Viago was no stranger to confrontations -- it was part of the very nature of being a Talon. More often than not, a fellow Crow would take strong issue with his reasons and methods, but he refused to change his ways. His ways kept him alive.
Crows always had enemies, but he suspected only one other Crow might rival him for the sheer volume and wealth of those who despised them and wanted them dead. That would be the First Talon. And so, because of that, he would never adjust his lifestyle to suit others.
But there was one exception. One Crow. One Talon.
She made him change his ways, just slightly, inch by inch, rules bending until they neared their breaking point. He would find reasons why it was acceptable to touch, to stay near Teia Cantori. Those reasons were excuses, and not always convincing ones.
Viago was well aware that the best way to kill a man was through the fourth and fifth rib. What he had not expected was that the attack upon his heart would come not from a blade, but from the most beautiful, sharp, witty, and skilled person ever to grace Thedas.
It was the day he realised how close he was to breaking his rules for Teia that caused their final fight. Since then, his world had turned grey. He pretended not to care... told himself it was for the best, that he could live without Teia in his life. That each letter that arrived did not pique his interest, that the swift glance to check the handwriting meant nothing.
While Teia counted the hours, Viago counted the minutes since she had last graced him with her presence. Their fight had stung more than any venom ever could, and Viago felt he deserved every bit of that pain.
It was a cool, unremarkable night at House de Riva, Viago at his alchemy bench -- positioned, as always, so that he could see every entryway to his room -- when a shadow fell across his balcony.
The thud that followed was not graceful, and whoever had disturbed him had made no attempt at discretion. Meaning they wanted Viago to know of their arrival. That did not make him any safer, if anything, it could be a distraction. He stepped back from the bench, eyes fixed on the figure at the balcony, intending to double-lock his door, when his gaze caught the shadow of curls he often recognised in his dreams.
"Teia?" The word came out as a gasp, and he did not care how he sounded as he saw her hunched over, one hand pressed to her shoulder in the unmistakable posture of injury.
Another rule bent. He abandoned the door and crossed the room, glancing upward first to ensure she had not been followed, before reaching for his coat to use as a barrier between the contaminants on his gloves and his fellow Talon. He helped her to her feet and urged her inside.
"Typically one knocks at the door when visiting."
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