Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Rook.

How long had it been? Rook dragged his hands over his face and lifted his eyes to the blue light of the ocean that reflected through his windows in the Lighthouse. Time felt hazy in the Fade, as though it warped and pulsed, lived and breathed, bent and broke. He should meditate but his body was restless and his mind moreso, flitting from memory to memory with wanton abandon and little thought for how his heart might handle such thoughts. The moment when they had first met in the Ossuary. Lucanis shopping for the members of the team. Buying meal supplies. Discussing Spite…

“I don’t like leaving you alone with a demon…”

Rook dropped his head into his hands exhaustedly. He shouldn’t be flirting. He didn’t have time for it, surely couldn’t focus on it. And a man possessed by a demon, of all people. His Warden blood should be repulsed and instead it simply ran hotter. If Lucanis was possessed by a demon of Spite, then Rook’s current demon would be one of Obsession. At first he had simply thought it to be lust but each day that went by and he saw the little things Lucanis did around the Lighthouse for people - acquiring spices for them all, spearmint for Harding to help her dreams, fancy drinkware for Emmrich, even monster bones for Assan… - the cooking, the listening, the patience with all the questions about Spite...hells, even the threats about Spite… It had all snowballed into something far more consuming than fleeting desire.

A calm knock came at his door and Rook lifted his head to it. He knew that knock. He knew all their knocks. But this was the one that thumped against his heart as much as it did the door, and Rook pushed himself up onto his feet. He could do this. He was a professional, he was a Warden. He had steeled himself against some of the greatest foes imaginable in this world; defiance against terror ran through his veins…so why did opening the door feel like such a challenge?

Open it he did, and Lucanis was there, one hand on the door frame and the other hand resting on his hip. Rook’s heart gave a traitorous, delighted flip and he offered a little grin of greeting. Lucanis’ face was stoic and steady as ever as he murmured, “ah, Rook, Illario is ready to meet.”

Rook. The way Lucanis’ Antivan accent curled around the single syllable, dragging out the long ‘oo’ sound. It sounded like a purr, a growl, a rumble, all in one and it made him forget his real name.

“Rook?”

“Sorry,” he cleared his throat, “at the cafe, you said?”

The weight of what they needed to discuss with Illario hung between them, heavy in the silence. In a blunt dichotomy, all around them people laughed and flirted. The buskers played and danced. The warm, sweet breeze drifted around them, carrying with it the scent of coffee and spices. A light, eager world, but in the distance, flickering amidst the background of it all, the Antaam’s presence weighed heavily in the city and in Rook’s mind.

"They serve a specialty roast here: Andoral's Breath."

Rook’s gaze shot over to Lucanis as he spoke.

"Bitter and sweet,” Lucanis continued, “like a kiss goodbye. You should try it."

He should try…a kiss? No - the coffee. Gods above, he needed to focus. Rook cleared his throat, “Right... I know we came here for coffee, but...I prefer tea.”

The sound Lucanis made was one of pure disgust. It broke Rook out of his flustered state of mind as a laugh threatened to escape. Somehow, it made Lucanis seem more…real.

Lucanis

He stood at the door to Rook’s room, staring at the elegant, gold filigreed door.

Open it. Want Rook.

Spite, growling and flickering at his side, snarled at the door and Lucanis felt his hand twitch as though to throw open the door without so much of a knock. He grabbed his own wrist and took a deep breath. Spite, stop, his thoughts hissed in response.

Rook there. Want Rook.

I know.

You. Want. Rook.

I know.

Spite fell silent, as though he had achieved his goal. Even when silent, Lucanis could feel the demon at his side, staring at the door that kept them both from the man who had consumed their thoughts ever since they had first met. He hadn’t anticipated what this sort of infatuation might do to Spite. Locked away in the Ossuary, Lucanis’ thoughts had prowled around vengeance and vengeance alone. And then Rook had shown up. Rook, with shaggy sandy blonde hair, more freckles than stars in the sky, and a grin of triumph on his lips. It had been so long since he had seen a smile…

The infatuation had only grown as they had made their escape. Rook was clumsy. He missed jumps, fell off small cliff edges, and seemed utterly incapable of focus until they were in combat…and then in combat, oh. Lucanis had killed many mages but in his time as an assassin, he had never crossed paths with a Warden-trained mage. The mix of martial prowess and athleticism combined with the frigid power of manipulating ice was…impressive. Lucanis had always been drawn towards the impressive.

And then he had been sweet. When was the last time, even before the Ossuary, that Lucanis had experienced something sweet? And Rook was so sweet, so kind. Warmth. A sip of cioccolata calda on a cold day, chasing away the clouds of anger, of sorrow. The way Rook worried about him being alone with Spite. The way he worried about him staying in the kitchen rather than a real room. The softness of his compassion and optimism even in the face of horrors they were all facing...

Open. Door! Spite’s voice snarled back to existence and pulled Lucanis back to the present as his hand lurched forward not of his own accord, but Spite’s, and he grabbed the door frame to keep himself from flinging open the door. But Spite wasn’t giving up and the other hand shot out, and Lucanis had only a moment to curl it into a fist and knock before he forced it down onto his hip.

A few beats of silence filled only by the pounding of his heart followed, in which Lucanis tried to prepare himself for the two things in the world that scared him most to appear on the other side of the door: Rook, and the underwater view that filled the man’s room, dragging Lucanis’ thoughts back to the Ossuary and his imprisonment. The memory of the deep pulsing of unknown deep sea creatures, of watery light reflections, of shadows passing by enchanted windows that flickered and shifted, a constant reminder that at any second, he could be crushed to death by the weight of the ocean. His breathing grew more ragged and Spite’s presence tightened to a knot in the back of his mind, even the demon loathing the memory of that place, of their prison.

The door opened, and Lucanis lifted his head up to look up at the grinning, warm face of Rook gazing down at him. If he focused on him, he could ignore the water in the background.

“Ah, Rook, Illario is ready to meet.”

A beat. Spite flared uncertainly in him, wondering why the elf wasn’t speaking.

“Rook?” Lucanis didn’t trust silence; already he could feel Spite wondering what it would be like to bite one of Rook’s pointed ears. Lucanis had had similar thoughts with potentially different motivations, though as of yet he wasn't sure if he wanted Spite's to be the same as his own, or different. Both seemed dangerous.

“Sorry,” Rook cleared his throat, “at the cafe, you said?”

“Right... I know we came here for coffee, but...I prefer tea.”

The noise of disgust escaped Lucanis’ throat before he could help it. Spite, meanwhile, seemed delighted that Lucanis was aggravated. Spiteful, one could say. Lucanis supposed no one was perfect.

“Tea then,” he agreed, “What sort do you like?”

The little grin that Rook gave him, like he was trying not to laugh, made Lucanis’ chest ache, and suddenly Rook’s poor taste in beverages didn’t seem like a bad thing. In a second, it had become sweet, endearing.

“Black teas, mostly. The sweet but spiced ones are my favourite,” the elf’s low, throaty voice admitted and Lucanis nodded.

“The Trevisan Fog then. Cinnamon, cardamom, cloves, all warm spices…you can add cream to it,” Lucanis added, trying to appear gruff. Rook’s face brightened immediately, his mismatched blue eyes sparkling in the candlelight of the cafe.

Lucanis didn’t stand a chance.

Made. Rook. Happy. The demon seemed gleeful, prowling around the man unseen, possessive and proud.

The conversation with Illario passed mostly without issue, though Lucanis could feel his cousin’s gaze boring into him, alive with questions and aware of every interaction between himself and Rook. It was a relief when he left, and Lucanis lifted his coffee closer to his face, breathing in the warm, rich, familiar scent of it. His gaze lifted to Rook’s and he found the elf was leaning forward a bit, watching him with a smile tugged at the corner of his lips. Lucanis’ brows raised in a silent question.

“'Bitter and sweet,' you called that blend,” Rook pointed out, “'Like a kiss goodbye.’”

Lucanis wasn’t sure where he was going with this but nodded.

“So...what would a first kiss be?”

“Honey and lavender cream,” Lucanis answered easily, “sweet. Intriguing.” He paused and the possible intent behind the question sunk into his bones. Was Rook…flirting? It was hard to tell, or perhaps Lucanis was simply too scared to accept that he might be. Spite’s wings flared at his side and Lucanis felt twin points between his shoulder blades begin to tingle as they threatened to make themselves truly visible.

"And you? How would you describe it?"

There was a moment of hesitation but this time on Rook’s side. Lucanis watched as the man swirled his tea slowly before lifting those big blue eyes up to his, admitting, “I haven’t had enough first kisses to say.” His gaze dropped back to the tea, “there’s just never been…well…” Silence settled over them and Lucanis’ mind filled in the blank with any number of reasons. Some logical. ‘There’s just never been time as a Grey Warden.’ Some less so. ‘There’s just never been someone like you.’

Out loud, Lucanis murmured, “In matters of the heart, one must be discerning.” And perhaps that was the right thing to say because Rook was smiling at him again, and the world felt as though it briefly spun exactly how it should.

Chapter Text

Rook.

The knife gleamed in his hands as Rook spun it slowly between his fingers. In the light that reflected inward from the watery expanse of the fade, the blade looked almost blue. Perhaps it was. Rook had never looked at a wyvern’s tooth before. His thumb rubbed along the slender blade, careful of the sharp edge and instead pressing to the flat side. He lifted his gaze to stare out at the watery depths beyond his windows. A few brightly coloured fish were flitting in and out of equally colourful coral. Were they real, once? Or were they all a part of the magic of the Fade, created from some old magic he couldn’t begin to understand?

Rook flopped back onto the chaise lounge and closed his eyes, the dagger resting on his chest lightly. The events of the past few days kept playing over and over in his mind. The funeral for Caterina Dellamorte. Lucanis and Illario’s tense conversation. The wariness that had followed, suspicion creeping into the cracks created by sorrow. And then, very frustratingly, his mind kept turning over to Lucanis’ response to Teia flirting with him.

Teia. Don't flirt with my...colleague.

My what? The pause reverberated in Rook’s mind, wondering why Lucanis had hesitated, why he hadn’t known what to say?

“He just buried his grandmother, the woman who raised him, a few days ago. And you’re wondering if he was actually jealous,” Rook pointed out to himself and the fish on the other side of the glass. The fish did not answer and neither did his own thoughts. Rook groaned and dragged a hand over his face. This was a mess. He was a mess. Holding onto a dagger he had bought for a man on impulse and now had no plan about how to even offer it as a gift. Was it a stupid gift to give an assassin? Was it too work related? Perhaps it was good that it was work related…if it became awkward, he could make a joke about making sure Lucanis was at his best and then escape before he was questioned.

He opened his eyes and stared up at the ceiling and then rocked back up into a sitting position. He could do this. Getting to his feet gracefully - he was always graceful if Lucanis wasn’t watching - Rook strode towards the door, wrapping the dagger in a blue scarf as he did so. His feet carried him quickly through the lighthouse, past Bellara and Neve flirting in the library, past Emmrich and Davrin arguing about whether Manfred or Assan would be better equipped to handle a game of hopscotch, and to the kitchen. He slowed to a stop, breath catching a bit as he saw Taash and Harding sitting at the table. A grin tugged over Harding’s lips and she looked over at Taash. The Qunari merely snorted and took a sip of their drink, “yeah, he’s in there.”

Warmth crept up the back of his neck; did they know? He stepped around the table awkwardly, clearing his throat, and then lightly rapped his knuckles against the door.

The familiar low, raspy voice came instantly, “come in.”

Rook nudged the door open and found that, as soon as his eyes landed on Lucanis, warmth spread through his chest.

“Hi.” Gods, he sounded awkward. But Lucanis looked so good He had shed the mourning clothes of the past few days, option for the usual shirt and vest combination with the sleeves pushed up to the elbows. He was stood near the fireplace, staring down at the flames which illuminated his face in a dancing flurry of light. Sharp cheekbones, dark eyes. Brooding. A glimmer of purple around him. Spite must be fighting to escape.

“Hello Rook,” Lucanis murmured, lifting his gaze from the fire, and Rook’s heart ached as he saw the sad, dark depths of his brown eyes, “thank you…for coming to the funeral.”

Rook nodded, taking a few steps closer and then coming to a halt. Lucanis tended to avoid close physical contact; he didn’t want to invade his space. Instead, Rook looked down at the floor for a moment and then lifted his gaze back to Lucanis, speaking with a soft, earnest tone, “I wanted to be there.”

Lucanis’ eyes fixed on him, studying him as intently as he might prepare for a fight. It felt like he was assessing Rook for something, for some sign that he was only saying what he said because it was ‘what you were meant to say.’ Rook couldn’t blame him for being wary; he had been betrayed by someone close to him, spent a year being tortured in the Ossuary, had come back only to find out that his grandmother was dead, Illario - his sibling for all intents and purposes - was acting strange… So he met Lucanis’ gaze easily, watching the shorter man with a gentle earnestness.

Another long beat of silence and then Lucanis exhaled slowly and murmured, “you are too soft, carissime.”

Rook assumed that was another swear word; mierda could only get a man so far.

“Yeah well, relentless optimism has gotten me this far,” he flashed a grin and then held out the blue scarf, “I ah, got this for you.”

Lucanis’ brows shot up but he reached out and took the scarf, “it is heavy.”

“Oh it-”

The scarf shifted and the knife began to slide out. With catlike reflexes and a practiced hand, Lucanis snatched it by the hilt, thick fingers wrapping around it and bringing the knife close to his face. “A wyvern-tooth dagger?” His thumb ran slowly along the flat of the blade, watching as the light caught the polished edge of it. In the silence, Rook fought against his instinct to speak; it felt like there was more that Lucanis wanted to say and so he forced himself to have patience. It paid off. Lucanis kept talking, voice quiet now in the small space of the kitchen, as though he were a mile off in a memory, “I loved wyverns as a boy. Caterina would never let me have one of these though. They were not considered to be practical.”

“Well…not everything has to be practical now,” Rook suggested, biting the inside of his lip before his breath caught slightly in his throat as Lucanis looked back up at him.

“No. It does not. Thank you Rook; this is a very kind gift…”

Lucanis.

Teia was flirting with Rook. Jealousy, sharp as a knife, drove hotly through Lucanis, slicing through rationality and reason and instead releasing anger, frustration. It burned beneath his calm, passive expression.

Spite was less controlled, snarling and pacing, Our Rook. She’s trying. To take him.

“Teia, don’t flirt-” the words started to come out before Lucanis could help it, “with my-” My.

Ours. Our Rook. Ours. She’s trying. To take him. My Rook. Say it. My Rook. Our Rook.

“- colleague.” It was a desperate finish to a struggling middle and there was a long pause in which everyone in the room looked at him before Teia smirked.

“Jealous?”

She knew.

“Fine, to business then.”

They might have moved on, and the conversation did distract Lucanis. That is, until later when he was alone, replaying it in his head. Jealous?

Lucanis normally liked the small, comfortable quarters that the kitchen pantry afforded. Some might call him paranoid but he liked the central location of it. He had told Rook that it was for defense purposes, and that was true. But there was more to it than that. He could always hear the others moving about, laughing during meals, flirting over cooking, warming themselves by the fire. Compared to the empty, pulsing, humming echoes over the Ossuary, the warmth of it all eased frayed nerves. It also made it difficult to sleep when there was always noise of some sort, whether that be Manfred exploring, Assan rummaging, Neve acquiring late night coffee…the list went on.

He also liked it because it meant that Rook stopped by whenever he was in the kitchen. Lucanis wasn’t sure why, even though he longed to imagine that it was because Rook stole moments of pleasure from their conversations as much as he did. It had been weeks since the Ossuary, since their coffee date, and Lucanis only felt deeper than he had before. Initial infatuation had worn off, true. The first impulse of attraction had not waned though and instead it had grown. Rook was as he had seemed at first glance. Kind, sweet. Hopelessly optimistic. Soft, for a Grey Warden. He expected harsher truths, blunter statements, and a more aggressive path forward. Instead Rook spent countless hours with them all, trying to make sure they were settling in, helping them with errands, whether that was fighting a dragon (Taash) or walking a gryphon (Davrin).

We’re not special, Spite hissed in his ear, want to be. Want Rook.

No, Lucanis supposed. They weren’t - he wasn’t special. Rook tried to take care of them all. Did anyone try to take care of him? His brow furrowed, trying to cast his thoughts around for moments and realising how often Rook shrugged off concerns, even when his eyes had weary lines around them, even after having to make the hard decisions that fell strictly to his shoulders. Someone had to do something for him. Someone-

Someone knocked. Not just someone, Rook. Spite’s wings flared excitedly and Lucanis’ heart beat quicker but he simply murmured, “come in.” He hadn’t, he realised, left the room since the funeral. A couple of the others had come by but in Trevisan mourning fashion, he had been left to his grief. He suspected that Emmrich had scolded the others away and had been grateful for it, but now, as Rook stepped into the room, it was like sunshine finally breaking after days of rain.

“Hi.”

“Hello Rook…” Was it his imagination, or did Rook sound…nervous? There was a bit of a fidget to him when usually there wasn’t. His breathing wasn’t as steady as it usually was. But why? What had happened? He wanted to ask, but something else hung in the air and he looked up from the fire, “thank you…for coming to the funeral.”

“I wanted to be there,” Rook responded in a tone so soft, so gentle and earnest, that it hurt. There was no doubt that he genuinely wanted to be, that he had wanted to support Lucanis. He had stood silently for hours amidst people he didn’t know, listened to languages he didn’t speak, all for Lucanis. Did he know, Lucanis wondered, how much it had meant to him? That each time Lucanis had felt his heart aching over grief, he had searched out Rook’s face and found those soft, blue steady eyes watching him. During the wake, Rook had brought him food and coffee, and only then had Lucanis realised he hadn’t eaten all day. But Rook had noticed. Rook had taken care of him.

Lucanis exhaled slowly and spoke almost moreso to himself, “you are too soft, carissime.” Darling. Dearest. The term slipped out without him intending it and Lucanis’ grip tightened on the hearth. But Rook didn’t speak Trevisan and clearly didn’t know what Lucanis had just said because he was grinning nonchalantly and holding out a wadded up blue scarf.

“Yeah well, relentless optimism has gotten me this far.” A pause, and then Rook continued, “I ah, got this for you.”

Lucanis’ brows lifted quickly, his brain scrambling to think of the last time someone had given him a gift. He reached out and took the scarf though, letting it slowly unfurl as he remarked in surprise, “it is heavy.”

“Oh it-”

Lucanis saw the glint of a dagger before he could process what Rook was about to say. His hand shot out and wrapped around the hilt of the knife, fingers slipping familiarly around it and lifting it slowly to inspect it. “A wyvern-tooth dagger?”

Rook had given him a dagger. As a gift. A present. Lucanis’ thoughts were flung back into to the time when he had been much younger and had spent hours searching the market for the perfect dagger to give Viago as a gift only for it to go, well, quite poorly. To most, it seemed that deadly weapons weren’t romantic. And yet now Rook had sought out and found a wyvern-tooth dagger. They weren’t easy to find in Treviso, he knew that. Lost in thought, Lucanis ran his thumb along the flat of the blade. Was this how Grey Wardens flirted? Or was Rook simply giving him something for work? No, no they had found better weaponry in the past and Rook had never considered it something for him to give the others. He’d never wrapped it. Lucanis’ fingers curled into the scarf.

Smells like Rook, Spite pointed out, as though Lucanis hadn’t noticed. But it was easy to ignore the demon, his thoughts lost in the past. “I loved wyverns as a boy,” he said after a moment, a laugh dancing in the shadows of his voice, soft and wistful, “Caterina would never let me have one of these though. They were not considered to be practical.”

“Well…not everything has to be practical now,” Rook suggested and Lucanis looked back up at him from the dagger. His feelings for Rook certainly weren’t practical and yet they blazed brightly all the same. His desire to do something for Rook, to take care of him, returned, and Lucanis gripped both the dagger and scarf tighter,

“No. It does not. Thank you Rook; this is a very kind gift…” He paused and then continued, “There is a place in Treviso I would like to show you, if you will let me. It would take an evening of your time but I would appreciate your company very much.”

That smile was back, warm and sweet, and Lucanis felt his heart pound as Rook nodded quick and eager, “I would love to.”