Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

A year. It had been almost a year.

                They were supposed to be home by now.

                Viago de Riva crossed his arms tightly across his chest as he looked down over the banister at the crowd of casino-goers below. The merry hum of laughter and conversation only prickled at his ill humor, and he turned away with a dissatisfied sigh. He strode back to the table he and the casino’s mistress shared as a makeshift desk, glad to see the woman was not there. The hour was late, and he was tired – the man was in no mood to trade barbs. Their return to form had been characteristically steamy, and lasted a good seven or eight months this time, too, before the playful banter had turned back into genuine bickering and the Talons had split yet again. He ruffled through the small stack of paperwork he had left for the day, but the spark of hope the action once held had long since fizzled out. No news was no surprise to him anymore.

                This job was supposed to be simple. Find and kill one mad elf with a god complex. How difficult could that possibly be? He had known the international trip would take time in travel alone, and travel into Venatori territory was always a risk in its own right. But despite, or, more likely, because of Varric’s stories about men turned to stone with a single look and his hardline insistence that the man he called Solas truly was the elven god of lies, he really had not thought much of the actual contract. The more reports Belladonna sent back, though, brief as they always were, the more Viago had begun to worry. The dwarf’s initial claim that their job was in Minrathous had quickly turned into a detour to Kirkwall, a stop in Ferelden, a jaunt across the border to Orlais, and then another trip back across the Waking Sea to Ostwick before the elf and their dwarven companions began to work their way across the coast towards their initial target. The closer they had gotten to the Tevinter border, the fewer of their reports returned. It had been six months since he could be reasonably sure he had gotten a letter through to them. No reply had ever come.

                He dropped heavily into one of the upholstered chairs, picking up the report on the top of the stack and trying to summon his focus. Disturbances in Arlathan Forest? There were always disturbances in Arlathan Forest.

                He had called them an idiot.

                Viago dropped the report, sighing heavily and scrubbing at his face, feeling the straps of the archer’s half gloves has taken to wearing since the invasion had worsened catching at hairs in his beard. Though he loathed the way they left skin exposed, his usual gloves would snag on the bowstring, and more Antaam in Treviso meant more need for poisoned arrows flying in the dark… 

                He had opened with it.

                He dropped his head into his hands, cheeks burning as he remembered the last letter he had sent. Even then, he could tell it sounded out-of-character and desperate, addressed to ‘Idiot’, swinging wildly between scolding and insulting them and nearly begging them to be safe and get the job done and just come home. He had sent it anyway. No reply had ever come.

                Would those be the last words he ever said to them? Had they gotten them at all? Contact had been cut off completely since they crossed the Tevinter border, and it had been six long months of silence. Barely two months in, he had started becoming increasingly bad-tempered, no longer able to keep his doubts from turning every mood sour and every tone biting. Most of the Crows around him had attributed it to the worsening occupation of Treviso and gave him a wide, respectful berth as much as possible. Teia had known better, but had not cared much about the why.

                “I don’t care how worried you are about your little exile, you’re being an ass, Vi,” she had spat, one hand on the knob of his bedroom door, “and if you treat your right hand the way you treat me, don’t be surprised if it leaves you, too!”

                And so, the Talons had broken up once more, and had resumed the other of their two games – diving headlong into work and pointedly avoiding each other whenever possible, and quietly simmering in barely-restrained hostility whenever it was not. For his part, the Fifth Talon had spent the day doing an admirable job of the former, but his stack of reports was rapidly dwindling, and soon, it would be time to leave the Diamond before its owner finished whatever job she had found to occupy her evening and returned to it. He sighed, picking up the next of the documents.

                His work was soon completed, and Viago had swept down the zipline and made his way home with all the cheer of a pallbearer. The idea of going back to a cold, empty house held little appeal. He had been better at this, once - but he had been younger once, too. The double doors swung upon his approach, and he made his way silently up the staircase to his private area of the villa. He approached the door of his bedroom and froze, frowning. Beyond the door, he could hear the gentle crackle of the fireplace. He had not asked the servants to have the fires lit. It was unseasonably cool for fall in Treviso, and he had taken to wearing a hooded cloak atop his armor – but his staff knew better than to enter his chambers without express permission. He drew a single dagger, then pushed the door open, bracing.

                Teia Cantori sat with her legs curled beneath her on the velvet-covered bench at the foot of his bed, gently swirling a glass of claret as she stared absently into the fire. He narrowed his eyes at the bottle sitting on the floor beside her, an empty glass accompanying it.

                “A glass of my claret,” he mentally corrected; as if hearing his disapproval, the elven woman looked up at him and smiled.

                “Finally, Vi, I thought you’d make me wait all night. Was she pretty, at least?”

                The Fifth Talon scowled down at her, sheathing his weapon.

                “Why are you here?”

                “Agh, spoilsport,” Teia griped, sipping her glass of his expensive wine. “So, she was ugly?”

                “Andarateia,” he growled, unamused.

                The elf shook her head, finishing her wine and pouring herself more. “This is excellent, you know. You really should have a glass.”

                “I do know, which was why I was saving it for a special occasion.”

                “I think tonight is worth celebrating,” Teia said, smiling at the fluted crystal in her hand as it caught the firelight.

                “And why is that?”

                “I have news.”

                Viago sucked in a quick breath, taking an involuntary step forward.

                “What?”

                “A letter came in my private correspondence a week ago, asking for a meeting, a favor for a friend. I wanted to make sure it was genuine before I brought it to you, and it is. Bella’s coming home.”

                “What?” he replied, louder than before. “They’re – they wrote to you?”

                “Yes, goodness, I told you I made sure,” the elf replied, rolling her eyes. “It was them. Evidently, they want some help finding a specialist in killing mages.” She took another sip of her wine, returning her gaze to the fire. Viago staggered forwards another step.

                “They wrote to you.”

                She looked back up at him, her golden eyes sparkling.

                “Yes.”

                “They are coming back to Treviso.”

                “Yes, Vi. They’re coming home.”

                The man’s breath hissed out through his teeth, jaw loosening a fraction.

                “When?”

                “Tomorrow.”

                “Tomorrow? Why didn’t you tell me?”

                “I did tell you. If you want your news sooner, you should be nicer to your friends.” The elf lifted her glass to her lips again, poorly concealing a self-satisfied smile. “Speaking of which, did you know Varric was one of the captives they freed when they went rogue against the Antaam? What a small world. Now, do you want that wine?”

                He narrowed his eyes at her, a muscle in his jaw leaping dangerously. “Get out.”

                “Viago de Riva, you’re no fun anymore.”

                “Out.”

                Teia rolled her eyes, finishing her wine before standing and placing the empty glass on the mantlepiece. She turned to him, opening her mouth; he raised his eyebrows in challenge, and she closed it again, her expression melting into a small, genuine smile. She left wordlessly, and he watched her clear the hall before locking the door behind her. He braced one hand against the wood, leaning there for a moment as he gathered himself. Then he turned, withdrawing a test kit from his new belt. He trusted Teia more than most people alive, but that was hardly the highest of bars. He poured a splash of the wine, then dropped a few drops of a clear reagent onto the edge of the glass. He swirled it, watching carefully; when no reaction came, he dropped a bit into the wine. Still, nothing. He tapped a bit of whiteish powder into the liquid, swirling again. Once again, the wine remained constant, its color unchanging and no bubbles rising. He almost smiled before tossing the tested sample into the fire and pouring himself an unpolluted glass. No poisons, no emetics, not even a bitterant on the rim of his glass. Clearly, the Seventh Talon was not quite so angry as she made herself out to be.

                He leaned against the mantle, staring into the flames as he sipped at the claret in his glass. He savored the mouthful of wine, rolling it over his tongue before swallowing. It was excellent. Viago had always had a penchant for dry, full-bodied reds, and this one never disappointed. He was glad he had bought more than one bottle, though it had been a stretch to his finances when he had done so. One, he had opened the night he became Fifth Talon. The second, he was drinking now.

                “We can open the last one together tomorrow night.”

 The thought rose on impulse, and Viago huffed out a cheerless laugh. It did not seem very likely. A lover who ran from your side before you woke did not generally run back to it to curl up by the fire with an old Antivan red…

He took another slow sip of the wine, chasing the thoughts away with its pleasant astringency. Even putting his own foolish notions aside, the elf’s return was still news worth celebrating. They were a good Crow, and a credit to their House, if they were returning to the fold, certainly their contract must be completed. He had taught them better than to turn back up with work still undone. But if they had finished their contract and killed that Dread Wolf, why would they need to bring in a mage killer? Moreover, they were a mage. Why couldn’t they do it? He frowned at the fire, brows furrowing together. He raised his glass again, taking a much deeper drink than was entirely appropriate of a wine that outranked him in years. Tipping the crystal’s base to the ceiling, he finished the glass, then turned back to pour another, fuller glass, emptying the bottle. He set the glass down on the mantle beside Teia’s and paced across his room to the door, double checking the locks there, then did the same with the balcony, ensuring the room was secured before he was too in his cups to do so. Getting drunk was possibly his least favorite way to shut his worries down, but it was still a way. Locks checked, he crossed to his wardrobe and opened the drawer of jars and bottles there. It did not take long to find the one he sought.

“Three Sheets,” his handwriting proclaimed, and he carried the little bottle back to his cup, letting precisely three drops fall into his cup before pulling back and replacing it in its spot in the wardrobe. He returned to his wine, taking a strong sip of the now-fortified beverage before he could lose his nerve. It tasted the same, as he had known it would, and he sighed, casting his gaze to the fire. They had asked for meeting, Teia had said. A meeting with whom? Himself, clearly, given the woman had bothered to tell him at all. Herself, clearly, given Belladonna had written to her in the first place. He scowled at the thought. Since when did they report to Andarateia Cantori, and not Viago de Riva? If they needed a Talon’s influence, why not his?

His face began to flush, and he took another deep drink of his drugged wine before tugging at the collar of his cloak with one hand until he loosened it enough to yank the garment over his head and toss it onto bench behind him. Viago cracked a sly, proud smile at the fire as he felt the influencing potion rapidly taking effect, swirling the drink and cocking his weight onto one hip. Never let it be said he was not good at his work.

They were coming home.

It felt impossible, surreal. After six months of utter silence, he had almost fully given up on Belladonna ever returning to the Crows. He had begun to think their initial assessment had been correct, and he had shipped them off to Tevinter to die. Over and over, he had dreamt that he found them already cold - in the street, in the Diamond, in Minrathous, in his bed - and yet, they were coming back to him. They were coming home.

He raised the wine to his lips again, trying to think past the way his head swirled. He knew there would be practical considerations to make upon their return – post-contract reports to be written and filed, praise to be given, long-term assignments within Treviso to be found…

 He blinked for a moment, looking down at his wine and fighting the urge to release a peal of giggles. Barely two minutes from first dose to intoxication - never let it be said he was not good at his work. He sighed happily instead, taking another long sip.

Tomorrow, Belladonna would be in Treviso again. Tomorrow, they would be back within his reach, somewhere he could keep them safe, somewhere he could do something. Tomorrow, they would be close enough that he could finally tell them how the last year had aged him by twenty, how his whole world turned on its axis whenever they were near, how he’d do anything at all if it meant he’d see them smile-  

                He sipped his dosed drink again, feeling himself blush guiltily down at the glass before he tipped it back on impulse, draining the remaining wine. He wiped at his mouth with the back of his free hand, setting the empty glass down on the mantle beside Teia’s once more. Despite what he had once hoped, the last year had not made him braver. Unless he got three sheets to the wind again tomorrow night, he would not be saying any of that – and anyway, all that was assuming he spent any part of the evening with them at all. They would be tired from the trip; they might not have the energy. They might never want to waste time on him again. They might not have thought of him once.

                His lips pulled down into a hard line. So much for not going in circles all night. He staggered to the end of his bed, clumsily stripping out of his leather and tossing the pieces onto the bench to join his cloak. He pulled off one boot, then the other, hopping awkwardly a bit as he did. Stripped to his shirt and underclothes, he stumbled to bed, falling flat onto the coverlet. He rubbed his flushed cheek into the cold material with a satisfied sigh, letting his eyes fall closed as the room spun around him. Tomorrow was tomorrow’s problem.

                That problem came sooner than he would have liked. It felt like mere moments after he closed his eyes that they were opening again with the Chantry bell’s first distant chime. He grumbled, but rolled out of bed, scowling at the headache that pounded behind his brow. It was an annoyance, and an unnecessary distraction, and it served him right. Despite the brewing hangover, though, he got ready for the day more quickly than usual, moving with an odd, nervous energy. Viago’s long fingers tweaked at his moustache again as he fretted in the mirror, resisting the urge to add more wax. It looked fine. It looked exactly like it always did. Why did he still feel half-undone?

                He glanced over his vanity, replaying each step in his mind, trying to discern what was missing. His eyes paused on one of the bottles. It was not dusty, and that was a testament to the quality of his staff – he knew that their regular cleanings were the only time that the product had moved recently. He hesitated a moment, fingers twitching, then reached forward. The warm, familiar teakwood and spice of his cologne filled the air as he sprayed it on, and for the first time in almost a year, the scent was genuinely pleasant. Satisfied, he pulled on his gloves and headed off to work.

                Teia Cantori made a habit to be a near-constant presence at her Diamond, and as usual, she was already planted at their joint workspace when he arrived. She looked up as he approached, and Viago bristled, preparing for their battle of wits to begin for the day.

                “Oh, good morning, Vi! You’re here earlier than usual.”

                The Fifth Talon blinked at the elf for a moment, disarmed by the lack of malice in her tone.

                “Good morning, Andarateia.”

                “Ready to get started?” She asked cheerily, scanning one of her morning reports.

                “Indeed.”

                The woman didn’t reply, humming a small sound of acknowledgement as she read. Following her example, Viago started on his own stack of paperwork. He skimmed the document on top, trying to absorb the details between ever more frequent glances at the entrances. His counterpart chuckled under her breath, and he looked over at the sound.

                “Expecting someone?”

                The man did not dignify that with a reply, but from the way the woman snorted, he did not need to. Since she had raised the topic, though, he might as well seize the opportunity.

                “What time is that meeting you mentioned?”

                “Oh, not for hours yet. My friend thought it wiser not to show their face around town in full daylight.”

                Viago swallowed, keeping his face carefully neutral to hide the disappointment he felt. He had waited a year; he could wait until…

                “What time?”

                “Goodness, you’re pushy. We didn’t set one. Once it’s dark, I’ll go meet them near the market. If you’d like, you can get the others, and we’ll all talk business here. Alright?”

                “Alright,” the man sighed. “Who are the others?”

                Teia grinned slyly, but the mischief in the expression did not light up her eyes quite how it usually would. Internally, he frowned at the oddity, filing it away for later.

                “You’ve met.”

                That evening, as he stood beside the First Talon and her grandson, Viago de Riva found himself less than thrilled with his ex’s talent for understatement. Of all the ways to refer to the sole members of the Crow’s leading House, had it been him asking, ‘the others’ would not have been the one he chose. The upper floor of the Diamond had been emptied out for their meeting, and the trio waited in near-deafening silence for its mistress to return. Caterina Dellamorte was as perfectly stoic as ever, her back straight and her one hand resting gently atop her cane; her grandson, Illario, just looked bored, picking idly at a speck of dirt beneath his fingernails. Viago rested one hand on his hip, projecting a confidence he did not feel. For all the ideas spinning in his head, he simply could not sort Teia’s behavior out. Why would she not tell him they were meeting with the Dellamortes sooner – and if his protégé needed a mage-killer, why would she call them? Lucanis was gone. Surely Teia did not intend to provoke the First Talon by rubbing salt in that wound; she loved the woman like family. There had been an omission in her eyes, not outright treason. Had they been the one who requested this?

                At that moment, the Seventh Talon walked briskly through the open archway, coming to stand beside him. She nodded deferentially at Caterina, who returned the gesture with a serene slowness. He fixed his eyes on the doorway, sucking a long, even breath in through his nose. Teia glanced up at him for a moment, but said nothing, then turned back to the entrance.

                Belladonna de Riva sauntered into the room. Viago thought his heart might stop altogether.

                They projected ease, but they were too skinny, too pale, and there was a pair of new scars on their forehead. They were wearing a set of ugly, ill-fitting armor, not the Crow leathers they had earned, and from the way their violet eyes widened when they landed on the woman in the chair, they had not requested a meeting with her directly. His breath caught in his throat, a ball of emotion having formed there.

                They were breathing, and in arm’s reach. They were home. They were alive.

                “Did you finish that contract? To stop the Dread Wolf?” he asked, cringing internally at his own tone. That had come out much more roughly than he had intended…  

                Belladonna looked up at him, eyes bright.

                “Hello, Viago,” they said, and their voice was a revelation. They were here. They were perfect. They were alive. He would never be cross with them again.

“…and it’s complicated,” they finished, smiling sheepishly.

                They had not finished it.

The Fifth Talon scowled.

Chapter Text

                “How many times do I have to tell you?” Viago spat down at the elf, no longer worried about his brusque tone. “Crows always finish the job.”

                His protégé’s aura of professional confidence did not waver, but their smile no longer touched their eyes.

                “We just can’t take initiative, right? My run-in with the Antaam taught me that.”

                Their voice was level, but there was a spiteful undercurrent in the words that made his blood run cold. On the night of the incident, they had apologized for acting out against Antiva’s occupiers.

                “And still, you just couldn’t let it go,” his critical mind sneered, recalling his last letter. “No wonder they never wrote back.”

                “Don’t let him scold you too much. Vi was worried about you,” Teia teased, breaking the tense silence. He flushed at his fellow Talon’s sudden honesty, looking down for a moment to calm his reddening cheeks. He cleared his throat awkwardly, hoping they could just move on.

                “Rook, this is Caterina Dellamorte,” he said.

“Idiot,” he thought, cringing internally. Why would he introduce her like that? Objectively stupid alias be damned, Rook was still a de Riva. Even if the two had not met, Belladonna would know who the woman was.

“The First Talon. I’m honored,” they replied, confirming. They glanced up and down at the egregiously ornamented fop standing beside her, assessing. “Which makes you…”

“A second-rate assassin dressed up like a third-rate courtesan,” his bitter mind added, and Viago ground his teeth, willing himself to focus – even if he was right.

“Illario Dellamorte. Her grandson. What brings you here?” the man answered, charming as always, but he lingered on the ‘here’ a bit more than necessary. It was a small thing, yet still, it changed the meaning; it hinted at insult, it insinuated that his Crow did not belong here, in Illario’s lofty presence. A muscle twitched in his jaw, and Viago fought the impulse to scowl at the man. He had never much cared for the youngest Dellamorte. 

“Right,” the elf replied casually, unphased by the man’s attitude. She met the First Talon’s gaze, addressing the woman directly. “My targets are a pair of elven gods- or that’s what they call themselves. They’re ancient blighted mages.”

He looked down at the woman standing beside him, alarmed. A pair? Since when were there two of them?

“I need our best. The man who brought blood mages and the Venatori to their knees.” They glanced over at Teia, teeth flashing in an open, easy grin. That unsubtle muscle in his jaw leapt again. What in Andraste’s name were those two doing?

“Lucanis,” Caterina confirmed, much more calmly than he had expected.  “My grandson. They called him ‘the Demon of Vyrantium’. He was the one who did those jobs.”

“Exactly who we’re after,” his protégé replied easily, not losing their smile.

“Except Lucanis Dellamorte is dead,” he quickly corrected, glancing back and forth between them and the woman seated before them. “He was killed a year ago.”

For a moment, the room went silent. The First Talon’s mouth twitched to one side, and she tapped her fingers on her cane, clearly considering something. Viago looked down at Teia, then over to his former student. Both elves’ expressions had gone carefully neutral, too neutral, and there, in Belladonna’s bright, gem-purple eyes, was a lie of omission. His gaze darted between the pair, searching desperately for some other tell as his paranoid mind went wild.

“What do you all know that I don’t?”

“What I say doesn’t leave this room.”  It never, never would have. Caterina knew that. They all knew that. She had restated it anyway.

Viago’s heart began to pound.

“The body our people brought back was not my grandson. It was dressed in his clothing, but it had been altered with blood magic to have his face.”

                He glanced away in surprise, and Illario physically recoiled, shifting tensely on the spot. Teia, though, did not react, and he scowled. She already knew. Why did she already know?

                “My cousin is still alive? And you didn’t think to tell me?” the younger Dellamorte hissed, glaring down at his grandmother.

                It made perfect sense. The First Talon held her rank for a reason.

                “His ship was attacked. We knew someone sold him out… so you kept your suspicions to yourself.” He glanced down at the floor, almost smiling in approval.

                “But you’ve brought it up now. Why?” Belladonna asked, and the question in their tone might well have fooled someone else – but not the man who had taught them how to lie so well.

                They had come to get a mage-killer, and they had known before ever setting foot in the Diamond that they would have one, even if they had to claw him from his very grave. They had always had an iron will; something had turned it into steel.

                “What happened to you out there?” he wondered, almost mournful.

                “I’ve had eyes on the Venatori ever since they took my grandson from me,” Caterina began, and his musings slammed to a halt. The woman looked up the young elf before her, approval plain on her face. “They were hunting your Dread Wolf. And what you did to his ritual threw them into disarray. They made mistakes. And now I have a location.”

                Belladonna nodded expectantly, and ice flooded down Viago’s spine. He scowled at Teia, who only gave a small, apologetic smile. She knew what was coming; she had set up this little favor. She had probably known before she ever told him they were returning to Treviso.

                “The Ossuary. Where the Demon of Vyrantium is kept. Find this Ossuary. Free Lucanis. You’ll have your god-killer,” the First Talon ordered, eyes flashing, “And I’ll have my grandson.”

                Ask for help, and receive even more danger. If it had been any other of his Crows standing before him, he would have called it a valuable lesson. It was not another Crow, and for a brief, impulsive moment, he considered strangling Teia.

                Caterina waved to the boy beside her, and he leaned in. She spoke in a low tone, gesturing at Belladonna. Clearly, the meeting was adjourned. Viago grasped the top of Teia’s arm, spinning the pair around and marching them to the corner of the room where they, too, could speak without being overheard.

                “You knew,” he hissed, eyes narrowing. “You knew she would send them out on this job.”

                “Yes, I did,” the elven woman replied, crossing her arms over her chest. “They asked for a favor.”

                “And this was the best you could do? With a friend like you, who needs enemies?”

                “They needed a mage-killer, and they’re getting our finest. I think my best is alright.”

                “Ugh,” Viago replied. “You are enraging, you know this, yes?”

                “Aw, Vi. I like you too,” she said sweetly. The man made another noise of frustration before turning on his heel to address the other elf in the room.

                They were not there. Only Caterina remained, one eyebrow quirked high as she watched the pair argue. She looked deliberately from the Fifth Talon to the Seventh.

                “Are you done?”

                Viago choked a bit, coughing to cover the reaction. Evidently, it was sufficient reply.

                “Good,” the First Talon said, holding a pair of envelopes aloft. “I have work for you.”

                By the time he was returning to the Diamond, he had half a mind to ask Caterina if he had upset her somehow. The job had barely taken a few hours. The target was a weapons dealer of some renown, but was a straightforward, in-and-out assassination, no lengthy infiltration, hardly any guards. A single drop of poison in an unwatched tankard, and it was done. No matter who his mark was, that she had given such an easy contract to a Talon was an oddity that bordered on insult.

                Then, he arrived, and none of it mattered.

                As soon he cleared the zipline, he could hear Teia weeping. Long, mournful cries echoed across the still-empty upstairs of the Diamond, and he broke into a run. He wheeled around the corner of their workspace with his right hand on his dagger, searching for a threat.

                The place was a mess. Furniture had been tossed and thrown, tables and chairs tipped onto their sides. Three Crows lay dead on the floorboards, younger members he recognized as door guards, and paperwork was scattered across seemingly every surface of the room. Illario leaned heavily against the table, his back turned and his head hung lower than Viago had ever seen before. And in the middle of it all, face in her hands and her shoulders shaking with heart-wrenching sobs, stood his former lover.

                He rushed to her side, grabbing her by the shoulders.

                “Teia? Teia! What’s going on? What happened here?”

                She looked up at him, her eyes red and puffy with tears.

                “The Venatori. They, they- by the time I got back, they had already-”

                “They what? Teia, what happened?”

                Illario spoke, his voice choked and low. Viago had only heard that tone from him once before, while carrying the drunken man to bed after his cousin’s funeral.

                “They took my Nonna away from me.”

                Viago’s veins filled with ice. He opened his mouth, but the words never came.

                “I chased after them, but it was for naught. Those damned Tevinters and their blood magic,” Illario lamented. “I – I had some of our people come and take her home. We’ll take care of the body there. She’d have liked – she’d have wanted to go home.” The man’s voice broke off, but to his credit, he did not cry.

                Teia sniffled, scrubbing the tears away and stepping back out of Viago’s touch. He let her go, looking speechlessly between the other two Crows as his mind kicked into full gallop.

                “How could this happen?” he repeated internally, a nervous sweat prickling at his brow. “How did they get into the Diamond, much less all the way to Caterina? How could she not see this coming? How could they catch her unaware? She is as suspicious as I am.” A tight ball of emotion formed in his throat, and he swallowed past it.

                “Was. She was as suspicious as I am.”

                He exhaled hard. The First Talon had held her rank for a reason. She had been ruthless, cunning, wary to a fault, and she never, never let down her guard. She was the picture of what a Talon should be. And the Venatori had been able to cut her down anyway, here, in the seat of their power. The first time in over a year that the Diamond wasn’t dripping with Crows, and they chose that night to strike.  They hadn’t even left a bloodstain where she fell. It had been easy. How could this happen?

                “They knew.”

                The thought sent a horrible, plummeting feeling through his chest, but he could not deny it was true.

                “The Venatori knew the Diamond was empty for the night. They knew when to come. They have someone on the inside.” His breath hitched in his throat.

“Was this Ossuary a false lead? It sounded too good to be true. More likely than not, there’s nothing waiting down there but a trap. They would have assumed she would send the Talons, used it to make sure that we’d be absent from her side…”  His world pulled to a hard, sudden stop. Nothing but a trap – and Belladonna.

They were going to die down there.

                “No,” he thought, fighting the rising panic, “No. They’re smart. They’re a good Crow. If there’s a trap, they’ll slip it. They’ll figure something out. They always do. They didn’t come back home just to die on me now.”

                Viago sucked in a short, shaky breath.

                “Please, little dove. Don’t you die on me now.”

                A floorboard creaked behind them, and both Talons whirled on the spot. A dead man stood before them, looking back.

                “Maker,” Teia gasped, her eyes going wide.

                “Lucanis?” Viago asked, astonished, not believing what he saw. Lucanis Dellamorte, a year in ashes, standing there in the Diamond. Belladonna, standing there next to him. He was alive. They were alive. Caterina’s lead had been good after all.

                Oh, Maker. Caterina.

                “What happened here?” Lucanis asked, looking between them – going straight back to work. It was really him.

                Illario slammed his fist into the table, and the other Crows startled, turning to face him.

                “A message,” he growled. “From Zara Renata.” He spat the name out like it was bitter on his tongue.

                Lucanis’ brows shot up in surprise at the name, but Viago could not place it. Belladonna, though, glanced over at Lucanis, a silent question in their expression. He returned their look in wordless answer before the two turned back as one, returning their attention to Illario, who had crossed the room to approach them.

                “I can’t believe it. You’re home,” he said, reaching out to grasp his cousin’s shoulder. Lucanis laid one hand over the man’s arm, returning the greeting before gently shrugging out of the touch, walking past Illario to survey to room.

                “Zara… her people got this close?”

                “The woman who runs the prison?” Belladonna asked, though from their tone, they were already sure.

                “The Venatori witch who captured me,” Lucanis confirmed.

                “Revenge for the breakout, maybe?” they suggested.

                The man shook his head a bit, brows knitting together. He glanced around the room, pausing for a moment on an overturned table.

                “Where’s Caterina?”

                The question hung heavy in the air, and Teia pulled in a shaky, tearful breath.

                “She’s…” was all the woman managed before her voice broke, and she looked down at the floor, her chest beginning to shake once more. Without thinking, Viago stepped in close behind her, folding his hands over her shoulders to steady her. She leaned into the touch and raised one gloved hand to take his. He took a deep breath, bracing.  

                “The Venatori got her in the confusion.”

                Lucanis froze in place, eyes fixed on his. Viago did not look away. He respected the man too much to try to cushion this kind of blow.

                “I get one of you back, only to lose the other,” Illario breathed.

                Lucanis looked blankly over at his cousin, seeming far away, then glanced back to Viago and Teia. He released the woman’s hand with a squeeze, pulling back a step.

                Belladonna’s gaze flicked away from the pair as he looked over, settling on Lucanis. Their amethyst eyes were wide and sparkling with genuine sorrow, and their lips pulled down into a hard frown.

                “Lucanis… I’m so sorry,” they said, and for a moment, the man simply stared back. Then he shook his head, looking down at the ground and shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

                “I need to work,” he said, his voice low and dangerously level.

                “Are you sure?” Teia asked, concerned. “You should take some time.”

                “I don’t need time - I need a target.” The man looked up at Belladonna, murder in his eyes, and they nodded back. Viago felt very, very cold.  

                Illario visibly tensed. “You just got here, and already you want to leave again?”

                Viago looked over at Belladonna, who was still watching Lucanis. There were stark, dark circles beneath the elf’s fine eyes, and despite the firm set of their shoulders, he could tell they were deeply, bone-achingly tired.

                The First Talon was dead, and now, he agreed with Illario. He knew which was objectively worse, and yet…

                “Caterina gave me a contract. I’m not breaking the last deal she ever made.” Lucanis’ eyes slid over to Belladonna, pausing. “And I owe Rook. Once that’s done… I’ll come home.”

                “That’s not their damned name,” the Fifth Talon grumbled to himself, frowning.

                The elf gave the man across from them a soft, genuine smile, and despite himself, despite all the horror of the evening, Viago’s heart soared.

There it was.

Sunlight after rainfall. Moonlight on calm seas. Elation. Home.

                They turned to Illario, still smiling, and his private moment shattered. “I’ll return him in one piece.”

                The man titled his head, pursing out his lips in a ghost of a smile. “Thank you.” He glanced over to Lucanis, continuing. “Cousin. When you find Zara, I want – I need – to be there.”

                Viago bristled at the Dellamortes. “We’re under attack. Antaam on one side, and now Venatori on the other?” He leveled a glare at Lucanis. “Forget revenge, we need you-”

                “No, Viago,” Teia interrupted. He knew that tone.

                There would be blood tonight. It could be his.

                “Zara came for us here. In my house. She took Caterina from my house. You find her, and cut her heart out, Lucanis. Vi and I will hold down the fort.” The quiet, deadly rage in her voice sent goosebumps rising under his armor.

                Lucanis’ lips twitched at the elf’s reply. “I’ll send her your regards, Teia.”

                She looked from him, to his cousin, to Belladonna. “For Caterina.”

                There was a long, reverent silence between the gathered Crows. The Tevinter woman who had accompanied his protégé peeked her head in a minute or two later, clearing her throat.

                “Eluvian’s ready, Rook.”

                The elf nodded in thanks, turning to the elder Dellamorte. “Lucanis?”

                His brow furrowed, and he rubbed at his forehead. “Let’s go.”

                Belladonna glanced over at Teia, then up at Viago. They paused for a moment, their eyes locked on his, before they turned on their heel, walking out. Lucanis and the stranger fell into step behind them. The trio disappeared around the corner of what he knew full well was a dead end – where were they going? Viago hesitated, then followed, glancing around the hall. He stooped a bit, looking through the twisting remains of a damaged window, and his brow furrowed at the sight of the shimmering, obviously magical mirror. Teia padded up behind him, looking too.

                “You allowed this?” he asked, not bothering to hide his disapproval.

                “I did. The ability to skip across Thedas in moments is an advantage we will need in the fight to come as much as they will.”

                He groaned, rubbing at his eyes. There was still so much left to do.

                They had looked so skinny. They had looked so tired.

                “And these benefits outweigh the risks of such an opening?”

                Teia’s lips twisted into a small, bitter smile, and she gave a mirthless chuckle. “We’ll have someone watch it. After today, I think it’s safe to say I’ll be hiring more guards either way.”

                Three cold Crows on the floor inside.

                Three more deaths to be repaid in kind.

                Viago frowned, but relented, letting the subject go. He sighed, raking his gloved fingers through his hair.

                “Go. Gather the Crows. Tell them to come back to the Diamond. I’ll deal with the mess.”

                The woman looked up at him, a sad gratitude in her eyes.

                “Alright. Thank you, Vi.”

                She left, hurrying out towards the ziplines. He watched her until she rounded the corner, and his breath rushed out in a huff. He sagged a bit, bracing one hand on the window casing.

                Just like that, they had flown from his reach. Here one moment, gone the next.

                He ducked through the broken window, approaching the mirror with unease. He reached out to touch the odd, rippling surface.

                His fingers dipped straight through it, magic swirling around his fingers like body-warm water – neither hot nor cold, but strangely fluid, and undeniably present. He recoiled, yanking his hand away, and staggered back a few steps before turning on his heel and rushing back through the window.

                He walked back into the ransacked room, kneeling down by one of the bodies. Unlike the others, the corpse laid with its eyes still wide, staring blind and glassy into the void. He reached out, gently easing the lids down over them.

                “They did it again. They didn’t say goodbye.”

                It was a stupid, childish, selfish thought at a time like this, but it bubbled forth all the same. Viago shook his head, feeling the shame rise, and he stood, busying himself with righting the furniture. That completed, he moved on to gathering his and Teia’s scattered paperwork, dumping armfuls onto the table as he went.

A handful of older fledglings ran in. The Seventh Talon’s orders must have started to spread across the city. With a snap and a point of his fingers, they leapt to work, carrying off the bodies. They had better get back soon if they felt like sleeping that night. It was going to take them hours to scrub all the blood out of the floorboards.

 The Fifth Talon slumped, rubbing at his eyes. There was still so much work to do, so many problems at their door.

“Caterina dead. Traitors in our midst. Antaam and Venatori, nipping at our heels.”

Amethyst eyes flashed bright in his memory, then ebony hair, walking away.

It was selfish, and childish, and no credit to his rank. His worried heart did not care.

“You didn’t say goodbye,” it cried. “You didn’t say goodbye.”

Chapter Text

Belladonna collapsed back against the door of their meditation chamber, pressing the heels of their hands into their eyes until they saw stars. After they had returned to the Lighthouse with their newest member in tow, Neve and Bellara had wasted not a moment in beginning to debate on the man’s fate and humanity – right in the middle of the damn kitchen, right in front of him, as if the man hadn’t just walked out of one unspeakable pain and into another. They had joked their way through, trying to diffuse, turning on their well-practiced Crow charm; secretly, whispers of lightning had begun to crackle across their fingertips at the flippancy in Neve’s tone. For his part, of course, Lucanis had been a perfect professional. He had taken the news of his grandmother’s death and his new contract on a pair of gods with all the cold, clinical detachment he had been so famous for; he had hardly batted an eye at the suggestion his new teammates might have to kill him - he had kept control of his inner demons, literal and otherwise. Of course he had. Dead or alive, man or a myth, Lucanis Dellamorte was a good Crow.

                “That makes one of us,” the tired elf thought weakly, sliding down the door and slumping until their forehead was tented against their knees. They pressed their hands into their eyes, harder, harder, past the pain, trying to chase away the memories that burnt behind their lids like bile.

                Sharp, alarming, impossibly blue eyes, glaring down at them in obvious disapproval.

                They’d finally gotten to see him again. They’d come home, just they like had promised.

                When Teia had said Viago was happy at their return, they had quipped back a casual “I doubt that,” but their heart had leapt into their throat, racing like a hummingbird’s. Somehow, the mere suggestion that he truly was glad they’d made it back alive had been enough to chase away a year and more of burning, bitter hurt.

A year or more ago, they had woken to a cold, damp Trevisan pre-dawn with the Fifth Talon’s warm arms curled around them like a halo. They had slipped out of his bed, dressed quickly, silently strapped daggers into place just the way he had taught them to – ‘never leave yourself or an ally unprotected, de Riva.’ They had crept to his vanity table, used one of his fine ivory combs to brush out their hair and twist it carefully into its bowed and braided style. In the glass, they saw him roll onto his side behind them, inhaling deeply. Their heart had squeezed with a quiet, devastating fondness, and on a silly impulse, they had grabbed his cologne for the second day in a row, spraying more of it into the seams of their new leather shirt than was truly needed. They wanted to get to keep a bit of him. They wanted the scent of him to stick between their bones.

Viago whined in his sleep, turning fitfully, and Belladonna paced back to the bed, sitting gently atop the bedspread. They soothed one hand over his forehead, smoothing where his brows fretted together. Still sleeping, he turned into the touch, the worry fading from his face.

“Bella,” he murmured, and despite their general dislike for the nickname, the elf smiled. He rubbed into their hand like a contented cat, sighing happily.

“Si, sweet darling,” they whispered back, smiling, nearly glowing with that overwhelming affection. “I’m still here.”

“Bellissima,” he sighed, stilling a bit. “Amorcita.” His eyes stopped roving beneath his closed lids, his breathed evened, and Viago drifted back into a deep, steady sleep.

His protégé withdrew their hand slowly, fingers curling into a ball. They had never really minded gendered endearments, the very nature of the Antivan language made total neutrality nigh-impossible.

But they preferred ones that were meant for them.

“Who’s the most beautiful one? Who’s his little love?” their self-loathing sang gleefully, pouncing on the ripe opportunity to cause hurt. “You know who, and it’s not you-who!”

Once, under the guise of pillow talk, they could let it slip, they could pretend was just a trip over one of his harmless ‘little dove’s. They could even pretend it really had been meant for them, let the pure affection behind the words sing up and down their skin as the two crashed towards orgasm together. Viago was hardly the first man to moan for one lover while fucking another, and they never, never would have mentioned it after. It was an odd spot of sloppiness from the tightly-wound Talon, but even if the endearment were not entirely accidental, in the heat of passion, lots of things could get said that were not strictly true come morning.

Not many men lied in their sleep, though.

Viago was dreaming of his lost little love.

Belladonna swallowed away the ball of hot shame rising in their throat, their smile falling away. They were not a blushing novice, and they had known who Viago was when they’d bedded him – the on-and-off love affair between the two youngest Talons was the stuff of Antivan legend. They hadn’t really thought far enough ahead to wonder what a morning-after with him would look like, but trying to take Andarateia Cantori’s place in his heart had never been on their agenda.

                They just had not thought that she could make him forget about them quite so quickly.

                They swallowed again, hard, standing from the edge of the bed. The warmth that had felt so tender in their chest a moment ago now burned with an urgency like bile. They needed to get out of here before Viago woke up and saw the stupid, childish hurt on their face and this whole thing became a mortifying debacle. They hurried to his cuirass, fingers searching delicately for the safe, unspiked spot where the seam opened and small items could be hidden. He had withdrawn their orders from this pocket more times than they could recall, handled them a thousand and one hidden little vials to smear across their gloves or blades or lips before they went out to kill with a smile. For all the added strain and responsibility his taking a personal interest in their training had added to the Crow’s life, it had also allowed them nearly-unparalleled access to the workings of the Fifth Talon’s inner world. It was the reason they could fight so well as a pair, the reason they could spar to the point of mutual exhaustion without ever drawing blood; it was the reason he valued them enough to keep in his House at all, despite their overarching incompetence and inability to wait for orders – more often than not, Belladonna knew what he would do before he thought to want it done, and they got it done before he ever had to ask. Somehow, they found a way. For him, they always would.

                Of course, the orders were there. They had cracked the wax seal, scanned the document, and resisted the urge to laugh. A contract on the Elven God of Lies, taken out by an author of smutty literature and unreliable biographies?

                By an hour later, when they had met with Varric and heard his side of the story, they were no longer in a laughing mood. They returned to Villa de Riva as the dawn was just starting to break, and the final spatterings of the previous night’s rain were dying out over the city’s cobbles. The front doors swung open at their approach – evidently, the staff had not yet realized that fucking the House’s master hadn’t kept them from being sent away from it.  They’d swept up to his office, yanked a piece of paper off the neat stack of his waiting letterhead, and froze, undipped quill hovering above the parchment for a long, silent moment. What could they possibly say to him now, on their first day as newly-baptized strangers? What words could they leave to mark the first steps on the path towards their grave?

                “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so scared. Please forgive me. Please don’t just ship me off to Tevinter to die where you don’t have to notice. Please don’t stop caring about me. I can’t live in a world where you hate me. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I love you. Don’t send me off to die. I’m so scared.”

                Their racing mind slammed to a halt. They took a deep breath, and they remembered what they were. They held. They exhaled.

They did not write those words. They did not think them. They did not think anything. They sucked in a long, slow breath, held until the cold spread all the way into their toes, then exhaled, letting the emotion go with it.

                “Blank slate, de Riva,” they echoed to themself, keeping their breathing intentionally even. “Blank slate. Kill your heart, and keep your head. Kill your heart, and keep your head.”

                Breathe in, hold, wait until it burns. Exhale, slow, let it all fall away. Leave the heart behind.

                They breathed in a calm, cold, level breath, and dipped the quill.

                “Contract accepted- Rook.”

                They shook the letter lightly, hurrying it to dry, then folded it into crisp thirds and sealed it with the kit on the desk. They withdrew the thin vial they’d clung to in sentimentality from their pocket and placed it beside it. Yesterday, the little affirmation on the label – “Not Today” it demanded, stay alive, stay with me- yesterday, it had felt like a little token of affection, some small, secret sign of his favor. Today, with their final contract in their pocket and his signature weighing heavy at its bottom, the label felt more like a cruel joke. Not Today- no, today, I need you, tonight, my bed’s cold; tomorrow, you can go and bleed out somewhere in Tevinter where it won’t give my House a bad name.

                They sighed, frowning down at the bottle and letter. They knew better than to assume themself important enough for that kind of personal manipulation. It was just business, on his end and theirs. One good night together releasing pent-up passion did not mean he could save them from Caterina’s judgement, and an idiotic, unrequited crush was not a good enough reason to risk the inevitable lecture over carrying an unnecessary weight when he decided to confront them over it. It was bad practice, bad for business, and this was Viago, after all. With Viago, it was only ever business.  

                They left his office, and turned to leave the way they had came, but paused. They turned, testing the handle of Viago’s bedroom, and found it unlocked, as they had left it. The Fifth Talon must not be out of bed yet.

                Despite the cold, bitter shame gnawing in their belly, despite the fear he might be awake and would confront them, they could not leave knowing he could be at risk- and for all their unusual closeness with their Head of House, they did not have a spare key. They had slipped silently in the open door, quickly locked its many locks behind them, and crept over to the balcony, quietly opening its double doors. They could pose a security risk, they supposed, but only from a very good climber- and frankly, they doubted anyone but the two people already in the room were capable of it. The elf glanced back at the sleeping man, their heart clenching painfully in their chest.

                “Goodbye, de Riva. Stay alive. Like it or not, I’m coming back here. You made me promise.”

                A year and more later, Viago was still alive, standing before them in the Diamond, and Belladonna had kept that promise. Sharp, alarming, impossibly blue eyes glared down at them in obvious disapproval, and despite their Talon’s ire, the elf’s heart sang. Their bitterness had melted away the moment Teia mentioned he complained more when they weren’t around. No matter how angry his letters might sound, clearly, he still cared about them at least a little.

                “I made it. I’m here,” they babbled internally, not knowing where to begin. “I was so scared, but I’m here, I did what you told me, I came home like I promised-”

                “Did you finish that contract? To stop the Dread Wolf?” The Fifth Talon’s voice cut through their rambling thoughts like ice.

                The resentment that Teia’s assurances had quelled flooded back in with a vengeance. It had been over a year. Over a fucking year since he shipped them off on a wild god chase, and he could not even open with a hello.

                Right back to business, then. Right back to work.  

                “Hello, Viago,” Belladonna had replied, forcing a smile, unable to keep some of that long-simmered bitterness from creeping into their tone. “And it’s complicated.”

                And just like that, the months had fallen away, and their arguing picked up as if he had never sent them off to die. For a moment, they snapped back and forth at each other like there was no one else in the room or the world – but there was, and soon, Caterina had given them their contract to rescue Lucanis. The First Talon had waved Illario over, quietly directing him to guide Belladonna and a companion to their waiting boat in words the elf only half-followed. No sooner than Caterina had looked away from them, Viago had his half-bare hands on Teia. He had pulled her over to a quiet corner of the room to have one of their trademark spats, gesturing angrily, and though his back was turned, they could tell from his posture that the couple’s faces must be mere inches apart. The Talons, it seemed, were tangled up once more.

                Belladonna had forced themself to look straight at Caterina, to keep their face neutral, to nod when appropriate, to turn to Illario with a smile and a “lead the way”. They had fallen in pace with Neve behind the younger Dellamorte, and they had talked shop with the pair the way a steady leader should, and had gotten all the way to the docks before they let themself stop and glance over their shoulder.

Treviso had moved on around them, and no one had been there.

They had breathed in, held, and exhaled, and they had done their Gods-damned job.

They had gotten through the Ossuary, and they had killed Calivan, and they had gotten Lucanis out alive, if not unaltered. They had done the job, done it well, done it fast, and done it clean, and come back with everyone alive – and still, they had come back to a mess.

The First Talon dead, betrayed from within, Zara and her Venatori already nipping at their heels. Lucanis, finally freed from a hell beneath the ocean, haunted in an all-too-literal way, come home to find his grandmother gone. The Fifth Talon, alive and still ice-cold, stepping up to hold Teia as she wept. It was all too much, and Belladonna’s heart shattered – but at least when their voice trembled while lamely offering their condolences, Viago was too busy with his little love to scold them right away.

When Lucanis had demanded they leave Treviso and get to work, the elf could not have been happier to oblige him – and when he did it by calling them Rook, they could have kissed him directly on the mouth. They knew Viago hated that title- they had too, at first, thinking it silly and serial-like; over time, they felt it had grown to suit them. Belladonna was an elegant name, a delicate name, a living thing, a poisoner’s favored night-flower. A Rook was a blunt object, a means to an end, a single piece in a much larger game, and they liked that image just fine. A ship’s figurehead, no matter how proud and finely carved, did not guide the vessel through the fog of its own free will. It simply did not have the choice to stop. Once set upon a path, a Rook would travel it straight down to its end.

And then, upon hearing it, Viago had frowned. It had been a small thing, a hidden thing, barely more than a twitch, but they knew those lips like they knew their own mind. They had spent a year and more trying not to think of them at night.

He did not like it.

“Yes,” they had thought, cracking a sudden smile at Lucanis. “Yes, I’d like to work with you. Yes, Rook suits me just fine.” Despite the gloom of the evening, despite their overall exhaustion – when had they last slept? – all at once, the leader’s mask they’d so recently learned to wear had settled back into place, and they felt lighter than they had in a year. They had bantered easily with Illario, listened respectfully to Teia and Lucanis, narrowed their eyes critically at Viago’s interruptions – they played the role of an equal.  They killed their heart, they kept their head, and they did their damn job.  

Neve had announced the Eluvian was ready, and every muscle in them wanted to turn on their heel and sprint for the mirror. Instead, they had to act the leader; they had to gather the party, acknowledge the allies. After checking with Lucanis, they sucked in a deep breath, meeting Teia’s eyes with sad fondness. They knew Caterina’s loss would weigh just as heavy on her as it would on the woman’s grandsons. They had held the breath just till it stung, then exhaled, then, for just a moment, they let themself look up into Viago’s eyes.

Worry, disapproval; the sea after a storm. Their heart had begun to thunder in their ears, and a thousand thoughts had started swirling in their brain, tripping over each other on their way to their tongue. They hadn’t said any of them. They hadn’t said anything.

They had inhaled, and they had turned on their heel. They had exhaled, and they had left.

They had gotten through the Eluvian, through the Crossroads, through Neve and Bellara’s inelegant cross-examination. They had worried, but they had given him time, milled about and checked in with the others, and then they had circled back – and to their surprise, they’d even enjoyed the conversation.

                Talking with Lucanis had an easy rhythm, and despite the horrors the man had faced in the past year, he joked and teased with a soft, sincere humor that made their heart squeeze with a protective sort of affection. They had told him they admired him, and they had meant it.

                He had deflected and demurred, but looked back at them with an odd, honest approval, and lilted a “that’s kind of you to say,” and for all their training, they could not find the lie in those eyes. He was an even better Crow than they had bargained for, or, he had meant it. They were not sure which could be better or worse. They had let the man talk a bit longer, then excused themself, walking as fast as they could to their makeshift bedroom without letting their footsteps make a sound. They might be a bad Crow, but they weren’t that bad. They had taken the stairs two at a time, closed the wooden door behind them gently, and slowly, slowly, they had slid down its surface, pressing the heels of their hands into their eyes hard enough to make them see stars.

                Lucanis was a sweet man, even after a year of torture, even after a lifetime as a Crow. He was soft in a way Belladonna had never known, especially not from another assassin. It might only be because he felt indebted to them, but he wanted to watch their back, he wanted to fight by their side, wanted to keep them safe from his own sharp edges. They had barely known each other a few hours, and yet already, he treated them as if they were not something disposable. He was so soft, and so gentle, and so different from Viago, and he had been handed so much suffering already. It could be so easy to care for him, to want to protect him, to want to wrap him up and tend to the bruises that life and Spite so often left him. Gods preserve them, they already did.

                They ground their palms into their eyelids harder, pushing to the point of pain.

Aquamarine eyes, teakwood and spice, half-bare hands rubbing little circles into Teia’s shoulders.

They inhaled, and held. Their lungs burned. They didn’t care. They didn’t deserve air, and they didn’t deserve him. They didn’t deserve either him. They didn’t even deserve a hello.

They were disposable. Lucanis might not think so, but Lucanis didn’t know them.

                They exhaled, and they let their hands fall away from their eyes. They shoved up off the floor, dragging their old favorite shirt over their head as they stalked towards the wardrobe. They balled the leather up and threw it in the bottom, pulling out a loose Tevinter tunic and throwing it over their thin, shivering frame. They thought they might have lost some weight since this all began, but to avoid being recognized on the roads, they had shirked their Crow armor and gone from one battered, shitty set of secondhand plate to another too often to ever be able to really tell if the fit had changed. Besides, stress and hard travel could do that to a person, couldn’t they?

                The thought slipped away lamely, and Rook didn’t follow it. They padded over to the chaise that served as their bed, laying back and throwing one arm over their eyes without bothering to undress. Exhaustion would take them either way, and even if Solas didn’t come by for a chat, they would not sleep well anyway. They hadn’t slept well in a year, and try as they might, they couldn’t keep their mind from returning to its reason.

                Angry blue eyes, disapproval. A year’s long silence, broken without a hello.

                “I kept my promise, you ass,” they thought, squeezing their shut eyes tighter. “I came back home. I came back alive. Why make me promise if you didn’t want me back?”

                They inhaled, and held, and exhaled slow.

                “Keep your head, Rook. Keep your head.”

                They inhaled again, sucking in a long breath through their nose, and from across the Lighthouse, they caught the comforting, familiar scent of coffee. They pulled their arm away from their face, and scrubbed at their eyes, and despite themself, Rook smiled. They were disposable, true – but Lucanis didn’t know that yet, and he was so soft, and they were so tired, and there was still so much work to be done.

                If he wanted to take care of them until he realized they weren’t worth the bother, then they would be selfish enough to let him. At least this time, they already knew how the scene would play. This time, they would be able to see the knife coming before it found their heart.

                Rook stood, pacing quietly out of their bedroom, and went to find the gentle man at the sweet scent’s source.

Chapter Text

Something was wrong with those two.

Viago was not yet sure what, but he was sure he could find out.

                From the moment they had returned from the Ossuary together, there had been something off about Belladonna and Lucanis. Both were constantly on their guard, even more than was usual for Crows. Lucanis’ eyes no longer lingered on anything for more than a moment before darting off over a shoulder or across the room, occasionally flinching as if startled. A newly nervous disposition would hardly be shocking after a year of imprisonment and torture - yet when the man met Belladonna’s gaze, he still held it, and the two seemed to share whole novels in a look. Even in the wake of his grandmother’s sudden death, mere hours after they had met, there had been something there: a saying without speaking, a knowing without telling, a synchrony that suggested closeness, trust. That kind of familiarity usually came with a shared history, and Viago knew with absolute certainty that the pair had none. But it could also come from a shared secret – and once a secret had been shared, it could be found out. He might not know it yet, but he would soon.

                Belladonna had returned to the Diamond earlier that day, quick to answer the Seventh Talon’s summons. The information behind the note had come from both of them, of course, but Viago had refused to sign it. He’d pretended to be busy, refusing to look up at her from the commission he was writing to his armorer, and had told Teia that the missive would attract less of any potential traitor’s attention if it was sent as quick note to a friend and not an official order. In truth, he had simply been afraid that if they knew who was asking, Belladonna would not have come at all.  

They had still been too pale, they were still not wearing a proper set of gear, and the dark circles beneath their eyes had etched themselves even deeper- and Lucanis had trailed just behind them, looming like an angry ghost. The whole time Rook had talked with Talons, he did not speak a word. He did not interrupt; he made no suggestions; he showed no indication at all that he was their superior in both guild rank and years. Instead, he just hovered silently over their shoulder, glaring, bristling at nothing, his eyes darting back and forth through the air. When the elf agreed to help and set off towards the ziplines, though, he snapped right back to attention, and he fell into place at their flank without hesitation. The two Crows and the Tevinter woman from before had disappeared around the corner, and Viago’s mind had been made up.

                For few moments after the trio had departed, he had stewed in place, resisting the urge to follow. He had paced on the spot and glared holes through the fabric-wrapped bundle on the table behind him, as though it was the armor’s fault the elf had given him no time to hand it over. Finally, though, he let out a low growl of frustration and swept out after them. He would let them do their job; he would not interfere – but he had to know. If there was something to be seen, he would see it. If there was a problem to be found, he would find it. It was a Talon’s duty to make sure his Crows stayed sharp, after all. What better way to confirm the quality of their work than to watch it firsthand?

                He had trailed along the rooftops at a careful distance; never close enough to be seen, yet never far enough to lose sight. The elf and their companions had cut across the city in mere minutes, and soon, they were approaching the location Teia had given. Viago heard Belladonna advise their party as such; he leapt atop the warehouse they were about to enter and he quickly settled into a crouch beside a hole in its roof, anticipating. Even before they had left Antiva, he had not seen Belladonna fight in far too long. The House’s move to Treviso and the Antaam occupation had left little time for them to spar.

                “He was my cousin!” Jacobus screamed from below. The trio came through the doorway, and all at once, everything burst into motion.

                Lightning exploded from Belladonna’s hands, and ice from the Tevinter’s. The space lit up a strange, sickly purple, and in an instant, Lucanis was across the room from where he had begun. The Fifth Talon blinked hard a few times, leaning in, and he tried to focus his eyes past the flurry of magic the two mages had sent crackling through the air.

                One Antaam crumpled before Belladonna, still convulsing, but another was charging at their flank. The elf did not see the attacker, already focused on the boy in the cage.

                “Don’t worry! Teia and Viago sent us!” they yelled, flinging a bolt of magic at an enemy across the room, and the Qunari behind them raised his axe. Viago flinched at the sound of his own name, his hands twitching uselessly for his daggers as he watched, waiting for the blow to fall.

                Another flash of purple, and there was a dagger buried in the occupier’s throat. Lucanis yanked his knife to the side with an audible snarl, and blood sprayed in a wide arc as the man before him fell. A wave of crimson splattered across Belladonna’s back, and they wheeled on the spot, both hands alight with magic. Their eyes locked with Lucanis’, and they grinned a wide, feral grin, as if there were not still enemies on all sides, as if they were not still in danger –as if there were not a pair of glowing purple wings steadily disappearing between the man’s shoulder blades.

Viago blinked.

“You’re with Lucanis? Yes! Kill them! Kill the Antaam!” Jacobus cried out, vicious as ever, acting as if he had seen nothing unusual at all.

Belladonna turned their back to the man again, and both Crows surged back into the fight, spinning away from each other across the battlefield. Viago blinked again.

Soon, only two enemies remained. Lucanis was in single combat with one on the far side of the warehouse, and the mages were handling the other. The Antaam slammed the flat of his axe into the Tevinter woman’s false leg, sending her tumbling across the floor. Belladonna screamed, enraged, and charged. They slashed messily at his thigh with their single dagger, and he roared in pain. He fell to one knee, dropping his weapon with a clatter, and Belladonna leapt in close – too close.

 He swung at them with a closed fist, landing a solid punch on their cheek. Spit and blood flew as their head snapped to the side, and the elf staggered back a few steps, stunned. The Antaam swung again, a swift uppercut to the gut, and they crumpled around it, coughing hard and falling to their knees. The man before them struggled back to his feet, reaching for his fallen axe.

“Lucanis! Now!” they cried out, glancing desperately around the battlefield. From across the warehouse, the man’s head snapped up. The room lit up purple, and he was in midair, those lurid wings glowing unnaturally against his Crow armor. He dove upon the final Antaam, landing between the man and Rook, and, with a loud, animalistic growl, drove both daggers into his heart. Before the corpse hit the floor, Lucanis had already turned back to the elf, his eyes shining the same strange purple that was fading into his back once more. He grabbed Belladonna by the arm, pulling them roughly to their feet, then the light in his eyes faded and he sagged a bit, one hand flying to his brow. The elf reached out to steady him, and he nodded in silent thanks before stepping back. Both Crows turned their attention to the caged boy in front of them, and Belladonna began to speak.

“That’s done. Are you Jacobus?”

Viago pushed away from the hole in the roof, falling back into a seated position, and slowly, he laced both hands into his hair. His chest heaved with quick, shaky breaths.

Lucanis was not a mage. Lucanis had never been a mage. Even if he were, mages could not fly.

Viago knew what the evidence suggested, but what the evidence suggested was impossible. Lucanis Dellamorte was not a mage.

Neither, though, was the Fifth Talon a fool. Only one sort of target had ever looked back at him with glowing eyes.

Impossible or not, Lucanis was an abomination.

He had the most important damned person in Thedas under his protection, and Lucanis Dellamorte was an abomination.

The Fifth Talon scrambled back onto his knees, leaning dangerously far over the hole in the roof to reestablish a line of sight to his protégé. They were knelt over Dareth’s body, facing away from him as they searched through the dead man’s pockets. They pulled out a piece of parchment, scanning it before they stood.

“That note said Dareth should pick up the contract at the usual place across from Teia and Viago. ‘Just follow the marks’,” they announced, turning to face their allies.

A wide line of blood streaked down their cheek from where the Antaam’s punch had landed, and the Fifth Talon’s heart leapt into his throat as the rest of the past moments processed.

“They got hit.”

The realization was laced with equal parts worry and rage. They should know better. They should be better. He had taught them better than that – and they had promised to be careful.

Lucanis let out a low sound of disapproval, and Belladonna raised one hand to dab at their cheek, looking down at the blood on their fingers as if surprised.

“Agh, damn. Will it scar?” they asked, tone casual.

The Crow beside them pulled a healing potion from his belt and held it out.

“No.”

                Belladonna took the potion, uncorked it, and before he could so much as shout, they downed it in one swallow. They made an exaggerated noise of disgust, sticking their tongue out, and Viago braced, waiting for the inevitable. If the Demon was worth half what he charged, there would only be a few moments before the look of shock, the foam at their mouth, the wet choking noise, the fall...

His right hand curled around the pommel of his dagger. Who would have ever thought that Illario would be the last Dellamorte standing?

The elf tossed the empty bottle to the side, spat into their palm, and scrubbed at the blood on their cheek.

                “Thank the Maker. I don’t need a lecture tonight. Am I good?”

                “Yes, you do, and no, you are not,” Viago thought angrily, scowling down at them. They had gotten careless, they had gotten hit, they had taken a potion from another assassin without even bothering to test it first – from a possessed assassin, no less. They hadn’t so much as blinked at the man sprouting a set of wings; indeed, they were so used to it, they had relied on it in battle. They had known he was an abomination, and they had trusted him anyway. Were they trying to get themself killed?

                Lucanis took the elf’s chin in one hand, turning their face one way, then the other.

                “Yes,” the man replied, his hand falling away. He took a step back, creating some distance between the two Crows. A breath he did not realize he had been holding hissed out through the elder de Riva’s teeth, and his grip loosened a fraction on his weapon.  

                “Then let’s go. We have a contract to finish.” With a final glance back at Jacobus, Belladonna strode out of the warehouse with their companions on their heels. Viago slumped back onto the tiled roof, breathing hard. A sudden breeze chilled the sweat forming on his brow, and he shivered. When had it gotten so cold?

He curled his trembling hands into fists, squeezed until the seams of his gloves nearly cut into his knuckles, then released. He forced himself to get one knee under himself, then the other, then gradually pushed himself up to stand. He held his breath for a moment, then slowly, carefully released it, trying to force his racing heartbeat to slow. His legs felt weak. His hands still shook.

He had to get back to the Diamond.

Teia glanced up as she heard him approach, her mouth twitching into a smirk that quickly fell upon setting eyes on him. He staggered over to the table behind the woman, walking straight past her to lean heavily against it, staring blankly at the wrapped set of armor still waiting there. She followed him, leaning in so she could speak low enough not to be overheard.

“Maker, Vi, you look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

He huffed out a dark, humorless laugh. “That is… not so far from the truth as I would like.”

The Seventh Talon’s eyebrows shot up at his reply. “What did you just say?”

“I-”

“You two!” thundered an all-too-familiar voice. Loud, grating, undisciplined footsteps squeaked their way up behind the pair. “I would have words with you!”

The Talons slowly looked over at each other. Viago grumbled, composing himself, then pushed off the table. Both turned, crossing their arms over their chests in near-unison.

                “Ah, Governor Ivenci,” Teia said, her voice full of obviously-feigned cheer. “What brings you to my door?”

                “You know very well what brings me here, you little-” the governor began; Teia raised a single eyebrow, and they wisely chose to cut themself off before finishing that thought. They shook their bald head, making a noise of irritation before trying a different approach. “Are you out of your minds? I told you Crows to stay out of this!”

                Behind them, Belladonna and their team rounded the corner, approaching. The group paused a moment at the raised voices, stopping a few paces behind the governor as Viago caught his Crow’s gaze.

                “Out of what? Defending our home?” Teia bit back, false friendliness abandoned.

                Belladonna’s mouth quirked up into a small smirk, and their gem-purple eyes glittered with a familiar mischief. Despite both his generally poor mood and the abomination looming at their heel, the Fifth Talon nearly smiled back, but the only outward indication of his soaring heart was the way his lips twitched a bit as he gave them a small nod, indicating to approach. They sidled up to stand beside the governor, while the rest of their party hung back.

                “If we had a stronger civil government instead of a bunch of circus criminals, the Antaam wouldn’t have had a foothold in the first place!”

                The two de Riva’s made eye contact again, the younger visibly suppressing a laugh.

                “Circuses charge admission. We did all that for free,” they commented, idly examining their nails.

                Teia rolled her eyes, her patience with the politician clearly having already grown thin. “This is Governor Ivenci,” she said, irritated. “They have concerns.”

                “My concern is how you’ve endangered the city!”

                “We’re defending Antiva!” Teia snapped, rising to the bait.

                “These protections are in place for the good of everyone. You act without oversight.”

                “We Crows are the oversight,” Viago finally interjected, his tone threatening even to his own ear. Belladonna’s eyes flicked up to his for just a moment, widening, but they quickly settled back on the governor.

                “And yet, here we are, awash in Antaam. And now you’ve angered the Butcher!”

                Clearly, no one had ever shown Ivenci the wisdom of quitting while they were ahead. Granted, they would have had to have ever been ahead be able to quit there, but still, the sentiment held.

                “We have other enemies, too,” Belladonna interrupted, glancing between the politician and the Talons. Their voice had shifted into something carefully neutral; diplomatic, even. “The gods are involved, corrupting some Antaam. Making them monsters.”

                Viago fought the sudden urge to glance over their shoulder at Lucanis.

                “And the Butcher?” Teia asked, planting her hands on her hips and shifting her weight from foot to foot.

                “You two were right, he had help taking the city. ‘Human traitors’,” Belladonna confirmed, looking up at him.

                “I didn’t want to believe it,” he said, voice no longer quite as firm as he would have liked with the city’s useless governor still present. He glanced down at Teia, frowning. “Killing the Butcher does nothing if someone could just sell us out again.”

                “I’d start right here. You Talons are known for infighting and betrayal,” Ivenci snapped.

                There was a tiny flicker of movement at the whining fool’s right; an almost imperceptible shift in Belladonna’s posture, the smallest twitch of their hand. Viago doubted anyone but a Crow could notice it - Ivenci certainly had not. They might have taken a more respectful tone if they had.

                Beside them, Belladonna’s fingers inched steadily towards the lone dagger at their hip.

                “I’ve had about enough. A fellow Crow died for this contract.” Their diplomat’s voice was gone, replaced with a low, threatening growl. It was a tone that did not ask, but demand; one which brooked no opposition, and promised swift violence if met with it. He knew that tone well – it was his. Teia called it his ‘Talon voice’.

                “When did my little dove grow such sharp claws?” he thought blankly, half-stunned. Belladonna’s right hand twitched a hair lower, and the woman standing beside him glanced down at the movement, letting out a frustrated sigh.

                “That’s enough,” she warned the politician before turning to the other elf. “Rook. Thank you for finishing that contract. The only reward we have is to ask you for more.”

                Something in their expression softened at that. Their eyes flicked up to him for the briefest moment, then settled back on Teia, and when Belladonna spoke again, the steel had left their tone.

                “It’s my home, too.”

                Viago’s heart clenched painfully in his chest. They sounded so tired.

                “Ivenci is right about one thing,” Teia continued, glaring at the politician as she mentioned them. “The Butcher will not like that we’re fighting back.”

                “We need to be ready,” Viago agreed before looking down at Belladonna. “Rook,” he said, though the alias was still sour on his tongue, “I will have every Crow tracking this traitor and the gods, and we will send word when we find something.”

                “The stakes are too high. This should be left to proper officials,” the governor protested once more - but all real fight had gone from their tone.

                “Go back to filing trade receipts, Ivenci. The Crows rule Antiva,” Teia said, narrowing her eyes.

                “And Treviso will be free. With or without you, Governor,” Viago finished, spitting out the coward’s title like it was a curse.

                The politician balked, their mouth opening and closing lamely for a moment. Then, finally, finally, they turned on their heel and left, presumably to gather what little remained of their dignity. The gathered Crows watched them go, and Teia let out an audible sigh of relief once they were out of her sight.

                “Maker, I can’t stand them,” she muttered, plopping down into one of the upholstered chairs by the table and rubbing at her brow. “Why do I even have door guards? Who keeps letting that idiot in?”

                Viago looked away from the woman, his eyes settling on the package still waiting on the table beside her. He paused, glancing over his shoulder.

                Belladonna and Lucanis stood close together, chatting in low tones he could not hear. The elf smiled at the man, nodding, and the two turned to leave - and Viago nearly panicked. He seized the bundle of armor, wheeling back towards the pair.

                “Bella- Rook!” he called out, stopping their departure. He strode up to the elf, feeling horribly embarrassed when Lucanis stepped back to make space and they glared up at him, visibly annoyed. “I- here.” He held the bundle out awkwardly, his thumbs nearly tearing through the thin wrapping fabric in his effort to keep his hands and voice steady. 

                “What’s this?” they asked, making no move to take it.

                “Armor.”

                “I’m wearing armor.”

                Viago scoffed, and the elf raised their eyebrows at him, not backing down.

                “Real armor. Crow armor. You are still a de Riva, aren’t you?”

                Belladonna opened their mouth as if to reply, but then stopped themself, scowling, and looked down at the floor. For a long moment, they just stood there, silent, and Viago’s mouth went dry.

                “Aren’t you?” he thought, suddenly terrified to hear the answer.

                “Yes,” they finally replied, still staring at the floorboards, and sounding none too pleased. “I am.”

                “Good,” he snapped at them, shoving the armor towards them once again. “Then act like one.” The words came out more harshly than he had intended, sounding annoyed instead of authoritative from his attempt to cover his overwhelming relief. He cleared his throat, trying to backpedal. “And, ah. Well done today.”

                Belladonna’s head snapped up, visible confusion flitting across their face before they regained control, smoothing back into a cool, professional mask. They looked down at the bundle in his hands, then back up at him, and if they noticed the way the package trembled slightly in midair between them, they made no mention of it.

                “Thank you, Fifth Talon,” they said quietly, looking down at the wrapped armor again, and finally, they reached out to accept the gift.

Their bare hand bumped his as they took it, fingers brushing along his own where they were exposed by his half-glove. Viago had to stifle a gasp at the skin-to-skin contact, locking his jaw as the breath hissed in through his teeth. Belladonna’s eyes darted back up to his, pupils blown wide, and both de Rivas froze.

“Thank me by staying alive,” he said, his voice barely more than a whisper. “And that’s an order.”

“Yes, sir,” they breathed back, sounding half-dazed, and for just a moment, their eyes fell to his mouth. He sucked in a shaky breath, and their gaze darted back up to his.

The elf swallowed hard, and they stepped away from the touch, pulling the package into their chest. Viago stepped back too, squaring his shoulders, trying to summon some professionalism.

“Good. Good.” He raked a hand through his hair on impulse, and immediately began to mentally chastise himself for the visible display of unease. He cleared his throat, then gestured towards the exit. “Now go. You’re dismissed.”

“I- yes, Fifth Talon.”

The elf backed away a few steps before they turned and hurried towards the Eluvian, staring down at the floor once more. Lucanis glanced between their retreating back and Viago’s face for a moment, his brow furrowing, before he, too, turned to leave, and he and the Tevinter woman followed Rook out. Viago hardly noticed them go.

He stared at the back of Belladonna’s head as they rushed out of the Diamond, fixated on the long, black braids swinging behind them as they walked. The memory of how that silken hair felt wrapped around his hand flooded back, unbidden, and he hissed out a low sound of frustration, turning on his heel to stalk back towards where Teia sat. He dropped heavily into a chair across from her, screwing his eyes closed and pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Long day?” the Seventh Talon asked, clearly amused.

“Shut up,” Viago replied, pulling a document from the table at random. “I’m still working.”

“Viago, that’s the Diamond’s wine list.”

He looked down at the paper in his hand, then back up to her. She was right.

“Of course it is. I have to work with you. Who wouldn’t be driven to drink?”

Teia laughed at his deadpan reply, and he dropped the menu with a growl. He braced his elbows on the tabletop, letting his head fall into his hands.

“Of course. I’m the one driving you to drink.”

“Shut up, Teia.”

“Viaaaagooooo…” she called under her breath.

“Shut up, Teia.”

“Alright,” she replied easily, her voice full of laughter. “My lips are sealed. But just so you know, Bella and Lucanis are supposed to be at Café Pietra in an hour.”

“Andarateia Cantori, if you don’t shut- what?” He looked up at her, his hands falling away from his face in surprise.

Teia snorted, leaning back in her chair. “They’re meeting with Illario. It should be just business. Nothing of note.”

“Should be?” he repeated, scowling at the woman’s amusement.

“Should be,” she confirmed with a smile. “But the view from Café Pietra is just so romantic this time of year. Really, Vi, why did you never take me there?”

“I- ugh!” he replied, shoving back from the table.

Viago stalked off towards the ziplines, glowering, and Teia’s laughter echoed through the rafters of the Diamond.  

Chapter Text

He could not help himself.

                He had tried not to follow, not to hover, to obsess. Whatever business Belladonna had to discuss with the Dellamortes, if it was truly important, he would hear of it soon enough. It could not be that important, surely, the way the elf and Lucanis had meandered around the marketplace first, taking a leisurely pace as they chatted and window-shopped.

                They had even taken the time to change.

                Belladonna was already wearing the new Crow armor he had given them, a mirror copy of his own. He had commissioned it from his personal armorer, with no changes to the set excepting size. The man had done good work, Viago noted with satisfaction; it was a perfect fit.

A layered pauldron swept up over their right shoulder, tall boots protected the vulnerable curve of their knees. The high-collared leather cape curled close around their neck, covering all but an inch or two of skin, the points at its hem flicking back and forth behind them as they walked. Maker, they looked sinful. They looked deadly. They looked divine.  

If they had taken the time to change, it could not be that important.

And yet…

From his perch atop a nearby building, he saw Illario storm out of Café Pietra, and he waited. Belladonna and Lucanis did not follow, and still, he waited. He waited. He stood.

“Ugh,” he thought, stalking along the rooftops to the seaside café. It did not take long to spot the pair, and he slipped into a crouch, sneaking as close as he dared to the roof’s edge so he could hear their conversation. He could not help himself.

“He’s always been this way,” Lucanis grumbled. “He hears what he wants to hear.” The man swirled his coffee, taking a deep drink and sighing.

They were talking about Illario. Just business, then. Nothing important. Viago nearly sighed in relief, shifting his weight back into his heels and turning to go.

 “‘Bitter and sweet’, you called that blend. ‘Like a kiss goodbye’,” Belladonna lilted from below. “So. What would a first kiss be?”

His head snapped back towards the elf. He scrambled down to the very edge of the roof on his knees, his fingers curling tight around the edge of the tiles.

“Honey and lavender cream,” Lucanis replied far too quickly. “Sweet, intriguing… and you? How would you describe it?”

The elf leaned back in their chair, tilting their head to one side and smiling. Viago’s pulse thundered in his ears.

“First kisses? It’s been a while. I might need a refresher,” they purred back, and the man beside them laughed quietly.

“You need to be hit over the head and dragged off to a convent,” he grumbled to himself. The edge of one roof tile snapped off in his hand, a piece of it tumbling to the flagstones below, and he ducked backwards before any of the many Crows below could glance up and catch him gawking like a fool.

“I see,” Lucanis said, now just out of his sight. “You lead an adventurous life.”

“No more than you, I’m guessing?”

“I’ve always thought that to live truly was to live fully,” he replied, making Viago roll his eyes. “But even before I was captured, my life was not really my own. So much had been decided for me.”

“Being grandson to the First Talon must come with a lot of baggage.”

“Much like House de Riva?”

Viago’s eyes narrowed, his brows knitting together into a hard line. Below him, Belladonna barked out a short, harsh laugh.

“Since I took the initiative against the Antaam, I don’t need to worry about disappointing them,” they replied, voice low and bitter.

“Disappointing me?” Viago’s mind echoed, astonished, and despite himself, he peeked back over the edge of the roof. They were his protégé; they were his favorite. They were the best thing he had ever done. They were wearing a brand-new suit of bespoke leather armor, tailored after his very own design, and they thought he was disappointed with them?

“Rook,” Lucanis chided softly. “There’s no need to doubt yourself. And if you do, I’ll be here to convince you.” He paused a moment, and the elf looked down at the table between them, blushing. “How’s your coffee?”

“Dark, complex, and intriguing,” they murmured. “Ready to head back to the Lighthouse?”

“Almost.”

Viago crept back to the cap of the roof and stood, stalking back towards the Diamond.  He only got a few buildings away before his frustration overtook him and he stopped, dropping his head back to look directly at the sky before letting it fall down into his hands. He tore his fingers through his hair, ground his teeth together, and released a loud noise of annoyance.

“Ugh, you idiot, idiot, idiot of a de Riva!” he groaned aloud, unsure if he meant Belladonna or himself. He set off toward the Diamond again, hands fisted at his sides, muttering under his breath to himself as he went.

“No, not a convent. A convent couldn’t hold you. A prison couldn’t hold you; you’d flirt with the damned bars. No, I’m going to drag you back to the villa, lecture you until sunrise, lock you in my bedroom, and throw away the keys.”

Now that was an idea.

He shook his head sharply, scowling at himself.

“Then I’ll lock myself in my office, and I’ll throw away that key, too. That should keep you out of trouble for at least a half an hour. You’ll decide you just have to find your way in just so you can vex and distract me.”

He swung off the zipline and rounded the corner, staring at the floorboards and pointedly avoiding looking up to meet Teia’s gaze. The upper level of the Diamond had largely cleared out as it drew later into the evening, but there were still enough people about that he had no desire to let the woman resume their earlier conversation.  He collapsed back into the chair he had vacated earlier and pinched the bridge of his nose, waiting for her inevitable teasing. It did not come. He glanced up.

She was not there. Instead, her chair sat empty, and the rest of his paperwork had been arranged into a neat pile, infuriatingly, with the Diamond’s wine list on top - and a still-sealed bottle of its most expensive red waited beside it, accompanied by a single glass. There was a scrap of paper wound around the bottle’s neck, secured in place with a navy-blue bow. He pulled the ribbon loose, unrolling the note.

“Don’t work too hard – T.”

She was many things, most of them enraging, but still, Teia Cantori was a good friend. He sighed heavily, pushing the note and the wine list to the side, and he picked up the first real document in the pile. The minutes ticked by as he read, occasionally scrawling down a name or setting a report to the side for further investigation as he worked through the stack of papers. The Diamond continued to empty, and night fell over Treviso. A half-hour or so later, Belladonna and Lucanis came back through on their way to the Eluvian, chatting lightly and walking entirely too close together. He glared at the pair as they passed his seat. Neither of them noticed. They approached the broken window, and Lucanis paused, giving a little bow and gesturing at it with a sweeping wave of his hand.

“After you,” he said, and the elf let out a girlish giggle, taking his offered hand for balance and swinging their long legs through the casing. The man smiled softly, watching them go, but then recoiled as if he’d been stung, his eyes snapping straight to Viago. For a long, silent moment, the two men simply stared at each other. Finally, Lucanis looked away, giving a quick, polite nod before he, too, ducked through the window casing towards the mirror.

Viago held his breath until he was sure they were both gone, then let it hiss out through his teeth with a frustrated growl. He looked back to the table, pausing, then pulled out a small pocket knife and stabbed it into the bottle’s cork. He wrenched it free with a loud pop, then looked down at the glass beside it. Somehow, testing it for poisons seemed like far, far more work than the pile of paperwork looming in front of him ever had. He glanced around. The only other Crow still remaining in the Diamond’s rafters was Heir. The elven trainer looked up at him as if she could feel his gaze, then turned on her heel and silently headed down the stairs behind her.

Viago sighed, lifting the bottle to his lips. The wine rolled over his tongue, rich and dry and worth every copper that House Cantori had not charged him for it. It was far too nice a wine to be drinking straight out of the bottle. He took another long sip, leaned back in his chair, and picked up the next piece of paperwork. When had this pile grown so large?

He would not stay long, he resolved. He would finish his work, finish his wine, clean up the evidence so Teia would think he’d used a glass like a civilized adult, and then he would go home. He would lock himself in his bedroom, and draw the curtains, and take a sleeping potion if he had to. Though he had not admitted it earlier, it had been a long day, and the beginnings of a headache were brewing behind his eyes. A full night’s rest would do him good. All he had to do was read one stack of reports, and then, once he had earned it, he could finally let himself sleep.

Belladonna’s sweet, gentle laughter still echoed in his skull. There was not a single man alive who deserved to be the cause of that sound, himself included. That Lucanis had been the one to pull it from their lips was as much of an abomination as the man himself.

                He raised the bottle to his lips, nearly sighing as the glass brushed his skin.

                “First kisses? It’s been a while. I might need a refresher.” 

                Who were they thinking of, when they had said that? When they had said ‘a while’, had they meant ‘a year’? Had anyone kissed them since him?

                He hoped not. It was selfish hope, he knew, when he could not say the same. He had not lasted a single day after their departure before falling back into bed with Teia. Yet still, he hoped not.

                Kissing Belladonna had been a revelation. It had been intoxicating, even more so than his steadily-waning wine. The memories of that night flooded back in, and his fingers tightened a fraction around the neck of the bottle.

                He wanted to do it again.

                He never could, of course. If the elf’s icy attitude upon their return to Treviso had not already made that clear, the way they flirted with Lucanis certainly would have. The report in his left hand fell back to the table, and Viago shifted in his chair, turning it a bit to face the path to the Eluvian. He kicked one foot up onto the table, crossing the other over it, and sighed heavily, taking another long drink of his wine. He stared out into the empty hallway, feeling time slow until it crawled, wishing they would reappear, knowing they would not.

                Maker, he wanted to kiss them. He wanted to hold them. He wanted to tell them he was sorry. He wanted to get a decent night’s sleep for the first time in a year.

                They would rather have a demon than him.

                Viago tipped the bottle up against his lips and swallowed and swallowed until it made him gag. His head spun, and he let it fall into his free hand, his gloved fingers pressing hard against his forehead. Something ached deep in his core, and he tried not to examine the feeling too closely.

                “They think I’m disappointed in them.”  The thought was quiet, mournful, and it stung worse than a poison ever could. “They think I’m disappointed.”

                How could they possibly, possibly think that?

                They were impossible. They were infuriating. They were irreplaceable. They were the best damned Crow that House de Riva had ever had. They were far better than him, at least, of that, he had no doubt. They had kept their head and done their job, and not spent the last year pining for someone on the other side of Thedas. They were his favorite.

                He loved them.

                Oh, Maker.

He loved them.

                “No,” he thought. “No. No.”

                “Yes,” his aching heart replied, and the empty bottle slipped out of his hand. It fell to the floor with a dull thunk, rolling away under the table.

                “No,” he said aloud, swinging his feet back to the floor. He paced over to the Cantori merchant’s unattended stall, rifling through the crates behind their table until he found what he was looking for. He held the bottle of Fereldan whiskey aloft, squinting at its label in the dwindling candlelight. It was common, and it was cheap, and when he pulled the cork out and gave it an experimental sniff, it smelled like nothing so much as aftershave.

                Perfect.

                Viago fell back into his seat, took one long sip, and gagged. He hated whiskey.

                It was exactly what he deserved.

                He hissed out a breath, grimacing. He planted one boot back on the tabletop, bracing the other against its edge, and lifted the swill to his lips again.

                They would rather kiss a demon.

                He pushed against the table to spin his chair further towards the Eluvian, its legs dragging across the floorboards with a long, loud squeal. He took another drink.

                They would rather kiss a demon. They had well and truly moved on, and they had picked kissing a damned demon over wasting another night on him.  At least, based on what he’d heard earlier, he could be reasonably certain they hadn’t done so yet -but they wanted to. He loved them, and he’d kissed them, and they wanted someone else.

                And yet…

                His mind skipped back to just a few hours earlier, before so much had fallen apart. Their skin against his. Their eyes on his mouth. Their voice, a bare whisper, saying ‘yes, sir’.

                They wanted Lucanis, that much was clear- but some part of them, no matter how small, clearly still wanted him, too.

                He took another drink.

                He had to tilt the bottle much more than he’d expected before the whiskey reached his lips, and he shook it, surprised by the hollow little sloshing sound it produced. There were barely a few sips left in it. Hadn’t it just been full?

                He made an audible sound of disgust, baring his teeth and shaking his head. He took another drink.

                He planted the empty bottle on the table beside his feet, and he tented his now-empty hand over his eyes with a groan. His head was spinning, his vision blurred – and he still had not finished his paperwork.  He let his hand fall away from his eyes, and grabbed a loose sheet from the table at random, holding it up to his face with both hands. The letters swam across the page, and he squinted, trying to bring them into focus.

                “Viago?”

                He looked up towards the Eluvian. No one was there.

                “Viago.”

                He turned the other way, and, to his horror, saw someone walking towards him. He swung his feet back to the floor in a panic, straightening in his chair. He lifted the report a bit higher to conceal his face from whoever had spoken. Hopefully, they would take the hint and leave him alone. 

                Teia approached the table, planting her hands on her hips.

                “Do you know what time it is?”

“No.”

“Did you sleep here?”

                “No,” he replied, holding the report up a bit more.

                “Did you sleep at all?”

                “No.”

                The elf’s brows pulled together. “Wait, what’s wrong with you?” She tore the document out of his hand, and he looked up at her, fixing his face into what he hoped was a scowl.

                “Are you drunk?”

                “No!”

                She glanced down at the empty whiskey bottle perched atop the scattered paperwork in front of him.

                “Did you pay for that?”

                “…no.”

                “Thief.”

                “You’ll forgive me,” he groaned, leaning forward to sprawl across the table, knocking over his untouched wine glass in the process.

                “Not if you throw up on my table, I won’t.” She paused a moment, assessing. “Really, Vi? From the bottle?”

                “No,” he lied, pushing himself upright again and swaying in his chair. The glass rolled off the edge of the table, and he winced as he heard it crack against the floor. “…maybe.”

                “Ugh,” Teia said, moving to his side. “Get out of my casino.”

                “I work here. I am still working.”

                “It’s five in the damned morning. The sun is up. It’s time to go home.”

                He cleared his throat, trying to enunciate. “I am-”

                “What you are is drunk, Viago. Don’t argue with me. Do you want all the fledglings to see you like this?”

                He stared down at his knees, feeling very much like a disobedient child. “No.”

                “Then get out of here. Go home and dry out. I have a funeral to plan.”

                The blood ran out of his face, and he looked up at her, his head swirling uncomfortably. “That’s today?”

                “Maker, yes, Vi, that’s today. What’s gotten into you?”

                He let his head fall back into his hands, suppressing the sudden urge to sob.

                “They think I’m disappointed in them, Teia.”

                “What?”

                “Belladonna!” he whined, words muffled against his fingers. “They - earlier, with Lucanis, they said – they think-”

                “Oh, for the love of-” Teia cut herself off, holding up one finger and closing her eyes for a moment before continuing. “No. Not now. I’ll enjoy yelling at you more when you’ll actually remember it. Come on, up we go. Let’s get you into a carriage.”

                He swatted away her extended hand, bracing against the arms of the chair and pushing himself up to stand. “No, no. No need, Teia, I’m fi-” The world spun and whirled around him at the sudden movement, and he collapsed back into his seat, making a small, nauseated sound and covering his eyes with one hand. “I… may need a moment. But I’m fine.”

                “Ugh,” the woman replied, rolling her eyes. “Idiot man. You’re lucky I have a firm policy against cleaning splattered Crows off my doorstep before noon. Stay there, and do try not to steal anything else, hmm?”

                “Staying,” he echoed with a weak nod. “Not stealing.” He fell forward, his forehead hitting the table with a loud thunk. “Ow.”

                “Serves you right,” Teia said over her shoulder, already walking away. “Stay.”

                “Staying, staying!”

                The woman returned a short while later, stooping to sling her arm under his shoulders. “Come on, now. Easy does it, up we go.” She gently pulled him up to stand, staggering a few steps to the right when he did so, leaning heavily into her support. “Ay, easy, de Riva. Don’t take me down with you.”

                He looked over at her, hurt. “Never,” he replied, his bottom lip jutting out in a hard frown.

                Teia huffed out a humorless laugh, shifting under his weight. “Oh, no, you don’t. Stop talking, please. It is far too early to watch a grown man cry.”

                Slowly, the two made their way down the winding stairs to the casino’s front entrance. The guards there swung the doors wide at their mistress’ arrival, and finally, Viago staggered out into the cold morning air. He squinted, screwing up his face in displeasure. Teia had not being lying – the sun was already up. She helped him up into the carriage, sliding him off her shoulder, and he fell heavily onto one upholstered seat. He blinked up at her blurry shape, silhouetted by the morning light.

                “Thank you, Teia,” he murmured, head falling back against the cushions. “I don’t deserve you.”

                The woman sighed softly, an inscrutable expression on her face. “Don’t worry about it, Vi.” She paused a moment. “But I’m putting that glass on your tab.”

                He glanced up at that. “I have a tab?”

                “You do now.” She stepped down off the carriage’s sideboard, swinging the door closed. “Villa de Riva,” he heard her say. “Not too quick, if you value your upholstery.”

                The driver made a noise of affirmation, clucking at his horses, and with a nauseating lurch, the carriage clattered away.

                Teia Cantori watched it go, sighing again, then turned to climb back up the front steps of her casino. She paused on the landing, looking pointedly between the two door guards.

                “What did you see?”

                “Nothing, Seventh Talon,” the pair replied in unison.

                “Good answer,” she said, rubbing at her brow.  “Go home. You just earned yourselves a day off.”

                The two looked at each other for a beat, then both nodded their assent. They headed into the Diamond to collect their things, and Teia glanced back at the quiet street behind her. Viago’s carriage had already disappeared around a corner.

                “Ugh,” she repeated, shaking her head. She squared her shoulders, took a deep breath, and slowly, she began the long walk back up to her spot in the rafters.

                She had a funeral to plan.

Chapter Text

                “Good! You’re here,” Teia called out to the pair of Crows as they approached, Illario waiting by her side.

                “Thank you for making the arrangements, Teia,” said Lucanis as they stopped before her. Belladonna took a furtive glance around the room, but it, like the one before it, was empty of the man for whom they searched. Where was he, they wondered?

                “For Caterina… how could I do otherwise? I’m so sorry, Lucanis. This must be such a blow.” The man only tightened his lips in reply, but clearly, that was enough. Teia looked from him to the elf beside him, her face taking on an unexpectedly genuine warmth. “Rook, thank you for coming with him. I need one Dellamorte to plan this. His cousin has been no help at all.”

                “I’m sorry, Teia,” Illario whined, shifting uncomfortably on the spot. “This is just… too much right now.”

                Belladonna’s lips twitched into a frown. They hadn’t know Illario previously to this; even among the Crows, and even as Viago’s protégé, he and the elf had moved in very different circles. It was obvious neither his family nor the Talons took the man particularly seriously, but still, he was a Crow. Was he always so prone to such displays of emotion? Lucanis had said that he always cracked under pressure…

                “If there’s anything I can do, just say the word,” they said. It was the least they could do – it was all they could do, until the man wanted to talk. Lucanis had not broached the topic of Caterina’s death with them himself, except to ask them along that day, and so they had not done so, either. They had only met the woman twice, and one of those times had been while staying conscious on adrenaline alone – it hardly felt fitting to poke at her grandson’s grief as if they, too, had so many years of memories hanging heavy on their heart.

                Teia smiled a bit, though her eyes stayed sad. “You’re always such a dear. You certainly didn’t learn that from Viago.”  Their brow twitched a bit in reaction at that – and of course, as always, the other elf noticed. She looked as if she was about to speak again, but Lucanis cut in before she could begin.

                “Teia,” he warned, tone teasing and light. “Don’t flirt with my… colleague.”

                Despite themself, Belladonna’s eyes darted over at Lucanis in surprise.

                “My,” their mind echoed, their stomach doing flips beneath their new armor. “My. My.”

                “Jealous?” Teia replied, brows rising as she glanced between the pair, interrupting the mage’s reverie. “Fine, to business, then.” She turned to Illario, continuing, but Belladonna only caught every other word.

                “His?”

                It was all so much, so fast. They cared for Lucanis, that much they couldn’t deny. The man was sweet, soft, dangerous, and handsome; everything they could want. They liked talking with him, liked flirting with him, liked their easy banter and the way the man flushed when he noticed them watching his mouth. They liked his bare hands and the safety that they promised, clean, unassuming, safe to cook with, safe to touch. They trusted him, already, so much more than they trusted almost anyone else in the world. And yet, this was so much, so fast. The pair lived together, worked together, but they had only gone on one coffee date, if one could even consider a business meeting with his cousin a date. They had flirted here and there, shared coy little smiles across the dinner table – and now, here they stood, helping plan his grandmother’s funeral.

                They hadn’t even kissed yet.

                They would have come even just as a friend, of course, even just as an ally. They had no reason to be cruel to the man; if he had the humility to ask them for help with something so personal, they would have the decency to provide it. Yet, somehow, they knew that Lucanis had not asked them to watch out for him through this over all the other members of their team because they were just such a good colleague. When Teia ordered them all a round of drinks, beckoning the pair to settle onto one of the plush red couches with her as they talked, Belladonna took theirs gladly. Anything to take the edge off the wet, uneasy feeling doing somersaults in their stomach, insistent that they did not belong here, in a moment so private, sitting mostly silent between two people who had actually known and loved the late First Talon. It was all so much, so fast.

                By the time the three were saying their goodbyes, Teia promising to keep an eye on Illario, the hours had stretched on and on until the sun had long since set, and Belladonna could feel a cold, tight, all-too-tangible desperation thrumming under their skin. They kept their breathing level and calm, smiled when they were supposed to, talked in their turn, but they wanted nothing so much as to turn tail and run for the Eluvian from the moment they felt the conversation’s end begin to near.

                They returned to the Lighthouse with Lucanis, and the pair parted ways shortly after. The man was polite, vocally grateful, but said he needed some time to himself, and Rook was truly happy to oblige. They liked him, certainly. They wanted him, already, far more than it was appropriate to want someone who still referred to them as nothing more than a colleague. But somehow, right now, they felt they might burst into flames if they spent ten more seconds in his sight.

                It was all too much, too fast.

                It was all too much like last time.

                They could see the knife coming, and still, they were letting him plunge it straight towards their heart.

                They wanted to break into a full sprint the moment their feet hit the stairs leading up to their bedroom. They did not. Every muscle tensed, cold sweat pricked at the back of their neck, and they did not run. They walked a bit faster than they usually might, they took the stairs two at a time - but they did not run. They were tired of running away. They were better than running away. They were a leader, now; they had to be.

                They shut the door of the meditation chamber behind themself and stalked to the other side of the room, pacing back and forth before the strange Fade fishtank until their legs began to ache. They stopped, rolled up onto their toes, then rocked back, shaking their hands out beside them, trying to dispel the nervous energy. They took a deep breath, and held it until it burned. They exhaled in a rush; still, their skin crawled.

                A year and a half ago, they would have known what to do with this. They could have gone to the training room at the Diamond and sparred with the other Crows there until they were sweaty and shaking and could fall into their bed and be sleeping before the pillow even warmed. There was almost always someone there, into the latest hours of the night, even then, it wasn’t uncommon for the Seventh Talon to linger later still. When their mind raced in circles, they needed to work. They needed to fight. They needed to hit themself against something, again and again, until exhaustion, until the spiraling in their head shattered and broke. They balled their right hand into a fist, squeezing until the seam of it bit painfully into their knuckles. They glanced down at the glove, and tightened the fist further still.

                They had been such an idiot. The touch had been accidental, but that did not make it acceptable – neither the carelessness of the unintended contact, nor the way they had fallen apart at it, the very slightest brush of his skin against theirs. A year of anger, resentment, hurt - and two fingertips, pressed into the vulnerable spot between his forefinger and his thumb, had been all it took to make them start to pant and sweat and whine ‘yes, sir’ before they had even realized the words had crossed their lips. It was embarrassing. It was unacceptable. It could not happen again.

                “You are still a de Riva, aren’t you?”

                They released the fist at their side with a frustrated sigh, and they turned on their heel, stalking silently out of their bedroom and down the stairs towards the Eluvian.

                They were still a de Riva, and they were still a Crow, too. They were tired of running away.

They ducked through the broken window into the Cantori Diamond, and almost immediately, they felt like a fool. Clearly, it was later in Treviso than they had thought it was – the upper level of the casino was almost entirely empty, from what they could see. The merchant on the other side of the room was there much later than usual, looking strangely put out, but, well, there was a reason their domain within their House was selling knives and not using them. Belladonna balked, briefly considering heading right back to the Lighthouse, but then rolled their shoulders back and walked on. Training with a dummy would not be nearly as rewarding as sparring with an actual partner, but still, it was something to hit.

“Belladonna?”

The elf froze. Viago was sitting alone at the table he shared with Teia, a report in hand, glancing up at them with a strangely shocked expression. He cleared his throat, furrowing his brow before continuing.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, voice much sterner than before.

That was more like it.

“I’m a Crow, and a de Riva. I thought I was expected.”

“You are,” he allowed. “But not at almost midnight.”

“You’re still here.”

“I was… delayed, until well into the evening. And it is easier to read when the Diamond is quiet.”

They resisted the urge to roll their eyes. Of course. Another dismissal. Typical Viago.

“Well, far be it from me to interrupt your work. I’ll leave you to it,” the elf replied, continuing towards the stairs to their destination.

“Belladonna!” Viago said, standing quickly enough for his chair to squeal against the floorboards as he did. They froze again, looking back at him.

“What are you doing here?” he repeated, the report still dangling from his hand. They sighed, frustrated, and looked down at the floor.

“I was looking for someone to spar with, if you must know. I forgot to think about the time. It’s never really night in the Fade, so well. One forgets.” They could tell they sounded short, bitter, a bit of the frustration they felt bleeding into their tone. This was the last thing they needed right now.

He stared down at them for a moment, face unreadable, then turned, setting his report down neatly atop the pile before him. He approached, crossing his arms over his chest.

“I’m still here.”

They swallowed, suddenly wishing they’d given into their earlier impulse to run. “You clearly have business to attend to. I wouldn’t want to impose.”

“You are my business,” he bit back, already visibly annoyed.

                Belladonna glared at him, the feeling very much mutual. “Fine, then,” they snapped. “Waste your own time. Single round, first blood wins.”

                His impossibly blue eyes twitched narrower at their insubordinate tone. “No. No blood. I have no wish to hurt you unnecessarily.”

                “You could have fooled me,” they thought bitterly, but they kept it to themself.

“You can’t hurt me if I don’t get hit,” they replied instead, turning their back to their Talon and walking towards the stairs. They hoped he would rise to the bait. As little as they wanted to deal with his haughty, superior attitude right now, their sparring matches with Viago had always lasted longer than with anybody else, and they wanted to work themself right up to the breaking point. Between him and the casino’s grumpy knife-seller, the better choice of training partners was fairly clear. They passed by the ziplines, strolling to the center of the training area before turning to see if he had followed.

Viago stood five paces behind them, glaring, his arms crossed over his chest.

“Begin,” he said, making no move to draw his weapons.

The mage slowly began to circle where he stood, right hand sitting softly on the hilt of their single dagger. Achingly slow, a fraction at a time, they tightened their fingers around the handle, eyes locked on Viago’s, left hand splayed wide and waiting as the two Crows moved in mutual orbit. They sprang forward, dagger slashing downwards from above; he drew his own in a flash and parried it easily, slashing back, pushing them until they stumbled back onto their heels, retreating a few steps.

“Sloppy defense,” he snapped, surging forward after them. He slashed at them with his left dagger, pushing into the resistance where their blade stopped his and stabbing forward with his right. They were gone before it ever came, rolling straight past his knees, and spun in their crouch to slash back at him. He turned before the blow could land, though, kicking the blade away with a snarl. It clattered across the floor, and Belladonna sent a wide arc of lightning cracking forward to slow the elder Crow’s approach. He stumbled back, momentarily dazed, and they dove towards their weapon, seizing it from the floor. They wheeled to face Viago, who shook his head sharply as they stalked back towards him.

“Look who’s talking,” the elf snapped back, feinting to the right before surging in to the left, stabbing down towards his thigh; the man’s arm flew out between them, and their forearm crashed hard into his as he blocked the attack, shoving them backwards once more. They fell back into their careful circling, and despite themself, they broke into a wide, wild grin. Lightning danced along their palm, their heart pounded in their chest, and their hand was rock-steady on the handle of their dagger.

This was exactly what they’d wanted.

They spun in towards him and stabbed; he knocked their arm away again. Their orb whirled to life in their palm, magic beginning to crackle, and he slammed the hilt end of his dagger up into the underside of their hand, breaking their concentration on the spell and sending them reeling backwards with a cry of pain and rage.

“Focus, Belladonna,” Viago said through gritted teeth, slashing down at them with his left dagger. They slammed the heel of their still-aching hand hard into the inside of his wrist with a jolt of electricity, sending the weapon flying out of his grip.

“Focus, Viago,” they parroted in a whining, mocking tone, looking dramatically between him and his lost blade. He scowled and swept in close, slashing out with the remaining one. It contacted theirs once, then again, then whipped through empty air as the elf leapt back out of the final attack’s reach. This time, it was Belladonna who closed the distance, lunging forward. His weapon flew up, stopping theirs with an arm-rattling clang, and they sliced at him again, this time contacting nothing at all as he whirled out of range.  

“Do not mock me.” His face was drawn, lips pulled back in a sneer – but his pupils were blown wide, not fixed on their eyes, but on their mouth.

“I can work with that.”

It would be a low blow, and a truly reckless card to play, considering their own condition.

“Or what?” the elf bit back, smiling another reckless, feral smile as they sidestepped a strike. “You don’t want to hurt me, and I’m not going to yield. You told me that I’d win before we ever came down here.”

                Viago leapt forward, bringing his dagger down hard. They had to bring both hands up behind their own to hold back the blow, their arms shaking with the exertion.

                “Yield, Belladonna,” he warned, eyes narrow, chest heaving.

                “No.” They yanked back their weapon from under his own, sending his balance out from under him, and dove off to the right to avoid the blade as the man stumbled forward to the left. They spun on their knees, grateful for the thick padding that the new armor provided their kneecaps, and scrambled back to their feet.

                It would be a reckless card to play, true – but every muscle sang out with exertion, and each breath seared into their lungs like ice. It seemed as good a time for recklessness as any.

                “You never answered - or what, sir?” they purred, tipping their chin up at him in challenge.

                Viago growled, rising to meet it in glorious form. He leapt forward with another vicious swipe of his blade. “I could make you regret that,” he snarled as he slashed towards them, spinning in, and whichever half of their reply his was in response to, they were thrilled.

                “But you won’t.” They met his strike, pushing it aside; he stabbed at them, and they leapt backwards. He whirled in again, slashing down, and they stumbled back on their heels, one step, then another. He came in for another strike, whipping around once more, putting his full weight behind it. They barely got their own blade up in time to meet his, and the split-second of distraction that provided him was enough.

                Viago slammed his empty left hand flat into their solar plexus, shoving them roughly against the wall behind them. They tried to slash down at him with a defiant cry, and that hand shot up between them to block. He seized their wrist, slammed it hard against the stone wall above their head, then squeezed, forcing them to drop their dagger off to the side as his own rose to hover over the thin line of exposed skin remaining at their throat.

                “Yield, Belladonna,” he repeated, his voice rough and low. His eyes did not leave their mouth.

                “No.” They bit down on their bottom lip, tipping their chin up to press their neck into the edge of his knife.

                “Yield, Belladonna. This blade is poisoned.”

                “Oooh,” they cooed, batting their eyelashes. “Do you think it could kill me?”

                “Possibly,” Viago replied, his jaw tightening.

                For all his bluster and irritation, he really had never planned to give them so much as a papercut. He would not hurt them in any way that mattered. One way or the other, they were always going to win. The backwards display of affection sent an untimely spike of heat pulsing between their thighs, nearly disarming them entirely.

                They pressed their only remaining advantage.

                “You’d better be careful, then,” they purred, arching their back to press their neck harder into the weapon’s deadly edge. His breath hissed out through his locked teeth, and he eased the dagger back just enough to keep it from biting into their skin.

                “Yield.”

                “No,” they snarled back, trying vainly to push against his weight; he shoved his body forwards into theirs, locking them into place against the stone. He threw his dagger to the side with another frustrated sound, then dropped his hand to the side of their hip, two gloved fingers sliding into a concealed pocket to ease out the whisper-thin knife concealed there.

                Of course Viago knew where their new armor’s secret weapons were. He had given it to them, he was wearing its twin, and as he had told them time and time again, a shared secret was no secret at all. Something flashed across his face, and he lifted his chin, sneering coldly down at them.

                “Fine,” he growled. “Have it your way.”

                He raised the knife, and Belladonna’s breath skipped in their throat. They bared their teeth, struggling vainly against him as he pressed the blade against the swell of their right cheek, drawing a thin, shallow line towards their pointed ear. They hissed at the pain, but tried to press forward into it all the same. He hilted the knife at their hip once more, then raised his hand again, running the pad of his exposed thumb over the stinging wound. He held it up before them, lips twitching in haughty satisfaction.

                “There. First blood. Now, darling, let me ask you one more time - do you yield?”

                Finally, they gave in, letting their eyes drift down to his mouth once more.

                “Yes, sir,” they breathed back, their lower lip falling open. “I yield.”

                A muscle jumped in his jaw at the words, but Viago only froze for a moment before pulling back just a hair to pull a bottle from his belt, scowling. He yanked the cork out with his teeth, held the bottle up between their faces, then took a small sip from it himself before his left hand released its vise grip on their wrist to seize their twin braids instead. He pulled hard from the nape of their neck, forcing their head to crane back, and he lifted the bottle to their lips.

                “Drink,” he commanded, and without a moment’s hesitation, they did. The healing potion was sour, but it did its work quickly, and the pain at their cheek melted out into tingling warmth. Viago ran his thumb over the spot again, testing the newly-knitted skin.

                “Will it-”

                His hand twitched tighter on their cheek, and before they could say another word, Viago’s mouth crashed down against their own. They let out a noise of surprise, the sound muffled by the insistent press of his lips against theirs. The yelp soon died off into a moan as they deepened the kiss, winding their arms around his neck. His cock twitched against their thigh at the sound, and they whined, bucking up into him. He bit down on their lower lip, rolling it between his teeth as he pulled back until the pleasure just edged into pain, then released it, surging forward once more.

                This was not what it had been like last time.

                He kissed them roughly, his grip still tight around their hair as he pressed into their mouth. He bit, he growled, he yanked down the high collar of the cloak he had given them and sucked a line of small, dark bruises into their neck. His lips crashed hard against theirs once more, then finally, he pulled back with a snarl, panting heavily as he sneered down at them.

                “No, Belladonna, it will not scar.”

                The Fifth Talon stepped back out of their proximity, turning to collect his fallen daggers. Belladonna’s eyes narrowed as they rolled their shoulders a bit, already aching. They bent, scooping their own weapon off the floor beside them, securing it at their side as they leveled the man with a suspicious look.

                “Nice guess.”

                He glanced over and raised a single eyebrow at them, not even bothering to come up with a lie.

                “So, how long were you spying on me, exactly?”

                “Long enough to have serious questions about the quality of your judgment.” Viago’s face darkened, and he stepped in close to the mage once more. “You are a mage. I should not need to remind you of the very real danger that demons pose to you.” His aquamarine eyes flashed with anger, and he braced his hand on the wall beside them, boxing them in. “I should not need to. And yet clearly, the lesson could do with repeating.”

                “Lucanis is-”

                “An abomination,” Viago snarled down at them. “Lucanis is an abomination. Tell me, when there’s a demon crawling under your skin, what is it you plan to do then? Do you think that possession will be bitter and sweet?”

                Belladonna exhaled harshly at the words, glaring up at him. “That is absolutely none of your business.”

                Viago leaned in until his face was bare inches from their own. “You are my Crow, Belladonna. You are my business,” he hissed, his voice a low, possessive whisper - and with that, he turned sharply on the spot, stalking back off into the Diamond.

                The elf watched him go, mindlessly lifting their hand to dab their bloodied, already healed cheek.

                “My,” their brain echoed, and it made their aching heart pound. “My Crow. My business. Mine. His. Mine.”

Chapter Text

Viago stormed up the stairs to his usual workspace, pacing frustratedly on the spot for a moment before forcing himself to stop, willing each muscle to still. He hissed out a breath and fell back into his upholstered chair, pushing himself in to the table and seizing the report he’d set down atop his pile hard enough to make it crumple a bit in his hand. He sighed, smoothing the document on the edge of the table. Something caught his eye, and his brow furrowed as he held the parchment up closer. Near the margins of the writing, there was now something new – a single bloody thumbprint, smearing out over the sentences’ ends.

                The possessive heat burning within him flared bright once more as he glared down at the mark. It should never have happened. He never should have let things get so out of his control; he should have known they would from the very start. Was that not exactly why Belladonna drove him to such distraction, for their impossible ability to demand victory from their own defeat, even upon a knife’s point?

He shook his head sharply as he tried to focus, returning to the start of his report. Yet another of the many Crows he had searching for the city’s betrayers had turned up yet more of nothing at all.

He slammed the crumpled, useless report down beside the pile, picking up the next.

“Rook?”

Viago’s brow knit into a hard, angry line.

Lucanis ducked in through the window casing, fresh from the Eluvian and wearing casual clothes, a rag tucked in his back pocket. He called out again as he looked one way, then the other.

“Rook? Rook!”

He rolled up on his toes, looking across the rotunda towards the table where the Diamond’s merchant still stood, glowering in Viago’s general direction, then half-jogged around the corner, coming to stop a few paces before where he sat.

“Oh, good. Viago, have you seen Rook? They left without telling anyone.”

“They have been known to do that,” he thought dryly.

The Fifth Talon only glanced up from his report for a moment as he replied, keeping his face carefully neutral. “I believe they are around here somewhere. If they left no word, though, how did you follow?”

Lucanis stilled. “Call it professional intuition.”

The other man hummed back a small noise of acknowledgement, pointedly reading his report. There was a quiet hiss from beside him, and looked up to find Lucanis’ face drawn in pain, his eyes screwed shut and his fingers pressed into his temple. He breathed heavily, shaking his head.

“Forgive me, I have a bit of a headache,” he said, then inhaled sharply through his nose and made a low, strangled noise. Viago followed his gaze as it snapped to the discarded report sitting beside the pile, then to his right hand – then, finally, dragged back up to meet the Talon’s own. Lucanis’ upper lip was twitching back in barely-restrained anger, his brown eyes dark and narrowed, and in the casino’s dancing half-light, Viago swore they almost began to glow.

“You know, Fifth Talon, it occurs to me that you did not answer my question.”

“Oh? Which was?” Viago said casually, as if he did not recall. He set his current report down atop the one which had caught the man’s attention, turning his chair a bit to face him.

Lucanis looked down towards his bloodied right hand as he spoke, his voice dangerous and low.

“Have you seen Rook?”

“Lucanis?” they asked, emerging through an archway. Their face was clean and damp, with wisps of wet black hair plastered here and there across their forehead and cheek. They had taken the time to slink off into the Diamond and wash up a bit, it seemed, and all traces of their earlier encounter were gone.

Almost all traces.

The high neck of their cloak had been unbuttoned, and the collar must have slipped down a bit as they scrubbed the blood away from their face – for there, half-hidden by a dissolving braid and just barely peeking over the leather’s edge, was his little line of love-bites, already blooming darker and darker across the elf’s pale neck.

“Yes, actually. I have,” Viago replied, holding back a smirk. The elf glanced between him and Lucanis, brow furrowing.

“What are you doing here?” they asked, tilting their head. “Are you alright?”

“I could ask you the same question,” Lucanis replied, too quickly, looking them up and down before sighing and glancing away. “I made food. Since we both missed dinner, I thought you might be hungry. I brought it by your room, but you weren’t there, so,” he rubbed the back of his neck, “I came looking.”

“You’re sweet. I’m alright,” they said with a sigh, “and I am pretty hungry.”

                “Heh, well,” Lucanis said, looking at the floor and clearing his throat awkwardly. “There’s food.”

                “Alright, then. Let’s go back to the Lighthouse.”

                Viago stood, crossing his arms over his chest. “Ah-hem.”

                Belladonna turned back towards him, visibly irritated. He raised his eyebrows, affecting a flawless mask of disapproval, and they sighed, approaching him.

                “Unless there’s anything else, Fifth Talon?” they said, voice cloyingly, artificially sweet, their gem-purple eyes narrowed.

                “Actually, there is,” he said. He stepped into their personal space, bending to bring his lips close beside their ear and dropping his voice to a whisper. “Button up your collar, dove.”

They sucked in a surprised breath, their hands flying up to scramble at the silver buttons at their neck. Once they had fastened it, he reached out, straightening the leather into its proper place, safely covering the marks he’d left below it.

Viago made brief eye contact with Lucanis over the elf’s shoulder, then turned away to hide his face before the artificial scowl melted into a small, smug smile.

“Armor can’t protect you if you won’t wear it properly, de Riva,” he said at normal volume, returning to his chair, “and you got hit. Your defense has clearly gotten sloppy. Remember to work on that.”

                “Yes, Fifth Talon,” they replied, their cheeks burning scarlet and their voice no longer quite so strong.

                “Good. You’re dismissed, then. Enjoy your food.”

                “Thank you, Fifth Talon,” they said quietly, looking down at the floor as they turned to hurry out of the Diamond once more. Viago looked down at his report again, satisfied with himself.

“Come on, Lucanis. Let’s go home.” Viago’s head snapped up at the remark, but the elf had already faced the other way, stretching their arms out for a moment. Lucanis was close by their side, glancing coldly over his shoulder at the other man before turning and slowly, deliberately placing his hand on the small of their back.

“After you,” he said, ushering them steadily towards the Eluvian.

His lips pulled down into a hard scowl as he watched the pair leave, that old, unsubtle muscle leaping in his jaw.

“You’re sweet.

Let’s go home.”

“I brought it by your room.”

The two Crow’s voices rattled in his memory, consuming his attention. Teia had mentioned that Lucanis had brought ‘his colleague’ along to the meeting about Caterina’s funeral as they passed each other on his way in that night; even then, it had seemed strange. One impossibly long yesterday ago, the pair had still been bantering about first kisses like a couple of fumbling youths. Tonight, they were settling into an easy domesticity; dealing with private family matters side by side throughout the day, taking quiet meals together in the elf’s bedroom late at night. Once, Belladonna had shared their mentor’s watchfulness towards poison, and had been suspicious of taking anything from anyone, even from Viago himself – now, they were letting him handle their food. How fast were those two going, in that little love nest in the Fade?

He exhaled sharply, shoving away from the table and stalking out of the Diamond. He was tired of staring at his ever-growing stack of paperwork and feeling the Cantori merchant glare daggers from across the room. He swung down the zipline, cutting silently across the rooftops to Villa de Riva, his right hand fisting and releasing over and over by his side, moving as if of its own accord. 

                What in Andraste’s name was Belladonna thinking?

                He swept up the stairs towards his private area of the villa, the murderous glare on his face enough to encourage the staff’s silence as he arrived. He resisted the urge to kick his way through his office door, but still shoved it open hard enough to send it flying into the wall behind it with a deafening crack, the wood then shuddering back in the other direction until it slammed shut. He paced back and forth across the room, tearing both hands through his hair.

                They were being deliberately obtuse, deliberately reckless – and their defense had gotten sloppy. They had taken more than one hit in their sparring match, and now, out of their maddening proximity and finally able to think once more, he began to process just how out of character that was. Once, they had been too proud to ever let a blow connect. Bouts between him and his protégé had always lasted so achingly long in large part due to the way the mage would flit and feint and dance their way out of arm’s reach, always stepping out of the way of his blade just before it could connect. It was infuriating to face, and an absolute wonder to behold. Viago had deeply, deeply approved of the strategy, though of course, he had never said it. Now, it seemed they were content to be on the receiving end of as many blows as they could physically bear if that was what it took for them to win, and win quickly - and Viago mostly certainly did not approve.   

They had not listened at all when he had tried to warned them off of Lucanis. They had hissed and glared and looked away, they’d taken a tone and started to argue, but for not even one moment had they listened. He had tried to get them to think, and they had flatly refused. He had tried to get them to see, to open their stupid, perfect eyes to the ridiculous level of danger they had left themself wide open to. They had walked right back into it with open arms. The danger had taken them home for dinner.

He was possessed. They were a mage. What were they thinking?

An uncomfortable sweat pricked at his brow, and Viago scrubbed it away with a huff as he paced to and fro. They were being deliberately obtuse, intolerably reckless. They were letting themself get hit. They were too skinny, too pale; they weren’t getting enough sleep. They had two scars on their brow that had not been there before they had left Antiva - and when they’d heard his dagger was poisoned, they’d pressed their pale, delicate neck harder into its edge. They were intentionally putting themself in danger. Were they trying to get themself killed?

He was possessed.

Viago’s breath flew out in a rush. He had seen for himself how deadly Lucanis could be when that demon of his took charge in a fight. How long would it be before it turned its claws against an ally instead of an enemy? All it would take was a second’s lost control for it to cut someone half into shreds, and just a second or two more for it to kill.

 How long before that team of theirs shipped his little dove home in a casket? How long before Lucanis came stumbling through that blasted mirror with his crowded head in his hands, as if there were anything to say, as if there could be an apology for the worst thing imaginable?

His mouth went dry, and quite without realizing, the Fifth Talon froze on the spot.

He had imagined something worse.

Belladonna, not dead, but not right, either, a lurid glow behind their eyes. Belladonna, twisted, changing, cooing at him with a demon’s voice. Belladonna, letting out that awful, unnatural, unmistakable screech he had only ever heard from abomination targets, and only ever as their skin pulled and turned. Viago’s breathing accelerated, pulse racing in his throat. He swallowed hard. They were his Crow; they were his responsibility. They would be until the very end. If anything happened within Treviso…

A demon wearing Belladonna’s face, charging towards him in the Diamond.

A monster with their violet eyes, forcing him to do the unspeakable.

Belladonna, falling, the way they had over and over again in a year’s worth of nightmares, but twisted into a brand-new sort of horror. Belladonna, going slack around the blade of his dagger.

If anything happened while they were in Treviso, the Crows would look to him first and expect him not to hesitate. The famously unyielding Viago de Riva would never let an abomination tear across the city carrying his name. They would expect him to go hunting. They would expect him to put them down.

 Viago involuntarily released a small, pained whine, resuming his earlier pacing with increasing freneticism.  He could not do it. He could hardly bear to think of it – but if the worst came to pass, he knew that he would not have a choice. They were his responsibility. He would have to do it anyway, and in the end, he knew he would. The idea of killing them himself was unspeakable; the idea of someone else doing it was worse. Even if it broke him into pieces, if their blood had to spill, it would be across his hands. After everything he had put them through, he owed the elf that much. If death tried to come for them, he would stand between them and every blade in Antiva to ensure it was with a soft touch and a smile.

By his side, his right hand twitched. He glanced down at it, unthinking, then slowly lifted it into clearer view. He held it up in front of his chest, palm skyward and fingers shaking.

There it was, half-browned against the skin of his thumb and smearing messily over his glove. Their blood. Their body. Belladonna.

Below his hand, something else twitched, and Viago’s lower lip began to tremble.

It was a disgusting idea. It was a horrible idea. His breath came in quick, nervous pants, and he began to blush guiltily at even having had the thought. And yet, it rose again, and with it came the memories his frustration and fear had pushed to the side for a time.

Belladonna, teasing him, taunting him, biting their lip and saying ‘yes, sir’. Their wide, wanting eyes locked on his mouth, the way they’d writhed against him and panted at the sight of their own blood on his hand.

Their body, warm and wet against his skin.

It was an unspeakable idea. It was wrong.

He paced across the room, and he locked his office door.

Viago settled in the center of the couch and leaned into its high back with a shuddering exhale. He screwed his eyes shut, unwilling to look at himself as he used his left hand to wrench open the closures of his belt and trousers. He shoved his trousers and underclothes down around his thighs.

He spat into the palm of his still-gloved right hand, and he took his hardening cock into his grip, giving it a long, slow stroke. His eyes flew open and he looked down, his mouth falling open with a small, needy whine. He slowly wrapped his bloodied thumb and two forefingers around it, stroking himself again, coating himself in spit and precome and their blood. Their body, warm and wet against his cock once more.

He was going to make a mess of his glove. How would he get this out of the leather?

He increased the pressure of his hand, speeding up his motions. His head fell against the tall back of the couch, his hips picking up an involuntary rhythm against the ring of his fingers and thumb. It was sinful. It was divine.

He rolled his hand up over his tip, tightening his grip as he pulled up on the head and making himself release another breathless sound of pleasure. Another bead of precome wept from him, and he slicked it back down over his length, his eyelashes fluttering closed.

Maker, the way they had looked at him, squirming into his knife. The way their body had felt, tucked so tightly against his own, still warm and wanting after over a year, their breath heaving into his ribcage, their heartbeat pounding into his chest. The way their lips had felt on his, the way they had moaned into his mouth…

He wanted to eat them alive. He wanted to kiss his way from their ankles to their thighs and not stop until he drowned. They would make it so good. He wanted to seat them on his chin with their fingers in his hair, and he wanted to make them pull until it hurt-

He thrust up into his hand, stroking himself with increasing urgency. His breath came in shallow, open-mouth pants as he pulled and twisted and fucked whispers of their blood into his skin, desperate to have, desperate to find some part of them that he could still be inside.

He wanted to feel their legs tighten on his face, to hear them let out those delicious little moans, to taste more and more of their perfect heat as they grew slick against his tongue once more; he wanted their smell to stay in his beard-

Viago’s left hand flew to his mouth and he bit hard on one knuckle to stifle his whimper as he bucked up into his hand, his release bursting past his knuckles and onto his knee and the carpet below. His hips rocked mindlessly up into his own grip, the rest of his fingers closing tight around his cock as it pulsed once, then again, shooting one final line of come down over his hand to roll slowly down the back of his glove.

He collapsed back against the couch, chest heaving and his mind in a whirl. He swept weakly at the line of come across his knee, wiping it onto his already-ruined glove. He yanked the item off, tossing it onto the floor where it would fall on the stone.

Maker’s Breath, the carpet. He would have to clean that up himself. No matter how discreet his staff had proven themselves to be, he was not letting them handle that.

Cold shame settled over him like a shroud, with an instant sobering effect. He straightened against the couch, his skin crawling. The leather beneath him had grown hot and sticky against his thighs, and he peeled himself off of it, shoving himself to his feet with a noise of disgust. He yanked his clothes back into position, buckling his belt with such urgency, his hands shook. He needed to get this off of him. He needed to make himself right.

He scrubbed the carpet for over an hour, and he burnt both of his gloves. The left had been left unsoiled, other than the crescent scars of his teeth, but without the right, all it was good for was starting unwanted conversations; it, too, went up in smoke. After, he snuck down the empty hallway to his bathroom with his head hung low, drew an inch of freezing water, and scrubbed at his skin until he was red and nearly raw. He cleaned and polished and waxed the leather of his armor until he could see his face shining in it, then buffed the wax away until it dulled to matte once more.   

He worked; he compartmentalized. He crept through the hidden door into his lab and swept the contents of three full shelves down into a box, little glass potion vials rolling together with clinks and clatters. He dusted the shelves, and he polished the bottles, and he put them back again, neatly, in alphabetical order. It didn’t work. He couldn’t think.

He wanted them on his mouth.

He wanted to get so deep under their skin, they would never be out of his reach again. He wanted to get lost in them and never come back out. Every part of him needed them, body and soul.

Maker, he loved them. He loved them. He loved them.

He had to make this right. He had to make them see, make them talk to him, make them listen. Belladonna needed to be safe. It was the only reason he had ever sent them off on this thrice-cursed contract to begin with; he had wanted to keep them safe from the wrath of both the Antaam and the Talons by getting them out of Antiva. This was supposed to have gone different. They were supposed to be home by now, not living at the mercy of a demon in the Fade. Lucanis was there when they ate, when they slept; he made them dinner and brought it to their room. He had entire, absolute access to every quiet part of their life.

He was there, and Viago was not, and that was an abomination.

Chapter Text

One night passed, and Rook did not find rest. They tossed and turned on their chaise; they paced in front of the fishtank. Exhaustion came; sleep did not. In the morning, they followed Neve to Minrathous, Lucanis at their side. The man hung over their shoulder like a second shadow, but the comfort his presence had brought them in previous days had soured somewhat.

                Neve was flirting with him.

                It wasn’t overt, it wasn’t embarrassing. Little words here, hints there; the slightest changes in her posture and a challenge in her tone. It was exactly how one should approach a Crow. If she were pointing her charms at any other of their peers, the elf might have complimented her on it.

                As it stood, the elf was strongly considering poisoning her next fish skewer. The damned Vint couldn’t tell the difference between frying and grilling; she would never notice the subtle taste of a little de Rivan hospitality. If they did it right before a fight and made sure she got hit at least once during it, no one would ever need know. Even better, they could go fast-acting, and make it look like she’d developed a sudden, deadly allergy to seafood! Surely Viago had something in the reserves that mimicked anaphylaxis…

While they admirably refrained from outright homicide, they did not manage to keep themself from sounding a bit short when a Templar friend of Neve’s showed up. Thankfully, direct as her profession would lead one to imagine, Rana Savas had taken their brusqueness in stride and gotten right on with it. 

                “Fuck Templars,” Rook had thought at her anyway, nearly stomping their way to the Eluvian when the job was done.

                Another night passed. They spent an hour or two in fitful dreams then woke again, desperate and tired and wired. They came on their own hand twice, then again, then gave up on a night’s sleep entirely and started reading through all the stray bits of parchment the team had found on their excursions so far. If nothing else, at least they could still work. They had that. They were good at that.

                The third day, it was back to Treviso. They had no particular mission, but Neve wanted to check in with a contact, Lucanis wanted to stock up on citrus, and Rook wanted to kill, ideally, something big, evil, or both.  Between the Antaam and the occasional Venatori, their home provided ample opportunities at both, and Rook was more than happy to clear a few alleys of thugs for the night. Listening to the pair banter behind them did nothing for the elf’s foul mood, though, and they scowled deeply in the other direction, pointedly ignoring their teammates as Neve teased and lilted and flirted with him.

                Lucanis wasn’t flirting back, per se – but he wasn’t not flirting back, either. He wasn’t shutting her down. In fact, he talked with her while they were in the field far more than he ever did with them. Clearly, there was some level of interest there.

                That night, he made a salad for dinner. Chopped mint and basil nestled beside thinly sliced fennel and shavings of a hard, salty cheese, all tossed together and drizzled with oil and perfectly paired to complement the real star of the show – little wedges of sweet, fresh orange. Neve glanced across the table at Lucanis as she took her portion, a knowing smile playing on her face.

Rook stared down at their plate, forcing themself to chew and swallow. It was an objectively good salad, and yet, festooned with the citrus he had bought specifically to keep her healthy, it was as unpalatable as poison and twice as hard to stomach. They had barely managed a few bites before they left the table, blurting out an apology to the chef and rushing back to their room without another word.

They slammed the door behind them and fell onto the chaise, immediately feeling a bit guilty for the noise. Varric had been dozing when they’d stepped into the infirmary next door to call him to dinner. He was becoming increasingly bedbound as his slow-healing wounds gave him more and more trouble, and was sleeping more, too. They hoped they hadn’t woken him. He needed the rest; it would do him good.

If only sleep would come to them so easily.

They were exhausted, in every sense of the word, but still, they could not sleep. For days, their mind had been running in circles, thoughts racing, and the growing flirtation between Lucanis and Neve had only served as fuel to the fire. Less than a week ago, he’d been making bedroom eyes over the rim of his coffee cup at them and holding their hand to help them through the window to the Eluvian. He’d taken them with to plan his grandmother’s funeral, for pity’s sake, and when he thanked Teia as they were leaving, he’d called Dellamorte ‘our house’, not ‘his’. Illario had been absent for several hours by then, but still, ours, as if he already thought they deserved the name, too, like they somehow belonged there by his side. Less than a week ago, it had seemed like so much, so fast, but they’d let themself care anyway, and then Neve had come along and mewled her first perfect little line at him, and he’d barely said a word to them since.

They sat up with a hiss, scrubbing at their face before letting it fall into their hands. They wished it had been poison in the salad instead of those stupid fucking oranges. After all the time they’d spent with Viago, they were used to being poisoned. Poison, they knew what to do with.

Standing by and watching as Lucanis lost interest, though? Crow training never covered that.

In the back of their mind, though, they heard a quiet ‘amorcita’, a bitter memory rising once again.

After their time with Viago, they should have been used to being forgotten about, too. At least it had taken Lucanis three whole days to do it, instead of just a couple hours. Maybe they were getting better at being worth a damn. Maybe next time, they’d be worth keeping for a week.

Belladonna let out their breath in an angry, wounded huff, dropping their elbows onto their thighs and scowling at the glowing plants in the fishtank.

It was exactly like last time.

They had known it was foolish to let themself harbor feelings for the man. Even if he had been interested, they should have never pursued it. He was the heir presumptive to the First Talon’s throne, and they were a foul-mouthed, elven almost-exile, among many other faults, and with none of the money or family connections to outweigh them. It never would have worked, at least not for very long. If Caterina were alive, she would never approve of him settling on such an unsuitable match, and even in death, they knew Lucanis would do what she would have wanted. They might have had fun together, maybe even gotten in a few good years, but they knew who he was, and so did he. Eventually, his sense of familial duty would win out, and he would have had to find some nice human girl to give him nice human children and fill House Dellamorte’s empty ranks with new life. He was a sweet man, a good man, so he might even have had the decency to be sad about it, but either way, he’d have set them aside to find a worthy bride among Thedas’ human elite. After all, no matter how gladly they’d take a pretty knife-ear between the sheets, there was nothing a shemlen noble wanted less than an elf-blooded bastard.

                They had seen the knife coming, and here it was, buried in their heart. They’d known better than to let themself want more than just friendship from him, and still, they gone and wanted it anyway. What was it about dark, brooding, unavailable Crows that made them lose all their senses?

                Oh, Gods preserve them. Did they have a type? Their type was men who didn’t want them? That was so much worse than a heartbreak.

                “Well, no. Not quite,” they mused, thinking over both men’s behavior in the past days.

Lucanis, chasing off Teia, making them a late-night dinner, being so worried when they weren’t there to receive it that he dashed off into the Crossroads without even putting on his armor. Lucanis, calling them his.

Viago, dressing them up in a match of his own armor, biting at their lip, pulling at their hair, sucking a collar of bruises across their throat like they were a kept thing. Viago, calling them his.

Both men wanted them, that much was clear – but both wanted them the way a dragon wants for gold: to have, but not to hold. To keep, but not to cherish. They were good enough for a quick fuck, good enough to comfort a man through his sorrow, but not good enough to deserve any actual affection from him afterwards. Both were really more interested in someone else, and both made no effort to hide it, but neither wanted anyone else to have their Belladonna, either.

“Fuck them,” they thought bitterly, pushing to their feet. “Fuck them both.”

The spark of curious desire that thought lit between their legs did nothing to quell their mounting ire. They hissed out a breath and stalked towards the wardrobe.

They had no idea what to do with either of the men’s possessive grandstanding, or with their own wounded heart. Neither of those had easy solutions. Anger, though? Feeling caged?

That they could work with.

They were going to make a mess.

Long ago, in another life, Teia had stood on the other side of Viago’s bedroom door and yelled, not realizing the subject of her remarks was standing there too, listening in.

“They’re wild, they’re impulsive. And right now, they’re out there somewhere, alone and pissed. Do you have such little faith in the ability of your own Crows that you do not fear what one could do when on the warpath?”

The Fifth Talon had deflected, saying that he trusted their judgement. Belladonna chuckled darkly at the memory as they began stripping out of their armor, leaving the pieces on the floor where they fell.

He should have listened to his little love. They were going to prove her right. They were going to be a problem.

They yanked their bra off, tossing it aside, and reached for the leather shirt Viago had given them, still sitting in a ball at the wardrobe’s bottom. They shook it out, happy to see it had taken no permanent creases, and after sliding into the arms, began to button it. They stopped after four, leaving the neckline open low enough to show off the tattoo on their bare sternum. They continued getting ready, swiping on dark shadow and eyeliner and painting their lips a vivid scarlet, but then paused, dissatisfied. They rifled through the wardrobe’s drawers until they found their old bottle of perfume, the one they would wear on seduction contracts, when they were still enough of a Crow to be given contracts at all. It was a heady, animalic thing, heavy with jasmine and sandalwood, and it always got them what they wanted. They sprayed on more than they usually would, making sure it soaked into the stitching in the leather. After more than a year, they knew his smell had faded – but they wanted to drown it out anyway. Finally, they pulled the bands off the bottoms of their braids, unraveling them with quick, deft fingers. They shook their head, letting the wavy ebon hair drift loose over their shoulders. They turned away from the wardrobe and walked to the table behind their chaise, holding Varric’s shaving mirror aloft and examining themself. They turned one way, then the other, pouting out their lips and pulling down the open collar of their shirt, examining their fading line of love-bites.  

Not their best, but it would have to do. 

                Belladonna set down the mirror, turning for the door, then paused, frowning. After they’d ran out on dinner, it was more likely than not that someone would come check on them before bed– and if they were gone without any word, then clearly, someone would just have to go hunting. The last thing they wanted was Lucanis swooping in to march them back through the Eluvian again before they got the chance to forget about him and paint Treviso red. They pulled a piece of parchment from a drawer, scrawling out a quick note atop the little table by the door.

                “Going to see an old friend, won’t be back till morning – Rook.”

                It wasn’t a lie, per se; they knew exactly which of their favorite merchants they would be visiting the moment they got home. Still, the untruthful implication was there. There weren’t many kinds of social calls that started after dinner and ended after breakfast. Whoever found their note would assume they were sneaking off after a secret lover– and they had a pretty good idea who would come looking first.

                  It was childish, of course. Petty, certainly. If the man had ever actually had feelings for them, it might even have been genuinely cruel.

                The taste of oranges rose sour in their mouth, and with a twisted little smile, Rook walked out the door.

They knew the rest of the team must still be finishing dinner, or one of them would have come after them by now. They kept their footsteps whisper-light anyway, unwilling to allow even Varric to hear as they slipped down the stairs and disappeared through the mirror.

When they arrived in Treviso, they paused a moment, scanning the handful of Crows enjoying the evening air by the Eluvian. They found what they needed almost immediately, and put on their most appealing smile as they sidled up to the gawking fledgling. He was a human man, blond, and twenty at the most - but he was already tall and broad, with shoulders that began well over the top of Rook’s head.

He’d do just fine for this part.

“You,” they purred, tapping a finger against the center of his chest and looking up at him through their lashes. He stared down in obvious shock, mouth gaping, unable to keep his eyes from the plunging neckline of their shirt. “Walk me to the ziplines, would you?”

“I, uh, I, yes! Please. Thank you. Please?” the boy babbled, gaze darting uselessly between their face and their cleavage before seemingly remembering his manners by offering them his elbow, throwing it out so quickly he nearly shoved it into their ribs.

Belladonna resisted the urge to roll their eyes, instead forcing a false little giggle as they took the offered support and proceeded with him into the Diamond. They kept a half a pace behind the fledgling, pushing into his arm ever so slightly so he felt like he was the one leading – and so that his significantly larger body was angled just right, blocking them from the view of their head of House. Lucanis coming along to ruin their fun would have been insufferable; Viago lecturing them for even considering having it would be much, much worse. So, in spite of how their escort towered above them, they gently encouraged him to walk the long way around the rotunda instead of the more direct route, knowing his cover wouldn’t be enough if they got too close to the Talons. Luckily, the man was all too happy to be led, focused as he was on staring down their shirt. When they got to the stairs down towards their destination, he paused, using his free hand to gesture for them to go first, but Belladonna only froze. Heir looked between the pair and raised a silent eyebrow at the other elf, but they hardly noticed – it was not the trainer’s judgement of their partner, but the distant sound of a familiar voice which kept them rooted on the spot.

“See? This is why we split,” Viago had said, loud enough to carry around the corner. Despite themself, they glanced towards the archway through which they knew he stood. “And got back together...”

Their heart sunk in their chest, lips twitching. They’d suspected as much from the way the two had been behaving, but still, the knowledge brought an unwelcome burden of responsibility to their irresponsible night on the town. Kissing Viago back while guessing that he might have already been with Teia had been bad enough – knowing that he absolutely was had just made it something much worse. That was a problem better left until the morning, though, even if they’d had any interest at all in dealing with it that night. They’d be slinking back through the Diamond once the dawn broke anyway, and Teia was always at her post before anyone else. If they had to give the Seventh Talon an ‘I’m coming to you as a friend’ talk, the least they could do for them both was to make sure there’d be no audience for the aftermath.  They sighed, turning back towards the stairs.

“And split,” Viago finished, making the elf’s head whip back around fast enough to finally pull their useless escort’s attention off their tits.

“Are you alright?” he asked, looking over his shoulder to where they were staring.

Belladonna blinked a few times, mind blank. “Yeah, sorry. I just-” They glanced behind the man again, then shook their head and looked back up at him. “I thought someone was calling me. I guess the pleasant company has me all distracted,” they lied smoothly, batting their eyelashes at him.

“The feeling’s mutual,” he replied, eyes falling back to tattoo framed by the low neckline of their shirt. They pulled gently at his arm, avoiding eye contact with Heir, and the two continued past her. Despite his utter lack of charm, they found themself grateful for the man’s support as they walked down the stairs in a daze.

If the two of them weren’t together…

If he and Teia weren’t together, then the way he’d been following them for the past days might suddenly mean something quite different. When it had been Viago tailing them around the city in his capacity as their Talon, spying on their work because he didn’t trust their ability or judgement, it had been nothing but an irritation and an insult. But if his motivations were personal and not professional? If he wouldn’t let them out of his sight not because they were his Crow, but because they were his?

Sudden arousal pulsed between their thighs at the thought. If that was his game, they were willing to play. The elf and their escort cleared the stairs, and he paused in front of the closest zipline, glancing up at their face once more.

“Where are we heading, gorgeous?”

                Belladonna kept their revulsion off their face, covering it with an apologetic frown. “This one’s my stop, I’m afraid; I’ve got to stop by my armorer. I know, I know, the best things always end too soon.”

The human man sighed, visibly deflating at the slightest rejection. Seduction was clearly not among his strong suits – but it was one of theirs, and his utter lack of subtlety had given them an idea.

                If Viago wanted to find something, he would – but first, he had to know that he should be looking for it.

                “But don’t worry, sweet thing. You still get something for your trouble,” they purred at him, beckoning him to lean down to their level. They pushed onto their tiptoes, bracing their hands on his wide shoulders, and pressed three sweet, soft kisses against his warm skin before pulling back to examine their work. One scarlet lip print burned bright on his left cheek, another on his right- and the third was planted firmly in the middle of his forehead, smudged downwards a bit from the difference in their heights.

                “Perfect,” they thought, thoroughly satisfied with themself. Any normal Crow would see nothing but the little red ghosts of a lover’s careless kisses, scattered over his face at random.

                Not Viago, though. He’d see the man walk by, and he would know. He would remember.

                “Oh, no,” they said aloud, giggling as if the smears of lipstick been an accident, shooting one hand up to cover their mouth before the man could think to lean in. “I may have marked you up a little.”

                “Oh, no,” the boy echoed sarcastically, laughing with them. “Not proof I got your lips on me! Don’t worry, darling. I’ll wear them as a badge of honor.”

                The fledgling made his last attempt at flirtation and gave them an overblown bow, then turned to walk back into the Diamond. Once his back was turned, Belladonna let their lip curl, openly disgusted by his last endearment. Until just then, they’d almost felt bad about using him for their own game and sending him back to the Talons with the evidence on his cheeks. Now? Well. Life among the Crows was never fair. The sooner the boy learned that, the-

                “YOU!”

                At the sound of Viago’s thunderous yell, Belladonna burst into a bright peal of giggles, sprinting away from the zipline they’d stopped at and leaping onto the furthest instead, landing hard on its handles.

                Their armorer’s workshop was in the other direction, fully on the other side of Treviso, and they liked the new set they’d been given just fine. They hoped that fledgling was good enough at his job to deserve a little forgiveness in the morning– because right now, he was feeding the Fifth Talon a bald-faced lie.

                Their feet hit solid stone once more, and they were running again, off to a place they knew Viago would never think to look. In all the years he’d been their mentor, he hadn’t caught them yet – and for a man who had tested more poisons on them than they could count, he was surprisingly finicky about other forms of substance use. Exactly once, while under the sway of a new influencer he’d made, they’d admitted that they’d dabbled - and ever since that day, it was always blah, blah, ‘lowered inhibitions’ this, blah, blah, ‘bad decision-making’ that. It was ‘not appropriate’ for a de Riva, and ‘not acceptable’ in his protégé – so totally unacceptable, evidently, that he’d never even noticed that they kept indulging anyway.

                They swept across the city, away from the trail they’d left, and soon enough, they were at their first destination of the night.

                They stepped through the door of the dark, smoky alchemist’s shop, sidling up to the counter. The grey-haired woman behind it smiled warmly at their approach, flinging her arms out wide.

                “If it isn’t my favorite customer! I was starting to think you’d forgotten me.”

                Belladonna laughed, returning the smile. “Please, Ethel, I’m hurt. How could I forget a woman like you?”

                “If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a thousand times, I’m old enough to be your grandmother. You can’t flirt your way into a discount.”

                “Have you seen what you charge? You can’t blame me for trying.”

                “Oh yes, I could! You’re lucky you’re cute.”

                They laughed at that. “Now who’s flirting?”

                The woman rolled her eyes at them, shaking her head before continuing. “Making some mana potions tonight, are we?”

                “You know me so well.”

                “Mm. Same amount as usual?”

                “Yep,” they replied, already fishing through their pockets for the coin.

                The woman went to the back room of her shop, then returned a moment later with their goods in tow. She set the little leather bag of powdered lyrium on the counter between them, holding her hand out, and Belladonna dropped the gold into it.

                “Ah, you’re a gem,” they said, opening the bag. They licked their fingertip, then coated it in the powder and rubbed a little into their gumline. The skin immediately started to tingle and numb, and they gave Ethel a wide, genuine smile. “And your prices are justified.”

                “That’s what I like to hear. Now go on, get. You must have quite a few potions to brew.” Belladonna tucked the bag into their front pocket and gave her an exaggerated wink before they left, waving over their shoulder.

                They stepped out into the cool night air, and directly into someone’s chest.

                “My apologies, I – Rook?” Illario Dellamorte began, looking down at them.

                “Hello, Illario,” they sighed. “I didn’t take you for an alchemist.”

                “I’m not – though neither, I think, are you.” His hand dropped, and before they could even protest, he was holding the baggie of lyrium up between them, looking from it to the elf with a devilish smile. “My, my, what a scandal! What would your dear Talon say?”

                Belladonna snatched it back from him, rolling their eyes. “What Viago doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”

                That pulled a genuine laugh from the man, a warm, deep, sultry sound.

 “That’s a dangerous game to play with a man like him. Looking for trouble, are we?”

“Yes,” they replied. “Have I found it?”

“Yes.”

“Perfect. Do you want to get a drink with me?”

He gave them a long, deliberate look up and down, his eyes dragging slowly up their body before he met their gaze. “Among other things.”

                Perfect. This was perfect. They couldn’t have found a better partner in crime if they’d tried.

                “Shall we head back to the Diamond?” he asked.

“Ugh, no, thank you. If Teia sees me, she’ll tell Viago where I am, and I actually want to have fun tonight.”

“Viago’s looking for you?”

“Right now, I’d imagine he’s interrogating a very confused armorer, but yes.”

“Why?”

“Why the armorer, or why is he looking?”

“Both.”

“Because I lied, and because I’m trouble.”

Illario smiled, tilting his head to one side. “My goodness, Rook. Where has he been hiding you from me all of these years? We should have met much sooner.”

“Then buy me a stiff drink, and we’ll make up for lost time.” 

                “Deal.”

                He smoothly offered them an elbow, and they took it, letting him lead them through the winding streets. After a few minutes, though, he stopped, pulling them off into the shadows behind a stack of crates.

                “Given you distracted me from making my own stop at Ethel’s…”

                “Oh, sure. Get a knife out.” They pulled the baggie from their pocket, holding it open to him. He dipped the blade into it, scooping some of the powder up onto its point. Surprisingly, though, it wasn’t his own nose that he lifted it to.

                “Ladies first.”

                They laughed. “I’m hardly a lady, but I’ll take the compliment.” They leaned in, inhaling the hit he’d offered them. The rush came in an instant, going straight to their head. “Oh fuck, that was a big one.”

 He scooped up another hit for himself, just as large as the last, and he took it. He exhaled with a hiss as the drug hit his system, then tilted his head back and swore.

                “Fuck. Maker, her stuff’s good.”

                “The best in Treviso,” they agreed. “You’re a regular, I take it?”

                “We all have our vices,” he replied with a shrug. “And you?”

                “We all have our vices,” they echoed. “Wanna line me up another?”

                “Gladly.” He loaded up the tip of his knife once more, but didn’t raise to their nose. Instead, he held it only a few inches from his face, just below the level of his mouth, and raised an eyebrow at them, smirking. “If you want it, come and get it.”

                “Gladly,” they murmured, stepping in closer. They pressed up onto their toes to bring themself to his level, leaning in towards the blade’s point. When they were close enough to feel his breath hot against their cheeks, they inhaled it. Already high and feeling emboldened, they looked up, making deliberate eye contact, then licked a long, slow line down the end of his dagger, chasing the remnants of the drug.

                Illario swore again, his eyes smoldering, pupils blown wide by more than just lyrium.

                “You’re right, by the way,” they said with a devious smile. “We really should have met sooner.”

“Maker’s Breath, Rook. Keep on like this, and we won’t make it to the drinks.”

“Oh? Why not?” they asked sweetly, knowing full well what he was implying.

“Because I’m trouble, too.”

They laughed, swinging the little bag of lyrium by its drawstrings. “Well, I like trouble. One more for the road?”

He took a final hit, shaking his head sharply after he did, and Belladonna tied the baggie up tight before stowing it back in their pocket. He stepped back from the shadow of the crates, offering them his arm once more, and with furtive looks in each direction, the two emerged from their hiding place. They continued towards their destination, standing closer than they’d been before, hips bumping now and then as they walked. They neared the bar he was leading them too, and glanced up at the familiar sign with a frown.

“Here? Why here?”

“Why not here? It’s nice enough.”

“Viago is looking for me, which means that by now, every fledgling in House de Riva is probably looking for me, too. This is a Crow bar. If I go in there, he will absolutely hear about it.”

“Which is exactly why we’re going in. If you want to make a good scene, you need to have a good audience.”

They blinked up at him for a moment, stunned, before letting themself break into a wide, delighted smile. He wasn’t trying to hide them from Viago – he was trying to show them off, to make a public display of not hiding from him. They were trouble, but Maker, so was he. Why hadn’t they liked him at first, again? Why hadn’t they met him sooner?

“Gods, I could fucking kiss you right now.”

“I wouldn’t mind,” he replied with a chuckle, “but wouldn’t you rather do it inside? Now that would give the fledglings something to run off to Viago about.”

“Then by all means, lead the way,” they said, snuggling closer into his arm as he led them up the stairs and through the door. The bouncer leaning by it nodded at Illario as he passed, clearly recognizing him. They let him lead them to the bar, perching on a stool, and he settled onto the one on their right.

“Ah, Dellamorte, back again,” the bartender said in a deep Fereldan accent, approaching. “Now who’s this pretty thing?”

“A colleague,” Illario replied smoothly, “from House de Riva. They’re on my tab tonight.”

“A de Riva, huh? I’m surprised you’d take a drink from me. Aren’t you lot supposed to be weird about poison?”

“Oh, come off it. Not every de Riva is a miserable, paranoid tightass.”

The bartender snorted, raising his eyebrows, and crossed his arms over his barrel chest. “Say that a little louder, would you? I don’t think your Talon could hear you that time.”

Despite themself, they glanced over their shoulder, momentarily terrified. Luckily, it had only been a figure of speech.

“Ah, don’t worry. I’m sure he knows.”

“Well, then. What’ll it be, de Riva?”

“Whiskey for me. Whatever’s good.”

“Two whiskeys, then. Don’t be stingy with the pour, and bring us out your best,” Illario said, looking deliberately at Rook. “They’re worth it.”

“I can see that,” the man replied, glancing down at the left side of their neck. He turned to fetch the drinks they ordered, and Belladonna felt themself start to turn red, yanking their collar back up and into place. But of course, Illario had noticed, and he leaned in towards them, intrigued. He reached out, placing one hand on their shoulder to gently turn them in their seat, the other going to their throat and sliding their collar back out of the way.

“Well, well. What do we have here?” He said quietly, his face mere inches from theirs. His still-wide eyes lit up with delight, desire, and, just below the surface, something darker. “Someone played a little rough. Did my cousin give you these?”

“Now, Illario. You know a lady never tells.”

“Yes, but you’re hardly a lady, now, isn’t that right?”

“Touché.”

The bartender returned with two noticeably deep pours of whiskey, took one glance at the pair’s posture, and wordlessly pushed the drinks towards them, immediately walking away. 

The man beside them chuckled, shaking his head. “I never thought I’d see the day. No wonder he ran Teia off, if you drive him wild enough to leave you looking like this,” Illario continued, ghosting his thumb over the marks. “I really didn’t think he had it in him. Up ‘til now, he’s always been all bark, and no bite.”

“I never said it was Lucanis.”

“And you never said it wasn’t.”

“Well, it wasn’t.”

“Really?” he replied, exhaling through a small, satisfied smile. “What’s he waiting for?”

“A fucking Vint, evidently.”

Something flashed across Illario’s face at their reply, but the look was gone before they could give it a name.

“Then he’s even more of a fool than I thought,” he said, running his thumb over the bruises once more before gently pulling their collar back into place. He straightened, lifting his glass in a toast.

“To trouble,” he announced, dropping his voice low before continuing, “and getting a taste of something sweet.”

“To trouble,” they echoed, lifting their glass, too, “and a taste.”

They clinked their glass against his, and both took a sip of their drink.

“You know, I’m a little surprised by this,” he said, gesturing with his glass. “I thought that you’d prefer wine.”

“Usually, I do, but I want to get drunk, and by my estimation, I have thirty more minutes in this seat before some fledgling tattles and Viago swoops in to drag me out of it. Wine would just take too long.”

He took another sip of his whiskey, smiling. “Then we drink fast and leave in twenty.”

They followed his lead, drinking too. “You know, whoever tells Viago I’m here will probably also mention you’re here with me.”

“And?”

“He won’t be happy.”

“Is he ever?”

Belladonna laughed, looking down at their whiskey before taking another sip. “You tell me and we’ll both know.”

He glanced over their shoulder, raising his glass to his lips once more. He dropped a hand to their lower back, rubbing slow circles into the leather of their shirt, then leaned in close, his lips brushing the shell of their ear. “Fledgling at six o’clock.”

They turned to look, and sure enough, there was a short, teenaged elf talking to the bouncer, who pointed at them with a shrug. They sighed heavily, turning back towards their drink. They only got in one more sip before they heard a shaky voice pipe up from behind them.

“Belladonna de Riva?”

“Unfortunately,” they replied, not turning to face him. 

“You- uh, you’re needed at the Diamond.”

They did turn at that, leveling the fledgling with a glare. “That so? Why?”

The boy gulped, looking down at the floor. “He didn’t say.”

“Who didn’t say?”

“The Fifth Talon. He didn’t say why, he just told us to find you and bring you back to the Diamond. ‘At once’, he said. He was… very angry.”

“Mmm. That’s too bad. No.”

The boy’s mouth fell open with a startled squeak. “What?”

“I said, no. You can go home, now. I’m not coming.”

“But – but- the Fifth Talon said-”

“I don’t care what he said. The answer is no.”

“…but-”

“Oh, for the love of – fine. I’ll send you back with a message for him, so you don’t have to say you saw me and still turn up empty-handed. How’s that?”

“Alright, I guess,” he said, voice still quivering. “What’s the message?”

                “‘Dear Vi: I’m fucking busy, and if you have something to say to me, come and say it yourself. Until then, go fuck yourself, and learn to mind your own damned business. XOXO, lots of love, Rook,’” they snapped, loudly enough for half the bar to hear. “How’s that? Think you got everything?”

                The elven boy stood trembling on the spot, shocked into silence, his mouth gaping open. When he finally spoke, he sounded utterly terrified. “I- I can’t tell a Talon that!”

                “Then sounds like you’re showing up empty-handed after all. Go on, now, go. Run back home to Daddy.”

                They turned back to their drink, taking a long, deep pull. Illario turned back to the bar too, and, finding himself well and truly ignored, the fledgling turned tail and bolted.

                “Well, forget what I said before. We have ten minutes at the most.”

                “Drink fast, and we’ll leave in five,” he quipped, clinking his glass against theirs once more. Both drained the rest of their whiskey, and Illario flagged down the bartender once more.

                “Need a refill?”

                “Not this time – just a bottle of wine for the road.”

                “Red or white?”

                Illario did not reply, but turned to Belladonna, waiting.

                “Red,” they answered. The bartender turned, pulling a bottle off the top shelf, and put it in front of the pair.

                “Here you are. Now, Dellamorte, would you and your colleague please get the hell out of my bar before the Fifth Talon shows up and breaks all my furniture over your thick skulls?”

                “We were just leaving.”

                “Do it faster.”

                Illario only laughed, then stood. He stretched as he did, using the motion to cover a furtive glance around the room. He stepped in behind their stool and leaned close to their ear again, speaking in a whisper.

                “Every Crow within twenty feet is staring at us right now.”

                They grinned, turning their face towards him, their foreheads nearly pressing together from the proximity.

                “Sounds like a good audience.”

                “You made a good scene.”

                “That was the goal,” they said, laughing under their breath and spinning on their stool to face him fully.

                “Shall we give them a finale to remember?” Illario murmured, rubbing his nose against theirs.

                “And what would you suggest?” Belladonna breathed back, their heart beginning to pound.

                He braced both hands on the bar behind them, stepping closer until he was half-curled over them. “Kiss me.”

                Despite how his taller frame shadowed them from their audience, the elf could feel the surrounding Crows staring.

“Gladly.”

They grabbed his collar, dragging him in for a rough, messy kiss. His lips crashed down against theirs, returning the affection with enough force to push their back against the edge of the bar.

“Ugh. De Riva, Dellamorte, out!”

“Going, going,” he said to the glowering bartender, pulling away with a self-satisfied smile. He grabbed the wine in one hand, offering the other to Belladonna. “Shall we?”

They took his hand, lacing their fingers through his. “Yes.” He pulled them in close, looping the arm over their shoulders so their linked hands were on full display, and pressed another kiss to the top of their head before the pair sauntered out of the bar. Most of the patrons turned to watch them go, and before they’d even cleared the door, the room burst into a sea of frenzied whispers.

                “So, then,” they said, looking up at him as they walked. “Where to next?”

                “I could ask you the same question.”

                “Probably not another bar,” they laughed. “I’d be surprised if Vi doesn’t have a ‘Wanted’ poster on the front of every tavern in Treviso by the time the hour’s out.”

                Illario paused. “You two are rather close, I take it?”

                “Huh?” they said, confused, pulling them both to a momentary halt.  “No, not particularly. Why do you ask?”

                “You keep calling him Vi. Not ‘Fifth Talon’, not ‘Viago’… Vi.”

                “Shit,” they thought with a sudden sinking feeling. He was right, of course – Teia was the only person who’d ever call him that in public. With lyrium and whiskey burning hot through their veins, they’d forgotten not to use the too-familiar nickname– and even worse, they’d just yelled it in front of an entire bar full of Crows. Shit.

                They shrugged casually, covering their discomfort with a smile. “Yeah. He hates it. It pisses him off to no end. It gets funnier every time.”

                If Illario detected the lie, he didn’t show it, beginning to walk once more. “You enjoy making him angry? You know, he’s killed men for less.”

                “And? So have you. So have I.”

                “Touché,” he replied, laughing a little. “So, where are we headed?”

                “I know a place – a quiet little rooftop far away from here, out of the way of prying eyes. Sound alright to you?”

                “Oh?” Illario glanced down at them, a knowing smile on his face. “And why would we need so much privacy?”

                “What, don’t you want to get your taste?” they cooed up at him, batting their eyelashes.

                His face darkened, his eyes narrowing with desire. “Yes,” he growled, voice low. “Yes, actually, I do.”

                “Then come and get it.” They spun out from under the loop of his arm, but didn’t release his hand, tugging him along after them instead. The two ran through the night hand in hand, only breaking apart to scale ladders and trellises and leap between the rooftops. They took a long, winding route, keeping to the shadows, and intentionally giving the Diamond a very wide berth as they passed the casino by. By the time they reached their destination a half-hour or so later, both Crows were sweaty and out of breath.

                “You weren’t kidding about it being far,” Illario panted, bracing his hands on his knees.

                “Far from the bar means far from Viago,” they replied breathlessly. “How are you feeling?”

                “Fine. Why?”

                They fished the bag of lyrium out of their front pocket, holding it up between them and giving it a little shake. “Ready for round two?”

                “Always,” he replied, reaching for his knife. The two settled down onto the roof, sitting side by side with their legs stretched out before them. This time, he served himself first, taking another noticeably large hit before readying one for them.

                “What happened to ‘ladies first’?” they asked, laughing.

                “You’re not a lady,” he replied primly. “Besides, age before beauty.”

                “Oh, so I’m not a lady, but I am beautiful. That’s good to know, at least.”

                “Of course you’re beautiful,” Illario said, holding out his knife. “Have you seen yourself?”

                They leaned in, inhaling the hit he’d prepared them before sniffing hard, briefly pressing the heel of their hand to their nose. “Ha! Have you?”

                His voice dropped low, dark and heavy with desire. “Not nearly so much of you as I would like.”

                They sucked in a sudden breath, their pulse racing between their thighs. “I’d tell you to buy me dinner first, if I was a lady.”

                “And since I know you’re not?”

                “The whiskey will do fine. Though I must admit, the walk’s got me a little thirsty again.”

                “Shall we open the wine?” he asked, holding it aloft.

                “Let’s.”

                He made no move to open the bottle, but instead, held his knife up between them, casually examining the thin dusting of lyrium left on its point. “You know, I’d hate to be the reason that your product went to waste.”

                Belladonna grinned, then deliberately tilted back their head, opening their mouth so their tongue lolled out over their lower teeth. Illario let out a dark, breathy chuckle, slowly wiping one side of the blade over their tongue, then the other.

“That’s better,” he said, withdrawing the dampened knife and stabbing it into the bottle’s cork. He twisted the cork out with a satisfying pop, then held the bottle out to the elf at his side. They accepted, taking a long, slow drink before passing it back.

“Gods, Illario, which is it?” they teased. “What happened to ‘age before beauty’?”

“Rook, you wound me. You said you were thirsty. It’d hardly be right to deny you.”

“Well look at you, the perfect gentleman. Who’d have thought?”

Illario took a sip of the wine, savoring it a moment before speaking again. “I can be less of one, if you’d like.”

“I would.”

He tilted his head to one side, a roguish smile coming across his face, then set his knife to the side. He reached out, threading his fingers into the hair at the base of their neck, then roughly yanked their head backwards. He held the bottle up to their mouth, and they opened it wide, letting him pour a long drink of wine down their throat, not stopping until they began to cough and splutter.

“Thank you,” they breathed, their gaze darting between their eyes and his mouth. He took the hint, dragging them in for another bruising kiss.

“Look at you,” he said when they broke apart, his voice rough and low. “A perfect lady.”

They let out a breathy laugh, tapping his hand, and he released their hair. They shook it out behind them, then slowly, deliberately, brought their fingers to the topmost of the four closed buttons on their shirt. They worked it open, and Illario’s breath rushed out in a hiss. He leaned back onto one hand, watching them as he took another slow sip of wine. They moved to the next one, then the next one, pausing on the final button.

“I’m really not,” they murmured, unbuttoning the final button and pushing their shirt off their shoulders – the shirt Viago had given them, so long ago.

Illario set the bottle to the side, eyes roving over their body. He swung his leg over theirs and pushed them back flat onto the rooftop, then braced one hand by their head, moving to hover over them. “You,” he growled, leaning in to plant a few wet, messy kisses over the marks on their neck, “are a vision. Has Lucanis seen this? Does he know what he’s missing?”

“Do you always talk about your cousin while you’re in the sack, or am I special?”

“Answer the question.” His mouth moved hungrily down their body, his teeth closing around one nipple, making them let out a breathy cry.

“Ah – fucking hell, Illario, I met him a week ago. No, he hasn’t seen me naked.”

He released their nipple, swirling his tongue around it before looking up at them with a smirk. “We met on the same day.”

“Yeah, well. You want me.”

“I do,” he agreed, his mouth moving to their other breast. “Anyone who doesn’t is a fool.”

They braced one hand on his shoulder, pushing him back, and he withdrew a bit, sitting up and resting on their thighs. “Something wrong?”

“Not at all,” Belladonna replied, reaching out beside them for where the bag of lyrium sat. They dumped a small pile of the powder in the middle of their chest, right above their abstracted, feather-like tattoo. They smiled sweetly up at him, tilting their head to one side. “Just making a request.”

“Maker’s fucking Breath, Rook. You’re going to be the death of me.”

“Maybe,” they said. “The night’s still young.”

Illario huffed out a dark laugh, reaching for his discarded knife and using it to cut half the powder into two small lines. He leaned in, inhaling one before licking a long, flat line over the spot where it had been. “I’m at your mercy.”

“You’re the one with the knife.”

He traced the weapon’s point up their sternum, making them shiver. “Yes, I am.” He then dipped it down into the little pile of lyrium he hadn’t cut, taking fully half of it onto his knife and bringing it up to their nose. They grinned at the knife, shaking their head a little, but then craned their neck up to take the hit. It hit their senses in a sudden rush, and they let their head fall hard against the roof tiles once more, letting out a delighted moan.

“Keep making those pretty noises, Rook. I want to hear you sing for me,” He dipped his head back down to their chest, snorting the second line he’d cut before licking up the spot once more, then moving his teeth back to their nipple.

“What, so Viago can just follow the sound of you fucking me and be led straight to us?”

“Yes,” he snapped, biting down hard enough to make them cry out once more.

“You have – ah, ah - a death wish.”

“Maybe.” He dragged his finger through the wetness he’d left on their chest, then rolled the remaining lyrium onto it and pushed it into their mouth. They sucked the drug off it enthusiastically, eyes fixed on his, and he let out a low growl, laving his tongue across their chest. “Or maybe I just want my taste.”

 His fingers moved to rest on the edge of their waistband, and the elf’s flew to join them, hurriedly undoing the lacings before moving to rest above his. They hooked his fingers under the edge of their pants and smalls, helping him shove them down to above their knees. Illario moved one hand to the back of their thigh, guiding them to bring their hobbled legs up over his shoulders and around his neck. The change in position left them utterly open to him – and brought his face achingly close to their cunt.

He brought his nose to nuzzle against their clit, and after days of exhaustion and frustration, the slight contact was enough to make them buck up against his face and let out a loud, needy moan.

“Maker, you sound amazing. You smell amazing,” he said, his breath hot against their core. He moved to suck a little bruise into their inner thigh before he whispered, “I just know you’re going to taste-”

“BELLADONNA DE RIVA!”

Both Crows froze as the sound thundered out through the night. They both knew that voice.

“Maker fucking damn it all,” Rook said, pulling their legs from around his face and yanking their clothes back up into place again. They looked towards the sound of the voice, and on a more elevated rooftop a few blocks away, they could just make out the distant shape of the Fifth Talon, spyglass in hand. They had a minute, maybe two, but not more. “Gotta give it to him, he’s good.”

“I don’t, the fucking bastard,” Illario grumbled, grabbing his discarded knife and their bag before standing.

Rook narrowed their eyes at him. Illario was the last person Viago would care to hear the opinion of, certainly, and yet still, they found themself prickling at the low blow on his behalf all the same. They buttoned only the central three buttons of their shirt, just enough to keep it on, and stood.

“Take the lyrium, and get the hell out of here. You go left; I go right.”

“You take it, it’s yours.”

“He hasn’t caught me with the shit yet, and he’s sure as fuck not gonna do it tonight. Go!” they snapped, turning their back on him and darting off into the night.

They knew they had the lead, but only just barely. They didn’t dare turn around to see if he was still in sight – they just kept running, leaping between the buildings and darting up their sides, turning left and right at random to throw him off their trail. Their chest heaved, muscles beginning to tire far too soon from the days of exhaustion and the earlier run – but up ahead in the distance loomed the roofline of Treviso’s chantry, a dark, imposing building replete with flying buttresses and large religious statues. If they could make it there, it would be a perfect place to hide. They could slip into the dark, and wait him out, and figure out how the hell they were going to make it back through the Diamond in the morning.  They kept darting over the rooftops until the building was just ahead of them, leaping into the open air to grip out onto one of the buttresses. They scaled the ornamentation, then jumped off onto the chantry’s roof. They ran, and ran, each step shuddering up their aching legs as they dashed towards a row of tall, carved statues; images of Andraste, wrought in shining black stone. They’d slip into a statue’s shadow, they had run, and now they could hide-

A strong pair of arms closed around their shoulders, yanking them back into an armored chest. They struggled vainly against the grip as they were pulled into the shadow of a statue, then spun harshly around and shoved backwards, their back landing hard against the cold stone.

Viago stood before them, lit up by his fury even in the shadows cast by the statue and his raised hood. His chest heaved, his impossibly blue eyes were drawn narrow and shined bright with anger, and his perfect, perfect mouth was pulled down in snarl –

“What the fuck,” he growled, breathing hard between words, “do you think that you’re doing?”

Chapter Text

“Hello, Viago,” Belladonna cooed, a mocking rendition of what they’d said to him just a few long days ago, at that first long-awaited reunion. “Thank you for asking! I’m just out having some fun while I can. Why are you here? Did you get my message?”

                For a long moment, the man just glared down at them, lips twitching as if resisting an outburst. Finally, he spoke, his voice cold.

                “You. Are. My. Business.”             

                “I’ll take that as a yes. So, what was it you wanted?”

                “What the fuck are you doing?” he demanded, low and furious. “Where are your allies, your armor, your weapons? You came to Treviso alone, unarmed, you lied to me; you put yourself in unnecessary danger – why? Just so you could go out drinking, embarrass my House, and reveal that you’re sleeping with both the Dellamortes?”

                The elf paused a second, looking up at nothing as if truly considering. “Mmm, no, just the first two. I’m not sleeping with either of them. Illario was a happy accident. We’d only met twice before tonight.”

                “You’d met twice,” Viago growled, “and you let him get you drunk and stick his head between your legs in public?”

                “That roof is hardly public, and I am hardly drunk,” they deadpanned, but it was true- they’d always had a hearty tolerance, and between the searing power of the lyrium, the run itself, and the adrenaline of the chase, the limited liquor in their system had long since burnt away. “I’ve had one glass of whiskey and a little bit of wine. Both of which, to be clear, were my idea.”

                “And both of which you took from Illario Dellamorte! At least tell me that you tested everything first.”

                They glanced from side to side, sucking their lips in to their mouth to try to hide their guilty smile. “It… may have slipped my mind at some points.”

                “Slipped your mind? Ugh!” He made a low sound of frustration before continuing. “What didn’t you test? The glasses, the drinks? Which one?”

                Belladonna said nothing, avoiding eye contact.

                “Belladonna.”

                Silence.

                The Fifth Talon spoke again, very slowly this time, barely-restrained violence in his tone.

                “Did you test any of it?”

                Silence. He looked them up and down, searching.             

                “Did you even bring a test kit?”

                Belladonna let out an involuntary snort, bringing one hand up to muffle the sound just a moment too late.

 Viago’s face darkened, and he grabbed them by the shoulders again, yanking them a few steps to the side, out of the statue’s shadow and into the moons’ glow. He swatted their hand away from their face and took their chin roughly in one hand, turning their face towards their light, then scowled, stepping closer, and used two gloved fingers to pry one of their eyes wide. He frowned more deeply still, his brows knitting together. “Your pupils are severely dilated.” He dropped those fingers to the pulse point on their next, holding them there for a long moment. “And your heartbeat is incredibly fast, even given recent activity.” He sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Congratulations, idiot. You’ve gotten yourself poisoned.”

                Belladonna laughed, cracking a wide, indulgent grin. They leaned their weight onto one hip, crossing their arms over their chest. “I highly doubt that.”

                Viago narrowed his eyes at them. “Your body disagrees.”

                “My body and I have an understanding.”

                “What does that even – ugh! Enough of this. You’re coming back to Villa de Riva with me so I can diagnose this and get you an antidote, and that’s final. You’ve done my House’s reputation enough damage tonight already. I’m not letting one of my Crows get killed by Dellamorte the Lesser.”

                The elf rolled their eyes, blinking at him a few times in disbelief. “You still haven’t figured it out? You know, Vi, for such a smart man, you can be incredibly fucking dense.”

                His jaw twitched. “You are taking a very familiar tone with me tonight, Belladonna de Riva. Clearly, whatever poison you were given also-”

                “Illario didn’t fucking poison me-”

                “Also,” Viago continued, giving them a sharp look, “lowers your inhi-”

                He stopped short, his teeth snapping together as he finally connected the dots. The elf laughed again at the sound, tilting their head to one side and raising their eyebrows in a silent question.

                “Belladonna.”

                “Yes, dear?” they replied in an overblown, beleaguered voice.

                “Don’t you dare play with me-”

                “Why not? I’ve had a great time of it so far. Besides, you started it. If you’re going to follow me around all the time, I’ve got to give you something to watch.”

                “That is – Belladonna de Riva, this is absolutely unacceptable!”

                “Oh, no. Not unacceptable.” They said dramatically. “Whatever will I do with you disapproving of me? I wonder what that will be like.”

                “I don’t approve,” Viago bit back, voice low, “of you doing stupid, reckless, idiotic-”

                “All I was doing was-”

                “Taking untested lyrium from Illario Dellamorte and having sex with him in public?”

                “No,” they said, rolling their eyes. “I’m not that dumb. Illario Dellamorte was taking untested lyrium from me.” Viago spluttered, beginning to speak, but Belladonna continued. “All I was doing was having fun. I didn’t even get to have the sex in public, because you couldn’t mind your own business.”

                Reveal only that truths that are necessary, and do so all at once. Overwhelm the opposition. Make it impossible to respond to every angle.

                If Viago didn’t want them to be such a problem, he shouldn’t have taught them all his tricks.

                He spoke again, murder in his tone.

                “Where did you get it?”

                “Absolutely not.”

                “Belladonna de Riva, where did you-”

                “No! You don’t get to know every private detail of my life. When something concerns you, I’ll tell you. What I do in my off hours is none of your business!”

                “You are my-”

                “I’m not your anything,” Belladonna snapped. “I’m the Crow’s business; I’m the Fifth Talon’s business. I am not yours.”

                “Yes, you are!” Viago roared, then he froze. Clearly, he’d said more than he’d intended – and what he had said made the elf start to ache with a long-denied desire. “I- you are my business.”

                “Is that what I am?” they asked, tilting their chin up at him, pressing the advantage. “Or am I yours?”

                The man’s breath hissed out between his locked teeth. He glanced off to the side, looking out over the glittering water of the nearby bay. “What do you want from me, Belladonna?”

                “I want you to tell me the fucking truth for once,” they said bitterly, before they could stop themself – but finally, he was close, and they were alone, and Maker, how they wanted…

                “But barring that,” they continued, tone shifting into a challenge, “I’d take it hard and fast against a statue of your god.”

                “I – what did you just say?”

                “You heard me.”

                “Absolutely not,” Viago growled. “You’re intoxicated.”

                “Oh, for the Maker’s sake, Viago,” they said. “Why do you think I like lyrium? Lyrium is the main ingredient of mana potions; I’m a mage. If I ever need to burn straight through my high, all I have to do,” the elf said, snapping their fingers and, in doing so, coating their hand in writhing blue flame, “is snap my fingers.” Viago recoiled from the flame as they let it grow into a wild, whirling ball above their palm, pouring power into it until they felt the buzzing in their skull fade away, then flung it out into the back of a nearby statue. “There. Problem solved. Take your clothes off.”

                “Absolutely not,” he repeated, “This is ridiculous. I am taking you home and putting you to bed,” he began, then, seeing how the elf raised their eyebrows at the phrasing, “and then putting myself to bed elsewhere.”

                “Fine,” they snapped. “Have it your way. Tuck me into your bed and leave me alone, with nothing to keep me company but the memory of Illario Dellamorte sucking on my inner thigh. See if your staff can save the sheets come morning.”

                “He left marks on you?”

                “Just tell me you don’t want me,” they said suddenly, desperately, the words flying out in a rush. “Say you don’t want this, and I’ll never bring it up again. But don’t keep dodging the subject to pretend you’re being noble. If you don’t want me, then tell me,” they begged, eyes on his, “but if you do, then fucking take me.”

                “I- ugh,” was all Viago managed before he cut himself off with an irritated sound, pointing a finger in their face. “You,” he growled, stepping towards them, “are the most impulsive, infuriating, reckless, impossible-”

                “Kiss me,” they demanded, seizing the edges of his hood with both hands and dragging him in, eyes desperately searching his. “Kiss me, or tell me you don’t want me. Choose either one, but you have to choose now, or I’m going to do it myself.”

                The hand he’d pointed at them closed hard around the back of their neck, and finally, Viago’s lips crashed down against theirs once more. His other hand fell to their hip, dragging their body up against his as he deepened the desperate kiss. Belladonna kept trying to pull him closer, to get more of his infuriatingly covered-up skin against theirs, but he abruptly pulled back, grabbing their wrists to push them away a bit, brows drawn together in a worried line.

                “Belladonna, what is this? I need you to be honest with me.”

                “I want you,” they said plainly, letting him take a long moment to search their face for any lie. “Vi, I’ve wanted you every day since I left, and if I’m honest, I wanted you before that, too. Even when I’m angry at you, even when you lecture and hover and annoy me to no end, all I can think about is grabbing you and kissing you just so you’ll stay close for long enough to lecture me more.”

                “You’ve certainly become fond of that nickname of late,” he said, tone taking on a promise of something darker. “That, and grabbing and kissing half the men in Treviso.”

                “It was two!” the elf protested. “And the first one wasn’t even on the lips!”

                “And the second?” he asked. “Where, exactly, did his lips go?”

                They swallowed loudly, looking to the side again. “Again, really none of your-”

                Viago’s fingers twitched a hair tighter around their wrists, locking them in place and making their eyes dart back to his. “Yes, it is. You let him parade you around like a toy, made sure everyone noticed you together, then you kissed him in front of Crows from half a dozen houses. You deliberately taunted me,” he said, taking a step forward and forcing them to move with him, pushing them closer to the statue behind them. “And once you were sure I’d come and find you personally, you let him strip you half-naked and put his mouth all over you. You made it my business, and you did it on purpose.” Another step towards the statue. “Is that correct, Belladonna de Riva?”

                Their breath hitched as he pushed them back another step, boxing them in against the towering statue behind them once more. “Yes, sir. It is.”

                “Then answer the question.” He said darkly, releasing their wrists with a harsh exhale and glancing down at himself, reaching into one of the many hidden pockets of his armor and withdrawing a handkerchief. They watched him work, confused, and his hand dropped down to his belt, pulling out a little vial in the shape he used for healing potions. He uncorked it, wetting the cloth with it, then looked up at them, eyes narrowing. “Now.”

                “Here,” they breathed, tapping their fingers against their own lips. He swiped the dampened fabric over them, removing any trace of the man from their skin.

                “Where else?”

                “Here,” they said, ghosting over the shell of their ear, the cloth following in turn, “here,” this time tapping the crown of their head, where Viago smoothed over their loose hair, “and here,” they finished, this time brushing down their collar to touch the fading bites he had left on their neck. Viago let out an audible growl, but scrubbed the cloth over the area anyway, his lips twitching into a vindictive smile when they let out a disappointed sound, knowing the healing potion would erase the evidence of him from their skin.

                “Don’t worry,” he said, pressing a gloved thumb against their lower lip, rolling it out. “You’ll have more by the time I’m through.” They let out a breathy, needy moan, bucking against him, and he pulled the thumb away. “Where else?”

                “Viago, please,” they whined, fingers scrabbling into his armored chest.

                 He paused. “What do you say if you want me to stop?”

                “Onyx.”

                “That’s right. Call me sir or say nothing at all, and keep your hands off me until I tell you otherwise. Now, where else?”

                The elf’s fingers came away from his body at once, hovering a moment before they moved to their own, cupping each breast in one palm, then splaying their hands flat and brushing them lightly down the front of their shirt, sweeping over the leather down to their sternum. A muscle leapt in Viago’s jaw, and he reached out to tweak an undone button on their shirt.

                “Over this, or under it?”

                They knew he knew the answer. They knew he’d seen them arched up beneath Illario with it pooled around their elbows, their bare chest exposed in the moonlight. Belladonna’s breath skipped in their throat.

“Under it, sir.”

                “Take it off.”

                Their fingers flew to the buttons, and they were suddenly very glad they’d only managed to fasten a few before they’d ran from him. They undid the last of them, pushing it off their shoulders and letting it fall to the ground behind them. He swept the cold, damp cloth flat up the center of their chest and around the swell of both breasts, before pausing over their nipple.

                “Here?”

                “Yes, sir,” Belladonna breathed, and he pinched down hard, twisting the fabric around it as he did and making the elf let out a loud, wanton moan. He swept the cold cloth over the spot once more, gently this time, soothing the pain away with the chill. He moved to the other nipple.

                “And here?”

                “Yes, sir- ah!” Their words died in a cry as he clamped down around it, twisting it roughly within the dampened cloth of his handkerchief. He pinched harder, pulling on the nipple and narrowing his eyes.

                “Anywhere else?”

                The elf could only nod, biting down on their lower lip. They let their hand fall to the inside of their right thigh, ghosting over the leather covering the bite Illario had left there.

                “Strip.”

                Viago took a step back away from them, closing his fist around his handkerchief as he watched them hastily undress, yanking off their boots and socks before moving to fumble at the lacings of their pants. Once they were loosened, they turned to face the statue and then hinged at the waist, hooking their thumbs into the waistband of their smalls and pushing them and their pants down around their ankles. They stepped out of the garments, kicking them to the side, but stayed bent, palms pressed flat against the cold stone of the idol overshadowing them, bare ass up and exposed to his view. They heard Viago’s breath hiss out behind them, closer than he’d been before, then his hands met their hips again, one on each side, slowly sinking downwards.

                His fingers brushed over the bruise Illario sucked into their skin, and he made a low, angry noise.

                “I should kill him.”

                “I-” they began before correcting, “sir, I wasn’t unwilling.”

                “I don’t care. He’s unworthy, and he knows it. Don’t you ever let him touch you. Never, ever again.” Viago pushed the cold, wet fabric into the mark on their thigh, lingering there longer than anywhere else, making sure to keep the pressure until the bruise had long since dissolved into unmarred skin once more.

                “Never,” Belladonna whined, clawing at the stone. “Never, sir. Never. I promise.”

                “Good.” He paused, sliding the handkerchief up the inside of their thigh to press gently against the soft folds of their sex, waiting. “Here?”

                “No, sir.”

                “No?” he asked, audibly surprised past the tension in his voice.

                “No, sir,” they repeated, grinding down against his touch through the fabric all the same, desperate for the friction. “He wanted to – ah – said he wanted to taste. He was – aah, ah - about to, but you came before he could.”

                “Good,” Viago growled, his breath hot against their bare ass as they rocked against his hand. “He doesn’t deserve this. He doesn’t get to know how incredible you taste.” He dropped the handkerchief, hands flying to their hips to spin them around and shove them flat against the stone. He surged forward on his knees, closing the distance and pressing a hot, wet kiss into the soft curls of hair atop their mound. “This is mine, you hear me?”

                “Yes, sir, yes, sir; yes, sir, yours” they whined, one hand flying to the side of his head, fingers scrabbling for purchase against the leather of his hood before shoving it back entirely to tangle in his hair.

                “Hands off,” he spat, fingers twitching hard against their hips. The elf let out a frustrated wail, but relented, releasing his hair and letting their hands fall back to their sides.

                “Mine,” he said once more, leaning in to lick a hard stripe against their clit. Belladonna bucked against his face, keening, nails clawing uselessly at the smooth stone behind them. He rolled the bud of nerves in circles under his tongue, growling a noise of satisfaction into their cunt at the way the motion made the elf cry out. “Do you have any idea what it was like, trying to find you while I could hear you moaning for him? Knowing that somewhere, he was the reason you were making sounds that should be mine?” He sucked hard, pulling their clit between his lips and making their hips buck up into his mouth once more. They cried out, hands twitching towards his hair once more before slamming hard against the stone, palms flat and fingers splayed as they fought desperately for self-control.

“Any idea how many days I’ve spent thinking about how you felt on my tongue,” he dipped his head down at that, dragging his nose up through their lips and licking a long line after it, “how you smelled, how you tasted – just to find him with his head between your legs? I should kill him,” Viago snarled, licking at them again, pressing hard enough for his beard to scrape against the sensitive flesh in a way that made them moan, “for even coming close to having this.” He pressed his tongue hard and flat against their cunt, licking one more wide, messy stripe up their folds before closing his lips around their clit once more. “This,” he said, releasing them with an audibly wet pop, “is all mine.” One hand left their hip to slap roughly at their clit, sending their hips canting up off the stone once more with a loud, needy cry.

“Viago – sir, please-”

“What?” he snarled, hands moving to pin them back against the statue of Andraste once more.

“Please just fuck me, please just fuck me, please, sir, please,” they wailed, vulgar and shameless and loud enough to carry into the night.

“No,” he said, nipping hard at their bud despite how they whined above him. “Not yet. Taking my cock is a privilege you haven’t earned. You are going to learn to be good,” he said, soothing his tongue over the bundle of nerves. “You are going to beg me to let you come on my tongue, and when you do, I am going to say no.”

“No, sir, please let me, please, ah- ah!”

He pressed his tongue flat and wide, licking slow, aching circles over their clit, the sudden decrease in pace and pressure enough to make the elf whine and writhe with frustration. He rubbed his nose against it, his facial hair brushing over their hypersensitive skin, then licked upwards again, feather-light, intended not to pleasure, but to torture, to tease.

“No,” the elf cried, bucking uselessly against the pressure of his hands, desperate for the denied sensation. “Vi - I - sir, please, I want you so much, I need you so much, please, please, I was so close, please.”

“I don’t care.” He circled their clit with the tip of his tongue, tracing around and around but never quite making the contact they craved. They keened with frustrated desire, letting their head fall back against the stone with a sob. “You push me, you test me, you tease me, and you expect me to give you what you want?”

Belladonna only whined, fingernails blunting from the way they clawed at the statue for purchase as their legs began to shake.

“Beg me. Be good.” He dove in with a renewed frenzy, closing his lips around their clit and giving it a wet kiss, then swirling his tongue around it and flicking it with the point.

“Please!” they whimpered, pressing their fingers flat to stop themself from reaching for him. “Please make me come like this. You feel so good, you feel amazing, please let me come sir, please.”

“No. Keep going,” he said before dipping back down to them once more.

“Viago, please let me come, sir, I’m yours, sir, please.”

“Better…” he said, speeding up for a moment, making them cry out. “No,” he finished, slowing down once more, but increasing the pressure of his tongue.

“Aah – oh, that’s – please, sir, Vi, you’re going to- no, no, ah!” they wailed as he pulled back, blowing lightly on their core.

“Be good, Belladonna. If you want me, then beg me.” he warned, leaning in to close his lips around them once more.

“Please – please stop, please don’t make me come like this, please don’t make me come like this, you feel so good, and I’m so close, and I want to be good, sir, please,” they babbled, all pride long since abandoned as he made them teeter on the edge of orgasm and still beg for their own denial. “Please, please, fuck me instead. I want you to make me be yours again, I want you to make me be good, I want to come with you inside me, please, Via – oh, oh!” Their words died off into a shattered cry as he growled against their cunt, then pulled back once more. He wrenched open the buckle of his belt, taking it off and folding it in his hand and he carefully set it off to the side, where they couldn’t step on it and break the vials of poisons within or the spyglass dangling from it. He stood, yanking loose the closures of the leather pants of his armor and shoving his pants and underclothes down to the top of his thighs. His already-erect cock sprang free, and the elf keened at the sight, clawing against the towering effigy of Andraste’s back.

                He stepped in close once more, grabbing Belladonna under one thigh and hoisting their leg up over his hip, bracing the other hand by their head, leaving them pinned against the statue with one foot tiptoeing, scrambling to find purchase without steadying themself on his arms. He dragged the tip of his cock against their aching hole, wetting himself with their slick as he slid up to their clit, then back down. The elf braced their hands flat against the stone, using the limited leverage to rock up against him as much as they could.

                “Maker, I want you so much. I’ve missed you so much,” he groaned, leaning his forehead against theirs and dropping one hand to their hip to still them. “Be good, Belladonna. Ask nicely.”

                “Please,” they whined, tilting their nose up against his, desperate for the long-denied contact. “I’m all yours. Make me all yours. I want to take it. Gods, please, I can’t take this anymore, just use me, take me, fuck me, sir, please.”

                “See? You do know how to listen,” he said, lining himself up with their entrance. “You can be so good, and instead, you drive me mad,” he continued, gritting his teeth as he began to slowly push inside, pulling their leg higher to angle them closer. The elf sobbed and bucked against the hand pinning their hip, trying vainly to push him deeper, desperate for more.

“You taunt me, you tease me, you mock me, in public. Why? Why are you so reckless?”

It was slow, and measured, and it wasn’t enough. They needed him to move.

“Because I knew it would make you come after me,” they whined, hands twitching towards him once more before slamming flat down again. They let out a desperate little moan, tiptoed leg shaking beneath them like a leaf. “I wanted you to be mad at me. I wanted you to follow.”

“Why?” he growled, rolling his hips in one slow, hard thrust, using his grip on them to force them to stay still and meet him.

“Because I wanted you to fuck me,” they cried, head falling back as they screwed their eyes shut. “Because you fucking ruined me, and then sent me away for a year, and when I got back, you didn’t want me.”

“Didn’t want you?” he repeated. “Didn’t want you?” His expression darkened, lips pulling down in the corners. “Put your arms around my neck.”

                They did so with a breathy noise of relief, winding their arms around his neck and closing their fingers in the back of his hair. He grabbed them beneath the one leg on which they still stood, hoisting them up into his arms as they wrapped their legs around his waist, keening at the new, deeper angle as he pinned them against the statue and began to move once more.

                “Belladonna de Riva, I have wanted you for-” he began, but Belladonna stopped him with a bitter, breathy laugh.

                “You only want me when you can’t have-”

                “That is-”

                “Fuck you,” they interrupted, eyes narrowing in challenge. “Don’t lie to me. Don’t tell me you’ve always wanted me. Don’t pretend that you care. I’m not dumb enough to fall for it twice.”

                His hips snapped up against theirs, making them cry out and claw at the back of his neck. “Of course, I-” he began, but the elf cut him off again.

                “Shut up. I don’t want to hear it. You think I don’t know what this is?” they bit back at him, voice angry and hard despite the way they squeaked and panted between words as he thrust. “You can’t control her, so you act like you own me. I know what you’re doing, and I’m fucking letting you, so shut the fuck up and just own me.”

                He shifted his weight to pin them more securely against the statue as he brought a hand up from their thigh, fisting it in their hair at the back of their head and forcing them to look dead ahead at him as he stilled his hips.

                “You want me angry? Fine.”

                He yanked hard on their hair, forcing their head back to expose the column of their throat to his mouth. He closed his lips over the spot where his old marks had been and bit, hard, beginning to plunge into them again, this time at a merciless tempo. The elf wailed at the pain and pleasure; their long, wanton cry punctuated with a breathy ‘ah’ as his grip forced them down to meet each bruising stroke.

“I am angry. I’m angry that you’ve been so reckless,” he growled, pounding them into the stone. “I’m angry that you’re putting yourself in danger, playing games with something that’s mine.”

“I’m not-”

“Yes,” he said, pulling hard on their hair as he punctuated the word with a thrust, “you,” and another, “are,” he concluded, using the grip on their hair to push them down onto his cock until they mewled and whined.

                “You are an idiot. You vex me and enrage me and drive me to distraction,” Viago said, bracing his forehead against theirs as he fucked them into the statue’s back, “because you are irreplaceable, and you’re mine, and you act like a fool.”

                “Not enough of a fool to buy what you’re selling,” Belladonna snapped, fingers twisting angrily into his hair, yanking him away. “Nothing’s irreplaceable to you, Fifth Talon. Nothing.”

                “You-”

                “You sent me off to fucking die,” they snarled, breath fast and hot between their faces as they panted through his thrusts. “You shipped me off and tried to forget me. You didn’t even say hello when I got back. Don’t pretend I’m important to you. Don’t pretend that I matter. Just fuck me like you hate me, and I’ll try to die faster tomorrow morning.”

                “Belladonna-”

                “Don’t call me that. You don’t get to- oh, fuck,” they said, dying off into a loud, needy cry as his hand released their hair, falling between them to rub hard circles against their clit.  

                “You,” Viago snarled, “don’t get to give me orders. You don’t get to make demands. You are going to listen to me, you are going to look me in the eyes while you come on my cock, and when you do, you are going to say thank you.”

                “No. I’m not,” they replied, teeth bared in a feral smile. “You can’t make me.”

                “I can,” he said, his lips crashing down against theirs in a bruising kiss as he pounded into their cunt. He bit their lower lip, pulling it towards him with his teeth before releasing it to speak. “And I will.”

                “No,” they repeated, wrenching their face to the side and pointedly looking away, making Viago release a dark, angry growl. He thrust hard into the elf and then stilled, pinning them against the stone with his cock pushing deep enough to make them sob.

                “Belladonna de Riva, you will look at me while I’m fucking you.”

                They wailed in response, but obeyed, wide, frantic eyes snapping back to his. When they did, he began to move again, more slowly this time, his grip driving them down so each rock of his hips brought him as deep as he could go.

                “I care,” he growled, fingers rubbing slow, tortuous circles into the sensitive bud of their sex as he rolled up into their heat, “about every inch of you. It drove me mad to send you away, and if this contract took you from me, I would set the world on fire. You can hate me, you can resent me, but don’t you ever say that I want you to die.”

                “Viago-”

                “No. Listen to me. You are irreplaceable. You are an impossible, impulsive, impertinent fool, and I can’t sleep when you’re gone, and I can’t think when you’re near,” he said through gritted teeth, a muscle in his jaw twitching hard as Belladonna moaned and rocked down to meet him as he rose. For all his shows of dominance, he must be closer to losing control than he wanted to admit. “You’re the most irritating, intolerable, reckless thing I’ve ever known. You put yourself in danger every time you leave my sight, and it drives me mad, because you’re mine.”

                “Viago, fuck me harder, please-” they whined, clinging desperately to his shoulders as they sought their release; their eyes wide and locked on his and their damp, sweaty skin sticking against the warm leather of his armor.

                “Earn it,” he snapped, thumb pressing their clit hard into their pubic bone as he leaned in to plant more dark marks across their neck.

                “I’m yours,” they moaned, and, to their horror, they meant it. “Yours, Vi. Still yours. Always yours.”

                “Again,” he said, moving up from their neck to press their head back and suck a bruise just below the corner of their jaw.

                “Someplace that will show over my collar tomorrow,” they realized in a rush, letting out a broken little whimper at the thought. “Something that we can’t hide.”

                He meant it. He meant it.

                “Yours,” they sobbed, tears pricking in their eyes from the rush of emotion, rocking down onto his length and planting wet, desperate kisses across his lips and cheeks. “Yours, please. Harder, please, please make me come on you, please make me yours, I promise I’ll say it, I swear, I’ll be good.”

                Viago’s hand began to move once more, rubbing hard, messy circles against their clit as his hips took on a hard, unforgiving rhythm against theirs, making them yelp and whine with every rock back against the stone.  He brought his mouth back up to theirs, kissing them roughly before speaking again, chest heaving with exertion.       

                “You’re mine. Mine. Make sure you ask me. Make sure you say please.”

                “I’m there, I’m- fuck - Viago, please-”

                “Please what?” He punctuated the words with a hard, deep thrust, but stilled his hand, making the elf wail.

                “Oh, fuck. Please, please let me come on your perfect cock, Vi, fuck, please-” They dissolved into a loud, needy moan as his fingers started to work against them with almost painful intensity, his other hand pulling them down to meet every stroke. He gritted his teeth, that muscle in his jaw dancing once again as he spoke, voice rough and low and pleading.

                “No. You have to wait. Wait, and you can come with me. If you’re good, I’ll give it to you, and we can do it together. Don’t you want that? Don’t you want me to fuck you full?”

                “Yes,” they sobbed, dazed, fucked-out tears rolling down their cheeks as they pressed their forehead into his. “Maker, please, please, - oh! -  please do it, please do it, I’m so close, Vi, please.”

                The rhythm of his hips rose to a bruising pace, and it wasn’t long before Viago let out a breathy, helpless noise, panting hard.

                “Ask me,” he said, jaw locked. He nudged his nose into theirs, pushing their face up, forcing them to look him in the eye. “Ask.”

                “Please come in me,” Belladonna whined, shameless as their voice carried across the Chantry roof and into the night. “Please. I’m yours. I’ll give you everything, everything, fuck, please come in me, Vi!”

                They meant it. They meant it. They’d give him everything, everything, anything at all. If he wanted children, they’d give them his name. If he wanted their life, they’d lay it down with a smile.

                Oh, fuck. They still loved him. They loved him.

                “Please make me yours,” they said, voice much quieter than before; intimate, sacred, only for him. “Please make it take. Please make sure everyone knows that I’m yours.”

                A broken, whimpered “oh” was all Viago managed before bucking hard into their heat, again and again, spilling himself deep in their core – and after spending so long dancing on the knife’s edge, the heat of it was all it took. Belladonna keened at the sensation, rocking down hard against his length as their release crashed over them.

                “Thank you, thank you, oh, thank you for coming in me, Vi, thank you, thank you,” they babbled, voice high-pitched and needy and breathless as they sobbed out little noises of pleasure as their climax rocked through their core. The two panted in unison, mouths open and chests heaving, blue eyes searching purple as they came down from orgasm together.

                “Are you alright? Was I too rough?” Viago asked, breaking the silence, shifting them a bit in his arms. His softening cock twitched within them and Belladonna released a breathy little yelp, making both Crows let out a quiet laugh.

                “Never better,” they said shakily as he withdrew, lowering them back to their feet – but after days of physical and emotional exhaustion and a long, hard fuck, their knees buckled beneath them almost at once. Viago caught them, and the two slid down the statue’s surface. They let themself be pulled into the man’s lap, and the little act of care was enough to finally break open the floodgates. Viago’s eyes went wide with alarm as silent tears began to streak down their face in earnest.

                “I’m okay, I’m okay,” they assured him, breath hitching in their throat in a wet, broken laugh, bringing one hand up to stroke at his cheek, running their thumb over the worried lines at the corner of his eye. “It’s okay, I’m just tired. I haven’t sleep well in – well, a year.”

                “I haven’t either,” Viago breathed back as he reached for their face, but then froze for a moment before hastily pulling off his gloves. He tossed them to the side as soon as they came off, his bared hands flying back to their cheeks to wipe away their tears. “Belladonna, I-”

                “Don’t, please,” they interrupted, shaking their head and wiping at their face themself. “Not now. Hold me for tonight and tell me in the morning.”

                Belladonna couldn’t start the after right now, not while their unwelcome, impossible love still swelled and ached inside their chest. In the morning, they’d creep back to the Lighthouse before he could decide that this was a mistake, and by the next time they saw him, they could get their heart in check. If he started making confessions now, they wouldn’t be able to hold back, and if their last night together had taught them anything, he might have very different feelings after sunrise.

                Viago tensed for a moment, but relented, pressing a soft kiss into their hair.

“Yes, darling.”

He shifted them out of his lap for a moment, taking the chance adjust himself back into his trousers and yank his hooded cloak off from around his neck, tucking the cool leather protectively around Belladonna’s naked frame before shifting behind them and scooting down till he laid half-propped against the statue’s base. Once he was satisfied, he gathered the elf back into his arms, pulling them close against his side and tucking his chin down over their crown.

Their breath calmed and slowed as they snuggled into his chest, adjusting around a small, odd bump in the pocket over his heart as they found a comfortable spot to lay their head.

“Sleep, little dove. I’m right here,” Viago said, his voice hushed and gentle against their hair – and, warm and safe in his arms once more, Belladonna slipped into dreamless sleep.

Chapter Text

Above him, the Chantry bell thundered out four, and Viago woke with a start, bolting upright. He braced his hands on the cold roof tiles at his side, glancing around in a daze – only to find Belladonna already half-dressed, sitting on the base of a towering figure of Maferath as they pulled on their right boot. They froze as the bell tolled out across the barely-dawning day and the distant sound of voices began to rise, eyes locking onto his with a wide, embarrassed look.

                “Shit,” they said, glancing down at their clothed legs.

                Again. They were doing it again. They had asked him for the truth, and he had been so close to telling it. They had asked him to wait until morning, just so they could run before it came. Again.

                “Where are you going?” he asked, voice rough with sleep and unconcealed hurt.

                “Idiot,” he thought, both at his own question and his own tone. The answer, of course, was more than clear.

                “I- the Diamond,” they said, not looking up.

                “The Diamond, or the mirror?”

                The elf exhaled in a guilty huff, turning their face away and crossing their arms over their still-bare chest. They exposed the left side of their neck as they did, the pale skin there darkened with a bounty of splotchy purple bruises and one very obvious bite – and high above the rest, tucked under the corner of their jaw, was the darkest of them all. Viago straightened a bit against the statue’s base where he laid, only then noticing that the cape he’d wrapped around them the night before was now strewn over his legs and torso as a makeshift blanket.  

                “Viago-”

                “I want you to come back to Treviso,” he blurted out suddenly, though it hadn’t been what he’d intended. The words he should say seemed to stick in his throat like prickle-burrs, catching on everything they touched as he tried to force them out. His face soured as he remembered which man he’d first heard use that analogy, and he cleared his throat before continuing. “You belong here, with House de Riva.”

                “With me,” he thought, though he didn’t dare speak the wish aloud.

                “You know I can’t do that,” they said with a sigh, hugging their arms around themself a bit tighter.

                “Yes, you can. There are three living Talons, only two of them in Treviso, and neither of us are angry about the past. Come home, Belladonna. This farce can be through.”

                “This farce?” they breathed, letting out a small, bitter laugh. “You’re the one who sent me out after this farce. You know as well as I do that this job is more than that, and even if it wasn’t, now I have a contract. It’s not finished.”

                “Hang the contract,” he snapped, pushing his cloak off his legs and letting it slide out across the tiles beside him. “I’ll give it to someone else.”

                “Yes, that wouldn’t shame me or House de Riva.”

                “I don’t care how it looks. My reputation can take it.”

                “Can mine?” the elf snapped back, then glanced over at him, their face falling and their shoulders sagging inwards. “I wish I could, I really do. But it has to be me. There’s no other choice.”

                “Why? Why you, why not someone else? They have Lucanis now, so why do they still need you?”

                They looked away again, hiding their face from him, and his eyes twitched a bit narrower in suspicion.

                “Thanks for the vote of confidence. They just do.”

                “Why? What aren’t you telling me?”

                “I’m not-”

                “Belladonna, don’t lie to me!”

                “Viago, please, let’s not do this right now.”

                “What did you mean, when you said ‘while you can’?” he insisted, changing angles. “What do you know that I don’t?”

                “Nothing,” they said with another hollow, bitter laugh. “We both know how this ends, Viago. I’m just the one willing to admit it.”

                The damp chill of the still-dark morn was not what made Viago shiver.

                “Belladona?” he asked, his voice horribly fragile.

                “We both know how this ends,” they said again, barely louder than a whisper this time. “I’ve known since I stopped Solas’ ritual, but you should have guessed it from the start.”

                “You’ll finish this contract, and you’ll come back home,” he insisted, but the elf just huffed out another dark noise.

                “Ugh! How many god-killers live to tell the tale, Viago? How did it go for him?” they snapped, gesturing up at the effigy of Maferath behind them with one hand before tucking it back over their chest.

                “Maferath didn’t kill Andraste himself. He betrayed her, and was killed by his sons,” Viago said lamely, only replying to half their question, unable to find words to begin with the rest. His mind, though, was ready with a line, reciting a verse from Apotheosis:

“With neither blade nor shield, Andraste gave herself up to her enemies. And Maferath bound his wife’s hands and delivered her to the Archon to be put to death.”

                In another moment, the Chant might have brought him comfort; in the cold grey of pre-dawn, it felt uncomfortably like prophecy. Had he not taken all their choices away, and sent them off to Tevinter, too? Had he truly set them on a path that only had one end?

                When had he begun to think of them as his –

                “Well, pardon the elf for being a bad Andrastian. Though, well, I’m an elf who’s trying to kill my own people’s gods. Maybe Maferath the Betrayer isn’t such a bad comparison.”

                The man sucked in a quick breath, surprised. To his own embarrassment, he’d never considered whether their heritage would mean they’d resent being sent to kill an elven god, even if their divinity was only in name. He hadn’t even thought about it. Their wishes hadn’t crossed his mind. The realization filled him with an uncomfortable, unfamiliar shame.

                “Belladonna, if-”

                “I’m not faithful,” they interrupted, continuing. “I never have been. I came to the Crows too young to ever worship like the Dalish, but I tried for a while anyway. If I hadn’t already lost faith in them, well,” they huffed humorlessly, “recent events would have made me either way. But by now I’ve been in the Crows too long to think the Maker would listen if I called. But, well. One’s forced to wonder.”

                “Please,” he said, because he had nothing else. “You can still come home.”

                “No, Viago. I can’t.”

                “You can,” he insisted, surging to his feet and crossing to them in a few long steps, sinking down to his knees between theirs, eyes wide and pleading as they locked onto theirs. He pulled their hands away from their arms, squeezing, trying to convince them. “I can-”

                “It doesn’t matter if you reassign the contract, Vi,” they said, voice desperate as they looked away, pulling back their hands and crossing their arms over their breasts once more. “It’s much too late for that now.”

                “Why? Why is it too late, Belladonna? Why won’t you tell me the truth?”

                “Now you’re all about telling the truth?”

                “You asked me to wait until morning.”

                They paused at that, glancing back down at him. “Then what were you going to say?”

                “I-” This time, the words nearly flew out in a rush, but Maker, the moment was all wrong. Instead, he swallowed hard, smoothing a hand over his sleep-tousled hair. “Don’t change the subject.”

                They let out an angry sigh, lips twisting as they glanced past the roof’s edge, out at the bay. “Of course.”

                “Belladonna-”

                “Do you have a weapon close?” they asked with sudden intensity, eyes boring down on him.

                Of course he did, he had several. Even missing his belt, they wore the same armor that he did; they knew that he was still very well armed in hidden blades alone. Why would they ask him that?

                “Yes, I do.”

                “Poisoned?”

                Viago swallowed hard, suddenly unsure he should answer.

                “Yes, but-”

                “Would it be quick?”

                Viago couldn’t stop the horrified shudder that ran through him at that. No. This conversation couldn’t be going there. As much as he refused to acknowledge them, though, his fears still influenced his answer.

                “You will never find out.”

                “Well, now. That is quick. Whip it out, then, you’re about to want it,” the elf deadpanned, raising their eyebrows.

                “Belladonna!”

                “You don’t need to worry about Lucanis,” they said abruptly as they looked away once more. “Demons aren’t contagious. Besides, even if Spite wanted into my head, Solas beat him to it.”

                Viago froze beneath them, his hands hovering in midair above their knees. For a long moment, he simply stared up at them, his brows knit together in worry and his eyes wildly searching their face, desperate to find the proof that this was a poor joke or a lie.

                “I told you to get your knife out first. Now look at you, unarmed in front of a target, with your jaw hanging down on the floor.”

                “Belladonna?” he asked, all usual authority gone from his tone. Instead, his voice cracked as he spoke their name, sounding small and scared. A target?

                “He’s in my head, Viago,” they said quietly, staring down at the tiles between their feet. “I got hurt at the ritual site, and Solas used the blood I lost for magic to save himself. He’s– when I meditate, when I sleep, when its quiet, whenever he wants; if I’m vulnerable, he can just – he’s stuck in the Fade, but he’s in my head, too. I can’t hear his thoughts, but does that mean he can’t hear mine? How do I keep secrets from an enemy who can be there when I dream?” They let out another harsh, humorless laugh, glancing up to meet his gaze. “Serves me right for getting hit, I know. But what were the terms of my contract?”

                “To stop the Dread Wolf and his plans, by any means necessary,” he said in a rush, the words barely registering through his terrified daze.

                “Correct. I have to kill the risen gods, that much is still clear. The team will make sure Elgar’nan and Ghilan’nain are defeated, even if I die trying, but-” Viago made a broken noise, trying to protest, but they continued. “Even if I survive that, what’s left for the one in my head? How do you suggest I cut him out?”

                “You already stopped him; he’s gone! He can’t-”

                “Can’t he? He’s in the Fade, but he’s still reaching out to me; he’s very clearly not gone. He’s using my own blood against me, from inside of my head. We have no idea what he’s capable of or how much control my blood has given him over me, and as you so astutely pointed out the other day, I’m a mage. I was already a possession risk. Now, the only things we know for sure are that he’s still my target, and he’s inside my head. Whether I survive the fighting long enough to see the real end, well, I guess we’ll see,” the elf said, voice breaking a little as they forced a bitter smile, “but there’s only one way that this ends. Whether I complete my contract, or you do, or someone else does-”

                “No,” Viago said, an awful sinking feeling burning through him at the suggestion. “No.”

                “Or someone else does,” they repeated, giving him a sharp look, “Viago, at this point, I’m the target. And as someone I know just loves to remind me, Crows always finish the job.”

                “No.” It wasn’t enough, but it was all he had. What else could he say? He couldn’t think, he couldn’t breathe –

                “I’m sorry, Viago. I did my best. I know it’s my fault for getting hit.”

They hung their head; their voice was quiet, broken, resigned. They weren’t even trying to find a way out of the fate that they’d described– because they had already accepted it.

“With neither blade nor shield, Andraste gave herself up to her enemies.”

“It’s my fault. I did my best.”

                Maker, no. They couldn’t truly think they should– they couldn’t even consider -

“You’re not the target,” he said in a rush, grabbing the elf by the knees and shaking them, desperate to make them hear reason. “Belladonna, I don’t care if you got hit, it doesn’t matter, you’re not-”

“If it wasn’t me, what would you say?” they asked, pulling their knees up into their still-naked chest, wrapping their arms around them and looking down at him with a trembling frown. “If it was any other Crow who came back half-possessed by their own target, under the sway of unknown blood magic - what would you say should be done with them?”

His blood ran through his veins like ice. He couldn’t even think it. They weren’t another Crow. They weren’t a pawn to be used and discarded, they weren’t just another weapon –

“Viago, answer me. What would you say?”

He couldn’t even think it.

“No.”

“That’s what I thought,” they said, sighing and looking off towards the Rialto Bay once more. “So, let’s be honest with ourselves. If you’ve got something quick, and I know that you do-”

“Belladonna de Riva, if your life was ended by one of my poisons, I would drown myself in my own blood.”

He spoke sharply, righteous anger bleeding into his terror as he did. They were precious, they were irreplaceable, they were his –

He had told them all of this. How many ways did he have to say it before they would understand?

“I don’t care what the Dread Wolf has done, I don’t care if it means the contract never gets finished. Do you think Varric will come back demanding a refund?”

That might have been a low blow, considering the news he’d gotten about the man - but even if he angered them, at least that might stop this horrifying spiral. Worse, though, they hardly reacted at all, not even meeting his gaze. He reached out to them once more, closing his hands lightly around their ankles, hoping to anchor them both with the touch.

“I don’t know what magic this Solas worked over you, but no one else ever need know. We can find a way to pry that madman from your skull, or we can find a way to live with it, but the idea of-” he exhaled, swallowing hard, “- of anything else, is madness. I won’t allow it. I won’t think of it.”

“Viago-”

“No. You promised me that you’d come home when this was done, Belladonna, and we will find a way.” The elf exhaled in a rush, still not meeting his eyes.

“We both said a lot of things that night we didn’t mean.”

“I didn’t,” Viago snapped, feeling the hurt flash across his face. “I meant what I said.”

They did look over at him at that, raising an eyebrow though their lips twisted into a bitter line. “You meant to call me by someone else’s name?”

“I – what? I did no such thing!”

“Fine, nickname. Point remains.”

“Por la Sangre de- Belladonna, what are you talking about?”

“You’re hardly the first human with an elf fetish, you know. Your real problem was giving us nicknames that were only one letter apart. Really, what made you think that was a good idea?”

“Belladonna!”

“You missed her; I get it. You’d had her for years, and me for one night. Only natural to slip up.”

 “Absolutely not. That was not what - think as poorly of me as you like, but I would never take you into my bed under false pretenses.”

“But you would do it up against a statue of Andraste?”

He spluttered, flushing despite his shock and rage. “There were no false – you asked me to!”

“I asked you to tell me the truth. You’re the one who picked fucking me on the Chantry roof instead. Offer’s still open, by the way, once this argument goes cold.”

“Belladonna de Riva, you just asked me to poison you. Don’t try to come on to me now.”

“What, you don’t have sexy poisons?’

“Of course I do, that’s not the point-”

“Whose nickname is ‘little love’, Viago?” they suddenly demanded, violet eyes flashing, and he felt himself go pale. “Because I know it wasn’t mine. You spent all night calling me ‘little dove’, right until you came in me, after calling out for her. Once, I could let slip, but you let me sleep in your arms all night, and when I woke up, you were dreaming about her! Asking for your pretty amorcita, in your sleep, telling her that she’s beautiful, in your sleep! I never expected to have your whole heart, Viago; I never expected to have any of it. I knew it was just a good night. But don’t you dare tell me you fucked me half senseless, called me someone else’s name, and dreamed about her after, and that to top it all off, you meant to do it. Or at least, lend me some kind of weapon before you do.”

He'd talked in his sleep? He never talked in his sleep – did he?

The thought that he could be spilling secrets into his pillow every time he closed his eyes was almost as unsettling as the accusation they’d made – but not nearly so much so as the fact that they had noticed that little slip, after all, and never once considered he’d meant them. How could they think themself so entirely beneath his notice, after so long, after everything? For a moment, he nearly blurted out the truth, opening his mouth just to shut it again.  

“It-” he scowled, glancing away, unable to get the words out. “It’s no one’s. I’ve never called anyone that, including Andarateia. You don’t have to believe me, but it’s true. You can even go ask her, if you like.”

“Ooh, full name. You two really must be on the outs. No wonder you came after me so quickly.”

“I came after you because I worry constantly about you, every second you’re out of my sight! I saw a sign you were in Treviso without my knowledge, and so I needed to know more. That boy said you were alone and unarmored, and so I had to find you. You could have been in danger, so I needed to be there. I wasn’t thinking about her at all, not last night, and not the night we had before that. I was thinking about you. I worry about you. I care about you.” He stopped for a moment, breath coming hard, chest heaving. “I came after you because I care. I needed you to be safe, because I care. I need you to survive this, I need you to come home when this contract is done, because-”

“Why?” the elf demanded, eyes fierce and sharp despite the way their voice wobbled on the edge of tears. “Why do you care so much? The sex is great, sure, but it can’t just be that. What’s so special about me, that you’d risk everything that you’ve built? Why put yourself in harm’s way for one shitty Crow?”

He stilled, the whole truth simmering just behind his lips. If he lost even a fraction of his control…

“You’re not – you’re good at your job, Belladonna,” he said, glancing off to the side and releasing their ankles. It wasn’t untrue, even if it was not why.

“Viago?” He looked back up at them, and the sharp look they’d had a moment ago had dissolved into something much rawer, their eyes shining bright with unshed tears. His breath caught and hitched at the open, unguarded expression, and he swallowed around the painful lump of emotion in his throat. 

“What? You are.”

“Viago, please, be honest with me. Just tell me the truth, once. I won’t make you say it again.”

“If I say it once, I’ll never be able to stop,” he said in a quiet, shaky voice, the words flying out in a rush. He’d been trying to say it for so long now. He’d tried to show it, hoping they’d understand, he’d tried to sneak around it, using so many other words in their place…

“Say what?” they replied, sounding just as undone. He stayed silent, warring with the words threatening to tumble past his lips. He’d spent so long forcing himself not to so much as think them, terrified they’d pop out at the wrong time.

“I-” he began, but his nerve abandoned him. He stood, exhaling roughly, and stalked back towards his discarded accessories, intending to yank them back into place and flee from the conversation just as they’d planned to - but at the sight of his cape, he froze. A few hours ago, they had been safe and warm, wrapped up in his arms. A few hours ago, they had asked him to tell them the truth in the morning, and he, fool that he was, had said yes. He knelt, brushing the cold navy leather with an ungloved hand. “I doubt the declaration would be a welcome one.”

“Say it.”

Their voice came from much closer than they’d been a moment ago before their boots having made no sound against the tiles as they approached. They gently placed a hand on his shoulder, and he leant his cheek into the touch, nearly moaning at the contact of their skin. He turned on his knees to face them, wrapping his arms around their thighs and burying his face against the leather, dragging in a long, shuddering breath. Their hand brushed softly over his beard, moving down his jaw to press lightly under his chin, gently tilting his head back so he had to meet their gaze. “Viago, please. Say it.”

“I love you,” Viago said, clutching at their thighs, and finally, all resistance fell away. “I love you; I love you; Belladonna, I love-”

His confession ended in a muffled noise of surprise as the elf fell to join him on their knees, diving in to catch him in a messy, desperate kiss.

“Stop,” they begged against his lips, trying to shush him with their own. “Stop. Please stop. I shouldn’t have made you – I’m sorry, please stop.”

His stomach sank, a horrible, boyish hurt clawing up in his throat as he pulled away. He knew they wouldn’t want to hear it, but they’d asked and asked him anyway…

A harsh, bitter laugh huffed out past his teeth, and he looked away. “I didn’t expect you to reciprocate, but since you asked for honesty-”

“You idiot man, of course I – I can’t – we can’t - this doesn’t change anything,” they said, voice desperate as they reached for his face once more. “You’re still Fifth Talon, and I’m still just a Crow. Treviso’s not free, and my contract’s not done. This can’t change anything.”

“Please,” he said sharply, leveling them with a dark look, “I would never let my personal feelings affect my professional-”

“I know you won’t. It’s not you I’m worried about.’

“Then what, Belladonna? I gave you the truth. What more do you want?”

“I want to know how I’m supposed to look at your idiot face every time I’m in the Diamond, knowing you love me too! How do I walk through that mirror and keep my head and act like nothing’s different when I have to look at you and know that you love me, too?”

“Too?” his brain chanted, the thought frenzied though he sat shocked and still. “Too? Too?”

“Belladonna?” he said in a small, fragile whisper.

“I love you, Viago,” they said with a sob, flinging their arms around him and burying their face in the side of his neck. “Of course I love you. Who wouldn’t love you? I’ve loved you since the first night you had me. I loved you on the day I left.”

Their confession made his head spin. They’d loved him when they left him, without a goodbye?

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked, voice barely audible over the muffled Chant from below.

 “Would it have mattered?” they asked in answer, and the question broke his heart. “You already had my orders written. What could it have been then but more heartache?”

“Hope,” he bit out, tucking their head closer against his neck as he smoothed a hand over their wavy hair. “It would have been hope.”

“You think that now that you’re not angry, but-”

“I was never truly angry about the Antaam. I was embarrassed by the spectacle, I was worried about the other Talon’s reactions, I was scared. I wanted you to be safe, and you’d made enemies on all sides. I didn’t want to send you away; I just needed you out of Antiva.”

“Again, you think that now, but-”

“Belladonna,” he said, bracing his hands on their ribcage to push them back a bit and see their face. “I know my own mind. I might not have had the words, but I cared then, too. I wasn’t angry. I missed you, desperately, from the moment I knew you were gone.”

They leaned back away from him, hair falling over their collarbones as they let their hands trail down over his shoulders, resting their palms flat against his chest. “Please don’t lie to me, Viago.”

“I’m not,” he insisted, desperate to make them believe him. He felt the furrow between his brows worry its way deeper as he looked up at them with wide, pleading eyes, laying his hands over theirs and squeezing as he spoke. “Belladonna, I went half mad. I think I screamed at every Crow in Treviso. One of the fledglings got so scared by my ravings that he ran off, took vows, and is now a Chantry brother in Orlais. I tore through all my papers before I started work, three times, every morning, looking for your reports first. After they stopped coming, I started checking for them at night, too. All I could do was work and worry. I worried, constantly, so much that even Teia started to avoid me. I missed you so much.” He took a deep, shuddering breath, sliding one of their hands down under his, resting it on the little bump in his breast pocket. “You were always near my heart; every second you were away.”

“What is this?” they breathed, pulling their hand from under his to trace their fingers over the shrouded shape.

“Go ahead and look.”

They slid their fingers down to the spot where the armor’s seam opened, then probed inside. It was a strange sensation, letting someone rifle through his pockets, but he swallowed down the surge of discomfort to focus on their face. Their brows furrowed together for a moment as they searched, pressing their fingers down against the parchment within to slide it and its companion from their hiding place. As soon as their eyes landed on what they’d withdrawn, though, they froze, a strange, strangled look coming over them. They flipped the folded letter open for only a moment before closing it again, then turned the bottle over in their hand with trembling fingers, their touch ghosting over the label as if they thought the glass might shatter beneath it.

“Not Today,” it proclaimed in his clear, fine hand, just as it had the night they’d drank it.

“You kept these with you? All this time?”

“Yes,” he admitted, feeling his cheeks sear with an uncharacteristic blush. “All this time.”

        “Well, Viago de Riva. I never. Wasn’t it you who taught me never to carry an unnecessary weight?” they asked with a laugh, a small, perfect smile blooming across their face.

Maker, he loved them. He could say it a thousand more times, and it would never be enough.

        “I love you. It wasn’t unnecessary.”

        “Would your trainers agree?” Their voice was playful, teasing, and the genuine warmth in it made his heart swell and thrill. They were engaging. They were thawing. They were coming out of that awful, idiotic spiral. They were here. They were perfect. They loved him.

        “My trainers are all long dead.”

        “That’s not an answer.”

        “They would be furious,” he said, chuckling. “And would break us up purely on principal.”

                The elf stilled a little in his arms, and he immediately realized his mistake.

                “Viago, I-”

“I know we’re not together,” he quickly clarified, trying to spare them the awkwardness of doing so themself. “It was just a turn of phrase.”

“Would you want to be?” they asked quietly, fretting their thumb over the potion bottle’s label once again before sliding it and their note back into place in his pocket. “I know we can’t, but if we could?”

Maker, yes, he would want that – why were they so sure it couldn’t be? A relationship between a Talon and one of their Crows might raise a few eyebrows, but they could keep it quiet, if that was their concern. So long as all involved parties were willing, why –

Oh.

“I doubt Lucanis would be interested in sharing you,” he deflected, answering his own question and not theirs.

“What? I’m not with - Lucanis isn’t interested at all!”

That was a surprise. Viago would have said the man was absolutely besotted. He’d watched him wooing Belladonna with coffee and talk of first kisses just a few days before; seen him bow and offer his arm and support at the small of their back. Illario had always been the one with the charmer’s reputation, but for his new favorite colleague, Lucanis had seemed to be pulling out all his cousin’s greatest tricks. 

“He seemed very interested at Café Pietra.” Belladonna’s face darkened at the remark, lips twitching downwards, and they looked away, exhaling hard.

“Yes, he did.”

Now it was Viago’s turn to frown, his brows pulling into a hard, suspicious line.

“What did he do?”

“Viago, don’t.”

“What did he do?” he repeated, grabbing by the arm and pulling them down into a seated position with him. What had Lucanis done to put that look on their face? Had it even been Lucanis, or had it been his demon? “What happened?”

“Nothing! He didn’t do anything, alright? He just… isn’t interested.”

                “He was certainly behaving as if he was.”

                “Well, now he’s not, and I doubt he ever meant anything by it. You know, he bought fruit to bring her while on his way to coffee with me? Bought something for everyone on the team except me, actually. Of course, I got him something, thinking he was going to surprise me later, but, well. Clearly not. Still hope he likes the knife.”

                Viago’s eyes twitched narrower, his fear catching spark into anger. To his embarrassment, he hadn’t paid attention to what the two had been shopping for on their walk to the café, transfixed as he’d been by the sight of Belladonna in his armor – they had given him a knife? If he were in a better mood, he might find that rather funny, given Lucanis’ similar awkward overture to him many years ago; as it stood, it only served as fuel for his ire. He would have known what they’d intended by the gesture. If he wasn’t interested, fine, unreciprocated affection was hardly a capital crime – but he knew, and instead of letting them down gently, he led them on and pretended, playing mind games with them while entertaining someone else?

                “I guess he was just… casing me? Trying to get inside my head, the way he would a target’s? Appropriate, I suppose, given-”

                “Absolutely not,” Viago warned, unwilling to go back down that road.

                “Well. Whatever he was looking for, he found it, because he’s barely said a word to me in days. He’s more than happy to spend every mission chitchatting with Neve, though. He even made last night’s dinner just for her.”

                 Neve? Neve Gallus? That must be who the woman he’d seen accompanying the two was. He’d seen the name before, in the news and his reports, but he had never put it to a face. Lucanis was interested in her? He’d spent a year being tortured by a Tevinter witch, and the first thing he did with his freedom was run into the arms of another? That was so poetically tragic, it sounded like something he’d watch at Treviso’s opera. It even might almost be pitiable. Almost.

                Last night’s dinner? The elf and their team had spent the previous day in Treviso, so they likely would have been on the cities’ schedule even after returning to the Fade, and it had only been a few hours between their initial departure and when he’d found that fledgling covered in their lipstick. Idly, he wondered if the boy had finished sharpening all the table knives in the Diamond, but that thought held little weight at a moment like this. If they’d been on Treviso time for dinner…

                His scowl deepened, and his hands closed into fists of their own accord.

                Lucanis had led them on until he either got his information or got tired of the charade, then, instead of breaking things off cleanly, made a show of pursuing someone else the same way he’d once pursued them. That very same night, Belladonna had fled their team’s Lighthouse, unarmored, unarmed, and dressed to kill, and they’d gone out alone to thrown themself into drugs and drink and distraction. They’d been reckless and impulsive; they’d put themself in danger, and now, Viago was quite certain it hadn’t just been so he would come and follow.

                They had put themself in danger, because of him.

        “I’m going to kill him.”

        “Don’t be ridiculous. He didn’t do anything wrong.”

        “He hurt you, that’s enough.”

        “And I kissed his cousin in front of half of Treviso; at this point, I think we’re even.”

        “That was an intoxicated mistake, one which you will not be repeating. He should be better behaved.”

        “And I shouldn’t? Didn’t you always tell me not to trust too quickly?”

        “I’m going to kill both of them,” Viago continued, ignoring them. “Illario first, because he knows I’m coming. Lucanis can wait, he’s less likely to expect it.”

“Viago de Riva, do not assassinate all of House Dellamorte just because I got sad over a salad.”

        “There’s two of them,” he deadpanned. “They are a Foyer if we’re generous.”

Belladonna stopped for a second, confused, before suddenly bursting into laughter at the joke and throwing their arms around him. Love and warmth bubbled up in his chest, and he began to laugh too, bringing his hands to clutch at their back as the pair shook in each other’s arms.

                “I love you, you know that?” they said, chest heaving with giggles, and the sound was a revelation.

                “Say that again,” he sighed, leaning in to press a line of sweet, soft kisses down the side of their neck, beginning at the love-bite he’d left below their jaw.

                “I love you.”

He could feel the words vibrate beneath his lips as they spoke, and he nipped lightly at the spot, reveling in the way the little moan they made felt against his mouth.

                “Again.”

                “I love you.”

                He nuzzled his face into the side of their neck, making them let out another breathy giggle.

                “Again.”

                “Make love to me,” they said instead, pulling their face up to theirs with both hands. “I love you, Viago. Please, Gods, let’s make love.”

                “Every day I’m able, for the rest of my life.” He closed the distance and kissed them, one hand moving to cup the back of their head as he moved above them and guided them back against the leather of his spread-out cloak. The elf squealed and arched up off the cold material when they made contact, giggling again, and the motion left their breasts offered up before him like an invitation – one which he was inclined to take.

                He leaned in to close his mouth around one nipple, gently sucking and nipping at it until it hardened to a pebbled point, then moved to the other. Once it, too, grew firm beneath his attentions, he pressed a soft, wet kiss over its peak, then began to make his way back up their chest, lavishing kisses across dark Crow tattoos and pale, perfect skin. His lips caught theirs once more, and they released a happy sigh into his mouth as they returned the kiss, winding their arms around his neck and playing with his hair.  When they broke apart to breathe, Viago could not help but stare, gently stroking the backs of his fingers along the side of their cheek as they lay below him. Their gem-purple eyes were bright and wide with desire, a pink flush blooming over their lovely cheeks. Their lips were open in a breathless, beautiful smile, face painted plain with the fondness which crinkled the corners both Crow’s eyes.

                “This was my favorite part last time, too,” they sighed, reaching up to trace their thumb up and down the curve of his cheek.

                “Kissing me?” Viago asked, amused.

                “Your smile,” they answered simply, thumb still tracing casual circuits as if what they’d said were the most natural thing in the world, as if the pure affection of it hadn’t nearly knocked the wind out of their lover’s lungs. “I’d do anything in the world if it meant I’d see this smile.”

                “Then kiss me,” he answered breathlessly, not nearly mad enough to voice his mind’s first suggestion. Belladonna leaned up to close the distance, meeting his lips in a soft, sweet kiss, but pulled back just a moment later.

                “Vi, sweetheart, please get me out of these clothes.” His heart soared at the simple endearments, and he felt an unguarded smile spread wide across his face.

                “Yes, darling,” he said, planting a teasing kiss on the point of their nose before pulling down their body to do as they’d asked. He stripped them out of their lower layers with methodical ease, quickly leaving them in nothing but their smallclothes.

                He leaned in, nuzzling his nose against their sex through the thin fabric and inhaling their scent with a hum of satisfaction. His hands rose to the edges of the garment, easing it down as he trailed kisses over the soft skin revealed in its wake. He slid the cloth down over their thighs, and they lifted their legs to help him pull it away entirely.

                He dipped down to plant a wet kiss against the apex of their folds, earning a soft, breathy sigh from the elf above him.

                “I could stay here for a hundred years and still, it wouldn’t be enough,” he murmured, leaning in to give them a slow, worshipful lick.

                “Don’t you dare,” Belladonna groaned, fingers knotting into his hair to pull him closer. “We have to go to work in a few hours, and I need to be able to walk.”

                He let out a low, husky laugh against them, something warm and possessive uncurling in his gut at their words. “Say that again.”

                The elf’s fingers twitched in his hair, and when they spoke again, it was with obvious confusion. “Don’t you dare?”

                “No,” he said, breaking away from their core to look up at them as he spoke. “We.”

Belladonna mewled above him, their hips rocking up against his face. “I thought – ah – you said that we weren’t-”

“We aren’t,” Viago said, muffled against their heat as he spoke between slow circles of his tongue. “But we do have work in the morning, and you are looking thoroughly ravished already.” He closed his lips around their clit, applying a soft suction that made the elf writhe and moan before releasing them with a wet, wanton pop. “No matter how steady your legs are, you won’t be able to hide the state of your neck. Particularly not with your aversion to fastening buttons.”

“I wouldn’t want to,” the elf squeaked out, voice hitching as the man began to trail kisses back up their abdomen, his beard and moustache leaving a long line of their slick in his wake.

“I know,” he agreed, pressing a kiss against the feather-like tattoo on their sternum. “And when every Crow you pass is staring at your neck, whispering, wondering who would have marked you up like that, none of them would ever guess that they’re mine. But you’ll know. We’ll be there, all the same.” Belladonna bucked and whined at the words, scrabbling at his armored shoulders with their nails. 

“Get this off.” He froze a little beneath their hands at the request, uneager to shed armor in public, and something in their face softened at the hesitation.

“You don’t have to,” they quickly amended, soothing a hand over his cheek. “I just didn’t want the rivets poking at me this time.”

“This time? You should have said something last night!”

“I was a little busy enjoying it then.”

“I-” Viago began before giving up on words, laughing and shaking his head. “You are impossible, you know this?”

“I learned from the best.” They drew him in for a slow, sweet kiss, pulling away to gently rub their nose into his before speaking. “Here, then, let’s-”

They hooked a leg over his hip before throwing their body weight hard to the side, flipping the pair and drawing a shrill, uncharacteristic noise of surprise from his lips. In a moment, they sat atop his thighs, grinning down at him as he panted beneath them, shock still plain across his face. Though he was more skilled in poisoning men than punching them, he had still put the finishing touches on their hand-to-hand training himself. He had grappled with Belladonna more times than he could count – and never once had they gotten him flat on his back.

“I didn’t teach you that,” he said breathlessly, tilting his head to one side as he stared up at them.

“No,” they said with a sly smile, fingers beginning to work apart the closures of his leather trousers. “You didn’t.” They loosened the garment just enough to be able to pull it and his underclothes down over his hips, but paused with their fingers hooked beneath the waistbands. “May I?”

It seemed an absurd question, with them sitting naked over his hips while he laid beneath them nearly fully armored – but the affection behind it made his chest warm and thrill with an unfamiliar feeling. They treated him gently, cared about his comfort, wanted to make sure he felt safe. They were taking care of him, being tender, with him. His whole life had been threaded through with fear and doubt, growing from the courtly intrigues of boyhood to the deadly work of the Crows in his maturity. He had learned not to trust long before he ever learned to brew poisons, and learned to keep his skin covered long before he understood why the noblewomen didn’t. If there had been a time before the paranoia that clung to his every moment, then he didn’t remember it. Yet now, Belladonna was sat atop his thighs, gentle fingers pausing for his permission to bare even a handsbreadth of his skin even though he’d left them fully nude and waiting in the slowly dawning light. Their ebony hair drifted loose around their shoulders like a veil, and their amethyst eyes were warm and bright, and they smiled down at him like he was a wonder to behold. For the first time since his childhood, someone was taking care of him, not because he was injured or dying, not because there was a reason - but simply because they wanted to. It was almost too much to bear.

He nodded his consent, unable to get words out past the painful lump of emotion in his throat. Belladonna smiled again, and he swore he could feel their magic thrilling down his skin like lightning when their fingertips brushed into the soft skin of his hips as they eased the garments just out of the way enough to free him.  His cock sprang free, already hard and waiting at attention, and Belladonna leaned in to place a soft, chaste kiss against his tip. Viago groaned, his head falling back against the leather of his discarded cape as their lips closed sweetly around him, head bobbing a slow, worshipful line up and down his length. They hummed a little note of pleasure as they moved over him, tongue curling up his shaft as they rose and smoothing down against it as they fell. Between the sound, the sensation, and the warm, unfamiliar feeling of being safe and loved in a partner’s arms, after only a few short moments, Viago was coming to his edge more quickly than he had in years.

“Bella – dove – little love, please,” he choked out, knotting fingers through their hair to pull their mouth away. They relented, pulling off him with a satisfied pop and messily wiping at their mouth with the back of one hand, a wide, feral grin spread across their face.

“Is there something you’d like to ask me, Viago?” they cooed, a playful rendition of the words he’d said to them so long ago. 

                “Please make love to me,” he said in a rush, his usual dominance and pride long since left by the wayside. “Please, I-”

                “Shhh,” Belladonna hushed, smoothing their hands over his face and beard as they canted their hips up a bit, coating his length with their wetness as they ground their core against him. “Don’t worry, darling. I’ll take such good care of you.” Viago could only whimper at the declaration, rocking up through their folds, desperate to find his way home. They slid up to his tip, slotting him against their entrance, and moved their hands to catch his own in theirs, folding their fingers together. “Look at me.” His wide, desperate eyes snapped up to theirs, brows scrunched up into a needy arch, and when blue eyes met violet, he nearly sobbed at the unguarded, undeniable love burning there.

                “Viago de Riva, you are so loved,” they said in an impossibly soft voice, their lovely face beaming with the proof they spoke true. “I love you,” they said, beginning to lower themself onto his cock. “I love you,” they repeated, sinking still lower.

“I love you,” Belladonna moaned as their hips settled onto his once more, hilting him fully in their heat. Both Crows groaned in unison as the skin met, Viago sitting up to wrap his arms around them and catch them in a wet, messy kiss.

“I love you, I love you, sweet Maker, I love you,” he chanted against their lips, muffled around desperate kisses.

“I love you, Viago,” they replied, pushing him gently away and encouraging him to lie back once more. “Let me take care of you. Let me make you feel good.”

He had barely opened his mouth to speak before his jaw flopped open, wide and boneless, releasing a broken, whimpered moan as Belladonna began to move astride him. They rolled their hips in a slow, even circuit, rocking up as they came forwards, then swaying a wide arch downwards as they pushed back onto his length. They kept their hips tight against his as they rode him, seeming just as unwilling as he was to lose even a moment of skin-to-skin contact. It was sweet, and slow, and impossibly intimate. Perhaps it should feel… naughtier, more illicit, given they were fully nude in public and riding him on top of the blasted Chantry while the sisters sang out an unfamiliar set of verses sang down below. But Maker have mercy, seeing them like this - their skin covered only by their dancing ebon hair and the golden light of a Trevisan dawn, his hands laced into theirs and their bodies joined as one - he had never felt so close to the divine.

They pushed into his hands a bit for leverage as they began to speed the circles of their hips, rocking just so, over and over – rocking his cock into that sweet spot within he knew would soon have them falling apart around him. He released one hand, letting them push harder into the remaining one as he snaked his other arm around to grab the soft flesh of their ass, supporting the movement of their hips. Belladonna moaned, beginning to rise and fall in earnest as they gazed down at him nearly glowing with affection. They leaned their head into the back of their hand where it was joined with his, a sweet, genuine smile playing at their face though their brow was pulled tight with pleasure and lust as they panted with each rolling bounce.

“Gods, I’d do this for the rest of my life.”

His heart squeezed almost painfully, hoping beyond hope, and his hand pulled from theirs to cup the back of their head, pressing their forehead down against his as he spoke.

“Donna, as you are mine, I am yours.”

It was as close to bearing his soul in public as Viago de Riva could endure; it might still be too much. But Maker, Maker, the way they looked, swathed in sunlight and aglow with affection, he simply could not help but tell the truth. Even if it was just in borrowed words, stolen from an old Antivan play he’d once read; even if it was just the first thing his love-maddened mind had blurted forth while he reeled for a response to their wishes; even then, it was true. It might even be enough. 

Belladonna simply let out a whimper above him, grinding back hard onto his length at the declaration, then let out a dazed, breathy laugh, shaking their head a little.

“I’m really not a lady, Vi.”

“I could make you into one,” he breathed into their ear before he could help himself, his grip on their ass tightening as he pulled them to ride him at a faster pace, thrusting up to meet them as they fell. Hopefully, the double entendre would cover the additional slip.

“Oh no you don’t, we’re making love right now. You want to spank the manners into me, do it after business hours.” The elf’s teasing words melted off into a moan as they took to his change in rhythm. Evidently, it had.

As their lovemaking’s tempo increased, Belladonna leaned back once more to brace their hands on his thighs, throwing their head back to release little mewls as they bounced. The elf’s face twisted up in pleasure as he tilted his hips into each thrust, and he could tell they were getting as close as he was. He brought his free hand to their clit, rubbing quick, tight circles over the bud, determined not to let himself finish before them.

“Fall apart for me, amore. It’s the most beautiful sight in the world.”

Belladonna mewled above him and obeyed, rocking down hard onto his cock as they gasped and shuddered through their orgasm, coating him in a gush of wet heat. They continued to ride him through the aftershocks until their thighs trembled out from beneath them, then he picked up the slack, rocking up into them in a way what made them back and whine and claw uselessly at his armored legs with their cracked, blunted nails.

“Your turn,” they whined, eyes falling to his with a wide, desperate look. “Please, I want to make you come, I want to make you to feel good, I want to feel it, Vi-” Their words died off into a long, keening cry of his name as he followed them over the edge, thrusting hard into their heat once, then twice. Viago wrenched himself upright to pull them firmly into his arms and hold them down onto his length as he bucked up into them once more, spilling himself within. He held them through the final throes of his orgasm, shuddering up into them and panting heavily, his face buried in their neck and one hand threaded tightly through their hair. The other wound around their waist, keeping them pressed against him in a bone-crushing-embrace.

“Ri – ah,” Belladonna began, reaching to tap lightly at his back before moaning at the way the slight adjustment moved his softening cock within them.

“Hmm?” Viago asked lazily, boneless, warm, and muffled into their neck.

“Rivets,” they squeaked, and released them with a start, pulling out and drawing back enough to examine their torso. Sure enough, their pale skin was dotted with the pattern of bumps and prongs mirrored in the metalwork on his cuirass.

“Ah, cazzo, Belladonna, I’m so-”

“Will it scar?” they interrupted, voice light and teasing, making him let out a laugh.

“No, little love. They didn’t even break the skin.” He leaned in and gave them a quick, chaste peck on the lips before bracing his hands on their shoulders, gently pushing them to lie back. “But let me make it up to you regardless.”

He dripped his head down to pepper sweet, soft kisses over each little mark and indentation, sparing a few for their nipples and the dark lines of the Crow tattoos on their chest, too. He nuzzled into the swell of one breast, tickling at them with his facial hair, and the elf giggled and swatted playfully at him until he relented, resting his head softly on the pillow of their abdomen. For a few long minutes, they simply lay together: Viago, sprawled half off his cloak with his pants around his thighs and Belladonna’s fingers playing in his hair, Belladonna, still fully nude, laid back against the sweaty, sticky leather with a rosy blush blooming over their face and breasts from both exertion and open affection. They panted in the slowly-warming air, reveling in the gentle salt breeze rolling off the Rialto Bay, and Viago allowed himself to enjoy the quiet sounds of a Trevisan morning. The call of the sea birds, the distant lap of waves, a lover’s breath beside him, and the sound of –

Maker’s Breath.

The organ trilled out a familiar fanfare beneath them, and suddenly, the lines of the Chant which he hadn’t placed earlier snapped into vivid context.

                “And thus fell the eye of the Maker upon Andraste, she who would be raised up from outcast to become His bride. From her lips would fall the Chant of Light, at her command would the legions of righteousness fall upon the world.”

                He’d only hear that verse one time aloud, and only as a very young boy, having been dragged along by his mother to some boring social gathering. In that case, a boring noble’s wedding.

                He couldn’t help himself from barking out a short, shocked laugh, sitting up and shaking his head. Belladonna followed him, hands stroking at his shoulders.

                “What is it? What’s wrong?” they asked, but he only shook his head, pressing a finger to his lips.

                “Listen. Do you know this verse?”

                The elf tilted their head to one side, listening intently as the choir sung the verse again and again in the ceremony’s final fanfare. True to what they’d claimed earlier, though, they shook their head, not having placed it. Viago chuckled again, facing them with a warm, genuine smile.

                “Well, my little love, we may have just consummated someone else’s marriage.”

                For a moment, Belladonna was shocked into silence, but then burst into a bright peal of giggles, falling into his waiting arms, and braced their forehead on his shoulder as they shook in the half-embrace. “Good,” they managed between laughs, wiping at their eyes as their chest continued to heave. “Saves us the time on paperwork.”

                Viago’s world pulled to a stop. Did they – they couldn’t, surely?

                “Kidding, kidding,” Belladonna soothed, “Maker, Vi, you look like you’re about to be sick. Don’t worry, we’re not together, especially not that together!”

                “About to be sick?” his mind echoed, incredulous. Was that how he looked? It certainly wasn’t how he felt. He swallowed hard around the stupid, boyish disappointment clawing at his throat. It was just a joke; they joked all the time. Their humor was one of the many things he loved about them. It was one the reasons he’d –

                “Would you want to be?” he blurted out, barely more than a whisper but unable to help himself. The elf looked over at him, eyes widening. “Together, I mean. I know we can’t, but if we could?” he echoed their question from earlier, voice shaking. The words were hardly out of his mouth before he cringed, chastising himself internally. Maker, why had he said that? Of course, the answer would be no, of course-

                “I doubt Teia would be interested in sharing you,” Belladonna teased, echoing his own deflection in turn, keeping their tone light though their eyes stayed wide with shock and they glanced away from his eyes.

                “Teia and I aren’t together. Even if we were, she’s hardly one for exclusivity.”

                “Really? You’re alright with that?”

“She’s an expert in seduction for a reason. It would hardly be fitting to keep a master from practicing her art.”

“And do those other lovers later die face down in a wine glass?”

                 “Only if they break her heart.”

                “Well, that’s actually sweet. And here she said you’re not a dear.” Viago only chuckled, awkwardly shifting himself back into his leathers and looking out at the Rialto Bay, grateful that they’d let the embarrassing question die.

                “Yes, by the way.”

                His head whipped around, jaw falling open in shock.

                “What?”

                “Yes,” they repeated simply, a small smile on their face, tone as calm as if they were remarking on the weather. “I would want to be together. Maybe even together… like that. Someday, if we could.” They paused, fighting with the next words.

                “But we can’t,” Viago finished, heart pounding.

                “No, we can’t,” they agreed, their voice sad. “The job’s not done. Right now, Treviso needs you to free her, and The Veilguard needs me to lead it. We don’t have time for personal distractions.” They twisted to reach for their shirt, pulling it over their shoulders and beginning to fasten the buttons.

                His heart sank in his chest at the word, and he glanced down at his lap before reaching for his own belt and pulling it on as well. His hurt was entirely unfair, he knew, given he’d tried to compartmentalize his affections for them into the very same box on the day they’d left him behind; it stung like poison in his chest all the same. He reached for one glove, yanking it on.

                “But if we could,” they continued, voice still soft, “I would ask you to walk me home.”

                He looked up at them, their purple eyes warm and bright with the same love that pounded in his chest. They couldn’t – but they were willing to try regardless. His face softened into a genuine smile, eyes crinkling at the corners as he watched them shimmy into their leather pants, pulling on his other glove.

                “It would be my pleasure.”

                The pair dressed quickly, and Belladonna, for the very first time in the year that they’d owned it, buttoned their shirt up all the way to the collar. It still didn’t hide the bruise beneath their jaw, and the slightest edge of teeth marks peeked over one side – but it would be enough to get them back to the Diamond without too much incident. The two made the short trek across the rooftops until they reached one with a zipline to the Diamond. The Chantry bell had only just struck 5, and thankfully, the Crow’s Roads were mostly deserted – but both knew better than to truly expect the casino to be empty when they entered.

Belladonna walked in first, glancing both ways before turning towards the shorter path to the Eluvian. For a few moments after they rounded out of his sight, there was silence, and Viago almost dared to hope-

“Bella, get your ass over here!” Teia called out, the sound ringing down the stairs to where he stood. He sighed heavily, beginning to climb. “Where the hell have you been? Vi is furious, he’s been out all night looking for you!”

Viago rounded the corner, crossing his arms over his chest. “I found them.”

                Teia glanced between the two, the anger on her face melting away into amusement as her eyes landed on Belladonna’s neck. She shook her head, laughing lightly.

                “You know, I really should have figured. Maker, you two are predictable. Go on, keep walking. I didn’t see you,” she finished, gesturing them away with a wave of her hand.

                Viago flushed at the teasing, but still hooked Belladonna’s arm around his, gently ushering them towards the Eluvian once more. He took their hand to steady them through the window, then, keeping hold, ducked through himself. The pair walked hand in hand the few remaining steps to the mirror before Belladonna paused, turning towards him with a wistful smile.

                “Well, this one’s mine.”

                His hand twitched against theirs, unwilling to release them just yet. “You asked me to walk you home,” he said by way of explanation, clearing his throat nervously. “Could I – would you show me where it is you live, while you’re in the Fade? I… would feel better if I knew the way.”

                Belladonna’s face spread into a wide, perfect smile, and they nodded, giving his hand a little tug, motioning for him to follow. His fingers closed tight around theirs, and he took a deep breath– and hand in hand, the two lovers disappeared together through the mirror.

Chapter Text

Belladonna stepped out into the Crossroads, and behind them, Viago let out an audible shudder. They chuckled at the sound, tightening their grip his hand and pulling him up alongside them.

                “What’s the matter, Vi? Not a fan of the Fade?”

                “No,” he replied, jaw tight.

                “It’s alright. I’ve got you.” They gave his hand a little squeeze, tugging him along again as they began to walk, but he didn’t follow. They turned to find him staring at the tableau behind them – not at the mirror, with its undulating image of Treviso, but at the two statues of Andraste now standing beside it. Belladonna felt a blush sear across their cheeks as they took in the sight. They were in a different style, in a different stone, and much shorter than those on the roof of the Chantry, but they were statues of Andraste all the same. Well, their teachers had always said that the Fade was influenced by the thoughts and feelings of those within it…

                “Were those…”

                “No.”

                Viago snorted, shaking his head, and visibly relaxed a touch. Belladonna, on the other hand, had a sudden pang of anxiety at the sight as the return to the Lighthouse drew close. Gods, how were they going to explain that to the team? Maybe they’d disappear once the pair of them left the island?

                They lead him the short way to the dock of the gondola, half lost in their own worries and wonder at the turn the morning had taken. They had expected to work out the tension with a hard, angry fuck and to slink off on their own after – something simple, easy; for a Crow, even predictable. Dreams of commitment and declarations of love, on the other hand? They weren’t unwelcome, necessarily, they weren’t unreciprocated - but they were deeply unexpected, and they had brought the pair to uncomfortably uncharted ground. When they had asked Viago to walk with them, they had only expected him to take them to the Eluvian, thinking his distaste for both spirits and the unknown would keep him from following them through. Again, his company was not unwelcome – but in combination with the conversation they’d had earlier, it forced them to wonder if he truly understood that any kind of commitment between them was a matter of somedays and not tomorrows or todays. Part of them delighted at the feeling of his gloved hand in theirs, at having him stay close in the afterglow of morning, at the way their heart swelled and warmed at every remembered ‘I love you’. Another part of them, though, a part Viago himself had helped instill, screamed that this was at best a distraction and at worst, an opportunity for betrayal. It was a selfish indulgence, an unnecessary risk, and it could very well get them both killed. Even if they had nothing to fear from each other, they both made new enemies daily, and there was no longer any doubt that the Crows had traitors in their midst. Allowing themselves to entertain this kind of tenderness was dangerous enough; allowing it to become public knowledge would make their attachment an immediate target. There was still too much work to be done. Their simmering thoughts came to a boil as they settled into the floating vessel beside the man, and they broke the silence, glancing up at him.

                “How are we playing this?”

                Viago’s eyes darted away from the Caretaker spirit, his brows shooting up in a look of surprise. “Excuse me?”

                “I told you; it’s never truly night in the Fade. Someone might be up when we get to the Lighthouse. They might even be waiting for me, given I was out all-”

                Belladonna blanched, their words dying in their throat as they remembered what they had left waiting the night before.

                “Shit. You can’t be here.”

                “Why not? What’s wrong?”

                “I didn’t want anyone to come looking for me, so I left a note making it seem like I was… busy. If I come back with you…”

                The boat lurched to a stop at its dock on the central island, but neither Crow made a move to stand.

                “Let me take you back to the Treviso mirror. I’m sorry, I should have thought-”

                “I don’t care what your team thinks of me. Everything they will assume is the truth.”

                “Viago, I don’t want them to know about this,” they blurted out. Seeing the hurt flit across his face before he had the chance to cover it, they continued, trying to explain. “Of the five of them, the dwarves are the only ones I’ve worked with for more than a week or two. They’re all reliable in a fight, but that doesn’t mean I trust them with the details of my personal affairs. It’s just-”

                “Too much, too soon,” their mind offered, though they stopped themself short. Viago looked oddly confused, as if he wanted to interject, so they rushed to finish the thought.

                “Just good business. You know, keeping what’s private… private.” The words sounded lame and hollow even to their own ear, but they were valid concerns nonetheless. For all Bellara’s effusive friendliness and Neve’s confident chatting, neither woman had truly earned Rook’s trust, and neither was likely to do so soon. Lucanis was another matter, but he was also a Crow, and after his confounding games of hot and cold and rapid pivot to pursuing Neve, he was the last person they wanted commenting on their undefined entanglement with their Talon.

                “Fine. Then we play it as just business.”

                Belladonna’s eyes snapped back to Viago’s, and they listened, tilting their head.

                “Go on.”

                “I’m still your Talon, Belladonna. Independent of,” he swallowed, smoothing a gloved hand over his still-messy hair, “of any private connection, you are still my responsibility. My needing to drag you back to your post after a night of reckless indulgence is hardly unprecedented.”

                “Once. That was once,” they seethed, flushing and looking away. Would he ever let the night they’d become a full Crow go?

                “Regardless, the only lie we need tell about last night is one of omission. You went out and caused a drunken scene before stumbling off with a particularly unfortunate choice of lover, I came and collected you before you could shame my House too permanently. I brought you home in the morning after you had sobered up. I told you to show me where this Lighthouse is so that I could escort you to it. All those things are true enough.”

                The elf looked at him for a moment, considering. “Is this just a convenient excuse to lecture me in front of an audience?”

                Viago paused briefly before answering, fighting the ghost of a smile. “Not entirely.”

                They narrowed their eyes at him. “Because you wouldn’t need the audience?”

                “Nor would I need the excuse. This is a cover, plain and simple. The rest is a pleasant bonus.”

                Belladonna made a low noise of irritation and shook their head, but stood and hopped onto the dock, sighing. “Fine, works for me. You’ll need to make it convincing to sell it, though, especially if Neve or Lucanis is watching.”

                Viago snorted, stood, and followed them out of the boat. “You’re not the only good liar in House de Riva, little love.”

                The two walked in silence up to the towering Eluvian back into the Lighthouse, and Belladonna paused before it, turning to the man beside them once more.

                “This is it. Be ready.”

                He dipped in for a short, sweet kiss, pressing his lips gently against theirs before straightening once more, tugging the edge of his cuirass straight and cracking his neck.

                “I always am.”

                A familiar, icy expression fell over his features, one they knew well from their years of his training, and he glanced down at them for barely a moment before one gloved hand flew up to fist in the back of their hair. He tugged them up severely enough to pull them slightly off their feet, leaving them stumbling along and clawing at his armored forearms for release as he marched them through the whirling surface of the mirror.

                Lucanis lowered himself to the ground once more, arms shaking with effort. He held the position for a moment, feeling that same sharp little pebble press into the flesh of his palm, then exhaled with a hiss, pushing himself up until his back was straight once more.

                One hundred.

                He pushed back with a sigh, sitting back on the ground of the Lighthouse’s courtyard and prying the pebble out of the skin of his hand. It was a good place to take his morning exercises, open and cool with the Fade’s almost-wind. This early in the day, it generally remained deserted, and if companions did stir, they had to walk through the courtyard to either the library or the kitchens, allowing him to keep tabs on them as they passed. No one could sneak up on him from where he sat behind the floating halla statue; he had a direct line of sight to every single one of their bedroom doors.

                All but the most important one.

Was that bedroom still empty?

                He had made a specific point not to go by again after he’d looked in last night. When they’d abruptly left the table, he had assumed they were feeling unwell – after all, they had hardly eaten at all, and Harding had said those salty Fereldan cheeses were their favorite. He had thought including one in their dinner would be a nice treat, one they seemed well in need of, given their unusually short temper in the last few days. Or perhaps it was not unusual at all – perhaps they were only friendly with him for his first few days with the team as a matter of principal, and their icy, aloof disposition was simply a return to form. They had been personally trained by Viago, after all…

                He exhaled hard, wiping the clammy sweat off his brow with the back of one hand. Better not to chase that memory.

                When they had left, he’d given them time, not wanting to intrude on any embarrassing moments if they were feeling tender-stomached. When they didn’t resurface for several hours, though, he’d begun to worry. It was hardly uncommon for a Crow to curl up and lick their wounds in secret, not wanting anyone else to see a weakness, and the longer Rook hid away in their room, the more he became convinced that something was truly wrong. Even worse, his unwelcome passenger agreed.

                From the moment they’d abandoned their dinner, chair screeching against the flagstones as they fled, Spite had begun to screech, too. The demon had pounced into the middle of the table, pounding uselessly at the wood, and had spent the rest of dinner howling for him to follow them, to see what was wrong with our Rook – and the ‘our’ on its own was enough to keep Lucanis from obeying. Instead, he had kept himself rooted in his chair as Spite clawed at his mind and screamed in his ear, trying not to visibly wince when the demon’s voice rose to a painful volume. He had shooed the women off as soon as they had finished eating, insisting on doing the dishes himself ‘so they could rest’ – and so he could suffer Spite’s ravings in private.

                “Rook. Hurt. Rook. Unhappy! Go! Look for. Rook!”

                Lucanis sighed heavily, turning a plate over in his hand as he polished it dry with a clean rag. “No, Spite,” he said aloud, pivoting to place it atop the stack of its brothers. “If they are not feeling well, we need to give them privacy.”

                “No! Stupid salad hurt Rook! Your fault!”

                The assassin’s hands froze on a fork, curling around it through the cloth. Generally, he paid little notice to Spite’s stream of nonsense, and was strictly unwilling to indulge the demon’s fascination with
Rook - but that had sounded startlingly close to a good observation. The elf had taken just a few bites of the salad before leaving with a sour, strangled look; he should have put it together sooner. Something in it must have disagreed with them – but he had specifically asked if anyone on the team had a food allergy. Then again, it would be just like a de Riva to lie about that sort of thing, probably certain he only wanted the information so he could poison them more effectively.

                He carefully set the dried fork down among the rest. If it were a truly serious allergy, it would have been evident immediately, but even if it was not to the point of deadly harm, clearly, something in the meal had not sat well. It couldn’t have been the herbs; he’d seen them sipping mint tea with Harding after he’d brought the dwarf the plant, and he’d put basil in several other meals without incident. Neither could it be the oil, for the same reason, and they wouldn’t have been able to eat enough Fereldan cheese for Harding to notice their affinity for it without her also noticing the aftermath if it regularly made them ill.

                The fennel? That must have been it. Something more unusual, something that he hadn’t prepared for the team before. It had been in razor-thin slices; they might not have placed it among the other ingredients. To his horror, he realized Spite must be right – their abrupt departure had been his fault.

                “I’m right. Your fault!” the demon yelled vengefully in his ear before leaping up on the counter like a cat. Lucanis had swatted at him with the rag to shoo him off the surface, but as always, the blow sailed right through him, and Spite had been undeterred. “Find Rook! Stop them. From. Hurting!”

                So, though it was far from his area of expertise, the assassin had set about making them a tisane to soothe the discomfort he’d unintentionally caused. Elfroot for its general healing properties, ginger to soothe nausea, and lemon verbena to ease digestive upset, with a generous dollop of wildflower honey to make the herbal concoction more pleasant. After all, the most effective medicine was one that was actually taken, and if the drink was too bitter, Rook was likely to suspect it was poisoned – but then, they’d likely assume that if it were too sweet, as well.

 In the end, it had not mattered. He had taken the mug up to their room, knocking gently, and waited for several long, silent minutes. Spite had resumed his yowling almost immediately, demanding that Lucanis burst through the door and find Rook. When no reply had come, he had assumed the elf was sleeping, and though he had known he should have simply gone back to his hideaway in the pantry, some uncomfortable, urgent feeling had sucked him in like a current, pulling him through their bedroom door.

They had not been there. Their armor and weapons were discarded in a heap by the wardrobe, cast off in a rush and left to lay where they fell. His brows twitched together as he took in the scene. It was distinctly unlike a Crow to treat their gear so carelessly, that sort of laziness was generally beaten out of fledglings while they were still young – Rook must have left in quite the hurry, indeed. But where could they have been going so quickly while ill, and also been going unarmed? If they were off to see a healer on their own, certainly they’d at least have worn their armor for the trip.

“Jasmine. And roses. Sweet things. Wants to be found. Go find them! Go find Rook!”

Spite did not need to point out the fact Rook had put on a perfume – the heady floral scent still hung heavy in the air. That was odd. Putting on perfume to see their healer? Certainly, whoever they trusted with their health must be a Crow, likely from their own House. They had to know that a trained killer would be professional enough not to complain about a sick colleague’s feverish sweat.

Then, finally, his eyes had fallen to the small table by the door. For a moment, his heart warmed – they’d left a note. They had noticed how worried he’d gotten last time they’d left with no word, so this time, they left a note to ease his mind.

“The team’s minds,” he had mentally corrected himself, frowning as he approached the table. He set the mug down beside the note and lifted it up, squinting at it in the dim light provided by the aquarium and burnt-down candles.

“Going to see an old friend, won’t be back till morning – Rook.”

Lucanis had stared down at the words, processing, before his stomach sank and he dropped the note as if it had scalded against his fingers. Spite’s presence had crawled along his mind, probing, asking, and the moment he understood, the demon collapsed in a heap by their discarded armor, beginning to wail once more.

They were an even better Crow than he had thought – and they had never been sick at all.

Their little oddities in their behavior that day and night had suddenly made perfect sense. Their irritation while they’d been in Treviso, their flights from the table and their armor alike – they had been impatiently awaiting business of a very different kind.

Lucanis had turned tail and fled, and he had not reentered the library since. He did not wait to hear the doors of the Eluvian room open. He did not wait to see when they came home. He had strode back to the kitchen as quickly as he could without breaking into a full run, and he had made himself another pot of coffee, and he had stared at nothing, trying to forget the words Spite had spent the rest of the night crying into his ear. When enough time had passed to consider it morning, he had begun his usual exercises, trying in vain to clear his head of their handwriting. He scrubbed at his sweaty face, chest heaving under his thin linen shirt, wishing he could chase away Spite or the memory.

They had left early in the evening, as punctual as if headed off to a meeting if it meant they could have more time alone with their mystery lover. They had gone unarmored and unarmed, so it couldn’t be a fling. It was someone they trusted, who they knew would keep them safe – and that was a rare thing for a Crow to find, indeed.

He had thought they trusted him, or at least, he had thought they’d begun to.

He’d thought they’d understood.

For all his love of romantic novellas, Lucanis had never had his cousin’s charms. He had no talent for flirtation or enticing banter; every alluring word he tried to spit out stuck bitterly between his teeth like burnt, browned sugar. The few moments of consistent back-and-forth he’d managed at Café Pietra had left him half-stunned, retreating back into his coffee in shocked silence at his own eagerness. But Maker, they had flirted back, he knew they had; they had here and there even during the rescue from the Ossuary. They had teased him about first kisses, and Spite had howled for him to jump across the table and take one right then and there, screaming that they wanted it, that he could smell it. Lucanis had pressed his lips into a hard line behind the shelter of his coffee, ground his teeth, and his grip had tightened on the handle of his cup until it nearly –

Mierda. He had left the cup of tea in their room.

Lucanis shoved himself to his feet, hurrying off towards the library doors with a start. Suddenly, his wishes were quite the opposite of what they’d been a moment ago, desperately hoping that Rook had not yet made it home from their rendezvous. As soon as he made it through the towering double doors, though, the sound of raised voices made him freeze on the spot.

“Ow, ow, ow! This is ridiculous, let me go-”

“Don’t act like a fool, and I won’t treat you like one!”

Viago’s familiar baritone thundered through the library, heavy with displeasure. Rook must not have been exaggerating their Head of House’s disapproval– but why had he come with them, here?

The Fifth Talon stormed around the corner, and the sight of him made Lucanis’ stomach drop. His face was set in a hard, angry scowl as he dragged Rook along behind him by their hair, ignoring how the elf clawed at his arm and cried out for him to release them, their feet barely scrabbling at the floor. The man’s stormy blue eyes set on Lucanis, and he exhaled a low noise of irritation before speaking.

“Ugh, finally, a decent Crow. I brought this back. Where does it go?”

“Viago, I can-” Rook squeaked, but he only hissed out another sharp noise, twisting his hand in their hair and making them cry out as he brought his face close to theirs, speaking with a snarl.

 “You can shut up. You’ve done quite enough with that mouth in the last twelve hours.”

Lucanis’ blood ran cold. Whatever – whoever - Rook had done last night, clearly, it had left Viago blisteringly angry, and he knew all too well what a Talon’s displeasure could feel like. Even if he hadn’t, Spite had been more than willing to fill in the gaps, bursting into view beside the two de Rivas with his face contorted in rage.

“Rook is worried. Rook is bruised. He put bruises on our Rook!”

 He swallowed hard as the other man’s gaze flicked back up to his. He had no doubt that Spite was right- but this was not a battle he could fight for them, as much as he might like to.

“Up the stairs behind you. The open room on the right.” His voice sounded hollow and strangled, even to his own ear, and Rook’s violet eyes widened in a frenzied, desperate look, but the Fifth Talon only gave a curt nod, whirling them both on the spot, and Lucanis could only watch as he dragged the wailing, protesting elf along behind him until they disappeared out of view. A moment later, a door slammed, and the shouting was muffled somewhat.

Somewhat.

He knew he should not linger, and that it would be better not to be in earshot when the true dressing down began. After all, how many times had he been on this side of the door while Caterina tore into Illario, cringing into his hands as he heard his cousin wail in pain and fear? He could only hope that with Viago, the lashing was only proverbial; but the sinking dread in his stomach told him that based on everything he knew of the man and what Spite had said, gentleness now was not very likely. He tested deadly poisons on his favorite Crow on their good days – what would he do to them when he was truly angry?

Perhaps it was the way Spite was shrieking in his mind, demanding him to follow our Rook. Perhaps it was practicality, knowing the team needed Rook in fighting shape in a few hours and unsure how far Viago’s display of his famous disapproval would go without an intervention. Perhaps it was something even more foolish still than the idea that he’d try.

Lucanis stole up the stairs after them.

The two Crow’s voices grew loud once more as he approached, sharpening from fuzzy, muffled echoes to snippets of distinct argument.

“That was unnecessary. You embarrassed me in front of a colleague-”

“You embarrassed my House in front of half of Treviso! Your feelings are not my concern.”

That was typical enough, for a Talon, and especially for Viago. He was particularly finicky about his House’s good name.

“And you punished me for it once already!”

He exhaled hard. That was typical, too.

“You think I won’t do it again?”

He stilled. They’d gone out for one night. What crime could this punishment possibly fit?

“I think you just want an excuse to hit me.”

The Fifth Talon spoke again, his voice low and threatening.

“I don’t need an excuse.”

Rook whimpered, and Lucanis winced, physically recoiling at the scared, broken sound. He took a few hasty steps backwards before turning on his heel and rushing back towards his spot in the pantry, cringing at the demon’s loud protests.

No crime, then. Just punishment.

Lucanis had known Viago was a cold, ruthless man, and that his deadly reputation was well-earned. House de Riva was strictly, meticulously managed, and the Fifth Talon’s impossible demands of his Crows were outmatched only by Caterina’s expectations of Illario and himself. From the whispers he’d heard around the Diamond, the year Lucanis had been imprisoned had only hardened the man even further. Still, he hadn’t expected open, wanton cruelty, particularly not to the Crow widely reputed as his protégé. What had the man done to Rook in the past, that they’d nearly begun to cry in fear of him before Lucanis had even heard a blow fall?

He busied himself with nothing in the kitchen, rewashing a stack of already-clean plates and polishing the already-oiled table, moving more loudly than could ever be necessary and humming tunelessly to himself in an effort to cover any sounds of pain Rook might be making. He did not want to listen. He did not want to know. It would be easier for them both if he didn’t overhear any more than he already had.

By the time he finished with his pointless tasks and fell into uneasy quiet, whatever had passed between the de Rivas had concluded. The Lighthouse sat silent and still, and for a long hour or so, he stared into the fire in anxious reverie, and no one entered the kitchens to disturb his thoughts.

The door creaked open behind him, whisper quiet, and Lucanis whipped around so fast, he made his own neck sore.

Rook crept into the kitchen, the empty mug of the elfroot tisane he’d left them dangling from one hand, the other fidgeting at their collar. Their eyes locked with his, and to his horror, he saw they were rimmed red from recently-shed tears.

What had he done to them?

                “Was this you?” they asked, voice uncharacteristically rough as they held the empty mug aloft.

                Lucanis simply nodded, afraid his own voice would betray him as well.

                “Well, thank you.”

                Thank you for the healing tea. Maker, he wished they hadn’t needed it. Even after the brew, they were still limping. They crossed the room towards the dish basin, trying hard to hide the swaying hitch in their step – but between Crows, they both knew the effort was futile. They deposited their mug in the basin, then turned to him with a sigh.

                “I might as well tell you before someone else does. Whatever rumors you’re about to hear about me and your cousin, they will be greatly exaggerated.”

                Lucanis blinked hard, and Spite howled. That was not what either of them had expected.

                “Illario?”

                “Yes, Illario. Before you ask, very little happened. I was drunk, and so was he.”

                They were lying about something. Their hand fidgeted away from their collar, tucking a lock of hair behind one pointed ear, and alarm bells set to ringing in his mind.

                “What did happen?”

                “Lucanis. You know a lady never tells,” they deflected, glancing off to the side – and revealing a dark mark sucked into the flesh below their jaw. He staggered an involuntary step towards them, Spite’s influence an almost tangible pressure at his back.

                “Tell me he didn’t hurt you,” he blurted out, not entirely certain which man he meant.

                “Illario didn’t hurt me. We barely did more than kiss before Viago stormed in and dragged me off for a lecture.”

                “Barely?” he thought, the demon’s voice echoing over his own.

                “Illario didn’t?”

                “Viago disapproved?” he murmured, unable to voice to question he truly wanted to ask.

                They huffed out an odd little laugh, still not meeting his gaze. “He always does.”

                Spite’s spectral arms wove around the elf’s neck, and the demon sniffed a long, slow line up the exposed side of their neck. Lucanis stiffened at the action, preparing to mentally chastise him, but visibly cringed when he began to scream anew, clinging to Rook like a lifeline.

                “Smells like sweat and snakes and poison! Bitten. Bruised. Hurt. Our Rook!”

                He stumbled backwards, nearly planting a boot in the fire as pain lanced through his brow.

                “Lucanis! Are you alright?” they asked, voice pitching up in alarm as they rounded the counter, stepping through the demon’s spectral grasp and reaching out for him with one arm – and in so doing, allowing the wine-dark impressions of teeth to peek out above their shifting collar.

                That wasn’t the mark of a gentle lover. That had hurt to receive.

                “Are you?”

                Rook came closer, squeezing his upper arm and giving a very good impression of a reassuring smile.  “Of course I am. Why?”

                That smile never touched their eyes.

                They were lying.

                The scent of sweat and snakes and poison, clinging to love-bitten skin.

                Tear-reddened eyes and teeth marks and a bow-legged limp.

Bitten. Bruised. Hurt.

What had Viago done?

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