#but there is a technically correct answer

[selunesdreams]

Eating Crow, Chapter 35: Retribution

─── ⊹⊱♤⊰⊹ ───

Pairing: Lucanis x Rook

Summary: Morrigan brings a surprising companion to meet with Rook. Someone lurks in the shadows with a bone to pick.

Things of note/warnings: 18+ fic, MDNI! Please check AO3 for chapter specific warnings.

Read on AO3

─── ⊹⊱♤⊰⊹ ───

Rook stepped inside the Cobbled Swan, cautiously assessing the room. The bar was dim, the final remnants of the setting sun threading through the window slats overlooking the harbor below. As her eyes adjusted to the gloom, a small wave from the corner caught her attention. She offered a guilty smile as penance before sliding into the secluded booth where Harding was waiting. 

“You’re late.” 

“Sorry,” Rook mumbled, shrugging off her cloak and tossing it beside her. “Long night.”

“I heard.” Harding’s tone softened as she set aside the half-empty beer she’d been nursing. “You good?”

“Don’t make me answer that question.” 

Harding grinned sympathetically and nodded towards the bar in a silent offer. Rook followed her gaze, considering the idea, but decided against it, slouching in her seat and shaking her head to decline. After the way she’d humiliated herself at Viago and Teia’s engagement, the last thing she needed was a drink. 

“If it’s any consolation,” Harding began, reaching for her beer again, “I had Neve tell you to be here an hour early. Technically, that makes you on time.”

“What a relief…” Rook deadpanned, tipping her head back against the back cushion of her seat. 

The two fell into a comfortable silence, and Harding let her rest, continuing to nurse her drink, keeping one eye on the door. 

“Commander?” 

Harding’s voice cut through the haze of sleep Rook hadn’t even realized she’d fallen into. She jerked upright, one hand braced on the booth beside her. Morrigan approached, eyes glinting with amusement, accompanied by an imposing blonde man Rook had never seen before. 

Caught off guard and backed into a corner. Viago might have taken her head for that. 

The man gave Harding a tired smile, exposing the wrinkles and worry lines around his eyes and mouth. “I’ve told you. Cullen is fine.”

Rook studied the pair curiously, relaxing into a more casual demeanor but keeping her hand under the table, close to her weapon. Cullen Rutherford, former Templar, the Inquisitor’s husband, was in Minrathous? Nothing she’d learned gave her the impression he ever left Ferelden, if he could help it. And to his credit, he looked like he’d rather be anywhere else.

Her stomach twisted. What did he think of the Inquisitor’s plan to save her ex-lover? 

And what would Solas make of it? 

“Well met,” Morrigan greeted them in her gentle, cunning tenor as Harding made space for her. Cullen and Rook exchanged an uncomfortable look, and he reached for a chair from the bar, clearly not eager to be in close quarters. 

“What are you doing here?” Harding pressed Cullen as he situated himself at the side of the table. “Where is the Inquisitor?”

“Duty called her to the South, and I to the North.” His armor clinked against the wood as he sat down with a grunt. “She sent me in her stead, to assist Morrigan until she has a moment of reprieve.”

There were dark circles under his eyes, nearly as severe as Lucanis’. Rook assessed his appearance more closely until interrupted by a waitress dropping off a few glasses of wine. She pushed hers aside, ignoring her desire to throw it back in one go. 

“I would think there are more pressing questions at the moment.” Morrigan said impatiently, “Questions about Solas, perhaps?”

“Right.” Rook rapidly blinked several times to draw herself back to the present. “You two knew him.” 

“Not remotely as well as Mythal.” Morrigan corrected her. 

“… Mythal?”

Solas’ goddess, ex, or friend… whatever it was, it was complicated. His worst betrayal, and deepest regret. They’d uncovered the ancient goddess’ involvement with Solas over the past several months, the atrocities he committed, allies and innocents sacrificed for what he believed was the greater good. The more Rook learned of the Dread Wolf, the less she trusted him. But she also understood him… and a part of her sympathized. 

“The two gods have always been linked, have they not?” Morrigan asked, tracing a fingertip around the rim of her wineglass, “First, when Mythal bade her companion spirit to abandon the Fade and take on a mortal form. Then, when Solas spilled Mythal’s mortal blood so that he might absorb her power as his own.”

“How do you know the details of Solas’ past?” Rook asked, “I don’t recall you lurking in the shadows when we uncovered his memories in the Crossroads.”

Morrigan’s laugh was light, but there was something cruel, unsettling that hid underneath. 

“Think about it, Rook. Consider, when Mythal stood against the gods’ manipulations of the Blight, she was betrayed and struck down. Yet she survived and returned ages later to aid the Inquisition in its hour of need. How?”

Rook did not answer. Rather, her gaze slid back to Cullen as she waited for Morrigan to continue. He sat quietly beside the mage as he assessed the patrons of the Cobbled Swan. He seemed on edge. Was he concerned for the Inquisitor, or worried she might give up everything, including him, to save Solas? How could he stand being apart from her, watching from the margins as she chased the Dread Wolf’s redemption? 

Morrigan continued impatiently, noticing Rook’s distraction. “It’s because I was there, in a sense. As Mythal was there, once a spirit, now a whisper in my blood.”

Rook’s mouth went dry. This was the revered goddess, sitting before her, smirking over a wineglass? And she expected Rook to trust her?

Rook leaned over the table, lowering her voice. “You’re Mythal?”

“Not all of her, of course.” Morrigan sipped her wine. “Just enough to make things complicated.”

“Morrigan,” Harding breathed, “if some part of you is Mythal, we need your help fighting the gods.”

“And here I am, if you might notice. But there’s a matter I must make clear…”

Magic pulled at the edges of her mind. Familiar to the way when Elgar’nan spoke to them while they saved the Dalish, Rook’s gut instinct was to resist, but Harding gave her a reassuring nod, and she took a breath, allowing Morrigan to show her. She sensed the echoes of Mythal, her presence, but it was distinct from Morrigan’s own being. 

“I once feared Mythal would consume me were I to carry her, but t’was not so. I remain free willed and mortal. What I now possess is but a spark of the goddess, shadowed memories through which to sift through for meaning.”

“Unlike an abomination,” Cullen mumbled beside her. Rook tensed. Harding had once mentioned the commander’s history with mages and demons. 

“What kind of spirit was Mythal before she became an elf?” She asked suddenly, “Spite was once Determination, and I know ‘Solas’ is elven for pride.”

Morrigan grinned knowingly. “Your mind can’t help but consider the spirit of determination dwelling inside of your lover, no?”

Cullen lifted his head for the first time during the conversation, and Rook’s stomach clenched. Apparently, the Inquisitor had the sense to leave Lucanis’ possession out of their conversations. 

“The emotion that inspired her might best be described as Benevolence… a guiding hand, inclined to kindness.” Morrigan explained, “When spirits are twisted against their purpose, a more violence aspect can arise. Mythal’s Benevolence gave way to Retribution. Just like your spirit of determination, when forced into a vessel void of magic, became Spite.” 

“Forced?” Cullen inquired.

“Forced,” Rook repeated coolly, holding his gaze for a beat. “Lucanis and Spite are victims of blood magic, not practitioners.”

“And you’re certain of this? That he has not simply hidden himself from the Circle-”

“As a mage myself, raised within the Crows alongside him, I can assure you, Commander, we would know. Our mages are trained within, if we can help it.”

“I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

“Yes, well, these are unprecedented times.” Rook said sharply. The commander tilted his head, studying her curiously, but said nothing. 

“Lucanis Dellamorte is not like the abominations you crossed paths with before, Commander. Do not be so quick to condemn him,” Morrigan warned gently. 

���Could Spite help us with Mythal?” Harding interjected, “Their natures can’t be that different.” 

“Similar, but not same. Spite stems from a grudge, a burning desire for revenge. It is a personal matter. Retribution seeks to right a wrong, a matter of justice. Both are discerning, however. Determination may set its sights on many objects of its desire, and Benevolence limits itself to who she finds deserving.” 

A few more patrons wandered inside the bar as the sun set in the large bay windows over the harbor. As they chattered and ordered drinks, Morrigan eyed them warily. 

“I will not bore you with the details.” She slid a small notebook across the table. “They are there, far less relevant than what I am about to say to you now: when Mythal was struck down by the gods, it was with her own lyrium dagger. The very same you now carry. Solas recovered it from Elgar’nan, and from it, extracted a fragment of Mythal that lay hidden in its depths.”

Underneath the table, Rook’s fingertips instinctively brushed against the lyrium dagger, humming with power at her thigh. 

“There is something that may be of use to you in the Crossroads,” she continued. “I will open the way for you. Another fragment of Mythal resides there. Speak to her, survive the encounter, and what she may present to you will aid in the fight that is to come.” 

Rook’s thumbed through a few pages of the leather bound book before tucking it into her cloak, tilting her head as she examined Morrigan more closely. Could she trust a spirit, split into so many fragments? Was Mythal like Spite? Would she listen to reason? Compromise?

Morrigan nodded at Cullen and slipped out of the booth. 

“We have business elsewhere, but the Inquisitor or myself will send word when there is time to meet again. Soon, you will need to make your move against the gods.”

Harding hurried after Morrigan as she left through the front doors, peppering her with last-minute questions. Cullen stood too quickly, but lingered, returning the chair he’d pulled up to its original position. It scraped loudly on the floor, briefly turning the heads of a few patrons. 

“Good luck.” His hand hovered near the hilt of his sword as he turned to Rook, but she sensed it was out of habit rather than threat. “I pray you have all you need for what lies ahead. 

“Thank you, Commander,” Rook said curtly.

“I meant no offense. My involvement with mages and abominations perhaps paints me with a prejudice I still struggle to shake.”

“Is your own wife not a mage herself, Commander?”

“That she is,” he said, his gaze distant, “and so much more.”

“She seems set on saving Solas from himself. Do you believe he can be saved?”

“I don’t know. What matters is that she believes it. It’s her instincts I trust, more than my own.”

“Even if it costs you, in the end?”

“Yes, Rook,” he said, meeting her gaze, “I remain at her side until she no longer has use of me. No matter what it costs.”

“The two of you really are quite the love story, aren’t you?”

He chuckled, scuffing his boots against the ground, eyes fixed on the sun setting over the sea through the window across the bar. 

“Templars take lyrium, you know. I was addicted for a time. I overcame it with great difficulty, but there were pressures within the Inquisition for me to take it up again. To make that sacrifice so that we might be stronger in the fight to come. Lavellan never asked that of me. She was patient when I struggled not only with my will, but myself.”

Rook’s heart stuttered at the mention of lyrium. Had her father had the same patience with her mother’s addiction? Or had he treated her with the same desperate cruelty that Rook endured in her childhood? Would Gemma de Riva have survived if her husband found even an ounce of compassion within himself? In Rook’s home, love always came with a knife. 

“She was my dearest friend,” Cullen went on, “even when she loved someone else, I would have waited an eternity for her.”

He cleared his throat, glancing at the door. 

“If you’ll excuse me, I should get going.” 

“Of course.” Rook bowed her head as he walked past, eager for escape. Harding returned to her side as he disappeared from sight, cheeks bright red. 

“Sorry about the abomination stuff. He had a rough time at the Circle in Ferelden.”

“I remember the stories. You said the mages there tortured him?”

“Yes.”

“Perhaps he and Lucanis have more in common than he could even imagine,” Rook mumbled.

Harding crossed her arms, squinting. “Everything okay with you, Rook?

“I need to go for a walk. Clear my head. Meet you back at the Lighthouse?”

“Got it.”

She departed, and Rook exhaled heavily, sparing a glance at the bar. Exercising her better judgment, she left out the side door and walked through the city, sober and alone, as the stars swallowed the sky.

She wound through the streets, back to the Shadow Dragons’ safe house, where the Eluvian was housed. As she ducked inside, a familiar sense of unease enveloped her. Attuning herself to her surroundings, she slipped behind a shelf and held her breath. Her instincts were the first thing her father ever taught her to pay attention to. 

And right now she was certain she was being followed. 

Her blades slipped free from her belt too slow, a dark blur flying past her. Pots shattered, falling off the shelves above their heads, and Rook ducked, heart pounding. Already pivoting, she froze as her pursuer’s outline emerged from the shadows. 

Lucanis. Silent. Still. Watching.

Spite’s presence clung to him like smoke, fading away as he cocked his head to the side and strolled closer. His boots had been silent as he’d followed her, but now they echoed softly against the walls, ceramic shards crunching under his soles. 

“I heard you were looking for me.” 

His movements were casual, but whatever sense she had inside of her screamed, like prey being hunted. His demeanor lacked its usual playfulness or amusement when he greeted her.

“How did you-” Rook began, but Lucanis took her hands and forced her weapons back into their sheathes. Leaning forward, he bracketed her between both of his arms, slowly steering her against the wall with a thud. The air escaped her lungs as her back hit the brick, and she let out a soft gasp. 

“You and I…” he paused, the whites of his eyes barely catching the light from outside as his gaze flicked to her lips and back again, “… are going to have a talk.”

[unnonexistence]

95% of math brainteasers that go viral are just bad notation and it drives me up the wall

[stromblessed]

pretty much all analysis naming Mel any kind of "flawed" character, villain, or as problematic in any way, is terrible analysis. which is a phenomenon that goes against all my instincts but it is so real all the energy and interest I possess leaves my body every time

the thing is, Mel is a hero, Mel's intentions in season 1 are not as pure as the driven snow, Mel benefited from class divide pre-canon and during canon, yet Mel would have benefited from war and colonialism pre-canon only for her to reject it, she is both noticeably "nice" to all the protagonists in season 2 and removed from most of the plot, she is so many things because of her story and because of her writers and (unfortunately) because of the fandom -

and these "nuanced" analyses of her flaws and negative impact on the narrative are worthless

i can't even explain it. i get one sentence in and it immediately sucks. doesn't matter how true or technically correct the words are. i would rather read my linear algebra textbook and make a fandom for eigenvectors than engage with any level of Mel "criticism" no matter how mild. it could be one sentence in an otherwise long and carefully thought-out essay and i will quit that thing faster than my anxiety medication makes me fall asleep

the fandom or the writers can call Mel a manipulator, a liar, a capitalist, a billionaire, a seductress, "benefiting from zaun just like all the privileged characters", "kind of mean that one time, she should've been more polite" - whatever anyone can dream up - as many times as they want, and it won't be anything the entire fandom hasn't seen approximately 1,000 times since 2021. and it won't be anything every person who consumes any kind of media hasn't seen approximately 10,000 times since we each took our first breath in this world - when that media has women in it

why push this same analysis over and over again. what do you get out of this. does it make everybody feel smart to point out the obvious without bothering to go even one level deeper. do you think it makes her character more interesting to equate well-recognized surface-level negative tropes with negative morality, even when all of those tropes are either actively subverted or massively outweighed by her true role in the story? (it doesn't.) no amount of pointing at and highlighting and underlining Mel's morality or lack thereof will make her any less of an interesting character worth loving and engaging with, and she is probably the most interesting character in the entire show even considering season 2. it won't make the other characters around her "better" by comparison either. nor will it make competing ships more compelling or more justified

[aroaceleovaldez]

sometimes i wonder how the roman camp takes in new campers, since Percy’s entrance seemed less-than-average, judging by reactions. And CJC doesn’t really answer it either cause we don’t see the in-between of Claudia training and joining the legion. We don’t see it with Mimi either, and with Mimi we can’t really confirm if the reason she was seemingly alone was because Lupa doesn’t usually bring them to the entrance of camp, if she had left already, or if Mimi’s stench powers made Lupa avoid her.

Like, does Lupa normally just walk in whatever group she just finished training (since we know the pack will come pick up new campers sometimes)? Do they have to awkwardly walk in on their own and explain they’re coming over from the Wolf House? Does CJ keep track of who is currently at the Wolf House so they know to let them in when they’re done training? Is there any kind of documentation about their training and how it went or is it just “source: dude trust me” (which is implied how Hazel’s went)? how does this work.

[emotionaldisaster909]

What does Xie Lian want to say?

[silvermun]

[straybleu]

I like confusing people with these I-probably-know-more-than-socially-acceptable numbers

[friedmagazinebouquet]

"What is the answer to life, the universe, and everything? (asking for a friend)"

-an actual real question on my geology midterm

[technikki]

im probably one of the most stressful people my friend could have been stuck with for her journey into the world of mariorpgs she is just so easy to fuck with. when cozette passed out after connie left to help the bros with reclusa she gave me this shocked look n said 'did she just fucking die??' and i just did the most sinister little laugh knowing full well cozette makes it out completely fine

[knighteclipsed]

Monthly Activity Check (March-April)

Status: Passed! + Exempt! (Semi-Hiatus)

Skill Points Gained: Monthly Activity Point

Any +1 (Monthly Activity Point): Authority -> C (½)

Current Total: 51 points

Classes Accessed: N/A

Class Mastered: N/A

[somerabidraccoon]

(obviously in the present of the show they reproduce through artificial cloning but I mean like, originally)

[louisisalarrie]

A photo of shirtless Louis WITH Harry in 2024!!!

https://x.com/johaishome/status/1806755036157911378?s=46&t=KM1Y22XQBNGo6oNfvMQrQQ

Don’t you play with me

[elebee]

desperately curious about this one: