Chapter Text
He thought about holding her. He thought about how she held him. He thought about how her fists balled in his shirt and her face nuzzled into his neck and how he told her he was hers.
I will hold you for as long as you need.
Let it all out.
I have you, and you have me.
I’m yours. I’ve been yours since I first laid eyes on you.
Spite was right. He was a coward. Lucanis only said those words in Antivan, knowing Rook would not realize what he was telling her. His heart did warm at the way she leaned into him when he said those words though. How she held him a little tighter, how she began to quiet and listen to him repeatedly tell her, I’m yours, I’m yours, I’m yours.
He thought about the night they met.
He thought about it a lot.
The way she moved, the way she smiled. Knowing her now, Lucanis got the impression she enjoyed the anonymity the café brought her just as much as it brought to him. She knew no one would recognize her there. Lucanis knew most people who frequented Café Pietra. Or he knew of them. Almost everyone knew his name, his cousin’s. The family name did a lot, but folks never crowded him for attention unless he wanted it.
Lucanis sat on his cot, working on Neve’s scarf. Bellara’s was already finished; Harding called her shawl thoughtful. He smiled at the thought of Rook’s face when he presented her with the blanket and his mind drifted back into the memory of their dance.
He remembered resting his chin on her shoulder. Her silky-smooth crow-black hair brushing against the side of his face, the smell of lavender and honey on her breath and in her hair.
Lucanis held her gently then. He relished in their movement together, even more so at the memory of it.
Oh, to hold her that way again…
His daydreams were never-ending. He loved picturing her hair, remembering the softness of it on his skin. He could see her golden eyes watching him with intrigue, the beckoning nature of them from that night at the café as clear as he could see his hand in front of his face. He thought about her smile, her plump, dark-painted lips on his.
Months ago, Lucanis would pretend he was not in the Ossuary. Instead of being a prisoner, he was back in Treviso with the beautiful woman he met and danced with.
Rook.
In his latest fantasy, he led her to the private docks the Crow’s owned to take her on a gondola and kiss her in the moonlight. Others involved him sneaking her into the villa, guiding her to his old chambers where he could taste every inch of her body with his tongue.
After so many imagined scenarios, to realize she was a kind, thoughtful woman, a warrior Mourn Watcher trying to save the world from ancient elven mages, Lucanis was captivated by her all over again.
His moments alone at the Lighthouse offered the same peace he sought during the few quiet moments he had at the Ossuary. There Lucanis would pull memories forth…
The torches would be out for the night, not even the light from the stars and moon reached the depths of his prison through the water. Some days were completely silent, rotten gruel would be forgotten. He was unsure if it was harder or easier before Spite came along. Before Spite it was cold. He would press to the far wall of his cell. It was cold there too, but it gave him time to gather himself if he heard someone coming. His feet were buried in the sand; his back was flat against the stone wall. He would focus on the memory of her voice, her touch, the shape of her curves beneath her blouse.
After he was fed Spite things changed. He had that incessant chatter in the back of his mind. Even when he thought he was alone, he knew the demon listened -watched.
Sometimes it did not matter.
Because Spite would quiet when he thought about her. He blocked out the cries of his fellow prisoners. His eyes squeezed tight. His hands covered his ears. Images in his mind became more vibrant, sound clearer, like he was not just recalling the memories, his fantasies, he was living them.
He used to ask himself:
How would that night have gone if he asked her to stay?
Lucanis was not at the café long before he saw her and the time he spent with her was too short. He craved more with her; he wanted to know her.
If he could change things Lucanis would have grabbed Rook’s hand as she went to run. He would pull her back into his arms and kiss her. He would say come with me.
Would she say yes?
Lucanis would guide her the back way out of the café, away from the brawl. His apartment was not far from Café Pietra. He would show her the way there, show her his bed. He would ask her name so he could whisper it alongside sweet nothings in her ear. He imagined laying beside her, gently tracing his fingers over her vallaslin. He imagined her kissing his fingers. In the morning, he would make her breakfast and tea, bury himself within her until he had to leave for his contract, give himself more memories to hold on to.
No.
He knew where his contract would lead.
Would he be able to convince her to stay with him forever?
Could he hold off the Crows?
Could he hold off Caterina?
If he had brought her back to his apartment and spent the night with her…If he still went after Calivan, Lucanis would be in that cell and he would still think of her. He would tell himself he would make it out, exact his revenge, then find her.
Was he foolish to have such dreams?
His rescue played in his mind a lot too.
What if had kissed her when she came to the Ossuary? How would things have changed?
Spite and Lucanis planned for months. The moment they were together, they could agree on one thing: revenge.
Morning buzzed on his skin. Several days past since his last meal, which meant someone would come soon. He snapped their neck, descending upon them from the ceiling of his cell with the help of Spite. Admittingly, the wings were a perk.
He tore through that prison, searching for a way out. He found his old armour, his knives -trophies no doubt for Zara or her toadies.
Realizing he needed a mage to leave was hitch in the plan, but he had made out of tougher situations...Even if the Maker was playing a joke on him. The Mage-Killer could only escape with a mage in tow and there was no way he was trusting any Venatori.
He knew where to find his blood and Calivan, but to clear the rest of the prison would be his biggest feat yet. He followed a group into a small chamber. He waited for the right moment to strike.
Then Spite whispered “Another!” in his ear.
He only glanced at Rook and Bellara then. They were not in Venatori uniforms. He did not yet recognize her. They were not first priority. First the Venatori, then whoever these people were.
“Want to dance?”
Her voice.
Had he gone mad? Was this a cruel joke from the demon?
“Kill them! They’re DISTRACTED!”
With the Venatori gone and two elves standing before him he still could not believe it.
“Nice entrance,” she said. “Lucanis Dellamorte?”
Her voice was unmistakable because it played in his mind every single day since they met. Kissing her after a year amongst the bodies of Venatori scum was not the most romantic gesture, but he could imagine it perfectly.
He would rush to her, take her face between his palms. He would tell her thank you, say he never thought he would see her again before his lips tasted hers again.
He could imagine his fingers in her hair, her arms wrapping around him. Would she still taste like tea? Would she smile at him like she did before?
Those smiles lived on Rook’s lips now. When she as laughing, when she was eating something she really enjoyed, when they were alone together.
After Caterina’s funeral he could have kissed her too. When they were alone in Teia’s office, after Rook convinced him to step away from the party, after she hugged him.
She was a good hugger.
His heart never beat so hard as it did when she embraced him, when she lifted him from the floor in a hug so tight he thought he would break. He wanted to, if it meant she would never let go. As his heels touched the floor, he imagined how the after would be. He could have locked the door. Teia would not have bothered them. He would still steal the wine, he knew where Teia kept glasses. He would have worshiped Rook there.
Or after the dragon attacks…
What if he gave in? Listened to Spite?
Rook lay in that snow, staring up at the night sky. When he helped her up, Lucanis should have pulled her into him. A public display of his affection. In front of other Crow’s. In front of Talon’s. In front of Bellara. Would she have accepted him? Would she have returned his kiss?
He wanted to believe she would, despite everything that told him he could not bring her into his life.
That’s what dreams were for, no?
So many moments. How he ached to change them.
Lucanis greedily dreamt of them all, but when they first met was always his favourite.
Her soft skin, her plump lips. Her lip stain had left colour on his lips a year ago. He remembered cleaning the makeup off before he went to bed that night. His waistcoat held a faint aroma of lavender on it too. He remembered taking it off and the floral scent wafting past him with the memory of her alongside. He sniffed the waistcoat, and a smile found his lips. Flashes of her smile, the way she held him while they danced, the flavour on her tongue all crossed his mind. She did not know who he was then. There was no ulterior motive. Just a woman looking for a dance.
He would have held her forever the other night. Lucanis wanted to absorb all her pain, all her sorrow, her guilt.
Spite was right. She smelt like flowers and Fade and adventure.
She practically buried herself into him. Had she noticed Spite’s wings? They wrapped around the two of them as she cried, like a protective barrier protecting them from the rest of the world. Lucanis did not even care that the wings were out. All he cared about was Rook.
The wings disappeared once Rook quieted, once both he and Spite thought she was calming down, when her grip on him loosened.
He finished her blanket that night after seeing the thin one she used in her chambers. It kept him awake between the coffee and potions and stretches. He imagined her face when he gave it to her.
The real expression was so much better. Would she use it that night? Would she wrap it around her shoulders while she sipped her afternoon tea?
He envisioned a world where he joined her in the evenings, when the Lighthouse was quiet. He would have a coffee, and Rook would have a pot of tea. He would sit next to her in her chambers, her lounger looked comfortable. The blanket he knitted would cover both their legs and he would tug her against him, wrap his arms around her. They could keep each other company, keep each other warm.
The evils of this world would not seem so bad, if he had her.
“Are you awake, Lucanis?”
Lucanis’s eyes snapped open.
He heard Spite’s frustrated groans and Rook moving around in the kitchen beyond the pantry door.
His hand loosened from the door handle. Looking back through the pantry he saw the nearly completed scarf discarded on the floor with the knitting needles still within its stitches. The boutonniere Rook made him for the funeral was still blooming. It floated next to empty coffee cups he forgot to wash last night.
How long had he been asleep?
It could not have been long.
Spite only made it to the door.
Maybe five minutes?
But if it was five minutes, he would have already started his next pot of coffee or Rook and Harding’s tea. Ten minutes then? There was only a couple chains left on the scarf…
“Lucanis?” Rook’s muffled voice called.
“Coming!” he called through the door, walking back to pick up his knitting project. Lucanis placed it carefully to his cot. He checked his face in a small hand mirror he kept in the drawer of one of his nightstands then downed a rejuvenating potion.
Back to real world.
Back to the job.
Lucanis walked into the dining hall.
“Were you actually asleep?” Rook grinned from the kitchen. She was kneading bread. Flour was dusted on her shirt. Watching her cook was like watching a hurricane. She always made a mess, but she was beautiful.
“Me? No,” Lucanis chuckled. “Shall I grab eggs?”
“Yes please!” Rook grinned.
Her smile could be enough for him.
The time they spent together would be enough.
It had to be.