Archive of Our Own ^beta

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Prompt 1: A letter to Rook about their exile

Letter transcript from Viago De Riva to Rook:

Dumbass,

I told you once — a Crow who doesn’t follow orders is no Crow at all. You were listening. I know you were. But you chose to forget.

You disobeyed me, and worse, you did it with that look — that damned stubborn glint in your eye that said you thought you knew better. Maybe you did. Maybe you saved a few lives worth saving. But you also burned a large Crows’ operation and spat on the name that gave you your blades. Do you understand what that means? What it cost? Or do you still think this is all some game you’re clever enough to win?

I gave you more freedom than most. I trusted you with more than steel. And this is how you repay me — not with failure, which I could stomach, but with defiance.

Do you even realise which could have been the consequences of your actions? The other houses could have asked for your head, and I would’ve been able to do nothing but give it to them. I don’t know what the First Talon saw in you that made her decide to spare you and exile you.

But listen to me, just this once, and listen well: use this chance you’ve been given. I’m giving you a contract. Find Varric (circled by Rook), he will explain you what to do, and then find a place beyond the reach of blades and poisons. 

Don’t come back until you’ve stopped the damn Dread Wolf (Rook’s note: The Fucking God?). If you succeed, I may be able to talk to the other Talons and, if they approve, you may be able to come back to Treviso.

Maybe this will be good for you… you’re more than the weapon you threw away.

— V.

P.S. Burn this letter. If anyone asks, I never wrote it. And if anyone finds it…

I’ll make you wish that the other crow houses had killed you.

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Prompt 2: A page from Rook's journal

Transcription of the page written by Rook:

I never thought that I would have left Antiva. But I suppose, I have to live with it now. We followed Solas across the Thedas, but I still find myself dreaming of those wider skies and starry nights. The whispers in alleyways, the colourful market and even the blood on silk sheets.

Home.

I feel it in my chest, like if I’m still there — like a tattoo made just out of spite. But I’m not a Crow anymore. They never told me those words, yes, but honestly it feels like it. I should be dead. Actually, that would’ve made more sense.

Crows don’t leave. They vanish.

But they let me live. That’s what’s eating me.

Viago called it exile, but it wasn’t punishment. Not really. It was… something else. Mercy? Amusement? I can’t tell. Maybe even he couldn’t. I saw it in his eyes before I walked away — that tight line in his jaw, the twitch of his left hand like he wanted to draw a blade and hug me at the same time.

What a mess.

I disobeyed. I know I did. As I know I’d do it again. I saved them. I made a choice. And no matter what, I’d make it again.

I’m starting to miss the life I had before, though. The rituals. The weight of the mask in my hand before a job. The way he’d tilt his head when I did something almost right. That flick of pride he never meant me to see.

But I’m not going back. Not until I’m more than what the Crows made me. If I ever will.

Until then, that’s all I can do. Gods help me… What am I even doing? Should I even appeal the Gods, while I’m trying to stop one of them from destroying the world?

Maybe I don’t want to know the answer to that.

— Rook

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Prompt 3: a letter from Rook to someone in their faction

Letter transcription from Rook to Teia:

Teia,

I wouldn’t be writing this if I had any other choice. You know that.

There’s something loose in the world— two things, actually. Gods, or what’s left of them. Twisted. Blighted. They slipped in our world during a ritual of the Dread Wolf – don’t ask how… I’m still trying to cope with it, and now they’re out there, walking, spreading rot with every step.

I’ve seen what’s left behind. I’ve seen what they make.

I don’t have the numbers. I don’t have a proper circle, or army, or whatever people use when they go after half-dead Gods. What I have is a vague idea that maybe—just maybe—there’s someone out there mad enough to help me.

Have you ever heard of the Demon of Vyrantium?

Of course you have. Everyone has.  

I need a contract. For the Demon of Vyrantium… I know we haven’t heard of him for a while, but if he’s still operating, I hope— just that he might be willing to help with this. Two assassins seem better than one while facing to Gods, right?

Please… I saw what this Gods are capable of doing, I’m starting to think that while I was trying to prevent the end of the world, I might have accelerated its falls down. 

I don’t expect forgiveness from the Crows. I don’t even expect understanding. 

You and I both know what happens when one of us steps out of line. The First Talon decision was like a death sentence — but she gave me something worse: the chance to live with it. She let me walk away, not as a Crow, but as a ghost. A shadow without purpose. Do you understand what that does to someone? The weight of nothing. I’m rambling again, but I don’t want you to think that I’m expecting anyone to come and pull me back into the fold.

But please, at least help me make up for my mistakes.

— once Evelyn De Riva, now Rook

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Prompt 4: A note from the companions to Rook

Notes transcription:

• Found a crystal shard near the Veil jumpers camp! I took it apart (carefully, promise) and reassembled it into a little trinket. Adds a nice glow to the table. Come admire my handiwork! I promise you it won’t explode this time!      ~ Bell

• Rook, dearest, if Manfred asks you how to pick a lock again, don’t encourage him. He nearly opened one of Bellara’s cursed items last time.      ~ Emmrich  

• Would you like to take Assan out for a walk later? He likes it more when you’re around.      ~Davrin

• Mind joining me to a trip to Treviso? After we go to the market, we can have a gondola ride. My treat.    ~ L.

• Have you seen my map of Minrathous? The one where I pointed the Venatori operations? I think the wisps might have took it… again. ~      N.

• Rook, i spotted some old dwarven ruins near the cliff could be nothing— could be the kind of nothing that tries to bite. want to check it out with me?      ~ Harding

• Want to practice? When you return, we can spar in the courtyard. I owe you a rematch.   ~ Taash

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Prompt 5: A conversation overheard between Rook and a companion

Light pooled across the stone floor of the kitchen, spilling in long amber slashes from the fireplace. Harding stood near the threshold; fingers loosely wrapped around a chipped mug she hadn’t sipped from in a while. Her eyes weren’t on the tea. They were fixed toward the door of the pantry, from where soft voices barely reached her ears.

She didn’t move when Davrin walked in, a sack of foraged meat swinging from one hand. He paused when he saw her.

“What are you doing, exactly?” he said, setting the sack on the table.

Harding rapidly puts a finger on her mouth in an attempt to silence him. After a few seconds, a laugh, low and warm, like velvet brushed against steel, came from the other side of the door of the pantry: smooth at first, but edged with something darker just beneath.

“Lucanis?” The warden said the assassin’s name with a confused tone.

Harding nodded, eyes still locked on the shadows beyond the door. “And Rook.”

Davrin raised an eyebrow. “Alone?”

“Talking,” she said. Then, quieter: “Or something close to it.”

They listened.

"You’ve been quiet," he said softly.

Rook tilted her head. “You’ve been watching the cup of coffee for 10 minutes straight. I think you win at the brooding contest.”

That earned the faintest of smirks. “I wasn’t brooding.”

“You were.” She said with a smile on her face, before looking back at him, green eyes sharp beneath their exhaustion. “A copper for your thoughts?”

There was a beat of silence, before Lucanis looked away again. “The Blighted gods are loose. Treviso was attacked by a dragon, and it would have fallen if i wasn’t for you. Venatori are trying to get our city. Caterina is–” he stopped for a second, before taking a deep breath, while gazing back at Rook “I should be focused. I should be—”

“Cold?” She finished gently.

He flinched. She had always seen too much. Always known how to find the cracks he tried to hide.

“You don’t have to be,” she said. “Not with me.”

And then the air shifted. Just enough to feel it— like a whisper through stone.

“Rook can fix.” Spite purred, a voice like silk dragged through glass. “Lucanis can only hide. Don’t want to hide. Not from Rook.”

Rook’s jaw clenched, but before she has a chance to talk to the demon, brown eyes are staring back at her. Lucanis didn’t move, but his eyes darkened faintly. “Sorry, don’t listen to him. He’s in a mood tonight.”

“He always is.” She tried to joke.

Spite chuckled and spoke in the Crow’s mind. “Rook is sharp. Rook likes us. Let Rook help.”

Lucanis’s fingers flexed slightly, and a purple glint was caught in his eyes. “Enough.”

But Rook walked closer, until she stood before him. “Let him speak.”

Lucanis blinked. “Rook—”

She didn’t flinch. “If there’s something I need to hear, I’d rather it be now.”

Spite’s laughter echoed faintly in the room, but softer this time. It’s sharper than Lucanis’ — it’s mirth laced with mockery, with a second, colder echo just beneath the first, as if two voices were laughing at once. A coldness swept through the air, not freezing, but ancient. A pressure behind the ribs.

“Rook leaves. A trail of bodies in her wake. She broke the laws of the Crows. Spat on their legacy. And he would still bleed. For Rook.” Two steps and he’s towering over her “Rook thinks. Love can undo the scars carved into bones. That a touch or a kiss. Will drown out screams.”

Rook’s voice, when it came, was quiet. Steady. “No. I don’t think it will fix it. I just think it’s the only thing we haven’t tried, yet.”

Spite went silent, just for a second. Then the demon tilts his head, and is Lucanis that exhales slowly, tension bleeding out of his shoulders. “Seems like you shut him up.”

“Seems so. If not, I’ll keep trying, if that will let you sleep peacefully.” she said, stepping close enough to rest her hand on his chest.

He covered her hand with his own. “And I’ll keep hoping that will be enough.”

For a moment, there was no blood, no gods or blades or impossible missions to accomplish. Just the two of them, and the quiet truth of what they still had.

And somewhere behind the walls, the shadows watched and listened. But they said nothing. Not yet.

Back in the kitchen, Harding scratched the back of her neck and muttered, “Not sure who’s scarier. The fact that he’s a trained Crow assassin, or the thing whispering inside him.”

Davrin didn’t look away from the fireplace. “Her. Because she listens.”

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Prompt 6: a recipe of Rook’s comfort food

Recipe transcription with a little note by Rook:

“Pan con Tomate y Huevos Estrellados”

Ingredients

1. For the Pan con Tomate:

• 4 slices of rustic bread (preferably day-old)
• 2 ripe tomatoes
• 1 clove garlic, peeled
• Extra virgin olive oil
• Salt to taste

2. For the Huevos Estrellados:

• 2–3 eggs
• Olive oil (for frying)
• A pinch of smoked paprika (optional)
• Salt & pepper

Optional: thinly sliced jamón or chorizo, or fried potatoes

Instructions

1. Toast the Bread:

• Toast the bread slices in a pan or over open flame until golden and crisp.
• Rub the garlic clove over each slice while still warm.
• Cut tomatoes in half and rub them over the bread, letting the juices soak in.
• Drizzle generously with olive oil and sprinkle with salt.

2. Fry the Eggs (Huevos Estrellados Style):

• In a small skillet, heat olive oil over medium-high heat.
• Crack the eggs directly into the hot oil — don’t worry if they sizzle violently; that’s the charm.
• Let the edges crisp. Before the yolks set, gently "smash" or break them with a wooden spoon.
• Sprinkle with salt, pepper, and a dash of smoked paprika.

3. Optional Add-ons:

• Serve with thin slices of jamón, pan-fried potatoes, or roasted peppers if you're feeling indulgent.

Serving

Layer the smashed eggs over the garlicky tomato toast. Tear with your hands. Eat quickly, before the yolks fully set — the kind of meal that feels like rebellion and home at the same time.

Don’t know why, but it tastes better if eaten on one of Treviso’s roofs. ~ Rook

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Prompt 7: Something written by a character from a previous game about Rook

Diary of Reyna Lavellan       Date: Late Winter, 9:42

Rook… Sometimes I think I still don’t fully understand her. The others don’t see her like I do. Neither Cullen, when I told him about her. They see the sharp blade, the steady hand, the fierce loyalty.  But that’s only a facade. 

There’s a loneliness in her that’s hard to ignore. Not the kind you find in the empty moments, but the kind that clings. It’s in the way she moves, in how she doesn’t quite let herself rest when the others are settled. She’s always watching, always calculating, and there’s this quiet tension that haunts her whenever we talk, like she’s afraid of being discovered. Afraid of letting someone close enough to understand.  I can see it — I was like her.

And even, if she’s broken apart, yet, she  cares.  I’ve seen it in her actions, in the way she stands when the world feels like it’s about to collapse. She protects those near her with a strength  I never saw before.

I can feel a conflict within her — the remnants of what she was, and the person she wants to be. She tries to bury it, to be that someone that the rest of the Veilguard needs, but I don’t think she’s fooling anyone. Not really.

And maybe that’s the problem. She doen’t want  to be just a blade. She wants to find herself to believe that she can be something more. She deserves that. But I can’t force her. She has to want it.

I don’t know if I’m the one who can pull her out of it. She maybe won’t ever truly be at peace with herself. But she is worth the effort, even if she never truly believes it.

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Prompt 8: A future historian's analysis of Rook's actions (Bonus: featuring a relevant primary source)

From “Lasting Echoes: The Life and Legend of Rook of Antiva”

By: Scholar Elyon Thorne, University of Val Royeaux, 9:97 

Rook’s story is not one of triumph, not in the traditional sense. Is a tale of survival sharpened into agency, of a blade once wielded choosing its own mark. In the records we possess, she is both shadow and torch — impossible to separate from the violence of her origins, and yet undeniably instrumental in shaping the peace that followed the Sixth Blight. 

Of the many figures surrounding the events of the so-called Lighthouse, few provoke as much conflicting scholarship as Rook, Antivan Crow and Veilguard operative: her dual nature — both assassin and protector, exiled and leader — makes her difficult to categorize. Many see her as a figure of rebellion: a woman who severed the strings of those who made her and carved her own path in defiance of both tradition and fate.

Primary Source Fragment: Personal Note, unsigned, dated 9:52 

    “They look at me like I’m a blade. Sometimes I am. But when the blood dries, I’m the one left behind to feel the weight of it. I don’t know what comes after this, or if I even want to. Even after everything that happened, I stayed because no one else knew how to move in the dark. And someone had to.”

The tone of this note, believed to be written by Rook after the attack of the Blighted Dragon in Treviso, mirrors the descriptions found in the journals of her companions — particularly those of Lucanis Dellamorte, her husband after the Sixth Blight, and Bellara Lutare. In those early days, both described her as distant, calculating, and yet deeply protective and gentle. What stands out, is how often she chose the harder road — not for redemption, but to ensure others did not have to. 

The notes, also, refers to one of Rook’s most known act of heroism that occurred when a Blighted High Dragon descended upon the city. Survivors described an elf wreathed in blue light, her blade lethal against corrupted scales. The dragon fell. Treviso endured.

However, this pivotal stand came at a cost: with Rook in Antiva, Minrathous — once the jewel of the Imperium — fell into Venatori hands after the attack of another Blighted Dragon, which happened at the same time of the attack to Treviso. Speculation persists that if Rook had not been in Antiva, her skills might have delayed or disrupted the fall. Instead, the capital was lost and, after the Bighted Gods were defeated, it took years to recover.

After the Sixth Blight, Rook later married Lucanis Dellamorte, the First Talon of the Antivan Crows — once thought dead and rumored to have been possessed by a demon of Spite. Together, they had five children: four daughters — Caterina, Sira, Belladonna, and Maris — and one son, Tavian.  Though Rook officially didn’t t appear in records following the Battles against Venaori resistance, signs of her involvement continued. Entire caravans of Venatori agents were found dismantled with Crow precision. No one claimed responsibility.

Rook became myth because she was needed. The oppressed didn’t need a queen or a general — they needed a ghost who struck without warning, and reminded tyrants they could still bleed.

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Prompt 9: Rook’s shopping list

Shopping list transcript:

Essentials (Boring, but required) ~ Rook

• Bandages (A LOT) ~ Harding
• Wax for seals and high quality paper ~ Neve
• Extra throwing knives ~ Lucanis
  • To stab. People. ~ Spite
• Tea leaves (Harding drank the last of mine without blinking) ~ Emmrich
  • You can’t prove that ~ Harding
• 1 pair of gloves (I think Spite might have hidden mine…) ~ Rook
  • Like. To touch. Rook’s hands. ~ Spite 
• Ginger wort truffles for Assan ~ Davrin
• Rope (Bellara burned mine. Don’t ask.) ~ Taash
  • Sorry Taash ~ Bellara
• Replacement padlocks (Rook what did I say about Manfred and lock-picking?) ~ Emmrich
  • What? I didn’t do anything this time! ~ Rook
• Buy the book “Love by the Canal” (if you can, get a few copies: it’s for the book club!) ~ Bellara
• Coffee beans ~ Neve
  • Maker help me ~ Lucanis
• 1 bottles of sharpening oil ~ Davrin
  • Make them 2 ~ Taash
    • Three ~ Lucanis 

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Prompt 10: A note found in Rook’s pocket

Note’s transcription:

You don’t always have to be the one who walks ahead.

Some of us are behind you — not because we can’t keep up.

But because we trust you to lead.

No need to turn around. We’re still here.     ~L.

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Prompt 11: Report summarising what is known about Rook by an allied or enemy faction

Report transcription:

VENATORI OBSERVATION DOSSIER

Subject Designation: Rook (Alias), former: Evelyne De Riva

Date: 9:52          Race: Elf            Class:  Mage (Confirmed) 

Affiliations: Veilguard (Active), Former Antivan Crows

Status: Ongoing Threat to Doctrine and Field Operations

Filed By: Magister Althros Maervan, Eyes of the Flame Division

Summary:

Rook is a rogue mage of elven descent, formerly affiliated with the Antivan Crow network, now functioning as a key agent within a group of resistance called the Veilguard. Notably, she is a trained assassin and a practicing mage.

Her magic is unorthodox, unreliable to predict, and does not conform to any known Circle doctrine. Reports confirm use of storm and fire manipulation, teleportation via veil fractures, binding wards, and artifact-channeling — suggesting her abilities are tied to stolen or unstable sources. She wields magic as she does a blade: tactically, sparingly, and with lethal intent.

Psychological Profile

Detached. Focused. Dangerous. Rook does not pursue personal power or visibility — she doesn’t avoid command when it is offered. She gravitates toward trust, protecting individuals rather than institutions. This makes her, by Venatori standards, an infuriatingly difficult to predict.

She is bonded closely to several high-risk operatives, particularly Lucanis Dellamorte, a former Crow assassin and host to a demon of Spite. The entity has expressed disturbing affection for Rook, amplifying Dellamorte’s protective behavior and combat aggression. 

Theological Threat Assessment: An elven mage assassin who manipulates the Fade, uses relics to anchor spells, and acts on her own will. She exists outside the accepted structure of the world. In Venatori doctrine, she is not merely an obstacle — she is a living condemnation of what our world has failed to control.

That she is also effective, beloved by her companions, and unburdened by ambition makes her an infectious idea. Her presence fosters doubt. Doubt spreads.

Directives:

• Intercept any Veilguard movements linked to artifact retrieval.

• Infiltrate the Crows and vaults with her records — determine source of her techniques.

• Attempt psychological destabilization through networked agents. Do not engage her directly.

• If captured, immediate neutralization advised. Containment is unfeasible.

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Prompt 12: Rook’s daily schedule

Note transcription by Rook:

06:00 — Wake

→ Try that fancy armor we found. If it fits, be fabulous.

→ Stretch. Blade drills. No magic yet.

07:00 — Kitchen Sweep 

→ Steal something to eat before Lucanis notices.

→ eat breakfast (again, but no one will know)

08:00 — Briefing / Reports

→ Emmrich. Ask him if Joanna’s skull is bothering him again. If it is, scold the skull.

→ Neve. Ask her if the Shadow dragons have any new developments.

09:00 — Training 

→ Solo or with Taash/Davrin. (Avoid sparring with Taash unless necessary. That shoulder still hurt)

12:00 — help Lucanis with Meal 

13:00 — lunch

15:00 — play with Manfred and Assan. 

→ try to win at rock, paper, scissors against Manfred. If you loose again, ask Emmrich how is it possible.

→ Tell Assan he’s the best boy. He is.

17:30 — Rest & Letters (if possible)

→ Answer requests. Deny politely.

→ Read old notes. Keep the ones that sting.

→ if Varric is awake, ask him how is going.

19:00 — Dinner (Lighthouse Kitchen)

→ If Lucanis cooks again: eat everything.

→ If Davrin comments again about Spite: ignore. Or throw a spoon.

20:00 — Evening Walk / Fade Observation

→ help Harding watering the plants.

→ If you find Bellara’s artefacts on the way, leave them untouched. (Unless they start to hum.)

22:00 — Last Round

→ Final check for everybody.

22:30 — Sleep (or try to)

→ check if Lucanis is asleep. If not, hide the coffee. If Spite is awake, hide the candles.

→ Dreams. Prison voices. Solas again? Write it down. Forget it later.

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Prompt 13: A message between two companions about Rook

Transcription of Davrin’s note:

You see the way she looks at him? Thought Rook was smarter than that. Can’t trust someone who lets him in. Lucanis might fight, but Spite’s always there. A demon never lets go — no matter how pretty the face it wears.

Transcription of Harding’s note:

You’re right. She thinks she can control him, but we all know demons don’t bend to anyone. Rook can’t see it, or she won’t. She’s too close now. I don’t like it. We don’t know what he’s capable of, but I don’t trust that we won’t find out the hard way.

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Prompt 14: A letter from a faction leader to a companion about Rook

Transcript of the letter from Viago de Riva to Lucanis Dellamorte 

Lucanis, 

As expected, there has been no change in Illario’s situation. My agents report the same lack of movement, and there are no new developments to note. His discretion is unsurprising, but I’m not entirely satisfied with the reports I’ve received. I’ve ordered additional surveillance. This will take time, and it will require patience. Should anything significant change, I will let you know immediately. 

Now, to the matter I had intended to address more thoroughly: Rook.

She’s not a fool, despite what some might believe. But her recklessness is a cause for concern. She tends to act without thinking, throwing herself into danger without the proper calculation. But she’s resilient. She refuses to break, no matter how much the world presses against her. There’s a quality in her that I’ve not seen in many, not even in the finest of our own. I’ve trained her, I know how she is.

She’s an idiot, Lucanis. But she’s my idiot. You may not understand it, but there’s a connection there, one I hadn’t anticipated when she first came into my life. I care for her like a daughter, a foolish one, yes, but– still family. Anyway, I trust you’ll keep her grounded. She needs someone to keep her sharp. Someone who will see the danger she’s too willing to ignore.

I don’t say this lightly: watch over her. She may not know it, but there’s more to her than meets the eye, and she will make mistakes. I need you to make sure she doesn’t pay the ultimate price for them.

Lucanis, I trust you to handle this. The rest, I leave in your capable hands.

– V.

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Prompt 15: Rook's packing list for travel to a quest location

Transcription of Rook’s packing list for travelling with Varric and Harding to find the Dread Wolf:

1. Light Armor ~ Rook ✔️

2. Journal and Writing Supplies ✔️

For all the deep, dramatic notes you’re going to take. Inspiration comes from the most unexpected places... Believe me I’ve been there. You might become a best selling author too. – Varric

3. Healing Potions (x6) ✔️

Might want more. Just saying. You’ll need these more than you think. – Varric

4. Extra gloves ~ Rook ✔️

5. Map of Tevinter ✔️

Just in case you get lost. Though, let’s be real, you’ll probably get lost anyway.  – Varric

6. Tents (x1) ✔️

Varric might be fine with sleeping under the stars, but i’m not. We’ll need a proper setup.  – Harding

7. Rations (2 weeks’ worth) ~ Rook ✔️

8. Lantern & Spare Oil ~ Rook ✔️

9. Warm clothes (winter gear) ✔️

Solas is dragging us into the wilderness. Pack something that won’t freeze your bones off. You’re welcome. – Harding

10. Extra Blades and throwing knives ~ Rook ✔️

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Prompt 16: A short poem from Rook about their love interest

Poem transcription from Rook to Lucanis:

There is a hush when you touch me,

like the pause before a blade sings,

Like the breath between two heartbeats.

You wear my name

like a vow tucked behind your teeth,

like a prayer spat in defiance

at the gods I stopped believing in.

I have walked through blood,

spoken lies like lullabies.

I, a blade with no sheath,

You, a heart wrapped in ash. 

You taught how to burn,

And I forget I’m broken.

Just for a moment,

I forget.

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Prompt 17: sketches that Rook draw on her diary

The sketchbook had already been open when Lucanis found it— laid carelessly atop the maps and notes on the Library table, as if Rook had been interrupted mid-thought. He hadn’t meant to look. But what he found instead made his breath catch.

His fingers hovered over the pages. Two swords, a wolf statue, Manfred’s skull, butterflies. And then—

Him.

Drawn with such quiet care that it silenced every thought in his head.

A flicker of movement, and Spite was beside him.

“ROOK DRAWS US.” the demon purred, voice full of velvet mockery. “Rook finds us. PRETTY.”

Lucanis turns away from the sketchbook. “Leave it.” he growled.

Spite smirked. “BUT TRUE. We pretty. Like pretty elf Rook. Rook likes us!!!”

Lucanis turned, ears already red, and glared. “Shut up.”

A short while later, Rook found him leaning near the kitchen door, clearly waiting for her.

“You– uh–” Lucanis began, not meeting her eyes. He scratched at the back of his neck. “You dropped something. Earlier.”

Her brow arched. “What did I drop?”

He hesitated. Then blurted out, fast and too loud, “Sketchbook. Near the maps. On the Library table. Just— just saying. That’s all.”

Her eyes widened. “You looked in it?”

“I didn’t mean to!” he said quickly, stepping back like she might throw something. “It was open. Spite was— It was an accident. I put it back.”

Her face flushed. Then her voice rose with a sharp, horrified groan. “Shit.”

She turned on her heel, storming out the kitchen.

Lucanis stood there, ears still red, refusing to move.

Spite’s laughter echoed softly in the back of his mind. “Next time. We can pose. For pretty elf.”

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Prompt 18: Something Rook bought for each companion

Lucanis – A carved obsidian raven. Small enough to fit in his palm. Sharp edges. Not subtle. He’ll pretend he doesn’t like it. He’ll carry it everywhere. (Spite will probably name it something ridiculous).

Bellara – A strange-looking compass found in Val Royeaux. It doesn’t point north. She’ll love it. Probably dangerous. (Check for curses first.)

Emmrich – A tin of old mage coins with faded runes. Decorative, mostly. Manfred will chew one within the week.

Neve – A glass vial that glows faintly when shaken. No idea what it does. That’s the point. She’ll either study it or wear it. Maybe both.

Davrin – A griffon feather pin, for his cloak. He likes when things are tidy, even if he pretends not to.

Harding – A pair of engraved boot buckles with dwarven motifs. She’ll complain they’re too fancy, then wear them every day.

Taash – A leather bracelet with a tiny dragon scale charm — deep green and iridescent. It smelled faintly of smoke and magic.

The lighthouse was quiet, steeped in the hush of late evening. Within the pantry, the table near the bed was undisturbed — except for one new thing.

Lucanis halted in the doorway.

There, placed with quiet care, lay a small raven carved from obsidian. Its surface shimmered faintly in the low light, catching the orange hues of the candles. A scrap of parchment was tucked beneath it, edges curling slightly.

He picked it up.

“Saw this. Thought of you. Hope you like it.”

 The handwriting was unmistakable — sharp and fluid, like the woman who’d left it.

Lucanis turned the trinket over in his hand. It was cold, dense, heavier than it looked. The carving was elegant despite its edges, the wings tucked close, poised mid-perch. One of the feathers near the base was chipped. Imperfect. Real. Somehow it made the raven lovelier, as if someone had touched it too hard and cared too much.

He ran a thumb across the uneven line and felt a familiar warmth stir low in his chest.

“She always notices things like this,” he murmured, almost to himself. “Even when she pretends not to.”

A ripple of amused darkness slid through his mind.

“She saw us in a murderbird.” Spite purred, gleeful and intrusive. “Fitting. So sleek. So sharp. So dark. Love. You should tell her. Write her a poem. Cry on her boots.”

Lucanis sighed through his nose, tilting his head toward the ceiling. “Spite,” he said, wearily. “For once. Shut up.”

“Why? Adorable! You’re brooding. With affection! We need it. In our pocket. We look at it every day.”

“It’s nothing,” he said.

“No, no. It’s ‘meaningful.’ You’re afraid of meaning.”

“I’m not.”

“You are. It’s symbolic. Dangerous. Just like her. I love her taste. Want to taste.”

Lucanis jerked his hand back as if to protect the bird. “Spite!” he hissed, a laugh sneaking out despite himself. “No. You don’t get to eat it.”

The demon receded with a feral grin, its hunger shifting into satisfaction.

Lucanis exhaled and, with deliberate care, set the raven on the little table by the bed. There, the candlelight found it, catching on obsidian curves and casting its shadow against the wood — watchful, silent, and still.

He watched it for a long time.

Then his gaze slid toward the spiral stair, where he could just sense the presence hovering in hesitation. Rook, pretending not to linger. Pretending not to hope.

He almost called out to her.

Instead, he stayed in the quiet, and let the silence speak for him.

Chapter Text

Prompt 19: A gift from someone Rook has saved

The market square in Treviso was loud with life—stalls bursting with ripe citrus and silk, laughter rising in bursts, the tang of sea salt carried on warm air. Rook moved through it like a shadow, leather boots quiet on stone, her presence more felt than seen. She was supposed to meet there with another fellow crow who seems to have informations on the Venatori operation in the area. 

“Señora!”

The voice who called her was small, piping up from below. Definitely not from someone she was expecting. Rook turned, blinking slowly and saw her. A little girl, maybe six or seven, with wild curls and a smudge of ink on her nose. She was clutching something to her chest, both hands wrapped around it tight. Her dress was patched and her sandals worn, but her eyes were steady as flame.

Rook crouched, surprised. “Hello.”

The girl grinned, teeth a little crooked. “You’re her. The woman who killed the Blighted Dragon. My papa says you’re in all the stories now.”

Rook blinked again. “I’m… not in all of them.”

The girl pulled her arms forward and presented a folded piece of parchment with careful fingers. “I made you this.” 

It was a drawing—crayon and charcoal smudged together, bold and fierce.  figure with wild curls (definitely meant to be Rook) stood beneath a blue-scribbled sky, sword raised. In front of her, a great jagged shape loomed in grey and blue — twisted wings and crooked horns. The Blighted Dragon. Fire crackled between them in loops of light blue. Rook, in the picture, had a small smile on her face. She looked brave.

She looked like someone’s hero.

Rook stared at it longer than she meant to, the lump in her throat too stubborn to swallow. “You drew this?”

The girl nodded solemnly. “You’re not scary like they say. You’re good. You saved people.”

There was a moment. A pause full of the weight of too many memories. Then Rook folded the drawing carefully, like something sacred, and tucked it into her coat.

“Thank you,” she said with a smile on her face. “I’ll keep it with me.”

The girl lit up. Then, with a quick hug around Rook’s legs, she darted off into the market crowd—vanishing like a dream, like all the good things that slip away too quickly.

Rook stayed crouched a moment longer, her hand resting over the pocket where the drawing now lived.

She smiled and her eyes softened. Just a little.

Drawing close-up:

Chapter Text

Prompt 20: Something written about Rook on a historical plaque 

The monument stood in the quiet heart of Treviso.

It wasn’t grand—not like the ones built for kings or generals. No pedestal too high with a little plaque. Just a simple statue carved from dark stone, worn smooth at the edges by wind and reverent touch. Rook stood with her head slightly bowed, a daggr resting point-down before her, her hands folded over the hilt. A raven perched on her shoulder, wings half-raised, as if in warning or flight.

Children played nearby, tracing the curling script at the base with curious fingers. Locals left small offerings: a sprig of dried lavender, a silver coin, a crude wooden carving of a dragon. Someone had tied a red thread around the statue’s wrist. It fluttered in the breeze.

An old woman passed by and whispered something beneath her breath—not prayer, not praise. Just thanks.

The sky above was soft with dusk. And in the hush that settled, the monument didn’t feel like stone at all.
It felt like memory. Like a promise.
Like someone had stood there, once and stayed. 

"A hero's choice is not always between right and wrong, but between loss and hope."

— Rook

Chapter Text

Prompt 21: A letter from an enemy regarding Rook

Letter transcription from Illario Dellamorte to Zara Renata:

Zara, my dearest Zara, 

hope your day is treating you well, because mine is definitely not. I’m sure you might understand my frustration — and perhaps enjoyed it, just a little. A new development has come to my attention. One I specifically asked you to take care of… but it seems like you may have forgotten. Let me remind you.

Lucanis is still alive. Can you believe it? My grandmother, of all people, was the one to inform me. How fitting that she would be the one to reveal the truth — and what a bitter truth it is. I had thought we were done with him. You assured me that you had handled things. But it seems there’s always something, isn’t there? A little slip, a little carelessness.

I trusted you, Zara. And yes, I can’t deny there’s a certain charm in your ability to make such promises, knowing full well you’d twist them when it suited you. I’m disappointed, yes, but I also know the value of a good comeback. I’ll wait for yours — but it better be impressive.

Now, there’s another delightful little complication: Rook. She’s a Crow from house De Riva and she’s headed to the Ossuary, the underwater prison where my cousin is. How exciting. Can you imagine? The drama, the tension, the thrilling little chase she thinks she’s leading. And I can already see where this is going, Zara. You’ve allowed it to go on far enough. She will bring Lucanis back, and once that happens, I’ll have no choice but to clean up the mess. We can’t afford for him to remain a problem, can we?

I suggest you finish what you started. Close the contract. I’m certain you’ll do so with your usual flair, won’t you? And while you’re at it, why not put an end to Rook’s little fantasy? Let her come — she’ll find herself playing right into your hands, like a doll waiting for its strings to be cut.

Once Lucanis is dead, we both know what happens next. Treviso will be mine. The Venatori will be the one to rise. I’ve always admired how beautifully you can make such decisive choices, Zara. So, why delay it any longer? I look forward to your swift response — or perhaps, more accurately, to your swift action. Let’s not keep each other waiting. Until then, my dear, I’ll be counting the days.

Yours, Illario Dellamorte

Chapter Text

Prompt 22: A page from a newspaper about Rook's background (Bonus: followed by a note from Rook supporting or refuting its accuracy)

Rook stepped out of the kitchen of the Lighthouse, while the scent of herbs and baked bread still clinging to her sleeves. The courtyard was quiet, lit by the amber glow of the Fade.

As she was about to walk to the meditation room, when she spotted Neve leaned against the wall near the doorway, arms crossed with an unusual wry glint in her eyes.

“I left something for you,” Neve said, her voice smooth and amused. “Figured it’s the kind of thing you’d want to read.”

Rook blinked. “What kind of thing?”

Neve only smirked wider, pushing off the wall with a shrug. “Library table. Go see for yourself.”

There was something in her tone—teasing, almost conspiratorial—that made Rook pause. “Okay… thanks, I guess?” she said slowly, narrowing her eyes.

Neve just gave her a knowing look before slipping away down the hall.

Still drying her fingers, Rook made her way toward the library, more puzzled than anything. There was a twist in her gut — half curiosity, half apprehension — as she stepped past the archway and spotted a newspaper open on the table.

Half an hour later, the library was still and quiet again. The door creaked softly as it swayed in the sea breeze, but no footsteps echoed within.

The newspaper lay open on the table, exactly where Neve had left it — though it looked different now.

Bright post-it notes stuck out from its pages like angry little flags. Margins were crowded with sharp, scribbled writing in dark ink. The paper rustled slightly in the breeze, surrounded by a trail of sarcasm, outrage, and ruthless fact-checking.

Transcription of the newspaper “Across Thedas” and Rook’s notes:

Antaam invasion in Treviso

King Alistair and Queen Lyssara are expecting another royal child?

The Shadow of the Crows: Rook’s Dark Past

Rook, the enigmatic figure who rose from the shadows of the Antivan Crows, has long been a subject of intrigue.Few know the full story of her rise, but those who have crossed paths with her understand one truth: she is a force to be reckoned with.

– ‘force to be reckoned with,’ huh? I’ve been reckoned with, alright. Reckon I’ve broken enough necks for one lifetime. ~ Rook

Born into the underworld of Antiva, Rook was taken in by the infamous assassin guild known as the Crows at a young age. It is said that she was trained by none other than Viago De Riva, the most notorious and feared Talon in the guild’s history. Her skills with blades, poisons, and stealth were honed under his cruel tutelage, and it’s rumored that she quickly rose to become one of the guild’s most dangerous agents.

– If by ‘trained by Viago,’ you mean ‘barely survived Viago’s training,’ then sure, let’s go with that. ~ Rook

– The most notorious and feared Talon… Yes, I can see him telling himself that every morning at the mirror. ~ Rook

Her association with the Crows is what many believe shaped her into the cold and calculating assassin she is today. Little is known of her life before joining the Crows, but rumors abound — some claim she was a street orphan, while others suggest she was born to a noble family, only to be cast aside.

– ‘Born to a noble family’? Ha! I’ve barely seen the inside of a ‘noble’ house, unless you count that one time in Nevarra. ~ Rook

One curious fact that has intrigued many is her appearance. Despite her youthful demeanor, she is a towering figure, described as being well over six feet tall (???) — an imposing sight for anyone who crosses her path. Her sharp eyes and poised movements are enough to unsettle even the bravest men.

– Six feet? Are you looking at me or someone else? I’m five feet two and that’s pushing it. Also, I don’t ‘tower’ over people. I just confuse them. ~ Rook

– Our little ball. Of chaos. ~ Spite.

Rook’s current allegiances remain unclear. She has worked with various factions over the years, though it is known that she has a particular bond with the Inquisitor Reyna Lavellan. Her loyalty, it seems, lies with whoever offers her the greatest opportunity for survival, which makes her both a valuable ally and a dangerous enemy.

– Reyna’s great, though. She knows I’m only here for the snacks, not the speeches. ~ Rook

Hawke back in Kirkwall? 

Are there ties between the Blighted Gods rise and the Inquisition?

– You know what’s really impressive? The fact that I even bothered to read this entire nonsense. If you want to write my story, try talking to me first, maybe? But then again, you’d probably write me as a dragon or something. Keep it up though, you’re doing a great job of making me sound way cooler than I actually am. ~ Rook

Chapter Text

Prompt 23: Inventory of personal belongings Rook left behind when they left their faction

Transcription: 

Inventory of Evelyn De Riva Personal Belongings Left Behind After Leaving the Crows
(Stored at an undisclosed location in Antiva. Last accessed by the Crows' quartermaster.)

1. One Antivan-style dueling dagger
    – Polished steel, worn hilt wrapped in faded blue navy leather.
    – Engraved with initials: “E. D.” (worn almost smooth).

2. A broken silver ring
    – Plain band, cracked clean through.
    – Was worn on a chain — chain missing.

3. Crow-issued cloak
    – Black, inner lining torn, faint traces of dried blood.

4. Sketchbook with charcoal illustrations
    – First few pages missing.
    – Contents include: maps, faces (some struck through), a crow.
    – Last page dated three weeks before departure.

5. One leather-bound book of poetry (Dalish origin)
    – Several pages annotated in purple ink.
    – Pressed leaf tucked between pages 47–48.

6. Hand-carved flute
    – Slightly out of tune.
    – A gift? Unknown.

7. Two sets of throwing knives
    – One complete, the other missing three blades.
    – Balanced for small, precise hands.

8. Glass vial with dried purple residue
    – Label peeled away. Suspected to be remnants of rare poison.

9. Small obsidian Andraste statuette
    – Marked with a single fingerprint on the base.
    – Left on top of the sketchbook.

Status: Not reclaimed. Presumed intentional.
Quartermaster’s comment: “She never travels light. But she left with nothing but Varric’s name.”

Chapter Text

Prompt 24: A letter from Rook to a faction leader

Letter transcript: 

Viago,

I don’t know why I’m writing this. Maybe it’s because, in the pit of my stomach, I can already feel the weight that I might never come back from. Maybe it’s because I’ve spent my whole life running, and for once, I feel like I can’t. 

I’ve been many things, and I’ve done things I can’t undo. But I’ve also learned — sometimes painfully — that I’m not invincible. I never was. We’re all made of flesh, and flesh can break. I know that now, more than I ever did before. There’s something in Tearstone Island that makes me feel like, deep down, this might be where the story ends for me.

I think, somehow, I always knew I wouldn’t make it out of this. You might say it’s foolishness or a lack of faith, but I’ve seen what’s out there. I’ve seen the things that can tear a person apart without even blinking. I’ve always had one foot in the grave, Viago. And I know you know that. 

It’s strange, isn’t it? How much we can change in the span of our lives. I never thought I needed someone to care, and yet, there you were. I don’t know if you ever realized how much I — needed that. Needed you. In the twisted world we live in, you were the one constant. The one who told me, despite everything I’ve done, that I wasn’t lost. Maybe that’s why this is so hard to write. I’ve always been running from things, but I’m not sure I can run from this one.

I don’t know if you’ll ever read this, and I don’t know if I’ll make it back to say these things in person. I wish I could’ve told you this sooner — when there was time to say it without the weight of fear pressing down on my chest.

You were never just my mentor, Viago. You were the closest thing to family I’ve ever had. I don’t know what happens after this. I don’t know if there’s an after. But if there is one without me... please, take care of the ones I left behind. I don’t know how Lucanis and Spite would react if I– never come back.

I wasn’t always easy to deal with. I know that. And I wasn’t always the kind of person who’d ask for help, but I need you to know... I’m grateful for everything. For every lesson, for every moment you kept me going when I thought I’d break. For showing me, when I didn’t see it, that someone like me could have a place in the world.

I hope I can make it out of this. I really do. But if I don’t... Take care of them. Please. I need you to.

-Rook

P. S. If you ever read this… Marry Teia, you idiot. 

Chapter Text

Prompt 25: Notes taken by Rook when they were young/in training

The sun dipped low behind the spires of Treviso, casting long shadows into Viago’s cluttered laboratory. Dust danced in the slanting light as he rifled through a worn leather satchel he hadn’t opened in years. He was looking for that bottle of poison he’d sworn it was somewhere near there.

What he found instead was a slim, battered notebook, the edges curled with age and stained with ink and who-knew-what-else. He paused, recognizing the scrawl on the cover.

“IF FOUND: DON’T READ. Property of Evelyn De Riva.”

Viago smiled despite himself. “Of course,” he murmured, thumbing it open.

The handwriting inside was unmistakably Rook’s — curly, angled, impatient. There were sketches of plants beside deadpan commentary, formulas written in precise script only to be undercut by snide footnotes. The pages smelled faintly of crushed elfroot and trouble.

Notebook page transcription:

Rook’s Poison Notes

Instructor: Viago (still alive, somehow)

BASICS OF POISONING

Rule #1: If you die, you did it wrong.

Rule #2: Don’t taste-test without supervision. This isn’t a cooking class.

Rule #3: Always label your vials unless you want to accidentally paralyze your foot.

Contact Poisons

Apply carefully. Gloves are your friend. So is not scratching your nose.

Excellent for weapon tips, doorknobs, and dramatically ironic revenge.

Viago’s tip: “Subtlety is key.”

→ My tip: “So is remembering which blade you used before slicing your apple.”

Ingested Poisons

Takes longer, but very effective.

Mix into wine, soup, or anything a noble can’t pronounce.

Add sugar if they’re particularly bitter. (The poison or the nobles.)

Note: Practice safe poisoning — always flee the scene.

Antidotes

Learn them. Brew them. Keep them close.

Viago made me take one blindfolded. Wouldn’t recommend.

Favorite So Far: Tears of Elyon

Odorless, tasteless, works in under a minute.

Causes paralysis and vivid hallucinations.

Used it on Jeremiah. Viago was not amused.

P. S. If anyone finds this notebook and dies using it, you didn’t read it right. Also, hi Viago — yes, I’m taking notes.

Viago sat down, notebook resting on his knee. A long silence followed as he turned the pages, the grin on his face deepening with each entry. She’d been sharp, even then. Too clever for her own good. Too brave. Too reckless. Too much like… him.

Day 1:

Viago’s idea of a lesson? “Survival of the Fittest,” but with poison. He hands me a vial of something that looks like cheap wine and calls it “Frostbite’s Lament.” It's a nerve agent that freezes your blood and makes you forget how to move—slowly. Very slowly.

The effects? Well, if I wanted to know what it felt like to have every joint in my body turn into ice, I could have just stuck my hands in a bucket of freezing water. This one starts with a pleasant tingling in your fingers and toes, then moves to the burning, “I’m definitely about to die” stage. Delightful. If death was a slow, torturous game of freeze tag.

Day 3:

Viago hands me something he calls “Venomous Whisper” today. It’s supposed to enhance sensitivity — perfect for people who want to feel every little detail of their death. Isn’t that lovely?

First, it makes your skin feel like it’s burning from the inside. Not quite fire, but the kind of heat that makes you wish you were on fire instead. And then — oh, the best part — it blurs your vision so that the world looks like a twisted, nightmarish painting. If I had to describe it, I’d say it’s the feeling of being on the edge of a fever dream, but you can’t escape. I’ve never hated something so much and somehow admired it for its elegance at the same time.

Day 5:

Viago’s new concoction: “Silent Mourning.” It’s his idea of a “subtle” poison, and by “subtle,” he means it takes hours to kick in, giving you the chance to reflect on all your bad life choices before you die. Romantic, huh?

The effects? At first, you feel like you're floating. Nice, right? Except you can't feel anything else, not even the ground under your feet. You start getting dizzy, then nauseous, then—bam—suddenly your limbs lock up. Like you're a puppet that’s just had its strings cut. It’s like drowning... but with no water. You know, the type of subtle that leaves you wondering if you're being killed or just... slowly erased.

Day 7:

Today’s poison is called “The King's Grief.” Viago likes to think of this one as “elegant,” but I’ve had more elegant experiences with headaches. It’s a blend of slow-acting toxins that eats away at the liver and kidneys while making you feel like your whole body is being crushed under the weight of your own organs. Oh, and don’t forget the delicious nausea!

The first sign that something is wrong is a mild headache. That’s when you know you're in for a treat. Then the cramps hit, so you curl into a ball. The pain gets worse, and eventually, you wish you’d just died instead of dealing with the next few hours of agony. You know, that old saying, “It’s the poison that kills you, not the regret”? Yeah, that’s exactly how this one works. I don’t know who decided that “regret” should be a method of poisoning, but I bet it was some entitled nobleman who thought his personal suffering was refined.

Day 9:

Viago’s idea of “building immunity” is having me drink “Dragon’s Breath.” Apparently, I’m supposed to “build a resistance to extreme toxicity.” Well, I don’t know what “extreme” means to him, but Dragon’s Breath feels like being set on fire—then doused with gasoline and lit again. So much for immunity.

First, it makes your throat feel like it’s made of glass, then burns all the way down to your stomach. Oh, and did I mention that it makes your insides feel like they’re going to liquefy into something unrecognizable? But, hey, at least I’ll be “immune” to it after. I’ll just have to live with the fact that my mouth will never taste like food again.

Day 12:

Today’s poison is called “The Serpent’s Kiss.” Viago says it’s for “understanding the fragility of life.” I’m sorry, but I’m pretty sure there’s nothing fragile about feeling your veins burn out of your skin. The venom starts in your fingertips, and by the time it reaches your heart, you’re already begging for it to end. My arms are still twitching.

I don’t know who decided that poison should feel like your body is being twisted inside-out, but I’d like to meet them. And then poison them with something mild. Like spicy food. Because, let’s face it, this is just cruel. But I’m learning. Apparently. Yay, me.

Day 14:

Viago has a new name for his latest concoction: “Eternal Quiet.” The one thing it does well is make sure you can’t hear the screams of agony because your lungs stop working, so the silence is—wait for it—perfect. Thanks, Viago, for turning death into a literal silence.

Effect: No more oxygen. My chest hurts just thinking about it. I’d describe it more, but I’m too busy contemplating my life choices. Maybe it’s the lack of air, or maybe it’s just that he’s insufferable. I’ll need a drink after this one. Once I’m done dying.

Viago may have spent years learning poisons, but I’m starting to think he’s just doing this for fun. I mean, no one enjoyswatching people suffer this much unless they're seriously deranged. But sure, let’s keep calling it “training.” If by “training,” you mean “figuring out how much I can survive before I finally become a poison-proof human pincushion,” then, yes. It’s training.

Seriously, though—if anyone tells me that any of these “poisons” are romantic, I’ll make sure they get a taste of "Silent Mourning." This time, for real.

Viago exhaled a quiet laugh and closed the notebook gently.

“…You little menace,” he whispered fondly, tapping the cover with a finger. “You were listening after all.”

Outside, bells rang somewhere in Hightown. He leaned back in his chair, the smile fading just slightly.

Wherever she was now, he hoped she still carried that same wicked edge. The world was less fun without it… not that he’s going to tell her that. Her ego is already too big.

But Maker help whoever stood in her way.

Chapter Text

Prompt 26: A letter to Rook from a family member or close friend

Rook,

I hope you’re doing well out there. Things are... well, quiet here, which, as you know, is never a good sign. Viago’s been a little off lately. But I’m sure you’ll find that amusing—he’ll never admit it, of course, but when has that ever stopped you from seeing through him?

He’s been brooding, for lack of a better word. Not that I’m suggesting he misses you, or anything. That would be ridiculous, right? It’s not like he stands by the door more often than usual, or spends extra time staring at that damned map of yours.

But I’m sure you’ll sort it out when you return. I won’t say more, I’m sure you can read between the lines.

Stay safe,

Teia.

P.S. If you find yourself needing any help with him, you know where to find me. I’m good at getting through walls.

Chapter Text

Prompt 27: A piece of art created for/about Rook

Bellara practically bursted through the doorway of the lighthouse library, the hem of her robe catching on the corner of a chair as she rushed in.

"Did you find it yet?" she asked, eyes wide with excitement, cheeks flushed like she'd been holding the question in for hours.

Rook looked up from the open box on the reading table, brows drawn together. "Find what?"

Bellara pointed with both hands, not even trying to keep her grin in check. "Just keep going."

Rook rolled her eyes, but reached back into her deck. Her fingers paused, suddenly unsure. Something in the stack felt off—cooler, as if it pulsed faintly beneath her fingertips.

There, nestled among the worn and familiar cards, was one she didn’t recognize.

"What is this?" she asked, voice low. She turned the card over slowly.

The edges shimmered subtly, brushed with silver. The illustration was unmistakably her: Rook, but not in her usual leathers. She was robed in deep violet mage’s vestments, her hair wind-swept, eyes glowing with soft green light. One hand stretched outward, gathering crackling threads of energy; the other gripped her lyrium dagger, which gleamed with eerie blue fire. Her expression was calm, unreadable—half serenity, half threat.

Bellara bounced on the balls of her feet. “You like it?” she beamed. “I made it. The deck was unbalanced. You weren’t in it.”

Rook blinked, caught somewhere between awe and disbelief. "You made this?"

Bellara nodded rapidly. "Color and ink and, you know, a little magic."

Rook looked down again at the card. At herself—how Bellara saw her. Her throat tightened. She didn’t say anything for a moment.

Bellara rocked forward a bit, then added more softly, “Thought you should be in the future you keep helping shape.”

Rook slid the card gently back into the deck. “Yeah,” she said. “I think you’re right.”

Card closeup’s:

Chapter Text

Prompt 28: Propaganda for or against Rook

The streets of Minrathous bore their wounds with pride and fury—scorched stone, broken towers, and an air thick with unease. The city still smoldered, even as it tried to pretend it didn’t. Rook, Lucanis, and Neve moved through the ruined square with the ease of people who had seen worse and didn’t trust that the worst was over.

Lucanis walked slightly behind Rook, his cloak drawn tight against the wind off the sea. Beside him, something coiled, unseen by most but felt—Spite, quiet for once, until—

“There,” the demon whispered, voice curling like smoke in Lucanis’ skull. “Left side of the plaza wall.”

Lucanis turned his head subtly, his eyes landing on the warped wooden notice board. Most of the notices were crumpled or waterlogged—except one, freshly inked, pinned straight and proud: A Venatori propaganda poster. Rook’s face. Stylized. Too sharp, too dangerous. A hero? A threat? That depended on the city block you stood in.

He stepped closer, breath catching.

The title read: "She calls herself a ‘hero’, she brings only death." And underneath, a line in bold: “Know the treat, report her presence.”

“She’s seen it,” Spite hissed before Lucanis could stop him. “She didn’t say a word.”

Lucanis turned toward Rook.

She hadn’t stopped walking. Her steps were even. Her shoulders squared. But her fingers were clenched white around the hilt of her dagger. Her gaze was fixed straight ahead, too sharp, too focused. Her jaw clenched.

She had absolutely seen it.

Neve passed by the board without a glance, the wind tugging at her coat. She didn’t slow, didn’t speak. Her silence said enough — she was still angry, still stung by Rook’s choice to help Treviso.

Lucanis hesitated. His instinct was to burn the thing down. But it wouldn’t help. He knew that kind of quiet hurt, the kind that crept in and curled around your ribs like frost.

He caught up to Rook’s side and said nothing, just matched her pace.

Behind them, the poster flapped gently in the wind. Still pinned. Still watching.

Poster Closeup:

Chapter Text

Prompt 29: Something written to Rook post-game

Letter transcription from Viago de Riva to Rook and Lucanis:

To Rook, former pain in my side, now pain in someone else’s side, 

and Lucanis, who somehow still puts up with her,

I hope this letter finds you happy. Truly. After everything, you deserve it. I trust you're taking the word honeymoon seriously. Rest. Heal. You’ve both earned that much and more.

Now about why I am writing you… I know what you’re thinking, Rook, so save your breath. I can already imagine your delightful voice squealing for I tell you that I’ve followed your advice—though perhaps not entirely in the way you anticipated. 

I asked Teia to marry me.

And she said yes.

It was long overdue, and perhaps a bit clumsy — gods know I’m no poet — but she saw through the nonsense, as she always does. And, to no one’s surprise, she made the moment more beautiful than I deserve.

Naturally, we’ll want you both involved when the time comes. Not because of duty, but because there’s no version of that day without the two of you standing close by. You’ve been with us through too much not to be part of this next chapter. Also how are we supposed to prepare the wedding without our best man and maid of honour?

Teia’s already sketching out ideas. She mentioned something about the coast near Rialto Bay —stormy skies, salt air, the kind of place where time feels slow and the world forgets its claws. I think you'd like it.

I’ll write again with more details once we've set some more things. Until then, take care of each other. And don’t pretend you weren’t both crying at this point in the letter — I know how soft you've both gone.

With reluctant affection,

Viago

P.S. No, Spite isn’t invited to the bachelor party. I don’t care if he brings wine.

Chapter Text

Prompt 30: A note/letter that Rook never sent

The infirmary of the Lighthouse was silent.

No rustle of bandages. No faint laughter from the hall. Only the stillness of old ghosts and the quiet hum of salt in the air.

Rook stood in the doorway, unmoving. Her boots scuffed the floor as if they didn’t belong to her anymore. She had walked these halls a hundred times—bloody, furious, laughing, hurting—but never like this. Never empty-handed.

Her fingers shook slightly as she crossed the room. Not from fear. Not anymore. Fear had been wrung out of her long ago, somewhere between the first illusion Solas gave her and the last. Somewhere in that prison of regret, she’d clung to the lie—the lie he let her believe.

She thought that Varric was alive.

And Maker, she had believed it. She’d heard his voice in that place, vivid as flame. He had told her to hold on. To fight. To come back. She'd smiled. She’d wept. She’d fought harder.

It wasn’t real.

Now, the infirmary was just stone. Cold and real and indifferent. On the far table, half-hidden beneath a dusty canvas, lay Bianca. Polished. Cared for. Waiting.

She approached slowly. Reverently. And slid the letter on the crossbow’s carved stock. Her handwriting was uneven, smudged where ink had met tears.

No long goodbyes. No flourishes. Just the truth.

Letter transcription from Rook to Varric:

Varric, I don’t even know where to begin, because I don’t know what to do with all of this. With everything that’s happened. And most of all, with the realization that I’ve been living in a lie for longer than I’d care to admit. I should have known better. But I didn’t. Instead, I let myself believe in something that was never really there, something I wanted so badly to be true.

I saw Solas hitting you with the dagger… I knew that no one would’ve been able to survive a hit like that– but, then I woke up and you were there, alive. Bruised, injured, but alive. But now? Now I see it for what it was— the illusion he created,. Or maybe it was just me? The part of me that refused to let you go. 

I was so blind. And now, looking back at everything— I’ve lost myself in all of this. I’ve been chasing after your ghost…

I don’t even know how to move forward from here. How can someone keep going after they’ve been tricked so completely? How do I face the people I care about, knowing that I let this deception go on for so long? 

This cuts deeper than anything I’ve ever faced before.

I’m sorry. I’m sorry for not noticing before. You’ve always been there for me, even when I didn’t deserve it. I thought I could handle it on my own, that I could fix it all, but now... I don’t know what I’m doing.

And it hurts... Is it even too late to mourn you? I owe you that much.

I don’t know how to fix this, Varric. But more than that... I don’t know how to fix myself.

~Rook

P.S. I don’t even know why I’m writing this… It’s stupid, really, but maybe I needed to write it. I needed to say it out loud, even if you never get to read it. Even if I never see you again, I had to say it. I had to say everything I’ve been too afraid to face.

She stood there for a moment longer, fingers ghosting over the wood of Bianca’s grip. And then, without ceremony, she turned away.

Lucanis waited for her at the Eluvian, ready to come back to Treviso.

And she wouldn’t look back.

Not this time.

Rook silhouette disappeared down the hall, the scuff of her boots growing faint.

And then—

A flicker.

Soft at first, then blooming bright.

A green light shimmered around the letter on Bianca’s stock, delicate and bright. It curled at the edges like mist caught in candlelight, wrapping the parchment in ethereal glow. No wind touched it. No hand. Yet the magic hummed — gentle, reverent.

The letter lifted ever so slightly, as though unseen fingers had plucked it up, cradled it.

The words on the page glimmered, ink sparkling faintly before fading.

Then the light pulsed once.

And vanished. The letter was gone.

The crossbow remained, resting quiet on the table as if nothing had changed.

But something had.

And maybe — just maybe — those words had been read after all.