#i blame emmrich

[merciawintersageposting]

🧐bone daddy doesn’t disagree with you, he just has some 💀minor revisions💀

[biblicalhorror]

Thinking about my Rook hours </3

[rahabs]

#as always fuck patrick weekes what an insufferable dickhead (via @lambofsin)

You’re so correct. My revulsion and utter disdain for that man runs deep.

Well, on the upside, Veilguard’s absolutely horrid writing and utter lack of meaningful roleplay mechanics made me appreciate Inquisition’s already watered-down writing and roleplay mechanics.

[feyunir]

One thing I love about Dragon Age is how much you can learn about your companions by paying attention to their facial expressions and body language.

So I have taken a closer look at Emmrich. Most of my impressions of him will be from before the 16th September, as I have largely been avoiding spoilers since then.

As far as I can tell he has 3 character models. High, medium and low polygon count. Not important, but I think they look slightly different so I thought it was interesting as it might affect his expressions.

Let's take a look at his "Victory pose" as I'm calling it. Usually shown when he is out in the field. He looks confident, and gives the impression he enjoys being out and about. Fighting with confidence. I think he loves magic.

Next, in conversation with all the companions. He seems happy. Give the impression he is having fun figuring out their current dilemma. His scholar is showing. Let's call this his "scholar pose" lol. Even when wearing his resting b***h face he is clearly paying attention, looking at whoever is talking. His posture is open and friendly, exposing his chest and not crossing his legs.

Alone with Rook however we see a different side of him. He has long periods of time when he isn't looking at Rook at all. Coming of as a little reserved. He has his arms resting crossed in the front. Politely present, but respectfully distant. I call this his "Funeral priest pose". I have been to way too many funerals lately and that's generally how the priest was standing. Maybe they always stand like that, but I don't go to church so I wouldn't know.

Judging by how empty the shelves in the back of the clip is, he hasn't been at the Lighthouse long.

Another thing that I noticed was when Rook says "A Watcher's work is never done", he looks sad? At first I thought he is sad because of the never ending stream of death, but then it occurred to me maybe it could be taken more literal. As in, once a Watcher, always a Watcher? Once a Watcher dies, their body/skeleton is being put back to work? We know from The Flame Eternal that Emmrich thinks it would be romantic to be buried with the one you love. Maybe he is sad because he knows that even if he found that someone, being buried with them is something he can't have as long as he is a Watcher. Just a thought.

Next is his "Nope pose". I'm not sure what to make of this one lol. The game clearly has NPC - player head tracking. Emmrich is turning his head and looking at the approaching Rook. Only to do an extreme NOPE turn when they come within talking distance. I'm willing to blame game mechanic on this one, but even then he is a bit strange. He is just standing there to the left of the fireplace, clearly not warming himself. Just standing there looking up at the roof. If anyone have any thoughts on this one I'd like to hear them xD

From his V&V episode we know he is very kind and polite. Probably to the point he became a bit naive and easy to take advantage of. A friend of mine said he came across as potentially having mild Autism. Interesting thought, and I can see where they're coming from, but I don't like slapping labels on ppl so I'm going to leave it in the theory box. All in all he seems confident in his choice of work field, fighting/magic/scholarly, but a bit distant or reserved when in one on one situations.

[veilkeeper]

having thoughts about emmrich after listening to the new V&V ep (me? thinking about my old man? surprise surprise)

beware vows and vengeance episode 7 spoilers below

okay so. emmrich is a sweetheart. he seems to really genuinely want to help others and see the best in people. there were several instances in this episode where he would have been well within his rights to be hesitant to keep going, but his desire to help someone in need was more important than any potential danger he might have faced.

(as a side note, i like this a lot. it doesn't read as naivety to me, though i could be wrong. i think it speaks to a certain confidence, to be willing to put oneself in danger on the off chance you might help someone else.)

however, his willingness to take people at their word breaks bad later in the episode when it's revealed that their hosts in the castle are possessed by spirits (i'd like to note that emmrich calls it a spirit, even as it is doing very demon-y things, which hints at a very interesting approach to the creatures who live in the fade, imo). he attempts to talk to the spirit possessing spinella and is unable to stop it from killing its host. "i want you to remember this moment clearly and painfully because this is on you," is what the spirit says.

now i have no idea how much we can expect the podcast to be leading into the actual game. the devs have said that the events of the podcast won't be referenced, but given that the purpose of the podcast is to introduce these companions to us, it wouldn't surprise me AT ALL if dynamics and themes that will be big in veilguard are being hinted at here in the podcast. additionally, the devs have said that we will be able to make decisions that affect how our companions think and feel, how they see the world.

so this emphasis on emmrich's actions leading to the death of an innocent (even though it isn't really his fault) makes me wonder if he's been in this situation before, where he could have stopped something bad from happening if he'd been more cautious. maybe he blames himself for a lot of stuff that isn't necessarily his fault. and maybe part of his story in veilguard will be about whether he trusts too easily, and if he shouldn't be a little more jaded.

either way, i'm more excited than ever to see him in game.

[devotedlystrangewizard]

woke up wanting nothing more than to skip class but fuck it we ball

down to 3ish hours of sleep if i dont sleep through my alarms im blaming emmrich

[blindvogel]

@timethehobo drew this very sad (very real) possibility and I had to write something in response. I think I made myself even more sad.

~~~

If she had known the outcome she would have never made that choice. If she had thought for even a second that one of them would come into so much danger she would never have. If. If. Ifs are not going to change anything or help anyone. Her only choice is to move forward.

She knows how much Manfred means to Emmrich. Yes, he calls him his assistant but she has soon realized that he is much more like a son to him. Was. 

Her first attempt to apologize, to speak her condolences, had been cut short mid sentence. Emmrich never interrupts anyone and yet he had then. Had called her Rook. A moniker that had been as effective as a door shut in her face. She hated it but she had left him to grieve alone. At least for a while. 

She considers it first but then doesn’t knock as she enters Emmrich’s study. The lights are dimmed, only the fire in the hearth is illuminating the room. She finds him seated in his chair nearby, Manfred’s battered skull resting on his knees, staring absently into the two green gems looking back at him. 

Crossing the room quietly she stops in front of him, then lowers herself down to kneel so she can better see his face. Emmrich’s hazel eyes are red-rimmed but dry and after a quiet moment passes they lift to look at her. There’s no fire there, no blame, no anger. She wishes it would have been. Instead there is only a weary sadness of someone who had seen death far too many times to count and quietly added one more. It has not broken the dam but she can see the cracks. 

“Ir abelas, ma’lath. I’m so sorry.” It’s inadequate, anything that she can say to him in this moment. But he nods anyway. Tentatively she reaches out and takes his hand in hers and to her relief he returns the gesture by holding on tight. Then a soft tug. 

She unfolds from her kneeling position and carefully sweeps up Manfred’s skull as she settles on Emmrich’s lap instead, cradling it between them. Her arms drape around his shoulders and almost immediately she can feel his arms around her waist, pulling her closer. As his forehead presses against hers, she closes her eyes and settles in to stay like this with him until the fire in the hearth burns out. 

[nerdanel01]

What do you think Emmrich would do when one of Rook’s other companions saw the two of them having sex?

I have no one to blame but myself for this ask but I would be lying if I said that when I received it I did not need to put my phone down and just breathe deeply for a few seconds before I could think again

I do feel like it would depend a lot on WHICH companion? we don’t even know them yet but I do think if it was Neve, Lace, Bellara or Davrin, he would be appropriately mortified on both his and Agnes’ behalf and do the hasty scramble-and-coverup. 

For some reason Lucanis and Taash are giving the impression that like. If they walked in on Agnes going down sloppy style on Emmrich and Agnes herself didn’t see, they’d just… flash him a thumbs up and give them back their privacy before Emmrich could panic too badly. And it would kind of humiliate him but yes, also add a certain je ne sais quoi to the particular nut that followed that he would eat right up. 

If Solas is still haunting around the Lighthouse though, I do imagine there could be, uhh. Some wholly unnecessary rivalry between them that takes place almost exclusively in Emmrich’s head.  1k+ below the cut 18+ NSFW

Beyond the immediate, more catastrophic consequences of the failed ritual, the disruption Rook had caused to his plans also had the unfortunate side effect of leaving Solas himself locked in the Fade… trapped, again, in the endless sea of dreams in which he had swam for millennia before reawakening less than two decades prior. But the Lighthouse was a liminal space, not quite in the Fade nor wholly in the Waking, and there were certain times, late at night, when he could muster enough mana to manifest himself there. That was valuable time—time desperately needed to strategize with Rook; to tell her everything he knew about Elgar’nan and Ghilan'nain, to plan how to imprison them once more if not outright defeat them. 

And yet for several nights in a row now, Rook had not come. 

Once more Solas was left with the unsatisfying suspicion that she was not taking this seriously. Though she may have acted in ignorance, surely she must hold herself just as accountable for this mess as he was? It had been her interference, after all, that had set loose the Evanuris of old. With a frustrated frown pulling at his eyebrows and the corners of his mouth, he walked the halls of the Lighthouse, searching for her. 

The Lighthouse was quiet. Yet despite the lateness of the hour, Solas encountered Scout Harding in the hallways—groggy and dressed for bed, on her way out of the water closet. The sight of her was jarring. After spending ten years in the Lighthouse alone, he was not sure he would ever get used to the presence of others there… the sudden warmth and domesticity, of laughter even that had filled its rooms after the Veilguard had moved in. 

“Scout Harding,” he greeted her, his hands clasped elegantly behind his back. “Good evening.”

Harding blinked at him, offered a groggy smile. “Hey, Solas.”

“You would not happen to know where Rook is, would you?” he asked, with a kind and inquisitive tilt to his head. “As you know we have rather important matters to discuss. I checked her quarters, but they seemed to be empty.”

“She doesn’t really spend the night there anymore,” Harding asked, lifting her hand to her mouth to politely cover a yawn. “Have you checked Emmrich’s room?”

That shocked him, a little. Not so much that it was happening, more so that he had been blind to it. Incidentally, he had passed Volkarin’s room as he had searched the halls and found the door ajar, the room empty. 

“Equally vacant, I’m afraid.”

Harding squeezed her eyes shut, trying to remember through the thick of sleep. 

“I think they said something about going down to the library after dinner,” she remembered at last, offering Solas a contrite smile. “Maybe it's worth checking for them there?”

“Emmrich! Emm—hhha, yes, yes!”

Glisten of perspiration on her body in the candlelight; expression of uncontained ecstasy pulling at her features. Her gorgeous, long leg, flush against his chest, ankle hooked over his shoulder, and Emmrich took her calf reverently in hand, pressing a kiss to the inside of her leg as he sank deeply into her. Feeling the muscles of that same leg tighten and twitch with satisfaction at the fullness of him inside of her, the slow artful drag of each of his thrusts; the hypnotic rise and fall of her breasts in concert with those thrusts; as he took Agnes on top of the sole desk in the library. 

Emmrich wasn’t even sure how it had begun. This was not what he had intended but it had escalated quickly, and all of a sudden all the stairs up to his bedroom had seemed much too far, too long to wait. They had not even bothered to close the door to the library. At this time of night, Emmrich did not think anyone was going to come looking for them… but he would be lying if he said the risk of being caught did not add a bit of frisson to their lovemaking, at least for him. 

But he was barely even thinking of that, now—impossible to be so distracted from her when she looked, sounded, felt like this. She had planted her hand on the desk behind her, just enough to prop herself up so she could look not at him, not in his eyes, but focus fixedly on the space between his hips, greedily devouring the sight of the column of his cock, as it reappeared then disappeared inside of her with each thrust. 

Which is how Emmrich knew that Agnes did not see Solas when his astral projection walked straight into the room. 

A thousand thoughts flashing through his mind in the space of a heartbeat: that he should be ashamed. Embarrassed. Mortified, even. That he was decidedly none of the above, though that would have been the most polite response. Of how envious he, Emmrich, had been of Solas when he had first come to the Lighthouse, when Agnes was still short with him; of the inextricable bond the two of them shared, ever since Agnes had frustrated his ritual. The long hours Solas demanded of Agnes still, to talk about how best to imprison the very gods he had set loose in his folly. 

How he, Emmrich, would blame Solas all too readily if something happened to Agnes because of it, because of the disaster this ancient elf had set into motion. 

Possessed of an emotion he could not quite name, Emmrich lowered her leg and gathered Agnes off the desk and into his arms, drawing her against him (both to protect her modesty and, admittedly, to prevent her from realizing that they had been discovered.) All too readily she wrapped her legs tightly around him, her arms looping around his neck. 

Emmrich pulled loose the bronze pin holding her hair in place; the soft, silver threaded black cascaded down her shoulders, nearly reaching the desktop beneath her, releasing a rush of sweetness as it did so. Emmrich sank a hand in her hair possessively, drew in a deep breath the better to take in the smell of it. 

Did all of this, with his eyes locked fully on Solas. 

“Nessa…” he groaned near her ear, still maintaining that locked eye contact as he increased both the speed and depth of his thrusting. 

Behind her, Solas raised an eyebrow, a frown twisting his lips, the distaste on his face all too plain. Emmrich kept staring, matching that distaste with a snarl of his own, making it apparent (he hoped) that he would suffer no interruption from this fallen once-god. At last, Solas backed out of the room, shutting the door firmly behind him as he went. 

The door made an audible click, but Agnes did not seem to notice. Emmrich felt his breath growing shallow, the telltale tightness in his core. After all that had just happened, he was not going to last much longer. “Nessa—its imminent, I’m not going to be able to—”

And no matter that the door was closed, as Emmrich was sure it was not thick enough to prevent Solas from hearing the cry Agnes made in answer:

“Yes! Maker, yes, Emmrich, fill me…”

emmrich you have nothing to worry about solas has a divorced wife of his own that he’s sad about. emmrich you two are more similar than you know. emmrich he needs couples counseling and ten thousand years of therapy. emmrich he needs your advice. emmrich help him

[bossuary]

FIC: The Demon (ao3 link)

Rating: T or G, idk Fandom: Dragon Age: The Veilguard Pairing: Lucanis Dellamorte, Emmrich Volkarin Tags: m/m, pining, age difference, height difference, death, Nice Necromancer, Shit Assassin, romantic inexperience, a touch of hand kink, a smidge of spirit/demon kink?, a bit of intellect diddling, mary kirby is to blame Word Count: 1020 Summary: Lucanis discovers that insomnia in the Lighthouse is not a solo activity. Emmrich doesn't sleep much, either. And he's very interested in...things. Notes: MIGHT KEEP GOING AND MAKE SOME FILTH would that be...of interest to anyone?

***

“Oh dear. People truly call you that?” Emmrich’s voice was tinged with scorn and scandal. “To your face?”

“Some do, yes,” Lucanis said with a nod.

He smiled at the sensitivities of Westerners. In all the pages of his life, all the way back to when he had been Luca, demon was the least of the epithets he had endured.

“Charming,” Emmrich murmured.

The moka pot burbled on the stove. Its tin lid shimmied. They seemed illusions of warmth, meant to comfort mortal senses. Lucanis watched for steam, felt the dreamlike throb of the Lighthouse, and was grateful that it didn’t itch. He poured a short cup for himself, and one for his fellow sleepless companion.

Emmrich thanked him, and took his cup to the table. Lucanis plucked a lidded bowl from the cupboard, and spooned sugar into his coffee. More than he should have, less than he truly wanted, always.

“It’s a colorful appellation for a man of your profession,” Emmrich mused from his seat at the cozy kitchen table. “Tell me, is it…an accurate one?”

Lucanis tensed. Granules of sugar skittered across the counter. This wasn’t the time to work out the semantics of what he was. Not in the small hours, ragged with insomnia. Not in this place between places. Not with the death mage. He dropped the sugar spoon into its bowl and gave Emmrich a smile as brittle as his cup.

“It’s just a word,” Lucanis replied, fighting to keep things light. “It’s no different than assassin. Or necromancer .”

Emmrich nodded as Lucanis spoke, cradling his cup so the steam whispered up along his face.

“Mhm. Or, mage killer, for example,” he said, sipping his coffee around a tease so slight it took a demon to catch it.

Lucanis inhaled and looked away. “Ah. About that…”

Emmrich held up a hand. It would have been a patronizing gesture, had the old man’s smile been less disarming.

“Please. To serve death is to respect it utterly, wouldn’t you agree?” he said, holding Lucanis’ gaze over the rim of his cup. “I could never be afraid of it.”

Or of you.

“Uh. Well said, I think,” Lucanis offered, and lifted his cup in salute.

The placket of Emmrich’s shirt curled open at the throat, Lucanis noted, and the sleeves were rolled neatly to his elbows. He hadn’t just been sleepless, tonight, he had been working. Was there a tattoo above the sculpted forearm, or just a shadow?

Lucanis pushed past it. He savored his coffee. Velvety and dark, with a cherry tang. It anchored him in this unmoored place. Across the room, Emmrich appeared equally soothed. The silence they shared between fragrant sips eventually thinned. Emmrich cleared his throat.

“The word ‘demon’ is derived from daemonium, in Tevene,” he began, and rose from the table as if giving a private lecture.

If only Lucanis had been any kind of scholar.

He sipped his coffee and listened, and caught himself noticing useless things: the engaging rhythm of Emmrich’s accent, stray locks of silver that fell over his forehead, his hands. Mostly, damningly, those hands.

“For centuries, the Alamarri in the Frostbacks used an ideogram to refer to what one might call a demon today. It was a fish hook, rather a clever shape to describe such a complex being, or a complex relationship to one.” He came to stand a few feet from Lucanis at the counter, easing his lean shape against it, holding his cup like a precious artifact. “It looked…not unlike that symbol, there.”

Emmrich gave a subtle nod, his eyes fixed on Lucanis’ belt. Among the other medallions was one etched with a soot-black hook. Reflexively, Lucanis looked down at himself, and heat bloomed in his face.

Made you look.

Emmrich’s interest was so present, his gaze as deft as the finger of a jeweler, that Lucanis half expected to see the medallion move as if lifted by a spell. There was no itch, however. What Lucanis felt was purely the magic of the man’s attention.

An itch by another name. To name it, he would be a straw doll striking a match.

He should have spoken by now. Emmrich, patient as the grave, used one of those elegant fingers to touch the scattered granules of sugar on the counter. Maybe it was the Lighthouse, or some other ancient charm, that freed Lucanis to imagine he could take Emmrich’s finger between his lips and have all the sugar he liked.

A swift pang of loneliness stole his rising heat, though, and stilled his hand as it drifted to the medallion. If Illario were here he would mortify Lucanis with salacious suggestion and vulgarity until misery became another name for family.

But Illario wasn’t there.

“For us, this does not represent demons,” Lucanis said, finally, and grimaced.

Emmrich gave him a confused look.

Bravissimo, Professor Dellamorte, very smart.

Lucanis drained the remaining coffee he would have preferred to sip, pushed his cup away, and nodded to Emmrich.

“Goodnight, Volkarin.”

He retreated to the dark hall beyond the kitchen light, but Emmrich’s voice stopped him.

“I pity the incurious souls of the world, those bereft of a willing heart, for there is such pleasure in knowledge. They won’t know the meaning of a word, or the nature of the creature it describes.” He strode to the edge of the lamplight, hands clasped behind his back, and fixed Lucanis with another arresting look. “A carelessness that too often extends, also, to people.”

Lucanis swallowed. The shadows seemed a meager protection, now.

“Meaning?”

With a smirk and a flick, Emmrich doused the kitchen lamps. Lucanis felt a brief scratch behind his eyes.

“Only that whatever I may be called by others,” said Emmrich, joining Lucanis in the shadows, “I wish you to know that I am not a careless man.”

Lucanis said nothing. He froze as if a great light had spotted him where he shouldn’t be.

“Goodnight, Master Dellamorte,” said Emmrich, warmly. “Sleep well.”

As he watched Emmrich disappear into the guest wing, Lucanis had a single, desolate thought in reply.

Not even when I’m dead.

[heylittleriotact]

La Vie en Rose - an Emmrook One Shot

Oops my fucking hand slipped.

(Rated M for some casual embalming chat between professionals)

Mourn Watch Rook x Emmrich

Pre-Release, probably not canon compliant, I don't care :D

Her arrival was heralded by the sound of her heeled Orlesian shoes winding down the staircase to the study. He looked up from the workbench, hands stilling over a bowl of various herbs and powders as she came into view. She looked distant; concerned.

She stiffened when she realized he was looking at her, the fingers of her right hand tightening just a little on the hand railing.

“Sorry, I didn’t realize you’d be down here,” she said, immediately turning to retreat up the stairs, the tips of her pointed ears going pink. 

Emmrich frowned: Amina Rook had been a reclusive phantom haunting this curious place from day one: one word answers awaited any attempts made by himself or any of their other companions to get to know her, and she was eager to mutter rushed goodbyes if she found herself sharing space with anyone else.

She was clearly terrified, and if even half of what he knew of her was true and not just idle gossip between mortalitasi and Mourn Watch, she had good reason to be. 

She was also nearly halfway up the stairs now and almost out of sight.

“Wait!” He cried out, rushing to the bottom of the stairs. “Manfred just put on the tea… won’t you stay for a cup?” Wide sage eyes stared down at him. “Only one… if it pleases you, of course,” he added. 

Those green eyes narrowed ever so slightly with what was surely distrust. He couldn’t blame her for that either: considering the circumstances surrounding her ‘sabbatical’ from the necropolis, it made perfect sense that she would be wary around colleagues within the Mourn Watch. 

“He always makes far too much tea,” Emmrich said in a stage whisper: he didn’t relish convincing her at the cost of Manfred’s reputation, but he had to at least try to help this blatantly unsettled woman. “You’d be doing me a great favour.” 

She pulled a handful of sleek black hair over her shoulder and ran her fingers through it nervously. “Fine.” 

One word. 

It was something. 

He stepped away from the stairs and unfurled his arm in the universally understood gesture: after you. She swept past him without a glance, and the scent of cedar, peppermint and rose water trailed in her wake. 

She stood in the middle of the study, her arms crossed defensively, back to him, tapping her toes on the stone floor as she looked around at the rows upon rows of books that stretched from wall to wall, ceiling to ceiling. 

“Manfred, would you please place another setting for tea? Amina has kindly agreed to join us.” Emmrich unbuttoned his sleeves and rolled up the cuffs of his shirt on his way to the wash basin at the end of the workbench. He dunked his hands in the water and soaped them up as Manfred creaked enthusiastically to the cupboard and rifled through it for another cup and saucer - such things were curiously difficult to come by in the Lighthouse for some reason. 

He dried his hands on the clean towel next to the basin and chanced a smile at Amina. She caught the expression and her gaze darted back to the shelves of books. 

Found in the crypts by undead as an infant - no parents were ever located - Amina had grown up in the necropolis, raised by the Mourn Watch. He’d never met her - not unusual considering the size of the city - but he knew of her. Everyone in the Watch knew of her involvement in the War of the Banners, and many did not look upon that involvement kindly. 

Emmrich was of the mind that ‘encouraged to travel’ was a rather droll way to say ‘indefinitely exiled from the only place she’s ever called home’. Add to that this business with the Dread Wolf… it was little wonder she was in such a state.

The shared silence was broken only by the rattle of china and effortful grunts and chatters made by Manfred as he prepared the tea.

Best get that mystery out of the way first, Emmrich decided.

“I don’t share the opinion that some of our associates have in regard to your perceived interference in the matters of the undead nobility. It was a difficult choice to make, and unfortunately you were placed in a position where you were the one responsible for making it. I can’t claim that I wouldn’t have done the same, were I in your shoes… it was the right thing to do.”

Amina considered him with those wide eyes and drew her lower lip through her teeth thoughtfully before saying quietly, “Thanks.” She stuffed her hands in the pockets of her thin black coat that fell midway down her thighs and jerked her chin at the wall of books. “Read them all yet?”

That was an astounding four words.

Encouraged, Emmrich chuckled. “I’m afraid my ancient elvhen is a touch out of practice, but I’m making good headway… or I would be if I only had another century or two to spare.” He went to the table in front of the fireplace where they would take their tea and pulled out a chair for her. “Please sit, my dear.” He smiled again. No threat. He was accustomed to people in general being unsettled by him, but not people who lived in the same world he did… knew what he knew. 

She visibly flinched at the gesture, but found it in herself to sit on the chair and let Emmrich push her up to the table. Her eyes followed Manfred as he shuffled over to the table holding the kettle and began pouring steaming water into the teapot. He replaced the lid with a ‘clink’ and leaned closer to Amina, cocking his head and cooing softly as he took her in.

“Curiosity…” she murmured, and she looked over the table at Emmrich who had seated himself across from her. “But you call him–” she caught herself and addressed Manfred, “Sorry, is ‘him’ right?” The skeleton chattered an affirmative set of gurgles accompanied by a nod and Amina continued. “You call him Manfred?” 

“He calls himself Manfred, so it would be astoundingly rude of me not to do the same.” Emmrich winked at Manfred and helped himself to a tea sandwich and a biscuit. 

It would seem Amina’s own curiosity was piqued. 

“Fascinating,” she breathed, watching Manfred with rapt attention as he poured tea into a cup for her and and a cup for Emmrich. “I’ve encountered spirits of curiosity on occasion, but they’ve never been keen to take a physical form. And he just… follows you around and… helps?”

“There is no better way to satisfy curiosity than by actively participating in the world around us, wouldn’t you agree?” His heart stirred with affection at the sight of Manfred offering Amina the plate of sandwiches. “He is not bound to me - he is free to come and go as he pleases… leave if he chooses, but he seems to be quite content rendering his tremendously valuable aid as my assistant… and I am eternally grateful for it.” 

Amina took a sandwich and Manfred set the plate down. He picked up the bowl of sugar and held it out to her with an inquiring chirp.

“Uh… two please.” 

Two cubes of sugar were dropped into her tea, followed by cream, and Emmrich saw delight in her eyes for the first time as Manfred stirred her tea for her.

“Thank you,” she actually smiled at his assistant then, and Emmrich’s heart was lightened at the sight of it. She sipped her tea. “This is perfect, Manfred.” 

Manfred’s bones quivered with excitement and he sidled over a pace to see to Emmrich’s tea next - he knew how he took it: one sugar, no cream - simple and without fuss.

“How we met is a delightful tale, and I’ll be happy to tell it to you one day, but for now I’d like to focus on you: how are you?” 

The remnants of her smile vanished and her cool, collected visage returned as she cradled the rather battered teacup in her hands. “I’m fine,” she said just a little too quickly. “No need to worry about me.” 

Emmrich nodded his thanks to Manfred who had finished with his tea, and the skeleton shuffled off. “Spoken like a true disciple of the Mourn Watch.” He watched her brow tighten and took a moment to lift his tea to his lips and blow on it gently. “But as it happens, I too am familiar with the fact that we tend to put the welfare of everyone else - including the dead - ahead of our own almost habitually.” Was that a scowl? “You are safe with me, Amina… you can trust me.” 

She sipped from her tea again. “Manual suture, or needle injector?” 

Emmrich raised an eyebrow, his own tea inches from his lips. “I beg your pardon?” 

“When closing a decedent’s mouth, which do you prefer: manually suturing with a needle and twine, or the needle injector?”

Truth be told, Emmrich hadn’t really been expecting to talk shop over tea with Amina, but she was talking, and that was leaps and bounds better than her skulking around the Lighthouse in terrified catatonia. 

“I have a strong preference for manually suturing where I can. It’s easier to control the placement of the sutures, and the resulting mouth position and shape tends to look more natural than when one uses the injector.” He reached for his biscuit. “Of course there are cases in which the injector makes for easier work, but I find the amount of time it takes to get each needle positioned correctly doesn’t make it much more efficient at the end of the day: I favour quality over quantity.” He dunked the biscuit and smiled at Amina again. “And you?” 

She studied him over the rim of her tea cup before saying, “Suture. All the way.” She tossed her head back, downing the hot drink in one go before saying. “Perhaps I can trust you after all, Mr. Volkarin.” 

“Please call me Emmrich.” 

“Perhaps the next time I join you for tea.” 

“The next time? So you’ll come again?” 

Another smile - this one with a rather mischievous tilt to it. “So long as Manfred is the one making the tea.” She stood from her chair and Emmrich shot to his feet as well. 

“Allow me to escort you back to your room.” He extended an arm to her. Amina breezed past and made for the stairs, her heels clicking over the stone. 

“That won’t be necessary,” she said, beginning to ascend the stairs. “Farewell, Mr. Volkarin. This distraction was… appreciated.” She shot him one more smile over her shoulder before disappearing from view, leaving behind only her lipstick stained tea cup, forgotten sandwich, and the lingering scent of cedar, peppermint, and rose water as evidence of her ever having been in the study.

Much to Emmrich’s surprise, she returned the next afternoon at precisely four, given away by the clicking of fashionable Orlesian shoes on spiral stairs.

“Hello, Emmrich. May I join you for tea?”

[shouldaspunastory]

You and me BOTH, @lasatfat Thank you for the prompt! @dadrunkwriting

Tobias Rook x Emmrich Volkarin, (SFW, Hurt & Comfort, pre-relationship, cuddling) 678 words

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

"W-" Emmrich frowns, biting his lip before he can finish his thought, or indeed even his word. If Tobias were not so very tired, they would probably be a great deal more interested in the way the necromancer seems uncharacteristically unsure of himself, but their battle today has taken too much out of them. Indeed, there had been a moment where they'd fallen, when Tobias hadn't been sure they would be able to get back up. The wounds are healed, thanks to some quick spells, and most of the team's stock of potions, but the elf's body has not so easily forgotten what has been put through. Nor, it seems, has Emmrich, who hasn't left his side since they returned to the Lighthouse.

Tobias waits, even as his eyes feel heavy, for Emmrich to find either the words or the courage to express his thoughts, blue-green eyes staring up at his from where the necromancer has carefully deposited him onto their bed. The elf wouldn't have thought a man so tall and slim of build possessed such strength. They're rather disappointed to have been so exhausted and out of it they didn't appreciate the effort and opportunity for closeness more, not that they're in any rush to see themselves injured like this again.

"Would you mind if I stayed," Emmrich finally asks softly, interrupting and pulling the elf back from his thoughts.

Tobias almost responds that it isn't necessary, that they are stable and without a doubt going to make it through the night, before biting their tongue, because Emmrich surely already knows that. And yet, he's asking to stay, to remain at their side.

Tobias nods, their tongue suddenly feeling too heavy, words stuck in the back of their throat as they feel their cheeks flush ever so slightly, allowing their eyes to slide closed under the pretext of being too tired to keep them open any longer. The truth, however, is that Emmrich is a smart man. Brilliant, in fact, and the elf is far too tired to keep their usual walls up. They're afraid if they continue to meet his eyes, their friend might see everything they have yet to say reflected in them.

From behind their eyelids the light fades and Tobias realizes Emmrich must have snuffed the candles, a small tinkling as Emmrich removes and carefully sets his bangles aside on the table before the other side of the bed dips as the necromancer joins them. Opening and allowing their eyes to adjust to the new low light of the slowly dying fireplace, Tobias watches from the corner of his eye as Emmrich shifts atop the blankets, a ringed hand twitching once, then twice, the corners of Emmrich's mouth from behind his thin mustache twitching too, before he slowly lifts and places it over the elf's chest, palm flat over his breast.

He's feeling their heartbeat, Tobias realizes.

"Is- is this alright," Emmrich asks quietly, and Tobias can feel how tense the man is, bracing himself for the other's answer.

"No," Tobias whispers shaking his head. Emmrich's hand pulls away with impressive speed as he makes to roll away, to put a more respectable distance between the two of them, before the elf stops him, seizing his wrist and carefully repositioning themselves and one of his arms, before gently pulling the necromancer back towards him. Tobias isn't entirely sure what possesses them, if anyone asks, they will blame their exhaustion, but the elf lets their arm curl around Emmrich's shoulder as they pull him in, their hand landed at the back of his head, fingers curling softly into his hair, guiding him to lay his head on their chest instead.

Emmrich is still rather stiff, a little awkward, until his ear rests flush against the elf's chest, and Tobias' steady heartbeat rings in his ear, and the necromancer sags in relief as Tobias smiles.

"Better," Tobias asks with a soft and sleepy chuckle, tucking Emmrich's head beneath their chin.

"Much," Emmrich mumbles gratefully into the fabric of their tunic, curling in a bit closer.

[little-elf-wanders]

I just realised how bad Effie and Solas are going to interact.

Like, they will straight up not agree, and this time it isn't even because I just don't like him - because there's potential for him to further explain what he meant with his plans and for me to change my mind if it makes sense, however, so far all we have to go off of doesn't paint him in a good light. No matter what romanticists say to defend him. We don't have the facts. Specifically for a Rook. It paints him very much as destroying the world. Multiple characters have reacted like that's what he's doing, the biggest example being Varric himself when he outright says it in the comic. So those of us who aren't reading into every little comment he made takes it for what he said it as. Which hasn't been much. And it's pretty alarming of a concept without absolute assurances. I don't take his 'lol trust me' message well, because I don't trust him.

But what I know for a fact is Effie's Mournwatch beliefs directly conflict with Solas's. And it'll be interesting to see if that has any weight in game.

They both care about spirits, that's about the biggest connection they have. The issue is they both have differing views on how that care takes place.

Solas, of course, created the Veil, but he hasn't been around to properly see what it does with spirits in this world. We see a reaction to mages binding a demon like it's the first time he's seen it. He's reactive and horrified - one Mortalitisi he even killed somewhere else, though I believe it was because of an idol they were using and for making a wisp stir their tea. Fair play to him with idol tampering and knowing abuse of a spirit.

He's seeing spirits be twisted against their nature and it is his fault. The mages doing the binding are people who don't have the same understanding of how spirits operate, though, so you can't under any circumstance blame them for thinking they're doing what was taught to them is alright. You cannot kill those mages in blind anger for not knowing what you know.

When confronting the mages, he tells them he's not helping them. Tell me why the fuck it's an ego brush he prefers about being smarter and not 'He's right, there's something about this you don't know!'

The rifts are opening everywhere spitting out demons, and they are terrified, they are hunted by rogue Templars in a mage/templar war that left a lot of angry outliers, and his only thought to them not knowing other than doing what Circles taught them is they deserve death? If they knew better sure, but very clearly they did not.

I'm showing this because Solas is extremely knowledgeable and could have chosen to teach that spirits are different from demons and that pulling one from the fade and binding it just warps it against its nature, then shown them how it went back to being a spirit. I'm aware this was his friend, so some aggression and reactiveness is understandable. But tell me why there wasn't an option to talk him down? Or to have the option to give him a way to see that some people don't understand? It was simply 'let him murder these people for which he'll love you, or disagree and he'll hate it.' And I'm not sympathetic to that at all, I would have respected him more if we got given literally any other reaction besides murder them for his approval. The mages were scared and upset, that isn't a reason to murder them. Were they wrong? YES. Obviously. But it could have been something so much fucking more. Lavellan knows this. Or she should.

Now back to Effie. We know this about Solas, she does not. The thing is, the Mournwatch seems to respect the dead. And spirits. Maybe not all of them hold those views like a certain Mortalitisi but I'm going into this believing Effie certainly does, and I suspect Emmrich does too given Manfred. She believes when someone dies a spirit is shunted from the fade. If this is true? Effie will be furious at Solas for creating the Veil without a shred of thought for it just to use the spirits as an excuse to break it. He cares more about the spirits than people. His own people are just the exception but you can't threaten what he has and only accept some. I'm curious how this might play out, if it does at all.

His biggest aim was to lock away the gods, but it completely disrupted how Thedas now operates, including how it grew - and how some countries have zero information to work with because they fear the unknown. While some respect it, like Nevarra and Rivain. Even Avvar hold a huge respect for spirits. Effie see's it as part of the ecosystem, now - which might be a wrong thought to have but those spirits are now part of that and have been for long enough there will be a significant issue or problem if it's suddenly removed. And that's entirely Solas's doing. Maybe I'm wrong to believe there'll be an issue, a magic fix it seems anticlimactic when they've built up his whole scheme to be apocalyptic.

So, if he gets mad at how the Mournwatch find the spirits suitable bodies and handle the supernatural issues from said spirits going berserk, she's fully going to tell him he's the reason why they need to find them bodies in the first place and he doesn't get to judge or break it because it's hard to stomach. They do this so they DON'T turn into demons.

And that maybe there's some other way to fix it that doesn't involve shady ass schemes and with-holding vital information that could change how systems do teach these subjects. But I don't know. She loves spirits more than people, she appears apathetic to people but she doesn't want them to bloody explode or be ripped apart.

[hmserebusadjacent]

Don't have to be ok

I came up with the idea for this story this morning, and wanted to write and post it within a day to give myself a little boost after a rough start to the week. Reading this back, I realised this story is essentially me projecting my need to be comforted by Emmrich. But I hope you find the story enjoyable nonetheless.

So please enjoy Emmrich comforting Rook, saying that he doesn't have to be ok, that he will always be there for him.

Emmrich Volkarin x Trans Male Rook (Pining, longing, comfort, implied gender dysphoria on Rook's part, cloud gazing).

Word count: 2,677

AO3 link

Rook hadn't been his usual self today. He'd drifted off into the recesses of his own mind so often that each time it felt harder for Emmrich to pull him back. There was so much anxiety stored in the way Rook fussed with his hair or pulled at the fingers on his gloves, all of that energy just pouring out into his aura too.

Emmrich wasn't the only one to notice, of course. Davrin kept on shooting Rook sideways glances and then looking to Emmrich as if he had the answers. For once, Emmrich didn't have many words to give. It was the subtler signs that also gave him pause, like the way Rook fussed with the way his clothes hung around his hips and thighs. The way he had chewed the inside of his lips so much that Emmrich wouldn't be surprised if it was bleeding.

The necromancer couldn't blame their fearless leader for feeling the strain of leadership, helping to keep his team alive and stopping the world from ending. All that would have been enough but Rook also had to worry about not going mad from anxiety, grief, stress, any of the above or indeed every emotion under the sun. 

He couldn't blame Rook for having off days at all. He just wished he knew how to help better. To ease the strain even if he couldn't shoulder any of it. Emmrich did try, he really did. From ensuring Rook slept well, ate well and always being a willing ear if Rook needed to talk to someone about anything or nothing.

It was the least he could do for the man who had given his life purpose, for reminding him that life could be lived with other people rather than with the dead who no longer needed the spark of existence. Rook truly enlivened Emmrich Volkarin, and maybe one day he would have the courage to tell him.

And to tell him that he loved him above all things too. More than he had ever loved anyone before.

And when he held Rook in his arms whilst they hugged, or when Rook linked arms with him whilst they walked, or when they shared those late evenings chatting about everything and nothing over tea, Emmrich knew that this was what he wanted for the rest of his life.

To be his, in whatever form that took. If Rook also wanted to be his? It would be the happiest day of Emmrich’s life if he found out that Rook liked him half as much as he liked him.

When Rook designated their camping spot for the night, Emmrich's heart clenched with just how tired and fatigued Rook looked. Not just emotionally but physically, and the way he dropped his bag to the floor with a final thud made the mage’s heart jump in his chest.

“Will you two be alright setting up the smaller stuff while I have some time to myself?”, Rook asked, gaze almost pleading even as he willed something like a reassuring smile to his lips.

A niggling voice in the back of Emmrich’s mind said that Rook shouldn’t be by himself, even if he needed it. Maybe it was partly his perpetual need to have Rook in sight so that all felt right with the world.

But he also recognised that Rook had done more than enough today. They had walked miles and Rook hadn’t once complained, even with the evidence of his fatigue present in the dark rings under his eyes. If Rook needed time away from he and Davrin to recharge, to remind himself of where he was in the world, then that was what would happen.

“Of course. Do let us know if you need anything, Rook. We’re here for you.”

Rook’s bottom lip trembled at that, as if he might burst into tears and just give in to the reckless abandon of exhausted crying. But instead he smiled and gave Davrin a nod, and his gaze lingered on Emmrich for longer than it had their companion when he said

“Thank you. I won’t be far.”

When Rook had disappeared off with a blanket under his arm, Emmrich turned back to Davrin to find the elf giving him a look he knew very well by this point. All of the others had sent it his way too, and Emmrich felt his cheeks flushing with heat and just how very obvious he seemed to be. Well, obvious to everyone but Rook, apparently.

Trying to push his worries of Rook to the side for a moment (and failing miserably), Emmrich dived into getting their camp set up, casting glances in the direction that Rook had walked off in every so often.

—----

Emmrich managed half an hour before his mind was worrying so much about Rook that he could barely sit still and allow himself to rest. He’d been counting the minutes, every one that Rook spent wherever he was making the mage’s gut clench with nerves.

“Go and see where he is. I think he would appreciate it”, Davrin announced from across the other side of camp, making Emmrich jump as he was pulled from his looping thoughts. That Davrin thought he would be the best one to comfort Rook was gratifying, that other people thought Emmrich himself made Rook feel so comforted and safe. 

He’d never take the trust Rook placed him and the strength he gained from their friendship lightly. If he could always use that power for good, Emmrich would be a happy man.

He also didn’t need to be told twice to go and check on Rook, finding his way to his feet almost instantaneously as the mage’s mind was already far ahead of him planning just what to say to their friend and leader.

It didn’t take long to find Rook, his energy seemingly having given out on him in a nice little clearing in the woods nearby. The clearing was so pleasingly symmetrical, a beautifully wide circle glade filled with all sorts of wildflowers and buzzing bees. In the middle of this haven was Rook, spread out on his blanket, silhouetted by the sun in a way that only made him look more beautiful. Rook looked so at home here, amongst the wildflowers and beauties of nature that he adored so much, one of the other myriad of things he indulged in to help keep himself sane. 

In that moment, Emmrich was visibly reminded of his wish to take Rook to see the gardens of Nevarra City when the lilies in the ponds were in bloom, to marvel at the brightly coloured fish that came up to the water’s surface to snap at insects. If Rook would allow him he would also take him to see some of the gardens in the Necropolis on the higher levels to see the gardens borne of love and kept going by ongoing devotion that Emmrich wished so badly to feel for his own. If Rook would indulge him, Emmrich would tuck a flower behind one of his pointed ears and lead him on a dance in the magelights he would conjure to light their impromptu ballroom. Maybe if he was lucky Rook would allow Emmrich to artfully drape him over the back of his knee at the end of it all, his eyes shining as they both came back together and chanced a glance down at the other’s lips…

“Emmrich? You ok over there?”

Shattered shards of his hopeful visions cracked apart in Emmrich’s mind as he remembered where he was, gaze focusing back on Rook more clearly and the look of soft amusement on his face. Had Emmrich been staring at him slack jawed for a little while then? It wouldn’t be the first time and it wouldn’t be the last.

“Ah, yes! I just wanted to ensure that you were alright. Perhaps ask if you wanted some company?”

The beaming smile Rook sent his way was so utterly bright compared to the thin lipped smiles the rogue had been putting on earlier. Like something had genuinely managed to lift his spirits in the last half an hour and seeing Emmrich again was the icing on the proverbial cake. Whatever the case was, Emmrich was just glad to see the man smiling and looking hopeful again. Maker, he looked pretty.

“You can cloud gaze with me, if you like. Come on over.”

Cloud gazing? Emmrich couldn’t remember the last time he had done that. The last time was probably with his mother, lying down on the ground on a picnic blanket as they both giggled to themselves over heart and nug shaped wisps of clouds. A time before he had come into his magic, even, before the whole world had taken on a different hue and cast different shadows across all of their lives.

“I’d love to!” Emmrich replied cheerfully, already making his way through the tall grass and flowers, trying his level best not to trip over or to disturb the fuzzy lazy bees too much. With every advancing step Rook came into even lovelier focus, a scabious flower to the left of his head making his eyes shine an even deeper blue. It didn’t seem possible that the space could be lightening too, that the rogue was making the sun shine brighter by his very joy at seeing Emmrich approaching him.

By the time Emmrich reached the blanket and the sitting Rook, his heart was beating out a joyous yet nervous rhythm against the inside of his ribs. How the rogue looked so effortlessly beautiful all the time was beyond Emmrich, having decided long ago to simply bask in the man’s magnificence whilst he could.

“Come on then, you”, Rook murmured as he patted the space on the blanket beside him and fuck did Emmrich want to swoon on so many levels. That their closeness meant he was described using such soft words, commanded with such a fond tone of voice. Besotted wasn't enough of a word to describe the feelings Emmrich had for Rook. Maybe there weren't words strong enough.

But if looks could convey even half of those feelings, Emmrich was sure he was showing them now as he gently lowered himself to sit beside Rook, immediately feeling more calm for being in his presence. As he studied the man across from him for a moment, it did genuinely seem that Rook had found solace in this little space. He couldn't take all the credit for this change, of course, but Emmrich hoped that he had contributed a fraction of that ease that Rook now felt within himself.

When Emmrich laid down fully on the comfortable blanket a minute later, he was more than settled in for the pair of them to remain where they were, to bask in their semi closeness where he could easily brush their hands together if they went to point at the same cloud.

But Rook surprised the mage once again by asking an earth shattering question.

“Would you hold my hand?”

Emmrich turned his attention from the sky and was almost immediately disarmed by the fond look in Rook’s eyes, the entire question such an open quest for comfort that Emmrich couldn’t resist. He put his romantic feelings aside for the moment as he nodded, hand inching across the blanket till he could feel Rook’s hand next to his. Emmrich wouldn’t describe himself as a particularly brave man, but the way he gently placed his hand on top of the rogue’s hand and laced their fingers together might be one of the bravest things he had ever done.

And Rook’s smile was more than worth the risk.

After that, it was just a case of both men turning their faces to the sky and watching the world go by. There were a number of clouds available for perusal, all being blown slowly across the expanse by a thermal wind much higher up. A collage of mist and cloud fluff that still couldn’t compare to the beauty of the man next to Emmrich.

Rook offered his first suggestion for a cloud lookalike, pointing upwards and to the left.

“If you squint, that one looks like a nug. I’ve heard that the Divine has all but filled the Grand Cathedral with the little buggers.”

“There’s got to be someone who adores those creatures, I suppose. Lake Calenhad looks a bit like a rabbit if you squint, or so I’ve been told”, Emmrich replied, glad to hear the little huff of a laugh Rook uttered under his breath.

As Emmrich pointed to a cloud to his right, he felt Rook squeeze his hand as if the rogue worried that the mage wanted to pull away.

“That one looks like an Ocularum. Researchers within the Inquisition produced a fascinating paper on them a few years ago”, Emmrich ventured, delighting in Rook’s smile of intrigue.

“I’ll have to look at it one day.”

The two men continued in this way for maybe ten minutes, occasionally lapsing into silence when no new shapes presented themselves. Emmrich was enjoying himself immensely, and it felt good to see that Rook was too. Sure he still had the dark rings under his eyes and his hand lingered nervously near his own hip sometimes, but the rogue did seem to be calmer and more present than he did before. He often squeezed Emmrich’s hand, and Emmrich was all too happy to provide reassurances that he was still there with him and present in the moment.

When Rook had lapsed into a longer silence than the others before it, Emmrich turned his head and found Rook still looking at the sky but with a bit more of a distant look on his face. Emmrich’s heart ached for him, it truly did, and he wanted to be exactly what Rook needed, whatever he needed.

In the end, Emmrich simply said

“Are you alright? You don’t have to be, you know. None of us would judge you for it.”

Rook’s lower lip trembled again as if he was on the verge of tears, the rogue gently biting down on it a moment later to stop it from shaking. A gloved hand went to cover his eyes for a moment as the man took a long, deep breath in and out. He was clearly grounding himself, and Emmrich didn’t want to disrupt that.

Eventually Rook lifted his hand away from his eyes and turned to look at Emmrich once more, a sad sort of resignation in his eyes.

“Today I’m not. But I’m happy to be here with you.”

The man's voice was distinctly wobbly, and Emmrich's heart knew exactly how that feeling felt. That Rook found his presence so comforting, that he was looking at him with such trust and fondness in his eyes was star shattering. That he allowed Emmrich to comfort him, asked him to hold his hand, made Emmrich feel just as safe and treasured in reverse!

Joy beyond description.

“I'll always be happy to be by your side”, Emmrich murmured, deciding to be brave for the second time today as he let go of Rook's hand and opened his arms instead. With something that sounded like a soft sob, Rook was quick to slot himself against the necromancer's side, throwing an arm over Emmrich's middle. With a soft sigh that matched Rook's own, Emmrich gently wrapped his arms around Rook and gave him a soft little squeeze, resigned to the fact that the man in his arms would hear his racing heart.

“I'll always be here, whatever you need. You can always count on me and my affection for you, my dear.”

A delightful giggle from Rook made Emmrich's chest vibrate, and his heart leapt into his stomach as the rogue threw a leg over the mage's own for good measure.

“Thank you, Emmrich. You really are one of a kind, and a true treasure to me.”

If heaven existed on this mortal plain, Emmrich Volkarin would have sworn that this was what it felt like.

[sky-scribbles]

Introducing my Rook, Taren! They used to steal elven artefacts from human museums to return them to the Dalish. Now they're a tired Veil Jumper who just wants to read books but no, some guy just had to try destroying the Veil...

They have a gift for languages and specialise in translating ancient elvhen. Will infodump about elvhen noun declensions at the drop of a hat.

Their museum heists were carried out with their late husband Enari, an adventurous mage from Clan Lutare (I'm thinking of making him a cousin of Bellara's). Taren has a very analytical mind, and was the plan-maker of the two; they would strategise for months before they went into action.

When a heist went wrong and Enari was killed, Taren blamed themselves for not planning enough. They've largely recovered from Enari's death; he's a kind memory now, not an aching loss. The main legacy of Taren's grief is their crippling analysis paralysis - they obsess over getting All The Info before acting - and their determination to never let anything similar happen again, hence their abandoning the map to save the other Veil Jumpers.

Taren was adopted into Clan Aldwir; I'm not 100% sure where they were originally from, but I'm considering them having been born into slavery in Tevinter, and running off to join the Dalish with a stack of stolen books on elven history under their arm.

They love their clan, but struggle with insecurities about not being really Dalish thanks to having grown up separate from Dalish culture ('Sky', you ask, 'are you projeting your own issues?' What no I would never haha-)

They're in their early forties. The hardest decisions this game has forced on me was making me choose between giving them some lines on their face and giving them freckles. Deeply rude. (I couldn't even make their hair properly grey, what IS this madness-)

Generally reserved and private, Taren easily gets embarassed by strong displays of emotion and tends to retreat inward. They do feel very strongly, they just really struggle to express it.

Desperately wants to feel wanted and needed.

'We love and need you,' their clan tells them. 'Yes, because I bring you elven lore,' says Taren. 'No,' says Clan Aldwir, very tired, 'because we appreciate who you are as a person.' 'I am a mediocre person at best,' says Taren. 'Oh my gods,' say their clan.

Autistic as all fuck.

Not sure about romance, but I'm leaning toward Emmrich? He seems passionate and kind, from what I've heard, and Taren could really do with that.

[fleshwerks]

cont to the tween rook ask

And the most hilariously morbid thing is that it's exemplified in the game itself. Solas blames you for stopping his rite. Take responsibility is one of the first things Rook hears after their attempt to stop a god from destroying the world fails - it's spoken in Solas' voice, and it just gets indirectly amplified through each of his conversations.

So, essentially, Bioware have written a game where a teenager is blamed for their attempts to stop a rite that kills their entire world. Where this teenager is then placed into direct reliance on the same person who was the firestarter of said rite and where adults just seem perfectly dandy with throwing said teen to the possible funeral pyre if they fail, because they aren't doing shit.

God, this is both morbidly fascinating because it makes Veilguard finally look interesting and disgusting. Solas was a blight in the entire franchise.

Now that you put it like this, it's one of the endings as well. The 'bad ending'. Solas picks off your companions one after another and then angrily says 'now you're all alone'. And whose fault is that, Solas? Rook's? Rook didn't kill Emmrich and Neve. Solas did. Solas blamed Rook for fighting for their life and their home. If Solas had his way, he'd have both Rook and the Inquisitor just obediently lie down and die. It's literally nothing new. In Inquisition Solas has you sweep the road to your own graver clean, and then has the audacity to tell you to just accept your own demise by his hand. All mortals are 'teenagers' to Solas, motherfucker is thousands of years old.

His entire philosophy is: "Know your place. It is beneath me. If you step out of your lane, I will kill you, and I will blame you for it. Your first mistake was resisting. Your second mistake was failing at resisting. It's all your fault, but I won't even let you blame yourself. It's actually my fault, you never even mattered. I'll even take the blame from you. I take everything from you. And it's your fault."

[invinciblerodent]

I know this is a hardish question bc probably depends on game factors, but as it is rn you the brain sauce

Do you think Emmerich notices right away that Tristan isn’t alive in the same sense as pm everyone else? Or is he like quicker than others to notice? I assume Tristan isn’t quick to explain the full truth of his… condition.

(Sorry if I seem obsessed, bc I kinda am. I blame my adhd for the hyperfixation. Love the whole idea! )

Oh absolutely no worries babe lol, I'm just happy that you find the big fellow interesting! ❤️❤️

Have a song I've been listening to a lot over the past few days and have kinda started associating it with him-

(this, as well as "Ghost" by the same guy, very Tristan-coded to me, only this one also has that soft, deep-voiced crooning in "Orlesian" in the middle there that's. Very A+.)

I honestly feel a bit more "free" headcanoning and rambling on about this guy and this story than about anyone else, specifically because the base idea is kind of on the sillier side? Like, I feel fairly confident ~~hazarding a guess~~ that there's not going to be a subplot in the actual game about the main character needing to hide that actually, they're kind of, sort of a zombie, lol.

So while I'm intentionally keeping my girls vague (beyond "very autistic bisexual elf rights activist", "viking pirate lesbian(?) dwarf", and "tiny dommy mommy"), I'm like, fairly sure that I was gonna need to do extensive rewrites and annotations to the game to make this one work anyway, so I'm not super concerned if I end up needing to "retcon" something I think about now.

What I was thinking so far is that Tristan, as of the beginning, could count on one hand the number of people he's told about his "condition" over the past two decades, and of those people, he's not sure if there's even one still left alive. (Maybe a fellow Warden healer, someone who's patched him up enough times to catch on that something is fishy? Maybe the longest and most serious relationship of his adult life that ended tragically one way or another? I'll have to brainstorm that one)

So as a Grey Warden, Tristan spends a lot of his life traveling alone (which suits him just fine), and quite often, the preternatural survivability and even the unusually thick blood can be reasoned away with "it's a Warden thing, don't worry about it, we're all like this". Most people will believe it, and aren't very quick to jump to conclusions that shouldn't be possible.

Except maybe those who are intimately familiar with death, spirits, and the undead. And are, yknow, actual professors of the occult.

So I think it's not exactly a closely guarded secret, but one Tristan wouldn't reveal unless absolutely necessary- and for as long as possible, none of the companions would know, but Emmrich would absolutely suss him out on his own.

Regardless of whether there's been any light flirting before then, I like to kind of imagine there being a singular moment --perhaps after a hit taken too close, maybe in defense of him, when the odd, stale, almost slightly mildewy scent of Tristan's blood hits Emmrich's nose the first time-- when their eyes meet, and there's this Moment of mutual recognition. This "oh shit, I know what you are."- "oh shit, he knows what I am.".

I of course don't know, like, the particulars of his character, but from his tone in the blurbs and the short stories, I assume that if pulled aside afterwards and asked sincerely, Emmrich would be willing to keep it a secret- and that he would immediately feel intense scholarly interest.

I mean, Tristan is an anomaly: by all means, he should not exist. The undead of Thedas are created via possession, and his body has not been possessed by any spirit, and isn't being controlled by anything. He seems whole, hale, and himself (not a darkspawn, either), he breathes, eats, sleeps, heals and bleeds pretty much as normal, and the things that aren't quite normal, are still not outside of the realm of possibility: many completely normal people breathe and blink slower than average, many people prefer their meat on the rarer side, many people have troubles falling and staying asleep. Nothing about him on its own is indicative of anything strange, and yet he is intelligent undead! Just the fact that he can speak in a way that is convincingly human is incredible!

I want to believe that Emmrich (like many of us are about our blorbos) would immediately kind of be like "I want to study you under a microscope." (paraphrased ofc) (Is he the playful kind? Would he jokingly paint studying Tristan as repayment for his silence? Who knows! It's fun either way!)

And at first, Tristan would be hesitant (it's awkward, to be under such scrutiny, and to have his whole Situation upended and dissected like that, especially by someone he probably already considers somewhat intimidating, in a handsome, charming sort of way), but even if it's not suggested, he'd consider it repayment for keeping it a secret, and agree. And if I can make it work, I'd really enjoy for there to be an opportunity for a moment between the two of them that has Emmrich kind of like... "I have been around enough bodies, both dead and alive, naked and clothed, to not be affected by anything corporeal. I know flesh well, I know what lies under it, and my interest in this particular body is purely clinical, scholarly, and in no way romantic or sexual. This dimly lit office/surgery is not in any way romantic, nor does any sight of his body arouse anything in me. .......... oh, his nipples are pierced. That's not a good thing for me."

("oh, strong muscles shifting enticingly under inked skin." "oh, the big man is large in every way." etc.)

Something something hearing an otherwise abnormally sluggish heart suddenly beat faster at a touch, something something intense examination of all bodily reactions making them both feel both flayed and more naked than it should be possible, intense eye contact, oh in this kind of light his eyes do look reddish and eerie but I can't look away, and from there on I think it can kinda progress however it's going to progress in the game.

I am havign SUCH a normal time of it, man!!!!!!!