the final battle can play out a little oddly if you romance lucanis. he is so obviously the best choice to take on the blood mage, but then he cannot join you for the confrontation with elgar'nan (i don't think). and under what possible circumstances would he be willing to leave rook's side at that moment?
and the only possible answer in my mind is that rook asks him to
i wish we had a chance to play out this conversation in the game because my rook would absolutely do this. she can't bear the thought of him (a) being hurt or (b) having to watch her die. so for the first time, she weaponizes her big brown eyes against him and begs him to protect viago because she could not bear to lose the only family she has left. and it is absolutely true but also absolutely a dirty trick because she has never openly called viago her family before and the words "lose the only family i have left" would be the equivalent of a trigger phrase for lucanis. she can see him thinking about illario in that moment (illario who may even be somewhere on that battlefield)
and then she'd go for the kill: "please. i can't afford to be distracted"
and how can he possibly argue with that after he blamed himself for missing ghilan'nain at weisshaupt? how can he argue with that after all their talk about being focused?
and after he chokes out a hoarse "all right," she doesn't let him say anything else. she just kisses him like it might be the last time and walks away
but as she passes teia, they exchange a look, and teia gives her a slight nod. she knows exactly what rook means in that moment
"keep them both safe. and if i die, keep them both whole"
It seems my overwhelming love for Teia Cantori and Viago de Riva has garnered a reputation that Iâm worth asking questions about them. Iâm honoured! But I think it would be easier to just make a master post about them that I can direct to, so thatâs what this is.
Appearances
Dragon Age: Deception (Teia and Viago appear as unnamed Crows. It is later confirmed in Tevinter Nights that it was them)
Dragon Age: Tevinter Nights; âEight Little Talonsâ
Dragon Age: The Missing
Dragon Age: The Veilguard
Pre-DATV Events
9:44 â Teia and Viago are in Ventus when the Antaam attack.
Between 9:44 and 9:52 â The events of âEight Little Talonsâ takes place. (Viago says they were ârecentlyâ in Ventus when the Qunari attacked, meaning itâs probably closer to 9:44.)
9:52 â Teia and Viago are in Vyrantium when the Antaam attack. They took a contract together to kill Lady Crysanthus, who was a member of the Venatori. They briefly run into Varric and Harding, who are following Solasâs trail.
Information on Teia
Teiaâs full name is Andarateia Cantori. She is the head of House Cantori, which holds the seat of Seventh Talon. House Cantoriâs territory is centred in Rialto.
Teia is 28 in âEight Little Talonsâ. While we donât know for sure when the story takes place, it is most likely around 9:45-9:46 based on context clues. If so, this would make Teia in her mid-30s during Dragon Age: The Veilguard.
Teia grew up on the streets of Antiva City with no family, surviving on thievery. She was taken by the Crows at age eight, and considers them her family now. (In âEight Little Talons,â she reflects that sheâs been a Crow for 20 years.)
Teia was the youngest Crow to gain the rank of Talon in history. She is also an outlier in that she does not come from a wealthy, prolific family background. This caused quite a controversy, where she was considered an âoverreaching street rat;â while the Crows tell recruits that anyone can become a Talon, it very rarely happens.
Teia has her own set of rules to follow; for example, she refuses to kill servants unless absolutely necessary.
Teiaâs best skill is being a master manipulator, with a level of astute observation in others that gives her an advantage in pretty much any conversation. She is very good at figuring out what to say and do in order to get the response she wants from someone.
Teiaâs biggest flaw is, in my opinion, her naivetĂŠ. You could also say that the fact that sheâs held onto strong morals and sensitivity to others is a strength, certainly. But the fact that she wants to see good in everyone, even people who arguably donât give her any reason to, has gotten her into trouble.
Teia was in an abusive relationship in the past; Dante Balazar, who was Second Talon before his death in âEight Little Talonsâ. Dante was addicted to lyrium, and would lash out at her verbally and physically. At some point Teia fought back and finally broke things off, while leaving a scar on his shoulder. Despite all this, Teia held sympathy for him.
Teia is afraid of dogs, after being chased by rabid ones on the streets as a little girl.
Teia has a tattoo marking her as a member of House Cantori on her back.
Teiaâs horse is named Andoral (after the archdemon).
Teia has probably not been a Talon for very long; I would guess less than five years as of âEight Little Talons.â
Information on Viago
Viago is the head of House de Riva, which holds the seat of Fifth Talon. House de Rivaâs territory is centred in Salle.
We do not know Viagoâs age for certain, but I would guess heâs in his mid-40s during Dragon Age: The Veilguard based on vibes and sensible timelines.
Viago is a master poisoner, and carries around plenty of it wherever he goes⌠as well as antidotes, because in addition to this, he is extremely paranoid about being poisoned himself. He does not eat or drink anything before testing it first, and he even takes a small dose of Adderâs Kiss every day to build up a resistance to it.
As one of many bastard children of the Antivan King, Viago was only given two choices in life: either live in luxurious exile, or join the Crows. He resents all his half-siblings who chose the first, and he resents the king himself. Viago may be more powerful than them all, even the king, but he is now stuck in this life. Had he not been, he thinks he could be a better ruler of Antiva.
Viago also holds resentment towards his mother, who it is hinted was an alcoholic to cope with the loss of interest from the King. Viago recalls her wine-stained âdemon teethâ from when he was a child.
Viago does not give a shit if people like him or not; he only wants to be respected and feared. (Despite this, Teia tries to make the other Talons like him.) He is also used to having to constantly watch his back, and typically thinks the worst in people.
Viago tries to avoid emotional thinking, preferring hard facts and logic.
Viago has a pair of adder snakes he milks for venom. He also now has a third named Emil, choosing to keep the snake that bit and nearly killed him in âEight Little Talonsâ.
Viago enjoys art collection.
My guess for how long Viago has been a Talon is somewhere around 10-15 years, based on vibes and timelines. I think he was fairly young himself when he succeeded his predecessor. I also think itâs entirely possible that the Antivan King arranged his rise to power, based on the comment in âEight Little Talonsâ from Dante: âYour daddy will protect you.â
Dialogue (in no particular order)
Viago: It's frustrating, right? I'm correct to feel that way? How the occupation has pushed us all⌠apart?
Teia: I try not to let the fledglings see it.
Viago: If they had done nothing else, I would hate the Antaam for making you restrict any part of yourself.
Teia: I haven't seen that look in some time.
Viago: It's called "hope." And perhaps some other thoughts.
Teia: What sort of thoughts, Vi?
Viago: About the future. Both long term and⌠more immediate.
Viago: Is my collar high enough? I need to present an example.
Teia: The fledglings see their leaders standing tall against the tide. Incessantly.
Teia: Perhaps it is time to set other examples. So they know that war is not all we are.
Viago: Perhaps we should discuss as much. Say, at the cafĂŠ?
Teia: Once they've scrubbed out the remains of the Antaam.
Teia: Your push against the Antaam has been admirable.
Viago: Your work here is also commendable.
Teia: Good, good. Why is this so awkward?
Viago: Perhaps we know each other too well to be strangers.
Teia: What are you drafting now?
Viago: It's a contract to murder a vacation. It requires a very particular set of skills from a very particular Seventh Talon.
Teia: Very funny, and unnecessary. I'll take a break soon. Really.
Viago: As it was with gods and reavers, I'll believe it when I see it.
Teia: Haven't seen you around the Diamond much, Vi.
Viago: I've been preoccupied.
Teia: I thought perhaps you were avoiding me.
Viago: I thought perhaps you wished to be avoided.
Teia: So, will I see you for breakfast?
Viago: I don't think you will.
Teia: No? Why not?
Viago: It's only breakfast if we sleep.
Teia: Vi, you are the worst.
Teia: Despite the governor, Rook has certainly given us time to consider our options.
Viago: I'd forgotten that kind of time. Just, time to appreciate⌠those around me.
Teia: There's only the two of us here.
Viago: And who else could I possibly mean?
Teia: You fought darkspawn?
Viago: None of them touched me.
Teia: I will inspect you later.
Viago: All right.
Teia: I told her their bickering was amateurish, and that they'd need to work much harder to argue as well as we do.
Viago: That was altogether the wrong message to take away from that.
Teia: I thought you enjoyed our little squabbles?
Viago: Amongâand possibly overshadowed byâother things.
Viago: You're smirking at me. What is so funny?
Teia: I was just noticing how much you're starting to look like the dog.
Viago: We are free from the influence of gods and traitors for the first time in months, and that is where your mind goes?
Teia: Especially when you pout!
Viago: I do not pout.
Teia: I found some Crystal Grace in the gardens earlier.
Viago: I didn't know flowers still bloomed in this city.
Viago: And thank you. They were most pleasant to find on the desk this morning.
Teia: Fighting back suits you. Your tone has much improved since we last argued.
Viago: Excuse me. I wasn't aware it was my tone that was at issue.
Teia: That's all right, I'm sure you'll pay closer attention from now on.
Viago: See, this is why we split. And got back together. And split.
Teia: Fighting back, making our voices heard⌠this is feeling like old times. The good ones.
Viago: Thank you for the clarification.
Teia: I meant it.
Viago: So did I.
Viago: Have you been home in the last week?
Teia: I won't let the fledglings see the Diamond empty.
Teia: Are you certain the fledglings should see you smile this much? You'll spoil them.
Viago: It's unavoidable, I'm afraid. The cause of my smile refuses to leave the Diamond.
Teia: Is that so?
Viago: It is very much so.
Teia: Not all things end with clarity, as you and I both know.
Viago: Fine. Endings are fuzzy. Starts are shocking. Middles⌠middles are worth lingering.
Rook: The Cantori Diamond is your casino? The occupation hasn't closed your business?
Teia: Business may be down, but it isn't "my" casino to close.
Viago: An easy mistake to make. Isn't that right, Andarateia Cantori?
Teia: I am no landlord, and anyone who treats me as such shall be evicted.
Rook: Were either of you trained by Heir?
Viago: Not this one. Mine was⌠stern.
Teia: Mine spoke in the third person until you were skilled enough to be recognized as an equal.
Viago: Starting with grammatical murder. Fascinating.
Teia: Why are you so frustrating?
Viago: Am I? We are only frustrated by things we are truly invested in.
Teia: That can't be. I just threw out your old shirts.
Viago: Old? There's no such thing as old satin.
Rook: So you two are both Talons. Doesn't that make you rivals?
Viago: Rank in one area is rarely applicable to others. Which is to say, only a fool would try to impose rank on Teia.
Teia: Wise words from a sometimes fool.
Viago: A history I would wish on no one else, lest they take it from me.
Viago: Occupied! The insult of it!
Teia: It's more than insulting.
Viago: It's salt in the wound. And that is my purview.
Viago: To see you so energized, Teia. I'm staring at the sun.
Teia: Viago, once Rook kills Ivenci? On again.
Viago: We shall see.
Teia: Viago, dear. Do you want children?
Viago: I rarely see the dog.
Viago: I think [Jacobus] could be the best of us.
Teia: That's a high bar. Including you?
Viago: Well, perhaps second-best. Behind you.
Teia: Flattery will get you everywhere.
Hiii I love your art and your rook sm!! I wish weâd have a fancy ball quest in veilguard to take our LI to lmao. What would Murat wear? Would he dance w Lucanis?? Is tiny spite dressed up????
ooh i like the idea. murat was actually a very skilled dancer. and i think he still remembers some moves. lucanis would be charmed.
anyway! tiny spite and his not so tiny bow tie, he likes it very much.
âLucanis, is everything all right?â Rookâs head peeked over the banister. Below, the Crow had been rolling his shoulders, pacing in tight circles around the chairs. She didnât miss the pained scowl flickering across his features.
âAh, Iâm fine. Just a bit stiff after that last stint in Rivain.â Lucanis waved a hand dismissively, but Rook kept looking down at him, and after a few seconds, her head tilted slightly.
âRook, Iâm fine,â he insisted, his tone firmer this time.
Her silence stretched, unbroken except for the soft creak of wood under her weight. Then she replied, dryly, âYou want to tell Viago that?â
Lucanis chuckled despite himself, shaking his head. âA round of stretches and some rest should do it.â He rolled his shoulders again, forcing himself to straighten.
Rook disappeared from view, but only for a moment. When she reappeared at the top of the staircase, she was rubbing her arms. A telltale habit, one he recognized as uncertainty.
âI⌠might have something that could help?â she offered, hesitating just enough to give herself away. Her words hung in the air as her cheeks flushed pink. âAh, only if you want to, of course!â
Lucanis paused, tilting his head at her, intrigued.
âI learned some massage techniquesâŚâ She trailed off, her voice quieter now. âLong story, but I could help ease some of the discomfort. I know where and how you ârestâ and thatâs only going to make it worse.â Her words tumbled out in a rush, but when she finished, she froze like a statue, bracing herself for his response.
Lucanis crossed his arms, leaning back slightly on the balls of his feet. He didnât speak right away.
Rookâs face falteredâjust barely, but enough for him to notice. Her smile returned a tad too quickly. âNever mind,â she said, her voice light, her words rushed. âForget I asked.â
In truth, he was conflicted.
A part of him, a loud, insistent part, longed to say yes.. To let her closer. To feel her warmth, not just in her laugh or the brightness of her smile, but in her touch. The kind of touch that wasnât born of battleâwhen outstretched hands met to steady or warnâbut something softer, more deliberate.
He envied the others sometimes, how freely she gave her affections. The way she hugged Bellara and Harding every morning, unreserved and easy. How she bumped shoulders with Davrin and Taash, playful and familiar. The way she leaned in conspiratorially with Neve, or the quiet focus in her hands when Emmrich taught her a new spell.
But with himâŚ
She always kept her distance. Sheâd step aside to let him pass, hand him a blade so their fingers wouldnât brush. Her laughter and her smiles she gave him freely, but her touch? That, she withheld.
Heâd start to think Rook did not care for him, now that he was a literal demon.
But the truth was, he did the same to her. Illario had always been the suave one. How
Lucanis exhaled softly, shifting his weight. âRook,â he began, his voice low.
Her eyes snapped to his, cautious but still hopeful.
âMaybe Iâll take you up on that offer,â he said. A small smile tugged at his lips. âIf youâre sure you donât mind.â
For a moment, her expression was unreadable. Then, a bright, genuine smile broke across her face. âOf course. I wouldnât have offered if I didnât mean it.â She took a step back on the landing. âGive me a minute,â she said, âlet me grab some stuff. Meet you in your room?â
He did not trust his voice anymore; so he only nodded. The soft fast taps of her bare feet on the wood betrayed her enthusiasm she hid so well in her words and voice.
Was this really happening? Had he actually said yes, letting her get just a little closer? The last five minutes kept replaying in her mind, over and over, as she hurried back to her room.
The thought was still a whirlwind as she dumped her pack onto the bed, rummaging frantically for that small tin of numbing balm. Her fingers closed around it, and before she could lose her nerve, she was rushing back down the hall toward the dining room.
It was lateâthank the Makerâso she didnât run into anyone. Rook was grateful for that, sure that anyone who saw her now would immediately notice the telltale flush on her cheeks. She did have a reputation to uphold.
She skidded to a halt in front of the large doors of the hall. A deep breath in. A deep breath out.
She stamped her feet lightly on the floor, a giddy little motion that she immediately scolded herself for. Stop that, Rook. Compose yourself. She shook her head, willing the excitement to settle. The last thing she wanted was to scare him off now. Not when heâd finally let her in, even just a little.
Steeling herself, she raised her fist to knock on the pantry door when his voice called out: âCome in, Rook.â
Of course heâd heard her coming.
Her heart gave an unsteady flutter as she pushed the door open, just enough to peek inside. There he wasâLucanis, sitting on the edge of his cot, a coffee cup in hand. His posture was tense, his right shoulder slightly drawn back in a way that made it clear to her that he was in much more pain than heâd ever let on.
âI got the stuff I needed,â she said, her voice coming out softer than she intended. She hesitated a moment, then stepped fully into the room, holding up the small metal tin for him to see. âFor your shoulder,â she added, a bit sheepishly.
The words hung in the air, and for a fleeting second, her nerves threatened to overtake her. But then, his gaze met hersânot sharp or dismissive, but steady, with the faintest flicker of something she couldnât quite place.
It was enough. She took another step forward and closed the door behind her.
âHow do you want to go about this?â Did he sound nervous?
âWell, itâd be easiest if you sat on the ground... Then I could sit behind you on the cot.â She hesitated, then added quickly, âOh, and no need to take off your shirt! Iâll be careful not to get any balm on it.â
He regarded her silently for a moment before lowering himself to the floor, cross-legged and straight-backed, as always. Sheâd never catch him slouch, she was sure. He placed the empty cup on the crate he used as bedside table.
On the tips of her toes, she moved to perch behind him on the cot. Normally, sheâd steady herself by slipping her legs around the person she was working on. But not this time. She tucked her legs beneath her, sitting back on her knees instead.
The tin resisted her efforts, her fingers fumbling briefly before she finally pried the lid open. The faint scent of the balm filled the air as she dabbed some onto her fingers. But then, just as she was about to begin, she froze. Her hands hovered over his shoulders, unsure.
âReady?â she asked softly.
Lucanis didnât answer, only nodded, leaning back ever so slightly. Barely noticeable, but enough.
Now or never, before the spell broke.
The warmth of his skin was immediate, still lingering from his pacing in front of the fire. He stiffened at her first touch, muscles rippling beneath her fingertips like a coiled predator, taut and poised to strike. The tightness where his shoulder met his neck spoke of strainâtoo much time spent on edge.
She started lightly, her fingers brushing across his neck and shoulders, searching, mapping. Prodding carefully here and there to gauge his reactionsâwas the discomfort from pain or from her touch?
It didnât take long to find the source of his pain: a stubborn knot along his scapula, the skin warm with tension. Her movements grew more assured when he didnât flinch or pull away, her hands working in firm, measured circles.
âTell me if it gets to be too much,â she said, her voice steady but low. âOr if you need a break. Just say the word, and Iâll stop.â
His reply was a hum, deep and low, vibrating faintly through her hands. Sheâd take that as consent.
They sat in silence for several minutes, broken only by the occasional soft wince when her fingers pressed a tender spot. Her nose was scrunching in concentration.
At this point, Rook was sure she was more nervous than Lucanis. Finally, she felt him begin to relax under her touch, his tension melting away bit by bit. Emboldened by this shift, she rested her free forearm on his opposite shoulder, subtly bracing him against her as she applied a bit more pressure.
The silence lingered, heavy but not unpleasant, until it was finally broken by his low voice. âWhere did you learn this?â
Her hand stilled for just a moment before resuming its rhythm. âWhen my mother died,â she began, her voice quiet, âand before he lost his fortune, my father got involved with a courtesan. She... took pity on me. I guess she saw a young girl without a mother figure and wanted to help. She called them âuseful life skills.ââ A faint, hollow laugh escaped her lips. âLetâs just say this was the one I kept up with. I realized it could come in handy in more ways than one when I joined House de Riva.â
Her hands faltered again, this time longer, as she blinked rapidly, trying to clear the tears that blurred her vision.
âI didnât mean to pry,â Lucanis said gently, his voice softer now. She felt him shift, starting to turn toward her.
Panic flickered through her. The last thing she wanted was for him to see her cry. âAh, no, donât move!â she said quickly, patting his shoulder to keep him in place. âYouâll pull the knot. Stay still.â
Her words were firm, but her touch was light, her fingers resuming their work with renewed focus. She hoped the slight tremor in her voice had gone unnoticed.
Despite herself, wanting nothing more than to stay this close, Rook finally asked, âHow does this feel? It should be better now, right?â
Lucanis flexed his shoulder and stretched out his arm, testing the range of motion. âAh, this is much better.â
Rook leaned back on her legs, settling her hands in her lap. Already, she missed the warmth of his skin beneath her fingers. She tried not to dwell on it as her fellow Crow turned toward her.
âThank you, Rook,â he said, his tone sincere. âI must admit, I was⌠a bit hesitant. But this really eased the pain.â
His eyes met hersâwarm, dark, and so impossibly soft.
âWell,â she replied, trying to keep her tone light despite the flutter in her chest, âcanât have you out of commission. Iâve got to keep my team in fighting shape.â
A chuckle escaped him, followed by a small shake of his head. But before Rook could savor the moment, he winced sharply, his hand flying to his face.
âLucanis?â she asked, instinctively reaching out.
He waved her off, his other hand resting on his knee as he shook his head. âItâs nothing. Just Spite.â
âDid I upset him?â she asked, her voice tinged with worry.
Those dark eyes found hers again, holding her gaze for a moment longer than she expected. âTrust me,â he said, his voice low, âyouâre not the one heâs upset with. On the contrary.â
The last part was barely above a murmur, so faint Rook wasnât sure if sheâd truly heard it or imagined it entirely.
âI better get another brew going. There will be no sleep for me tonight.â
âYou do need to sleep, Lucanis.â Rook did not say it outright, but the implication hang between them: the only reason Lucanis got hurt, was because he lost his edge in the field. Another night of no sleep. A moment too slow and the Antaamâs hammer had hit him square on the arm.
She stepped off the bed and motioned for him to sit back down.
âIâm fine, Rook, really,â he protested.
Rook wasnât having itânot now, not anymore. The nervousness sheâd felt earlier in the evening had burned away, replaced by a sharper edge of worry. Sheâd deal with the implications of bossing a Dellamorte around later. Right now, she spoke as his leader.
âI know some other techniques that might help you relax,â she said firmly, her tone leaving little room for argument. âI can stay here, keep an eye on Spite.â
A flash of panic crossed his eyes, brief but unmistakable.
âLucanis, please.â Her voice softened. âLet me help. Next time, you might not get off with just a stiff shoulder.â
At last, his resistance cracked. He sighed, shoulders slumping. âWhat do you need me to do?â
She stepped closer, leaning over him to grab a cushion and placed it against the opposite side of the bed. âLie down,â she instructed.
His movements were slow, reluctant. As he lowered himself onto the bed, she grabbed another blanket from the corner, folding it neatly and plopping it on the floor by his headrest. She could feel his eyes tracking her every move.
He lay back at last, arms crossed over his stomach, staring up at the ceiling. âIâm not sure aboutââ
âSame as before,â she cut him off gently. âJust give the word, and Iâll stop. But let me try before you call it quits. Can you do that?â
A pause. Then a nod.
Rook moved behind him again, settling onto the folded blanket at the edge of the bed. Her hands, still slick from the balm, hovered for a moment before she went to work.
This time, she let her fingers drift along his throat, up his jaw, and into his hair. His breaths deepened, steady and slow. A soft hum of appreciation escaped him, so low she almost didnât catch it.
Rook couldnât suppress the small smile that crept onto her lips. Not so bad after all, she thought.
She kept up her slow, rhythmic movements until she was certain he had fully surrendered to her ministrations. His breathing softened, slowing to the steady cadence that teetered on the edge of sleep.
Carefullyâso carefullyâshe slipped one arm along the curve of his neck, letting her hand rest lightly on his chest. Beneath her palm, she felt the faintest hitch in his breath, a tiny stutter that made her pause. But he didnât pull away or speak. Instead, after a moment, his breathing evened out again, the tension melting from his body.
With her other hand, she tilted his head ever so gently until his cheek came to rest against her forearm. His eyes were closed now, lashes dark against his skin. For the first time in what felt like ages, that perpetual furrow between his brows had smoothed out. His face, so often marked by strain or focus, was slack and soft in a way sheâd rarely seen before.
Her fingers traced lower, brushing along the line of his neck and dipping toward his collarbone. His chest rose and fell beneath her touch, his breaths slow and deep. At last, she was certain heâd fallen completely asleep.
Still, Rook didnât stop right away. She kept going for a while longer, her movements gentle and unhurried, until her fingers began to cramp. Only then did she still her handsâone resting on his chest, the other cradling his head against her arm.
She sat there quietly, gazing down at the man in her arms.
Catching herself, Rook tried to pull her arms back, ready to let the man finally sleep undisturbed. But as she began to lift her hand, it was caught by anotherâhis.
Her breath hitched as she looked down to see a faint purple glow streaking through his eyes. The voice, low and resonant, was unmistakable. âStay.â
His hand rested heavy over hers, a weight that felt both firm and pleading.
âSpite,â she said. She ran her free hand gently through Lucanisâ hair again, her fingers combing through the dark strands with deliberate care. The response was immediate: a satisfied hum, deep and almost content, reverberated through him.
âIâm not going anywhere,â she promised.
The demonâs eyes drifted closed, and his voice followed, barely a whisper, rough around the edges. âRook is safe. Warm. He dreamt of this. Stay.â
Did he really?
âIâll stay,â she said softly, finally, her hand stilling against his hair, resting there like an anchor.
He wasnât sure how much time had passed. The soft tapping beneath his hand stirred him awake, all his senses snapping to attention. Blinking against the faint glow of candlelight, he glanced down to find the source of the sensation: a hand, covered by his own, twitching faintly in sleep.
His gaze followed the hand to its owner. She sat behind him on the ground, her head resting on her other arm, blonde hair falling messily across her face.
The events of the night before trickled back to him slowly. The offer. The warmth. The weight of her presence at his back. It all came rushing in, a quiet tide that brought with it an unfamiliar sense of calm.
His slight movement must have disturbed her, because she began to stir as well.
âOh, good morning,â she murmured, her voice soft and tinged with sleep. A yawn escaped her lips. âIs it morning?â
âSpite says so,â he replied, his voice lower than usual, still rough with lingering sleep. âWe slept a few hours, at least.â
Rook pulled her hand free from his, and already he missed the weight of it. She stretched lazily, arching her back with a contented sigh.
âMust say,â she began, a teasing lilt in her voice, ânot the worst place Iâve slept. At least there are no fish here to judge me.â
He blinked at her, caught off guard. âThe Fade fish are judging you?â
âYes, the beady-eyed bastards,â she replied without missing a beat, tilting her head as though to listen for any phantom aquatic critics.
Lucanis stared, equal parts bewildered and amused.
âNo one in the kitchen yet,â she observed, brushing her hair back and rising to her feet. âYou want some coffee?â
âIâll make it,â he said quickly, pushing himself upright.
âOh, that was a quick dismissal,â she laughed, raising a brow.
He smirked faintly, shaking his head. âViago taught you a lot. Unfortunately, I must agree with him on one point: the tenaciousness of your Ferelden heritage.â
âTenaciousness?â she repeated, crossing her arms and mock-scowling at him.
âYou at least appreciate coffee, which saves you from complete condemnation,â he continued, his tone turning dry. âBut between you and Harding, Iâd never willingly accept a cup from either of you. No offence.â
Rook gasped, clutching her chest in exaggerated horror. âOh, no offence at all! Next time, Iâll be sure to serve it lukewarm and watered down, just for you.â
âKind of you,â he drawled, the corners of his mouth twitching.
She laughed again, the sound warm and bright, and he felt the strange tension of the morning ease just a little.
âI hope you got some rest, Lucanis.â Her tone softened, becoming more serious.
âI... did. Thank you.â He inclined his head in a small bow, his hand resting lightly over his heart. But then, he hesitated, tilting his head with a faint look of surprise. âSpite wants to thank you as well, it seems.â
Rookâs smile returned, warm and reassuring. âGood. Iâm here if you need anything, either of you.â Her tone turned playful again as she added, âNow, letâs see if youâve accomplished what Viago apparently could not. Itâs been far too long since Iâve had a chance to properly rile him up. Coffee?â
Lucanis meticulously inspected and replaced the small vials he carried, each one as vital as a blade to an assassin like him. The glass was opaque, cork stoppers sealed with dark red wax to keep their deadly contents secure. His movements were methodical as he separated recently used vials from those that had expired. Only one or two were good enough to return, unaltered. The rest would need to be disposed ofâsafely.
Across the table, Davrin cleaned his gear with the steady hands of a seasoned soldier, though his eyes kept darting toward Lucanis.
âCareful with those,â Davrin warned, his tone light but edged with caution. âI wouldnât want Assan getting into them. And youâd better wash your hands before you start on dinner tonight. Got it?â
Lucanis opened his mouth, a sharp retort ready to fire, but stopped short when he caught Rookâs gaze from the fireplace. Her single raised eyebrow said, Donât you dare.
The elf snorted. âThank the gods for small mercies.â
âHow do you even keep them straight?â Davrin asked after a few minutes of working in silence, nodding at the vials.
Lucanis held one up, angling it toward the light. The faint, otherworldly glow of the Fade caught on tiny raised bumps on the glass surface. He ran his fingers over them, his touch precise and sure.
âBy feel,â he replied. âEach vial is marked differently. Even in the dark, I know exactly which one to take.â
âOh, oh!â Bellara leaned across the table, her curiosity lighting up her face. âAre the marks unique for each assassin, so no one else can use your poisons? I read a story about that once! Two assassins sent to kill each other fell in love, but the woman got wounded protecting her lover. When he tried to give her the antidote, he accidentally gave her another poison because their labels were different. She died in his arms.â
Davrin chuckled and shook his head.
âThe poisoners and glassmakers would riot if that were true,â Lucanis said, laughing. âNo, the vials are standardized. Itâs the poison makers who set the marks.â
âIn this case, Viago,â Rook said, stepping closer. She reached for one of the expired vials, her movements unhurried but deliberate. âOh, heâs given you the good stuff.â She turned the vial over, examining it like an appraiser judging a rare gem. âThis oneâs a doozy.â
Lucanis plucked the vial from her hand, his eyes narrowing. âCareful with that.â
Bellara cocked her head. âI didnât know you used poison. Doesnât it burn off with spells?â
Rookâs smirk was slow and sly. âOh, Viago never told you?â
Lucanis frowned. âTold me what?â
âThat he used me as a test subject when developing new poisons.â Rook reached for another vial, her tone as casual as if she were discussing the weather.
Bellara and Davrin froze, staring at her in wide-eyed disbelief.
Lucanis, however, remained still, his grip tightening on the vial heâd reclaimed. âIâd remember if he had.â
Rook glanced up, the corners of her mouth quirking in amusement. âWould you, though?â
âWhy wouldnât I?â
âOh, itâs a story,â she said, leaning one hip against the table. She pointed at the vial in his hand, her expression almost mischievous. âWant to hear what that one did to me?â
----
Viago slid the key into the lock, the faint click echoing in the stillness. He pushed the door open and stepped aside, gesturing silently for Gwynn to enter.
She hesitated for a moment before stepping inside. This room was familiar âbut not for happy reasons. The shelves lined with bottles and vials, their contents shimmering in the dim light, bore the telltale marks of her Talonâs trade. The faint, acrid tang of herbs and chemicals hung in the air, sharp enough to catch in her throat.
The lab was sparsely lit. Two sconces on either side of the door cast a flickering glow, their flames shivering in the draft. Across the room, the fireplace smoldered weakly, its embers barely holding on. The light was insufficient, more for warmth than visibility, and the shadows cast by the low fire made the room feel smaller than it was.
Shelves crammed with potions, poisons, and the raw ingredients of both loomed around her. The bottles were meticulously labeled in Viagoâs neat, angular handwriting, and though she knew there was an order to it all, the system remained a mystery. Like many fledglings before her, Gwynn had spent long nights pondering the riddle. Her best guess was a cipher, but she had no intention of asking Viago about his favorite book or an old love letter to confirm it. Some things were better left unsaid.
Behind her, Viago stepped into the room, the door shutting with a soft click. The sound seemed louder than it should have been.
He moved purposefully, turning the chair by the desk, the only table in the room, its surface cluttered with vials, burners, alembics, and a neat stack of labeled notebooks. With a faint scrape, he set a small stool in front of the chair, the one he used to reach the higher shelves.
"Sit," he said, his voice left no room for negotiation. He gestured to the chair. "And roll up your sleeve. Left arm. To the elbow."
Gwynn hesitated. She stood motionless in the center of the room, her hands curling into fists at her sides. The silence pressed in on her as she drew a deep breath, steeling herself. There were no pleasant memories here, there never would be. But the sooner they started, the sooner it would be over.
Finally, she moved, sliding into the chair and rolling up her sleeve. The cool air brushed against her skin, raising goosebumps. Viago, unfazed by her reluctance, was already moving about the room.
He crossed to the shelves with precise, practiced motions, selecting a small scalpel from the knife rack. A collection of hourglasses of varying sizes waited on the edge of the table, their glassy surfaces gleaming faintly in the firelight. He placed them carefully within reach before pulling down two vials from a shelf: one filled with a milky white liquid, the other slightly hazy.
The soft clink of glass against the table broke the silence as he set them down. Gwynnâs heart thudded in her chest, but she kept her face still, her breathing even. She knew better than to let her nerves show here.
One of the smaller hourglasses had already been turned, its sand cascading in a lazy spiral. The faint hiss of the grains marked the passage of time. Viago sat down on the stool in front of her, reaching for one of his well-worn notebooks. With a piece of charcoal in hand, he jotted down a few quick notes as the last grains fell, the sound of the charcoal scratching softly in the stillness.
When the sand ran out, he flipped the hourglass without hesitation, watching intently as the process repeated. Another series of marks filled the notebook. His movements were practiced, mechanical. Gwynnâs eyes flitted between the hourglass and his hand, her curiosity quietly bubbling to the surface. The steady rhythm of his work, combined with the solemn quiet of the room, felt both hypnotic and oppressive. Viago really was in his element here and whatever his intents, Gwynn knew a master of his trade when she saw one.
Perhaps it was her lingering gaze or the familiarity forged through countless hours in this room, but Viago noticed. When he finally looked up from his notes, his eyes met hers, and he offered an explanation unprompted.
âI need a baseline of your vitals,â he said, his tone matter-of-fact. âBreathing, heart rate...â
As he spoke, his gloved fingers encircled her wrist with clinical precision, pressing firmly against the pulse point. His touch was cool, the leather a stark contrast to the warmth of her skin. The hourglass was turned again, the sand flowing smoothly into the lower chamber. He kept his eyes fixed on the glass, his movements deliberate and measured.
For a moment, Gwynnâs heart seemed louder than the hourglass itself, each beat thudding in her chest as if trying to escape his scrutiny. But Viago remained detached, focused, as though nothing in the world existed beyond the falling sand and the faint rhythm beneath his fingers.
âWhatâs this one supposed to do?â Gwynn finally asked, her voice breaking the silence just as the last grain of sand slipped through the hourglass.
âIncapacitate. But not kill.â Viagoâs tone was calm, almost clinical, as he uncorked the vial of milky liquid. The sharp tang of its contents joined the cocktail of smells in the room. With his left hand, he pressed her arm flat against the table, reaching for the scalpel with his right.
âItâs designed to induce panic,â he continued. âOverwhelm the target. Make them feel like death is creeping closer. That kind of fear loosens lips. Makes them spill secrets.â
The scalpel gleamed as he held it to the soft skin near the crook of her elbow. The blade was steady in his hands, far steadier than her racing heart. His eyes flicked up to meet hers. âReady?â
âYou have the antidote, right?â Her voice wavered despite her efforts to sound composed.
âHave I ever let you down, Gwynn?â
âEverything has a first time...â
He didnât reply. The blade pressed down, slicing a clean line through her skin. A sharp sting bloomed as a bead of blood welled up. Viago worked swiftly, turning to the vial. He let a single drop of the milky liquid fall onto the wound.
Gwynn hissed sharply as the poison seeped in. The pain was immediate, sharp, and fiery. âIs it supposed to burn like this?â
Viago didnât answer. Instead, he turned two hourglasses at once, their sands beginning a synchronized countdown. His left hand returned to her wrist, his fingers firm against her pulse, and his eyes stayed locked on herânot with concern, but with unshakable focus.
The burning in her arm spread quickly, radiating out like wildfire. It seeped into her chest, her limbs, until her entire body ached as if it had been lit from within. Her breathing quickened, ragged and shallow. Instinct took over, and she started to pull her arm away, but his grip was unyielding.
âFuck, Viââ she gasped, her words hitching as the pain surged. âMy heart... Are you sure this wonât kill me?â
âYour heartâs fast, but steady,â he said, his voice calm despite her panic. âItâs still beating, Gwynn. Take a deep breath.â
Viagoâs charcoal scratched across the page in precise strokes, his notes growing longer as he worked. His focus never wavered, moving between her pulse, the hourglasses, and the faint sheen of sweat forming on her brow. Each detail seemed to matter to him, though he said nothing for a long while.
The silence stretched, broken only by the steady hiss of falling sand and Gwynnâs ragged breathing. He adjusted his grip on her wrist, his gloved fingers shifting slightly as though recalibrating. âPulse is still strong,â he murmured, almost to himself, his tone clinical. âFaster than before, but steady. Good. Thatâs good.â
The burning in Gwynnâs arm had spread to her chest, and she clenched her jaw to suppress a groan. Her vision blurred at the edges, dark shadows creeping in with each uneven breath. âViago,â she gasped, âI... I canâtâ my heart..â
âYou can,â he interrupted. He tilted his head toward the hourglass. âYouâre still well within safe limits. Your heartâs working harder, but itâs not failing.â
Her free hand gripped the edge of the table, her knuckles white. âIt doesnât feel safe,â she ground out.
âI know,â he replied, his voice maddeningly even. He reached for her wrist again, pressing his thumb against the pulse point while his eyes flicked back to the hourglass. The sand was running low. âYouâre breathing shallow. Deep breaths, Gwynn.â
She tried, forcing herself to inhale deeply, but it felt like dragging air through fire. âItâsâtoo much,â she wheezed, her chest rising and falling in uneven jerks.
Viagoâs gaze narrowed, his hand moving from her wrist to the base of her throat. His fingers rested there lightly, feeling the rapid thrum of her pulse beneath her skin. âStill consistent,â he muttered, turning the hourglass again. He leaned back, his sharp eyes darting over her face, her trembling limbs, the tension in her jaw. âAdrenalineâs spiking. No arrhythmias. Youâre not crashing, Gwynn. Keep breathing.â
His detached tone should have been infuriating, but it was oddly grounding. She focused on the methodical way he turned the hourglasses, the practiced ease with which he made his notes. His presence, though cold and analytical, was unshakable.
âBurning subsiding?â he asked, his gaze flicking back to her.
âNo,â she hissed. âItâsâgetting worse. Vi, my chestââ
âIâm monitoring it,â he said, his tone sharper now. His hand returned to her wrist, holding her steady as she tried to pull away. âYour heart rateâs up, but itâs still strong. Youâre not going to die.â
âHow can you be so sure?â she snapped, tears stinging her eyes.
âIâm holding your pulse,â he said simply, his eyes meeting hers. âIâd know.â
The burning began to creep into her throat, and her breathing quickened again. âViago, I swearââ
âListen to me.â His tone was suddenly commanding, cutting through the fog of her panic. âYouâre feeling the poisonâs effects exactly as intended. Itâs meant to mimic the symptoms of dyingâtight chest, rapid pulse, burning in the veins. But itâs not killing you. Your vitals are telling me that your body is handling it. Focus on my voice. Breathe with me.â
He took a deep breath, exhaling slowly, and she tried to mimic him, though her breath hitched midway. His fingers remained firm on her wrist, anchoring her. âThatâs better,â he said quietly.
The minutes dragged on, and she lost track of how many times the hourglass had been turned. Each time it emptied, he recorded something new, his notes growing denser with every pass. He shifted her wrist slightly, checking the veins along her forearm, and pressed his free hand to her clammy forehead.
âYouâre peaking now,â he said after a moment. âThe burning will start to ease soon. Keep breathing, Gwynn. Youâre doing fine.â
Her limbs trembled, but the fire in her veins finally began to flicker and fade, leaving behind a heavy ache. She sagged in the chair, her head tilting back as she gulped in air. Viagoâs hand lingered on her wrist, his thumb brushing over her pulse as if confirming its consistency one last time.
âItâs passing,â he said, his voice softer now. âYour vitals are stabilizing.â
She blinked up at him, exhausted. âYou were watching me like a damn lab rat,â she muttered, though her voice lacked venom.
âI was keeping you alive,â he countered, his expression unreadable. âIf I didnât track every detail, I wouldnât know how far I could push the dose. Or you.â
âPush me? I felt like I was dying, Viago.â
âAnd you didnât,â he replied, his eyes locking on hers. âThatâs what matters.â
Her breath hitched, and she shook her head faintly. âYouâre impossible.â
âAnd youâre resilient,â he said, turning to his notebook to scrawl one last note, before closing it. âWeâre done for today.â
That was her cue to leave. This time, she practically fled the room, slamming the door closed on her way out.
----
Davrinâs gaze shifted between Lucanis and Rook as the story concluded. Rook stared into the fire, her face illuminated by its flickering glow. Whatever memories the tale had stirred, she seemed lost in them now.
âI canât believe youâd call the Crows normal,â Davrin finally said, his voice sharp with incredulity. âYou two do realize none of this is normal, right?â
Lucanis set the vials back down, his fingers lingering on the wax seals. Heâd need a word with Viago when he returned. The older man had always preached reforming the Crows, making them something more than tools. But now? Learning thisâknowing Viago had counted Rook -Gwynn-among his closest confidants, it painted a darker picture. Lucanis had spoken of a cruel childhood to the others, but Rookâs? Rookâs had been worse.
âThatâs rich coming from a Grey Warden,â She muttered.
Davrinâs response came swift and sharp. âWe drink from the poisoned chalice once, Rook. After that, my sergeant didnât keep poisoning me to prove I deserved my place.â He tossed his cleaning rag aside and pushed back from the table, rising abruptly. âI need a minute to process this.â
Bellara, who had been unusually quiet, jumped up as if startled. âIâll⌠Iâll get started on dinner.â Her voice was bright but forced, and she darted from the room before anyone could reply.
That left only Rook and Lucanis at the table. The silence between them stretched, broken only by the faint crackle of the fire.
âIâ I didnât know,â Lucanis began, his voice low. âIfââ
Rook cut him off, her tone sharp. âIf what, Lucanis? If youâd known, then what?â She leaned forward, her blue eyes boring into his. âWhat would you have done? Grandson of the First Talon or not, youâd have had no right to challenge another Talon. No say in how he governed his House, or how he used his Crows.â
Lucanis opened his mouth to argue but found no words.
Rook leaned back, exhaling a long sigh as she raked a hand through her hair. Her voice softened, though the weight of her words remained. âBut itâs done now. And⌠in his way, Viago did it out of care.â
Her gaze drifted back to the fire, her features shadowed by the glow. The faintest trace of a bitter smile crossed her lips. âHis way. Always his way.â
Thinking about Rook and Harding's relationship through the lens of Varric's death like. It's crystal clear it has a big impact on Lace - she's angry and distraught in its aftermath, has to psych herself up just to approach the ritual site ("You need to do it, Lace, it needs to be done"), when Rook suggests that she can use her powers to protect people, the first thing she thinks about is that she could've used them to protect people who mattered to her.
But she sees none of that in Rook. Rook comes across as standoffish at best. "Varric knew the danger." There's no in-game chance to reach out to Harding to share that grief, talk about how it affected them.
But it's not like Rook has to do that, right? Maybe they are not that kind of person. Maybe they grieve, but they don't show it, maybe Harding realises she and Rook just aren't as close as she thought they were, and that kind of stings, but you know. What can she do?
But then things happen in the plot. Weisshaupt happens, Shathann, Cyrian. There are so many chances for Rook to express how sorry they are about someone's passing, the loss of life (and Warden Rook especially does not just observe loss, they experience it and don't have to hide it). Harding sees that Rook can reach out to friends in difficult times. They attend the funeral with Bellara, comfort Taash when they need it. They can grieve, and they can help someone through grieving.
And there's that certain feeling of misunderstanding, maybe a hint of resentment, that Harding, a people pleaser, wouldn't dare to confront. What can she say, even? Why are you mourning all those people and not our common friend? Why not Varric? Why not Varric?
Then, she either dies, never finding out the truth, or finds out the truth so late that the rift between her and Rook has become so big they can't just fill it in. She can't undo the way she had been feeling, feeling about something Rook had no idea about. Tricked by Solas, manipulated to think that Varric was alive. Robbed of the chance to grieve a friend together, time lost forever.
A quiet whimper seeped through the closed door, sharp and raw. Rook froze mid-step. She had been on her way to check on Bellara, worried about how the elf was coping with her brotherâs second death. But the sound sent her heart racing.
The Archive. Her first thought was that it had gone rogue. Without a secondâs hesitation, Rook flung the door open, panic surging in her chestâonly to find Bellara crumpled on the floor, head in her hands, her shoulders trembling.
âBell!â Rook dropped to her knees, sliding across the floor to reach her. She pulled Bellara into her arms, not waiting for permission.
Bellara gasped, trying to push her away. âIâm fine! IâmâRook, Iâm fine! Pleaseâjustââ But the broken words collapsed into full sobs, fresh tears streaking her cheeks. The kohl she meticulously applied every morning ran in dark rivulets down her face, smudging as she wiped at her eyes with shaking hands.
âYouâre not fine, Bell,â Rook said softly, refusing to let go. âAnd thatâs okay. Iâm here. Whatever you need, Iâm here.â
Bellara sagged against her, her resistance melting as grief took over. The sobs wracked her body, silent at first, then building in intensity as the barriers she had so carefully erected crumbled. âItâs justâ I miss him, Rook! He was gone, and I found peace. Andâ and then I could hope again. Just for it all to end like that?â
The sound of hurried footsteps echoed in the hallway outside. Rook remembered the others had been wanting to train in the open center of the Lighthouse. Some were eager to release pent-up energy.
The door burst open, Davrin storming in, sword drawn, his sharp gaze scanning for danger. Lucanis was right behind him, hand hovering over his dagger, his expression tense and ready.
They froze.
Bellara was still weeping, curled into Rookâs arms like a child. And Rook, though trying her best to stay composed, was visibly struggling herself. Her lips moved as she whispered soothing words, her hand gently stroking the back of Bellaraâs neck in slow, calming motions.
Rook turned her head toward the men. She shook her head at them, tightening her hold on Bellara and motioning sharply toward the door.
Lucanis immediately stepped back, understanding without a word. He glanced at Davrin, who hesitated, his grip on his sword loosening.
âLater,â Lucanis murmured, tapping the Warden on the shoulder. âLetâs give them space.â
Davrinâs jaw tightened, about to protest, but he nodded and sheathed his weapon. As he followed Lucanis out, Rook mouthed a silent thank you before turning her full attention back to Bellara. He bowed his head in reply. There was no need to explain grief to him.
The room grew quiet again as the door clicked shut, leaving only the sound of Bellaraâs soft sobbing and Rookâs voice.
âItâs okay,â Rook murmured. âLet it go, Bell. Let it all out.â
And Bellara did, clinging to Rook as though she were the only thing anchoring her to the ground in the floating building in the Fade.
She wasnât sure how much time had passedâlong enough for her legs to cramp from sitting on the floor, folded together like they were. Rookâs chin rested atop Bellaraâs head, her hands still moving in steady, soothing patterns up and down the elfâs back. Gradually, Bellaraâs sobs shifted to quiet sniffles, then to soft, uneven breaths. Finally, she fell silent, her body relaxing against Rookâs.
A gentle knock broke the stillness, and the door creaked open to reveal Harding poking her head inside. âHey, Bellara⌠Iâve got some tea ready. Think youâre up for drinking a bit?â
Bellara stirred, slowly pulling herself out of Rookâs embrace. She wiped hastily at her reddened, tear-streaked face, as though trying to erase the evidence of her pain.
âLace⌠Yes, please,â she rasped, her voice rough and barely audible.
âGood. Here you go.â Harding stepped into the room, carrying a mug of steaming tea. She placed it firmly into Bellaraâs hands, as if daring her to refuse. âLucanis is making some soup too. Itâll be ready soon if you feel up for it later.â
As Bellara sipped the tea, Harding prattled on, her cheerful voice filling the room. Rook stretched her legs out in front of her, grimacing slightly at the ache. She leaned back on her palms and offered Harding a tired but grateful smile.
âLetâs get some fresh air, huh? Or as much air this place allows.â Harding suggested brightly, her sharp eyes flicking between the two women. âIâve got some plants that need tending to. You could keep me company, Bell, maybe take a nap under the canopy? The greenery might do you some good.â
Harding reached for Bellaraâs hand, her own smaller fingers curling firmly around the elfâs. With a playful tug, she tried to haul Bellara to her feet. The height difference made the effort almost comicalâHarding was easily half Bellaraâs size. Apparently even in the floating Lighthouse in the Fade, some laws of physics still applied.
Rook leaned in with a gentle push to Bellaraâs back. âGo on,â she said encouragingly.
That small nudge was enough to tip the balanceâliterally. Bellara staggered upright, swaying slightly as Hardingâs determined pull and Rookâs push sent her teetering. The two of them wobbled unsteadily for a moment, the dwarfâs stout frame nearly toppling under Bellaraâs height.
âEasy there,â Harding quipped, planting her feet with a mock-serious frown. âNot all of us are built for giant-tree-sized elves.â
A faint, reluctant chuckle escaped Bellara, and Rook couldnât help but smile herself at the sound. It was small, but it was a start. Rook knew it would take longer than tonight to heal the hurt Cyrian had left behind. Or the hurt any other of them carried.
Still, she could only be proud of this rag tag team they formed.
âCome on, then,â Harding said, already leading the way with Bellara in tow. âThe plants are waiting, and so is the supposedly fresh air. Youâve got to let yourself breathe sometime, you know. Remind me to never ask metaphysical questions again to Emmrich. I have dealt with enough mind-shattering discoveries lately to last me the rest of my lifetimeâ
Rook stayed seated for a moment longer, watching the two women leave the room, before she dragged herself of the floor to follow. She could hear Harding continue on: âOh, did I tell you about the dream I had last night? It was so weird..â
The sight of Bellara leaning just slightly on Harding, her steps slow but steady, gave Rook a flicker of hope. Maybe, just maybe, theyâd all find their footing again.
She followed them from a distance, back to the dining hall. The smells of Lucanisâ cooking greeted them in the courtyard. The hall was almost empty, just Davrin witling and sulking on the couch next to the fireplace, and Lucanis at the stove. The warden jumped up when Bellara and Harding walked in.
Rook looked in from the edges of the room, seeing how Harding and Davrin now tutted about the elf. Lucanis offered her a bowl of soup, before grabbing more for Harding and Davrin. Bellaraâd be fine now.
Quietly, Rook turned and slipped away, heading back to Bellaraâs room. It was in disarray, she had noticed when she had first walked in, papers scattered haphazardly across the desk and floor, a scarf thrown over the back of a chair, and books left open where Bellara had been writing earlier.
Rolling up her sleeves, Rook set about tidying the space. She gathered the papers into neat piles, folded the scarf with care, and closed the books, stacking them neatly on the desk. The rhythmic, methodical movements gave her mind a reprieve.
When she finally stepped back and looked around the now-tidied room, she allowed herself a small smile. It wasnât much, but it was something.
âHow is it going?â Lucanis leaned casually against the doorframe, though his eyes followed her every move around the empty room. When had he walked in? She must have been busier longer than she thought.
âBellâs in good hands now,â Rook replied without looking up, her hands busy tidying the haphazard stacks of papers in Bellaraâs room. âEmmrich and Harding brewed her a calming tea. After a nap, she should be feeling a bit better.â
She kept her tone matter-of-fact, focusing on the task at hand. It was easier than thinking too much.
Lucanis must have stepped closer without her noticing âagain, damn, she was losing her edge. Viago would skin her if he ever found outâbecause suddenly, his hands were gently taking the papers from hers. He placed them back on the desk and then, before she could react, took hold of her hands. His grip was firm but gentle, his thumbs tracing slow circles against her wrists.
âBellara will be okay,â he said softly, his voice as steady as his gaze. âIt might take time, but sheâs hewn from strong wood, that one.â He paused, his dark eyes searching hers, unwavering. âI wasnât talking about Bellara, though. I was asking about you.â
The question hung in the air between them, weighty and unavoidable. Rook opened her mouth to deflect, but the way his gaze held herâgentle but unrelentingâmade the words catch in her throat. She forced a small, tight smile.
âIâm fine,â she said quickly, her voice lacking conviction.
Lucanis tugged on her hands, just enough to draw her attention fully to him. âTry again.â
The quiet insistence in his voice disarmed her. She hesitated, the silence between them stretching. She could feel his thumbs still moving in slow, soothing circles, grounding her. It made the cracks in her armor impossible to ignore.
Her resolve faltered, and finally, she exhaled, the sound shaky and uneven. âIâm three breaths away from panicking and breaking down,â she admitted, her voice trembling as the words tumbled out. Her eyes filled with unshed tears, her carefully constructed walls crumbling under the weight of her confession. âi have no idea what the hell Iâm supposed to be doing or how Iâm going to get everyone out of this, in one piece. Weâre up against gods, who fight even dirtier than Crows. None of this was something I was âam ready for. Fuck, Caterina might have given you an impossible contract. I donât know what the hell Viago was thinking when he drew up mine.â
Lucanis didnât let go. Instead, his hands tightened around hers, anchoring her. âThere it is,â he murmured. His voice was quiet, but there was no mistaking the relief and understanding in his tone.
Her breath hitched, and she tried to pull away, instinctively retreating back into herself, but he held firm. âRook,â he said. âYou donât have to hold it all together. Hold all of us together. On your own. Weâre here, querida. â
A tear slipped down her cheek, then another, until she could no longer fight the flood. She looked down, her shoulders trembling as the sob sheâd been holding in broke free.
Lucanis stepped closer, closing the space between them. He let go of her hands only to wrap his arms around her, pulling her into a steady, unyielding embrace. Rook tensed at first, unused to the comfort â to be this close to himâ but the warmth and strength of his hold slowly unraveled her resistance.
âIâve got you,â he murmured against her hair. âItâs okay. Youâve carried enough.â
And for the first time in what felt like ages, Rook let herself lean into someone else.
He held her close for what felt like an age, his warmth slowly easing the tension in her own limbs.
When he finally let go, he held her at an armâs width away.
âNow, your turn to go sleep,â he said as he turned her around, giving her a slight shove out of the room when she started to protest.
Iâll wake you in a few hours. You still remember the drills your trainers taught you?â Rook nodded, âHow could I forget, why?â
His smile was warm. âWeâll run some drills then, together. Itâll help clear your mind. Now, off to bed.â
Lucanis and Madeleina fall in love over the course of the game but it starts by her telling him a bedtime story from her childhood. She uses her magic to bring the bedtime story to life. They grow closer and closer with every tale shared.
And now Im in my room crying bc Iâm thinking about Madeleina using her magic to tell their kids the story of how they fell in love. And for the longest time their kids, Francesca and Rafael, have no idea itâs their parentâs love story - itâs just a fantastical tale filled with love, betrayal, gods, and monsters. I imagine they lose their shit when they realize Mom and Dad are literal god killers.
So, the last chapter of the bedtime stories for a demon fic will probably be called:
Lucanis walked back through the quiet halls of the Lighthouse, the muffled echoes of his footsteps the only sound accompanying him. Most of the buildingâs current inhabitants had already retired to their rooms. The meeting with Teia and Viago had concluded around midnight, but heâd chosen to take a detour through Treviso before returning. He needed to clear his headâand to drink in the sights of the city he had missed for over a year.
Treviso, his beloved city, was alive again. The streets buzzed with renewed energy, its people rediscovering hope as the Antaamâs occupation began to crumble, bit by bit. Lucanis smiled faintly as he thought of the one who had made much of that possible. A soft hum at the back of his mind confirmed that on this, at least, him and Spite were in agreement. Rook had been a force to be reckoned with, and for once, both man and demon were grateful she had chosen to help preserve the city he so cherished.
Still, something about her had seemed... off lately. Lucanis couldnât shake the feeling. Rook had been quieter, more withdrawn, and even Teia had commented on it during the meeting. When Lucanis admitted he wasnât sure how Rook was truly faring, the look Viago gave him was telling. It seemed Rook had been equally evasive with her own Talon.
The meeting itself had been draining. With Illario barely functioning in the aftermath of Caterinaâs death, the responsibility of managing House Dellamorteâs remaining contracts had fallen squarely on Lucanisâ shoulders. Their coffers werenât empty, not yet, but the survival of Dellamorteâs name depended on maintaining its reputationâcontracts fulfilled, successes secured. But with his current limitations, Lucanis could not intervene directly. He had to rely on allies: House de Riva and House Cantori.
Viago and Teia had struck their arrangement with House Dellamorte years ago, during the early days of the Antaam threat. But asking them to directly interfere in Dellamorteâs contracts was something entirely different. It was a gamble, one Lucanis hated taking, but he was grateful for their support. They were, he realized, the closest thing he could call friendsâoutside of the people waiting for him now in the Lighthouse.
By the time Lucanis reached the observatory, its usual soft gloom greeted him. The room was dark and quiet, save for the faint scent of tea and burned coffee and the clutter of books and papers strewn across the couches. The remnants of this eveningâs book club were still scattered about, left untouched. He noticed a book lying on the couch, a note with his name tucked inside its cover. Neveâs choice for the next session, no doubt. He picked it up, glancing at the title: a political thriller set in Orlais. Would be interesting.
Lucanis flipped through the pages idly as he continued toward the dining hall and his room, intending to start it soon. But as he neared the hall, the faint glow of light spilling from an open doorway caught his attention. A voice drifted through, low and distracted.
âManfred, I had a stack of papers here, didnât I?â
The rustle of parchment and a confirmative hiss followed. Lucanis stopped at the threshold, looking inside.
Rook sat at the table, surrounded by a chaotic array of letters and missives piled precariously on the table and chairs around her. Manfred hovered dutifully over her shoulder, his skeletal frame tilted in what could only be described as overeager assistance. A wisp darted past Lucanis, trailing a few loose sheets of paper in its wake.
Lucanis stepped forward, waving the wisp away before it could cause more mischief. He deftly caught the fluttering pages before they hit the ground. Rook, absorbed in her muttering, remained oblivious to his presence.
âReally, I swore I had some left,â she mumbled, flipping over already-written letters in search of the missing pages. âYouâre sure you havenât seen them, Manfred?â
The skeleton shook its head, mimicking her movements as he lifted individual sheets and set them aside in what could generously be called an attempt to help. Lucanis stifled a smirk. He could tell the skeletal assistantâs unintentional chaos was only going to frustrate her further. Deciding it was time to step in, he straightened and pushed the door open.
âStill awake, Rook?â
She jumped at the sound of his voice, her hand flying to her dagger. âMakerâs breath, Lucanis!â Her wide-eyed surprise melted quickly into a rueful chuckle. âI didnât hear you come in.â
He held up the pages heâd rescued, stepping fully into the room. âLooking for these?â
Rook exhaled sharply, relief washing over her face as she took the papers from him. âYes, thank you. I thought I was losing my mind.â
âManfred wasnât much help, I take it?â Lucanis teased, glancing at the skeleton, who managed to look both indignant and unapologetic at the same time.
âHeâs trying,â Rook said, though her smile betrayed her exasperation. âIâm not sure if itâs better or worse than him just standing there. I promised Emmrich I would keep an eye on him, he had to leave for the Necropolis on some urgent business.â
Lucanis chuckled and pulled out a chair, sitting across from her. âWhatâs all this?â he asked, gesturing to the mountain of correspondence spread across the table.
âLetters,â Rook said, rubbing the back of her neck. âFollow-ups, requests, a few... apologies. Seems like the the whole North decided Iâm its favorite person to bother with their problems now. Thank the Maker Inquisitor Trevelyan is taking care of the South.â
âWell,â Lucanis said, leaning back slightly, âyou did save most of them.â
Rook sighed, the weight of that truth settling between them. âIt doesnât feel like enough,â she admitted quietly.
Lucanis watched her for a moment, his expression softening. âYouâve done more than anyone could have asked of you, Rook. More than most would even try.â
She didnât reply immediately, her fingers tracing the edge of one of the letters. âI just donât want to fail them, or Varric⌠,â she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper.
âYou wonât,â Lucanis said firmly. âAnd youâre not alone in this. I meant it when I said I would be here to convince you.â
Rook glanced up at him, her eyes meeting his. For a brief moment, the exhaustion and doubt in her gaze seemed to ease.
âThanks, Lucanis,â she said, her lips curving into a faint smile.
âTeia and Viago extend their regards.â The faint smile faded again, Rook quickly looked back at the table.
âHow is the situation? Did they have any new leads on Zara?â
âNo,â Lucanis sighed, running a hand over his face, âthe tracks are all dead-ends still. But, we at least have confirmation she is not in Vyrantium. She must still be in the city. But Iâll be honest, Treviso is in a precarious situation. One wrong step and Illario will drag our House to the ground. Viago is on edge, even more than before. But I guess he has kept you informed.â
At that Rook shook her head. âNo.. No, he has not. We have not spoken since Caterina send me to the Ossuary.â At that confession, Lucanis raised an eyebrow.
Rook did not meet his eyes, she was busying her hands with the papers in front of her.
âViago has high praise for you, Rook.â She snorted. âWhat makes you doubt that?â
âAre we talking about the same Viago?â Her quip was sharp, much sharper than he was used from her.
âI seem to recall you were a close confidant, were you not?â Rook growled, a sound he expected even less. âI was âam a tool to him. Nothing more. The world will truly end when Viago admits anything more than that.â
Lucanis studied Rook carefully. Her words hung in the air like a taut string, and the bitterness in her tone wasnât lost on him. He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table as he spoke.
âThatâs not what Iâve seen,â he said evenly. âViago doesnât place his trust lightly, and when he does, itâs not without reason. If he truly thought of you as just a âtool,â he wouldnât have left you standing after your mishap with the Antaam.â
Rook finally glanced up at him, her eyes narrowing slightly. âYou donât know him like I do, Lucanis.â
âMaybe not,â he conceded, âbut I know what it looks like when someone values anotherâs judgment. He listens to you, Rook. He respects youâeven if he doesnât say it outright.â
She shook her head, a humorless chuckle escaping her lips. âYouâre giving him too much credit. Viago doesnât respect anyone. He calculates, manipulates. Thatâs who he is.â
Lucanis tilted his head slightly, watching her. âAnd yet, he hasnât cut you loose. Why do you think that is?â
Rook opened her mouth to respond, but no words came. She frowned, her hands stilling on the papers in front of her.
âBecause he knows your worth,â Lucanis continued gently. âAnd whether you want to admit it or not, he depends on you. Just like the rest of us.â
Her shoulders sagged slightly at his words, and she looked down at the table again. âYouâre wrong,â she murmured, but her voice lacked conviction.
Lucanis straightened, letting the conversation settle for a moment before changing the subject. âWhat about you? Youâve been quieter lately. Withdrawn. Is everything all right?â
Rook froze, her fingers curling around the edge of one of the letters. âIâm fine,â she said quickly, too quickly.
âThatâs a lie,â Lucanis said bluntly. âAnd we both know it.â
She glared at him, the spark of defiance in her eyes momentarily rekindled. âSince when did you become my therapist?â
âSince I pulled you out of the canals, and the river in Rivain. There was also that puddle in the Wetlands,â he shot back, his tone even. âAnd since I watched you nearly collapse trying to take on more than anyone should have to.â
Rook clenched her jaw, the sharp retort she was ready to unleash faltering before it left her lips. She exhaled slowly, the fight draining out of her. âItâs nothing I canât handle.â
âMaybe,â Lucanis said, his voice softening, âbut you donât have to handle it alone.â
Rook looked at him, her guarded expression faltering for just a moment. âItâs not that simple,â she said quietly.
âIt never is,â Lucanis replied. âBut if you keep shutting people out, youâll only make it harder for yourself.â
âOh, pot and kettle!â He smiled at her, knowing full well she was right about that.
Her gaze drifting to the stack of letters in front of her. âI donât even know where to start,â she admitted, her voice barely audible.
âStart with one thing,â he suggested. âWhatâs weighing on you the most right now?â
Rook hesitated, then sighed, rubbing the back of her neck. âLavendel,â she said finally. âIf we donât find those sources of the Blight soon..â
Lucanis nodded. âWeâll find it. And weâll deal with whatever comes next, together.â
For a long moment, Rook said nothing. Then, slowly, she nodded. âThank you, Lucanis,â she said again, her voice a little steadier this time.
He stood, giving her a small smile. âGet some rest, Rook. Weâve got a long road ahead.â
He grabbed the book he left on the table and walked to his room. With a final look back, he waved her goodnight as Rook was collecting v Heâd have a talk with Teia in the morning. The elf would be able to talk some sense into the Fifth Talon.
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