Chapter Text
Time went still in the Ossuary.
When he was left alone, the soothing nature of being at the bottom of the ocean was a change of pace from dungeons or lurking for days on end in the shadows to catch his prey. But Zara’s little pets came to visit him often, and the novelty of the place died away quickly.
He was a Crow. He knew how to handle torture, he could hold his will through unbearable pain: none of what Calivan threatened him with could break that resolve. Everyone thought he was dead on the surface, his only shining hope for assistance was that Caterina was clever enough to see through it. It was more likely someone would come to finish his contract, but as the days went on and on and on — he realized help wasn’t coming and his odds of getting out were next to none. He’d die with an unfulfilled contract gloating right in front of him.
Then Spite happened.
Lucanis wasn’t a mage. He’d met many of them, killed more, and knew that possession was a risk for them . Venatori often turned to blood magic when backed into a corner, he could discern the rippling of flesh and the pungent bastardization of lyrium’s smell as the change began. The raw uncontrolled power of a demon let loose was easy to exploit, not his ideal day at work but he could handle it. But he’d never considered what it felt like on the other side.
Spite ripped through his consciousness, invading every thought and twisting every dream into a nightmare. It blurred the edges of Lucanis, seeped into him until it felt like Spite wore him as a coat. He thought he’d succumb, he thought for just a second none of his training would help him, but despite the bitter taste of fear on his tongue and the dread settled in his gut he had figured out exactly how to keep himself.
They clashed at first, or Spite did, raging and clawing at his very calculated indifference. Lucanis imagined a room, and shut the door on the spirit. He could still hear it, it banged on the door and thrashed around, but the barrier stayed firm.
It took months, but loneliness, the nagging of a contract undone, and the violent anger of this unwanted companion thrust upon him broke him down. Him and Spite began to talk through the imaginary locked door to plan and negotiate.
Now they just needed a chance to break their chains, until then, they took whoever they could. Guards, lackeys, whoever was unfortunate enough to be assigned to go near the Demon of Vyrantium. If they had to get through the prison one careless guard at a time then that’s what they would do.
At some point, Calivan had grown tired of cleaning up bodies. He had a mage assigned to him at all hours, feeding a crystal prison that replaced his chains. If time stopped when he could see the ocean above him, the shift of days and hours melted into nothing when all he saw was red and felt the jagged edges press against him from all side.
Their real chance came in the shape of a woman, the burst of the red lyrium prison overwhelmed him but adrenaline surged. Before he even thought of her or her companion, his guards needed to go. Spite was thrilled with the action, and despite himself Lucanis never felt more powerful. Finally, he was free.
An elf, short and uncommonly sturdy beneath the heavy leathers of light armor stood before him. Thick red hair that he recognized was not put up, just allowed to fly wildly and deep blue eyes that gave every thought away. And a human woman, a just as deeply penetrating gaze in dark brown and a practiced look of disinterest. Very neatly put together, poised and elegant in both facial features and demeanor.
Rook was an unexpected piece on the board, but he had a new contract, and the promise to be given the chance to complete his current one. He was a crow, that’s all he needed.
Romances talked about love at first sight, something that was good in stories but not a real thing.
It was Neve he felt his body stirring for at first sight.
The first thing he did after getting back to the Lighthouse was bathe, make a decent meal and then some coffee. The room behind the dining hall was small and far away from the others and the door locked. He could see who was coming in at any moment.
He had spent an entire year in isolation where he had all but shut down every other part of himself besides what he needed to get out. She was beautiful, remarkably intelligent and she kept a healthy emotional distance. There was safety in that distance. She was not so different from the Crows back home, and not so far beneath the unbothered façade it was clear she cared. Deeply. He admired that.
Neve, he believed, would be amenable to some casual passing of time together. He was not going to, not with Spite beginning to bubble just under the surface of his skin, but he thought about it. Laying the foundation to finally feel some relief, frustration and tension ignored for so long because he had to. Spite would get bored and go away eventually, and then Lucanis could tend to himself.
There was a knock on the door.
“Come in,” he said.
Rook came through the door, her smile sweet and friendly, in clothes that showed she was a bit less sturdy than he first thought and more soft . She was a damn talented mage, he’d give her that, but he saw then why she always chose to stay on the outside of the fight. Her skills with a spellorb and blade were less practiced and more about getting her enemies away from her than doing much damage.
Harding was sturdy. Curvy still, but all muscle.
Rook could have been a civilian out of those leathers. A barmaid with inviting swells and curves or a book seller with her discerning gaze; something that kept her hands and body soft. She smelled of rose water and magic, her hair was a little more tame and damp. She had just bathed.
The instant flood of images of her in a bathtub big enough for two stunned him enough that he just stared for a moment. Her hair fanned out in silky free floating strands, skin dripping wet, heavy breasts bobbing in the water and her shapely legs shifted demurely together to hide what was between, the only hint would be a dark red triangle of curls. Eyes lidded and lips parted with the sweetest of quirks upwards in a smile. She was pretty, he could see it when he met her, but it was almost as if he had the full picture now. What she looked like when she was not saving the world, when she was just living.
“Came to see how you were settling in,” she said, with the same smile she wore in his imagination. “You know this place will give you a room that’s more… spacious?”
‘Oh, this one. You like this one .’
Spite’s voice thrust him back to reality, the spectral version of himself catching his gaze. Reminding him why even if that was true, there was nothing to be done about it.
“It’s… cozy.” He replied, a door shutting in his mind. “And I can see the entrance from every angle.”
Her eyebrows raised up, and her smile dropped a little. “No one here wants to hurt you, Lucanis. You think Bellara’s gonna sneak up and take you out?”
Not Bellara, no. But Harding was Fereldan, and demons were bad enough everywhere else, but in the South? They imprisoned mages for simply existing out of fear of abominations.
“Force of habit.” He shrugged, looking somewhere next to her on the far wall but not directly at her.
“Okay,” she said and fidgeted, her smile tightening. “As long as you're comfortable.”
The thing was that she did honestly care that he was. She was not afraid of him - she should have been. He was a mage killer, she was a mage. He was an abomination on top of it. Lucanis did not know if it was naivety, or arrogance, but he knew for certain it was not stupidity. He met her eyes again, and mierda, he was certain she could see through walls with how they pierced.
But not unkindly. Just knowing. Even in her discomfort at his coldness.
“I’ll…leave you to it. I’m just across the courtyard if you need anything.”
“This can’t be the only solution,” Rook said. “Can’t we reason with Spite? Persuade it to leave?”
“Talk doesn’t work on Spite.”
He knew eventually the others would have to discuss it. They gave it a few days, Rook had been the only one to really speak to him. They had discussed Spite, the Ossuary and the gods. Soon they would go looking for a Grey Warden, someone who could navigate the darkspawn and blight.
In the meantime, Harding had kept her distance. Bellara had given him puppy dog eyes, and Neve watched him like he would turn inside out and start killing them at any moment.
‘She won’t hurt you,’ Spite appeared next to Rook, ‘how sweet.’ There was a flash of rage in him, either his or the demon’s he couldn't be completely sure, and Spite lost his patience. Lucanis had to look away,. ‘I want to talk to her!’
He needed to focus on Bellara, who was tinkering in her mind to figure the problem bit by bit. They were discussing his future, and Neve was willing to try but did her best to keep the two others grounded in their eagerness to find a positive outcome. Rook, the pragmatist, intervened with actions.
“Alright, so what’s next?”
But Spite had latched on to the idea of her, he was raging and pushing and banging on the walls of Lucanis’s mind. He needed to ignore it, he needed to hear the others, he wouldn't let it out. He wouldn’t let him near them.
‘Let me talk to them!’ Spite demands. ‘I want. To talk. To Rook!’
Something snapped or burst inside of him, wracking his whole body. He felt the blood burst from his nose.
“Lucanis,” Bellara gasped as both her and Neve stood from their chairs.
“No,” he put his hand out. Right now he needed them as far as possible. Rook needed to be as far as possible. “It’s fine. I’m fine.”
“What did he do that for?” Rook asked.
“Throwing a tantrum when he doesn’t get his way.”
“But he could just take you over. Make you do what he wants.” Neve was just as baffled as he was.
“It’s, y’know, not great. But kind of good news? In a way?”
“He’s done this before?” Rook was upset, he could hear it in her voice even if he was avoiding looking at her. “Enough that you just… shrug it off?”
“He’d do this in the Ossuary. The Fade does whatever a spirit wants. Real walls and chains, not so much.” At the responding narrowing of her eyes, he said, “just give me a minute. He’ll get bored once everyone leaves.”
Rook began, “I don’t like leaving you alone with a demon.”
“You don’t have to worry about me.”
“Lucanis…”
“Please.”
They left, but not without Rook giving him a long look and shaking her head. With her gone, Spite still fumed and screamed. Lucanis watched the fire, ignoring the demon’s insults and demands. Spite had rarely been this agitated, it never took him this long to calm down. His resolve to keep Spite on a leash hardened, the demon doing a few more solid hits to show his anger at the chains tightening.
He bore it silently. Giving in to discussion was unnecessary, Spite was unreasonable and Lucanis had decided.
Spite was not going anywhere near Rook, which meant neither was he.
He never slept. Or tried not to. Spite hated it, and while some days were worse than others, along with all his other thoughts there was the demon just over his shoulder demanding to be let out.
It helped that there was no night or day cycle in the Fade. He thought the Lighthouse played tricks, made it feel darker, or added the faint sounds of nocturnal birds, or frogs and crickets when they were indoors. Keeping them on a schedule that somehow always matched up to the real world.
When a yawn racked his body, eyes heavy and the temptation of his uncomfortable cot became too much, he went to make coffee. There was a kettle on it, some crumbs of tea leaves all over the counters. Someone had the opposite problem of his own, and he found himself cataloging Antivan blends for relaxation and sleep, adding them to his mental list of groceries this group desperately needed.
Bellara was the only one who had any idea how to feed any of them, and she couldn’t make every meal.
He went up the stairs to the balcony on the side of the dining hall, his favorite place to avoid sleep and Spite. When he sat outside, the fake sky up above made his body naturally adjust to the idea of being awake. As he opened the door, a flurry of red turned abruptly and he stopped in his tracks.
Rook’s face gave everything away. Every time.
Exhaustion, and slight irritation at an intrusion. Until she saw it was him, she softened, just slightly before she tensed up. Maybe she was afraid of him. Good. She should be.
“I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
“You’re not.”
Lucanis tilted his head slightly. “Do you think you’re good at lying?
“I’m not—“ she started in slight shock. Then took a sharp breath, “I’m just not great company right now. Don’t want to make it anyone else’s problem.”
“It’s not a problem.” He said.
They were quiet for a long time, she sucked in a deep breath through her nose and closed her eyes. “Are you having coffee?”
“I am.”
“It’s the middle of the night.”
“I don’t like sleeping.”
“I’d trade you if I could,” she smiled a little, then looked out into the vastness of the veil. “I want to sleep. But my brain’s going a thousand places all at once.”
“Lots to do. Gods to kill.”
“Only a few.” Her eyes went far away, a frown creasing her brow. “It’s Spite, right? That's why you said you try not to sleep”
“Yes,” he swirled his coffee, staring into it. “Demons don’t sleep, if he gets hold of me…”
“Does he want to hurt us?”
“I’m not sure,” and that was the terrifying truth. Why he was awake.
“When we stopped Solas’s ritual, I hit my head. Bled everywhere,” she said, “created some kind of connection with him in his prison. Now he visits my dreams sometimes.”
“So you’ve got an ancient God playing around in your head,” he grumbled.
“Could give Andraste a run for her money at this point.” The elf said sarcastically and then winced. “Sorry. That’s probably blasphemous.”
“No more blasphemous than being an abomination.”
“Yeah,” she laughed a little, but it was not mirthful. “But if you’re gonna kill some gods a healthy dose of heresy probably won’t hurt.”
“What is he like?”
“Arrogant, righteous, but… sad.” She frowned, “Every time he shows up it’s like a test or — like a game, where he knows all the rules and I’m...”
Lucanis looked over at her, quietly taking a sip of coffee. She looked tired, skin dull, purple bags under her eyes, her face set into a frown. She looked older like this, and battle worn. Lucanis could feel the weight she was holding, just by looking at her. A modicum of respect bloomed in his chest, and the strange feeling of seeing something he wasn’t supposed to. She had never faltered, never complained, not in front of others.
“I only brought it up because,” she started suddenly, forcing a smile, “I kind of get it. Having an unwelcome guest in your head.”
“Want to add him to the contract?”
She chuckled, and his stomach did a flip. “And what will that cost me?”
Her smile was genuine, sweet and full of mischief. He found himself searching for something to say that would make her laugh again, to keep the smile on her lips and turned to him. But he suddenly could think of nothing, had no idea how to move the conversation forward.
He had been silent for too long. Spite creeped out of him, “ no more contracts. He already owes .”
Rook’s smile dropped. “Leave him alone.”
Lucanis wrenched control back from Spite, spilling hot coffee over his hand, and making him hiss. A small, warm hand settled on his arm, Rook was watching him.
“You okay?”
“Think I need more coffee.” He told her.
She didn’t respond to that. “What does he mean? What do you owe?”
“All you need to know,” he looked at her, “is that I am here. We are killing the gods.”
“But —“
“I should leave you to your thoughts.”
He left before she could say anything else, Spite screeching about it the entire time. Back to his room, back to the solitude where he could stifle Spite, and focus on the job.