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himbopunk · 1 month ago

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drabble i did of thorne and emmrich. dialogue heavy like all my datv stuff is for some reason. its not crazy long so you can go to the ao3 or just. read under the cut

CW: child death

“No, Manfred, this is a journal, not a memoir. It belongs in its proper section with the others.”

Emmrich picked a small hand-bound book from his shelf and handed it to his skeletal assistant, gesturing towards the correct section. Manfred made an affirmative hissing sound, before shambling towards the correct spot in the library. He had been giving a once-over to some of the shelves, making sure they were in proper order. While Manfred was fairly good at following organizational instructions, sometimes he needed a bit of a nudge or reminder. He was still learning, after all.

There was a soft knock on the door, causing Emmrich to turn his attention from the shelves. A large, red-bearded Qunari man stood in the doorframe, holding a small tray with a teapot and two cups in one hand. Iktom– or Rook, as the team all knew him– meets Emmrich’s eyes with his own singular functioning eye, and smiles.

“Hope I’m not interrupting anything?” Though the other man’s voice came from a place deep in his chest, it was often much softer than most expect from a man of his stature.

“Not at all! Manfred and I were simply doing some re-organizing. I can take a moment.”

“Good, ‘cause I brought you that tea from Rivain you asked about.” Iktom stepped into the room with the tray. Emmrich swiftly moved a couple of texts from his side table from his morning reading so that Iktom could set it down. He could smell cinnamon, cardamom, cloves and other spices in the unique Rivaini blend wafting up as he did.

“Oh, wonderful. I cannot wait to try this! I’d had something similar in a Tevinter blend once, but the teas in Rivain are simply unparalleled.”

“True. I can’t say much, though, I only grew up with the medicinal stuff that tastes awful. My father would swear by this terrible tea with a shot of whiskey every time I caught a cold. I…don’t actually know the trade language word for the plant, it only grows in the mountains.”

“Would you be able to point it out if you saw it?”

“Hm… probably?”

“That’s perfect, then! I have a series on plants and herbs of the High Anderfels and the Donnarks, perhaps we can take a look later. I’d be curious to find out.”

“Long as you don’t ask me to take any once you do.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it!”

“Good.” He smiles, as Emmrich pours himself a cup of tea. “This should be much better than that, though. If I brewed it right, anyhow. Maker knows Lucanis was no help.”

“Ah yes. As I’ve come to learn, the man detests tea, unfortunately. I suppose there’s no accounting for taste.”

“True. And I won’t lie, I like coffee too, but he takes it a bit far for me. Not sure if that’s an Antivan thing, a Crow thing, or a Lucanis thing.”

“Hard to say, and I doubt it’d be much easier with his reliance on it to avoid Spite.” Emmrich lifts the cup to his mouth, blowing on it slightly to help cool it before taking a sip.

“S’alright. More for you, right?” Iktom watches carefully as the other man tastes his tea. “How is it?”

“Absolutely delightful , Rook. You brewed this wonderfully.” Beyond the temperature, the tea tasted warm, comforting, with a slight smokiness to it. The milk used in it was just slightly sweet, unmistakable but not too much as to be obtrusive to the other flavors present.

“Oh, good. Good.” The other man seemed relieved, finally lifting his own cup to try himself. “Seer Rowan told me how to do it, since you make it over the fire instead of steeping it in the cup. I’d never done it like that before.”

“The qunari seer from the Lords, yes? Taash has mentioned her before, I believe. I’ll have to remember to thank her when we next travel to the Hall of Valor. Perhaps she has more recommendations on Rivaini tea blends, as well!”

“Ha, maybe. I’m sure you two could talk shop a bit too, Seers seem a bit more like the Watchers than most other mages I’ve met. Save maybe some of the ones from Tevinter.”

“True! We’ve had more than our fair share of young Altus mages visit the Necropolis, but truth be told, while I’ve read as many writings out of the Dairsmuid circle as I could find in my studies, I’ve not encountered many Seers myself.”

“They’d be considered abominations back home, probably. Depending where you’re at.” Iktom shrugs a bit. “But we should set up a meeting. I can see if the Lords need any help while we’re out there.”

“I’m sure it doesn’t hurt that you have an excuse to return to the Halls of Valor.” Emmrich eyebrows raise from over his cup as he takes another sip of his tea.

“No clue what you’re talking about, Emm.” Iktom smirks as he leans back in his chair a bit. Emmrich places his cup back down, giving the other man a knowing glance.

“Well, either way, simply let me know and I’d be delighted to accompany you the next time you leave for Rivain.”

“Will do.” Iktom gives a small nod. “I’ll probably have to head out to Hossberg soon, but after that, we should have a moment.”

“Do let me know if you need any assistance there, as well.”

“‘Course. I’ll see what it is that Antoine and Evka need, first. I’m sure it’ll be mostly fighting darkspawn, maybe taking some notes for Antoine about the blight changes.”

“Such is the life of a Warden, it seems!”

“True. But, hey, I’ll never say no to you watching my back.” Iktom winks, before topping off the tea in Emmrich’s cup. The entendre occurs to Emmrich immediately, but he barely acknowledges it aside from a slight eyebrow raise.

“Well, you know where to find me, Rook.”

“I do.” Emmrich can see him smiling even behind the cup as he brings his tea to his mouth again.

The conversation lulls, but there’s no strong need to fill the silence for some time. There wasn’t even the distant eager hissing of Manfred, as he had no current duties to attend to in the library, he left the room awhile ago. Likely to watch the wisps in Neve’s room or to go say hi to Spite. It would be a good while yet before he felt the need to worry about him. Right now, the two men simply enjoy their quiet moment in the library together, drinking their tea.

While Emmrich understood the team’s need to constantly be pushing forward towards some goal or another, he couldn’t help but appreciate the moments of calm they were able to have from time to time. Iktom’s life was very exciting, as was seeing the man in his element, on the battlefield. But there was something about seeing the large man, all but built for war, speaking softly in the library, taking the time to walk through the gardens with him or brew a pot of tea he’s never made before, simply because he remembered Emmrich’s curiosity towards it. A man whose life is now largely defined by the dreadful end post, slowing down amidst the chaos. It warmed him to Emmrich, much like the tea had.

Eventually the tea would dry up. Emmrich considered opening a book to read while still enjoying the other’s company, when he spoke up.

“Emm, I’ve been thinking about what we talked about, in the gardens. If you have…the place of mind to discuss it.”

Emmrich’s mind wanders for a moment, as they’d talked for a good hour or so that night. He imagines the subject to be one of two things, however. And while he’s not thrilled with the discussion of either, he’s in a state that he could weather it.

“Of course, Rook. May I ask what exactly it is you find yourself revisiting?”

“You asked me about death, what I felt about it, after telling me your…” He pauses for a moment, searching for the best way to describe Emmrich’s thanatophobia. “...Concerns?” It comes out more like a question, is this the polite way to discuss this?

“Ah, yes.” Emmrich nods, inviting him to continue the thought.

“I’ve been thinking about it the past couple days, and well. My answer was kind of bullshit, right?” Well, that is not the line of thought Emmrich had expected here, but he’s learning that he should know better than think he can predict Iktom’s mind.

“Not intentionally, mind you, I didn’t lie or nothin’. It’s just– You caught me off guard, you know.”

Emmrich’s been aware of the…cultural divide between him and the rest of the team. But…no, Iktom’s been surprisingly accepting of the Necropolis. But he is a Warden, Emmrich realizes, it wouldn’t be unfounded that he would have his own hangups with death. Had he brushed upon a sore spot, without realizing?

“Rook, I apologize if I–” Iktom puts his hand up, cutting him off.

“No need, you did nothing wrong. You asked a very real question, and I just figure you deserved a real answer. Least, one more real than what I’d said then. Especially considering what all you’d shared with me, right?”

“You’re not obligated to answer than you’re able, Rook, but I do appreciate the sentiment.” Iktom momentarily looked confused, as if the idea that he wouldn’t share in the same way Emmrich had was a preposterous suggestion. “But… go on, if you wish. What would your real answer be?”

Iktom re-adjusted himself in the chair, sitting up more straight, taking a breath before he continued. There was an element of practice to it, as if he’d thought very hard or rehearsed what he wanted to say, to make things easier. It was a bit endearing.

“So, alright, yeah. Everything dies, that’s the nature of things, that’s true. Like I said, I didn’t lie, I do feel that way…to some extent. But I don’t think that’s fair, ‘cause that didn’t come to me naturally, right? It took me a long while to get there. Sometimes I half wonder if I’m as there as I think I am. It’s not…consistent, right? Being a Warden, though, it…” He glances at his hands for a moment. “It’s put some things into perspective for me.” He looks back up to Emmrich, meeting his eyes, but there’s something distant in the man’s eye that he hadn’t quite registered before. Emmrich leans forward, placing his hand on Iktom’s.

“From what I’ve heard, the life of a warden is often as short as it is adventurous. Even before the complication of the gods, I would not be surprised if you’d had more than one near brush with death since your Joining. I’ve read and heard many such cases where a Warden finds it completely reframes their outlook on the subject.” There’s a flash of emotion on Iktom’s face, too fast for Emmrich to pick up on most of them.

“Well… yes, I suppose I have, but no. That’s not exactly it.” Iktom pauses, opening his mouth to speak again, seemingly loses the words again and stops. It’s not until he breaks eye contact that he’s able to say the words stuck in his throat.

“You told me about losing your parents, how it put that fear of death in you. The crushing weight of it that hits you whenever the night feels a bit too dark. I get that, kind of.” He hadn’t described it in as many words, but Emmrich gets the sense that it’s not his feelings that Iktom is describing.

“And then, you talked about the Watchers, how they saved you, finding others like you or ways to discuss it that makes it– They saved you.” He cuts himself off, as if whatever word he would’ve said there physically hurt to say. “Sure, the dread’s still there, but you’ve got something to hold on to, to focus on, to… I don’t know. But I get that too.” Iktom looks back up, meeting Emmrich’s eyes again. “Kind of.”

“And the Wardens were that for you, I presume?”

“...Yeah. I…” Iktom took a deep breath, steeling himself. Rehearsed or not, it didn’t seem to make things any easier. It was clear whatever was on his mind was a struggle for him to discuss, and while Emmrich appreciated his dedication to what he felt was honesty, he didn’t want the other man to feel beholden to it, simply because Emmrich discussed his own past.

“I’m listening, Rook, but please do know that you’re under no obligation to tell me of your own history if you’re not ready. You’re not beholden to that simply because I shared my own. We can get there in good time.”

“No, it’s alright.” Iktom assured him.

“If you’re absolutely sure.” Emmrich insisted.

“Yeah… yeah.” Iktom let go of his hand, sitting back in his chair somewhat. He seems to soften somewhat, and Emmrich hopes he was able to help even slightly in his reassurance.

“I have–” He nearly winces as he corrects himself. “I had a daughter. Years ago.”

“... Oh.”

“Yeah. Úna was her name. Kal-Sharok for little lamb, I think. My father wanted to give her a proper Ander name, and I half wanted to pick something in Qunlat. But my ex wife– her mother– was the most stubborn out of all of us.” He sighed.

“When she… When I lost her, everything went sideways. Nothing felt right anymore, I became… Well. I’m glad we never met back then.” Iktom laughed half heartedly. “I was even more of an ass then, believe it or not!”

Emmrich’s brow furrowed a bit. He had not even been aware Iktom had been married before, let alone the rest of it. Of course, there was no reason he should have known, but knowing this now… Of course the discussion in the Necropolis gardens stirred something in him. He could think of no greater horror for a parent.

“You were grieving your child, Rook. I can’t imagine–”

“Sure, but I was still a prick. Oh, you would’ve hated me then.”

Emmrich scoffs, almost offended at the notion. “I find that very hard to believe.”

“Yeah?” There was a hint of smile there as he said it, a twinge of curiosity, and of something Emmrich couldn’t place.

“Well, still. I fucked up a lot in the process, however you spin it. Wound up getting conscripted ‘cause nobody else would put up with me. Training at Weisshaupt was hard work, it was brutal at times, but… the Wardens saved me. And the nature of it all, there’s this… finality to it. A finish line. None of it made it right, made it any less terrifying. It didn’t make me want to throw up any less when I’d find an abandoned child’s doll in the center of a blight-ridden town. But I could focus again, I could finally learn to make sense of things.”

Iktom scratched the side of his chin, suddenly aware of his vulnerability and feeling put off by it.

“Anyways, I don’t know if that’s how it was for you, maybe it’s a bit of the opposite since you deal with undead. But I figured it was more of an answer than I gave you before.”

Emmrich wasn’t entirely sure what to say. He had dozens of questions, but none he felt were appropriate to ask currently. He’d have to hold onto them for another time.

“...Thank you, Rook.” He finally said. “For sharing that with me.”

“You shared first. Tit for tat, right?” He said it as if he had only been helping Emmrich with a chore or paying for a meal.

“I…suppose. But I would’ve been satisfied even just with the conversation we had that night. I was satisfied, in fact. But it’s meaningful that you trusted me with this, I know it could not have been easy. I’ve lived decades after becoming an orphan, Rook, but this wound…even if healed, it’s a fresh scar.”

“Yeah well, I…” He trails off a bit, seeming somewhat flustered. “I wanted you to know. You’re good people, Emm.”

“Thank you, Rook. I think much the same of you.”

“For now.” Iktom gives a sly grin.

“Please.” Emmrich waves him off. “You’re a much better man than you give yourself credit for.”

“Yeah? How do you figure?” Iktom leans forward on the table.

“I have a keen intuition towards this sort of thing, Rook! And I’m sure everyone else in the lighthouse would agree.”

“I don’t know about that .”

“Give it time, Rook. Give it time.”

They keep eye contact for a moment from across the table. Eventually, Rook stands from his chair, picking up the tray with the empty teapot and cups.

“I should get going, soon. Don’t want to keep Antoine and Evka waiting.” He starts towards the opposite side of the room, tray in hand, before turning back towards Emmrich, leaning once again on the doorframe.

“Certainly not. If you need me, Rook…”

“I know where to find you. And I’ll make another pot of tea, if you like.”

“I’d be delighted.”

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