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Chapter Text

Morning

The Fade tear closed with an audible snap, and then the only sound was a faint buzz of leftover magic and the rasp of her breathing. 

And it was over. 

Rook waited. She waited for the next trick, the next sound that would signify the fight was far from over, or for the cheers and trumpets to announce the opposite. Neither happened as she turned slowly in place to survey the battlefield behind her. Elgar'nan’s body was gone, having exploded in a burst of sparks and magic, leaving only a circle of soot where he had been. The blight had retreated without him. And she had the  lyrium dagger still grasped in her hand. 

Apparently…this was it. 

Rook undertook the enormous effort of putting one foot forward, and then another. Her feet didn’t really lift, just shuffled as if weighted as she made her way to the stairs. She felt stunned; numb from exhaustion and unstable magic and from the end of it all being so quiet. Rook managed to navigate herself down a few steps before the heel of her boot caught on the stone and her knees gave way, falling hard on her hip. She slid down two more stairs before she caught herself clumsily on her elbow, which sent the lyrium knife clattering down the remaining flight. She just watched it.

Maker, everything hurt. 

Then someone was calling her name. Rook at least understood it to be her name, but she couldn’t seem to make her body respond. Her unfocused eyes saw a hazy figure running, sprinting, towards her, screaming her name. She should say something, but her tongue was leaden. 

Dark purple wings burst from the human shape, lifting it into the air. In spite of the state of shock, Rook still had enough sense to feel relief. He was here. They were coming for her. 

Lucanis landed roughly, clawing against the stairs to try and get to her. When he reached her, Spite’s wings folded around them; it was not a shield, but a shelter. “Rook,” he grabbed her face roughly between his hands, not from cruelty, but from every fear they had both experienced since this fight started. “Rook, look at me. Are you alright?” 

The feel of him, the closeness and the contact, fired something in her brain. Rook looked up and Lucanis’s eyes — the warmest brown she had ever seen — forced her gaze to sharpen. She swallowed. “I’m— I’m ok,” Rook’s voice came out rough and wheezing. Proof she was beaten and bruised, but alive all the same. The feel of his hands on her face tethered her back to the earth and she scanned him over. “You’re—?”

A smile split his expression and it was the most beautiful thing Rook had ever seen. “Fine,” he gasped shakily, “Fine, now, mi vida.” He brought her cradled face to his and kissed her without any gentleness at all. It was perfect. Rook felt her body begin to recall where it was, who it was, sensation returning to her extremities. Pinpricks of awareness flowed out from where he kissed her and, slowly, she reached through his arms to cup his face in return.

The feeling of wetness on his cheeks made her draw back slightly. “Oh…” she murmured, still somewhat dazed as she saw his happy, relieved tears. Rook clumsily wiped them away with swipes of her thumb. “Lucanis—” She laughed; if she didn’t, it was very likely she would start to cry, too. “Lucanis, it's alright, I’m here.” She set her forehead against his as her throat coiled with emotion. “You're here. Both of you.” The wings tucked closer around her in response. “I’m so glad you’re both here.”

Lucanis inhaled shakily, “I know, mi amor.” Then he lifted his chin to kiss her repeatedly, quick brushes of his lips against her mouth, her jaw, as though he might make her more concrete with each touch. And it truly felt that way— every kiss made her feel more real, more herself.

Lucanis’s body grew heavy against her as the adrenaline of battle gave way. He sank against the stairs, kneeling between her legs with his head cradled against the curve of her neck. Rook wound her arms around him, squeezing him to her as tightly as she could. Slowly, the wings lowered and then vanished completely, signifying Spite was also ready to rest. Rook pressed her lips to the top of Lucanis’s head. They were alive; they were here.

A glimmer on the horizon caught her attention. Rook looked past the man in her arms, lashes fluttering. "Huh," she murmured, "The sun is rising."

Lucanis slowly peeled away to look, eventually situating himself to sit on the stair beside her. He was still holding her to him fiercely, and Rook got the distinct feeling he might not stop for a few days until he was sure she would not drift away. Fine by her. "Morning of a brand new day," he added, "and it's yours to do with, mi amor."

It was a startling truth. Rook had left Antiva with Varric almost a year ago now. Since then, her waking days had all been about the gods— finding them, stopping them, having them lurk as an unwanted visitor in her mind. This was her first time in a long while seeing the sun rise and not thinking about her next battle. The freedom was almost uncomfortable, like an ill fitting coat she would have to grow into.

But she didn’t have to figure out how to grow into it alone.

Rook turned her body towards Lucanis and touched his cheek, pulling his gaze from the horizon. She kissed him once, softly. “This…is a good start,” she sighed happily before leaning in once more. He met her with intensity, not because time was short, but because it was just beginning now. Her fingers wove deftly through his hair, her lips parting to breathe into him how this was it. This was all she wanted. This was worth everything they had gone through, a thousand times over. If she had to guess by the quiet groan that came from her lover, this message was well-received.

“Blight take me— is this what the two of you have been doing? People have been looking for you two!”

She didn’t need help recognizing Davrin’s voice. Lucanis automatically started to turn, but she stopped him with one hand against his face, continuing to kiss him. Her other hand was lifted over her head to give Davrin a crude gesture. She heard the other elf scoff from across the courtyard. “Classy.”

At that, the kiss did break, only because they were both laughing. It felt like the most natural sound they could make— his quiet chuckle against her loud lightning crack of a laugh. Lucanis turned to face up the stairs, taking a moment to wipe away any lingering evidence of tears. In opposition, Rook looked straight at Davrin with a grin. “Fuck you!” The shouting caused her voice to crack, “I killed an elven god, and that means I can kiss my Anitvan lover if I want to!”

She heard Lucanis laugh again as Davrin rolled his eyes dramatically. “Well, since you just ruined the word ‘lover’ for me forever—”

“Fucking good!”

“—can you lovebirds at least hurry it up? It’s a new day, here. People want to clap eyes on you before they either collapse or start drinking.”

Before Rook could respond, Lucanis raised a hand in surrender. “We’re coming, we’re coming.” He stood in such a way that Rook could tell his body was aching too. For her part, she couldn’t even imagine getting to her feet yet, which must have been clear on her face since Lucanis extended a hand down to her. “Come on, mi vida,” he prompted her quietly, a smile lifting the edge of his lips. “We’ll let Viago see you alive and then slip away.”

She accepted the hand, relying on him to get her standing. His arm wound supportively around her waist, and Rook proceeded to lean on him perhaps a little more than she needed to. “You said today’s mine to do with, right?”

“Today and every day after, if I can help it.”

“I think,” Rook’s nose wrinkled, “today wants a bath.”

Lucanis laughed. “That, I think, can be managed.”

As they reached the bottom of the stairs, the ash of the fallen god at her boots, Rook stooped with a pained groan to pick up the lyrium knife. When she rose, she was once more looking to the sun. The sky was properly alight now, with rays reaching out to them. She felt the warming touch of a brand new morning against her face and inhaled. It was over. It was starting.

When Rook glanced at Lucanis, she found him already staring, studying the way the sun lit up the freckles on her face. She grinned in spite of every pain in her body. “Well…you with me?”

Using his free hand, he brought her knuckles to his lips with a reverence she would never feel suited for. “Forever.”

Forever. That was a good start.

Chapter Text

Tavern

The fingerprints of how Rylla Lavellan had changed Cullen displayed themselves in a thousand little ways. Being a member of a crowd in a loud, busy tavern was one of the less consequential ones.

It wasn’t like Cullen had never enjoyed such an atmosphere. He had once been a young Templar, a soldier, with brothers-in-arms he was very influenced by. There had even been a time when attention was something he enjoyed, maybe even sought out. But he was older now, subdued, and, more than that, he was a man who had fought through the ravages of lyrium withdrawal and come out the other side. Going through that made it much more easy to appreciate the quieter, more peaceful nights in.

Rylla enjoyed them, too, for the most part. However, Cullen had quickly come to recognize a look in her forest green eyes that meant she was getting restless. Not that she needed to escape the life they were slowly building now that the Inquisition was less needed; no, she was happy to leave the Dalish life behind and, though he still struggled to believe it, happy with him. This restlessness came from having grown up in a world that quite literally had no walls. She was used to wander, travel, picking up Aravels and finding a new spot to settle when one became stale or dangerous. Even when she first joined the Inquisition, she was hardly in one place, constantly out on the wilds of the Hinterlands or the constricting streets of Val Royeaux, each place new to her. Now that she had been in one place for well over a year, and her friends had started to peel away, there seemed to every once in awhile be a call in her bones to move, move, move.

Cullen understood; he was getting used to it as well, though not in the same way. His life had been barracks, structure, cold and efficient. He found that it took some adjusting to see his home as a soft place to land. But Rylla always found ways to remind him that he was not a soldier in their space, not an acolyte in their bed. So if, in return, he occasionally had to go to a loud and rowdy hall to make her happy, he would do so without second thought.

And right now, she looked quite happy indeed. She was currently in the middle of a spirited group dance with a crowd of strangers. Naturally, Cullen did not recognize the movements at all, but everyone else seemed to have an understanding of it and Rylla picked up fast. Her eyes darted the same way they did when tracking an enemy, but here she just used all that training to figure out what the next movement might be. He smiled as he watched the elf duck under an arch of linked hands, laughing as the person behind her gave her a good natured push when she didn’t go far enough. In spite of the noise and the heat, he couldn’t deny that he enjoyed an excuse to openly stare at her.

The song came to an end and was met with a swell of applause. Exhausted patrons headed to catch their breath and were quickly replaced by new sets of dancers urging the musicians for the next song. Cullen was actually a bit surprised when Rylla broke away as well, because he was certain she wasn’t done.

Her eyes were bright when she came up to his side, cheeks pink underneath her maroon vallaslin. “Hello, handsome,” she greeted cheekily before reaching past him to steal a long drink of his ale. Cullen felt his ears burn in response. He didn’t feel like he would ever have a neutral response to her being close to him, even if they were together for the rest of his days.

A pleasant idea.

“Hello,” he returned, unthinkingly brushing her disheveled hair away from the shaved half of her head. “Are you enjoying yourself, my dear?”

Rylla nodded, setting down the ale mug with a thunk. “I am. It feels nice just to be moving,” she admitted, looking up at him with a smile. “How are you holding up?”

Cullen chuckled sheepishly, wondering how obvious his discomfort was. “I’m fine,” he assured her. He glanced around before leaning in, and she automatically swiveled her head in response, allowing him to say into her ear, “I always enjoy watching you dance.”

Her smile widened, chin tucking down to her chest shyly. “Flirt.” Her tone suggested she enjoyed it. Rylla’s hands twined around his arm, one traveling up his arm and the other hand wandering down to interlace with his. He looked into her face, his chest feeling tight at the way she managed to look at him.

“Dance with me.”

Cullen blinked. He had been looking into her eyes and left open to a sneak attack. “Ahh, no, Rylla, you know I can’t—”

She pressed against him, tugging against his arm. “Come on, no one knows us here.”

“I—” his eyes darted anxiously to the dance floor. “—I don’t know any of the dances.”

“No one really knows them all. It’s easier to pick when you’re in the middle of it, I swear.”

Cullen shook his head. “Rylla, I don’t—”

“Please?”

It was a mistake to look into her face, somehow sweetly pleading and seductive all at the same time. He sighed heavily, able to see where this ended, and yet digging his heels in anyway. “I…I’ll look ridiculous.”

She was still holding his arm against her body, making it harder to think. “No,” she smiled, “you’ll look like you’re doing something very sweet for your very silly lady.”

He looked at the dancing again, slowly deflating as he did. She asked so little of him. He would probably never see these people again. And he was no stronger than any other fool in love.

Cullen never verbally agreed, but he did sigh and slump his shoulders, and Rylla read between the lines. She rose on her toes to kiss his cheek, and then she was guiding him serpentine through the crowd. It was probably wise to get him to the dance floor before he could change his mind; he was already feeling a sense of dread as the previous song concluded. The floor cleared and refilled once more as the next song began.

Rylla’s face lit up and she held onto both his hands. “Alright, just stay with me.” An easy request, made harder by being expected to do so on rhythm.

True to his fears, the music signaled some kind of turn and he did so a second after everyone else. Thankfully, this helped him to foretell the next move would be the same thing in the opposite direction. Maybe Rylla was right that this was easier when in the middle of it.

Cullen caught her eye when he looked up and saw her lips pressed together. “I don’t think you should be allowed to laugh at me,” he pointed out, conferring quietly when the dance drew them chest to chest.

“You’re concentrating so hard. You look adorable.”

He rolled his eyes as they parted, following the dance flow down the line in a loop before joining again. “I don’t believe there’s been a Knight-Commander before described as ‘adorable.’”

She took his hand and spun under his arm. “You bring diversity to the field,” she winked.

Cullen laughed in spite of himself, though he had been distracted so as to lose his place. A tipsy dwarves woman next to him set him on path with a giggle. “And do people usually talk this much while dancing?”

“Only if they’re audaciously flirting.”

“Noted.” The tempo picked up further, and Cullen found himself getting dizzy in the repeating patterns. There was something a bit exciting about strangers moving as one outside of battle with high spirits and laughter. Especially when his dance partner was watching him, light in her green eyes.

He lost sight of her for a moment and, when he turned, he was stunned by Rylla barreling headlong into his chest. Cullen caught her in his arms, momentarily concerned by the force with which she had run into him. “Rylla—”

And suddenly she was laughing, grabbing her head. Cullen did not join in, searching her with concern. “Are you alright?”

“I—” her laugh hiccuped, “I went the wrong way— gods, I ran into you so hard!” She burst out laughing anew at the ridiculousness of the situation.

Cullen stared at her in the circle of his arms, laughing at their combined clumsiness. Her happiness made her a living glow that he held to his chest. She was beautiful, the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

Forgetting everything, he bent his neck and kissed that laugh.

Rylla let out a small sound of surprise that he did not so much hear as he felt reverberate through her. The surprise was short lived as her fingers curled into the front of his tunic and tugged the fabric. She tasted the way the sun felt on a chilly day, bringing him warmth and light. Cullen could think of nothing beyond adoring her.

That was until he registered the cheering taking place around them.

The former Templar drew back, his face growing hot as he realized the people closest to them had formed something of an audience. It made sense considering they had stopped in the middle of the dance, but he had truly lost all sense of place. Rylla started to laugh again, waving them off as she once more took his hand. Fortunately, she was able to pull him along, since he was feeling quite frozen in mortification.

She took him out of a side door, plunging them into the chill of the night air. Cullen shook his head as she wordlessly lead him around the corner of the building. “I—” he stammered, “I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me, I—”

His apology was short lived. It was smothered by Rylla throwing her arms around his neck and meeting his mouth with her own. Cullen’s hands landed on her waist in a moment of his own surprise. But his senses were once more overpowered by instinct, and he shifted her back against the tavern. The secretive darkness emboldened him and he held her against the wall, steadying them both so that he could explore the edges of her body with his hands. It hadn’t registered at the time, but watching her all night had left him parched for her. Rylla also seemed determined to touch every bit of exposed skin, skimming his forearms and brushing the loose parts of his tunic that showed his muscled chest.

Cullen’s face was buried in the curve of her neck when he heard her say, “I’m guessing the apology doesn’t stand?”

He breathed out against her throat. “No, I suppose not.”

“Good.” A duo of curled fingers lifted his chin, forcing Cullen to look her in the eye. “You never had to apologize in the first place, you know.”

“I— know,” he confessed, “I panicked.”

A smirk tilted her lips. “I know.” She quickly traced a kiss against the tip of his nose. “You’re very silly.”

Cullen looked at her incredulously, earning a giggle. “Adorable and silly? This is an inauspicious day.”

“No— no, on the contrary,” her fingers traveled a line across his forehead, brushing away his untidy hair, “It makes me love you more. If that’s possible.”

A wavery smile pulled at his lips at this confession. Not the first time she had said it, but it had not yet grown old. He leaned in to kiss her softly. “I love you, too.” Cullen inclined his head to her. “And have I finally convinced you that I can’t dance?”

Rylla laughed. “I can’t either, clearly,” she said with a gesture to her head. “But I still had fun. And I thought it was very endearing of you to try.” She linked her hands behind his neck. “It's very attractive, you know.”

Cullen shook his head and looked away, though she probably knew he was blushing. Her giggle proved that, and he habitually cleared his throat. “Did…you want to go back inside?”

“No,” she pulled against his neck to kiss him on the cheek, “I want to go home.”

“Ah,” he couldn’t hide his relief. “If you’re sure.”

“I was thinking,” she kissed his neck this time. “I could take you home and find a more…exciting way to get our heart rates up.”

Cullen blinked. “Another…?” It was only then he clearly read the devilish look on her face and blushed anew. “Ah. You mean—right.” There was a pause before he added, “Yes.”

The corners of her eyes gathered when she laughed, and it was perfect. They exchanged one more kiss before hurrying off into the night.

It was a good night to be home after all.

Chapter Text

Nights were a struggle after Spite made the contract with Lucanis.

They didn’t regret it. There was something satisfying about finally understanding the body they had been forced into; understanding the space it occupied, that the reality of outside was sometimes different from the perception inside. Things were better, clearer, and Lucanis did not ignore them anymore. Better.

But nights used to be a hunting time, lying in wait for Lucanis to drift off so they could take control of his body. There had been the pull of struggle as Lucanis tried to fight off sleep through coffee and willpower. It was the thrill of discovery once they were under his skin: how to move, how to speak, slowly testing the bounds of freedom. And they saw Rook. They liked Rook best of all.

Now that Lucanis was them and they were Lucanis, there was no longer the need to do this. Lucanis let them walk around and speak more than ever, and the acute discomfort that he felt when he woke up in a place he did not go to sleep at felt less victorious to Spite. Occasionally they still took over at night to try something new, even writing things down in a sloppy hand they could loosely control, but they never went far so that Lucanis could wake up in the place he expected. They were the sum of their name at the end of the day, so when Lucanis was more of them and less of an obstacle, there was no satisfaction in causing him distress.

To fill the time, Spite had started to wander through dreams. Lucanis’s were first, but they knew those already. Often, they were unpleasant: Lucanis would see the Ossuary, or dream he was once more a boy, running from a terror he could not see but certainly felt. These days, however, the nightmares were overtaken by dreams of Rook. Those were good dreams, though, to Spite, dream Rook wasn’t quite as fun as real Rook. Besides, Lucanis most often dreamed of her busy under his body, under his hands, against his mouth. So Spite had started to branch out to see other dreaming; it was easy enough in the Lighthouse when the others were so close.

It was a curious experience to prod at the sleeping mind of the people Lucanis worked with. They all had a different color, a different sense, a smell. The big elf Davrin dreamed of dragons tinted blue like the colors he wore to battle. The smaller elf, the one called Bellara, dreamed in the greens of the forests she came from. She dreamed of secret doors and hidden passages and of a man with a face similar to her own who made her cry until she woke up. Spite avoided dwarf Harding’s dreams— they were too new, too bright, burning like acid.

Rook was hardest to reach. In spite of the content of Lucanis’s dreams, he was still not sleeping next to her, so she was the farthest away. And it was hard to find her amongst the fade dreamers due to her intruder, Fen’Harel. At least, Spite assumed he had something to do with it, though they could not express where this suspicion came from. What they didknow was that they did not like Solas lurking in her mind. Rook was theirs, and this Solas should not get to be with her. She didn’t even like him.

The night that Spite stumbled into Rook’s corner of the Fade, they didn’t even realize they had done it at first.

It wasn’t a dream when they found it. Magic people held the fade differently; sometimes they dreamed, but sometimes they were just there while their body rested. Spite might not have even realized they were passing by her until they suddenly smelled cinnamon and fire smoke. The scent of Rook.

When they turned, she was there. For a moment, her face was twisted with concern, unease. They forgot that they were different here. Most times, Rook saw them as a reflection of Lucanis, but while prowling dreams, Spite let their form change. They were a shifting amoeba of shadow, sometimes animal, sometimes human, sometimes just shape, but always with purple black feathers flowing off of them. It was the sight of those feathers that caused the concern to melt away, one eyebrow raising. “Spite? Is that you?”

It was a strange feeling having her catch them like this— Lucanis would compare it to being naked, though Spite still didn’t quite understand the breadth of that human concern. They nodded, wherever their head might currently be, and saw her crooked smile.

“Trying to peek on my dreams, you troublemaker?” She rested her hands on her hips, but she wasn’t angry. “Do you do this a lot?”

“No. Hard to find Rook, usually.”

“Well, I am an enigma.”

Spite considered. “Enig…ma…?”

Rook laughed, but they weren’t sure why. They did know, however, that Lucanis loved that sound, so they loved it, too. She motioned for them to join as she sat down, and a cliff side seemed to both form beneath her and have always been there. Her feet dangled off the ledge as Spite sat beside her, their body coiling and tangling, sometimes a snake, sometimes a dog, sometimes a bird.

“So, what bring you here?” Rook asked, looking at them.

Spite shifted, their visible form changing multiple times with the movement. “We go to dreams sometimes. We do not use Lucanis’s body at night anymore and we don’t know where to go when he sleeps.”

Rook giggled. “You get bored, huh?”

“Yes.”

“Aw, poor Spite.”

They were shimmering under her undivided attention. “Rook isn’t dreaming?”

“No,” she sighed, “I fell asleep and suddenly I was here.” She scratched her head, and Spite watched her hair, red looping curls, bounce as she did. “It happens sometimes, but I wish it wouldn’t. I hate coming to the Fade.”

They had a vague sense that they ought to be offended considering the Fade was their original home, but it was an emotion that they hadn’t quite grasped yet. “Why?” They asked instead.

“Well…hmm…” Rook hesitated, her head tilting first to one side and then the other. “Do you remember how strange it was to get used to Lucanis’s body? Understanding how it all worked?” Spite nodded, so she continued, “Well, I’m veryused to how things work out there. I’m used to— if you drop something, it falls down. Or if you go up a set of stairs they won’t suddenly change direction. Nothing in the Fade works like you think it will.”

Spite weighed this information carefully, having never considered that the Fade might be unusual to non-spirits. “Does Rook get…scared?”

She let out a breathy laugh that Spite recognized. Not her happiest laugh, but not sad. “Maybe…a bit, yeah.” Rook leaned over, “Don’t tell Lucanis. He thinks I’m brave.”

“Rook is brave.'“

She giggled, shaking her head. “Such a sweet-talker!”

“And we can help protect Rook here,” Spite insisted. “We would never let another demon touch Rook.”

Rook laughed again, looking at them with curiosity. Slowly, she extended a hand out to them. “You are the weirdest spirit I ever met,” she said. It was a word which could be cruel, if Spite remembered correctly, but Rook said it nicely. She did that sometimes, and it made Lucanis laugh, so that meant it was good. Spite slowly extended in return, a feathered tendril winding across her palm and spiraling up her arm. It was strange, but— they could feel her. They could feel the warmth of her skin even in this place. A satisfied sound rumbled from their form and Rook giggled. “Are you purring?”

“Purr?”

“It’s—” she sighed, and shrugged away the explanation. “I’ll show you the next time we come across one of those cats in Treviso.”

“Cats…” The word summoned an image to Spite’s thoughts. Strange creatures, sleek bodies with narrow tails and large yellow eyes. Rook often stopped to pet them when they were in the city. “Cats look funny.”

“Yeah,” she agreed warmly, “I guess they kind of do.”

They sat there together, Rook’s eyes gradually drifting closed. She was tired, and she did not want to be in the Fade. So Spite tugged on her arm. “Come. We take Rook to her body.”

“Hmm?” Her voice had the strange quality Lucanis’s did when he was tired. “You know where that is?”

“We follow it. So Rook can rest.”

She laughed, quiet and surprised. “…This doesn’t mean you can stick around and watch my dreams, you know that?”

Spite just grunted and she laughed again, going along with them.

As opposed to Rook, they were comfortable here. The Fade made sense to them. Occasionally, Rook would stop and make a nauseous sound, which lead them to think that she must have perceived something strange to her that did not bother them. It was good they were here, they thought.

At the end of the path, there was an Eluvian. It wasn’t a real one, of course, just a juxtaposition of Rook’s influence. She had exclusively traveled by Eluvian for months now so it was natural the path back to her body would resemble one. Spite stopped. “Here.”

“Huh. You did find it.” She took a step towards it and then turned to them. “You’re awfully clever.”

If they had a chest in this form, it puffed proudly. “Determination.”

Rook looked delighted. “Of course. I should have known.” She reached out once more. “Here, let me get a look at you.”

They had no “you” to be, exactly, but perhaps they ought. The form they settled in was somewhat humanoid, though the features were ill-defined and not the exact picture of anyone. There were no wings, but feathers spilled down the head, down the back, down the arms, seeming to fall from them and yet never ending. It was relatively simple to comprehend if one did not think too hard.

Rook’s hand came to one side of their head and pulled them down enough to kiss the area of their face that might have been the cheek of an actual person. Spite could feel it, even without Lucanis, they felt the touch of her lips, warm and soft in a way that didn’t exist in the Fade. “Thank you, Spite.”

When they would try to explain the feeling to Lucanis the next day, they would just say “bright” over and over again. But he seemed to understand all the same.

Chapter Text

Alistair couldn't help himself but stop and look at the royal palace every time they were in Denerim. That in itself wasn’t unusual— if one were in the capital they would naturally would look at the iconic gathering place of royalty. But Alistair in particular usually found himself staring up from the streets. Even when he had a pack at his feet that needed to be organized before they started off on their trip.

And she noticed, because she noticed everything.

He could tell it was Eirlys at his shoulder without turning, just knowing the way she occupied space in the world. There was a distinct feel to her that Alistair could pick out in any crowd, in any light, in any place.

"Do you think about it a lot?” She asked gently without preamble. “What it would have been like?”

Alistair hummed, nodding sagely. “Oh, of course. To think: I could be up there—” he gestured to a random tower, “—having terrible conversation with horrible people and wearing uncomfortable trousers.” A wistful sigh sounded from his lips. “What might have been!”

He heard the delicate lilt of her laugh as she came to stand beside him. “I think the king is probably allowed to decide how comfortable his trousers are,” Eirlys offered.

“Exactly. And they choose for them to be uncomfortable so that they can look dour and serious at all times.” He tapped the side of his head with a finger, “Royal tricks, you see.”

She giggled quietly, habitually pressing her fingertips to her lips as she did, and Alistair felt the familiar victorious joy of being the source. When her touch lingered thoughtfully against her mouth, Alistair just waited; he had long ago learned he could not predict what Eirlys might be thinking, and she would tell him when she was ready.

“I’ve been wondering about it lately,” she finally admitted. “What it would have looked like for you to be king.”

“Oh.” Alistair cleared his throat uncomfortably, “I see.” They hadn’t really talked about it at all since the end of the Blight; he hadn’t thought it necessary. Honestly, he couldn’t say he ever thought about it besides the days that took them i to Denerim. “And?”

Eirlys bowed her head so that her short hair, as soft and as white as snow, shielded her face. “I think…you would have been a good king. Once you got used to it, and once things settled down. I think you might have been more adept than you think.”

Alistair shifted once more, unsure of what to do with his body. Why were they talking about this? He reached out to his old standby: dismissive humor.“I do enjoy having people at my call to tell me how lovely I look at any given moment. But other than that—”

“You’re also kind. And you have a good heart.”

“Why are we talking about this, Eirlys?” He interrupted anxiously. When she didn’t respond, he took her by the shoulders to turn her towards him, using one finger to lift her chin. “Come on. Talk to me.”

Her lips pressed together, and Alistair could see a quiet tempest in eyes like a turquoise sea. She was such an internal person—she’d had to be to survive—but she was always honest with him. Eirlys simply thought before she spoke and needed that time; she could not be pried open like an oyster.

“I just—” she reconsidered and started again, “I think I was selfish that day. The landsmeet.” Eirlys looked into his face and then away. “I discouraged you, everyone, from having you on the throne and I did it because I didn’t want to lose you.”

This was not new information. She’d said as much that day, and days after. And though Alistair wanted to assure her that she never would have lost him, he looked at the sharp points of her ears, at the staff strapped to her back, and knew the words would ring hollow. The choice would have been made for him.

“Does that make me terrible?” She asked earnestly.

Alistair moved his hands up and down the length of her arms, a soothing and steady rhythm. “Alright, well, let’s think about it. First, I hate to tell you this, but it wasn’t exactly your decision alone,” Alistair smiled, catching her eye. “I know you think you’re oh-so-important since people call you the Hero of Fereldan now, buuut…”

Eirlys rolled her eyes, which was a positive sign, giving Alistair space to chuckle.

“Second, Anora is clearly doing just fine,” he pointed out. “She was always going to be better suited. I couldn’t give an order without worrying I’d offended the messenger."

She considered. “That is true.”

“And— most importantly—” he took her face in between his hands, “— I was extremely serious about the uncomfortable trousers. I simply could not live like that.”

A smile quirked up the corner of Eirlys’s lips, followed by her quiet laugh. Alistair grinned in return. “Besides,” he continued, never able to stop once he had earned a reaction, “if I were King I wouldn’t have to work so hard to get people to laugh at my jokes.”

“You do need someone to keep you grounded.”

“Exactly! And that is why—” he gently kissed her forehead, “I need you. So maybe some days I wonder, but…I’d never do it differently.”

Eirlys thought once more, hanging her fingers loosely around his wrist as he continued to cup her face. “I don't know what I’d do without you.”

“Well, you'll never have to find out, because you fed me once and now shall never be rid of me.”

“Is that what keeps you around?” Her free hand rested on the back of his neck, willowy fingers tracing against the soft short hair there. “Good to know.”

Then she rose up on her toes and kissed him. Like everything she did, it was thoughtful, considered. She knew his lips but still it seemed that she explored the ways that they fit together. Alistair did not rush her, his fingers splaying against the side of her face.

When she lowered back to the flats of her feet, the storm had cleared in her eyes. “I love you,” she said, giving the three words more meaning than he had known the rest of his life.

“And I love you,” Alistair returned with a smile, quickly kissing her once more. “If you were selfish, so was I. But to me you shall always be the opposite of uncomfortable trousers.”

Eirlys laughed and she was not quick enough to hide it with her hand. That was his favorite of all.

“Come on,” she tapped her palm against his chest, “We should get going.”

“Of course.” He stooped to get his pack from his feet. It could be organized when they made camp. “Where is it we’re off to again?” He squinted, "Theeee—??”

Eirlys looked at him incredulously. “Orlais, Alistair.”

“—theeee beautiful country of Orlais. You didn’t let me finish.”

She laughed again, not hidden, uncovered. Ideal.

As they started for the gates, Alistair stopped once more to look at the famous castle. And then he turned his attention to something better at his side.

Chapter Text

“All right, how much do you bet me?”

Davrin looked at her quizzically as he threw a darkspawn back with his shield. “What?” 

“How much do you bet that I can’t do it?” Rook repeated with a grin, yanking her mage knife from the chest of a hurlock. 

Davrin swept his sword against the crook of his arm to clear away the blood. “Really?” He glanced around the battlefield, crawling with the ancient darkspawn. “We’re in the middle of a fight, Rook.”

“Yeah, exactly!” She looked around at their team, set far apart in an open area of the wetlands. “I think I can do it.”

Davrin sighed, following her look and calculating in his head. “I’ll tell you what…I’ll give you a gold for each one, plus three for getting them all. Ten gold, easy. But!” He interrupted her premature gloating, “you can’t just tap them with your hand.”

Rook put one hand on her hip. “What do I do instead?”

He thought about it before a grin split his lips. “Kiss on the cheek.”

Rook groaned, looking at their spread of allies once more. “That’s so much harder!”

“That’s why the gold, and— behind.”

Rook ducked and Davrin thrust his sword over her head, allowing a charging darkspawn to spear itself on the blade. Rook sidestepped and set her boot against the spawn’s midsection, allowing Davrin to pull his weapon free. “—and when you lose—“

“If I lose—“

“You’re in charge of cleaning up after Assan all week.” His eyes took in the battlefield. “Better hurry. Only lasts until the last darkspawn falls.”

Rook weighed this, but she already knew her answer. She rarely backed down from a challenge, even a ridiculous arbitrary one to. So she grinned as she flipped her mage knife in the air and caught it by the hilt. “You’ve got yourself a bet, warden!” And then she took off.

Rook ran across the field, dodging around massive, uncoordinated darkspawn bodies as she did. Occasionally she would summon a blast of magic or run her blade against a torso, but she was on a different mission now. 

Harding was the farthest out, using her bow to pick off smaller darkspawn, so Rook went to her position on the outskirts first. She didn’t see the moment Harding saw her, but after letting an arrow fly the dwarf asked loudly, “Everything alright, Rook?”

“Couldn’t be better!” Rook said brightly. Harding knocked back another arrow, pulling the bow string taught to the corner of her lip. As soon she she let it fly, Rook took the free space it created and planted a big kiss on Harding’s cheek.

The other woman startled, face flushing. “Wha— Rook!”

Rook laughed but didn’t wait. “Tell you later bye!”

One down. 

Bellara was next, closer to the action but still not in the middle of it, firing great bolts of magic that Rook could feel in her ears. One smaller darkspawn was flanking Bellara as she tried to get her next attack ready, so Rook made herself useful. She jumped, plunging her blade straight down through the top of the creature’s shoulder, near it’s neck. It let out a howl, trying to swipe over its head with the uninjured arm. Rook tensed with focus and sent a pulse of lightning down through the length of the blade. The darkspawn collapsed with a plume of foul smoke rising from its innards.

Bellara was winded, but did not stop. “Oh, wow— thank you, Rook,” she huffed, using the shot she had been preparing on an ogre across the field.

Rook grinned. “You can thank me by holding still just a moment—” She came to Bellara’s side and hooked an arm around her neck. Rook kissed her on the cheek with a loud smack before releasing her.

Bellara giggled. “Oh dear. Oh boy. What are you up to?”

“Just know that I’m winning.”

Her eyebrows drew together in a look Rook was quite familiar with now. “Alright, well, please don’t get hurt.”

Rook offered her a salute as she ran off, hearing the other elf’s giggle following her.

Rook made it a good distance in towards the nucleus of the fight when a loud roar came from her right. She looked over to see an ogre, head down, ready to charge. Before it could, however, Taash came around the beast, smashing down an axe on it’s head. The creature bellowed, thrashing so hard that Taash lost their grip while the axe head remained embedded in the apparently thick-skulled darkspawn.

Looked like her next target was Taash.

The Qunari snarled in annoyance as the ogre stumbled, dazed but not downed. Rook whistled sharply as she ran up from behind. “Taash! Hup!”

Taash looked over their shoulder and, upon seeing Rook, immediately understood. They squatted in a wide stance, one arm braced on their thigh, the other bent with palm out. Without breaking stride, Rook set her boot on Taash’s leg, grunting with the effort of the step up. Taash caught her other foot in mid air and, in combined effort, launched the small elf towards the ogre.

Rook managed to grab one twisted horn, feet scrabbling for purchase against the leathery skin. It started to roar again, shaking its head to get her off, rattling Rook’s jaw. But she released her grip with one hand long enough to grab the axe handle instead and, with her foot braced, yanked it free. A trail of black blood followed, and the ogre grew slower and slower until it collapsed to the ground. Rook hopped off about a foot before impact, rolling away from the body. When she got up, Taash was already there.

“Not bad,” they said with a satisfied smirk. Rook held out the axe to them. As soon as they took hold of it, she yanked down, forcing Taash to bend. She still had to rise on her toes to kiss them on the cheek, even then.

Taash straightened, their lip curled. “Uch. Gross.”

“You’re welcome,” Rook insisted before setting off again.

Neve and Emmrich were fighting nearly back to back, which would make things easier. A quick scan told Rook that the horde had almost thinned out, and her time with it. In spite of her hurry, she approached the other two mages carefully; they were the last people she wanted to catch the wrong side of.

Thankfully, she got to them as the small horde that had tried to take on the two mages fell. She got to Neve first. “Very cool, got to go,” Rook explained hurriedly, pecking Neve on the cheek. Neve just scoffed loudly. Emmrich, who had possibly seen her running around and put together that she was playing a game, was already leaning over so the much shorter woman could kiss his cheek on the run. She heard him chuckle as she continued on.

Five down…

Theoretically, Lucanis would be easiest, since he would be least surprised by Rook kissing him. He would also be the most annoyed that she was doing something stupid, so it was a trade off. The Crow had a gathering of dead darkspawn near him and was facing down a final one. Rook came up behind, reaching around the monster to slit its throat. Lucanis blinked at her sudden appearance. “Where—”

She hooked a finger through a strap of his armor and pulled, leaning over the darkspawn to kiss him. It was only technically on the cheek, catching the very corner of his mouth as she did. When she drifted back, Lucanis was too stunned by the surprise to finish. Rook winked and turned to run.

One left. He probably expected her to forget that he was one such target as well.

Her eyes scanned the field. There was a lone hurlock left shambling. It would be dead in a minute, so that was all the time she had. She picked up speed.

Davrin, who had no more darkspawn around him, saw her coming. She saw the flash of his wicked grin before he started running in the opposite direction.

Rook growled. “I’m faster than you, you bastard!” she yelled. Though he didn’t have to outrun her forever— he just had to stall long enough and she would be duty bound to pick up griffin droppings for a week. And worse: she’d have to admit she lost.

Not on her watch.

She put her head down, running after Davrin like she would a persistent contract mark. His armor and shield weighed him down enough to make up the difference of his head start. His mistake was running parallel to a rock cropping that Rook diverted her direct path for. Just enough height, just enough leverage, if she could catch up before the rock ended…

At the very end of the short cliff side, Rook pushed off with all her might. She caught onto Davrin’s back as he made an audible grunt of exertion, catching herself around his neck with her knees at his hips. She lunged the final inches to plant a kiss on his cheek.

When he whirled around, she remained on his back, and they both witnessed the last darkspawn fall.

Rook thrust one arm in the air, cheering victoriously. Davrin flinched his head away. “Not in my ear, Rook. Come on.”

Her chant turned to smug laughter. “You really thought you were smart, didn’t you?”

“Only smarter than you. It’s a low bar to clear.” He grunted as she once more set her arms like a collar around his neck. “Can you get down now?”

“No,” she pointed in the direction they had come, her knees digging into his sides. “Bring me back to the others!”

Davrin sighed and grumbled under his breath as they returned to their starting point.

Everyone got to the center of the field around the same time, automatically forming a circle. Lucanis eyed Rook holding spider-like to Davrin’s back and sighed. “Do I even want to know?”

“The important thing to know is I won ten gold,” Rook grinned cheekily, “And if you play your cards right, I’ll buy you something pretty.”

He tried not to smirk but Rook caught it anyway. Lucanis diverted by looking around at the others. “We officially have to start separating these two,” he grumbled.

Bellara giggled. “Oh, I like their games! I think they’re funny.”

“Until one of them gets run through,” Neve added.

“That—” Bellara considered, “—that’s true.”

Rook groaned, her head rolling back. “Yes, yes, mothers, I’m aware.”

Neve smiled, one hand on her hip. “Though if you’re going to cause trouble, the least you can do is win.”

“Thank you!”

Lucanis sighed. “Mierda…”

“Don’t blame me,” Neve gestured to Rook with a teasing smile, “You made the choice to be part of her nonsense, you know. ”

Rook peered past Davrin’s head. “Thankfully, I also have this great personality.”

“Yeah, great, now can you get off?” Davrin asked irritably, pulling at her arms like a too-tight scarf.

Before Rook could even answer, Lucanis had circled around to spot, hands up to help her down from the much taller elf. Her urge to annoy Davrin was overruled by her desire to be the focus of Lucanis’s attention; she took his hand and hopped down while the others started to disperse back towards the Eluvians from which they had come.

“You’re ridiculous,” Lucanis murmured affectionately, not for the first time.

“That sounds like the talk of a man who doesn’t want me to buy him a nice dinner.”

He chuckled, glancing up to ensure everyone was distracted. Then he quickly stole a kiss from her lips. “You missed the first time.”

Rook grinned at him, feeling warm all over. “I’ll take that correction.”

“Please don’t get yourself killed doing something stupid."

She tapped his chest. “Only because you asked nicely.” And she kissed him again, not caring who saw.

Chapter Text

Rook had been gone for a week now, and Lucanis had reached the point where he had to acknowledge that he was not handling it well. This was the longest they had been apart since those awful weeks she had been missing in the Fade; having her away was always bound to feel like an echo of that terrible experience, and he had tried to mentally prepare for that. What he hadn’t been prepared for was simply how much he missed her. He hadn’t even realized how inherently her presence had changed the Dellamorte Villa until she was away from it, and now the manor Lucanis had lived in since childhood felt like a strange and hostile place. The halls were too quiet; their bed was too big, too hollow.

Neve had requested help in Minrathous, and he understood why Rook wanted to go. He wanted to help, too, but was tethered by the demands on the First Talon. Or, perhaps more accurately, the demands set forth by his predecessor, Caterina. All Lucanis knew was that the regret had been instantaneous the day Rook left. She was safe, she was well, but he had underestimated the anxiety of not being able to set eyes on her. Even Spite had become sullen in her absence, quietly withdrawn as the days wore on. They made quite a pair.

It had culminated on this day, a whole week later, in Lucanis being in a uniquely foul mood. Caterina had been needling him for days. He had once thought himself immune to her barbs after a lifetime of exposure, but it turned out this was far from true, and there was no one he could sensibly turn to with Rook out of the country. He could talk to Spite, but the spirit did not much care for Caterina on good days and used any excuse to suggest they leave with Rook and never come back. It was a prospect that became more alluring as each day passed, though Lucanis was wary of admitting this even to himself. And he certainly wasn’t about to unburden himself to one of the servants; the Dellamortes paid their staff well, but no one was paid well enough to get entangled in family drama. So he had sequestered himself in the study to be left alone, a request that he reiterated with growing impatience every time a well-meaning member of staff rapped on the door.

It was well after nightfall and he was standing at the desk, leg moving restlessly, when a knock sounded once more. Lucanis pressed his thumb and forefinger into his eyes with a growl that Spite echoed like the hiss of a cat. “I asked not to be disturbed,” he threw over his shoulder to the door coldly.

“Well, gee, pardon the fuck out of me.”

He froze at her voice.

“Came all this way,” she continued teasing as he turned and rushed for the door, “and his majesty can’t be disturbed—”

Lucanis threw the door open to the sight of strawberry red curls and freckles and the most perfect crooked grin he knew. Valkyr de Riva — Rook — back where she belonged.

Naturally, she continued her affect. “Ooh, he deigns to open the door!—”

He did not let her finish as he reached her, catching her face in his palms and drowning out her smug commentary in a desperate kiss. She was giggling as he kissed her over and over, not even stopping to breathe, as if he could live off of nothing but her forever.

“You didn’t tell me you were coming,” Lucanis gasped between movements of his lips, practically speaking the words into her mouth in his desire to get the taste of her back into his blood stream.

“This is what—we commoner's call—” she spoke between occupations, still grinning devilishly, “a surprise.”

He grunted at her making fun of him even though he didn’t really mind. Her witty tongue was something he loved about her, and right now that tongue could do whatever it wanted as far as he was concerned. He just wanted to feel it, feel her. His own tongue barged greedily past her lips, unwilling to wait, and another laugh from her sounded against his teeth.

Lucanis was vaguely aware of an approach coming down the hall, so he gripped Rook by the hipbones and quite literally yanked her inside without once breaking from her. When they were both in the study, the door slammed shut as Lucanis pushed her against it. Everywhere else was simply too far.

Even though she had been the one traveling, it felt like he was the one coming home.

“A girl likes to know she’s been missed,” Rook commented cheekily, every other word devoured by him.

Lucanis let out a huff that sounded suspiciously close to a laugh. “I love you, and I need you to stop talking.” He crowded her against the door as his fingers began deftly plucking apart the criss-crossed ties of her blouse.

She giggled once more and, true to her nature, chose not to heed him. “After I came all this way for conversation and nothing else?”

Lucanis growled once more and drove his knee in between her legs, earning a pleasant sound of surprise. Even through both layers of clothes, he could feel the heat radiating from her. “Nothing else?” He murmured into the hollow under her ear. She shivered from head to toe against him and it was his turn to chuckle. “I missed you so much, mi amor, mi vida,” he breathed, kissing her jaw, her nose, the edge of her lips.

“Well, if I can say one thing—” she leaned her head back, smiling mischievously as her fingers traced against both sides of his jaw, “I missed you, too, my heart.”

Lucanis felt his own heart thunder against his ribcage. My heart. He could call her every beautiful word he knew and would always be floored when she reflected it back to him.

“And if I can say another thing—”

She could not. Lucanis surged against her, pinning her to the door. Her words turned into a groan as she knotted her fingers into his hair. He undid her blouse enough to reveal the soft skin underneath for his mouth to travel over. It was an impossible task to kiss every freckle on her body, but damn if he wasn’t going to try.

“Lucanis, we have a bedroom,” she pointed out giddily as he pressed his lips to the center of her collarbone.

“Too far.”

Rook burst out laughing again, her head rolling back, and Lucanis took the opportunity to kiss the length of her neck, chasing the sound from her throat to her mouth. He bent his knees enough to grab her by the thighs, lifting her so that her legs could hitch at his hips. Her eyes sparked dangerously as she looked down. "Insatiable,” she teased.

“For you? Always,” he nudged her nose with his, “Always, always, mi vida.”

And he intended to spend the rest of the night showing her exactly that it was so.

Chapter Text

This was not their party, and they were not invited. But it was up to them to ensure that wasn’t discovered until the marquis host was dead.

Rook adjusted her mask, tightening the ribbon straining against the outward press of her curly red hair. It was hard to see past, taking up a majority of her face in Orlesian style. Truthfully, it made her claustrophobic; if she were here for fun she would have ripped it off as soon as they crossed the threshold. But this was work, not pleasure, and that meant she had a part to play. The mask secure, Rook lowered her arms and, as soon as she did, found a drink was placed into her hand.

“I can’t stand seeing a beautiful lady without refreshment,” a man she had not noticed before came up to her side. He wore a mask that encased his entire face, typical of Orlesian nobility. The mask had unique properties that could not distract her from the way his eyes slithered down the front of her dress. Ugh.

Rook bared her teeth in a smile. “Well, aren’t you a darling,” she said, imitating the honey sweetness she had been hearing from women all night.

“I don’t believe we’ve met,” he continued, a gloved hand sliding back along his bald scalp with a leathery squeak. “I should remember such an enchanting woman, even masked.”

Rook resisted the urge to mention that if he was lucky, he wouldn’t remember her at all. “I’ve just come to town, actually.”

“With your husband?”

She blinked innocently, as if she couldn’t imagine where this was going while inwardly rolling her eyes. “Why, no— I have no husband.”

“How fortunate for me.”

Sweet Andraste’s tits, this was insufferable. But Rook laughed in the fake, sparkling way Orlesian nobles did, covering her already partially-hidden mouth demurely. It sharpened the predatory glint in the man’s eye, in spite of the fact that she would guess he was old enough to be her father beneath the mask and makeup. “It’s been hard to meet people,” Rook bemoaned. “I haven't even made the acquaintance of the marquis yet.” She nodded to where the man of the hour was looking over his party from the balcony. He was like a haughty king, though this made a pathetic kingdom. “Is that terrible?”

She had left him a wide open door, and he walked through, unaware of the tripwires waiting down the proverbial hall.

“Oh, you really must,” the man gushed, “he is a personal friend of mine. I’d be happy to introduce you, but…” he leaned in, alcohol-soaked breath pooling against her décolletage. “My fee is a walk through the garden with a beautiful woman.” He winked. Rook resisted another eye roll.

Instead, she looked down, glad that her mask made it impossible to tell that she was neither charmed nor blushing. “You’re too kind, sir, I…I would be honored.” Maker, maybe she was laying it on too thick. When Rook raised her eyes to see if he was doubting her, she found the man busy preening like a peacock. There was absolutely no question in his mind that this attention was both earnest and deserved. Truly, Orlesian nobles were a breed unto their own.

He saw her look and thought it his cue to shake his head dramatically. “The honor would be mine.” He scooped up her hand and brought it to where the mouth was molded onto his mask. Undeniably weird. “What is your name, little flower?”

Rook stared directly into his eyes. “My name is Lucana,” she introduced herself frankly, clearly. Immediately, someone behind her let out a sputtering cough. She did not turn around.

The man put a hand to his heart. “Lucana. Exquisite.”

Rook bit down on her lip to keep from laughing, though she supposed it looked like girlish excitement. “And you?”

“Call me Etienne.”

No last name. That could have meant he was lying about his status in society, though the quality of his mask did imply some level of importance. Could have been an old family who had lost their wealth. Of course, there was also a possibility that he didn’t want her to know his identifier for other, more nefarious reasons. To Rook, it really didn’t mattter either way. His role in this would be concluding soon.

He offered his arm and Rook let her hand rest in the bend of his elbow. Etienne then put his hand over hers and this time, with him turned away, she did roll her eyes.

He lead her out into the chilly night where a series of tall hedges indicated the entrance of a grand garden. Etienne rambled about his accomplishments, his giant house, his many horses, with no idea that the little elf on his arm was actually leading him right where she needed to go.

It wasn't exactly a maze, but the hedges hid a myriad of alcoves designed to accommodate a private rendezvous or two. If someone were to, say, scout the garden from above, it would be very easy to plan a route. Which was how they ended up in an offset at the side of the garden farthest away from the manor, faced with three walls of hedges and a single bench.

“Oh dear, looks like we hit a dead end!” Rook said, now sounding thoroughly fake to herself.

“That’s alright, my dear,” Etienne reassured her, turning to face her. Now that she could see his eyes, she recognized the ill intent in them. “You know, I was thinking…to introduce you to the marquis, well…it might be a big deal, after all.”

Rook just stared at him, face serene, even as her affected innocent voice started to drop to her normal pitch. “Is it?”

“I would hate to lose my little flower.” He reached out and touched her cheek with a single finger. “But perhaps we could—”

While he had been speaking, a shadow had formed behind him; it was dark, silent, impossible to make out the features of. From that shadow snaked an arm that wrapped around the noble’s neck from behind and, right when he was about to make his little suggestion, snapped back in a tight squeez. Etienne’s eyes grew wide, whites flashing with fear as he struggled to take in air. He tried to paw at the arm, tried to reach behind his head to disrupt the person there, but he stood no chance. Rook simply stood and watched him, doe eyed, as if she couldn’t possibly understand what had made him go quiet all of a sudden. A blue color flushed down his neck from underneath his mask and, after a moment’s struggle more, the man went completely limp.

The shadow holding the noble let him drop unceremoniously before sweeping off the hood that had covered his face. “‘Lucana’? Really?” Rook giggled, pushing her own mask up so that it rested on the top of her head as Lucanis narrowed his eyes at her. “Not funny.”

“Oh, no, sorry, you’re mistaken:” she reached out and touched his arm, “it's extremely funny.”

Lucanis made the face he always made when he was trying to act annoyed with her, unaware that he was already smiling. “What am I going to do with you?”

“Clearly you need to keep an eye on me. After that display, I simply cannot be left to my own devices.”

He chuckled before kissing her forehead. “I fully intend to.” Remembering the task at hand, Lucanis crouched over Etienne. “This bastard, on the other hand, better hope that I never set eyes on him again.” A purple spark seemed to catch in Lucanis’s eyes, blazing for a moment as a different voice said, “Should kill him. For how he looked at Rook.”

A smile twisted up one corner of Rook’s lips. “Now, Spite, we talked about this.”

The demon grumbled briefly, the sound overtaken by Lucanis’s voice saying, “I thought I would miss the signal, he was yowling so much.”

Rook lifted the hem of her dress as she crouched next to him. “I was never in real trouble. And even if I was—” she took Lucanis’s chin by grabbing the length of his beard between the flat of her thumb and the curl of her fingers, making him look at her as her head tilted to one side. “Why would I ever be worried when I have you two looking out for me?”

She could see it in his eyes when he smiled: the ebb and flow of both Lucanis and Spite. They had gotten so good at living symbiotically at this point, it was always sort of fascinating to watch. Rook gave his beard a playful tug before releasing him, standing back up and smoothing the emerald green satin of her party dress. Lucanis watched the sweep of her hands before returning his focus on untying the mask from their unfortunate bystander. He pulled it none too gently from Etienne, letting the man’s head rise and fall in the dirt. Rook grimaced as she got a good look at his face. Maker knew what he was using to try and make himself look young, but all it did was make him look ancient.

Lucanis passed the mask to her and hooked his elbows underneath the other man’s arms, dragging him behind the bench underneath an overgrown patch of leaves. He was hard to see and, if anyone did spot him, he would look as though he had drunkenly rolled off the bench. Lucanis stepped back to check his work. “We should probably take his valuables. Better he think you robbed him than that you had anything to do with—”

Rook opened her palm, revealing a set of jeweled rings and three silver pieces. Lucanis cut off in a breathy laugh. “When did you even do that?”

She crossed to him, tugging his trousers to deposit the valuables into his pocket. “The better question is when was I notdoing it.” She looked up into his face, “Man was losing stuff all night. Should have been paying attention.”

Rook let her hand linger suggestively and grinned, causing Lucanis to blush so deeply she saw it through the night. It was then juxtaposed by her opposite hand thumping the stolen mask on top of his head. “Better get dressed, your grace,” she teased.

Lucanis fumbled to grab the mask since she had successfully knocked him off kilter. He caught it in his hand, looking at the painted face distastefully before taking up the edge of his cape to wipe the interior of the mask. “I’ll never understand Orlais.” He held the mask in front of his face and Rook giggled at the ridiculousness of the picture.

“Terrifying.”

He lowered it, smirking before studying the edges of the mask. “We may have to break it. That way you can read my lips if we get separated.”

Rook set a hand into the curve of her hip that was accentuated by the tug of the silk. “And you’re sure we couldn’t have just bought a mask?”

Lucanis chuckled. “According to our contact, this is the type of mask they don’t sell. You only get this sort of mask—” he indicated a very specific, intricate pattern that was engraved across the forehead and down the cheek, “—by being from a prominent house. We need it to get past the guards into the manor halls.”

He walked over to the bench, carefully cracking the mask against the edge of the stone, intent, controlled. An asymmetric line crawled spider-like from the left jaw to the right cheek, and Luncais split it with a snap. He once more held it up to his face for examination, and Rook was amazed by how much the thing improved by having Lucanis visible behind it. She crossed to him as he tied the ribbon behind his head, her fingers running along the jagged bottom edge. “Bet you a crown that everyone is going to be breaking their masks for fashion in a month.”

Lucanis smirked. “I think I’d lose that bet.” He pushed the mask to the top of his head, similar to where Rook had left hers. “Let’s head back to the ballroom—”

At the same time, they both heard the sound of a twig snapping under the force of movement. Someone was approaching.

Lucanis quickly shifted back to the bench, taking Rook’s hand. As soon as he sat, he tugged their connection, pulling her into his lap. Rook needed no further guidance and brought her hand to either side of his face and kissed him. She shifted one leg out so that her skirt would provide extra insurance that Etienne would be hidden, still blacked out behind them.

It was a tittering pair that stumbled into the secret space. They would see no faces, nothing suspicious. In the dark they might only catch the movement of Lucanis’s hands against the back of her neck or gripping her thigh. They would only remember the soft whine that echoed from the back of Rook’s throat as though she had no idea there was an intrusion.

“Oh, pardon,” the couple mumbled awkwardly before departing, snickering off into the night. They were likely looking to recreate their own version of the scene somewhere private.

Rook could hear them tumble away, but did not look, instead continuing to focus on Lucanis under her lips. Her hands slipped from his face to the hair at his temples, twirling it loosely around her fingers. Lucanis’s head was tipped back for her. “I think they left—” he started.

Rook gripped harder, her nails scraping his scalp. “They’re definitely still there,” she murmured, her head tilting in the other direction.

She felt his chuckle in her hands. “Rook—” As he opened his mouth to protest, her tongue swept past his lips, making her name dissolve into a groan. It was a sound more potent than any wine in the world. Lucanis’s fingertips dug into the softness of her thighs, pressing against the knife she had secreted below the pretty fabric. She could feel the smile working across his mouth under her attention. “Querida…”

Rook drowned his soft proclamations between parted lips. “Maker’s breath, this garden is positively crawling with people—” she insisted. Lucanis laughed his quiet laugh, dark as his coffee. He forced himself to pull his lips away, even as their bodies remained pressed.

“As pleasant as this is,” he removed one of her hands from his hair to press it to his lips. “We do still have a contract, mi amor. We should probably handle that first.”

Rook pouted as if she were surprised that he was being sensible. “Ugh. Fiiiine,” she relented, her head rolling back dramatically. It earned another chuckle, this time as he nudged his nose against her neck.

“Contract first,” he repeated, “so we can get to the safe house. And then—”

“And then?”

“—I’m going to tear this dress off of you with my teeth if I have to.”

A dizzying warmth flooded her from the top of her head, rushing down to every inch of her from that point, pooling molten in her stomach. She could only stare, lips parted, every word she knew burned out of her mind by the heat. Lucanis just watched the process with a smile, both smug and completely smitten. It was a solid minute before she had enough composure to tug the mask over his face. “Sounds like we should go kill a guy, then,” she spoke with forced calm as she returned her own mask to its place.

Lucanis kissed the edge of her lip that he could reach around the mask and stood, allowing her to unfold back to standing with his support. She felt like a newborn halla for a moment, struggling to get her legs back under her after their interlude. “Feeling alright?” Lucanis asked, now entirely smug.

“I’m going to get back at you for that, you know.”

“I’m counting on it.”

He reached his elbow out to her, similar to the way the Orlesian noble had. Except this time, it was brown eyes warm as the sun sparkling out from the mask, and lips she had memorized smirking beneath. Rook took his arm.

The marquis wouldn’t even know what hit him.