Viviana De Riva's life changed drastically when Venatori agents attacked the ship she was on. They stole away with the Demon of Vyrantium and left her for dead. A year later, the First Talon of the Crows hands her the means for her revenge.
Here it finally is, folks!! The art I've commissioned that will accompany this fic from now on. Done by the incredible @nilusart 💜
Quiet was an old friend, but not tonight. This silence stuck to the edges of grief like muffled corrosion, rusting away at sharp edges and leaving something dull and cold behind. Viago made little sound himself as he walked up the stairs and down the stone corridor. There was no need to disguise his passage, but years of habit lent a very scant comfort in an unfamiliar place, and that was in short enough supply.
He paused at the door, unexpectedly ajar. An image of his house in Salle, long since left to caretakers while strangers invaded his country, flashed across his mind as he hesitated. Rook's room. Carina's room. The door open, with her sitting on the bed in a mess of papers, looking up as he walked by to shoot him a smile. Or stick out her tongue. It didn't matter how silent his footfalls, she always knew when he was there.
Her door was only ever open when she was at home.
She wasn't.
Viago's knuckles in his right hand still ached with the memory of punching Lucanis when he'd told him that she'd been lost. Taken by Solas and stranded in a prison meant for gods, exchanged for his freedom like a piece on a chessboard. Discarded. Tossed aside so someone else more 'qualified' could carry her fire.
He didn't like how familiar that felt.
With a light brush of his fingers against the wood, the large door swung inward, bathing him in the watery glow from an impossible vista. A vast underwater expanse just beyond the glass, fish moving by in schools like birds in flight. Rook had described it to him in one of her letters, of course, but being who she was, she had left a few details to the imagination.
I've got fish in my room. Great stonking fish that just watch all the time. It's worse than living in the dormitories, except for the smell. You know how much I hate water. Especially a lot of it. There was one bad night where I dreamed they were spying against me for Solas somehow. Spite ate them.
I'm still not sure if that really happened.
Stepping into the room, Viago swung the door back into place as quietly as it had opened for him. As he turned back he froze, seeing for the first time a person seated on a couch. Even in the hazy glow, the silhouette was impossible to mistake. Lucanis.
Smells like. Poisoned tea. Revenge and lavender.
"Demon," Viago nodded in acknowledgement, choosing to ignore the personal commentary. A flash of purple around the eyes. Now somewhat familiar, but still entirely unsettling. Rook had explained. He hadn't liked any of it.
Spite.
"Spite," he agreed, walking forward. The glowing gaze followed him as he moved into the room and came to a stop at the bookshelf. A small mirror. A rather nice chess set. An open box of ribbon-wrapped packets of letters. He recognized several of them addressed in his own hand, Teia's and others.
She never did remember to burn her correspondence.
"Spite, why are you here? Alone?" he asked, putting the letters back into their box, unopened.
Lucanis won't. Visit Rook.
"Visit?" Viago looked up sharply, irritation sharpening the question to a razor edge.
It is ROOK. All. Home.
Smells like. Rook. And dust.
ALL. Rook.
Spite brandished a pillow from the couch, and a waft of rosemary, mint, and skin painted the picture of her hair across his thoughts. Color she crafted, ground into oils, leaving her a distinct purple among a sea of blacks, browns and reds. The scent was light, but unmistakable for anything else if you'd spent any time close enough to her to notice.
She slept on the couch? Idiot.
Viago nodded vaguely at Spite, sweeping his eyes around the room more thoroughly. He recognized some of her things, but the couch and small table in front of it were crowded with a whole collection of items he didn't recognize, or didn't make any sense to him. Jars and bottles, a bar of soap, several different types of candles. An empty bottle of wine filled with coffee beans. Two boxes that looked familiar among the other things, but he couldn't quite place them as hers.
Why. Are you. Here alone?
"I suppose I am here to visit as well," Viago ran a hand through his hair. "Clear a spot for me, demon. Explain your collection."
Spite! the purple flashed and a scowl appeared, but he began to move some of the jars and bottles closer to him, creating an empty spot at the other end of the couch.
"Yes, I am aware," he waved a hand dismissively, and sat down. "Tell me what you found."
Home. Old. Fish and bees.
Viago picked up a square wooden box that Spite pointed to, about as long on each side as his hand and light for its size. As he tilted it open, he recognized that it was a smaller version of the palette training boxes he had some of his more promising fledglings use to appreciate wine and finer foods. Each box telling the story of a place where something was made or grown. He carefully opened a small, black velvet bag in the bottom corner with the de Riva crest stitched in glossy purple thread on the outside. Though the scent was clearly faded from what it must have been almost two years ago, it painted a distinct picture of a memory at least a year older than that.
Summer night in Salle, barest of breezes in his office carrying the scent of mint, rosemary, tiger grass, warm beeswax. Undercurrent of polished wood, ozone, and a slight hint of fermented fish.
"Yes, I see. Home," Viago closed the lid gently and put the box back down, fighting the feeling that it was somehow heavier with the weight of that memory. He didn't need to open the smaller, paper box inside with his personal crest on it, but it tugged at a spot in his chest even untouched.
"Where did she get this?"
Rook. Made it. To remember.
Gave. Treviso to Spite. And Lucanis.
On the crowded table in front of them sat a much larger box, newer with an etched design of crow feathers along the edges. Viago could almost picture what she would choose. The Diamond. The canals. The gardens around the abandoned Chantry, still tended anonymously. A gift to a man who hadn't seen home in years, and a demon who didn't understand what that meant.
For herself, something much smaller. To carry with her in unfamiliar places. He wondered why she'd carried his office in Salle with her this whole time, of all things.
"Are you sure? You know I can get you any kind of furniture you need," Teia had asked abruptly, tapping the letter he had been writing to his seneschal with her gloved finger. Her eyes had searched his face when he didn't answer right away. "It won't be easy, and I know you don't like to wait."
"I can be patient," he had replied, feeling sour even as she shrugged and patted his shoulder lightly.
Probably for the same reason he'd brought his desk with him to Treviso almost two years ago, even with the monumental inconvenience of getting it up into his space in the Diamond. Teia hadn't complained, but he knew she questioned his sanity more than once during the several hour endeavor to get it into the room on the top floor undamaged. More damaged, if he were being honest with himself. It had seen better days, as well-made as it was. Burns, scratches, and at least one hole that he left, choosing not to fill or repair it. You could almost count the number of times he'd called Rook an idiot by tallying the damage.
Almost.
She hadn't been 'Rook' then. Just an idiot.
A wine bottle waved under his nose ripped Viago abruptly into the present. His hand shot out instinctively to catch the bottle mid-wave, and he looked to see Spite's purple eyes regarding him solemnly. There was still a bruise across the bridge of his nose where Viago had broken it. Healing magic could have taken care of that by now, but apparently Lucanis had left the injury.
"What is this then?" Viago took the bottle irritably, tipping it slightly to look inside. He had thought it was entirely filled with coffee beans, but up close he could see that there were other objects inside, less distinct through the dark glass.
Home. And family. US.
"Family?" Viago pulled the cork and looked inside, tilting the contents back and forth to see them better. The scent of roasted coffee beans was overwhelming, but behind it was … ah, a charred skewer, very small bits of burned food stuck to the side. Acrid ink from a broken nib. Blood on a few of the beans. Some sort of dust. A throwing dart that looked suspiciously like one of his own. Two very large feathers and one small purple one. A small, burned potato. And, at the very bottom, the bone from the tip of a finger.
He re-corked the bottle and handed it back to Spite, who put it carefully with the boxes.
Wine box. Home.
Rook will know. Where to. Find us.
Spite nodded at him sagely. Viago suppressed the urge to point out that it was not a box and just passed a hand over his eyes instead. Leaning forward, he looked around at the other items, but apart from the soap, couldn't see any connection to each other or to Rook.
"What of the rest? Candles and jars?"
Smell like. Her.
Spite passed Viago the soap, a candle, and two very carefully selected jars. Her soap, of course. A jar of her hair dye, long since used, but with a faint smell of rosemary and mint, sharper without the smells of skin and hair. Some kind of thick balm with a faint trace of lemon peel that he didn't recognize. Turning the container, he read the very unhelpful label reading 'Finger Food,' which it clearly was not. The smell was inviting, but that meant little by itself.
Sighing, Viago removed one of his gloves and lightly touched the tip of his ring finger to the surface, then dragged the small amount of cream onto a piece of paper pulled from a pouch at his belt. Emollient, slightly acidic, not noticeably poisonous or toxic. He lifted his finger to his tongue to see if he could taste any trace of something unusual, only to have Spite abruptly hiss and bat at his hand.
NOT. FOR. EATING.
"I was—" Viago stopped, looking at the demon's expression. "I understand."
Spite learned. Lotion. Candles. Not for. Eating.
Rook. Explained.
Cuticle cream. The thought rose up as he rubbed his finger and thumb together. The name wasn't that bad.
The demon picked up a small, dark bottle and handed it to Viago after he'd drawn his glove back on. Time had long erased the label on the front, but as soon as he took it in his hands he recognized it immediately. He pulled the small cork, and sniffed gently. Acrid, bitter, orange and almond. No trace of fennel.
"She called this 'Felicitations' of all things," Viago snorted, remembering the absolute disaster she had made of their small lab developing this. "It's the first one registered as hers, alone."
Rook had spent days refining, redoing, and improving on the first Crow poison she'd encountered as a child, an inadequate variation on A Letter from the Crows she'd given an equally ridiculous name. As then, he was momentarily tempted to tell Illario that his amateurish effort at potion-making had engendered something far more deadly in her hands. He enjoyed knowing something the other assassin didn't far too much to entertain the idea for long.
"You have her homes," Viago gestured to the boxes and the bottle. "And you have things that remind you of her. Why bring them together?"
So Rook is. HOME. Spite will bring. Rook here.
"Bringing together something of her and her homes," Viago sifted through what the demon had said, piecing together words unsaid, an unexpected ache in his chest. "To help bring her home?"
YES. Thoughts real. Here. Spite is helping.
"The Fade, you mean?"
Yes.
"And Lucanis?" he asked.
Viago had wondered how much Lucanis and Spite shared. Rook's explanation had been obscure, but the more Spite talked, it made a terrible sense. As far as he could tell, they were distinct, even if forced into the same body together. He had enough work inhabiting his own flesh to feel a deep unease at the idea of ceding any level of control to something else, much less an unwilling spirit. However, nothing like abominations were described by the Chantry. Not that their ignorance in this area was any kind of surprise.
We. Kill. Venatori.
"As do I," Viago conceded with a curt nod. There was little he could directly do to find Rook, any more than Lucanis or Spite could. He felt that frustration aching like a burn that didn't take healing, worsening the longer Rook was gone. Raw, exposed nerves demanding action where there was none to be had. He sat staring at the fish in and uncomfortable silence with Spite. After several moments, he felt the smallest shift in the air, like the direction of the wind had changed outside. The man next to him stilled completely after a sharp intake of breath.
"Viago? When did you—" Lucanis asked slowly, then cut off. Out of the corner of his eye, Viago could see him rub a hand across his face as he shook his head. "Mierda. I apologize for Spite. He keeps yelling about home, but keeps bringing me here whenever I try to get some sleep."
"It's the only place she is that he can get to right now," Viago replied as he stood, tilting his face towards the other man. "Emmrich wanted to meet with us on the hour. He may have news."
"I—" Lucanis bit back another question, his expression pained. "Thank you. I will be there."
Viago nodded, and turned to go, careful to avoid the bottles and other detritus the demon had collected around them while they talked. He could hear Lucanis moving some of them around as he started to walk out, and paused briefly without turning around.
"You should make time to let your detective friend fix your face before you see Rook again. You look like shit."
This will be the final regular chapter of my fic following Kalen Thorne and Davrin and oh my god emotional lol. Both me and my editor/beta reader were both like holy shit what do we do now! An Epilogue will follow.
Count this as my Five Sentence Friday and WIP Wednesday/Thursday Sample Saturday and everything in between this week :).
So here it is folks part 31 of A Life After... The Life After
Catch Up Here! with Darkness Rises.
Read it Here! Davrin and Kalen finally get the peace they deserve.
Davrin took a mouthful of the drink and swallowed. "Man, that's good. This stuff could be dangerous," Davrin laughed. Davrin stood close to Kalen and wrapped his free hand around him as he sipped away at his drink faster than he probably should. The four of them sat in silence just enjoying the ambience of the music and sipping their drinks while watching their friend's dance. Several minutes passed when Davrin sat his drink down and looked at Kalen and the others. "Whaddya say we get out there and show'em how it's done?"
"Davrin it's been awhile since I've done any dancing," said Kalen.
Davrin took a step back. "That's okay." Davrin bowed before him and extended his hand out to Kalen. "Just follow my lead, I've never steered you down the wrong path yet."
Kalen smiled at Davrin who looked up at him from his bow and slowly placed his hand in Davrin's. Davrin walked Kalen out onto the dancefloor and began leading him around, he had learned to dance in his early days of being a Grey Warden. He could tell that Kalen was surprised at him as he followed his lead willingly but had a look of awe on his face. Davrin whirled Kalen around before circling him slowly and pulling him in close.
"How is it you still surprise me after all this time?" asked Kalen admiration on his face and in his voice.
Emmrich x F!Rook Ingellvar. 18+. Rook has a gift for Emmrich.
Rook races through the Eluvian and across the stone, whipping through the doors leading above to the Lighthouse library. Her breath comes fast as she takes the stairs two at a time, nearly tripping over the lower wall that separates the lower stairwell from the sitting area above.
“Rook! Where are you going?” Harding asks, resting back on her heels, arm still outstretched toward the book she had intended to grab. “Oh, wait, never mind!”
Rook doesn’t even offer an answer, her desperate race up the next flight of stairs answer enough. Excitement races through her when she sees the first hint of Nevarran decor, the skull-like urns and statues that decorated the entrance to his hallway beckoning to her like a beacon home.
“Emmrich!” She cries, flinging his door open, all 157 cm of blonde curls lunging into his study. The necromancer in questions flinches, nearly dropping the reagent in his latest alchemical experiment, a long suffering sigh blown from weary lungs.
“Olivia,” he observes, turning slowly to regard her with that famous raised brow. She scrunches her nose at the invocation of her full name. “Unless you are in danger or ensnared in conversation with Taash about dragons, I recommend not bursting into my room shouting like a Minrathous paper seller.”
She grins, rocking back on her heels, hands clasped behind her back. “I just came from there actually. Usual business with Venatori cultists, I almost lost the tip of a finger, but-“
“I beg your pardon?”
“Neve fixed it, so I’m fine! But I found something! Well, more like I bought something.”
Emmrich places the vial down with a clink! hard enough she winces. He silently approaches her, but his eyes speak for him, warm hazel now hard as rock. He holds out a long fingered hand, and she places her left in it, the cool metal of his rings sending a shiver down her spine, or perhaps it’s the way he inspects every inch of skin.
“Which one?” He asks lowly.
“Index.”
”Mm.”
“It’s sweet when you worry,” she says, cheeks flushing a becoming pink. His eyes trace the color, the corner of his mouth twitching.
“While I appreciate the unique talents of our team, I dislike abstaining from joining you on outings,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the tip of her index finger. “Rook, if anything were to happen…”
“I know,” she responds, lifting her free hand to smooth a thumb across his mustache, enjoying how the whiskers feel against her skin. “I would bring you every time if I could. Especially when you snatch me out of the air like a cat.” She laughs.
He sniffs. “It isn’t my fault you fall constantly.” He softens then, placing another kiss to her knuckles and letting her hand fall. “Now, what is it you bought? Did you check with Neve? We don’t want another ‘fake charm’ incident.”
“Oh, you mean the man you cursed?” She asks, digging into her pack.
“I did no such thing! His transgressions merely caught up to him. And if it took the form of several malign spirits that haunted his every waking step, who can claim I was involved?”
“Of course, darling,” Rook continues, making a small noise of victory when she finds what she’s looking for. “I saw these in the market, and I thought…well, you know I don’t have any grave gold of my own yet.”
“Indeed. Of which I intended to be the one to buy your first,” he says cautiously, watching her with suspicion.
“Yes, yes, you still can! But I couldn’t pass this up!” She presents to him two bangles. One a tad larger than the other, clearly meant for him. Gold, of course, the bands engraved in a scrollwork style, the centers depicting a familiar flower painted onto black stone. Shroud’s Kiss. “It’s our flower.” Her voice turns shy.
Emmrich freezes, his eyes fixed on the delicate jewelry she went out of her way to buy for him. For them. Coin earned from those undeserving of her benevolence. His eyes burn, and a single shaking hand rises. He exhales roughly as she slips it to rest against his other pieces. "Oh, meine Liebste," his voice is thick. "Sweet little thing. You spoil me and yet, I want it." He dips his head closer, foreheads nearly touching. "All of it."
"You have all of me, Emmy," she whispers, gasping softly when he roughly pulls her closer, his lips beginning a reverent path across her brow, her cheeks, her nose, and then her lips. The kiss is not chaste. He devours her mouth, licking into it, curling his tongue around hers and tugging it into submission, his lips closing around the pink muscle to suck before abandoning it to sink his teeth into her bottom lip. She squeals, and he palms her ass, tugging her closer still, the heat of him pressing hard and insistent against her belly.
In a violent movement, he throws his papers, vials, whatever else off his desk, ignoring the cacophony when it hits the floor in favor of hoisting her on top of it. He pulls away to admire his work, his hand lifting to flick his fingers lazily, every clasp of her armor unhooking at once and falling around them. Rook looks stunned, a full body shiver running through her body in anticipation.
Emmrich steps back in, a predator who has his prey exactly where he wants her. His lips brush hers, gently this time. "Don't think I haven't forgotten about that finger," he growls.
"Crap," she says breathlessly that turns into a laugh as he pushes her down onto the desk.
◈Pairing: Lucanis Dellamorte & Alba de Riva (Named Rook | he/they) (Rookanis/Lucalba)
◈Summary: This ficlet happens a few nights after Rook, Lace and Taash found Lucanis out of his room as Spite tried to escape through the eluvian. Alba de Riva had sleepless nights ever since the ritual. Too many thoughts, inner conflicts and anxiety keeping him wide awake. In the meantime, Lucanis Dellamorte has been avoiding to sleep because of his demon. This night, the elf offered him a momentary respite.
◈Types: One-shot, fluff, romance
◈Word count: 900 (Ficlet)
◈Notes: The following ficlet features Alba de Riva, my he/they Antivan Crows/Red Jenny Rook. Al is a diminutive of Alba, and Lu is the same for Lucanis. P'tit Coeur is the nickname Alba gives to Spite (since his french name is Rancoeur, and petit coeur means little heart)♥
Dialogue colour code: ⬩ Lucanis Dellamorte ⬩ Alba de Riva [Rook he/they]⬩
If you want to read it on Tumblr:⤵
"Knock knock?", the blonde elf knocked on the pantry's door that was already grand open, peeking inside of the little room. Since Spite’s last attempt to get out of the Lighthouse, he's been checking up on Lucanis even more often. Especially during night time, when the two of them often stayed up almost all night chatting, facing their own insomnias.
"Hey.", his friend replied in a voice that seemed as tired as his dark circles indicated. In his free hand, the elf was holding a warm cup of coffee.
"I knew I would find you here.", he marked a pause while realising how stupid that sounded. It was Lucanis' bedroom after all, of course he would be there. "Awake, I mean."
"I don't want to give him another attempt at his little... escape game.", the dark haired Crow sighed, almost like a yawn.
"That's why I came here. I... have a proposition for you.", he raised his hands in front of him. An empty hand he hold closed, and the freshly brewed coffee in the other. Lucanis' face barely showed any shift of emotion, too tired to react.
"You don't sleep because it allows Spite to take over, right?"
"Mainly, yes."
"And I don't sleep because I just... can't. So I thought...", he opened his empty hand, the same way the mage did his tricks on stage to capture the attention.
"You could sleep and I'll stay awake in the kitchen, guarding your only way-out-door!"
"Mmh... and what's the coffee for?"
"Oh, that one is for me, for once. Unless you want it and give up on this rare occasion to sleep.", Alba smiled, closing only one of his eyes to wait for Lucanis' answer.
"I don't know, Alba... I appreciate the sentiment — I really do — but no one should have to deal with Spite’s crisis except me.", the tired Crow extended his arm towards the coffee cup, but the elf stood back, raising his arm out of reach.
"Lucanis Dellamorte. You truly are a stubborn one."
Alba drank down the whole coffee cup in one go. "Now, do me a favour and sleep. I need you on your best state tomorrow to counter-balance the side effects of my insomnia."
The elf laughed, making the other crow chuckle of exasperation. He wasn't given much of a choice, was him? In a game of obstinacy, Alba rarely lost.
"Good night, Lu.", he closed the door — but not entirely, to add, "Oh and good night P'tit Cœur, as well.", before sitting on the kitchen's couch.
A few seconds passed before he realised just how long that night was going to be. Thankfully, he had prepared his Northern, a small triangular lute that was commonly used in Antiva. Decades ago, he learned how to play it by himself. While he had mastered many other instruments since, the lute will always have a special spot in his heart. Like an old trusty companion.
He didn't want to play too loudly, so he tuned it quickly and played a few lullaby he learnt on the road. If Lucanis were to hear something through his door, may the melody ease his mind, at least.
Minutes passed, and he eventually heard a quiet, peaceful snore, coming from the pantry.
The mission was a success.
Or so he thought, until the caffeine didn't have the expected result on him. He was feeling extremely sleepy, more than he had been before taking it, all of the sudden. But he couldn't risk Spite taking over Lucanis, not now. He had made a promise, a contract. And a Crow never abandoned a contract.
Alba got up and started stretching, exercising to keep himself awake. A bit later, he ate fruits to have a sugar boost, but both solutions only worked a few hours, postponing the inevitable. The elf eventually fell asleep, on one of the chair he had moved closer to the door, a dagger and rope ready in his hands.
⯁◈⟐◇⬦⬩⬥⬩⬦◇⟐◈⯁
The next day, Lucanis woke up, feeling refreshed and better than he ever felt in the last year or so. As he opened the door, he saw his friend asleep on the doorstep, drool coming out of his mouth, as his hands still clenched on his items tightly.
"Al, I swear, por la sangre del Hacedor…", he couldn't help but laugh. The elf woke up from the sweet sound of his voice, shaking his head in visible panic, all the while pretending he wasn't asleep and was merely “resting his eyes”.
"It's okay. Spite didn't bothered me tonight. Maybe he knew you were around."
"I should be around more often, then!", the elf was only teasing Lucanis, but he truly meant it. His love for the famous Crow was solely based on admiration, at first. Lucanis was a legend amongst the Crows in Treviso and his reputation reached most of Minrathous, as well. Cities he's spent the last decade travelling in and out. But ever since they both started to talk more, to open up about their lives, their persons outside of their respective fame... it was like everything had changed. They connected, in an intangible way. Like a soul resonance, a tuned instrument. They weren't playing the same note, but rather a chord, an harmonic consonance.
Alba had the luck to find love in the past, multiple times, but this time around he felt like he had found a soulmate.
Prompt: Celebration
Rook x Viago
Rating: G
WC: 1,454
Read it on ao3 or below the cut!
@dragonagekissweek <- go check out all the other incredible contributions! 🥰
On this dirt road in the middle of the Ferelden countryside, there's no one to witness the Fifth Talon as he bends to kiss the pup on her shaggy forehead.
The pup is larger than the last time he saw her. Considerably so. Heavier, too, he observes, catching her with an umph as she leaps up into his arms. Soon she will be far too big for him to hold. Each time Viago visits he continues to wonder how she could possibly grow so quickly in such a short amount of time. Yet a tiny creature compared to the adults, she's already larger than any dog he's seen in Antiva. At just past four months old, her head is even with his knees; she won't be considered fully grown until she reaches his waist.
—
Ferelden Deerhound are not easy things to obtain. It took him the better part of a year to track down a breeder and he's almost chagrined to admit that ended up being the easiest part of the process. No amount of money (or threatening) could convince the woman to reserve him a pick from her next litter; Muriel Crowner insisted that in order for her to even consider allowing him to purchase a pup he must visit the farm in person.
And so he did. For his own amusement, of course. Viago needed to meet the woman audacious enough to deny a Talon. If the dogs she produces are even half as obstinate then all of it will be a worthwhile endeavor, a justified purchase. Wilfulness is exactly what drew him to the Deerhound in the first place. That, and the sheer size of the beasts.
Nothing makes him more uneasy than leaving Maeve. It's not a matter of her being capable—she's a god-killer; he knows she is more capable than even himself in many regards—but having such close ties to three Talons puts his amorina at significant risk. It would be foolish to underestimate someone's willingness to strike at her. Emil Kortez had attempted much worse for far less and almost succeeded, after all.
A dog is undoubtedly less effective at protection than a Crow, but Viago finds the benefits to outweigh that cost. Maeve would never accept a guard but she has been interested in getting a dog. A dog who, unlike a guard, will sleep in her bed and lounge by her bath and eat from her plate. (He tries very, very hard not to think about the uncleanliness of it all. Staff will need to be hired just to keep up with the filth it tracks around. Maker, the things one does for love.) Despite the frustratingly small amount of research available to him, Viago quickly found exactly the creature he was looking for.
The Fereldens have bred their hounds for centuries, favoring large and sturdy-yet-slim builds with short, wiry coats; a combination that allows them to thrive in the rough terrain where they chase and bring down flighty deer. Viago knows that the beast's size alone will act as a deterrent to many assailants, but if appearance was all that mattered he would have chosen a Mabari.
Unlike the arguably more intimidating looking dogs, Ferelden Deerhounds are not particularly aggressive or territorial. They exhibit the same sought-after loyalty and affection for their family but a cool indifference toward strangers. Indifference that can easily be mistaken for disregard by anyone foolish. An innate desire to observe has been bred into them. The resulting creature is one that prefers to lounge with its companions and watch for something it deems worthy of chasing; a vigilant shadow.
Viago had asked to test their supposedly unparalleled observational skills, attempting to slip unnoticed into the Crowner's home and only getting halfway through the unlatched window before a single stern boof was issued in alert. The sentry lay on its soft cushion by the fireplace, her head barely inclined to assess Viago's movement. Of the five pups—only eight weeks old at the time—tucked around her frame, one raised its head and another stood, both peering toward him.
The twins, Muriel called them. Two females, their coats the same dark mottled gray, a nearly identical white star on each of their chests. Two new members of House de Riva.
It had taken him several moments to notice a third pup with its eyes fixed on him. Another female, the only entirely black coat from this litter. She hadn't moved when her mother barked, but she had watched. And she had kept watching long after the twins laid back down. Too docile tae hunt, wrong color tae breed, Muriel had said about this one. A waste, Viago thought. She's twice as clever as the rest of them. Muriel hoped to find it a nice family to settle down with but Viago had already made up his mind; if the pup hadn't been claimed by his next visit, she would be his.
—
"Have you found a family for her?" he asks, neck craned back to avoid being licked in the face. Maker, why did he think this was a good idea, again?
"Na, I havenae. Poor wee thin'." Muriel's grin is impish as she waggles her finger at him. "Dinnae ye worry, now, bird man. A knew ye haed a soft heart. She'll live a bonny life here on the farm, teachin' new pups their manners an such."
Bird man has Viago biting down on his tongue until he tastes copper. How is it that he always ends up finding the most impertinent women? He can't wait to surprise Maeve with the pups for her nameday if only because it means he can finally introduce her and Teia to the only other woman in Thedas brave enough to call the Fifth Talon something like bird man to his face.
He deposits the wriggly pup back onto the ground, expecting her to gallop off and rejoin the others. Instead, she flops down at his feet and rests her head on his boot. You don't need to convince me, he wants to say. I'm already sold.
"I'll take her, as well," he sighs.
Muriel doesn't try to hide her shock, eyes wide, jaw hanging open. Hesitantly she asks, "Sure yer wife'll want a third?"
That almost chokes him up more than bird man did. He clears his throat carefully before deadpanning, "She will be displeased I did not bring home the entire litter and their mother."
"Ah. A woman after ma own heart."
When the time comes to leave, Muriel retrieves a large lidded basket. Inside is a blanket for each of the three girls that carries the scent of their mother and litter mates, a small leather-wrapped ball, a heavily-chewed knotted length of rope, and a stuffed rabbit made of linen and wool. At the top sits jerky wrapped inside a kitchen towel (lamb, Muriel explains—their favorite) and several pieces of folded parchment with helpful advice for the months ahead.
Viago expresses his thanks, a little surprised to find himself genuinely thankful. It's only logical, he decides; evidence that these three absurdly expensive investments have been well-reared and therefore more likely to fulfill their purpose. Payment for the third "impromptu" purchase is handed over and his girls are collected.
"Oh, am just gaun'ae miss ye little lassies," Muriel sobs. She plants a smacking kiss on each of their snouts and pulls her wife from the barn to make her say goodbye as well. They both watch as Viago lifts each pup into the driver's box before climbing up himself.
He tells them to expect correspondence within a fortnight as Maeve is sure to have many questions regardless of his diligent note-taking. Muriel wipes away tears as her wife rubs her back soothingly, insisting that Maeve is welcome to send as many letters as she'd like.
The girls seem to handle all the commotion of departing quite well. They're probably used to it, after all. A good thing considering how hectic Villa de Riva can be at times. It is still early in the day and as he encourages the horse forward, Viago expects they'll make good time. Barring any unforeseen issues (the Eluvians still make him nervous no matter how many times he uses them), the four of them should be home by nightfall.
Only a few minutes into their journey the twins curl up together to nap. The third pup makes use of her lanky legs to climb up into Viago's lap. He anticipates another attempt to slobber all over his face but it never comes. She sits carefully in the crease of his legs and leans heavily against his chest, brown eyes blinking up at him. On this dirt road in the middle of the Ferelden countryside, there's no one to witness the Fifth Talon as he bends to kiss the pup on her shaggy forehead.
[ image source: Silent Symphony, Herbert Dicksee; Public Domain; copy of a print; original etching, ca. 1894 ]
Rating: Mature (will be included in future chapters)
Summary: Lucanis is going full steam ahead with his plan to create a whole party around his proposal to Rook, but he seems to have forgotten about something. Rook fears she is losing him, but tries hard to be optimistic. She doesn't want to come across as demanding. Will love win out in the end?
