deja reve

And associated shorter stories about the same crew, though most (all?) could be read alone and still make sense, I think:

stay quiet - pre-relationship, M, ~4k words, forced proximity trope you are my kryptonite.

the thing with petals - G, ~2k words, very many of them about why Mila is the best Warden I don't care that she's nine

with cause - pre-canon, M, ~4k words: "She wasn't always Rook. She was always a real pain in the ass."

strange things - Lucanis/Rook/Spite, E, 15k words: so! your demon needs sex-ed!

—Inexplicably, Command - T, ~4k words, written for Thorne day during Rook Appreciation Week 2025: "Three prompts, three parts, one absolutely baffled Junior Warden just straight up not having a good time."

on this far side - G, 1.8k words, a post-Tearstone conversation in the Absolute Worst Alternate Timeline™️that wasn't (but could have been).

and then there is this absolute silly business, written by Bellara, edited by Lucanis, transcribed by me: FIRST draft - No Peeking!!! (Neve that means you!) - G, metafic, to be continued probably when the silly strikes again

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There is a short queue of people waiting beyond the closed door of Evka’s office. (There is always a queue of people waiting beyond the door of Evka’s office. On better days, it is short.) It is understood, generally, that Antoine will join it with the rest to wait his turn. In official matters, after all, he is a Senior Warden of no other particular distinction, and posted at the Hold to boot. The same can’t be said for all gathered, on either count. It is unfortunate for them, then, that he is not here on official matters today.

“Ah—my apologies. Martin must have been called away or he would have been here to tell you—” Martin had indeed been called away. By Antoine. But technically, true. Yes. “—the First Warden has obligations this afternoon and will not be available for the next few hours. If you have anything written to deliver, I’m happy to pass it along.”

Grumbling follows, naturally. (There is also always grumbling.) And a few reports, which Antoine tucks neatly beneath his own to rediscover after dinner. Then the group disperses, and he is left alone to wait.

Five minutes is entirely reasonable. Ten, even—whoever is with her beyond the door waited just as he is, surely, after all. At a quarter of an hour, Antoine decides it’s been plenty of time to have made it through the major points, whatever they are. The nuances will keep. He gives a brief rap on the door but does not wait to open it.

Two sets of eyes turn up at the sound. Evka herself blinks and then raises an eyebrow at him, the silent question plain. Beside her, Rook doesn’t lift her finger from the long paper unrolled across the desktop before them, but her face does brighten with the sudden smile.

“Pardon! If I’d known it was you in here, I would have interrupted much sooner.”

She laughs and withdraws her hand. “I was wondering where you were. I popped by your workshop when I got in earlier.”

He holds up the battered leather folio containing his own report. “The old manor again. The soil there finally seems to be starting to recover. But that’s not what you’ve come for. Please, unless you’d prefer I step back out…”

“Why make Evka repeat it later?” she grins and returns her attention to the desk. After one more look, more skeptical than searching now, Evka does the same as Rook resumes whatever it was she’d been saying. “So… right, yeah. Here—it’s about a two-day ride south of Brynnlaw on my side. They’re not coming up anywhere I can find along the edge of the forest, so we’re thinking something must have opened up not too far inside. Dav and I figured…”

It goes on a few minutes more, an excellent opportunity to set the reports gathered from those he sent away down for later.

“Alright,” Evka says eventually. “I like it. You two let me know how many you think you’ll need and we’ll go from there.”

“He ought to be coming in today, too. I’ll catch him and we’ll come back to—” Rook falters only briefly as Antoine catches her eye. The adjustment comes quickly. “—morrow. Morning. Once we’ve gotten some names together.”

Not quickly enough (of course, with Evka, it rarely is). “Mm,” she says, looking between them. “Tomorrow then.”

Rook rolls up the paper but leaves it neatly to the side of the desk. “Left a few bags of that coffee you liked in your shop, by the way,” she says. “And I’ve got a message from Viago. Something about Ghoul’s Beard. Find me when you’re free.”

“My thanks on all counts,” he tells her, though of course he means mostly for the one where she leaves. Given the quick wink on her way past, she seems to have gathered as much.

“He doesn’t need more coffee,” Evka grumbles, and Rook’s laughter is abruptly muffled by the door she pulls closed again behind her.

“She’s a week or two early, no?”

“Soil?”

Again, Antoine raises the folio. “A report—for the First Warden’s consideration.”

She does not seem to have quite decided whether she is amused or bothered. “You’re here to bring me a report on soil.”

“There are some very promising signs,” he assures her, which is quite true. And then, “I waited,” which is certainly not.

Perhaps amused is winning. Only just. “You waited out there.”

“I did.”

“On the line.”

“It was my turn.”

“But you didn’t notice Rook, standing right in front of you.”

There is that, yes. “Some others may have wandered away,” he concedes. “I’m sure they will return.”

Evka rolls her eyes, hand outstretched for the folio, though a hint of a smile does appear all the same. “I’m sure they will,” she says, and opens the cover to look briefly down at the top page. She does not sound the slightest bit surprised when she adds, but a moment later, “This is blank.”

“Oh, no, it is quite dense, I assure you,” Antoine takes it back when she extends it towards him, if only to set it to the side. “An hour’s worth of reading at the very least. Perhaps two.”

“Antoine.”

“It may even need your attention through dinner—to address any questions.”

No longer a hint, her smile, but a battle, and one she seems disinclined to fight for much longer. (A promising sign.) “You know I can’t.”

“Mon cœur, no one is in the hall—”

“Because you got rid of them, I’m assuming.”

“—and if something pressing comes up, we are not exactly well hidden here, no? Someone will come along.”

Evka considers that, her hands on her hips, and there is a smile, yes… though not a decision. Not yet.

But Antoine has nowhere else to be than right here, where she is, now or any other time. He does not mind to wait.

“Just this once,” she finally says, and allows him to catch her hand, to draw it up until he can press his lips to the back of her fingers.