Emmrook - Blog Posts

Finished my first play through with my Crow!Rook!

I’m devastated! My Lavellan’s happy ending broke my heart and the Lucanis romance is wonderful!

But am I gonna take a break? No, not for a second!

Warden Var’fen “Rook” Thorne reporting for duty!

Her parents left her clan during the Fifth Blight, after they fought with the other Dalish in Denerim and King Alistair refused to honor his promise of land to the Elves. Offering their skills to the Grey Wardens as trackers in the Anderfels where she’d discover her magic and live as an apostate. Training to be a healer with Warden Mages until they invited her to join them on a trip to the newly emerged Kal-Sharok and stumbled into a nest of Darkspawn.

Barely managing to clear them out, but not before Var’fen was blighted and subsequently took the Joining at the age of 23. Suffering a rare side effect of the ritual that turned the sclera of her eyes black. Meeting Varric shortly thereafter and at 24, using a fake last name since joining the Wardens, they would make their move against the Dread Wolf.

Doing whatever it took to stop his ritual…

Her likes include:

*Cioccolata calda ☕️ (never had chocolate until Varric bought her a cup and was addicted ever since)

*Dogs 🐶 (left mabari, Josa behind with her family when she left to hunt Solas)

*Rocks 🪨 💎 (picks up a pebble or crystal wherever she goes. Most are just cool looking lumps of granite)

*Giving gifts to friends 🎁 (gifts may or may not be pebbles that “remind her of them” and no, she will never explain what she means)

*Harts 🦌(her parents raise them for mounts to herd halla. Brought them along from Ferelden to the Anderfels when they moved)

*Smoking Elfroot 🍃(helps with period pain; bad before, but the Joining made it worse)

Her dislikes include:

*The Chantry ⛪️(only got her vallaslin to keep Templars from dragging her off to a Circle)

*Dracolisks 🦎(saw one lick its own eye like a gecko once and never recovered. Scarred for life)

*Cooked vegetables 🥦 (if it’s slimy? She will die before eating it, but likes salads, carrots and has been yelled at more than once for shuffling around the pantry/kitchen, eating a whole bell pepper/cucumber/tomato, like a rabbit)

*Taxes 💵(self-explanatory)

Who she’ll romance:

This dapper gentleman, whom she met once before while recruiting conscripts in Nevarra City. Bumping into him on her way out of the city dungeon while he was leaving the morgue after corpse-whispering to help solve a murder. Never exchanged a word, but she remembered his polite apology (the first she’d ever received from a Shem) for nearly knocking her over and he remembered her eyes.

Sooooo I've finally played and finished Dragon Age: Veilguard (I cried so much it's actually not funny). Anyway I've seen a lot of hate towards the game, except for the obvious (Fuck you BioWare), and I wanted to put my two piece in that nobody asked for because I absolutely love Dragon Age and I have put so much time and effort into the games over the years.

I have a lot of pro and cons for the game but some seem nitpicky and just my personal opinion but I am only going to talk about a few things that I feel are important (For my anyway.)

So first things first, the thing that I loved about the game is the fighting style. It did take me a good minute to get use to it because I was so used to playing Inquisition, the thing I liked about the fighting style is:

1: I like that you can switch between 2 weapons which you can't do in the other Dragon Age games (unless you chose rouge) and I like that you can switch between them instantly

2: The fighting style itself. It made me actually feel like I was doing something instead of just holding down one button (Like Inquisition)

Now onto the next thing I love. Making your character. See I'm covered in lots of tattoos and piercings and apart from Cyberpunk I haven't found a game that lets you have facial and body tattoos so when I saw I could cover my Rook in tattoos it made me happy because I could make her look like me. Another thing that I found super important was the pronouns and the option to add top surgery scars. It doesn't apply to me, I'm a woman BUT quiet a few of my friends are Nonbinary or Trans, they like to game but as you know, most games don't have that option so the fact they finally feel. I want to say included (I'm not sure that's the right way to put it) to be able to make their Rook look like them

CLIMBING. ACTUAL FUCKING CLIMBING. In Inquisition there's a quest where you go and find shards and goddamn the amount of times I've tried to climb and fail to get these fucking shards pissed me off (lovingly) so to see you can actually climb makes me happy (Seems stupid I know)

Decisions. You're decisions actually matter!!!! SLIGHT SPOILER!!!!! So on my first playthrough I chose to be a Warden and you go to D'meta's Crossing do what you do and find the Mayor. I chose to save him and send him off to help the Wardens, that was that, didn't think about it much. Fast forward to Lavendel and you have to go and find some missing Wardens, because I chose to save the Mayor he was there to save said missing Wardens

Lastly the thing that just that made me happy was the companion quests. I don't know about anyone else but I did wish they were slightly longer but I love that every companion (In my opinion) got a well thought, decent companion quest. I found that it helped me get to know my companions a bit better

But. And hear me out.

WHY IS THERE NO SMOOTCHIE UPDATE!?!?!?!?!? I want to be able to go to my lover (Emmrich my love) and give them kisses but also I wish that there were more romance scenes.

Anyway that is quick rundown of what I thought about the game.

I'm finally playing Dragon Age: Veilguard (Going to write my opinion on it that nobody asked for once I've finished it). I started the game ready to romance Lucanis but tell me why as soon as I saw the necromancer my brain went-

JUMP THE OLD MAN. JUMP HIS BONES

Anyway.... Emmrich is my darling, my love, my dearest husband

Yeah it's me again. Yeah it's more emmrook. Yeah it will happen again.

Everytime an artist includes the mole on Emmrich's nose, I ascend to a higher state of being.

Thinking about how Ingellvar!Rook being in a relationship with Emmrich looks to the rest of the Mourn Watch.

One of the most high ranking and respected Mourn Watchers goes on sabbatical to apparently help save the world?? And he comes back with motherfucking Ingellvar??? Y'know, that crypt orphan Watcher who took one for the team so hard that they had to be sent out of the fucking country to keep the nobles from getting nasty???? And apparently they're back at it again with the taking one for the team schtick, because they're the one spearheading the saving the world thing????? And people call them Rook now??????

But amidst all that, the real kicker is that Volkarin and Ingellvar are obviously fucking. And possibly 10 seconds away from getting married. The amount of Not Giving A Shit What The Nobility Think coming off of Volkarin for this is staggering. The brass balls on that man. And what a comeback for Ingellvar. Left in big trouble, returned on the arm of The Hot Professor. No one is doing it like them.

I like to think that Myrna is proud of them both in different ways, Emmrich for letting himself make such a connection and Rook for choosing an excellent partner. Vorgoth is offering their wishes of ABUNDANT EXULTATION or some shit.

Meanwhile, the rest of the order is either losing their shit in various ways or just straight up confused. Either way, these two have got to be the talk of the Necropolis.

At some point, for some reason, Rook had misinterpreted the term 'letters'.

Perhaps it was because Bellara had said it so breathlessly--though Bellara says lots of things breathlessly, given she speaks at about the speed of magic itself. Perhaps it was the smile she'd used when she said 'the Professor'. But Bellara smiles most of the time. In the end it doesn't matter how it happened. The result was the same: Rook heard Bellara talk about these letters, this necromancer she was writing to, and figured they were passing love letters. Odd, very lingo-heavy love letters that contained a lot of side conversation about magical artifacts and the stability of the Veil, but love letters nonetheless.

Rook meets Emmrich and hears him call Bellara 'dear' and knows it must be true. Rook also meets Emmrich and wants to climb him like a tree, but she's always been into that kind of academic, willowy, never-met-the-sun kind of look. Necromancers. Rook's always been into necromancers. She is one. It's pretty normal.

"You must be excited to finally meet him in person," Rook says to Bellara while they're following Emmrich through the Shrouded Halls. Emmrich extols the wonder of life and death in between completely demolishing Venatori in a way that feels bone-shatteringly powerful.

"Oh yeah," Bellara says, and grins. "Arlathan is pretty far from Nevarra, so I didn't think we'd ever actually meet, but it's pretty cool that we did! Professor Emmrich is really knowledgeable, not just about the Fade, but music and art and--"

"Hmm neat!" Rook says, instead of Alright girl keep it in your pants because she actually really likes Bellara and she can't blame her. Emmrich Volkarin is six-foot-three, hazel-eyed and has a voice like candlelit red wine. He'd be a dream come true for any young mage with a little too much to say and a few too many nights alone in their recent past.

Of which there are two in the room.

Anyway.

It's not a big deal. The others don't really seem fussed over the fact that Bellara has brought her sneaky link into the fold and Emmrich is bonkers capable, so it doesn't really matter whether or not he's sourced from some horny letters. He also comes highly recommended from the Mourn Watch, and that's enough for Rook.

They keep things pretty subtle too. Rook never sees them kiss or even really touch, and Bellara seems too busy with the archive spirit to do much other than tinker with it outside of missions. Emmrich always seems to have something to be doing as well. If anything, he seems to spend more time with Rook than Bellara--and this is the source of the issue.

The spark of attraction in the Necropolis grows to nothing short of a blazing inferno. Emmrich invites Rook to the Memorial Gardens, performs the rituals with her, calls her recitation of the rites masterful. He takes her arm in the crook of his own as they walk the paths. He finds her in the kitchen in the evenings and sits next to her, legs crossed in that neat and proper way, and she sits there and lets the heat of his thigh burn into hers until she has to get up and go find something to occupy her hands. He does everything short of lay his jacket over puddles for her like some prince in a storybook--though even that, she wouldn't put past him. She sees him staring at her during a soaking downpour in Minrathous one time, but it's always raining in Minrathous.

Jealousy is an insidious emotion that the Mourn Watch warns against specifically. It will make a monster of the most benevolent, if it takes hold. Rook struggles not to let it. This gets harder and harder, the more time she spends in Emmrich's company and the more he seeks her out. He'll say, "I'm so pleased to have a fellow Watcher to talk to, Rook," and she'll smile and pretend she isn't actively resisting the urge to stare at his lips. He'll say, "I am continually impressed by your keen skills of observation, my dear" and she'll only be capable of nodding because she's trying to clear a daydream from her head. Something about him and one of the geothermal underground pools in the Necropolis and a mysteriously disappearing set of clothing. He'll say, "I find myself continually waiting for the next time we'll have one of our chats, Rook--they're becoming something I find great comfort in," and Rook won't even hear what he's saying, because she's trying so hard to shove him, the concept of him, into a little box in her head labeled Bellara's--Do Not Touch.

It gets a little ridiculous. She stops taking them on missions together, because the sound of them chattering on about Fade harmonics behind her makes her want to absolutely chew glass. On the off chance she sees one of them come out of the other's room, which does not happen very often at all but has, on a handful of occasions, she'll turn herself around and sit herself down on Solas' stupid fuck-ugly green meditation couch until she feels a little less like her head is going to pop off. One time, she falls asleep while doing this and has to deal with a particularly weird conversation with Solas where she's too keyed up to do much more than grunt along to his typical long-winded pontification and he ends the conversation with something along the lines of, "Perhaps you should reexamine some details of your situation that you have taken as fact. You may find them not so."

"Could you just say something that's not buried under five layers of innuendo," Rook thinks, and unfortunately also says out loud, because she's not actually allowed to think just in her head in these Solas-dreams. He scowls at her and rolls his eyes. They're both doing the Fade-space equivalent of blowing raspberries at each other by the time she wakes up.

It all comes to a head in Arlathan, because they've camped with the Veil Jumpers for the night and Rook needs to ask Bellara a question. She thinks nothing of whipping open the flap to Bellara's tent, because Bellara is almost always awake until the stars have been overhead for hours and Emmrich--who was obliged to come along, just this once, because they're in Arlathan specifically for haunting-related reasons--is visible across the camp, wiggling carrots through the bars of Gus the Nug's cage. There is a small, tender smile on his face as he listens to the nug snort and whuffle. Rook suddenly remembers the story about the pig he used to hug as a kid, and then her heart jumps a little, and--

Well, anyway, there shouldn't be a reason not to let herself into Bellara's tent.

There is, in fact, a reason not to let herself into Bellara's tent.

That reason is named Irelin, whose body Rook now knows about in much more expansive detail than she did a few minutes ago. Bellara's too, though most of that was covered by--well, by Irelin.

"Maker!" they all three scream in unison, and Rook all but sommersaults back out of the tent.

"Sorry," she yells through the flap. "Sor--sorry, I didn't--"

"It's fiiine," Bellara yells back. Her head pokes through after a minute. Her hair is down and disappears somewhere back inside the tent. She looks like an almost completely different person with it framing her face like that. "Hey, um--you could, like...knock next time? I mean, I know you can't really knock on a tent--"

"Everything alright over here?" Emmrich has appeared, and Rook's tongue seems to grow three sizes in her mouth.

Oh shit! is all her brain will supply, so she doesn't really respond. She thinks she's willing enough to respect Girl Code, such as it is, that she won't tell Emmrich about the whole Irelin thing. Because maybe that's how their relationship works, or maybe Emmrich already knows, or maybe it's none of her business--

Or maybe something really weird is happening, because Bellara looks at Emmrich and her expression does nothing but get a little more annoyed, and she sighs, "It's fine. No worries, Professor. Just, could you guys--y'know, privacy?"

Then Irelin makes a noise from inside the tent, and it's pretty clear at that point what's just happened, but Emmrich just blushes a little and says, "Ah," and then wraps his hand around Rook's arm and leads her away, back towards the cage with Gus.

"Okay," Rook says, as Gus sniffs her boot on the off chance it contains carrots. "That was weird."

"I fear there are bound to be clashes when multiple cultures blend, my dear," Emmrich tells her, a low murmur directly into her ear. "We in Nevarra, especially amongst the Mourn Watch, are slightly more--shall we say, open? Don't take it personally that Bellara withheld the information of her liaison with Irelin. I don't think it was done maliciously."

"No, I mean--why aren't you--upset?"

Emmrich's brows furrow. "Whyever would I be upset? I'm hardly a prude, Rook. These are difficult times, and any small piece of comfort one can find should be readily taken. A tent in the middle of a busy camp is an...interesting location, but I understand our dear Bellara has history with Irelin, and should the object of my affections be willing--"

"No, no, I mean--you're not--are you okay with this? You and Bellara have some kind of..." Rook scrambles about for an accurate word. "Agreement? About this kind of stuff?"

Emmrich's eyebrows do an odd, fluttery sort of thing that reminds Rook of a puppet she once saw being manipulated by a group of playful wisps. Sort of like his face is trying to show half a dozen emotions at once.

"Why on earth would Bellara and I have ever spoken about her sex life," he says flatly, and far more bluntly than Rook is used to him being. Heat floods her body as she realizes that she has, somewhere along the way, wildly misunderstood something.

"I," says Rook, "have made a mistake."

"Rook," he says, with a voice like he's trying to diffuse a spell primed to explode, "Darling. If you thought Bellara and I were involved, would you mind enlightening me exactly as to...what you think my intentions were when I took you to the Memorial Gardens."

Rook wonders if Gus the nug could be persuaded to eat her whole.

"Enrichment?" she mutters.

"Enrichment," Emmrich sighs under his breath.

There is a long, gravid beat of silence.

"That clearing we passed earlier," Rook mumbles under her breath, once the world is done tilting on its axis. "Looked enriching."

"Quite," Emmrich says promptly. He grabs her by the hand and only grins a little when she releases a frantic, giddy giggle as he pulls her away from the camp.

Echo and “A conversation overheard between Rook and a companion” :D

Okay this one got a little out of hand... Enjoy a little ficlet anon <3

Emmrich Volkarin awoke slowly, stretching luxuriously and reaching for the darling woman at his side. Only–he patted empty space, feeling a jolt of shock, turning frantically to look over. He wasn’t sure he’d ever awoken after Rook had, much less to find her gone. But there, her pillow still creased but cold and the blanket on her side thrown back. Gone. 

Just as his brow began to crease in worry, he noticed a piece of parchment tented oddly on her bedside table. ‘Emmrich’ the side facing him read. He reached for the paper and unfolded it, immediately squinting at the horribly messy, near-childish handwriting that assaulted his eyes. 

Borrowed Manfred for a little adventure–back soon! Just didn’t want you to wake and worry. Love you.     Rook

Emmrich dropped the paper back to their bedside table and laid back down with a soft ‘whump.’ He folded his hands delicately over his stomach, staring unseeingly upwards. It occurred to him suddenly that in all the time of knowing Rook, he couldn’t recall having seen her handwriting before.

Rook was many things: fearless leader, loyal and steadfast friend, accomplished assassin, immensely competent mage and his dearest love but apparently, not a terribly legible scribe. Bizarre. 

Later in the kitchens…

The door to the dining room burst open with a kick, to no surprise to Lucanis. He had heard Rook’s approach the whole way across the courtyard, his friend chattering away to whoever was accompanying her. From the gait it sounded like Manfred, a thought confirmed when he stepped from the pantry to see the two of them balancing precariously stacked produce. He smiled fondly, coming to meet them. 

“--but if you accidentally say any of those in front of Emmrich, you didn’t learn it from me, okay?” Rook finished, dumping the produce on the table. Manfred followed suit, hissing gleefully before turning to Lucanis with the single most offensive string of curse words he’d ever heard. 

Lucanis blinked once, twice. Looked to Rook, whose mouth hung comically open. Looked back to Manfred, who shrugged. “Lucanis. Not Emmrich?” A smirk pulled at his lips as he levelled Rook with a look, raising his eyebrows. 

“I did not teach him those!” She protested. Lucanis just stared, folding his arms. Rook made an affronted noise, crossing her own arms across her chest and not meeting his eyes. “Okay, I didn’t teach him all of those.” 

“To be fair, his logic is sound. You warned him not to say it in front of Emmrich. I am not Emmrich. Therefore…” Lucanis trailed off into a huff of laughter moving to check over the produce. “You know, I think I’d have been able to tell you were a de Riva from that alone.” 

“What?” 

“Some of those curses are Viago originals.” Lucanis laughed fully as Rook smacked a hand to her forehead, muttering something that sounded an awful lot like a threat on the Fifth Talon’s life. Lucanis swung his gaze to Manfred, reaching to pat the skeleton on his shoulder. Spite grumbled at his contact with another spirit–more out of habit than anything else; Lucanis knew Spite’s fondness of Manfred rather mirrored his own.  “You’re speaking better, my friend.” 

Manfred bobbed around with a pleased hiss, and Lucanis surveyed the produce, equally pleased. Rook grinned, gesturing proudly to her haul.

“Found pretty much the whole list today! Only thing missing are those little potatoes, they’d apparently already sold the last of this year’s harvest. I got extra of the larger ones you had on the list.” 

“That works. What are those?” Lucanis nodded to the bouquet Rook unwrapped from crinkled brown paper. She looked away, a flush coming to her cheeks. 

“Just flowers! Do we uh, have an extra vase somewhere?” Lucanis raised an eyebrow. De Rivas could lie better than that, but he let it go, ducking back into his pantry, bringing out a clay pitcher that could double as a vase. “Manfred and I had to make a stop to check in with Myrna and Vorgoth,” she continued, summoning some water with a flourish of her magic and arranging the delicate blooms. “Stopped by the Memorial Gardens for some flowers–just thought it would brighten up the place!” 

Lucanis hummed indulgently, setting to work preparing the vegetables and graciously changing the subject. “Thank you for doing the shopping, Rook.” 

“No, thank you for cooking! Can I help? Chop…or stir, or something?”

Last time he’d let her chop vegetables, she’d set the back corner of his kitchen on fire. He still had no idea how she did that. Lucanis huffed a small laugh and shook his head. “Just some company is fine, this is a simple dish. Dellamorte secret recipe.”  

“Alright.” There was the scrape of a chair as Rook pulled a chair closer to the fire, turned it to face where Lucanis was working. Another scrape of a chair as Manfred did the same exact thing, even mimicking Rook’s posture. “Manfred,” she scolded, “Are you still copying me?” 

“Ah, he’s just learning from the best,” A familiar voice emerged as the doors opened once more. Emmrich strode in, hands folded behind his back as he came to a stop beside Rook and Manfred. “Hello, darling. Manfred. Lucanis.” He nodded to each in turn. 

“Hey, yourself, sleepyhead,” Rook grinned. “I think this is the first time I’ve woken up before you.” 

“Yes,” There was a strange note in Emmrich’s voice. “Rook, I must discuss something with you.” 

Rook sat a little straighter, concern immediately jumping to her features. Lucanis eased deeper into his kitchen and put his back to them, affording what privacy he could even as he kept cooking. “What’s wrong?” 

“What is this?” Emmrich asked. Lucanis couldn’t resist glancing over, seeing him thrust a slip of paper at Rook. She took it, turning it over in her hands before laughing, incredulously. She looked back up at Emmrich, brow furrowed and with a small, confused little smile.

“My note?”

Emmrich made an impatient noise. “No, not the note, your handwriting!” 

“What? Could you not read it? I know,” she laughed, embarrassed, “It’s pretty bad.”  

“Pretty bad? It’s terrible!” Emmrich had taken the paper back and was gesturing at it as he spoke, and missed the way Rook’s expression dropped, face stilling. 

“I know,” she said carefully, voice edged with steel. “Handwriting isn’t a skill I’ve needed much in contracts, funnily enough.” 

“I’ve had students with less than perfect handwriting of course, but even my worst was legible. This is–this is unbecoming!” Emmrich tutted and waved the paper about. “I’d imagine a child might write more neatly.” 

Rook blinked, absorbing for a moment, her face a mask. Then, her chair scraped back with sudden force and she stood, crossing her arms across her chest. 

“Please excuse me, Professor” she spat. “Not all of us are scholars such as yourself– I’m so sorry to have offended your sensibilities.” Then Rook turned on her heel and stomped out, letting the big door slam behind her. There was a beat of silence, Manfred looking back and forth between Emmrich and the door with as incredulous a look as the skull could muster. He hissed, displeased, and followed Rook, skeletal arms crossed. 

“Oh, dear,” Emmrich sighed, watching the door swing shut again. He sat heavily in Rook’s abandoned chair, suddenly dejected. The room was quiet then, save for the slow chopping of vegetables and the gentle, occasional crackle of the flame. Eventually, Emmrich clears his throat. “Thank you for cooking,” he said with a strained but genuine smile. “I do so look forward to your meals. And these flowers! What a nice touch.” 

“I love to cook. It’s no trouble,” Lucanis ducked his head, accepting the thanks. “Though, ah, it’s Rook to thank for the flowers.” 

“Oh, I should have known. Shroud’s Kiss,” Emmrich sighed. “They’re my favorite.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, crumpling further into his seat. 

Lucanis hummed, scraping the last of the vegetables into the fragrant simmering pot and covered it with a lid. He turned to Emmrich, hands on his hips. “Tea?” 

—

A few minutes later, the pair sat at the fire with steaming cups, Lucanis with fresh coffee and Emmrich with his tea. 

“I’ve made a mess of things, haven’t I?” Emmrich asked quietly, thumb tracing the rim of his mug. Lucanis shrugged, swirling his coffee thoughtfully. 

“Nothing unfixable. I’m sure she’ll forgive you with a good apology, some light groveling,” Lucanis joked, pulling a small chuckle from Emmrich. 

“She is magnanimous, our Rook,” Emmrich agreed. They sipped quietly on their drinks, enjoying the quiet as the stew bubbled away in the pot, filling the room with a spiced, earthy smell. 

“Emmrich,” Lucanis said finally. “If you don’t mind me asking…what was that all about?” 

“Hm? Oh, Rook left a note this morning and I suppose I hadn’t realized I’d never seen her handwriting before. It was rather a shock actually, and–” 

Emmrich stopped abruptly as Lucanis shook his head. “Ah, no,” he said, “I heard that part–sorry.” he added with a wince. Emmrich waved him off. 

“Don’t be, we were in your kitchen after all. Go on.” 

“Yes, well. I suppose I wondered...why does her handwriting matter so much to you?” 

“Well, it’s very important!” Emmrich protested. “It’s a skill I believe most respectable mages should have, transcribing spellwork and the like–not to mention a leader such as herself! Was she writing letters all this time to our allies in that script?” 

“Is it illegible?” 

“Well, no, but–”

“So what should that matter?” Lucanis was genuinely bewildered.

“Well I don’t know!” Emmrich made a frustrated noise, “It’s just–well it’s history, isn’t it?” 

“History?” 

“History! Just think, a thousand years from now, what if someone were to find some of her missives? They might take one look at it and write her off as some– as someone irrelevant. Or incompetent, when she's anything but. They don’t see her like we do, daily– in action. They wouldn’t know how brilliant and fearless and brave she is. Rook saves people, everyday. She's saving the entire world! The thought that years from now, centuries, someone might take one look at a letter and just…” Emmrich made a disgusted sound, brow deeply furrowed and waved his free hand vaguely about. “I can't stand the thought.”

Lucanis absorbed this for a moment. It made sense, if he thought of it from Emmrich’s perspective. His life thus far had been preserving the dead, their histories. “So you’re worried about her legacy?” 

“Legacy,” Emmrich agreed. “That’s a better word for it.” 

“But,” Lucanis turned his next words over in his mind before proceeding. “You didn’t say any of that to Rook. What you told her was that it was childish.”

Emmrich winced. “Ah, I suppose you’re right.” He sighed, staring into the fire again. “You’d think at my age I’d have learned to think before I spoke. Or I suppose I did spend all morning thinking–worrying about it, so think better perhaps. I get so worked up about something sometimes that I say something horrible.” 

“And ‘unbecoming,’” Lucanis couldn’t totally keep the teasing tone out of his voice, though Emmrich received it well, huffing a self-deprecating little laugh. 

“Yes, well. Not my finest moment.” he admitted.

Lucanis shrugs. “That’s alright, we all have them.”

“Thank you, Lucanis, this has been most helpful.” Emmrich stood and brushed invisible dust off his pants. “Now to make my amends.”

Lucanis opened his mouth to tell Emmrich he was welcome, but Spite’s voice came out instead. “AND KISS. ROOK!”

Emmrich burst into a delighted chuckle as he took his empty mug to the sink. “Is that how you and Neve resolve your differences?” he teased. 

Again, Spite beat Lucanis to speaking. “YES! HAT COMES OFF. I. GO PLAY. WITH WISPS!”

“Mierda.” Lucanis muttered the second his voice returned to him. 

“Good man.” Emmrich teased, mirth sparkling in his eyes. Lucanis shakes his head and waves Emmrich away. 

“Get out of my kitchen,” he mutters without any actual vitriol, glancing back with a small smile at Emmrich’s retreating back. 

—

Emmrich followed the pull of Manfred’s anchor, guessing the little spirit had stuck closely to Rook’s side, as he was wont to do most days. He was surprised, however, to find that it led him back to the Library, up his winding staircase, and out onto the balcony of his chambers. 

Darling Rook and Manfred sat side by side, legs dangling through the wooden bars. A great mix of emotions rushed through him at the sight– relief she was here (probably didn’t despise him forever now if the first place she went was his room), swooping fear at their hanging above the endless Fade-sky beneath them, fondness at their inseparable bond, and above all: a deep and abiding love. It was so powerful, so vast this love he held for her–thrilling and terrifying in equal measure. He steeled himself and braved the ledge, gingerly sitting beside her and slotting his own legs through the rails. 

Manfred was clearly ignoring him, skull turned away and pointed silence damning. Rook, to her credit, spared him a glance from the corner of her eye. Silence fell as a shroud around them. 

In the distance, Emmrich saw presumably a piece of the Lighthouse spinning lazily, unmoored entirely from them and growing more distant even as they watched. Emmrich eyed it, suppressing the urge to grip the rails as a dizzying sensation washed over him. Beside him, Rook’s legs swung gently back and forth, most of her weight cast back on her palms–utterly relaxed. Or–mostly–he thought, noting the barely there flex of a clenched jaw, the tension sitting high in her shoulders. Her left shoulder, he knew, was still terribly sore from a nasty fall she’d taken only the day before and he knew the tension could not be helping matters. He inhaled sharply, knowing himself the cause of this latest stress. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, earnest and a touch wretched. Manfred’s head whipped toward him with an immediate and displeased hiss, cut off by a glance from Rook. 

“Manfred, will you go ask Harding if she needs help in the garden? Or if Davrin and Assan want to go on a walk?” Manfred rattled in protest but she continued “--now, please.” 

A disgruntled Manfred obeyed and stood, casting one more Look in Emmrich’s direction. For a spirit literally tied to his own, it was clear that Manfred’s allegiances did not lie with him. He watched Manfred do his best to stomp away, and spoke only once Manfred had left. 

“My love, I feel terrible. I was thoughtless and horribly rude back there.” His words came out in a rush. He turned one of his rings around and around on his finger, studying his partner’s profile. 

Rook didn’t respond at first, and Emmrich experienced each second of the silence as if a burning brand. Then–

“I was eight, when my parents were killed.” Emmrich sucked in a breath. He’d known about her parents of course, but they hadn’t talked much about it save for the few scattered details he’d picked up in passing conversation. He stilled, hands folding in his lap, and waited. She continued, “After, Viago took me in. I think originally someone in his family had owed someone in our family a favor somewhere down the line, but by the time my parents died and it was time to cash in said favor, Viago was pretty much all on his own, too. He was barely a man grown but already the head of de Riva, then suddenly saddled with me?” Rook shook her head. “I wasn’t an easy child, even before I’d lost my parents. Viago…he did what he could. He made sure I ate well, dressed well, slept in a warm bed. He kept me alive, kept me strong and helped me train even before I began my work with Heir.  That’s mostly why I think I made it to full Crow so quickly.”

Emmrich nodded along, wishing desperately to reach out but unsure if he was allowed yet. 

“But Viago didn’t just provide,” she continued, “He’d try to kill me if he knew I was telling anyone about this, but he’s caring. One of the most caring people I know. Yeah, he’d tell me to toughen up, pushed me twice as hard as the others, yelled constantly–” she rolled her eyes, putting on a mimicry of his voice, “‘Make de Riva proud or you’re out on the streets,’ ‘embarrass our house and you’ll wish a swift end,’ and stuff like that. But at home? Just he and I, or he and I and Teia eventually–different story. I remember sitting on the counter and watching him cook for us, homemade soups and pastas and this garlic-y bread he makes. I always got the first bite. He swears to this day that I was his poison-tester, and he was just keeping my detection skills sharp, but I’d only believe that if there had ever actually been poison. Plus, he thinks he hides his facial expressions much better than he actually does. He’s so proud when someone likes his cooking.” 

He imagined then a miniature Rook, legs swinging from a countertop much like how they swung from the balcony now, enjoying these homemade meals, her job as taste-tester. Emmrich’s heart swelled again, grieving for the child she’d been, what she had lost. 

And in the night, when all I could do was weep for my parents…he could have, probably should have, just ignored me. But he didn’t. He’d really kill me if he knew I was telling this but he’d hold me, you know? Every night, back then. He’d rock me to sleep even though by then I was much too old–even as a teenager, when I’d have a bad night he’d sit with me. Hold my hand. Talk to me about nothing until I calmed down enough to sleep.” Rook cleared her throat, turning her head away and surreptitiously brushing at her watering eyes.  “He’s my family. I owe him so much.” She shook her head vigorously, pulling a face. “Though I’d never tell him that–he’s already at risk of collapsing under the weight of his own ego. It’s a wonder he manages to walk around with such a big head.” 

Emmrich huffs a small laugh, willing the wetness brimming in his own eyes to abate. “Your secret is safe with me, darling.” Rook smiled at him then, reaching for his hand. He took hers like it was water and he’d been lost in the desert for a millennium, clasping her small hand with both of his own. 

“But, ah,” she sighed, biting the inside of her lip. “Finishing regular education just…fell by the wayside. Honestly, I don’t know if he even thought about it. There were some political things happening within the ranks throughout the rest of my time as his ward, and he was up for Fifth Talon…I don’t think he realized I never really finished any schooling. Luckily I’d learned to read, do simple arithmetic–things you need for contracts–by then. And I can write. It’s just. Well, you saw.” She rolled her neck a bit and reached over with her free hand to knead at her shoulder, the one he knew was sore. The movement was surely to soothe this soreness, but it also seemed she was shrinking in on herself in that moment. Emmrich’s heart twisted painfully. “I know it’s embarrassing.” 

Oh, he’d been a complete cad. He bowed his head to her hand, pressing the cool back of it to his forehead. “No, no. Rook, I’m sorry. Thank you for the perspective–I wish I’d been more thoughtful, even without it. Less judgemental, certainly.” 

“Hey, you already apologized,” she pet his head with her free hand, fingers scratching through his hair and loosening the strands from their style. 

“I did, but I feel the need to again. I’m sorry, truly.” 

“Thank you. And thanks for listening. I know I don’t… I don’t talk about that part of my past very much.” 

“You honor me with whatever you choose to share,” Emmrich spoke earnestly, sitting up to look at Rook. “Could I explain what I was thinking? Not to justify it–I will continue to condemn my abhorrent behavior–but just–” he grimaced, fighting to find the right words. 

“Please do, Em. I want to understand.” He didn’t deserve her; a wave of hopeless love washed over him again, looking between the bright blue and green of her eyes, the way the odd Fade-light couldn’t sap the warmth from her olive skin, the flush of beloved cheek.

“I spend a fair portion of my job preserving histories; I also teach my students how to as well. Part of what we do is sort through artifacts, anything from pottery to weaponry to documents, such as journals or letters, and discern what is most critical to keep. What things are most ‘worth’ the effort. Of course in an ideal world, we’d save everything, catalogue it away for the world’s most comprehensive of histories. But the reality is that we are…largely finite creatures, with limited time, and limited resources. Discernment is key.” Emmrich gently kneaded the small muscles of her hand, turning it over in his own, feeling the calluses from her knives and the strength in those lithe fingers, loving how she relaxed into his touch. She turned more fully towards him, briefly dislodging her hand to pull her legs from where they hung over the balcony, sitting cross-legged as she returned her hand to his ministrations. 

“Do you teach your students to toss messy papers like mine?” She smirked, the brilliant creature she was. He winced, shaking his head and mirrored her posture, glad to no longer be hanging over the ledge even if his back would still soon be protesting sitting in this manner. 

“I do generally discourage the discarding of any materials,” he hedged. She raised one brow and he broke immediately. “Oh,” he sighed, “Yes, essentially.” 

Rook, ever the surprise, laughed, the sound an instant balm to his soul. 

“You worked yourself into a complete tizzy imagining something of mine being potentially thrown away. By some hypothetical historian?” 

“They’d be getting it all wrong–think of the historical significance we could lose–” He stopped abruptly as she laughed again, pitching forward to press her face into the crook of his neck and wrapping her arms around him. His arms came up automatically, instinct to hold her. “Rook?”

“That,” she said, partially muffled by his collar and breath puffing through the fabric, warming his skin. “Is so utterly Emmrich.” 

He blinked, once. Twice. “...A good thing, I hope?” he joked, weakly. 

Rook pulled back just enough to look up at him, eyes sparkling and mouth pursed with mirth. She nodded, one hand lifting to cup his cheek. “It’s a very, very good thing.” 

“So you can forgive me?” he asked, leaning into her palm. Her answering kiss as she surged forward, climbing into his lap, told him all he needed to know.