selunesdreams

[selunesdreams]

Eating Crow, Chapter 44: Jasmine and Petrichor

"Rooks will flourish while the sun shines."

─── ⊹⊱♤⊰⊹ ───

Pairing: Lucanis x Rook

Summary: Rook talks to her father. Spite tries to keep a grieving Lucanis intact. News from Varric shocks Rook to her core.

Warnings/of note: 18+ fic, MDNI! Graphic violence, blood, gore, Solas, major character death, etc. Please check AO3 for chapter specific warnings.

Read on AO3

─── ⊹⊱♤⊰⊹ ───

The last time Fiammetta de Riva saw her father, someone had decapitated him. To her relief, whoever stood before her, ghost or memory, resembled him in life - head intact. So close, in fact, she took a trembling step backwards.

“What are you doing here?”

Dante de Riva cocked his head and flashed a dangerous smile.

“It seems we had unfinished business, daughter.”

Without warning, he shoved her, and she fell over the edge of the Fade. But instead of succumbing to the endless void below, she found herself drowning, flailing as her head sank beneath the surface into liquid nothingness. Hands closed around her throat as her father held her under.

“Here we find ourselves again, daughter. Have you learned nothing?”

Rook broke the surface, sputtering and gasping for air.

“You,” she choked out, “You. Left . Me!”

“Death was my mercy. I earned it.”

Using every bit of strength she could muster, Rook threw herself towards the surface, clawing over rocky ground until she was free. She slicked back her wet hair and glanced over her shoulder. Behind her, water rushed through a grey-scale replica of the Treviso canals, her personal hell, crafted by the Fade. She looked up at her father with disgust.

“What about my mercy? What about Viago?” She demanded. “He was too young to become responsible for me! Did he not deserve a life of his own?”

“You wanted a life of your own, Little Flame. Viago wanted a family . Whether or not your cousin is willing to admit it, he got exactly what he wanted.”

Rook coughed, the water from her lungs falling from her lips. 

“And what did you envision for me, father?” She spat. “What joy could be found in the world you left behind?”

“Happiness is not in the cards for Crows, Fiammetta. You were always meant for a life outside of Treviso. Away from contracts, from death dealers, from the shadows that lurk across the Tevinter Imperium.” He shook his head in disappointment. “Instead, you made yourself a martyr for someone else’s cause. You got involved in a war with gods I taught you better than to pay heed to. You let House Dellamorte sink its claws into you…”

“What does House Dellamorte have to do with any of this?”

“They have everything to do with it, Fiammetta.” Dante growled, “A gemstone finds its way into Caterina’s grandson’s pocket as a boy, so that he might worm his way into her heart as a man. Constantly scheming, desperate for power.”

The absurdity of her circumstances hit Rook like a blow to the head, and a laugh bubbled in her throat. She pushed herself up from her hands and knees, clenching her stomach. 

“Look at you,” she sneered through labored breaths, “still paranoid, still cynical, even in death.”

As a child, Dante de Riva had towered over her. As a woman, Rook found her father far less imposing.

“Treviso is my home. I became a Crow by choice. It must wound you, all those years of teaching me I would always be running from someone else’s knife…”

She pulled the dagger Lucanis gave her from her belt, examining it between them. The opals in its hilt shimmered, hungry and hopeful of being stained crimson. 

“In spite of you, I became something that gods fear.”

She ran her blade through the heart of the figure before her. Nothing here was real, certainly not the imposter before her. What was left of her father now were only memories— complicated and conflicting— but she would choose to keep close only those of the man he was before regret turned him into an unrecognizable monster.

Dante said nothing as he dropped his head, staring at the knife in his chest. When his gaze met hers again, Rook swore she almost saw him smile. But as quickly as the corners of his mouth lifted, his skin began to grey, turning to stone before her.

“No!” She screamed. “We’re not finished!”

Rook yanked her dagger free and cast it aside. Her hands filled with ash, not blood, as they splayed wide over his statue in a panic.

“You still owe me answers! Wait, please…”

Tiny fractures formed on Dante de Riva’s face, venturing deeper until bits and pieces broke off and fell away. The water that had once soaked Rook to the bone evaporated, the ash in her hands blowing away in the wind. Her tears came too easily as she stepped back and stared at the empty ground. 

“You were supposed to say you were sorry.” She whimpered.

“The dead can’t grant closure, Rook.” Varric’s voice called from overhead, “the living have to find it for themselves.”

The Treviso canals faded away, and in their place, a narrow hallway appeared. At its end, an eluvian waited, beckoning her forward.

“Now, what about mine?”

─── ⊹⊱♤⊰⊹ ───

Two weeks.

Time had never been of much consequence to Spite. In the Fade, it was movement, not age or the position of the sun, that marked its passing. Outside, it ruled all consciousness, the threat of Lucanis’ own mortality thrumming through his blood with every heartbeat. But when Rook disappeared, time moved differently for his host. Lucanis only measured it in relation to the nights he spent without her, or the number of days his companions informed him had passed.

A spirit of determination knew little of grief. Injustice? Perhaps. Desire? Certainly. But in the stagnant uncertainty of Rook’s disappearance, Spite only felt impatience.

Lucanis and Spite had been at similar odds before. After the Ossuary, his host had spent an agonizing amount of time doing what the detective had referred to as brooding . Despite the word’s negative connotation, the demon had never been so well fed. Lucanis’ desire for Rook, the determination to save his grandmother, the thrill of an enemy jerking under their knife as life left them with a guttered gasp. So many nightmares to be devoured as Lucanis took pleasure in lathering the blood of the wicked on his hands. There was a thrill in the peak of shame as he tried to reject such a primal part of his nature.

Now, there was only hunger. Days, now weeks, of hunger.

Lucanis slept less than ever before. He paced the floor of her chambers, restless, until someone retrieved him for dinner. There, he listened to his companions’ reports, pushing food around his plate, counting the moments until he could retreat again. On the third day of Rook’s absence, he had attempted meditating before the altar in her chambers, certain her success in reaching the Dread Wolf could be replicated. But as he descended into a dream state, Spite thrashed, ripping him from his slumber.

“No! Out! Can’t. Help. Rook. Here!”

Trapped in her prison, what regrets could Spite hope to overcome as a means of escape? Nothing predetermined the spirit’s actions, and no amount of dwelling would change his circumstances. Lucanis, on the other hand, was drenched in regret. Enough that the Fade might take them both in Rook’s stead. A new prison to rot in, forever.

On the fifth day, Lucanis rummaged through Rook’s belongings, desperate for anything that might save her. All he found were clothes, journals with her handwriting, mementos from her life he wished he’d asked more about. He’d hold her things in his hands, sometimes fighting off bouts of weeping, sometimes giving in to them. Spite found tears to be wretched. Wet. Unfamiliar. Useless. As did his host.

But on the seventh day, when Rook’s clothes no longer bore her scent, Spite felt an emptiness in her absence that nothing could fill. It was then an understanding settled between him and Lucanis, and his impatience gave way to self-preservation. His host needed three things to survive: at least one meal a day, coffee (to replace sleep), and to find Rook. They could work within those parameters. 

News trickled in from the outside, delivered slowly, then all at once. Minrathous was fully Blighted, and the Venatori had sealed the city gates, preventing anyone from getting in or out. Of course, the Dread Wolf had slithered inside, masquerading as a hero and rallying citizens behind him like a savior. Worse, he had taken the lyrium dagger in the chaos after imprisoning Rook, and time was running out before he might fully execute his own will for Thedas’ future.

Without their leader, Lucanis’ companions had thrust themselves into their work. The necromancer and the one called Bellara had crafted a new dagger, but without the lyrium’s magical properties it was useless against Elgar’nan. They only hoped to get close enough to Solas and swap the two without his knowledge. 

The dragon hunter, entrenched in grief, still managed to bridge a gap between the Warden and Lucanis’ cousin, forging a tenuous alliance between the two. It was Illario who was able to shed light on Solas’ use of blood magic against Rook, how he had twisted her memories and disoriented her in the final moments before she took his place in the Fade. What the Dread Wolf had altered, they remained uncertain, leaving Lucanis with more questions to torment himself with. What if her feelings for him had been tampered with? Was it possible she'd been manipulated to care for him in the first place?

Illario had also theorized the detective might still be alive, albeit siphoned of lifeblood and magic to further Elgar’nan’s goals. His intent to save Neve bordered on obsession, a level of selflessness Lucanis claimed he had not seen in a lifetime. To their disappointment, Illario's knowledge ended there. No matter how hard he had tried— any of them had tried— there was no way to free Rook from outside the prison. The more time she spent there, the more Lucanis feared she would return a completely different person— or that she might not return at all. Optimism was a luxury afforded only by fools, Caterina Dellamorte had always insisted, and yet without clinging to some small hope, Lucanis could not see a way through. 

A knock caused them both to stir from the couch, wearily turning their attention to where Illario and the Warden lingered in the open doorway. Spite growled in recognition, but his desire to bleed the younger Dellamorte had lessened under the current circumstances.

“Cousin,” Illario said in greeting, not waiting to be invited in, “has your brooding given us any answers today?”

Teasing, Lucanis had assured Spite, not taunting. Affectionate, intended to test the waters, what kind of mood his host was in. Still, Spite rumbled with displeasure. 

“I can take him right back to Treviso, say the word.” Davrin offered.

“Easy, Warden.” Illario purred. 

Lucanis pushed to his feet, muscles aching from lack of use. He cracked his neck and knuckles to wake his joints.

“Do you have any news?” He asked, eyes flicking between the two. 

“Nothing good,” Davrin finished, “but nothing bad, either.”

Illario sighed through his nose. “Viago and Teia are downstairs. They wanted to know if…”

He paused, squinting at something across the room. Lucanis frowned and turned, following his cousin’s gaze. Chess pieces on the coffee table trembled, rattling against one another quietly, their movements becoming more violent as a low hum grew in the center of the room. As it grew louder, they tumbled over one by one, knocking against one another and rolling across the surface. Spite and Lucanis bristled, and the demon’s wings flew wide behind them as they braced for what was to come.

The air split before them, green light spilling through jagged edges, outlining a figure through a rip in the Fade. The faint tenor of a familiar voice echoed on the other side, but it was impossible to make out their words.

“Fade tear…” Davrin breathed, taking a step back before clapping Lucanis and Illario on the shoulders. “I’ll get the others!”

He sprinted to the hall, his armor shifting and clanking with every step.

“You really think Fi’s in there?” Illario asked, staring at the portal wide-eyed. Spite felt a nudge of inquiry from his host and attuned his senses. 

Thunderstorms, lightning flashing on the edges of the horizon. Night-blooming flowers, weaving through the dirt to reach the light, blossoming against all odds.

“Smells like jasmine and petrichor.” He relayed mentally. 

Lucanis took in a shuddering breath and responded to Illario, “I’m certain.”

“Then I’m here with you, cousin. Until the end.”

Wary, Spite braced for the moment Illario might shove them through the portal. It would be so easy to claim the magic had become corrupted, to pronounce Lucanis and Rook both dead and seize his place as First Talon without objection. But the moment did not come. Illario only furrowed his brow, a flicker of hurt passing over his features. He took a step back and clasped his hands behind his back, bowing his head.

“Bring Fi home, Lucanis. No knives. No tricks. You have my word.”

Impatient, Spite snarled, “Go. Now!”

Lucanis nodded, turning his attention back towards the portal, and holding onto faith that his cousin’s word was worth something.

─── ⊹⊱♤⊰⊹ ───

Rook forced herself to move, a heaviness pulling at her limbs as the colorless plane around her swirled with dust. Statues erected themselves, a scene rebuilding itself from memory, and she faltered, reaching out to steady herself on a nearby wall. 

Varric’s face at the ritual. Solas, hands outstretched as the veil thinned before him. Bianca, Varric’s crossbow, pointed in the Dread Wolf’s direction with deliberation.

“You need to listen!”

Another flash of light, and suddenly a lyrium dagger was buried in Varric’s heart. Varric yanked it from his chest with a pained grunt, and it clattered across the stone as his head fell back against the ground.

“Rook…”

Blood leaked from his nose, the corner of his mouth, and a thin streak near the crease under his ear. His lips were pale, his cheeks hollow, purple and sunken. Those clever, dark eyes told her not to blame herself. Told her what she’d always wanted to hear from someone that she did not have to outlive.

“It’s going to be okay.”

His head lolled, and he stared at nothing just as Rook was thrown into the pillar behind her by the force of Solas’ disappearance. Concussed from the impact, she crawled desperately towards his side, calling for Neve, Harding, anyone…

Free from her memory, Rook found herself on her knees, helpless beside a body that waited with the truth.

“You died,” she rasped, “at the ritual site. You’ve been dead this whole time. Solas killed you, and I didn’t want to… couldn’t…”

Footsteps crunched against the fractured ground behind her as Varric approached, this version alive, bruised, and battered, but like she remembered him. 

“Yeah…” He said, looking down at his own corpse. “Sorry about that, kid.”

Tears streamed down Rook’s face. “I failed you, Varric.”

“How do you figure?”

“If I’d been faster, or had a different plan, or a better one…”

“Eh, bullshit. Haven’t you learned anything from this place? I made the choice. To talk to him. To try to reach him. Even knowing the risks. Because he was my friend. My decision. My sacrifice. And you don’t get to take that from me.”

“Why? What does he matter to you? He’s a liar! He just killed you!”

“You wouldn’t have done the same for Neve? Lucanis?”

“They would never-”

“Illario?”

Rook closed her mouth, averting her eyes. She turned back to the body, clenching her fists in the fabric of Varric’s coat.

“So, Neve and Harding? The Inquisitor? Everyone just let me believe you were dead? Every time I’ve spoken to you, asked for advice… I’ve been talking to myself. No wonder Lucanis looks at me like I’m crazy!”

“Things were either conveniently laid out, so it never came up, or you were so adamant no one wanted to touch the subject with a stick the size of a mage’s staff. People grieve in their own way. Your friends loved you enough to let you have your process.”

Rook didn’t speak, just stared straight ahead, numb. Varric sighed, walking closer.

“Remember when we first met? I watched you pick apart an entire Antaam patrol in Treviso. They outnumbered you twenty to one.”

“I had a lot of reasons to want them dead.” She mumbled.

“And that gave you grit, kid. The Crows didn’t appreciate the heat it brought down, but you’ve got a knack for finding a way through the wildest shit I’ve ever seen. With a plan no one expects. On the best day of his life, Solas wouldn’t see you coming. When you came to Minrathous that first night we played chess… what did I say to you?”

“Rooks will flourish while the sun shines.” She muttered begrudgingly. “And then you beat me. With your rook.”

“Don’t be a sore loser,” he chuckled. “You can do this. Your whole life, you’ve been against the odds, and you’ve come out on the other side. Imagine what you’ll be able to do when they’re stacked in your favor. The gods should be trembling.”

Rook sniffed, her lower lip trembling as she bit it to keep from crying.

“Hey,” Varric whispered, “don’t get all misty-eyed on me, okay? I had a good run. And I don’t regret a second of it.”

“But I never got to say goodbye. And now you’re this… what? A ghost? A spirit? Are you at peace, at least?”

“I can’t answer that. I’m just a memory, kid. When this place goes, I disappear with it.” He shrugged. “Every story’s got an ending. This one just came a little earlier than I’d planned.”

“There’s so many things… I never told you while you were alive.”

“I knew, kid. I always knew.”

“I’m going to miss you, Varric. And the others— Hawke, she…”

“You worry too much about the wrong things, Rook. I’ll miss you too, but I’m confident my legacy is in good hands.”

They reached the top of the stairs, and he held out a hand and nodded reassuringly.

“Go on, you’ve got your own story to finish. I just know the ending’s going to be killer.”

Slowly, a tear formed in the Fade before Rook. Voices murmured from the other side, arguing, chattering amongst themselves. She almost swore she heard her name.

“How do I stop Solas?” 

“Solas wants to be a hero. That’s who he is, deep down,” Varric answered, waving his arms for effect, “but it’s easier for him to play the villain, because that means he didn’t fail. All the damage he’s done, the people he’s hurt— it becomes a choice. Remind him who he really is. He might just listen.”

“This way, it’s thinner here!” A voice echoed through the Fade. Emmrich’s?

Rook’s head snapped toward the portal as others chimed in, words barely distinguishable. 

“What are you waiting for? Get her out of there!”

She smiled. That one she recognized. Vi. Always so impatient. 

“Go on, kid.” Varric nodded. “They’re waiting for you. Just take it one step at a time.”

“Goodbye, Varric,” she whispered, “and thank you.”

“Looking forward to seeing how it turns out.” He said with a wink, limping down the stairs as if he were turning in for the night. “I’d say good luck but… you don’t need it. You already have everything you need.”

[selunesdreams]

So as some of you know, I make simple little fic covers with emojis so I can tell which ao3 fic is which on my kobo (or else its all small text on a white background and unreadable) so here is 'Eating Crow' by @selunesdreams

[selunesdreams]

Eating Crow, Chapter 43: Haunted

─── ⊹⊱♤⊰⊹ ───

Pairing: Lucanis x Rook

Summary: A win against the gods comes at great cost.

Warnings/of note: 18+ fic, MDNI! Graphic violence, blood, gore, Solas, major character death, etc. Please check AO3 for chapter specific warnings.

Read on AO3

─── ⊹⊱♤⊰⊹ ───

The doors to the kitchen slammed open, Viago charging through as Teia rushed after him. Several steps behind them, Illario gave Davrin a wide berth as they followed, hands shoved deep into his pockets. Lucanis had sent the Grey Warden to bring the three Crows to the Lighthouse. Leaving Viago and the others in the dark about Rook’s condition would only be cruel.  

“Do not elaborate,” he’d instructed Davrin, “Just tell them they’re needed.”

Lucanis lifted his head, pushing off the mantle where he was leaning against the hearth. He still wore his blood-smattered armor, but Bellara had insisted he remove his boots, wary of him tracking the Blight throughout the Lighthouse. 

As Viago glanced around the room, he suddenly stilled, face crumpling in disbelief as he began to grasp what had happened. Behind him, Teia gasped sharply and slapped a hand over her mouth, holding on to his shoulder to keep upright. Illario paled, his eyes wide.  

“Is she…” His gaze flicked to Lucanis.

“She’s alive, we think,” he said, “but… not here.”

Fear was not an expression Lucanis was accustomed to seeing on the Fifth Talon’s face, but it did not last long. He quickly schooled it into something more neutral, before fixing his attention onto Lucanis.

Only then did it turn to rage.

“You…” he hissed, “You said you would protect her.”

Lucanis stared at the floor. “I know.”

Viago gripped him by the front of his shirt and threw him into the wall, pinning him there with an elbow against throat. Bellara gasped, but Davrin pulled her back before she could intervene.

“Let them work it out,” he murmured. 

“So this is the kind of First Talon you are? You fail your people? You get them killed?” Viago demanded, face inches from Lucanis’. It took everything to suppress his— and Spite’s— instinct to fight back. 

“Rook. Is not. Dead.” Lucanis said slowly. 

“A lack of a body is not a sign of life, Dellamorte!”

Viago released him, shoving him back against the wall one last time before retreating several steps. 

“I told you what would happen if you put her life in danger,” he seethed. 

“You don’t think I haven’t gone over every single thing I did wrong? All the ways I might have saved her?” Lucanis stalked closer, and Illario reached for his shoulder. He slapped his hand away with a look of contempt. 

“And yet you did nothing!” Viago snarled. 

“Stop it!” Teia wailed, stepping between them. “Fi wouldn’t want this!”

Viago opened his mouth to say something and then paused, worked his jaw before he shut it again. The fire behind his eyes dimmed, and he braced his palms on the dining table, collapsing into a chair. 

“Tell me what happened,” he said hoarsely as Teia placed her hands on his shoulders and bowed her head. 

The tension in the room eased, and Davrin sat down at the opposite end of the table, laying his sword across his lap to clean it— whether to keep his mind busy or to prepare himself for a fight, Lucanis was not certain. Assan tucked his tail and curled beside Manfred with a whimper. From his seat, Emmrich clasped his hands together, wringing them nervously as his gaze flitted between Viago and Lucanis. Against the wall, Taash crossed their arms over their chest, staring vacantly at the floor. Since Harding’s death, they hadn’t had much to say at all.

“I’ve barely made any sense of it myself,” Lucanis began, sitting beside Viago’s and watching him cycle through every stage of grief with an agonized expression, “one moment Ghilan’nain was dying, and I was at her side, and she was fine. The next, she touched that lyrium dagger and called out to me, like she was lost…”

His mouth went dry, and he looked helplessly at the others. 

“Whatever Solas did to Rook...” Davrin continued, setting his sword aside. “She was scared. And then she just… vanished.”

“And you’re certain she’s not dead?” Teia asked, her lower lip trembling. 

“We… think Solas is using blood magic to keep her in a Fade prison in his place,” Bellara said gently. “Spite sensed her soul disappear, but not die.”

“Spite?” Illario inquired. 

“The demon,” Viago muttered, hanging his head. 

“There must be something you can do,” Teia insisted. 

“We’ve tried for hours,” Emmrich said, “At this point, it will take a great deal of research to determine what happened, and how to get Rook back…”

“Where’s the detective?” Illario interrupted, glancing around the room. “Isn’t this exactly what she’s good at? She knows blood magic, no?”

“We’ve… suffered remarkable losses.” Emmrich said, “Not just Rook…”

Illario squinted, furrowing his brow, as if it had never occurred to him that Neve might come to harm. He squeezed his eyes shut, and with a heavy sigh, sank down against the wall be the fire.

“My condolences…” he mumbled, running a hand through his hair, “For what it was worth, I-”

“Shut the fuck up, will you?” Davrin stood, his patience thin. “You have the nerve to bow down to Elgar’nan, plot against your own cousin, then come in here and mope about our people? Neve couldn’t stand you, you traitorous sack of-”

“Enough!” Too exhausted to intervene, Lucanis glared between the two of them. “None of this is helping.”

“And him being here is?” Davrin crossed the room and loomed over Illario. “The Shadow Dragons sent word that your old buddy Elgar’nan seized control of the Archon’s Palace. While the Magisterium was in full session. Only the Venatori survived. Convenient. Bet that’s a relief for you, huh?” 

Hugging his knees against his chest, Illario looked up, eyes rimmed red, but didn’t speak. 

“Fighting doesn’t bring them back, Davrin,” Taash said from the wall, “Harding wouldn’t want us to fight.”

“Neve wouldn’t either…” Bellara sniffed, wiping her tears with her sleeve. “I can’t even stand to think about what Elgar’nan could be doing to her right now.” 

“He captured her?” Illario straightened, “Alive?”

“We aren’t certain of her fate,” Emmrich explained, “but there’s a chance he’s using her, and other mages, for his own means.”

Illario’s eyes fell, his throat bobbing.

“Whatever you need,” he said, “to wake Fiammetta up, to get Neve free, you have it. I know none of you have any reason to trust me but… you can trust I’d do it for them.”

“We’re supposed to believe you? You’re a narcissistic, spoiled brat.” Davrin scoffed in disbelief. “What are you going to do, pretty boy? Charm Elgar’nan into giving Neve back?”

With a bitter laugh, Illario pushed to his feet and stared up at Davrin. The Grey Warden had a considerable size advantage, but Lucanis caught the twitch of his cousin’s fingertips at his sides, near a dagger at his waist. 

“And yet I’m the only one who has tried to come up with a plan, rather than sit around here and-”

There was no time to react, and no one was particularly motivated to. Davrin reeled back and swung his fist into Illario’s jaw with such force that the youngest Dellamorte sprawled out, prone on the kitchen floor. Bellara gasped, hand flying to her mouth, while Emmrich frowned in disapproval. Taash remained impassive on the wall, as did the other Crows in the room.

“Sorry,” Davrin grimaced and shook his hand, wiping a set of bloodied knuckles on his pants, “been wanting to do that for a while. Guy caught me on a bad day.”

“It was a favor, really,” Lucanis muttered, indifferently shifting his attention to Viago. “Go back to Treviso and get some rest. I’ll send for you when we know more.”

“What about him?” Viago asked, nodding toward where Davrin was unceremoniously dumping Illario’s unconscious form into a chair. 

Lucanis sighed.

“My House. My problem.”

─── ⊹⊱♤⊰⊹ ───

Rook wandered aimlessly through the dark, colorless Fade for what might have been days. Constant dust and wind battered her as she trekked across fragmented ground. Occasionally, the path would disappear completely, and she’d have to leap to the next section of rock, or a broken pillar, trying not to look down into the emptiness below. 

But she was never alone. 

Voices echoed in her ears constantly, reminding her of her shortcomings, as the image of Lucanis’ corpse burned in her mind. His brown eyes staring straight ahead, his mouth slackened, skin void of color. But maybe there was a chance…

“Are you not proud to finally reach this moment? Or did you think you’d win the day without some painful sacrifice?” 

All this time, Solas had been making a fool of her. 

“You were never ready to make the sacrifices that leadership requires. So I molded this prison into something that would accept you in my place. Your work is done.”

At some point, stairs began to appear, and she would drag herself up by the railing, losing more hope of escape with each flight. Some were dead ends, leading to statues of wolves or massive rifts she could not hope to leap over. It was as if the very landscape were taunting her. Stone hands, frozen in time, arched skyward, as if they too desperately sought escape. The further she climbed, the more certain Rook was: Solas had used her. A lifetime of doubting the intentions of others, and she hadn’t even seen this coming. 

“Hey, kid.”

Rook whipped around at the sound of Varric’s voice, heart hammering in her chest between ragged breaths. Instead of seeing anyone, another set of glittering stairs appeared.

“Come on. Solas found a way out.” Varric continued, “Now you need to find yours.”

“He’s not here.” She whispered to herself, but followed his voice anyway. 

“I told you the enchantments were dangerous, and you chose me anyway!” 

“Neve?” she called out, sprinted up staircases as they appeared before her, past imposing statues that she swore looked just like…

“I trusted you, and it got me killed!”

It was indeed Neve’s likeness that the statues beheld. The detective deserved such a monument. If only she were here to see it.  

But Neve Gallus was not carved from stone, no matter how strong she was. 

“You’re not Neve,” Rook said, standing before one. “This is like Lucanis’ prison all over again…”

“This is your prison. You deserve it after your recklessness killed him. You may have successfully ended the Dellamorte line. Without the First Talon to protect him, Illario is doomed. Are you proud?”

“No!” Rook shouted. “Lucanis is alive. And no one tells Illario Dellamorte what path to choose, not even me.” 

She circled the statue as if it were a real person, looking for weak spots.

“You know, he and you— well, the real Neve— have that in common. They make their own choices. They know the cost. Illario is living with his mistakes, and Neve would never hold her choice against me. She wanted to keep Bellara safe and get us to Ghilan’nain. She succeeded, even if it cost her.” 

Another path flickered before them, and a statue of Harding, similar to Neve’s, spoke next. 

“Everyone’s just a pawn to you, an easy sacrifice, right, Rook?”

Rook’s voice trembled. “I never asked you to sacrifice yourself like that, Harding!” 

“Whatever it takes… your words, weren’t they?”

“Harding… if it could have been me,” Rook blinked back tears, “I wish it had been me!”

“But you already gave so much to all of us,” her voice softened, its accusatory tone disappearing. Like the real Harding was speaking now. “What did you leave for yourself, Rook? You never let us carry you.”

“I wouldn’t put that on you, I couldn’t burden you…”

“Wasn’t it you that reminded me that what I feel isn’t what I am? Maybe you should take your own advice.”

“My sweet friend, can you really only see the good in people?” Rook asked, eyes filling with tears.

“You never wavered, not once, Rook. So how could I?”

“Varric told me to take care of the team.” She climbed the stairs to Harding’s statue, reaching out to touch its alabaster cheek. “So when it was just you and me and Neve in that Lighthouse… I did what I had to. And I kept doing it, even as our numbers grew. But I’ll never forget how easy it was to become your friend. The kindness you showed me the night Varric introduced us. No one ever made it so easy, Harding. You may be gone, but this isn’t over. I’ll make sure your sacrifice is honored.”

“And what about my sacrifice?”

Behind Rook, appeared a statue of Manius Casini. 

“Convenient that you blame my death on Illario Dellamorte. But it was you who killed me. You who orphaned my children and widowed my wife.”

“I was lied to,” Rook protested, “I-”

“Guilty conscience? Don’t worry. It is I who should pray for you, Fiammetta de Riva. Maker knows the fates of those close to House Dellamorte all lead to the bottom of Rialto Bay.”

“I didn’t know!” she shouted, and Manius’ statue shattered into pieces. 

Voices wailed inside her skull— Caterina, Illario, Lucanis— and Rook fell to her knees, clutching her head. 

“I ask you to save my grandson, and you deliver him to his death!” 

“Lucanis was the last person to believe me capable of change. Now that you’ve killed him, why should I try at all?”

“I loved you, Rook. I gave you everything, and you wouldn’t even say it back.”

“Please…” Rook whimpered, and as if the prison had heard her, everything went silent. Wind whooshed past her ears, sucking the air from her lungs.

“Get up, Fiammetta!” Dante de Riva’s voice roared. “No daughter of mine begs for mercy.” 

─── ⊹⊱♤⊰⊹ ───

Illario winced as he woke, feeling the sharp point of a needle entering his cheek. He slapped a hand away, and the woman above him flinched backwards. 

“Sorry!” The elf squeaked. “You needed stitches, and I-”

“Bellara, right?” Illario asked, propping himself up with a grunt, “Why are you helping me?”

“You’re Lucanis’ family. Why wouldn’t I?”

“He asked you to do this?”

“Well, no, but—”

“Ah, you feel guilty because your boyfriend knocked me out…”

“What? He’s not— we’re not!” 

Illario chuckled. He liked putting people on edge, but tormenting this poor girl felt sinister, even for him. He waved his hand, tilting his head to the side.

“You’re far too gullible to make this fun.” He sank back into the pillows and rested his hands on his stomach. “Continue your stitches, I’ll be a model patient.”

Bellara bit her lip but leaned forward, sewing the cut on his cheek back together. He grimaced, eyes scanning the room to distract himself. Across the room was a cot with someone’s belongings neatly stacked atop the sheets, a broken crossbow and a book bearing the Inquisition’s mark on the nightstand. If he weren’t already at odds with everyone in this place, he might have considered stealing the leather jacket. 

“So my cousin appointed you to babysit me? He must think highly of you. Which means I have underestimated you.”

“Oh, uh… I wouldn’t call it babysitting,” Bellara said, looping off a final stitch. “Lucanis said he was going to Rook’s room to search for answers but… I think he just wanted to be alone.”

“He’s brooding,” Illario hissed with pain as she dabbed his wound with a rag and placed a dressing over it, “nothing new.”

“You said you wanted to help, not just Rook, but Neve too?” Bellara asked, setting the dirty bandages aside. “That was nice of you.” 

“I… like the detective. She’s…” He considered his words carefully, “different.”

“Neve was like a big sister to me, you know? The kind you look up to.”

Illario’s demeanor darkened. 

“I’m familiar with the sentiment,” he mumbled, “you must miss her.” 

“I’m holding on to hope… for her and Rook. Harding though. She’s… really gone. Poor Taash. And Lucanis… I mean, we’re all shaken. Davrin and Emmrich, too.”

Illario groaned and flopped back into the pillows. “Remind me to stay clear of grieving Wardens in the future.”

Bellara did not respond, gathering her supplies and standing from his bedside. 

“Well, I should get going…”

“Wait.” He caught her by the wrist, and slung his legs over the side of the bed. “You mentioned Fi was trapped with blood magic?”

“We think so. But Emmrich says that maybe—” Bellara cut her words short, eyes widening. “Oh no. I shouldn’t be telling you this.”

“Let me help.” Illario begged, “On your terms, even. Just between us. I know blood magic. I’ve seen what Zara did to people, spent enough time around the Venatori to learn a thing or two.”

“I don’t know…”

“Bellara, you seem like the kind of person who believes in second chances, no?” Illario purred. “Let me prove to my cousin— to you— that I can be trusted.”

“Of course I do, it’s just…”

“I can save Rook and Neve. You want that, don’t you?”

She eyed him skeptically, shifting her weight from foot to foot. 

“Fine. But not a word to Lucanis.” Bellara pointed a stern finger in his direction. “And don’t try anything! I’m not as naïve as I might seem.”

Illario crossed one finger over his heart and flashed a saccharine smile.

“You have my word.”

[selunesdreams]

Eating Crow, Chapter 42: Whatever It Takes

─── ⊹⊱♤⊰⊹ ───

Pairing: Lucanis x Rook

Summary: A win against the gods comes at great cost.

Warnings/of note: 18+ fic, MDNI! Graphic violence, blood, gore, Solas, major character death, etc. Please check AO3 for chapter specific warnings.

Read on AO3

─── ⊹⊱♤⊰⊹ ───

“The Veil is weakening here, I can feel it.” 

Lucanis’ cloak brushed against Rook as he followed inside the Inner Sanctum of the island’s stronghold. The others had already arrived, standing in a tense semicircle around a Fade tear in the center of the room. Carved stone figures loomed overhead, watching silently as dying firelight flickered from between crumbling walls, casting ghost-like shadows. 

The battle across Tearstone Island had left Rook battered in body and spirit. She was certain the worst was yet to come. Not even the beauty of their surroundings— the endless ocean, cascading waterfalls, nor the thick, lush greenery— could distract her from the impending dread that swallowed her whole. The drumbeats still echoed in her ears, the Antaam war cries still rumbling through the beaches. 

“Another Fade tear.” Emmrich tilted his head, inspecting the jagged green fracture suspended in the air. “Oceans of magic are coursing around us because of the gods’ ritual.” 

Lucanis rested his hand on the sword at his hip, charging forward. “Then we find Ghilan’nain. Quickly.”

“Wait!” Bellara caught his arm, pulling him back. “There are wards. Blood magic.” She pointed to the swirling emerald barrier crackling across their path.

Neve huffed and rested a hand on her hip. “One touch could kill.”

“How do we get through?” Davrin surveyed the area near the wards. “Any ideas?”

“Patterns are familiar. If I could fracture the harmonics, I could get through.” Bellara bit her lip. “Maybe.”

“I deal with blood magic, Bell,” Neve softened her tone. “I can stop the damage long enough to burn out the wards.” 

“That’s risky, Neve. Really risky.” She shook her head. “I can’t ask you to do that.”

“Your way is just as dangerous. Don’t like it, but one of us has to do it.” Neve turned to Rook for support. “And it’s going to be me .”

Arguing was pointless. Rook agreed. Neve was better suited when it came to blood magic, and she had years of experience on Bellara. Not to mention, Rook wasn’t keen on denying the detective anything after the words she’d spoken in favor of her in front of Mythal. 

“Go on.”

Bellara stepped forward to protest, but Davrin tugged her gently back. 

“Don’t take it personally,” he said in a low voice, “just let her do what needs done.”

“I’ll keep this Fade tear in check,” Emmrich’s voice echoed through the chamber as he followed Neve to the wards, “but with things so unpredictable…”

As the two mages worked, Rook and Lucanis waited several paces away. On the far side of the chamber, Bellara continued to speak in hushed tones to Davrin, Harding and Taash. 

“We’re cutting this awful close, Rook…” Lucanis murmured. 

“Everything will be alright. I’ve got you, don’t I?”

He grunted, his frown deepening. It wasn’t strange for Lucanis to be on edge— all assassins were— but it was the uncertainty in his voice that unsettled Rook. Missing his shot at Ghilan’nain at Weisshaupt had rattled him. His concern for her only made it worse.

There was a thrum of magic as Neve finished her work at the wards, and Rook lifted her head, cautiously crossing the room to her, Lucanis like a shadow at her back. With a flash of white, the wards flickered and disappeared, leaving Neve beaming.

“Ha! Got it!” 

Rook winked. “Never doubted you.”

“Sure.” Neve’s smile dimmed as she assessed their surroundings. “But let’s walk out careful, the gods will have a trap or two…”

“That is a certainty.”

Rook’s blood ran cold at the sound of Elgar’nan’s voice. Her eyes met Neve’s in panic just as a tendril seized her friend, dragging her into a concealed eluvian nestled in pulsing crimson Blight. Rook lunged, but her fingertips slipped from Neve’s grasp.

“Neve!” Rook shrieked, voice sharp and ragged, as Lucanis caught her around the waist. 

“I’ll take the greatest care ensuring your Tevinter mage knows the new face of her Empire,” Elgar’nan gloated.

“No!” Rook sobbed, fighting Lucanis’ grip until her knees gave out and she crumpled in his arms.

“We’ll get her back, Rook,” He whispered into her ear desperately. “but right now, you have to let her go.”

“You can all be forgiven by embracing the wisdom of surrender.” Elgar’nan’s shadow appeared in a fallen eluvian, disappearing just as quickly as it shattered. “Continue, and even the Dread Wolf will regret what I do to his pawn.”

“We can still save her.” Rook wiped her face, struggling against Lucanis’ hold. There was no time to grieve. And there was nothing to grieve. Neve was alive. She had to believe it. 

Without questioning their next move, the others followed. Without Neve, Rook had no choice but to be a leader now. There was no second in command to defer to, not here. 

There was no replacing Neve Gallus. 

“Half of you, with me on the main patch.” Rook threw open the gate to an ancient lift and boarded, waiting for the others. “The rest of you go with Harding. Keep out of sight and get Lucanis to the ritual.”

She pulled hard on the rusted lever, and the lift groaned, screeching loudly before ascending. As they rose several stories above the island, the landscape below was devoured by dark clouds. Rook flexed her hands at her sides, wishing Varric were here to tell her what to do next, how to get through this without Neve. Before they left the Lighthouse, she had desperately begged for guidance, frantically pacing the infirmary floor. As usual, her metaphor-loving mentor had little to offer, only his typical encouragement that she had everything she needed to succeed, and that he would not have chosen her if he did not find her capable. 

“If I die out there, I’m going to come back as a spirit of vengeance and kill you,” she’d snarled.

“Sure thing,” Varric had chuckled. “Good luck with that, kid.”

Something nudged Rook’s hand, and she blinked away the memory just as Lucanis reached inside his cloak and pulled a blade from his belt. 

“Here,” he mumbled, almost shyly. 

Rook took it, frowning, and turned it over in her hands. Expertly crafted, the blade itself was rather simple, but the hilt fit into her palm as if it were part of her own anatomy. A golden serpent wound itself around the obsidian grip, over an inner lining of deep green velvet. Embedded in the pommel was a large, warm-hued, iridescent stone. Similar tiny gems were littered over the cross-guard and sheath, intricately carved swirls and feathers on the blade itself. The luxury echoed that of the one Illario had gifted her so many years ago. In fact, the two would likely have served as a well-balanced pair.

“What-” she mouthed, looking to Lucanis for an explanation.

“I had it made. From your friend in the markets—the one who made my wyvern dagger.”

“Dom hates custom work.”

“I was persuasive.” Lucanis managed a crooked grin and winked. “The stones are fragile, so he placed them more strategically. Hard exterior. Fiery, vulnerable interior.”

“Fire opals,” Rook brushed her thumb over one, recalling when they’d first met. “Lucanis… I don’t know what to say.”

“You can think about it when Ghilan’nain is dead.” His smile faltered. “For now—focus, de Riva.”

“Promise you won’t leave me, okay?” she clutched the dagger more tightly. “I can’t lose you, too.” 

“Never.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead and held her against his chest until they reached the top. The cart lurched, and Rook looked up at him one last time as they stumbled and broke apart. His gaze was distant, haunted. 

“Where’s Ghilan’nain?” Taash asked.

“On the move,” Lucanis answered. “Spite can feel her hunting us.”

“I’ll get you a clear shot,” Harding said as she, Taash, and Emmrich took off down a separate path. 

“Good luck!” Rook called after her. 

“Like you said— whatever it takes!”

Anxiously, Rook faced Lucanis and pulled Solas’ dagger from her belt, extending it to Lucanis. 

“Here, a trade. It’s all yours.” 

He accepted it, Spite’s wings unfurling behind him. 

“As is Ghilan’nain,” he growled, and leapt into the fray without a goodbye. 

Rook’s heart hammered in her chest as he disappeared from sight. She didn’t fault him for being distant. He was doing what was necessary: forgetting about her long enough to ensure they all survived. She bit her lip as a strong hand pressed down on her shoulder, urging her on. Instead of taunting her and Lucanis, as he usually did, Davrin gave her a reassuring squeeze.

“He’s got this.”

Bellara and Assan followed at their heels, none of them speaking a word as they drew closer to the smoke ahead. The red haze from the Blight was disorienting as it thickened, and Rook gripped her new dagger in her hand tightly for reassurance. 

“I can’t see,” Bellara coughed.

“I can hear darkspawn,” Davrin muttered. “And…”

“Solas is here.”

From the mists, the disembodied voice of Ghilan’nain lured them closer. The goddess’ form slithered through the gloom, disappearing overhead. Suddenly, Rook sensed a shift at her side, and the ominous sense of being alone.

“Davrin? Bellara?”

Hearing no response, she turned to find that both of her friends had vanished. 

“For your transgressions, little Rook, you face a god alone.”

Rook steeled her expression as she raised her head to find her missing companions trapped in tendrils of Blight, and with them, Emmrich, Harding, Taash…

And Lucanis.

“Come closer, Fen’Harel’s pet. Bear witness to the consequences of your actions.”

Rook pushed forward, drawing her blades, sparks trailing down her arms. Her mouth twisted into a snarl.

“Your funeral, you miserable cunt.”

─── ⊹⊱♤⊰⊹ ───

Lucanis strained against the Blight tendrils, helpless as Rook freed Harding and Davrin, then sprinted to him. She narrowly avoided blows from the Antaam, darkspawn, and Ghilan’nain’s own magic as she crossed the field. As the others began to work on Emmrich, Taash, and Bellara, she climbed the Blight until they were face to face. 

“You just couldn’t stay hidden? Couldn’t keep away?” She asked, cursing as she cut her palms on the Blight in an attempt to pull it away.

“Had to know… you were safe,” he choked as the coils loosened around his throat.

“That kind of thing is what gets you killed.” 

“My honor,” he gritted out.

“You’re not dying!” Her voice trembled, and she dug her hands deeper into the Blight, focusing and tunneling her magic deep. “Not for me!”

Lightning sent a string of Blight exploding, and it shrunk away, granting him his release. Lucanis fell forward, catching her face in his hands as she half laughed, half sobbed. 

“You promised,” she rasped.

“I’m still here, aren’t I?” he asked with a smile, the two of them carelessly forgetting the enemies at their backs. Behind Rook, something slithered close as they held one another, winding around her leg and yanking her from his arms. She yelped, hand outstretched as she was drug towards Ghilan’nain, hauled skyward and dangled upside down before the goddess like a cat would hold a mouse.

“Get. Rook. Back!” Spite howled, flaring his wings wide as Lucanis rushed toward them. Ghilan’nain’s awful face leaned closer to Rook, staring into her eyes, and his stomach lurched. He should have never let himself get distracted, should never have allowed her to get this close. 

“Behold! Your fragile age!” Ghilan’nain sneered.

Lucanis desperately scanned their surroundings, looking for a way to get to her. There was no clear path, only chaos that blurred into more chaos. Assan shrieked from above as Davrin and Bellara ran to Rook’s aid, and in the corner of his eye, he saw a flicker of red hair, climbing, higher, higher…

Harding. Maker, save her. She would buy them time. 

The goddess droned on and on, and Lucanis found his opening, creeping closer. He yanked free the lyrium dagger at his waist and leapt towards Ghilan’nain. As he flew through the air, he thought he might make it, until something hit him from the side, slamming him into a nearby pillar and pinning him there. Lucanis’ heart faltered as Spite roared with rage. He clung to hope, but as it began to fade, his only wish was that he’d die before he had to watch Fiammetta…

“Whatever it takes.” He heard a small voice say behind Ghilan’nain. 

Lucanis tore his eyes from Rook in time to watch Harding drag herself atop the tallest pillar beside Ghilan’nain, nock an arrow, and aim for the elven goddess. 

“Yes, fierce one! Make. Her. Bleed!” Spite howled. 

Three arrows struck true, and pride swelled in Lucanis’ chest, before horror dashed every scrap of joy within reach.

It happened quickly. Ghilan’nain impaled Harding through the chest. Rook screamed. Harding fired another arrow. Then another, ignoring her wounds even as she was impaled over and over again. Lucanis had seen gruesome deaths, many he’d dealt himself, but to see his friend torn open like this, to see her intestines spilling out of her, and for her to keep her composure long enough…

Harding didn’t stop until her bow dropped from her fingers. Ghilan’nain released her, and the young Ferelden, small and mighty, fell into a pit of Blight. 

Lucanis’ grip on the lyrium dagger tightened as the coils holding him in place loosened. He would make certain he got the final blow. For her. 

The goddess’ gaze was fixed on Harding, triumphant as she watched her fall. When she finally sensed Lucanis’ approach, she reacted too late, and he plunged the blade into her chest with all his strength. 

Never divide your attention between a dead enemy and a living one, his grandmother had once said, lest you wish to join the dead.

Ghilan’nain gasped in pain, twisting and wailing. Lucanis landed in a crouch just as Rook freed herself from the goddess’ grip, dropping onto her hands and knees beside him. The goddess screamed in pain, succumbing to the lyrium’s glow, writhing at his feet. Lucanis watched with a cold gaze until he was certain she would not rise again before reaching for Rook, resting one hand on her shoulder.

“Fiammetta…”

“I’m alright.” She reassured him, pushing to her feet as Elgar’nan appeared, his face a mosaic of grief as he beheld his sister’s dying form. Lucanis stepped forward instinctively, shielding Rook from what was to come. 

“We had… such plans, Elgar’nan.” Ghilan’nain croaked before her body went still. 

The dagger had created some kind of flurry of magic, blinding light, and staggering force. Elgar’nan reached for it, but flinched backwards with a scowl. 

“You will regret this,” he hissed at Rook and disappeared. 

In his absence, the dagger continued to rip the Fade open. Its magic flared one last time before an explosion tore through the air. Lucanis threw his arms wide to catch himself as he fell backwards. He groaned, reaching for his head. No blood, but likely concussed.

“Rook!” Emmrich called out as the very fabric of reality tore itself apart. “You must break the dagger’s contact with Ghilan’nain.”

Lucanis lifted his head, watching as she drug herself across the ground, toward Ghilan’nain’s body. Her hand closed around the hilt, and as she pulled it free, she screamed. 

She screamed his name. 

“Rook!” 

Lucanis clawed at the ground, dragging himself toward her. The world spun as his hand reached for her, falling upon empty ground. 

Gone . 

“Fen’Harel!” Spite snarled, just as Lucanis blacked out. 

When he opened his eyes again, the Dread Wolf stood in Rook’s place. 

“Where is she?” Lucanis rasped. Pain flared in his ribs, every wound reopening as he forced himself upright.

Solas regarded him with detached curiosity, a hint of pity in his gaze. But it was Spite who answered in a low growl. 

“Hurt Rook. Tricks. Blood magic.”

Lucanis’ bloody hands curled into fists.

“What have you done!” He shouted. 

“What was necessary.”

Solas turned his back, lifting one hand to split the air, tearing the Fade so he might disappear through its jagged opening, taking any hope of Rook’s return with him.

[selunesdreams]

Brotherly Hate - Hayley Williams // Lucanis & Illario

[selunesdreams]

Eating Crow, Chapter 41: Plans Align

─── ⊹⊱♤⊰⊹ ───

Pairing: Lucanis x Rook

Summary: Rook, Lucanis, and Neve meet with Mythal. The gods make an unexpected move.

Warnings/of note: 18+ fic, MDNI! Please check AO3 for chapter specific warnings.

─── ⊹⊱♤⊰⊹ ───

Rook, Lucanis, and Neve stood before Mythal in the Crosswords, the air somehow blustering and cold, a stark contrast to the humidity of the forests and abandoned villages they had grown so accustomed to. Snow-tipped mountains lined the horizon, a flurry of snowflakes in the air above. Neve and Lucanis each fidgeted nervously at Rook’s side as she tried to summon every fragment of decorum within herself to address the elven goddess.

“You are Rook,” Mythal announced, her hawk-like gaze glaring right through her. “I have seen you and your companions. We made ourselves bodies to be like humans, but I never expected to see humans scurrying about in the Dread Wolf’s Crossroads.”

“Scurrying is not the word I would use.” Rook muttered. 

“I care little for human semantics.” Mythal’s unamused expression soured even deeper. “Why are you here, to beg me to give up what remains of myself to help you defeat the monsters Elgar’nan and Ghilan’nain have become? Or do you simply think yourself ready to fight a god?”

“I came here to ask for your help,” Rook began. “The gods have endangered the world, and-”

“You dare explain to me what they are doing?” Mythal interrupted, “You are a thousand years from knowing the proper words.”

“So much for not caring about semantics.” Neve mumbled beside her. 

“We saw Solas’ memories.” Rook said, “His regrets.”

“You saw the recollection he cultivated like a tree, twisting to catch the sun.” Mythal sneered, “Solas is using you. Why should I esteem the Dread Wolf’s approbation? He rebelled against me.”

“I am well aware,” Rook said carefully, “but if I do not stop the gods, the whole world will be corrupted by the Blight. He is the only ally I have at the moment, even if he is an imperfect one.”

“And?” Mythal asked. “You wish for my help? Convince me. Make your case, and I will yield my essence willingly to help you. Fail, and I shall kill you for wasting my time.”

“You made the difficult choice to protect your home because it was the right thing to do. Help me do the same.” Rook pleaded. 

“I ruled alongside Elgar’nan and Ghilan’nain for centuries. I bear them no love now, and they were ever flawed, as all rulers are. Any petty tyrant can fight against those who come to their land and claim to be protecting their people. I have seen rulers, human as they are, the mages of Tevinter, following in the elven rulers’ footsteps. They build nothing that does not serve them. Why should I believe you are any better? What is a protector to you?”

Rook blew a steady stream of air through her nose to keep from losing her composure. She looked between her companions, who both looked equally at a loss. 

“Lucanis did not want to become First Talon of the Antivan Crows.” She began. “But he did it out of duty. For his home, for those he loves.”

He lifted his head as she spoke, eyes wide as he listened to her words. 

“He was willing to sacrifice the freedom to live as he wished, to follow the woman he loves, not because of expectation, but because deep down he can only trust his own intentions.” Rook continued, “He cares not for money or prestige, but for people—what is right . He refused to stand for slavery, to spill innocent blood, and the Venatori set their sights on him because they could see he had heart.”

The elven goddess remained impassive. “A killer with a heart is still a killer.”

“Knowingly allowing someone to die for your benefit, and killing them because you were ordered to, are not so different, Mythal.”

Rook wished she could take her words back, soften her tone, as they parted from her lips. But instead of striking her dead where she stood, the goddess tilted her head to the side, appraising Rook and her companions with renewed interest. 

“Do you know why your lover has been able to encourage his demon’s spiteful nature back into a gentler form of determination? How a non-magical human vessel could become an abomination without succumbing as so many mages do?”

Mythal crossed her arms behind her back, her posture calling to mind the same Solas took when Rook had spoken to him in the Fade.

“He has appealed to the spirit forced inside of him. It has become more human in nature, similar to the way in which I took my own human form so many years ago. Make no mistake, Determination is no god. But it is a powerful being, content to live within the parameters of the host it has deemed worthy. Your alliance is no small feat. Your bond was born not just of blood magic, but the torment you endured together, the loyalty to one another when you had no one else.”

“Is there a way to separate them?” Rook blurted. “So that they both might be free?”

Mythal frowned. “Did you come to save your world from the blight, or to unbind your lover from the spirit that dwells within him?”

Rook glanced behind her, and Lucanis shook his head. 

“I can live with Spite, Rook,” he murmured, giving an encouraging nod. “Thedas cannot survive Elgar’nan and Ghilan’nain.”

“My apologies,” Rook said, returning her gaze to Mythal, “I had hoped-”

“Hope can be a dangerous thing, Fiammetta de Riva,” the goddess said impatiently, eyes flicking to Neve.

“Tell me about this one.”

“I thought you had already seen everything?”

“Thus far, I have been intrigued by the way you describe those who accompany you.”

Rook slipped a brief smile at the detective, reaching for her hand and squeezing it hard.

“Neve Gallus has the capacity to build community anywhere she goes, because she sees those who others would so easily overlook. She knows true power lies in the collective, not the pockets of the magisters, and that does not cast a shadow from the mage towers of Minrathous. She has suffered for her kindness, and remained kind. Her sense of justice is strong, but not so rigid that she cannot bend it in the name of redemption.”

Intrigued, Mythal paced, looking between Rook’s companions. 

“She speaks highly of you both. What makes her so worthy of your trust? How can you follow her into a fight against gods, knowing she might lead you to your own death?”

Rook swallowed, not daring to look at Lucanis or Neve. Mythal was right. She could very well be a death sentence for anyone who dared to stick their neck out for her. What right did she have to their trust? To their devotion?

“Her enemies define her just as much as her allies, and she makes worthwhile enemies.” Neve stepped forward confidently. “She would sacrifice everything for a stranger, not to be remembered as a martyr, but to spare an innocent life from the tyranny of those who would bring them to harm.”

Rook’s vision blurred, and she sucked in an icy breath. It burned her lungs, but it kept her standing. As she curled her fingers at her sides, a warmth fell upon her lower back, the heat from Lucanis’ gloved hand as he took a step forward to address the goddess on her behalf. 

“Those meant to protect Fiammetta let her down over and over again, and yet she still maintains the capacity for forgiveness. She can empathize with those who wounded her, understand their intentions, but is cunning enough to not let it happen again,” he said with a gentle ferocity, “She knows what it is to suffer, and has given so much of herself to reduce the suffering of others. When she has caused harm, she has gone without to make things right. Within the Crows, some have found her aversion to bloodshed to be weakness, but I believe it to be a testament to her great capacity for restraint.”

Certain she might weep, Rook stared at the ground. What would an elven god think of her, so weak that she could be brought to tears by words alone?

“Her only flaw,” he continued, turning his head to her, “is that she loves so much, and so deeply, that she is haunted by the constant reminder of what she stands to lose. But it keeps her diligent, and her love is nothing short of a privilege to witness.”

Mythal considered each of them one at a time, and Rook grasped for Lucanis’ hand behind her back. He squeezed it reassuringly, leaning forward as he kept his gaze on the elven goddess. In the tense silence that followed, Neve reached for Rook’s shoulder, giving a reassuring nod. At least if they were to be killed on the spot, they would die together. Her friends’ words felt deceptively similar to eulogies.

“I have spent thousands of years watching,” Mythal finally began, looking over her shoulder at the mountain peaks of the Crossroads. “I shall miss that. But if what I am can protect the innocent and smite the guilty… I give it to you freely, Fiammetta de Riva. I find you worthy. Use it to protect this world with the kindness your companions speak of whenever possible, and the cunning you are so clearly capable of, when necessary.”

“I will.” Rook clasped her hands behind her back, gave a slight bow. “Thank you.”

The goddess disappeared in a glimmer of light, leaving only a fragment of herself behind. A glowing, iridescent pillar of her godly essence.

“Mythal-enaste,” Neve whispered.

“Like a piece of the sun.” Rook crouched, taking it in both hands, eyes alight with wonder. Between her palms, it was every moment of joy she could recall, and the ghost of every sorrow she’d overcome. Treviso mornings, holidays with Viago, her mother’s voice when she sang while making dinner, her father’s hand when she reached for it in the market. Illario and Teia’s laughter when the three would sneak out after fledgling training, legs swinging over the edges of the rooftops where they drank stolen wine. Sweet nothings whispered between Teia and Viago that Rook smiled and pretended not to see for their sake. Picnics with Davrin, Bellara and Assan in Arlathan. Lighting candles with Emmrich in Nevarra. Water lapping at her feet in Rivain while she lounged on the beach, Harding resting her head in Taash’s lap as they pointed at a sleeping dragon. The wisps in Neve’s office, floating overhead as they talked late into the night. Lucanis’ touch, his hands at her waist as they danced, the villa gardens, his silk sheets…

“Keep this safe for me.” Rook pressed the idol into Lucanis’ hands, and he jolted, presumably overcome with his own flood of memories. “There’s a witch waiting for me in Dock Town.”

─── ⊹⊱♤⊰⊹ ───

The Cobbled Swan was dark and unusually low-attended. Rook sat across from Morrigan, empty plates for a meal they would not share separating them. Three candles burned in the table’s center, wax melting and sticking to the wood, while their wine goblets remained untouched. Rook’s stomach growled, but she lacked the appetite to sate her hunger. 

“Events are weaving together quickly now.” Morrigan said, appraising Rook as if noting her every weakness, “For good or ill, the fate of the world shall be decided soon.”

She reached for her wine, swirling the cup under her nose thoughtfully.

“I received Harding’s missive.” The witch continued, “Your plan is sound.”

Rook kept her expression neutral. Why every conversation involving Morrigan had to feel like a hostage negotiation rather than a meeting between allies was a mystery to her.

“So the Inquisitor’s in?”

“Indeed. Although she requires a few days to set events in motion. Time is needed to allot her responsibilities to those who are capable of managing them.” 

“People like Cullen?”

“Perhaps. Though there are others who can also bear that weight in her stead. It is not for I to decide. Once settled, she has pledged herself to your cause. The snake’s head must be severed, else the body simply grows anew. And what of your other allies? Will they also be ready? There is no room for doubt or hesitation.” 

“They’ll be prepared,” Rook said, weary of metaphors. “They all know what is at stake.”

“As they must be. There will not be another opportunity to foil the schemes of Elgar’nan and Ghilan’nain. If we fail in these, they gain all they need to reshape the world in their twisted image. The evil put into place with the aid of their Antaam servants at Tearstone Island will cover the entire world.”

“Look. The gods can’t blight the world without their dagger. And they can’t finish their dagger until the eclipse, which isn’t for another—”

Commotion from the streets outside cut her off. Muffled screams came through the walls as people rushed past the windows. A few patrons rose from the bar, meeting others who rushed in from outside. Rook and Morrigan exchanged a look, and she readied her staff, prepared for Venatori, as they crept towards the door. 

Her heart stammered in her chest as crimson darkness fell over Dock Town as the moon eclipsed the sun. It appeared she had spoken too soon.

This wasn’t possible. They were supposed to have more time... 

“I have to-”

“Go. Find your people.” Morrigan did not move her eyes from where they were fixed on the disappearing sun. “I will find the Inquisitor. I wish you great luck.”

Rook nodded, racing down the steps, nearly as quick as her thoughts. The others— she had to reach the others…

The streets of Dock Town were a blur as she ran, leaping over abandoned carts and trade stalls. Mothers called to their children, merchants gathered what little coin they’d made and abandoned their wares. The wind whipped through her hair as the sky grew darker, and her boots splashed in filthy puddles, muddying her trousers. Lungs burning, Rook did not stop, determined to reach the eluvian inside the Shadow Dragons' safe house. As she rounded the corner, a familiar silhouette emerged from within, and she stumbled until they collided.

“Lucanis!” She choked back a sob, throwing her arms around his neck.

“You’re alright,” he said, half soothing her, half reassuring himself. One hand braced the back of her skull as the other pulled her closer. “I started running as soon as the sky turned red. I thought—”

“The gods were too quiet,” she rasped. “I should have known-”

“You couldn’t have predicted this.” 

“It doesn’t matter now. We have hours to make our move. I need you to…”

Her voice trailed off. For the first time in her life, Rook saw fear in Lucanis Dellamorte’s face. 

“Don’t put your life in my hands, Fiammetta, please,” He begged, eyes glistening, “All I know is death.” 

“You’re the only person I’d trust with my life,” She said desperately, “When this is all over, we can go home. Anywhere you want. I won’t complain, and you can make me breakfast every day for a year—”

A panicked civilian knocked into them, and Lucanis scowled, pulling Rook to the side and cradling her face between his hands.

“Don’t make promises you might not keep, Fiammetta.”

Tears stung her eyes as she reached for his cheek. “Lucanis, I–”

His jaw tightened, and he passed his thumb over her lips to silence her.

“Don’t say it, Rook. Not like this. It would only sound like goodbye.”

He took a shuddering breath, glanced at the surrounding chaos, and nodded. 

“Come here.”

Lucanis pulled her into his chest, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. Against her ear, his heart hammered in his chest.

“I won’t miss this time.”

[selunesdreams]

Eating Crow, Chapter 40: Survivor's Guilt

─── ⊹⊱♤⊰⊹ ───

Pairing: Lucanis x Rook

Summary: Lucanis and Rook go for a swim (AKA, I write my version of the cut gondola/swimming scenes)

Warnings/of note: 18+ fic, MDNI! Please check AO3 for chapter specific warnings.

─── ⊹⊱♤⊰⊹ ───

Rook didn’t flinch when she heard footsteps on the docks behind her. From her seat inside a moored gondola, she listened to the rhythm of Lucanis’ boots, moving across the planks with purposeful precision to warn her of their approach. The boat creaked in protest as he swung his leg over the side and stepped in, sending it rocking from side to side on the slow waters beneath them. Rook hugged her knees more tightly to her chest, resting her chin atop them, eyes fixed on the silhouettes of trees on the horizon. 

Why she had fled a perfect evening amongst her friends so suddenly, she couldn’t say. Once Taash took out that deck of cards, some invisible string tugged her back to Treviso. Back to the quiet of the canals, where the river mouth met the ocean. Where days of rain pooled in the gaps of the cobblestone paths, steadily dripping into the water below as gentle tides lapped at the steps where gondoliers would board their vessels at sunrise, traveling alongside the streets in search of cargo or nobles too proud to ever allow their boots to touch the muddy ground. 

“You don’t seem surprised to see me.” Lucanis draped his cloak over her shoulders and took a seat on the bench opposite her with a grunt. He clasped his hands together, letting them hang between his knees as he leaned forward, angling his head as he waited for a response. 

“You’re our best assassin,” She mumbled, “I’d question your place as First Talon if you couldn’t find me.”

“If I tell you I had help, would you think less of me?”

She lifted her chin, holding his gaze, and swallowed down the prickling sensation that rose in her throat.

“Never.”

His brow pinched, and he sighed through his nose, brown eyes filled with concern.

“Tell me what I can do, Rook.”

“You’ve done enough, Lucanis. Far more than I deserve.” 

She tipped her head back, blinking hard as she stared at the sky. The stars were barely perceptible through the clouds that shrouded them like smoke.

“I decide what is enough, Fiammetta.” He reached for her hand. “And it is my belief you deserve much more than you would ever ask for.” 

His fingertips brushed hers as he held her palm between his thumb and forefinger, drawing small circles in its center. Rook pulled away, sniffling as she wiped the tip of her nose on the back of her wrist. 

“What about me is so broken, Lucanis?” Her voice cracked. “Why do I feel like a stranger in a room of people who look to me as a leader? Every moment they laugh– live – it’s as if I’m watching from the other side of a pane of glass. I can’t reach them, I can’t feel …”

Rook bit her trembling lip in a feeble attempt to hold back tears. She failed, and they spilled over her lash line, trailing down her cheeks in glimmering streaks. A growl of frustration escaped her, and she buried her face in her hands, rocking forward, pulling her hair tight at the roots. 

“Taash’s mother and Bellara’s brother are dead. Neve’s home will never be the same. You’re possessed as a result of Illario’s jealousy,” her breath hitched, “and yet all of you can sit around a dinner table like everything is fine-”

“Nothing is fine, Rook-”

“People have gotten hurt, died, because of my choices!” Rook’s head snapped up, eyes glistening with anguish. “So many more decisions lie ahead of me, and each one comes with a cost…”

Leaning forward, Lucanis clasped her hands again. Despite her shame, this time, she did not pull away. 

“Thousands are alive because of you, Fiammetta. Why do you carry every loss as if you are to blame, ignoring all the lives you saved?”

She took a shuddering breath, forcing herself to look at him, voice barely a whisper. “I don’t know how else to carry them.” 

“Leave the dead buried, Rook,” he said firmly, fists closing more tightly around her hands. “Survivor’s guilt will not bring them back.”

“And if I can’t stop the gods? Then what?”

Lucanis tilted his head sympathetically, brushing a tear from her cheek with his thumb. His hand lingered, warm against her skin.

“Then the time we had together matters. That we fought until the end… that matters, Rook.”

He smiled and shook his head, fingers threading into her hair as he drew her in. His lips brushed hers, inquiring, and her mouth caught his with more certainty than she’d felt in weeks. As the kiss deepened, Lucanis sank to his knees on the floorboards, his hands rising to her thighs with a reverent touch. She let him guide her down onto his lap. The gondola swayed hard beneath them, rocking in both directions. Rook broke the kiss with a startled breath, one hand bracing against the side.

A faint chuckle rumbled in Lucanis’ chest as he tucked her hair behind her ears and carefully eased her back into her seat as he rose. Hovering over her with an arm braced on the edge, he peered out into the water sloshing and spraying over the sides. 

“It’s still a beautiful evening,” He straightened, looking down at his hands as he opened the clasps of his vest. “we shouldn’t let it go to waste.” 

The planks of the boat groaned underneath his boots as he wandered to the bow of the gondola, lifting his chin to admire the navy and purple clouds strewn across the starlit sky. Lazily, he discarded his vest on the bench behind him and loosened his cravat. Rook watched curiously from under her lashes, lips parted and cheeks flushed from the kiss, her gaze following his every movement with rapt attention. Lucanis paused, hands going still, eyes flicked to meet hers with an arched brow.

“Are you enjoying the show?”

“I haven’t made up my mind.” 

Amused, he tugged his cravat loose and began to unbutton his shirt. 

“You can swim, no?”

Rook swallowed. It was not so much a question of ability, but whether she could overcome her aversion to it. 

“It’s deep here.” 

He shrugged off his shirt, and she stared at the spot where his trousers dug into his hips, perfectly tailored to his form. “The shore is an arm’s length away, Rook.” 

“The currents-”

“-Are quite weak here.” 

He crouched to work the laces of his boots. Kicking them aside, he unfastened his belt, stripping down to his underclothes. A sly challenge flashed in Lucanis’ gaze as he sauntered closer, shirt hanging from the crook of his finger. He dropped it on the bench beside her, brown eyes dark with desire as they traced her figure.

“So many excuses,” he purred. 

Rook rose to her feet, nervously watching as he glanced over the side of the boat again, appraising the depths. 

“I don’t swim for pleasure,” she blurted. 

Lucanis’ eyes flicked back to her. 

“Ah,” he said, bracing both hands on the edge of the gondola, “disappointing.”

With a grin, he vaulted over the side and vanished beneath the water. 

“Lucanis!” 

Rook threw herself against the railing, eyes scouring the dark surface as it swirled in his wake. She held her breath, stomach clenching until he came up for air several seconds later, chuckling as he slicked his long hair back from where it stuck to his face. 

“Your head will never go under, I swear it.” He swam closer, arms draped lazily along the gondola’s hull.

Rook stared skeptically. “On your life?” 

His eyes glinted with mischief. “On my grandmother’s, even.” 

“That’s not very convincing.” 

“Other than Caterina, I only have Illario. You’re telling me that would sway you?”

“Hardly...” she muttered, loosening his cloak from around her shoulders and setting it aside. Her fingers hesitated at the buttons of her blouse as Lucanis drummed his fingers in mock impatience, baiting her with a smirk. 

“Swear on my life,” she said abruptly. 

His response was a firm, “No .” 

“So superstitious.” Rook let her hands fall. “Do you want me to join you or not?”

Lucanis groaned, defeated. 

“I assure you, I will protect you with everything I have. From the gods, from your enemies, and even from the Treviso canals.” 

Rook winked. “Good enough.” 

She stripped down, leaving on only her bottoms, then perched on the narrow ledge, swinging both legs over the sides. Her toes skimmed the water, and she flinched with a shiver.

“It’s better if you do it all at once.” 

Rook clutched his shoulders as she eased herself into the canal, her body sliding flush against his, until she slipped beneath the chilled surface. Warm hands gripped her hips as waves lapped at her hair, drenching the ends. She looped her arms around him, clenching her teeth as her hands splayed wide across his back. 

“Not so bad, mm?” His voice was a soft rumble against her skin. He hoisted her higher, wrapping her legs around his waist. 

“It’s… nice.” 

Rook’s words were nearly lost in the sound of sloshing water as he waded backwards, drawing them further from the bank. Lucanis lowered her until her feet touched the rocky canal bottom, rotating her in the direction of the moon. His arms snaked around her middle, and she leaned into the reassuring, steady press of his chest at her back. 

“This is a good view,” he murmured, pressing his lips to the side of her neck, just below her ear. “If you like the ocean, I have a home in Salle, just off the coast.”

“Viago purchased his mother a villa in Salle. He stayed there often before Talonhood dragged him back to Treviso.”

“I recall. I connected him with the seller because he liked mine so much.” 

“Oh?” Rook hummed contentedly, dropping her head back and resting it against his collarbone. “I suspect yours outshines his in every way, then?” 

His thumb skimmed the curve of her hip as he gazed at the stars. “You can make that determination yourself when you visit.” 

“How many other residences do you have across Antiva?” Rook tipped her head to look at him. “Purely out of curiosity.”

“Many.” He dropped his chin, kissing along the slope of her shoulder. “It may take some time for you to pick a favorite.”

“If we get through this,” her eyes fluttered shut as she leaned into him, “I might enjoy a little real estate tour while I dodge all responsibility.”

His lips paused. “Ah, but who will help Teia plan the wedding?” 

Rook’s resounding laugh, bright and unfiltered, caused Lucanis to flinch. He huffed through his nose, displacing the tension in his muscles, and he bent down to smile into the crook of her neck. 

“Promise we’ll take a long holiday once this is over?” She asked quietly, “No gods, no Solas, no Crows…” 

Lucanis drew his index finger over his heart. “I’ll delegate all my First Talon duties among Caterina, Viago, and Teia, and take you anywhere you like.”

Rook gave a soft snort. “Maybe Illario can help Teia with wedding planning. He’s glued to Viago’s side these days.”

Lucanis shifted behind her, his arms loosening slightly. “Actually…”

He cleared his throat, and Rook arched her neck, peering up at him. His lips pursed together, a slight crease appearing between his brows.

“Tell me you didn’t make a deal just to find out where I was.”

“You promised you wouldn’t think less of me.” 

“He could have followed you,” she hissed, twisting in the water to face him. “You trust him now? After everything?”

“Trust isn’t the right word. But… people can surprise you.”

He took her hand, examining their fingers in the moonlight as he lifted them from the water. Gently, he laced them together and brought her knuckles to his lips.

“Your skin is pruning.” He bent forward, resting his forehead against hers. “Shall we go back to the Lighthouse?”

Rook shook her head, pulling her hand away. Wading further into the water, she lifted her legs and spread her arms wide, daring to let herself float on her back. She took a deep breath as water filled her ears and stared at the night sky. Everything melted away, until she only saw the moon overhead, only felt the water lapping at her skin, smelled the earthy spice of the vandelion vines that bloomed along the docks. 

An unfamiliar sense of calm overcame her as Lucanis appeared above her, fingertips inquisitively brushed along her spine. He kept his hand on the small of her back as she lifted her head and sank to her feet. 

“Just a little while longer,” she stood on her toes and wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling her body tight against his. “I want to watch the sunrise with you.” 

He chuckled softly, one hand coming to cradle the back of her head. “That’s hours away, Rook.” 

“We might not get another chance.”

Lucanis frowned and studied her for a moment. Eventually, he turned her around again, pulling her back against him and wrapping two muscled arms across her chest. 

“This is only the first of many,” he assured her, pressing a kiss to her jaw with aching gentleness, “but we should savor it, all the same.” 

[selunesdreams]

Music on repeat tag game

Tagged by the lovely @teawithshakespeare AGES ago because I took a little Tumblr hiatus. xoxo

Rules: Put your "On Repeat" playlist on shuffle and list out the first ten songs that play, then tag ten people!

1. I Don't Wanna - Ella Boh (I swear she's on the precipice of being VERY popular. I'm currently obsessed.

2. Burn - Alkaline Trio

3. Hello Heaven, Hello - YUNGBLUD (been on a kick since he performed at Ozzy's last show. This song feels like U2, or something familiar. I like it.)

4. Loser - Julia Wolf

5. Change - Blondshell (got to see her live last month and it was a TREAT)

6. The Ghost of You - My Chemical Romance (been EATING up these remasters, particularly this one.)

7. Stolen From Some Great Writer - Spitalfield

8. The First Eviction Notice - The Lawrence Arms (I love the shift from pop to punk for me haha)

9. I Bet On Losing Dogs - Mitski (I love suffering)

10. Full On - Samiam

This was a really fun tag game! Tagging @serensama, @kalmiaphlox, and YOU, reader (no pressure!)

[selunesdreams]

Eating Crow, Chapter 39: Wicked Grace

─── ⊹⊱♤⊰⊹ ───

Pairing: Lucanis x Rook

Summary: Illario vs. Himself.

Warnings/of note: 18+ fic, MDNI! Please check AO3 for chapter specific warnings.

Read on AO3

─── ⊹⊱♤⊰⊹ ───

“Where’s Rook?”

Lucanis emerged from the pantry with two handfuls of bread, staring at the now vacant seat between Emmrich and Harding. A deck of cards snapped together in Taash’s hands as they shuffled at the head of the dinner table, prepping a game of Wicked Grace. Manfred circled the room with a steaming pot of tea, scouting for empty cups. Behind the stove, Bellara prepped a cutting board of vegetables, while Davrin hovered with his arms folded over his chest, peeking over her shoulder as she worked.

“I’m sure she’s not far,” he said, smirking as Bellara blinked the sting of chopped onion from her eyes. The kitchen doors swung open, and Neve slipped inside, exchanging a look with Lucanis upon also noticing the empty seat at the table.

"I only stepped out for five minutes."

Lucanis abandoned the bread on the kitchen counter and brushed his hands on his trousers. "Plenty of time to disappear."

Davrin dropped his head back with a groan. “She doesn’t need a babysitter. Let her breathe.”

“Like you’re letting Bell breathe?” Neve asked with a knowing smile. Davrin scoffed, taking a step back and dropping his arms to his sides.

“Am I supposed to keep tabs on Rook?” He gestured to the table where Taash was dealing cards among their opponents. “There’s a room full of people here.”

“We’re busy.” They said without looking up. Manfred hissed in agreement, refilling Harding’s mug with a chamomile blend of some kind. The table settings wobbled and spilled over, and Emmrich muttered something under his breath before retrieving a handkerchief from his pocket and mopping the excess. 

“I apologize, I hadn’t realized she’d even slipped out.”

“Yeah, she was here a second ago.” Harding craned her neck to glance at the fire. “It’s like she just… vanished.”

“Well, it is within her skill set to disappear without a trace.” Neve’s eyes swept over the table, and her brow furrowed. “Harding, I thought you would know Wicked Grace from all the time you’d spent around Varric.”

“He and Rook tried teaching me a few times. They loved playing together long after they gave up on me. We were supposed to keep trying, but, well…” her voice trailed off, and she chewed her lip, staring at the cards in her hands. “Shit. I didn’t even think.”

“Sometimes the absence of those we love in the places we grew to expect them most can be the most painful.” Emmrich reached out a hand, resting it comfortingly upon Harding’s. “The past several days have been heavy for Rook. Perhaps she just needed some solitude to mull them over.”

Lucanis sighed. He had hoped inviting Fiammetta to spend time amongst their companions would bring some comfort, but as the evening light faded, so had her spirits.

“I’m sorry, Bell,” he said, retrieving his cloak from where it hung on the wall. “I think I might be missing dinner tonight.”

“I completely understand.” She tilted her head with a wink. “Go get her, Lucanis.”

With an appreciative smile, he pushed through the doors and swept across the courtyard, slinging his cloak over his shoulders. It billowed in the air before the windless Fade let it clap heavily against his back. Uneven footsteps trailed behind him, and his ears pricked at the sound of metal against the cobblestones.

“I’m coming with you,” Neve stated, quickening her pace to match his.

“I can’t be certain where we’re headed,” Lucanis warned.

“All the more reason to bring a detective with you.” 

─── ⊹⊱♤⊰⊹ ───

Illario stared at the ceiling of the Cantori Diamond, feet resting upon a table near the meeting lounge. His thumb traced the blade of Fiammetta’s dagger in his hands, smoothing along its edges. He could almost feel its ache to cut his flesh, to draw his blood as penance for the blood he’d driven her to spill with it so many years ago. She’d come storming through the casino not even an hour ago, threatening to choke him with his own belt if he dared to tell anyone he’d seen her. 

“Careful, Fi, that almost sounds like a good time.” He’d forced a grin, but it felt foreign on his face. The muscles there were tight, uncooperative, as if even his body knew better than to taunt her. So many times he had hidden behind his smile, tongue striking like a snake with words so poisonous they occasionally caught him by surprise. 

“You’re a pig.” She had spat, but her eyes shone with tears that were not for him. Illario’s smirk fell away, and he stepped closer, brow pinched with concern. 

“What’s wrong?”

Some of Fiammetta’s hostility had faded as she observed his worried expression, but she schooled her own into something indifferent, cold, and took a step back. 

“Fi please, we were friends once.” He had pleaded with her. But she walked to the stairwell, reaching for the railing to steady herself as she narrowed her eyes. 

“Surely there’s another fool out there you can bother at this hour.”

Leaving him alone with his shame, she had slipped down the passage to the ground floor. Perhaps once there had been others to torment with his presence, but these days all that was left were Viago and Teia. Two people he owed a great debt - and who he had pushed too far for too long. 

And so for the past hour, Illario sunk deeper and deeper into the couch cushions, playing his masochistic game alone, considering all he’d lost in the fruitless pursuit of proving himself. Both Fiammetta and Lucanis would presume he was heartbroken or pouting over Fi, but the truth was far worse. 

That if he’d ever truly had a chance with her, he would have sullied it horribly, lost his interest the moment she returned any affection. Their friendship was doomed to be ruined by his own selfishness, the same way his brotherhood with Lucanis was. 

Of course the two would end up together, they were meant for one another, equally cursed by the stain of his presence upon their lives. Illario had practically twisted their fates like barbed wire, his deplorable behavior repulsing them further and further from him, yet somehow closer to each other. He’d fenced them in, haunting their lives by keeping them tied to him: Lucanis by blood, Fiammetta by grief. 

And yet his cousin had spared him, rather than plunging a sword through his heart in front of every House in Treviso. What hope of redemption did he hold? How hard had Lucanis fought his demon as it demanded Illario’s blood for the way his alliance with Zara had doomed them both? 

Even if he was ignorant of her crimes, he was just as guilty. He’d spent a year coming to terms with the shame of killing his cousin, the grief of losing the only blood relative that was truly capable of harboring any affection for him. How long would it take for him to do it all over again, with the knowledge he’d doomed Lucanis and some demon spirit to a fate possibly worse than death? That he’d contributed to the rise of gods that wanted to see the world burn? Everything he’d done, he’d sworn he did for Treviso, for their home, for the Crows. 

And instead, he’d done it for a god he knew little of, becoming the plaything of a woman he could barely stomach to share a bed with.

Now and then, another thought troubled him deeper. That, for those small scraps of blood magic– power –at his fingertips, it had almost felt worth it. 

Of course it wasn’t. That didn’t make him miss it any less. Mages so often took for granted what came so easily to them. If he had a second chance, he would have the sense to seize the moment, to commit it to memory one last time so he might not forget…

Voices echoed through the Crow’s Nest, just on the other side of the curtain dividing the lounge from Viago’s quarters. Hushed whispers and low murmurs in familiar tenors. Illario sheathed Fiammetta’s dagger back into his belt, tugging the hem of his trousers neatly around his boots, and rose to his feet. With delicate precision, he crept across the room and pulled aside the gap in the coarse velvet with his fingertips to reveal Teia and Viago’s figures standing before his cousin and Neve. The Fifth Talon’s face was only inches from Lucanis’, index finger buried in the center of his chest. 

“Are you telling me you’ve lost her, Lucanis?” He hissed. 

With a hum of interest, Illario side-stepped through the threshold, adjusting the cuffs of his shirt, his favorite way to pretend he wasn’t eavesdropping. 

“Missing something?” His eyes flicked to Neve’s, and the corners of his lips twitched upwards without even a thought, much more naturally than the smile had come to him earlier.  “Or someone?”

Lucanis scowled and cocked his head to the side. “Tell us what you know.” 

His cousin wore the same expression he’d get during jobs when he would go the extra mile for some unnecessary heroism—freeing a slave or two, killing more than just his mark for the good of others—Lucanis got what he sought out, one way or another. It was usually best not to stand in his path.

Still, Illario shrugged. “Unfortunately, I’d be forfeiting my life if I spoke a word of it.”

“Just tell us where she is.”

Predictably, Lucanis’ tone was growing more impatient.

“I did not get the impression she wished to be found.”

His cousin pursed his lips and inhaled sharply through his nose. A good sign, it was one of his few tells. Lucanis had no other cards to play, and so he would have to offer something else to sweeten the pot. 

“Tell me,” he said deliberately, as if regretting each word as he spoke it, “and I’ll rescind Viago’s responsibility for you.”

Behind Lucanis, the Fifth and Seventh Talons exchanged skeptical looks. Illario, however, was unsurprised. He folded his arms over his chest, bending forward at the waist towards his cousin.

“Seems wrong to end my punishment for betraying you by betraying Fi.”

Teia threw up her hands and scoffed.

“For the love of the Maker, Illario! Are you such a fool that you would dismiss your own freedom?” 

“One might also consider it my freedom.” Viago muttered. 

“It's late. Don’t draw this out any longer than you have to,” Neve said, not unkindly. In fact, the detective appeared to be the only person nearby with any hint of cordiality towards him. 

Illario sighed, rolling his neck from shoulder to shoulder. He let his arms go limp, joints cracking as he relaxed his posture. 

“Check the docks at the mouth of the canals, where they keep the gondolas at night,” he said begrudgingly. “She likes to go there to clear her head.”

Without so much as a whisper of gratitude, Lucanis turned to Neve, as if waiting for permission.

“Go on,” she encouraged him, “see if you can convince Rook to stick around for the good parts now and then.”

Lucanis gave her a faint smile, nodded in acknowledgement to Viago and Teia, before his gaze briefly paused on Illario. Neither of them said a word, staring until he finally dipped his chin and disappeared down the stairwell. 

“Well, I guess this makes you a free man,” Neve said to Illario, breaking him from his daze.

“And it makes me officially off duty,” Viago announced, wrapping an arm around Teia’s shoulders. “Excuse us, I have a great deal of lost time to make up for.”

The Fifth Talon’s pointed look in Illario’s direction as they departed served as both a warning and something akin to gratitude. Viago’s way of saying , thank you for not fucking things up… this time.  

Illario cleared his throat to interrupt the uncomfortable silence that settled between himself and Neve, kicking at an imaginary scuff on the brilliantly polished floor underfoot. 

“You stand before gods soon,” he began, gesturing in the direction of the balcony, “do you think yourself ready?”

Neve chuckled, her steps cautious and unhurried. “Is that your best attempt at small talk?”

“I grow bored with conversations that lead nowhere.”

They stopped short of the strange mirror that led to the Lighthouse. Illario hated the way it felt to step through, like shadow and light swallowed him all at once, tearing him apart and rearranging him in a foreign place. Without incentive to return, he didn’t see himself crossing into the Fade again anytime soon.

“And where are you hoping this conversation will lead?” Neve asked. Illario studied her face, uncertain if she was flirting with or mocking him. Strange, he was usually so good at these things. 

“I could help,” he finally said, surprising them both. “It’s the only way I might convince my cousin I mean to make things right between us.” 

Neve pursed her lips and bowed her head to stare at her boots. 

“Lucanis might trust you’ve lost interest in his seat as First Talon, but I’m not certain he’s ready to put you on the field against a god you once drew power from.”

“My experience with blood magic is precisely why I should be there,” Illario pressed. “There are things I’ve seen, heard… you can’t imagine what it’s like. To have him in your head that way.”

“I experienced it for a moment, and that moment was long enough.” Neve said quietly, eyes rising to meet his. Illario watched for a hint of anything–fear, hatred, even affection—but all he found was pity. 

“Don’t look at me like that, detective. It makes me worry it’s the last time I’ll see you.”

He stepped forward, hand outstretched, fingertips tracing the hollow of her cheek. Neve stilled, but did not recoil, as Illario’s face lingered so close he could sense she was holding her breath. Shame, and perhaps his conscience, tugged at something in his rib cage. He dropped his hand and retreated, fixing his gaze on the rough stone beneath their feet. 

“Goodnight, detective,” he bowed stiffly and walked backwards, glass from the broken window crunching under his boots as he ducked inside, leaving Neve alone in front of the eluvian. The cool air of the casino mixed with the outside humidity as he walked across the sky bridge to the top floor, realizing that without Lucanis’ punishment hanging over him, he would have to find another way to torment himself. 

[selunesdreams]

Eating Crow, Chapter 38: No Surprises

Lucanis reached for her cheek, guiding her gaze back to his. “Don’t look away,” he purred, keeping his pace, “Spite likes to watch this part.”

─── ⊹⊱♤⊰⊹ ───

Pairing: Lucanis x Rook

Summary: Lucanis recollects a run-in with Fiammetta and Viago on her 18th birthday. Illario doesn't knock before entering, ever. Rook joins a book club (against her will).

Warnings/of note: 18+ fic, MDNI! Please check AO3 for chapter specific warnings.

Read on AO3

─── ⊹⊱♤⊰⊹ ───

“Dellamorte. It’s late.”

Viago held open a heavy, iron-plated door but did not invite him in. A visit from a fellow assassin at such a late hour was rarely a pleasant occasion. Since Lucanis had met him, he’d never known Viago de Riva to be caught without a pair of black gloves and a watchful gaze upon receiving company, and tonight was no exception. Behind him, the fire roared in the hearth, the dinner table set for two. It appeared the meal had recently concluded, which meant Lucanis’ timing had been good. He straightened, fingertips digging into the small parcel in his right hand as Viago’s younger cousin, Fiammetta, emerged from the shadows near the wall.

“Oh, thank the Maker,” she breathed, waving him inside.

“Fiammetta.” He forced a smile as he sidestepped past Viago, who remained rooted in place. “Nice to see you, too.” 

“Don’t get so excited,” Viago growled, locking the door behind him. “She's just relieved you aren’t Teia.”

Lucanis looked to Fiammetta and frowned. “I thought you two were close.”

“Teia tries to throw her a birthday party every year.” Viago explained.

“You don’t… celebrate?” 

“I’m not keen on surprises, and birthdays seem to be full of them.”

“Ah.” Lucanis forced a smile to conceal his nerves. Looking at her more closely, he could see she was wearing traditional Crow training leathers. Dressed more for a contract than a night out. 

“Don’t bother removing your cloak, Dellamorte. You’re not staying.” Viago picked up the dirty dishes from the table and carried them to the kitchen, adding out over his shoulder impatiently, “And neither is Fi!”

“You’re leaving?” Lucanis asked as she retrieved her boots from behind him and tugged them on.

“Vi has a date.” she whispered. “Can you believe it?” 

“Who?”

“Art gallery owner,” she mouthed, tying her laces tight and reaching for her cloak on the rack behind him. Lucanis shifted his weight from foot to foot as Viago reemerged from the kitchen, drying his hands on a towel. His eyes fell to the box in Lucanis’ hands, and he regarded him warily.

“Care to explain what you’re doing here, Dellamorte?”

Lucanis cleared his throat, opening his mouth to speak. Registering his hesitancy, Fiammetta rolled her eyes and unlocked the door.

“Crow business above my rank. Got it. Be seeing you, Lucanis,” she said, winking at him before slipping into the night. The door fell shut behind her, rattling a few of Viago’s art pieces on the walls. He blinked, staring at the spot where she’d been.

“Maker, Dellamorte, out with it.” Viago folded his arms, tapping one foot impatiently, “I’ve known you for nearly a decade and I’ve never seen you in such a state.”

Lucanis sighed, extending the box to him. “I didn’t know she hated her birthday.” 

Viago raised an eyebrow and tipped the lid back, peering inside. An exquisitely crafted dagger was nestled inside, its golden, amethyst crested hilt gleaming back at him. His eyes flicked up suspiciously.

“Is it a threat?”

“... what?”

He snapped the box shut, peering over it with narrowed eyes. “You got her a dagger.”

“It seemed… appropriate.”

“Mierda, Dellamorte. Why would you gift a woman a knife on her birthday?”

“It’s a good knife.”

Viago pressed the box back into Lucanis’ hands. “You will be met with nothing but hostility if you utter the words happy birthday in my cousin’s presence.”

“Why do I get the sense you’re cross with me?” Lucanis attempted to tuck the package into the inner pocket of his cloak. It did not fit, and he was stuck holding it, standing awkwardly in the de Rivas’ den. 

“I don’t know your intentions with Fiammetta, and frankly, I do not wish to,” he sighed through his nose, shaking his head, “Dante is dead. She has no brothers. I’m the only one between her and the intentions of any man that comes calling. It’s not personal, Lucanis. She’s my family.”

Viago clapped him on the shoulder, squeezing a little too hard for it to be a pleasant gesture. 

“As your friend, I will tell you this: Fi is capricious, arrogant, and easily wounded, though she would never show it. I know you, Lucanis. She would eat you alive.”

Lucanis pursed his lips, reaching for the door handle.

“Thank you for the advice. I’ll bear it in mind.”

Viago flashed a thin-lipped smile that was almost friendly. “Perhaps try something else, at solstice, if you insist. A conversation would be a good start.”

Eager to escort Lucanis out, he held open the door. On the front step, Illario stood with his fist outstretched, prepared to knock.

“No.” Viago grabbed Lucanis by the collar and thrust him onto the porch. “When I open this door again, the two of you best be out of my sight or I’ll ensure you choke on your own vomit at the next summit!” 

“What are you doing here?” Lucanis asked through gritted teeth as the door slammed shut behind him.

“Looking for Fi. Was she here?”

“I did not see her.” Lucanis lied. 

Illario narrowed his eyes. “What were you doing?”

“Talking… with Viago.” 

“Why the long face?” his gaze drifted to Fiammetta’s gift in Lucanis’ hands. “What’s that?” 

“It’s nothing-”

He snatched the parcel, lifting the lid, and let out a delighted bark of laughter. 

“Oh cousin, you know Viago is far too particular to be given something like this. The grip is delicate — better suited for a woman’s hands.”

“It-”

“I should have seen this coming,” Illario continued, ignoring his protests, “you were always lingering outside de Riva’s front door when we were kids, waiting for Vi to come out.”

Lucanis dropped his head back and groaned. What had he done to deserve to be humiliated twice in one evening? 

“You know very little,” he muttered, “and it would be best if you kept your observations to yourself.”

Illario held up his hands, a placating gesture, the glimmer of his rings catching in the streetlamps.

“Alright, alright. I’ll keep this a secret for you. Who knows, maybe de Riva will come around.”

Lucanis sighed. Correcting Illario would only make matters worse. He suspected they were both here to speak to the same person, and it was likely she wasn’t interested in either of them.

“Viago said Fiammetta doesn’t wish to celebrate. Perhaps you should go home.” 

“She enjoys my company.” Illario grinned, peering into the velvet-lined box at the dagger again. “Hey, do you have any plans for this now that Vi’s rejected you?”

“What could you possibly want with it, Illario?” Lucanis asked, voice tight with annoyance. “If it’s for small hands, as you say, you’re likely to lose it in your grip.”

“I’d just hate to see your efforts go to waste. You even bothered to put it in a box.” 

Lucanis huffed, his patience wearing thin. There was no sense in telling Illario no. He’d only end up stealing it later, likely breaking something more valuable in the process. 

“Keep it, cousin.” He shoved his hands into his pockets and turned back toward his apartment. “I’m going home.”

─── ⊹⊱♤⊰⊹ ───

Lucanis stirred to movement in the bed, lifting his head in time to watch Rook scrambling for her clothes from the day before. 

“Get up, get up!” She hissed, “Spite’s been trying to wake you. Illario is downstairs, and I’d rather disappear before he-”

The bedroom door opened just as she was halfway through, pulling on her leathers. Illario strolled inside, freshly shined boots clicking obnoxiously on the floor to announce his arrival. Behind him, Neve idled with an unreadable expression.

“Fi,” Amused, his eyes roved her form, “You’re looking… flushed.”

She glared and fumbled with her zipper as she tried to conceal herself behind the bedpost. Neve cupped a hand over her face, turning her back as Lucanis wrapped the bedsheets around his waist and slid out of bed to retrieve his clothes. Illario’s eyes slid to him as smirked.

“Busy morning?”

“I’m so sorry. I couldn’t get in without a Crow. Illario was the only one at the casino.” Neve nodded in Lucanis’ direction with closed eyes. “Is he decent yet, Rook? I don’t enjoy making conversation with my back turned.”

“Depends how you define decent,” Illario sneered. 

“You can look,” Rook said, glaring at Illario as Lucanis tugged on a sweater and fastened his belt. Neve sighed, resting on the doorframe and pressing her cheek to the wood. Up close, the dark circles under her eyes were stark against her features. For once, Lucanis seemed better rested than his companions.

“I could use some backup with the Threads,” she said wearily, “It’s my first meeting as… leader.”

The thud of Rook’s boots hitting the polished floor echoed as she sat down on the couch.

“I hope you came for my input and not Illario’s,” she said, lacing them with care. Lucanis’ cousin scowled, but his retort was cut short by Neve the moment he opened his mouth. 

“Damas liked you. It gives you a little sway with Elek, since. I’d hoped it might extend to me if you came along.”

“Neve, I don’t think you need any help getting Elek to like you.” 

The detective blinked. “You think he-”

Illario took a smooth step forward, clearing his throat.

“I’m far more charming than Fi,” he suggested. “I have some experience working with criminals. I can be very… persuasive.”

Lucanis arched an eyebrow skeptically, but said nothing. It was not like Illario to offer his assistance without an ulterior motive. Typically one that served him, and him alone.

“They’re not criminals,” Neve snapped, “Not while they work for me.”

“Best Neve and I handle this,” Rook said, checking her belt instinctively. Her hand ghosted over where the dagger she’d abandoned last night had been and she paused.

“Forgetting something?”

“No.” Rook said firmly, attempting to shove past him. He held out an arm, blocking her path.

“Is she always in such a hurry to get away from you, cousin?” Illario asked over his shoulder.

He reached into his coat, producing her missing dagger. Rook hesitated, staring at the blade as if it might possess itself and cut her. 

“The groundskeeper caught me downstairs, said he found it while polishing the gondolas this morning. You must have dropped it.” 

Rook’s jaw clenched, her eyes locking with Illario’s as a silent conversation passed between the two of them.

“I’ve outgrown it,” she finally said, tearing her gaze away and motioning for Neve to follow. Lucanis leaned against the bedpost, watching as she disappeared from sight down the hall.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” he said to Illario, eyes still fixed on the last spot he’d seen Rook.

“I’d hoped the new First Talon might have a change of heart.” Illario extended the abandoned dagger towards Lucanis as if it were a peace offering. “Give this back to Fi when you see her. She shouldn’t be without a full set of weapons.”

“She doesn’t want it. Perhaps you’d like it for yourself. I recall you once convinced me to give it to you. I did not anticipate that you would regift it the same evening.”

Illario turned the blade in his hands. His frown deepened as as he was lost in his thoughts. Rare, for his cousin to be silent at all. Lucanis paced to the windowsill and pulled back the curtains, worried if he looked in his cousin’s direction another moment, he would not be able to stop himself from taking the dagger and stabbing him with it. Below, the gardener pruned the willow tree, oblivious to the bodies buried underneath.

“We were kids, Lucanis,” Illario finally said, twirling between two fingers before sheathing it in his belt. “You’re still upset Viago spurned you?”

“Did you ever stop to think why I would bring Viago a gift on Fiammetta’s birthday, Illario? Are you truly that dense, or just self absorbed?”

Illario blinked in surprise, before he flung his head back with a bark of cruel laughter.

“All this time, cousin, truly? The candle you have held for her must have a very long wick.”

“Perhaps.”

“You know Fi was my best friend before she was sharing your bed.”

“Be her friend, then!” Lucanis snarled, turning from the window. “She could use one. I’m not the reason the two of you aren’t speaking.”

“No, I made that happen all by myself, didn’t I?”

He roamed Lucanis’ bedroom as if it were his own, tipping over a vial of ink on the desk. The dark liquid spilled across the desk, staining the wood below.

“Do you enjoy taking what I set my sights on? Is that it?”

“I didn’t take her,” Lucanis corrected him with a dangerous tone, “and I never wanted First Talon.”

“And yet you have both. Fate, I suppose.”

“Was it fate when you sold me out to the Venatori?”

Illario stilled. 

“I apologized for that.”

“It will take more than an apology to make things right between us.”

“Have I not pledged myself to your cause? Have I not defied the gods for you?” Illario threw his hands up, pacing before the couch. “You think I was in my right mind when I betrayed you? Believe what you want, Lucanis, if it helps you sleep at night.”

“That’s the problem, Illario. I rarely sleep. Not since the Ossuary.”

“I’m sure Fi would love to help you with that.”

Lucanis gritted his teeth and pointed a finger towards the door. 

“Get out.”

Illario mocked a bow. “As you command, First Talon.”

Lucanis sunk into the couch and braced his elbow on his knees, staring at the floor as his cousin slammed the door behind him. His chest heaved as he tried to control his breath.

“Kill him. Now?”

“It would only prove his point.” Lucanis said out loud.

“You still. Do not want. To Kill him.” Spite snarled. “Why!”

“He’s family. You don’t know him like I do, Spite.”

“I have seen your memories! I know. You! Better than you!”

Lucanis’ blood ran cold, and he shuddered, pushing away from the couch and running his hand through his hair. For as long as they coexisted in the same body, Spite would always pose a threat to those he loved. Perhaps he’d gotten too complacent with his inner demon.

“Rook is not the only person in my life worth protecting.”

“But she is. Most important. Illario could hurt. Rook. Again!”

“He didn’t hurt Rook, Spite. Not on purpose. He hurt me.”

“Hurting Lucanis. Hurts. Rook.”

Lucanis lifted his head, staring at the ashes in the hearth. “How?”

The demon struggled to come up with a response. Human emotions made little sense to Spite, but he seemed to follow the threads between them. Connect them logically, learn to differentiate. But whatever was between Lucanis and Rook, he hadn’t witnessed before. There was no point of reference in Lucanis’ mind for his feelings for Rook. Only that they had been there for a very, very long time.

But devotion. That was there, too. And a spirit of determination understood that sentiment all too well.

─── ⊹⊱♤⊰⊹ ───

“I don’t know how much longer I can keep this up.”

In the infirmary, Rook collapsed onto an unoccupied cot next to Varric, gazing at the ceiling, her hands resting on her stomach. 

“It hasn’t even been two full days since you confronted the person responsible for the death of your family. Give yourself a moment to breathe, Rook.”

“What does it look like I’m doing?”

“Anticipating when the next shoe is going to fall.”

With a grunt, she turned her head and studied her friend’s face. While his black eyes had faded and his gait had improved, he still had a strange air about him. Like he’d never quite be the same. She felt a pang of sadness in her chest and changed the subject before she over thought it any further.

“Your old friend Cullen is an interesting character.”

Varric chuckled. “And how is the Commander?”

“He seems well. I think he misses his wife.”

“Love will do that to a person,” he mused. “Speaking of, you didn’t come back to the Lighthouse last night. Do I want to know?”

Rook’s eyes grew distant as she smiled. “Mind your business, old man.”

“It’s nice to witness a bit of mutual pining. All the brooding and good hair… it’s like watching Hawke and Fenris all over again.”

Rook frowned, studying his expression. 

“The way you talk about her… you loved her, didn’t you? How can you be so happy for them?”

“There could have been a lot of people for me, Rook,” Varric said with a grin, “but there was only one person for Hawke. Besides, I had a lot going on at the time. Sometimes the best thing you can do is step aside so the person you care about can have what’s best for them.”

“That’s… really sad, Varric.”

“Yeah? I don’t see you feeling bad for Illario.”

Rook scoffed. “No one feels bad for Illario.”

“Just saying. If the guy felt like anyone saw something worthwhile in him, it could make all the difference.”

“You are not Illario. You don’t know what he wants.”

“And you are not Hawke. Now let’s get out of my business. I’m hoping you didn’t wake me up from my nap just to poke at healed wounds.”

“Okay, give me advice then. Your friend Morrigan wants me to meet with Mythal in the Crossroads.”

“What do you need my advice for? You’re the one who learned to lie before you could walk. Tell her what she wants—or needs—to hear. Lies, truth… both. Whatever it takes to get her support.”

There was a soft, hesitant knock at the door, and Rook sat up as Lucanis wandered in, casting a quizzical look in Varric’s direction.

“Everything alright?” His voice carried a hint of concern.

“Just reassuring our favorite de Riva that everything is going to be just fine,” Varric replied. 

Lucanis crossed the room, ignoring Varric as he braced both hands on the bed. Leaning down, his lips brushed Rook’s tenderly, and she almost gave in. Instead, she reared back, flashing Varric an apologetic look, and reached for his hand.

“Not here,” She murmured. Lucanis stared at Varric with a puzzled expression as she dragged him from the infirmary and into the hall.

“What’s going-”

Rook crushed her lips to his, silencing him with a fervent kiss as her arms snaked around his neck. The tension dissipated from Lucanis’ body, and he groaned pleasantly, threading his fingers through her hair with a smile as he pulled back.

“I apologize for my cousin’s behavior this morning,” he murmured. “I would have liked more time with you alone.”

“You can’t take responsibility every time he gets on my nerves.” Rook cupped his cheek, tilting her head, “and we have plenty of time.”

He hummed in agreement, but didn’t seem entirely convinced.

“The others are waiting in the kitchen.”

Rook’s pulse quickened. “Did something happen?”

“Just a reason to share some food and enjoy one another’s company,” he laughed softly, brushing his lips over her temple, “no emergencies tonight, Fiammetta. I promise.”

She followed as he led her downstairs, across the courtyard and through the kitchen doors. Laughter and excited chatter greeted her from where the others had gathered around the dinner table, in higher spirits than usual. At its center was a half empty tray of orange scones, crumbs scattered across several plates laid out between them. 

Bellara noticed their arrival first, lifting her head and waving eagerly.

“Hey guys!”

Lucanis grinned and nudged Rook forward, sidestepping to stroll casually to the hearth.

“I’ve recruited another member for book club,” he said, once out of reach. Rook recoiled, a wave of panic washing over her.

“Oh, no—I’m not sure what I would have to contribute…”

“Nonsense!” Emmrich’s jovial voice cut through her protests, “Davrin and Taash are new as well. I’m certain we’ll find a way to include everyone.”

“And I don’t even read,” Taash said with a shrug. 

“Some of us can’t read at all.” Davrin gestured towards Assan at his feet. The griffon stirred from his nap, lifting his head and squawking in greeting.

Rook reluctantly took a seat beside Neve, who offered a reassuring squeeze of her wrist. 

“You’ve earned your seat at this table just as much as the rest of us, Rook.” She murmured, “someone made a good point that we should do more to include you.”

With a nod, Rook lifted her eyes to where Lucanis leaned against the hearth, pulling out his logbook.

“So, the assassin, I didn’t understand why he kept coming back,” Harding began, referencing her notes, “why not just kidnap the princess right away and fake her death? That way, he could keep her as a prisoner and get all the stories in less time.”

“That’s the point!” Bellara said earnestly, “Every night he returned, he earned her trust, and she earned his affection. Once her guard was finally down, he was already hopelessly in love. His only choice was to choose her in the end.”

“Who knew a hired killer could be so romantic?” Neve mused. Beside her, Manfred hissed in agreement. 

“Wait.” Rook’s brow furrowed, and she pulled Bellara’s copy of the book closer, examining the spine. “You all read Seventy Winter Nights?”

From behind his journal, Lucanis’ brown eyes flicked to hers.

“You’re familiar with this title?” Emmrich asked. 

“Lucanis…” Rook hesitated, clearing her throat, “someone read parts of it to me once.”

“Delightful,” Emmrich tapped one finger on a page, skimming a few lines, “Perhaps we could discuss…”

Their companion’s voices faded into the background as Rook held Lucanis’ gaze. With a wink, he returned his attention to his notes. Throat tight, she blinked back tears and slid Bellara’s book across the table. At her feet, Assan nudged her calf affectionately, but Rook couldn’t seem to bring herself to do anything but stare at Lucanis, pulse hammering, as her friends chattered around her. 

[selunesdreams]

knee deep in the passenger seat or whatever

[selunesdreams]

True Kings of Antiva

[selunesdreams]

Eating Crow, Chapter 37: Reading in Bed

Lucanis reached for her cheek, guiding her gaze back to his. “Don’t look away,” he purred, keeping his pace, “Spite likes to watch this part.”

─── ⊹⊱♤⊰⊹ ───

Pairing: Lucanis x Rook

Summary: Lucanis makes Rook dinner... amongst other things.

Warnings/of note: 18+ fic, MDNI! This chapter contains a LOT of smut. Please check AO3 for chapter specific warnings.

Read on AO3

─── ⊹⊱♤⊰⊹ ───

Fresh from the bath, Rook descended the stairs to the kitchen in a button-down she’d snuck from Lucanis’ dresser. It hung off her shoulders, clinging to the swell of her breast and curves of her hips, settling just short of her mid thigh.

“You’re wearing my shirt. I was worried my clothes were beneath you.”

Lucanis stole a glance at her from his place over the stove, mouth twitching as she rounded the corner.

Careful not to slip on the freshly waxed marble floors as she padded past him, Rook dragged a fingernail across his lower back. “This one isn’t so bad.”

Unphased, Lucanis chuckled and rolled his sleeves to the elbow. His cloak and vest were already removed, hanging from the coat rack by the door to the gardens. Half a bottle of wine rested on the counter, while the rest simmered in a pan over the flames, bubbling around a tender cut of beef.

Rook hoisted herself onto the counter, letting her legs sway beneath her. “Half a bottle of wine gone so soon?”

Lucanis removed the pan from the fire, setting it aside, and wiped his hand on a towel.

“It pairs well with the rosemary, and the mushrooms absorb the bite,” he reached up to retrieve a pair of glasses from an overhead shelf and filled them carefully. “Don’t worry. I saved enough for us.”

Rook’s eyes swept past him to the window, where the winds picked up, whipping up leaves from the bushes and scattering them against the sill. Lucanis returned the empty bottle to the counter, the soft scrape of it catching her attention. She looked up as he slotted himself between her legs, wine in hand, and pressed a glass into her hand.

“I used to visit a vineyard south of here, but recently caught word that it had burnt to the ground. Caterina ensured the families were taken care of, and when we presumed her dead, I was doing the same. They had sent a few surviving bottles in appreciation.”

Rook lifted it to her lips, watching him over the rim as she took in the notes. The liquid stung her senses, her eyes watering slightly as she tipped it back, letting it flood her mouth. It was warm, earthy, full of spice and, without a doubt, Antivan. Lucanis studied her intently as he drank, gaze catching on her waist as the wine’s heat lingered in the back of her throat.

“I like it.” She angled her hips forward, body sliding against his as she descended from the counter. “Too bad we can’t buy a case.”

Flustered, Lucanis took a step back and pushed a hand through his hair. He turned back to the stove, dividing their dinner on to separate plates.

“I’ll fund the replanting of the entire vineyard if it makes you happy.”

Rook idled close enough to drive him mad, tugging at his shirt, untucking and ruffling it. Lucanis looked over his shoulder and narrowed his eyes playfully, nodding toward the dining room to encourage her on. Wine glass held high, Rook exited the kitchen and took a seat beside the head of the table. As Lucanis set her dinner in front of her, she ran a finger along a napkin. Silk. Of course.

“For you,” he murmured, kissing her bare shoulder where the shirt had fallen open and taking his seat across from her. A candle at the table’s center slowly spilled wax down its length, illuminating how meticulously he’d laid everything out. She hadn’t taken long in the bath. He must have worked quickly.

“Have you fantasized about this, Lucanis Dellamorte? Seducing me with dinner in your big, fancy house?”

“While you drink my favorite wine, with my clothes hanging off of you like that? Often.” He picked up his fork and knife, making a cut into his food. “Although I’d always imagined you’d have the decency to wear something underneath so I could have the pleasure of removing it later.”

Rook stilled in surprise, and he snuck a look at her with a wry smile as he chewed. Raising both eyebrows, he nodded to her plate.

“We can flirt later. You deserve an uninterrupted meal, for once.”

Food had always come as a second thought for Rook. Her meals were so inconsistent during childhood it was best to not think about eating at all. But Lucanis wouldn’t have gone to the trouble to orchestrate a meal if it wasn’t important to him. So she picked up her fork as he watched her, poorly concealing his eagerness, and began to eat.

Rook held his gaze as she chewed thoughtfully, and he set his silverware down, reaching across the table to brush a thumb over the corner of her mouth. She smirked as he leaned back and returned his attention to his own plate.

“How long have you been planning this?” She asked, picking up her wine. It sloshed against the sides of its glass as she swirled it in one hand.

“I went to the market after you left the villa and spent the morning prepping. I’d hoped you’d come around.”

“You put a lot of faith in me.”

“I find you to be more worthwhile of my faith than the Maker.”

“Careful, Lucanis, the Chantry frowns upon blasphemy.”

Lucanis blotted his mouth with his napkin and laid it back across his lap. “I don’t answer to the Chantry.”

“Right. You don’t answer to anyone anymore, First Talon.”

“That’s not true.” He said quietly, meeting her gaze, “I answer to you.”

Rook blinked and quickly returned her attention to her food, finishing their meal in silence. Lucanis’ words had stolen the rest of her appetite, but she pushed through anyway. Only the sounds of fine silver scraping against Caterina’s bone china accompanied the remainder of their meal. When she was finally finished and her wineglass was empty, Rook folded her napkin and nudged her plate forward, rising from her seat.

Lucanis regarded her carefully as she circled the table towards him, dragging one finger across the surface. When she reached him, he pushed out his chair, pulled his napkin from his lap and dropped atop his plate. Rook straddled his lap, holding his face between her hands.

“Thank you for dinner,” she murmured, threading her fingers in his hair and combing it back thoughtfully. “Are you going to make me do the dishes?”

Lucanis closed his eyes and hummed pleasantly. “I’ll let the staff take care of them later. The perks of being First Talon.”

“Are there other perks?” Rook asked, her skin heating as one of his hands moved up her thigh. He opened his eyes and carefully enclosed his other hand around her throat.

“Yes.”

He pulled her mouth to his, controlling the intensity with his thumb under her jaw. Rook slung her arms around his neck and his calloused palms each gripped one thigh. With an impatient groan, he broke the kiss and lifted her as he stood, pivoting and pressing her to the nearest wall.

Artwork rattled in the frames on either side of them, and Rook tightened her legs around his waist as she began to slip. Lucanis pinned her with his weight, keeping his focus on the shirt now hanging off of her by what felt like a single thread. There was tension in his shoulders, a slight tremor in his hands as he struggled with the buttons, far more than an assassin of his caliber should.

“You’re on edge,” Their hands collided as she assisted, kissing down his jaw, “What’s troubling you?”

“You. I think of little else.”

Clumsy and flushed, Lucanis sighed through his nose, eyes searching her features for something. Finally appearing satisfied, his mouth was on hers again — hungry, needy— as he pushed her harder into the wall.

“I only planned as far as dinner,” he panted against the base of her throat, “you decide where the evening goes from here.”

Rook reached between them, his belt buckle clinking as she deftly worked it loose and plunged one hand between his trousers and his skin. He inhaled sharply as her thumb grazed the wet tip of his cock, freezing only for a moment before dragging his mouth over her neck, teeth scraping her skin.

“This,” he gasped between kisses, “this isn’t just… fuck! Rook—”

With a growl, he tore her from the wall, kicking aside a chair from the dining table and laying her across its empty half, shielding the back of her head with one hand. His lips found one of her breasts, teeth firm against her flesh as he took a mouthful, tongue lashing over its peak as he unbuttoned her shirt the rest of the way. One hand came to support it, thumb cradling it from below as his fingertips drug along her rib cage. Touch trailing from her breasts to her waist, his palm splayed against her stomach as it slid down her torso, stopping at the crest of her hip.

“If I told you I loved you right now, Fiammetta, should I expect to be slapped again?” He whispered against her skin.

“Anything to get you off,” she bit out, squeezing her eyes shut to fight the overstimulation of pleasure, forcing herself to relax into every place his touch lingered on her body.

“Anything?”

Lucanis swung her legs over the side of the table and dragged her across the surface, her sweat-slick bare skin squeaking in protest against the wood. Her hair skimmed the backs of Lucanis’ knees as he slung her over one shoulder, blew out the candle with one buff, and carried her from the dining room and up the stairs. Blood rushed to her head as she swayed, laughing and clawing for his opposite shoulder to drape herself across his back. Lucanis tipped his head to the side, watching from the corner of his eye with a grin as he nudged his bedroom door open.

The fireplace in the corner still burned as brightly as it had when she’d left, his desk still meticulously organized, stacks of unopened letters remaining untouched for weeks. Perhaps Lucanis had been so eager to take this contract with her because killing gods was somehow more leisurely than the agenda his grandmother typically had arranged for him.

The mattress dipped under her weight as he deposited her onto the bed, standing over her as he loosened his collar and unrolled his sleeves.

“Lose the shirt,” he said, discarding his own. Rook shrugged hers off obediently and fumbled for his trousers again. Lucanis smiled, crawling over her, and he shoved his hand between them, dragging her hand aside and impatiently unfastening them himself, letting them slip from his hips to the floor. Rook gasped as he guided her wrists over her head and shoved her up against the pillows.

“Let someone else take care of you for once, Rook,” he murmured, one hand slipping between their sweat slick bodies as he lined himself up with her, teasing her entrance. She whimpered, and his eyes swept over her face as she adjusted to the size of him.

“Stay with me,” he cooed, “I’ve got you.”

Between her legs, he circled her clit with one achingly dexterous finger, staring down to watch with a curious smile. Rook forgot to breathe as he rolled his hips back into rhythm.

Finally, he dropped his forehead to hers, breath hot and broken as he ground his hips, sinking deeper. With a soft thud, Rook dropped her head against the headboard and clawed at his back, nails dragging down his shoulder blades so hard she swore she might have drawn blood.

Spite’s low rumble of approval was just barely audible as Lucanis grasped her jaw and squeezed.

“You know better than that,” he chuckled.

Rook tilted her head. “Do I?”

His responding thrust was so hard she nearly saw stars.

She writhed desperately underneath him, her breaths coming in rapid, whiny gasps. Lucanis shushed her, kissing her again, moaning into her mouth to subdue his own pleasure as he moved inside of her.

Every nerve in her body came alive, and her heart seemed to stutter in her chest as she lost track of time. She turned her head to the side, clenching her jaw shut as she resisted the urge to scream. Then again, if the staff had been dismissed for the evening, would it even matter?

Lucanis reached for her cheek, guiding her gaze back to his.

“Don’t look away,” he purred, keeping his pace, “Spite likes to watch this part.”

At the mention of their demonic voyeur, Rook cried out, arching off the bed. Lucanis’ hand kept steady pressure on her clit as he muffled her screams with a kiss. Rook’s orgasm sparked through her, and Lucanis moaned low, the sound of it raw and unguarded as his hips stuttered, then froze as he spilled himself inside of her.

He wove a hand through her hair, grazing his mouth over her hair, her jaw, her temple, as if to check if she were still intact. Sweat mingled between their bellies as he pulled back with a look of surprised smugness, looming over her. His eyes pinned her in place before he pressed a kiss to her shoulder.

“You don’t seem anxious to leave,” he murmured, sliding down the length of her until he was kneeling at the foot of the bed. “Did you get everything you needed?”

Dazed, Rook hummed and reached for a pillow behind her, folding it against her chest. As she rolled onto her stomach, Lucanis slipped between the silk sheets next to her, draping them over his lower half as he sprawled onto his side.

“You’ll stay then?”

She nodded, and his fingertips found her spine, lazily exploring its ridges before he became distracted by a scar on her back he hadn’t seen before. Intrigued, he leaned forward and traced it with a reverent touch.

“I should kill the person who gave this to you, if they’re not already dead.”

“A twelfth birthday gift from my father,” Rook said, turning her head on the pillow to look at him. “A test, to see if I would falter in a fight. Unlike you, I didn’t have someone my own age to practice with. Viago refused to lay a hand on me as a child.”

Concern creased Lucanis’ forehead, his hand stilling. “Rook-”

“Don’t let it ruin this,” she said, not unkindly, lashes fluttering as her eyes fell to the sheets, “he took enough from me.”

Lucanis frowned, but didn’t say another word. Instead, he drew one of her hands from beneath the pillow, kissing her wounded knuckle before spreading his palm against hers, splaying their fingertips wide and intertwining them. Rook watched with a dazed expression, allowing herself the opportunity to enjoy the moment.

“Lucanis?” She asked suddenly, her gaze shifting to his as she pulled back.

He bent his head, offering an uncertain, nervous smile. “What is it?”

“I…”

Her voice trailed off, and she rolled over, staring at the nightstand. Outstretching a hand, she traced the gold-painted spine of a thick, leather-bound volume on his nightstand.

“Read to me? I like the sound of your voice.”

Lucanis chuckled and reached over her. With a grunt, he retrieved the book she’d been admiring and settled back against the pillows. He drew her closer, draping one arm around her, and she rested her head against his shoulder.

“This was my mother’s,” he said, folding back the cover, “she said someone gifted it to her in Orlais, but that it exists in different translations and interpretations throughout Thedas.”

The pages fluttered open, and he thumbed to the first chapter, brushing his fingertips over the words. His free hand absentmindedly reached beneath the covers, drawing circles on Rook’s hip.

“Seventy Winter Nights,” she read out loud, “Is this one of your romance novels?”

“Most consider it a classic.”

“No classic I’ve ever heard of.”

“In its defense, you did mention you were not particularly well read.”

Rook narrowed her eyes, digging her thumbnail into Lucanis’ ribs. He winced, suppressing a smile as he bent to kiss her, catching her lower lip between his teeth and admonishing her with a playful bite.

“It’s many stories within a very long one,” he explained, giving her a quick peck and pulling away. “It tells of an assassin sent by a rival court to kill the king’s daughter in retaliation for an act of war.”

“Daughters always pay for the sins of their fathers,” Rook mused.

Lucanis solemnly hummed in agreement, remaining silent for several beats.

“What happens next,” she asked, suddenly eager to avoid the topic further, “in the story?”

“As the princess puts her younger sister to bed, the assassin waits outside her door, but becomes entranced by a story she tells. When her sister falls asleep, she leaves it unfinished. He follows her to bed and demands she tell him the ending, under the condition that he will spare her life until the end. She agrees, but quickly begins a second story as soon as it ends. The assassin listens until sunrise, and the next night, returns so that she might finish it.”

Rook wrapped her arms tightly around his waist, intrigued, and snuggled closer. “I’m listening.”

“The assassin returns every night for weeks, and every night she begins a new story and leaves it unfinished so that he must spare her again and again. In the end, he falls hopelessly in love with her, and instead of killing her, they run away together.”

“So it is a romance.”

“Would you like me to read it to you, or do you prefer critiquing my tastes?”

Rook entwined her legs in his, pulling herself closer. “Just until I fall asleep. You can pick up where you leave off tomorrow.”

Lucanis chuckled and kissed the crown of her head, resting his chin there and setting his eyes to the first line of the book.

“Winter was good for killing, for when blood ran cold, it did not spill so much. But if an assassin’s heart were to become warm, could his blade strike true? Would his resolve falter, if the face of his victim brought him to his knees…”

[selunesdreams]

Eating Crow, Chapter 36: Blood Roses

─── ⊹⊱♤⊰⊹ ───

Pairing: Lucanis x Rook

Summary: Rook and Lucanis have a… chat. (definition loose)

Things of note/warnings: 18+ fic, violence MDNI! Please check AO3 for chapter specific warnings.

Read on AO3

─── ⊹⊱♤⊰⊹ ───

It was an agonizing half hour-long of silence from the Dock Town eluvian to the streets of Treviso. Lucanis said nothing of where he was leading Rook, but as Villa Dellamorte loomed in the distance, she wondered what could possibly possess him to want to return there. Afraid of his answer, she didn’t dare ask. Lucanis’ expression was unreadable, which felt more dangerous than when he was angry. Even Spite’s company would be more pleasant… or forgiving.

This time of night, the streets were empty. Not unusual, but the quiet that had descended over her city took her by surprise. No more war cries or chanting in the distance, no billows of smoke clouding the night air from the Antaam's encampment fires. Only the modest, faint streams of grey from family chimneys drifted into the air, a nostalgic scent of burning wood that stirred memories of hot chocolate with Viago and Teia during All Souls Day. Rook could still remember the day Viago stopped testing his cup for poison — but only when Teia was the one to bring it to him.

From the corner of her eye, she caught Lucanis watching. The edges of his cloak stirred in the breeze as he nodded in the direction of the tunnels underneath the villa. Somewhere without witnesses—perhaps not the best omen. Still, she steadied herself with one hand on the narrow entrance and squeezed between the damp stone pillars. Lucanis followed close enough that she could feel his warmth, the steady and even rhythm of his breathing amplified by their close confines.

There was a steady rhythm in the echoes of water dripping from above as Rook’s boots sloshed through the puddles gathered in the cellars, sending ripples to where water pooled deep near the stairs. She lifted the hem of her cloak to keep it dry, cursing herself for not wearing Crow leathers. Not as if she had time to change her mind. 

The ground floor of the villa was dark, every candle snuffed, and she relied on the moonlight filtering in from the thinly veiled windows to guide her as Lucanis cut ahead, leaving wet footprints in his wake. He opened the back doors leading to the garden with deliberate care, holding them for Rook to step through. The gesture felt out of place amidst their tension. If he took such care not to wake his grandmother, it was the villa’s privacy he wanted. 

Rook did not wait for him as she walked toward the willow tree, shrugging off her cloak. She laid it over the table where she’d taken her breakfast with Caterina so many mornings, having little desire to see it covered in dirt… or blood. 

In the bushes nearby, roses of varied color bloomed proudly. She bent to cup one in her hand, fingertips tracing the torn edges where it had been battered by the wind and rains. Its petals remained soft, a testament to its resilience. Curious how anything so delicate, so pure, could survive in a place like this, flourishing beside the graves of their caretaker’s dead children. Caterina’s miserable, twisted trophy collection of the offspring she was cursed to outlive. 

“My grandmother loathes the white ones.”

Rook startled at the sound of Lucanis’ voice, jerking her hand back quickly. A stray thorn sliced the knuckle of her thumb and she cursed, cradling the bleeding digit in her opposite hand and squeezing crimson out of the tiny wound. Lucanis moved closer, taking her wrist and turning her palm face up, frowning and using the cuff of his sleeve to stanch the bleeding.

“Why?” Rook pulled back and wiped her hand on her trousers. Her father had always warned her it was bad form to let someone tend to her injuries when she did not know their intentions. 

Lucanis turned and plucked the offending rose from the bush, pinching it between his thumb and forefinger, as if to interrogate it for the crime of cutting her. He held it between them and folded back the browned edges of one petal.

“The darker colors hide their imperfections better. Sometimes I find her out here furiously ripping blemished roses out and flinging them into the sea.”

“Why plant the white ones at all, then?”

He twirled the flower in his hand thoughtfully, its petals fanning as it spun. “Because if there were not white roses to hate, she would have to direct her discontent towards the red ones. It is not easy for her to admit to loving something, only to acknowledge that she despises it less than something else.”

He set the rose atop Rook’s cloak and removed his own, draping it over her shoulders. Her eyes shone as she looked up at him.

“Is that why you brought me here? You think I’m like her?”

He chuckled, low and dark, tracing her jaw with his knuckles. “Caterina resents the idea of love. You are only afraid of it.”

Rook shivered underneath his touch and drew his cloak closer. “Doesn’t fear always turn to resentment?”

“One has to be familiar with something to resent it. To suffer for so long that it sickens them.”

“And you believe your grandmother has spent so much time loving people she cannot bear it anymore?”

“The opposite. I think she has spent too long with the absence of those she once loved.”

Rook stalked off to the garden’s edge that overlooked Rialto Bay. Lucanis followed, keeping in step with her with infuriating ease. 

“When you said you wanted to talk, I did not realize you yearned to draw analogies between myself and your grandmother.”

“I told you once already, Rook. You are not like her.” Annoyance crept into his voice as he leaned out over the water, shaking his head. He finally expelled a bitter huff from his nostrils, turning towards her with a thin-lipped, derisive smile.

“You’re angry with me? I tell you how I feel, and you strike me in my home, then go on and pretend like nothing happened, and you’re angry?”

Rook’s grip on the rough stone fence tightened before she whipped towards him.

“You said you loved me,” She hissed, her words accusatory.

“Ah, so I threatened you. I understand now why my words would invoke such violence. You were acting in self defense.”

Rook threw her head back and let out a caustic laugh.

“Maybe I was! We’re Crows, Lucanis. Love is a death sentence.” Rook pointed to the aging willow behind her, its branches heavy with the grief that fed it. “Are your kin not buried across this lawn? Why don’t you ask your parents how things turned out for them?”

Lucanis’ jaw twitched, a muscle jumping beneath his skin. Rook swallowed, mouth suddenly dry as she realized she’d crossed a line.

“I’m sorry, I-”

Her guard was down, and she realized too late that he knew it, too. Lucanis was a violet blur as he grabbed her, pinning both hands behind her back and driving her face first against the wall of the villa.

“Our turn to speak.”

Rook froze at the sound of his and Spite’s combined voices in her ear, a cold chill prickling her skin. Every shred of her stubborn personality fell away as they demanded her attention, and so she obediently kept her mouth shut, not daring to utter another word.

“Good girl,” Lucanis cooed, Spite’s presence receding. He kept her firmly in place, dipping his head to bury his face in her neck. Rook shuddered as the tip of his nose parted her hair, his lips trailing under her jaw. His teeth found her neck, but he only nipped at her skin, kissing the spot like an apology before the dangerous rumble of his voice returned in her ear. 

“You like to play games with my heart, Fiammetta de Riva?”

“N-No! Listen to me-” she choked out, craning her neck and pressing her cheek against the wall, desperate for leverage. Ridges from the uneven brick dug deeper into her skin as she struggled futilely. This was why Viago and her father always emphasized the importance of staying out of reach. Although agile and cunning, she lacked physical strength by comparison. Never in her life would she allow herself to be compromised like this, but her trust in Lucanis was unbreakable. He, nor Spite, would ever harm her. Regardless of any harm she could commit against him.

More than anything in her life, she was certain of that.

“Maker, how I wish I could have seen you execute a contract. I can only imagine all the ways you know how to make a man suffer.” She sensed one of his hands slithering along her ribcage, his two fingers briefly tugging at the neckline of her leathers. A guttered gasp escaped her, and he smiled against her ear. “And then to stare at me across that table, as if nothing had happened at all, you might as well have…”

He snatched a dagger from her own belt and brought it loosely against the base of her throat. The amethyst embedded near the hilt glinted at her, mocking her. One Dellamorte gifted it to her, it seemed fitting another should take it away. The tip was sharp, but Lucanis held it carefully. There was as much skill in preventing bloodshed as there was in dealing death, and he had evidently mastered both. 

“Where will you start with your knife, Fiammetta…” he began, an edge creeping back into his voice, “when you gut us?”

He drew the blade away from her chest and pressed it into the palm of her left hand. Releasing her, he walked backwards as she spun, her arms numb and tingling from restraint. She stared, breath ragged.

“You want to fight?” She asked incredulously. 

“I don’t want to fight. You do, Fiammetta. So Spite and I are giving you what you want.”

Rook let out a frustrated scream and stalked towards him, flinging aside the blade clutched in her fist, as if it burned her skin. It rolled soundlessly across the ground, disappearing in the high grass. Rook didn’t hesitate, striking out with the heel of her boot towards Lucanis’ abdomen. He smirked and caught her around the ankle.

Just like she wanted.

She spun, falling onto her hands and using her free leg to kick at his shin. Lucanis stumbled backwards against the waist-high wall, retaining his balance as she ripped her foot free and swung a roundhouse at his head. He ducked just in time and used her momentum to his advantage. With a firm grip around her thigh, he brought her back against him, grappling her as she twisted and kicked for freedom.

“Few people surprise me, Rook,” he steered her against the railing, leaning her backwards over the ocean below, “but you…”

The stone was firm against her back, and the wind whipped through her hair as Lucanis used his weight to hold her in place. Below them, the sea crashed against the docks, moonlight fragmented on the waves as they rolled past docked gondolas, meeting the shores of the bay. She waited for Lucanis to relax his grip as he watched her take it in, then struck when his guard was down. 

With a forceful shove, she threw her weight into his chest and his eyes widened as she drove him backwards. Lucanis stumbled, and the heels of his boots scraped against the ground as he caught himself. A laugh, half Lucanis, half Spite, bubbled up his throat - his demon’s excitement at the challenge - but Rook didn’t give him an opening. She charged, one fist angled for his jaw. Her certainty faltered the closer she came, and Lucanis stopped her with the palm of his hand mid swing, his fingers closing around her fist. 

“I didn’t know how to feel this morning, after you struck me. I went over and over what happened. What had I gotten wrong? Other than my timing, perhaps.” 

Rook glared, unblinking. “Let go.”

“At first I was furious. Dejected. Embarrassed…” 

He stared at their hands, forcing her fist open with his fingertips and flattening his palm against hers.  

“I’m good at reading people, Fiammetta.” He tilted his head and curiously entwined his hand with hers. “Even when they do not want to be read. And I saw it, through your facade across the table from me. In the way your shoulders tensed, how you couldn’t look me in the eye…”

He took one more step towards her, closing the small distance between them. 

“Don’t-” she warned, her voice quivering. 

Lucanis’ tone became gentle. “You’re scared, Rook.”

“No-” she tried to pull her hand free as his grip tightened. 

“You’re scared, because-”

“Shut up!”

Static bloomed in the center of her fist and Lucanis hissed through his teeth, muscles locking and body curling before he fell against the railing, subduing a cry of pain. He caught himself around the middle with one arm, knuckles turning white as he gripped a rung to keep himself upright. Rook gasped and drew back her magic, yanking her hand away.  

“Lucanis!” She fell to her knees beside him, frantically pressed two fingers to his neck. “I didn’t mean to hurt you, I-“ 

She’d killed men this way before. Made their hearts stop in their chests. Watched them drop dead in seconds. But never by accident. So rarely did her magic get away from her like this…

His jaw clenched, and he drew in a sharp breath through his nose when she touched him, stiffening at the sudden contact, but he made no move to push her away. His chest rose and fell shakily, and he reached for his neck, catching her hand in his and squeezing weakly.

“That’s the third time you’ve caught me off guard today,” he said in a strained voice as he rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger, “I must be getting sloppy.”

“I don’t lose control like that. I could never live with myself if I…” Rook bit her lip and looked over her shoulder at the gardens, blinking back tears. 

“It breaks my heart to see you like this.” Lucanis reached for her chin, gently guiding her eyes back to him. “Talk to me, Fiammetta.” 

“I can’t bury you, too.” She rasped as his thumb caught a tear clinging to her lashes.

“I’m not an easy man to kill, Fiammetta,” he braced himself with both hands and pushed to his feet with a grunt, extending a hand to her, “and I have no intention of allowing any harm to come to you.” 

She hesitated for only a moment before clasping his forearm and allowing him to tug her up with him. She shivered, pressing the palms of her hands against his chest, fingers digging into his shirt as she watched him from under her lashes. 

“My words at the villa were never meant to take you by surprise,” he murmured, eyes following his hand as he brushed her hair over her shoulder thoughtfully, “I thought you knew. I had hoped, maybe, you’d…”

His hand lingered on the side of her neck, the pad of his thumb skimming along her jaw until his palm cradled her cheek. Rook leaned into his touch with her eyes half closed. Lucanis traced the shell of her ear, eyes falling to her parted lips. There was an agony in his gaze that gutted Rook. She had everything to soothe his pain, and yet she couldn’t find the words. 

Lucanis leaned in, pressing his forehead to hers. This close, she could smell the amber in the oils he used to shave, the leather of his jacket, the jasmine he laundered his clothes with. A searing ache bloomed in her throat, and every nerve in her body felt raw as she let several agonizing moments pass. When Rook remained still, Lucanis’ nose skimmed her cheek, brushing his lips over the corner of her mouth. She whimpered and impatiently gripped the back of his neck with both hands, pressing her mouth to his with a fervor that surprised them both.

Lucanis stiffened, his hand on her cheek tangling in her hair, as he surrendered to the kiss. Without the right words, she he could feel her heart racing as her body hungered for his touch. He groaned softly, hands roaming her frame with a frantic urgency that she longed to feel underneath her clothes. But as he fumbled with the buttons of her shirt, a strangled curse broke their kiss, and he stopped himself.

“Fiammetta,” his body slumped with the effort to control his breathing as he rested his cheek on her shoulder. With a featherlight touch, he watched his fingertips own graze her exposed collarbone with captivated interest. When she shivered in response, he buried his face against her throat and skimmed his lips over her hammering pulse.

“Forgive me,” he mumbled as he pulled back, flexing his hands at his sides.

Rook cleared her throat uncomfortably, glancing to the side. Gold gleamed in the grass beside them, and Lucanis followed her gaze, stooping to retrieve Rook’s dagger. He turned it over in one hand, admiring the craftsmanship, before holding it out to her handle-first. 

“You dropped this.”

She swallowed, the familiar weight cool against her warm skin as she sheathed it. Lucanis watched her, a wistful look on his face, before he pursed his lips and shoved his hands in his pockets.

“Can I make you dinner?” He asked suddenly. 

Rook looked up and blinked at him. She lifted her head to the sky above, the moon hanging in the center over their heads. “It’s a little late for dinner.”

Lucanis smiled. “I’ve watched you skip every meal today. Surely you’re not worried about timing.”

“Maybe I’d prefer not to wake Caterina in the middle of the night.”

“I had her go to one of the safe houses in Seleny until the gods are dealt with.”

Rook scoffed and removed his coat from her shoulders, thrusting it into his hands before retrieving her own.

“So coming in through the hidden passage was just…”

“I wanted to make you squirm after this morning.” Lucanis reached over her shoulder and took the rose that rested atop her cloak, tucking it into his pocket. “Only enough to get even.” 

Rook took a step forward and loosed her recovered dagger from her belt, turning to aim near his head. It slipped easily through her fingers, and Lucanis dodged effortlessly, watching the blade whistle past his cheek and fly across the lawn behind him with a raised eyebrow. It sailed over the ledge, disappearing into the bay, the splash barely inaudible underneath the waves lapping against the dock.

Lucanis grinned back at her, not bothering to conceal his amusement. 

“I can replace that for you.”

Rook snatched her cloak and sauntered toward the villa as she flung back, “I’ll send you the bill.”

[selunesdreams]

Eating Crow, Chapter 35: Retribution

─── ⊹⊱♤⊰⊹ ───

Pairing: Lucanis x Rook

Summary: Morrigan brings a surprising companion to meet with Rook. Someone lurks in the shadows with a bone to pick.

Things of note/warnings: 18+ fic, MDNI! Please check AO3 for chapter specific warnings.

Read on AO3

─── ⊹⊱♤⊰⊹ ───

Rook stepped inside the Cobbled Swan, cautiously assessing the room. The bar was dim, the final remnants of the setting sun threading through the window slats overlooking the harbor below. As her eyes adjusted to the gloom, a small wave from the corner caught her attention. She offered a guilty smile as penance before sliding into the secluded booth where Harding was waiting. 

“You’re late.” 

“Sorry,” Rook mumbled, shrugging off her cloak and tossing it beside her. “Long night.”

“I heard.” Harding’s tone softened as she set aside the half-empty beer she’d been nursing. “You good?”

“Don’t make me answer that question.” 

Harding grinned sympathetically and nodded towards the bar in a silent offer. Rook followed her gaze, considering the idea, but decided against it, slouching in her seat and shaking her head to decline. After the way she’d humiliated herself at Viago and Teia’s engagement, the last thing she needed was a drink. 

“If it’s any consolation,” Harding began, reaching for her beer again, “I had Neve tell you to be here an hour early. Technically, that makes you on time.”

“What a relief…” Rook deadpanned, tipping her head back against the back cushion of her seat. 

The two fell into a comfortable silence, and Harding let her rest, continuing to nurse her drink, keeping one eye on the door. 

“Commander?” 

Harding’s voice cut through the haze of sleep Rook hadn’t even realized she’d fallen into. She jerked upright, one hand braced on the booth beside her. Morrigan approached, eyes glinting with amusement, accompanied by an imposing blonde man Rook had never seen before. 

Caught off guard and backed into a corner. Viago might have taken her head for that. 

The man gave Harding a tired smile, exposing the wrinkles and worry lines around his eyes and mouth. “I’ve told you. Cullen is fine.”

Rook studied the pair curiously, relaxing into a more casual demeanor but keeping her hand under the table, close to her weapon. Cullen Rutherford, former Templar, the Inquisitor’s husband, was in Minrathous? Nothing she’d learned gave her the impression he ever left Ferelden, if he could help it. And to his credit, he looked like he’d rather be anywhere else.

Her stomach twisted. What did he think of the Inquisitor’s plan to save her ex-lover? 

And what would Solas make of it? 

“Well met,” Morrigan greeted them in her gentle, cunning tenor as Harding made space for her. Cullen and Rook exchanged an uncomfortable look, and he reached for a chair from the bar, clearly not eager to be in close quarters. 

“What are you doing here?” Harding pressed Cullen as he situated himself at the side of the table. “Where is the Inquisitor?”

“Duty called her to the South, and I to the North.” His armor clinked against the wood as he sat down with a grunt. “She sent me in her stead, to assist Morrigan until she has a moment of reprieve.”

There were dark circles under his eyes, nearly as severe as Lucanis’. Rook assessed his appearance more closely until interrupted by a waitress dropping off a few glasses of wine. She pushed hers aside, ignoring her desire to throw it back in one go. 

“I would think there are more pressing questions at the moment.” Morrigan said impatiently, “Questions about Solas, perhaps?”

“Right.” Rook rapidly blinked several times to draw herself back to the present. “You two knew him.” 

“Not remotely as well as Mythal.” Morrigan corrected her. 

“… Mythal?”

Solas’ goddess, ex, or friend… whatever it was, it was complicated. His worst betrayal, and deepest regret. They’d uncovered the ancient goddess’ involvement with Solas over the past several months, the atrocities he committed, allies and innocents sacrificed for what he believed was the greater good. The more Rook learned of the Dread Wolf, the less she trusted him. But she also understood him… and a part of her sympathized. 

“The two gods have always been linked, have they not?” Morrigan asked, tracing a fingertip around the rim of her wineglass, “First, when Mythal bade her companion spirit to abandon the Fade and take on a mortal form. Then, when Solas spilled Mythal’s mortal blood so that he might absorb her power as his own.”

“How do you know the details of Solas’ past?” Rook asked, “I don’t recall you lurking in the shadows when we uncovered his memories in the Crossroads.”

Morrigan’s laugh was light, but there was something cruel, unsettling that hid underneath. 

“Think about it, Rook. Consider, when Mythal stood against the gods’ manipulations of the Blight, she was betrayed and struck down. Yet she survived and returned ages later to aid the Inquisition in its hour of need. How?”

Rook did not answer. Rather, her gaze slid back to Cullen as she waited for Morrigan to continue. He sat quietly beside the mage as he assessed the patrons of the Cobbled Swan. He seemed on edge. Was he concerned for the Inquisitor, or worried she might give up everything, including him, to save Solas? How could he stand being apart from her, watching from the margins as she chased the Dread Wolf’s redemption? 

Morrigan continued impatiently, noticing Rook’s distraction. “It’s because I was there, in a sense. As Mythal was there, once a spirit, now a whisper in my blood.”

Rook’s mouth went dry. This was the revered goddess, sitting before her, smirking over a wineglass? And she expected Rook to trust her?

Rook leaned over the table, lowering her voice. “You’re Mythal?”

“Not all of her, of course.” Morrigan sipped her wine. “Just enough to make things complicated.”

“Morrigan,” Harding breathed, “if some part of you is Mythal, we need your help fighting the gods.”

“And here I am, if you might notice. But there’s a matter I must make clear…”

Magic pulled at the edges of her mind. Familiar to the way when Elgar’nan spoke to them while they saved the Dalish, Rook’s gut instinct was to resist, but Harding gave her a reassuring nod, and she took a breath, allowing Morrigan to show her. She sensed the echoes of Mythal, her presence, but it was distinct from Morrigan’s own being. 

“I once feared Mythal would consume me were I to carry her, but t’was not so. I remain free willed and mortal. What I now possess is but a spark of the goddess, shadowed memories through which to sift through for meaning.”

“Unlike an abomination,” Cullen mumbled beside her. Rook tensed. Harding had once mentioned the commander’s history with mages and demons. 

“What kind of spirit was Mythal before she became an elf?” She asked suddenly, “Spite was once Determination, and I know ‘Solas’ is elven for pride.”

Morrigan grinned knowingly. “Your mind can’t help but consider the spirit of determination dwelling inside of your lover, no?”

Cullen lifted his head for the first time during the conversation, and Rook’s stomach clenched. Apparently, the Inquisitor had the sense to leave Lucanis’ possession out of their conversations. 

“The emotion that inspired her might best be described as Benevolence… a guiding hand, inclined to kindness.” Morrigan explained, “When spirits are twisted against their purpose, a more violence aspect can arise. Mythal’s Benevolence gave way to Retribution. Just like your spirit of determination, when forced into a vessel void of magic, became Spite.” 

“Forced?” Cullen inquired.

“Forced,” Rook repeated coolly, holding his gaze for a beat. “Lucanis and Spite are victims of blood magic, not practitioners.”

“And you’re certain of this? That he has not simply hidden himself from the Circle-”

“As a mage myself, raised within the Crows alongside him, I can assure you, Commander, we would know. Our mages are trained within, if we can help it.”

“I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

“Yes, well, these are unprecedented times.” Rook said sharply. The commander tilted his head, studying her curiously, but said nothing. 

“Lucanis Dellamorte is not like the abominations you crossed paths with before, Commander. Do not be so quick to condemn him,” Morrigan warned gently. 

“Could Spite help us with Mythal?” Harding interjected, “Their natures can’t be that different.” 

“Similar, but not same. Spite stems from a grudge, a burning desire for revenge. It is a personal matter. Retribution seeks to right a wrong, a matter of justice. Both are discerning, however. Determination may set its sights on many objects of its desire, and Benevolence limits itself to who she finds deserving.” 

A few more patrons wandered inside the bar as the sun set in the large bay windows over the harbor. As they chattered and ordered drinks, Morrigan eyed them warily. 

“I will not bore you with the details.” She slid a small notebook across the table. “They are there, far less relevant than what I am about to say to you now: when Mythal was struck down by the gods, it was with her own lyrium dagger. The very same you now carry. Solas recovered it from Elgar’nan, and from it, extracted a fragment of Mythal that lay hidden in its depths.”

Underneath the table, Rook’s fingertips instinctively brushed against the lyrium dagger, humming with power at her thigh. 

“There is something that may be of use to you in the Crossroads,” she continued. “I will open the way for you. Another fragment of Mythal resides there. Speak to her, survive the encounter, and what she may present to you will aid in the fight that is to come.” 

Rook’s thumbed through a few pages of the leather bound book before tucking it into her cloak, tilting her head as she examined Morrigan more closely. Could she trust a spirit, split into so many fragments? Was Mythal like Spite? Would she listen to reason? Compromise?

Morrigan nodded at Cullen and slipped out of the booth. 

“We have business elsewhere, but the Inquisitor or myself will send word when there is time to meet again. Soon, you will need to make your move against the gods.”

Harding hurried after Morrigan as she left through the front doors, peppering her with last-minute questions. Cullen stood too quickly, but lingered, returning the chair he’d pulled up to its original position. It scraped loudly on the floor, briefly turning the heads of a few patrons. 

“Good luck.” His hand hovered near the hilt of his sword as he turned to Rook, but she sensed it was out of habit rather than threat. “I pray you have all you need for what lies ahead. 

“Thank you, Commander,” Rook said curtly.

“I meant no offense. My involvement with mages and abominations perhaps paints me with a prejudice I still struggle to shake.”

“Is your own wife not a mage herself, Commander?”

“That she is,” he said, his gaze distant, “and so much more.”

“She seems set on saving Solas from himself. Do you believe he can be saved?”

“I don’t know. What matters is that she believes it. It’s her instincts I trust, more than my own.”

“Even if it costs you, in the end?”

“Yes, Rook,” he said, meeting her gaze, “I remain at her side until she no longer has use of me. No matter what it costs.”

“The two of you really are quite the love story, aren’t you?”

He chuckled, scuffing his boots against the ground, eyes fixed on the sun setting over the sea through the window across the bar. 

“Templars take lyrium, you know. I was addicted for a time. I overcame it with great difficulty, but there were pressures within the Inquisition for me to take it up again. To make that sacrifice so that we might be stronger in the fight to come. Lavellan never asked that of me. She was patient when I struggled not only with my will, but myself.”

Rook’s heart stuttered at the mention of lyrium. Had her father had the same patience with her mother’s addiction? Or had he treated her with the same desperate cruelty that Rook endured in her childhood? Would Gemma de Riva have survived if her husband found even an ounce of compassion within himself? In Rook’s home, love always came with a knife. 

“She was my dearest friend,” Cullen went on, “even when she loved someone else, I would have waited an eternity for her.”

He cleared his throat, glancing at the door. 

“If you’ll excuse me, I should get going.” 

“Of course.” Rook bowed her head as he walked past, eager for escape. Harding returned to her side as he disappeared from sight, cheeks bright red. 

“Sorry about the abomination stuff. He had a rough time at the Circle in Ferelden.”

“I remember the stories. You said the mages there tortured him?”

“Yes.”

“Perhaps he and Lucanis have more in common than he could even imagine,” Rook mumbled.

Harding crossed her arms, squinting. “Everything okay with you, Rook?

“I need to go for a walk. Clear my head. Meet you back at the Lighthouse?”

“Got it.”

She departed, and Rook exhaled heavily, sparing a glance at the bar. Exercising her better judgment, she left out the side door and walked through the city, sober and alone, as the stars swallowed the sky.

She wound through the streets, back to the Shadow Dragons’ safe house, where the Eluvian was housed. As she ducked inside, a familiar sense of unease enveloped her. Attuning herself to her surroundings, she slipped behind a shelf and held her breath. Her instincts were the first thing her father ever taught her to pay attention to. 

And right now she was certain she was being followed. 

Her blades slipped free from her belt too slow, a dark blur flying past her. Pots shattered, falling off the shelves above their heads, and Rook ducked, heart pounding. Already pivoting, she froze as her pursuer’s outline emerged from the shadows. 

Lucanis. Silent. Still. Watching.

Spite’s presence clung to him like smoke, fading away as he cocked his head to the side and strolled closer. His boots had been silent as he’d followed her, but now they echoed softly against the walls, ceramic shards crunching under his soles. 

“I heard you were looking for me.” 

His movements were casual, but whatever sense she had inside of her screamed, like prey being hunted. His demeanor lacked its usual playfulness or amusement when he greeted her.

“How did you-” Rook began, but Lucanis took her hands and forced her weapons back into their sheathes. Leaning forward, he bracketed her between both of his arms, slowly steering her against the wall with a thud. The air escaped her lungs as her back hit the brick, and she let out a soft gasp. 

“You and I…” he paused, the whites of his eyes barely catching the light from outside as his gaze flicked to her lips and back again, “… are going to have a talk.”

[selunesdreams]

WIP Wednesday

Tagged by @tkwritesdumbassassins literally two weeks ago and as is my style, finally posting 😘

Here’s a snippet of the first part of my draft of Chapter 36. (Chapter 35 is up on AO3, I just haven’t made a post here yet. You can check it out prior if you want for more context, but this won’t spoil anything.)

Content warning for some mild intimacy/roughhousing.

─── ⊹⊱♤⊰⊹ ───

Through the Eluvian they drifted into the Crossroads, walking a short path to passage leading to Treviso. Lucanis didn’t speak a word the entire way. There was purpose in his footsteps, something dangerous that almost made her want to request Spite’s company instead. Rook kept her head down, staring at her boots as she stepped over the rocky terrain.

Another blur of color enveloped them as they traveled through the surface of another enchanted mirror. Spat out onto the top floor of the Cantori Diamond, Rook stumbled onto the balcony. A quiet that had descended over the city since she was last here. No more Antaam barking in the distance, no billows of smoke rising in the distance from their fires. Only the modest, faint streams of grey from family chimneys rose into the air, a nostalgic scent of burning wood present making her insides ache for hot chocolate with Viago during All Soul’s Day.

From the corner of her eye, she caught Lucanis watching her. The edges of his cloak stirred in the breeze behind him as he turned toward the railing, and Rook took a tentative step after him, her fingertips reaching for his hand.

“Lucanis, I-”

Her guard was down, and she realized too late that he knew it. He spun and grabbing her, pinning both hands behind her back and driving her up against the wall beside the Eluvian.

“Our turn to speak.”

Rook froze at the sound of he and Spite’s combined voices in her ear, a cold chill prickling her skin. Every shred of her stubborn personality fell away as they demanded her attention, and so she swallowed, not daring to utter another word.

“Good girl.” Lucanis cooed as Spite’s presence faded. He kept her firmly in place, dipping his head to bury his face in her neck “Maker, how I wish I could have seen you execute a contract. I can only imagine all the ways you know how to make a man suffer.”

Rook shuddered as the tip of his nose parted her hair, his lips trailed under her jaw. His teeth found her neck, but he only nipped at her skin, kissing the spot like an apology before the rumble of he Spite’s voice returned.

“You want to play games with my heart, Fiammetta de Riva?”

“N-no! Listen to me-” She choked out, craning her neck and pressing her cheek against the wall, desperate for leverage. Ridges from the uneven brick dug deeper in to her skin as she struggled futilely. This was why Viago and her father always emphasized the importance of staying out of reach. What she had in agility, cunning, she lacked in physical strength. Never in her life would she allow herself to be compromised like this, but her trust in Lucanis was unbreakable. He, nor Spite, would ever harm her. Regardless of any crime she could commit against him.

More than anything in her life, she was certain of that.

“And then to stare at me across that table, as if nothing had happened at all…” Lucanis continued, alone, “You might as well have…”

Rook sensed one of his hands slithering along her ribcage, his two fingers briefly dipping to tease at her waistband. A guttered gasp escaped her, and he smiled against her ear, snatching one of the daggers from her belt and holding it loosely against her chest.

“Where will you start with your knife, Fiammetta…” he began, an edge creeping back into his voice, “when you gut us?”

He drew the blade away from her chest and pressed it into the palm of her left hand. The one he knew she wasn’t as quick with. Releasing her, he walked backwards as she spun, her arms numb and tingling from restraint. She stared, breath ragged, as a self-satisfied grin tugged at his lips.

“Are you having fun?” She asked incredulously.

A gleam of purple danced in his eyes. “Spite is.”

─── ⊹⊱♤⊰⊹ ───

No pressure tagging @kalmiaphlox, @serensama, and @tkwritesdumbassassins again just because I’m a little shit who took two weeks to post anyway 🙃

[selunesdreams]

Eating Crow, Chapter 34: Indecision

“Mierda! You are so stubborn!”  Rook blinked, silenced by his outburst. A wave of guilt washing over him, Lucanis drug a hand over his face to collect himself, exhaling furiously through his nose.  “I am in love with you, Fiammetta de Riva,” he said, reaching for her hand, “You cannot tell me this comes as a surprise.”

─── ⊹⊱♤⊰⊹ ───

Pairing: Lucanis x Rook

Summary: Lucanis has a confession.

Things of note/warnings: 18+ fic, MDNI! Please check AO3 for chapter specific warnings.

Read on AO3

─── ⊹⊱♤⊰⊹ ───

“I just don’t see why this matters, Caterina.”

“You think being First Talon is all killing and bureaucracy? I will not have poor taste ruining this House’s legacy.”

Rook lingered just outside the dining room, listening as Lucanis and Caterina argued at the table. She’d woken alone — typical of Lucanis — but hadn’t expected to be roused by their shouting echoing across the villa.

Slipping a robe over her nightgown, she’d crept downstairs, drawn by voices and a gnawing sense that the argument might somehow involve her. Her steps were silent, every creak in the floorboard expertly avoided. But nothing could protect her from the one element she hadn’t accounted for.

Spite. 

There was a flicker of violet in Lucanis’ eyes before he turned towards her, clearly alerted by the demon. Rook stifled a gasp and stepped back as he rose from his seat, attempting to hide herself from view.

He had smelled her. The lech.

“Rook?” Lucanis called out, peering around the door frame. She stepped forward, through the threshold, smiling sheepishly and tugging at the hem of her nightgown. Her cheeks heated as Caterina’s sharp gaze appraised her bare legs and feet. When she lived here, she would not have dared wander into a room with the First Talon like this…

“I hope I’m not interrupting. Excuse me, I still need to change-”

“Nonsense, Fiammetta, this is your home. Dress how you please.” Caterina shook her head and waved her in. “Now get over here.”  

Her eyes flitted to Lucanis, who nodded reassuringly. Rook stepped closer to the table, furrowing her brow. She had expected to find a contract or private family business, but instead, on its surface were fabric swatches of varying colors and textures, laid in neat, precise rows. 

“What is this?”

Caterina tapped a long fingernail on the table intently. “Which one would you pick?” 

“Por la sangre del Hacedor,” Lucanis groaned.

Rook assessed each sample. There were dozens - different shades of lace, velvet in deep purples and blues, grey chiffon, Orlesian red silk…

“What is this for?”

“Caterina wants to redecorate the main dining room.”

“The curtains are falling apart!” His grandmother protested.

“There are other dining rooms?”

Caterina’s confused expression was painfully genuine.

“Why would we only have one dining room?”

“Of course…” Rook muttered. “My mistake, I must have forgotten the others…”

“Choose, Fiammetta!” Caterina snapped. “If my grandson refuses to take part in the upkeep and repair of the villa, I will need you to remind him the importance of a well-kept home.”

“I make a mistake, you and Teia will have me killed!”

Desperate for the exchange, Rook set her fingertip on a velvet swatch in the center, a deep burgundy, darker than blood.

“This one. The fabric keeps the cold out, and prying eyes from peeking in. The color would go well with the wood.”

Caterina clapped her hands together. “Oh Fiammetta, you were always so good at these things before you left me…”

“Now that’s settled…” Lucanis murmured, gesturing towards the kitchen. “Rook, a moment?”

─── ⊹⊱♤⊰⊹ ───

“What is so important that you had to interrupt your grandmother’s very important and not at all trivial remodeling decisions?” Rook murmured as they reached the end of the hall, away from Caterina’s hawk-like gaze.

“I wanted to know how you slept,” He mumbled, bracing one hand above her head and backing her against the wall. Rook grinned, reaching out to run her thumb over his bottom lip. Inside Lucanis’ mind, Spite purred appreciatively at the gesture, like a cat scratched between the ears. 

“Like the dead. I missed you when I woke.”

“My apologies. I sought out Caterina this morning to spare you.”

“I appreciate that.”

He smiled, bending to kiss her tenderly. His fingertips delicately combed through her hair, enjoying the softness of it. He craved these moments — the illusion that all they were up against didn’t exist, if only for a moment. 

“Nonna!”

A shout from the foyer startled them both, and Lucanis broke the kiss, turning his head towards the hall. 

“Teia is here?” Rook asked, confused. 

“And Viago. Caterina invited them. She’s insisting on a family breakfast.”

“Family?”

“We aren’t?” Lucanis asked, a hint of disappointment in his expression.

“I mean… we’re not blood-”

“You know how Teia feels about Caterina.”

“She’s the mother Teia never had…”

“And Viago and I grew up together, trained together…”

“I’ve never known him to take his meals anywhere but home-”

“And then there’s you and I…”

Rook blinked. “What about us?”

Lucanis’ brow furrowed, and he released her, taking a step back. “Is this not… are we not-”

Rook stared at him, frozen as one of the staff pushed between them with a tray of food.

“Fi, get in here! I have an orphan who wants to form his own house because of you!” Viago shouted from the dining room, a levity in his tone Lucanis wasn’t used to hearing. He glanced over his shoulder. Poor timing. He shouldn’t have said a word. 

“My mistake,” he cleared his throat to break the uncomfortable silence and turned to leave.

“I wasn’t saying no,” Rook blurted, catching him by the wrist. “just that I… don’t know.”

He stared at her hand, pulse quickening as he lifted his gaze to meet hers.

“You’re wearing my mother’s ring, Fiammetta.” He said, “Are my intentions unclear?”

“You said no strings…”

“Feelings are not strings. You aren’t a hostage, but I would hope…” he let the sentence die as he studied her face. She was panicking. Had he pushed her too fast? With everything that happened last night, was this too much?

Lucanis chose his next words carefully. 

“The more I care for you, Fiammetta, the more you appear to take it as a threat.” 

“Caring nearly got you killed by House Cortez.”

“Is that what this is about, Rook, really?”

“Fi!” Teia called out. “Don’t make me come in there!”

Lucanis pressed his lips together in a tight line. “We’ll talk later. I promise.” 

“We’re talking now.” Rook narrowed her eyes. “I want to hear how you think my concern is so unnecessary even though I was the one dragging you across the floor, near death-”

“Mierda! You are so stubborn!” 

Rook blinked, silenced by his outburst. A wave of guilt washing over him, Lucanis drug a hand over his face to collect himself, exhaling furiously through his nose. 

“I am in love with you, Fiammetta de Riva,” he said, reaching for her hand, “You cannot tell me this comes as a surprise.”

“No,” her eyes shone as she backed away, terror and pain on her face, “don’t-”

Lucanis wasn’t sure what he’d expected as he followed her across the kitchen. It wouldn’t have been gentleman-like to expect anything. But he’d at least hoped to learn what had her so petrified, to comfort her, reassure her…

What he had not anticipated was for Rook to slap him. 

The force of it turned his head sideways and made his ears ring. Few things shocked Lucanis Dellamorte, but his eyes went wide as they stared into Rook’s. Her hand flew to her mouth, staring in mortified silence for so long, Lucanis lost track of time. Disoriented, she finally backed away to the hall, one hand brushing the wall as she sought to steady herself, and vanished without another word.   

Lucanis stared after her in disbelief and slouched against the wall, letting his head fall back as he cupped his stinging cheek. 

“She’s playing with you.” Spite said in a sing-song voice as Lucanis caught his breath. “She’s fun.”

His chest rose and fell, eyes fixed on the ceiling as he composed himself. 

“I don’t think this is a game, Spite.”

─── ⊹⊱♤⊰⊹ ───

“So you just sat across from the poor guy like nothing happened? While your cousin and everyone established an entire new house for this Jacobus kid and all the orphans - you nodded along, and then bolted?”

“What else could I do?”

“Oh Rook, that’s cruel. You ran away from a man who told you he loved you!”

“I hit him first.”

“Is that a Crow thing?”

“Well, no-”

“Isn’t it the other Dellamorte you’ve been wanting to hit?” 

“For fuck’s sake, Varric! This isn’t funny!” 

Varric grinned. “You panicked.”

“It wasn’t that simple.”

“It is that simple, Rook. What’s got you so scared?”

Her heart stammered in her chest, and she snatched Varric’s journal off the nightstand to avoid answering. She flipped through the pages for something to do, pausing at his last entry, dated two days before they interrupted Solas’ ritual. 

“Why don’t you write anymore?”

“Not much to write about when I’m stuck in bed all day,” Varric grunted, sitting up straighter and adjusting his pillows behind him. He watched Rook as she read a few entries, frowning as he assessed her. 

“You’ve got to bury everyone eventually, Rook. Would you really prefer avoiding your feelings? Even when they’re plain and clear to everyone else? Including your enemies!”

“I don’t know.”

“Horseshit. You either know or you’re lying.” 

Rook slammed the journal shut and turned it over in her shaking hands. 

“Tell him, kid. Someday he won’t  be around to tell. Or worse… you won’t. And he’ll always wonder.” 

Rook chewed her lip, setting the book aside, blinking away the tears that welled in her eyes. 

“Take it from me. You only can guarantee the moments that are behind you or right in front of you. Everything else is shaky. You love someone? You tell them. People can be gone in an instant. You don’t always get to say goodbye. You’re afraid of burying him? Try living with the shame that he took all this uncertainty to the grave.”

“Fuck. Varric-”

“Go get ‘em, kid,” Varric said with a wink. 

She threw herself from the infirmary, taking the stairs two at a time as she rushed toward the courtyard. At the landing, she rounded the bannister, skidding to a halt as the front doors swung open. 

Neve stepped inside, bruises healed and neatly put together, lifting her eyebrows in surprise. 

“Rook.” She scrutinized her closely as she caught her breath. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“I meant to check in on you-” she began, but Neve dismissed her with a wave. 

“Spare me the guilt. Emmrich sorted me out.” She smoothed her palms over her outfit proudly, “Although I should thank you for the clothes. The fit’s nearly perfect. I’ve always favored my tailor in Dock Town, but…”

Rook blinked, finally taking notice of her new trousers. There was a certain familiarity to them. Fine wool, close-cut seams, leather embellishments. Expensive, if the meticulous sticking were any indicator.

Fiammetta de Riva knew Antivan luxury when she saw it. 

“I’d love to take credit, Neve, but I only got back half an hour ago.”

“You didn’t send them?” 

“Those…” Rook said, reaching out to pinch the soft fabric between her thumb and forefinger, “came from the Dellamorte family tailor.” 

Neve’s face fell, twisting into a scowl. 

“I liked them better when I thought they came from you.” 

“Illario’s taste suits you.” Rook said, admiring her figure, “he got the measurements right and everything.”

“He was surprisingly… attentive last night.” 

“Careful, Neve. It almost sounds like the two of you are getting along.”

“I’m saying he’s not the ass I thought he was.” She crossed her arms. “Still might be. But the jury’s out.”

“He’s always been a sucker for a damsel in distress.”

Neve glared. “I don’t need saving.”

“Of course not. But it’s nice to let someone else do the heavy lifting from time to time.”

Neve titled her head to the side impatiently, failing to conceal the smirk that tugged at the corner of her mouth. 

“Enough about my evening. I just saw Lucanis in the kitchen, brooding over a mug of coffee. Trouble in paradise?”

“That’s my fault. I’ll talk to him,”

She stepped to the side, but Neve caught her by the elbow. 

“You haven’t forgotten your meeting at the Cobbled Swan, have you?”

Rook frowned. “I…”

“Dock Town. You and Harding. Morrigan?” Neve prompted. “That woman waits for no one. If you don’t hear her out now, we may lose our chance.” 

Rook threw her head back and cursed. She was right. Morrigan, the Inquisitor - both had been painfully elusive, despite how desperately she sought out their guidance. A few cryptic missives here and there, but according to Harding’s debrief last week, whatever Morrigan had to say now was too important to postpone. 

Even if the damned witch wouldn’t reveal exactly what it was. 

“Tell Lucanis I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

Neve dipped her chin. “Of course.”

“Thanks.” 

Rook hesitated long enough for the dull ache in her chest to throb, almost painfully, as she considered how much time she had. The kitchen was only a few strides across the courtyard. 

But time. There was never enough time. 

Reluctantly, she descended the stairs toward the Eluvian chamber, each step slower than the last. As she crossed the walkway, she couldn’t help but feel like she was walking the plank on a sinking ship.