Archive of Our Own ^beta

“My boy. I’ve found you another contract.” Catarina never truly smiled, but her face lightened in a way it only did around those she loved. Lucanis returned the expression with interest, despite the leaden feeling that wrapped around him. He’d thought - well, it didn’t matter. This was why he and Illario had been called to join their grandmother - their Talon - for tea.

“Oh? The seas to Tevinter are terrible this time of year. It will be a long time to be absent.”

She waved her cane. “Nothing so bothersome. This Inquisition was investigating Lord Enzo, and it seems he has finally done something worth our notice.”

“More than handing one of our Crows over to his friend,” Illario added sourly. He and that Crow had been… close. She hadn’t looked at him since House Dellamorte had recovered her. She would not look at anyone else, for that matter. Not even Catarina.

The cane hit the floor. Not quite a tap, not quite a threat of violence. Both of them looked back to her. “What matters is that he has friends among the Venatori. More, he has been stealing Antivans to sell to them. This is intolerable. Illario has sent a message to the Inquisition, but I have no doubt they will accept our offer. Lucanis. You will find Lord Enzo in the Free Marches and ensure his disloyalty to Antiva is not repeated. Your fee will be handled after the fact. I will not allow him to escape justice again.”

“But-” Illario swallowed the rest of his protest with one look. “Talon,” he said, nodding his head.

A target without a signed contract in hand? But this was also a personal insult. “As you will.”

“He was last seen headed to Hercinia. Go. Find him. Do us proud.”

The Free Marches. 

“I would like a second, please.” Illario deserved the opportunity to get his own revenge. Lucanis could not demand his cousin’s participation, but he could suggest it. Strongly.

“Very well. Dimitri will go with you. Now. There is a ship that leaves in six hours.”

Illario’s eyes burned, and this time Lucanis could not blame him. However, Catarina’s decisions were absolute, which left him little choice. “Of course. Cousin, could I borrow you for a moment?”

“I have other places I must be, it seems. Good hunting, Lucanis.”

Any apologies would have to be made after the fact, then. Well. Dimitri was only recently moved from the fledgling barracks to the rooms for blooded Crows, but he had lived a portion of his childhood in the Free Marches. Perhaps it made sense to pair them.

**

The less said about the trip, the better. Dimitri had only insults for the Captain and magnificent, complicated plans for their target. Lucanis nodded occasionally, choosing to read the file on Lord Enzo instead of developing angles of attack. Everything that Ghita had organized on the man was centered in Rialto, a very different city than Hercinia. Even he knew that. However, his negotiator had collected a great deal.

Habits. Taste in wines. Ties to various Antivan nobility. Ties to Marcher nobility - that was useful, given he did not have Viago’s gift with poisons, and Dimitri’s primary gift seemed to be an endless stream of ideas and contingencies without much bearing in fact. Which could prove useful, if only as options to eliminate once he had done his own scouting and determined what could be done. Trading contracts - and that was where Hercinia came in. Contracts were business; good. Nothing that anyone would get personally offended over.

In Hercinia, Lucanis and Dimitri abandoned their distinctive garb until the execution of the contract, choosing the part of simple well-to-do merchants. Or upper servants, perhaps, or fourth sons of some minor noble.

The harbor was slow - the weather, he presumed. Few Captains would make the effort in winter seas. However, there were still plenty of people entering and leaving the dockside taverns. Lucanis led them quickly past that, choosing quieter streets a few steps from specialty markets. Those were easy to find, exactly as they had appeared on Ghita’s maps. And there, an inn, subtly marked.

Nothing fancy. “Two rooms or one suite,” he told Dimitri in a quiet voice. The other man had a much easier time faking a Marcher accent. “Barter only enough to prove legitimacy.”

“And then?”

Lucanis shrugged. “We eat, we walk around Hercinia - separately - and we rest. If he is here, he will be easy to see. If he is not, someone will know where he has gone.”

After a moment, Dimitri huffed and walked in. Lucanis followed, finding a bottle of red already at the table. “So we… do nothing.”

Andraste save him from - but they had all been newly-fledged once. “Yes. Impatience gets you killed.”

The next two days were spent in the city. Yes, Lord Enzo was still here. But why… that was the question. Leaving for Hercinia was the most obvious decision to be made. There had to be a reason. Which reasoning, he did not share with Dimitri. Too eager to prove himself, and such things took patience or luck to uncover.

Lucanis preferred patience. Luck was questionable, and could too easily favor someone else.

Which was fine, until the evening Dimitri did not return. Nor did he the next day. At that point, Lucanis began another hunt, one much more difficult as he couldn’t admit he was looking for a foolish Crow desperate to make his name. No word had come from Caterina, not that he had expected any. She knew that he went silent on contract. Dimitri, though… He had only ever been a Crow in Antiva, where they were respected. And then, only in Treviso, where the wings of Dellamorte stretched wide.

His wanderings took him back to the docks, where there were still ships coming in. From where? Not the Waking Sea. “South,” was the curt answer, “and the rest is none of your business.”

No. But his pride was pricked nonetheless. Instead of doing what he should, he found himself on the roof of a warehouse that evening, wondering at the activity below. Doors opening. Mutters.

Tevene. Only a word or two, but his hearing sharpened. A voice used to command, one that was Antivan. There. His target. But to strike now would be insanity. Guards and dock workers, no planning, no awareness of what lay within the warehouse…

Shouts below carried through the rafters. Then a scent any Crow would know by heart - smoke. Not from a fire, but chemicals and herbs in the right proportion. Dimitri you fool.

He dropped from the roof. There. Door. Crows were known to always enter by windows and rooftops, which meant he simply opened it and walked in, a well-to-do man finding the ‘wrong’ warehouse, to see corpses.

Four. Five. And a knot of people in the corner.

“Do you really think this will work? You should leave.”

Antivan, but not Dimitri’s voice, nor that of command. Did he have the wrong warehouse? This is why patience is needed. But also, he needed to find his idiot second Crow. A man crept toward the door - hidden from the combat by a row of crates. Lucanis glanced his way.

Dark hair, neatly trimmed mustache, hazel eyes, a mole under the left. Lord Enzo. This was the right warehouse, then.

The Lord threw a rock at Lucanis’ feet. Had he been the actual merchant he pretended to, he would have started, even shouted. Instead, a stiletto was in his hand before Enzo made it more than four steps towards the door behind him. Another step and a half, and it was in his neck, angling under the corner of his jaw to find his brain. Quick. Painless.

But there was someone fighting the guards - guards who had a remarkable amount of endurance. Lucanis drew his daggers this time and joined in. Two guards fell before they knew what killed them, while the fourth and fifth were dispatched by the unknown. A blond elf, tattooed and swearing in Antivan. The third was a mage.

“You distract him, I will fall on him!”

Idiot. Lucanis didn’t bother to dignify it with an answer, choosing instead to roll low and to his right just before some spell struck where he had been. No, where a guard had been - the armor clanked as the corpse clambered upright.

“Ah, yes, I have seen this before. Beginner’s distractions, according to the witch I failed to seduce.”

The man was going to get killed. If not by the mage, by him. “Behind you,” he snapped as another stood, grabbing for the elf’s throat.

It caught the man’s hair instead. The mage - another spell, this one slow enough that Lucanis’ eyes twitched at the power. Blood. Always blood, with Tevinter mages. There. The moment the mage had to focus completely.

Lucanis’s dagger went through the woman’s left eye. She screamed, which meant his second missed, tearing open the side of her mouth instead. Braska. Out of options, he charged, grabbing her own blade and driving it into the hollow of her throat.

Finally, she fell. So did her undead, which was a relief. It left him looking at the blond elf.

“Ahh. This is unfortunate. Thank you, but I’m afraid I might have to kill you now. It seems to have become an embarrassing habit.”

Antivan. And the man moved like a Crow. “Which House are you?”

“Such immediate assumptions! I’m flattered, but no. I am not a Crow.” He checked his bleeding leg. “If I was, this would have gone through mist, according to the stories about the Antivan Crows. Thank you, though. Even if it means my target has escaped me.”

He should walk away. On the other hand, this man was a mystery. Lucanis sighed, pulling his daggers from the mage’s corpse. “Sit. I can bind it at least. Odds of poison?”

“Low. That was the other day - I still bleed too much, but the effects are almost gone.”

Dimitri’s favorite poison. ‘It will kill them in the end.’

Lucanis kept that to himself, coming close and cutting open the elf’s trouser to find a smaller wound than the blood would have indicated. He dug a dressing from his jacket. “Here. Hold it on the pressure point. The enchantments should stop you from bleeding out while I look for something to bind it.”

“The mage is your best bet. They always have too much clothing. Besides, your kill was clean. Except for the mouth.”

He shrugged. She was wearing a long-sleeved tunic - he cut strips off of it to bind the wound. The bleeding had slowed, at least. “I do not think you have room to talk.”

“Which House?” Asked the elf who claimed he wasn’t a Crow. 

“Dellamorte,” Lucanis answered, heaving the elf to a standing position. “And I think you are coming with me. I have a room not too far from here, and would like to know why you killed my companion.”

Silence.

The elf limped in time with Lucanis’ steps. Not so injured as he seemed, and there was a great deal of muscle with very little fat on his frame. He looked at the corpse of Enzo, still sprawled where he’d fallen.

“You may want your stiletto.”

“And you want an opportunity to escape. No, we need to talk.”

The elf sighed. “Then let us do so here, because you, at least, believe in quick kills. That has not been the case for quite some time. I am Zevran, and you killed the man I had contracted on. After all, I have no Talon to take their share, so I could offer a discounted rate. It turns out, living as an exile requires a great deal of coin, and I have few skills to sell.”

Zevran. The name… “Arainai.”

Every Crow had heard of him, even a decade later. Arainai hadn’t recovered from the humiliation - or loss of two Talons in relatively quick succession as they attempted to regain their honor and deal with their failed stray. And a number of other Crows. The House hadn’t quite lost its position among the Talons, but some of that was because the Houses as a whole were outraged about this particular black sheep, and refused to do Zevran’s work for him.

“Aaah, yes. That is me. Though… well. I cannot even say that I didn’t know you were coming. A Crow, that is. Though for something like this, I didn’t expect the First Talon’s involvement.”

“Enzo tortured one of our House. We do not forget the injustices done.”

Zevran snorted. “Well, not torture done by someone else, at least. But there are… well. I could rant for hours, but it is unnecessary. You will say I lie, I know I do not, you will try to kill me, and then we see just how magical your healing of my leg was, and only one of us leaves to take the reward.”

This was nothing like what he’d expected coming here. He moved to a relatively undisturbed corner, though his eyes still tingled. The aftereffects of the smoke, he presumed. He dropped the elf onto one crate and took another. “I like stories, and there should be no one coming. Please, indulge my curiosity.”

“What is there to indulge? Ah. I suppose you would want to know the bitter background. It’s possible that Dellamorte might have been strong enough that it never saw the backstabbing between the lower Talons. Well. We had a Crow who was a royal bastard. Had. And I suppose ‘we’ might not be so true, but Rinna was… far more than a fellow Crow to me. And Taliesen. Both loyal to the end, and both dead because of it. A common thread here. Because we were the best of Arainai, Rinna, Taliesen, and I. But the best mattered only as long as it took our Talon to want to gain one higher step among his fellows. He manufactured evidence against Rinna, and had us kill her. No loyalty is allowed above that for the Talon.”

The silence stretched. Lucanis tried not to think about his… friend… Viago, in de Riva. Of course such a thing would never happen there, even if de Riva was only Seventh Talon. Arainai… but no, this had the marks of truth. Arainai would never have allowed this to come out.

“It is interesting, what losing one’s heart can do. The House hadn’t managed it before then, but at that point? Well. I took a contract that should never have been considered, to kill two Grey Wardens on behalf of a hero who wanted a crown. Yes, Wardens, despite the treaties we have with them. Dishonorable? Completely. Did I plan on executing the contract? Not really, no. I planned on dying rather publicly, which with Ferelden directness would guarantee that some measure of the truth came out beyond my Talon’s ability to suppress it. At least enough to take him down, because the Talons will not allow any hint of impropriety to escape, will they?”

A royal bastard. That was how Arainai had moved up among the Talons. He had been recently fledged then, and often sent on contracts away from home, to the point he specialized in them. Was that Catarina’s attempt to keep him clean, or keep him from finding out?

“So why… why this?”

Zevran shrugged. “A favor for a friend, you could say. The South is miserable and cold, but I found a sort of happiness in the end. The last years have bought me the opportunity to question a great many things. Just what will happen, do you think, if the Crows are ever needed to do their ‘duty’ to protect Antiva, rather than simply kill for money? I think it will not be pretty, and that failure will bring all the rest tumbling down. I was a slave, you know, to Arainai. Yes, in Antiva - but that should not surprise you. Oh, it does.”

Each moment grew worse. Each set of words. And yet, Zevran had no idea who he was.

“Well. Let us just say that when the Talons care more about feuds and their own power, are they truly different from the rulers they deposed? And so I cannot go home. I am sorry about killing your fellow Crow. No. I lie. I’m only sorry that his actions made it necessary. Now, knowing all of this, what will you do?”

It was… he could simply kill Zevran. Catarina would want that. Illario might want to hold him for more leverage… and Viago. Oh, Viago. That pain was sweet and all his own doing. Another royal bastard in a lower House.

“Come back with me,” he told Zevran. “Not to Antiva, but to my rooms. They are more comfortable, and we can look to your wounds.”

“Ah. Forgive me for questioning even now, but…”

Lucanis ignored the corpses around them. Only one mattered. “It was not my favorite stiletto, and every Dellamorte has one like it. Let it stay there. The message is given. I will…”

What? And why did it seem like someone was watching them? All these crates, but warehouses were supposed to be filled with crates. And yet, this was because of the Venatori. Some proof should be gathered.

“Stay here.”

Two crates had nothing. A third caused the hair on the back of his neck to stand tall. When he levered it open, the lightning-crack of lyrium answered - but it was too sweet, too sharp. Too red. “What is this?”

“Do not touch it!” Zevran started up, wincing when it pulled at his wounds. “Ah, braska. That is very dangerous. Lyruim on its own is unpleasant when unrefined… this? Is the worst of poisons, according to a little bird I know. Unrefined, it can plant itself in a person and… well. Do what plants do, until it is time to harvest.”

Something else, living in him, stretching his skin… Lucanis shivered. “No. But this is not destined for Tevinter, not if Lord Enzo was involved.”

“Poison in the water. It happened, in Wycome.”

“According to your little bird.”

Zevran grinned. “Of course. And because I was there only two weeks ago. That is easy to verify, my nameless Dellamorte.”

“I’m not your anything.”

“So serious. Very well. But no, I will not go with you. Trust only lasts so far, and I have found it better to vanish than remain near Crows. I’m sure you understand.”

Now his pride was stung. “I am Lucanis Dellamorte.” Zevran’s eyes widened. “I have offered you hospitality, and I have no reason to kill you for the reputation, my own or your former House’s. What you say is a great deal to take in. That is not how a House is meant to work.”

The other man gathered himself before dropping words like Viago’s poisoned caltrops. “Is that what your parents would say?”

No. No. He could… he could… he could still hear the silence, where there should have been laughter. Conversation. A single, unsteady drip of liquid onto the marble tiles, and the faintly spreading stain at the edge of his vision.

Lucanis spun, grabbed his stiletto from the corpse of Lord Enzo, and escaped into the humid chill of Hercinia’s winter night.

Zevran considered his empty piece of parchment carefully. The second one. The first had gone to Lucanis Dellamorte. It was possible that his grandmother-Talon would not open his mail first, but in either case, it was oblique enough that she would not guess it was him. Hopefully.

So now to this one. Ah, Leliana. It was clear that the help he had asked for had not come, and he could not blame her. Not given Dellamorte’s involvement. But now? It would be better for him to find a more effective way to hide. His life might be worthless, but he rather liked it all the same. And he was taking a few liberties, but ones that were quite likely if his chance-met rescuer’s ideals weren’t met by his Talon.

My friends,

I did enjoy our little venture—and I hate to be a bother—but I believe you owe me a favor. After all, Lord Enzo is quite dead.

As you may recall, the Crows and I are not on the best of terms. They were not pleased I stole their target out from under them. It means they don't get paid. They could have taken credit for my work... but I had already written to their employer. I earned the prize, after all.

The Crows would like to speak with me, as you can imagine. They've sent more of their number to Hercinia. It's time I left the Free Marches.

Zevran