#Manfred just helping to cover his face

[timethehobo]

It’s a lot of fun drawing him blushing tbh.

[dalishious]

Dragon Age: The Veilguard’s Familiar Faces and Factions

The trailer for Dragon Age: The Veilguard has dropped, and I couldn’t be more excited. It’s like a new breath of life has entered my lungs!

Within the trailer, we now have confirmation of who our seven companions are going to be, and among them are a few familiar faces from the book Dragon Age: Tevinter Nights. We also have some name-droppings of a couple factions featured in the same book and the comics, Dragon Age: The Missing. So, here is what knowledge is established about these faces sand factions.

Neve Gallus & The Shadow Dragons

Neve Gallus was first introduced in the Tevinter Nights story, “The Streets of Minrathous”. She comes off as a no-nonsense and a little intense kind of person. Neve is a Tevinter mage who works as a private investigator. For example, if someone wants some detective work done but doesn’t want the public to know, they would hire Neve. On occasion, she’s even been hired by the templars, who act like just regular cops in Tevinter – and yes, that includes their corruption and primary goal of simply protecting the elite – but Neve prefers to work alone because of that corruption, and has a personal grudge against the order for taking bribes to cover up crimes.

Neve has a prosthetic leg below the knee, made of dwarven-crafted metal.

In The Missing, Neve says she is friends with the Shadow Dragons. In the article shared by EA, as of The Veilguard, she is officially a member. The Shadow Dragons are a group of concerned Tevinter citizens who help those in need. This includes supporting escaped slaves, for example.

Emmrich Volkahrin

Emmrich Volkahrin was first introduced in the Tevinter Nights story, “Down Among the Dead Men”. He is a necromancer from Nevarra, and therefore naturally a member of the Mortalitasi – specifically, a professor in the Mourn Watch. The Watchers serve as elite guardians of the Grand Necropolis. Emmrich is on the eccentric side, personality-wise, but kindly and informal.

Emmrich has a skeleton assistant name of Manfred, who helps him with different office tasks. He also has friends in Myrna, a fellow Watcher, and Audric, a dead guardsmen who looks after the library.

Lucanis Dellamorte

Lucanis Dellamorte was first introduced in the Tevinter Nights story, “The Wigmaker Job”. He is the favourite grandson of Caterina Dellamorte, First Talon (leader) of the Antivan Crows. As such, he was raised from birth to be the perfect assassin in a ruthless and torturous environment, knowing only cruelty from his family. This has led to him feeling less like a person and more like a living weapon – and he is treated like one by everyone who knows of him. He has “the Demon” as a nickname.

I know a few people are curious about the “mage killer” title in the trailer. Rest assured that Lucanis specifically kills evil blood mages. In his own words: “If someone wants to pay me top coin to kill a bunch of racist blood mages—who have it coming—I’m not going to complain.”

Where his cousin Illario has a “silver tongue” as Lucanis puts it, he himself is a lot blunter. His reputation of a killer is spotless, except for one small problem: He has a heart under all that black leather.

Lucanis and Illario get along quite well, except for the fact that Lucanis is destined to be the next First Talon, after Caterina dies. Illario wants the job far more than Lucanis, but Lucanis isn’t sure he’s capable of making a decision for himself that goes against the wishes of the Crows.

The Veil Jumpers

The Veil Jumpers were first introduced in The Missing #3. They are a group made up of primarily Dalish elves, though also inclusive of other folks of any walks of life willing to help, working to try and control the new threats within Arlathan Forest. The forest has become a ground of chaotic magic, with the Veil so thin that time and place is jumbled together. Thus, the Veil Jumpers move in and out of the spots that bleed into one another.

The Veil Jumpers do have a headquarters called “The Sanctum”, but we know nothing else about it.

The Lords of Fortune

Despite the Lords of Fortune being mentioned in more than one Tevinter Nights story, as well as the show Dragon Age: Absolution, we don’t know a lot about them. The only concrete information provided is that they are a loose group of people who collect trinkets and glory. They come out of Rivain. They typically wear a lot of their collected trinkets like badges of honour. That’s really all there is, so I can’t wait to learn more.

[preciouslittlewatcher]

Rook: *bursts into Emmrichs room and falls on the floor*

E: Hello my love! I- oh dear...

R: I'm so TIRED. I'm always solving everyone's problems and paying the price for them. I think Neve secretly hates me and every time I talk to someone they're just asking for more from me. Nobody ever asks me how I'm doing or if I'm okay. I'm NOT, by the way.

*Emmrich closes the book he was reading and places it on his desk. He walks over to rook who is face down on the floor to kneel next to them and rub their back*

E: Darling? I think you need to get some rest. You haven't slept in three days. There's too much weighing on you and a good night sleep may help. I worry about you when you get like this. And you're right, you deal with far too much at once. You should go sleep, if anyone needs to talk I'll cover for you.

*Rook looks up at Emmrich with pleading eyes*

R: But I just got here! I don't want to move! Can I sleep here?

E: But your room is literally next do-

....

E: Come along then, I think both of us could use a quiet moment. I'll lock the door.

*Taash from outside the room* ROOOOOOK. WHERE'S ROOK????

E: Tsk, already? I'm sure they can wait. Come along dearest. Manfred? Uhm...Go...Play outside for a while.

[kabsey]

As soon as what is left of the team staggers back to the Lighthouse from Tearstone Island, Taash stalks away from the eluvian with long strides that far outpace anyone who would follow them. Bellara starts to anyway, but Emmrich stops her with a gentle hand on her arm. From the way they move, Taash has suffered no life-threatening injuries, and he has seen the outward ripples of death so many times, the exponentially expanding effect it has on the surrounding environment. He knows that the weight of Taash's compound grief is too heavy, is crushing them too completely for them to find the air to speak.

Instead Emmrich guides Bellara's attention back to Davrin with a look and a nod. She is at the Warden's side in an instant, though despite his limp, she resists the urge to drape his arm over her shoulder. After many close calls, Davrin has impressed on all of them the importance of keeping their distance when his armor is thick with blight, and he is covered after putting himself between the team and Ghilan'nain again and again. Her hands stubbornly still hover near him, as faithful to her friend as Assan herding him forward from his other side.

He manages to reach the infirmary under his own power, and Bellara hurries to fill the tub in the corner with steaming-hot water. She hasn't had time to study its magical properties yet, but it somehow manages to fill and drain in a continuous cycle, washing away blood and blight as easily as dirt and leaves. If it were anyone but Davrin, she would wait just outside, but they are both Dalish and casual nudity is nothing to anyone raised in a clan. When he is out of his armor, blight only stains his face and hair, so she is finally able to take his arm and help him into the tub.

He ducks his head immediately, scrubbing out the filth until the water is clear again. It seems to take every bit of his remaining energy—emotional and physical; when he's done, he simply sits in the water, elbows on his bent knees, head in his hands. Bellara feels the first tears fill her eyes, and she knows they share the same grief and fear—for Harding and Rook, of course, but it's Neve's loss that trembles between them with a thundering heartbeat. At any other time, in any other way, she would be rapturous at the vindication that, despite their insistence to the contrary, her two friends are so much more than friends to each other, but she suspects that Davrin's desperation as he'd pounded against the darkened surface of the eluvian on Tearstone will live in her nightmares for years to come.

She heals his wounds while he gathers himself and then brings him a towel. His only protest when she leads him to one of the bunks is a perfunctory grunt; he's too experienced a warrior to deny himself needed rest. She plans to stay close, but when she hears shouts and the thuds of falling objects from the floor below, she goes to investigate, leaving Assan behind with instructions to find her if Davrin needs anything.

Emmrich has only managed to coax Spite as far as the library, and the spirit is ripping books from the bookshelves amid demands that Emmrich use them to bring Rook back. Manfred hisses with distress as he scurries to and fro collecting the fallen books.

"Spite," Emmrich scolds, "you must allow me to heal Lucanis."

"No!" Spite shouts. "Find! Rook! First!"

"I swear to you that I will do everything in my power to locate Rook, but if Lucanis is unconscious after his head injury, then both of you may be in serious danger."

Spite growls, but his wings retract with an audible snap and he throws himself onto the library's couch.

"Not unconscious," he grumbles. "Doesn't want. To talk. Doesn't want. To think. Doesn't want. To feel."

Emmrich shares a look with Bellara, who is watching the scene unfold from the balcony outside the infirmary. Her cheeks are lined with tears, and at Spite's proclamation, several more follow the tracks of their fellows. She descends the stairs as Emmrich sits beside Spite to heal Lucanis's body. As the injuries mend, he winds a thread into the spell to encourage drowsiness, though in truth, Lucanis's long-standing exhaustion does most of the work. By the time he lets the spell lapse, Spite is curled on the couch fast asleep, mouth open and one arm flung over the side like a child exhausted by a tantrum.

Emmrich winces as he rises to his feet, rolling his stiff neck. Bellara hurries to his side, hand aglow with a healing spell of her own, but he waves her off.

"Merely a few bruises," he assures her. "You?"

"I'm fine," she says. "Well, not fine, but I'm not hurt."

Her gaze darts from Lucanis's sleeping form to the closed doors of the infirmary and Taash's room above before settling back on him. Her face is twisted with despair.

"What are we going to do?" she whispers.

He sets his hands on her shoulders. "Bellara, what did you see when Rook disappeared?"

She blinks her dark eyes up at him, still dazed with loss and the horrors they have witnessed, but then he sees her usual sharpness return, piqued as always by an unanswered question.

"The resonant energies produced by Ghilan'nain's death ripped a tear in the Fade. Rook was pulled through."

"Anything else?"

She catches her lower lip between her teeth, and her eyes wander to the murals that adorn the walls. "For a split second, I thought I saw someone else, and then the tear seemed to distort right before it closed."

"Yes!" Emmrich assures her. "I saw the same. Did the distortion remind you of anything?"

"It looked a bit like the portal that Elgar'nan used to arrive in the Wetlands when we fought the dragon."

Her eyes widen, and she nearly jumps as she turns back to him and latches onto his forearms. "The ritual! The first one, I mean! Solas's ritual! He was sucked into the gods' prison when they were released. It was an exchange!"

"Precisely!" Emmrich declares. "I believe that figure we saw was Solas himself and that he portaled himself away from the tear as soon as he stepped through. Which he was only able to do—"

"Because Rook has taken his place in the gods' prison!" The momentary thrill of solving a puzzle drains from Bellara's face, and she releases her grip on Emmrich to curl her hands around her own neck.

"Rook is in the gods' prison," she repeats in a whisper. Tears fill her eyes again. "How do we get her out?"

Emmrich sighs, and he feels his own weariness and despair in the slump of his shoulders. "I don't know. Not yet. But we at least have a starting point. And we will not rest until Rook and Neve are safely back with us."

Bellara gazes up at him for a moment and then throws her arms around him and buries her face in his chest. He holds her tightly, soaking up the comfort just as desperately.

When she pulls back, she offers him a wan smile. "Thank you," she says in a fervent voice.

"Whatever for?" he asks.

She sniffs, but no more tears fall. "For giving me hope again."

"My dear girl," he says with a fond smile and another squeeze of her shoulders. "Now come. We have work to do."

[sinnabum45]

⚠Trigger Warning! Graphic depictions of suicide attempt, suicide ideation, and spiraling thoughts⚠

[Image description: black and white with gray tones, digital drawing of a comic about characters from the Ace Attorney series. Page one: First three panels are of Miles Edgeworth sitting at his desk, which is covered with papers, tired with eye bags and feeling frustrated with himself. His left hand is on his face and it moves back down. He thinks to himself, “What’s wrong with me? Why can’t I even do something as simple as this?” A flashback to Phoenix Wright glaring at Edgeworth, then saying, “It’d been better if you never came back from the dead, Edgeworth!” Pearl Fey is standing next to him with a shocked and worried expression. Page one end. Page two: Miles is shocked and his desk is now covered with sleeping pills and an open pill bottle. An embodiment of Manfred von Karma appears behind Miles and reaches for Miles’s face. Manfred says, “How selfish can you be? Can’t even do me the favor of simply dying. ” The embodiment turns into Miles when he attempted suicide. Messy hair, bloodshot eyes, dried tears, dark circles under his eyes, and pills pouring from his mouth. He is squeezing the real Miles’s face and says, “Why don’t you try it again?” Page two end. Page three: Miles shuts his eyes and covers his ears with his fists while shouting, “No!! I don’t need you anymore!”. He opens his teary eyes when he hears Phoenix say, “Edgeworth.” Miles remembers Phoenix telling him, “Please call me anytime. I want to be there for you this time, okay?”. In the flashback, it is bright, Phoenix is facing forward, smiling with a worried expression, and holding his phone. The present Miles looks forward and calmed down a little. He’s still shaken up a bit. Page three end. Page four: Throughout the three panels, Miles is reaching for his smart phone on the desk, pulls away, then grabs his phone. Quotes from various characters: Phoenix, Gant, Manfred, and Franziska are scattered throughout the page. First panel, “I never wanted to see you again! To think that your motivation for prosecuting trials was so selfish…” by Phoenix. “I can feel it. You and me… we’re the same.” by Gant. Second panel, “You can let what happened kill the prosecutor inside you, or you can let it help you grow. I’ll be waiting for you in court…” by Phoenix. “Our battle… begins now… so you had better prepare yourself, Miles Edgeworth!” by Franziska. Third panel, “You have fallen so far. All these years I guided you, raised you as my own. You and your father are my curse!” by Manfred. “A von Karma is someone who is destined to be perfect! You are no longer worthy of being a von Karma! And neither am I!” by Franziska. Page four end. Page five: Miles is calling Phoenix. It rings throughout the page. The embodiment of Miles yells, “Stop! He will just hate you more than he already does!”. He is crying as he says, “ Then… I’ll truly be alone.” He has both hands raised to around his collarbone level and ink is smudged on his right hand. Miles reaches for his face and it startles his embodiment. The last panel is brighter. Miles, with closed eyes and somber expression, is holding his own face and reassuring himself by saying, “Don’t worry… I trust him.” Miles’s chair is squeaking as he rocks back and forth while leaning on his desk. Page five end. Page six: It is single light page with the phone ringing and getting picked up. Then Phoenix answers, “ Hello? Edgeworth?”. Comic end. End description]

Links to help Palestine and other resources! 🇵🇸

[Plain text: Links to help Palestine and other resources! (palestine flag). End plain text.]

Some extra thoughts below! These are just my personal interpretations of what I watched. I'll try to make sense of what I'm saying LOL 🏃‍♀️🏃‍♀️

Again, trigger warning for suicide attempt+ ideation!

Something I noticed while skimming through Farewell, My Turnabout is the similarities between Miles and Adrian Andrews. They directly connected Franziska and Adrian at the end, but they kinda just "hinted" at Miles being similar to Adrian. The main thing that stood out to me is when Miles starts explaining how Adrian is putting up a façade by acting strong. The background fades to black (TWICE), which is something that mostly happens when it's something important, putting focus onto Miles while he talks about how Adrian "lost her will to live" after losing Inpax. Inpax was Adrian's "pillar of strength" and when Inpax comitted suicide, Adrian completely fell apart. She then started to act just like Inpax to cope with losing herself and her mentor. That sounds like the relationship between Miles (and Franziska) and Manfred.

Miles's and Franziska's whole life with Manfred was them depending on him to validate/approve of them. When Manfred left their lives, they started to fall apart trying to gain approval of a man who isn't there anymore. Franziska's confidence was chipped away throughout every case because she kept losing against Phoenix. Miles fell apart a lot quicker (cuz Franziska wasn't created until after--).

Throughout Rise from the Ashes, multiple characters point out how Miles was not doing well and it progressively gets worse. This honestly confused me because Phoenix did notice that Miles wasn't doing okay. He even told Miles that he needs to choose between killing the prosecutor within him or let it help him grow. This interaction is at the very end of the case. Idk if "killing the prosecutor within" was ever brought up before that, but that was interesting cuz I kept seeing people say that Miles wrote that in his note out of nowhere.

With everything that Miles went through in just 2 MONTHS- it makes sense to me if he was not okay. His whole life was uprooted again after 15 years, he was betrayed by almost everyone he trusted, his adoptive dad killed his biological dad and tried to blame it on him, he was brought out on a boat in the middle of the night and shot at, Gant+ Lana used his knife to stab a person's body and made him unknowingly transport it in his own car, Gant saying that he's just like him, etc. Like DAMN bro, what the heck 😭

Also, the thing that made me want to make this comic was when Phoenix told Miles that "everyone would be better off if he stayed dead". Imo, I think it's understandable why Phoenix is angry at Miles. He felt betrayed and couldn't face the fact that Miles isn't who he was when he was 9. There was a post talking about it in more detail, but I mostly agree with what they had to say about it. Phoenix put an unfair standard onto Miles and got hurt when Miles couldn't meet that expectation. He wanted to "save" Miles by solving the DL-6 case and then thought that Miles would go back to how he was when they were kids. When he realized that it doesn't work like that, at least not right away, he felt betrayed. I love that they wrote Phoenix, the protagonist, with these traits tbh. I think it's very interesting! I just wished that they added a scene where Phoenix apologized for saying that Miles should stay dead tho cuz that's never okay to say to anyone, let alone someone you care about and apparently "know better than anyone else" 👁👁

Another thing I noticed is how different the characters treat Adrian vs Miles with the topic of "death". For some reason they're very sympathetic and delicate with Adrian, but then tell Miles to die. Phoenix tells Miles that everyone would be better off if he stayed dead, but then calls Miles cold for telling Adrian that if she decides to "choose death", then it is of no concern to him. Which goes right into my next point.

Miles seemed like he really didn't want to bring up Adrian's suicide attempt and her mental illness. It seemed like they tried everything to get her to talk, but because Franziska told her not to testify, Adrian kept trying to stay quiet. Even the judge was trying to get her to testify by saying at this point, it's looking like she's guilty. In any other situation, what Miles said to her would be uncalled for, but this was literally life or death for Adrian. Also, with context, Miles said that regardless of what she decided to do after the trial, she needed to talk now. She was asking for someone to help her, but only she can accept that help. He could've definitely put it in a way better way tho like damn. I think he's projecting how he talks to himself onto Adrian tbh 👀 It's honestly just a really shitty situation for Adrian to be in cuz no matter the reason, she was forced to face her worst fear. If anyone is to blame for all this bs, it's definitely Matt Engarde and Juan Corrida imo-- 🏃‍♀️🏃‍♀️ Her illness was something Adrian would have to face sooner or later, it just sucks that it had to be like this 😢 Another thing I noticed is when Adrian said that if the truth of her illness were to come out she couldn't finish her sentence. Then Miles finished it for her by asking if she would "choose death". That's a more obvious clue that maybe Miles's note was a suicide note, since it was used in the context of committing suicide.

This guy is always on my mind-- All of them are always on my mind tbh 😭 I just wanted to draw Miles struggling (just the usual on this account) SKMSDKLML I also wanted to show that healing isn't linear and there are a LOT of times where it's just hard. I also wanted to show that Phoenix (and literally everyone else OvO) does want to be there for him despite everything, Miles just has to be brave and accept his support. I just want them to be happy DAMN 😭😭

I feel like I have so much more to talk about, but I can't think of anything else rn. I hope all of this makes sense- I'd love to read your thoughts on this or if you have any questions! Just keep it respectful, please 🥺

[peonysgreenhouse]

and still, i will live here.

summary: after the siege of weisshaupt, emmrich helps rook bathe. (rook x emmrich volkarin)

tags: 3.1k words, she/her pronouns for rook, rook is an elf/rogue/mourn watcher, bathing/washing, fluff, hurt/comfort, pre-relationship, rook is bad at feelings, emmrich is not.

Rook stands at the bottom of the staircase and mentally counts the number of steps that lead up to the second floor. She wonders if it would be easier to just curl up underneath the meeting table; skin soaked with blight and ichor and all.

Such exhaustion felt too big for her body. Sure, she had scrubbed the headstones in the Memorial Gardens from sunrise to sundown as punishment many times, but that weariness was manageable. This was not.

If she would’ve just died at Weisshaupt, at least she wouldn’t have to stand, and persist. An eternal rest sounds nice for both her body and her conscience. 

It’s Manfred’s chattering that catches her hazy attention. He ambles over to her, bones rattling with each step. It’s a pleasant sound, familiar, and it’s almost enough to bring a smile to her weary face.

Manfred makes a noise akin to a screeching, and starts to slowly walk up the stairs. With each step, Manfred turns to her, as if beckoning her to follow. Or perhaps, he assumed that her idling by the bottom of the staircase meant she didn’t know how to use the stairs. He stops at the fifth step and hisses again, turning to face her, and takes another step down.

Rook does smile at that. She lets out a sigh, and relents, slowly following Manfred up the stairs. Rook clutches at her side as she walks up the stairs; exhaustion weighs heavy on her shoulders, draped like an oversized coat. 

Manfred hisses happily when she reaches the top of the stairs, and she huffs out a laugh, turning to her room as she bids the spirit goodnight.

“Rook?” Emmrich. Rook turns to face her companion, trying to will a smile to her face. She didn’t want him to worry.

“Emmrich.” She says, quiet and fond. “Need something? I’m about to head to bed.”

Emmrich raises an eyebrow, his fingers steepled in front of him. Even after Weisshaupt he still looked put together; prim and dandy as he always did. She’s almost envious, she can only imagine how unkempt she looked in comparison. 

“Covered in all that…” He makes a vague gesture, cutting off his words as if to not offend. “You should at least bathe first. Clean off all those cuts and bruises. I would hate for them to get infected.”

Rook lets out another breathy, tired laugh. “I’m afraid I’d fall asleep in the tub and drown.”

Emmrich’s expression softens. It makes something in Rook’s chest tighten uncomfortably. 

“I would be happy to aid you. But only if you’re comfortable with it.” He suggests, kindly. 

“Are you sure?” Rook asks, but the thought of a warm bath does seem nice. Especially if she got to collapse in bed afterwards. “You fought today too, surely you’re tired as well–”

“Yes, but I wasn’t in the thick of it like you were.” He answers, lacing his fingers together. “You made sure of that. Allow me to repay you in what small way I can.”

Rook doesn’t have the energy to protest like she might normally. She acquiesces with a nod. “Alright. That would be nice.”

“Excellent.” He says, clapping his hands together, his jewelry clinking as he does. “I’ll draw a bath.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Rook manages to traipse her way to her room and grabs herself a clean pair of comfy clothes; a thoroughly-worn tunic she had nicked from a friend in the Mourn Watchers, and a loose pair of breeches. She gives the mirror sitting on top of her chester drawer a wide berth. 

She walks back to Emmrich’s room, tracing a finger along the stone walls as she goes. The door was already propped open, the smell of chamomile and lavender enticing her to step closer. She peeks inside, and sees Emmrich unfolding a screen divider, as if to give the bathing area a little privacy.

“Emmrich?” You call, and he stands up to full height, looking rather pleased with himself. 

“Ah, Rook!” He answers, folding his hands together in front of him. “Come in, feel free to set your clean clothes anywhere you’d like. And do tell me if the water is too hot or too cold.”

Ever the gentleman, Emmrich turns around as she walks towards the tub. Rook thinks it's silly, no doubt all their companions have seen her in worse states than being in the nude; crawling out of blight pustules or wading through the entrails of failed Venatori rituals seemed like normalcy now. Sometimes it took multiple washes to rid her armor of the rot. 

Still, Rook is thankful for the privacy. Emmrich was a kindness she knew she didn’t deserve. 

Rook sets her clean clothes on the floor near the tub, changing out of her armor as quickly as she can. Even raising her arms to pull the leather over her head felt grueling, but Emmrich remains with his back turned the whole time. Rook leaves her dirtied armor in a pile on the floor. She was thankful the blood and blight had dried already – it would take longer to clean, but at least she wasn’t staining his brick flooring. She could almost hear the lecture he’d give her if she did.

Slowly, Rook sinks into the bathtub. The water is nice and hot, and the scent of the bath oils make her eyelids feel heavy. She pulls her knees up to her chest. 

“Emmrich?” She says, clearing her throat after her words come out hoarse. “You can turn around now.”

“Wonderful.” Emmrich answers. He claps his hands together, and it’s only then she realizes that he’s lost all the finery he usually wears. No rings or bracelets, no glove, his vest discarded and his yellow collared shirt sleeves rolled up to the elbows. Communal bathing was normal in Nevarra, but this is different, intimate. 

“No need to worry, Rook.” He assures, as if sensing her discomfort. “Tell me if you wish for me to stop, and I’ll leave. No questions asked. But for now, allow me to take care of you.”

Rook sucks in a breath on instinct, her weary brain searching for something to say to ease the slowly surmounting urge to flee.

“...Right.” She says with a breathy laugh, sinking further into the tub. Rook’s eyes follow Emmrich as he grabs a few bottles out of a drawer, as well as a wash rag. He pulls up a stool to the side of the tub and sits down, setting the bottles on the floor beside him.

“I noticed you were short of breath when you addressed us tonight.” Emmrich says, dipping the wash rag into the bath water and wringing it out. “Did you hurt your ribs perhaps?”

A man as learned in Anatomy as he was would notice that, Rook thinks bitterly. Her hand subconsciously comes up to her side underneath the water. “Yeah, I…” She starts. “The Archdemon got me pretty good with the back of its tail. It’s not an open wound, but… It’s got some pretty nasty bruising.”

Emmrich nods. “If you’d like, I can take a look at it for you after we get you washed up.” 

“I’ll be okay. I’m sure you’re tired from… everything that’s happened today. Wouldn’t want you exhausting yourself on my account.”

“Nonsense.” He says firmly. “If it is just bruises like you say, it will take little effort to expedite the healing process.” 

Again, such kindness. It makes her throat feel thick with uncomfortable emotion. Rook didn’t know how to handle his sincerity; it felt antithetical to everything she was. 

“I’ll just take a healing potion before bed.” She answers, tilting her head towards the far wall so he can’t see her flustered expression. “I’ll be alright.”

“If that’s what you think is best. But know my offer will always stand.” Emmrich says, not wanting to press on an already open wound. “Now, if you would…” Emmrich scoots his chair a little closer. “My dear, we must have a talk about how you handle yourself in battle. Not even Taash ends up as messy as you.”

That makes Rook laugh earnestly, her bruises aching as she does. She feels much more comfortable with this conversation. “Not everyone can stay behind and shoot… magic beams like you.” Rook says, a playful tone to her voice. “A rogue’s gotta get her hands dirty.”

Emmrich pauses as if he was going to correct her, but ultimately just sighs. “Yes, it would be fine if it were just your hands.” Emmrich brings the cloth forward to her shoulder. “You have blood inside your ears.”

“I mean...” Rook shrugs, sucking in a breath as he begins to gently scrub the dried blood from the side of her neck. She feels the sting as he cleans out one of the fresh cuts right above her clavicle, just shallow enough that it didn’t tear into anything important. “I have big ears. Hard to keep ‘em from getting involved in the action.”

“Still, you should be more careful, Rook.” Emmrich says, reaching up to wipe off a smear of blood off her cheek. The warmth of the cloth feels nice against her skin. “I have the utmost confidence in your skills, but you do have a tendency towards recklessness.”

“You sound like Myrna.” She mumbles, tilting her head down so he can clean a cut right above her eyebrow. Rook didn’t even realize she had gotten that one, her body felt like one giant ball of hurt. It was hard to pinpoint the little injuries.

Emmrich seemed to spot them all, though.

“I can tell Myrna cares a great deal for your well-being.” He says, rinsing the cloth out in the bath water. He wrings it out once again; the water takes on a reddish hue. “As do I. As does everyone here, for that matter.” 

Rook opens her mouth to respond, but then Emmrich brings the cloth up to one of her ears. It’s just a quick swipe, but it makes her shiver. Instinctively, Rook jerks her head back, her cheeks warm as she pulls away from his hand.

“Did I hurt you?” Emmrich asks, eyes wide as he pulls his hand away, laying the cloth over the edge of the tub. “I apologize, I didn’t notice any cuts there. Do you want me to take a look?”

“No, no…” Rook says with a huff, bringing a hand up to rub at the spot he had touched, trying to play off her overreaction. She can feel the flush in her skin. “I’m just sensitive there. I’ll get it.” Rook brushes her hair back, picking up the cloth and scrubbing at both of her ears, unable to make eye contact with Emmrich as she does so.

When she thinks she’s gotten herself all clean, she looks back at Emmrich. She notices that his cheeks have taken on a rosy hue. Rook clears her throat.

“Did I get everything?” She asks, turning her head from side to side. Emmrich seems to regain his bearings quickly. He nods.

“Yes, it looks like it.” He says. “And I apologize, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I wasn’t aware that elven ears were so… sensitive, as you said.”

Rook snorts. “I guess that wouldn’t be in the textbooks, huh?” She says, teasing. “That information would be saved for more… raunchy works of literature.”

“Even so, it is fascinating. I shall keep it in mind.” Emmrich says, a playful spark in his green eyes. “Now, allow me to wash your hair, my dear. Scoot forward, if you will.”

Rook does as he asks, the ends of her hair touching the top of the water and sticking to her skin in inky strands. He scoops the water gently and lets it wet her fluffy hair. She wrinkles her nose as she sees the water turn red as it runs down her shoulders.

“...Okay, maybe I did get a little carried away today.” She says with a sigh, her shoulders slumping forward. In the stillness of Emmrich’s room, his gentle combing of his slender fingers through her wet hair, it’s hard for her to hold back the tide of emotion she felt about Weisshaupt.

It felt odd to even be alive. Breathing air that was borrowed from another. She had reassured Davrin earlier that it was not a sin to be alive, and she had meant it when she said it to him. But she was their leader, and she made sure to tidy her room before she had left. 

“Would you like to talk about it?” He asks, sensing her hesitance. His words are as gentle as his hands as he massages shampoo into her hair. It smells earthy, like moss and patchouli; it reminds her of the smell of the Memorial Gardens after the morning dew. 

It’s comforting, familiar. Rook takes a breath, lungs aching in protest, but the feeling of his fingers scratching at her scalp dull that ache. She doesn’t remember ever being touched so gently.

“About… today?” She asks. Rook absentmindedly traces her fingers over the surface of the water, watching as it ripples through the tub. Where would she even start? “I don’t even know what to say. It was awful.”

Emmrich nods, letting the shampoo rest in her hair for a moment. “It was. So much loss of life, it’s almost hard to believe such a thing could happen on such a scale…” Emmrich puts a hand on her shoulder, brushing his thumb over her bruised collarbone. Unlike her own, his hands are soft. “But you did all that you could. Without you, Rook, without Davrin… I fear the cost may have been much higher. You mitigated the loss of life. You made Ghilan’nain mortal, that is a feat none but you can brag about.”

Rook turns her head, looking up into his eyes for anger or disappointment. Those emotions she could work with – sincerity she could not. It makes her tired eyes sting with emotion.

Rook nods, slowly, his words slowly seeping into her skin. She wonders if the heroes of the past ever felt so lost. Did the Hero of Ferelden wonder if she could’ve done more, fist clenched tightly in her lover’s tunic as both herself and the Archdemon breathed their last? Did the Champion of Kirkwall ever feel hopeless against the city that took and took and took ever more still from her? Did the Herald of Andraste ever regret not striking the head of the wolf that nipped at her heels?

Even the thought of lumping herself in with them makes her feel like she’s overestimated her importance. She feels any of her companions could easily replace her. 

“We all did that, together.” Rook says, softly. She’s thankful when Emmrich starts to rinse out her hair; the bath water was starting to get cold. 

“And yet you’re the only one with blight in your hair.” Emmrich replies, a small smile on his lips. He scoops another handful of water over her head, running his fingers through the tangles, gently brushing out any knots. “All of us came back alive. You told us earlier that you considered that a win, it’s time you believed that, too.”

“I… do believe it. If anything would’ve happened to you all–”

“You’re alive as well, Rook.” Emmrich says, pausing his ministrations to look her in the eye. Rook feels she can’t look away, not now. “And what a wonderful thing that is.”

“I…” Rook starts, but once again she’s left without any witty retort. “You truly believe so?”

Emmrich softens, his voice breathy. “Yes, of course I do, my dear.” He combs his fingers through her hair once more, just to touch her. “I am so grateful to have met you, even if it had to be under circumstances such as these.”

Rook laughs, genuine, rubbing at one of her eyes. Damn, she must be tired if she was letting herself get teary-eyed in front of him. “I’m sure we would’ve met anyways. Eventually.” She says, her smile sheepish as she leans back against the back of the tub. “Or maybe we have met before. The Mourn Watch isn’t that big of an organization.”

“I would’ve never forgotten anyone as wonderful as you.” Emmrich answers. “Now, before you catch a cold, let’s get you out of the bath. Do you need help standing?”

Rook shakes her head. Even as tired as she was, the thought of him helping her out of the bath was a mortifying one. “No, it’s alright. I’m not so helpless that I need to be carried back to my room.”

Emmrich laughs, his eyes crinkling as he does so. “I know that you are not helpless.” He says, firmly, playfully. “But you can lean on us from time to time. A burden shared is a burden halved, as they say. I know if I were injured you would do the same.”

“I wouldn’t let you get injured in the first place.” Rook mumbles in reply. Emmrich walks behind the dividing curtain that separates the wash tub from the rest of his room, allowing Rook privacy. Slowly, she stands, her vision blurring momentarily as her body adjusts to standing. The cool air of the room makes her shiver as she reaches for a towel to dry herself off with. “But I wouldn’t mind carrying you.”

Emmrich lets out an incredulous huff. “I’m almost a head taller than you. I don’t think that would end well for either of us.”

“I’m up for the challenge.” She teases back, throwing the wet towel over the side of the bath. Rook starts to dress herself, thankful that she brought her baggier clothes. She can’t imagine trying to wrestle her belts around her waist in this state. When she’s done, she reaches down and collects her dirtied armor; it feels heavier in her arms than it had any right being. “Alright, I’m all done. Think I’m gonna go to sleep for three days straight now.”

Rook runs a hand through her wet hair, pushing it out of her eyes. Emmrich turns to face her, a slight smile on his lips. “Ah, well then, I’ll not keep you any longer. Get some rest, my dear. And do let me know if you need me to look at those bruises.”

“Yeah…” She leans against the door frame, feeling like there’s something more she needs to say. Whatever it is, it’s lost in the recesses of her tired mind. “Thanks, Emmrich.”

“It’s no problem at all.” His gaze is gentle, and she turns her head away. Too much emotion for one night. “Sweet dreams, Rook.”

Rook lingers for a moment more, then she turns, leaving the warmth of his room for the stillness of her own. She collapses, boneless and exhausted, onto the chaise lounge in the middle of her room. 

Tomorrow would come, and she would be alive to live it. Perhaps that wasn’t such a bad thing.

[viennacherries]

Your Voice is a Comfort

Lucanis/f!Rook | 541 Words | SFW

Read on AO3

Lucanis often wonders how Rook manages to keep up with herself.

It seems like she’s always going at mach-speed. Like anything less than constantly vomiting words out of her mouth is a catastrophic failure on her part.

~~~

~~~

Lucanis often wonders how Rook manages to keep up with herself.

It seems like she’s always going at mach-speed. Like anything less than constantly vomiting words out of her mouth is a catastrophic failure on her part.

There's rarely a moment of quiet if she’s in the room. If she’s not excitedly discussing things with the rest of the Veilguard, then she’s narrating everything she does to Assan or Manfred. If she’s not doing either of those, she’s muttering under her breath to herself. Lucanis would think she was the one possessed by a demon if he didn't know better.

She's no different on the battlefield. She’s constantly moving, bobbing and weaving and slashing. He’ll think he’s finally locked onto her position so he can cover her, and then suddenly she’s 40ft away again, screaming a battle cry and diving into the fray before anyone can even think to stop her.

He thinks she’s probably never done anything quietly in her life.

He sees it too, in the way she cares for everyone around her. The way she’ll help every wayward vagabond that looks at her with slightly wet eyes, or the way she’ll rush to be a shoulder to cry on for any of her friends. The way she stoops to put a coin in every panhandlers tray, and the way she coos at every flea-ridden feline in all of Thedas that comes within arms reach. Of all the things Rook does loudly, she loves the loudest.

He found it overwhelming when he met her. A year of near constant isolation, and the first friendly face when he found his freedom was this bundle of energy and noise. Some days he would escape to the pantry purely so that he could find silence. It’s safe to say, between her and Spite, he never found any.

But things are different now. Spite is quieter, and Rook… Well, Rook isn't. And yet Lucanis finds he’s glad for it.

She’s taken to keeping him company while he cooks. He stands over the stove and she leans on the counter next to him, talking. He mostly just listens, making a few affirming noises when it feels right. He never says more than a few words, and she never runs out of things to say. If it was anyone else, maybe he’d find it tiring, but it’s not anyone else. It’s Rook.

While Rook is around to fill every silence, there’s still a chance they can win.

While Rook is keeping him company and talking his ear off, they’re safe.

She’s safe.

He’s not sure when that became important to him, but it is now.

So now he relishes it. Every muttered curse directed at no one in particular, every compliment offered to every mangy cat. Every strange gargled noise she makes at Manfred, and every time he can hear her behind him on the battlefield. All of it means there's still hope that they make it out of this. All of it means she’s okay.

And if he’s starting to say more than a few words? If he’s started making comments about things he knows will send her on a tangent while he peels the vegetables?

Well. Maybe he’s trying to love loudly, too.

[princess-leaorgana]

Peacock in the Necropolis smut time you simps

Fandom: Dragon Age The Veilguard Pairing: Emmrich x Leo de Riva (Male Crow Rook/OC) Summary: Smut, After Game Time but no spoilers? I still can't speak Spanish.

“I’d really love it if you could make us that cheddar soup, darling. I know you just made it last week, but it was delicious, and work has been so awful…”

Emmrich rarely made dinner requests of Leo, even when Leo asked for his opinion. Emmrich always came up with the same thing to say: ‘Whatever you think is best, my darling’, along with a kiss goodbye. So, when Emmrich did request anything specific, Leo worked his hardest on those dishes. 

This dish he would take the most care of. 

Emmrich was given those ten pupils once he was officially back from sabbatical. Apparently, after learning about his heroics, all of those pupils requested to wait for their star professor to return from his adventure so they could learn all about it. Leo wasn’t surprised at all, and Emmrich deserved the prestige, but he was exhausted. Leo would do anything to take that away from him, so if Emmrich wanted broccoli and cheese in a soup, he’d get the best gods damned version of that.

The soup was simmering and Leo was washing up the kitchen when Emmrich did get home. Leo looked towards the entrance, assuming Emmrich would head straight from the door to their bedroom but no, he stopped into the dirty kitchen first. Emmrich walked in, his gold giving his location away easily. Oh, he looked exhausted. Leo pouted at him as Emmrich walked up behind Leo and kissed his cheek. Leo turned his face and gave him a quick peck on the lips. Emmrich smelled like sulfur.

“Darling, I-“ Emmrich began, but Leo wouldn’t hear any apology from Emmrich. He had every right to be tired. Leo’s job was to fill his belly and get him to bed.

“Go wash up for dinner, it’ll be on the table for you. Take your time,” Leo ordered and Emmrich just nodded and kissed Leo’s forehead.

“I don’t deserve you,” he muttered and Leo watched him walk out of the kitchen and down the hall. Leo finished wiping down the counters and washing the dishes. With help from Manfred, he set the table. He did hope that Emmrich would take his time cleaning himself up for dinner. If not, Leo would run him a bath. Maybe he should just do that anyway. He kept the soup covered for Emmrich to keep it warm and sat down at his seat, taking some bread he had also made and casually dunked some in the soup for himself. Leo ate about three slices of bread before Emmrich called him from the bedroom.

“Is dinner ready? I’m sorry I’ve been out so long!” He called and Leo smirked, chucking a small bite of bread at Manfred. Manfred’s mandible opened quickly and he caught the piece of bread. Sort of. It fell out of his skull, but it was still a fun trick. Manfred hissed happily.

“Dinner’s ready for you, handsome,” Leo called back. Leo heard Emmrich’s usual jingle and turned to look at him from Manfred and his mouth fell open. In a beautifully tailored pair of black slacks, purple suede shoes and a shirt Leo would bet came from his side of the closet, came Emmrich into the dining room. His blouse was a deep maroon, silk, tucked in but completely unbuttoned, showing off Emmrich’s full chest and stomach. His gold chains on full display across his neck and chest, usually hidden from view. Emmrich never dressed like this, it was how Leo usually dressed. Leo wasn’t dressed very differently than Emmrich was, his top was chiffon and a little louder in color, and his pants were tight and leather, so it was very strange to Leo to see Emmrich so casually dressed like a peacock.

“Handsome!” Manfred called and Emmrich smiled, sitting down.

“Thank you Manfred,” he said cheerfully and took his napkin from the table and placed it in his lap. He looked at Leo with his normal, cheerful smile. “Everything smells delicious; I have been looking forward to this all day.”

“Manfred, go to the green house and pick me four red flowers with blue thorns,” Leo said, staring at Emmrich. Manfred hissed and obeyed.

“Yes, dad!” He said happily and bounced off. Emmrich’s face fell and he tilted his head.

“Leo, we don’t have any red flowers with blue thorns,” he said and Leo nodded.

“Yeah, I need him gone for a while so he doesn’t watch us fight,” Leo said and sat back in his chair as Emmrich’s eyebrows raised in shock.

“Fight? About what? Is this about me being late again? Oh, my love, you know I cannot help that. I did not want this many pupils, even for my own sake. I knew it would begin to erode your patience as well,” Emmrich said and Leo shook his head.

“No, no, it’s about that outfit you’re wearing. You asked me this morning before you left for me to make for dinner a heavy dish with dairy and broccoli. And then you show up here, at the dinner table dressed like what I would really, really like to have for dessert if I weren’t having such a heavy meal,” Leo said, sounding irritated, but his words betrayed him. Emmrich’s eyes just grew and his mouth opened a bit as Leo ranted. He glanced at his empty bowl and looked at Leo’s almost full one.

“Well, uhm…how much have you already eaten?” Emmrich asked and Leo pushed his chair back and stood up. Emmrich mirrored him and followed Leo to their bedroom. The men paced themselves quickly and Leo all but slammed the door behind Emmrich. Emmrich took Leo’s arm and pulled him close. Leo’s lips met Emmrich’s and he sighed happily as they kissed. Emmrich smelled like lavender. Bastard had shaved, he had known exactly what he was doing. Leo’s hands sat on Emmrich’s hips, and Emmrich took Leo’s cheeks in his hands. “Oh your poor dinner,” Emmrich said, whining and feeling a little guilty and Leo nipped at Emmrich’s bottom lip.

“It’s fucking soup, I can heat it back up,” he grumbled, not giving one damn about dinner anymore. With Emmrich’s stress went their sex life, as well, so Leo was a little more focused on getting Emmrich naked and in their bed than having soup. He backed up a little from Emmrich and looked him up and down. “I need to bring you shopping back in Antiva. Maker, you look delicious in this,” Leo said and dipped his head to kiss Emmrich’s neck. Emmrich’s hips rolled towards Leo’s and Leo slowly kissed under Emmrich’s jawline. The older man moaned softly, one of his hands on the back of Leo’s head, the other on Leo’s hand. Leo's body burned when he heard Emmrich whimper as his tongue met the sensitive skin under Emmrich’s ear.

“Oh Leo,” Emmrich whimpered and Leo’s hands moved to the front of Emmrich’s trousers. Leo’s hands fought with Emmrich’s grinding to untie Emmrich’s trousers. Once he had won the small battle, his lips connected with Emmrich’s once more.

“On the bed,” Leo commanded and Emmrich walked to the bed and sat down. Leo watched him slip off his shoes and trousers and Leo bit his bottom lip, watching Emmrich. “Me vuelves loco,” he muttered and ran his thumb down Emmrich’s cheek as he got close enough. Emmrich looked up at him. Leo placed his hands on Emmrich’s cheeks gently. “Tell me you understand how gorgeous you are, and how lucky I am to get to share a bed with you every night.” Emmrich’s face fell at Leo’s words. 

They hadn’t been together for very long, and Emmrich simply did not believe Leo when he complimented him. “Hey, hey, I mean it. I’m an assassin and a bastard, but I’m no liar,” he said and Emmrich sighed. “You are irresistible, Emm.”

“Oh, Leo, I hate to hear you talk to me with such pity in your voice, I know how old I am-“

“Andraste, hear my words and let this man trust me,” Leo prayed with playful annoyance in his voice. Emmrich gave him a sideways smirk. “You are beautiful, Emm. You take care of yourself, just you baring a little bit of your chest drove me to madness. Let me prove that to you. Lie back,” he said softly and Emmrich did as he was asked. As Emmrich crawled back on the bed, Leo kicked off his house shoes and unlaced his pants quickly.

“Have you ever worn anything under your trousers?” Emmrich asked playfully and Leo chuckled as he pulled his top over his head.

“Probably not since I was…twenty,” he said, walking over to Emmrich, fully naked. Emmrich was still wearing that silk shirt. Leo would make him keep it on. Emmrich laughed at Leo and shook his head.

“What was that, last year?” He asked and Leo snorted and crawled on the bed.

“If sixteen years ago is the same as one year ago, then yes,” he said with a playful sarcasm and crawled between Emmrich’s legs. He lowered his head and easily took Emmrich’s half erect cock in his mouth. Emmrich didn’t have the ability to react to what Leo said. He just hissed and threw his head back as Leo coated him in his hot wet mouth.

“Oh, my love,” Emmrich muttered and looked down at Leo, watching the younger man suck and bob his head up and down on his hardening length. 

“Slow…slow, dearest,” he whispered. 

Leo was excitable, and peacocked his sexual talents, whereas Emmrich didn’t need much; he liked a softer approach to sex. Leo was enthusiastic, but more happy to do whatever Emmrich wanted. 

Leo slowed down immediately, using his tongue to apply pressure to the underside of Emmrich’s cock. Emmrich placed his hand on Leo’s head, affectionately playing with his hair. Leo moaned as he felt Emmrich harden in his mouth. He sat up a little and licked his right hand, bringing it down to pump Emmrich’s cock gently. “Oh, that’s a good boy,” Emmrich moaned again and Leo grinned, keeping eye contact with him.

“You are so pretty when you moan for me,” he muttered and Emmrich’s mouth opened a little as his eyebrows knitted together. Leo lowered his mouth to lick gently at Emmrich’s tip and Emmrich only sighed. “My professor is speechless?” he asked.

“Leo…” Emmrich attempted and Leo grinned and lowered his head again, wetting Emmrich’s cock again. Emmrich’s grip on Leo’s head tightened slightly. Leo closed his eyes and just concentrated on the feel of Emmrich in his mouth, against his tongue. Concentrating on his rhythm, keeping his motions slowly and deep. It was torture; as much as he loved pleasing Emmrich however he physically could, hearing Emmrich moan and sigh, feeling his grip get tighter in his hair…he wanted release for himself, too. 

He glanced up at Emmrich, who was looking right back at him. Once they made eye contact, Emmrich threw his head back with a groan and Leo closed his eyes, moaning. He removed his hand and took Emmrich deep, concentrating on breathing through his nose. “Oh Leo, that…” Leo stayed down for a beat and lifted his head completely, catching his breath. Leo crawled over Emmrich, straddling his narrow hips before leaning over to kiss Emmrich deeply. Emmrich kissed him back and ran his fingers through Leo’s dark hair.

“Just watching you enjoy yourself…” Leo muttered in a deep voice, fighting for dominance in their kiss. Emmrich nipped at Leo’s lip and Leo groaned, grinding his hips against Emmrich, eliciting a moan from the older man. Leo sat up and placed one hand on the headboard and the other on Emmrich’s chest. His fingers played with the gold chains around Emmrich’s neck and he continued to roll his hips against Emmrich’s. 

This was torture for Leo; this seduction, feeling Emmrich’s body against his own, most sensitive parts. But that look on Emmrich’s face, that devoted, obsessive, almost tortured look was worth it for Leo. He felt powerful, being the source of those lidded green eyes and open mouth, but he felt genuinely good, making Emmrich feel good. He would go without, if it meant Emmrich was happy. That was a new thought for Leo: completely unselfish, devoted love. He couldn’t help but touch himself, dragging his hand down Emmrich’s chest and long torso. His skin was terribly soft, pale like the moonlight. Even more pale against Leo’s tanned skin. Leo grasped his own cock and sighed, pumping his hand in the same rhythm as he moved his hips.

“You call me the beautiful one,” Emmrich sighed, his hands on Leo’s thighs. Leo smirked down at Emmrich. “You are a sculpted statue, a masterpiece of strength, all while having the beauty and grace of a dancer in water. Leo, you are positively divine,” he said and Leo leaned back down, kissing Emmrich tenderly. He moved his lips down to Emmrich’s neck, nipping his skin possessively. Leo reached behind him, taking Emmrich’s cock in his hand, and angled it up. Leo braced himself as he slowly moved himself back, sliding Emmrich slowly inside of himself. Leo grunted loudly against Emmrich’s neck and Emmrich whimpered. Emmrich’s hands reached around and grabbed at Leo’s hips and backside, holding onto him with a tight grip.

“Oh, f-fuck me,” Leo moaned loudly, breathing out slowly and began rocking his hips back and forth. He wanted to go faster, to show Emmrich how much he truly desired him, but he would be selfless. He sucked gently at the skin under Emmrich’s jawline. Lucky for Emmrich to be a fan of dressing up to his jawline in public. Leo was aiming to mark his partner.

“Leo, you’re so…” Emmrich moaned, and Leo felt him move his own hips up, aching when Leo moved forward. Leo sat up, returning his hands to the headboard and his own cock. The feeling of being penetrated and touched was always overwhelming. Emmrich moved his right hand to replace Leo’s. Leo had no problem giving over control to Emmrich. He sighed softly at Emmrich’s warm touch, his thumb teasing Leo’s tip.

“Do I feel good, mi vida?” Leo asked and Emmrich whimpered, closing his eyes. 

“You feel so wonderful,” he replied with a heavy breath. 

“Ah fuck,” Leo groaned as Emmrich’s grip tightened around him. Ever impatient, Leo took his hand and placed it back on Emmrich’s chest, using him and the headboard to help him quicken the pace. “Oh Maker, Emmrich…I-I can’t-” Leo felt a heat rush from his head to his fingertips, and he felt his body naturally tighten up.

“Relax, darling, relax,” Emmrich whispered and Leo threw his head back, feeling that heat grow in his feet and crawl up his ankles. Emmrich’s hand motions quickened in pace. Emmrich knew what Leo liked: fast and quite rough. Leo groaned again and sighed out; he couldn’t help but quicken his own pace on Emmrich, seeing white as he craved release. 

“Yes, yes, come for me, come with me,” Emmrich muttered as he breathed heavily. Leo’s eyelids fluttered and he groaned out, cumming in Emmrich’s hand, getting some on Emmrich’s stomach, and unfortunately, the shirt that led to this activity. Leo felt his body relax as the warmth quickly redistributed itself. Emmrich thrusted himself up into Leo roughly and Leo shouted, overstimulated, but attempted to stay still so Emmrich could finish. Emmrich’s beautiful face contorted and his mouth opened, letting out a beautiful groan. Leo rotated his hips on Emmrich to help him ride out his orgasm. He placed a thumb on Emmrich’s bottom lip and Emmrich kissed it gently. After a beat, Leo smiled and chuckled lightly, as it seemed Emmrich was calmed down, relaxed. Leo felt dizzy, dizzy and heavy headed.

“Oh, mi vida, mi alma, Emmrich. Your beauty is unparalleled. Your face, your voice, your love,” he said and leaned down and kissed Emmrich gently. Emmrich kissed him back, wrapping his left arm around Leo’s shoulders. Leo sat back up and reached over the bed to Emmrich’s nightstand, and reached into his drawer for two handkerchiefs. He handed one to Emmrich and used the second one to clean up Emmrich’s abdomen. Leo smirked at his mess, a little proud of himself, but he quickly wiped it away. Maybe a second wash up was in order. Emmrich cleaned himself off and ran a hand through his hair. Leo grunted as he climbed off of Emmrich.

“Leo, that was incredible,” Emmrich said and looked up at Leo, who was one his side, leaned back on his pillow.

“You are incredible, Emmrich,” he said and pulled Emmrich close to him. Emmrich chuckled, sounding sleepy. Leo smiled, certainly proud of that. He was tired as well, or maybe just calm. He could always use a nap after sex. Though, he would need to clean up their dinner. Maybe he would heat it up and serve Emmrich his dinner in bed. Though, he was sure Emmrich would recoil at the thought of eating in bed. Emmrich laid his cheek on Leo’s shoulder and Leo snaked an arm under his head and over Emmrich’s waist.

“I am still remiss about our cold dinner and the care of this shirt,” Emmrich said and Leo laughed.

“It’s my shirt, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it is.” Leo laughed again. He kissed Emmrich’s forehead.

“It looks wonderful on you. And I’ll heat up dinner,” Leo said, but neither of them moved. Leo just relaxed, enjoying this calm with Emmrich. He did miss him. Emmrich came home every night, of course, but the poor man was always terribly tired. He just hoped that Emmrich’s tutors understood how lucky they were to have him as their professor. Leo held Emmrich close, stroking Emmrich’s back lazily. Emmrich’s scent was dulled by the scent of sex and sweat, and Leo closed his eyes. Just before his body could get heavy with sleep, Emmrich moved a little.

“Darling, we should really let Manfred back inside,” he said and Leo laughed. Leo kissed Emmrich’s forehead again and sighed, letting him go. Emmrich sighed and Leo felt a cold absence, but he sat up and stretched his neck and groaned when he felt a crack. He fumbled around the room a little to grab one of his silk robes.

“I guess we should let go of dreams of parenthood then, hm?” Leo asked with a chuckle. Poor Manfred was still in the greenhouse, looking for a flower that didn’t exist. Emmrich snorted and got out of bed.

“Oh, don’t you start with that, now.”

[woundedsoul12]

Finch and Feathers - Chapter 1 - WoundedSoul - Dragon Age: The Veilguard (Video Game) [Archive of Our Own]

https://archiveofourown.org/works/64774204/chapters/166446172

Summary: Bellara and Spite, Finch and Feathers. How two best friends survived the end of the world, and wrote a book about it.

Day 1: Magic

Bellara attempts to teach Spite fire, but he learns something so much more important

@datvcompanionweeks

For what seemed like the hundredth time today, Spite stood in the center of Bellara's room. Staff in hand. Shoulders back. Deep breath in. (Just like Finch had told him.)

He focused with every fibre of his soul on the candle sitting on the table before him. Face contorted in concentration. Willing something. Anything at this point, to happen.

And yet… nothing.

“Mierda!” the demon huffed with exasperation as he saw Bellara covering her mouth and blushing deeply. The slight shaking of her shoulders clearly showed she was holding in a giggle. His voice indignant as he rounded on her, “Finch laughs. At Spite!”

“Oh no Spite I-” she paused as she hopped off her perch on her desk and crept forward. “OK I was laughing… a little. But not about the fire!” she added as she held up her hands in a gesture of innocence. “I just didn't expect you to say ‘mierda’ like Lucanis. It was cute.”

“Why can't Spite say? Lucanis says. Spite wants the same as Lucanis.” He was so upset he was almost trembling. The frustrations of the day boiling inside him until they spilled over in a wave of bitterness.

Luckily, Bellara was used to cleaning up these kinds of messes by now.

She patted his shoulder in support as his wings sagged and his head hung. They had been friends long enough for her to know there was something more bothering him, and she touched his arm gently as his attention narrowed to her.

“Spite, this isn't just about Lucanis is it?” she asked with a gentle smile.

He studied her for a moment with those eyes that often saw too much. Long ago had the sight of their deep purple turned from disconcerting to quiet comfort, and he was now one of her closest friends here in the Lighthouse.

Loneliness wasn't just an issue for demons to tackle.

“It's just not fair,” he finally growled as he threw his training staff on the ground in anger. “Curiosity has feet. Has fire. Spite wants.”

Bellara tapped her chin as she considered his words. When she agreed to help him in his quest, she knew it was unlikely to succeed. But she was an academic first, and no one had ever had the opportunity to study a non-mage demon possessed person in such a way. Maybe he could have fire, if he tried really hard and applied himself.

Then again, this was Spite they were talking about. And while determination fueled him, patience did not.

“Spite I'm willing to keep trying as long as you want, but-” she began as he turned with an accusing narrowing of his eyes.

“Finch doesn't believe in Spite!”

“That is not what I said you didn't let me finish,” she huffed as she crossed her arms over her chest. “Now Spite we have talked about not drawing conclusions before we have all the facts. So let. Me. Speak.”

He simply nodded at her clear annoyance as she took a deep breath and composed herself. She adored her time spent with her best friend, even if it did test the limits of her restraint sometimes. But hey, he was helping her to be better in that regard.

“Now what I was trying to say was, we can keep practicing as long as you want so you can learn fire. But even if you don't, it's ok.” He tilted his head to the side at those words, and she continued before he could interrupt once more. “Manfred does have his own body while you have to share. And he does have fire, but you know what he doesn't have?”

“Clothes.” Spite looked so proud at his answer and it took everything in Bellara to hold in her burst of laughter.

“You're right Spite, he doesn't have clothes,” she finally managed. “But he also doesn't have me. Or Rook. Or Lucanis.”

“Spite would kill him,” the demon said flatly at the thought of Manfred stealing his best friends and his love. “Rook is mine. Finch is mine. Finch and Feathers and Dragon. And Stupid Lucanis.”

“Yep. My point was, we all have something different Spite. And that's ok. Would you trade what you have for fire?” she asked as he gave her that wolfish grin.

“Maybe for Lucanis-”

She fell into a fit of giggles at his answer, unable to contain herself any longer. And as he watched his Finch laugh at his joke, Spite felt truly happy. She was right, he might never have fire. But what he did have? It was so much better.

[theshotsheardacrossworlds]

Praises

Five times Emmrich praised Agi, and one time she praised him. One section is NSFW but the rest is SFW.

“Clever girl.” Emmrich murmured as Agnes solved a statue puzzle that unlocked the gate to a massive chest in Rivain.

DID HE?!?!

She glanced over her shoulder to see the necromancer giving her a charming smile. Cheeks burning, she giggled nervously. “Who me?”

Agi.

Really?????

You said that?!?!?!

He chuckled. “Yes, you! Our own dear Rook is an expert in solving puzzles. Clever, clever girl.”

Agnes opened her mouth to speak (no idea what to say to that), but thankfully Taash interrupted.

“Three statues here. Three up there. Match. Easy.” They grunted, sorting through the loot. “Rook is smart, but a kid could’ve solved that.”

OH COME ON, TAASH!

Can the very handsome man go back to praising me please?

Eyes darting from Taash to Emmrich and back again, the mage exhaled sharply, hands on her wide hips. “Taash, I agree with most of what you said. However, a kid could solve that? I don’t think so, mate.”

Then she felt Emmrich’s gloved hand on her waist, and she thought her heart was going to beat out of her chest.

“Taash, while I greatly respect and admire your expertise in treasure hunting, I do believe that in this case praise is indeed warranted. The gold speaks for itself, hm?” He just squeezed my waist. He just did that. I’m going to die now. Goodbye world. Figure it out yourselves. “Good job, Rook.” He leaned against her ear, and Agnes could swear he was smirking when he whispered, “Clever, clever girl.”

This can’t be happening, right?

This…is this…

He’s flirting with me.

RIGHT?!

Nodding, she took the bag of gold Taash shoved at her. “Thank you so much, Emmrich. Now, let’s continue…”

***

“Ah!”

Agnes turned towards the source of the cry she heard as undead pirates attacked.

Emmrich.

He was on his back, a hand on his rapidly rising and falling chest.

Get to him.

Now.

In two fade dashes, she was at his side and tossed him a potion between spells.

Do it for him.

Kill these fuckers for Emmrich.

Will he be impressed?

Will he say…

With a snarl, she disintegrated the last undead pirate. And a flourish with my staff…don’t drop it, Agi…nailed it! “You okay, Emmrich?” she asked, expression softening as her attention returned to him. Offering a hand, Agnes helped him to his feet.

“Ugh, I’m fine. I’m fine. It only knocked the wind out of me.” He answered with an eyeroll and an annoyed wave of his gloved hand. He gently rebuffed her when she began to fuss only a little over him. “Truly, my dear---I’m fine. There’s no need to worry.”

She shook her head. “Of course I worry, Emmrich. I care about you.” OH NO. “You’re my friend.” Whew. Nice save.

Something she could not quite make out flashed in his eyes, and then he smiled politely. “As you are mine, Rook.” He began to straighten his waistcoat when he murmured, “And thank you ever so much for taking care of those undead. Good girl.”

A mangled “you’re welcome” came out of her as a squeak, face blushing bright red.

EVERY. DAMN. TIME.

***

“You did so well today, dearest.” Emmrich said as he guided Agnes towards the bed in his room. While she, Lucanis, and Emmrich defeated the Formless One (funnily enough, in the form of a dragon), she had taken several critical hits.

And the dragon may have crashed into me a few times.

Bandages covered her hands and midsection. Her right ankle was severely sprained. Cuts and bruises galore.

He took care of me. Still is taking care of me.

Because goddamn, I am sore as fuck.

She laughed softly then grimaced. Ah yes, the bruised ribs are saying hello. “I don’t know, love. I think you and Lucanis carried my ass through that fight.” Sitting up against several pillows, she watched as Emmrich elevated her wrapped ankle, enchanting it with a spell to help keep the swelling down. Then Manfred entered the room carrying a tray with a pitcher of what she assumed to be water and COOKIES!!!

He turned to Manfred and smiled. “Perfect, Manfred! Put the tray there. Thank you.” The necromancer waited for him to leave before directing his attention back to Agnes. “Is there anything else you require, my love? If you want something more substantial, I can make—”

Reaching for his bejeweled hand, she shook her head, sighing. “I love you so much but shut up and get in bed with me.”

“Oh, dearest! Of course! Of course!” He removed his boots and sat next to her. Taking one of her hands in his, he brought it to his lips. “Rest, darling.”

Leaning her head against his, she smiled softly. “Thank you.”

Emmrich nuzzled her cheek with his frankly underrated gorgeous nose. “Whatever for?”

She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. Ouch, my ribs. “For taking care of me. You don’t have to, Emm.”

Chuckling, his lips found hers a sweet but firm kiss. “I want to, dearest. You’re the center of my universe. My precious bouquet. My sweetheart. How could I not care for you, spoil you, tend to you, especially when you’re injured?” He gave her one more kiss and then with the wave of a hand, the plate of cookies levitated, landing on her lap. She picked up a cookie (chocolate chip my favorite) and held it to her lips, watching him watch her. “What are you waiting for, my love? Do you need—”

“What I need,” she grinned. “Is for you to kiss me.” Agnes then placed one part of the cookie in her mouth, held between her teeth, waggling her eyebrows.

“As you desire, my darling.”

I bite.

He bites.

Smooch!

***

“You really are such a good girl,” Emmrich murmured into Agnes’s ear, one hand lazily squeezing a large breast. After taking our sweet time bathing, she found herself between his long legs, her back to his front.

She laughed softly and turned her head to see him better because he’s handsome and beautiful and all mine. “Because I let you fondle me in the bath?”

In the bath.

Outside the bath.

I love it when he touches me…makes me feel wanted and loved…

He pressed a kiss on her nose. “That, and you respond so beautifully. I simply cannot get enough of you.”

“I can tell.” She smirked, his hardness twitching against her ass. “Even out and about, you’re always so, so close,” her generous backside ground against him, the movements of his hands stuttering. “And I love it, Emmrich.” She shifted, removing his hands from her, and turned to cup his handsome, beautiful face. “I can’t get enough of you either.” As she kissed him, she tugged his bottom lip. “I want to keep you nice and warm, my love. Is that alright?”

His eyes widened as Agnes gripped the base of his leaking cock. “O-oh, darling. I can never refuse you…”

Sliding onto his member, they moaned in unison with her throwing her head back in ecstasy. “You feel so fucking good. You always do.” She carded one hand through his wet, graying hair and brushed his cheek with the other. “You always make me feel good. I hope it’s the same for you, Emm.”

I never thought anyone would love me, let alone you.

But you do, and I’m forever grateful.

Emmrich’s mouth found her neck, peppering kisses on her pale skin. “My dear, you are exquisite. A wonderfully passionate and generous lover who never fails to astound me with each coupling.” Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t’ cry. “To speak plainly,” He ran his hands up and down her back, gently massaging and rubbing her softness. “I’ve never been as blissfully happy as I am with you.” His lips captured hers in a sloppy, slow kiss, whispering, “My best girl, beautiful girl, give unto me your warmth, shelter me from the storm, and in return, my heart and soul, I shall give you—oh!”

Emm, I love you so much…

Agnes took his face in her hands and hungrily kissed him.

BUT SHUT UP AND KISS ME!

Please.

Your best girl demands it.

***

“Well struck, dearest!”

EMMRICH!

Agnes’s cheeks burned as her meteor landed with Neve’s ice shards and a very sexy spell from my handsome man, and he praised her.

As he does.

A lot.

And he knows what it does to me!!!!

The larger darkspawn collapsed, died, and disappeared, leaving behind some gold and a trinket of some sort. She walked to the loot and bent over.

He’s standing next to me.

I’d know those boots anywhere.

I’d know that hand on my ass anywhere?!?!?!

She bit back a giggle. “May I help you, Professor?”

And now he’s pinching my ass.

“Oh, do forgive me, dear.” He is not sorry. “It’s only that you looked so lovely just now, and I cannot resist expressing my appreciation for your considerable skills and talent.” The necromancer purred, the hand on her behind moving to her soft waist as she straightened. “You truly are a wonder to behold, darling.”

A teasing smile tugged on her lips. “I could say the same about you, love.”

Giving her waist a gentle squeeze, he kissed her sweetly before whispering, “That would please me great—”

“Ahem.”

The couple turned to see Neve standing several feet away, arms crossed over her chest, smirking. “Don’t make me separate you two.”

Agnes squeaked, “Sorry Neve” and hurried towards her, leaving Emmrich barely stifling a laugh behind her.

Every. Damn. Time.

***

“You look so handsome tonight, love.” Agnes whispered to Emmrich, her hand on his arm, as they attended my very first opera. It was Emmrich’s idea. He loves it, and he wants to share it with me, so I figured why not give it a try!

And then he went and had a third dress made for me.

Just to go to the opera apparently.

But…he does look incredibly yummy…and smells so good. Fuck.

His cheeks flushed slightly. “Why thank you, darling! For opening night of the season at the Royal Nevarra Opera, one must be dressed for the momentous occasion that it is.” He leaned to press a quick peck to her cheek. “Though, even in my best ensemble and most valuable grave gold, I pale in comparison next to you, my dear.”

EMM!!!!

She giggled, watching as he handed their tickets to the usher. “Flatterer.”

After the tickets were checked, Emmrich nodded politely to the usher and lead them towards the grand staircase in the lobby of the opera house. “I seem to remember accusing you of charming flattery once upon a time, dear.”

“You mean my very bad attempts at flirting?” Agnes teased as she and Emmrich ascended the stairs.

He let out a joyous guffaw. “Dearest! Your attempts were never bad.” At the top of the grand staircase, he’s showing our tickets to another fucking usher. Mate, can we just get to our bloody seats?!

Oh wait.

We don’t have seats.

Emmrich has a private box, because of course he does.

“That being said,” he whispered, his lips brushing against her short, dark red curls. “Subtly was never your forte, my heart.”

He’s not wrong.

When they fucking finally reached his box, he gestured for her to sit first and offered her a bejeweled hand. Those hands…better be on me later. Please? She smiled as her hand slipped into his and sat on the very fancy wooden chair. “But you love me anyways.”

Within a moment, he was beside her and handed her a program, his fingers brushing against hers. “That I do, my darling.” He pressed a kiss to her temple, sighing happily. “That I do. Ah!” Emmrich exclaimed as the lights darkened. “It’s starting! I do hope you enjoy it, Agi dearest. It’s a particular favorite of mine.”

Agnes hoped she would like the opera.

Then it started.

And it’s in bloody High Nevarran…so I have no idea what’s happening.

That’s alright though. I can keep an eye on Emm and watch all his adorable reactions.

My adorable, handsome, brilliant love.

[emmieloumay]

📖✍️

I decided to get a start on these! Two a day to get myself back into a routine with my writing. <3

A letter to Rook about their exile

‘You really had to go and piss off the gentry, didn't you, Lin? And the FIRST WARDEN? Couldn't leave it alone, now look what happened! They're looking at everyone now, doubling down - the First Warden is an ass, we get it. But damn!’

‘You know what you gave me? More bleedin’ PAPERWORK!, and this knob hovering over my shoulder!’

‘Next time, just follow orders! It's what Wardens do!

An entry from Rook’s journal

You find this page covered in charcoal sketches of each member of the Veilguard - small notes near each detailed profile:

E.V. - 'Eloquent Necromancer. He’s asked me to draw a few skulls for his organization and help mix colors for his botanical art.'

L.D. - 'Sleepy Crow. He’s got these soft, puppy dog eyes - unless Spite is involved. Spite has asked to borrow my paints. Promises he won’t eat them, but he will be supervised…'

L.H. - 'Questionable Cook. She’s got the heart for it, at the least - she’s asked me to paint a portrait to send to her Ma.'

N.G. - 'Troubled Detective. I do not blame her for staying in Minrathous, but we’ve begun to miss her at the Lighthouse. Perhaps she would be alright with me coming to help…'

B.L. - 'Tinkering Hummingbird. Trying to get her vallaslin just right is a goal of mine. She can’t keep her nose and brow unwrinkled - especially after she notices me sketching.'

T. - 'Our Dragon. They’ll sit down long enough for me to get an outline before they’ve grown bored of sitting - but they do like it, from what Lace has told me.'

D. - There are multiple sketches of the Warden, not a lot of words. Some are scratched out. Warden Friend, Monster Hunter, Griffon Daddy, Beloved

Manfred - His sketches are insanely detailed. 'If Emmrich wants more of these, I’ll have to get used to drawing teeth…'

Assan - Feathered Baby. Many of his sketches are only of his face, as Linnet makes a comment about feathers and him not staying still for portraits. 'Will have to bribe with truffles.'

[queenmuzz]

Five Stages of Grief: Chapter V

Acceptance

Read it HERE on Ao3

He splashes some water on his face and checks himself in the mirror. He ought to shave, or at least trim his beard, but there isn’t that much time. In an hour or two, everyone will be up, and he needs to be gone by then.

It’s better this way he thinks as he changes into one of his robes, I can’t give them the chance to talk me out of this. They need Rook back as much as he does, and if it goes the way he theorizes, he can’t risk getting any of them caught up. Lucanis is needed for his god killing skills. Neve is needed when they inevitably mount a counter attack on her own city. Taash is needed for killing Elgar’nan’s archdemon. Harding is needed to help strategize and keep everyone on the same page. Rook is needed by everyone for her courage, her tenacity, her devotion.

And him?

What use is he without Rook? At this moment, not much. Best he can say is that he’s crafted a tool that will get her out of the fade, if he’s lucky. And if he gets sucked into the Fade in her place? That is good enough for him. A cowardly man who is terrified of the very thing he’s fascinated by, it will be a fitting end.

No, such thoughts did not become him, he tells himself. Wallowing in self-pity is not what she would want him to do.

He reviews his mental checklist. He’s gotten his affairs in order. The dagger is in his possession, safely hidden under his robe. His letter to Zea has been carefully written, and sealed in red wax, the imprint of the skull brooch to match her letter.

Speaking of which, he must address the only obstacle to his plans.

“Manfred!” he calls and the creak and clatter of bones signals the arrival of his ‘son’ as Rook had announced that blessed day. He wishes he hadn’t come to think of Manfred like that, if only to make this less painful.

“I’m planning to head to the Memorial Gardens.”

The skeleton’s eyes rotate in surprise and excitement, no doubt because neither of them have made their regular trek to that place in over three weeks, and Manfred so loves to travel there.

“Unfortunately I must insist you stay here.” And Manfreds jaw drops with a confused hiss.

“ WHY ”

“Because I need you to be here when Rook returns.” It’s not a lie, per se, Rook will be returning, with or without him, and it has the desired effect. The idea that Manfred’s beloved ‘ROOK !’s impending return is enough to get him excited enough to not ask questions of why exactly he cannot accompany Emmrich to rescue her. He happily accepts the brooch that Emmrich pins on his lapel, and promises to give it to Rook when she returns.

“You will keep her safe, my boy?” Emmrich asks, as he pats Manfred’s head and there’s a clattering as he nods profusely. It’s a comfort really, knowing that the spirit adores Zea as much as he does, and she adores him.. It makes what he plans to do a bit easier.

“Well, I must be off.” He grabs his staff and begins to head out.

He’s almost at the threshold when Manfred starts showing his first inkling that perhaps he’s not as naive as Emmrich assumed.

“WHY NOT EMMRICH GIVE HER BROOCH BACK?”

His mouth is dry as he attempts to come up with plausible lie excuse. “Because she was the one that gave it to you, it would be only right for you to return it yourself.” The skeleton thinks it over, its jaw clacking for a few agonizing moments, before he seems to agree that that is a perfectly acceptable answer. He gives a wave, allowing Emmrich to let out a sigh of relief, as he slips out of his room.

The Lighthouse courtyard is completely deserted in the odd twilight the permanent eclipse has cast on it, and he’s thankful that it gives him the cover he needs to sneak out like a thief. He takes one last look at its amazing beauty, the reason that he’s found the Fade so entrancing, how it's familiar and yet unfamiliar to the real world, everchanging, and yet staying the same, both at the same time.

But alas, just like an idea, his stay at the Lighthouse has probably come to an end far too soon, and he slips out, using the Eluvians to get to the Necropolis.

He doesn’t seem to notice someone is watching his departure with concern.

——————

His parent’s graves need tending. It’s been three weeks, and while the Mourn Watchers do all they can, recent events have made maintenance of the gardens low on their priorities. He’d never forgive himself if he left them neglected. Besides, he ought to talk to them, ask them to look after Zea and Manfred, seeing that they are daughter in law and grandson in all but name.

He plucks a few weeds that have grown between the pathstones that lead to their memorial, and cleans up the moss that always seems to be attracted to their gravestones. He places a hastily assembled bouquet at their steps, hoping that they wouldn’t mind his deviation from the norm of a carefully selected variety of flowers.

“I apologise that it’s been a while,” he speaks, trying to keep his voice his calm and steady, “Things have been quite hectic, you see, with ancient elvish gods, the ripping down of the veil, oh, and the Blight, complete with multiple Archdemons. Can’t forget that.” Despite that depressing description, he smiles, a feeling rather unnatural after these past few weeks, but it's genuine. “The strangest thing is, this is quite the happiest I’ve been in quite a long time. You see, that woman introduced you to, Zea…” he thinks back as she gave a small curtsey to the graves, was so respectful to them, as she was to even the smallest of wisps, “she’s helped me quite a lot in the far too short a time I’ve known her. She’s helped me immensely in confronting my deepest fears, has given me something to strive for, instead of cowering in the dark, trying to forestall something that claims us all in the end.” His eyesight gets a bit blurry, and pulls out a handkerchief to wipe his eyes before he continues, “You would love her. She’s kind, brave, and selfless. Willing to give herself to others, and asking nothing in return, even though she deserves everything. Willing to give her heart to a man who doesn’t deserve it.”

He takes a breath, and continues rambling, “She deserves so much more. She’s young, has the entire world ahead of her once this is over. A life of happiness and peace. I… intend to give her that, with all of my being. I trust you will understand in time why I must do this. Why I need to save her, no matter the cost? You know what’s strange,” he chuckles, and the sound coming out of his throat sounds foreign to him, it being so long since he’s felt humour, “The past forty years, I’ve been terrified of what lies beyond this life, to where you are. I’ve sought to forestall it, to remove myself from it. I’ve been so focused on how to avoid death, that I’ve never quite learned how to live. So despite my own fears…” he stands up straight, “I’ve found someone that is both worth living and now, dying for.”

He closes his eyes, trying to think of how to ask them to look after Zea and Manfred, when he hears the most peculiar sound, for a graveyard: Clapping.

He twirls around quickly, and comes face to face with the last person he’d ever expect in such a place.

“Taash…?”

“Nice speech. I can see why Rook likes you so much. You got a way with words.”

Which is of course the moment he’s at a loss for them.

“Why did you… How did you… Who?”

“Professor,” Harding appears from around one of the mausoleums, trying to control her heaving breath from chasing after the much longer legged Taash, “We couldn’t let you just go off to do something like this on your own!”

“Indeed,” the familiar clink of metal on stone signals the approach of Neve, always looking her finest. “We’d lose one of the finest minds in all of Thedas.”

“And for once Spite and I and the rest of this group are in agreement.” There’s a flap of wings, as Lucanis lands.

“LOST TOO MUCH. NO MORE.”

Emmrich is flabbergasted. And touched. And perplexed, not necessarily in that order.

“How did you know?”

Taash rolls their eyes, as if the answer is obvious. “I woke up from a dead sleep when a certain SOMEONE banged on my door telling me he’s worried about his dad. Telling me he thinks he left him behind to do something dangerous. I got really pissed off.” There’s soft apologetic hiss, as Manfred creeps up, somewhat embarrassed that he’s been revealed as the ‘traitor’. “Not mad at you buddy. Just mad at your dad.” Taash clarifies.

“Manfred!” Emmrich is shocked, but his voice carries no malice. He should have known a curiosity spirit would take such drastic action, that it would want to know exactly what was going on.

“Looks like you’re stuck with us.” Taash continues, looking around the place. “Smells… nicer than I thought it would. I can see why she might be here.”

“All of you…” he grouses, “are the most aggravating, the most exasperating, the most…” he sniffles and wipes his eyes again, “loyal friends I have ever had the pleasure to know. I honestly do not deserve it…”

“Perhaps,” Neve seems to agree, but her eyes say otherwise. “But Rook deserves you.”

It’s a strange feeling, he thinks. Zea loved him, perhaps still loves him after everything, and now he realizes that he’s never been truly alone. It’s hard to accept, after years of assuming that aside from Manfred, he’d always live a solitary life..

“Let’s get her back.” Taash cracks her knuckles, and the others nod, looking at him. He agrees There’s no more waiting, it’s time to finish this. He pulls out the dagger, and senses in which direction the veil is the thinnest.

There’s a few tense minutes where he does nothing but concentrate. Here, the veil is thin, where spirits travel freely back and forth, like dust motes on unseen currents, they float along… but there’s a presence here, solid and struggling to get past this barrier that even a wisp could get past. He closes his eyes, focusing on it, trying to discern its form. There’s something to it, an emotion of desperation, of regret, of hope.

“There!” He yells and points the dagger at an area near the gravesite, but farther down the path. Instinctively he raises his hand, keeping time with his words, his heartbeat. It’s just a variation of a summoning spell, used to attract a wisp. Except she is no mere wisp.

“From beyond, we beseech you to come forth, to grace us with your presence!”

His heart thrums in his chest as nothing happens.

One heartbeat…

Two heartbeats

Three heartbeats

Four heartbeats

It’s on the fifth one, that small spark leaps off the tip of the blade, and zaps towards where it was pointing. There’s no sound, but it looks like the air becomes a ripe grape being split open, its green flesh sending a gentle glow that excites the nearby wisps.

“SMELL ROOK.” Spite states, and that gives Emmrich hope. Not ‘Smells LIKE Rook’ like at the well at the Crossroads. This sounds more certain, and not some spirit feeding off his desperation to see her again. And yet, nothing appears in the veil tear. No spirit, no person, nothing.

Then, there’s a small voice, distant and warped coming from within the tear, but he could recognize it anywhere.

“Goodbye Varric… and thank you.”

He’s confused. He’s never met Varric, the dwarf had died long before he had joined her. But he has no time to contemplate that as the tear is becoming unstable, and still she does not appear, Emmrich decides he MUST take the initiative. Ignoring the danger he’s putting himself in, he sticks an arm into the tear.

Another heartbeat of nothing. And then he feels it, a hand. He knows that hand so intimately, every callus, every ridge. It grips hard, so hard that he can feel his bones squeak in protest.

“I’ve got her!”

He sticks another arm in to get a better hold, and immediately there is another hand gripping it, every finger clinging on to his wrist, including the shortened pinky. And yet, no matter how much he pulls, he doesn’t seem to make any progress. In fact, he seems to be pulled into the Fade, like being submerged while trying to rescue a drowning man.

She seems to sense that as well, and he feels her muscles slacken and her fingers begin to loosen, as if to let him go, to not drag him in with her. But he refuses. No. He will not let go of her, not even if he’s trapped in there with her for all of eternity.

“Zea, dearest! Don’t.. don’t you dare let go!” He all but begs, not sure if she can hear. Still, he slides even further, and he’s so close to being enveloped by the Fade, he can smell the dust and rocks, the regret and loneliness the place exudes. But, he still holds on, accepting whatever fate has in store for him, as long as it's by her side.

“OH NO YOU DON’T!” A voice booms out from behind him, and strong arms wrap around his chest like a hug, causing his slow forward progress to halt, momentarily. He barely hears Taash’s voice ordering through gritted teeth the others to help over the sound of the blood pumping through his system.

Harding appears on his left, gripping on the only part of his forearm that still isn’t swallowed by the Fade and tugs, pulling up a paving stone with her titan powers to use as a footstopper. Manfred mirrors the action on Emmrich’s right side, and hisses with all his might as he helps pull. Neve immediately follows suit, positioning herself behind Manfred and clinging to his upper arm, lodging her prosthetic in a crack as she provides support. And finally, Lucanis is there on his left, muttering Antivan curse words as he helps pull. Emmrich is surrounded literally by all his closest companions, all desperate for one thing, and yet… it is not enough. She remains stuck. Either their combined strength will eventually wear out, or the already unstable tear will close. Already, its edges are becoming blurry, less defined.

And then, he feels two sensations.

A sharp tug on his lower robe, like a dog that has yanked on a favourite and well loved toy. Except, the bite doesn’t feel like it’s made by teeth, more of like a … beak?

Then there is a pair of hands on his shoulders. He feels them, the metal gauntlets, he swears he can hear the sound of plate armour grinding against metal. But when he risks a glance to the left, there is nothing there, only Lucanis, his eyes aglow.

“ THEY SEND THEIR HELP” he says through gritted teeth, and Emmrich knows that it is now or never.

“On the count of three, we all pull.”

“One…” Darling, hold on for just a bit longer!

“Two…” Please, my love… we’ve got you…

“Three!” Whatever it takes

There’s the sound of hissing, grunting, growling and he swears he hears a ‘Squawk’ mixed in, as they put their everything into this single action.

There’s no sound that accompanies what happens next. He thought there should be a SNAP, or a POP from the way the tension suddenly dissipates, as if Fate has finally thrown up her hands and just went ‘Fine, you win. Enjoy your prize.’ Because one moment, all of them are straining at the very limits of their endurance, the next, they’re all thrown backwards by their own stored momentum, with various sounds of discomfort. The tear in the veil snaps shut a few moments later.

Emmrich gets thrown the furthest, and he lands with an undignified yelp, combined with a wheezy ‘oof’ as something heavy lands on him.

It takes him a moment to truly understand what it is, but he feels a heartbeat echoing his, even under a layer of leather and chainmail. The smell of Tearstone island, of blight and blood, fills his nostrils as his vision clears. It’s her… she looks the same as he last saw her as she yanked that dagger out. The cut above her eye still oozes blood, and there’s still remnants of a bloodstain under her nose. Her silver hair is everywhere except her ponytail, some sticking to the cut, smearing the blood across her forehead. Stains of dirt cover her cheeks.

She is the most beautiful thing he has ever laid his eyes on.

“Emmrich?” her voice is timid, almost afraid that what she’s seeing isn’t real. He realizes that her perception of time is different from his.. She looks like she hasn’t been there for more than a day, while to her, he probably looks like he’s aged years. He hopes this is the case, as it was a torment to be parted from her for these three weeks, and he had his friends to support him, she had no one.

“You’re back, Zea… you’re safe.” He says it as much to assure her as it is to assure himself that yes… she’s here.

“You… came for me?” she asks in a small voice that nearly breaks his heart, “Why did you come for me?” Does she not know how much she is loved and cherished, not only by him, but the rest of the crew? He holds her tight once more, knowing that words will not answer her question as well as actions will. He’s not sure if it's right to kiss her in this state, where both him and her are so emotionally delicate. So he contents himself with holding her, thanking the spirits for her safe return.

“You guys just gonna lay there forever? Or are you gonna fuck? ‘Cus if you are…uh… I want to be out of this creepy place.” There’s a giggle from Harding to Taash’s statement, and a half stern half amused warning from Neve.

“Thank you Taash, for knowing exactly what to say to enhance the moment.” He sighs, although there’s not much anger in his voice. THEY are the reason he is here, with her, and it’s a debt he’ll never quite be able to pay.

“We ought to go home, there’s a lot we must discuss…” Lucanis suggests.

“ HOME!” Manfred agrees as he begins to help Zea up. “ROOK COME HOME!”

She smiles as she accepts his bony hand, barely wincing as she places weight on her left ankle. He’ll have to address that when she gets home. He’s already gotten a checklist of things to do. They need to apprise her of current events, he needs to clean himself up, contact Myrna and the Mourn Watchers for their aid…

But most importantly, he needs to apologise. Not here of course, but where and when she feels comfortable. He needs to assure her that his ramblings were of a man nearly consumed by an irrational fear, that he loves her, deeply, truly.

And if she cannot quite bring herself to trust in his devotion right away, he’s willing to accept that it will take time to mend what was broken.

Whatever it takes…

[felassan]

Just poring over some of the new images. ◕‿◕

I like the overall shape of the dragon, its wings and silhouette, like it's maintaining this theme, two. It particularly reminds me of the DAII cover, with the figures of other characters being present in the dragon's wings. the pattern in the background gives the impression of a sunburst or explosion/outwards burst of energy (there's been lots of that going around in promo images for DA:TV over the years hasn't there). :D chunks of rock float around, which by now is associated with Fadey stuff (floating rocks in the Fade), the barrier (Veil) crumbling in key arts, and reality warping in places like Arlathan Forest. the dragon, open-mouthed, golden-eyed and ready to breathe fire, recalls the dragons on the Dragon Age vinyl arts, two, especially with its general position, and the dragon in this screenshot/scene. in the background at the bottom you can even see a hint of the 'concentric circles' pattern that represents the Veil.

I love that this group shot truly does include the whole team, including Assan and Manfred. I wonder if they will come into the field too if we select Davrin or Emmrich to come out with us respectively? We saw Assan capably fighting darkspawn in the character trailer, and in this image Manfred is helping fend the monsters off. Does Manfred carry Emmrich's stuff in his lil backpack..? 🥺 and I wonder what the purpose of Manfred's goggles are. Visually they set him apart from other skeleton/undead-type enemies and make it so you don't have to peer into empty the eyesockets of a skull, but also they're green (necromancy magic color) and we see Emmrich doing magic on them here. Are they part of the enchantment keeping him animated? also happy to see Varric in this one even though he is not one of the 7 companions. also, Bianca is still here. RIP

Taash looks so cool. :D Even her weapons are gold. her upper body armor in this piece has the aesthetic to me of like a dragon's ribbed armored chest and underside. I like that her weapons are unique generally, and from each other too. her dual-wielding like this as [I presume] a warrior differentiates her from Rook who if a warrior would be sword and shield or twohanded. her gauntlets look like they have dragon teeth or spines on them (the sticky-out parts that are not scale-like).

Davrin is at Rook's right hand. ♡ the floating triangles near Bellara show that she is using her magical device. I wonder what the white sphere part of Neve's wand/staff is. like, in this particular image it gives me the impression of a big pearl. Lucanis' eyes are glowing, like we see here, in that way that seems to hint that something interesting is going on there. overall it's cool to see all the team and cast together like this, working together heroically to stave off doom.

some of the monsters the group are fighting at least are red lyrium darkspawn. the ones with 'shark fin'-shaped headpieces are the same kind as the one at that link. are the rest all darkspawn too (there are different types of darkspawn ofc), or are there some walking dead mixed in there? (lol at the one Varric has just shot in the face). the non-sharkhead ones seem to be these guys from concept art. the prominence of darkspawn in this key art give the impression that we will fight a lot of red lyrium darkspawn in this game and that the threat they pose, including the Blight, is a significant part of the game's storyline.

at the center of it all and at the forefront is Rook. in a nice bit of poetic mirroring (the Wolf and the Rook), they too stand on a rocky outcropping, also with the knife - just like this. the knife is blue here.. blue lyrium influence? the very ground on which they stand bursts with energy. I wonder if Rook's outfit here is sort of their default, iconic look, like the Champion of Kirkwall armor for Hawke etc? I love that they have a cape and the point of their helmet gives them a bird-like feel. (omg.. we can have capes in this game fr). they have the Veilguard symbol on their chest. and could they be canonically left-handed..? :)

[kirkwall-tourism-department]

Extra Reading, Ch. 2

More illiterate rook x emmrich fluff

Opposites attract will always and forever be one of my favorite romance tropes.

Emmrich searched through the piles of books he had pulled from his shelves, all potential contenders to be the first book Rook would read. The gravity of the decision was not lost on him. Finding a balance between something that wouldn’t be too challenging at her current skill level and would actually interest her was a fine line to walk. Certainly none of his necromancy texts, nothing that assumed the reader was already somewhat knowledgeable on the topic, and nothing that overindulged in grandiose language. Which sadly precluded the majority of his library as candidates. He tried to think of everything he knew about Rook, and came up with a pitifully short list. She was a Grey Warden, she had spent time in the Anderfels, and she didn’t mind necromancy. When he had inquired if his magical practice would concern her and her teammates, she had just laughed and said “she had seen worse things happen to dead bodies than doing chores in the Necropolis.” Concerningly, she had not elaborated on that point. He paced the balcony of his room, repeating the words Grey Warden over and over in his head until they lost all meaning. Suddenly, the perfect book came to him, and he walked over to the bookcase that housed his choice for Rook’s first foray into literature.

The History of Grey Wardens in Ferelden by Ferdinand Genitivi. There was a reason he was one of the most popular authors in Thedas- his writing style was approachable, but engaging. And the subject matter was relevant, given Rook’s background. While she seemed to react to most things with amusement, when speaking about the Wardens, her demeanor changed. She spoke seriously, with passion and conviction, her connection in the institution clearly going deeper than ideology. Emmrich wasn’t sure what her life was like before joining the Wardens, or the circumstances that led to her recruitment. When he had asked where she was from during their initial journey in the Necropolis, she said she had trained in the Anderfels, but offered nothing about her origins. As curious as he was about Rook, he knew that if a Grey Warden didn’t freely offer information about their past, it wasn’t a good idea to inquire further.

A knock sounded on his door. He peered out over the balcony, searching for Manfred on the floor below before remembering he had left earlier in the night to watch Lucanis cook dinner. Tucking the book underneath his arm, he rushed down the stairs to open the door for Rook. She stood in the hallway, hands on her hips, a small smile on her face. Despite her diminutive size, her presence dominated whatever room she was in. 

“Welcome, Rook!” he greeted her, the excitement over having a new student starting to build in him. As much as he had been enjoying his time away from the Necropolis, he couldn't help but miss the comforting routine of academia. She strode into the room, taking in the mess he had left when finding the perfect book for her. Turning towards him, she raised a questioning eyebrow, and embarrassment began to burn over his face. In his single-minded focus to find a suitable text for Rook, he had neglected to clean up after himself. “I apologize for the state of the room, I suppose I lost track of time.”

“Professor,” Rook laughed, “I promise you I’ve seen worse living situations than this.” 

“Emmrich is just fine. This isn’t a setting that demands formality.” 

“But it’s such a fun word! And I’ve never gotten the chance to use it before!” Rook argued, putting on a playful frown. “Let me at least use it while you’re actually teaching me.” She took a seat next to his desk, staring expectantly at him.

“If you wish.” Emmrich gave a slight laugh before sitting at his desk, opposite to Rook, and handing her the book. As Rook stared at the cover, he realized he didn’t actually know how much she could read. Previously, she had simply said she couldn’t read “well”, but that wasn’t a very useful description. If he underestimated her abilities, he ran the risk of appearing condescending, which is that last thing a teacher should be. Overestimating her, on the other hand, would leave her without the instructional support she needed, and if she felt too shy to ask for help when she needed it-

“I don’t know what that says.” Rook said bluntly, interrupting his overthinking, pointing to the word Ferelden on the cover. “I know the words Grey Warden. Obviously. I’ve seen those enough. But I don’t know what a Feer-... a Far-...” she narrowed her eyes as she stared at the text, her finger running over the word as she tried to sound out the syllables. 

“Take it one part at a time.” Emmrich instructed, motioning for her to hand the book to him. He laid it flat on the desk, placing his hand over the word so only the letters “Fe” were showing. Once she read the syllable correctly, he moved onto the second, and the third. “Now string them together.”

“Ferelden... Oh! I know that, that’s where Harding’s from!” Rook grinned, joy from her accomplishment radiating off of her. Emmrich smiled, the familiar sense of satisfaction gained from watching a student succeed filling his chest. “One part at a time.” Rook reminded herself as she grabbed the book that lay between them and opened it to the first page. She settled back into her chair, tracing her finger over the lines of text slowly, silently mouthing the words to herself. Emmrich picked up his own book, a study of the aftermath of the Breach.

They spent the rest of the evening in a similar manner. Rook would stumble across a word or passage she struggled with, and would ask for help without hesitation or shame. After a bit of help, she would figure it out, celebrate for a moment, then dive back into the book. Eventually, Manfred returned, delivering a cup of coffee to Rook from Lucanis. A comfortable silence settled over the room, the only interruptions being the occasional question from Rook and the turning of pages. Emmrich peered out over the top of his own book, studying Rook. She was curled up in his chair, intently studying the book while hugging her cup of coffee, unaware of his observation. The contrast between the force of nature she was on the battlefield to who she was in the moments she thought nobody was paying attention to her was striking. He hadn’t gotten many chances to interact with her past the visit she paid to the Necropolis to recruit him. But here, without her armor and weapons, without the demands of the outside world, she radiated a sense of calm he had yet to observe elsewhere.

The colors of the Fade outside began to shift from pinks and oranges to a muted purple, which was the closest approximation to a sunset they got at the Lighthouse. As the light in the room shifted, the glow of his candles fighting off the falling darkness, Rook looked up from her book towards him.

“Emmrich… thank you.” Rook said gently. “Not just for teaching me, but for being so nice about it. I was never really embarrassed about not being able to read until I joined up with Varric and realized it was strange. So, thank you for not making me feel weird about it.”

“Of course! You have nothing to be ashamed of.” He reassured her, setting down his book to give her his undivided attention. “How are you liking the book?”

“It’s good! Makes me want to read about Wardens in the Free Marches.”

“Why the Free Marches?”

“That’s where I’m from. Grew up in the alienage in Tantervale.”

“I’m certain I can find it for you.” Emmrich smiled, gratified by Rook’s desire to delve deeper into the subject matter. 

“I should probably try to get some sleep. Would it be okay if I took this with me?” Rook tentatively questioned, holding the book up expectantly. He nodded, and she smiled, hugging it close to her. It was difficult to not be charmed by her mannerisms. Among other things. “You do realize I’m going to be bugging you with a lot of questions, right?” 

“I was hoping you would.”

[serbarris]

The Art of Scraping Through

Dragon Age: The Veilguard. Some spoilers for plot, and Emmrich's romance  Pairing: F!Rook Ingellvar x Emmrich Volkarin  Rating: E, this chapter has violence, hurt and no comfort, and character injury Chapter 16 of At Best You Find a Little Remedy Summary: Calliope, Manfred and Emmrich deal with the aftermath of fighting the broodmother in Lavendel. Words: ~2400 read the chapter on ao3

The deep amber of the sun warmed Calliope’s skin. She was on an unfamiliar balcony, looking out over Nevarra City and the Minanter, glowing golden in the sunset. Dressed in a satin nightdress that barely skimmed over the tops of her thighs. It was lilac, Emmrich’s favourite colour, and of a fine quality.

A familiar arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her flush against his body. Emmrich’s bare skin warmed her back. A delicate touch ghosted across her neck before he buried his face into her neck, sucking and nipping at the tender skin.

“Emmrich,” she gasped. Her skin felt like every nerve was being set alight.

“My darling, we should really get dressed, or we’ll be late,” he drawled, punctuating his words by capturing her earlobe between his teeth and tugging. The pain was sharp but distant, as if it didn’t belong to her.

His fingers dug into her soft belly, holding her tighter. Something felt wrong. Emmrich had never been this intense. “Or not arrive at all.” His teeth bit into her neck. It felt hard enough to break skin. “I’m sure the Senior Watchers won’t mind.” He was harsh, moved too quickly, and was uncaring for Calliope’s pleasure. Even his voice was severe and bitter. She felt helpless, like an observer in what was happening.

He spun her around, his fingers bruising as they sank into her skin. She didn’t want to meet his eyes. See his expression. She could deny it was her Emmrich. The one with eyes so full of awe, with his gentle touch and soothing voice.

He grabbed her jaw, skeletal fingers squeezing her jaw, forcing her to look at him.

She saw red.

Blood dripped from a gaping head wound. His left eye was full of it, his sclera completely obscured. His right eye was sunken; any fat and muscle atrophied, leaving a green glowing socket. His torso was black and purple and covered in weeping lacerations, half skeletal, with dried skin and black blood hanging from his bones. What skin was left was raw and angry, filled with debris.

She couldn’t stop the scream from leaving her. A scream wouldn’t help her escape, only action, but what could she do?

“You did this.”

Read the rest on AO3 or below the cut

Calliope awoke, heart pounding, breath quick. Despite being barely cognisant of her surroundings, an insurmountable feeling of wrongness ran through her veins.

She must have passed out. It was just a nightmare.

Her eyes were swollen and tender. Her back and shoulders were stiff. Shit. The stitches tugged at the skin on her right arm as she stretched. Her limbs pressed against the confines of Emmrich’s armchair. She bit back a hiss.

Emmrich was in front of her, lying still in bed. He was pale, covered in bandages. Dried blood caked his hair and face. The nightmare version of him flashed before her eyes. It was just that, a nightmare, her brain exacerbating how injured he was, taunting her, his skeletal form taunting what she would do to save him.

She should do something useful. Keep herself busy. Emmrich was stable. His chest softly rose and fell. She would leave his notes; they weren’t needed, not yet. Confronting his possible future lichdom could wait; she didn't want to face it yet, not after her nightmare.

What would Emmrich want?

He’d want to be clean. Not covered in blood and dirt, especially so while he was in bed.

She readied a wooden basin with hot water, unceremoniously pushing it to Emmrich’s bedside with her feet, just to avoid Neve having to re-stitch her arm. She didn’t want to see anyone else right now. A bit of breathing room, time to cycle through her thoughts before confronting what had happened with the others. Checking in with Manfred could wait a while longer; Assan was surely keeping him company. The soap she chose was scented with lavender and honey. It was her favourite of Emmrich's, and Calliope often used it herself when she bathed in Emmrich’s room. Lavender and honey are good for healing wounds and help stave off putrefaction she thought, revisiting her training. She lathered a soft washcloth and ran it over Emmrich’s face, wiping away the blood and grime that had set onto his skin. I did this. She scrubbed gently at his hair. Blood clung to the silver and stained it a foul pink. It matched her hair, though hers was stained from Darkspawn gore, not her own blood.

She lifted the sheets. I did this. Meticulously making her way down Emmrich’s body, washing away the debris. She attempted some healing as she went, summoning only a small trickle of magic forth, treating his smaller injuries. Bellara would handle the more severe wounds better. She couldn’t afford to tempt fate any longer when it came to her magic.

His hands were last. His rings and bangles were coated in a thick crust of blood. I did this. She gently pried off his jewellery, placing it to the side. She’d take her time cleaning it later, alongside her own blood-crusted gold. I did this.

~

Manfred pointed his bony finger at the fifteen-year-old book and hissed.

Calliope was reading one of Emmrich’s works to Manfred. Her copy of The Obverse of Reality: Studies of the Fade in the Waking World was battered and well-thumbed, having undergone many minor fixes over the years to keep the bindings together. It was familiar to Manfred; the shapes of the words on the cover matched the ones on Emmrich’s shelf back at the Necropolis. Although his were in better condition.

Emmrich had been in bed for one day. Manfred checked on him dutifully every hour, making pot after pot of tea so a warm brew awaited him when he woke. Calliope had turned to her comfort read, filled with her annotations and doodles from when she sat in Emmrich’s class all those years ago.

Manfred couldn’t help but be drawn in by the familiar-ish book she was reading, so he sat close to Calliope, pointing out words he could read as she read aloud and explained some of the concepts. It had become a familiar sight in the Lighthouse, Calliope reading to Manfred, though they were usually tales of dashing knights and overthrowing the Orlesians, not Fade studies. Manfred pointed at her annotations, urging her to explain them, or rushed off to grab spare paper and create a copy of her doodle. The floor was soon littered with drawings of her poorly rendered flowers, skulls, and wisps.

She completely forgot about the loosely correct anatomical heart with ‘Calliope Volkarin’ written inside.

Manfred hissed, Emmrich! By now, Manfred’s hisses were getting easier to decipher, and people’s names were easiest to ascribe meaning to, even sleep-deprived as she was.

“Yes, that’s Emmrich’s surname.” Manfred had come on leaps and bounds with his reading since Calliope began reading to him, and his name recognition was exceedingly good. “Do you know who this name belongs to?” She asked, pointing to the ‘Calliope’ written above.

Manfred instantly pointed to her and hissed, ‘Rook!’. Her lessons were now biting her in the arse. Hopefully, Manfred wouldn’t make the tenuous connection between the two names in the heart.

“Do you think we can keep this a secret from Emmrich?”

~

Calliope was bored. Well, ‘bored’ didn’t account for the ache in her chest or the silence in Emmrich’s quarters. She missed his quiet humming, the scratch of his quill on paper, and the scrape of his chair on the flagstone as he collected a reference book. He was the missing piece to her and Manfred. Even when Emmrich was out helping Neve or talking with Taash, they both knew he would walk through the door any second, begin an experiment, or rush to a bookshelf to help others.

Calliope wasn’t ready when they faced the broodmother, but she would make sure Manfred was ready to face Hezenkoss. Manfred was already excellent at holding a tray. He was not so excellent at navigating obstacles while carrying a laden tray, especially when there would possibly be ball gowns to contend with.

And so, Calliope was dressed in her most billowing skirt, layered on top of other skirts to act as additional makeshift petticoats, and carefully rotated around the obstacle course she had set up to test Manfred while he carried cups of water.

“Manfred, you did it!”

A hiss reverberated through Manfred’s mandible and vertebrae as he looked around, noticing he was at the end of the small course with a full tray with no water spilt. “I don’t think Blackthorn Manor will know what hit it when you arrive. You’ll outshine all the other undead servers.” Which, of course, caused him to raise his tray excitedly and cause water to slosh over the top of the cups.

“Rook…” Bellara began, her head poked out from behind Emmrich’s bookshelf door, “He’s awake.” Manfred repeated his celebration, though less water fell onto the tray.

Calliope felt like she could finally breathe. “I… Manfred should see him first.” She said, beckoning Manfred through the door before running up the winding staircase to Emmrich’s second level, her voluminous skirt brushing the bannisters. Tears welled in her eyes.

What would Emmrich say to her? When he was finally able to confront that she was the one who had injured him. Even if by chance it wasn’t her, it was her mission. Her decision to be so reckless and use an unpracticed incantation that took all of her focus to cast.

She just needed a moment to herself. To breathe without feeling the crushing weight of her error on her chest.

He’s alive, and seemingly well enough, from the excited hissing and hoarse chuckle she could hear escape the bedroom balcony below. Would he be so keen to see her?

The shuffle of Manfred’s boots and an impatient hiss shook her from her thoughts.

It was time to wipe away the tears and face the man she loved, who surely hated her.

~

“And where’s Rook?” Emmrich asked, his voice hoarse, parched from his time unconscious.

Bellara had explained a little of what happened, what Davrin had said to everyone. Injured fighting the broodmother—he remembered this. The grotesque creature was hard to forget. He had run towards Calliope—she was close to fainting—and then, after a flash of green, all he saw was darkness. Apparently, Calliope had barely left his chambers the entire time he had been unconscious. After the ordeal, she had to be dragged from his side so Neve could suture her lacerations, and she attempted to refuse any healing so it would be used on him. Then Bellara had left abruptly after announcing to Calliope and Manfred that he was awake.

Manfred hissed and pointed up to the ceiling. “Can you fetch her?” Of course, he was delighted to see Manfred, even if he hadn’t quite grasped the concept of ‘injured’ and had been quite keen on hugging Emmrich, his bones digging into his tender wounds. He heard Manfred’s impatient hiss outside his bedroom, calling up to Calliope. Spirits, there must be a reason she hadn’t come in sooner, but what? His armchair had been relocated to his bedside, the blanket he kept on his settee for Calliope draped over its back. Bellara had avoided responding to his questions about Calliope’s welfare, instead listing his injuries, along with the tonics and salves they had used, and giving instructions for reapplication.

She was injured.

Not to the extent he was, but his bruises were yellowing, cuts sealed shut, sped up by Neve and Bellara. Calliope’s bruises were still a deep purple. He couldn’t not notice it as she walked in—dragged in—hand in hand with Manfred. The bruise on her calf was barely visible under her skirts, though it surely trailed further up her leg. Her right arm was still bandaged, and the thickness was noticeable under her mauve shirt. Her hair had been stained by blood, turning her honey locks a macabre rose gold.

Her pale eyes were red and filled with tears.

Manfred rushed them to his side, placing her hand in Emmrich’s before clapping. Her smile was tight and forced as she asked Manfred for some privacy, her hand gently slipping from his with every beat of his heart. His fingers chased hers, holding her tight. He didn't notice he had no jewellery on. It was becoming more familiar to feel Calliope without the accessories than with.

“Do you hate me?” The words were so quiet he almost missed them. Whatever could have happened to make her think he could ever hate her?

“No! Dearest, why would you think so?”

“I caused this; you’re injured because of me. You could have died, Emmrich.”

“No more than on any other adventure. It was my fault for not paying attention. I ran towards you when I knew I shouldn't have.” Calliope collapsed into the armchair. Her hand slipped from his, her knees seemingly giving way. “I thought I killed you.” He was reckless and should have trusted Calliope and Davrin. They had trained hard at their manoeuvre and had signals and plans. When he watched Calliope, saw the tension in her muscles, and saw her knees buckling beneath her and the swarm of pale green expanding larger than she had ever achieved, he thought he knew better.

“I love you.”

He was pulled from his thoughts. He must have misheard. She repeated the three words over and over. Every iteration more ragged and strained than the last, dampened by the tears that ran down her cheeks. Their relationship now felt real. Not an indulgence to escape their dangerous reality. Not an ephemeral dip into the forbidden. It made his heart pound, too quickly for a man his age, and his mouth felt even drier. I love you too. The words refused to leave him. No matter how much he wanted to say it, an invisible blockade stopped him. He had said those words so easily in the past. Why couldn’t he say them now when he truly meant them?

[tuffgreg]

merrick/emmrich, the first time they sleep (like, literally just sleep) together?

thank you for the prompt it is one of my favorite things!!! sometimes you just need to sleep!! with some nice company!! [posted to ao3 on 1/18]

i opened a google doc and it accidentally became 2600 words

emmrook + sleeping (just sleeping!!) together + gen, early relationship + 2614

“You’re up late, Rook.” 

Rook jolts at the sound of Emmrich’s voice – he is up, in theory. Trying to be, at least, to such an extent that he’s even gotten himself a mug of the sludge Neve calls coffee. The last time he slept, he saw Solas, and before that Treviso under fire and the imagined specters of dead friends and colleagues, and before that the realities of Dock Town, destroyed and under Venatori rule.

He’s gotten too scared of what his brain might remember next – Varric, taking a knife to the chest? The Gloom Howler? – or what worse things it might imagine. Scared of Solas sneering at him. 

“Rook?” 

He realizes he’s staring when Emmrich repeats himself. Rook looks up, blinking blearily as he takes in the sight of Emmrich standing near the little sofa in the common space. He’s dressed for sleep – soft striped pants and his house slippers, a rather fancy dressing gown in what seem to be a typical Mourn Watch motif, a rich plum with gold trim. Emmrich’s hair is soft and looks a  bit damp as if it’s freshly washed, falling over his forehead. 

He’s staring, still. “Yeah, just.” Rook pats around with the hand not clutching his mug for dear life, scrambling to find the book he’s been pretending to read for at least two hours. His hand closes around something, and he waves it at Emmrich with a bright smile, the kind that normally warms people to him enough to make them feel safe leaving him to his own devices. “You know. Enjoying a little light reading.” 

Rook clocks the cover. One of the suspiciously numerous copies of Hard in Hightown floating around. He smiles at Emmrich again, and tucks the book quickly under his thigh, though if the hint of a smile playing at the corner of Emmrich’s mouth is any indication he’s already noticed it too. 

“I do enjoy a bit of light reading before bed. I thought I heard someone out here last night as well.” Emmrich takes a step closer, watching Rook with his usual shrewd curiosity. Normally his chronic inquisitiveness is charming, but there’s a weight to his gaze that makes Rook squirm a bit on the worn cushions. “And Manfred seems to have picked up an unusual amount of trivia about Antiva City, in recent days.” 

Ratted out, and by a skeleton no less. A skeleton, who doesn’t even have a functional tongue. Rook feels his face heat up and turns his attention back to the book, glancing down at where the spine is sticking out from under his leg and tracing his fingers along it. “He’s pretty good conversation, all things considered. Wish I knew how he got so good at rock, paper, scissors.” 

Emmrich arches an eyebrow and glances towards Rook’s mug of questionable coffee. A moment of silence hangs between them, then spirals out until Rook sighs. “And maybe I don’t want to sleep.” 

Another beat, and Rook waves a hand towards the spot next to him on the couch. He tries not to feel disappointed when Emmrich settles a respectful distance away from him – not quite enough for another person, but too much space for Rook’s taste all the same. He tilts a little, facing Rook, relaxes enough that the collars of his dressing gown slump open just enough for Rook to process he’s not wearing a shirt. 

“You know Bellara or I would be happy to help,” Emmrich offers, voice as gentle as it ever is when it’s just the two of them. Sweet, inviting, a host of other things Rook still isn’t entirely sure he’s not – projecting. Hoping. Inventing in his own mind. 

He tears himself away from thinking about the pale, lean expanse of Emmrich’s chest under fine silk and the smattering of salt and pepper hair he’s sure he can see here under the glow of the astrolobe. “Not wanting to is different from can’t,” Rook says dryly. “I probably could if I tried.” He looks to the book again. “I just, you know. Would rather not.” 

“Ah.” There’s a weight to that too, and when Rook looks again Emmrich is watching him intently. At the very least, there’s some understanding in his expression. “You do have a lot on your mind.” 

“So does everybody else,” is Rook’s reflexive response. “But nobody else is…” He gestures around at the empty chairs with his mug. “I guess except Lucanis. And Manfred.” 

He glances at Emmrich, who arches an eyebrow, and Rook huffs out a faint laugh. “And you, I guess.” 

“Please, try to contain your enthusiasm,” Emmrich replies dryly. “I guess.” He extends a hand for the mug and takes a sniff when Rook hands it over, before immediately handing it back over with a distasteful expression. “Are you truly so desperate that you’d stoop so low? Based on Lucanis’ opinion of Neve’s brews I rather thought you’d find it a personal affront, as a fellow Crow.” 

“Not every Crow’s as intense about coffee as Lucanis is,” Rook laughs, but he does sheepishly set the mug aside all the same. “Besides, I think hers works even better than Lucanis’ does just because it tastes so bad.” 

“I’m shocked you can taste anything at all, after a cup of that.” Emmrich lets out a disdainful sigh, and Rook can feel Emmrich watching him again. “Would you like to…” 

The hesitation in his voice makes it immediately clear what he’s asking, so Rook doesn’t worry too much about offending him with his immediate, brusque, not really. Talking will just put everything at the front of his mind again, easy pickings for whatever it is that drags him into the dreaming world. 

Maybe it would be polite to explain, at least. “Sorry for bugging Manfred, though. I just…” Rook shoves a hand through his hair with a practiced, light laugh. “I should have picked a different place to meditate, when I need to talk to Solas.” 

Or maybe he’ll talk about it. He grimaces and yanks at his hair a little, til Emmrich reaches out to touch his arm, just briefly. “Manfred enjoys your company,” Emmrich offers in return, his hand dropping to the couch when Rook finally lets go of his own hair. “He does worry, though.” 

“Is that you, or is that Manfred?” Rook’s own hand drops to the couch, their fingers nearly brushing. He could move a little more, if he wanted. 

He digs his fingers into the cushion, restless, and flashes Emmrich a practiced, disarming grin. “You fret over everybody.” 

“Perhaps,” Emmrich retorts. He drums his fingers on the cushion. “Who wouldn’t, in these times?” 

“Fair enough.” Rook thumbs at a loose thread, then stretches his fingers just a little to toy with another one closer to Emmrich’s hand. 

Emmrich’s hand stretches a little too, and then moves, just enough for their fingertips to brush across worn-out fabric. “We don’t only share the fretting, you know,” he says, and the Crow in Rook – the de Riva, for all he’s no longer using the name he used at home – immediately recognizes the careful practiced edge to Emmrich’s voice too. “Perhaps I could at least offer company, if not conversation.” 

Rook blinks at him. “What, you’d just sit here?” 

“Oh, no, of course not, if you’d rather be alone.” There’s practice there, too, the careful friendliness of not taking it too personally. Emmrich starts to draw his hand back. “I do apologize for interrupting –” 

Rook grabs Emmrich’s hand before he can stop himself, and stares at it, and then stares at Emmrich’s face. Emmrich’s eyes are a little wide, his lips parted, his cheeks faintly pink, startled the way he is sometimes when Rook tries his luck with a flirtatious line. 

“No,” he says quickly, and he feels his own face heat up a little at the way Emmrich’s expression softens into hesitant excitement in return. “I – no, that’s not what I meant.” He clears his throat sheepishly, looking anywhere on Emmrich’s face except his eyes. “I just… if you wanted. I wouldn’t… I’d like that. Company.” A shy pause. “Your company.” 

“Oh.” The way it slips out of Emmrich, it feels more like a sigh than a word, and Rook files it away to think about later – oh, sighed as Rook kisses him, skirts his fingers along the enticing flash of skin at the collar of his robe, tugs him down into a soft mattress. Emmrich tangles their fingers together, and smiles so tenderly at Rook when their eyes finally meet again that Rook feels his heart skip a beat. “Of course,” he murmurs. “If you’d like.”

“Please.” Silence hangs between them for a long moment, and Rook huffs out a laugh. “I uh – admittedly I’m not… great, at just sitting.” 

“Why don’t we read?” The panic on Rook’s face must be terribly obvious, given the little chuckle he gets from Emmrich. He lets go of Rook’s hand – reluctantly, Rook is pleased to note – and stands, heading to the shelves. “I’ll leave that with you, in case you change your mind.” 

A few moments of searching and a delighted little ah! later and Emmrich returns, this time leaning against the arm of the sofa as he examines his prize. “I haven’t seen this in years. Through the Gilded Lamplight. Quite a popular play, when I was much younger.”

Rook shifts a little across the couch, uncertain, til Emmrich finally extends a hand. Rook takes it and, after a moment, lets himself be drawn closer. 

“If you’d like,” Emmrich says, a little quieter.

He shifts a little, making a bit of room between his side and the back of the sofa, and Rook tucks himself there, letting their legs tangle as Emmrich draws his up to stretch out across the cushions. “What’s it about?” 

“A romance about a young mage apprentice and the nobleman’s son she fell in love with, watching him through the lamplight of his window.” Emmrich falters for a moment, then slips one arm around Rook’s shoulders as he sets the book on his thigh and opens it with his other hand. His brow furrows slightly as he thumbs over an inscription inside the cover. Til we escape the lamplight to be free beneath the stars, accompanied by an unrecognizable signature. “A strangely personal thing to find here.” 

“Maybe someone left it,” Rook offers, reaching out to chase the tail edge of the scrawled name. “Last time people were using the Lighthouse.” 

Emmrich sighs as he turns the page. “I hope they were together at least,” he murmurs, and he tips his head, almost absentmindedly, to press his lips briefly to the mess of Rook’s curls.  “I’m sure you won’t be surprised to know I saw this every time it came to the theater, when I was a student. A dark stage, a single lamp and a window frame looking into the sitting room of the Lord and Lady Belanger…” 

He’s not entirely sure when he drifts off to Emmrich’s low, even voice. Some time after he drops his head to Emmrich’s shoulder, surely, one arm wound around his waist, and after Emmrich’s fingers tangle in his hair, petting idly. There’s a blanket over them, when he wakes up from some minutes or hours of blissfully dreamless sleep, one ear slightly bent where his face is smushed against Emmrich’s collarbone. 

Rook is used to waking up in beds with people who aren’t meant to wake up, and he keeps himself still, trying to ignore the furious blush that creeps to his cheeks as he assesses the rest of the room. 

Manfred, off to the side, mimicking Emmrich’s dozing in the chair usually Emmrich’s sits in. His head tilts a little, mood as inscrutable as it ever is with nothing to give him away. Rook plucks at the blanket, and he gives a careful hiss of acknowledgement. 

“Emmrich’s really raised you to be a little gentleman,” Rook mutters, netting him another pleased hiss. He tries to extricate himself from Emmrich’s arms, only to find himself hopelessly tangled – legs twisted up, Emmrich’s arms around him. “Emmrich,” he tries, giving his shoulder a gentle shake. “Emmrich – I’m really sorry –” 

Emmrich, clearly, is less accustomed to trying not to disturb someone. He starts a little, and Rook has to grab him by the waist again to keep him from startling off the sofa. “I – no, I’m sorry, I only meant to let you rest for a bit.” His robe’s fallen open, and instinctively he goes to tug it shut as if he’s done something to offend Rook’s delicate sensibilities. “I hardly meant to… I never would have… not without asking.”

“To sleep together?” Rook stares at him for a long moment. “I mean – to sleep?” 

“If you didn’t want company,” Emmrich replies, sounding a little offended by the question. “I do try to be a gentleman, Rook.” 

Rook laughs, before he can help himself, and then quickly tries to swallow it as Emmrich’s eyes go soft and a little sad, his expression so endearingly sheepish. “No, I – no. I’m not…” He huffs out another chuckle before he can help itself. “Nobody’s… people don’t usually…” 

Something in Emmrich’s expression suggests this train of thought is the sort of thing that’s less funny to people who didn’t grow up the way Rook did, as is often the case with a lot of Rook’s trains of thought. He tries again. “You’re a perfect gentleman,” he says finally, reaching up to tug his dressing gown closed a little more and then to brush away a lock of hair that seems stuck to his temple. “Nobody’s ever been so worried about asking me if I want to take a nap. It’s cute.” 

“I am entirely too old for cute,” is Emmrich’s instinctive retort. “I fully intended to put you to bed –” 

Rook arches an eyebrow, and Emmrich scoffs, aiming for derision despite his sheepish expression. 

“Your bed,” he continues, “Before retiring to mine.” He processes the blanket, finally, and glances to Manfred with a paternally proud smile. “Ah, you are too kind, dear Manfred.” 

“You’re a good influence,” Rook offers, and his stomach lurches when that pleased smile is turned on him instead. “You’re…” Too cute, too kind, so warm to the touch. A comforting presence. So disarmingly handsome, mussed from even a brief sleep. If he thinks about it too long, whatever winds up spilling out of his mouth will be too embarrassing to face. “Thank you.” 

“Of course,” Emmrich replies, without hesitation. He reaches up then seems to reconsider, resting his hand at his collarbone instead. “I… of course, Rook. I meant what I said, about enjoying your company.” 

“I like yours too,” Rook replies, before he can second guess himself. He falters for a moment, reluctant to move. “And – I mean, if you wanted… I wouldn’t mind, uh…” 

Emmrich, patient as ever, gives him a moment to sort himself out. His fingers flex at his collarbone, and when Rook continues to stammer, he reaches up to cup Rook’s cheek. 

Rook struggles against the urge to tilt his head and press his lips to Emmrich’s warm palm, but he does tilt his head into it, just a little. “I could use some more sleep,” he says quietly. 

Not the usual way he goes about coaxing people into bed, but, not the usual reason, either. He stares at Emmrich, aiming for something more sincere than the wide-eyed, sultry pout he usually employs in similar situations, and wherever his face lands nets him a look so tender in return it makes his chest hurt. “We’ll bring the play,” he says fondly. “Whatever you need, dear Rook, you need only ask.”