Work Text:
“What about flowers? Quin likes flowers, right?” Ariadne Mercar asked, glancing through the broadsheets spread across the table. “Shit, I don’t know anything about flowers.”
Neve Gallus sat on the sofa across from her, legs propped up on the cushions while her prosthetic rested against the furniture… in case it was needed. Smoke curled from her mouth, the pipe in her hand smelling like the plant she liked to smoke on her off days. The Viper was in the chair beside her, eyes shadowed by his hat, the rest of his face hidden by a veil. Neither replied while Ariadne searched her brain for a solution.
What did one get their boyfriend for Sweetheart’s Day?
“Flowers are a little cliche, don’t you think?” When she glanced up, Ariadne noticed Neve was staring at the pile of papers she’d been sorting. “There’s a reason why it’s popular in the romance serials.”
Sighing, Ariadne held her head in her hands, staring at the mess in front of her. Tarquin was always so damned difficult when it came to anything involving romance. The last time she’d tried to give him a gift for Sweetheart’s Day, the man blushed from head to toe before locking himself in the training room for hours. Of course, that’d been before Elgar’nan and Solas and everything else. Back when they were two idiot kids trying to get on Ashur’s good side.
“Not all is lost, Rook.” Ashur shifted forward to grab a sheet buried beneath the others. One that she’d discounted earlier as too much work. Of course the damned Divine wanted something elaborate.
But she’d never say that to his face.
“I can’t cook.” Ariadne muttered as she took the paper from him, the paper that contained a time consuming and expensive recipe on an insert in the ‘romance’ section. “Kind of hard to learn when your dad has people to do it for you.”
Ashur stared at her over the top of his veil. A lesser person would’ve shrunk beneath those piercing eyes but Ariadne Mercar knew where he slept. And who he slept with. And how many sugars he took with his tea. Not that that mattered in the grand scheme of things, but one never knew when information would be important.
Neve puffed on her pipe before blowing it out from the side of her mouth, away from the other two. Then she shifted her foot to the floor, crossing her stump over her leg. Ariadne didn’t know if she liked the curl of her lips or not. “You’re forgetting the simple solution to that problem.”
A pause stretched between them, and Neve waited for her to catch on to what she was implying. When Ariadne failed to respond, the detective rolled her eyes.
“Lucanis.”
"Oh.” Ariadne took another look at the recipe in her hands, trying to figure out where she’d get all of the ingredients to begin with.
Minrathous was sparsely supplied past the immediate things: the most basic of foods and building materials to help with reconstruction. The Shadows were already spread thin. To find anything to cook a fancy dinner with was going to be difficult, if not impossible in the current conditions.
“Do you think he’d be willing? I mean, Treviso-”
Neve leaned across the table between them, placing a hand on her forearm. The smile on her lips spoke of secrets Ariadne didn’t want to know. She liked not knowing the intimate details of the others lives. Kept her from getting involved if someone had a falling out. “I have my ways.”
“You’re making this overcomplicated.” Ashur sighed, pinching the spot where his nose was hidden beneath the veil. “Ask Lorelei.”
Neither sounded preferable if Ariadne was honest with herself. Lucanis was a perfectionist when it came to his meals. Lorelei was firmly on the side of experimentation and throwing whatever sounded good into a pot together.
“It all ends up in the same place anyway.”
Her father always said it was the Ferelden in Lorelei that made her say that, but Ariadne had to agree with her reasoning. As long as it tasted good, who cared?
Too much like her papa, she supposed. One of the many things her father complained about where she was concerned, even as he ran an entire country.
“How about a compromise?” Ariadne began to gather the broadsheets in an attempt to end the conversation. Her friends eyed her with suspicion, but she continued on, knowing they’d never give in if left to their own devices. “I ask both and we can see what comes of it.”
A laugh burst from Neve’s mouth before she covered it with a hand, almost as if she was embarrassed it came from her. “Oh, poor Lucanis.”
No, it was going to be poor Ariadne before the evening was out, she was sure of it.
~~~~
The entire hideout smelled like pumpkin bread, a request her father had made when she went to him looking for any ingredients he could spare. She’d agreed because there wasn’t much she could deny him, even if he wasn’t the Archon, and now she was standing in the kitchen wearing an apron that didn’t much matter because she was already covered in flour.
Lucanis’ attire, however, was spotless. Lorelei, too, somehow missed the memo that today they’d all be getting filthy. While the First Talon of the Antivan Crows was busy hand pressing his own damned pasta, Lorelei was shelling mussels, the bucket sitting beside her on the floor full of empty shells.
Ariadne felt useless as she watched the two of them work. Lucanis rolled out the dough into thin sheets, the pasta cutter beside him prepped for the next part of the recipe. Lorelei hummed a tune under her breath, her silver hair pulled back into an intricate braid, more relaxed than Ari had seen her in a long time.
“Ariadne, could you stuff the leaves?”
With a nod, she wiped the flour from her hands before reaching for the bowl of soaked leaves, spilling some of the water over the top and onto the table. Lorelei paused in her work to glare at Ariadne, like a mom trying to hold her tongue but not willing to let the issue completely pass. Sheepishly, Ari wiped the water away with a kitchen towel. Satisfied, the Shadow Dragons merchant finished her own chore, happy enough to ignore her some more.
Stuffed vine leaves weren’t something she’d made before, but how hard could it be? All one had to do was take the mince mixture and roll it into the leaves. She might not know much about cooking, but she could manage that much.
With renewed determination, Ariadne scooped a spoonful of the mince, rice, and vegetable mixture before rolling it between her hands, forming it into a ball. Then she placed the ball into the center of the flattened leaf, folding the edges around it. With a wooden toothpick, she tried to pin it together only for the leaf to tear, filling spilling out.
“Shit.”
When she tried a second time with a different leaf, she realized too late that she’d used too much filling and it wouldn’t close at all, only tearing this one as well.
Lucanis appeared at her side a moment later, taking her hands in his and gently guiding her away from the bowl. “Ariadne, it’ll be fine.”
Glancing up at him, she noticed the dampness on her cheeks. With an embarrassing sniff, Ariadne wiped the tears away, knowing how stupid it was to get upset over food of all things. “This is why I don’t cook.” Frustrated, she pressed the palms of her hands into her eyes, stars exploding in the black space she saw there. When she pulled her hands away, the stars continued to dance in front of her, leaving Lucanis surrounded by the imaginary celestial objects. “Tarquin deserves so much more than I can give him.”
The Crow shook his head slightly, a gentle smile crossing his face. “Rook, this isn’t about the food, is it?”
Grunting, she turned away from him only to find Lorelei staring. “I don’t know what he sees in me. Even now, after everything, I’m still that screwed up kid that can’t do anything right.”
“You saved all of us.” Lorelei stated, lifting the bucket of mussel shells and dumping them into the bin for later mulching, never taking her eyes from Ariadne, as if breaking eye contact would diminish her words. “The Shadows may exist because of the Viper and your father, but we’re still here because of you.”
‘Only after fucking everything up’ nearly left her lips, but the look on Lorelei’s face stopped her. The last thing she needed was to end up a victim of a mussel shell shiv.
“Come on.” Lucanis pressed, putting a hand on her shoulder and squeezing with such affection that her heart almost ached at how kind he was. “I’ll show you how to wrap them properly. Then next time, you can make all of them yourself.”
As if there would be a next time.
But she didn’t say that.
Instead, Ariadne Mercar let Lucanis show her the trick to rolling the perfect stuffed vine leaves, as if he’d been doing such a thing his entire life. Lorelei went back to prepping the mussels in their sauce, and the three of them continued to cook among the delicious sounds and smells, Ariadne feeling a little lighter than before.
~~~~
The hideout was quiet, the shadows as long as the night was dark. The scent of pumpkin and cinnamon lingered in the air, fresh shellfish and something he couldn’t name mixed in. Resisting the urge to sniff stupidly, Tarquin continued further into the building that’d been his home for years, even now, though it was crumbling in places. The destruction from Elgar’nan was still ugly to the eye, but things were slowly returning to something more than normal.
Something better.
Pulling the cloak from his shoulders, Tarquin shook it out, the raindrops clinging to the fabric coming loose with a satisfying plop plop plop to the floor. Then he secured it to a coat hook before continuing in, eyes adjusting to the candlelight.
Ashur sat at the bar, a drink sitting beside the pile of paperwork in front of him. Tarquin could guess how long the Viper had been there by how warm the drink was. If he looked into the cup, he’d probably find it was still full. Sliding into the seat next to his boss, Tarquin raised an eyebrow at the pile of dishes in the drying rack just on the other side of the counter.
“What happened here? Smells like a fancy restaurant in the good part of Minrathous.” Tarquin side eyed him to find the Viper didn’t even bother to glance his way. “Did everyone have a party while I was gone?”
Ashur hummed under his breath, turning to the next page in his report. “You’re late.”
“For the party?” He hated when Ashur got like this, talking in riddles when he could just as easily tell him what the hell he was on about. With a sniff, Tarquin tried to determine what’d been served. Some shellfish, that was certain. Also the cinnamon and cloves of pumpkin bread. He’d smelled that many times before. Especially back when Dorian Pavus lurked here. “Did anyone save me some?”
Sighing, Ashur left his seat to walk to the other side of the bar before bending down to rummage around beneath the counter. After a moment, he stood with a lukewarm plate of food in hand, courtesy of an enchanted hot plate the Shadows used to keep food warm for late missions. He dropped the plate on the spot in front of Tarquin with a thud.
When Ashur finally met his gaze, the intensity of those teal eyes was like nothing he’d ever seen before. The Viper was scary to his enemies for a reason. “Quin, can I give you some advice?”
“Do I have a choice?”
The Viper wasn’t amused, but ignored the question completely. “The job is important. Now, more than ever, do the Shadows need to help Minrathous. So much is uncertain after the Evanurus. But there is still something more important than that.”
Ashur fell silent, staring at Tarquin with those clear eyes, not moving, not speaking. Barely even blinking. When Tarquin didn’t respond, Ashur leaned forward on the bar top, tapping the plate with a finger. “Love.”
Tarquin’s gaze fell to the contents of the plate: pasta topped with mussels in a butter sauce, stuffed vine leaves, and toasted flatbread with eggplant dip. All of his favorites on one plate.
And that’s when it hit him.
Shit.
“She’s still afraid, Quin. Of the present, of the future. You know she has nightmares, but pretends they don’t bother her. Rook tries to do too much for everyone else, yet does nothing for herself.”
“She’s always been that way.”
Ashur hummed his agreement, straightening to a standing position, the intense gaze softening as he glanced at the food. “You would know that best.”
“She thinks she doesn’t matter. That she ruins everything she touches.” Tarquin swallowed around the lump forming in his throat, realizing he’d done little over the last few months since she’d returned home to prove her wrong on both points.
“She retired to your room when you didn’t come back for dinner,” Ashur continued, gathering up his reports, clearly done for the night. A pang of guilt stabbed him in the heart hearing that, knowing she’d been waiting for him and he didn’t even realize it. “Don’t make her wait any longer.”
Ashur left him without another word, the silence pressing on his ears until it hurt. Blowing air out through his nose, Tarquin lifted the warm plate and headed to their room. Eating could wait until after he saw her, held her, let her know he appreciated her for everything she did for him, even when he was an ass.
The bedroom was dim, only a singular lamp sitting on a side table with the flame flickering, the light dancing along the dark walls. Everything was where it should be: Ariadne’s brush was sitting beside his razor on the dresser, a knitted blanket (a gift from Rana) was folded at the end of their bed, Ariadne’s staff was leaning against the wall, and the book Tarquin had been reading the night before was still sitting open on the nightstand.
And in the middle of the messy blankets was Ariadne herself: golden-brown hair splayed across her pillow as she curled into her body, fast asleep, the outside world gone for the one inside of her head. She wore one of his old shirts, a red tunic he thought he’d misplaced weeks ago.
Of course, he never looked in the most obvious place.
Setting the plate on the dresser, Tarquin moved to his side of the bed, watching as she slept peacefully for once, her breathing deep, her sighs soft. Most nights were difficult for them both, the nightmares plaguing them whenever they closed their eyes. Their dead friends, the darkspawn, the dragons, the blood magic… they came back with a vengeance, each moment relived in slow moving horror.
Sinking into the mattress beside her, Tarquin brushed some of the hair out of her face, getting reacquainted with the image of her after so many hours away. His touch stirred her awake, and she blinked, amber eyes glowing in the lantern light. Her irises reminded him of bronze, always shining and beautiful. Her gaze shifted to him and a smile slowly spread across her lips, softening the curves of her face.
“There you are.” She stretched then, a cat in all but body, more relaxed than she’d been in months. The edge of his shirt rode up her legs, exposing a delicious naked thigh he was forced to ignore. Damn Ashur for being right. “This is a surprise.”
“Today is full of surprises.” With a nod of his head in the direction of the dresser, her eyes flicked to where the plate sat, steaming curling into the air. “You didn’t have to do all of that.”
She shifted to a sitting position, eyes avoiding his, her fingers playing with the thread coming off of his tunic. “I barely did anything. You can thank Lucanis and Lorelei.”
Hooking a finger beneath her chin, he gently forced her to meet his gaze, unwilling to let her continue on downplaying her importance, her accomplishments. Ariadne couldn’t resist the pull of his eyes and she immediately glanced up, blush blooming over her cheeks.
“You know you’re more than the Archon’s daughter to me.” His fingertips brushed across her jaw and over her cheek, skin soft beneath his touch, and he traced the tattoo she wore proudly, amazed at the intricate details even years later. “You’re more than Rook, more than a Shadow.”
Ariadne’s hand came up to curl around his wrist gently, stilling his movement to press a kiss to his fingers. The tenderness nearly undid him as they sat there, the scent of her filling his nose no matter how much he tried to ignore it. Cinnamon from the bread she cooked earlier, but something more beneath it still.
Her magic.
There was an warmth to it, like the feel of hot peppers against the tongue, intense and painful, lingering there even after you finished the last of it. He wanted to bury his face in her neck and get lost in the smell, committing every part of her to memory for the long missions when he wouldn’t be able to return home to her arms.
Leaning closer, their foreheads nearly touching, he met her eyes again, enjoying how the amber looked like flames in the low light. They were a perfect match for the fire that burned in her chest.
“To me, you’ll always be Ari.” He tangled his free hand in her hair, the strands slipping through his fingers like water. “That stuck up brat of Mercar’s.”
She laughed, unable to stop herself, and moved closer. “You love kissing that stuck up brat.”
“Hmmm.”
Leaning against his chest, she let out a little sigh, her mind elsewhere. “I wonder what he’d think of me now.”
Tarquin heard the longing in her voice and he wrapped his arms around her, holding her close. “If he’s anything like Dorian or Cadash, he’d be proud as hell. I know I am.”
Her body relaxed against him, silence following his words, and he wasn’t sure where her mind had gone, but he held her nonetheless, her hand playing with the embroidery on the leathers he wore. When she finally found her voice, it was quiet. “Thank you.”
Tarquin shifted her onto his lap, resting his chin against her head. For years, he’d always known Ariadne as fire: raw, burning, intense. But here in his arms, she was nothing short of divine.
“Always.” Brushing a hand down her back, he reached the edge of the tunic where it hung tantalizing against her hips. “Now, why are you wearing my shirt?”
“Oh, uh…” She trailed off, burying her face in his chest, as if she was actually embarrassed about the answer. She mumbled something he couldn’t hear, voice muffled by the clothing he wore.
“What was that?”
“It smells like you.” She sat up to look at him, the blush on her cheeks now disappearing beneath the collar of the shirt. It would’ve been maddening if she didn’t look so damned cute at the same time. “When you’re gone, it makes me feel safe.”
Tarquin smiled, capturing her lips with his, knowing in his heart he’d never give up what he had with Ariadne even if his life depended on it. Because she was his reason for living and without her, the world would be entirely too boring.