#he has taash and emmrich and davrin left now

[brainisafk]

I'm not sure if he really needs to finish everyone's personal stuff before moving on with the main story, but I also don't want to take any chances so he's working his way through. >.>

Bellara baby. <3

He did go see Kierith again though Idk how I feel about how much this looks like a romantic dinner date. XD

Half the team I think has their Veilguard skills unlocked now boo yea. \o/

[deputyrook]

In Her Absence: Lucanis/Rook/Spite.

A03 link! Female Crow Rook x Lucanis. Lucanis POV.

Takes place when Rook is in the fade prison, because 1) I love angst and am a big softie; and 2) I wanted to try to work out the logistics of what the team did in Rook's absence, and how they managed to reach her.

---

In the four days that Rook’s been gone, the Veilguard has devolved completely into infighting.

Taash wants to know why they can’t just “break into the fade and pull her out.” And no one really wants to hear Emmrich’s overly technical explanation as to why that’s not feasible, least of all Taash, who’s grieving and angry. Davrin keeps saying that it should have been him instead, which isn’t helping, and no one even wants to think about what’s happening to Bellara right now. 

Harding is dead. Bellara is kidnapped by Elgar’nan and Maker knows where. They’re a mess as a group, angry and hurting. And Rook...

Rook’s gone.

Neve is the only person who remotely has their shit still together, and for that at least, Lucanis is thankful. 

Because he absolutely does not have his shit together. Maybe the others can’t tell, since he’s not arguing or yelling or breaking down, but his thoughts are spiralling so badly that he’s barely said a word in three days. All he can think about is Rook.

He loves her. He loves her. And she’s lost somewhere, trapped and alone, and they have no plan whatsoever on how they’re going to get her back. 

He never told her. It’s tearing him up inside. The thought that he might never hear her voice again. Never hear her make some stupid pun, or hear her teasing, or hear her give them all one of her legendary pep talks. Never hear her laugh again-

“Lucanis,” Neve’s voice is firm, dragging him out of his despondency, “You need to focus.” 

How can he possibly focus? “You’re right,” he says instead, voice tight, because Neve is right. Standing around brooding isn’t getting them any closer to getting Rook back. What he needs to do is act- but how?

Solas is a God, and even he couldn’t break out of that prison. This isn’t the kind of problem Lucanis can solve with a dagger. He can’t stab at the prison walls until they crumble away- but Maker knows if that could work, he would stab until his daggers shattered and his body collapsed. 

What is he supposed to do? What can he do? How can he help them, when all he knows how to do is kill things?

No. Spite says to his left, his voice hard and determined, No! We will find Rook. Won’t leave them there. 

Neve puts a hand on his shoulder, and gives it a squeeze. 

“When has Rook ever been content to sit and wait to be rescued?” Neve says, and he lets out a long, even exhale, because it’s exactly what he needs to hear. “I’m worried too. But Rook would chew off her own leg to escape a trap. If there’s a way to get out, she’ll find it. Have some faith in her. In all of us- and in yourself.”

“Thank you,” he murmurs, voice quiet. After a moment, he adds, “…Someone should let Viago and Teia know.”

That, at least, is a burden he can bear. 

But the days stretch into weeks. Elgar’nan seizes control of an already broken Minrathous, and even Neve has a hard time keeping herself together after that one. 

Lucanis is in no place to offer comfort. Without Rook’s leadership and steadfast optimism, the lighthouse has gone dark, leaving them all ships to smash into a rocky coast. He won’t soon forget the way Viago’s eyes widened when he told him what had happened to Rook, nor the look of horror that flashed across his face before his expression settled into stony devastation. 

Strangely, it’s Spite that keeps him from falling apart completely. He refuses to accept that Rook is gone. Every time that Lucanis’ mind whispers to him that this happened because he wasn’t good enough, and that he’ll never see Rook smile at him again- Spite cuts him off with an angry, defiant hiss of NO. 

Rook is strong. Rook is smart! Rook will not allow herself to die in a prison. She would not let you die in prison, either. We will not let her. We will find her. We will find her!

He repeats the words in his own head, holding onto them like a buoy. Right, yeah. She’s good at prison breaks. It’s enough to make it through the day.

Sometimes- although Lucanis would never admit it to the others- he realizes that Spite is the one who has been moving his body,  keeping him working while he’s been stuck in his mind, ruminating and aching with missing her. It’s been Spite that’s forcing him to eat, to bathe, to sleep. Spite is keeping him alive. 

Will not let you do this to us. Rook needs us.

It’s that thought that ultimately gets Lucanis to snap out of his despair. 

It’s not over yet. He agrees, finally. Rook needs us. 

Finally! Spite snaps back.

---

First, they try to make a copy of the dagger. Something that will be able to slice through the fade prison, so that they can cut Rook out of it. That’s how Solas left, after all- by tricking her, and stealing the dagger to cut himself free. 

But a dagger of pure lyrium isn’t exactly easy to replicate. Brilliant as they are, Emmrich and Neve can only do so much. So after days of meticulous work, they end up with a dagger that looks identical to the real thing, but doesn’t actually work. Great.

Next, Emmrich hypothesizes that in order to get to Rook in the fade, they’ll not only need to figure out how to access the fade prison, but also to figure out where the prison actually is, physically within the fade.

It is, apparently, not as simple as yelling out “ROOK? CAN YOU HEAR US?” from the top of the Lighthouse, which has been Taash’s strategy. Spite, too, is ready to start just travelling through the fade, for as long and as far as he needs to until he finds her. Lucanis is doing what he can to support the group, cooking the meals and making sure Emmrich and Neve are able to stay on their feet.

Word gets to them that Solas is in Minrathous, keeping the rebellion alive. The news poisons Lucanis so thoroughly with hate that he nearly can’t stomach it. Spite has been so determined to save Rook that Lucanis almost forgot how it felt when he was really, truly spiteful. 

Hearing Solas is pretending to be a hero in Tevinter, after consigning Rook to take his place in a prison? Yeah. That’ll do it. The things he’d wanted to do to Illario after his betrayal had left him conflicted. He is not remotely conflicted about what he wants to do about Solas.

What they want to do. Spite agrees with him on this one. He hurt our Rook.

Finally, Emmrich and Neve work out a real plan, with the help of the Veil Jumpers. It’s based largely on luck, but it’s something. It’s a sliver of hope. It’s enough to keep them all going.

First, they need to find a spot where the veil is particularly thin, where the fade peaks through the seams of reality. Then, they need to use an artifact of the Veil Jumper’s to do… magical, fade, location-y… stuff. Emmrich actually uses a bit of Rook’s blood for this part, located on some stained clothes that Assan had dug out in her room. 

Blood magic. Ordinarily, Lucanis would be opposed. But no one says a word against it. They are all desperate for this to work. 

The first day they try it, it doesn’t work. They make some adjustments, and try again.

The second day, it doesn’t work. They make some more adjustments, and they try again.

On the fifth day, Spite says it in his ear, voice sharp with excitement.

I can smell her- I can smell Rook!

Lucanis’ heart feels like it’s about to burst from his chest. He’s yelling, “Rook?” into the rift before he can stop himself, but the team’s caught on already that this isn't like the other times they’ve failed to make their plan work. The rift is spitting and spasming sparks of magic, and they can see through it in a way they’d never been able to before. They can see a light in the rift.

Emmrich seems to throw caution entirely to the wind, rolling up his sleeve and plunging his arm into the rift. The energy is wild, unrestrained, and they’re all calling out to Rook, reaching and trying to get to her.

“I’ve- I’ve got her!” Emmrich yells out, and Lucanis swears he can see Rook’s wavy form on the other side of the rift. Like looking through a fishbowl, or the walls of the Ossuary.

He reaches in too and grabs her hand with Emmrich, and they yank. Rook stumbles out, collapsing onto the ground.

“Varric’s dead,” she says, voice hollow and wobbly.

Neve shoots Lucanis a confused, concerned look, but he’s too relieved to care. He’s grabbing at her shoulders, pulling her into a tight embrace, and his throat feels like it’s closing up on him. Tears prick at his vision. She’s safe. She’s alive, she’s free, and she’s safe. She’s back with them.

They all want to hug her, and make sure she’s actually, really okay. But Lucanis gets to first.

Told you. Told you, told you! Spite repeats, ecstatic, She’s back!

“Are you okay?” He murmurs, pulling back and looking her over critically, trying to see if she’s been hurt or if anything has changed. But no. It’s just her. Like not a day has passed.

Rook nods slowly, and Lucanis smooths a hand down her hair, before cupping her cheek in his hand. All he wants to do is hold her, but he can’t be that selfish and drag her away from the others. Not yet, anyway. 

Pulling back, the others take the moment to rush in, making similar careful assessments and doting over Rook. The last few weeks have been almost unbearably difficult. There’s been little to celebrate. But this is joy again. Hope. With Rook back, not everything is completely fucked.

Davrin pulls her into a crushing hug, and Taash joins in, and they’re all hugging and crying a little. The trip back to the Lighthouse is a blur, with Rook thanking the Veil Jumpers and swearing to them she’ll get Bellara back.

How she can already be so determined, so ready to act, Lucanis will never know. He is, as he has so often found himself, in awe of her ability to forge forward, the light cutting through the swathes of dark that seem to surround them.

Spite is just about ready to try to crawl out of their skin in impatience, but they have work to do first. They all brief Rook on what has happened in her absence, and learn- horrifically- that she’s somehow been brainwashed into believing Varric has been alive, for months, by Solas.

Not for the first time, Lucanis feels anger and spite bubbling in his veins and vows to himself that he will not let Solas get away with hurting Rook. God or not. He finds it hard to fathom why he would mess with her head like that, if he wanted her to succeed in at least stopping Ghilan’nain. It reminds him too much of the mind games that his captors would play on him when he was in the Ossuary, tormenting and confusing him for no other reason than to break him down. Was that what Solas had tried to do to Rook, too? To break her down mentally, so she’d be easier to manipulate and trick?

It seems to take forever, but finally, Lucanis gets to see her alone. She’s lying down when he enters her quarters, her eyes closed, but the words spill out of him before he can even consider leaving her to rest.

“I cannot believe we found you,” he says, voice soft. All of the fear he’s felt for weeks, the doubt and the despair that Spite had helped him just barely keep at bay… the relief, now, is making him lightheaded. 

“I’m a little surprised too, honestly.” It’s a testament to the gravity of the situation that she’s not trying to make light of things. The words aren’t meant as a joke. 

“I thought I’d never see you again,” he admits.

“And I didn’t think I’d ever get out of there,” Rook tells him in turn. It leaves him cold, to think of her there, alone and believing she might never be found. “How do I know if I really did? This could be... more of the fade.”

Lucanis realizes then, that he’s never seen her vulnerable like this before. Emotional, yes, but lost? Frightened? Rook has always been the solid centre of the group. Unmoving, unyielding, steady. Utterly dependable. 

It’s almost surprising that she’s not actually invincible. She’s so consistently been their guiding light. But more than shock, more than anything else-

He wants to protect her. He wants to hold her until her worries melt away, to chase away the horrible memories of the last several weeks and see her smile at him. He wants her to know that he won’t let anything hurt her. He wants to kiss her until she feels safe and warm again. 

So he does. Kneeling down in front of her, holding her hands in his own, Lucanis reassures her she is real. There’s so much he wants to tell her, that he’s been praying he’ll get the chance to say. But now that Rook’s in front of him again, he can’t seem to find the words for everything he’s been feeling.

So he kisses her. So, so gently. And when he keeps kissing her, pressing her back against the chaise as she wraps her arms around his neck? It seems Spite is right there with him, because the wings unfurl right in that moment, curling around them both protectively, like he wants to help shield them from anyone in the world who might try to hurt them.

[cybershock24601]

More Rook de Riva is Lucanis' annoying little sibling agenda but everyone's chilling in the kitchen waiting for diner and Lucanis goes to check something on the stove before coming back to the table. Lucanis takes one sip of his coffee, immediately spits it back out, and then shoots Rook the most annoyed look as he goes "Really?" Rook immediately starts cackling and goes "I just wanted to see if you'd notice!"

Neve asks, "oh, did you put salt in his coffee?" because that's a totally reasonable assumption to make and Lucanis replies with "Adder's Kiss actually" super casually as he gets up to dump out his coffee and make himself a new cup. Emmrich in a polite but clearly bewildered tone goes, "correct me if I am wrong, but that is a poison, yes?" With a casual shrug Rook says "yeah" and continues to sip their own drink like just admitting to putting poison in one of your friends drinks is a perfectly normal thing to do. And to Crows it is, not so much for everyone else.

Dead silence descends onto the room because why is Rook is poisoning people's drinks and why is Lucanis so casual about almost getting poisoned. Everyone's just looking back and forth between Rook and Lucanis until Taash finally breaks the quiet by saying what everyone else is thinking, "What the fuck?!"

The room then descends into chaos with Taash practically interrogating Rook because who slips poison in their friends drinks with Rook getting really defensive and going "Viago and I do this to each other all the time!" and Harding's going "What do you mean by that?!" because by now everyone knows Viago is practically Rook's older brother, what are they doing poisoning each other?? Bellara is very concerned and keeps asking Lucanis if he's okay and he's so confused because of course he is, its not like he hasn't developed an immunity to most poisons and besides Rook didn't even do much to try to disguise the taste so it's not like he actually drank any of it. Neve and Davrin are mostly just concerned because they didn't even see Rook move. Emmrich is the one who finally manages to calm things down because that man absolutely has a Teacher Voice to whip out whenever the team is getting too unruly.

The night ends with Rook and Lucanis agreeing not to start poisoning each other's drinks in the Crow equivalent of an escalating prank war because of the risk of people not immune to poison accidentally consuming it because it's not like everyone else can detect the subtle notes of poison and Lucanis and Rook thinking everyone is just being super weird and overreacting to this because this is just normal Crow behavior (in all honestly it probably isn't, it's just these two were raised by freaks named Caterina Dellamorte and Viago de Riva who needed to make sure they knew how to handle their poisons).

The rest of the team is left thinking that actually this is starting to explain a whole lot about what the fuck is Wrong with those two. I'm sure everyone is now having secret meetings behind the two Crows backs to figure out the best way to explain to them that These Are Not Normal Behaviors, You're Just Traumatized.

[flowersforthemachines]

Useless Veilguard fact of the day: Day 30

Varric has lines for notifying Rook about companions' new personal quests.

Bellara

I think you should make sure Bellara's okay, Rook. Rook? You might want to see what Bellara's up to. Hey, Rook. I think something's up with Bellara.

Davrin

Hey, Rook. Maybe see what's up with Davrin? He seems to have his hands full. Is Davrin all right? I heard gryphon screeching and a lot of cursing just now. You might want to check on Davrin.

Emmrich

Hey, Rook. There was either muttering or chanting coming from Emmrich's room. Maybe… check that out? Hey, Rook, could you check on Emmrich? He seems… weirder than usual. Rook, could you check on Emmrich? I think I heard him talking to himself. Weird, even for him.

Harding

Is Harding all right? I don't want to say that she's scaring me more than usual, but… she is. Rook, could you check on Harding? She's doing that… terrifyingly cheery thing she does. I'm getting a little worried about Harding, Rook. Maybe see what's going on with her, would you?

Lucanis

Rook, you realize Lucanis had eleven cups of coffee today? Maybe… see if he's still alive? Lucanis looks broodier than usual. Maybe you should check in on him. You should always keep an eye on the broody ones, Rook. By which I mean Lucanis. He's starting to worry me.

Neve

Hey, is something up with Neve? Maybe you should check on her. Okay, so Neve hasn't left her room in… I don't know how long. See if she's trapped under something heavy. Is it just me, or does Neve seem preoccupied? Worse than usual, I mean.

Taash

Do you smell smoke, Rook? Maybe you should go… check on Taash. So… I heard what sounded like Taash beating the shit out of something. Maybe see what's up? There were a lot of… punching sounds coming from Taash's direction. You might want to see if there's casualties.

Check out the tag for more useless facts: #useless davg fact of the day!

And also my DAVG Extracted Audio Masterlist

[rookanis-de-riva]

Rook: All right, who taught Manfred how to fist fight? ... I know it was one of you, so don't make me call Neve back from Minrathous to solve this. Taash?

Taash: What? I didn't do it!

Rook: I was just asking if you knew anything, but ...

Taash: Yeah, I know Davrin let Manfred sit in on his lessons with Assan. Maybe he was teaching them both how to fight.

Davrin: First of all, Assan would gulp down his phalanges like carrots. So no, it wasn't me. Try asking the assassin who gave him a knife.

Lucanis: Was it the one I just had to pull out of my back? Snitch.

Taash: You were handing out free knives, and I didn't get one??

Lucanis: I would teach fledglings better than to fight with their fists like some brute, that is what the knife is for.

Harding: Y'know, Bellara has been pretty quiet ...

Bellara: WHAT? Me? I don't even know how to fist fight!

Harding: Don't try that cute little elf face with me, you're an archer with serious back muscles.

Bellara: So are you! And, I wasn't going to say anything, buuut I did see you teaching him how to make a fist.

Harding: For rock, paper, scissors!

Davrin: Hmm. A likely story.

Lucanis: Who even calls it that? It is dagger, bow, shield.

Davrin: Now I know you're just fucking with us.

Taash: If he got a cape too, I'm throwing you off the island!

--party descends into in-fighting and chaos while Emmrich fusses over Manfred's broken knuckles--

Rook confessing to Varric later: It was me. I taught him how to throw a left hook and he immediately swung at me, but I dodged and he hit the wall. I just don't want Emmrich to kill and skeletonize me.

Varric: Aw kid, he wouldn't do that. When he finds out, he's gonna strip the flesh from your bones while you're still alive :)

[mosoderbergh]

Have some more NSFW Emmrich

I just couldn’t keep my hands off of Emmrich’s breeding kink. Honestly? What a thought. So here’s my own little twist.

The first time, Rook very much accidentally triggers him. They’re still in their honeymoon phase, still at the lighthouse. Everyone sits at the kitchen table. Manfred’S latest shenanigans are discussed. Rook, not for the first time, calls him their “skeleton son”.

“Do you have any children, Emmrich?”, asks Davrin. “Other than Manfred, of course.”

“Ah.” It’s said with a smile, but there’s a buried sadness there. “I’m afraid it wasn’t to be, no.”

“Not yet, anyway”, Davrin chuckles.

There’s a flash of concern on Emmrich’s face. His eyes meet Rook’s, who has already come to suspect this is a sensitive subject. They swoop in to save him.

“Oh, he knows he’s welcome to try and get me pregnant whenever he wants”, they say, their voice dripping with innuendo. They take potions regularly to make sure it doesn’t happen, which Emmrich knows. Their intention is to gross the others out so much the subject gets dropped.

Lucanis chokes on his coffee. Taash boos. Davrin tells them to get a room. The conversation moves on. But Rook catches Emmrich’s glance, his face blank, eyes dark. As soon as the topic is well and truly forgotten he leans in, whispers: “A word, dearest”, his voice tense in a way that gives Rook anxiety. They excuse themselves from the table and Rook earnestly worries that they’ve offended him. They barely make it through the door to Emmrich’s library before he has Rook pinned against the nearest wall. Rook knows Emmrich as an attentive lover, giving to a fault. More often than not, Rook has to do a bit of sweet-talking before Emmrich lets his own pleasure be the focus, and wringing little sighs from him has become one of Rook’s favourite games. Right now, Emmrich is whimpering into Rook’s mouth, groping them with a neediness that renders him clumsy. Rook is more than willing to help. They are undressed within moments, and Emmrich in on them again immediately, taking just enough time to position them both against the desk for support.

It doesn’t take long before they are soaking wet, mainly because this new side of Emmrich turns them on so much they think they might just black out. Usually, Emmrich tends to lavish them with praise, and the way his voice falters in between declarations of affection when he’s losing control is the hottest thing Rook has ever heard - until tonight. Because right now, Emmrich, who usually doesn’t shut up right until the very end, is unmistakably too horny to form words. He enters them with a cry that is equal parts need and relief, as if every second leading up to their union had him in agony. Rook wraps themselves around him, cooing into his ear that yes, Maker, he feels good, this is so right, they want him so much. The one word that makes it over Emmrich’s lips is Rook’s name, uttered over and over, a moan, a whisper, a plea. Emmrich doesn’t last long, and he comes with a groan from so deep within his soul it seems entirely removed from his speaking voice.

Rook wraps their arms tight around Emmrich as he catches his breath against their neck. They can sense his mind kicking back into gear, ever overthinking.

“That”, they whisper into his ear before he can even begin to feel self-conscious about what just happened, “was amazing.”

Emmrich huffs a laugh that is muffled by Rook’s skin. He sounds incredulous. They untangle from each other, just enough for Emmrich to rest his forehead against Rook’s. His smile is somewhat sheepish, but his eyes glow with adoration.

“I truly wish I could explain”, he says.

“Oh, I think I got the gist of it”, Rook says with a grin.

The way he spoils Rook after feels almost like an apology. Rook wishes he left them with enough breath to say there’s nothing to be sorry for. Then again: They’ll have time enough to talk later.

[rom-e-o]

You Failed Us All. [Emmrich/Rook]

Glimpses of the aftermath of Tearstone Island, when Emmrich watches Rook slip into the Fade.

[Inspired by a convo you can have with Hezenkoss in Emmrich's office. MAJOR SPOILERS for the end of the game. I hope you enjoy!]

“We’ll talk back home, Emmrich. I promise.”

She’d promised they would talk. She said that they would both make it home – whether that was the Lighthouse of Nevarra, he did not care – to talk. They’d put aside their disagreements and formally apologize for what they’d each said. They’d make up, and everything would be right as rain again. Unlike the others before, she would not leave him broken-hearted. They’re reunite, and he’d pull her into his arms and kiss her until all potential doubt of his enduring adoration was vanquished.

Then, in a flash of color and sound, she was gone.

Spirited into the Fade before anyone could lift a finger to help.

Emmrich stood in wide-eyed stupefaction at the slightly bloodied slab of pavement where, just moments before, his love had been crouching and extending an arm to pull Solas’ dagger from the thickly corded throat of Ghilan’nain.

One blink of the eyes later, and she’d slipped beyond dimensions, like the ground beneath her had turned to fog and she’s plummeted through.

For a moment, the world stood still. The vision of nothingness before him held his hostage and voiceless, even as the voices of his companions slowly coalesced around him.

“…nain! Ghilan’nain is down!”

The call came from Taash, whose voice bellowed even over the roar of flaming carnage on the horizon. They rushed up behind Emmrich, chest still heaving from the battle before. “Harding, where is Harding? Harding!”

Meanwhile, Neve’s eyes landed on the same spot where Emmrich was staring – the spot Rook had vanished from.

“S-She was just there." Her normally composed voice trembled like the wing of a frozen bird. “S-She couldn’t have …”

Then, Davrin’s resonant voice cut through the haze of confusion.

“Everyone, fall back!”

His command was punctuated by a furious screech from Assan. He waved everyone away from the carnage, calling to Lucanis for assistance. He looked like a true commander, poised and practiced.

Yet, even the Grey Warden’s tone, while effortlessly practiced at shouting demands, wavered slightly.

“We can’t stay here!” he shouted, his eyes darting about as he continued to watch for danger. “We need to move before any reinforcements come. We’ll be overrun. Everyone, regroup, now!”

“B-But we don’t have Rook!” Neve argued. She was reluctant to leave, despite her obvious injuries. “Or Bellara! Dammit, Elgar’nan still has her!”

Nearby, Taash paced about in panic. “Shit … Shit … No. This can’t be happening. I-It can’t be. Harding, Bellara, and Rook? W-We lost all three?”

“Taash, stay calm.”

“You want me to stay calm? That's vashedan, and you know it!"

“Listen, we can’t form a plan here,” Davrin repeated loudly. Once again, his voice wavered, but his tone left no room for objection.

The Warden turned to see a lone team member standing at the precipice of the platform, eyes trained on the darkened patch of pavement inches away. “Emmrich!”

The necromancer was lost in a storming sea of thought, his stare frozen to the spot that she had vanished from.

He’d told her to go, the man realized to his horror. It was his fault.

After Ghilan’nain had fallen from Lucanis’ strike, he’d called out to her over a blast of energy. The Fade had started to tear itself asunder, and plucking the dagger from the corpse was the only way to stop it. Those were the last words he’d shouted to her over the roar of the expanding abyss. “The dagger! Rook, you much break its contact with Ghilan’nain!”

She had done just that … and now, she was gone.

"Emmrich, we have to go."

Emmrich barely registered Lucanis sprinting up to him, forcing and arm around his shoulders, and pulling him away. He mumbled an apology as he pulled him away from the landing.

The backs of Emmrich's boots skipped along the smashed stones as he tried to dig his heels into place. No, they couldn't leave, he thought. Not without her.

“No,” he gasped meagerly, but the Crow spread his wings whisked him away all the same.“No!”

He tried to wrench himself free, but Lucanis held firm.

“I'm sorry,” the assassin whispered.

Emmrich would not hear him.

Instead, he screamed his lover’s name as loud as he could, hoping it could transcend realms and reach her.

He extended a gloved hand out, grasping at the air as if he could summon Rook’s fingers to twine with his. This gesture yielded no results.

With tearful eyes and racing minds, the team was forced to leave the Isle of the Gods. One elven god was slain, yet they limped away with their tails between their legs.

The Veilguard was down three pieces on their board.

One was dead.

Two were missing, one of whom was their leader.

And their secret weapon for the final gambit, Solas’ dagger, had vanished right along with her.

Into nothingness.

Following the Veilguard’s narrow escape from Tearstone Island, what remained of the team hunkered down in the Lighthouse to toil away ferociously.

With an absence of three usual voices, the halls were more silent than they should have been. The formerly vibrant hideout had become a shell of its former glory.

Harding's groan-inducing puns. Bellara's amicable chatter. Rook's humming, which had become an almost constant background noise to the team.

Their laughter, conversations, and their bustling energy ... all distractingly absent.

With or without their comrades, their final objective had not changed, and they could not afford to remain idle.

Davin took charge in her absence, as Rook has previously deemed him as a good second-in-command in the event something happened to her. Nobody else argued with this, as terrible as it felt to see the power change hands. It was a silent acknowledgement of the team’s worst fears, in a way. Rook was absent, but they needed to persist regardless. The mission went on, with or without her.

He and Assan worked to communicate with each faction the Veilguard had worked with. There were loose ends to tie up and supplies to replenish. Basic requests. He filled these requisitions and touched base with all their allies, making sure to keep all channels open and flowing. They were too far into battle to lose any pieces, and they’d need every ally in their corner possible to call upon soon for a final battle.

Neve was tasked with establishing any contact in Minrathous she could with the Shadow Dragons, Maevaris or Dorian. Lucanis also assisted her dutifully, tapping into whatever connections he could to help her keep taps on the Archon’s Palace.

“Elgarn’nan and Solas are going to want to make headway there,” Neve had reported shortly after their return. “It’s only a matter of who gets there first, and how.”

They received their dreadful answer when a tendril of blight snaked its way into the heavens to seize control of the Divine’s Manor in Hightown.

In the meantime, Taash created a memorial for Harding, and helped make sure the plants in her room were watered. It was likely a worthless task, they knew, but they carried it out with the utmost devotion in honor of the woman they loved. Had loved.

In between bouts of mourning, Taash trained mercilessly, until their muscles shook from exhaustion and standing became impossible.

Like Neve and Lucanis, they also hardly slept.

That left Emmrich.

Emmrich, with his knowledge and experience with the inner workings of the Fade, had arguably the biggest job of the remaining bunch.

If Rook was lost in the Fade, he was the one with the expertise and knowledge to find her.

Not to mention, the wildcard of Solas’ dagger was also still in play. It was a missing piece of the puzzle. There had to be some way to plan ahead for what play the Dread Wolf would want to make, he thought.

He had a choice to make on what to prioritize:

Rook, or the dagger.

After twenty-four hours of solitary grief, skipping bathing and shaving for the first time in his adult life, Emmrich reemerged into the Lighthouse library with renewed resolve.

Swinging open the mighty doors with both hands, he strode in from his private bedroom and faced a startled Manfred and a slightly panicked Hezenkoss.

“Back!” Manfred observed gleefully, gloved hands flying over his head in elation at the sight of his paternal guardian. Then, the lad glanced around in pained confusion. “No Rook?”

Upon returning from battle, Emmrich had been too emotional to tell the boy what had happened. He'd retreated to his room and hid, like an animal on the brink of death.

“Manfred,” the man ordered, his voice clipped, “Bring five pounds of every organic material we have in storage here at the Lighthouse to the library. Please."

The robed skeleton hesitated for only a moment before nodding and making his way to the reserves kept in another part of their fortress. Emmrich strode to his desk and began to pull out every

“You look disturbed,” Hezenkoss’ skull barked. “What in blazes is going on out there now?”

“We’ll speak on it later,” he said dismissively. “Perhaps you can make yourself useful in some way in the meantime.”

“So snippy. It’s hardly becoming of you.”

“I daresay I’ll live.” He sounded absolutely weary, he realized. All the sobbing had left his voice practically threadbare. He wondered if Johanna had heard him.

Then, the answer to his question was delivered as swiftly as an arrow to the back.

“Also, did I hear correctly? That our fearless leader slipped into the Fade?”

Shutting his eyes against the onslaught of memories and tears, he nodded breathlessly. “…Yes.”

“So it is!” Her words were stones thrown onto him, and he knew he deserved each one. “How could you let that happen, Volkarin? You of all people!”

“Johanna.” Emmrich’s normally bell-bright voice was laced with unusual finality. In a turn of events she never could have anticipated, her former associate was not in the mood for chatter. “I-I can’t. I must focus.”

“Focus now? It’s a little late for that, don't you think?”

“No.” The glare he aimed at her could have curdled milk. "It can't be. I will not accept that."

In all their years of friendship, he’d never spoken to her in such a way. With such venom, and also, such fear.

Something had shifted in him, she noted.

“You know,” she started, and heard him grumble (of all things!) at her disobedience, “Well, be like that. I was going to say something about that beloved little songbird of yours.”

He turned on his heel. Plum-colored circles under his eyes made the green in his hazel eyes blaze more than usual. “Spare me your sarcasm, please. I’m not in the mood to hear—”

“Something positive, Volkarin. Believe it or not, she and I had an enlightening conversation before you all departed. I thought perhaps you'd be interested in hearing it while you toiled away on whatever you need to do."

His face, and shoulders, fell at the admission. “You and her ... spoke?"

"Yes, actually."

"...And you want to tell me about it. Why?"

“You look like you could use some charitable inspiration," she offered. "And a shave. Heavens, no wonder you keep yourself groomed. Seeing you with such a dark shadow is uncanny!”

"Johanna, I-I ... I don't ..."

“I’ll choose to ignore that genuine confusion in your voice for now,” she said. “Just get to work, but listen. You seem to be in the mood for it, for once.”

“That young Watcher again.”

Belisma Ingellvar turned toward the idle skull on a nearby table. She’d been looking for Emmrich on her journey into the library, but he was absent for the moment. Disappointment clawed briefly at her heart, but she crested it as she stared at Hezenkoss with interest.

Well, she thought, perhaps it would be good for her and Johanna to speak. She and Emmrich had been friends, once. Long ago.

With a smile, she dropped into a perfect curtsey. “At your service."

“There’s those Necropolis-begotten manners,” the skull answered, eyes flashing green with each syllable. “…Look at you.”

Belisma straightened her back vertebrae by vertebrae, her dancer’s poise still perfect even at 35 years of age. “What about me?”

“A necromancer wasting the prime of her life solving the problems of others,” Hezenkoss practically tutted. “Tragic. You would have been taught much differently if you were my apprentice. I can see your potential.”

Everyone with something to gain seems to have the easiest of times seeing the potential in complete strangers, she thought with some amusement. Then again, who was she to talk? Her own bright cheer about finding common ground was what steered her into the current conversation with a woman she had almost been forced to kill in battle mere days before.

Belisma crossed her arms and stepped forward. Even when sauntering idly, her heels always clicked back together into First Position. “You seem to hold a powerful grudge against the Mourn Watch.”

“I wisely cast off all their talk of obligations to the long dead,” the half-lich answered. “But I assume you’re more of a traditionalist Watcher. Like Volkarin. He’s skilled enough. If only the man possessed any vision.”

“Assumptions? From you?” Belisma asked, chuckling softly. “You’re better than that.”

“Hm. Perhaps I misjudged you. Perhaps you’re different. You seem to process sharper insight than some others here.”

“There is nothing different about me.” Belisma’s hands came together behind her to rest comfortably against her lower back. It also hid the obsessive fiddling she did with her nails; a habit that only came out when she was uneasy.

And despite the powerful wards (not to mention the hilarity of her humiliating confinement) Hezenkoss did make her uneasy.

“Well, there is something about you,” Hezenkoss said. “A certain quality that magnetizes people. Some of the little pawns you’ve attracted are … interesting. Surprising.”

“Like Emmrich?”

“The man has always been more comfortable in a crowd,” Johanna recounted with a sneer (or, what could sensibly be discerned as a sneer). "Can’t you tell from how perfectly he has wedged himself into your little group?”

“Well, ‘wedged’ is harsh.”

“As students, he would always drag me to some preposterous party or salon. It’s a wonder that chattering gadabout got any work done, the way people fawned over him.”

“The life of the party, was he?” Belisma asked, her voice warm. “Always in demand?”

“Oh, he was," she grumbled. "Annoyingly so, and he still somehow aced all his studies."

A man with a full dance card. It sounded befitting of a charismatic gentleman like him.

She imagined it briefly; a twenty-something Emmrich with his ink-colored hair stylishly in disarray as he laughed over a coupe glass of maraschino liqueur and crème de violette with a band of other rambunctious students, all while Johanna huffed about being pulled along. It was an amusing image, she had to admit. Yet, a sadness gripped her heart at the thought.

Even back then, he'd craved human connection so openly.

A man beloved by all, yet desperate to belong. A man with no family, searching for companionship the only way he knew how.

“I believe you,” Belisma said. “Quite easily, actually.”

The ghostly visions of Emmrich’s past life danced through her mind. How adored he was; and how much he’d be missed by his peers and students if something were to happen to him.

The man was an absolute paragon, and here he was with her, risking it all to save the word. He was an inspiration, she thought. Certainly more worthy of acclaim, and living, than someone like her.

As if reading her mind, Hezenkoss pierced her veneer of calm with a simple question.

“Do you know what I think, young Watcher?”

“I couldn’t say.”

“I think you have anger deep down inside you,” Hezenkoss remarked. “I see that same fury in you that I once saw in myself. That barely contained rage.”

“Once saw? Barely contained?”

“We are not so different, Ingellvar,” she hissed. “You don’t want to admit that, do you?”

“Well, we do share a similar taste in lipstick. But that is as far as the confirmed comparisons go, I’m afraid.”

Johanna didn't miss a beat in bringing down her reply like the blade of a hatchet.

“You are too poised, too polite,” the half-lich continued, undeterred. "Too calculated."

"Poignant."

"Your ankles always comes together between steps. You always braid your hair to the right. Your livery is always pressed to perfection. You're always the last to accept food at meals. You cover your mouth when you laugh. Always."

"All things you've noticed?"

"All things I've been told."

The statement nailed her tongue to her jaw.

“You’ve lived a life of restraint, have you not?" Johanna continued. "Discovered in the crypts as a Foundling. Then roamed the streets of Nevarra before finally accepting the Watchers. What happened next? Certainly you didn’t go right into the academy.”

Ah, so Johanna was curious about her. Such preamble, all to ask her about her past.

Well, she could oblige her in a little entertainment. After all, what else did a sedentary skull have?

The slender woman floated to the red armchair nearby and angled it so they could sit face-to-face. Once seated, the two were practically at eye-level.

Knowing that her earlier years of life lacked any useful information for Hezenkoss to weaponize, she answered truthfully.

“Well, I needed some time to adjust to life in the Necropolis,” Belisma said. "As most do."

Before becoming a member of the Mourn Watch, Belisma had been found by the ambling undead inside a Necropolis tomb as a wailing baby.

“I was raised by fellow necromancers and joined the order when I was old enough,” she said. “I paid my dues. Dusted tombs, cleaned dishes, the usual tasks. I swept a lot. Danced while I did it, when I could. Then, when I was 18, I caught the eye of a visiting coordinator for the Nevarra Royal Ballet.

"He was in the Necropolis to seek assistance with a disputed will after a recent death in the family. While there, he requested to see how Watchers were trained in combat. He needed some new talent, I suppose. My lesson was the one he caught on his excursion. He came back three times every week until he finally recruited me. He said I looked like I could handle the demands of the art. Oh, I was delighted. I hoped for such a day for such a long time! A chance to leave the Necropolis, see the city, and just ... dance."

"The Watchers allowed such an arrangement? Sounds like a dreadful distraction."

"Well, I was only a student, not a more esteemed researcher like you or Emmrich."

The obvious flattery earned an appraising hum, allowing her to continue.

“They believed that it would bolster positive relations between the Watchers and Nevarra’s prominent nobility to have a beloved performer in their ranks,” she said. “And it did, for many years. Until there was a conflict among the undead nobility—”

“The War of the Banners, yes? Some bickering between two noble simpletons.”

“Yes.” The admission came with a heavy sigh. “I … I led the attack on the rebellion's dueling leaders to redirect their attention, and put a stop to the conflict before it could grow further."

"Why bother?"

"Nobody else was doing anything to stop it, and someone had to step up. Others had families and children. Partners. I was unmarried, with no prominent family name to sully or disappoint. It was natural that I bear the responsibility.”

“How stupidly selfless of you,” Hezenkoss quipped. “So, in battle, you were victorious. Very commendable.”

“That depends on who you ask,” Belisma answered carefully. “The war they wanted to wage, at its fullest scale, would have killed innocents. But Nevarra’s nobility are a passionate and—”

“Moronic.”

“—Persnickety bunch. Always have been, from what I’ve studied. Nobody can decide on who is best to rule, what that should look like, if King Markus is actually … anyway, they do not like to be challenged, or humbled. They saw my interference as an insult to Nevarra’s bygone pillars of society.”

“Pah! That sounds like them.” While she and Emmrich shared precious few beliefs following recent events, Belisma did note with amusement that they shared a distaste for nobles.

“The families of those nobles went to the Mourn Watch, insulted by what I had done,” she said. “I was summoned that night and told that I had insulted the order's aristocratic patrons. As such, I was encouraged to travel for a while.”

“Disappear, you mean.”

“Yes. Until things calmed down, at least.”

“So, you took one for the team,” Johanna said, “And you alone paid the price, and ended up a rogue on the streets of Minrathous.”

“Well, someone had to do it.”

“You sound pleased as punch about that,” Johanna quipped. “I suppose Nevarra had no traveling troupe for you to join?”

“I was dismissed immediately after the incident,” she admitted. “Nobles had no interest in seeing a traitor on their ballet’s stage, and I would have ruined the company's chances of survival, even if they would have wanted me to stay."

Struggling to keep her voice even, she said, "I doubt I’ll ever be able to dance again in Nevarra.”

“…So, you were ‘traveling’ when you got wrapped up in this little adventure?”

“I, apparently, invite confidence from strangers. Lucky me.”

“You don’t like leadership.” You don’t want to be here. “You hide it with a smile and your little bows and swoops and curtsies, but you don’t want this responsibility.”

Belisma’s lips stretching into a tight grin. “You catch on quick.”

“Or you’re simply bitter.”

“So, lipstick and bitterness bind us,” Belisma admitted with a light laugh.

Johanna barked out a laugh. “A fool who isn’t foolish. What a leader you are.”

Right. Some leader she was.

Some Watcher she was, uselessly puttering around the Fade with a dwindling hope of escape. She was weak, freezing, and terrified. Worst of all, she didn’t know the status of her companions. What had happened to them now that she had fallen into this dimensional cage?

“I never wanted this,” Belisma said. She faced the hazy apparition of Varric, her former mentor and friend, in teary shame. “I’m sorry. I’m … I’m horrible at this.”

The porcelain-pale apparition stared back at her with the same comforting stare he'd offered in life. "Hey, now. Cut yourself some slack, kid. I don’t think many people would handle this well, given the circumstances."

“I should have never become the leader of this team. How did I ever think I could do this? I should have ... opted out when I could."

"Opted out? Shit, I don't remember getting that paperwork when we confronted Solas. Though, I wouldn't have put it past him to have a policy overview drafted."

"Varric. Please. You know what I mean. I should have—"

“Did you just forget that you and your team just took down one of the blighted eleven gods?” Varric asked with a smirk. Even as a ghost in the Fade, he still snorted in infuriating amusement at her stress. “I wouldn’t diminish the effort that took. Or the sacrifice.”

Right. The sacrifice. Sacrifices, more accurately. How many had actually perished so far? How many elves? Wardens? Soldiers? Friends.

Harding.

“All of this happened because I disrupted the ritual,” she carried on, undeterred. “I should have never opened my mouth.”

“I recall it being my call to try and talk Solas down,” he said. “Neve and Harding were there too. Nobody else was coming up with any better plans, Rook. You did what you had to do.”

Right. Isn’t that just my life. Stepping up when nobody else wants to, then paying the price.

“My choice left Treviso in ruin,” she said. Each word left her as a ragged rush of air. Panic was sinking in. The doubt. The anger. Everything blurred into a mist of panic. “H-Harding is dead because I asked her to lead the distraction team.”

“You made impossible choices,” Varric reminded her. “That is what every leader must do. Your team knew the risks. Just like I did.”

Belisma tipped her head to the sky and laughed. “I’m leading this team to their deaths, Varric.”

“You know that’s not true,” he said. “You don’t want to die, kid. You might think you deserve it, but you don’t want that.”

“Don’t I?”

He stared her down, his gaze hard as concrete. In that moment, he looked more like a father than a friend. It lured the truth out of her.

“…You’re right. I don’t. Want to die, I mean.”

“Who does?” Varric joked. “Most avoid it for as long as they can. Too much to leave behind, you know?”

Inevitably, she thought of Emmrich. Was he okay? Had he made it off Tearstone Island? His voice had been the last one she’d heard. He'd sounded so far away. So worried.

"You've got someone to go back to, right?"

Oh, Maker, she hoped he was well.

She prayed with all her heart that he was well ...

Even if that meant he was mourning her.

Hope you enjoyed! <3

Next up: their reunion.

[lukohan]

How old?!

Fiorella is @lucinedoodles Rook

This post is responsible that this piece of writing exists.

The Veilguard missed an important day. While they celebrate it a little late they find out just how old Rook actually is.

“Fiorella!” Viago called out. Rook stopped in her tracks and went over to him and Teia. Lucanis followed her to meet them.

“Here” Viago held a pair of gloves towards Rook “since we missed your nameday and you can’t even manage to come back on your own. It is already two weeks late. But don’t think too much of it, I just happen to have them.” They were black with a delicate silver embroidery, artistic while comfortable and definitely very, very expensive.

Teia chirped in “Don’t listen to him. He stood there choosing, and terrified the poor merchant, for eight hours before he finally chose this pair”

“That has nothing to do with this specific pair of gloves. It is important when choosing gloves…” Viago started to go on about gloves and choosing the right fabric and material and design and when what occasion and on and on and on…

Fiorella traced the embroidery with her fingertips as she listened to Viago talk.

They missed Rooks nameday? Lucanis contemplated about it for a moment. Rook hadn’t said anything but maybe she forgot it with all the problems that have needed to be dealt with. He kept thinking, if he slips away now, he could probably run to the market, by some groceries and return here before Viago was done with his rant about gloves. So, let’s see he would need eggs, sugar, butter…

He nodded to Teia, who stood there with an amused face, and quietly left.

Lucanis had returned right when Viago was finally done explaining on how to properly choose a pair of gloves. They said goodbye and returned to the Lighthouse. Fiorella left for Emmrich’s room and Lucanis went straight to the kitchen. It was time to make a little treat for Rook.

Taash, Harding and Davrin were already in the dining hall when he entered. He focused on making a special meal for tonight. He had observed that Fiorella didn’t seem to have any specific favourite dishes, but he knew exactly what dessert to make. Soon enough the nice smell of Lucanis cooking filled the dining hall. Maybe it was the smell that attracted the others or maybe it was really just a coincidence that Bellara and Neve entered right when he was done with the first batch of churros.

Neve asked with a curious grin: “Oh? Any special occasion for you to make a dessert on top of the usual cooking?”.

“Ah, yes. I made more than enough, but these are for Rook. We missed her nameday.”

“WHAT” Bellara yelled surprised. “Oh no, we missed such an important day? Why didn’t she say anything? Wait, did she say something and I missed it? Do you think she’s sad because we missed it?”

“Bell, calm down.” Neve tried to sooth Bellara. “I am quite sure she won’t be sad or angry with you for not knowing when her nameday was.”

“Oh, right. Maybe. But we can’t just ignore it now that we know. What should we do?”

Bellara’s little outburst attracted the others attention and they joined their little group.

“Did anyone actually know when Rooks nameday is?” Davrin asked into the room.

Taash seemed to think differently “Or maybe she didn’t want anyone to know, who knows.”

As a lively discussion erupted in the dining hall about Rooks nameday and what should be done about it, Lucanis prepared the second batch of churros as well as a sweet cioccolata calda.

“Everyone!” Neve interrupted and gestured to Lucanis. “I believe Lucanis already prepared a special nameday meal. So let us just celebrate it today.”

Bellara beamed at the prospect of that. “Right but we can’t forget the candles. They are very important!  … Uhm, how many candles do we need?”

��

The room was silent as no one knew the answer.

Just the the door to the dinning hall opened and Fiorella and Emmrich entered.  

After the initial “Why didn’t you tell us about your nameday?” interrogation died down, everyone just kept on chattering until it was time for dessert.

Lucanis served the churros and the hot chocolate when Bellara finally asked

“How old are you actually now?” And everyone looked expectant at Rook.

“ 20 ”

Lucanis was glad no one was holding their cup, otherwise there would be a lot of shards needed to be cleaned up, because everyone would have dropped theirs in shock. Mierda, twenty! No wonder Viago looks like he wants to murder him whenever they visit Treviso. They were basically sending a child to fight gods.

Taash went on about how they thought they were the youngest, but no, no, looks like that wasn’t the case.

Bellara is just as flabbergasted and even Neve looked quite surprised.

Harding didn’t look as surprised as the others. After all she knew Rook for almost a year longer as the others, though she seems to not have known that Rook was this young.

Davrin didn’t look very surprised either, it was more of a “I fucking knew it” resignation.

Emmrich was… He was sitting at the table with his head propped up in his right hand. His eyes were wide with shock as he stared at the table. The poor man looked like he was having an existential crisis, a midlife crisis and just a general crisis all in one go. If his hair hadn’t been grey yet, this would have been the moment it would have turned. Well, that was one way to find out that your girlfriend is 35 years younger than you.

Fiorella didn’t seem to realise what turmoil she just caused. She seemed to be content to stand behind Emmrich happily munch on the churros Lucanis has made, oblivious to the distress she caused her partner.

[hyperions-light]

Rook’s notes on the Lighthouse/Caretaker for the codex ask!

Thank you for asking! [Codex prompts here] These are very fun so far!

- This place is alive? Moves to accommodate guests, changes layout. Many places accessible using acrobatics. Some inaccessible currently (tried, dangerous).

- Seems to have assigned me Fish Room. Think they are watching me (good?). Able to rearrange furniture but not request more. Annoying.

- Solas lived here? Depressing. No wonder he’s so miserable. Found weird, sad little room with his stuff in it. Going to ask him if he’s bored in the Fade Jail next time. Maybe he will be less annoying if he has something to do? Can try to mentally recreate books, maybe.

- There’s a. Ghost? Demon? Spirit? Asked Bellara, she says spirit. Very turquoise, many eyes, bad clothes (do spirits wear those? Ask Solas). Seems helpful? Provides gondola rides and is more polite than gondoliers in Treviso. And it’s free!

- Spirit is in Lighthouse now. Very cryptic, even more than Solas. Wonder if that was a requirement in Arlathan (ask Solas). Still not dangerous. Seems to help with accessing new parts of Lighthouse. Asked why I couldn’t just go everywhere now, got vague nonsense. Ugh.

- Should bring random Crows + civilians here to see if it does anything. Viago? Might be funny!

- Found out Library is covered in depressing murals of things Solas regrets. Probably impolite to bring up. Does he like being miserable? I don’t cover my walls with all the missions I fucked up. Strange, sad, bald man. Going to ask him if he wants to play cards next time. Maybe letting him win would cheer him up.

- Manfred is my new best friend. We’re exploring the Lighthouse together.

- Who’s Felassan?

- Solas says to stop contacting him about unimportant things (no).

- Spent indeterminate amount of time trying to convince Lighthouse to replicate animal habitats. Did not work and Davrin looked concerned.

- Was having Davrin show me how to carve animals (looks fun) but got distracted by Assan and impaled my hand. Davrin was upset about this. Said it was fine, but he insisted we visit Emmrich. Discovered Lighthouse speeds magical healing. Worth it.

- If I start bringing cats here will it make a room for them?

- Tried bringing cats. One almost floated away. Do NOT bring Neve’s favorite.

- Bellara and I were using the magical floating ornaments above her room for target practice, and one of them suddenly exploded! Practical applications?

- How come no one else ever visits Varric? Tried to ask Harding if she’d been to see him, but she didn’t hear me? Strange. Visit more-- maybe others will come with? He must be lonely in there.

- Remember to ask Solas if he needs to eat. Think I could manifest Lucanis’ paella if I tried hard enough.

- Taash and I are going to try and build some traps. Borrowed explosives from Antoine. Think Lighthouse is sentient enough to identify intruders if I talk to it.

- Tried to ask the fish about Solas. Maybe they saw him while he was here?

- One of the wisps left Neve’s room suddenly, so we followed it around-- they are DEFINITELY the ones moving people’s stuff. Also maybe causing books to appear? Neve says we need more evidence.

- Emmrich said Harding made the plants grow because she loved them (of course she did). Going to ask her to make me taller via caring about me.

- Sat in the pantry for a while trying to talk the Lighthouse into manifesting a new bed for Lucanis, now that Spite isn’t a problem. Convinced nobody can sleep on that thing. No luck. Try carrying couch from library?

- MANY, LOUD objections to Taash and me building traps. Still think it could work, but promised Davrin I’d return explosives. No one here lets me have any fun (except Taash, Bellara, and Spite).

- Spent a while trying to see if the Lighthouse would let Harding move any of the giant floating chunks of rock. Also attempted exploding arrows + asking politely. No luck.

- Emmrich brought Johanna’s skull here! Amazing! Asked Emmrich to carry my skull around with him after I die so I can see new stuff. Did not understand the reasons he said he couldn’t. Will keep bothering him.

- Friends keep leaving things in my/the fish’s room. Need more drawers.

- Lace says Taash and Bellara can put up memorials to Cyrian and Shathann in her garden, if they want. Think it’s a good idea. Emmrich agrees.

- Made it to the top of the Lighthouse! Made Assan promise not to tell the others how to get up there. Reminds me of the rooftops in Treviso.

- Makes sense now, why Varric never got his own room. Going to put his stuff in Lace’s garden. I think she would have liked that.

[lavender-tea-fling]

For that kiss meme: 26!!

Thanks for the prompt!!!

26. A kiss where both parties are crying.

Well you KNOW I gotta do a post-fade prison reunion fic.

——————————————————-

The first thing Rook sees when he opens his eyes is the Memorial Gardens. His head hurts fiercely, no doubt amplified by dehydration, exhaustion, and terror. Even the dim light of the gardens seems too bright. No doubt another one of the prison’s attempts to break him further, Rook thinks bitterly, squeezing his eyes shut against this new form of torment.

He lays on his back at the base of what seems to be “Love in Life and Death”. First Neve, then Harding, then Varric’s goodbye, some sort of portal… is Rook supposed to face Emmrich now? Maker knows he regrets their parting words. I never got to tell him that I love him. He was so afraid to die. Why was I so dismissive?

There are sounds around them now, shouts and scuffling feet. Rook curls in on himself, hands coming up to clamp over his ears. If this place is built on regret, he needs to focus, needs to forgive himself for what he said, needs to—

“Rook!”

Someone collapses beside him. There are hands in his hair, on his shoulders, caressing his face, squeezing his arms. The touch is startling, and… warm. That can’t be right, everything is cold. Colorless. He is alone in this space.

Rook opens his eyes.

Kneeling above him, hands frantically checking for injuries, is Emmrich. The senior necromancer looks like he had aged a decade. His hair, usually perfectly styled and neat, was unkempt and unwashed. A small amount of stubble decorated his cheeks, and he clearly hadn’t slept in a long time.

Rook sits up slowly, tentatively reaching out to the man he had grown to love more than life itself. His fingers find the necromancer’s pulse point, feeling the warm thrum of life pounding through his veins; Warm, steady, and real.

“E-Emmrich?” The rogue croaks out, a stray tear falling onto the bloodied armor he has worn since Ghilan’nain’s death.

“Darling.” Emmrich couldn’t hold back his tears any longer, winding his arms around Rook and sobbing into his chest. “I. We thought you were—“

“Vhenan, I…” Rook whimpers, clutching Emmrich’s shirt with all the strength he has left. “Is this real? Where—“

Emmrich cuts him off with a bruising kiss. It’s messy and inelegant, of course it is, borne simply out of a desire for closeness. Their tears mingle together, falling between them and rolling off Rook’s dented breastplate. It’s both seconds and hours when Rook’s shuddering sobs intensify into tears of abject relief. “I looked around, and, and— You were GONE. All of you. And Solas, he…”

“Breathe, dearest, I’ve got you.” Emmrich whispers, cradling the rogue’s head against the crook of his neck. “We’ve got you.”

Just beyond the pair, Bellara, Davrin, Taash, and Lucanis stand together. Lucanis holds Solas’ dagger (how’d they get it back?), watching the pair with a soft, bittersweet expression. Taash stands beside him. One of Harding’s arrowheads has joined her mother’s horn among their many necklaces. Davrin and Bellara are doing an admirable job keeping Assan and Manfred contained. Rook chuckles wetly as Manfred tugs aggressively at the Warden’s sleeve, giving Assan the opening to slip away from his caretaker to tackle the two Mourn Watchers in excitement.

They’ve lost so much, all of them. Yet, for a moment, Rook is happier than he has ever been.

[cybershock24601]

Imagine rook telling the companions how much they miss their pet (insert animal here) that they "raised themself" and everyone is thinking "Oh how nice and sweet" and when they finally reach the necropolis they see rooks pet is a zombie or skeleton animal and they realized when rook said "raised themself" they meant...from the dead

You. You get me.

Rook Ingellvar most definitely has a necromantic pet and treats it like the sweetest most precious thing in the entire world. If anything ever happened to it they would kill everyone in this room and then themself energy and the fact that it’s already dead does not matter. Rook only left their bone baby back home because Varric and Harding said it probably wasn't a good idea to bring it along because most people outside of Nevarra aren't exactly cool with the undead, so Harding definitely knows what Rook is talking about when they mention their pet and just has the most strained smile on her face when Rook mentions their precious puppy while everyone else is taken in by Rook's stories about their dog back home because who doesn't love dogs?

At least until they go get Emmrich and Rook decides to go grab a bunch of the stuff they left at the Necorpolis when they left the first time including their bone dog because everyone seems cool with Manfred so Precious the skeletal mabari should be all good too.

Of course no one says anything to Rook’s face but everyone but Emmrich is at least a little disturbed and unnerved by the creepy skeleton dog wandering around the Lighthouse and begging for pets because how are you supposed to pet a skeleton?

Assan is the only one having a good time because now he has a friend to rough house with and Rook is left to scold the both of them for playing too rough because their skeleton dog has lost a leg and Rook’s going to have to reattach it. Davrin has completely given up and just decided to let Rook handle this one because he’s already got one rambunctious griffin to deal with, he’s not adding the bone dog on top of it.

Taash however is debating whether they should punt the thing off the edge of the Lighthouse because it freaks them the fuck out and Emmrich is impressed by the skill Rook has shown in the necromantic arts to resurrect such a loving yet protective guard dog. Most everyone else is staying as far away from the bone dog as possible though I do think Bellara might be the first to really start giving the creepy little thing a chance with everyone else reluctantly following suit because Rook just has the biggest saddest puppy eyes whenever anyone ignores their precious little baby.

[opulentshits]

DA:TV - Pokémon edition

Inspired by @velvet-apricots , here’s my take on the Veilguard companions (+ my MW!Rook) Pokémon lineup.

Plus a little background info.

Taash

Garchomp

Gyarados: “Had Bubba since she was a magikarp, mom got her because she wanted me to learn about patience and responsibility. People like to say she’s no dragon, but I think she’s one for sure.”

Magcargo: “Mags is a little shy, don’t mess with him.”

Slaking

Camerupt

Davrin

Scrafty

Hariyama

Metacross

Shiny Growlithe: “This is Assan, the grey wardens have been breeding shiny Growlithes for generations. He is one of the 12 left in the world. We don’t know if there are more shiny growlithes like Assan and his siblings out there.”

Quilava: “Maika will burn any darkspawn in sight. She’s vicious and keeps Assan on his toes.”

Bellara

Luxray: “Lux was Cyrian’s but he started following me after he passed away. It’s great that Lux keeps me company. I can always feel Cyrain’s presence around Lux.”

Ampharos

Pikachu

Togedemaru: “I found Toad near some ruins in the forest! Cute isn’t she? Oh don’t touch her belly, she will zap you really hard.”

Tinkaton

Lucanis

Scizor

Greninja: “Matteo has been with me since I was a child, he’s been training with me all my life. Spite upsets him quite a bit but I think we are making some progress.”

Gallade

Gallarian Farfetch’d: “His name is Poro, why does an assassin have a bird holding a leek for a Pokémon? Why not? He has a good eye for produce and our targets.”

Medicham

Neve

Hatterene

Eiscue

Weavile: “Hal called about a Weavile causing some trouble, turns out all Ted wanted was some fish. He makes a pretty good partner.”

Froslass

Alolan Ninetails: “I rescued Princess from poachers who were trying to sell her off to the Venatori. Alolan Vulpixes are prized for their white coat. Safe to say I could not bear to part with her ever since. Aren’t you my little princess, yes you are!”

Emmrich

Sylveon: “Ribbons belonged to my mother, he evolved after we were reunited on my parents’ first death anniversary. I had to beg Vorgoth to let me take him.”

Shiny Sableeye: “This is Manfred. I found him scourging through my bag at camp during an expedition in the deeper parts of the necropolis. Turns out he was interested in the gemstone attached to the artifact we were retrieving. Curious little fella this one!”

Dusclops

Mismagius

Chandelure

Harding

Probopass

Cradily

Serperior

Butterfree: “I used to be afraid of bugs, but Puffs really helped me work out my fears.”

Paldean Clodsire: “I found Butters in a swamp near Ma’s home! There were these woopers I used to secretly feed leftovers to and one day Butter’s decided to come home with me! He’s a lot bigger now, but he’s still lil old Butters to me.”

Rook (Lenore Ingellvar)

Gengar: “Hans has been with me since he was ghastly. The other watchers said they found him hovering around me as a baby. He’s harmless. For most part.”

Cubone which evolved into Alolan marowak in Rivain: “Ghost was found next to a couple of dead Charizards out in Cumberland when I was there on a haunting investigation. It took him 4 months to begin trusting me, but we have been close ever since. Ghost really likes the beach and has been begging to go ever since we went to Rivain and I never expected him to evolve! Our journey really has brought us even closer.”

Dragapault

Mawile

Lucario

Fun fact:

Ghost did not like Emmrich at the beginning. He would cockblock Emmrich at any given moment, slapping down his bone near Emmrich’s foot whenever he stepped too close to Lenore. Ghost warmed up when Emmrich fixed his favourite bone stick after a particularly bad run in with the Venatori.

Hans knew Emmrich before Lenore did as Hans loved to fly around the Necropolis playing tricks on other Watchers. Emmrich used to bribe Hans with sugar cubes.

[velvet-apricots]

A series of Codexs i wrote about my Rook. Taken from this post.

Note found in Rook’s pocket

A note of poetry with deep creases indicating its been folded and unfolded many times. The lettering is written in a neat, loopy cursive in emerald green ink

Eyes of spring beheld by my eyes of winter

Hair of autumn betwixt my weathered fingers

Lips like berries and all for me to devour

My clever bird, my darling Rook

May your hands forever more hold my heart

For as long as it remains beating

E.V

An entry from Rook’s journal

I dreamed about Weisshaupt the other night. All those Wardens we couldn’t help. Davrin said there were a thousand of them. Now there are only a quarter of that. Solas said it was a victory. I don’t know what to think.

Varric said it helps to say or write out what did go right so-

I got to punch the First Warden in the face

An Archdemon is dead. 

Davrin is alive. 

Ghilan’nain is mortal. 

That's four good things. I am particularly glad that Davrin is alright. 

Solas also said that I may have to sacrifice someone to win. I said that I was ready… But I am not. I refuse to let that happen. No one in my team will die. Call it childish, but I won’t be like him. I am already on the right track, given Davrin somehow got out not dead. No idea why, but Bellara says it probably has to do with Ghilan’nain being out of the fade and back in the real world. Something about the soul and stuff.

I don’t remember. I’m not smart like her.

Rook's Shopping List

A list written in a messy scrawl that drifts downward across the page.

Lucanis, please buy these for me. I have to go somewhere with Bellara. No time to get it myself. I left some money to pay for it.

Lipstick. Cherry red. (For me. Last pot was dropped into blighted water. Davrin said I should throw it away.)

Pistachios. Roasted and salted (for me to snack on)

Chocolate (also for me. I need it)

Honey (to make honey roasted almonds as we have way to many of them now)

Beans (for Emmrich. He can't just eat yams and fruit)

Several sacks of Flour (also for Emmrich. Needed for Seitan)

Jam, preferably cherry or apple (for Harding, wants me to try her ham and jam slams again with “proper jam”. Pray for me.)

Spicy Peppers (For Taash to add to their food)

A message between two companions about Rook

A series of messages written in Davrin and Neve’s handwriting.

Should we be worried about Rook? She keeps talking about Varric like he’s still around. - Davrin

What do you mean by “like he’s still around”? - Neve

I mean she’s saying stuff like “I am going to go talk to Varric” then she goes and talks at his stuff like he's actually there. But he's not. He’s dead. Doesn’t that bother you? - Davrin

I have seen people react to loss in similar ways in my work. They talk to the person they lost like there are there. To help them sort their thoughts. It’s a form of coping with grief. I am sure Emmrich would be able to explain it better than I can. - Neve

And watch him fuss over her like a mother hen at dinner? Not a chance. - Davrin

Letter from Rook to their love interest

Emmrich,

Amatus. That's all I want to call you. It's all I chant in my head (along with your name). I feel like a little girl gushing over a boy who shoved mud in her face (not that you ever would).

I can’t write poetry but I can tell you that I want to call you Amatus. Do you know what that means? It means beloved. That is what you are to me.

When we next meet in private. I want you to leave with my name chanting in your head too. Not Rook. But my real name. I think you will like my name. It’s a flower, and you like flowers. 

- The letter is signed with a lipstick mark.

A letter to Rook from a family member or close friend

A letter lost in the chaos of Elgar’nan’s attack on Minrathous. Stained with blood and blight, sealed with the wax seal of Legatus Charon Mercar

My Sweet Rabbit,

Never apologize. You did what you had to.

I will be waiting for you in Ventus. Do not die. You are not allowed to. Not until I see you again.

Love, 

Papa

A note/letter that Rook never sent

An unsent, unfinished letter. Crumpled up and left near the fireplace.

Dear Hawke,

I hope this letter finds you well. You do not know me, but I knew Varric, and you through him. I am Rook, and I traveled with him to stop Solas. I knew him for only six months, but I considered him a wonderful friend and a great mentor.

I send you this letter to tell you that 

I regret to inform you 

I am grieved to say 

Harding probably already told you that

He meant a lot to me

 I have his belongings still and 

The remainder of the letter carries on the same way until there is no more room to write.

[queenmuzz]

Five Stages of Grief: Chapter II: Anger

Warning: Post Tearstone Island Spoilers

Read it HERE on Ao3

He grips the bridge of his nose to stop the impending headache.  Worry and stress have no doubt played a large huge part in it, but a lack of sleep and a diet of nothing but Lucanis’s coffee (that’s how he knows things are getting bad, when his tea no longer can sustain him) aren’t helping.  And now the rising arguments coming from his companions is making the possibility of a headache into a certainty.

There’s a loud thud that echoes through his skull as Taash pounds their fist on the table.  “This is bullcrap!  It’s been what, four days?  And we haven’t done anything to get Bellara or Rook back!”

Emmrich bites his tongue, suppressing the urge to inform her that he has read more books in the last four days, researching everything related to the Fade, its pockets, and ancient elvish history than he has in an entire year (and possibly more books than they've read in their lifetime, but he wisely bites his tongue).  Because he knows the answer to what their next question would be:  Has it helped get them back?  And the answer is a resounding no.

“Everyone is doing the best they can, Taash.”  Harding rests her small hand on the Adari’s fist, “it’s just that these things take time”. Harding has been hard at work too working her inquisition contacts to the breaking point, not to mention attempting to mediate between the ever increasing arguments that threaten to boil over anytime the group meets to update their progress.  She’s doing her best, but Harding doesn’t have the same talents as Rook, she doesn’t know when to stand firm, instead of agreeing with every idea to keep everyone happy.  It’s not something he blames her for, as if he were in her tiny shoes, he’d probably do the same.  The loss of the three has left a giant bloody wound in the group, and an infection of feverish anger is beginning to set in.  It needs to be cleansed and stitched together in order to begin the healing process, and without Rook, there is no hope of it getting better.

“There’s also the issue of Minrathous,” Neve interjects, taking her pipe out of her mouth, which Emmrich has disapprovingly noticed she’s been puffing on much more lately. “The few Shadow Dragon contacts I still have have informed me that the Venatori have drastically increased their subjection of the city, and are seemingly preparing for… something.”

“Mierde,” mutters Lucanis, but Emmrich is close enough to hear Spite raging.  “LESS TALK. MORE DOING. FIND ROOK.” He can’t disagree with that sentiment, but the problem is that no one knows where to start.  It’s just more bad news after bad news. 

“Sorry to break it to you, Neve,” Taash says as they spear a sausage from the central platter, “Minrathous is kinda not really important right now. Rivain’s in an uproar, the Antaam are running like a bull in a pottery shop… uh… wait, is that the correct term?  Anyways, if you’re outside the cities, you’re fresh meat to those bastards, and it’s only gonna get worse.”

Neve’s eyes darken as she puts out her pipe with an ices hard.  “You think MY city, which has already been attacked by a blighted dragon and taken over by the Venatori, isn’t important?”

“I’m not saying that, Neve, I’m just saying it’s not our highest priority.  We already knew the place had gone to crap way before Tearstone island.”

The air around Neve drops central degrees, and Lucanis twitches, no doubt attempting to contain a VERY agitated Spite, who is chomping at the bit to let them all know what his position on the matter is.

“TOO LOUD.  FIND ROOK”

“Even if we were to find Elgar’nan, what could we do except chuck rocks at him and insult his hairstyle?” Taash continues, as Harding attempts, and fails to shush them, “He has an Archdemon we gotta kill first, and Davrin’s not here to help.  Not to mention the whole ‘Lyrium Dagger’ thing we don’t have.”

That brings something to Emmrich’s mind.

“Wait,” he says, as he places the coffee cup down. “Bellara said Rook allowed her to make a detailed study of the blade.  And knowing how diligent she can be with ancient elvish technology, she must have made detailed notes about it.  Perhaps, if I can study them, and with enough lyrium I may be able to recreate the blade, complete with the enchantments that make it so powerful… But,” he stops himself, remembering his younger colleague, whose boundless energy to learn as much as she could, was not with him, “It would require me to go through her notes, and I don’t feel…” she’d always been welcoming to the ‘Professor’ whenever he paid her a visit, but now with her gone, the thought of entering her little workshop to look for notes makes him feel like a burglar.

“I’ll go with you,” Neve offers, her voice softening, the agitation in the room slowly settles down, as the two of them slowly get out of their chairs.

“Thank you,” he replies, and he means it.  Neve and Bellara have a very close bond, and it’s probably best that she accompanies him.  Deep down, he knows the young elf would never mind him going through his notes, and in fact would be thrilled, but he can’t seem to bring himself to do it without someone’s permission.

He barely hears Lucanis mutter as he leaves “He didn’t even take a bite of the breakfast I made him….”

-------

There is only the sound of the rustling papers as they go through stacks and stacks of notes.  The bust of Anaris sits there, silently mocking them with its smug face, and Emmrich has to resist the urge to knock it over.  His nerves must be fraying, he realizes, if he is contemplating destroying the work of a colleague.  The problem is, Bellara is a copious note taker… of EVERYTHING.  Coupled with a habit of being a little scatterbrained, and no doubt the wisps mischievously moving everything around, it’s not an easy search.  Twice, he catches himself asking,  “Bellara, where did you put those notes on Rook’s dagger?” before realizing she can’t answer.  How many times had he asked her to stop calling him ‘Professor’ and to just simply call him ‘Emmrich’.  What he’d give to hear her call him ‘Professor.. I mean Professor Emmrich… I mean, sorry, Emmrich!’ right now.

“Aha!” Neve crows in triumph, as she holds up a sheaf of papers.  He can make out a rough sketch of the lyrium blade, and squiggles that approximate writing.  She walks over and hands them to him.  His heart jumps in his chest.  Yes, with these details, his studying, and a substantial amount of precious lyrium, there was a chance he could recreate what had been lost, or rather stolen from them.  Deep inside he hopes that it could even bring back… her.

“Yes, this will do nicely…”  he murmurs more to himself than Neve.  For the first time in what feels like an eternity, he feels hope.

“I’ll need time to study this.  This will be an undertaking few, if any mortal has ever accomplished.  I don’t know how long it will take, but I will do my best."  He begins to walk out of the room, fully intending to make a beeline to his study, but Neve stills him with a gentle, but unyielding hand.

“Emmrich,” she asks softly.  “You know you don’t have to do this alone.  We know how much Rook means to you…”

He knows that she means well.  That it all comes from a place of friendship and concern.  But right now, he needs neither, nor does he need her pity.  Especially her pity.

“Thank you, but I’ll be fine.” It’s not a lie.  A lifetime in the Necropolis has given him ample opportunity to work with only the dead for company.  He can take care of himself, and he refuses to be a burden to anyone else.

“Emmrich…” she persists, and there’s pity laced in that name.  It disgusts him.

“Leave. Me. Be.”  His voice hisses like the wind that blows through the Great Hall, bringing along the grit of grave dust.  He doesn’t need anyone right now.  All he desires is the time and solitude to study and study a way of recreating Solas’s blade.  And coffee.  Lots of coffee. 

------

He storms off towards his room, leaving a very concerned Neve standing there.

The next three days consist of never ending study of Bellara’s very detailed notes, deciphering her… unique… handwriting (he’s grateful that he had so much practice during their correspondence that feels like ages ago) taking notes and coming up with, and scratching out multiple theories.  There’s occasionally a short nap (which he makes sure to wake up from before the dreams start)  and then the coffee.  And more coffee.

Any interruption, save for Manfred’s delivery of the strongest stuff Lucanis can brew, is met with a glare, as in the case of Harding, who wanted to check for a status update, or a growl, like when Neve came in to ‘helpfully’ inform him that Elgar’nan had made his move and invaded Minrathous.  None of which matters to Emmrich right now.  He’s making good progress on which enchantments need to be applied to the blade, for how long, and in which order, but it still needs time.

Johanna’s skull and the table she’s bound to are shoved in a closet.  It only took one single jab, a sarcastic ‘Oh how the mighty Volkarin is stumped by some formula created by an uneducated forest elf’, before he decided she needed to be banished from his sight and hearing, lest he do something that he would regret. He is a Watcher still, even if he is a failure at everything else, and he has a duty to protect her, even if its from himself.

Manfred is also wisely staying out of his way.  He tries his best to be helpful, bringing Emmrich books when requested, or yet another cup of coffee, but even the sound of his jawbone clacking, or his occasional hiss is enough to start a raging headache in the man.  

Day four (seven days since Zea was taken from him) of his studies, and he’s finally come across a working theory of how the blade is able to puncture through the protective enchantments of the gods.  It requires the lyrium to be both a conduit, and an inhibitor of magical energies, depending on what the balance of magic is.  If the object has more magical energy than the blade, the magic will transfer to it, leaving the would-be god, or Veil vulnerable to a mundane cutting action.  Like a drop of water being absorbed into a dry cloth.  It’s able to go the other way too, if the blade encounters something with very low amounts of magic, which may explain what happened to Harding.  But that’s not important right now.  Now, he must construct, and implement the enchantments needed to sustain said charge, and that will be the hardest part of the whole thing.  Every moment spent on a dead end, every wasted moment dozing off or even sipping his coffee is a moment he could be getting closer to bringing her back, to apologizing to her, to begging for forgiveness.

So it's no surprise that he’s less than pleased when he’s interrupted by a plate of flatbread, layered with goat's cheese and sundried tomatoes being placed in front of him.  He lifts up his head to angrily demand why Manfred should disobey his order to not be disturbed, and comes face to face with Lucanis, holding two coffee cups.

“I didn’t ask for food.”

“I know, but you must think I’m stupid to think that I haven’t noticed you haven’t come down for meals as you once did.”

“I’ve been sending Manfred to fetch meals for me,” a lie that the younger man instantly catches on to.

“The only thing he’s been asking for is yet more coffee.”  He sees Emmrich’s eyes dart immediately to the cup in his hand, and pulls it back, clicking his tongue.

“No… the only way you’re getting another cup is after you clear this plate.”

Emmrich is astounded.  Does Lucanis think he’s a child, who has to be cajoled into eating their supper?  He contemplates flipping the plate off the desk, flatbread and all, before realizing that yes, it would indeed make Lucanis think he’s a child.

It’s Spite of all people, that makes him acquiesce. “CURIOSITY IS WORRIED. WITHOUT ROOK HE IS LOCKING CURIOSITY OUT.  AND CURIOSITY CANNOT GET BACK IN”   He hears Spite’s voice, while Lucanis nods in agreement.  It’s a low move, to use Manfred’s worries as a weapon to get him to eat, but… what they say comes from a place of concern and care.  Manfred is too pure hearted to guilt him into eating, and no doubt went to a fellow spirit for aid.

He sighs, and begins to nibble the edge of the bread.  Like most of Lucanis’s cooking, it tastes divine…or at least it would if it wasn’t bringing back memories of the last time he last ate something similar to this.  He half expects Zea’s hand to snatch one of the tomatoes off the bite he's about to take, popping it in her mouth, giving him one of those grins that would immediately melt his heart, and instantly forgive her.  But no such hand, not the left one, with the calluses he knew by heart, nor the right, with the slightly shorter pinky finger, (an embarrassing accident, she had explained) appears.  So he dejectedly eats, the food tasting like ash in his mouth, and forming a lump in his throat every time he swallows.  Still he powers through, and to his eternal annoyance, Lucanis is right.  He hasn’t been eating much, and it's affecting his body and mind.  He seems more focused, the words on the page no longer running together as he attempts to read, his hands (almost) stop their trembling.

Satisfied, and more than a little smug, Lucanis sets the cup of coffee in front of Emmrich.  He mutters his thanks and begins to sip.  He really hates the taste, even under the expert brewing of Lucanis, but it’s the only way to keep going, to push the need for sleep away, to where he knows he will be beset by nightmares.

“This is the last cup I’m making you,” the assassin announces, after taking a sip of his own, no doubt to bolster his own courage. “I’m cutting you off. At least until you get a good night’s sleep.”

Emmrich is outraged.  Yet again, he’s being treated like a naughty child who has stayed up too late.

“Lucanis, you wouldn’t dare…”

“I can… and I am.”  His eyes soften.  “I’m not doing this to be cruel, Emmrich.  I of all people know what a lack of sleep can do to a person.  And I was trained for it.  You are not.”  He places his empty cup down, and places a hand on his shoulder, no doubt to offer support, but it burns, like a slap to the face. “You need to sleep.”

“It’s easy for you to say,” he shoots back, barely containing the rage boiling within him, “You have someone to go to bed with…” 

He regrets those words, even as they come out of his mouth.  Lucanis’s reaction is immediate, and yet subdued.  His eyes flash purple, and Spite lets out a single growl before it’s clamped down, and the haunting dark eyes return as the assassin regains control.

“I know you want her back, Emmrich.  Perhaps more than all of us put together.  But you cannot kill yourself to do so.   You know she would never forgive herself if you did.” 

Emmrich ought to apologize.  Andraste’s Sacred Flames, he wants to apologize for such a crass insult.  But he can’t bring himself to do it.  Not yet.  Only when she’s back in his arms, can he truly offer apologies.

“Get some sleep, Emmrich” Lucanis repeats, and it hurts that his voice doesn’t even have well deserved anger.  The man ought to be furious with him, he ought to be barely resisting the urge to slap him, but instead he slowly retrieves the plate, and begins to make his way out of the room, before stopping at the threshold.

“Once, I thought I could deal with the pain on my own.  But there was- is,” he hastily corrects himself, “a woman who helped me reach out, who opened doors.  Take the advice she once gave me, that isolating yourself will only cause you more pain.”  He vanishes, leaving Emmrich there with only a cup of coffee for company.  

Lucanis means well, he knows.  He’s trying to help.  But until he finds Zea, he cannot let up on his research.

But, his body can only handle so much before it needs more coffee, and now the only other source is the ‘coffee’ that Neve brews.  He’s not that desperate.

Yet.

[profoundlyfaded]

And a further addition to this post - romantic head canons for EmmRook - specifically around Rook’s time in The Fade.

As per all these little snippets, this involves Yaryna Ingellvar; Mourn Watch Reaper. This one contains slightly more explicit spoilers so be warned, it also contains footnotes…

In the immediate aftermath of Rook being pulled into The Fade, there isn’t much time to process what has happened as Elgar’nan rains enough fire down on Tearstone it turns to glass*. It’s Davrin and Taash who all but drag Emmrich to safety but once back in the Lighthouse he walks back to his rooms without a word, shutting the door, shutting them all out.

The silence is an echoing yaw across the Lighthouse because it’s not just Rook, Harding is gone too, dead in a blaze of bravery. Bellara too, ripped through a mirror. And Emmrich feels those losses deeply too; Harding had become an unexpected but firm friend and Bellara was akin to what he imaged having a curious niece might have been like. But his mind swims back to Rook; beautiful, vibrant Rook whose last words to him were cry of relief that he was alright after Ghilan’nain managed to entangle him in Blight. Beautiful, vibrant Rook whom he had told the night before that they probably needed to end it because he’s far too old for her and their future limited. Despite it, however, he woke to her in his bed after she snuck in after he fell asleep.

He stands in his lab, hands on his mortuary slab, bracing himself against the torrent of emotion. The feeling one he remembers as a small boy upon the realisation that his parents are never coming back. But Rook isn’t necessarily dead; she vanished in a blinding flash of light and the taste of the Deep Fade lingered before Elgar’nan rained down his fury.

She could be in The Fade; transported there by factors unknown**. An idea starts to form - he’s looking at his equipment. When he first arrived, Rook had asked him to help them navigate the Crossroads, to try and chart the Fade so they could traverse it. His role expanded, of course, but it was his deep knowledge of the Fade that brought him here. He’d also been studying the prison Solas created, having identified both the one Solas had originally made and the new one he created having found them through readings and valances that were not consistent with surrounding areas.

But he needs something tangible of Rook’s; a deeply personal item with which to give him a baseline of her presence. So he goes to her quarters; as their relationship progressed he spent many an evening here, relaxed with Rook, contemplating the aquarium that he still hasn’t found time to study. In his minds eye, there is moment after moment flooding into him of them kissing, making love, slipping away to the bedroom***. The room smells of her and all the little touches around the room remind him of the things that delight her; the Nevarran Urn, an elven lamp lit with Veilfire. The last set of flowers he left for her sit in a vase, slightly wilted now, it’s been a few days given the rush since Elgar’nan pulled the sun and moon into its diabolical eclipse. Books line one wall - mediations on battle, instruction manuals on hexcraft that he’s afraid to open because she writes in the margins, he finds a couple of the books he’s written in metaphysics in The Fade and he flicks it open to find her handwriting on the page, underlined passages, circled phrases… it’s awful and beautiful at the same time.

There’s also a journal, it bulges, it looks so tantalising. He’s seen her write in it many times. He wants to pick it up, decern something of Rook’s nature just by holding it. Emmrich places his hand on it as if he could feel the beat of her heart through it or the thread of her thoughts. In the back of his mind, he expects Rook, Yaryna, to burst through the door.

In the bedroom, her bed is made because she didn’t sleep there last night, but her cosmetics are strewn across a dressing table. The clothes she wears when they are just at the Lighthouse are thrown across the arm chair in the corner, her velvet day coat on top. A book is on the table beside the chair, open but pages down, and it’s another of his - she’s working through his entire body of published works. There’s also a folded newspaper beside it, the headline reveals it’s actually one of the serials the team all end up sharing - this one is Bellara’s favourite about ghosts.

On the bedside table is what he’s looking for - her hairbrush and hair. Something that contains Rook and all that she is to give him the signature he is looking for.

Lucanis is the first to visit, the following day, with food ‘you can’t keep doing whatever it is you are doing without eating.’

Periodically, the team check on their resident necromancer and then there is news from the Veil Jumpers - Solas emerging from within the ancient ruins of the capital. They tried to question him, but Solas turned them to stone. Emmrich travels to the ruined city, Neve with him along with Davrin and Assan, taking measurements. Here the plan to replicate the knife is born; Emmrich can get a sense of the enchantment well enough to inlay magic into it that it would buy them some time to swap it with the real dagger so they can attempt rescue Rook.

Taash and Lucanis, and to an extent all of them, want to go after Solas but he’s temporarily gone to ground and both Rook and Bellara are out there somewhere. Elgar’nan is nursing his wounds too, clearly deciding on his move now Ghilan’nain is dead. As the dagger comes together, Emmrich continues his search of the Fade and each night returns to Rook’s room to be close to her, one night opening her journal because it’s been days, nearly two weeks and not even a glint.

The flowers he’s given her over their courtship are pressed among the pages, notes about when he gave them to her, what she loves. She’s kept all the ribbons as well. The words speak of love, a connection deeper than can be fathomed, all the things Emmrich has felt but expressed in Rook’s looping handwriting.

And he cries. A deep echoing pain because how could his last words to her have been ones of separation. It should have been love.

Then a few further days later, there’s a glint. The briefest flash. Emmrich doubles down, to his companions he’s become a bit of a mess, the refined clothing, pushed back hair even his speech holds the air of a desperate man.

A few days later again, more flashes of activity, a flurry but not in a location that could be transposed to the real world. Not somewhere they can travel without Solas’s dagger. Elgar’nan makes his move and no one is ready. They don’t have enough resource for an out and out battle on the home turf of the Venatori anyway.

And more flashes of activity; real tangible evidence this time and a location to match - the ritual site where it all went wrong. And they can get there quickly because the location is ‘stored’ within the mirror. The team suit up, hopeful but also scared because what happens if Emmrich is wrong and they’ve not been able to retrieve Solas’s dagger to use.

Blind faith drives Emmrich, more than he had when he retrieved Manfred’s spirit, that Rook can find her way out all he has to do is find the right spot. The weakest point of the Veil. The last thing he hears before he plunges his hand into that tiny gap is Taash saying he better be sure.

And a hand grabs his; warm, familiar. He must say something because the team grab his arm and they pull in a loud shout pulling through Rook. She promptly collapses to her knees and vomits, then a mix of laughter and crying, pressing her forehead to the stone.

‘Darling?’

It’s the most cautious way he’s ever said it. Pausing, Rook wipes her mouth, then looks up, shielding her eyes from bright reality of the world compared to the Fade.

‘I knew you’d find me, my love.’

—

*I think it’s Taash who can tell Rook that Elgar’nan rained so much fire on the island in fury that it turned to glass. You have to interact with them a couple of times during the ‘last conversations’ before going to the final fight.

** I don’t necessarily think that Solas came back through The Fade immediately. I don’t think he returned via Tearstone Island as it would have been too dangerous. I don’t think the gang know Solas escaped for a couple of days or so.

***Look Rook isn’t sleeping on that sofa every night, and Emmrich does not sleep standing up like a horse. I’ve given each of the companions a proper bedroom behind like a hidden door in their respective dens - expect Davrin because that boy has his shit together.

[zet-sway]

Such Beautiful Bones

Chapter 3 of 4 | [Ch.1] | [Ch.2] | [Ch.4]

Or, a lichfic with a happy ending.

[Read on AO3] - Rated E

Pairing: Rook/Emmrich | Rating: 18+ | Words: ~3500 [Ch.3]

And it’s here, with Rook’s soft curves entwined with his gilded bones, that he dreams.

MAJOR story spoilers at the beginning of this chapter. If you have not finished the game, you may not want to read further.

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There's a small section of his library where Emmrich keeps his most treasured and valued possessions. Unremarkable at a glance, it houses the few tokens he has left of his mother and father, a folio containing a selection of sketches and small artworks by friends he's met throughout his years. There are a few of his favorite books, beside which sits a robust copper bookend, cast in the shape of a Titan Arum, and a collection of corked glass bottles, each holding the delicate dried remnants of flower petals, once blooming gifts from lovers and cherished friends.

There's just enough space for Manfred's skull. He cleans and polishes the Orlesian-cut jeweled eyes and remembers the day he gifted them to him, one year to the day after Manfred had taken up residence in his skeletal body.

Death is different for spirits - they are only ever born of magic, a coalescence of living emotion taking shape in the Fade. To kill one would only mean releasing that energy back across the Veil, out into the infinite etheric flow. In that way, Manfred will never be truly gone. But despite a lifetime of security in that knowledge, Emmrich can't help but mourn the lost company of his brave, joyous companion.

To stand apart from death is to know all the intimate shades of loss. But in the aftermath of the war, it seems a fitting time to begin to heal.

There are lives to rebuild, wounded to heal, and dead to honor. The world turns, and he will hold the cost of their victory in his immortal memory for all time.

He conducts the final rites for the Veilguard’s fallen. For Warden Davrin, for Shathaan, and for the countless allies they have lost along the way. Their customs are foreign to him, but the grieving have trusted him with this honor, and so he abides, igniting the pyres and invoking the spirits to ferry their souls with care.

Perhaps the most painful rite is for Varric, for not only has Solas so brazenly taken his life, he’s stolen the opportunity for Rook to mourn. To honor him. To accept the passing of her friend, as a Watcher should. They have no body to burn, no possessions to remember him by. She weeps beside the infirmary cot that he once laid on, in the Dread Wolf’s cruel projection into her mind.

That her final memories of him are but a mage’s simulacrum is beyond Emmrich's ability to soothe. Still, he tries. Weakened by her fight against the blighted gods, Rook needs him now more than ever.

While she sleeps fitfully by his side, he busies himself reading what he can of Mr. Tethras’s published works.

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One by one, their companions depart the Lighthouse to rebuild the lives they knew before the war.

Neve and Lucanis are the first to go; the devastation of Minrathous too immense to delay aid. Bellara returns to Arlathan and writes him often about her discoveries.

He bids a heartfelt goodbye to Harding, with promises to visit her in Ferelden. Taash is by her side, ready to explore the world beyond Rivain.

Emmrich wanders the halls of the Lighthouse with each departure, reading the structure's ripples and distortions as it adjusts to its changing occupancy. Its walls seem to crowd a little closer, its sconces flames a little dimmer. When all that remain are he and Rook, the tower feels more oppressive than ever before. New corridors appear. He discovers unusual doors, unlocked and leading nowhere, their frames filled with cold, opaque bricks. The Nexus of light above the central chamber darkens to a deep crimson, throbbing with inconsonant energy.

Fascinating, but unfortunately so; the structure is realigning itself to the shape of Rook’s grief.

She is stricken more and more.

They lie once again beneath the sea of stars they had once placed together. The spell is beginning to weaken, or perhaps become overtaken by the Lighthouse's own powerful magics. And for a while it appears Rook is falling apart in tandem, as though each point of light and each missing piece of the Veilguard had been a pillar that held her above the well of grief left behind in the wake of Varric's passing.

More than once, he has offered the gentle suggestion of returning to Nevarra. She never refutes him outright, but Emmrich is careful not to pry; he is no stranger to mourning. She simply does not know what she wants. Beneath her grey clouds of confusion and hurt, she is but a woman with a heavy heart. What she needs now is patience, and this he has in bounties unending.

However painful it is to weather this tumultuous ocean with her, he knows well the changes that come with time. Discordant seas give way to calm waters, overtaken again and again by yet more storms of sadness, as unpredictable as the great oceans of life. He holds her close when she cries, rouses her gently from bed when she has gone too long without sunlight on her face. He brings her fresh flowers each morning and reads to her each evening. And though he’s never been much of a cook, he spends his evenings practicing her favorite recipes.

In the dead of night, he soothes the pulse of the Lighthouse itself, willing it to brighten its skies for her one more time.

Weeks pass. Their bed is a nest of Rook's little comforts. Flowers on her nightstand, mingled with little points of light that flicker and glow like fireflies. She wakes to his rousing one morning to find the fadelight spilling over the balcony, the warm hues of sunrise breaking through at long last.

“Good morning, my love,” he whispers beside her.

Her hair spills over fluffy white pillows as she reaches up to trace the contour of his jaw.

“I was dreaming,” she says.

He knows of her dreams. They ripple across the surface of his thoughts in the moments before she wakes. He presses his mouth to her palm, cradling her hand in his. “Another nightmare, dearest?”

She smiles, drawing him closer to kiss the ivory crown of his head.

“I dreamed we went home. Together.”

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Their return to the Necropolis is a momentous affair. Aware of his recent “promotion,” senior members of the Watch aid in ferrying his many books and possessions back to the faculty wing of the academy, where his private apartment resides. Mourn Watch gossip never ceases to amaze: he is delighted to learn that preparations are already underway to ready his living space for Rook.

And at the conclusion of this great shuffle, their first official instruction from the Watch is to attend an audience with Nevarran nobles who believe themselves entitled to his time, accompanied by an entourage of Mortalitasi from the court of King Markus himself.

He's always had a particular loathing for the nobility of his country, always despised the political pressure they exert on the Watch. But he has to admit, it's particularly piquant to witness them rushing to the deference of his lover; kissing Rook’s hands and covering her in a king's ransom of grave gold. It's perhaps the only thing nobles are good for, he thinks, smiling behind his glamour as her neck and wrists become heavy with their gleaming tokens; the gratitude of those unworthy of her brilliant smile and effortless grace.

By the end of the evening, she looks like a noble herself, swathed in lush, purple velvet, glittering gems, and only the finest gold. His rings clink against hers between laced fingers, and he smiles.

On their way back to their shared home, she regales him with her sharpest, most savage wit. Nobles who hadn't lifted a finger to aid the fight against the gods, bequeathing riches to a pair of orphan wards of the Watch. There's a kind of schadenfreude to it, knowing they'd all be dead. Knowing that for a moment, the world rested upon the shoulders of a rebellious, motherless elf and her lowborn lover.

Her laughter is as rich and indulgent as the lives they'll lead from now on, catapulted to the forefront of public consciousness.

In the evening, before his hearth, feeds her grapes, as lush and deeply purple as the gown she sheds at the threshold of their shared bedroom. The old chaise from the Lighthouse's meditation room makes its home here now, a place for lovers to recline and wile away the hours within an endless sea of books, safe inside the Necropolis walls. This little slice of heaven is theirs, and for the first time in too long, they fall into a peaceful, languorous rest.

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The Necropolis, in its ceaseless activity and subduction, is a troublesome structure to protect, and the Fade is a creature unto its own.

He continues a few of his professorial duties, albeit in a reduced capacity, but much of his time is occupied with the studies and activities unique to his ascension. Perhaps the most exciting of which is the need to travel.

It's a tricky business, maintaining the secrecy of the lich lords while performing all the requisite fulfillments of an esteemed Nevarran mage. There's the odd historical event to document, council to give - the various circles and other magely organizations across Thedas seeking consultation from the Watch in matters of necromancy - and, on occasion, galas and celebrations.

He travels under his given name, for the time being. Rook is by his side for every excursion, her wrists, neck, and fingers gilded with a collection of gold to rival his own. She is magnificent in her finery.

In his younger years, he'd have laughed in the face of any suggestion that this might be his future: a wayward Watcher and her undead lover, gliding hand in hand across an Orlesian ballroom.

He's always enjoyed dancing. The game of it, the precision and intimacy of moving together with careful discipline. Her feet are in perfect time with his. To have her in his arms is rapture, their bodies slotted together in a polite facsimile of lovemaking, right here beneath the gaze of so many others.

Moments like this remind him what an exquisite match they are for one another. On occasion, it's a reminder he sorely needs. The physicality of Lichdom is, at times, unforgiving. Not all of her warmth is lost on his bones, but he has little to give, in this state. No lips to kiss her with, no tongue to please her, no flesh to satisfy her wanting depths. He offers what he can, glad to tend to her when she hungers. Still, in his changed state, he cannot help but worry that his hands, his magic, his words - no matter how gifted - will one day cease to quell her mortal desires.

And so, a proposal had been struck. An endeavor to enjoy the many bounties of mortality for as long as they both wish.

To invite other lovers to their bed.

The music swells, a crowded floor of dancers shifts as the band strikes up a popular mixer. In one fluid moment, she is swept into the arms of another, and someone new takes their place before him. He can see Rook over the shoulder of his new partner, flinging him a wild grin before turning her attention to the young man clasping her delicate hand.

They cavort with strangers. Carefully clipped words exchanged in polite choreography, fluttering lashes and knowing smiles. The great game of it all, chasing pleasure for pleasure's sake. Because although he does not need as he once did, he hungers utterly for her pleasure, excited by the very notion of what's to come as they dance the night away and cajole with potential partners.

By nightfall, they know who will be retiring with them for the evening.

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Men, women, and those both neither and in between - they choose their companions carefully, and fortify their trysts with runes and cantrips in the name of discretion. Concealed by his glamour, he sees the questions in their eyes as he declines to undress and dismisses them with a gentleman's charm:

‘Permit me to enjoy a different perspective on my beloved's pleasure.’

And to say he enjoys this is far too plain a statement.

Arousal is a different animal, when one has no blood to be stirred. He feels it in the deep humming of the Fade around her as her gown gives way to soft, moon-touched skin, as though the simple fact of her racing blood is enough to thin the Veil and flood her spirit with magic. It flows over him, leaves him shivering before the spectacle of her flesh. She may be the only force in Thedas that can electrify him so.

He will join them, for a little while. His body is not as it was, when they made love in the Memorial Gardens, but he still craves the closeness of her, the intimacy of her body against his. He presses his mouth into the curve of her neck as he draws her legs apart for the ravishment of their chosen company, watches with glamoured eyes as the eddies of mana around her are whipped into a frenzy by her arousal. The heat of her in his palms is otherworldly, deep throbs of ecstacy rippling throughout the Fade, enough to drive him to a madness of his own as he whispers sweet nothings against her hair.

Later, he simply watches. His burning eyes gleam from a darkened corner of their room as she takes her pleasure from their chosen companion, satin sweat and candlelight gleaming on her porcelain skin.

The memory of her mortal flesh against his burns bright in his mind, sewn into the very fabric of his spirit and awakened by the sight of her in a visceral way he could not hope to describe.

He can feel her. She climbs atop the hips of another, attired in naught but grave gold. Spears herself on the waiting flesh that beckons her, and tosses her head back as she chases her pleasure, claiming another willing body in a rapacious chorus of carnality. The slender column of her neck glints with jeweled adornments; her gilded fingers rise to cup the fullness of her breasts. Her long, autumn-toned hair falls in an elegant curtain down her back as she moves. She is a rapture to behold.

He whispers to her through the veil, taps the newfound power of his station because he can see the threads of mana that connect them, eternally tied to one another by ancient magic.

So beautiful, my darling. Let go. Let the pleasure take you.

The tension of her oncoming climax is a resonant, golden cord, stretched thin between them. He plucks at it, watches her body tighten and her brows draw together as the slick, heady friction between her legs warms to a fever pitch. There is nothing in this world more beautiful than the ardor building heavily across her naked flesh.

He can feel her climax as surely as he would have felt his own in life. The ripples and waves of her become surges, washing over him with each clench of her burning core. And as she wrings the last shocks of pleasure from her mortal flesh, his name is the only sound her voice carries.

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Sleep is not something he requires. In the aftermath of their tryst, he gently combs his fingers through her hair until she slips beneath the veil of sleep.

And it’s here, with Rook’s soft curves entwined with his gilded bones, that he dreams.

She reaches for him across the Fade, pulls his spirit against her own and whispers affections into his neck. He can feel her like this, in dreams - spirit against spirit, the memory of skin against skin, overwhelming in its perfection.

Her soft nakedness crushes against the man he once was and he gives her pleasure of his own making. Opens the soft, warm corridors of her body, cradling her in his arms. Slow and deep, he joins with her, moves with her, damp breaths against her neck and hands clutched tight to her sticky-sweet skin. Her memory of this moment will be hazy, as dreams are known to be, but he will gladly remind her each and every night.

She calls his name in sleep and in dreams, and he is more whole than any man could ever be.

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Time marches ever forward, but there's a special pleasure to watching her age as the years pass.

He studies her each evening as she pours over books and scrolls, watching through time as creases form around her eyes and her freckles deepen with age. Were he still of his own flesh, he supposes he would be much more weathered than she by now, but those burdens of mortality are long behind him. He remembers himself as he was at the time of his ascension, and to see her wear the decades on her body as he once had makes him feel closer to her, somehow, as though time itself has stopped to allow them to walk together, wearing the same mortal reminders of their years.

And as her cinnamon hair is ever more spun with sugar-white and silver threads, so too does her grasp of the Fade grow.

He shows her the deeper currents of the necromantic arts. Coaches her through incantations and conjurations, enriching her connection - their connection - with the Fade and with each other. Their shared library is stacked high with artifacts and tomes, rare texts gathered or gifted from faraway lands. The Fade is their stomping ground. Even in dreams, they converse about the deeper mysteries of the beyond.

And yet, that old, nagging fear remains. Fear that, despite her power, old promises may be beyond her ability to uphold. It gnaws at him, hovers just behind his ribs as he watches for the steady rise and fall of her chest in the small hours of the morning. As peacefully as she slumbers, so to do the faces of the many dead he has tended in life.

She is seventy to his eighty-five. Still many more years ahead, if her health is any indication. The bangle he had gifted her at the dawning of their romance glimmers on her wrist, now inlaid amethyst and rose quartz, a cherished symbol of his devotion. He wills her to be its eternal carrier, that he will never clutch it in her absence, weeping beside her grave. Emmrich has never been a pious man, but still, he prays, hoping his meager grasp of the unknown will be enough to touch some part of the greater Fade and grant his only wish.

At last, there comes an evening when she admires her reflection in the mirror, his golden crown of lichdom sat atop her silver hair. In that night, he discards his fear in much the same way that he had discarded his mortal flesh all those decades before.

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They return to the place where his new life began.

In the deep heart of the Necropolis, where he reemerged to her through the heavy onyx doors of ascension and half-death all those years ago, he watches as she disappears behind them without a single glance backward.

He knows what awaits beyond that threshold. Dense though they may be, he can feel the power behind those heavy gates. Her soul is weighed before the Fade, measured by powers far more ancient and wise than he. And finally, a knife in the dark. Warm blood pouring down her flesh, a heart sputtering in the throes of its carrier’s transition from this life into the next.

He can feel it as keenly as he'd felt his own death. But her spirit, oh- her beautiful, blessed soul, rises like a phoenix from the depths of her mortal coil. And this is the moment he would have held his breath for, had he any breath to give. He is still as the grave, listening and searching for her across the Veil, watching for the pulse of her, a violet sunset against an indigo sky.

Rook, he calls. My beloved, my heart, my dearest one.

Like the ringing of tiny bells, he hears the music of her soul, distant but never gone. Tethered to him, entwined with him, a gleaming beacon of power that magnifies with each passing second as her spirit is caught and embroidered back into her bones. Vorgoth always did do such magnificent work.

The storm subsides, and from the doors they emerge. Vorgoth, ageless and unknowable, places Rook’s bloodstained lyrium blade into Emmrich's hands. Myrna is not far behind, carrying a sculpted phylactery that matches his own. The Watch will place it beside his, safe in the deep, dark heart of the Necropolis.

The rolling mist parts at last to reveal his Rook, positively glowing with power. It feels like he's seeing her truly for the very first time. The man he once was weeps at the sight of her. Regal, radiant, immortal.

Later, they will attempt to put words to the meaning of this moment. For now, it's enough to feel her energy against his own, the raw pulse of her spirit against his and the feeling of their fingers entwining, at once discarded of flesh and yet so otherworldly warm, humming with life. He falls into her embrace as he once had, in this very place and on this very spot all those years ago.

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:))))))))

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