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🪶 treasure hoard rookanis enjoy 🪶

It's starting to feel cluttered, in his back corner of the pantry. All light sources are transferred to overturned produce crates or candlenails on the walls.

By his head, his favored coffee cups. If he has them here, the others won't break them accidentally.

To his feet, his ever-growing collection of gifts from Rook. Not large enough for a dragon hoard, not small enough for assorted presents.

A Wyvern Hoard, then.

The tea service. He doesn't even like tea, but she hadn't known that back then.

The wyvern tooth dagger he doesn't dare to bring along to jobs for fear of losing it or worse, damaging it.

The basket of dyed druffalo yarn, untouched save for the bright blue bundle, to knit a wrapsweater for her.

A small box of trinkets for Spite to rifle through when he is asleep.

Books she finds and thinks of him. Those she borrows and then returns, along with long lists of annotations about the most random aspects of the stories.

A brown tourmaline, whittled to resemble a coffee bean and put on a small-linked golden chain that Lucanis hasn't the heart to tell Rook is too short for his neck.

Grindstones tailored to the materials of each of his blades, numerous cutting oils.

The ribbon she got him specifically to tie his hair out of the way while cooking.

Flowers.

Flowers?

Blue buds sit in a tall glass, trimmed and watered and arranged with care, fallen petals folded over the rim of the glass.

Smell like milk thistle. And Rook. Healing and chocolate. Blight and pain. Rook got flowers.

They weren't here when he last left the pantry, no half-hour ago.

"Lucanis, I could use your- are you all right?"

When he turns to look at Rook, suddenly spawned in the doorframe, he realizes he'd stood uselessly, listlessly, in the middle of the pantry. Whatever help she meant to ask of him is forgotten, as she steps closer and rubs his arm.

Sometimes it gives him whiplash, how quickly their attentions toward one another shifted, how casually she reaches for him now and how eagerly he turns into her touch.

"Did you get me flowers?"

"Yeah." Like he was stating the color of the moon. "I got them from the Wetlands. Antoine and Evka tracked down somebody who could help find the Gloom Howler. Davrin wanted to talk to them." A pause. She looks him square in the face and he can't rein in his expression.

She'd gotten him flowers.

No one has ever gotten him flowers. Flowers that grow strong and beautiful in spite of their environment. Flowers in the very shade of blue she paints her nails with. Flowers that heal.

Rook saw a plant in the wild and thought of him.

He feels dizzy, all of a sudden.

"Brona's Bloom," she says. Scratches at the side of her neck, picking at a scab. Stalling. Hoping that explaining herself will make him react. "They grow there like weeds now. You're not allergic, right? Maybe I should've asked before, but... I wanted to surprise you. I thought you'd appreciate some flowers."

Her fingers squeeze at his arm. Her voice sounds like she's whispering at him from underwater.

When he stills, takes a breath, then another, looks down at her, her brow is knotted with concern and her head tilted.

"Sorry," he starts. Honesty. He didn't want to worry her. "No one's given me flowers before. Thank you."

"Well, I didn't really give them to you. I snuck into your room while you were in the bath and placed them there. Turns out this place doesn't have vases, so I had to improvise. Emmrich let me borrow one of his alchemy jars. He wants it back once they're wilted."

If Lucanis has his way, these flowers will never wilt for the rest of eternity. He knows a glass blower off the Rialto Bay who crystallizes flowers by each petal. There's an idea.

"You took the time to arrange them among my treasured gifts of yours so they would catch my eye when I return."

"They kind of glow, so they would've caught your eye without-"

"Rook." There's a surprised gasp from her when he pulls her close and pecks her cheekbone. "Thank you. This is a gift."

Her fingers slide into his left welt pocket, as they always do. Keeping him close, only a few thin layers between her hand and his stomach, but also loose enough to let him leave.

He's glad she's leaning against his side, covering his right pocket. If she put her fingers there, she would find the earrings he had made for her.

Her arm around the small of his back is cold. Soup for dinner, then. There's still some vegetable broth leftover. Maybe herbcakes to cut up into it. WHY IS SHE COLD? THE WHOLE ROOK IS COLD. He'll fix it. Warm soup for dinner, then blankets and the fireplace as he knits the demon away and she reads the romance he'd swiped from Blackthorne Manor. Maybe he'll pull over one of the seats, and they can share the blanket over their legs.

Spite, draping an arm over Rook's shoulders and leaning his cheek on her head, rolls his eyes at Lucanis until the prospect of entangled legs under wool covers.

"You're welcome, Lucanis," she says. Her chin presses into his ribs. "I'll get you flowers more often. Condition you to no longer be so frozen with surprise."

It makes him laugh. He leans down to kiss her.

"You say that as if you didn't like making me freeze with surprise." Her hand slips out of his pocket, toward his face. She pets his Adam's apple with her thumb. She traps his upper lip between hers. Spite moves a hand through her hair, and she shivers and presses closer.

"I do. I enjoy it thoroughly."

"Come on," he entangles them from each other, reluctantly, and Rook lets it happen just as reluctantly. She leans into Spite's fingertips on her scalp, whether she knows it or not.

But the sight is so enchanting Lucanis forgets why he pulled them apart in the first place.

@pinayelf since messenger compresses poorly.... Brona's Bloom.

Also fun fact if you need some IRL references, its just a recolour of Black Oxalis Triangularis or Purple Shamrocks

EDIT: Forgot to add the images of the cave

#dragon age the veilguard #datv #brona's bloom #thedas flora #anderfels #hossburg wetlands #my name is archi i'm 19 and i don't know how to read.