#emmrookispite

Not what he’d dreamed, then; a thought of Spite’s. The shades of this memory were sharp around the edges in a way even his excellent human sight couldn’t replicate.

The tattoos had a magical luminosity Lucanis had never seen, but Spite had mentioned in passing.

How do you manage, seeing such a different world through my eyes? he asked silently.

Spite’s answer wasn’t truly an answer. We wanted to see Rook. They look like this in our mind.

Beside them, Emmrich breathed in deep, a sure sign he was waking. The Rivaini-made blanket he preferred, woven with images of mermaids, slipped slightly as he shifted, its softened threads brushing Lucanis’ hip.

“Did we wake you?” Lucanis wasn’t sure how he felt about his loud nighttime thoughts being enough to wake his bedpartner. It wasn’t really his thoughts, exactly, doing the waking, but he was the only other body in the room, so somehow the fault must lie with him.

“I heard Spite,” Emmrich murmured, stretching. “I was dreaming of Xiqaa’s skin, gilded by sunlight and crowned in drops of water that surpassed diamonds in their beauty.”

“Did we share a dream? Or a vision? I am not sure what to call it.”

“I believe so. In the Fade, it is possible to dream with another; our dreams are made real through the imprint of energy on the ineffable matter of the spirit realm.”

Lucanis sighed. He wanted to go back; to do more than dream of Xi’s sunlit skin.

“Would you tell me what you dreamed?” Emmrich asked, rolling to face him and sliding an arm over Lucanis’ ribcage.

The faint scent of damp stone drifted in from the canal as he searched for the memory. He rarely remembered his dreams, but as he cast around for it, Spite pushed something forward and suddenly it was there, like the shape of a childhood toy found at the bottom of an old trunk.

“The dream was based on a memory, but quickly became something more,” he began, like someone reading unfamiliar words aloud for the first time. “One of the first times we went to the Rivain coast, we discovered a cave concealed under a waterfall. I asked Xiqaa if they thought there might be treasure inside, and we found something. They were delighted with the find, but then…” A flush crept into his cheeks. “She saw that I was more comfortable in the shadows, in my full armor, and invited me to take off some of my layers.”

Emmrich chuckled. “Impertinent creature.”

“Even in my dreams,” Lucanis agreed, smiling. “They were taking off my cape, braiding my hair into a small queue and I could feel their fingers on my neck…” he trailed off, the sensation as clear against his skin as it had been when he was sleeping.

Emmrich made a soft, involuntary sound—not desire, but something warmer, deeper. A kind of yearning threaded with fondness. He shifted closer, resting more of his weight along Lucanis’ side, as if the memory itself had a gravity that pulled him in.

“What else?” he asked, voice low with anticipation and an unexpected hunger.

“We stood under the waterfall and she kissed me.” Lucanis’ words didn’t convey the absolute searing passion in the way they’d clung to him like the water would sweep them away, or how his tongue had curled and licked into their mouth, a desperate, aching exploration that made his own flesh rise even now.

The closeness, the trust, the way the world had narrowed to the warmth of her mouth and the roar of water around them—it all rose in him with startling clarity.

Judging from the needy sound Emmrich made, he understood exactly how it had made Lucanis feel.

He sucked in a shocked breath, not from the memory this time, but from the sudden, familiar twist of guilt. He should not want this so sharply. He should not let the echo of Xi’s touch ripple through him while Emmrich lay warm against his side.

It is not wrong to feel deeply for more than one, Spite murmured, his tone neither urging nor warning, simply observing. Emmrich’s expression suggested he heard the truth in it.

Lucanis swallowed. “It feels like it should be,” he admitted quietly, the words slipping out before he could stop them.

Emmrich’s expression softened, as if he’d heard both Spite and the guilt Lucanis hadn’t meant to reveal. There was no jealousy in his eyes, only understanding and something tender enough to make Lucanis feel exposed and cradled at the same time. “What if you tell me of them, and I…manage things here?” he inquired delicately. “I love you both beyond words, mein Schatz. We can think of her together.”

The offer was soft, generous, and it made something inside him ache with both longing and shame; the old fear that wanting too much would make him unworthy of either of them. Yet Emmrich’s voice held no reproach, only reassurance that loving Xi and loving him were not opposing truths but a single, shared warmth.

He let out a slow breath, the guilt still there but now gentled by Emmrich’s steadiness. Closing his eyes as Emmrich’s hands soothed his body, he tried to recall the scene again.

“We kissed,” he continued, “then she drew me onto the sand there in front of the cave where the shade of a tree shaded us. We lay talking, touching—”

Much as he and Emmrich were now, though the memory carried a different light, a different warmth.

“—and they fell asleep, sprawled across the sand atop their unwound scarves. The waterfall misted us with spray and I watched the beads of water form on their skin, wishing I could taste each one. I wanted to be the water drops in that moment, shining pure in the sun atop her warm skin, drinking in the radiance.”

He paused, pulse racing. The memory was too vivid, too much like a confession to be spoken aloud, but he held the image in his mind, orienting to it like a ship to a lighthouse on a dark night.

“I remember the way the droplets gathered along the lines of her tattoos,” he continued softly. “The ink seemed to glow beneath them. The wings on her arm looked alive, as if each feather were lifting in the breeze. The water traced every line the artist had carved into her skin, and I followed it with my eyes, trying to memorize the path. I thought if I could learn every mark, every scar, every stroke of ink, I might understand her better. Or at least honor her.”

Emmrich’s hand stilled on his ribs, not in hesitation but in reverence.

Lucanis swallowed. “Her skin held the sun differently than mine. It made the light gentler. Warmer. I remember thinking that the gods must have shaped her with a different kind of care. That she was…crafted. Not born.”

He let out a shaky breath, guilt flickering again at the edges of his voice. “It felt selfish to look at her that way. To adore her so openly, even in my own mind.”

Emmrich shifted closer, his voice a low murmur. “It is not selfish to see someone’s beauty. Not when you love them. I would do the same as you, or to you, were our roles reversed.”

Lucanis closed his eyes, letting the memory wash over him again—Xi asleep in the sun, water beading on her tattoos, the quiet rise and fall of her breath. A moment suspended in time, held gently between the three of them now.

Emmrich’s long, talented fingers made short work of their mutual release, and they whispered endearments to one another; reassurances that they were there for each other, promises of forever, and tender plans to lavish Xiqaa with the same love when the time came for them to be together again.

When the last tremor of feeling faded, Emmrich rested his forehead against Lucanis’ temple, their breaths slowly syncing. The grey Treviso morning felt a little warmer for it. Spite hovered close, a quiet presence, neither intruding nor withdrawing, simply sharing the stillness and observing the ones he loved in his own way.

Lucanis exhaled, the guilt eased, the longing softened. “One day,” he murmured, more hope than words.

Emmrich’s hand found his. “One day,” he echoed, steady as a vow.

And between them—in memory, in dream, in the quiet space their hearts made—Xi was there too, sun‑lit and waiting.

divider by lou-et-les-loups from this post

tagging a few people who might be interested! @kogarashi-art @mushrooms-x-moss @grad-writes @sorrygoldfish @serialsforbellara @gatesofminrathous @jenn2d2 @marbled-polecat @blackwall-my-tiny-husband @chaosherald @lycheecatee @davrinsleftpectoral @cimmanombagel @redaresss @the-sparrohawk

Xiqaa stood in front of the wardrobe, back to them, wearing one of their fanciest coats—a burnt orange raider-style piece that covered the tops of their tall sea boots. The fabric was a heavy, brushed weave, the kind that held its shape dramatically when they moved. Down the front marched a regiment of frogged closures made of gold rope, each knot crisp and symmetrical. The embroidery across the shoulders and back was a riot of intricate looping knots in teal, gold, and brown, each one studded with tiny gems and polished seashell slivers that caught the lamplight like sun on tidepools.

They turned, arms out to their sides, to let their partners take in the dramatic details.

“Well? Too much? I've always felt a little like a pirate-themed cake with seashell frosting in it.”

Hands on hips, pushing the lapels back, they studied the faces of their beloveds.

Lucanis opened his mouth, then shut it again.

The coat, for all its opulence, immediately became the least notable part of the outfit.

Underneath, Xiqaa wore a two‑piece ensemble made entirely of fishing net: thin, sea‑soft cord knotted into a pattern that could be considered clothing only in the most generous sense. The top was a narrow halter of netting that crossed their chest in a loose diamond lattice, and through every gap gleamed gold paint.

Rivaini gold paint. Ceremonial. The kind used in rites of blessing, celebration, and chosen intimacy. It shifted in tone as it followed their skin: bright, sunlit gold at the collarbones; deeper, molten bronze along the ribs; strokes laid with the deliberate touch of someone who knew exactly what each line meant, and what they wanted to invoke. The paint covered their body like a tide map; markings of strength, joy, and invitation.

The bottom piece was even more audacious: a low‑slung netted wrap tied with a single gold‑beaded knot at the hip. It left long, deliberate slashes of painted skin visible—thigh, hipbone, the scarred expanse of their waist. The ceremonial gold there followed the contours with almost ritual precision, each curve and sweep meant to draw the eye, to honor the body beneath, to promise celebration later.

The coat framed all of it like a curtain framed a stage.

Emmrich made a sound that was absolutely not a word. His hand came up to his mouth like he could physically shove the noise back in.

Xiqaa blinked innocently. “What? I wanted something festive.”

Lucanis’ voice finally returned, low and strained. “For my sanity, tell me you are not planning to wear that to the Distinguished Faculty Service Award ceremony.”

“Oh, no,” Xiqaa said breezily. “This is just for Emmrich." They grinned at Lucanis' expression. "And you, if you like it. I wanted to see if it would…inspire confidence.”

Rook is made of gold. We want it on our skin, Spite's spectral voice growled hungrily.

Emmrich was standing very still, as though sudden movement might break the spell. “Xiqaa,” he managed, “I cannot—how am I supposed to—my speech—”

“You’ll do wonderfully,” Xiqaa said, stepping closer, coat parting like clouds around a sunrise. “And afterward, you’ll come home and I can get dressed. Undressed. Not really sure, but you get the idea."

Lucanis’ composure cracked like a too-thin windowpane. “You’re going to kill him before he even reaches the podium.”

Xiqaa beamed. “Then he’d die honored.”

Emmrich, cheeks flushed a deep rose, finally found his voice. “I… would like to register a formal objection to your wearing that particular coat at this upcoming function.”

“Under review,” Xiqaa said, tugging him for a kiss in by the lapel of his own robe. “Now. Which earrings?”

Lucanis sighed happily, desire stirring as he watched Emmrich melting. Xiqaa, with a delighted wink and a breathless don't worry, vhenan, I'll find something you'll like, spun back toward the wardrobe, coat flaring and sliding off their shoulders, gold paint gleaming, entirely aware of the brushfire they’d set.

"Hang the speech revisions," Emmrich muttered as he swept Xi back into his arms.

edit: varlath = our beloved (one of Xi's nicknames for Emmrich)

Lucanis made it as far as the courtyard of Villa Dellamorte before the world tilted.

The gate was locked; his legs refused to cooperate.

He braced a hand against the stone wall, breathing hard. The air felt thick, his head swimming. It was suddenly hot, but that was wrong for a fine autumn evening.

Behind him came footsteps, unhurried.

“I knew you’d try to sneak out without giving me the time to help smooth over the transition,” Viago said. “You promised me two days at least. Shame on you.” He studied the fingertips of his gloves, indifferent to Lucanis’ struggle to stand.

Lucanis’ mouth was dry. “You poisoned me.”

“I’ve been dosing you for months,” Viago replied. “I finally had a reason not to give you an antidote.”

read the rest on AO3

Suspended overhead, Bellara’s lanterns floated: parts of artifacts salvaged from Arlathan and beyond, inscribed with sigils of the Evanuris, hung upside down but enchanted so their soft light spilled upward. She had suggested them as a way of honoring the memory of what their gods once stood for, reversing them to mark their fall while illuminating the future.

At the far end of the Great Hall, opposite the long feast tables and the crooked “Gifts or Grifts” banner, stood the quiet heart of the celebration: the Book and the Tree.

A long wooden table, worn smooth by generations of Wardens, held a heavy leather‑bound tome known as the Book of Memory. Its pages were thick, cream‑colored vellum edged in gold leaf. A quill rested beside it, its feather dyed the same deep twilight blue as Bellara’s enchanted lamps. Anyone could write a name, a memory, a single line of gratitude or grief. Some entries were neat and reverent; others were hurried, tear‑stained, or written with the shaky determination of someone afraid their courage might falter.

Behind the table rose the Tree of Remembrance: a stylized metal vhenadahl , its branches tipped with small glass globes that glowed on their own. The lights clung to the ends of the boughs like tiny stars, steady and flameless, as if the tree bore them as fruit.

Whenever someone wrote in the Book, a new globe brightened on the Tree. Judging by the globes already scattered across its branches, many guests had paused here before joining the festivities. 

third times the charm because Tumblr...

A month or more ago I ordered some Cameos from Zach Mendez and Nick Boraine to celebrate the end of this fic (thanks @davrinsleftpectoral for the tip), and I'm so excited to share them with you! They're stitched below. Please everyone only roast Lucanis for his bad elvhen pronunciation, not Zach 🤣 though I did make a meme about it I'll share later!

Zach's transcript: To Xiqaa Rook Laidir, Hero of Thedas, You are formally invited to attend the Signing of the Black Ledger and the celebration of Lucanis Dellamorte's confirmation as First Talon of the Antivan Crows. The event will be at Villa Dellamorte, Treviso. Your presence, and my beloved Emmrich's, would be both a political boon and a personal honor. I eagerly anticipate your attendance. May your feet be light on the path and your enemies' deaths swift. Lucanis.

A post script followed in small but confident letters: Ir abelas, ma vhenan; ar lath ma. Te quiero mucho. (I'm sorry, my heart. I love you. I love you.)

Nick's Transcript: My Darling Xiqaa, after all that we've been through, I want you to know that nothing has changed. You, and Lucanis, are still my absolute beloveds. Nothing has changed; nothing at all. It's still you.

I will be back later with a thank you post and some other stuff, but for now, visibility tags:

“Not for long. I can taste the Rivaini sausages already; fennel and pepper, the kind that make your eyes water,” Turvi said, patting his stomach with exaggerated longing.

Xi shot him an incredulous look over the rim of the chest. “You’re drooling on the matriarch’s crest.”

Turvi only laughed, jewelry clinking as he hefted another sack.

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In the aftermath of the battle with the Evanuris, Xiqaa decides the most reasonable course of action is to petition for Illario’s release from prison into their custody. Lucanis hates this immediately, and spirals about it. Emmrich hates it more quietly, but because he just wants to retire quietly with his lovers. After speaking with Caterina, Xiqaa ends up contract‑bound to Illario for one year, responsible for his good behavior. (Everyone pretends this is a workable arrangement.)

Meanwhile, Emmrich must settle some unfinished business in the Grand Necropolis. He and Lucanis descend into its depths to deliver Johanna Hezenkoss’ remains to the Lich Lords. A Lich Lord rewards Emmrich with the Vesper Knot, an artifact that lets the bearer hear spirits.

Xiqaa, determined to give Illario a second chance, gets him inducted into the Lords of Fortune. Aydenne de Riva enters the picture: a Crow assigned to monitor Illario who develops a hesitant, earnest crush. Illario reciprocates with the kind of intensity that suggests this will not remain simple for long. (They're hooking up off page, for sure.)

As Lords, Xiqaa and Illario become central to Isabela’s expansion into the Waking Sea—stealing gold, raiding ships, and preparing to seize an island between Ferelden and the Free Marches. Then, with two months left on the contract, Illario disappears mid‑job. Xiqaa panics, recruits Neve and Rana's help, and alerts Viago. Rumors point toward a high‑ranking Tevinter magister; Illario was once one of Zara’s intended demon hosts, after all.

Lucanis also panics and prepares to leave Antiva immediately, contract consequences be damned. Viago objects, noting that abandoning the Crows without naming a successor is reckless even by his standards. He points out Lucanis could just dissolve the contract if he wasn't so blinded by Caterina's percieved authority. They negotiate an agreement. Aydenne, crushed by guilt, pledges himself to Lucanis and offers to join House Dellamorte. Viago accepts, recognizing that the emotional avalanche is already underway.

Xiqaa & Co track the magister to his estate outside Carastes. They find no evidence of Illario’s abduction, but plenty of proof of slavery and demon‑adjacent experimentation. The revelation shatters Xiqaa’s control, and—with some help from @gatesofminrathous' Ariane de Riva—they tear the roof off the mother sucker.

Their last lead on the hunt for Illario takes them to Ferelden, where they negotiate control of Vigil’s Keep. Xiqaa's always wanted a home, and the Keep needs new residents!

I won't spoil the ending or the details of the hunt for Illario, but if you made it this far and like longfics, come on over and try it out!

There's a lot of guest Rooks, including Xiqaa's bestie Turvi Laidir kindly lent to me by @davrinsleftpectoral and a whole roost of de Rivas in one chapter ✨

If you're interested in letting your Rook play with mine, drop me a line or a comment!