Chapter Text
Rook was staring at the ceiling of her room. It took all of the power in her facial muscles to stop herself from smiling smugly — whatever it was that kept causing these dreams, her own mind or the Fade or the Lighthouse, she was incredibly grateful and would kiss it on the lips if she could.
Which is a weird thing to think, weirdo , Rook thought to herself, and lazily got out of bed. She was halfway through the room to the door when she heard a sound outside: someone was just about to knock. She walked up and opened the door, and found Neve on the other side.
“Oh. Good morning?”
“Good morning indeed,” Neve replied and smiled politely, but it was clear her mind was elsewhere.
Rook’s mind was also elsewhere, still — but there was no god or archdemon in the whole realm that could get her to admit where.
“Is… Is something the matter?”
“Hm? Why?”
“Well,” Rook gestured vaguely, “You’re… Here.”
“Ah, yes! Sorry, Rook,” Neve shook her head slightly, brows furrowed. “I had a bit of a revelation last night.”
Oh shit , Rook thought.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” Neve replied, walking unceremoniously into Rook’s room. She stopped in the middle, hand on her hip, looking at the shimmering glass pane of the aquarium absent-mindedly.
“And…” Rook nudged.
“It’s about one of my cases,” she said without turning around, deep in thought.
Oh. Shit, Rook thought.
“I think I have a new lead but I won’t know for sure unless I reach out to a very shifty informant. And it’s important, Rook. I can’t just ignore it.”
“Alright..?”
“He’s really easily spooked, a weird type. But he’s the only one who might have the info I need.”
“Right, Neve, I see. But why are you telling me all this? Do you need my help?”
“No, I- Rook,” Neve inhaled slowly, “I know we’ve sort of made plans, but I need to go to Minrathous alone. A stranger and a foreigner at that would spook him for sure.”
“Oh, right. Yeah. Yeah.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah, that makes perfect sense. Do you want to go now…? Given you’re telling me this first thing in the morning?”
“Oh shit, did I wake you up?” Neve asked, turning around suddenly, worry painted on her face.
You could say that, Rook thought, smugly.
“Nah, I was already awake for quite some time, it’s alright. And again, it’s fine if you need to go alone.”
“I just didn’t want you to think I’ve, you know. Changed my mind.”
“And here I was, thinking this was all just an elaborate ploy to get out of spending time with me,” Rook said, dramatically. “Like I said, my life is incredibly difficult.”
“You are incredibly difficult,” Neve teased. “Coffee?”
“Coffee,” Rook nodded, gesturing at the mage to let her through the doorway first.
“Ooh. That’s very Antivan of you, Rook.”
“Because us Nevarrans have no manners?”
“Exactly what I meant, yes. Crypt-dwellers, the lot of you.”
“You know, undead nobles always demand to be let through the door first as well, or else they lose their entire minds. Heads, sometimes.”
Neve laughed as they left the room, and her laughter came out surprisingly loud against the utter silence of the main hall. Everyone else must have still been asleep.
Not everyone, exactly — Emmrich was standing just outside of his laboratory, composed and nearly unmoving. As he heard them leave the room, he looked at them — and did not manage to stop his eyebrow from rising ever so slightly on time. He hoped neither of them noticed — but it was Neve, a detective, after all, and Rook, who delighted in analysing every single movement he made like a hawk watching a field mouse.
“Does the mere mention of crypts summon you, Emmrich?” Neve teased, nodding at the mage.
“Neve, good morning! I’m afraid I did not hear any mentions of crypts, but I would certainly not be opposed to joining the discussion, should that be the subject,” he smiled, and it nearly came out genuine.
“I was just teasing Rook, sorry. It’s one of my new favourite pastimes.”
“Good to know,” Rook chimed in, faking a small outrage.
“I hope you had a good time?” the necromancer asked politely, playing with the rings on his fingers. He was rotating one of the gold bands slowly with his thumb and Rook focused on that particular motion so hard she did not immediately understand the question.
“Teasing Rook?” Neve asked, raising her eyebrow with a slight smile.
“The, well, what would be the term? Girl’s night, as it was? I hope the term is not patronising,” Emmrich wondered out loud. “There must be a better name for it. Apologies-”
“Girl’s what?” Rook asked, raising her head rapidly and looking at the mage.
“...Night?” Emmrich raised his arms in a vague motion. Rook furrowed her brow, confused — was it another cultural concept she missed out on, being brought up in a crypt and all?
“I did not spend the night in Rook’s room, Emmrich,” Neve said, slowly and emphatically. Rook froze for a moment, hoping no one noticed.
“Oh, I see,” the necromancer replied, feeling both slightly embarrassed and very, very relieved. “Forgive the assumption.”
“Forgiven and forgotten,” Neve said quickly, and turned to walk down the stairs.
Given Emmrich was still standing in the same spot, unmoved, and returned to playing absent-mindedly with his rings while looking vaguely at Rook, Neve deduced it would be best if she went to start preparing their coffee alone — and leave the two to talk.
“Emmrich,” she nodded, “Rook. I’ll be in the kitchen. Might be a minute before I even find the coffee beans.”
“Lucanis actually lets you near the coffee?” Rook asked, surprised.
“I told you. It might be a minute before I even find the coffee beans,” Neve said, sending a small, smug smile Rook’s way, and left the main hall.
There was a longer moment of silence as Emmrich stood there, not certain what to say.
“Is there…?” Rook started, leaning against the railing as casually as she mustered. “Something you needed?”
“Ah, yes- Well,” Emmrich smiled.
Nervously? Rook thought, and reflexively tilted her head to the side while observing him.
“I am currently helping Lucanis with a bit of an… Alchemical conundrum, let us say. I was stuck between two distillation methods, and for quite some time might I add, and I would still be torn if it wasn’t for a colleague from the Orlesian Circle of Magi,” Emmrich said.
“Right. Happy to hear it’s sorted, then?”
“Yes. She is currently travelling through the Anderfels, the letter that sent last came from Hossberg. I believe she’ll be stopping in Lavendel soon.”
“Right,” Rook eyed the mage from head to toe. What she meant as a subtle gesture to nudge him to get to the important part of the story must have had a wholly opposite effect, as Emmrich stopped talking altogether.
“Go on,” she said, and it came out just a little bit too much like a command. She would apologise right away under normal circumstances — but something so strange stirred within the mage, visibly, at the very tone of her voice, that she decided not to proceed with the apology at all. He was still silent but it was clear his breath got a bit uneven under the intensity of her gaze.
“Y-yes. Yes, Rook, apologies,” he quickly composed himself and smiled politely. “I was wondering if I could ask you for a favour? I heard you and Davrin are planning to go to Hossberg Wetlands soon, and I was hoping you might take a book with you to gift her in thanks.”
“Aw. Right, yeah,” Rook replied, pushing herself off the railing. “What book?”
“I’ve not decided yet, I’m afraid. I have a couple of quite rare volumes that I’m sure she would love to get her hands on.”
“Alright.”
“Actually…” and Emmrich returned to fidgeting slowly with his rings. “Maybe you would like to come in for a moment, help me choose? I could certainly use another soul’s opinion on this, instead of going purely with my personal tastes.”
“Neve did say it would take her some time to make the coffee,” Rook smiled, “So yeah, no issue.”
And before Emmrich could gesture to let her through the door first, she signalled the same with an outstretched hand — and it was so quick and natural that the necromancer did not even think twice. He simply went in first.
It wasn’t until he was already inside the laboratory that he realised what happened and felt blood rush to his face. Luckily, Rook was already busy, bending over slightly over the three tomes laid out on his desk.
“That’s quite an assortment you chose,” she said. “Is this Wenselus?”
“Oh! Yes, indeed! Second edition, a collection of his lectures, and, look,” he walked up right next to Rook and leaned over, resting one hand on the desk and opening the book with the other. “Annotated! By the First Enchanter himself!”
“Oh wow,” she replied, genuinely impressed. “That’s a rare tome indeed. The annotations seem…”
“Unfiltered? Yes. The Chantry did not have the chance, let us say, to abridge them in any way. These are pure, unfiltered comments and additions scribbled over by Wenselus himself. Quite a sight to behold.”
“I’d say to go with this one over the illustrated Mirdromel, really, but the third one is giving me pause,” Rook said, pensively. “I feel like I recognise this book. As in, this book in particular, not the title or the author.”
“Ah, yes, the author is rather obscure and the- Well,” Emmrich paused, suddenly aware of how close to Rook he’s been standing. He made sure not to move away, even if he knew it made his hands shake a bit. “This tome in particular?”
“Mhm,” Rook bent over even more, looking at the book intently. She squinted and furrowed her brows. “Well I’ll be damned. This is from the Anaxas crypt, no? Duke Sandral’s great aunt, her tomb, no?”
Emmrich stood there, entirely motionless and silent, for a good moment.
“It… It is, indeed, Rook.”
“It was packed with her other books and trinkets when we were down there clearing the tomb right before the flooding,” Rook continued, picking the book up and turning it in her hands. “I was leading the team extracting it and also the team that was supposed to bring it all back down to her once the water level dropped.”
“What a lucky coincidence,” Emmrich managed to cough out, feeling his cheeks burn. It was indeed a coincidence, but an unfathomably unlucky one.
“Lucky?” Rook turned around, realising the mage was standing mere inches away from her. “Myrna gave me so much shit for losing this book, you have no idea. And then the chambers shifted so much in the weeks after the flooding, we just never went down there again.”
“I see. It was brought to me by one of the students,” Emmrich lied. “I suspected it might have been procured in a slightly… Dubious manner.”
“But you’ve kept it nonetheless,” Rook said, raising her eyebrows at him and crossing her arms. The truth was that she was actually impressed — she did not expect the polite and courteous Emmrich to make a decision like that — but she did not want to let it show right away.
“I’m afraid I have,” Emmrich said and cleared his throat. “I realise that’s… Bad.”
“Oh, very bad indeed, Professor,” Rook said off-handedly, turning around and putting the book back on his desk. With her back turned to him, she did not see the entirely undignified face Emmrich made after hearing her say it. He managed to compose himself to the best of his ability before she turned back around.
“I’d say go with Wenselus, if an Orlesian mage won’t scoff too much at a Fereldan book,” she said. “Mirdromel is nice but it got nothing on the unfiltered annotations. And the last book I’ll pretend I didn’t even see.”
“Yes, t-thank you, Rook,” Emmrich smiled and handed her the book. “If you could give it to her the next time you visit Lave-”
“Just like that? Shouldn’t a rare book like this be, I don’t know, bound in something? And if it’s supposed to be a gift, too?
“Oh, right you are, Rook, right you are,” the mage turned around very quickly and started rummaging through the bookshelves behind him. “I’ve got some cloth here… Yes, this will do nicely… Embroidered, too, it will look good, I hope. Now, if only I knew where Manfred is wandering about again…”
“Manfred? Why him?”
“Last week he learned how to tie simple knots!” Emmrich exclaimed with pride in his voice. “This would be a beautiful opportunity for him to practice with a nice ribbon. I’m afraid my hands are much more skilled at sewing and stitching rather than knots and ribbons.”
Rook looked at Emmrich curiously. He was standing two paces away from her, holding the embroidered cloth in one hand, and a long dark ribbon in the other. Rook gestured at him to pass her both of the items.
“I can do that, given Manfred seems to be otherwise occupied,” she said, and felt a strange wave of satisfaction at the speed with which the mage complied.
“Thank you, Rook,” Emmrich said and his voice was warm — genuinely grateful, if a tad surprised.
He watched her hands as she packed the book neatly, bent over his desk. He got distracted for a second — many thoughts and images and scenarios rushing through his mind — but a particular detail pulled his attention back to what was happening. Rook was now tying the cloth with the dark ribbon, wrapping it around it multiple times and layering it in an intricate design. Emmrich raised his hand to his mouth, smoothing his moustache with his finger pensively.
“I know, I know,” Rook said suddenly. “Painfully Nevarran. But it looks beautiful, I think.”
“It really does,” Emmrich replied. “Please do not mistake my pause for scorn, Rook. I am actually very pleasantly surprised. I don’t think I expected to see this particular method of wrapping outside of the crypts of our Grand Necropolis.”
“If it is enough to hold the dead together for ages,“ Rook said, “then it should be perfect for keeping the book safe in my pack as I deal with whatever the blight ends up throwing at us in Lavendel.”
“Oh, absolutely.”
Rook smiled at him and waved the packed book.
“I need to go get that coffee. You coming?”
“I’ll join you in a moment, thank you,” Emmrich replied, reciprocating the smile.
Once Rook left, he sat down on his desk with a loud exhale and shook his head slowly.
The last thing he expected that day was to be strangely and confusingly turned on by the sudden image refusing to leave his mind: that of Rook with a long, dark ribbon, using the Nevarran style of linen-wrapping to bind his hands over his head. Or behind his back. Or-
Emmrich shook his head again. This was entirely, entirely too much.
When Rook got to the kitchen, Neve was already done with her cup of coffee and looking at her with an unhappy expression.
“You took your sweet time,” she said, standing up and getting ready to leave. Lucanis, sitting at the table, tuned in as quickly and inconspicuously as he could.
“I’ll make it up to you,” Rook flashed a smile as the mage passed her.
“You better,” Neve said, and left.
Lucanis was focusing very hard on drinking his coffee.
“Where is everyone?” Rook asked, looking around the empty kitchen. The Crow shrugged and continued focusing all his attention on the brew in his cup. “Oh well,” she said, walking up to the stove in search of a pot.
“There is no more coffee, I’m afraid,” Lucanis said suddenly. “I made just enough for me and Neve, unfortunately.”
“That’s awfully selfish of you,” Rook said casually, sitting down. The tips of his ear got red again. It wasn’t true: he simply drank most of the coffee he made himself, in the futile hope it would help him stay awake through the day and through the night. Waiting for Emmrich to come up with the alternative concoction was getting excruciating.
“I can make more, Rook,” he got out, at last.
“You should,” she simply said and looked at him intensely, clearly waiting for him to get up. For a moment, Lucanis was too stunned to move — not only did he not expect to be taken up on his offer, he most definitely did not expect to feel the way he did upon hearing Rook’s commanding tone. He stood up, very slowly, and walked up to the stove; he had to focus quite hard on keeping both his breathing and his movements slow and deliberate, as if nothing was happening at all.
“And next time you make coffee for the two of you, I’d like to be included as well,” Rook said, pushing her luck. She could feel her heart in her throat but somehow it only excited her more.
“I… I will, Rook,” Lucanis replied, stealthily steadying the hand pouring coffee beans with his other one. “Gladly.”
Rook smiled, more to herself than to the assassin with his back turned to her, and relaxed.
The day passed very quickly: Rook ended up spending hours with Davrin and Assan, training intensely to prepare for their upcoming Lavendel visit. They knew the blight infestation there was incredibly powerful and they would most likely face foes more demanding than anything they had to deal with up to that point. When she got back to her room, she was so tired she could hardly keep her eyes open long enough to undress and wash herself; when she finally crawled into bed, she fell asleep nearly immediately.
She was walking up the corridor she’s already walked through before — it was dark and her steps were muffled, but this time the door at the end of it was wide open. A soft, green glow emanated from within.
As Rook walked up to the door, looking inside, she saw Emmrich standing there, by his desk, with his back turned to her. She admired his tall, lean silhouette for a longer moment, letting her gaze linger on the satisfying shape of his buttocks highlighted by the soft fabric of his trousers, and then up, on his waist, narrow and slender and accentuated by the perfect fit of his waistcoat. As she looked closer, she realised he was holding the long, dark ribbon from the day before, turning it softly in his fingers.
“Oh, Rook,” he whispered, startled. “I did not notice you there, apologies.”
“I just came in,” she purred in response, and was surprised at the tone and depth of her own voice. “Now, I believe we did not finish our conversation, from before?”
“Hm?” He turned around to face her and reflexively sat back at the desk. “You might have to remind me, I’m afraid.” His voice was hushed and soft, and filled with anticipation.
“We were discussing your ideas on making up to me for that Anaxas book you so stealthily appropriated,” she explained, closing the distance between them slowly. “I don’t think I need to remind you how much trouble I had to go through to save it from flooding, and how mad Myrna was for losing it.”
“Ah, a-ah. Yes, I’m so-”
“Tsk, tsk. I don’t want an apology, Professor. I want… Satisfaction,” Rook said in a low voice, smiling sharply at the mage.
She gestured at him to pass her the ribbon — he did so, quickly and eagerly, and let their fingers touch for a prolonged moment before pulling his hand back.
“Thank you,” she said softly. “You’re so eager to please, aren’t you?”
Emmrich swallowed, looking at Rook with wide eyes, pupils blown. He nodded.
“Good, good.” she cooed in response and tilted her head to the side, watching him closely. She felt her own body react with tense, pulsating pleasure at the very sight of the necromancer squirming underneath her gaze.
She made a point of pausing for a longer moment, not releasing Emmrich from the intense gaze, and waited for him to move or react first.
“Not… N-not here,” he whispered, finally, his voice hesitant and shy.
“Then where?” she asked, and in a swirling, dreamy haze, the scenery of his laboratory changed — the room was different, all its doors and windows closed shut, furniture pushed against the walls right next to strange statues and paintings. It was all very ornate and beautiful, and grand, and despite the walls and floors being rich and dark, there was a soft light filling the room.
Emmrich was now standing in the middle of that room — a centrepiece right before her eyes — and the only other thing other than him was a tall statue, right behind him, depicting a shrouded skeletal figure raising one arm upwards. The gesture was quite dramatic and the composition an example of the highest Nevarran art.
She walked up to him, slowly, pulling the soft and cool material of the ribbon between her fingers. Emmrich backed away reflexively, the look he gave her a mix of anticipation and slight fear — with that one step, his back hit the statue. He flinched, startled, and fell back, sitting back at the carved stone pedestal.
Rook could not stop thinking how much he looked like an offering on some horrible, dark altar to some horrible, hungry god.
“Your hands,” she commanded, and he complied, the gold of his rings catching the mysterious light of the room. “Take your glove off,” she continued, and watched hungrily as he went ahead. “Wouldn’t want you slipping away.”
As she came up to him and reached for his outstretched arms, the intensity of her gaze became too much: he hung his head, hoping the red blooming on his carefully shaven face was not as visible as he feared.
“Oh, no, no. Head up. Look at me.”
He took a moment to gather the courage to do it — but he complied.
“You’re so good,” she purred again, satisfied with the speed of his reaction. “Now, you will look where I tell you to look, yes?”
He nodded.
“Good,” she said, and started slowly circling the statue around, looking for a good spot to tie the ribbons around. She wanted to make sure he could not move even an inch more than she allowed him to. His gaze reflexively followed her, trying to turn his head around, and she stopped.
“Now, now, look straight ahead. Keep your arms up in front of you.”
Once she studied the statue enough, she slowly returned to stand in front of him. He was looking intensely ahead but could not help and look at her when she leaned over.
“That’s disobedience, Professor,” she said, shaking her head slowly in disapproval. “I’ll let it slide this one time, though, just because you’ve been so good so far.”
She took his arms in her hands and slowly started her work, wrapping the ribbon around his wrists in intricate, layered design: she tied them together, tight but not too tight, and after marvelling at her work for a moment, stood up.
Rook pulled Emmrich’s bound hands up, forcing his arms above his head, hitting the curve of the statue’s carved stone shroud; then, she circled the statue, and tied the ribbon tightly behind it. Emmrich hissed quietly as the tension in his arms and shoulders settled in in a sweet mix of pleasure and pain.
Instead of returning in front of him, Rook remained behind, resting against the pedestal right to Emmrich’s side. She leaned in very close to his ear, smiling at the fact that the hotness of her breath made him strain slightly against the ribbon binding, and his feet dragged against the ornate floor in an attempt to find purchase and steady himself.
“Keep looking ahead,” she whispered, sending shivers down his spine. “Eyes open.”
Then, very slowly, with just the tip of her tongue, Rook licked Emmrich’s ear, from the lobe up, and sighed with satisfaction as he squirmed again. She licked again, and then caught his earlobe between her teeth. She wondered if he ever pierced his ears — it was not uncommon among Nevarrans, adding that additional spot to showcase their gold jewellery through. Then, releasing, she shifted her attention to slowly unbuttoning his collar.
She went very slow: button after button, with great care, making sure to press her fingers slightly into his flesh with each one undone. After a moment, his ornate shirt was undone just enough to bare his chest, the hair there swirling with black and grey. Rook sneaked a hand in, delighted at the slight flinch of the necromancer under her touch, and found his nipple with his fingertips.
Emmrich closed his eyes forcefully shut and let out a small moan, closer to a gasp than anything else. His hips bucked slightly and his arms strained against the ribbons.
“Look. Ahead,” Rook commanded and let her nails dig into the soft flesh of his breast. She could feel the ribs underneath.
And Emmrich looked ahead, exhaling slowly to regulate the tempo of his breathing. He was looking straight at a door, which, previously closed, was now swung open.
“What do you see?” Rook asked, biting his ear slowly again. His skin was hot to the touch.
“I-”
“Or who?” she purred, and in that second Emmrich realised there was someone standing in the doorway, leaning against it. Once his eyes got used to the darkness of that part of the room, he inhaled sharply and felt his hips jerk slightly again.
It was Lucanis.
“Oh,” Rook said, her voice low and dripping with desire. “That I did not expect, Professor… And neither did he, I think.”
Lucanis was standing there, chest heaving wildly against all his best effort. His mouth was slightly open and he was unable to look away from the scene playing in front of him.
His gaze kept switching, slowly: from Rook’s hands unbuttoning Emmrich’s shirt further from behind, her tongue trailing careful curves on his neck, to the mage’s slender hands bound above his head, and the intense red blooming on his face; his half-open mouth, panting, hot, and his long legs trying desperately to find purchase against the floor. Finally, the Crow’s gaze found itself right in the middle of the scene, right where the mage’s long legs met: he was hard, and Lucanis could see his cock twitch against the fabric in tandem with his hands straining against his binding.
“You’re allowed to come in,” Rook’s voice echoed through the room. Lucanis looked at her, and then at Emmrich — who nodded, looking right into his eyes.
He took a step into the room, and then another.
“You’re not allowed to touch him,” Rook said suddenly, pulling away from Emmrich and watching in satisfaction as he pressed his back harder against the statue, instinctively searching for her touch. “But you’re allowed to touch yourself.”
Lucanis felt his face burn as he realised he was hard as well, straining nearly painfully against the leather of his trousers.
Emmrich’s gaze followed as well, and a low, breathy moan escaped his lips against his will. He tried looking away, feeling a shadow of overwhelming shame wash over him, but Rook was relentless.
“Look. Ahead.”
Lucanis’ skilled and quick hand travelled down to the buckle of his trousers. He did not take his eyes away from the necromancer as he unbuckled the first one, and then the second, and then untied the thread. He felt himself overcome with a shaking, desperate need at the very sight of Emmrich’s eager squirming; he could Rook in the corner of his eye, somewhere in the distance, watching them both.
He slowly reached down, feeling his coarse hair against his bare wrist.
Emmrich bit his lip to stop himself from moaning out loud, nearly drawing blood.
“Look how quiet and well-behaved he is, no?” Rook purred.
“Yes,” Lucanis replied simply, and his voice was so low and raspy he could hardly believe it belonged to him.
“Go ahead, Lucanis,” she added, and her voice was, in turn, surprisingly soft. “You’re allowed.”
With that phrase coming out of her mouth, Rook felt herself being pulled away from the dream-realm, back into the waking world.