Silence fell over them with the heaviness of a shroud for a drawn-out time, with only the crackling of candlelight to keep it from being demeaning. Rook had started to come down from whatever dissociative spell had made him feel like a stranger in his own skin. The experience hadn't exactly been like dodging fireballs or deflecting ice magic with his shield. It had rankled in a way he hadn't experienced since his Joining with the Warden.
He was of a clearer mind then and could hazard what Emmrich might be thinking. Not fully turning, almost shy, Rook looked over his shoulder at Emmrich. He tried not to look too much like a kicked dog when Emmrich was the one trying to apologize for doing the right thing.
"You didn't hurt me," Not entirely true but it was all done out of love and something which Rook didn't fully understand despite his best effort. "Emmrich, I—"
Rook sighed, trying to think of what to say. His troubles with talking about himself when it was so much easier to help others instead clashed with the fact in doing so, he was only hurting someone he loved.
"What was weeks for you has been barely a day for me — in twenty-four hours, I've lost a friend, learned another has been dead this entire time, and someone I was starting to look up to had been toying with me to his own ends." Rook turned more towards Emmrich, leaning on his hand stretched out on the step, almost close enough to touch. "And just now I'm finding out he could've done far worse — could have hurt the team, hurt you..
I'm not angry, Emmrich—you're a blessing. Maker, I'm just...collecting myself, please. Few are more aware of how dire things are, but allow me that."
Would he ever stop feeling exhausted? Likely yes, but right now it felt like the answer was no. Emmrich was spent emotionally, physically, and mentally, and hanging in the dark, waiting to know anything, made clear how absolutely he was stretched thin. He genuinely felt old for the very first time in his life.
When Rook moved Emmrich's gaze fell on his hand and lingered there as the mage wondered if he could just touch it, if it would be all right. The sound of Rook's voice drew him out of that though and forced him to focus to process what was being said.
Slowly Emmrich nodded. "I understand." Rook's worn thin too. Somehow they need to rally long enough to survive defeating Elgar'nan, and the only thing Emmrich can be thankful about with Solas is that the Dread Wolf will probably weaken Elgar'nan for the killing blow.
Maybe if he just talks and doesn't think, doesn't dwell in his head, he can provide a break for the both of them. Emmrich leans back the rest of the way, closing his eyes and seemingly resting, though he leaves his own hand out near Rook just in case.
"I wish I'd met Varric. What I've gathered of him has all been larger than life, from his connection to the Circles rising up to how he worked with Seer Pentaghast. He truly had an impact on the world as it is." He wondered if Varric had been buried according to Dwarf traditions or Ferelden and Free March ones. If it's the former, if the Dwarf's body is in a crypt somewhere, he might be able to give Rook a final chance to talk with his friend, sometime after the fate of the world was decided. He'll ask Neve later.
"The fact that he was friends with a spirit of Compassion spoke highly for him. Though what speaks the highest is that he recognized in you what the Warden leadership has clearly failed to notice. I have him to thank for you being in my life."
And Solas, sort of, but Emmrich chooses to believe that Rook's in his life in spite of Solas, not because of him. Emmrich goes quiet then, wondering if he'll fall asleep and wake to find Neve and the others storming the Necropolis.
Rook looked down to see his hand a hairsbreadth away from Emmrich's, and the distance made him feel miles apart. Emmrich had been right to bring him here, and Rook had repaid that gesture by collapsing in on himself. Reaching out, Rook covered Emmrich's hand with his own and gently squeezed it.
"If anyone owes that Dwarf a debt, it's me," Rook whispered. "I was resigned in the Wardens, but with you, I'm happy — content for what feels like the first time in my life."
Things were going to take time to mend. Even once Elgar'nan had been dealt with when Maker willing, Solas at least had the sense and shreds of decency left to help them with this wouldn't end with just going home to lick their wounds. There was only so much disaster the world could endure, let alone a person.
"I wish you could have," Rook agreed as a whistful smile softened his face. "Even I knew who he was when our mutual contact in the Wardens had our paths cross. Varic had this...gift for making you feel like the biggest person in the room — well, you know. He had this way of things when he talked to you; he made you feel like the hero in some story he was already penning in his head. Compassion could have learned a thing or two from someone like Varric — really, I'm pretty sure it had."
Speaking of Varric in the past tense was surreal in and of itself, so soon after, he'd learned the truth. In retrospect, Rook should have sensed something was off. Solas had dulled his mind to not ask obvious questions. Never bothering to think too deeply on why Varric never had dinner with the team or seemed to spend any time with them, or why, when asked by Emmrich about Rook's adventures with the dwarf, he followed up with questions about how Rook wished to be interred.
Rook wants to draw Emmrich in closer when another feeling nags at him. This time, Rook wouldn't keep his worries to himself as he always had. If Solas went so far as to make him believe Varric had been alive this whole time, what else could he have done? Rook wasn't looking to blame the old elven god that had taken up residence in his head for every blunder he made as a leader, but...
"Emmrich? How much..." Rook worried his lip and squeezed the other man's hand a little right, "How much do you believe Solas affected me? Now I'm left to wonder if there was something I've said or done that wasn't me, choices I've made that weren't my own but a thread in a larger scheme."
Emmrich smiles faintly as their hands touch, but he stays where he is to keep giving Rook room. The man is good at showing when he's had enough of it, and right now Emmrich needs to trust him and let him breathe.
Unfortunately he then goes and asks the one question that terrifies Emmrich right now. He swallows, or tries to. His mouth is incredibly dry right now.
"I don't know." He hates making that admission, especially after the squeeze of his hand. "I'm not an expert in what blood mages can do. That would likely be Neve. This room? It's because sometimes twisted spirits possess corpses, or powers we don't fully understand, and this is where we can bring them to separate them from whatever is controlling them. If we hadn't destroyed Johanna's golem before she'd managed to merge into it, we would have brought it here and forced them apart. The enchantments are complicated and relatively subtle for what they are, but they don't tell us anything. They simply eliminate external influences and control placed on the targeted being."
"On top of that..." Emmrich trails off, shaking his head. "What can a god do? Elgar'nan created an eclipse. Solas is no evanuris, but he has enough power that he bested seven of them with his army. Is there anything you look back on you doing and feel doesn't fit with who you are?"
Like sleeping with an older man, for instance.
"I wish I could offer you confident reassurance." There'd be a pet name there at any other time, but Emmrich is trying very very hard to not get into his own head and not overthink things, which means there's little room for anything except simple facts. He will not anticipate disaster before it happens if it happens. "But I don't even know why he'd make you believe Varric was still alive. Perhaps it was to keep you from feeling steady in your role as our leader? Or perhaps it was to drive a wedge--"
Now he cut off mid-sentence and opened his eyes, turning slightly to look at Rook. "You never showed up for book club. I know you're not the most avid reader, but it seemed an odd choice to not go to spend time when you could also mock a book if it wasn't to your taste. I'd thought you even wanted to join us and when I asked after if you'd had a good afternoon you'd seemed out of it. Every book club meeting was the same -- you seemed interested and then on the day of you seemed detached. Solas could have wanted to isolate you?"
Which would then mean that their relationship would not have been something Solas was aiming for, but that was only if Emmrich's gut feeling was correct.
"Would she have even fit in here — how would you even get her through the door?" Rook asked as he momentarily forgot their troubles to look around the chamber as if trying to calculate the logistics of transporting that twisted lich monstrosity in here.
— Rook then looked back at Emmrich, and his mouth formed into a tight, awkward smile. It's probably not the best time to ask about the hypotheticals when discussing a very real, very potentially world-ending situation.
The mood sobered considerably as Emmrich continued. Rook only interrupted again once to mention he would speak to Neve when they returned; she would be their best bet to unraveling the particulars of blood magic. Blood magic, he grimaced. From what he had discerned from the Inquisitor when last he spoke to her, Rook had gotten the impression that Solas had few scruples but firmly drew the line on those he adhered to. Solas abhorred blood magic, and to Rook, it made no sense for him to sabotage who was essentially his man on the outside. Or I'm just overestimating my own importance in all this — to him and all the rest, Rook thought and wanted to pretend it didn't hurt as much as it did.
"You know, we keep saying Solas is no evanuris, but at this point, the only thing that divides them in terms of power is there are still limits he won't cross," Rook had to concede that point even if it left a bitter taste in his mouth, "And he defeated them once. We underestimated him too many times. Why he wanted to keep me off-balanced still doesn't make sense, though."
Rook frowned, trying to put into clear focus his own behavior of the last several months. "I— ...no, you're right. There were days I can recall being asked to do something socially with others and suddenly finding my attention elsewhere or even losing interest entirely. The only place I felt centered was talking to Varric or in the meditation room, just staring at the wall. I could always get like that, sometimes, wanting to be alone that I didn't even question how it was more intense, more...out of control."
Just then, Rook's eyes lit, and he looked to Emmrich up in a way they hadn't since his return from the Fade. Tension seeped out of his shoulders, and he smiled warmly before saying, "Of course, you piece it all together by thinking about the book club."
The question brought the briefest mischievous sparkle to Emmrich's eyes. "I told you some time ago that the Necropolis can shift around." The Necropolis is there to serve the dead and the spirits. It would serve both to free tortured, imprisoned souls.
The rest he nods along with solemnly until he gives Rook a small smile at the last. Emmrich is incredibly tired. After weeks of stress, nearly no sleep, and little food he'd gotten maybe 8 hours of sleep and then launched right into an incredibly stressful adrenaline surge that had been another few hours. Now that's gone and he's on the floor and supported and still trying hard to not look as wiped out as he feels because if he's left behind in the final charge he will not be able to deal with that emotionally or mentally.
"I'm not certain there are limits Solas will not cross, at this point. We've seen how he betrayed Mythal and now we know that he abused the memory of someone who may have been the closest to a friend he's had in hundreds of years. He saved the elves from being sacrificed at Elgar'nan's hands, but if the Veil comes down just as many elves will die as humans, dwarves, and qunari. It might be safer to say there are lines he says, and perhaps even believes, he will not cross, but that is not in fact true."
Which was fitting for the god of lies, betrayal, and trickery. Unfortunately. "He is a Pride spirit, and pride can be twisted many ways to justify nearly anything, especially when he is Pride from Wisdom. He believes he knows everything, and therefore must be the solution."
This is all he has the energy for at this moment, to let his brain work at and extrapolate from the information they have. Thank the Maker it's useful.
"As far as why..." That takes more consideration. "Perhaps it made you easier to manipulate. More like a--"
Emmrich cuts himself off before his expression turns resigned and he sighs. "More like a pawn than a rook, go ahead, make your jokes now."
"Oh," Rook's brows pinched together with a worry wrinkle as he tried to comprehend the impossible geometries of the Necropolis, "So the ceiling would just open up? How would you even lift her..."
As Rook was trying to divine how to airlift evil giant skeletons, he had unconsciously shifted closer to Emmrich's spot. Not by very much, but he no longer had to extend his arm all the way to hold the other's hand. He frowned, then. Drawn back in by Emmrich's palpable weariness and the intermingling of worry and guilt for being the root of it that knotted up inside him.
"His pride has been humbled in the past," Rook said, again, moving infinitesimally closer to Emmrich without being aware of it himself, "I have to believe he isn't entirely beyond redemption or at least reasoned with — even if it did cost him his life, Varric believed in that, and I won't go back on his wishes if I can help it."
However dire their circumstance were, Rook could not help but to perk up at Emmrich's preemptive exacerbation when he found himself walking right into a terrible and poorly timed joke.
"Rook no further; even with my checkered past, I know enough about chess to talk about it all knight."
He loved every smile Rook gave him, now more than ever. There had been moments in the last few weeks when he'd feared he'd never see it again, never hear another atrocious string of wordplay. That was a life he simply couldn't accept. Not anymore.
And so the series of puns gets a shake of his head but that shake is accompanied by an incredibly fond look in Emmrich's eyes.
"You are ridiculous, my love." He gives Rook's hand a tight squeeze. It strikes him then that Rook seems slightly closer. He might just be indulging in wishful thinking, but he also might have blinked and missed Rook scooting a little, somehow? Either way he leans a tiny bit toward Rook, not enough to overbalance him, but enough to bring them fractionally closer yet.
"Only in regard to your jokes, however. The other is compassionate, far from ridiculous. it is important to have hope even now, and honoring a fallen friend is incredibly important." Emmrich didn't know if it was possible for Wisdom-turned-Pride to accept that someone else might be right, based on his very natures, but life is about learning and oh the things he's learned about spirits and the Fade these past many months.
"We have a mutual greatest enemy. I don't know if that will be enough to convince him not to tear down the Veil, but if there is a way I have faith you will find it."
They've come through so much. While it's impossible to not worry about the future, it's also impossible to stop hoping. Two gods are defeated. Multiple dragons, including an archdemon. Flowers are blooming in blighted lands. There are griffons in the world. And here he is with the man that he loves beyond all else.
Despite his tiredness, Emmrich reaches out with his free hand to cup Rook's face. "I have full faith in you, my dearest. My darling. My Rook."
"Some rook I am when I can't even think straight with you," Rook took a mighty swing at such low-hanging fruit at that moment, so ridiculous even he looked sheepish the moment he said it, "Sorry...that was the last one, promise."
The meekness he experienced at that moment hadn't abated after one poor excuse for a joke as Emmrich sang his praises. Arguing he hadn't earned such praise when he had only been one part of a team where he relied too much on not-so-divine intervention and dumb luck would have been brushed aside. Emmrich was the voice of reason in a maelstrom of clashing personalities and possibly why Rook had held it together for this long. He would likely say for every setback, there had been a victory, no matter how seemingly insignificant.
— Leave it to the most compassionate necromancer in Thedas to find the flowers among the corpses.
"I'd be lost without you, Emmrich," Leaning into the touch, Rook managed through a lump in his throat that grew larger at every endearment levied at him, "This whole time, I was trying to convince myself of the impossible, but I believe you."
Emmrich was unfathomably patient when it came to Rook. A man who, by his own admission, shamelessly flirted his way into a romance only to become frigid and turn in on himself when hurt. Rook handled his own emotions as if he were jumping at shadows, and Emmrich waited whenever he withdrew.
Overwhelmed by the faith Emmrich had in him and the forbearance he didn't deserve, Rook, for once, didn't get up and leave. Rook gradually moved closer until his thigh pressed against Emmrich's knee. He hesitated before lowering his head and resting it on Emmrich's shoulder. They've been this close before, countless times, and rather recently, but never when emotions ran this high. If he weren't so tired, Rook would have been shaking under the strain of everything he had kept bottled up.
"I thought I would be trapped forever, but...I did have someone to come back to."
He was not prepared for the joke this time, and the fact that it worked on two levels made it both worse and better. This was the man he loved with all that he was, and, if things go as he hoped, the man he would spend the rest of his days with. Emmrich had chosen this and would choose it again gladly without hesitation, even as he groaned at getting hit with yet another pun.
It's a massive relief when Rook doesn't deny Emmrich's words or pull away. No, not just a relief. It warms his heart beyond words that Rook accepts Emmrich's feelings this time.
When Rook leans against him, Emmrich leans back in return. It's clear that he's not the only tired one. He refuses to think might be the reason for Rook not running, especially with Rook's words.
"I would have moved Fade and Thedas itself to bring you back." Technically he may have moved part of the Fade. He'd have to look back over his scribbled notes later; there were some conclusions he'd jumped to on thin information that he absolutely wouldn't have with more sleep and less desperation, and he's fairly sure some of them will be considered inconceivable if and when he writes papers on them later.
Emmrich could absolutely take a nap right here, but not only would that mean he'd wake up in pain, it would also probably mean they'd wake to Neve leading a charge through the Necropolis. He sighed, loathe to admit how drained he was but lacking other choices.
"Would you mind if I called someone to assist us to my rooms? I'm not certain I can get there without aid at this point, and I don't want to overburden you when you're tired as well."
The one advantage to being half-dead on your feet and running on fumes is it leaves little energy to think. There was a certain sense of catharsis to being bled dry of all energy after something harrowing that your mind scrubbed itself blank. Rook had all but spent his higher brain functions on wrapping his head around Solas's latest betrayal and a few terrible jokes.
Rook wrapped his arms in a loose embrace around Emmrich's waist as he pulled himself in closer. Face turned into the dip of Emmrich's neck so close he could match his breathing to the other man's pulse. Being curled up against someone was a feat for someone of Rook's size but Emmrich being taller helped. The stone beneath them was cold and uncomfortable, but Rook would take a sore tailbone over moving.
"You sort of did," Rook pointed out. He knew he was a layman when it came to the Fade, but even he could appreciate the impossible task that Emmrich and the others pulled off.
It was impossible to hide the rigidity that seized Rook when Emmrich asked about calling for help. Rook wasn't so arrogant as to snub help, but now? He wasn't keen on the idea for all the reasons that frustrated Emmrich. He pulled his head back,
"Call who exactly?" Rook asked, tone more suspicious than he intended.
The last bit of tension leaves Emmrich's body as Rook held him and pressed his face close. He let his eyes close and his head fall back against the hard rock plinth. What a miracle, to have this. He'd given up hope of it, chosen to focus on the future and immortality, and then it swooped into his lap. Or more like he tumbled into its, but that was semantics and semantics had no place in romance.
He made a hum of acknowledgement to Rook's statement. Quantifying precisely how much he'd moved and if technically he'd moved it or if he'd simply bridged into it or something else altogether would take far more energy than he has right now and he's comfortable.
Unfortunately, that comfort lessened seconds later. Emmrich opened his eyes with the smallest sigh.
"Vorgoth. They've carried me before, so I know that if it's needed, which it may well be, they can again. I'm not leaving here under my own power, I'm afraid. And now that I've said their name they're aware I'm talking about them, since we're in the Necropolis. But they won't come unless I ask."
He hadn't wanted to startle Rook with Vorgoth seeming to appear out of nowhere.
"And, what? They carry you on one shoulder and me on the other — do I get to pick left or right?" Rook meant it as a joke, but he couldn't drum up a convincing amount of humor.
Ordinarily, Rook was willing to subject himself to whatever goings-on in the Necropolis that were apparently mundane to the Mourn Watch and Emmrich — ordinarily mind. As present circumstances stood, he was far from a state of mind prepared to entertain anything that wasn't either Emmrich or something he could swing a sword at. With his emotions at a fever pitch, Rook sought isolation the way spooked animals sought their burrows.
Over the last few months, Rook had steadily begun to allow himself Emmrich's company, but interlopers were another matter entirely. Vorgoth hardly ranked as an interloper but Rook didn't think he could tolerate that swirling void in a cloak's scrutiny.
— That, and the thought of someone else taking over when Emmrich was vulnerable made him bristle.
"Well," Rook said with a grunt as he detached himself from Emmrich and pushed himself back onto his feet. "Vorgoth can remain well aware from wherever they are. I'll carry you."
It was the sort of tone that brooked no argument but was prepared for one regardless.
He didn't know if he'd injured Rook's pride, if the Fereldan had hit the limit of magical and magic-adjacent things he could handle in a day, or both. What he did know was that he very literally did not have the energy to argue. The amount of magic he'd worked to activate runes and enchantments that quickly, nervous that Rook might bolt, was starting to make itself felt and Emmrich had the strength of a wet noodle.
"All right." Additionally, he'd just told Rook he had full faith in him. He can't go and question whether Rook's able to do this.
Emmrich looked up at Rook and took a breath before slowly pushing himself up off the ground. He won't make the man have to do the extra effort of picking him up from it on top of carrying him. Once up he swayed, feeling like a thin sapling in a strong wind. The last challenge is to stay conscious long enough to direct Rook to his rooms and that might indeed be a significant challenge after so long a time barely eating and sleeping.
Rook wasn't the sort to thump his chest and act out in a misguided attempt to keep his masculine prowess from being brought into question. He was instead aware of his physical limits. A quick roll of his shoulders to test the elasticity of his muscles and work out any kinks in his joints told him enough. Rook wouldn't be swinging his great ax without tearing something just yet, but he could manage to carry one necromancer who weighed barely more than his full plate mail.
The absence of an argument tells Rook that Emmrich is on the knife edge of complete burnout. Rook couldn't find it in himself to tease when the aftermath of the ritual took what little strength Emmrich had been holding onto.
"Here," Rook gently guided Emmrich's arm over his shoulder as he gripped him by the waist and on the back of his thighs, "Don't go limp, or you'll be harder to carry."
If this were the Deep Roads and Rook needed to carry another Warden out and fast, he would have slung them over his shoulders. While easier to maneuver and kinder on the back, something told him that Emmrich wouldn't have appreciated that. At least Emmrich was in his day clothes and, despite what the necromancer might say, had lost some weight — Rook had his weight on top of him enough times to tell.
"Talk to me," Rook said as he carried Emmrich north towards the exist, "Need you to stay awake so I don't get lost."
His breath caught as he was held and it was incredibly difficult to not instantly do what Rook didn't want. Instead he looped his arms around Rook's neck and rested his forehead there too. He'd never felt so... at home, might be the words.
"You're so warm," he murmured, which he knew was not what Rook was looking for. It was quite easy to get lost in the Necropolis. "Straight until the elevator."
The sheer comfort he associated with and drew from Rook meant staying awake was one of the harder fights in his life.
"Mm." Talking. How was it he could suddenly not think of anything to talk about? "Much better than being carried by them." There. That was another sentence. They reached the elevator and Emmrich kicked the switch to go up. The chances of being seen like this went up significantly when returning to the levels the living lived in; his coworkers were going to be even more certain that he was with Rook for the man's prowess. Oh well.
"Turn right." His voice was heavy. His eyelids were heavy. "There's, there's a thing. A, mm. Where we'll turn."
"A STATUE OF ONE OF NEVARRA'S KINGS," said Vorgoth from ahead of them. Clearly they'd chosen to be considerate and not startle Rook into dropping Emmrich by materializing behind him. "YOU ARE TURNING LEFT HERE."
At least Rook wasn't getting lost, but he might find Emmrich getting much heavier in his arms.
The hitched breath scared out of Emmrich when Rook hoisted him gave the latter a fleeting rush. It wasn't every day that Rook could upend Emmrich's composure with their clothes still on, but they were already having an unusual one to begin with.
"I'm the same temperature I was two seconds ago, Emmrich," Rook said as he moved one arm to shift Emmrich's weight to a more manageable position. "Glad my whisking off feet skills aren't rusty, at least." He pulled a face somewhere between amusement and concern; Emmrich was beginning to remind Rook of himself after a rager at the Hilt. He'd have to ask Neve and Bel-...ask Neve if these were normal side effects to overextending ones arcane abilties.
They make it to the elevator when Rook turns to raise the lever with his elbow when Emmrich has other ideas. "Maker, don't just kick the damn th- ah, never mind."
Vorgoth might have been considerate and could have endeavored to put all other considerate beings in Thedas to shame with how considerate they were. Unfortunately, they were also a wraith-like being made of living darkness with a booming voice no matter which direction they announced themselves.
"Fuck—!" Rook cursed after being caught unawares, but fortunately, his instinct was to hold Emmrich tighter rather than drop him.
Emmrich startles awake as Rook swears and is incredibly disoriented. He's in Rook's arms in a hallway? A Necropolis hallway. Right. It starts coming back and he tries to sort out where they are in relation to their rooms.
"YOU ARE WELCOME. I FELT HIM FADING."
Ah, maybe he doesn't need to guide Rook after all. Emmrich is thankful for his friend's help and attentiveness, and relaxes again in Rook's arms before remembering not to be so relaxed.
"Not fading-fading," Emmrich quickly amends. "They mean falling asleep, which does put a mage far more in touch with the Fade. I'm not in danger. I'm simply tired."
There is a pause and Emmrich feels the weight of it. Vorgoth is judging him.
"TURN LEFT HERE. HIS ROOMS ARE SEVEN DOORS DOWN ON THE RIGHT." Apparently Vorgoth didn't choose to call him out. Emmrich's relieved, but he knows that's just that Vorgoth didn't choose to call him out now, in front of Rook. It will come later.
"Could have picked a different word," Rook remarked in a clipped voice.
He was more rattled than angry; he rather liked Vorgoth. Insofar as experiences with what...whatever they were — Rook's working theory was an inordinately courteous ash wraith, but he doubted Emmrich wanted to hear it. As soon as he was fully conscious, anyway.
"Well, lucky for all three of us, I can count to seven and no my lefts from my rights," Rook knew he was being dismissive, but it had been a long day, and every nerve in his body still felt frayed after all the duress. "Thank you, Vorgoth."
They were halfway down the hall when Rook spoke again once he noticed Emmrich's breathing start to slow, "Love, please stay awake. I'd hate to throw you over my shoulders for any reason that isn't fun."
Emmrich gives Rook's comment the small chuckle it deserves and shifts so his head is against Rook's shoulder instead of his neck. That will help.
"I'm trying." Rook's startlement had also helped, jerking Emmrich out of nearly dozing. He wonders if that had at all been intentional on Vorgoth's part. Speaking of, Emmrich no longer saw them and wondered if they'd left, or if they'd simply gone invisible. There was no point in asking, though, and Rook didn't need to know that was a possibility.
"The door will open, you don't need a key," was what he said instead. His presence and willingness to go in would trigger the locks on the door as well as a few enchanted candelabras. Magic was so incredibly useful. Honestly Emmrich didn't know how people lived without it, but maybe they were just so afraid of its possibilities they couldn't imagine how their lives would change for the better. He hoped he could keep introducing Rook to things, that today hadn't been too much.
Emmrich forced his eyes back open, unaware of when they'd closed, as they got to the door. "Once in, first room. And thank you, love."
He's not heavy for an adult, but he is a very tall, fully grown human. On top of that, Rook isn't exactly at the top of his game right now. It's been a very difficult, long few weeks. Thankfully they're nearly to where they can together fall asleep for many hours.
"I know," Rook answered with more sympathy in his voice than earlier.
He imagined it wasn't comfortable for someone of Emmrich's height to be nearly folded in half and hauled around like a crate. Of all the skills from my old life to come in handy now, it's how to lift something unwieldy, Rook thought. That Emmrich was still struggling to keep his eyes open spoke of how sapped of strength the man was. Rook could say the same, but he hadn't been awake at all hours or performing any complex rituals.
"Seventh door, here we are."
They came to a stop, and just as Emmrich had promised, Rook could hear a latch being lifted on the other side of a large, heavy-looking door. He was relieved to find he was met with little resistance as he went to push it open with his back. Anything more physically demanding, and he would have bowled over, precious cargo and all.
"Please tell me you've gotten one of your spirit friends to light a fire or some—"
Rook turned and went silent as he took in the spacious apartments. For some reason, Rook had it in his head he would be walking into another version of Emmrich's lab back at the Lighthouse. This was considerably more grand and lived-in, with every corner illuminated by wrought iron candelabras.
Whether the breaking off is good or a negative, Emmrich can't tell. He's tried to convey how nice his place is before but as someone who also came from abject poverty he knows full well that the rooms are a lot. It's expected of a senior member of the Mourn Watch, and the Mourn Watch are a select group of the Mortalitasi.
Sometimes he gets the distinct feeling that no one in the Lighthouse fully grasps who he is. They toss around the fact that he's the expert in his fields and see what he's capable of with the dead and the spirits but the connection hasn't been made yet.
"The first of the two doors. And the fires were activated by the same spells that opened the door." Wariness is clearing his mind from grogginess. Rook is still poor, has been kept poor and held down. Will he stay over? Would he find this comfortable, or oppressive?
Emmrich releases Rook's neck. "If you want to set me down I think I can make it to the bed." Rook doesn't like physical contact when processing things, which means he might need to set Emmrich down and have room. Emmrich doesn't want the distance, but he also doesn't want Rook getting stressed.
The truth is that Rook was dumbfounded by how to proceed. Not being overly familiar with Mourn Watch's hierarchy, Rook was aware Emmrich held a senior rank. For all he knew, in his ignorance, that meant you got the coolest staff. That was, in evidence, an understatement.
The Lighthouse was a (literal) world apart, and it had its charms and comforts. This was — well, Rook didn't want to say palatial, but for someone whose previous residence was a cot in a barracks hall, it may as well be. Maker was that walnut parquette hardwood. Should he be taking his boots off?
— Right, man in his arms. A man he very much wanted to keep in them. Terrible idea.
"Hmm?" Rook was shaken out of his daze by Emmrich's voice — a common occurrence, as of late, and frowned at the way the other man phrased his question.
If he wanted to? His heart sank at the implications. Ah. Emmrich could've been teetering on the edge of unconsciousness, but that mind never dulled, and neither did his inexhaustible sense of empathy. He thought Rook had fallen back into that cornered dog temperament again. Emmrich allowed tragic circumstances to foster a kindness rarely found in this world and was never ashamed of what he felt and how he felt them. It was why Rook fell for him in the first place, and he had to nip this in the bud now.
"I think I can manage the last leg," Rook said before kissing the crown of Emmrich's head, almost to maintain that contact, to express that it was fine.
The bedroom was like the rest of the apartment: a clean, well-lit room with candlelight reflecting amber across the dark wood interior. Rook focused on the bed itself, like an oasis in a desert. He lumbered forward, starting to feel the strain of overexerting himself, and sat Emmrich on the edge. They both might be falling over themselves exhausted, but no one likes sleeping in their armor.
And just because Rook's bashfulness was something he'd never fully shake off, the first thing he does with his freed-up hands is start taking off his boots.
He curls into Rook for the last short leg, warmed by how Rook doesn't flee. They're getting there, better at communicating, better at working together, and it gives him continuing hope.
Unfortunately the closeness comes to its inevitable end. Emmrich tiredly takes his own boots off as well, leaving them at the foot of the bed. His jacket comes off next and then he wearily gets up off the bed so he can pull the blankets back. His rings and bracelets make a series of clinking noises as they're dropped into the bowl that's just for them on his nightstand. Finally he climbs in to the bed... and sits there for a moment, staring at nothing. Less clothing would probably be a smart call, but no, he's not actually going to get back up.
Emmrich sighs as he compromises with himself, removing socks, vest, and shirt before surrendering to gravity and laying down. He then scoots over so Rook can climb in on that side and doesn't have to go around the whole bed. While he's absolutely trying his hardest to stay awake long enough to wrap around Rook, Emmrich might lose the battle.
"Tell me if you need anything," he says, or thinks he says. He might have slurred it some, he's not sure, because everything's going soft and warm.
this thread: *turns into smut* neve: people are dying
Wanting to finish taking off his boots without hopping around on one leg, Rook occupies a deep green, velvety wingback chair in a nearby corner. All the while, he steals furtive glances in Emmrich's direction. In part to make sure the other man doesn't nod off before he's comfortably settled — and partly just because, to take him in.
Rook always liked to watch Emmrich's hands, the grace in every stroke and wrist flick. Gold bangles and rings make a pleasant sound like heavy water droplets on stone as they're dropped into a porcelain bowl one by one. It was the only sound in the room aside from the rustle of clothes and the crackle of firelight. Even though they were likely deep underground, Rook would say Emmrich's apartment wouldn't be out of place in a palace.
It might have been strange, Rook thought, to be here. Only whenever he thought of Emmrich, he thought of Emmrich — the son of a butcher turned foundling. He remembers Neve having been the one to find that Emmrich, beneath the refinement. It occurs to Rook then that Emmrich's kindness extended to the least likely of them — himself. Emmrich suffered, made peace with it, and found it in him to be kind to himself. If Rook envied anything of the man, it wasn't the gold he was wrapped in but that simple fact. Maybe that was where Rook felt the disparity in their ages. Perhaps it would take him a lifetime to forgive himself just for being alive.
Rook was down to his small clothes when Emmrich said something. He was sure there was a 'Tell me' in there, but it was lost to the muffle of Emmrich faceplanting into a pillow. The sight of it warmed him, and Rook slowly crawled into the space Emmrich had made him. Coming up behind Emmrich, they meet in the middle of the mattress of the large, four-poster canopy. Rook pressed his chest to Emmrich's back, arm looping over slender shoulders and drawing him in closer. With his mouth against the nape of Emmrich's neck, all Rook can say before he buckles under the weight of his exhaustion is,
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He was of a clearer mind then and could hazard what Emmrich might be thinking. Not fully turning, almost shy, Rook looked over his shoulder at Emmrich. He tried not to look too much like a kicked dog when Emmrich was the one trying to apologize for doing the right thing.
"You didn't hurt me," Not entirely true but it was all done out of love and something which Rook didn't fully understand despite his best effort. "Emmrich, I—"
Rook sighed, trying to think of what to say. His troubles with talking about himself when it was so much easier to help others instead clashed with the fact in doing so, he was only hurting someone he loved.
"What was weeks for you has been barely a day for me — in twenty-four hours, I've lost a friend, learned another has been dead this entire time, and someone I was starting to look up to had been toying with me to his own ends." Rook turned more towards Emmrich, leaning on his hand stretched out on the step, almost close enough to touch. "And just now I'm finding out he could've done far worse — could have hurt the team, hurt you..
I'm not angry, Emmrich—you're a blessing. Maker, I'm just...collecting myself, please. Few are more aware of how dire things are, but allow me that."
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When Rook moved Emmrich's gaze fell on his hand and lingered there as the mage wondered if he could just touch it, if it would be all right. The sound of Rook's voice drew him out of that though and forced him to focus to process what was being said.
Slowly Emmrich nodded. "I understand." Rook's worn thin too. Somehow they need to rally long enough to survive defeating Elgar'nan, and the only thing Emmrich can be thankful about with Solas is that the Dread Wolf will probably weaken Elgar'nan for the killing blow.
Maybe if he just talks and doesn't think, doesn't dwell in his head, he can provide a break for the both of them. Emmrich leans back the rest of the way, closing his eyes and seemingly resting, though he leaves his own hand out near Rook just in case.
"I wish I'd met Varric. What I've gathered of him has all been larger than life, from his connection to the Circles rising up to how he worked with Seer Pentaghast. He truly had an impact on the world as it is." He wondered if Varric had been buried according to Dwarf traditions or Ferelden and Free March ones. If it's the former, if the Dwarf's body is in a crypt somewhere, he might be able to give Rook a final chance to talk with his friend, sometime after the fate of the world was decided. He'll ask Neve later.
"The fact that he was friends with a spirit of Compassion spoke highly for him. Though what speaks the highest is that he recognized in you what the Warden leadership has clearly failed to notice. I have him to thank for you being in my life."
And Solas, sort of, but Emmrich chooses to believe that Rook's in his life in spite of Solas, not because of him. Emmrich goes quiet then, wondering if he'll fall asleep and wake to find Neve and the others storming the Necropolis.
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Rook looked down to see his hand a hairsbreadth away from Emmrich's, and the distance made him feel miles apart. Emmrich had been right to bring him here, and Rook had repaid that gesture by collapsing in on himself. Reaching out, Rook covered Emmrich's hand with his own and gently squeezed it.
"If anyone owes that Dwarf a debt, it's me," Rook whispered. "I was resigned in the Wardens, but with you, I'm happy — content for what feels like the first time in my life."
Things were going to take time to mend. Even once Elgar'nan had been dealt with when Maker willing, Solas at least had the sense and shreds of decency left to help them with this wouldn't end with just going home to lick their wounds. There was only so much disaster the world could endure, let alone a person.
"I wish you could have," Rook agreed as a whistful smile softened his face. "Even I knew who he was when our mutual contact in the Wardens had our paths cross. Varic had this...gift for making you feel like the biggest person in the room — well, you know. He had this way of things when he talked to you; he made you feel like the hero in some story he was already penning in his head. Compassion could have learned a thing or two from someone like Varric — really, I'm pretty sure it had."
Speaking of Varric in the past tense was surreal in and of itself, so soon after, he'd learned the truth. In retrospect, Rook should have sensed something was off. Solas had dulled his mind to not ask obvious questions. Never bothering to think too deeply on why Varric never had dinner with the team or seemed to spend any time with them, or why, when asked by Emmrich about Rook's adventures with the dwarf, he followed up with questions about how Rook wished to be interred.
Rook wants to draw Emmrich in closer when another feeling nags at him. This time, Rook wouldn't keep his worries to himself as he always had. If Solas went so far as to make him believe Varric had been alive this whole time, what else could he have done? Rook wasn't looking to blame the old elven god that had taken up residence in his head for every blunder he made as a leader, but...
"Emmrich? How much..." Rook worried his lip and squeezed the other man's hand a little right, "How much do you believe Solas affected me? Now I'm left to wonder if there was something I've said or done that wasn't me, choices I've made that weren't my own but a thread in a larger scheme."
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Unfortunately he then goes and asks the one question that terrifies Emmrich right now. He swallows, or tries to. His mouth is incredibly dry right now.
"I don't know." He hates making that admission, especially after the squeeze of his hand. "I'm not an expert in what blood mages can do. That would likely be Neve. This room? It's because sometimes twisted spirits possess corpses, or powers we don't fully understand, and this is where we can bring them to separate them from whatever is controlling them. If we hadn't destroyed Johanna's golem before she'd managed to merge into it, we would have brought it here and forced them apart. The enchantments are complicated and relatively subtle for what they are, but they don't tell us anything. They simply eliminate external influences and control placed on the targeted being."
"On top of that..." Emmrich trails off, shaking his head. "What can a god do? Elgar'nan created an eclipse. Solas is no evanuris, but he has enough power that he bested seven of them with his army. Is there anything you look back on you doing and feel doesn't fit with who you are?"
Like sleeping with an older man, for instance.
"I wish I could offer you confident reassurance." There'd be a pet name there at any other time, but Emmrich is trying very very hard to not get into his own head and not overthink things, which means there's little room for anything except simple facts. He will not anticipate disaster before it happens if it happens. "But I don't even know why he'd make you believe Varric was still alive. Perhaps it was to keep you from feeling steady in your role as our leader? Or perhaps it was to drive a wedge--"
Now he cut off mid-sentence and opened his eyes, turning slightly to look at Rook. "You never showed up for book club. I know you're not the most avid reader, but it seemed an odd choice to not go to spend time when you could also mock a book if it wasn't to your taste. I'd thought you even wanted to join us and when I asked after if you'd had a good afternoon you'd seemed out of it. Every book club meeting was the same -- you seemed interested and then on the day of you seemed detached. Solas could have wanted to isolate you?"
Which would then mean that their relationship would not have been something Solas was aiming for, but that was only if Emmrich's gut feeling was correct.
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— Rook then looked back at Emmrich, and his mouth formed into a tight, awkward smile. It's probably not the best time to ask about the hypotheticals when discussing a very real, very potentially world-ending situation.
The mood sobered considerably as Emmrich continued. Rook only interrupted again once to mention he would speak to Neve when they returned; she would be their best bet to unraveling the particulars of blood magic. Blood magic, he grimaced. From what he had discerned from the Inquisitor when last he spoke to her, Rook had gotten the impression that Solas had few scruples but firmly drew the line on those he adhered to. Solas abhorred blood magic, and to Rook, it made no sense for him to sabotage who was essentially his man on the outside. Or I'm just overestimating my own importance in all this — to him and all the rest, Rook thought and wanted to pretend it didn't hurt as much as it did.
"You know, we keep saying Solas is no evanuris, but at this point, the only thing that divides them in terms of power is there are still limits he won't cross," Rook had to concede that point even if it left a bitter taste in his mouth, "And he defeated them once. We underestimated him too many times. Why he wanted to keep me off-balanced still doesn't make sense, though."
Rook frowned, trying to put into clear focus his own behavior of the last several months. "I— ...no, you're right. There were days I can recall being asked to do something socially with others and suddenly finding my attention elsewhere or even losing interest entirely. The only place I felt centered was talking to Varric or in the meditation room, just staring at the wall. I could always get like that, sometimes, wanting to be alone that I didn't even question how it was more intense, more...out of control."
Just then, Rook's eyes lit, and he looked to Emmrich up in a way they hadn't since his return from the Fade. Tension seeped out of his shoulders, and he smiled warmly before saying, "Of course, you piece it all together by thinking about the book club."
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The rest he nods along with solemnly until he gives Rook a small smile at the last. Emmrich is incredibly tired. After weeks of stress, nearly no sleep, and little food he'd gotten maybe 8 hours of sleep and then launched right into an incredibly stressful adrenaline surge that had been another few hours. Now that's gone and he's on the floor and supported and still trying hard to not look as wiped out as he feels because if he's left behind in the final charge he will not be able to deal with that emotionally or mentally.
"I'm not certain there are limits Solas will not cross, at this point. We've seen how he betrayed Mythal and now we know that he abused the memory of someone who may have been the closest to a friend he's had in hundreds of years. He saved the elves from being sacrificed at Elgar'nan's hands, but if the Veil comes down just as many elves will die as humans, dwarves, and qunari. It might be safer to say there are lines he says, and perhaps even believes, he will not cross, but that is not in fact true."
Which was fitting for the god of lies, betrayal, and trickery. Unfortunately. "He is a Pride spirit, and pride can be twisted many ways to justify nearly anything, especially when he is Pride from Wisdom. He believes he knows everything, and therefore must be the solution."
This is all he has the energy for at this moment, to let his brain work at and extrapolate from the information they have. Thank the Maker it's useful.
"As far as why..." That takes more consideration. "Perhaps it made you easier to manipulate. More like a--"
Emmrich cuts himself off before his expression turns resigned and he sighs. "More like a pawn than a rook, go ahead, make your jokes now."
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As Rook was trying to divine how to airlift evil giant skeletons, he had unconsciously shifted closer to Emmrich's spot. Not by very much, but he no longer had to extend his arm all the way to hold the other's hand. He frowned, then. Drawn back in by Emmrich's palpable weariness and the intermingling of worry and guilt for being the root of it that knotted up inside him.
"His pride has been humbled in the past," Rook said, again, moving infinitesimally closer to Emmrich without being aware of it himself, "I have to believe he isn't entirely beyond redemption or at least reasoned with — even if it did cost him his life, Varric believed in that, and I won't go back on his wishes if I can help it."
However dire their circumstance were, Rook could not help but to perk up at Emmrich's preemptive exacerbation when he found himself walking right into a terrible and poorly timed joke.
"Rook no further; even with my checkered past, I know enough about chess to talk about it all knight."
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And so the series of puns gets a shake of his head but that shake is accompanied by an incredibly fond look in Emmrich's eyes.
"You are ridiculous, my love." He gives Rook's hand a tight squeeze. It strikes him then that Rook seems slightly closer. He might just be indulging in wishful thinking, but he also might have blinked and missed Rook scooting a little, somehow? Either way he leans a tiny bit toward Rook, not enough to overbalance him, but enough to bring them fractionally closer yet.
"Only in regard to your jokes, however. The other is compassionate, far from ridiculous. it is important to have hope even now, and honoring a fallen friend is incredibly important." Emmrich didn't know if it was possible for Wisdom-turned-Pride to accept that someone else might be right, based on his very natures, but life is about learning and oh the things he's learned about spirits and the Fade these past many months.
"We have a mutual greatest enemy. I don't know if that will be enough to convince him not to tear down the Veil, but if there is a way I have faith you will find it."
They've come through so much. While it's impossible to not worry about the future, it's also impossible to stop hoping. Two gods are defeated. Multiple dragons, including an archdemon. Flowers are blooming in blighted lands. There are griffons in the world. And here he is with the man that he loves beyond all else.
Despite his tiredness, Emmrich reaches out with his free hand to cup Rook's face. "I have full faith in you, my dearest. My darling. My Rook."
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The meekness he experienced at that moment hadn't abated after one poor excuse for a joke as Emmrich sang his praises. Arguing he hadn't earned such praise when he had only been one part of a team where he relied too much on not-so-divine intervention and dumb luck would have been brushed aside. Emmrich was the voice of reason in a maelstrom of clashing personalities and possibly why Rook had held it together for this long. He would likely say for every setback, there had been a victory, no matter how seemingly insignificant.
— Leave it to the most compassionate necromancer in Thedas to find the flowers among the corpses.
"I'd be lost without you, Emmrich," Leaning into the touch, Rook managed through a lump in his throat that grew larger at every endearment levied at him, "This whole time, I was trying to convince myself of the impossible, but I believe you."
Emmrich was unfathomably patient when it came to Rook. A man who, by his own admission, shamelessly flirted his way into a romance only to become frigid and turn in on himself when hurt. Rook handled his own emotions as if he were jumping at shadows, and Emmrich waited whenever he withdrew.
Overwhelmed by the faith Emmrich had in him and the forbearance he didn't deserve, Rook, for once, didn't get up and leave. Rook gradually moved closer until his thigh pressed against Emmrich's knee. He hesitated before lowering his head and resting it on Emmrich's shoulder. They've been this close before, countless times, and rather recently, but never when emotions ran this high. If he weren't so tired, Rook would have been shaking under the strain of everything he had kept bottled up.
"I thought I would be trapped forever, but...I did have someone to come back to."
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It's a massive relief when Rook doesn't deny Emmrich's words or pull away. No, not just a relief. It warms his heart beyond words that Rook accepts Emmrich's feelings this time.
When Rook leans against him, Emmrich leans back in return. It's clear that he's not the only tired one. He refuses to think might be the reason for Rook not running, especially with Rook's words.
"I would have moved Fade and Thedas itself to bring you back." Technically he may have moved part of the Fade. He'd have to look back over his scribbled notes later; there were some conclusions he'd jumped to on thin information that he absolutely wouldn't have with more sleep and less desperation, and he's fairly sure some of them will be considered inconceivable if and when he writes papers on them later.
Emmrich could absolutely take a nap right here, but not only would that mean he'd wake up in pain, it would also probably mean they'd wake to Neve leading a charge through the Necropolis. He sighed, loathe to admit how drained he was but lacking other choices.
"Would you mind if I called someone to assist us to my rooms? I'm not certain I can get there without aid at this point, and I don't want to overburden you when you're tired as well."
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Rook wrapped his arms in a loose embrace around Emmrich's waist as he pulled himself in closer. Face turned into the dip of Emmrich's neck so close he could match his breathing to the other man's pulse. Being curled up against someone was a feat for someone of Rook's size but Emmrich being taller helped. The stone beneath them was cold and uncomfortable, but Rook would take a sore tailbone over moving.
"You sort of did," Rook pointed out. He knew he was a layman when it came to the Fade, but even he could appreciate the impossible task that Emmrich and the others pulled off.
It was impossible to hide the rigidity that seized Rook when Emmrich asked about calling for help. Rook wasn't so arrogant as to snub help, but now? He wasn't keen on the idea for all the reasons that frustrated Emmrich. He pulled his head back,
"Call who exactly?" Rook asked, tone more suspicious than he intended.
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He made a hum of acknowledgement to Rook's statement. Quantifying precisely how much he'd moved and if technically he'd moved it or if he'd simply bridged into it or something else altogether would take far more energy than he has right now and he's comfortable.
Unfortunately, that comfort lessened seconds later. Emmrich opened his eyes with the smallest sigh.
"Vorgoth. They've carried me before, so I know that if it's needed, which it may well be, they can again. I'm not leaving here under my own power, I'm afraid. And now that I've said their name they're aware I'm talking about them, since we're in the Necropolis. But they won't come unless I ask."
He hadn't wanted to startle Rook with Vorgoth seeming to appear out of nowhere.
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Ordinarily, Rook was willing to subject himself to whatever goings-on in the Necropolis that were apparently mundane to the Mourn Watch and Emmrich — ordinarily mind. As present circumstances stood, he was far from a state of mind prepared to entertain anything that wasn't either Emmrich or something he could swing a sword at. With his emotions at a fever pitch, Rook sought isolation the way spooked animals sought their burrows.
Over the last few months, Rook had steadily begun to allow himself Emmrich's company, but interlopers were another matter entirely. Vorgoth hardly ranked as an interloper but Rook didn't think he could tolerate that swirling void in a cloak's scrutiny.
— That, and the thought of someone else taking over when Emmrich was vulnerable made him bristle.
"Well," Rook said with a grunt as he detached himself from Emmrich and pushed himself back onto his feet. "Vorgoth can remain well aware from wherever they are. I'll carry you."
It was the sort of tone that brooked no argument but was prepared for one regardless.
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"All right." Additionally, he'd just told Rook he had full faith in him. He can't go and question whether Rook's able to do this.
Emmrich looked up at Rook and took a breath before slowly pushing himself up off the ground. He won't make the man have to do the extra effort of picking him up from it on top of carrying him. Once up he swayed, feeling like a thin sapling in a strong wind. The last challenge is to stay conscious long enough to direct Rook to his rooms and that might indeed be a significant challenge after so long a time barely eating and sleeping.
"We're heading North first, until the elevator."
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The absence of an argument tells Rook that Emmrich is on the knife edge of complete burnout. Rook couldn't find it in himself to tease when the aftermath of the ritual took what little strength Emmrich had been holding onto.
"Here," Rook gently guided Emmrich's arm over his shoulder as he gripped him by the waist and on the back of his thighs, "Don't go limp, or you'll be harder to carry."
If this were the Deep Roads and Rook needed to carry another Warden out and fast, he would have slung them over his shoulders. While easier to maneuver and kinder on the back, something told him that Emmrich wouldn't have appreciated that. At least Emmrich was in his day clothes and, despite what the necromancer might say, had lost some weight — Rook had his weight on top of him enough times to tell.
"Talk to me," Rook said as he carried Emmrich north towards the exist, "Need you to stay awake so I don't get lost."
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"You're so warm," he murmured, which he knew was not what Rook was looking for. It was quite easy to get lost in the Necropolis. "Straight until the elevator."
The sheer comfort he associated with and drew from Rook meant staying awake was one of the harder fights in his life.
"Mm." Talking. How was it he could suddenly not think of anything to talk about? "Much better than being carried by them." There. That was another sentence. They reached the elevator and Emmrich kicked the switch to go up. The chances of being seen like this went up significantly when returning to the levels the living lived in; his coworkers were going to be even more certain that he was with Rook for the man's prowess. Oh well.
"Turn right." His voice was heavy. His eyelids were heavy. "There's, there's a thing. A, mm. Where we'll turn."
"A STATUE OF ONE OF NEVARRA'S KINGS," said Vorgoth from ahead of them. Clearly they'd chosen to be considerate and not startle Rook into dropping Emmrich by materializing behind him. "YOU ARE TURNING LEFT HERE."
At least Rook wasn't getting lost, but he might find Emmrich getting much heavier in his arms.
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"I'm the same temperature I was two seconds ago, Emmrich," Rook said as he moved one arm to shift Emmrich's weight to a more manageable position. "Glad my whisking off feet skills aren't rusty, at least." He pulled a face somewhere between amusement and concern; Emmrich was beginning to remind Rook of himself after a rager at the Hilt. He'd have to ask Neve and Bel-...ask Neve if these were normal side effects to overextending ones arcane abilties.
They make it to the elevator when Rook turns to raise the lever with his elbow when Emmrich has other ideas. "Maker, don't just kick the damn th- ah, never mind."
Vorgoth might have been considerate and could have endeavored to put all other considerate beings in Thedas to shame with how considerate they were. Unfortunately, they were also a wraith-like being made of living darkness with a booming voice no matter which direction they announced themselves.
"Fuck—!" Rook cursed after being caught unawares, but fortunately, his instinct was to hold Emmrich tighter rather than drop him.
"I- thank you?"
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"YOU ARE WELCOME. I FELT HIM FADING."
Ah, maybe he doesn't need to guide Rook after all. Emmrich is thankful for his friend's help and attentiveness, and relaxes again in Rook's arms before remembering not to be so relaxed.
"Not fading-fading," Emmrich quickly amends. "They mean falling asleep, which does put a mage far more in touch with the Fade. I'm not in danger. I'm simply tired."
There is a pause and Emmrich feels the weight of it. Vorgoth is judging him.
"TURN LEFT HERE. HIS ROOMS ARE SEVEN DOORS DOWN ON THE RIGHT." Apparently Vorgoth didn't choose to call him out. Emmrich's relieved, but he knows that's just that Vorgoth didn't choose to call him out now, in front of Rook. It will come later.
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He was more rattled than angry; he rather liked Vorgoth. Insofar as experiences with what...whatever they were — Rook's working theory was an inordinately courteous ash wraith, but he doubted Emmrich wanted to hear it. As soon as he was fully conscious, anyway.
"Well, lucky for all three of us, I can count to seven and no my lefts from my rights," Rook knew he was being dismissive, but it had been a long day, and every nerve in his body still felt frayed after all the duress. "Thank you, Vorgoth."
They were halfway down the hall when Rook spoke again once he noticed Emmrich's breathing start to slow, "Love, please stay awake. I'd hate to throw you over my shoulders for any reason that isn't fun."
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"I'm trying." Rook's startlement had also helped, jerking Emmrich out of nearly dozing. He wonders if that had at all been intentional on Vorgoth's part. Speaking of, Emmrich no longer saw them and wondered if they'd left, or if they'd simply gone invisible. There was no point in asking, though, and Rook didn't need to know that was a possibility.
"The door will open, you don't need a key," was what he said instead. His presence and willingness to go in would trigger the locks on the door as well as a few enchanted candelabras. Magic was so incredibly useful. Honestly Emmrich didn't know how people lived without it, but maybe they were just so afraid of its possibilities they couldn't imagine how their lives would change for the better. He hoped he could keep introducing Rook to things, that today hadn't been too much.
Emmrich forced his eyes back open, unaware of when they'd closed, as they got to the door. "Once in, first room. And thank you, love."
He's not heavy for an adult, but he is a very tall, fully grown human. On top of that, Rook isn't exactly at the top of his game right now. It's been a very difficult, long few weeks. Thankfully they're nearly to where they can together fall asleep for many hours.
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He imagined it wasn't comfortable for someone of Emmrich's height to be nearly folded in half and hauled around like a crate. Of all the skills from my old life to come in handy now, it's how to lift something unwieldy, Rook thought. That Emmrich was still struggling to keep his eyes open spoke of how sapped of strength the man was. Rook could say the same, but he hadn't been awake at all hours or performing any complex rituals.
"Seventh door, here we are."
They came to a stop, and just as Emmrich had promised, Rook could hear a latch being lifted on the other side of a large, heavy-looking door. He was relieved to find he was met with little resistance as he went to push it open with his back. Anything more physically demanding, and he would have bowled over, precious cargo and all.
"Please tell me you've gotten one of your spirit friends to light a fire or some—"
Rook turned and went silent as he took in the spacious apartments. For some reason, Rook had it in his head he would be walking into another version of Emmrich's lab back at the Lighthouse. This was considerably more grand and lived-in, with every corner illuminated by wrought iron candelabras.
"Very, ah...homey. Where are we going again?"
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Sometimes he gets the distinct feeling that no one in the Lighthouse fully grasps who he is. They toss around the fact that he's the expert in his fields and see what he's capable of with the dead and the spirits but the connection hasn't been made yet.
"The first of the two doors. And the fires were activated by the same spells that opened the door." Wariness is clearing his mind from grogginess. Rook is still poor, has been kept poor and held down. Will he stay over? Would he find this comfortable, or oppressive?
Emmrich releases Rook's neck. "If you want to set me down I think I can make it to the bed." Rook doesn't like physical contact when processing things, which means he might need to set Emmrich down and have room. Emmrich doesn't want the distance, but he also doesn't want Rook getting stressed.
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The Lighthouse was a (literal) world apart, and it had its charms and comforts. This was — well, Rook didn't want to say palatial, but for someone whose previous residence was a cot in a barracks hall, it may as well be. Maker was that walnut parquette hardwood. Should he be taking his boots off?
— Right, man in his arms. A man he very much wanted to keep in them. Terrible idea.
"Hmm?" Rook was shaken out of his daze by Emmrich's voice — a common occurrence, as of late, and frowned at the way the other man phrased his question.
If he wanted to? His heart sank at the implications. Ah. Emmrich could've been teetering on the edge of unconsciousness, but that mind never dulled, and neither did his inexhaustible sense of empathy. He thought Rook had fallen back into that cornered dog temperament again. Emmrich allowed tragic circumstances to foster a kindness rarely found in this world and was never ashamed of what he felt and how he felt them. It was why Rook fell for him in the first place, and he had to nip this in the bud now.
"I think I can manage the last leg," Rook said before kissing the crown of Emmrich's head, almost to maintain that contact, to express that it was fine.
The bedroom was like the rest of the apartment: a clean, well-lit room with candlelight reflecting amber across the dark wood interior. Rook focused on the bed itself, like an oasis in a desert. He lumbered forward, starting to feel the strain of overexerting himself, and sat Emmrich on the edge. They both might be falling over themselves exhausted, but no one likes sleeping in their armor.
And just because Rook's bashfulness was something he'd never fully shake off, the first thing he does with his freed-up hands is start taking off his boots.
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Unfortunately the closeness comes to its inevitable end. Emmrich tiredly takes his own boots off as well, leaving them at the foot of the bed. His jacket comes off next and then he wearily gets up off the bed so he can pull the blankets back. His rings and bracelets make a series of clinking noises as they're dropped into the bowl that's just for them on his nightstand. Finally he climbs in to the bed... and sits there for a moment, staring at nothing. Less clothing would probably be a smart call, but no, he's not actually going to get back up.
Emmrich sighs as he compromises with himself, removing socks, vest, and shirt before surrendering to gravity and laying down. He then scoots over so Rook can climb in on that side and doesn't have to go around the whole bed. While he's absolutely trying his hardest to stay awake long enough to wrap around Rook, Emmrich might lose the battle.
"Tell me if you need anything," he says, or thinks he says. He might have slurred it some, he's not sure, because everything's going soft and warm.
this thread: *turns into smut* neve: people are dying
Rook always liked to watch Emmrich's hands, the grace in every stroke and wrist flick. Gold bangles and rings make a pleasant sound like heavy water droplets on stone as they're dropped into a porcelain bowl one by one. It was the only sound in the room aside from the rustle of clothes and the crackle of firelight. Even though they were likely deep underground, Rook would say Emmrich's apartment wouldn't be out of place in a palace.
It might have been strange, Rook thought, to be here. Only whenever he thought of Emmrich, he thought of Emmrich — the son of a butcher turned foundling. He remembers Neve having been the one to find that Emmrich, beneath the refinement. It occurs to Rook then that Emmrich's kindness extended to the least likely of them — himself. Emmrich suffered, made peace with it, and found it in him to be kind to himself. If Rook envied anything of the man, it wasn't the gold he was wrapped in but that simple fact. Maybe that was where Rook felt the disparity in their ages. Perhaps it would take him a lifetime to forgive himself just for being alive.
Rook was down to his small clothes when Emmrich said something. He was sure there was a 'Tell me' in there, but it was lost to the muffle of Emmrich faceplanting into a pillow. The sight of it warmed him, and Rook slowly crawled into the space Emmrich had made him. Coming up behind Emmrich, they meet in the middle of the mattress of the large, four-poster canopy. Rook pressed his chest to Emmrich's back, arm looping over slender shoulders and drawing him in closer. With his mouth against the nape of Emmrich's neck, all Rook can say before he buckles under the weight of his exhaustion is,
"Love you."
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