an hour found

Rachel | 25 | GA 

[alittlelevity]

what if we all sang 'the dawn will come.'

i mean it can't make anything worse.

[vr-archived-deactivated20250621]

Shadows fall And hope has fled

[alittlelevity]

Steel your heart:

The dawn will come.

[vhen-harel]

The night is long

And the path is dark

[pavuslavellan]

Look to the sky

For one day soon...

[alittlelevity]

The dawn will come.

[himluv]

The shepherd's lost

And his home is far

[chaoticgriffins]

Keep to the stars

The dawn will come.

[midnightwind]

Clipped Wings

Summary: Sent away for ruining a plan made by the Talon's themselves, Renn de Riva does her best to fulfill her new contract with Varric Tethras. A few letters home are all she has to tide herself over as they prepare to face down their target after a long year.

Word Count: 5690

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Chapter Two: Dear Runaway Heart

A collection of partially coded letters found set aside by the Fifth Talon, gathered over the course of a year.

Vi,

That was mean, even for you. You didn't tell them that the contract was approved? I tracked them for over a week. I rode a fucking horse, Viago. I haven't done that since you trained me. I hated that. I finally found them camped out in the woods and they both almost shot me. Would you have still felt vindicated if they had turned me into a pincushion? The little farm dwarf is still glaring at me. If they knew to expect a Crow appearing from the shadows, maybe they wouldn’t have almost killed me. Lucky I didn’t drop from the trees, I don’t know if I would have had enough time to explain myself before 7 bolts and 3 arrows appeared in my chest.

Maker… Whatever. They were fresh from some mishap, which didn't help. Cranky, tired, fed up, and surprised make a terrible cocktail. Their trail is apparently pointing them at the capital so I get to play tour guide I guess. Not that you've ever given me a job or taken me on a trip there. I do so wonder why.

Don't fret too much. I'll be on my best behavior, as befits my House. Wouldn't want to embarrass you. I’ll complete this contract, but if they die I’m coming home. No client means no gold means no job. I promise I won’t put them out of their misery myself.

-R

Hey Vi,

Varric said I should keep writing back home, that it might help. Something about my mood spooking Harding. I think traveling with a Crow is all that dwarf needed to be on edge…

We just passed through the capital chasing their apostate. Wish we had gotten to enter it proper, but their information kept us to the outskirts. They had a lead on some magic doohickey the man wanted, but all we found was an empty basement. Their contact, some elven servant, disappeared pretty quickly once they showed us the building and the guards sure turned up faster than usual. They accused us of taking the thing. Never even set eyes on it… Varric said Solas had a bunch of agents scattered around, usually elves, so I'd bet coin we were had by one of his guys. It’s been a while since I’ve had to outrun guards, but this is the job that keeps on giving…

I don't have enough on this mark to see any of this coming, Viago. Usually I have your dossiers and the de Riva recon to run with. Or you just tell me where to go and what to do and things just… Work. Harding doesn't trust me and half the things Varric shares about the mark sound fake or impossible. I can't ask around because no one ever seems to see him, or worse they’re lying and telling him that we’re looking for him. I could brush up on the myths for Fen'Harel, but that sounds ludicrous. Gods aren't real. It'd probably be as useful as asking Varric more questions.

Anyways, the next lead is taking us to Seleny. At least we can use the river instead of walking. So much walking. Thanks for that.

-Renn

Viago,

Guess whose boat got hijacked by Antaam? Sent several of the bastards floating face down back towards the capital for you. Hopefully those ones weren't part of some new Talon plot I wasn't told about. They're sure spreading through Antiva fast. I hope you're still getting updates from Salle. If you need me back to defend our turf, just write me a letter. We both know this job is a joke.

Seleny was nice enough, but uneventful. We missed the mark by a while, but the trail isn't quite cold. We're going south, again. He's still after contraptions for whatever ritual I guess he's doing. If I trust Varric's claim, anyways. It still sounds bullshit to me. Wish I had your take on the mark. Feel like I can't trust anything right now…

Give Teia my regards.

-Renn

Fifth Talon Viago,

The elven ruins south of Seleny were quite the trip. Either this Solas can evade demons better than any Crow assassin sneaks into a villa, or he was never there in the first place. Maybe as the Dreadwolf he just has the keys to every ruin. All the traps still worked, the previous residents were very cross to be woken up by us (not my fault), and there were even a few demons hanging around the place just to spice things up. Never dull, this trip.

In my defense of the traps, I did not have experience as a dungeon delver before this. Or elven ruins. Or ruins. The zombies were 100% Varric's fault, though. I told him not to mess with the urns. At least no one else had to deal with the traps I set off… Scrubbing thousand year old guts off my gear was not a fun way to spend the evening.

The demons were interesting though! They follow magic like moths to a flame. Which was bad news for me. I wasn't ready to be in such high demand. I remember our lessons about them, don't worry, but it's one thing to read about how they hunger for mages and a whole other thing to have them hunting you. To have them reaching ice cold fingers into your mind, whispering temptations and doubts…

Hey, Vi, why did you give me this job? Was it really to keep me safe? I know I fucked up, I know it was bad, really bad. But… did you have to send me away like this? I know the other Talons would want blood, but they might not have killed me. You trained me, you know I can handle the pain. I would have bled whatever they needed if it meant I could stay. You could have sent me home, properly home to Salle. I would have stayed in the apartments forever. Anything for you, Viago. I would have died, if that’s what you needed. I just… Why did you send me away like this?

I hope you're still safe. I hope Treviso is okay. I hope my letters

 Fuck, Teia, I'm trying. Please tell him I'm trying. I'm sorry. Please. Please, get him to write back. I just

I'm so sorry.

-Mirenna

Beloved Teia,

Sorry for the double feature, but getting a letter out of the wilderness is quite impossible. We've stopped in Ansbury to resupply and plan our next move. We delved another ruin on the way over, this time much more smoothly now that I know what the traps can look like. Still found a few new ones, but that's just the learning curve. Good thing I've always been a quick study. Unfortunately, we don't really know what Solas is hoping to find in these ruins. Anything related to the Fade has a fairly distinct aura, but these relics do a variety of things. Some tear holes, others patch them, or they simply take a peek into the other side, spit out names of spirits and demons, pull in magic and store it…

We need information. I'm not a Fade expert, I'm just making my best guess at what all this is and does. But when we find a guide or a source, we get led into a fight or dead end. These Agents of Fen’Harel are dogging our every step and leading us in the wrong direction. Maker, they might be tracking us. He has a whole network working against us and we're just… three people struggling to share a meal most days.

You know me, T. I'm not the best with people who aren't Crows. I start talking about what poisons would be masked best by tonight's stew or the ideal way to slip a knife between the ribs of the last traitorous bastard to mislead us and things go really quiet. Harding looks like she's going to be ill and Varric just sighs… They tell stories about their time in the Inquisition, about their lives before that. The mundane details. They laugh with each other, they reminisce about the people they lost together, and I'm just there.

I know how to be a Crow. I know how to act a slave or servant. I don't know how to be… normal. I miss discussing the best lip stains with which to hide poison with you. The best tailor in town, the tastiest bakeries, the best perches to eavesdrop from, the finest smith for the sharpest blades. You always knew the best shops for the best prices. You single handedly saved my entire wardrobe for each Crow ball and party infiltration. I miss your company. I miss your advice.

I miss Vi. I miss training with him, the proper burn of a Crow workout. Brewing poisons at his side, sitting by the fireplace and reading quietly while he does paperwork. Maker, I miss his lectures! I would kill a man just to be stuck listening to Viago complain about dull blades. I miss gathering intel for him, seeing that little eyebrow raise he does when I do a good job, but he doesn't want to say it. I miss the snakes, I hope Emil is doing well.

I miss feeling like I'm part of something, T.

We’re going to follow the river west, towards Starkhaven. There's a few ruins along the way to check, but the trail is leading farther from Antiva. From home. Hopefully we catch him soon. It's only been a few months, but… Yeah. Please keep Viago updated with all of this, if you could.

-Your Little Wren

Teia,

Things could be better. A handful of ruins later, nothing to show for it, and a longer road away from home. I mean, there have been clearer signs of someone at least being in the ruins before us this time, but it's unclear if that was Solas or one of his agents. We’re definitely following someone’s trail! It's just a trail leading more north now. I guess I'm glad we’re not delving into Nevarra? My time with demons inhibiting ruins hasn't been amazing and that nation is… weird about them. The Veil has to be paper thin all over. Magic must be crazy.

I appreciate your advice on being more social. Trying to mimic you had… mixed results. Varric seemed amused and Harding just went really quiet. I think she blushed a little, even. But, I like making them laugh. Felt a bit like when I mess with Viago so you can get a giggle. Maybe I can't talk like a Crow with them, but I've been stuck listening to their stories for months now. I think I have a solid handle on what they find funny and what I can needle for my own amusement. You never stop being the little sibling, after all.

I think Varric noticed I wasn't doing well. He's been hanging back trying to talk with me more lately. He asked about the Dalish clan I came from. (Not good.) He asked about my parents. (Worse.) Even dared to ask how I got recruited by the Crows. (Better, but not good.) I cut him off before he could ask about my training. Very secretive and I think it'd just make him sad. People outside the Crows just don't understand what we have to do for this line of work.

I barely told him anything, just that my Clan kicked me out and Viago killed some slavers when he found me. He patted me on the back and offered a hug if I wanted one. I honestly don’t think my life was harder than anyone else’s before Viago found me. I mean, Crow training isn't great, but I asked for it. I chose to be a Crow. I like what I do. I like the people I work with. (You're my favorite, of course. Don't tell Viago.) But Varric just got this… look on his face, like I was some poor unfortunate soul put on this path by powers beyond me. He's started watching what I do in a fight or around camp or on the road and pointing out what other jobs I could do. Bodyguard, archeologist, botanist, alchemist… he's trying to offer me alternatives. Like I'm some down on their luck punk who just needs one person to believe in them.

I don't know, he's trying to be nice. Maybe even supportive? He's not a bad traveling companion, I definitely get along with him better than Harding. But it almost feels like… I didn't know my da very well before he died, but it almost feels like Varric is trying to fill that hole for me? It's a strange thing. I guess so long as he doesn't sit me down to discuss the birds and the bees, he can do whatever he wants.

Sorry for the rambling letter. Did you know Solas has a town named after him? Might not be for him, but isn't it funny? I'm hoping it's a sign that we're going to catch him there. It'd be poetic.

-Renn

The Most Radiant Talon,

I think this might have been my least favorite stop. Trying to ask after a man with the same name as the town was a test in patience I definitely failed. Took a few hours, but I almost started stabbing anyone who answered our questions with “You found it! Welcome to town.” Half of them were doing it for a laugh. Would have loved to hear their mirth after I punctured their lungs…

It was good for a rest, though. We got to have proper beds for the first time in a week. And real meals! Cheap tavern food has never tasted so good. You and Viago would hate this. Not to say I don't miss proper, good Antivan food (Maker above seasoning barely exists out here) but almost anything is better than Harding's “cooking.” I think most nights she just throws whatever she finds in the undergrowth into a pot and calls it dinner. I swear, when I get back I'm going to use a decent chunk of my payment on a meal so delicious it kills me. Would love company, if you want a treat.

Awful meals that could rival some of our poisons aside, things have been going… Okay with this group. Harding has finally thawed for me. Just took a few months and a lot of almost dying side by side in dusty ruins. I managed to get my hands on some reagents and a quiet evening at the fire to brew a coating for her arrows to help with the demons we keep running into. She seemed to appreciate the gift. We've spent a few nights discussing plants, although we have fairly different knowledge there. She's been teaching me about the edible stuff and I've been sharing the poisonous ones that can be used as medicine if reduced properly. So we have that at least. If things stay friendly, maybe we can chat business about ranged weaponry.

Varric loves to see it, obviously. Despite all our dead ends and shortfalls, he's been more smiley. Might just be the ale we finally have access to, though. He's currently trying to deal me into a game of Wicked Grace despite being able to see me very clearly write these exact words. I hear you snickering, go back to your drink, old man. I need to update my dear Talons back home before I cheat a weird dwarf out of a chunk of gold.

We're heading deeper into Tevinter proper, I think. Vol Dorma should be the next city hit, and in good time if we can buy horses. The Imperial Highway should speed things up. I wanted to stop in Vyrantium, as a treat, but I was out voted. No respect for legendary Crow contracts… 

It feels like we're getting close to something. Maybe it's wishful thinking or a jinx, but it's like there's an energy in the air. Maybe I'll have real news to write to you about next.

-Your Enduring Wren

T and Vi,

We were being watched. Followed. Tracked. I caught them, finally, trailing us as we were restocking in the markets. Easy enough to slip away unseen, child’s play to get behind the tail, laughable to slip a sweet poison into their blood. As they stumbled into the wall and fell to the ground, I got to rummage in their pockets. Another elf, clearly working for Fen’Harel. A little wolf necklace tells you a lot.

They’ve been sending letters to the apostate, updates on Varric and those he travels with. Where he was staying, where he plans to go, etc. The important one was a warning from Solas himself. He’s sending his agents away from Minrathous, cutting off communication and telling them to be ready for the new world. Whatever he’s been working towards is almost done and it’s happening in the capital of Tevinter. He’ll know we’re coming, but I think I got to this agent before a timetable could be sent.

The agent is eliminated, our route is still the same, but we’ll be riding hard now. I think we’ll be cutting it close. Vol Dorma is still the best bet for last minute communications unless you send it directly to Minrathous. I’m giving this letter and the last to the fastest bird the messengers have. This job ends soon, one way or another. Hopefully I’ll be home in a few months.

-Renn

~◇~

The bar had steadily emptied out as the night stretched on, the barkeep throwing increasingly annoyed glances at the elf curled up in the corner. She had been nursing the same drink for a few hours now, the cup pressed to her lips but she never pulled a single sip from it. Her attention was instead fixed on the papers spread out before her. All of them were letters, written in the flowing script of the Seventh Talon. They were updates from home detailing how the occupation was going, the latest raids and losses, and a few sections dedicated solely to Viago. He refused to write to her and hadn't sent a single letter in the year she'd been gone. Maker, it had been a year… She missed Treviso sorely. She missed Viago more.

Which was why she had been sitting in the booth for hours, staring at an unopened letter. It had his familiar neat script, the wax seal a silly little snake because he just loved being on the nose too much. She knew Teia had been passing on her updates to him; she had explicitly asked the Talon to when she realized he was never going to write back, after all. Her last letter had been a shorter update, but she hadn’t expected it to finally get her Talon to pen one himself.

One letter shouldn't have felt so intimidating, but she was scared. What if he told her to stay gone? What if he was passing on another job that kept her out of Antiva? What if this was a warning that she was never welcomed back? She let out a shivering breath into her drink, ripples dancing in the liquid. The letter had been placed in her hand days ago, long before they had entered the capital. It was starting to crease from how often she worried the paper in her hands as they traveled.

“You have to read it eventually.”

She jumped at Varric's voice, cursing under her breath. Her mug clinked to the tabletop as she half turned a guilty look to the dwarf. He hummed a quiet laugh before sliding into the booth to sit across from her. He spread his hands out around the other letters, tapping the table with a finger.

“You'll keep imagining the worst of these letters if you refuse to read that one.” His voice had that infuriating lilt he got when he knew he was right, a little smug and a little mocking. He softened soon after. “Listen, whatever he wrote you doesn't change the good you've done with us. If you can't go home after this, you'll have a place with me. I'm not going to drop my Rook just because this job is finished. Trouble has a way of finding me and you're too damn handy in a fight to lose now.”

A weak smile brushed her lips, but it didn't reach her eyes. Working with Varric had been good, eye opening. Traveling Thedas had been amazing, between fighting for their lives and slightly miserable camping at times. But the Crows were her home. If she had lost that… Her eyes fell back to the letter in her hand, brows knitting. Fear was a cold stone in her stomach, reaching shivering tendrils up to her heart. It hammered behind her ribs painfully. With a steadying breath, she flicked a throwing dagger out from her sleeve and broke the seal.

Idiot:

I hope you're reading this. If the trail really has led you through Tevinter, it'll be harder to get messages through. The Antaam in Antiva are prickly about anything to do with our neighboring kingdom.

Back home, things have cooled, but they are not forgotten. Killing all those Antaam may have felt righteous in the moment, but the Talons are still complaining that your actions ruined weeks of setting up a larger, more effective strike.

I am one of the Talons still complaining. Remember, this trip with Varric is a contract. Crows don't fail contracts, especially Crows from House de Riva who may need to improve their judgement. But there is more at stake than honor. Whatever this ‘Solas’ is up to needs to be stopped. I've seen enough of his handiwork to know that.

Don't get careless out there. Don't fail. And don't get yourself killed, or I will come after you in the Fade myself.

-Viago

The greeting alone almost had her crying with relief, the noise that escaped her was half laugh, half sob. The whole thing was the closest the man ever got to saying ‘be safe, I love you.’ It wasn't even dusted with poison or anything. She pressed it gingerly to her chest, as if there was some kind of lingering warmth to be gleaned from it. Varric was leaning forward slightly, waiting. She simply gave him a wide grin.

“Good news then?” He asked.

“Yeah,” she breathed, slumping in her seat, “it's good news. I can go home soon.” I still have a home.

He rubbed the back of his neck. “I'll be sad to see you go, kid.”

“You can always visit. Treviso is lovely any time of the year, but Salle in spring is better.” She sighed wistfully, spreading the letter flat on the table. “The air heavy with nectar, flowers blooming everywhere… They decorate ships with them, you know. Masts and railings adorned with a rainbow of blossoms. Absolute nightmare if you have allergies.” That earned her a quiet laugh. “Ohh, or during Satinalia! One big party for the whole country, masks and wine and so much food! And, if you ever need a Crow, I’ll clear my schedule just for you. For old time’s sake.”

“A friend in the Crows is a decent card to have in hand.” He conceded with a grin.

“A rare privilege.” And then she shrugged, sitting upright and leaning in. “This is all assuming that we find Solas, though. You sure this lead is the one? The note I found could have been a fake. Don’t get me wrong, this has been a fun road trip, but our track record has been…”

“Shit?” He supplied happily.

“I was going to say bleak, but love the energy.” She cast him a lopsided smile. “All our dead ends in Antiva could maybe end with me getting to cut down some trespassing Antaam. I know how to fight them. The Venatori were pretty rare before the whole invasion, but I still don’t have that much experience with them.”

“You’ll get your hours in by the time we’re done here, I’m sure.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I take it you haven’t left Antiva before?”

She tapped a finger against the branching ink under her eyes. “Did a little traveling back with the Clan, but I was a kid and I wasn’t very good with established borders. More like ‘this chunk of forest has the best fruit foraging and spooky humans, that chunk has pretty coasts and humans in a lot of leathers.’ We avoided both. When I got picked up by Viago, I stayed pretty solidly in Salle or the surrounding cities. Venatori contracts meant traveling to Tevinter so they were pricey. Which meant House Dellamorte got most of them.”

“The famed Mage Killer, I assume. If he was the established specialist, why couldn’t I find a way to employ him?” Varric groused, crossing his arms unhappily.

“First of all,” she held a finger up at him, “rude. I’ve been doing a fantastic job and you are fully expected to write a glowing review of my work to Viago. Second, I’m… not sure. You have the means to pay for his services, but things have been quiet about him for a while. Maybe he’s been out on a long contract and the First Talon has been keeping it hush hush. Not my House so I really can’t say.”

“I never really understood the Houses. Does each one have a specialty?”

She clapped her hands gleefully. “Not specifically, no! But the Talon Houses have reputations and usually a star assassin to represent them. Dellamorte has the Magekiller, de Riva has our poison master, Cantori has the honeypot. Each House has a style, usually, but those inside the House may not always be molded to it.” She pressed a hand to her chest. “Like, I’m de Riva. I’m a deft hand at poisons, but my skill lies in speed. You have a job with a slim window? I’m a good bet to get it done. Quick and quiet is less a mantra and more a promise from me.”

“But you’re still focused on poisons. I’ve seen your morning brew. It’d kill men three times your size, I swear.” There was a familiar note of unease in his voice that always made her smile.

“Of course, I was trained by Viago himself. I’ve been sipping poison since I was a kid! Maybe even earlier, thanks to the Dalish. But Viago specializes in potent varieties. I don’t think anyone can match what he brings to the table. I pride myself more on my delivery of the poisons.” With a beaming smile, she dug in her bag before placing a translucent bundle of twine on the table. “You can poison someone in a lot of ways with access to their house, but there’s a risk of collateral. Poison their wine stash, you might get a servant who likes to sample instead of the master of the house. Dose their makeup and then whoops! The kid tried it on and died. You could sneak into the kitchen and hit their meals, but tasters exist for a reason.”

“And now I’m worried about my meals with you again.”

A bright laugh fell from her lips. “I don’t have a contract for you and a Crow doesn’t kill if there isn’t gold on the table for it.” She gave him a wink before unspooling some of the string between her fingers. “Anyways, my approach is simpler. People are terrible at looking up so I case the place, get access to the rafters, then dangle this little string over their meal or drink after the taster has been by. You use a proper poison, only need a drop. It travels along this string which is nearly invisible, plops onto whatever they’re about to eat, and bam! Contract done. I don’t risk anyone else taking the dose because the guy is convulsing on the floor or face down in the food.”

He grimaced at the image. “Effective, but the whole ‘casing the place’ takes time. You just bragged about being fast.”

“Ah, yes. I just use the usual poisoned darts or blades for rush jobs. You want clean and elegant, you have to allow for at least a day or two.” The twine was abandoned as she flexed her fingers at him like claws, electricity sparking along her hands. “Or I can make it hurt, if that’s what they want. An assassin mage has some perks.”

“Disturbing as always, Rook.” He shook his head with a chuckle. “What about places without rafters?”

She deflated at that. “Less fun, first of all, but usually I just have to go undercover.” Placing a hand behind each ear, she clicked her tongue. “Little makeup for the tats and a stolen uniform let me blend in as a servant. Act demur, bow and scrape, yessir, no sir, knife them in the night later or dose something they won't bother testing. More risk of collateral, but not every job gets to be perfect.”

“And aren’t we familiar with that idea.” He sighed, crossing his arms over his chest. “You’ve never opened up like this before. What’s different about tonight?”

Her eyes fell to the tabletop, roaming over the spread of letters as she chewed on her lip. “Might be going soft, to be honest.” The laugh that curved her lips died on her tongue. “It’s been a year, Varric. A year of dead ends, close calls, and empty rooms. I’ve been away on jobs before, but a year?” A hand clutched at the front of her shirt, an ache in her chest. “I miss home. I miss my family. I miss my leathers! Varric, I miss dressing like a Maker damned Crow.”

“Nothing’s stopping you from that.” He shook his head. “No one said you had to pack them away.”

But that wasn’t true, she had been exiled in a sense. It wasn’t right to wear the feathers, she hadn’t earned them back yet. “It would make us easier to spot, they’d stick out in Tevinter crowds.”

He almost rolled his eyes at that. “You would get pegged as Antivan, not specifically a Crow. Your traders go all over, including into Tevinter. This is your weird Crow honor thing, isn’t it?”

She huffed, sinking lower in her seat to sulk. “I got sent on this job as a punishment, Varric, fun as it’s been. Being dragged all over the country with no end in sight? My target always slipping through my fingers? Wearing my feathers would just… feel like I was fooling myself. I’m not a Crow again, not until this is done.”

“We both know that’s bullshit, kid.” The dwarf let out a low chuckle. “You were sent on this contract as a Crow. No one stripped you of your leathers. I can’t make you feel like a proper assassin, partly because I’m not a feathered maniac and partly because your whole business is a mess, but you can’t punish yourself like that. If wearing the silly outfit makes you feel better, like you have a purpose, hells, I’ll go pluck a goose for you with my own hands.”

She huffed a laugh through her nose. “White is so gauche.”

“So I’ll dip them in paint first, my point still stands. Your skills, your knowledge, your gut instinct? Don’t need a fancy outfit for those. Your honor is fine, shining even in my opinion.”

“I disobeyed orders.” Her voice was suddenly small.

He waved a hand through the air dismissively. “Orders you weren’t aware of and that were stupid anyways. You saved people, saved me, and that puts you right in my book.” When she sank deeper into her sulk he let out a long sigh, muttering under his breath as he dug in his pocket. “I was saving this for a rainy day, or even as a celebration gift if we managed to nab Solas, but you’re clearly in your head about this.” He slid a silver necklace over to her, a delicate metalwork feather dangling on the chain. “If you don’t feel like you can wear your official feathers, then you can wear this one as a reminder. You aren’t lost or cast aside or whatever else you’re thinking. You’re on a job and you’re still a Crow, if that’s what you want.”

She merely stared down at the jewelry with wide eyes. “How long have you had this in the wings?”

He shrugged, rubbing the back of his neck. “Bought it back in Treviso. I have a… friend with a fondness for an Antivan woman. Thought it might be a nice little reminder since this whole Solas chase keeps pulling them apart, but didn’t feel quite right for the couple. Then you came along and I thought ‘maybe she’d like it!’ But you came with your own set of feathers and it felt like a poor fit for you, too.”

With a tentative touch, she ran her finger along the pendant. “Who’d your third choice be if I said no?”

“I don’t know, Harding? She could send it back to Sera, or hand it off to the next person who’s sweet on her.” He pushed the chain towards her again. “But it feels like a better fit for you now, considering.”

Her mouth quirked with a smile as she plucked the trinket off the table. “Well, I appreciate the sentiment even if you are just trying to pass off a bum gift.”

“So long as it makes you happy.” He grinned, holding his hands up in surrender. “Now, it’s late and the barkeep is looking mighty pissed at us. I sent word to our contact, but we're meeting her tomorrow so get some sleep. I know it’s a novel concept for you Crows, but things are about to get busy.

She laughed, gathering her letters up. “With our luck? The word you’re looking for is chaotic, I think.”

Requested Tags: @weaponizedvirtue

[chaoticgriffins]

Get you a man who looks at you the way Lucanis always looks at Rook 💙

[himluv]

An Hour Found, pt. 1

Chapter 25 of Say My Name (Say it Twice) is here! After helping him through the tangle of his worst thoughts and fears, Lucanis finds a way to thank Rook.

Read it below, or on AO3!

Lucanis stood in the kitchen staring down at the two bowls before him, one for egg yolks and one for whites. He knew, after what Rook had done for him, he needed to thank her. To show her what it– what she– meant to him. And he knew he didn’t have words to do her justice. He just… isn’t good at talking to people. Even her. 

But cooking? Feeding those he cares about? It’s what Lucanis does better than almost anything else. He’d needed a complicated dish, something extravagant that could match the depth of his gratitude, and for that, he’d needed help. 

Yet again, Emmrich had come through for him, offering up his mother’s recipe for a Hazelnut Torte. It sounded delicious, was suitably complex, and it would pair perfectly with a hot cup of coffee. It was exactly what he needed. That it took the better part of the day to make was even better. Rook may never understand how much work went into the dessert, but Lucanis would know. And he would be that much closer to showing her just how he felt. 

He’d tried to explain his feelings, to thank her for her help and relentless acceptance, on their way back from Minrathous. But he’d fumbled his words so badly she’d just squeezed his hand and assured him she understood. 

And he knew she did. She has always seen him better than anyone, and that was before she’d literally been inside his head. But he had do something! He couldn’t leave this to mumbled half-thanks and inference. If he couldn’t find words to tell her, he would show her the only way he knew how – with food. 

So, he’d gone to Treviso that morning to purchase all the necessary ingredients. Paella he knew how to make by heart, but the torte recipe had to be written down, it was so complex. He kept double-checking it as he worked, worried he’d missed some crucial step. 

His head snapped up when the dining hall door opened. Rook was supposed to be in Rivain with Taash and Harding today. Taash had come with him to the market this morning, and they’d promised to keep her out for most of the day. The last thing he needed was Rook waltzing into the kitchen before the torte was even in the oven. 

“Oooh,” Bellara crooned as she hurried toward him. “What’re you making?”

Lucanis frowned. “Paella.”

Bellara raised an eyebrow at him. “Isn’t that a seafood dish?”

“I’m making a Nevarran-friendly version,” he said. 

She pointed at the bowls with a frown. “So, what’s that?”

He shrugged. “Dessert.”

She squinted at him. “Which is…?” Then she spotted the recipe on the butcher’s block, and snatched it up before he could stop her. “Emmrich’s mother’s Hazelnut Torte?!” She skimmed the recipe and whistled. “Lucanis! This is intense! What’s the special occasion?”

He scowled and took the paper from her, considering it for his next step. “No occasion,” he said. 

She crossed her arms over her chest and leaned a hip against his work station. “You’re a terrible liar.”

“It’s nothing,” he insisted, cracking an egg and straining the yolk from the whites through his fingers. Spite watched him with fascination, sniffing and gagging dramatically at the stringy egg whites.

“Uh-huh,” Bellara said. “You’re making paella – which you once offered to make as a celebration – and this ridiculously complicated torte…” she stared at the side of his head, but Lucanis refused to look at her. “For no reason?”

He sighed and cracked another egg. Two down, six more to go. 

“And this has nothing to do with the fact that you and Rook went to Minrathous yesterday. Alone.”

“Mierda,” he said. “You’re worse than Neve.”

She grinned. “You know I consider that a compliment.”

He rolled his eyes and cracked another egg. “Rook helped me with something yesterday,” he said, his voice low and serious. “I just… want to thank her.”

Bellara watched him for a moment, the mischief in her gaze fading. Her voice was tender when she said, “it must have been something important.”

“It was.”

“Do you want any help?”

He shook his head. “I’d like to make this myself,” he said. “But,” he added before she could walk away. “I wouldn’t mind some company?”

She blinked at him. “Oh!” Then she grinned. “Okay! I’ll get the wine and you can tell me all about what happened yesterday!”

Wait. That was not what he meant. “Bellara–” 

But, the elf was already dashing toward the pantry to snag a bottle of his best Antivan Red. Lucanis shook his head, then stared down into the bowl of egg whites. How many was that? 

“Mierda,” he muttered, and started counting yolks. It was going to be a long afternoon in the kitchen.

Spirits were high at dinner, as the team enjoyed the paella and a couple of bottles of rosé. Lucanis found himself oddly at ease. After his conversation with Rook this afternoon, he didn’t think anything could dampen his mood. His friends were happy and sated. Coffee brewed on the percolator and the Hazelnut Torte sat at the center of the table, just waiting to be cut. He’d caught Emmrich wondering at the dessert, his gaze misty, so Lucanis had decided to let the mage do the honors. 

“Are we ready for dessert?” Rook asked the table. 

A chorus of agreement went up from around the room, and Emmrich stood, solemn with his hands clasped before him. He waited until the room fell quiet and all eyes were on him – falling into his role as professor with startling ease. For such a willowy, soft-spoken man, he could certainly command a room. 

“What you see before you is a Nevarran Hazelnut Torte,” he said, voice clear and soft. “My mother’s recipe, which she traditionally made at Satinalia.” He cast an appreciative glance at Lucanis. “It’s been an incredibly long time since this recipe has been put to use, and I hope you all enjoy it as much as I always have.”

He gestured to Lucanis. “And, of course, many thanks to Lucanis for our wonderful meal and this absolutely stunning torte.” Emmrich made eye contact with each of their friends, saving Rook for last. “Truly, it is a labor of love.”

Lucanis choked into his glass, his cheeks going as pink as the wine. Neve thumped him on the back twice, sharing a grin with Bellara. As Emmrich set to slicing and serving the torte, Lucanis dared a glance at Rook. 

Her smile was utterly radiant, as if she hid the sun behind her teeth. 

“I’ll get the coffee,” Neve said. 

“Don’t you dare,” Lucanis said, rushing to stand. “You’re not allowed anywhere near the percolator.”

She laughed, but didn’t argue. He grabbed cups and the carafe, setting them in the center of the table, beside the torte. He poured a cup for himself and Rook, in their usual matching mugs. That they had ‘usual’ mugs made his stomach flutter. It should embarrass him – he was a grown man, closer to fifty than fifteen – but in that moment he didn’t care in the slightest. 

“Anyone else?” He asked as he passed Rook her cup. 

“Let me,” Neve said, shouldering him aside. “Sit and enjoy your handiwork for once.”

Lucanis huffed at her, but did as she said. He sipped his coffee and waited for Rook to take a bite of the torte. She laughed and shook her head when she caught him watching, but she slid her fork into the decadent cake and took that first bite. 

Her reaction was immediate and by the Maker it nearly undid him right there at the table. Rook’s eyes rolled back and then closed as she moaned and her shoulders dropped, her whole torso loosening with satisfaction. She chewed, slowly, licking her lips to capture every last morsel of chocolate. 

“Lucanis,” she said. Her voice was low and breathy and–

Mierda, he had to look away. 

“This is amazing!” She said, even as others began to share their praise of the dessert.

He smiled down at his plate, prepared to take his own first bite. “I’m glad you like it.” His face was red, he knew, and he could feel Neve’s and Bellara’s eyes on him. He took a bite, refusing to look at them. 

“Mierda,” he said. The torte was delicious. He glanced at Emmrich, who looked like he’d been transported by the cake. “I hope I did your mother’s recipe justice,” he said. 

Emmrich’s smile was broad, though still a little sad in the corners. “You did marvelously, Lucanis. Thank you.” He took a delicate sip of coffee, careful to keep his mustache clear of the liquid. “Although, I never had it with coffee as a child.”

“Did your parents?” Rook asked.

He shook his head. “I suspect not,” he said. “The chocolate was luxury enough. I doubt we could have afforded it and coffee beans.”

Lucanis frowned, suddenly worried he might have overstepped, or done something wrong. But, Emmrich smiled. 

“It gives it an all-new, rather adult context,” he said. “A new memory to cherish.”

Lucanis smiled and considered the table. Plates scraped clean, smiles and laughter filling the room. Even Spite seemed calmer, satisfied with sniffing plates and watching their friends interact. The firelight gave the room a warmth rivaled only by the feeling in his chest. 

Was this what home was supposed to feel like? Not frigid, cavernous rooms haunted by the silence of all those lost, but warmth and laughter and voices overlapping in joy? He blinked at a sudden swell of emotion, and Neve bumped his shoulder with hers. 

“Sap,” she whispered, but her smile was kind.

He chuckled at that. Rook took his hand and squeezed once, then let him go. Lucanis froze at her casual touch. She always made it seem easy. They’d touched this way a few times in the past months – gentle, brief reassurances. Always in private, or far enough from the others that their fleeting moment of contact was unlikely to be noticed. 

But Rook had taken his hand in hers at the dinner table, in front of all their friends. The touch was no different than any other time – gentle and brief – and still, Lucanis expected the whole room to come to a standstill. He braced for the teasing voices and suggestive looks. 

And yet, nothing happened. 

Rook had touched him, quickly, and nothing changed around him even though he felt as if the ground had shifted beneath his feet. No one said anything, though he could practically hear the look Neve and Bellara shared. 

He gave Rook a timid little smile, and she stilted her head at him. 

“You okay?”

He nodded and took another bite of his dessert. “Never better,” he said. And in that moment, it was the truth. Even before the Ossuary, he could not recall a moment as peaceful as this. 

It didn’t take long for their friends to start clearing out for the night. Taash and Harding went first, as was becoming the norm. Lucanis had never heard anything quite like Harding’s giggle when Taash was around. It was even sweeter than the torte. 

And once the pair had left, it didn’t take long for Bellara and Neve to conspire to clear the room. 

“Davrin,” Neve drawled as she set down her empty cup. 

The Warden gave her a wary, but amused look. “Neve.”

“I’ve got some new treats for Assan,” she said. 

He leaned back into his chair. “If they aren’t gingerwort truffles, I’m not sure he’ll care.”

Neve smirked. “Only one way to find out.”

He glanced around the table. “What about the dishes?”

“Bel and I will get them.” She gave him pointed look. “Later.”

Rook snorted and Lucanis suddenly wished he could turn invisible like in one of Taash’s stories.

Davrin glanced at Rook, then Lucanis, and chuckled. “Yeah, all right.” 

He and Neve both stood, Neve slinging her arm through his. “I really do have those treats,” she said as they left the dining hall.

Lucanis finished his coffee and willed his cheeks to cool. Hopefully the firelight would mask the depth of his blush. After a moment, he cleared his throat and glanced at Rook. “Would you like another slice, Rook?”

Her look was so soft and fond, her smile a gentle curve of her lips. “Split it with me?”

Heat pooled at the base of his spine at her request. He found simply watching her enjoy a meal he’d prepared intimate. The thought of sharing a plate threatened to overwhelm him. And yet, he nodded and cut another slice of the torte.

Meanwhile, Bellara struggled to get Emmrich out of the room. 

“… the magical properties of which only seem to operate within the Necropolis!” Emmrich said with awe, waving his wineglass so enthusiastically that Bellara had to duck a little to avoid getting hit with it. 

“That’s, um, really interesting, Professor,” she said. She snagged the glass from him, setting it on the table. “I’d love to hear more about it!” She stood, pulling him up by the elbow after her. 

“And I’d be delighted to tell you!” He took up his glass again with a puzzled frown. “Did I put this down?”

Bellara’s hand was firm on his elbow. “You were saying? About the Necropolis bell?”

“Oh! Yes!” He turned with her, his heavy gaze scanning over Lucanis, and then sticking. “Lucanis!” Emmrich pulled away from Bellara to loom over the Crow. 

Bellara groaned in frustration. “Professor!”

“Truly,” Emmrich continued. “A marvelous interpretation of the torte. I’m so pleased you made it!”

Lucanis’s smile was genuine. “Thank you for trusting your mother’s recipe to me.”

Emmrich smiled down at him wistfully. “Mother firmly believed food was best when it was shared.”

“I agree,” Lucanis said. “I’ll be sure to save an extra slice for you.”

“Would you?” He looked delighted, then glanced at Rook. “Oh, but I shouldn’t. You made it for Rook!”

Lucanis blushed again and looked down at his now empty cup. “I made enough for everyone.”

Rook leaned forward and squeezed his hand. “I’m eating my extra slice now, Emmrich. So, it’s only fair we save you one.”

The man’s face bloomed with joy. “Wonderful!”

“Uh-huh.” Bellara said, back at Emmrich’s elbow. “It’s great. Now–” she shot Lucanis an apologetic look “–what were you saying about the bell, Professor?”

“Ah, yes!” Emmrich followed Bellara, his wineglass waving through the air once more. “The magical resonances are quite sophisticated!”

Rook laughed as the door closed behind them. “I might have to do some of Bellara’s dishes after that.”

He smiled at her, hyperaware of her hand still on his. His whole arm felt warm at the prolonged touch. 

“Now,” she said. “Are you going to help me with this or not?” She scooted her chair closer to his, the slice of torte on a single plate between them. And for awhile there was silence, an easy quiet. Comfortable and satiated as they shared the dessert.

Lucanis helped himself to a bite of Rook’s torte, savoring the rich sweetness. If the night went no further than this, he would be happy. Truly happy. When he glanced at her, he was surprised to find her watching him, her chin propped in her palm. He blushed, but didn’t look away.

He was a man walking too close to the edge. Except this time there was no doubt to keep him from falling for those crystal grace eyes. This time, Lucanis chose to jump.

[himluv]

A Second Miracle (too much to hope)

Chapter 24 of my Rookanis fic Say My Name (Say it Twice) is here! Find it below, or read from the beginning on AO3!

a/n: This chapter is an emotional doozy, and also structurally a little strange, but I love it. I hope you will too.

Cold. Lucanis is so cold. Frozen in place, frozen by fear. With indecision. 

–Illario. What have you done? We were brothers. We were like brothers! What am I to do with you? If I go after you, you might kill Caterina – are you that afraid of me? Do you hate me that much, after everything? The three of us are all that’s left. How could you do this?

What am I to do?–

Around Lucanis echoes Calivan’s voice, taunting him. “Useless. All of this, utterly useless!”

Useless. He’d never been useless before this place. He was a master assassin, the best Crow in the guild’s best House. The prodigy child destined to take his place in his family’s seat and rule Antiva from the shadows. Never mind that he’d never wanted it. 

Another voice, one of the many that had whispered to him in the Ossuary, said, “And you are raised to the heavens to join the gods. Perfect and exalted. A murder of crows at your feet. “

Just like his cousin, Zara had been desperate to control the Crows. Had she truly loved Illario? Or were they playing each other, doomed to betrayal from the start? Lucanis didn’t think she’d been capable of love, but he also would have never thought Illario would debase himself so thoroughly by sharing that Venatori witch’s bed. 

–what were you thinking, cousin? That the Venatori would help you take the seat from Caterina? Did you think she would give up without a fight? We almost lost everything to House Velardo (I lost everything). Did you think she would not be willing to lose you, too? That there was any line she wouldn’t cross to keep our House? What will she do now? One grandson a traitor and the other an abomination. What will come of House Dellamorte now?–

A new voice, strong and warm. The words come to him like a summer breeze. “Lucanis may have changed, but he’s still the little boy you loved, and raised.”

He knows that voice, but it doesn’t belong here. Rook can’t be here. She saved him once, pulled him from these depths, but it’s too much to hope for a second miracle. 

“You would never think of rejecting him, whatever happened. Would you?”

So much patience. So much love, given freely. He’s never known such endless warmth, such affection promised without demanding something in return. She cannot be real. And even if she is, he does not deserve her. 

Zara’s voice echoes again, driving all warmth from Lucanis. “What trouble you’ve been. What are you hiding, little demon?”

– Hiding. The demon. The soft boy I once was. Even the master assassin. Who is Lucanis Dellamorte, really? Does anyone know? What if there is no man left? Did I truly escape the Ossuary? Or has everything since then been an illusion? Another pleasant fantasy created by my demon so that we might survive? What if there is nothing left of the man at all, and all that remains is Spite?–

“After a year in the Ossuary, you might believe that. But you’re no demon.” Rook again, her words like sunrise in Treviso. Bright and warm. “You’re the man you were, Lucanis, even buried in this pain. No demon would punish itself like this.” 

That… makes sense. How does she always know what to say? Why does she keep trying when he’s only going to let her down?

“I trust you, Lucanis, and I trust myself to get you home. Let me.”

As if it were that easy. She makes trust and affection look so easy. None of this – people, attachment, love – has ever been easy for him. Why can’t it ever just be easy for him? 

Illario’s voice, low and purring, echoes around Lucanis. “How long are you going to keep doing this?” His cousin’s voice is warm, but it raises the hairs on the back of Lucanis’s neck. There’s a threat in those words – how did he not hear it the first time?

“Envy is the rarest of all demons.” Zara again, her voice twining through the space left by Illario’s sensual tones. “And the most challenging to cultivate. The conditions must be perfect. “

Envy. Had Zara even been speaking about Lucanis when she said this? Or was Illario part of some grander scheme? Did his cousin even know what his amatus intended for him? Could anyone truly know the heart of another?

–I knew Illario once, and he knew me. What changed? What happened? Could I have done anything different to keep this from happening? Could anything short of my death have made Illario happy? And what would make me happy? Because I wasn’t happy before. Content, maybe, but not happy. But does that even matter when so much of our lives has been decided for us?–

“Lucanis always has a choice. If he can’t see that, I’m here to show him.” Rook, always helping. Always offering her hand. How many times would she reach for him? How many times could he deny her and still count her as his friend? How many times could he fail her completely before she finally gave up on him? A part of him thinks that might be for the best, that she should take her heart and give it to someone else. Someone better able to care for it.

Someone who doesn’t need so much help. 

“I think it’s time you stood aside and let me try.”

Could he do that? Stop balking and take her hand? And if he fell off the ledge he is always walking on, would she catch him? Or would he be her downfall after all? 

“Cousin, stop. You can’t dwell on this. It’ll drive you mad.”

In this, Illario is right. All of Lucanis’s thoughts spiral when he thinks about Rook. About being with Rook. She upends everything he thought he knew about himself. About the world. Being around her makes him feel at odds with the person he is and the person he wants to be. Like he might actually be able to choose. But doesn’t she have enough on her plate without adding his troubles?

Maybe she should forget about him. Maybe then, they would both be better off. He could go back to the way he’d always been – stoic, controlled, alone – and she could find someone who deserves her. Who could love her the way she deserves to be loved. Confidently, boldly. Free of doubt.

“Lucanis, you don’t owe Illario a second thought, much less a supporting role,” Rook says. Still pushing. Still so determined. Why doesn’t she just give up already? Doesn’t she see what will happen if he lets her in?

It will only hurt them both. There will be only grief.

“I think Illario will be feeling that grief. Right, Lucanis?”

-we both will. There is nothing I can do to my cousin that won’t hurt me just the same. We’re brothers. The last of the Dellamortes, born only months apart. We were always closest –in age and hearts – and now he has done this? He has sacrificed his heart to become First Talon, and so my heart shreds at what I must do.–

“There’s no alternative.” Rook’s voice is sad, but sure. “There’s going to be a confrontation, and it’s not going to end well.”

How could it end well? Perhaps the Dellamortes were doomed ever since the night House Velardo moved against them. Cursed to destroy what little remains. Illario, whether intentionally or not, sent him to this prison. His cousin, the person he loved more than anyone else, is the reason he spent a year in darkness. The reason he is more demon than man. And now that he’s free he has to kill the only family he has left?

How could he be anything but cursed? How could anything good come from his blood-soaked hands? No. With him, there can only be pain, bloodshed, and heartache. Rook would be wise to leave him far, far behind. 

“You’re an Antivan Crow, Lucanis. A professional. Trained to avoid collateral damage and go after the real enemy.”

True. But can he trust that training when the enemy bears his cousin’s face? What happens after, when he looks in the mirror and all he sees in the crook of his nose and the sweep of his cheekbones is Illario? When the blood never comes off his hands, no matter how hard he scrubs? Illario must face the consequences of his betrayal, but what consequences will Lucanis face?

“Whatever they are, Lucanis, I’ll be there to help you.”

Illario’s voice, soft and sad, brushes away Rook’s warm assurance. “Even if it kills you.”

–No. NO! I’ve come this far. Survived a year in this awful place out of sheer spite. I don’t want this. I don’t want to kill my only family. I don’t want to drag Rook into all my messes. If I just stay here, maybe nothing has to change. Maybe, if I pretend long enough, things can go back to the way they were.–

The air around him shimmers, like a mirage on the canals in the height of Trevisan summer. Warmth, banishing the damp, frigid air of the Ossuary, and getting closer to him. And, when he finally sees the person standing in the center of that shimmering warmth, he’s still surprised. Even though he knows he shouldn’t be. 

When has Rook ever failed to help him?

He stares at her, the only source of color in the muted Ossuary of his mind. Her hair that bright auburn, her Dalish leathers dyed in rich, autumnal colors. She exudes warmth, and in this cold place he is helplessly drawn to her. But he holds fast and keeps some distance between them. Her touch unravels him at the best of times – he doesn’t want to know what will happen if she touches him here.

“What are you doing here, Rook?” He wants to ask how she managed to reach him, but does it matter? It seems Rook can open any door. Can punch a fist through any wall, only to open it into an offered hand after. 

“I had to find you,” she says. There’s that familiar shade of concern in her crystal grace eyes. “If anything happened to you…” she shakes her head. “I can’t even think about it.” 

Mierda, she cares so much. About the world. Her friends. Him. It’s too much. “You should go. It’s better I stay here than risk losing you.”

Spite is with her, steaming dark purple and agitated. “You see? He breaks. Our agreement. His mind. Is still here. He wants. To stay here. So he keeps. Me here!”

“Mierda! Why would I want to stay? Even in my head, this place is a nightmare!”

Rook looks down at her feet, her brow furrowed. “Right, but… it’s a nightmare you already defeated.” She looks up at him, her eyes so sad. “I get it now. As bad as the Ossuary was for you, it was better than the alternative.”

“What alternative?” He growls. What is she talking about? And why does he feel so threatened by what she’s saying?

“The Ossuary, Zara – you could solve those problems with a blade.” She shakes her head. “But healing again? Living as an abomination? There’s no simple answer there.” Rook gives him a tender, knowing smile. “And if you fail, you could hurt the ones you love.”

“No! I… this is not…” Is she saying he would rather stay in the Ossuary than face life after it? Immediately his defenses are up, he’s angry. Furious that she would imply such a thing. Make him pick at the festering wounds to be sure it’s not true and– he growls, “damn it, Rook!”

Spite looks to her, a mirror of Lucanis’s own impotent rage. “Make. Him. Leave.” 

As ever, when faced with anger, Rook meets it with patience and understanding. “He’s trying to leave, Spite. It’s…” she glances at Lucanis, then back to the demon. “Complicated. Mortals can’t just change ourselves. It takes a lot of time.” 

The demon gives a little growl of disappointed frustration, but says nothing more. 

Lucanis sighs. “Rook. You are right. There has to be a way through this.” She always finds a way through. “It’s just… so much. I cannot see how to begin.” He hears the pleading note in his voice, knows it’s written there on his face, but for once he doesn’t feel ashamed. If anyone can help him break free of this place, of this feeling, it’s Rook.

She looks to her feet, considering his words. “Start small, you and Spite,” she says. “Figure out a goal you can both agree on, then make it happen.“

The demon grins at him. “A contract?”

“Contracts are for clients.” Lucanis smiles. “Call this… an alliance. But on what terms?”

Rook shakes her head and gives him a rueful smile. “Didn’t you just learn your grandmother was alive? What are you waiting for? Go rescue her!”

“That’s true…” Could it be this easy?

“Fighting Crows?” The demon asks.

Lucanis nods. “And anyone else that gets in our way. Do we have a deal?” For the first time in months, excitement bubbles up in his chest. “We free Caterina together?”

“Together. We will fight!” 

–I can do this. WE can do this. Me and Spite and Rook. Together.–

Only now can he close the space between himself and Rook. He steps toward her, their eyes locked as he stands beside her, where Spite stands. The last thing he sees before the prison fades out around him is the gleam of hope in pale, violet-tinged eyes. 

[lucanis-little-crow]

[himluv]

Spiral

Chapter 23(?!) of Say My Name (Say it Twice) is here! Find it below, or head over to AO3 to read from the beginning.

After a harrowing day in Isana Negat, Lucanis decides to finally tell Rook how he feels.

cw: PTSD, panic attacks

Lucanis reread the parchment for the third time. Teia had sent word, Viago’s people had found something. Something big enough that the Talons wanted to meet outside of the city. Outside of Illario’s reach.

Normally, he’d bring this straight to Rook. They needed to get to Dock Town, to the Cobbled Swan soon. And they would. But not tonight.

Tonight, he was just grateful they’d all made it out of Isana Negat alive. For a moment, he’d thought all was lost, that Rook and her big, soft, foolish heart chose to stay and die rather than leave Harding to the Titan’s rage. 

He would have run, had tried to get Rook to run. But, she’d refused, and of course he couldn’t leave her to face Harding alone. So, he’d followed her up to that stone platform, certain it was their final moments. 

And, yet again, Rook proved that he should know better than to doubt her heart. Against all odds, she’d reached Harding, soothed her rage and reminded her of who she really was under all that pain. Lucanis was still rocked with awe each time he thought of it. 

Was there anyone Rook couldn’t reach?

But, their misadventure in the mines also left him feeling uncertain. Not about Rook, he was more sure about her than ever, but about himself. She had done the impossible time and gain, but she was still mortal. And they were still hurtling toward a confrontation with two ancient, blighted gods. Even after all their wins, the odds of victory were long. Too long. And if the Cantori Diamond had taught him anything, it was that, eventually, their luck would run out. 

If something happened to them, shouldn’t she know how he felt? Could he survive losing her, knowing he’d never told her? But would it make her grief that much worse if he did, and he was the one lost? Or would the knowledge of his affection be a comfort in the aftermath?

Tell her, Spite hissed. You want. She wants.

Lucanis knew the demon was right. And, he could feel the gods’ noose tightening. When they did face Elgar’nan and Ghilan’nain, it would be all or nothing. There were no guarantees anyone would survive, and they were running out of time. 

Yes. He would tell her. Now. He’d delayed long enough.

Yesssssss!

Lucanis left Teia’s message on his side table, checked his hair in the mirror, and stepped out into the dining hall. Dinner had been a quiet affair. Harding had promptly gone to her quarters and passed out upon their return. Taash had brought her dinner and also not returned. He and Rook had both been reserved, tired after the physically and emotionally draining day. 

As he crossed the courtyard, Lucanis felt a flicker of doubt. Maybe tonight wasn’t the right time. It’d been a difficult enough day without adding an emotional confession to the end of it. And there was still the matter of Illario and whatever Teia and Viago had learned. There was so much to do. 

And by that logic, he could put this off forever. 

No! Spite barked. Tell Rook. Tonight!

Right. If he waited for the perfect moment, he could always find a reason not to have this conversation. He was doing this. Now. 

It wasn’t a long walk to Rook’s quarters, but Lucanis took it slow, rehearsing in his mind what he would say to her. 

Rook. I don’t want to wait any longer. We might not have long and–

No. Too grim. 

Rook. I want… no, I need you–

No. Too clichéd. Even if it was true, he couldn’t steal his confession from the pages of one of his romance novels.   

Just. Tell her. The truth! Spite growled, the demon’s tone distinctly irritated. 

Right. The truth. He could do that. And Rook deserved to hear only the truth from him. He looked up when his path met with her door. He knew she was in there, because Spite had led him here and not to the music room. The truth. Just, tell her the truth. He took a deep, steadying breath, and then knocked on her door. 

It took a moment for her to answer, and when she did she peered around the door with a puzzled look on her face. 

“Lucanis?”

He gave her a tight smile. Mierda, he was nervous. “Rook, I–”

“Come in,” she said, swinging the door open. 

Right. Yes. Good. This wasn’t a conversation to be had in a hallway. He stepped through into the room and froze at the sight of the floor-to-ceiling aquarium. Behind him, he heard the door close. Heard Rook say something. Both sounds were muffled, as if heard from underwater. 

Nooooo, Spite hissed. No! Get out!

He was out. Had been out for months, but the shimmering blue light filtered through the water still turned his blood to ice.

Lucanis closed his eyes and took another deep breath. This was Rook’s room, not the Ossuary. Zara was dead. She couldn’t hurt him anymore. And he would never see that prison again. 

“Lucanis?”

That voice. Rook’s voice. She was the reason he was free, the one who had come to save him. And yet, when she put a tentative hand on his shoulder, he flinched. He spun to face her, hopefully camouflaging his knee-jerk response to her touch. 

“What’s wrong?” Her eyes darted across his face, searching for some clue.

“Nothing,” he lied. Which was stupid – it was painfully obvious something was very, very wrong.

Rook frowned at that and gestured to the green velvet chaise in the center of the room. “Maybe you should sit down.”

He nodded. His knees felt weak, his chest suddenly so heavy. Lucanis let Rook lead him to the chaise, his eyes on her hand where it hooked onto his elbow. He hadn’t noticed this touch – he was afire and frozen all at once. Was he breathing?

“Rook,” he said before she could drag him any closer to the glass. His voice sounded strange. Far away and thin. He licked his lips, eyes darting at the aquarium glass, then back to her face. Breathe. Just breathe and say what you came to say. “Rook, I–”

Neve’s voice rang through his head, ‘even mentioning the Ossuary sends you spiraling.’

Spiraling? No! Spite shouted, face pressed to the glass. DROWNING!

“Lucanis?” Again, her voice pulled him back. And when he saw the concern, the fear in her eyes, he knew the real truth. 

He closed his eyes. “Rook, I can’t.” He turned his back on the glass wall, blinking back panicked tears. Mierda, what was happening to him?

Rook stood beside him, her hand still at his elbow. Then she cursed. “Shit! It’s the aquarium isn’t it?”

She didn’t wait for him to reply. She dragged him from her quarters and down to the music room. He followed her, numb and panting against the frozen blocks of his ribcage. It wasn’t until she pressed him down into his usual chair that he felt like his head was back above water. 

Slowly, his chest loosened and he was able to take slow, deep breaths. Eventually, his pulse settled and he became more aware of his surroundings. Rook crouched before him, a hand on his knee. Her other hand was in his, gripped tight. 

“Hey,” she said as he blinked at her. 

He leaned back, resting his head against the wall and covering his face in both hands. Then he let out a string of profanities that would make Teia proud. 

After a beat of silence, Rook said, “I think I understood most of that.”

Lucanis groaned from behind his hands. Leave it to her to tease him at a moment like this.

“Are you okay?” She asked. 

He took a deep breath and felt the last shards of icy panic break away. “I’m all right,” he said. Still, he kept his face covered. 

“Will you look at me?”

No. He didn’t want to see her concern. Or her tenderness. He didn’t want to face the proof that she’d seen him at his worst. He would rather vanish into dust than look at her in that moment. 

“Give me a moment,” he said.

“Okay.”

He expected her to move, to sit at the piano, maybe even to play, but Rook did not leave his side. Her hand stayed on his knee, rubbing gentle, soothing circles above his kneecap. For a moment he let her touch anchor him, his mind swirling like crema in a freshly brewed cup of coffee. 

Mierda, he needed a drink. 

What was the matter with him? How could an aquarium unravel him so completely? How could Rook ever trust him after this? How could he fulfill his contract, how could he keep her safe if all it took to unmake him was a glass wall of water? This was worse than he’d realized. He was worse.

When he didn’t speak or move for what felt like ages, Rook tapped his knee. “Lucanis?”

He grunted.

“I can hear you thinking.”

Lucanis sighed and let his hands fall into his lap. But he kept his face tilted up toward the ceiling. He couldn’t look at her. 

“It’s okay,” she said. “You shouldn’t feel embarrassed.” Rook shook her head. “I should have realized the aquarium might bring up… bad memories. I should have warned you.”

“You can’t take the blame for everything, Rook.” His voice sounded so tired, even to him. 

“No,” she said. “But, I can try.”

He shook his head. “And why would you warn me? It’s not like you expected me to knock on your door.”

A beat of silence hung between them. “Not tonight, no,” she said. “But, I thought, maybe, eventually–”

Lucanis looked down at her in surprise. Did she mean…? She thought about him coming to her room? In the middle of the night?

Judging from her blush, yes. Yes, she did.

Rook smiled up at him. “There you are.”

He didn’t look away from her, even though he desperately wanted to. He felt… fragile. Like a single misplaced touch would shatter him and he’d fall to pieces all over again. But, if there was anyone he trusted not to break him, it was Rook. Lucanis put his hand on hers where it still rested on his knee, squeezed her fingers in his. 

He could tell her how he felt, now, and she would accept him just as he was – fragile and half-shattered. He knew that, deep in his chest. He felt her acceptance in the weight of her hand on his knee, in the weight of her gaze. He should tell her now. He wanted to. 

But hadn’t this… episode proved him right? Like Neve had said, with everything he was dealing with, how was it right for him to squeeze Rook in? He’d thought he was ready, but he couldn’t even step inside her room. There was still so much he needed to do, needed to deal with before he could pull her into his life and not hate himself for it. 

Lucanis squeezed her hand one more time, and then released her. Rook took the cue and removed her hand from his knee. His leg tingled at the loss of her touch. 

Rook stood and put her hands on her hips. “So, what did you come to talk to me about?”

Lucanis stared at her for two panicky heartbeats, then remembered Teia’s message. “Viago and Teia sent word. They want to talk. About Illario.”

Spite growled from behind Rook at mention of his cousin.

“Whatever it is, they wish to speak away from Treviso. Away from anyone who might be listening. They won’t put more to paper.”

“Oh,” she said. She sounded disappointed. 

“I need to meet with them, as soon as possible.”

“All right,” she said, nodding. “We’ll head out first thing tomorrow.”

“Thank you, Rook,” he said. He hoped the weight of his voice told her he meant it for more than just their impending trip to Minrathous. 

“Of course, Lucanis,” she said, and the warmth in her eyes told him she understood completely. Just as she always did. 

Lucanis couldn’t bring himself to confess his feelings to Rook now. Not after this mess. But he was also desperate not to be alone just yet. 

“Rook?” He called as she turned toward the door. 

She stopped and looked at him. 

“Can I ask another favor?”

She smiled. “Always.”

He smiled at that, even as he felt the heat bloom in his cheeks. “Will you play for me?”

She laughed. “Now?”

He shrugged. “If it’s a bother–”

Rook waved his words away and sat at the piano. “I did say ‘any time’.”

“You did,” he murmured. He watched, rapt, as she settled into the instrument. She played the same notes she’d hunted out that first night he’d found her in this room, but she’d obviously been practicing. Her fingers were sure as they danced across the keys, drawing the song out, coaxing it into a reverberating being with such tenderness it made him ache. 

Lucanis had attended more than his fair share of operas, had listened to live musicians countless times at parties in Villa Dellamorte and in the close intimacy of cafés. None of them compared to Rook playing for him –privately– at his request. 

He had basically zero experience with what made him… want. But in that moment, watching Rook’s hands, seeing the expression on her face shift to match the tone of the song, Lucanis’s whole body suffused with delicious heat. He always wanted Rook, in some low, background fashion. But this was different, pointed and–

Hungry, Spite hissed. 

Yes. It felt a lot like hunger. Or, a craving. He’d expected his feelings for her to diminish in the wake of his embarrassment, but instead they only seemed stronger. That she could see him like that, and still care? It made something in his chest open up, vibrating like the notes through the room. Lucanis felt uncoiled and strung tight all at once, so much so that he had to close his eyes and focus on his breathing. 

He couldn’t tell Rook how he felt now, because if he did he didn’t think he could keep from devouring her whole. That wasn’t what he wanted when they finally spoke about this… thing developing between them. He didn’t want reckless passion and possible regrets in the aftermath. He wanted them both to be sure, to have no illusions or misunderstandings. And right now he was too twisted up with his panic and Illario.

So, he took his pleasure in the music she played for him, imagined her sitting at the instrument in Villa Dellamorte’s ballroom, maybe in an elegant, backless dress that shimmered as golden as the sunset in Arlathan Forest. It was a pleasing thought, one Lucanis was more than happy to sit with for as long as Rook wanted to play.  

They would go to Minrathous tomorrow and deal with whatever news the Talons had about his cousin. And maybe, after, he could finally tell her how he truly felt. 

[midnightwind]

Clipped Wings

Clipped Wings is my slow burn Rookanis fic that is going to take me some time to properly finish and release in order, but I like sharing little snippets. I figured it might be good to have a post collecting each section as I release them. I'll be adding and updating the order as things get put out there~

Chapters: 1. The Botched Job Excerpts/WIP: 1. Ossuary Rescue (Lucanis POV) 2. House de Riva Summons 3. The Almost Kiss Aftermath Bonus 1: Drunken Story Time with the Boys Bonus 2: I Ramble about Spite and Lucanis

[chaoticgriffins]

Yall are SLEEPING on this fic it needs all the hype

[okthisway]

[midnightwind]

Clipped Wings

Clipped Wings is a slow burn Rookanis fic (our main man and his +1 will be appearing in later chapters) taking place right before the events of the game up until the final scene fates willing.

Summary: Every hero has to start somewhere. For Mirenna de Riva that somewhere is in an alley she wasn't supposed to be in, fighting Antaam she wasn't supposed to be dealing with.

Word Count: 6076

Read on AO3

Chapter One: The Botched Job

The air was acrid, the smoke from the many Antaam bonfires stinging her nose as she clung to the trellis. It was doing a damn fine job drowning out the usual smell of the canals, smothering the food stalls still fighting for coin in the markets. Even the cafes struggled to combat the smoke at times. Treviso had turned into a smoldering mess, all fire and gunpowder. The Antaam checkpoints choked the once beautiful maze of alleys and canal paths, ugly slabs of wood casting a harsh reminder of the occupation on the streets. There were attempts to reclaim them, of course, the splashes of purple and black art serving as the calling cards of the Crows. A few might have even been painted by her hand, but they did little to inspire faith. Things looked bad.

The Crows had begun gathering in the Cantori Diamond to make plans, a strange cooperation to be seen from an order that would kill a House for sneezing wrong. It wasn’t quite war, but the occupation was an affront to their honor. Treviso, all of Antiva, was theirs. So how did an order of assassins deal with it? Apparently by spending days upon weeks discussing where to hit the Antaam, sending out small teams that seemed to more annoy the invaders than actually uproot them, and so much yelling. It was why she was out in the city instead of back at the nest. No open contracts in her name meant she had a little free time and getting away from the Talons arguing over what was the more worthy target was a blessing. As if Viago and Teia in the same room wasn’t exhausting enough, having the First Talon looming in each meeting was terrifying. Just thinking of the woman sent a shiver down her spine.

Shaking herself slightly, she turned away from the grim image of Antiva and pulled herself swiftly to the rooftop. She liked being on the up high, above everything and feeling the wind wrap around herself. Through the haze of smoke she could still see the stars shining down, the moons bright and full. A fine night for a run. If Viago wanted to drag her into another pointless meeting that ended with her giving an Antaam patrol a run for their money, well, tough shit. One of the fledglings would have to catch her first. Or better yet, they could do the job.

There was a daunting gap between buildings caused by the canal that she wanted to finally vault. It gave her a goal that at least felt attainable in the now. Better than lurking in the casino rafters waiting for Viago to send her away when she got too annoying. There was a joke to be made about putting a crow in a cage that caused a wry smile to brush her lips. If she could combine it with a pun she could torture Teia with it at least. But she had a date with the yawning abyss to keep.

A moment of quick stretches and deep breathing had her whirling thoughts finally settle. A stillness came over her before she bolted into motion. The roof flew past in a blur, her feet barely touching the ground as she vaulted balconies and ran along felled beams. She loved the feeling of her stomach dropping when she jumped over the streets and canals, a wild euphoria in the action. Her magic hummed in her veins, quick bursts pushing her a little higher into the air, giving her a bit longer in the jump. A proper burning in her lungs was building as she reached her goal, a sudden darkness of empty air looming ahead. Her destination had a decent balcony one storey down and she had been landing there on each attempt. She was always just short of the roof proper. Usually she would stop before the jump, double check she had a clear landing, then give herself the length of the roof as windup. 

Tonight she wasn't stopping. Letting the momentum of the night’s run carry her, she sailed into the waiting darkness. There was a long moment where it felt she simply hung in the air, no tether or fear of falling. As if she truly were a crow flying in the sky. Then gravity latched onto her. She was going to miss again. Frustration had her teeth grinding, but she wasn't one to give up. Magic pooled in her hands as she thrust them down, a bright light and resounding pop following the push of energy. It threw her back up into the air, the lip of the roof finally appearing under her, but now she was wholly unprepared to land.

With her hands stuck near her knees, she had to twist midair to avoid landing on them. Instead she landed on her side, her shoulder and hip taking the brunt of the impact as she rolled to a stop. Flopping to her back she pulled in gasping breaths, a wide smile on her lips. She raised her hands into the air in victory, wincing as her bruised shoulder protested. She'd probably regret it in the morning, but the exhilaration was worth it.

Her blood ran cold in the next second as the sounds of clinking chains and Antaam grunts echoed up from the street below. She flipped to her stomach, inching to the rooftop's edge to peer down. There was a patrol of the horned bastards leading a dejected train of people in chains. Slaves. They were making slaves of her people. It was only a handful of them, but she felt rage beginning to eat away at her thoughts. Six Antaam guards, half leading and half following. Two artillerists, three axe wielders, and a shield guard. The gunners pulled up the rear and the shield guard seemed to be leading.

Before she could fully process her actions, she was pulling out throwing daggers coated in poison. It was a paralyzing agent, a bit slow to take action but debilitating. Three found their mark as she pushed off the roof, a fourth going wide. Viago would be furious at that if he had been watching. Mageknife in hand, she fell on the farthest gunman. She buried the blade in the soft meat between the head and shoulder, angling it into the jugular. He swung back wildly and she let the movement throw her as the Antaam crashed to his knees, clutching at the gushing wound. As her feet hit the ground, magic pooled in her heels and launched her forward at the next target. That one was gifted a dragging slice from kidney to chest as she spun around him before burying it to the hilt in his heart.

That spent the last of the surprise, the third warrior swinging his axe at her head. She left the mageknife stuck in her last victim, falling to the ground to sweep at the man's legs. It felt like trying to kick a wall, pain lancing up her own leg. The soft meat behind his knee buckled slightly as the swing carried him in a half circle and she scrambled to unsheathe a mundane blade. Her head tilted slightly as a loop of chain suddenly appeared around the Antaam's throat, pulling back heavily. As he scrambled to tear it away, to slip his fingers under the links and pull in a breath, she buried a dagger in his heart and a second in his belly for good measure. She was wrenching her mageknife free before the body hit the ground. The helpful prisoner was grasping at the daggers left in the other corpse, giving her a quick lopsided smile. He was an older dwarf, dressed in expensive looking traveling clothes that had seen better days.

“Lovely evening, isn't it?” He smiled, finally freeing a blade to clutch in his shackled hands.

Whatever response she had wanted to give was lost as a shield bashed her bodily into the wall. She bounced painfully off the building, her bruised hip and shoulder screaming. Her ribs were also protesting from the impact, a few at least cracked if not broken. It made her head swim and she staggered back to her feet with swaying motions as the shield guard's spear lashed out. It cut a burning tear along her cheek from mouth to ear. Warm blood rushed out to meet the cool night air and she absently thanked the Maker he had cut below her eyes. Her dazed eyes watched the remaining two warriors squeeze past him to start swinging at her, one grabbing the length of chain between the dwarf's hands and tossing him like a toy back into the other slaves.

She had managed to hit the axe wielders with her throwing daggers earlier, but she saw the third one stuck uselessly in the shield guard's armor. That made things harder. Tiring out the warriors until the poison took effect was one thing, doing that while also avoiding the charging shield and biting spear was a whole other issue. A trembling smile stretched across her lips. She always had to make her jobs so complicated.

Dancing back, she ducked under the weapon’s swing. The side streets of Treviso weren't made to accommodate the Qunari let alone their massive weapons. That meant they couldn't reach the usual devastating speed. One upside to living in a city that used canals more than roads. It also made it harder for the two warriors to stand side by side to hunt her down. Not that they didn't try, the blades biting at her leathers as she backpedaled faster and faster. She couldn't keep that up, partly because she was getting tired and partly because she was running out of side street. The main thoroughfare would be a death sentence. Thankfully, the stupid bastards had erected their ugly barricades with chunky beams. The wood stuck out with tantalizing footholds and she used them to scramble her way up to the connecting beams of the buildings, bright bursts of energy propelling her above their swings. She peppered the warriors with her orb, the magic sparking along their flesh. They were slowing down, steadily, but she still needed a little more time. Dancing above their heads was definitely an improvement.

An agonizing blast to her shoulder spun her bodily, landing heavily on the beams and scrambling to hold on to avoid falling. The spear had been thrown beautifully, she had to admit. And then a hand was wrapped around her dangling ankle and she was ripped from her perch and slammed into the cobbled street. Her breath left her in a strangled gasp, the world spotting black as her head cracked against stone. She could barely see the Antaam axe being leveled to swing cruelly down on her, but she grasped the warrior’s leg weakly. Her magic ripped through her mercilessly, an agonized scream slipping free. The electricity caused the Qunari to shudder and jerk, staggering back a step as she kept pouring it into him. His friend was struggling to raise his own weapon, the poison finally kicking in. Better late than gore on the sidewalk.

A crossbow bolt smashed into the frozen Antaam, followed by several more at a blinding speed. That seemed like a miracle, but she wasn't going to question it. Her mark finally crashed backwards as a smoking ruin and she sluggishly crawled to her feet. Just one more big bastard and then she could close her eyes like her body was screaming at her to do. She spat out blood, the metallic tang centering her. The shield guard had scooped up an ax, the weapon pointed at her, but the shield was turned away, facing back at the slaves. The dwarf from earlier had one shackle dangling and the strangest contraption she had ever seen in his hands. That explained the bolts, sort of. Now the Antaam was nervous. Nerves made people sloppy. Her orb flickered and jumped in her hand before settling into the form of a dagger. She held both up in front of her defensively, watching the man’s eyes dart side to side. Her shoulder was white hot pain, but she pushed it down and advanced slowly. 

For his part, the guard wasted no time swinging at her. It earned him punching bolts from the dwarf, but it forced her on the back foot. Her blades bounced off his shield with grating strikes, the magic sparking and dancing along the metal. If she could get one proper hit with her mageknife, she could detonate the fizzing energy. He let out a grunt, his knee buckling as a heavy bolt punched into it. She hooked her crackling knife on the shield and tore it to the side, punching the mageknife into his chest. The magic sucked at the lightning sparking along his body before it exploded out of the blade. It threw her back and she landed heavily on the street. The heavy thud of the Qunari collapsing followed shortly after. With a giddy laugh of disbelief, she fell back to the street, blades clanging to the ground and smoking from the magic. And then a shadow fell over her and she almost screamed, about to let loose enough curses to kill a sister. Viago’s furious face loomed over her, a sharp knife in his hand.

“Mirenna de Riva, what have you done?” He hissed, voice laced with a cold rage.

She smudged a hand across her cheek, wincing as she carelessly touched the ugly cut. “Saved some civilians.”

His grip on her good arm was a sharp agony as he pulled her roughly to her feet. She leaned heavily on the wall the second he let go, head lolling to the brickwork. That definitely felt like a concussion. He was jabbing the knife towards her in the next instant and she watched it blandly. If he was going to kill her, that brief contact would have already sealed the deal. The knife felt almost comical and a weak laugh shook her shoulders. She winced at that, too.

“You idiot.” He was always good at making his voice sound like a whip. Usually felt like one, too. “You have no idea what you just stepped into.”

“An Antaam patrol? Vi, I think I can identify Qunari still.” Was she slurring her words? Probably fine.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, looking up to the sky as if to ask the Maker why? “No, you reckless, idiot child. You just ruined weeks of planning.”

Oh. Missing those meetings he told her to show up for had probably been a bad idea. She glanced at the huddling group of civilians still laden with chains. The dwarf was using her dagger from earlier to pry at the locks, but it was slow going. The people were scared, but they also looked at her with deep gratitude. That caused a warm flame to flicker to life in her chest.

“Shit plan that sacrifices our people like that.”

The slap he whipped across her cheek cracked loudly in the night air. It caused her to stagger, knees buckling before she slid to the ground. Maker above, it left her ears ringing. She prodded the reddening flesh, more checking to make sure the skin hadn't broken under a hidden needle or some such. It would be like him to poison her for that offense, but no. He had simply hit her. He was feeling generous. Or maybe it was concern that was making him soft. A grin stumbled across her lips and she clawed at the wall, trying to stand. Her body had other plans, pulling her further to the ground. Oh, he'd hate that. He had slapped her unconscious.  

She came to a few moments later, her world bobbing. Someone was carrying her. No, wait, someone had slung her on their back and was giving her a piggyback ride. Leather with sharp herby undertones tickled her nose. They smelled like home. She almost let out a slicing laugh of disbelief straight into Viago’s ear. Instead it was just a full body shaking wheeze. She felt his jaw twitch in displeasure.

“If you can laugh, you can walk.” He snapped.

“Poor excuse for a laugh in my opinion, sir.”

Who the fuck was that? She cast bleary eyes at the small form walking at Viago's side. It was that same dwarf who had helped her in the fight. His bizarre weapon was wrapped up in a blanket and hanging on his back. A shame, really, she wanted a good look at a crossbow with that kind of firepower. It'd be nice to have against the Antaam. He caught her eyes, giving a knowing smile.

“You liked Bianca’s work, huh?” He gestured back at the weapon. “One of a kind, sadly.”

She let out a little hum, her head lolling slightly. “Does that make me your Bianca right now, Vi?”

He dropped her suddenly, letting her crash to the street like a sack of potatoes. It set her body on fire and she gasped despite herself. He brushed his hands off on his leathers like he had been touching something filthy. She just lay there, letting the agony slowly ebb through her.

“I'd have to approve of your work, I think.” He offered dryly, looming over her again. “And I very much do not.”

He had such a knack for making his words hurt more than any knife. The sheer disappointment in his voice caused a gnawing pit to open in her stomach and she grimaced. Anyone else would be impressed a lone Crow had taken down a patrol and lived. Why couldn't he be like them? A heavy sigh escaped her as she struggled to sit up. Wouldn't be Viago if he gave her any kind of affection. Talons had to be hardasses and he had gotten a head start on that.

“I'm not going to apologize for saving people from slavery. Our people.” She huffed, standing shakily.

“Would you like to explain your reasoning to the other Talons? I'm sure they'd agree that saving a handful of strays justifies losing the intel of where and how the Antaam are shipping in their weapons and gaatlok. Of letting countless other citizens be taken and sold off because we don't know where they're being held. Of how we won't be able to strike at them like we planned because they will be waiting for it now.” His tone was pure ice.

She should have backed down at that, bowed out to his reasoning. Too bad logic had never been a close friend of hers. “I'm a stray, chalk it up to that.”

His hand twitched like he wanted to hit her again. Instead, he jabbed a finger at her face. “No, you are a Crow of House de Riva. Your every action is a reflection of your House. You have not only ruined weeks of planning between the Talons, but you may have jeopardized our standing among them.”

“Ohh,” her voice dripped with bitterness, “I'm sorry, I made you look bad. That is the greatest tragedy, you're right.”

That was a mistake, she could see it in the hard glint in his eyes. “I can't keep covering for you like this, Renn. The other Houses will want blood. How many blades must I deflect for your stupidity? How much more infighting must the Crows survive for your stubbornness? You claim it's for Antiva, but if that was true you'd keep your head down, report when told, and follow orders. You just want to play hero like a child while everyone else pays for it.”

Indignation flushed her cheeks. “Are you scolding me?”

“You act like a toddler who needs it.” He replied coolly.

“You want to act like my da so bad, go wander into the forest and get gutted like him.” She snarled, pushing past him to stalk towards the Diamond.

She had made it three steps before the regret set in, the thought of Viago dead sinking claws into her heart and leaving bloody gashes. She hated that she cared, hated how she started to turn around to try and take the words back. When her leg buckled, causing her to stagger instead, she wasn’t sure if it was a blessing or a curse. Viago caught her arm before she could fall, forcibly keeping her standing. His face had the usual impassable scowl, the corner of his mouth twitching down as she hung there for a long moment. The words were stuck in her throat. So instead she yanked herself free, stumbling through the next few steps.

It was a long walk home, the air simmering between them. The queer dwarf followed along silently, though his brows were gently knit with concern as he glanced between the two of them periodically. Part of her wanted to ask why he, specifically, was trailing along and why it seemed like Viago was leading him straight to the Crow’s gathering place, but that would mean talking to Vi. She didn’t think she wanted to do that for the next week. When they reached the first trellis that started the road home, she hesitated.

“You gonna be able to climb that, kid?” The dwarf asked softly.

A cold calm shivered over her. “I’m a Crow.” She stated bluntly. “This is just another Tuesday.”

Without waiting for further comment, she started the agonizing climb. The man sucked air through his teeth. “Hell of a Tuesday…”

The climb was pretty bad, her gently stabbed shoulder screeching at each handhold. The ziplines weren’t much better, but she could at least loop her cape around the bar in an attempt to spread her weight better. She landed with staggering steps on the Diamond’s rooftop balcony, barely resisting the need to collapse in a heap. Viago landed silently and stalked past her without a glance.

“Find Teia.” Was all he offered her. “Mr. Tethras, follow me. We’ll discuss your business inside.”

The dwarf did look her way, offering a weak smile. “Sorry, kid.”

And then he too was gone, disappearing into the golden light that spilled from the stairs. She leaned against the wall, letting the cool stone press into her cheek. Tonight wasn’t supposed to be like this. She just wanted to go for a run, to have a few hours to herself. Vi was right, she was an idiot. She left a smear of blood behind on the wall as she pushed herself into motion, staggering past the other Crows gathered outside. A few cast curious glances at her state, but no one even twitched a finger to help her. That wasn’t unusual, but it did make her a bit more bitter.

When she did finally stumble inside the Diamond, Teia was waiting for her. The Crow ducked under her good arm, wrapping her own around the mage’s waist and supporting her further in. Renn melted into the touch, an ugly sob trapped in her throat. She had almost died, run herself ragged to save a bunch of people she didn’t even know, and that one stupid act of selflessness might’ve doomed Viago. She owed him better than that.

The Seventh Talon pulled her off to a side room where medical supplies were laid out next to a water basin; the makeshift infirmary of the Diamond. She collapsed in the chair, huffing for a moment in a vain attempt to school herself back into order. It partially worked. As Teia soaked a towel in the basin, she began shucking off her leathers. They stuck agonizingly to her shoulder, forcing her to slowly peel the ruined material away. She’d need stitches, probably for the aching cut on her cheek, too. Teia crouched in front of her, starting the arduous process of cleaning the wound. She at least had a soft touch.

“I fucked up, T.” She wobbled out, resting her face in her free hand.

“I know, little wren.” The Talon’s voice was soft, but there was a note of disapproval hidden in it.

It made her throat squeeze shut, strangling her words. “How do I fix it?”

“Vi will handle it.”

“He shouldn’t have to.” Her voice was a hoarse whisper.

The pressure on her shoulder tightened, but she leaned into that touch, too. She had earned that pain. It disappeared almost instantly as Teia returned to her ministrations.

“I think it’s a bit late for that sentiment, Renn.”

Her next breath was shaking, barely disguising how close she was to crying. “If he presents me to the Talons for punishment-”

“You know he never would.” Teia cut in sharply.

“He should. It was my fuck up.”

“And his responsibility to keep you updated and under control. It looks bad if he takes the blame, it looks bad if he throws you to the Crows. He has survived worse than a shameful underling and he'll survive this too.” Teia pressed her shoulder back against the chair, holding up a hooked needle. “You are far from the worst thing to happen to House de Riva.”

With trembling fingers, she tried to conjure a small flame. The magic sputtered and fizzled. The Talon pressed her lips into a thin line, leaning over to use a candle instead.

“You used too much magic.” It wasn’t a question.

A wobbling laugh slipped free. “Yeah, used a bunch to make a stupid jump then had to fight six Antaam. Fingers feel all numb and tingly still.”

“He warned you not to do that.” She pressed, needle biting into the young Crow’s flesh.

Renn flinched slightly, watching the process numbly. “It’s not that much nerve damage and I won’t feel it for a few more years. The work now is more important.”

“I wish you hadn’t picked up his stubborn workaholic streak.” The Talon sighed.

Her mouth quirked with a weak smile. They sat in silence as the wound was dealt with, Teia’s stitching even and clean. The mage pulled in a steadying breath before turning her sliced cheek to face the woman. She hated face injuries. They hurt the most. She tried to disconnect herself from the moment, focusing on better things. The warm sweet rolls from the market, strong coffee before a stake out, that euphoric moment of hanging in the air mid jump. It barely dulled the pain, but it let her sit still for the process. When she was finished, Teia took her hands in her own and gently massaged her fingers. It was a vain attempt to coax feeling back into them.

“Thanks, T.” She offered up softly.

“I’d like to stop stitching you back together, little wren.” Her mouth slanted unhappily with worry.

“I think you’d need to clip my wings for that.”

“Don’t give Vi any ideas.” She shook her head, hair bouncing with the motion. “You can go see if he’s done with his meeting. I have letters to start.”

Guilt gnawed at her as the Seventh Talon slipped away. She’d made a proper mess this time. Instead of looking for trouble, she stood on wobbly legs and walked to the water basin. She spent long minutes washing the blood from her leathers, squeezing them dry and patting them down with a towel before wrapping herself back up. She couldn’t do much to hide the stitches on her cheek, but she could cover every other injury up. She almost laughed at the notion. It was another quirk she’d inherited from Viago, the need to hide behind thick leathers and cloth as if they’d dull any blade diving for their backs. It did make her feel a little better though.

With her feet only dragging a little, she shuffled her way back out into the Diamond proper. She could see Viago and the dwarf still talking at the long table stashed in a large alcove. The smaller man was more animated, hands gesturing up and down as he talked. Viago was still as always, only his face changing with small twitches and scowls as the discussion continued. Interrupting that was maybe the worst idea she could have. So instead, she pulled herself up into the rafters of the casino with a grunt, her shoulder protesting again. She liked it up there, the golden light lost to the gloom in the dome at night. Voices bounced in curious octaves, murmurs crawling along and whispers tickling your ears. It felt like a place of secrets. With quiet steps, she crept along the rafters until she was over the table, laying down flat on her stomach so she could hear better.

“... this mage is a problem, sir. If you have any Crow to spare, someone who can help find and deal with him, maybe the-”

“My House is the wrong one to come to for this.” Viago interrupted sharply.

“I tried to find the famed Mage Killer, but I got turned away at every door.”

That caused the Fifth Talon’s eyes to tighten, his jaw twitching. There was more to that, Renn noted. Viago knew something. She leaned a little closer, hoping to catch a snippet of a whisper maybe, something that would reveal just what he knew about the First Talon’s best assassin.

“House Dellamorte is expensive, even by your standards. Your mark seems nebulous at best, as well. Claiming an Elven god disguised as a Dalish mage is trying to plunge the world into chaos by tearing open the Fade sounds ludicrous.” Viago’s tone was dismissive. He wanted this conversation over with forever ago and his patience was slipping.

“I know how it sounds, I’ve been spouting it for months now while trying to find him. But no one wants the world filled with demons and wild magic, trust me.” The dwarf sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “I’ll be in town for a week or so. If you can think of anyone who can help, a Crow you wouldn’t mind letting loose for a bit, I’ll pay good coin. I’m good for it, my title backs it up. I’ll stop by again before I leave the city, if that’s all right.”

Viago gave a minute shrug. “A wild goose chase is expensive, Mr. Tethras.”

“Good thing I’m not hunting a goose.” He sighed, offering the Talon a wave as he turned to leave.

Viago watched him go silently before his eyes turned to the papers on the table. Probably details about the potential contract. She was too far to read those, especially as he picked them up to shuffle through them. After a long moment, he crooked a finger up towards the rafters, beckoning. She swallowed thickly. Her usual smooth movement to dismount the beam to the floor below almost dropped her unceremoniously on her face as her shoulder refused to hold her weight. She barely caught herself on the edge of the table with her good arm, leaning on it in a poor attempt to cover the fall casually.

“You,” he started bluntly, pointing at her, “are to return to the apartments and stay there until I say otherwise.”

She spluttered at that, wanting to argue. She was one of the best earners for the House. She did terribly with idle time. Locking her up in her room was akin to torture. She didn’t voice a single one of those thoughts, mutely nodding. Disobeying his orders was what had caused this whole nightmarish evening. She was still furious at the plan, still wanted to scream at him over how cruel it all was. But they were both stubborn, so she stayed silent. It caused him to raise an eyebrow at her.

“Not even a single note of protest?”

She shrugged, wincing at the gesture. “I got banged up. I can mope in my room for a few days about it.”

His eyes fell back to the contract in his hand. “Off with you then.”

She didn’t need another warning, disappearing in the next breath. She was exhausted and crawling into a proper bed sounded heavenly. It would be easier to sneak a peek at that contract when he wasn’t studying it like his latest potentially poisoned meal. Besides, he couldn’t keep her in the apartments forever. She was a pain in the ass, but she was an effective pain in the ass. No one could keep up with him like she could.

Limping along, she stuck to the busier streets instead of the rooftops, dawn starting to color the sky. The apartments Viago had paid for were only a few blocks away from the Diamond, a collection of rooms for the handful of de Riva Crows that followed him from Salle to Treviso. Plenty of the fledglings stayed at the Diamond, but the proper assassins preferred their own home base. Especially assassins who belonged to a House like de Riva. Poison maniacs, the lot of them, without an ounce of trust in their veins. She gave a brief greeting to the kitchen staff, accepting a warm sweetroll from one of the chefs. Fifty-fifty on it being laced with something, but turning them down was a harder fight.

The door to her room opened on silent hinges, but she stepped over a poorly hidden tripwire waiting for her. They had to at least make it look like they tried to kill each other or they weren’t real Crows or something. The poisoned darts were a nice present from whoever had left her the surprise. A simple once over of her bed revealed a strange dusting on the pillow that she shook loose out the window. At least they had kept it simple. She collapsed in the soft embrace of her bed, the exhaustion claiming her almost instantly.

She spent the next few days in a slight daze of recovery. Simple exercises to keep her ruined shoulder from getting stiff, lighter magic usage to avoid letting her system get too used to the lack of it, and she even went back to distilling fresh poisons when the boredom set in properly. At the start of week two with no word, she took to feeding Viago’s snakes for the house staff just to have something to do outside her room. When that got old, she took to trimming and harvesting her little garden of poisonous plants strewn around the windows. Week three she felt like she might die from the lack of things to do. She was hanging halfway off her bed, head dangerously close to the floor when the air in the room shifted.

“Please tell me you have a job for me, Vi.” She whined, flailing a hand into the air.

“In a sense.” His voice came from the other side of the bed, not a single noise to his steps as he entered the room.

“Oh, that’s ominous.” She pulled herself upright back into the pillows. Part of her still simmered when she looked at him, another part screaming at her to apologize for what she had said that night. She was obstinate to both feelings. “What’s my doghouse assignment? Please tell me it’s not canal work again.”

“You’re going to leave Treviso for a while.” He started carefully.

“You can’t.” She shot back instantly, disbelief sharp. “We’re being occupied! I’m needed here-”

“You are needed where I say you are.” He snapped. “You angered a lot of people. It’s better if you aren’t lingering here to tempt any blades.”

“You’re sweeping me under the rug.” She couldn’t keep the betrayal from her voice, before a heart wrenching thought occurred to her. “When can I come back?” Can I come back?

“It’s a contract. Finish it and you can come home.” 

“What…” she faltered for a moment, “what’s the mark?”

“An elven god.” He offered blandly, passing her the official write up. It was signed in a sweeping hand. Varric Tethras. “Be ready to go within the hour.”

And then he was gone, leaving her with a contract that seemed impossible to finish. Elven gods weren’t real. He was kicking her out of her only home. It would have hurt less if he had simply buried a knife in her heart and moved on. Better to die a Crow than be cast aside. Was this supposed to be a mercy? A cruel, numbing draught to forget her with? She crumpled the pages to her chest, furious and despairing. Varric Tethras was going to regret making this contract.

[himluv]

Trouble (eager to burn)

The next chapter of Say My Name (Say it Twice) is here! Can you believe we're at 20 chapters already?! This one is the longest yet, so just a snippet below - read the rest at AO3!

Lucanis was still breathing hard as he jogged up the dining hall steps. It’d been a good workout, his whole body relaxed and feeling fluid in the afterglow. A breeze caressed his sweat-damp neck, his hair swept up in a haphazard bun, and the skin of his bare chest prickled at the welcome chill. He hadn’t felt this energized after a workout in months, but Spite had let him sleep two nights in a row, still subdued after his attempt to fight Davrin. 

Lucanis had forgotten how good it felt to be rested. With an uncharacteristic smile, he stepped into the dining hall, only to be met with chaos. The room smelled amazing – fragrant herbs, garlic and onion, with the gentle, salty tang of fresh fish. But the kitchen was in shambles. 

Bellara was a great cook. She had a deep understanding of flavor that Lucanis envied, but the woman was a menace in the kitchen. Even for the simplest of meals, she would use double the dishes Lucanis would, and after any time at the stove the whole thing was splattered and sticky. Lucanis had cleaned up after her enough times to know that whatever was happening in the kitchen now was sure to be a disaster.

Especially because Bellara wasn’t cooking alone this time. Rook and Davrin bustled around the small kitchen, presumably helping with the fish soup Bellara was making. On a glance, Lucanis counted four mixing bowls, five spoons, and a menagerie of knives of every length and edge. He was suddenly glad Bellara was still doing his share of the dishes. 

He walked through the room on silent, bare feet, content to the let the elves wreak their delicious havoc. Besides, he was fairly certain he and Davrin still weren’t on speaking terms at the moment. But, Bellara’s good-naturedness could not be avoided. 

“Hey, Lucanis!” She waved at him. “Come taste this?”

At the sound of his name, Rook looked up from the dough she was kneading and froze. Her eyes went wide and her lips parted as she looked him up and down. It took him entirely too long to understand she was ogling him. 

Of course, she had never seen so much of his skin. At the Lighthouse he rarely wore anything other than his dress shirt, waistcoat, and slacks. At most, she saw his forearms. In the field, he wore his leathers, which covered all of his skin except his face and neck. And now here he stood, barefoot and bare chested, his hair up and his skin aglow with a faint sheen of sweat. 

And Rook seemed unable to look away from him.

Continue Reading on AO3!

[skawdia]

pov: you're Venatori and you're about to die ✨️

[chaoticgriffins]

That one Venatori that's hot for Rook during Blood of Arlathan, for interested parties

[chaoticgriffins]

Lucanis and Rook's almost kiss scene, for those like me who can't look away from a train wreck

[chaoticgriffins]

I'm obsessed with both of them okay

[bg3daydream]

I've just heard this banter between Emmrich, my Rook and Lucanis, and I love, love Lucanis groan when Rook calls him the Demon of Vyrantium. I'm not sure if he's annoyed or amused, perhaps both.

[chaoticgriffins]

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