#priscilla laidir

So, I did a second playthrough right after I finished the first one to cleanse my own palate. I knew what to expect, so I couldn't be badly surprised any further. And I decided to go on a second run imagining a strong scaffolding of canon divergence. I played Niamh which in my canon is a companion. She's my cullavellan baby, a 15/16 concentrate of the self-confidence and attitude of a well-loved and quite spoiled child who knows she's talented... just not how much. And deep down, just wants to go home and make her parents (and crazily enlarged family because yes, the inner Circle is counted as a wild number of aunts and uncles). More time passed between games, my Lavellan slowed Solas down considerably. Niamh is a somniari, and got involved in the events purely by mistake. Varric and Harding were supposed to deliver her at Dorian after a bad accident (she caused) with an eluvian, and he would have brought her back to mamae and papa for the scold of the century. They reached Minrathous in the worse possible moment.

My face each mission in Treviso: (she only answers to Viago with "Ok, boomer.". Which is the same thing she answers to Solas, on alternate days.)

She is a Somniari, and Spite is her bestie. Dream!Illario is about to find himself with no pants on (aunt Sera would be proud. Lucanis a little less of this new trick that Spite learnt).

It's lesson time with Emmrich and these two are my favourite screenshots. She looks like a puppy who managed to scare someone only thanks to the adult behind, LOL.

Family reunion with mama, uncle Dorian and aunt Morrigan, yeeeh! (as a companion, she dies before this point if you bring her to the final battle and unlocks a new bad finale, but ssssh). Papa was taking the picture. (Aisling's short, you guys)

And that's it!

Summer had felt never-ending, back then, full of possibilities and promises. He had loved it, when it had been about finding a new corner of the palazzo to explore, a new game to play. He had hated the season, when it had meant sweat and heath adding a new level of discomfort to the chagrin that training was, when Caterina deemed him of age to learn.

Years later, summer had meant more uncomfortable travels around the country and out. Last summer, he had lost it under the ocean - but it had been chill, down there.

And this…

This had the old boredom of childhood, but not the excitement. This summer meant waiting for the next problem to solve, feud between Houses to ease, to have some blissful time to relax.

Blissful time that he could no longer enjoy, knowing the future held no more promises or new corners to explore, but only other problems. Impossible problems he had to be grateful for the privilege of solving.

And as every summer, the only thing to do to escape the heath was slowing down, take it easy. Move little, eat light.

Wait the heat down, keep sunlight outside.

He knew.

Spite didn't.

Spite was currently shrieking in his head, bidding him to do something.

"I can't crawl out of my skin." He said, to nothing in particular, turning a page.

Are you sure about it. The spirit hissed, displeased. We saw that statue in the duomo-

"No. That's San Bartolomeo. We won't claim sainthood by skinning ourselves off, before you ask."

There was a distinct moan of complaint mixed with suffering in his head, which he thoroughly ignored. Funny how much things had changed in the last year. When at first Spite's constant complaining had given him a headache, now they almost felt familiar and comforting.

He had promised the Spirit he would have found a solution to their situation, but truth to be told, in the months since the war ended and he took place as First Talon officially… He hadn't even started to look. Spite hadn't insisted, either.

Everything felt so foreign, including the room around him -the same, old room he had before the Ossuary. It felt unbearably huge in the first days after the Lighthouse. He could only convince himself to actually sleep there but a handful of days ago.

And well. It was incredibly late, and he was still awake reading, not just for the heathwave and the dampness that rose from the canals.

Spite's complaining was maybe the only thing making everythig normal. And he could only hear it when he was alone, at night. As weird as the thought may once have been.

The constant background noise of whines and complaints kept him company, and maybe he was a bit too preoccupied and attent in listening to the voice in his head -litterally- to notice anything amiss.

At least, before Spite stopped for the moment it took Lucanis' trained ears to catch a distant thud, coming from outside the room.

Villa Dellamorte was built around the idea that assassins who didn't know all its nooks and crannies would always fail to see one, and be surprised by carefully placed guards. To a trespasser, the mansion looked totally empty: nothing could be further from the truth. Dark corners, secret passages, hidden doors and cabinets. You turned one corner and found yourself cornered with three trained assassins at your back. And three others were still hidden as backup.

Surely a part of the fortune of the family went in actually paying the guards. But it was worth it, Caterina always said.

Sure, worth it until another member of the family pay those guards up to backstab you, but still…

Lucanis fished a bandolier full of throwing daggers from under the mattress, and slipped out of the bed, keeping low on the ground. In instinct and habit, making as little noise as he could, front always on the door, he moved towards the wardrobe. Armour first, if he had time. And then some other daggers, if he was really under attack-

Wait.

Spite whispered in his ear.

Listen.

"They're attacking us, I don't have time to-"

Just listen. This came with a hiss.

It took all his constraint, all his memories of the last years together, learning that he could trust the spirit, to stop for a while, take a deep breath and follow the order.

Outside, nothing at all, save from steps in the corridor. The distant noise of fight.

Inside…

A happy, quick rhythm of a song he knew all too well, distinctly echoing in the Fade around Spite. Spite who was humming in glee, recognizing instantly the song, and who exactly sent it.

There was exactly one person whom they know would have communicated to them with that song, but…

It's friends.

"Or it's a trap." It couldn't be, past every reasonable doubt.

The girl was safe, finally down in Ferelden with her parents. The whole Veilguard managed to keep her alive and safe, until they could convince her to leave the Lighthouse. Davrin had died, she would have never-

Lucanis slipped two daggers out of their holder, not listening to Spite. He may tell that the song was authentic, it wasn't anyone else. Lucanis knew about traps and disguises. And if anyone who may want his head reached the Inquisitor to take her daughter…

The door of his room opened, and Lucanis didn't wait to throw one of the daggers in that direction.

"Woah!" A feminine voice gasped, stepping back. "It's-"

Lucanis threw another, stepping to the side towards the open window. Another one. Spite yelled in his ear, the song became louder. He ran forward, launched himself at the door, trying to close whatever assassin was in between.

Another feminine gasp, and a clang of metal, as the door stopped abruptly, blocked in its track by something.

Lucanis rose a dagger, and stopped.

What stopped the door was a golden shield, round and with spikes, shaped like a seashell. He knew that shield, all too well.

As much as he knew the eyes that peeked from behind it, bright pink make up scrunched in a frown, brighter in contrast with her dark skin.

"Rook?" He asked, lowering his weapon.

"Took you long enough!" Rook complained, pushing to free her shield. It left indentations in the wooden jamb, splinters fell on the ground.

It was, indeed, her. A simple plate mail covering her bust and shoulders, cornrows all collected into a bun, with strands of baby hair carefully shaped in curls and swirls to frame her face. Her sword was drawn and dirty with blood, as well as some of the spikes of her shield. Her armour, too, was bloody, signalling exactly what she's had been up to.

"Damn, Ghastlin!" She barked, turning towards the outside of the room. "You said you found Spite."

Lucanis didn't listen to me! Spite lamented, a pout in his voice.

"I did reach him!" Niamh showed up, too, long hair collected in two dutch braid from the top of her head. She grew up since the last time he saw her, but she still wore the same harsh expression she had after she got told what happened in Tearstone Island. "Spite says Lucanis didn't listen. Hi, Lucanis."

"Hello, Niamh." He smiled at her, lowering the dagger for good. The teen smiled back. He saw Spite flow and twirl around her, hands playing with her braids and feathers caressing her cheek. Her smile reached her eyes as the Spirit greeted her.

They entered his room, as soon as he made space for them to walk in. Niamh stayed on the threshold, Spite still at her side, looking at a point in her hair and greeting… Someone. The girl minded not the Spirit (spirits?), and leant on the broken jamb, back to harsh mode, guarding the corridor. Spite kept humming the song of before, absent-mindedly. There was a note of happiness about him, for the first time since they moved back.

"What are you doing here, Rook?" He asked, and nodded at her sword still in her right, dripping blood from the tip. "Killing my guards and ruining my carpet?"

"We need to talk-"

"Very quickly." Niamh added. "I don't know how much Neve and Harding can hold them, I'll go help them in a moment."

"You won't do anything of the sort." Rook and Lucanis protested, in chorus.

The teen snorted, rolling her eyes to the ceiling. She kept guarding, a distinct frown on her brow, and lips drawn into a thin line. Her knuckles were so tense on her staff they were white. It pained Lucanis to see her like that: she had been bold, reckless with youth when he first met her. Eager to prove herself. Not at all so nervous and harsh as she was, now. She didn't fight at Tearstone Island, but something had broken, when she learnt Davrin didn't made it. Beside Spite, the Warden had been the first one to really befriend her and have her open up. They had done each other good, the Warden too had smiled more when she was around.

"Ok, listen up. She's right and we need to be quick." Rook started. "I…" An hesitation. "I know it's sudden, and maybe this is really what you want and I shouldn't have intruded, but-"

Rook hesitated, slouching in a rare moment of vulnerability. She seemed less tall, and young. With a ragged sigh, tho, she straightened her back, and looked at him right into his eyes. "I'm sorry I gave way to Caterina to do what she wanted with you. I'm sorry about your cousin, and that you had to decide for him. But the thing I'm sorry for the most, is that you had no choice, and I didn't help you when you were forced in this role. So."

"Rook, it's not your fault." Lucanis told her. She took Davrin even worse than Niamh did, and he didn't want to be her responsibility. No matter how much those words meant for him. "I'm fine, it's-"

"Rook." Niamh urged. Something crashed from the corridor.

"Tell me you're happy as First Talon. Tell me this is what you want, and I'll set my heart at peace." Rook continued. "Or if you're regretting this, we're here to rescue you. We can help you disappear, they'll never see you again, and you'll be able to start again."

Of all the things Lucanis had expected -and he was used to expect at least five of them at once- this wasn't in the picture. He stood there, needing a moment to realize what he was being offered exactly.

Was he happy? That position was what he was grown for. What was expected of him. His life, the coronation of all that he was trained to do and raised to be.

Of course that was what he wanted. It was his family, and-

"Tell me your happy. Or…" Rook sighed, ruggedly. "… I lost Davrin. I almost lost Bellara. I won't lose you, too. Not if I can help it. Let me do this right, if I can. Please."

The alternative was scary. He was sorry for Rook. Moved, that she organized all this - he knew very well how difficult it must have been for her to reach him. Knew it because they already made it together, last year.

Yet, that was his place. His role in the world. His purpose. If he stopped to think of an alternative…

… It was Spite's excitement at the idea, surely. He could feel it, looking at him with piercing, firey eyes from the door.

He couldn't.

We can. Together.

He shouldn't.

Rook saved us, not Caterina.

He couldn't ask this of her.

She offered.

I could help.

See? Niamh could help!

His head was becoming too crowded.

Sorry, Lucanis, Spite is just too loud.

Happy! Free! We could be free!

"I-" He swallowed, not able to decide. "I need to- My family-"

Yeah, that was the problem, wasn't it.

Past duty and education, past whatever he was trained to think. What did he need?

Which family was the one who brought him out of the gutter, really?

It was too much to consider, and he had… Judging from Spite, maybe 3 minutes.

—

Six months later

"Are you really sure?" Rook asked, fussying as she'd been doing in the last months. "We can back it up if you don't want to. For real, no offence taken, a word and-"

"Rook." Lucanis interrupted her, placing a hand on hers. She was sweating, under her freshly done nails, and he held tighter. "I'm sure."

And he was.

Standing in that abandoned shop in the middle of Dock Town, full of dust and rubble and the rest of tables and chairs, and the cat colony, Lucanis was sure. Spite was, too.

"There is so much work to do." Rook stated, pursing her full lips to the side. She showed up dressed for a party, more than buying the place for him. A long dress in a deep pink shade of velvet, a big hat that shaded her face from the hazy light peeking through the broken windows, a huge ostrich feather bouncing on top. She had taken her gloves off, waiting for the current owner to show up with a municipality officer to state the sale. Tevinter had a lot of bureaucracy. And the mix of things had sent the woman into a frenzy.

"I'm not afraid of working. If it's too much money, tho, we can look for something else." He repeated. "I'm grateful for what you're offering, but I don't want you to-"

"Don't even mention it." She snorted, smling at him. "That money is yours. Take what you need, I offered because I want you to have something nice. And this isn't nice."

"I just meant that you could keep some money to yourself, too. You saved this city, you deserve the big house of your dreams."

"Oh, that." She shrugged, squeezing his hand briefly before walking away, back straight, a hand delicately keeping her skirt up. If Lucanis hadn't known her family was a poor one from the middle of nowhere in Rivain, hadn't he known how efficient a warrior she was, he would have believed her a lady. "You know Neve, she'd hate to leave the City. Beside, I realized it would have been a nightmare of upkeeping, who has time to dust so many rooms?"

A pause. She looked around them, not seeing Spite leisurely floating around, completely lost in admiring the dust speckles shining in the light thrhough the windows. He had liked the tall windows from the start, said that if the cats chose the place, it meant it was good. No other they saw could compare with that.

As much as the reasoning made little sense to him, Lucanis had learnt that Spite knew them better than he did. Surely he had been right that last night in Villa Dellamorte, when he finally listened to him and hid into a secret passage only him and Caterina knew, as Niamh used her Dream magic to have every guard believe one of the corpses was his own.

They saw house DellaMorte burts in a frenzy, finding what they believed was the First Talon, murdered.

Ours. Spite purred, as a black cat rose its muzzle to sniff in the Spirit's direction. Cats always seemed to see him.

Priscilla, unaware of what the spirit was doing, clicked her tongue on her palate.

"Well, I surely left all the dusting in the world to you, it seems. It'll take forever to get everything clean." She pointed out. She wasn't all wrong, either, the place had been abandoned to a colony of cats when they roamed Minrathous after the Shadow Dragons, two years prior. The war and the destruction didn't do it any more good. "And that's what I meant. If you're unsure, if you'd need something better-"

"Rook."

Lucanis interrupted her again, his hand going back to hold hers.

Her fingers, black, with lighter scars running on her knuckles, finally opened to hold his hand back. She squeezed back, and as usual, her hold was strong. The one of a person more used to wield a sword than thread and needle. She left sword and shield in the furthest corner of Neve's wardrobe, saying she did enough damage. Her hand stayed the same that wielded that sword, and saved a world with it.

He had had a grudge against her, when she headed to Minrathous and left Treviso to the Blight. He thought it was her fault.

Right now, he saw only a friend in front of him, who got hit the worst by that whole story. And who still chose to help him get a new life instead of crowning her dream.

"It's perfect." Lucanis said, and he was sincere. "And you did enough for me. For all of us. I- We don't need anything else."

Her pink lips curled up in a smile, and as she leaned her head to the side, some light filtered under the large hat making her eyes shine with tears.

"I- Well, that's just not true. This place really needs some serious work. I was thinking of pink-"

Lucanis laughed, following her as she strutted around the room.

"We're not painting the walls pink."

Purple!

"Not even purple."

The complaing that followed was in chorus.

And Lucanis was happy, in a life he was to build for himself, with all the family he needed.

The family that showed up for him.

Caterina had cried at his funeral.

Mythal (8)

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