#rook x johanna hezenkoss

[hezenkossapologist]

Hello does anyone have Rook x Hezenkoss posts. Is there a ship name. I will carry evil old lady Yuri (tho any and all Rooks posts/works/etc are things I want to see, in my heart yuri wins bc I fancy women most) on my back if I have to but I’m calling out to my people. Are you there?

Rookenkoss? Hezenrook? Lmk plz I need to know. for science. evil magic necromantic science

[republictrooper]

Concept: A new patch adds a "Kiss your LI" button to Veilguard, but if you kiss Emmrich in front of Johanna she just fucking loses it

[msunitedstatesjames]

I've touched on this in a couple of other semi-related posts before, but I find it hilarious and I appreciate how much Johanna Hezenkoss thinks Emmrich is the protagonist of Veilguard. Like, this woman could not give less of a fuck about Rook. She almost always refers to Rook only by their relationship to Emmrich. She refers to Rook as "one of Volkarin's hangers-on," "that impudent whelp following [Emmrich] around," "Volkarin's companion," and as Emmrich's "paramour." None of these imply that she thinks Rook has much agency. Instead, she acts like Rook is just helplessly following Emmrich around like a puppy, helping him complete tasks (which I guess is partly true).

If Rook romances Emmrich, Hezenkoss assumes that Emmrich seduced Rook and not the other way around, even though Emmrich is noticeably older than Rook and has hardly left the Necropolis in years. She's seemingly amazed by it, and yet it never once crosses her mind that Rook might have initiated the relationship (which is actually the case).

She also refers to Emmrich as the one who destroyed her construct, which is technically true, but she ignores the major assistance he had from Rook, another companion, and most notably Manfred. He couldn't have pulled it off without their help, and had in fact given up, but Hezenkoss acts like Emmrich was her sole opponent in that battle.

I've said before that part of the reason for this is that Hezenkoss seems to think of herself as the main villain of the story, so Emmrich must be the main hero. Hezenkoss says that some of the other big bads of Dragon Age, the Venatori, were nothing more to her than slightly useful and genuinely annoying. She clearly thinks herself above an entire organization of some of the most powerful mages in the world. And she sees Emmrich as pretty close to her in terms of raw power, since she almost invited him to her Vengeance Party but ultimately decided he was too much of a danger to her plans. She also states that she tried to get him to join her in the past, which I don't think she would do for anyone she considered to be less than her equal. Emmrich is genuinely the only person in the game she shows any respect for. Though she mocks his age and finds him to be too sentimental, too moral, and too fearful, she shows signs of agreeing with him on some topics, and she obviously respects his abilities if nothing else. No one else in the game acknowledges his frankly ridiculous knowledge and skill level (except Solas in the end) as much as Hezenkoss does.

And really, Emmrich does have main character energy. Though he does have some age and mortality related fears, dude is overflowing with confidence. When you first meet him, looking for a Fade expert, he has absolutely no problem telling you he's the best possible person for the job. Though he apparently hasn't left the Necropolis in years, he's totally down to join the team and go anywhere you want him to go. If you romance him, he is initially surprised, but he quickly turns into the smoothest dude around, and throughout the game you can hear him comment on some of his many relationships through the years. He's well-dressed, well-spoken, charismatic, highly educated, unfailingly kind, extremely powerful, and he's done so well for himself that Harding mistakes the son of a butcher and a cook for a member of the Nevarran nobility. No wonder Hezenkoss thinks he's the protagonist. The real protagonist is just out here winging it on guts and good luck alone.

[askfordoodles]

Johanna when she's had enough of watching her lame ex-friend play tonsil-tennis with his hot paramour right in front of her

[proffbon]

Johanna Hezenkoss you will always be famous

[winter-wise]

Hezenkoss talks about Emmrich 'seducing' Rook as if she's accusing Emmrich of lifting the leg of his trouser to display a scandalous flash of ankle.

[songbird-and-her-fos]

The argument between Rook and Emmrich won't leave my mind. Hezenkoss was suspiciously quiet throughout the whole thing, but I am 100% that she didn't stay that way after Rook left. After all, she's just a skull and her only remaining joy in her unlife is taking pleasure in the misery of others. So here's what I think went down after the argument.

-

The door closed, perhaps a bit more loudly than usual, and Emmrich stared at it for a few more seconds, still tense with frustration. Why couldn’t Rook even try to understand him?

Just as he was about to get back to packing, as she had suggested, his train of thought was interrupted by hoarse laughter.

Absolutely not in the mood for this, his sharp gaze turned to Hezenkoss’ skull. “And might I ask just what is so funny to you, Johanna?”

Hezenkoss needed a moment to gather herself, but every attempt at speaking only ended up in increasingly demented sounding giggles. Finally, she managed to say:”So much for your eternal love. You didn’t just let her slip through your fingers; you literally flung her away from you! I’ve never seen someone sabotage themself so spectacularly. Really, if I still had hands, I’d be applauding right now!”

Emmrich bit back a sharp retort, specifically about someone sabotaging herself enough to end up eternally trapped as a talking and, at present, very very annoying skull, and decided that ignoring her was the best course of action. So he went back to what he had been doing, while Johanna cheerfully continued. “I don’t know what would be funnier. If she spent the rest of her miserable little life hung up on you, or if she moves on right away and you’d have to watch her in the arms of another man.” She paused for a moment. “Oh, what am I saying? Obviously the latter. I’d love to see your face when you see her find what you always wanted with someone else.”

Ignoring her was just getting harder and harder, and Emmrich found himself gripping his staff so tightly that his knuckles turned white. It’s for the best, he told himself. Rook deserves someone her own age.

“I mean really, this little whelp risked life and limb to help you against me, and this is how you repay her? If this is what your ‘love’ looks like, it surprises me that she put up with you for as long as she has. I know I wouldn’t, if I were dumb enough to ever find myself in her position in the first place.”

“I’ve about had enough of you”, Emmrich finally broke his silence and tossed a washrag over her skull.

But Johanna just had one last jab for him. “Imagine, all those times this doe-eyed little fool so ardently defended you to me, all of her talk about how you are such a good man. I wonder if she still thinks so after you talked down to her like she is a disobedient child.” The amount of glee in Hezenkoss’ voice as she said this was nothing short of sickening.

The tension in his body dissipated, and left behind only a disturbing feeling of emptiness. He had treated Rook like a disobedient child, had literally looked down on her, when all she wanted was to comfort him. 

He had to apologize. As soon as possible.

[galedekarios]

hezenkoss: it's touching that you brought your new friends to do with you, volkarin. hezenkoss: i'll be sure to bury you and your new lover in the same tomb!

i got this line finally during the fight with hezenkoss on my emmrich romance pt. the fight usually ends too quickly to trigger all combat dialogue.

anyhow, this banter once again reminded me of the short story 'flame eternal'.

i'm not sure if the callback is intentional, if it is, it's a cruel one.

the short story references johanna and emmrich investigating a haunting that they later find out is caused by two lovers being separated in death. emmrich manages to soothe the spirit by reuniting them:

Emmrich closed his eyes. Whispers came, and when he spoke, the air vibrated. “By breath and shadow. By endless night. Tell us what haunts you.” The skull’s sockets flared green. “Divided. Cold. Two graves where there should be one!” “Twaddle.” “Johanna!” Emmrich cleared his throat and turned back to the skull. “Tell me: what will grant you rest?” “Take this one… to sunken black walls… by silver flames…” The skull’s glow flickered, faded. It resumed its earsplitting shrieks.

and

Emmrich leaned over a coffin ringed by bowls of silver fire. He placed the skull next to the body of an old woman, humbly dressed but crowned with white roses. The screaming stopped. “Mathilde…” “Your wife left gently, in her sleep, last midnight.” Emmrich smiled. “The records confirm she also wished to be interred together. You’ll not be parted again.” There was a sigh. Did the old woman’s mouth quirk, or was that the dancing flames? Johanna snorted. “All that fury, ending in another grave.” “Oh, I don’t know.” Emmrich ran a hand along the coffin’s snowy marble. “It would be rather fine to possess such an enduring affection. Besides, you did see this through.”

you can read the entire short story here, if you haven't yet, and i highly recommend it.

[lunian]

Rook, half beat up by her: Aw thats so nice 💕 Uh I mean-

[jaal-ama-daravv]

JOHANNA HEZENKOSS

Emmrich Volkarin Romance Barks

[gayneral]

There has to be some way to silence Johanna when she's a skull in Emmrichs room, and to lock her out or something..

Because there is no way that this woman would not comment on every of Emmrichs moves when he and Rook get to fuck.

You can not tell me that she wouldn't yell shit like "I am suprised you are still able to get one up at all, old fool" while Emmrich is in the middle of getting Rook all hot and heavy

[hezenkossapologist]

THIS STEAMY F/F HEZENKOSS DOMINATING ROOK PORN FIC IS CHANGING MY LIFE

THANK YOU ABANDONEDHALL FOR “THE GUILDED INVITATION”

I will be in my bunk saluting the hard work put in at the old woman yuri mines 🫡

[scuttlingcrab]

Regrets of the Living

Summary: Emmrich can barely keep himself together while Rook is trapped in the Fade. His routine is in shambles, his heart broken into a million pieces, as he tries to hold on to something, anything, to keep himself from drowning in despair.

Hello everyone! This is my first Emmrich and Dragon Age fic! Ahhhh!!! I really hope you guys like it, more to come... this damned necromancer has bewitched me, body and soul.

You can find it on AO3 too.

BTW! I'm open to receiving any/all prompts on Emmrich aka Bone Daddy, so please send away! xx

Emmrich Volkarin was a man of practice. It was something he prided himself in, an attribute he knew aided most of his accomplishments throughout his time in the Mourn Watch. In truth, he had his parents to thank for that. What memories he had left of them, he clung to like an anchor. 

Their professions were not as glamorous as his current station, no, but all the same, they had approached their routines with meticulous passion. As a butcher, Emmrich’s father trimmed each slab of meat as if he was a sculptor crafting a piece for the Maker himself. And his dear mother, once a cook, prepared ordinary dishes with the care and attention befit for Nevarran royalty. He was transfixed by how they moved in perfect harmony, performing the same silent choreography day by day. 

And so, just like his parents before him, Emmrich was always the first to wake. No matter the occasion, he kept this tradition, making sure to give himself enough time to complete his own tasks before dawn broke. 

He began his mornings with exercise, of course, after getting a sufficient amount of sleep required for a man of his years. His preferred method was stretching, deep movements for flexibility, to keep him limber, his posture pristine and core in check. This was a must, he thought, there was nothing more important than being attuned to one’s body, as that itself factored into the very art of spellcasting. It baffled him how some of his esteemed colleagues failed to undertake even the most basic forms of physical activity.  

Once satisfied, he would promptly bathe, shave, and pick his wardrobe, all of which was concluded before the sun even began to peak its rays over the horizon in the lands above the Necropolis. 

Emmrich found comfort in this routine, in his solitude most of all. The stillness helped him concentrate, kept him grounded in reality as he mentally set the stage for what each day had in store. 

In the past these thoughts occupied lectures, composing bespoke lessons for his budding pupils, or perhaps even lingering on one of the recent cases of corpse whispering he had been assigned. 

Since arriving at the Lighthouse however, those thoughts had been replaced with worries about eventually fighting the Evanuris, and often simply trying to wrap his head around the ever changing fabrics of this part of the Fade he temporarily called home. 

But now… now in the days since Tearstone Island, all he could do was languish over Rook. His darling Rook. The woman who entered his life like a tempest, filling the void in his soul he never knew existed. Or perhaps he always did, but was too afraid, too much of a coward, to admit it had been there in the first place. 

Rook who was… who was gone, vanished from his life as quickly as she had appeared. 

Emmrich’s heart trembled as he went over the words he so desperately wished he could tell her. What he should have professed weeks ago. These residual emotions weighed the heaviest on his conscience, the pressure nearly crippling him. The quietude he once held so dear was deafening, replaced by the never-ending nightmares of his current reality. Of the aching loss. Plagued by his memories, his insecurities, and how he impetuously wasted his last hours with Rook on a petty squabble.

You fool. You stupid, miserable fool.  

Wake. Stretch. Bathe. Shave. Dress. 

Emmrich kept this routine as best as he could, craving the familiarity, while time moved on around him. Each day he searched for Rook, for a tear in the Fade, for a sign of his beloved. The mere thought of her ripped through the cracks of his armour like a griffon. What he had spent years building and perfecting was so easily destroyed, his heart along with it. 

Wake. Stretch. Bathe. Shave. Dress.

Repeat. 

Wake. Stretch. Bathe. Shave. Dress.

Repeat.

Wake. Stretch. Bathe. Shave. Dress.

Re…

Emmrich couldn’t remember what day it was. He had not slept, that much was for certain. His eyes were heavy, longing for a moment's respite, his movements slow and sloppy. A dull pain radiated from his tailbone, travelling up his spine and he flinched. If only he sat down, rested his head on…

“No.” He said aloud, his own voice startling him. 

He paced his room like a caged animal, focusing his attention back to the Fade. To the wretched prison that still held Rook. Emmrich had missed something. That had to be it. If only Bellara was here, he could’ve… 

Emmrich destroyed that train of thought before it became another weapon against him. He only had so much room for grief and he needed it for Rook, he owed her that much. He would mourn Bellara’s absence at another time. Properly. 

Footsteps suddenly came from the hallway, approaching his quarters. Emmrich froze, and for a fleeting moment, hope coursed through his veins as he imagined Rook barging through the threshold, toppling him with one of her many heated embraces. 

“You missed breakfast. Again. ” A voice growled, as the door creaked open.

Emmrich's world turned back to ash when it was Lucanis who peeked his head inside. 

“Oh… yes, it seems I have. Don’t trouble yourself on my behalf, please.”

Lucanis entered the room regardless of Emmrich’s protests, trudging straight towards his desk. He held a silver tray, full of porridge, assorted fruits, and some tea. He replaced the tray that already occupied the surface, which still had yesterday’s untouched meal. Lucanis let out a pained sigh. 

“If you keep this up Manfred will no longer be the only skeleton in this Lighthouse.” 

“Spare your concern for someone who needs it, Lucanis. I will eat. Later.”

Lucanis twitched slightly, his eyes flickering purple as he allowed Spite to have the next words. Emmrich bit the side of his tongue, bracing himself for what complaint they might throw at him next. 

Spite vigorously sniffed the air, scowling at Emmrich. 

“He smells worse. Sorrow. I’m sick of it.”

Emmrich tensed, his temper bubbling to the surface like some form of blight. He took a deep breath, attempting to calm himself, to cease the corruption from growing within him any further. Of course Lucanis, the others, were only doing what they thought best. They were a team who had just lost their leader, their friend… but the longer he spent dawdling about in idle conversations, listening to their qualms on his appearance, was time lost. Time wasted. He needed to focus on the Fade. On Rook. 

Lucanis twitched again as Spite promptly retreated. 

“Spite. What did I tell you?” There was a pause as both Lucanis and Emmrich waited for another jab, but there was only silence in return. “Sorry. Spite is getting testier. We all are.”

Emmrich bowed his head in agreement, watching as Lucanis slithered back towards the doorway. 

“Neve and I are leaving soon, she’s heard new reports of Solas’ movements in Minrathous. We could use–”

“Thank you, but no. I’m afraid I still have some work to do. Taash or Davrin would be better suited to accompany you for the outing.”

Lucanis’ eyebrows furrowed at Emmrich’s words, his lips tightening as he reluctantly nodded. The door slammed upon his exit, once again leaving Emmrich alone. 

When Emmrich was certain he would not be disturbed again, he dragged himself towards the desk and sagged into his red leather chair, finally succumbing to what felt like the force of the entire world on his shoulders. His eyes caught sight of the food in front of him. He lifted a spoon questionably, picking at the porridge, digging through it as if he might find some hidden answer to this madness at the bottom of the bowl. With an exasperated breath, he shoved the tray aside, burrowing his head in his hands. 

“Ugh…” A shrill sound came from behind him, “What has become of you, Volkarin?”

“Johanna, must you start?”

“I don’t know what’s worse,” Johanna began, “watching my life’s work tragically ripped from my fingertips, when I was on the cusp of greatness…” 

Emmrich’s ears were ringing, his head throbbing. The world began to spin around him, faster and faster, but he placed his hands on the desk, attempting to shake away the ailments. He reached for one of his notebooks, flipping through it as he pulled his thoughts together, refocusing on the Fade, on the task at…

“Or seeing you withering away, decaying… turning into a husk of your former self.”

Emmrich froze as he picked up a dip pen, fingers trembling as they hovered over an empty page. He could feel Johanna’s blistering stare on the back of his neck. 

“What do you hope to gain from these incessant protestations? Are you so desperate for attention that you would stoop so low, Johanna?” 

“Pah! I am only stating the obvious, as I’ve always done.” 

Emmrich squeezed the pen tighter, his fingers turning white. 

“Your feelings for that wretched woman will be your demise, Volkarin. I’m surprised it’s taken this long. Only an utter prat would allow themselves to—“

“Enough!” 

Emmrich’s voice reverberated through his chambers, slashing Johanna’s words like a knife. He had only raised his tone in front of her once in all the years they’ve known each other. He had regretted it then, but today he had no remorse. He paused, realising he was on his feet, breath ragged as if he just sprinted through the entirety of the Lighthouse and back. His vision blurred slightly and he blinked, focusing his gaze towards the fireplace to keep himself centred. 

A soft hiss came from the staircase and Emmrich turned towards it, eyes locking with Manfred. His ward stood there, watching him, mouth slightly ajar. He had not heard Manfred descend from the loft above as he carried a hefty stack of books, volumes Emmrich had requested a short time ago for more of his research. Manfred tilted his head cautiously the longer they stared at each other. 

“Hurt.” Manfred eventually blurted. 

“Manfred, I…” 

Emmrich’s right hand felt warm, sticky. How peculiar. He glanced down only to discover his fist clenched, blood dripping on the desk, all over his notes, his books... The pen was broken in two, one end still remained lodged in his palm. The food Lucanis had so thoughtfully prepared lay strewn on the floor beside him. 

“Ah,” Emmrich whispered, his cheeks burning in shame, “what a mess I’ve made…” He opened his hand, it stung at the small movement, but he held it up towards the firelight, examining it. A minor wound, albeit reckless, no underlying tissues exposed… but it was deep, and he would need to stop the bleeding. 

Emmrich removed a handkerchief from a pocket with his uninjured hand. He carefully extracted the pen, before pressing the handkerchief to the wound. He healed himself with what available mana he had, finding that action exhausting in and of itself.

Manfred blurted out a few more noises and concerned hisses, and Emmrich ceased his movements; taking a moment to listen to him, nodding along to each point. Manfred’s worries, his unease at Emmrich’s current state… And in an instant, Emmrich’s heart softened. Looking at Manfred, a sliver of light peaked through the darkness, at what he had accomplished, of how much Manfred had grown since first floating into his life, of what he would one day become. 

“Alright.” Emmrich responded, giving into his pleas, “I shall. Yes, yes, I know. Thank you, Manfred.”

Emmrich retreated towards the back of the room, standing underneath the staircase. He faced the far end of his bookshelf, reaching towards a small golden skeleton bust. He pulled it towards him and it clicked. The bookshelf slid open with a low rumble, showcasing a small hallway that led to his bedchamber. He took a step forward, but not without stopping to look over his shoulder. Manfred was already by his desk, rushing to clean up the disorder he left behind without an ounce of judgment. Emmrich smiled softly to himself and continued inside.

His bedchamber was spacious, and decorated just as lavishly as the main area of his quarters. The room had a few circular windows, looking out into the expanse of the Fade that surrounded the Lighthouse. A large canopy bed sat at one end of the room, with thick lilac coloured curtains draped around it. The other end contained his lavatory, complete with a clawfoot tub, sink, and freestanding mirrors. 

As Emmrich walked towards the sink to wash away the blood, he halted, unexpectedly catching sight of his reflection in one of the mirrors. He gasped at the unrecognisable man who stood gawking back at him, at the state of himself, convinced it was some sort of sick farce, an illusion. His eyes first went to his clothes, how wrinkled they had become, how dirty. He cared for this ensemble once, how… how did he let it get to such a state? His shirt, which used to be a tight fit around his lean shoulders, hung over his frame slightly. He moved to his face, his eyes were hollower, dark circles carved under them… he raised his hands to his cheeks, his jaw, now covered in patchy stubble, weeks of growth left unattended. And his hair… unbrushed, frantic, maddening… he wouldn’t be surprised if he had gone greyer in the weeks that have passed.

Emmrich went to reach for his razor out of instinct, but stopped himself. Sleep beckoned him, and he needed to rest. His fingers still quivered and he could barely keep his eyes open. He wouldn’t be much good to Rook if he let himself continue to wilt like an unloved flower. He washed his hands instead, changing into a fresh pair of clothes and collapsed into bed. 

---

Emmrich woke with a start, his shirt sticking to his damp skin, heart pounding against his chest. The same nightmare plagued him still. In his slumber he heard Rook sobbing, heard her pleading, to someone, something… he tried to reach her, convinced he could see her in front of him, standing alone against the bleakness of the Fade. But when Emmrich reached out to grab Rook, to pull her towards him… he was yanked back, forced to awaken.

As he lay there, taking a moment to recuperate, goosebumps sprouted on his arms, a chill running through his entire body. There was a shift in the air around him, a slight electricity buzzing, and that’s when he heard it. 

Rook’s voice. It continued to echo around him, as if she was slightly out of view. 

Emmrich pranced out of bed, nearly falling flat on his face as he quickly dressed, throwing on what available clothes were in front of him. He passed by Manfred as he ran out of his bedchamber. 

“Manfred! Assemble the others. Hurry! Tell them it’s Rook. I know how to find her.” 

Emmrich didn’t wait for Manfred’s response, he was already sprinting from his room, jumping down the steps as he approached the Lighthouse’s main library. 

He continued following Rook’s voice, so distant, as if an echo, eventually finding his way to the music room. He came to a halt when he saw the grand piano. The instrument pulsed dangerously, vibrant colours sprouting from an irregularity as it resonated with the Fade. 

Taash was the first to appear, entering the room with a weapon held high, on the off chance there might be a fight ahead of them. Davrin, Lucanis, and Neve quickly followed suit, stopping near the threshold as they gaped in unison at the piano. 

“Quickly, Neve! We need to start probing… it’s thinner there, by the piano.”

“You better be right,” interjected Taash. 

“I’m certain of it.” 

Rook’s crying continued, her inaudible words intertwined with the pulsing hum of the piano. 

Neve’s eyes widened when she heard it and approached Emmrich’s side, positioning herself as she prepared her mana.

It happened in a blur, the magic coursed through his fingertips as he poured his entire heart and soul towards the piano. A light formed in front of them, growing bigger, and bigger, eventually forming an opening wide enough for maybe one or two of them to enter. 

Without hesitation, Emmeric jumped towards the light, plunging both of his hands inside. There was a moment, when his hands were merely suspended, floating in nothingness, until he felt Rook grab hold of him. Lucanis soon appeared, grasping her arms. And together they pulled, and pulled… 

The light spit Emmrich and Lucanis out, causing them to land on their backs and Rook on her knees beside them.

The opening instantly collapsed upon itself, vanishing in nothing more than a fizzle. There was a pause as Emmrich sat up, staring at Rook with concern. She was a bloody mess, wounds from the fight with Ghilan'nain still very fresh. Her dark brown hair was matted against her forehead, long scratches lined her cheeks, and her left shoulder lay slumped at her side.

Rook in turn inspected the room, meeting the gazes of the other companions huddling around her, until she eventually landed on Emmrich. He held his breath as the world slowed around him, as they stared at each other, their glances worth a thousand words, another thousand apologies. Rook attempted to smile, but the expression only looked pained, forced, her eyes dark with grief. 

She immediately fell towards Emmrich, hiding her face in his chest. He could only hold her in return, careful not to hurt her, to cause her any more discomfort. She began to shake uncontrollably as Emmrich registered she was sobbing. 

“Oh, my darling…” He whispered. 

A knot formed in Emmrich’s throat listening to Rook weep, feeling her tremble against him with each surge of anguish. He was convinced his heart would've been restored at Rook’s return, but it was only broken again, shattered into a million pieces at her suffering.

Emmrich looked up at the ceiling to keep his own tears at bay. 

He needed to be strong for Rook. 

He needed to be better. 

---

Emmrich watched over Rook as she dozed off, as her chest rose and fell, like the softest wave against the Nevarran Coast. After bathing and dressing her wounds, she slept soundlessly, at peace with whatever horrors she had faced alone in the Fade.  

Rook insisted Emmrich stay, until she fell asleep at least, and naturally he obliged, pulling up a seat next to the chaise lounge in her room. Not only would he remain at her side, but he’d be there all night if she needed him to.  

Emmrich told himself he remained to reassure Rook, that if she woke, he’d be there to support her, to ease her back from any night terror she might've had, but… the reality was, Emmrich stayed to comfort himself most of all, to make sure they would never be separated again. 

Later, when Emmrich was positive Rook would not stir, he finally allowed himself to weep, crying silently in his palms as a plethora of emotions unraveled all at once. Nearly a month's worth of pent up frustrations, anger, resentments, sadness, longing... 

But Rook was alive. That's all that mattered. She had returned. 

Tomorrow Emmrich’s routine would begin anew, and he would confess everything to her.

He had to be brave. 

For Rook.  

For them.

[piipaw]

I think Rook should be allowed to befriend Johanna

[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.

[proffbon]

On one hand, hey don't talk to my boyfriend like that! But on the other, Johanna is hilarious.