Salutations!

“To my dear grandson,

I am to understand you have achieved your goal and completed your contract in the assassination of both elven gods, Ghilan’nain and Elgar’nan. With your work completed, I am certain I do not have to remind you of your pending responsibilities as First Talon. I have done all I can— all that I am willing to do. If your work is completed, it would be in everyone’s interest that you return to Treviso. There is much you must learn and, while I still hold my faculties, much I am to teach you.

I’m certain, however, you will find some excuse to delay your arrival further, and to that I will simply remind you of one thing. There is very little left of House Dellamorte, Lucanis. You, Illario, and I are all that are left of our great house. It is up to both you and your cousin, fool as he may be, to revive it. I am old; that is no secret nor forbidden truth I would ignore, and it appears there is a candidate you would have in mind to build your future with. Anita De Riva has certainly proven herself a formidable woman as well as a loyal ally. With her at your side, the two of you would be a force to be reckoned with; I approve. However, should either of you lack in commitment, I shall find a substitute to continue our line.

With love,

Caterina“

He could feel Spite loom over his shoulder this time, humming in contemplation. It was never a good sign when he got thinking.

As proof, he hissed, “She makes. Demands. You’ll agree. As long as get to keep. Her.” There’s an edge Lucanis isn’t fond of in the way he finishes his sentence. Before he can confront Spite, the demon continues. “Imagine? Rook. Ours. Forever. So pretty and full. Waddling around. Our villa. Holding the little one inside. Safe, protected, kept.”

“Mierda, silence.” It’s perverse and wrong, and he feels horrible at how much he loves the picture his inner demon paints. The thought of Rook with his child, a possible future. Being able to wake up amongst a sea of dark auburn curls with the soft smell of lavender and ozone.

Maker, she hasn’t even—he doesn’t blame her for not saying the words herself. Not at all, after how much she’s been through, how much she’s lost. If she doesn’t love him, he won’t force her. She’s given him more than he deserves. He was happy enough being allowed to hold her close, kiss her. He had the luxury of her presence in small hours when the Lighthouse creaked the softest as they whispered secrets of their pasts within each other’s arms. An intimacy he only read about in novellas. He never thought such a closeness would find him, especially after Spite, and yet there she was. It was more than enough.

How could Lucanis possibly ask her to spend a lifetime with an abomination? Bear his children. He doesn’t know if he can be that selfish. Though the thought of spending his life with someone else feels so wrong, as much as a year imprisoned and tortured. Rook would bring him to the brink of death if she saw him like this. Self-deprecating, and worrying without even consulting her. He doesn’t even know what she wants, and that’s the scariest part. What if she doesn’t want him—in that way specifically. He can agonize over it all he wants, but to hear it from her, see the look of reproach at even suggesting something long term.

The visual of his lover’s usual soft features and playful gaze morphing into shock and then—

“Idiot! Lucanis.” Spite cuts through. “Rook wouldn’t. She pulled you out! Set us free.”

He’s right. Lucanis never thought it would be Spite helping him see reason, but here they are, and he’s right. Rook is the one that freed them from the Ossuary, twice. The second getting an intimate understanding of his twisted psyche and still choosing to stay. No, choosing to care and maybe even love him anyway. Lucanis peers up to his doppelgänger, perched on a coffee table.

“Thank you, Spite.”

The demon huffs as if this were only natural, and perhaps it is. Spite comes in many forms, and perhaps the courage to face one’s fears is one of them.

Neve was still giggling, and it had gotten to a point that they had to let Taash in on the big joke. Luckily, all they did was give an obnoxious snort and call Rook a dumbass.

“I don’t know why you’re making a big deal out of this. Why not just tell him?” They grunt, picking up a dead blighted tendril and tossing it to the side, clearing a small alleyway. “It’s not like you don’t know how he feels.”

“Right—“ Neve focuses a moment to disarm a Venatori ward. “It’s obvious he’s infatuated. No need to pile it on.” The glyphs shatter, and the way further is clear.

Rook lets Taash take the lead as they sniff the air and a nearby column. “You guys don’t get it, we’re Antivan. Romance is kind of a big deal to us, and besides…” the thought of Lucanis’ soft brown eyes gazing at her as though she was the one who hung the stars. “I want him to feel as special as he makes me feel.”

Her companions glance at each other with blank stares, then return to her with wide grins. Neve’s the first to speak: “Aren’t you two just sweetest.”

“Yeah, I’m feeling a toothache all the way over here.” Taash rounds off the teasing.

Rook can only bristle playfully in silence as she’s teased. To think, some time ago, she was pretty envious of the detective. Flashbacks to overhearing lighthearted banters among their journey between her and Lucanis. Then finding her as one of the guards in his mental prison. Spite oh so generously elaborating the perceived charm he saw in her. It left Rook feeling a bit bitter, but she’d never admit it. After all, it wasn’t fair to anyone, not Neve, not Lucanis, and certainly not herself. So she doesn’t dwell on it too much. She only hopes it goes unnoticed.

Rook comes face first into Taash’s back as they abruptly stop. She peeks from behind their form, rubbing her sore nose. They all happen upon a person—a woman—curled in on herself and sobbing. The air around them drops in temperature, and every sound leaves save for the rushing of blood behind their ears.

Taash is the first to break the silence. “Something’s not right.”

“No kidding. Look.” The detective subtly points to the walls of what might’ve been apartments, and etched on their ruined surface appear to be drawings of people. No, at a closer glance, they aren’t drawn. The edges of the silhouettes seem to wisp and taper off like smoke. Rook swears one of the shadows flinches in her periphery.

The woman at the centerpiece of this macabre scene just continues to sob and whimper, her shoulders shaking. The air is freezing, colder than the Anderfels—colder than the Hunterthorn Mountains. Everyone seems frozen in a standstill, locked between the unknown and the mutual urge to do something. Rook, taking hold of her courage, or perhaps violent curiosity, takes a step forward. She manifests her orb and dagger before getting close enough to hear the woman muttering to herself.

“…anymore.” Her voice seems strained, as though she has been at this for hours. Maybe she has. Rook takes another step, followed by Taash and Neve, who also ready their weapons, taking no chances. Now close enough to peer over the woman’s shoulder, she sees what she’s been curled around this whole time. Cradled in the weeping woman’s grasp is the head of a man, blighted and decayed.

Aghast, Rook recoils a few steps, and the area falls into a hush as the strange woman ceases in her crying. Finally, she turns around with bloodshot eyes curdled around icy blue irises and tear-stained cheeks. She gazes back at all of them and whispers, “We won't be alone anymore.” Then a shrill screech pierces the air from the head in her hands. A whirlwind of ice and frost manifests.

“She’s possessed!” Neve tries to call out above the gale-force winds.

“Rook! Get back!” Taash slams one of their axes into an exposed beam as an anchor, attempting to reach out to Rook. Before she can meet their grasp, Rook feels something take hold of her legs. When she looks down, the formless shadows have seized her legs—cold, dark claws anchoring her in place.

Rook looks back at the woman to see a numb expression imprinted on a forlorn face. The bodiless head’s jaw unhinges, and tendrils of ice and shadow erupt from its disfigured maw. They contract and converge, eventually forming a figure. One Rook has seen many times before. A demon of despair. It shrieks, and the limbs holding her in place begin to crawl over her form slowly with exertion. It feels as though each hold on her person is an anchor five times her weight, pulling and prying her down. Or perhaps pulling her out? She feels breathless as the tension increases, winding her thoroughly.

All the while, Neve and Taash engage with the demon. Taash attempts to hack at the shadows on Rook’s left leg. It cuts through and makes contact with her own flesh, and she cries out. The Rivaini recoils and curses, turning to the fight behind them. Neve and the demon are caught in an icy stalemate of frost magic meeting frost magic. Rook looks toward the woman holding the head tenderly in her grasp. Perhaps he was a friend or lover. Maybe they were family, she thinks. Could she get through to her?

Rook opens their mouth to speak, but all she can muster is a shudder. It’s getting awfully cold, and the weight pulling her down is exhausting. She can’t bear to fall asleep, but what choice does she have in this situation? All she can do is hope her two friends will fare well against this foe without her and close her eyes.

She’s already out cold by the time she hits the ground. Already asleep by the time her satchel tumbles and a figurine is cast from its confines. Only Neve, Taash, the strange woman, and the despair demon witness the burst of light that floods the space like a tempestuous sea. Then, the sound of a dragon’s roar—bright and clear and ferocious. The strange, sorrowful woman drops the head as she scrambles away to cover her ears.

That bellowing roar, the beating of wings. Like that thing that took her love away. It has come to take her too. In that moment, it is not fear that finds the strange woman, but acceptance as she falls to her knees with arms outstretched as though she were awaiting an embrace. And it isn’t blight or dragon fire that finds her, but acceptance. Cast onto her like a ray from a sunrise after a devastatingly stormy night. All of that warmth and comfort invokes a broken sob to leave her lips. This time, not out of sorrow and despair, but relief.

“Are you… seeing this, too? Or have I finally lost it…” Neve whispers, clasping her scepter tightly. The amount of mana in her presence is staggering. It’s like standing against a wind current. She can hardly stand her ground.

“Nah, I’m seeing it. Whether I like it or not.” Taash lowers their axes and gives a restrained scoff.

What the two saw was an enamoring scene. A figure made of light standing between Rook’s unconscious body and the despair demon. The light emitted had banished any semblance of darkness or shadow from the area and pinned the demon to a wall. With a heavy step forward, the figure raised an arm and opened its hand toward it. Then a reverberant crack echoed out like snapping bone and shattering glass. A tear in the Fade erupted behind the demon, and with one last blood-curdling wail, it disappeared.

The figure turned to Taash and Neve, then Rook, before taking a couple restrained steps and dissipating into small shimmers of light and ember. The two took a brief moment to gawk longer before rushing to Rook’s side. She was cold, even with the demon banished and the air cleared, but her pulse was still present. Faint, but present. It was all they needed.

Taash hooked strong arms underneath Rook’s limbs and hoisted her up. Neve took to gathering Rook’s satchel and scattered equipment. Nearly everything was accounted, everything but the figurine. Still, she started analyzing Rook’s mana, searching for any abnormalities or harm beyond the physical. The strange woman seemed to gather a semblance of her composure, at least enough to mewl out some apologies. Having come to her senses, the gravity of her actions fell upon her like rushing water. Though there seemed to be a residual calm from the light of whatever that figure was, seeing as she didn’t break down further.

Together they all raced back to the rendezvous point in Dock Town. It was chaos; people scrambled at the sight of Minrathous’ savior inert and worse for wear. With much haste, a flock of healers surrounded Rook and began examining her. Neve relayed her findings to them. Her mana was present but faint. Rather than flowing as it naturally should, there was irregularity in its ebb. It seemed to slow and stop, then start again at random intervals.

Word was sent to Davrin and Emmrich urgently, and eventually the news reached Lucanis. Upon arrival, he was glued to Rook’s side as healers and mages assessed the damages.

It was clear now that Rook was trapped in slumber—in the Fade, like the other victims. Emmrich, Neve, and the other mages deliberate on what to do next. Meanwhile, Taash and Davrin embark to try and get word to Morrigan. The strange woman, identified as Enid, was taken in by the templars to be checked and appraised for any lingering effects of the demonic influence. Lucanis is grateful for her absence, considering he couldn’t guarantee his discipline, nor Spite’s. Speaking of, the demon was frighteningly silent. He stood on the opposite side of the cot Rook had lain in, staring.

Lucanis felt helpless. He was tired of feeling helpless, be it his betrayal and imprisonment, be it the fight with the gods, Caterina’s disappearance, and Illario. Fucking Illario. Even becoming First Talon, it was thrust upon him, and he could never dispute his grandmother in regards to inheritance. Then in comes Rook, all charm, humor, and optimism, and he chooses it—chooses her. Even better, she chooses him back, and there they are, happy during the darkest moments of this age. Then finally, when they finally win, there is just more uncertainty waiting around the corner.

He rakes his hand through soft curls, running his knuckles over her cheek. Just when he was beginning to love watching her sleep. He would slow his breathing, still his heart, utilize all of his stealth trainings just to place small kisses upon her face while she rested. Maker knows she needed it.

“Please, mi vida.” Lucanis took her hand in his and brought it up to his lips while he rests the entirety of his other hand, palm and all five fingers, upon her face in an attempt to warm her cool skin. It’s futile, he knows, but there has to be something he can do in this moment, no matter how small.

“We help, Anita? She’s stuck. Sad.” What? Lucanis looks up at the demon as he stares at Rook.

“What are you talking about?” He leans forward a bit, still clinging to her hand. This time, he grasps within both of his own.

Spite grunts, reaching a hand toward her face, and Lucanis tenses. The demon notices and spares him a glance. “I help Lucanis. You—” he points aggressively at his host, “help Anita. Go inside her dream, make her bright again.”

Upon his understanding, determination floods his system like a deluge, and he rushes off to inform the others of Spite’s plan. Emmrich agrees to moderate the encounter in case anything goes awry, Maker forbid. Soon, a cot is pulled beside Rook’s, and he lays in it. He reaches over and places his hand next to hers. Their fingers graze each other’s. He swears, or perhaps hopes, he feels her twitch closer.

A spell is woven over him, one to lull him into deep, but controlled slumber. From there, he can feel Spite’s influence, like a lead on a dog. A feeling he has never welcomed. Until now. Now, this feeling is the prologue to their rescuing Rook from whatever nightmare she’s trapped within. The irony isn’t lost on him, their positions swapped. He never thought he’d get the chance to actually repay her for helping him and Spite come to a proper agreement so long ago, yet here they are.

Since bonding with Spite, Lucanis’ dreams have been particularly vivid, and after discussions with Emmrich, he has learned he has a “sensitivity to the Fade,” as the professor put it. From bizarre to the uncanny, if and only if Lucanis allows himself some shut eye, his dreams border on abnormal. Now he must rely on these traits to see things through. He feels Spite pull him through what feels like a cold and dense fog—how his dreams usually begin. Then suddenly, a rush of cool air hits his face and curls around him.

An open, abstract space unravels before him like an unfinished painting. There are echoes of voices, whispers of the Fade that reverb from unknown origins. One sound stands out amongst the choir of murmurs.

“I’m sorry” Anita! “Harding… Varrick” She’s weeping somewhere, somewhere he can’t see—let alone reach to comfort her. Rook’s voice seems to come from everywhere. Spite, in the form of a violet crow, soars past him and darts around a corner. Lucanis is quick to follow.

Lucanis curses himself. He couldn’t have known how much she was holding in, and yet he still holds himself to blame. He had no idea, but he should have. He could have pressed her, made her tell him—something! There’s an ache in his chest from what he’s hearing. What could he say to her to fix this—Spite transforms in a flash of light and feathers into a replica of Lucanis and pins him against a surface.

“Selfish. It’s now about you. Not up to you. This is Rook’s nightmare. Not Lucanis’.” Spite hissed into Lucanis’ face.

“Since when were you the reasoning one…” he sighs and relaxes. Remiss to admit it, but the demon is right, and it’s a fact Lucanis is noticing become a frequent occurrence.

“Can’t help if you’re a mess, too.” he mumbles, letting go and stepping away, leaving the man to adjust his clothes and dust himself off. They continue on as the voices grow louder.

“Nice going, Anita. It’s just as Viago says, rush in with no plan; someone else pays for your mistakes. They’re dead, you’re not. Now what?”

Lucanis thinks back to the time Rook appeared in his mental reflection of the Ossuary. She seemed so resolute, so sure. There’s so much they have to learn about one another, and he will ensure they get the chance. She isn’t going to be rid of him so easily.

Suddenly, akin to all dream logic, they’re a ways away from their last location, having moved a distance in moments. Before them is a woman, elven and dressed in ancient regalia. Lucanis doesn’t need to think hard about who this woman made of fire and light is.

“Mythal.” He tests the name on his lips tentatively. He never did buy into the whole elven gods business; he was there for work. At first, at least.

“Good, you brought him.” She directs the statement at Spite, and Lucanis is surprised to see the demon exhibit a sense of caution equal to his own. Averted gaze and withdrawn disposition as he tucks himself beside Lucanis.

“What do you mean? Why are you here?” Lucanis steps protectively between Spite and the goddess.

She only scoffs and crosses her arms over her chest, her silver horns glint in the Fade light. “It was I that called your spirit to bring you here. I’ve kept her stable, but that is the extent of my abilities here. I have never been mortal, so I cannot understand how best to approach her.” She sighs and tosses a flippant glance behind her, then to Lucanis. “You, however, understand her intimately. Make use of that.”

Lucanis hesitates, but stands his ground. “What do you get out of this?”

All he gets is a smirk and an overwhelming sense of presence before she says, “A discussion was had. Perhaps your paramour could enlighten you after her recovery.”

He knows a dead end when he hears one, and he isn’t fond of wasting his time arguing with a spirit while Rook suffers nearby. He takes a deep and sure breath and steps past her. Words float in his head. Phrases, things to say, quotes to cite; all of it falls to dust when he sees her. Curled in on herself, suspended among statues of those that have passed.

No words, nor phrases, or quotes leave his lips. Instead, Lucanis only races to Rook’s side and takes her into a deep embrace as though he could imprint every syllable of love and comfort into her form. He wraps an arm around her waist and cradles her head back to finally look at her face. Her cheeks are dewy and puffy from crying, but her expression is apathetic. She had been murmuring apologies until her throat was hoarse. Now, however, something has gotten her attention, and her glassy eyes sway to and fro, searching for something.

Lucanis finally speaks, in their native tongue. “You must have suffered so much alone, my love.” He rests his head to hers, wrapping his limbs around her in an attempt to completely envelope her. It seems to have some effect as her eyes seem to register his presence. “But you needn’t endure any longer. There are those who wouldn’t see you ail alone. You have friends, and allies, and most of all, you have me.”

“Lucanis…?” It comes out as barely a whisper, soft and strained. “Lucanis.” She echoes it again, certain this time, and a wellspring just erupts within her. “I…I don’t—I never wanted you to see me like—”

He silences her with a kiss, tender and intimate. Their mouths move against each other like a conversation between gasps and muffled hums. All of Lucanis’ affection is poured from his lips into hers. She felt his grasp tighten, and all of her worries melted away from the utter heat he emitted into her. It was all too much at some point, and she broke away with a gasp. He opted then to kiss her cheek, then neck, then finally her temple. No words were needed for her to understand the intent behind his touches.

I am still here. I always will be.

Rook looks up at him from within his embrace. A sleep-soft smile, but something cold beneath it. “I’m scared, Lucanis.”

He didn’t need to ask what specifically frightened her. He already knew. Already understood. Now he gets why Mythal insisted he go in her stead.

“As am I, mi vida,” he confessed. “But no matter what, we’ll get through this together. I swear.”

A sniffle escaped her attempts at restraint before she let go of her inhibitions and let loose. Tears flowed freely, and she melts into his embrace, resting her head on his shoulder. They stayed there for a moment before, then, with all the warmth and tenderness she could muster, she whispers to him.

“I love you, Lucanis.”

He stills as though the wind was knocked out of him. Lucanis looks down at the woman in his arms. All storm and snark and joy and love wrapped into one formidable badass. There is only one thing he could do to fulfill the overwhelming blossom in his chest. He kisses her again and again. Starting at the corners of her mouth, then sliding to her plush lips, he mouths the words against her.

I love you. I love you. I love you.

A mantra of devotion made real with movement and action. His tongue attempted to spell the words. He tipped her head back and held her flush to him. They could each feel their own respective heartbeats pulse and palpitate, then make time to match their partner’s. They’ve never felt so close, and the Fade rippled with their affections. The hammering of their heartbeats muffled the sound of wings. A caw and a roar.

Soon, a rush of wind gusts past them, and Spite lands on Rook’s shoulder in crow form. He nuzzles into her neck, and she giggles at the ticklish contact. A shadow looms over them both as a bright silver dragon gazes down at them.

“Mythal. You called them here.” Rook called out. The spirit only blinked at her, but that was all the confirmation she needed. “Thank you.”

The dragon-formed goddess only chuffs, her voice reverberating out. “It’s time, child.”

Lucanis’ hold on Rook tightens, and he pulls her closer, possessively. “Time for what?”

“It’s fine, Lucanis. It was my idea.” Rook reaches up and cups his cheek. He attempts to resist the urge to melt into her increasingly warm touch.

“You say that like it’s supposed to reassure me, mi vida.” He nuzzles her palm, then finally releases her. “But I trust you.” After one last kiss, simple and chaste, and Spite dispatching from the cradle of her shoulder and neck, Rook walks toward Mythal.

“I will bring you no harm, child. Things will be confusing for a time, but you all shall be clear.” She says the first part more for Lucanis’ sake than anything else, after which Mythal disperses from her form into a figure made of fire and sunlight, just as Morrigan described her. “Are you certain of this?” One last warning, one last chance to turn back. Although when has Rook ever gone on her word?

She looks back to Lucanis and Spite. Rather than his usual brooding demeanor, a concerned and curious air floats about him. It invokes a fond grin as she turns back to Mythal. “I’m certain.”

From that point, Mythal reaches out a hand and Rook takes it. The luminance spreads to their exchanged hands and over Rook’s arms. She doesn’t appear in pain or hold any expression that would express discomfort. All that rests behind her eyes is the usual unrelenting hope and curiosity that resides there. Lucanis eases, and his wings he hadn’t realized were out slacken against his back. Spite lands on his shoulder, and he hears the demon in his mind.

“She will be like the bird witch. Stronger, different.” It isn’t accusatory, much to Lucanis’ surprise. He wonders then for the first time if Spite favors Rook in some way. He seems particularly partial to her in moments, different than Taash and Emmrich. How long had that been the case? Was it before or after he fell for his fellow crow? He stops that train of thought before his cohort catches on. They’ll discuss it another time.

While Rook’s form was nearly wholly absorbed in Mythal’s light, soon it was nearly impossible to tell where one ended and the other began. Then, after a crescendo of radiance like the sun in the height of a summer day, only Rook remained. She nearly fell to her knees, but Lucanis was quick to catch her. Going limp in his arms, he rested her head against his chest. In a few moments, she stirs and comes to, her eyes fluttering open and revealing the amber giving way to brilliant silver within the inner irises.

Captivated, Lucanis absentmindedly strokes Rook’s cheek with his thumb, probably gazing at her with what he’s sure is an absolutely lovesick expression. He’s certain of it because Rook gives him this sweet smile, the type to fell armies only because he himself would wage war for it. A dark thought pierces the soft moment between them. Not a string of fantasies or anything particularly scandalous. Just a simple word with all the edge and danger only the First Talon of the Antivan Crows is capable of wielding.

Mine.

He pulls her into an embrace and relishes when she wraps her arms around his neck.

“I suppose we’ll have to wake up from this little dream of ours, my heart,” Rook whispers into his neck, speaking their mother tongue.

Lucanis has always loved her Antivan. It’s already a highly romantic language, and yet it seems to flutter off of her tongue and meet the ears of whoever is listening like a gift. Then it hits him like a bolt to the chest. ‘My heart.’ The feathers on his spectral wings bristle, and he swoons a bit to himself.

“Hm?” He says sweetly and absolutely transparent to the fact that he only registered select phrases in her statement. Only after she pulled out of his hold enough to playfully glare at him did he regain his composure. “Ah, I’m sure we can take a little time to ourse—” Rook’s eyes narrow, and he sighs. “Yes, I believe that would be a good idea, my darling.”

When Rook and Lucanis awoke, it seemed only a handful of minutes had come to pass since Lucanis went to retrieve Rook. Neve had to hold back an onslaught of mages with burning questions about their experience. All the while, Emmrich examined them both for any hitches from their time in the Fade. When he came to Rook he all but flinched and she grabbed his hand, shooting him a practiced smile that communicated ‘play it cool’. Emmrich gave her an inquisitive of his own, but played along regardless.

“Ahem! All seems to be in order, though we should send you both back to the Lighthouse to rest. Neve and I shall await Davrin and Taash when they return. I do hope to hear all about your personal adventure when we reconvene.” He gives a sly smirk that says, ‘you owe me’ and it cause a genuine chuckle to bubble from Rook’s lips as she nods an unspoken promise.

Unabashedly smitten Lucanis just watches the interaction with bated breath as he rubs his neck, propping his arm on is knee. “Mierda, I feel a head splitter coming on.”

As they walk back to the eluvian, what was previously a hand in hand grew into an intimate arm around the waist. Lucanis’ mind is loaded with information and even more questions. First thing is first though. He speaks antivan for privacy’s sake rather than romance.

“I received a letter from Caterina.” Deep breaths. “She’s… urgent.”

“For you to come home, yes?” she responds in kind.

“Yes, than, but also…” Relax. “She urges me to make you my wife.”

Lucanis speaks in Antivan, as they do when they’re completely alone. “Good morning, my love. Bad dreams.”

Blinking away the dew Anita hums as she conjures an answer before whispering a soft, “Something like that.” It isn’t a lie she did have an unpleasant dream. Although Rook escaped Solas’ trap the inspiration behind it still haunts her, regrets are easy to accept but harder to let go it would seem.

“Still the same one?” He inquires though through a yawn so nearly unintelligible. He pulls her close as if he could squeeze whatever troubles her out, like wringing a wet cloth. The feeling paired with the thought made her chuckle.

“Yes, still in Solas’ prison. I guess we match now. We both have jails stuck in our heads.” She earns a huff from that can pass as either a laugh or a scoff so as the greedy Crow she is, she takes it as both. After which he rolls over onto his back so she lays on his chest, her feet kick in the air slightly.

“I won’t force you to talk to me, but you should speak to someone, love.” His hands glide from her back to her waist offering a gentle squeeze.

All she can offer is a snort, luckily Lucanis is fluent in Rook and understands her ‘That’s rich coming from you.’ And he doesn’t pry more, for now.

There’s another beat of silence between them, all that’s audible is the creak of the Lighthouse and the Fade. Order and balances finding their places.

“It’s really over isn’t it? The rogue gods are dead and Solas isn’t a threat.” Rook mumbles into Lucanis’ chest as he draws small circles among her hip bones, coaxing her to spill more thoughts. “The former I knew we could pull off, I had no idea how the latter would pan out. Now we’re done.”

A cold feeling begins to sift and settle in Rooks core. What happens next for them is unknown. Before the emotion can properly take root purple wings engulf her form.

“I assure you, my heart, whether we like it or not we are far from done. We will all be stuck with each other a bit longer. Before that, though breakfast is in order.” He gives a soft pat before they both get up with groans.

Rook muses it must be noon, although it’s near impossible to tell in the nightless realm of the Fade they occupy. Regardless, she begins to perk up at the thought of a victory meal made by her lover and shared with her friends. She swipes the shirt Lucanis was reaching for and scurries to a corner of the bed to wiggle into it. The satin button up stops at her mid thigh and she pairs it with her casual pants. Lucanis only sighs, shaking his head with faux exasperation. Neither of them acknowledge the chagrin in his smile or fondness in his eyes at her small tricks.

Lucanis opens the door for her as they exit the pantry and begins working on making coffee and two cups of tea for Emmrich and Bellara. Soon others of the members of the Veilguard make their way into the dining hall.

Neve is first, shooing a wisp out of her bed hair. Combing her locks out with her fingers she shoots Rook a friendly wink and plops down across from Rook at the table. “Bel’s on bedrest while she recovers, so I’ll be taking breakfast to her once it’s done, yeah?”

Lucanis nods in thought staring into the stove fire growing from embers, “I’ll make something light and nutritious for her. I recall her mentioning this Dalish soup derived from mushrooms, I can try to replicate it.” He says it more to himself than anything before he gets to work.

Next, is Davrin and Assan in tow groggy and battle worn. The group’s frontliner and his sidekick have never looked so weary and the visage evokes sympathetic laughter from Rook and Neve. Coaxing the griffon over, Assan rests his head in Neve’s with a pitiful coo as his wings sprawl around him. The adorable moment is abruptly cut into as Davrin drops into the chair next to Neve and releases a low, obnoxious groan as he stretches back across the chair. The motion causes his tunic to shift and expose most of his chest.

“Well! I’m relieved some of us decided to get decent this morning.” Emmrich entered with an exaggerated scowl. Before he sits he throws a glance at the hall door and gives a thoughtful hum. “I do hope Taash joins us, as well. I just witnessed them walking towards Harding’s quarters…” With that a chilly lull filled the space and Rook felt particularly cold as she wrung her hands underneath the table. Staring at the woodgrain and following the grooves she felt many a gaze fall upon her in the silence. Emmrich breaking the quiet, “I could have a chat with the—”

“No, I’ll talk to them.” Rook had already stood up quick enough for her chair to give an awkward squeak before anyone could protest. Although she doubts anyone would, well maybe… She glanced over to the object of her contemplation and Lucanis was already eyeing her. She gave him a smile and nod that was meant to be reassuring but that was always a fruitless endeavor when it came to the Brood Prince himself.

The dining hall door closed behind her with her a weighted thud a gust of wind that pushed her forward. Each step to Harding’s quarters felt heavier with each beat, like walking through quicksand. Rook could feel the cool wetness of sweat on the back of their neck and hands and a distinct feeling to run and hide. These emotions would be shoved aside in lieu of what courage she could muster this morning. If Taash needs someone to blame they can Rook. She placed her whole palm on the groove of the door and waited, taking a deep and steady breath. Eventually pushing it open to reveal Taash kneeling in the middle of the room.

Rook’s mind drifts to when Taash gifted Lace a wheel of cheese, the scout had beamed at the present and Rook was just happy to see her friends grow close. Now Taash kneels exactly where she had that day staring at the spot Harding should be.

“Hey, Taash.” That’s a start, right? These conversations are never easy, but in this circumstance they’re particularly hard. After all, it was her call that lead to Lace’s death. It’s on her hands. Rook takes comfort in the lingering smell on Lucanis’ shirt—heady, deep and familiar.

After a few solemn moments, the Rivaini pipes up a soft “Hey Rook.” It’s not a lot but it’s already more than what Rook thought she’d get from them. Even better they continue, “She was telling me about the plants the other day… Named most of them, you know. After her Inquisition buddies.” They go off to list some of the names and how they fit, whatever their memory can rebirth. “They’re gonna miss her.” It’s said with a small clip at the end of ‘her’ and it pulls Rook close enough to put a hand on their shoulder.

“So will we, Taash.” Its nothing seismic or elaborate, and yet it just feels right to talk to Taash in this way. They never needed grand speeches or double entendres, giving them your clear and honest truth was ideal. This fact is only cemented when they finally look at Rook and give a somber smile.

“Yeah, a whole damn lot.” They look away and give their thigh a hard pat and get up, rising several heads above Rook. “Oh, thought I smelled Lucanis.” nodding to his shirt draped over her. “How’re, uh, you two getting along? He pop out the wings for you, yet?”

Rook blinks a few times at them, not prepared for the topic swap whatsoever but quickly recovers. “Uh, yeah, he di—wait, was that your idea?” Taash only shrugs and gives an expectant look that elicits a chortle from Rook. “Thanks Taash.”

“I told him you’d love it.” They exit the room behind Rook with a self satisfied smile. “So, how’s this gonna work when you two go back to the crows? Now that he’s First Talon, and crap.” They muse walking up the steps towards the dining hall.

Oof. Out of the frying pan and into the fire. The conversation before was rough but at least it wasn’t as personal as this. Taash always strikes true to the matters closest to home and they know it. Like a harpooned catch at sea, Rook can only flounder. It’s a good question, great even. Anita De Riva, ex-Crow but now hero of Thedas. After all she’s done for Treviso alone, she’s definitely earned herself back into their good graces. The question is, does she want to go back? the thought nearly gives her pause. Her thoughts pan to what started this tangent, Lucanis. They have time together, but how much of that time can really be theirs with so much to repair. Now that the gods are no longer a threat, the Crows are bound to come knocking to break in their shining new First Talon. It’s also only a matter of time until Rook starts receiving letters and summons from every corner of North Thedas asking for Maker knows what.

Regardless they’ll make it work, they made it work while fighting the gods. How hard could the aftermath be, even if they should be separated for a time. Rook is plucked from her spiraling as Taash grabs the back of Rook’s collar—barely stopping her from walking into the dining hall door. “You good? Like… for real?” They peer down at her with an inquisitive look.

Rook can’t lie but also doesn’t want to unload her love life onto Taash of all people right now. So all she can offer is, “As good as I can be, thanks Taash.” It takes a smile and a couple seconds before they release the shirt from their grasp and swing the door open. They’re both welcomed with the smell of herbs and a beautifully prepared Antivan frittata one with spiced meats and a personal veggie option for Emmrich, along with some seasoned potatoes. Cured of whatever grey cloud approached over head, Rook skipped over to her designated seat after giving Lucanis quick peck on the side of his neck. He seemed a bit stiff but inevitably leaned into her touch. Hm, she’ll pocket that for now.

As promised Neve had gone to take hers and Bellara’s portions to her quarters, with the help of newly arrived Manfred. Meanwhile everyone else digs into their respective meals and all is bliss until the Caretaker conjures among their breakfast. “Many missives come for you, dweller. As well as for your compatriots. They await your attention in the library.” The spirit gives a graceful bow before disappearing into smoke.

“And so it begins.” she sighs and finishes her meal dejectedly.

—

After breakfast everyone collects their respective correspondences and depart to their quarters. Rook receives a report from Antoine and Evka about Hossberg’s blight and other blighted areas healing near overnight and only improving. Whatever darkspawn remain after Elgar’nan’s defeat are being hunted down. She smiles as she finds a pressed, blue flower folded behind the letter and places it aside near Varrick’s shaving mirror.

Then there’s a letter from Ashur and Tarquin—she sits further upright, Bellara was nearly cured of her blight after Elgar’nan was killed. Is the Viper on the mend? Just as she suspected the report confirms Ashur’s blighted state has severely lessened and he’s on the mend. That’s the best news the letter contains however, Minrathous hasn’t seen days like this since Andraste herself marched upon the city. Though, if they rebuilt then they can rebuild again. Rook is already writing a response to the Shadow Dragons promising her aid to recovery efforts. She didn’t show up for Minrathous when the blighted dragons attacked but she won’t abandon them again.

The last missive is familiarly arranged with House De Riva’s seal stamped into green wax. Prying it open, Viago’s handwriting scrawls across the vellum. It’s formal in the way only he writes, especially to her, sneaking in bits of personality here and there subtly. He phrases the message like a call home to report but leaves it open, in case she has other plans. Anita groans and throws her head back, to think a part of her misses fighting the gods, simpler times where the future wasn’t so much of a conundrum. Perhaps that’s what’s causing her grief, she’s been on this venture for so long the thought of returning seems foreign. Or perhaps, she feels she can’t ever return to her life before. She’s changed so much, gone through harrowing events and most impressively she is still alive. That’s… more than a lot of people that have followed her down this road can say. It’s in a moment like this where Rook almost wishes she could talk to Varrick again, even if only through blood magic.

You should speak to someone

Like she has many options. People are either too close to confide in or too removed to relate. Then she feels a heat bloom on her right, like a rising sun in summer. There she spots the figurine of Mythal shine a bright blue light eliciting a wince before an apparition of the goddess stands before her.

“My, I did not expect to find the Champion of the Fade in such a sorry state, what causes you to evoke such a pathetic display?” Gee, tell what you truly think spirit of retribution.

Rook can only blink incredulously as she slumps across her couch. “How… are you here right now—I thought you were bound to the Crossroads.”

“Deflection. How predictable, very well. When I offered my assistance in parlaying with Fen’harel I merged with the other fragment that resides with the witch, Morrigan. When we separated something had changed within me and my constraints waned. I am now confined to the physical fragment I granted you.” This version of her, though it’s the same fragment she happened upon in the Crossroads, it seems less volatile. Seems having a sense of freedom, though small, agrees with her.

Rook’s glad some people are making out well in this strange new world. Meanwhile, she can’t seem to decide what the next chapter looks like for her. Before she can ponder further, Mythal cuts through with a haughty scoff.

“Is it truly indecision, that torments you so? Truly?” She cranes her neck as if to emphasize her disbelief. Rook is too busy nearly breaks apart at the goddess Mythal chastising her like some disapproving peer to reference her invasion into her thoughts.

“Only because you seem so concerned for my welfare—” Rook gives a dramatic sigh, “Yes, I haven’t the slightest idea what I plan to do once the dust settles. I mean, you can empathize, cant you? Devoting so much of yourself to a cause, it leaves you hollow.” She finds herself easily spilling her thoughts to the spirit, but can’t be bothered to worry if it’s some Fade influence or magic. Wrapping her arms around herself, she continues, “So many people have suffered and died for us to succeed. I’m alive and it feels like I have to—i don't know— do something with it now.”

Mythal’s visage merely stands vigil as Rook drones on, arms crossed over her semi corporeal form. “Anita De Riva,” her voice pulls Rook’s attention in a blink at the call of her birth name, unfamiliar on the spirits tongue “You must be incredibly lucky to have achieved all that you have and yet still be this foolish.” Ok rude, fair but rude. “You have made a calling delving into places no mortal has dared to and return alive. As well as meddle in affairs beyond you and succeed. You have made an impact on only the world but the lives of countless of people—most without even meeting them. So forgive me, if I find your new dilemma… underwhelming.” Her glowing gaze squints with scrutiny.

Rook can truthfully has faced and killed two and half gods and yet this is the first time one has made her feel small. The worst part is that everything Mythal has said thus far is true and that’s what shames her enough to hang her head dejectedly. “I know, okay. However, none of that cahnges the fact that I do feel this way. How did you manage?” Rook asks genuinely and something appears to soften in the spirits demeanor. Something returned from what she used to be, a guiding and nurturing hand of benevolence.

Mythal opens her mouth to speak but pauses before giving a curt and simple, “I died.”

Oh, right.

“But, from what I glimpsed having merged with my sister fragment briefly, she found her purpose in aiding others however she could. Be it through insignificant ways or grand schemes, she helped many through her lifetimes among the mortals. I assume it may only take you the one to achieve something akin to the peace she possesses.”

Rook goes to spew some sarcastic drivel but she stops herself. Once again the goddess is actually right. If she didn’t feel so relieved she’d be annoyed. Shaking of the gloom and doom from before Rook looks up at the goddess with clear eyes. “Thanks… for that.”

A huff leaves the apparition with no air and all act. “I suppose I should be thanking you, as well….” she trails off glancing at the small statuette of her visage. “Its been literal ages since I acted according to my nature.” Just then the faintest of smile graces her features. “It is a welcomed feeling.”

Oh no. Rook can feel a controversial idea come about. While it could be dangerous, it would definitely be beneficial to many involved, possibly. She weighs the thought in her head some more, rolling it around like a marble before its knocked from her mental grasp.

“You truly are a fool. You’ve only recently rid yourself of one god in your head, are you so quick to gain another in his place?” She looks utterly at a loss and Rook feels a sense of pride for the record of stumped deities she can account for. “What could I possibly gain in joining with you?”

“That welcomed feeling, you said it yourself—I’m a meddler with a penchant for do-gooding.” Five years ago Rook would scoff at this smug proclamation. Now? she seems to have piqued the goddess’ interest. “Maybe it’s your turn to go around helping the needy, too.”

Mythal hums in thought before looking straight into Rook’s soul. “And you?” There it is. “You don’t strike as the type to covet power, not that I have much left.”

Rook already had her answer when she came up with the idea. “You’re right, I’m not. I just… I guess I want to help you. Not out of pity of course, just as someone who understands a bit of how you feel.”

“Oh? And what feeling is that?”

“Lost.”

That catches the goddess off guard if only for a brief moment. Her composure returns as do her arms over her chest. “Allow me some time to consider my response. It would seem I’m once again at the whims of your words.”

“Alright, then. Uh, are you fine over there or do you want me to—” before she can complete her own sentence the visage dims out of view. Leaving Rook alone with words in her mouth.

Welp, Lucanis was right. Speaking to someone did help, though she doubts he meant or expected her to seek council with the fragment of Mythal. He would also be very disapproving of her idea of helping the spirit. The image of a scowling Lucanis forces a shudder of dread to run through her, though she’s sure or rather she hopes he’d understand. Enough of that for now, though. She has a write of response to dear Viago.

She explains she will be away for a bit more aiding in the recovery of Minrathous, also requesting any spare aid that can be sent there as well. She intends to return home, but she does not have a direct timetable at the moment. That should satisfy him. It’s not as though she suddenly hates being a Crow but after being something more than an assassin, it’s hard ot go back. Besides it’s not like she can just leave. It is the Crows after all. Even with all the good favor, because of her proximity to other factions she’d be too much of a risk. At best they’d have her under heavy surveillance for most of her life. Delightful.

As she wraps up her response there’s a know on the door. She doesn’t get up just throws a glance at the entrance and offer’s a, “Come in!” Then in struts the First Talon himself, now she turns her body completely. Folding two arms over the backrest and laying her head over them.

“Do you allow anyone into your chambers so easily?” With a quirked brow he props an arm near one of her and leans down to kiss her temple.

“Only when my chambers are so conveniently located among the most powerful crew in Thedas.”She say’s it casually, yet means every word, offering a few dramatic flutters of her lashes.

Earning a scoff, he rounds the sofa and takes his place beside her, her hands in his. “I am to return to Treviso, soon. Sooner than I would like, but I’ve put it off for a month. That is the extent we can manage.” To think the thought of returning home would have him feeling so sullen, perhaps because this is equally his home as the villa. “I imagine you also received a summons, although—”

“It was easier to dismiss than the call for the First Talon to finally take his place?” Anita grants a small squeeze of their hands.

In their mother tongue he continues, “I anticipate there are loose ends you’ll want to tie up here and there” He reaches up to run his knuckles over the apple of her cheek and she sighs.

“Minrathous takes priority, so much to be done.” She responds in kind. “When is your coronation, Brood Prince?”

“In five weeks—please don’t feel pressured t—”

She cuts him off with a lighthearted kiss. “I couldn’t miss you being the center of attention while Illario is forced to watch. Besides, it’s important” Leaning her head against his.

“Then allow me the honor of escorting you to my official appointing.” If the offer wasn’t sweet enough the sappy smile Lucanis is sporting surely takes the cake.

Unable to help herself she gasps exaggeratedly, hand over her mouth. “The First Talon escorting me?! But I don’t even have anything to wear!” Turning and throwing herself on his lap for extra effect, for all her swooning and sighing she hears naught but a soft chuckle rumble through him.

“What do you take me for. House Dellamorte provides.” He proclaims smugly, though a shadow seems to hang over him the shape of—what did Teia call Viago’s?

Ah. “You have a thinking man’s brow, what’s troubling you? You seemed off earlier, too.” Anita reaches up to poke at the furrow between his brows.

There isn’t a response and all the mirth she worked so hard to develop is gone in a moment. With his usual brood cast over his features all Rook gets for a moment is a delicate touch in her curls. Then finally, “It’s House business, family drama. I’ll tell you, I will, just not now. Alright, love?”

It feels a bit hollow but it’s acceptable for this dance they preform. Each of them have their own ghosts that haunt them, in his case more literally. They tentatively pry and probe only so much, wary of soft spots before eventually diving into the meat of the matter. So whatever seems to plague him will only remain for a matter of time before they address it.

It also doesn’t help when he uses those big brown eyes against her. Breaking the brood apart to bat his own lashes at her paired with a fond smile she can’t help but want to kiss till they’re both drunk from it. Ugh, he’s devious. After a chase peck he moves to stand all the while holding her head and neck, substituting his lap with a cushion so she doesn’t fall. “I have to make some minor preparations but, should you need me for anything please let me know.”

“Oh I plan to.” A soft giggle escapes her as she gives a light wave, watching him head out bittersweetly.

Maker’s breath, she talks a big game but she truly does worry about that man. Thinking to herself, she begins donning her leathers as she plans out the rest of her day, though her thoughts drift back to him. He tries to keep so much of himself to himself. He must know she loves him wholly down to even his dark depths, right?

Wait. Thinking about it now—she must’ve said it at least once, right? Right? Rook combs through every interaction with Lucanis and she can’t recall a single confession on her part, not that he doesn’t know how she feels about him. It’s only that he’s been absolutely romantic and endearing and she’s been lacking, she feels awful. And she calls herself an Antivan! She can’t just spring it on him now. It has to be special if this is going to be the first time she tells him she loves him.

Suddenly at the thought of confessing her love, Rook feels a vaguely familiar fluttering. Butterflies, actual butterflies— it’s been over a decade since Rook has done something like this. Many of her escapades were casual, no strings attached but there was the occasional heartstring pulled by a paramour or two. This however, she hasn’t been in love before. Not like this. It warrants further discussion. She glances at the statuette and immediately admonishes the thought as she recalls the last relationship Mythal was in ended horribly with her death and eons of trauma. Yeah, no thanks. No, Rook needed to speak to someone with a pulse, at least.

She clasped her Crow cloak and put the Mythal figurine in her pouch then began heading over to Neve’s chamber. Opening the door gave way to half a dozen wisps darting about as Neve meditates. She opened an eye to Rook and smiled, “Hey Rook. Ready to head to Dock Town? It’s all hands on deck down there. Search and recovery are priority number one with all the rubble and dead blight about.” She gets up with a stretch and starts putting on the rest of her mage robes and cuirass. “Is Broody joining us?”

“No, he’s busy. Taash is coming with, think their nose will be a huge help finding people. Davrin and Emmrich are gonna pair up with the Mourn Watch also stationed in Dock Town.” Rook leans against a wall near her desk while she wraps up while she contemplates how best to start this conversation. “Uh, hey Neve?”

Nearly done pinning up her hair, Neve turns to Rook with such an inquisitive glance only a detective can pull. “Yeah?”

“Woman to woman, this conversation stays between us, ok?” Oh boy, here it goes. Them in one breath, “So I may or may not have just realized I haven’t exactly, really, told Lucanis how I feel—like at all and now it seems like it’s either too late or pointless. But also he deserves to hear it and I have to say it the right way and at the right time because this is the first time I’ve felt like this for anyone before and I want it to be special for both of us so I need your advice on how and when to tell him, cause he’s leaving in a month—so please help!””

At first Neve merely stares, nodding occasionally to Rook’s rambling. Then when she finally completes her train of thought, there's a long pause before the private eye doubles over in hearty laughter. All poise and charm gone as Neve slams her hand on her desk trying to catch her own breath through the breakdown.