Archive of Our Own ^beta

The Ossuary was covered in blood. Lucanis’s clothes were grimy from the time - months? It had to be long, right? - spent in the cell, being dragged out onto the tables and shoved back into his cell. The prison being underwater helped the days blur into nights. He’d made a valiant attempt to record how much time had passed, but he’d quickly realised none of his wall-scratchings were accurate and all they managed to do was bloody his fingernails.

This was it. Lucanis would either break out, or he’d die. It wasn’t the deal he made with Spite, but even the demon could see it was now or never. The demon was at his side, hissing and spitting at the Venatori as they lunged for Lucanis.

Right- no, your other right!

Lucanis punched the Venatori in the face, sending him sprawling. He had to get out of here. Or he would die trying.

He didn’t know the Ossuary very well, but he’d tried his best to cling to consciousness when they dragged him around after the experiments. He thought he was going the right way, which was better than nothing. First things first, he needed his blood back.

Lucanis managed to fight his way to a small square, a statue in the middle. He’d never paid it much attention. That bit him in the butt now, as a Venatori mage was sat atop it, waiting for him. Spite growled, shielding Lucanis from as much of the ice as possible with his wings, before propelling him up and in the air. Lucanis snatched the mage from the statue, allowing gravity to do its work while he sharply turned their head to the side. Their body went limp and he allowed them to drop to the floor before he settled on it.

More people were running towards him and he braced himself, fists balling up. Was this it? Was this where he’d make his final stand? In some god-forsaken underwater prison, somewhere his family would never be able to find him, never even be able to recover his body? Not just his family, but his-

The people running towards him weren’t clad in Venatori red. They didn’t seem to brandish their weapons, preparing for a fight. They slowed as they approached him.

His heart stopped. The person in the middle came closer, light illuminating their features instantly. Lucanis wouldn’t have needed the light, if he had ever suspected their coming. Lucanis would know him without light, without touch. Lucanis would have known him by the sound of his footsteps, by the intake of breath. By the way he spoke his name.

“Lucanis?”

No! NO! Spite screamed, throwing his hands up and slamming the floor. Spite recognised Lucanis’s only weak point easily, despite never having met him. Lucanis had spent enough time thinking about him, after all. Had spent enough time being tortured by the mere thought of him.

“Ma-Mahanon?” Lucanis’s voice broke. The elf, clad in an armour he didn’t recognise, raised his hand, reaching for him. A heartbreaking smile broke out over his warm face. Even under the sea, Lucanis felt it- as though the sun had suddenly broken through cloud cover. Mahanon de Riva was stood in front of him.

It was cruel, to play this trick. Lucanis flinched, as Mahanon’s hand slowly came to press against his. He stepped backwards, his arms in front of him, as his head whipped around - trying and failing, to find the blood mage conjuring this illusion.

“It won’t work!” He shouted hoarsely, to Mahanon and his crew’s confusion. “I know this isn’t real!”

A dwarf stepped forward, her expression beyond confused. “He knows we’re here to save him, right?”

Mahanon’s dark eyes never left Lucanis’s form, even as he shouted at thin air.

“Lucanis, we-”

He shook his head, violently, even as Spite darted forward.

“They can’t trick me again - not again!” Finally, Lucanis turned, his eyes meeting the dark crescents of Mahanon’s. He had to fight everything inside of him not to sob. Not to run, grab him and hold him tightly. To breathe in the scent of his hair, to feel his warmth slowly seep into his own body.

“This - this isn’t real.” He whispered, because it simply couldn’t be.

Smells real enough. Spite was pressed up against Mahanon’s shoulder, taking in deep whiffs of the confused elf.

Lucanis hissed between his teeth. “Be quiet, Spite!”

“Is he alright?” A new voice, smooth and measured.

“I - I don’t know. Neve, could you heal him?” Mahanon’s again.

When Lucanis looked up, Spite was now in Mahanon’s face, inspecting every inch of him. Pretty.

“Spite-”

I understand, now.

Lucanis’s head hurt. This couldn’t be real.

A place as horrible and tainted as the Ossuary had no place for Mahanon’s light, for his warmth. But they’d done this before. In the early days, before Spite had manifested in sharp teeth and strong wings, they were trying to break his mind. They’d made Lucanis think about him, about the one person he’d tell everything. They’d conjured him up, made it seem as though it was Mahanon’s hand that was cradling his face, plying him with a pain-relieving herbs, asking him for information. He’d done his best to stop himself from spilling any of the Crows’ secrets. Instead, he focused on how much he adored Mahanon. Lucanis had genuinely believed that it would have been the last time to see him. To see the man he had loved since he’d found out what being in love truly meant. After that, Lucanis had stopped trying to remember Mahanon. Spite brought him up every now and then, but as a rule, Lucanis tried to avoid him. It only served to cause more heartbreak. If he ever did get out of the Ossuary alive, Mahanon would never have him again. He would never accept an abomination like him.

Lucanis was just supposed to believe that he was here? Just as he was making a last ditch effort to escape? That was too much of a coincidence. No, it had to be a trick.

Mahanon kept a safe distance, his palms open and raised. As if he was approaching a wounded animal. He wasn’t unlike a wounded animal, truth be told. Mahanon’s heart ached to see Lucanis like this. Apart from the physical changes, the eye circles that had deepened significantly, the beard, the long hair… it was the way he held himself. Hunched over, protecting his vitals. The wild, twitching look about him. And the way he kept hissing and talking to something that wasn’t there.

“Lucanis, do - do you remember me?” He must have done, he’d said his name after all. But small steps were important here. Mahanon stretched his hands out, his arms loosely open. “We’re here to get you out.”

Lucanis’s eyes, blown wide with panic, finally managed to settle on Mahanon’s face.

“And lead me into a Venatori trap, I have no doubt. I know this isn’t real. They can’t trick me again. Not using your face. Not like last time.”

Despite himself, Lucanis allowed Mahanon to step a bit closer. Against his better judgement. His face. Mahanon’s face had changed, it seemed. A few lines were starting to form around his eyes, between his eyebrows. He must have been frowning a lot. Lucanis’s gaze settled on a scar, marring Mahanon’s mouth. The scar was fresh, lightly pink, crossing the right corner of his mouth.

“When-”

Spite took control, in his confusion. Spite crossed the distance, seized Mahanon’s face, pulling him close enough to inspect the wound. “When. Did. This. Happen.”

Mahanon’s face froze from shock, hearing the unfamiliar voice coming out of Lucanis. Not only that, but Lucanis’s eyes! They’d turned from a welcome, gentle dark to a stark purple, almost glowing from the inside. His grip was painful, harsh, twisting his head this way and that to see the scar from all angles. “When?!”

“A-a while ago-” Mahanon’s voice was muffled, his face squished between Lucanis’s fingers.

It took Lucanis an inhuman amount of strength to pull through and to release him. He wrenched away, forcing himself to put space between them. “I’m - I’m sorry-” Lucanis was panting.

Mahanon was stood in shock. “What was that?”

One of the new voices spoke. “He’s been possessed by a demon. He’s an abomination.”

Mahanon turned, shaking his head. “No, he can’t be. Lucanis isn’t a mage.”

The tall woman shrugged. “And yet-”

Lucanis’s arms wrapped around his body, in an almost desperate attempt to hold himself together. “They … forced Spite into me. He didn’t possess me. It’s different, as far as I’m aware.” He didn’t look up, didn’t see the way Mahanon’s hand clapped to his mouth. “We’re stuck, together.”

Spite rolled his shoulders out, hopping from one leg to another. Can I speak now?

Lucanis grit his teeth, shaking his head.

If this isn’t real, then it doesn’t matter!

“It is, if they’re all Venatori and just waiting to strike.” He growled at Spite, glowering.

I would smell the Venatori! You would too. Your eyes would hurt.

That… was true. The tell-tale itch behind his eyes that meant blood magic was afoot wasn’t there. Lucanis turned.

“Mahanon,” he whispered. “How long has it been since - since I’ve been here?”

He was speaking, stilted. Like he’d forgotten how to properly speak. He probably had.

“It’s been almost a year.”

Lucanis’s body physically reacted and he cringed into himself, holding on tightly. Not allowing himself to fracture. A year. A year of torture.

“How are you here?”

His voice got closer as he was speaking, Mahanon slowly coming towards him. “When I went back to Treviso, Caterina confided that you - your body - that she didn’t believe it was truly you.”

The body he had burned, the body he had mourned. The man he’d loved, dead. It had been bad enough that Mahanon had gotten himself sent off a year before that, stopping him from seeing Lucanis again. But then, a year into his exile, Lucanis had died. They’d allowed Mahanon to return for the funeral.

“I thought I’d lost you.” Mahanon’s voice shook. Every fibre in his body was screaming to grab Lucanis, to sweep him away and take him somewhere safe. But touch wasn’t good for the moment. So he balled his hands up into fists and waited for Lucanis.

“I thought I’d never see you again.”

Lucanis shook his head, arms tightening around himself. After two years then, one of exile and one of mourning, how could Mahanon ever want this version of him? This broken, demonic version.

“I am different, now.”

Mahanon’s throat bobbed, stopping himself from speaking. He sensed Lucanis wasn’t done yet.

“Could - would you still want me? Like this?” Lucanis’s body shook. Spite watched, silent for once. “If you don’t, I understand but just tell me-”

Mahanon’s hands were warm when they cradled Lucanis’s down-turned face.

“I’m in love with you,” he murmured. Lucanis’s eyes closed, the warmth of his palms seeping into his skin. It was warmer than he’d felt in years. “I will keep loving you, no matter what. No matter how I find you.”

Lucanis slowly lowered himself, until he was on his knees. Mahanon’s hands didn’t let go of his face. When Lucanis looked up, looking at Mahanon, his hands came to rest on his thighs.

“Is this real?” His exhale was shaky, his eyes blurring with tears. “Please - please, be real.”

Mahanon couldn’t stop himself now. He dropped to the floor so quickly, his knees protested. His hands continued to cradle Lucanis’s face, thumbs smoothing gently over the dark circles that marred his olive complexion.

“Yes. Yes, I’m real. This is real.”

Lucanis’s eyes filled with tears. “I’m so tired,” he whispered, before leaning in and slumping against Mahanon. “I want to go home.”

Mahanon’s arms held him tightly, easily bracing for his weight - though it was a lot less than it used to be.

“Then let’s go home.”

***

Lucanis’s chest rose and fell evenly, though Mahanon knew he wasn’t asleep. He was playing with his hair, gently drawing his fingers through over and over again.

“Lucanis?”

Lucanis’s nose pressed against Mahanon’s jaw. “Yes?”

He let a forefinger curl in the dark thickness of Lucanis’s bread, thoughtfully.

“I think you should keep the beard.”