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There were fourteen Wisps in Neve's study, at least by Rook's count, but it was hard to keep track when they kept coming and going, rising up from the floorboards and phasing in and out through the walls. They hovered around Neve's desk, trilling softly, and drifted lazily around the woman herself. Neve claimed to be annoyed by them. She said they got in the way and distracted her, and that she didn't trust them or know what they were after. But Rook, who'd been sitting across from her for nearly an hour and believed that actions spoke louder than words, knew better. She'd watched Neve check behind herself before settling back into her chair, lest she accidentally squish a Wisp, and seen the way the detective spread her notes all across the desk to keep everything visible, even when she was finished looking at it. And when the Wisps pressed close, hovering over a particular scrap of evidence, Neve would take another, closer look at it too.
They — Rook, Neve, and all fourteen or fifteen Wisps — were going over old case files from the Templar archives, reluctantly handed over by a scowling Tarquin. Not much was able to be saved from the smouldering, collapsed building wreckage, but Rook had made a promise to help where she could, however she could, and was quietly relieved that Tarquin was allowing her to make good on her word. Hopefully it meant that the trust between them had not been completely shattered by the dragon attack. Even if their relationship was beyond repair, this blood mage, Aelia, was bad enough news to warrant cooperation.
"After all this, they really let her go?" Rook questioned, holding up yet another page detailing Aelia's crimes: murder, blood sacrifice, all in the attempt to release a powerful demon in the city of Minrathous. Neve, perusing her own section of the file, glanced up and grimaced.
"Irritating, isn't it?" the detective said with a sigh. "All that work getting her behind bars, and the Knight Commander practically escorted her back home himself."
"No wonder you can't mention him without scowling."
Neve laughed. "Am I that obvious? Well, that was before I knew he was with the Venatori. Until now I just thought he was a regular, run-of-the-mill bastard." She paused, glancing up from beneath dark eyelashes. "Not that all of those are bad company."
Rook grinned. It was a poor compliment, but one she'd gladly take. From Neve, if no one else.
The wooden stool she sat on creaked as Rook leaned forward, swapping out one official form for another — this one containing a list of Aelia's known accomplices, almost all of whom were marked as 'deceased' — when there was a knock at the door. A call from Neve and a moment later, Emmrich was stepping into the room.
"You must forgive me," he said at once, closing the door quickly behind him. "I meant to join you half an hour ago, but Manfred managed to get himself caught up in the railing to the staircase in my room and I had to take the time to disentangle him."
"Is Fred alright?" Neve asked, genuine concern creasing her scarred forehead.
"Oh, yes, he's perfectly fine," Emmrich said. "I asked him to fetch me a scroll from the upper level, and he attempted to pass it down to me by reaching through the balusters... I've no idea how he managed to pass his skull between them in the first place, but he was unable to maneuver it back out. I had to remove it, briefly, but he's all back to rights now!"
"You had to remove Manfred's head?" Rook asked, pulling up a second seat beside her in front of Neve's desk.
"Only briefly!" Emmrich repeated as he sat. "Manfred was very patient and accommodating, and I believe he understands not to do anything like that again. I'd hate for him to become stuck while I'm out on an expedition, and somehow injure himself before I can return to aid him. His body is a very complex structure, as you know."
As Emmrich settled into his seat, he beheld the mess of paperwork before them and frowned.
"Though, no less complicated than this case of yours, I'd wager. All of this is pertaining to your blood mage, Aelia, yes?"
"She's not my blood mage," said Neve, now frowning as well, "but I'm beginning to wonder if that isn't how she thinks of herself. She made a point of getting my attention, making sure I knew she was back. It's like she's singling me out..."
"You're the one who caught her the first time," Rook said, passing a handful of papers toward Emmrich. Their fingertips brushed slightly in the exchange, which earned her a glance. She returned the look with a small smile, reaching for evidence of her own. "Aelia knows you're someone to take seriously, at the very least as a roadblock if she doesn't want to admit to herself you're a threat."
"I didn't catch her alone," Neve said. Her eyes drifted to the corner of her desk, where a tarnished gold Andrastian amulet sat apart from the rest of the mess. Rook knew now who the amulet had once belonged to, and what his fate had been. The way Neve's gaze lingered on the polished face of Andraste, gleaming with reflected Wisp-light, was enough to give away just how fresh the loss still was for her.
Rook softly cleared her throat and set the paperwork back down on the desk.
"How about I get us something to drink, hm?" she said, rising slowly from the creaky wooden stool. She placed a hand on Emmrich's shoulder, steadying herself with a small squeeze. "Neve, coffee for you and me, and some tea for you, Emmrich?"
"That sounds lovely, darling, thank you," said Emmrich, patting her hand with his own as he smiled up at her. Neve, who glanced pointedly at their hands, nodded agreement as well. Rook gave Emmrich's shoulder another little squeeze before letting go and heading to the kitchen, making sure to close the door gently behind her.
After all, she didn't want to startle the Wisps.
With just himself and Neve in the office for a moment, Emmrich went straight to work scanning over the scattered legal file in front of them, trying to figure out which pages had already been pored over and which were requiring a fresh set of eyes. Neve certainly had some sort of organizational process, but it was one he had yet to become fully familiar with.
It was all very exciting, getting involved with a criminal investigation of this sort. He'd been thrilled when Neve not only expressed wanting assistance with this case, but also readily took him up on his offer to help out however he could. There were no remains for him to coax answers from this time, unfortunately, but Emmrich was delighted to simply spend time in the company of his esteemed colleagues outside of the rigors of battle.
"So," Neve said, breaking him from his excited reveries. Emmrich looked up, and was surprised to find her rather piercing gaze fixed on him instead of the evidence. "You and Rook."
Emmrich blinked, his stomach dropping slightly. Perhaps the rigors of battle would be safer after all.
"What about us?" he said.
Neve raised an eyebrow. Perhaps she had expected him to try and lie, for all the good it would do. There was no point denying it, even if he wanted to. He and Rook hadn't exactly been hiding things between them. But Neve, of all people, already knew that.
Emmrich watched as she arranged the haphazard papers in front of her into something that more resembled a neat stack, then leaned forward to rest her crossed arms atop the desk. A better position from which to regard him, it seemed, as he continued to find himself pinned under her stare.
"Things are getting serious between you two," Neve stated flatly.
"I — I suppose they are," Emmrich replied, not entirely sure where this was heading.
"You... care about her."
"Yes," Emmrich said, this time without hesitation.
Neve's eyes narrowed, fractionally. Without breaking eye contact, she stood up.
"Look, this isn't any of my business. And you're both grown adults, so I'll spare you a lecture on being 'careful'" — she made quotes in the air with her fingers — "in the general sense. But..."
Emmrich sat still, hands resting flat on his legs as Neve came around the side of her desk and leaned against it. The detective looked down at him with a sudden, inscrutable softness.
"...be careful with her."
He blinked at her, again, confused.
"Careful?" he repeated.
Finally, Neve dropped her gaze.
"I've seen the way you look at her," she said, the softness in her voice now as well, "and the way she looks at you. You're sweet together."
"And that is something to be... cautious of?" Emmrich asked.
Neve looked at him again. "It might be."
She pushed away from the desk and turned away from him. Her metal prothesis clanked lightly as she took a couple steps to the cabinet at her right, lifting a small serpentine pipe from its surface. He watched her spark flame from her fingertip, puffing lightly on the pipe until a curl of pale, shimmering smoke rose from its bowl. Emmrich tried not to scrunch his nose as Neve turned to face him, her eyes still downcast.
"I've been working with Rook longer than you have," she started, resting her weight back against the cabinet. "Spent time getting to know her. And not just because it's my job to. She's a bit rough and ready, but she's got a good heart underneath it all."
Neve blew a cloud of smoke out of the side of her mouth, mercifully away from his face.
"Rook's shown up for me. I can't say that about a lot of people, so I try to show up for her, too, when she lets on that she needs a friend. Someone to talk to, help her work through big decisions or... feelings."
"Feelings," Emmrich parroted, again. He was confused, unsure of where this conversation was going, and starting to feel discomfited by it. "You mean to say, Rook has shared with you her feelings regarding me, and our relationship?"
"Something like that," said Neve, taking another puff of her pipe. "We've talked more about relationships in the abstract, ideas of romance more than details about it. Which is why you need to be careful with her, Emmrich." She exhaled more smoke into the air, adding to the soft haze that had started to permeate the small room, and finally raised her eyes to his face again. "I think she hasn't been treated very well. And she's used to that."
Emmrich stared at Neve, trying to process her words through the acrid smell of pipe tobacco that now hung between them.
"I..." He faltered, swallowing. "Neve, do you mean to say —"
"I don't mean to say anything," Neve said. Her words were blunt, but her voice and tone retained that surprising softness. "Rook hasn't told me anything specific, and even if she had it wouldn't be mine to share. It's more of a feeling I got, listening to her. Reading between the lines. She was really tickled by your fancy little dinner date in the gardens, you know."
"It was hardly fancy," he protested meekly. Neve raised a sculpted eyebrow at him.
"It was if you've never been treated to anything nicer than a pub meal."
Emmrich recalled clearly the bashful smile on Rook's face as he showed her the private meal he'd had prepared for them, the wonder that he had done all this just for her. This is one of the nicer dates I've been on, she'd said.
And then, after their meal and a slow walk around the memorial gardens, they returned to the Lighthouse and she'd pulled him into bed with her.
"Oh."
A terrible thought struck him then, making his hands clench into fists of worry on his knees as he looked up at Neve. Rook had confided in her, they were friends, surely she would know —
"Have I been... too much?" he asked, his own voice betraying his growing panic. "Too forward? If I've in any way made Rook feel uncomfortable, or as though I were placing expectations upon her —"
"It's not that, Emmrich," Neve said, halting the rise of bile in the back of his throat. "That's not what I'm trying to say at all."
"Then what are you trying to say?" he asked, desperate to understand.
Neve shook her head slightly and dropped his gaze again as she turned, once more, away from him to walk back to her original seat behind the desk. She leaned back in her chair, and the look she fixed him with now was at once more familiar; calculating and direct. The detective's stare.
"You're courting Rook," she said, flatly, "because you're being a gentleman. Which is all well and good, except that Rook's likely never been courted before. She's been chatted up, bought drinks, hit on, all the common, casual things that people do to get across that they want to fuck each other."
Emmrich pursed his lips slightly at the crass language, which Neve thankfully chose to ignore as she continued.
"But courtship is something more formal. Something with intentions. You've already gotten her into bed, but you're still being sweet and paying attention to her, even after getting what you wanted from her."
"That's hardly all I wanted from her!" Emmrich protested, and was ready to continue protesting until Neve raised a hand. She was smirking at him now, though not unkindly.
"That's what I'm trying to say, Emmrich. I already said you're a gentleman, you don't need to defend your honour." The smirk softened into something smaller, sadder. "But like I told you, Rook's not used to that. It's likely she doesn't know what to do with it. When I said to be careful, it's not just her that I'm worried about. You're a good man, and it's obvious how much you care for Rook. And I know that she cares for you, too. I just don't want you to be surprised if she gets... spooked."
Emmrich opened his mouth, intending to ask for clarification on the term "spooked" when there was a sound outside the door — steady, approaching footsteps, followed very quickly by a bang on the door and a muffle curse.
"Can somebody get this for me, please?" came Rook's voice from outside. "I've got my hands full."
Emmrich leapt up at once, though he spared a single glance back to Neve before opening the door. Rook's hands were indeed full; one held a collection of 3 mugs, gripped tight by their handles, and the other was supporting a tray bearing a steaming teapot and sugar bowl. At seeing him behind the door, Rook's face lit up into a smile.
"Thanks, Emmrich," she said, bustling past him to set her burden noisily down upon the desk. Emmrich closed the door and stood, watching, as she set aside the coffees for herself and Neve and began pouring for him a cup of tea. "Did you work anything out without me?"
Again, his eyes flickered to meet Neve's with a silent question. Subtly, she shook her head. Emmrich cleared his throat.
"Nothing yet, dearest! Neve was telling me again how this whole mess got started..."
~~~~~
For the next few days, every waking moment that wasn't occupied by dealing with cultists, hunting the gods, or trying to track down Neve's blood mage was spent turning Neve's words over and over in his mind.
Emmrich had tried to be mindful, to internalize that Neve's warning was not targeted against him, exactly, and yet... it was difficult not to take something so personal, well, personally. It was true that he cared for Rook — perhaps more than he was able to admit to himself just yet, but that was an issue for another day — and that he was courting her "with intention," as Neve had put it, and as much as she would allow. While what they had was a far cry from a formal courtship, neither did Emmrich consider it to be a casual fling. He wanted... He hoped...
Dwelling on such things only made his head hurt. There was too much going on in the world, too much uncertainty, to spend energy on such fantastical notions as "after" and "when this was all over." It was too cruel to himself, and too unfair on Rook. After all, they had made no promises to one another, sworn no vows and taken no oaths. While she certainly seemed to enjoy their current arrangement, he couldn't place expectations on her feelings or desires for this relationship to continue. And if, as Neve had said, she was unused to being treated well — how many hours had Emmrich spent dwelling on that word alone, all its meanings and connotations? — then it was only natural she might prefer to seek out something she felt was more... familiar. And the last thing Emmrich wanted to do was drive her away from his arms.
And yet he had also tried to distance himself and provide Rook with more space. If, as Neve suggested, things could be moving too quickly between them, he wanted both Rook and himself to have moments to themselves where they could take time alone to process things with a clear head.
Rook, however, had different ideas.
She'd gotten him into her room with the pretense of showing him a new tome that had apparently appeared on her bookshelf, and she wanted it looked at by someone well versed in the old Nevarran tongue. Emmrich, naively perhaps, had missed the innuendo until it was too late. He'd crossed the threshold, rolled up his sleeves in anticipation of getting down to work, and instead found himself pushed down onto the chaise lounge with a very beautiful, very insistent woman straddling his lap.
What else could he have done but indulge her?
That was twenty minutes ago, and their clothes had been largely discarded now. Rook writhed beneath him on the chaise, sweat-slick and panting into his shoulder as his fingers worked inside her. She was stunning, always, but especially like this. Laid out and gasping for him, a grin on her lips and her long, dark hair undone from its braid and fanned out beneath her like a silken halo. He wanted to behold her like a masterwork, gaze upon her beauty with his unworthy eyes and study every blemish and pore, commit to memory to lines of all the faded scars and stark tattoos that decorated her skin.
But in order to do that, he would have to take his mouth away from her throat, where it was busy adding new decorations of his own — lurid red and purple lover's marks, spilling from below her ear to the top of her collarbone like a fountain of roses. When he felt he was done, then he would raise his head and admire his handiwork. But until then his head remained buried in his work, with Rook's gasps and moans providing encouragement in his ear.
The soft leather surface of the chaise beneath them was not the most ideal surface for such amorous activities. It creaked and squeaked awkwardly at times, clinging to flesh and pulling when all one wanted to do was slide or, conversely, became so slick with sweat that it became difficult to maintain one's position. Emmrich could feel it now, the hand holding himself up was losing its purchase thanks to his own sweaty palm. If he could just shift his weight a moment, balance back on his knees... His hand lifted, briefly, and he shifted forward, letting his weight back onto it its new, drier position.
Beneath him, Rook sucked in a sharp gasp and went still.
"Hm?" Emmrich mouthed questioningly against her neck. He lifted his head. "Something the matter, darling? Oh!"
He saw at once the problem — a chunk of her hair, trapped between his hand and the chaise, pulled tight away from her scalp. He let up at once.
"My apologies, dearest, I wasn't looking. Are you alright?"
"Yeah," Rook said. She raised her head slightly, then let it fall again, eyes closed. "Yeah, I'm fine."
Emmrich hummed as he leaned down to kiss her, softly, her mouth opening to accept the apology. The bridge of his nose followed the line of her jaw as he moved back to her throat, ready to resume his work of art.
But something felt different. Though he was doing just the same as he was before, Rook's response to his actions had changed. Rather, they had stopped entirely. His teeth scraped against her skin, and she didn't so much as sigh. He curled the two fingers inside her, and she did not roll her hips to grind into his palm, or tighten her thighs around his wrist to draw him closer. He moved, as he had been moving, and she simply lay there.
Emmrich stopped moving and raised his head to look at her again.
"Rook?"
Her dark eyes opened partially, and took a moment to focus on him. There was a glassiness to them, and a distance that he found immediately unsettling. Emmrich sat up, removing his hands from her entirely. Rook blinked.
"Why'd you stop?" she asked.
"Are you certain you're alright, darling?" he said, watching her closely in the shifting, shimmering light. "I didn't hurt you before, did I?"
"I said I'm fine," Rook said, pushing up to rest on her elbows. She was looking at him now, eyes fully open, and her gaze sharper than it was before, but there was a tension in her face that still gave Emmrich pause. It was the sort of tension he associated with seeing her deal with uncooperative contacts, or while passing along bad news, not during moments of calm and pleasure.
"You seem a bit tense," he ventured carefully. "If you'd like to take a moment, or need to talk about what happened, then we —"
"There's nothing to talk about, I told you I was fine," Rook cut in. She dropped onto her back again with a small huff. "I'm alright, Emmrich, just get on with it."
Now it was Emmrich's turn to go rigid. He froze, staring at Rook in shock.
"I — I'm sorry, get on with it? Rook, that isn't — I'm not going to do any such thing. Let's just talk about this, you're clearly upset and I —"
Rook made a disparaging noise in the back of her throat and sat up again, frowning now.
"Don't tell me what I am, Emmrich, the only thing I'm 'upset' about is you leaving me hanging all of a sudden. I don't want to talk, I just want you to touch me."
"To get on with it," Emmrich repeated, leaning away as she reached for him. His mood had shifted entirely in only a few short moments, from highest arousal to concern to deepest bafflement. It would take a lot of time and reassurance to get anywhere close to back where they were, which was apparently more effort than Rook was willing to put in.
"Are you done?" she asked pointedly. Emmrich straightened up, resting back on his heels as he pulled further away from her.
"Yes, darling, I rather think I am," he said plainly. Rook glared at him.
"Fine," she snapped. "Fine, Emmrich. Whatever you say."
Rook swung her legs off the edge of the chaise and stood up, stomping over to the loose pile her clothes had been tossed into not that long ago and began to dress. She yanked her trousers up over her hips and shrugged her tunic over her head, pausing only to gather her hair into a loose knot at the back of her head before storming out the door and leaving him, half-naked and bewildered, alone in her room. The door slammed behind her with ringing finality.
Emmrich sat perfectly still, breathing hard through his nose, as he tried to calm himself down enough to process what exactly had just happened.
When he moved, it was with the slow and deliberate movement of a man who felt every moment of his age. He rose from the chaise lounge, looking away from the streaks of slick and sweat that shone on its surface — evidence of the passion they had shared mere minutes before. Before things had gotten so suddenly out of hand.
This was his fault, Emmrich was certain of that much at least. He'd hurt her, he must have done, when he so carelessly caught her hair beneath his weight. He played the action over and over in his head as he dressed, fastening his trousers and distractedly doing up the numerous buttons of his overshirt. He gathered his vest from the floor but left it off, carrying it with him as he wandered numbly down the hall and into the privacy of his own chambers. That look in her eyes, the distance of it, haunted Emmrich as he leaned over his washing basin. The cool water hit his face like a slap, shocking him back to reality.
He recalled, sharply, another moment of intimacy between Rook and himself that had gone slightly awry. In the shade of Arlathan forest, with dappled sunlight in her hair, he had kissed her. Rook hummed happily into his mouth, lips parting to taste him and be tasted in turn. He'd taken hold of her wrist — gently, suggestively — intending to guide her hand around his waist to bring their bodies closer. As soon as his fingers closed, Rook had pulled her wrist free with a twist and a sharp yank. Her lips never left his, no looks or words were exchanged between them, but the message — don't do that — was heard loud and clear. He'd never attempted to constrain her in any way after that experience.
Not until now, with the pulling of her hair.
Neve's words rang through his head like a funeral bell.
I think she hasn't been treated very well... and she's used to that...
A sick, hollow feeling lurched in the pit of his stomach. The idea that he might have brought her back to some terrible place of memory, however accidentally or unknowingly, made guilt and bile roil within him in equal measure.
He would have to go after her, of course, to find her and throw himself at her feet, assuming she would even want to hear his words of apology. The sooner he could understand, could try to fix this —
Emmrich pulled the door shut behind him, turned around, and immediately got the wind knocked out of him by a thick, muscular forearm slamming against his throat.
"What did you do?"
Even in the low light of the hall, there was no mistaking Taash as they towered over him. Their snarling face was an inch away from Emmrich's own, and it was them slowly cutting off his air.
"Taash —" he managed to choke out, fingers scrabbling desperately at their arm. "What —"
"I just caught Rook's scent out in the courtyard and she smelled like sex, and anger, and fear, and that is a bad combination, bone man. And I can smell it on you too, so you're gonna tell me exactly what the fuck you did," Taash leaned their weight in, applying considerably more pressure to his windpipe, "and then I'm gonna decide exactly how I'm going to kill you. Start talking!"
The pressure left his throat and Emmrich collapsed forward, gasping, only to be held up by Taash's grip on the front of his shirt. They pushed him back into the door, holding him.
"Please, Taash, I — I need to find Rook —"
Taash pushed him again, harder, making him wince as the back of his head bounced off the wood.
"Nuh-uh, you're staying the hell away from her until you give me answers," they growled. The look in their eye was murderous. "Tell me what you did to her!"
"I didn't hurt her!" Emmrich cried, anger now creeping into his desperation. "I would never — Taash, I swear on the graves of my mother and father, on my life and everything I hold dear, I have not and will not, ever, hurt her!"
"Then what did you do to make her smell like that?" Taash roared, and Emmrich swore he could see the flicker of flame in the back of their throat.
"I don't know! We were h-having sex, and I caught her hair when I moved to support myself. Rook made a sound, and I let go as soon as I realized what had happened —"
"Right away?" Taash pressed. Their thick, pointed fingernails were digging sharply into his chest, threatening to pierce flesh. Emmrich swallowed hard.
"Yes, right away. I apologized and asked if she was alright, Rook assured me that she was, yet when I — I continued, then she —"
"You kept going?" said Taash, a low growl that filled his nostrils with brimstone. Emmrich struggled against the flash of outrage that filled him, being leveled with such a horrific accusation by someone he considered a friend, someone who he thought knew him better than to think he would —
"No, that's what I'm telling you!" he snapped, pushing out his chest against their grasp and ignoring the pain that followed. "Though Rook said that she was fine, I could tell that she was not and I stopped, Taash. And it was only after I stopped that Rook became upset and stormed out!"
"Well what did you say to her?" Taash countered, not impressed by his posturing in the least.
"All I said was that she was upset, that we ought to pause and talk about what had happened, that's all! What else was I to do? Communication is paramount, especially in regards to intimate moments — I certainly wasn't about to simply "get on with it" as Rook so bluntly insisted, even as clearly agitated as she was."
Taash's eyebrows shot up. They stared at him, eyes narrowed, then huffed and abruptly relinquished their hold on him. Emmrich slumped downward an inch or so, no longer held up by his shirtfront. Taash glowered down at him.
"Of course you tried to make her talk about it."
"I — well, yes!" Emmrich put a hand to his chest, feeling for snags or pinpricks that might have been left in the fabric of his shirt. "Please, Taash, whatever you think of me and my profession you must know that I would never deliberately harm Rook, or make her feel in any way threatened or uncomfortable —"
"But you just did that."
Emmrich's heart sank. "Not deliberately — and I was attempting to find her and atone for my carelessness before you accosted me here —"
"I'm not talking about the hair-pulling, that was an accident. She's got long hair. It's gonna get caught on stuff."
"No, it was an accident, I simply wasn't looking when I was —" Emmrich broke off as Taash's words sank in. He blinked up at them. "Wait then, what are you talking about?"
Taash rolled their eyes so forcefully, and so far back into their sockets, that Emmrich's tormented mind briefly floated the idea of doing a future study on Qunari muscle control.
"Rook didn't get mad because you accidentally pulled her hair a little bit," they said, slowly, as though speaking to a particularly difficult child. "Rook got mad because you didn't listen to her when she said she was fine and then tried to make her talk about something she didn't want to."
Emmrich's mouth fell open. He intended to argue, to explain himself at the very least, but the words dried up on his tongue as what Taash was saying settled itself in his mind. Rook had told him she was fine. She had said that she didn't want to talk, that there was nothing to talk about, even as her body had gone rigid and unresponsive beneath his touch. And he hadn't just insisted they stop, but to stop and talk.
With a low groan of despair, Emmrich brought his hands to cover his face. Again, Taash snorted at him.
"I thought being a professor meant you're supposed to be smart."
"Please, Taash..." Emmrich's voice was muffled by his own palm, weak and small even to his own ears. "Please, tell me where I can find Rook so that I can— I can..."
"Talk to her?" Taash said, unhelpfully. Emmrich straightened himself to his full height, for all the good it did him, and took a deep breath.
"So that I can apologize, again, and to ensure that she is alright."
Taash continued to stare down their nose at him, but their face had lost much of its anger, at least. After another tense pause, Taash took a step back.
"I don't know where Rook is," they said, "but I caught her scent in the courtyard. That's how I followed it back here. To you." Noting Emmrich's stricken expression, they glanced away, adding, "You should probably check for her there."
"Thank you, Taash. I... I will do that."
"Hey," they called, after Emmrich had taken a handful of steps away from them. He drew up short, looking back at Taash with hands clenched tight at his sides. To his shock, Taash looked almost bashful.
"I know you wouldn't hurt her. Not like that. Not on purpose," they said, fixing him with a steady stare. "I got worried about her. Then I got mad about it. But I shouldn't have hit you like that without knowing what was going on. So... I'm sorry."
Fondness swelled within Emmrich's breast. He opened his mouth, then closed it and swallowed, hard.
"Thank you, Taash," he said tremulously, "for looking out for her."
Taash held his gaze a moment longer, then nodded. Once more, Emmrich turned away and hurried off down the hall.
~~~~~
The Lighthouse was full of hidey-holes. Shadowed hallways, high balconies, crumbling structures that could be scaled by those either brave or foolish enough to try.
Rook had found almost all of them, or so she liked to believe. She'd put in the effort and time to seek out any forgotten corners of the Dread Wolf's old hideout, scouring for bits of knowledge or clues he may have left behind. The music room was her greatest reward so far, with its many murals and tantalizing scraps of Solas's former life as a member of the Inquisitor's retinue.
But there were half a dozen other nooks and crannies that held no such secrets, and yet were just as precious to her.
Beneath Neve's study was a flat, open space with crumbling supports and a tall, imposing statue of who Rook could only assume to be Solas himself. It glared sullenly out into the Fade, and had provided silent companionship in her many visits to this place.
If anyone else knew about it, Rook had never seen them here. She'd only found it by chance, scrambling across the floating bricks that littered this place in hopes of finding usable paths or hidden treasures. This little alcove required one to hop across some of the hovering rubble to reach it, but once you got there it was an excellent source of privacy — something that was sorely lacking in the close quarters of the Lighthouse.
Rook regretted slamming the door. Someone would have heard that, she was certain, but if they had she'd managed to miss them in her haste to get away. To get here, where no one was liable to stumble upon her.
Not that it stopped them from looking.
She'd heard footsteps, the sound of someone moving around the courtyard. Listened to them disappear up the staircase, toward the dining hall, then return down the steps again at a brisker pace and fade again into silence.
She knew perfectly well that it was Emmrich looking for her. Even if she hadn't long ago memorized the sound of his confident, long-legged stride, then the faint jingling from all his bangles would have given him away just as readily.
It would have been easy enough to call out and let him know where she was. She almost did, the second time he passed by, but the terrible lump in her throat caught the sound before it came out. Rook didn't know if she even could speak yet.
The anger had gone. It was a hot, flash-in-the-pan rage that burned bright and faded fast, just as the pain that triggered it had. It was a familiar anger, unfortunately. A burden that Rook had carried with her like a pouch of blackpowder, ever ready for the next errant spark that would set it off, no matter how tightly she tried to pack it away. The anger, and the pain, were things she'd gotten good at hiding. Or at least she thought she had.
She'd never wanted anyone on this team, least of all Emmrich, to see her like that...
Rook leaned forward, peering down at all the open Fade that hung beneath her feet. She felt the loose knot she'd tied her hair into shift, slip, and then slowly become unraveled. It fell down her back, about her neck and shoulders. She'd left the silverite bangle she used to secure her braid sitting on the table in her room, abandoning it as she stormed out. It felt strange, having her hair loose. She'd always hated having strands of it fall into her face, but never had the heart to chop it short, like some had often suggested. Of the few, shadowy memories that Rook had of her mother, the strongest was of the woman brushing her hair, humming some half-forgotten tune as she ran her fingers over Rook's little scalp. She held tight to that memory. It was almost nothing, barely a scrap, but she thought of it often. It was why she loved having her hair long, even for all the trouble it brought her.
Behind her, Rook heard the footsteps again.
This time, they didn't pass by and continue on up the stairs. They paused for a moment, and were followed by a thud and a soft grunt of effort as their owner took the first leap toward her hiding place.
Emmrich had found her.
The tension that had only just started to dissipate returned to her body in full force, knotting up her neck and shoulders as she listened to the sounds of her lover's approach. Rook didn't expect him to find her so quickly. She thought she'd have more time to collect herself, her thoughts.
But that time had evidently run out. Emmrich's footsteps slowed, and then stopped, a few paces behind her. He lingered there, waiting. Rook didn't turn to face him.
"May I join you?"
Rook nodded jerkily. She dusted off the patch of stone to the right of her, patted it. Slowly, as though approaching a wounded animal, Emmrich approached and lowered himself by her side. Rook noted the full foot of distance he left between his body and hers. He was such a cautious man; sometimes, she couldn't decide if she found that more sweet or infuriating.
The minute dragged by in silence. Rook was still waiting for him to speak. To throw himself on his sword, or his staff, or whatever the hell it was that best suited the metaphor for him to have an excuse for going to pieces, again.
She immediately felt bad for that thought. It was unkind and unfair, if not entirely unwarranted. Emmrich was a sensitive man. It was the thing that had most drawn her to him, after all, so how could she fault him for it now?
But the minutes dragged on, and Emmrich didn't say a word.
There was silence between them, save for the sound of each other's breathing and the occasional scratch of fabric against stone as they shifted ever so slightly in their seats. It was not a comfortable silence. It was tense, and it dragged on the same way that fingernails dragged over a chalkboard, getting worse the longer it went. Someone had to break it. Rook would, if only she could find the words.
There were no "right" words here," she knew that much. Nothing she had to say would be good for either of them. She was hurting, and angry, and he was likely feeling the same after the way she'd left him, though he'd use softer words to admit it if pressed. But something had to be said, before this awful silence pulled taut around her throat and choked her off forever. Rook had missed her fair share of opportunities in life. If nothing else, it helped her to realize that if she didn't say something now then she never would, and whatever sentiment she wanted to express would stay trapped inside her and fester and rot and poison whatever this thing that she and Emmrich were doing was. It had to come out, now.
She took a breath. Deep, slow — and began to speak.
"Did I ever tell you how I got these?" Rook asked, brushing her fingers against the side of her face; the scars there, on her cheekbone and above her brow, were old and faded but still visible. Emmrich leaned back slightly, to better regard her. If the breaking of the silence shocked him, he didn't show it.
"I don't believe you have," he said carefully. His eyes focused on her fingers, tracing the outlines of the old wounds as she debated exactly how much to put into words.
"A Templar backhanded me while wearing full plate gauntlets, because I wouldn't do what he wanted," Rook said. She stared forward, out into the swirling emptiness of the Fade. "He did it anyway, then took me to the Circle healer himself. Told her I'd tripped on my own robes and fallen down the stairs. I told her what'd really happened, what he'd done, and she looked right in my battered, bloody face and told me I had an 'overactive imagination.' They laughed together. Like it was a joke they shared. Then she gave me a poultice and sent me off, with him, back to my studies."
Beside her, she heard Emmrich let out a slow, shaky exhale through his nose. But he didn't speak, and his silence emboldened her to keep going.
"That was the first time. But it taught me not to bother asking for help — if I fought back, I'd be doing it alone. Not that I was the only victim, of course, but even then we never talked about it."
Rook picked at the seam on the outside of her trouser leg, trying to focus on the feeling of the rough fabric beneath her fingernails and not the fast, frantic pounding of her own heartbeat in her ears. She let her eyes go slightly unfocused, blurring the already vague vista before her. To her right, the outline of Emmrich went fuzzy, but remained silent and still.
"We could pick each other out across the room, me and the other girls he tormented," she continued. If she stopped now, it'd be that much harder to bring it up again. "Long sleeves no matter the season to hide bruised wrists, dark circles under our eyes from laying awake all night, waiting for it to be your turn. That was almost the worst part, just the waiting ... I could almost tune out the rest, make my mind go somewhere else while it was happening. But going about the day like nothing was wrong, like it was all bloody normal —"
One of her fingernails snagged painfully. Rook hissed, looked down to see a thin sliver of red welling up. She quickly brought the wounded finger to her mouth, sucking the blood and sting away.
"Darling, may I?"
Emmrich's gloved hand appeared in her peripheral vision, extended palm up. Rook shook her head, once, and the hand fell away.
"It's fine," she said, wiping her finger off on her shirt. Then added, "But... Thanks, Emmrich. For offering."
"Of course, dearest," he said softly. "Any time."
Rook shifted, tucking both her hands under her thighs to stop her hurting herself further, or at least to stop from picking her favourite trousers apart at the seams.
"Did the Templar never face any justice?" Emmrich asked, his voice somehow low and tight at the same time.
"In a sense," Rook said. "One of the girls managed to get ahold of a quill knife and kept it under her pillow. She didn't kill him, but she cut him bad enough to attract attention. The Knight-Commander made a show of investigating, but in the end the bastard just got transferred to a different station. Outside the Circle Tower, at least, but anywhere closer than the pyre wasn't far enough."
"And..." Emmrich hesitated. "What of the brave girl who fought back? Whatever happened to her?"
"Tranquil," Rook said shortly. "Her robes and hands were covered in blood, so they called her a blood mage. Case closed."
"Ah."
There was sadness in that single sound, but not surprise. The Anderfels, her homeland, was widely considered to be the most devoutly Andrastian nation in Thedas, but Rook knew the faith was strong in Nevarra, too. She supposed Emmrich knew as well as her how far the Chantry would go to protect its own.
"I've never talked about any of this before," she blurted. "To anyone. Even in the Circle we never said any of it out loud, even though everyone knew it was happening. I thought if I never talked about it or thought about it then I could just forget it ever happened. It was twenty years ago! I mean, I can't remember my own mother's face but I can still remember —"
Rook squeezed her eyes shut, her muscles tensing suddenly and painfully. She drew her shoulders up around her ears and held her breathe, waiting for the roar of blood in her ears to fade. And it did, slowly, just as slow as it always had before, leaving her sore and tired and just a little breathless. A low, frustrated growl tore itself from her throat.
"I hate it!" Rook snarled as she pulled her knees to her chest, hugging them tight to try and control the way her arms shook. "The way it still bothers me, how it comes out of bloody nowhere and just — Well, you saw!"
"You mean when we were together," Emmrich said, and even in her current state Rook didn't miss the distress in his voice. "When I — I pulled your hair..."
"It wasn't that," Rook said. "I'm used to my hair getting caught all the time. It didn't even hurt. But it was just that split second of feeling trapped, being held down — that's all it took to bring it all back."
Emmrich swallowed audibly. Rook looked at him, for the first time since he'd come to sit beside her, and felt her stomach knot at the sight of his stricken face.
"It wasn't your fault," she said quickly, though even she could hear the tired edge to her voice. Emmrich's wide eyes met hers, gleaming with guilt. "I know it was an accident, and I don't blame you at all. It's not the first time I've had spells like that, and I'm sure it won't be the last."
"Relieved that I am to hear you place no blame on me, darling," said Emmrich, his voice trembling ever so slightly, "I cannot say the same for myself. Though it was unintentional, I did hurt you, Rook. More than that, I did not listen to you, to what you needed to recover from that hurt. You told me, repeatedly, that you did not want to talk, and yet I... pushed."
"You were trying to help," Rook said. Some of the tension left her, hearing him say that. Knowing that he understood, that she didn't have to fight against Emmrich's own insecurity after all, was a great relief. She tucked her chin between her knees and tried to take comfort in the warmth of her own arms around herself. Her voice came out more muffled than before. "When that feeling hit me, I just wanted to do what I've always done; push it down and try to get through to the other side. The people I've been with before either didn't notice or didn't care, but when you stopped, when you kept on talking about it, I felt... I dunno, stuck. Like I was trapped in that feeling, that panic, all over again, so I — I lashed out. At you."
"As you had every right to do," said Emmrich at once. He dropped his gaze, a deep line creasing the space between his brows. Rook recognized that look; he was thinking, deeply, and when he spoke again his voice was lower, more measured. "It was very worrying to see you like that, darling."
"I didn't realize it was that noticeable," Rook admitted. "No one's ever really made a fuss about it before."
Emmrich's lips pressed together into a tight, thin line. Rook felt her face flush, her stomach knotting with... something. Embarrassment? Shame? Hearing her say that had obviously affected him, but couldn't read his expression. She sucked the inside of her bottom lip between her teeth, gnawing on it as she waited to hear him out.
"I could tell right away that something was wrong," he said, finally, after several long moments of silence had passed. He still wasn't looking at her. "I felt your body go still, suddenly and completely, in my hands. And when I looked at you... your eyes... It was as though you were somewhere else entirely, dearest. Not there with me, but simply gone..."
Rook tried to remember. She tried to force her memory into focus of those moments between the start of the panic and when she'd stormed out, but there was nothing there to focus on, besides the vague feelings of anger and frustration. Had she really frozen up so completely? Could she have blacked out?
"I... didn't know it was that bad," she said quietly. "But I think I understand now why you made such a fuss about it."
"A fuss?" Emmrich said, blinking up at her in surprise. He quickly collected his features, smiling slightly. "Hm, I suppose I did make quite the... fuss, at the time."
But then his expression dropped once more, turning sadder and soft. He shifted, turning his body more fully toward her.
"Darling... I cannot begin to express how deeply sorry I am for the pain I caused you with my actions. I responded in the way I believed was best, rather than the way you told me that you needed, and for that I cannot ever apologize enough. I did not listen to you. That is not a mistake I intend to ever make again, should you choose to continue the honor of allowing me your company."
"What?" Rook said, lifting her head. "Emmrich, it's not —"
She started to say "it's not that serious," but stopped short. A day ago, she wouldn't have thought it was that big a deal. A minor headache, a bad mood for a couple hours, and then back to business. But the way Emmrich looked at her, the sadness and the slightly infuriating pity in his voice made her think twice about being so flippant. Not in front of him, at least.
Rook started again. She unwrapped her arms from around her knees, letting her feet dangle over the edge of the ruin once more, and mirrored Emmrich's posture by turning to face him as well. His eyes followed her hand as she reached for him, settling her fingers overtop his own and giving his hand a gentle squeeze.
"I'm not going to leave you," she said, and heard his breath hitch. The knot in her stomach had jumped up to her throat now — the words had come out a touch more formal, more dramatic, than she intended, but Rook knew with sudden certainty that she meant them. And she meant the next even more. "It's been a very long time since I've felt safe anywhere, or with anyone, Emmrich. But I've never felt safer in my life than when I'm with you. Thank you, for trying to help me when you thought I needed it. I'll never fault you for that. But thank you for apologizing, too. And for listening, and for everything else you do for me. I can't imagine how much harder all this'd be without you."
"Darling," Emmrich sighed, and the word made her heart melt just as it had every other time he'd called her that. His cheeks were flushed, and there was a watery brightness to his eyes that made Rook have to blink back the threat of her own tears. Emmrich's large, delicate hand covered hers, his thumb rubbing comforting circles into the back of her palm. "I am so very lucky to have you in my life. And I swear, for as long as you'll have me, I will strive to be a man worthy of your trust and affection."
Rook reached with her other hand to cup his cheek and pull his face close to her, letting her eyes fall shut as she kissed him. It was a light kiss, tender and chaste — unfamiliar to her, but far from unpleasant. Emmrich sighed against her lips, letting their foreheads rest together as they parted.
For a while they sat like that, simply holding each other, content in one another's gentle embrace. Rook felt the last of the lingering tension leave her body as she relaxed into Emmrich's arms, and felt way his breathing slowed, his own stress melting away against her. Safe, together. Whatever unpleasantness had come before, it had brought them here, to this moment. And just for that, Rook wouldn't have wished to be anywhere else.