Chapter Text
It had been a year.
It had been a year and scattered moments and an endless long night with no way out. Lucanis had faced tortures new and old, things the the Crows had taught him of, things rivals and contracts had done to him, tortures of the body and the soul and the mind that he would never forget or forgive no matter how hard he tried.
Spite, though. Spite was new.
He’d never heard of an abomination who wasn’t a mage, and he was certain that whatever was to become of him once he managed to escape, it was not going to be good. Even the Crows had their limits. Even-
Even Caterina had her limits.
Spite snarled in the back of his mind, and he put it from his thoughts. He had managed to kill the guard who made the mistake of getting sloppy with his defenses, and was making his way through the guards in an attempt to get to the tower where they were keeping his blood. If he could just destroy that, and kill Calivan, he could probably escape, and make it back to Treviso. Probably.
He tried not to think of even Treviso as he waded through the guards, killing everyone who got in his way down in this miserably wet pit. To think of Treviso would only distract him, and he could not be distracted if he was going to get out of here alive. Thankfully, after they had fed him Spite, they had stopped physically torturing him, leaving it only to tortures of the mind. Which meant that he only had scars and memories, no active injuries to slow him down.
He had managed to trick some guards into yet another vulnerable position, simply waiting for them to realize it, when the women appeared. At first, Lucanis had been certain they were a hallucination, out of place and totally unlike anything he had seen since well before he had left Treviso for Minrathous that long year ago.
The first woman was clearly a Tevinter mage, white and blue coat with serpent motifs, a mage-knife and a serpentine false leg, aquiline nose and olive skin and put up dark hair. Pretty, polished, and wholly out of place here.
However, it was the other woman who was in charge, who spoke to the Venatori. She was an elf, small, long black hair in a fishtail braid, with-, Lucanis considered, before shaking his head. Her tattoos were not vallaslin, they were griffin themed, an interesting choice, sure to come with a story. She wore sharply winged makeup and lip color in the Nevarren style, with a deep purple full upper lip and a thick bar down the center of her lower lip. Lastly, but probably most important, she carried on her back an axe half again as tall as she was, and didn’t seem to even notice its weight.
The womens’ presence gave him the distraction he needed to kill the Venatori, and he turned to assess the pair of them. “Who are you? Who sent you?”
The warrior took a step forward, but only the one, and spread her hands clear and a little away from her body as though to prove she had no weapon. Lucanis-, appreciated that, actually. “I’m called Rook. Caterina sent me.”
Lucanis’ chest squeezed. “Caterina……” he said to himself, before pulling his mind back to the task at hand and looking the women up and down. “But, you're not a Crow.”
The one called Rook shrugged, and said. “I’m not, but I am the one breaking you out of here. But-,” she stopped and Lucanis felt the question even before she said it. “What are you?”
The other woman spoke up, rich dulcet tones very clearly Minrathan. “Rook, he’s possessed by a demon.”
Lucanis shrugged, too tired and too beyond fighting it. “It’s complicated.”
Rook turned to him, face-, face clear of disgust, only confusion and concern, head tilting to the side in thought. “Caterina promised us a mage-killer if we broke you out of here.” she said slowly.
Lucanis could feel the shivering in his bones the longer they were talking and tried to push it down. Mage killing. Venatori. That sounded perfect. “I can still work.”
Rook nodded. “Good because I’m pretty sure there are more Venatori on their way, we have to get moving.”
The shivering was getting worse. Lucanis pushed it down harder. “They have a vial of my blood,” The Tevinter woman hissed. “They can use it to control me. I cannot leave it in their hands. And……I had a contract when I was captured. One of my targets is here. Calivan. Crows don’t break contracts.”
Rook nodded, pressing her lips together tightly. “Alright, we’ll help. In return, I have a contract for you, one that we can discuss once we leave.”
Lucanis managed to pull a smirk from somewhere. “I’ll owe you.”
Rook smiled tightly back at him. “I’m sure we’ll owe each other before this is all over. Let’s go.”
She led him and her friend back out the way they came in, asking him the specifics of his contract, the locations, the space, getting him up to speed on how things had changed in even the brief time that he had been wading through guards in the bowls of the Ossuary. They fought their way through Venatori, and somehow he managed to be witty and normal and ignore the shivering in his bones, and Spite’s constant presence in the back of his mind.
In return, he explained what Zara and her people were doing here, what they had intended with him, and what they had done to so many innocents down here in the dark.
They got back to the destroyed bridge and both women looked to him expectantly. He started to assess the surrounding area, looking for handholds, something, anything, when Spite spoke up in the back of his head. I can. Close by. In the Fade. Pull it through. What? Can get us past. Tell them. Tell Them! “What are you-, Fine! He says he can get us across.”
The women looked to each other before Rook turned to him, question in her eyes. “And who is ‘he’?” she asked.
Lucanis scoffed. “The demon.” he said. “He says there’s something here, something he can grab hold of in the Fade. It’s close.”
Rook nodded and gestured him through and Spite-, it worked. Whatever he did, it got them through. They fought Venatori and demons and got his blood and got his contract and it-, it worked. At the end of it all he stood over Calivan’s body and he felt a sudden awful flash of fear as he smelled his own blood and felt Calivan’s hands burn him. He pulled a smirk from somewhere. “The Crows send their regards.”
Rook walked over to him and said, “So! We got your target.”
Lucanis nodded, even as his mind, his heart, screamed in denial. It couldn’t be that simple. Could it? “Yes. The job is done.” The words tasted like ash in his mouth, like whatever it was that they gave him with Spite writhing inside it. And as though thinking about him called him into being, the demon in question flickered in next to him, sniffing the air around him. Smells like blood. Ashes. Not done. Not yet.
Rook turned to him, face open with concern. How could she be worried? They were strangers, he was a paid assassin, he killed people for a living. “Lucanis, are you alright?”
He didn’t answer, keeping half an eye on Spite.
Her brow furrowed. “Lucanis?” She asked again. “What are you looking at?”
Spite grinned at him, teeth blackened and ashy, before turning to sneer at Rook. Careful. They know. We’re not right!
Lucanis turned to Rook, suddenly aware. “You cannot see him! I had wondered.”
Rook frowned at him, soft green eyes bright with worry and a hundred other things that he couldn’t piece together, wasn’t clear headed enough to piece together. “We clearly have a lot to discuss.” She said softly. “But-, perhaps someplace else? Someplace with sun?”
Sun. It had been a year since he’d seen the sun. The thought alone nearly brought him to his knees, and it took all his will and strength to remain upright, let alone keep his expression calm. “Agreed,” he said, after he thought he could keep his voice even. “I think it’s time I got some air.”
Rook nodded, and together the three of them walked from the Ossuary. It would be alright, Lucanis thought. The end was in sight. He was going home to Treviso, he could speak to Caterina, he would make good on whatever contract she wanted him to complete for Rook, and everything would be alright.
—-----------------------------
It was the furthest it could possibly be from alright.
Lucanis sat on the cot one of the ladies had found for him in their Lighthouse, their Fade Fortress, as he considered the past day.
He had escaped the Ossuary. He had gotten out of the deep, dark hole he had been stuck in for that endless, awful year, only to find that Caterina, First Talon of House Dellamorte, his grandmother, had been killed by the very Venatori who had put him in that hole in the first place! That Antaam were occupying his city, that there was war and gods and Blight and that it all needed killing, and that in order to remove Spite, he would probably have to die.
That didn’t even speak to Teia and Viago, who looked at him too clearly, who could see him too clearly. Illario of course had stalked off to go and start pulling together Crows to hunt for Zara, hardly looking at him at all, but Teia and Viago had pulled him aside before he had left for this Lighthouse of Rook’s, making sure he he had his own things from the villa, his clothes, his grooming kit, everything he would need for a long sojourn outside Treviso.
The care that they showed him in that dark alcove was already a balm to some of his fears, but when Teia had blessed him with the traditional kiss to each cheek, and one to his forehead, with the solemn request to ‘Come home safe this time, Lucanis’, he could not help the wetness in his eyes, though he was thankfully able to stop the tears that wanted to fall.
The thought made Lucanis chuckle a little. Viago and Teia had looked so genuinely alarmed, that if he had cried, he didn’t think Viago would have let him leave Treviso. But they had each embraced him gently, which was not traditional, even for them, who had trained together as children, before sending him off with Rook.
Lucanis pulled himself back to the present as Spite flickered into his field of vision, pacing like a caged animal back and forth in the width of his little space. You didn’t let me talk to her.
Lucanis sighed, rubbing his eyes. Which her, Lucanis sniped back at the demon, You have to be more specific. There are four of them.
Spite turned to him and snarled. Rook! I wanted! To Talk! To! ROOK!
With his shout, Lucanis’ nose started fonting blood again, which he thankfully had a handkerchief for now. He quickly stopped up his nose. No! You cannot talk to Rook. She is busy, and she doesn’t need to be bothered with you. Spite snarled and continued to pace.
Lucanis looked at him in confusion. Why do you want to talk to her so badly, what about her is so fascinating?
Spite turned to him, sneering. Have not seen a Warden. Woman and Warden and Warrior. Elven, small, lean, but strong. Anger, Fury, burning bright, but tempered.
Spite flickered out of existence, before flickering back again, this time much closer to him, the demon leaning over him so that they were practically nose to nose. A woman, a beauty but a blade, a blade so sharp it can’t be felt, The Blade that Gifts Eternal Life.
Lucanis frowned at Spite, doing his best not to lean away from the demon, although they both knew he wanted to, deliberately ignoring the first half of the comment. The Blade that Gifts Eternal Life. What does that mean, Spite? Where does that come from?
Spite sneered, teeth black like old blood. It is old. The Blade of the Executioner.
Lucanis’ blood turned to ice, and he suddenly felt exhausted. An Executioner’s blade. Of course. Well, I am in good company at least.
Spite laughed, and started pacing again, muttering in his singsonging way. You are not ready.
Lucanis laid down, trying to ignore him, which was stupid, so stupid, because he came to himself back in the Ossuary, Caterina standing over him, knife in hand, Zara’s poison pouring from her lips, and it was only the beginning.
—----------------------------
He spent the next several days acclimating to his new surroundings while the ladies, though Harding objected strenuously to being called such, went out and aided Arlathan Forest and Minrathous’ Dock Town as best as they were able. He began to train again, started his full stretching regimen and picked up his knives again, which felt so right he could hardly breath some days. He explored the Lighthouse, which was deeply fascinating and deeply concerning in equal measure. Lastly he took in the state of their kitchen, which was-, sorry, to say the least.
There were-, mishaps. Potato Stew Night, for example, or the fact that he forgot that not everyone was a Crow, or trained to pay attention to their safety in such ways, and startled Bellara more than once by coming up behind her too quietly. The last time he had done it, she had shrieked and swung the frying pan she’d had in hand at him, which he would prefer not to repeat.
But there were enjoyable things too. Neve was actually very pleasant company, and had been the one to suggest hiring him, of all people. They spoke of their distaste of the Venatori, and of long nights on stakeouts and what they did to make time pass by.
Bellara was also a source of interest, as once she had found out Lucanis could cook, she came to him constantly with ideas for recipes, different spice mixes, food ideas, combinations that he would never have thought of. It was fascinating, no one, not even other Crows, had ever been so excited about his passion for cooking and good food.
And then of course, there was Rook.
Rook was a deeply fascinating woman. She was an unmatched warrior, certainly at least by the company offered here, with a seemingly endless wellspring of patience for questions and discussion. He would catch her regularly discussing next steps, issues in Arlathan and Dock Town, even some sort of elven artifact Bellara had discovered in the ruins that she was trying to fix. It was clear that she may not have the answers, or even know the path, but she asked good questions, thought deeply through a problem. And she was a passable cook, at least, nowhere as skilled as Bellara, but she was probably teachable, at least. Certainly more passable than Harding or Neve.
All of this he witnessed as the ladies came and went on missions, and he regained his strength and muscle mass from a year in the Venatori’s prison. They were all still getting to know each other, and the process was-, slow. Harding was wary of him, concerned about Spite, as was Neve. Bellara was less concerned, more excited to have another cook in the Lighthouse’s kitchen. And Rook-,
Lucanis was unsure of what to make of Rook. She kept her distance, but was friendly, open and easygoing, every time they met in the halls or spoke. It seemed more that she was being solicitous than distant, more conscientious of his needs than afraid of Spite. He swirled his cup of coffee, considering Rook yet again, when he heard a knock on the pantry door and the voice of the woman in question. “Lucanis?”
He smirked a little. As though he had summoned her. “Come in, Rook.”
She walked in, leaving the door open behind her, and only stepping a bit, so as not to crowd him. She was very careful of his personal space, which Lucanis was more grateful of than he could say. She looked around, amused. “You know,” she began, “We have other spaces. Spaces with light, windows. Why do you-,”
Lucanis interrupted, knowing where this was going. “Why does an assassin want a room with one entrance that has good choke points?”
Rook stopped, mouth slightly open, before she closed it, grinning sheepishly. “Well, I suppose that answers that question.” Her expression grew serious. “Teia sent us a message, there’s trouble in Treviso. I thought as our resident Treviso expert, you would want to come along.”
Lucanis stood immediately, heart squeezing in his chest. A first impression, albeit a small one. A chance to prove his grandmother’s trust not misplaced. “Of course. I’ll get my things.”
Rook’s brow furrowed ever so slightly. “Take your time. It’ll be you, me, and Neve, so that we blend in a bit better. We can go whenever you’re ready.”
—-----------------------------------
In the end, the job with the qamekmaster was like Crow freefall training, easy, exhilarating, and not easily forgotten. Although he could have done without the loss of the scout. Dareth was young, too young for him to have really known, but it was still a loss of a Crow, and now his Fledgling cousin was alone in the world, which was a feeling that Lucanis knew all too well.
The talk with Ivenci could have gone better as well, although Lucanis himself thankfully didn’t have to be involved with that particular nonsense. He wandered around the Diamond a little, reconnecting with those Crows present who he had known before his imprisonment, and simply reveling in breathing in the clean Treviso air.
As he took to the balcony, he spotted Rook out of the corner of his eye, and the Fledgling they had rescued, Jacobus. She was speaking to him in a low voice, and Lucanis slipped closer, taking a position in a hidden alcove to see what she was saying.
Rook reached out and gently placed a hand on Jacobus’ shoulder as he turned away from her, face tight and twisted up, fist clenched tight at his side. “How do I keep going?” He said, and Lucanis’ heart squeezed.
Rook sighed, and smiled at Jacobus gently. “What was something Dareth said to you, that you loved? Or something that made you laugh? Think about those things, even if they hurt for now. Think about the cousin who loved you, and know that you live because he loved you, and you live because you deserve to live, Jacobus.”
Jacobus sniffed sharply. “But it’s so-, I don’t want to, Rook.”
Rook nodded. “I know. It’s so hard, sometimes, to get up, every day, and keep going. But you deserve to, Jacobus. The Antaam killed Dareth. They don’t get to kill you, too.”
Jacobus’ breath shuddered sharply, and he froze, before striking out to wrap his arms around Rook, shoulders shaking as he wept into her leathers.
Spite flickered in next to Lucanis, smug. A blade so sharp it cannot be felt.
Lucanis looked to Spite, eyes wide, before turning back to the tableau before him. Ah. An executioner’s blade? A Hessarian Blade, maybe. A Blade of Mercy. He smiled and made his way back to where he had seen Neve haggling with the Crow’s supplier. Maybe he was starting to understand.