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The fall of Minrathous was not something anyone had expected, and there were only a set few of those who would ever know the truth as to how a merchant city under occupation stood their own while a nation of mages and ancient Tevinter technology fell to the Blight.
You let! Her suffer? She saved you!
That was not to say, mind, that Treviso didn’t experience its own swath of destruction. So many buildings destroyed, so many lives—both civilian and Crow—lost; the witnessing of the horror with his own eyes was almost as bad as the experimentation in the Ossuary. Almost.
The Veilguard was lucky to have two Shadow Dragons among them; because of it, there had always been a particular focus on injustice, on persevering through it, on freeing the innocent. Lucanis Dellamorte wondered, to a degree, if that was the only reason (or at least, one of the main reasons?) for his freedom—simply because it was the right thing to do. Never had he doubted the color of his character, but he was very much aware of the kind of organization the Antivan Crows were; how his own upbringing was different from the children the Crows saved or adopted or bought to bring up as their own. How, under Caterina’s tutelage and draconian law as First Talon, the only reason he was able to endure the pain of the Ossuary was because of the pain the Crows put each of them through first.
You do not! Listen! Listen to me! Shallow creature!
Lucanis drove his hand into the wooden butcher’s block of the kitchen in which he stood, a sharp glare thrown to the spirit that hovered to his left, a violet tremor around him wavering as both murderer and monster stood their ground in the presence of each other. “I am not letting Rook suffer,” Lucanis corrected Spite, still enduring the horror of his own face looking back at him; he was never sure where one ended and the other began, these days, “You wouldn’t begin to understand the first thing about pain, or grief, you fool. Tace. I will tend to her in just a moment.”
Do it now! Now!
Averna Mercar had not always been Averna Mercar; of that, Lucanis learned very quickly. Her facial features were familiar; the slope of her nose and the high points of her cheeks screamed Tevinter Magistocracy. When Neve revealed to him after some mild questioning, it was no surprise that prior to her leading the Veilguard, Averna was born Sabine Aurelius, a double agent for the Shadow Dragons working to take down Tevinter slave-powered aristocracy from the inside out, even at the cost of her own luxury. Many, like Lace Harding, had their concerns with this position of authority settling among them, and others, like Lucanis himself and Neve, seemed to have no problem with it, confident in their leader’s willingness to sacrifice her own comforts.
Until now.
The fallout had been atrocious, and Lucanis, unfortunately, had borne witness to what had occurred upon Averna’s return to Tevinter. The betrayal that the Shadow Dragons felt at her unwillingness to ‘save’ Minrathous was a blade that Averna had forged of her own regret, but it was Neve who had driven it through her ribcage. Silent, Averna stood there and endured every last assault or complaint or demand for rationale, and when she had none, they named her viator. An Old Tevinter word meaning traveler, it was used within the context of traitor, or someone who abandoned their home for another cause. Someone who abandoned the Shadow Dragons for another cause.
Lucanis still had no idea why Averna chose Treviso over her own home, but with the Lighthouse empty, save for the two of them, he was determined to find out. Bellara had returned to Arlathan to assist the Veil Jumpers, and Harding had busied herself with finding the rest of her contacts, wanting to track down the elusive Inquisitor Trevelyan. If he could not find out the truth, he could at least thank her. The sacrifice was not an easy one, and with how she had holed herself up in the Meditation Chamber only when everyone else was away, he was certain it was gnawing at her conscience. How he wished he could do something, but he was no healer — only a killer.
If he could not heal her, he thought as he prepared a cup of coffee for her, remembering how she best liked it after their foray into the Antivan markets, he could kill away the pieces of her binding her to the recesses of her mind. It would not fix the problem, but it could give her the strength to get up, get going, and save what remained of Minrathous, whether the Shadows liked it or not.
He watched the cup with acute precision. His own steps were silent and rolling, meaning that the liquid inside the cup never moved past the rim, and the slice of cake he had prepared for her alongside it did not even so much as move a crumb off of the saucer. There was a small hint of pride at a successful transfer, but as he ascended the stairs of the library, turning to the Meditation Chamber, that pride melted away, replaced instead with a foreign emotion that was not quite anxiety and not quite fear but rather an unspoken third thing.
It had a name; Lucanis was just afraid of it.
Balancing the saucer and cup in one hand, he knocked on the door with the other, gently pushing the door open with his foot. “Rook?” he called out, not yet wanting the expectation of referring to her by her given name to affect anything he might be doing here, “Are you in here?”
“I’m here,” Averna had called out, rolling her shoulders back. He watched her sit up from the horribly-uncomfortable-looking chaise, smooth down her long, black hair, and stand. By the time she looked at him, he had opened the door, getting a glimpse of everything she had become in the face of his grief. He recognized the signs, and for a moment, he couldn’t help but wonder if he was staring at her, or if Spite had taken on a new trick, stealing someone else’s face. The dark circles under her eyes led him to believe she hadn’t slept in days; the dry spots around the corners of her mouth alluded to a lack of hydration, probably from crying. Usually, she took the time to do a full face of makeup to highlight her confidence, but not even a touch of expensive Tevinter cosmetics graced her skin.
She looked away from him, frowning when she realized that in his gaze, he had found her weaknesses, and in a sheer matter of seconds, she had thrown her walls back up in front of him, ever the infallible castle of Rook she had become. Rather than walk through the front door of her psyche, Lucanis would need to find another way in, and as he was planning to do that, her words cut through his mind: “Did you need something, Lucanis?”
“I— no, forgive me.” Lucanis responded, finally finding himself in the silence of her room. He approached, going to set the coffee and cake down next to her on a small table, in-between a comb and hand mirror she kept on hand. “I only wanted to see how you were doing,” he said earnestly, and gently pushed the saucer closer to her. “But it is bad form in Treviso to not bring a gift when you are taking up someone else’s time.”
“Nevarran torte,” she mumbled softly, smelling the richness of the layers and the sweetness of the nutty garnish, “It’s my favorite.”
“That is not surprising,” he chuckled, hands behind his back, “It pairs well with how you said you like your coffee. There is more in the kitchens, if you find yourself having a second sweet tooth. I noticed you haven’t eaten in a while.”
“Not true,” Averna corrected him, taking the coffee into her hands and bringing it to her lips, inhaling the aroma of the grinds, of the cinnamon-y additive, of the cream, “I’ve gone into the kitchen at night to collect a few things.”
“Eating to survive and eating to enjoy food are two different things,” Lucanis corrected her this time. She was shorter than he was, if only by an inch or two in her heels, so seeing her be so small and reserved next to him without the presence of her heeled boots was… interesting. He had always looked up to his taller cousins and allies throughout his life; how strange it was to be physically superior to someone else, for once. “I’ve heard you, moving around in there like a mouse.”
“I figured as much,” Averna sighed, and finally she took a sip of the coffee. The moment that passed was something Lucanis wished he would be able to remember forever, though the traumas of the prison often stole his mind from him in more ways than one. How she inhaled in the sip, held the flavor in her mouth, and then swallowed — how he watched her throat move around the liquid, taking it in like it was something to be treasured. In a way, Averna drank coffee in the same way she drank wine, and he remembered the story she told him of how she picked out her new given name: It’s a kind of bitter wine, she had said, and I’ve been told I kiss like bitter wine. “It’s warm,” she smiled, “and it tastes delicious. Thank you, Lucanis.”
“And now, the cake,” He encouraged her, which pulled another small chuckle—Averna couldn’t help but agree, using the small fork provided to take a little bite of the slice, and as the cream and chocolate melted against her tongue, finally she closed her eyes for a moment of reprieve.
Yes! Rook is happy!
Yes, she most certainly is, if only for a moment, Lucanis thought in agreement, though instead he swatted his own hand behind his back, as if to plead with Spite to go away for just a bit so that Averna’s walls didn’t reinforce a second time. By the time she opened her eyes, however, she was complacent, and collected her things to return to the chaise, sitting on it rather than laying on it this time — and inviting Lucanis to sit with her as well.
“You should have brought some for yourself, too,” she noted, “But… I’m grateful. It’s very delicious. Thank you.”
“Ah, I won’t repeat myself,” Lucanis responded, taking a seat next to her, watching the fish in the water above them. In many ways, this panel reminded him too of the Ossuary, but the serenity of the freedom of some of these spiritual animals — knowing they could come and go whenever they pleased, and that they chose to be around Rook — made it all the better. “So all I will say is that you’re welcome. And that…”
He paused, his lip twitching. Antivan Crows were not people of words, especially not Lucanis himself. No, the words defaulted for people like Teia and Illario, charming and kind and manipulative; for people like he and Viago, actions were the preferred method of getting a point across. The action had already been completed, however, and so Lucanis was in uncharted territory, unsure of how to express to their leader his gratitude, of his curiosity in her choice. She had made it look so easy, claiming that Treviso would live while Minrathous would die, and like everything else, she bore the burden for it. (He didn’t understand how she martyred herself so easily.)
“And that…?” Averna echoed, and it wasn’t until she spoke that Lucanis realized that his own internal strife had interrupted his external monologue. He raised his eyes to look at her, remembering in that moment that she was a mage; how the Fade highlighted those lovely, pink eyes, made them glow with the thrum of spiritual magic. (He was truly a lost cause, if this is all it took to render him silent. Oh, how the Ossuary had broken him.)
“...that I am grateful for you,” he finally managed to say, turning his head to return looking at the fish, envying their freedom now. “And all you have done.”
The words hang in the silence for a moment longer than they should, and Averna looked down at her coffee, staring back at her own reflection in the ambery liquid. In many ways, looking back at herself in the coffee reminds her of how she often looks back at herself in Lucanis’ dark eyes, how she seems to sit on the surface and he refuses to let her veer any deeper. ( Then again, she had thought, of course he would not trust a Minrathous mage so easily. )
“You sacrificed your home to save mine,” he added on by the time she had begun to drown herself in a moment of her own self-doubt, “That is not something I take lightly.” Her silence was as much a response as her words may have been, so he leaned back against the chaise. (His keen nose could smell her on her pillowcase, the one pressed against his back right now. The bed she slept on wasn’t comfortable at all, but neither was the stone cot in the pantry that he chose for himself. They were far too much alike, the two of them.)
“...Treviso is a merchant city under occupation,” Averna spoke after a while, “Minrathous had the mages of the Magistocracy to tend to it. War machines built off Old Tevene technology, and…” Her knuckles gripped the teacup, rendering pale hands white-knuckled. The scar, the lightning bolt, that started at her face and ran all the way down the left side of her body, trailed off here — were she any lesser a mage, she may have lost control of her magic here, breaking the teacup and the first act of kindness she’d received in weeks. “...my people - the Imperium - are built on the stolen lives and cultures of all of the mages, servants, slaves, and citizens that came before them. They had the means to protect themself; they just… didn’t. Not the people that mattered, not… not Dock Town. House Aurelius still stands, and yet… I am the traitor. It is an easy price to pay to save the lives of the people who wouldn’t have been able to protect themselves otherwise. My closest friends and allies have been Blighted, and yet…”
She closed her eyes. Lucanis took the opportunity to admire her profile. “I do not regret it. The Shadows are strong; they will endure. And despite their best attempts, I will not walk out on them; there is still so much more left to do there. So much more left to save. Neve is… rightfully angry and hurt with me. She will… if she walks away from our cause because of this, I will not blame her for it.”
“But surely, you miss her,” Lucanis replied, and Averna smiled in response. “She was your best friend.”
“Every day,” she whispered, running her thumb over the rim of the cup. It was only now that Lucanis noticed that her nails, usually manicured a deep black, were unpainted and shorter than they usually were, her cuticles picked until they were bloody. How long had she been in here, breaking away pieces of herself with the hope that she would feel something beyond numbness? “But I am the one who wronged her; I am at peace with what she needs to do to heal. I only hope she gives me the opportunity to put her and Minrathous first next time.”
“She is a rational woman who prioritizes evidence and understanding. She will be back in no time — if not for you, as her friend, then for our cause.”
“I hope you’re right,” Averna responded, tucking one leg underneath her. “I cannot imagine what it is like to lose a home… to lose everything.”
“...but, you can.”
Averna looked at him, confused, pink eyes trembling a bit with concern. What did he mean, that she could? What did he mean, that she had lost everything? Her house was still standing, was it not? Could the same be said for the poor merchants of Dock Town?
“Home is not a place,” Lucanis continued, “but rather the people that you walk your journey with. We Crows believe that wholeheartedly; that is why, within the houses of the Crows, we do not need to be bound by blood to bear the same name. Teia and Viago, for example, both have people under their tutelage that share their names, de Riva or Cantori, yet they were not born of the same blood. You may have been born in the Tevinter aristocracy, si, but is that who you are now? Or did you find your footing and your path with the Shadow Dragons? With Neve?”
Averna’s shoulders dropped, here, letting herself lay slack against the structure of her own spine. Lucanis’ keen eye highlighted all of her weaknesses, here: where she could not defend herself, where her softest parts were, where would be easiest for her knife to place. She was a mage; a Tevinter mage. And he was a mage-killer. How easy it would have been, once, to take her contract — but not now. Not when she was no longer that woman, and not when she trusted him enough to make those weaknesses visible to him, knowing who he was or what he could do.
She trusted him.
He trusted her.
His hand did not tremble when it reached out for her, but he was very acutely aware of what it felt like to have her skin underneath him, to feel the pulse of her blood underneath his fingertips. “She is your family, and your family has marked you a traitor,” he replied, “Regardless of whether or not you’re deserving of such a thing. It’s understandable that you would be in pain, but… you cannot allow yourself to sit in this pain alone. To make this room a… prison of your own design.”
Averna looked at him, those pale eyes staring back at him; how vulnerable a sight, to be seen like this. Her own eyes did not offer the same kind of reflection as his did, but he could see in the mortal parts of her still, the whites of her eyes, that she had been crying. That the blood had tried to form, that something innate to her had been sick and violent and demanded to be expelled. It was easy to imagine herself laying on her side on this very chaise, holding her stomach and sobbing until she vomited, the evidence of trying to hold that weight until it broke her. (Instinctively, his thumb rubbed a gentle circle into her shoulder.)
“It may not mean much…” Lucanis said, and for a moment he felt like the man he was before the prison; soft-spoken, gentle, yet firm. A tool to be used and a friend to be known. Awkward, but only because he has never needed to be anything other than himself. The man before he was before Spite, the man he was before revenge fueled his very being.
Perhaps that is what drew them together like planets revolving around each other; their reasons for living, their motivations for character. Too many times had Lucanis known nothing other than revenge, his blade drawn across the neck of mages who had sought out only oppression via the Veil; too many times had Averna known nothing other than the resolution of injustice, her fist raised and her lips parted in a scream, wailing like a disease, thrashing about to destroy the body that was the Imperium from the inside out. She had infiltrated everything — everyone — and was set to ruin them. Lucanis was no different, but alas— if she was the rot that brought about his end, he would ask that she lay roses in his ribcage. “...but you will always have a home in House Dellamorte. The Crows remember what you have done for us, and I…”
Say it! Tell her! That you will kill! For her! For her! FOR HER!
“I will remember this moment. This one, right here.”
Averna’s gaze landed on him a while ago, yet he did not seem to feel the impact of her stare until just now. How small she looked here, despite her wisdom in her age; how tired she must have been, to accept kindness from a murderer so easily. Lucanis did not know what he was doing in this instance in any capacity, but he knew he could not abandon her in such a way. This was treatment he would offer anyone who had the grace of being the Demon of Vyrantium’s ally; this was the first time, however, that it was a mage who had earned that spot. “When the world remembers you as a hero, or if Minrathous remembers you as a traitor, I will remember how you look right now. Just a woman who is holding far too much to be human. You must be a demon, or something.”
“Maybe I am.” Averna laughed, setting her cup down.
Her arms were thrown around his shoulders, and for a moment, Lucanis almost reflexed like he was being attacked; when her body pressed against his, however, and her face tucked against his neck, he relaxed, his own arms slowly coming down to wrap around her as well. He had been hugged like this a thousand times before by the other Crows — Teia, after hearing of his return; Viago, after a job in their youth that had almost gone very wrong — but this was different. It was not to hold him close, like he was going to disappear from her life; it was to seek shelter, to hide in the presence of someone who seemed to understand the endurance it took to be this strong and the violence it took to be as gentle as Averna Mercar had become.
Hold me, her body language said, and Lucanis scooted closer, bringing one arm around her waist, guarding her ribs ( if they wished to put a dagger through her heart, they would need to pierce his arm first) , the other hand rising to cup her head, his wrist protecting the back of her neck ( and should they wish to take her head, they would need to take his hand ). His cheek rested against the side of her head, if only to keep her close; he still did not reach for this, or for things like this, but he knew what she needed. When they touch, his skin sings for her, as if beckoning her closer, wanting their hearts to be one if only for a minute—to know her as Spite knows him, to be close enough to whisper primitive devotions and explanations of the heart. I will kill for you, he wanted to say, but he doesn’t. Not yet. All you have to do is ask.
“...thank you,” she says, muffled into where his hair met his shoulder. When she moves, shifting, Lucanis relaxed his arms to let her free without objection (though already, his skin misses hers). She looks down to her empty cup, to the barren plate, and really, there was no reason for him to be here anymore, the silence surely damning, but her hand found her cuticle again, and she pursed her lips. “...is it true you don’t sleep?”
“ Si, that’s correct. Spite… takes over when I’m asleep, or it’s easier for him to do so, anyways.”
We want! To be out! Let us! Speak to Rook!
“Then… would you…” Averna’s eyes couldn’t seem to meet his, and Lucanis wished in no few words that he could tell her he would rend the world barren if she just happened to ask. There was no debt that could be repaid for the salvation she offered his home at the expense of her own; a loyalty had been forged unlike anything he managed to offer the Crows, the demon inside of him, or herself. Her word was law, of that he was certain. “...would you watch over me, while I slept?”
His own shoulders dropped at the request, his eyes softening.
Do it! Tell her yes! We will SLAUGHTER! Anything that enters this room! No mages! No assassins!
“I would be happy to.”
Averna smiled at that, pleased with the care she had received. With the coffee surely running its course through her system, it would not be a long sleep, the caffeine kickstarting the end of well-deserved rest, but Lucanis leans back against the chaise while she collected her pillow from behind him and her blanket from where it had pooled around the other end of the chaise. Quietly, she placed the pillow atop his lap, almost locking him into place, an act that was simultaneously confusing and amusing to the Crow. Did she not realize that if he was trapped under her weight that he wouldn’t be able to save her from threats? (Or perhaps the threats were in her own mind, unable to be reached by his blade, anyways?) Once her head laid atop the pillow, the blanket pulled around her body, she yawned, eyes closing.
“Good night, Lucanis.”
“Buona notte, Ro— Averna.”