12/1/25 - Username on AO3 changed from Serstolas to NecromanticSoul
Tracking current WIP on this Google doc
My Tag List -if you want to be added or removed just comment/like or DM me.
My "canon" DA characters
Melinoe Tabris
Marian Hawke
Zubin Adaar
Athos Ingellvar
Crossroads Island AU Rooks (Crossroads Island Master post from hedwigoprah)
Athos (Bio, Aesthetic, Inspiration)
Tempest (Bio, Aesthetic)
Other Dragon Age OCs Doc
SWTOR
Dash'iell, Cipher 9 - Imp agent
Darth Jasnak x Theron Shan - Sith Inquisitor
Kandakke x Torian Cadera - Bounty Hunterl
The Astor Legacy
Inaāmelāastor (Amelas) - Knight Inaāgintarāastor (Agintaras) - Smuggler
Inaāspiroāastor (Aspiroas) - Counsular
Inaāzillāastor (Azillas) - Imp agent
comission of the 4 Chiss siblings together by @kogarashi-art
Other SWTOR OCs Doc
World Of Warcraft Mains
Astaryal Embersoul - BE Warlock
Aldora - Haranir Druid
Gizella Veilsong - VE Demon Hunter
In with my third FenHawke Week (@fenhawke-week) contribution, and back on art because, like I said, I'm alternating each day.
When I saw the prompt, the first thing I thought of was one of them comforting the other after a nightmare. I love the idea of Fenris being the one offering comfort in this case, and what do you know, I've given Aelinn (my Hawke) the perfect reason to have a night terror: she's a huge arachnophobe. Like, maybe even more than the games indicate.
And what does she help deal with in Inquisition? A massive demon spider in the form of the Nightmare Demon. I'm convinced she was having regular nightmares of that thing for weeks after.
So here we have Fenris with his Blue Wraith hair, comforting her after another nighttime reliving of the horror of facing off against the Nightmare, as they travel together to Weisshaupt to confront the First Warden about Warden-Commander Clarel's actions.
A small tug at his hip was all that announced to Illario that his niece had decided to join him on the balcony. Like her mother Rook, she was unnaturally quiet, a skill even more remarkable in an estate full of people renowned for their ability to notice the smallest sounds. It was early evening, and the sun hung over the bay beyond the canals in a soft orange and pink that would soon fade to purples and blues. Looking down, he found big, round, solemn lavender eyes looking back into his own.
"That is a very serious face, my heart," he gave her a smile and tousled her black hair, thick and straight, just like her father's. "What is there today to be so thoughtful about?"
"Tio Spite said I should come find you," she said, slipping a small hand into his own, hers bare against his leather gloves. He supposed she was probably used to that, with the many Crows in her life who wore gloves even at home as a precaution and habit. The bustle of the house below told him her likely errand, but he remembered being six and being trusted to deliver very important information to an adult, and he knew his role.
"Oh, and what did the esteemed spirit want of me? Some recommendations on the purchase of his next cloak? Advice on how to best polish his shoes?"
"No," Viola shook her head, giving his hand a squeeze and pulling him back into the house. "He doesn't get to wear them. Papa is the one who wears them."
"That is true, and Lucanis could still use my assistance, but that is neither here nor there," Illario laughed, and allowed himself to be tugged along towards the hallway. "Then perhaps the First Talon needs me to play a song to help him sleep? He could use some rest, he works very hard."
"Your songs are too exciting to sleep through!" Viola stopped and scrunched her nose at him. "Mama says we're only allowed to ask you before dinner. Because of the bedspread last time."
"Your mother is probably right," Illario gave her a serious nod, and started down the stairs. "I don't think the maids like it when things get burned during exciting stories. Even if we did not mean to, and magic is difficult at your age. That has sadly not changed since I was a boy."
"But that does not answer the question, little flower," Illario smiled as they rounded the corner towards the family apartments, and stopped to face her, crouching down so they were eye level. "What important news do you have for me that could not wait until the sun had set? Did Viago finally decide to stage a coup?"
"Tio Illario!" Viola stomped her little foot, looking every inch like a very tiny Dellamorte matriarch. "You are doing it all wrong! You have to let me tell you!"
"My apologies, my treasure," Illario gave her a smile and a nod as he could hear a bustle of activity in the apartments beyond. "You are correct. I am ruining your very important errand. Come, tell me what you have to share and I promise I will listen most carefully."
"I get to be a sister!" Viola smiled wide, the joy radiating out of her face piercing Illario straight through the heart. His too serious niece, like her too serious father, was just as transformed by this bit of overwhelming happiness. Her face so much like a small Lucanis that for a moment he could feel his own feelings tangle with hers , just as warm and uncomplicated. "Twice!"
"Twice?" Illario squinted theatrically at Viola, and took both of her hands in his as she practically vibrated in excitement. "How does that work? Does that mean I am thrice an uncle? Or Viago is three times as much of a grumpy old man?"
"It means that you will be late to meet the newest members of your family if you spend any more time loitering in the hallway, Dellamorte," Viago drawled from further down the hallway. "You take too much time and I may have to claim them for my House."
"Well we can't have that," Illario stood smoothly and gave Viago a wink he knew would infuriate the man, then looked back down. "Alright, Viola. How about you take me in to introduce me to our new family. We can make sure to tell them all of the best of our stories."
This is from a NEARLY completed one-shot that will be an entry in a larger series of short stories from the DA universe I'm writing. It'll be the first entry and I'm excited to be able to post it soon.
I really enjoy Ashur x Tarquin. They're a great dynamic with fun chemistry. But part of this series is practice at creating characters and diversifying the type of OCs I make. Thus, Still the shadow dragon was created. This excerpt is of Still and Tarquin reuniting after a month apart.
And then, they were two men alone. Black eyes and brown locked to each other once more. The air felt heavy, and the world around Still narrowed down until all it contained was the pair of them. In the next moment, Still jumped across the table, throwing his arms around Tarquin who staggered backward, barely keeping his footing. When Tarquin's arms fell around him, pulling Still close to his chest, the elven rogue felt tears threaten at the corners of his eyes, and closed them tight. He buried his face in his lover's neck and breathed in the smell of salt air and ink that lingered there. Neither man spoke for a very long time, only held the other as tight as possible, as if by doing so they might become one. Here he was, the reason Still rode for Minrathous as soon as he was called, warm and real in his arms once more. He sighed and worked one of his hands into Tarquin's long, dark hair. The other hand trembled as it gripped the back of his coat.
"Please, don't be cross with me. I don't care how dangerous the plan is, it brought me back here, to you." he whispered when his voice at last returned.
"You were due back in a week." Tarquin's voice was gruff, his words mumbled into Still's shoulder. His leather armor creaked under the intensity of the other man's embrace. "Ashur could've waited, could've picked someone elseā¦"
"I couldn't wait another week, vhenan!" Still interrupted him. His voice crackled with emotion and he released his grip on Tarquin's hair and coat, taking his face in both hands instead. His love's eyes widened, still bewitching despite the shadows beneath them. Tarquin pressed his lips together and swallowed, turning his head into Still's palm. He closed his eyes with long, slow, sigh that gusted over his shaking hand.
"It's already been a month. I couldn't wait." He repeated, barely above a whisper. "Every second I've been away from you stretched horribly, like I was trapped in amber."
I kind of wanted to do a bunch of art for FenHawke Week (@fenhawke-week) like I did for Rookanis Week back in February. On the other hand, I also don't have as much fic stuff written for Aelinn Hawke and Fenris as I do for my other DA ladies. So, I decided that since FenHawke Week is eight days, I'd alternate art and fic. (Also, that way, I don't drive myself absolutely batty trying to jam out eight art pieces on limited time.)
So for today, I decided to go with the "Grief" prompt and write a ficlet for these two. Sorry, this is sad, but it's the saddest fic day for the week, if that helps?
This is set just after Leandra's death. Hawke is grieving. She and Fenris are already in their "Act II breakup" phase of the relationship.
Grief
(1,301 words)
Read on AO3
The oppressive silence in the Hawke Estate loomed over Fenris like an angry ghost, scratching at his nerves with ragged claws.
Hawkeās home should have been boisterous. Warm. Full of life and laughter. Visiting friends. Loving family. Respected staff. A place the people in her circle could call comfort, could call a second home.
Instead, the grand fireplace in the main hall stood dark and cold, ashes scattered across the floor like something had been raked out recently but no one had cleaned after. Letters piled up on the sideboard, beneath a bare spot on the wall where a portrait had once hung. Hawke and her family, when she was younger, Fenris thought, but couldnāt quite recall for certain. Faulty memory, perhaps.
Guilt at not paying more attention to his one-time loverās home, more likely.
The soft pat of his bare feet on the floor seemed to thunder in the lonely space. Fenrisās lips thinned into a hard line. The others should have been there.
He should have been there sooner.
But no, Varric had to prod him out of his own self-pity to even convince him to come, and after all the pretty arguments of who was best suited and who might just make things worse and who Hawke really wanted to see, the only thing that had finally convinced Fenris was the promiseāthreat?āthat if he didnāt step up, Anders would.
And, even though Hawke had thrown out Varric and even shouted at Merrillāand she never shouted at Merrillāand even though Fenris was probably the last person she wanted in her home, he now stood at the bottom of the stairs and hated himself for hesitating.
Orana appeared briefly in the hallway that led to the kitchens, holding a tray of food. Their eyes met. Hers were puffy from crying. Fenris felt his soften, and wondered if he looked as lost as he felt.
To his relief, Orana said nothing. She simply inclined her head and disappeared back into the shadows. Relinquishing the task of reaching out to Hawke to him.
The stairs felt cold underfoot as he climbed to the upper landing. The silence continued to lean in as though it could smother him too.
Hawkeās door mocked him in its steadiness. The last time heād laid eyes on it, heād left Hawke behind, her eyes dark andāheād thought thenāaccusing. Only, heād come to find after, heād misunderstood. Heād broken whatever fragile, fledgling thing had grown between them, and sheād blamed herself for it, not him. Had continued to speak in his defense against Anders even though he didnāt need it. Had continued to treat him as a person even though he didnāt deserve it.
Heād driven in the knife, and twisted it, and she still called him friend in spite of it all.
He considered knocking, and instead tried the handle. The door creaked as it opened.
āI told you I didnāt want any,ā Hawkeās broken voice quavered from the far side of the bed. It cut right to Fenrisās heart.
The room was a mess. Bed linens rumpled and tossed aside, clothes strewn about, Hawkeās glaive propped against the half-open wardrobe like a drunkard. A tray of uneaten and congealed food sat on the desk. The curtains were drawn as though to shut out the outside world. The fire in the fireplace guttered under a thick cloak of ash. Shadows coated everything as the lone lantern on the nightstand struggled to illuminate anything. The room smelled stale and musty.
Hawke huddled on the floor as far from the door as she could manage, hunched over her knees, head hanging between them, her hair a disheveled mess. She still wore the clothes Fenris had seen her in the day herā
Well, the day everything fell apart.
He rounded the bed, cautious. Hawkeās mabari, leaning against her like his weight alone could bear her up, lifted his head to whine plaintively at Fenris. And around Hawkeās feet, scraps of black spilled like wool leavings in the weaverās quarter.
Oh.
Hair.
Hawkeās hair.
The knife sheād obviously used lay just out of her reach, strands still clinging to the blade. He could see now the rough hack-job sheād done of the cut, hear the shudder in her breaths of emotions long wrung out.
She turned her head slightly as he approached, one tear-swollen, red-rimmed eye watching him warily. If she was surprised to see him and not one of the others, she didnāt show it. Her breath hitched again as he settled next to her, a polite distance away. It might as well have been a chasm.
A half-choked sob that seemed to die in her chest, and she rubbed her arm across her face with an ungraceful sniffle that sputtered into fresh tears. āI take it Varric sent you,ā she said, hiccuping on the words.
He couldnāt meet her eyes. āI know I....ā He swallowed. Searched for the words. Found only helplessness that galled him. She needed more than he was. More than he could be. And yet he was the only one at her side at the moment, aside from her dog.
Because a certain dwarf thought he might succeed where the others had failed.
āIām...not sure Iām the one you want to see right now,ā he finally managed.
She shrugged listlessly. He swallowed down his knee-jerk irritation at the implied dismissal and took a deep breath. He opened his mouth to try again.
āYou were right.ā
The defeat in her voice, muffled against her knees, brought him up short.
āYou...and the templars....ā Her shoulders shook with her next breath, and she kept her face buried between her legs. āMages ruin everything they touch.ā
Ice lodged in his stomach as effectively as a blade, and he felt the prickle of the lyrium markings along his shoulders and spine flaring up in response.
What has magic touched that it does not ruin?
To hear Hawke, fiercely proud of her magic and yet kind and caring and protective of those she loved, who put up with him and his mess and his sharp tongue, say those words....
To agree with him....
His heart clenched around the damage he had done.
āWould it...help you? Thinking that?ā he murmured.
She tried to laugh. The sound snagged in her throat and squeezed out as a sob. āI failed her, Fenris. I failed Carver. I failed Bethany.ā Hawke hugged her legs closer to her. āWhat good is magic if all I do is fail the ones I love?ā
He had no answers. He knew what he wanted to say, but shouldnāt. He thought he knew what he needed to say, but couldnāt. All he could manage was an awkward hand on her shoulder. Too light. Too heavy. It felt like both and an intrusion all at once.
āI donāt know,ā he forced out. The closest to truth he could find to give her. āMaybe...itās better not to fill these moments with unnecessary words.ā
She did manage a laugh this time, bitter like stale beer. āEloquent as always,ā she sighed.
He bit back the harsh words that tried to spill loose.
āBut thank you,ā she added. āFor being here.ā She took another shaky breath. Fresh tears rolled down her cheeks. āI know itās...itās hard, and...Iām not the best right now....ā She choked.
He pulled her to lean into his chest without thinking. She didnāt protest. Her fingers clutched at his armor leathers, holding on as though he was her only lifeline, and she buried her face against his chest and sobbed.
When she finally cried herself to sleep an hour later, he carefully moved her to the bed, stroking her raggedly shorn hair out of her eyes, and left her there with an inadequate apology and all his regrets.
Working off and on on a new intro for the next chapter of Caveat. May keep it. May not keep it. We shall see but for now:
The silence stretched, awkward before Charter tore her glance away tapping the tips of her fingers against the stained table. "There is something else," she bluntly said.
Rook's hand tightened under the table. Perhaps her imagination had been playing with her but the temperature in the tavern had dropped a degree or two despite the pressing bodies and raucous singing. And the nearest denizens seemed to become uneasy, going from one foot to the other in their inebriated states. She licked her lips, wiping imaginary crumbs off. "To be perfectly frank, I don't think the Inquisition should have this."
Charter's features betrayed little when she resumed eye contact but her hand did stop moving. "Explain."
"According to my sources, there's been similar deaths not only here in Val Royeaux but as far as Ostwick, Denerim, and Cumberland. All scholars. All professionals and experts in their fields. If someone else is behind this, using the book as a means to an end, I fear the integrity of the Inquisition could be compromised if this were to end up in the wrong hands. So with that being said..." Rook licked her lips, suddenly in need of a strong drink. "I wish to revoke my place in the Scouts but not before requesting to be relocated somewhere else. Far away from all of this. Some place where it would be harder to find again. A chance to learn its secrets, or if need be, destroy it altogether."
"This seems like a personal matter."
"With all due respect," Rook's hand clenched tighter around the parcel. "It's best for everyone involved if you didn't know."
Charter leaned back in her seat, lips in a tight line. Her attention was briefly drawn to the side as a ruckus between two drunken soldiers wearing the colors of black and gold was swiftly dealt with by their comrades. "I know of such a place," she said finally, swishing to the liquid in her cup. "Ironically, it's an abandoned bookshop. A recent acquisition, courtesy of our own Master Tethras."
But before Rook could speak, she lifted a hand. "But it's in the heart of Minrathous' High Town. If you accept this, you will be brushing shoulders with the likes of Altus mages and Magisters. Possible sympathizers to Corypheus' cause. You will be isolated with minimal contact and will receive no assistance from anyone."
"Sounds perfect." Rook grabbed a swig of the brandy that had been placed at her elbow, soon leaning forward. "When do I start?"
I tag @grad-writes @imrowanartist @vinatoras @khayr @crimsonwolfveilguard and whoever else wishes to participate :)
Summary: After news breaks of the Snake Pit's upcoming world tour at the apartment Moving In party, Illario pulls Gladius aside to talk through what that means for them.
Previously: Illario had a great day at work, Gladius decided to wait to tell him about the impending World Tour for the Snake Pit Crew until after the moving in partyā¦ and then it got announced at the moving in party.
Illario paused in the doorway of the apartment as Riley and Lydia swept in ahead of them, and threw a look back to Gladius. That cold stone he'd been carrying around in the pit of his stomach settled a little lower and he sighed. If things had just waited until tomorrow, this might have been fine.
"I wanted to tell youā"
"I knew you were worriedā"
Illario gave a half laugh as they cut off, and Gladius returned a pretty weak smile as they walked in. Bottles of wine deposited on the counter, they could see Riley and Lydia talking over by his door, but looked back at each other the same time.
"Should we?" Illario held out his hand for Gladius to take, and they backed out of the apartment. Similar, but different conversations needed to happen, and it felt strangely like intruding to stay.
They didn't talk as they walked downstairs, out to the street, and a couple of blocks over. The stone still sat there as they walked, but Illario's hand was warm in his, and didn't waver. In no time they were walking into the little all-night cafe and book store that had opened up while the apartments were being renovated. They'd been in a couple of times in the last week while Gladius's stuff was being delivered and unpacked, and the waitress gave them both a big smile as they walked in.
"Usual?" she called out, waving a hand at the board which had a few different types of coffees, hot drinks, and a short, but good menu of Antivan staples. "Or dessert?"
"The special, champurrado, for us both this time, I think," Illario smiled easily, and patted Gladius on the arm. "And maybe some ice-cream for this one."
Picking out a small corner shaped booth, the they sat on the same side of the table, angled towards each other. The late night crowd hadn't really come in yet, so apart from a woman across the room at one of the tables, they had the place to themselves. By the time they had settled in, their drinks were at the table, in a cloud of comforting chocolate and spice.
"So, tell me about the tour," Illario said finally, his voice low as his hands folded around the outside of his mug and looked down.
"The Snake Pit is going to visit a bunch of clubs in Rivain, Nevarra, and Minrathous," Gladius said, sinking into that cold feeling, but letting the warm drink in his hands balance it out after adding in some of the ice-cream. It wasn't supposed to go in there, but it had been a stressful night. "I don't know if I want to go. Riley doesn't want to leave either, and he's supposed to be the headliner."
"Why didn't you say something?" Illario looked up, eyes soft but not quite sad. "I could tell something was bothering you, I just thought it was something I did."
"I didn't know what to do," he moved his hand so that the back rested against Illario's. "It's not you at all. Usually it's so easy. Go have fun, do stuff, come back. It feels different this time."
"Because Riley doesn't want to go?"
"Noā yes, both? I don't know," Gladius struggled to get the words to line up in the right order with how he felt and paused for a second for that to work out, looking down at his own mug. Illario moved his hand to cover his, and Gladius could feel that warmth transfer all of the way through to his fingertips.
"You just got back," he finally said, looking back up. "And Riley doesn't know if he wants to go either. It's other stuff too, all mixed up. I love to travel, but I just moved back into my apartment. But that's less fun if everyone is gone. So I've just been trying to think it out."
"By yourself?" Illario raised an eyebrow in half jest, and he felt that tight spot at the bottom of his stomach start to relax a bit. "You can tell me things. I promise the whole 'running away into the night' escapade was the one and only time that will happen."
"You had really important stuff going on," Gladius smiled and turned over his hand to give Illario's a squeeze while he rubbed at the back of his own neck with the other one. It felt a little foolish now. "I didn't want you to worry when I didn't know what I wanted to do. I thought I'd say something tomorrow, after your super big business thing, after we moved in and had the party. Riley hasn't even told Viago that he'll go yet."
"Your business is also important," Illario gave his hand a squeeze. "Even if it will leave me bereft without your company for weeks on end."
"Months, probably," Gladius winced. "I really meant to tell you differently."
"So you did not plan to unveil your big summer plans with a butts presentation?" Illario took a slow drink, and sighed with mock melodrama. "It would have been good advertising. Turvi does have a really nice ass."
"That's true, but what do I know?" he smiled, and took a long drink of his own, savoring the thick, spiced chocolate, warming him all of the way down to his toes. "I can't even decide if I want to be a stay-at-home stripper for a few months."
"I do not think that is a thing," Illario laughed and stood, tugging Gladius upright as a group of loud younger adults crashed through the cafe doors in various degrees of club undress and the slow evening spell was broken. "However, if you want to give me a demonstration of exactly how that might work back at my apartment, I am happy to watch that presentation multiple times."
Next: Will Gladius decide to stay or go? What does a stay-at-home stripper do during the day? Will the 'Butts of Thedas' presentation get used in promotional materials?
IT IS DONE!!! I was hoping to finish this for @shadow-dragon-week but didn't quite manage it. Still, given I first had the vague idea to do a mass of Mercars in the rough style of Stephen Cartwright about a year ago, I'm really happy with how it came out! An immense thank you to everyone who kept me going with this, especially @bisexualspeed, @marquisedeserault, @maagisterpavus and @dudewheresmynug.
And a more general THANK YOU to the Veilguard fandom in general for getting me properly drawing for the first time since I myself was a kid!! You guys are wonderful and I'm so glad we get to share this space together. ā¤ļøā¤ļøā¤ļø
A full list of Rooks under the cut, in (extremely) rough left to right, up to down order.
Val - @picathartidae
Kalais - @mercaring-around
Maeve - @mt07131
Oisin - @cailleachan
Ivy - @bring-thelight (as a bonus, can you find her kazoo?)
Ayla reckons if she hadn't grown up in the blighted wasteland she calls home (and actually got to choose her faction), she would have been a Lord of Fortune HANDS DOWN.
So as I'm sure you can imagine, she's veryyyy excited about @lof-weekend, coming up on August 7 - 9! āØ
Join in the fun and make your own cute LoF intro card with this template by the endlessly talented @blackwall-my-tiny-husband!
And TYSM to my pals @zennihilation, @davrinsleftpectoral, @serialsforbellara for hosting! BTW, Ayla and I would like to remind you and Isabela that the bar always looked like that...
Taggin' pals below! See y'all at the Hilt!! š»š
Born in rural Antiva to Tal-Vashoth parents, in late summer/early Autumn, 9:24 Dragon.
The "Charon Mercar is my father" backstory is a cover story she made up on arrival in Minrathous at age eighteen, in order to acquire citizenship papers and obfuscate her actual origins.
Affiliations:
I didn't bother pulling up my game to see what their actual standings were at. The only reason anyone wouldn't be at bond level 10 was due to not wanting to drag them around looking for more enemies to punch just to get there. I did do a careful juggling act of party members to try to get everyone as high as possible, and as far as Saadrah's concerned, they're all family.
Bellara and Harding both match, going from "respect" to "friends" to "besties." Saadrah likes their chaotic energy and doing archery competitions between the three of them. The feeling is generally mutual. Where Saadrah might not understand Harding's magic or Bellara's artifacts, she can still bond with them over protective natures and burning curiosity, and given Saadrah's older brother is a mage, she's encouraging and understanding.
Neve also has the distinction of hitting "best friends" status, though only just, and mostly through Saadrah's persistence. There's definitely a blip in there on Neve's end where she swung right into "distrust" after the call Saadrah made about the dragon attacks, but Perseverance is Saadrah's defining characteristic, and that includes trying to make it up to Neve.
Despite getting on well with mages, Saadrah was definitely wary of Emmrich upon first meeting, mostly for being a mortalitasi. He grew on her, though, and while the two of them didn't hit "best friends" status, they're still friends.
Saadrah was also distrustful of Davrin at first, largely due to his reactions to Lucanis. Once she got him to chill, it was smoother sailing into friendship there. Unfortunately, he was lost on Tearstone, and I haven't yet decided if I'm going to headcanon a way to get him and Assan back.
Taash, meanwhile, was distrustful of Saadrah initially, as a potential agent of the Qun. It didn't take much convincing on Saadrah's part to dispel that worry, and from there the two ended up more as adoptive siblings than anything else, bonding over similar upbringings.
And best for last, Lucanis gets a veritable rainbow on his meters. Initial distrust, of courseāhe's a demon-possessed assassin, she's a non-Crow claiming to be sent by his grandmotherābut her persistence and care easily led to respect, then friendship. Once they realized they'd known each other (briefly!) as children, it wasn't difficult to reach "best friends," and tied in with all of that was a growing crush and eventual romance (once these two demi dorks figured their feelings out).
And yes, I'm planning on doing this for my other ladies, but I want to make cards that suit their games, which is a bit of an undertaking (and I realized today that FenHawke week starts tomorrow, so I'm putting card templates on pause while I work on those).
Tags for friends to see, and play along if you want! š
Fandom: Dragon Age: The Veilguard
Pairing: Rook Mercar/Tarquin
Rating: Mature
Summary: When the shadows try to prey on him, Tarquin can always find the light in Rook.
Words: 851
Additional Tags: Shadow Dragon Week Day 1- Shadows/Light, Horror, Darkspawn, Nightmares, Post-Canon, Canon Trans Male Character, Short One Shot
Written for @shadow-dragon-week, some Ariadne/Tarquin fic. A little glimpse into how the past still troubles Tarquin even after winning. And how he can always find comfort in Rook.
Read on AO3
The night was unbearably warm.
Tarquinās skin was damp, sticking to the blanket beneath him, and each time he shifted, it pulled uncomfortably. With a sigh, he stared at the ceiling above him, the patched roof of his apartment barely holding together beneath the torrential downpour outside. Somewhere in the next room, water slithered in between one particular crack in the plaster, the familiarĀ drip dripĀ like a song he knew every beat to.
Images danced in the shadowy corners of his room, dragons and darkspawnā¦ blighted creatures with red eyes, waiting for him to turn his back, claws sharp enough to rip a manās spine from his body. Tarquin shivered, facing the window, forcing himself to think of something else.Ā AnythingĀ else.Ā
But nothing could keep the memories from his mind: the blighted dragon as it tore through the city, the Venatori laying siege to the Archonās palace, the sight of Ariadne fighting for their city as she always had, with a tenacity that left him breathless and terrified in equal measure.
Because it wasnāt Ariadne Mercar if she wasnāt purposely giving him a damned heart attack whenever she threw herself into a fight.
Rain streamed down the glass in rivulets, each drop becoming a shapeless trail of water, disappearing below the windowsill where itād eventually find the ground, a puddle forming in the street heād most likely walk in come morning. The steady thrum of the storm was comforting despite his nightmares. It was something real, something to hold on to when the evil tried to creep in, tried to snare him in a waking terror.Ā
Tarquin stilled at slight movement in the bed, holding his breath so as to not to wake its other occupant. He listened for a sound, any sign that the woman beside him had awakened, but the only thing he heard was the pounding of blood in his ears and the violence of the rain outside. With a stuttered sigh, he tried to relax against the thin blankets, hoping the remnants of nightmares would fade as the shadows did, but it was a pointless wish.
They never left, the dark things always haunting him, even into the waking hours.
His mind spun with images of salivating monsters, of the echoing scream of a blighted dragon with too sharp claws, when gentle fingers brushed through his hair, freeing the strands from the sweat that stuck them to his head. At first, he froze, brain conjuring demons that werenāt there. Then puffs of warm breath caressed the back of his neck, a soft body pressing against his beneath the blankets.
A heartbeat passed before he found his voice, uncertain if he was dreaming her presence. āAri?ā
āIām here, Quin.āĀ
A whispered promise, one sheād made many times before, most recently when a dragon had ravaged their city and sheād put herself into harmās way to protect their city.
Ariadne shifted closer, her free arm wrapping around him, her hand resting on the spot where his heart hammered against his ribs. With lips brushing softly against the nape of his neck, she repeated the words again, and he grabbed onto them like a lifeline, any shame he might have felt over these irrational fears dissipating in the safety of her embrace.
With a stuttering inhale, Tarquin turned to face her, only to find familiar amber eyes watching him through the dark. His fingers brushed against her soft brow before running along the bridge of her nose, Ā and then finally mapping the scars that broke up the tattoos on her face, and in that moment, he knew he was safe here, in that room, in that bed. Here, the shadows couldnāt get him.
Emotion overwhelmed him, and he dropped his gaze to the scar just below her collarbone, the skin puckered and dark against her bronzed skin. During the final battle in the heart of Minrathous, sheād put herself between him and a Venatori, as heād once done for her a long time ago. And sheād gotten gravely injured. The cut had been deep, created by a dagger with a cruel blade, and for a brief and terrifying moment, thereād been the devastating thought that heād lose her. But she always danced around death, encompassing it in her magic and using it to her advantage.Ā
Of course, sheād survive. She somehow always managed to.
Months later, Tarquinās mind still plagued him with images of death: blight and blood and Gods, but his heartā¦ his heart knew he had his own avatar of death in his grip. And somehow, it was a comfort.
Ducking his head, he pressed a soft kiss against her collarbone, the scar tissue there rough against his lips. Ariadne shifted closer, her hands gripping the thin fabric of his tunic between her fingers, her own lips finding her favorite spot: the center of his forehead, just above where the curve of his eyebrows nearly met.Ā
Too many times had circumstances threatened to take Ariadne from him. But they were here. They were alive.
And eventually, the shadows would part to let the light back in.
