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Dock Town’s alleys reeked of saltwater and decay, the air thick with humidity and the copper tang of blood. Rook winced as she adjusted her grip on the dagger still clutched in her right hand, her left hooked over her shoulder and pressed firmly to her bleeding wound. The fight had been quick and brutal – Venatori never went down easy – but they’d prevailed. Barely.
“Stop squirming,” Lucanis muttered, guiding her further into the shadows of a narrow alley. His eyes flickered toward Neve, who was crouched near the entrance, scanning the street for any sign of reinforcements.
“I’m not squirming,” Rook shot back, her voice raspier than usual. “I’m swaggering. Totally different.”
“Right,” he deadpanned, steering her to sit on an overturned crate. The moment she settled, he crouched in front of her, his sharp gaze locking on the blood soaking her tunic. “Take that off.”
“Oh, Lucanis,” Rook teased, her lips quirking despite the pain. “Buy me a drink first.”
“Rook,” he replied, his tone clipped. “You’re bleeding. Let me look.”
She rolled her eyes but relented, awkwardly tugging the shirt over her head and hissing as the motion pulled at her injury. Beneath it, her back and shoulders were a patchwork of scars, old and new. Some were small, faded reminders of bar fights and skirmishes on pirate decks. Others were darker, deeper, their jagged edges telling a crueler story.
Lucanis froze. His fingers, already poised to clean her wound, hovered over her skin as his eyes traced the latticework of a lifetime of pain that was etched across her back. A thick silence settled between them, broken only by the distant shouts of Dock Town’s ever-chaotic markets.
“I know what you’re thinking,” she said quietly, her voice devoid of its usual bravado. Her fingers flexed over her knees, the urge to fidget bubbling beneath her skin. She hated being looked at like this. Hated the way her scars made people go quiet, their pity hanging in the air. “And no, I didn’t get these in a bar fight.”
He blinked, his expression unreadable. “Who did this to you?”
“Take your pick,” Rook replied, shrugging. “Slavers. Guards. One particularly pissed-off master. It’s all ancient history.”
Lucanis said nothing, but his hands twitched at his sides, clenched into fists before relaxing again. The air around him felt charged, like the moments before a storm.
“It’s fine,” she continued, though the slight tremor in her tone betrayed her. “You don’t have to say anything. You wouldn’t be the first to look at me like that.”
“Like what?” His voice was low, rough around the edges.
“Like you don’t know where to start.” She sighed, finally glancing back at him over her shoulder. Her eyes, blue-green like the Rivaini sea, were softer now, distant. “Or maybe you do, but you’re afraid to.”
Lucanis swallowed hard, his gaze flicking between the fresh wound he was supposed to tend and the countless others that crisscrossed her back. The scars weren’t random, not the kind you earned through a lifetime of adventure. No, these were deliberate – precise. Someone had meant to leave them.
“How long?” he asked, his voice tight. It was a question he hadn’t fully thought through, but the words spilled out anyway.
“Too long,” Rook replied after a pause. Her lips quirked into a faint, humourless smile, though she didn’t turn to face him again. “I was... What? Seven? Maybe eight? Honestly, I don’t remember much about the before. Just bits and pieces.”
The silence that followed was deafening. Lucanis’ fingers hovered over her skin again, unsure whether to move or pull back entirely. His usual wit, his calculated composure – they were useless here.
She finally turned to look at him then, her expression carefully neutral. “You don’t have to say anything, Lucanis. I know this is a lot to take in.”
“It’s not…” His voice cracked, and he cleared his throat before continuing. “It’s not about me. You went through that, and now you’re sitting here like it’s nothing.”
For once, Rook didn’t have a quip ready.
“It’s not nothing,” she admitted. “But it’s not everything, either. I got out. I survived. I built a life for myself with the Lords.” Her lips twitched into a faint smirk. “I mean, granted, that life involves a lot of drinking, stabbing, and stealing, but hey – could be worse.”
Her attempt at humour didn’t land; Lucanis didn’t laugh. He didn’t even smile. His gaze remained fixed on her scars, his expression dark and unreadable.
“It’s not fair,” he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper. “What they did to you. What they took from you.”
Rook shrugged, though the motion was stiff. “Life’s not fair. You know that better than anyone.”
He didn’t reply right away. Instead, he reached for the clean bandages in his satchel, his movements deliberate and precise. “It doesn’t make it right.”
“No, it doesn’t,” she agreed. “But we make do, don’t we? We patch ourselves up, put one foot in front of the other, and keep moving. What else can we do?”
Lucanis hesitated, his hand hovering just above her shoulder as though afraid to touch her. “Rook…”
“It’s okay,” she interrupted, her voice softer now. “I’ve made peace with it. The scars… They’re just reminders. Of where I’ve been, what I’ve survived. Don’t lose sleep over it. You barely sleep enough as it is.”
Lucanis scoffed, his voice dropping to a low murmur. “Easier said than done.”
He exhaled sharply, finally pressing the clean cloth to the cut. She flinched but didn’t pull away, her breath hitching at the sudden sting of elfroot on her wound. She could feel the calluses on his fingers, rough against her skin but careful, almost reverent. It sent an involuntary shiver down her spine, one she couldn’t quite suppress.
“You didn’t deserve to go through so much pain,” he muttered, his fingers trembling slightly as he worked.
Rook smiled faintly, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Neither did you.”
Her words hung between them, heavy with meaning. Lucanis didn’t look up, but she felt the way his shoulders tensed anyway, the way his hands stilled for just a moment before resuming their careful work.
“I mean it,” she continued, her tone gentler now. “Whatever it is you’re carrying around? You don’t have to carry it alone.”
Lucanis shook his head, his jaw clenching. “This isn’t about me.”
“Maybe not,” she conceded. “But it’s not just about me, either. We’ve both got our scars, Lucanis. Yours just aren’t as easy to see.”
Rook turned at the waist, her voice softening as she spoke again. “You don’t have to pretend you’re made of stone, you know. Not with me.”
His eyes snapped back to hers, something raw and vulnerable flickering in their depths before he could bury it again. “I’m not pretending.”
“Sure you’re not,” she said with a faint smirk, though there was no malice in it. “And I’m the Viscount of Kirkwall.”
Lucanis huffed a laugh despite himself, shaking his head. “You’re impossible.”
“And you’re terrible at avoiding your feelings,” she countered, wincing again as he finished tying off the bandage. “But hey, we’ve all got our flaws.”
His hands lingered for a moment longer than necessary, resting on her shoulders. “I don’t want this for you,” he said quietly, his voice barely more than a whisper. “The scars, the pain. You deserve better.”
Rook turned fully to face him, forcing him to meet her gaze. “And you don’t?”
His breath hitched, and for a moment, the world around them seemed to fade. The distant noises of Dock Town, the occasional clink from Neve’s prosthetic as she shifted her weight – it all melted away, leaving just the two of them in the dim, cramped alley.
“You’re not broken, Lucanis,” she said, her voice steady but gentle. “And neither am I. We’re just... Patched up. Stitched together with whatever scraps we could find. And that’s enough.”
He didn’t reply, but the look in his eyes said more than words ever could. It was a strange mix of longing and hesitation, as though he wanted to reach out but didn’t trust himself to do so.
Rook broke the silence with a smirk, leaning back slightly. “Besides, chicks dig scars.”
Lucanis rolled his eyes, the tension breaking just enough for him to shake his head in exasperation. “You’re incorrigible.”
“And you love it,” she shot back without thinking, her grin widening – until she realized what she’d said. Her cheeks flushed, the teasing bravado faltering for the first time all night.
Lucanis raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching as though fighting back a smile. “Do I?”
Before she could respond, Neve’s voice cut through the moment. “Venatori, two streets over. Moving fast.”
Lucanis stood in an instant, his demeanour shifting back to that of the calculating assassin. He held a hand out to Rook, helping her to her feet.
“Ready?” he asked.
“Always,” she replied, her grin returning. She adjusted her grip on her dagger, ignoring the dull throb in her shoulder. “Let’s get out of here before they can ruin my night any further.”
As the three of them slipped back into the chaotic maze of Dock Town, Rook couldn’t help but glance at Lucanis out of the corner of her eye. There was a new tension in the set of his jaw, a storm brewing just beneath the surface.
She didn’t press him, though. Not yet. They had plenty of time to unravel each other’s knots.
For now, survival came first.
But later? Later, she’d make him see what she already knew; that even patched-up things could still be whole.