#// no matter what path emmrich takes

[thanatologie]

even if it doesn't like...shake my overall thoughts on the whole thing (like bruh do you realize how fucking unhinged it is to begin with), playing through the lich path has me reframing a lot with like...firsthand experience (amanda's crusade for playing/watching/reading a thing yourself because it is different continues), not least of which is the argument before tearstone island.

like, yeah, okay, this is bog standard for either version, right. in the mortal path he's working himself up to give rook an out, but in the lich path...

and you know a lot of the...actual gut punch here is strictly in his voice because he doesn't have a face, how it frames things - you can read it all day long and still not know that he's clearly meandering to a topic that's gonna go over like the hindenburg, because that's not a statement, that turns up at the end when he says stay back a ways, there's a lot of hesitance in it.

like rook's already squaring up for it.

buddy you're in the wrong genre to have that work and with the wrong kind of hero, and your logic is actually pretty shitty, but honestly it's not like emmrich runs on logic to begin with, he feels things real big, overthinks everything, makes assumptions.

also let's take a moment to appreciate the i'll be far more difficult to kill bit. oh, so you're saying lichdom wasn't the complete cure all for that whole dying thing. (i mean, we knew that in the beginning, right, we all knew that.) but i just think it's interesting that he upsold it as the fix-all when i'm pretty sure lichdom has some heavy limitations on it.

sidebar: the ethereal reverb his voice takes on gives me the shivers for some reason. like if nothing else you'd hope his voice would at least stay the same, and it doesn't. nothing does.

gee, idk, rook, maybe it's because emmrich's fear of death was never addressed in actuality and now you get to be the lucky winner of emmrich trying to wrap you in bubble wrap because he's terrified you'll die.

should have brought back manfred.

like, you know, maybe you should have entered that into your lichdom spreadsheet, i guess, but like. honestly what did he think would happen??? like of course he is, and as big as he feels things, of course he'd carry it forever, whether he went a wayward path or not, like. sincerely, what did he think was going to happen? they'd live happily ever after forever and ever?

i think it's interesting that this is the choice for:

like this is where i once again wonder wtf rook was even thinking because like again: when has this man ever not been Like That about anything. ever. in the entire time you've known him.

this in particular kills me, part of me thinks he'd expected some detachment on his part, on things like all those things he's feels so deeply to be dulled. well, he chose poorly if that's the case, because he has an absolute bear of a time even making eye contact during this whole conversation, he keeps looking at the floor.

i mean i don't know what else to say about this that i haven't already said, but it's true. emmrich would explode if he tried to hold things in, up to and including his well ackshuallys.

also, this guy's still not over his parents, he'll probably never get over manfred completely (i mean he and manfred spent twenty years together, you don't just get over that), so uh. i sincerely doubt he's going to be able to honor that one. just saying.

and see, we almost ended this on a good note. we almost did it. this is a fairly reasonable request, i think, on emmrich's part. it's a world away from maybe hang back because i'm invincible or some shit, it's a reasonable thing to ask someone you love to be careful.

aaaand rook ruins it.

i mean...he has a point? like, hey, we're gonna go try to kill literal gods tomorrow, could you please at least try to be careful a little? is not something you get your dander up over.

rook, buddy. pal. friendo. he was like this when you signed on to this two man rowing team, what makes you think he's going to change now? expecting him to, when - again - you're going up against literal gods is maybe being kind of...i don't know. insensitive? jerkish? when you knew he was like this?

should have resurrected manfred.

honestly in this version of the whole fight thing i'm actually glad to see emmrich get a little annoyed about it here tbh, because he's been showing his belly since rook walked in. like the first part, yeah, you can't ask someone to hang back like that in something like this, but tempering it to a reasonable request and still getting shit for it?

nah, mans is correct in his exasperation. i, too, am exasperated with rook right now because emmrich is not being the unreasonable one.

sure, rook's correct here. absolutely, emmrich has transferred that fear of death to them 100%. but you know what? is not helpful or productive? being like this. it's basically the equivalent of stomping your foot because you got told no. but i appreciate that you can tell rook immediately absolutely regrets saying it.

thiskillstheskeleton.jpg

if this man could still burst into tears he'd absolutely be bursting into tears at this point like!!!! that hurt him.

the ending, the we should get ready thing, is still bog standard i think for all versions of this fight except you know!!! at this point there's no manfred to ask him what's going on and for him to be tetchy with, johanna's keeping her mouth shut, and it's just emmrich. in an otherwise empty room, left to sit with it and stew.

it's funny because the mortal argument puts me mostly squarely on rook's side, he's being ridiculous. like he's literally trying to break up with them because he's scared they maybe don't see it as forever after the way he does instead of using his fucking words.

but this one...man, i feel sorry for him. like, yeah, he came out the gate wrong, knew it was gonna be the wrong thing to say but said it anyway, and then tempered it and got his head bitten off for it.

[turbo-virgins]

not to sound like your high school english teacher preaching about something as stupid as online discourse about a fantasy rpg, but some of y’all should maybe include textual evidence in your arguments cause sometimes I genuinely don’t know what the hell you’re talking about 💀

[zombolouge]

The thing is, it's not about the Therapy Speak. It's not that everyone who disliked DAV hates healthy communication as a dynamic in fiction. It's not even about only being allowed to be a good guy, really, because most of us did do that anyways (though the option not being there is a loss I grieve even if I never chose it myself, but that's another rant for another day).

It's that DAV does all that stuff at the expense of being believable. At the expense of characters being permitted to have personalities. At the expense of emotions behaving the way emotions actually work for people. At the expense of letting the plot build tension through the stakes we're forced to grapple with.

Half the fics out there take the conflicts between the characters in the previous games and resolve them. I do it myself ALL THE TIME because I like to find a path to resolution through just about any conflict, that's what fascinates me about telling these stories. But the higher the stakes, the harder a conflict is to resolve. You CAN resolve any conflict, you CAN communicate healthily through any emotion, but you can't skip the time it takes to process it all to even be able to communicate it. As someone whose got CPTSD and recovered from many Traumas, I can tell you that the TIME it takes to work through it is not something you can fast track, and the ups and downs of your emotions on that journey can't be skipped. It doesn't matter if you know exactly how to do it, exactly how it's going to feel, or exactly what the end state will be, you CAN'T speedrun it.

DAV has stakes that are astronomical, but nobody treats them that way. Nobody experiences denial - a common psychological reaction to being presented with information that shatters your worldview. Nobody expresses any distrust in the establishments handing out this information - something common among cultures that have at times been at war, even if those wars are "resolved" in the present. Nobody really ever breaks down - something that any person is capable of under extreme circumstances, especially when facing multiple crises of faith that challenge everything they thought they knew about themselves. Nobody blows their lid because they've been repressing the hell out of everything. Nobody grieves for southern Thedas, the entire thing dying off screen and giving you, the player, NO way to engage with it in any way.

Not to mention there are barely any inter-party conflicts, when there should be a lot more. Why is everyone (except Spite) fine with it if Emmrich sacrifices Manfred to become a lich? Why is everyone fine with Illario potentially being set free if he was working with the venatori and Elgar'nan, two sources that have actively attacked everyone in the party? Why doesn't Neve resent Lucanis if Treviso is picked? Why doesn't Harding get pissed off at Nevarra for having a secret society of liches that never helped during the Inquisition's war against the breach and corypheus? Why doesn't Harding feel ANYTHING about Ferelden and the rest of the south? Shouldn't Harding resent the fact that she's stuck in the north while her home dies?

All of these conflicts ARE resolvable, but not easily. And it's not believable that they're never brought up. It's not believable that these characters skip through everything that happens with like, barely a frowny face most of the time. In DAO, Alistair leaves if you don't treat his conflicts with respect. In DA2, your party members try to kill each other if you don't pay attention to their conflicts/emotional needs. In DAI, people can leave or betray you, Cassandra throws a chair at Varric and tries to body him out a window. ALL of these can be resolved but it takes effort, and the characters get to SHOW that they're bothered by them and struggling the way a person would when faced with those emotions.

The problem isn't the therapy speak, or that everyone is loyal and won't leave, or that they aren't mean to each other enough. It's that it's toxic positivity. It's toxic as fuck to imply that anger or grief should be smiled over or else you're giving up, and it's damaging to people to avoid engaging with their own negative emotional responses to extremely negative stimuli. It's pasting optimism over very real, very weighty issues, sweeping it all under the rug, and you keep waiting for the lid to blow off the pressure cooker that creates, but it never does. It never becomes anything that emulates real emotions, which is why the whole damn thing feels hollow. Everything's dying and nobody cares, not even about themselves, and that's NOT healthy communication.

It's bullshit, half-assed storytelling that didn't tell us the actual story, just the vague idea of what it could have been.

[bunabi]

I finished Veilguard btw so here's my long thoughts (be warned I've been writing notes during my entire playthrough so this is very long) for folks who want it:

My favorite parts of DAV:

Best level design in any DA so far. The platforming grew on me, and I think the levels were well-thought out and mostly fun to navigate. Arlathan Forest was exhausting but other areas felt nicely balanced with branching paths, hidden rooms, etc. Exploration in smaller contained maps done right imo.

Mage combat is really satisfying at higher levels. Pure ranged combat is totally impossible unless you have Davrin and Taash popping taunts back to back, but dropping a massive AOE while fighting close-range feels good too.

Being able to auto-equip and compare new gear is great.

Same with the codex entries. Not having to hunt down whatever note I just picked up is a huge improvement.

Upgrading equipment via duplicates incentivized treasure chest hunting, which I would have otherwise skipped lol. It really helped me slow down and take time exploring areas, and I appreciated that.

The final act didn't make the previous 70+ hours feel better, my fault for spoiling most of it for myself, but it was neat. Cool set pieces, cool fights. I was worried Elgar'nan was gonna have the same moveset as the Regrets, but his final battle was great.

Oh, I forgot Felassan! His notes were a tragic delight. Such a good man. Funny too. They didn't need to kill Varric to make Solas less sympathetic...I think Felassan's betrayal(s) serve that purpose well already.

Rook & Their Faction:

Without rehashing what I've said over the past few weeks: this is my least favorite protagonist.

Being a funny and sarcastic and irreverent hero in a DA game is not new. Not having a choice in the matter is. The Inquisitor was pretty fixed in their tone too (cant even choose a personality for them in CC) but even they had better aggressive options available.

Folks say not to judge Rook's depth by a Lord of Fortune playthrough but since factions are asymmetrical on purpose here are my impressions:

The Lords of Fortune didn't contribute to my run in any meaningful way other than getting Emmrich hot which is not unique, as it turns out, to any particular background. In fact, learning Natalene was a galley slave as an aside detracted from my experience. Being a former galley slave, former Circle mage (again: Rivain doesn't have Circles), semi-Dalish city elf with DIY vallaslin is unreal. Especially as characters continuously imply Rook is a young 20-something. The fact this wasn't immediately caught and course-corrected shows -- to me -- how hectic and spread-thin DAV's development really was. :(

Story & Antagonists:

Elgar'nan and Ghilan'nain have cackling witch disease. No motivations outside of power. That was a little disappointing. Was also hoping they'd at least comment on Rook/Davrin/Bellara's vallaslin but they're too busy plotting world domination to really notice. Love their designs though. I'd love to hear a deep dive on how they animated Ghil's tentacles.

Veilguard feels like an immediate follow-up to Trespasser, not the ten year timeskip it says it is. I wonder if that's a symptom of adapting the live service story (content that was likely meant to stretch, similar to Anthem and Destiny, over a decade) for single-player.

I miss the politically-motivated meddling. Every villain is allied with the Evanuris. We needed some that aren't. The Right and Left Hand of the Black Divine, corrupt brothers of the Imperial Chantry, the agents of the Archon, a Minrathous street gang, some Rivaini pirates, anything, anyone.

It's crazy how all elven resistance seemed to evaporate with the dissolution of the Dread Wolf Army. As much as I'd hate seeing them duped and betrayed by Solas…I prefer that to just pretending everything's fine now. I could easily see alienage elves and slaves take Cyrian's path, desperate for change no matter the source, especially since oppression is all they've known and there's no end to it in sight. Especially with their gods confirmed as the source of the blight. All downhill from here I fear.

The Butcher. Would. That voice and that frame....it purred I fear. But even he was not immune to cackling witch disease. Wish he stuck around longer for personal reasons. My South is under siege and I aint talking about Ferelden.

Combat:

I found myself switching builds a lot, which was nice and kept things fresh. That being said: DAV needed loadouts for skills and equipment and a menu showing active passive skills + enchantments. A QOL update for this stuff would have been amazing. I want to try an archer run, but I dread (🐺) fussing with skill tree nodes again.

After fighting Mythal (my first full dragon fight) I was disappointed how all dragons share her same attack patterns. They didn't have to reinvent the wheel or anything -- this was the case with dragon battles in DAI and I thought it was fine -- but Mythal of all enemies should have been unique.

High-level demons are limited to Rage and Pride. High-level darkspawn are limited to Ogres. I miss those little scrungly lookin' despair demons and nasty ass hurlock emissaries. After 60 hours I did get a little tired of the same handful of mobs over and over.

Companions & NPCs:

The Veilguardians feel like my kids. Except Emmrich who's absolutely convinced he's in an age-gap relationship with my older lady Rook. It's not that they're uniquely dependent or rudderless, it's that their struggles are solved with nurturing pep talks. Reaffirm their worth, give them a hug, and all that inner turmoil is cancelled. Rich coming from the 'I should have been able to influence my companions more in DAI' girl, but Rook's impact on the Veilguard, the way their doubts vanish completely via some life coaching, feels off.

Speculation: I think the companions were originally planned to be NPCs. Their written banter in some of the notes, their verbal banter throughout the Lighthouse, they feel like they're meant to stay in the hub and act as quest-givers in the live service game. Especially with how Rook is excluded. That's fine btw it just helps explains some things. (Just remembered something else: when you talk to quest NPCs out in the world and the camera focuses in on the conversation, you can't see your companions. They chime in with disembodied voices, always hidden out of frame. That also gives me the feeling they were added later. Not confirmed btw just my hunch!)

Torn about Taash. I love them for breaking the 'agreeable companion' monotony but hate the ~animalistic race~ tropes they were saddled with. I've had issues with Weekes' handling of race and culture in the past. I'm disappointed to see it continue a decade later. I'll leave it there. Sten cannot smell ovulating coochie!

I tried to kill Lucanis during the final assault. Had full faction strength but I didn't complete his personal quest. It didn't work. Sorry Zevran!

Shathann's VA was acting her ass off. Great performance. Absolute bars from Taash's VA during their scenes too.

I dreaded (🐺) opening the Lighthouse map to see who wanted to talk. I usually love chopping it up and getting to know my party; that's my favorite part of any DA game. But so many conversations were just spent restating the obvious (Bellara is worried about The Gods and her brother, Harding is worried about her powers and Solas, Davrin is worried about the griffons and Gloom Howler, you know like in case you forgot). Running person-to-person-to-person and feeling no sense of accomplishment or progress for it seriously drained me.

The Inquisitor… I assumed vowing to stop Solas would block my Lavellan from pining and questioning herself after a decade apart and two very clear rejections. She kept asking whether he could still be reasoned with even in the midst of the final operation. I'm disappointed how little that choice mattered in the end. The second-hand embarrassment was crazyyy.

Romance:

Now this part is a little unique. Sorry for what I'm about to say about Emmrich. If it helps: I found him the most fun of all the companions. He's handsome, thoughtful, and has a fascinating past. But I ended up being dissatisfied by the end, and not just because of being soft-locked into a May-December fling, cringe commentary from Rook, and feeling like I was straight-up harassing Emmrich in early flirting dialogue.

The main issue: I don't care for the Mourn Watch. I like the Mourn Watch characters, but the organization makes me crazy. We hear so little about how they function in the context of an Andrastian nation like Nevarra. Summoning the dead in a world that still believes souls join the Maker's side in the Fade is huge. I wanted to really dig into discussions on the afterlife but in the end I'm supposed to go 'waow cool skeletons' and forget that religion is such an important facet of Thedas. I was so bummed!

I made him a Lich because he didn't seem to care either way. Reuniting him with Manfred is morally good, turning him into an eternal protector of the Necropolis is morally good. Emmrich is happy with whatever, so I gave him whatever, and I said 'whatever' when it was all over. My god is that man cute, but the romance overall just didn't do it for me.

Should've known when I saw his rotunda lol Bioware you sly dogs you got me again!

Personal final thoughts:

Well? I don't think I'm sad anymore, but I am left with complicated feelings. Obviously things are a little different for me being an EA Partner and getting an idea of just how much work has gone into making the game exist period. And I think because I can't blame it all on one person, shit all over it, and move on that these feelings are just kinda churning with nowhere to go.

Things could have been handled better. Didn't like the attempt to hide the world states until launch, or the dismissive comments from writers about it. Didn't like the AMA answers. And this isn't really my business but I'll say it anyway: I feel like the community council was thrown to the wolves, having to base their DA4 impressions around the sliver of content they were allowed to see, and having a much more hands-off role than implied.

I hope DAV is taken as an opportunity to refocus, double-down on what makes Dragon Age so beloved, and lean into those strengths unapologetically. Easier said than done -- as much as I loved Swen's speech about creating games free of marketing expectations and mimicking the latest trends that's often times impossible -- but I want to believe it can be done in this case.

Anyway both Sabine & my antibiotics are complete and I'm overcoming my moodiness and getting back to work on commissions! I've cured the Blight in more ways than one! 😄

[senior-mourn-watcher]

Can I just point out that Emmrich is a fking nerd?

I bet half the crap he does and says on the romance path is because he read it worked in a book.

When he is in control of the outcome, he is secure, uses pretty words, and confidently goes about trying to dazzle the fk out of Rook. I mean look at that smooth mtherfker.

And then Rook makes him constantly break that act by blowing his dang mind. He's got to process and reorient himself to find more words again. I'm convinced this is what actually attracted him to Rook, tbh. The fact this person can just swoop in and knock the words straight out of his mouth. He must be used to giving it, not getting it. Dammit Rook.

And you know the romance scene? I imagine this man went to the Necropolis to get his fellow Mourn Watchers on board with the plan to retake Minrathous, which doesn't take long at all because Myrna and Vorgoth are already of mind to join, so now he has all this extra time. So he finds a secluded spot, cleans it up, places the same flower (Shroud's Kiss) around the sarcophagus (you can see them!), then goes back to grab Rook and bring them straight there to "check for anything left over from the curse Solas left on Rook." Convenient excuse.

I bet he got that idea from a romance novel, too.

Mortal Emmrich is like "Darling, we are doing this before I lose my chance with you again," but the man is so nervous he still makes poor Rook make the first move anyway. Silly.

Lich Emmrich is more like "fk this is just a glamour... What now? How does one kiss a skull?? I DONT HAVE ORGANS!! Rook, help! I have angst! Oh- right reminding me for the upteenth time that you're into it, you little weirdo. Idk how this will work but fk it we ball."

Poor Rook. No matter if they are experienced or not they still gotta take the reins.

[galedekarios]

emmrich & regret

emmrich: rook? darling? i wanted to say... rook: yeah, about that argument... emmrich: (sighs) it's no time to apologise, is it? rook: we'll talk back home, emmrich. i promise.

currently thinking about the fact that this is the last thing that emmrich and rook truly talk about before everything falls apart on tearstone island and they can't even do it in private, because the one chance they had, their moment to do so turned into an argument.

and not only did one friend die.

and not only is another friend missing, presumably also dead.

no, on top of all that tragedy -- that affects them all because the companions do care about each other. no matter who you picked, it's tragic: emmrich's picknick with harding and the long talks about their pasts, his discussions and warmth with bellara, his respect for neve and the little ways she cares so much, his friendship with davrin and the way both learn from each other in how to care for those in their care -- rook is gone, too. vanished.

and the last private moment they had ended in a heated argument.

i am willing to bet that "we'll talk back home, emmrich. i promise." is something that haunts emmrich during those long, long weeks that rook is trapped.

"we'll talk back home, emmrich. i promise." - not only is the use of 'home' very poignant and loaded and heatbreaking, but... they never do get to talk. then they never do get home. it's only he who does.

it's a promise broken.

it's a huge regret.

it's one of those little things that seem overwhelming in the face of loss and grief. the little things that you never got to do. the little things that you never get to make right. the little things that you never get so say. the way should have, could have, would have makes you spiral.

and emmrich would know, does have experience with it after losing his parents so abruptly, as well as within his professional duty's as a watcher, yet i think that would weigh heavily on him.

he's not prepared to lose rook. we see that time and time again in his human path and in his lich path as well:

emmrich: i will lose you to time, rook. what if i can’t bear that for eternity? - emmrich: i’m afraid i’ll mourn you forever.

i think it also explains very well why he insists on the visit to the necropolis, despite what's looming over the group. at first i thought it's a bit frivolous at this point in the game, until i realised why. he does it to be truly absolutely sure that all traces of whatever solas did to rook are gone:

emmrich: rook, dearest, please trust me. i must take you to the necropolis before we confront elgar'nan. - rook: did we have to risk visiting the necropolis? emmrich: i needed its subtler enchanments to detect what we must know. emmrich: there's no mark of the curse solas left on you. emmrich: darling, i thought i'd lost you forever in the fade. rook: if you and the others hadn't pulled me out...

emmrich doesn't want to repeat his (perceived) mistake. he doesn't want to lose them again, to leave things unfinished and to regret again.

and while i did wish we had an additional scene where we actually do have a chance to both address the argument rook and emmrich had in a meaningful way, addressing what happened after as well as emmrich's fears, it makes this final line in the romance scene all the sweeter:

emmrich: whatever is in store for us - together, my darling. that's how we'll face it. rook: i know.

[omoghouls]

…darling? Are you holding up alright, my dearest? It’s still about a fifteen minute walk back to the facilities. Forgive me, I was too distracted by how the plant growth is mutating by the influence of spirits in the Memorial Garden…you must interrupt me next time, my dear! I know I can prattle on, and sometimes lose track of…our other needs.

…me? Oh no, I’m perfectly alright! I, ah, admit I am…also feeling the call of nature, as it were, but it’s nothing to concern yourself with!

…you what? I-in the bushes? Is it…really that dire, my love? O-of course, if that is what you need. I…will keep watch. I haven’t seen any other visitors to the garden in quite some time, b-but perhaps you could…try to be quick?

…mmhh…

…oooh…

M-my dear? Are you…nearly finished yet? It’s just, the sound, I…no, no, pay me no mind! Please, take your time! I…I will manage.

…oh no, I couldn’t possibly! …well of course it’s alright for you, it was an emergency, but what if another professor saw me…d-defiling the gardens? Or heaven forbid, if a student came along! No, I won’t! It’s only a short walk!

Oh Maker, I forgot there was a fountain on this path back. Oh…ah! …n-no, I’m alright! I’m p-perfectly…I-I…oh, oh no, oh good heavens! Darling, I-I can’t! Please, I’m…

Y-you promise no one is near? D-do these bushes really conceal me from view? I…oh, oh blast it, I can’t wait any longer!

Oh! …oooohhh…forgive me, I…couldn’t have waited…another…moment…

….

…my dear? I…I’m sorry. I should have joined you earlier when you suggested it. I was…too embarrassed. But now I’ve made things much worse for myself, haven’t I?…please be honest, how bad is the wet spot? If I button up my jacket, do you think that will suffice in…hiding the evidence?

Oh darling, you don’t need to give me your coat! …well I admit, that does cover up the matter quite well, but are you certain? …thank you, my love. You are so very kind to me. Would you perhaps care to join me for a bath when we get home? I direly need one, and I would like to pay you back for how good you have been to me today.

Oh MY GOD???????👀👀👀👀💖💖💖💖 HOKY DHIT HOLY SHIT

Such a gentleman, wishing to tend to his lover/companion's needs before his,,,even if his needs begin to outweigh their's 😵‍💫💖

Omggggg POOR Emmrich, he, of course, understands when they need the urgent release, he knows the more secluded areas/more bushy parts of the gardens.

But oooh hearing them going, those little sighs of relief as urine trickles against the ground - it has Emmrich's bladder lurch, begging to join in the stream it hears~

WRAP THAT JACKET AROUND HIS WAIST😤💖 Such a dignified professor deserves something to cover up and, given his status in the Necropolis, they'd just assume the professor spilt some tea or had a run in with some silly water whisp

YOU SPOIL ME NONNY OMGGGGGG THANK YOU🥺💖💖💖💖

[bambimeadows]

*spoilers afoot and long probably nonsensical musings regarding the Manfred-Lichdom thing*

Had a tough time deciding on the Manfred/Lichdom ultimatum with Emmrich but after experiencing both options I think it’s pretty clear which choice at the very least feels more natural and right.

When you choose Lichdom (which was the option I went with at first after spending 5 minutes staring at my tv in despair I know I’m sorry) Emmrich comes across as something that doesn’t suit him. Self important and righteous, over explaining his decision in a way that almost makes it seem like he’s trying to cope because he knows he didn’t do the right thing, rather gave into his self indulgence. Almost kind of bratty and petulant. It’s actually kind of awkward to watch. When he presented himself to everyone in his lichdom form and they were just like “…okay?” I think making him appear as this petty, vapid man in that scene was a way of communicating certain (accurate) troupes of self serving men who throw away their morals, compassion and humanity for the sake of gaining more power and fulfilling their deepest desires. And don’t even get me started on that dialogue between him and Spite if we chose the path to not save Manfred “He should be here” haunted me and was enough to make me go back to the previous save after a few hours and pick the other option just to see what that would entail.

When you go with saving Manfred however, this feels smoother, more attuned with his character. The humility of throwing away his ultimate end goal in favour of finding joy and peace with his dear friend excelling and developing is really very very sweet. Their bond is beautiful and adorable in such an authentic way. There’s a lot of purity in it and I think it really attributes to his character. An endearing-ness that is not so easily captured in any media, let alone in video games. And let’s face it, it’s always going to more interesting to watch a character face their fears rather than seek comfort for themselves.

It’s a shame however, as the concept of Lichdom is a fascinating one. The idea of sweet gentle Emmrich becoming that is so intriguing to explore. The circumstances of being in a romance with Emmrich in that state is such an ingenious take on gothic romance. I and I’m sure many others grew to adore him and just want him to be happy and get everything he wants, but as in real life, that’s seldom possible. But I think all of this is the point in making us chose between those two options and reflects Emmrich’s own internal conflict. So I applaud the writers of this game, despite all the heinous feedback they’ve gotten, for throwing us a real, complex moral dilemma. They knew Manfred was adorable and we’d all fall in love with him, they also knew many of us would fall in love with Emmrich. They highlighted the timeless truth that, no, you cannot have everything you want without sacrifice, your most selfish desires will usually come at a cost. Putting yourself first will not usually feel right when it’s at the detriment of innocents and you’ll find helping others, especially those you love, can bring you a unique happiness and peace that chasing your own selfish desires could never. And what’s more saving Manfred was shown to be so fruitful. It would be good even if he returned to how he was before, but there was so much payoff for everyone to helping him in the end and I think that’s the main take away here. He was able to develop and flourish when we just showed a little bit of compassion and followed our heart instead of cold logic, Emmrich’s sacrifice was very very much not without reward.

I really do love Emmrich either way, and I plan to explore every possible piece of this game that he is involved in. He’s the best character I’ve seen for a very long time, no matter how we chose to shape his journey.

[dulcidyne]

Marginalia Ch. 3

Rook x Emmrich Volkarin // Rating: T // Spoilers: None

Emmrich rescued the teacup in the nick of time, snatching it from the sweeping path of Rook’s elbow before she could upend scalding spice tea over her arm and the copy of ‘Advanced Fade Harmonics’ splayed out across the library table. How a woman who cut so cleanly through a battlefield could, without fail, endanger herself and any porcelain within the near vicinity was a riddle he’d yet to solve.

“Rook, do be careful,” he reminded gently, offering the cup back out towards her.  Beneath her breath, the soft humming notes cut off abruptly, and she blinked up from the book as if startled. “What?”

The dark lock of hair tucked behind one ear slipped free as it liked to do, and his fingers burned with the strange compulsion to tuck it back again for her. Some…fastidious quirk of his, no doubt. A fussy need to ensure everything was in its proper place. After noting the cup, she accepted it from him with her ink-stained fingertips. But her distant expression said her thoughts still dwelled elsewhere. “Oh, thank you Emmrich…”

Pushing her hair back and taking a sip, she rifled again through the stacks of notes, notebooks, tomes and texts. “Why do you think we’ve only noticed the resonance with these particular objects but not any others? Why not–” she gestured emphatically with the teacup. “Why not this cup?”

“It must be the intention, as you speculated when we experimented with the loose notes,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “The Fade resonates with our own expectations of the object in question. In our minds, books have unlimited potential. But our expectation of a teacup is that it simply be a cup.”

“Then, do you think with enough focus, we could…I don’t know, convince it to be a sugar bowl?”

Emmrich smiled. “Perhaps, but I doubt we’d have much success when we know we have a perfectly good sugar bowl already.”

“No such thing as too many sugar bowls,” Rook stated, very matter-of-fact, and reached for the silver tongs to drop two more cubes into her cup.

Read on AO3

[theshotsheardacrossworlds]

Lichdom

Agi has questions about Emmrich's potential lichdom and what it means going forward. SFW.

“So, if you were a lich, then you wouldn’t need to eat anymore?” Agnes asked as she bit into her ham, Swiss cheese, and honey mustard sandwich.

He’d be undead, so…maybe?

Fuck me if I know.

Emmrich nodded, stabbing a piece of salad with his fork. “Correct, dearest! I will no longer require food or drink. Of course, in polite company, for example at a cocktail party, I can carry around an empty glass to blend in, as it were.”

She glanced at her sandwich and then at Emmrich. “Wouldn’t you miss it?” Taking a quick bite and swallowing, Agnes scrunched her nose. “Think of your favorite sandwich. One you’d run through a downpour for. One whose first bite is fucking bliss, love. You wouldn’t get to experience that anymore. It’s…” Wrinkling her nose again, she thought for a moment before continuing. “It’s those little things. Those wonderful little life things that are precious and should be cherished because they’re fleeting. But as one goes, another always follows.” Okay, enough philosophy, Agi. “I’m not sure if I’d want to spend eternity not being able to eat a sandwich, Emm.” Agnes laughed softly and was relieved when he smiled.

“As always, dearest, you give me much to consider.”

It was at that moment that she realized his gaze seemed to look through her. Like he’s very far away. Oh love… “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

He blinked and refocused his tiredgaze back on her. “Good, darling.”

They ate in silence with the occasional longing glance and spoke no more of lichdom that night.

***

“I’m trying to think of a way to phrase this as delicately as possible. If you became a lich, then that means you…erm, can’t father children? Because you’d be undead?” Agnes asked one night in Emmrich’s library. He had procured a quite comfortable loveseat for the upper deck. “A romantic spot for only the two of us, my love.”

He nodded, not looking up from the book he was reading. “Once again, dearest, you’re correct. Some lich lords will have wards or even close companions among the living. However, I’m not aware of any having romantic attachments, let alone any with a living partner.” Emmrich noted where he left off and closed the book. He then turned his head to face Agnes, a reassuring smile crossing his extremely handsome features. “Is that something you want? A family with me?”

Be honest about what you want.

Smiling shyly, she could feel heat rising on her cheeks. “Yeah. I mean, only if you want. Obviously.”

I could easily see Manfred having the time of his undead life with a toddler. Our toddler. His eyes. My hair. Maybe named after one of his parents, if that’s something he wants. He’s already a great dad to Manfred.

Emmrich reached for her hand and brought it to his lips. “My darling girl, of course I do.” Now holding her hand in both of his, he smiled wistfully at the always sunny sky at the Lighthouse. “You have an uncanny ability to rekindle life in abandoned dreams, dearest. No matter which path I take---lichdom or remaining mortal---we shall have the family we both desire. I promise.”

Don’t become a lich.

Please.

It’s not that I don’t respect what they do.

I do!

But there’s so much here for you.

Don’t go where I can’t follow.

Please.

She freed her hand and shifted to pull him into a tight hug. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Be Rook. Don’t cry. “Emm, I love you.”

He returned the hug, gently caressing her back. “I love you too, Agnes darling.”

More than you’ll ever know.

***

The events of the past few days had made Agnes more exhausted than she felt in a long while. She was trying and failing to calm her mind as she and Emmrich sat in bed together. He was absorbed in the book he was reading, gold spectacles sitting on the edge of his nose.

Not helping that I keep having nightmares about Emmrich becoming a lich.

Always the same.

He does it, comes back, and decides that with all his new power and prestige he doesn’t want me anymore.

And then I wake up crying and tell Emmrich it’s nothing and he doesn’t believe me, and I don’t believe me, but I need to sleep and so does he…

“Darling? What’s wrong? Why are you crying?” He immediately closed his book and removed his spectacles, placing both on his bedside table.

She was tempted to say that it was nothing.

No.

Not this time.

Biting back a sob, she threw her arms around him. “I’m so sorry, but please don’t become a lich. Please. I don’t care what they’re telling you---you’ll lose something special, something wonderful about you, Emmrich. You won’t be you anymore…and I can’t…” I can’t lose you. I’ve only just found you, love. “I’m sorry. I know it means so much to you, and you’ve spent decades working on lichdom, and I feel so fucking awful about it…” Oh shit, I’m making his shirt all wet.

He hugged her with one hand cradling her head. “Why, my love?”

“Because it feels like I’m holding you back.” More tears fell as she sobbed. “I want you to be happy, but I want you to still be you.”

His hold on her tightened. “I wish to make something crystal clear, my dearest heart. No matter what choice I make, you’ve never once ‘held me back’ so to speak. If anything, you provide a much-needed perspective. I take everything you say with the greatest respect and love.” Emmrich pressed his lips to her crown for a brief kiss and then whispered, “How long have you had this on your mind?”

She laughed softly, despite the tears. “Since you first mentioned lichdom, if I’m being honest.”

“Ah. I see.” He snarked, the hand cradling her head now cupping her cheek. “Agi darling, you really must unburden yourself sooner. It’s not good for you to hold all this in. I worry about you.”

SHIT.

Smiling ruefully, Agnes sighed. “I’ll do better. I promise, love.” She expected him to release her, but his adoring gaze was still upon her. “Emm?”

He gave her a sweet, slow kiss and smiled. “You needn’t fear, my darling girl. No matter what happens, I choose you. I will always choose you.”

“And I choose you.”

I should see if Mum has Da’s wedding ring…

You know, for…reasons.

Important reasons.

***

“Baby!” Manfred said happily, a bone hand resting on Agnes’s swollen belly. “Baby!”

She laughed softly as she felt Emmrich move to stand behind her, chin resting on her shoulder. “The baby started kicking again, so I asked Manfred if he wanted to feel. It’s fair to say he likes his little brother or sister.”

Manfred’s gaze shifted to Emmrich. “Baby!”

“Very good, Manfred! Yes, that’s the baby. You’ll meet them in less than four months. They still need to grow inside Agi first.” He cooed at Manfred’s excited hiss. “I can’t wait either, Manfred…though that’s not to say I haven’t been enjoying this beautiful time together, my love.” He murmured, tickling her sides. Oh yes. You’ve been enjoying this quite a bit. And well, so have I.

She turned her head to give him a quick kiss. “Me too, Emm.” There’s a kick. “Oof. I think they’re saying hello, love.”

His left hand roamed slowly from her side to her belly, feeling for movement. He gasped softly and pressed a kiss to her cheek when he found our little one. Rupert for a boy. Nora for a girl. “My little darling, be kind to your mother. She deserves—”

Agnes turned her head, grinning, and captured his lips in a kiss. “A snack, please?”

A low hum escaped him as he kissed her again, more heated than previously. “Fruit and cheese, dearest? We still have one more apple.”

Besotted.

The most besotted man in Thedas, and he’s all mine.

I’m so lucky.

She nodded. “Yes, please…but first…” Turning to face him, she took his hands in hers. Her gaze met his, and as usual when she looked at him, her heart felt full to bursting with joy. “I feel as if I don’t tell you this enough…I love you, and I’m so happy. With you. With us. With everything.”

I’m so glad you chose mortality. Chose Manfred.

And while I know there will always be a regret or two lingering—

His eyes shined as he squeezed her hands affectionately. “If you are happy, my dearest wife, then so am I.” He brought her hands to his lips and kissed her knuckles on each hand, murmuring, “It’s still so wonderful to say. My dearest wife. My precious wife. My beautiful wife. My wife.”

“My wonderful, handsome, amazing hero of a husband,” she smiled before kissing him. “I adore you.”

Through all the pain and hardship, we found each other.

And I wouldn’t have it any other way, love.

[profoundfics]

Tertiary Opinions II/I

Paths of Light - I: Dangerous Alliances

Rating: Mature - Canon Typical Violence and Sex

Pairing: Rook Ingellvar x Emmrich Volkarin (Neve Gallus x Lucanis Dellamort | Lace Harding x Taash)

(A03 Chapter Index) | (Tumblr Chapter Index)

-- --

Rook’s gasp was audible before Emmrich emerged from the mirror. They arrived in the remains of a once comfortable room. The outer wall had been blasted inwards leaving them exposed to the elements. Rook had already reached the gaping hole, hand on the remaining wall as if she needed it to hold her up, gazing over the drop to an even lower part of the city. The breeze caught the tails of her leather coat. She began studying the jagged damage, fingers ghosting over the crumbling brickwork and rubbing the dust between her fingers. Neve stood in a stony silence beside the mirror; she’d warned them the Shadow Dragon’s hideout had been raided, but Emmrich would have struggled to conjure this level of devastation. In the room beyond was evidence of a fight, scorch marks on the floor and what appeared to be blood splatter across the wall he could see.

‘This wasn’t the dragon,’ Rook said, putting a loose piece of the wall free. ‘This was a magic explosion,’ she continued, throwing an accusatory look at Neve. ‘Doesn’t smell dissimilar to gaatlok.’

‘You think the Venatori were going to just let us sit on their doorstep?’ Neve demanded.

‘No, but -’ Rook struggled. ‘Mierda,’ she breathed out, toeing the rubble on the floor. ‘It’s why you came back, isn’t it? There’s no one left, is there?’

Neve’s expression narrowed into suspicion at the expletive usually used by Lucanis. Rook was oblivious as she continued kicking the rubble at her feet. She was saved from a remark about the adopted language from either of them by the sound of something being pushed over in the next room. Emmrich had already learnt to ensure his stave was easy to pull free but he still wasn’t as quick as Rook and Neve. Both women moved as fast as lightning, drawing their weapons and moving into position. In the face of potential danger, the animosity between them temporarily evaporated. They both pressed themselves to the wall either side of the archway into the next room. Emmrich moved towards the intact walls, angling himself to reduce his own visibility but maintain as much advantage as he could.

He felt the shift in the Fade; the materialisation of an individual, then a downward reeling as Neve cast her Slow Time spell. She had manipulated the casting to free Rook from the effects. The Reaper was a blur, swinging out her shield, smashing it into their ambusher with a sickening crack of bone against metal. Rook then vanished in a flick of brown leather while blood and teeth sprayed out of the Venatori’s mouth, the world speeding up as the spell wound down. Rook was already on her follow up, crystal shards jutting out of warrior’s chest. Emmrich took his cue, his summoning reaching out to touch the magical shards, blowing their attempted assailant apart in a second gruesome shower of blood and bodily matter.

Neve had her attention on him, that appraising look she had given him the first time they met, a calculating swirl behind her gaze. ‘You two work well together,’ she remarked mildly.

‘I’d argue it was a team effort,’ Emmrich replied. ‘Your control of that Time Stop was outstanding. To transfer the confluence of energy to another person so that they are moving in step with reality takes an extraordinary amount of power.’

He found himself caught in the incredulous gaze of both women. Rook leant against the door frame, eyebrows raised with her ‘this will be good’ expression settling into place. While Neve’s lips became a thin line, a slight flare in her nostrils and a minute shift as her knuckles whitened from clutching her stave.

‘Are you suggesting what I think you’re suggesting?’ Neve asked, her voice dropping to a dangerous cadance, taking a small step forward.

He held his hands up as a gesture of supplication. ‘Merely remarking on the amount of power and control such a feat takes.’

She turned, her expression remained as cold as her magic, before turning her displeased frown on Rook. She leant away as Neve stalked past her almost as if Neve now emanated cold from her very body. Rook remained in place against the door frame as Neve’s footsteps faded away and looked at him when silence fell, her face slightly pinched as if she’d actually been harmed.

‘Probably best not to insinuate she’s a Blood Mage,’ Rook said sardonically, pushing away from the wall. ‘And Varric thoroughly vetted her back when we hired her.’

‘I made no such implication,’ Emmrich replied in defense. ‘There are a number of ways to access the level of power required for such an endeavour. That you both jumped to the suggestion of Blood -’

She was laughing, shaking her head, eyes sparkling with cold humour. ‘Oh, Emmrich, how is it any different to the rest of the team thinking you’re an evil death mage?’

‘They think what?’

He felt a little faint at the thought, but Rook was looking at him with a shocked expression, her lips parting in a ‘oh’ before she clapped a hand over her mouth.

‘They don’t,’ she said hastily between her fingers

Emmrich tilted his chin towards her, eyeing her sharply with a raised eyebrow. She looked away, cheeks colouring with embarrassment.

‘Lucanis may have said that when you first arrived,’ she eventually admitted under his scrutiny. ‘But he doesn’t think that now,’ she added quickly.

‘And what does he think now?’

‘Just death mage,’ she said with a nonchalant shrug but still managing to look repentant.

‘Rook -’ he began, but Neve calling back to ask if they were coming cut him short.

Rook managed to duck around him as she called back to Neve, leaving him with little choice to follow her. She moved at a spritely pace towards the stairs but his longer strides allowed him to catch up to her.

‘It’s remarkable really,’ he said mildly, following her down the steps. ‘We’re both Necromancers, yet I am the one to endure being known as ‘death mage’.’

‘Lucanis is-’ she started, turning to look at him but stopped, almost skidding as she came to a stand still when her attention was diverted to a wide but dried pool of blood.

Emmrich had to pull himself up short to prevent himself from walking right into Rook. From the angle he was at to her, he could see the colour drain from her face, and a slow, painful swallow. He caught a faint tremble in her hand as she lifted it to cover her mouth. The Fade hung heavily around them, the veil thin from a particularly brutal murder. Emmrich could feel the residual horror pressing at him. Rook carefully stepped around the blood, tiptoeing around the devastation of the ransacked shop before heading outside.

He’d begun to follow when he heard her cry out for a second time. This time it was a shrill sob that he wouldn’t have thought possible from her. The sight beyond was enough to draw him up short. The deceased hung from gallows constructed directly in front of them. A public declaration of war against the Shadow Dragons. Around the square, stretching down the street in either direction, more bodies hung from smaller gallows, the Venatori stringing up their victims in any space available. Emmrich reached out and placed his hand on her upper arm, squeezing gently. Her hand reaching up, lacing their fingers together and returning the gesture, her head tilting so her cheek rested against his thumb.

He remained close to her for the rest of the journey to the Cobbled Swan. While he felt his own churning horror at the sight before him, Rook had faced the possibility of this being her fate and she walked with a hard stare and clenched jaw. The rancid stench of rotting corpses filled the air. They’d been like this for weeks acting as a deterrent against further dissent. Such a thing would not be allowed anywhere in Nevarra; no Mortalitasi, regardless of Order, would stand for such desecration.

It certainly put the cremation he had witnessed in Amaranthine into some perspective. While he still considered it barbarous, at least it had been done with care; the body lovingly wrapped and carefully carried to the pyre. The singing, a chorus of sadness that had risen with the flames, had been a moving sight but for the act it accompanied.

‘Are you alright?’ Neve asked, once they had caught up to her in a nearby market square. ‘I thought necromancers weren’t overly concerned with the dead?’ Neve further enquired, a saccharine nonchalance to her tone as she flicked a hand in the direction of more hanging deceased.

‘It is one thing,’ said Rook, her tone laced with anger but measured, ‘to work with the dead, but this is just needless, wanton destruction of life.’ She stepped up to Neve so she could drop her voice to a near whisper. ‘You know what I am. What Necromancy is. So, was this your punishment for me? Force me to endure hundreds of scattered corpses when I have already dreamt this every night since?’

Neve had the decency to look abashed, looking away from Rook, who was no longer a friend, but their leader. The quiet authority within her a lingering vestige of the woman who had been a Lieutenant of the Watch, holding a position of command.

‘Rook, I-‘

‘I am sorry for what happened here, and I know you think I made the wrong call,’ Rook cut her off sharply. ‘But you’re one of the smartest people I know, and under that pain and anger, you know there was no right call here. The people of Treviso would not have deserved this fate either.’ She clicked her tongue. ‘So, are we done?’

She didn’t wait for an answer, striding across the market square with her hand resting on her sword hilt leaving Emmrich with a tugging desire to find out what she had been like when confined to the ranks of the Watch. That she had struck out during the War of the Banners suggested she had bristled against the authority pressed down on her. In her pursuit of a solution to the gods, she had become nebulous, touching several parts of Thedas at once.

‘So, the Mourn Watch chucked her out?’ Neve asked, her dark eyes on him.

‘I believe it was a request that she leave before removing her permanently,’ Emmrich replied. ‘I didn’t mean to imply you are a Blood Mage, but the raw power needed to do that usually surpasses the natural reserve of even the most powerful mages.’

Neve chuckled, a proper amused laugh with a smile to match. ‘What can I say? I’m that good.’

Surprisingly, she fell into step with him now they were forced to follow Rook, who was only distinguishable by her lilac bun bobbing through the crowd.

‘It’s best not to linger,’ Neve said. ‘Last thing you want is to be pickpocketed.’

The possibility had occurred to him before leaving the Lighthouse. Harding mentioned it over breakfast before they left, and he had swiftly placed a hex on his valuables that would mark the thief and place them into a nightmare until the item returned to him. It was a particularly vicious working, not one he’d usually consider using, but no one would be harmed if they didn’t attempt to steal from him.

They reached the tavern as Rook sat down with Harding and two women he had not yet met, but it was easy to deduce their identities. Neve pointed out Lady Morrigan; she had a regal bearing to her with arresting amber eyes and draped in red robes with a golden necklace that held an emerald in its centre setting. Ellana Lavellan sat beside Morrigan speaking to Harding with a warm smile.

Neve handed him a drink, a tankard filled with foaming ale while she held a delicate goblet. He took a tentative sniff, noting sweet floral hints and decided it was worth the risk while following Neve. She led him to a table that placed them both in Rook’s eyeline before she turned to him.

‘So, another member of the Mourn Watch,’ she said, crossing her legs and leaning in to drop her voice. ‘Did you know Rook before all this started?’

‘I knew of her,’ Emmrich confirmed carefully. ‘The Reapers, however, often conduct their own duties within The Necropolis. My own experiences with them have been limited, even as a senior member of the order. It was Bellara who had actually reached out, several weeks earlier.’

‘You’re the Professor she contacted about -’ she clicked her fingers.

‘The reverberative oscillations within the Lighthouse, and its dimensional peculiarities, amongst other things,’ he finished for her. ‘Yes.’

Neve chuckled fondly. ‘She always has a lot of questions, but we’d have never got to The Crossroads without her. Have you managed to answer her question?’

‘About the Lighthouse? I have a working theory,’ he said mildly, not wishing to give anything away. ‘A few more tests across the next few weeks should be able to confirm it one way or another.’

She appeared to catch his caution because she turned her attention to the table where Rook sat. ‘Tell me,’ she said, after watching them for a few minutes, ‘what do you know of The Inquisitor? What stories reached your Necropolis?’

‘Much of what we learnt came after the crisis had largely been resolved,’ Emmrich replied thoughtfully, reflecting back on the tumultuous year that had occurred a decade earlier. ‘The Necropolis itself was in turmoil when it happened. Within the confines of the wards, the Veil is deliberately thin to allow for the free movement of the spirits. It left us susceptible to Rifts opening across the city. But the Inquisitor was of little interest when it became known that Vestalous Pentaghast’s niece was among those who founded the Inquisition upon Justinia’s death, and of course, then became Divine.’ He took a sip of the ale, humming with pleasure at the sweet undernotes. ‘Some more, disillusioned members of the order and other some other sects among the Mortalitasi were hopeful that the elevation of a Pentaghast to the Sunburst Throne would pave the way for more Nevarran influence to doctrine, but Lady Cassandra has never been a supporter of the Necromantic arts. Much to her uncle’s enduring disappointment.’

‘Sounds as if you knew her?’

‘Lady Cassandra?’ He huffed out a small laugh. If only Neve realised what a ridiculous notion that would have been. ‘I was a lowly apprentice and novice, far below the notice of anyone associated to one of the Prelates of the Necropolis by the time she left.’

‘But you know her uncle now?’

Emmrich lifted his eyebrow at her. ‘Ms. Gallus, are you attempting to extract information from me?’

Neve spread her hands wide, mirroring his earlier gesture of supplication back in the devastated hideout. ‘The Inquisitor, according to sources I have, was romantically involved with Solas,’ she said, leaning in, her voice dropping. ‘If there is a lead to getting more information about her before Rook commits to any formal alliance, all the better for us. She could be biding her time, waiting for the moment to rejoin Solas through Rook.’

‘Solas was also responsible for the opening of the Veil in the first place,’ Emmrich countered. ‘Something she fought to close.’

Neve’s dark gaze was back on the Inquisitor. ‘Love,’ she said, with the weight of experience, ‘is an emotion of irrationality, that can make us change our whole world view just to be with the person of our desire.’

Emmrich tried to keep his attention on Neve, but it snagged to Rook as she took an object offered to her by the Inquisitor. He watched her take it, slender and blue, and as Rook held it up he realised he was an idol of some sort. Harding was frowning then asked a question but their voices were so low, and the overall ambiance of the tavern loud enough, that he had not been able to hear a word of the exchange. He took another sip of the ale, allowing the malty warmth to rest his mind.

‘You speak as if you have some experience in the matter,’ he said, returning to the topic of conversation with Neve.

‘Not personally,’ she replied, also returning to the conversation. ‘But more than enough cases have gone sideways because of it.’

The meeting wrapped up. As she passed them, Lady Morrigan bowed her head in greeting to Neve while holding the Inquisitor in conversation. Behind them, Rook and Harding followed, joining their table. Rook sat opposite him and this close, he could feel remnants of the Fade radiating off the relic she held. He watched her run her thumbs up the length of it, her lips pulled into a frown and her attention on it only breaking when Neve asked her what it was.

‘She says her team found it at the ritual site,’ said Rook, looking over the table at her and handing it over. ‘And it has some connection to Solas. They think it could resonate with something in the Lighthouse.’

‘It feels like the ritual dagger,’ said Neve, casting a concerned glance at Harding. She shifted further back in her seat when Neve returned it back to Rook. ‘We should be careful, there’s no guarantee that what it resonates with won’t bring us harm. Why would such an item reveal itself to the Inquisitor? Why didn’t we find it?’

Rook stowed the item away in one of her pockets. ‘We hardly mounted an extensive search of the site after the dagger did, whatever it did, to Lace.’ Her gaze flicked from Harding to him. ‘Have you been able to discover anything about the dagger?’

‘While it appears to have a multitude of uses,’ Emmrich replied. ‘It is difficult to discern the full extent on the basis that it was forged by no process known to any living being but Solas. Unweaving the magic infused within it is proving difficult even in the Fade. I have been considering that the enchantments within the Necropolis could help as well as consulting some of the Greater Spirits that reside within.’

Rook nodded slowly. ‘A trip home then.’

[angelknives]

Emmrich's romance is the best, but that's not saying much

Look, I also think Emmrich's romance is the best in Dragon Age: The WorstLastMinuteNameChange. However... it doesn't hold a candle to any of the actually great romances in the Dragon Age series. Because it is stuck in a game terrified of upsetting its players.

First off, it takes literally no effort to get into a romance with Emmrich. You could hate spirits, the fade and Manfred himself* and it doesn't matter. Because the companions are not allowed to dislike Rook. Which sucks especially because I imagine getting into a real discussion with this man would be quite something.

But fine, Emmrich is exactly the type I'd go for in a game, so my Rook would've probably been on great terms with him from the start anyway. Fine.

The romance itself is cute, but very very shallow. It *hints* at deeper things, but then runs away from them. You have a mourn watcher who is struggling with existential dread and basically wants to 'cure' that by becoming undead. In any game with some depth, that would be a great idea for a character. And it would be a great idea for a romance.

The first time I played, I turned Emmrich into a Lich because it seemed so obvious to me that that would be the 'tragic' ending for him (and I live for drama). Instead of encouraging this man to face his own mortality - the thing he has been avoiding**- you help him avoid it. Close his eyes to it. Surely that would lead somewhere? No, no it doesn't.

But the thing about that choice that really gets me, is that it means nothing for the romance. The way I was sure that his line about 'who knows whether the blooms would hold the same appeal to me' was about him losing the aility to connect to life, and to love once he became a Lich. The drama I saw unfolding when Rook, by not taking the hard path of getting Emmrich to face his fears, and instead taking the easy part of pushing Emmrich to step out of life itself, only to realise that by making him immune to death, Rook made the man they love immune to life. The heartwrenching break up when they both realise trying to escape the end of one thing, they inevitably caused the end of the thing they both held so dear

But no. Nothing changes. Oh and even the drama of Emmrich now being a skeleton, and so not capable of enjoying the pleasures of the flesh, get denied to us. (DOS2 save me!) The only teeny tiny bit of drama you get is one single sentence where Rook assures Emmrich they don't mind looking at his bones.

No competent writer who got the freedom to write a real story, with depth and actual characterisation, would let that well of prime story material just sit there. And going by what we do see of Emmrich, I do not think his writer is bad. I think she's great, but held back by what this game thinks players can handle.

And that's why, even though I love Emmrich, and I think he's the best thing about DATV, and his romance is definitely the best out of the ones actually in the game, I can't call it a great romance. It's just the brightest star in a very dim sky.

*Not that you can *really* do any of those things because those are negative things and if you want to do those, Bioware will come and give you the 1985 treatment. **Actually avoiding, rather than what the game pretends he's been avoiding by acting like 'letting manfred go' is him conquering his fears

[mojo-bro-tho]

Blood Sugar… Ch. 7

~ I had been happy, if the general camp,/ Pioners and all, had tasted her sweet body,/ So I had nothing known. O, now, for ever/ Farewell the tranquil mind! farewell content!/ Farewell the plumed troop, and the big wars,/That make ambition virtue! O, farewell!/ Farewell the neighing steed, and the shrill trump,/ The spirit-stirring drum, the ear-piercing fife,/ The royal banner, and all quality,/ Pride, pomp and circumstance of glorious war!/ And, O you mortal engines, whose rude throats/ The immortal Jove's dead clamours counterfeit,/ Farewell! Othello's occupation's gone!~

Tags: @my-queen-rhaenyra-targaryen (let me know if you’d like to be added or removed)

Word count: 10k

Content warning for this chapter: Exhibitionism, lore accurate but inappropriate location, suggestive language, hand stuff (you get the idea), mildly disturbing descriptions probably, uses of the c-word, and absolutely stupid circumstances

AO3 link!

Previous!

Psychopomp and Circumstances of Glorious War

Just a few meager minutes was all Rook needed. Ten was what was agreed upon. Ten came with conditions regarding purpose, the professor was more reluctant than she’d prefer but he did agree so she’d take it. Something had flared in his pupils the moment he found no more excuses to give. It wasn’t quite as dubious as his gaze darkening but it was a shift that gave her just enough to latch onto.

So, the timer started and Rook got to work. With a pen behind her ear, an open notebook and plastic sparkwheel lighter in her hands. This was a risky play on her part. But there were rarely things in this world that didn’t take risks to reap a sweet reward. The well trimmed grass beneath her heels crinkled and every step on her right leg sent needlings of numbness traveling beside her. It wasn’t unbearable, and was soothed by the electricity under her skin. Perhaps she was getting too ahead of herself.

A turn deeper towards the direction she had in mind. Two candles stood side by side on a grave that she took in with quick details written on a clean page, only stopping to bring the already struck flame to the wicks. Rook could think on her feet, always good at improvising when something didn’t quite go to plan. She needed time to set a stage worthy of Emmrich’s engagement.

There was something Rook figured out very quickly from her time with the professor. He was far more valuable than he even knew, not in the monetary sense. From the moment he told her why he was doing what he was doing, why he needed her, she knew he was a special project.

She never tired of learning from a client. Finding their rhythm, letting it sweep through her soul and making her feel like herself again for however long they’d have want for her skills. Rook could be remarkably selfish at times. Because contrary to popular belief or whatever malformed opinion people held for people like her and the job she did, it wasn’t clients that took from her.

There were more candles, a hedge walled path that hugged the one she’d just been on. Still a few minutes left before Emmrich’s tracking would begin, why not leave a few gifts behind? As a thank you for the obscene amounts of joy this was making her feel. What he was making, had been making her feel. Could keep doing it if he let himself, if she could just show him.

After all, they still have five more months together. There was so much he could teach her, she was certain of that. No matter the outcome, his contract would be completed. And he could always make it more. So long as it was on paper, so long as it was on the clock, it would be fulfilling. And whenever he was finished, she could walk away knowing that she’d learned everything he could give. Every step, every turn, every spin. Rook was dancing alone in the garden with a ghost who’s eyes just opened.

While he was in the dark, he saw nothing but the expressions on her face. All he could hear was his own criticisms, cacophonous and being transcribed on his bones. In normal circumstances, he’d have never agreed to something as ridiculous as this. But if he was given permission to be honest with himself, Rook had stolen away any sensible thoughts by asking a simple question. ‘What’s wrong with you?’ It was spoken without harshness. A jarring inquiry in phrasing but not a single syllable punctured him in the way it ought to. A cool breeze to feverish skin, so earnest and vital.

That woman was not a normal circumstance. She had haunted him in a way that told him he needed to shroud himself in preparation just to not be caught up in her consuming presence. And the moment sight turned to the void, there was some level of absolution he had bequeathed to himself.

A buzzing came from his pocket to tell him his time had come, whether he was ready or not. Emmrich was afraid to open his eyes but he did so all the same. The alarm was silenced, coat removed and draped over his arm to ground his senses with the chill, satchel resting against his shoulder. The man turned first towards the path they had come from, just to be sure.

Professor Volkarin was no fool, or at least not a complete one. This wasn’t just a ‘pick-me-up’, there was something that Rook was wanting. The candles he found first were unlit, but he remembered that the groundskeepers would blow them out whenever they made their rounds so he dipped low to feel the wicks and wax. Cold, not the right way. He turned around.

His prize for finding her would be that she got to ask him a question, so it was really a prize for herself. The reward for finding her with time to spare would be ‘worth his while’. Vague though it may be, he was not ignorant to what she was attempting to accomplish. Clever little Rook, she was just as curious about him as he was about her. She loses nothing by making him go on this chase because it wasn’t a chase at all, she said so herself.

It was a hunt. One where he was being led to believe he was the hunter. But no, that wasn’t so. Emmrich was very much the one being hunted, or rather he was being lured into a trap. Rook was trying to find something out about him. And that was frightening for an unfathomable amount of reasons. Yet it was also emboldening.

The man wanted to know what exactly she was after, and why. Now that would certainly be worth the risk. That would be worth its weight in gold. His own gold clanked against itself, the ease at which he normally walked had been abandoned on the bench where she had closed in on him. A noise that would herald his approach to her if he did the same.

The man didn’t run, but his strides were long and full of purpose. A triumphant chuckle formed in his throat at the sight of two white candle sticks flickering. It would seem he was on the right track. With every direction, Emmrich’s heart beated a little faster. It was easier to ignore the inherently perverse nature of this game when it became more of a battle of wits. Helped keep a strand of his thoughts steady. For the most part.

Emmrich wasn’t usually the type to let a competition get the better of him… But that was because he rarely had competitors at all nowadays. This though? This stoked at something old in him, something foundational that he built with his own two hands out of rubble and pride. Another group of lit candles.

There was a humming coming from nearby. Not Rook. Over the hedge wall he saw someone pass by wearing a white cap, so the groundskeepers were out and about after all. He’d have to be extra vigilant.

It was hard not to feel at least a little smug about this. He was sure she felt much the same. Give a sweet smile with just the right amount of teeth to come off as demure but her eyes didn’t lie. They cut him open and organize his entrails by alphabetical order.

Below Emmrich’s shoes there were subtle impressions in the grass from where her left heel had dug a little deeper into the soil, though he didn’t notice them. With every move forward he felt the intensity start to build. Rook could be around any corner, he could be right on her tail. But his face was as still as a held breath. Nothing more than a kind smile on his face. She would not fool him this time. The flames of glory burned too heavily in his veins to give in so easily this time. Rook had made a flaw in her plan, she had given him time to make peace With himself.

A wrong turn, he had to double back and find the right course again. And this time he was greeted with an offering left by the maiden, the token, and the opponent herself. Propped up against a nearly depleted but lighted candle was a taunting blue candy. Along its plastic covered face was the brand name, a tear of cooled wax dripping down to hide the second Y in Lyri-Yum. Emmrich plucked the sweet free and twirled it in his hands as he continued.

A sudden blow of wind rustled at Rook’s skirt, her hand rushed to the front to keep it down. She knew she made a good outfit choice today. Unfortunately that didn’t extend to stretches. She severely underestimated how much walking this would actually be. Out of the corner of her eye as she nearly passed an archway, Rook saw something rather interesting. Private and could provide her a brief moment to try and work out the ache emanating from her hip and knee before Emmrich inevitably found her.

He came upon one of the more personal stone monuments in the gardens. Skeletal like the others but on its head laid a depiction of a coarse, grey veil. On its pedestal were more lit candles, though something odd caught his eye as he drew closer. A bit of movement where there should not have been. Some bit of fabric dangling off the figure’s bony palm. Once he got close enough to realize what it was, a twinge of panic bit at his synapses.

Had she seriously had enough time to strip out of her boots and stockings just to leave her underwear behind? How brazen could she possibly be? All in an attempt to mock him no less! There was no way it wasn’t hers. Black, lacy, and in Emmrich’s opinion far too thin to be of any real use as an undergarment. The pluck on that girl knew no bounds, he had half a mind to leave them there. But-

What would happen if he did leave them there? Would someone else find them? See them? Well, he couldn’t let that happen. How many people were even in the gardens this late nowadays? If someone saw them together, they may assume the worst. And if someone were to have recognized him then… Maker, this was bad for his health. There was no way he could just leave them behind, he’d just have to take them down and hide them away.

Which is what ended up happening. Emmrich had to reach up to snatch them away and spared one last glance at his surroundings before forcing the fabric in his right pocket. Brazen though she may be, it was clear that she was committed to driving him insane with lust. Rook would have had to climb up the pedestal to leave them roughly at head height for him, hopefully no one else was looking her way in that moment because not even the hedges climbed that high to block the view going up her skirt. The sight of delicate threads rumbled and crushed like a butterfly’s wing beneath his gold pressed into his mind. Steps growing ever firmer, blood heating, and fingers twisting unseen around her ‘gifts’ to him.

Calm down. It’s nothing. He wasn’t the one to display them up there like that. It was the right thing to do. Just because he took them down didn’t somehow make him the lecher in this situation. Rook was the one to force this, and it was difficult for him to tell if his fist trembled with rage or something else. A fist he should try and wrench away from his pocket because it was making it hard… for him to focus. He shook his head in an attempt to quell whatever was possessing him but he only half succeeded.

Out of the edge of his vision, Emmrich noticed a dot of light that he nearly missed in his hurry. Ducking into another section of the gardens, a mausoleum came into focus. Beside it was a Memorial Bell. Both structures were made from cool toned, grey bricks, and decorated with harsh iron gating made with geometric patterns. The candles sat at the edge of the short set of stairs that led up to an imposing metal door left slightly ajar. It would seem that the first part of this hunt had drawn to a close. A few more centering breaths passed through Emmrich’s lungs as he approached the bell.

The first ring came. Heavy and low, pounding a dull tone within the small space. Looks like Emmrich giving her a warning, how cute. Then it rang a second time and Rook grew curious. Hadn’t one of the books referenced the Memorial Bells? Mortuary Matters, customary to ring it twice. Once to announce your presence to the dead and again to soothe them. She supposed in this case, she was the spirit he was trying to appease. The echoing of footsteps grew louder once the bell began to slow. His silhouette visible in the slightly lowered sunlight through the grating of the door. By the time it closed behind him, their eyes met. Hazel and lavender like flowers growing out of sparsely covered soil.

The interior of the mausoleum was small and fairly simple. Entirely smooth stone with intricate patterns etched into some parts of the floor and ceiling. Rook’s form was partially obscured. Firstly by the rectangular sarcophagus that laid vertically between them. Roughly four feet tall on its altar, four feet wide, and nine feet long. Secondly, by the blurring effect that the blackened candelabra lit at the foot of the sarcophagus closest to Emmrich. Thankfully, she hopped to her left with a playful sway and it wasn’t unnoticed by her that his gaze immediately snapped to either her skirt or her legs.

Good, she had put her stockings back on. Emmrich was incredibly grateful for that fact. It would be much more difficult to focus if there wasn’t something separating her known nakedness with the reminder of it’s potential in his pocket. Though, her jacket and bag were suspiciously absent.

“Well, well. It looks like you’ve found me, Professor.” Rook said sweetly. Her fingertips dragged across the carvings on the sarcophagus as she made her way closer to him. “It would seem I have, yes. Though if your intention was to evade me, I dare say hiding yourself away somewhere that lacked a secondary exit may not have been the best form of strategy.” It was always fun whenever Emmrich got to be a bit more tongue-in-cheek. They both enjoyed it, much to his chagrin. It also provided a brief distraction from his own thoughts, seeing her act ‘normal’. Emmrich began his slow approach towards Rook and was about to fold his hands behind his back when she grabbed his attention once more.

“May I take your bag and coat, sir?” There was a lighthearted sort of innocence to the way she asked that momentarily made him forget the clash that had been brewing. So he smiled, and extended his coat-draped arm to her without much thought.

The pressure of her nails could be felt even through two layers of clothing going up his forearm. He briefly worried that she may grab him by the elbow and pull him into her form. But no, she was choosing to be patient for now and retreated, taking both his coat and his bag that had been strung over his shoulder with her. Emmrich followed slightly behind.

At the end of the sarcophagus, hidden behind where Rook had previously stood, laid her messenger bag and her leather coat crumpled into a pile on the ground. She sat his satchel up against her bag and delicately folded his own coat to rest on top to keep it off the ground. Emmrich couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow at the obvious difference in the way she treated her own items versus his. But she didn’t seem particularly perturbed by that fact. “Aw, look at our bags, sitting next to each other like they’re little friends. So cute.” Rook nudged his arm with her elbow.

“You are aware that these chambers are meant to be private, yes?” Emmrich asked, deciding it might be best to not let either of them get carried away if he could help it. “They are intended to be accessible for the families, groundskeepers, and city staff.”

“Well, there wasn’t a lock on it.”

“Rarely any of the mausoleums do.” He pointed out, taking an additional step back.

“In that case, if they didn’t want people in here then they should have made it harder to get in.” Rook clicked the tongue. “Or else people like me can just waltz inside!”

“Oh? People like you?” To his prodding, Rook narrowed her eyes. He’d have to be more cautious. Didn’t want to be too obvious.

“Well, yeah. I believe most people take issue with whores loitering about. But I guess the dead don’t really care who you are, do they?”

“You are correct in the sense that the dearly departed have very little to say in judgement, as they have very little to say altogether.”

“Speaking of whores who loiter though, did you find my presents?” She questioned with a cheeky grin and a ginger twirl of her skirt.

Of course, he anticipated that she would ask. Though he had assumed she may have wished to see him fester in his nerves over it. Impatience? Let her take the lead for a moment, see where it leads. “I believe I did, yes.” He answered, retrieving the candy from his pocket. “You know, for someone who loves these as much as you do, you seem to give them away rather easily.” Emmrich allowed himself to slowly approach, and Rook was enthralled.

“Just to the people I like. I told you, we have a rapport so you get perks... What about the other one?” Rook’s eyes flicked about his person, trying to find a crack in his demeanor. He told himself to stay calm.

“If you are referring to the article of clothing I came across then yes, I did find that as well. I was forced to take it down from the monument you so graciously strung it up from. Can’t have anyone else walk past and catch sight of that, now can we?” His strides drew him closer, both of their bodies naturally moving back towards the end of the sarcophagus where Rook had stashed their belongings.

“Oh, Professor… I didn’t guess you’d be the territorial type!” She truly was dangerous for him. Far too quick-witted for his sensibilities. It was a more underhanded form of warfare, but it was war all the same to him. “You know, if you really feel that way, you can always keep them as a trophy. I think you’ve earned it.” Rook grinned without mercy. Another twinkling of gold meeting gold, the man’s hands slipped into his front pockets. The sensation of her fabric running between his fingers. If this whole charade weren’t already so blatantly perverted, that act would have done it.

“And pray tell, what use would I have for your undergarments, Miss de Riva?” His voice involuntarily dropping to a low whisper and in his mind, Emmrich warned himself once more.

Rook appeared far too pleased to answer. Her gaze cast down to his abdomen and traveled further still. “You know, I’ve met a lot of women who would kill to have as slender of a frame as yours.” She hummed to herself. “Little waist like that, you could probably fit in them if that sort of thing caught your fancy.” Eyes like daggers snapped, honing in on his features once more. “Then again, the rest of you might not fit. I haven’t been lucky enough to see. Yet. Or… you could just go the more obvious route and jack off into them. I know lace isn’t the most comfortable but a little bit of pain can be good sometimes.”

Indeed she was enjoying this more than her paycheck demanded. It surprised her that Emmrich wasn’t blushing as deeply as he normally did. Perhaps it was only the lack of decent lighting but there was hardly anything more than a pinch of pink lifting up the apples of his cheeks. It was strange but exciting all the same. His melody was a little different. Heavier in brass in a way that felt like coiling roots sinking into her to try and find something nourishing.

Poor Rook had to fight every urge in her body not to grab him by the belt and yank him in her direction. With the meager amounts of sunlight from the door and the candles far behind them, the shadows played heavily on Emmrich’s face. Deepening the lines on his face. Her eyes ran across them, as if using them as a map to find herself out of the labyrinth of a predicament she’d put herself in but didn’t actually want out of. He took a sliver of amusement from it and shamefully grew a bit bolder.

“Is that meant to be my reward for finding you?” No, yes, get greedy, please.

“That depends. Do you think you deserve more, Emmrich? I did say I’d make it worth your while, so if that isn’t enough then we could always negotiate.”

“Perhaps you’d be amenable to allowing me some time to consider that. After all, you do have a question for me, do you not?”

Rook’s smile did not fade. No, this was too interesting to even try and disguise the delight she was experiencing. And Emmrich was feeling entirely smug over it. He had been either holding himself back from acting too foolish or too caught off guard to truly feel on equal footing with Rook until this battle began. Aside from the moment with the statue, he had done well to keep his composure. This time it was her turn to feel the pressure, and he would get a hint to his own unuttered query in the process. Whatever her next words were, they should give him insight into what she was trying to accomplish-

“Why didn’t you answer my question before?” She wondered. Of course, she had to say something that would throw him off.

“Come again?”

“Well, I haven’t come once yet-”

“Miss de Riva.” He snipped, forcing a chuckle from her. Rook’s heels brushed against Emmrich’s satchel behind her.

“Sorry, sorry. I couldn’t help myself!” She rarely could in most cases. One of the many fun things about Emmrich was that he required more care than what she usually had to give. Quite precious. “Earlier, you didn’t want to answer my question. I want to know why.” Rook reiterated.

“Is that not just asking the same question again and hoping to get an answer?”

“No, because before I was asking you what issues you have going on that makes you single. Now I’m asking why that question makes you uncomfortable. Subtle difference of intention there, Sweets.”

One would think he’d grown accustomed to the way Rook chose to perplex him but it would seem that still hasn’t happened yet. Just as it had before, her voice lacked any hint of insincerity and was jarringly kind given the flirtatious remarks she had just been throwing about. There was a moment where Emmrich debated the purpose of this, if he had somehow misread it. He wasn’t sure how exactly this could be interpreted any other way... But the way she said ‘sweets’ bordered on addictive. Like the difference in passion between teeth to the throat versus a fleeting kiss. Still robust but could not be fully compared.

The man stepped further back to feel the stale air cool with the separation from her heat. He looked her over without feeling a real need to hide it. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re astonishing?” He asked, it was almost rhetorical with how he said it. If not, she should be told a thousand times over. Perhaps he really had been played for a fool this whole time. And in another miraculous turn, he caught it this time. The slightest falter where her pupils seemed to widen and her perfectly crafted face softened into something more unassuming.

“I can’t say they have, at least not in this context. No more stalling, though.” She chastised humorously with the most subtle of tilts to her left. He thought to himself quietly for a moment, looking about the stone chamber they were in.

“It wasn’t the question itself, but rather what was draped around it.” He said, bring his hands to the front so that he may fiddle with his rings. “Have you ever been frightened by the thought of dying, Miss Rook?” The question should have been awkward, but it wasn’t. And that took her slightly aback. Had a client ever asked her that before? Not in so many words, not without an agreed upon fictitious threat behind it. But it certainly hadn’t been the first time someone directed that thought at her.

More piano played this time beneath the brass. Something treading on the roots that had just taken hold. How many times had she asked herself that question? How many times had it been told to her it was okay to be afraid in that roundabout way people always did? Not being able to accept just the simple answer.

“Probably at some point.” Dying wasn’t the scary part inherently, not for Rook. “But it’s part of life.” Her response drew out a dry chuckle from Emmrich. The man wished he could have been that rational, especially at her age.

“Yes, it very much is. That’s where the problem lies.” He looked past Rook, to where the candelabra bathed a crown of warmth around her hair. To where a lowering sun drew in orange light from behind the door but did not stretch far enough to reach either of them. Everything was fire, too rash in its righteousness. “When one is afraid of dying, they often find themselves afraid of living as well. And it just so happens that I hold a great terror for it.”

Rook was… confused. The music hadn’t stopped. A low hum pulsed, rounded and sweat inducing. The piano turned out not to be a piano at all. It was an organ. Not as sharp or crisp. It bled and they were moving all the same. A funeral march worth dancing to. Normally, it would have stopped by now. Why hadn’t it?

“I would think most people are afraid of dying. At least a little, probably a lot.” She added. Emmrich smiled in a way that pitched the sound in her head.

“For myself, I would say it goes beyond dread. It can’t always be reasoned with or soothed over.” He thought back to how the bell outside drowned out his thoughts. “It comes without warning… In the dead of night, in sunlit streets.” The man’s chest tightened, always known but never fathomed. “A raw, strangling fear, struck somewhere deep past the heart.”

Rook could hear the start of each breath he took in with a wistful sort of expression on his face. It wasn’t pained, it was compassionate. To her? For what? “That seems like it’d be an issue… for an archeologist, I mean. You are sort of surrounded by death aren’t you?” She gestured towards their surroundings. “And all of this doesn’t make you uncomfortable?” Another somber chuckle came from him.

“Oddly enough, the fear helped me discover many things. And I believe it aided me in being more attuned to my course of study. There is something to be said about how seeking understanding can carve a path to expertise, no?”

“It can also carve out a path to self destruction.” She pointed out.

“Astute as always, Miss de Riva. It can, and often does. To be afraid of death is to be afraid of life as well in a way. The ending of things, as all things will. So, you don’t begin. Or at least you try not to when you can help it. If nothing starts then there’s nothing to end.” His legs moved without him thinking, hungering for the previous warmth she shared with him. “So, I say to you it wasn’t the question itself you asked that made me weary, but what was in fact draped around it.” Something clicked into place for Rook.

“Vulnerability means starting something. Fear.” She whispered under her breath, neck straining to look up as he suddenly seemed much closer. “Do I frighten you, Emmrich?”

Rook’s breath smelled of blue-raspberry, and he could taste the ghost of it on the back of his tongue.“You terrify me.” He told himself to stop, to slow down. But the professor had never been good with that. His right arm extended, taking the lip of the sarcophagus in his grip and leaning closer. “And would you care to hear the worst part? It’s entirely hypocritical.” Rook swallowed, legs feeling numbed by his presence. “I often find myself clinging to life with all my strength. Yet I deny myself it at the same time, all out of fear.”

It would be easier to blame it all on Rook. In some ways he had tried to, selfishly. But was he not equal in his own burden? He could have selected someone else from The Crows. He could have allowed her to remain sullen so as to spare himself the headache. He could have said no to this foolish chase she set him on. But he hadn't. There was nothing more cowardly than that. He was ill with weakness, and the fever had long taken hold. There was a pressure on his neck, Rook’s hand had wrapped around his tie. She pulled him to her ear with a forceful tug he didn’t even try to stop.

“Have you ever thought about trying exposure therapy? I hear it’s all the rage these days.”

Syrupy lipgloss stuck to the corner of his jaw. She longed for him for the fear he had passed on to her, and he longed for her in knowing she took pity on them. There was no helping it now. In a fury, his idle hand seized the back of her vest between her shoulder blades in a clenched fist. Rearing her shoulders back to give him enough room to press his lips into the underside of her jawline. No one should be allowed to smell this good, especially not after walking around in the sun and coats for almost four hours. Still sweet, sugared berries and lavender.

More. His hold on the sarcophagus fell away to go flat against the bend in her spine. He felt a laugh shake against his mouth. A laugh. He had to pay 400 Kings to get her here. Her underwear was burning a hole in his pocket. And she had the nerve to laugh at his self inflicted demise. What a horrifying woman. Pity or cruel torment, he couldn’t tell the difference anymore.

Emmrich’s mind raced and felt it fracture like glass. Where to go? There was no leaving so the floor would have to do. Or he could just pick her up, he already had her pulled up to her tiptoes, why have her touch the ground at all? His teeth searched fervently for her pulse. He didn’t think he had ever been so irritated by a turtleneck’s existence in his entire life. Fingers clawed at fabric, and he felt Rook’s hand slipping down to his belt.

This wasn’t like Emmrich, not anymore. These sorts of quick trysts where they found themselves was a young man’s game, not his. He preferred taking his time with his lovers. There weren’t many greater feelings than making someone teeter on the edge of the void, infinity, and being the cause for their embrace into it. But this- this was Rook. Never mind the fact that his time with her was borrowed, there was no more waiting with her. And then he felt it.

“Woah, Professor… is that a spare femur in your pocket or are you just excited to see me?” An impressive femur. Good bone density.

As she palmed him through his trousers, Emmrich thought his eyes may briefly sink back into his eye sockets. “That mouth of yours is a problem.” He groaned into her skin, hips pushing forward to try an account for this atrocious angle.

“You could always put it to better use.” Maker’s breath. “Hard to make jokes with a mouth full of cock.” She really was trying to kill him after all. Rook’s legs started to bend but he pressed his hand into her back more firmly. Even if he had to rush this, he wasn’t about to give her a false impression of where his interests lie.

“True as that may be, Darling, I believe you offered to make this worth my while. And I have other plans in mind.”

Emmrich pried himself away and quickly fell to his knees. Both of his hands slid up her sweater and vest. What the fuck? Facial hair tickled at her skin as an unyielding kiss pressed into the bottom of her sternum. Another, lower. Oh.

“You don’t have to-” Arms slid down her hips with his mouth inching towards the top hem of her skirt. Gilded hands buried into the plush sides of her thighs.

The tips of Rook’s ears felt like they were on fire. Crows were normally prepared for basically anything. There was even a condom tucked away in her bra. But did she have anything else? When was the last time she replenned? Wait! The Joining appointment, she packed extra just in case she’d forget by Wednesday. Thank the Creators for small miracles.

“In my bag.” She huffed. “Dams, I have dams in my bag.” Emmrich pulled his head back. Right. Right, he remembered the terms from before. With his face absent, the cool air going across her bare stomach made Rook shiver. “I’ve got latex, latex-free, and uh-” She cursed in her mind, his fingers slowly dragging across the backs of her knees was way more distracting than it should be. It made him grin. “Strawberry flavored! I have one of those too if that’s more your fancy.”

It wasn’t unheard of for a client to like going down on her, but it wasn’t exactly common either. Especially not unprompted. Her job was to focus on making sure they got what they wanted, and if that involved getting her off then that was in writing so she rarely expected it to come up naturally. Especially given the requirements.

Emmrich reached a long arm between her legs, dragging the bag forward. And just as he remembered, it was in a state of utter disrepair. The notebook she had been carrying to take notes on was still open and just shoved away. Creased pages and all to prove it. He momentarily got distracted in his search by a little note in the margins that read; ‘EV likes good tea and a good tease’. Rook heard him chuckle under his breath.

“What?” She asked. Laughing also wasn’t usual.

“It’s nothing. You’re just impossibly charming, Miss de Riva…” Emmrich trailed off as a thought occurred to him. “Rook.” Fuck, she wanted to grab him by his face and fog up his silly little glasses. Stop looking up at her like that. One of his hands ran up her leg and her back arched. The professor let on an affirmative hum. Did he find it? Oh, thank the Gods-

A bell began to toll.

Loud and drowning out Rook’s favorite song.

Too close to not be the one outside.

Panic splattered across Emmrich’s face. His hold on Rook’s thigh tightened, the one in her bag racing towards her and taking her by the hip and pulling with an amount of strength that Rook hadn’t realized he was capable of. Her back slid down the sarcophagus’s stone surface until the top of her head was well hidden by the lid. It brought Rook into a deep wall-sit with Emmrich’s torso between her knees.

The damn groundskeepers, Emmrich cursed himself in his mind. The candles, Rook lit the candles and they have to blow them out. The candelabra too. And they weren’t supposed to be in here. The sound of the first bell began to fade, his eyes darted to Rook, her right knee had knocked into his bicep. Her face was scrunched and twisted. Eyes and lips drawn into tight lines that couldn’t be anything but pain.

Leg, not now. Any time but now. She could hold it. If she didn’t then she’d fall on their stuff and with the amount of plastic in her bag alone, it wasn’t exactly a quiet option. She can do this, she can do this.

Fingers sprawled, a decorated forearm pushing into her thigh. The hand on her hip did the same against the topside of her leg. The moment the second bell chimed, Emmrich ripped her away from the stone and forced her into his lap. Hold readjusting but quieted thanks to the force he applied. The sting burst for a moment and Rook muffled a groan into Emmrich’s shoulder, but it quickly dissipated as Emmrich cradled her weight in his hold.

He wanted to ask if she was alright but now wasn’t the time. Bangles dug into black nylons. The bottom of her ass filled his palm, long fingers attempting to cup around the curve of her inner thigh. Footsteps from the stairs echoed and bounced off the walls of the mausoleum. Metal hinges creaked to the intrusion and he wished he could do the same.

Both of them took in a heavy breath, accidentally reveling in each other’s scent. His nose was buried in her hair and his neck was far too close to hers for either of them to help it. Had Emmrich always smelled that nice? Like frankincense and a well nurtured patch of earth, fresh yet matured enough to not even attempt playing coy. Her body was intoxicatingly warm against him. Especially where the fingers hidden under her skirt sank deeper into smooth skin and- Wait, why did he feel skin? She was wearing tights…

Emmrich was stricken with terror, did these have cut outs? Rook felt the moment he made the discovery as well. A shudder ran up his spine, the tips of his fingers darted while footsteps grew louder. Wetness smeared against his ring finger, then the middle, taking an exploratory curl in the direction of his pinky. Entirely unmistakable. Rook’s fist balled up around the sides of his cardigan. In her head she was begging for him to go a little further. He must have heard her thoughts, or rather he felt her quickly nod into his shoulder.

A slow slip down and he smoothed against the swell of her clit. Gently pinched between the sides of his fingers as he parted her lips. The footsteps halted and a forceful exhale pierced Emmrich’s thoughts just in time to remind him that they still weren’t alone. The room darkened. Slow strokes would have to do for now. A rhythm arrived like shambling feet. An agonizing ebb and flow pressing into her, leisurely sort of coaxing that didn’t match the clawing need he felt. She would have ground her hips down into him if it weren’t for the precarious way he clung onto her.

The door creaked again. Impatience needled into her bones, hips jutting in an attempt to meet the strokes. Emmrich rewarded himself with a languished press against the bud, mimicking the pressure she wanted but only easing back and forth. This part of the chase was one of his favorites. Rook’s left heel anchored beside his knee and tried to get more friction. This type of desperation was not something she was used to. She grumbled something unintelligible between the fibers of his clothes.

“Keep still and quiet, Dear.” He cooed quietly. “Just for a little longer.”

There was a chance the groundskeeper was still milling about. Of course, that mattered little in the case that she followed directions. Tight circles, a bit gentler. Rook’s body tensed, it was only made worse from feeling his breath and mustache tickle against the side of her ear. With their bodies tangled together, it became far too poignant that they had hunted each other. Like two starving carnivores trapped in a snare together. Her arm slid up his back until he felt the edges of her nails cresting the sides of his neck.

There was a need there. Coming up for air or to grapple with the fact that she felt smothered by pleasure quicker than she considered acceptable of her. A deep, shaking breath filled her lungs, mouth freed from his clothes to clutch for some grasp of influence. Rook had been right, Emmrich wasn’t Lichdom, it wasn’t accurate to him at all. With the way he described it, it was ruinous unselfishness. But this was proof that he could want, he could need so deeply that it overshadowed his own worries and responsibilities. Fear and despair were always two steps away from desire, she knew that better than most.

There was an added layer of pleasure afixed between his fingers. Vindication, victory, or the promise of it. Exhilarating adrenaline that brought to mind the craving of draining everything from him that he had left to give. She just needed more, more of him. In the same way Emmrich had taken her game as a challenge, and it was one, this was a war of her own.

Something eclipsing a whine escaped her and that just made Emmrich’s fingers press with more zealous intent. “Emmrich, please.” Oh, his name sounded far too sweet. Too needy, too soon. Just a little faster, long enough to make the intensity of it normal. Then his fingers left. “Fuck-” She hissed.

Rook’s nails scratched up his hair. Blood lust was the only way she could describe the pulse that thrummed to her core. She could take this, he knew she could. Someone who costed as much as she did, she should be able to handle indulging him just a little.

“Tell me, young lady, what part about this little plot made such a mess of you?” He asked, lifting the edge of her skirt ever so slightly.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She denied with puffs of air stringing her teeth.

The sound of his bangles clattering again made her stir and soon enough she felt them settle low on his wrist and make contact with the exposed skin between her legs. His fingers returned with the new angle, only this time they slid along the seam of her until stopping at her entrance. And his thumb picked up the same slow circles he had briefly abandoned.

“Is that so? I believe your dripping cunt would be inclined to disagree.” The fact that he sounded so calm while saying that only pissed her off more. The memory of her hand against his cock was still incredibly fresh, and with that in mind his fingers pushed into her. Keep it slow, he told himself. “Was it the trying not to be caught? The teasing? Or was it how you got me to lose my composure? Hm?” The end of his sentence was punctuated by his fingers slipping deeper into her, keeping the motions focused on the circles. Rook’s back arched in search of more pressure. Her chest pressed against his and gave him the opportunity to pump into her with alternating motions.

“You’re a bastard.” She moaned. In truth, he didn’t need her to answer, he already knew. The tempo increased and the hand on her hip rushed down to take the swell of her ass. Nylon running under his palm.

“It’s no wonder you’re so successful in your line of work. You love it, don’t you? Making others helpless, all because of you. All because they want to bury themselves in your mouth, your ass, your hand, your cunt.” He felt her walls clenching around him.

Rook nodded thoughtlessly. Emmrich’s presence on her clit left again but the speed of his fingers increased again, the heel of his palm slapping against the sensitivity he left behind. The sound filled the room.

“Don’t pretend like you don’t want to.” She could still feel his length against the underside of her thigh and he chuckled in response.

“Oh, I do.” His mouth pressed into her hair for a soft kiss. Rook felt herself dangling off the edge. “But this is far more satisfying. You sound beautiful, Darling. Such a lovely prize you make.” Even caged birds had pretty songs, after all. Emmrich could feel it inside her and hear it in the breath that scattered across his neck.

“Fuck me!” She cried, feeling that coil inside her twist unbearably.

Fear gutted into him at the thought of doing just that. It would be far too easy to undo his belt and trousers, it wouldn’t take much. He could have her full of more than just fingers and lose himself but that was one step too far. But the thought lingered like a scar.

She was growing more restless, and that only excited him further. There was a pounding in her head that dropped down to her core. A dizzying, spinning sensation scraped at the edges of her eyes. Every muscle in Emmrich’s body screamed and another cry fell. This one rolling down his spine.

Rook clung to him fiercely, tugging at his hair, hips stuttering. It felt like a blow to the back of her head or a snap like a bone. Sudden and sure and consuming. He didn’t stop but he did slow, easing into a more lackadaisical pace. “Shh, I have you.” He soothed. The sound of her wrapped around his form. “That’s it… There you are…” Found at last, guided to the abyss.

Pride was a dangerous trait because all it required was success. With her ecstasy drenching his fingers and her little whimpers melting into his bone marrow as evidence to it. That was the real vice. Because so long as he kept accomplishing, pride could be fed well. So long as she didn’t want it to end, it was a self-sustaining beast.

And he could feel it supping from her even now. In the dark. In the cold air that stuck to feverish skin. His pride drank deep but all it wanted was more so long as it was deserved. Rook’s nerves were buzzing in ripples. The warm comfort of his voice lured slacking limbs into their own exploration, her hand inching up into his cardigan while trying to tug his tucked dress shirt free.

“Allow me, Professor.” She whispered. It wasn’t a request, it was an instruction.

A smile lulled at the corners of her mouth. He wanted her to, she knew that for certain. Said so himself. Their dance wasn’t done yet, it couldn’t be. Because Emmrich had been torturously correct before. It didn’t matter why, what mattered was the result. She could feel that taut ribbon of control that kept him tethered. A little more.

Even still, he didn’t fully relinquish. He languished in the way her voice came out uneven. Practically drunk in its hum. This wasn’t a side to him she had fully anticipated, treating her body more like an instrument in need of conducting. But it was far from unwanted. It prodded at her ego, it was intoxicating. Irksome in a way that felt like a battle designed just to outwit her.

Most people weren’t this exciting to learn from. Should she play into it? Should she fight him on it? How much time did they have left? They’d need an extension most likely. But surely a little over time would be fine if not, right? Rook was already starting to feel the melody coming alive under her skin again. Each push or throbbing clench of her walls made oxytocin flood her being.

And just as her Orlesian tipped nails scratched over the buckle of his belt, Rook felt something vibrate against her leg accompanied by the sound of a light bell chime. Just a quick burst. Then it happened again and Emmrich pulled away slightly. No, no, no, don’t fucking do this again. If Rook could eliminate the concept of bells or ringing or chiming, she would. His fingers stayed inside her to the middle joint but went still. Her skirt wrinkled back down as the other hand retreated and dipped into his pocket for his phone.

The phone strained his eyes with the sudden brightness, though his glasses did ease some of the glare. Emmrich blinked several times before being able to read the notifications.

‘THE BOY FEELS UNWELL.’

‘MYRNA HAS HIM RESTING INSIDE.’ Then another message came in.

‘HE MAY REQUIRE ASSISTANCE.’

If the texts being labeled under his friend’s name didn’t give away who they were from, the way he typed always did. If Vorgoth was the one saying Manfred was feeling under the weather, it probably meant urgency. He allowed his screen to darken once more and turned to look back down at Rook.

It was hard to make out at first, pupils widening to account for the dark, but there was a simmering of disappointment hanging off her mouth. Either knowing without him having to say it or her knowing something he simply did not, he couldn’t be sure. Emmrich took in one more deep breath through the nose. A confusing array of scents layered rather than mixing. Dust laden relicism, candied youth, and the heady aftermath of something he probably should not have done felt like an ice pick through his brain.

“Forgive me, Dear. It would seem I’m required elsewhere.” He sighed. A pang of discomfort tightened around the woman’s throat. The list of things to be done was already forming in his mind. He’d have to call Myrna, tell her he needed an additional 20 minutes despite his proximity so that he may stop at home first. Not only to wash up but also on the chance he needed anything for the car ride back from the Belfry.

Emmrich’s own unease reflected in the slow drag of his fingers leaving her. An attempt was made on his part to help her but Rook leaned back while still in lap and just hopped off with support from her hands going flat against the ground behind her. The plastic in her bag did crunch in protest of her weight but that hardly mattered. “You don’t need to apologize.” She supposed she wasn’t the only one whose work schedule took over their life. Even teachers work weekends. Knees came together, thighs pressed into her chest, and arms hugging around the underside of her legs.

The man thought this pose was eerily reminiscent of the way he had found her on the steps last week. Only this time with a placid expression, polite but ill fitting for what had just happened. He loomed over her while still on his knees, taking his coat and satchel from behind her back, and his lips pressed into the top of her head. Instinct. Rook made no comment on it.

This felt terrible. It isn’t supposed to. Both shared a thought once again. Emmrich slipped a handkerchief out from his coat pocket and dried his fingers. Again, he sought to assist her as well but she rebuffed it with a calm gesture that made his approaching hands stop. Palm flat and pointed towards the sky, he laid it across her hand and watched her wrap her fingers around it before turning her wrist over. Needlessly checking her watch.

“7:23, just before our 5 minute warning! Well done, sir.” She praised, taking in more heavy breaths before hiding the handkerchief under her legs. “But you should hurry along now rather than linger, need you to get your head start before I go to my car.” That caused him to blink several times.

“But… Am I not meant to show you back towards the exit? As I said, it’s easy to get lost here.” His concern was genuine but Rook chuckled hollowly to herself.

“Unlike you having the map of this place memorized, I looked it up.” She pointed in the direction behind him. “If I keep heading that way, it’ll eventually lead me towards the part of this place that I recognize.”

Normally, her cleverness would delight him. Of course, she had only led him to believe there was a danger in her getting turned around so he had no choice but to follow against his better judgement. But something in the way she explained it so dismissively, or rather boredly, was harrowing.

Tormented quiet befell them while he fixed his appearance. Why? He should say something-

“Since we’re at a new secondary location, I actually have to call my handler before I leave and you aren’t allowed to talk to them so…”

“Ah.” Ah, indeed. She had said she’d been through parts of the garden before but... Emmrich retreated, standing up to full height. There was cowardice in indulgence and there was cowardice in running. Should he apologize? Should he offer to help her stand? It didn’t seem like she was pleased. There were far too many things he could say and all of them felt wrong. Implicative of something he didn’t mean or over explanatory to the point of fumbling with also implied something that wasn’t true. “Then I hope you have a lovely evening, Miss de Rive.” Fuck.

He threw his coat over his shoulder, not bothering with the sleeves. Rook tilted her head with a saccharine smile and a nod. Emmrich’s body was moving in fear of whatever was pulling at his legs to wait just another moment longer. Going more taut by each passing second of either walking away from her or not looking at her or not feeling her. “See you next week, Lichdom.” She called in a song-like tone just before he pulled the door and the screaming hinges drowned out all sound. For a moment, the sunlight stretched his shadow across the wall like an extension of the fully encompassed self before dampening once more with his exit.

Rook held her breath until his steps dissipated. She just needed a minute to settle. The handkerchief was still in her hand, and she did begrudgingly use it to swipe at her inner thighs. The false sleep her right leg fell into made her wince as she tumbled into a less graceful stance than she appreciated. It hurt. But she scooped up the puddle of her things all the same, using the sarcophagus for a small amount of support. Her coat tied around her waist. And Rook tried not to think about the fact that she nearly let time elapse for free… and she had no plans of telling anyone about that either.

Normally, she’d actually just send a text but this would require a call for once. Just not for the reasons she told him. Leaning fully on her left heel, she fished her phone from her bag, dropping the used handkerchief in its place, and had to yank out the headphones before unlocking the screen. Contact list, recent calls, select. As usual, the ringing only hummed twice before he answered.

“Rook.” Viago groaned into the microphone. “Is your appointment ending early?” Straight to business, very much like him.

“Yeah, something came up so he had to leave.” Rook crossed one arm over to hug her ribs.

“Alright, nothing worth terminating yet then. I still don’t understand why you wanted to take this one so badly.” Viago may be her handler, but he hardly handled anything in regards to her. There usually wasn’t a need.

“What can I say? I like stepping out of my comfort zone.” She joked.

“You don’t have a comfort zone.”

“Good point.”

“But you know what I mean, this is a cheap job. It sounds like a lot of work for not a lot of reward, we could have gotten one of the recents to take this instead.” He sighed. A glimmer of guilt poked at her hip, he had no idea just how cheap she was making this job considering what just happened was way outside of her projected budget. Viago only got annoyed by things he cared about. So him being irritated over Rook ‘wasting’ her skill was more complimentary than he’d ever admit. Which just made her feel worse.

“Well, you know me, Vi. Bleeding heart. He needed someone with skill and I’m sure the newbies are good but I’m great. I know what I’m doing.” She argued playfully, eliciting a grumble from the other end.

“So, why are you calling? This could have been a text.”

“You remember the contract you had set aside for me for tonight?” She asked. Viago muttered again followed by pen scratching and paper rustling. “Is there any chance Dove still wants it? My leg is acting up and I remember her saying she was having a slow week.” Rook tried to voice it nonchalantly, but a long pause stretched on the other end.

”Did something happen?” He asked plainly.

“Nah, it’s just sore. Guess I didn’t stretch well enough either last night or this morning. You know, this place really is stupid big, we basically did nothing but walk for almost four hours.”

“That’s even worse than Antiva’s cemeteries.” His huff made her chuckle.

“It’s pretty though, so that’s a plus.”

“Dove should be able to take it, but we can pick someone else just in case she isn’t available. I’ll set up a visit for you with Heir. You don’t have any plans for Tuesday, do you?”

“Just because my leg stings a little doesn’t mean I need to get poked by the good doctor.” Rook argued. “I’m fine. If it really gets your panties in a twist, I can ask her to look at it during our next rounds, just like everyone else does.”

“If you’re going to be stubborn, fine. Just don’t go complaining to Lucanis about it-”

“Ay, ay! Merda! I know!”

“Don’t interrupt people, it’s rude. Especially not me.” He chastised. Rook rolled her eyes. “And don’t roll your eyes at me, I can feel you doing it through the phone.”

“I was not!” She lied. Another grumble came from her speaker.

“Sure you weren’t. I’ll mark your time, message the line when you get to your car. Make sure your leg is fine by Wednesday, you have too many bookings that day for me to reschedule all of them.” Viago reminded, and her mind quickly flashed to the dams in her bag.

“You got it, Boss.” Rook teased. The call ended abruptly after that. ‘Have a good night, Rook.’ ‘You too, Vi!’ It was never anything like that with him because Viago, not so secretly, was a total stick in the mud. The man didn’t have a playful bone in his body. But he was caring in his own way that not everyone understood or even liked. Rook did though. And that was part of the reason she was his favorite next to Teia but Teia didn’t count.

Still, something bordering on anxiety swirled in her blood. With the leg and the very obvious fuck up she just let happen. She gave the sarcophagus a melodic tap, her way of letting whoever was inside know that she was leaving. The phone got shoved back into her bag as she searched the inside for her last sucker and…

It was crackled and trapped inside the packaging. Probably broke when she sat on her bag. Whatever. The candy pieces piled into her palm and funneled into her mouth. The larger, sharp edges scraped at her taste buds while the dust quickly melted. She could make do.

[thanatologie]

tho, you know, i think what kind of fucks me up about a romanced lich emmrich over a romanced mortal emmrich is how, like. they're both in it to win it, and that's great, that's fine. and i mean we all know with lich emmrich he doesn't really address his fear of death in any healthy way, it just evolves and becomes fear of his partner's death (which is what that whole argument is about on that end of the spectrum instead of the woe is me i'm going to die before you and leave you sad alone and panic realizing oh shit this is real).

but what fucks me up - aside from the fact that he does get a little territorial in a way mortal emmrich does not - is once he walks out the ritual room and realizes his person is worried he doesn't want them anymore and that they stayed and they're still down to clown even though he's bare bones (l-lol), is how emphatic his little greetings and declarations of love get. there's no beating around the bush with him, he really leans into that hello, my love, he says that shit with his whole chest, like he's savoring the ability to do it. doesn't even need a face, you can read just from his body language that he's gazing adoringly at his person, with the way he leans into their space.

and it's super fucked up. not just because he comes back a little different - and he does! - but because these feelings aren't new. the enormity is the same, no matter which way he goes, but it's a testament to how much fear actually rules his life, tbh. take away his mortality and he thinks he's invincible. he starts being reckless with himself, and covetous of his person. those little things he skirts around while mortal - the word love, especially, even if love is what it is - become things he gives them freely. with abandon. just as recklessly. the only thing holding him back in that mortal path is the fear; the fear he'll die and leave them alone, the fear they'll die and he'll be lost without them, the fear that it might be real for him but it's not for them.

like. there's a terrible arrogance lurking under the surface with lich emmrich, but a willingness to plunge into the abyss at the same time, to see where it goes, where while mortal his will is a...a dam, holding back that flood because he's scared.

[megthemariner]

HI MEG HI WELCOME TO DADWC :D How about 'I know you're hurt. And I'm tired of waiting for you to bring it up' for Mina and Davrin??

ahsjdshsk Jacs you know meeee so well, this is such a good one for them!!!!!! Also it figures this would be my longest filled prompt so far…..I just can’t get enough of my girl Mina, I love her so much….

For @dadrunkwriting

Veilguard Mention!

———

Audience: Teen | Pairing: Davrin & Rook Ingellvar, minor Lucanis/Rook Ingellvar | WC: ~900 | CW: injury, discussion of major injury and death, discussion of anatomy (not sexual)

———

They’re only about halfway back to Lavendel when Davrin steps in front of her, suddenly cutting off her path forward.

“I know you’re hurt. And I’m tired of waiting for you to bring it up.” His voice is matter of fact, his arms crossed in front of him.

“What? No, I’m fi-” Mina cuts off mid-word as Davrin elbows her in the ribs, hard. She sucks in her lip, biting down on it. She will not groan out loud. She refuses to give him the satisfaction. But she still ends up bent over, her own arms wrapping around her instinctively.

“Yeah, that looks like the reaction of a totally ‘fine’ person, Ingellvar.”

“You elbowed me in the ribs!” She manages to cough out. Spirits, this hurts. How did he know the exact spot to hit? Mina looks around for Lucanis, surprised at his lack of reaction. She finds him behind her, with his arms also crossed, looking at her with concern. Great. They’re actually working together on something, and it’s bullying me, she thinks ruefully.

Davrin looks over her, towards Lucanis. “It’s like you said, broken rib. Maybe even more than one. I guess all that Crow training has some uses.”

“It does.” Lucanis’ voice is low, controlled, and Mina wonders if it’s because she’s in pain or if Spite is acting up again. “I am also skilled at caring for wounds, although Rook should not be in need of those services.”

Ah. This again. She doesn’t miss the way he says Rook, or the fact that he used her nickname at all. Mina almost wishes Spite would act up just to take the focus off her.

“You know, I think I liked it better when you two weren’t getting along,” she says, straightening. Her side twinges painfully, muscles complaining, her nerves on fire. She grits her teeth, breathing quickly, and holds her side. Lucanis, at the very least, would notice any reaction she had, so she might as well react to the pain. “It’s not that bad. I can keep going. Emmrich can heal it when we’re back at the Lighthouse.” Before she’s even finished speaking, she can tell they’re both going to have an issue with this. Blasted darkspawn-filled swamp, she thinks, bitterly. Fighting spirits and undead never leaves me with broken ribs.

“Even if it wasn’t that bad-”

“-which it clearly is-” Lucanis interjects, sounding angry. Or irritated. Mina can’t tell, exactly.

“Even if it wasn’t that bad,” Davrin repeats, “there’s still a high chance that we’re going to run into more darkspawn before reaching Lavendel. And I’m not getting killed by some hurlock because he’s-” he gestures sharply towards Lucanis, “-too distracted making sure none get close to you.” Lucanis starts to make some noise of disagreement from behind her, but Davrin cuts him off. “Don’t even try to deny it, Crow. You two are more obvious than you think.”

What? Mina blinks, trying to process everything, but her ribs are still pulsing agonisingly - distractingly - with each heartbeat.

“Why haven’t you just healed it yourself, anyways?” Davrin turns to look at her again. She’s proven time and time again to be a very proficient healer, so the question is warranted. But she was hoping they’d just…forget to ask.

“Well,” how to say this in a way they Lucanis won’t argue with…“it’s a very complex injury to heal, and if I don’t do it exactly right, it won’t set properly. It’s a lot easier with two skilled healers, like Emmrich and myself.”

Lucanis just stares at her. “I have set many broken ribs, Rook.” She grits her teeth. Mina knows the pain is making her short-tempered, but he’s really starting to get on her nerves. How many times do we need to have this same argument?!

“Yes, well, it’s still my body and I still know how to take care of myself, Lucanis. Do you know how many layers of fascia, muscles and ligaments are around the ribs? How carefully they connect to each other, how if severed and reattached in the wrong place, it can cause lasting pain? Or that if twisted just slightly too much, a broken rib can puncture the lungs,” - she gestures on her own body, turning pain into anger - “or nick important blood vessels, both of which would kill me before either of you could do anything about it?”

Both men stand silently staring at her from either side of the path. Neither move. Davrin, at least, seems to be considering her words.

“Alright, Ingellvar. I’ll take your word on the healing thing, but that doesn’t change the fact that you can’t exactly fight right now. And I don’t believe for a second that he’s just going to let this go and fight like normal.” He flicks his eyes towards Lucanis as he finishes speaking.

She turns to look over at Lucanis, and feels her heart crawl deeper into her chest. Lucanis seems to be even more at war with himself than normal. Fuck. She opens her mouth, reaching a hand out towards him, but he pushes past her. He doesn’t say anything, even as he steps toward Davrin, who moves to let him pass. Davrin shoots her a questioning look, but she is such a mess of emotions that she can’t think of a thing to say in response, so she just starts following Lucanis instead. Davrin throws his hands up in exasperation, muttering something about ‘why he even tries’ and ‘both stubborn as bronto’ and something in elvhen that she doesn’t catch at all.

Mina just stares at Lucanis’ back, wondering how she’ll fix this on top of everything else, and sighs - gritting her teeth against the pain that follows.

———

(If you liked this, keep an eye out for whenever I finally finish & post Lost & Found, my longfic exploring Mina and Lucanis’ relationship during DAV)

[its-surprising]

i think one of the weirdest things for me in veilguard still is meeting bellara. and recently i started really warming up to her, but when we meet her it’s just…

imagine you have dedicated your whole life to studying your culture, you grew up worshipping those elven gods as benevolent and protectors of your people and suddenly as you are on the verge of one of the greatest discoveries for your people (an archive! with so much probable knowledge!) some random (an it’s possible they’re not even an elf. and if they are they’re possibly not even dalish) just waltzez in and tells you so two of your gods are actually walking the earth now, and they’re super fucked up and evil and they want to destroy the world :) there is no way you would ever fucking believe them what the fuck?? who are you to tell me that about MY gods? MY religion?

like. we just get this comical moment of “wooow thats a lot to take in i need a moment” and then she just…. goes with it i guess? and all the subsequent scenes of her struggling with her faith and blaming herself just felt so empty to me for some reason.

for that matter i really hate the fact that the rest of veil jumpers and dalish just seem to go with that idea too. no one joined the gods? really? like in inquisition solas tells us that when he shared all those controversial beliefs(just the truths for him) with the dalish they chased him with pitchforks and torches! and that would make sense, we are the dalish the walkers of the lonely path yadda yadda, they would think they’d know their lore best! not some random without even a vallislin walking in here like he owns the place. he even tells us the same story in veilguard??? like HUUUH???

i also find it weird that bellara is the one to introduce us to emmrich? and i love their relationship, just… why was she randomly sending letters with this dude from nevarra. like…??? he is a specialist in the veil and spirits but wouldnt she seek counsel from dalish keepers? HELLO?? am i going insane???

and i hate HATE that banter about mourn watchers theorising about elves being spirits long ago (because theyre so cool and mysterious and so knowledgeable)… why??? why would mourn watchers care about where did the elves come from?? like… i guess scholars and shit, but… there are other academics outside the necropolis who are focused on dalish culture. why do some random nevarrans care.