#lethal attraction

One for silence.

A single fussing sound—not even a proper cry—disturbed the otherwise placid night air. Perhaps it didn’t wake Lucanis in and of itself, but it certainly did nothing to ease him further into unconsciousness.

Maybe she’ll go back to sleep.

It was wishful thinking, and entirely misguided.

More fussing soon followed the first. Lucanis sat up, blinking a few times to allow his eyes time to adjust to being open for the first time in hours. Despite only having moonlight that snuck in through the windows to illuminate vague outlines and shapes of furniture in the bedroom, he knew his way around well enough to carefully pry himself from underneath the covers.

Despite his lacking sleep routine, he still found himself hesitant to leave the warmth of his shared bed. While it may not have been as lavish as some magisters, it was still a far cry from the meager cot shoved into the corner of a pantry he had slept on, an even further cry from the Ossuary’s cage that had acted as his home for a year before he was recruited by the Veilguard.

He rolled his shoulders, further unwinding from his rest.

Everyone had opinions when it came to babies. Lucanis learned that lesson before their daughter had even been born.

Let them cry, otherwise they’ll become too dependent on you. Pick them up and soothe them so they go back to sleep. Don’t sleep with them in your bed. Keep them between the two of you until they’re big enough for a crib.

It was endless. For a while, Lucanis had been sure it would end once the baby was born; when she became tangible and all too real and there was no more time before he was a father.

Her father.

When the newborn continued to fuss, Lucanis sighed in defeat.

His love’s sleep-heavy voice drawled out a yawn from the opposite side of the bed, pulled from sleep by their fussing daughter. In the dark, he leaned over the bed to plant a kiss against warm, familiar skin. He would never grow tired of being able to give such affection, just as he would never grow tired of receiving it in return.

“I’ve got her, anima mia. I’m awake, anyway.” A yawn interrupted him. “You stay put.”

A noncommittal groan assured him that his offer would not be fought tonight.

Between the three of them, it was hard to say who was getting the least amount of sleep these days.

Lucanis pulled himself up from his leaning position against the bed before retrieving and redressing himself in the housecoat he had haphazardly shrugged off before falling into said bed just hours ago. The Crow raised his arms above his head, catlike in comportment while he eased cramped muscles back to waking limberness. He rounded the bed and carefully freed his disquieted daughter from her bassinet.

“Now, now, diavolina. You’ve already woken us up, hm? No need to get louder.” His teasing was gentle and warm, not that she could have understood him, anyway.

He was rather pleased. She was growing everyday, but her changing weight was just as familiar to him as any weapon of choice. He certainly enjoyed holding her more than any of his treasured daggers.

Two for surprise.

He pressed a kiss to one of her round cheeks, both because she deserved it and to make sure she wasn’t too warm. He placed another one to the center of her forehead. She was warm, as always, but not feverish.

“Sweet Andraste, this is quite the tantrum.” Despite the chastising nature of his words, Lucanis’ lips were pulled upwards in a gentle smile, and his tone remained impossibly soft. “What’s the matter, my pearl?” He all but crooned, muttering a string of Antivan that she understood as much as she did any other language at this point.

He had done so since before her birth.

Having one parent fluent in Antiva’s famous tongue and one who still kept the language of the elven people alive, they did their best to introduce her to both, along with the common parlance she would need more than anything. After all, she was both elven and Antivan. Why should she not know both parts of her lineage?

Lucanis studied her, thinking better of his actions with a quiet hum, then he pressed another kiss to her other cheek.

“Three for good measure.”

She was quieter in his arms, thankfully, though she remained far more awake than he anticipated. Dark-bright eyes stared up at him, fully alert despite the lateness of the hour.

Or was it considered early now?

Either way, if she had no designs to return to sleep, then he was going to need coffee.

And soon.

Four’s exercise.

Rather than fussing, Lucanis listened with a half-smile as his daughter’s vocalizations became more agreeable, now that she had gotten her way.

Barely a month old, and the half-elf already knew exactly how to get her way. But, to be entirely honest, she had managed to wrap Lucanis around her little finger the moment he first held her in his arms. With her safely in his arms once again, he made his way out of the bedroom, leaving his love to continue sleeping undisturbed.

She babbled softly, entirely nonsensical, though each sound meant the world to Lucanis.

“Is that right? Well, forgive me for presuming such a thing about you, my pearl. However, I feel I should tell you that your mother is a very good sleeper, unlike we two. And you’ve given her quite the time this past month…and the months before that, too. I think the least we can do is let her sleep tonight, don’t you?”

He stopped at the door to the room just down the hall, opening the door with a slight push using one of his knuckles.

There was no one to greet him on the other side of the door, though the room was plenty filled.

A menagerie of different gifts from Teia (and Viago) to mark the occasion of her birth, sat alongside, well, not gifts, but offerings from other Crows who wanted to sit well with the Dellamorte’s. A large, entirely too oversized plush bird—a crow, of course—from her Uncle Illario, headed a small army of other toys and other playthings from her other aunts and uncles.

A carved dragon accompanied by a wyvern that Davrin had made, each holding a griffon feather in their mouths. Gold relics that acted more as decor than anything a newborn would be interested in beyond their shine. They were courtesy of Taash’s own private collection. An intricate mobile was suspended in the air above the unused crib, crafted and enchanted by none other than Bellara. A bundle of books had been a gift of Neve’s, while Varric had also supplied a tiny collection of his own.

Harding had also gifted a myriad of frames that now hung all over the room. Not one was empty, each one contained a pressed flower or other such plant, each collected along the course of the adventure that had led to the little girl’s parents meeting (again), and arguably to the existence of the little girl at all. The girl’s mother had insisted it was simply due to her elevated and inconsistent hormones, but it has certainly been the gift that had made her cry the most.

Well, apart from Emmrich’s gifts.

The crib was one of a kind, and Dalish made. Made by Nöa’s late mother’s clan to celebrate Nöa’s adoption, treasured all the same as any birth. The blankets, too, were Emmrich’s doing—handmade, soft but tapestry-like. One sported the colors of the Volkarin family banner. One was patterned with the sigil of the Dellamorte house. Another denoted Nöa’s two clans, as well as her allegiance to the Veil Jumpers.

The knitted halla penned in the crib were gifts from different Veil Jumpers. The only one to wear a scowl was apparently meant to mimic Strife, no doubt gifted by Irelin, though she had never admitted to it.

The room was more like a shrine to the infant’s very existence rather than a nursery proper. The crib hadn’t been slept in once yet, as instead she had been routinely settled in the cot (a gift from Emmrich) at the foot of their bed, and only then when she wasn’t where she was now—in one of her parent’s arms.

Lucanis had never allowed himself to dream of a life like this before. Death was his calling, and his desires did not exist outside of that calling. And yet he had hesitated, any time he saw an infant, his mind would try to wander. He would wonder.

He never could have dreamed of this, though. Not of how much he loved her mother, nor how much he loved her, their daughter, and certainly not how much she was loved by people who also loved him.

While the rumination meant the world to him, the muse behind his considerations was less than enthused by their stop.

“As you wish, my pearl.”

He turned to leave the room, shifting her to one arm so he could pull the door closed behind him.

The house was impossibly still in the liminal hours of night, almost like a crypt. Lucanis found it comforting, this quiet. No demon in his mind, or hanging on his ear.

He made his way down to the kitchen easily enough in the dark, though he remained mindful of each step until the light of his beloved’s enchanted candles licked against the flooring to illuminate the rest of his path.

“Alright, now.” Lucanis said with a quiet sigh. “We’ll have to wrap you up so I can use both of my hands, hm?”

The brightly-woven sash-turned-sling—an impromptu gift from Bellara from the night of the infant’s birth—had been thrown over the back of one of the kitchen chairs after its last use, and there it still hung in half-draped glory, ready for its next wearing. With one hand, Lucanis slid it over his shoulder before settling his daughter within, securing her to his chest with a deftness that had not come as immediately as his current proficiency would belie.

The sling had been the first gift their daughter received after her…well, less than ideal birth.

Born a month before she was due—by their estimations—in a magister’s home after said magister’s failed abduction attempt. While Lucanis would never regret the active role he got to play in bringing her into the world, he had wished more than once that the ordeal of bringing a child into the world hadn’t further compounded on his wife by happening in a house that had played the stage for so much of her trauma.

Not to mention Nöa’s immediate detainment after the body of said magister had been discovered, or the subsequent two days she had been incarcerated while evidence was collected to prove her innocence. Two days where a newly postpartum Nöa had been forced into an unearned cell, left to tend to her own postpartum care while Lucanis fought both to prove her claim as well as care for a newborn who had been ripped from her mother.

Lucanis was often glad to be rid of Spite, but that was the first time he was truly thankful to be disconnected from the demon. He could only imagine what sort of reaction to the entire situation the demon could have come up with, his own emotions having been a dark storm enough on their own without Spite’s additional support.

Even weeks later, it was difficult not to look at his wife and daughter from time to time and remember those emotions. He would do anything for them and their safety. And he had proven it time and time again.

But it was hard to tell where he would be today if he had given in to his own desires that day.

Five for a slaughter.

Lucanis yawned, setting to work preparing his coffee. The motions were familiar, comfortable.

Once everything was said and done and Nöa was emancipated and they were reunited to adapt to life as a family of three, the issue of what to name their daughter finally presented itself.

During the course of the pregnancy, they must have discussed hundreds of names, for sons and daughters alike. But in the end, none of them matched up to the beginning their daughter had, nor did they reflect what continued to be a theme in her parents’ life.

And so they had named her Judex, their judgment—their justice, just like the blade of old Tevinter law.

A fitting irony for the freeborn daughter of an emancipated elven slave.

Six for the thrill.

“Now, the trick to any good cup of coffee is to make sure you’ve got the right balance, Jude.” He told her.

Taash had been the first one to call her Jude, and the nickname quickly caught on.

Judex remained unfazed by his explanation of proper brewing techniques, already half-asleep again, her half-tipped ear pressed to the skin right above his heart. No doubt lulled by the familiarity of being wrapped against her father’s chest, and, Lucanis liked to think, the smell of fresh Antivan coffee beans.

Seven means more sovereigns.

He was pouring a stream of fresh coffee into his favorite mug not a moment too soon. He didn’t wait for it to cool before he took a first savoring sip. He nodded, approving of his work.

And once the sun had risen, Lucanis set to work preparing a morning cup of his wife’s drink of choice.

By that time, Judex was properly awake again, and had quickly taken an interest in testing her lungs. She didn’t cry, no. She took to yelling, chirping, babbling. And Lucanis indulged every sound as if it were the most profound conversation.

The chatty little girl let out one particularly loud shout, and then quieted, staring up at Lucanis intently, as if waiting to gauge his reaction.

“Well, good morning to you, too.”

Lucanis spun around just in time to see his beloved coming through the front room, joining them in the kitchen.

“Oh, I’m sorry, amor. Did we wake you?” Lucanis asked before giving her a good morning kiss.

Nöa hummed. “No. I smelled tea.” She told him.

“Green tea and peppermint.” He confirmed. “It should be done steeping by now.

“Maker, you’re too good to me.” She kissed him again, then pressed a kiss to their daughter’s forehead. “Good morning to you, too, little fledgling.”

“And that particular nickname, my pearl, is your Uncle Illario’s fault. Yes, it is.” Lucanis nodded emphatically, earning himself a laugh from Judex.

Nöa chuckled at her husband and daughter’s not-so-one-sided conversation while she took one of her mugs out of the cabinet and poured herself a generous portion of the prepared tea. She watched as Lucanis noticed the letter she had sat on the counter when she came into the room.

“The courier already came?” Lucanis raised an eyebrow at the letter.

“I’m surprised you didn’t hear him knock.” Nöa admitted, cradling her mug in both hands to warm them. “That’s what woke me, actually. The tea was just a better incentive to get out of bed. And I figured since I actually kept my clothes on for once, there was no harm in grabbing it.”

Lucanis held the letter between two fingers, looking up at his wife.

Her half-wakefulness still playing on the corners of her half-cocked smirk. “The Crows send their regards.” She said with a shrug.

Sure enough, the letter was sealed with the Crows corvid wax seal, with Teia’s handwriting on the front.

Lucanis sighed, kissing the top of his daughter’s dark-haired head. “No rest for the wicked, eh, Judex?” He mused. “It’s not a contract. Teia doesn’t sign those.”

Nöa leaned against the counter, intrigued.

Lucanis offered her the letter.

“You want me to open official Crow papers?”

“Well, you married into the house. It says Dellamorte, not specifically my name. You’re a Dellamorte. I don’t see why not.” He reasoned, one hand going up to support the Judex’s head when he sat her upright against his shoulder. “I don’t think this one quite has the hand-eye coordination for it yet.”

Nöa hummed, feeling a little smug as she broke the seal easily enough. She read the letter quickly enough, and then laughed.

Judex made a similar sound.

“What does it say?”

“It’s an invitation from Illario.” Nöa said, still laughing as she slid the letter across the counter for him to read.

Lucanis read it quickly before snorting. “An invitation written by himself to stay in our house.” He amended for his wife. “Mierda.”

Nöa laughed again. “If you’re not careful, that’s going to be her first word, vhenan.”

They needed to joke. They both knew Illario’s arrival would bring with it updates to the ongoing situation between the Crows and the Crown. In the weeks since Judex’s birth, maybe even more so given the circumstances of her birth, they had been given a bit of relief from their assistance with Illario’s project.

Nöa moved around the counter to rest herself against her husband’s side so she could have access to their daughter once more. She still got caught up in the shock of it all sometimes. She never pictured herself here—as a mother. And yet she couldn’t imagine life without Judex any more than she could imagine her life without Lucanis.

The Crow rested his head against his wife’s, both of them lost in their daughter’s world, all the while said daughter remained peacefully oblivious to her parents’ mooning.

Judex had been with them every step of the way so far, and they both knew that wouldn’t change now that reality beyond her was knocking at their door once more. They would simply have to do everything in their power to see things through before she was old enough to remember any of it it.

Even better: before she was old enough to speak, let alone curse.