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redfoxwritesstuff · 14 hours ago

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A Misdemeanor Of The Heart: Chapter 25 (Human!Alastor x Married!Reader)

CW: Angst, blood, manipulation, Alastor being a murder baby AN: I hope my fellow Americans survived their Thanksgiving with minimal family fighting and all those who didn't celebrate around the world had a great Thursday. Prev Masterlist AO3 KoFi

Alastor parked his car at the edge of the park, under the shade of a large tree. It was late and the odds of being seen were minimal. Even so, it was better safe than sorry. The heavy canopy blocked much of the light from the streetlights, few though there were.

He waited for a few moments, head resting against the back of the seat, eyes looking up and out the windshield. In the distance, the roof of your house peeked up from the treeline, whispering dark promises. For a few moments longer, he sat in the holy silence where late night and early morning danced together.

The slam of the car door was loud, shattering the fragile silence of the night as he stepped away from the still car. He walked slowly to the small pond as he ran a hand through his hair. Curls spiraled out of the locks, tangled around his fingers as he pulled hairs free with the nervous action. Sweat and time were winning the battle against the effort he had put into pulling the strands straight that morning.

It was alright. You seemed to like the curls.

Kneeling at the edge of the pond, he splashed water on his face, scrubbing at the dried blood on his hands and neck blindly. He knew he would miss spots. There wasn’t much he could do about his shirt, but that was alright, too. It would all be alright, soon.

He just wanted to see you. That was the thought that ran through his mind as he walked casually through the park. That’s all he needed, he told himself as he pushed branches and bushes out of his way. From a distance was fine, he just needed to see that you were alright.

He could put you down, leave you alone as long as he knew you were alright. He just needed to know you were alright.

Bark bit into his hands as he lifted his weight from the ground. Climbing the apple tree in the dark while drunk wasn’t as easy as he expected. At times, he nearly fell to the ground. Perhaps he deserved to fall, land on a root wrong, and break his back.

He would be caught then. You would know what he was, what he really was. The world would know. Perhaps that would only be right, a fitting punishment for the pain you had suffered because of him.

Eventually, he made it up to that thick horizontal branch he thought of as his. Each breath came out in a huff, labored from the exertion on top of the alcohol. Resting his head against the tree trunk, Alastor ignored the way his hair snagged and was pulled by the rough surface as he took long, slow breaths.

The house was dark, quiet. Its occupants were asleep, as he should be. He had work tomorrow. Today? Yes, today at this point. There was time still. He could make it home and take a nap. He’d be rough, but he could make it through the night.

Alastor closed his eyes as he listened to the sounds of the night, resting his eyes as he lounged perched above the rabbit hole stashed with letters he knew you were reading but not responding to.

His eyes closed with a flutter as he thought of you. Such a sweet soul you were, pulling away from him to protect him. Didn’t you know? It was his job to protect you. That’s what a man does for the woman he loves.

Love. That was the thought that floated through his rye soaked mind as a light sleep overtook him.

You poured a mug of coffee for Laurence, setting it on the table where he read the newspaper. It was a rare morning when he didn’t leave early. He was grumpy and the quality of the coffee didn’t help his mood, but you did your best to focus on the way the sun peeked between the clouds and the chirping of the birds.

“How can you fuck up something as easy as coffee,” he grumbled, and you wished he would have just went to the cafe on his way to the office.

For a moment, Alastor fluttered across your mind and you wondered if he would think you fucked up the coffee. It was a thought you shot down with a pang of pain. It didn’t matter what Alastor would have thought, Alastor was not your husband.

“I’m sorry,” you said quickly, turning from the sink and starting to walk back to the table. “I’ll make you another one.”

You made it halfway across the small kitchen before Laurence picked up the mug and, after a moment of thought, launched the steaming contents at you. Most of the coffee splashed across your front, the apron and dress under helping protect you from the scalding liquid, but pain still cut through nerves where it splashed up onto your neck.

“Laurence!?” you cried out, darting backward and crashing into the sink.

Your husband spit venomous words at you, lost to the pounding in your ears. He disregarded all the renewed effort you had put into being a good wife for him.

It wasn’t fair. Tears fell from your eyes as you watched him stand, waiting to see if he would leave or come after you with something far worse than his verbal assault.

You didn’t know tired eyes watched from the distance. His first real sight of you while he blinked sleep from his mind was that of coffee splashing onto you. While Laurence walked out of the room and you crumpled to the ground in a puddle of coffee, you didn’t know how close Alastor came to climbing from the tree and ending a life in broad daylight.

Instead, as you stood, he watched you grab towels to mop up the liquid. As the car in front of your house roared to life, he slipped down from the tree. His body was stiff, and he was rather thirsty, but that was alright. He was glad to have sobered up, at least mostly sobered up.

He had gotten to see you. That was supposed to be enough. He wanted it to be enough. He needed it to be enough. He had gotten to see you.

Alastor watched as you disappeared out of the kitchen while he stalked through the back garden. He saw the light in your bedroom illuminate the room still cast in morning shadows. Would you look out the window, Alastor wondered as Laurence’s car drove away? Would you see him?

You didn’t. He was fairly sure of that as he stepped onto the back porch. The knob failed to turn under his hand, though he hadn’t even been aware of reaching for it. Locked, that was alright.

He was wrong, he had thought he needed to see you but that was alright. He could be wrong, sometimes. He was a humble man. What he actually needed was to hear your voice.

Alastor smiled as he pulled the pins from his sock. The door was old and the lock simple. He made quick work of opening the door, hardly having to give the task much thought at all.

It was a good thing you locked the door. There was a serial killer on the run.

Closing the door behind him, he locked it before making his way through the kitchen and into the living room. Laurence had left the front door unlocked, Alastor was dismayed to find. With a flick of his fingers, he locked that door as well.

Laurence was going to get you hurt if he didn’t take better care of you. It was bad enough that he was hurting you himself but to be careless with your safety on top of it? Disgusting. Sloppy.

The stairs creaked as you walked down them. Alastor moved to the wall, hoping to be out of sight as you turned into the kitchen. You wore a burgundy house dress, and he liked how it looked on you. Much better than the bright sunny yellow you had been wearing before the coffee incident.

His eyes cut down to the dark bruise above your elbow, on display thanks to the short sleeves of the dress. Surely you’d throw a shawl over your arms if someone knocked on the door to hide it. In the safety of your home, though, you had no need.

As you stepped into the kitchen, he could see the angry red splotches on your neck, left by the hot coffee. Oh, how he longed to soothe the inflamed skin with soft kisses.

He followed you, leaning in the doorway as he watched you grab the towels from the ground, sniffling. Were you crying because of the pig’s actions? Didn’t you know it wouldn’t make a difference, shedding tears for him?

“He’s not worth crying over.” Alastor said, transatlantic accent coloring his words, brightening them with the day.

You screamed, whipping around with wide eyes to face him.

“Alastor!” You clutched your hands to your chest, “Mr. Moreau?!”

Your eyes ran over him, taking in the feral sight. His hair, something wild between curly and straight, was a mess atop his head. Red stained his shirt, smeared his skin and dotted his face.

“Never that name for you,” he said as he closed the small distance between you.

“What happened to you?” Before you thought it through, you rushed up to him, acting on instinct and impulse, actions doing nothing to reinforce the distance you had insisted on in your last letter.

Fingers ran over his face, rough stubble scratching the pads before your fingers ghosted down his neck. Your eyes run over bloody sleeves and splotches on his shirt.

“I went hunting.” He answered honestly, “I’m alright.”

“Hunting?” you stepped back, coming back to yourself. “It’s early morning yet? And why are you in my house?”

“I came in the door.” His head cocked to the side. “I couldn’t sleep. Couldn’t stop thinking about you. Went to Mimzy’s and had some drinks. Then went hunting.”

“At night?!” You stepped back, and he took a step forward as he laughed, that easy free sound you had dreamed about too often since you wrote your last letter. “While drunk?”

“Probably not my best judgement call,” Alastor admitted. “But it turned out alright.”

“Did it, now?” You scolded, heart beating in your chest as Alastor continued to advance on you. “You’re covered in blood.”

“I wanted to see you,” Alastor said.

“You need to leave.” Your back hit the wall. “My husband will be back for lunch.”

“I needed to see you.” Alastor’s accent wavered, in and out as he looked at you with those warm brown eyes, pleading with you. “Needed to know what I did wrong.”

“You didn’t- Alastor.” You closed your eyes and let out a breath. “Mr. Moreau,” He groaned at the sound of his surname on your lips. He never wanted to hear you say it until it was yours, as it should be. You continued talking just the same. “Our relationship was improper. I am a married woman. If we continued, it would have ruined us both.”

“Not Mr. Moreau.” Alastor pressed, his hands coming to rest on the wall on either side of your shoulders. “Please, don’t. Don’t call me that. Don’t you love me?”

“I do,” you said before you thought twice, pressing your hand against your lips as if you could somehow stuff the words back in. “Don’t you see? If we’re caught, everything you worked for is gone. I- It would be selfish for me to do that to you.”

“Then we don’t get caught. We hide,” Alastor said, elbows buckling as he fell closer to the wall, cutting the distance between you in half. “Ma cherie, I don’t need you to protect me. We are in love, are we not? The risk is worth anything, everything, for but even a moment in your presence.”

“Alastor, I-” you noticed Laurence’s briefcase sitting by the table, heart thundering somehow louder in your ears. “Laurence is going to be back anytime now. He forgot his bag. You need to go.”

Reaching up, you braced your hands on Alastor’s chest and attempted to shove him away. He moved less than an inch. When you couldn’t push him away, you stopped trying to, though you knew it was vital that you kept trying. Your hands lingered on his chest, feeling his heart pounding rapidly against his ribs. The rye he had been drinking still tinged his breath as it washed over you.

“Don’t you love me?” Alastor’s voice was broken, naked.

“That’s why we can’t keep doing this.” Tears spilled down your cheeks. “I love you too much.”

Outside the house, a car’s engine sounded in the distance.

“It’s why we must.” Alastor challenged, noting the sound as your body tensed. “I will keep us safe.”

“You can’t,” you pleaded, heart shattering in your chest.

“I have so far.” Alastor pressed as the car drew closer. “If not for him. If not for your marriage vows, would you have picked me?”

“I can’t go back in time.”

“I’m not asking you to,” Alastor whispered. “If tomorrow you woke up and Laurence was nothing but a memory? Would you pick me? Want me?”

The car pulled in front of your house, engine idling. “Alastor, he’s back. You need to go.”

“Not until you answer me,” Alastor whispered. “Would you pick me? Would you want me then? If the Shadow Butcher took Laurence tonight?”

“Yes,” you whispered. “Yes, Alastor. Damnit, you need to go-” The car door opened and then slammed shut.

“Then kiss me,” Alastor demanded, face hovering just over yours. No part of him touched you, yet you felt suffocated, wrapped up in him.

“He’s coming.” You could hear Laurence’s footfalls outside on the walkway. It shouldn’t have been possible, but you swore you could.

“I’m not leaving until you kiss me.” Alastor whispered, blood splattered face so close to yours. “You want me. You pick me. Then kiss me. Prove it. Show me. Please?” Alastor’s words came in a whispered rush, each statement coming faster and faster, naked words tripping and tumbling over one another.

The doorknob rattled on the front door. Your eyes were wild as they darted away, trying to turn enough to see through walls. It felt like your executioner was getting ready to catch you.

“Fuckin hell.” You swore you could hear Laurence outside as he tried the knob again.

“Kiss me.” Alastor pleaded again. “Kiss me and I’ll go. Pick me. Don’t leave me. Please?”

The keys rattled in Laurence’s hand, scraping against the lock as he tried the wrong key. You launched yourself forward, closing the small distance harshly. Lips against lips as an arm slid up his chest, wrapping around his neck.

The coppery taste of blood and the stale taste of old rye flooded your senses as his lips parted in a gasp. His hands found your waist as he held you to him, gripping as they wrapped around you. He lifted you off your feet and walked backward as the lock clicked.

His tongue lapped at your lips before working into your mouth. He moaned into the kiss as his eyes fluttered, wanting to close and be in the moment, but needing to be aware of his surroundings. Large steps backward and to the side took them both almost to the back door as the hinges squeaked at the front of the house.

“Don’t ignore me again?” Alastor whispered as he set you down, reaching behind him to unlock the back door. “Please?”

“Sugar,” Laurence called from the front door. “Where’s my bag?”

“Alright,” you sighed, fear flooding you as Alastor opened the door. Laurence was in the living room now, coming closer still to the kitchen and back door.

Alastor leaned down and placed one last kiss against your lips before stepping out the back door, pulling it shut behind him. As the door latched and you turned, Laurence stepped into the kitchen, calling your name.

“I’m here,” you answered, putting your back to the door quickly. You didn’t dare look outside as you stepped into the kitchen for fear that you’d see Alastor making his great escape.

“Where were you?” Laurence asked, as he picked up the forgotten bag. “Why didn’t you answer?”

“I was just checking the weather,” you lied, “I hope to get sheets washed and hung to dry early.”

Laurence looked at you for moments that stretched on as you tried to will yourself to relax. “Why are you flushed?”

“The coffee was hot,” you said. “My skin’s still heated from the spill.”

Outside the house, back resting against the wall, Alastor sat. His head was just under the window. Through the glass, he could hear everything. Carefully, he twisted and peeked up, watching as Laurence turned his back on the window. That was his chance, and he dared not waste it.

Long legs swiftly carried him in a direct line from the house to the apple tree. He ran, glancing over his shoulder frequently, fearing he would lock eyes with Laurence. The back of the blond head and then an empty kitchen was all he saw as he rounded behind the tree.

He waited there, chest heaving in gasping breaths. Exhaustion weighed heavily on his shoulders, but he waited to move until he heard the car roar to life again. Sliding down the tree, he turned and dug for the notebook and pen.

He needed to get home, run a bath and sleep, but first, he wanted to add one more note to the stack. He hoped you’d read it, that you were not just telling him what he needed to hear to save yourself.

Thinking back to the way you kissed him, he didn’t think that was the case. You kissed him as if you needed this as much as he did. Everything would get back on track, Alastor was sure of it as he walked through the narrow forest, humming.

Yes, things were going to go back to how they had been. He would keep spending time with you and growing this little flame between you. When Alastor got the chance, he would take Laurence back to his home and they would have a nice long talk before Alastor ended his filthy life.

Oh, how the thought filled him with almost as much joy as your kiss had.

Join us at VoxTek for a Vox themed Hazbin Discord where we talk Vox, Alastor, Hazbin, writing, reading, art and who knows what else. You may even catch some exclusive sneak peeks at upcoming fics from some of your favorite writers including the first page of the next chapter of MisD a day early!!

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selunesdreams · 3 days ago

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Chapter 7: Weisshaupt

“You call that nice and quiet?” “Sorry, catch up when you can!” Rook called down. Spite’s wings flared wide behind him and he launched himself upward, soaring up to join them. He landed next to her, close enough that she felt his boots reverberate against the floor. “All caught up.” He purred in her ear. The gravelly tone told her it was Spite's voice speaking, somehow much more quietly than usual. So he did have an inside voice.

Pairing: Lucanis x Fem Rook/OFC x Spite???

Summary: Rook nearly crashes out over trying to keep a kid she sees too much of herself in safe, Lucanis shoots for the stars and still misses the clouds, and Lucanis Spite can't stop putting Rook in "innocently" compromising positions. It's Weisshaupt. You know the drill.

Word Count: 4k

Things of note/warnings: 18+ fic, MDNI! warnings: blood, violence, gore, darkspawn - Weisshaupt stuff. Please read on AO3 if you need to track warnings, they will be inevitably detailed better there (or just want to be real sweet and give me hits/kudos/comments).

─── ⊹⊱♤⊰⊹ ───

As she passed through the eluvian, Rook’s boots fell on the stone floor of Weisshaupt. Davrin stepped through after her and looked around.

“This isn’t the vault.”

“They moved the eluvian?”

The fortress trembled violently, and she lost her footing as loose stones broke free from the walls, crashing down in a deafening avalanche. Davrin drug her back into a pile of crates that splintered underneath their combined weight, and the Eluvian crashed through the wall, tearing half the room away with it. A plume of dust rose in its place, several birds taking flight from nearby trees as it met to the ground below.

Davrin clambered to his feet and peered out over the ledge.

“It didn’t break!” His voice echoed as he called over his shoulder to Rook.

She squinted through the haze and joined him, sighing with relief at the sight of the eluvian, miraculously intact, several stories on the lawn below. Neve emerged unscathed, followed by the others. Lucanis hoisted himself over the edge, standing and placing his hands on his hips, examining the wreckage.

“You call that nice and quiet?”

“Sorry, catch up when you can!” she called down.

Spite’s wings flared wide behind him and he launched himself upward, soaring up to join them. He landed next to Rook, close enough that she felt his boots reverberate against the floor.

“All caught up.” He purred in her ear. The gravelly tone told her it was Spite's voice speaking, somehow much more quietly than usual.

So he did have an inside voice.

The violet sclera of his eyes gleamed mischievously and she held his gaze until all signs of the demon disappeared. Soon, Lucanis blinked back at her in surprise, their faces only a breath’s width apart. Rook turned her head abruptly in the direction of the exit.

“Time to go.”

“Shh! Darkspawn outside!” A faint whisper came from behind the shelves near the door. A young girl rose to her feet, dressed in Warden’s clothing tailored to fit her small frame. She was just barely illuminated by the torches on the wall as she held a finger to her mouth to silence them, but from Rook’s vantage point, she looked to be about seven years of age.

“Darkspawn, in Weisshaupt?” Davrin asked, sounding equally perplexed.

Rook crouched beside the girl. “Just…keep hidden—"

“Mila.”

“Sit tight, Mila,” Rook forced a reassuring smile and pushed through the doors. “We’ll be right back.”

They exited to the courtyard, where they were greeted by a chorus of dying screams and shouts for backup. Rook cast another nervous glance over her shoulder towards Mila, hidden behind the shelf, her wide brown eyes fixed on their every move.

“She’ll be fine. Don’t get distracted.”

“ She’s too young to see this,” Rook rasped. “I’d seen just as much carnage by her age. But not like this, not darkspawn-"

“Rook, I don’t know what’s going on with you, but I need you focused. Let me worry about Mila. You don’t worry about anything but getting me a clear shot to Ghilan’nain.”

He took off in a sprint, a purple aura enveloping him as he drop-kicked a darkspawn and cleaved its head clean off. Ahead, Davrin and Assan were cleaning out the rest of the horde. Rook joined in, sending fire spells in every direction before pulling out her mage knife.

“Where are all the Wardens?” She yelled, cutting the arm off an advancing ghoul.

“Fighting outside, from the sound!” Lucanis’s voice came from behind, and she turned in time to see him deliver a fatal blow to a giant Hurlock, its enormous fists poised to crush her.

“Thanks.” Rook panted.

“Just remember our talk, mm?” He sheathed his blade with a metallic click and surveyed their surroundings. “That’s all of them, for now.”

Mila appeared from behind a rock. “At least it wasn’t ogres!”

“You know your darkspawn,” Davrin remarked.

“My dad’s a blacksmith for the Grey Wardens.”

Rook tightened her grip on the hilt of her knife, her knuckles turning white. Their plan hinged on her ability to focus and pull her own weight. “Mila, do you know Antoine and Evka?”

“Yeah. They’re probably in the war room. I can show you,” she offered, running ahead. Rook trailed closely behind, keeping alert.

“Oh no, the door’s blocked! I know a secret passage. Come on!”

They rounded a corner, coming up on a dead warden, slumped over next to a darkspawn impaled against the wall. Its grotesque form served as a barricade that held the passage shut.

“Damn.” Rook slapped a hand over her mouth to block out the stench. In her peripheral, Mila was putting on a brave face.

So she’s seen death.

“That’s Commander Janos. One of our best.” Davrin said remorsefully.

“Then let’s make sure he didn’t die in vain.” Rook pulled Janos’ sword from the abdomen of the darkspawn, examining it in the light before slipping it into a spare hilt in her armor.

He wouldn’t be needing it anymore, but she might.

The corpse fell forward, and the passage slid open, allowing the four to step inside.

“When did the darkspawn attack, Mila?” Lucanis asked.

“Just a while ago, they started climbing the walls!”

“You should stay here.”

“I can’t. I need to find my dad!”

Rook swallowed hard. She clung to that hope once, that her father would be fine, that she needed to protect him . Only to come home and find…

No.

She didn’t have time to reflect on that dream again. Fucking Dread Wolf. Why would he think pressing her about her father’s death would do any good?

Rook froze as they pushed through another pair of vaulted doors, revealing swirling black clouds that formed Ghilan’nain’s face, her eyes like blue fog.

“Grey Wardens! I wield the power of the blight.”

“How the fuck do I stab a cloud?” Lucanis hissed.

A dragon dove in the sky ahead with a shriek, disappearing beneath the horizon, before swooping up and taking half the platform with it. Stone and armor and weapons went flying, and Rook stumbled, shielding her face. She couldn’t hear any more of Ghilan’nain’s words over the ringing in her ears.

“Do you pray? Might be worth a shot.” Dacron said, charging forward.

“The war room’s this way!” Mila hollered.

Rook shred through two ghouls, drops of blighted blood painting the ground beneath her feet. “Good, you’ll be safe there.”

“Not yet. I need to find my dad.”

Rook let out a frustrated sigh and pushed against an enormous pair of iron doors with all her strength, entering the room just as the First Warden barked orders. A dozen Wardens talked over one another, suggesting different courses of action.

“Good luck.” Mila said, taking off in the opposite direction.

Evka stood toe to toe with the First Warden. “There’s no choice, ser. We’re under siege - we have to fall back to the dragon trap!”

“Forget the trap!” He said, holding up a hand to silence her, “Send word to Commander Janos. Rally outside the wall.”

“We don’t have time for this…” Rook muttered and drew Janos’ sword from inside her coat.

With a resounding thud, the weapon landed on the table, splattering blood across the map. Knocking out Janos’ strategy piece, it rolled to a stop before the First Warden.

“Janos is dead.”

His eyes narrowed in anger. “What are you doing here?”

Rook braced herself on the table. “Fighting your battle.”

The First gestured to the Wardens standing behind her. “Arrest them.”

Antoine caught him as he tried to turn away. “Non! You need to listen to them! We are under attack by a god!”

“Do you hear yourself? There’s no such thing. Stop finding excuses to be a coward! Order every blade out of Weisshaupt!”

Evka rushed forward. “We’ll all die ser!”

“That’s an order, Warden!”

The grip holding Rook’s arms behind her back loosened, a sign of the Grey Wardens’ growing doubt in their commander, allowing her to break free. Balling her hand into a fist, she let her temper guide her as she stepped in front of the First Warden and punched him square in the jaw, just the way Viago taught her. She shook the shock out of her fingers as he hit the ground, unconscious.

Lucanis crossed his arms, admiring her work. “Can’t say you didn’t try.”

Several Wardens advanced on them, blades drawn, and he took a defensive stance in front of her, hands on his daggers.

“No!” Evka said, stepping between them, “Listen to Rook, that’s an order.” She turned around, lowering her voice. “I assume you have a plan?”

“I don’t, but…the dragon trap you mentioned…”

“It was built 900 years ago to stop an Archdemon,” Antoine began, “But-”

“Get down!” Davrin shouted.

A flash of violet wings unfurled around her and Rook was tackled to the floor just as the dragon appeared in the window, unleashing flames through the entire war room. Bodies and debris flew in every direction, and as Lucanis landed on top of her, her skin suddenly felt dry and raw from the fire overhead. He lifted his head from where it had fallen between her neck and shoulder, all signs of Spite gone from his gaze, and rolled off of her, using a stone table behind them for cover.

“Where’s this trap?” Rook asked, huddling against a fallen stone table.

“Other side of the fortress,” Antoine said, “but it’s never been used-”

“It only has to work once. Let’s go!”

She broke into a run, and Weisshaupt soon became a blur of blood and blight. Every decision she made was guided by urgency and her conviction to their plan, which was still unfolding as they moved through the stronghold. Bells rang overhead loudly, disorienting her. Rook was blown back repeatedly by fallen debris, archdemon attacks, or darkspawn, and each time, Lucanis or Davrin would yank her up by the collar and pull her along. When every exit vanished as they fought their way to the dragon trap, a ladder suddenly was thrown over a nearby ledge. Mila, who had vanished in the war room, had in fact not found her way to safety, stood above triumphantly. Rook pulled herself up to higher ground and kept running, ensuring Mila remained behind Lucanis, but ahead of her and Davrin, always protected.

They reached a courtyard, and Taash opened a pair of doors for them.

“Rook! Get your asses in here!”

Lucanis leapt and sliced through the darkspawn, killing his way through the horde while Rook, Davrin, and Mila navigated the blight spots bursting open on the ground.

“Go, go, go!” Rook fired several spells behind her until she made it inside. Lucanis slipped in after them, shoving his full body weight against the doors. Everyone else did the same, and they rattled shut, but threatened to burst back open as the darkspawn plowed into them from outside.

Taash braced against the barricade. “You’re alive.”

“Well, let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” Rook said with a grunt.

“If this door doesn’t hold, all bets are off.” Davrin said, straining beside them.

“But what about the dragon trap?” Bellara asked.

A man in matching attire to Mila’s brought a hammer down onto a contraption near the doors, and a wooden beam fell down behind them, holding them in place.

“The trap will work.”

“Dad!”

As Mila ran into her father’s arms, Rook slouched against the door, leaning her head back and wiping sweat from her brow. Lucanis crouched beside her, reaching for her shoulder.

“Are you alright?”

She didn’t respond, watching the reunion with a weak smile.

“Rook?”

“I’m fine.”

“Hope she wasn’t too much trouble.” As the blacksmith approached, Mila's arms hugging his waist, Rook forced a smile.

“She was incredible.” She said, her eyes shining.

─── ⊹⊱♤⊰⊹ ───

With Mila’s father, Holden, taking the others to deploy the dragon trap, Rook, Lucanis, and Davrin cut their way through blight and darkspawn in the Weisshaupt library. As she stepped onto the roof, the cold air whipped against her face, throwing her hair back.

“Rook - she is a cloud.” Lucanis wrapped his fingers around her wrist as she stared at Solas’ dagger. Distant strikes of lightning reflected in the lyrium. “Are you sure this is a fight we can win?”

“I mean to find out.” She said and thrust the knife into the air.

Ghilan’nain’s vestige turned on her, and her archdemon soared through the cloud resembling her face, landing on the walls of the fortress. It sunk its claws into the bricks, sending them tumbling as it threw itself down on the ground and ominously stepped towards Rook.

“Come on…” Rook mumbled to herself.

The dragon struck, and she leapt aside, surging with relief as she heard the click of a footplate. The trap activated, unleashing spears on chains to embed themselves into its scales, dragging the beast to the ground. An eruption of cheers broke out above as Davrin pulled her to her feet, looking down somberly.

“Give Assan a hug for me..okay?”

“Anything, Davrin…” Rook said hoarsely as he passed her off to Lucanis, who gripped her shoulders, fingertips digging into her light armor.

“Stand down, Warden!”

Rook turned in surprise to face the First Warden as he stalked towards them from the nearby rubble.

“My war, my glory.”

Rook held up her hands indifferently and pulled Davrin back. “It’s all yours.”

He scoffed. “At least you’ve got some honor in the end.”

Spite growled behind her, peeking through Lucanis’ features. She knew he’d run the First Warden through with a blade if he weren’t already stepping towards his death so willingly.

The First, sword drawn, limped past the archdemon’s glowing eye as it blinked at him weakly, still assessing, and climbed atop its head. He took his blade in two hands, raising it overhead, and aimed it at the dragon’s skull.

“As supreme authority of Weisshaupt, I hereby declare this Blight at an end!”

As he brought the sword down, Ghilan’nain burst from her thrall’s belly, and snatched the First Warden in the air. She held him by the throat, and his hands grasped wildly at her fingers, legs kicking helplessly below him.

“Racing heart. Ragged breaths. A waste of useful blood!” she screamed, shoving her hand through his chest. Rook recoiled at the sound, the sickening squelch of flesh and bone breaking. His blood splattered on the archdemon below, the blight within it restoring the monster, and Ghilan’nain discarded the corpse in the trench over her shoulder. The body vanished under the waves, tossed by the violent surge as a serpentine head burst from the archdemon, letting out a deafening screech that echoed through all of Weisshaupt.

Rook readied her staff and unleashed a torrent of fire until the beast retreated. It rose again, crashing down beside her on the field. She recovered her footing and focused on her training, the long days and nights when Viago would teach her to dodge, parry, and shield. Her cousin knew little of magic, but at least that part came instinctively. While he was alive, her father taught her all he could, and she intended to use it.

“What is that?” Lucanis exclaimed as a mass of darkspawn crawled up over the edge of the trench and descended upon them. He cut through a line of them in one fell swoop.

“The real Archdemon!” Davrin replied, “We have to kill it! Ghilan’nain’s invulnerable until we do!”

The beast rose and fell several more times, each impact sending shockwaves through the ground. Rook ducked and rolled clear of each of the creature’s attacks, but her energy wore thin as a second head ascended from the ground. She let out a scream of frustration and drew her mage knife, jumping and slicing at the serpent’s veined neck when it dove towards her again.

“Get out of there!” Lucanis called out as a third head appeared over the ledge. Rook balked, and he shoved her out of its path into the rubble.

“I don’t know how much longer I can do this.” She said, her breaths coming in ragged gasps.

“You have to keep going.” He urged her, “At least until I can get my shot.”

Rook traded her sword for her staff and fade-stepped across the battlefield, throwing as many spells at each serpentine head as she could. Anything that would stick. Assan attacked from above, slaying several ghouls as her surroundings became tighter than she’d have preferred.

It wasn’t until all three heads came down that she gave it everything she could. With a roar, the archdemon screamed, blood spurting from its injuries and raining down upon them. The creature collapsed and writhed, its movements growing weaker with each passing second.

“Davrin, kill it!”

The Grey Warden nodded, stepping forward with a deep breath, stabbing it through the eye. He looked like he had been bracing for something, but as the creature’s death rattle came, he met Rook’s gaze, surprised.

Shaking her disbelief away, Rook threw Solas’ dagger to Lucanis, who was poised on a nearby ledge, ready to strike.

“Now, finish her!”

He caught it in one hand, Spite’s wings flaring out behind him, and leaped into the air, gliding overhead until he reached Ghilan’nain.

Lucanis was a blur in the sky, but he made contact - Rook was sure of it - before he was flung to the ground. He landed on one knee, his arm braced out before him, face contorted in sheer rage as he skidded across the soil.

He missed.

Ghilan’nain touched her face and shrieked as she drew away blood, raising her arms in the air to summon more of her blighted monsters to come to her aid.

“Let’s go!” Rook screamed, grabbing Lucanis by the shoulder.

“Give me another shot!” He snarled, shoving her off. He ignored her, his eyes fixated on the elven goddess.

“Lucanis, don’t you dare!” Rook said, railing her fist into his arm to catch his attention.

Mierda. He fully intended to fly back up there.

Rook threw herself in front of him and shoved him, hammering her fists into his chest until he scowled, relenting and turning to retreat towards their allies. She chased after him, her feet pounding into the earth with so much force that she could feel the buzz in her skull. He could be pissed at her later. She didn’t care. She sprinted to where the eluvian glowed between Bellara, Holden, and Mila, and leapt through.

─── ⊹⊱♤⊰⊹ ───

The last of the civilians and Grey Wardens made it to Lavandel, but not without devastating losses. Davrin received word of the climbing death toll: the once mighty order of over 1000 had quickly dwindled to the low hundreds.

In grief, there was also tension. Davrin and Lucanis, both battle-worn and weary, had been at one another’s throats since their return to the Lighthouse. Davrin blamed the Demon of Vyrantium for missing his shot, claiming Spite was pulling his punches, and Lucanis retorted with an insinuation that the blight in the Grey Warden’s veins might have been manipulated by Ghilan’nain.

Poor Harding and Emmrich had tried to act as peacemakers, only to be snapped at in the line of verbal fire. Varric, a voice of reason amidst the chaos, urged Rook to break up the escalating conflict and dismiss the team to gather themselves. Bellara, who had only just had a run-in with her presumed-dead brother days ago, was carrying massive guilt in his betrayal, as if she had anything to do with it. Neve was still grieving for Minrathous. Taash was still working out their identity and disagreement with their mother. Even Harding was coming to terms with magic that Rook wasn’t even sure she trusted.

Everyone had baggage to attend to, and they needed to work as a unit, not divided.

Exhausted and emotionally drained, Rook longed for her bed, but she wasn’t done yet. Lucanis had stormed off and locked himself in the pantry, and she didn’t want to think about the rage boiling within him that would only feed Spite’s determination. With their luck, she’d wake up tomorrow with two dead allies and an orphaned griffin.

She knocked, cracking the door. “Lucanis, are you in here brooding?”

“I’m fine,” came his response, tired and melancholic. He sat on the bed, glaring at the floor, hands clutching a cup of coffee.

Rook stepped inside and gently closed the door behind her with a gentle click. “That’s not a no.”

“I had her. She should have never gotten away from me.” he shook his head. “This was our contract, Rook. I don’t fail my contracts.”

“Think of it less as a failure, more an…extension?”

His stare, dark and intense, met hers from under lowered lids. “You shouldn’t go easy on me. In our line of work, mistakes get people killed.”

Rook groaned loudly, throwing her head back.

“Alright, fine. You fucked up. Maybe it’s because you’re not sleeping, maybe it’s because you were aiming at a god. We get over it, and we get back to work.”

“I thought I had this,” Lucanis said. “Whatever else I am, I’m a professional. After the Ossuary, I thought I could at least still take out a target.”

“You can. You just need to sleep.”

He stared at his hands.

“You might be right. I was distracted. That cannot happen again. I need to get my head on straight…”

Rook joined him on the bed, hugging her knees to her chest. It was little more than a blanket laid across a stone slab - by far the most uncomfortable thing she’d ever sat on. This had to be some twisted, self-imposed punishment on Lucanis’ part.

“You might have missed your target, but you saved my life out there more times than one. I owe you for that.”

“Ah, so now we’re even?” He asked, smirking and nudging her with his elbow.

She shrugged. “If that makes you feel better, sure.”

Lucanis frowned. “You’re too lethal to be a damsel in distress, Fiamma. What happened out there?”

Her ears instinctively pricked at the sound of her real name, and she lowered her eyes.

“Solas had this way of…bringing on a nightmare after I spoke with him in the meditation chamber. Some sick way of trying to motivate me.”

“What was it?”

“It was a memory of my father. The night…”

“Are you serious, Rook?” Lucanis’ voice rose as he stood up. “He can’t do that! You can’t let him just get in your head and-“

She tugged him down gently. “Says the guy with a demon making the calls half the time.”

He scowled and sipped his coffee.

“You know all…this isn’t part of our contract. You don’t have to keep trying to protect me.”

“It doesn’t need a contract.” He said plainly.

“Is it for Viago, then? Because I swear-”

“It’s not for Viago.”

She blinked at him. “Then why?”

“I like you alive, Rook. More than getting paid, more than keeping your cousin’s favor.”

With a playful glint in her eyes, she shoved him. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I’m glad you didn’t get yourself killed today.”

Lucanis’ brows shot up as he covered the rim of his cup, preventing his coffee from spilling. He set his mug down on the bedside table, grinned, and leaned closer. Rook held her breath in anticipation, but he quickly squeezed his eyes shut and turned away with a grimace.

“Lucanis?” she reached out to touch his shoulder, and he flinched.

“I need to work.” He pinched the bridge of his nose as if fighting off a migraine. Spite, more likely. “I’ll check in with the Crows. Once I sort this…Zara stuff, I can focus again. The others, Davrin-”

“I’ll handle the others.” Rook stood up to leave. “Get some rest.”

“I’ll try.”

She rested her head on the doorframe and lingered with a pleading look. “Do it for me?”

“For you?” He stretched out, tucking his arms beneath his head, and managed a tired smile.

“I’ll try harder.”