Veilguardiumleviosa

so there's this senior citizen *twirls hair* ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

thedasweekend prompters i owe you my life these are JUICY

At some point, for some reason, Rook had misinterpreted the term 'letters'.

Perhaps it was because Bellara had said it so breathlessly--though Bellara says lots of things breathlessly, given she speaks at about the speed of magic itself. Perhaps it was the smile she'd used when she said 'the Professor'. But Bellara smiles most of the time. In the end it doesn't matter how it happened. The result was the same: Rook heard Bellara talk about these letters, this necromancer she was writing to, and figured they were passing love letters. Odd, very lingo-heavy love letters that contained a lot of side conversation about magical artifacts and the stability of the Veil, but love letters nonetheless.

Rook meets Emmrich and hears him call Bellara 'dear' and knows it must be true. Rook also meets Emmrich and wants to climb him like a tree, but she's always been into that kind of academic, willowy, never-met-the-sun kind of look. Necromancers. Rook's always been into necromancers. She is one. It's pretty normal.

"You must be excited to finally meet him in person," Rook says to Bellara while they're following Emmrich through the Shrouded Halls. Emmrich extols the wonder of life and death in between completely demolishing Venatori in a way that feels bone-shatteringly powerful.

"Oh yeah," Bellara says, and grins. "Arlathan is pretty far from Nevarra, so I didn't think we'd ever actually meet, but it's pretty cool that we did! Professor Emmrich is really knowledgeable, not just about the Fade, but music and art and--"

"Hmm neat!" Rook says, instead of Alright girl keep it in your pants because she actually really likes Bellara and she can't blame her. Emmrich Volkarin is six-foot-three, hazel-eyed and has a voice like candlelit red wine. He'd be a dream come true for any young mage with a little too much to say and a few too many nights alone in their recent past.

Of which there are two in the room.

Anyway.

It's not a big deal. The others don't really seem fussed over the fact that Bellara has brought her sneaky link into the fold and Emmrich is bonkers capable, so it doesn't really matter whether or not he's sourced from some horny letters. He also comes highly recommended from the Mourn Watch, and that's enough for Rook.

They keep things pretty subtle too. Rook never sees them kiss or even really touch, and Bellara seems too busy with the archive spirit to do much other than tinker with it outside of missions. Emmrich always seems to have something to be doing as well. If anything, he seems to spend more time with Rook than Bellara--and this is the source of the issue.

The spark of attraction in the Necropolis grows to nothing short of a blazing inferno. Emmrich invites Rook to the Memorial Gardens, performs the rituals with her, calls her recitation of the rites masterful. He takes her arm in the crook of his own as they walk the paths. He finds her in the kitchen in the evenings and sits next to her, legs crossed in that neat and proper way, and she sits there and lets the heat of his thigh burn into hers until she has to get up and go find something to occupy her hands. He does everything short of lay his jacket over puddles for her like some prince in a storybook--though even that, she wouldn't put past him. She sees him staring at her during a soaking downpour in Minrathous one time, but it's always raining in Minrathous.

Jealousy is an insidious emotion that the Mourn Watch warns against specifically. It will make a monster of the most benevolent, if it takes hold. Rook struggles not to let it. This gets harder and harder, the more time she spends in Emmrich's company and the more he seeks her out. He'll say, "I'm so pleased to have a fellow Watcher to talk to, Rook," and she'll smile and pretend she isn't actively resisting the urge to stare at his lips. He'll say, "I am continually impressed by your keen skills of observation, my dear" and she'll only be capable of nodding because she's trying to clear a daydream from her head. Something about him and one of the geothermal underground pools in the Necropolis and a mysteriously disappearing set of clothing. He'll say, "I find myself continually waiting for the next time we'll have one of our chats, Rook--they're becoming something I find great comfort in," and Rook won't even hear what he's saying, because she's trying so hard to shove him, the concept of him, into a little box in her head labeled Bellara's--Do Not Touch.

It gets a little ridiculous. She stops taking them on missions together, because the sound of them chattering on about Fade harmonics behind her makes her want to absolutely chew glass. On the off chance she sees one of them come out of the other's room, which does not happen very often at all but has, on a handful of occasions, she'll turn herself around and sit herself down on Solas' stupid fuck-ugly green meditation couch until she feels a little less like her head is going to pop off. One time, she falls asleep while doing this and has to deal with a particularly weird conversation with Solas where she's too keyed up to do much more than grunt along to his typical long-winded pontification and he ends the conversation with something along the lines of, "Perhaps you should reexamine some details of your situation that you have taken as fact. You may find them not so."

"Could you just say something that's not buried under five layers of innuendo," Rook thinks, and unfortunately also says out loud, because she's not actually allowed to think just in her head in these Solas-dreams. He scowls at her and rolls his eyes. They're both doing the Fade-space equivalent of blowing raspberries at each other by the time she wakes up.

It all comes to a head in Arlathan, because they've camped with the Veil Jumpers for the night and Rook needs to ask Bellara a question. She thinks nothing of whipping open the flap to Bellara's tent, because Bellara is almost always awake until the stars have been overhead for hours and Emmrich--who was obliged to come along, just this once, because they're in Arlathan specifically for haunting-related reasons--is visible across the camp, wiggling carrots through the bars of Gus the Nug's cage. There is a small, tender smile on his face as he listens to the nug snort and whuffle. Rook suddenly remembers the story about the pig he used to hug as a kid, and then her heart jumps a little, and--

Well, anyway, there shouldn't be a reason not to let herself into Bellara's tent.

There is, in fact, a reason not to let herself into Bellara's tent.

That reason is named Irelin, whose body Rook now knows about in much more expansive detail than she did a few minutes ago. Bellara's too, though most of that was covered by--well, by Irelin.

"Maker!" they all three scream in unison, and Rook all but sommersaults back out of the tent.

"Sorry," she yells through the flap. "Sor--sorry, I didn't--"

"It's fiiine," Bellara yells back. Her head pokes through after a minute. Her hair is down and disappears somewhere back inside the tent. She looks like an almost completely different person with it framing her face like that. "Hey, um--you could, like...knock next time? I mean, I know you can't really knock on a tent--"

"Everything alright over here?" Emmrich has appeared, and Rook's tongue seems to grow three sizes in her mouth.

Oh shit! is all her brain will supply, so she doesn't really respond. She thinks she's willing enough to respect Girl Code, such as it is, that she won't tell Emmrich about the whole Irelin thing. Because maybe that's how their relationship works, or maybe Emmrich already knows, or maybe it's none of her business--

Or maybe something really weird is happening, because Bellara looks at Emmrich and her expression does nothing but get a little more annoyed, and she sighs, "It's fine. No worries, Professor. Just, could you guys--y'know, privacy?"

Then Irelin makes a noise from inside the tent, and it's pretty clear at that point what's just happened, but Emmrich just blushes a little and says, "Ah," and then wraps his hand around Rook's arm and leads her away, back towards the cage with Gus.

"Okay," Rook says, as Gus sniffs her boot on the off chance it contains carrots. "That was weird."

"I fear there are bound to be clashes when multiple cultures blend, my dear," Emmrich tells her, a low murmur directly into her ear. "We in Nevarra, especially amongst the Mourn Watch, are slightly more--shall we say, open? Don't take it personally that Bellara withheld the information of her liaison with Irelin. I don't think it was done maliciously."

"No, I mean--why aren't you--upset?"

Emmrich's brows furrow. "Whyever would I be upset? I'm hardly a prude, Rook. These are difficult times, and any small piece of comfort one can find should be readily taken. A tent in the middle of a busy camp is an...interesting location, but I understand our dear Bellara has history with Irelin, and should the object of my affections be willing--"

"No, no, I mean--you're not--are you okay with this? You and Bellara have some kind of..." Rook scrambles about for an accurate word. "Agreement? About this kind of stuff?"

Emmrich's eyebrows do an odd, fluttery sort of thing that reminds Rook of a puppet she once saw being manipulated by a group of playful wisps. Sort of like his face is trying to show half a dozen emotions at once.

"Why on earth would Bellara and I have ever spoken about her sex life," he says flatly, and far more bluntly than Rook is used to him being. Heat floods her body as she realizes that she has, somewhere along the way, wildly misunderstood something.

"I," says Rook, "have made a mistake."

"Rook," he says, with a voice like he's trying to diffuse a spell primed to explode, "Darling. If you thought Bellara and I were involved, would you mind enlightening me exactly as to...what you think my intentions were when I took you to the Memorial Gardens."

Rook wonders if Gus the nug could be persuaded to eat her whole.

"Enrichment?" she mutters.

"Enrichment," Emmrich sighs under his breath.

There is a long, gravid beat of silence.

"That clearing we passed earlier," Rook mumbles under her breath, once the world is done tilting on its axis. "Looked enriching."

"Quite," Emmrich says promptly. He grabs her by the hand and only grins a little when she releases a frantic, giddy giggle as he pulls her away from the camp.

Prompt List

Welcome to the landing zone for my @thedasweekend prompt list! I'll keep it updated whenever something new or different strikes my fancy, but for now here we go!

I mainly write Veilguard and Inquisition (but won't turn away a DAII or DAO prompt), and I love to write angst, slice of life, fluff, hurt/comfort, found family, etc. I also love a character study and diving into Thedas lore! Feel free to send me anything from specific prompts to song lyrics or even just ~~vibes~~

Current top ask game pick: Any!

Full list of the OCs and pairings you can request are below the cut as well as a growing collection of all fave ask games!

VEILGUARD Echo de Riva (Emmrich) Esperanza "Esper" de Riva (Lucanis) Melisandre "Mel" Mercar (Neve) Cyrus Mercar (Neve) Amara Thorne (Davrin) Love Ingellvar (Emmrich) Cas Laidir (Taash) Victory "Vic" Laidir (Emmrich)

Fen'an Aldwir (Bellara) Other Veilguard pairings I'll write: Taash/Harding Bellara/Neve Emmrich/Strife

INQUISITION Lyra Lavellan (Solas) Leonardo "Leo" Trevelyan (Dorian) Wisp Lavellan (Iron Bull) Andromeda "Andy" Trevelyan (Cullen) Faolan Lavellan (Cassandra) Avi Trevelyan (Josephine)

Other Inquisition pairings I'll write:

Dorian Pavus/The Iron Bull

DAII Marian Hawke (Anders) Garrett Hawke (Fenris) Tryst Hawke (Isabella)

ORIGINS Mateo "Teo" Cousland (Zevran) Luna Surana (Alistair) Violet Amell (Leliana)

ASK GAMES Rook Codex Rook Storytime Rook Literary Device The Horrors Rook Tarot

happy thedas weekend!!!! "i am not a fool entire, no, i know what's coming" is a lyric from bitter water by the oh hellos-- it was giving me some angsty warden vibes ?

I'm right there with you @veilguardiumleviosa. I'm feeling a dramatic sort of monologue so here you go, I hope you like it!

For @thedasweekend

Words: 360

Characters: Dwarf Warden (Garnet Aeducan)

Warnings: Ruminations on death

~~~~~

I am not a fool. First and last, no longer. Blood was the price of of a moment's foolishness, dearly paid. It bought me this future, such that it is, dark and ever-racing, waiting to meet me with eager arms.

To think that I had thought my exile in the Deep Roads to be my final walk to death. Inevitable and present always, waiting only for me to lay down and sleep. The Joining has shown me the truth of it, washed my eyes clear with its tainted blood.

I feel that touch of death always on the wind. In the Stone under my feet, forever lost to me, and in the water I drink that turns to dust in my mouth.

Am I still my father's daughter? I hardly feel myself some days. How completely they took you from me. My stone and bones. Brother and mother. And left me the blood-price or death.

If only I'd known it had hardly been a choice. Death was always part of it. But now it hides in the shadows, no waiting to embrace me and lay me on the Stone's breast. Like a scavenger, it simply waits for me to fall, to take my skin and bones and twist them into everything I have fought against.

Was it worth it, this temporary escape from the Roads, only to know that I will, in time, have to walk them again?

Yes, always yes.

If I was taught anything, it was to fight with all my resources until the bitter end. The Darkspawn do not despair, they do not bargain, do not quail. My blood, my body, my life, have bought me a more distant end. More time to fight. More time to spill the blood that every day becomes more a part of me.

I know what is coming. Whispers and darkness and something that sounds like a wordless promise. Not of glory, nor riches, nor power. Purpose? It calls, always distant, always present. I know what it will make me, in time.

I only hope I will have spilled enough blood to make it all worth it, when the time comes.

anyone else think this too

oh noooo🥵

Viago: Let’s not Rook this into a worse situation than it already is.

Rook: Did you just use my name as a verb?

Your face when you haven't slept for six months, you live in a pantry, and there's a capricious demon in your head. Gods, I love him.

The baby's arrival leaves Spite unimpressed.

It is a tiny, noisy, smelly, helpless lump. It takes up all of Rook and Lucanis's time and attention. When Lucanis finally sleeps and Spite gets a turn in their body, the baby shrieks and wakes him up again. For reasons Spite can't understand, Lucanis wants to be around the baby all the time. Lucanis thinks about the baby all the time.

Rook says it will someday be a person. Spite has his doubts. Even when it becomes a slightly larger lump that can move around on its own, it crawls on its hands and knees. It doesn't use its feet. Even Curiosity can use its feet!

Then one night when Spite finally gets to use the body and he's doing flying loops around the ballroom chandelier, he feels something tug at him. It's not magic. It's not a smell or a sound or a shift in the air. He doesn't know what it is, but he thinks he should—or that he did once.

He follows the feeling and, to his surprise, ends up at the baby's room. When he creaks the door open to peek inside, he braces for shrieking, but the baby, though awake, doesn't even seem to notice him. Its dark eyes are fixed firmly on the bars of the strange cage it sleeps in. Its brow is furrowed with tiny lines, and its mouth pulls down in a pursed pout. It reaches out its tiny hands, grabs the bars, and rocks on its fat little knees.

It wants to do something. It's determined to do something.

Spite leans a little further into the room. Something about the scene has him captivated. He practically holds his breath as the baby lets out a grunt of effort and then slowly, painstakingly pulls itself to its feet. With a whoop, Spite dashes to the sleeping cage, wings spread wide, bathing the room in a bright purple glow.

"You used! Your feet!" he exclaims.

The baby's eyes go round, and Spite shrinks back. He remembers the one time he tried to show the baby his wings when it was a smaller lump. It had screamed and screamed, and Rook had asked him not to do it again. The baby's mouth opens, and Spite prepares to flee the body and let Lucanis handle the screaming.

But the baby doesn't scream. It laughs.

The shrieking Rook says is the baby's laugh isn't all that different from the screaming, but its mouth is stretched in a wide grin. It releases its grasp on the bars to clap its hands and immediately falls back onto its rump. With much less effort than the first time, it pulls itself up to stand again. It uses one hand to firmly grip a bar and reaches the other toward Spite's wings.

Spite flutters one wing closer, and the baby, still laughing, bends and straightens its knees, bouncing in delight.

"Pah!" it says, which is the noise it makes when it sees Lucanis. "Pah!"

"No," Spite says. "Not Pah. Spite." He points to the wings and then his glowing eyes. "Spite."

The baby stops its bouncing, and the focused expression of before returns. It tilts its head and fixes Spite with a serious gaze. Spite leans closer until they are almost nose to nose.

"Spite," he repeats.

"Sssssss...," the baby hisses.

Spite nods and doesn't lean back even when the baby's free hand tugs roughly at his hair. "Yes. Say it. Say Spite."

"Spah," the baby says. And then, after a particularly emphatic yank of Spite's hair, it triumphantly yells, "Spy!"

"Yes!" Spite crows. His wings shiver in excitement, and the baby bats at the one closest.

"Spy!" it shouts. "Spy!"

Spite grins at the giddy feeling bubbling in his chest, one only Lucanis has felt around the baby until now.

The baby knows him. The baby likes him.

They spend several minutes enjoying their new game. Spite laughs as he flicks his wings toward the baby and away, and the baby cheerfully cries his name as it tries to snatch the gleaming feathers. But the baby's voice gets softer, and its grin shrinks to a smaller smile and then fades entirely. Its round face scrunches up again, its focus engaged in some new thought.

Spite watches breathlessly, waiting to see what the baby will learn to do next. The baby's face turns pink and then a mottled red with effort. Rook told him the baby wouldn't have wings, but as Spite watches the tiny muscles tremble with strain and hears the baby grunt, a little part of him wonders if feathers and light will suddenly erupt from its back.

Then the smell hits.

Spite rears back with a snarl of disgust. He and Lucanis have perfected smooth handovers of their shared body, but this time Spite jerks away with such abruptness that Lucanis is left staggering. Spite doesn't apologize. He flees the room to escape the horrid stench and then decides to flee the entire family wing just to be safe.

He'll tell Lucanis the baby said his name later.