#MANFRED MY BOY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[loustilldraws]

Wow wow haven't been able to get this out of my head since I read it. Got me thinking a lot more about how each of these characters interact with their symbols in the game.

From the moment Markus enters the Manfred home, one of the first things he can interact with is the cage of robo-birds in the entry hallway. And what can he do? He can turn them on - he brings them to life in a sense. It's a microcosmic moment that encapsulates his entire role in the game as a change-maker and liberator. He sees through the cage and can reach beyond. And later when we get that cinematic slow-motion shot of him falling into Jericho, it's so clearly a flight in and of itself, calling back to the bird imagery that defines his experience with deviancy.

Of course, Markus isn't the only deviant android to be tied so intimately to birds. My boy Rupert comes to mind next, with the hundreds upon hundreds of pigeons he looks after, and how he takes flight all the same when DPD is coming for him. And then there's Ralph and the helpless violence inside of him bursting through not only with the dead man in the tub but the bird Kara can find. There's just so much. About deviancy - at least, typical deviancy - resembling that bird-in-flight emotional & psychological journey, even when the paths differ.

Then there's Connor and the fish, imagery that I have seen a lot but never thought quite so deeply about until now. How his atypical path toward deviancy is punctuated by a completely different symbol from the rest. What it means for Connor to either stop and save the fish or walk past it to fulfill his mission in the first chapter, beyond the surface-level. Yes, it's a gesture of compassion - or at least a thoughtfulness to life and living beings - that is not in his mission outline and causes software instability. But it's also the very first interaction you can have in the game that does this for him. And from that point, water is everywhere in pivotal moments in Connor's story, which I hadn't thought about before but it's so interesting to me! The fish in the tank is only the beginning. There's the moment with Hank and Connor at the bridge that forces Connor to confront mortality and whether or not he's alive. There's the pool at Kamski's where he has to either see a soul in the Chloe or kill her for his mission. All of the rain and the moody weather during the investigations, and how that rain eventually follows him inside his mind to the Zen garden as tensions mount...

Oh I'm talking myself into another playthrough, aren't I?

And that's not even diving into how Connor and Markus are connected to each other's symbols, albeit less directly. (This point is much less developed in my head, so I'd love to hear anyone else's take here!) I'm still thinking about Connor and his pursuit of the deviants, especially Rupert in The Nest; how his role is to capture those "birds" as they try to fly free, not seeing himself in them or realizing the depth of his own confinement. Something about seeing the startled pigeons flying away just before the chase sequence has always been such a striking, vivid image that latched onto my brain since I first experienced the game. Now, I feel like I'm beginning to understand why.

Then there's Markus and the water, with Jericho at the docks, and how in the end, this nest of all the deviants is the place Connor is fully confronted by the path be needs to choose for himself. He's finally over that bigger body of water and understanding his confinement, with Markus the liberator on his home turf and ready to push him to see it. Just. The confrontation between deviant leader and deviant hunter taking place over the water is the perfect example to me of how that save-the-fish moment becomes symbolic of Connor's deviant path entirely.

I don't know. Some of these ideas are probably only half-baked but I'm thinking about parts of the game that never stood out to me so much before, and I'm so jazzed about it! Analysis is one of the biggest things I love about fandom, so I hope some of what I said might add a little something to it too.

The Pets

[mercars-musings]

Rate Your OC Traits

Tysm for the tag @redheadsramblings & @sunny374940! I so appreciate the amount of times youse both give me opportunities to yap about my boy hehe

Tis Az Mercar again! <3

Compassion: 7/10 — He DEFINITELY leads with compassion more often than not but tbh it TRULY depends who you are. Another random person? Sure, he'll try compassion. Someone he dislikes like a Magister, a Venatori, Solas, or another prick who would rather get their own while others suffer? Yeah fuck you, swift kick to the face if you don't get out his way. ~ Bitterness: 5/10 — Depends when you catch him, this bitch has so much trauma and is filled with a quietly bubbling rage just under the surface, but is also AMAZING at compartmentalising and bottling his feelings up. :') ~

Happiness: pre-veilguard 5/10— Work was his entire life, he barely went out and only ever did hook ups. He did NOT want to deal with romance ever again and genuinely never saw himself with a future past probably dying to stop some asshole magisters.

Happiness: post-veilguard 8/10 — He's got a wonderful husband, a surprise skeleton son and finally got the Dock Town Doggo thats always barking to come live with him. He's still traumatized and is dealing with a lot BUT he finally sees a future where he's happy and with those he loves. ~

Chivalry: 3/10 — Ehhhh, he does do romantic stuff don't get me wrong, but if he's ever being "chivalirous" it's most likely in a silly teasing way to make Em smile! ~

Pride: 5/10 — It's kind of a middle ground. He's proud of what he's accomplished as a Shadow Dragon & he's proud that he was able to stop the Elven Gods & keep {most of} his loved ones alive. But deep down he's still the weird kid that was severely bullied & had the only person who was ever proud of him killed before he could ever figure out how to be proud of himself. That shit kind of fucks up your self worth. ~

Honesty: 7/10 — So, yes & no. He will be truthful to a point. He never lies to Em or his close friends on anything important. BUT he will lie about how he's feeling to avoid an awkward situation or to keep people from worrying about him. He will also lie to assholes & omit certain info to non family / friends on missions if it gets him what he needs / opens the right doors bc well duh. ~

Bravery: 8/10 — He's a proper chicken shit at heart but he WILL do what is right & will do it with a brave face while he's internally SCREAMING in a panic lmfao. ~

Recklessness: 7/10 — He DOES prefer to think things true but sometimes his moral compass is a liiiiittle too strong and prompts him to act first, do damage control later. There is a reason the Shadows sent him to work with Varric for a while after all! ~

Ambition: 4/10 — He doesn't really care for titles or anything of the sort. He just wants to help people and fuck over as many magisters and Venatori he can along the way lmao. If a title helps him do that though, he may consider trying to achieve it! ~

Loyalty: 10/10 — Look this bitch commits HARD okay? He spent so long without a support system that he just didn't care for long but NOW? Now, he has something. He has a family in the Veilguard, Siblings in Taash & Davrin, a Partner in Emmrich & a son in Manfred & daughter in Hissera. He's had a taste of what he's always been after, finally and by the Gods he will die for it & to keep them safe if he has to. ~

Love: 10/10 — As someone who tried so desperately to shut that part of himself off for a long time... his hopeless romantic ass & his desire for family has kind of come back in full force and he will do anything for his loved ones. ~

Sense of family: pre-veilguard 3/10 — Desperate for one but with a mum who never wanted kids and a dad who loved him but was away from home constantly. He never really felt it in a meaningful way. Sense of family: post-veilguard 9/10 — He still has his scars and MANY hang ups around the topic of family. But, he definitely understands a lot more now and absolutely loves the little family he found / made. ~

Attractiveness: 10/10 — I personally think this dude is pretty as fuck. Is his appearance a self insert of how I want to look in the DA universe? Yes, which I think explains my answer bc I WANT TO LOOK PRETTY lmfao. If you ask him he'd just shrug, Emmrich agrees with me though, he's hot and pretty af. ~

Agility: 7/10 — He's agile enough. He's a mage and does close quarter combat and is great at it. But also don't ask him to do anything toooo physically demanding in his off time, his bones hurt lmfao. ~

Sex drive: 8/10 — Pretty healthy amount tbh. He really likes sex, ESPECIALLY with Emmrich. But also sometimes would just rather cuddle with his necromancer and read. :3 ~

No Pressure Taggies! : @thedissonantverses ; @andthekitchensinkao3 ; @ofcrowsanddragons ; @caughtnyact ; @hyperions-light & literally anyone else who sees this and wants in! <3

[birb--birb]

Its 2am and Im out here crying over a SKELETON IM 😭😭😭😭😭

[houndvoice]

I am sure this has been done somewhere before but I drew it just in case

Bonus: Rook immediately before ripping up all the couch cushions in a panic

[irenydraws]

💀 a home in life, a berth in death 💀

[cheriboms]

everybody was very nice on my last post(s) so !!! more cole and manfred be upon you :D

[curiouswisp]

His body could only take so much. But I underestimated him, Rook. What bravery in the heart of the dead! And how he grew. Manfred disobeyed me beautifully! He was his own soul at the end.

[doctorsiren]

Part 1

next ->

[farore05]

Emmrich and Manfred. (Amaretto Sour)

Read the fic here:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/60715576/chapters/155048638

Art commission by the ✨lovely✨ nomnomroko thank you so very much! 💚🦻

[felrend]

Manfred just being a cutie

[darbylou-art]

manfred

i cant wait to meet this fella oh my GOD

ko-fi

[queenmuzz]

Sleep is a Shallow Death

A one-shot story set after Weisshaupt, with heavy implications of Emmrook. Based of fthis idea I had.

Zea is pretty adept at passing out when she knows she’s safe.  That’s what life in the Necropolis does to you.  She can rival Lucanis when it comes to staying awake and alert when need compels her in the Lower Depths.  And yet, despite the horrors she saw at Weisshaupt, the death, destruction, the Blight and blood, the moment her head hits the pillow, she is dead to the world.  Her body demands that she rest, and she will not deny it.  Even her mind aids her by giving her a slumber untroubled by dreams or nightmares.  She’s safe in the Lighthouse, and must take full advantage of it, for who knows when the next crisis will deny her rest?

So, her body is unprepared for the insistent prodding it feels.  First the fleshy part of her upper arm, which she is completely unaware of, to the side of her torso, which she ignores.  It’s just a loose piece of straw, her mind rationalizes, you are safe here.  There is no danger.  Rest while you can.

It’s when her cheek gets poked that her mind decides that something is wrong and starts alerting her muscles that they must awaken.  She blinks.  Once.  Twice.  Three times.

The first time, she sees two green shapes, a few inches from her face.

The second time, she see’s an off white oval behind them

The third time, she sees it for what it really is.  A skull.

“SPIRITS PRESERVE ME!” she shrieks and topples off the couch, landing in an undignified heap.  She grabs her dagger, ready to brandish it…

Oh…it’s Manfred.

“Oh, hey there!”  She lets out a sigh of relief, “Listen, I know you’re curious, but you can’t go around poking people when they’re sleeping. You could get yourself hurt doing that, especially if you tried it on Taash.” She goes to get back on the couch, to slip  into sleep once more, but is stopped by Manfred, who yanks on her arm.  He’s making a strange sound, somewhere between a hiss and a whine.  There’s something agitated in his manner, and her blood freezes cold.

“Emmrich?  Is he in trouble?”

The skeleton nods and goes to yank her towards the door, but his boney hand clings to air, as Zea is already sprinting out of the room.

Her mind races.  Was he hurt? How had she not noticed? It must have happened during the siege of Weisshaupt.  Afterwards everyone was so pumped up with adrenaline, anger, and frustration that perhaps even Emmrich hadn’t noticed that he was injured.  Still, it’s no excuse, she’s their leader, she ought to have paid attention.

She doesn’t bother to knock,  deciding to burst into the room, ready to assess the situation.  He’s not at his desk.  Nor in his upstairs balcony.  It’s only after she looks downstairs again, does she notice one of the bookshelves out of place, swung open like a door, leading to a room she’s never seen before.  The lighthouse has seen fit to give him a cozy bedroom, it seems.  She still can’t see Emmrich, but she notices that the bed is unmade, something that seems very out of character for the ever fastidious professor. He can’t have gone far.

“Emmrich?”

There’s a pained wheeze from the far side of the bed and she runs towards it, her mind playing out worst case scenarios.  A broken bone, internal bleeding, head injury?

She finds him curled up in a ball, his hands clutching his chest, leaning against the mattress, almost unrecognizable, his tailored nightwear disheveled, his usually combed back hair now limp and damp with sweat, his ever alert eyes dull and unfocused.  She’s never seen him in this state, and it frightens her.  He’s always been so full of confidence and vigor, a smile on his lips and a helping hand always available.

“Emmrich!”  she collapses to her knees, her hand already reaching out to him, trying to assess the situation.  Instead, he makes what seems to be a sobbing gasp, and flinches away from her touch, as if her hands were red hot iron brands.  She doesn’t try again, afraid that she will make things worse, deciding to attempt to figure out what he’s suffering from by sight and questions.

“Emmrich, please tell me what’s wrong.” She waits for him to answer, but he doesn’t respond, almost doesn’t seem to know she’s there.  He’s just gasping for air, like he’s drowning, and his eyes just stare straight ahead.  He looks so lost, so terrified, like a small child trapped in a…

“House collapse. Quick deaths”

“That’s when I discovered a great terror of dying”

The words from the Memorial Garden seeped back into her memories and she understands. He’s suffering from a panic attack, no doubt fueled by the near death experience of the previous day.  

“Oh Emmrich…” she sighs, not out of aggravation, nor even out of pity.  It’s more like helplessness, with her unable to break through to him, to assure that he is safe, that death will not touch him here.

There’s a worried hiss coming from the foot of the bed, revealing Manfred looking on with concern.

“Manfred,” she asks, knowing that he cannot give her a detailed answer, but trying anyway, “has this happened before?”

The skeleton nods with a sad rattle.  That means Emmrich has gotten through them, (although the thought of him being in this situation multiple times during his life causes her chest to hurt), maybe he has a way of dealing with them.

“When Emmrich has one of these episodes, what does he or you do to make the…” she doesn’t know how much Manfred understands about panic attacks.  This sort of thing isn’t part of Curiosity’s wheelhouse. “How do you make him feel better?”

Manfred animatedly goes to the side of the bed, pointing at roughly stitched together pillows and blankets, no doubt of his own handiwork, all bundled together around where Emmrich would have been sleeping.  If it wasn’t the seriousness of the Professor's condition, her heart would have swelled with how adorable it was for the spirit to try to comfort the older man.

“Hmmm, didn’t work this time”

Another sad rattle.

“Well, it’s not your fault, he’s had a… pretty rough day.”  That was an understatement.  Between the fall of the impregnable fortress, the death of so many brave wardens, and yes, even the fate of the First Warden himself, it was a wonder anyone had come back mentally whole.  Mila and her father seemed to be the most well adjusted of the bunch, followed by Evka and Antoine, but the other Wardens?  Davrin?  Lucanis?  Even Zea herself, despite how easily she had fallen asleep, knew that the horrors she had seen that day would never be forgotten.  Emmrich had hidden his burden from them all, being the diplomat that had defused a tense situation after, while no doubt trying to keep the terror of what they had just been through at bay.  She should have checked in on him, should have known his preoccupation with her own wellbeing was a front.

Well, there was no changing the past.  She can only hope that her presence would help calm him down.  Although…  She has an idea.

“Manfred, could you make a cup of tea for Emmrich?  Just need one cup.  Do you have that blend you made for us in the Memorial Gardens?”

The emerald eyes light up, and he nods, before scurrying away, happy to help.  She sits down beside Emmrich, close, but not too close to be threatening.  She’d love to give him a reassuring hug, tell him everything will be alright, but she knows that even if he wasn’t in such a vulnerable state, it would cross a boundary she dares not touch.  This man is her friend, nothing more.  No matter how much she wishes otherwise.  So, instead, she does what comes naturally to her, she talks.

“What a day we had,” she starts off in a tone reserved described by Varric as ‘talking about the weather’, (she wonders if she can wake Varric up to assist her once Manfred returns, he’d know what to do… but just the thought of it makes her head hurt, for some reason.  No, she’ll stay here).   “I know when I asked you to help us stop the Gods, I may have neglected a few small details of what it would entail…okay, maybe a LOT of details.”

Emmrich doesn’t respond, but he doesn’t seem to be getting worse.  His forehead is dripping in sweat, but it takes all her willpower to resist the urge to wipe it with her sleeve.  She mustn't touch him, not in this state.  

“I have to thank you, Emmrich.”  she chuckles to herself, trying to exude an aura of joviality that she doesn’t quite feel, “For the first time in my life, I wanted to actually punch someone out who hadn’t attacked me first.  The First Warden, his attitude… his complete buffoonery.  But…” she thinks back to that moment where everything stood in the balance, “You were there, and I KNEW you’d be disappointed in me if I didn’t at least attempt to be diplomatic.  And the craziest thing… It worked!”  Were the present situation not so serious, she would have laughed.  She could sense even Davrin rooting for her to knock him, his own boss, down a peg or two.  But it was Emmrich alone who seemed to be relieved that she hadn’t resorted to violence, and that had made her feel… good.  “The man was being an arse, yes, but I realize now he was terrified out of his mind.  He refused to look Death in the face, tried sticking his head into the ground, tried denying it was there, and by doing so nearly got every single Warden killed.   I can’t fault him for being terrified, it’s a natural, uncontrollable reaction,  but I can’t in good conscience condone his actions.  He should have been leading, if not from the front, helping the evacuation.”  

If Emmrich hears her, he gives no sign, save for rocking back and forth a bit.  His breathing is hard, and if she can’t somehow soon calm him down, he might pass out.   And while that would solve the immediate problem, she feels it wouldn’t help the situation, or his mental state.

There's a cheerful hiss, and Manfred clomps over, arms outstretched as he shows off a single tea cup, steaming hot with a warm brown liquid, set on a hexagonal shaped plate, with two sugar cubes.

“Ah, thank you Manfred!” she smiles, truly thankful for the distraction, and nods as she takes it from him, setting it on the nightstand.  This action earns her a quizzical wheeze from the Spirit, as he clicks his  jaws together in confusion.

“Oh, he’s not going to DRINK the tea” she explains, “it’s the smell of the tea,” she idly wonders if Manfred CAN smell, that’s something she’ll have to inquire about when Emmrich is back to normal and well rested.  If he wishes her to never mention this particular incident again, she won’t.  She has a feeling that this sort of thing is a shame to him. “Hopefully the smell of the tea will remind him of pleasant, peaceful times, and will slowly remind him that he is safe.”

A metaphorical bouquet of floral scents  begins to permeate through the air, and it has its desired effect, both on Emmrich, who ceases his rocking, but keeps himself tense as a wound spring, and herself, who momentarily remembers her first (but sadly not last,) clumsy attempt at flirting with him.  She shakes her head, now is not the time.

Instead, she positions herself so that she is kneeling in front of him, an arms length away.  Close enough to reach out to him, but far enough to give his space.  He is still clutching his chest, his shirt is partially unbuttoned, revealing pallid skin that shines with sweat. On closer inspection, his left hand is actually clutching something tightly.  She can’t make out what it is, but for the briefest of moments, she sees the unmistakable brilliance of gold peeking between his white knuckles.  An amulet of some sort?  Something he apparently finds great comfort in. 

“Emmrich, may I…” this is a critical moment, and she must be careful.  “May I touch you?”  

For a brief moment, there’s no response, and she despairs.   She’s failing him.

And then, he stirs, and she sees the glimmer of recognition for a split second.

“Rook?” His voice is ragged, but her heart swells.  It’s like he has only noticed her presence, or finally recognized her after much struggle.

“May I touch you, Emmrich?” she repeats, and he gives out a faint nod.  Carefully, she places her right hand on that exposed skin.  He flinches slightly at her touch, but does not shrink away.   She feels how clammy he is, that he’s liable to catch cold from how much he's been sweating.  She feels his heart beat, faster than a runaway gear in the Necropolis lift.  No wonder he’s terrified, if she felt her heart racing like that, she’d think she was dying too. 

With as much gentleness as she can muster she takes his free hand, and brings it to her own chest, letting him feel her heartbeat thrumming along at a slightly higher than normal rate.  Hopefully, this will ground him, remind him that he’s not alone in this, that death will not claim him, not yet.

“Breathe with me, Emmrich, one breath in… hold it in …3…2…1, let it out.   Breathe in again… hold… 3…2…1, let it out…”

His breaths try to follow instruction, but he’s clearly having difficulty, with the pattern being interrupted with gasps and hiccups.  Worse yet, his eyes are becoming glazed over, as he no doubt is reliving the previous day’s events.  All the times he could have nearly died.  She must find a way to avert those thoughts from spiraling him into darker depths.  Distraction will not work, she must change his perception of them.  

“I saw you at Weishaupt, saw how you fought.  How when that Ogre noticed Mila and ran towards her, YOU were the one that cast the spell to distract it, putting yourself in danger.”  His eyes begin to regain their focus as he recalls that memory. Good, she thinks, I’m getting through to him.  

“I saw you there on the battlements, as the walls crumbled, and Davrin would have fallen with them, had you not extended your hand and caught him, despite the risk of you plummeting down with him.”  His breath begins to slow down, still rapid, but he’s no longer at risk of hyperventilating.

“I saw you Emmrich Volkarin,”  his eyes snap up to lock on hers at the sound of his full name, and he goes completely still.

“You looked Death in the face, and You. Did. Not. Flinch.”

It’s working!  His heartbeat is slowing down, still rapid but losing its intensity.  His chest now rises and sinks with hers, with only a few hiccups along the way.  The worst is over, but the task is not done.  He must be assured of her support, that he does not have to go through this alone, or even just rely on Manfred.  

“Upon my honour as a Cryptguard, Death shall not touch you.” 

His eyes now look completely alert, and hep gasps, perhaps catching an errant breath, or more likely, at what she’s just uttered.  He knows all about Necropolis oaths, and the price for breaking them.

“Rook… you cannot…”

She gives out Oaths sparingly, and usually with not such insurmountable conditions, but in her heart, she knows she means every word.  The world would be much darker without Emmrich Volkarin in it.  HER world would be much darker without Emmrich Volkarin in it.  She smiles at him, shoving that last thought deep down.

“I just did.  I would be a terrible leader if I didn’t protect you all to the best of my abilities. After all,” she pushes her hand on his heart, “I’m merely doing what you did yesterday, protecting people.”  Hopefully he never notices that he’s the only one who received that binding oath.  For the others, it’s more of a ‘handshake’ agreement.  She would do anything to ensure their safety, of course, but Emmrich, she’s especially fond of him.  She can’t let him die, not again, not like she did with-

She winces, a stabbing shoots through her skull  for a brief moment, but quickly goes away as she focuses on the man in front of her.

His heart is now matching hers beat for beat, while he utters the most relieving sound, a chuckle.  A weak one to be sure, but considering what he’s just been through, it’s much better than she would have expected.

“You are…” he’s thinking of a word, pausing for a moment before settling on one, “remarkable.”

That’s not the word he wanted to use, she thinks, idly wondering what he really wanted to say, as she slowly, reluctantly withdraws her hand.  She doesn’t mind that his hand lingers on her chest for a few moments longer, missing its warmth the moment he pulls it back.  There’s a brief moment of tension, where each of them are unable, or unwilling to do anything that will break this moment of peace.  Finally, she takes the plunge.

“You feeling better?”

“Quite so.”  It’s a bit over-confident, and definitely a lie  but the fact he’s able to put on that mask of quiet bravado is a good sign that he’s over most of it.

“We ought to get you back to bed, Manfred’s brought you some extra pillows and blankets to keep you warm and toasty.”  She suggests, as she looks up at the Spirit, who's been watching this all transpire with rapt interest.  She helps him up, ignoring the pain in her ankle that has flared from both the battle and from kneeling.  She’ll tend to it later.  Right now, looking after Emmrich is her priority.  Taking a towel off the nightstand, she mops up the sweat off his forehead,  trying to be as gentle as possible.  Already, his eyelids are half closed, he’s probably exhausted from the panic attack, not to mention the battle. She idly wonders if she can take whatever is in his hand to set it on the nightstand, to prevent him from losing it, but thinks better of it.  It obviously brings him comfort.   Manfred is rearranging the pillows and blankets, tucking him.  It’s frankly cute how much the little guy cares for him.  Emmrich is in good hands, and she decides to make her exit.

“Rest well, Emmrich.” She murmurs as she leaves his side, intending to head back to her quarters.  She should have no problem passing out, now that the danger has passed.

What she does not expect is how quickly his hand shoots out, how strong the grip on her wrist.  Instantly, her eyes snap up to his, worrying  how wide they are.  Not frightened, but… something else?

“Stay…” he rasps, “Please.”  There’s a pleading in his voice, one that  her iron will, despite being so strong that it stood up to the First Warden, crumbles to bone dust with those two words.

She doesn’t have to fake a smile as she nods.  If it will help him sleep, she’ll do anything for him.  She lets him pull her down until she’s sitting beside the bed, in the same place as he once was.  Only then does he release her.  

“I’ll be here however long you need me, Emmrich.  You’re safe.”

He doesn’t respond, although the sound of his breathing, now slow, deep, and even is thanks enough.  It’s not much longer until she’s pretty certain he’s fallen asleep.  She hopes that whatever dreams he has, whatever journey through the Fade he takes, it will be pleasant and peaceful. Still, she made a promise to stay, and just like her oath, she’ll honour it.  She settles down to keep watch as Manfred approaches.

“Thanks for coming to me Manfred,” she smiles at the skeleton. “You really helped out Emmrich there.”  The spirit hisses softly in happiness.

“Listen, if Emmrich ever has any more trouble like this, you come to me, okay?”  If she needs to spend a week, a month, a year here to make sure that Emmrich doesn’t suffer from another attack, she’ll gladly do it.  Besides, this room is quite cozy, and even sitting at the side of the bed is just as comfortable as laying on her couch.  She’s safe, there’s no dang-

She remembers no more of that night.

Emmrich blinks the sleep out of his eyes as he wakes up, rather more refreshed than he expected.  Yet, he feels odd.  His eyes feel gummy, like he had finally recovered from a day spent surrounded by copious amounts of gravedust.  And his pajamas  they feel stiff,  like they’d been overly starched.   His left hand aches, and upon further examination, he realizes that it’s been tightly clutching something the entire night.  Wincing slightly, he opens up to see the skull brooch he’s carried on his person since he was a boy.   Ah… he comes to the sad realization as he surveys his bed, covered with pillows and blankets, all of them created by Manfred.  He must have had another panic attack the previous night.  It was to be expected, he concedes, after the horrors of Weisshaupt.  Still, he thinks, he was quite impressed that at the time, he had not faltered when things looked dire, nor collapsed in terror at the horrors he saw. That they were able to save as many poor souls as they could.  He could have frozen in fear of sight of the Archdemon, but he hadn't.  Facing off against almost certain death he…he…

He did not flinch.

He frowns, wondering why that particular phrase came to his mind. He sighs, breathing in deeply and then freezes.  There’s a scent in the air, familiar and comforting, but out of place.  It reminds him of the memorial garden, of that particular blend of tea he’d found while perusing the Nevarran market.  He’d only had it once, with Rook, which was a pleasant enough memory, but why did he smell it now?

He surveys the room, and finds his answer, although it leads to more questions.  There’s a cup of tea on the nightstand, room temperature based on the lack of steam, and full.  This is exceptionally odd.  He never drinks tea while in bed, due to the risk of spills and scalding.  And definitely he would not let a cup of tea sit there going cold, risking staining the porcelain.  And as helpful as Manfred was, and as much as he enjoyed the task, he only made tea upon Emmrich’s request.  Unless…

The memories come back to him in sickening clarity as he covers face with his hands. It was one thing for him to have one of his attacks, he’d dealt with them his entire life.  It was quite another to have someone witness them.  Manfred, innocent soul that he was, gave no judgement on these episodes, trying his very best to make him comfortable until it passed.  Johanna surprisingly had been rather kind, in her own unique way.  She’d just pretend she saw nothing.  But she’d pat him on his head, calling him a ‘foolish cowardly man’ as she patiently waited until he recovered.  But she’d never used it against him, even when she could have used it as leverage or, even in revenge when he’d stood by as she was expelled from the Watch.  She had even prevented others from discovering his shameful secret, letting people that were looking for him while he was ‘indisposed’ that he was far too busy for whatever ‘trifling’ matter they had.  He never had told her how grateful he was for that small act of kindness.

But Rook?  Not only had she witnessed his weakness, she’d seen him in the worst state he’d been in for years, perhaps decades.  He could only imagine how wretched he looked to her now.  He was supposed to be a learned Fade expert to her, not a boy she needed to coax back into bed after a bad dream.  What must she think of him now?  He knew exactly what she’d think.  That he was pathetic.  Or worse, she’d pity him.  Leave him here at the Lighthouse, safe from the danger of the outside world that she knew he could not handle while she faced the Gods without him.  Somehow, the thought of her, hurt, alone, with him unable to aid her, drove into his chest like a knife, deeper than any fear of death.

Still, he needed to get to her. To explain himself, to assure her that whatever she had seen was not all who he was.  That when she needed him, no matter how dire the situation, he would not…would not…flinch.  

Her words echoed through his skull. She had said them with such conviction, hadn’t she?  Like she truly believed that he’d be willing to stand against the Maker Himself if she asked him to.  Still, the darker part of him argues, she merely said it to calm you down, you deluded old man.  Did you expect her to believe a man with night terrors would be worth anything in a fight?  The only reason she stayed is because you asked -no, BEGGED- her to.  She probably left the moment you fell aslee-

He stops, hearing a noise coming from the side of his bed. It goes quiet, then starts up again, a slow rumble, like the shudder when the Necropolis halls shift.  He looks down…

Rook is there, sitting there, legs sprawled out, head tilted back as she softly snores.  There’s a look of peace and contentment on her face, free of care or worry, a side of her he rarely has seen.  It would be a shame to wake her up, especially after all she’s done for him. His heart pounds rapidly in his chest, not out of terror, but of what it meant.  She had promised to stay… and she did.  So instead of getting up, rinsing out his gummy eyes and changing out of his sweat dried night clothes, he lays back in bed, willing to tolerate them a bit longer if it allows her to rest a bit longer. Perhaps he can even slip back into slumber again.

He can’t help but notice that someone has carefully covered her with a badly stitched up quilt.

[landfilloftrash]

seeing ghosts everywhere you go?

are they all in your head or are they here causing that chill in your bones?

[mothtato]

I missed my son

[cheriboms]

[spite] has entered the chat >:P

[curiouswisp]

I encountered him as a wisp in the Necropolis years ago. A simple spirit, but so curious! He refused to leave my side.

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Manfred Volkarin - Beloved Son and Apprentice of the Necropolis