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This Blog is currently on Hiatus. Any reblog with the tag #AWWF Archive is posted from a queue. These are posts dating from February 2026 to April 2025 and are not new. You are welcome to submit to the blog at any point but there may be some delay in response.
AWWF was started as a prompt game for the Dragon Age community over on @hedwigoprah's blog back in April 2025. It's a way to share cool words we might find while writing, and provide inspiration and a jumping off point for others. Now we're giving it an official channel and making it a weekly event!
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This is a weekly prompt game based on a single word. The word can be used for art, writing, crafts, general ideas, or whatever strikes your fancy. Sometimes we do special runs for other events within the Dragon Age community.
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Every week we'll release a word with its definition. Sometimes we'll even post a few.
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Posting Schedule: Monday CST/EST, USA
Current Posting Status: Hiatus
A Word with Friends:
Of Houses, Hearts and Hidden things
I've spent so long looking at this and changing it and changing it back and changing it again. No more. It's a mess and there's probably more errors than things correct with it - but I conceeddde! I blame all the hot Viago art that hurt me throughout this week - I couldn't concentrate. The power of his curls and moustache made me weak.
Thank you @hedwigoprah for this wonderful game and for your relentless kindness and positivity! Thank you @woundedsoul12 and @pixiedurango for your tags! And a special special shout out to @kabsey - who has had to put up with me screeching at them about this story, my plans and sending all the stupid snippets as I wrote them. Thank you for letting me adopt your Rook/OC, Ilene, I love her like she was my own. And thank you for letting me borrow this fantastic idea you wrote about here. I love you. Have I told you that? I do. Don't make it weird.
Yeah, this is long as- nearly 5k. Blame Viago, I tell you.
Read on Ao3
Word prompt given: Contumacy
1. (noun) Disobedience, resistance to authority.
---
9:34 - The First Month
Dawn broke over the dull grey compound, the air still thick with dust from the night before, hanging like ash after a fire. Blood stained the walls that housed them, pooled on the ground in thick, treacherous puddles, and crusted beneath too many fingernails.
Sixty remained out of the eighty compradi that had been brought in just one month prior. It should not be so surprising. So much could happen to fledglings in an hour, let alone a month. It was a blessing so many still lived, and not too many had to be put down after trying to run away this time around. Viago bristled at the term so many of the other seasoned Crows used, as if they were mere animals, livestock, to churn through as they saw fit. He didn’t agree with it, but there was only so much he could do as he was. He was not yet Talon, after all.
There was only silence in the room. No posturing, nor any tears. The fledglings had learned very quickly that they were of no use to them there. They could only brace their tired bodies for whatever came for them next, as preparation was nigh impossible, as they could never know what circumstances the trainers would put them in on any given day. Were they being kind and giving them shoes, only for the others to get jealous and fight over them? Would they not feed them again to see if they'd go out and learn how to steal? Could that day be the day they'd pluck another at random, and let their tortured cries echo in the halls below to see if it would break the others?
Viago sighed. He had promised it would not be an easy life, one paved in blood, and he never failed to deliver.
The girl was standing behind her group, back hugging the wall to ensure that a knife could not be lodged there with her guard down. Good. At least she had some sense in that head of hers.
She had a splash of blood along her collarbone and splatters across her cheek, but it did not seem to be her own. She was free of any cuts to her body, but bore a dislocated shoulder she hadn't tried to fix… and he could not help but wonder if she knew how to fix it at all. Was there a time in her life before all this, when she had had to learn?
His Little Bird.
He shouldn't have been there. None of the Masters or Talons were expected there so soon, as it was seen as a waste of their time to view the compradi at such an early stage; there were no guarantees of who would survive from such a large group. But Viago convinced himself it was practical as he'd vouched for her, after all. It was better to see who it was he had risked his good name for. Better to confirm now that she hadn't already died, unlike last year's favourite, who'd giggled too loudly one night and never had the chance to wake the next morning.
His Little Bird didn't giggle or cry - in fact, if he didn't know better, he'd have thought her a statue until she looked up. It was just the once, and she plainly caught him watching them. She didn't make a scene, didn't let on if she knew it was himthere. Just a brief acknowledgement that she knew someone was there watching them, before turning her eyes forward again.
Upon his arrival, the trainers had told him she made no alliances, at least, not after the first person she had foolishly called friend. A flighty girl who stupidly said out loud that she wanted to buy a bottle of Doña Abella’s perfume when she passed the training, only to be found murdered for an extra crust of bread.
Lilya had never tried again, they said.
Though, she still shared her rations if someone's stomach growled too loudly at night. Still helped bandage their legs when they limped by her. Still spoke softly to those who remained terrified, cracking jokes about the trainers when no one else dared, telling them that the trainers weren't going to kill them for laughing - and if they did, she hoped they'd get round to it sooner rather than later. She could live a life without bread, but a life without laughter? She'd hand them the knife herself and with a smile.
Viago had decided then and there just to track her progress through written reports. There was nothing he could do for her anyway, nothing that wouldn’t put her in more danger if it looked like she had received any special treatment. Though, by the sounds of it, even if he did, the chit would have managed to scrape herself back on top.
The third report he received told him that her knife work was improving swiftly. The fifth said she never killed without cause. The eighth said when she did kill, it was always quick and clean. The trainers had used the word ‘efficient’, underlining it so emphatically the quill had torn through the vellum. He had to agree with their assessment as he remembered the work she did on the slavers during their first meeting. Straight for the neck, into the chest, between the ribs - as if she had pre-planned the attack as an essay on why she was born to be a Crow, each stab wound a perfectly placed line in her argument.
Viago had noticed that in all their reports, the trainers never failed to mention one thing: she still hadn’t fallen to cruelty. Instead, she had learned how to wear it, how to look the part. That was rare, especially this far into the first year. Understandable, even expected. But his Little Bird, it seemed, was not one for being predictable.
He sighed as he locked away the letter into one of his desk’s secret compartments. It would not do for the Fifth Talon to happen upon them, to look into her further to see why Viago had taken such a shine to the latest fledgling. He hadn't planned to care about her. It shouldn't have been within him to do so. He hadn't meant to ever go back and yet… something had taken root in him. A stubborn, growing curiosity about the girl who had once spat blood in his face and now sharpened herself into steel in his name.
---
9:35 - Ilene
He returned the following year, dragging something with him by the wrist.
A small scraggly thing. A headache in scuffed, half-laced boots. Somewhere halfway between eleven and twelve, wild-eyed and snappish with a mess of freckled skin, dark hair, and teeth too sharp for her own good. Just like his Little Bird, the girl had crossed his path when he least expected it. He hadn't meant to keep her. He'd pulled her out of Ansburg, and he naively assumed she'd be someone else's problem when they returned to Antiva. He had learned, completely against his will, that she had an unholy fascination for belladonna, venomous creatures, and a talent for archery and finding exactly where along the throat was best to pierce with an arrow.
The child had so many opinions and even more questions about the vials he carried; he knew he had to keep her close to his House - she could excel under their tutelage. If she hadn't shown such an aptitude for poisons, he would've palmed her off months ago… Though to be fair, he had tried. More than once.
He had pushed her toward other handlers who may have been interested in training her, even resorted to leaving her at their safehouses with explicit instructions to stay put with no intention of returning for her, until she was fully trained. Once, he’d even paid a ferryman to take her out of the city entirely - but she always came back. And because Viago couldn't leave her unattended in Salle without risking another diplomatic incident, he was forced to bring her to Antiva City.
In the worst-case scenario, the girl would get lost and one of the trainers would pick her up and throw her in with the rest of the fledglings, well, worst-case for her, best case for him.
Ilene squinted at the older girl doing forms alone in the courtyard and she crossed her arms, her jaw jutting out in protest. “She’s too pretty. She's gonna be a bitch.”
The older girl paused and turned to where she had heard the voices come from, bright green eyes zoning in on Viago and a random elf girl beside him.
“Watch what you say about this one, Ilene. She’ll eat you for breakfast,” Viago replied dryly.
But his Little Bird looked over at them with a smile and rushed over, more for the child than him. “You think I'm pretty?” she laughed happily. “But you're the one who's been kissed by the sun! Look at you, sweet little thing that you are!”
Viago had wanted to ask just how many hits to the head she had taken recently, but decided against it, as it was the first five minutes of peace he had since they boarded the carriage from Salle. Somehow by the end of the hour, Ilene had climbed up beside her on a stone bench and was swinging her legs in sync with hers, chatting animatedly like she’d known her all her life. And she hadn't even tried to bite her once.
She braided Ilene’s hair, humming a tune he wasn’t familiar with, while Viago looked on half-disapproving and half-relieved. He hadn't expected her to still be capable of gentleness; it was alarming that she was. He could have accepted that she wasn’t cruel, but to retain the level of softness it took to tame that child? A part of him worried that she would end up like so many of the others.
That night, Ilene declared she wanted to visit her sister every time he went to Antiva City.
They were sisters now. Just like that. No questions asked.
“You don't order me around, and you certainly are not allowed to collect siblings as you please, you little terror!” Viago muttered, and yet, he did not deny her.
---
9:36 - The Moment
Viago arrived after dusk on a rain-slicked evening, a bottle of wine tucked under his arm, and a suitable excuse about reviewing the trainers’ techniques regarding poisoned blades whilst he made his way through Antiva. His route could have bypassed the capital entirely, but since he was nearby, and Ilene was stuck in Salle, it seemed foolish not to check in on her- them. Them.
He didn't find anyone of note in the yard, and the trainers hadn't seen her in a couple of hours, but they weren’t fazed in the slightest. “She’sprobably out to steal more food to share… seems she wants her brethren strong when she kills them, Viago… Bloodthirsty that one… Perfection.”
It was in the quiet garden shed behind the main dormitory that he had found her, and Viago froze, his instinct warring with his morality.
He should have turned away the second he realised it was her. A part of him lied and told himself that there wasn’t enough light to tell at first, but what his eyes didn’t tell him, his gut confirmed - already knew - before he heard her laugh. There was a low-burning candle lit on the bench, just visible through the open door which must have opened from the wind. She was on the floor straddling another fledgling, a boy, barely a year or two older than her by the looks of him. Bare-legged and flushed, wearing only a loose tunic that slipped off one shoulder, she looked every bit the femme fatale older Crows had been trained to be. Viago could not hear what she was murmuring against the boy’s mouth as his hands drifted along her body eagerly. It was clear he had no idea what he was doing, but she didn't stop him, didn’t let him see her disinterest.
Her eyes flicked up and caught the movement in the shadows outside of the little shed, the boy too lost in soft skin and warm flesh to notice the danger behind him. The Crow shook his head. That boy would be dead from his own stupidity or worse, he’d be the cause for someone else’s demise. He silently asked that his Little Bird be nowhere near him when the Maker called the idiot back to his side.
Viago finally looked away.
He thought she'd have jumped at the sight of him, but she held his gaze with a tilt of her chin, still astride the boy she didn't seem particularly interested in anymore. Not with him watching her in the dark. It was brazen… She was brazen. And oh so reckless. This was her own brand of quiet contumacy; her defiance not shouted, but worn like a fine perfume. Deliberate and close to the skin, noticed too late like a scent in the air - subtle enough to doubt, but sharp enough to make one turn back around. Just to be sure.
Oh, how he wished he had looked away sooner. How he cursed going there at all.
Now when he closed his eyes he saw too much. The angle of her jaw, the curve of her mouth, the unflinching boldness in her eyes and the line of her legs.
… Still.
Had she looked at him like she wished it had been him she was kissing instead?
No. That- that was ridiculous!
She'd spoken maybe fifty words to him since her recruitment, more than half of them edged with frost and bitter resentment. Every encounter with her was burned into his memory. He wasn't sure if he'd ever forget the day he offered her a choice instead of a collar. He had delusions where he sometimes almost believed he saved her, gave her the power to save herself. But in truth, all he did was make the best he could out of the worst situation.
As he was trained to do.
As he was born into.
He reminded himself that she was just a girl, and barely grown, with something to prove. But after tonight? Watching her as she arched her neck and closed her eyes again like he wasn’t there, he clearly understood something else. She wasn’t proving anything to anyone. No, she was declaring it, to everyone.
Viago shook his head again, half tempted to slap himself to force his senses to return to him. The thoughts in his head were treacherous. They were neither logical nor were they right. They would get him into the deepest kind of trouble, and he was barely holding onto the fine and rigid order that made him who he was. He would not yield.
---
9:38 - The Cake
Ilene had bribed the kitchen boy to bake a lopsided cake with honey and dried dates. She could see that Viago was about to lecture her about making unnecessary work for the staff, when she snapped at him just as he was about to open his mouth. “It's not for me!” she said, “it’s for her! Lilya’s nameday just passed. She’s eighteen now, we have to go see her!”
Viago pretended not to hear her name. As he always did.
“I do not think ‘have to’ is in your vocabulary when it comes to anything regarding our travel plans, you little pest.”
“I promised we’d be there!”
“That was not your promise to make.”
“I’m going whether you come with me or not!”
Viago raised a brow and sighed. He would be greyer than the Fifth Talon before the year was out because of Ilene’s antics, he just knew it. Another look at the child and he sighed again, deeper, with more exasperation rattling in his chest. “No presents. No drawing attention, do you understand?” he said firmly, knowing he did not have to say why their discretion was needed.
If you want your sister to live, you can't be too kind.
“Just a cake,” Ilene replied, nodding.
They arrived after sundown after three days of endless travel, with the crumbling dessert wrapped in linen. Lilya blinked at it, too stunned to speak, and then blinked at them.
“Ilene! Viago! You didn't have to come all the way here!”
“I didn't,” Viago muttered flatly, “Ilene did.”
He chose to sit far away from them on a balcony with Gianni, one of the fledgling trainers. He watched her cut multiple slices of the cake and shared them with the remaining fledglings. Of course, she shared it. She was too clever not to. They scoffed it down quickly in case the trainers saw them eating it - as if by this stage of training they'd be killed for eating a sweet. Well, depending on their tests, they might have been. But it would have been a terrible waste of everyone’s time to do so, so close to the end.
She'd survived three more tests since the last time he’d visited her. And miraculously, she still had no scars he could see. She wore her unblemished skin like a noblewoman would her jewellery, and Viago could not think of a greater target on her back than another fledgling’s jealousy. They may have been thanking her now, but they could be standing over her bed with a dagger that night.
But Maker. She really was a pretty thing.
“What? O-Oh yes, she’s stunning! The other trainers say if she survives the final round, she’ll definitely be used for infiltration missions. You sure do have a good eye, Viago,” Gianni said, lifting his glass to him, only to pull it back down and drink nervously from it. The de Riva turned his gaze onto him, promising nothing but pain if he ever said anything out of turn again.
Just how much wine had he had to say that out loud? Only two glasses. Had the wine actually been poisoned and had he somehow missed it?
Viago knew he hadn’t.
He had to admit to himself that things were changing. At one time he had only seen her as a survivor, as a recruit, a mere initiate with promise. Now he was starting to see her as something he shouldn’t, and there was something unsettling about the shift in his mind. Something undeniable or inevitable - and that was what worried him. Not that she would ask, or what she would ask for, but that when she did, he would not know how to say no.
She smiled widely at Ilene, smearing some honey on the younger girl’s nose, laughing loudly at the little devil’s ire. She teased her like only she could get away with, held her chosen sister to her chest like they’d grown up together, and not only seen each other a handful of times in the last three and a half years. Looking up at Viago, she tilted her head as if she were appraising him. Asking him, Is this really all you got me for my birthday?
He cleared his throat, suddenly all too aware of how lovely her eyes actually were, even from a distance. He wordlessly asked her a question of his own, What gift do you want from me?
And as if she heard him, she smiled up at him. Sharper than any knife that had cut him before, and it told him everything he needed to know. He really did not think he'd be able to deny her for much longer.
---
9:39 - Sword and Shield
They met that year in private behind the barracks in the garden shed.
She wore her simple tunic, the same one she wore that night with the nameless boy. He had not seen him again, but he did not despair. It meant his Little Bird had better odds at surviving without worrying about him. She should have already been in Crow leathers, his poisons up her sleeves and a proper blade in her hand. She had long since outpaced the rest of her remaining cohort, and it was time for her to be pushed out of the nest, to see if she could fly on her own.
“I could do the final test… I can do it now, if you want me to,” she paused, choosing her words wisely, her tone, wisely. “But if possible, I want to continue training here for as long as I can,” she admitted after they stood in the dark too long without speaking. “There’s still so much I need to know before I can leave.”
He said nothing.
She stepped closer, and it took all his training to stay both his face and his stance. He would not retreat. He was the Master, and she the fledgling.
“You know I’m a mage. You’re the only one who knows that here. You’ve helped keep that secret, and you secured the best tutors you could-”
Viago frowned. It sounded like she was trying to placate him. That for some unknown reason, she may have fallen short, and wasn’t feeling up to task.
“Whether you like it or not, is it not time you fulfilled your promise to me? Or have you already forgotten it, Little Bird?”
Lilya stared at him for a moment before her shoulders slumped, in defeat or disappointment, he did not know. But he did not like feeling as though he was the one being talked down to. “I have forgotten nothing. I swore to you, before I met your Talon, that if you helped me, I would be yoursword. Your shield. Whatever you needed me to be, I would become. But I can’t be that yet. I can be a Crow, yes, but one that would be truly useful to you? No. So please, let me stay here. Help me learn to fight the way I am meant to.”
Viago should have said no.
Instead, he arranged for her magical training to continue in secret away from the other fledglings. It had put her in danger, showing them the kind of favour she truly had, but if she wanted this, she had to fight for it - survive for it. Teachers were brought to her through back channels, more palms greased with his own coin… his own Talon, none the wiser to the gem Viago was polishing in secret.
He’d even gone outside of his country for further assistance, with more favours traded than he cared to admit. It was a Rivani, a pirate named Isabela, who arranged the contact for him. She said she knew a mage, a great healer with a past. He was someone powerful and normally didn’t leave the country’s borders, but he might make an exception if Viago could guarantee safe passage in and out of Antiva. No names were exchanged, only a firm request of him:
“He’ll come and help your little sweetling. So long as you promise he won’t be recognised or harmed. And if any of his old ‘debt’ collectors find him still breathing, you will make sure they don’t stay that way.”
The cost was obscene. Viago paid it. Because he knew his Little Bird had the makings of something the Crows and Antiva hadn't seen before. He didn't know what, but he had not put in all the years of concern, care, and damn it - tolerating Ilene- to see her stumble now. He was looking at her through the eyes of a future Talon. Hell, maybe even a future King.
The healer arrived in tattered robes under cover of night, his accent oddly out of place for a Rivaini. It was closer, in fact, to his Little Bird’s. So he was Fereldan, then?
His eyes were hollow with things he didn't speak of. The man spoke very little about himself but when he taught her, he was exacting. She learned basic restoration spells, how to block off her pain and the kind of battlefield triage Circle mages didn’t know. Taught her the things that made the difference between dying in thirty seconds or thirty minutes.
And as per Viago’s specific instructions, in line with the expectations of his House, the mage walked her through the gruesome, but effective, practice of organ training. It was the controlled injuring and healing of every part of her body, inside and out, so she would know what a nicked lung felt like compared to a collapsed lung, how many ribs she had broken, how fast a stab to the liver bleeds out and where the pain would radiate from, and just how much pain she could ignore before she passed out. And so much more. It was torture, they both knew it, but it was torture with purpose.
“Barbaric,” he muttered more than once, but his hands were steady with a faint blue light as he healed her severed kidney. The girl was shaking on the bed, sweat beading off her brow and gritting her teeth to keep from screaming out, just like a good little Crow-to-be.
After three years of training under him, she had learned more from him than just healing and spells, but how to truly survive in the world without being seen as a mage - unless she chose otherwise. His parting gift to her was the knowledge of how to escape the Ferelden Circle if she ever found herself there. Told her in the third cell to the left, there was a bottle of wine he’d hidden there under a loose stone in the corner of the room; perhaps it had aged to something great. Probably tasted like vinegar, but it was hers if she ever needed it.
“You ever need anything,” he told her as he left her at the docks, putting a hand on her head like he was giving a blessing or placing a ward, “ask for me through Isabela. If I’m still alive, I will help you.”
She probably never would. The man had done enough for her more than she could ever pay back. Probably more coin than even he had. The healer’s eyes shifted color when he thought no one was watching, like he was always on the edge of being swallowed by something he kept locked deep inside. Viago had watched her, watching him, and saw the distant measuring look settle in her bright green eyes. It left him wondering if she was already imagining what scars the world might leave on her, and whether one day those same shadows would live behind her gaze too.
---
He should not have favoured her.
Should not have remembered her nameday.
Should not have cared how she slept, how she trained or whether she was eating enough.
She had become a weapon just as she'd promised.
But now… she could not be his protege. No, not anymore.
Not when her eyes met his like that, when she stood too closely to him - too often, and not when he could no longer look at her without wondering if she knew what she did to him. He’d already crossed lines for her that he hadn’t dared think about for anyone else.
Viago had once believed she was merely a tool for the legacy he was building. One of many, yes, as he was not a man of small ambition. She was to be the crucial blade in an arsenal he intended to be able to leave behind if necessary. Having to earn her place if she wanted to be kept. But she hadearned it without doing anything for him except managing to survive all these years.
Though the price for it all had been steeper than he’d ever envisaged.
He had deceived his Talon for her. Paid a king's ransom - twice over - for her secrecy, her training and her life. It had been simpler… before her. Before Ilene. Before caring. Life was easier when it was just him and his poisons and no one else mattered.
Perhaps it would be easier once Lilya was a full Crow. But he doubted it.
Even now, with her oath of loyalty inked in the blood she’d spilled to get there, that fire in her hadn’t dimmed. If anything, it had grown. And he knew that fire. He’d seen it in her six years ago when she talked back to him without flinching, in that slavers den, covered in dirt half-wild and full of fury.
She was trouble then. She was trouble now. And she'd be trouble long after she left this place behind.
But she was his trouble.
And that more than anything was what unsettled him.
Softly tagging: @rookamell @jenn2d2 @davrinsleftpectoral @blackwall-my-tiny-husband @obsessed-with-book-boyfriends @serstolas @aetherflowers @genjyoandgojyoandhakkai @mythals-whore @jukkaricity @selennes @the-sparrohawk @gingervitus @introvertedfangrl @haedia @himluv @hightowerqueen and anyone else who wants to play! :)
RULES: Take this test (I think the community doesn't like this website so it won't let me hyperlink it. You'll have to copy and paste it - https://openpsychometrics.org/tests/characters/couples/ ) and post a picture of your blorbos with the couple they match best. Optional: add the extended list.
Thanks to @larknnightingale, for tagging me!!
Partner 1: Emmrich
Partner 2: Ophelia
So, here's the list, and I have to say that, I'm kinda not full into the first one lol.
(I've always been a Zutara shipper-sorry Aang-)
And while I like Tuxedo Mask and Sailor Moon, I had to relate my ship with Colonel Brandon and Marianne Darshwood the more on the list.
gently tagging anyone who wants to do this, as well as @vishantikaffar, @curiouswisp, @antivan-sprig. No pressure!
Also "A Word with Friends" started by @hedwigoprah for "assiduously" hosted by @officialnostradamus. I started this one a long time ago 😂
This is part of a larger piece framed around Rook's companions contributing to her grave gold collection. Davrin's part is here and the set up is here.
The wisps gave it away first. They were indifferent to most visitors who stopped by Neve’s room, but there were exceptions. Well, one major exception. Right now, they were practically buzzing, flitting back and forth and crowding her door.
Neve waited a moment, tenting her fingers. It quickly became evident that her visitor wasn’t in a hurry to enter. “Rook,” she called out. “If you don’t actually come in, the wisps are going to break the door down for you.”
The door opened slowly and Rook smiled sheepishly at Neve. “Right. Sorry.” She then held her hands up to the wisps, circling around her. “Yes, hello. Hail the eyes of the dead. Very cruel of me not to immediately come greet you.” She then gently shooed them away from the entryway, walking into the room.
And stopped, a couple feet in front of Neve’s desk. Looking for all the world like a wayward student called in front of their teacher for passing notes.
Neve waited, arching a brow.
It didn’t take long. “I’m here to apologize,” Rook said. To her credit, she looked Neve straight on, not flinching away from her gaze.
“Really.” Neve leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms. “For what exactly?”
Ah, and that got her. Rook pursed her lips and looked at the ceiling. One of the wisps was still circling over her head.
Neve took pity on her. “So, here’s my theory. You know I’m upset with you, but you don’t actually understand why.”
Rook smiled wanly. “That's not an inaccurate assessment of the situation, yes.”
Neve snorted, shaking her head and waving a hand towards the seats by the wall. “Sit down. This is getting weird.” Neve opened her desk drawer and grabbed her flask, walking over to sit next to Rook while taking a swig. She held the drink out to Rook. “I’m mad at you because of what happened when we hit the Venatori hideout yesterday.”
Rook took the flask. “The one we cleared out? Quickly and efficiently? While saving the hostages?”
Neve leaned back in her chair. “That’s the one.”
Rook slowly took a sip from the flask, obviously playing through everything that had happened in her mind. “Right. And I obviously know exactly why you would be cross about everything going smoothly?”
Neve stared at Rook. For all that she was brilliant, she cultivated some massive blindspots. Neve tried to keep her voice bland as she explained, but she could sense the annoyed tension creeping back in as she spoke. “On the way out I was covering our asses while Taash and Davrin helped the hostages. You were in front and hit the warded barrier blocking our exit.”
Rook shook the flask in Neve’s direction. “And I handled the ward and we got out.”
Neve grabbed the flask from Rook. “By blowing the rune’s connection to the Fade and just taking on the backlash. Then you tried to hide that anything was wrong.”
“I was fine,” Rook protested. “The Venatori were right behind us-”
Neve cut her off. “Which I had under control. And you weren’t fine. You were so dizzy you could barely keep from falling over.”
“So, what did you want me to do? Assiduously unravel the rune line by line while my friends are being attacked?”
“Yes! I’ve seen Emmrich’s work. Nevarrans don’t ward things the way we do, but I’ll eat my hat if you tell me the Watchers elevated you to their ranks without teaching you how to -”
“It takes too long.”
“It doesn’t. It shouldn’t -”
“Someone was going to get hurt!”
“Someone did!”
Rook gaped at her a moment, then wisely closed her mouth. The wisps were crowding them again, agitated and anxious. Rook held her hand out for the flask and Neve handed it back, watching as her friend took another sip and slumped further down her chair. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
Neve rubbed her temples. “Watching you fight is not for the faint of heart, Rook. You draw power from the Fade so much faster than anyone I’ve ever met and then you throw it around with no regard for your own safety.”
“My teachers at the Necropolis had similar complaints,” Rook said mildly.
Neve glared at her.
Rook took another sip from the flask and passed it back. “Shortcuts. I know I shouldn’t, but in the moment - the power is there and I can use that and not waste time on finesse. And runes are awful, I don’t know how you unravel them so quickly.”
“By learning the patterns. And not taking shortcuts.” Neve leaned into Rook’s side.
Rook put her head on Neve’s shoulder. “Can you walk me through it?”
“Can I - what, tutor you on negating warding runes? Sure, if you're going to actually make use of what I show you.”
Rook was quiet. Neve gave her a moment to collect her thoughts. “I can’t promise I won’t fall back on old habits, but I’m trying. I’m trying to try.”
“Trying to show some shred of self preservation in battle? I know. That’s why it's frustrating when you pull a stunt like yesterday. I don’t like losing people, Rook. I don’t want to lose you.” Neve paused a moment. “I ratted you out to Lucanis, by the way.”
Rook cursed softly. “So I get to have this conversation all over again.”
“Repetition is key to learning new skills,” Neve said drolly. “We'll call that the first lesson.”
Some weeks later Rook started wearing a pendant. A thin gold chain hung with a metallic circular disc made from a fake charm, the kind of thing peddled by con artists in docktown. However, this particular piece had been further modified with a simple illusion. A rotation of easily activated rune patterns on the back, a cheat sheet of sorts, glowing teal on gold. A compromise and a promise to look after one another and oneself.
Thank you for the tag @aetherflowers 💖 This is my first time participating in a thursday bangers post! (and thank you for tagging/introducing me to this week's host @serstolas because I'm very excitedly eyeing up those 80+ datv fics and wondering how many I can fit into my weekend haha)
Not doing any of my own tagging this time around, but if you see this and want to participate then please do!
Rules: Free form a blurb or drawing based on the weekly lyrics prompt. It doesn't have to include the prompt just whatever you're inspired to write, write it! Then tag some friends so they can play as well. It doesn't have to be finished on Thursday just post it whenever you can (you have a whole week between Thursdays).
This week's lyrics:
"I stumble in the dark, tripping on a heart It's gonna leave a mark, maybe we can stay and wait it out" --Can't Help Me Now by Rob Thomas
This immediately made me think about the astarion x oc reincarnation piece I started but never made much progress on. The beginning always felt meh to me, so I went back and rewrote it!
It is always the eyes that give her away. Winsome, mesmerizing pools of hazel. An intricate medley of fawn and umber flecked with saffron and amber, sage and emerald, curiousness and willful verity. No matter what form her body takes in each new life, those eyes—her eyes—remain the same. Astarion peers into them now, aching relief curling through his chest.
“I know you, don’t I?”
He smiles at the familiarity of her query. It’s always some version of those words, formed like a question on her tongue but so glaringly rhetorical.
The response he offers each time is a prayer, a confession, a promise. “You always do.”
This week has been CHAOS and now it's Friday so this is my attempt to return the favor for Words with Friends (thank you @hedwigoprah!), Last Line Written (thank you @basedonconjecture!), WIP Wednesday (forever grateful to you @waxlyricalmoon), and Five Sentences Friday ( @dags-over-caravans does it again!!)!!!!
Pairing: Davrin x f!Rook
(A continuation of this, which means there's intimacy and partial nudity only at the end hehe)
A firm hand wrapped around her wrist. Davrin stepped back, his lips scrunched into a tight line as if it physically hurt him to pull away. "I have a meeting with Evka and the others, remember?"
"I'm sure they can do without their aerial commander for a bit longer." Her hands reached for him again, luring him closer and closer to the edge like a siren at the bottom of a cliff.
Fall to your ruin, she seemed to beckon him. Come into my embrace. Fuck me and those meetings. Give in to the contumacy.
Her hand, still tucked beneath his tunic, splayed across the faint scars painted over sinewed abdominal muscles, up over his broad chest and then down beneath his waistband.
Davrin's breath hitched, his spine rigid when the undeniable, unmistakable warmth wrapped around him. "R-Rook-!"
"Let the griffons enjoy their free time," she muttered against his lips, a deep hum rising in her chest as she held him in her grasp, unmoving yet fondling. Davrin shuddered against her, teetering toward the edge, earning him a grin from her. "And I'll help you enjoy yours."
Andruil, help him.
In one swift, practiced movement, the ground gave way beneath her, sending her sprawling onto her back with a low thud. Rook blinked at the stone ceiling and found her legs spread and bared on the grand mahogany desk. Her trousers and underclothes dangled from an ankle and between her thighs, the young aerial commander on his knees before her core, his breath fluttering against her heated skin, strong hands keeping her legs in place, eyes dark like a starved man at a feast. Like a beast freed to hunt.
"Remember." Davrin dug his teeth into the soft flesh of her inner thigh. He left a deeper one to the other and was rewarded with a strangled moan. Feral devotion beneath plated armor. "I warned you."
Gently tagging @mythals-whore, @sugar-peanut-cat, @glitteringdust, @papayafig and anyone else who would like to participate in this weird jumble of a tag game OR (depending on time zones) Some Sentences Saturday!
(I'm getting there, y'all, and I promise I write for other pairings. I just...it's Davrin!)
Thank you @serensama and @woundedsoul12 for the tag.
If you see this and you haven't done it, I'm tagging you :)
This week's word:
Contumacy
Disobedience, resistance to authority.
The Templars went to war to force mages back into their circles, which the mages would never agree to -Solas in a conversation with Cassandra
Cornelius "Neil" Trevelyn remembered when the mage circles rose up and rebelled against the Templars and the Chantry.
He remembered when he lost faith in the Chantry.
They'd all heard about Kirkwall, about the horrors the Templars there had inflicted upon mages over the years. Neil would acknowledge that blood mages and mages being possessed was a problem, but he would never believe that everything done in the Kirkwall circle was just.
Ostwick could be considered lenient, as circles went. He was still allowed to receive letters from his family. He didn't live in fear of being made tranquil for the slightest infraction.
But he also knew that if the Templars that ruled the Ostwick circle changed, the privileges and leniency shown mages in Ostwick could vanish.
When most of the circles voted to dissolve, Ostwick rebelled as well, but did not see the violence that other circles had seen. But it was a contumacy, nonetheless.
Later, when the Divine would call the Conclave, and he would attend at his family's behest, he would remember the days after the conclaves explosion, and he would remember the accusations and the looks of hatred. Such things changed so quickly, though, when he used the mark to close the breach.
He went along with Cassandra and Leliana when they declared the Inquisition, not because he believed in the Chantry, he knew there were many who shared Chancellor Rodrick's thoughts, but because he believed that Cassandra and Leilana actually wanted to make a difference.
But he would never forget Kirkwall, or the stories of other Circles like the White Spire.
And even when Leilana was elected the new Divine, he found he never really trusted the Chantry itself as an institution again, only individuals within it.
I´m going a little slow with this chapter, and I'm doubting with this scene of chapter 20 of 'At Death's Reach'. Yet, I have to thank @hedwigoprah for tagging me in 'Word with friends' and introduce me to the word "Contumacy" lol. It really helped for the last lines.
Please, tell me what you think about it in the comments! I'll be greatful for any imput!
Contumacy - Disobedience, resistance to authority.
Thank you to @hedwigoprah, @woundedsoul12, and @serensama for the tags!
Read on AO3 or below (2K Words)
The scent of mint, thyme and lemon drifted in through the window just ahead of the salt air. Breathing deeply, Viago took a moment to appreciate the ten months of work that had afforded him a sweeter perch in Salle than even his Talon could boast. Not that the man was setting foot outside his cramped Villa these days. Rumors swirled, but Viago knew that the man was simply festering under the misapprehension that remaining obscure would keep him alive. The subtle poison his young wife had been slipping him for months would soon put him and that particular line of thinking to rest.
While the old fool was distracted it gave the rest of House de Riva space to actually work.
In this particular case, it meant he had plenty of time to read the unusually extensive set of reports on the progress of the current crop of fledglings at the coterie. The combined training with other Houses was meant to build skills and foster healthy competition, but was mostly responsible for a healthy level of distrust among younger Crows if they survived. Those who didn't survive were judged insufficient.
As was often the case since he made full Crow himself, he had been on a contract when the first few rounds had kicked off, and his reports in the field had been necessarily brief. Rearranging his work, he made sure to be home just as the rounds had brought them to Salle. Back in his own city, he finally had an opportunity to take a much closer look at the the progress of his fledglings.
Most of the reports were short, perfunctory, and easy to sort into different ranges of suitability. A couple indicated intervention, or in one extreme, reassignment to a much gentler line of work elsewhere in one of the House's various businesses or holdings. He didn't see the point in unnecessary death. It was a waste of resources. The Fifth Talon might have disagreed, if he had noticed. Viago ensured that he would not.
Then there was the last report. Four pages, packaged separately in a sealed envelope. One fledgling. Pinching his eyes shut briefly, he didn't even need to open the packet to know which name he would see at the top.
Carina.
Allowing himself the smallest of aggravated sighs, Viago used a short, sharp silver knife and small set of narrow tongs to open the packet rather than lifting the seal. The tarnish around the edges of the blade told him he had made the correct decision. Each page was carefully lifted and placed onto a dark felt mat, and given a light shake to dislodge any powder. Scouring for traces and finding none, he moved to examine the pages themselves.
Two distinct sets of cramped writing filled the pages on both sides, with at least one illustration and several sets of marginalia. This was significantly worse than he had expected, but on some level, deeply unsurprising.
Girl demonstrates extreme contumacy at every possible opportunity without visible or audible evidence. She most certainly is the origin and creator, as clearly as a piece of rotten meat befouls the air of a room without need of movement, proximity, or direct touch.
Given the care she had demonstrated in cultivating the mix of herbs, roots, flowers and shrubs in the gardens above his office into a source of olfactory delight, Viago assumed Carina would be entirely offended by the comparison. He also knew she would be insufferably smug that they had not been able to catch her in a single act of defiance, obstruction, obfuscation, or sabotage. She had simply arranged things so that she was not required to follow whatever instruction she found distasteful or participate in an exercise she did not want to.
The following paragraphs gave several examples, including the indefinite postponement of the submersion and breathing trials after a spectacular fire was seemingly caused when the glass used by one of the instructors was placed at just the right angle to catch the sun as it passed through the warehouse during their lecture. It concentrated a hot beam of light directly onto the highly flammable supplies earmarked for the breath suppression trials later that day and the building, supplies, and notes had been a total loss. The instructor had placed the glass on the table themselves, as they had on several previous days, and no student or other instructor was seen near it or in the general area for the entire day previous. Somehow the table had been moved three quarters of an inch to the right before the day's lecture, unseen by any, placing it perfectly in the path of the sun at just the right moment.
A drawing of the warehouse had been included e on the final page of the report, depicted on the day before the fire, with cutouts to show changes and positioning of people and objects before it started. Diagrams could be quite instructive when well executed, and this one had measurements down to the eighth of an inch. Viago could feel the smallest headache begin to form behind his left eye. The table had been moved several times, and while the report failed to note it, if one traced the lines the movements made, it read 'LIES' in the smallest of script.
Viago took a large fanned brush from a pot nearby, and dipped it lightly through a container of a light orange powder. He passed the brush over the diagram, careful to touch the paper as little as possible with the bristles. After a moment, he took a similar clean brush, and repeated the action. Placing a rose-hued monocle to his eye, he read the new text scrawled haphazardly around and between the illustrations and notes. Then he read it again.
Tugging a small cord near his desk, he took a minute to remove the eye piece and lay a thin sheet over the papers on his desk. He shut his eyes and breathed through his nose, forcing his features to still.
"Yes."
The door had opened soundlessly, and Heir stood perfectly still just inside the office.
"Who is conducting the coterie trials? Specific to name, House and preferred assignment."
"Dellamorte, infiltration. Instructor Fellara, political influence."
Viago nodded. The House of the First Talon made sure they understood who could or should get close to the seats of power in Antiva and beyond. Fellara was older than most Crows, and had advised Caterina for years. He had worked with her in his turn. Terrifying and efficient.
"An Arainai blade-master is conducting the endurance sessions?" Viago frowned slightly, a picture he did not like beginning to form.
"Yes. He has done so before."
"Result?"
"Eleven dead over five years. One executed for attempted escape after the submersion tests. Two killed by fire. The rest by blade, trap, or water. Six more unaccounted for."
"Unaccounted?" Viago hissed, fixing them with a stare that could burn forests. "How many were ours? Known and not accounted for."
"Two known, four unaccounted. You remember Bantea."
Viago did remember the tall, slender Qunari. One of the best hands with small blades and the garotte he had ever seen.
"I was told she failed in her final assessment and the target took offense." In this moment, he very clearly recalled the conversation with his Talon. Congratulating him on a neatly executed set of first contracts and elevation to full Crow, and when asked, informing him that she had not managed her own as well in his absence. "This is not the case?"
"Bantea did not fail but also did not return."
"She was on her final assignment when I left. Emiliano did not object to the interruption?"
"No. She was required to join the coterie with the others."
"I see," Viago stared, but Heir's face gave nothing away. It rarely did. He gestured dismissal, and they exited quietly.
He turned the information over in his mind, the picture quite clear. He did not know how Carina had come across the information she had sent back so carefully. Every fledgling they had lost. Most of their fates. What she expected them to do this year. To her. If any of it was correct, it was well past time for Viago to deliver his Talon a very personal reminder.
Power could be so fragile. Emiliano de Riva should have remembered this more carefully.
When Carina left for the coterie, his largest concerns were that she would not listen and obey. She would not bend when needed or break around the requirements of survival. Contumacious. What a perfect description. Instead, she had taken the only instructions he had given her to heart perhaps a little too well.
Watch, learn, and make what you know that others do not your weapon. Always keep it sharp.
Viago re-read the page one final time, committing the contents to memory, then folded it carefully and lifted the lid on a small metal box on his desk. Hesitating, he looked in the box and stared for a second before the barest chuckle escaped. Nestled at the bottom on the currently inactive fire rune was a small envelope with his name written in a neat hand. Taking another set of small tongs, he retrieved the envelope and placed it on the felt along with the other pages. Closing the lid on the box, a brief, quiet whump! of sound announced the immolation of the folded page within.
The outside of the envelope was dusted with a mild neurotoxin, easily cleaned away with ash and a stiff brush. A thin blade sliced through the edge avoided the small pocket of acid neatly concealed in the seal, but did disperse a small spray of grayish powder onto the felt. Viago retrieved a very small glass from his desk, and placed it on top as it began to gently smoke, and found himself unable to conceal a small smile as the reaction slowed. In short order the small paper inside was extracted and the envelope unfolded with care.
The powder had been adhered to the inside of the envelope in the shape of a Crow mark. His own mark.
Brushes and powder deployed, under his monocle a short message in House de Riva variation of Crow's cant emerged.
happy nameday
knew you would be sad if I missed it
the bees have your present
carina
ps hope you didn't put that powder under glass
pps the soap maker is in the northeast of the market in Treviso
As if on cue, there was a bright cracking sound as the glass on the table shattered, flinging small pieces of outward in a small circle chased by a puff of green smoke. Viago had danced backwards towards the open window faster than thought when the smell caught up with him. Black tea with bergamot, lavender, coriander and sage with an undercurrent of tobacco and warm skin. Gone almost immediately, but burned into his brain just like it had been the first time he'd smelled it in the Cantori Diamond. It had followed him like an insistent refrain every time he had encountered it after.
Carina could not possibly have known. How? Why? It was so absurd, he could only shake his head and laugh quietly to himself as he put his hands on the casement and looked out at the city.
The nearest chantry tower began tolling midnight. It was early, like the card note, but only by moments. The rest of the bell towers in Salle would start in a minute or two and his nameday, entirely unremarked by his family for almost the entirety of his life, would begin. Regardless of what the bees knew, Carina had given him a gift of knowledge sharp enough to end a House. Or be the making of a Talon. Today was a fine time to find out if he could wield it well enough to take that opportunity for himself.
This week's word is pink, because it's the only base color I had left, I really thought we had access to yellow. Lords of Fortune kinda give off pink vibes, right? Eh, we'll just go with it.
This week's word is
Prodigious:
• Very big in size or quantity; gigantic; colossal; huge.
• extraordinarily exciting or amazing
• ominous, portentous
Remember,
• These challenges are available to complete at any time.
• They can be as long or as short as you see fit.
• If you tag me I'll share it :)
You can find every word we've ever done on the Word With friends Masterpost
If you'd like to be on/off the official tag list for A Word With Friends, you can like this post
Thank you @hedwigoprah for starting this I love figuring out how to use the word each week <3 Thanks @serensama @pixiedurango @woundedsoul12 for the tags
Sorry this one ran away with me, I let the blorbos talk and the fic ended up at 3.3K words I’m sorry 😭
Rules: Use the challenge word to write a sentence or scene and then tag a few friends. Happy writing!
This Week's word is :: Contumacy - Disobedience, resistance to authority. (Noun)
This is part of the modern assassins au and can now also be found on ao3
───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────
A popping noise? A bird chirp? A distinctive metallic scrape? Some small noise woke Zalan and for a few seconds he lay completely still letting awareness come back to him, ears straining for the noise again. But then Harding yawned and rolled over, throwing an arm over his body and snuggling against his shoulder. The moment passed and everything was still again except for Harding mumbling to herself as she started to stir. He carded a hand through her loose hair and she groggily pushed herself up. The alarm hadn’t gone off yet but if Lace was getting up there would be little that could convince her to sleep in longer. Zalan gently tugged at the oversized shirt she was wearing- his, to give it a try anyway.
“We have a half hour, come back to sleep.” But she was blinking to clear her eyes and shook her head,
“Gotta get up, we have Crow missions today. A whole lineup of contumacy on the docket.” She told him with another yawn- it had been a long couple of days since the party and they’d been following up leads while continuing their normal work, exhausting them both. Zalan propped himself up on one elbow and tugged on Lace’s shirt again, with a little more force this time, pulling her to him. She rolled her eyes but he saw the little smile she tried to hide as she pushed her hair back away from her face as she let herself be tugged down to him. She leaned in the rest of the way, bracing her hands on his chest and kissed him.
He hummed happily into the kiss, slipping his hand under her shirt to trace circles with his thumb against her hip. The touch had Lace’s breathing hitching slightly and he grinned into the kiss. She pulled back slightly, kissing the corner of his mouth,
“We don’t have time.” And Zalan wasn’t sure if she was telling him or herself but neither seemed to care much as Harding kissed him again, the crow sitting up more to deepen the kiss. His fingers drawing invisible patterns as they started trailing further up her body.
The door swung open, both of them breaking apart and Zalan rolling over and falling out of bed in his haste. Harding sat there in the middle of the bed on her knees, blushing, and Zalan stayed where he’d fallen, hidden on the far side of the bed on the floor. Harding’s mom stood in the doorway with a bright smile,
“Lace are you up yet? I was making blueberry pancakes and I didn’t want you to miss them.” She had a bowl in her hands, stirring what was probably more batter. She must not have seen them and Zalan stayed perfectly still, content to be mortified from the ground. Harding had a hand to her face, nodding,
“Okay thanks Ma, I- I need to get dressed and stuff, leave please.” She was clearly embarrassed but the older dwarf shrugged at her daughter and turned calling over her shoulder,
“You should wake up that boy of yours too, you’ve both slept in so long, the pancakes will get cold.” She glanced across the hallway at the other closed door, “Do you want me to go wake him so he doesn’t miss out?” She asked and her daughter sat up straight, immediately on edge,
“No! No, that’s ok let him sleep. It’s been stressful at work he needs the rest.” She shook her head almost frantically and Zalan tried not to laugh from the floor, she was a terrible fibber. Her mom looked doubtful but nodded, leaving with her pancake mix.
Harding groaned and scrambled out of bed to close and lock the door, pressing her back to it.
“Apparently sleeping until six is too late.” Zalan mumbled from the floor, but found himself smiling despite the blush that had crept up his neck.
“Will she always be so embarrassing?” Harding’s head was in her hands again, trying to contain the blushing.
“She didn’t walk in on us actually doing anything and she didn’t notice me, I don’t think- it could have been worse.” He told her. Lace snorted, unconvinced but they were both very awake now, who needed an alarm clock when they had someone’s mom living with them.
//
Walking down the stairs of the de Riva building, now once again decked out in their mission gear the crow watched Harding out of the corner of his eye, she looked lost in thought.
“The last few leads Varric and Viago had led nowhere.” She finally said as they turned another corner, this stairwell mostly empty.
“But we are getting leads, that’s something.” He told her, a couple leads almost felt like they went somewhere but the trail kept going cold before they could piece it together.
“How long do you think we have? The Butcher has to know we’re working on it right?” She fiddled with a strap on her gear nervously, picking at the fraying edge. Zalan pursed his lips,
“I’ve seen a few of his men on trips out around the city. He’s definitely keeping an eye on us.” He’d seen the Antaam members leaning on walls or following at a distance trying to look inconspicuous and failing. Daathrata’s gang wasn’t known for their stealth or finesse. And Zalan always made sure they lost whatever half hearted tail they had before they went anywhere important. In fact the crow wasn’t sure they were really a tail but more like an intimidation measure. Harding hummed agreement, she’d spotted them too. He shouldn’t be surprised, her eyes were always better than his.
“Let’s focus on this mission for now, it shouldn’t be hard. Just have to sneak in and grab some info on who is already taking money under the table, they’re the weak links and the crows want to know who to blackmail, they want an inside man at this branch of Weisshaupt Financials.” He explained stretching his arms over his head. Easy in and out, no problem.
//
Zalan held his breath from his hiding spot under the desk as a janitor who had wandered inside the office wiped a few things including the door and then turned to go.
“I cannot believe you.” Harding’s hissing whisper over his ear piece came through loud and clear. She must have been somewhere about 10 klicks away but watching with her binocular headset. He’d been hoping she’d missed the awkward dive he’d made under the desk when he’d heard keys rattling in the locked door and the grumbling of voices.
The crow gave it another minute of silence before crawling out from the desk,
“I don’t know, I think that went better than expected.” He told her, whispering now and still on alert from almost being discovered. The CEO’s office was bland but had big ornate furniture which had been a lucky break for the assassin and Zalan got back to business tapping his gloved fingers against the keyboard as the data transferred onto the little thumb drive. It still had another thirty seconds and he tried not to chew his lip as he crept around the room to the door, peeking through the little window panel in the center. The janitor was still milling around, dumping tiny desk trashcans into his rolling cart and spraying desks with disinfectant.
“You could walk away from a job with a bullet wound, a broken ankle, and half your eyebrow scorched off and still try to say it went better than expected.” Harding griped, and he could hear faint tapping in the background- she must be scanning the area, making sure they were still clear.
“Do these windows open?” He asked, waving an arm at the length of windows behind the desk, “I don’t think I’ll be sneaking out the same way I snuck in- the clean up crew is out there.” He carefully made his way back to the computer, sliding the thumb drive out as soon as it was ready. There was a hum from his scout as she looked something up.
“The one on the far side should open for safety reasons but this company has had a list of safety violations filed against them longer than I am tall so I wouldn’t hold my breath. But if you do get out there should be a ledge you can use to climb up to the roof, it’s only one level up from you.” He could faintly hear the rustle of cloth and shuffling sounds, she must be shoving some of the equipment into a bag- packing up to be on the move.
Zalan nodded, slipping the data into a zipper pouch and turning off the computer leaving the room like he found it.
The window did not slide open and he heaved a sigh, pulling out several tools and chipping away at the paint sealing over the hinges and frame. He grumbled a string of curses under his breath, Harding huffing a laugh at his annoyance but he eventually freed the window and swung the thing open despite its difficulty. The crow slipped out, pushing it closed after him.
The “ledge” was really just a few inching of decorative molding but Zalan just grit his teeth and slid along the length of it until he was away from the windows and then used the bricks to climb and pull himself up the last couple of of meters to the lip of the roof. Swinging up and over he hauled himself up, rolling away from the ledge the moment he could. He gave himself exactly three seconds to catch his breath laying there on his back before he’d have to get up.
“I’m on the roof.” He announced quietly, giving a thumbs up before climbing to his feet. A snort came through his earpiece and he could distantly hear the ting ting ting of boots on metal rungs,
“Good job you boob, now meet me over at the Westside Chantry building. The roofs should be clear, I wasn’t picking up any chatter about patrols in the area.” She told him in a tone that meant keep an eye open just in case because patrols could show up where you least expected them. He nodded, not sure if she could see him from wherever she was climbing down from.
“Meet you there.” He told her before letting the connection end. With a quick breath he jogged to the edge of roof, hopping down to the lower connected roof, the sunset bathed sky overhead still giving him plenty of light to see by.
Pulling his mask up over his nose and tugging the baseball cap lower on his face he was off, running the length of the building, and pushing off the ledge leaping to the next building over, grabbing hold of a maintenance ladder and climbing the rungs to the roof.
He followed the path of the structure and had to dodge around several big electrical units and pipes before stepping up over the lip and landing with a roll onto the lower roof of the next building. Finding another ladder he slid down and made his way carefully over the bank’s building, having to duck behind a roof access door for a guard on a smoke break. However the man had seen Zalan and the two dodged around each other. Trying to lose the man Zalan skidded to a halt and turned to hop behind an AC unit but the man intercepted. Face to face the guard reached for his sidearm and Zalan kicked him in the kneecap eliciting a string of curses from the other man. Unfortunately for the crow he didn’t crumple a heap on the ground and instead lashed out and a fist connected with Zalan’s face as he tried to backpedal out of the way. The wild swing knocked both of them back and shaking his head like that might shake the pain away Zalan knocked the guard’s legs out from under him and ran, leaving the guy there in a heap.
Sliding down the sloped side of the next business to a sign boasting a bar and grill’s name he jogged behind the big neon lettering and climbed up to the next roof.
There, another building over, he could see the steep chapel point of the church. Running up a set of stairs and taking a breath he charged towards the Chantry, having to throw himself at the bell tower, landing on the sloped tiles and letting himself slide down and swing his body in next to the bell.
After that climbing down to the main roof was easy and Zalan crouched on the edge of the tiles looking out over the city for a moment, enjoying the lights and sounds. Harding came around the corner of the bell’s housing and as he rose to greet her she waved a warning with both hands and sped past him, grabbing his hand and forcing him to twist and stumble to keep up. He wasn’t going to ask her why but the sound of gunshots pinging off the roof around them answered the unspoken question. They dodged and weaved as they ran; Zalan felt a pinch as they rushed the turn of the building, ignoring it for now. Harding led them around the roof to jump down onto a balcony and she audibly thanked Andraste when the door was unlocked and they both pushed inside, closing the door behind them.
The door had led to a stairwell and they hopped over one handrail to land on the stairs one set lower before hurrying down them to the first open door. It led to a hallway of doors and after trying a few they found one that led to a bathroom and rushed into it. Lace pushed the trash can in front of the door so they’d have a warning if someone came in and they both breathed a sigh, standing there in the hum of the air conditioning.
“I thought you said it was clear?” He couldn’t help but tease, wincing at the pain radiating from his shoulder. Shrugging out of his backpack he pulled some of his gear to the side,
“Were you hit?” Harding pulled at him, tugging him down so she could examine the injury. Zalan grunted,
“It’s nothing don’t worry about it.” He tried to gently push her away but she shot him a glare and he relented, unbuttoning his shirt and baring part of his shoulder. “Pretty sure it’s just a graze, we can do something about it later.” He was bleeding from a good sized gash across his shoulder but not so much that it needed immediate attention. She frowned at him but agreed and let Zalan put his gear back on, tying a bandana tightly over the area to help slow the ooze of blood.
The pair sat in the farthest stall, a big handicapped one, backs to the wall for several long minutes, waiting to make sure they’d lost their pursuers before trying to get out. Finally peeking out around their trash can barrier Harding shrugged,
“It looks clear.” She slid her tech glasses on, the hideous neon pink glowing slightly as they projected images of maps to the scout. “From here if we head down to the ground floor we might be able to lose them down by the little park. The drop is supposed to be there anyway.” She tucked the glasses away and Zalan followed her out the door tugging his mask back on.
Keeping close they snuck down the hallway until they found a different set of stairs. Once they were sure there wasn’t anyone else in the stairwell they thundered down the stairs choosing speed over stealth. Harding led the way to an emergency exit where Zalan disabled the alarm and the pair pushed out onto the streets of the city.
//
Handing off the drive to another crow in plain clothes was easy. Realizing they couldn’t just go home looking the way they did was much more difficult. They’d only realized it as they were sneaking into their apartment building from the hidden back entrance door. And they both stared at each other dumbly. They were both still in their gear; Zalan was bleeding and a black eye was already darkening his skin to an angry red while Harding had some scrapes from her rooftop chase but had come out mostly unscathed.
“What if we pretend we got mugged?” Zalan was taking off pieces of gear, shoving them into his backpack.
“She’d make us call the police, if she believed that at all.” Harding was doing the same, shoving knee pads and her hat and mask into her bag.
“What if we go in through our window? I can jimmy it open.” He was shoving his gloves and jacket into his bag now.
“And if she hears us or thinks we’re burglars? My Ma is not afraid to hit someone with a baseball bat.” She shook her head.
“Ok we got into a fight and I was mean and grabbed you, so you punched me.” Zalan looked as normal as someone could in big black boots, black pants, and a black hoodie, all the other things making the bag being slung onto his back bulge.
“No.” Harding gaped at him, “We are not going to let my Ma think you did something bad enough I would punch you.”
“I was… staring at you so lovingly while we were walking home I ran into a light pole.” He shrugged like that was the last thing he could scrape together. Harding chuckled,
“That one I could believe.” And he gently swatted at her, crinkling his nose. “But I don’t think light poles usually make you bleed.”
“We were at a rave and a fight broke out?” He tried, looking unconvinced himself.
“We go to raves?” She asked him, quirking an eyebrow at him. He shrugged and tossed his hands up.
“Maybe you can just go ahead up, tell her you were on a night jog. I’ll take the bags and I’ll go sleep at the de Riva building tonight. I have a desk there I never use.” He started trying to pick up her bag but she twisted away,
“Zalan! It’s your apartment, I’m not making you sleep at a desk where other people are trying to work.” She scrunched her face up at him and hummed a moment, thinking. “But, maybe I can go in first and distract her.” Zalan shrugged,
“Why not.” It wasn’t the worst thing they’d thought of. They hopped the elevator and rode up, the building quiet this time of night.
Harding handed him her bag outside the door to the apartment and unlocked the door, heading inside. Small table lights were on but it was dark and quiet otherwise and Harding found a sticky note on the fridge that just said ‘have a fun night, I went to bed, love you’ and signed ‘Ma’ with a little heart. Letting out a breath she stuck her head into the hallway to make sure they were in fact, in the clear and then opened the door for Zalan,
“She went to bed, hurry up.” She whispered and ushered him in. They locked the door and only breathed a sigh of relief once they were inside their room, door closed and locked.
Zalan put their stuff in the closet for now, they could move it to the office across the hall tomorrow while Harding pulled out a first aid kit from their bathroom. They’d clean up and sleep tonight, too tired to do anything else. But tomorrow they needed to visit Varric again, he was sure to have something for them by then.
───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────
(It’s 1am but it’s totally still Sunday riiiiight? Lol just a tad late but not bad)
Tagging some people who have probably done this but idk/want to be tagged for this series maybe? @kabsey @aetherflowers @davrinsleftpectoral @grand-crow @genjyoandgojyoandhakkai @chaosherald
Thank you @hedwigoprah @woundedsoul12 @blackwall-my-tiny-husband for the tags! (On the later side, so no pressure/just because tags for @davrinsleftpectoral @seaglassmelody @dags-over-caravans)
Contumacy - Disobedience, resistance to authority. (Noun)
This is an epilogue/direct follow up to 'Luck of the Draw.' (tl:dr - Harding and Varric are looking for a demon expert to help them in their hunt for Solas. They follow a lead to a tavern in Nevarra and cross paths with Amara Ingellvar. By the end of the night, Amara has cheated Varric in cards, offered herself to a rage demon which she then imprisoned in some chicken bones, and earned a new nickname and the demon expert job. This takes place the next morning. Sometimes the words flow real nice and sometimes it's like pulling teeth - this one was pure dentistry, but here we are 😂)
“So you put down an undead rebellion,” Varric said, scooping porridge into a bowl and holding it out to their new companion.
They had camped rough last night. Bedrolls thrown down on the edge of a clearing after their hasty retreat from the crowd at the tavern. There hadn’t been much time or energy for getting to know one another. Amara - no, Rook, she didn't want them to use her actual name so Varric's nickname would have to make do - accepted the bowl from Varric with a slight frown. “I did.”
“Is that a regular hazard of life in the Necropolis?”
Harding watched as Rook considered her answer. The fact that she had to think about it was a little concerning. A lot about their newly acquired demon expert was concerning. Wanted fugitive, ridiculously reckless, dangerously powerful, at least a little self destructive. Thankfully, none of those were disqualifying characteristics in their line of work. “The Dead in the Necropolis are - complex,” Rook said slowly. “The echoes of their living selves imbue their physical remains and while most are - to the best of our knowledge - inhabited by Spirits who have crossed over from the Fade, their living memories and personalities still shape their interactions with each other and the world at large.”
“So…” Varric prompted.
“So they fight, amongst other things. This uprising was particularly bad, though.” Amara kept her attention on her food, clearly uncomfortable with the conversation.
Harding was pretty sure Varric realized, but that didn’t stop him from prodding for more details. “And you put it down and pissed people off in the process.”
“I disobeyed direct orders. Violated the traditions and oaths of the Mourn Watch.”
“And saved lives,” Harding interjected, wagging her spoon in Rook’s direction.
Rook smiled at that, twitching one shoulder up in a half shrug. “Yeah. I don’t regret that part.”
“You seem like a troublemaker, Rook,” Varric said, putting his bowl to the side. “And I mean that in a good way. I assume this wasn’t the first time you indulged in a bit of contumacy?”
“Honestly? Besides running off and joining a street gang when I was nine, I was a pretty model Watcher.”
Varric blinked, then grinned. “That sounds like a story.”
“For another time,” Rook said, shifting and rolling her shoulders. Harding was pretty sure she wasn’t used to sleeping on the ground. “You know, you still haven’t explained the nickname.”
“Ah,” Varric shook his head, still grinning. “The deal was if you explain the con you were running at the card table last night, I’d explain the nickname.”
Rook snorted back a laugh. “I’m not giving your money back.”
“Hey, dishonestly won is still won. I just want to know. I’ve played with some of the best cheaters in Thedas and I still can’t figure out how you did it.”
“Luck spirits.”
Harding looked up from her porridge. “You're joking.”
Amara shook her head. “They love card games. They're pretty much always around the table. I'm not actively talking to them or summoning them, but I can sense them and they are very easy to read.”
Varric looked thoughtful. “So you can tell when someone has a good hand. Because the luck spirits react to it.”
“Or when someone draws the card they need. Or when someone has shit and is bluffing. Yeah.”
“Has anyone ever figured it out?” Harding asked.
“Some of the Watchers I used to play with,” Rook said, scraping the last of her breakfast from the bottom of her bowl. “I have been banned from most of the legitimate casinos in Nevarra City - and some of the illegitimate ones too. None of them were ever able to prove anything though.”
Varric chuckled. “So why try your luck last night? Wanton greed? Planning to make your fortune swindling innocent card sharks up and down Thedas?”
Rook smiled slightly. “Hardly. The senior Watchers who sent me away have spent most if not all of their lives in the Necropolis. They have no idea what it's like out here, when you don't have room and board and a tidy stipend paid on the fortnight. I've been on the streets with nothing before, I wasn't eager to repeat the experience.”
Harding started collecting dishes. “Seems risky. There has to be a safer way to make money.”
“I don't have a lot of marketable skills,” Rook said dryly. “You seem like you've been doing this for a while. How do you all make ends meet out here?”
“Oh, we're pretty lucky there,” said Harding. “Varric's residuals keep the stew pot full. And if we're ever really stuck we can just head back to Kirkwall and he can go back to the whole technically the Viscount thing.”
“Right,” Rook said, rolling her eyes. “Viscount of Kirkwall and resid…” She trailed off, eyes widening as they darted back to Varric. “Wait. Creators. Varric. You're Varric Tethras? The author Varric Tethras?!”
Varric gave an awkward half bow. “In the flesh. Honestly, I’m a little insulted that you didn’t make the connection earlier.”
“I’ve been preoccupied. What are you doing here?”
“Hey, I explained the basics last night. We need to get past some demons guarding the elven ruins up near the Silent Plains. Hence bringing you in on the job.”
“But - you’re Varric Tethras. Why are you trying to break into spirit infested ruins in the middle of nowhere?”
“Ah, well.” Varric exchanged a look with Harding. Harding nodded. If Rook was going to be traveling with them, she should know what she was getting into. Varric turned back to the mage. “Tell me what you know about the Dread Wolf.”
You are cordially invited to a most prodigious event...
Dr. Emmrich Volkarin along with his esteemed associates politely requests your attendance to this momentous occasion. A preview of his new venture before it is opened to the public eye.
A weekend among colleagues and peers as you explore his latest undertaking. Step back in time to the Mesozoic Era when dinosaurs ruled the earth. Walk in their footsteps as you see what modern technology and DNA research has brought to life.
All accommodations have been provided for this exceptional sneak peak into the future. Simply follow the instructions listed below for your boarding pass to our all inclusive island retreat.
Summary: Lucanis and Spite discover an unexpected side effect of Rook's brush with Gingerwort Tea.
Relationship: Lucanis Dellamorte/Rook
Characters: Rook de Riva, Lucanis Dellamorte, Spite, Emmrich Volkarin
Additional Tags: Fluff, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Cooking, Pining
Notes: Takes place after "The Palette of a Griffon" and before "Inner Demons."
Inspired by A Word With Friends, July 14, 2025
Métier: Any activity that is pursued as a trade or profession; a calling | An activity to which a person is particularly suited; a forte
Read on AO3 or below (2.7K Words)
After Rook and Davrin returned from their picnic in Arlathan, Lucanis retreated back to the kitchen to wash the dishes from lunch, feeling irritable with little outlet to complain. The pots on the other hand, were now pristine. He wasn't so careless with his hands that he'd destroy the seasoning on good cookware, but there was not a hint of grit, scratch, or residue to be seen. Even on the pan Harding had used for her infamous 'cheese and apple' pasta the night before now looked ready for something better. While he had to admit that the recipe had obvious potential, none of the ingredients or things used to cook them had deserved what had happened to them.
"Is there any danger?" Lucanis had asked Emmrich, trying to sound more calm than he felt. Behind them, Davrin had carried an unconscious Rook up to her room. "Drugs and poisons are not my métier, but I could reach out to Viago if you think it necessary."
"No, I don't believe that is needed," the older man had said after a moment's consideration. "There's no indication that gingerwort is dangerous in moderate amounts, apart from the mild side effects Rook experienced earlier. Aside from some mild intoxication, she seems quite healthy."
"If you are sure," Lucanis had frowned in response, but didn't object. Reaching out to Viago was its own risk.
"I am quite sure, my dear boy," Emmrich had patted him lightly on the shoulder. "Rook simply needs some rest, and she should be herself in no time."
You could make coffee for Rook. She likes coffee. Better than angry dishes.
Spite huffed nearby. He had been restless all morning, and had been pacing and moving around the room while Lucanis cleaned.
"No," Lucanis sighed, shaking the water off of the last pot. He gave it a quick pass with the towel, and propped it in place near the others to finish drying before he started dinner. Giving his hands a quick dry as well, he hung the towel on the hook next to the sink. It was cheerily embroidered with various herbs from Ferelden, donated by Harding when they started to fill out the small kitchen.
The Warden made her tea. She doesn't even like tea.
Spite smirked, jumping in front of Lucanis.
"Urrrgh," Lucanis growled, crossing his arms and trying not to think about Rook's outing with Davrin that afternoon. They were friends. Friends who had a picnic in the woods together alone. With hallucinogenic tea, if Emmrich's commentary when she returned was accurate. A very normal, drug laced outing with a coworker.
"Yes, he did," Lucanis finally admitted. "And look how that went. Rook doesn't need coffee right now, she needs rest."
She wants coffee. Also wants you .
Spite flickered away.
"I— that is not your business, Spite," Lucanis put his hands on his hips and shook his head. It was still unclear if Spite was trying to help him with Rook somehow, make mischief, or some combination of both. Either way, he felt like things were confusing enough without his constant prodding. At a sound, he turned to consider the demon, currently perched on the stairs leading out to the small balcony outside. "Emmrich said she needed some sleep after the tea wore off. I don't want to wake her."
But you do want to. Spite groused, frowning down at him. You just don't.
"Want to do what?"
Lucanis turned to see Rook in the door to the dining hall, eyes half closed with sleep. His heart beat in his throat for a moment, squelching his reply as he took in her sleep mussed hair and shirt slightly askew. She rubbed absently at one of her eyes as she closed the door behind her and shambled slowly into the room.
Rook wants coffee.
Spite said smugly, shadowing beside Rook as she moved in an unsteady line towards the couch near the small kitchen. Lucanis started drawing the water and retrieved a small bag of beans he had roasted in the morning, ignoring the demon for the moment. Water was set to begin heating and beans placed into the grinder.
"Rook does want coffee," Rook looked over in Spite's direction as she flopped into the couch nearest the kitchen, then tilted her head back and closed her eyes with a sigh. "I need something to clear my head. Emmrich said the gingerwort would wear off soon, but I'm still seeing double, and one of you is purple. Years of poison testing tells me that can't be good."
Spite and Lucanis stilled, then looked at each other for a long moment.
"Rook?" Lucanis put down the carafe and empty bag with careful deliberation. He turned towards where she sat and fought to keep his voice steady. "You are seeing two of us?"
"Let's check," Rook replied, peering back at him as she opened her eyes the barest amount. She gave Lucanis a warm smile and his heart did a small flip. "OK, there you are. Making coffee. You make the best coffee. Is that for me? I hope it's for me."
Tilting her head to the side with an exaggerated effort, she spent a moment brushing some errant hair away from her face and regarded Spite solemnly. He leaned forward until their noses were almost touching and she blinked hard, trying to focus. Rook poked a finger gently forward, passing through Spite's forehead, trailing purple for a second afterwards. She shook her fingers, and looked back at the demon who was now grinning widely.
"Second… you. Over here. All purple."
ROOK CAN SEE SPITE! Spite grinned, squatting down to her level.
"If you say so, Other Lucanis," Rook leaned back and considered Spite through bleary eyes, looking him up and down. "I like regular Lucanis. He's handsome, makes me coffee, and hasn't tried to poison me at all. You're cute too, though. Just, purple. Like my hair."
Spite is … purple?
Spite sat back on his heels and looked to Lucanis who nodded dumbly. They both turned back to Rook.
"And cute," Rook mumbled, closing her eyes again as she relaxed into the arm of the couch and tucked her feet up on the other end. After a heartbeat, she began to lightly snore. Spite moved closer, but stayed crouched, watching her as she slept.
"Spite—" Lucanis cut off as the demon whirled, finger to his lips to hush the assassin.
Shhhh! Rook needs rest .
"Yes, that is what I—" Lucanis replied quietly and pinched his nose, shutting his eyes briefly as he took a breath. "You know, yes. She needs rest. How about you keep watch over her while I cook like you usually do? I'll keep it quiet."
Yes. We will guard Rook.
Spite nodded, placing both of his hands on the couch, watching Rook with the intense fascination he usually reserved for candles. Lucanis wondered if she burned as brightly for the demon as she did for him but set that thought aside as he concentrated on his cooking. He gathered the ingredients for dinner and started preparing, looking over from time to time to see Spite in a slightly different position but still watching just as closely.
Time poured out into the work as he sliced, chopped, seasoned, seared and kneaded. He had been able to find some lamb, herbs, and really good mushrooms at the market, Neve had picked up some excellent paprika, and Bellara had brought in a spiced Dalish cured duck with a very intense flavor. The stews were eventually settled into the fire to cook, and the bread sat proofing. It should be ready to bake just in time for everything to finish at the same time.
Lucanis still debated whether he should have cooked rice instead, but decided he had made the right call. He'd had it served with rice or a porridge, so that's what he was familiar with. But when Rook had mentioned that she missed chilindron to Harding a few weeks ago, she said she had always eaten it with fresh bread. Teia had given him a recipe from one of Viago's chefs, and while the stew was more or less what he expected, they had also recommended bread, so that's what he was making tonight.
Thoughts straying to Rook, he leaned against the counter and looked over to the couch where she was still sleeping. He took a long drink of his coffee. Spite had taken up his usual position at her feet, sitting quietly on the floor and occasionally looking around the room. While today was a bit unusual, Rook did often nap in the dining hall while he cooked or cleaned. Spite took his guarding duties seriously, though Lucanis was never exactly sure what Spite expected to happen while she slept. He always talked about it like they had both agreed to stand watch. Neither of them had any kind words for Solas, but there was little that he or the demon could do about that particular problem.
At a light creak at the door, Lucanis shook himself out of his reverie, unsure how long he had been watching her as intently as Spite ever did. His coffee felt cold.
Emmrich entered the dining hall quietly and joined Lucanis, smiling as he saw Rook sleeping.
"I went to check in on Rook, but Taash mentioned she left her room a while ago to get coffee," Emmrich said quietly. "I'm glad to see she made it here."
"She didn't even stay awake long enough for coffee," Lucanis placed his own cup on the counter and hesitated for a moment, unsure what he wanted to say.
"Was anything amiss?" Emmrich asked, his brows knitting in light concern.
"No. She—" Lucanis paused, eyes flicking briefly to Spite who was ignoring them both. "Rook could hear Spite."
"Really?" Emmrich looked both pleased and interested, his voice animated with excitement. "Has she ever demonstrated any spirit sensitivity before?"
Shhhh! Spite hushed.
"Apologies, Spite," Emmrich replied in a much quieter tone, nodding in his general direction. "I can ask her myself when she wakes, of course."
"She could see him as well," Lucanis said softly.
"Oh?" Emmrich looked at Lucanis with interest. "That is quite a development."
Lucanis wondered if it would fade with the gingerwort, but didn't ask. It was bad enough that Emmrich could hear Spite's rambling some times, but at least the man was discreet. He wasn't sure what it would be like to have Rook overhear the demon's taunts, threats, and exhortations, but he assumed it would be deeply embarrassing on every possible level.
Rook said Spite is cute .
"Oh?" Emmrich chuckled. "That is quite the compliment."
Lucanis bit back a reply as Rook mumbled irritably in her sleep, and waved a hand in their direction. She let it fall back down again after a moment, but her brows remained pinched together like she was considering something especially difficult. Lucanis had seen this a few times when she slept in near the kitchen, and Neve commented that she did the same in the library. Spite looked around and glared as he did any time it happened when he was near, but whatever he could see was a mystery to anyone else. He always refused to explain.
"It may be time to wake her," Emmrich mused, looking at her expression. "I do worry about her connection to Solas, and how it affects her sleep, among other things."
"It is best if you let her calm," Lucanis responded, taking a glass from a nearby shelf and filling it with cool water. "She usually relaxes and starts to wake up in a few minutes."
"Of course," Emmrich agreed as Lucanis walked over to place the water quietly on the end table next to the couch. "I will leave you to it, then. Dinner in an hour or so?"
Lucanis nodded in agreement himself and went back to the kitchen as Emmrich left. He busied himself making a couple more cups of coffee and placing the bread in a hot cooking pot to bake while the stew finished. Rook's features smoothed eventually and Spite glared at the air until he looked satisfied, then sat near Rook's feet again and waited. It didn't take long before Rook sighed and stretched, extending her legs out and pointing her toes.
"Mrrpmhph," Rook mumbled as she sat up, eyes still closed, and reached her hand towards the side table in a clumsy grasp and found the glass on the first try. She took a long drink of water before opening her eyes, blinking at the light from the fireplace for a moment before she saw Lucanis pouring out two fresh cups of coffee. "Hey."
"I thought you might want some coffee since I was making some for myself," he brought over her cup and saucer, and placed his own on the dining table nearby. Rook smiled lazily and traded the now empty water glass, taking time to close her eyes and inhale the scent wafting up in swirls of steam. Spite stood and moved to stand with Lucanis, peering curiously at Rook as she took time to enjoy the smell. It was an exercise in patience for them both, as he and Spite waited for her to open her eyes.
"That is much better," Rook looked at Lucanis after taking a sip, then furrowed her brow. It reminded him so much of Viago that he could feel a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. She gave a small irritated frown at that, and it didn't help the comparison at all.
"You look concerned," Lucanis gestured towards her with his cup, fighting the urge to laugh or melt into the floor.
"I—" Rook leaned back and squinted. "Sorry, I just could swear I saw something near you. Could just be the Fade, or that tea. I thought I was seeing two of you when I came in here earlier, I think."
Rook is looking for Spite.
"You did," Lucanis nodded, glancing briefly at Spite who had sounded more subdued than normal. The demon was looking at Rook expectantly, and Lucanis sighed. "I think you may have been seeing Spite."
"Really? Did we talk? Please tell me I didn't say anything too embarrassing," Rook smiled suddenly and Lucanis took a sip of his coffee to fight the heat threatening to spread across his face. "I think I remember something about coffee? Maybe purple?"
Rook said Spite was cute.
The demon flickered over to Rook, and then next to them on the couch.
"You told Spite he was cute," Lucanis acknowledged, avoiding her gaze and any possible reference to what she said about him. "I'm not really sure he needs the encouragement, but he seems pleased."
"Well, it's probably true then," Rook flashed another smile, and swept her eyes across the room. Behind her, Spite grinned triumphantly as she took a drink of her coffee. "Maybe I'll get to see him again some time."
"I don't know why anyone would want that," Lucanis snorted and put down his empty cup, reaching for a set of tongs.
They fell into a familiar pattern as Lucanis finished up dinner. He retrieved the bread from the oven and set it to cool on a nearby rack, and the smell spread through the dining hall like an invitation. Rook finished her coffee and started setting the table, stopping by in brief moments to taste everything as it was ready. The brief delight when she tasted the stew was worth every moment of effort in procuring the recipe, even Teia's teasing questions.
Neve and Taash drifted in and sat at the table, Bellara joining them after a moment to talk animatedly about their trip to Minrathous that morning. The hall started to fill with sound and warmth as one by one they all gathered around, with Rook and Lucanis sitting last as the stew was ladled out. Classic chilindron for most, and one made with mushrooms and root vegetables for Emmrich, though Taash took a pretty hefty portion as well.
"Spite looks like you, doesn't he?" Rook asked quietly, as they both settled into the comfortable noise of dinner.
"Ah, you remembered?"
"No, just a lucky guess," Rook winked. "I did say he was cute, after all."
Lucanis stared for a moment, feeling like he was being slowly dipped into boiling water as she laughed at his obvious discomfort.
"Hey, Rook," Taash yelled down the table. "Davrin said you guys had a crazy trip to Arlathan."
"Trip is the right word," Davrin groused. The conversation swirled away from Lucanis in a lively recounting of the day's events. The ones in Arlathan, anyway.
[divider by CursedCandlehop]
Additional Notes: The stew Lucanis makes is Chilindron which makes great use of the ingredients everyone brought, but can be really varied depending on the meats you have handy and the herbs you choose to add.
Thank you so much to @hedwigoprah, @serensama, and @woundedsoul12 for the tags!
It did not come quietly or easily. I’ve been working on it in fits in spurts for weeks. No one wanted to do what I wanted them to. Xiqaa especially has a mind of her own, I swear lol. I think it came out okay in the end. It’s really just a vehicle to get us to the next two chapters, which I’m much more looking forward to writing.
I did include this week’s Word WIth Friends prompt.
Prodigious: • Very big in size or quantity; gigantic; colossal; huge. • extraordinarily exciting or amazing • ominous, portentous
I’m including the snippet that uses the word. It’s incredibly short because I don’t want to give away anything else that happens in this chapter lol.
“That’s some sandwich you made,” Taash noted appreciatively.
“I need a prodigious sandwich after today,” he said, barely able to get his mouth around it to take a bite.
As soon as I saw the word, I just imagined a Shaggy from Scooby Doo sized sandwich. Why? I have no idea lol. But I had to make it happen.
Strange research for this chapter included recipes for pickle pancakes. And I FOUND ONE. Not gonna lie, kind of want to try it, even though I don’t like bread and butter pickles. I googled unsolved serial killer cases to pull some little extra details, and I ended up reading a couple articles, and I have regrets lol. I am NOT a true crime girly.
Breakfast for dinner anyone? Try something different this evening with our Peanut Butter Pickle Pancakes. Get the dill-licious recipe now!
Tags for anyone that wants to do a Word With Friends or just might want to know I finally finished a new chapter lol.
Big thank you to @hedwigoprah and @woundedsoul12 for the tags. The word was:
Prodigious
• Very big in size or quantity; gigantic; colossal; huge. extraordinarily exciting or amazing
• ominous, portentous
I know you're all chomping at the bit for another high-octane, action packed jousting scene. Well you're in luck, here's one about skin conditions and dead husbands! From the Aveline x Cassandra Jousting AU (WIP), of course.
Blunt fingernails hovered, tempted to offer a fleeting relief, but she withdrew. There were enough bloodstains marring her once crisp, white linen. Enough to tickle the fancy of a Tevene cultist.
Squeezing her eyes shut, Aveline willed the void to claim her, to carry her into that blissful state of unthinking slumber. It was futile. The more she willed it, the more the itch besieged her tired frame. It felt like a thousand fire ants had burrowed their way under her skin, crawling, biting their way back to the surface. She tossed, she turned, but the motion did naught to stifle their infernal wriggle.
Sleep would elude her tonight. As it had done for the past week or so. Resigned to another night of reading, she switched her oil lamp on, basking the room in that familiar, wakeful glow. Her chemise hung awkwardly, bunching in the middle to offer less than a modicum of modesty. Looking down to correct it, that's when she saw them, the scaly plaques that had plagued her since childhood.
Some days were better than others; their borders shrank, continents reduced to mere islands. Other days, entire new lands sprung from nowhere; raised red blotches on a map of skin. If there was a salve, poultice or potion, Aveline had tried it. Nothing but the sun's caress seemed to help, but even the effectiveness of that proved unpredictable.
Slow acceptance of her appearance crept in as the years ticked by, but nothing had soothed her quite like the ministrations of Wesley, her dearly departed husband. Like a favourite song, she can still recite his tender words:
'You are captivating, like the gentle light of dawn in springtime.'
His tone was forever sincere, as though he held no concept of hyperbolic charm.
Then there were his touches; becalming, deliberate, unafraid to explore every inch of her, flaws and all. He had a prodigious talent to make others see their own self-worth, and in the depths of his ocean-blue eyes, cradled by their lulling waves, she'd never felt more at peace with herself.
The blade of grief does dull with time, but it was in moments like this, alone with her thoughts in the grasp of twilight, that she felt its cutting edge once more.
What is this..?
There's something in her hands, a keepsake. The red silk sash that had once adorned Wesley's Templar armour. Aveline had no recollection of picking it up, she just knew that she needed to fill her senses with his scent once more. Bringing it to her nose, she inhaled. It smelt of blood, brimstone and… blight? Smells any sane person would recoil from, but here she stood, nostrils flared, inhaling deeper. With her free hand, she lifted the straps of her chemise, wriggling her body until the cotton lay in a bundle at her feet. Now naked, she closed her eyes, allowing her hand to traverse over the curves of her bare form. In her mind, this wasn't her hand, it was Wesley's. Lovingly, the Templar cupped her breasts, his long fingers pinching at the peak of her hardened nipples. There's a gasp, and a sweet name spoken on a breathy moan.
"Cassandra."
Wait. No.
The face in her mind's eye, of a blue-eyed, chisel jawed Ferelden blurred out of sight, replaced by another. The new eyes were nut brown, smouldering in their intensity, and set against the olive complexion of a handsome, scarred Nevarran.
This isn't right. She told herself, the guilt consuming her. It's like I'm sticking the blade in all over again.
Still, her hand travelled lower, deaf to her silent protestations. Sensually, it slipped past the dips of her toned midriff to her-
I'm not sure I should be tagging anyone after writing that, but here's some super soft, triple quilted tags for @dialmformud, @in-the-drowning-deep, @blackwall-my-tiny-husband, @waxlyricalmoon
• Very big in size or quantity; gigantic; colossal; huge. extraordinarily exciting or amazing
• ominous, portentous
Thank you @hedwigoprah for the word and for hosting!! Thank you for the tag @woundedsoul12!!!
Gently tagging✨🌸✨ YOU ✨🌸✨
and @bluerose5 @crushedv3lv3t @lotusfueltofire @in-the-drowning-deep @kai-dimir @wolfmoonwildflowers @madamemortem @gutz-ingellvar @grand-crow @styxdysnomia
➜Link if you’d like ON or OFF my tag list!
Still tap-tapping away at Chapter Eight of the longform 😅 I will prevail!!
The Obessa Mansion is exactly the sort of hole Venatori rats might hole themselves up in. Named and renamed with every new age, she murmurs a tormented history and a haunted reputation; many Trevisans believe the estate is cursed—that it has been cursed since the Exalted Age.
Dozens died in the cellars below before Andoral ravaged the skies—sickened by the very precautions built to protect them, before they learned that the blight could glut all the earth and all the stone and every metal. And while her cold walls have boasted a handful of owners over the ages, none have dared to grace her halls in over a decade—not since the Breach broke the sky and the Veil tore open within her gates, killing everyone within.
Again.
The Crown gave up first. After which, neither greed nor enterprise could lure the monied of Antiva into taking an interest in the land. Eventually, not even the Maker’s Own could be persuaded to embrace the prodigious property.
And after all that, after the Wardens soothed the land, after the hesitant returned, after a brave buyer did what nobody would…the walled-in dead swarmed from the shrieking depths like insects from a hive disturbed.
That is, if Rook's genre-foiling soliloquy is to be believed.
Which Lucanis is loathe to do, after watching them flounder at the cellar door. For all their fervour, the lock awards them little more than another impotent clink.
“I can feel you staring. I can't do it when you're looking.”
“Nobody is looking,” Illario reassures them, peering over his cousin’s shoulder at their lock-picking efforts.
Rook drones a homily at the tension wrench, something Sallean on the virtue of patience that veers conspicuously into yet another dark and derogatory Dellamorte malediction.
Lucanis can't help but lean in as they wheedle the lock into a hopeful metallic creak…a careful scrape…and…and…nothing.
“Do you think we should help, Cousin?”
“Cousin. I could never…” Illario sighs wistfully. “I wouldn’t want to get in their way.”
Lucanis chances a knowing hum. “True, true. Wouldn’t want to get in their way.”
Rook takes a very, very deep breath. “Allora,” they begin sensibly, carefully folding their lock-picking equipment back into a leather pouch, “change of plan, Dellamortes.”
“Just tell me what to do. I’d hate to tangle with the likes of you…”
Rook tugs their gloves snug. Lucanis thinks he can hear teeth grinding.
“…Rook.”
Illario!
Before they can give in to the urge to squawk at one another, all three Crows tense up, sensing something. A moment after the trio melts back into the shadows, the one-two crunch of gravel heralds an approaching guard.
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