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@herofabledmoved
# HERO FABLED + An independent, private RP blog for characters from various video games such as Dragon Age, Cyberpunk 2077, Balder’s Gate, Mass Effect, Detroit : Become Human && Others. Loved by Myllie.
Rules | Muses
⸻ » Heavily affiliated with : @ladamereveuse | @demonalbus | @wachtraeumen
Now I'm over at @herofabled
And if tumblr breaks this one I'm just going to break tumblr.
𝑨𝒇𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒍𝒐𝒔𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒔, 𝒉𝒆 𝒕𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒔 𝒕𝒐 𝒕𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒈𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒅, that includes the little things such as taking in the view from the Light House. Even now as he finds himself in comfortable standing and far from poverty he knows that riches are not something that matters to those in the life after - and for now they are simply shiny bobbles that can add a bit to life. But it's not the things that make it worth living - it's more often than not the people and the things one learns along the way. And this experience while certainly heavy on their shoulders and one that could end with the world in utter devastation - it's an opportunity most would never get.
Caught by her words he senses himself smiling softly wanting to encourage and offer her a sense of comfort in the moment.
❝ There is always a form of beauty in chaos, Cassandra. Even after the most devastating of fires, flowers will bloom again. Trees will be born anew. I have to hope that with what we are doing we can show Solas that this world is indeed worth keeping. While it's far from perfect, it's far from the world of which he once knew. As for the others...❞ he takes a moment to breathe in deep and release it slow even noticing she's moved closer to him. He takes a step closer all the same.
❝ What damage they have done and will do can also, I pray, be reversed and allow for a future deserved by those who are still alive. To show that the ones lost were not lost in vain. ❞
𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐈𝐒 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄, yes, but also a truth that she struggles to let herself believe. It is easy, she thinks, for him to speak of beauty in chaos when he himself is so capable of finding it, so willing to believe in the potential of things she can no longer see. She watches him, dark eyes thoughtful beneath her lashes as he speaks of blooming flowers and new trees, of hope amidst ruin. Something deep in her chest twists gently at that▬▬the conversation with Varric drifting to the surface of her mind. He'd warned her about missed chances, about carrying regrets, only hiding in the what ifs▬▬he had been right. And now, standing here with Emmrich, she feels it more clearly than ever. Her gaze drifts momentarily downward, her throat tightening slightly. He too moved closer▬▬close enough that she can feel the warmth of his presence, that soft, reassuring steadiness he carries with him. Suddenly she’s keenly aware of the distance shrinking, but she doesn’t step away, doesn't pull back from the pull that draws her toward him. She lifts her eyes to his face once more, her heart quickens its pace in response, a quiet flutter that she tries to quell as she glances up at him through the shadows cast by the lighthouse. Warmth spreads anew over her cheeks like the bloom of a flower. ❝ Beauty een chaos, ❞ she murmurs, as if testing the words, allowing herself to imagine that hope, to hold it even briefly. ❝ I want zat to be true. To know zat after all ze ruin, something good will come of eet. ❞ She pauses, chest rising and falling softly with each careful breath, her fingertips brush gently against the glass of the flower’s case again, finding grounding in its glow. It’s hard, sometimes, to reconcile his hopeful words with the harsh truths she's known. Yet somehow, standing close to him, those burdens feel lighter, manageable, less daunting.
❝ I suppose eet ees not ze first time ze world ‘as seemed to end, ❞ she says, her voice quieter, gently edged with wry humor, though her gaze holds a seriousness beneath. ❝ And yet we remain, still standing. Still fighting. Zat must mean something. Even eef we lose tomorrow, we still 'ad today and zat ees what no one can take from… us, oui ? ❞ She swallows gently, courage flickering like a tender flame in her dark eyes, holding his gaze a heartbeat longer than she ever dared before.
𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 several times in his lifetime. The blight, the rifts, and now this and so much more in between. The in between much smaller than the three listed in comparison. And yet they still survive, they still live to fight another day. Though it can be exhausting and one might wonder what will be left at the end of the day - if they don't fight they'll never know.
And it's the never-knows that tend to make people go crazy, along side the 'what ifs'. So to find beauty in those moments where they can that almost feel fleeting and make them lasting is something he wishes to do. He knows mortality is also just as fleeting as a moment. Standing here with Cassandra now is a moment he takes in and wants to hold dear.
Of all of the companions in which he keeps company she has somehow brought him into a light that makes him see the living in a new gaze. The possibilities are endless and intense making him question things he never thought to do so before. And as she mentions an 'us' he finds the pink from his cheeks reaching the very tip of his nose.
❝ No, they cannot.❞ a smile comes across his lips genuine and happy, even a little bit shy as he looks to her seeing her as more than just a companion of which they are taking a dangerous journey. But is that a way he can look upon her..?
Very carefully, he reaches out to touch her hand. Soothing, but wanting of her attention.
𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄'𝐒 𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 about the way he looks at this place▬▬not just as a scholar, as someone who seeks knowledge, but as someone who feels it. How she used to look like that at the world, before it all became about saving the world. Before the Lords of Fortune, before she carved out her own path, she was Cassandre Chevalier of Orlais▬▬granddaugther of a noble Chevalier, raised in halls of grandeur where everything had a place and a purpose, including her. Her world had been one of endless expectations, every movement choreographed, every decision made for her before she could so much as take a breath. She had learned to smile where it was required, to bow where it was expected, to speak only when it was appropriate. But she had always longed for more, for something beyond the endless cycle of courtly games and carefully veiled words. Even then, she had dreamed of adventure, of something beyond the confines of gilded walls and politics. She had devoured stories of explorers and warriors, of those who took their fate into their own hands rather than letting it be dictated to them. But dreams had been all they were▬▬until the day she finally left. Until she had found the Lords of Fortune and, with them, a life she could choose rather than endure. Her fingers, calloused from years of wielding bow and quill alike, tighten around the glass case as she lowers her gaze to the flower once more. She lets her gaze lift again when he speaks of the lighthouse, the way it bends and shifts with those who now inhabit it. It is true▬▬the place almost feels sentient in its way, responding, adapting. Perhaps that should be unsettling, but somehow, it is not. Instead, it is an assurance that they are not simply intruders here. That▬▬perhaps▬▬they belong here, for now. And then, he turns to her, that smile brightening, coloring his cheeks in a way that sends warmth curling through her stomach. A chuckle escapes before she can stop it, soft but real, shaking her head as she finally meets his gaze fully. ❝ Non, Emmrich, I do not mind. ❞ The words are quieter, but they carry something honest beneath them, ❝ Eef anything, I envy eet. ❞
She pauses, her brow furrowing slightly, as if unsure whether she should continue. But the words have already started, and stopping now would only make them heavier. ❝ Zat you can still see things zis way. Still wonder. Still... ❞ She exhales, eyes flickering back to the flower for the briefest second before she forces herself to meet his gaze again. ❝ Still find beauty een all of eet, rather zan only seeing what needs to be done. I...I do not remember ze last time I allowed myself zat. ❞ It is more than she intended to say, but she does not take it back. She holds his gaze, drawn in by the way the flickering light still plays across his features, tracing the sharp lines of his face with a warmth that feels almost intimate. And without thinking, without meaning to, she steps closer, her gaze flickering briefly to Manfred before lifting back to Emmrich, muttering, ❝ I feel like I am losing ze sense een seeing ze purpose, for what does eet matter when zere are Gods trying to tear apart all ze beauty zat exists ? ❞
𝑨𝒇𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒍𝒐𝒔𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒔, 𝒉𝒆 𝒕𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒔 𝒕𝒐 𝒕𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒈𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒅, that includes the little things such as taking in the view from the Light House. Even now as he finds himself in comfortable standing and far from poverty he knows that riches are not something that matters to those in the life after - and for now they are simply shiny bobbles that can add a bit to life. But it's not the things that make it worth living - it's more often than not the people and the things one learns along the way. And this experience while certainly heavy on their shoulders and one that could end with the world in utter devastation - it's an opportunity most would never get.
Caught by her words he senses himself smiling softly wanting to encourage and offer her a sense of comfort in the moment.
❝ There is always a form of beauty in chaos, Cassandra. Even after the most devastating of fires, flowers will bloom again. Trees will be born anew. I have to hope that with what we are doing we can show Solas that this world is indeed worth keeping. While it's far from perfect, it's far from the world of which he once knew. As for the others...❞ he takes a moment to breathe in deep and release it slow even noticing she's moved closer to him. He takes a step closer all the same.
❝ What damage they have done and will do can also, I pray, be reversed and allow for a future deserved by those who are still alive. To show that the ones lost were not lost in vain. ❞
𝒉𝒆 𝒅𝒐𝒆𝒔𝒏’𝒕 𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒇𝒕, doesn’t tense, doesn’t act like this is something unfamiliar. Instead, he just lets her lean against him, lets her rest. Feels the weight of her head settle against his shoulder, her breath evening out, and mierda, it does something to his chest▬▬something tight, something unnameable. It isn't what he’s used to. He knows how to fight, how to bleed, how to keep people at arm’s length so they don’t see the cracks. But this ? This, it seems he can do. Just be here. Just stay. She’s warm against him, real in a way that cuts through all the other bullshit. And if staying here like this keeps her from feeling like she’s falling apart, then he’s staying put. He feels the way her fingers tighten around his, just a little. She laughs, soft, and he doesn’t miss the way her voice turns brittle at the edges. It’s funny… she says, but there is no real humor in it. He listens. Doesn’t cut in, doesn’t fill the silence with words that don’t mean shit. Just lets her talk, lets her spill out years of questions she never thought to ask, the weight of it all it must be pressing into her lungs like stone. And when she goes quiet again, when she shifts closer, Lucanis exhales slow through his nose. His free hand lifts▬▬hesitates for just a beat▬▬then settles against her back, fingers pressing firm around her shoulder. A steadying touch. Not pushing, not pulling, just there. ❝ Yeah, ❞ he mutters, voice lower now, ❝ Nothin’ ever does, ❞ His thumb brushes once, slow, against her knuckles before he smirks, just a little. ❝ But if we waited for shit to make sense, we’d never get anythin’ done. ❞ He leans his head back, his own eyes flicking to the dim glow of the room, the fish drifting in their tank like they ain’t got a single care in the world. Mierda, must be nice. No past clawing at their heels, no demon whispering in their ears, no fight that never seems to end. Lucanis exhales slow, watching them, and for a second, he almost envies the mindless ease of it. Because he never had that▬▬not once in his godsdamn life. A killer. A Crow. Nothing but a man with something dark curled up inside him. And maybe that’s why he stays. Why he lets her lean into him. Because she knows what that’s like, doesn’t she ? To have something bigger than yourself hanging over your head, something that changes the way people look at you before you even get the chance to speak.
He tilts his head just slightly, just enough that his cheek brushes against her hair for the briefest moment before he mutters, his jaw ticks slightly, ❝ You don’t owe nobody an explanation for what’s in your blood. You’re still you, Ophelia. They don’t see that, they aren't worth trustin’. For my part, you got me. ❞
𝑯𝒆𝒓 𝒇𝒆𝒆𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝑳𝒖𝒄𝒂𝒏𝒊𝒔 𝒈𝒓𝒆𝒘 𝒅𝒂𝒚 𝒃𝒚 𝒅𝒂𝒚 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒔𝒉𝒆 𝒌𝒆𝒑𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒎 𝒕𝒐 𝒑𝒍𝒂𝒚𝒇𝒖𝒍 𝒒𝒖𝒊𝒑𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒇𝒍𝒊𝒓𝒕𝒔, but the truth is she always felt closer to him than anyone else here with them. Varric aside, of course, as he's family. But Lucanis seems to share so much with you that there is an unspoken bond between them that she finds herself holding on to.
The touch of his hand seems to keep her in this plane of existence where she needs to be. Holding it tight as though she could slip away into the chaos Ophelia turns to look at him with his cheek against her hair. A soft smile appears against her lips as she finds herself moving all the closer to him.
❝ You know, for a crow you are surprisingly fantastic at comfort.❞ she teases him softly. ❝ It also scares me to know that I'm more than I ever thought I'd be. Daughter of the Inquisitor is one though - though no one was ever allowed to know it outside certain circles. It's why I joined the jumpers with another name ... Safety.❞ She sighs heavily it feels like her rib cage trembles within her chest.
❝ And now to know my blood courses with that of a God...Not just any God, the one often used to scare Dalish children into behaving. My mother never used him against me like that, but now I know why.❞ Looking at her free hand as though there is something within it that makes sense in the moment.
❝ I know a lot of families have their problems -- but this is certainly something else. I don't even think the Maker himself saw this coming.❞ and now it's a wonder if he even ever existed, but that's another crisis for another day.
𝐒𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐎𝐄𝐒𝐍'𝐓 𝐀𝐍𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐑 𝐀𝐓 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓. She just watches him, watches the way his smile lingers even as the exhaustion tugs at the edges of it. She hates that he sees her so easily. He calls her Bunny, and it makes her exhale sharply through her nose, her lips pressing together in something between amusement and frustration. As if he needs permission. He’s been calling her that since the moment they met, and every time, it worms its way past her defenses, settling into something almost comforting. She doesn’t let herself sit back down. She doesn’t trust herself to. Her grip tightens around the book at her side as he speaks, as he tries to wave off his injuries. She knows he is trying to make her feel better. That he is brushing off the pain, the near-miss, the way he is stuck in a bed while the rest of them are still moving forward. But she was there. She remembers the blood, the fear, the way her heart had stopped when he hit the ground. That guilt is one she carries every day. And yet, here he is, smiling, telling her she has to take these moments when she can. That there is no perfect time. That love is worth it, even in the chaos of it all. She wants to believe him. But▬▬Maker, how is she supposed to ? Her whole life, she has been running toward something. Toward adventure, toward purpose, toward anything that wasn’t the cold, gilded cage of Orlais. She had left behind the world of tight corsets and painted masks, choosing instead a life filled with meaning, with action. She thought she had figured out who she was. That she had become the kind of woman who could face anything. And yet▬▬ She has never faced this. She has never let herself have something that could be taken away. Not like this. She has loved before, but not like this. Never this deep, never this real. It is something terrifyingly permanent. She lets out a slow breath, shaking her head, her voice quieter when she finally speaks. ❝ And what if I do, Varric ? ❞ Her gaze flickers to him, sharp but uncertain. ❝ What if I let myself ‘ave this, and we lose anyway ? What if I ‘ave to watch ‘im fall ? What if I do ? ❞ Her throat tightens. ❝ What if ‘e ‘as to watch me…? ❞ And just like that, she falls▬▬tumbles headfirst into it.
She has never feared death. She has faced it more times than she can count. For the first time, the thought of dying isn’t just about her. She sighs, heavy, but there’s a small, tired smile that tugs at the corner of her lips. ❝ You know, I used to believe een living een ze moment. That you take what life throws at you, embrace eet, make ze most of eet so you don’t ‘ave regrets. But 'ow do you do eet ? ❞ she asks, curiosity flickering in her eyes despite everything. That part of her never fades. And she won’t lie▬▬her ears did perk up when he mentioned it. That he has loved and lost. She doesn’t doubt it. It’s not hard to imagine. ❝ To love something, knowing you might lose eet ? ❞ Her voice is quieter now, more measured. She tilts her head just slightly, studying him the way she does a story she hasn’t quite unraveled yet. ❝ You said you did. ❞
𝑻𝒉𝒂𝒕'𝒔 𝒓𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕, 𝒉𝒆 𝒅𝒊𝒅 𝒔𝒂𝒚 𝒉𝒆 𝒅𝒊𝒅. He somehow hoped she wouldn't hold on to that part, but she did and now he finds himself looking away. Still he smiles as the memories flood his mind of a Once upon a Time that was nothing like his stories ... no happy ever after at the end of it all. He wishes it did, but he can't find it in his heart to regret it ever happening.
❝ If you find yourself too afraid to let yourself feel anything for anyone, you're not living, Bunny. You're just chained to fear and you're letting it rule you. That doesn't sound like a fun life to lead, if you ask me.❞ He adjusts and sighs, but eyes focused on her determined to make her see that some things you just go after.
❝ You can hide in the 'what ifs' if you want, but how about the what if nothing happens that's bad? What if somehow we make it through all of this and you and Bones are lucky enough to go off and have little babies that Manfred can entertain? ❞ an interesting question to pose, and he can imagine it almost instantly which causes him to chuckle.
❝ Or if the worst does come to pass, you don't want to be about to close your eyes forever regretting the things you didn't do, but you should be smiling for the things you did. ❞ Varric hopes the words he gives her are encouraging to her to follow her heart in the moment, those damned Gods be...well, damned. He says all of this not just because he means it, but because he's almost talking to himself while dodging her statement.
❝ Besides, Bones has spent too much time in the Necropolis, wouldn't hurt to show him a bit of sunshine and what it means to really live. I'd suggest contacting Iron Bull and inviting him over, but I said live, not die from trying to keep up with Bull's ability to drink anyone under a table and into an early grave. ❞
𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐅𝐀𝐂𝐄, her gaze drifts back to the flower in her hands, the glow of it flickering against her fingertips. A fragile thing, yet resilient, much like everything that lingers in this strange place. She wonders if it truly is the only one, if it exists because Solas wills it so, or if it is just another secret waiting to be unraveled. A gentle smile tugs at her lips as her gaze flickers back to his face, searching for something in the way his eyes linger on her with that smile resting on his lips. So calm, so unknowingly disarming▬▬with no jest in it, no teasing lilt. He means it. And that trust settles over her in a way she is not sure she deserves. Nontheless, the gesture settles over her like a warmth, sinking beneath her skin, visbily blooming across her cheeks before she can stop it. ❝ I appreciate your trust een me, ❞ she says softly, fingers tightening ever so slightly around the glass. ❝ And I will. Thank you, Emmrich... . ❞ she holds his gaze a beat longer than necessary, as if there is more she wants to say but cannot bring herself to.
She even feels a pull to step closer to him. But she does not. Instead, the slightest crease forms between her brows, a flicker of hesitation shadowing her features as her dark eyes drop, aware that she’s falling too quiet. A flower is simple to protect▬▬fragile, contained, safe within its glass casing. But the world outside of it is anything but. The lighthouse stands as a beacon, not just in the Fade but for those within it, the ones looking to her for leadership, for guidance. What of them ? What of him ?
𝑺𝒉𝒆 𝒉𝒂𝒔 𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒘𝒏 𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒆𝒍𝒇 𝒕𝒐 𝒃𝒆 𝒕𝒓𝒖𝒔𝒕𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒕𝒉𝒚 but it's not only that. It's what she brings with her when he's around her. He can't even begin to explain it. All he's known since the loss of his parents is the feeling he's had in the Necropolis, in his studies and learning all the things he has about the dead and the tales they tell. With her, with this whole team he's amongst the living, the truly living. It reignites something i n him he thought unfamiliar and foreign, or simply locked away deep and almost forgotten about.
But in her company it's almost born anew, blooming much like the flower. Even as her silence falls he smiles as he looks out across the lighthouse.
❝ This place is so fascinating.❞ so vast and yet it seems like it's like the flower, kept in it's own little glass case. A soft sigh leaves Emmrich as though he studies it for a moment. Such wonders here that he can't explain nor could he simply ask the architect of it. After all, it's him they are after - at least, it's him they will need to worry about aside from his fellow Gods.
❝ Not only the place itself, but the people in it. And to see the light house seem to shape to their -- our needs with just a little bit of assistance. ❞ he says, but then turns to Manfred. ❝ That is not to dismiss Manfred's willingness to carry so many books from the Necropolis. It's true that we are decorating as we see fit, but certainly it seems to be assisting in it's own way. ❞
To Cassandra he turns and he smiles brighter, his cheeks with more color. ❝ You must be tired of my ramblings. I do apologize. ❞
Au based with @wachtraeumen, Rook is the child of the Inquisitor & Solas. The idea came to me after a few threads, and I was reminded of this song.
It's been so long since I've made anything video like ( Do I even want to count the years..? lol no. ) so forgive the quality of this. A mix of both capcut & sony vegas. )
Do not reblog if you are not @wachtraeumen or I'll ruin your day the worst way I possibly can think of.
𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐁𝐑𝐎𝐖𝐒 draw together, almost sadly, as if some part of her wishes she could believe him, wishes she could let herself hold onto that simple truth. But instead, her chest tightens. Because she knows what he’s going to say before he even says it. She watches him as he rises to his feet, slower than usual. Careful. He still moves with the ache of his wounds, the near-miss that could have taken him from them▬▬from her. And it still hurts to see him like this, knowing how close they came to losing him. How close she came to failing him. That guilt settles heavy against her ribs. She carries it every day, the quiet knowledge that there are so many who rely on her now. Varric relies on her. To get this done. And yet, here he is, smiling at her, peeling back the layers she desperately tries to keep in place. Her throat tightens. Perhaps he is right. Perhaps she and Emmrich are good for one another. Perhaps her feelings aren’t just some distraction she should push aside. Because what she feels for him is real. It is genuine in a way she has never known before, in a way that terrifies her with its depth. It isn’t a game. It isn’t a masked ball, where affections are fleeting and safe behind layers of pretense. And she has never been more unprepared. Cassandra exhales sharply, a small, heavy smile tugging at her lips as she finally turns to face him fully. ❝ Per'aps, ❞ she murmurs, the word softer than she means it to be. Honest. Her fingers tighten around the book at her side. ❝ But is eet something I can afford right now ? ❞ She shakes her head, not in dismissal, but in uncertainty. A rare thing for her. ❝ I barely know ‘ow we are going to keel dragons, let alone stop gods from tearing apart the world. ‘Ow am I to figure out what to do with my ‘eart ? ❞ She lets out a quiet, bitter laugh, but there’s no humor in it. Just exhaustion. ❝ We could all die, Varric. I almost lost you. ❞
Once, she had been the kind of woman who lived in the moment. Who embraced everything thrown her way because she refused to waste the time given to her. But now ? Now, all she can do is think of tomorrow. The what-ifs. And for the first time, she wonders if she has already lost herself to them.
𝐇𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬, it's a look that Orlesians usually get when they're contemplating something. For others it's usually how to scam or keep a fortune, or how they're going to punish a servant who put one feather out of place in their hair. For Cassandra it's always something more deep, more meaningful and about everyone else other than herself.
Varric sighs softly.
❝ Bunny...❞ he shifts, sitting up a bit. ❝ May I call you Bunny ? ❞ asking as though he hasn't been calling her since they met. Why does he call her that one may wonder. It's the way she crinkles her nose and hops into action, actually. But for now he keeps to the topic.
❝ Almost, kid. ❞ noted with a smile. ❝ But I'm still here, my story is still going, it's just going from a bed with my leg in a sling. No worse for wear. ❞ He tries to reassure her, but he can still see the concern and worry in her eyes. ❝ I'd say I've had worse than this and I have, but we won't talk about that. It's a little embarrassing. ❞
❝ Take it from someone who has loved and lost -- you gotta take these moments where you can get them. There is no such thing as a perfect time for matters of the heart and besides ; gives you something to fight for, doesn't it? ❞
𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒓𝒆𝒗𝒂𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 hits him like a blade slipping between ribs▬▬silent, sharp, something you don’t notice until you’re already bleeding. His jaw tightens, just a little. Not from anger. Not at her. Never at her. He’s seen what judgement looks like, felt it cut through bone and breath. And he knows, just knows, that’s what she’s expecting now. Lucanis lets out a slow breath through his nose, dragging a hand over his bearded jaw. He doesn’t have some grand revelation to give her, doesn’t have some poetic truth to offer that will make this sit any easier in her gut. But he does know what it’s like to be tied to something dark, something that makes people look at you sideways, like they’re waiting for the moment you show your true colors▬▬waiting to see if you’re worth trusting. His fingers twitch before he realizes he’s still got them near hers, so he tightens his grip▬▬not much, just enough so she feels it. Enough so she knows he isn’t pulling away. ❝ Ehh… merda. ❞ The curse is quiet, muttered under his breath. He drags a hand through his raven hair, then exhales, shaking his head. ❝ Ophelia,… I hope you don't think I'm goin' to sit 'ere an’ look at you different because of dat. ❞ He huffs, tilts his head, ❝ Or dat dis makes you any less you. ❞
His voice gentles, just a little. ❝ And if he doesn’t care ? If it wouldn’t matter to 'im ? ❞ He leans forward again, tilts his head to catch her gaze, furrowing his brows. ❝ Then fuck 'im. ❞ There’s no hesitation, no second-guessing in the way he says it. Just fact. Just the kind of certainty she might need when her own is shaking. He shifts back just a little, like he’s giving her space, like he’s leaving the door open for her to take this how she needs to. She’s important to him, more than he’s willing to say out loud, more than he even knows how to show without feeling like he’s giving too much away.
𝐈𝐭'𝐬 𝐚𝐧 𝐮𝐧𝐟𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐫 𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐞 tied deep into her bones. She holds on to his hand and lets her head fall back against the sofa that she calls her bed. Hearing Lucanis' words make her smile even if it's a ghost of a thing along her lips. He is bringing her comfort, but if he came with coffee then that would make this a little more better.
Not truly, but it would be something. But she will take his company as it does better for her and her heart to have him here with her.
As he speaks of her father, Solas, she chuckles ever so lightly. Soft like a whisper as she turns to look at him. Those soft eyes of his that hold so much. He's had his own share of it all ; betrayal, heartbreak, loss, and the untrusting glances from all around. And yet as she holds his hand and their fingers touch Ophelia finds the most comfort there.
❝ It's funny ... ❞ she says. ❝ I never knew of him, never asked about him. All I knew is that my mother loves him. No past tense of the word. And I always thought to say anything would break her. So, I never did. Even when I knew I was different -- I accepted it, because I was born to two mages. It made sense to me that I'd feel the fade like I do. And now with answers to questions I never thought to ask nothing makes sense.❞
And now she fears she'll lose the trust she's gained because of him, because of this, even though her mission is still the same. Stop him. Stop the gods.
She shifts in her spot and finds herself putting her head down against Lucanis' shoulder because she wants the closeness. She wants to feel something that isn't spinning.
𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒊𝒔 𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒆𝒍 𝒊𝒏 𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒃𝒐𝒏𝒆𝒔, fire in her heart▬▬her mother’s fire, her mother’s stubbornness. And his own. She wields it like a weapon, turning it against him, as she should. Therefore, her anger does not surprise him. He expects it, perhaps even welcomes it. Anger is easier than sorrow. Anger does not beg for reconsideration. He exhales, but there is no trace of humor, no relief in the breath he releases. Only weight. He can hear the echoes of the past in her voice, from a woman who once stood where Ophelia stands now. A woman who fought to understand him, to love him, even when he had already decided he could not afford to love her in return. It is not the accusation that cuts, but the familiarity of it. A thread of the same grief he has carried for too long. He has long since learned how to suppress such emotions, to let them surface only for the briefest of moments before casting them aside. There is no room for hesitation. He does not move. He should not listen. He should not let it in. And yet▬▬he lets himself feel it, just for a moment. Love. Love was never enough. Love did not save her. Love did not change what had to be done. She does not understand. How could she ? To her, it is a betrayal. To him, it was a means to an end. A sacrifice among many. It would not end for a friend who had once tried, in vain, to pull him back from the brink, nor for the woman who had loved him despite the ruin he carried. Not even for the child who shares his blood. ❝ You think I do this for myself ? ❞ his voice is quiet, but a flicker of tension pulls at his jaw, the barest crack in an otherwise unshaken exterior, ❝ I let her die, because I had already doomed her the moment she loved me. ❞ A storm brews in his gaze, not of rage, that darkens his expression, but of the truths too bitter to voice. Not directed at her. No, she is merely the one who has forced him to face it. ❝ You know nothing of what I have lost. What I have chosen to lose. ❞
He should not say more. But he does. Because she is standing there, tearing open wounds he had long since closed. Wound that will never heal, no matter how much he bleeds for the world he will make anew. No, he will not let it stop him▬▬not now. So he turns from her, closing himself off once more, lifting his arm with the dagger poised toward the Veil. He has come too far, lost too much. There is no turning back. Not for her. Not for anyone. ❝ To stop now would dishonor those I have wronged to come this far. ❞
𝐒𝐡𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐝𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫, as there is no changing DNA. There is so much of him that runs through her veins as much as her mother and now she sees it all too clearly. Just how much of her there is in her ; what of her is made up by him. And it kills her knowing that it doesn't matter. Not this time. Maybe, somewhere in another universe it would have counted for something but here he is still so determined to do this. Tear down the veil, kill them all. Not all, he's managed to reduce the damage done. And yet people will still die, because as he said that's what they do.
❝ And did you not love her in return , Dread Wolf? ❞ Ophelia's voice shakes but she stands determined, focused, and she will not give way to the feeling that brews inside her simply because he is her father. She owes him nothing just as he owes her nothing. Except maybe a life to live, to lead, that he wishes to tear away from so many for mistakes he made in his past.
❝ If not for yourself then who? You are the one so determined to fix your mistakes no matter the cost of it. Mistakes are made so we can learn, so we can grow, but you let yours hold you like chains. Do you not see it ? ❞ she asks, her voice strong though cracking. ❝ You are nothing more than a slave to your past. Free yourself only to become one all over again, just to another master.❞
He proclaims she knows nothing of his loss and she looks at him in disbelief. ❝ You wish to compare losses ? ❞ she asks him, shaking her head. ❝ I will not play such a shallow game of who has lost the most , not when you stand there willing and ready to take away my world, my life ! ❞ Ophelia finds herself screaming.
❝ To continue would be a dishonor to them, do you not see that ? The wrongs are not all yours. Mythal carries more than half of it, you did what you did because you did so for a friend, letting yourself sacrifice everything for her. Have you not given enough to repent for crimes that were not wholly yours? ❞
𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒂𝒕𝒄𝒉𝒆𝒔 𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒇𝒕, the small smile she throws his way. It ain’t right. He’s seen it too many times before to fall for it now. She jokes, and he snorts. ❝ Eh, I dunno. I think-a Varric might bounce. ❞ He flicks a glance toward the window, like he’s actually considering the logistics of chucking a dwarf off a lighthouse. A joke, light, easy▬▬but he knows she’s masking something under all that humor. And then she drops it, piece by piece. Identity crisis. Leadership. Trust. Godsdamn gods. He doesn’t move at first. Just leans forward a little, elbows on his knees, watching her. He knows what it’s like, to feel like the ground’s shifting under your feet, like nothing is what you thought it was. To wonder if the people standing beside you are gonna look at you different when they find out the whole truth. It ain't a good feeling. And it sure as hell ain’t one he’d wish on her. Because he’s been there. Is there. Carrying his own demons, and one with real sharp teeth and a voice that don’t ever shut up. People see him and they see Spite, and they assume the worst. That he’s dangerous. That he’s got no control. ❝ Y’know, ❞ he says, voice lower now, more even, ❝ there is not a soul in this place who don’t got complicated stamped all over ‘em. ❞ He gestures, a lazy wave of his hand like that explains every single person they ride with. ❝ You think you’re the only one tryin’ ta figure out where the hell you fit in all this? We’re all makin’ it up as we go. ❞
He is not telling her not to be afraid. Fear’s smart. Fear keeps you from being reckless, from making mistakes that get people killed. But he’s trying to tell her she isn’t alone in it. That none of them got the answers. That nobody expects her to have ‘em either. He watches her a moment longer before shifting forward, resting his forearms on his knees. His fingers brush lightly over hers where they rest between them▬▬not quite taking her hand, but enough for her to feel the heat of his skin. ❝ Rook… ❞ he murmurs, voice quieter now, meant just for her. ❝ You think I don’t see you, fightin’ so hard to be what everyone needs ? But what about what you need ? ❞ His thumb brushes absently against her knuckles before he exhales, drawing back, letting the space settle between them again. ❝ I know dere's is more. ❞
𝑶𝒉, 𝒔𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅𝒏'𝒕 𝒍𝒂𝒖𝒈𝒉, but the thought of him bouncing is a funny sight to imagine, especially across the light house and in the fade. Where he'll go, no one will know. Maybe he'll somehow pop back out through the Eluvian. She has to cover her mouth because the very thought will make her laugh too hard - and maybe that's what she needs right now. A good laugh ; but she fears that laughter will turn into tears and she hasn't cried in years.
She's not sure she can do it now.
But Lucanis offers her the sweetest of words and reassurances. What she needs? Feeling his touch on her hand she looks down and then back to him.
❝ There is. ❞ she tells him, just taking in the feeling of his hand on hers as though she needs that to anchor her her into place. And she does need it because everything feels as though at any given moment everything will turn.
❝ Solas, he's...not just in my head, nor is he just the God of Lies and trickery depending on the story...❞ Ophelia looks up at the tank before her watching as the fish swim around without a single care in the world, or the fade as it were. A slow careful breath taken to ease her nerves.
❝ ... He's my father. ❞
Ophelia goes silent, shutting her eyes. She awaits the judgement that might be cast upon her for this ; not that she chose this for herself. She had no choice at the end of the day with any of it.
❝ Worse yet, I'm sure that if he knew it wouldn't matter to him at all...❞
𝐒𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐒 as he speaks of the Fade, of the flower’s possible properties, of the mysteries that shape this place into something both ethereal and unknowable. His curiosity is infectious, his musings unraveling in a way that makes her own mind wander. She used to be like this▬▬filled with wonder, always seeking, always moving. But now, she has not even noticed how much she has lost sight of the little things, the simple joys that once made her heart stir. Perhaps that is why she finds herself so drawn to him. Emmrich, with his endless fascination, his way of marveling at the world as if he has not yet been hardened by it. He still questions, still wonders, still lets himself be swept away by the beauty of a mystery simply for the sake of it. It is easy to be pulled into that orbit, to let herself remember what it feels like to pause, to listen, to allow herself even a moment’s indulgence in something that is not dire or necessary. When he speaks, she listens▬▬not just out of habit, but because she wants to. Often, she does not even realize when her lips begin to curve into a small, lingering smile. Even now, as he muses aloud, she finds herself considering his words, trying to find the answers with him. Her gaze drifts for a moment, catching sight of Manfred hunched over something, hissing happily at whatever small treasure he has unearthed now. Cassandra tilts her head slightly, amusement flickering across her face. He is ever the eager explorer, finding delight where others might see nothing at all. She is not sure what he has discovered, but the little creature’s enthusiasm is infectious in its own way. Then, as Emmrich continues, she shifts her focus back to him just in time to catch the subtle press of his lips, the flicker of mild exasperation that softens into something almost fond. ❝ I think ‘e will never learn, non ? But I suppose that makes ‘im who ‘e is. A troublemaker, but a charming one. ❞ Her laughter is light with a fondness and warmth in the way she glances at Manfred once more before returning her focus to Emmrich, the corner of her lips still faintly curved. She does not expect what comes next. Emmrich lifts the flower, the faint glow of it casting delicate patterns across his fingers. As he turns to her, the soft light catches in his eyes, and she watches▬▬caught as the flickering glow plays across his face, tracing the sharp angles softened by the moment. For a fleeting second, she is still▬▬not because it is something so rare like he said, but because it is from him. Her fingers brush against the glass as she reaches out, cradling it gently as if it might vanish under her touch. The warmth of his hands lingers on the smooth surface of the glass, and for a second, she simply studies the delicate shift of color within the petals.
❝ Are you sure ? ❞ she asks, her voice quieter now, hesitant. Her dark eyes, catching the soft glow of the flower, lift to meet his, searching,▬▬while a slow warmth creeps across her cheeks now. ❝ I would not take eet eef you wish to keep eet… ❞
𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒊𝒔 𝒔𝒐 𝒎𝒖𝒄𝒉 𝒉𝒆 𝒌𝒏𝒐𝒘𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒔𝒐 𝒎𝒖𝒄𝒉 𝒉𝒆 𝒅𝒐𝒆𝒔𝒏'𝒕 and that will always keep him going. There is always something to learn , so many things to discover. And with Manfred to teach as well. As she mentions Manfred he turns to watch him digging, looking for something and he just smiles.
❝ Oh, but he is always learning. It's making it stick that seems to be the problem.❞ he jokes but he is still proud of him nevertheless.❝ Such is a spirit of curiosity. Perhaps in time he'll surprise us but it may be a slow process.❞ and he wonders if he will be here for all of it. But he doesn't want to bring the moment down with his dark thoughts about death which he is aware is strange for a necromancer. he's been told several times over. So instead he focuses on the now and the moment they are in and what it means to him.
❝ I'm most certain.❞ he says with a smile, giving his head a nod. ❝ Something like this, while curious is too beautiful to simply take and study. If I find another then I will conduct experiments to see what properties it holds, but for now...? To take the first one when it could be the only one and and not preserve it would be reckless. And I am certain if anyone can keep it safe and appreciate it's beauty ...❞
Emmrich smiles to Cassandra, a soft blush on his cheeks.
❝ It is you. ❞
𝐂𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐑𝐀 𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐖𝐒 𝐁𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑. She should know better. An Orlesian of her standing is supposed to play this game with ease▬▬to dance around the subject, to mask feelings with charm and wit, to never let anyone see what truly stirs beneath the surface. She tries▬▬really tries▬▬to keep her expression schooled, to hold onto that carefully placed poise she was raised with, but her heart betrays her. It always does. Too easy to read. She has always been too transparent when it comes to the matters of the heart. She has spent her life observing, watching. A keen eye, sharp and trained, picking up on the smallest shifts in tone, the tiniest changes in body language. But herself ? Non. She is terrible at seeing herself. Her fingers tighten around the book still held in her lap as she exhales through her nose. And then▬▬because she cannot sit still under his gaze any longer▬▬she pushes herself up from where she sits. The movement is swift but not abrupt. She hopes it looks natural, that Varric won’t take it as the retreat it is. Her lips part, and for a moment, all she can do is stare at him before a helpless scoff escapes her throat. She places a hand over her chest in mock delight, though the way her fingers press against the fabric betrays her. A nervous tick. Her stomach flips. A rush of heat floods her face. There is no escape. Varric tickles▬▬that is the word for it. He prods, gently, persistently, unrelenting. Not out of cruelty, but because he sees, because he already knows▬▬and because he will always get it out of someone, no matter how well they think they can dodge. Perhaps that is why he is so damn good at what he does. Not just in writing, but in everything else▬▬the things no one else steps up to do. She inhales, exhales, tries to will her pulse back to something normal. ❝…Strictly professional, ❞ she echoes at first, a desperate attempt at feigning nonchalance. But the words taste wrong even as they leave her mouth. Because how could she possibly ignore what she feels ?
She is not some naive little girl swept up in a fleeting fancy. She knows herself. And yet▬▬ ❝ Eet is just▬▬ ❞ She stops herself, clicking her tongue, dark brows furrowing as she shifts her weight. ❝ I ‘ave never felt… ❞ She exhales sharply, shaking her head. ❝ Eet does not matter.❞ She does worry, though. About what he sees when he looks at her. Not just Emmrich▬▬Varric. Because if Varric sees it, then Emmrich must, too. That under it all, she is fragile in ways she cannot afford to be▬▬not now, not with what they are up against, not when gods are moving like unseen hands on a game board she was never meant to play on. She has never fought for a world on the brink of breaking. And she has never felt her heart threaten to break with it.
𝑯𝒆 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒔 𝒃𝒆𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒂𝒃𝒍𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅 𝒑𝒆𝒐𝒑𝒍𝒆, all the while writing a mystery or two. Those around him he'd rather know and keep whatever secrets he can in his stories. With Bunny it's pretty easy though he wouldn't dare tell her such a thing. After all it would be on the side of 'rude' to call her out on her obvious feelings for Emmrich. And how she seems to play almost the role of a doting figure to the one they call Manfred, or Fred if you're Neve.
Varric lets out a hearty chuckle as she seems to stand and attempt to dance around it in true Orlesian fashion. Though she never fell into the steps of a perfectly choreographed dance of those tight-corset people. Cassandra often moved to the beat of her own music and not necessarilly a drum. It could be whatever she wanted but she'd do it with her own kind of elegance that is to be admired and respected.
Varric did just that.
❝ Oh, it matters Bunny. ❞ the dwarf notes as he stands slowly up along side of her, still sore from everything he's been through. The wound from his chest that narrowly missed something important still aches like the pit of many variations of hell. But getting stabbed with a God Dagger of Lyrium will do that to anyone. Or just being stabbed at all and he's simply being dramatic because he can be.
It's not like he's capable of much else while in recovery.
❝ You two fit together like two puzzle pieces, yet neither one of you can see just how good you are for the other. I can't tell you how many times I've seen it happen.❞ and the way he smiles.
❝ You can't find that feeling in it's genuine form in a book. Trust me, I've tried.❞
𝒅𝒊𝒅 𝒉𝒆 𝒌𝒏𝒐𝒘? There is no hesitation. No faltering of breath or shift of expression to betray uncertainty. Of course, he knew. The moment her blood touched the Veil, when her existence rippled through the Fade like an echo of something familiar yet long abandoned, he had known. A tether formed, undeniable, unshaken. He had felt the shape of her magic, the rhythm of her soul brushing against the ancient fabric of his own. A remnant of a choice he once made▬▬a choice he had long since cast aside. There is no need to feign surprise, nor to indulge in sentimentality. That part of him, the one that might have lingered at the idea of her, at the thought of a life beyond the ruin he has committed himself to, has no place here. It died along with the dream of what could have been, buried beneath the weight of all he must undo. His gaze lingers on her▬▬studious, discerning, but distant. She bears the Inquisitor’s fire, the same spirit, though tempered by something rawer. Something that is his. He wonders if she has ever realized how deeply the Fade has always known her, how the spirits have whispered around her, drawn to her. Just as they had once been drawn to him. But it does not change the path before him. It does not change what he must do. ❝ The moment your blood marked the Fade, I knew. ❞ His voice is quiet, but there is no softness in it. No warmth. A truth he has held alone, just as he has held all his truths. But it was not knowledge that mattered. Not in the way she wishes it did. What good would it have done ? To turn back, to waver, to burden himself with yet another shackle in a world already so bound by chains ? He has spent centuries severing ties, unraveling bonds that would tempt him to hesitation. Why would he stop now ?
❝ Do you believe it would have changed anything ? ❞ His head tilts slightly, studying her with a measure of curiosity, but his expression does not waver. ❝ What has already been done, what is still to come. ❞ Perhaps it is cruel to say it aloud, but cruelty is no stranger to him. It is a necessary wound, a reminder of what neither of them can afford to grasp. He will not mourn what could have been. And he will not allow her to become another reason to falter. There is no going back. Not for him. Not for them. ❝ This path was set long before you were born. ❞ His gaze does not leave hers. ❝ And I will see it to its end. ❞
𝑺𝒉𝒆 𝒏𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒉𝒂𝒅 𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔 of who she is. Even when she felt like there was something uncertain and different about her she simply chalked it up to being the daughter of two elven mages. That her connection to the fade was something similar to all mages and in that touch the veil was just something of a tingle yet quiet and nothing important in her veins. Not like to her mother who had the anchor, or to her father.
Her father.
Her heart is pounding hard in her chest as she faces him down. It changes nothing - she knows that. But despite not knowing him as her father and just the dread wolf, a god that had to be stopped it causes her heart to break in his presences. He has known this whole time and yet he said nothing and he still locked her in the prison of his making just to get out.
Anything to play the hero, Varric once told her.
❝ You know, mum was right about you. ❞ she says calmly. ❝ Stubborn and infuriating -- she said the same about me. Though I wasn't trying to bring chaos and destruction to the world, I kept it to the Throne room of Skyhold. ❞ though her sense of humor wouldn't detour this, or save her from the pain that she feels in her chest as she looks to him. She can see his eyes - her eyes.
❝ Nor did I try to trap my own flesh and blood in a fade prison! ❞ It's safe to say a grudge would be held against that even if the world would end in moments time.
❝ This path is set by a man who is weighed down by his own guilt...the death of a friend..? What about the woman you loved who still despite everything -- all these years, still loves you! You let her die, and for what?! To quell your own ego? ❞
𝒍𝒖𝒄𝒂𝒏𝒊𝒔 𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒏𝒔 𝒂𝒈𝒂𝒊𝒏𝒔𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒅𝒐𝒐𝒓𝒘𝒂𝒚, arms crossed, one boot braced against the frame. He ain't the kind to linger outside a door, least of all hers. But here he is, standing in the dim light of the lighthouse, fingers twitching at his sides like they’re waiting on orders his body won’t give. He doesn’t knock. Just listens. His brows pull together. Lucky ain't a word he’d ever use to describe himself, or any of them. Not when they’re out here, standing on the edge of something bigger than they can grasp, trying to hold back a tide that don’t give a shit about how hard they fight. But her voice▬▬Ophelia’s voice▬▬it’s different tonight. He knows the way she sounds when she’s frustrated, when she’s teasing, when she’s got that spark in her eyes that makes it too damn easy to forget the mess they’re in. This ain't that. This is… something else. Something in her tone makes his gut twist. He doesn’t like it. He doesn’t like this. She doesn’t get quiet like this. Even in the worst of it, she’s always had that sharp bite to her words, that fight buried in her bones…in those eyes. But this ? This sounds like someone who’s running on empty, and he knows damn well what happens when people get there. He’s seen it. He’s been it. People got their ghosts, their demons, their shit they don’t want no one touching. He’s got no right to pick at hers. But does he want to. Wants to step in, sit down beside her, figure out what the hell’s going on. Then she says it. ❝If Varric knew about this, I'm going to throw him from the roof of this lighthouse.❞ Lucanis exhales slow, lips twitching despite himself. Figures now’s a good a time as any. So, he steps inside. ❝ Dere’s more delicate ways ta get rid of someone, y’know ❞ His voice is lighter than he feels, like he’s trying to draw her back to something easier. Because she’s not fine. Because she’s so damn far from fine he doesn’t even know where to start. He leans against the back of a chair, close enough that she knows he’s there but not so close that she feels cornered. He’s not that good at the whole comforting thing▬▬never has been▬▬but he can be here. He can do that much.
He’s seen her hold her own against dragons, gods, the kind of shit that makes most people turn tail and run. He keeps his movements slow. Never one to press, never one to pry. But she’s too distant tonight, and that’s not normal▬▬not for her. His eyes flick to hers, searching. ❝ You wanna tell me what’s eatin’ you, or we just gonna pretend you are not lookin' like death warmed over ? ❞ His voice is rough, not unkind. He’s not pushing. Not really. But she’s pulling away, and he doesn’t like it. He doesn’t like feeling like he’s watching someone slip through his fingers and not knowing how to stop it. He watches her, waits. Maybe she’ll talk. Maybe she won’t. But either way, he’s not going anywhere.
𝐒𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝𝐧'𝐭 𝐛𝐞 𝐬𝐨 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐧𝐞𝐚𝐤𝐬 𝐢𝐧 ; 𝐡𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐰. Assassin by trade. To make himself unaware is part of the job, but she would also like to think she stays on her toes ... just not today. As he says there is a more delicate way to get rid of someone she sits herself back up , looking over the sofa with a hint of a surprised expression and gentle smile.
❝ Oh, I don't doubt it, but have you ever seen a dwarf fly before? Might just be a sight to see. ❞ she says with the humor that she uses to mask just about everything. Taught to her by uncles and even her 'auntie Sera' even if she and her mother do not get along all that well. She's still somehow family. Though there was scorn when she taught Ophelia that one of the best ways to attack someone unsuspecting is with bees. Not exactly subtle. But what is on her heart weighs heavy. Unlike anything she's felt before.
She thought the task at hand itself was something, but now there is more to it ... and it makes Ophelia ache in ways she wishes she could stop. It's a debate on whether or not she tells everyone on the team what it is she's learned. Would they look at her differently..? Would they wonder if she's now working with instead of against everything to stop it from happening.
If anyone understands that, it's Lucanis. After all, he gets questioned for Spite more often than not. Though if anyone paid much attention Spite is akin to a toddler than an actual demon. Though frustrating, prone to his outbursts it seems that he and Lucanis are slowly starting to come to an understanding.
Could she be so lucky with her own demons?
❝ I'm simply having an identity crisis. Everything I thought I knew about myself has just been made more...complicated.❞ and she felt that was putting it lightly.
❝ From Veil Jumper to leader to taking down darkspawn, Gods, and now...❞ Ophelia frowns. ❝ I had a hold on everything , but now everything seems more distorted than it had a moment ago. And I'm afraid ; I already feel like I'm walking a thin line on this leadership thing and I'm still gaining everyone's trust. This...this will certainly throw a wrench into it. ❞
She's being vague, but how does she say the words...?
𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐄 of a treasure hunter had always been one of unpredictability, and that suited Cassandra just fine. Leaving Orlais had been the best decision she ever made, trading gilded cages and suffocating expectations for the thrill of adventure with the Lords of Fortune. She had set her own rules, shaped her own destiny, sought out treasures not for wealth, but for the sheer exhilaration of the find. And yet, even with all the relics and lost wonders she had come across, nothing quite prepared her for this▬▬hunting down dragons and gods. It was madness, truly, but how could she have said no when the plea had come from Varric ? Some things were simply not up for debate. This evening, however, is a moment of reprieve. A breath of air away from strategies and dangers, a chance to simply exist without the weight of what looms ahead pressing down on her shoulders. She steps out from the lighthouse, craving the somewhat salty breeze, the openness of the world outside these stone walls. It is then that she hears her name, the voice unmistakable, calling to her with enthusiasm. Emmrich. Her head turns, and as soon as her gaze lands on him, a smile stretches across her weary features, lighting them up despite her exhaustion. There is something about him▬▬about his presence, his mind, his way of viewing the world▬▬that draws her in every time. Even now, as he gestures for her to join him, she does not hesitate, her steps unhurried yet certain. Manfred is close by, his energy ever boundless, still observing the area with his usual eagerness. Cassandra spares him a glance, fond amusement flickering across her face before her attention shifts to what Emmrich wants to show her. A flower, glowing softly behind glass, its colors shifting like a prism in the midday light. Her heart-shaped lips part slightly in awe, fingertips grazing the edge of the case as she takes in the sheer delicacy of it. ❝ I cannot say I ‘ave, ❞ she murmurs, voice colored with fascination. ❝ But nature truly ‘olds the most beautiful treasures. ❞
The warmth of her words is genuine, though her eyes are drawn back to Emmrich as he clears his throat. There is something in the way he stands, in the way his pale cheeks take on the faintest hint of pink, that makes her want to smile all the more. And so she does, soft and knowing, before her lips curl into a smirk, as her gaze turns back to Manfred.
❝ Are you sure 'e did not just stepped on eet like ‘e does een the gardens ? ❞ she arches a dark brow, her tone laced with lightheartedness. She teases, of course, because she knows how much he adores Manfred▬▬and truth be told, she does too. There is an undeniable fondness in the way she regards them both. She relishes these moments, these exchanges where intellect meets curiosity, where Emmrich’s mind unfurls like the pages of a well-loved book, spilling knowledge with an ease that never fails to captivate her. His words carry a calmness that contrasts so vividly with her own restless nature, and yet it is precisely that balance that intrigues her. He makes her listen in a way few ever have. It is effortless, magnetic, something she has yet to put a name to, but she does not resist it.
𝐇𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 ; 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐬 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐭. True, Bellara also offers up her own enthusiasm just the same but she has her own things to deal with, such is the archive the young elven woman seems to be bickering with more often than not. He'd love to help her, but that is far from his specialty. This though, this is something he can use as downtime though some might consider it still, work.
❝ I always knew the fade to be full of secrets and wonders, but I had no idea just how mesmerizing things could be. Such as the flora that is to be found, I wonder what kind of properties a flower like this may hold. Healing? A random magical property...poison, perhaps? ❞ though the thought of something so beautiful being deadly doesn't surprise him in the slightest.
As she asks about Manfred he smiles. ❝ Oh no, this time he was very careful, he seems more partial to stepping on roses and lilacs, which I'm still trying to teach him not to do.❞ there is an almost disappointed sigh like a father about a child - which is safe to say that they are like that, aren't they? He and Manfred.
After looking to the flower once more he turns to Cassandra, his smile unwavering. ❝ I do wonder if this something that naturally occurs in every part of the Fade, or only here at Solas' lighthouse. They do not bloom in bunches, it seems they may be scattered far and few in between...leaves much to a curious mind. If every intricate detail of this place is because Solas wishes it to be...? ❞ he asks to no one, but it's a question still out on the open nevertheless. Pulling himself back from his thoughts, he takes the flower and gently hands it to her in it's glass case. The pink still shading his pale cheeks as though it's more than just a simple offering.
❝ Perhaps you'd like this for decoration? I can always find another sample. Or, perhaps Manfred can.❞
