Archive of Our Own ^beta

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Rook suppresses a giggle behind their hand as Spite fumes beside them. Their heart. Their love. Their soulmate. Currently staring daggers at the Venatori whispering the Veilguard leader's name like a sacred invocation. 

“What do you think Rook's like in person? Do you think they smell nice?”

Such a personal thought spoken aloud is too much for the demon. And Rook can see Lucanis struggling for control as a ring of violet violence bleeds into brown. Only Rook's steady hand on their demon's flesh stops him. Their touch the only thing that grounds the spirit. The other half of their soul taking comfort from their bond, though he still huffs at the offending man's next words. 

“I mean… think about if we could turn them.”

There's a growl, low and deep from Spite that hums into Rook's chest. They cannot lie, his possessiveness has always spoken to them. Though as always their demon has the worst timing.  

“Rook is mine. Never leave Spite.” They smile in reassurance as they squeeze his arm. Careful to keep him calm as they spot Lucanis’ face scrunched in concentration once more. 

“Yes, Spite. Yours.” They agree in a low voice as they lean closer. Warm skin meeting cool as they let their presence melt jealousy away. Fingers intertwining as they draw his focus back to them. Where he belongs. Where they want him always.

Neve clears her throat and speaks up as she looks from Lucanis to Rook. As the only one unable to see or hear Spite, she's at a disadvantage. Though as always she's the perceptive one as her lip curves up in a knowing grin.

“Not trying to complicate the mission, but if Spite's idea is to-” she makes a motion with her finger across her throat “- that guy then I am in full support.”

“Mierda, please don't encourage him,” Lucanis sighs as he rubs the bridge of his nose. “Rook does that enough as it is.” 

“As much as I would love to let you and Spite have your way,” Rook replies as they shoot the Crow an annoyed look before their eyes settle on the mage. “We have a mission. We have to stop Elgar’nan.” 

“But then Spite can kill?” the demon asks with an enthusiastic bounce. 

“Yes. Then Spite can kill all the Venatori he wants,” they reply as the demon draws an ethereal dagger and cackles with glee. 

Chapter Text

“You do not want to see her,” Viago warned as they stood before the entrance to her room. The silver at his temples betrayed his age, though it was the lines at the corners of his eyes that showed the weight of his pain as he regarded the black cloak before him. 

“WE MADE A PROMISE TO A FRIEND. LIKE CROWS, WE KEEP OUR CONTRACTS.” There was a touch of sadness as the void spoke. Like the last rays of purple on a late fall evening. A brief kiss of grief. Unpleasant but necessary. 

“As you wish, Capote.” The old crow sighed as he bowed his head. Pushing open the familiar door as they entered inside. 

Few came to see his Marina these days. A fact he was thankful for. The world had mostly forgotten their once savior, and it was better this way. 

Especially in the last few months. Things were becoming almost unmanageable. And only himself and the Calaca, Manfred, could attend to her now.

But today was, luckily, a good day. She smiled across the room when her eyes fell on them. They had caught her mid dance. Twirling with Manfred to some haunting melody from the nearby gramophone while the skeleton baltered along beside her. She looked happy and carefree as her eyes sparkled in that way that told Viago she was stuck in the past. 

“Vorgoth, so good to see you,” she called as the music faded. Pausing to pat Manfred's head with a quick ‘your father will be so proud’ before turning back to her guests. “Tell me, do you bring news of my love?” 

Viago could feel the room grow colder. A sense of anxiety that crawled across his skin at the innocent question. Holding his breath as he worried what the Watcher's answer would be. 

“EMMRICH SENDS HIS REGARDS, AND HIS LOVE,” Vorgoth answered in a tone that betrayed no emotion. Lying to Rook was difficult, but the truth was earth shattering. 

“Of course,” Marina smiled as she took an offered drink from Manfred and sipped it down. Viago was pleased to see her drinking, and that her color was well today. And her hair even looked freshly washed as she tossed it over her shoulder while she sat her glass on a nearby table. “Please tell him I know his teaching is important, but we miss him here. I would hate to have to drag my Viejo home.” Her warning tone betrayed just how much she would have enjoyed that task, and Vorgoth was wise enough to simply agree as he laced his gold clad fingers before him. 

“WE WILL TELL HIM,” he nodded as she hummed in approval. 

“Very well. Now if you two don't mind, we have more practicing to do. I promised to teach my son to dance so he can come to the next party with his papa and me.” 

And with a final dismissive wave, she turned her attention from them. Taking up her position once more as Manfred hissed before taking her hand. Melting back into the past as the door closed behind Viago and Vorgoth as they slipped into the hall. Awkwardly silent as both searched for something to say. 

“MASTER DE RIVA, IF THERE IS ANYTHING THE MOURN WATCH CAN DO FOR HER-” 

“You have done enough!” the Crow growled as his fist clenched at his side. He knew hitting the shadow would be pointless, but he still debated it as his feet carried him away from her room. 

He knew Emmrich had loved her, in his own way. And while Viago loved her as well, the love of a brother was nothing compared to the other half of her soul. 

“Actually,” he paused as he turned back to where Vorgoth still drifted before her door. “What you can do is not tell the children what you have seen here today. Maker knows they have been through enough trauma in their short lives.” 

“AS YOU WISH, MASTER VIAGO.” 

And with those words, the Talon disappeared back to his office. Ignoring the light rain falling in the garden. Not wanting to see the rivulets that ran over the marble sarcophagus that held his Marina's heart. 

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“The Necropolis, truly cariño?” Viago's eyes narrowed at Rook as they stepped through the Eluvian. The Qunari's massive arm slung over his shoulders as the man tipped his head back in a rumbling laugh. 

“What, were you expecting Lavendel again?” he teased as his mirth subsided and he dipped his head with a low growl. “Maybe a trip back to that spot where we spent our first night?” 

Viago blanched at his words. Even after all these months, Rook's easy way and boldness still caught him off guard. At least their times together were always entertaining, even if where the Qunari would choose to spend date night was always a mystery. 

“Well if you think what happened at Lavendel is going to repeat itself here-” Viago warned as Rook had the decency to pout, “-then you are sorely mistaken.” 

“As kinky as graveyard sex sounds,” Rook began as he dragged his love through the halls. His tone loud enough for Watchers to give them sideways glances. “That's not why we are here. At least, not right now.” 

“I will assume you aren't going to tell me why either?” the Crow asked with an inquisitive raise of his eyebrow as they turned a corner. Veilfire lighting the way as the Qunari simply shook his head. 

“Nah. You will see soon enough,” he replied in that easy way before adding, “Though if you like it as much as I think you will, you might be agreeing to the whole ‘fucking amongst the moon lillies’ idea.” 

Viago clicked his tongue in response as they finally stopped before a large door. But Rook simply shot him a wink before he turned the handle and the wood creaked open. Revealing the last thing the Crow thought he would see in a city of the dead as they stepped into a gallery full of paintings he had only ever read about in books. 

“Rook, por el hacedor-” he gasped as he looked around. Walls and walls of works so rare he would never afford them in a hundred lifetimes. Priceless sculptures set atop marble columns. Everywhere was like a feast for his eyes as the qunari came to quitely stand beside him. 

“Yeah, evidently Vorgoth has a bigger love for art than even you do. So he agreed to let me bring you here to see it.” 

Viago could have kissed him right now. This hulking mass of man who probably had no idea how absolutely incredible of a gift this was. How priceless this was. And yet- he had known who he wanted to share it with. 

“I'm guessing by the look on your face you love my surprise. And we will be taking that trip amongst the gravestones?” Rook chuckled as the Crow rolled his eyes. Knowing that while he would never admit it aloud, the man was always right. 

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“I once heard that all tears are carried to the sea,” Kenn begins as he steps forward. His hand hanging in the air as he fights for words. Giving comfort to the grieving has never been his strong suit. A faltering his father Vorgoth often chided him for. 

But this is Taash. His love. The very breath in his lungs and beat of his heart. Standing on the sands as purple colors the falling sun. Sobbing for their mother, for a future lost to them. And a past now tinged with sorrow. 

“Really?” they ask as his words break through their heartache. Looking up as their eyes meet his and he tentatively steps forward. Now is his chance, and for his kadan he will not fail. 

“Yep. Why I always wanted to see the ocean. I was so excited when we got to come to Rivain.” He has their attention now. Their cheeks are still stained and eyes still swollen, but they don't flinch when his fingers entwine with theirs and he gently smiles. “So imagine my surprise when I found you instead. And suddenly the waves didn't seem so important.”

They roll their eyes at him as they look out to the water. Staring off for only a moment before they hum with quiet thought. “Of course that's the death mage's reason for wanting to see all this.” 

“Taash!” he exclaims as he pulls back and playfully pushes their shoulder. “I was trying to be serious this time!” 

“I know,” they reply as their hand finds his once more before pressing it to their chest. “You've been really understanding through all this. So I guess I'm trying to say thanks. For being here.” 

“Hey,” he says as he reaches up to touch their cheek. “You've been here for me as well. That's what people do. Love's not easy, but it's worth it. And as long as we stick together, we can get through anything.” 

“Maybe,” they reply in that deadpan way. Most people would find that response annoying, but Kenn has come to adore their mannerisms over the last few months. 

“Hey no maybe,” he gently chides as he leans up to hover his lips just outside of their reach. “It's the truth.” 

“Like all tears being carried to the sea?” they challenge as the corner of their mouth twitches up in a grin. Falling back into their old ways under the comfort of his love. 

“Exactly like that,” he replies as his lips find theirs. And as they kiss on the Rivaini sands, they are reassured that even on their worst nights, Rook will still always be there for them. 

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Rook stalked the shadows of the Magisterium floor. A sharp ear kept out for Dorian and Mae as they argued their points, though her eyes struggled to leave the proud shoulders cloaked in the noble robes of the Imperial Divine. Ashur's gaze occasionally flickered to the corners of the room, though she remained hidden as she watched the meeting unfold. 

The dissenters were fewer these days, falling beneath both her blade and the Crows' deadly ways. Lucanis would do anything to see Neve smile, and Rook would do anything for the love of her Dragon. Counting those who were loudest, marking them for death. Fingering the knife at her hip as her lips curved into a grin. 

“Soon my love,” she whispered as the meeting drew to an end. They were one day closer to their goal of freeing the slaves, and being together in the light of day. 

But for now, she would take the shadows. Following behind him as he crept off to the Argent Spire. His spine straight as he kept his eyes forward. The only tell that gave away his knowledge of being followed. Though he should have known wherever he was, his little assassin treaded lightly behind. 

Once he was alone in his own chambers, she finally stepped into the light. His grin her greeting as he reached for his love. “You know you're the only thing that gets me through those awful meetings.” 

“My presence, or thoughts of what we will do after?” she chuckled as she fell into his arms. Inhaling the light scent of incense that clung to his skin as he cradled her close. 

“Both honestly,” he replied as a wicked smile lit her face. 

“So what you're saying is, you're thinking of me on my knees praying to the Divine while you sit up there in front of all those people?” He didn't even balk at her words. He had grown used to the carass comments from her mouth, and he honestly found them rather endearing. Especially when he knew the best way to shut her up. 

The leather of his gloves was soft on her skin. Masking the power in his grip as smooth fingers slid around her neck. Her body instantly relaxing, all sarcasm dying on her tongue as her pupils dilated and he tipped her face up to his. 

“Now Rook,” he gently tutted as she licked her dry lips and took a ragged breath. “You know I'm more inventive than that. I was more thinking you atop me while the crowd watches in awe of my little assassin.”

She made a sound that could only be described as indecent as her eyes rolled back in her head. He was hitting every one of her desires tonight, not bothering with taking his time when he knew exactly what he wanted. What she needed. 

Maker, he could almost taste her already. The slight tremble on her skin only made him crave her more as he leaned forward to chant against her lips. “I will never have enough of you, little Rook. A million lifetimes wouldn't be long enough to satisfy my need for you.” 

And with those words he claimed her mouth in a searing kiss. Sealing his promise that he craved her now, and always would. 

Chapter Text

Rook slumped against the door that closed behind her as every muscle protested in pain. Her Grey Warden armour was still covered in the ichor of darkspawn. The horrors of Weisshaupt clinging to her like the nightmares she knew would haunt her that night. 

But as much as she wanted peace in her own quarters, that wasn't to be. An annoyed huff raking against her frayed nerves as she cracked her eyes open to see Felassan standing there. Arms crossed over his chest as he eyed the sad state she was currently in. 

She debated on telling him he looked just like Solas right now, but found the argument wasn't worth the headache as she slowly began to undo the buckles of her heavy breastplate and greaves. 

“Well if you have something to say then just say it, general.” Her usual playful tone bit with venom. 

There was a bruise to her side that no elfroot could touch, though that pain paled in comparison to the ache in her heart. And she was surprised to see the elf's eyes soften as he tentatively stepped forward. Scanning her over in a mix of relief and worry. 

“Hopefully you gave as good as you received.” He was trying to break the ice. His humor his default as she stripped the rest of her mail and flung it into the corner. 

“If you're asking if we killed the archdemon, then the answer is yes.” Her voice rang hollow as she crossed the room and sank down onto her chaise. A bath would have been lovely, but she was too exhausted to care. “If you're asking if it was worth it though-” 

The words hung there. Fragile like the crumbling stone that had been left in her wake. Weisshaupt had been the only home she had known. And her friends… 

“General,” she called softly. Something vulnerable in her tone that she had never shown him before. Shown anyone before as she drew her knees to her chest and rested her head against them. “Does it- does it ever hurt less?” 

There's a sharp inhale of breath as she stares at the floor. A hand twitching that she doesn't see as she worries her bottom lip. If anyone understands, it's him. Though he can offer her no comfort as the first of her tears prick her eyes. 

“Oh da'len-” The endearment is new, but not unwelcome. So far they have only been biting arguments and whispered plans. But this… new dynamic between them sets an ache in his heart that mirrors her own. “I won't lie to you. If the pain ever stops, then it's time for you to quit. I think we both know what happens when a leader no longer cares for their people.” 

She knew he referenced Solas. And while the deaths of Weisshaupt were absolutely agony to her soul, she would never want to diminish their sacrifice. To throw them away like those who came before. 

So she cried. Softly sobbing as she hugged her knees and rocked in place. Felassan standing watch like some ancient sentry. Wishing more than anything that he could guard her from the cruelty of the world. 

Until finally her small body gave out. The day winning as exhaustion took her and she fell into sleep. 

And while she rested, an ethereal form sat on the floor beside her. Watching the steady rise and fall of her chest as he wove the Fade to give her peaceful dreams. 

Chapter Text

Cullen paced, for the hundredth time. His hair a tousled mess as he ran a frustrated hand through his overgrown curls. Growling at the scout who dared open his door and disturb the distressed Commander. 

A missive lay shredded on his desk. Pieces scattered about as words written in a familiar scroll called to his broken heart. He would kill the dwarf if he ever saw him again. Though it would do little to soothe his sorrow. 

He had spent hours on his knees in the small garden Chantry. First praying, then raging. But the stone eyed Andraste before him did not yield. And despite his pleas, time did not still. 

So now, he waited. Or more he lingered. Hanging onto a fragile hope. Cursing moments that were far too brief. Longing for more as the quietest knock came to his door. 

A sound he would recognize anywhere. It's pattern familiar and tempo known. Garrett Hawke had very few tells, but the Commander had learned his habits over their many years. 

Like the warmth in his umber eyes as the door swung open. Scanning Cullen's pale face with a worried guilt. Or the way he chewed his cheek in nervous anticipation. Waiting and wondering as the Commander finally broke their silence with a dejected sigh. 

“I thought with the Inquisition disbanded, we would have some time together.” There was an accusation hidden in there, but it was not fair. He knew their work was never-ending. Though he had hoped, just this once, his love could stand at his side. 

“I know.” Hawke's voice was rough. Pain creeping up through the confines of its cage. But the one person he couldn't refuse had asked and he caved. Varric would need help to track down the Dread Wolf. And there was no one he trusted more than the Champion of his beloved city. 

“I'm guessing there's no convincing you to stay?” Cullen knew the answer, but he asked anyway. A half smile on his lips that Hawke returned fully. 

“If anyone could, it would be you,” he teased as he stepped forward. Closing the distance between them as he reached a trembling hand to brush along the Commander's stubbled jaw. “But I think we both know I have to do this. For our friends, and so I can keep you safe.” 

“Always playing the hero,” Cullen chuckled in that reserved way. The one that hid all the things he wanted to say. The one that didn't betray how his soul was tearing in twain. “Well then at least stay tonight. A proper goodbye before you take off.” 

“Of course,” Hawke agreed without hesitation. They could have one more night. Time to pretend the morrow did not come. That only they existed beneath the visible stars from the unpatched hole in his roof. 

And that after today, he would be known as Rook.