#Ghil'danan “Meathead' Ingellvar my beloved

[basket-of-cats-and-witches]

Codex Entry: Body Paint

Taash-

You asked recently why - if it wasn't vitaar - that I wore these markings.

Honestly I had to take some time to think about it.

First of all, of course it isn't vitaar. Yes, it's very funny that I work with the dead, but I'm not one of them! Vitaar would definitely poison me. And I quite like living, thank you.

But...to be honest, the reason I wear all this is simple.

It's dehumanizing.

An awful word, to be sure, but it's what it is. We've talked about gender many times, you and I, and this is another side of it.

Truth be told, even after transitioning, my face still bothers me. I still feel too feminine. Wren likes to tease me that my long hair doesn't help matters, but to me, my hair does not affect my gender representation.

I already wear body paint for my job. As a Mourn Watcher, those of us without magic must find other ways to communicate with the dead. Thus why I blackened the whites of my eyes, and paint a skeleton onto my skin.

It helps them feel more at home, and it settles me into my body. If I do not look like something that could have gender to begin with, then there is nothing to compare to. There is no masculine or feminine. I simply become one of the dead, one of thousands in the Necropolis.

It is dehumanizing. In the literal sense of the word, for all that I am elven and not human. It makes me into something else.

That is why I paint my skin.

And also, for the next time you "borrow" it to make yourself more dragon-like - the paint is made with dead beetles and bone ash.

You're welcome.

Signed,

Ghil'danan Ingellvar.

[roro-the-sleepy-monster]

Thinking of taking my Meathead Ingellvar out for a spin as Inquisitor Lavellan

Unfortunately now all I can think of is how fast Solas would disapprove of him.

Meathead: you remind me of someone, you know

Solas: Oh?

Meathead: Yes, my father. I hate him, but at least he's got more hair than you.

Solas: Greatly Disapproves

[basket-of-cats-and-witches]

Carry my heart (and hold it gently in your arms)

Another Emmrook piece! I just feel like this old man is too smooth, and needed early pre-relationship old man flustering. Ghil can be a poetic flirt, as a treat.

Feat. My Ingellvar Ghil'danan, and the bone daddy himself, Emmrich Volkarin.

-----------------

Strong arms wrapped around him, sliding under his knees and around his shoulders. There was something about the scent that soothed him, kept him from startling even as he blinked awake.

Something floral, like the soap Ghil used.

Dazed, Emmrich looked up, his eyes adjusting to the weak light. White hair turned to pale gold in the candlelight, spilling over a broad chest and draping across Emmrich’s lap.

“Rook?” He asked sleepily, before the full reality of the situation hit him. “R-Rook!” He flailed uselessly, locked firmly in place by Ghil’s embrace.

“Shh. You fell asleep, professor.” The warrior’s low tone was melodic and even as he climbed the stairs.

“You could have just woken me up!” Emmrich protested.

Ghil snorted. “We tried. Dozing off at dinner…should I take you on less missions?”

Emmrich glared, smacking Ghil’s chest. His ears were hot with embarrassment. “I'm not an invalid!” He scolded sharply. “You requested an expert on the Fade, which requires me to-”

A rumbling chuckle cut him off, the vibrating sensation warm and deep against his side. “I know,” Ghil said, almost affectionately. “I'm just teasing.” He paused at the top of the stairs, glancing down at the professor. “Would you like me to set you down now?”

No.

“Yes,” Emmrich lied. How mortifying it was to feel the longing rise up in his chest, a sweet ache he could not deny. “I'm perfectly able to walk to my own quarters. Where is Manfred, anyway?”

Ghil gently set him on his feet, and again the professor was struck with how startingly tall the elf was. Nearly his own height.

“In your room,” Ghil replied. “I asked Manfred if he’d prep your bed for you, just in case you didn't wake.”

Emmrich truly blushed at that. “You would have taken me all the way to my bed?”

The warrior opened his mouth, snapping it shut as if closing off a sudden thought. He coughed shyly. “Of course.” Whatever had run through his mind had caused a bloom of pink across his skin, flustering Ghil nearly as much as Emmrich. “Wherever…” his voice lowered, grew softer and more intimate. “Wherever you need me to carry you, I'll always be more than happy to.”

Something about those words caught Emmrich's attention. The lingering insinuation, perhaps of something…?

No. It couldn't be. Rook couldn't be interested in…

Fidgeting, Emmrich straightened his clothes. “Well,” he said weakly. “I appreciate the offer. And…thank you for carrying me.”

Ghil's lids lowered, heavy and inviting. “Anytime, professor.”

“You know what I prefer to be called,” Emmrich croaked out. If only anyone else was here. If only the low lights didn't lend an intimate, private touch to their conversation, as if they were the only two people in the entirety of the Lighthouse.

If only he were younger, braver.

The warrior stepped closer, reaching out, making Emmrich’s breath catch.

He plucked a long white hair off the professor's shoulder, smiling softly.

“Sorry. It's the worst part about having long hair,” he commented, pulling away.

Emmrich nodded. “Of course. Thank you, dear Rook.”

“Professor. Say my name.” The command was soft, but everything in Emmrich’s mind leapt to obey.

“Ghil’danan,” he whispered hoarsely.

The look he was rewarded with practically turned his insides to jelly, filling him with heat. He was far too old for stomach butterflies, for the yearning of a new infatuation.

And yet.

Ghil took his hand, lifting it up and examining the rings there absentmindedly.

“If the sound of my name on your lips is the last thing I hear, I don't think I'd mind,” he commented casually.

By all that was good, this man was sent to kill him personally. Nevermind Lucanis, the true assassin was right here.

His cheeks flared with heat as Ghil leaned down to kiss his knuckles, that lilac gaze flicking up to pin the professor in place.

“Goodnight…Emmrich,” he murmured, before stepping away.

Emmrich found himself at a loss for words. Those lips had been so soft against his skin, the sensation lingering like veilfire long after Ghil had vanished from sight.

Letting out a shaky breath, Emmrich slumped against the wall.

A snicker caught his attention.

Taash leaned in the hallway to their room, just barely in sight.

“Get it, professor,” they said, smirking before slinking back into their quarters.

Emmrich just covered his face and wished he could sink into the floorboards.

[basket-of-cats-and-witches]

Morning Intimacy

This was originally something I just wrote for me, but I adore it so much that I wanted to share it on here. It's all fluff.

Feat. My Ingellvar Ghil'danan (or Meathead, as my friends and I call him) and Emmrich Volkarin, the bone daddy himself.

------------------------

Emmrich was loathe to leave his bed.

He always cherished the beginnings of a new relationship, but he had to admit, this was his favorite part.

Sharing a bed overnight.

He was delighted to learn Ghil wore a braid to bed, sleeping in nothing but an oversized shirt.

Honestly, it was impressive that the man had an oversized shirt, considering his relative height and musculature. When Emmrich had stared last night, causing the elf to blush, he'd shyly muttered something about it becoming too small with all the extra muscle he'd put on.

Such a tragedy. Emmrich was secretly looking forward to when it fit snugly.

Here, in the strange dawn of the Lighthouse, that shirt bared a pale shoulder. Seeing Ghil without his body paint was always startling, of course. It practically seemed like a part of his anatomy.

The way he curled around Emmrich protectively, a constant bulwark of heat against any early morning chill, left the professor's heart stuttering a little bit. He couldn't see Ghil’s expression from here, but the slow breath against his hair assured him that his lover was still sleeping.

What a novelty to feel small.

Safe.

Ghil’s fingers twitched against his chest. Slowly, he felt signs of life return to his lover, a stuttering to the steady breaths and a quiet grumble of reluctance.

“Good morning, darling,” Emmrich said softly.

The breath caught, then evened out.

“Good morning, Vhenan.”

Emmrich felt a shiver go down his spine at the rich, husky baritone, heavy with sleep. Ghil’s hand slipped down his body to curl around the jut of his hip.

Ghil’s palm felt hot, like a brand Emmrich wanted to wear forever.

Lips grazed his ear. “Want to stay in bed a while longer?”

Startled, Emmrich looked up into lilac eyes, crinkled around the edges with the beginnings of crow’s feet. “Darling, I don't think our friends will let us sleep in. We have too much work to do today, and-”

A slow, wicked grin cut him off neatly, sharp canines glinting in the morning light.

“That's not what I meant.”

The man was going to send Emmrich to an early grave.

“Well…I suppose we could spare a moment or two.”

Laughter filled his ears as he was tugged back into Ghil’s embrace, and the morning carried on without them.

[basket-of-cats-and-witches]

My thorn-laden heart (it's yours, it's yours, it's yours)

A companion piece to Carry my heart (and hold it gently in your arms). From Ghil's POV! Yes there's a Hanahaki reference in here. Tender and bittersweet, and absolutely delightful to write how differently Ghil and Emmrich view each other.

Feat. My Ingellvar, Ghil'danan, and the bone daddy himself, Emmrich Volkarin.

---------------------

Nobody could wake him.

To be fair, nobody wanted to. Emmrich had been uncharacteristically quiet on the way back, exhaustion seemingly making him drag his feet.

It had been a rough day to begin with. Antaam, Ventatori, and a mad dash to get rid of a bunch of magically charged poison had left its mark, sprinting from one end of Treviso to the other.

“Why don't you carry him, Rook?” Neve said teasingly. “You know he's going to be hurting tomorrow if we leave him sleeping here.”

Fuck. She was right. As much as he knew she was actively tormenting him, Neve did bring up a good point.

Ghil sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “If he kills me, make him bring me back,” he groaned.

Neve smiled in that wickedly mysterious way of hers. “Perhaps. Good luck.” She trotted out of the room, leaving him alone.

Emmrich looked so young. The gentle touch of sleep drew the lines away from his face, reminding Ghil of how he'd looked fourteen years ago.

Bittersweet memories. The professor didn't even remember him from before he transitioned, and Ghil didn't know whether that was a blessing or a curse.

He walked over, sliding a hand under Emmrich's knees, and the other around his shoulders.

The necromancer was much lighter than he expected. All legs and bone, gangly in a way that often came off as grace.

It was a miracle Ghil managed to keep his eyes on the battlefield on any given day.

Emmrich barely stirred. It was as if he recognized the person who held him would never do him any harm.

Maker. Cradled in his arms was the manifestation of his bleeding, beating heart, ruby-slick and beating with the spark of life this man had installed years ago.

Every time Ghil got into his head about it, he reminded himself Emmrich was only human. It would be unfair to put him on a pedestal.

Still, as his feet carried him towards the main building of the Lighthouse, he couldn't help the relentless flood of affection. Time spent together actually learning who Emmrich was only made a longtime crush bloom into a deep, unshakeable love.

Like brambles, rooting deep into his heart where they could never be dug out.

He would choke on those blackberry blossoms before ever trying to get rid of them.

A questioning hiss drew him from his thoughts. Manfred’s eyes glowed in the dark, reminding him of a cat.

“Manfred,” he whispered. “Would you set up what Emmrich needs for bed?”

The skeleton nodded, a chipperness to his steps as he scuttled up the stairs that wound up to everyone's separate quarters.

As he followed, he felt the professor stir in his arms.

“Rook?” Emmrich said sleepily. Maker’s breath, that fucking nickname. It drove Ghil mad some days.

Coming to full consciousness, the professor flailed, and Ghil was forced to tighten his hold, lest the man brain himself on the stone railing. “R-Rook!”

“Shh,” Ghil hushed. “You fell asleep, professor.”

Emmrich looked at him, aghast. “You could have just woken me up!”

He couldn't help but snort. This man was too cute for his own good. “We tried. Dozing off at dinner…should I take you on less missions?”

The glare he received made him grin, followed by a scolding smack. “I'm not an invalid! You requested an expert on the Fade, which requires me to-”

Laughter came bubbling out of Ghil’s chest, cutting the professor off. “I know,” he said, unable to control the wealth of affection spilling from him. “I'm just teasing.” Emmrich’s disapproving face only made him smile more, even as he stopped at the top of the stairs. “Would you like me to set you down now?”

“Yes,” Emmrich retorted. “I'm perfectly able to walk to my own quarters. Where is Manfred, anyway?”

Ghil glanced up. The skeleton was already gone from view. “In your room,” he replied, setting Emmrich on his feet. “I asked Manfred if he'd prep your bed for you, just in case you didn't wake.”

An odd look crossed the professor’s face, something that Ghil couldn't read. “You would have taken me all the way to my bed?”

I'd take you to mine, if you'd let me.

Ghil swallowed the inappropriate response, mentally smacking himself up the back of the head. He coughed instead. “Of course.” Ghil could feel the stark blush spreading, hating how easily it would show on his skin. “Wherever…” he faltered. What a chicken. What a coward. Alone in the Lighthouse with the one person he'd ever wanted, and he still was weak.

Ghil wanted to be someone who could be relied on. Not necessarily a hero, fuck that, but a bulwark against the endless storm of their lives.

That required courage.

He forced the words out, quieter than intended. “Wherever you need me to carry you, I'll always be more than happy to.”

Emmrich’s lips parted, his eyes wide like he'd come to some sort of revelation.

Whatever it was, he kept it to himself, looking away as he brushed invisible wrinkles from his clothes. “Well,” he replied quietly. “I appreciate the offer. And…thank you for carrying me.”

Ghil’s chest felt warm. He gazed at Emmrich tenderly. “Anytime, professor.”

Emmrich stared down at him disapprovingly. “You know what I prefer to be called.”

In the low candlelight, a single strand of white hair stuck to Emmrich's clothes. It was odd, something that didn't belong with the professor’s seamless image.

Ghil was reminded of the way Emmrich looked in the early morning, his moustache askew and his clothes rumpled.

He smiled. Not so seamless after all. Another imperfection, to be loved as it was.

Before he knew it, he'd reached forward, plucking it from the professor’s clothes. “Sorry,” he said absentmindedly. “It's the worst part about having long hair.”

Emmrich nodded. “Of course. Thank you, dear Rook.”

The nickname scratched at him, a reminder of his leadership. His title. His crown, snug around his throat and drawing tighter every day.

“Professor,” he said, before he could help himself. “Say my name.”

Internally he cringed. It came out as a command instead of a request.

-’danan,” came the whispered reply. It shocked Ghil back out of his head, sending his heart stuttering.

Holy shit. Holy shit. He was going to die, right here on the floor. Emmrich was looking at him in a way he'd never seen before, and it filled him with an impulsive confidence he rarely felt.

Taking the professor's hand in his own, he absentmindedly noted the callouses there. Years of magework had worn into Emmrich, a tapestry of skill written across his skin.

“If the sound of my name on your lips is the last thing I hear, I don't think I'd mind.” The words slipped out of his mouth before he could stop them, and he leaned down, intent on hiding the blush that was definitely coming.

Instead, he kissed the back of Emmrich's hand, silently grateful for the way they'd healed him again and again.

Ghil glanced up, meeting Emmrich’s eyes. Kind eyes, wide with pupils blown.

He had to go. He had to run away, before he ruined this moment by doing something stupid and impulsive.

“Goodnight…Emmrich.” Quickly, Ghil turned on his heel, fleeing to his room.

He hoped he hadn't scared the man off.

He hoped tomorrow, Emmrich would still grace him with his presence.