#emmrich x ingellvar | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

heylittleriotact · 9 days ago

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Further to my post last night, here's Suture, a quickly thrown together, sweet oneshot with lots of yearning feelings where Emmrich patches up Rook and she's extremely awkward about the entire thing.

Full under the cut, ao3 here

“Hmmm… yeah that’s going to need to be stitched up.” Amina clamped her gloved hand back over her thigh and squeezed as hard as she could. She’d hastily bound it with one of the many lengths of linen scrap she carried with her, but now that they were back at the Lighthouse, it needed to be tended to properly, and soon, judging by the blood that was pooling on the floor under her right foot.

She slipped her arm free of her shield and it clattered to the stone floor as she began limping in the direction of her room, crimson ruin in her wake. Pain ripped through her leg the instant she placed the faintest bit of weight on it, but despite its desire to wobble and give out, she didn’t flinch - didn’t make any indication to her companions that it felt like someone had just dragged jagged steel over her bones. She couldn’t afford to show that kind of weakness… she didn’t know these people. Not really.

“Where are you going?!”

Evidently someone wasn’t fooled.

“My room: stitches,” she reiterated calmly, coming to a halt and twisting to look over her shoulder at Emmrich. Her leg protested under her with a violent shudder. “It should come as no surprise to you of all people that I know my way around a needle and thread.” She smiled at him - effortless and genuine even in the midst of blossoming agony.

It was perfectly true - never mind suturing shut the abdominal cavities of the deceased post-organ removal: she had been on the receiving end of more than enough injuries during her twenty year tenure as a Reaper of the Mourn Watch that she knew the name of every healer among the Necropolis’ infirmary staff - and the names of their spouses and children to boot. They’d pieced her back together more times than she could count, but there were occasions where she’d been injured somewhere within the catacombs that was too far and too deep for her to waste valuable blood and energy trying to get back before she bled out.

In those cases, the only solution was to find a safe place to sit down, assess the damage, and deal with it herself using the small field kit she kept on her belt.

Sewing her own dangling pinky finger back onto her hand in a dimly lit tomb while a corpse occupied by a rather persistent rage demon shambled around nearby looking for her had been a bracing experience, but she either needed to try and save the appendage or leave it behind, and she wasn’t keen on losing a finger. The nerves didn’t heal quite right, and it ached when it rained, but at least she still had it.

The gash in her leg was nothing she couldn’t handle. No one else needed to burden themselves with her - not when they had themselves to look after.

“Preposterous!” Emmrich proclaimed. “Look at the state of you! Clammy skin, rapid breathing… pale as the moon–”

“That’s just how I look!”

Unwilling to relent, Emmrich lifted his chin in that scholarly way of his. “You are going into shock, dear, and endorsing you to perform any kind of medical procedure in your current condition - on yourself or anyone else - would be a grievous ethical oversight on my part.”

“He’s not wrong,” Lucanis said calmly, looking up from painstakingly cleaning the blood from one of his daggers. “You’ve lost too much blood already. I’d take him up on the offer if I were you. I would volunteer to do it myself, but I suspect you’d prefer not to sit on a sack of flour while I tend to you.” There was something of a shrug, a suggestion of a grin - he was too obscured by the shadows to see clearly.

She still hadn’t gotten around to asking why Lucanis chose to sleep in the pantry, and now wasn’t the time to find out: he’d been just as forthcoming with the offer to help as Emmrich.

“Really it’s not necessary. I’ve dealt with worse and I don’t want to trouble either of you… thank you though,” she turned back and took another step towards her room. Her right leg convulsed aggressively then gave out, sending her to one knee. Dammit.

She realized she felt rather lightheaded then, and she was hoisted back to her feet by a set of arms on either side of her.

“Now that you’ve demonstrated to all of us what a tenacious and valiant Watcher you are, will you please consider letting us help you?” Emmrich was on her right, arm around her waist. He was a lot taller than her, but she could make out the wry smile on his face. She felt the hairs on the backs of her arms raise and a chill ran through her, and it wasn’t from the blood loss… it was because of him - being this close to him made her feel–

“Alright then,” she nodded, turning to Lucanis on her left, who was gripping her upper arm in case she dropped again. “Thank you Lucanis… I think I can manage with… with Emmrich’s assistance.” She felt her cheeks heat at her own words. Stop it, stop it, stop it… She pressed down harder on the wound, partly to continue staunching the bloodflow, partly to distract herself with the fresh wave of pain that rippled through her at the sensation.

“Off we go then,” Emmrich said lightly, starting them off in the direction of the stairs, “Nice and easy… take your time, that’s it.”

If she had it her way Amina would have preferred to sprint - the fact that Lucanis and Harding were still in the entryway watching this unfold was utterly mortifying.

Emmrich paused when they got to the top of the stairs. His lips quirked to the side thoughtfully as he peered down. “Perhaps we should have had Lucanis along: I would offer to carry you in this circumstance but…”

“No, this is fine!” Amina said quickly, grateful then for the eighty-some pounds of plate armour she was currently wearing. She chanced a step down and inhaled sharply through her teeth - descending the stairs was going to be a challenge, but she would get through it.

She felt Emmrich’s eyes on her, never straying from her side as she took each step, but she ignored the urge to look at him. Instead she stared forward, her left hand gripping the railing to keep herself steady while she concentrated - went to that familiar safe, bright place in her mind where the pain couldn’t reach her.

By the time they got to the bottom, her brow was damp with sweat from the effort it had taken her. The warm scent of the fire in the hearth meshed with the aromas of various disinfectants and parchment. It immediately brought her comfort for reasons she couldn’t quite define.

“Amina?”

She blinked and found Emmrich’s face, concern apparent upon it - he must have asked her a question that she hadn’t heard.

“Hm?”

“I said we will need to remove your armour… for the shock, you see - to help you breathe,” Was that a hint of colour on his own cheeks? “If that’s alright with you, of course,” He added.

Exhausted, Amina could only nod, and Emmrich guided her to the carved granite slab opposite the stairs and she hauled herself up onto it so she was perched on the edge.

“I follow extremely rigorous sanitation procedures,” He assured her as if assuming she cared at the moment that she was sitting on a working autopsy table.

“Good. You can keep pressure on my leg while I start dealing with this armour,” she didn’t wait for him to inevitably declare that he needed to wash his hands before even dreaming of laying a hand on an open wound. She seized his wrist with bloody fingers and jammed the palm of his hand down on her thigh, holding it in place when she felt him start to pull back. “Please don’t let go — it’ll be faster if I do this.” She set to work loosening the straps of leather that held her armour together, starting with her shoulders and working her way down her arms, the sound of jingling buckles and the slip of leather through metal cutting through the silence. She worked quickly with well practiced fingers, carelessly tossing each formed piece of silverite to the floor. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Manfred shuffling towards the slab, curiousity piqued.

“Manfred, would you kindly fetch a stack of clean rags?” Emmrich asked over his shoulder. Manfred’s shoulders tilted and he emitted an arrangement of concerned hisses. “Oh no, Ms. Ingellvar will be just fine - her femoral artery remains quite intact, but I do need to close the wound rather urgently before she loses any more blood, so pip pip.”

Manfred clicked his teeth together and set off for the rags, and Emmrich turned his attention back to Amina in time to see her struggling to reach the straps of her breastplate - they were too high up her side to reach with one hand.

“Here, allow me,” he offered kindly, leaning forward, putting more weight on her leg as he reached under her arm and began working loose the straps with his free hand.

“Thank you, those ones are the hardest to get at no matter how many times you do it. I’ve put this armour on and taken it off thousands of times and–” her words cut off abruptly: she had happened to glance down at Emmrich as he worked and apparently forgotten how to talk.

His gaze lifted at her sudden silence, and the sight of his deep hazel eyes and the tip of his tongue poking from the corner of his mouth - the lingering remnant of his broken concentration - made Amina’s stomach leap in weightless abandon as if she’d just trodden on a collapsed grave.

His positioning with his hand on her thigh and the angle he was at to reach the straps he so gallantly offered to help with put the pair of them in a somewhat compromising position, she realized: she had parted her legs to help him reach, and he was so close she could feel the heat of him; could smell whatever product he used to slick back his hair. It smelled good… like ripe cherries – burgundy and sweet - the kind that stained your lips red and filled your mouth with juice when you bit into them…

Very unprofessional… she chided herself. “ And it never gets any easier!” She completed the thought, though her voice sounded too high to her ears, as did the laugh that followed it.

Emmrich’s brow furrowed for only a moment before she felt the weight of the breastplate lift, “There we are!” He exclaimed, all courteous decorum and effortless good cheer. He pulled the heavy chestpiece away from Amina and set it on the floor gently, leaning against the slab. “Oh dear,” he frowned when he straightened and caught sight of Amina’s face again. “Your complexion was ashen only a moment ago, but now you appear flushed… how unusual. You had better lay down.”

“But–”

He held up his bloodied hand, bangles singing. “Please, Amina - I am afraid I must insist.”

Sheepish, Amina did as she was told, the armour that still covered her from the waist down scraping against the stone beneath her. He was just being nice - just doing what he would do for any of them, and here she was smelling his hair like some garden variety pervert…

From her place on the slab she could hear Manfred approaching with the rags. She craned her neck to see him, but couldn’t. When she turned her face back to the ceiling she saw Emmrich above her, a grin spreading across his face as he took one of the rags from Manfred and pressed it against her wound.

“Thank you, Manfred - and I see you’ve brought my kit as well: excellent thinking - and you came up with that all on your own! Well done!” She felt him lift his hand to examine the rag before the pressure resumed. With his other hand he set his kit beside her and flipped it open. “Feeling somewhat better with most of that heavy armour off?”

“Yes.” She still felt lightheaded, but it was indeed easier to breathe now.

“Splendid.” He offered her a reassuring smile - the kind that everyone who worked with the dead was capable of, herself included - but there was a subtle, relieved quality in the way the corners of his mouth turned up that surprised her. It wasn’t possible that he had been genuinely worried about her, was it? The question was left to linger in her mind when Emmrich set about loosening the straps of the remaining parts of her armour to better access the wound.

His long fingers were dexterous, and though his movements were quick and concise, his touch was never harsh or callous.

It was a strange position to be in, having him deliberately and methodically husk her armour from her body, piece by piece. It called to mind other circumstances in which one might expose another, one article at a time…

Stop it. Fade take me… dead animals… wet food stuck to plates and bowls… having the shits…

He removed the rag and peeled aside the damaged cuisse gingerly, humming to himself softly as he surveyed the wound without touching it. “Manfred, could you please bring a fresh rag and continue holding it over Ms. Ingellvar’s wound with as much pressure as you can muster? The bleeding has slowed enough that I can close it now, but I need to wash my hands first.”

Amina felt Manfred sidle up alongside her on the slab, the hair-raising sensation that anyone would feel when in close proximity to a being of the Fade alerting her to his presence. He chattered at her soothingly, clearly attempting to mimic Emmrich’s tone and cadence with his soft hisses and squeaks.

“Why am I ‘Ms. Ingellvar’ all of a sudden?” She called out in the direction of Emmrich’s retreating footsteps. She heard the soft woosh of him shedding his coat and his footfalls as he paced over to the wash basin.

“Old habits, I’m afraid,” he chuckled in answer. “But I will refrain from the formality going forward.”

She found she rather liked his formality, but she said, “If it’s not too much trouble.”

There was only silence, sloshing water, and the sound of soap being lathered into skin for such a long time that she nearly sat up to see if everything was alright, but he returned to her side, freshly cleaned hands held aloft - he’d rolled up his cuffs and removed his many rings.

“It’s no trouble at all,” he said warmly, his voice verging on a whisper, and Amina’s stomach did that strange leap again. He relieved Manfred and reached over her to his kit. “You’ve lost a good deal of blood, and there’s little we can do about that but replenish your fluids and let your body rest for a time.” Amina caught the glint of steel in Emmrich’s hand as he straightened. “I do hope these pants hold no priceless sentimental value to you - I’m going to have to cut the right leg away, I’m afraid.” He looked genuinely apologetic at this.

Hang the pants - Amina was more caught up in the realization that if he cut away the leg of her pants, her entire leg would be bared to him. She’d had far more intimate places bared to infirmary staff over the years, so she wasn’t sure why that mattered now, but it did.

“Can… couldn’t you just widen the tear in the material around the wound?” She ventured hopefully.

Clearly sensing her apprehension, Emmrich’s already soft eyes softened further. “I will need to dress and bind your leg once I’ve placed the sutures,” he explained gently, “You have my word that I shall conduct myself with nothing but the utmost propriety - I am aware of the vulnerable position this puts you in and will do everything in my power to make this as comfortable for you as I can.”

She nodded once, understanding that she had little other choice. “Do what you have to do.”

He dipped his head in acknowledgement and started near her ankle, shearing a line up the leg of her pants with his scissors. Amina already felt cold, but as the air hit her leg, she couldn’t help but shiver.

“There are some blankets folded on the shelf above the cosmetics and restorative waxes; Manfred, would you please take one down and place it on the chair near the fire to warm?”

Somewhere nearby bones clicked and rattled with devoted efficiency to carry out their task.

As he set about cleaning the wound, Emmrich spared another lingering glance at Amina.

“What is it?” She asked.

“Hmmm?” A clean rag appeared in his hand and he soaked it with a pale pink fluid in a frosted bottle that smelled floral - Amina recognized this as a common disinfectant used in the wounds of the living, and in the dead to slow decay. He pressed the saturated rag to her flesh and held it for a moment before using it to wipe away the last of the blood. It stung, but Amina knew that meant it was working.

“You keep looking at me.”

He laughed again - a light, amused sound. “My dear, are you aware of any particular patient treatment strategies wherein looking at said patient during the application of the treatment isn’t advantageous?”

Well when he put it like that…

“No, I just…” she trailed off, watching him draw another clean rag from the pile with a flourish and douse it with a pale green concoction this time - a fungal tincture that would stave off infection. “You didn’t have to do this… thank you.”

He gently swept the rag over her skin and made sure the tincture penetrated the wound. “The work that we do can be lonely. We are often misunderstood by those unfamiliar with the role we fill, and even amongst our own there are politics and petty talkers that divide us from within in the hope that isolating perceived threats will further their own aspirations.” He set the rag aside and reached over her into his kit again. “We will always be better… think better, learn better, when we are of a unified mind, rather than a fractured one.”

“I had no idea you were such a romantic.”

Emmrich dropped a curved needle into a small cup disinfectant and swirled it around. “Or a foolish dreamer perhaps… either way: I may not have to do this, but do not doubt for a moment that I want to.”

Amina didn’t know what to say to that. His sentiments made her wish that she had known Emmrich before she’d been exiled from the Watch. Perhaps things would have turned out differently for her had he been a presence in her life then…

“This is going to be somewhat uncomfortable for you, but I’ve been told I have a soft hand, and I’ll work as quickly as I’m able to.” The introspective, somewhat somber demeanour had vanished and Professor Volkarin had returned. He held up the curved needle and thread he must have prepared without her noticing. Green light danced up his side and illuminated half of his face, casting sharply defined shadows over his brow and well defined cheekbones.

Amina didn’t bother asking if it was the living or the dead who had praised his so-claimed soft hand, but as the needle punctured her skin and the first loop was drawn, she felt herself relax against the cold stone table.

He worked with utter precision, his left hand carefully holding her thigh, trickling gentle healing magic into her as he guided the needle cleanly through one side of the wound and out the other, his pace almost rhythmic. Amina lost herself in the steady sound of his focused breathing and the whisper of his knuckles brushing ever so softly over her skin until at last he tied off the final suture and cut it free from the needle.

“That’s the worst of it done. I daresay I’ve worked on corpses who put up more of a fuss than you.” He set aside the needle and helped guide Amina into a sitting position with a hand on her back.

“If you’re that gentle with the dead, I don’t think they have anything to complain about.” She looked down at her leg and the textbook perfect row of stitches on her leg that spanned about four inches in length over the top of her thigh: it would almost certainly scar, but it would be just another one of many - she’d long ago stopped feeling self conscious about them. “You know what you’re doing, I’ll give you that.”

Emmrich placed a hand over his heart and bowed his head, “From one professional to another, I am humbled by your praise.”

Professionals, right… they were professionals. This was entirely professional.

“Now if you’ll please bend your leg somewhat… yes, like that - right there is good - I’ll dress and bind this and you’ll be well on the road to recovery.”

Professionals.

The word kept bouncing around her head as she silently observed Emmrich apply a poultice to the wound, and with each pass of the linen roll around her thigh it got louder and louder: she’d been a ‘professional’ her entire life up until this point… what if that title didn’t fit the person she was anymore?

“There. All done.”

Amina slowly shifted in place and dangled her legs over the edge of the table: the dressing was tight but not too tight.

“Ah!” Emmrich’s eyebrows jumped up his forehead and he rushed to tuck in the end of the linen dressing that had popped loose when Amina moved. “My apologies - can’t have that coming loose, now can we?” A stray strand of his hair that had worked itself free as he stitched her up brushed against Amina’s forehead as he fussed with the dressing and she went rigid at the contact as if it had sent a current through her.

Emmrich froze in place as well, and slowly lifted his eyes, apparently only now becoming aware of how close his face was to hers: she could feel his breath on her skin, warm and alive… could count the rust-coloured flecks that were scattered around his dilated pupils. He was between her legs again, hips pressed up against the slab. How had that happened?

She felt him run his thumb ever so softly across the linen on her thigh, and her breath hitched in answer to the unexpected but not entirely unwelcome sensation.

He cleared his throat, eyes darting from hers. “That should hold now.”

Though his hand did not linger unnecessarily, she could swear she felt the ghost of his caress one more time as he drew away.

“Thank you,” Amina managed. “I’m uh… I’m quite thirsty - could I trouble you for some water?” She slid onto the floor, gingerly testing her weight on her injured leg - it still throbbed, but she was accustomed to being in pain. Her knees felt rubbery, but that had nothing to do with the blood loss at this point.

“Of course!” Emmrich answered just a little too quickly. “The blanket that Manfred set by the fire should be warm by now - I expect you’d like to retire to your own room to recuperate, but it would be no inconvenience to Manfred and I if you wanted to warm yourself by the fire and stay for some tea? You need to consume plenty of fluids to make up for the blood you lost, you see. As I’m sure you know, the average person circulates approximately five liters of blood through their body, and you surely lost at least–”

It wasn’t that she didn’t want to hear him talk - she actually quite enjoyed his academic rabbit trails - but she definitely did want to sit by the fire, and… she didn’t want to leave. Not after all the fuss it took to get her down here in the first place. Staying awhile longer was the least she could do to demonstrate her gratitude, right?

“Yes!” She all but blurted out over Emmrich’s developing lecture on hematology.

He was practically beaming as he helped her limp over to the plush winged armchair in front of the fire, and as she sat she realized this must be his preferred place to unwind after a long day: there was a small table next to the chair that held a selection of dog-eared books, a pair of rectangular, gold framed spectacles, and a pipe. She stared at the objects, intrigued by the intimate peek into Emmrich’s life.

She glanced to the right where a matching chair should logically be, but there was nothing there - only empty space that made her sad for some reason.

She snapped out of her daze when Emmrich placed the blanket over her, but left her to arrange it to her preference. “Comfortable?” He asked.

“Very.” Amina couldn’t help but smile: he may be doing this out of the goodness of his own heart, but there was no denying that it made her feel special to be fussed over by another person like this. Sure there was that strange occurrence with the dressing, but it was probably nothing - just a misunderstanding on her part. Emmrich was just an uncommonly generous person, that was all there was to it.

He pulled over a stool and kept her company by the fire as she sipped her tea, feeling warmed inside and out by the crackling flames and relaxing chamomile brew. She dozed off eventually, drifting off to Emmrich expanding on his thoughts regarding the use of ectoplasmic reagents in binding rituals… it was genuinely fascinating… but her eyes were so heavy, and her head too. She tried to keep listening once her eyes were shut, but she was so comforted by the scent of fire, parchment, and disinfectant… a scent that she realized reminded her of home just before sleep took her at last.

Home…

#dragon age #dragon age the veilguard #da:tv #datv #da4 #emmrich #emmrich volkarin #emmrich dragon age #emmrich x rook #emmrook #emmrich romance #amina ingellvar #v writes #i heard people were posting untagged end game spoilers on socials soooo i think i'm going to disappear now...#i leave you with this

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