#rook Belisma ingellvar

[rom-e-o]

“Stole my shirt, did you?” 💕

[rom-e-o]

Helping Wifey get ready is of paramount importance!

“Don’t you need to get into your suit?”

“And miss the opportunity to help my lovely wife get ready for our first soirée together? Perish the thought.”

[rom-e-o]

The perfect night in. 💕

[rom-e-o]

We've discussed it with the Scrooges, it only seems pertinent to extend it to our DA couples.

What do we think it was like the first time Emmrich popped a surprise erection around Wifey?

Aaaaah, yes. Hehehe.

Listen, the man is a gentleman with his brushes and razors and fine dressing gowns, but he's still human. Very human, very red-blooded, and very fascinated by the woman who has just inspired such a reaction from him. It's been a while since he's seen anyone serious, after all. ;)

I think it poses an interesting question ... when is the first time it happens at all, and when is the first time Wifey notices it?

I don't want to speak for Guinevere, but I can definitely imagine it happening quite early. After all, these Raven lovebirds move at a pretty fast pace with their first date and second date being pretty spicy (I read your ask like 'DAMN, good for them!'). Does it happen during their first kiss? Hmm. Emm may be a little too seasoned for a kiss to get him at full-mast, so to speak.

Emm strikes me as a guy who won't get that aroused until there is some deeper feeling. Once he starts to think she's the one? THAT really gets him going, in my mind.

What do you see for G'iney, in your mind?

For Isma specifically, I have an hc that it's two separate occasions.

The first time ever is when she slips into the water and he dives in without a second thought to retrieve her.

He pulls her ashore, and she's clinging to him. She's wet (all over, haha), breathless, trembling, and her face is incredibly close to his. When she does look up at him, her expression is one of blissed out relief. "Oh...thank you, Emmrich."

It's a painful throb in that moment, when he realizes how badly he wants her. Also, there's guilt. She nearly drowned, and now his anatomy is betraying him by getting hard at the aftermath of the ordeal?! He's nearly ashamed, and pulls away before she can notice.

The first time it happens and she notices? It's after their dinner date. Where he scolds her favorite non-color, lmao.

When they kiss after the meal, I imagine she's pressed back in that chair while he deepens the touch. He leans in, and when she starts gasping his name, she feels it. At first, she thinks it's some Watcher ornament or mage totem on him, but...nope.

Sensing her surprise, he readies himself to pull away, but Isma's hands quickly seize his shoulders.

"It's just ... been a while," she tells him softly, shyly, "Since a man has done that for me. I don't mind. I-I quite like it, actually. I'd also like if we could keep kissing, maybe?"

They don't go all the way (that happens in the coffin for her, haha) but her knee does find a very pleasant spot against his crotch, and the necking that follows is quite superb.

Btw, I'm curious of your opinion: I do see a lot of people hc that Emm and their Rook consummate their relationship on the dinner date rather than the coffin. I think it's fascinating so many people came to that conclusion. i like it. actually, but for Isma, I think he first time with him is in the crypt. (Sorry for the chill, girl.)

[rom-e-o]

So, like, I know Rook and Emmrich are supposed to be "moving fast" in their relationship. But what does that mean for Belismrich? What's their timeline for relationship markers?

For Guineverich it's, of course, the first kiss/makeout session on their first official date. Which is practically recklessly fast for G'iney, considering the best outcome for any of her first dates previously was the guy giving her a handshake as he dropped her off home before vanishing into the night to leave her to her life of health issues, never to be seen again. The second date already has Emmrich bringing food to her place and them getting hot and heavy with him sucking on her tits and both their hands down pants at the very least. So there's quite an amp-up there in that extremely short time span. (Girl even has a mini identity crisis in front of friends, wondering if she's "that type" of woman: "Is that what I am--the fast girl? Easy? Loose? Is that who I am?" To which friends suggest: "This seems less about who you are and more about who Emmrich could be." [i.e. The One]). Then three months of varying degrees of sexual experimentation and fun before they finally go all the way. Which might not be particularly fast for a lot, but for Guinevere, who thought she'd never even lose her virginity because she would never give it up to anyone who she wasn't sure was her true love but had little hope of ever finding that, it's practically breakneck.

Oh, those Ravens? Get it, you two. It is very, VERY much deserved.

I was thinking about this ask as we discussed the other one, specifically regarding how "fast" Emmrich and rook really move in their relationship, and how quickly things come to fruition, are consummated, etc.

For G'iney to take the plunge into making out on the first date is a pretty dang big deal. We've established that they have a good foundation of friendships & communication (not to mention Manfred being an adorable matchmaker that ties them together as a family unit from the get-go). The second date, the fact that they're already getting hot and heavy to that degree is a testament to how compatible they are.

I can see where G'iney's worry comes from. I mean, you're going from 0-100, so pausing to think for a minute is a good sign. I can only imagine Neve brings her back to reality. "This has never happened before, like you said. So, that tells me that this specific time is special. That he is special. Trust what you feel, Guinevere. You're cautious and careful. If there were red flags, you're not one to miss them. And I must say ... you two are very cute together." ;)

Emmrich might even do to some companions of his own for advice. He doesn't have many close friends (academia kept him distracted) but it would be fascinating if he went to Lucanis. Harding, as well, who seems to be the one he opens up the most to about relationships/marriage.

"I do worry, I confess. Are Guinevere and I moving too quickly? I don't want to push her, but everything just feels so natural and right."

H: Really? Sounds like there's no issue.

L: I agree. If things were moving too fast, Guinevere would tell you. She is capable of speaking her mind, as I'm sure you know. Keep your ears open, my friend, but otherwise, embrace it. You both deserve it.

For Belismerich? Ohoho. Well~

So, their first time having sex is in the coffin in the Necropolis. It any universe, I think it take about 6 months for them to sleep together.

Ebenestance and Belismerich both sleep together on the third date, technically, haha.

Belisma isn't a virgin, but she has ... things to work out. She's a sweet, wonderful, kind woman (I'm bias, haha) ... but she has a lot of rage inside her. Not at Emmrich, but at life. It hasn't been kind to her. At all. She realizes she's maybe a little emotionally immature as well, and wants to work on it.

She needs time to unpack all that before diving in deep with a man who, in her opinion, deserves the world. She is not a woman that will throw her heavy baggage to a loved one and yell "CATCH."

Emmrich deserves more.

Still, I do think Emmrich and her move fast. Not necessarily sexually...but intimately.

After the first kiss, they can be found necking in the dark corridors of the Lighthouse, or embracing each other frequently. Or even reading love poetry to each other in the library.

I think they sleep together (as in they literally ONLY sleep) after that dinner date. They make-out, she feels his erection, and then go back to her room and just...unwind. Make-up/jewelry off, pajamas changed. They see each other casual and bare-faced. They read to each other. They talk. They make shadows with their entwined hands against the candlelight. It's lots of honeyed words and softness. Some groping, but nothing too crazy.

After that, they get each other off with handjobs/blowjobs (which is when Davrin's 'tugging at the old bone' comment comes in, haha).

By the third 'date', it's clothes off and full coupling. It may be their first time in bed, but also by then, they've seen each other nude and satisfied another in bed.

After that? They're off to the races. Post-game, she and Emmrich immediately move in together, travel with Manfred (when he says "There is so much I want to show you" <3) and are...pretty frequent in bed. Marriage and babies follow shortly, haha.

[rom-e-o]

Since we've already kind of mentioned it: Imagine Emmrich dealing with [probable] Wifey getting outside attention. And, likely, unwanted attention. At least for Guinevere's case, apart from the Lecher, I can definitely see some of Em's students trying to flirt with her, both in terms of grades and genuine interest. And some of the bolder ones (*cough* Van Markham! *cough*) taking it so far as to actually harass her. Stupid college frat boys, ya know. Also, stupid college frat boys who, on top of that, are entitled elites, because, with a name like "Van Markam" you know he's likely and blue blood.

Ooooh, this is delish. Okay, so, I can absolutely see Wifey getting attention. It's inevitable, like you said. Unfortunately, I can also see her getting unwanted attention as well.

The unfortunate thing about working around lots of students, especially university-age students and older, is that you're going to catch a lot of flirtatious remarks, and a lot of clumsy attempts to sway attention. Guinevere is going to have to suffer through some VERY awkward remarks from some very inexperienced students, AND some more lecherous ones from the more insistent crowd. Like, of course, Van Markham.

I can see him stopping G'iney in the hall by throwing his arm up, causing her to scatter her armful of papers. A little Gaston-esque in his audacity.

Of course, he swiftly offers his assistance (all while trying to peek down her blouse). "So, Guinevere - can I call you that? Ms. Vynhalsyne sounds so sterile. And ... I do notice the 'Ms.' part. Can't help it."

If she tries to escape, he's not above grabbing her wrist. "Listen, I've got a joust this weekend, and I have a seat in my pulpit. I think a jewel of a woman like you is worthy of such a setting." He's got ties to royal families, does she know that? He's got connections to King Markus too, does she know that? He's VERY handsome, and way more muscular than that professor she hangs onto, does she know that? Did she catch the part about him jousting? He's also got great endurance, he points out, over and over. More Guinevere is about to be EXHAUSTED of this man.

And he follows her around, not taking no for an answer. I imagine it gets back enough that Emmrich eventually starts walking with her after each class.

"You don't have to--"

"Yes, I do."

If Van Markham gets too close, Emmrich will pivot around in a heartbeat. "Excuse me, young man. Is there something I can assist you with? You're rather close on our heels. It must be a matter of the utmost importance."

He talks down to this boy with more pose and grace than most royalty in the kingdom, and he does so as a former peasant. You know that gets under this glory-boy's skin, for this moldering professor of common birth to be schooling him.

"I wish to speak to Guinevere, professor," he says, "This is a matter for those among noble birth to discuss."

"So a tactless assassination ploy, garish accounts of horse-breeding, or waxing poetic about a summerhome?" he asks in amusement, which earns a blush from the other man. How DARE he parse his existance down like that?!

"Regardless," Emmrich continues, "Since Ms. Vynhalsyne has been rushing to ignore you, I believe she has other ways of occupying her time in mind. I suppose I'm not surprised her disinterest has gone over your head. I've suffered through your latest thesis - most things do."

As for Belisma, she does have admirers from her days in the ballet. People who would try to ask for her hand - lots of nobles who would love her fine dancer blood for an illegitimate child or two. That interest went away after her exile - now she's untouchable filth to nobles, haha. But as she slowly gets back into dancing outside the royal ballet, civilians start to enjoy her works, and there are many love letters that end up in her possession.

I don't think any are as creepy as the Lecher or Van Markham, but she does get some concerning notes.

"'I dream of your body moving with swan-feather grace as a take you from my balcony and to my bed' - oh, no thank you," Belisma says as she puts it into a nearby waste basket. She's perched upon Emmrich's desk, making a show of refusing their letters. He watches, smirking and captivated.

"Manfred, would you like these as kindling for your fire magic practice?" she finally asks once the basket is full.

"Yeeesss!"

"Wonderful! Just don't read them, okay? Just set them on fire."

"Okay!"

Emmrich chuckles and pulls her from the surface of the desk and into his lap as Manfred saunters out. "Well, that will keep him occupied for a few hours. You have made his night, dear."

"And ours," she purrs, hooking a finger in the front of his waistcoat. "If the mood moves you."

With her, it always does.

[rom-e-o]

Hey, it just occurred to me: Does Belisma change her name or does she also hyphenate after tying the knot with Emmrich?

Oh, fascinating question!

Normally, I love hyphenation of names. I think it makes sense for Connie, as her father/mother gave her her new life with her DoGoode name. Orin took that (Constance Spiegler) so she gets that back with Eb (Constance DoGoode-Scrooge, because Constance Scrooge DoGoode would have been INSANELY on the nose, haha).

For Isma, she’s not only an orphan, but her surname is given to her by the game itself. You cannot choose it, which is fine, but it makes it feel less her own. Vorgoth absolutely raised Isma, and it’s not like they passed their own name onto her. Which is too bad, because Isma Goth sounds like a GREAT Sims character.

So, Belisma Ingellvar becomes Belisma Volkarin after marriage. 🥰

(Side note, looking into the language of the game and some notes Sylvia has dropped on Bluesky, the ‘volk’ in Volkarin has a ‘folk’ commutation, or an ‘every man’ equivalent. And with it being a commoner’s name, ‘Volkarin’ has a ‘Johnson’ or even ‘Smith’ vibe. I cannot find the source for this, but I’ll add if I can.)

Ingellvar isn’t a noble name either, but I feel like people might give her grief. “Seriously? His name? That’s the least impressive part of him!”

“Not to me,” Isma says. “Every part of him is perfect and eternally exciting. Even the normal parts.” 💕

I also spelled her name ‘Ingvellar’ for WAY too long before Emm said it in game, and was like, “ah, dyslexia strikes again.”

Thank you to everyone who did not call me an idiot for that and let it slide, haha. I didn’t do it for long, but man…oops.

[rom-e-o]

Sssooooo... do you keep it canon that Belisma can't swim? Because, even if she's not technically in the universe... Guinevere absolutely cannot.😂 She's terrified of any body of water she can't see the bottom of and wade in. Anything bigger and deeper than a shallow swimming pool gives her a panic attack.

And, no, I didn't really base this on the meme. I kinda decided it before all the memes started crossing my fyp.😅

OH YES. Belisma absolutely cannot swim, haha.

You would think she could with her dancer athleticism, but Nevarra isn't exactly filled with pools, fountains, rivers, or oceans to practice in. There's really nowhere TO swim, unlike places like Rivain (mostly oceanside beaches) or southern territories in Ferelden like the Hinterlands/Redcliffe (where Harding grew up).

So, as a result, she never learned. Put Isma on land, and she's as graceful as a swan. In water, she's like a concrete weight. She keeps this a secret, of course. Why bring it up?

However, this DOES mean that there is absolutely a point where Belisma falls into a lake after missing a jump. The team expresses sympathy ("Ough, that's gonna be uncomfortable for the rest of our trip back to camp..."), but when she doesn't resurface, Emmrich is the first to go in after him.

He, a former country boy, DID learn how to swim. And does it well.

Cue the others watching in peril as Emmrich shucks off his coat and dives in after her. Moments later, he pops up with a limp Isma in his arms, and effortlessly swims to shore.

Once she's on land, he's quick to roll her on her back and provide mouth-to-mouth. It's not long before she sputters up water and is wheezing, color slowly returning to her as Emmrich her back and coaxes her through the heaving. He's soaked to the bone, hair and clothes a mess, but he doesn't care.

That night, after they've made camp, I definitely see her calling to him from outside his tent. He opens the flap, and sees her dressed in his extra shirt, and extra pair of pants from Bellara, and wearing Manfred's boots (which also used to be Emmrich's, he notes with amusement) with her hair down and unbraided.

"I never thanked you," she said timidly as she stood awkwardly on the other side of his tent's threshold. "I'm so, so sorry for before. I should have been more careful."

Emmrich, who had only poked his head out at first, emerged fully from the tent to better speak to her. "Rook, dear, you have nothing to apologize for!"

"I put you in danger," she said. "The currents were strong, Emmrich."

"Only marginally."

"Still, if you hadn't dove in after me ..."

"Well, I certainly wasn't going to let you drown! I only apologize I didn't dive in sooner. I thought you would have known ... that is ... em ..."

She nodded shamefully. The woman had no real excuse for not knowing how to swim, especially at her 35 years of age.

"W-Well," Emmrich floundered, searching his mind for a way to make her feel better. He finally landed on, "It was a lovely excuse to settle down and make camp. Perfect for making tea and winding down."

Accentuating his point, he was donned only in his dressing gown, undershirt and spare trousers. The rest of his clothes were drying by the fire. Unlike some of his more rugged companions, he always brought a few extra sets of clothes. A gentleman had to always look his best, and one never knew when a teammate might need an extra top (or silk scarf, or two). His only other clean shirt was on her, though he couldn't help but notice that she wore it very well. The collar was open at the neck, and he could just barely make out the swell of her breasts beneath the fabric. It was also quite large on her petite frame. She practically swam in the sea of bone-yellow fabric, and the tails went to her mid-thigh. Something red-blooded and primal in him appreciated the vision she made in that moment.

"Emmrich?"

He cleared his throat thickly, and glanced back upward. "Ah, apologies. Like I was saying, Isma, please don't worry. Could you just promise me that you'll be a bit more careful around water? Perhaps we look for more direct paths instead of trying for shortcuts?"

"Okay," she said, her tone disbelieving. Was she ... relieved that he wasn't angry at her? "Y-Yes, that sounds perfect. I was trying to save time, but it's not worth getting hurt for. I'll remember to take things slower next time."

"Wonderful."

"And thank you! Um, again."

With a playful sigh, he accepted her thanks with a gracious nod. "Well, you are more than welcome. Perhaps swimming lessons are in order?"

The idea was acknowledged with a promising hum. "If we keep ending up in places like this ... maybe. Taash could teach me, I bet. Or ... "

"I'd be delighted!" Emmrich said, picking up the thread of conversation right where she'd dropped it. "I've been teaching Manfred as well! You can join our classes."

"Really? I-I ... would love that! If you don't mind the company, that is."

"Yours? Never."

Ah, so Guinevere is in the same boat? Our poor girls, haha. BUUUT, honestly, not being able to swim allows for so many good scenarios.

Imagine Emmrich diving in to save Guinevere if she falls? Like, if her and her ritzy family are taking a boat ride and she falls in during some chaos after two boat captains decided it would be good to race each other. Emmrich dives in afterward to rescue her, knowing she can't swim. That would be difficult, since they'd likely also be in more formal attire, and he'd need to catch up to a boat. But he would do it, and look positively dashing as he climbed the boat ladder with her in his arm, holding her to his chest.

Once they're back, he commands the whole crowd with a calm but authoritative urgency.

"I need blankets and a kettle of warm water! Someone please get her some dry clothes as well! Come on, Guinevere. I'll get you to your room."

He's a paragon of a man, through and through.

[rom-e-o]

Some scribbly Belisma & Emmrich ✨

[rom-e-o]

You Failed Us All. [Emmrich/Rook]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“…nain! Ghilan’nain is down!”

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

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

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

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

“Everyone, fall back!”

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

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

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

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

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

“Taash, stay calm.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Emmrich, we have to go."

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

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

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

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

“I'm sorry,” the assassin whispered.

Emmrich would not hear him.

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

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

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

The Veilguard was down three pieces on their board.

One was dead.

Two were missing, one of whom was their leader.

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

Into nothingness.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Like Neve and Lucanis, they also hardly slept.

That left Emmrich.

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

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

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

He had a choice to make on what to prioritize:

Rook, or the dagger.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Something had shifted in him, she noted.

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

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

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

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

"Yes, actually."

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

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

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

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

“That young Watcher again.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Like Emmrich?”

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

“Well, ‘wedged’ is harsh.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I couldn’t say.”

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

“Once saw? Barely contained?”

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

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

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

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

"Poignant."

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

"All things you've noticed?"

"All things I've been told."

The statement nailed her tongue to her jaw.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Why bother?"

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

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

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

“Moronic.”

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

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

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

“Disappear, you mean.”

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

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

“Well, someone had to do it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Or you’re simply bitter.”

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

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

Right. Some leader she was.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Harding.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t I?”

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, Maker, she hoped he was well.

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

Even if that meant he was mourning her.

Hope you enjoyed! <3

Next up: their reunion.

[quill-pen-and-the-fictional-men]

I think he's thinking about where those lips have been.😏

The perfect night in. 💕

[quill-pen-and-the-fictional-men]

I love these two so much.💕

“Stole my shirt, did you?” 💕

[quill-pen-and-the-fictional-men]

He will end anyone who dares to harm her.

Some scribbly Belisma & Emmrich ✨