Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Lucanis and Rook have developed a routine. 

Most mornings, he wakes before her. Her days are varied - she will bounce between Treviso, Minrathous, and Arlathan. Some mornings, she wakes with him, but not today. His days are often mirrors of the day before - reviewing contracts, meetings, correspondence. He will spend his day in the Villa or at the Diamond, trying to maintain control over an organization that wilfully tests its limits at every moment.

They do not see as much of the team as before. It hurts Rook, he can tell, that they separated so quickly after that final battle. But Neve was needed in Minrathous; Davrin and Bellara in Arlathan; Emmrich in Nevarra; Taash in Rivain. He cannot remember the last time they were all in the same place; a sobering thought, when it used to happen every night. 

On one particular morning, six months after the battle in Minrathous, Lucanis wakes before her, as he always does. Rook is in a deep sleep, her face buried in the pillow, her hair - so carefully braided the night before - now unraveling. Her breathing is light, quiet, peaceful. 

Lucanis allows himself one indulgent moment of staring before he gets out of bed, bare feet quiet on stone. He changes, then exits the room with as little noise as possible. As he closes the door, Rook rolls over in bed, still asleep, and exhales softly. 

When he makes it to his office, there is a hot cup of coffee, an Antivan pastry, and a pile of envelopes waiting for him on his desk. A headache starts to make itself known, and Spite retreats, voicing his distaste for the endless paperwork. 

The Houses are in disarray. Treviso is still healing from the occupation. The Houses could agree to work together when the world was about to end, but now? It is back to the same. Power, rivalry, coups, infighting. And Lucanis has to hold the reins, hoping his grip never slips.

His heart aches for mornings in the pantry, where he was the one cooking, where he didn’t have to think of anything but their next move, the next target to strike. He remembers Rook bounding in early, brandishing a smile like a dagger pointed directly at his heart. He remembers her smiling at him over cups of coffee, hovering around him while he prepared breakfast, asking questions about cooking and laughing at things he hadn’t thought were particularly funny. 

It is obvious, in hindsight, how often she had sought him out. At night, she would draw him from the pantry with glasses of wine and card games. During the day, she would cater to his competitive nature, asking him to spar in the courtyard. He just hadn’t realized what it meant. 

The rest is history. A better history than he deserves.

He sits, sighs, and reaches for the first letter.

The sun has long set by the time he makes his way through the stack of contracts. His heart is heavy in his chest, burdened by the correspondence from other Houses. Absently, he remembers he was to have dinner with Caterina. His feet take him to her room, the path familiar. Before he can knock, the door swings open.

“Lucanis,” his grandmother says, frowning. “Come. Sit. Eat.”

Next to the fire, a small platter awaits them, stacked with dishes. The smell of Antivan fare carries him to his seat. Caterina lowers herself into a chair and gestures for him to eat. He does, quickly. 

It is silent, but not in a way that bothers him. He has spent many dinners in his life like this - most dinners, until the Ossuary, until the Lighthouse. When he’s done, she hands him a piece of paper. Lucanis reads it quickly, then looks up at her.

“I got this same report,” Lucanis says, rubbing at his forehead. “More people seeking to harm Rook.”

“Many, many more,” Caterina says. Her mouth is pursed into a thin line. His grandmother doesn’t particularly like Rook - despite her being a Crow, despite her saving his life, despite it all. But Caterina knows what Rook means to him. “She is in danger, Lucanis. That puts you in danger. That puts our House in danger.”

“We have always been in danger,” Lucanis mutters, thinking of his mother, thinking of Illario. His cousin’s actions left them unstable, vulnerable. Lucanis’ position as First Talon is precarious, and too reliant on Teia and Viago’s support. The Crows benefit from shifting political alliances, from a tumultuous country that they can take advantage of. They don’t tolerate weakness in their leadership. 

They think he’s weak. He understands why.

Lucanis hands her the letter and leans back in his chair. “It’s been too quiet, lately. The Venatori sympathizers are regrouping.”

“They lost one head; they will grow more, and then they will strike again.” Caterina throws the letter into the fire and watches it burn before continuing. “Rook is in a unique position - her relationship with you, her relationship with Viago - means she holds power with two Houses.” Caterina eyes him carefully. It is a point of contention between them - her being a de Riva. “They would be smart to kill her.”

“They’ve always tried to kill Rook.” Lucanis smiles tightly. “We managed.”

Caterina tuts, then pulls another letter from her pile and hands it to him. “I am saying that Rook is at risk here, Lucanis.”

Lucanis reads it, his heart sinking. 

First Talon,

We intercepted poisoned wine. Bound for Villa Dellamorte from Tevinter. We both know why. New faces. Old methods.

Spite snarls in the back of his mind. They want to kill. Rook. He can feel the demon’s possessiveness intertwining with his own, and he has to steady his breathing before he responds. There is an edge to his voice that he cannot soften.

“When was this?”

“I received the letter this morning,” Caterina says. There is a knock at the door - some staff enter to clear plates. Lucanis and Caterina wait until the room is empty again before she speaks. “You fought me, to bring Rook here. Don’t let it be what kills her.”

He recognizes the steel in her voice, the burrowed ache of pain. Lucanis does not remember his parents - but Caterina does. Caterina remembers it all. Every assassination, every death, every member of their House that didn’t survive. And now - Caterina believes Rook is destined for the same fate. 

“I won’t,” he says, but it sounds weak, even to him. 

He finds Rook waiting for him in their chambers, sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at her hands. She looks up when he walks in, her face shifting from confusion to delight. She’s already dressed for bed, in a loose shift dress, her hair tightly braided down her back. It’s a familiar sight. 

“Rook,” he says, shedding his jacket. Lucanis moves towards the bed, seeking the comfort of her presence. “Is everything alright?”

She glances down at her hands again, then back up at him. Her face contorts briefly, marred by frustration. “My magic has been off today,” she mutters. “I nearly set Arlathan on fire.”

As if to prove a point, a spark jumps from her hands, a weak streak of lightning streaming past his face and hitting the wall. Lucanis doesn’t flinch, but Spite does. The demon crouches next to Rook on the bed and tilts his head, frowning. She smells. Different.

Lucanis ignores him, focusing on Rook. He takes her hands before she can pull them back, and kneels in front of her. Her hands are warm; her eyes are weary. He feels the press of failure on his chest; he is not able to be with her every minute of the day, as he once did. “Are you alright?”

Rook hesitates for a fraction of a second before she says, “I’m fine.”

A falsehood. Lucanis shakes his head and tugs on her hands. “Did anything else happen in Arlathan?”

Her mouth opens, closes, opens. Lucanis waits. Rook rolls her eyes and says, “There was something else. Bellara had received reports of Venatori at the edges of the forest.”

It is what he had feared, but it is no surprise. Lucanis kisses her knuckles for a moment, eyes closed, drinking up the smell of her, before he stands up again.

“Did you follow up on these reports?” he asks, but he already knows the answer before she responds, watching her eyes dart around the room. 

“I did,” she says. Rook sighs. “I had to.” She squeezes his hands and changes the subject, not very tactfully. “Tell me about your day. The kitchen told me you would be meeting with Caterina for dinner.”

“I did.”

Rook laughs. “And?”

He has to tell her, but it is like swallowing sand. Lucanis clears his throat twice before he can speak. “Caterina received word that poisoned wine was sent to the Villa,” he says, staring out the window. “She says it was meant for you.”

Rook makes a small noise of surprise. “How does she know that?”

“How does Caterina know anything?” Lucanis shrugs. He starts pacing, borne from habit more than anything else. “How we know does not matter. All that matters is keeping you safe.”

Spite voices his agreement.

There is a long moment of silence. He looks back down at her - she is staring at her hands again. “Rook?” he prompts.

“I feel safe here,” Rook says. A nearby candle lights itself. She stares at it and furrows her brow. “And if it’s not safe, I will go back to the Lighthouse. I’m not worried about some poisoned wine.”

Spite lingers around the lit candle and reiterates his previous statement. Her magic. Is different. Something is wrong .

“It will not just be wine,” Lucanis says, ignoring Spite again. At this moment, he is not concerned about her magic - a day spent in Arlathan has made her more sensitive to the Fade in the past. “Caterina thinks it will only get worse.”

“I’ve dealt with worse,” Rook says, soft. His heart protests at the sadness. Her voice is so quiet, so calm. Threats against her life mean little now, after all they’ve been through, but this feels different. His mother, his father - they had thought they were safe here, too. 

The thought of losing her is all-encompassing; he paces faster. It is an intimate feeling, one that faded in the months since the battle, dulling with time. But it has returned, twice as sharp, knowing what peace feels like, what he has to lose. The small nothings, the quiet in-betweens, the everyday that is softer with her.

“I will double the guard,” Lucanis promises, glancing at her. Her dark eyes are amused, which only makes him pace faster. She isn’t taking it seriously enough - but he will. “I will take care of this, Rook, I won’t let them-”

“Lucanis, I know,” she interrupts, smiling at him. She pats the bed next to her; Lucanis stops pacing immediately. He melts at the gesture. It’s an invitation, a request she knows will be fulfilled. “It’s late, mi vida. Let’s sleep, and dream of better things.”

Her words are kind, but her tone is firm. Lucanis knows better than to disagree further; he obliges. He sheds the last of his clothing, climbs into bed, and wraps his arms around her, drinking up the feeling. She wriggles in his arms for a second, moving so that her head is tucked underneath his chin, and hums with contentment. Lucanis tries not to think of her dying, and fails, rather miserably.

“Your thinking is keeping me awake,” she mutters, and he laughs. He steals a kiss and does his best to fall asleep.

The next morning, he wakes to an electric jolt that races along his skin. He quietly bites back his yelp of pain, and withdraws his body from Rook, noting with bewilderment that a small aura of electricity surrounds her. 

Told you. Her magic. It is strange, Spite crows, staring at Rook, too. 

She shifts, her features soft in the dawn light, and a small sigh escapes her. With the sigh comes a small bolt of lightning that arcs through the room, strikes a painting on the wall, and burns a small, imperceptible hole into the canvas before dying out.

He watches all of this occur with a sick feeling growing in his stomach. Spite acknowledges his feeling for what it is - Guilt. Tastes sour. Rotted.

It doesn’t seem as if the issue was Arlathan, after all; her magic has never been so temperamental the morning after. 

Lucanis watches the static die down and thinks. It must be from stress - she is working too hard. He is not helping her enough, not taking enough of the burden from her shoulders. Lucanis has been so busy with the Crows, so busy worrying about his city, that he forgot to worry about her. The guilt is overwhelming; he presses a hand to his chest and fights for a breath. 

And Rook - Rook never lets the mask slip, never shows her fear, never stops to breathe. She will run herself ragged - she will forget to slow down, to sleep, to put herself first. Saving the world doesn’t end with Minrathous - that is where it began. The pieces are broken; she has to put it all back together.

Add to that the fear of assassination, the fear that he instilled in her last night, and of course her magic is strange. 

His guilt is spiraling out of control; he needs to do something. Lucanis goes to his office, and he starts to write a list. He gives orders to downsize the staff to those he deems loyal; he increases the perimeter guards. He instructs the staff to inform him of any visitors. And then he stares at his never-ending pile of work, and decides the day would be better spent at her side; he returns to bed.

Rook mumbles something when he crawls back under the sheets. It is barely above a whisper, but he catches it. Love you.

Lucanis presses a kiss to her forehead, and dreams of peace.

Chapter Text

In the days that follow, Lucanis starts making Rook dinner. Doing so kills two marks with one knife - one, they spend more time together; and two, he can make sure she isn’t poisoned. He tells her neither reason. He just says that he wants to cook again. 

The ingredients are all tested before he cooks with them. He washes all the dishes himself before he cooks with them. No stone left unturned, no opportunity for harm. 

The first night, he makes her cacio e pepe. It is simple, but standard, Antivan fare, and he didn’t have as much time as he wanted. The recipe requires only three ingredients, so it doesn’t take him long. Rook enters the kitchen, calling out a greeting, and he is caught for a moment by the sight of her - in the firelight, it looks as if she’s glowing. Lucanis steals a kiss, pleased by the sound of her small hum, before dishing her up.

She eats two servings, surprisingly. He knows she likes it - he just didn’t know she liked it that much. He can’t remember the last time he saw her eat so much, then remembers that he hasn’t eaten dinner with her lately. Guilt re-emerges; he shoves it down.

“Yours is the best,” she says, when she’s helping herself to her third plate and catches his incredulous look. “I don’t know how you do it.”

Lucanis sips his wine, thinking; then he smiles, accepting the compliment for what it is. It brings him great joy to make her happy, and if it only takes cacio e pepe, then he doesn’t mind. 

“I can make you more whenever you’d like,” he says, and she grins at him through her next bite. 

The second night, he makes her gnocchi. He stops working when the sun goes down and descends to the kitchen, humming to himself. The head cook nods at him, smiling, her eyes knowing, and Lucanis returns the smile with one of his own. 

His mind clears when he cooks. He doesn’t think about the Crows, about Caterina, about the merchant princes that write him nearly daily. He doesn’t think about the fate of his city, or his country. The only thing that goes through his mind is the ingredients required; his hands take him through the familiar motions of cooking. Chop, stir, taste. There is no need to measure - he knows it all by heart. He bites into a piece of pasta and deems it cooked.

By the time Rook is in the kitchen, it is all ready to be put together. She sits at the table, humming an Antivan nursery rhyme to herself. Lucanis adores her - most sincerely - but she struggles to carry a tune, so he focuses intently on dinner. He covers the pasta with the cream sauce and serves it to her. 

Rook, knife and fork in hand, napkin in lap, looks up at him in delight. “I haven’t had this since the Lighthouse,” she says. The plate descends in front of her; she takes a bite immediately. A large bite. 

Lucanis suddenly worries that he didn’t make enough food. He’d written off her appetite the other night, but it’s apparent that it wasn’t specific to the dish. Or maybe it was. Rook loves any kind of pasta, and he knows she grew up eating poorly - de Riva fledglings have a much different diet than sons of House Dellamorte. She inhales anything rich and decadent.

Rook slows down - she notices him deep in thought. “Aren’t you having some?”

“I was going to wait to make sure you had enough, first,” he says, glancing at the pot.

“It’s no fun to eat alone,” she says, pointedly, and he sits.

“There’s dessert, too,” he says, off-handedly, though he watches her carefully. Rook looks up at him, curious. He gestures to the the table to his right - awaiting them is a sugar-drizzled lemon cake that the cook had made. 

She laughs. “You’re spoiling me, Lucanis.”

To his delight, she eats three servings of it.

The third night, he makes Antivan seafood soup. The stock pot bubbles with sea bass, shrimp from the Nocen Sea, cod, squid, and saffron. It smells heavenly - complex, savoury, spicy. His mouth waters at the scent; his stomach echoes the sentiment. He serves up two bowls, turning as he hears the door open, smiling.

Rook takes one look at his pot, then pauses on the threshold; she sniffs the air, then makes a face. The look is gone within seconds, before he can decipher it. 

“Mi vida, I’m not that hungry,” she says politely, sitting down at the table. Her hands fold neatly in her lap. “I ate earlier. I didn’t think you’d be making me dinner again tonight.”

Lucanis stares at her, speechless. The bowl in his hands is hot; he has to put it down. It sits on the table, steaming. He has to wait a moment to find the right words. 

“You already ate?”

Rook glances at the bowl and frowns. “I ate in Minrathous. With Neve.”

It is not hard to believe, but his instincts say otherwise. Neve and Rook are as thick as thieves; Rook often stays out late, drinking with her, when they’ve had a particularly rough day in Minrathous. Even then, it is not an uncommon event for them to eat dinner together - and yet, he doesn’t believe her. Rook is a horrible liar when it comes to him. Her hands in her lap fidget: a tell. 

“You’re still hungry,” Lucanis says, pushing the bowl in front of her. Why would she bother to lie? The soup sloshes in the bowl, broth spilling over seafood. He hands her a spoon; she grabs it hesitantly. “I can tell.”

She shakes her head. Lucanis frowns. Spite grumbles something about her feeling sick. The demon tilts his head and stares at Rook, sniffing. The demon knows Rook almost as well as Lucanis does. I thought. Rook loves. Fish?

Lucanis ponders this. “You don’t want seafood?” he confirms.

“Not really,” she says meekly. “It hasn’t been agreeing with me lately.”

“What did you eat in Minrathous?”

“Some kind of meat stew,” she says, too quickly. “It’s better not to ask.”

Lucanis looks at the pot and rubs at his forehead. He made enough for her to eat three bowls - and then some. There is so much left. “I can make you something else?”

Rook shakes her head vigorously. “I promise I’m not hungry,” she says, almost pleading with him. “Really.” She watches him for a moment, then follows it up with, “You could give some to Illario?”

“Illario?” Lucanis repeats, thinking - eating dinner with his cousin is not what he’d had in mind for the night - then sighs. “Fine.”

“I’ll go get him,” Rook says, already out of her seat, and she’s gone before he can say anything else. He stares at the two bowls and drags his hands over his face. 

Rook returns, dragging Illario, who is nonplussed, and even serene, despite her insistent tugging on his sleeve. His cousin sniffs the air once, then digs his heels in and pauses on the threshold.

“My mother’s recipe,” Illario says, quiet. 

Lucanis doesn't know what to say, so he just gestures at the table. It is an old family recipe - Lucanis had forgotten where it came from. It has been ingrained in him for as long as he can remember, but Illario is right. It came from his mother. 

A distant memory presses against his mind - sitting next to Illario at the formal dining table in the Villa, wrestling over a piece of bread, laughing. The warm feeling in his stomach, the comfort of his family. That was when they had all been alive. He couldn’t have been older than five or six years old. His aunt was killed that year, he remembers.

There's no way to decipher what he's feeling - Spite retreats, overwhelmed, and Lucanis decides that the best course of action is to ignore it all, and think of Rook. 

Rook’s distaste for fish is new. He had planned to make grilled fish tomorrow. He will have to adjust. When they finish eating, Lucanis finds the head cook, and places a request.

The next morning, he reminds her that he plans on making dinner for them both.  

“Cacio e pepe?” she mumbles, still bleary from sleep.

Lucanis pauses, brushing a piece of hair from her eyes. “If that’s what you’d like,” he says, thinking of the steaks he’d asked the kitchen to order. 

Rook mutters her agreement, and goes back to sleep. His heart thumps fondly. She has been sleeping more often - waking later, going to bed earlier. Lucanis leans down to press a small kiss to her forehead - she’s still working herself too hard. If she doesn’t want a complicated dinner, he will make a complicated dessert.

He decides not to work, and wanders down to the kitchen. He informs the cook of the change in dinner plans, and suggests that she cook the steaks for the staff and Caterina instead. He hesitates, then includes Illario in the list.

Perturbed, he stalks the kitchen for inspiration. It strikes him in the form of apples - a large basket, tucked into the corner of the room. He asks the cook if there is a destined use for them, who responds in Antivan - the only language she speaks - that they’d been requested to make juice, but she doesn’t need them all.

Lucanis snatches a few from the basket and stares at it, thinking.

He will make Antivan apple grenades. If he starts now, there is plenty of time to make the pastry from scratch. 

When Rook comes to the kitchen for dinner, she claps her hands together in delight. “Antivan grenata,” she exclaims, and her reaction is worth every second he’d fought with the pastry, every minute peeling the apples. 

He doesn't say anything; he motions for her to sit, pulling out her chair, and she descends with grace, as she always does. He places the plate of cacio e pepe in front of her, hands her a fork, and sits next to her. 

“Leave room for dessert,” he teases, and the look she gives him could kill. It might have, in the past. Lucanis is sure she's used that look to her advantage before.

The fifth night, she comes to the kitchen earlier than usual, takes one look at his pan, scrunches her nose, and asks him for Crow feed.

Lucanis stops stirring and turns to stare at her.

“Crow feed?” he repeats.

She nods.

Lucanis glances down at the stovetop and frowns. “Why do you want that?”

Rook dithers, staring at her feet. “I haven’t had it in so long. And you’re such a good cook, I thought…”

He knows they have everything for the dish. It is simple, basic - rice, onions, butter. Fledglings eat it while training, as it’s easy for to cook up large batches. Lucanis cannot remember the last time he ate it - he might have had it once, or twice, when on jobs with other Crows. The kitchen at home had made it for himself and Illario on a few occasions, but it wasn’t a common meal for them.

“If that’s what you want,” he says, tentative, doing his best to feel no loss at the dinner he had planned. All the ingredients for vegetarian paella - not even seafood, like usual - surround them; the spices wait in a small dish, ready to be added to the pan. His spoon stops stirring the rice.

Rook smiles at him and places a hand on her shoulder. “It is.”

He can make her Crow feed - that is no issue. The kitchen can use the ingredients he prepared for breakfast and lunch tomorrow. But Rook loves paella - she eats it all the time. She orders it almost every time they eat out in Treviso, oftentimes without looking at the menu. 

She must still be stressed out, if she’s craving simple fare. Foods from her youth. Lucanis adds the onions to the pan and keeps tabs on her from the corner of his eye. 

“How was Bellara?” he asks. 

“She’s busy,” Rook says, watching him cook. “The new Veil Jumpers almost brought down the wards today.”

Lucanis hums. “And Davrin?”

Rook laughs. “He spends most of his day trying to get Assan to be a good influence. Assan spends most of his day showing why he isn't one.”

It hits him, suddenly. How precious this is to him. And it stops him in his tracks, how much he doesn't want to lose it. Their life together is fragile; new; blooming. The rest of the world is all too ready to tear it from his hands. 

Lucanis dishes her the Crow feed and tries not think of her dying. He says nothing of his thoughts. “I love you,” he says, instead, and Rook smiles.

“I love you,” she says, kissing her fingers and pressing them to his cheek. It quickly transforms into her hand cupping his head, fingers scratching his beard. Spite grumbles happily. A loose spark lands on his skin, and she winces. He doesn't pull away. 

“Are you sure it wasn't your magic that almost brought down the wards?” he teases, and manages to dodge the stray spark she sends his way.

“I still have control when I want to,” she threatens, and he laughs.

The sixth day, Rook wakes before him in the morning. He opens his eyes to the sight of her eyes boring into his.

“No more complicated dinners,” Rook says. She puts a finger on his lips, stilling any rebuttal. “Please, Lucanis. I know you think I’m going to be poisoned if you don’t cook for me, but it’s going too far, now.”

Lucanis sighs. She drops her hand. “I am behind on work," he admits.

Rook smiles and rolls over onto her back, laughing. “That doesn't surprise me.”

Lucanis reaches for her, wanting more - more of her touch, more of her scent - but before he can satisfy his craving, she launches herself out of bed and out the door, her hand covering her mouth.