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sharpest-tongue · 3 hours ago

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“You, of all people, should not be going easy on me.” Lucanis paced from wall to wall, hands tucked to his sides, his breathing heavy. He swerved around, eyes indignant. “Aren’t you angry? Davrin was right, good people died today because of my mistake!”

Rook had nothing to say to that. He might’ve mentioned that they were gonna lose those soldiers anyway, whether or not they succeeded. But like Davrin said, it was worse that they had nothing to show for it; that there still two gods wreaking havoc in the material world.

“Walk me through it then, Lucanis,” said Rook softly, bracing himself secretly against a shelf. “Like it or not, I don’t begrudge you for not landing the deathblow. But I need to know, why?”

Lucanis’s gaze shifted like sloshing water.

“I was distracted.”

“So, you said. With Spite?”

Lucanis paused. “In part.”

Then what’s the rest of it?

Rook sighed. “I think Emmerich might be right about you needing sleep.”

Lucanis barked out laughter with no humor to it. “What would you have me do? Sleep and what, let the demon possess me?”

“’Course not. Everyone knows what you’re sacrificing, Lucanis, but we can help. We could take turns watching you, talk Spite down when he takes over—”

“I am an abomination, Rook. Not an invalid.”

“Never thought you said were.”

“Whatever else, I’m still a professional.” Lucanis waved in his hand in frustration. “After the Ossuary, I thought at least I could still take out a target, that I could still work—”

“But nobody goes through what you went through and comes out exactly the same,” said Rook, almost pleading.

Please just let me help. You don’t have to let me in, but you have to let me help.

For a long time, Lucanis just looked at the ground. He had stopped his restless pacing, his heavy breathing, but his eyes were glassy, unfocused. Rook might’ve stepped forward to touch his shoulder if it weren’t for the way his arms crossed and strained, clamped around his chest like a snare. Like Lucanis was holding himself.

“Do you truly think there is merit to what Emmerich says? That Spite and I need to be aligned?” he asked, no louder than a whisper. Rook took a deep breath.

“Yeah, I do,” he admitted, “and that doesn’t mean letting him possess you—”

“It. Letting it possess me.”

“That there is exactly what Emmerich’s talking about. I’m not saying you shouldn’t be resisting, Lucanis, but there has to be some kind of compromise in your relationship to him. As long as you keep tearing yourself into two like this, you will be exactly that.”

“What?” Lucanis raised his head, indignant. “Say it.”

Rook shut his mouth, knowing better than to reply. But Lucanis glowered, eyes alight.

“Just tell me, Rook! Tell me I’m…” his voice cracked suddenly, his flaring eyes stinging, “Tell me I am ruinous. Broken!”

Rook strode across the room, heart shattering, shoulders set forward despite his body’s every protest; his armour whinged and creaked, the silver plates splattered with dried death and blight and blood that he’d yet to clean off.

“You aren’t. Of course, you aren’t. I’d rather have you like this, alive, over you being dead because you did the job!”

At his touch, Lucanis’s vice-like grip around himself came loose as he clasped Rook’s elbow. They held each other at arm's length, nearly trodding on their feet trying to get closer, Rook wishing he could feel past his armour, could feel Lucanis’s skin against his own.

“I… I…” he stammered, realising what in the blighted hell he just admitted to. “I’m just glad you’re…”

“Leave me,” Lucanis whispered suddenly. He took a step back. His hands fell away.

“What?”

“Leave me, Rook. I cannot meet you where you are. Not right now.” Lucanis turned away from him, staring down at his feet.

Rook stood there motionless, gaping for a moment before he clenched his fist. Something urged him to say no, to stand his ground. But as he moved forward, Lucanis stopped him with a hand and a wordless look.

“Lucanis…”

“Esha, please, go.”

Rook came to a halt and creak, his body screaming at him for reasons he could understand, and some he couldn’t.

Aching, he walked out the door.

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my rookanis fic is entering act iis rocky waters, come along for some angsting angst!

#dragon age #lucanis dellamorte #rookanis #lucanis x rook

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sharpest-tongue · 6 hours ago

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For @brightbreezeblog, who asked for Lucanis reconnecting with the people and places in Treviso after the Ossuary and who provided amazing descriptions and even photos of Venice for inspiration. I hope you enjoy it! And fair warning: this is about 2.5K words, which, while not terribly long for fanfic, is definitely long for me! 😁

After stepping out of the eluvian, Lucanis slipped to the balcony rather than the interior of the Cantori Diamond. This early in the morning, few Crows were likely roosting in the upper level of the casino, but he felt unequal to answering even a few friendly greetings, let alone commentary on the invasion or questions about his supposed death. True solitude was an impossibility for him now, but he craved at least its illusion.

He picked his way down the uneven stonework at the back of the building and then exited the shadowed alley to the street beyond. Like the Crows, most of this part of Treviso was still sleeping, and the street was empty. With no one to watch him, he closed his eyes and inhaled. The scents of the morning in the city—rich coffee and sweet pastries, the sun-warmed cobblestone, the unique smell of the canals—distracted Spite enough that he made no comment on the well of tears in Lucanis's eyes.

For the first time since before the Ossuary, he was alone in Treviso.

He let himself simply absorb his surroundings as he began to walk, and several minutes passed before he realized he had started toward his old flat on instinct. It would have a new tenant, of course; even if he had not been declared dead, he would be terribly behind on his rent. For a moment, he debated heading that way anyway. If pressed, he did not think he could put a name to a single one of his neighbors, but they had been cordial enough to smile and nod in passing and even exchange the odd bit of conversation. He wondered if the old man who lived next door still walked his tiny dog every morning and if the baby that lived beneath him had finally started to sleep through the night (he certainly hoped so for its parents' sake). Each was a tile in the glittering mosaic of Treviso, and he had held each one up to the dim light of the Ossuary in his memory, clinging to the knowledge that the simplicities of everyday life continued for some, even if not for him.

In the end, he could not bring himself to face the home he had lost. It had not been a homey place—he had never had the time or the inclination to decorate beyond the basic necessities—but it had been his, and he had lived there for years. His first night there was still vivid to him, the way he had breathed his freedom in deep, away from the suffocating ghosts and expectations that haunted the villa. He would let it stay preserved that way to him, as if in amber.

He turned and headed to the market instead. His excuse for the trip had been to restock the pantry at the Lighthouse, which it did need, though his true motivation had been to reassure himself of the city's wholeness. The dragon attack had joined the other horrors that fueled his nightmares, and he needed time—just a few hours—to convince his subconscious that the worst had not come to pass.

The market was generally quieter in the daytime since the buskers rarely came out while the sun was in the sky, but those vendors who set up early in the morning were no less lively than their nocturnal counterparts. Buyers at those hours were likely to find more practical goods than fanciful trinkets, though Lucanis noticed the man who had sold Rook the wyvern-tooth dagger had already opened his stall. When he noticed Lucanis looking his way, the man grinned and beckoned him over.

"I have new stock, signore!" he announced when Lucanis walked over. He waved a hand over the array of new weapons he had laid out and then chose one to extend hilt first to Lucanis.

"This would be a lovely counterpart to the last piece you purchased. Made from the tooth of a rare snowy wyvern!"

Lucanis took the dagger and examined it. It was far from a well-made weapon, impractical and unbalanced, the utility of the blade sacrificed for aesthetics. But it was beautiful. He traced the lines of the wyvern carving in the grip, appreciating the detailed reliefs of the creature's musculature, how they captured its potential power. Then he handed the weapon back. The one Rook had bought him was indulgence enough. Owning two would be beyond frivolous.

"It's lovely," he told the man. "But not for me."

"If you're certain, signore," the seller said. "If you are not... well, I suggest you claim it before some other soul snatches it up."

"They will be lucky to have it," Lucanis said. He offered the man a nod and continued on his way.

Many of the other vendors tried to catch his eye as he passed. They might not know exactly who he was, but they knew by his clothing that he was a Crow and that he was rich. Like the busker, his fellow assassins generally preferred to wander the city in the evening hours, so making a sale to someone like him would be a rarity for those who offered their wares at this hour.

But he had no desire to purchase fabrics or crystals or jewelry. The true treasure of the early-morning market, the stall that had attracted the largest crowd, was the produce vendor.

As Lucanis joined the patrons gathered there, he noted with satisfaction that the same man he remembered still ran the stall. He was unfailingly jovial, paid equal respect to Crows and servants and everyone in between, and knew more about vegetables than anyone Lucanis had known. He was broad in the shoulder and stout in the middle and greeted every customer like an old friend.

As Lucanis perused the day's offerings, Spite made his own appraisal. More often than not, the demon's judgment was pronounced with a wrinkled nose or even the exaggerated gagging of a child. Lucanis shook his head and zeroed in on a basket of artichokes with maroon leaves. They were a local variety that too many passed over in favor of the larger, greener varieties. When the vegetable seller saw him eyeing them, he hurried over.

"You have good taste, signore," he said. "Do you cook?"

"A bit."

"Serve them with dried tomatoes and cheese." He patted the artichokes fondly. "You will never go back to any other variety."

"Should I do anything differently to prepare them?"

"No, no," the vendor said. "But they are smaller than you may be used to, so when you remove the choke, you must take care not to stab the heart."

Lucanis smiled. "I will try, though that is not usually how I do things."

It was an old joke between them, but he did not expect the vegetable seller to remember after so much time had passed. To his surprise, the big man's eyes widened, and he leaned over the colorful array of produce to examine Lucanis more closely.

"By the grace of the Maker!" he exclaimed, and then he bustled from around the stall and snatched up Lucanis's free hand in both of his own. He pumped it up and down with an enthusiasm that shook Lucanis's arm to the shoulder.

"My friend! It has been so long! My wife and I thought you had been called to His side!"

"No," Lucanis replied. "Not yet anyway."

"What joy you have brought to my day." He glanced over Lucanis's shoulder at the other customers gathered and hurried to resume his former place. "But let me get you your artichokes! How many would you like?"

"I'll take the lot," he said, and the vegetable seller beamed at him.

"You will not be sorry, my friend!" he exclaimed as he took Lucanis's coin. He stashed it away and them tumbled the basket of artichokes onto a bit of netting that he tied up with twine. "And if you enjoy them as I suspect you will, I will stock more for you next week."

"Have you had trouble sourcing fresh produce?" Lucanis asked as he took the bundle.

"Oh, some," the vendor said with a wave of his hand. Then he offered Lucanis a hint of a mischievous smile. "And of course I would never operate a garden within the city limits. Such things are disallowed by the occupation, you know."

"I see," Lucanis replied. "Well, if you should happen to get your hands on some leeks, set some aside for me."

"I think there is a good chance I shall find some before the season ends." The vegetable seller winked and then turned to assist an old woman who had cleared her throat rather loudly.

Lucanis relinquished his spot in front of the busy stall, artichokes in hand. Cheese seemed to be the one thing the Lighthouse had in abundance, and he picked up a small jar of dried tomatoes for an exorbitant price. But he could afford it, and the harried woman who ran the stall with a toddler balanced on her hip thanked him profusely as she squirrelled the coin away. At other stalls, he was able to place bulk orders of flour and eggs to be delivered to the Diamond, but no one had milk or sugar available. He would have to reach out to his own suppliers in the countryside and hope the occupation had merely cut off their travel routes rather than their livelihoods.

By then the sun had risen higher, and he could no longer ignore the siren call of Cafe Pietra. Hints of the heady aroma of their specialty blends began to reach him before the building came into sight, and he found himself hurrying his steps, as if the place would vanish like a dream before he could arrive.

"Not here!" Spite complained as the entrance came into view. "Not again!"

"Not again?" Lucanis muttered under his breath. "You've only been here once."

"Smells like. Lucanis," the demon grumbled, and then he vanished.

Good riddance, as far as Lucanis was concerned.

At the counter, the cafe owner was waiting for him with a smile. "Fresh-brewed Andoral's Breath will be up in a minute."

"You knew I was coming," Lucanis noted as he slid onto one of the stools. "And which of your little birds told you?"

She grinned, folding her hands beneath her chin as she leaned on the counter. "My youngest."

"Really?" Lucanis shook his head. "The last I remember she was still clinging to your apron strings."

"They grow fast at that age, and my oldest is keeping an eye on her."

"So the youngest watches me, the oldest watches her, and you watch them both?"

"Exactly."

From the kitchen, the owner's second-oldest daughter scurried out, gaze trained on the cup and saucer she balanced with a delicate grip in her hands. She set it before Lucanis and then bobbed him a little curtsey before hurrying away again, all without ever meeting his eye.

The cafe owner sighed. "That one has a ways to go."

"She'll be fine," Lucanis assured her. "I was not so different at that age."

"We'll see." The woman stood straight and knocked on the counter. "Do you need anything besides the coffee?"

The offer was for more than pastry; she and her husband were both Crows, though retired from taking contracts due to injuries. Instead they served as a hub for passing information and messages and as a neutral ground of sorts when representatives of other Houses passed through Treviso. They were both still more than capable of handling trouble, and he suspected several of their children now were as well.

"Not today," he told her.

He nodded his thanks as he collected his coffee and headed out to the balcony overlooking the canals. His usual table, a small one with only one chair that backed against the stone wall of the building, was empty, and he suspected that was not just good fortune. Any Crow would seek to curry favor with a Dellamorte, and the cafe owner was no fool. He appreciated the gesture nonetheless.

As he slid into the chair and breathed in the combined scents of the coffee and the canals, a moment of disorientation washed over him. He had imagined this exact scene so many times in the Ossuary, but it had been a desperate fantasy, a bid to keep himself going, one that he had never truly believed would become reality. And yet it was all so familiar, so much a part of his old life, that he almost felt that the past terrible year had been the dream, just a horrible nightmare that he had woken from and now his life could resume.

The feeling passed almost as quickly as it came, thwarted by Spite's sudden appearance leaning over the half-wall that surrounded the balcony. Lucanis swallowed his first sip of coffee with a thick throat and blamed the burn for the sting in his eyes.

"See?" Spite demanded over his shoulder. "Here again! Always here! You sit! You drink! Again! And again!"

Lucanis held the cup in front of his lips to hide their movement. "I haven't been here in a year, except for that meeting with Illario and Rook."

"No!' Spite spat. "You sit. And you drink. And you watch. The sky. The clouds. The birds. The stars. The sun. Warm. Cold. Day. Night. Over and over. Why?"

"That... those were memories. We weren't really here."

Spite growled in frustration. "Why? Here?"

Lucanis looked out at the gondolas subtly rocking in their berths from the motion of the sun-tipped waves. He could hear the gondoliers calling to each other and laughing and the gulls that echoed the sound with their own cries as they wheeled above. Beyond the scent of coffee, he could detect sweeter smells—oleander, pomegranate—and the salt tang of the sea.

"Treviso is my home," Lucanis murmured. "And this spot, the sights, the sounds, the smells... this is Treviso to me."

Spite looked back at him, a slightly lost expression on his face. "You are? Home?"

"Yes," Lucanis said, and he felt the truth of it in the air in his lungs and the taste on his tongue.

He had lost so much. But he had not lost that.

Spite's brow furrowed, and his eyes took on a forlorn look, a look of longing and heartache that pricked at something in Lucanis's chest.

"I'm sorry," he told the demon. "I'm sorry that you can't go home."

Spite turned away. "Drink. Then we go. To the Crossroads. Kill some. Venatori."

Lucanis nodded. He could always leave the artichokes at the Diamond for safe keeping.

#dragon age #lucanis dellamorte #spite dellamorte

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