He is exhausted when he finally finds it, and so it doesn't even click at first that at last, somehow, he's achieved the impossible -- he's located one single, small prison that was hidden in the Fade, meant to never be found.
"Get the others," Emmrich tells Manfred. Manfred leaves quickly and Emmrich starts the next step, looking for a weak spot. By the time the team is gathered in Rook's office, what remains of the team, Emmrich's found it and created a sort of bridge. He thinks. It's all entirely new territory, and he'd be excited if he'd slept more than two hours in a row for the last few weeks.
Emmrich waits, tense and nervous, as Neve checks over his work just in case he's so tired he's started hallucinating. When she nods he can almost breathe, but this still has to work.
"All right," he says, trying to focus. There is not enough coffee in Antiva to help him now; it has to be the remnants of adrenaline and fear carrying him through. "When I open this, I think we all need to be calling. I've no idea what size the prison is on that side, nor if Rook will be close. And I can only hold it open for about fifteen minutes at a time as it will be fighting."
Fifteen maximum. He can feel how much the prison wants to slip away.
But somehow, as has been their story of late, the impossible works. Rook is there, takes his hand, they pull him out, and Emmrich is terrified through it all that it's some trick, that Solas is still twisting something around but it looks like Rook and feels like Rook and sounds like Rook so he dares to hope.
All at once the fear and pain and stress break through the exhaustion and he reaches for Rook.
At first, all Rook remembered was darkness overtaken by an overwhelming lack of all color and stimulus. This wasn't the Fade, the thought, this was hell if ever had to put it to words. Wandering up staircases that went nowhere and hearing voices that weren't real but whose vitriol stung even worse. He could understand then, within only a short amount of time—how even gods could go insane.
The proverbial light at the end of the tunnel didn't bring him to the Maker's side, but was welcomed all the same. Rook was still trying to process what Solas had done to him when the voices of his team, his friends, cut through the pale static of his grey-washed prison he nearly confined himself to eternity to. On shaking legs, Rook forced himself to stand despite the protests of his team.
"I need to—" He had barely gotten two steps in before he was grabbing the back of the green leather sofa, right where Harding would sit he noted before he asked no one in particular, "How long?"
Emmrich is the one who caught him when he came tumbling out of the dark. Rook wanted to say a lot of things: 'Thank you' or 'I love you'—instead, what he managed was falling to his knees and voiding the bile in his stomach in a dry, heaving cough there on the library floor.
"Easy, easy," he says quietly, quick to support Rook so he falls no further. There's noise of others moving, likely to clean, but all Emmrich can see is Rook.
"You need to breathe and ground yourself for a few minutes before anything else. You were gone for," his voice breaks, "for weeks. But you're here now. You're back."
It's just as much to himself as it is to Rook. Emmrich needs to believe this is real because a part of him wonders. He's so worn out. What if he's fallen asleep? What if this is some new trick from Solas? Rook feels warm in his arms, but does that mean anything for certain?
He shifts one hand from a shoulder to the pulse point on Rook's neck, trying to get a gauge of how his love is doing. Weeks in the Fade might mean someone is fine, or not, with how variable the Fade is.
The night markets of Treviso hadn't let something as trivial as an Antaam incursion and nearly being destroyed by a blighted dragon ruin good business. It was admirable how the Antivans refused to be brow-beaten into despair by circumstances that ravaged other parts of Thedas—even if it all was in the name of making coin. Rook could, at the very least, appreciate the sense of normalcy that came with the occasional trip through the eluvian into the city. Something as mundane as helping his team with their mid-week shopping was a holiday compared to the work they've been put to task with lately.
Almost the entire team was out on this excursion, desperate to stretch their legs with something that didn't involve fleeing for their lives. Rook himself didn't have any particular reason to tag along—except, of course, Emmrich mentioning a shopping list he had been meaning to take care of. This meant Rook was being gently steered towards helping, and if it meant showing off by carrying heavy bags, who was he to deny such a simple request?
Everyone had meandered their way through the markets for a couple of hours by the time they were all nearly wrapped up. Just as expected, Rook had taken up the duties of pack mule but was content in that role. He spotted Emmrich with Neve speaking to a vendor selling what looked like dried plants and—was that a glowing skull on the counter? Most likely, the discussion he was intruding on involved important mage business.
"I found everything on the list you gave me," Rook announced to Emmrich as he came up beside him, pleased with cocksure smiling as he let a job well done go to his head. "Anything else you can think of, let me know. I'll carry it back to the Cantori before we go."
The vendor, an older elven woman with mousey brown curls and laugh lines, looked between them and shook her head with a knowing smile. Rook was about to do the polite thing and say hello when she spoke first, looking at Emmrich. "If my son were half as reliable as your boy, I could have retired ages ago."
Rook felt his stomach drop out of him and found himself stunned out of a reaction. To his right, Neve made a choked sound hidden behind a hand that flew up to her mouth. Rook suspected it was her courteous way of masking a laugh that threatened to spill out of her. Maybe this would have been funny if Rook didn't feel as though he caught a full handed slap to the face by the remark.
"I—" Rook wanted to look to Emmrich but found himself worried about making the situation worse. What was he even supposed to say, if anything at all? He didn't want to make a scene or embarrass him. Now seemed to be the time for a tactical retreat.
"Right...well, uh. See you back at the Lighthouse." Rook gave Emmrich one stiff clap on his shoulder and departed.
Shopping had been incredibly successful, especially considering what the world was going through right now, and even better was having a few minutes to talk with another mage about the properties of locally-grown magical plants versus imported dried elements. With Neve weighing in it was almost like he was back home. He wasn't homesick, not at all, but he had missed educated discussions on topics where he wasn't the expert.
When Rook joined, smiling with confidence, Emmrich felt like the day was made. There was something about the man's presence that never failed to lift Emmrich's spirits. His gaze softened... and then Emmrich's new mage acquaintance spoke.
Harding was one thing. Emmrich could deal with her comments more or less, and they were balanced out by the support and encouragement from Myrna (and, oddly, from Vorgoth.) But this, out of the blue, was devastating. Especially with the expression on Rook's face. Was this it? Was this the last comment that made him realize Emmrich was too old for him? Emmrich couldn't truly process what Rook said before he got the briefest, least intense possible touch there could be before leaving.
He watched Rook go, speechless. A few moments later it sunk in that Neve was covering for him, having resumed talking, and Emmrich couldn't re-engage. He thanked them both and walked away, feeling like all he had was static between his ears. He was old. Rook was not. It was visible at all times, and what if feelings weren't enough to overcome that gap in the end?
Somehow he wandered the Treviso canals for a couple of hours before he made it back to the Cantori Diamond.
"Ah, and there he is," Teia said warmly as he came up the stairs, sitting with Viago and Lucanis on the couches. "The last to come back. Lucanis was starting to get concerned."
Lucanis shook his head. "Only because of the Antaam, and Neve saying you might be distracted."
Emmrich forced a smile and a chuckle. "I'm headed back now, safe and sound, but thank you all." He could see in their eyes that he hadn't been convincing, but he didn't have the energy to try better so he gave them a quick nod of his head and departed for the eluvian. Behind him he could hear intense low whispering that he knew he likely didn't want to make out. He knew he likely didn't want to hear anything that anyone said today, because quite frankly he'd been living in denial for far too long.
Once back, instead of going to the music room, Emmrich retreated to the laboratory, his own room. There were a few smaller purchases to put away, and he did not want to rush the inevitable reaction coming from Rook. Let him pretend for five more minutes that he could have the joy their connection had given him.
Turning tail when confronted by that dreadfully awkward predicament had not been Rook's finest moment, but he had convinced himself it was better than the alternative. It was surreal when, at the time, the first emotion he registered washing over him was an icy plunge into the grip of fear and anger. He is upset with himself for doing nothing and the entire ordeal. It was the fear that disquieted him. Fear was like an old wound that only hurt when it rained in winter; fear he'd let Emmrich down, that he would only be of greater embarrassment in the future. Fear of a great deal of many other things that Rook tried to keep buried.
—The anger was at least manageable; he'd gotten good at that over the years. At least, he thought he had until returning to the Lighthouse.
Davrin and Taash were already back, lounging in the library and in the middle of some discussion about hunting knives. Rook would have happily left them to it, but apparently, word gets around fast, and Davrin pounced on the opportunity the moment Rook was up the stairs out of the eluvian room.
"Heard there was a little family drama at the markets," Davrin said with a too-pleased smirk. Beside him, Taash snorted.
"Not the time, Davrin," Rook bit out, too drained to put up what would have otherwise been friendly ribbing between the two of them.
"Look, if you slip one of these days and call him 'pa' or—"
Just the word lanced through a place between Rook's ribs like a hot poker, and now he was seeing red. Old wounds, fresh reminders of his own shortcomings. His anger rose to a fever pitch, and soon Rook shouted at the top of his lungs, "I said not the time, Davrin!"
Rook immediately regretted it when he saw Taash's eyes go wide, and Davrin put up his hands in surrender. His outburst had been enough to be the normally unflappable Warden, his best friend on the defensive. Nothing more is said; Rook couldn't even manage a meager apology as he retreated to his room.
Turned on his side on the couch, Rook let his mind clear itself of cobwebs as he watched the fish swim lazily behind the glass. Time bled into minutes that turned it what could have been an hour, could have been several. That numbing sensation of apathy that followed in the wake of emotions running high was miserable as it was cathartic. Rook could have laid out like that for the rest of the day until a sound roused him out of his haze.
The laboratory was next to the meditation room, and the walls were thick, but Rook had long since memorized Emmrich's habits and learned to pick up the subtle signs of life through the brick and mortar. A footfall there, the heavy thud of a large book being set down here, and sometimes even the faint bell-like chimes of mortuary instruments being used or put away. Emmrich was definitely back; the noises Manfred made were more chaotic and excitable. Something squeezed painfully in Rook's chest; he needed to go over there. Apologize, explain himself, something.
Rook shuffled over to the laboratory with his proverbial tail tucked firmly between his legs. Announcing himself quietly as he slunk in with a defeated slump to his shoulders. He didn't even know what to say or if he should say anything at all. Eventually he settled on,
When a scant few months separate you from the precipice of complete annihilation of all life in Thedas and the workaday life bordering on the domestic, the shock of it carries and leaves one restless. Three months to the day, almost, Rook had stood amidst the rubble of Minthraous in the epicenter of an event so monstrously immense and singular it razed the Blight from the very bones of the ruined city. Now, he stood in the apartments granted to the senior staff of the Mourn Watch somewhere beneath the Grand Necropolis, pacing a hole in the parquette hardwood floors of the study. To go from one to the other had left Rook—
Bored.
The thought came unbidden to Rook, but he didn't fight it when it escaped from the back of his mind. That wasn't fair, he reasoned when he argued to himself that he hadn't been doing much to remedy that. When he wasn't traveling to the Anderfels to assist the Wardens, it wasn't as though he had been trying to find a hobby. Not to mention, he wasn't altogether useless to the Mourn Watch. They had been nothing short of gracious to him, and there was always some possessed corpse or demon that needed his hammer-subtle touch.
You're also not just here to be useful, Rook reminded himself. Hard as it was sometimes to convince himself of that — he was here because he loved Emmrich dearly. Which is partly why what he held in his hand felt like it weighed his weight in stone.
Vorgoth brought the message to him that morning after Emmrich departed to the lecture halls. Only by chance had Rook been that close to the main entrance, hoping to see Emmrich off, only to find he had been late. The price of sleeping in, it seemed. It appeared to have arrived from a former Inquisition agent making use of the eluvian. Damned useful, but its urgent arrival had formed a pit in Rook's stomach before he had opened it. Urgent news was never good news.
— Only, instead, Rook couldn't stem the growing tide of what he could only describe as excitement building inside of him. He must have read the damned thing a dozen times, each time with a surreal sense of disbelief as if the words were new to his eyes. It wasn't good news, far from it, but it was entirely unexpected and it had thrilled him all the same. There should be a sense of shame in that, but—
The entrance door to the apartment had unlatched itself; Rook could pick up that sound from clear across the other side of the apartment by now. The lecture must have ended early, he reasoned. Or had Rook really been lost in his own thoughts for that long? He's out of the study and in the entrance hall before Emmrich has a chance to finish opening the door. Rook lit up just to see him but sobered and cut right to the point,
The exam had gone relatively well, he thought. He hoped. Most of his students had looked confident upon departing the lecture hall and no one had lingered the full time, which tended to mean they'd understood the material.
"-gladly take your help if you wish," he was saying to Manfred when the door opened to find Rook right there. Before Emmrich can do more than beam at the man, Rook was speaking.
"Oh," was all he could say as his brain started working. "Of course. What's the need?"
Of course was not what he would say to anyone else suggesting they go to Ferelden, ever. He knew that sooner or later Rook would likely ask that they go. Most everyone liked sharing their homeland with their loved ones, after all. Emmrich just wished Ferelden was not so low on the list of places he'd like to visit again.
Emmrich came the rest of the way in, along with Manfred.
"Rook! Took test!" the skeleton declared happily before going in toward the stove, no doubt to make tea.
For his part Emmrich set the exam papers on his desk before sliding his arms around Rook's waist. "What calls us to Ferelden?"
He was going to have to leave Manfred behind. That was fine, of course, Manfred was gaining independence enough to the point he had his own room in the apprentice wing, but the spirit still spent most of his time around Emmrich and Emmrich treasured that. He didn't like leaving Manfred behind when a trip might be days rather than a few hours, and he can't imagine Rook wanting to leave Ferelden as soon as whatever task needed them was finished.
"That's wonderful," Rook's attention was briefly derailed by the newest apprentice of the Watch clamoring through, bones quite literally rattling with excitement. "Think you passed?"
"Dunno!" And Manfred flitted away elsewhere as if he were happier he got to take an exam than bothering to be concerned about the results. An attitude and enthusiasm the spirit wore better than most wore their own skins.
The lull in both the conversation and mood by Manfred's Manfred-ness is broken by slender arms winding around Rook's waist. The latter blinks before returning the gesture until they're both comfortably flush together. In the arms of someone you love is perhaps the best way to tread on thin ice. Rook wasn't blind to the fact that Ferelden did not boast the best reputation where it concerned mages, but this wasn't the Ferelden of his boyhood — things had changed.
"Right," Rook let a long breath out like he was trying to buy himself seconds to collect his thoughts. "The Ferelden throne wants an audience — Morrigan sent the missive citing she couldn't come in person to explain, but from what I've gathered, things are...still dire in the South. Denerim hasn't been taken back from the darkspawn that are still breaking through out of the old thaigs and breaches that lead into the Deep Roads.
And with the Inquisitor being, well..." Rook didn't want to say gone as if the woman died rather than...whatever it was when you depart beyond the veil with a god. So instead, Rook just moved on. "Morrigan asked you to come along as well. The leadership at Calenhad is hurting for the guidance of an expert with spirits.
I'm told an eluvian that was recovered from the Brecilian forest is being kept in Amaranthine. We're to travel there and then take the Imperial Highway to Highever."
Rook looked up at Emmrich. His ordinarily guarded countenance was pinched as if waiting for the hard no.
The dinner had been incredibly lovely, entirely worth getting permission to raise the royal cooks, though that was one detail Emmrich hadn't disclosed. It made him nervous. A couple of details still made him nervous, in fact. Rook had been incredibly accepting of Emmrich's magic thus far, especially for a Fereldan, but would that last? Even Neve had been nervous around him, though that was finally easing up.
Age was the other big detail. Age, and the lack of lived experience that could come with age differences. Was he just getting swept up in the rush of a beautiful, curious, caring young man showing interest in him? Add to that the whole first thing. That was the entire reason he hadn't tried seriously making out in the Memorial Gardens. Someone's first time needed care and attention since they might not know or feel comfortable voicing their preferences. Maybe someone young deserved to have someone closer to their age as their first. And maybe he should let Hugh decide that.
Not like he let any of his thoughts color the walk back through the Crossroads. He had excellent company, and Emmrich truly enjoyed the Crossroads when antaam weren't trying to murder them.
They neared the Caretaker's boat, a sign that their time alone was drawing to a close. Emmrich wanted the date to continue. They needed a neutral place for that, though. He wasn't going to risk Hugh feeling pressured in any direction, especially not on a first date. They also needed somewhere they wouldn't have an audience. A place came to mind, much to his delight.
"Would you like to take this to the music room when we return? I've no doubt Manfred will be by the eluvian when we get in, and I can send him to get a bottle of wine and two glasses before letting him loose for the evening if that appeals. Unless it's too late in the evening. I know there are always pressing tasks."
There. A neutral place, an opening, and the easiest of ways out. Either way Emmrich can try to sort out if he's walking into something real, or just a passing fancy of Hugh's.
He wished he didn't doubt so much. Harding did have a point, though, as much as he disliked it. He might be being an absolute besotted fool already and they'd barely begun. At least so far neither Myrna or even Neve have voiced concerns. If either of them had, he'd certainly take a step back.
Am I an idiot? Oh, Maker, I'm definitely a complete idiot. That thought had screamed in the back of Rook's head since he stepped foot in the memorial gardens like an animal gnawing at a trap.
Rook came to this realization when Emmrich first toured him around the gardens. The evening then had been enlightening, to say the least. Rook had been curious about Neverra and Emmrich in general, even after quickly coming to the conclusion both topics were far removed from what a Ferelden nobody might consider the norm.
Rook never thought about death much beyond his impassive acceptance of its inevitability. He hadn't even balked at the concept of a burial as a man whose religious preferences leaned towards cremation. The way Emmrich explained each grave site and custom was...beautiful? Deeply empathetic? Rook wasn't sure what the words were, but the feeling was the same; he envied how much the other man cared and could listen to him talk well until the early hours.
Which is why he was an idiot, Rook concluded. Who listens to a man as kind and as intelligent as Emmrich pour his heart out, show him the graves of his parents, and the best he could muster was - Oh, hi?
Why on earth Emmrich tolerated his blatant flirtation and company afterward was a mystery. The fact they kissed afterward equally mystified him. It wasn't until the dinner that Rook was convinced he was the luckiest imbecile alive.
The dinner itself was romantic and incredible. Save for the fact Rook continued to prove what a backwater lout he was by not knowing what spinach was and being overly impressed by braised chickpeas. He continued this trend of being a wreck by admitting his favorite color was white - which apparently wasn't even a color.
By the end Rook was convinced Emmrich would let him down gently. He'd never been with anyone longer than an evening or hasty afternoon, but he assumed it involved a lot of phrases such as: It's not you, it's me or Let's stay friends.
Then they're headed back to the Lighthouse and Emmrich is asking if they want to continue the evening in the music room. Over a bottle of wine. Something that Rook assumed that couples did together. It's with perhaps too much enthusiasm that Rook blurts our,
"I'd love that! Do you like a red or white? Lucanis recommend this fantastic pinot noir that pairs with..." Rook flushed and trailed of with, "I mean, if you'd care for the red."
He'd felt the tension in his company and was preparing to be gently let down when instead Rook metaphorically jumps on the invitation. There's no mistaking the enthusiasm there for anything else. Emmrich brightens noticeably.
"I enjoy both. Tell me of this pairing?" If Rook is this eager to spend more time in his company, well, then perhaps he should take a risk that seems like no risk, now.
The Caretaker's boat pulls up. Emmrich steps in and holds out a hand for Rook. He's taller. It's easy for him to assist. But once Rook is in, Emmrich brings the man's hand up to his lips with a smile.
"I'm very interested in learning everything you enjoy."
The last time Hugh had been involved in planning a wedding was when he was eight. His role was entirely against his will, and the grand occasion was wholly the imaginings of his high-handed younger sister. He remembered because it was one of the rare summer afternoons he wasn't his older brother's second shadow. Tomas had left with their father to repair the fish traps scattered around the estuaries, and Hugh was still too young and clumsy with ropes to help. So, instead, he had been stuck at home with Lyla, who was all of six and already the more domineering of the three.
The 'wedding' was a game by Lyla's design when she found a box filled with lacquered beads made from river clay stashed on top of the fireplace mantle. Their mother had braided them in her hair on her wedding day, and Hugh only knew that because he had found them two years earlier. All of them were slightly misshapen and not quite uniform in size, but they shone brightly against candlelight in varying shades of russet and dusty blue.
( — He could still sometimes remember the heft of the beads in his palms. No larger than coins but weighty, solid. Now likely buried under the ash that was his village outside West Hill. )
Hugh had made the mistake of explaining what they were to Lyla, who demanded a wedding. Knowing she would stamp a hole into the floorboards or go blue in the face, he had acquiesced just to circumvent disaster.
What Hugh did not appreciate was having one of his mother's aprons tied around him and being declared the officiant mother superior. The Chantry had been the two oaks outside their cottage. The 'groom' ended up being their mother's wicker seamstress mannequin, and of course, the bride had been Lyla, whose bouquet was the finest bundle of ragweed with clumps of dirt still dangling from the roots where she yanked them out of the earth.
Hugh was stumbling through a jumble of the last Chantry homily he heard and what he thought a wedding officiant was supposed to say when their brother and father came home. At the sight of them, Micah Thorne nearly dropped his fishing haul and doubled over with a fit of laughter that nearly made him pass out. Their mother was less pleased her old wedding beads had been pilfered, but Hugh remembered it well. The ragweed, the wicker groom, and the laughter.
— Suffice it to say, Rook was more than a little overwhelmed about what was playing out in front of him.
In his lap was an inordinately heavy collection of fabric squares bound together in a leather 'book.' Beside him, Emmrich was turning over every swatch of various silks and velvets with clicks of his tongue and commentary on pattern and quality. Occasionally, he would ask for Hugh's opinion. With less frequency, Hugh would have something to add beyond that this particular pattern was nice or that he didn't know mauve was different than lilac.
Emmrich had taken Hugh's announcement that he would prefer to wed in his officer's uniform in stride, but there was still the matter of his groom-to-be's attire. Hugh wanted to be part of as much of the wedding planning as possible before — well, before an impending two-month period where Emmrich would be leading the charge on that front. Only the dizzying highs of engagement were now weighed down by the daunting reality of how much planning went into these sorts of things.
Lately, Hugh considered himself about as useful a contribution to the organizing as a water bucket with a hole in the bottom. There was just so much, but he wanted to be there for Emmrich even if set against his staggering ignorance of the task at hand. Hugh originally wanted a simple, private ceremony with close friends in a chantry — something familiar, however distantly, but decided against it in the end. There was part of this that was 'Ferelden' Hugh knew how to contribute without lessening the whole.
Now, he was just embarrassing himself. The meeting with the chef over cake samples? Helpfully declared everything 'pretty good.' The florist had given him an especially withering look she thought he didn't notice when he confused purple snapdragons for lavender.
Hugh so desperately wanted this to go right, vibrating out of his skin with the need for it to live up to Emmrich's expectations. Every time they discussed the wedding in detail, Hugh could see distant boyhood imaginations dance like wisplight behind Emmrich's hazel eyes. Hugh had memories of river beads and root-torn weeds to reference from, Emmrich had dreams, ones that were left shuddered behind broken hopes for far too long. It seemed insurmountable some days, but Hugh had to try.
"Can we take a break?" Hugh asked after his attention started to drift away from discussions of what color the dining table runner should be for the reception. The shades of green blended into a blur the more they looked through that he worried his dreams tonight would all be in green.
Then, more conciliatory, Hugh added, "You were going to take me to the jewelers soon to settle on a design for the earring, right?"
That, Hugh reasoned, he could get right. His excitement to have a part of himself permanently changed, like his tattoos, was second to actually getting married.
He worried, a little, that this was more than Hugh had bargained for and far more than Hugh wanted to delve into. But the other choice was to leave the man out of planning and that seemed incredibly selfish. They were both getting married. Just because Emmrich had dreamed of this for many years didn't mean his vision had any priority over Hugh's. Of course, that was made a little more challenging in areas where Hugh didn't have a vision.
"Of course," he said to the first question, setting the swatches down with care so it would be easy to resume. Perhaps with the break would come ideas for ways to further incorporate things that were important to Hugh. Emmrich couldn't stand to marry in a Chantry, not when so many mages had been so mistreated by the institution, nor could he accept a southern Chantry official presiding when any with real rank or standing would have been complicit in harming mages, but there had to be elements they'd both enjoy that Hugh treasured. Somehow, somewhere, between the coordinating greens, purples, gold, and whites that so far were coming to be the theme colors for the wedding. It was very Mourn Watch, and that worried Emmrich a little.
But the other question directly lead to something he knew Hugh was enthusiastic about, at least. Emmrich smiled brightly at him.
"Yes. We could go now, the shops will be open." The nicest jewelry shops in Nevarra city didn't open first thing in the morning. Most of them didn't open until after traditional lunch times, because the artisans knew they were in high demand from people who understood that art and an artist's time had value.
He got up and glanced at the study. "Can Manfred accompany us?" It felt right, the three of them together. The jokes about Manfred being like a son truly weren't far off, and Manfred adored Hugh. While he awaited an answer Emmrich pulled on his jacket, straightened it, and considered his staves before choosing the one that sometimes bubbled over with his energy. He was fond of the light it cast when carried.
Perhaps they should discuss food after. That would likely be more to Hugh's liking. He hadn't asked if there should be a meat selection separate from the vegetarian one, though he had a feeling Hugh would be greatly in favor of it.
There was still so much to plan, and they had months to go before the set date. Already, Hugh had surmised that Emmrich had a clear vision for what he wanted their wedding to be. It heartened him that Emmrich wanted Hugh to be as involved as possible, but some of Hugh's input seemed more concession on Emmrich's part than involvement. In all fairness, marriage had never been even a passing thought for Hugh. Before the Wardens, he was too poor and too preoccupied to be much of a match for anyone, and as a Warden, he had even less to offer and was incapable of fathering children courtesy of the Joining.
Now, not only was marriage attainable, but something Hugh deeply wanted. The irony was now that it was in his immediate future, he had no idea what to do. He glanced down at the book of fabric samples — he didn't particularly even like green paired with purple, but he didn't want to tell Emmrich that. He just trusted Emmrich knew what was best.
"Of course," Hugh answered as he rose and pulled on a considerably more plain overcoat. Nevarra was a temperate country, but this early in the year, there was enough of a nip in the air to warrant a jacket. "We'll just have to keep an eye on him in the jewelers. He's practically a magpie."
Speak of the spell-flinging, shiny-object-obsessed skeleton son, and he shall appear. No sooner had Hugh made the comment had Manfred came excitedly tumbling down the hall into the room. His gemstone eyes were bright with excitement, meaning he had clearly overheard enough to know they were going into the city for the day.
"Rook!" Manfred said in that slightly stilted, raspy voice of his. He was getting better, some days even able to carry on a full conversation with effort.
"Manfred," Hugh chuckled, "I told you, you can use my name."
Walking up alone wasn't out of the ordinary, but lately, Rook found his heart sinking deeper each morning. Once again, he reached across the bedsheets only to find the other side cold and long since vacated. Rook rolled over with more dramatics than was owed an empty room with no audience and more petulance than was worthier of him. Only, with a growing frequency of falling asleep alone and finding the same come daybreak, Rook was beginning to question if anyone else lived here.
That was hardly fair, and he reminded himself even while glowering in his cacoon of blankets. From the very beginning, Rook knew Emmrich's day-to-day life was that of a professor within the Grand Necropolis and one with more than a little prestige to the title. Rook wasn't going to fault his lover for having a passionate dedication to his professional life.
— It would be nice, however, if Emmrich had warned him first how much time together would be robbed in the weeks pending exams.
Exams, Rook rolled his still tired eyes at the word. Magecraft and its echelons of higher learning were certainly outside his wheelhouse. Only to his layman's perspective, there was something downright draconian in raking both faculty and the student body over the coals for days on end. All for a test meant to distill an entire semester's worth of work. At least in the Wardens his 'exams' were showing a superior how great he was at learning how not to get hit with a training sword.
Beneath the frustration was a greater worry that Rook couldn't ignore. Emmrich had been burning the candle from both ends, running himself ragged the last several days. More than once, Rook had woken up in the middle of the night and found Emmrich either working or slumped over his desk. He assumed this morning would be like the others — finding Emmrich in his clothes from yesterday, dark circles under his eyes while nursing a cup of overly strong tea.
Rook rolled out of bed and put on a shift, expecting to find a similar scene in the study. Only when he padded out of the bedroom and into the larger part of the apartment did he discover that he didn't have to go looking for Emmrich. There on the low back chaise in the sitting room, was Emmrich, splayed out on the deep emerald cushions and fast asleep. Still in yesterday's clothes, but at least he was asleep, and rather soundly it appeared.
Never one to turn down an opportunity, Rook slunk over to the lounge and eased himself beside his sleeping lover. Emmrich hadn't even stirred when Rook laid down beside him, half on top of him with his head on Emmrich's slowing rising and falling chest.
"Mmm," Rook relaxed, "You're warm..."
— That was when he noticed it. The rattling sound of his breathing, the cloying and sickly sweet smell of his sweat, and the heat radiating through his clothing despite the fireplace having long since gone to ash. With a start, Rook sat up straight as his hand shot to Emmrich's brow.
"Emmrich, you're burning up," The panic in his voice was barely contained as he shook the man's slender shoulders and gently but firmly patted his clammy cheek. "Emmrich? Emmrich, love, wake up."
Deep down, he knew he was overdoing it. He'd missed last semester's exams and hadn't been able to advise students who'd needed aid and despite how valid an excuse there was, fighting gods and saving the world, he felt guilty. These young mages, young minds, needed to be prepared for a world that was ever-changing, and they needed those who came before them to help. On top of that, while the Mourn Watch hadn't lost anyone to Ghilan'nain and Elgarnan's temptations, a few other Mortalitasi had gone over. There were some empty positions in the college to refill. It was disappointing to see colleagues reveal that their true colors were petty and malicious, and tiresome to have to pick up additional work to cover for them.
He'd felt more weary than usual as he looked over the reviews he was to hand out tomorrow, and wondered if maybe tonight he should pack it up and head to bed before the hour hit single digits again. He could always get up early as usual in the morning. Decided, he'd gotten up and made it as far as the lounge before deciding that he should sit and take off his boots.
The next thing he knew was the world shaking as something touched his cheek and Rook spoke.
"Mm," he 'said,' annoyed and trying not to be annoyed. Rook wouldn't be waking him up for no reason. Emmrich opened his eyes and promptly closed them again; they felt scratchy and grainy and the light in the room was too bright. Why it was too bright made no sense when he was so cold that the fire must be out.
"Rook?" Emmrich asked. His voice didn't sound right, but even more it didn't feel right, also feeling scratchy. "'s cold." Damp. He was cold because he was damp, why was he damp? He felt like there was something incredibly obvious he was missing, but his thoughts were sluggish. He also, frustratingly, still had a boot on. Emmrich tried to pry it off with his socked foot because he didn't feel like getting up.
Rook knew little about how higher academia worked. Still, even he had gauged early on that Emmrich was being stretched thin with the college scrambling to compensate for the losses among the Mortalitasi. Emmrich was effectively given the work of at least three and tasked with making up for lost time. Passionate as he was about education and shepherding the next generation of mages, he was still only one man.
A man who happened to have a stubborn streak nearly as wide as Rook's own.
Rook had joked more than once that burning the candle at both ends would leave Emmrich burnt out. He now bitterly regrets those words when Emmrich finally opens his eyes, the beautiful hazel marred by threads of red throughout the white. Rook turned, looking toward the main hall.
"Manf-" Rook cut himself off with a quiet curse. That was right; Manfred was with the junior apprentices for a field study into local tombs for the next two days.
"Of course you're cold," Rook said as he turned his attention back on Emmrich, "You're shivering with fever, and the fire's been out for ages."
Reaching down, Rook managed to pull Emmrich's boot off before hoisting his lover into his arms. Emmrich was always easy to carry, but now he felt lighter as if deflated by fever. Rook carried him into their bedroom and set him on top of the comforter.
"You've sweated through your clothes," He explained as he undressed Emmrich down to his small before fetching him a nightgown. Any intimacy in the act is replaced by worry and haste to attend to the man's needs. "Sit up for me. Let's get this on you and under the covers. I'll send work to Vorgoth you're not well."
It was a legend, like with all things surrounding the Archdemons. They were the sources of the Blight, spreading corruption through people, land, plants, and animals. Every several hundred years one rose from the Deep Roads, and one needed the Grey Wardens for that. Between when they rose, the Grey Wardens fell mostly to obscurity, few and far in between. They were bitter, short-lived people, who didn't leave Weisshaupt for anything short of a king's ransom.
Though there was the rare exception, if you believed the stories. Survivors of an ancient ritual, stronger than the other Grey Wardens, just as able to sense Darkspawn, even more skilled at killing them, and possibly, just maybe, willing to help. Their price was reportedly lower. One simply had to feed them.
Something is stirring in the depths where the First Blight happened, and with how deep the Grand Necropolis goes they need answers. And so Emmrich is here, at an ancient fortress, hoping that not only are the more elite Wardens real, but that one is willing to come back to Nevarra with him. The kitchens are even prepared to serve meat dishes if that's what this Warden prefers.
It's windy and chilly here. Emmrich pulls his coat closer around him as he walks through the front courtyard. The front door is unlocked, but then what sort of super-warrior would need it locked?
"Hello?" he calls out as he enters a large hall. "I've come to ask for assistance!"
Legends were often padded with unnecessary detail and outright fabrications to better suit storybooks than any historical account. That wasn't even taking into account how much was fallaciously attributed to divine intervention. The boring truth of it was—legends are when too many people die, victories come at the cost of atrocities, and those on the fringe are left to fill the gaps. Only that didn't keep Weishaupt's coffers full because nobles weren't only ever designed to fund uncomplicated heroes, so the mascarade continued.
If Hugh Thorne was a legend in any tale, it was the record of his many infractions and demerits.
Of course, the First Warden kicked him down the line to this border posting, and that is why it was insisted Hugh be the one to meet this mage from Nevarra seeking help. The Wardens hadn't dealt with Nevarra in living memory; the Mortalitassi gave even their Order a run for its money on secrecy. To have one of its own seek the Wardens out, well, Hugh suspected this wasn't just a mage jumping at shadows.
From the shadow of the great hall of the outpost, Hugh could have been another suit of armor that lined the walls for how still he was—not moving even to breathe as he watched the mage cross his threshold. Older, that classic sort of handsome that made Hugh think of demanding greenhouse flowers, and taller than most men but all narrow and long-limbed.
"It echoes something fierce in here," Hugh said as he he stepped out from the wall, removing the illusion he was just enough empty set of armor. When he announced himself, he was no more than two paces from the mage and somehow hadn't made a sound.
Someone had to be here. The dust's been disturbed, for one thing, and for another it doesn't feel empty. He knows what empty feels like.
But that knowledge doesn't mean he's skilled at spotting who might be here. Emmrich is not made for walking alone in the dark, or spotting those who lurk in it, which means he yelps and jumps back when the armor moves and speaks. It's a person. Of course it's a person, because he would have sensed a spirit and now he needs to try to catch his breath as he presses a hand over his heart. What a phenomenally bad way to start a negotiation for help, truly.
"Yes," Emmrich says, knowing he's lost any chance of looking like he's got it together but straightening up and trying to attempt it anyway. He straightens his vest too.
"Professor Emmrich Volkarin." He holds out his hand. "Are you one of the Grey Wardens? The one who might help?"
The speaker has him entirely at a disadvantage physically, face covered, build obscured, and closer than Emmrich usually let armed and armored people get. Distance, range, that was what a mage wanted, and why was he thinking about that? This was meant to be an ally. He wasn't in danger, surprise greeting not withstanding.
"A lack of furnishings in large spaces does tend to make for quite the echo."
There is nothing wrong with the robes, Hugh told himself. The tailor Emmrich had found had been given the truly insurmountable task of working with a frame that existed well out of their usual clientele among Nevarra's mages. Hugh half-turned in the mirror to inspect the final product once more.
For one, the bottom half was loose fit and pleated to give the appearance of robes cinched at the waist but were actually trousers. Illusory robes, the tailor called them. The torso was an asymmetrical single piece with a high neckline that stopped at the larynx so as not to feel restrictive. The cuffs of the sleeves were wide but utilitarian and without embellishment or anything that complicated movement. In its entirety, the outfit was uniformally cut from the same midnight black silk and was simple yet elegant and did the impossible by somehow slimming his profile.
—Until Hugh turned around, anyway.
Turning away from the mirror revealed an open back from just above the shoulder blades to just above the tailbone. Enticing without being obscene was how the tailor described the cut. Hugh would have been fine with it, but the simplicity of the robes was all build-up to the main event of the piece.
Running up his spine and connected at the sleeves with symmetrical gold threads as fine as spider silk was a rosegold spine with intricately movement segments connected with tiny, pale gemstones. That wasn't the only gold on him, either. If he so much as flicked either arm, the clink of matching cuff bracelets was audible. A step forward and the hem of his pants would flow around an anklet clasped with two skeletal hands holding a sapphire. Even his most prized piece, and the most important, the griffon wing pieced to his helix and connected to his earlobe, had an addition — another rose gold chain with a sapphire teardrop that hovered just above his shoulder.
This was fine, Hugh reminded himself. Emmrich had been over the moon when Hugh stood for nearly three hours at the tailors and another two at the jewelers, which this entire ensemble was coming together. Hugh must have said some variation of 'it's great' dozens of times since.
It's one stupid night. Just swallow your pride and play nice with the other kids. Hugh narrowed his eyes at his reflection as if giving it an ultimatum. You love Emmrich more than you hate parading around a ballroom full of nobility.
He loved Emmrich more than anything. He especially loved Emmrich enough that he wasn't going to spend the evening doing the mental math of how much he could eat off a single bangle or bauble.
"I cut a clean up nice for an ol'scaff, ay?" Hugh turned and grinned broadly, peacocking to the man still readying himself by the vanity of their room.
There were few balls in Nevarra that Emmrich paid attention to, mostly because he had no interest in seeing and being seen by and with the nobility of Nevarra. This was the annual exception, the ball held on the last day of spring every year and attended by every mortalitasi who could feasibly be present. Outside mages were also welcome, and now that the Circles had been transformed the welcoming of summer had been getting larger and even more expected.
There were two comforts here. One, that he did love a crowd (especially one that wasn't just nobility,) and two, that Hugh looked stunning.
"Breathtaking," Emmrich said honestly, letting his eyes wander over the man who was at last adorned as he should be. He didn't expect Hugh to keep wearing any of it past this evening, but just seeing it all on his husband did so much for his heart.
Emmrich was dressed up as well, but his top covered the only the right side of his torso with shimmering fabric that was such a dark green it was almost black. His left side, front and back, were covered by a network of 'bones' in gold and silver, threaded together with tiny chains. It was daring, far more skin than he normally would show, but this was what the season demanded. Many would be wearing even less, but this was as much as he could deal with. It was already a little daunting to have his pierced nipple on display, but at least one of the metal 'ribs' would be over it in most positions.
Thankfully he also had pants, too. He would not go for the full robes that symbolized mages for many countries, but he expected to see plenty of them there tonight. Once Emmrich's hair was fully fixed, and his earring adjusted, tomb-script hexagon connected by chain to a blue-inlaid beetle, Emmrich was ready to go.
He held out a hand. "I will be the envy of all, on your arm." What 'ol' scaff' meant was beyond him, but he had a feeling it was self-depreciating as usual with Hugh so he wasn't inclined to repeat it right now.
"Shall we?" A palanquin waited outside the Necropolis for them, as did one for every senior member of the Mourn Watch, even though the walk would have been short enough. It was customary to arrive within something, so five-minute ride it would be.
This year the ball was being held at the Pentaghast estate, though the Van Markhams had raised a fuss about not being the hosts. Hosting alternated between the two and the Van Markhams had hosted last year, but the family not hosting always complained. It didn't matter. All that mattered was that Hugh had agreed to come. Emmrich would have his husband there. Nothing could sink his mood tonight. He had a paper out, he'd helped save the world since the last ball he'd attended two years ago, and he had a husband to show for it.
Another finals season had drawn to a close. Emmrich sat alone at a table in the back of the tavern, half-watching the front entrance as he worked on an ale and a leave-of-absence letter. This was going to be his last finals season for a couple of years, he'd decided. Hugh would likely be happy to hear it. As the end of the semester had approached Davrin had suggested Hugh come help out while Emmrich was busy, and while Emmrich could fully understand why his husband had been eager to take their friend up on the job, he'd missed his love sorely. These two-and-a-half weeks had been agony to go alone.
Hugh would return home tomorrow. It wasn't soon enough. And so Emmrich was here, about seven hours out of Nevarra City, in a tavern with rooms for rent that was often frequented by Wardens traveling through. He'd let Davrin know he'd be here so that if he and Hugh did make it this far tonight, Davrin would pick this tavern in this town. Emmrich deeply hoped they made it; that possibility had been the main thing that got him out of bed this morning.
His ale was nearly gone by the time the first draft of his letter was finished. In lieu of anything else to do Emmrich promptly started editing it. Myrna had to suspect it was coming, but he still wanted it to be gentle and respectful.
The next time Davrin asked Hugh to accompany him outside Nevarra "for just a little bit," he was kicking that elf right in the balls. The work hadn't been too hazardous— Maker knows Emmrich wouldn't have allowed for it—it hardly even ranked as official Warden business, but it had been gruelling. Boring, gruelling, and Hugh fears he ruined a decent pair of boots slogging through marshlands on a snipe hunt.
Their leads for a possible Blight outbreak turned out to be far more mundane, but there was still a host of natural threats out in Thedas. At least he got in a decent workout killing regular old beasties instead of picking tainted offal out of his armor. Of course, he'd do it all over again if Davrin asked, because Davrin was his best friend. That said, there was nothing more Hugh wanted now than to go home and crawl right into bed with Emmrich.
And an ale, Maker, he really wanted an ale. Fortunately, the tavern on the trail home could solve that particular want. He parted ways with Davrin, who would be carrying on back to Lavendel, and said he regrettable having business where he couldn't risk going on one of Hugh's infamous ragers. He knew the place; it had always been popular with Wardens, and the owners likewise always gave those from the Order a good shake and flexible bar tab.
"Andrastate's tits I need a pint!" Hugh announced himself by swinging the tavern doors open, dirty and dishelved from the road and in full platemail as. He all but fell into the stool by the bar and slapped a few silver pieces on the bartop with instructions to "Be a love and keep them coming until I'm fucking cross-eyed."
Hugh was in the middle of draining a tankard when his eyes roved over the tavern and he spotted—what?
A spray of amber ale spilled down his chin as he sputtered into his tankard, choking as he set it down at the sight of his husband this far out of Nevarra city, in this hole in the wall of all places. Hugh gaped across the room at Emmrich as he looked around, waiting for the other boot to drop. Surely he's gone insane, right?
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
After the prison, late game spoilers
"Get the others," Emmrich tells Manfred. Manfred leaves quickly and Emmrich starts the next step, looking for a weak spot. By the time the team is gathered in Rook's office, what remains of the team, Emmrich's found it and created a sort of bridge. He thinks. It's all entirely new territory, and he'd be excited if he'd slept more than two hours in a row for the last few weeks.
Emmrich waits, tense and nervous, as Neve checks over his work just in case he's so tired he's started hallucinating. When she nods he can almost breathe, but this still has to work.
"All right," he says, trying to focus. There is not enough coffee in Antiva to help him now; it has to be the remnants of adrenaline and fear carrying him through. "When I open this, I think we all need to be calling. I've no idea what size the prison is on that side, nor if Rook will be close. And I can only hold it open for about fifteen minutes at a time as it will be fighting."
Fifteen maximum. He can feel how much the prison wants to slip away.
But somehow, as has been their story of late, the impossible works. Rook is there, takes his hand, they pull him out, and Emmrich is terrified through it all that it's some trick, that Solas is still twisting something around but it looks like Rook and feels like Rook and sounds like Rook so he dares to hope.
All at once the fear and pain and stress break through the exhaustion and he reaches for Rook.
"You're back." It's half-spoken, half-prayer. "You're back."
no subject
The proverbial light at the end of the tunnel didn't bring him to the Maker's side, but was welcomed all the same. Rook was still trying to process what Solas had done to him when the voices of his team, his friends, cut through the pale static of his grey-washed prison he nearly confined himself to eternity to. On shaking legs, Rook forced himself to stand despite the protests of his team.
"I need to—" He had barely gotten two steps in before he was grabbing the back of the green leather sofa, right where Harding would sit he noted before he asked no one in particular, "How long?"
Emmrich is the one who caught him when he came tumbling out of the dark. Rook wanted to say a lot of things: 'Thank you' or 'I love you'—instead, what he managed was falling to his knees and voiding the bile in his stomach in a dry, heaving cough there on the library floor.
no subject
"You need to breathe and ground yourself for a few minutes before anything else. You were gone for," his voice breaks, "for weeks. But you're here now. You're back."
It's just as much to himself as it is to Rook. Emmrich needs to believe this is real because a part of him wonders. He's so worn out. What if he's fallen asleep? What if this is some new trick from Solas? Rook feels warm in his arms, but does that mean anything for certain?
He shifts one hand from a shoulder to the pulse point on Rook's neck, trying to get a gauge of how his love is doing. Weeks in the Fade might mean someone is fine, or not, with how variable the Fade is.
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
for corpsestuff
Almost the entire team was out on this excursion, desperate to stretch their legs with something that didn't involve fleeing for their lives. Rook himself didn't have any particular reason to tag along—except, of course, Emmrich mentioning a shopping list he had been meaning to take care of. This meant Rook was being gently steered towards helping, and if it meant showing off by carrying heavy bags, who was he to deny such a simple request?
Everyone had meandered their way through the markets for a couple of hours by the time they were all nearly wrapped up. Just as expected, Rook had taken up the duties of pack mule but was content in that role. He spotted Emmrich with Neve speaking to a vendor selling what looked like dried plants and—was that a glowing skull on the counter? Most likely, the discussion he was intruding on involved important mage business.
"I found everything on the list you gave me," Rook announced to Emmrich as he came up beside him, pleased with cocksure smiling as he let a job well done go to his head. "Anything else you can think of, let me know. I'll carry it back to the Cantori before we go."
The vendor, an older elven woman with mousey brown curls and laugh lines, looked between them and shook her head with a knowing smile. Rook was about to do the polite thing and say hello when she spoke first, looking at Emmrich. "If my son were half as reliable as your boy, I could have retired ages ago."
Rook felt his stomach drop out of him and found himself stunned out of a reaction. To his right, Neve made a choked sound hidden behind a hand that flew up to her mouth. Rook suspected it was her courteous way of masking a laugh that threatened to spill out of her. Maybe this would have been funny if Rook didn't feel as though he caught a full handed slap to the face by the remark.
"I—" Rook wanted to look to Emmrich but found himself worried about making the situation worse. What was he even supposed to say, if anything at all? He didn't want to make a scene or embarrass him. Now seemed to be the time for a tactical retreat.
"Right...well, uh. See you back at the Lighthouse." Rook gave Emmrich one stiff clap on his shoulder and departed.
no subject
When Rook joined, smiling with confidence, Emmrich felt like the day was made. There was something about the man's presence that never failed to lift Emmrich's spirits. His gaze softened... and then Emmrich's new mage acquaintance spoke.
Harding was one thing. Emmrich could deal with her comments more or less, and they were balanced out by the support and encouragement from Myrna (and, oddly, from Vorgoth.) But this, out of the blue, was devastating. Especially with the expression on Rook's face. Was this it? Was this the last comment that made him realize Emmrich was too old for him? Emmrich couldn't truly process what Rook said before he got the briefest, least intense possible touch there could be before leaving.
He watched Rook go, speechless. A few moments later it sunk in that Neve was covering for him, having resumed talking, and Emmrich couldn't re-engage. He thanked them both and walked away, feeling like all he had was static between his ears. He was old. Rook was not. It was visible at all times, and what if feelings weren't enough to overcome that gap in the end?
Somehow he wandered the Treviso canals for a couple of hours before he made it back to the Cantori Diamond.
"Ah, and there he is," Teia said warmly as he came up the stairs, sitting with Viago and Lucanis on the couches. "The last to come back. Lucanis was starting to get concerned."
Lucanis shook his head. "Only because of the Antaam, and Neve saying you might be distracted."
Emmrich forced a smile and a chuckle. "I'm headed back now, safe and sound, but thank you all." He could see in their eyes that he hadn't been convincing, but he didn't have the energy to try better so he gave them a quick nod of his head and departed for the eluvian. Behind him he could hear intense low whispering that he knew he likely didn't want to make out. He knew he likely didn't want to hear anything that anyone said today, because quite frankly he'd been living in denial for far too long.
Once back, instead of going to the music room, Emmrich retreated to the laboratory, his own room. There were a few smaller purchases to put away, and he did not want to rush the inevitable reaction coming from Rook. Let him pretend for five more minutes that he could have the joy their connection had given him.
no subject
—The anger was at least manageable; he'd gotten good at that over the years. At least, he thought he had until returning to the Lighthouse.
Davrin and Taash were already back, lounging in the library and in the middle of some discussion about hunting knives. Rook would have happily left them to it, but apparently, word gets around fast, and Davrin pounced on the opportunity the moment Rook was up the stairs out of the eluvian room.
"Heard there was a little family drama at the markets," Davrin said with a too-pleased smirk. Beside him, Taash snorted.
"Not the time, Davrin," Rook bit out, too drained to put up what would have otherwise been friendly ribbing between the two of them.
"Look, if you slip one of these days and call him 'pa' or—"
Just the word lanced through a place between Rook's ribs like a hot poker, and now he was seeing red. Old wounds, fresh reminders of his own shortcomings. His anger rose to a fever pitch, and soon Rook shouted at the top of his lungs, "I said not the time, Davrin!"
Rook immediately regretted it when he saw Taash's eyes go wide, and Davrin put up his hands in surrender. His outburst had been enough to be the normally unflappable Warden, his best friend on the defensive. Nothing more is said; Rook couldn't even manage a meager apology as he retreated to his room.
Turned on his side on the couch, Rook let his mind clear itself of cobwebs as he watched the fish swim lazily behind the glass. Time bled into minutes that turned it what could have been an hour, could have been several. That numbing sensation of apathy that followed in the wake of emotions running high was miserable as it was cathartic. Rook could have laid out like that for the rest of the day until a sound roused him out of his haze.
The laboratory was next to the meditation room, and the walls were thick, but Rook had long since memorized Emmrich's habits and learned to pick up the subtle signs of life through the brick and mortar. A footfall there, the heavy thud of a large book being set down here, and sometimes even the faint bell-like chimes of mortuary instruments being used or put away. Emmrich was definitely back; the noises Manfred made were more chaotic and excitable. Something squeezed painfully in Rook's chest; he needed to go over there. Apologize, explain himself, something.
Rook shuffled over to the laboratory with his proverbial tail tucked firmly between his legs. Announcing himself quietly as he slunk in with a defeated slump to his shoulders. He didn't even know what to say or if he should say anything at all. Eventually he settled on,
"You're back."
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
...
HOMECOMING SICKNESS
Bored.
The thought came unbidden to Rook, but he didn't fight it when it escaped from the back of his mind. That wasn't fair, he reasoned when he argued to himself that he hadn't been doing much to remedy that. When he wasn't traveling to the Anderfels to assist the Wardens, it wasn't as though he had been trying to find a hobby. Not to mention, he wasn't altogether useless to the Mourn Watch. They had been nothing short of gracious to him, and there was always some possessed corpse or demon that needed his hammer-subtle touch.
You're also not just here to be useful, Rook reminded himself. Hard as it was sometimes to convince himself of that — he was here because he loved Emmrich dearly. Which is partly why what he held in his hand felt like it weighed his weight in stone.
Vorgoth brought the message to him that morning after Emmrich departed to the lecture halls. Only by chance had Rook been that close to the main entrance, hoping to see Emmrich off, only to find he had been late. The price of sleeping in, it seemed. It appeared to have arrived from a former Inquisition agent making use of the eluvian. Damned useful, but its urgent arrival had formed a pit in Rook's stomach before he had opened it. Urgent news was never good news.
— Only, instead, Rook couldn't stem the growing tide of what he could only describe as excitement building inside of him. He must have read the damned thing a dozen times, each time with a surreal sense of disbelief as if the words were new to his eyes. It wasn't good news, far from it, but it was entirely unexpected and it had thrilled him all the same. There should be a sense of shame in that, but—
The entrance door to the apartment had unlatched itself; Rook could pick up that sound from clear across the other side of the apartment by now. The lecture must have ended early, he reasoned. Or had Rook really been lost in his own thoughts for that long? He's out of the study and in the entrance hall before Emmrich has a chance to finish opening the door. Rook lit up just to see him but sobered and cut right to the point,
"Emmrich, we need to go to Ferelden."
no subject
"-gladly take your help if you wish," he was saying to Manfred when the door opened to find Rook right there. Before Emmrich can do more than beam at the man, Rook was speaking.
"Oh," was all he could say as his brain started working. "Of course. What's the need?"
Of course was not what he would say to anyone else suggesting they go to Ferelden, ever. He knew that sooner or later Rook would likely ask that they go. Most everyone liked sharing their homeland with their loved ones, after all. Emmrich just wished Ferelden was not so low on the list of places he'd like to visit again.
Emmrich came the rest of the way in, along with Manfred.
"Rook! Took test!" the skeleton declared happily before going in toward the stove, no doubt to make tea.
For his part Emmrich set the exam papers on his desk before sliding his arms around Rook's waist. "What calls us to Ferelden?"
He was going to have to leave Manfred behind. That was fine, of course, Manfred was gaining independence enough to the point he had his own room in the apprentice wing, but the spirit still spent most of his time around Emmrich and Emmrich treasured that. He didn't like leaving Manfred behind when a trip might be days rather than a few hours, and he can't imagine Rook wanting to leave Ferelden as soon as whatever task needed them was finished.
no subject
"Dunno!" And Manfred flitted away elsewhere as if he were happier he got to take an exam than bothering to be concerned about the results. An attitude and enthusiasm the spirit wore better than most wore their own skins.
The lull in both the conversation and mood by Manfred's Manfred-ness is broken by slender arms winding around Rook's waist. The latter blinks before returning the gesture until they're both comfortably flush together. In the arms of someone you love is perhaps the best way to tread on thin ice. Rook wasn't blind to the fact that Ferelden did not boast the best reputation where it concerned mages, but this wasn't the Ferelden of his boyhood — things had changed.
"Right," Rook let a long breath out like he was trying to buy himself seconds to collect his thoughts. "The Ferelden throne wants an audience — Morrigan sent the missive citing she couldn't come in person to explain, but from what I've gathered, things are...still dire in the South. Denerim hasn't been taken back from the darkspawn that are still breaking through out of the old thaigs and breaches that lead into the Deep Roads.
And with the Inquisitor being, well..." Rook didn't want to say gone as if the woman died rather than...whatever it was when you depart beyond the veil with a god. So instead, Rook just moved on. "Morrigan asked you to come along as well. The leadership at Calenhad is hurting for the guidance of an expert with spirits.
I'm told an eluvian that was recovered from the Brecilian forest is being kept in Amaranthine. We're to travel there and then take the Imperial Highway to Highever."
Rook looked up at Emmrich. His ordinarily guarded countenance was pinched as if waiting for the hard no.
"If you're able."
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
The first time
Age was the other big detail. Age, and the lack of lived experience that could come with age differences. Was he just getting swept up in the rush of a beautiful, curious, caring young man showing interest in him? Add to that the whole first thing. That was the entire reason he hadn't tried seriously making out in the Memorial Gardens. Someone's first time needed care and attention since they might not know or feel comfortable voicing their preferences. Maybe someone young deserved to have someone closer to their age as their first. And maybe he should let Hugh decide that.
Not like he let any of his thoughts color the walk back through the Crossroads. He had excellent company, and Emmrich truly enjoyed the Crossroads when antaam weren't trying to murder them.
They neared the Caretaker's boat, a sign that their time alone was drawing to a close. Emmrich wanted the date to continue. They needed a neutral place for that, though. He wasn't going to risk Hugh feeling pressured in any direction, especially not on a first date. They also needed somewhere they wouldn't have an audience. A place came to mind, much to his delight.
"Would you like to take this to the music room when we return? I've no doubt Manfred will be by the eluvian when we get in, and I can send him to get a bottle of wine and two glasses before letting him loose for the evening if that appeals. Unless it's too late in the evening. I know there are always pressing tasks."
There. A neutral place, an opening, and the easiest of ways out. Either way Emmrich can try to sort out if he's walking into something real, or just a passing fancy of Hugh's.
He wished he didn't doubt so much. Harding did have a point, though, as much as he disliked it. He might be being an absolute besotted fool already and they'd barely begun. At least so far neither Myrna or even Neve have voiced concerns. If either of them had, he'd certainly take a step back.
Re: The first time
Rook came to this realization when Emmrich first toured him around the gardens. The evening then had been enlightening, to say the least. Rook had been curious about Neverra and Emmrich in general, even after quickly coming to the conclusion both topics were far removed from what a Ferelden nobody might consider the norm.
Rook never thought about death much beyond his impassive acceptance of its inevitability. He hadn't even balked at the concept of a burial as a man whose religious preferences leaned towards cremation. The way Emmrich explained each grave site and custom was...beautiful? Deeply empathetic? Rook wasn't sure what the words were, but the feeling was the same; he envied how much the other man cared and could listen to him talk well until the early hours.
Which is why he was an idiot, Rook concluded. Who listens to a man as kind and as intelligent as Emmrich pour his heart out, show him the graves of his parents, and the best he could muster was - Oh, hi?
Why on earth Emmrich tolerated his blatant flirtation and company afterward was a mystery. The fact they kissed afterward equally mystified him. It wasn't until the dinner that Rook was convinced he was the luckiest imbecile alive.
The dinner itself was romantic and incredible. Save for the fact Rook continued to prove what a backwater lout he was by not knowing what spinach was and being overly impressed by braised chickpeas. He continued this trend of being a wreck by admitting his favorite color was white - which apparently wasn't even a color.
By the end Rook was convinced Emmrich would let him down gently. He'd never been with anyone longer than an evening or hasty afternoon, but he assumed it involved a lot of phrases such as: It's not you, it's me or Let's stay friends.
Then they're headed back to the Lighthouse and Emmrich is asking if they want to continue the evening in the music room. Over a bottle of wine. Something that Rook assumed that couples did together. It's with perhaps too much enthusiasm that Rook blurts our,
"I'd love that! Do you like a red or white? Lucanis recommend this fantastic pinot noir that pairs with..." Rook flushed and trailed of with, "I mean, if you'd care for the red."
no subject
"I enjoy both. Tell me of this pairing?" If Rook is this eager to spend more time in his company, well, then perhaps he should take a risk that seems like no risk, now.
The Caretaker's boat pulls up. Emmrich steps in and holds out a hand for Rook. He's taller. It's easy for him to assist. But once Rook is in, Emmrich brings the man's hand up to his lips with a smile.
"I'm very interested in learning everything you enjoy."
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
no subject
The 'wedding' was a game by Lyla's design when she found a box filled with lacquered beads made from river clay stashed on top of the fireplace mantle. Their mother had braided them in her hair on her wedding day, and Hugh only knew that because he had found them two years earlier. All of them were slightly misshapen and not quite uniform in size, but they shone brightly against candlelight in varying shades of russet and dusty blue.
( — He could still sometimes remember the heft of the beads in his palms. No larger than coins but weighty, solid. Now likely buried under the ash that was his village outside West Hill. )
Hugh had made the mistake of explaining what they were to Lyla, who demanded a wedding. Knowing she would stamp a hole into the floorboards or go blue in the face, he had acquiesced just to circumvent disaster.
What Hugh did not appreciate was having one of his mother's aprons tied around him and being declared the officiant mother superior. The Chantry had been the two oaks outside their cottage. The 'groom' ended up being their mother's wicker seamstress mannequin, and of course, the bride had been Lyla, whose bouquet was the finest bundle of ragweed with clumps of dirt still dangling from the roots where she yanked them out of the earth.
Hugh was stumbling through a jumble of the last Chantry homily he heard and what he thought a wedding officiant was supposed to say when their brother and father came home. At the sight of them, Micah Thorne nearly dropped his fishing haul and doubled over with a fit of laughter that nearly made him pass out. Their mother was less pleased her old wedding beads had been pilfered, but Hugh remembered it well. The ragweed, the wicker groom, and the laughter.
— Suffice it to say, Rook was more than a little overwhelmed about what was playing out in front of him.
In his lap was an inordinately heavy collection of fabric squares bound together in a leather 'book.' Beside him, Emmrich was turning over every swatch of various silks and velvets with clicks of his tongue and commentary on pattern and quality. Occasionally, he would ask for Hugh's opinion. With less frequency, Hugh would have something to add beyond that this particular pattern was nice or that he didn't know mauve was different than lilac.
Emmrich had taken Hugh's announcement that he would prefer to wed in his officer's uniform in stride, but there was still the matter of his groom-to-be's attire. Hugh wanted to be part of as much of the wedding planning as possible before — well, before an impending two-month period where Emmrich would be leading the charge on that front. Only the dizzying highs of engagement were now weighed down by the daunting reality of how much planning went into these sorts of things.
Lately, Hugh considered himself about as useful a contribution to the organizing as a water bucket with a hole in the bottom. There was just so much, but he wanted to be there for Emmrich even if set against his staggering ignorance of the task at hand. Hugh originally wanted a simple, private ceremony with close friends in a chantry — something familiar, however distantly, but decided against it in the end. There was part of this that was 'Ferelden' Hugh knew how to contribute without lessening the whole.
Now, he was just embarrassing himself. The meeting with the chef over cake samples? Helpfully declared everything 'pretty good.' The florist had given him an especially withering look she thought he didn't notice when he confused purple snapdragons for lavender.
Hugh so desperately wanted this to go right, vibrating out of his skin with the need for it to live up to Emmrich's expectations. Every time they discussed the wedding in detail, Hugh could see distant boyhood imaginations dance like wisplight behind Emmrich's hazel eyes. Hugh had memories of river beads and root-torn weeds to reference from, Emmrich had dreams, ones that were left shuddered behind broken hopes for far too long. It seemed insurmountable some days, but Hugh had to try.
"Can we take a break?" Hugh asked after his attention started to drift away from discussions of what color the dining table runner should be for the reception. The shades of green blended into a blur the more they looked through that he worried his dreams tonight would all be in green.
Then, more conciliatory, Hugh added, "You were going to take me to the jewelers soon to settle on a design for the earring, right?"
That, Hugh reasoned, he could get right. His excitement to have a part of himself permanently changed, like his tattoos, was second to actually getting married.
no subject
"Of course," he said to the first question, setting the swatches down with care so it would be easy to resume. Perhaps with the break would come ideas for ways to further incorporate things that were important to Hugh. Emmrich couldn't stand to marry in a Chantry, not when so many mages had been so mistreated by the institution, nor could he accept a southern Chantry official presiding when any with real rank or standing would have been complicit in harming mages, but there had to be elements they'd both enjoy that Hugh treasured. Somehow, somewhere, between the coordinating greens, purples, gold, and whites that so far were coming to be the theme colors for the wedding. It was very Mourn Watch, and that worried Emmrich a little.
But the other question directly lead to something he knew Hugh was enthusiastic about, at least. Emmrich smiled brightly at him.
"Yes. We could go now, the shops will be open." The nicest jewelry shops in Nevarra city didn't open first thing in the morning. Most of them didn't open until after traditional lunch times, because the artisans knew they were in high demand from people who understood that art and an artist's time had value.
He got up and glanced at the study. "Can Manfred accompany us?" It felt right, the three of them together. The jokes about Manfred being like a son truly weren't far off, and Manfred adored Hugh. While he awaited an answer Emmrich pulled on his jacket, straightened it, and considered his staves before choosing the one that sometimes bubbled over with his energy. He was fond of the light it cast when carried.
Perhaps they should discuss food after. That would likely be more to Hugh's liking. He hadn't asked if there should be a meat selection separate from the vegetarian one, though he had a feeling Hugh would be greatly in favor of it.
no subject
Now, not only was marriage attainable, but something Hugh deeply wanted. The irony was now that it was in his immediate future, he had no idea what to do. He glanced down at the book of fabric samples — he didn't particularly even like green paired with purple, but he didn't want to tell Emmrich that. He just trusted Emmrich knew what was best.
"Of course," Hugh answered as he rose and pulled on a considerably more plain overcoat. Nevarra was a temperate country, but this early in the year, there was enough of a nip in the air to warrant a jacket. "We'll just have to keep an eye on him in the jewelers. He's practically a magpie."
Speak of the spell-flinging, shiny-object-obsessed skeleton son, and he shall appear. No sooner had Hugh made the comment had Manfred came excitedly tumbling down the hall into the room. His gemstone eyes were bright with excitement, meaning he had clearly overheard enough to know they were going into the city for the day.
"Rook!" Manfred said in that slightly stilted, raspy voice of his. He was getting better, some days even able to carry on a full conversation with effort.
"Manfred," Hugh chuckled, "I told you, you can use my name."
"Rook!"
"Fair enough."
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
cue dramatic victorian illness disease
That was hardly fair, and he reminded himself even while glowering in his cacoon of blankets. From the very beginning, Rook knew Emmrich's day-to-day life was that of a professor within the Grand Necropolis and one with more than a little prestige to the title. Rook wasn't going to fault his lover for having a passionate dedication to his professional life.
— It would be nice, however, if Emmrich had warned him first how much time together would be robbed in the weeks pending exams.
Exams, Rook rolled his still tired eyes at the word. Magecraft and its echelons of higher learning were certainly outside his wheelhouse. Only to his layman's perspective, there was something downright draconian in raking both faculty and the student body over the coals for days on end. All for a test meant to distill an entire semester's worth of work. At least in the Wardens his 'exams' were showing a superior how great he was at learning how not to get hit with a training sword.
Beneath the frustration was a greater worry that Rook couldn't ignore. Emmrich had been burning the candle from both ends, running himself ragged the last several days. More than once, Rook had woken up in the middle of the night and found Emmrich either working or slumped over his desk. He assumed this morning would be like the others — finding Emmrich in his clothes from yesterday, dark circles under his eyes while nursing a cup of overly strong tea.
Rook rolled out of bed and put on a shift, expecting to find a similar scene in the study. Only when he padded out of the bedroom and into the larger part of the apartment did he discover that he didn't have to go looking for Emmrich. There on the low back chaise in the sitting room, was Emmrich, splayed out on the deep emerald cushions and fast asleep. Still in yesterday's clothes, but at least he was asleep, and rather soundly it appeared.
Never one to turn down an opportunity, Rook slunk over to the lounge and eased himself beside his sleeping lover. Emmrich hadn't even stirred when Rook laid down beside him, half on top of him with his head on Emmrich's slowing rising and falling chest.
"Mmm," Rook relaxed, "You're warm..."
— That was when he noticed it. The rattling sound of his breathing, the cloying and sickly sweet smell of his sweat, and the heat radiating through his clothing despite the fireplace having long since gone to ash. With a start, Rook sat up straight as his hand shot to Emmrich's brow.
"Emmrich, you're burning up," The panic in his voice was barely contained as he shook the man's slender shoulders and gently but firmly patted his clammy cheek. "Emmrich? Emmrich, love, wake up."
no subject
He'd felt more weary than usual as he looked over the reviews he was to hand out tomorrow, and wondered if maybe tonight he should pack it up and head to bed before the hour hit single digits again. He could always get up early as usual in the morning. Decided, he'd gotten up and made it as far as the lounge before deciding that he should sit and take off his boots.
The next thing he knew was the world shaking as something touched his cheek and Rook spoke.
"Mm," he 'said,' annoyed and trying not to be annoyed. Rook wouldn't be waking him up for no reason. Emmrich opened his eyes and promptly closed them again; they felt scratchy and grainy and the light in the room was too bright. Why it was too bright made no sense when he was so cold that the fire must be out.
"Rook?" Emmrich asked. His voice didn't sound right, but even more it didn't feel right, also feeling scratchy. "'s cold." Damp. He was cold because he was damp, why was he damp? He felt like there was something incredibly obvious he was missing, but his thoughts were sluggish. He also, frustratingly, still had a boot on. Emmrich tried to pry it off with his socked foot because he didn't feel like getting up.
no subject
A man who happened to have a stubborn streak nearly as wide as Rook's own.
Rook had joked more than once that burning the candle at both ends would leave Emmrich burnt out. He now bitterly regrets those words when Emmrich finally opens his eyes, the beautiful hazel marred by threads of red throughout the white. Rook turned, looking toward the main hall.
"Manf-" Rook cut himself off with a quiet curse. That was right; Manfred was with the junior apprentices for a field study into local tombs for the next two days.
"Of course you're cold," Rook said as he turned his attention back on Emmrich, "You're shivering with fever, and the fire's been out for ages."
Reaching down, Rook managed to pull Emmrich's boot off before hoisting his lover into his arms. Emmrich was always easy to carry, but now he felt lighter as if deflated by fever. Rook carried him into their bedroom and set him on top of the comforter.
"You've sweated through your clothes," He explained as he undressed Emmrich down to his small before fetching him a nightgown. Any intimacy in the act is replaced by worry and haste to attend to the man's needs. "Sit up for me. Let's get this on you and under the covers. I'll send work to Vorgoth you're not well."
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
Once Bitten Half Shy
Though there was the rare exception, if you believed the stories. Survivors of an ancient ritual, stronger than the other Grey Wardens, just as able to sense Darkspawn, even more skilled at killing them, and possibly, just maybe, willing to help. Their price was reportedly lower. One simply had to feed them.
Something is stirring in the depths where the First Blight happened, and with how deep the Grand Necropolis goes they need answers. And so Emmrich is here, at an ancient fortress, hoping that not only are the more elite Wardens real, but that one is willing to come back to Nevarra with him. The kitchens are even prepared to serve meat dishes if that's what this Warden prefers.
It's windy and chilly here. Emmrich pulls his coat closer around him as he walks through the front courtyard. The front door is unlocked, but then what sort of super-warrior would need it locked?
"Hello?" he calls out as he enters a large hall. "I've come to ask for assistance!"
no subject
If Hugh Thorne was a legend in any tale, it was the record of his many infractions and demerits.
Of course, the First Warden kicked him down the line to this border posting, and that is why it was insisted Hugh be the one to meet this mage from Nevarra seeking help. The Wardens hadn't dealt with Nevarra in living memory; the Mortalitassi gave even their Order a run for its money on secrecy. To have one of its own seek the Wardens out, well, Hugh suspected this wasn't just a mage jumping at shadows.
From the shadow of the great hall of the outpost, Hugh could have been another suit of armor that lined the walls for how still he was—not moving even to breathe as he watched the mage cross his threshold. Older, that classic sort of handsome that made Hugh think of demanding greenhouse flowers, and taller than most men but all narrow and long-limbed.
"It echoes something fierce in here," Hugh said as he he stepped out from the wall, removing the illusion he was just enough empty set of armor. When he announced himself, he was no more than two paces from the mage and somehow hadn't made a sound.
"Evening. The mage from Nevarra, I take it?"
no subject
But that knowledge doesn't mean he's skilled at spotting who might be here. Emmrich is not made for walking alone in the dark, or spotting those who lurk in it, which means he yelps and jumps back when the armor moves and speaks. It's a person. Of course it's a person, because he would have sensed a spirit and now he needs to try to catch his breath as he presses a hand over his heart. What a phenomenally bad way to start a negotiation for help, truly.
"Yes," Emmrich says, knowing he's lost any chance of looking like he's got it together but straightening up and trying to attempt it anyway. He straightens his vest too.
"Professor Emmrich Volkarin." He holds out his hand. "Are you one of the Grey Wardens? The one who might help?"
The speaker has him entirely at a disadvantage physically, face covered, build obscured, and closer than Emmrich usually let armed and armored people get. Distance, range, that was what a mage wanted, and why was he thinking about that? This was meant to be an ally. He wasn't in danger, surprise greeting not withstanding.
"A lack of furnishings in large spaces does tend to make for quite the echo."
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
no subject
For one, the bottom half was loose fit and pleated to give the appearance of robes cinched at the waist but were actually trousers. Illusory robes, the tailor called them. The torso was an asymmetrical single piece with a high neckline that stopped at the larynx so as not to feel restrictive. The cuffs of the sleeves were wide but utilitarian and without embellishment or anything that complicated movement. In its entirety, the outfit was uniformally cut from the same midnight black silk and was simple yet elegant and did the impossible by somehow slimming his profile.
—Until Hugh turned around, anyway.
Turning away from the mirror revealed an open back from just above the shoulder blades to just above the tailbone. Enticing without being obscene was how the tailor described the cut. Hugh would have been fine with it, but the simplicity of the robes was all build-up to the main event of the piece.
Running up his spine and connected at the sleeves with symmetrical gold threads as fine as spider silk was a rosegold spine with intricately movement segments connected with tiny, pale gemstones. That wasn't the only gold on him, either. If he so much as flicked either arm, the clink of matching cuff bracelets was audible. A step forward and the hem of his pants would flow around an anklet clasped with two skeletal hands holding a sapphire. Even his most prized piece, and the most important, the griffon wing pieced to his helix and connected to his earlobe, had an addition — another rose gold chain with a sapphire teardrop that hovered just above his shoulder.
This was fine, Hugh reminded himself. Emmrich had been over the moon when Hugh stood for nearly three hours at the tailors and another two at the jewelers, which this entire ensemble was coming together. Hugh must have said some variation of 'it's great' dozens of times since.
It's one stupid night. Just swallow your pride and play nice with the other kids. Hugh narrowed his eyes at his reflection as if giving it an ultimatum. You love Emmrich more than you hate parading around a ballroom full of nobility.
He loved Emmrich more than anything. He especially loved Emmrich enough that he wasn't going to spend the evening doing the mental math of how much he could eat off a single bangle or bauble.
"I cut a clean up nice for an ol'scaff, ay?" Hugh turned and grinned broadly, peacocking to the man still readying himself by the vanity of their room.
no subject
There were two comforts here. One, that he did love a crowd (especially one that wasn't just nobility,) and two, that Hugh looked stunning.
"Breathtaking," Emmrich said honestly, letting his eyes wander over the man who was at last adorned as he should be. He didn't expect Hugh to keep wearing any of it past this evening, but just seeing it all on his husband did so much for his heart.
Emmrich was dressed up as well, but his top covered the only the right side of his torso with shimmering fabric that was such a dark green it was almost black. His left side, front and back, were covered by a network of 'bones' in gold and silver, threaded together with tiny chains. It was daring, far more skin than he normally would show, but this was what the season demanded. Many would be wearing even less, but this was as much as he could deal with. It was already a little daunting to have his pierced nipple on display, but at least one of the metal 'ribs' would be over it in most positions.
Thankfully he also had pants, too. He would not go for the full robes that symbolized mages for many countries, but he expected to see plenty of them there tonight. Once Emmrich's hair was fully fixed, and his earring adjusted, tomb-script hexagon connected by chain to a blue-inlaid beetle, Emmrich was ready to go.
He held out a hand. "I will be the envy of all, on your arm." What 'ol' scaff' meant was beyond him, but he had a feeling it was self-depreciating as usual with Hugh so he wasn't inclined to repeat it right now.
"Shall we?" A palanquin waited outside the Necropolis for them, as did one for every senior member of the Mourn Watch, even though the walk would have been short enough. It was customary to arrive within something, so five-minute ride it would be.
This year the ball was being held at the Pentaghast estate, though the Van Markhams had raised a fuss about not being the hosts. Hosting alternated between the two and the Van Markhams had hosted last year, but the family not hosting always complained. It didn't matter. All that mattered was that Hugh had agreed to come. Emmrich would have his husband there. Nothing could sink his mood tonight. He had a paper out, he'd helped save the world since the last ball he'd attended two years ago, and he had a husband to show for it.
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
Fake First Date
Hugh would return home tomorrow. It wasn't soon enough. And so Emmrich was here, about seven hours out of Nevarra City, in a tavern with rooms for rent that was often frequented by Wardens traveling through. He'd let Davrin know he'd be here so that if he and Hugh did make it this far tonight, Davrin would pick this tavern in this town. Emmrich deeply hoped they made it; that possibility had been the main thing that got him out of bed this morning.
His ale was nearly gone by the time the first draft of his letter was finished. In lieu of anything else to do Emmrich promptly started editing it. Myrna had to suspect it was coming, but he still wanted it to be gentle and respectful.
no subject
Their leads for a possible Blight outbreak turned out to be far more mundane, but there was still a host of natural threats out in Thedas. At least he got in a decent workout killing regular old beasties instead of picking tainted offal out of his armor. Of course, he'd do it all over again if Davrin asked, because Davrin was his best friend. That said, there was nothing more Hugh wanted now than to go home and crawl right into bed with Emmrich.
And an ale, Maker, he really wanted an ale. Fortunately, the tavern on the trail home could solve that particular want. He parted ways with Davrin, who would be carrying on back to Lavendel, and said he regrettable having business where he couldn't risk going on one of Hugh's infamous ragers. He knew the place; it had always been popular with Wardens, and the owners likewise always gave those from the Order a good shake and flexible bar tab.
"Andrastate's tits I need a pint!" Hugh announced himself by swinging the tavern doors open, dirty and dishelved from the road and in full platemail as. He all but fell into the stool by the bar and slapped a few silver pieces on the bartop with instructions to "Be a love and keep them coming until I'm fucking cross-eyed."
Hugh was in the middle of draining a tankard when his eyes roved over the tavern and he spotted—what?
A spray of amber ale spilled down his chin as he sputtered into his tankard, choking as he set it down at the sight of his husband this far out of Nevarra city, in this hole in the wall of all places. Hugh gaped across the room at Emmrich as he looked around, waiting for the other boot to drop. Surely he's gone insane, right?
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...