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livefromthedas · 6 months ago

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Surviving Purely Out Of Spite

By ClickClickBoom

(Also here on AAO3.)

Chapter 8: Making it Weird in Rivain and Talons in Treviso

“Lucanis, duck!” Shouted Taash.

The battlefield ran red, buzzing with a swarm of furious Deep Stalkers, but the assassin, as ever, was incredibly fast on his feet. Lucanis dropped back within seconds of an enormous chunk of granite whizzing by his right ear. It immediately lodged into the skull of another rampaging beast.

“Nice one, Taash!” Dellamorte hollered with a fierce grin.

“Pack leader on your left!” Yelled Rook over the din.

Spite’s wings erupted from Lucanis’s back and he launched skyward at an impossible speed. Within seconds he had landed on the muscle-bound beast, a dagger lodged into its skull. Even dying, the furious creature lurched and bucked, desperate to get free of its attacker. Lucanis hung on like a champ, and a second dagger to the eye sent the beast clamoring to the sand in a heap.

Rook fried a trio of the creatures in succession with bombastic bolts of lightening. They too crumpled to the sand, sizzling with smoke.

Seconds later, Taash gored the final two beasts with their gleaming golden axes, one in the head, the other splayed fully across the gut.

The battlefield had fallen silent. Rook and Lucanis both wavered where they stood, panting from exertion and sweating buckets beneath the scorching Rivaini sun. They’d been traipsing around the coast since well before sunrise, and at barely past 9, the day was already becoming a scorcher.

“How on Maferath’s left nut does anyone manage to run into a horde of deepstalkers within twenty minutes of chasing off a dragon?” Rook joked between pants. They had barely caught their breath after helping a couple of Isabela’s Lords of Fortune flush a lightning-belching Northern Hunter from one of their more frequently traversed caves when an ambush of three Deepstalkers quickly became many times the problem, “I am really starting to think one of us is cursed.”

“…Was that a demon joke?” Lucanis deadpanned, “That was a demon joke.”

Rook quirked an eyebrow and snickered, “Good? Bad?”

“Workshop it.”

“Uuugh,” Taash complained. Their Qunari friend waded through nearly two dozen bodies to retrieve a sword, “is it just me, or have these damn things gotten juicier lately?”

It was a fair question, given the state of them all. The beach was riddled with deepstalker corpses and soaked through with blood. Taash, Rook and Lucanis hadn’t faired much better - Rook was quite sure blood had soaked through every layer of clothing she had on… it was deeply unpleasant.

“It’s the numbers,” Lucanis assessed, trying and failing to wipe a dagger clean on his thigh - his pants were just as bloody as the blade, “You cut open anything in numbers greater than three, you are going to have one hell of a mess.”

“Well, it’s gross. This is gross,” Taash grumbled.

“Death is gross,” Rook noted. She squint against the sweat in her eyes, “But, I mean, aren’t dragons super bloody to kill? I’d think you’d be used to this kind of mess.”

“Yeah, but it makes sense in an animal that big,” said Taash.

Lucanis had given up on his daggers and worked to peel off sticky, sodden gloves instead, “Universal rule - Generally speaking, most bodies are the same. All are basically just bags of water and farts.”

An unseemly snort escaped Rook - a sign of success, judging by the Crow’s grin.

Taash, meanwhile, balked, “Aaugh! That’s worse! You just made it worse!”

“Tell me I’m wrong.”

“Oh my god, seriously though?” Rook’s attention was quickly pulled to the fact that her hair - waist length and curly as it was - was also matted with blood. She could feel it sticking to her back through her clothes, “I don’t think I can make it all the way back to the Lighthouse like this.”

“See?” Taash insisted to Lucanis, jabbing a finger at Rook, “Exactly!”

The assassin looked unphased.

“In which case,” Rook pressed, “Two questions. One, is that river nearby decent freshwater?”

Taash shrugged, “Technically, they all should be. They’re all coming in from the mountains.”

“Good, then two,” Rook bumbled a bit, trying to pull a boot from her foot a sickening squelch, “Think you can handle a couple of naked human asses while we try and get some of this mess washed off?”

Taash laughed, “Yeah, whatever. Doesn’t bother me any.”

It was a surprisingly time-consuming affair. Every scrap of clothing, and every weapon (which, by Rook’s count, hit nearly 15 between Taash and Lucanis alone. So many knives!) had to be soaked or scrubbed through.

An hour later, accoutrements of all sorts were splayed across granite boulders, baking beneath the sun. Taash ducked back beneath the roaring waterfall just up the way, making sure they were free of any more errant bits of deepstalker.

Rook, meanwhile, sat chest-deep in the river’s frigid crystal waters. She leaned back, thoroughly relaxed, as Lucanis helped gingerly work the carnage from her hair.

“You nearly took an entire deepstalker home with you,” he teased.

“Can’t have that,” said Rook, cracking one eye open against the sun to watch the Crow’s endearing concentration over the task, “Between Assan, Manfred and Spite, I’m pretty sure we’re full up on chaotic tag-alongs.”

Lucanis’s eyebrows rose humorously, “No doubt… Ah,” he managed to detangle one last fleshy bit of something, before nodding, “There. About as good as we’re getting without a decent soap.”

Rook dunked back beneath the chilly currents, quick to re-emerge with a sputter, “Shit this is cold!”

Lucanis, meanwhile, float back to submerge up to his collarbone and was eyeballing her with a chuckle.

“What?”

“Nothing,” he teased.

“I’ve got that whole ‘kinda looks like a drowning rat’ thing going on, don’t I?” Rook joked knowingly.

Her curls had run straight under the water’s weight, and a usually full, bold head of hair ran lank and incredibly long. She was familiar with the effect - it always looked absurd.

The Crow threw up two hands in a mock defense, “Your words, not mine.”

“Uh-huh.”

Lucanis quickly found himself dodging splashes and trying to catch the hands that launched them his way, cracking up the whole while.

“Heeeyy,” they only calmed down when Taash’s voice sounded from closer nearby, “You two leaving enough room for the Maker over there?”

“Oh, I have not heard that one in a long while,” the assassin laughed.

“How we doing with the drying?” Rook asked.

Taash had waded over to everyone’s gear, giving their own tunic a good shake, “Eh. I think half of Lucanis’s leather’s gonna need overnight and some conditioning. The rest? Wet, but good enough.”

“Good enough means lunch soon. And I am starving,” Lucanis replied.

Rook was already making her way for their gear… smartly out of reach of the Crow before turning back to tease, “Yeah, vehnan. Come on out, let’s see just how cold that water really is.”

“Making it weird,” warned Taash.

Lucanis, meanwhile, half-scolded, half chuckled, “Ohh-ho …Rook.”

He tore after the elf, grinning after her ridiculous squeal and laughter, just as Spite chimed in, “NICE one. Rook!”

———————-

They were still tracking drops of water onto the stone floor as they arrived home through the Vi’Revas. Rook suddenly found herself shivering. After hours boiling on the coast, the Lighthouse’s cool underbelly felt frigid.

“Chioccolata Calda?” Lucanis offered at the sound of Rook’s chattering teeth.

“Oh yes please.”

Boots squelched wetly the entire way up the stairs.

“Did Rook take another surprise trip to the bottom of a lake?” Neve mused from her perch on the Library’s couch at her teammates’ soggy appearances.

Taash snickered, continuing their damp trek to the second floor.

“Oh, come on,” said Rook, “A gal falls into a lake once—“

“Thrice,” Lucanis correctly playfully, “We really do need to teach you how to swim.”

“If we could ever find the time,” Neve mused from over her quill and a fat stack of notes. She then looked up, adding seriously, “Your baby Crow is in the Dining Hall, Lucanis. Apparently, whatever news he has was too important to write down.”

Lucanis went shock-serious. He spared Rook a glance, before quickly making for the door.

———————

“Ser!”

Valentín scrambled to stand from a casual slump at the Dining Hall table the moment he realized just who, exactly, had entered the room. At just the right age where long legs and big ears hadn’t quite caught up with the rest of his growth, the teenager somehow looked even more reedy than usual. Quickly adding to that was the look of genuine nerves that seemed to have struck ramrod up his spine at being found slouching by one of the heads of his house.

“What do you have?” Lucanis bit coolly.

“Movement from the Talons,” said Valentín, “All of them. The staff… houses De Riva and Cantori… Treviso Crows only just found out this morning as they started to arrive.”

The boy blanched, looking a bit baffled as Rook walked right up to him. She had placed hands upon his cheeks and was giving him the hairy eyeball.

“Baby, you look exhausted,” she noted warmly, “How long have you been here?”

“I…” he squirmed, casting a cautious glance at Lucanis.

The senior Dellamorte sighed as he watched the little woman fuss over details that he had brushed past entirely. The knot in his brow unfurled a bit as he thought better of himself.

“Sit. There is nothing that need be said that cannot be done over food.”

Before long, a solid spread of meats, bread, cheeses and fruit sat before the boy, and he was quick to dive in. Rook beamed at the steaming mug of chocolate that Lucanis placed before her before taking a seat of his own with his coffee.

“According to Viago, the third Talon said he received an invitation weeks ago,” the boy continued unprompted, “It seems much the same for the others. And all sworn to secrecy about the meet. The Villa has been scrambling - Food, preparations. We’ve a dozen extra security from Teia and Viago alone… and for some reason, the entire staff has been forbidden from the east wing. Tia Alma has been furious.”

Lucanis managed a chuckle at that, for all of his pensiveness otherwise, and it was little wonder why. He had regaled Rook of more than a few stories of Tia Alma. The shrewd, matronly little woman had overseen the entire staff of Villa Dellamorte for as long as Lucanis could remember, and she was nothing if not incredibly skilled at ruling that particular roost when Caterina was busy with business as First Talon. She was also, apparently, an exceptional cook. The one area she and young Lucanis had bonded most over was food, and over the years she had taught the boy everything she knew on the subject.

“Illario and half truths are to be expected,” Lucanis noted, “Though I suspect Viago and Teia are less than pleased about discovering the inventions second-hand.”

“However mad Alma may be,” Valentín agreed sheepishly from past a healthy bite of ham, “They are much worse. Especially Teia.”

“Si,” Lucanis mused evenly, before cutting to the chase, “But you are burying the lead.”

“Aye, siento,” the boy winced and was quick to explain, “It’s bad, ser. Illario has everyone expected to gather in the Opera House by dusk. To discuss his succession as First Talon.”

Rook froze, mid-gulp, and watched over the lip of her mug as the color completely drained from Lucanis’s face. His temples twitched as he bit down hard, and she swore she caught a flash of violet light in his eyes. She carefully placed her cup back on the table. Valentín, meanwhile, kept his gaze fixed silently upon his food. Both Rook and the boy, it seemed, knew Lucanis quite well enough to gather when he was genuinely, deeply irate, but doing his damnedest to mask it.

“Forgive me,” he said quietly as he stood, “A moment.”

Rook and Valentín watched in silence as the senior Crow strode for the pantry and shoved his way inside.

“You’ve got a shit job, kid,” Rook whispered apologetically to the boy, a hand patting his forearm.

Valentín watched the open doorway for a moment, clearly trying to gage his own safety, before a sad little smirk crossed his face.

“Believe it or not,” he mused quietly, “I have had worse.”

Rook tittered a chuckle of her own, “From what that one has told me of his own training, I believe i—“

There was a violent flash of purple light and a plume of unctuous black smoke from the pantry door. Rook scrambled to catch Valentín by the sleeve of his coat as he leaped to his feet in a panic.

“Nonono,” Rook whispered quickly. She was glad the kid was smart enough to listen, less he make an already tense situation much worse, “Sit. You focus on your food, I’ll…” she had stood up as the teenager reclaimed his chair, still unable to tear his wide, worried eyes from the door.

“But it…”

“Eat, sweetheart,” She said, patting a hand upon a scrawny shoulder as she rounded the table, “I’ve got it.”

…She hoped. Rook strode cautiously for the open doorway, the scent of ozone and sulfur tickling her nose the closer she came to the room.

“Lucanis? Are you…?”

She blinked owlishly for a moment, trying to gauge what she was seeing upon stepping inside.

Violent streaks of char and ash streaked the walls, fanning out from center in vicious tendrils. But not just streaks - the singe of two white-hot, furious wings - at the center of which, sat huddled upon the floor, was Lucanis.

“Oh, Vehnan,” Rook whispered softly.

Lucanis sat, his knees pulled up nearly to his chest, elbows upon his knees. One hand laced into his hair, his eyes glassy with tears.

Rook doubled back, and quietly shut the door - Privacy between them and the stressed out teenager at the table.

She sat right down with him then, face to face, a gentle hand brushing his cheek. He couldn’t make eye contact at first, thoughts trapped in a painful, grief-stricken spiral. The moment he blinked tears, Rook pulled him into a tight hug, “I’m so sorry, Vehnan. There’s nothing about this that mustn’t hurt like hell.”

Wickedly tense shoulders relaxed just enough to wrap arms around her, pulling Rook as close as he could manage, anxious, furious trembling be damned. She held him quietly, breathing slow and even - breathing he struggled to ground himself to once again.

“How are we doing in there, Spite?”

“Hurts,” was all the demon could manage.

It made sense, Rook thought. She knew from experience that few emotions stole words from tongues more completely than the sting of betrayal.

Lucanis closed his eyes against fingernails that brushed softly through his hair, hot tears warming the damp fabric at her shoulder where his face had hidden away. It was only once the Crow had managed a deep, shuttering sigh that she let him go - and even then, only enough to sit back against the wall, looking deeply miserable.

“I have to be ready for this, mi amor,” he said quietly, admitting, “I do not feel it.”

“Lucanis, I don’t know how anyone could,” Rook replied. “This… this is a lot. For anybody. But I also…” she mulled carefully over words, a hand rubbing idly over where his heart thrummed a war drum in his chest, “I cannot imagine anyone more capable. Or more brave. And who will absolutely not be doing this alone.”

He caught that hand, and pulled it to his lips, leaving a kiss upon the soft, delicate underside of her wrist, before holding it warmly back over his heart.

“Then… We deal with this tonight,” he agreed. He slowly wrestled back his calm with that small scrap of composure, one breath at a time, “The three of us.”

“We absolutely do.”

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