Hearing it spoken aloud and brought to fruition beyond any shy promises they made to each other but refused to dwell on sent Rook's heart soaring into the back of his throat. He choked around a relieved laugh through a damp-eyed smile and nodded.
"Enchanted petals can come tumbling down from the ceiling any old day of the year, but I'll never get to hear you ask me that a second time. Of course, Emmrich. Just hearing you call my name feels all the world the greatest sound."
Rook leaned forward and soundly kissed Emmrich before pulling back with a shaken exhale,
He'd spent so much of the last day crying it was ridiculous, and here he was getting misty-eyed yet again. They would make it through together.
The words and the kiss left his mouth half-open and eyes half-lidded as he wished so desperately that he were not injured. Emmrich wanted his beloved, his now fiance desperately, physically, carnally, and was so aware of how easily any rough jostling could get a rib out of place again and back into a lung.
"My love, my Hugh," he said quietly, knowing the longing was in his voice. There were lyrium potions hidden in his pack, just in case, but he didn't think he could call this urgent enough. They still had to get through helping at Kinloch, and it wasn't like his healing skills were brilliant despite the improvement they'd had through the last many months.
He can at least improve his situation a little bit, though. "Will you help me re-wrap my chest? It will hurt, but if I can get the ribs positioned correctly with tightened bandages I can speed the healing process some and be safer from re-injury." There was nothing like using knowledge gained from working with the dead for decades to fix his own rib cage.
The awareness that he had just engaged himself was beginning to settle in like balm being kneaded into long-aching muscles. Staggering at first like a firebrand, but once the shock wore off, it sunk in with a feeling of pure bliss. He let the kiss linger as long as he could.
"Yours," It was as much a confirmation as it was a promise. Rook was so tired of pulling himself apart in fragmentary pieces, spreading himself thin for conflicting loyalties and overwhelming 'needs of the many.' If he could swear himself to one thing, it would be the man in his arms.
Reality struck him then like an adrenaline crash, remembering Emmrich's injured state. Rook eased back, cautious about even jostling the mattress too much and upsetting his still-healing injuries.
"Of course," Rook slowly rose after saying he should stoke the fire before getting fresh bandages from his pack. He was decent enough with field medicine but it made him jittery to have to oversee Emmrich's recovery until they could find a proper healer. The junior mage had done their best, but Rook thought he should be forgiven when his standards became unreasonably high where it concerned his recently affianced.
"Emmrich, maybe..." Rook started after sitting back down and delicately started to remove the old bandages. "We should limit ourselves to advising Kinloch with whatever it is you and the queen discussed and then leave for the Keep, back to Nevarra."
He loosely wrapped a hand around Emmrich's, thumb running over the pulse point of the other man's wrist. "This place has taken enough away from you for one night. I'd hate to see what staying here much longer will do. Call it selfishness. Call it what you will, but the sooner we leave the better."
Amazing, how powerful that one single word is. He feels like hearing 'yours' from Rook could sustain him for weeks and weeks, if not even longer. He's still smiling like a besotted fool as the fire is stoked and Rook returns.
Undoing the bandages hurts, unsurprisingly. There'd seemingly been no time to set the bones properly, so the loss of pressure means everything's shifting. Once they're fully off he can see the massive bruising and have a concept of exactly how much momentum was behind that last blow. The emissary had absolutely known what it was doing.
Emmrich gave Rook's hand a squeeze in return, and a faded smile. "I believe I'm needed in person at Kinloch Hold, unfortunately. I would love to re-wrap this and leave Ferelden promptly otherwise."
He took a careful breath and made a careful loop around his shoulder before the focus in his eyes got distant as he felt along the lowest broken rib. "Kinloch Hold is children, Tranquil, a full mage, and, unfortunately, Templars. And the queen has suggested there is a cure for Tranquility known by a spirit of Faith who once resided there. I may be the only one who can reach that spirit, and as there are so many spirits of Faith I need to be there, in person, to try to call it up. I cannot let this chance slip away."
Emmrich hesitated, swallowing. This was going to hurt. A lot. "If you can follow my hands and wrap the bandage securely, that will help a great deal, my love." With one more careful breath he starts working, shifting the bone fragments into alignment and using a little bit of healing to begin to bond them in place. As Emmrich worked he slowly went more and more pale, and his breathing got shorter -- this was no self-surgery, but it was agonizing and difficult nonetheless.
Having gotten his share of licks over the years, Rook knew where to avoid prolonged contact, even along the length of Emmrich's chest and side that hadn't shown signs of injury yet. Most of the bruising was an angry, welt-like red in places that would darken in the coming days, even with accelerated healing. Experience told him that even years down the road, Emmrich would be seeing cold winter nights where the worst aches would come back to haunt him.
"I was afraid you might say that," Rook brought Emmrich's hand up to place a firm kiss on the inside of his wrist. "Leave the Templars to me, at least. Likely, they're thoroughly de-fanged, but we don't know what old grudges any might be carrying. I...suppose I should be at least grateful you and the queen found some sort of common ground."
With a hesitant inhale, Rook gathered the fresh bandages and pulled open a long skein of medicated cotton, which he would wrap around Emmrich, starting at his waist under the other man's guidance.
"You happen to be in the care of the premier expert in the breaking and bruising of ribcages," He said in an effort to lighten the mood. "I've got you, love."
He would much rather be bare-chested in front of Rook for such different reasons, and getting such a different look. But at least he was alive, and once they were back in Nevarra he could meet with the Necropolis' experts. No one knew healing like them, save the very rare spirit healers.
The kiss got such a smile. Emmrich would be very, very glad to leave any Templars to Rook, and he was happier than he could find words for that Rook would still be with him. Yesterday he'd been facing the very real possibility of having to go to Kinloch Hold alone, and the fear of not being allowed to leave. Nevarra would not go to war for him, so the Mourn Watch would not storm the place to find him, and if Rook had chosen to accept the position Emmrich didn't know that he'd be able to travel with the man.
Now everything had changed. Now he was engaged to this man, the man who had chosen him and chosen something more than being a sacrifice at last. He was going to continue to do everything in his power to make that choice clearly worth it for Hugh.
He continued to work slowly on his ribs, choosing to talk as a distraction from the steadily-mounting pain.
"I wouldn't trust the Templars to be de-fanged. There's rebellion against the new order of things from many, and the sorts that become Templars are often the sorts that are seeking to be bullies. Rana and Tarquin seem to be the exception, and even they have stories of other Templars behaving in abhorrent ways. But..."
Emmrich trailed off, looking at Rook. "The queen came in expressing that she knew you would not accept. Did you not say something to her?" Or did he miss something while he was unconscious?
"Either way, we may need to leave here for Kinloch sooner rather than later." There. Finally every piece of bone was properly aligned. Emmrich would relax if not for how he needed the wrapping finished to hold everything in place. Thank everything Rook was proving to be every bit the expert as claimed.
"I raised the dead, some of which were known to people stationed or working here. We try to avoid that anywhere outside of Nevarra; it never goes over well. That there was no choice will not matter."
The Wardens will probably remain professional-ish. Otherwise... otherwise there's even the risk of being elbowed in the hall, something that could prove extremely dangerous right now.
"A good Templar doesn't stay in the order long, but we'll burn that bridge when we get to it," Almost too wry in his malaphors as the last stretch of bandage made it around Emmrich's torso. "As for the queen, she knows I can't accept commanding the Wardens. As for the rest, she and I will work something out. I promise."
Helping Emmrich reapply fresh bandages had left Rook on tenterhooks. Every shudder or breath carefully drawn so as not to jostle his healing ribs was a reminder of how close Rook had come to losing Emmrich and the vulnerable position he was in now. Rook wasn't so blind to the attitudes of his country to pretend softening attitudes towards magic meant anyone was welcoming necromancy with open arms anytime soon.
On some level, Rook understood their fears, at the very least. Necromancy was more than a little startling. Others outside of Nevarra hadn't been as fortunate as he was to know Emmrich. Anyone who let ignorance rule them was lesser not to know his intelligence or his compassion for the living and the dead. Regardless, he couldn't shake the fear that what had happened might stoke the fires of old resentments.
Rook slowly moved his arms around Emmrich's shoulders and tentatively drew him in close, mindful of every movement. With Emmrich's bandaged back to his chest, Rook dropped his head into the crook of Emmrich's neck and breathed in deep.
"There was every choice, and you made the right one, Emmrich. The deceased would have still been missing if it weren't for you."
"Or we can just leave and let her work something out on her own," he said so dryly. Until Rook, Hugh knows what he, specifically, wants, he will still be vulnerable to angles the queen might take and her expertise in handling situations has been so very clearly on display this whole time. Emmrich wasn't even certain he hadn't been toyed with a little, with the suggestion that he marry Hugh when clearly she still wanted to have some claim over him.
As Hugh drew him in, Emmrich exhaled and relaxed into the gentle hold, trying to breathe the pain away. They could have lost this intimacy multiple ways over the last twenty-four hours. While he'd never taken his time with Hugh for granted, he was all the more aware of it now. He loved this man with all that he was. He needed this man with all that he was.
He'd also needed that reassurance, though he hadn't known it until he got it. The call to raise the keep's dead had made him a target for far more than the emissary. Even as he did it he'd known he was not making friends. There would not be understanding. That hadn't made it easy. Emmrich wanted to be kind, to not hurt or harm, and his choice had unfortunately hurt and harmed people who had known the Fereldan dead. He felt guilty. He'd known he would. And if he'd been a coward, he would have tried to fight only with Darkspawn dead and left people vulnerable.
"Thank you," he said quietly. It was for the words, but also so much more. For helping him with the bandages, for choosing him, for loving him, for everything.
It would be so easy to fall back asleep like this. Hugh was always so warm, and Emmrich found such comfort in his arms. Maybe he should rest again. Before he relaxed enough for that, he'd make one more try to see if they could leave, and then he'd surrender if Hugh didn't approve.
"How far is Calenhad? Can we make it by nightfall, or to a town on the way, if we leave now? My pack is almost entirely organized." Being a tidy person had its payoffs.
"You know it isn't that simple," Rook tries to offer the gentlest response possible on an already tenuous subject. "But, I promised you that I would find a way that doesn't keep us apart, and I intend to make good on it. Maker knows I've more than enough to make up for in this lifetime."
After last night, Rook stopped trying to convince himself he could be an equal in terms of the ruthless pragmatism that holds countries together. In all likelihood, no one was going to come to an agreement or solution where all involved were one hundred percent happy. Despite the fact that he and Emmrich couldn't just up and elope, Rook was still determined to prioritize the man more now. Even Wardens married, however rarely, and Rook would make it work.
"You want to leave now?" Echoed Rook, jarred into sitting straight at the idea. Emmrich was still injured, and the thought of throwing him on a horse, even one as mild-tempered as Sooty, didn't bring Rook much comfort. "A longer ride than Vigil's Keep to Highever, especially since I've no intention of going fast or taking any risky shortcuts. We'd likely not make it till the early hours of next morning without stopping, by noon if he did. Are you sure?"
He needed to trust Rook. After yesterday's heartache and devastation it was a challenge; it felt like it had been so easy for Rook to dismiss what they had and what mattered to him and Emmrich was here being vulnerable with him again. Not just emotionally vulnerable. Emmrich was exposed as a necromancer, at risk, and unable to ride a horse on his own. It was all so much and on top of that he was physically sore. Thinking was difficult.
But trust was a choice, and he wanted to trust work. Emmrich nodded to the offer even as he was nervous about what all Rook felt he had to make up. Who did he felt he owed? Emmrich wished his head was clear.
The sudden movement behind him sent a jab of pain through him, but Emmrich managed to mostly hide it. He needed to. "I think things might get tense here. I gave the queen peace with her nephew, but others will be upset. Departing ahead of it might be wise."
"That is...an unfortunate possibility to consider." After only a moment to think their situation through, however, Rook inwardly shifted his perspective of things from a mere possibility to an inevitability. No amount of homesickness and loyalty to a country he hadn't stepped foot in since childhood would blind him to the fact Emmrich was on dangerous ground.
"I'll need to saddle the horse and alert the queen to the change in plans," Rook was on his feet now but lingered around Emmrich, not quite ready to leave his side even though time necessitated him to move quickly. Instead, he knelt on the floor by Emmrich's side, hand going to his knee, looking up at him.
It was such a simple, straightforward offer, a natural one to make, and it still touched Emmrich. His expression was gentleness incarnate as he reached out to gently brush Hugh's cheek with a thumb.
"Please." It was going to be difficult for him to do it on his own. "If you can pass me my pack I can get clothing out. ...Do you know what happened to what I had on yesterday? And my staff?"
Emmrich wasn't about to wear his grey mage robes while traveling, but he had liked the look. If he had to repair it after it had been cut off that was fine. Once he has his pack he's gingerly pulling out his plainest options - beige pants, cream shirt, and the brown sweater. His sash stays in there. Now more than ever before in his life he needs to be nondescript.
"Of course, love," As Rook rose back to his feet to do as he was asked, the second half of Emmrich's question struck him, and a red flush crept up the back of his neck. A sheepish look pinched his expression as he explained, "I...might have torn most the robes after yelling at the mage who saw to healing you. It wasn't my best moment...among several that night. Last I saw them, they were somewhere on the floor of the great hall."
Privately, Rook made a note to find Emmrich's favored tailor back in Nevarra. Maybe something in slate grey with lilac embroidery. Having lived in fatigues for his adult life, Rook understood foreign fashion trends and color composition as well as he understood the magical theory, but maybe Emmrich would like it. He'd certainly look good in something like it; he'd look fantastic in anything once he was hale and hearty.\
"Your staff is up against the wall behind the bed. Don't worry," Rook explained after he set the pack down. When Emmrich fished out traveling clothes, Rook set to the task of slowly working around the limits of how much Emmrich could lift his arms or raise his legs. It was as intimate as it was nerve-wracking, with Rook worrying the entire time.
"Here," He stood again and retrieved the cloak deep blue with white chevrons unfastened from his plate mail and secured it with an iron clasp of a roaring griffon. "It'll be cold once we leave, and...if you're in my- in Warden's colors, perhaps little attention will be drawn to us on the road, even with the staff."
His lips twitched at the mental image even as he felt sorry for the other mage. They'd probably been doing the best they could in the aftermath of an attack, and he wouldn't be surprised if he'd made their job harder with people bringing in the corpses of fellow soldiers who he'd made move post-death, fooling them into thinking them only gravely wounded. His poor robes, though. At least it was only enchanted fabric, thread, and metal, however, and not the coat Manfred had helped with. Losing that would have made him sad.
The dressing process gives him such mixed feelings. Rook's gentle care touches his heart but also settles a low heat in his stomach that he can do nothing about. At the same time he's never had to deal with injuries like this before. Yes, he's been injured more than once, sometimes seriously, but it had always been around plenty of competent Necropolis healers. Taking things slowly, feeling his limitations, make him feel old for only the second time in his life.
Finally he's dressed, and Rook takes the extra step to protect him, one Emmrich wouldn't have even thought to ask about. A warden mage can likely pass without comment, and once they're on the road no one will think to question it. He rests a hand over the clasp briefly, contemplating how he was finding safety in the trappings of what had so-harmed Hugh. It was far too complicated a thought for how he was feeling.
"A smart call," he said. "Thank you, love. Will you be warm enough?"
Slowly, gingerly, he puts his pack on his back and gets up. He can move. Not quickly, and he might even need to use his staff in the most undignified way imaginable, but he can make it.
Emmrich sat back down with care. "I'm ready when you are. But do what you must first." He did not want Hugh talking with the Queen. He feared it. But he could hardly try to prevent it, especially if the man saw it part of his duty.
"In the meantime," he said with the smallest smile as he flicked a finger and the tea on the nightstand began to steam again. "Thank you for the tea, Hugh."
More than anything, Rook wanted to lock the door, shut the outside world away, and lay with Emmrich until their bodies were as thoroughly brought back together as their hearts. Obviously, not the wisest course of action, but any brush of his fingertips over bared skin made Rook's heart lurch with longing. It would be a while longer until then, but at the very least, he had Emmrich's trust again. No small feat, and a kindness only someone as forgiving as Emmrich would extend after what had happened.
"The First Enchanter should be amenable enough to help with your injuries," Rook phrased it in a way like he might have considered not giving the senior mage at Kinloch much of a choice if they were to help. Then, more lightly, Rook said, "And who knows! You might stumble across one or two junior apprentices who would care for Nevarra more than Ferelden."
A lovely thought, and more than a little Rook's attempt to give Emmrich something to focus on other than his injuries or the fact almost every in the castle was now standing around funerary pyres having already decided on their scapegoat.
"I'll be in full plate, not to worry," he assured the man as he secured the pin before firmly pressing his lips to Emmrich's brow when the other man settled back down. Again, at the sound of his own name, Rook beamed instead of sporting the uncertain grimace he used to wear whenever it passed someone's lips. "Learning to love you calling me that. Drink your tea; I won't be long."
Just less than an hour had passed when Rook returned to their room. Two things were readily apparent — one, he was back in full gear and secondly, just along the ridge of his right eyebrow was a small cut highlighted by the obvious start of a black eye.
"The horse is ready in the courtyard, but we'll be leaving through the back gate so as not to disrupt the funerary pyres being lit by the sisters outside the castle walls," Rook explained as he started to hoist both he and Emmrich's traveling packs as neither were so heavy as to burden him. He would prefer not to overtax Emmrich. It was as he was doing so that he made a face. Almost like he remembered the new shiner he was sporting and huffed, "It wasn't the queen that gave me this, if you're wondering.
I had to...disabuse one of the soldiers who was in his cups of the fool notion you are to blame for anything and that you were acting on orders, the queen's orders, back in the forest. He's worse off but nothing he can't sleep off, but we should leave."
He'll hope the First Enchanter has any sort of healing ability, and seek out further training in it once back. There were teachers. He'd simply not seen the need to learn how to heal better prior to fighting the gods, and then hadn't had time. It would also be nice to bring a few new apprentices back, especially rescued former Tranquil. He'd like to give them opportunities, and it was indeed a pleasant thought to sip tea and drift in and out of a nap to.
Rook returns, startling him out of a doze and sporting evidence of a fight. Thankfully Hugh explains it as Emmrich's gets up with slight help from his staff.
"I wish I was surprised," he said quietly. "I'm sorry you were hurt for me." Emmrich came over to hold Rook's cheek gently as he kissed to the side of the injury.
The absolute last place he should be is anywhere near the funerary pyres for so many reasons, so he was glad there was another way out. It wasn't a comfortable walk down. Staged whispers followed them from multiple people they passed, mentions of the Queen's family, of heresy, and of blood magic. He could deal with those. They were angry and fearful and hateful, but they weren't violent. They didn't promise violence. Not like one word in particular he was listening for nervously.
By the time he'd struggled onto Sooty with Rook's help, fighting to breathe through the pain, he thought them clear. They could get moving without having to look over their backs. And then he heard it from one of the sentries at the gate, the mutter of 'abomination,' and if he could have clutched the cold armor Rook wore any tighter without agony he would have.
"Quickly, my dearest," he said quietly. Emmrich's hands moved where only Rook could see them as they passed through, a faint gleam of dark purple around them as he whispered invocations of shadow and silence. The purple vanished.
"We should be difficult to notice for half an hour. Eyes will slide off of us, in theory. I only recently read about that one and have never tried it before." His voice was still hushed. Now that the immediate threat was likely dodged, the greater looming one still lingered and he had to ask.
"What did... What did, how did the meeting, your meeting with the Queen go?"
"Love," Rook had caught Emmrich's by the chin after the kiss on his cheek and repaid it with a soft one of his own on the other man's lips before emphatically stating, "It was my very great pleasure to break a man's nose for you."
Neither of them had a violent bone in their bodies, Emmrich so much so more than Rook himself that the wider world was mostly undeserving of his love's benevolence. The other commonality they shared was an intolerance to any perceived injustice. Where they diverged on that point was that Rook had lived much of his life bucking under the authority and lashing out where words failed to suffice. Emmrich had charisma and magic, but Rook had a mean right hook. He would gladly take his licks if it meant throwing a few of his own if it ensured Emmrich's safety.
Rook had taken the slow march to the courtyard in greater stride, but his hand had never left Emmrich's shoulder the entire time. He had anticipated a cool reception, but it seemed one of their own picking his teeth up off the floor in retaliation had traveled up the grapevine. That and being the queen's guests would have to suffice, but it was clear that returning was out of the question for the foreseeable future. It hurt more than Rook wanted to admit.
The ride out of the castle was more or less similar to the ride-in save for Emmrich's injuries to take into account. As they were leaving, however, even through the thick plate mail, Rook could feel Emmrich tense up. It was then he caught the word passing the sentry at the gate's word. Without hesitation, Rook's hand moved from covering Emmrich's forearm wrapped around his waist to the pommel of his sword holstered at his thigh. The guard found the ground a more interesting sight as they rode through, but Rook was not likely soon to forget.
"It's alright, love, but I have to keep Sooty at a pace that won't wear him into the ground," Rook assured Emmrich as the hand that was not on the reins returned to covering Emmrich's arm.
"Write a thank you letter to whoever penned that helpful little trick when we're back home," He squeezed Emmrich's arm as he looked over his shoulder to offer the man a smile, but it was waning. Of course Emmrich was going to ask what was said between Rook and the Queen the moment they were out of earshot. It was selfish as it was foolish on Rook's part that he hoped the ride would pass in comfortable silence like the last one.
"She was more understanding than expected but about as annoyed as I anticipated," Rook explained after directing Sooty onto a beaten hunter's trailer under a canopy of snow-capped fir trees. "She asked that instead of taking over her role as commander, I oversee the influx of recruits from Hossberg and surviving Wardens from the Anderfels coming into Amaranthine as we bolster our forces to aid Orzammar in routing out the remaining dark spawn nests. The posting would also entail traveling to the Jader outpost as an intermediary since it's closest to the Frostbacks."
Rook tried not to stiffen or audibly swallow, "Temporarily, of course, a month...two, at most. I told her I would be writing her my final decision from Kinloch on the morrow."
He felt guilty for forgetting Sooty's needs. All of this tension and pain had him reacting with fear instead of intellect. Emmrich needed to get home and stop being in pure panicked survival mode, but that was likely still days off. He also wished he could stop being aware of what spirits were on just the other side of the Veil: Despair, Desire, Isolation, and Terror all had focused in on him in the last day. How sorely he missed Manfred, Keepsake, and Curio.
Rook's words didn't help. A month or two at a remote outpost seemed on the surface incredibly reasonable as opposed to a lifetime away, but it was so long. And there was no guarantee the task would be done by then. There could easily be one more reasonable request, followed by another, and so on. Each one would distance Hugh from him further, and not just physically. But if Emmrich objected to something so much shorter he could not see it going well.
"Do you know your answer?" If he spoke quietly, he could sound neutral without sounding so detached as to be jarring. He thought. He hoped. Emmrich was so bad at hiding his feelings. "And do you know why they're not choosing to use the eluvians?"
The answer was probably magic, but it also might be calculation. He wished he'd been present when they'd talked so he could have gotten a sense of what she was angling for. He wished they could just go home to Nevarra and wedding plan.
But Hope was not anywhere to be found. Just cold, reflected back at him by the armor Hugh was wrapped in.
Emmrich's fears were palpable enough to lance through Rook in the silence that followed his report of what transpired between himself and the queen. Rook longed to have the easiest answer, the one they both wanted to hear. The world they had saved was now transpiring against their hard-won happiness.
"Logistics, mostly," Rook tried to keep the lump out of his throat from strangling his words. "We would be using them for something, but there are still enough of us standing that traditional troop movements would be more practical given the ground we need to cover here in Ferelden and the bordering mountain range."
For all the world, Rook wanted to pull on the reins and start heading east towards the Amaranthine coast. If only Emmrich's committing to helping the Circle tranquil and Rook's ties to this place hadn't kept them on course, they could be in their bed by the morning after. Instead all he can offer is another reassuring hold on Emmrich's wrist, thumb repeating that soothing motion along the pulse line as before.
"Emmrich," Rook softened his voice, "Should I agree then ny second I'm at Vigil's Keep that can be sparred going through the eluvian, I'll take — we have a wedding to plan, after all, and I won't let anything come between that.
This could mean a Thedas that doesn't need Wardens...it could mean I would no longer need the Wardens. It's two months for a lifetime."
He fought to believe that things could be that straightforward. Lingering in his mind was the way that Antoine had heard something different, something new in the Blight, which suggested an end wasn't approaching, but a transformation. The shake-ups around Thedas, the talk of a storm, the missing antaam, everything suggested that nothing good was coming. Peace was likely not to last long, and there would be urgent demands on their time again.
Plus it had already changed to two months instead of one, two at most. With Rook using 'we' regarding the Wardens. Because of course he was. He believed in the Wardens, and wanted to believe in the heroes of his people.
Emmrich was exhausted.
He leaned against the armor, grateful that Hugh could not see how bleak he knew his expression was. Hugh continued to give the benefit of the doubt to someone who would take and take, and what could Emmrich do or say?
"Time will not be given to us. It will have to be found, made, forged."
She'd absolutely been playing Emmrich with bringing up marriage, intending to have him off-balance and optimistic so she could open the gateway to using Hugh for just two months, just another job, one more task, then surely there won't be a need for the Wardens. Because it won't just be the influx. Hugh would know some of them by then, and therefore they'd find comfort in him leading, of course, just temporarily until another commander was found, but oh, now they were used to him and trusted him and he was doing so well, and so on.
"You will do as you will."
Last time he'd tried to make his case. He was too wiped out, too much in pain with the movements of the horse underneath him, to risk another argument by trying again.
Maybe he can simply fall asleep here and skip some of the pain and thinking.
On some level, Rook knew he was being influenced to follow the tune of someone else's design. That this time, instead of the Blight itself singing him towards disaster, it was the Warden-Queen of his own country plucking at the strings. She was everything he was not — an experienced and decorated Warden. The queen was also infamously ice-blooded in her pragmatism, manipulative, and always willing to cross some threshold to see her goals accomplished. She was all that because she was charged with the most trampled-upon country in the South and trying to mitigate as much loss of life as possible.
The worst part of knowing someone was happy to slide the knife in your back is understanding exactly why they're doing it and being ready to make it easier for them. If Solas had taught Rook anything, it was that he was the best person to ask to throw themselves on the sword.
Hearing Emmrich's voice diminish from uncertain to distant and resigned made his heart sink into the churning bile of his gut. This was exactly why Rook just wished it was only his own back feeling at knifepoint.
"Emmrich—"
Sooty came to a gentle halt as Rook tugged on the reins, mindful not to jostle the other man. Hooves crunched the snow on the untrodden path as the animal shook its massive head, snorting through thick plumes of mist in the frozen morning air.
"Every part of me is screaming to turn around and go home," The hand at Emmrich's wrist tightened too tightly then but relented when Rook bowed his head and took in a breath that shuddered in his chest and made him tremble. "Only I can't without feeling as though I would be turning my back on everything, knowing I would be betraying so much. I know, I know this is more than what we bargained for, but I am begging you to trust that I want this over as soon as you do.
Please, can we just make it to Kinloch and leave as quickly as possible so I can get you out of this place I should have never subjected you to? Time will not be given to us, so let's do what we can here now so once you're healed, I can pretend for a little while longer everything we worked so hard to save isn't right back on the edge of oblivion."
Tears prickled at the corners of his eyes, but Rook managed to will them not to fall with a sharp inhale. He dug his heels into Sooty's side, and the horse started to move forward again.
"I have to believe there's an end to all this soon, where it's just you and me," It was hard to tell if Rook was telling Emmrich that or himself. "I have to."
He sucks in air through his teeth as the grip on his wrist briefly becomes painful, but Rook's eased up a second later. The words from Rook are heartfelt but unsubstantial. There's nothing reassuring there. Even worse, he knew he would have fully lost Rook if Rook had come alone. There would have been no room for pleading after Hugh had accepted the offer to be Commander of the Grey, he wouldn't have understood, and in somewhere around an hour the queen had already secured two months in which to learn everything she could about Hugh to keep using him. And Emmrich would not be here.
He would have to make his own reassurance, or break things trying. Emmrich took a slow breath and tried to clear his head. His voice is thin and hard, shaped by pain and fear and how close he is to the edge of breaking.
"Then swear to me, right now, that it will only be those two months. Only, Hugh. And then you are done with the Wardens. Give me your word. Because if you do not... At the end of those two months there will be some crisis, exaggerated or real, that she needs Hugh Thorne, leader of the Veilguard, to solve. What's a couple more weeks compared to a lifetime, after all? And after that? There's another small thing, she's terribly sorry, but you do care about Ferelden, don't you? It will be endless. And you will go along with it because it's fine in your eyes if only two people are suffering while you're saving dozens, hundreds of others. You're fine being a sacrifice. And I am not fine with either being one, or the person I love continuing to be one.
"Give me your word that I lose you for two months and that is the end of it. Tell me that this has definite an endpoint when my fiance will return to me and not continue to serve someone who wants only a tool."
Or there is, quite likely, no point to even calling them engaged. The thought stabs him in the heart and he turns his hand in Rook's grip to hold Hugh's hand. All steam has left him now, he's wiped himself out, and his voice is small when he adds one final piece.
Plenty of conversations were best had anywhere other than on a moving war horse in the middle of hostile territory, carried almost entirely one-sided to the back of the other person's head. This ranked high among such conversations. Rook sat motionless in the saddle as Emmrich meticulously picked him up with the same clinical finesse he would a cadaver laid out on a cold slab of stone. Although the use of his name, over and over, was the flourishing twist between the ribs that Rook could have done without. Much as he sorely deserved to be reminded why Emmrich was one of the few alive that he tolerated (adored) its use.
At every likelihood of the next two months that Emmerich paraded before him in that brittle Voice of his as the man pushed through one pain to convey another, Rook said nothing. He wasn't silent, however. By the end, Rook had managed a faltering noise, something more than a groan but less than speech as if it had been strangled out of him. The reality that he might have never seen Emmrich again if he hadn't convinced him to come here in the first place was a blow that Rook couldn't hobble away from. While they disagreed on the queen's character, there was no denying Rook's slavishness to Wardens anymore. Or his fear of being put away and forgotten like a broken sword or lamed horse.
On the note of that final, distressed plea, Hugh pulled at the reins and guided their horse off the beaten path. Sooty stopped beneath the snow-laden boughs of two massive conifer trees whose ancient trunks were entwined at their exposed roots. Rook slid off the saddle in silence, hand still on Emmrich's forearm. Either because he wanted to keep him steady without his weight to lean on, that he didn't want to stop touching him, or both.
At this height, Hugh was waist-level to Emmrich. His gauntleted hand slid into Emmrich's as Hugh stared into deep hazel eyes with his own amber gaze, the whites of his eyes threaded with angry streaks of red from sorrow and exhaustion.
— Hugh said nothing as he held firm to Emmrich's hand and lowered in genuflection onto one knee. The snow muffled the sound of his heavy armor striking the ground to a hushed thud.
"I give you my word," Voice somber as the grave or prayer as he spoke. "Two months is all I will give them. This is a poor attempt at a proper proposal here in the middle of nowhere and the cold, but I want you to know I wasn't speaking in the heat of the moment the first time. I promise you, Emmrich. Because of you, because of all of you in the Veilguard, I even have a lifetime to look forward to. I won't jeopardize that anymore because I'm...scared of who Hugh Thorne is without 'Warden' in front of that name. I'm ready to bury him and learn what the man Hugh Volkarin could become."
The noise Rook made, followed by the silence, was excruciating. Emmrich couldn't see Hugh's face; he had no idea how his words were taken. All he knew was that they'd left the trail. He was terrified. Terrified that Hugh knew this was the point of no return and that he was taking them to the side so he could apologize and try to sway Emmrich to understand and that nobody would hear raised voices, or hear Emmrich sob, or...
He didn't know what expression he had on his face when Hugh dismounted, but he knew it wasn't hopeful.
Then Hugh knelt and promised. He promised and in his own words, which meant he'd finally, finally heard what Emmrich had been saying, and that he at last wanted to live.
"My love," Emmrich said in a choked voice, squeezing Hugh's hand tightly. He can bear two months, then. He won't be entirely alone, he has friends and Manfred, and he could trust that Hugh would fully be his after.
The smart thing to do would be to stay up on Sooty and tug Hugh to get him to come back up. It would also be the least physically painful. And usually, Emmrich is a very smart man. But he has one weakness, and that is his heart. Emmrich swings a leg over and slides off the horse and it hurts like the void but he doesn't give a damn. He kneels, wrapping his arms around the man he loves so desperately that he was terrified of living without.
"My beloved Hugh. I will be honored to be beside you every step of the way discovering who you are as Hugh Volkarin."
Waiting was perhaps the worst feeling in the world—and Rook wasn't saying that out of his notorious mile-wide streak of impatience. No, it was always the moment right before something tremendous happened where Rook teetered on the edge, unable to breathe. Watching Emmrich's face shift from the broken expression he created to confusion had squeezed the air out of him.
— And then it melted into a smile that warmed Rook where he knelt out on this cold winter morning.
Before Rook could conjure the words, Emmrich had dismounted and fallen into his arms with Sooty sidestepping out of the way with a snort. Heart fit to bursting with relief and a tremendous, overwhelming love, Rook pulled Emmrich close and kissed him soundly. Tasting salt where the few tears he couldn't hold in slid down his cheeks and between both their lips.
"I'm your Hugh, love, for as long as— Wait." Rook blinked and reevaluated their surroundings and Emmrich in his arms for a split second before something very important returned to the forefront of his mind.
"Maker's breath, Emmrich!" While the tone wasn't angry, it certainly wasn't pleased, "You just stepped off a war horse with your foot in a stirrup without a mounting block. If Sooty had spooked in any direction, even someone who wasn't breathing around broken ribs would have found themselves with a couple."
At the sound of his name, Sooty raised his head from where it had pawed a hoof in the snow at a patch of dead grass and snorted again with a shake of a slate grey mane. Rook mimicked the sound, a huff of disbelief. He was now holding Emmrich at arm's length as if any closer would snape something in two like dry kindling.
"I love you, more than anything, but please get back on the horse before I keel over with worry."
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"Enchanted petals can come tumbling down from the ceiling any old day of the year, but I'll never get to hear you ask me that a second time. Of course, Emmrich. Just hearing you call my name feels all the world the greatest sound."
Rook leaned forward and soundly kissed Emmrich before pulling back with a shaken exhale,
"I love you, too."
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The words and the kiss left his mouth half-open and eyes half-lidded as he wished so desperately that he were not injured. Emmrich wanted his beloved, his now fiance desperately, physically, carnally, and was so aware of how easily any rough jostling could get a rib out of place again and back into a lung.
"My love, my Hugh," he said quietly, knowing the longing was in his voice. There were lyrium potions hidden in his pack, just in case, but he didn't think he could call this urgent enough. They still had to get through helping at Kinloch, and it wasn't like his healing skills were brilliant despite the improvement they'd had through the last many months.
He can at least improve his situation a little bit, though. "Will you help me re-wrap my chest? It will hurt, but if I can get the ribs positioned correctly with tightened bandages I can speed the healing process some and be safer from re-injury." There was nothing like using knowledge gained from working with the dead for decades to fix his own rib cage.
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"Yours," It was as much a confirmation as it was a promise. Rook was so tired of pulling himself apart in fragmentary pieces, spreading himself thin for conflicting loyalties and overwhelming 'needs of the many.' If he could swear himself to one thing, it would be the man in his arms.
Reality struck him then like an adrenaline crash, remembering Emmrich's injured state. Rook eased back, cautious about even jostling the mattress too much and upsetting his still-healing injuries.
"Of course," Rook slowly rose after saying he should stoke the fire before getting fresh bandages from his pack. He was decent enough with field medicine but it made him jittery to have to oversee Emmrich's recovery until they could find a proper healer. The junior mage had done their best, but Rook thought he should be forgiven when his standards became unreasonably high where it concerned his recently affianced.
"Emmrich, maybe..." Rook started after sitting back down and delicately started to remove the old bandages. "We should limit ourselves to advising Kinloch with whatever it is you and the queen discussed and then leave for the Keep, back to Nevarra."
He loosely wrapped a hand around Emmrich's, thumb running over the pulse point of the other man's wrist. "This place has taken enough away from you for one night. I'd hate to see what staying here much longer will do. Call it selfishness. Call it what you will, but the sooner we leave the better."
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Undoing the bandages hurts, unsurprisingly. There'd seemingly been no time to set the bones properly, so the loss of pressure means everything's shifting. Once they're fully off he can see the massive bruising and have a concept of exactly how much momentum was behind that last blow. The emissary had absolutely known what it was doing.
Emmrich gave Rook's hand a squeeze in return, and a faded smile. "I believe I'm needed in person at Kinloch Hold, unfortunately. I would love to re-wrap this and leave Ferelden promptly otherwise."
He took a careful breath and made a careful loop around his shoulder before the focus in his eyes got distant as he felt along the lowest broken rib. "Kinloch Hold is children, Tranquil, a full mage, and, unfortunately, Templars. And the queen has suggested there is a cure for Tranquility known by a spirit of Faith who once resided there. I may be the only one who can reach that spirit, and as there are so many spirits of Faith I need to be there, in person, to try to call it up. I cannot let this chance slip away."
Emmrich hesitated, swallowing. This was going to hurt. A lot. "If you can follow my hands and wrap the bandage securely, that will help a great deal, my love." With one more careful breath he starts working, shifting the bone fragments into alignment and using a little bit of healing to begin to bond them in place. As Emmrich worked he slowly went more and more pale, and his breathing got shorter -- this was no self-surgery, but it was agonizing and difficult nonetheless.
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"I was afraid you might say that," Rook brought Emmrich's hand up to place a firm kiss on the inside of his wrist. "Leave the Templars to me, at least. Likely, they're thoroughly de-fanged, but we don't know what old grudges any might be carrying. I...suppose I should be at least grateful you and the queen found some sort of common ground."
With a hesitant inhale, Rook gathered the fresh bandages and pulled open a long skein of medicated cotton, which he would wrap around Emmrich, starting at his waist under the other man's guidance.
"You happen to be in the care of the premier expert in the breaking and bruising of ribcages," He said in an effort to lighten the mood. "I've got you, love."
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The kiss got such a smile. Emmrich would be very, very glad to leave any Templars to Rook, and he was happier than he could find words for that Rook would still be with him. Yesterday he'd been facing the very real possibility of having to go to Kinloch Hold alone, and the fear of not being allowed to leave. Nevarra would not go to war for him, so the Mourn Watch would not storm the place to find him, and if Rook had chosen to accept the position Emmrich didn't know that he'd be able to travel with the man.
Now everything had changed. Now he was engaged to this man, the man who had chosen him and chosen something more than being a sacrifice at last. He was going to continue to do everything in his power to make that choice clearly worth it for Hugh.
He continued to work slowly on his ribs, choosing to talk as a distraction from the steadily-mounting pain.
"I wouldn't trust the Templars to be de-fanged. There's rebellion against the new order of things from many, and the sorts that become Templars are often the sorts that are seeking to be bullies. Rana and Tarquin seem to be the exception, and even they have stories of other Templars behaving in abhorrent ways. But..."
Emmrich trailed off, looking at Rook. "The queen came in expressing that she knew you would not accept. Did you not say something to her?" Or did he miss something while he was unconscious?
"Either way, we may need to leave here for Kinloch sooner rather than later." There. Finally every piece of bone was properly aligned. Emmrich would relax if not for how he needed the wrapping finished to hold everything in place. Thank everything Rook was proving to be every bit the expert as claimed.
"I raised the dead, some of which were known to people stationed or working here. We try to avoid that anywhere outside of Nevarra; it never goes over well. That there was no choice will not matter."
The Wardens will probably remain professional-ish. Otherwise... otherwise there's even the risk of being elbowed in the hall, something that could prove extremely dangerous right now.
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Helping Emmrich reapply fresh bandages had left Rook on tenterhooks. Every shudder or breath carefully drawn so as not to jostle his healing ribs was a reminder of how close Rook had come to losing Emmrich and the vulnerable position he was in now. Rook wasn't so blind to the attitudes of his country to pretend softening attitudes towards magic meant anyone was welcoming necromancy with open arms anytime soon.
On some level, Rook understood their fears, at the very least. Necromancy was more than a little startling. Others outside of Nevarra hadn't been as fortunate as he was to know Emmrich. Anyone who let ignorance rule them was lesser not to know his intelligence or his compassion for the living and the dead. Regardless, he couldn't shake the fear that what had happened might stoke the fires of old resentments.
Rook slowly moved his arms around Emmrich's shoulders and tentatively drew him in close, mindful of every movement. With Emmrich's bandaged back to his chest, Rook dropped his head into the crook of Emmrich's neck and breathed in deep.
"There was every choice, and you made the right one, Emmrich. The deceased would have still been missing if it weren't for you."
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As Hugh drew him in, Emmrich exhaled and relaxed into the gentle hold, trying to breathe the pain away. They could have lost this intimacy multiple ways over the last twenty-four hours. While he'd never taken his time with Hugh for granted, he was all the more aware of it now. He loved this man with all that he was. He needed this man with all that he was.
He'd also needed that reassurance, though he hadn't known it until he got it. The call to raise the keep's dead had made him a target for far more than the emissary. Even as he did it he'd known he was not making friends. There would not be understanding. That hadn't made it easy. Emmrich wanted to be kind, to not hurt or harm, and his choice had unfortunately hurt and harmed people who had known the Fereldan dead. He felt guilty. He'd known he would. And if he'd been a coward, he would have tried to fight only with Darkspawn dead and left people vulnerable.
"Thank you," he said quietly. It was for the words, but also so much more. For helping him with the bandages, for choosing him, for loving him, for everything.
It would be so easy to fall back asleep like this. Hugh was always so warm, and Emmrich found such comfort in his arms. Maybe he should rest again. Before he relaxed enough for that, he'd make one more try to see if they could leave, and then he'd surrender if Hugh didn't approve.
"How far is Calenhad? Can we make it by nightfall, or to a town on the way, if we leave now? My pack is almost entirely organized." Being a tidy person had its payoffs.
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After last night, Rook stopped trying to convince himself he could be an equal in terms of the ruthless pragmatism that holds countries together. In all likelihood, no one was going to come to an agreement or solution where all involved were one hundred percent happy. Despite the fact that he and Emmrich couldn't just up and elope, Rook was still determined to prioritize the man more now. Even Wardens married, however rarely, and Rook would make it work.
"You want to leave now?" Echoed Rook, jarred into sitting straight at the idea. Emmrich was still injured, and the thought of throwing him on a horse, even one as mild-tempered as Sooty, didn't bring Rook much comfort. "A longer ride than Vigil's Keep to Highever, especially since I've no intention of going fast or taking any risky shortcuts. We'd likely not make it till the early hours of next morning without stopping, by noon if he did. Are you sure?"
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But trust was a choice, and he wanted to trust work. Emmrich nodded to the offer even as he was nervous about what all Rook felt he had to make up. Who did he felt he owed? Emmrich wished his head was clear.
The sudden movement behind him sent a jab of pain through him, but Emmrich managed to mostly hide it. He needed to. "I think things might get tense here. I gave the queen peace with her nephew, but others will be upset. Departing ahead of it might be wise."
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"I'll need to saddle the horse and alert the queen to the change in plans," Rook was on his feet now but lingered around Emmrich, not quite ready to leave his side even though time necessitated him to move quickly. Instead, he knelt on the floor by Emmrich's side, hand going to his knee, looking up at him.
"Can I help you dress first?"
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"Please." It was going to be difficult for him to do it on his own. "If you can pass me my pack I can get clothing out. ...Do you know what happened to what I had on yesterday? And my staff?"
Emmrich wasn't about to wear his grey mage robes while traveling, but he had liked the look. If he had to repair it after it had been cut off that was fine. Once he has his pack he's gingerly pulling out his plainest options - beige pants, cream shirt, and the brown sweater. His sash stays in there. Now more than ever before in his life he needs to be nondescript.
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Privately, Rook made a note to find Emmrich's favored tailor back in Nevarra. Maybe something in slate grey with lilac embroidery. Having lived in fatigues for his adult life, Rook understood foreign fashion trends and color composition as well as he understood the magical theory, but maybe Emmrich would like it. He'd certainly look good in something like it; he'd look fantastic in anything once he was hale and hearty.\
"Your staff is up against the wall behind the bed. Don't worry," Rook explained after he set the pack down. When Emmrich fished out traveling clothes, Rook set to the task of slowly working around the limits of how much Emmrich could lift his arms or raise his legs. It was as intimate as it was nerve-wracking, with Rook worrying the entire time.
"Here," He stood again and retrieved the cloak deep blue with white chevrons unfastened from his plate mail and secured it with an iron clasp of a roaring griffon. "It'll be cold once we leave, and...if you're in my- in Warden's colors, perhaps little attention will be drawn to us on the road, even with the staff."
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The dressing process gives him such mixed feelings. Rook's gentle care touches his heart but also settles a low heat in his stomach that he can do nothing about. At the same time he's never had to deal with injuries like this before. Yes, he's been injured more than once, sometimes seriously, but it had always been around plenty of competent Necropolis healers. Taking things slowly, feeling his limitations, make him feel old for only the second time in his life.
Finally he's dressed, and Rook takes the extra step to protect him, one Emmrich wouldn't have even thought to ask about. A warden mage can likely pass without comment, and once they're on the road no one will think to question it. He rests a hand over the clasp briefly, contemplating how he was finding safety in the trappings of what had so-harmed Hugh. It was far too complicated a thought for how he was feeling.
"A smart call," he said. "Thank you, love. Will you be warm enough?"
Slowly, gingerly, he puts his pack on his back and gets up. He can move. Not quickly, and he might even need to use his staff in the most undignified way imaginable, but he can make it.
Emmrich sat back down with care. "I'm ready when you are. But do what you must first." He did not want Hugh talking with the Queen. He feared it. But he could hardly try to prevent it, especially if the man saw it part of his duty.
"In the meantime," he said with the smallest smile as he flicked a finger and the tea on the nightstand began to steam again. "Thank you for the tea, Hugh."
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"The First Enchanter should be amenable enough to help with your injuries," Rook phrased it in a way like he might have considered not giving the senior mage at Kinloch much of a choice if they were to help. Then, more lightly, Rook said, "And who knows! You might stumble across one or two junior apprentices who would care for Nevarra more than Ferelden."
A lovely thought, and more than a little Rook's attempt to give Emmrich something to focus on other than his injuries or the fact almost every in the castle was now standing around funerary pyres having already decided on their scapegoat.
"I'll be in full plate, not to worry," he assured the man as he secured the pin before firmly pressing his lips to Emmrich's brow when the other man settled back down. Again, at the sound of his own name, Rook beamed instead of sporting the uncertain grimace he used to wear whenever it passed someone's lips. "Learning to love you calling me that. Drink your tea; I won't be long."
Just less than an hour had passed when Rook returned to their room. Two things were readily apparent — one, he was back in full gear and secondly, just along the ridge of his right eyebrow was a small cut highlighted by the obvious start of a black eye.
"The horse is ready in the courtyard, but we'll be leaving through the back gate so as not to disrupt the funerary pyres being lit by the sisters outside the castle walls," Rook explained as he started to hoist both he and Emmrich's traveling packs as neither were so heavy as to burden him. He would prefer not to overtax Emmrich. It was as he was doing so that he made a face. Almost like he remembered the new shiner he was sporting and huffed, "It wasn't the queen that gave me this, if you're wondering.
I had to...disabuse one of the soldiers who was in his cups of the fool notion you are to blame for anything and that you were acting on orders, the queen's orders, back in the forest. He's worse off but nothing he can't sleep off, but we should leave."
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Rook returns, startling him out of a doze and sporting evidence of a fight. Thankfully Hugh explains it as Emmrich's gets up with slight help from his staff.
"I wish I was surprised," he said quietly. "I'm sorry you were hurt for me." Emmrich came over to hold Rook's cheek gently as he kissed to the side of the injury.
The absolute last place he should be is anywhere near the funerary pyres for so many reasons, so he was glad there was another way out. It wasn't a comfortable walk down. Staged whispers followed them from multiple people they passed, mentions of the Queen's family, of heresy, and of blood magic. He could deal with those. They were angry and fearful and hateful, but they weren't violent. They didn't promise violence. Not like one word in particular he was listening for nervously.
By the time he'd struggled onto Sooty with Rook's help, fighting to breathe through the pain, he thought them clear. They could get moving without having to look over their backs. And then he heard it from one of the sentries at the gate, the mutter of 'abomination,' and if he could have clutched the cold armor Rook wore any tighter without agony he would have.
"Quickly, my dearest," he said quietly. Emmrich's hands moved where only Rook could see them as they passed through, a faint gleam of dark purple around them as he whispered invocations of shadow and silence. The purple vanished.
"We should be difficult to notice for half an hour. Eyes will slide off of us, in theory. I only recently read about that one and have never tried it before." His voice was still hushed. Now that the immediate threat was likely dodged, the greater looming one still lingered and he had to ask.
"What did... What did, how did the meeting, your meeting with the Queen go?"
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Neither of them had a violent bone in their bodies, Emmrich so much so more than Rook himself that the wider world was mostly undeserving of his love's benevolence. The other commonality they shared was an intolerance to any perceived injustice. Where they diverged on that point was that Rook had lived much of his life bucking under the authority and lashing out where words failed to suffice. Emmrich had charisma and magic, but Rook had a mean right hook. He would gladly take his licks if it meant throwing a few of his own if it ensured Emmrich's safety.
Rook had taken the slow march to the courtyard in greater stride, but his hand had never left Emmrich's shoulder the entire time. He had anticipated a cool reception, but it seemed one of their own picking his teeth up off the floor in retaliation had traveled up the grapevine. That and being the queen's guests would have to suffice, but it was clear that returning was out of the question for the foreseeable future. It hurt more than Rook wanted to admit.
The ride out of the castle was more or less similar to the ride-in save for Emmrich's injuries to take into account. As they were leaving, however, even through the thick plate mail, Rook could feel Emmrich tense up. It was then he caught the word passing the sentry at the gate's word. Without hesitation, Rook's hand moved from covering Emmrich's forearm wrapped around his waist to the pommel of his sword holstered at his thigh. The guard found the ground a more interesting sight as they rode through, but Rook was not likely soon to forget.
"It's alright, love, but I have to keep Sooty at a pace that won't wear him into the ground," Rook assured Emmrich as the hand that was not on the reins returned to covering Emmrich's arm.
"Write a thank you letter to whoever penned that helpful little trick when we're back home," He squeezed Emmrich's arm as he looked over his shoulder to offer the man a smile, but it was waning. Of course Emmrich was going to ask what was said between Rook and the Queen the moment they were out of earshot. It was selfish as it was foolish on Rook's part that he hoped the ride would pass in comfortable silence like the last one.
"She was more understanding than expected but about as annoyed as I anticipated," Rook explained after directing Sooty onto a beaten hunter's trailer under a canopy of snow-capped fir trees. "She asked that instead of taking over her role as commander, I oversee the influx of recruits from Hossberg and surviving Wardens from the Anderfels coming into Amaranthine as we bolster our forces to aid Orzammar in routing out the remaining dark spawn nests. The posting would also entail traveling to the Jader outpost as an intermediary since it's closest to the Frostbacks."
Rook tried not to stiffen or audibly swallow, "Temporarily, of course, a month...two, at most. I told her I would be writing her my final decision from Kinloch on the morrow."
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Rook's words didn't help. A month or two at a remote outpost seemed on the surface incredibly reasonable as opposed to a lifetime away, but it was so long. And there was no guarantee the task would be done by then. There could easily be one more reasonable request, followed by another, and so on. Each one would distance Hugh from him further, and not just physically. But if Emmrich objected to something so much shorter he could not see it going well.
"Do you know your answer?" If he spoke quietly, he could sound neutral without sounding so detached as to be jarring. He thought. He hoped. Emmrich was so bad at hiding his feelings. "And do you know why they're not choosing to use the eluvians?"
The answer was probably magic, but it also might be calculation. He wished he'd been present when they'd talked so he could have gotten a sense of what she was angling for. He wished they could just go home to Nevarra and wedding plan.
But Hope was not anywhere to be found. Just cold, reflected back at him by the armor Hugh was wrapped in.
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"Logistics, mostly," Rook tried to keep the lump out of his throat from strangling his words. "We would be using them for something, but there are still enough of us standing that traditional troop movements would be more practical given the ground we need to cover here in Ferelden and the bordering mountain range."
For all the world, Rook wanted to pull on the reins and start heading east towards the Amaranthine coast. If only Emmrich's committing to helping the Circle tranquil and Rook's ties to this place hadn't kept them on course, they could be in their bed by the morning after. Instead all he can offer is another reassuring hold on Emmrich's wrist, thumb repeating that soothing motion along the pulse line as before.
"Emmrich," Rook softened his voice, "Should I agree then ny second I'm at Vigil's Keep that can be sparred going through the eluvian, I'll take — we have a wedding to plan, after all, and I won't let anything come between that.
This could mean a Thedas that doesn't need Wardens...it could mean I would no longer need the Wardens. It's two months for a lifetime."
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Plus it had already changed to two months instead of one, two at most. With Rook using 'we' regarding the Wardens. Because of course he was. He believed in the Wardens, and wanted to believe in the heroes of his people.
Emmrich was exhausted.
He leaned against the armor, grateful that Hugh could not see how bleak he knew his expression was. Hugh continued to give the benefit of the doubt to someone who would take and take, and what could Emmrich do or say?
"Time will not be given to us. It will have to be found, made, forged."
She'd absolutely been playing Emmrich with bringing up marriage, intending to have him off-balance and optimistic so she could open the gateway to using Hugh for just two months, just another job, one more task, then surely there won't be a need for the Wardens. Because it won't just be the influx. Hugh would know some of them by then, and therefore they'd find comfort in him leading, of course, just temporarily until another commander was found, but oh, now they were used to him and trusted him and he was doing so well, and so on.
"You will do as you will."
Last time he'd tried to make his case. He was too wiped out, too much in pain with the movements of the horse underneath him, to risk another argument by trying again.
Maybe he can simply fall asleep here and skip some of the pain and thinking.
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The worst part of knowing someone was happy to slide the knife in your back is understanding exactly why they're doing it and being ready to make it easier for them. If Solas had taught Rook anything, it was that he was the best person to ask to throw themselves on the sword.
Hearing Emmrich's voice diminish from uncertain to distant and resigned made his heart sink into the churning bile of his gut. This was exactly why Rook just wished it was only his own back feeling at knifepoint.
"Emmrich—"
Sooty came to a gentle halt as Rook tugged on the reins, mindful not to jostle the other man. Hooves crunched the snow on the untrodden path as the animal shook its massive head, snorting through thick plumes of mist in the frozen morning air.
"Every part of me is screaming to turn around and go home," The hand at Emmrich's wrist tightened too tightly then but relented when Rook bowed his head and took in a breath that shuddered in his chest and made him tremble. "Only I can't without feeling as though I would be turning my back on everything, knowing I would be betraying so much. I know, I know this is more than what we bargained for, but I am begging you to trust that I want this over as soon as you do.
Please, can we just make it to Kinloch and leave as quickly as possible so I can get you out of this place I should have never subjected you to? Time will not be given to us, so let's do what we can here now so once you're healed, I can pretend for a little while longer everything we worked so hard to save isn't right back on the edge of oblivion."
Tears prickled at the corners of his eyes, but Rook managed to will them not to fall with a sharp inhale. He dug his heels into Sooty's side, and the horse started to move forward again.
"I have to believe there's an end to all this soon, where it's just you and me," It was hard to tell if Rook was telling Emmrich that or himself. "I have to."
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He would have to make his own reassurance, or break things trying. Emmrich took a slow breath and tried to clear his head. His voice is thin and hard, shaped by pain and fear and how close he is to the edge of breaking.
"Then swear to me, right now, that it will only be those two months. Only, Hugh. And then you are done with the Wardens. Give me your word. Because if you do not... At the end of those two months there will be some crisis, exaggerated or real, that she needs Hugh Thorne, leader of the Veilguard, to solve. What's a couple more weeks compared to a lifetime, after all? And after that? There's another small thing, she's terribly sorry, but you do care about Ferelden, don't you? It will be endless. And you will go along with it because it's fine in your eyes if only two people are suffering while you're saving dozens, hundreds of others. You're fine being a sacrifice. And I am not fine with either being one, or the person I love continuing to be one.
"Give me your word that I lose you for two months and that is the end of it. Tell me that this has definite an endpoint when my fiance will return to me and not continue to serve someone who wants only a tool."
Or there is, quite likely, no point to even calling them engaged. The thought stabs him in the heart and he turns his hand in Rook's grip to hold Hugh's hand. All steam has left him now, he's wiped himself out, and his voice is small when he adds one final piece.
"Please, Hugh."
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At every likelihood of the next two months that Emmerich paraded before him in that brittle Voice of his as the man pushed through one pain to convey another, Rook said nothing. He wasn't silent, however. By the end, Rook had managed a faltering noise, something more than a groan but less than speech as if it had been strangled out of him. The reality that he might have never seen Emmrich again if he hadn't convinced him to come here in the first place was a blow that Rook couldn't hobble away from. While they disagreed on the queen's character, there was no denying Rook's slavishness to Wardens anymore. Or his fear of being put away and forgotten like a broken sword or lamed horse.
On the note of that final, distressed plea, Hugh pulled at the reins and guided their horse off the beaten path. Sooty stopped beneath the snow-laden boughs of two massive conifer trees whose ancient trunks were entwined at their exposed roots. Rook slid off the saddle in silence, hand still on Emmrich's forearm. Either because he wanted to keep him steady without his weight to lean on, that he didn't want to stop touching him, or both.
At this height, Hugh was waist-level to Emmrich. His gauntleted hand slid into Emmrich's as Hugh stared into deep hazel eyes with his own amber gaze, the whites of his eyes threaded with angry streaks of red from sorrow and exhaustion.
— Hugh said nothing as he held firm to Emmrich's hand and lowered in genuflection onto one knee. The snow muffled the sound of his heavy armor striking the ground to a hushed thud.
"I give you my word," Voice somber as the grave or prayer as he spoke. "Two months is all I will give them. This is a poor attempt at a proper proposal here in the middle of nowhere and the cold, but I want you to know I wasn't speaking in the heat of the moment the first time. I promise you, Emmrich. Because of you, because of all of you in the Veilguard, I even have a lifetime to look forward to. I won't jeopardize that anymore because I'm...scared of who Hugh Thorne is without 'Warden' in front of that name. I'm ready to bury him and learn what the man Hugh Volkarin could become."
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He didn't know what expression he had on his face when Hugh dismounted, but he knew it wasn't hopeful.
Then Hugh knelt and promised. He promised and in his own words, which meant he'd finally, finally heard what Emmrich had been saying, and that he at last wanted to live.
"My love," Emmrich said in a choked voice, squeezing Hugh's hand tightly. He can bear two months, then. He won't be entirely alone, he has friends and Manfred, and he could trust that Hugh would fully be his after.
The smart thing to do would be to stay up on Sooty and tug Hugh to get him to come back up. It would also be the least physically painful. And usually, Emmrich is a very smart man. But he has one weakness, and that is his heart. Emmrich swings a leg over and slides off the horse and it hurts like the void but he doesn't give a damn. He kneels, wrapping his arms around the man he loves so desperately that he was terrified of living without.
"My beloved Hugh. I will be honored to be beside you every step of the way discovering who you are as Hugh Volkarin."
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— And then it melted into a smile that warmed Rook where he knelt out on this cold winter morning.
Before Rook could conjure the words, Emmrich had dismounted and fallen into his arms with Sooty sidestepping out of the way with a snort. Heart fit to bursting with relief and a tremendous, overwhelming love, Rook pulled Emmrich close and kissed him soundly. Tasting salt where the few tears he couldn't hold in slid down his cheeks and between both their lips.
"I'm your Hugh, love, for as long as— Wait." Rook blinked and reevaluated their surroundings and Emmrich in his arms for a split second before something very important returned to the forefront of his mind.
"Maker's breath, Emmrich!" While the tone wasn't angry, it certainly wasn't pleased, "You just stepped off a war horse with your foot in a stirrup without a mounting block. If Sooty had spooked in any direction, even someone who wasn't breathing around broken ribs would have found themselves with a couple."
At the sound of his name, Sooty raised his head from where it had pawed a hoof in the snow at a patch of dead grass and snorted again with a shake of a slate grey mane. Rook mimicked the sound, a huff of disbelief. He was now holding Emmrich at arm's length as if any closer would snape something in two like dry kindling.
"I love you, more than anything, but please get back on the horse before I keel over with worry."
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