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Davrin leans back in his seat in the common room of the Lighthouse, a fresh block of solid oak in one hand and his carving knife in the other. He guides the blade along the grain, beginning to shape the wood as an image begins to form in his mind. He works with a practiced precision as he envisions how to best bring his next piece to life. It is a way of passing the time, a hobby he'd picked up with the Wardens to keep himself occupied during long treks across Thedas and even longer watches on duty. There were only so many ways to stave off boredom.
He finds it is not so different here with the rest of the Veilguard. When they are not running headlong into peril heralding the end of the world, they all seem to fall into familiar and comforting patterns.
Taash sits across from him, sharpening the blade of one of her trusty handaxes. The Warden isn't sure that any of them have ever seen the qunari completely unarmed. Those axes are as much a part of her as Lucanis’ daggers are a part of him.
They all seem to have their ways of finding respite during this tumultuous headache of history in the making. And if it involves keeping a blade close, well, who is he to judge?
Harding glances up from her book on variations of flora in northern Thedas when Bellara bounds into the room, waving a small glowing piece of…
Davrin blinks at the other elf. “What is that thing?” he cannot help but ask.
The Veil Jumper brandishes the small device proudly. It is comprised of small whirring gears interspersed with shimmering runes etched into the metal. “It's an artifact we picked up in Arlathan! Taliesin and I have been trying to find a way to power it for weeks and I think I've finally figured it out,” she exclaims excitedly, brown eyes alight with joy. “Have any of you seen her?”
Taash snorts without looking up from her whetstone. “The birds,” she drawls, “are in the kitchen.”
The joke isn't one they've shared in front of Taliesin and they certainly haven't brought it to Lucanis’ attention. With the wily Fereldan elf being dubbed as Rook and Lucanis being an Antivan Crow…well. Davrin never claimed it was a particularly clever joke.
“Oh,” Bellara pouts. “Lucanis didn't ask me to help make dinner.”
Aside from Taliesin, Bellara is the only one that Lucanis will allow in the kitchen with him during the preparation of meals. Davrin isn't sure that Lucanis so much asks for Bellara’s assistance but that her involvement leans more toward the fact that the excitable elf insists that she be allowed to contribute recipes and help cook for the group.
Harding marks her page and looks up. “I'm sure there's more than enough busy hands in there tonight, Bel. Why don't you show Rook at dinner?”
Before Bellara can respond, Taash lets out a loud, dry laugh. “Oh, yeah,” the qunari says. “I'm sure there's more than enough hands at work in there.”
Bellara blinks back at the dragon slayer and Davrin waits for the tinkerer to piece everything together. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Taash rolls her eyes. “Oh, come on. They are not subtle at all. I think we've all caught them at least once at this point.”
Straightening up into a sitting position on the sofa, Lace Harding purses her lips consideringly. “I have noticed they both tend to disappear at the same time quite a bit now,” she muses thoughtfully. “You don't think they're-”
“Fucking?” Taash fills in helpfully. “If they're not, my mother was a nug.”
Intrigued, Davrin considers the way that Lucanis has been watching Taliesin in recent days. The assassin was known for his quiet nature and penchant for examining everything around him with a shrewd and calculating eye. But recently Davrin had noticed that Lucanis’ attention had been singularly focused on their Rook. Anywhere Taliesin went, Lucanis’ eyes followed. Davrin had even caught the two of them returning from the courtyard the day before last, both of them sporting flushed cheeks and rumpled clothing. At first he had assumed they'd engaged in a sparring match, the pair constantly trying to find ways to properly combat the magical abilities of the Venatori. But now…
“Care to put some coin on that?” he throws out without taking his focus from his whittling.
Taash leans forward, a glint in her eye, weapons forgotten on the low table before her. “How much we talking?”
Davrin shrugs noncommittally. “Three gold?” he suggests.
Bellara scoffs indignantly. “You're going to bet on our friends’ not-so-secret relationship?”
All eyes turn to her and the Veil Jumper freezes for a moment, caught, before smiling sheepishly, cheeks pinkening.
“I may have, uh…seen them leaving the library a few days ago. They must not have seen me because I've never seen Lucanis smile like that before,” she recounts with only a bit of shame coloring her tone. “I thought everyone knew and we were just being polite!”
Davrin can't help it, he throws his head back and laughs . “I'll be damned!” he wheezes. “The birds are nesting, Taash.”
The qunari slams a few gold coins down on the table. “Make it five gold,” she says.
•••
The kitchen smells amazing . A seasoned broth simmers over the fire with boiling chicken and the exotic scent of seafood from the Antivan coast.
She listens as Lucanis chops vegetables in silence, the blade of his knife moving with practiced efficiency. Her ears twitch delicately at the sound and she fights the urge to look up from her book. She lays against the tiled floor, her braid folded over her shoulder to settle on her chest. Her legs are balanced against the wall, crossed at the ankles. She holds the tome over her face, eyes tracing over the same line for the fourth time in as many minutes.
The scent of fresh onions and lemon zest tease at her nose and her stomach growls insistently.
Taliesin presses her open book over her face when Lucanis chuckles from a few feet away. “I told you you should have eaten breakfast,” he chides, his attention wholly focused on his task.
“I wasn't hungry at breakfast,” she grumbles glumly.
The Crow hums. “You were impatient at breakfast,” he points out. “There is a difference.”
She rolls her violet eyes heavenward. She had been impatient at breakfast. She'd needed to ransack the library before Emmrich made his way down there for the day and before Neve could guilt her into another morning bent over the map in their makeshift war room. She hadn't thought she'd be able to rope Lucanis into her scheme but he'd come willingly enough when she'd pressed a lingering kiss to his cheek and whispered “Please,” directly into his ear.
With her accomplice in tow, she'd been able to locate the two tomes in Solas’ library that she'd been looking for. One on the original twelve dwarven thaigs and one on the magical properties of lyrium. They'd slipped from the library before Emmrich's footfalls had even sounded on the stairwell.
Lucanis had then gone about his business as usual, brewing a strong pot of coffee and preparing breakfast before beginning to sharpen his daggers at the table.
Taliesin, however, had claimed his cot near the pantry. She'd snuggled down into the scent of him permeating the linen sheets with her newest acquisitions and had begun to read. She'd skipped breakfast and by the time she'd torn her eyes away from the mess of dwarven records, the last of the coffee had gone cold and so she'd skipped that as well. Hours later have left her with tired eyes and a growling stomach as she flips through academic anecdotes on the properties of lyrium and how to properly utilize it safely for magical enhancement.
“You're not going to take pity on me, are you, vhenan?” she asks, scrubbing at her face.
Lucanis moves from the counter with the chopped vegetables, depositing them with ease into the boiling pot. He dusts his hands off and turns to face her where she lays on the floor. “If I do not, perhaps tomorrow you will eat breakfast,” he muses.
“Perhaps,” she agrees. “Or perhaps I will perish here in the kitchen. And you will have to live with the fact that you could have saved me.” She pauses to allow him to process that she is, in fact, jesting before she tacks on a purred, “Amor,” for good measure.
His eyes go impossibly dark when she says the word. For a moment she thinks he is going to haul her up from the floor and press her against the counter and have his wicked way with her. But no, he is not so forward with her. Even though she tells him often that he is allowed to be. That she'd like him to be. Gods, she'd love for him to feel comfortable enough to do such a thing.
They stare at each other for a long moment before the assassin sighs and shakes his head, a small smile tugging at his lips. “You are ridiculous,” he informs her, returning to the heap of ingredients on the counter.
“I have to keep you on your toes,” she cheekily reminds him. “Can't have your wit getting rusty, can I?”
“Yes, because my wit is what you keep me around for, is it?” He paces back to where she rests, crouching down beside her with an apple in hand. “I'd hate for you to perish on my watch, cariña . Will this sate you until dinner is ready?”
She retrieves the shiny red fruit, examines it thoughtfully, and looks back up at him. “It will do,” she decides. “But I think you forgot something.” She hooks a finger around the chain clasped between his lapel pins and tugs him down toward her. She tilts her head up to meet him, pressing her lips firmly against his.
His hand immediately goes to her hair as if on instinct. He makes a pleased sound into her mouth, kissing her soundly. Their lips brush together in an electric haze that is becoming tantalizingly familiar. She'd meant it when she told him she would kiss him forever. She only wishes their days afforded more time for it but she will happily take what she can get.
When he pulls away, she drags her tongue along her lower lip, following the way his eyes track the movement. “I believe I may yet live,” she declares, grinning up at him.
His cheeks are flushed with the barest hint of pink. “I am relieved to hear it, mi amor. Who else am I to sharpen my wit against?”
“I'd much prefer that be a pleasure you leave to me, ma’sa’lath,” she snarks, enjoying the way his eyes darken further. “Don't burn dinner on my account.”
Surprising her, he steals one last kiss before climbing to his feet. “You will be the death of me, woman,” he mumbles, returning to his work.
She hauls herself up into a seated position, shifting to watch him continue piecing together dinner as she munches happily on her hard-won apple. She can still taste her lover on her lips and on the tip of her tongue. Bitter coffee and vibrant spices, a hint of the flavorful broth he had tasted as it simmers to perfection. He is a man devoted to his craft when he is preparing food. She can see how dedicated he is to creating something that will sustain rather than destroy. He had insisted on the kitchen being under his dominion since he'd come to the Lighthouse.
No one had objected and after they'd eaten his food, it had been agreed that no one would dare interfere in the kitchen, which suited Lucanis Dellamorte just fine. He kept his workspace pristine. All of his tools and utensils were organized, gleaming, and always ready for their intended purpose. He sharpened his kitchen knives as routinely as his daggers. He was a man of many talents, she had found early on into their cohabitation at the Lighthouse.
She watches him as she eats, considering how much has changed between them in the weeks since Hossberg. Lucanis had been quiet and reserved upon joining the Veilguard. She'd noticed how he seemed content to observe the others interacting from the shadows and was in no great hurry to make himself available for conversation. She'd taken great care in choosing her moments with the assassin, deciding when to enter his orbit and attempt to study him as she knew he studied her.
Back in Treviso, he'd told Illario that he owed her and that once he had repaid his debt that he would return home. At the time, she'd thought nothing of it. They all had lives that had not paused in the wait for the end of everything. Just because Ghilan'nain and Elgar'nan walked Thedas in the Blighted flesh didn't mean that any of her companions’ ambitions or obligations ended. And just because Taliesin did not have a clan to return to or a place to go didn't mean it was so for any of the others that she had banded together with.
Now, however, she finds that things are different. She longs for the trees and untamed sprawl of land in Arlathan. She misses the soft earth beneath her feet and the sky overhead, the constant tingle of ancient magic that had felt like it was reaching out to meet her. But will it still feel like home when all of this is over? If they succeed? Or will she find it sullied by the darker truth of the Evanuris?
She wonders if Antiva could be her home. If Lucanis would ask her to return with him. If he'd want to return at all. She wonders if he'll still want her when all of this is over, however it ends.
“You are very quiet, cara mia,” he comments, drawing her from her silent reverie.
Taliesin polishes off her apple and moves to perch on the kitchen counter. “I thought you liked it when I was quiet,” she retorts.
He glances at her over his shoulder. “I have never said that.”
She leans back on her hands, bare feet swinging. “Oh?” She cocks a brow at him. “You're not much for conversation, vhenan . My incessant chattering does not annoy you?”
Lucanis turns to face her fully. “I have found some pleasure in conversation with you,” he points out. “And I do not find you incessant. Just because I cannot understand your tirades in elven does not mean you annoy me.”
She tilts her head. “I aim to please,” she deadpans.
The Crow chuckles, shaking his head. “Are you really going to sit up there while I finish this?”
“I'm enjoying the view,” she tells him with a smirk. “Besides, I doubt you want me mucking up your recipe.”
“I think,” he says, “that you have enough to contend with and should let me handle this for you, yes?”
Leaning forward, her eyes flick from Lucanis to the boiling pot and back. “I can think of something else you could handle for me,” she tries, certain that she is pushing her luck. The kitchen is Lucanis Dellamorte's Chantry and drawing his focus away from his culinary creations has proven nigh on impossible in the past. But she is nothing if not persistent.
He crosses his arms over his chest, dark eyes running from her bare feet up her legs to the flash of her exposed midriff to the thick rope of her braid settling over her shoulder. “What was that about not burning dinner on your account?” he snarks.
“If you're making the paella, we both know it needs to continue to cook,” she says, raising her chin in challenge.
“So you do pay attention.”
Taliesin grins. “When it suits me, vhenan.”
He makes that low humming sound in his chest that she absolutely adores. She's committed entire days to coaxing that sound from him. “If this burns, you'll be the one explaining to everyone else why dinner is late,” he warns as he draws near.
Nodding sagely, she reaches out a hand to grab at him. “Understood, Master Dellamorte. I promise not to compromise the paella. Now put me out of my misery.”
Lucanis rolls his eyes at her antics, stepping into her as she closes her hand over his shoulder. She spreads her legs to bracket his hips, urging him closer. “All of this for a kiss?” he teases, his calloused fingertips tracing the blade of her ear.
She hums happily, nuzzling into him. “You happen to be my favorite person to kiss, ma'lath,” she informs him.
His lips brush to her cheek as he mumbles, “I would certainly hope so, mi amor.” He presses fleeting kisses from her cheek down the line of her jaw, his beard scratching pleasantly against her skin. “Bellissima,” comes his breathless whisper against her neck. He plies her with kisses until she has her arms wound loosely around his neck and she begins to melt against his chest. “Long day of reading?”
She sighs, running her fingers through the fall of his hair. He wears half of it up while cooking and she admires the long inky strands. “I'm beginning to go cross-eyed,” she admits. “I'd kill for a day free from errands and meetings and research.”
Lucanis’ touch moves from her thighs around to her back. He works at the tender spot in her lumbar and sweeps his hands up to work at the knotted muscles in her shoulders and the back of her neck. “You need rest,” he agrees. “While we can still afford it.”
She turns her head, her cheek grazing his. “We both do. I know you haven't been sleeping. Even when we sleep apart.”
“Do not concern yourself with that, amor,” he says softly.
“Lucanis-”
Effectively cutting off her argument, his mouth seals over hers, one hand dropping back down to stroke along the length of her thigh. The loose material of her leggings bunches beneath his touch, teasing at her skin. But it is the sensation of his desperate kiss that sweeps her away.
She shimmies closer to him, locking her ankles against the small of his back. His hand continues to move in soothing passes and their lips continue to brush until she flicks her tongue against his lower lip.
Lucanis pauses for the briefest moment as a tremor races down his spine and he groans into her mouth. He cups her cheek, keeping her anchored to him as she deepens the kiss.
Taliesin is careful and decisive as her tongue teases at his before retreating to allow him time to decide if he is comfortable. His answer comes in the form of another rumbling moan before he meets her, his own tongue caressing hers with startling precision. But he has always been a quick study.
They curl around each other against the kitchen counter, sharing kisses with the same intensity that they trade blows when sparring. His hands wander from her thighs and up her sides, his thumbs passing featherlight around the curve of her breasts.
Relieved to have him holding her up, Taliesin drinks in his overpowering presence. The solid feel of his arms around her, his waist trapped between the cage of her thighs, his hands mapping her with a dedicated focus. She really could just kiss him forever. When his lips move against hers she feels like the entire world falls away, the pressing terror of what they're doing as a group dims and becomes something distant and manageable. He brings her a certain peace that she has not felt in so long that she'd forgotten it was possible.
She only hopes she offers him the same. Carding her fingers through the loose strands of his hair, she nuzzles in closer, matching his fervor. She presses words she cannot say into his mouth and against his cheeks and jaw and throat. She knows what she feels, understands everything that could go wrong should she let the words slip free before Lucanis is ready. Before she is ready. But in these stolen moments where they are an island unto themselves, she finds it harder and harder to bite them back.
“Amor,” he sighs into her, gripping her tightly, holding her as if she will vanish.
And she smiles. “Say it again,” she begs.
•••
Crowded around the crack in the door, they try to stay as quiet as possible. Until Bellara squeaks, clapping her hands over her mouth to stifle the excited sound.
Taash shoots the elf a warning look before her eyes shift back to the scene unfolding in the kitchen. She lets out a low groan and mutters with some measure of disgust, “Really? Right in front of the food?”
Harding rolls her eyes goodnaturedly and elbows the qunari. “I think you'll survive.”
Beside them, hands still covering her mouth in an effort to contain herself, Bellara bounces on the balls of her feet. Her wide brown eyes are pinned on the way Lucanis frames Taliesin's face with gentle hands, the two whispering in low tones with their foreheads pressed together.
Davrin places a steadying hand on the Veil Jumper’s shoulder and fights down a laugh. Leave it to Bellara to be so overcome with joy over her friends’ relationship that she nearly outs them all. But he also finds it hard to look away from the pair. He's seen Taliesin laugh and smile, he's watched her carry on with the others with varying levels of enthusiasm. But he's never seen her face light up the way it is now as the Antivan Crow presses soft kisses into her hair. She's positively glowing .
I'll be damned, the Warden thinks again.
It's not a look he's seen often, the look of two people so desperately smitten with one another. A part of him feels a bit guilty about the wager now that he's actually seen them together, unguarded and wrapped up in one another. It feels so intimate that he nearly begins nudging the others away and back toward the common room.
“He's gonna burn it,” Taash grumbles. “He's gonna ruin dinner.”
“How can you even be upset about this?!” Bellara blurts out in a whisper-yell. “Look at them!”
The qunari’s brow scrunches. “I see ‘em. You never seen two people sucking face before?”
The Veil Jumper huffs indignantly. “Can't you see they're in-”
A throat clears behind them and the group freezes, caught red-handed in their spying. Neve approaches with Emmrich, Manfred bringing up the rear. “And just what are we doing here?” the detective inquires, taking in the vaguely guilty looking assemblage before her.
“Settling a wager,” Taash says evenly, not the least bit embarrassed.
“A wager?” Emmrich echoes back, intrigued. “What manner of wager are we settling? Detective Gallus and I were not invited to weigh in.”
Neve does not wait for an explanation, nor an invitation, and leans in between Davrin and Bellara to peer into the kitchen. She huffs a laugh. “A shame too. It would have been rather easy coin.”
Taash sighs and shuffles to the side to allow Emmrich to step forward and glance in over Harding’s head. “Ah!” he says, smiling widely. “The joys of young love in full bloom. Rather wonderful to see the two of them smiling, wouldn't you agree?”
Bellara blinks back at the Watcher, mouth working around words before she manages, “You knew?”
“Well, of course I knew! We were all young once,” he explains jovially. “Good on them, I say. Not easy to find something to live for in times like these. A rather fine thing, indeed, to love and be loved.”
Davrin, Taash, and Bellara all share looks amongst each other in varying degrees of shock. None of them had spoken about love . Companionship, stolen moments, maybe a quick romp. But love?
Davrin is equal parts surprised and not to see Harding and Neve sharing a conspiratorial look. “You too?” he asks Harding.
The dwarven scout shrugs. “I've known Taliesin longer than the rest of you. It wasn't difficult to tell she'd found her place once I started paying attention. And we've all seen the way Lucanis looks at her.”
Davrin’s eyes flit back to the kitchen one last time to see the assassin lifting his lover off of the counter top, placing one last lingering kiss to her lips.
The way Lucanis looks at her…
“Shit,” the Warden hisses, waving everyone back as the Crow turns to move back toward the boiling pot of fragrant paella.
The group hastily retreats to the common room to avoid being caught.
“So,” Neve says, folding herself down on the sofa. “Your wager was what exactly?”
Bellara fidgets with her hands. “Well…we realized they'd been spending a lot of time together. Alone.”
“I assumed they'd been sneaking around for a while,” Davrin continues. “Figured they were hiding something of a more friendly nature.”
Neve raises a prompting brow at Taash.
The dragon slayer shrugs a shoulder. “I put five gold on them fucking.”
The Tevinter mage hides a startled laugh with a cough. “Are any of you really surprised by what you just saw?”
Davrin rubs at the back of his neck. “Never seen Dellamorte smile like that,” he admits. “But good on him, I guess. I think we all worried he'd just want to stick to being the lone wolf as it were.”
“Tali has always been the one to break his composure,” Bellara tacks on. “I'd never heard him laugh until she cracked a horrible joke.”
Taash leans forward, planting her elbows on her knees. “Yeah, it's all very touching. Who gets the gold?”
“What gold?” Every head whips sideways at the sound of Taliesin's voice as she walks into the room. She blinks back at the group in confusion. “Did I miss something?”
Davrin clears his throat, schooling his features into what he hopes is a composed mask. “No! No. We were just-”
“Discussing food preferences,” Taash deadpans. “I bet that you had a soft spot for spicy Antivan sausage.”
Taliesin's face scrunches at the poorly veiled innuendo. “Is that so?” she asks carefully.
Everyone is spared from having to answer directly when Lucanis exits the kitchen, a towel slung over his shoulder. “Dinner is ready,” he announces, taking in the group of companions at Taliesin's side. “Did something happen?”
Taash grins wolfishly. “Maybe you'll know the answer,” she begins. “How's our Rook like spicy Antivan sausage, Crow?”
Lucanis freezes, his eyes narrowing suspiciously before he glances at Taliesin questioningly.
“I think that answers my question,” Taash says, waving him off. The qunari then turns to Davrin, holding out an expectant hand. “Pay up.”