#dadcanis

Since it was the middle of the night, the Villa was quiet. Lucanis found it more peaceful than he ever had, even with Spite following at a distance, doing nothing but watching him. Maybe it was the slow, gentle bounce in his steps that soothed him as much as it was intended for her, or maybe it was the light yet unbelievably enormous weight of the tiny miracle he held in his arms. Either way, he found the walls of this place no longer pressed in on him quite as severely as they had since his return a few years ago.

In fact, he was feeling strangely nostalgic as he strolled through these halls stroking his daughter’s impossibly soft hair, his eyes on the portraits lining the walls. He murmured to her in his mother tongue the whole while, pointing out things as he went, even though he knew she was much too young to understand.

Two portraits side-by-side near Caterina’s rooms made him draw to a halt. He turned, so his daughter’s eyes might find them too.

“Mira, mija. Tu bisabuela y todos sus hijos. ¡Cuántos!”

Lucanis remembered having the same thought the last time he had seen them all in one place, as their many pyres burned brightly against the night sky after House Dellamorte had been brought to its knees. Caterina was the only one in that portrait to survive.

Kissing the top of his daughter’s head, he tore his eyes from the painting and stepped in front of the second, observing this one’s own ghosts—he was the only survivor in this particular frame.

“Abuelo, abuela, y papá,”  Lucanis murmured, pointing the forefinger of the hand holding her head to his chest to each of them in turn. 

As he looked back at the younger version of himself staring down at them, he couldn’t help but notice the serious nature he’d always exuded—even in paint, even as a child. Even before House Velardo made their move and robbed him of what remained of his childhood. Such was the unfortunate reality of someone born into a prominent Crow family. His fingers tightened just a fraction on his daughter’s hair. Maker, what he wouldn’t do to ensure this little thing in his arms wouldn’t have to jump through the many hoops he had.

“Y mira… Lucia,” he said, putting the thought aside, tapping the same finger so gently to her head it barely made contact, “Lucanis,” he went on, pointing to himself, “y Lucrezia.”  He pointed to the image of his mother. “Tres de la misma rama, ¿ven?”

Knowing that it was, in fact, impossible for his newborn daughter to see the line he attempted to draw between them, he was not without an audience. Out of the corner of his eye, Lucanis saw Spite observing him with that same expression one might wear while awaiting a barrel of gaatlock to explode, his violet gaze flicking between portrait, man, and infant.

It made Lucanis smirk faintly, but the Antivan kept spilling from his lips in that silent, moonlight-drenched hall as if it had just been waiting right under the surface.

“Tu madre lo sugirió.” He paused. “No la merezco. Ni a ti. Pero los amo mucho a ambos.”

Though he spoke of his wife and daughter, his eyes lingered over the images of his parents, picking out the features he had inherited from both. For a man that had not, historically, spent much time thinking about his parents, the depth with which he felt the ache for them in his chest at this moment hitched his breath more than it should have. He wanted nothing more than to put Lucia in the arms of her namesake—both their namesakes—and watch the eyes the three of them shared well with joy. He wanted to ask his father how he was supposed to tamp down this protectiveness burning so fiercely within him that he feared it would prevent him from getting anything done ever again. He wanted Rook to be able to ask his mother for similar guidance, since she had no mother of her own to consult about this new chapter they’d started together.

And it all had been stolen from him.

Sometimes, he really did hate this house and all it stood for.

But then he looked down at this newest member of his small family, the tiniest fingers he had ever seen digging blindly into the muscle of his chest. Just that quickly, his family’s terrible history faded to its usual background noise. His eyes flicked to Spite continuing to watch, then back up to the depiction of his parents. He let go of a breath.

“Los amo a todos mucho,” he whispered, quietly enough to hide the shake in his voice.

Then, with a respectful nod to the portrait, he turned away from it and strolled back to the master bedroom where Rook lay sleeping. But before he entered their room, he deviated course, dipping into the door just before it, into the nursery where Lucia would soon reside, just as soon as she was big enough for the crib. His daughter was still awake, and he thought they could both do with some time in the rocking chair.

Spite’s agitated pacing before the chair made it less soothing than Lucanis had intended, however, at least for him. He watched for a bit, hoping the demon would settle. He sighed when he didn’t.

What is it? he asked Spite in the mind they shared.

Though he and Rook had tried explaining the impending arrival of their bundle of joy, Lucanis knew the demon hadn’t quite grasped the concept. He also knew that while he’d kept a confused distance these last few days, his ever-present companion would only be ignored for so much longer.

Spite wheeled about, looking at the blanketed babe in his arms. He stared for a solid minute or two.

“Why does this squealing lump stir up… THAT?” Spite asked, pointing in the vague direction of the hall they’d haunted mere moments ago.

Lucanis wanted to laugh, but refrained, since it might disturb Lucia, who had settled down some. Legacy is a complex thing, Spite.

The demon’s myriad questions burned so strongly behind Spite’s teeth, Lucanis could feel them, but he didn’t know that he had the wherewithal to try to answer them all presently.

Would you like to hold her? Lucanis asked instead.

Spite went more still than Lucanis could ever recall him being, like prey pinned beneath the gaze of a predator. A tired smile graced his lips, that such a simple question caused it. After a few more moments, the demon nodded slowly.

You must be gentle, or I will take control back. And you must be quiet. Do not speak through the mouth, lest you scare her. You’re always too loud with it.

Again Spite nodded his understanding. Lucanis lifted the hand from Lucia’s head and gestured for him to enter.

When his muscles rippled the way they always did when Spite slipped into his skin, Lucanis worried it would disturb her. But if she noticed, she made no noise about it.

The first thing Spite did was press the nose to the top of her skull, closing his eyes and deeply inhaling the scent of her. Smells like ROOK! And milk. And… you?

I would hope so, Lucanis quipped, deeply amused.

Spite shifted the hands beneath Lucia’s arms and lifted her, the desire to get a better look at her thrumming through his body. But then panic shot through him when he lifted her off his chest and she let out a sharp cry as her head fell back and her arms shot out. Lucanis seized control of his own arms, and held her against his chest again. She settled down the instant he supported her head.

“It’s alright, he didn’t know better,” Lucanis murmured soothingly, though it was equally intended to calm his demon too. The panic still flooding him was entirely Spite’s, who had frozen in terror inside of him, like he would be scolded.

You want to see her? Lucanis asked instead, since the last thing he needed was the demon developing a complex over this.

His own head nodded again. Shifting his daughter carefully onto her back in one of his arms, he draped her loosely in the blanket as she looked back up at him—at them—then let Spite take over once more.

At first, the demon did nothing but stare. Eventually, the arm that held her lifted her a little higher so he could look more closely. The hand that rested atop the blanket then reached out, stroking an impossibly gentle finger along the side of her brow.

Your eyes.

Dellamorte genes are strong, Lucanis informed him.

Rook’s, though, Spite retorted, just barely touching the finger down the bridge of Lucia’s nose. She crinkled up her face at the touch, and Spite used his lungs to gasp.

Not that strong, praise the Maker, Lucanis thought wryly.

Lucanis felt his head tilt to the side as Spite continued to stare. He couldn’t discern whether it was in wonder or bewilderment.

How?

His lips stretched in a grin. That particular lesson was not on the agenda tonight. Maybe you should ask Rook. I’m sure she’ll love explaining that.

The demon was definitely leaning more towards bewildered now.

Do spirits in the Fade reproduce? Lucanis asked, a sudden curiosity stirring in him. Though he had—especially at first—treated Spite like a troublemaking child, he understood that was born of the demon’s lack of experience in this world more than age. What he had lived in the Fade before being dragged here against his will however… Lucanis wasn’t even sure he had the means of comprehending how long Spite had actually been around.

Spite shook his head. We are One, from the All. Come and go as needed. Some more than others.

Though Lucanis had found similar musings in Spite’s writings, he didn’t entirely understand the sentiment. He supposed that made them even in this particular moment. He took brief control of the hand hovering around Lucia’s face, and used it to stroke her palm. Her diminutive fingers wrapped around his instantly, and he beamed. This had quickly become one of his favorite things to do.

But from the way his eyes—still burning violet—went blurry, it seemed the other part of him enjoyed it too.

I found a wisp of Perseverance once, Spite went on suddenly, surprising Lucanis. It was so tiny. So faint. But so… similar. I protected it. Helped it grow into a brilliant spirit.

Lucanis was the one that went too still this time. What happened to it?

Crossed the Veil. To aid a soldier at Ostagar. He didn’t specify which of the many battles that had occurred there. He merely wiggled the finger Lucia gripped and tried to pull it away, a strange sense of pride overtaking him. The mouth they shared control of grinned when she refused to let go. She is determined.

Lucanis didn’t have the heart to tell him this was simply a reflex, mostly because he couldn’t help but think the same. Maybe they understood each other better than he thought.

She is, Lucanis agreed, not sure which of them was holding her a little closer with the arm wrapped around her. Both, perhaps, since he and the creature of emotion he’d been saddled with were both currently feeling an awful lot of it. Just wait until she’s old enough to start making trouble.

Spite perked up in excitement at once. I like troublemaking.

“I thought you’d be in here,” Rook’s soft voice came from behind him, cutting through the silence in the room and interrupting their conversation. “She wasn’t giving you trouble, was she?”

Rook came around the chair, but froze when violet eyes looked up at her.

“Ah. Hi, Spite,” she said, and Lucanis noticed how tentative it was. “Did Lucanis fall asleep?”

“I’m here, Maribel,” Lucanis assured her, gently prising his finger from Lucia’s grip and reaching out to take his wife’s hand. “We’re all just… getting to know one another.”

“So I see. It’s going alright, then?”

Considering Spite had listened so well he hadn’t even spoken to Rook when she entered the room, Lucanis couldn’t help but smile. 

“Better than I’d expected.” He cherished the one she gave him back, even if it was a bit wan. His brow drew together. “Should you be out of bed, mi amor?”

“I can take ten steps down the hall, Lucanis,” she said, a touch of her sarcasm biting her words. But then she took a turn regarding him more closely. “Have you slept at all? You look like you did at the Lighthouse.”

“Like enough of a mess to trick you into falling in love with me?”

Rook’s smile grew more wry. “Yes, tricked so thoroughly I had your child.”

Lucanis looked down at Lucia again. She was finally beginning to doze off, her eyes having dropped half shut. He didn’t know how it was possible, but such a simple thing made him fall even more deeply in love with her.

“Maribel?” Lucanis asked, his eyes lifting to hers. He swallowed a little thickly. “You have given me such a gift. Something I thought I’d never get to have. I don’t know how to begin to repay you. Just… thank you. From the bottom of my heart.”

Fingers tightening around each others’, he watched her eyes grow wet as they fell on their daughter. “I didn’t do it alone, my love. You don’t have to repay me. Seeing you like this with her is more than enough. Family really is the most important thing to you, isn’t it?”

“I fear it will be my downfall more than anything relating to the Crows,” he agreed, his thoughts straying back to those portraits he’d visited earlier. “I miss my parents and… I don’t know why.”

The confession was torn from him unexpectedly. Rook’s eyes met his again and she reached out with her other hand, cupping his face. “I think that’s natural right now, Lucanis. I miss mine too.”

Closing his eyes at her touch, he nodded. If anyone understood, it would be her.

“Come on,” Rook instructed him, tugging gently on his hand. “You only start admitting things like that when you’re overtired. Let’s go back to bed so you can get some rest. I can keep an eye on her.”

He was about to argue, when Spite—who had faded to the background throughout his conversation with Rook—stepped forward to control his voice.

“I will watch her. You both sleep. Spite protects the shelter. She is part of it now.”

Lucanis’s eyes welled again for probably the fiftieth time in the last three days, but he huffed a small laugh too: he hadn’t known Spite was capable of whispering. Gingerly, so as not to wake the baby, he got to his feet.

“I will not say no to that,” he told Rook seriously, because he did need to sleep.

Rook looked at him, something close to pride on her face. “You trust him with her?”

“Implicitly.”

“What a long way you two have come,” she said with a watery smile of her own, and led the four of them by his fingers back into the safety of their nest.

Antivan translations because I know there's a lot of them!

“Vaya conmigo, mija,”  - Come with me, my daughter/my dear/darling “Deja que mamá duerma.” - Let mama sleep “Mira, mija. Tu bisabuela y todos sus hijos. ¡Cuántos!” - Look my dear/darling/daughter. Your great-grandmother and all her children. So many (of them)! “Abuelo, abuela, y papá,” - Grandfather, grandmother, and papa “Y mira… Lucia,” - And look, Lucia “Tres de la misma rama, ¿ven?” - Three from the same branch, see? “Tu madre lo sugirió.” - Your mother suggested it. “No la merezco. Ni a ti. Pero los amo mucho a ambos.” - I don’t deserve her. Or you. But I love you both so much. “Los amo a todos mucho,” - I love you all very much