Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Kione Thorne has never been one for the comforts of the Lighthouse. Not only does she not trust something of Solas’s design, she’s lived most of her life moving from place to place, joining the Wardens when she was nineteen. Sleeping in a bedroll, being up at dawn to spar and then walking until she can’t feel her feet and repeating has her routine. A routine she’s continued when she can.

The study she sleeps in, it’s too comfortable. Too quiet. Too temperate. Boxed in. 

And she’s decided it’s weird to ask if she could camp out on Davrin’s floor, so she found the next best thing. A small spot, out of the way. A corner really where she can set up her bedroll. Assan often finds her, nestling up next to her to keep her warm, but the griffon sometimes makes too much noise. Or simply kicks her in his sleep.

“ Ahhhhh ,” a voice wakes her and she finds Manfred standing over her. Assan nuzzles his beak into Rook’s side, stretching out languidly, one blue eye open half-lidded.

“You found me,” Kione says, leaning on an elbow.

Manfred nods excitedly, hissing. 

She has no idea what he’s saying. “Buddy, I don’t know what you’re saying.”

Manfred hisses again, bows low and turns around on his booted heel, ambling back up the stairs.

Rook waits for a second, watching the skeleton disappear towards the Lighthouse before patting the griffon on under the wing and standing. She stretches, her back twinging. Gods, is she already getting too old to sleep on the ground?

“Oh thank you Manfred,” Emmerich’s voice echoes across the stone and she stops briefly on the steps. “Rook.”

Shit. 

“Emmerich,” Rook says, lilting her voice into something friendlier.

“There you are, my dear.” Emmrich pats her on the shoulder. “Poor Manfred was so worried about you sleeping out here.”

“Oh, uh…”

He wraps his arm around her and hurries her up the stairs. “Is the study not to your liking? I have some great furniture in the Necropolis that I could–”

“I just hate sleeping inside.” Or at least without a window. 

“I see.” Emmrich studies her, his eyes weighted on her and she squirms out from underneath the warmth of him. 

“I’ll be alright. I just need some coffee. Could you not… please don’t tell the others?”

Emmrich nods. Manfred says something, his bones rattling smoothly as she heads for the kitchen. She opens the door, the assault of Antivan coffee hitting her nostrils. Her mouth waters and she heads straight for the cups Lucanis brought back with him from Antiva. And she’s almost with a cup to her mouth when he opens the door, his brown eyes locking on hers.

“Emmrich told me,” he says quietly, eyeing her up and down. 

Rook says nothing for a moment, cursing the necromancer with every expletive she can think of and some in Elven. 

“Sleeping just seems like a thing only a few of us do without issue,” Rook fires back, taking a sip of the coffee. The warmth travels down her throat and she breathes the scent in deeply, tracking Lucanis as he comes closer to her.

“Seems like it,” he agrees. Though the man is looking far more well rested than she currently feels. Seems he and Spite came to some kind of understanding rather quickly after rescuing Catarina.

A thought flits across her mind, sending tingles down her stomach. If they came to an understanding, does that mean–

“Rook.” Her name in his voice is like the coffee in her hand. Full, decadent, warm. “You look like shit.”

Rook laughs. It’s hollow and she puts the cup down, running a hand over her face. “Thanks Lucanis. That’s what every woman wants to hear.”

He’s within touching distance of her and his hand reaches out, caressing her cheek. “ Caro , you must take care of yourself.”

“Have you spoken to Harding or Neve about that?” A bolt of jealousy shoots through her. She can’t help but picture him standing next to Neve, his hand on her cheek, calling her Caro . Gods, she really needs to get laid.

Or get over him.

“At this point, you are the only one not sleeping.”

“I do sleep.”

“Outside. What if you fell into the Fade? What then?” he snaps, his voice sharpening. 

“Assan is with me. I doubt he’d let anything happen to me.”

Lucanis takes a deep breath, his brow furrowing into a point. “Assan is likely to kick you into the Fade by accident.”

“What do you want me to do? I can’t sleep in that study.” Rook pulls away from him. “I can barely sleep outside. This Fade this, the sky, the Lighthouse, it’s all so unnatural. I miss–” Maker , she can’t believe she’s crying now. “I miss the trees and the wind. I miss just being…” Being a warden isn’t normal, but it’s been her normal for the last twelve years. She knows nothing but the routine, but taking care of the blight and the nightmares that come with the territory.

Lucanis presses her against the counter, a jolt of pleasure bringing her back to the present. He glares at her, those warm eyes making her stomach do flips. “You have dark circles,” he says, his voice filling the few inches between them.

“I’m fine,” Rook insists, pushing him back and for a moment, she swears she can feel a bulge between his legs as he steps back.

“ Mierda , you are not.” 

Rook has nothing to say to him. She just wants one night not sleeping in the Lighthouse. Not sleeping under the watchful eye of the fish in the meditation room. Or feeling like Solas could pop into her brain at any moment.

And real wind. Real water. Real sun.

She wants too much. She should be grateful for the Lighthouse, for the safe spot that the corrupted gods couldn’t reach, but she’s selfish.

“We’re going to the Dellamorte Villa,” Lucanis says, his tone brokering no argument. 

Rook smiles, feeling it oddly stretched across her face, swallowing down the argument that rises like bile in her throat.

***

Neve, Taash and Harding all crowd on the chaise lounge, watching as Rook reaches into her wardrobe and pulls out every item. They lay on the floor, a mismatch of grays and browns, nothing even close to luxurious enough to travel to the villa. To have dinner with Catarina. Fuck, not even have a conversation with the older Dellamorte woman.

It’s Taash who laughs first. Then Neve and Harding. 

“This isn’t funny,” Rook mutters, slamming the wardrobe shut.

Everything she owns is on the floor. She spies a brown shirt with a bright green patch and another pair of pants with the same color of thread. 

“I’ve offered you some clothing,” Neve says, slipping off the day bed and picking up a shirt. 

“I don’t need clothes. I just need.”

“You need a whole fucking make over,” Taash interrupts. “How long have you had these?”

“I don’t know. They still fit and I hate throwing things away.”

“It’s nice mending, but some of these are beyond salvaging,” Harding says, picking up yet another shirt. She presses her finger against the fabric, showing how threadbare it is. 

“Fine, but now is not the time.” Rook huffs, running a hand through her hair. “He’s taking me tonight.”

“ Is he? ” Taash says sing-songy, waggling their eyebrows at the other two girls.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Rook snaps, but there’s no venom in her voice. A low heat rises, filling her body with tingling desire. She’s been wanting to, almost desperate to complete the kiss they nearly had, but he’s shown no interest in that. Not yet. Or ever, she fears. She doesn’t want to push him, but she hates waiting. “It’s not like that.”

“The man smiles because of you. He’s softer around the edges. Don’t you dare tell me you think he doesn’t care.” Neve pulls on Rook’s hand, beckoning the other two to follow. “Come, I have the perfect thing.”

**

Rook stops outside the huge door of the Dellamorte Villa. Lucanis had gone ahead a few hours earlier and she arrived in the carriage the Dellamorte family sent her. She shifts uncomfortably in the dress Neve forced her into. The fabric is simple in design and color, showing off the brightly tattooed griffin’s wing that stretches from one side of her torso onto her left arm. 

The door opens and Lucanis says nothing, simply blinking at her. His mouth slightly agape before closing and his eyes darken. He moves slowly, like approaching prey and already she feels so silly in this dress.

He is, of course, dressed immaculately in black leathers. “ Mierda ,” he says, pulling her closely to him. “You’re beautiful.” His lips press gently to the corner of hers, making a trail of fire to her earlobe. He nips underneath the curve of it and then steps back, grinning. “Come.”

She tries to keep track of the vaulted ceilings, the marble flooring and pillars, and the pristine couches that look like they haven’t been touched in years.

“Welcome to my home,” Caterina says, her cane announcing her before her words do. “Dinner is in a few hours and I was going to sit by the fire with some embroidery. Lucanis tells me you knit.”

Not that she thought to bring a project with her. She did have an overnight bag, but the moment she stepped foot out of the carriage, she watched it get whisked away.

Rook follows Caterina into a side room. It’s small, but cozy. A wide window shows the rooftops of Treviso on one side and shelves of books cover the other. Two plush chairs are illuminated by a roaring fireplace and in the middle is a small table. A basket of embroidery and a pair of needles stuck gingerly into some beautifully dyed green yarn.

“I…” She says nothing, choking back the tears that threaten to fall. She inspects the ball, rubbing her hands over what is obviously expensive wool. “Where did this come from?”

Caterina says nothing, smiling softly as she picks up her hoop. Rook does the same, her wooden needles clacking in the silence.

***

Dinner with the Delamorte family is different. Structured and tense. It’s nothing like eating at the Lighthouse where the companions drop in and out. The meals are loud and sometimes messy. Laughter bounces off the stone flooring and she can sit back and enjoy their company without speaking. 

But this silence… Rook’s almost afraid of saying anything. Both Caterina and Lucanis have said nothing since sitting down for dinner.

“Finding everything to your liking?” Caterina asks after the fourth plate is pulled away.

Rook wipes her mouth as gently as she can. “It’s delicious,” she says. Of course, she feels like she’s going to burst, but doesn’t want to say anything.

“Grandmother,” Lucanis interrupts, holding up a hand over Rook’s spot on the table, “I think we’re going to retire for the night.”

Caterina laughs and nods, waving her hands towards the servants. “Understandable.” She reaches across the table, taking Rook’s hand in her own. “You are a wonderful woman, Rook. I am glad my grandson has found someone as strong as you.”

Rook flushes pink and she finds her voice caught in her throat, but the older Dellamorte woman only laughs again and stands, disappearing somewhere in the house. Has found someone like you? Does Caterina know that they aren’t together? Is it the dress? Should she have worn her best pants and shirt instead?

“Come,” he says quietly and helps her out of the chair. Her stomach flips as he leads her silently through the house, up stairs and into a hallway, standing before a door. “I have put this guest room together for you.”

“Oh…” Rook opens the door, finding herself in a luxurious room. There’s a single bed in the middle, another fireplace with a fire already blazing and her knitting sitting on top of a beautiful table next to the chair. 

She can’t help it. Disappointment floods her every sense. She had thought… No… That’s stupid. She blinks away the tears that threaten to fall and turn around to give him a smile. They hadn’t actually kissed in the pantry and their flirting could just be that. Flirting.

“Good night Lucanis.”

Chapter Text

Lucanis watches the door close, catching the glimmer of tears in her eyes, but it’s better this way. Even with the arrangement with Spite, it’s better this way.

“ Go back ,” Spite growls, pulling at the edge of his conscience. “ She’s here. She’s ours. Go. Back. ”

He lifts his hand to listen, wanting, no needing nothing more than to listen to the demon’s begging, but he steps back across the hall to a different bedroom. Not his. Purposefully not his.

It was hard enough to keep his hands off her when she showed up in that dress. He suspects the dress is from Neve, but he did peek at Rook’s boots underneath the hem. Even dressed up, she’s still her. So painfully the warden, so wonderfully Kione. And the tattoo splashed across her brown skin, he wants to explore her. Slip that dress off and see where it stops and ends. Step back and take it in for what it is. 

“ She smells of forest. Of wood fire. Of WANT. ” Spite isn’t letting up, words slipping through Lucanis’s lips. His hold on the demon is tenuous at best, but right now, this battle between them makes it hair-thin. “ You want. I want. Go. ”

“It’s not that simple.” But who is he fucking kidding? Of course it’s simple. He could stride across the hall. He could knock. He’d find her in some state of undress and she would stare at him with those wide brown eyes of hers. And he would take her. Kiss her until she’s breathing hard. Pleasure her until she’s screaming his name and she’s shaking.

It’s simple and yet… his feet don’t move. He almost wants to let Spite take over, allow the demon to do what he can’t, but it would be a bad idea.

“ If you won’t, ” Spite says quietly, the world falling away from Lucanis, “ then I will. ”

Lucanis wrestles his body back from the demon, his cock straining against his pants. He should stay in the bedroom, take care of himself, but he gives into what Spite wants.

And for once, the demon is quiet.

***

Rook strips herself of the dress, carefully folding it on a table underneath the window that looks out into the lit city of Treviso. Her eyes trace the skyline, making up constellations because this isn’t the sky she knows. But she can understand why Lucanis loves this city.

It’s alive. Almost like a breathing beast. Even with the sun gone and the moon heavy in the sky, there’s movement. Voices and singing. People moving through their lives despite the terror they’ve felt. The uncertainty of life’s next moment or their next meal.

Sighing deeply, Rook pulls herself away from the window, catching a look in the mirror. She’d chosen a lacy panty in preparation for… well nothing. 

How stupid is she really? Neve had been so confident. But maybe it’s not Rook he loves. Maybe it’s…

She rips her thoughts away from that trail, grabbing a small silk robe that hangs from a hook attached to the bed. She puts it on, though it barely covers anything and sits down on the bed, leaning against the plush pillows.

She only has to make it through tonight. Then she can start the healing on her heart.

There’s a knock at her door, so quiet, so insignificant to the noise in her room, she almost misses it. Rook considers not answering. Whether it’s Lucanis at the door or someone making sure she’s settling in well enough, she has no energy to play pretend.

“Rook?” It is Lucanis. Her heart stutters in its beating and she almost runs to the door, hesitating with her hand on the door knob until she whips it open. 

“Lucanis.” 

He’s not wearing a shirt now, his pants hanging low on his hips, belt unbuckled. He had his hand running through his hair when he opened his mouth to speak and then closed it again. She watches the muscles in his throat flex, the lighting in the hallway gleaming off his skin.

“ Mierda ,” he says finally. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why–” His head tilts to the side, dark hair framing his face, that same scowl she’s so used to seeing settling into place like a blanket over him. He’s arguing with Spite. “It’s not- Spite, don’t interrupt me. Don’t–”

Lucanis’s eyes flare purple and he rushes at her, grabbing her by the hips and thighs, pulling her up against him and then turning around to close the door with her body. She groans at the brand new heat against her, of his length that has somehow worked its way out of the clothing and is now pressing against her thigh.

Spite rubs against her, his mouth open and breathing deeply. He buries his face into her throat, nipping at her skin and muscle, sucking at the curve of her shoulder, swiping his tongue across when she gasps in pain.

She’s wet, her slick coating the head of him. She whines, wanting more friction, more bites. But this isn’t Lucanis. His body is– “Spite,” she gasps, pulling hard at his hair. “I need you to–”

His scent fills her senses, those purple eyes blinking lazily before speaking.” I warned him. I told him. Go to you . He wants you. Is too afraid. Afraid of what I might do. ” Lucanis– no, Spite kisses her, hard. His tongue rubs against her bottom lip and she opens, allowing him to explore every inch of her mouth. “ Does not need to be afraid. Rook is ours. Rook is mine. Mine to protect. Ours to protect. ”

Rook is at a loss for words, breathing heavily. The robe has come partially undone, her breasts rubbing against his chest. The purple fades back to the warm brown and he nearly drops her. Her Crow is back and he looks no happier to be against her than he was arguing with Spite mere minutes before. “ Mierda , Rook. I am so–”

Rook crashes into him, water breaking over a dam. She fills the kiss with every frustration she’s felt over the several weeks, her want, the love she realizes she feels for him. “No sorries. If what Spite says is true, I want you. I need you.”

She kisses him again, gentler. Coaxing. 

She almost thinks he’s going to put her down and walk out the door. He hesitates in a way she doesn’t like.

“Rook, I’m not safe. I’m not–” Rook refuses to listen anymore. She nips at his throat and a groan rips out of him, the space between them becoming smaller if that was possible. The head of his cock lines up against her slit, covered in precum. 

The friction is wonderful. It’s better than she ever expected and she thrusts her hips forwards to hopelessly rub against it. The head hits her clit and she moans loudly. 

“I don’t care. I don’t. I want you.” 

“Fuck, Rook,” he groans, his hips bucking.

“Fuck me,” Rook begs, writhing against him. “I need you to fuck me.”

Normally she’d spend time getting to know his body. Getting to know what makes his breath tick and hitch. How he likes it when she swallows him whole, squeezing him with her throat, but patience has never been her best trait.

And she’s been waiting too long for him to fuck her.

He doesn’t argue with her. Taking a moment to readjust themselves, Lucanis thrust into her, his head buried into her neck. He kisses over the areas Spite bite, swiping his tongue over the hickey starting to form. One hand grips her thigh tight like she’ll disappear and the other snakes up behind her, protecting her from the cold wood and tangles itself into her hair. He arches into her, slamming deep.

Lucanis lets go in a way she never thought he would. He’s not slow in his thrusts, the only sound in the room is the slick squelch and clapping of skin and their groans. She arches into him.

Tension builds in Rook, rope becoming too tight before snapping entirely and she shudders against him, her walls claiming his seed, milking him for every ounce. He groans loudly, sending tingles through her stomach.

Slowly, Lucanis sets her down on her own two feet, caging her in his arms, his mouth open kissing every inch he can reach from his vantage.

“Next time,” he breathes, “we do this my way. Not Spite’s way.”