#and then Emmrich just strolled in

[aro-tarot]

I was figuring out yet again the style I want to go for with my digital art and while I was drawing Emmrich, I couldn’t not have Rook next to him on the screen.

They’re becoming the new Alistair/Brosca for me. How is this happening?

[lavenderprose]

I don't think my Rook is a virgin or even particularly inexperienced; they're like thirty and the Mourn Watch seems to know how to fuckin party if the Hezenkoss plotline is any indication. However there's something that resonates with me about Emmrich being their first for OTHER things like:

- First time being brought breakfast in bed (Rook cries. Emmrich panics. Darling, it's JUST oatmeal!)

- First time actually taking a midnight stroll while holding hands? Rook thought that was just. Romance serial behavior. People don't actually DO that. Then they're in Treviso very late one night and making their way back to the Diamond and Emmrich pulls them close while walking along the canal, wraps their hand in his (Big. Warm. Long fingers) and kisses the back of their palm and just? Doesn't let go? For the rest of their walk?

- First time being apologized to in an argument? Rook is very used to people who are opinionated and knowledgeable--the Mourn Watch is basically a university meets a corporation meets a seminary (In the WORST kind of way, at times) so you're constantly meeting people who are singularly convinced of their own expertise. Rook, themself, can be pretty opinionated. The first time Rook disagrees with Emmrich on something and it gets a little heated, they figure they'll go cool off for a little bit and then go tell Emmrich how Special He Is just to put the argument past them, because that's what worked in the past, with other situationships. To their surprise, Emmrich finds them fifteen minutes later and sits down on the floor with them, huge old text book on his crisscrossed legs, and says, "Darling, I can't apologize enough. I looked it up and actually, you were correct--" Rook takes the textbook out of his lap and replaces it with themself.

- Most importantly, Emmrich is the first partner to make Rook feel like they can truly just...unmask. Be themself, and that not only will Emmrich tolerate that but ENJOY that. Emmrich enchants an orb to play the echoes and creaks of the Necropolis at night so that Rook can sleep better in the silent Fade; he spends an hour gently rubbing Rook's head after they snap at him one night because he realizes they're having a migraine. He's also, like, y'know, very very good in bed and seems to be genuinely horny for a lot of this stuff. Like, caring for Rook seems to genuinely DO IT for him y'know?

Rook tells him, "I've never had anyone love me the way you do," and Emmrich just tilts his head and smiles at them in that sweet, beautiful way of his.

"Darling," he says, "As the man who loves you, I can with confidence say that the others were doing it wrong. This is how you deserve to be loved, and shall be, so long as I breathe air--and perhaps long afterward as well."

Rook starts crying. Again.

[dngrs-untld-hrshps-unnmbrd]

Graven Hearts

After being unofficially banished from the Mourn Watch, rebellious Lisbette must recruit one of her former professors, Emmrich Volkarin, to help her defeat two ancient Elvhen gods. Hurt that her favourite professor never stood up for her when she needed him, Lisbette takes delight in provoking the handsome, silver-haired necromancer, perhaps enjoying herself a little too much.

Female Rook | Age Difference | Daddy vibes | low key bratting | Hurt/Comfort | Eventual Smut

Start with Chapter One

Chapter Four (NSFW)

Taash, Emmeric and Lisbette are exploring the ruins of a Warden castle in Rivain, chasing ghosts down corridors and attempting to raise various portcullises. Every time Taash looks in another direction, Lisbette squeezes Emmrich’s hand, or Emmrich strokes a knuckle softly down her spine, making her shiver in pleasure.

It’s been three days since they shared a kiss in his rooms. She’d practically launched herself at him, unable to help herself when he’d been so deliciously stern with her, and he’d opened his arms to her. Lisbette wondered if he would become flustered by her forwardness, but the professor wasn’t flustered in the slightest. She’d thrown him off balance when she’d sat in his lap that first day, but perhaps he is getting to know her better, and understands how she longs to provoke him, and so won’t allow it.

Or perhaps he enjoys it when she kisses him. It certainly seems that way. 

Lisbette finds her former professor hard to resist when she feels his admiring glances everywhere she goes. Has she always had a crush on him on some level? She’d always looked forward to his classes and listening to his voice. His demonstrations were the most skilled and entrancing she’d ever seen as a young Mourn Watcher, and now watching him fight in battle, he was magnificent. Surprisingly swift and deadly for a man who enthuses, ‘Is it time for a cup of tea?’ and talks fondly to any wisps they come across. 

As Taash goes on ahead, Emmrich grasps Lisbette’s hand and tugs her into an alcove for a kiss. 

‘Emmrich, not that I want you to stop, but you seemed so angry with me just a few days ago. I practically told you to get out. Now we’re kissing. I know I started it, but...’

‘Did you start it?’ he asks with a smile. ‘As I remember you were asking your former professor for feedback, and I told you I had a present for you.’

She kisses him again. ‘I still haven’t got that present. But for the record, I take back being so harsh and implying I don’t want you on the team.’ 

‘And I regret judging you so harshly for your approach with the First Warden, and your reluctance about speaking with the Mourn Watch.’ 

The kiss quickly becomes heated, her back against a wall as he presses into her, her mouth opening for his tongue. Enough talking. She wants to be kissed, and kiss her he did.  

Lisbette feels a fierce ache between her legs. Just kissing him isn’t enough anymore. 

‘Please, when we get back to the Lighthouse tonight...’ She twines her arms around his neck and plays with his hair. 

‘What Lisbette?’

‘Please can we...’ More kisses. ‘I need...’

‘ Emmrich. Rook. ’ Taash is calling for them. They can hear them walking up and down a walkway overhead.  

Emmrich pushes his fingers between Lisbette’s thighs and rubs her sex through her clothes, his tongue moving with similar pressure against hers. 

Lisbette’s eyes close, and she holds onto the lapels of his jacket so her knees don’t buckle. ‘Oh, gods. Fuck .’

‘I want to taste you,’ he breathes into her ear. He kisses her a final time, straightens his jacket, and strolls out into the courtyard, as casual as can be. 

‘Ah! There you are, Taash. We got turned around. Lisbette’s here somewhere.’

Lisbette presses the backs of her fingers against her hot cheeks. Emmrich wants to taste her. Did he mean...? Gods. How is she meant to survive the rest of the day after hearing that? 

--

Lisbette closes the door to Emmrich’s room and plasters her back against it. 

Emmrich looks up from where he’s working at his desk, and gets to his feet. ‘My dear?’

‘Everyone’s looking for me. They all want something.’ Lisbette runs to him and throws her arms around his neck. She would much rather be in here kissing Emmrich. 

‘Ah, so you thought you’d hide in here with me?’ he says with a smile. 

She thought she might give him an opportunity to show her what he meant by I want to taste you , not that she was going to say that out loud. She’s too shy. There’s his bed upstairs, and she wishes he would take her by the hand and lead her up there. 

His hands roam over her, stroking her jaw and her throat. Squeezing her waist. Then his thumb swipes over her nipple, and she moans into his mouth. 

‘You make the loveliest sounds,’ he whispers. 

‘I can make more,’ she says, gazing at him through her lashes.

Take the hint, Emmrich. 

He does take the hint, hooking his finger into her blouse and slowly unbuttoning it. Her underclothes are nothing special, and she wishes she had coin and the time for shopping for something a bit more alluring. They don’t seem to bother Emmrich as he unlaces her top and casts it aside.

‘Aren’t you pretty?’ he murmurs, and sucks first one of her nipples into his mouth, and then the other.

Lisbette has to grip his desk with both hands to stay upright. 

Gasping slightly as she watches him, she notices that his rather tight pants are growing even tighter.

Lightly, she strokes her fingers along his length through his clothes and is pleased when his breathing grows heavier. 

Emmrich runs a finger around the inside of her waistband, pauses to look at her, and then undoes her pants. 

On the desk? she wonders. 

Apparently yes, on the desk. Oh, professor. 

He pushes her back and pulls off her pants, underwear, and shoes, and then leans over her, kissing her throat, her breasts, her stomach, and then down to her...

Oh, yes. Definitely that kind of tasting. 

Lisbette’s eyes close and her head tips back as his tongue curls around her clit. Her thighs hug his shoulders. She scratches her nails through his soft hair. 

He pushes two fingers inside her, her tight heat closing around his fingers and rings and squeezing his flesh. 

Emmrich can feel her nails digging into his shoulders, impatient for more, but he takes his time with her, slowing down the more urgent she is, just to show her she can’t have everything she wants as soon as she wants it. 

But it will feel good just the same. He finds the spot inside her that’s the most sensitive and rubs it firmly. 

Lisbette moans loudly, and then sits up, grasps his shoulders and pulls him closer, gasping, ‘Fuck me or I’ll die.’

Dramatic? Possibly. 

Irresistible? Certainly. 

Lisbette reaches for his pants, but he captures her hands and pushes her face first down over his desk, her ass pressing against his thighs and her curls tumbling over the desktop.

‘Comfortable?’ he asks her, one hand gripping her wrist and pinning it down. 

‘Dying,’ she pants, her eyes half closed. ‘Please, Emmrich.’

He smiles to himself. One handed, he undoes his pants and frees his cock from the tight fabric. Lisbette is so wet as he draws the head of his cock up her sex to her entrance, and then slowly pushes inside.

Lisbette moans and arches her back in pleasure. She's been wound so tight and he's working his way through all that, burning down all her stress.

The sharp thrusts of his cock are making her see explosions of stars behind her eyes. Her insides were tightening deliciously, and every time he bottomed out inside of her she was pushed a little closer to her peak.

Locks of Emmrich’s hair is falling into his eyes, but he has both hands full of Lisbette’s hips. Her wetness is shining on his length and he can barely look away from watching himself thrusting into her. There are freckles all over her back. Her waist curves so alluringly. Her cries are throaty with pleasure. There’s too much to enjoy at once. He can’t cope. He needs this more and more, forever. 

Lisbette is so loud that people must figure out where she is, and that she’s not coming out any time soon. 

Her nails dig into his desk. Her back arches. She comes with a ragged cry and he quickly follows her, thrusting harder, completely letting go.

In the stillness afterwards, both of them are breathing hard. Emmrich traces a finger down her spine, admiring her bones. 

‘You are beautiful, sweet Lisbette.’

‘You’re too good to me.'

‘Just good enough. I wouldn’t want to spoil you,’ he says with a smile. He does want to spoil her. Spoil her completely rotten, and he probably will. 

‘I wish I could stay here with you. I suppose people are still looking for me. I should go out there,’ she mutters without much enthusiasm. 

Emmrich pulls out of her and helps her up to sitting. ‘I think they might know where you are. You weren’t quiet, dearest.’

‘Oh, no.’ Lisbette covers her face. She looks so adorable sitting naked on his desk with her hair in a riot around her. She peeps through her fingers and smiles at him. ‘Sorry.’

He draws her chin up and smooths the curls back from her face. ‘I shall easily weather their teasing. Smile for me?’

She does.

‘Good girl.’ He presses a kiss to her lips. ‘Stay here and get dressed. Take your time. Drink some water. I will go out there and they may get all their ribald comments out of their systems on me.’

‘Really?’ she asks, gazing up at him with big green eyes. 

He looks at her in surprise. ‘Of course. Why wouldn’t I?’ 

‘I thought I would have to...I’m not used to someone...’ Words seem to fail her. 

‘What, Lisbette?’ 

She tries again. ‘That’s so kind of you. Thank you, Emmrich.’

The simplest courtesy made her lost for words. It made his heart ache. The Mourn Watch wasn’t a cruel or uncaring place. At least, to him it hadn’t been, but perhaps it had been harder on Lisbette, or perhaps the hard work and poverty of his youth was much further behind him than it was for her.

‘You’re welcome, dearest,’ he murmurs, pressing a kiss to her forehead. ‘Take your time.’

Emmrich leaves his room and finds the library deserted. Everyone has gathered in the kitchen, and they stop talking and stare as soon as he appears. Neve looks amused. Bellara is blushing and looking at her feet. Davrin has his arms folded and is scowling. 

Emmrich meets all their stares with a charming smile, and says cheerfully, ’You all have five minutes to say whatever jokes and silly comments you wish to make to me, but if you even look the wrong way at Lisbette, I will raise several dead and send them into your bedroom as you sleep. All right?’

 --

The following morning Lisbette knocks on Emmrich’s door holding two cups of tea. He opens it and smiles when he sees her stand there.

‘Tea? How thoughtful dearest. Do come in.’

‘It’s thank you tea,’ she tells him, following him into the room. ‘No one said a peep to me last night after, ah, I was a little noisy. Either you talked them out of teasing me or maybe they didn’t notice what we were up to after all.’

‘Perhaps they didn’t notice,’ Emmrich lies smoothly. He presses a kiss to Lisbette’s lips. ‘I’m glad you’re here as there’s something I want to ask you. I intend to visit the Necropolis today and I was wondering if you wanted to come with me.’

Lisbette looks pained. ‘Emmeric...’

He holds up his hands. ‘I know. But there is the Mourn Watch, and then there is our respect for the dead. You no longer esteem the Mourn Watch, but I think you still esteem our dead. Am I right?’

‘You sound like my professor, not my lover.’

‘Dearest, I hope I sound like someone who cares that a fellow Nervarran has been cut off from her culture. These rituals we perform are as much for us as they are for our dead.’

Lisbette groans and buries her face in the front of his shirt. ‘Was this your plan all along, to seduce me into going back to the Necropolis?’

‘I can’t say that upon seeing you again I thought ah! My beautiful former student, I must convince her to perform rituals for the dead by bedding her as lovingly as I am able.’ 

‘Can’t you just bed me again, as you put it?’

‘Darling, you needn’t do anything if you don’t wish for it, but you should go if you miss it.’ He dips his voice lower. ‘And to indulge me, because I have always wanted to walk hand in hand with my lover through the memorial gardens.’ 

He’s been imagining it vividly all night, proudly showing off his beautiful girl to all the wisps and spirits. 

She looks up in surprise. ‘You never have?’

‘I have never had a Nevarran lover. Former flames of mine would not set foot in the place.’ He pauses. ‘How about you?’

‘Why, would you be jealous if I said yes?’ Lisbette teases.

Emmrich examines the rings on his fingers. ‘I am too old and jaded to be jealous. Envy is a young person’s emotion. Have you? Strolled hand in hand through the memorial gardens?’

She shakes her head. She’s barely had anyone that she might consider a lover. Certainly no one who cares for her as much as Emmrich does. 

He offers her his elbow with a smile. ‘Then allow me to escort you, dearest. The gardens are so beautiful this time of year.’

CHAPTER FIVE

[emmg]

WIP whenever

because @heylittleriotact uno reverse'd me lmfao

bc grading essays is overrated, so here’s a lil’ something from the ridiculous fic I’m forcing my keyboard to suffer through. Plot? Absolutely none. Just Emmrook going on “dates” (and like also… smutty dates) suggested by the other clowns haunting the Lighthouse. This one’s SUPPOSED to end in a coffee date—because Lucanis—but I haven't written that yet lol

Honestly, it’s like… smut-crackfic with necromancy puns that should be punishable by law. I keep saying I’ll write a serious Emmrich one day, but let’s be real, that day isn’t today

Anyway, title? Don’t have one. I'm just throwing a bunch of dashes and slapping a read-more right before it gets too long so it doesn't invade anyone's dash

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

It’s the most absurd scene. Like, truly bonkers. 

She hovers in the doorway, conveniently camouflaged by shadows, because though the cringe levels are searing her soul, she simply cannot look away. It’s like watching a runaway cart barreling downhill, if said cart was cobbled together with blissful ignorance and top-tier ineptitude. 

There, crammed onto Harding and Neve’s favorite tiny sofa, are Lucanis and Emmrich. And they’re... talking? Sort of? It’s the most agonizing conversation she’s ever been subjected to, and that’s saying something. Lucanis is flailing his hands around, using them more than words, trying to drive home whatever point he’s failing spectacularly to make. Meanwhile, Emmrich, ever the dignified one, has one leg crossed so neatly over the other that it creates this little triangle of space that she suddenly wants to crawl into and hide from the embarrassment radiating off both of them. 

"You see," Lucanis laments, his fingers forming that universal gesture of the confused and the desperate, “we went for coffee. But she, well, threw it back. Like a shot of spirits. It was not just any brew. This was from the frost-bitten slopes of the Vimmark Mountains. A dark roast with notes of juniper and just a hint of wild honey. You don’t just drink something like that—you experience it.” He shakes his head. “Her focus was all on that new case file, instead. And fish. Fried fish."

Emmrich nods along thoughtfully. “I understand. However, if I may be so bold, Lucanis, have you perhaps thought of discussing something besides coffee? A change of topic might open new avenues.” 

"I did offer to sharpen her knives."

“Knives,” Emmrich repeats, as though weighing the term’s philosophical import. “And… Neve is known to possess a significant collection of blades?” 

“No,” says Lucanis, flat as a pancake. 

“Ah,” Emmrich replies, offering a sage nod. A wise and knowing “ah,” as if that somehow clarified things. "An unusual approach, then." 

Desperate to claw himself out of this conversational pit, Lucanis asks, “Well, what is it you and Rook… do?” He stumbles over the words, as though simply asking has exhausted his entire social skill set for the year. 

And now, it’s Emmrich’s turn to squirm. She can almost see his moustache twitching, wishing it could detach itself from his face and make a run for the hills. He looks away, frowning slightly, as though consulting some vast internal library.  

They don’t go on dates. Please. Not even the hilariously doomed sort that Lucanis somehow subjected Neve to. For one, neither of them has the time for candlelit strolls with the world about to be ripped apart by blighted elven gods strutting around like they own the place.

Usually, she just pops into his room and fucks him while he pontificates about the finer points of romance. Oh, she always lets him go on for a hot minute, but once her lips are on his throat and her hands start wandering further south, he finally gets the hint, and that highbrow nonsense about “dignified courtship” goes straight out the window.

Emmrich, after clearing his throat, finally answers, "We discuss books."

From her shadow, she snorts. He's not wrong, technically. Just the other night, she had perched in his lap while he was reading some dry treatise on Fade energy attunement and the properties of dawnstone. He’d even launched into a detailed explanation while she kissed her way down his jaw and neck, hardly deterred by the lecture. Finally, when her hand wandered beneath his shirt, Emmrich, after a brief struggle to finish his monologue, allowed the tome to tumble from his grip.

So yes, “discussing books” might be accurate, but it’s hardly the whole story. And yet here sits Emmrich, steadfast in his scholarly pride, while Lucanis looks ready to take a long walk off a very short pier. She’s not sure which of them is more tragic. 

“Hm,” says Lucanis, apparently having reached the absolute zenith of his conversational abilities. 

“Ah,” Emmrich replies, with all the enthusiasm of someone describing mildew yet also, somehow, managing to sound very polite about it. 

She saunters over to break this pathetic monotony of wall-staring both are currently engaged in.

“My dear,” Emmrich perks up, relief flooding his face as though she’s just rescued him from the depths of some social hell. His voice is full of that charming lilt he uses when he’s desperate to salvage his dignity. 

He makes a half-hearted attempt to stand, all dignified and well-bred, but she waves him off with a lazy hand, signalling him to stay seated. And stay he does. Without missing a beat, she slides into his lap, practically draping herself sideways over him, arms winding around his neck. He tenses for a moment, exhales in resignation, but eventually gives in, one hand resting at the small of her back, fingers just barely grazing the line between respectable and… well, decidedly not. 

“I hate when you do that,” Lucanis snarls from across the sofa, jabbing a finger at her. 

“Yes, it’s not very proper,” Emmrich says with solemnity, though he’s showing absolutely zero signs of protest about her whole backside pressing against him. 

With a serene, mischievous grin, she stretches her legs, casually extending them until they’re firmly invading Lucanis’ personal space. 

“Mierda,” he grumbles, swatting at her ankle with all the fervor of a cat being swiped at by an annoying feather. “Rook.” 

She just grins that beautifully infuriating grin. “Go back to your pantry, Lucanis,” she says sweetly, her tone one of pure, serene malice. “The gouda is getting lonely.” 

Lucanis stalks off, glowering as if he’d chuck a knife at her head if he had one in hand. And she’s fairly sure he would. 

She blows him a kiss. He shows her the middle finger. They’ll have coffee in the morning.

Meanwhile, Emmrich, ever the portrait of indulgent patience, looks up at her from his cozy place beneath her with a satisfied hum. “How was your day, darling?” 

“Good,” she sighs, stretching further until her legs are practically colonizing whatever’s left of Lucanis’ side of the sofa. “Yours?” 

Emmrich raises an eyebrow. Makes a contemplative sound deep in his throat. “Enlightening. Lucanis and I were just having… an intriguing discussion.” 

“Oh?” she purrs, eyes glinting. “About what, pray tell?” 

“Courtship,” he says, savoring the word as though it were some priceless artifact he’s just dusted off from an ancient shelf. 

She smirks. “I’m sure you gave him absolutely riveting advice.” 

“I certainly tried.” He heaves a great sigh, even rolls a shoulder in a semblance of a shrug. “Though, I fear our preferred methods diverge.” 

“‘Preferred methods’?” she echoes, giving his thigh a playful squeeze. “Do enlighten me.” 

Emmrich gives her a look that’s half-scholar, half-sufferer. “Well, I fancy a touch of romance, some… sentimentality, if you will. And Lucanis…” 

“And Lucanis?” she goads. 

“His idea of a grand romantic gesture involves… knives,” he finishes with a sigh of pure exasperation. 

She can’t hold back the snort that escapes. “I mean, yeah, it’s Lucanis. Did you expect anything different?” She presses a little closer, trouble dancing in her eyes. “But for what it’s worth, I do love talking about books with you… so very much.” 

Emmrich doesn’t miss a beat, a hint of sarcasm curling his lips. “So I’ve gathered.” 

“Tell me more about your books, Emmrich,” she coos, batting her eyelashes with all the enthusiasm of a third-rate actress in a chintzy Orlesian play. 

“If you’re genuinely interested, I would gladly oblige.” 

“Oh, I’m interested,” she purrs, lowering her voice to a husky whisper. “In you talking… while you bend me over your desk.”

Emmrich rolls his eyes, his facade of feigned innocence dissolving in an instant. “There it is,” he says, shaking his head, fully resigned, and yet absolutely, unflinchingly unbothered. “Right on schedule.”

She giggles, pressing a kiss to the corner of his lips, laughing against his skin as his mouth curves into a smile. His hand moves down her back, rubbing a little more insistently, as if he’s grounding himself—or maybe just unable to resist the urge to keep her right there. 

And she doesn’t make it easy for him. She drags her legs back, swings one over his lap, and settles herself down, straddling him. For a moment, she just studies him, tracing her fingers through his hair, brushing little gray strands back, pressing featherlight kisses along his cheekbones. She moves to his jaw, his forehead, then teases at the edge of that absurdly high collar he insists on wearing like he’s hiding some grand secret rather than just a very biteable throat. 

He is fine, she muses, is he not? So impossibly precise, so painfully detailed. He’s all sharp angles and sleek lines, with those maddeningly long fingers that look like they could carve through a mountain if they set their mind to it, and legs that seem to go on for days. Tall, lean, graceful, and—she smirks—a touch too verbose for his own good.

There’s a tragic elegance to him, too, a sort of quiet, melancholic dignity wrapped up in age and maturity, like a bottle of rare, finely aged wine that’s only gotten more complex with the years. A shame, really, that he’s about to be thoroughly enjoyed by someone who wouldn’t know a fine vintage from a spoiled ale. 

She’ll savor him all the same, every last bit. 

When she takes his hands, winding her fingers through his, she feels him smile—a real, soft thing, so she leans down and steals it right off his mouth. She licks along the seam of his lips, teasing, before he finally gives in and parts them, letting her kiss him in earnest. 

“I like your rings,” she murmurs as she pulls back, letting their mouths part with a wet pop, a little string of saliva snapping between them. “They make you look expensive.” 

“Not too expensive, I hope,” Emmrich teases. “Otherwise, I fear I’ll meet the same fate as every artifact your merry Lords of Fortune collect. Pilfered in the night, sold to the highest bidder. One moment here, the next—poof. Gone.” 

She makes a show of sighing, voice deadly serious. “Oh, don’t worry about that. I’d rig the auction, slip in a pretty penny or two, then plant an inside man to bid on you. Coin in one hand, you smuggled back to me in the other. All in one night.” 

He laughs, that rich, throaty sound she loves, and she can feel it rumbling up through his chest. “All that trouble just for me?” 

She leans in, lips brushing his ear. “Consider it my own little courtship ritual,” she whispers, nipping at his earlobe. “Better than dinner and a walk, don’t you think?” 

He chuckles, his hands slipping to her hips, holding her close as if he’s half-tempted to test just how well she could pull off that heist. “Dangerously persuasive, as usual.” 

For a while, she stays just as she is, savoring the closeness, every slow inhale filled with the scent of him, the warmth of his body against hers. She steals little kisses, grazing his jaw, breathing her laughter against his skin each time he starts to smile. She loves the quiet, the intimacy of it all, though she loves his voice just as much. Sometimes, she asks him to read aloud, not for the content, but for that smooth, careful cadence that rolls through her and makes her feel so, so good. She’ll rest her head in his lap, fingers idly tracing patterns on his hands, kissing his knuckles, his fingertips, watching his face as he reads. 

Now, there’s nothing for him to read, but she leans into him all the same, letting his quiet words fill the space. He murmurs, babbles, whispers soft nonsense as he unlaces her hair, fingers brushing through the waves, watching as they fall in gentle cascades over his lap. She exhales, content, her eyes half-closed, perfectly happy just to listen as his voice drifts around her, soothing and familiar. 

She simply listens, resting her head on his thigh, gazing up at the ceiling, fingers trailing over his hands, kissing his fingers one by one, lingering on each touch. Her teeth gently scrape along his skin, letting her tongue follow in a slow, winding path. She feels his breath hitch, hears him stumble over his words as she nibbles down each finger, tracing her tongue along the edge before she takes it into her mouth, sucking just enough to leave him squirming. She lets each finger slip from her lips with a wet pop, savoring the way his composure falters, how he tries—and fails—to keep his voice steady as she drags her mouth over the center of his palm, kissing, licking, leaving nothing untouched. 

He’s given up on this one-sided dialogue entirely, his gaze drifting from her to the room around them—the door, the table, the empty corners where nothing but dust bunnies, or perhaps a few stray Fade bunnies, lurk in silence. 

“Dear,” he murmurs, glancing down at her. “We ought to move.” He gives her a gentle nudge, even tries to rise himself, but she’s not having it. 

“Oh, but you look so good here,” she protests, her voice dripping with mock innocence. “They’re all asleep, Emmrich. Even Lucanis, that kitchen rat, is probably curled up in his pantry right now, snuggling his precious wheel of parmesan.” 

Emmrich lets out a long, put-upon sigh, like he’s reaching deep into his reserve of patience, maybe for some scolding remark, but he finds none. His shoulders drop as he finally relents, letting her kisses chip away at his restraint. She leans in, her voice dropping to a sultry whisper, detailing exactly what she wants him to do with those hands of his—where she wants those fingers, how she wants them stroking, filling, plunging, curling… 

“Well then,” he manages, and she laughs, a short, wicked little sound, straight into his mouth. 

She slips down his body, her hands already at his waist, working his trousers loose with a grin that says she knows exactly how flushed he’s become. She murmurs something obscene, barely a whisper and almost incoherent, her smirk widening as she leans in closer, taunting, “Come on, Emmrich, don’t tell me no bone was ever… poked… in that crypt of yours, right out in the open for all to see.” 

“It’s the Grand Necropolis,” he corrects, like that’ll somehow keep his dignity intact, “and we most certainly do not… poke.”

She undoes the last of the many - too many - buttons on his trousers before freeing him just enough to take him in hand. And oh, would you look at that, for all of his posturing he's already hard. All that wriggling on top of him certainly led to something, she thinks.

“Oh?” she hums, tracing her fingertips over his bare skin, savoring the way he stiffens under her touch. She leans forward, her lips brushing against his length as she murmurs, “Not even a quick tumble between the tombs? Not a single bone used for inspiration?” 

His restraint crumbles as she flicks her tongue over him, taking her time, drawing out each little shiver, each catch in his breath, making sure he’s utterly undone before she finally lets her mouth close around him, her gaze locked on his as she starts to take him deeper, her mouth warm, wet, greedy. And as she feels him sink back, his hands clenching in her hair, she knows she’s finally broken that perfect composure, and she couldn’t be more pleased. 

Then she pulls back just enough to speak. “So, tell me, is this what you meant by reanimation techniques?”

Emmrich sighs, dragging his free hand over his face as if he could somehow block out the utter cringe tumbling out of her mouth, his fingers twitching, though she doesn’t give him a moment’s peace. She lowers her head again, sucking him in, hollowing her cheeks, before releasing him yet again, his cock slipping past her lips with an obscene, wet pop. “You know," she muses, "I’d say you’re looking rather stiff.”

A sharp exhale escapes him, a half-laugh, half-moan that only encourages her further. She picks up her pace, taking him deeper, her hands braced against his hips as she moves with a steady rhythm, doing that little thing with her tongue she knows he likes, she knows that everyone likes, a talent truly, swirling all the way around, pressing it flat on the underside of his cock, only to suck her way up, breathe hot air against him, before swallowing him again. 

Between every few breaths, she pulls back just enough to taunt him, her voice syrupy with mock innocence. She can barely hold back the laughter as she watches him react, his hips bucking ever so slightly with each tease, like clockwork, so deliciously predictable. “Come on, love. I thought resurrection was your specialty?”

“Blasphemy,” he mutters above her, though there’s no real heat in his voice. 

“No, no.” She rests her cheek against his thigh, stroking him instead with a slow, deliberate touch, her palm warm and slick, her grip firm. “Think of it as… a rather intensive course in raising the dead.”

The absurdity of it hits her right as she says it—her last attempt at an erotic pun officially surpassed—and she breaks, a snort escaping as she buries her face against his leg, her shoulders shaking with laughter. 

But then she feels his hands shift, pulling her up by her arms, and she yelps, startled, before giggling as he hauls her up, settling her right back on top of him. 

“That’s quite enough of that,” Emmrich whispers. 

As he catches his breath, she wipes her mouth, grinning at him with all the smug satisfaction of someone who’s just completely dismantled a man who prides himself on his restraint. She feels his fingers on her chin as he angles her face back towards his so he can kiss her and she's not shy, she tangles her tongue with his immediately, tasting as much of him as she can reach, even tracing the edge of one canine before retreating for breath. 

“Think you could, I don’t know…” She waves a hand around aimlessly. “Necromance my pants away?” 

He smiles, curling her hair around his fingers where it frames her face. “No, dear. I’m afraid that is not in my skill set.”

[rom-e-o]

Belisma/Guinevere watching Emmerich interact with small children as they're out and about in public.

Maybe they're standing in line somewhere and there's a parent in front of them with a toddler and the little tyke is just staring intently at Emmerich and he just gives a little smile and wave. Or maybe makes a funny face. And the toddler just breaks into a grin and giggles in the cutest way.

Maybe they're out doing errands and come across a lost little boy, so scared and crying and not sure where his mum/dad is, so they "go on a side-quest" (lol) to reunite him with Mum/Dad. And Emmerich carries him, first in his arms, then transitioning him up to his shoulders. And he and the boy are chatting the entire time, the child's tears and fear completely forgotten. The little boy laughs in delight and marvels at how high up he is on Emmerich's shoulders.

Maybe they're on a date, getting some ice cream and a little girl starts crying because she dropped her cone on the floor. So Emmerich steps over to Mum/Dad who already looks completely strung out and has a brief exchange before ordering another cone exactly like what the little girl had and gets down to her height to offer it, having a quiet little conversation that makes the little girl smile and giggle as she takes her new ice cream.

Maybe on a stroll they come across some children. One of them is seated on the ground, obviously in pain, holding a wrist or ankle or something and is in obvious distress the others are all freaking out trying to figure out what to do. Here comes SuperEmmerich (or maybe AwesomeEmmrich because Superman is probably Awesomeguy in the au😅) to the rescue sweeping in to ask what happened. The other kids probably scram because they don't want to get in trouble. After discovering the injury isn't very serious just quite painful, Emmerich heals the child, all while speaking soothingly and drying their tears. Then he and Isma/G'iney safely escort the child home.

Maybe they're in a waiting room somewhere and there's a little girl there who is clearly quite bored and getting fussy. Emmerich can't help but start performing some of his prettier magic spells for her entertainment. Before long the tyke is laughing and clapping, completely entertained and demanding further pretty magic: "Again! More! More!"

Every interaction he has with little ones, whatever it is, is just so natural and sincere and gentle and kind. Wifey is just slathering him with tender kisses at the end of the day, praising him and admiring him for his golden heart.

Awww. Okay, firstly, I love this. Also, it gives me a reason to wax poetic about this side of him, haha.

So, we see Emmrich being a nurturing, kind presence, even in the face of calamity. Specifically, helping unite a child with their parent. We see him act that way with little Mila as they search for her father as literal hoards of darkspawn attack.

The Siege of Weißhaupt, where this happens, is a grueling battle. It's an endurance test of waaaaves of enemies.

Your team gets tested.

Yet, even as the team talks about the hopelessness and comes to terms with the fact that this might be their last stand, Emmrich still speaks to Mila calmly and reassuringly. He also asks her good questions and listens to her answers.

He reassures her that her father is okay, and to keep going. He's a calming influence.

And she's reunited with her father. All is well!

So, I can totally see him being a sweet and caring guy that puts kids at ease. He knows that a friendly wave or a kind gesture goes a long way, especially for an innocent soul. He has some experience with those early days with Manfred too - cleaning up messes, helping him walk, etc.

I LOVE him replacing the ice cream cone for the child that dropped theirs ("It's such a simple gesture, but it makes everyone feel better") and him performing simple magic for the child in the waiting room as well ("You learn to never take it for granted. What's mundane to you is extraordinary to another.")

He's such a nice, sweet guy, and very patient. It makes sense why he could rear Manfred the way he does - he very much treats him like his child. He uses a guiding hand and is always patient. If he scolds Manfred, it's pretty gently.

Belisma/Guinevere sees all these instances, at it just exemplifies what they love about him. He's an intelligent, esteemed man of wealth and status, yet he'll stop everything to brighten a child's day. He's never too good for anything, and he's never patronizing or condescending to them either.

"No wonder Manfred is such a fine gentleman already," she says after giving him a long smooch, "Look at his example."

"Oh, you mean today? My dear, nothing I did was admirable. Just being a good samaritan, as we all should."

"I think it was. I think I loved watching you be so gentle and caring with those children ... fatherly, even. You're a good role model."

"F-Fatherly? I don't think ...do you really think so? Maybe?"

"Oh, definitely." <3

Wifey's already imagining him cradling their baby a few years out, and it's the most easy image in the world to conjure.

[selunesdreams]

Chapter 6: Dead Crow Do Not Eat

“Take me with you. I need to work, Rook.” He caught her by the arm. “We have a contract. Use me.” “Trust me, you wouldn’t want to know what happens to people when I use them.” She moved closer, trailing a finger up his arm. He stepped backwards, releasing his hold on her with a groan. “Teia is a bad influence on you. You were never this much of a flirt before. I can’t even have a conversation with you.” “I’ve barely seen Teia in the last year.” Rook placed her hands on her hips. “Did Viago send you to nag at me in his place?” “No. You’re just…not the Fiammetta I remember.” He said and glanced to the side. Rook arched an eyebrow. “You used my name.” “You asked me to.” Her gaze lingered before shifting to the schools of fish in the meditation chamber’s window. “Neve and I are going to Dock Town to meet with the Threads. You can join us.” Her arms fell to her sides. “We leave in ten.”  She leaned in to murmur in his ear as she walked by. “And don’t pretend the change isn’t working in your favor.”

Pairing: Lucanis x Fem Rook/OFC x Spite???

Summary: Rook has a busy week, a run-in with an old hookup, and a really, really bad dream.

Word Count: 4.1k

Things of note/warnings: 18+ fic, MDNI! warnings: blood, graphic depictions of bodily mutilation/murder, dead animals. Please read on AO3 if you need to track warnings, they will be inevitably detailed better there (or just want to be real sweet and give me hits/kudos/comments).

─── ⊹⊱♤⊰⊹ ───

Neve’s demeanor softened as the days went on. Unsure if it was duty or guilt driving her, Rook dedicated much of her time to helping out in Dock Town, which incidentally provided a good excuse to avoid Lucanis. Even better, when a letter from Viago arrived requesting assistance in Treviso on several matters, she sent the Demon of Vyrantium in her stead. He could live up to her cousin’s standards. 

Soon, Rook found herself in high demand. Davrin’s invitation for her to train in the Arlathan Forest with him and Assan turned into a much needed reprieve. Later, she accompanied Harding and Taash into the Deep Roads to seek out a better understanding of Lace’s newfound power. Unfortunately, they ended up fighting an animated assembly of rocks and getting vague riddles from an ancient stone.

Wardens Evka and Antoine summoned Rook to inform her of new blight-related developments in the Hossberg Wetlands, but the First Warden cut her visit short. Upon returning to the Lighthouse, Emmrich requested she and Bellara’s company investigating the curiously named “Hand of Glory”, only to find an old colleague abusing the living and the dead. Dejected, he spent the next several days in his chambers, but Rook was able to cheer him up by accompanying him and Manfred on a graveyard stroll. It seemed to, for lack of a better term, lift his spirits. 

Exhausted from her endeavors, Rook returned to the meditation chamber, propping her staff against the wall and depositing her bag next to the wardrobe.

“Don’t tell me you’ve spent so much time away from the Crows that you’ve forgotten to check a room when you enter it, Rook.”

Startled, she looked down to find Lucanis sprawled across the chaise, his arm propped behind his head. He shifted into a sitting position, leaning forward.

“Viago would have a fit if he knew you were taking necromancy lessons.” 

“We lit candles and laid flowers on graves, Lucanis.” She rummaged through her pack, setting aside a few parcels. Gifts for Davrin and Neve. 

“Did you tire of the pantry? Certainly the Lighthouse could conjure you a new dwelling place outside of my chambers.”

He rose to his feet, following her as she wandered around the room. 

“I was checking for those choke points you mentioned.” 

Rook’s hand hovered over Varric’s shaving mirror just as she spotted Lucanis’ reflection. He stood behind her, leaning against a bookcase, a mischievous smirk playing on his lips.

Fuck. He was getting good at this. Whatever this was.  

“Are we done? I have to be somewhere soon.”

“Take me with you. I need to work, Rook.” He caught her by the arm. “We have a contract. Use me.”

“Trust me, you wouldn’t want to know what happens to people when I use them.” She moved closer, trailing a finger up his arm.

He stepped backwards, releasing his hold on her with a groan. “Teia is a bad influence on you. You were never this much of a flirt before. I can’t even have a conversation with you.”

“I’ve barely seen Teia in the last year.” Rook placed her hands on her hips. “Did Viago send you to nag at me in his place?”

“No. You’re just…not the Fiammetta I remember.” He said and glanced to the side.

Rook arched an eyebrow. “You used my name.”

“You asked me to.”

Her gaze lingered before shifting to the schools of fish in the meditation chamber’s window.

“Neve and I are going to Dock Town to meet with the Threads. You can join us.” Her arms fell to her sides. “We leave in ten.” 

She leaned in to murmur in his ear as she walked by.

“And don’t pretend the change isn’t working in your favor.”

─── ⊹⊱♤⊰⊹ ───

Lucanis had always said death was his calling. He just didn’t know Rook would be the cause. 

She was playing with him. He knew she was. What he couldn’t figure out was whether it was a game, a defense mechanism, or a way to get him to lower his guard.

He’d never been intimidated by strong women. After all, the Crows wouldn’t function without them.

“Well-positioned seeds, planted subtly and nurtured over time, grow stronger roots,” Caterina had always said. Few men among their ranks, except Viago, had the patience for that level of foresight or strategy.

But romancing strong women…that was a different story. Rather than serious relationships, Lucanis had fumbled through a few short-term romances and casual encounters in his early twenties. He wasn’t like Illario, who could have a different woman in his bed each night. Better to give up on intimacy altogether. Feelings were risky and falling in love got people killed. Being alone was easier when he could find pleasure in little things - coffee, cooking…killing. If he didn’t keep anyone close, it was one less person to worry about, one less distraction from his work. 

He settled down beside Rook in their booth at the Cobbled Swan, wincing as he drank coffee that might as well have been brewed in piss. 

“So…the Threads and the Shadow Dragons working together.” She said, “how do we feel about that?”

“It’s what’s best for Dock Town.” Neve replied, “I saved their leader, Damas, last week. They have just as much motivation to take out the Venatori as we do - and they owe me one.” 

Rook tensed beside him and Lucanis looked up, following her gaze towards a tall, fair-haired man, likely in his mid-30s, walking in. Well dressed, he walked with an air that made it clear he considered himself important. Accompanying him was a younger, shorter man with enough resemblance to Illario that Lucanis stiffened in surprise.

“Shit.” Rook whispered, her eyes glued to them as they approached.

“Trouble?” Neve asked. 

“Well…”

“Dock Town’s protectors, at your service,” the tall one confidently eased himself into his seat across from them. “What can the Threads do for…” He paused, brow furrowing as he gave Rook a once over. 

“What are you doing here?” 

“SMELLS LIKE SMOKEPOWDER AND AROUSAL-”

Arms crossed over his chest, Lucanis grimaced and turned his head to the side, trying to keep Spite in check. 

“Makal Damas? You said you were a Shadow Dragon.” Rook said, “Not the leader of the Threads.”

“And you said you were an Antivan Crow. I thought we were having a little fun lying.”

“She is a Crow.” Neve said dryly.

“ You’re the Rook everyone’s making such a fuss about?” Damas asked, leaning back in his chair with a smirk. 

“Anyone care to explain what’s going on?” Neve asked. 

“Rook and I have a little history, that’s all.” He took a swig from his stein. “Well, at least we can skip half the introductions. This is Elek Tavor, my second in command.”

Elek looked up from tracing the rim of his drink and nodded. 

“And you’re the infamous mage-killer?” Damas asked Lucanis. 

“Something like that.” he leaned over Rook to trade his coffee for a bottle of wine at the end of the table. 

“I’ve got names of missing people, including those hardly anyone noticed yet,” Elek interjected, eager to change the topic. “All yours. No catch.”

“No catch? Now that’s friendship.” Neve said. 

“Consider it a personal favor, if you want,” Damas purred. 

“The Venatori are getting too confident.” Elek continued, “We’ll increase our odds of getting them out of our streets if we work together.”

“You seem tough enough on your own,” Lucanis said. “Why do you need us?”

“I get my knuckles bloody from time to time. But if you haven’t noticed, there’s a lot going on. Those blood mages walked into this bar and abducted me .” Damas stuck his finger into his chest. “I’d like to correct that. The Threads are better neighbors than the Venatori, don’t you think?” 

“They are,” Neve chimed in. “Let’s speak candidly, then. Aelia’s a pain for both of us. I want her dead.” 

“Okay. Then we both hunt for Aelia.” Damas said. “You find her, you kill her. We find her? We’ll do the same. Dock Town is ours .” He leaned forward in his seat, lowering his voice. “But I’m open to sharing, Rook. Bear that in mind.” 

“So generous. I’ll remember that when I put all this on your tab.” 

“I knew I liked you.” Damas rose from his chair. “We’ll keep you posted.” He said to Neve and left for the door with Elek. 

Neve’s head snapped towards Rook once they were out of sight. “When did you sleep with the head of the Threads? ” 

“Give me a break. It was like a year ago and if I had any idea who he was - or how bad it would be -“

“ YOU COULD SHOW HER SOMETHING BETTER, LUCANIS.” 

Lucanis choked on his wine, quickly clearing his throat to cover it up, and stood abruptly from the table. 

“I’m going back to the Lighthouse. Next time you bring me along, make sure there’s something for me to kill.”

─── ⊹⊱♤⊰⊹ ───

As she ascended the steps to her chamber, all Rook wanted was a nap. When Davrin came running after her, she knew it wasn’t happening.

“Rook,” Davrin panted, bending over to catch his breath, “the First Warden is summoning everyone back to Weisshaupt. Word of darkspawn hordes on the move, and an archdemon with them.”

“Fuck,” her hand instinctively reaching up to rub her tired eyes. “How much time do we have?”

“A day, a week? We’re going in blind, though. We need to know what we’re up against.”

The possibility of sleep now seemed distant and trivial, as guilt gnawed at her conscience. Was she so selfish that she could think about sleeping at a time like this?

“I’ll talk to Solas. Make sure the others are ready to move.”

No longer eager to return to her quarters, she begrudgingly shoved the doors open. Conversations with the Dread Wolf were rarely enjoyable. 

With a lazy flick of her wrist, ignited a row of candles on the ancient altar in front of the window and knelt before them. Eyes closed, she drew focus, her consciousness wandering from her body, searching the Fade for Solas’ prison. 

“How fares your battle?”

She opened her eyes with a start. The sight before her was bleak and colorless, a barren expanse stretching into infinity.

“The gods are moving against Weisshaupt and the Grey Wardens. I have little time. There are rumors of an archdemon involved. I need to know how to deal with them.”

Solas clasped his hands behind his back and paced, as if searching the ground beneath his feet for answers. “How are the Grey Wardens? Do they understand the danger they’re in yet?”

“Some. The First Warden is completely in denial, though. That…complicates things.” 

Solas halted, his gaze piercing through her, his demeanor growing more serious. “To defeat Elgar’nan and Ghilan’nain, you must unite the Wardens under your banner. How will you bring them to your side?”

“Seems I need to get around the First. Easy. Make him lose credibility. Classic political destabilization.”

“Spoken like an Antivan Crow.” Solas’ voice carried a hint of ambiguity that made it difficult for Rook to decipher whether he was praising or criticizing her.

“There never were Tevinter gods. The archdemons, as you call them, are weapons of the Evanuris. To harm them, you must first defeat their life force - the dragon thralls. And even with their dragons dead, they’ll be difficult to defeat.”

As Rook absorbed Solas’ revelations, her heart raced, its pounding echoing in her ears. “So what do I do?”

“Use my dagger. The one you recovered. It can pierce their enchantments and strike them down.”

“Got it,” Rook said, turning on her heel, eager to leave.

“You’re going in too fast! Take a moment. Remember what is at risk!”

She whirled around.

“I know exactly what is at risk!” she pointed at her chest. “That dragon could have leveled my city! Killed my family!”

“Yes. Good. Hold on to that. Remember the loss you have already survived. You will endure more, but your motivation to prevent it at any cost will keep you on the right path.” 

Rook scoffed. “You’re sick.”

“And you’re tired. Perhaps you need some rest. A moment to remember…”

As Solas faded away, the meditation room came back into view. Rook let out a long sigh and laid her head on the seat of the chaise. What the fuck was the Dread Wolf even talking about? Always lessons in everything. He was just as bad as Varric, as her father…

Exhaustion overwhelmed her, making her eyelids heavy and her limbs weak, a weariness that seeped into her very bones. A planned moment of focused breathing, meant to center herself, stretched into minutes, then…

Nothing.

─── ⊹⊱♤⊰⊹ ───

Fiamma woke to a noise coming from the den and jolted upright in bed. She and her father’s small apartment carried sound through every wall, and she was certain if she’d noticed it, he was already investigating. 

When little flames are scared, they should be neither seen nor heard. 

With caution, she slipped her hand between her mattress and the bed frame, retrieving the encircled blade she’d gotten for her 17th birthday from Viago just days ago. She crept towards the door, carefully opening it a crack, and peered through the darkness, her eyes straining to see.

“I’ll give you a chance to leave my home, without consequence, but you must go now .” Her father growled from the kitchen. Fiamma peered around the corner, discovering him with his blade drawn, defensively poised and ready for a fight. She knew if she weren’t here, he’d have already engaged. 

He was buying her time. 

The intruder was facing away from her, and in the dim light filtering from the windows, she could see the glint of her father’s eyes as they met hers.

“You’re a Crow, no? Did someone put a contract on me? Surely my nephew, Viago, doesn’t think I’m a threat to him becoming Talon…”

Still buying time, but also providing thinly veiled directions. Fiamma read between the lines. 

Get out. Get help. Get Viago. 

She nodded in the dark and retreated to her room. The instant she shut her door behind her, she heard pots and pans flying, kitchen cabinets being thrown open, blows exchanged. Her movements were controlled and calm as she slipped a cloak over her nightgown and pulled on her boots. Unlatching her window, she crawled on top of her dresser and outside to the roof.  

This wasn’t their first break-in, or assassination attempt. Her father would be fine. She was simply leaving to give him peace of mind and fetch a cleanup crew. 

She navigated the rooftops to Viago’s, a short, five-minute walk, and jumped several feet over a gap in houses, aiming for his balcony. Missing just by inches, she caught herself on the railing, clinging to the rungs. She hoisted herself up, feeling the strain in her muscles as she flopped down onto the balcony stomach-first.

As she got up and brushed herself off, she caught sight of her cousin approaching, knife in hand, lowering it when he spotted her. With him was Illario Dellamorte, who he’d adopted as some sort of mentee. The boys always seemed to stick together. It was fine. She had Teia and her father. She’d kick their asses someday. 

Viago had taken contracts as soon as Caterina had allowed him to, and it wasn’t long before he’d amassed a small fortune for himself. He was a talented assassin. Incredible with poisons, not too bad with a blade either. Aunt Viama had married a few years back and settled down just outside of Treviso, so he’d purchased this apartment for himself as a reward for his efforts, deciding it was time for him to branch out on his own. 

“I’ve told you Fiamma.” Viago said through the glass, unlocking several deadbolts. “Use the front door.”

“The streets might not be safe. Someone broke into our house.” She said, as if reciting something she’d memorized. Everything felt slow, disjointed.

“What?” Illario blurted. 

“It was a Crow. My father’s holding him off in the kitchen. He’ll probably have handled it by the time we get back, but there could be others…”

“Right. Let’s go,” Viago said, leaping over his balcony railing to the neighboring roof with ease. Fiamma followed, successfully making the jump this time, with Illario trailing close behind. 

“Taking a contract on the Flame of Treviso. Fools.” He mumbled. “I’d like to know what idiot would even put one out.” 

“If it’s really a contract, it’s not sanctioned by Caterina or any of the Talons, to my knowledge.” Viago said, “Your father isn’t interested in Talon, so it can’t be anyone fearing competition..”

As they reached the apartment, Fiamma nudged her window pane and slid her curtains aside. Before she could step through, Viago held his hand out, entering first. Illario ducked in after him, holding out his hand to Fiamma. His arms were warm, a reassuring sense of security as he guided her down from atop the dresser.

The house was silent, still dark. A knot wound itself tightly in Fiamma’s stomach. 

Something was wrong. 

Viago motioned for them to stay back, slowly opening her bedroom door and creeping into the hall. The floorboards creaked slightly beneath his weight, likely intentionally on his part, as he tried to draw out the intruder. Illario’s arm snaked tightly around Fiamma’s waist, his shortsword drawn as they followed, shattered glass and splintered wood crunching beneath their boots.

The kitchen was a disaster, but noticeably empty. It wasn’t until Fiamma turned around to face the den that she stepped in something wet. Her breathing became shallow as she waved her hand to ignite a candle, but her nerves made her magic unstable, lighting every source of light in the apartment. 

The three of them squinted, eyes adjusting to the overwhelming brightness, before Fiamma’s legs gave way beneath her. Illario clung tightly to her as she fell to the floor with a single, devastated sob, burying her face in his shoulder. 

Dante De Riva’s lifeless body was slumped against the fireplace, a dead crow stuffed where his head should have been. His body was drenched in blood, the wedding band still on his left hand gleaming in the light through streaks of crimson. 

This wasn’t a clean job, wasn’t just a contract. It was a butchering. 

Viago crouched beside the body, elbows on his knees, and lowered his head. 

“Get her out of here, Illario.” He said, his tone void of emotion as he looked around for clues. This was future Talon, Viago. Not a grieving nephew. “Send Caterina and Lucanis back. Take major streets, stay out of the shadows.”  

Illario nodded, his grip on Fiamma tightening as he lifted her off the floor. Her chest heaved, throat constricting as her gaze fell upon her father’s desecrated corpse again, and he hoisted her into his arms, carrying her out the front door. 

“Walk Fiammetta. You have to.” 

She shook her head sadly as he set her down outside, tears streaming down her face.

“I promise you, there will be time to grieve later, but now we have to go .” He cupped her face in his hands. “If you think you’re safe out here, weeping in the street, you’re wrong. ” 

She sniffed and nodded, and he ran his thumbs over her cheeks, wiping away her tears. 

“No one will hurt you. Not while I’m here.”

He took her by the hand and led her through the streets to Caterina’s villa, stopping to glance around corners, fingertips never leaving the hilt of his sword. 

The doors of Villa Dellamorte crashed open, making the windows tremble in their frames. Illario let them rattle shut behind him as he guided Fiamma to the couch in the sitting room.

“Mierda, Illario, did you really have to do that?”

His cousin Lucanis appeared in the doorway and paused, his forehead wrinkling as he drew nearer.

“ De Riva? What’s going on?”

Illario looked over his shoulder, exchanging silent words with his cousin. Lucanis looked down at Fiamma, her hands woven through her hair, as she hung her head low, staring at the flames rising in the hearth across from her.

“No…”

“Parents always die, right?” Fiamma asked, raising her head to stare intently at Lucanis. His face twisted in a grimace of guilt and agony, his lips parting slightly. 

“And someone always pays.” Illario reassured her through clenched teeth. 

“Who is slamming doors in my house!” Caterina shouted as she rounded the corner, her cane knocking against the wood. Her gaze fell upon Fiamma for several seconds, and she glanced between her grandsons in horror. 

“Dante?” she breathed. They both nodded solemnly in confirmation.  

“How can this be?” Caterina demanded. “Where is Viago?” 

“With the body.” Illario said quietly. 

Caterina frowned. “Lucanis, go. Stop by the Cantori’s on the way and send Arandrateia here.” She said, “I will meet you at the De Riva’s.” 

He departed swiftly, without question.

The First Talon’s obedient little dog.

“Illario, get Fiammetta a change of clothes from the spare room. Mierda…” 

Fiamma looked down at herself, finding the lower half of her nightgown drenched in her father’s blood. Following a trail of crimson footsteps, she realized she’d tracked blood across Caterina’s white marble floors.

“These moments define Crows, Fiammetta.” Caterina said. “I have buried my own parents, my children, all but two of my grandchildren. None of them died natural deaths. It does not get easier, but you endure. Or you let it get you killed, too.” 

She leaned forward on her cane. The handle featured an intricately carved crow’s head, and Fiamma’s stomach roiled. 

“Honor your father in death by not forfeiting your life. Grieve, and then let that fury guide you to survive.” 

Caterina rose, placing a hand on Fiamma’s shoulder. “This deed will not go unpunished. The Dellamortes and the De Rivas are strong houses. Us Crows honor our own.” She said, her cane scraping across the floor as she departed. 

Bullshit, Fiamma thought to herself, the Crows will slit one another’s throats for a shred of power.

When Illario returned, Fiamma couldn’t find the energy to change into the clean clothes he brought her. She sank to the floor, kneeling on the bearskin rug in front of the fire, wrapping her cloak tightly around her.

Illario set the neatly folded stack of clothes on the couch and joined her. Fiamma turned to her side and rested her head on his lap, staring into the hearth. His fingers hovered for a moment, surprised, before he stroked her hair.

“I will avenge your father’s death, Fiammetta. I swear on my life.”

She didn’t respond. Numbed, she transitioned into a state somewhere between dreaming and disassociation. She didn’t hear the door in the foyer creak open, or the shuffling of feet behind them. Only felt Teia reaching for her hands, squeezing them tightly in her own, caused her to stir from her oblivion.

“Fi…”

Face crumpled in dismay, Teia laid down beside her, and the three clung to one another until sunrise, when Viago and Lucanis returned home, looking nearly as haunted as Fiamma felt.

─── ⊹⊱♤⊰⊹ ───

“Rook? Hey! Rook.”

Davrin banged on her chamber door with his fist again, and her eyes snapped open. Disoriented, she braced herself on the chaise and pushed herself up.

“Coming!”

She blinked rapidly, trying to dismiss the memories and emotions threatening to resurface, and grabbed her things.

“About damn time.” He grumbled as she joined him in the hall.

“How long was I out?” Rook asked, hurrying down the stairs after him.

“I don’t know, but things at Weisshaupt are getting worse. It’s time to go. Hopefully, your Dread Wolf friend had some insight.” 

“He’s not my friend. We don’t get tea in his little prison and exchange pleasantries.”

“What do you exchange, then?”

“Information. Verbal jabs, mostly.”

When they arrived in the hall, everyone else was waiting for her command. 

“There’s an Eluvian in storage in the vault. It was a gift from the Dalish.” Davrin said.

“Ours should go right to it…probably.” Bellara added. 

Rook caught sight of the Crow head buttons sewn into Lucanis’ vest and hesitated, overcome with a desire to pluck each one loose and cast them into the nothingness of the Fade. He took notice of her lingering gaze and furrowed his brow, tilting his head. With a deep breath, she steeled herself and shifted her attention.

“So we sneak into Weisshaupt, nice and quiet, then find Antoine and Evka.”

“Was…there a plan after that?” Neve asked.

“I’m not giving a speech.” Rook muttered, “Let’s go kill a fucking god.”

A/N: Okay well now that you've met Fi's dad...sorry! Lots of building this chapter, next one moves a bit more quickly. Next stop: Weisshaupt, Spite, and brooding. Thanks for the support! It really keeps my head on and me motivated. I appreciate you all soooo much. x

[crossdressingdeath]

Harding: Emmrich. If you liked someone, what would you do? To show you liked them, I mean. Emmrich: Perhaps a stroll through the Memorial Gardens of the Necropolis? Lovely flowers. Harding: Don't... you know, spirits hang around there? Emmrich: Oh, a few, certainly.

This becomes kind of hilarious when you remember that Emmrich's first outing is in fact a stroll through the Memorial Gardens of the Necropolis. I'm not actually sure if it's better if you're romancing him or not. Either way I'm just imagining Rook standing there listening to this like "Uh... Emmrich? Is there something you want to tell me?"

[commander-ledi]

i love how emmrich just. takes rook on a stroll in a beautiful and suspiciously romantic death garden, shares everything ranging from his life story to his deepest fears while talking like a love interest in a purple prose love novel, and even offers to share some tea after the tour. literally only thing that makes it not a cheesy date is that he explicitly stated that its just a work thing.

...and he is genuinely surprised when rook is charmed by all of this. then he proceeds to overwork his brain as he tries to figure out a platonic explanation for rook sounding like he is on verge of dropping on his knees to suck emmrich's soul out through his cock.

[tigereyes45]

This fic was inspired by Emmrich's comments when you find Brona's Blooms while looking for Lavendel's physician.

Summary:

Emmrich saw the hardy Brona's Bloom flowers and knew two people he wanted to gift some too. People who are just as resilient against the blight as the flowers had been.

Inspired by Emmrich complimenting the flowers for being hardy and resistant to the blight in 'The Cabin in the Blight' side quest.

Preview of the fic:

Somehow despite all the tragedy that had befallen Lavendel, Rook could still pull a smile onto people’s faces. A couple of questions, a well-timed joke, and they civilians and grey wardens grow happier. Much like the flowers, the living grow hardier. Their fears are assuaged by the joy. However brief.

Davrin is quick to remind the people what they’ve survived. The gods, an archdemon, the fall of Weisshaupt, and days of the blight assaulting this land. They’re holding out. That’s the first step to winning, Davrin says. He’s strong, stalwart, and determined. He makes everyone else feel sure of themselves.

They’ve both become strong while with the wardens.

Hardy.

Emmrich smiles to himself as they stroll through the eluvian. No wonder he thought the flowers were perfect for them.

[fartasticdurge]

Nec-romance

part 6/9

Join Bellara in this premiere serial as she recounts her companion's most thrilling and inspirational moments, adding her own artistic interpretation and revealing insider details directly from the characters.

Feel the allure of necromancy engulf you as you ascend from the cool, silent lower halls of the Necropolis to the windswept, Fade-drenched vista of the Lighthouse, mirroring the romantic journey of Rook and Emmrich.

“What’s this lichdom rite actually like?” Rook asked as they stood before the most enormous doors she had seen in the Necropolis, adorned with a half-man-half-skeleton on each side.

“I must pass through the gates and meet the oldest forces of the Necropolis. A final appraisal of my soul.”

The three pairs of amber-green glowing eyes announced the rite would commence.

“I’m afraid this is as far as you’re permitted. If anything should perchance go wrong…” Emmrich said as he looked her in the eyes. “My dearest heart. You are the most magnificent thing that has ever happened to me.”

Her hand instinctively reached out and grabbed his wrist. She wanted to say something. Anything, really. She spent the few hours after they parted thinking of something to say, but nothing seemed good enough.

What if she said something stupid, and he died, and that would be the last thing she ever told him? Or worse, he would live and remember her stupidity forever?

Rook swallowed hard, trying to get rid of the knot in her throat as the only thing she could think of came to her lips. “I love you.”

It was silly saying that. She wanted to swallow the words as soon as she’d said them. Rook had never said that to someone before. Did she mean them? She didn’t know.

But the kind smile that spread on Emmrich’s lips dissolved all her fears. Of course, she loved him. How could she not? And because of that, the instinct to not let him go filled her with dread. What if she loved him, and he would never come back?

But as Emmrich pulled her into his arms and kissed her, the passion of the night before reignited in a searing kiss, melting her resistance away.

Rook watched him leave, the silence of the room heavy and suffocating as Myrna and Vorgoth joined him. The doors closed with a solid thud behind them.

And then she was alone.

The Grand Necropolis felt cold. It was as if all the warmth in the world had drained with him, and the cold had seeped into her very bones. She felt dwarfed by her surroundings, lost and insignificant, like an ant separated from its colony.

The minutes stretched into what felt like hours as Rook waited outside the doors until finally, they creaked open, revealing Vorgoth stepping out, then Myrna, and lastly, someone else. A shadowy figure emerged from behind the darkness, its amber-green eyes burning with an unnatural light. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic drumbeat in her chest.

Her mouth was agape as he came into the light. A crowned skeleton strolled towards her. She wasn’t sure if it was real.

“Emmrich?” She asked, her voice barely a whisper.

“I see so much more clearly now.” His voice–Emmrich’s voice said. ”The deeper eddies of the Fade. The pulse of the Necropolis.“

Rook simply stared. Took in the elaborate design and patterns of his armor. His crown, which covered his head all the way down his cheeks. Or where his cheeks used to be.

His exposed stomach–or at least the hollow space where it used to be.

“I have been through blood and darkness, and I have emerged into light.”

The more he spoke, the more her whole being warmed up, as if the sun had returned to the sky after a long, chilly night.

“You’ve come back to me.” Rook said, her arms enveloping him in a warm hug. It was strange and cold and very bony. Somehow, it just felt right.

“Always, my love.”

⁂

With little time to spare, they raced to locate the gods and prepare for the impending eclipse, as Elgar’nan and Ghilan’nain saught to craft the dagger needed to breach the Fade. They thought they’d have weeks of preparation time before they had to act, but they didn’t know what was in store.

Time itself twisted and churned when the gods intervened, shrinking their weeks into fleeting hours, leaving them scrambling for precious moments. Tearstone Island was their target.

The urgency of the mission, coupled with her companions’ doubts, made Rook’s burdens feel more crushing than ever. She resolved to speak with Emmrich before their journey commenced. Just to be safe.

“Darling, I’s just finishing reviewing my bequeathments.” Emmrich said from behind his desk.

A smile spread across Rook’s face. It was a classic Emmrich move. Tranquility in the midst of a storm. Images of their past adventures on that desk also popped into her head, and she welcomed the distraction.

“It made me consider… a topic I must broach.” Emmrich rose from his desk, his chair scraping against the floor, and came to stand before her. It was a bit odd, not seeing his facial features revealing his emotions, just the rise and fall of his voice and the way he gestured with his hands, which always made him seem endearing. She wondered if she would ever get used to it.

“We face Ghilan’nain soon. When we do, there’s no reason you couldn’t… stay back a ways.”

Rook blinked, snapping out of her daydreams with a jolt. “What?”

“I’ll be far more difficult to kill. You needn’t face her head on.”

She felt her face flushed, her eyes blazing, and her fists clenched as she seethed with palpable outrage. “First: No. Second: What brought this on?”

“I can see the life course through you, my love. Like a thread of diamond flame. Yet… I will lose you to time, Rook. What if I can’t bear that for eternity?”

But the harshness inside her softened, and a wave of tenderness washed over her as she heard those words. “That might be the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard.”

“What?”

“Remembering me forever?”

“I’m afraid I’ll mourn you forever!” Emmrich retorted, his tone escalating, laced with frustration.

“That’s ridiculous.” Rook’s teasing laughter resonated through the room.

“Do you think so little of what I feel for you?” Emmrich’s voice was tight with frustration, and his words came out in short, clipped bursts.

“No!”

His anger boiled over, and he snapped. “Then you could act accordingly!”

“I’m not going to be afraid of dying just because you are!” Rook’s response was quick and sharp, mirroring his own.

The air hung heavy, and she could feel the weight of the silence as time seemed to slow down to a crawl.

“Rook, I…”

It was too late to undo the damage, though, on both fronts. And they didn’t have the luxury to fix it.

“We should get ready. We have to leave soon.”

The sting of unshed tears burned her eyes as she turned and left the chamber. A sigh escaped her lips, filled with frustration. She didn’t have time for this. How did they manage to arrive at that point? She thought turning into a lich would fix his fear.

It didn’t help when Varric offered no considerable solution or advice either. It was up to her to plan and deliver a solution.

So, as always, Rook did what she did best: she prepared for a fight. However, this time, the enemies she faced were anything but ordinary.

⁂

Tearstone Island would have been a beautiful place to visit were it not overrun with Antaam armies and malevolent gods. The air crackled with anticipation as they prepared for the day they would finally stop the gods. No matter the cost.

Rook assigned Davrin to distract the Antaam, while she, Emmrich, and Lucanis raced to stop the gods from finishing their dagger.

She sought solace in the battles that unfolded on the island's shorelines. It was her strength. Her mind was quiet, her thoughts fading away as she fell deeper into a trance with each hit, each fallen enemy. She was lost in thought until she heard the rough murmur of Emmrich’s voice and felt his hand, as cold as ice, against her skin.

“Rook? Darling? I wanted to say–”

The sound of his voice alone, like a gentle breeze, was enough to break down her barriers. She pulled him in for a hug, the chill emanating from him a grounding presence, reminding her of everything she risked losing and the fierce resolve she had to protect it. “I know, Emmrich.”

He drew her in close, a sigh escaping his lips as their bodies met. “It’s no time to apologize, is it?”

“We’ll talk back home. I promise.”

It was woefully inadequate; so many things left unspoken. Yet, that was all the time they could afford. Rook’s thoughts were slightly less muddled after that, yet her conviction was much more unyielding.

As the group neared the top, Rook dispatched Bellara to break through the ward, protecting the gods, but their victory was short-lived as Elgar’nan swooped in and took her away.

Rook’s blood ran hot, her heart pounding with an insatiable thirst for the fight that was about to begin as she pushed forward, Bellara’s absence only stirring her further.

The true weight of the situation only dawned on her as she stood alone, battling Ghilan’nain. All her companions were bound by the blight and at the mercy of the gods. She was completely alone.

She pushed herself to the limit, running faster than she ever thought possible. Her knuckles were white, her arms ached, but she pushed herself to fight harder than she ever had. Hordes of darkspawn swarmed behind her, their guttural roars filling the air.  Her eyes burned, tears stinging her cheeks, her arms screamed with fatigue, and her mind was numb with exhaustion.  She pressed on through the putrid, blight-infested mire, each step a testament to her unwavering resolve,  desperately freeing her companions from their perilous entrapment, one by one.

She could sense the window of opportunity closing, and with a sudden surge of adrenaline, she knew it was now or never. Events unfolded with dizzying speed, leaving little time to react.

Ghilan’nain had captured her, and while Rook drew her attention, Lucanis and Davrin seized their opportunity to strike. But the sight of Ghilan’nain’s tendrils piercing Davrin’s flesh ignited Lucanis’ resolve, and with a surge of adrenaline, he plunged Solas’ dagger into the creature, ending its rampage.

The Tear brought on by the event of Ghilan’nain’s death as Rook broke the contact with her body was enough for Solas to issue his escape from the prison.

Rook found herself falling, dagger in hand, every voice she had ever failed calling back to her, all her fears and doubts whirling in her mind and her ears.

Solas revealed his plans and how he used her, delivering the final blow as he plucked the dagger from her fingers and traded places with her in his prison.

And then Rook was alone.

⁂

Rook floated in a void that stretched beyond sight, a bleak, infinite expanse of grey. The Fade twisted and churned at the edges of her vision, a ceaseless, swirling haze that offered no comfort, no sense of direction—only a cold, suffocating nothingness.

She wanted to fight, she wanted to run, she wanted to hide.

Fighting didn’t serve her anymore. Planning didn’t help her anymore. No one could help her anymore. Her mind drifted to Emmrich, her team, the Shadow Dragons, and her adopted family. She realized she had never been truly alone—except now. And she had no idea what to do. Who to ask for help.

Time slipped away there; minutes could have been days, or perhaps they were seconds. It didn’t matter. Her only tether to reality was the ache in her chest, the sharp weight of her regrets.

She was utterly alone. Except for the voices.

At first, they were faint whispers, distant and indistinct, like echoes bouncing off the edge of her mind. Then, louder, more familiar.

“You chose me. You knew what it would cost.”

Rook’s breath hitched. Bellara’s voice was unmistakable, sharp and cutting, as if it had been pulled directly from Rook’s memories. She turned, and there Bellara stood, her figure solid stone and unnervingly vivid against the shifting haze of the Fade. Her eyes burned with anger.

“You chose me to break the enchantments,” Bellara spat. “You knew. And now look at you.”

“I didn’t—” Rook faltered, taking a shaky step forward. “I didn’t mean for this to happen. We didn’t have time, Bellara. I made a choice.” Her voice cracked, raw with desperation. “And I’ll live with it. I have to.”

Bellara’s phantom didn’t move, didn’t blink. The silence crushed her, but Rook kept speaking, her chest tight, her stomach a tangle of knots. “You’re my friend, Bellara. But we knew the risks. So did you.”

The figure blurred, softening at the edges, and then disappeared. Relief came, but it was fleeting. The air rippled, and another presence formed.

Davrin.

Rook froze, her hands curling into fists. His voice came low, steady, and laced with disappointment. “You asked too much of us, Rook. Always did.”

Her breath caught in her throat. “No… I didn’t ask that of you…”

His figure solidified, his eyes brimming with the weight of unspoken words. “You always told us to do whatever it takes,” he said softly. “And I did.”

Rook's chest ached with the force of it, but she held her ground. “I’m going to miss you, Davrin,” she said, her voice trembling. “But you knew the risks, too. You made your choice. But I swear to you—I’ll make it count. I’ll get out of here. I’ll stop Elgar’nan. I’ll make sure your sacrifice was worth it.

His figure wavered, then dissolved into the grey.

She didn’t even have time to catch her breath before another voice called out. “Great job, kid. What about mine?”

Her heart lurched. “Varric?” she whispered, spinning around. His voice was unmistakable, dry and familiar, pulling her forward as the endless grey began to twist and rearrange. The haze parted, and she stood at the edge of the ritual site, the memory etched in brutal clarity.

She saw him there, frozen in time, the dagger buried in his chest. She remembered reaching for him, pulling the blade free, her hands slick with his blood. The scene replayed, vivid and unrelenting.

“No,” she whispered, shaking her head. “No, that’s not how it happened.”

Varric’s voice came again, gentler this time. “You already know it is.”

Her legs gave out, and she sank to her knees. “You’ve been dead all along,” she whispered, the truth crashing over her like a wave. “I’ve been talking to you—your ghost. To myself.”

Her memories of the Lighthouse, the advice he’d given her—it hadn’t been real. A lump rose in her throat. “I took your choice from you, didn’t I?” she murmured. “You wanted to talk to him. To Solas. You thought you could reach him, and I—I took that from you.”

Varric’s phantom lingered for a moment, then vanished, leaving her alone once more in the grey expanse. The silence pressed down on her, heavy and suffocating.

But this time, it didn’t break her.

She took a deep breath, her voice steady. “I was wrong,” she said aloud, her words cutting through the emptiness. “But I’ll fix this. I’ll make it right. I’ll see it through—for all of you.”

The Fade began to ripple again, but this time, the voices that came weren’t angry or accusing. They were soft, steady, familiar. Lucanis, Taash, Neve, Harding. And then, cutting through them all, one voice above the rest.

“There! A light!” Emmrich’s voice was like going back home, resolute, grounding her.

She closed her eyes, letting their voices wash over her. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, the void didn’t feel quite so empty.

And she knew she wasn’t truly alone as a hand reached through and pulled her home.

[dicethrow]

@ahandfullofrooks | Emmrich Starter Call | Jin

Emmrich wandered from his quarters in search of a book, with Manfred loyally trailing behind him. His ever-curious companion had much to explore at the Lighthouse, with its plethora of knowledge and fellow wisps to commune with. Yet, Emmrich was always grateful for Manfred’s presence—not just for the companionship, but for his invaluable assistance in carrying books that would otherwise overburden him.

As he strolled through the halls, however, his gaze caught Jin in the distance, their expression shadowed by discomfort—or perhaps even pain. The books could wait. A friend in need was far more important. Without hesitation, Emmrich altered his path, approaching Jin with concern etched on his face.

"Jin, my friend," he began gently, "I don’t wish to intrude on your thoughts, but whatever is on your mind seems to be troubling you. I’d be more than happy to listen and offer whatever comfort or advice I can." He gave a small, warm smile before gesturing to Manfred beside him. "Manfred, too—although I’d suggest he participate more in the listening than the advising. Still, it could be an excellent opportunity for him to better understand the complexities of life here by hearing your story."

Emmrich’s voice softened, his sincerity evident. "I can assure you, whatever you choose to confide in us will stay between us, in this moment alone."

A flicker of sadness passed through him as he regarded Jin. To be adrift, without memories of who they once were—it must be unimaginably daunting.

[wildxtreasures]

Play Session #10

tldr; i love lore, i love lore, i love lore. also these characters are wonderful, i really wish i could spend more time talking with them

"view regret"????? solas darling, omg

obsessed with davrin carving at their little memory meeting, i also love that lucanis brought his cup of coffee

okay solas x mythal for real

taash getting straight to the point, love them so much

obsessed with bellara thinking solas x mythal is tragic and romantic

these memories are so fascinating - i loved emmrich's mention of a truly benign possession being kind but knowing that it kind of wasn't? mythal never stopped flemeth from killing her daughter to keep herself alive

disproving the entire Andrastian faith is wild, hello i love this thank you

GLOWING STONE TO BUILD A BODY OMG OMG OMG

titans v elves, need an AU of the dwarves winning tbh

i have collected all of solas mems now, i am having a good ole time learning about this man

yeah, we're not defeating the betrayal of felassan yet lol

bruh, solas how could you do the dwarves that dirty

the blight is the titan's fear is such a fascinating idea

i s2g solas if you don't let harding punch you in the face...

mythal is a real one, she gets it

i do like that it doesn't matter who drank from the well of sorrows because solas found mythal and took her power - part of me wishes that we did choose so morrigan or the inquisitor could talk of having those voices stripped of them

emmrich's stroll through the gardens is one of my favourite companion scenes so far, i just adore this man

antoine and evka are my favourite of the faction agents, so great

[rogueclass]

Idk if it's just my goth ass who thinks this, but out of all the first "let's get to know each other" walks with the companions, Emmrich's was kinda romantic right off the bat.

Nice graveyard stroll with some tea at the end, imo a stellar first date.

[summerintevinter]

Ya Lucanis is done for I'm mourn watch and took him into the necropolis and all he did was be like "necromancy, eugh" and i got so defensive of my skeletons plus his first companion quest is just getting regular ass coffee at a regular ass cafe and meanwhile emmrich takes u on a graveyard stroll complete with remembrance rites, revealing too much personal shit too quickly, and a little table of refreshments with his skeleton best friend to wrap it up Lucanis is fucking OVER never had a CHANCE

Lucanis as a concept is extremely appealing to my frontal lobe, and to my whole cerebral cortex in general, but somehow my amygdala is white knuckle gripping onto Emmrich with its little pizza hands

[rodimissliveblogs]

Harding just asked Emmrich what he would do to show someone that he liked them. He suggested a stroll through the Necropolis gardens. Harding asks warily about spirits.

Glad to see Val isn’t the only one who’s shit at this.

Ooooooh, looks like Taash has a crush on Harding~

And Valencia has potentially-questionable gift-giving advice.

I wonder if this goes any different if you’ve been flirting a bunch with either of them. Or if you get caught in a love triangle against your will.