#manfred stone

[scalytunster]

Stob family x Ace Attorney shenanigans

evil sleepover 🙌

they seem to get along

[kaiserkeller]

BRIAN JONES, PAUL JONES, and TOM JONES photographed together in 1965.

“It was in 1962 when his friend Brian Jones asked Paul [Jones] if he wanted to front a new band he was forming, telling him there was a lot of money to be made.

Not convinced, he politely declined, so Brian instead roped in two other youngsters... Mick Jagger and Keith Richards.

Paul, 81, has clearly thought long and hard about what might have happened if he had said “yes”. He insists he has no regrets about missing out on Jaggeresque heights of fame, but there is a touching reason he wishes he had accepted.

Paul says: ‘There are no regrets from a personal point of view. I got to thinking, if I’d joined the group Brian was forming it probably wouldn’t have been as big.

‘Because I think there’s something very special about Mick, and the combination of Mick and Keith, which is why they are still at the top of the tree.

‘But it has occurred to me that if I had joined, Brian might still be alive today.

‘One of his problems was because Mick and Keith were having success with their songs and taking over the band’s direction, and his leadership of the band was starting to trickle away.

‘I think if I had said ‘yes’ then Brian would have remained its leader. The Rolling Stones might not have been so successful, but at least he might still have been here. So there is a hint of regret.’” — The Mirror, 2 July 2023.

[waspdefender]

Thing I made in 2021 for what would've been Steve Waller's 70th birthday. Credits on albums don't really go into the minutiae of what bit of what track who did what for so I can't quite be sure that he did what I'm about to say he did, but I've seen in live videos that he did guitar talkbox stuff, and he was Manfred Mann's Earth Band's guitarist when they recorded Angel Station so I at least have reason to believe that he was the one doing the really sick talkbox/guitar solo on Angels At My Gate, the title of which this drawing is inspired by. Not the lyrics. The lyrics are about being addicted to cards, which doesn't look as cool.

[beetlethebug]

thinking about davrin who starts keeping a little treat for rook in their pockets after the "who wants a treat" scene with assan and manfred. he refuses to allow rook to unionize against him again. imagining him going to lucnais and asking for something for rook is very funny to me. and imagine rook getting used to it, so every time they go out with davrin they hold their hand out, expecting a treat. and one day davrin panics and realizes he doesn't have one, so he puts a little wood carving he was working on in rook's hand. and rook, the little gremlin they are, starts gloating to manfred about it. so now manfred wants one, and davrin will never hear the end of it if he doesn't provide (emmrich is very good at the disappointed dad stare and the little sighs of disappointment)

davrin who gets used to this little gift exchange with rook. who loves seeing the way that their eyes light up when they see what he has. rook who gets a little bolder, patting them down in search of treats and trinkets that davrin is hiding on their person. rook who unsubtly shares their edible treats with assan and manfred, making davrin roll his eyes but endearing them to him anyway.

rook who starts giving gifts back the way a cat would. monster parts and other pieces from kills. little stone statues of wolves and wyverns and nugs. they come back to the lighthouse covered in dirt and leaves and a bag filled to the brim of gingerwort truffles. (rook says it's their dues for the union; assan and manfred nearly knock them over the second they realize what rook has).

just. davrin and rook and little treats.

[johnryansullivan]

More Music Covers

Another post about cover songs. Go wild.

I enjoyed writing about music covers and felt I should go do it again. Shall we? Cake – I will Survive I really enjoy this kind of cover song. First and foremost because it’s not in the same genre of music and because they are using different instruments. I feel this frees the listener to simply enjoy. You can compare and contrast all you like but the versions have enough that separates them…

[felassan]

Compilation of snippets from the DA:TV acting talent panel at SDCC (Dragon Age: Meet the Heroic Companions of Thedas) today (July 26th). DA:TV spoilers under cut.

Huge props and tysm to the users who live-tweeted and clipped this panel, you are heroes 🙏💜!!

The panel was moderated. In attendance were John Epler, creative performance director Ashley Barlow, and the actors of Lucanis, Neve, Emmrich, and Harding - Zach Mendez, Jessica Clark, Nick Boraine, and Ali Hillis respectively.

The panel ended with a Q&A session.

(BioWare have stated that a recording of the panel will be made available at a later date.)

Edit/update: I've now been through this post and tidied it up :)

---

Here are some pictures from the panel [source]

Here are some more pictures from the panel [source]

In this Twitter thread there are also some video clips of parts of the panel [source]

BioWare tried to avoid spoilers in the panel [source]

Key points/summary of DA:TV: hunting Solas, found family companions, stop the elven gods [source]

When auditioning the companions, BW were specifically looking for character chemistry [source]

BW used motion capture for the game [source]. Mo-cap was mentioned a lot in the panel [source]

Lucanis sees assassination as a job. His mind is as dangerous as his knives and he is also "kinda hilarious" [source]

There was mention of other Crows [source]

Zach Mendez read Tevinter Nights like three times [source]

A clip of the actors doing mo-cap was shown [source]. Photos of Zach mo-capping for other characters was shown [source]

BioWare said that Zach brought a certain darkness to Lucanis [source]

Zach is excited for the romance and is looking forward to the stats [source]

Zach mentioned that he used his own relationship with his brother in his portrayal of Lucanis [source] (surely this means ILLARIO.. ?👀)

Zach played a lot of darkspawn originally while auditioning [source]

Ali Hillis really welcomed Zach into the DA family [source]

Neve is from Minrathous. She has fun banter and is a cynical detective with a heart of gold. They want to show a rebellious side of Tevinter [source]

Jessica Clark loves Neve's loyalty, dedication, and different vision of Tevinter

Neve is fighting for the people [source]. Jessica: "She is really really fighting for those people, and she loves those people. So, yes, she's cynical, and yes she's kind of tough and brusque and all these other things, but when they say there's a heart of gold, there really, like, to have that kind of a passion and dedicate your life to something like that, I think that's definitely my favorite part about her" [source]

Jessica loves how much Neve loves Docktown and its people [source]

Neve sees a different vision for Tevinter than what has previously been depicted in the series [source]

The actors were separate from one another while recording lines but still bonded really well and organically [source]

There are several Veilguard gc [source] (groupchats?)

Ali is an angel and very supportive of the new cast [source]

Emmrich is a "stone cold silver fox" (this is a quote from the panel moderator) [source]

BioWare knew the reaction they would get about Emmrich from the fandom [source]

Nick Boraine feels like he's been preparing for Emmrich all his life. He's obsessed with death (as a comfort and not scary) and enabling people to transition into death. He is attracted to this aspect of the character [source]

"You're gonna need a dictionary for Emmrich" for all the magic spells [source]

"Interesting how this character caught fire compared to the other sexy characters" [source] (I think this was said wrt Emmrich?)

BW had a great time recording with Nick, he is a very consistent actor [source]

Nick and Matt Mercer have never met [source]

Manfred plays off of Emmrich. "I set the tone" [source]

What has Harding been doing in-between DA:I and DA:TV? She's been working closely with Varric and the Inquisition remnants. She and Neve already met in the comics [source]

Ali vividly remembers the beginning of voicing Harding, she says it's brilliant writing. She really thought of Harding's personality and traits. She's so happy to be back [source]

wrt the Covid-19 pandemic and the year 2020, BW had to pivot with working remotely and were able to push through their projects. [source]

"[Harding] chasing Solas for a decade..." "that was a great relationship that [you] developed... and now I'll stop talking now". Ali was excited [source]

John Epler talked about how companions may but heads, and won't be predictable [source]

There are thousands and thousands of lines and so many characters to meet [source]

Zach "unfortunately has been around the DA Reddit before recording as Lucanis" [source]. He feels inspired by all the fans and cannot wait for us to play it [source]

[new textblock due to character limit!]

John Epler on Emmrich: "I mean honestly, I will say, like, we expected a great reaction to Emmrich. Went beyond what we expected for sure. But it’s been fascinating to see, because again, Emmrich is this character, he’s more of the professorial, more, he brings a wisdom and kind of a calmness to the group, so even when things are at their worst, there’s that one person in the group who is kinda like, ‘okay, y’know, we've got, let's figure it out, let’s take a deep breath’. And just his journey through his character arc, and his interactions with the others, it’s been fantastic to see. Even just finding opportunities for him to bounce off the other characters, you know, the way he talks to Bellara, the way he talks to Neve, it’s all so different, but it’s also just, again, based around this core of this warm, kind-hearted, professorial necromancer. Which, again, is not something you see a lot of in media. I mean, usually, necromancers are depicted in a very specific way. But it’s been, it's awesome to see how Emmrich has grown and just, really one of the most, one of my favorite experiences has been just working with Emmrich’s writer, working with Emmrich as a character." [source]

All the actors are excited about the dialogue and narrative, and for us to explore DA:TV [source]

Ali says that we will really find ourselves in this game [source]

During the recording process, the actors all hear the previous person's recording and react or respond to it [source]

Due to Covid-related lockdown, a lot of recording was done over Zoom, and the writers besides Ashley Barlow (creative performance director) would jump in on the call to talk about the previous person’s lines [source]

A question was asked about the background factions. "Characters not causes". [source]

You can work with the Grey Wardens in the game (for example) [source]

The actors all met this weekend. They are an "un-chosen" family [source]

Zach stood in for multiple characters for mo-cap, for example he was Assan [source]

Lucanis has a heart but is stubborn and stuck in his ways. Zach is excited for fans to help his character open up as the story progresses [source]

Jessica is incredibly honored to join the DA universe. She is new to voice acting for video games. “This is play pretend. Playing Neve allowed her to step into her power.” [source]

A question was asked on what their first exposure to fantasy was, and do they implement this into the acting? John talked about Lord of the Rings and how every media you experience will seep out into your work [source]

Ashley didn't want the dialogue to sound modern [source]

Zach loves Theseus and talked about the symbolism in DA [source]

Jessica loves Greek mythology and lore [source]

Nick talked about The Hobbit and how he would dress up in big boots and a cape when his mother would read to him [source]

Ali recently went to Greece and felt like she saw DA everywhere [source]

A question was asked - "From your companion's perspective, which previous companion would you romance?" Zach kind of has a thing for The Iron Bull, saying "oh that awakened something inside of me". He also likes Dorian. Jessica was too overwhelmed to answer. Nick was also overwhelmed by the question, but thinks Solas is sexy [source] [source]

Ali fangirled over Lucanis and Emmrich [source], prefers Emmrich [source]

A question was asked - "Is DA:TV and DA:I streamlined together?" [paraphrased]. Answer: DA games are not as streamlined as Mass Effect and act almost as standalones [source]

The cast were asked about which aspect of their character is their favorite. Ali loves the little quirks about Harding. "Lucanis is a good cook!?" ** Neve is very dry and pretty closed off about it. For Emmrich, it's the "exploration of the idea of death and necromancy" [source] (** FINALLY CITATION for this? :D)

A question was asked: "How do you decide to introduce the lore in each game?" BioWare answered that it depends as they build each game. They always know the base lore, and see opportunities through game mechanics and characters. They try not to infodump [source]

A question was asked: "Any favorite party banter?" Ashley Barlow said to listen for "hand to bone combat" [source]

The game takes place approximately 10 years after the end of DA:I. You start the game hunting for Solas. The game is built on some core principles: be who you want to be in a world worth saving and with characters that matter. The companions are always at the heart of DA and they are at the heart of this game too. [source]

The moderator asked John Epler about what is bringing this party of people ("this rogues' gallery") together. John: "I mean, it's the end of the world, and each character that you bring into your party understands that the world is ending, that they need to stop that, and you're really building, what I would say is, more of a found family. These are characters who may not start off liking each other, may not even start off liking you, but over time they grow to understand the importance of what they're doing and just, how critical it is to stop the elven gods" [source]

"He is kind and has some spectacular lines. He is a natural nerdy scientist. He loves learning." [source] (Emmrich? ^^)

Ali didn't realize that Harding was such a beloved character. She thanked fans for bringing this character back [source]

Ali is super excited that the game is releasing. She said that there has been an evolution to Harding's character and that she's been chasing Solas for like a decade at this point [source]

Jessica loves the writing in the game [source]

Nick loves its narrative [source]

Ali said that this game is going to take you into a world that will blow your minds [source]

On Manfred: Nick was asked what it was like having another character to bounce off of. He said "Oh man! I mean, that is such a hard question, because Matt and I have never met, and we worked completely separately, and, I, I mean I know that the rapport is really great, but it's in the ether, I mean it is just, the magic that these guys create, telling us how to respond, how to do that, but it's, I can't wait to meet Matt" [source]

BW still said that the game's release window is Fall 2024 [source]. Nothing more specific was given [source]

There are also more snippets here in this Tumblr post, go check it out!

[source, two]

[riadoodles]

Heya!

Who wins more often in stone-paper-scissors? Dawn or Manfred?

they played for hours one day (because they keep tying) that Emmrich kept checking up on them to make sure they were comfy.

[sky-scribbles]

Rook's notes for the team in the event of my (probably impending) death:

Lucanis:

My swords are yours. Like yours always were mine, when I needed them.

My spicy soup recipe is inside my Rivaini dictionary.

Spite:

You can have my poetry books.

Bellara:

I entrust you with all the elven artefacts that I’ve collected in my room. Keep anything that speaks to you, and make sure our people get the rest.

Please make sure my translation of that elvhen narrative epic is published. It was eight years of work.

Thank you for being my family.

Lace:

My bow is yours. I’m sorry it’s too big for you to use, but… it took care of me. I want it to go to someone who will take care of it.

Show Emmrich more of the world, since I cannot.

Taash:

My chocolate stash is in the bronze puzzle box. Good luck.

It has been such a privilege to watch you embrace who you are.

Davrin:

I know you’ve been coveting my halla horn charm. It’s yours, and if you find the craftsmaster of my clan, she’ll teach you how to carve them.

Pet every griffon for me. Pet them twice.

Neve:

Please take care of my cat.

Emmrich:

If you’re not too busy overthinking every little thing

We’ve been happy. I don’t understand why now

Do you think I don’t

Sorry. I understand being afraid to say what you feel. You know that I do.

I was afraid to love you too, in the beginning. I’m terrified of what it would do to me to lose you now.

I don’t regret a single thing.

As I have before, I entrust my body into your hands. Bury me in the Memorial Gardens. I love it there; it is a kind place. Raise no stone for me, but plant a tree over my body, and promise that my bones will stay below the earth. I will return to the soil. That is the Dalish way.

Anything I have not bequeathed to another is yours. As is my heart.

I hope that when your time comes, you will no longer be afraid to say that you loved me. I hope you will not be afraid at all. But if you are, know this: if any last spark of me remains beyond that final veil, it will be waiting for the last spark of you.

Manfred:

Yes, you can have that scarf you thought I didn’t see you trying on.

Take care of Emmrich for me.

[cybershock24601]

I’ve been stewing on more alternate time travel au where the Veilguard sends themselves to the past trying to rip Rook out of the fade because there’s nothing like trying to save your bestie to make you turn to dangerous and unstable magic

Lucanis spends most of his time helping Harding out with her scout work yet refuses to wear the Inquisition uniform because he is still a Crow at heart which means he wouldn’t be caught dead in such an ugly uniform

Turns out the Orlaisean noble woman Emmrich had a thing with one summer was the wife of the Duke Vivienne’s with and the two of them get together to gossip. Vivienne wishes Emmrich wouldn’t drag along his skeleton every time but he is Nevarran so she will let it go. She also assists in giving Manfred etiquette lessons alongside Emmrich because it’s not like she can let the poor thing go around with such poor diction.

Mentioned this before but Dorian’s crush on Emmrich comes back full force and whoever is romancing him whether it be the Inquisitor or Iron Bull ends up wildly jealous of Emmrich

Hardings new connection with the Stone possibly helping soothe Cullen’s lyrium induced issues

Chess pieces from all over Skyhold start going missing because Cole keeps giving all the rooks to the Veilguard

Leliana offers Bellara a nug and she accepts and now walks around Skyhold with the most adorable nug the world has ever seen

If you thought Emmrich and Davrin were insufferable before, their dad off gets a thousand times worse when Davrin's new mabari starts stealing Manfred's bones and Davrin refuses to admit his good boy did anything wrong even if he is privately scolding the mabari.

Davrin and Cullen end up bonding over the mabari as Cullen ends up offering Davrin some advice on how to train the dog. Turns out mabari are not any easier to train then griffons as both are hyper intelligent animals and require different tactics though bribery seems to be working as well on the dog as it did Assan

Manfred starts copying Cole by giving people random objects but unlike Cole who has some weird esoteric logic behind it, Manfred is really just picking up a cool rock he found on the ground and handing it off to the first person he sees and crying out "HELPING" in his little skeleton voice

Harding is now the one in the awkward age gap relationship because what are you supposed to do when your significant other is now physically 13 years old but still mentally an adult but it’s not like anyone but your close friends know that because to everyone else they’re just 13? Hell if Harding knows

The Veilguard collectively gaslighting the Inquisition about Spite because people down south aren’t nearly going to be as cool about the whole possession situation and their assurances that Spite is chill so every time someone tries to bring up the glowing eyes or wings they come up with some bullshit excuse and stick to it no matter how ridiculous and some of them get real stupid

Neve sees Cullen practically falling asleep on his feet and offers him her cup of coffee. This is a mistake because now Cullen is using his new caffeine addiction to deal with his lyrium withdrawals and the man has never been so productive or strung out. Lucanis is suffering in the background because Cullen makes and drinks the same sort of sludge Neve survives off of.

Josephine and Lucanis end up bonding over their shared disgust over the sort of vile concoctions Neve and Cullen keep producing. Leliana also joins in because Josephine already introduced her to good coffee and she also has strong opinions on the culinary crimes they’re committing. She also has a whole lot to add when Lucanis brings up some of Harding’s more adventurous kitchen adventures because after a year of traveling around Ferelden during the Blight, Leliana has some stories of her own to share about Ferelden cuisine.

Solas who hates tea and wants an in to try to figure out what is going on and how much these people know approaches Lucanis about trying some coffee too only for Lucanis who can be one spiteful motherfucker even without accounting for Spite to essentially pull a “I suddenly don’t know how to read” and brew the most black, vile, and disgusting sludge like pot of coffee for Solas to drink. It would have been kinder for Lucanis to have just spiked his coffee with poison. Spite is in the background cackling at the barely concealed disgust on Solas’ face as Solas pretends he can’t hear Spite’s delighted laughter at Solas’ predicament

[heylittleriotact]

Ｍａｓｓａｇｅ(ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 2/2)

Manipulation of tissue in the course of preparation of the body

Chapter 1 here

Though perhaps he was of the sort that got a thrill from the act of undressing her. Yes… that seemed like something a man who freely boasted about his familiarity with the finer points of anatomy would be keen on: savouring the textures of different fabrics as his fingers grazed over them, pulling gently here, tugging gently there to methodically flay her clothing from her body as if it were her skin and she was his newest, most recently deceased patient: she required preparation so that her bones, still and silent, could be put to use housing an eager spirit, and he was not at all unfamiliar with the process of unmaking someone.

He would gladly aid her in this capacity.

The honour would be all his.

The second and final part of my piece detailing Emmrich and Amina's first time sleeping together. It's time for the main event. Batten down your panties 🩲

Rating: Explicit

Under the cut or on ao3

As it turned out there was actually a nightcap involved.

Emmrich’s mysterious bed dwelled in a hidden bedchamber in the laboratory behind one of the many bookcases lining the walls and down a curving set of stairs that split into two chambers: one emerged into a warmly lit cavern of sorts, spacious yet cozy, and the other Amina could only assume was space set aside for Manfred - his own room. She thought it very sweet that Emmrich saw fit to give Manfred a space to call his own. She knew perfectly well that wisps didn’t sleep, so she had no idea what the sentient skeleton did with any time he spent alone - she made a point of asking Emmrich another time. 

The entire space was composed of the stone foundations of the island the Lighthouse stood on, and despite the rustic implication of a bedroom in a cave, Emmrich’s room was actually quite homey: the bed itself was on a raised section of stone, and ancient but pristine rugs covered the floor, overlapping in places, each of them rich, bright colours of magenta, turquoise, or marigold. The bar was set against the far wall and boasted a humble assortment of spirits and liqueurs which included the extremely expensive absinthe Emmrich had prepared for her, demonstrating a ritual involving cold water and sugar that proved his alchemical hobbies extended even into his drinking preferences. She took a sip of it and continued to politely snoop around the room while Emmrich excused himself to make sure Manfred was settled in for the night. 

The room was illuminated by the soft glow of candles perched on various outcroppings and recesses within the stone walls. The cavern was humid and warm, but the air felt fresh and clean, free of the heavy stagnant quality air tended to take on in a cave. 

More bookshelves framed either side of the bed, with side tables built into the base of them. On the side of the bed that Emmrich obviously favoured, Amina could make out the shape of a pair of spectacles and a book on the side table. 

She stepped up onto the raised platform of stone and wandered over to the table, the sound of her shoes muted by the soft carpet beneath her feet. 

She gently moved the rectangular gold framed spectacles aside and picked up the book, flipped it and read the cover, her eyebrows raising. “Oh my…” 

It was a collection of erotic poetry with a gold embossed depiction of a couple - their genders unclear, entwining passionately - splashed across the cloth bound cover.

She tutted and set down her absinthe, leafing through a few pages and feeling her pulse quicken at the thought of Emmrich reposed in the bed on any given night, naked except for the gold spectacles perched halfway down the bridge of his nose, holding the book in one hand, stroking his cock feverishly with the other, his chest heaving, each breath rapid and desperate and sharp, teetering on a soft whimper or moan as he indulged in the exceptionally vulgar verses until he spilled himself over his own belly, his seed catching the wavering candlelight and shimmering prettily against his skin and the wispy hair that grew on him.

She let out a low expletive and shut the book, replacing it on the side table and picking up her absinthe to drink some of the intensely herbal spirit in an attempt to jar herself back to reality. Her hand ghosted over the front of her skirt, and she palmed her crotch as if to temporarily placate the burning need between her thighs. Where was he? How long could it possibly take to say goodnight to Manfred and make sure he understood he was not to wander into Emmrich’s room under any circumstances tonight? 

She wondered if she should spend this time making herself ready for him: she supposed she could undress and arrange herself on the bed so that when he entered the room again the first thing he’d see was her nude form, spread out for him like a feast more sumptuous than the dinner they’d just had, wearing only the network of scars that spanned her flesh like a topographical encyclopedia of injuries… and those adorable spectacles, of course. She’d sip from the glass of absinthe in her fingertips and haughtily ask if he came around this place often, and he would think her so cavalier and witty and irresistibly attractive that he’d shed his clothes and take her with desperate need marking every one of his movements. 

Though perhaps he was of the sort that got a thrill from the act of undressing her. Yes… that seemed like something a man who freely boasted about his familiarity with the finer points of anatomy would be keen on: savouring the textures of different fabrics as his fingers grazed over them, pulling gently here, tugging gently there to methodically flay her clothing from her body as if it were her skin and she was his newest, most recently deceased patient: she required preparation so that her bones, still and silent, could be put to use housing an eager spirit, and he was not at all unfamiliar with the process of unmaking someone.

He would gladly aid her in this capacity.

The honour would be all his.

She made a sound low in her throat at the thought, wandered over to the small table in the corner with a shaving mirror on a stand, a small hickory box she supposed contained a razor, brush, soap, and strop; a basin and a towel, and a variety of small bottles - six or seven in total. Further inspection revealed they were all different perfumes and colognes. 

She removed the cap from one and sniffed the atomizer, instantly recognizing the scent that filled her nostrils as one that he wore earlier that week: earthy and grounded with notes of vetiver and petrichor. Replacing the lid and setting down the bottle of amber liquid she picked up another and smelled it too: wet clay, the sweet tang of decaying leaves, dark oily patchouli… 

Her mouth watered - this was what he was wearing tonight, the evocative scent mixing with his own natural aroma in a complimentary way that had made it hard to focus all evening…

She let out a startled yelp when a long fingered hand slipped over her front, splaying across her abdomen as she felt the presence of someone much taller than her press close to her back. Hot breath played over her ear as he stooped down, causing the hairs on her neck to stand on end as Emmrich chuckled and said, “There you are. I was worried I’d lost you.”

“Lost me?” She set down the bottle and turned in his arms, facing him now and standing up on her tiptoes to rub the side of her nose against his, her own hands wandering around his narrow waist. “I think you’re stuck with me, Volkarin. I hope that won’t be a problem.”

One hand came up to card through the hair at the nape of her neck, his fingers winding between strands, combing through them as he regarded her affectionately, though desire still smoldered in his moss-coloured eyes. The other dallied over the concave curve of her lower back and came to rest cupping a handful of her muscular rear and drawing her hips flush against him where she could feel evidence of his arousal stirring again.

“Not in the slightest, Ms. Ingellvar.” He purred, squeezing her ass.

She shivered at his words and felt her fingers curl tighter into the fabric of his waistcoat as she felt his broad palm against her behind, fingers kneading the ample flesh there while his lips trailed over her cheek, then her jaw, then he imparted just enough tension to the handful of hair in his hand to urge her chin towards the ceiling, allowing him access to the thin, hot skin of her throat. 

She couldn’t help but gasp as he licked her neck, sucking and kissing up the length of it. A pained little sound slipped past her lips and her hand flew to the back of his head, twining into his own hair when his teeth grazed her and he sucked hard against the skin above her carotid artery. The feeling was warm and wet, a sensation that was both pleasure and pain as capillaries buckled and gave way to the suction, flooding her dermis with the minute quantities of blood that would present like a tattooed clump of alpine betony against a backdrop of spring snow - richly mauve, prickling when the air caressed it…

She groaned, her knees going weak, his name slipping past her lips and suffusing through the cavern, a pleading whisper urging him to peel back layers of her flesh and muscle and bury himself inside the gleaming ruby treasure within.

Responding to the need in her voice, he parted from her neck and guided her away from the corner table, walking them back towards the raised section of stone where the bed was, kissing her, caressing her, stroking her cheek with his thumb as though she was the only thing in the world that mattered then. 

“Darling…” he studied her with his round, perceptive eyes, hand stilling over the centre of her chest where her heart hammered against her ribcage like a frantic wisp trapped in a bottle. “We don’t have to… if you would rather wait—“

He would want to make sure she didn’t feel pressured, wouldn’t he?

Her hero.

She reached up between them and unclipped his collar pin with a deft twist of her fingers, her eyes never leaving his. 

“I don’t want to wait. I’ve waited for what feels like a lifetime already: I want to make love to you right this minute.” She walked him backwards until the edge of the bed met the backs of his knees and he was forced to sit, hands hovering over Amina’s hips as she stood between his long longs. She guided those hands to the bottle green satin of her blouse, closing his fingers around it and guiding his wrists upwards with her index fingers hooked under them so that the hem of the garment slipped free from her waistband. 

Bangles slipped one by one down his willowy arms, chiming softly as one hand wandered underneath the blouse, exploring the expanse of scarred but soft skin over hard muscle, tracing the shape of the costal cartilage that defined the boundaries of her rib cage, protecting the precious organs that lay beneath it. 

She watched his hands rove over her; took in the expression of reverent longing on his face as his mouth parted and he stared up at her. His tongue darted over his lips to wet them before he spoke, his voice rough with lust. “If that is your desire, dearest, I am happy to oblige.” 

“Oblige?” She repeated, running her fingernails through his hair, following the patterns of the gray dispersing and mingling into black like the thick, impermeable mists that hung around the obelisks and headstones in the gardens. One hand started slipping the small buttons at the side of her skirt loose, the other found her ass again and resumed squeezing and massaging. “What about you? Forget about everyone else’s needs for a fucking minute and tell me: what do you want, Emmrich Volkarin?” She tipped his face up, her fingers on his chin. 

He freed the last button and pulled the skirt down over the swell of her ass, letting it slide to the ground where it pooled at her feet. He filled his hands with her bare cheeks, lifting them, feeling the weight and heat of them. He dipped his head and she could feel his hot breath through the thin material of the silky black thong she was wearing, her breath hitching as his nose buried into the cleft just above her throbbing clit and he inhaled deeply, filling himself with the scent of her need. He lingered there for a moment, then looked back up at her, eyes dark with lust. 

“I want you, darling. Every inch of you…” His hands travelled to the waistband of the lacy little thong and he hooked his fingers under it, working it from under the garter belt that held up her stockings, sliding the sodden bit of fabric down, peeling it away from her dripping sex and down her thighs until he relinquished his hold on it and it joined the skirt. He parted her slightly, thumbs nestling softly into her dark hair, and smiled besottedly at the glint of gold that greeted him at the peak of her thighs. “I want to steal the air from your lungs and make your lovely legs shake...” He lowered his mouth again and feathered his searing tongue over the shape of the open hoop adorning her anatomy, urging a low whine from her as her hips jolted in his hands. “I must admit that I’ve often found myself wondering if your grave dowry was of the intimate sort…” he nuzzled against the soft thatch of hair and inhaled again, emitting a satisfied sigh as Amina’s mind swam, adrift in a sea of touch and awe that she was finally here - finally this close to him… and about to get closer still.

“Indulge your curiosity…” She managed to prompt with a coy smile. “Find the rest of it.” 

His head snapped up and a lascivious smile that made her stomach flip-flop spread over his face. His hands found the backs of her thighs and he pulled her down onto his lap, her legs on either side of his hips, her slick core pressed against the bulging front of his pants. She rolled her hips against him and let her shoes clatter to the ground, his fingernails digging into soft flesh as he let out a low growl and then claimed her mouth with his, tongue sweeping brazenly past her lips to collide with hers enthusiastically as she opened wide and returned his fervor.

He held her in his lap, his free hand diving under her blouse to squeeze a handful of breast, the warmth of his touch muted by the expensive lacy brassiere she wore underneath.

Unsatisfied by this impediment, Amina wrenched her hands from Emmrich and hooked her thumbs into the bottom of her blouse and yanked it up unceremoniously over her head, no longer caring whether she appeared poised or elegant. Emmrich’s fingers found the clasp at the back of the brassiere and it slackened as he crushed his face into her breasts, laving his tongue over her skin, practically tearing the cups free of her chest and down her arms so she could shed it completely. 

He laughed - a high pitched, giddy titter that went straight to her cunt  - and thumbed the ends of the gold barbells flanking her erect nipples before clamping his mouth over one and sucking hard, tongue flitting over her stiffened peak while he continued playing with the other one. 

Her back arched and she rutted against him again, keening at his hands and mouth all over her; his cock between her legs. She reached between them and gripped him through his pants, feeling his readiness as she stroked him through too many layers of clothing. 

She rolled onto the bed, dragging him with her, wrapping her legs around his waist and scrambling at the buttons of his waistcoat while she explored his mouth with a ferocity that suggested she hadn’t just sat through an entire six course meal. She managed to get all the buttons undone without ripping a single one off, and immediately set into the absurd quantity of buttons on his shirt next - why did he need so many damn buttons anyway? 

Laughing breathlessly, he pulled away from her to take a breath, rocking back on his knees and holding out a warding finger when she launched forward to follow him.

“Wait,” he panted, looming above her, tracing soothing circles on her thigh with one hand, his normally perfectly coiffed hair an absolute tumble of wayward strands and dishevelled angles: he looked so wonderfully undone with his hair a mess, his prim waistcoat thrown open, and his collar pin askew, clinging to his shirt with little more than wishes and prayers at this point. His mouth was curved in a crooked, slightly daft grin, and his fingers abandoned her thigh to settle between her legs, running up the length of her slit and massaging her slick into her engorged clit as he began deftly undoing buttons with his other hand, observing her with an expression of maddeningly inhibited curiosity when she threw back her head and uttered a deep moan, her hips bucking into his hand, her knees clamping against his sides. 

“Fuuuu– Emmrich!” She cried, fingers and toes curling tightly into the blanket beneath her hips rose off the bed and he toyed with her clit, teasing her piercing with the edge of his thumb; rubbing, stroking, softly pinching her blushing bud, and brushing his fingertips along her innermost lips like they were the fragile petals of a delicate flower - all while methodically undoing the buttons of his shirt and finally reprieving his macabre collar pin of its duties. He slipped her leg over her shoulder as he stretched over the bed to deposit the accoutrement on the side table - on top of the book of poetry. 

Drawing back, he kissed the inside of her knee, echoing her laughter when the coarse hairs of his moustache tickled her sensitive skin through her stockings and she writhed in his hands. He manipulated her leg, bending her knee and kissing down her shin, rubbing his cheek against the meat of her calf, his strong, nimble fingers finding the arch of her foot. He slipped a single finger into her desperate core and held the bottom of her painstakingly pedicured foot to the side of his face, leaning into it as another finger joined the first and he languidly worked them in and out of her, still sitting back on his knees, his shirt open, his eyes glazed. 

“You’ve no idea how often I’ve thought about this, darling,” he huffed, the bridge of his nose flushed pink, and Amina couldn’t take her eyes off his tented trousers.

“I think I do,” she breathed, reaching for him, her fingertips caressing the damp spot on the front of his pants. 

He treated her to another ribald grin - where were these coming from? They were so… dirty. So decidedly un-Emmrich, and they drove excited shivers up her spine. He shrugged his shirt off, relinquishing his contact with her for long enough to slip the sleeves down over his many bracelets and bangles and drape it carefully over the footboard of the bed - an act that had Amina clenching her eyes shut and stifling a giggle - Maker forbid his expensive Orlesian-cut shirt ended up in a wrinkled pile on the floor for a night…

He turned back to her, naked from the waist up now, looking nonplussed at the specter of laughter on her face, “What?” He asked, the corners of his mouth drooping as his smile disappeared as quickly as Assan on bath day: she thought he was laughing at him.

“Oh,” she pushed herself up on her elbows a little. “Nothing, love.” 

He cocked his head to the side inquisitively and Amina snagged his left hand, now desperate to move on, pressing his fingertips to her lips, tasting herself on them. “I see I’m not the only one who keeps my grave dowry close to my person.” 

She was referring to his nipples that were equally as gilded as hers, and didn’t leave room for him to reply as she started gently but systematically pulling rings off his fingers with the same mindful care she would use when removing jewelry from the deceased before she bathed and embalmed them. 

“I want to be with you as you are,” she explained coquettishly  when he arched a brow at her audaciously helping herself to his jewelry. “Without all of… this.” She lifted a stack of bangles on his wrist and let them fall back down, their metallic settling punctuating her point. “I didn’t fall for Emmrich Volkarin’s gold.” 

Silence fell for the first time in a while as she collected his rings in her hand, plucking them from his branch-like fingers and palming them with the same delicate touch she used to handle the cherries that she harvested from the tree that grew behind Reda’s house when she was a child. 

“You are…” he breathed, looking at her with an expression on his handsome face that was difficult to read.

“Bizarrely hung up on ritual and meaning? Yes. You’ll find that to be quite a maddeningly common trait among Watchers, in case you weren’t aware,” she quipped, and her fingers paused over his left pinky and the grand looking ruby ring that occupied it - his Father’s, a gift to young Emmrich before he died - she knew that much. Then she relieved him of that too, marking the dark stain revealed in the ring’s absence for only a moment before he whisked his hand away and hid it behind her thigh, extending his other hand to her now, wordlessly bidding her to continue. 

She finished stripping him of his gold and jewels, depositing handfuls of rings and bracelets and bangles on the side table, the book of erotic poetry now buried under a small fortune, and then she set to work on his trousers which had lingered for far too long.

First went the cummerbund, slipping through her fingers as she untied it, the soft ‘fwip, fwip’ of the sleek material filling the silence that had fallen again. It joined his shirt on the footboard, and as she stretched under his arm to put it there she notched her waist against his and let him fondle her ass and thighs and cunt some more before she planted her ass back on the bed and finally freed his delightfully hard cock, taking him in her hand and stroking him experimentally, nibbling on her lower lip as he knelt before her on the bed, shuddering at her ministrations.

“Darling…” he whispered, eyes lidded, jaw slack as he watched her slowly, sensually jerk him off. Now that his arousal was now out in the open, his own scent filled the air: clean, masculine musk and the aphrodisiac tang of arousal collided with her nose and she swallowed the buildup of saliva that flooded her mouth. 

His cock was lovely: as elegant and distinguished as the rest of him, surrounded by a mantle of clearly tended hair that matched the hither and thither shades of black and gray on his head, his pulse thrummed strongly against her fingers, the skin of his shaft velvet smooth over his hardness. She gently worked his foreskin down to reveal his shapely, leaking head, as rosy and ripe as any cherry at the peak of its season. 

“No grave gold here?” she pouted, working her thumb over his slit, spreading the slick moisture that had beaded there over his blushing crown - an act which caused him to draw a sharp breath through his clenching teeth.

“I did… at one time…” he exhaled, voice wavering as his eyes flicked back down to resume watching her movements. “But I did away with it years ago...”

“Shame,” she tutted, jerking her head to the side. “Bet your pierced cock was a majestic sight indeed…” her cheeks heated and panic struck her. “Not… not that it’s not now.” 

Shut up, Amina, shut up and just fuck him.

But Emmrich only chuckled deep in his throat and pulled himself from her hand, stretching out over her and dwarfing her with his lanky stature as he pressed a soothing kiss to the blossoming love bite on her neck and finished shedding disrobing from his place between her thighs.

“Years spent in ruthlessly discriminating academic circles have granted me the virtue of a thick skin, dearest,” he purred into her ear, catching her lobe with his teeth and uttering a pleased sound at the gasp he wrought from her. His chest met hers and she was at the mercy of his skin against hers, enshrouding her; capturing her - binding her the same way he bound spirits to vacant bone. 

She might have babbled something in response as her hips arced into his, searching for the heat of his cock to relieve the burning need between her thighs, but then his lips found hers again and he kissed her with a sweetness and depth that drove words from her brain and air from her lungs.

And then he was gone, sitting back on his haunches again, so far away as his fingers danced along the oversensitive flesh of her inner thigh and he drew her towards him over the bedspread with an easy yank, lining her hips up with his, their thighs connected.

Cock in hand, he dragged himself slowly through her folds, collecting her pooling slick and massaging her engorged clit with his tip, humming sumptuously as Amina squirmed, her clit slip-sliding against the most sensitive part of him.

He dipped just inside of her entrance and back out again, and her fingernails dug into his abdomen. 

“Please…” she pleaded. “Please Emmrich…”

He acquiesced with a gentle kiss, pressing his hips to hers, pushing inside of her slowly, almost hesitantly, drawing back before thrusting forward again, stretching her, his elated groan joining hers as his he breached her fully and her walls flexed and clenched around him, their heat finally joining, their connection at last made complete.

She exhaled a ragged breath as her thighs tightened against his ribcage and he delved further, his thumb sweeping a strand of hair from her face as he cradled her head in his arm, his nose brushing hers as he lowered his mouth and whispered against her lips, “Is this all right?”

“Yes…” she panted, “… ohhh Emmrich… please don’t stop…” She felt the smoothness of his back under her fingers as they travelled downwards, and squeezed his pert ass in her hands, encouraging his thrusts as he moved inside of her, burying her face in the crook of his neck as he fucked into her and uttered soft gasps and the sweetest nothings she’d ever heard into her ear for a time before his movements ceased abruptly, and she could feel his heart racing against hers.

“Ah— oh.” He took a deep breath and exhaled, long and smooth - grounding: Nevarran breathing techniques. “Darling, I’m… I’m ashamed to say it, but I’m not going to last much longer… you feel entirely divine, and it’s been some time since I’ve—”

Her heart flooded with affection for him as her Reaper’s gift kicked in and she felt his emotional state change abruptly as his aura shifted: he felt embarrassed. Inadequate. Pathetic.

“Hey,” she cupped his cheek with her hand and dragged his eyes back to hers, then treated him to an understanding smile. “That’s one hell of a compliment.” She undulated against him, urging him on.

“Amina…”

“Will you cum for me, Emmrich?”

He let out a soft whine and his eyelids fluttered slightly at her words. 

“Yes,” he whispered, his thrusts resuming, his steady rhythm returning as the sound of skin on skin filled the cavern again. “I daresay I would do nearly anything for you…” he kissed her again, their tongues entwining as they tasted, licked and sucked. 

She locked herself against him, riding him from the mattress, meeting his thrusts and feeling his hips buck sloppily and shudder as his climax drew near - hers was not far behind: each movement dragged his cock over that place inside of her that made her thighs quake and tremble against his sides.

“Unnngh!” His eyes went wide, then shut tightly. He gasped her name like he’d been immersed in a tub of freezing water and cupped her jaw in his hand, his eyes opening again to hold her gaze as his hips arched against hers once, twice, and she felt the telltale heat expanding through her from the inside out as he spilled his hot seed deep within her. 

It was more than enough to send her hurtling over the edge as well, so over the edge she went, groaning in soul-scraping ecstasy as she tightened around his twitching length, crushing him to her chest as she cried out his name followed by a babbled stream of blissed out expletives. Her vision went white and she clenched so hard around him he was almost forced out of her, but he drove his hips forward and remained in place, covering her throat in soft, encouraging kisses as he murmured quiet praises into her ear as she tensed and writhed under him. 

“Ohhh, good girl…” he cooed as they rode out the dwindling waves of their release, and Amina whimpered, feeling her heart leap into her throat at those words, so sinfully spoken from his flushed, kiss-swollen lips…

She smoothed the hair at the nape of his neck as they collapsed together, quaking and trembling, sweat-slicked and reeking of sex. 

Emmrich’s fingers found themselves winding through her stormy black hair where it spilled over the pillow, and he did not let go as he rolled off of her to stretch out beside her, pulling her tight against him, his wet, softening cock squashed against her slightly shaking thigh. He kissed the crown of her head and held both of her hands in his as he hugged her to him. 

“I’ve had a wonderful evening with you, dearest Amina,” he said, his voice dripping with all the familiarity and intimate cadence one would anticipate from a lover.

“I’ve had a wonderful evening with you as well, Emmrich.” She kissed the back of his naked hand, her mind hazy, her heart achingly full of affection for the man tangled up with her. “Here’s to many, many more.”

They rested for a time, peacefully dozing in each other’s arms, but neither seemed capable of staying asleep for long - the exhilaration of their joining was too fresh; too real. 

A couple of hours later, Amina awoke to see Emmrich sleepily regarding her from his pillow, a strand of her long hair still twirled around his fingers, her name on his lips. Moments later, those very lips wandered down her belly and between her legs, and he lazily licked his leaking seed from her, bringing her to the softest, coziest orgasm she’d ever had with his fingers splayed over her lower belly and his tongue deep inside her. 

They fucked again after that, and then one more time before sleep properly found them and they drifted off in the early hours of dawn, entwined and undeniably in love. 

[dinosaursr66]

We lost this very important man. For Shel Talmy.

SONG OF THE DAY - Monday, November 18, 2024

[writingjourney]

𝐎𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐭𝐨 𝐁𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞, 𝐎𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐭𝐨 𝐅𝐞𝐞𝐥 || 𝐄𝐦𝐦𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐡

He has become a steady presence in her life, the extent of their feelings an unspoken bond that thrums like magic between them. It is easier to feel than to speak the words themselves, to face the unknown that lies ahead. Or: About a bloody nose, almost kisses and a dance with death itself.

pairing: Emmrich x fem!Rook || Rated E, 18+ MDNI

content: 16.5k words, POV third person, mourn watch mage!rook, pining, slow romance, hurt/comfort, minor injury/blood, mild angst, age gap, wingman!Manfred, lots of fluff, love confessions, smut (v fingering, piv sex, sex in a coffin, softdom!emm)

Masterlist – Ao3 link

“You, Beloved, who are all the gardens I have ever gazed at, longing.” – Rainer Maria Rilke

Missiles are flying in every direction around her, a spectacle of colours, her other senses occupied with laboured grunting, the clash of steel against steel, arrows swishing past her ears. Rook dodges, left and right, back to the left. The chaos of battle feels like home now, her body alert, strung tight like a bow. It is a practiced dance, though she is new to who she is dancing with today.

When the missile hits her it is entirely unexpected, an enemy she somehow overlooked hitting her from outside her field of view. Before she can locate them she loses her footing, the ground suddenly approaching her face and then it crashes into her. Or, is she falling? The pain is a sudden beast, spreading from her nose to her teeth and into her eyes. Her ears ring and she loses her orientation, unfocused swimming in a restless sea.

Instinctively Rook rolls to her side, avoiding another blow. As her vision clears, she feels the warmth of blood pooling from her face, its metallic taste landing on her lips, a wetness that spreads into her hair, her clothes underneath her light armour. She shoots at the enemy before they can strike again, effectively sending them backwards. It gives her enough time to overwhelm them and dominate the fight once again.

Quiet settles in the aftermath, pierced by the occasional grunt of pain as the life leaves some of the wounded. Rook stares at her hands, blood-stained, wet dirt and sand added to the mix. Her head hurts so she carefully sits down, trying to calm her breathing.

“Rook!” It is Lucanis, sprinting towards where she’s perched on the very stone that slashed her face. “Is it yours?”

“I think it might be,” she says, wiping at her cheeks.

“Nosebleed?” he asks.

No, she can feel the blood oozing from the wound. “A cut, I think. Or maybe it’s both, considering.”

“Wow, you look rough,” Taash says as they finally catch up, their own body smeared with blood that is definitely not their own.

“Let’s get you back to the Lighthouse,” Lucanis says. “I already know someone who will give me a stern talking to about this later.”

“What do you mean?” Rook asks, wiping her hands at her already ruined armour.

Lucanis chuckles at her attempt to stand, ignoring her question. “You sway like a drunk.”

“I feel like one. Though I wish the reason were your Antivan wines and not… face-planting on the stony beaches of Rivain.”

“You did a good job,” he says softly.

She allows him to help her up, not agreeing nor disagreeing. Her sense of balance returns the longer she stands, though the way to the Eluvian still feels like a journey through the entirety of Thedas. Perhaps, for once, she’ll be able to get some proper rest tonight.

✦ ✧ ✦

Her nose is swollen to twice its size by the time they reach the Lighthouse. It hurts to breathe, hurts to move, and every time Rook thinks the cut stopped bleeding she manages to tear it back open again. Ideally, she would have loved to avoid any of the others’ attention in order to clean herself first, get rid of the evidence of what happened. She knows she must make a ghoulish sight, blood-covered face, sticky hair that’s glued to her just as blood-soaked clothing, her voice so nasal that she’s hard to understand.

She doesn’t factor in that the others might have gathered in the library. When they reach the top of the stairs, slow step after slow step, she is first met by Harding’s curious gaze. Her eyes widen as she jumps up from her spot on the sofa.

“Rook!” she calls out.

Everything happens all at once. Rook hears more than she sees, feet on hard stone floor, voices talking above each other, layered sounds that make her panic briefly since she is still a little dizzy and sensitive. She’s guided into her chair and someone sits down on the table in the middle of the room. Once she is safely in one spot her eyes find back into focus and she sees Emmrich perched in front of her.

“Rook, dear,” he says calmly. “What happened? Where is all this blood coming from?”

“Uh, my nose? It’s not as bad as it looks.”

His intense focus hardens the lines on his face and she thinks he looks not just concerned but almost angry. It is an odd look on his usually so gentle features, betraying the gravity with which he perceives the situation. Suddenly she feels like a bother, not the leader of this team who should be in control of the situation.

“Let me examine it, then,” he suggests. “May I?”

She nods and he gives orders to Bellara, might she fetch a wet cloth, this and that tincture from his desk? Then he tells everyone to give them some privacy which finally takes the pressure off her lungs. Rook feels uncomfortable being fussed over, especially when they have so many more important things to do. Emmrich, in particular, is always so enthralled by his research and his work with Manfred.

“I must stink,” she says. “Perhaps I should bathe before we–”

“No, dear, I must determine whether your injury requires any more advanced healing spells or potions. Do not fret about it, please. Now, you must hold very still, I do not wish to hurt you.”

She does as told, leaning back so she can keep her head steady. Emmrich cautiously reaches out, pressing down close to her nose, retracting his hand when she gives any signs of pain, then moving to another spot. Bellara reappears and he begins to gently clean her skin, careful taps with a warm cloth around her nose before he wipes away the blood from the rest of her face.

“Thankfully, the bone does not appear to be fractured,” he says. “However, the swelling is severe and the cut, which caused most of the bleeding, might leave a rather nasty scar since we did not treat it immediately.”

His tone suggests that he is quite unhappy about this, about not being there as it happened. Rook keeps still as he further cleans the wound, sensing the healing magic that radiates from his hand and into her skin. He looks lovely in its glow and she feels better right away, though he cannot mend it perfectly without consulting a practiced healer.

“I leave you at the lighthouse for once and immediately come back injured.” She smiles weakly, trying to dissolve the tension. “This is why I usually ask you to come with me.”

“Do you find this amusing, Rook?”

“I find it amusing that you act like I almost died when in reality I just stumbled after an unfortunate hit,” she quips and, at his rather stern gaze, she adds. “You always look out for me, is what I was trying to say.”

His expression softens, a mild smile tugging at his lips. “I do because you are important.”

“To the team? Or to the Gods? Because I don’t think either of them cares about a disfigured nose.”

“Tsk.” He removes his hand, leaning back to inspect his work. “To me.”

Her heart speeds up, pulse throbbing against her painful nose. Emmrich seems satisfied with his progress and she wonders if he can see how her cheeks are heating up, not in pain or frustration this time. If he notices he does not let on, turning away to open whatever phial he had Bellara bring to patch her back up. The liquid feels cool, soothing the remaining pain for the time being.

“There,” he says. “The rest will heal on its own in due time. If you make sure to get sufficient rest, that is.”

He raises one eyebrow, the unspoken accusation that he notices her lack of respite. And of course he does, he notices everything about everyone. He said a similar thing to Bellara, it truly does not signify anything more than friendly affection.

Rook smiles, trying to hide the sting of pain that reaches into her heart this time. “I will. Thank you, Emmrich.”

✦ ✧ ✦

She can’t remember the last time she slept through so many hours. Rook wakes to the squeaky noise of the door hinges, then a loud but friendly hiss to announce the arrival of her skeletal friend. She blinks into the candles in front of her, then carefully sits up, as always with a hint of lingering back pain from resting on the uncomfortable sofa. Or perhaps her whole body is aching now that it’s recovering, remnants of the poorly executed fight yesterday.

Manfred is standing in the doorway, waiting for her to allow him to step inside. Emerald eyes sparkling in the glow of the aquarium, he holds out a tray to her.

“Oh, hello, Manfred,” she says, smiling at his delighted hiss when she speaks his name. “What do we have here?”

He chatters again as he walks up to her, placing the tray on the green leather with surprisingly steady hands. A pleasant smell of herbs and spices floods her nose, so welcome that it feels almost soothing to the pain that’s still haunting her face.

“Tea and a hot meal?” she asks, her stomach grumbling at the sight of fresh bread, cheese, a bowl of stew and some cut fruit. “Did Emmrich send you?”

Manfred gives a sound of confirmation and Rook feels her heart warming, thinking about Emmrich in the kitchen, preparing a meal just for her. But perhaps he did not, perhaps this is just what everyone is having right now. She slept so long that it might well be time for lunch already.

“You know, Manfred, he is a really good man,” Rook says, feeling the warmth of freshly-brewed tea in her hand as she picks up the cup. “He always looks out for everyone. Makes sure we eat and rest, shares his vast knowledge with us. We’re lucky to have him.”

Manfred chirps happily, no doubt agreeing, and Rook slowly and carefully eats her food, every movement of her mouth sending bolts of pain through her nose. It was Emmrich’s Corpse Whispering that left the strongest impression on her initially, something she had only ever heard of before, but he has been such a calming and steady presence ever since. She feels like she can be herself around him and they get lost in their conversations on necromancy on more occasions than she can count. Most importantly, though, they work well together on missions, somehow attuned to each other, to the magic they share, their culture. It is why she feels quite lost without him. So lost, apparently, that she slammed her head into a rock.

Belly full and limbs warmed, she offers to accompany Manfred back to the kitchen. He seems displeased at the notion, wanting to finish his task on his own, so she only follows him as far as the washroom. Another warm bath to soothe her aching muscles has to wait until later, though, and she soon finds her steps carrying her to the Eluvian.

Travelling so seamlessly has been a luxury, one that Rook would not want to miss. She still does not feel quite comfortable enough to go back to Nevarra on her own, though she would much prefer the flora in its gardens for what she has in mind. With Emmrich it is easier, a man so respected that his mere presence smooths out the waters.

Arlathan Forest, however, is beautiful in its own right. Rook greets the veil jumpers as she passes their camp, stops by the merchant to see if they have anything of interest, but remains empty-handed as she strolls into the woods. Leaves crunch underneath her feet, forced to take it slow as she is, and she can hear the animals faintly in the distance as they go about their own routines, the song of a bird here, a rustle in the foliage there. Every breath she takes is clean, her bruised nose eagerly absorbing the smell of moss and wood and magic.

It takes her a while to find what she is looking for. The plants have taken over the ruins, leaves so large that she could wrap them around herself like a blanket, roots protruding upwards to her knees. It is perpetually sunny, the air thrumming with magic, and the flowers she picks tickle her fingertips when she reaches out.

On her way back to the Eluvian she once against stops by the merchant, picking up a vase she eyed earlier. It is the colour of freshly cut lavender, matching the white and purple flowers she collected. The sweet smell of pollen spreads in the air when she places them inside, curving her lips into a smile at the simple beauty of it. He will enjoy them, she is quite sure of it.

“Someone special?” the merchant asks, cradling the gold in their hand.

Rook smiles. “Indeed. Thank you for the trade.”

The merchant hands her back one of the coins, a generous discount. “You’re more than welcome, Rook.”

✦ ✧ ✦

She pauses just shy of the door, hands trembling under tight-strung nerves. He could read this gesture in a myriad of ways, of course. Rook is aware that she could be misreading him as well, that her interest might not be welcome and his politeness obscuring any distaste he might have for her advances. It is, perhaps, the one risk that takes her the most courage to face.

She knocks and he bids her to enter right away, as he always does, recognising her by the unique way in which her knuckle kiss the door. As so often before she finds him bent over his desk, quill in hand, working on his correspondence, his diary or any one of his research papers.

“Ah, Rook! I was wondering when you’d feel well enough to pay me a visit. Tell me, has your nose improved at all? And–” He stops as he notes her standing there, awkwardly hovering by the door, flowers in hand. “Oh, darling Rook, are they for me?”

The words have her stomach flip, her increased heart rate aggravating the pain in her nose. She flinches a little, her face doing all sorts of acrobatics. “Ah, yes. I wanted to thank you for taking care of me– my nose, I mean.”

“But– Oh, please don’t tell me you went out to fetch these all by your lonesome? Dear Rook, you are recovering from an injury. A severe hit to the head could lead to all sorts of lingering after effects. I must insist that you ask someone to accompany you on such pursuits, no matter how noble the cause.”

“It was just a short trip to Arlathan, Emmrich, really. I feel quite well again.” She places the vase on one of the few free spots on his cluttered desk, books and documents covering most of its surface. “I am admittedly not much of a botanist but…”

“They are as lovely as the person who picked them,” he says rather smoothly, standing from his chair to make more room on the table. “Lilac is my favorite colour, how did you know?”

“Oh, I just thought they were pretty, to be quite honest.” If she did not know any better she would think her face is inflamed, considering how much hotter it feels with every passing second. “What I was trying to say… Thank you for having Manfred bring me some food earlier, for taking care of me. It was most welcome… and a little unexpected.”

“I thought you might need some sustenance after all the exhaustion,” he says. “I am glad to hear that it was to your liking, Rook. The cheese in particular is a favourite of mine, I had the chance to sample it when we were visiting the market in Treviso.”

“Emmrich, I–” Her voice breaks, then, and it must be her over-eager pulse or perhaps the room around her suddenly starts spinning. One moment she looks into his kind eyes and the next she has to slam her hand onto the table, just barely missing the vase she so carefully set down.

Emmrich is on her side of the desk within seconds, slotting his hands underneath her arms to keep her upright. Pain fizzles behind her eyes like a thousand blinking stars, an agonised little moan breaking from her throat.

“Oh, darling, you overexerted yourself,” he states. “Perhaps it is a concussion, after all. Can you hold onto me, Rook?”

She tries, she really does, but her body seems incapable of following the demands of her mind. Emmrich guides her to his chair, preventing the worst of a fall, and promptly takes her wrist, long fingers pressed to her pulse. She sighs, his skin surprisingly warm.

“Oh my,” he whispers. “Your heart rate is abnormally high, Rook. Are you in pain?”

“Not more than when I woke up.”

“Can you locate it for me, please? Where does it hurt?”

“Ugh, everywhere. I am sore, my nose–”

Emmrich’s lips press together tightly, his moustache twitching as he holds back a reply. Instead he stabilises her neck, one hand tilting her head back, the other sending a pleasantly warm energy through her sternum that soon spreads in her whole body.

“I know, I should have rested,” she admits, eyes closed. “But… Emmrich, what I was trying to say–”

“Rook,” he interrupts and she blinks to meet his gaze. “I am acutely aware that your own safety is at the very back of your priorities. But I feel that I must broach this topic now. Simply put, your health and safety are paramount, not just to the success of this mission but–” He trails off, his gaze melting into one of affectionate concern. “When you came back, covered in blood…”

“You seemed really calm,” she says.

He chuckles but his expression remains serious. “It was required of me, considering that none of us knew how gravely wounded you truly were. But I will freely admit that I was anything but calm on the inside. I could live very well without repeating this experience ever again, so if you could do me the favour and promise me– promise me– to better look after yourself.”

His words are tinged with such genuine care that she finds herself trying to nod, though his hand prevents her from moving her head. “I promise,” she whispers instead, allowing him to finish relieving her pain, the green glow of his magic separating their faces like a veil made of light. His hand is only hovering above her breast bone and yet it feels as though her heart is trying to leap out of her chest and land in his palm.

“Now, what is it that you were trying to tell me, dear?”

Her throat is dry and blocked up, the moment stretching out so long that a reply becomes superfluous. Emmrich does not seem to mind, not when when he is so focused on his task. When he eventually removes his hands, waving away his connection to the fade under a faint choir of jingling bracelets, she has already forgotten what she was trying to say.

“Do you like the flowers?” she asks, eventually.

“I adore them,” he replies, a hand gently placed on her forearm and his expression is so tender that she could weep with how much he means to her. “You know that no gifts or thank yous are ever required when I help you, don’t you, dear? Though I much appreciate the kind gesture.”

“You love flowers,” she just states.

“I do quite enjoy them,” he agrees.

They are not speaking of flowers, Rook knows this, and yet as he gently leans in she thinks she must be dreaming. This time, she is light-headed for all the right reasons, closing her eyes and sensing him, the faint smell of burnt candles and soap, his fingers curling around her arm, thumb pressed to her pulse even now. The air between them tastes like the calm before a storm, charged, electric, and he takes his time as she waits for him to close the gap.

A knock breaks the silence. “Professor? Do you have a moment?”

Rook blinks her eyes open but Emmrich has already withdrawn, moving to stand and brush the dust off his knees. He nervously sways from left to right, tugging at his sleeve, his vest.

“One moment, Harding!” he calls back.

“I should go and get some more sleep,” Rook says. “Just like the professor ordered.”

Emmrich smiles, holding out his hand for her. “Quite right. Can you stand?”

“I think so, yes.”

She feels steadier on her feet, his magic having cleared most of her sudden unbalance, and she avoids taking his hand if only so she doesn’t faint again. When she passes Harding in the hallway she ignores her curious gaze. It takes her a while to fall back asleep, the faint taste of iron lingering on her tongue.

✦ ✧ ✦

The air is potent with the smell of food and spices, though dust and debris seem to never quite settle as they make their way through cobbled, beaten streets. Minrathous is still recovering from the attack but life has, somehow, returned to a vague sense of normal. Neve navigates them through food stalls, street vendors, makeshift tents and shops, anything so people can offer their wares in exchange for much needed coin. Rook is filling every plate she can see, some coins here, some coins there, and she catches Emmrich doing the same, adding a little more each time he passes. He buys some crystals he doesn’t really need, a newspaper, some new gloves for Manfred.

They have been trying to gather information on the Venatori, meeting with Neve’s contacts, and decided to spend more time in the city after that. It’s risky, to a degree, since they are definitely on their radar now, but they have not had the chance to go out in a while.

“Back to the Swan?” Neve asks. “I could use a drink.”

“I don’t see why not,” Emmrich says. “Rook, what do you think?”

It’s the last thing she hears before a deafening groan vibrates in the air and the top half of the house in front of them comes sliding down, the ground shaking underneath their feet. The building crumbles into the sea below, dust and sea foam spreading like fog to cloud their vision. People shout, hurrying away from the scene, and Rook feels a hand tugging at her sleeve, trying to hold on as the earth continues to quake.

“Venatori!” Neve calls out.

They lose her amongst the ruckus. Rook grabs the arm that clings to her, running into the opening of a narrow alley she saw just seconds ago. The air clears with every step and she finally concludes that she’s dragging Emmrich behind her who grasps her arm so tightly that she fears it might bruise. They hide in a crevice between two doorways, just obscured enough by the walls around them.

“I am relieved I did not lose you,” he says, so deep in her personal space that she can feel his breath on her hair. “Are you alright, Rook?”

“I’m fine but we should wait until they’re further away.”

“I agree.”

Rook’s heart rate stays on a dangerously high level, a lightheadedness taking hold of her. Emmrich is so close that she can feel his warmth radiating off of him and when she glances up she directly faces his mouth. His lips are pressed together, though his skin carries some of the fine dust from the collapse. She fights the urge to reach out.

“Incidentally,” he says after a while, and she observes his lips as they form the word. “Now that I see you from up close I must ask, how is your nose? Is it still tender?”

“A little,” she admits, instinctively reaching for it but retracting her hand before impact with the bruising. “It’s more of a dull ache now, like I have a weight resting on it that makes it hard to breathe.”

“The swelling has gone down significantly. If you allow me, I can–” He pauses, his hand hovering in mid air. “Inspect it, again.”

“Please.”

He removes his gloves, tilting her chin up with a slightly sweaty finger. It is hard to focus on anything but his face, his freckles, the little twitch of his moustache as he focuses on the task at hand, his brow furrowed to bring out the usually so gentle lines on his forehead. Only when he lifts his other hand, the one that usually jingles with gold when he moves, does she manage to avert her gaze.

At first, the contact barely registers, but as he gently presses against the bridge of her nose, Rook hisses. It is a sound of surprise, not as much of pain, even though the sensation is rather unpleasant.

“Forgive me,” Emmrich murmurs, and, entirely unnecessary, follows the line underneath her eye, then back to her nose and again on the other side. “It is healing well on its own, I must say. I don’t think I have to use any more spells to speed up the process.”

She smiles, watches as he so patiently traces the soft skin over her cheekbone. “So, this is just an excuse to touch me?”

His eyes widen, finger retreating, but he quickly recovers and moves back to her nose. “Oh, of course not, it is your well-being that is of priority.” Then, after a short pause he adds: “However, I will admit it is a pleasant side effect. Unless– I do not wish to overstep–”

“Emmrich,” she interrupts. “I like it when you touch me.”

He pauses for but a moment, noting the way she has drawn into herself, speaking the words with confidence but still fearing for his reaction. “Dear, you did not have to risk breaking your nose to tempt me, you could have simply asked.”

She furrows her brow before realising that this is his attempt at a joke. Or... at flirting? A delighted smile spreads despite the pain, the relief of realising that her feelings aren’t unwelcome after all. “I felt that you were too polite to admit that you’d want to, so I had to give you an opportunity.”

“You think your teasing has gone unnoticed, then?” he whispers. “Or your compliments?”

“I was wondering about it since you seemed so hesitant to take another step towards me.”

“Ah.” His smile falters and he glances away briefly. “It is not that I did not have the desire to do so, my dear, but there is still a matter that rather occupies me.”

“What matter would that be?”

“Flattery is certainly one thing, amusing and invigorating. I quite enjoy these playful moments,” he elaborates. “And I do feel flattered by your attentions, very much so, I am merely wondering if they go beyond shallow adulation.”

“I genuinely like you, Emmrich,” Rook confesses, somehow feeling more confident out here, in her armour, hidden away from the world. “Our situation is perhaps not the most fertile grounds for romance. But I do mean every word I say, I would like to get to know you better, Emmrich, see where it takes us.”

His hand unfolds against her cheek, large enough to cover the whole side of her head, his thumb caressing her cheekbone with featherlight touches. “I am delighted to hear that you feel the same way, Rook.”

Gentle fingers comb through her hair, brushing away the dust that has gathered between messy strands. She’s not sure what do with her own hands, wanting to touch but also not wanting to move, not to startle him into stopping.

“I do not enjoy seeing you bruised, my dear,” he whispers.

“I know, I still look quite beaten up.”

“You look lovely, even with your purple nose.”

It’s like his words alone drag the corners of her mouth upwards until her cheeks hurt. Somehow the little distance between them shrinks to a mere blink, the tip of his nose almost tickling hers. And then he leans in and his lips brush her cheek, softly at first, then firmer until she really feels their softness, feels the tickle of his moustache against her skin. Her chest is warm, stomach restless and she smells the faint scent of incense in his hair.

“Beautiful flushed cheeks,” he whispers, voice deeper than usual. “How warm they feel to the touch. Are you shy, darling?”

She could burst right then and there, her heart drumming against her ribcage. Considering it was her who started initiating their sweet talk, she finds herself quite out of words now that he has suddenly kicked his own flattery into gear. Her hands are so sweaty in her gloves that she wishes she had taken them off as well. If she stepped on her tiptoes now she is certain their mouths would touch.

“Rook? Emmrich?” Neve’s footsteps echo in the alleyway. Flushed cheeks and caught expressions, they step out into the open. “Hey, they’re gone. Apparently they knew the building was unsalvageable, tried to gently break it apart but lost control. We found no casualties.”

“What a relief!” Emmrich says.

“Perhaps we should get that drink at the Lighthouse,” Rook remarks.

They wordlessly agree.

✦ ✧ ✦

“So, you and Emmrich?”

Rook looks up from her precariously full plate, eyeing Harding as she sinks her teeth into her ham and jam slam with sides of fresh fruit and cheese. She sat down not before she made Rook her own version of the sandwich and, as so often since the two crossed paths, they like to spend their meals chatting. Usually they fall into easy banter about the different customs between Nevarran and dwarven culture, old stories about their lives before they came here, people they used to know. Rook, so used to these safe topics, chokes on her bread at the sudden change.

“What about us?”

“Well, you know, it’s kind of hard to miss, really, with how you keep whispering and giggling and hanging out all the time...”

“We haven’t even–” Rook says. “It’s not–”

“Oh, no, I don’t want any of those details, if you know what I mean. It’s just… it must be odd, to be with someone who is so much older, right?”

Rook eyes Harding, gauging whether she’s simply curious or opposed. Her friend seems genuine enough, though she can never be quite certain as to her intentions. “Not really? So far it hasn’t been an issue.”

“That’s good! He said a similar thing when I talked to him about it but he was quick to change the subject.”

“Did he?”

“Yeah, you know, we all just want you guys to be happy.”

Rook gives a smile, though she’s not sure that she means it. It has been on her mind, of course, whether it’s a good idea to flirt with an older man, to fall for an older man. But it’s not like she had a choice, not when he exists around her like he was always meant to be in her life. Emmrich sparked into her world like the moon lights up the night sky, a bright star in the middle of all-consuming darkness, beautiful and comforting, life-giving. It is ironic, considering his profession, how she hasn’t felt this alive since leaving Nevarra. He has a way of centering her, making her feel connected to the culture she was so scared to lose, all while he treats her like she’s the most special person in the world. Falling for him was never a choice, it was an inevitable outcome.

The rest of dinner is spent in relative silence, the tension of their conversation followed by a distinct lack of energy to talk. Rook’s day hasn’t gone particularly well, even by current standards, and the exhaustion is settling in her bones like lead. They spent most of it dispelling a band of dark spawn in the Hossberg Wetlands, a task that Davrin and Assan carried if she’s being honest. It took her two hours to scrub off the grime that came with it, her skin still raw and her muscles aching from treading the wet, swampy muck for so long.

After a short break in front of the fire Rook feels drawn to the quiet cold of the library. She sinks into the sofa, grabbing the book she left on the round table earlier, bound in dark green cloth. Quite a while ago Emmrich offered her to borrow any books from his personal collection she deems interesting and she makes use of it as often as time allows. Lately, she’s kept the same book close to her, rereading parts of it, tracing the simple but beautiful cover.

“Rook! I thought I heard you come in, darling.”

Emmrich descends the stairs, alone for once, and she sets the book down, scoots to make room for him. “I just had dinner with Harding. She showed me the recipe she adjusted for you.”

“The yam and jam slam?”

Rook giggles as she nods, such odd words from his usually so polished mouth. “I enjoyed it, the combination is quite unusual.”

Emmrich smiles as he sits down, amused by her reaction. He doesn’t touch, still holding back, still waiting until he can see that she is comfortable with his proximity.

“Did I interrupt your reading, dear?” he inquires.

“I might be too tired, either way. My eyes feel heavier than ever.”

“Might I read to you, then?”

Rook glances up, admiring his side profile, catching his eyes as she realises that she hasn’t relied to him. “That would be lovely, Emmrich.”

He seems delighted, leaning forward to reach for her book. His hand caresses the cover, then his eyes widen. “Oh, but that is one of my very own monographs, dear! It is an introductory work, you’ll find it quite redundant to what you already know. Might I suggest Tretenhoff’s work instead? He has a few compositions that should greatly appeal to your particular interests, something to indulge in for these long evenings.”

“It is not so much about absorbing new information,” she says, running her hand over the gold-foiled lettering on the book’s cover. Professor Emmrich Volkarin. “While I do find your work interesting it is also… a comfort. Knowing that you wrote the words, finding the familiarity in your tone, I can almost hear you speak them to me, your voice, your intonation…”

His expression melts into one of gentle surprise. “My darling, I never knew–”

“I’m so sorry. You must think it silly–”

“But not at all,” he interrupts. “I find it rather flattering, my dear. I must admit that I had no idea that you were in need – or want – of my comfort.”

“I don’t like to admit it.” She avoids his gaze, though he gently takes her hand to stop her from picking at the book, placing it on his thigh. “I am used to juggling everything by myself and that’s how it should be, I take responsibility for what I do so I can hardly go cry about it. I cannot… cannot unload my own concerns or regrets on the team, on you. That would not be right.”

“Rook, might I politely disagree?”

She can’t bring herself to look up, though she knows he expects her to and it would be the polite thing to do. But if she did he might see the tears coating her eyes, gathering at their corners, emotions she’s been burying for weeks.

“How could I, Emmrich?” she says instead. “You see the way Neve looks at me, that she can never forgive me. I have to make impossible choices every day and I have to live with the pain and regret that it brings. If I don’t, who else will?”

“Darling,” he whispers and his fingers curl underneath her jaw, gently tilting her head up. “How long have you been carrying this without saying a word to anyone?”

She need not reply, he knows the answer.

“You carry a burden, Rook, and you carry it gracefully.” A smile curves his lips, filled with all the faith he has in her, with all the pride swells in his chest. “But that does not mean the load won’t be too heavy, at times. I can lend you a hand, if you let me.”

“I think I would like that,” she mumbles, though she feels entirely unworthy, undeserving of what he’s offering to her. “I think for now I would just like you to read to me.”

“Very good. While I do so, I want you to let go of these thoughts, sit and listen, breathe deeply, in and out, slow and steady.” He opens the book and she does as told, leaning back and following the rhythm he dictates. She watches his nimble fingers as they turn the page, the low rustling sound gently interrupting the quiet of the room. “I must admit, I have not picked up any of my introductory works in quite some time. I hope it still holds up.”

“It does,” she assures him. “I’ve read it twice now.”

He releases a sound somewhere between a hum and a chuckle. “Very well, then. I trust a fellow Watcher’s judgement.”

For a while, she follows along as he reads, her eyes tracing the shapes on the page. His voice is always mesmerising, especially when he speaks on topics that have sparked his particular interest, but to hear him reading his very own thoughts, his own theories and ideas and explanations, it brings her more peace than she has felt in months. Instead of the usual excitement his voice bears a calmness this time, though upon discovery of his favourite parts his pitch changes. On occasion he slips, adding revisions, explaining to her what he would word differently now, what insights he has won since then.

Rook rests her head on his shoulder, closing her eyes, and lets his voice carry her away from her worries. Her hand is still laying on his thigh and after a moment she lets her fingers climb down his forearm, fingertips counting the many gold bracelets until she reaches the end. Her fingers press to his wrist, measuring his steady pulse underneath his skin, caressing him until his voice stutters and he has to restart his sentence. When she opens her eyes she sees a thin trail of goosebumps peeking out of his cuff. Her fingers slide further down, resting in the small space between his palm and the edge of the book. He is warm, softer than expected, and she decides to stay there now, feeling the rhythmic pulse of his heartbeat against the ball of her hand.

As Emmrich continues to read she closes her eyes again, thinks about kissing the dimple on his chin, tracing the sharp line of his jaw, the dip where it meets the delicate skin of his neck. Everything about him calls to her and even though she’s grateful for how considerate he is she finds it hard to hold back. At first she turns her head until her nose brushes against his skin, then she leans up until her lips meet the spot right below his ear. It is a featherlight touch and yet she can feel him vibrating as a shiver runs through him, ever more goosebumps appearing on his skin.

Emmrich stops, takes a deep breath, and she notes that he’s glancing at her. “Darling–”

“Too much?” she asks.

“No, not at all,” he whispers. “In fact, it doesn’t feel sufficient in the slightest.”

His fingers uncurl from the book and slip between hers until he is comfortably holding her hand. Rook has to smile, painfully wide, his fingers so long that they make her hand look tiny when he squeezes. She can feel his rings, too, warmed from his own body heat. It feels right to press another kiss to the underside of his jaw, feeling a slight stubble against her lips. This time she is more daring, lingering for a moment longer.

“Are you even listening, dear?” he asks softly.

“Here and there,” she whispers.

For a while they stay exactly like that, Emmrich reading and Rook dozing on his shoulder, soft kisses and heavy sighs, shivers and squeezes. He must have finished the first chapter by the time they’re interrupted by a displeased hiss. Manfred walks into their field of view and Rook reluctantly lifts her head.

“Oh, I quite forget the time, Manfred, you must forgive me,” Emmrich says. “Perhaps you could serve the tea here instead? I wish to stay a little longer.”

“You could join us,” Rook offers. “I think we’ll reach the section on wisps soon.”

“So you are listening!”

Manfred hisses happily and departs to fetch the tea. Rook pulls her legs up onto the sofa, settling more snuggly against Emmrich’s side with their hands now resting in her lap and the book in his. When she rests her head back on his shoulder she can feel a rumble of a laugh spreading through him, warming her very heart.

“Are you quite comfortable, dearest?” he asks, so beautifully amused.

Rook hums and closes her eyes. “I have never been more comfortable in my life.”

✦ ✧ ✦

She has been staring off into the distance for a while now, seated on the balcony with her legs dangling off the edge. Her elbow propped on the plinth of the statue of Mythal, she rests her head in her palm, contemplative. Even from here it is hard to imagine infinity. With the Fade stretching out in front of her, an endless expanse right before her eyes, the impossibility of it should dissolve in her mind. However, Rook finds that the contrary is true. The more she sees of it, the more she learns, the less she feels she knows, leading to an encroaching sense that her perception of it is but a weak attempt at true understanding. Despite being confronted with the Fade for most of her life at the Necropolis, despite pulling from it to use her magic, it never quite loses its mystery. The Fade has a way of surprising her again and again the more she finds out, the more is revealed to her through Solas’s memories, the clues he’s scattered around his domain.

Emmrich has been helping her make sense of it, though the reality is that whenever they spend time together she finds it harder and harder to use her brain for research. He’s much better at staying on topic and she enjoys simply listening to him while he draws connections, figures out solutions to her questions, flipping pages in his books to find the exact passage she off-handedly reminded him of. To her delight and despite his interest in the subject matter she finds it easier to distract him as well, though, often without trying. Sitting next to each other reading has turned into her dozing half in his lap, where he forgets to turn the page because his hand is too occupied combing through her hair or brushing along the curve of her knees, sentences interrupted because they can’t help but get lost in the other’s gaze, shy smiles across the room that pull him from conversations with the others.

“Ah, I thought those were your legs dangling so precariously over the balcony.”

She looks up startled, though she can’t imagine how she failed to hear his steps, his bangles jingling as he approaches. Emmrich carries a small wooden bowl in his hand and she wonders if he came up the stairs below her, how lost in thought she must have been to miss him.

“Have you been looking for me?” she asks, scooting away from the edge to face him.

“I thought I would go ahead and cut up some fruit for you, darling. I could not help but notice that you weren’t present during our last meal,” he explains. “With some regret, might I add, since Lucanis took such care preparing your favourite.”

“It’s very sweet of you to think of me,” she says, noting the subtle smile on his lips. “I just– Well, I fell asleep for a few hours after we came back from Treviso which was honestly great since I have not been sleeping well.”

“I must say that I am not surprised, considering that you seem to fall asleep on me the moment I open a book.” His tone is mildly teasing as he sits down next to her, leaning back against the nearby pillar, and Rook knows that he won’t be leaving anytime soon. “Do you know why sleep is trying to elude you?”

“Well, not everyone has a feather pillow,” she jokes, though his concern is welcome, as is the bowl he hands over. Since their conversation about her worries he has been even more attentive as to her whereabouts, her well-being. It is a blessing and a curse, making her fall for him so much faster than she’s used to.

“Your current accommodations aren’t to your satisfaction, then? They seem comfortable enough when I visit.”

Rook feels a familiar heat creep into her cheeks. They haven’t gone very far as to the physical nature of their relationship, though she feels that he knows her more intimately than anyone else. Emmrich is romancing her in the truest sense of the word, carrying her off to the Necropolis for walks through the Memorial Gardens, showcasing his magic to plan elaborate dinners, cooks and skeleton musicians, Manfred preparing tea for them in the familiarity of his quarters while they talk about whatever comes to mind, unhurried, getting lost in their shared interests. He begun to visit her in the meditation room after dinner now, reading to her as he did on the sofa that first time. When he holds her close like that she feels the weight of the day melt away, the only time she can truly let go of her responsibilities in order to rest, and she has a suspicion that’s exactly why he does it.

Rook appreciates that he takes his time with her, that he gets to know the real her. His soft touches reach under her skin, when he holds her hand in his larger one, the press of his lips to her cheek always accompanied by a light tickle of his moustache, his fingers protectively spread on the small of her back, occasionally curling around her to pull her closer. A warm palm on her knee when she settles beside him, fingers drawing slow circles over the bone that nip at her heart. It leaves her aching for him, for more of his touch, though perhaps he’s not even fully aware of what he’s doing. Even now he seems perplexed, at times, when his attentions bear fruit, when she blushes for him, stutters at unexpected compliments or openly flirts back, when she melts into his touch, bestowing him with kisses of her own. He is a confident man who knows of his appeal, and yet it is as though he struggles to fathom that she truly means it.

“You’re very far away, darling,” he notes. “Physically as well as mentally, I suspect.”

“Sorry,” Rook says, remembering the bowl he placed in her hand. Neat wedges of apple, berries and some melon, half a banana that he cut into even slices. Her diet has become much richer in variety since they gained access to so many regions, so many recipes her friends share with her.

“I am not disturbing you am I? If it is solitude you seek–”

“No, not at all.” She shakes herself awake, pops a berry into her mouth that splits into sour juice and tart skin, the barest hint of sweetness. For a while she eats, trying the different flavours together,  berries and banana, the apples some of the best they’ve had in a while. When she offers to share Emmrich only accepts a few berries. Her heart feels warm, not because of the food but because of the gesture, the feeling of being taken care of by this wonderful man who watches her eat like it brings him just as much joy. “Thank you for this, Emmrich. It’s very sweet of you to look after me.”

“Oh but of course, darling. If you are ready for a proper meal I’m sure Lucanis can heat up some of the leftovers.”

“Perhaps later, I’m enjoying your company too much right now,” she says and he lifts his eyebrow, still waiting for her to come to him.

She only scoots a little closer before he grabs her legs and swings them over his, one hand settling on her hips while the other adjusts her knees. When he sits up straighter he gives a pained little grunt and she’s acutely aware that they’ve been sitting on the hard floor for a while.

“We can move inside if your back isn’t happy,” she whispers.

He gives a tsk, like he wants to let her know what utter nonsense that is, and she can’t help but smile a little at that. Once he’s settled he holds onto her tightly, squeezing at the flesh of her hips, pulling her ever closer. “Now, do you want to tell me why you’re sitting alone out here, dearest?”

She has to look up to meet his eyes, his scent flooding her nose, his warmth spreading through her limbs, and with him so close it’s hard to remember what occupied her mind all day. “A feeble attempt at… escaping everything, I suppose.”

“Escaping?”

“I slept but… it’s not the kind of sleep that makes you less tired, that takes you away from the world so you can rest. Solas– It seems I can’t escape for even a few hours and when he’s not there I dream– if I manage to fall asleep at all, instead of wasting hours with the attempt.”

Emmrich’s hand begins to stroke along her upper thigh, fingertips pressing into the tightness of the muscle. It grounds her, as does the gentle, understanding nod he gives her. “What is it that you’re mulling over in your head? That won’t let you sleep?”

“Fears, concerns, just… so many thoughts that tear me in every direction. I toss and turn but I can’t seem to get comfortable, not with my mind racing like that. I just wish Varric– I don’t want to disappoint him. Or any of you, for that matter. I feel like I have to solve all of these problems in my head, like I’m wasting time if I don’t at least think about them.”

“Rook, darling, you are exceptional at solving problems, at finding ways out of impossible situations, not while you rest but ad hock, as they arise. I have never met another person who is such a quick-thinker.”

“That is… kind of the issue.” She takes his free hand in hers, fiddling with the rings on his finger and watching as the light catches in the stones. “Sometimes I wish I didn’t have to think, didn’t have to know. I wish I could just breathe… and feel. Just once, just for a short while.”

Emmrich doesn’t reply. When she glances back up compassion fills his eyes and he regards her with such care and affection that she’d feel undeserving, if it weren’t for him reminding her of the contrary every so often. She holds his gaze for a while, slowly sliding her fingers between his, and his grip on her thigh tightens. His brows relax, then, and his eyes flicker to her mouth.

“I am certain there are ways… to take your mind off of things,” he says, his voice dropping to a low whisper. His fingers untangle from hers and soon his palm finds her cheek instead, cradling her head in a way that has her blood rushing to her face. “May I?”

“Yes.”

Thumb pushing her chin up, he leans in slowly, and as her eyes close Rook only feels the warmth of his breath against her skin. His mouth descends on hers, then, careful, a light brush of his lips against hers. He breaks away after a moment, eyelids drooping, lust-heavy, lashes fluttering open just enough to see if she’s alright. Without thinking she finds herself reaching up for more, utterly lost to the sensation, and he immediately presses in more firmly at her insistence. Rook’s hand finds purchase on his chest, fingers fanned out over his heart, then sliding upwards to his neck to pull him impossibly closer, only briefly getting caught on his pin. Emmrich sighs into it, curling his fingers around her head, angling her to his liking as he deepens the kiss. The taste of berries lingers on his tongue and she can feel his moustache prickling at her cupid’s bow. By now her whole body is tingling, nerves alight. His other hand has wandered up to her waist, slotting neatly into the valley above her hip to draw her in until their upper bodies are almost flush.

A whine escapes her at the feeling of him so close, a new kind of need trickling into her belly, and she forgets about the bowl in her lap until she tries to move and it slides to the floor next to them. The sound penetrates the tiny space they made for themselves but it doesn’t burst. Emmrich pulls back, not once glancing away from her, his eyes so set on her lips that they never fully open. She keeps close as well, breaths mingling and noses touching. Right when she thinks he’ll lean in again  his eyes flick up to hers, searching for her expression.

“How do you feel now, dearest?” he asks, thumb caressing her cheekbone.

Rook can’t help but laugh against the sudden rush of affection, the giddy sensation below her breastbone. “Like you’re the only person in the world, like I never want to stop doing this.”

He joins in, a low chuckle that he exhales against her neck, lips placed just below her ear. When he kisses her there the feeling travels from her chest to her stomach. “Mhm, I think we can do even more for you, darling. If you just hold still…”

Her gaze blurs and she closes her eyes to the sensation, the world around her finally quiet with his mouth on her skin. Fingers combing through his hair she feels him hum from somewhere deep in his throat and for the first time in weeks it’s easy to let go, no other thought strong enough to push past the intensity with which he occupies her every sense. She briefly thinks that it’s reckless to let herself fall so completely, but as with the endless Fade around them there are things bigger than her, uncontrollable, and all she can do is surrender.

✦ ✧ ✦

Emmrich watches her as she reads, perched on a chair in front of the fire. His book, still. Or again, rather. She doesn’t seem to get tired of it, of him, even though they spend so much time together now that he’s surprised she just lets him keep talking and talking until he has to reign it in himself. The first time he caught her tracing his name on the cover he felt like he could sweep her of her feet, pull her into his arms and kiss her until she was breathless. He finds himself thinking about similar scenarios more often now that he can allow himself to indulge.

“The ground herbs now, Manfred,” he orders.

Manfred gives a hiss that he’d place more on the side of confused than understanding. Unusual, since they have been working on these types of healing potions multiple times a week now. He should be more than familiar with the procedure.

“The herbs, please,” Emmrich repeats, but his eyes are back on Rook, turning the page, her legs crossed with one foot bobbing up and down. Just earlier he had her in his lap in the exact same chair, eager for his kisses, giggling when he nosed down her neck, something he has become quite addicted to. Neck kisses, it turns out, are a particular weakness of hers.

Suddenly, an alarmed hiss. Emmrich’s startled out of his fantasy not just by Manfred but by the reagent exploding right in front of his face. Just in time he ducks to avoid the splashes landing on his skin, disgruntled when he notices a dark green stain on his pristine white sleeve. The potion he’s been working on for the past hour has turned black, fuming angrily at his mistake. Though not dangerous it is a silly error, one that was entirely preventable had he just paid more attention. This has not happened to him since he attended his first few alchemy classes way back then.

“Are you okay?” he hears Rook’s voice, though his vision is obstructed by plumes of a particularly foul-smelling fog.

“Oh, we are fine, dearest,” Emmrich calls out. Manfred gives a displeased noise at this half-lie, wiping at the spills on the table just like he’d shown him a while ago, cautious to protect himself against any potential contact to acids or other dangerous substances.

“Is it meant to smoke like that?”

Manfred hisses again as the gurgling sounds increase and Emmrich has no time to answer as he quickly adds a neutralising ingredient to save the potion from utter ruin. The smoke dissipates, the smell slowly turning into a more pleasant aroma and the colour shifts back to light green.

“The temperature has not gone down enough,” Emmrich says and Manfred chitters in his best impression of an I-told-you-so. “Ah come now, you still added them.”

The next hiss is quieter as though he’s grumbling into an imaginary beard and Emmrich gives a defeated sigh, relenting that he was at fault after all. Rook has reached his side by then, snaking an arm around his waist as she takes in the situation.

“I did alchemy classes for a while,” she says. “What happened? Didn’t you say you can brew this one in your sleep?”

“I was… distracted,” Emmrich admits, tugging her closer to his side. “It could have used another minute or two more before adding the herbs.”

“Mhm. Distracted by… ?”

The teasing smile on her face is enough to lighten his mood but with Manfred present he doesn’t want to give in yet. She’s smiling at him like she’s just waiting for him to be done and if he’s quite honest with himself he could use a break. They’ve restocked their potion supplies quite well, so this final batch should last them for a while. Time to clean up and allow his focus to shift to where it truly wishes to be.

“Let me finish here, darling, and then we can discuss the finer details of… potion brewing, hm?”

She tiptoes up to press a kiss to his cheek, mouth curved into a barely suppressed grin, then retreats to her chair to give him space. Emmrich still feels her lips on his skin when Manfred comes back with a fresh dish of ground herbs and this time they wait long enough before adding them. As he carefully bottles the potion Manfred disappears to clean the rest of their supplies. Only then does he allow his gaze to return to Rook by the fire.

“So, how did you enjoy those alchemy lessons, darling?”

“Oh, they were fun, though I never pursued any advanced classes on the matter.” She closes the book, setting it down on the chair with careful fingers. His gaze follows the gentle sway of her hips as she walks up to help him cork the bottles. “Perhaps I should. I’d like to go back to my studies at some point.”

“What a splendid idea! It is never too late, darling.” Emmrich hands her the labels and she dutifully glues them to the bottles. With a hint of pride he watches how she makes sure they’re straight and centered, just like he showed her a while ago. “As a matter of fact you might find enrolling for advanced courses that pertain to your interests quite stimulating. You are an intelligent young woman, a fast-learner with practical experience. I’m certain my colleagues would be delighted to have you in class. And even beyond, what we experience here in the Fade, everything we have learned… it practically begs for thorough scientific appraisal.”

“I’m not sure they would even accept me after what happened. And besides, would that not be a conflict of interest?”

“Oh, you would not be taking any of my classes, dear. It would not be a good look if I favoured you or helped you into any higher positions under my influence.”

She furrows her brow. “But even your colleagues would know who I am.”

“There are plenty of areas you could branch out to, within or outside of my area of expertise, and I know of a few colleagues who share our… distaste for parts of the nobility, who might be willing to overlook any past transgressions. My advice is that you must find a path to whatever calls to you, my darling, and not make it dependant on my work.”

She takes a deep breath, evidently not convinced. “I just hope I can go back at all.”

“My dear, I should think that saving the world makes for quite an impressive addition to your resume.”

“I’m not… Ugh. Emmrich, I’m not talking about work or my studies, there is enough that needs to be done around the Necropolis. I just think if we want to…” She looks up at him, almost shyly, reluctant to tell the truth. “If we want to build a future and half the Necropolis hates me–”

“Half the Necropolis?” He chuckles. “You exaggerate, dearest.”

Her confused expression tells him that she took note of how he avoided the first part of her statement, not quite deliberately. “What I’m trying to say is that what I care most about is being with you, after all of this is over. Returning to the Mourn Watch, yes, but also making sure we get to be together and finally find some peace.”

Emmrich can’t help the sigh that escapes him, his thoughts returning to a place he has been trying to avoid as of late. “Darling, while I appreciate your enthusiasm on the matter, I do not wish to see you sacrificing your potential for me.”

“That’s not what it is, though, Emmrich. I’m telling you that I’m… that I’m ready to commit to a future with you. I really want to make this work.”

A distant throbbing in his temple, his breath speeding up just the tiniest bit as the old fear comes creeping in. He’s so much older than her, so much closer to not having much of a future left, and here is this bright young woman so enamoured with him that she can’t see how she’s not just going to spend the next few decades loving him but potentially taking care of him as his health declines, ultimately losing him to his own mortality. All he can think of is how she doesn’t realise what she’s agreeing to, that perhaps he was too lax, allowed himself to indulge in the fantasy of this union without the proper precautions.

“It is easy to forget,” he says, “just how young you are.”

His gaze is still trained on the bottles and he notices how her hands still.

At her lack of a response he looks up. “Rook–”

Something in her expression changes then, irrevocably, tightened lips, the tense heat of humiliation, and he knows instantly that he misstepped, his silence on the very matter she needed reassurance on painfully noted. “So it’s Rook again now? That’s it?”

“Do you even realise what kind of commitment you are speaking of?” He can’t keep his voice steady, betraying that he is not as calm as he’d wish to appear. “The sacrifices, the eventual loss? I would not impress this upon you if it was not necessary, Rook, but you need to understand what it means if we truly, irrevocably, fall into this. I remember, at your age, I was–”

“Wait, hold on. Let me make sure I understand what we are really talking about.” Her hands fly to her hips, defiantly, the same fire he’d admire on any other day, words leaving her mouth before she can even think to let him finish. “You trust me to make all the right calls to save the world, to keep our team safe, to defeat two ancient Elven Gods, but you don’t think I’m capable of making informed decisions in our relationship?”

His jaw falls open. “Darling–”

“What are you really scared of? That you could actually love me? Or is it that I don’t fit into your life back home?”

Emmrich pales at the implication, his tongue not catching up fast enough to form the right words. ”No, dear, this is not at all what I’m trying to say.“

She’s already shut him out, then, retreating into herself, and he regrets that he ever mentioned such a thing. “Well, at least now I know where we’re at.”

“Darling–”

“I’ll carry these to the stash.”

She’s gone before he can recover, glass bottles rattling as she rushes past. You don’t think I’m capable of making informed decisions in our relationship? He closes his eyes for a moment, hand holding on tightly to the edge of the table as a wave of regret washes over him. It was not what he meant to imply, though it starts to dawn on him how she came to the conclusion. He went about this the wrong way, not a subject matter for such spontaneous discussion, at least not after she admitted that she wishes to share her precious future with him.

A deep sigh, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. He let his fear get the better of him, again, to the detriment of the person he’s starting to care most about. Minutes later, when Manfred reappears,  he is still standing still, confused chatters at the sight of him in front of the table where he now places the cleaned potion utensils.

“Thank you, Manfred,” Emmrich finally says. “You have to excuse me for a moment, I must go and talk to Rook.”

✦ ✧ ✦

The Grand Necropolis swallows her in the way she’s always felt as a comforting embrace. To walk amongst the spirits brings a peace that is hard to find elsewhere, wisps following along as she traverses the ever shifting rooms, the sands of time crunching underneath her feet, wails of long forgotten souls crying to be heard, seeking the peace and comfort only a watcher can offer.

Rook feels the weight of missing her home, the increasing sense that she’s almost a stranger now, but losing it is only one of many things that have uprooted her.

It is easy to forget just how young you are.

He’d said it almost casually dismissive and she was so taken aback by it that her breath caught, the unexpected pain so heavy in her chest that she’s not sure she’s recovered from it even now. She’s always felt the gap between their ages only as a steady, reassuring thing that enabled him to a deeper understanding, not less. He is so much more settled than anyone she’s been with before, so assured in what he wants, reliable, supportive, experienced, the very antidote to her anxieties and restlessness. The words of her companions come to mind, their concerns at how fast they’re moving, and then, distantly, the idea that perhaps his infatuation with her wore off after all, the novelty of whatever drew him to her.

Then he called her Rook and the name almost hurt more than his previous words, as though he confirmed her worst fears by falling back on it, dropping the words of affection. It is easy to get swept up in the overwhelming intoxication of fresh love, she knew her attentions always flattered him, that he’s not in the habit of dating people so much younger, in fact hasn’t been this close with anyone in quite some time. It’s entirely possible that their argument burst their idealist bubble, that he suddenly realised it’s not what he wants after all. That she is not what he wants.

The Memorial Gardens are quiet, though the odd spirit senses her presence and comes to greet her on her way. It brings a smile to her tear-stained face, the first honest one in quite some time. The ghost of a memory keeps haunting her with every step, the first time Emmrich brought her here, after she’s missed her home for so long that it must have been obvious for him how she was longing to reconnect with it. If nothing else, he gave her that, the courage to come back even if only for a short visit.

Rook takes her time gathering flowers, making sure to add specks of lilac, to bind a bouquet she knows he would approve of. Seeing the graves of his parents sends that same painful stake through her heart as it did the first time he told her, as if him letting her in on this vulnerable thing has her carrying a part of his grief as well. Rupert and Elannora. She told him they’d want him to him to be with someone who cares about him but she wanted to say more, someone who loves him, adores every part of him, treasures the sweet, caring man that he truly is.

Back then she was so confident that she could be that person.

She fills a vase with flowers and places it between the graves, then sits down on the grass in front of them. A wisp settles by her side, perhaps a spirit of compassion, perhaps some other emotion she can’t identify it being drawn to. So many things go through her head that it is hard to make sense of the nuance of her feelings but spirits are better at this than humans anyway.

She wonders if anything she said hurt him, if it brought up his fear of his own mortality to a degree that made him withdraw from her. Their future is more than uncertain but Emmrich seems so intent on the fact that he’ll die first, that he can’t let her shoulder what it means to be with an older man. But she does, she’s aware of all that comes with it, and yet none of it would ever make her flinch back. The essence of what she wants from her future, if she’s granted the privilege of ever seeing it, is to be with someone who loves her like she knows he is capable of.

As she stares at the names on the gravestone she thinks that Emmrich more than anyone should know that death does not discriminate between young and old.

Suddenly the wisp flies up and dances around. She turns and then there he is, as if conjured by her thoughts. The wisp must have sensed what upset her because it flies over to Emmrich and circles him, excitement in each movement, encouragement for him to walk faster. He looks rougher than she left him a few hours ago, his hair unusually messy, expression frantic, and he’s quick-stepped as he approaches. Fear settles in her belly, paralysing her in her spot, the possibility that this is not the reunion she hopes for but an end to whatever it is they had.

When he reaches her the wisp settles back by her side, almost protective. She sees Manfred, then, somewhere in the distance, unsure if his presence is a good or a bad sign. Her legs still won’t move and she’s sure that she looks utterly terrified.

“Darling,” Emmrich breathes, the word more of a relieved sigh than a greeting. “I am so glad I found you. No, actually it is Manfred who suspected you might be here. When you weren’t to be found at the Lighthouse–” He stops himself, takes a deep breath. “Please don’t ever scare me like that again.”

For a moment she’s taken aback – at how pained his voice sounds, at the red-framed eyes that look down to her. She can feel her limbs shaking and has to glance away, back to the graves. “I wasn’t sure who else to talk to, I don’t have any graves to visit of my own. I hope you don’t mind that I came here.”

“Of course not, dearest.”

She holds her hand out for the wisp to settle on, a comforting energy spreading into her palm. “I don’t want the others to see me like this. But here… the spirits are gentle with me. I find comfort in the memory of those who time carried away.”

“Please, stand up, darling,” he prompts and when she looks up she sees the tremor that runs through him in his extended hand. She allows him to pull her to her feet, though she can’t quite bring herself to fully close the gap and embrace him how she wants to.

“I brought them flowers.”

“I know,” he whispers, the subtlest sheen of tears glistening at his waterline. “Thank you, my sweet girl.”

Emmrich never lets go of her hand, pulls it to his heart where he keeps it trapped. The wisp floats around their bodies now that they’re close enough and soon a second wisp joins in, then a third, energised by the unspoken emotions whirring between them. She can feel Emmrich’s heartbeat, mirroring the rapid thrumming of her own.

“I–”

He never gets to finish his sentence. Soft music carries over to where they stand and the wisps begin to dance to its rhythm. More spirits join in, slow-dancing with each other between the graves and statues. Looking around she spots Manfred running towards them.

“Where is the music coming from?” Rook asks but then she finally sees the three skeletons following slowly behind Manfred, each holding a different instrument that they play with profound excellence even as they move. The song is romantic, lap harp and violin harmonising with the fairytale like sounds of clear crystal bells.

“Ah, well, I– They are a little early,” Emmrich says, cheeks tinted with a hint of bashfulness. “I was planning for them to arrive after I talked to you. Admittedly, I was in quite a rush with this spell once I knew you were here, even though it is rather simple…”

Manfred has reached them, effectively redirecting their attention, and his hand slides into Rook’s with the excitement of a little boy, pulling her away from Emmrich. He hisses happily as he spins her around, a little clumsily at first but with the right intentions, mirroring the wisps around them. More and more spirits appear in the gardens, drawn by the music, and soon it feels as though they’re attending a dance. Rook does her best to keep up but it’s hard to focus, the sheer wonder at what she’s witnessing clouding her mind.

“This is marvellous,” she says and the fear and melancholy fade from her heart for the first time since she came here, making way for almost childlike amazement.

Manfred spins her around once more, the song transitioning into a different tune, and then he guides her back, placing her hand in Emmrich’s. He hisses, rattling their now joined hands to get them to move, and Rook can’t help but look up at him with hope plainly written across her unguarded features.

“May I have this dance?” Emmrich asks who so far has been watching the scene without joining in, his own eyes sparkling when they meets hers.

She merely manages to nod, the words caught in her throat at the feeling of his arms circling her, finally pulling her close. Gentle fingers guide her into slow movement, his hands on her hips while she loosely wraps hers around his neck. The moment freezes, all Rook can focus on is the way he feels, the way his eyes soften, not once glancing away, the music and the sounds of their steps, the gentle jingling of his jewellery. Limbs move on their own accord, following an invisible rhythm. They dance for so long that they hardly notice the way the spirits begin to mimic their movement, not until Rook sneaks a glance at Manfred who is following along with another wisp.

Emmrich’s hands squeeze her hips, then, and he leans in, pressing his cheek to hers. She can feel his chest trembling, the mild scratching of shaved skin against hers, his lips ghosting along her ear.

“Forgive me, darling,” he whispers. “I was a fool.”

“Emmrich–”

He stops, pulls her closer without moving now, hugging her so tight that he presses the very air from her lungs. They stay in this embrace for along time, relief closing Rook’s eyes, the notion that she was wrong, that he might have felt just as awful after she left his rooms. His warmth mends the wounds his words left and how could she not forgive him, when he made all this possible just to reach her?

“I have a condition,” she says after a while. It has him breaking away just enough to meet her gaze, brows pulling together. “When we’re trying to have a serious conversation, I don’t want you to bring up my age to invalidate my point.”

He gives a firm nod, a hand travelling up to cradle her jaw. “It is a promise I gladly make, dearest. But I have to express a condition as well. Don’t…” His thumb swipes across her cheek, indenting it just enough to stress his point. “Don’t leave me after we’ve had an argument. When I could not find you– My darling, I cannot do it again, the thought of you wandering around, hurting because of me–”

“I won’t,” she says. “Though experiencing this was more than worth it.”

“It is quite marvellous, is it not?” He smiles, leans in to rest his forehead against hers. “I thought you might enjoy it. Nothing is quite so comforting as the presence of music.”

“Perhaps you can show me the spell one day.”

“Oh, I would love to, dearest.”

She brushes her nose against his, her fingers sliding into his hair, spreading over the nape of his neck. He sighs, not quite closing the gap but he can’t stop his fingers from pressing harder against her cheek.

“Tell me there is a future for us,” she says, returning to the conversation they left so many hours ago. “You and I, Manfred, a life here with all of this, for as long as we get. Is this not what you want?”

“There is nothing I want more, darling,” he says, trying to pull away without success.

“I know there is a version of the future you gave up on, a life with someone who loves you, a family of your own. But we can have all that and more. Don’t you think that would be enough?”

“It would be more than enough. It would be everything I could hope for.”

“So, do you trust me? Enough that you can accept my choice to be with you, even if it scares you?”

He swallows against her thumb, bending his neck backwards to see more of her face. His eyes are glistening but there is a hint of a smile in his features. “Darling, I would lay my beating heart into your hands,” he says, “trusting that you’ll breathe life into it for as long as we are together.”

A smile of her own and before she can reply he’s pressing his mouth to hers, a breathless sort of kiss, ingesting her sound of surprise. Behind them the music changes, the quiet song transitioning into a happier tune. When they break away the spirits are even livelier than before and forget to take note of them as they circle the statues, dance around each other.

“Might I suggest we move to a quiet spot, darling?” Emmrich asks, linking their hands between their bodies. “I think I know just the place.”

✦ ✧ ✦

She doesn’t have much time to take in the magnificent stonework, a sarcophagus like many she’s seen around the Necropolis but on the more spacious side, ornate etchings, cushioned in purple velvet. Green lights illuminate the nook it’s nestled in, long shadows dancing across the wall when Emmrich pushes her up against the edge of the stone coffin. His hands on her hips divert her attention back to him, nose nuzzling her cheek, trailing down to her jaw. Eager lips press to the side of her neck and he hugs her close, the insistent pressure in his fingertips betraying how much he wants her no matter how hard he tries to be polite.

“I didn’t know this was here,” she whispers. “The ornamentations are beautiful.”

“It is rather pleasant here, is it not?” he asks, all soft, his voice low and his face unguarded, eyes drawn to her every feature, as if he can’t drink her in enough. It’s the exact way he looks at her whenever he’s about to kiss her.

There’s not much of a gap to close, their bodies melting together, his mouth smouldering, a deep sigh he releases from the very depths of his ribcage. He’s taking charge, a confidence that only comes with experience, but he never loses the slow softness in his touch, the sensual press of his lips that renders her utterly defenceless.

“Do you feel ready for this, dear heart?” he whispers, every word tickling her lips with the ghost of his breath. “For me to touch you? Taste you? Pleasure you?”

His hands trail down, slotting into the perfect bend just above her thighs. His thumbs press into the soft tissue, so close to where she needs him, and she can’t help how her hips buck, tilting into his touch. He strokes her there, sensing how sensitive she is already, and her whole body shivers.

“Please,” she hears herself whisper, as though her voice is coming from somewhere outside of herself. Emmrich hums, lips trailing the shape of her face. Her eyes flutter closed when his mouth applies more pressure, sucking gingerly at the spot where her pulse beats a merciless rhythm against her skin. She doesn’t notice his hand moving until it cups her, two fingers pressing between her legs, a gasp following when he rubs them back and forth. “Emm–”

“Oh, darling,” he breathes, voice trembling at the last syllable. “How delightfully wet you already are for me.”

She thinks the world is blurring around her, her hands somewhat loosely wrapped around his shoulders now sliding down his back, briefly catching at the buckle of his vest before she finally feels the rougher fabric of his pants, desperately pulling him against her. Emmrich falters, hand slipping to her thigh, swallowing a breathy sound of surprise as his hips slot forward. She can feel him, half-hard against her abdomen, a breathy whimper, their bodies coming together in full evidence of the desire they share.

“Please,” she whispers again, though all she wants is for it to last forever. Not tonight though, no. Her body is already too wound up, the sheer intensity of the day amplifying every little sensation, the fears that carried her to the Necropolis still palpable, only fully receding at the breathtaking relief of finding him still wanting her so desperately, so evidently. And she wants to forget them, the silly argument, the insecurities, uncertainties, all so very meaningless when his mouth is on hers. His body is attuned to hers now, his attentions sharply focused, and every fibre of her being aches to feel him deeper, closer.

Emmrich is meticulous at the way he undresses, so practiced she doesn’t notice he’s opened his vest and shirt until he breaks away to assess her state. She never bothered to put on full armour either, a little reckless but it did not feel right to visit his parents under defensive measures. Emmrich opens her belt so easily that she’s surprised when the sound of it falling reverberates in the stone chamber. Then the clasps on her shirt come undone, surprisingly steady hands that even if they don’t weave magic seem to move in an almost musical rhythm. His bangles jingle and she thinks she doesn’t want him to be without them, though perhaps one day she’d like to see him in nothing but gold and gemstones all over.

His body is lithe underneath the fabric, athletic in the way of regular movement and a conscious diet but softened with age, specks of grey hair on a boney chest with prominent ribs, giving way to a less defined belly where the hair is lighter until it eventually darkens again at the apex of his legs. Rook can’t help but reach out, fingertips cautiously climbing up from his belly button to his collarbone. Emmrich pauses as she does it, fumbling with the last clasp, and she can see his Addam’s apple bobbing up and down. Encouraged, she flattens her hand, pushing his shirt open wider, a second hand following to really feel him now, explore him, every bone that sticks out, every tense muscle, every soft pillow of flesh she presses against. He’s gone limp, though his breathing quickens, and when her thumbs brush his nipples his forehead falls against hers.

“Dearest,” he whispers, a shudder running through him.

“You’re lovely,” she says. “All of you, I am– Emmrich, I feel so lucky to have you.”

He gives a quivering breath, a sound that has his chest deflating against her palm. Then he kisses her so deeply, so tenderly, that her eyes close, a hand cradling her face in the way he only ever cradles his most precious books or skulls.

“I want all of you,” Rook whispers. “And I want to give you all of me. I am not afraid of what that means, Emmrich. My love. I need you.”

He smiles, an air of relief in the way he exhales against her lips. “Then I shall be glad to fulfil every single one of those desires, my darling. Your trust is the most precious thing I have ever held in my two hands.”

A soft muffled sound as her shirt hits the floor, boots kicked aside, her pants sliding down. Emmrich is more methodical, making sure they won’t wake to wrinkled shirts or kinks in their leathers. His hair has fallen into his face, covering his forehead as he unlaces himself, and every single aspect of the sight of him half-naked, disheveled, taken apart, makes her want him more and more. She knows how vulnerable it makes him feel, how hard he works to keep up his appearance, the respect it earns him, a sense of control and dignity he clings to. When he moves to take off his jewellery she stops him, toying with the gold.

“Keep those on,” she says.

“Not the rings, dearest,” he replies. “I do want those fingers inside of you without worrying about contamination.”

He helps her over the ledge, hands on her thighs, and the cushioned fabric soothes her skin, soft against her back. Once he has her pinned beneath him his eyes darken, gaze as thick as the velvet beneath. Her heart is racing, thumping against her ribcage to the rhythmic aching between her thighs. Emmrich spreads her legs, one hand on her bare skin, fingers squeezing at her as he settles there, on his knees. He pulls her up into a sitting position, legs on either side of him.

“May I take this off?” he inquires, one finger sliding beneath the laces of her smallclothes, the ones that strain to cover her breasts.

“Please do.”

He tugs, the piece of fabric coming apart to reveal her fully. Emmrich keeps his eyes on hers, as if to make sure she is alright, that she truly wants this, and when he finds no objection he finally takes her in. At first he is cautious, cupping one of her breasts with his long hand as if to weigh it, thumb brushing over her hardened nipple until goosebumps spread all over her skin and the electric bolt of pleasure shoots to her core. He continues softly, both hands now, stimulating her with scientific caution, watching out for every gasp, every closing of her eyelids, the way she leans into his touch, her hands on his bare thighs that are covered with dark grey hair, angled inwards to push her breasts together.

Emmrich leans in, tempted by the parting of her lips as she sighs into every little tug off her nipples, giving her a kiss that shakes her out of her stupor. But he’s not resting there, instead he meanders down, wet-lipped, tongue tasting her skin until his mouth closes over one breast. The other one he still cradles in his hand, rolling her peak between thumb and forefinger, and her core clenches at every pinch, at every flick of his tongue, the way he oh so gently sucks at her soft flesh with such a warm and eager mouth.

“Emmrich,” she sighs, her hand moving into his hair, forgetting of how neatly he keeps it, fingers tugging at the back of his head until he moans so headily into her skin that her whole lower body shifts forward, unbidden. “I can’t– Please.”

He removes himself, urges her to lay back again, and for a moment he just looks at her, already close to a mess, her hair disheveled, lips kiss-swollen and red, nipples puffy and erect as the slick gathers between her legs in a wet patch. He roams her body, a hand caressing the softness of her belly, adoringly but with evident of arousal that has his eyelids drooping and mouth parted with heavy exhales. Still on his knees, he moves on to her thighs, those long arms bending, testing how far he can spread her, how sensitive she is to his touch. His lips press to the inside of her knee and all Rook can do to distract herself from falling apart untouched is to busy herself with her breasts, fingers clenching with every kiss he peppers along the inside of her thigh now.

“Emmrich.” The word is more of a gasp, her hips stuttering upwards with every beat of her pulse. “Please, love, I am aching.”

“Are you, my heart?” He pushes his thumb right against her core, the fabric all but drenched, stroking up and down to gather more of her arousal. “I had hoped to take my time with you here tonight and perhaps I will, later. I can’t possible keep you waiting any longer, not when you’re begging so beautifully, my love.”

He hooks his fingers underneath the waistband, tugging at her underclothes to slide them off her legs. It would not have occurred to her to be bashful, to be shy, if it were anyone else. But with Emmrich things are different, her insides all gooey, heart stuttering, the blood that has not gathered between her legs now rushing to her cheeks. She realises that this is the feeling she has been hoping to find at some point in her life, the desperate need to be one with someone else, not just for pleasure, but for the soul, to come together in a way that expands your very self to make room for a connection unlike any other.

“Are you alright, darling?” Emmrich asks, no doubt seeing the change in her expression, the tears of overwhelm gathering in the corners of her eyes.

“I am,” she says. “Please, don’t make me wait.”

Emmrich leans forward, propped on one elbow, and his other hand slides between her legs. He probes at her, moaning at the wetness he finds, his mouth connecting with hers right as two of his fingers slide into her. She accommodates him, as though her whole body has been waiting to finally feel him, and only when he sees that she’s comfortable does he start to gently crook them, moving them against the softness of her inner wall.

Incoherent words leave her mouth, prayers she hasn’t spoken in quite some time, his name over and over, and his heat shapes her like molten gold, as though he could mould her into a shape to fit his own body, his heat encompassing her. Eyes fluttered close she can only sense him, his fingers in an increasingly deep rhythm, long and untiring, until she feels herself floating outside of herself.

“Eyes on me, darling,” he urges. “I want to see you fall apart.”

She obeys, blinking up at him right as she peaks, her legs trembling on either side of him, clenched tightly around his digits. It is pleasure the likes she hasn’t experienced in some time, perhaps never quite like this, with the added weight of feelings that are entirely new to her in their depth.

He coaxes another tremor from her, fingers crooking, stroking her insides, then he withdraws with an almost wistful sigh. “Good girl,” he whispers with a gentle kiss to her cheek. “So very good. Now, do you think you’re ready to receive me, hm?”

Rook can only nod, words still eluding her, his satisfied smile almost making her want to laugh.  He kisses her once again, tongue-deep, hungry, like he can taste the pleasure in her mouth. The hair on his upper lip leaves her with the delicious tickle she’s grown so fond of and then he’s shifting, wriggling and, within seconds she can feel him bare and hard between her thighs.

Instinctively, her hips roll inward, angling higher to receive him but Emmrich hovers. When she glances down she can see him curved in his hand, dark hair, neatly trimmed, framing him. He is long, rather slender, unlike the pale rest of his body already red-tipped and blood-swollen. With a few pumps of a desperate hands, bangles producing the ever-present jingle, Emmrich spreads her slick over the tight skin. His tip presses forward between her folds, skin retracting, his bare head pressing against her swollen clit. With a plethora of needy little sounds he slides back and forth, gathering the evidence of her earlier peak, the stimulation of her burning nerves almost enough to make her come again.

Emmrich looks up at her then and her breath catches. He looks utterly ruined already, unusually sweaty, hair clinging to his forehead, his pupils dilated under heavy eyelids, mouth red and glistening. He heaves a breath, more a sign of his constraint than any exhaustion as he tries to prepare her, make all of this a painfree, enjoyable experience for her before ever considering his own needs. She can see the precise moment his patience snaps, just after their eyes meet, fire crackling between them, and he pushes into her with a sound that is unrestrained pleasure.

“Darling,” he breathes. “My sweet, sweet darling.”

Their bodies fall into an easy rhythm, his hips rocking into hers, shallow at first, stretching her further, then a deeper grind until she keens with every roll of his pelvis. Emmrich keeps one hand on her chin, making sure her head stays angled so he can look at her, eye contact never breaking even as they both struggle to stay present. Rook can feel him so deep inside of her. But it’s not just a physical depth, it’s the feelings she has for him that trickle into every pulse of pleasure, every gasp, every squeeze of his biceps, every tug at his hair, every clenching of her muscles, fingers. The words tumble from her lips then, moving past her throat too quickly to be caught.

“I love you,” she whispers. “I love you, Emmrich.”

At first he stutters, eyes opening wider, the sheer surprise of hearing the words. But then his gaze softens, expression melting into the gentlest affection, a smile, that glimmer in his eyes that speaks of such intimate fondness. “And I love you, my darling.”

She smiles back and then his mouth meets her desperately, the kiss a painful force that will leave her lips bruised, all while his thrust become harder, more unrestrained, as if the words are untying a knot deep inside of him that finally allows him to let go. Emmrich grabs her ass with his free hand, angles her hip upwards, and he sheathes himself even deeper, swollen head sliding against her inner wall to graze the most sensitive spot there. Rook lets out a mewl, the pleasure so sudden and intense that she feels herself clenching around him again and then her head lols to the side, his hand not there to support her now, and with her eyes closed she locks her legs behind his back to draw him ever deeper, impossibly so, not close enough even now.

“Darling,” he chides, his hand back to tilt her chin, angle her gaze to his. “No glancing away.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, gripping his wrist, thumb just above his rapid pulse.

He smiles, grunts at his efforts, thrusts harder as his own body begins to tense, thighs shaking as they slam against her. The crypt enhances every sound they make, their union a choir of jangling gold, throaty groans, skin meeting skin, and the green light flickers as the lanterns take a breath that is as deep as theirs.

“I am not sure how long I can last, dearest,” he says. “I do not… do not think I have ever felt anything quite so intense before.”

“’s okay, Emmrich, me too,” Rook whispers between gasps. “It’s perfect, it’s everything”

He closes the gap again for a kiss but he’s lost his momentum, teeth and lips and bone colliding, messy but needed, that connection that tethers them together. They exist only in the tiny space inside the coffin, its walls protecting them, sheltering them in its intimacy, and it’s the comfort of knowing that the world outside fades into nothingness for these precious moments, that no one else needs her, that she is allowed to focus simply on breathing, on feeling. And what she feels is all-encompassing, pleasure and love and fulfilment, her body treasured and shared, the way Emmrich consumes her whole being with every breath, the very air that fills her lungs.

It’s only then, lost in his body, in his love, that she can fully let go.

Thank you so much for reading! Kudos, comments, reblogs etc are as always much appreciated but most of all I hope you enjoyed the story ♡

Masterlist – my Ao3

[ximmortalis]

Emmerich Volkarin/Rook: Miss me.

Summary:

Rook had sent letters to him, letting him know that she was safe setting his worries at ease. She wrote how desperately she missed him and how she couldn’t wait to be back in his arms. How she ached to have his hands on her body, wanting to feel him inside of her. It was nothing short of pure smut, he made the mistake of reading the letter before he started his lecture and now his mind his wholly focused on her.

He’s a love sick fool.

When Rook is away for a while, Emmerich looks back on how their romance came to be.

NSFW

There’s been plenty of talk around the Necropolis since Emmrich returned; after taking a sabbatical to kill two Elven Gods and having a helping hand in stopping the Dreadwolf from tearing down the veil. He’s been the main topic of conversation as well as the gossip. It’s not gone unnoticed that he’s returned with a woman, only a few know of his relationship. Most comment that he seems happier and clearly the sabbatical was much needed. He saw wonderous and learned truth’s that longed to stay buried, he put a ghost of his past behind him, looked death square in the face with barely a flinch and met someone who completely turned his world upside down.

Rook was a breath of fresh air that he didn’t know he needed.

Fierce and strong willed she dominated on the battlefield a whirlwind of blades and a dangerous precision with her bow a testament of her training as an Antivan Crow. When she and Bellera had first come to the Necropolis seeking his help as a fade expert; he had been captivated by her beauty. Emmerich kept that to himself, a beautiful young woman such as herself would have no interest in a man of his age. What he didn’t count on was her having the same thoughts that he did.

The first time she had said a flirtatious comment his way, his brain came to halt, and he must have looked like a complete fool. He didn’t take it seriously at the beginning she couldn’t have possible been interested in him, not when there were others such as, Davrin and Lucanis.

When she went with him to the memorial gardens for the first time to conduct a ceremony, she had listened intently to every word he spoke. Asked questions of his works wanting to learn everything she could of spirts and the fade. They shared an interest in botany, she taught him the many uses of different plants, admittedly mainly for poisons.

And she absolutely adored Manfred.

His little spirt of curiosity had taken a shine to her.

It was a common sight to see Manfred following her around the lighthouse; Neve had sweetly referred to him as Rook’s shadow. Even out in the field he wouldn’t stray too far from her side, when she picked herbs and plants Manfred would offer his backpack for her to store them and would walk with more cautious steps to not ruin them. On their return he would lift each one out of his pack studying them with a curious hiss; Rook would then take the time to tell him the names of each one, what they were used for and what did cause him some minor concern, how effective of a poison they could be. Manfred would gift her little tickets his found, shiny stones, seashells from the beaches of Rivain and once the skull of a bird. Rook had cleared out space in her room to house them all.

Their courtship was a slow dance, when it was clear to him that her intentions where sincere. Even more so when she timidly admitted that she had been with no other, a surprise to him; a woman of such beauty who had never felt the touch of a lover. It truly amazed him how she went from confident leader, one who wouldn’t think to throw a sarcastic one liner against an all-powerful enemy, to a bashful little thing. The blush that engulfed her cheeks when he leaned down for a kiss was simply wonderful.

Her lack of experience she made up for with the utmost enthusiasm.

Late night rendezvous in his room always ending with enthusiastic kisses, tongues sliding against each other’s. She made him feel like a young man again, like a lovesick teenager who couldn’t keep his hands to himself; she thrived under his attention. Rook loved to touch and be touched. Her fingers would trace over his hands and fiddled with the many rings that adorned them. He would watch with interest taking note of the slight blush, but it was the way she bit her bottom lip that gave her away.

Rook had a thing for his hands.

From then on, he started to be a bit more frivolous with his hand gestures and her eyes would track each movement. It brought him great pleasure knowing that something so small could unravel her.

The first time he touched her intimately started by accident, Rook had been perched on his lap while he responded to letters. Straddled over one of his thighs, her head resting against his shoulder, with one hand cupped against the side of his neck and her thumb stroking against his jaw. His arm wrapped around her back, hand resting on her hip as he traced random patterns with his thumb.

He absents mindedly shifted his leg which pressed against her.

Rook sharply inhaled and tensed the following breath shuddered against his neck; he froze unsure one what action to take next, but Rook answered that for him. With a tentative roll of her hips, he could feel the heat of her cunt against his leg. She sat up her gaze filled with need; he bridged the gap between them pulling her in for a heated kiss. Letting Rook take the lead, she rutted against his thigh with wild abandon with no proper rhythm, she huffed in frustration at not being able to feel what she wanted. He gripped her hips forcing her to stop her frantic movements.

‘’Slow.’’

He started a gentle and slow rhythm each time he rolled her hips down he would press up with his thigh. She gasped her hands clutching his shoulders, Emmrich could not help himself, his lips finding her throat and leaving trails of bites sucking what he knows will be deep purple bruises on her skin. The wetness of her cunt seeping through his pants as he works her closer to orgasm.

Rook begs for him to touch her to feel the ache deep inside of her that only his touch can sate. His fingers delving under the waistband of her pants, he groans at the first touch of her cunt. He rubs over her clit and is rewarded handsomely; her hips buck into his hand, and she moans loudly.

‘’In-inside, need to feel you inside.’’

Sinking two fingers into her with ease curling them makes her arch against him, she wraps her arms around his neck, one hand finding purchase in the hair at the base of his neck. He fucks his fingers inside of her with dangerous precision on that one special spot inside of her, Rook rocks against him with each thrust, he can feel that she’s close the tremble in her hips giving her away.

‘’So good for me darling, you’re close, aren’t you?’’

She sobbed out a garbled yes and more pleas followed.

‘’Come for me, my love; oh, you’re so good for me.’’

Her cunt clenches and she let out a wail as she falls over the edge; he keeps thrusting inside to draw out her orgasm until she falls against him spent. Soothing a hand up her back as her body works through the aftershocks. He can feel her heart racing, breath heavy and hot against his neck.

From then she’s an insatiable little minx.

They take every moment that they can to explore each other’s bodies, learn how to pleasure one another. The first time he had his mouth on her he pulled orgasm after orgasm from her until she was a whimpering mess, tears streaming down her face and drooling against the bedsheets. He was just as dishevelled as she was, hair a mess from her hands, moustache drenched from her juices and his pants ruined, his seed spilling inside of them from rutting against the bedspread. When she had gotten on her knees for him sucking his cock down her throat, worshiping him like a God and in return he praised her like a Goddess. The warmth of her mouth felt sinfully delicious, it didn’t take long before he spilled down her throat and she swallowed every drop of his seed. She released his cock with a lude pop pressing a loving kiss to the tip.

Emmrich was waiting for the perfect time to take his beloveds flower. Once the Gods were dead and the veil left untouched. He wanted to take her out again, have a fancy meal a night just for her to show how he cherished her. Wanting to take her to his home to worship her in his bed.

However, fate took an unexpected turn.

They argue before heading to Tearstone Island, Emmerich had his fear of death overwhelm him. They came to a stalemate just staring at one another before Rook let out a sigh and walked away, he yearned to follow but stubbornly remained in place and he regretted that choice. Despite this, Rook had chosen him to go into battle with her and before they reached Ghilan’nain he had a moment of sombre; if he was to die today did, he really want their last conversation together being a silly argument. He called out to her, apologises spilling from him. Rook smiled at him and promised that they’d talk once this was over.

But that didn’t come to pass.

After the death of Ghilan'nain he searches around the tarnished battlefield looking for his love but when he couldn’t find her his heart shattered. Rook had disappeared without a trace, it was only when the team found out that Solas had made an appearance in Minrathous that the pieces of the puzzle clicked into place. Solas had escaped the fade prison by making her the perfect substitute. For the three weeks she was gone Emmerich was inconsolable, lost in grief he took to locking himself away in his room searching for something, anything that could return Rook to him. When he crafted the imitation dagger, he let himself hope but that was quickly snatched away when it couldn’t cut through the simplest of enchantments.

Taash couldn’t take just sitting around and doing nothing the dragon hunter wasn’t versed in magic but wanted to help in anyway she could. Taash dragged him from his room not giving him a choice and with Lucanis in toe, they made their way back to Tearstone. Again, they searched and once more found nothing. They were just about to depart when he felt it, a thinning in the veil. He called out for her as did the others, hoping that she could hear them. Then finally after what felt like an eternity, he caught a glimpse of her from, without thinking he reached in when he contacted something solid, he pulled with all his strength. Taash and Lucanis joining him and with one final heave Rook was pulled out of the fade and into his awaiting arms.

After three agonisingly long weeks she was back where she belonged, safe in his arms he held her close when she crumbled to her knees. A heart wrenching sob left her, and his body shook with each one. Emmerich learned the true extent of the cruelty she suffered at the hands of Solas. All this time she though that Varric was alive and recovering from his injuries, but the reality was that he was dead.

The night before they leave for Minrathous he takes her to the Necropolis wanting to ensure whatever horrid enchantment Solas had put on her was gone.

‘’Darling… I thought I’d lost you forever in the fade.’’

‘’I wasn’t afraid I would die. I was afraid I’d be there forever.’’

‘’You’re not, you’re here with me.’’

Rook pulled him to his feet, ‘’I did have someone to come back too.’’

The kiss they share is filled with longing and the deep love that they share for each other, he gently guides her until her back touches stone, and she waste no time in climbing into the coffin, dragging him with her. In the mist of hungry kisses, they shed items of clothing until they are both bare. She opens her legs giving him room to slot himself between them. His cock presses against her cunt and he can’t stop himself from grinding against her. He worships her body pleasuring her in all the way he knows she loves using his hands and mouth. When he sits back on his knees prepared to lets things end she surprises him once more, wrapping her legs around his waist.

‘’No more waiting. I want to be connected with you in mind, soul and body.’’

He intertwines one of their hands, bringing it to his lips.

‘’You already have me, my darling.’’

Slowly he pushes himself inside and she takes all of him beautifully when he is fully sheaved inside, she looks down at where they are connected and moans. Her cunt is tight, warm and wet and feels positively divine his cock snug within her walls. Rook pulls him down closer to her clutches his shoulders. It takes a few thrusts for her to get used to the feeling the uncomfortable fullness blossoming into pleasure. A deep thrust has her throwing her head back, her pleasure echoing off the walls. They don’t take their eyes off one another the contact only breaking when their mouths crash together in a passionate kiss. Her cunt clenches around his cock as she comes with a cry and with one last deep thrust, he follows her, his come spilling deep inside.

Falling asleep embraced together, he wakes early with the good intentions of getting breakfast instead she coaxes him back inside the coffin with whispers of what she wanted to do to him. Who was he to say no?

The tables turn when he’s the one on his back while his love rides his cock for all it’s worth and all he can do is grip her hips and let praises fall from his lips.

Emmrich gets pulled from the past and into the present by one of his students calling his name. He clears his throat and apologises for being distracted, normally he isn’t so easy to distract but he hasn’t seen his darling for just shy of two weeks, currently out on an adventure with Taash in Rivain. He’d been invited of course, but since the world had been saved the vast knowledge that he had learned was needed back at the necropolis and thus he went back to teaching. Eager students had filled the seats in the lecture hall wanting to know of his involvement of helping stop the Gods. He fed them small titbits here and there, spoke of his companions in high regards.

Rook had sent letters to him, letting him know that she was safe setting his worries at ease. She wrote how desperately she missed him and how she couldn’t wait to be back in his arms. How she ached to have his hands on her body, wanting to feel him inside of her. It was nothing short of pure smut, he made the mistake of reading the letter before he started his lecture and now his mind his wholly focused on her. Finding himself looking back on their romance. He’s a love sick fool. But he is a professional he clears his mind and continues his teaching.

He's nearing the end of his lesson when the door flings open with a loud bang, revealing Manfred, dragging a very apologetic Rook behind him.

‘’Rook! Rook!’’

All his students stop what they are doing turning with star filled eyes, fascinated at seeing the woman who saved the world, the leader of The Veilguard. Manfred who is still chanting her name, clearly excited that she has returned. She looks over at him and smiles and calls Manfreds name to get his attention.

‘’I’m sorry Em, he got a little to excited.’’

Emmerich lets out a small laugh, ‘’That’s quiet all right my dear, I’ll be done soon.’’

Her attention turns back to Manfred, ‘’Let’s go, you wanna see the gifts I brought for you.’’

With an excited hiss they leave, his bony arm interlinked with hers. His students make no comment when he rushes through the last of the material, especially when in his rush to finish he forget to assign them work to study outside his lecture. He leaves the hall with a quick thank you to them and makes his way to his room. Opening the door, he’s greeted by the sight of Rook and Manfred sat on the couch, her showing him the many trinkets she brought back. She sends him off with a puzzle box, clearly an item to keep him busy for a good while.

Emmerich wastes no time sitting down next to her and pulling her into his lap, he’s waited for this moment long enough.

‘’My darling, how I have missed you.’’

Rook leans down to kiss him, ‘’I’ve missed you too, hopefully my letters help with my absence.’’

‘’Speaking of letters, you’re last one has landed you in trouble,’’ His hands squeeze the flesh of her thighs, and she lets out a breathy sigh before she smirks and rolls her hips against his readily hardening cock, ‘’Oh really?’’

‘’You absolute minx.’’

Her laugh turns into a surprised shriek as he stands, her legs wrapping around his waist. He carries her over to his desk. Hands making their way under her shirt to cup her breasts, thumb skimming over her nipple. Rook leans back on her elbows looking up at him through her lashes.

‘’Show me how much you missed me.’’

‘’As you wish, Darling.’’

[witchthewriter]

𝐇𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐇𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫 𝑜𝑓 𝑂𝑙𝑑𝑡𝑜𝑤𝑛

𝑴𝒐𝒕𝒕𝒐: "We Light the Way" 𝑺𝒊𝒈𝒊𝒍: is a stone white watchtower, with a fire on the top 𝑻𝒓𝒂𝒊𝒕𝒔: a proud family, some Hightowers are said to have dabbled in alchemy and necromancy. Members of House Hightower thus far described tend to have silver or golden hair.

𝑯𝒐𝒖𝒔𝒆 𝑯𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕𝒐𝒘𝒆𝒓 of Oldtown is a vassal house from the Reach that holds fealty to House Tyrell of Highgarden. Their seat is the Hightower located in the great city of Oldtown, the oldest, greatest, and second most populated city of Westeros. Oldtown lies southwest of Highgarden at the mouth of River Honeywine, and opens to the Sunset Sea.

The Hightowers are among the oldest and proudest of the Great Houses. They have often preferred trade instead of war, and have also avoided many wars because of their support for the Faith of the Seven.

The Hightowers have been at the front and center of politics in Westeros for centuries, owing to their rule of Oldtown, which was the biggest city in Westeros for thousands of years before the coming of the Targaryens. Oldtown remains the seat of the High Septon and the center of the Faith of the Seven, giving the Hightowers a strong connection with the High Septon. Oldtown is also the site of the Citadel and the Order of Maesters. When the Targaryens conquered Westeros, the Hightowers, being situated in the Reach, became vassals of House Tyrell.

Throughout history, House Hightower has played a pivotal role in the political, religious, and cultural development of Westeros:

𝑭𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑪𝒊𝒕𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒍: Peremore Hightower, known as "Peremore the Twisted," had an insatiable thirst for knowledge and surrounded himself with wise men, teachers, priests, healers, singers, wizards, alchemists, and sorcerers. After his death, his brother Urrigon Hightower granted these scholars land beside the Honeywine, leading to the establishment of the Citadel and the Order of Maesters.

𝑨𝒅𝒐𝒑𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑭𝒂𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑺𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏: The Hightowers were among the first great lords in Westeros to embrace the Faith of the Seven, supporting the construction of the Starry Sept in Oldtown, which became the center of the Faith before the Great Sept of Baelor was built in King's Landing.

𝑨𝒆𝒈𝒐𝒏’𝒔 𝑪𝒐𝒏𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒔𝒕: During Aegon Targaryen's conquest of Westeros, Lord Manfred Hightower yielded Oldtown to Aegon without resistance. The High Septon anointed Aegon as the ruler of the Seven Kingdoms in Oldtown, solidifying the city's significance in the realm.

𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐌𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐬

𝑺𝒆𝒓 𝑶𝒕𝒕𝒐 𝑯𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕𝒐𝒘𝒆𝒓: Served as Hand of the King to both Jaehaerys I and Viserys I Targaryen. A shrewd and influential politician, he was instrumental in court affairs during his tenure.

𝑸𝒖𝒆𝒆𝒏 𝑨𝒍𝒊𝒄𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝑯𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕𝒐𝒘𝒆𝒓: Daughter of Otto Hightower, she became the second wife of King Viserys I Targaryen and mother to several key figures in the Dance of the Dragons, including King Aegon II Targaryen.

𝑺𝒆𝒓 𝑮𝒆𝒓𝒐𝒍𝒅 𝑯𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕𝒐𝒘𝒆𝒓: Known as "The White Bull," he served as Lord Commander of the Kingsguard under King Aerys II Targaryen. He was present at the Tower of Joy, where he met his end at the hands of Eddard Stark and his companions.

The House also possesses a Valyrian steel sword called Vigilance.

[peonysgreenhouse]

and still, i will live here.

summary: after the siege of weisshaupt, emmrich helps rook bathe. (rook x emmrich volkarin)

tags: 3.1k words, she/her pronouns for rook, rook is an elf/rogue/mourn watcher, bathing/washing, fluff, hurt/comfort, pre-relationship, rook is bad at feelings, emmrich is not.

Rook stands at the bottom of the staircase and mentally counts the number of steps that lead up to the second floor. She wonders if it would be easier to just curl up underneath the meeting table; skin soaked with blight and ichor and all.

Such exhaustion felt too big for her body. Sure, she had scrubbed the headstones in the Memorial Gardens from sunrise to sundown as punishment many times, but that weariness was manageable. This was not.

If she would’ve just died at Weisshaupt, at least she wouldn’t have to stand, and persist. An eternal rest sounds nice for both her body and her conscience. 

It’s Manfred’s chattering that catches her hazy attention. He ambles over to her, bones rattling with each step. It’s a pleasant sound, familiar, and it’s almost enough to bring a smile to her weary face.

Manfred makes a noise akin to a screeching, and starts to slowly walk up the stairs. With each step, Manfred turns to her, as if beckoning her to follow. Or perhaps, he assumed that her idling by the bottom of the staircase meant she didn’t know how to use the stairs. He stops at the fifth step and hisses again, turning to face her, and takes another step down.

Rook does smile at that. She lets out a sigh, and relents, slowly following Manfred up the stairs. Rook clutches at her side as she walks up the stairs; exhaustion weighs heavy on her shoulders, draped like an oversized coat. 

Manfred hisses happily when she reaches the top of the stairs, and she huffs out a laugh, turning to her room as she bids the spirit goodnight.

“Rook?” Emmrich. Rook turns to face her companion, trying to will a smile to her face. She didn’t want him to worry.

“Emmrich.” She says, quiet and fond. “Need something? I’m about to head to bed.”

Emmrich raises an eyebrow, his fingers steepled in front of him. Even after Weisshaupt he still looked put together; prim and dandy as he always did. She’s almost envious, she can only imagine how unkempt she looked in comparison. 

“Covered in all that…” He makes a vague gesture, cutting off his words as if to not offend. “You should at least bathe first. Clean off all those cuts and bruises. I would hate for them to get infected.”

Rook lets out another breathy, tired laugh. “I’m afraid I’d fall asleep in the tub and drown.”

Emmrich’s expression softens. It makes something in Rook’s chest tighten uncomfortably. 

“I would be happy to aid you. But only if you’re comfortable with it.” He suggests, kindly. 

“Are you sure?” Rook asks, but the thought of a warm bath does seem nice. Especially if she got to collapse in bed afterwards. “You fought today too, surely you’re tired as well–”

“Yes, but I wasn’t in the thick of it like you were.” He answers, lacing his fingers together. “You made sure of that. Allow me to repay you in what small way I can.”

Rook doesn’t have the energy to protest like she might normally. She acquiesces with a nod. “Alright. That would be nice.”

“Excellent.” He says, clapping his hands together, his jewelry clinking as he does. “I’ll draw a bath.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Rook manages to traipse her way to her room and grabs herself a clean pair of comfy clothes; a thoroughly-worn tunic she had nicked from a friend in the Mourn Watchers, and a loose pair of breeches. She gives the mirror sitting on top of her chester drawer a wide berth. 

She walks back to Emmrich’s room, tracing a finger along the stone walls as she goes. The door was already propped open, the smell of chamomile and lavender enticing her to step closer. She peeks inside, and sees Emmrich unfolding a screen divider, as if to give the bathing area a little privacy.

“Emmrich?” You call, and he stands up to full height, looking rather pleased with himself. 

“Ah, Rook!” He answers, folding his hands together in front of him. “Come in, feel free to set your clean clothes anywhere you’d like. And do tell me if the water is too hot or too cold.”

Ever the gentleman, Emmrich turns around as she walks towards the tub. Rook thinks it's silly, no doubt all their companions have seen her in worse states than being in the nude; crawling out of blight pustules or wading through the entrails of failed Venatori rituals seemed like normalcy now. Sometimes it took multiple washes to rid her armor of the rot. 

Still, Rook is thankful for the privacy. Emmrich was a kindness she knew she didn’t deserve. 

Rook sets her clean clothes on the floor near the tub, changing out of her armor as quickly as she can. Even raising her arms to pull the leather over her head felt grueling, but Emmrich remains with his back turned the whole time. Rook leaves her dirtied armor in a pile on the floor. She was thankful the blood and blight had dried already – it would take longer to clean, but at least she wasn’t staining his brick flooring. She could almost hear the lecture he’d give her if she did.

Slowly, Rook sinks into the bathtub. The water is nice and hot, and the scent of the bath oils make her eyelids feel heavy. She pulls her knees up to her chest. 

“Emmrich?” She says, clearing her throat after her words come out hoarse. “You can turn around now.”

“Wonderful.” Emmrich answers. He claps his hands together, and it’s only then she realizes that he’s lost all the finery he usually wears. No rings or bracelets, no glove, his vest discarded and his yellow collared shirt sleeves rolled up to the elbows. Communal bathing was normal in Nevarra, but this is different, intimate. 

“No need to worry, Rook.” He assures, as if sensing her discomfort. “Tell me if you wish for me to stop, and I’ll leave. No questions asked. But for now, allow me to take care of you.”

Rook sucks in a breath on instinct, her weary brain searching for something to say to ease the slowly surmounting urge to flee.

“...Right.” She says with a breathy laugh, sinking further into the tub. Rook’s eyes follow Emmrich as he grabs a few bottles out of a drawer, as well as a wash rag. He pulls up a stool to the side of the tub and sits down, setting the bottles on the floor beside him.

“I noticed you were short of breath when you addressed us tonight.” Emmrich says, dipping the wash rag into the bath water and wringing it out. “Did you hurt your ribs perhaps?”

A man as learned in Anatomy as he was would notice that, Rook thinks bitterly. Her hand subconsciously comes up to her side underneath the water. “Yeah, I…” She starts. “The Archdemon got me pretty good with the back of its tail. It’s not an open wound, but… It’s got some pretty nasty bruising.”

Emmrich nods. “If you’d like, I can take a look at it for you after we get you washed up.” 

“I’ll be okay. I’m sure you’re tired from… everything that’s happened today. Wouldn’t want you exhausting yourself on my account.”

“Nonsense.” He says firmly. “If it is just bruises like you say, it will take little effort to expedite the healing process.” 

Again, such kindness. It makes her throat feel thick with uncomfortable emotion. Rook didn’t know how to handle his sincerity; it felt antithetical to everything she was. 

“I’ll just take a healing potion before bed.” She answers, tilting her head towards the far wall so he can’t see her flustered expression. “I’ll be alright.”

“If that’s what you think is best. But know my offer will always stand.” Emmrich says, not wanting to press on an already open wound. “Now, if you would…” Emmrich scoots his chair a little closer. “My dear, we must have a talk about how you handle yourself in battle. Not even Taash ends up as messy as you.”

That makes Rook laugh earnestly, her bruises aching as she does. She feels much more comfortable with this conversation. “Not everyone can stay behind and shoot… magic beams like you.” Rook says, a playful tone to her voice. “A rogue’s gotta get her hands dirty.”

Emmrich pauses as if he was going to correct her, but ultimately just sighs. “Yes, it would be fine if it were just your hands.” Emmrich brings the cloth forward to her shoulder. “You have blood inside your ears.”

“I mean...” Rook shrugs, sucking in a breath as he begins to gently scrub the dried blood from the side of her neck. She feels the sting as he cleans out one of the fresh cuts right above her clavicle, just shallow enough that it didn’t tear into anything important. “I have big ears. Hard to keep ‘em from getting involved in the action.”

“Still, you should be more careful, Rook.” Emmrich says, reaching up to wipe off a smear of blood off her cheek. The warmth of the cloth feels nice against her skin. “I have the utmost confidence in your skills, but you do have a tendency towards recklessness.”

“You sound like Myrna.” She mumbles, tilting her head down so he can clean a cut right above her eyebrow. Rook didn’t even realize she had gotten that one, her body felt like one giant ball of hurt. It was hard to pinpoint the little injuries.

Emmrich seemed to spot them all, though.

“I can tell Myrna cares a great deal for your well-being.” He says, rinsing the cloth out in the bath water. He wrings it out once again; the water takes on a reddish hue. “As do I. As does everyone here, for that matter.” 

Rook opens her mouth to respond, but then Emmrich brings the cloth up to one of her ears. It’s just a quick swipe, but it makes her shiver. Instinctively, Rook jerks her head back, her cheeks warm as she pulls away from his hand.

“Did I hurt you?” Emmrich asks, eyes wide as he pulls his hand away, laying the cloth over the edge of the tub. “I apologize, I didn’t notice any cuts there. Do you want me to take a look?”

“No, no…” Rook says with a huff, bringing a hand up to rub at the spot he had touched, trying to play off her overreaction. She can feel the flush in her skin. “I’m just sensitive there. I’ll get it.” Rook brushes her hair back, picking up the cloth and scrubbing at both of her ears, unable to make eye contact with Emmrich as she does so.

When she thinks she’s gotten herself all clean, she looks back at Emmrich. She notices that his cheeks have taken on a rosy hue. Rook clears her throat.

“Did I get everything?” She asks, turning her head from side to side. Emmrich seems to regain his bearings quickly. He nods.

“Yes, it looks like it.” He says. “And I apologize, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I wasn’t aware that elven ears were so… sensitive, as you said.”

Rook snorts. “I guess that wouldn’t be in the textbooks, huh?” She says, teasing. “That information would be saved for more… raunchy works of literature.”

“Even so, it is fascinating. I shall keep it in mind.” Emmrich says, a playful spark in his green eyes. “Now, allow me to wash your hair, my dear. Scoot forward, if you will.”

Rook does as he asks, the ends of her hair touching the top of the water and sticking to her skin in inky strands. He scoops the water gently and lets it wet her fluffy hair. She wrinkles her nose as she sees the water turn red as it runs down her shoulders.

“...Okay, maybe I did get a little carried away today.” She says with a sigh, her shoulders slumping forward. In the stillness of Emmrich’s room, his gentle combing of his slender fingers through her wet hair, it’s hard for her to hold back the tide of emotion she felt about Weisshaupt.

It felt odd to even be alive. Breathing air that was borrowed from another. She had reassured Davrin earlier that it was not a sin to be alive, and she had meant it when she said it to him. But she was their leader, and she made sure to tidy her room before she had left. 

“Would you like to talk about it?” He asks, sensing her hesitance. His words are as gentle as his hands as he massages shampoo into her hair. It smells earthy, like moss and patchouli; it reminds her of the smell of the Memorial Gardens after the morning dew. 

It’s comforting, familiar. Rook takes a breath, lungs aching in protest, but the feeling of his fingers scratching at her scalp dull that ache. She doesn’t remember ever being touched so gently.

“About… today?” She asks. Rook absentmindedly traces her fingers over the surface of the water, watching as it ripples through the tub. Where would she even start? “I don’t even know what to say. It was awful.”

Emmrich nods, letting the shampoo rest in her hair for a moment. “It was. So much loss of life, it’s almost hard to believe such a thing could happen on such a scale…” Emmrich puts a hand on her shoulder, brushing his thumb over her bruised collarbone. Unlike her own, his hands are soft. “But you did all that you could. Without you, Rook, without Davrin… I fear the cost may have been much higher. You mitigated the loss of life. You made Ghilan’nain mortal, that is a feat none but you can brag about.”

Rook turns her head, looking up into his eyes for anger or disappointment. Those emotions she could work with – sincerity she could not. It makes her tired eyes sting with emotion.

Rook nods, slowly, his words slowly seeping into her skin. She wonders if the heroes of the past ever felt so lost. Did the Hero of Ferelden wonder if she could’ve done more, fist clenched tightly in her lover’s tunic as both herself and the Archdemon breathed their last? Did the Champion of Kirkwall ever feel hopeless against the city that took and took and took ever more still from her? Did the Herald of Andraste ever regret not striking the head of the wolf that nipped at her heels?

Even the thought of lumping herself in with them makes her feel like she’s overestimated her importance. She feels any of her companions could easily replace her. 

“We all did that, together.” Rook says, softly. She’s thankful when Emmrich starts to rinse out her hair; the bath water was starting to get cold. 

“And yet you’re the only one with blight in your hair.” Emmrich replies, a small smile on his lips. He scoops another handful of water over her head, running his fingers through the tangles, gently brushing out any knots. “All of us came back alive. You told us earlier that you considered that a win, it’s time you believed that, too.”

“I… do believe it. If anything would’ve happened to you all–”

“You’re alive as well, Rook.” Emmrich says, pausing his ministrations to look her in the eye. Rook feels she can’t look away, not now. “And what a wonderful thing that is.”

“I…” Rook starts, but once again she’s left without any witty retort. “You truly believe so?”

Emmrich softens, his voice breathy. “Yes, of course I do, my dear.” He combs his fingers through her hair once more, just to touch her. “I am so grateful to have met you, even if it had to be under circumstances such as these.”

Rook laughs, genuine, rubbing at one of her eyes. Damn, she must be tired if she was letting herself get teary-eyed in front of him. “I’m sure we would’ve met anyways. Eventually.” She says, her smile sheepish as she leans back against the back of the tub. “Or maybe we have met before. The Mourn Watch isn’t that big of an organization.”

“I would’ve never forgotten anyone as wonderful as you.” Emmrich answers. “Now, before you catch a cold, let’s get you out of the bath. Do you need help standing?”

Rook shakes her head. Even as tired as she was, the thought of him helping her out of the bath was a mortifying one. “No, it’s alright. I’m not so helpless that I need to be carried back to my room.”

Emmrich laughs, his eyes crinkling as he does so. “I know that you are not helpless.” He says, firmly, playfully. “But you can lean on us from time to time. A burden shared is a burden halved, as they say. I know if I were injured you would do the same.”

“I wouldn’t let you get injured in the first place.” Rook mumbles in reply. Emmrich walks behind the dividing curtain that separates the wash tub from the rest of his room, allowing Rook privacy. Slowly, she stands, her vision blurring momentarily as her body adjusts to standing. The cool air of the room makes her shiver as she reaches for a towel to dry herself off with. “But I wouldn’t mind carrying you.”

Emmrich lets out an incredulous huff. “I’m almost a head taller than you. I don’t think that would end well for either of us.”

“I’m up for the challenge.” She teases back, throwing the wet towel over the side of the bath. Rook starts to dress herself, thankful that she brought her baggier clothes. She can’t imagine trying to wrestle her belts around her waist in this state. When she’s done, she reaches down and collects her dirtied armor; it feels heavier in her arms than it had any right being. “Alright, I’m all done. Think I’m gonna go to sleep for three days straight now.”

Rook runs a hand through her wet hair, pushing it out of her eyes. Emmrich turns to face her, a slight smile on his lips. “Ah, well then, I’ll not keep you any longer. Get some rest, my dear. And do let me know if you need me to look at those bruises.”

“Yeah…” She leans against the door frame, feeling like there’s something more she needs to say. Whatever it is, it’s lost in the recesses of her tired mind. “Thanks, Emmrich.”

“It’s no problem at all.” His gaze is gentle, and she turns her head away. Too much emotion for one night. “Sweet dreams, Rook.”

Rook lingers for a moment more, then she turns, leaving the warmth of his room for the stillness of her own. She collapses, boneless and exhausted, onto the chaise lounge in the middle of her room. 

Tomorrow would come, and she would be alive to live it. Perhaps that wasn’t such a bad thing.

[blindvogel]

I owe this epiphany and inspiration to @nin-dy-tro and to remembering The Flame Eternal, Emmrich's short story. So what if a coffin is not just a coffin?

~~~

There have been rumbling noises coming from Emmrich’s study for the past few days and while Kamari is curious she also finds herself barred from it by a very adamant Manfred. She doesn’t begrudge Emmrich his privacy or a secret but he’s been acting strange - nervous in a way she hasn’t seen him for a very long time if ever. 

So she is relieved to finally be invited in one evening, fetched by Manfred who clatters off once he delivers her to the door. They are long since past the need to knock but she still gives the door two quick raps before entering. Tonight feels different, special. 

The light in the room is dim, provided only by the flickering flames of the fireplace and a small handful of candles. Kamari’s eyes take a moment to adjust before she sees Emmrich standing by his desk, and only then notices the large shape in the middle of the room. A coffin. 

“Ah. Good evening, my dear.” He takes a few steps towards her, then stops, his fingers twining over and over as if he doesn’t know what to do with his hands. In the dim light she can just make out that his smile is there but a little strained. 

She drifts towards him, curious, confused, until her direct path is blocked by the coffin between them. “What is this about, Emmrich?” Her hand comes to rest on the edge of the open coffin, feeling the cool smooth marble against her fingertips. 

He clears his throat and makes a sweeping gesture, not quite holding her gaze. “I wanted to show you this. What do you think?”

Kamari acquiesces and turns her attention from Emmrich to the coffin. Perhaps this way she can figure out what has put him in such a state. Her fingers continue their exploration along the open lid and find intricate carvings that she can’t fully appreciate in this light but they are hewn into the marble with great precision that could only have come from a fine workshop in the Necropolis. The stone itself is a pearly white, almost glowing in the firelight - and she understands now why he had dimmed any other source. The upholstery on the inside looks soft, and she doesn’t resist the urge for too long to run her palm over it. 

A soft voice in her head whispers that perhaps to anyone else this would be macabre and strange but she has been born and raised in Nevarra, in the Necropolis, and a coffin like this…

Her eyes suddenly focus on the proportions, on the wider than normal width, the way the headboard curves just so. It’s meant for two.

Kamari’s mouth is suddenly dry, her heart beating so fast it could fly out of her chest. She swallows, then looks up to find Emmrich’s eyes fastened to her face, full of warmth and nervous anticipation.

“It’s beautiful, love,” she says, hearing her own voice crack. 

(And Bellara’s, incredulous, in her ear - He proposed with a coffin?)

“So you think you could imagine resting in it one day- with me?” His voice is quiet, hoarse with emotion. She rounds the coffin then so she can reach out for him, take his face gently in both hands. “I would love nothing more.” If there are any other words, they remain unsaid as his arms wrap around her and pull her close, his mouth finds hers in a breathless kiss.