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writingjourney · 24 days ago

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𝐎𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐭𝐨 𝐁𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞, 𝐎𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐭𝐨 𝐅𝐞𝐞𝐥 || 𝐄𝐦𝐦𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐡

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

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

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

Masterlist – Ao3 link

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Nosebleed?” he asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You did a good job,” he says softly.

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

✦ ✧ ✦

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

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

“Rook!” she calls out.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you find this amusing, Rook?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

✦ ✧ ✦

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

✦ ✧ ✦

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Not more than when I woke up.”

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

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

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

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

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

“You seemed really calm,” she says.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You love flowers,” she just states.

“I do quite enjoy them,” he agrees.

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

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

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

“One moment, Harding!” he calls back.

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

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

“I think so, yes.”

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

✦ ✧ ✦

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

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

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

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

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

“Venatori!” Neve calls out.

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

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

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

“I agree.”

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

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

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

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

“Please.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What matter would that be?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What a relief!” Emmrich says.

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

They wordlessly agree.

✦ ✧ ✦

“So, you and Emmrich?”

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

“What about us?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Did he?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“The yam and jam slam?”

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

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

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

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

“Might I read to you, then?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Rook, might I politely disagree?”

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

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

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

She need not reply, he knows the answer.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Too much?” she asks.

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

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

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

“Here and there,” she whispers.

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

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

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

“So you are listening!”

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

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

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

✦ ✧ ✦

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Escaping?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

✦ ✧ ✦

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is it meant to smoke like that?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Mhm. Distracted by… ?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His jaw falls open. “Darling–”

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

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

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

“Darling–”

“I’ll carry these to the stash.”

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

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

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

✦ ✧ ✦

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

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

It is easy to forget just how young you are.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Of course not, dearest.”

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

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

“I brought them flowers.”

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

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

“I–”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Emmrich–”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, I would love to, dearest.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

✦ ✧ ✦

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Keep those on,” she says.

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

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

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

“Please do.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Masterlist – my Ao3

#i said i'd post the whole fic so might as well even though it's late #emmrook #emmrich volkarin #emmrich volkarin x rook #emmrich volkarin x female rook #emmrich fanfiction #datv fanfiction #dragon age the veilguard fanfiction #emmrich volkarin fanfiction

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