Right before turning to the ritual site, you try to resolve the argument with your companion. I was curious how they all played against the other as well as the argument itself. There are so many lines to read between when sussing this out.
Worth noting, if you have Bellara and Davrin in the same party, we defer to Bellara's answer, which is fitting, as she has been explaining buildings to us all along...for one of many reasons.
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Veilguard is so Disney. It doesnât show any of the dark fantasy. Is so clean and hides all the tragedy we have come to expect from Dragon Age. Veilguard is so not a Dragon Age game.
I counted 86 bodies. In the Chantry. 86 souls rotting in the house of worship. Demons ripping through on the heels of a fragment of red lyrium weft into an artifact for the Venatoriâs power. We are testing the waters of Neveâs personal quest. Aeliaâs destruction is visible the first steps we take in Minrathous post Solasâ ritual.
This saunter has been haunting me all night. I loaded up the first crossroads save to get a quick screenshot of that cave room from/to nowhere in the canyon esque part of the crossroads and this was the clip.
So Hawke in all her purple glory. Itâs been living and paying rent in small smiles subconsciously for a while now. Along with the small step back and heavy lean on one hip. Heâs justâŚ
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I have a post Prison scenario where Rook (lest you forget, possessed by birth of a fragment of Justice (and also a tiny bit blighted, thanks, dad)) is taken over by a corrupted version of Justice, Reciprocity, and goes on an Antaam murder spree in the crossroads. Found and subdued by Lucanis.
WIP for what it looks like in my head when Reciprocity takes control:
The beauty of Dragon Age, in any age, is how the mocap allows for snippets of validation to any headcannon.
Like, how is this not an absolute and accurate representation of Hawke and Anders captured in a subtle reaction?
The CC sliders being so versatile that I have spent the most entertaining hours perfecting him. Throwing Anders into Hawke armor and then the chaotic, foolhardy, and everyperson to hero facial expressions by Jeff Berg. I am a personal fan of Alex Jordanâs VA. And I wonât go into the huge diatribe I contain about the critical camp playing through way too fast and obtuse to catch the micro-expressions absolutely imbedded in every cut scene. But Iâll never not take a moment to criticize the critical camp.
Rookâs fist was in Davrinâs face before the words finished falling out of his mouth.
He staggered back, the smug look on his face dripping off with the blood from his lip. He held, uncertain how to proceed. Every moment of his life was structure and rank.
He had seen Rook take out the First Warden. He chalked the KO to the concussion he obviously suffered, but taking this hit made him hesitate.
Also, what did this mean for the team? They were fractured. Two big losses. And Rook had been gone for weeks. They were doing the work without him, but they all knew, Davrin knew, they would not succeed without Rook.
âSay that one more time. One.â Rookâs pale eyes were still severely bloodshot. He coughed lightly. He shook out his hand, still sore and tender from weeks of fighting and running.
Davrin said nothing. No one else moved either. Never had they experienced such conflict within. Rook was usually quick to shut down everyoneâs infighting.
Standing in the middle of the room, rubbing his fist and coughing, Rook slowly took in the five pairs of eyes frozen in wait for the next move.
Even Emmrich held back. No one wanted to be the next target in Rookâs hellish gaze. Lucanis softly smiled, in part for Rookâs capability, partly to see Davrin put in his place. Taash quietly handed Davrin a handkerchief and he dabbed the inside of his lip with it.
Rook wanted to instantly apologize. He understood he was no longer in the fade prison, but he couldnât trust it. He needed Neve here. Lucanis needed Neve. And Harding. No amount of processing this would bring his best friend back. She was there at his beginning. And heâŚno. The prison taught him not to dwell. Many others were responsible for that moment. Ghilanânain had caught Rook off guard. She toyed with him. Her ropes of flesh primed for piercing him.
âHarding saved my life.â Rook coughed. âThere is nothing a single one of us did that day that wasnât intentional. Even the Evanuris. We played good chess. We took their queen but lost-â
He began a coughing fit, and used it to hide the tears that were broiling under the surface. He ran to Lucanisâ bed and sat, coughing, crying. He knew he was free of the prison because this was the moment a new nightmare would begin. Just when he thought he had dealt with his stifled rage or terror or pride, a new unkempt emotional state arose.
Lucanis leaned in the doorway, giving Rook as much space as he could. Rook peeled his head out of his hands. Dark circles amplified the bloodshot eyes. His irises were almost white.
His skin was pale. It was impossibly pale since they broke him out of the Fade.
âNo.â A sigh etched from him. He shrunk. Looking every bit the young man he was, twenty-two going on 15.
Lucanis easily forgot how young he was. He was the dauntless Tevinter mage that broke him out of the Ossuary. He withstood months of a god in his head. Disrupted plans and thwarted cult leaders and Vashoth warriors. But he was so small. Even on Lucanisâ bed, which was small already, dwarfed him.
âWhat can I do?â He crossed his arms.
He wanted to rush in, take him in his arms, kiss it better. But he felt the wind knocked out of him with Neveâs absence. It was impossible to function after Tearstone. Emmrich kept Lucanis busy, running letters and finding supplies and scholars through Antiva to make all the components they needed to break into the Fade.
They even needed Spite for a part of the ritual. Lucanis hated they were doing a ritual in the one spot where all this effort and loss started. To think of Rook in a place where it was described the Blight had loosed not once now, but twice, enraged bit of them.
âIt hurts to hear.â Spite whined once when Lucanis was dragged through Hossburg to find a Champion.
Lucanis worried Justice would be driven mad and in turn break Rook in the Fade. Now, seeing Rook so unbalanced and unwell, he wondered if Justice was finally free in the fade.
âI donât know.â Rook finally answered. He traced his knuckles and tried to find his way back to where he needed to be, for the team, for Thedas. For himself.
Lucanis started toward Rook but he stood suddenly.
His eyes started to glow a shade of fade Lucanis had never seen. It had been seen for ten years, the power of possession that was taking him over. His body burned. He could taste his own blood. Even in the prison, the last moment he and Justice had together before the spirit disappeared.
âRook?â Lucanis closed the door and pressed against it. Good choke points were invaluable. âWhat is happening?â
âI thought,â he strained, doubling over trying to keep control, âhe was. Released. Into. The. Fade. Gah!!â
Rook bellowed as the spirit took control. Lucanis called for Spite, who was in the room instantly.
âDemon!â Spite crouched and looked to Lucanis. âRook?â
âIs that Justice?â
âNot Justice. No.â Spite sniffed and held his hands over his ears.
Someone was pounding on the door. Lucanis adjusted his footing to keep out as well as in.
âLucanis!â Emmrichâs voice muffled through the thick door. âI sense quite a change in the ether. Is everything okay with Spite?â
Lucanis and Spite looked at each other, then Rook, then back at each other. The human shook his head.
âAM. FINE.â Spite growled. Lucanis twirled his finger in the air for Spite to spin more time. âGo. Away! I need room. Must.â
And then he mumbled something. Emmrich tried the doorknob again. Spite pulsed with magic, willing the necromancer to leave.
âAh! I see. Yes. We will give you space to worry. Are Lucanis and Rook alright?â
Lucanis nodded aggressively.
âWe are all. Good. Rook. Is crying. A lot. And I need. Space!â
âOf course.â Emmrich backed away. Taash objected. Davrin said something quiet and low. They all left. Lucanis cracked open the door and peeked. It was empty.
âRequital!â Spite yelped and flew to Lucanis just as Rookâs form barreled at them.
His face all teeth and scowling eyes glowing an astonishing deep cerulean and getting darker as he neared.
Lucanis didnât know what happened. He was on his ass, head knocked into the stone, and Spite tried to take off after Rook but couldnât stretch his autonomy much past the big door of the dining hall.
âRook?â Taash stumbled forward as he clipped their shoulder heading for the mirror. He was gone before Lucanis could catch up and stop them.
âDid he leave??â Lucanis squeaked between breaths.
âHe was headed toward the mirror.â Bellara came running out of the library.
âMierde!â Lucanis started in with Taash and Bel in tow.
âHey! Youâre bleeding!â Taash picked up the pace and they were out the Virârevas. But Rook was no where to be seen.
âHe refused the ferry.â The Caregiver appeared. âHe was not well.â
âThis is vashidan!â Taash sat on the top step heavily.
âShall I share?â The Caregiver turned to Spite.
âWe. Will. Share.â He hissed. Spite still did not like the spirit of the Lighthouse.
Emmrich turned to Lucanis slowly, lips pursed, slowly folding his hands. Bellara sat next to Taash.
âJustice corrupted.â Spite stretched his wings, longing to fly off after them.
âHe what?â Taash stood. Spite cowered.
âRook fell ill then his scars and eyes burst with deep dark-â
âFade.â Spite finished, sensing Lucanis didnât want to solidify it.
âBurst?â
âYes,â Lucanis tried to find the right way to explain, âhe. His skin. His scars. They.â He motioned abstractly to parts of his body, his fingers wriggling as he drew them down his arm.
âLike. Lace. With. Taash.â Spite tried to help.
Taash froze, her face lost color and her eyes filled with tears.
âSpite!â Lucanis started but Emmrich held a gentle had.
âLyrium. It was always similar to the effect I witnessed in our Dragon Hunter.â
âHis fatherâs possession was similar.â Bellara started in. âHe spoke, and, well I read up on it. But can a spirit corrupt if it never knew the fade? When it was always, you know, a part of him?â
âHow does everyone know about this but me!?â Tassh stood and growled.
âWe thought you knew!â Bellara gasped.
âHe doesnât pop out like Spite.â Lucanis shrugged.
âIâve only seen him, Justice, I mean, when Rook was, is!, cornered or overwhelmed.â
âUsually closer to death than any of us ever have been.â Lucanisâ eyes snapped to Emmrich. âYou know what I mean.â
âI understand.â The lichâs glamour smiled. âI assume heâs been closer to death than even I now.â
âNot death. Escaped!â Spite batted wings harder, hoping Lucanis would want to run after with him.
âSpite, we cannot such the fade for one spirit, that would be like finding a singular bug in all of Arlathan.â
âI. See. Trail!â Spite jumped.
âSpite, no!â Lucanis morphed into the parent. âRook needs space. Justice needs space. Rook and Justice have to figure this out. Like you and I.â
âRook. Helped. Me.â Spite snarled and began to glow violently. âHelped. Us!â
Lucanis turned to Emmrich.
âWe need him. And he needs you.â He nodded toward the ferry docks.
âYes! Listen to bone man!â Spite jumped and clapped. Lucanis grumbled. Davrin appeared, his lips swollen and already bruising, holding Lucanisâ scabbard and harnesses with all his blades.
âWe canât waste time.â
Spite started off quickly, making a Lucanis run after him. The Caregiver was waiting impatiently.
âWe sail.â Thought it had said these words a thousand times, this was the first time it sounded like a threat. âTides change. We need to keep our head.â
âI never understood you.â Lucanis sat as the boat moved.
âMierda. We should not be out here alone.â
Spite was dangling over the boat, excited to be allowed to watch, participate. Since they rescued Catarina and Ilario was finally listening to him, Spite settled. The fewer nights he sleepwalked, the more willing to let him stretch his wings during the days the First Talon was.
âWith haste, travelers.â
They ran, well, Lucanis ran, Spite flew, a bloodhound on the trail. Lucanis tripped and rolled forward. Severed pieces of Antaam lay strewn across the short bushes and crags. A dozen bodies split into at least three dozen bits. The metal smell of blood was overpowering.
âIt seems we may be very safe.â
âIf Requital kill them? Kill us?â
âNo one is dying today. Especially not Rook.â
Bare and bloody footprints lead up the rock path and into a small cave. In the darkest corner a Rook shaped form crouched. His hair was pulled loose, dangling over his forehead. His robes were torn and soaked in blood. Rook clasped his hands behind his buried head and rocked.
âApostate.â Rook kept mumbling over and over.
Lucanis motioned for Spite to guard the door and he silently approached.
âTheyâll all see. Love a mage. Varric, Maker. He loved her. He did all this for her. She killed him. I killed him. Apostate! Will never touch another. Do you hear it? Beautiful. Hawke this. Hawke that.â
Lucanis reached to touch Rookâs shoulder. Suddenly Rook looked up, straight at Lucanis, his face torn with streaks of deep blue lyrium, his eyes pools of the endless night sky.
âYou! Abomination!â Rooks voice was no where to be heard. It was deeper, much deeper. And distorted as if three or four Rooks all spoke at once but slightly out of time.
âTakes one to know one.â
Rookâs face froze, the Spirit didnât realize it was trapped in a human. Slowly it turned, looking past the caveâs mouth. It held out blood and dirt covered hand to touch the fade and was distracted by the very existence of a hand.
âThe Antaam were sent to kill. Kill and control. Dragon of Night. They said. They reeked of rot. I cut the rot out. Made it right again.â
âWith wonderful accuracy, I might add.â
âThe blade was not as useful as this.â Rook tossed his dagger to the dirt and held his hand as if taking a blade and a sword of pure magic appeared. âThe Sword of Justice.â
âImpressive, to be sure.â Lucanis stepped around, or of the bladeâs reach.
âSpite has daggers!â Spite twirled twin blades in his Lucanis-shaped hands.
Requital stood. Rooksâ feet didnât touch the ground. Bare, they dangled like the skeleton in the Spiritâs body. Through the aura that took the shape of a Templar, armor and all, Rookâs clothes were torn, soiled, stained with the blood of a dozen Antaam. It was unsettling to see Rook disengaged from reality. But Requital moved very similarly to Rookâhand placed on hip as it organized its thoughts, the way it twirled the sword as it considered Spite.
âWe all agree Rook stays unharmed, yes?â Lucanis spoke at Spite mostly.
âSkill. Precision. Timing.â Spite was well aware of Lucanisâ inner monologue. The Spirit often spoke to it as if it were an entity separate of Lucanis. Your determination. Or youâre Determination. He could never conclude which Spite meant.
âA duel like any other day?â Lucanis turned to Requital, hoping Rook was in there somewhere.
It was strange seeing the difference of a mage possession and his experience with Spite. They always stayed separate. Even when Spite took over Lucaniâs body, he was always limited in size and strength. The wings were all Spite was ever able to bring out. Early on it was an advantage Lucanis welcomed and requested.
âDuels are to the death, in my world.â Requital gripped his blade.
âA match then. A test of skill, abomination vs abomination, to first blood.â Lucanis pulled his rapier out and held his right hand out to shake on it.â
Requital pondered. âTwo of you versus one of us.â
âIt hasnât been one for a while.â Lucanis didnât want to aggravate the Spirit. âJustice worked with Rook. He did not use him.â
âJustice. There was no justice for a length of time uncounted. The time for Justice has passed.â
âRook agreed to this?â Lucanis still held out a hand.
âHe begged for the power to return what was done to him.â
Requital drew in the bluer bits of the Fade around them. âI have that power.â
âHe would not want you to do this without him. Heâs very hands on.â Lucanis stretched his hand a bit closer to the spirit.
âIf the first blood is Ours, I will withdraw. If yours, I will take this form and march upon the waking world as is my right. We owe the remaining Evanuris our reply.â
âI agree.â Lucanis offered his hand once more.
The spirit was cold, hard. He did not expect such density and mass in the spirit. As soon as their hands separated, Requital swung the spirit blade. Lucanis leapt and drew his sword, making the spirit roll away from the sweeping blades.
The spirit blade sang through the cluttered fade air. Lucanis was taken aback enough to stumble, as the blade fell, Spite leapt over his human and blocked the magic sword from his shoulder.
âHe. Needs. That. To. Kill. Gods.â Spite struggle against the weight of the blow as Lucanis rolled out of reach. Requital pulled back the blade just before it hit the rocky ground.
Requital strobed. A flicker like the signs that littered Minrathous losing a brief connection to the magic that lit it.
âLuc!â Long, drawn out an inhuman length, and muffled by the for that encased him, Rook began to wake.
Requital bellowed as it struggled for control.
Lucanis drew his rapier across the spiritâs arm to get just close enough to draw a drop of blood, but the spirit was not permeable. The blade was short millimeters shy of Rookâs wrist.
Rook yelled as he forced his body through Requitalâs mass the same moment the spirit was putting all its power into pulling from the fade his blade to fall upon Lucanisâ neck. Two parts of the whole were pulling at their singular will to win.
Spite leapt at Lucanis to push the blade in. Just centimeters before the spirit blade touched a single hair on the first talonâs head, Rook pressed his forearm into the razor edge. Lucanis and spite immediately pulled the rapier away from Rook as the spirit was compelled back into the wounds it opened to access the fade and Rookâs mind. Rook yawlped and pressed his hands against his temples, hoping to press out the pain.
âRook! Hush! Breathe. Deep breaths!â
Rook tried to lengthen his breaths like he was casting. Like every tutor he had emphasized. Name all the schools of magic before you stop. Breath in. Breath out.
Lucanis pulled the mage into his arms. âItâs okay. Itâs okay.â
âYou. Made. Another. Deal?â Rook breathed slowly out, his bloodshot eyes already pale and cleared of ripples of the fade.
âMore a bet.â
âA. Contest!â Spite knelt on the other side of Rookâs legs.
âSpite!?â Rook flinched a little at seeing Spite.
âI can see you?â
âYou can see him?â
âYou can see me!â Spite leapt up and danced around in triumph.
âJustice?â
âHas twisted into Requital. We need to speak with Emmrich.â Lucanis draped his coat over Rookâs shoulders.
A size too small though it was, Rook wrapped himself tightly. He brushed his hair off his brow and walked slowly over the rocky ground. They met no resistance during the return to the lighthouse. Spite kept an eye out for anyone in the library, but they made it to the meditation room with no one seeing.
âGet Emmrich.â Rook sighed. âI need to make sure Iâm capable of facing a couple of gods. WithoutâŚlosing control.â
âClean up.â Lucanis poured a bit of water into a basin and set out clean towels. âWeâll get Emmrich and-â
âIâm here.â Emmrich crept through the door followed by Spite.
âWhat?â Spite shrugged. âYou want mage. I get mage.â
âThank you, Spite.â Emmrich and Rook spoke in unison, then looked at each other curiously.
âYou can see him?â Emmrich pointed at the Spirit.
âNow, yes.â
âWhat happened?â Emmrich reached out a hand and felt the air around Rook. âI could sense the powerful disruptions in the fade when you left us suddenly.â
âI didnât leave.â Rook washed his hands and arms first. âThe prison may have distorted Justice. From his nature.â
âRequital.â Spite insisted.
âCuriouser.â The lich dropped his glamour and focused his energy on the wefts of the fade as they reacted to Rook.
The Spirit and the two hosts explained what happened. The deal, the nature of the Spirit that overtook Rook. Emmrich listened patiently as he tested Rook and the fade.
âAnd he lies dormant?â
âAs ever.â Rook had explained how Justice was pretty hands off, on the whole. That he was more an advisor in his dreams than having any desire to enact will upon the waking world. Until today.
âWell, Iâll have to test any oneiric changes, when you sleep, but if that all reacts on your normal scale, we can proceed with the briefing tomorrow as planned.â
âGood. I want to find a way to end this.â Rook splashed his face a few times. He held his dripping face over the basin, a good excuse not to look at Emmrich or Lucanis. âAny word whatsoever on Neve? I dreamt-â
âBellara and I both searched. We scribed for her. There is no consistent answer. And absolutely nothing in the beyond. The wisps even refuse to entertain the idea she is gone from us. So there is only hope.â
âHope.â Lucanis scoffed.
âLucanis is right, it isnât enough. But it will have to do. Weâll kill Elgarânan and we will do what we have to do to find her. The Venatori have to know. And who knows how to infiltrate the cult better than you and I?â
âRook.â Lucanis did his pout. His head tilted and he frowned.
Rook put a freshly dried hand on his bearded cheek. âWeâll get her back. One way or another. She is everything.â
âShe is.â Lucanis sighed and kissed Rookâs palm.
you have to live through this with me real quick. real quick i promise
This tracks. Given up by his very capable parents. Given to Tevinter to grow a free mage. Given to Saporati and raised a ladder for social climbing. Given the curse of his fatherâs bleeding heart, a shred of Justice that grows with him more like an absorbed twin. Given a godfather who only brings bad and worse news until he gives him a job that consumes him. Not a Hawke. Not a Mercar. An orphan with five parents and no family. Given a found family that somehow includes him in everything but somehow excludes him, armâs length and inundated.
And he will still give everything because what is there to lose?
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Rookâs fist was in Davrinâs face before the words finished falling out of his mouth.
He staggered back, the smug look on his face dripping off with the blood from his lip. He held, uncertain how to proceed. Every moment of his life was structure and rank.
He had seen Rook take out the First Warden. He chalked the KO to the concussion he obviously suffered, but taking this hit made him hesitate.
Also, what did this mean for the team? They were fractured. Two big losses. And Rook had been gone for weeks. They were doing the work without him, but they all knew, Davrin knew, they would not succeed without Rook.
âSay that one more time. One.â Rookâs pale eyes were still severely bloodshot. He coughed lightly. He shook out his hand, still sore and tender from weeks of fighting and running.
Davrin said nothing. No one else moved either. Never had they experienced such conflict within. Rook was usually quick to shut down everyoneâs infighting.
Standing in the middle of the room, rubbing his fist and coughing, Rook slowly took in the five pairs of eyes frozen in wait for the next move.
Even Emmrich held back. No one wanted to be the next target in Rookâs hellish gaze. Lucanis softly smiled, in part for Rookâs capability, partly to see Davrin put in his place. Taash quietly handed Davrin a handkerchief and he dabbed the inside of his lip with it.
Rook wanted to instantly apologize. He understood he was no longer in the fade prison, but he couldnât trust it. He needed Neve here. Lucanis needed Neve. And Harding. No amount of processing this would bring his best friend back. She was there at his beginning. And heâŚno. The prison taught him not to dwell. Many others were responsible for that moment. Ghilanânain had caught Rook off guard. She toyed with him. Her ropes of flesh primed for piercing him.
âHarding saved my life.â Rook coughed. âThere is nothing a single one of us did that day that wasnât intentional. Even the Evanuris. We played good chess. We took their queen but lost-â
He began a coughing fit, and used it to hide the tears that were broiling under the surface. He ran to Lucanisâ bed and sat, coughing, crying. He knew he was free of the prison because this was the moment a new nightmare would begin. Just when he thought he had dealt with his stifled rage or terror or pride, a new unkempt emotional state arose.
âSo, am I supposed to call you Champion, now?â
That was the only thing Anders said to her after the Arishok fell. Was he jealous she fought for an old lover? Or did he not want to see someone so blatantly adjacent to the Templars receive such glory?
âCall me anything you like.â She rebuffed as she pressed past him.
âI am not sure you would like what you heard.â
He didnât mean for her to hear him, but her keen senses couldnât help it. They were trained on him more than he liked. He stayed at his clinic for almost six months, he didnât talk much to her or anyone. Hawke tried to chalk it up to broody renegade mage, but it hurt how much he rebuffed her.
âHawke.â Anders was seeing an elven family out the lantern lit doors of the clinic. He didnât look at her, just called her name as if she were next to be seen. As he turned back to the clinic, she wasnât sure she should follow or if she should remain.Â
The Champion sat in the waiting area, unsure of how to approach him. Anders finished up business, barely looking at her for two hours. Once the last of the patients were seen, and the assistant was released, Anders finally came to her. He stood, silent. His arms crossed tight causing the feathered pauldrons to poof like a threatened bird.
âWhere have you been?â Hawke had planned to hug him, kiss those soft, capable lips, but his cold mood enraged her.
âCleaning up your,â Anders stopped himself, âthe Qunari mess. A lot of people were hurt, Hawke.â
âYou donât need to lecture me.â She tried to diffuse. Failing.Â
âAnd more suffer now that the nobility are hiding their heads in the sand.â
âI am not hiding my head!â Hawke stood even though she knew she could not threaten the mage by stature alone.
âNo, you feast.â He threw up his hands and walked toward the vacant beds.
âAre you mad at me for celebrating the cityâs victory?â
âYou broke bread with her! Sheâs a lunatic who would behead me and all my kind for merely speaking out of turn. Sheâs no better than the Qunari you âprotectedâ us all from. You accepted her favor. For clout!â Anders kept his back to Hawke.Â
âYouâre cute when youâre mad.â She grinned, hopefully.
Anders seethed. The whites of his eyes turned blue as he fought to keep Justice restrained.
Hawke stepped back a bit, trying to seem less. âI went to the Gallows, Iâm sorry, The Circle.Â
âDonât childproof it for me, Hawke.â
âThe city invited me, not Mer-â
âYou donât fool me, Hawke.â Anders turned, more deflated than riled. âYouâve always felt Andrasteâs fear. I donât understand why to started anything up with me. Donât you see youâre the hypocrite here?â
âAnders, I,â Hawke pursed her lips. âI came to ask you to escort me to the Championâs Ball.â
âChampion.â Anders rolled his eyes. âThat again. Champion Of Whom?âÂ
âWhat do I have to do to prove I am no Templar?â Hawke was riling now. She moved to stand in front of him. Speak face to face. But he seemed to have enough to keep him busy away from her gaze.Â
âYou donât need the fancy armor to oppress mages. Though you would look good in them.â He turned and smiled at her, casting his gaze down her body. Imagining Templar Hawke. Flaming Sword on her chest. Dampening the magic while high on lyrium.Â
âReally, you flirt with me after-?â Hawke bit her lip. âYou are impossible!â
Anders finished cleaning the clinic as Hawke fumed. He was too calm, too focused. Why wouldnât he just go toe to toe with her and get it all out now? Did the Spirit hold him back? Could she anger Justice enough and have a good solid fight about it?
When he had nothing else to distract him, he finally sat next to Hawke on one of the tables. He leaned forward, blonde wisps that never made it into the tie fell over his eyes. Knees at her shoulders, hands dangling between them. He sighed the exhaustion of a long day. Long months of keeping himself, keeping Justice away from the fallout.Â
âWhen is this Ball?â He took Hawkeâs hand gently into his, turning it over, as if he needed to relearn the patterns in her skin.
âIn a week. The city has healed-â
âHightown has healed.â Anders interrupted softly.
âAnd, Hightown people feel a proper ceremony is required. It is my official debut to Marcher society. They are even allowing Bethany to come, plus one.â She smiled. âThe Amell name is officially received again.â
âYour mother would be so proud.â The love and care he felt for her dripped from every syllable despite his mood.Â
Hawke sighed, tears still pressed whenever she thought of her mother. âRemember when Bethany spoke to you of our father?â
âHow could I forget? I was giddy for weeks, the hope that you could see me as a man like him.â
âWell, she was wrong.â
Anders tensed, the physical reaction to keeping Justice at bay, just in case. He was nowhere to be felt, but disappointment registered the same as injustice to the Spirit. âOh.â
âFather ran from this obvious future. He ran to live a life he had no business living.â
âSo, you think a mage doesnât deserve a normal life, with love and a family.â Anders dropped her hand and stood.
Hawke jumped down and slid in front of him, catching his face in her hands. He shook loose, but she wrapped her hands tighter around his jaw, fingers caressing under his ears and into the hairs on the back of his neck.
âHe wasnât half the man you are. I love my family more than anything. But he ran from Circles when he could instead of changing them for you. You fight for what you believe in. You stay by my side even when there are Templars who know you, where to find you. They taunt me with it all the time. But here you remain. Youâve stopped running.â
âHawke, I,â Anders blushed, a single tear bubbled in his left eye.
âFather would encourage Bethany that a mage should choose that which is best. When I see mages settling for what is most base, I feel they deserve The Circle. But then Bethany was taken. They call it a place of education. Mages took her instead of protecting her. I wanted all other mages to feel her pain.â
âAll?â His brown eyes searched her face while his hands pushed hers to her side.
âAll.â She turned from him in shame. âFenris ââ
âHere we go!â Anders knew exactly what Fenris would see done with him.
âHe didnât mean to, and if you ever tell him I said this, Iâll kill you. But he talked me down. After you almost, after Sir Alrik, I had every intention of marching Meredith down here and-â she couldnât finish.
âHe stopped you?â He shook his head softly, eyes flinching, unbelieving.Â
âHe understands your rage. Give him at least that. How you have to live under the giant thumb of the Chantry.â Not that he truly cares. But he told me if I could turn on you, I could turn on any of you.â Hawke sat on a bench and dropped her head in her hands. âI didnât see any of it before. Not after the Saarabas. Not after Grace. I just saw my life spiraling into a mess of roads and running. The endless running.â
She sighed, shaking the thought from her mind. Slowly she looked up and took in the unstoppable concern in him. âBut when I saw you intended to run as well, after the Solution unraveled, because no one supported youâŚâ
âYou asked me to stay.â
âForever.â She frowned. Now wondering if she will be ever the fool, thrice rejected from her companions. âI know I can offer you more than my mother could my father. She was happy to run with love. I am fine fighting for it.â
Anders stood out of armâs reach. There sat the Champion of Kirkwall, begging a mage to stay with her, despite the consequences. Her pale eyes twinkled in the lamplight, glassy with shame and hope. Her white hair burned a gentle red as it reflected the warmth of the fires that kept most of the disease away.Â
âSay something, Anders.â
âYou stayed with me out of pity?â He was tense, understated, grasping at every ounce of control as Justice pounded at the bars of his cage. âPity from the elf?â
âNo!â Hawke crumpled back into the bench. âI love you, Anders. Even after everything I have seen. About mages. About Kirkwall. About me! Maker be damned, Anders. I love for what you are. Who you are! The compassion you show everyone, except yourself. Spirit, mage, downtrodden. You experience all this, and choose to stay.â
She waved wildly to the dusty, sewage smelling disgrace of a clinic. It was the nicest thing one could find in Low or Dark towns and it was a gods-forsaken mess. And still it helped more than any Hightown healer would dare to. âDamnit, Anders. These past six months have been hell without you. I hear your dry humor in my ear. The cutting remarks all the authority up there needs to hear. I canât say it. Iâm too weak to. I need you. You balance me. Ground me. Hold me accountable. Which, Maker knows no one else really will, not the way you do-â
âIâll go with you.â Anders was leaning against the same column she met him by. Arms crossed. A smirk on his face.Â
âTo the Ball?â
âAnywhere.â He pulled his magic around Hawke until she was compelled into his arms and he held her as tight as he could.
_
âHawke.â Aveline pressed Hawkeâs elbow. âWe should go in.â
Four figures stood in front of the beautifully lit keep. Society from all corners of Thedas were trickling in, mingling in the courtyard, laughing, seeing and being seen. Anders fidgeted in the Orlesian silk coat Hawke ordered tailor-fit for him. The deep blues of his silks were the same as the embroidery on her bodice. The lining of his coat, its embroidery and his pants matched her hair perfectly. He looked spectacular, his hair down, tufts of blonde framed a face that blushed as Hawke devoured him with her eyes.
She adjusted the belts that held the jacket closed. It had the silhouette of Templar dress uniforms but the look of Orlesian royalty. None of the long mage dress robeâs look or feel.
âYou donât look so bad yourself, Hawke.â Aveline admired the twists and tendrils that piled around Hawkeâs head.Â
Anders was glad she had dressed them. He would have been sent to the Gallows for sure, just for wanting to dress as plainly as he felt comfortable. He argued with Hawke nearly an hour as the tailor fussed with fabrics. Not only was a Hightown tailor in his Darktown clinic, but he kept having to excuse himself whenever a stray pin caught his skin. Justice, boiling at the surface due to Andersâ overwhelm, would flair, unable to understand the absurdity of the situation.
âWeak bladder.â Hawke would explain, a sickening smile stretched across her face.Â
âYou better be torturing the others equally, or Iâll never forgive you.â Anders glared as he tried to avoid the subtle movements that caused the nervous tailor to twitch and poke.Â
âOh, plan on it.â Hawke winked.Â
âI demand royalties! Whoever shamelessly stole the color of my eyes must be tarred and feathered. Immediately!â Bethany approached in golden brown robes. Only the keenest eye would decipher the tale of magic and power winding around her skirt.Â
âSunshine!â Varric opened his arms to the circle mage as she joined the group. âI am honored to be your escort for the evening.â
âThe honor is mine.â She took Varric by the arm and the entourage turned to Hawke.
âShall we, Hawke?â Varric winked.
âThe others arenât coming?â Hawke peered into the darkness, hoping to see the rest of the company in the stragglers.
âMerrill sends her regards, but she wouldnât know how to behave around so many humans.â Anders took Hawkeâs arm in his.
âIsabella hasnât been seen in months. I wonder if she even knows you invited her.â Varric added.
âSebastian arrived a while ago, with Her Grace. Heâll see you inside.â Donnic finished.
Everyone blatantly avoided the topic of Fenris.
âThen we are met. I suppose we should start the evening.â Aveline wrapped her arm in DonnicâsÂ
âIt is a fine night for one.â Donnic couldnât help himself.
The party held a collective breath as Avelineâs face blanched. But she kissed her new husbandâs cheek and lead the party up the steps to the massive doors.
Anders paused while the others entered the doors, broken and unable to close since the Qunari broke them down, and stole a kiss from the Champion. Hawke held his cheek and smiled in gratitude, in utter joy. A ripple of blue glinted across his eye as if to remind her Justice was also here and watching. She began to warn Anders but the event noticed her.Â
âThe Champion has come!â A voice boomed and all the revelers stopped and turned.Â
Hawke suddenly felt it was a bad idea to have Anders in such a spotlight. But no one looked at him, they were all pressing to see the woman who âsingle-handedlyâ slew the Arishok. All but Meredith. The Knight-Commanderâs eyes narrowed at the blonde mage she knew all too well. Hawke smiled and held her hand out to the woman. As all eyes fell upon her, Meredith was forced to return a smile and welcome the Champion. Anders was shocked at the Qunari horns woven into the lower back of Hawkeâs bodice. He noticed the same design on the shoulders of his coat, broken but elegantly placed to emphasize the curves of her body. There they were on Bethany. And Varric. And Alvaline. Donnic wore the guard dress uniform. She really had thought of everything. He always admired Hawke of her ability to excel in a pinch, but he was swept off his feet by her inherent elegance, knowledge and grace. That she would choose a mage to partner with would always confound him. She would always be at odds with expectations.Â
Hawke looked positively radiant next to Meredith. The Knight Commanderâs armor reflecting the millions of candles onto her silk dress. Full armor, Anders noted, her great-sword fastened tightly to her back as a subtle warning. Meredith had stepped in just behind the Champion, blocking Andersâ until they entered the dining hall. They stopped at the door to be announced. The Knight-Commander presented Hawke at the landing of the front hall stairs.
âKirkwall welcomes its newest hero, Miriam Hawke, of the noble and established house Amell. Join us as we drink to her and her,â She swallowed back the words she desired to say, âcompanions. Those that fought to keep this corner of the Marches safe from heretics.â
She looked sharply back to Anders who stood just behind the women with Bethany, Varric, Aveline and Donnic.
The crowd erupted and followed the women into the throne room. As each entered a voice announced names and titles.Â
Except for Anders. Either Hawke had asked them not to, or they conveniently swept the apostate under the rug. He followed Hawke like a servant. Slowly regretting his choice to escort her.
A shroud covered the viscountâs seat of honor, and an honor guard protected the solemnity of the vacancy. Orsino, Grand Cleric Elthina, and Sebastian stood at places of honor as Meredith escorted Hawke and the companions to the head of the table. Meredith sat to one side of the Viscounts vacant chair, between Hawke and Orsino. Anders was followed by Aveline, then Donnic, Varric and Bethany rounded out the party. Orsino nodded to the younger Hawke and smiled. It was good to have so many mages at places of honor.
As the food was served and the wine poured and poured, a steady stream of nobility were introduced to the Champion. She smiled graciously, took each of their hands, and introduced Anders and her sister to them all. Maybe it was the wine getting to his head, but the rebel mage never felt so celebrated in his life. She made sure each of them knew he was with her, as more than a guest. My Anders and my sister Bethany. No one really thought twice of it. The two didnât look stereotypical mages, maybe Hawke planned that in her clothing selections. They were asked to leave their weapons at home. Orsino wore his proudly as First Enchanter, also because Meredith still was a peer in the eyes of the law, regardless of the slow fist she pressed upon the circle, he would take as many liberties as she would.
Anders wanted the world to know he was a mage, he wanted them to have to confront their own misguided fears. Hawke wanted them to know him as a human first, for that was all he ultimately was. She argued it was unnecessary to create a debate where there should be none. He conceded, much to Justiceâs chagrin.Â
After dinner was served, Elthina invited the guests back to the front hall for dancing.Â
âHawke.â Anders snagged the Champion and pulled her back as the rest bled out of the hall.
âYes?â She grinned profusely and wrapped her arms around his waist.
âAre you having a good time?â
âSplendid.âÂ
âThank you for all of this. It is more than I ever could have imagined, half of Thedas knows you chose me. What happens if they find out, you know, Iâm a mage?â
âThey all know! They donât care. Not here. Not tonight. The double standards of the wealthy are in our favor tonight.â She squeezed his waist playfully.Â
âWhat if I do something that will destroy all you have done for yourself? I know they donât see me now, but one day, the other boot may drop.â
âIâve always loved boots.â She perched on her toes and kissed him ravenously.
âChampion.â Meredithâs voice parted them like she were an over-protective father at the door.Â
âKnight-Commander?â Hawke raised her head in defiance.
âIf you are quite done dallying, there are formalities that await you.â
âAm I a waste of time?â Anders hissed but kept turned from her. Â
âArenât all mages?â She scoffed, her arms crossing in front of her.Â
Anders squared up to the Knight-Commander, but Hawke held out a hand, stopping him or Justice from reacting further.
âAn important man died here because our defenses were distracted by mages.â Meredithâs tongue cut the air as her tone grew quiet. âIf she is distracted further, the safety of our city can and will suffer.â
âDistracted?â Anders shook Hawke off, keeping his tone even with Meredithâs. âBy the suffering of half the city? Distracted by the persistent raids in Lowtown homes? Or distracted by the zealous rants of blind superiority?â
âNot tonight, love.â Hawkeâs sotto quieted him enough, his hands and eyes sparking bits of blue. Â
âMuzzle your mage, Champion,â Meredithâs tone cooled. âOr you may never fully rein him in.â
âI might not always need to.â Hawke snapped back, never having shown such defiance before.
Both Anders and Meredith let slip their surprise, one with a gasp and one with a stifled laugh. Hawke elbowed Anders. Meredith tore between them, a last act of authority, and stomped out of the hall.
âSo you can provoke her, and I canât?â A pout puckered on his face.
âI canât be made tranquil.â Hawke scolded.
âWe know I still can, in your stead.â Anders winked as he jested, but reality was not lost to either of them.
A small orchestra lit up the air as the Champion and her date joined the revelers. Those from her party waited on the lower level, the first dance hers. Anders dropped her arm, as Meredith came into view, perched atop a balcony, a look of murder on her brow. She artfully rested a hand on the pommel the great sword that now rested point buried between her feet.
âMaybe you should go on without me.â He hesitated.
âNonsense. She canât touch you here.â Hawke wrapped her arm around his again and escorted him down the stairs.
Meredith caught and held Andersâs eye. Justice boiled beneath, words no one should hear, curses only known to the Fade, rippled in his head. Anders clenched his jaw, his breath shallowed as he fought to keep calm. But hers was the face of all the countless abuses he ever suffered, and fear seasoned his rage.Â
Hawke either chose to ignore the threat, or didnât notice. She pulled Anders onto the floor and swept him into a waltz. He had never learned to dance, but Hawke was so graceful, as long as he stayed attuned to her gentle movements, she made sure he looked flawless. The wine took over as his heart swelled with love and pride, burying Justice deep inside a blanket of safety. The rest of the guests joined in, but Hawke was lost in a world spinning with blonde locks and amber eyes. Her wedding day would not be any lovelier.Â
She imagined her father and mother not far off, proud of their daughter and welcoming Anders as their son. Mother had already, of course. She was happy to bless their love. She was honored that her daughter took after her in so many ways she never expected. But her father, she knew, would caution the hard choice. They were always fine for him to make, but he always felt she and Carver should live the life he always wanted. Carver would be fuming at her ties to a mage. Given the chance, heâd turn him over to the Templars, she was sure of it. But even in her dreams, she couldnât imagine anyone else here in her arms.
Anders, too couldnât keep his eyes from her. It hadnât been since their first night together that he wallowed in such happiness. He was overwhelmed by the normalcy he was offered by the crowd. With Hawke, life was indeed possible. Acceptance was possible, for they would always remember him at her side. At the start of all things. There were so many other possibilities for this womanâs future, and she remained in his arms.
âMay I cut in?â Fenris took Anders by the shoulder, and Justice nearly sprang from the mage, but Hawke leaping into the elfâs arms and Meredith looming overhead, Anders was able to swallow the Spirit.
âFenris!â Hawke beamed and nearly bowled the elf over as she embraced him.Â
He was dressed to the nines. Black silks with the same silver stitching as everyone elseâs outfits but it blended seamlessly with his tattoos. Hawke had sent him the suit. It was too much jealousy for the mage. Even if he was so visibly connected to her, it seemed she planned all their outfits to complement hers, but perhaps they were to echo his. She took no notice of Anders and took the elfâs hand. Fenris smiled as his lyrium-laced fingers gripped her waist.
âExcuse me.â Anders choked back Justice again and quickly headed to the fresh air of the courtyard.Â
Refusing to look back, he forced his way through the packed dance floor and out the large doors of the keep. He couldnât fathom how she would allow him such access to her after he broke her heart. But there was a forgiveness in her that he benefitted from more times than the elf ever did. He couldnât begrudge her opinions, no matter how they differed from his. He choked back tears as Justice whispered in the distance.Â
âSneaking off, mage?â Meredith silently closed the door as she slipped into the courtyard.
Everything in him froze. He had to keep cool. He had to keep Justice within. He prayed a small prayer to a Maker he didnât believe in to keep him together. He fixed a smile on his face and slowly turned, hands visible at all times. A habit from the Circle.Â
âKnight-Commander!â Anders bowed, hoping his respect could stay her hand.
Meredith circled Anders, her over-polished armor flashed in the moonlight. Anders looked for escape, but he was caught, off guard, in the recesses of the columns that lined the courtyard. Meredith paced the path to freedom like a lion.
âStand up tall, mage. You donât fool me. I can smell defiance. You reek of it. Mage.â Her face was pale, stone-like. She was a beautiful angel of death.
âIâve never hidden who I am.â Anders pressed his lips together and pleaded with Justice to remain calm, the venom in his voice already too much.
âWhat you are.â Meredith was over-glad to have him finally alone. âYouâre a creature of the Fade. You walk ever with the Makerâs first and forgotten children. I can see of you what the Champion clearly cannot, fooled by your charms.â
âHawke chooses to be with me through no spell.â Anders was used to this conversation after Sebastian and Fenris each tried to make him leave her alone. âShe loves me.â
âShe is in love with the thrill of you, perhaps. An adventurer and well trained woman though she is, she cannot fathom the full danger you pose.â
âI would never hurt her.â Anders stepped toward the Knight-Commander but paused.
But Meredith read between his lines. âYou care for nothing but your agenda. If she were to step in the way of that, you would turn.â
âDo not suppose you know anything about me, Templar.â Anders fought to keep calm.Â
âTemplar-Commander, to you, you filth.â
âYou put us in a cage at birth, and assume glad thanks, Commander.â The baritone of Justice was trickling through like the magic from the fade as it pressed through the veil.
âEnough! Iâve been waiting for this moment for over a year, now, mage. There is no running for you anymore.â The Knight-Commander drew her sword and held the tip to Andersâs throat.Â
âYouâre cute when youâre angry.â It was Justiceâs words, echoing Hawke. Anders was losing control.Â
âI have heard dark rumors about the Championâs companions. About resistance in the dark places of the city. I intend to root out the truth.â
âAsk me what you will. I am not a liar.â Anders tried to sound compliant, but it truly was never his nature.
âDonât toy with me. Your words are poison. I have seen the effect you have on those around you. Good and ill.â
âI have never asked more of my friends than what they are willing to give.â
âYou use the word friend loosely.âÂ
He knew Hawke was the only person he could truly count on. That Meredith saw it too terrified him.Â
âWhere are they now? Which companion would defend a mage when they are cornered in the dark?â Meredithâs voice rippled across his skin and morphed into goose-pimples.
Just as Andersâs concern began to boil into survival mode, and Justice screaming to have his way, the door burst openand light from the festivities blinded him. Aveline and Donnic shaped shadows poured through. Anders looked at his hands, veins of pure blue lyric glowed under his skin as Justice was on the verge of breaking through. He buried them in his stomach and bent over, forcing the Spirit still. Hawke chose his costume well, for the light played off the silk enough to keep obvious glow of Justice hidden in the pool of light he was now drenched in.
âThere you are!â Aveline took Anders by the arm.
Meredith had sheathed her sword before either guard or Guard Captain could see her intent. Anders was shaking from the effort to keep Justice within.
âGuard-Captain.â Meredith nodded in brief respect. âGuard Hendyr.â
Aveline bowed in kind and motioned for Donnic to lead Anders back into the keep. Aveine held Meredith in place with a stone-cold glare until the men were long gone.
âGive my regards to the Champion,â She called after Anders with her lilt of condensation. âI have business to attend to.âÂ
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Stepping into Rivain was like visiting a grand parent.
It was familiar, welcoming, he knew so much of this country yet it was never home. When Varric took Rook from Tevinter and clear of Venatori reach, he thought it would be a cracker of an idea to introduce Rook to friends of his parents. What Varric failed to mention is that âfriendsâ was a loose term when it came to Hawke. And no one considered Anders a friend. It was too risky.
Everyone ran in the same circle, protections and comforts found in the shadows and arms of Varricâs pockets and Hawkeâs influence. But once the Mage War erupted, the companions scattered back to the ways of life that had sustained them before the brief euphoria of Kirkwall. As Isabella put it one night.
âIt wasnât that it was fun,â she mused, âbut it was thrilling. And it saved all our backsides more than once.â
It was rumored she created the Lords to fill that familial hole. Or the thrill hole. Or numerous other holes. And Isabella did welcome Rook instantly and fully. If not inappropriately.
They entered the Tavern at the Hall of Valor. It was constructed of various shipwrecks. Rook could not figure out then if it was constructed to look like an old dragon hoard. Maybe all the mages conspired to cobble them together. There were myriad bookshelves and books and baubles. The bar and stools were very fancy, well crafted and well taken care of. Varric lead Rook and Harding to a small group of very well dressed pirates. Bright colors and glistening gold and silver trinkets hung from any available surface. In the center of the group say a bronze woman with thick black hair ties in a red scarf. Giant hoop earrings in the most beautiful ears. Her curved barely fit in the tall bar still, and though her legs were longer than her torso, they only reached the dirt floor by the heel of her black boots.
Varric threw a gold coin on the counter next to her. Long, agile fingers picked it up and turned it over. It was Kirkwall gold. Broken chains on once face, the chantry on the other. Red tipped nails rolled the coin gently as the woman sat, not turning.
âIf I didnât know any better, Iâd think I was being bought.â
âChest hair never had to pay.â
âVarric!â She said his name with the biggest smile Rook has ever seen. âHarding, looking good, as usual.â
âIsabella, stop flirting with my team.â
The woman finally looked at Rook. Her cat eyes batted at him as she slowly took him in from boot to top knot.
âMaker, but you are the spitting image of your father, that tall drink of smuggled ale he was. But you have your motherâs hands, lips, and blue eyes.â She took in each part as she studied. Rook took in the smell of something citrus and something spice. Was it her hair or her breath? But it was intoxicating.
Varric cleared his throat and Rook blushed down to his toes. He mumbled a quick hello and shoved his hand in his pockets the moment Isabella released it.
âAnd a pup, just like your uncle.â
âThatâll do, Isabella.â Varric adjusted Bianca and started to sit.
âFor now. In the meantime, tell me about everything. Your letters are less descriptive than your books.â
Varric sat next to her and they fell into easy conversation over beers as if they had every afternoon before. Varric asked after others. Most names Rook had heard, but only knew of them from articles or books. Merrill had made it back through Rivain with the Dalish and boarded a ship to Ferelden. They laughed over moments twenty years ago. Isabella couldnât stop talking about Marian Hawke. Varric and she commiserated over the one that got away. Rook smiled, he loved hearing about his parents, even in passing.
A drinking game started, every time one of them said Hawke using a different voice and if the other couldnât identify the person they were quoting they took a shot of rum. Rook wanted to ask so many questions. But the storied poured out too quickly. They were just scratching the surface of who his parents were. Rook just drank and tried to follow along. Most times he just began starting at Isabella with wonder and growing curiosity.
The bar began singing old Ferelden bar songs every present Lord knew. Rook followed Hardingâs lead and learned the claps and dances that went with the lyrics. He drank and laughed and eventually stumbled toward the sleeping quarters.
Isabella leapt up and caught him before he face-planted into bar door frame.
âLet me help you there, pup. Been a minute since you drank with the Lords?â
âI canât remember the last time. So,â he hiccuped, âmaybe Iâm getting better.â
Rook froze when they stepped into the fresh sea air. He grabbed the railing overlooking the water and took a few deep breaths. Isabella watched him in the moonlight. His fatherâs height, strong brow, blonde hair strands left out of the messy bun on the top of his head rolling in the gentle breeze.
âMaker, itâs a beautiful view.â He drawled, his voice a bit raspy, like Hawkeâs.
âBoy is it.â
He could feel her eyes on him. Her attention was palpable. No person mistook when she looked on them. You could feel it, and you felt lucky to be seen. He took another deep breath, the beer settling in his stomach better, he felt relaxed for maybe the first time in his life.
She escorted him to a small room far back away from the noise of the tavern. She fussed with a key in the lock for a bit, fruitlessly. Rook pressed his hand to the lock and froze it and then knocked his shoulder against it.
The door flung open. âNice trick. I got a few lords you could teach that to.â
A small gathering of candles sat dark in the window that looked out onto the beach. With a wave of his hand, half a dozen orange flames ducked and wove as she unfolded a blanket on the bed for him.
Rook watched her curves gently bounce with her very graceful movements. He could see why Varric always spoke of her without any adjectives. None really did her justice. Her skin was as golden and blush as the boards of the ship remnants that made the walls of the room. Slight streaks of silver twinkled in her night-sky hair. The jewels that clung to every limb and twisted around up to her neck jingled as she worked.
She stood and turned to the door, pausing to look back to Rook. A wry smile slowly stretched across her face.
âI havenât seen you since you were barely a mage. What? Four years ago?â
âFive. Yeah. I had recently passed my harrowing-â Isabella fixed the collar of his jacket and brushed a lock of Andersâ blonde hair behind Hawkeâs ear. âI, um, vacationed here.â
Cracking under the change of the energy, his voice trailed toward the crickets beyond the window.
âI donât recall you being this tall.â Her eyes were at his lips, when she looked up at him they twinkled like gems.
âI wasnât.â He slouched a bit.
She reared onto her toes and kissed him. Suddenly. With no hint of a warning. The force pressed him against the warm wooden door, still holding some of the evening sun.
His heart began making up for every other part of him that suddenly lost the ability to move. She tasted of ale, her mouth parting his lips and her tongue tapping on his. The moment Rook realized a beautiful woman was kissing him, he lost all sense of every other reason that should pull him away.
She leaned into him. The most gentle moans escaping her.
Rook finally gained control of his arms. He grabbed her waist and pulled her into him. His body shivered with a rush of magic, the softest burst of electricity jumped from him to her.
âJust as I suspected,â Isabella pulled away, running the pad of her ring finger over her plump, dark lips. âI met a certain mage in Denerim who pulled that trick. But those hands I met in High Town.â
âIâm so sorry. I didnât-â Rook realized he shouldnât be doing this. He wanted to, but Varric would disapprove. Maybe this was a test. She was testing him and he would refuse her and sheâd laugh and call him a good pup and heâd pass out.
âCan you do it again?â Isabella pulled the man into her and, surprised, off-balance, he let another static charge of his desire roll gently from him. She took his arm from over her shoulder and led his hand under the hem of her short skirt.
His fingers hadnât had much experience, but he did learn something in the circle. While letting the remains of the static simmer off his skin, he felt through the silken curls under her skirt and toward the warmth. He let the electrical current find the burst of moisture in the center.
She jumped a bit, biting down on his lip she just began to kiss again. He chuckled and found the softer folds. As his fingers moved, her tongue mirrored. She fell forward into his arm as her legs weakened. He pulled her close, holding the bulk of her weight in one arm as his other hand wove a magic anyone could wield. Her boots kicked around his legs. Her whole weight now in his one arm. Her head fell into the bend over his clavicle. He smiled and softly giggled as she moaned and groaned, twitched and fought the overwhelming sensations. He amped up the magic a touch and she began to vibrate with force. She buried her face in his chest as her body rolled like the sea. Her screams of pleasure muffled in the lapel of his jacket. He pulled away all magic and closed his eyes as he mused over the smooth, gentle bulb his fingertips circled around and around. She hugged him tightly as her body whipped with the extended pleasure.
She pushed his hand out from her, grabbed his jacket and threw him on the bed. Her strength was shocking. Or was it his weakness that made him slightly insecure? She tore at his clothes. He tried to keep up, undressing before she actually tore any of them.
She fumbled at his belt. He was already pressing against the ties, his whole body pulsing at the thought of knowing this goddess that pinned him to the very hard bed.
She pulled at the string and he popped out of his trousers. Isabella smiled big as she took in his size.
âThis is going to be wildly inappropriate, but-â she pulled his trousers down enough. He was giddy with lust and barely understood her words. âAre you glowing?â
Rook slapped his right hand on his cheek. It had the warmth of the Fade, he could feel it pulsing off his face.
âYeah, itâs um,â he tensed up as she leaned over him, her breasts looming beneath her face. Rook tried to wriggle away, but she had him tightly beneath her.
âThe old stick in the mud?â She giggled.
âWho?â
She thrust her hips forward and he instantly slipped into the moist creases of her womanhood. His brain shut off as she kissed him and shimmied her hips until the tip of his penis found the opening. She was so warm. Swollen. His body twitched as she toyed with giving him full access. The more he attempted to enter, denied, the more frustrated he got and the more his scars glowed.
âWho do we have in there?â She whisper into his ear, her breath hot, her voice a sweet song.
âIsabella.â Rook pleaded. Andersâ voice, she thought for a moment, and a touch of beyond echoing in the room.
She circled her hips, keeping the tip of his cock just inside, but no further. The scandal of it all motivating her as much as his desire.
âYou want this?â She teased.
Rook felt every cell in him awaken. He grabbed her waste and pulled at her hips, but her thick thighs and arms resisted. She was stronger than he. In all ways. He grunted and pulled again, but she held the space between them, laughing a bit louder with each attempt.
He had only to think it, use magic to move her and himself. Get the upper hand. With the force of the Fade, he rolled her down onto the bed. She threw one leg over his arm and pulling it up to his shoulder that now had the faintest webs of lyrium stretching down his veins. The other leg he held down at the middle of her thigh and pressed the tip of his penis back into the warm folds of her labia.
âThe pup has a bite.â She squirmed with anticipation.
âIâm no Ferelden pup, Iz,â his voice was mixed with voices of her past. It would have been off putting if she wasnât so turned on. âIâm a Tevinter dragon.â
He should have cringed at the line, but she kicked her leg around his waist and pulled his hips crashing into hers. The rush of pleasure erased any inhibitions he may have had, might have tomorrow. For this moment it was a swirl of emotion, a force just beyond the reach of his control went move for move with the beautiful and dangerous woman beneath him. Grunts and pants and moans and groans mixed and blended in the moonlight as Isabella found what she was pining for. The lost love of her life, the only man she could never fully seduce, and the spirit that connected them all in this young and virile man.
The two fumbled and pressed and sweated through most of the night. Rook had never reveled in such abandonment. He half thought he was dreaming it all. He recalled, in a veil of reality, an explosion of cold fire, rippling electricity, his every muscle pushing the very life force from him and into the impossible woman he couldnât believe was in his bed.
He woke to the sun striping across his face. The Rivaini heat was warm on his bare skin. The door latch jumped. As the door swung open, Harding entered, chatting on about the planned boat trip and fishing expedition with some Rivaini nobles-
The lanky, muscular man was passed out on the bed before her. She had a full view of the scars that twisted across the right side of his body. His bare ass, round and taught, exposed. His face so calm and relaxed In perfect sleep. Beautiful in so many ways. She stared down at his body, taking it all in slowly, when suddenly the scars flickered and he adjusted onto his back. Harding dropped the wooden cup and pitcher and water leapt over everything. Rook snapped awake. He jumped up and grabbed his staff instead of his pants.
Harding stood frozen as she took him in from the front, completing the full picture with a wave of crimson over her face.
âI. Ship. Fish. Hour.â She turned and bolted out of the room.
Rook suddenly realized himself, slammed the door shut and slumped down to the floor in utter embarrassment. His head dangled between as he fought to separate dream from reality of last night. He rolled his staff in his hands as he went over everything again in his head.
Had Justice taken over and ⌠with Isabella!? who was always sold as some sort of aunt to him? But she wasnât. She is just a woman heâs known for half a decade. He only knew because Varric introduced them. Heâd had minor dalliances in the circle. A brief kind of romance in the Shadows, but heâd never. Not without a date, or getting to know the person. And if he? With her? But the spirit connection in his blood made it feel like a dream, pulling a portion of Rookâs consciousness toward the Fade still as he stepped into the hall of the grounded ship turned housing and into⌠a complete mess.
Rook found the bath, washed quickly, dressed and found Varric and Harding outside the Hall of Valor, on the beach, staring off at a very large ship.
âSleep well?â Isabella smiled softly at Rook but gave no hint about last night.
âI, uh,â
âHe was out like a light when I took him his breakfast.â Harding blushed enough her freckles started to connect.
âYeah. Itâs warm here, and humid. I was, uh, more comfortable without bedclothes. Sorry, Lace.â
âShe doesnât seem to be.â Isabella gave Harding a friendly slap on the back.
Harding beamed at the gorgeous captain. Even Varric was somewhat smitten by the woman. Such was always her charm.
âCome!â She waded into the water and boarded the small row boat that would take them to the ship.
Rook secured his staff in its holster on his back and followed the dwarves into the boat.
Another Lord of Fortune rowed them out to the deeper waters and Isabella leapt up and snagged the rope ladder.
âLetâs get on her!â She laughed as climbed.
âIâm getting too old for this shit.â Varric mumbled and he motioned Rook to help him reach the bottom rung.
Rook helped Harding next. She willfully avoided his gaze and thanked him quickly and quietly. Rook pulled on the rope as they climbed. Varric was not a fast climber. Rook wondered why he didnât retire. He could write and kick his feet up by the fire. Not throw himself into a chase for a god-like elf he once knew.
Rook didnât know there was nothing for Varric to muse fondly over. Varric would never discuss his personal life, so Rook resigned himself to never knowing.
Pulled himself up the rope, he was only halfway up when he watched to row boat head back to shore. By the time he reached the deck, the sails were being dropped and Captain Isabella was giving her last orders. Varric was already settling in the cabins, Harding was lost within the crowd of sailors listening to the orders. Rook leaned against the cabin wall and kept his eyes on the captain.
It seemed so dangerous, having fire on a ship, but mundane tactics and magic were used to keep the ship enchanted against most elements. A mage patrolled the deck at all times. Rook played with the colors of the flame flickering them from cool reds to white hots.
âNeat trick, that.â Her dark hair dancing on the sea air. Warm leathers waxed against the humidity already dripped with the ocean spray. The weight of the humidity was getting to him more than the rocking of the ship.
Sitting up straight, he didnât know what he should do, or what he wanted to do. He held the small flame in the palm of his hand long enough to singe the skin.
Isabella scooted close, for quiet conversation, but far enough to indicate it was an innocent conversation. âI want to apologize. For last night. I -â
âItâs okay, Isabella, truly.â Rook started to stand but the ship leaned away from a wave and Rook met his seat rather indelicately.
âI need to explain something. Iâve never been one to shy away from a quick night. And Iâve never regretted anything Iâve done, well, aside from two things.
âOne was not seeing the depth to your mother until it was too late.â
Rook found all interest in Isabella melt away as the old ache in his belly for a connection to his parents washed in.
âTell me about her.â It was a plead more than a command. His pale eyes reflected the moonlight. She had to look away a second, the impossibility of seeing those eyes so near her again. She poked at the fire with her dagger.
âShe was unique. Talented. Had moxie for ages. She never hid a thing about herself. But she never let anyone slide around her. We had to be as strong, fast, and ready as she. And when she let you in, oh, she let you in with her whole heart.â Isabella drew the dagger from the fire and touched it carefully with her other hand.
âAnd when you told her what you wanted, or didnât want, she believed you and never let that come between you and her. Once that access is lost she never opens up again, not the same way.â
âFool me once?â Rook tried to imagine a hard mother. Zianne was always so pliable. Well, until he was exiled from Tevinter. Maybe thatâs what mothers did. Gave chances until there were no more, and without warning, stopped being a mother.
âHawke was never fooled. Well, thatâs a lie. Not a single one of us were honest. With ourselves or each other. And it took Fenris and I a hard lesson learned to find the extent of her forgiveness.
âWe were all of us in such terrible places in our lives. And we each betrayed her at one point or another. But she never once betrayed a single one of us. I thought for sure Anders was done for after a whole Chantry blew up. But that bastard did something none of the rest of us could.â
Rook stared at Isabella. He knew his fatherâs reputation. His own worst depths. The abomination. He waited for the venomous word to drip.
âAnd what was that?â He tried to hide his suspicion when she was quiet longer than he had hoped.
âHe loved her back. More than she could ever love him. And she had a lot of love in her. I felt it for one night. It scared me. Scared that broody elf. But Anders had an uncanny way to him that Hawke understood right to her very core. Like the Fade itself that occupied him awakened all her dreams.â
âWhich it did. Does?â Rook conjured a bit of magic in his hand. He let it manifest around his left hand like a blue smoke.
âDoes.â Isabella confirmed. âI cannot believe there is a world where those two couldnât find a way. No one gets locked in the Fade like that. With all the dreams and veil tears and places like Minrathous and the Grand Necropolis, there has to be ways in and out.â
âItâs a big area of study. But to hear Varric talk of it, it takes magic the size of gods to find any. I doubt two mages and a Spirit could do that. But I like to think they could find a way to survive. I hold out hope.â
âThat you can see them one day?â
He hadnât told a single person he probably met them already. At his Harrowing. Who would believe him? His lanky frame hunched back over the fire.
âMaker you are Anders. He was just a bit older than you when I met him the second time. Taller than was necessary.â
âThe second time?â Rookâs face shot toward her, eager for a story about him that wasnât all abominable.
âI didnât really meet him the first time. We stayed at the same inn in Denerim one night. He also knew what to do with lightning.â
âIsabella! No! You did notâŚdid you?â Maybe he didnât want to think of his father that way. Or Isabella that way, even knowing what he knew about her and his mother.
âWe did not. Well, your father and I didnât.â
âMy mom?!â Rook was suddenly more impressed than anything. An unorthodox connection to his past. He wasnât prudish at all. And nothing ever ended up being what he expected, least of all history.
âOne perfect night. Until I fouled it all up.â
âWait. You and her? And Anders.â
âKid, I wouldnât think about it too hard. Your mother was young, energetic, beautiful, and as intimidating as she was desired. She had a full life.â
Rook and played with the fire again. âI havenât had much of a life at all.â
âWell, Tevinter is a pretty stuffy place. Though I canât say youâd be any better having stayed in Kirkwall, you may have died in the circle like so many others, or been a pawn.â
She laughed unexpectedly. Her face beamed as she tried to imagine a baby dangling off Hawkeâs hip as she dueled the Arishok. Or would Anders have him?
âI honestly barely saw how your birth affected them. They didnât talk to each other for quite a while. She tried to move on. But kept finding walls where doors should have been.â
âHow did I even ⌠get made?â
âI wasnât there. But in the deep roads your uncle, Carver, was blighted. Anders was able to keep him alive long enough for them to find Wardens down there. Hawke was devastated. He was practically dead, then healed, then gone. And she had seen what blight unchecked turned into in Lothering. He was saved! And Anders, who had his whole heart attached to Hawke at this point, wanted nothing more than to make her feel comfort. She took advantage of it. Of course. And his Fade-charged, blighted seed somehow did what no one thought a grey warden could do.â
âAnd now there are rumors of two Warden made babies.â
âMagic is so weird.â She poked the fire a bit more, the creaking of the ship and the endless lapping of waves on the wood and the dancing of the flames was hypnotizing.
âDid you see her while she was pregnant?â
Isabella studied his face a moment. âYou want to know if she was happy? I hate to disappoint you, kid, but it was no time to bring a baby into the world. And she never spoke to me of you. Though I have to admit, I never asked, sorry.â
âNo love lost.â He tried to smile. âI donât need to know any more. I never really held a hope they would whisk me away or anything.â
âYou did alright. Grew up strong. Right. Privileged. A mage. Everything your father fought for.â
Rook stood. The night air was much colder just a foot or two out of the flames.
âI canât help but see them when I look at you.â Isabella leaned over the railing to let the water cool her blade. âAnd I feel them. Here.â
She placed her hand on his sternum. He was suddenly awash with so many conflicting feelings. But when she looked at him, he knew she was looking for Hawke. But he wanted to be seen as more than that. He grabbed her by her waist and pinned her against the mast. He wasnât thinking, he just let his body take over. She wanted a part of him, that was clear. But he wanted to feel the rush of life at least once more before most likely killing himself in a fight with an elven god. And she was so willing.
She kissed him back. As passionately as ever. He poured all his strength into it. He shimmed himself out of his pants far enough to be able to pick her up and take her just out of the fire light, against the main mast.
She felt amazing. Her strong thighs squeezed him. Harder than he ever thought he could be, he lost himself in her warm, silken insides. The warmth of the fire given up to a heated embrace. She was loud, but her voice was easily lost in the waves. His as well. And there was no magic, no chance of the Fade interjecting itself. Just raw human nature.
Her nails clawed at his undercut, looking for an anchor. Slowly they crept up into the lengths tied in the back of his head.
âOh, little Hawke!â Isabella mumbled. Rook wasnât distracted. He was almost encouraged. Somehow it made him feel the closer to his parents than he had ever been. She saw him as two pieces made a whole. These days he felt as listless as this boat, and this made him feel alive, whole, hale. Here.
She finished. He finished. She tied his pants back up, sealing that feeling he was only a child of a person she missed. And a child of a person she resented. He just stood there, trying to keep on his feet as the ship rolled. She kissed him on the cheek and whispered a goodnight he could barely hear over the sea and wind. He smiled and nodded, breathless, emotionless. He felt he was only making things worse for himself. Maybe this pathway to find Solas was just a decent into the catastrophe he was born as.
His mind was gathering clouds. As was the sea. Rain started falling onto the deck. He stumbled to the foâcâsle, he peeled off his wet layers and hung them on provided ropes and figured out how to get in a hammock and passed out amidst the mumblings of the crew and the growing storm outside.
Rook woke to his jacket, long dried, hitting his face. Varric stood at the foot of the hammock, annoyed. Rook scrambled into his boots and jacket and followed the dwarf to the deck. Varric was stoic, silent. He lead the mage all the way to the aft, where no crew was needed.
âYou will not, and I repeat, NOT, touch Isabella again.â
âWho are you to-â Rook was immediately insulted.
âIâm your Maker-damned GODFATHER!â Varric exploded in a way Rook never thought possible. Rook caught a crew member fixing a rope on the aft sail stop and watch the dwarfâs next move.
Rook turned and leaned on the railing and stared at the wakes as the water roiled below. âSo now you act like it?â
âListen, you little shit, your ass is not hanging by a noose from the Archonâs Palace because I acted like it. Who else was gonna swoop in and save you from the Vena-fucking-tori?â
âI saved YOUR ASS, lest you forget, that got me in that mess to begin with! You think I would have risked ALL THAT to be a hero!? If it werenât my family at stake?â
Rook reared at the dwarf, standing tall, trying to replace size with authority.
âYeah, I do, actually!â Varric snagged Rookâs elbow and turned the mage to face him. âBecause thatâs what you do. Itâs what Hawke did. Itâs what your Maker-cursed father did. Itâs in your fucking blood.â Varric pushed him away again, leaning on the railing that stood barely halfway up his back. âBut you canât. Not to her. Sheâs not-â
âIt was wrong. I know, Varric. But I just-â he couldnât tell the man who made it his lifeâs work to not discuss Hawke to anyone that he just wanted to know more about her. Be close to her in any way. If that was to walk in her boots as a lover, it was more than the dwarf had deigned to supply.
âYouâre gonna have to be your own man, Rook. Not Hawke. Not Anders. Not a Mercar. Thatâs why the nicknames. I need people to be their truest selves, not a replica of someone that suited a time.â
âI donât know who I am, if not a discarded son.â
âWeâll figure that out.â Varric patted Rookâs shoulder. âWeâll have plenty of distractions back in Minrathous.â
Rook stood, suddenly very concerned. âWeâre going back to Tevinter??â
âWe have to. I found a lead there in Nessus, and have a contact in the docks district.â
âDock Town?!â Rook reeled. âI step one foot on a dock, a dock master will see me and report it and Iâm as good as dead!â
âThen you wonât be seen. We HAVE to follow this lead. Stopping Solas is all that matters anymore. Not you, not me. Not even Hawke and Anders, or the Inquisitor or Thedas as a whole. None of it matters because all of it will be gone if that crazy elf succeeds.â
Varric stopped for a long breath. He and Rook stared silently at each other. Even the gentle roll of the water seemed to take a breath.
âAnd we are out of time.â He opened his mouth to say more, but decided against it and left Rook at the back of the ship.
Rook gripped the railing hard and screamed into the vast sea. He wanted to jump over board or set the deck aflame. But he just sank to the deck and softly cried. Hiding his head behind his knees, his hands draped over them to block out anyone curious enough to watch the young man.
He hadnât allowed a single feeling about all of this to settle. Since joining the Shadow Dragons he had chased one high after the next and Isabella was just another. Varric knew. Varric saw that same recklessness in another tall, blonde, wreck of a human mage. And no one could tell that abomination anything. Not even Hawke. Which was probably the single biggest reason she found herself lost in him. Anders was stronger than she was in all the ways she needed someone elseâs strength.
Rook felt her weakness, his motherâs only weaknesses, alive in him. No wonder he was doomed to fail everything. He had been pretending for over two tenyear. Well, if Varric was right, then at least he could go out with an Anders-sized bang. Live up to the reputation his face advertised all too clearly.
âRook?â Harding approached cautiously.
âWhat?â He didnât lift his head. He didnât want her to see him like this.
But he could feel her eyes baring down on him, like the sun, and both seemed to have forgotten the storm from last night.
âI donât know what all that was about, but-â
âYou donât have to, Lace.â Rook sighed. âHe wasnât wrong.â
âIt isnât about right or wrong, Rook. Look at you.â She stepped closer. âLook at me, Rook. Look up.â
He sniffed back the last tear and looked up at her. She was on a knee and placed her hands on his. He couldnât help but smile at her over-freckled face.
âWhat?â He laughed and wiped his nose on his sleeve.
âItâs always hard the first year out, okay? Homesick?â
âWhat home? The Mercars made it clear thatâs not home. Should I go and win back the Hawke Estate? Arm wrestle Carver?â
Harding laughed with him. âVarric is still the viscount.â
âWell, shit. Any Antaam there? I could convince him if I killed, what? Three hundred?â
âMaybe one big one.â
âThey are already huge, Lace! I would have to jump to punch hasnât of their noses.â
âMaybe thatâs why Varric doesnât have the estate now, heâd never reach!â
Rook laughed with her, the image of Varric jumping. Harding pulled Rook to his feet and they went to the mess hall.
A week passed uneventfully. Isabella and Varric never crossed Rookâs path the whole week. He didnât look for them, either. He and Harding played cards and talked. He showed her how he controlled magic, she showed him how to aim better, and even shoot a bow. He shot the first arrow high over the makeshift target an into the water.
âGot it!â Rook leapt in celebration.
Harding pushed him too hard as the ship hit a big wave and he nearly fell over. After the panic subsided, they fel laughing more.
âWe are taking a small yacht into Minrathous, courtesy of a friend of the Inquisition. And a personal favor for, and I quote, the best scout in Thedas.â
âDorian is incorrigible.â Harding blushed.
âSo you two should start getting serious and look over the maps and figure out what the next steps are.â
âThe two of us?â Rook was stunned.
âYeah. Youâre officially my second in command.â Varric tossed two scrolls at Rook, who fumbled them a bit before snagging both near his knees.
Varric left before Rook could say more.
âWhat is he up to?â Rook asked, dumbfounded.
âMaybe you earned it?â
âBut he has you. Heâs always had you. Youâre more âin commandâ than he is.â Rook steadied his grip on the scrolls. âHeâs setting me up for something. He hasnât talked to me since he bit off my head-â
âFor a good reason.â Harding sniped.
Rook frowned at her. âI have reservations.â
âRook!â She sighed as he passed her.
He stormed off to find a table and study. Varric be damned.
âYou give a mage a research assignment and they disappear for a lifetime.â
Varric placed two mugs on the table, some ale spilled on the maps.
âHey!â Rook brushed off the liquid and moved the mug.
âDrink.â
âVarric, you told me to make a plan. Iâm planning.â
âYou know Minrathous better than anyone on this tub.â
âBut I donât have a plan. We dock. We find a room. You find your connection. And then what? What is your connectionâs name?â
âNeve. Gallus.â
âWhat does she do?â
Varric took a mug and drank. And started chuckling.
âYou donât know?! What does she -!? Youâve never heard of Neve Gallus?â
âI had a life, Varric. In the Underground. I barely knew who I was actively working with. And she wasnât in the circle while I was there.â
âYou know sheâs a mage.â Varric kicked his boots on the table, forcing Rook to pull the maps out of the way.
âItâs Minrathous, anyone worth knowing in Minrathous is a mage.â
âMust be nice.â
Rook stared at Varric with daggers.
âMust be nice being so sure. Humans. Maker you are all so predictable. No one exists the way you exist. Maybe growing up in the south would have been humbling. All mages should learn how good they really can have it. If humans lived a moment in an elfâs place.â
âYeah, Viscount, heir to a merchant fortune, shaper of lives, real sob story you got there.â
It was Varricâs turn to glare.
Rook took the ale before him and drank.
A smile finally cracked on his scarred and bearded face. âYou got me there kid!â
âAnd if Solas is any elf to measure by, I think walking in his footsteps has made all of us worse.â
âYouâre not wrong there, either. Solas is a real piece of work. But, Maker willing, all this will be over before anyone can write about it.â
They discussed the what Varric knew, what he didnât know. What Rook knew. What he didnât know, and formulated a plan, with lots of holes. It was dark out when they headed to bed. Varric to the officerâs quarters and Rook to his hammock.
âYouâve been avoiding me, sailor.â Isabela was on the upper deck, holding the wheel steady.
âThatâs my line. On both counts.â Rook stood below her, hesitant to look back to see if this was a setup or if she finally found the first moment they could have alone. He tried to decide if he cared. If it was at all worth it to care.
She looked back for him. âCome take this.â
Rook stalled. How much trouble could it be, holding the wheel of a ship? Heâd never gotten to steer a ship before.
As he approached, she let go of the wheel and the ship lurched. Rook jolted to grab a hold and set it right again. Isabella laughed and sat on the framework holding the mechanism to the deck. Her long legs dangling. He looked at her. Curious what she wanted to say.
âLook, Hawkeâ
Rook frowned. He was beginning to resent being called Hawke or Anders.
âI know your Tevinter name, and frankly I donât think it suits you. Youâre a Hawke. And this is the last time we will probably ever see each other again, so Iâm gonna call you Hawke.â
âThat all you wanted to tell me?â He smiled.
âDonât smile! Donât do that! Itâs Marian all over. Those eyes. That smile.â
She leaned in and cupped his tanned face in her brown hand.
âAt least this way I can swear to Varric you never touched me.â
âIz-â he began to protest, but she slid in between him and the wheel.
âGet us to Minrathous safely then?â She gave him a long kiss. He tried hard to not, but she was intoxicating. Every fiber in his being wanted to be completely in it. He struggled to hold the boat steady as a large wave hit.
âWatch it now, someone will come out and catch us.â
âIsabela!â Rook pulled away, but she pulled him back to her, making him steady the wheel again.
âItâll be easier to control if we use both our weights.â She kissed him again, her tongue on his. Her hands found the hem of his shirt and crawled up his back.
He melted into her arms. Heâd never had a tryst before. No one would believe that Isabela, Queen of the Eastern Seas, craved his company. His whole body throbbed when she touched him. He tensed and relaxed, all the time fighting the wheel. The more he struggled, the more Isabela enjoyed herself.
âThose lips are a blast from the past. But this-â her hand slid down the front of his trousers. His dick was already hard, and when she touched it, his knees almost gave out. âthis is like all you.â
He groaned his face softly buried into hers at the lips as he forced himself to keep a hold of the wheel. His arms were getting feeling the strain of the wheel, and she was not stopping.
âWhat shall we do with you?â Her fingers wrapped about his girth and she tugged at his length. Back and forth. She paused, smiled a wicked smile, and slithered down.
âOh, no. No no no no no no noâŚâ Rook couldnât watch. It would e too much to see her lips grace the tip of his penis. The glimmer in her eyes as she tasted his precum. He shivered thinking about it.
But feeling it all while staring into the black abyss of the water just beyond the candle light was worse. He had to correct his stance as the waves rocked the boat. She used the rythm of the waves to toy with him. Her mouth was hot. Not as warm as other areas heâd recently visited, but tighter, there was less space and her mouth was not as forgiving as her - she took him in, her throat giving room for him to edge into. He gasped and readjusted his grip on the wheel. Isabela moved faster. Her breath and neck working to suck and push after pulling away. He felt as if his energy, his mana, his soul, were being pulled from him.
âVenhedis.â Legs gave out slightly. Isabela only dug her fingers into his butt cheeks and mover more quickly. He finally looked down and the wheel slipped from his hand as his body jolted from a ripple toward an orgasm as he saw his cock disappear into her mouth. She grabbed the wheel above her head and pushed it back as level as it could go. Rook stammered for a grip as his body was over whelmed with the pulsing of the orgasm that crashed over him like the waves over the walls of the ship.
She buried her face in his stomach and deftly swallowed all his body issued forth. His vision blurred, his brain went black, his breath stopped. He couldnât tell if he was screaming in pleasure or silent in the agony of the confinement as his body was spent.
She slowly pulled off of him. He was so sensitive, her lips brushing on his tip, like before, now made his whole spine convulse. She gently placed him back in his trouseres and tied them up. She slithered up the wheel. Rook shook as he struggled to keep it level. She kissed him again. She tasted salty. Metallic. And garlic? She turned to the wheel, took it, and pushed him away with her hips.
âYou couldnât last four hours on the wheel. Those arms need attention, Mage.â
Rook slumped onto the deck. His arms were numb and his legs were noodles. Isabela said nothing more, just gently danced to a song only she could hear. He smiled to himself. He knew he meant little to her. And he was the middle of a long line of lovers she would entertain herself with before she was through. Somehow that made this passage all the better. Heâd never experienced someone wanting him like that. Knowing him and wanting him. More than once. He felt like he had experienced a rite of passage. He was physically exhausted for longer than he liked. Twice he heard Isabela laugh loudly to herself.
Finally, when his legs would obey, he stood. As he slowly walked beside her, Isabela pulled the wheel and he tripped into her.
âDonât be a stranger, kid. Stay safe, and stay alive. For your motherâs sake.â
âAye, Captain.â Rook smirked and descended and gingerly made it to his hammock. He took off his coat, climbed in, and covered himself and instantly fell asleep.
âWhat in the Black City are you doing?â
Rook was pulled into a dream too quickly. He stopped and let his brain catch up to the booming voice and swirling lights. The Fade air clung to the thought of a body like pins and needles. He tried to find a form in the chaos. The voice was similar to Justice but-
âHere.â The voice had settled to one spot. Rook turned toward it with a jerk.
Standing before him was a woman, her height fluctuated between slightly taller and significantly shorter than Rook.
He had seen that face before. At his Harrowing. She, it was definitely a she, settled on a form just slightly larger than Rook.
âMom?â
It was a snapshot of his eyes staring back at him, then he woke.
The crew was snoring away. Rook tried to adjust and find comfort again, but his mind was as swimming with the night, the dream, too many eyes, brown and blue and amber, all the pairs looking to him for answers. He got up, found a decanter of wine and took a few good swings.
Between the rocking of the ship and the buzz in his brain, he found a dreamless sleep.
Blood bath. Bringing death and misery to Zara Renata. But she is one hard mage to kill. Maybe they should have invited Spite earlier.
Rook got knocked back and looked like he was practicing his best Ophelia.
Spite knocks Rook and Ilario on their asses. It takes Lucanis possessing the demon to keep his blade at bay. The absolute terror and torment on Lucanis' face is breathtaking . Looking past the beautiful colors and bright atmosphere, the horror lurks.