#emmlich from the get go

[andthekitchensinkao3]

Would a pining un-romanced Emmlich eavesdrop on ROOK flirting and/or getting it on with other members of the team?

I think, at least in my headcanon, Emmrich has gone so long being detached from sexual desire, and also kind of loses his rational mind when Rook enters the picture.

Emmlich feeling some kinda way about all this pining. From a distance. Because you know he's likely going to try pushing a flirty Rook away.

Heavy duty longing, and really strong impulses he can't act upon.

[acepalindrome]

I like to think that Emmlich keeps teaching, because he enjoys it, and while he’s still very meticulous with his appearance, every so often he’ll just be busy or running late or has something else on his mind, and runs off to class without putting on his glamor.

His students are all perfectly aware that he’s a lich. Even if he wasn’t very upfront about it, he’s been a professor for 150 years now. It’s kind of obvious he’s not mortal at this point. He wears his glamor because he thinks it’s polite to do so, but sometimes things just slip one’s mind! And mortal matters get easier and easier to forget about, the longer one is undead.

Any students in his classes are at an advanced enough level that the sight of a talking skeleton isn’t going to be alarming, but it does give the vibe of your professor walking in with his fly down or his shirt inside out. There might be a little whispering and giggling while they wait to see how long it’ll take him to notice.

Eventually someone has mercy on him and raises their hand. ‘Professor, do you think that maybe you’ve…forgotten something today?’

Emmrich stops mid lecture. Has he forgotten something? He graded all the essays from last week, he planned out the pop quiz for tomorrow, he scheduled their final exam for the semester…

He taps a finger against his chin to think, and his bandaged finger hits bone. There is more giggling from the class.

Oh goodness. He forgot to put his face on. How embarrassing.

[heylittleriotact]

First Line/First Page: Fuck It, We Ball Edition ™️

@emmg tagged me and shared a nightmare inducing portion of whatever fresh hell she’s working on that features an absolutely fucking TERRIFYING take on EmmLich, so you can mark me down as scared and horny.

I’m tagging @xxnashiraxx, @allofthebarks, and @preciouslittlebhaalbae

This is the first page of my smutty imagining of Emmrich and Rook’s dinner date in the Necropolis - you’ll have to stay tuned for the smut though, I’m afraid - it’s a bit further down the WIP💀

🩷💀🩷

Neve was right - I should have worn the old shoes…

She shifted her thigh upward slightly and pressed the ball of her foot into the ground, freeing her right heel from stiff new leather and hiding her grimace of relief behind the rim of her wine glass as she wriggled her somewhat crushed toes now that they weren’t crammed together, fighting for space in the narrow toe box.

There were a perfectly good pair of well broken in heels sitting in her wardrobe back at the Lighthouse that would have been more than acceptable to wear to dinner with Emmrich, but no, she had to go to Dock Town earlier in the day with Neve who had all but insisted she buy herself something nice for the occasion.

‘Not saying you don’t know how to clean up - I know you Watchers are a well put together bunch, but I don’t know… maybe you’ll have a nicer evening if you’re not sitting across from Emmrich wearing the same clothes you wear to make funeral arrangements with people?’

‘I’m almost certain he’ll be sitting across from me wearing the same clothes he wears to make funeral arrangements with people,’ Amina had pointed out, and Neve laughed.

‘How sure are you about that? I’d put my money on him showing up in the most formal, four-piece ensemble he owns if it helps his chances of getting you into bed tonight.’

She had a point - not about sex. She knew perfectly well that months of burning tension shrouded under a polite mantle of academic professionalism had become increasingly difficult to ignore now that they were… well - now that they were… together. That particular shoe was going to have to drop sooner rather than later, unless… She wrinkled her nose at the very thought: unless he was the sort to take a courtship so seriously that abstinence from intimate activities was expected until she shared his last name…

No… surely not. Not judging by the way his hands wandered and his lips eagerly roamed her throat when he kissed her against the Lovers’ Grave.

All well and good, but she didn’t want to overdress for the occasion - how embarrassing would that be? How obnoxious?

Her face reddened at the imagined awkwardness of waiting for Emmrich at the eluvian, dressed in a floor-skimming evening gown and gloves, her mass of sleek black hair time-consumingly plaited and pinned up to emphasize the small amount of grave gold that she did own, retrieved from its dusty velvet lined box for the first time in years because she hasn’t had occasion - nor the desire to actually wear any of it - unlike her gentlemanly new companion who clanged and clattered around everywhere he went like a sentient drawer of silverware.

He’d inevitably appear, descending the stairs from the library wearing what he wore every day - that well-loved waistcoat, a crisp clean shirt, and his favoured combed Druffalo wool trousers. He’d look as handsome as always, and not at all underdressed for a romantic dinner in the Necropolis, and his eyes would widen at the spectacle of her dressed like she was off for cocktails with the King of Ferelden. The corners of his mouth would twitch and he’d clear his throat in an attempt to stifle his laughter.

At her.

At how entirely stupid she looked.

‘It’s dinner - not a wedding proposal, Neve.’

‘If you say so, but if there’s a cummerbund involved, you owe me five gold.’

‘He wears a cummerbund every day,’ she sighed, turning and pulling open the door to one of the many clothing boutiques populating the market district.

[aldisobey]

Fuel to Fire

AO3 Link - Fuel to Fire

A gift on this eve! Finally got it to a point where I don't mind sharing. Emmlich content, come get some Emmlich and Rook angst. It's got comfort and warmth and I've been with it too long just take it before I start hating it again. Tagging @emmg you asked for it! (oh yeah and the title is just the song I listened to the most, it's how I'm naming things because eugh naming things how). Technically part two in a series, check out Nascent Blight if you need more.

Word Count: ~3k

Relationship: Rook Thorne x Emmlich, M/M

Full story below because why not

Emmrich paced the room, green flickers of his skull mixing light with the soothing glow of the water’s reflection on the ground. Rook sprawled out on the divan, head back on the armrest, eyes closed, and rubbed at his temples. Peeked a moment at the towering necromancer gleaming soft in the muted room.

“Rook.” Emmrich’s stern tone made him squeeze his eyes shut. The lich ceased pacing and stood near the small table at the center. Hands folded behind him he faced the waters. “That was reckless.”

The Warden was still coated in lingering blight from the Wetlands. He’d meant to clean up and go celebrate the Eruption’s destruction on return to the Lighthouse, but it was all he could do to drag himself here. He could still feel the echo of it. Too close, too much.

He gripped his head, pressed hard as he dared to drive away the thrumming recollection of whispers. Thank whatever luck graced him it hadn’t…his hands dropped. One to the ground, the other his chest. Their pressures had provided no relief. It would fade, always had, should have stopped when they burned the thing, but something of it’s nature let that damnable echo persist. That or a head injury, he’d taken some hits.

He sighed. Slowly opened his eyes and turned his head to glance at Emmrich’s back facing him.

“Had to be done.” Equally stern in a quiet way, exhaustion clear.

“You might have left the matter to Davrin.” A resounding voice. The folded hands clenched, then released, flicked to the side as Emmrich turned round to fix Rook with his hollow stare, “Or Evka and Antoine, or any number of other Wardens in Lavendell.”

“Emmrich,” Rook responded more softly, slowly, but kept firm, “I had my reasons.”

“And?” The skull tilted, frustration snipping, “Were those reasons worth it?” Emmrich gestured towards Rook, everything said in that tone and movement. Today had not been easy for the rogue. Taash had to half carry him back.

“Yes.” Grumbling, he swung his legs off the divan, sat up properly to face Emmrich’s accusations. “They were.” He straightened his back and squared off his shoulders, suppressed the pulse built on his forehead with a heavy blink. “Look. I brought Taash because they can burn whatever comes their way. And I brought you because you’re undead.”

Emmrich twitched, almost imperceptibly, at that. Rook might’ve missed it had his attention on the lich been less than absolute, but the movement sent his stomach falling. He bit at his tongue and rushed on.

“We got the job done alright? Lavendell can thrive. Everyone safe.” He rushed the words. Kept them short. Folded his arms. He might’ve looked petulant, but the wear of the day was too loud. Holes in the sleeves, tears on the sides, slash on the leg, all red stained, all healed flesh below, but memories of wounds. Everywhere.

“Darling. What about you?” Emmrich’s voice shook, seeing more than the evident physical. Undead eyes exposed a roiling of lingering red pain whispers, swirling confusion, exhaustion like a leaded blanket.

“Hmm? I’m already blighted, it was no concern.” Rook shrugged, doing his best to appear at ease. Brush off the worry, confirm the wellness of the situation. They were here, they were whole, they…

“Enough.” A snarl of exasperation, Emmrich stepped closer, seeming ever taller as he approached, “Davrin would have joined us had it been no concern. You brought Taash.” There was finality in the words, a stillness as the simmering anger evened and burned with purpose, “I was there, Rook. Your Warden friends were quite clear on the danger that Eruption posed to you.”

Rook grimaced, rubbed his hands, felt over callus, cut, and bruise. It hurt. He added pressure, focused the pain there.

Emmrich was right of course. The lingering pounding in his head was testament to that. What if the Eruption had sparked something? It felt safer for Taash to be there with their fire. Why put more than one Warden at risk? How many was it if not him? If not Davrin? Thoughts roiling he shrank below that green gaze burrowing into him feet away. Rook realized then he’d gone slack jawed, unable to think of an acceptable excuse. But no. He had made the right call.

He snapped his mouth shut.

“Fine!” Rook growled and stood using the armrest with a stifled groan. Patience worn thin after all the drumming in his skull he put his hands to his hips when he reached his full height and glared up at Emmrich.

He didn’t shout, but matched the steaming frustration, “I knew it was dangerous for me. Alright? But I had to do it.” The words came out through grit teeth, biting back the desire to escalate.

Emmrich drew back. Not a step, but into himself. “Dearest...”

“No, don't dearest me.” It came out like a hiss, and Rook leaned the smallest degree forward, “The Grey Wardens need every last person after all this.” His hands flailed out, gesturing vaguely to the world at large, “After Weisshaupt…” A breath found him. The fury caught on his tongue. This shouldn’t be so hard.

He cleared his throat, kept strong, “My jobs done once we’ve killed those gods.” His hands returned to his temples for a moment to steady himself, applied pressure to calm the beat. The blood flushing to his face couldn’t be helping.

Rook gave his head a shake and looked askance, maker how did a skull appear sad, he pinched the bridge of his nose. Unable to face Emmrich in that hunched posture before him. Bent, mourning, pathetic…no, Rook swallowed. Not that. The necromancer didn’t stand alone. The lean was enclosing him, protective. He dared a glance forward.

The lich stood draping the Warden in shadow like some gilded ribbed vaulting. And Rook, an insignificant supplicant come, with soft flesh aching, stinking of blight. Before a cathedral.

“Davrin’s got a book in the works!” He sputtered before he forgot all of the pieces reinforcing his decision. “Antoine makes such things?” Because it had been the right decision, “Can you imagine things if left to Evka’s hands?” They would all flourish after he did his part.

“You think I’d risk a single one of them?” Voice a hushed whisper of desperation. He couldn’t bear it.

No. The gods died next. No one else.

Tomorrow. His mind kept at a furious pace. A last check on Lavendell. Then Treviso, the Crows had word. He could feel cold sweat on his neck, they might have a location. Almost there. Not much longer now, almost safe, and all at once his legs went weak. Rook sank, barely controlled, back down to the divan. He settled with elbows on his knees, hands holding his head, and stared down at the floor. Could feel welling in his eyes, blinked it away.

“Rook,” Emmrich’s voice was slow, the gentle echo of a creek; water over stones as it traveled through him, “I’m sorry.”

Sincerity. Rook could feel it. Feel his nerves still at the serene appeal, “You carry the weight of every decision. Don’t you?” Not a question, a declaration, and in hearing it, so firmly spoken, Rook quaked.

“You were exemplary today.” Finally. A shuddering breath, a tiny lift, that voice of praise, a warming balm.

“My love,” The words sank deep past the skin, something in the tone kneading them firmly within the chest, past bone and into heart where a soul might sit, “let me help you.” Rook sniffed, didn’t trust his voice, dipped a nod once. Emmrich extended his hand, gestured towards Rook’s head.

Movements small, close, Rook leaned in, but then gave start, bit his lip, froze, “..wait.” He still needed to scour, make sure every speck of blight was gone, that could take awhile for hair.

“That’s of no concern.” Emmrich smirked.

Rook looked up as that comforting palm settled soft on his head. Peered past the linen, memories flashing of that arched brow, those lidded eyes, and met a crowned skull, flickering flame. He’d heard it in the tone.

His eyes went wide, tight pain gripped his chest. That was the cost wasn’t it? But then, he felt his heart beat. There was that…the desire...ever since…

'Rook’s Necromancer. An excellent subject to test how long one could go back and forth between life and death.'

Rook blinked at the perfect, beautiful, loving undead skull staring back at him, the whisper of hope escaping from dreams and solidifying here and now.

“You’re safe.” Rook choked out the words.

Then collapsed. Gone so limp he would have fallen from couch to floor had Emmrich not anticipated the movement and dropped to his knees to catch him in his arms.

They dropped together a moment, Emmrich’s arms a cushioning guide. And once stable, once still, he lifted, held the trembling man close, and carefully settled down on the divan with him. The Warden, for his part, was all snot and tears, clinging to the lich’s robes. His arms wrapped tight around the ribcage as he pressed close as he could.

"Emmrich, it can't…” His voice and body shook, words closing off in the shudder of relief.

Emmrich cradled Rook as tight as he dared, a soft hush drifting from him as he brought calm in his firm embrace. There was no measured breathing to guide the man hiccupping into his cloak, so Emmrich purposefully rubbed Rook’s back in the rhythm of a breath, and with a few extra movements green sprites darted from his fingers. All at once sound was still and calm around Rook’s hearing, and then began the sigh of trees, wind through leaves, in measured cadence to help level the rogue’s racing heart.

Rook almost felt a cool breeze on his skin same as he heard it, and the glow of water and flame mixed like light through the leaves to his eyes. He sighed, then lifted his head, buried it beneath the lich’s chin, felt his final quivers fade as a hum traveled in waves through the bones embracing him, back and forth, kissing skin where it touched, a fleeting doting touch. The beginnings of a smile and easy breath came to him at last.

Emmrich’s voice sounded quiet around…in…where his head lay. The traveling hum returned deep and pleasant, warming the skin where it passed. “My love. To think…you worried over me, to such...” Disbelief mixed with adoration, Emmrich’s voice eased its way into Rook’s waiting ears, pure love. The lost words saying more than any uttered.

Rook was steady now, melting instead of shivering, he clung to that genuine smile dawning on his lips, he could have this at least. They couldn’t take this. Rook tilted his head up to whisper to the air where Emmrich’s throat might’ve been.

“I love you.”

He put his head back down as he felt both of Emmrich’s hands move up to massage his scalp. The room was incandescent with green, the necromancer’s palms the epicenter of the glow. Focused. He plied at the Warden’s head. His movements were rhythmic, the magic alive with a pulse and rippling at his direction.

Rook could feel the echos become sated, the answering ebb of the necrotic channeling a path of release, carrying the riptide tight and rebounding in his skull back out to sea. Ease and push, gentle waves of magic and fingers worked the movements with Fade and physical, gently towing that ache out from the Warden’s skull.

Rook yawned, almost a thrum while in Emmrich's care, “Of course I was worried.” And he stretched in small movements, “You immortal fool.” His voice was low, pining, enraptured by the fool he entrusted with his care. Emmrich didn’t reply, his voice occupied in the ending incantations. Otherwise they kept in silence, the soft green glow encasing Rook’s scalp continuing to pulse, dancing with the shimmering from the tank.

“Darling,” when Emmrich's voice finally graced Rook again it sent warmth flashing through him, “I’m safe.” A rolling delight, the aches and pains losing hold, Rook groaned, toes curled as every muscle seemed to tighten, and hold. Then release.

The magic dimmed. Rook breathed heavy, then slow, then measured, calm. Almost asleep.

Emmrich sighed, his voice an echo that resounded through the room. He took a long laborious moment to take off his crown, and with utmost care placed it on the table behind them. Then, barefaced as possible, spoke gentle, the deep echo private now, tumbling only to the Warden’s ears, “But, Sir Thorne.” He looked down at Rook, tilted the man’s face to look up from where it lay on his sternum, kept his tracing fingers there, touch yearning. “You are most unsafe.”

Rook felt his eyes go hot at the words, if only because Emmrich’s couldn’t, and he could hear the despondent tears held in the lich’s tone. He tried to look away, but that meant leaving that soft touch on his chin, he pressed down into the palm instead.

“I’m sorry.” he twisted his head deeper into the hand, whispered the mumbled words into Emmrich’s thumb. The thumb traced Rook’s lips a moment, but seemed distant, moving further away.

“Those are words, Rook.” Emmrich’s hand withdrew, Rook looked up, sensing the gravity in the next words had been stressed by absent touch. “Please. If only out of love for me. Take more thought and action towards your safety?”

Rook gave the barest of nods, mind rebelling against the gross hope of self preservation. He nestled back down and away from the skull’s sight. Emmrich’s voice grumbled in old exasperation, his hands moving to cradle the Warden’s skull and massage along his neck. “If you remain so determined to put your life at risk I’ll have no choice but to drag you to the deepest tombs of the Necropolis. Seal you there until you develop a modicum of sense.”

“That a promise?” Rook’s voice surprised them both, and had Emmrich been able to feel heat his hands might have burned from where they held Rook. So quick and fierce was the flush on the man, so immediate the reply, it came without thought, driven by something deeper.

He could feel the lich’s fingers dig hard into his skin. Maker he really did want...The skull was staring up and away from him now. But Rook could hear the words resound in his own chest, “Don’t tempt me.” A low rolling warning, like thunder from a storm still away. But Rook could sense the ache, felt his heart quicken at what some choice words might lead to, felt the barest tremor in the hands holding him, but then they were gone. The storm gave way to trickling laughter at the thought.

Emmrich moved to extricate himself from the divan, took extra care to settle Rook comfortably in place. Hummed away the lighthearted mirth as he stood free and took off his cloak, gently draped it over the fading Warden, “Seriously, dearest, you mustn't jest.”

Rook held tight to the lich’s cloak and burrowed into it, buried his face deep in the lapel as he muttered half asleep already, “Don’t tease, you started it”.

He yawned. Felt warm, eased his mind to think of falling quiet, but the shiver of dreams crept up at him. The Fade always awaited, didn't it. Rook bit at his cheek, blinked an eye open to peek out from beneath the cloak. Emmrich was still there, though his back was turned to him now, he had taken to quiet pacing again, fish in the tank following as he glittered in the pale light.

“Emmrich.” Rook whispered.

“Hmm?” Emmrich paused midstep, fish paused midswim.

Rook stifled a chuckle, overcome at that moment with overwhelming adoration. He could ask this, a beaming smile hidden beneath the cloak, eye twinkling from beneath the fabric he muttered, “You once comforted me by saying the lich lords were, ‘Unlikely to visit your slumber’.”

Rook mused, calling back to that first time, that first terror. Emmrich had been so excited to share, so animated when explaining, the first time Rook heard the word ‘Lich’. Ice had taken Rook’s veins then. Fresh terror, new fear, but what emotion did he know better? And what a blessing it could be? His blood ran cold. Something deep in his gut warned him, but he ignored it. Looked long at the lich before him, fish following Emmrich’s concerned sway, and let the prickling sensation thaw, there could be warmth here, “Is that…something…you could do?” He finally asked.

“Oh.” The lich seemed to stand taller, an edge of excitement to his tone. “I hadn’t the time to consider it.” He started towards Rook, came to kneel at his side, put a hand on the cloak where the man’s shoulder lay, head tilting in question, “Would that interest you?”

Rook poked more of his head out so that his lips could be read, voice a hush, “Maybe…if you can, just uh check in?” He swallowed, “That song, it's in dreams…it’s worse…” Emmrich’s hushing tones cut off Rook. One hand going so far as to pull the cloak back up to cover the Warden's mouth and tuck him in.

“My love, speak no further. Sleep. Nothing will dare trouble your dreams.”

“Thank you…you know you can troub…”

“Another time darling. Please. Rest.”

Eyes closed Rook could hear the smirk again, felt a heaviness settle in his limbs, swore he was already dreaming when he heard the warmth in the immortal’s voice holding him, was that a lullaby? And sleep took him.

[crowtoed]

Lichdom musing (CW: for death and gore)

Now this is me talking out my ass, but since Nevarra seems to ascribe to a mind-body dualism (I.e. the ghost is piloting the meat puppet) I wonder if the 'sifting of the soul' lich candidates go through is to prepare the soul for a temporary separation. In theory, after death, the soul fucks off on a trip through the Fade to Parts Unknown, while a lich has their soul reconnected to their (deceased) body. (And we're gonna put some of this Really gorey talk under a cut for the sake of civility, kay?)

Here's the thing though: Those bodies have been prepared. All of the 'legal' liches we see in game have been stripped of flesh, a process that several folks on Tumblr have pointed out is NOT a quick thing. In the real world you need several hundred dermestid beetles and a period between a few days and a few weeks to clean -A- skull. Boiling a skeleton free of its flesh also takes a couple days (again best case scenario) of slow cooking, and a few more of scrubbing, and soaking in degreasing and bleaching agents to get the clean bone we'd see in game. And that's with your Watcher helpers flaying a lot of the flesh away. I think for the sake of 'eternal' preservation, that corpse NEEDS to be cleaned properly so the human soul isn't being housed in a greasy, shambling heap susceptible to deterioration. I think that's A. Why a lich candidate's soul needs to be so robust. and B. Why Hezenkoss failed.

While all of this flaying, sous-viding, and cleaning is happening, the soul needs to be on standby. You can possibly start the process while the person's alive... but well... they're gonna fucking die at some point ala Saint Bartholomew (which I think is the case because Emmlich mentioned blood in a way that goes beyond a quick slice of the carotid).

So you're talking (best case scenario with magic) MANY MANY HOURS or DAYS of this soul enduring outside the body without heeding the call to the Other Side. That takes discipline and fortitude. Maybe there's a chamber or series of secret wards that keep the soul in a kind of stasis, but its natural inclination once severed from the body is going to be to 'move on'.

I think Hezenkoss A. Didn't have the fortitude for this and B. Maybe didn't have sufficient outside help to prepare her body, so her process had to be aborted. Her soul had to get crammed back in her dead, partially decaying body or risk it shooting off to the Great Beyond. ANYWAYS, THAT'S JUST MY MUSING. (And maybe my Rook's too)

Enjoy your thoughts of your boyfriend/ goth bff being flayed alive and then stuck in an arcane slow cooker.

[oopsallmabari]

ok separate curiosity brought on by watching this retrospective. emmrich endgame discussion under the cut.

TO START: i have yet to make emmrich a lich in any of my playthoughs, i have not romanced emmrich, and i certainly don't think there's a /right/ choice for emmrich re: lichdom or no lichdom!!!! i'm just speaking for my experience w my first PT.

but the retrospective seems to posit that making emmrich a lich instead of resurrecting manfred is the scenario where emmrich has Personal Growth and gets over his fear of death rather than being attached to the past, bc he's willing to let manfred go, and that if he resurrects manfred it's indicative that emmrich is unwilling to accept death? which i find interesting b/c it's not at ALL my read of emmrich becoming a lich

i haven't gone back to my replay in a second, but i read emmrich to be more afraid of his 'own' death rather than death itself. to me he was a character that understood that living things come to an end eventually and that there's a beauty in that (esp given the whole mournwatch thing, but maybe i'm being reductive), buuuuuut he still couldn't shake that the idea of his own mortality, his own end, being terrifying and a fate best avoided.

so part of why i decided to have emmrich resurrect manfred, thus sacrificing lichdom, was that to me, it felt like that was choosing to accept his own eventual death in favor of more time with manfred, a construct like a son to him. like yes, in part the dead should stay dead, perhaps, but it felt like manfred was gone too soon, and idk....we got necromancy. it feels not entirely out of the ordinary to allow a spirit to reform. at the time i was playing (and idk if i still hold that same opinion) it felt like choosing lichdom/what seemed like immortality was emmrich 'solving' his fear of death by removing death from the equation.

like i don't think there's a right answer here and i'm excited to make emmrich an emmlich at some point. i'm just curious if folks felt like the not-lich choice was one that meant emmrich still had this strong fear of death, bc that was not my interpretation

[omoghouls]

Totally self indulgent nonsense but consider if Emmlich’s new body is taking magic energy from the world around him to function, but after processing the energy, it still needs a way to come back out. Emm is unaware of this, and starts getting really concerned when his new undead body starts feeling very strange and uncomfortable! He’s afraid something went wrong with the ritual! The discomfort suddenly gets a lot worse before fading into relief, and Emm thinks maybe the problem is passed…until he realizes there’s liquid soaking into his chair.

The other liches forgot to tell him that it’s normal to have to go through basically a second potty training to learn how to deal with the way his new body works. Oops!

O M G,,,,,GALAXY MIND

He had studied all of Lichdom to prepare for this day, but it seems like there are some things that are unspoken rules and tribulations only told to you once you've joined-

The magic cycling, especially for the first few months, takes a lot to get used to. It's like needing to urinate, but the sensation is felt far deeper than it would feel as human (no longer just a discomfort set in the bladder region but rather throughout the whole body, a deep pulsing ache, squeezing your core as the unusable magics require to be let out-)

What's also not told to Emmrich is that for Liches, where they dispose of the unusable energies is completely random- Emmrich was just ever so lucky that his is located where his bladder once was 😌

He'd definitely require some retraining. Thankfully, Lich do have a potty training guide and it only takes a couple years (immortality and all that)!~☆

[theshotsheardacrossworlds]

WIP Wednesday: EmmLich Edition

In the timeline where Emmrich ascended to lichdom, he and Agi have a conversation before leaving to save Taash's mother. SFW.

“Hello, my love. Are you ready to depart?” His voice was a low purr. He looks like he wants to devour me.

Well good, because I want to devour you, sir!

As he wrapped an arm around her waist, she leaned to kiss his cheek. “I’m so ready to get Shathann back and kick Cutter’s ass. What about you, sexy?”

He tickled her plush side. “As am I, dearest. We shall triumph for Taash. Do you know why?” Emmrich nipped at her ear and whispered, “Because my beautiful lady is leading us. My best girl who always thinks of others and never herself. My flame eternal, burning brightly. Shining and shimmering like the finest diamond. My brilliant, marvelous girl---you will make the impossible possible as you always do.” His hand traveled up her side, stopping at one of her breasts. As he squeezed, he said, “After we celebrate your triumph, I plan on spoiling you tonight, my sweet. Please do prepare yourself for a night of passion.”

He cannot say this shit to me before we go save Taash’s mum.

Her cheeks flushed bright red as she attempted to formulate a response.

It’s going badly, in case you’re wondering.

“W-wow. Okay. That’s…yeah, I will definitely be getting ready for that. For sure. Absolutely.” She licked her lips, glancing down at his wrapped hand giving her another gentle squeeze. “Anything I should be…preparing for specifically? Or just general ‘oh shit I’m going to be thinking about this while we try to save my friend’s mum’ preparing? Because I’m good with both.”

He released her breast and turned to face her. “I wish to celebrate something very special.” Emmrich clasped his hands together, pride in his eyes. “I finally heard from the other lich lords. It has been ruled that if we decide to marry…” He took her hands in his, meeting her gaze with a smile. “When we decide to marry, you will be known after as Lady Agnes Volkarin. You’ll have all the rights and privileges of the most senior Watchers as well as access to areas normally restricted to the lich lords. Isn’t that wonderful, my love?”

Holy fuck.

He cannot say shit like this to me when we’re about to go save our friend’s mum.

I love him so much but HOLY SHIT!

She blinked. “It is! It really is!” Think! THINK! “Holy shit, I’m going to be a proper lady, aren’t I?”

“Darling, you are a proper lady. At least to me.” He let go of her hands and suddenly hugged her with a sigh. “My love, you don’t have to do adventuring anymore. If you wish to travel, we certainly can. If you want to take classes, I can arrange it. If you would like to bake brownies and hand them out to passersby every day, then—” He felt her release a shaky breath and instinctively held her tighter. “Then I would be glad. I offer you freely my love, my companionship, all that I worked for and achieved…and will continue to do so for eternity because of your constant love and support…so you can live a life of happiness, comfort, and—”

One of her hands found the back of his skull and cupped it. He said it feels nice when I do that. “Very comforting” were his exact words. “Love.”

He gave her a squeeze. “Yes. Yes, of course. Always.” The flame eternal. “Agi, my love…” Why is he taking a deep breath if he can’t breathe? “I feel I cannot wait any longer. I am compelled to ask if you would become my wife. Will you do me the greatest honor of my immortal life and allow me the privilege of being your husband?”

He keeps saying shit like this when we’re literally minutes from trying to save OUR FRIEND’S MOTHER.

[oldmidori]

hello i would like to request the hermit, the wheel of fortune, and the sun for your darling ingellvar <3

Yaaaayy ty for giving me a reason to rave about them LOL

(My Rook: Ygren Ingellvar, Mourn Watcher, Emmlich romance, NB they/them, Elf, Rogue)

The Hermit: When Rook is alone with their thoughts, what do they think about? Is solitude a blessing or a curse for them?

Naturally, they think a lot about death in a uniquely spiritual way. Their whole philosophy on death is fueled by 1. respect for the Necropolis and 2. them being a bit depressed. They serve the dead, spending all their waking hours caring for the dead. They assist morticians, take care of beetles, and follow all the rituals that the spirits of the Necropolis require. All of this is so that one day, when they are at the end of their life, they can comfortably slip into the afterlife knowing that their death will be cared for. They also do all these things because, similarly to Emmrich, it gives their life a purpose, it gives them a reason to keep going. When all other aspects of life feel meaningless they will always have the Necropolis. So when they're alone with their thoughts they do dwell a lot on their own death, their grave gold, how their skeleton will look so beautiful in their tomb (that they have meticulously planned the architecture of), and when Emmrich becomes a lich they think quite a bit about how well their bones will be taken care of by him. So it is a blessing to be alone with their thoughts, in a kind of fucked up sort of way!

The Wheel of Fortune: Describe an interesting character moment for your Rook. What made this moment stand out to you?

One of my ABSOLUTE favorite moments is when Rook and Emmrich are talking necromancy and Harding points out that Rook talks way fancier when discussing necromancy. I love it partly because Bryony Corrigan is such a great VA and drops into super northern when Rook realizes that Harding is right with the stoic ".....no I doon't". (sidenote: feminine 1 low is a huge reason why i love them so much). That moment tells me that while Rook normally has a slightly northern accent, it definitely got thicker when they had to leave Nevarra. When they talk with Emmrich they start losing the thick accent and start sounding more like him, but they don't notice in the slightest until Harding points it out. I know Nevarra has a bit of a reputation for being pretentious, and i think Rook tries to avoid that stereotype when they're in a different country, especially because they're definitely not on the fancy-academic side of the Mourn Watch.

The Sun: What is Rook passionate about? How do they fuel that passion?

Aside from death and other Mourn Watch stuff, Rook LOVES explosives. Not many chances to use them in the Necropolis but their rogue training taught them how to make bombs and projectiles to use on the battlefield. They were very excited to use those skills while helping Varric and learned even more from the Lords of Fortune after meeting Taash. They spend hours practicing throwing together tiny bombs and get a huge rush of adrenaline when using them against their enemies - it makes them feel powerful. Emmrich isn't the biggest fan admittedly but he respects their passion - and ability to clear a battlefield in seconds with just the scraps in their pockets lol

[andthekitchensinkao3]

Love and Death - an Emmrook AU what-if thing with fairytale vibes here and there

Once upon a time, in a land called Nevarra, there lived a man whose greatest fear was death. For years he dedicated himself to the Grand Necropolis, as part of their protectors, the Mourn Watch. Year on year, he he searched for love wherever he went - for the depths of his fears were only matched by the depths of his longing, to live a happy life with his one true love; to love while there was still time, as his parents had done.

Decades later, love had come and gone, ephemeral as a wisp, and just as deadly. For every love he had lost, for every affection unrequited, he came closer to a conclusion: that love was not for the likes of him. His place was with the Mourn Watch, his purpose to tend the Grand Necropolis, where all the dead must go.

Still he hoped. Still he longed for a love that would last forever - but he never found it.

One day, shortly after his fiftieth nameday, the Mourn Watch presented him with a means to cheat death. After his years of service and loyalty to the dead, he was granted the highest honour to be bestowed upon a Watcher. He was to join the ranks of the Lich Lords, and become one of the exalted undead. His consciousness intact, his soul retained, he would safeguard the living. Be a bulwark against the forces that threaten creation itself.

But, the Lich Lords cautioned him, he would have to forsake his mortality, and all its blessings. He would never again taste his favourite food or drink, nor revel in the touch of another mortal. He would see all his friends grow old and die; lose his loved ones, his family. He would never be a father.

“My friends will grow old and die whether I be a lich or not,” said the man, “but with my protection, they may live to see their grandchildren thrive. I shall see my friends’ faces in their descendants, and hear their voices speak new truths down the ages.”

“What of your loved ones?” asked the Lich Lords.

“I have none,” said the man.

“But what of your family?” asked the Lich Lords.

“I have none,” said the man. “My parents died when I was a boy. I am an only child. Love has eluded me at every turn, and I have fathered no children. I am a young man no more.”

“And will you risk death, that you may accept this honour?”

The man pondered the question. His fear of death was a blight upon his very soul. Here, he had a way out. A means to an end. “Do or do not, I risk death every day. If I am made a lich, I would honour my duties within the Watch. I could continue to study the Fade, and learn to understand it as no mortal can. I could use that knowledge for good. Forever.”

“Then,” said the Lich Lords, deeming him worthy, “your organs shall be placed in sacred urns, and your flesh be stripped from your bones. You shall rise again, as one of us.”

Ages passed. Blights, too. And Emmrich, for that was his name, made his new path the sole focus of his existence. He researched the Fade and shared his knowledge with the Mourn Watch, and the world beyond Nevarra. He protected the living at every turn, and did so with kindness, patience, and a love of mortality as expansive as the subject of his studies.

Until one day, the one thing he thought was forever lost to him and always out of reach, came within his grasp. No. Threw itself at him, with abandon.

Love.

---

Updates to be uploaded to AO3!

OH NO I DIDN'T 💜💀💚🥳

[andthekitchensinkao3]

So... I wrote 1200 words on the next chapter of Love and Death last night. Lots of Emmlich angst and self doubts. Only thing left to write is Dorian's pep talk.

Expect an update tonight or tomorrow! 💜💀💚

[acepalindrome]

I was thinking about Harding asking Emmlich what he would do if someone asked him to drink wine at a party, since they aren’t really sure how that would work with the glamor and all, and I think the party (probably spearheaded by Rook) should insist on experiments. In the name of science! When are they ever gonna meet another lich who likes them enough to let them poke and prod at him?

Emmrich reluctantly agrees, half because yes, he does like you all very much, but also because it’s probably good to find out how his new form will react to things among the safety of friends and not, yknow, just trying to drink wine at a party and hoping it all works out.

The long and short of what they learn is that anything they stick in his mouth is eventually going to drop out the bottom of his rib cage. Fortunately, they were wise enough to have him try drinking water instead of wine, so he just ended up wet instead of sticky and with red stains to clean up. He can hold a liquid in his glamor mouth for a short period of time, but then it starts getting really weird and leaking out of him like a sponge. It’s not a good look.

He appears able to hold small solid items in his mouth indefinitely, but once they’re swallowed, they plunk right out of his rib cage, just like liquids.

This is fairly straightforward, but his friends insist on conducting this experiment over and over while sticking a hand in his chest cavity and trying to catch whatever he’s swallowing as it falls. Right now it’s peanuts. Successfully catching the nut is met with cheering from the onlookers. This has devolved from an experiment into a game. Now they are arguing about whether or not it’s gross to eat the peanut after it is retrieved from his ribcage.

They are so very lucky he likes them.

[andthekitchensinkao3]

Hello! Here with some writing asks because I love hearing about everyone else's work! How many WIPs do you currently have on the go? Do you have a favourite that you're more inspired for than the others? Where do you normally pull your inspiration from for writing? I hope the words come easily next time you sit down to write! 🥰💜

Hi! Thank you! 💚💜

I have a total of six WiPs that are in various stages of completion. Some have been on the back burner for months, others I'm just getting started on. Like the Emmlich/Rook AU plotbunny that appeared out of nowhere - in which Emmrich is a Lich Lord to start with, and his choice re: Manfred will be whether or not to give up his immortality in order to save him. With a dark fairytale framework thingy, because that's one of my many and varied soft spots. Featuring love at first sight, Conversations with Vorgoth, and... lots and lots of changing stuff around. Plus - how would a lich be turned back into its human coil, really? I foresee magic. And stitches. Lots and lots of stitches. >_>

I can't say I have a favourite, just one that are more immediately speaking to me, if that makes sense. Like the Lokius horror fic, and Stories Told and Forgotten, my fix-it Veilguard Emmrook fic.

As for inspiration, I find it everywhere. In music, in movie genres I love - which, I guess the genre love shows up a lot when I start on one of my genre mashup AUs. It's not everybody's cup of tea, which I'm learning the hard way, but I love them.

Thanks for the ask. Don't hesitate to drop more in the ol' inbox - and that goes for everyone!

[emmg]

I sat on this for an entire day before I could write my thoughts because goddamn do I have many.

Me btw:

I've been pretty damn vocal about how much I despise the Lich route for a romanced Emmrich. If he were single? Fine, sir, go ahead, lose your face, your flesh, your dick, and whatever else you want. I wouldn’t care.

But as it stands?

"The eternal flame slept beside him. His beloved. Forever finally his and there lurked flame before his sight. Flickering. Finite. Holding his being within it, love. Death."

>>>This. This right here is exactly what I’m talking about. This man is going to overthink himself into the grave he doesn’t even need anymore.

You're taking away the only reprieve from his constant mental frenzy (sleep) from a man who already has a natural propensity to spiral into overthinking. It’s a disaster waiting to happen. Sure, maybe with time he’d learn to manage it, flip a switch, regulate it somehow. But for now? For now, Emmrich lives in his goddamn head 24/7, dreaming up every scenario imaginable.

So there he is, night after night, cataloging the changes in Rook’s face. At first, it’s subtle. Maybe just a grey hair here or a faint wrinkle by his left eye. Then, one day, it hits him like a ton of bricks: They’re aging. Worse, he doesn’t even experience time the same way anymore. His mortal perception is gone.

I'm gonna philosophize like Descartes on coke here for a hot second, because the imagery you’ve woven is pulling at my thoughts and I’m rambling now. I imagine, after a while, liches lose their grasp of time entirely. They don’t perceive it the way the living do. It’s not just fleeting moments; they exist in this endless sea of now. Emmrich, ever the curious mind, would absolutely get pulled under that wave. He’d stare at a crack in the wall for weeks, because in that crack, his lich senses might be unveiling the universe's secrets. When he finally returns to wherever he and Rook call home, Rook’s standing there like, Hey, nice to see you again, it’s been four months.

And that’s when Emmrich realizes. He’s losing time. Time he should be spending with Rook, who is mortal, who is fragile, who doesn’t have eternity to wait. And worse? He doesn’t even notice he’s losing it.

"Calmed the racing heat, pressed down rising panic with power that’d beget plague." >>>God, what a sentence. I have nothing constructive to add; I just want to say it floored me.

"His lich form might flicker, the mortal frame return, and Rook would immediately draw away. Glamour. He’d say. Nightmare. Don’t wear your dead face. Was it too painful? Was he trying that hard to love the other? Perhaps the memory was too fresh."

>>>Yes. Fucking yes. This resonates so deeply, and I’m thrilled I’m not alone in this. I have a similar passage tucked away in my creepy Emmlich one-shot (that I may or may not finish someday). It’s this idea that, for all the talk of immortal love and gothic romance, Rook’s still living with a literal skeleton. Lt’s be so fucking for real: we can all wax poetic about the beauty of darkness and gothic imagery, but you’d be lying if you said you wouldn’t absolutely piss yourself waking up in the middle of the night to a skull on the pillow next to you.

And ughhhh that plague symbolism is DOING THINGS TO ME. It’s doing things to me. Emmrich’s thoughts are the plague rats, and Rook? Rook is the fertile soil. His fear infects Rook, spreads, turns something whole into something rotten. Plague blackens tissue, makes it decay.

This kind of love, it’s like a gangrened limb. You cannot heal it. You cannot reverse the rot. You cannot go back, cannot turn the person into who they once were, cannot strip yourself of what you’ve become in their shadow. It’s the root of everything: the loss, the grief, the fear. And so you amputate. You amputate what’s dying to save what’s left. You walk away aching, incomplete, forever altered, but still alive. You learn to live with the scars.

You get a prosthesis, learn to rely on what’s left of yourself. Because if you don’t? If you let the other person consume you entirely? Then it’s too late. By that point, there’s nothing left to save.

Fuck what a good WIP

First line page wip share thing

tagged by the ever prosely poetic @emmg go read hers now if you like dark lich stuff holy shit

I don’t know who’s been tagged but I’m nudging @thievinghippo (so you can check that above out. no pressure to share but goodness tag me if you do) but sincerely anyone share and tag me, I delight in creations.

This is a rough piece from current work I’m getting at. Not a first line but the bit I’ve got that seems best without further explanation lol it’s a rough cut okay I need to chew more but enjoy?

Emmrich was completely bare. No adornments. No glamor. Simple, plain, and yet dimly starting to glow.

The bones of his hand, all that remained, clung tight to chest. Clenched in, wrapped round rib. Held tight, quivering tips rattling soft beneath sheets. Whispers of green began a sound like so many wings of beetles. Wove hushed in the numerous moving parts of his wrist. Started to pulse as heart. The waves birthed within the pieces of him, a swarm spreading reverberations throughout his skeleton. Calmed the racing heat, pressed down rising panic with power that’d beget plague. All Rook might hear is hum. The Lich consumed, all encompassing as the gnashing millions choked on fear.

It passed. Suppressed in all those grinding maxillae.

The eternal flame slept beside him. His beloved. Forever finally his and there lurked flame before his sight. Flickering. Finite. Holding his being within it, love. Death.

Most nights, should Rook desire, he would wander Fade with him. Taking to pleasant scapes where they might enjoy whatever a master of the space might make of it. And yet…Emmrich could not control his appearance after all these months. His lich form might flicker, the mortal frame return, and Rook would immediately draw away. Glamour. He’d say. Nightmare. Don’t wear your dead face. Was it too painful? Was he trying that hard to love the other? Perhaps the memory was too fresh.

Rook woke, still asleep. Blinking. Eyes closed and moving as one might expect the dead. He didn’t speak during these movements. Would drift back to Fade soon. But he liked to wrap Emmrich’s hands, and his body kept memory of the exact time a mortal professor awoke.

[heylittleriotact]

The only reason Emmrich isn’t a puddle of grief on the Lighthouse floor the way he should be in his non-lich resolution is because he cheated death - this time. He has a legacy in Manfred and makes peace with the fact that with training, Manfred will be able to care for himself when he eventually dies, but he only got here in the first place by fucking around with the natural order.

The playing field is still even in this outcome between he and Rook: they’re both mortal, and they will both inevitably die, but they may choose a life together that could be prosperous and joyful and all the other sentimental shit Emmrich has yearned for.

If he “accepts” Manfred’s death and becomes a lich, he does actually mourn him. There’s the banter where Davrin remarks that he heard crying coming from Emmrich’s room, which implies that he’s privately confronting those feelings of loss. Some people read this as regret, but I honestly think it’s grief presenting itself in a complicated manner for Emmrich.

Emmrich’s grief in this case is complicated because not only is he dealing with the emotional complexity of grieving a child who isn’t *technically* his child, but we’re adding survivor’s guilt on top of that, and the fact that Manfred’s sacrifice was ultimately his ticket to immortality.

That’s a-fucking-lot to unpack.

Is it any surprise that he’s weeping alone in his room when he thinks no one is around? How could ANYONE understand? WHY would anyone understand? So he hides it away and doesn’t even talk about it to Rook, his partner, and man… that is a slippery ass slope to some wildly unhealthy coping behaviours.

In real life you might see someone stuck in complicated grief become depressed, socially withdrawn, emotionally erratic, fall into substance abuse, self-harm, self-destructive behaviour, or suicide. Complicated grief is a bitch. Because remember - grief is vital: it is personal, but it is also communal, and Emmrich starts out his journey into lichdom by slipping into complex, isolated grief over Manfred’s passing.

So now instead of a regular person, you’ve got an immortal super-mage who can never die dealing with death TERRIBLY. This forms the foundation for his approach to death for eternity. Of COURSE he’s going to be insufferable to Rook. Of COURSE he’s going to take a holier-than-thou “be more careful please” stance without any thought to the staggering power imbalance that exists between them now.

It’s the most tragic, self-destructive ending for Emmrich, framed in a way that’s almost poetically cruel. He’s fucked himself, and he can’t un-fuck himself, and he has to live with that forever. He might be in denial about it for a month, a year… a century - but he’ll get there eventually.

You finally found the love of your life that you yearned for desperately for decades? You will smother them. Burden them. Shackle them unwittingly with your own shitty, shitty insecurity because even though you’re immortal you refuse to accept the natural order.

Regardless of which outcome you go with, Emmrich is in dire need of therapy. Luckily, as a human and not an immortal undead lich, he can do a lot less damage to himself and those he claims to love. But he really does need to work through his issues around his fear of death, his denial of mortality, and his insecurities in relationships, and I think if he stays mortal it’s more likely that in time once the world is saved and he and Rook settle down, he would be open to addressing those things - or hell he might even identify and work on them himself because he’s got the support of his partner - his EQUAL - who will stand by him and help him navigate things however they can.

Lich Emmrich though? He doesn’t feel like he *needs* to. Rook is no longer an equal, they are someone to be cherished and protected like an exceedingly old and rare edition of a book. They lose their personhood in EmmLich’s eyes and eventually become a possession, which should disgust him and he’d deny it vehemently but it’s true.

This is very rambling and badly worded and I’m just spewing random disjointed thoughts without any real point, @aldisobey I really loved this and how insidiously sweet it was. It’s just perfect. Thank you for writing it 🤍

Fuel to Fire

AO3 Link - Fuel to Fire

A gift on this eve! Finally got it to a point where I don't mind sharing. Emmlich content, come get some Emmlich and Rook angst. It's got comfort and warmth and I've been with it too long just take it before I start hating it again. Tagging @emmg you asked for it! (oh yeah and the title is just the song I listened to the most, it's how I'm naming things because eugh naming things how). Technically part two in a series, check out Nascent Blight if you need more.

Word Count: ~3k

Relationship: Rook Thorne x Emmlich, M/M

Full story below because why not

Emmrich paced the room, green flickers of his skull mixing light with the soothing glow of the water’s reflection on the ground. Rook sprawled out on the divan, head back on the armrest, eyes closed, and rubbed at his temples. Peeked a moment at the towering necromancer gleaming soft in the muted room.

“Rook.” Emmrich’s stern tone made him squeeze his eyes shut. The lich ceased pacing and stood near the small table at the center. Hands folded behind him he faced the waters. “That was reckless.”

The Warden was still coated in lingering blight from the Wetlands. He’d meant to clean up and go celebrate the Eruption’s destruction on return to the Lighthouse, but it was all he could do to drag himself here. He could still feel the echo of it. Too close, too much.

He gripped his head, pressed hard as he dared to drive away the thrumming recollection of whispers. Thank whatever luck graced him it hadn’t…his hands dropped. One to the ground, the other his chest. Their pressures had provided no relief. It would fade, always had, should have stopped when they burned the thing, but something of it’s nature let that damnable echo persist. That or a head injury, he’d taken some hits.

He sighed. Slowly opened his eyes and turned his head to glance at Emmrich’s back facing him.

“Had to be done.” Equally stern in a quiet way, exhaustion clear.

“You might have left the matter to Davrin.” A resounding voice. The folded hands clenched, then released, flicked to the side as Emmrich turned round to fix Rook with his hollow stare, “Or Evka and Antoine, or any number of other Wardens in Lavendell.”

“Emmrich,” Rook responded more softly, slowly, but kept firm, “I had my reasons.”

“And?” The skull tilted, frustration snipping, “Were those reasons worth it?” Emmrich gestured towards Rook, everything said in that tone and movement. Today had not been easy for the rogue. Taash had to half carry him back.

“Yes.” Grumbling, he swung his legs off the divan, sat up properly to face Emmrich’s accusations. “They were.” He straightened his back and squared off his shoulders, suppressed the pulse built on his forehead with a heavy blink. “Look. I brought Taash because they can burn whatever comes their way. And I brought you because you’re undead.”

Emmrich twitched, almost imperceptibly, at that. Rook might’ve missed it had his attention on the lich been less than absolute, but the movement sent his stomach falling. He bit at his tongue and rushed on.

“We got the job done alright? Lavendell can thrive. Everyone safe.” He rushed the words. Kept them short. Folded his arms. He might’ve looked petulant, but the wear of the day was too loud. Holes in the sleeves, tears on the sides, slash on the leg, all red stained, all healed flesh below, but memories of wounds. Everywhere.

“Darling. What about you?” Emmrich’s voice shook, seeing more than the evident physical. Undead eyes exposed a roiling of lingering red pain whispers, swirling confusion, exhaustion like a leaded blanket.

“Hmm? I’m already blighted, it was no concern.” Rook shrugged, doing his best to appear at ease. Brush off the worry, confirm the wellness of the situation. They were here, they were whole, they…

“Enough.” A snarl of exasperation, Emmrich stepped closer, seeming ever taller as he approached, “Davrin would have joined us had it been no concern. You brought Taash.” There was finality in the words, a stillness as the simmering anger evened and burned with purpose, “I was there, Rook. Your Warden friends were quite clear on the danger that Eruption posed to you.”

Rook grimaced, rubbed his hands, felt over callus, cut, and bruise. It hurt. He added pressure, focused the pain there.

Emmrich was right of course. The lingering pounding in his head was testament to that. What if the Eruption had sparked something? It felt safer for Taash to be there with their fire. Why put more than one Warden at risk? How many was it if not him? If not Davrin? Thoughts roiling he shrank below that green gaze burrowing into him feet away. Rook realized then he’d gone slack jawed, unable to think of an acceptable excuse. But no. He had made the right call.

He snapped his mouth shut.

“Fine!” Rook growled and stood using the armrest with a stifled groan. Patience worn thin after all the drumming in his skull he put his hands to his hips when he reached his full height and glared up at Emmrich.

He didn’t shout, but matched the steaming frustration, “I knew it was dangerous for me. Alright? But I had to do it.” The words came out through grit teeth, biting back the desire to escalate.

Emmrich drew back. Not a step, but into himself. “Dearest...”

“No, don't dearest me.” It came out like a hiss, and Rook leaned the smallest degree forward, “The Grey Wardens need every last person after all this.” His hands flailed out, gesturing vaguely to the world at large, “After Weisshaupt…” A breath found him. The fury caught on his tongue. This shouldn’t be so hard.

He cleared his throat, kept strong, “My jobs done once we’ve killed those gods.” His hands returned to his temples for a moment to steady himself, applied pressure to calm the beat. The blood flushing to his face couldn’t be helping.

Rook gave his head a shake and looked askance, maker how did a skull appear sad, he pinched the bridge of his nose. Unable to face Emmrich in that hunched posture before him. Bent, mourning, pathetic…no, Rook swallowed. Not that. The necromancer didn’t stand alone. The lean was enclosing him, protective. He dared a glance forward.

The lich stood draping the Warden in shadow like some gilded ribbed vaulting. And Rook, an insignificant supplicant come, with soft flesh aching, stinking of blight. Before a cathedral.

“Davrin’s got a book in the works!” He sputtered before he forgot all of the pieces reinforcing his decision. “Antoine makes such things?” Because it had been the right decision, “Can you imagine things if left to Evka’s hands?” They would all flourish after he did his part.

“You think I’d risk a single one of them?” Voice a hushed whisper of desperation. He couldn’t bear it.

No. The gods died next. No one else.

Tomorrow. His mind kept at a furious pace. A last check on Lavendell. Then Treviso, the Crows had word. He could feel cold sweat on his neck, they might have a location. Almost there. Not much longer now, almost safe, and all at once his legs went weak. Rook sank, barely controlled, back down to the divan. He settled with elbows on his knees, hands holding his head, and stared down at the floor. Could feel welling in his eyes, blinked it away.

“Rook,” Emmrich’s voice was slow, the gentle echo of a creek; water over stones as it traveled through him, “I’m sorry.”

Sincerity. Rook could feel it. Feel his nerves still at the serene appeal, “You carry the weight of every decision. Don’t you?” Not a question, a declaration, and in hearing it, so firmly spoken, Rook quaked.

“You were exemplary today.” Finally. A shuddering breath, a tiny lift, that voice of praise, a warming balm.

“My love,” The words sank deep past the skin, something in the tone kneading them firmly within the chest, past bone and into heart where a soul might sit, “let me help you.” Rook sniffed, didn’t trust his voice, dipped a nod once. Emmrich extended his hand, gestured towards Rook’s head.

Movements small, close, Rook leaned in, but then gave start, bit his lip, froze, “..wait.” He still needed to scour, make sure every speck of blight was gone, that could take awhile for hair.

“That’s of no concern.” Emmrich smirked.

Rook looked up as that comforting palm settled soft on his head. Peered past the linen, memories flashing of that arched brow, those lidded eyes, and met a crowned skull, flickering flame. He’d heard it in the tone.

His eyes went wide, tight pain gripped his chest. That was the cost wasn’t it? But then, he felt his heart beat. There was that…the desire...ever since…

'Rook’s Necromancer. An excellent subject to test how long one could go back and forth between life and death.'

Rook blinked at the perfect, beautiful, loving undead skull staring back at him, the whisper of hope escaping from dreams and solidifying here and now.

“You’re safe.” Rook choked out the words.

Then collapsed. Gone so limp he would have fallen from couch to floor had Emmrich not anticipated the movement and dropped to his knees to catch him in his arms.

They dropped together a moment, Emmrich’s arms a cushioning guide. And once stable, once still, he lifted, held the trembling man close, and carefully settled down on the divan with him. The Warden, for his part, was all snot and tears, clinging to the lich’s robes. His arms wrapped tight around the ribcage as he pressed close as he could.

"Emmrich, it can't…” His voice and body shook, words closing off in the shudder of relief.

Emmrich cradled Rook as tight as he dared, a soft hush drifting from him as he brought calm in his firm embrace. There was no measured breathing to guide the man hiccupping into his cloak, so Emmrich purposefully rubbed Rook’s back in the rhythm of a breath, and with a few extra movements green sprites darted from his fingers. All at once sound was still and calm around Rook’s hearing, and then began the sigh of trees, wind through leaves, in measured cadence to help level the rogue’s racing heart.

Rook almost felt a cool breeze on his skin same as he heard it, and the glow of water and flame mixed like light through the leaves to his eyes. He sighed, then lifted his head, buried it beneath the lich’s chin, felt his final quivers fade as a hum traveled in waves through the bones embracing him, back and forth, kissing skin where it touched, a fleeting doting touch. The beginnings of a smile and easy breath came to him at last.

Emmrich’s voice sounded quiet around…in…where his head lay. The traveling hum returned deep and pleasant, warming the skin where it passed. “My love. To think…you worried over me, to such...” Disbelief mixed with adoration, Emmrich’s voice eased its way into Rook’s waiting ears, pure love. The lost words saying more than any uttered.

Rook was steady now, melting instead of shivering, he clung to that genuine smile dawning on his lips, he could have this at least. They couldn’t take this. Rook tilted his head up to whisper to the air where Emmrich’s throat might’ve been.

“I love you.”

He put his head back down as he felt both of Emmrich’s hands move up to massage his scalp. The room was incandescent with green, the necromancer’s palms the epicenter of the glow. Focused. He plied at the Warden’s head. His movements were rhythmic, the magic alive with a pulse and rippling at his direction.

Rook could feel the echos become sated, the answering ebb of the necrotic channeling a path of release, carrying the riptide tight and rebounding in his skull back out to sea. Ease and push, gentle waves of magic and fingers worked the movements with Fade and physical, gently towing that ache out from the Warden’s skull.

Rook yawned, almost a thrum while in Emmrich's care, “Of course I was worried.” And he stretched in small movements, “You immortal fool.” His voice was low, pining, enraptured by the fool he entrusted with his care. Emmrich didn’t reply, his voice occupied in the ending incantations. Otherwise they kept in silence, the soft green glow encasing Rook’s scalp continuing to pulse, dancing with the shimmering from the tank.

“Darling,” when Emmrich's voice finally graced Rook again it sent warmth flashing through him, “I’m safe.” A rolling delight, the aches and pains losing hold, Rook groaned, toes curled as every muscle seemed to tighten, and hold. Then release.

The magic dimmed. Rook breathed heavy, then slow, then measured, calm. Almost asleep.

Emmrich sighed, his voice an echo that resounded through the room. He took a long laborious moment to take off his crown, and with utmost care placed it on the table behind them. Then, barefaced as possible, spoke gentle, the deep echo private now, tumbling only to the Warden’s ears, “But, Sir Thorne.” He looked down at Rook, tilted the man’s face to look up from where it lay on his sternum, kept his tracing fingers there, touch yearning. “You are most unsafe.”

Rook felt his eyes go hot at the words, if only because Emmrich’s couldn’t, and he could hear the despondent tears held in the lich’s tone. He tried to look away, but that meant leaving that soft touch on his chin, he pressed down into the palm instead.

“I’m sorry.” he twisted his head deeper into the hand, whispered the mumbled words into Emmrich’s thumb. The thumb traced Rook’s lips a moment, but seemed distant, moving further away.

“Those are words, Rook.” Emmrich’s hand withdrew, Rook looked up, sensing the gravity in the next words had been stressed by absent touch. “Please. If only out of love for me. Take more thought and action towards your safety?”

Rook gave the barest of nods, mind rebelling against the gross hope of self preservation. He nestled back down and away from the skull’s sight. Emmrich’s voice grumbled in old exasperation, his hands moving to cradle the Warden’s skull and massage along his neck. “If you remain so determined to put your life at risk I’ll have no choice but to drag you to the deepest tombs of the Necropolis. Seal you there until you develop a modicum of sense.”

“That a promise?” Rook’s voice surprised them both, and had Emmrich been able to feel heat his hands might have burned from where they held Rook. So quick and fierce was the flush on the man, so immediate the reply, it came without thought, driven by something deeper.

He could feel the lich’s fingers dig hard into his skin. Maker he really did want...The skull was staring up and away from him now. But Rook could hear the words resound in his own chest, “Don’t tempt me.” A low rolling warning, like thunder from a storm still away. But Rook could sense the ache, felt his heart quicken at what some choice words might lead to, felt the barest tremor in the hands holding him, but then they were gone. The storm gave way to trickling laughter at the thought.

Emmrich moved to extricate himself from the divan, took extra care to settle Rook comfortably in place. Hummed away the lighthearted mirth as he stood free and took off his cloak, gently draped it over the fading Warden, “Seriously, dearest, you mustn't jest.”

Rook held tight to the lich’s cloak and burrowed into it, buried his face deep in the lapel as he muttered half asleep already, “Don’t tease, you started it”.

He yawned. Felt warm, eased his mind to think of falling quiet, but the shiver of dreams crept up at him. The Fade always awaited, didn't it. Rook bit at his cheek, blinked an eye open to peek out from beneath the cloak. Emmrich was still there, though his back was turned to him now, he had taken to quiet pacing again, fish in the tank following as he glittered in the pale light.

“Emmrich.” Rook whispered.

“Hmm?” Emmrich paused midstep, fish paused midswim.

Rook stifled a chuckle, overcome at that moment with overwhelming adoration. He could ask this, a beaming smile hidden beneath the cloak, eye twinkling from beneath the fabric he muttered, “You once comforted me by saying the lich lords were, ‘Unlikely to visit your slumber’.”

Rook mused, calling back to that first time, that first terror. Emmrich had been so excited to share, so animated when explaining, the first time Rook heard the word ‘Lich’. Ice had taken Rook’s veins then. Fresh terror, new fear, but what emotion did he know better? And what a blessing it could be? His blood ran cold. Something deep in his gut warned him, but he ignored it. Looked long at the lich before him, fish following Emmrich’s concerned sway, and let the prickling sensation thaw, there could be warmth here, “Is that…something…you could do?” He finally asked.

“Oh.” The lich seemed to stand taller, an edge of excitement to his tone. “I hadn’t the time to consider it.” He started towards Rook, came to kneel at his side, put a hand on the cloak where the man’s shoulder lay, head tilting in question, “Would that interest you?”

Rook poked more of his head out so that his lips could be read, voice a hush, “Maybe…if you can, just uh check in?” He swallowed, “That song, it's in dreams…it’s worse…” Emmrich’s hushing tones cut off Rook. One hand going so far as to pull the cloak back up to cover the Warden's mouth and tuck him in.

“My love, speak no further. Sleep. Nothing will dare trouble your dreams.”

“Thank you…you know you can troub…”

“Another time darling. Please. Rest.”

Eyes closed Rook could hear the smirk again, felt a heaviness settle in his limbs, swore he was already dreaming when he heard the warmth in the immortal’s voice holding him, was that a lullaby? And sleep took him.