are!! The Ingellvar Squad!!

Amara belongs to @chaosherald

Lia belongs to @postcardsfromheapside

Beatrix belongs to @operative-arrow

Micah belongs to @shadowed-rook

Veryl belongs to @hedwigoprah

Sabi belongs to me!

and Grier belongs to @tinyshoopuf!

Thank you for letting me borrow your kids!! They are all lovely and wonderful!!

[castor-redd]

Amara Ingellvar for @chaosherald

I do not know a ton about her, but she stars in plenty of fics -- you can find some of them here, along with a moodboard! She looks so calm and collected in the screenshots I had for reference; I got a kind of imposing, regal vibe from her -- like, "I'll make the beatdown of the century look like a graceful, elegant work of art".

If you want to learn more about Amara, you can check out the link above, and her tag.

[hallabun]

welcoming my rook, bea, to my dragon age oc club! along with some finalized timeskip designs for my older protags 🥳 can't wait to see how fast this becomes outdated once i get my hands on that character creator...

some more info about them all below!

saoirse mahariel: the hero of ferelden. a cocky spitfire with a heart of gold. yearns to see the world outside of her clan. uses bravado and humor to mask her insecurities and grief, but mellows out with age. romances alistair, puts anora on the throne, and survives the archdemon.

amara hawke: the champion of kirkwall. immensely family oriented. despite her diplomatic and kind nature, amara's life is one of nonstop tragedy. as time goes on, she loses her some of her patience... and filter. romances fenris. strives for peaceful outcomes but frequently fails. remains in the fade to ensure she cleans up at least one of her messes.

beatrice (bea) ingellvar: rook. a mage of the mourn watch. eccentric, friendly, and very talkative, bea is a bit of an oddity. she's very nonchalant about death... understandable as she works with dead bodies and uses necromancy. not afraid to get her hands dirty. odd sense of humor. what becomes of her story remains to be seen...

ruairi lavellan: the inquisitor. kind and amicable, it might be hard to believe ruairi is an efficient spy and assassin for his clan. he resents being dragged into the affairs of shems, but learns to care for everyone in thedas. strives for peace, but will resort to violence if the ends justify the means. romances dorian. ends the inquisition and vows to stop solas.

[veilguardiumleviosa]

Prompt List

Welcome to the landing zone for my @thedasweekend prompt list! I'll keep it updated whenever something new or different strikes my fancy, but for now here we go!

I mainly write Veilguard and Inquisition (but won't turn away a DAII or DAO prompt), and I love to write angst, slice of life, fluff, hurt/comfort, found family, etc. I also love a character study and diving into Thedas lore! Feel free to send me anything from specific prompts to song lyrics or even just ~~vibes~~

Current top ask game pick: Any!

Full list of the OCs and pairings you can request are below the cut as well as a growing collection of all fave ask games!

VEILGUARD Echo de Riva (Emmrich) Esperanza "Esper" de Riva (Lucanis) Melisandre "Mel" Mercar (Neve) Cyrus Mercar (Neve) Amara Thorne (Davrin) Love Ingellvar (Emmrich) Cas Laidir (Taash) Victory "Vic" Laidir (Emmrich)

Fen'an Aldwir (Bellara) Other Veilguard pairings I'll write: Taash/Harding Bellara/Neve Emmrich/Strife

INQUISITION Lyra Lavellan (Solas) Leonardo "Leo" Trevelyan (Dorian) Wisp Lavellan (Iron Bull) Andromeda "Andy" Trevelyan (Cullen) Faolan Lavellan (Cassandra) Avi Trevelyan (Josephine)

Other Inquisition pairings I'll write:

Dorian Pavus/The Iron Bull

DAII Marian Hawke (Anders) Garrett Hawke (Fenris) Tryst Hawke (Isabella)

ORIGINS Mateo "Teo" Cousland (Zevran) Luna Surana (Alistair) Violet Amell (Leliana)

ASK GAMES Rook Codex Rook Storytime Rook Literary Device The Horrors Rook Tarot

[hawkewild]

Name explanations under the cut if you're interested in that. There is a tiny additional spoiler relating to the mourn watch background just FYI!

I really like naming my player characters after tragic/controversial characters in the lore, see:

- Madrigal Lavellan, named after Queen Madrigal, murdered under mysterious circumstances. (x)

- Amara Hawke, named after the Divine Amara III (yes, she's a blood mage for the irony). (x)

(My canon warden is the one exception bc I didn't know much lore at the time)

However the Mourn Watch background has given me inspiration, and I also think it would be cool if Rook were named after a tomb or monument close to where they were found as an infant.

So for context for the above names:

- Eleni Zinovia was the mother of Hessarian, a prophetess bound to a stone statue by an archon who was also her lover. You can encounter her in Origins. (x)

- Sotiria Pentaghast was a princess of Nevarra, Empress of Orlais for a time until she was put aside, and stepmother to Aurelian Pentaghast. Ostensibly, she's interred in the grand necropolis. (x)

- Aurelia for Aurelian Pentaghast. Conveniently combines both "tragic figure" and "nearby tomb" options for the name origin. Aurelian made a claim to the Nevarran throne, however when it was discovered he was not an actual Pentaghast (Sotiria is not his birth mother), he was disgraced and he joined the legion of the dead. (x)

(I know Aurelian died in the deep roads according to codexes, but I have to imagine his close family at least put a small marker or something for him in the family tomb in the grand necropolis.)

[chaosherald]

I have been working with my ADHD brain and swapping between three stories - it has been surprisingly effective 😂 All feature my primary Rook (Amara "Rook" Ingellvar - female elf mage mourn watcher romancing Lucanis)

I love how supportive this community has been 💕 Here's to actually getting stuff finished 🤞

(3 snippets under the cut)

#1 (Lucanis character study - probably going to be a 5+1 kind of thing - Five Times Lucanis Dellamorte should have died or the like. My favorite kind of prose/poetry second person nonsense to indulge in.)

Death is the Dellamorte family business.

(Lucanis Dellamorte should be dead.)

Five is too old to still be crawling into Mama and Papa’s bed when sleep has fled in the quiet dark of night. And you try, how you try, glaring at the moonlight making valleys of shadow in your tangled bedsheets, hearing every silence of a house asleep while you muster the last bit of your will power to try to get back to dreaming.

A losing battle. One of your first. Trying too hard means awake and awake means your room is suffocating and lonely and you are halfway down the hall with the quiet roll step feet Mama has been teaching you before you remember that you are five and too old to be crawling into Mama and Papa’s bed.

So you turn the other way. Heel toe, mind the squeaky wood, slippery tiles. Crow shadow quiet is so much better than the crushing silence of awake and alone. Focus and doing instead of clamped down stillness warring with wandering thoughts.

#2 (Varric and Harding meeting Rook)

Harding almost expected Varric to follow them, but he watched them go without comment, leaning back in his seat and turning to watch Amara. She was slowly shuffling the deck. “Let's see,” he said without preamble. “You aren't hiding cards up your sleeves. We've been rotating who deals, so you aren't setting up your hand that way. Could be magic, but if so it's subtle.”

The elf woman stopped mid-shuffle, the corner of her mouth twitching with the beginnings of a smile. “Are you accusing me of cheating?”

“Eh. All's fair in Wicked Grace until you get caught. Just trying to figure you out, kid.”

That got a full smile from the elf woman. “Sorry to disappoint, but I work hard to maintain my air of mystery.”

Varric chuckled. “Fair enough. You are a mage though.”

Harding noticed that Amara didn't argue with Varric's observation. She also didn't confirm it. Harding looked over the elf again. She wore a knife, no other visible weapons. Not everyone could tell the difference between a mage knife and the more mundane variety, but Varric had a good eye and had been sitting next to the woman for a while.

Varric glanced towards the duo by the fire before leaning a little closer to Amara. “How well do you know Loverboy over there?”

“Not well, just by reputation. Not all mages are friends.”

“Don't I know it. So, what is his reputation?”

Amara’s smile froze a bit. She was still fiddling with the cards, though they were long past needing shuffling. “Poor enough that I assumed I could come this way and not worry about being noticed. I'm technically supposed to be leaving Nevarra as quickly as possible.”

“Huh. I bet there's a story there”

“Not a good one.”

Harding frowned, deciding to join the conversation. “Are you in some kind of trouble?”

“Only if I get caught.”

#3 (A missing scene from the Rook and Lucanis courtship. Post pantry scene, pre Inner Demons, based on my own dumbass choices going after the Formless One way too early in the game 🤦🏼‍♀️)

Lucanis closed his eyes, pursing his lips. “Mierda. Rook. This has nothing to do with me.” He started to pace, the volume of his voice ticking up. “This is about you. You almost died. Taash said Emmrich had to restart your heart.”

“Technically he just had to reset its rhythm -” Rook started.

Lucanis talked over her, his words sharp. “No. Do not downplay this. You almost died.” He stopped abrupting, glaring at her. “What were you thinking?”

Rook paused, with her fork halfway to her mouth. “What?”

“An undead dragon. You fought an undead dragon with Taash and Emmrich. The one thing that guarantees they will both be too distracted by their obsessions to watch your back.”

Rook frowned. “I trust everyone on this team to watch each other’s backs. We also didn't know the Formless One was possessing an undead dragon, so…”

Lucanis cut her off. “Davrin. Harding. Neve. If you don't want me there, they will watch your back. No matter what you're fighting. You cannot endanger yourself by running off-” Lucanis hissed, abruptly falling silent.

A familiar sharp pull on the veil snapped against Rook's senses. She couldn't quite hear Spite, but she was getting pretty good at sensing when he was active, even when there were no obvious visual tells.

“Lucanis? What is Spite saying?”

“Nothing useful.” Lucanis growled, looking at a space somewhere behind Rook.

WIP WEDNESDAY THURSDAY 5/1/25

Hello, it’s WIP Wednesday Thursday, again! The confusingly named game where you:

Reblog this post with a snippet of whatever you’re working on (art, writing, music, crafts, whatever!) and I encourage you and comment briefly !

It doesn’t need to be Dragon Age! You can do whatever !

Because it is weekly, I won’t really be reblogging after Thursday is over, but you can still add stuff, if you want!

If you are looking for comments on/promotion of work that is currently being published, I do that on Bio(ware)feedback days! The next one is 5/3/2025!

Thanks for sharing your work, and have a great day!

[chaosherald]

Davrin Week Day 4: Fatherhood/Childhood

Thank you @datvcompanionweeks for the event!

(Also, A Word With Friends hosted by @davrinsleftpectoral and started by @hedwigoprah. Thank you @blackwall-my-tiny-husband and @seaglassmelody for the tags!

Susurration: Definition (noun): The indistinct sound of people whispering/whispering, murmuring, or rustling)

Assan looked at him, his head canted, his inquisitive chirp quieter than usual, clearly unconvinced about the wisdom of following Davrin's command.

Davrin understood. They had been working on stealth all week, practicing prowling low and slow while approaching prey that was frustratingly alert. Nine attempts so far had ended in discovery and, to Assan's growing frustration, a denial of the gingerwort truffles their mark was carrying. 

Davrin placed his hands on the sides of Assan's head. His Mother used to do that, when she wanted to make sure she had Davrin's attention. He made sure to keep his voice calm and warm, like his Father used to do. “You've got this, Assan. I believe in you. You just need to trust yourself. Trust your training. And if it doesn't work, well, we try again.”

Assan shifted, looking towards his prey and back at Davrin, still not quite convinced.

Davrin stood, taking a step back and crossing his arms. His Mother's way for focus, his Father's way for support. But for kicking some hesitant griffon butt into taking action? That needed Uncle Eldrin. “Alright,” he said, stern. No nonsense. “No more excuses. You failed last time? Use your brain and figure out a better way. That truffle is yours, but only if you get over there and take it. Now go!”

Assan huffed, then turned and slunk into the tall grass, eyes locked on his target. 

Davrin looked over the scene again. The target was across the clearing, sitting on a log, shoulder to shoulder with Rook, deep in conversation. That was about as distracted as the prey got. The susurration of the stream they had used to fill up their water skins also provided a constant background noise to break up any sounds Assan made as he slowly worked his way through the vegetation. Conditions were perfect. He was setting Assan up for success, he just hoped the griffon would be able to capitalize on it. Creators knew Assan was starting to get dejected from the repeated failures. Another miss would break his heart and Davrin wasn’t sure he would be able to handle it. 

Briefly, Davrin wondered if this was how his parents, how Uncle Eldrin felt anytime they sent him off to test himself. The struggle between wanting your child to succeed and wanting to protect them from the possibility of failure. The weight of it all was humbling.

Crouching down, Davrin followed Assan’s progress. It was slow and steady and he was doing a great job keeping his head low and his wings tucked close to his sides. Curiously, the griffon’s track shifted not towards the target directly, but to the target’s side where Rook sat. It took Davrin only a moment to puzzle out what he was doing. Clever. Feather brain might have found his better way. Davrin held his breath in anticipation as Assan paused, tensed, and sprang from cover.

In a flurry of feathers, Assan tackled Rook into Lucanis, knocking both of them off the log. The whole stealth thing was marred a bit by the triumphant squawks Assan made as he took advantage of the tangle on the ground to grab the pouch of truffles Lucanis had been carrying around.

Davrin jogged over, grinning. “That's the way, Assan! Look at you!”

Rook, sprawled on top of Lucanis, laughed and turned her head to look at the griffon. “I don’t remember signing up to help with this whole stealth training thing.”

Lucanis smirked, seemingly unconcerned with being pinned on the ground.  He reached a hand over to pat Assan’s side. “No, don’t discourage him. That was very good, Assan. We’ll make an assassin out of you yet.”

Davrin shook his head, looking at Assan who had gotten the treats out of their pouch and was making short work of them. “Yeah, not going to happen. But being able to sneak up on an assassin? That is some fine work, Assan. I'm proud of you.”

Assan, done with his truffles, looked up at Davrin, beak open and tail swishing back and forth. Griffons don’t grin, but the expression on his face translated perfectly.

Seeing him succeed was magical. Davrin could only hope he had given his parents and his Uncle moments like this too.

[chaosherald]

Rook is injured fighting the Formless One. Lucanis has some thoughts on the situation. Two awkward souls dance around the things they want and need and cannot say and commit indecent acts of intimacy (they hold hands.)

A missing scene in the Rook and Lucanis courtship, post almost kiss in the pantry and pre Inner Demons.

(Also, an actual finished bit of writing. Exciting times ^⁠_⁠^ )

Conductivity

Rook held up the hand mirror, tracing her fingers along the forking angry red streaks that clung to her neck, branching out in tendrils. It looked like nerves, like veins, like the ethereal frame favored by some of the Great Spirits who occupied the Necropolis. She could feel the sunburn ache, cobweb tingle that followed the visible lines to where they disappeared under her tunic, down her arm to her hand on one branch, down her torso and leg on another. She was very lucky the fraying scraps of her barrier had partially deflected the Formless One’s lightning. Even luckier that Emmrich had been so quick to start healing her.

A knock sounded at her door. Rook frowned, setting down the mirror and using the shelf behind her as leverage to stand up from the couch. Her hand twitched and pain shot down her leg, the lingering misfire of overwhelmed nerves. Walking across the room suddenly felt insurmountable. “Come in” she called, mentally rearranging her daunting to do list to accommodate the down time she was going to have to accept.

The door opened slowly, pushed open by Lucanis. He had his back to her as he entered, pushing the door open with his elbow, his hands occupied by a mug and a plate of food.

Rook was glad she still had a hand on the shelf. Seeing him made her pulse jump, reminding her uncomfortably of the awful uneven stop start of her circulatory system during her recent lightning misadventure. It had only been a few days since she had walked in on Spite trying to get through Taash in the pantry. Since she had tried to find out what the Demon was actually attempting to do. Since Lucanis had briefly seemed to understand that she wasn’t scared of him, of them. That she might even be interested in him, an interest that had seemed to be reciprocated. He had leaned against the wall and looked at her like she was special, close enough to taste, and then locked up and walked away. Rook had avoided being alone with him since. Seeing him here, now, while still coming down from the adrenaline of the fight and being injured was almost enough for her to tell him to leave.

Almost. She missed having him around, even if it had only been a few days. Even if it was a bad idea. How had he put it? Walking a little too close to the edge.

Lucanis was staring at her, frozen just within the threshold of her room after wrangling the door. Maybe his thoughts were treading similar lines, though his eyes locked on her neck, on those visible angry red lines, his face intensely and intentionally still. He was probably just horrified by her incompetence at staying out of harm’s way.

Silence stretched between them. Rook looked away first, trying to keep her tone light. “I guess I missed dinner?”

“Emmrich said you would not be joining us. That you needed to rest.” Lucanis spoke slowly, as if picking his words with care. “I offered to bring you a plate.”

Rook glanced back at him, smiling slightly. “Thank you. It smells delicious.”

“Bellara’s work.” Lucanis walked towards her with his too quiet feet and handed her the mug. Tea, the spiced orange by the smell. One of several new blends that had shown up in the kitchen over the last few weeks. Rook thought she had already finished that particular tin. She took it with both hands, glad they stayed steady, and slowly sat back on the couch. She focused on the scent and warmth of the tea as she took a sip and tried not to think about how she didn't trust her feet to keep her upright once she stopped leaning on the shelf.

Lucanis, still holding the plate with one hand, had walked around her and leaned over, pulling the small table in front of the couch closer to where she sat. He carefully put down the plate in easy reach, silverware balanced across the top. There was a stiffness to his posture, at odds with the fluid grace with which he normally moved. His eyes scanned the space slowly as he stood up, coming to rest on the wall of water across the room. “Half your room is a fish tank.”

Rook sipped her tea again, wincing. Lucanis hadn't been up here yet. Most of their companions hadn't been up here yet. Why would they bother? Rook spent most of her time in other parts of the Lighthouse and generally sought the others out long before they thought to go looking for her. Her room was for storing her meager belongings, mentally sparring with the Dread Wolf, and occasionally trying to sleep. After spending a year in an underwater prison and seeing the unfortunate decor, Lucanis would probably avoid coming here ever again. “Sorry. That's probably the last thing you want to see.”

Lucanis walked over to the impossible glass wall between them and the Fade’s version of an aquarium, still radiating tension. He shrugged slightly. “You don't need to apologize for that. Everything reminds me of the Ossuary. This is just - very blatant.”

“Still. Sorry. I'll be fine if you need to get out of here. Thank you for - ” Rook’s hand twitched, jostling the tea cup, splashing her hand. “ - shit. Ow.” Rook carefully put down her tea as Lucanis turned to look at her, his eyes flashing violet pink before settling back to their normal brown.

“Tremors. From the lightning.” He was back to rigid, controlled words. Rook was starting to suspect he was trying very hard not to say something. She just wasn’t sure what. “You need more healing,” he said.

“I know.” Rook wiped the tea off her hand before picking up her fork, willing her nervous system to cooperate as she knew Lucanis was watching for any other signs of weakness. “So does Emmrich, but he’s exhausted. He was going to consult with Bellara and bring her by in the morning. The three of us will figure it out. I'm not in any immediate danger and the next round of healing will be fiddly. Better to tackle it after a good night's sleep. Besides, the effects are probably temporary.”

“I'm familiar with the effects.” Lucanis replied.

Rook frowned, taking a bite of her food. She remembered the tables in the laboratory of the Ossuary. Branching scorch marks and the lingering smell of ozone. She knew from previous conversations with Lucanis that the Venatori had been very keen on finding ways to strip control from their prisoners, to best foster a sense of hopelessness and hasten the emergence of their demons. Carefully applied lightning to overwhelm one's nervous system would do the trick. No wonder he was so on edge.

“That's…I'm sorry. You shouldn't have to relive all that because I wasn't fast enough dodging a dragon.”

Lucanis closed his eyes, pursing his lips. “Mierda. Rook. This has nothing to do with me.” He started to pace, the volume of his voice ticking up. “This is about you. You almost died. Taash said Emmrich had to restart your heart.”

“Technically he just had to reset its rhythm -” Rook started.

Lucanis talked over her, his words sharp. “No. Do not downplay this. You almost died.” He stopped abruptly, glaring at her. “What were you thinking?”

Rook paused, with her fork halfway to her mouth. “What?”

“An undead dragon. You fought an undead dragon with Taash and Emmrich. The one thing that guarantees they will both be too distracted by their obsessions to watch your back.”

Rook frowned. “I trust everyone on this team to watch each other’s backs. We also didn't know the Formless One was possessing an undead dragon, so…”

Lucanis cut her off. “Davrin. Harding. Neve. If you don't want me there, they will watch your back. No matter what you're fighting. You cannot endanger yourself by running off-” Lucanis hissed, abruptly falling silent.

A familiar sharp pull on the veil snapped against Rook's senses. She couldn't quite hear Spite, but she was getting pretty good at sensing when he was active, even when there were no obvious visual tells.

“Lucanis? What is Spite saying?”

“Nothing useful.” Lucanis growled, looking at a space somewhere behind Rook.

Rook gave up on any pretense of eating, leaning her head against the back of the couch and closing her eyes. Her head hurt, her leg was twitching, and she was feeling increasingly off balance. The Formless One was dealt with. Everyone survived. This should be counted as a win. “Well, while we're handing out unsolicited advice: you can't keep ignoring him. That's just going to lead to frustration on both your parts.”

Lucanis didn’t answer. Rook didn’t open her eyes to see what he was doing or what look was on his face. Probably not one she wanted to see.

The silence stretched between them, awkward and overwhelming. Like standing in the pantry after being abandoned. Like pushing someone towards something they might not want. Like trying to balance friendship and connection and duty and the world falling apart around them. Rook sighed, sensing Spite’s presence fading back to the vaguely discordant hum that usually meant he wasn’t actively trying to communicate anymore. “For the record, I'm very capable of watching my own back,” she muttered.

“No you're not.” Lucanis had moved closer to her, his voice quieter. He sounded resigned, defeated.

Rook risked opening her eyes. Lucanis was next to the couch, close enough to touch, but looking away from her.

“You spend too much time keeping everyone else safe,” he said. “You barely let anything touch the rest of us and it takes your attention away from our enemies. You are constantly putting yourself at risk.”

“I, sure maybe,” Rook admitted quietly, barely processing the words as they left her mouth. She was definitely too tired for this or any other conversation. “But I'm not the important one here. Better me than someone else. We need all of you.”

Lucanis snapped his head to stare at her, wide eyed and aghast, like she had just slapped him. “Don't.” He sat next to her on the couch, abrupt and graceless, taking her hand. “Please, don't say that.”

Rook froze, watching him with wide eyes, breath caught in her throat.

Lucanis looked down, his grip on her hand just shy of uncomfortably tight. His mouth opened and closed a couple times. Words considered and rejected. He closed his eyes, breathing slowly with an even intentional pattern. This didn't seem to be a Spite thing, at least not one she could sense. It seemed more a Lucanis thing. Or a Crow thing. It reminded her of meditation practices from her training. His grip on her hand remained solid, his thumb brushing a small half circle along her fingers.

“Eat,” he said softly, after a short eternity of listening to him breathe while he held her hand. “Your food is going to get cold.”

Countless questions flittered through Rook’s head, but she seemed physically incapable of giving them voice. Eating one handed was a bit of a challenge, but thankfully the shredded meat over a bed of greens and fruit, a perfect compliment to the tea, was easy enough to manage. Lucanis kept his eyes closed and his head down, acting as if sitting together on her couch holding hands was normal, or at least not worth acknowledging.

He didn't speak until she had put her fork down on the now empty plate. “Why didn't you ask me to accompany you?”

“You said,” Rook paused, catching herself. He hadn’t actually said it, had he? Implied, maybe. Or she had assumed. “It seemed like you wanted space. I was giving you space.”

Lucanis opened his eyes and turned to look at her, radiating disapproval.

“We're going up against Gods,” Rook continued. “We saw what happened at Weisshaupt. We can't afford to be distracted. We also can't avoid getting hit sometimes. Even if you had been there, this still might have happened. It was a really angry spirit possessing a really big dragon. We were back in stabbing a cloud territory.”

That got a slight not-quite-smile from Lucanis. “All the more reason for me to be there. I need the practice.” He sighed. “I do not want to be a distraction, Rook. The other day, in the pantry - ”

Rook shook her head. “No, you're not - you don't have to explain. I shouldn't have presumed…“

“You didn't. Nothing happened that I didn't want to happen, I just…” Lucanis groaned. “I still don't know what to say. But Taash coming into the dining hall and telling us how close we came to losing you - that was awful. You cannot do that to me again.”

“I'm sorry.”

“You also need to stop apologizing.”

Rook squeezed his hand. “Specifically, I'm sorry for not being more careful. For making you worry. I don't want to add to your burdens.” Rook felt like she had just stumbled onto something important. Some missing angle that shed light on whatever was going on between them. Whatever this was or could become deserved to die an early death if they ended up making things harder for one another.

“You are not a burden,” he muttered.

“I try not to be,” she said. “I'm not really used to people worrying about me.”

“Hmm.” Lucanis squeezed her hand back. “I had to fight off Harding and Davrin to bring you dinner. They both wanted to come check on you. The mages and Taash were still talking about the possessed dragon, otherwise I'm sure they would have fought me too. A lot of people worry about you, Rook. You need to let us.”

“You didn't literally fight them, I hope.”

Lucanis smirked, raising a brow.

Rook fought a smile, rolling her eyes. “You all also know this is exactly the kind of thing I would have been brought in on in the Watch. Spirit expert and all that.”

“Did you commonly deal with dead possessed dragons?”

“Well, not specifically. This was my first.”

“And last I hope.”

Rook carefully repositioned herself on the couch, folding her legs beneath her and turning to fully face Lucanis. Their joined hands rested on her lap. “Lucanis.”

“Rook.”

“What do you need from me? What do you need me to do to make this ok?”

Lucanis studied her face. The tension he had been carrying since entering her room seemed to have eased. He made no move to take his hand back. “Take me out with you next time. Unless there is a tactical reason not to.”

“Ok.”

“And I am getting you better armor.”

Rook blinked, trying to figure out where that demand came from. “What's wrong with my armor?”

Lucanis just looked at the tell tale red streaks on her neck, his thumb tracing the end point of the mark on her hand. “We'll need to go to Treviso so my armorer can get your measurements.”

“Not sure I'll look good in crow blue.”

“You'll look good in anything” he said, “And they do the best leather work in Antiva, we do not skimp on style.”

Rook could feel the warmth of a blush on her cheeks. “Alright. No more dragon fights without my assassin. New armor. Easy. I will be bringing it to the Watchers to finish the enchantments though.”

Lucanis smiled. “Agreed.” His eyes flickered from her face to their hands and back. “And what do you need from me, Rook?” He asked softly.

“Oh, I don't know.” Rook looked down at their hands, smiling. “Bring me dinner when I don't make it to the dining room. Yell at me when I take unnecessary risks in a fight. Make me tea. Especially this tea. Thought I had gone through it already.”

Lucanis looked to the side, his face now slightly flushed. “You did. That's a new tin. You clearly enjoyed the first one.”

“Oh.” Rook thought back to the past few weeks. She hadn't paid much attention to when and how the pantry got stocked, not since Bellara and Lucanis had kicked everyone else out of the cooking rotation. “That's - where have the teas been coming from?”

Lucanis shrugged slightly. “Treviso. Minrathous. The ginger lemongrass is from one of the Veil Jumpers. I had to make some inquiries, but I found the supplier for the tea house in the financial district back home and she had some recommendations. It would have been much easier if you drank coffee.”

Rook gaped at him. She had been drinking tea for years and had never sought out anything beyond whatever was immediately convenient. “I'd apologize for the trouble, but someone told me to stop apologizing.”

Lucanis raised a brow at her. “It is no trouble. None of that is. It is also all things I am already doing.”

“You asked what I needed from you. That's my answer.”

“There must be something else,” he huffed.

Rook tapped her free hand against her chin. “Did you finish reading the book for Bellara’s club yet?”

“Yesterday.”

“Well, I still have a few chapters to go and I am pretty sure if I try to read with the way my head feels right now, I'm going regret it. Care to provide a summary of the end?”

Lucanis laughed, shaking his head and looking around her room. “Oh, no. Absolutely not. No summary would do justice to the ridiculously overwrought - Where is your copy?”

Rook twitched her head to the side. “On the shelves on the other side of the couch.”

Lucanis shifted slightly, starting to get up, then paused, looking at his hand, still gripping Rook's. He exhaled, a single breathy laugh, apparently unwilling to let go.

Rook caught his eye, smiled, then relaxed her hold on his hand. Neither of them said anything as he released her too, getting to his feet to grab the book.

Rook sat back against the couch and stretched out her legs. They still hurt. Everything still hurt, but her hand - warm and tingly in a way that probably wasn't related to her injuries - monopolized her attention. She tried and failed not to think about it too much as she grabbed a blanket balled up at the other end of the couch and sought a more comfortable position.

Lucanis carefully sat down next to her, book already open to the scrap of ribbon that marked her spot. “How did you manage to stop here? Right after the Duchess realized her lover was the murderer? The suspense would have killed me.”

“There was some crisis or another to deal with. Who can keep track?” Noting that Lucanis held the book one handed, leaving his hand closest to her free, Rook twined their fingers back together. “And I don't mind a bit of suspense.”

Lucanis glanced at her, his eyes warm and maybe a little surprised. “That’s - good. You are a very patient woman.”

Rook closed her eyes, leaning against his shoulder. “Sometimes. When something is worth waiting for.”

Lucanis hummed in acknowledgement or agreement, shifting slightly to better accommodate her as he started to read.

Rook felt calm. Grounded. She listened to the increasingly outlandish story, peppered with Lucanis’ pointed commentary, adding her own observations as they went. Her hand in Lucanis' still twitched, insane gods still threatened the world, and the plot of the book was becoming increasingly unhinged, but she had trouble recalling the last time she had felt this content. Or if she had ever seen Lucanis so relaxed.

Moments like this made the rest of it worthwhile. Rook resolved to enjoy them.

[chaosherald]

Davrin Week Day 5: Woodworking

Thank you @datvcompanionweeks for hosting!

This is part of a larger work framed around my Mourn Watcher Rook's companions adding to her collection of grave gold, so my Rook's nonsense is very much a focus. Each companion gets a section - this one is Davrin's. (For anyone who is curious, part of the set up is here in one of my WIP posts, part of why Rook left the Dalish can be found here. Also @blackwall-my-tiny-husband you asked me to keep you updated on this work ^_^)

Davrin was one of my Rook's best friends and the brother she never had. She, Bellara, and Davrin also represented three very different takes on/experiences with being an elf in Thedas.

Davrin and Rook and being (not quite/no longer/never really?) Dalish

“So, what's that one going to be?”

Davrin looked up from his whittling and eyed his friend. Rook was laying on the ground, arms slung over Assan. Both of them seemed to be enjoying the lazy Arlathan sunlight while they waited for Bellara to finish helping the Veil Jumpers with their newest artifact, but Davrin knew better. He had been watching for this, the seemingly inevitable end to any trip to the forest. Rook was too still, her shoulders hunched, her grip on Assan tight enough that the griffon looked like he might be reconsidering playing pillow. “I don't know yet,” he said. “This one is still trying to figure out what it wants to be.” 

“Hnnn.” Rook kept her face pressed against Assan’s side. “I know the feeling,” she said softly.

Davrin shaved down an edge of the block. He figured that was as good an opening as he was going to get. “You're going to have to elaborate on that one, Rook.”

Rook mumbled something.

“Want to try that without a face full of feathers?” Davrin asked, flicking a small piece of wood in her direction.

Rook shook her head, still hugging Assan, but spoke louder when she answered. “No. It's not important.”

Davrin kept carving. “Well, then you leave me no choice. I'm going to go get Bellara and tell her you're moping.”

That got Rook to look at him. “You wouldn't dare.”

“And then she's going to stop what she's doing to come try to cheer you up. Then that thing she's trying to deactivate is probably going to explode. And then-”

Rook sat up, giving Assan one more pat on his flank and pulling leaves out of her auburn hair. “That's a low blow.”

“Whatever gets the job done.” Davrin stopped his work, meeting Rook's eye. “You get like this every time we come here,” he said seriously. “I've noticed. Bellaras noticed.”

Rook sat crossed legged, looking everywhere but at Davrin, one hand on Assan who was looking between the two of them, chirping curiously. He watched her make a poor effort to smile, to fall back into the humor she so often used when she was uncomfortable. “So is this an intervention or…” 

“No. Just a friend who might have some idea what you're getting caught up in.” Davrin went back to his carving, giving Rook the illusion of separation from the conversation. “I get it. Or at least, I get more of it than the others do,” he said, making sure his voice was quiet enough that Rook and Assan would be the only ones who could hear him. “Being an elf is something we always carry with us and this place sets it right in front of us. Hard to ignore any pieces of that we might have trouble with when we’re here.”

Rook didn’t respond. She didn’t interrupt or deflect or storm off either, so Davrin continued. “You wear vallaslin. You know some of the songs and stories. You might be better with the language than I am, but that's because you're a nerd and I’m out of practice. But you're also Nevarran. A Mourn Watcher. Not a lot of elves hanging around the Necropolis. You mentioned to Bellara that you spent some time with a Dalish clan, but…”

“But it's not something I talk about.” Rook said.

“And you don't have to if you don't want to,” Davrin said. “But you know - you can. If you want. If it would help.”

Rook flopped back down on the ground, tracing her fingers along some of Assan’s feathers. He playfully nipped at her fingers.

Davrin focused on his whittling. This one really wasn’t finding a shape. It was unfortunate, the wood itself was beautiful, fine clear grain and a reddish hue. It matched the leaves around them, a tiny reflection of the forest.

A few minutes passed before Rook spoke, still playing some kind of hand to beak fencing game with Assan. “I love it here. In Arlathan. Something about the timbre of the Fade, the pull of the magic around us.” She paused, closing her eyes. “It feels like home. And it feels disingenuous to think that way. Like, I’m not allowed. That I don't have any claim to it.”

“You do,” Davrin said. “We all do. Even if it's something we chose to walk away from. This is still part of our heritage.”

“I didn't,” Rook said sharply.

“Hm?”

“I didn't choose to leave the Dalish. I had to leave.”

“Why?”

“Remember when we were hunting that demon in Minrathous last week? What Neve said when we entered the catacombs?”

Davrin turned the wood over in his hands. “That we should just sit back and let you take point. That demons flock to you like pickpockets to a festival.”

“Now imagine that but I'm untrained. Keeper Ellaran did their best, but…” Rook shrugged.

Davrin ran his fingers over the grain of the wood, the beginnings of the project it needed to be starting to take shape in his head. “Ah. And that wasn't a problem with the watchers?”

“That spirits followed me around the Necropolis? They thought it was a great party trick.” Rook stood slowly, shaking out arms and legs that were probably stiff after laying on the ground for so long. Assan stood too, mirroring her actions.

“I’m sorry,” Davrin said. “I get why that would make all this” Davrin waved a hand around, indicating the forest, the ruins, the remnants of elven culture that permeated Arlathan “complicated. Would you go back if you could?”

“Now? No. Back then?” Rook looked over at Bellara and the other Veil Jumpers. The artifact they had been crowded around was no longer flashing ominously and it looked like Bellara was saying her goodbyes. “I don't know. If I hadn’t gone back to the Watch, if I had stayed with the Dalish, maybe I'd be someone who was comfortable being comfortable here. But I don't know if I'd be me. And people would have gotten hurt.” She shrugged, walking over to where Davrin sat, Assan at her heels. “Looks like they're just about done.”

Davrin nodded, sheathing his knife and putting it away. He then wrapped the block of wood and placed it in his pack. He knew exactly what it needed to become.

Rook smiled at him. It still didn’t quite read as true, but better than the overt tension from earlier. “I…Thanks, Davrin. Sorry for bringing down the trip.”

Davrin tousled Assan’s head feathers as he stood up. “Like I said, I kind of get it. And anytime you want to talk, I'm happy to listen. Keep talking about it and maybe you can stop using Assan as your emotional support griffon everytime we’re here. You're making him soft.”

Rook widened her eyes, throwing her arm around Davrin’s shoulder. “Never. Even the fiercest warriors deserve cuddles, Davrin.”

Davrin smirked, returning the half hug. “Whatever you say, Rook.”

Later, after seeing Assan’s siblings safely settled into their new home in the forest, Rook returned to the lighthouse wearing a new bracelet. A circle of wood, fine grained with a reddish hue, the color of the sun and the leaves in Arlathan, bound with gold trim and adorned with a finely carved charm in the shape of a griffon. A reminder of a shared heritage, of walking between worlds, of friends who will do their part to help you find yourself.

[chaosherald]

Word with Friends!

Thank you @jenn2d2 for hosting this week! And thanks to @seaglassmelody for the tag!

The word is: Perspicacious

Quick in noticing, understanding, or judging things accurately or of acute mental vision or discernment

(The aftermath of the gingerwort truffle tea adventure with Davrin - established Rookanis - featuring Davrin, Lucanis, Neve, Emmrich, and my Mourn Watcher Rook - and some headcanons about the kind of shenanigans necromancer college students would get up to in their free time 😂)

“I can explain,” Davrin said hastily, one arm around Rook who was trying her best to pull them both to the ground while Assan bounded around them into the dining room. Emmrich and Neve were at the table, staring at them in shock over the pile of papers they had been sorting. Lucanis, knife in hand, had frozen in the middle of whatever he was chopping and was taking them in with the same cold assessing stare he saved for targets. Davrin was pretty sure the assassin wouldn't sully his kitchen knives by attacking him, but he really didn’t want to take the risk.

Rook, still swaying, oblivious to any danger, smiled at the room’s occupants. “Marvelous. Our esteemed Professor and the celebrated Detective are eminently qualified adjudicators. Assan has been tragically biased in his assessments so far.”

“We, uh, tried your gingerwort truffle tea, Emmrich,” Davrin said, trying to angle Rook over towards one of the chairs.

Emmrich stood and walked over to Rook's other side, helping maneuver her to a chair. Assan meanwhile made his way over to Neve, pushing his head against her and demanding ear scratches. The Detective obliged, clearly trying not to laugh. “And Rook is a light weight, I take it?”

“That is not on the rubric, Detective Gallus. We will have to consider you an alternate adjudicator.” Rook tried to pat Emmrich’s arm as she sat. It took her a couple tries. Her eyes were glassy, pupils much wider than normal. “Professor, Warden Davrin owes me his rebuttal.”

“I see, my friend,” Emmrich said, taking her hand and surreptitiously checking her pulse. “And what is the topic of debate?”

“The role of sentience in how we define the monstrous. Davrin maintains that instinctual creatures who facilitate harm would still fall under the monster order.” Rook swayed in her seat as she turned to look at Davrin. “I maintain active choice and intent are inherent to the veracious application of the term.”

Neve kept one hand on Assan and rested her chin in the other, elbow on the table. “Fascinating. Does Gingerwort Truffle Tea commonly make you sound like an Altus on the lecture circuit?”

Davrin sank into his own chair, putting his head in his hands. While not nearly as far gone as Rook, he was still feeling the tea too. “I have no idea. First she thought Assan was talking. Then she’s throwing around the gold coin words and challenging me to a debate.”

Emmrich chuckled. “Oh, no, that isn’t the tea. Just training from the Black Lily Society. I am so glad to know the tradition lives on.”

Rook gasped, hitting her hands against the table. “Professor! You are in violation of the first tenant of the society! One does not broadcast the existence of the order to the uninitiated.”

Emmrich patted Rook’s shoulder. “The senior most students and the younger watchers have a tradition of partaking in mind altering substances and engaging in philosophical debate. Those who wish to remain sober or volunteers record and score the arguments. A certain verbal acumen is indeed part of the rubric.”

Davrin glanced at Neve. He could tell she was also processing this information and adding it to her concept of the Mourn Watchers. “Now that sounds like a party,” she said drolly.

A hand suddenly clamped on his shoulder, causing Davrin to jump in his seat. Lucanis, who no doubt did that on purpose, dropped a wooden box onto the table. Davrin hadn’t heard him approach, which was all kinds of disconcerting. “What specifically was in the tea and how much did she have?” he asked, opening the box and pulling out trays of vials and powders.

Rook smiled at him, leaning in his direction, her eyes obviously traveling down his form. “And a good evening to you, Master Dellamorte.”

“Two cups, I think?” Davrin looked at Emmrich. “As to the contents, you’ll have to ask the Professor.”

Emmrich rattled off the ingredients. “Treatment might not be necessary, Lucanis” he said. “It just seems our friend has a particular sensitivity to the truffles’ effects. Water, rest, and time should set her right.”

Lucanis did not look convinced. “I'd rather not take any chances.” He turned away from the table and walked towards the sink, grabbing two glasses and filling them with water.

Rook watched him walk away, clearly admiring the view.

Neve snorted, watching her. Rook generally avoided being too overt with her flirting. “Still looking for a debate, Rook? Or has something else caught your attention?”

“Perspicacious as always, Detective Gallus.” Rook waved a hand vaguely in Davrin’s direction. “Let the record show I concede the debate in accordance with the copulatory addendums. I am not conceding to the superiority of your arguments.”

Neve laughed. Lucanis almost dropped the glass he was filling. Davrin looked from Rook to Emmrich. “Is that an official rule of the society? Walking away from a debate for a hookup?”

Emmrich smiled, shrugging slightly. “Another time honored tradition of many young scholars.”

Lucanis did a decent job keeping a straight face as he came back to the table. Placing down the glasses he methodically started measuring powders into the glasses. “You are going to drink this, then lay down on the couch out here while I finish dinner.”

Rook pouted. “Tandem studies of anatomy-”

“Are off the table until this is out of your system.” Lucanis handed her one of the glasses.

Rook took the glass with more than necessary touching of Lucanis’ hand and started to drink, not breaking eye contact.

Lucanis watched her, but held the second glass out to Davrin. “And you get to keep an eye on her while I'm cooking.”

Davrin took the glass. He was pretty sure Lucanis had mixed the same stuff into both. “Fair. I don't have to worry about you coming at me over this, right?”

Lucanis snorted. “No.”

“Good.” Davrin started to drink his glass.

“Even odds that one or both of you is going to be sick as the purifier does its job though so - keep a bucket close by.”

Neve made a face, patting Davrin on the back. “And that's my cue to take the notes back to my room. Assan is welcome to join me, aren't you boy?”

Emmrich helped Neve with gathering the papers. “I'll keep an eye on things out here, just in case there are any more adverse effects or spontaneous debates.”

Davrin rolled his eyes, but offered a hand to Rook to help her over to the couch. “Come on, Watcher Ingellvar. Next picnic, you pick the drinks.”

[chaosherald]

A Word with Friends (2 of 2)

Started by @hedwigoprah , hosted this week by @seaglassmelody

Tags for anyone who wants in <3

This week's word is: Sanguine

Definition (Adjective): optimistic or positive, especially in an apparently bad or difficult situation.

(Totally different vibe from entry #1 😂 Takes place pre-Tearstone Island, post almost everything else. Established Rookanis. Mourn Watcher Rook takes a field trip with Jacobus. I am very much on team "Rook gets to adopt Jacobus and eventually the rest of house Egrativi" - even if my girl isn't a crow, she is marrying into that whole world and she has a thing about making sure orphans find a family, whatever that ends up looking like. Also fun to lean into the Mourn Watcher doing necromancy around outsiders thing. ^⁠_⁠^ )

Rook leaned against the railing, watching Lucanis, Teia, and Viago grow more animated as they conversed in rapid fire Antivan. Crow business, Lucanis had said apologetically before leaving her to her own devices in the balcony above the Cantori Diamond. It probably would have been safe enough for her to head back to the lighthouse on her own, but she knew Lucanis would worry and she was loath to waste what little time the two of them had together.

Well, three of them. Spite was making an effort to be seen, at least by Rook, and it was getting harder to keep a straight face as he stalked behind Viago, alternating between parroting his stern expression and pulling faces at him. How Lucanis was managing to focus on whatever business they were discussing was beyond her.

Movement to the side drew Rook’s eye from the Talons (and demon) to Jacobus, angrily stalking past Rook towards some of the plush chairs on the other landing. Heir was watching him with a long suffering look Rook knew well from her own studies, that of a professor at the end of their rope with a promising but stubborn student. With one last glance at Lucanis and Spite and the conversation in which she understood one word in ten, Rook followed the young assassin. 

Jacobus flopped onto one of the chairs, the grace of his training the only thing saving him from being the poster child of awkward teenage angst and drama. Rook sat down on a chair opposite, smiling at him. “I take it training is going well?”

Jacobus glared at Rook, but without any real heat. “We haven't even touched weapons today. All we've been doing is acting shit.”

“Oh?”

“You must school your expression, Jacobus. Be a mask,” he said, doing a solid impression of Heir. “When you are angry, appear sanguine. When you are flustered, wear confidence. When you know you have them, do not let an early victory cross your face and give away the advantage.” Jacobus grimaced, dropping back to his own voice. “Who cares what my face looks like? My knives send the message they need to send.”

“True,” Rook said, “but Heir’s job is to make sure you're the best you can be. Controlling what kind of information you are giving a target? Especially in a way most people don't think about? That's powerful.”

Jacobus didn't look convinced.

Rook smiled, quirking a brow. “Like right now? Your face is saying ‘Rook, you are full of shit.’ You generally don't want your friends to know when you think they're being stupid.“

Now Jacobus looked away, a slight flush coloring his cheeks. “I don't think you're stupid. I'm just done with sitting around here making faces.”

“Well, if I promise to keep nagging you about your expression, do you think Heir would let you leave for a bit? I have an errand to run in town while Lucanis is occupied and could use some help.”

Jacobus grinned, springing to his feet, his excitement at possibly getting out of the Diamond and away from his training palpable. Rook could see why Heir wanted him to work on controlling his expressions. “Yes, absolutely. What do you need?”

“I need to find a place of unclaimed dead. A burial site. Or a place with a lot of shipwrecks or drownings. I know I've sensed some nearby.”

To his credit, Jacobus did a decent job guarding his expression. Slightly widened eyes and an almost imperceptible step back was fairly neutral as far as such things usually went.

“Now that wasn’t bad. You only look slightly horrified.” Grinning, Rook stood up. “Let's go clear our outing with Heir before the Talons finish their work.”

It didn't take long for Jacobus to lead them over the Crow’s Road to the waterfront in the drowned district. Along the way, Jacobus told Rook some of the stories he'd heard about the area he had chosen, stories of dumped bodies and squatters left to rot in abandoned, half flooded warehouses. Once they were on the ground, Rook took the lead, fade light seeping off her hands to make small dancing lights that guided her towards a likely target while imbuing Rook and the area around her with a diffuse green glow.

Jacobus kept his eyes away from the lights, face set and serious as he scanned the rooftops and alleyways around them. 

Rook glanced back at him. “You alright?”

“Yep,” he answered, a little too quickly. “This isn't creepy at all. I am also not thinking about what the First Talon will do to me If I let anything happen to his whatever-you-are while we're out here.”

Rook laughed. “I can see the worry in your face. Relax your brow and try not to be so obvious about checking every shadow.”

“I'm not going to slack on keeping watch,” he grumped, but Rook noticed he did make an effort to relax his face. “What exactly are you doing anyway?”

“I told you: looking for unclaimed dead.” Rook turned down an alley that ended at a canal, following the guide lights. “I have made contact with a knowledge spirit who is willing to help me with something, but we need a good vessel for it to talk through. It would like to experience the crossroads without fully manifesting outside the Fade. A skull with the right resonance would be the best amplifier while allowing it a presence at the lighthouse. It will essentially be a controlled haunting.”

Jacobus listened, pursing his lips in thought but otherwise keeping any confusion he might have had off his face. “Right. Sure. A skull for a spirit. What is the spirit helping you with?”

Rook kneeled by the edge of the water. “If I'm going to continue being the First Talon’s ‘whatever-I-am,’ I figured I should brush up on my Antivan.” Rook closed her eyes and reached a hand out towards the water, forging a connection with the skull she sensed a couple feet away buried in the silt. She could feel the magic swirling around her, pulling the skull up from the water, and levitating it just over her outstretched hand. She opened her eyes to look it over, glancing at Jacobus to see his reaction.

He was staring, but otherwise calm. “You're doing this for language lessons? Why not just ask Lucanis? Or hire a tutor?”

“I'd like to surprise him. And Knowledge was really excited by the idea. Something about the fascinating dialects and colorful turns of phrase. You know, you are being remarkably sanguine right now, Jacobus.”

Jacobus was leaning towards the skull, reaching out a hand to touch it, all calm curiosity. “Huh?”

“Necromancy makes most people uncomfortable” Rook said, reaching for whatever spark of its previous life still lingered around the skull. 

“Oh. I mean, I trust you. And I'm a Crow. I can handle a dead body or a bit of magic.” Jacobus’ face froze for a moment. “Though now I'm thinking about just how many dead bodies are in the canals and stuff that we don't know about.”

Rook smiled slightly. “Best not to think on that too much.” Rook let the magic around her fade, carefully taking the skull with both hands. “This skull belonged to a fisherman. He fell on hard times when one of the merchant princes negotiated exclusive rights to fish the best spots in the bay. He loved Treviso though and was intensely proud to be Antivan. Whatever the skull remembers of him seems amenable to helping.”

“Do you need it's permission? Like, can't you just make it do stuff with your magic?”

“Yes, but Watchers try to hold ourselves to higher standards.” Rook stood up, carefully wrapping the skull and securing it in her pack. “Imagine what a mortalitasi without such scruples could do in a place like this. Treviso has so many forgotten bones, waiting to dance.”

Jacobus paled slightly, looking back over the canal. “You could just summon skeletons out of the canals?”

Rook caught his eye, keeping her face blank, tilting her chin up slightly, channeling the imperious calm of some of the more intimidating of the senior watchers she had worked with over the years. “An undead army at the snap of my fingers. The stuff of nightmares.” Rook summoned another flare of veilfire, letting it shine from her eyes while small flames flared over the water behind her. “You can't tell if I'm joking or serious right now, can you?”

Jacobus had taken a full step back, hand drifting to one of his knives. “I - wait are you messing with me?”

Rook smiled, letting the veilfire go and waving a hand over her face. “Control your expression and you can control the conversation. See?”

“That's not funny, Rook.”

“But it is effective. Come on, let's get back to the Diamond.” Rook started walking back the way they came. “Besides, I will need someone to practice speaking Antivan with besides Knowledge. If you make a face every time I mess up a verb tense, it's going to be very discouraging.”

“Oh, I'm going make so many faces. Pained, disgusted, horror every time you mess up.”

Rook laughed, looking over her shoulder as she grabbed onto the trellis to climb back above street level. “Perfect. You practice controlling your expressions and I'll practice Antivan and we'll both master something new.”

Rook didn't quite understand the exasperated Antivan phrase Jacobus muttered as he followed her up the trellis, but she was pretty sure she got the gist. 

[chaosherald]

Amara "Rook" Ingellvar and Lucanis Dellamorte by the wildly talented @chimeowrical

Absolutely blown away by how perfect this turned out 😍 My request was something soft and I mean - look at it 💕

I'm in love. So are they. Going to be staring at this a lot today.

[chaosherald]

A Word With Friends

Started by @hedwigoprah, hosted this week by @strugglinggranola

(I hope I'm not posting too early - didn't wait for any tags, just saw the word and had a need to cause psychic damage to myself and my Rook >.> )

Friendly if you have time and the muses are kind tags to @seaglassmelody, @blackwall-my-tiny-husband, and anyone else who wants in <3 I love seeing what other people come up with!

This week's word is Apricity

Definition: The warmth or light of the sun in winter

Rook has faced this demon before. She will face it again. Set during pre-game travels with Varric and Harding, featuring my Mourn Watcher Rook. (CW: depression, toeing the line of suicidal ideation. This ended up being a dramatic tonal shift from last week's word prompt.)

It's so cold. 

Piercing. The kind of bracing harsh cold that makes it hard to breathe. Fall through the ice on the Minanter at the Dragon Hunt Festival cold. A once friend looking right through you cold. Alone in a crowded room cold.

Being sent away from home for doing the right thing and angering the wrong people cold.

Why is it so cold?

You know, little ghost. Nameless, homeless once again. Why do you keep searching for a place to belong? You have walked this road before and it always brings you to me.

You belong with me.

Think. Even your thoughts are sluggish, but you know something isn't right. You are outside your body, one step in the Fade and this isn't winter. It's something worse. Something dangerous.

And so cold.

But it is easier this way, yes? Your natural state. You were not meant for warmth, little ghost. Even your mother knew, discarding you to the darkness, a sepulchre for your cradle. 

Stop hurting yourself. You belong to me. Be still and be mine and you never need fear the searing immolation of the world's fickle regard ever again.

They have never wanted you, but I have. I always will. Be mine.

You want to listen. You are listening. When the body freezes it slides passed shivering to numb undemanding stillness. This is not a new invitation. You have seen the shadow of this suitor at your window before and they always leave their card, encased in ice.

Why not let them in? No one else has ever tried this hard to court your favor. To keep you. Everyone else has thrown you out in the cold. You aren't sure you know what warmth feels like anymore. Why keep reaching for something that you will never be able to keep?

Yes, little ghost. Your Watchers have broken their trust with you for the last time. These new friends? The scout and the storyteller? They will be like the others. The street children and the Dalish. You are an amusing means to an end, given lukewarm scraps from their hearts to keep you tame. They will bleed you dry and toss you away when you are no longer of use. When you are no longer convenient. They will forget you, nameless and meaningless and always alone.

I will never tire of you. I have never forgotten you. I only ask you to let me embrace you and I promise I will never let you go. Mine. Forever.

And - oh. There. 

Aprecity. The narrowest break in the sleet gray clouds chilling your soul. Hands reaching for you in the icy river, keepsakes in your heart and sorrow in their eyes over necessary partings and you do not need any of them to tell you who you are, least of all a spirit turned demon turned guardian of this ancient place.

And you have a name. A new name, gifted by a new friend.

A friend who is counting on you.

You know. You remember. The whiplash return of sensation, burning pins and needles. Getting warm again hurts, it always hurts, but you have a job to do. 

Despair will not have you. Not today. You feel your hands, your actual physical hands, resting on the binding stone on the old ruin. You hear your friends - Harding, Varric - asking if you're ok. It is time to send this spirit back to the Fade and continue your hunt.

You summon sunlit burning warmth and flame to cut through the winter dark whisperings and clear the path forward. 

You feel the demonic spirit unwind from the ruin, from the physical plane. You feel a chill brush against your mind, in your ear. If Harding and Varric notice the hesitance, the shiver, the frost that lingers in your not-quite-sincere smile when you assure them you're fine, they do not mention it.

Disappointing. You make things so hard for yourself.

But that's alright. Go chase the Dread Wolf's shadow, little ghost. You and I both know your path is a circle. I will be waiting for you at the end.

See you soon.

[chaosherald]

WIP No-longer-Wednesday 😂

(thank you @blackwall-my-tiny-husband for the tag!)

So currently in the queue, I have some potential somethings for Davrin appreciation week (which tie in to this week's Thursday banger) the Varric and Harding meeting Rook for the first time piece, and the two I'm going to share bits from.

First is a Lucanis character study. (Writing in second person is one of my guilty pleasures. It lends itself to sounding slightly unhinged. I think I've figured out the last bits I need for this one. I also was absolutely still in this mode when I wrote my word with friends for Aprecity 😂)

The second is part of my continued quest for "let the team look after Rook the way Rook looks after them." A story told through Mourn Watcher Rook's grave gold and the way her teammates add to it. It's quickly turning into something much bigger than I thought it was going to be 😂

(Lucanis Dellamorte should be dead. So many times over.)

You have lost count of the close calls, near misses. Fledgling to Crow, Crow to Master, Master to Demon and thirty some years of nothing but the job. Death has been courting you your entire life even as you bestow its favor upon your targets. (The family business.) But you are quiet and quick and careful enough to survive and reckless enough to surprise and have learned when to lose to win.

You are the best at what you do. The First Talon’s sharpest knife.

But this time, you do not see a way out.

They attack when you are at sea. Sabotage the ship, blood bind the crew, a portal dropping Venatori onto the deck and you with no room to maneuver.

You wish your cousin was on this job, someone to watch your back. (You are glad he is not. The Family cannot afford to lose you both.)

At least you make them pay for it. Blood for blood. You will not meet death alone. You are steel and shadow and death and drowning and

(Breathe?)

You awaken to pain. You don’t remember falling. Broken bones. Chains. Voices.

The pervasive burning itch of blood magic.

You listen. Every sound is important. Losing a battle is not losing the war. You have a contract. Crows do not fail. If they fail, they die, and somehow you are still alive.

A voice, a face. You know her, top of the Venatori elite. Zara Renata. “Hello little crow.” She purrs. Ice and steel and head pounding waves of blood magic's taint. “What a pleasure to finally meet you.”

(The Dellamorte family business is death. Death would be a kindness compared to this.)

***

“The grave gold thing. All the other Watchers have a bunch. So why doesn't Rook?”

Harding’s face was still doing the scrunched thing. It was cute. “Have you asked her?”

“I did,” Taash said. “She got weird about it.”

“Well,” said Bellara, leaning against the washbasin, “Emmrich wears a lot, so do Myrna and Vorgoth, but they're all really high ranked right?”

Emmrich shook his head. “Rank is immaterial, in this case. Pieces are sentimental. Objects tied to important people or moments in our lives that we wish to carry with us forever. Though a long life well lived often means a larger collection.”

“Yeah, but I looked last time we were at the Necropolis,” said Taash. “Even the apprentices have more gold than Rook.”

“Mostly gifts from their parents and other family members,” said Emmrich gently.

Davrin leaned back in his chair. “Well, that's why she got weird about it when you asked Taash.”

Taash grumbled. “Ugh. Parents. Why are they such a problem? Alive or missing.”

Harding patted their shoulder. “You didn't know. Rook won't hold it against you.”

“Rook has - what, the one bracelet?” asked Neve.

“Oh, from Vorgoth and Myrna. When she took her vows as a Watcher” said Bellara.

“She also wears an anklet. From a childhood friend.” said Lucanis.

“What's the story behind that one?” asked Neve.

Lucanis frowned. “Not mine to tell and not one she shares easily.”

“So something else to be weird about,” said Taash. “That's Vashedan. Your gold, the stuff you wear, it's supposed to be a good thing. Rook needs more good things.”

[chaosherald]

OC Wardrobe - Modern Edition

(Tagged by @davrinsleftpectoral and @blackwall-my-tiny-husband ^⁠_⁠^ Thank you!)

Amara "Rook" Ingellvar in a modern setting is probably trapped in eternal academia. Her dissertation was on the evolution of memento mori in art. Her endless drive to find her roots and a home has been replaced by the endless quest for tenure. You might think the picture in the middle is a hapless hero just returned from the regret prison - it's not. That is the face of an adjunct professor at the end of the semester who still has a pile of papers to grade.

Less formal clothing on top (I could have done this whole thing with t-shirts lol) with more formal on the bottom. Tried to stick to the same general palette and vibe as the original wardrobe post. Amara in game would absolutely wear all of this too if it was available in Thedas. 😂