#female rook x emmrich

[heylittleriotact]

*banging pots and pans* Come get your angst! Delicious, heart wrenching Emmrook angst!

𝑀𝑜𝓇𝒾𝒷𝓊𝓃𝒹

adjective

1. near death

2.  stagnant; without force or vitality

One of us needs to consider my mortality.

Had he known what would happen hours later, he would have chosen very different words indeed.

It was a foolish assertion in hindsight - a weak argument and he knew it: Amina was always considering mortality. His, hers, and everyone else’s.

A study of Emmrich's perspective after Rook goes missing: we get to bear witness to a scruffy, smelly, devastated man up to his neck in self-loathing, as well as the spirits that help him.

Contains heavy Act 3 spoilers - proceed at your own risk!

Full under the cut or on ao3

Day 0:

It was extremely unorthodox thinking - there was no evidence or theory supporting any circumstance where it might work: without a body on this side of the Veil to serve as a ballast, it was wishful thinking at best, but he had to try. Not trying meant accepting, and he refused to accept that she was gone - lost forever to the Dread Wolf’s prison. Not with their exchange from the night before being what it was…

That couldn’t be the end. 

He excused himself curtly from the others upon their arrival back at the Lighthouse, expertly sidestepping any inquiries after his own wellbeing that followed him doggedly until they were silenced by the laboratory door slamming shut behind him. Might he have come off as callous? Perhaps. Did he care? Not presently. The time for contrition would come later.

Questions lingered about the specifics of what had happened, but it was easy enough to infer by the fact that Solas walked free and Amina had seemingly vanished from existence, she had been made to take his place in the prison he’d been trapped in. Solas had been able to survive there in that pocket of the Fade, so that meant that Amina could too… for a time at least, if not indefinitely. 

He was going to get her out. 

But first…

He stood in the middle of the room and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath in, holding it… then slowly letting it go in a measured, disciplined exhalation that helped to slow his racing heart as he forced his body back into a state of calm: no mean feat when one comprehended the heaviness of the air as it pressed in around him, the tragic gravity of his task weighing on him.

He lifted his hands, felt the comforting susurrations of the Veil playing over, through, between his fingers as he trailed them through seemingly empty space: a lonely conductor at the podium, leading an invisible orchestra… the melancholy composer of a poignant dirge. 

Threads unravelled with the morose, introspective swell of a cello’s baleful hum, and the vast mystery of Beyond sang to him, a faceless, nebulous chorus of voices, ageless and legion. Some were joyful, others despondent, but they all maintained a pristine harmony that would cause even the most cruel and unfeeling of souls to take pause for the sheer perfection of their sound.

He swallowed away the tightness in his throat. Forced strength into his craven voice. Focused on the familiar verdant light that filtered through his eyelids. 

“Hear me, Amina - with my voice I am calling you!” He sent the words beyond the Veil, where no one may ever hear them again. “I set this beacon for you now: a beacon that will guide you home. Follow my voice. Follow me home: we are waiting for you…. I am waiting for you.” 

With a gesture of his hand that would look very complicated to anyone observing, he tethered the invisible line he had cast into the Fade to the only body in the room: his. Traditionally this particular spell was called upon to guide wayward spirits back to their hosts, or in rare cases, draw the spirit of a dying person back from the Fade before it was too late to resuscitate them. That anchor point in the world of the living was vital for the magic to work, but since Amina left behind no body, Emmrich could only live in hope that her spirit was as tightly bound to him as he suspected his was to her. 

It was likely folly: what affection could survive his cowardice? His preening ignorance? His vainglorious proclivity for driving something away as transcendentally pure as love itself?

But he had to try: at the very least she could live to despise him for the rest of her days. 

The green light faded as his hands stilled and the notes of the symphony resolved. Silence returned so harshly it physically hurt. He opened his eyes and clasped his hands together as he so often did. 

“I need you, dear…”

Perhaps she would hear that too. 

Day 2: 

He was awake well into the early morning hours communing with the dead, listening through the Veil for a whisper, a rumour - any rumblings amongst the spirits that would avail him of his darkest thoughts: even confirmation that she was alive would be enough. 

The spirits were indeed talkative, but not a single one seemed aware of the presence of a mortal woman in their realm.

He wept for the first time that morning as her absence in its totality hit him all at once - the first of many times that tears would be shed in the coming days as he curled around her scent-heavy pillow on the settee in her room. 

The couch which ordinarily felt rather cramped when they both shared it now seemed devastatingly wide and empty without her tangled up in him, giggling softly as she slotted her thigh between his and slipped a hand up the back of his shirt to shock him with the coldness of it against his skin.

Gone. She was gone, and it was entirely his doing…

Day 4:

It had taken precisely eight words to destroy everything, as Johanna’s remains were so eager to point out before he had her temporarily removed to a quiet alcove elsewhere in the Lighthouse. It was an astute observation, and he couldn’t find it within himself to offer a rebuttal to her further assessment that he was a ridiculous gloating twat with a truly awe-inspiring gift for cataclysmically fucking things up for every single poor soul that happened to cross paths with him.

One of us needs to consider my mortality. 

Had he known what would happen hours later, he would have chosen very different words indeed.

It was a foolish assertion in hindsight - a weak argument and he knew it: Amina was always considering mortality. His, hers, and everyone else’s. If life was a sentence in a book, death was simply the appropriate punctuation that marked the end of it: without it, the sentence lost all of its weight and meaning. 

She always spoke so romantically about the inevitability of that final mystery - the peace and freedom from pain and fear that would come with it, and the comforting guarantee of an end in a world where one could seldom rely on the guarantee of anything: food, fortune… love. To her, it was part of a treasured natural order, responsible for everything from the stars in the sky to the worms in the dirt. She was enchanted by mortality… he loathed it.

He dragged his hands through his greasy hair, hunched over an old and fragile tome.A tear splashed on the page, and not wanting to damage the delicate paper even in this state, he wiped it away.

His eyes itched and felt swollen - he didn’t need to look in a mirror to know they were bloodshot from long hours of focusing on print, missed sleep, and periodic bouts of pain and regret that would descend upon him like some great, vicious bird of wrath. It ravaged him with its talons and plucked at his insides with its wicked beak, discarding his guts methodically as it rooted around inside of him for its favored meats: his liver and his kidneys - bloody and succulent. His heart was left untouched by the cruel raptor… it wanted him to feel everything, and he welcomed its agonizing ministrations as he toiled endlessly, trying to find a way to fix his mistake. 

It was his mistake after all. 

“It wasn’t your fault!” Neve had insisted the first time he dared to speak the truth aloud. 

A thoughtful sentiment, but worthless when held up to the light: he had instructed Amina to seize the dagger from Ghilan’nain’s corpse, and she obeyed without question because she trusted him implicitly.

He had been told after the collapse that the death of his parents wasn’t his fault either - as if that was of any real comfort to a traumatized child, newly orphaned and numb with grief. 

Of course it wasn’t his fault - even as a young boy he knew the catastrophic failure of the building wasn’t his doing, but people said ignorant things when they didn’t know what else to say. Things that took root in the heart of a young man, replacing his grief over the years with a solemn and defiant indignance: ‘it wasn’t your fault,’ ‘it was the Maker’s will,’ ‘they’re in a better place now,’ ‘at least they didn’t suffer…’

Why would the benevolent and loving Maker will that a small child should be made to grow up without the love and protection of his Mother and Father? What divine goodness was there in stripping him of that and forcing him to carry the burden of their fates for the rest of his life?

Did people really put any thought to the shallow platitudes they babbled to fill space and tidily rationalize that which is utterly and completely irrational? Or was it merely a performance to give the one who offered them some measure of absolution - a sense that they’ve done the ‘right’ and ‘helpful’ thing in such a circumstance, when in fact they’ve unknowingly heaped another layer of despair on top of an already smothering, lonely mound of it?

Dizzying, petulant questions he had pondered for years… bitter, angry little things that buzzed around his head like grave-flies: when one died, three more seemed to take its place. 

A small, dark part of him - a squirming, fanged thing with gnashing teeth and a tongue like a wooden switch had been sorely tempted to enlighten Neve to the futility of her words… perhaps subject her to what would come across as an overly curt and somewhat sardonic lecture on what one might instead choose to say to a bereaved person that wasn’t the verbal equivalent of spitting in a wound and rubbing salt in it. He might have made her cry, and he would have felt shameful for it later, but in the moment he would have taken what glee he could find in the seed of misery he planted in the world.

Instead he stuffed that wicked, bristling, fanged shade of himself away and reminded himself that Neve was grieving too… as were the rest of them. Not only was Rook gone, but Harding had bravely given her life to defeat Ghilan’nain. Bellara had been captured by the enemy, her fate unknown…

The Lighthouse had taken on the solemn stillness of a mourning parlor, and he should have been the most understanding and compassionate among them of their shared sorrow. He should have been helping them:  shepherding them ably through the tribulations and challenging waves of emotion they would grapple with over the days and weeks to come like he was solemnly sworn to do, but he couldn’t… not when his every thought was occupied by her and the sheer, unrelenting compulsion to right this wrong: he was responsible for her being caught in Solas’ trap - it fell to him to get her out. 

Her hips swayed with her familiar feminine gait as she strolled away from him in a memory, and her dark hair was piled on top of her head in a messy knot… she was breathtakingly radiant in the morning.

He never got to tell her that every morning he got to spend with her - disheveled, heavy-eyed, and often in a state of partial undress - was more precious than life itself to him. He never got to tell her how much he admired her maturity and well-organized mind, because the truth of it was that despite his enviable list of accomplishments and considerable years of experience, Amina possessed an enterprising bravery he knew could not be learned from a book. 

Before the day ended he called through the Veil to her again, and as it had each time, the echo of his words came back empty.

“Oh darling…” He said to the absolute silence of the laboratory. “I’m so sorry.” 

Just like Neve, he knew she’d tell him it wasn’t his fault.

Day 7: 

He had been immersed in the dagger: the act of shaping the raw shard of lyrium into something deliberate and precise. It hung in the air, rotating slowly as he manipulated the Veil around it, giving the material form and purpose. Solas’s dagger was the key to the prison, and he had reclaimed it when he freed himself. Rather than wasting valuable time trying to get it back, it had been communally decided that attempting to duplicate it would be a wiser course of action. Letting Amina go - abandoning her to her fate - was no more of an option for their companions than it was for Emmrich.

He had thrown himself into the work - it gave him purpose and an outlet for the despair that threatened to overwhelm him when his hands and mind stilled for too long.

It was momentum. A direction. 

“Pondering, planning, praying–”

Emmrich nearly leapt out of his skeleton - the shard of lyrium clattered to the workbench. He put out his hand to keep it from bouncing over the edge and shattering on the floor. 

“Never a man of faith - but what else is there to turn to when reason has fled? ‘Please keep her safe.’ Words whispered through a curtain of song: ‘Darling, come home.’”

He took a breath and turned around, finding himself face to face with a spectral woman with ragged, dirty hair and a tattered, stained gown. Her translucent, faintly glowing form was in an advanced state of decomposition: her tongue dangled morbidly from her mouth, attached by the smallest scrap of connective tissue. Her skin was mottled and discoloured and sagged tenuously from the outline of her skull. He could see all of her teeth - not due to a smile or a snarl, but because her lips had dehydrated and withered away.

A rather unusual form for a spirit of this variety to take, he decided. It was a blessing she decided to manifest here in the laboratory and not Taash’s room - she would have given them quite a fright. 

But was he truly so wretched that he had drawn Yearning to this place?

The spirit seemed to pick up on his moment of self-pity and it stiffened slightly, smoothing its decayed hands over the skirt of its ruined dress as it tossed what remained of its hair testily. 

“At least there exists one Watcher who can identify me correctly.” Her voice was an autumn breeze, sharp and stinging. 

He examined her closer, lifted a hand and felt her aura tingle against the bare skin of his palm. “Oh, my apologies,” he pulled the hand back and twined his fingers together in front of himself. “Devotion. I’m humbled by your presence given the circumstances. It couldn’t be that you’ve heard anything in the rippling currents of the Fade?”

“No.” The answer was abrupt but not unkind - the spirit did not dally with unnecessary semantics. “The Lost Watcher is hidden from all but the oldest and most sensitive of us, but she is a being of unique substance and did a great service and kindness unto me once - as she has done for many before me.”

Though the sting that came with confirmation that she was deeply, deeply hidden in the Fade hurt, he couldn’t help but be warmed with a sense of pride by the reminder that his Amina was a champion for spirits like Devotion and had spent her life aiding such beings… a fact that was clearly known amongst spiritkind. 

Glowing green eyes landed on the rough likeness of the dagger on the workbench. “I have heard of you, Professor Volkarin. The others whisper of you even in the deepest halls of the Necropolis as I soothe their loneliness and seek to mend that which has broken them. I would not have found them if not for her.”

He’d heard rumours months earlier of a spirit that had manifested in the deepest, most rarely travelled corridors of the Necropolis. Despite its lesser classification it allegedly sought out the maligned and tormented and cared for them stalwartly with a dedication that was nothing short of admirable. If Amina had been the one responsible for it manifesting in the Necropolis in the first place…

Another thing added to the ever-growing list of things he wanted to ask about - there were so many stories he wanted to hear… but he wanted to hear them from her.

“I will remain here with you, Corpse Whisperer while you toil to reunite with your beloved. I cannot do much, but I can keep the likes of Sorrow and Diffidence at bay, for they are drawn to your labours as I was. Work, Watcher… and I will keep you safe.” 

Day 11:

Was she even still alive? The thought burst into his mind unbidden, taking immediate precedence over the words he was half trying to read. Had she languished away by now, her mortal body incapable of sustaining itself in a prison designed for immortal gods? Beyond the need for obvious necessities like food and water, what horrors lurked in that place as retribution for the sins of the gods? Could she defend herself indefinitely? And if she had died, were those final moments peaceful: the welcoming of the sunset at the end of a long day? Or were they desperate seconds that stretched into eternity as she realized her impending and unavoidable demise, her entire being gripped with loneliness and terror as life slipped from her grasp like the finest grains of sand…

“No.” The assertion possessed defiance he didn’t think he was capable of. “I cannot think like that.”

She isn’t dead… she can’t be dead for the simple fact that there’s so much I have yet to say to her…

Denial, this was called, and it was a common coping mechanism amongst the bereaved. The mind was tremendously skilled at protecting itself during times of immense emotional and psychological strain. Comforting rationale would parse itself into a neatly packaged alternative that was easier to confront than the truth - a temporary neurological repair not meant to last forever, but rather allow one to withstand the immediate shock of a loss. But was he suffering the rigors of grief, or was he on the right path with his stubborn refusal to accept anything that didn’t result in Amina warm and safe and alive in his arms?

Did he even deserve her back after how he’d treated her? 

Devotion was a welcome companion and had been a tremendous balm to his soul with its presence alone, but as hours drained away and days seemingly raced past, it was becoming more and more difficult to ignore the mounting odds that there may not be a favourable outcome to this problem. 

He heaved a sigh and straightened in his chair, his spine protesting at the sudden shift in positioning. He ran a hand pensively over his chin as he stared at the pages upon pages of notes, figures, and calculations before him, decently lengthy stubble rasping against his palm. He normally wouldn’t be caught dead with even a day’s growth shading his jaw, but these were extenuating circumstances indeed. That’s what he told himself at least - the truth was that he couldn’t bear to look himself in the mirror for the guilt he carried. 

He could have just ignored it - that persistent tightness in his chest that forecasted the all-encompassing terror that would consume him in short order, stampeding through his body and reducing him to a shivering, clammy skinned likeness of a man. He could have done the intelligent thing and kept it to himself instead of trying to appease it by feeding it more pain. But no. He was Emmrich Volkarin - a smart man; an overachiever; an academic and philosophical force of nature - he knew what was best for him in that moment… and what was best for her, because for all of her quaint cheerful talk about death over breakfast, she hadn’t the faintest idea what she was talking about, and honestly, that pointy, vile little part of himself that he kept shackled with clever repartee and gentlemanly manners wanted to break that naive innocence.

So he bit. He lashed out like one of the dirty, malnourished, terrified strays that scurried between the narrow gaps of the crumbling buildings in the part of the capital that he called home in his youth. His brittle fangs caught skin and drew blood as he called her age and maturity into question, and he knew it wouldn’t be long before someone hunted him down and put him out of his misery - too dangerous, you see: the world has no need for a creature prone to such violence, even if it was shaped by its circumstances…

Perhaps he belonged in that prison with the gods. Perhaps the Maker had seen fit to free his parents from him: if they were dead, they no longer had to deal with the burden of a third mouth to feed while earning enough gold to maybe sustain one. Perhaps death had been freedom and relief for Rupert and Elannora Volkarin, because there was something wrong with little Emmrich, and it was in everyone’s best interests that he was alone. Perhaps the Maker looked upon Amina with that same kindness and called her away too, not willing to subject this kind, lonely woman to the wrongness that was Emmrich, and his carefully crafted palisade of goodwill that could only temporarily conceal the utter rot that dwelled beyond it. 

He stared sullenly at the now room temperature bowl of roasted tomato soup Lucanis had brought him hours earlier. He couldn’t remember the last thing he’d eaten. Maybe a handful of the spicy peppermint candies that Amina was so taken with. Shortly after she started spending more and more time in the laboratory with him, she strutted through the door one day with a bowl full of them that she set on the mantelpiece, declaring that she was tired of going back and forth to her room to get more every time she fancied another. 

He was always telling her that she couldn’t live on mints and needed to eat properly and look after herself. He ought to take his own advice, but the very thought of food only made his already unsettled stomach turn on itself more. 

His eyes returned to the page as he tried and failed to summon the formidable academic concentration that had gotten him this far in life. 

It was so odd how the words on paper kept replacing themselves with the words he should have said to Amina that night instead of hurling insults at her.

I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you…

He sniffled and rubbed his eyes again, wiping away tears with the heels of his hands. He was so tired of crying. He had cried so much already. Couldn’t he be finished with crying?

He knew if he asked her that question, she’d look at him with that serious but perceiving smile of hers… maybe run her hand soothingly down his arm and say, “I’m afraid it doesn’t work like that, but I’ll keep you company if you’d like: shared sorrow is a halved burden.” 

Fade take him… what a fool he was…

“Professor?” 

Emmrich flinched at the unexpected greeting and looked up. Had Davrin been standing there long? His eyes flicked over to Devotion standing by the door only a few feet from Davrin - it seemed that she was invisible to everyone but himself.

“Davrin,” he put on what he knew to be a cheerful, amiable tone that might have been believable if not for the complete absence of vitality behind it. “What can I help you with?”

He’d spent so much of his life helping the living and the dead to avoid confronting his own horrors… the loss of his parents, his fear of death, the deep and persistent suspicion that he wasn’t worthy of love - why stop now? 

The warden considered him, his handsome face grim and somewhat drawn; that usual fiery spark gone from his warm eyes. Emmrich watched those eyes take note of the untouched tomato soup, then the tear tracks on his gaunt cheeks. “Assan is going stir-crazy, and honestly I think I am too. I thought I’d see if you and Manfred wanted to come for a walk with us. The fresh air and a change of scenery might do you some good… inspire some grand epiphany or whatever you want to call it.”

The mockery of a smile slid off of Emmrich’s face. Davrin surely meant well, but even the fact that he’d asked was yet another painful reminder that she was gone: Amina was the one that usually ventured out with them. “Oh. That’s… that’s very kind of you to offer, Davrin, but I simply haven’t a moment to spare. Every second that passes is precious, and I believe I’m nearing a breakthrough with the tuning of the metaphysical oscillations in the lyrium dagger… I dare not walk away now.” 

It was a blatant and terrible lie: the dagger was on the other side of the room on his workbench where it had sat untouched for two days. Despite this, Davrin seemed to possess the decency to pretend he bought the falsehood. 

“You’re always on her case about taking care of herself - maybe consider taking your own advice, Emmrich: you can’t find a way to bring her back if you’re dead.” 

There was truth in the warden’s words that echoed his own thoughts, but Emmrich struggled to feel inspired by them. 

If he had been the one to retrieve the dagger instead, he could be the one to die alone in the Fade, and she would still be here… safe. Broken hearted, surely, but she would have recovered in time…

He bid Davrin farewell and paced over to the workbench, sitting into his hip and wrinkling his nose slightly. He stared at the softly glowing twin of the dagger bound to Amina’s fate. It would not be arrogant to say that it was an impressive fake. He’d never handled the original personally, but he’d watched Amina fidget with it enough that he was confident that he hadn’t overlooked a single seemingly insignificant detail - he was willing to bet that it was identical right down to the weight. 

A shame that a pretty fake was all it would ever be. 

Their plan to duplicate Solas’ dagger had screeched to a gutting halt when it became clear that there existed no means to enchant the dagger such that it would function the same as the original - not without accessing the unique aural resonances of the Fade that remained a mystery to anyone who didn’t happen to be an ancient elf. His theory was that Solas and the evanuris’ connection to the Fade was fundamentally different on a physiological level than that of a modern mortal. Whether that was a byproduct of their spiritual origin, or the result of them manifesting physically millennia earlier, he couldn’t rightly say… all that mattered was that unless he found a way to transform himself into an ancient elf, the dagger would remain as useless as Neve’s platitudes... 

It was a petty, childish fantasy to stare at the dagger and imagine what it would look like buried up to the hilt in Solas’ eye socket, but when he could feel himself becoming overwhelmed with hopelessness and despair, it helped keep him going. 

Few could guess by looking at him, but he was a creature driven by quiet anger: injustices and wrongs, big and small, collected and deliberately curated; claimed with the same detached fascination one might feel when they spot an interesting stone on a riverbank and slip it into their pocket. 

As he amassed success and wealth and renown, he remembered those who had done wrong to himself and others, and he learned how to smile easily at them with warmth and kindness in his eyes as he shook their hands. He even learned to forgive some of them. 

But he never, ever forgot what they were capable of, and he never ever let himself be fooled into believing that they were good and decent people. 

This ire for a spirit was unusual for him, but impossible to let go of: had Solas known? Had he any idea what Amina meant to him? That she was a beloved person, and so much more than the piece on the chessboard that she was named for? Certainly as a spirit Solas would struggle with the seemingly static, immutable nature of people, but that hadn’t been enough to stop him from falling in love with the Inquisitor, had it? He was not so bound to his spiritual nature that the concept of love was beyond him. 

The fact that Solas was originally a spirit and Emmrich was sworn to protect his kind did not excuse him of the fact that he betrayed Amina… perhaps even killed her.

Her. Amina. Rook. The woman he’d known for such a short time, and whom he could no longer imagine life without. He needed her back - was that so hard for Wisdom to comprehend? Life without her was as much a shallow mockery as the dagger he’d crafted. 

He had waited so long for her - all but resigned himself to a life empty of the companionship and love that he craved with a desperation that had hollowed him out over the years, etching unwritten sonnets and love notes into his ribs until he was certain those words would die with him: an epitaph on the monument of his bones. He would take them to his grave where they would desiccate and become dust with him - imbibed and consumed slowly by uncaring, unfeeling time. 

He could have spent their last night together reading those words to her: letting her peel away his flesh and muscle so she could split open his chest and bear sacred witness to every secret hope and abandoned dream. He should have breathed them directly into her lungs between long, hungry kisses that would serve as his confession that the that his sacrosanct duty as a Mourn Watcher was little more than a facade now, for he no longer belonged to the living and the dead: he belonged to her, body and soul… with what life dwelled in his breast and what eternity his soul could endure. 

But he had done none of those things, and he could almost hear the Dread Wolf laughing at what his hesitation had cost him.

All he could do now was keep working… keep trying. Keep thinking. 

Day 15:

In his dream, he found himself in the vast center of nebulous nothing. There was no sky, no ground, no walls. Nothing with which to orientate himself - up, down - such things appeared not to exist here. 

The only other thing occupying it aside from himself was a faintly shimmering golden haze. It stretched into eternity in all directions. Endless. Incomprehensible.

He might have been gripped with terror at the idea of being alone in a place as strange as this, but he knew better than that: he was most certainly not alone. Of course he was terrified, but more awestruck than anything: if this was what he suspected it to be, this was a very, very rare encounter.

“To what do I owe this great honour?” He spoke into the golden eternity.

Two small suns burst into existence before him. They glowed with white hot fire, but radiated only a gentle warmth that permeated every cell of his being. Slowly the miniature stars rotated around each other, and a voice spoke that he perceived not with his ears, but with his soul, the agelessness and sheer power of it driving the breath from his lungs.

“One who has been drawn to this place many a time as I wander to and fro. Were you aware that it was once a refuge for the newly liberated?”

Its voice almost hurt - it felt like it was vibrating through him at such a frequency that it might rip him apart. Not its fault… it was a trait that likely came with being older than measurable time…

“I was aware,” he responded collegially. “It makes sense that such souls would attract Hope.” 

The orbs of light circled each other slowly… passed through one another in a smooth, hypnotizing motion.

“Verily,” it said. “It stood empty and still for a long time, but still I would visit now and again, if only to revisit the memory of that which dwelled here once.”

“And now?”

“A lone spirit called to me without knowing it. By the time I returned, it was gone. I found you in this place instead.”

The lone spirit it spoke of could only be Solas…

“It’s as plain as anything that you are most certainly not Wisdom. There’s a sort of… desperate imprudence about you that gives it away.” The suns stilled for a moment, shivered, and resumed their languid orbit. “So what are you?”

Did Hope just insult him? How unexpected…

“Only a man of little importance on a journey of great urgency.” He felt emboldened, though he wasn’t sure why. Perhaps it was the spirit’s existence alone that made him feel such a way. “Perhaps you could be of assistance with the matter in question?”

The suns flared slightly, streaks of streaming colour sparking over its surface. His surroundings went slightly rigid, the auric mist prickling his skin. “You carry brittle echoes of death within your spirit. There is bone dust in your lungs. The scent of corpses lingers inside your nose though there are none nearby.”

Emmrich swallowed hard, but remained in place.

“You shepherd the living and the dead towards purpose and convalesce unsettled entities all while fearing your own demise. Despite this you willingly relinquished your only chance to live on in perpetuity - why?”

The immensity of Hope was overwhelming. The fact that a spirit of this magnitude existed was remarkable on its own - the fact that he was conversing with it… unimaginable. But it had asked him a question, and he knew that the manner of his answer was of utmost importance if he was to obtain the aid of this being.

“Because with her I am less afraid to face that fear. It may always hold sway in my heart, but with her beside me, I have hope that all of my days won’t be dark.”

The orbs of light rose and fell… trembled faintly as though excited…

“Fascinating,” it breathed and its air caressed him like a triumphant spring breeze, smelling of honeysuckle and luscious young grass. “I feel the pull of the one that you speak of: she is palpable.”

He was glad to know he and Hope were of the same mind in that respect. 

“The prison she is trapped in is designed specifically to keep me - and others like me - from penetrating its walls, but despair not - you are close to finding the one you seek: there is a ripple in the firmament that you may exploit - a fold in a place of significance to her… a crack.”

Emmrich’s stomach dropped - that could be almost anywhere, and even with a network of eluvians at their disposal…

“The beacon you have set for her is strong and although she cannot hear you, her spirit is joined with yours: look for her in the same place where the initial spark of curious infatuation between you quickened and became flame.”

He looked down at his hand slightly obscured by the actuality of Hope, and turned his mind to the puzzle: was there a single defining moment? Was it a culmination of weeks of stolen glances, shy smiles, and utterly fabricated excuses to find themselves in each other’s proximity once again - innocent and coincidental? 

Yes - there had been a lot of that: dancing around one another politely, both undeniably smitten but neither willing to set aside the consummate professionalism that their vocation burdened them with. 

It could have gone on forever. They might have passed like ships in the night for all their efforts if it weren’t for that one evening that seemed like so many other evenings until it wasn’t: a night of research and reading - both of them hunkered down in the library well past midnight when everyone else had retired. 

The comfortable silence that dwelled between the soft husk of a page being turned every now and then. The easy conversation that flowed between them as they discussed matters ephemeral. Their knees almost brushed more than a few times on that uncomfortable couch. Amina, smothered a yawn here and there; Emmrich glanced up at her every time. 

“What?” She’d ask, a confused little smirk on her divine lips.

“Nothing,” he’d answer. 

He suggested she get some rest: he could continue reading - it was more important that she slept. 

A defiant shrug and a polite refusal - but she did tuck her legs under herself and rest some of her weight against him - nothing familiar… just her shoulder against his. 

Shortly after, he asked for her take on Orlok’s Theory of Asomatous Transitory Regression, and he thought she was taking time to consider her response, but when she remained silent for far longer than he knew was typical for her, he chanced a look down to find her sleeping soundly, her head on his shoulder and her book still spread open on her knees. He thought to rouse her - send her to her room where she’d at least be able to stretch out properly, but something held him back and he found himself gently slipping the book from her hands and setting it aside. Felt himself readjusting his right arm slowly - carefully - so it was around her, and he could share his warmth with her in the drafty space. 

His heart had leapt into his throat, and apologies and placations lined up on his tongue a few minutes later when she made a soft noise from behind her curtain of hair and shifted, lifting her head enough so he could see slivers of green under heavy lids. 

His lungs ceased working.

But instead of lurching away from him, blushing furiously and stammering her own stream of awkward, rushed excuses, Amina just blinked… once… twice… smiled groggily… shuffled down the couch some, rested her head on his thigh and fell back asleep, her hand on his knee.

He read until the morning - the same book three times cover to cover, in fact - because he didn’t dare move her - didn’t dare be responsible for ending that moment because whatever he had glimpsed in her sleep-filled eyes when she looked at him was a kind of magic he had never seen before. 

Everything about it felt like home.

Even when he plucked up the courage to softly capture a strand of raven hair between his trembling fingers… even as he guided it away from her face as she slumbered, even as his touch lingered and he stroked down the silken length of it, his heart thundered. 

That was it. That was when everything had changed for him - and for her. 

“The library,” he croaked, throat tight. “It was in the library. I– I need to go. I need to go there now!” Tears filled his eyes as hope flooded him for the first time in days. A broken laugh burst from his lips and he clutched at his hair, aware that he looked like a madman. “Thank you!” He wept. 

The orbs flickered again - rather like twinkling eyes - and then blinked out of existence. 

“Live well, creature, and of all things that you may choose to abandon in the days to come, may hope be the last of them.” 

He woke on the too-large settee to the cool green light of an aquarium that made no sense. He scrambled to his feet, flipped his hair out of his face, and bolted for the door.

Muffled voices… all familiar - one in particular. His voice. 

Then his shape - his outline - a shape she would know anywhere. 

A hand - a beautiful, soul-shatteringly, heart-achingly artful hand that was capable of healing and holding… destroying, creating, and calming; teasing and caressing - and everything else in between. 

She heard herself sob as she seized that hand with her own and felt muscles and tendons reflexively tense in surprise for a fleeting instant before slender fingers clenched around her wrist in an unexpectedly bruising grip that wrung a clipped scream from her. Her feet left the ground as she was dragged into the bright light, and she was falling forward, up, down, and in directions that didn’t exist all at once. 

Then something solid. Something warm and firm. The feeling of well-worn wool and meticulously cared for linen against her face… a familiar scent, though it was more rustic than usual…

The excruciating pain in her wrist persisted as her eyes struggled to adjust and she looked up. She blinked… once… twice…

“Emmrich?” 

He had a decent start on a beard for one - that was new - and his hair was messier and dirtier than she’d ever seen it. The dark circles under his eyes were a particularly haunting shade of aubergine, and his sclera were dull and bloodshot. He looked like he hadn’t slept in a week. He looked terrible…

“Where’s Varric?” She demanded hotly, panic rising in her chest as she tried to step back so she could get a better look at him - he wouldn’t let her, and she already knew the answer to her futile question. The grip on her wrist tightened and so did her throat as her mind raced to try to comprehend the situation. The grief she felt in Solas’ prison at the revelation of Varric’s death was rapidly being replaced with incandescent rage directed at the Dread Wolf: she was going to destroy him - spirit or not, he had gone too far… “Emmrich!” She yanked her wrist free and let out a cry of surprise as he toppled forward into her arms, a disheveled, weeping mess that took them to the ground. She managed to keep them both upright and Emmrich caged her in an embrace that took her breath away.

“I’m sorry, darling - I love you - I’m s-so very sorry…” He half-sobbed into her ear as he stroked her hair. His voice was so ragged... She felt tears splashing against her, wet and abundant, and her own joined them: confusion and anger and joy converged on her in a baffling wave - she couldn’t house all of this. And Emmrich…

How long have I been gone?

She managed to pull far enough away from him so she could cup his scruffy jaw in her hands and meet his gaze - his haunted, hollow gaze. 

“It’s all right now,” she soothed, summoning up enough calm for both of them - she was beyond furious, but he was despondent, and like any experienced Watcher she knew she needed to meet him on his level - manage herself for the time being. 

She softly traced her thumb down the familiar plane of his cheek and he leaned into her touch, his hand covering hers. “I love you too… I’m here and I’m safe, and I’m–” her voice trembled and broke. “Oh Emmrich… I’m sorry too.” If what she was beginning to suspect was true - if she had been lost to that place of regret for much longer than a few hours - it meant that Emmrich had been sitting on that argument for days at least, judging by the looks of him - her promise that they would talk about it at home a dangling thread that would remain forever untied if she never returned… 

She pressed her lips to his and he sighed into her, some of the tension finally leaving him. “You found me…” she murmured against his skin. “You got me out. Of course you did.” Her arms tightened around him and she kissed him properly - deeply. 

“I couldn’t live with myself knowing the state I had left things in.” He rested his forehead against hers and twirled a strand of her hair around a finger as they sat on the floor, both aware of their audience of companions - both utterly unconcerned about their presence. “Will you forgive me?” 

“If you’ll forgive me,” she offered: she carried her own regrets about that argument… though evidently not as long as he had.

His mouth curved into a smile for the first time and he chuckled weakly. “There is nothing to forgive, my dearest Amina.” His eyes continued to sweep over her as he took her in, mapping every line and angle of her, committing it to memory as if it would ensure she could never be taken from him again. 

“You really love me, huh?” 

“I have for some time, and I’m afraid that rather than embracing that fact with the deference owed to it, I acted like a cowardly fool. If I had only–”

She silenced him with another kiss, his mouth opening as her tongue brushed the seam of his lips. Her fingers stroked through the coarse, straight hair that covered his jaw and she realized with a jolt somewhere around her midsection that she rather liked it. She made a mental note to discuss the future of the beard with him later on, but for now…

“No academic theories right now, Professor…” she whispered. She was exhausted and overwhelmed. She needed to take a minute and just… come to terms with everything. With Varric, Harding, and Bellara; with how long she’d been gone… what the hell she was going to do next. What she was going to do to Solas when she got her violent, creative little Reaper hands on him… 

“Humour an old man,” he smirked tiredley. 

“I’ll consider humouring him in the bath.” 

“You’re no basket of roses either, dear.” 

“Regret bringing me back yet?”

He caught her hand and brought it to his lips, placing a chaste kiss to the back of it, his eyes locked on hers - as red and puffy as they were, the love that dwelled within them was unmistakable, and Amina knew they would never be parted in this life again. 

“Never.” 

[evanhereonearth]

Solas, outnumbered seven to one, overpowered by a lot more than that, betrayed by his best friend Mythal who bound him to her service and coerced him into leaving the Fade and coerced him into making a weapon that would make an entire people tranquil to stop the war she started AND ignored him when he said it would create *checks notes* a blight and made him do it anyway. Solas, facing seven blighted wannabe gods who turned on his best abusive friend Mythal when she finally stood up to them after CENTURIES of him begging her to do just that and starting a rebellion to free all their multitudes of slaves: *creates the veil, imprisons the blight and the Evanuris, and preserves all life in Thedas* World: FUCK THE DREAD WOLF, GOD OF TREACHERY AND LIES *worships the Evanuris and their dragon thralls*

Solas: zzzzzzzzzz (knocked out cold from saving the world for LITERALLY SEVERAL MILLENNIA MORE)

Tevinter: *razes what's left of Elvhenan, steals all their magic, enslaves the elven people for entire length of Solas's world-saving-induced coma*

Also Tevinter: *breaks into the fucking black city and brings out the blight*

Also also Tevinter: *uses so much blood magic that the veil ends up in tatters*

The Blight: >:)

World: fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck *throws everything they can at the blight, including--*checks notes again*--the blight

Orlais: you know what sucks? elves. let's kill them all

Ferelden: good shout, mes amis

Orlais: you know what also sucks? mages. put them in prisons.

Ferelden: you're full of good ideas when you're not invading us

Free Marches: MAGE PRISON, YOU SAY?

Orlais: add templars who can decide to murder them or make them tranquil on a whim at any moment

Ferelden and Free Marches: *frantically taking notes*

Rivain and Nevarra: we're just going to be...over here...

Blights 1-5: i've got a great idea i've got a great idea

Blights 1-5 after a while: my great idea didn't work :(

Archdemons 1-5: ....... :(

Evanuris 1-5: ......... :(

Solas, waking up in 9:40ish Dragon: what the...WHAT THE EVERLOVING FUCKING FUCK. they can just KILL MAGE CHILDREN? AND PURGE ALIENAGES? AND ALMOST EVERY ELF IN TEVINTER IS A SLAVE? *absolutely rabid, seeks out the Dalish, as remnants of his people*

The Dalish, at Solas: *ARROWS*

Solas: ......fuck this shit, fuck all of this shit, fuck these tyrants in particular, fuck this fucking...UGH

The veil, after all this: (o.O:0oO.)

The remaining blighted Evanuris and the 99% of blight that did not escape: :)

Solas: well, that is a problem, going to need to address that ASAP, but turns out millennia of coma doesn't leave a spirit spry

Corypheus, busting out of warden jail: I AM FREE

Solas: hm, could kill that guy letting him unlock my orb, since he broke into my blight prison in the first place and defo deserves dying

Corypheus: veil needs a certain je ne sais quoi, a...bigger hole. i will make one.

Wardens: yes, good plan, blighted magister man. we are in control of the blight inside us and also heroes *in death, sacrifice = divine justinia's ritual sacrifice under thrall*

The veil:

O

Corypheus: >:( but like...not dead

Solas: well, i did not see that coming

Lavellan: *in chains, threatened with execution*

humans: KNIFE EAR >:(

Lavellan: *hole in the sky, hole in her memories, hole in her fucking hand* fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck, wait, this hole in my hand helps close holes in the SKY

Solas: *.* It seems you hold the key to our salvation

Lavellan: i'm sorry what

humans: HERALD OF ANDRASTE!!!!!!!! *falls to knees*

Lavellan: I'M SORRY WHAT

Chantry: *choking in the corner*

Cassandra: time for you to decide the fate of the world

Lavellan: I'M. SORRY. WHAT???????? you know what? fine. *stops alexius from blood magicking his way through redcliffe and time itself, gets punted into a hellscape of nightmares and makes it back with the help of a rebel tevinter mage* the mages i rescued from becoming probable slaves to tevinter are our allies and dorian is my new best friend for being the only reason i made it back alive and the whole world didn't die *dabs*

Cassandra: >:(

Mother Giselle: >:(

Lavellan: ffs

Corypheus: *dragon temper tantrum*

Lavellan: *somehow escapes both dragon and Corypheus, trudges through blizzard, collapses*

Mother Giselle: *.* I FEEL A SONG COMING ON

Literally everyone but Solas: *falls to their knees*

Solas: a word?

Lavellan: OH THANK HEAVENS

Solas: these people are wack and aren't going to like that Corypheus is using elven magic *cough*, they're a hairsbreadth from executing us at all moments lol, btw here's a castle, you know, for you cos i highkey see myself in you and god i'm so fucking lonely

Lavellan: me too but wait, what the fuck is happening. you know what? fuck it. solas, what if we kissed,,, in the fade

Solas: what IF we kissed,,, in the fade *fade tongue*

Solas: ...you continue to surprise me. you show a wisdom i have not seen...since my deepest journeys into the fade!

Lavellan: don't you dare walk away from me now

Solas: okay vhenan i stay

Vivienne: this is a DEMON and NOT A PET

Lavellan: *blinks* right, no, this spirit kid who is the literal only reason we escaped Haven alive is my son now. if he hadn't read roderick's mind we'd all be avalanched or blighted dragoned, so SUCK IT UP

Vivienne: >:(

Cassandra: >:(

Sera: >:(

Bull: >:(

Varric: >:(

Solas: :D

Wardens: btw we're doing blood magic and raising an army of demons. not really our fault but also not NOT our fault? idk, blight in the blood, morally grey area. get it? grey...war--never mind, we'll be at adamant xoxo

Cullen: lotsa soldiers gonna die

Lavellan: fuck, is there another choice?

Advisors: ...no

Cory's dragon: *burninating the adamant, burninating the wardens, burninating all the people and this crumbling ROCKY BRIIIIIIDGE! CRUMBLING ROCKY BRIDGEEEEE*

Lavellan, flying through the air hundreds of feet towards the ground: fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck *opens a rift into the fade*

Everyone but Solas: FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK WE'RE IN THE FADE

Solas: we're in the FADE!!!!!

Lavellan, after escaping the nightmare's lair: glad half the team is pissed at me, what's next, an imperial ball? how hard can that be?

Orlesians: they invited an ELF SAVAGE >:(

Lavellan: you know what, fuck this and fuck Celene for genociding the entire Halamshiral alienage and fuck you, Gaspard, you can be Briala's little French Orlesian bulldog

Half the Inquisition: *shocked pikachu*

Morrigan: allow me to shemsplain all of elven history to everyone, including Solas, yourself, and all the ancient elves in this temple

Lavellan: you know what? okay. *rubs at Mythal's vallaslin, makes eyes real big* who is this "Mythal"

Solas: *choking in the corner*

Cassandra, muttering: i do not want to do a ritual to a false god

Morrigan: lemme have the well, lemme have it, i deserve it more than you

Lavellan: ...abso-fucking-lutely not *drinks from the well out of pure spite*

Solas: WHAT HAVE YOU DONE, VHENAN

Lavellan: idk vhenan, this world sucks and i wanna make it better and i love you

Solas: ...you are everything and you inspire me, hurry, i need to tell you i'm the dread wolf but am going to break up with you and remove your slave markings instead and btw they're basically a drawing of me in my true form and honestly, this whole thing is real fucked up and you're the only real person in my entire life who sees me

Lavellan: wait what

Solas: i'm bad and don't deserve you and had to harden my heart to save the world before and everyone hated me for it so i'm projecting when i say you must harden your heart to a cutting edge to kill Corypheus, I'll explain after we kill him

Lavellan: ...oh yeah guess we should do that but I gotta go meet Mythal first

Solas: wait what

Mythal: *is Morrigan's mum, is only mostly dead, also 100% cool with overriding her servants' will entirely for shits and giggles, 0/10 do not trust* i'll help you if you fight this dragon lol

Morrigan: *choking in the corner*

Corypheus: *has a mahoosive temper tantrum when Mythal's pet dragon kills his pet dragon, dies*

Solas: ;-; ilu, inky, what we had was real but i'm afraid to do to you what Mythal did to me. I MUST AWAY

Lavellan: ....

World: HERALD OF ANDRASTE!!!!!!!!!!!!*

*some restrictions may apply, like in a couple years we're going to forget everything you did and be real mad at you

Solas, somewhere: been there, vhenan

World, two years later: :D we're here to hate you, right on schedule

Qunari: you are in need of the gentle path. therefore, we are coming to kill you all

Solas: like hell you will. but come to think of it, this is a good excuse to see vhenan again

Lavellan's arm: TIME TO DIE

Solas: defo another good excuse to see vhenan again. probs should study that arm anyway

Lavellan, after several Qunari too many: CAN ANYTHING IN THIS FUCKING WORLD STAY FIXED

Inquisition, including Divine Victoria: *shocked pikachu*

Lavellan: i'm going back through the fucking looking glass to talk to some ancient elven sentinels with Mythal's magic whisper well, they're the only fucking thing that makes sense here

Qunari: *destroying everything in sight but getting hounded by the dread wolf at every step*

Lavellan, whose arm is trying to kill her but is following Qunari through her own people's magic mirror world: ...i think i'm in love with the dread wolf

Companions: pfffffft

Cole: :D YES, YOU ARE AND HE LOVES YOU TOO

Lavellan: thank god i have you, cole, my spirit son

Solas, in a statuary garden of petrified Qunari: i suspect you have questions

Lavellan: honestly, fen'harel, not really

Solas: *shocked pikachu* well done

Lavellan: i'm real tired and you could have just trusted me back in Crestwood.

Solas: this world is broken, i must tear down the veil

Lavellan: yep, i'm one "knife ear" away from putting a knife in the next human's ear who says it tbh, i'd rather live in the fade with you and my spirit son, can i help you pls vhenan

Solas: ...no

Lavellan: wtf

Solas, internally panicking because he followed Mythal wherever she went and she dragged him to literal hell and trauma and now his one true love is offering to follow him while he probably makes things worse again: absolutely not, no, but i love you forever

Lavellan's arm: >:(

Solas: ...right, i gotta take that

Lavellan: wait what

Solas: i will never forget you *trundles through mirror with severed arm*

Lavellan: oh fuck my entire life, you know what, Ferelden and Orlais? Inquisition is no more, i'm going on sabbatical to Stone Bear Hold where at least people are not insane and Storvacker loves me, and then i'm going home to the castle vhenan gave me. don't call me. byeeee

ten years later

Varric: gonna go stop Solas, who invented the veil and is From Fade, from doing things i don't understand, wish me luck, inky

Lavellan: WAIT ONE GODDAMNED SECOND I'M COMING WITH YOU

Varric: no <3 i found a complete rando who will fuck everything up

Rook: hey, what if i drop a statue on this nuclear arsenal protecting the biggest biological weapon of mass destruction known to all of thedas? that'll help

Neve, a literal mage who should know even small rituals can blow up and kill you: probs not a good idea but Varric, a dwarf who knows nothing about magic or the veil or the Fade whatsoever says this ritual must be stopped At All Costs By Any Means Necessary so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Varric: Solas I will shoot you with Bianca

Solas: ffs stop *breaks Bianca*

Varric: can you promise me your way is better

Solas: i know way better than to make promises like that, have you seen this world???

Varric: GOTCHA, YOU LYING LIAR WHO LIES

Rook: TIIIIIIIIIIIIIMBERRRRRRR

Varric: defo going to attack the guy whose millennia of existence has been centred on this massive magical problem i do not even comprehend a little after waiting ten years to ask a single question about it when he'd already got going *tries to stab Solas*

Solas, feeling everything he's spent all of world history protecting the world from breaking out of jail: turns the dagger and stabs Varric instead

Elgar'nan: >:)

Ghilan'nain: >:)

Solas: oh for fucking FUCK'S SA--*exit, stage Fade Jail*

Blight: >:)

Rook: oops

Neve and Harding: omg this could not possibly be our fault at all, not even a little. it's Solas's fault, the lying liar who lies

Lavellan: i will not murder this stupid child, i will not murder this stupid child, i will not murder this stupid child

Morrigan: we have to help the stupid child

Lavellan: we have to help the stupid child

Morrigan and Lavellan: *look at each other*

Lavellan: when this is over, i stg--

Morrigan, who has millennia of memories of Mythal abusing Solas and decades of Flemythal abusing her: yeah no i will throw you a going away party and take care of Dorian for you and help you get your boyfriend back and no way will i fight him, this is actually ridiculous

Ferelden, Orlais, and the Free Marches, all of whom turned on Lavellan ten years ago: hELP help HELP there's BLIIIIIGHT

Lavellan to Leliana: you owe me a hundred gold

Leliana: *hands over a solid gold nug*

Ferelden: X_X

Orlais: X_X

Free Marches: X_X

Lavellan: *grits teeth* i better go meet with rook

Rook: andaran atish'an, honoured inquisitor

Lavellan: yo. sure would be nice to be meeting without our gods, you know, destroying absolutely everything i've spent a quarter of my life protecting and rebuilding after the last apocalypse but here we are i guess

Morrigan: *smirks at shade*

Northern Thedas: ROOK IS THE BEST

Southern Thedas: is rook tho

Ghilan'nain: muahahaha i have so many drago---nooo you killed my dragons and i am BLEEDING LIKE A MORTAL PIECE OF MORTAL SCUM

Elgar'nan: my dragon used to be bigger :(

Ghilan'nain: your dragon's fine

Elgar'nan: Ghilly, make it bigger again

Ghilan'nain: can't, too sad. blood. :(

Southern Thedas: *throwing nugs at blight* hELP

Lavellan, with half of Southern Thedas crammed into skyhold: thanks for the castle, vhenan, we'd all literally be dead without it, again

Morrigan: erm, Inky? seems everyone's telling Rook Solas is just a big monster lying liar who lies and blaming him for everything

Lavellan: that's what people do, blame Solas. had a bad day? blame Solas. Mythal wants to sever the titans' dreams? Blame Solas. Rashvine nettle sting? Blame Solas. Bring the veil 5/7 or so of the way down themselves after releasing the blight? Blame Solas. Rook let the gods out? Blame Solas

Morrigan: Inky.

Lavellan: you want me to go pour out my heart to the person who imprisoned vhenan and let out Ghilan'nain, Mother of Tentacles, and Elgar'nan "My Dragon is Bigger than Your Dragon" First and Worst of the Evanuris, don't you

Morrigan: yee

Lavellan: FINE but you better spill every ounce of tea you've got on the stupid child before i go because i need to at least make rook squirm a LITTLE

Morrigan: i thought you'd never ask

Elgar'nan: you won't make my dragon bigger??? fine i'll move the moon instead

Northern Thedas: i'm sorry what

Anyone at sea anywhere on the planet: I'M SORRY WHAT

Ghilan'nain: *throws a temper tantrum and dies*

Elgar'nan: >:(

Solas: fuck this shit, i'm getting out of Fade Jail

Rook: :(

Minrathous: fuck fuck fuck FUCK fuck fuck fuck FUCK FUCK FUCK

Solas: hello, people who enslaved my people for millennia, i am here to save the day i guess

Minrathous, slapping blight tentacles out of their faces: ...honestly thank you

Solas: wait what

Rook: I ESCAPE FADE JAIL SOLAS YOU BASTARD LYING LIAR WHO LIES

Lavellan: i will not murder the stupid child, i will not murder the stupid child, i will not murder the stupid child

Solas: you know what, fair play, here's the dagger, there's elgar'nan, ima bite his dragon, you go have a great time. have fun storming the blight tentacle

Venatori, poster children for the Leopards Who Eat People's Faces Party: nooo the leopards keep eating our faces

Minrathous: wow who could have possibly predicted that

Everyone who has ever met a Venatori: yes, yes, very sad

Elgar'nan, eating every face in the magesterium and effectively cleansing Tevinter of the worst of its monsters in one fell swoop: ah, rook, you can't kill me, i have the biggest dragon ever to dragon

Dread Wolf: honestly he's kinda not wrong, this dragon is a bastard and i am like a fifth of its size and getting p tired, ngl

Rook's Blighted Companion: welp gonnae put this trauma to use for the greater good. go go gadget blight tentacles, release the Dread Pupper

Elgar'nan: *shocked pikachu*

Dread Wolf: *chomp*

Elgar'nan: *throws a temper tantrum and dies*

Solas: oh ffs finally

Rook: not so fast

Solas: oh ffs here we fucking go

Rook: i don't actually want to fight you

Solas: wait, what

Rook: i think this is all my fault but everyone keeps telling me i'm the hero and that's fucked up. and your vhenan, she's nice to me, no one really else is, i'm just everybody's apocalypse therapist, and i even kinda like you tbh, my whole team basically does fun stuff without me and doesn't even invite me to book club and emmrich's the only one who asks me about my feelings instead of just asking me to do stuff for them, and anyway, i'm going to trust the inquisitor here because i'm honestly starved for connection and she thinks you're worth saving so can we talk i don't wanna fight

Solas: what

Lavellan, out of sight, reliving the litany of "i will not murder this stupid child": oh haha awkward

Solas: look,,, i've been bound to the service of an ancient elvhen god for millennia and everything i do, whether i know it or not, is for her, so i can't do what you want and this sucks

Lavellan: even if i'm here, walking the din'an shiral with you?

Solas: ...vhenan

Lavellan: ;_;

Solas: ;_; ...I cannot

Morrigan: yo dread wolf, my mum's a piece of work and i have all her memories and everything she did to you was fuuuuuuuuucked up, anyway, over to her, honestly not pissed you killed that part of her btw, she reeeeally fucked you up, but rook somehow managed to talk her out of her essence, so that's impressive

Solas: what

Mythal: yeah i kinda tore you out of your home and twisted you from your purpose and made you do murder and worse for me for millennia and said i wanted your wisdom and then never ever listened to you ever and just dragged you through every atrocity i created and perpetuated

Solas: it hurts and i guess you're going to kill me now so here's the dagger ;_;

Mythal: it's still mostly your fault but i was there too i guess, anyway, i release you from my service, which i could have done at any point in the past several millennia but instead I tortured you endlessly, lol god of retribution, that's me. k bye

Solas: what the fucking fuck

Lavellan: right there with you, like literally forever, our love is a miracle and the only thing i can even cope with

Solas: yeah honestly fuck this shit, i'm out, i will put myself in fade jail

Lavellan: you are not going by yourself i stg take me with you i wanna go home

Solas: ...home is a literal prison now

Lavellan: sealed away from all this shit? from getting blamed for everything we do no matter how much we sacrifice? if it's you and me there together, i don't care if it's a grey box full of darkspawn

Solas: there's no darkspa--

Lavellan: ffs i said i want to go, you don't have to sell me on it. you're the only person in this world who Gets It. we go on together, forever.

Solas: *.* my wife

Lavellan: *.* my wolf

Northern Thedas: and rook saved the world from the dread wolf, who was a lying liar who lies

Southern Thedas: *busy being dead and blighted*

Lavellan: yeah, fuck this shit, we're out

You can now download this shitpost in beautifully formatted PDF, courtesy of @amburuthings. Thank u for your service *salutes*

You all have had me howling with the tags on reblogs, thank you, I am absolutely dying in deadline hell and needed that

[mx-pastelwriting]

DA HC - Celebrating Your Anniversary

Dragon Age x GN! Reader

Summary: How they would celebrate your anniversary.

Warnings: Established Relationship, Fluff, Anniversary, Kissing, Dates, Fancy Dinners, Camping

Characters: Solas, Varric Tethras, Cullen Rutherford, Iron Bull, Thom Ranier (Blackwall), Lucanis Dellamorte, Emmrich Volkarin, Lace Harding

- Didn't proofread much. I just slammed them into three grammar checkers, so have fun!

Solas

- Solas would remember your anniversary, but even if he didn't, you wouldn't know, as he makes every day with you feel as if it were your anniversary. Being his, finally his, he makes sure you know he has only eyes for you. Making sure you feel that he is yours, you are his.

- Yearly anniversaries, but monthly anniversaries, are not off the table. Taking the yearly dates more seriously, with monthly being a day of finding little surprises in places that are common to you. Leaving your favorite things in those spots, seeing as his face is plastered with a huge smile once you bring the gifts to his attention when finding them.

- The yearly anniversaries would be him worshiping you like a god, more than usual, of course. Almost refuses to have you lift a finger as he fills the day with surprises. Waking to the room being filled with glowing magic, spelling out your name and words of love, with the afternoon being filled with scenic views with shows of ancient elven magic. Ending the day with dinner and a slow dance, holding your body close, warming more than your cheeks, before playing a few songs that he composed on the piano, inspired heavily by his love for you.

- Never will he miss your anniversary but has a chance of forgetting it. In his mind, doing things with a bit of extra love to make it up to you out of guilt does things with extra love and care. Though with enough time or love, you could get the confession of his slip of the mind, knowing he couldn't lie when it comes to you.

- Making the days of your anniversary feel like they last forever; once Solas starts, he can't bear to stop loving your smile. Swearing the smile you wear once that date comes around is different, as much as you plead for him to let you spoil him back. Even when giving in to your pleas, he always finds a way to spoil you right back just to see that smile.

Setting down a plate of Orlesian frilly cakes in front of Solas, making him look up from his notes with pointed ears twitching. Greeted lovingly by a pair of violet eyes, seeing as Solas's eyes crease from the smile that stretched across his lips.

With a swift action, his arm wraps around your waist, pulling you in. Body pressed against his chest, thanking you with kisses that tickled your skin, making you squirm in his hold. Stopping the attack, watching him pull something from under his notes, Solas's eyes watched closely as your face lit up at his gift. Soaking in the smile that lined your lips, hoping it would last forever.

-

Varric Tethras

- Most of the time he would remember it's your anniversary, joking about it in bed, cuddled up warmly if he had remembered what day it was. Dances around the answer if he had forgotten, but eventually, you'd get it out of him that he did forget with a reminder it was only morning, and he has the whole day to make you forget he ever did.

- Celebrate your yearly and monthly anniversaries, though monthly ones are more spotty in celebration. Knowing if he remembers those when finding papers around the place that tell short stories of all the times he found himself falling in love with you all over again.

- Yearly anniversaries would be Varric trying his best to be the perfect man, with halfway through the day he gives up going back to being the man you love instead of an overly romantic guy that takes you to fancy restaurants. When all you want is to just be with him drinking and have Varric chew off your ear with stories that you’ve heard millions of times, but you’d never tell him that.

- Has missed your anniversary at least once since you've been together. A day filled with apologies and his mood being a bit down, trying his best to make it up to you. Gifting you things over the day. Little things that he says remind him of you, giving you a first read of your favorite book series of his, and rare home-cooked dinners.

- Varric is always sweet on you, even after your anniversary. The tender moments don't stop, though the moments are now filled with more jokes than before he loves you just as much as he does during your anniversary, now with more jokes filling those moments.

Watching Varric adoring every smile and face scrunch he pulled while telling you a story he's told you a hundred times, never telling him that fact, though, taking it as an opportunity to just watch him.

Soaking in his mere existence, every smile, frown, and furrow of his brow. Every move makes your mind melt as you're reminded why you feel head over heels for the man. That is until he catches you staring, breaking your longing stare with a charming kiss on the cheek.

-

Cullen Rutherford

- Very spotty when it comes to remembering it's your anniversary, but you give him grace, as most of the time he has a lot on his plate. Reminding him gently every morning on that date it's your anniversary, with a quick curse to himself, he tries to play it off just to panic for the rest of the morning trying to think and plan something for that day.

- Cause of his busy schedule, he prefers to celebrate yearly, but if he's reminded, a gift might end up on your desk or nightstand. Even with the yearly dates, he still has to do some work but tries to plan around it days before if he remembers days before.

- Once Cullen's done with work, he asks shyly for you to dress nicely; that is unless you have something for him once he comes out of his office. Then he stays in the whole night. But if you don't, he takes you away riding on a horse with the sunset in the background, just to arrive at the most breathtaking place. Having packed wine and cheese, wanting to share the sunset with you, telling you of how it reminded him of you and the first night he held you close.

- Having missed your anniversary from being on the battlefield commanding an army or locked away in his office, stumped with letters to write. Walking into the office to find him stressed or just passed out on the desk, ink staining his face when you wake him. Dragging him to bed, letting the commander get some sleep before spoiling him as you remind him what day it is, queuing the flood of apologies.

- The celebration of your anniversary would only last a day and a half, with Cullen being busy and all; he still tries to make up for the lost time from work. Stealing kisses from you the next day, along with leaving little letters or gifts he tucked away in your pockets early in the morning, to then get all shy when you mention them.

Walking into Cullen's office, seeing as he was noise-deep into writing a letter, someone who was not you having the note he had written to you in hand.

Spooking the commander as you sat atop the desk corner, meeting his amber eyes, watch and the rush of surprise disappear before softening at the sight of you—that is until he sees that piece of paper in your hand. Cullen's cheeks flash red as he looks off to the side, laughing nervously, having written the letter in a moment of passion. Needing a few glasses of drinks to get those words out of him without him stuttering and getting all blushy.

-

Iron Bull

- Qunari don't have anniversaries, so he would remember, as he doesn't practice or have a deep grasp on the celebration. Only having you to learn about it and to even start celebrating it. Even after that, he tries to remember wanting to see you smile.

- Would start either monthly or yearly depending on your preference, but monthlies are a good start, letting him have practice on what to do and what not to do and say. Gets the hang of the physical part of surprising, not so much on the gift-giving, bringing you parts of a dragon or even the whole thing to display somewhere, swearing to yourself if he didn't have horns, he'd be a cat.

- For the first few anniversaries, you would be planning until one day, months before the date, he asked to plan that year. Holding out hope, it wasn't a day of fighting wild beasts he thought were cool, but he surprised you with a night filled with breathtaking views only seen at night and creatures that light up in the darkness of the night. Ending the event at his favorite place to cool off, a hidden-away spring where bugs and creatures glowed around, thriving alongside your love for the bull.

- Misses your anniversary in the start, giving the hunk of a man some grace as this is new to him, coming from a culture that they don't even know who they are related to. Gently reminding the man he would be apologetic, of course, then for the rest of the day, having asked Krem what to do, he tells Bull to make it up to you. Surprising you with flowers and some gifts, with a shower of kisses and charming compliments to resolve everything.

- Learns from you how long the celebration lasts; whether for a day or a week, he goes along with you, not minding even if you want the whole year to feel like it's your anniversary. Over time, he'll read you; every morning when you wake up with a certain smile on your face, he'd know it's another day of celebration, also knowing he'd have to get up soon to make you breakfast in bed only to eat most of it once cuddled back up with you in bed.

Smiling as you watch, Bull sticks another spoonful of breakfast that he made for you that morning into his mouth, then chews happily before continuing with his stories of the time his crew killed a beast.

Hand resting atop your hand as the hunk of a bull sat in your shared bed next to you, not minding at all as he ate from the plate that was meant for you. Loving how he enjoys the days of your anniversary, but for you, it's days of adoring him as he makes the cutest person of himself without even knowing it.

-

Thom Ranier (Blackwall)

- Would remember it every year. Starting from the night before, being extra gushy and lovey-dovey, holding you close in bed as you both fall asleep. When waking on the day, he pulls out all the stops, making every anniversary a memorable one.

- Celebration only yearly; as much as the man loves you, he feels like monthly anniversaries are too childish. Also, monthly anniversaries made him feel as if the relationship wouldn't last long, needing to celebrate yearly to feel that your relationship would last for the years to come.

- Lets you sleep in, cuddling you before getting up to make breakfast, then bringing it to you in bed before setting up the horses to take you both to a place only he knew. Being in a different place every anniversary, never having seen him with it through the year, filled with entries of times you took his breath away. Always surprises you with a diary he kept for that year. Never having seen him with it through the year, filled with entries of times you took his breath away. It was a hefty book.

- Never misses your anniversary, always wanting to be by your side, always finding moments to write down in his anniversary diary. Being content in his mind, there would never be a possibility for him to miss that date.

- As long as he can pull surprises out of his pocket. Having planned the days out months in advance, making sure every day had a new surprise or special moment to be made into a memory.

Thom's warm hand cupped your cheek as he gazed into your eyes, lips inches from each other yearning to meet. Minutes before, having given you his forest memories of you—how the sun rested warmly on your skin, the way your eyes glow in the ray of the light.

Being only a small exert from the diary, having to close it at his request. Wanting you to read it later, needing this memory to be real instead of written down in a book for later.

-

Lucanis Dellamorte

- Always remembering it's your anniversary, holding them close to his heart as it's the first time he gets to share that special celebration with anyone. Refusing to fuck it up in any way and also having Spite to remind him every hour as the date nears.

- Early in the relationship, he celebrates your anniversary every month; if it weren't for not wanting to come off too much, he would celebrate every week or day. Really overworks himself wanting to show you every bit of love he has for you on those days. Even if you ask him to relax, a gift would do the same good; he'd never stop going all out for your yearly.

- Taking up a lot of contracts in advance, saving up for your yearly anniversary, taking you away on vacation to anywhere you wanted to go—even if it's just only the two of you for miles, he makes it happen. Working overtime to plan what fun things to do, where to buy your favorite things, and what gifts to get you, with Spite pitching in with a yell of what he wanted to get you.

- Heart drops into his stomach if he missed your anniversary; even with your reassurance that it was okay, it's not to him. Devastated at the thought of having missed the one special day he gets to celebrate the love he had for you in full, for the first person he'd ever been in a relationship with. Finally talking him down, telling the distressed man you would be happy even if he gave you a flower from the garden outside; all you want on that day is him; nothing else matters.

- For what he has planned, he makes sure the celebration lasts for days; even when running out of ideas on the tenth day, Spite is there, giving him more. The two are a menace when putting their heads together. Starting out romantic after the date, then turning into passion, and lastly, hunger.

Heat prickles through your cheeks as Lucanis's lips soften against yours. Minutes ago, admiring the view of the city lights, then feeling a warm hand planted underneath your shin, you were gently guided right into Lucanis's lips.

Accepting the smooth action, kissing him back, feeling through the kiss as he smiled before moving once again. The same hand trailing up, cupping your cheek with lips rough with passion. Doing the same hands combing through his hair as you dive into his kiss, swearing you could hear Spite faintly.

-

Emmrich Volkarin

- Definitely remembers it, your anniversary, you being the dearest thing to his heart; that date means so much to him, he could never forget it. Planning months in advance, even asking Manfred his opinion from time to time on decisions, wanting every detail of the date to be to die for.

- Would be open to a monthly celebration but has a bit more taste for a yearly anniversary, being able to make everything feel more extraordinary. Worries that the monthly anniversary would dull his yearly surprises. However, if you insisted, he would agree to only having every two- to four-month anniversary, as the man can only pull so many unique date and gift ideas out of him.

- For your yearly, he would take you to see the most extraordinary places in all the world, guiding you in waking the life around the environment, watching everything light up and dance around you both. Speaking of dancing, this man would invite you to dance, head against his shoulder as you danced with the glowing creatures and magic whispering loving whispers into your ear before pulling out the dinner he packed for the picnic you were to have there.

- Rare that he would ever miss your anniversary from forgetfulness, it would be the reason cause of work. Not teaching, but if the Necropolis needed him, he would have to go with a storage promise to make it up to you when he gets back. Making it up to you with days off of teaching and other work, leaving you two just to be together.

- The planned celebration would last no more than a week; by the end of the fourth day, he would be exhausted, leaving you to have a turn to spoil him. Loving every minute of you spoiling him, being the one to now be gifted his favorite things and have surprise meals with his favorite desserts, all for him to enjoy, definitely healing his inner child.

Watching adoringly as Emmrich took a bite of the dessert you made just for him, even when he asked many times if you wanted a bite, you declined every time. Wanting him to have it all to himself, knowing he'd have the biggest smile after.

Chatting your ear off as he did so on many things, watching his lips move with a smile that gets bigger and bigger with every bite. Taking notice with one of his bites as a bit of it stuck to his lip before he could wipe it away, you took the opportunity to wipe it away with your thumb. Stunning Emmrich, watching as you lick it off your thumb. Locking eyes with him, seeing red flashes across his cheeks, before you lean over the table kissing him.

-

Lace Harding

- Lace can be a bit forgetful, but that's one of the things you love about her. So focused on one thing, not even time mattered—a magical experience when it's with you. Looking into your eyes, amazed every time. If it weren't for the mornings of eyegazing, adoring her amazement at your existence, she would have remembered it was your anniversary.

- Love to celebrate both monthly and yearly anniversaries, though the monthly celebrations would be more a day of never leaving the bedroom. Spending most of the day in each other's arms, soaking up each other's warmth before getting up to make dinner together, only to barely get anything done, not being able to let each other go. Ultimately ending the night at one of your comfort restaurants before getting home and back into bed in her arms.

- Yearly anniversaries would be a camping trip; even if it wasn't your thing, she'd smooth-talk you into it. Lace loves seeing you all sweaty and covered in dirt; she thinks it's hot, so this is more of a gift to herself than to you. Never tell you where she's taking you, even covering your eyes when you get halfway there. Only to show you the more breathtaking view before telling you that's your view for the next few days.

- Finally, when reminding her what the date was, watching as her face drops with a red flush spreading across her whole face. The first words out of her mouth would be a curse before the flood of apologies started. Even with all the reassurance in the world, the only thing that would stop her would be a kiss, feeling as all of her worries melt away. Breaking the kiss, the next words out of her mouth are her swearing she's still going to make it up to you.

- The camping trip would last for five days at most. Having only brought food for the first three days, knowing she'd be busy in your arms, then the last days she'd hunt and gather for the both of you. Telling you she never wants it to end, but when it does, she does love the view of you when hiking back home.

Limbs tangled with each other, lips close to raw, minutes ago, breaking the hungered kiss with the breathtaking view in the background.

The fire had died out hours ago, making you rely on Lace for warmth. Happily doing so with open arms, only to attack you with a shower of kisses. Almost sad you have to go back, away from the night sky, brought out Lace's eyes that adored you greatly.

Hello, I hope you enjoyed if there is any grammar mistakes or misspellings sorry about that feel free to let me know in the comments, have a great day/afternoon/night!

Fanfiction is protected under copyright law when plagiarism is involved. If you plagiarize my work, either a piece or whole in any language, I will take legal action. Inspiration or the same idea does NOT apply to this, only word-for-word plagiarism in any language.

♥ mx-pastelwriting does not consent to their fanfiction being copied, copied & credited, translated, used in videos and/or audios, screenshotted, used in AI, or reposted on any other platform without permission.

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Taglist: @blue124th @n0v4hertz @call-me-a-fool @hellok1ttycake

@covertleathers @doombellow @teleanna

[floral-and-fine]

Mourn You Now

Emmrich Volkarin x Mourn Watch Fem Rook (reader)

A/n and Disclaimer: I just want to say I have not finished the game or the romance, so please no spoilers. 😅 I got this idea after the little graveyard date and just had to write it! Thank you!

Thank you @ghostgum for the help ❤️

Summary: Rook is injured in battle, giving Emmrich a lot to contemplate on the matters of life and death.

“Rook’s hurt,” Davrin shouted over all the noise.

Emmrich, who was several feet away, froze mid spell, his eyes sweeping over the battlefield searching for you. Without thinking anything through, his legs started to move.

It was either by skill or incredible luck, but he managed to avoid getting hit or crushed as he rushed to your aid the very moment he saw you collapse. Panic was already settling in before he was even close enough to witness the actual damage and injuries himself.

The fighting and mayhem around him seemed to become a blur, his only objective right now was getting to you. He struggled to catch his breath as his emotion got the better of him. The sounds of the battle that surrounded were now muffled and dull to his ears, especially as the sound of his beating heart grew louder.

It was as if he was underwater, fighting against a current to reach you.

He fell to his knees, gently cupping your face as he tried to wake you, his fingers tapped against your cheek as he called your name. Ice cold fear flooded his veins when you didn’t move or react at the sound of your name or from his nudging.

His eyes widened as he noted the blood pooling beneath you. Carefully adjusting his hands he cradled your head, he could feel blood dripping down his slender fingers to his wrists.

Your shallow breaths did very little to soothe him. He didn’t know what to do, he called out for you louder out of desperation, but you remained unconscious as more blood continued to pool from various wounds.

Were you dying? The thought wormed its way into his head. You were dying, this was it… you’d be gone…

He couldn’t fathom losing you, especially when everything had just begun, this sweet precious love that was blossoming between the two of you, being untimely plucked before fruition…

He had so many things he wanted to show you, so many other little ventures the two of you could share before retiring at the Necropolis where he’d continue to teach.

A sudden longing unfolded, one that begged him to lie beside you and follow your spirit into the fade. The idea on any other day would have been more terrifying to him than all else, but today, at this very moment, it was almost comforting.

“We need to retreat,” Davrin commanded, the sound of his voice breaking through to Emmrich as clearly as a bell. The Grey Warden remained level headed, having grown accustomed to the harsh reality of battle. “Come on, we need to leave. Now.”

Davrin wasted no time, while Emmrich still processed the situation, he knelt down and grabbed your arm, placing it over his neck and his arm helped support you up.

Emmrich finally reacted as soon as he realized that he needed to help Davrin get you to safety. Quickly, he went to your other side to help carry you.

Both men then hurried to the nearest Eluvian.

Arriving back at the Lighthouse, Bellara and Harding took things from there. Bellara shiftly gathered supplies while Harding started bandaging what she could already see.

Emmrich felt so incredibly useless as he watched. Everyone else had acted sensibly and rationally, they were the reason you had a chance at survival.

…

Once Bellara and Harding were finished treating your wounds, Emmrich came into your room to stay with you, desperately hoping you’d show signs of improvement soon.

It wasn’t an easy sight, seeing you unconscious, bruised and beaten. And like a shadow looming over him, he still worried that he could lose you.

He stood awkwardly in your room, his hands fidgeting with one another as he looked around. It almost didn’t seem right for him to be in your room without you being aware of the fact, but he cared about you more than he did about some silly and old fashioned customs.

Emmrich noted some familiar looking items decorating the room, a Nevarran urn sitting on a shelf, a few trinkets you had collected recently from Rivain and Minrathous, but unfortunately the room could use far more books.

He moved a chair over, placing it close to where you were resting.

He recalled several tomes in his possession that he believed would capture your interest. He’d be more than willing to loan them to you. Emmrich would love to hear your thoughts on the rituals detailed in one of them as well as the techniques detailed for mummification in another.

He hoped that the future for you and him still held many late night discussions on all sorts of subjects.

Emmrich’s eyes felt strained as he focused solely on the rise and fall of your chest. Right now, that was the only sign that showed him you were still hanging in there.

The aches and pains of the battle were now making themselves known and his mortal body desired rest, yet his mind and spirit were still wired.

He heard Manfred’s familiar clinking as the skeleton approached with a tray, but Emmrich had no appetite, even for tea. Manfred placed the tray on the table beside the mage and tittered inquisitively.

Emmrich managed to muster a sad smile for his companion, “I believe she’ll pull through, Manfred, thank you.”

He rubbed his face, fighting off the weariness he felt in his bones as Manfred retreated out the room.

…

Your eyes slowly opened, the flickering of a few candles illuminated Emmrich’s tired face which drew your attention. The poor man looked dead tired, but soon his eyes lit up, his entire body acting alert all of a sudden, upon seeing you awake.

“Emmrich?” You whispered in a hoarse voice.

“It’s alright,” he reassured you as he promptly rushed to you and took your hand in his. “But I wouldn’t move too much or too quickly, take it slow please.”

“How bad is it?” You joked, looking at the bandages covering your arm and shoulder, but your smile soon disappeared when you saw the serious look in Emmrich’s eyes.

“Oh,” you swallowed thickly.

His hand squeezed yours reassuringly. “It was a rather close one, unfortunately.”

Silence fell between you, Emmrich’s hand remained on yours.

“Manfred brought tea, if you’re thirsty, although it’s probably gone cold by now,” he offered.

You shook your head, “Not tea, maybe just some water.”

Immediately, Emmrich jolted up from his seat quickly fetching you a glass of water. He helped guide your hand as you took a sip, then placed the glass nearby for later.

Sitting back down, his face scrunched up in concentration.

“Something on your mind?” You asked.

“There is a great deal on my mind,” Emmrich admitted. “In fact, I haven’t stopped thinking since…well since you were injured.”

“Anything I can do to help?”

Emmrich’s gaze shifted, looking slightly embarrassed. “I’d very much like to hold you, as long as you think it wouldn’t cause you any distress or discomfort, of course.”

You smiled at him, “I would like that as well.”

You winced slightly as you shuffled on the bed to make room for him, but before he had a chance to tell you that perhaps this was a bad idea, your fingers clasped around his hand and tugged him towards you.

With a content sigh, his long thin frame curled around yours, his chin buried in your hair as he clung to you. The room was quiet as you and Emmrich simply relished in being close to each other.

One of his hands rested on top of yours, his fingers lazily drew circles over your skin. “I was so afraid that I had lost you, Rook.” Emmrich closed his eyes, “In fact, I was so afraid that for the first time in my life, death didn’t seem all that terrifying.”

“Emmrich,” you murmured softly as you acknowledged the significance of what he just shared.

“Can you believe it?” He half chuckled. “I’m still processing it all to be honest.”

“But there was a moment, where I truly believed that it was over, that your life was over, and I… just wanted to follow you, to stay with you, even if that meant dying.”

You rolled onto your side as best as you could so you could face him, gazing up at him lovingly. It was his tolerance, vulnerability, and honesty that drew to him in the first place.

Just like how he opened up to you at the graves about his fear, how he constantly shared his knowledge not because it makes him feel superior but because he genuinely loves to teach, and then of course there was the connection you shared with him as a fellow Mourn Watcher.

You both could speak so freely with each other without worry. He accepted you completely. Reaching up slowly, you gently stroked his cheek.

“I can almost picture it so clearly, what that future would be like,” he shared, sounding so calm and perhaps even a little elated. “Our remains resting together in a crypt in the Necropolis, a large single headstone engraved with both our names, a sentimental epitaph that sums up our love in both life and death, and our spirits crossing over to fade together, to face whatever comes next.”

“Now that sounds like an afterlife I’d be honored to be a part of,” you smiled, finding the whole sentiment utterly sweet and romantic.

Emmrich laughed, “And eventually some curious young Mourn Watcher will come along, resurrect my skeletal remains, and have to hear all about our remarkable love story.”

He sighed, his eyes moving across your face as he took in every little detail, before pressing a quick kiss to your forehead.

“Thinking about the whole experience, thinking about you, has made me wonder if what I truly fear about death connects back to my parents…” Emmrich shook his head, not ready to delve too deep into past trauma and tragedy. “All I know for certain, is that I have a single request for you, my dear.”

“What is it?”

“Please don’t leave me behind.” His face held a pained expression, his dark eyes

“I would never…” you started, doing your best to sit up to show just how serious you were. You wanted to just grab and show him just how much he meant to you.

“Rook,” Emmrich reprimanded while carefully but firmly pushing you back down onto the bed. “You really need to be taking it easy.”

Now his body was leaning over yours, his hands planted on your shoulders. He was still cautious with you, of course, careful not to squeeze too hard, or put any extra weight on you.

He admired you, transfixed by your beauty, even in your injured state, you were still captivating. Gradually he began to lower himself closer to you, his nose lightly caressing yours before he finally went in for a kiss.

The kiss was slow and tender at first, but as soon as things heated up, when his felt your tongue graze over his bottom lip, Emmrich was quick to end it, pulling away despite your weak protests.

“You need to rest my dear,” he reminded you, getting up to adjust your pillow and fix your blanket. “Can I get you anything?”

You shook your head, “Just lay back down and rest with me.”

Emmrich smiled, slipping back into bed with you. He tucked your head under his as he securely wrapped his arms around your chest. Feeling your warmth, your breath, your beating heart, brought him such comfort that he’d never take a moment alive with you for granted.

[n-evermores]

I just know Emmrich says shit like, “good girl” to my Rook when she does something clever. And he doesn’t even realize what he’s done.

[ariesize]

emmrich x rook: and i'll do anything you say (if you say it with your hands)

A/N: I definitely did not write an 8k word fic about Rook going crazy insane over Emmrich's hands. You definitely can't read it on ao3 here or below the cut.

TW for smoking, drinking, blood.

It’s not something she notices when they first meet. She’s a little busy stopping the end of the world and her priorities are in other places at the moment. It takes a little while, a few weeks after he is officially a member of the team and settled in. After Weisshaupt and Minrathous and all of the other horrors they've experienced recently. 

It happens during a game of Wicked Grace, of all things. 

Rook isn't playing but is happy to sit, enjoying being surrounded by a few members of her team Varric’s team - you're just a placeholder baby. Harding brought the cards, Lucanis picked the wine, and Davrin and Emmrich were all too happy to join in on the game Harding proposed. 

It's a good thing Rook didn't take a hand of cards for herself, as her concentration has wandered to one subject in particular. One person, completely oblivious to where Rook’s thoughts have ventured over the course of the evening. All he’s doing is holding a few cards, passing them back and forth and it's not special in any way - truly a perfectly ordinary moment during a perfectly ordinary evening. She barely even knows him, but all Rook can look at, all she can think about, are Emmrich’s hands. 

All of him is pleasant to look at. He looks good, presents himself in a confident way that she noticed immediately upon their first meeting in the Necropolis, but what's taken her aback are his hands. The rings adorning his long thin fingers glisten just so in the candle light, the delicate way he holds the cards and the way he picks up his wine glass, the bangles on his wrists that make the most pleasing sounds. Rook is entranced. Hypnotized. She has never wanted anything more than she wants those hands on her, in her, anywhere near her as often as she can have them. 

And he has no idea, is none the wiser to the turn of Rook’s thoughts. She knows this is completely inappropriate; he would absolutely never want to fraternize with a girl young enough to be his student would he? She tries to snap out of it, tries to pay attention to the game in front of her but her eyes keep catching the glint of his rings, keep noticing the way he fiddles with which card to place down, how he organizes them just so with fingers skimming the top until they land on the perfect card. She wants to know how those rings would feel caressing her face, her body. Would they be cold? Would they leave marks if he pressed down with a little force on her throat or hips? Would they sting if he slapped her across her ass? Would he keep them on even when-

She snaps out of it, drinks the rest of her wine, abruptly stands up and excuses herself while quickly mentioning that she needs to clean her knives, enjoy the rest of your game, goodnight everyone. Turns heel and all but sprints out of the dining room. It's rude, she knows, and will explain herself properly tomorrow if asked. I just can't have them getting rusted or dull - old crow habits, you know. It's a flimsy excuse but still perfectly reasonable if anyone were to pry. 

When she's safe behind the closed door of the meditation chamber, she does not continue to think about her teammate. She does not sit on the green velvet chaise lounge and think about his hands on her, his voice so rich and smooth and gentlemanly. He's always ready with a compliment and oh, how she loves it when he tells her nicely done, Rook! Would he have such compliments ready if she got on her knees, ready to do as he said? 

Rook tells herself she can do this once, get it out of her system, look him in the eyes tomorrow and claim she's never touched herself to thoughts of him. How improper. Where is her sense of decorum!

But tonight she uses her own hand and pretends it's his. She digs out the two rings she has in her pack, little trinkets she’s picked up here and there, places them on her fingers and grips her throat just so and there, just faintly are two little indentations. Tonight she can pretend there's more and the hand who gave them to her isn’t the one between her legs but the one that is currently across the courtyard and far away from where she wants it to be. 

Tomorrow she’ll set her head straight. Tonight she comes with his name on her lips and knows immediately she's absolutely fucked. 

-

Rook’s lounging on the couch in the library, comfortable as the day is long. There was no reason to leave today so she's taking time to relax - the fact that she protested for a long time when this was suggested by Varric even though her body was screaming for a break notwithstanding. She's not planning, she's not preparing, she's not strategizing like she knows she should be. Instead, she's laying on the couch, an apple in one hand and a knife in the other. She's cutting pieces and eating them, snapping the slices with audible crunch while her attention is on the scene in front of her. 

Standing at the bookshelf are Lucanis and Emmrich. She’s fully staring at them, watching them pick books off the shelves and return others to their spots all nice and neat. What they're searching for, she hasn't a clue, and truly couldn't care less because that's not at all relevant to her train of thought.

No, she's staring at Emmrich’s hands again. Moving across spines, flipping through pages, tracing lines on the page and softly reading them out to Lucanis. Rook cuts the apple, puts the slice in her mouth, closes her lips but doesn't bite. No, that would be far too rational and her brain is not functioning at the moment. She gently pokes and prods it with her tongue, swirls around it a few times and pulls it out with a gentle pop, a small trail of saliva still connecting her to the fruit.

The men in front of her are none the wiser, still speaking in hushed tones about demons and spirits and gods. They have no idea that Rook is daydreaming not of an apple slice, but a certain necromancer’s finger in its place. She gently bites the apple, pulls the slice away from her mouth, thinking that instead maybe this is what it would be like to pull one of his rings off his fingers. He might hold his hand out, ready for her to spit it back into his palm. She would do that with each ring if he asked her to.

She'd do anything for his hands to be on her, his attention turned away from the book and his gentle voice, a little deeper and a little darker perhaps, could be teaching her instead of Lucanis. 

She's completely lost in thought that when she goes to cut another slice from the fruit she misses completely. The knife, thankfully a slightly dull one from the kitchen and not one of her blades, goes directly across her palm and not right through it like it could have. Blood seeps out the cut, not deep enough to warrant any real worry but enough for Rook to gasp in pain loud enough to rouse the interest of her two friends. 

“Rook? Everything alright?” Lucanis asks, seemingly noticing her for the first time since she sat down over half an hour earlier. He and Emmrich walk over to her, see her bloody palm, and leap into action. 

“It's alright, please there's no need to worry. I just cut myself by accident. It's not even that deep,” Rook protests. She stands up, begins walking away to go clean and wrap her hand, when Emmrich steps in front of her. 

“Mind if I lend a hand?” he asks, and oh how Rook would have begged to hear those words in any other context but this. He gently takes her hand and examines her palm, says “Come upstairs with me, if you want. I can clean and wrap it for you,”. 

“No, it's alright, thank you, I don't want to interrupt-” she starts, fumbling her words as she looks at her hand in his. More blood is rushing out, threatening to drip down her arm and onto the floor, but she doesn't care. She needs to get out of this situation before she embarrasses herself even further. 

“Rook, please, I wouldn't have offered it if I didn't want to help. It'll only take a moment.” Emmrich says, and well, she might as well let this cut be worth something. She grumbles in agreement, allowing him to pull her along up to his rooms. 

On the stairs, she glances down at Lucanis. He’s regarding the two of them with squinted eyes and a smirk on his face, that bastard. 

“Crows know better than to cut their hands while slicing apples, Rook.” he says, his voice dripping with sarcasm. 

“If you tell Viago about this I'm sending you back to jail.” Rook deadpans. 

At the top of the stairs she follows Emmrich into his study. He points at his desk and tells Rook to take a seat, it'll only take him a moment to gather supplies. She sits on top of it, not sure if that's what he meant but not wanting to be trapped behind the piece of furniture either. Oh how she's thought of this scenario many times since the Wicked Grace night. In none of them was she bleeding, however, but she's still slightly shocked to have even gotten to this point. 

She makes a note to pull herself together when he emerges into view, sleeves rolled up and carrying a tray with bandages, cloths, and what she assumes is some form of antiseptic. His rings and bracelets, she notices, are still on.

“I apologize, but this might sting a little,” Emmrich says as he takes a piece of cloth and motions for her to place her hand in his. He gently starts wiping away the blood from her palm, careful not to put any pressure on the cut. It’s a little messy, more blood seeping from her palm with every swipe of the cloth. He’s gentle and diligent and so concentrated that she can't help it if her heart rate goes up. Being the object of his attention is too much. Her face is flushed, she’s shaking a little, and worst of all she can feel the heat between her legs building all too vibrantly. 

All because he’s touching her, and her blood is on his hands. There's a few smudges on his fingers, barely any at all really, as he holds her hand with her palm facing upwards. Rook didn’t know she had a thing for blood until this moment, but she’s so flustered by this sight that she wishes the cut was deeper, more bloody, covering his hands while he patches her back up. He’s so gentle but still maintains perfect control over her, flipping her hand around and moving it this way and that. Emmrich could tell her to pick up a book and start reading it outloud right now and she would listen, do exactly as he said. 

“Please be more careful next time you decide to eat an apple. We wouldn't want our fearless leader to chop off a finger,” he says, his tone light and humorous and miles away from where her own thoughts have wandered.

Rook smiles, laughs a little, says she promises to save the injuries for the battlefield. He presses a different cloth, this one soaked in antiseptic, to her hand. He was right - it does sting a little, but her blood is still on his fingers and she wants to offer to clean them for him, bring them up to her mouth and indulge in her fantasy from earlier.

The hand holding hers moves up her wrist just a tad, but it's enough to clue him into her current state. He presses down gently, furrows his brows a little. “Rook, your heart is racing. Are you sure you're feeling alright?” he asks. 

No, she wants to say, I am feeling quite troubled and am in need of your assistance. It wouldn't take much to bring his hands up to her face, mouth, throat, or down to her chest, her hips, between her legs. He's staring at her with concern written clear as day across his face and not realizing the position they are in. She’s fully sat on his desk while he stands in front of her close enough that when they look at each other she has to tilt her head up a little. He's not quite between her legs but a little repositioning and that could be fixed. It's the perfect set up. It's all of her fantasies mixed into one. 

“I'm just still a little distracted these days,” the rational part of her brain that is luckily still connected to her mouth supplies. “It's been a difficult few weeks. I haven’t been sleeping that well,” she adds, hopefully convincing him that that's truly the only thing in her mind. 

He hums in agreement, now slowly and methodically wrapping up her hand. The blood is seeping through the bandage but only just so. Not enough to make a mess. Not enough to, say, get on any other surfaces, any other present parties who have no idea what they’re doing to her. Rook sighs, closes her eyes a little, wills away these thoughts in favor of trying to have a normal conversation and not thinking about getting bent over this desk and fucked into next week. 

Her eyes snap open and she prays that she didn't say that out loud. 

“Well, I’m no healer, but if you have trouble sleeping you are more than welcome to stop in for a chat and a nightcap,” Emmrich says while letting go of her hand and cleaning up the bloody rags. She isn’t surprised by the invitation. She knows he enjoys a few vices in life, he knows his wines and she’s smelled the smoke from a pipe he keeps stashed away on more than one occasion. 

“That's incredibly kind. Thank you, Emmrich.” she said, still looking up at him through her lashes. She knows exactly what she's doing when she bats her eyes, once, twice, lets her mouth rest into an easy smile and tries to look as innocent as possible. The eye contact they’re making is full of tension. He looks down at her lips, only for a moment but it's enough for Rook to notice.

A-ha, she thinks, I got you.

He looks back up at her, his mouth slightly agape in what can only be the realization of their predicament hitting him all at once. He’s again holding her bandaged hand between them, their eye contact unbreaking and it would be so easy to move her legs, spread them slightly so he’s properly standing between them. She could nudge him forward with her foot and wrap her legs around him, so simple then for him to take her face in his hands and kiss her until her brain is quiet. The desk behind her is clear of anything breakable and all she would have to do is lay back and-

Emmrich clears his throat, breaks their eye contact first, steps away from a position that seems to be closer to her than he was a moment ago. Was he as wrapped up in the moment as she was? Drifting into her space, compelled by the same force that’s been driving her mad for weeks on end? 

“Well!” he says, a little loudly and a little too forcefully, “Lucanis and I were in the middle of some terribly interesting research and I should be getting back-” 

“Of course!” she interrupts,  “I’d hate to take up any more of your time!” Rook states, sliding off of his desk and walking over to the door. She pauses, her hand gently pushing the door open. “Thank you again, Emmrich. I just might take you up on that nightcap soon.” 

She leaves, doesn’t look back, but doesn’t hear him move to go downstairs either. She claims that as a win. One small step in the right direction.

-

Rook has upped her flirting significantly since she cut her hand. He has to have noticed, there can’t be any way he hasn’t. There have been some moments, none of them confirming or denying anything other than the fact that he likes to be around her as much as she likes to be around him. 

Moments in his study, in the kitchen, in passing in hallways or on their long treks across the various areas of Thedas where their help is needed. He comes with her almost everywhere now. She's not sure when that started but now it's an unspoken rule that if she's heading off towards danger, Emmrich is by her side. If anyone has noticed they have kept it to themselves, bless them. 

This night is one of those where she is reminded just how much she cherishes her crew. They’ve all gathered for family dinner as Taash has started calling it. Dinner has since ended, Lucanis and Neve are in the kitchen under the guise of cleaning up but really just wanted an excuse to talk away from prying eyes and ears. The wine is flowing freely and quickly, smiles are on everyone's faces, conversations are loud and everything is perfect. 

Rook is sitting with Bellara and Davrin, the three elves swapping silly stories from their previous lives. Davrin is telling a story from his childhood that has Rook and Bellara in absolute stitches. Davrin seems more calm and cool than other Warden’s she's met before. He’s serious when he needs to be, don’t get her wrong, but he knows how to unwind and how to spin a tale so interesting that you can’t help but give him your undivided attention. 

Rook goes to take a sip of her wine and notices the glass is empty. She looks around for the current open bottle and spots it next to Emmrich. At that moment he catches her looking from her glass to the bottle and raises his eyebrows in a silent question, gesturing to the bottle and then to her. Rook nods and smiles, holds her glass towards him slightly to show him the poor, empty state of it. He smiles and gets up, grabs the bottle and wanders over to the group, first topping off Bellara’s glass and filling up Rook’s.

“Oh! Thank you Professor!” Bellara says with a smile that could light up even the darkest, dankest cavern in the Hossberg Wetlands. If anyone was the physical embodiment of the sun and all things nice, it was Bellara. Her happiness was infectious as always, and heightened by the alcohol, Rook found herself to be terribly happy as well. 

Rook never addressed Emmrich by his title. Of course she recognized his profession outside of this team was a prestigious one, but she wasn’t his student or colleague so it never felt right to say it. Not to say she hadn’t thought about it. She’s definitely let her mind wander to a world where she’s sitting in the audience at one of Professor Volkarin’s lectures. She’s seen him get heated in debates with Lucanis and Bellara before and knows how passionate he can be when talking about the subjects he’s devoted his life to. She knows that focus would only come across even more intensely in a classroom setting. 

And so what if she gets a little turned on by that? He would be her authority figure in this situation. Maybe she could have studied under him, been his star pupil, the student he was most proud of. He would be ready to go with compliments, and she would get to watch him cast all day. The way he moves his hands while performing a ritual is exactly that, a performance. He takes on the role not of Professor or Necromancer but Conductor, his hands instructing a music unheard and unseen by Rook.

So, what if she sees a way to use this to her advantage. 

Emmrich is already correcting Bellara, asking her to please drop the title in a setting like this, amongst friends and not in the halls of the Necropolis, when Rook pipes up from next to her,

“Yeah, thank you Professor,” she says. Her cheeks are red from the wine, her lips slightly parted as she raises the glass and  takes a sip. She doesn’t let the moment linger any longer and turns her attention back to her companions, but she hears his sharp intake of breath next to her. 

He recovers smoothly, leaving the bottle with them and returning to his previous spot. Rook glances at Emmrich out of the corner of her eye and sees him grabbing his glass and bidding his companions farewell for the evening. Harding and Taash quickly follow, and Rook knows now is her best shot. 

After a few minutes she too picks up her still full glass, apologizes for interrupting the story but she simply can’t sit up straight any longer and needs to go to her room before she passes out in the dining room. She leaves before anyone can respond and call out the fact that minutes ago she was wide awake and conversing just fine. 

Rook’s not exactly sober, but she’s sober enough to consider the possibility that he doesn't want her like that, sees her only as a friend, is repulsed by her even. She thinks it through, and by the time she's approaching the library she's made up her mind and decides there's no turning back now. She heads up the right staircase in the library and knocks at Emmrich’s door, and hears him yell a “Come in!” from the other side. Rook slips in and gently closes the door behind her. Emmrich is at his desk, striking a match and lighting up the contents of the pipe hanging from his mouth. 

“I had a feeling that might be you at the door. Please, come in!” he says, smoke billowing from his mouth and nose. It’s unreasonably attractive, seeing him like this. It’s a perfectly normal activity and yet he makes it look so elegant that Rook can’t help but find herself staring openly at him. 

“Thought I’d drop in for that nightcap and conversation you promised me a while back,” she says, trying to make her voice as smooth and steady as possible. They've had countless late night conversations and drinks together since he gave her permission to seek him out on sleepless nights but she's hoping this reminder evokes the memory of their almost almost kiss. She approaches his desk and leans her hip up against it, taking a sip of her drink. 

This is definitely one of the more relaxed states she's seen him in. His vest is off, his glove is missing, his shirt unbuttoned (only the top one, but she’s never seen it unbuttoned at all before) and lacking the usual skull collar pins, but his hands and arms are still covered in his gold jewelry.

He takes another drag from his pipe, says “Well there’s no better time than the present. Is there something on your mind?” on his exhale, not blowing the smoke directly at Rook but letting it waft around them, creating a haze in the room. 

“Not particularly,” she says, carefully enunciating each syllable. She thinks for a moment and then backtracks, tapping thoughtfully against her temple like an idea just came to her. “Actually, there might be one thing,” she says, letting the pause sit between them like the smoke in the room. 

“You see, Professor,” she says his title just to see if he would react. And he does, his eyes widening and his face going a little red, coughing slightly as he exhales more smoke. 

“Rook-” he starts, she tries to interrupt him but he talks over her, adding “Rook please, I have to insist that you do not call me that.” he says, the mood shifting from flirty to serious in an instant. Rook’s smile fades and she moves to stand up, already spewing apologies that she’s taken this too far, she’ll drop it instantly, let him get back to his evening when he reaches out and lays a hand on her leg to keep her still. 

Instead of kicking her out like she expects, he stands up and circles the desk, coming around to face her. It’s a familiar moment, exactly the one she wanted to recreate, just now with less blood and more heat and all Rook can do is look up at him, take a sip of wine and set her glass down next to her. Emmrich's pipe is burning away, seemingly forgotten about in favor of this moment between them. He’s not quite leaning into her space, but his height compared to her causes her to lean back against the desk, bracing herself with her hands behind her. 

“I apologize if I’ve gotten this all wrong, and I’ll stop calling you…that. I promise it won’t happen again,” Rook is saying, her eyes following his hands as he moves the one from her thigh and presses them together in front of him as he often does. Breathing deeply, her fears start singing full force in her head. She swears what they’ve been doing is flirting, and she doesn’t want to make him uncomfortable by her advances, especially using his title and their age difference as fuel. 

She’s worrying, clearly it must be plain as day on her face, because what happens next is something straight from her imagination. Pinch her, she might be dreaming. 

She’s about to apologize even further when she feels his finger under her chin, shutting her up more effectively than anything else ever has. He tilts her chin up just slightly, and she knows she looks like a mess right now. Rook feels her cheeks burning and knows her eyes are wide and glassy. 

“I’m not asking you to stop it because I don’t want you to leave me alone, and not even because I don’t like it,” he elaborates. “I only mention it because I’m finding that I do like it, maybe a little too much.” 

Rook is at a loss for words. She’s completely shocked, elated but caught way completely off guard.

“I have never had such a…relationship with a student before and I don’t intend on crossing those lines now. However, I have noticed the increasingly flirtatious way you act around me and I can’t pretend I'm not equally as affected by your presence any longer.” Emmrich says, his finger moving from under her chin, gently caressing her face as it travels up to her cheek. The rest of his hand rests against the side of her jaw, his fingertips just brushing her cheekbone. His thumb swipes gently over her lip, and Rook has to stop the moan threatening to escape her throat with all of her might. 

“There is quite a distance in the years between us, my dear, so please tell me if I’ve overstepped and taken this too far.” he says, his voice soft and low and she doesn’t feel real right now, doesn’t know if this is just the most realistic dream she’s ever had and she’ll wake up hot and flustered and aching with her need for him. 

To answer him she does exactly what she’s wanted to since that day she watched him play cards. She tilts her head down ever so slightly, opens her mouth and takes his thumb in her mouth. Looking up at him she gently sucks before releasing it, effectively rendering him absolutely stunned. Eyes blown wide, mouth hanging open, and she knows the walls between them are officially dust. 

“No, I don’t think you’ve misread the situation at all.” she says, her own hand coming up to grab at the one he has against her cheek. She takes it and brings it in front of her, and loses all sense of self control. Never breaking eye contact with him, she takes his pointer finger and licks a stripe up it, her tongue catching on the ring at the base (cold, she notes, just like she hoped). 

And that's the end of any distance between them. The end of the what if’s and the maybe, maybe not’s she cycles through daily. He gets his hand into her long, wavy hair, the other falls to her hip and he's pulling her head back, exposing her neck and trailing the gentlest series of kisses up to her jaw. He nips at the skin there, just a hint of teeth and tongue and Rook’s mouth is completely open now, the smallest exhale turning into a full on whine at the feeling of his lips against her skin. 

“Please,” is all she can manage and she's absolutely begging now, turning her head to chase his mouth with her own. His face is right there, a millimeter of distance between them. Emmrich laughs, not because this is funny but like he too can't believe what’s happening, before finally pressing their lips together.

Rook wants to shout from the rooftops. She wants to set off fireworks and pop champagne and celebrate. She's finally got him exactly where she wants. 

Instead she adjusts her position so that she's fully sitting atop his desk. Her legs are spread wide and he's standing between them, their bodies pressed together like they can't stand even being an inch apart any longer. 

And the kiss is better than she ever could have imagined. He tastes faintly of wine, more so of smoke and something clean and sweet and oh how she's never going get enough of that. His hand at her hip is gripping her tightly, fingers roaming closer to her backside and she can feel the metal of his rings so clearly and it's so much better than she ever imagined. 

Rook pulls away to get a breath of air and he's there immediately again, kissing her like he's a man starved and she's the sweetest thing he's tasted in so long. He pulls away and she's chasing him just as intensely, just as hungry as he is. It's filthy, all tongue and teeth and she needs him everywhere. His hands, his mouth, she'd make a million blood sacrifices just to stay in this place. On his desk with his hands holding her down with just enough force to keep her steady. 

He's everywhere now, in her space, his tongue in her mouth and his hands, his hands!, finally grabbing at her in almost all of the places she's yearned for him to be. They're on her hips, her waist, slowly moving up and over her breasts and pausing briefly on her throat. He's studying her, mapping out her figure with the scholarly dedication he saves for the greater mysteries of the fade and the undead.

She’s never wanted anyone as badly as she wants him. This wonderful man whose path she never would have crossed were it not for their fight against the gods. How funny it is to find something so precious, perfect and passionate at what could very well be the end of their lives. Well, if I'm going to die anytime soon it might as well be after I learn what pleasure truly feels like, she thinks as his hands continue roaming her body. Nobody has ever made her feel like this nor has she felt such intense desire for any of her previous partners. 

She moves to undo the buttons on her shirt, thanking the Maker she had the foresight to leave off the belt she usually wears for the evening, ready to grant him more access to her skin. He accepts this eagerly, pushing the shirt down her shoulders and taking a step back to look her over. 

And look her over is exactly what he does. Emmrich takes his time, letting his eyes trail over her like she is his most prized possession, a piece of art he'd been looking for all his life. She knows she must look slightly crazed and disheveled, her breaths coming fast and hard as she tries to regain her composure. Her blonde hair is pushed behind her pointed ears, swept off her shoulders to give him a view of as much skin as she can with her pants and bandeau still on. 

And it must all hit him at once, the reality of the path they’re headed down, because suddenly his expression is sober, not shocked but curious as if he doesn't know how this could have possibly happened. 

“Maker’s breath,” Emmrich whispers, turning away from her with one hand on his hip and the other rubbing the back of his neck. She is starting to get worried now, maybe this was too good to be true, maybe he changed his mind and doesn't want her after all. 

“Emmrich?” Rook calls out, fear and worry taking over. “Is everything alright?” 

He spins back around to face her, stands with one arm crossed over his chest and the other propped against it, his hand at his mouth with a deeply serious expression on his face. Every trace of want is gone from his features, and if it weren't for the red in his cheeks and a single strand of hair out of place no one would ever have known that only a minute ago he was kissing her silly and stupid. 

He breathes once, twice, opens and closes his mouth as he searches for the right words. All he ends up saying, however, is simple, cutting right to her nerves and her fears.

“Why?” he asks. Rook’s heart drops, all color draining from her face. 

“I'm sorry?” she asks. She's stunned. She thought he wanted her as much as she wanted him, but clearly that couldn't be any less true. He's looking at her like she's a lost child, a girl who doesn't know what she's doing. 

“Rook,” he starts, with such a softness in his voice and finally reaching out to touch her again. He steps in closer, not as close as they were earlier but close enough to cup his hand around her cheek. She leans into the touch, wanting to press her lips to his palm but holding back the urge. 

“Rook, please forgive me. I don't mean any insult - you’re absolutely marvelous, but I have to know. Why me? The gap between our years is almost as much as your own age. You wouldn't feel more comfortable with one of the others?” he's saying, and of course Rook should have expected this. 

“I don't want any of the others. I want you.” is all she can say in return, her hand coming up to press softly against his which still rests against her cheek. “I don't care that you’re older than me. In fact, it's kind of a turn on.” she says, a smile slowly returning to her face. “I wouldn't be here right now if I didn't want you, Emmrich.”

She takes their intertwined hands and starts slowly moving them down her throat, down her chest until they reach her tits. She grabs his other hand and brings it to her hip, tugging him slightly closer in the process. 

“You don't even understand how much I want you, how I've daydreamed of your hands on me since we met.” she says softly, grabbing onto the lapels of his shirt and pulling him closer. “How badly I want to please you.” Rook says, swiftly unbuttoning his shirt halfway, exposing more skin than she's ever seen on him before. “How badly I want you to please me.”

And finally, finally, his mouth is on hers again. It's gentler this time, not so rushed and urgent. He sets a slow but deeply satisfying pace, takes his time to rebuild the passion from earlier. She wants to go fast, wants his hands to stop roaming everywhere but towards her pants buttons, how badly she wants to show him just how ready and wanting she is. 

Emmrich must sense where her thoughts are because he's pulling away from their kiss, but this time he's grabbing her hands and tugging her along across his study to the bed he has tucked away in a corner behind the spiral staircase. 

Rook sheds her shoes and pants fairly quickly while walking across the room. As soon as he's back within arms reach she starts tugging his shirt untucked and unbuttoning the rest. She’s standing there in just her smallclothes now but there's something about the way he’s looking at her, looking so affected by her want for him that makes her feel stark naked. She pushes up onto her tiptoes and wraps her arms around his neck, pulling him back in for another searing kiss. He bites her bottom lip, so gently and softly but Rook wishes it was harder, wishes he would draw blood and kiss it away. She tucks that fantasy in a drawer in her mind, saving it for later - perhaps another time she can bring it up but now, today, is just about beginnings.

He takes a few steps backwards and sits on the edge of his bed and she's all too eager to join him, sitting down on his lap with her knees on either side of his thighs. His hands are on her waist, almost covering her entire midsection, and she slowly, slowly starts rocking her hips back and forth and the gasp he lets out is the most treasured sound she’s ever heard. She can already feel that he is enjoying this as much as she is, but she’s rewarded even further by his praise. 

Emmrich tells her that she’s exquisite, and doing such a good job, and it just about sends her over the edge there and then. His praise in their everyday interactions always flustered her but here, now, with his lips brushing her ear and his hands on her naked skin it’s otherworldly. He can tell she’s getting too restless, too antsy for this to move forward quickly so she can release this tension building inside of her, and does what Rook always hoped he would. He takes the lead, takes control, instructs her on exactly what to do.

“Darling there is no need to rush tonight,” he says. “Just relax, I promise I’m not going anywhere,” and how she melts, how she sighs and drapes herself over him like her body has turned to liquid. He’s rock hard under her and she’s wetter than she's ever been in her life and he still hasn’t moved his hands down further, rather opting to stroke up and down her sides, occasionally coming up to brush her face, her chest, or gripping hard onto her thighs. It’s driving her absolutely mad, and the more friction she seeks the harder the pressure with which he holds down her thighs becomes. It's hard enough to bruise now, and Maker how she hopes he leaves her covered in marks that only they know exist. She’s in ecstasy, in agony, in everything in between and is seeking a deeper sensation with great fervor. 

Emmrich’s kisses begin venturing down, moving from her lips down her throat and eventually to her chest. His hands move up to slowly unclasp her bandeau and expose her tits. He leans back just slightly, taking in her appearance slowly, savoring each new patch of skin, each scar because she truly is littered with them. Being a crow is not an easy life for multiple reasons but vanity gets dismissed almost immediately when wounds heal poorly, quickly, and the reminders of what once was stays in thin white lines. 

“Gorgeous, absolutely perfect,” he whispers like he physically can’t stop the words from leaving his mouth. Rook’s had enough - she’s writhing in his lap like a pathetic lovestruck fool and needs him to do something now. As much as she’d rather this sped up to the main event, she’s glad he’s so insistent on taking their time, reminding her she’s something to savor and not a quick fuck to pass the time.

She takes his hand, slowly moving it down from her waist to between her legs, only a thin strip of fabric separating her from his hand now. He raises his eyebrows at this, kisses her once, and finally lets his hands wander past her underwear, tugging them down and practically ripping them off of her. She shimmies out of them, kicks them to the floor and she’s finally, gloriously naked atop him and he's still almost fully clothed but the disheveled state of him is just as obscene. 

Emmrich brings his hands between them and starts to remove his rings but Rook intercepts, asks, “Please, can you keep them on a while longer,” and he smiles, laughs softly and says “Any particular reason why?” 

Her skin is burning, her face must be redder than the wine she was drinking only an hour before. “It’s just,” she starts, sighing and grabbing his decorated hand and kissing his palm, running his fingers across her lips. “Your hands, your rings, they’ve caught my attention once or twice,” is all she can provide before her embarrassment overtakes her arousal. 

“Oh do tell,” he says, enjoying this indulgence into her private fantasies. She can’t face him and say this so she does the next best thing, buries her face in his neck as he strokes her back, gently persuading her into telling him what’s on her mind. 

“I just…you have incredibly attractive hands,” she explains. “I may or may not have…frequently…fantasized about them,” she adds, her face absolutely burning with embarrassment. 

“There’s nothing wrong with that, Rook. If you tell me what exactly my hands are doing in these fantasies, I’d be more than happy to turn them to reality,” he says against her ear, kissing the tip of it and slowly running his finger along the edge of the other one. 

And the dam is broken, her brain has short circuited and everything is flowing freely. “Touching me, choking me, fingering me,” she blurts out, “Holding onto me tight enough to leave marks. Sometimes letting me remove your rings with my teeth.” 

“You spend that much time thinking about my hands?” Emmrich questions, not in a demeaning or accusatory way, but with lust and wonder and pure want drenching his words. 

“I told you. You have no idea how badly I want this, how badly I want you,” Rook says.

“Well, who am I to deny you of such an innocent request,” he says, letting his hands wander back down her body, rings still firmly in place. He lets one hand grip her hip, the other continuing to move south until finally reaching its destination, finally making small circles around her clit, so confident in his knowledge of her despite this being the first time he’s touched her. It’s like all those times she’s touched herself and imagined it's him, his deft fingers not even second guessing where to go because he just knows exactly what to do. 

The moment his fingers find that already throbbing bundle of nerves she’s absolutely done. Head tipped back, moans and sighs freely escaping her throat, it takes everything in her not to come on the spot. She holds on as long as possible, letting his fingers work their magic. Slowly he thrusts two digits inside of her, saying, “You’re being so good for me, taking my fingers so nicely,” and it's too much, not enough, she needs all of him immediately. 

And to think only a short time ago she had no idea what tonight held in store for her, had no idea what his hands felt like inside of her, what his voice sounded like as he talked her over the edge. 

It doesn’t take long to get there. Rook was already soaked through her smallclothes when Emmrich kissed her for the first time. One of his hands is in her hair, the other expertly coaxing her towards her release, his praise ringing through her ears. His rings are cold against her entrance, his lips are on her neck saying her name, telling her she’s amazing, and finally the waves of pleasure are crashing over her brain, her hips stuttering on his hand as his fingers trace circles around her clit and move back and forth within her. 

This time, when she comes with his name on her lips, he’s actually around to hear it, to kiss it out of her and tell her how wonderful she is, how perfect she feels, how good she did. 

She spends one moment, two, breathing and regaining control over her senses. He’s still hard beneath her and she immediately feels bad for neglecting him, for making this evening all about her. Her hands move to his waistband, trying to undo the buttons and pleasure him just as he did her, but his hands stop her from moving any further. 

“You don’t need to worry about me, Rook. As far as I’m concerned this night is about you,” he murmurs, lips ghosting over hers as she’s still catching her breath from earlier. 

“I need you, all of you,” she whines, the heat building up inside of her again at breakneck speed. She’s been thinking about this encounter for so long that she’s not going to let it be over that fast. 

“Then I am more than happy to oblige, my dear.” 

-

If the rest of the crew wasn’t wrapped up with their own affairs or actively trying to save the world, maybe they would have noticed the little glances between Rook and Emmrich. They don't see the stolen kisses in an empty kitchen, his hand gently resting on her thigh after family dinner when they're all still gathered around the table, grateful for a slow evening with each other. 

They don’t seem to notice Rook entering and exiting Emmrich’s study at odd hours in various states of dress and undress. They don’t see her pressed up against his bookshelves, or on her knees with his hands in her hair. They absolutely don't hear her moans and cries of joy, don't hear his steady voice talking her through her orgasms or the sweet nothings he whispers into her skin in the early hours of the morning. 

They definitely don't notice the time he bent her over the couch in the library, both of them slightly thrilled with the knowledge that anyone could walk in and see them. He had to keep his hand over her mouth to keep her quiet (which only wrecked her further). 

If they see the little bruises on the base of her neck, her collarbones, her arms that look suspiciously ring shaped and are only a finger's width apart, they don’t ask questions. 

It’s Neve who figures it out first, unsurprisingly. She and Rook are walking back to the eluvian after a meeting at the Cobbled Swan when she asks, 

“So, care to share what’s been going on with you and Emmrich?” She’s got a knowing look in her eyes and a friendly, teasing tone in her voice. 

“There's not much to say,” Rook says, knowing she looks incredibly guilty at the moment. She can feel her cheeks and ears heating up. She shrugs and continues, “He just…is so knowledgeable. About the fade, I mean. And I’ve been learning a lot from his instruction.” she continues futilely. Neve can see right through her if that smirk is anything to go by. 

“Oh I'm sure,” Neve says, smiling and elbowing Rook softly on the arm, detouring their route while Rook is distracted. They arrive at Neve’s favorite fried fish stand and as they get in line she adds, “You’re telling me everything while we eat. Spare no details; I want the full story.” And Rook is laughing, butterflies are fluttering in her stomach and she feels like a schoolgirl giggling about her crush. She obliges and tells Neve everything, secretly excited that they've been noticed, all too happy to gossip with her friend about this aspect of her life. 

Later, when they've returned to the lighthouse, Rook makes no excuses and heads directly up to Emmrich’s room, sparing a mirthful glance at Neve who shakes her head and laughs. She's giddy to tell him the ruse is up, that Tevinter’s finest detective has figured them out.  He's seated at his desk when she opens his door, reading over his correspondences from colleagues at the Necropolis and the latest updates from Myrna and Vorgoth. 

“Give me twenty more minutes to finish up and respond to these and I’m all yours,” Emmrich says as Rook walks over to his desk. “Maybe thirty, but no longer than that.” he adds as she walks behind his chair and wraps her arms around his neck, gently placing a small kiss on his cheek. 

“I just wanted to let you know I’m back from Minrathous. And that Neve has figured us out.” she says, savoring the way he immediately loses concentration on the materials in front of him. 

“Come again?” he asks, brows furrowed and mouth open in that delightful, flustered look he used to get when she first started flirting with him. 

“Turns out we haven't been as sneaky as I thought,” she says, moving to lean back and rest against his desk. Her arms are crossed over her chest but her voice is light, the smile she's had since her lunch outing is still plastered on her face. 

“It was bound to happen eventually with all of us living in such close proximity to one another,” he responds, much more carefree and accepting of the situation than his initial reaction was. “As much as I enjoyed this being our little secret I can’t find it within myself to care too much about the others knowing,” he adds. 

“Well, that’s all I wanted to share. I’ll leave you to it then,” Rook says as she pushes off his desk and makes for the door. She pauses when she feels Emmrich’s hand reaching out and grabbing hers, stopping her in her tracks. She turns back to face him, her eyebrows raising as he reels her back to him. 

“I thought you needed twenty or thirty minutes to finish up what you were working on,” she teases, her voice dropping to an imitation of his from earlier. She jokes, but is all too ready to go along with whatever plan he’s concocting for the rest of their afternoon.

“Well,” he says as he leans back in his chair and she settles down on his lap, knees on either side of his thighs and arms circling around his neck. “I’m sure Myrna and Vorgoth will be fine if I take a little longer than usual to get back to them.” 

“Whatever you say love,” Rook sighs as his lips meet her neck, his hands already gripping onto her hips. The world will keep turning outside of this little bubble they’ve created, the questions from their companions will start immediately once Neve confirms everyone's suspicions. 

They’ll start to really notice the glances, the touches, the private conversations in crowded rooms. But for now it's just them, alone, and Rook finds she doesn’t mind one bit. She’d follow him anywhere, do anything he asked, just to have these moments of peace at his side.

[skelebellie]

desiderium

emmrich volkarin x gender neutral mournwatch!rook

a/n: my last poll solrook vs emmrich ended, and emmrich won. so here’s a treat since im not as busy right now (for 24 hrs). i see a lot of fics making emmrich as some sort of master sex man, but i think there are some real insecurities that would arise out of an age difference relationship. also- i wanted to write carnally down bad rook. also exploring mournwatch rook.

rook does not have any physical descriptors

Warning: Mature. No explicitly sexually themes, suggestive content. slight angst w/ comfort. fluff?

i.e. rook gets FREAKY

Rook settled into Emmrich’s chair comfortably. Their feet pulled underneath them as they poured over one of his tomes. Before his joining, Rook was left throwing stones off the edge of the Lighthouse to see how far they could keep an eye on it before it blipped out into the endless sea of the fade. Emmrich settled at the end of his desk, flipping through a series of scrolls and papers detailing a recent surge of events through the fade. Even if he wasn’t in the Grand Necropolis, he tended to keep busy. It wasn’t the most exciting thing, reading in the presence of their partner, but it was a welcomed contrast to the insanity that followed with fighting ancient elven gods. While Varric described them as a straight thinker and often getting themselves into more trouble than good, it was nice to take off the mask.

However, anxieties were bubbling under the surface regarding their relationship with Emmrich. Nothing remarkably concerning, but they sensed some form of… hesitation. Emmrich had made it very clear how much they loved them, and their neck wasn’t safe from a surprise kiss or the gentle whisper of words. However, outside of that, their romance had been relatively tame. Not that it had upset them, they both had agreed to take it slow. Rook hadn’t been in a previous relationship, as they were far too busy under the Mourn Watch to consider the notion in the past.

For all purposes, Emmrich was exceptionally transparent with their relationship. Even so, Emmrich seemed- how did Harding describe it- mopey? Languid kisses ended earlier, his hands hesitated, and some nights they were even denied the comforting embrace of their lover arms.

Which lead to the moment before them, Rook’s eyes locked onto Emmrich as he continued to read. Only stopping to make eye contact with Rook, the flames of the fireplace dancing across his skin.

“You’re starring, dear.” Emmrich commented, raising his head lightly, the glint of his glasses catching against the golden ember of the room.

“It’s hard not too when you’re so distracting.” Rook responded, closing their book and giving Emmrich a cheeky grin.

“Your compliments find me at the most unique moments.”

Emmrich's words were always well constructed. Even at their most focused Rook could barely knock him off his feet with their flirting. However, Rook also became keenly aware that Emmrich wouldn’t accept said compliment.

Truthfully, it frustrated them to no end. Since they hadn’t escalleted their relationship, Rook made a point to constantly praise Emmrich. It was impairitive that he understand how much they loved him. Especially with the continued teasing from the rest of the group.

A silence fell between the two. However, unlike the prior calm, an air of unpleasantness settled. Emmrich’s eyes stared at Rook as the cogs in their brain ticked and spun.

“Do you not desire me sexually, Emmrich?” Rook responded, voice rather blunt for such a crude comment. Instead of being filled with frustration, their face fell to curiosity- understanding. Rook wasn’t unaware of the different forms of love that were followed across Thedas. Sex didnt equal love, and not all love had to involve sex. So while their initial comment was one meant to open the doors to a productive conversation, it may have come off as accusatory.

“Excuse me?” Emmrich responded, shock evident across his creased eyebrows.

“Do you feel sexual attraction to me? Arousal? Excitement at the idea of my naked”, They rambled, before being swiftly cut off.

“Im well aware of what you mean. What Im wondering is why you would ask such a thing?” His voice turned serious, slightly intimidated at the conversation at hand.

Emmrich had his own demons. He was an accomplished necromancer, reasercher, and professor. But in the ways of long-term love, he had his own failings. Prior to meeting Rook, he had accepted that he would be entombed alone. And while he did love Rook, there were lingering doubts about their relationship.

Could he keep up with Rook? They were much younger, and lacked experience- would it have been better for them to get with someone like Davrin or Taash? Live out the fleeting moments of sexual exileration and lust from a partner their age? Was he fulfilling their needs, or was in inadvertently tying them down? Emmrich had no discourse concerning the age difference, other than the time they would spend apart. Was it selfish of him to love such a young beauty, only to leave them behind? Did Rook even desire him in that way- or was he far from what they wanted physically?

These questions riddled his brain until the night fell silent. And while Emmrich considered himself calm and collected, these worries had inadvertently began to affect the way the treated Rook. Hesitation and doubt imbued with his touch like a sickening virus.

Rook returned a less serious look to Emmrich. “You’ve been hesitant. I dont find your hand on my waist as often, and the physical contact between us has been few and far between. I even walked in earlier this week with some of my buttons undone and you had the gall to button it back up.”

“Im not mad- I understand relationships all take different shapes and forms. But I felt it was a point we needed to address.” They replied, their gaze softening at Emmrich. While they had enough confidence to rival that of Solas’, there was something disheartening at the idea that your partner didnt feel attracted to you. Let alone not find you desirable.

Emmrich’s voice came out soft, and apologetic.

“Oh Dear,” He said quietly, raising up from his seat and discarding his paperwork as he made his way across his quarters. Arriving infront of Rook, taking the book out of their hands and placing it onto the side table. Replacing the leather bound texture with the smoothness of his hands.

“It’s not like that at all. I had no idea I had been coming across as prudish- it’s just that-“, His voice failed him momentarily. Emmrich wasn’t shy, his sexual past was quite adventurous compared to his peers. But for some reason, the daunting idea of not being enough was sufficient to cause doubt within him. His fingertips rubbing over Rook’s palms as he thought.

“Of course I find you attractive. I find myself staring at you when you aren’t looking, unable to peel my eyes away from you- afraid to miss the smallest detail about you. My desire for you, both mind and body, bubbles beneath my skin in the most inappropriate of times.” He coughed out, albeit a bit embarrassed at the sudden confession.

A gentle sigh escaped Emmrich’s nose.

“It’s just that I worry. Nothing more than the ramblings of an older man.” He replied, aiming to settle the conversation with minimal details.

Although, this would not work on Rook. They had spent far too many nights solving the problems of their teammates. And their relationship with Emmrich made it even more transparent to them that something was on his mind.

“Love, please, talk to me.” Rook whispered, standing up from their seat to meet their eyes with Emmrich’s. A pleading look engrained from their eyes to the deepest part of their soul.

A silent moment passed between them, the necromancers shoulders relaxing as a breath he didnt even know he was holding escaped. He didnt want to bother his lover with such trivial things, but he found that they often wormed their way in anyhow. Grateful to be a shoulder of understanding and acceptance. Quietly, he pulled Rook back towards his desk, guiding them with a gentle grip. As he pulled his partner closer, he settled himself at the edge of his desk, shortening himself just enough so that they were eye level with each other.

“It’s not that I don’t find you absolutely enticing, far from it. More so, I am worried about my own endeavors.” Emmrich babbled, his eyes falling to the hands he cradled within his own. Admiring the contrast of his grave jewelry amongst Rooks skin.

“Such as?” Rook asked.

“I find that there are looming doubts within me. That I may not be enough for you- physically. There are far younger individuals who could fulfill my place. At my age, there are much more… compatible suitors. for you” He admitted.

Rook looked back at Emmrich, their face filled with worry. It’s not as if this thought hadn’t crossed their mind. Although, their worries didnt involve their compatibility, sexually or otherwise. They were far more worried about how others would view Emmrich, or if they were fulfilling his needs.

But the momentary falter in their gaze drove Emmrich’s stomach to the bottom of his abdomen. Their hesitancy a personal confirmation of his deepest doubts.

“I see you have your own doubts. I knew It was selfish of me to-“ He responded, gently pushing back against Rook. Only to be met with a force pushing against him, keeping him against the edge of the desk.

“Emmrich, you are not the one who decides who and what I am attracted to.” Rook responded firmly, tone absent of their usual jovial and forgiving nature. Honestly, it shocked Emmrich to see this side of them, the one usually reserved for the battlefield- for a leader.

“I am not ignorant of our differences in age. But do not think for a moment that you had “tricked” me into anything. I knew very well what I was getting into when I decided to pursue you.” They responded, a gentle yet firm hand coming up to rest underneath Emmrich’s chin, closing the small space between the two. Rooks eyes shifted their gaze from soft to an almost peering look. Looking across Emmrich’s face with rigid admiration, as if viewing one of the hundreds of phantasmal paintings that covered the Grand Necropolis.

“It would be amiss of me to not recongnize that being raised by skeletons and spirits in the Grand Necropolis turned my attraction to an… older audience. One that I can assure you fall into.” Rook divulged. Their thumb running across the bottom of Emmrich’s lip, admiring the way the muscle gave way to their finger.

“Darling, I didn’t intend to assume…” Emmrich whispered, his hands settling on their lowers hips given their proximity. Rooks gaze alighting a rumbling heat in his pelvis. There was something about Rooks eyes- the look belonging not to some hesitant, inexperienced lover. Rather, someone who knew exactly what they wanted.

“And yet you did.” Rook responded, shortening the distance between the two until Emmrich was forced to place a hand on his desk in order to maintain his balance.

“I can assure you, I am not without my desires. I am simply good at hiding them. I may be inexperienced, dear, but I am not unknowledgeable about what I want. I just thought it would better to keep said intentions to myself until we discussed it further. However, Im beginning to understand that you are a man of action, not words.” They continued, their hand traveling across the outside of Emmrichs thigh, fingers dancing along the side seam in a manner that caused his leg to shake.

“Must I show you my hunger? Reveal to you the heat that scorches my body until it’s the only thing I think about? How some days you leave my thoughts reduced to its only basic instinct?”

Rooks hand continued upwards, palming across Emmrich’s abdomen as he let out belittled breaths in return. The skillful hands of a mortalitasi unbuttoning his exterior vest to untuck his undershirt. Rooks head dipped into the crook of Emmrich’s neck, quickly removing the skull lapel across his neck to unbutton the top buttons of his undershirt. Needing to pay hommeage to the caratoid artery that kept the object of their desire alive. Belated breaths tickling across the pale skin before them. Tantalising close, as their own wants teetered out from under their control.

“Dearest- I- Please-“ Emmrich responded, his words finally reaching Rooks ears as his other hand clenched across their back. Torn between an embrace and halting them all together.

Softly, Rook’s hand drifted under his shirt, teasing at skin they couldn’t see. There was something arousing about finally getting to touch the skin Emmrich constantly kept covering up. Their feelings at odds with each other as they took the moment to explore. Dip their fingers into his back dimples and forgotten scars as if ingraining it within their memory for a later day. Although, their attention would quickly return to Emmrichs neck. Planting hungry kisses down to his trapezoid, far below the collar.

“Desire is a fools word, Professor. What I feel towards you is not as simple as a want- it’s an obsession. I need you just as much as the blood beneath my skin and the air in my lungs. If I could, I would devour you until we were one and the same.” Rook recounted, before planting wet kisses along the crevices of Emmrich’s life line. Alternating between biting and sucking the skin. Drowning the room out before them in a mixture of heated gasps, soft moans, and the until the fire within Rooks stomach settled into a gentle simmer. Their back only slightly sore from Emmrich’s grasp, before they finally leaned back. Revealing the dischevled Professor, his hair tussled and sweat on his brow. Not that rook looked any better.

Rook paused for a moment, allowing them both to catch their breath, before they removed the hand underneath Emmrich’s under clothes and placing it against his cheek. Relishing in the feeling of stubble just beneath their palm.

“I assume I have been quite demonstrative as towards my intentions?” Rook responded.

Emmrich could only give a wide eyed look, his face teetering on embarrassment and arousal. Shock could barely describe the revelation he just had.

“I think you’ve been quite clear, dear.”

[serbarris]

I'll Crawl Home to Her 

Dragon Age: the Veilguard, some spoilers for plot, spoilers for Emmrichs romance  Pairing: F!Rook (Mourn Watch) x Emmrich Volkarin  Rating: M   Summary: Eight significant times Emmrich Volkarin called Rook by her real name. 

Length: ~2500 words

Read on ao3 here! 

Emmrich Volkarin first called Calliope ‘Rook’ Ingellvar by her name before she went by Rook. 

“Miss Calliope,” Emmrich called over the heads of the handful of students leaving his classroom. At the sound of her name coming from her favourite professor, Calliope instantly flushed and motioned to some companions that they should go ahead without her. “A word if you don’t mind.”  

“Yes, Professor?”  She asked biting her lip. Professor Volkarin was her favourite, not just for his fantastic necromancy skills, or how eloquently he explained such fantastic concepts, but he was also very attractive. At age 35 his hair was greying at the temples, lending him to look even more distinguished than his carefully put-together clothing suggested.  

“I’ve heard from others about your certain... proclivity, to have some ‘adventures’ outside of the Necropolis,” Emmrich began, shifting her paper to the top of the pile, noticeable stains and grease marks littering the off-white sheets. A disapproving frown crossed his face. “I will ask that your future work be submitted with less detritus than the most recent assignment.”   

Calliope looked at her paper and a brighter red coloured her cheeks and chest, “Of course Professor, I’m so sorry. I swear I don’t usually do work outside of the library, but something happened with –.”  

Emmrich held up his hand to stop the ramble from leaving Calliope’s mouth. A soft smile graced his lips, “Not to worry, my dear, but your work is excellent and you should take pride in it. Now please, I have taken up so much of your time already, run along and join your friends.”

 

The second time Emmrich says her name it’s when they meet again, 15 years later. 

Rook had yet to admit to Bellara, or Myrna and Vorgoth, that she did indeed know Professor Emmrich Volkarin, and of his work. Luckily her time away from the Watchers had helped steel her emotions, calm her once easy-to-flush cheeks, and made lies flow smoothly, but she had been anxious all week in the lead-up to their Necropolis visit. Bellara even commented on her makeup that morning, making Rook flush and attempt to wipe some away with the back of her gloved hand.  

-  

“Rook! Lovely to meet a fellow Watcher,” Emmrich exclaimed as he gripped her hand, shaking it politely. “I must confess I apologise if I have you confused, but Myrna had mentioned a ‘Calliope’ to me?”    

Calliope’s face dropped from her measured welcoming smile to a startled expression. Letting go of Emmrich’s hand, she attempted to speak voice unsteady, cheeks flushed. “Uh, yes Professor, Calliope Ingellvar. My friends call me Rook. It uh, caught on in the year since I left the Necropolis.”  

“Ah, no worries, my friend. I shall follow suit.” Emmrich turned with a flourish, leading Bellara and Calliope to the Belfry. Calliope internally kicking herself over the interaction.  

The third time Emmrich said her name was after they shared tea in the Memorial Gardens. 

“Speaking of home, have we really never met around the Necropolis before? Even in passing?” Emmrich’s eyebrows raised as he asked the question. Rook’s eyes widened feeling like a halla in the lamplight. An uncomfortable feeling churned in her stomach as she debated how much of her past to reveal. Especially, how enamoured she was with Emmrich as a young adult.  

“Oh um, I don’t remember everything from my scholar days. I only took a few advanced classes. Got too... busy.” Rook’s mouth dried at the admission. It was a half truth, she remembered nearly every moment of her schooling, growing up with the senior Watchers as guardians, and more books for company than friends, she was in advanced classes at a younger age than many of the other Watchers her age. 

“You know, I’d heard we had a young Watcher getting into scrapes on the streets of Nevarra around then...” Emmrich mused, Rook could almost see the cogs whir in Emmrich’s brain as he searched his memories for a young Rook.  

“They weren’t scrapes! They were... extracurricular learning opportunities.”  

“Aha! That's it! Calliope, you were in my Advanced Fade Studies and Etheric Flows class!”  

Hearing her name from Emmrich’s mouth took her breath away. She had rather hoped he wouldn’t remember her from her scholar years. Calliope couldn’t deny the butterflies fluttering in her body as he remembered her, almost regressing to her 16 year old self, and she endeavoured to change the topic from herself as quickly as possible.  

“Yes, I... your class was most enlightening Emmrich, but I couldn’t help but hear you mention homesickness?”  

The Fourth time Emmrich says her name, it’s a revelation. 

Fighting on the beaches of Rivain always pissed Rook off. It was always too hot, and too sandy. She hated the sand in Rivain, it felt... so coarse compared to the finely milled sand that tracked through the Necropolis. Of course, the scenery of Rivain was stunning and the smell of the ocean air was refreshing, as long as the Antaam weren’t burning gaatlok in her general direction.   

Rook dove for the gaatlok-armed Antaam, pushing her body to flip and attack the hulking Qunari with her imbued daggers. Necromancy pulsing from her hands as she struck true. Pulling her weapons free she could hear Emmrich and Taash finish off the last of the Antaam soldiers who had ambushed them.   

“They just seem to be around every bloody corner here, don’t they?” she exclaimed, wiping her daggers on her bloodstained clothing.   

“Until we can get to the Dragon King,” Taash remarked. The team had tried to track down the Dragon King to no avail, however his poorly planned traps had to lead somewhere.   

“We’ll get to him soon enough Taash, then you can set him straight on Dragons having queens!” Rook stretched to pat Taash on their shoulder in consolidation. Suddenly a loud explosion pierced Rook’s ears, throwing her to the ground some distance away from where she stood. “Calliope!” Emmrich shouted over the ringing in her ears, she felt sand being kicked near her face as Emmrich’s familiar boots came into frame, and a distant squelching noise of an axe being buried into a body barely registered. “My darling are you alright?” Emmrich asked, sending his warming magic over her body to check for internal injuries.  

“I think I’m okay, can you help me up?” Emmrich slowly manoeuvred her to sit, taking stock further before helping Calliope to her feet. He gripped her waist tightly to keep her steady as she threatened to sway, waiting for Taash to make their way over. 

“Hey, Emmrich.”  

“Yes, Taash?” Emmrich was exasperated, whatever could Taash want at a time like this?  

“Why did you call Rook ‘Calliope’? She’s called Rook?”  

The Fifth and Sixth time Emmrich called her Calliope, she had a cold. 

Emmrich looked up from his desk to the sound of Manfred hissing and raising his tray, proud of his assortment of tea, soup and some bread. “Ah Manfred, have you prepared this for dear Rook?” A pleased hiss resonated through Manfred's skull, Emmrich straightened the papers on the desk and rose from his chair, peering through the windows above to where the sun was coming through the windows. “It is about time to give her another tonic. Thank you, Manfred, I can take this next door.”  

Emmrich gently knocked on Rooks’s door, hearing soft snores from behind, he quietly pushed open the door and rounded the middle of the room to the table closest to the sofa. The dim light from candles and the fade fish illuminating his path. Placing the tray down, he crouched down near Rook’s face, and gently rocked her, “Rook? My darling, it’s time to wake up.”  

A grumbling “Mmph” was the reply he received. “Calliope, I brought you some soup.” He drawled elongating her name, much like himself, he knew the food would rouse her from drowsiness. She was often second to the kitchen when food was served, her childhood in the Necropolis meant she often had to go without, and why she often picked up odd jobs around Nevarra City to purchase items that weren’t second or third hand.  

Calliope’s eyes slowly opened, blinking, she noticed even with her lying down and Emmrich crouching he towered over her. As she shuffled to extricate herself from the blanket and sit up there was a thud of a book dropping to the floor. On instinct Calliope reached for it, however Emmrich’s longer reach picked it up far swifter than her lethargic body could match.  The book read ‘The Obverse of Reality: Studies of the Fade in the Waking World.’ A soft gasp left Emmrich as he noticed the book as one of his very own works, Calliope’s copy was too well-thumbed and too battered to be from his own study in the Lighthouse. Calliope noticed his recognition of the title, her face becoming hotter despite the chill that cloaked her body after removing the blanket. “You never told me you have read any of my works, my dear.”   

A shyness crept over Calliope, her eyes darting away from Emmrich’s face as she replied, the congestion in her nose lending her voice a nasal tone, “Well, I was in this class, I had to get your book, it’s even a first edition!”  

“It must have been sixteen years since I published this –” Emrich mused,” I'm sure I’ve published much more recent findings on the Fade, especially since it started to thin.”  

“I like it, I can hear your voice as I read it.” Calliope started, her voice slowly getting quieter as she admitted, “It’s um – comforting, to read a book I know so well.” Emmrich rose from his crouch, placing a gentle kiss on Calliope’s forehead and moving to sit next to her on the sofa. His earthy scent relaxed Calliope instantly. “Well, how about I read some passages aloud as you eat my dear, I also brought another tonic, it should keep your symptoms at bay and allow you to rest.” Said Emmrich, motioning to the tray on the side table.  

Emmrich’s voice was gentle as he read, often musing on additions he would make to the text, or discussing Calliope’s scrawled annotations in the margins. Making note that she used tiny skull shapes to punctuate her ‘i’s’ and exclamation marks. After Calliope ate, she leaned back against the sofa, her head resting on Emmrich’s arm as he continued reading. Emmrich turned the page to the next chapter and Calliope stiffened as she saw the doodle on the page, Emmrich let out a deep chuckle, noting the words written in a loosely drawn doodle of an anatomical heart. Calliope swore she could almost feel every blood vessel in her face expanding, a beet-red flush falling over her face as she scrambled to close the book. Emmrich moved to hold the book far out of her reach, a devious glint in his eye as he drawled “Calliope Volkarin, eh?”   

The Seventh time Emmrich said her name it was to give a gift. 

“My dear, please sit still or else I shan’t be able to give this gift properly.” Emmrich teased. Of course, he’d give her the present no matter what. But after finally acquiring a fitting token of his affection, his love, he wanted to give it to Rook exactly as he imagined.   

Stepping behind her perched on his desk, he opened the soft bag that contained her gift, he peered around to ensure her eyes were tightly shut, letting out an exhale of satisfaction Emmrich moved Rook’s hair to the side, holding it tightly in his hands he twisted her hair up and out of the way, a wry smile on his lips as he pulled lightly on the bundle. Rook let out a gentle hiss as heat pooled in between her legs. “If you could please hold your hair?”   

Satisfied, Emmrich proceeded to undo the clasp of the necklace, threading it around Rook’s neck, his fingers ghosting over her skin as he did so. After it was joined, Emmrich’s fingers lightly traced the chain over her clavicle, placing tender kisses on the back of Rook’s neck. Rook felt the cool weight of the necklace on her sternum, reaching up to feel the pendant, gasping as she raised it into her view. Finely detailed skeletal hands grasped a large garnet, it was hard to tell upside down but it almost looked like the stone was vaguely heart-shaped. “Emmrich, this is far too much! I can’t imagine what it must have cost!” Emmrich paused his careful mapping of Rook’s neck with his lips and moved closer to her ear, his light stubble scratching lightly at Rook’s skin.  

“I saw this when we were back in Nevarra and I couldn’t resist picturing how it would look around your neck, Calliope.” Added to the ministrations on her neck, he knew the reaction she had to Emmrich saying her real name, how a delicious red painted her cheeks and chest, creating the perfect trail for Emmrich’s fingers to follow. Calliope’s squirms brought herself closer to Emmrich, her back hitting his chest as he gently grasped Calliope’s neck with one hand, his other tracing the long line of her tattoo down towards her soft lower stomach. His cool rings icy against her heat.  

“Emmrich” she gasped, breath hitching, reaching for the back of his neck, bringing him closer, and kissing him deeply. Soft moans emanated from the both of them, Calliope broke away inhaling trying to extricate herself from Emmrich’s grasp, but he tugged gently, coaxing her back to her original position. “Calliope, this is about you, my love.” 

The eighth time, wasn’t really the eighth time. By then Elgar’nan had been dead for nearly a year. Emmrich and Calliope had returned to the Necropolis, Emmrich to his shaping of young minds, Calliope to the library, her younger self’s sacred sanctuary. On occasion they would jointly lecture on what they discovered during their time fighting against the Evanuris, careful to still keep some secrets. Manfred was flourishing under the tutelage of the Mourn Watch, his curiosity leading to amusing stories over dinner.  

On this particular evening, Manfred had delivered a sealed note to Calliope, asking for her to arrive in the Memorial Gardens when the dinner bell tolls. 

The flowers in the Memorial Gardens seemed to burst with fragrance as Calliope entered. A bouquet of lilacs stood on the table where Calliope and Emmrich had their first real date when they first started to truly get to know each other. A wisp danced across her vision guiding her past the ledge where a small table was set, taking Calliope back to when they first visited the Memorial Gardens together for the mourning rites, eventually the wisp paused at the steps that led towards the grave covered in snaking Shroud’s Kiss. Calliope thanked the wisp and continued up the steps, and onto the pathway which was littered in a cacophony of flower petals, lilac and yellow beckoning towards the figure at their juncture. Emmrich closed the gap, eager to reach his beloved. “Thank you for coming my darling, I admit it is poor manners on my part for such short notice,” he said entwining his hands with Calliope’s. “Emmrich this is quite the surprise, what’s the occasion?” 

“Well my love, I -.” Emmrich started, clearing his throat. “Calliope Ingellvar, my dearest Rook. Would you be so mad as to agree to a lifetime with a besotted fool of a professor, and do me the honour of becoming Calliope Volkarin?” 

And that was probably the most significant time Emmrich said Calliope’s name. 

[whatsgnat]

The way Emmrich looks at Rook is EVERYTHING

[writingjourney]

Only to Breathe, Only to Feel

Emmrich Volkarin x f!Rook 1/4

Rook is aware that she could be misreading him as well, that her interest might not be welcome and his politeness obscuring any distaste he might have for her advances. It is, perhaps, the one risk that takes her the most courage to face. Or: About a bloody nose, almost kisses and a dance with death itself.

Read the Fic here :) – chapter two is almost done

[fenharelsfang]

The Wolf's Heart (1/5)

The world was awash in a sea of blood, a crimson tide of red lyrium, the Blight, and the shadow of the forced solar eclipse. The smell of smoke and rotting flesh choked the air. People screamed in the city below the Archon’s palace. Darkspawn and other unholy creatures of the Blight stalked the streets, slaughtering anything in their path. Malevolent spirits flocked to the weakening Veil like moths to a flame, possessing any mage desperate enough to invite them in. The fear of death was a very strong motivator. In the sky, a monstrous Archdemon and a six-eyed wolf the size of a dragon fought a battle that shook the very heavens. Meanwhile, a swarm of Antaam soldiers and Venatori agents stormed the city and marched against the makeshift army of Grey Wardens, Veil Jumpers, Lords of Fortune, Antivan Crows, Mourn Watchers, Shadow Dragons, and Inquisition agents, all led by Rook, the man who inadvertently started these unfortunate chain of events.

All was not lost, though. They had successfully defeated and killed Ghilan’nain and now only Elgar’nan stood in the way. Well, Elgar’nan and Solas.

“Honestly, it doesn’t surprise me,” said Rook. He and the rest of the faction leaders were gathered around a grand oak table discussing their next steps. Neve Gallus, recently freed from Elgar’nan’s clutches, revealed to them that once the tyrannical god was defeated, the last of the Veil’s bindings would unravel and it would come crashing down. “Tearing down the Veil has been his goal since the very beginning. He already betrayed me once. It’s his whole schtick.”

“I’m still blown away by the fact that archdemons are just dragons bound to a bunch of magical elves and there were two of them flying around out here,” Warden-Commander Cousland remarked with a whistle. The effects of being a Grey Warden for the past twenty years had taken its toll on her. Her once rich auburn hair had dulled to light grey and dark purple bags sagged under her eyes. She was close to her Calling. The song of the Blight was getting difficult to block out. All those years of searching for a way to free Grey Wardens from their burden amounted to nothing. This last ditch effort to seal the Blight behind the Veil was her only salvation. She prayed it would be enough to quell the corruption in her blood. Once done, perhaps she could finally go home to her beloved King for good and enjoy their twilight years in peace. “And I thought my Blight was bad.”

“... I think I preferred Corypheus,” Hawke confessed, face ashen. She was still haunted by the horror the red lyrium she unearthed had unleashed. Now Varric was dead and Solas used blood magic to trick Rook into thinking he wasn’t. That was sick and twisted. The tale of the Evanuris needed to end and she’d be there to write that final chapter. It would end with their death.

“If anyone can stop Elgar’nan and Solas, it is the individuals gathered here,” Morrigan proclaimed with an air of confidence. She had met each of these heroes, these paragons of light and hope, and helped steer the tides of fate so that they would succeed.

“We know how to beat Elgar’nan,” Rook said. “Solas will take care of his archdemon and, when he does, we’ll throw everything we have at him. It’s what happens after that concerns me.” He looked to Neve, her blood-red eyes sending a shiver down his spine. Ugly black veins pulsed at her temples and black blood dribbled down her chin. She was inexplicably connected to the Blight now, able to feel it and, to some extent, control it. “We need a plan to stop the Veil from falling.”

“The Veil is tied to the ancient elven gods,” Morrigan said. “‘Twill not be a simple matter to find a suitable tether once they are gone.”

“Then let’s tie it to Solas,” Rook suggested. “He’s an elven god and the only one that will be left.”

Inquisitor Ellana Lavellan, standing further down the table next to Morrigan and Dorian, clenched her jaw at the suggestion. Rook didn’t speak highly of the Dread Wolf. It was understandable, really. He had been used and betrayed. Varric was gone, truly gone, and now Harding was lost as well. She could see vengeance coiling around his heart like a viper. That same righteous anger radiated off of Hawke as well. It was horrible, but she … she wanted to defend him! This wasn’t the Solas she knew, the one she fell in love with. They hadn’t seen the softer shades of him: his kindness towards those who were hurting or the way he lit up like a delighted child when speaking about the Fade. He wasn’t so different from them. He had his virtues and vices, his quirks. They didn’t know the elf who detested the taste of tea, the elf who painted beautiful murals on the walls, who could play chess in his head, who had a secret love of romance novels and music. Only she had that privilege. Everyone else who knew the truth of him was gone.

Solas, what have you done?

“You are correct,” Morrigan continued, pulling Ellana out of her troubled thoughts, “but you will need to draw his blood with the lyrium dagger to bind him and I doubt he will approve of the idea.”

Rook smirked, a dangerous glint in his eyes. “I can be very persuasive.” A sigh. “But it will be risky.”

Emmrich cleared his throat. “What about this dagger we made while you were trapped in the Fade?” he suggested, sliding the fake dagger across the table. It was nearly identical to the ritual dagger strapped to Rook’s side. He picked it up and turned it over in his hands. There were no reverberations of magic threaded through it like the real one. “Odds are,” Emmrich continued, “Solas will need to do something else to complete his ritual. This dagger looks identical, but–”

“It can’t cut through enchantments like the real thing,” Rook finished.

“The backlash of such magic will render him helpless,” Morrigan remarked, glancing briefly at Ellana.

Taash stepped forward. “Uh, are you sure you want to try a bait-and-switch on the Dread Wolf? You know, the god of lies and trickery?”

The leaders gathered around the table all seemed sold on that idea. Trick the trickster. Poetic justice. Ellana had been quiet for too long. She may have been speaking to the void, but her words needed to be heard. “Is there a chance, any chance at all, that he’ll listen to reason?”

“Speaking from the heart, Inquisitor?” Morrigan asked. Her smile was sad, sympathetic to the Inquisitor’s plight.

“How could I not?” Ellana protested. “None of you know him as I do. Well, perhaps you do, Morrigan, sort of. The rest of you don’t. You’ve only ever seen the Dread Wolf. I’ve seen the man beneath all of that. If given the chance–”

“We’ve given him plenty of chances,” Rook said. “And he wasted them at every turn.”

“Not every turn,” Lavellan argued. “He saved you and the Dalish elves from Elgar’nan. Even though he was free from that Fade prison, he still worked with the Shadow Dragons and helped protect them from the Blight. He wants to help. It’s all he’s ever wanted to do. His heart has never been in this plan to tear down the Veil. He just … he feels like he has to do this to make up for everything that happened in the past. Everything that he did for her, for Mythal. If I can talk to him–”

“Varric tried to talk to him,” Rook said. “He died for it.”

Ellana’s heart was a stone in her chest. Her throat tightened and she closed her eyes. “I know.”

“You already tried to talk him out of it before and he took your arm for it.”

Her fists clenched and her bottom lip trembled. “I know.”

“This isn’t a fairytale, Inquisitor. You can’t solve this with the ‘power of love’.” Rook struck the table with his fist, startling Ellana so that she opened her eyes to meet his fiery gaze. “He’s too stuck in his ways. He can’t change. Actually, it’s not even that – he won’t change. Not for you. Not for anyone.”

“Rook,” Bellara said, resting a gentle hand on his arm. “That’s enough.” She had been watching the Inquisitor slowly crumble under Rook’s words and it hurt. Ellana’s struggle to save the man she loved mirrored her own trials with Cyrian. In the end, he redeemed himself, though he paid the ultimate price for it. Bellara didn’t know the Inquisitor well, but she didn’t wish that same fate on her.

Ellana glared at Rook with angry, tear-filled eyes, but she said nothing. They were good points, she wasn’t going to deny it. It infuriated her all the same. She wanted to see Solas. Ten long years she had gone without him and she needed to see him to know for sure that he was too far gone to be brought back. From what she heard, he wasn’t. He couldn’t be. She had hope that she could reach him, she just needed one more chance.

“You have options,” Morrigan interjected. “And you can make your choice when the time comes. For now, we have Elgar’nan to deal with.”

“Right,” Rook said. He let out a slow breath to simmer the boiling anger inside of him and rubbed the back of his tense, aching neck. The Inquisitor was a legend. She saved the world from a darkspawn magister and his archdemon. Thedas owed her a great debt. He never imagined someone so powerful, who made choices that determined the fate of the world could be so naive. He noticed how young she looked and began to think that maybe it wasn’t the fact that she was an elf. “Elgar’nan is in the Archon’s palace above us. We’ll all climb the tendril as soon as the archdemon is taken care of. Stock up on supplies and say your goodbyes. It’s time to end this nightmare.”

Rook was the first to leave, stalking off to check in with the faction leaders to get an update on their forces. Warden-Commander Cousland followed Davrin, no doubt burning with questions about a living, breathing griffon at his heels. Hawke disappeared into the next room to meet up with Isabela. It had been years since they’d seen each other. Most of the other members of the Veilguard left to their own factions to say goodbye to the friends and family they had made over the years. Many of these people would not be returning after this battle. Already their numbers had thinned in the first assault on the city.

Ellana meandered over to the fireplace. Morrigan watched her for a moment, poised as if ready to say something, but then thought better of it. She gripped the amulet around her neck, a sending stone, and left to a far corner to update her son on the situation. Kieran was safe, as safe as he could be with the world ending as it was. He wanted to join her, but this was a mission she needed to undertake on her own. Besides, if Elgar’nan had the power to sense the soul bound within Kieran …

Dorian joined Ellana by the fireplace. He noticed her biting her thumbnail, tapping her foot restlessly against the stone floor. Tears still shone in her eyes.

“You still love him, do you?” he asked. “After all these years?”

Ellana closed her eyes and lowered her hand. “I will always love him. He’s who I belong with.”

Dorian sighed. He reached out an arm and wrapped it around her shoulders, pulling her into his embrace. “What am I going to do with you?”

They stood there for a while, staring into the fire, each consumed by their own thoughts. Ellana leaned her head against Dorian’s shoulder. She had missed him. Even with the sending stones, being so far away from him was difficult. He was her rock. When everything was falling apart, he had been there for her. The Inquisition disbanding, Solas leaving her that fateful night in Crestwood and then again after defeating Corypheus, her clan exiling her when she told them the truth about the Dread Wolf … Dorian was there to keep her going. He was her very best friend.

“Dorian, when this is over–”

“I know.”

She lifted her head off of his shoulder and stared at him with wide, surprised eyes. “You do..?”

“My dear, I could see it all over your face at the meeting.” He smiled at her, tears shimmering in his own eyes, and brushed a strand of hair out of her face. “And though I don’t believe he will ever be deserving of you or understand why you could love that stubborn, prideful egghead, he makes you happy. And you deserve all the happiness the world can offer.”

“Dorian…” Ellana sniffed and wiped at the tears that had slipped down her face. She felt a soft handkerchief being placed in her hand and wiped at her eyes.

“Don’t start crying, you soft-hearted fool. You’ll make me cry, too, and I refuse to be reduced to a blubbering mess.”

Ellana laughed and leaned up to kiss his cheek. “I’m going to miss you.”

“I’ll miss you, too, my friend,” he replied. They held each other for a long moment and when they finally separated, Dorian left to meet with Maevaris.

Ellana stood alone in that room, facing the fireplace for a moment longer and trying to formulate a plan. She would find some way to get to Solas first so they could talk, before Rook took matters into his own hands. As she turned away, she nearly collided with Neve. The mage was staring at her, still as a statue. Her black eyes pulsed with an unnerving intensity and a sinister smile spread far too wide across her face.

“Oh, Neve,” Ellana said. She tried to remember Neve’s real face beneath the corruption. Hopefully this was temporary. Something seemed … different about the mage, though. “I’m sorry. Did you … need something?”

Neve chuckled darkly as she slowly began to circle around Ellana as a predator would its prey. “So, the Dread Wolf has fallen in love,” came a voice that was definitely not Neve’s. It was male, high-pitched and gurgling as if blood filled the lungs. Her irises were a thin white ring against a black backdrop, mirroring the eclipse outside. “And with a mortal, no less. This is interesting news indeed.”

Ellana took a step back and felt the flames of the fire licking her back. Neve matched it. She was cornered and though she had never heard the voice before, the realization came over her all the same. “Elgar’nan,” she whispered.

Her cry for help was cut short by a fleshy tendril erupting from a blighted portal in the ground. It wrapped around her throat, strangling her. She threw out her gauntleted hand and the fire within the hearth snaked around it before jettisoning out at the tendril. The gauntlet was a true marvel of engineering, created especially for Ellana by her arcanist, Dagna. It acted as a staff would, focusing her magic. The tendril shrieked as the flames burned into its flesh. Footsteps and startled voices sounded elsewhere in the building, heading to her location. Another tendril burst forth to trap her body in a vice-like grip.

“Inquisitor!” Morrigan cried out as kicked open the door to the room. Lightning crackled from her fingertips and arced out towards the abominations. The acrid smell of burning flesh made Ellana’s eyes water. She felt the relief of loosening limbs and thrashed about wildly to escape. Morrigan’s attack wasn’t enough, however. More tendrils sprouted from the growing portal around them, wrapping around the Inquisitor further. Dark spots danced in her vision as the air left her. She struggled desperately against the tightening garrote. The whispers of demons promising her the strength to free herself from this horror roared in her mind like thunder, but she fought against them. Slowly, she began to sink into the portal, its red glow casting sinister shadows on her face.

More allies showed up. The Warden-Commander hacked at the tendrils with her dragonbone greataxe, but they sprouted new growths with each strike. Dorian joined Morrigan in a magical assault of lightning and fire. Even Rook struck at the tendrils with the lyrium dagger. It proved to be the most effective weapon against the aberrations. The prison that contained the blight from which they originated was created by that weapon. Pieces fell to the ground in squelching thuds before disintegrating into ash. Instinctively, they coiled tighter around the Inquisitor's body. The last thing the heroes saw was the Inquisitor’s fearful eyes as she was dragged through the portal into the earth.

“Ellana!” Dorian cried out. He slammed his fists against the stone floor as if he could crack it open. “We have to help her!”

Rook stormed up to Neve, still possessed by Elgar’nan, and shook her viciously. “Where have you taken her?!”

The black sclera faded back into white, her irises glowing red once more. Neve blinked. She looked down at Rook’s hands gripping her arms, fingernails digging painfully into her skin, and then around at the people gathered around with their weapons drawn. “Ow, Rook, that hurts! What’s going on? What happened?”

Bellara ran up to her, shocked at Rook's increasing anger. “Elgar'nan possessed you for a minute there. He must be connected to you through the Blight. The Inquisitor is gone. He kidnapped her.”

Neve blanched. To have that horrid creature violating her body like that made her sick. Was that how Lucanis felt when Spite was forced into him? She patted Bellara’s hand to let her know she was okay. Sensing her distress, Lucanis came up beside her and held her hand.

“Damnit!” Rook cursed. He turned to the others, all staring at him with expectant eyes. “He must have taken her to the Archon’s palace.”

“Why would he take the Inquisitor?” Davrin asked. “If anything, I thought he’d kidnap you, Rook.”

Dorian paled as realization dawned on him. “He overheard us…”

“What do you mean?” Rook asked.

“Ellana and I … we were discussing her past relationship with Solas. Elgar’nan must have heard through Neve. He’s going to use her against Solas.”

“Well, shit,” Hawke muttered. “What does that mean, exactly?”

“It shouldn’t mean anything,” Rook said. “I’m sure he thinks it’ll stop Solas from killing his archdemon, but we all know it won’t.”

“Do we?” Morrigan asked.

“Don’t tell me you believe she’s more important than his end goal.”

“It is not a matter of whether or not I believe in his love for her. Solas was a spirit. He is guided by his emotions and he has not seen the Inquisitor in many years. It will, at the very least, distract him. All Elgar’nan needs is an opening, for Solas to let his guard down and he can end the Dread Wolf. Solas is not bound to an archdemon. He is mortal. It only takes one well-placed strike.”

Rook began to pace back and forth in front of the fireplace, hands on his hips, brow furrowed. “Then we need to get up to the palace as soon as possible. We need that archdemon dead and it’s too fucking big for us to kill it alone.”

“We’ve got other problems,” said Strife as he jogged up to the distraught group with Isabela and the Viper in tow. “Elgar’nan’s army is amassing just outside. Our forces can hold them off while you climb up.”

So they would have to face Elgar’nan with less forces than they planned. That did not bode well, especially if Solas was somehow taken out.

“It’s fine,” Rook said. “The Veilguard can handle Elgar’nan. Just make sure those forces stay here on the ground.”

“We will,” the Warden-Commander promised.

Rook turned to his team. “Let’s do this.”

[mx-pastelwriting]

𝘿𝙧𝙖𝙜𝙤𝙣 𝘼𝙜𝙚 𝙈𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩

⭑ 𝙏𝙖𝙜𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩 𝙎𝙞𝙜𝙣 𝙐𝙥 ⭑

𝙎𝙤𝙡𝙖𝙨 | 𝙁𝙚𝙣'𝙃𝙖𝙧𝙚𝙡 | 𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝘿𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙 𝙒𝙤𝙡𝙛

𝙑𝙖𝙧𝙧𝙞𝙘 𝙏𝙚𝙩𝙝𝙧𝙖𝙨

𝘾𝙪𝙡𝙡𝙚𝙣 𝙍𝙪𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙛𝙤𝙧𝙙

𝙄𝙧𝙤𝙣 𝘽𝙪𝙡𝙡

𝙏𝙝𝙤𝙢 𝙍𝙖𝙣𝙞𝙚𝙧 | 𝘽𝙡𝙖𝙘𝙠𝙬𝙖𝙡𝙡

𝙇𝙪𝙘𝙖𝙣𝙞𝙨 𝘿𝙚𝙡𝙡𝙖𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙩𝙚

𝙀𝙢𝙢𝙧𝙞𝙘𝙝 𝙑𝙤𝙡𝙠𝙖𝙧𝙞𝙣

𝙇𝙖𝙘𝙚 𝙃𝙖𝙧𝙙𝙞𝙣𝙜

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[foxs0x]

Hey y'all, if I did art commissions would anyone be interested?

My pricing is in AUD (it's the country I live in)

Line art: $60 AUD (roughly $39 USD)

Full render: $100 AUD (roughly $65 USD)

More than 1 character: add $20 AUD (roughly $13 USD)

NSFW art - add $20 AUD (roughly $13 USD) (link to see my NSFW art for free is on my pinned post)

I will do NSFW or non NSFW, but not furry as I have trouble drawing animalistic people so send me your Rook's, your Tav's and your V's etc ;)

Some art for tax: (full render + line art of Johnny boy)

[netssa19]

All my dragon age heroes in their prime.

[elliefont]

Chapters: 1/? Fandom: Dragon Age: The Veilguard (Video Game), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age (Video Games) Rating: Mature Warnings: Major Character Death Relationships: Female Lavellan/Solas (Dragon Age), Female Inquisitor/Solas (Dragon Age), Lace Harding/Rook, Female Inquisitor & Dorian Pavus, Lavellan/Solas (Dragon Age) Characters: Female Lavellan (Dragon Age), Female Inquisitor (Dragon Age), Solas (Dragon Age), Rook (Dragon Age), Lace Harding, Dorian Pavus, Neve Gallus, Bellara Lutare, Lucanis Dellamorte, Davrin (Dragon Age), Emmrich Volkarin, Taash (Dragon Age) Additional Tags: Fix-It, Fix-It of Sorts, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Universe, Canonical Character Death, Retelling Summary:

"There is a demon horde that keeps terrorizing the streets of Minrathous. They’re in her way, and while she knows they mean that she is too late, she fights with all that is left of her. She wants to get to Solas. She needs to get to Solas." * A retelling of sorts in which Lavellan is a more prominent character.

[lavenderdisdain]

Rook is saved from the Fade... ... but what did she have to sacrifice to get back to her friends?