Just some randome photos of Veilguard... This is my second play LoF Rogue Human, I accidentally erased my Elf Necromancer and had to start a new playthrough.
I was planning to romance Lucanis or Harding, but how can I do that when Neve looks at you like that and talks with that beautiful accent...
Prompt (Self-Assigned): Community
Word Count: 814
Featuring: Silva Mercar/Neve Gallus
“Do you ever go to the Ambassadoria?”
Silva Mercar looked up from the book she was reading with wide eyes, scanning the room. Until just a second ago she had been under the impression she was alone in the apartment. Fortunately, the sound of Neve’s voice was not alarming on its own. When she craned her neck so she could see the door she found her, balancing carefully against the frame as she removed her boot. It brought a smile to her eyes and she let herself just enjoy the sight of Neve for a moment. Her long dark hair was already down, spilling over her shoulders, and her button-up blouse was open for the first several buttons, exposing her chest and the very tops of her breasts. Silva had a real weakness for the way Neve looked in suspenders, and today she wore a pair of rich brown leather with ornate gold filigree that Silva had bought for her. And of course, a tight pair of trousers were always appreciated.
“Silva?”
“Hmm?” Silva’s attention snapped back into focus and she blinked. Neve was grinning and walking toward her now. The absolute best view of them all. “What?” Neve’s soft laughter was music to her ears.
“I asked if you ever go to the Ambassadoria? You have never mentioned it.” Neve settled on the arm of her chair and Silva rushed to put her book away, leaning forward to put it on the small table by the wood stove. She sat back in her chair and reached out with one hand, slipping it around Neve’s waist. As tempting as it was to pull Neve down onto her lap, she could wait.
“No, I’ve never been. Why?” Silva shifted a little in the chair so she could lean in closer, looking up at Neve. The other woman had only been gone for a few hours, fulfilling her turn at the agency office while Rana was out working on cases, but she missed her all the same. She could have gone with her, but it was important that they all get a little time to themselves. It made coming back together all the sweeter. And Neve had only just come home from Treviso a few days ago. Silva slid her other hand gently over Neve’s thigh. Neve’s hand settled against her cheek and she turned her head to press a kiss to her palm. This might be her actual favorite, just touching each other.
“A case came across my desk that someone in the Ambassadoria is helping Venatori get out of the city, letting them use their diplomatic status to evade the Templars.” That was a serious accusation. Silva hummed softly as she considered what it would mean. Not that it mattered what it meant if they could not get into the Ambassadoria. Which explained Neve’s question. Silva wished she had a solid answer for Neve on that front, but she did not. With a sigh she pulled her hand back off Neve’s thigh and sat back in the chair.
“I am willing to go, but I am not sure if I am permitted in the Ambassadoria. As a dwarf, I mean. I’m sure I can get in as a guest.”
“Aren’t all dwarves in Tevinter considered part of the Ambassadoria?” The question was genuine, but Silva knew that Neve already knew the answer to that. Dwarves were not citizens of Tevinter, they were dignitaries by default. Which was fine, but sometimes it could make things awkward. Like when you were a dwarf, but raised by human parents on the surface. Human parents who knew essentially nothing about dwarves or dwarven culture, beyond the fact that the Ambassadoria existed. She had a few dwarf friends growing up, dwarves were hardly rare in Tevinter, but once she went into the military that pretty much disappeared. There were almost no dwarves in the Tevinter military.
“Well, I’m only half, for one. I have no idea how they deal with half-dwarves. I’m also a surfacer, which makes me casteless. I think the Ambassadoria is a bit more relaxed about that than Orzammar, but it could be an issue. If that’s not an issue, there could still be the issue of not having ancestors.” But even as Silva continued her explanation, her own curiosity was building. Why had she never gone to the Ambassadoria? Had she really never thought about trying to connect with her own ancestry? It had never felt like a particularly big deal to her, even more so after she learned she was only half. Both of her parents, the ones who raised her, were human. Her siblings were all human. Neve was human. She honestly felt mostly human.
“I can try though,” Silva answered before Neve could say anything else. “I actually kind of want to. I’m not sure why I’ve never thought to go before.”
Disclaimer: This ficlet is a continuation of the scene from my Rook Mercar Appreciation Fic (word count: 2,222) which you can find here.
Neve wrapped her arms around Silva as the woman cried against her chest. A deep feeling of uncertainty filled her as she awkwardly stroked her lover’s back. Has she ever held someone while they cried before? Not that she could remember. And she had never seen Silva cry, or even come close to it. But she would do her best. Maker, Lucanis would be better at this. Probably. Maybe. Well, he couldn’t be worse, really. Now Harding, Harding would know what to do. That was an idea. What would Harding do?
“It’s okay,” Neve managed softly, still feeling clumsy. Obviously Silva was deeply affected by her father’s words, and the offer of dinner. But they were also still standing in the middle of the street. She looked around, relieved that the street was mostly empty. “Come on,” she whispered and took a step back, tugging Silva gently with her. The dark-skinned dwarf woman hesitated then straightened, wiping roughly at her damp cheeks. Neve grabbed one of her hands and tugged her again, pulling her back toward Dock Town.
“Apologies,” Silva said, visibly embarrassed. Neve felt a stab of guilt in her stomach.
“Don’t apologize,” she soothed lamely. Silva followed along with her easily, and it took them only a few minutes to reach her apartment. The walk was in silence, as Silva wrestled to get her emotions under control and Neve ran through a thousand different ways to handle this. Silva had always been even more stoic than she was, buttoned up. Affectionate, of course. Silva was a sweet-talker when she wanted to be, and Neve loved it. But neither of them were good at opening up about deeper emotion. And that included Lucanis, really. What a weird little trio they made, when she thought about it. Three emotionally dysfunctional adults, coming together to create one semi-functional unit between them.
When they reached the apartment, Neve led the way upstairs. In the narrow stairwell she was forced to let go of Silva, but she could hear her heavy boots behind her. Well, and feel Silva’s intense eyes on her… assets. That thought alone lifted her mood just a little bit, remembering how Silva usually teased her about providing a nice view when they were going up the stairs. And then they were alone in the apartment, above a little leatherworker’s shop, and Silva was closing the door quietly. It was a small space, with just the two rooms, and once upon a time it had been very spartan. In the second room a double bed and a night stand, and in the main room a single chair, a table, and a small wood stove. But since Silva had quietly moved in, she had changed the space. The bedroom was largely the same, but the main room had two soft chairs now, and a shelf on one wall to hold books. Her scattered notes were now stacked and sorted, her pinboard actually hooked to the wall instead of just leaning against it. It was starting to feel different, but nice.
Neve turned to face Silva and found her standing listlessly just inside the door. It was obvious she was still rattled by the conversation with her father. Neve did not know how to fix that, or if it even was something to be fixed. Maybe it was a good thing, for all that it felt a bit off. She crossed back to Silva and grabbed one of her hands, pulling it up. That got Silva’s attention, and the woman offered her a limp smile.
“Come on, Trouble, let’s sit.” Neve stepped back toward the two chairs clustered around the wood stove. It was fall now, and while it was rarely truly cold in Minrathous, the stove helped chase away the dampness of the near daily rain that came this time of year. Silva followed her tug quietly and settled into the closer chair. Neve sat on the arm of the chair, leaning over Silva a little. Without thinking about it, her fingers found her way to Silva’s hair, ever so lightly scratching her nails against her scalp. It was something she had learned recently that Silva greatly enjoyed, and she loved the way Silva’s tight, coarse curls felt between her fingers. Silva softened and relaxed into the gesture. Neve waited to see if she wanted to talk, and was a little relieved when only silence followed. Maybe this was enough, just being close, touching. Letting Silva sort through it on her own first. It did not feel like it was enough though. Harding would know what to do. Emmrich would know what to say. And she was just… here.
Neve sat like that with Silva for a while, tormenting herself with endless questions about what to do better. The sounds of Minrathous filtered in through the bedroom balcony, a constant indecipherable hum of people, wagon wheels, magic, and cats, dogs, and rats filtering through the streets. But inside the apartment, there was just the steady silence of their breathing, the occasional creak of the chair. The longer the silence went, the more comfortable Neve felt with it. Silva could be as tight-lipped about her feelings as she was, but when she really wanted to talk she would. After the first few minutes, Silva had shifted in the chair to lean against Neve, resting her head against her side and wrapping an arm lazily around her waist.
It was comfortable, in a way.
“Thank you,” Silva finally broke the silence. “For going with me.”
“Always, Trouble,” Neve answered easily, letting her hand move down from Silva’s hair to rest against her cheek. “I’ll always go with you.”
Silva goes home for the first time in years to say goodbye
Word Count: 2,226
Silva stared at the familiar doorway set into the brickwork of the tall, narrow home. It looked no different from every other home in the row, tall narrow houses built pressed together into a single massive bulk of wood and stone that gobbled up the entire street. The street rose at a steep angle, as if it too was desperate to escape its associations with Dock Town. This particular doorway, she knew, sat just above the unmarked, ill-defined boundary. Just far enough outside of Dock Town to allow those who dwelled there to be incredibly snobbish about it. Compared to the crumbling infrastructure of Dock Town, the row houses here were artisan - clean, straight lines of mortar between the stone; no chips or holes in the stone itself; no sagging or drooping. And most importantly, no sad, desperate people huddled up under its eaves, stuffing themselves into every inch of dry land. The road itself was a step up too, rough cobblestone instead of hard-packed mud and dirt. Not as fine as the wealthiest areas of Minrathous, but still better.
It was jarring, to stare at the home she had grown up in knowing it would never be home again. So much had happened since the last time she walked out this door, hearing it slam behind her. Silva had never expected him to be happy with her decision. She was a Mercar, and Mercars were soldiers-beginning, middle, and end. That was the extent of their story. But for whatever reason, she had expected him to at least understand. How much had he lost when he chose Dad? For all the power and connections he still had, he would have had so much more. Most of the Mercar family turned away from him, and he certainly did not seem to regret it. It had been a foolish belief. After all, she was a Mercar, and Mercars were soldiers. They were to be exemplars. They would excel, overachieve, no matter how high the expectation was. Anything less was the same as failure. Apparently you could walk away from your family, but not from Tevinter. So she did both.
Silva hoped it had been worth it to him. She had never been able to tell whether her Father was happy, about anything. He expressed pride when she had done well, but happiness was something else entirely. But maybe she could understand it now. After everything she had been through, she would do it again to end up where she was now. That thought was enough to make her look away, twisting to look behind her. Just down the street, across the cobblestones, Neve stood in the shadows of the tall buildings. Their eyes met, even across the distance, and Neve gave her a supportive smile. Silva could not muster one in return, but she nodded slightly. With a deep breath she turned back and walked up the steep steps to the door. Another second of hesitation, and then she grabbed the heavy door knocker and rapped it several times. When she let it go there was silence, her world shrinking down to just her and this doorstep. All the noise of the city, of a million lives buzzing inside a hive of stone, disappeared.
It was an eternity in a minute.
The door opened abruptly, but not rudely. It was still enough to startle Silva, and her heart leapt into her chest as the door swung back to reveal Charon Mercar. For the briefest minute, he looked exactly the same as he always had. A tall, olive-skinned man with meticulously maintained short hair and a carefully groomed beard that outlined his strong jaw. He stood straight-backed and stiff, everything about him screaming that this was a man who yielded for nothing. But Silva was able to see the changes quickly. When she last saw him his dark hair had been shot through with distinguished silver-grey hairs, now it was a sea of dark-grey with a few dark hairs holding out. There were lines in his forehead that had not been there, and despite the way he towered over her, thanks both to his height and the stoop being lower than the floor of the house, he looked smaller to her. Father was getting old. It hit her like a hammer in the chest. He was getting old.
“Silva,” his voice was as crisp and sharp as ever, and Silva found herself swallowing against the urge to apologize. That was not why she was here.
“Father,” she managed to answer, her tone soft and informal. His eyes crinkled just the slightest bit, a show of contained disapproval. Of course. He would never show himself here, in the doorway, where others could see it. That was unbefitting a Mercar. She wished he would spare her, say something. Even shut the door in her face. Anything. Any reaction whatsoever. But that was more than he would ever offer.
“Do yo-”
“No,” Silva cut him off before he could finish whatever he was going to say. She was certain she did not want to hear it. And she was not here to try and fix something, just to say her piece. Neve and the others had convinced her it was worth saying. Now that she was confronted with him, she was feeling much less confident about that. She was a Mercar though, even if he did not claim her anymore. And a Mercar never surrendered to fear, never backed away from a foe, and they never ran away.
“I do not want anything from you, Father.” Silva made herself look up at him, but she tried not to stare him down. “I just came here to…” the words stuck in her throat, and she looked back across the street again to where Neve was watching. Maker, she was so beautiful, standing there with her hat tipped at an angle, long hair spilling carefully down the other side of her face. The encouraging look in those warm brown eyes, and the way she held her cigarette holder. Silva swallowed and turned back to her Father again, feeling stronger. He was unchanged, though Silva saw his eyes move and knew he had noticed Neve as well.
“I came here to tell you I am happy. I don’t know how you feel about that, or if you even care, but I am happy. I found a purpose without the Army, to serve Tevinter in a way that is meaningful to me. I know you’ve heard about the Veilguard, and the Shadow Dragons. We protect people, and we protect Tevinter. The Army is not the only way, and I don’t think it was ever the right way for me.” Silva stopped to take a deep breath. She felt choked with feelings, but she would not cry, not in front of him. “And I’ve found someone who loves me, and I love her. I’m going to spend every day for the rest of my life showing her how much I love her. I’ve found friends who accept me and build me up and who understand that the world should be better than it is. We are going to make it better.” She stopped again, focusing to keep from getting it wrong. It was too important.
“Mostly, I just wanted you to know that I am happy. I have never been this happy in my entire life, and I am going to keep doing this because it is what makes me happy. But I would still be happier if I had you in my life. I know you don’t approve, and I know you are never going to change. But I miss you. And I love you. You’re my father. And I wish you were still in my life, but I won’t go back.” Silva stopped talking and just stared at him. It was like he was carved from stone, unflinching, unyielding. The two of them stood like that until Silva could not bear it anymore. She wet her lips and dropped her eyes with a sad nod.
“That’s all I wanted to say. Goodbye, Father,” Silva said sadly. Without looking at him again she turned and walked back down the steps. She held herself stiffly, almost marching but not quite, across the cobblestones to where Neve was waiting. Tears were building up behind her eyes and she hated it, swallowing against the thick feeling in her throat. When she reached Neve she paused, and then kept walking without looking up at her. Silva did not want Neve to see her cry either. In fact, she simply would not cry. If she just held on long enough, this feeling would pass, and she would be fine. The sharp clink of Neve’s prosthetic on stone told her that Neve was with her. But after just a few steps, Neve suddenly spun in front of her, blocking her path. Silva stopped just short of crashing into her, but she still made contact and looked up at Neve in confusion.
“Wait,” Neve said, her voice soft. Neve’s hand settled on her chest, just above her breast. The last thing she wanted to do was wait. Wait for what? For the humiliation that would come with the tears? For rain? There was nothing here to wait for. Boots scuffed on stone behind her and Silva stiffened.
“Silva,” Charon Mercar spoke her name almost as he always had, but there was something there she could not remember ever hearing. She turned around in disbelief, but there was, standing right in front of her. Still taller than her, by a considerable amount. But while she was tall by virtue of being a half-dwarf, Charon Mercar was simply tall for a human man in general. Not quite as tall as Emmrich though, she suddenly realized. And he was looking at her in a way she had definitely never seen before. His eyes seemed to shimmer as if… Was he also trying not to cry? But Mercars did not embarrass themselves in public like that, and Charon Mercar simply did not cry. Silva’s eyes slipped past him to the house. Her Dad was in the doorway now. Compared to Charon, he was a thin slip of a man, taller than Charon but skinny in a way that almost made his proportions comical. He wore a simple loose tunic and loose trousers, his feet bare. Shaggy hair that had once been blonde hung around his face, almost white now. He looked old too. When had they both gotten so old?
Charon cleared his throat awkwardly, and Silva looked back at him. Then she looked down, and realized he was holding his hand out for her to take. Silva stared for a moment, not even breathing. Her chest ached with the gesture and she reached out slowly to take his hand. It was hardly the first time, but it surprised her how comforting it was to feel his strong fingers close around her hand, squeezing with just the right amount of firmness.
“I am grateful you are happy, Silva, and I am proud of you.” Charon’s voice was deep and strong, resonating with all the qualities of a man used to commanding others and ignoring his feelings. Silva felt like her spine turned to jelly, like she was going to fall apart right there in the middle of the street, clutching her Father’s hand. Had he ever said that before? She tried to remember. When she was accepted into the military? No, he had told her she had done well. When she received her promotions, or her decorations for service? No. Compliments, yes. Praise, yes. But pride? No. She had been doing what a Mercar was expected to do.
“And,” Charon cleared his throat uncomfortably, “your Dad would like to know if you and your young lady would come to dinner tomorrow.” Silva stared at him in stunned silence even as the handshake broke naturally. He was inviting her home. He wanted her to come back. That Dad wanted her to come home was not a surprise. He had always been the softer parent, full of praise and kind words for his children. Silva remembered him holding her for hours when she was little, rocking her against his chest when she was sick. But Father? That was something she never expected. Apparently she was silent too long, because Neve stepped around beside her and gently slipped an arm around hers, a silent support.
“We will let you know shortly,” Neve answered smoothly. Silva watched him study Neve for a moment and then he nodded. With nothing left to say, Charon turned around and walked back to his home. Her Dad was waiting for him there, and they paused at the door to speak to each other. From this distance she could not hear it. Then her Father stepped into the house, walking around her Dad, who waved sweetly and then gently closed the door. For another beat she still did not move. When she did move, she turned to Neve and wrapped her arms around her and pressed her face into Neve’s shoulder as the tears began to flow down her cheeks. Neve’s arms wrapped around her shoulders and she felt Neve’s cheek press against the top of her head.
