The night is pleasantly mild, as it often is in Treviso. The Alienage is just far enough from the market that the sounds of nightlife are muffled over the rooftops. At the base of the Vhenadahl, crouched down with a lantern and a myriad of paints and brushes around them, is Rook.
Lucanis doesn't approach right away; it's novel to see Rook so— for lack of a better word— relaxed. There's a quiet peace around them as they dip their fingers in various paints and apply it to the bark of the Vhenadahl. The shapes they make echo the same angular design he's seen among the Elvhen ruins and in Dalish craft, but retains certain distinctions Lucanis recognizes from Antivan graffiti.
So absorbed is Rook in their work that Lucanis is able to walk right up to them unnoticed. Normally, Rook would have heard his approach by now. That Rook feels comfortable enough in this place to lower their guard so much is also novel.
"Rook."
Rook doesn't quite startle, but they do straighten and Lucanis swears he just saw their ears perk.
"Lucanis?" they ask, craning their head to peer at him over their shoulder. "What are you doing here?"
"Everyone was looking for you," he replies. "Viago told me you would be here."
It's hard to tell by the lantern-light, but he thinks he sees a slight darkening in Rook's cheeks.
"Oh," they say, sheepish. To Lucanis's unexpected dismay, they wipe their fingers on a cloth and start to pack up the paints.
"No, no," he finds himself saying, hand outstretched. "Nothing urgent is happening. We just didn't know where you went."
To discourage them from getting up further, Lucanis finds himself crouching down beside them. Rook stares at him, stunned, before turning back to the paints in their hands.
"It's not a big deal. I was pretty much done anyway," they protest, weakly.
Lucanis looks at the clearly half-finished work. The difference between what Rook has done thus far and the faded, patchy parts that they'd been restoring is stark.
"I have time," he says, settling into a more comfortable position. He keeps his eyes on the tree, but he can practically feel the tension leaving Rook's body. "I didn't know you were an artist."
"I'm not, really," they say. "It's an elf thing. Well, a city elf thing. The hahren is supposed to be in charge of caring for the Vhenadahl. Ever since the Antaam took over, the tree's been a little…neglected."
"A shame."
"Yeah."
They both go quiet, looking up at the tree while they sit together in that comfortable stillness. It feels like peace.
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A/N: I have a lot of Thoughts and Feelings about city elves, and for Vax in particular. Their heritage has had a lot of influence on them, both as an elf and as an Antivan. Vax's grandmother had been hahren before she died, and Vax learned a lot about old elvhen customs from her. I have a headcanon, though, that there's some divergence between the Dalish history and the city elf history, and even their stories and some of their practices have distinctions.
Haven't done SHIT in months, art-wise, but I have been playing Mr. Love: Queen's Choice a lot. I love the MC so I made an OC to ship her with bc why the fuck wouldn't I?
