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She’d stood off to the side when they’d first met, allowing Bellara to take the lead, indulging in the rare opportunity to brush off the mantle of responsibility. She’d remained outside the conversation, so much so that he hadn’t paid her any mind until Bellara had blushed, suddenly ending their chat about their need for a Fade expert and pulling Rook forward with a grip so strong the qunari stumbled.
“Oh, no! I am so sorry. Professor, this is Rook. Rook, this is-”
“Professor Volkarin, I know Bellara. I heard the introduction,” she said kindly to the elf, a small smile dancing on her lips. “It’s a pleasure to meet you in person, professor. I attended one of your lectures two years ago.” He took her outstretched hand, clasping it in welcome between his, and at that moment, gazing into her eyes level with his own, he knew she would ruin him if he allowed it.
He’d never seen eyes so expressive, mischievous warmth dancing in the forefront, the violet depths taunting him to dive in deeper, uncover the things she liked, the things she loathed, the things that brought her pleasure. Break her down, piece by interesting piece, study her, and learn what made her tick.
“A fellow Mourn Watcher! My most sincere apologies, Rook,” he amended, covering his momentary mental madness under the cover of a distinguished professor and gentleman. Emmrich was a romantic at heart. He always had been, but the sappy novels he secretly indulged in once every blue moon didn’t imitate real life. One couldn’t, nor shouldn’t, drown in the violet lakes of emotion of someone they’d just met, let alone shared less than a handful of words with, nothing to say of their notable age difference. “Myrna’s mentioned you, all good things, I hasten to point out. She says you’ve ‘advanced adequately’ through the ranks.”
“Aw, how sweet of her,” Rook cooed, the corners of her eyes crinkling with a secret she didn’t share. “Did Vorgoth have anything to add?” she questioned, delightful cheekiness colouring her voice.
“Oh, you know Vorgoth, at least I assume you must, given your-” a piercing shriek that made Bellara jump silenced his pleasantries. “Ah, forgive me. I’d be pleased to continue our conversation after I tend to some small business here.”
“Care for some company, professor?” Rook asked, unbothered by the scream, gesturing in the direction where it had originated from.
“I’d be delighted, and please, call me Emmrich.”
From that point forward, he was a steady companion by her side, always her first choice to join in whatever adventure or disaster awaited them, allowing time aplenty to observe Rook in all manner of situations and pursuits. Emmrich was eager to follow along, even if his aching muscles and joints protested, a painful reminder of his years and mortality. His morning exercises kept him limber, but the Venatori and darkspawn they faced were not of a gentle disposition, and it wasn’t uncommon to leave the scuffles between them exhausted and sporting a cut or bruise.
They could fare much worse, he knew. They were often outnumbered, but their success came down to Rook’s unwavering trust in her companions and, most flatteringly, Emmrich directly. A novel concept, one perhaps a little too presumptuous, but he was sure it was the case. If he called for Rook to watch for an incoming blow, she did so without hesitation, throwing her mageknife or dodging betwixt the folds of the Fade to avoid it. She was never far from his side, expertly maneuvering the fight so that his back was always protected for him to cast freely, herself his shield and bulwark between any harm.
Emmrich wished Rook would not make herself such an appealing target during conflicts, especially when she insisted on parading around in that dreadfully revealing outfit Isabela had procured for her. All of her soft, unarmoured midriff and extremities ripe for the slash of a sword or the thrust of a dagger made him worry. Not that he didn’t have the utmost respect for her battle prowess, Maker, he’d even seen her use her horns to resounding success. The bewildered face of the Venatori she’d sent sailing into a wall still brought the errant curve of a smile to his lips, but wise men did not underestimate their enemies.
She simply smiled at his well-meaning protestations, promising to be careful, before throwing herself fiercely into the next confrontation, eyes blazing with bloodlust and untamed ferocity. Once the battle was done, she would always turn to face him, the savagery melting away when she beheld him safe and sound, a cheerful “Good job, everyone!” on her lips.
It was that contrast of her person that drew him in deeper. The dichotomy of Rook’s essence piqued his studious nature beyond what was acceptable to familiarise himself with a fellow Mourn Watcher or newfound friend. Against his better judgment and every moral code he held himself to, Emmrich enjoyed her company with the strict caveat that he would pursue nothing further with the younger Watcher.
It should have been an easy enough declaration to make and adhere to if Rook hadn’t been so fresh-faced and bright, distractingly beautiful in the way that inspired poems and songs. She was easy to converse with, knowing when to employ a dose of humour to lighten the mood or offer the quiet ears of a friend and confidant. They spent many evenings together in his quarters, talking over tea and sweet almond biscuits.
Emmrich looked forward to those hours of listening to Rook speak about her experiences in the Mourn Watch, how she’d been found orphaned as a babe in the lower crypts, but believed she ended up exactly where she was supposed to be. How her magic had blossomed under the tutelage of the Watchers, and how the florists of the Grand Necropolis enchanted her, in time learning the art of speaking to the dead through floriography.
“It’s necromancy, in a way,” she said, her eyes bright with excitement, speaking about her art and passion. “Once the flowers are plucked, they’re technically dead, cut off from their life force, and then we manipulate them. We write messages in our arrangements with the blooms, tributes for the deceased, and comforting words that soothe the hearts of the living. A fleeting reminder to enjoy the beauty of life before it fades away.”
He pondered her words thoughtfully, his debilitating fear of dying dancing on the tip of his tongue, longing to be shared and understood. Did he dare?
“Sorry,” she murmured bashfully when the silence between them stretched, looking down into her teacup. “I get carried away with flowers sometimes. It’s not as impressive as your corpse whispering.”
“My dear Rook, it is a pleasure to hear you speak of what excites you, a pleasure indeed, and I’ll entertain no more self-deprecation of your passion. Your floristry and my corpse whispering are worthy pursuits. Both are respected and highly valued skills within the Necropolis,” he assured her warmly and firmly. It bothered him to hear her speak negatively of herself, and he tossed aside the idea of sharing his own worries to offer comfort to her.
“Mmmm, perhaps,” she responded, not sounding entirely convinced. Lifting the cup to her lips, she looked at him over the rim, her eyes burning with sincerity and longing, “I’m willing to bet I don’t look so dapper as yourself when I work, though.”
The almond biscuit he’d been about to bite rested on his lips in surprise.
Rook was coquettish by nature, and her fellow companions had learnt that she indulged in flirtatious behaviour for fun rather than being attracted to the target of her teasing. She was also generous with her compliments, bestowing them frequently and with genuine warmth and affection.
Under any other circumstance, Emmrich would have taken her flattering remark at its face value, but that gaze. That fire. It was new ground. Different. Pleasant. Foolish. His traitorous heart beat with longing. Her eyes were deceiving him, they must be, and so he deflected.
“You choose the most extraordinary moments for compliments, Rook.” The steadiness of his tone astounded and pleased him.
“Is tea and biscuits with me really so extraordinary? Emmrich, you flatter me,” she teased, her eyes still blazing as she returned her teacup to its saucer. “Does my interest bother you?” Rook questioned tentatively a moment later when he remained quiet, the flame swiftly cooling to embers as she nibbled her bottom lip.
His mind was a whirlwind of thoughts, revisiting moments with a crystalline understanding only hindsight could bring.
Emmrich’s hand held in Rook’s, offered with a stunning smile to help him scramble over a steep set of stones and clasped for far longer than was strictly proper, her fingertips ghosting over his own when she let go. The two of them crouched close together over a small flowering patch of Andraste’s grace, Rook answering all his eager questions about the plant only known to him on parchment, her eyes subtly tracing over his lips. Small gifts, selflessly given that she thought he might like, an unusual blend of white tea, a jar of bitter cherry jam, the haunted statuette of a raven that Manfred enjoyed hissing at.
“Quite the opposite,” he replied, snatching at the opportunity before common sense made an unwelcome reappearance. A soft, indulgent smile settled on his lips.
“I’m glad to hear it,” Rook sighed, her eyes bright and relieved.
She departed for her chambers a short while later, wishing Emmrich a fond goodnight, leaving the smell of her floral perfume behind and one hopelessly smitten necromancer.
—
The grounds of the Lighthouse felt timeless, as if the Fade had birthed it at the peak of dusk and never saw fit to release it. Timeless, yet it still seemed there were never enough hours in the day to tackle what had to be accomplished post haste. Fighting gods, strengthening alliances, and addressing the companion's demons all took priority, with little time in between to indulge in frivolity. The brief hours found for personal endeavours devoted almost entirely to work, research, and, in Emmrich’s case, teaching Manfred.
Not that he didn’t find the time spent fulfilling, but it was a touch hard to concentrate when his very being cried to steal Rook away, to sequester themselves somewhere cosy and private for just the two of them. Picnics amidst fields of flowers, waltzing under the moonlight, stargazing cuddled together as the heavens wheeled overhead. Ah, if only!
He’d manage it only once to date, to wine and dine her amongst the serenity of the Necropolis’ Memorial Gardens. He’d been pleased to hear she’d never been so thoroughly romanced before, the soft candlelight highlighting the gentle flush of her cheeks at her admittance.
Rook wasn’t familiar with being the object of devoted admiration, of wooing and courtship, a discovery Emmrich delighted in and often used to his advantage, anything to see the rich bloom of blush. A flower presented with a courtly bow, a soft kiss pressed to her hand, whispered words for her alone, sweet and amorous. It satisfied a deep part of him to know he still knew the steps to the lover's dance, that an old dog like him could entice one such as Rook to partner him.
But with their burgeoning romance came unwanted whispers from their fellow companions. He was far too advanced in his years for the spritely young Watcher, Harding had told him so directly before Rook herself shut the conversation down with a firm word and stern eyes. But those insidious thoughts hastily took root, and like weeds in a garden, they continued to show their unwanted heads no matter how many he plucked from the soil of his mind.
Johanna, ever the troublemaker, perhaps more so since she’d been reduced to a pristine skull haunting his rooms, certainly did not help matters. Her taunts followed him as he worked, his relationship with Rook a favourite vulnerability to poke. She was endlessly patronising, unpardonably rude, and slowly chipping away at his self-esteem. With her presence always in attendance, Rook’s nightly visits to his room became scarce, a victory Johanna could not help but gloat over.
He lay awake at night, his thoughts bitter and self-deprecating. Emmrich Volkarin: a lecherous old man and robber of cradles. He loved Rook, pure and faithful, but wouldn’t it be best to release her, to allow her to live a life rich and overflowing with happiness with another closer to her years? One who wouldn’t inevitably leave her a broken-hearted widow. It would be a kindness to break things off before they advanced too far out of hand if they already hadn’t.
A faux lighthearted conversation over tea that they would be better suited as good friends made Emmrich’s stomach churn with nausea, bubbling in his throat when Rook accepted his words without argument or preamble. She made her excuses seconds later, rushing from the room without a backward glance.
Their conversations became stilted and awkward, her flirting with himself dying outright. She forwent their nightly ritual of tea and biscuits together, and her eyes, so lovely and stirring, moved from confused and distressed to closing off altogether in Emmrich’s presence.
For the first time since he had joined Rook’s merry band of misfits, he remained at the Lighthouse, Davrin taking his place. It hurt more than he could ever have imagined.
For a fortnight, Emmrich saw little of her. When they gathered for the nightly meal, she was courteous, but offered little conversation outside of the gods and their plans. The distance between them was a chasm, easily noticed by their fellow companions, but they were polite enough to leave the matter well alone. Emmrich could only assume the others were pleased with the development, a bitter and unfair thought, but one that lingered on stubbornly.
His heart beat faster with every knock at his door, only to return to a sluggish crawl when it wasn’t Rook, as it never was. He longed to hear her voice spoken with warmth, to have the pleasure of her touch and companionship once more. To share Manfred’s astounding progress with his newly gained magic and speech, to seek the comfort of her arms when the dread of death became overwhelming. She hadn’t been quite able to understand the depths of his fear, but Rook did not humiliate him, drawing him into an embrace of such warmth and adoration it had soothed his fractured nerves. He missed those moments terribly.
Sleep continued to elude him, his mind a constant turmoil of thoughts, his heart sick at the loss of his darling, tossing and turning, stealing moments of vivid dreams of Rook’s sweetness, her fierceness. He longed to lead her to his bed, to show her the depths of his love and devotion, every kiss an apology and promise, those telling eyes of hers a slave to pleasure at his behest, even as a sliver of shame slid down his spine at his imaginings.
It was Harding, surprisingly, who pulled him aside early one morning, or what passed for the morning in the Fade, as Rook, Davrin, and Bellara left for the day. Their voices carried into the library from the room that housed the Eluvian before cutting off mid sentence as they stepped within to the Crossroads beyond.
“I was wrong,” she blurted out by way of greeting as Emmrich descended the stairs from his room, Manfred in tow.
“I beg your pardon?” he questioned, bewildered.
“You’ve been so… mopey since I spoke about you and Rook, and Rook’s sad too, and I just… should have kept my mouth shut,” she mumbled.
“I am not ‘mopey’, Harding.”
“Um, yeah, you are. You and Rook both. Your skull pin is crooked. Your skull pin is never crooked, and Rook didn’t care that Lucanis got her a mango when he went shopping. Rook loves mangos, Emmrich!” Her voice raised in frustration and concern.
“It’s for the best, Harding,” Emmrich sighed as he sat heavily in his regular seat, staff clutched tightly in both hands as Manfred wandered off with a hiss to find Neve. “And my collar pin is perfectly straight,” he disputed with a huff.
“No, it’s not for the best, and it is not straight. You’re both miserable, and I’m sorry I put the stupid idea into your head in the first place,” she stated, hands resting firmly on her hips.
“I had my doubts before you ever voiced your opinion, Lace. I’ve made a halfwit of myself and dragged Rook down alongside me. She would do better with someone who matches her in years,” he muttered sadly. It was one thing to mull it over in his mind, another to speak it aloud.
“Emmrich,” Harding said gently, “Rook… Enthral, she adores you. She wants you. She flirts with everyone, but with you, it’s different. Sincere. Her eyes just light up when you’re near her, and the way she always checked up on you after a battle? It was so loving… and kinda scary, like she’d tear Thedas apart if anything happened to you. I’m sorta jealous.”
“Enthral?” How did something as simple as a name feel so right and decadent in his mouth?
“It’s her given name. Varric gave Rook to her, and she was content to take it. He was generous with nicknames,” she shrugged, a lingering sadness in her voice.
“Harding, I-”
“Just… think it over. Please. For both of your sakes. Who knows how much time we have left?” She left him there, slouching low in the chair as his thoughts flitted betwixt and between possibilities, choices and mortality. He reached up absently to fiddle with his collar pin. It was indeed crooked.
—
Emmrich considered Harding’s words as the days continued slogging forward, and the stakes grew higher. The constant dance between should or shouldn’t was maddening, and he often stopped himself from marching to Rook’s room, pacing the floor of his study in circles instead.
It was Manfred’s gentle, and Johanna’s ungentle prodding that pushed Emmrich to seek Rook out.
“I can’t just go wandering over there willy-nilly, Manfred,” Emmrich explained to his skeletal ward, who still struggled with the finer point of propriety. “A ladies' quarters are private, and Rook has not extended an invitation requesting my company.”
“Rook,” he hissed happily, his favourite word to repeat over the past few days.
“Ugh. Do you have any idea how frustrating it is, Volkarin, to see you brought to your knees by a mere whelp? To think I considered you a worthy rival. Wandering back and forth in your rooms like a lovesick milksop over your paramour. Pathetic.”
“That’s not- my relationship with Rook is a private concern. Death is not an excuse to neglect your manners, Johanna,” Emmrich replied sternly. She scoffed in reply. “Perhaps I could request the lending of a tome,” he continued. “I’m sure Rook could find it in her heart-”
“Why she’d enjoy your mouldering presence is beyond me,” she huffed.
“Mouldering? Really, Johanna. You’re a mere two years younger than I am. Two!” Emmrich retorted.
“Well, I think one of us wears it more obviously,” she hinted before screeching as Manfred approached where her skull rested. “Volkarin! Keep your manservant away from me!”
“Bad!” Manfred hissed joyfully, swatting Johanna’s skull from her perch, clapping with delight as it rolled under one of the many bookshelves circling the room. Emmrich sighed as the two hurled insults and hisses at each other, rubbing his temples, hoping the situation would resolve itself.
“Manfred, we do not manhandle our guests,” Emmrich instructed over the din of the argument. “Please retrieve Johanna’s skull and restore it to its proper place. Johanna, please refrain from teaching Manfred any further expletives.”
“Pah!”
“Sorry,” the skeleton apologised, contrite. “Rook?” Manfred questioned a moment later as he fished for the elusive skull, Johanna complaining as each brush of skeletal fingertip pushed her further under the bookshelf.
“I suppose there’s no point in denying it any longer,” Emmrich agreed, a strange feeling blossoming in his chest, excitement and dread combined.
“Take your bleeding heart out of here, you decrepit popinjay. I tire of your sanctimonious bleating and the irritating jingle of your bangles!” Johanna ribbed from under the bookshelf.
Emmrich left Manfred and Johanna to their own devices, closing the door behind him, certain he’d return to find his ward’s vocabulary expanded into the vulgar. He’d never had cause to visit Rook’s room as she’d always sought him first. Logic reasoned it was the best place to have private speech with her, especially now that she didn’t drop by as she used to.
Leaving his corridor, he strode over to Rook’s, taking a deep breath and rapping smartly on the door to her inner sanctum. There was no answer, but the door swung wide open in invitation.
“Rook?” he called quietly, receiving no answer in reply. Tentatively, he stepped inside.
The room was unoccupied. In fact, it didn’t seem to be Rook’s room at all. There was nothing of her presence, no personal trinkets, no bed, not even the faintest whiff of the floral perfume she favoured. Sparsely furnished, its only remarkable feature was the floor-to-ceiling fish tank spanning the back wall, illuminating the space with pale, watery light.
Emmrich pondered a moment. His own bedroom was hidden behind a bookshelf on the ground floor of his study, and it stood to reason that Rook’s was likely also concealed, so he searched, finding it a minute later, cleverly shadowed in plain sight. He straightened his collar pin, smoothed imaginary wrinkles from his waistcoat, checked that not a single hair was out of place, and then knocked.
And waited.
The seconds ticked by, sedate and torturous, as if time had slowed to mock him.
Twenty-nine, thirty, thirty-one, thirty-
The door opened, allowing a thin beam of warm light to spill over the floor. Rook's face hovered in the doorway, her body hidden behind the wood, eyes wide in surprise at her visitor.
“Emmrich?” she questioned, a spark of hesitant curiosity lighting up her gaze. “Is something wrong?”
“Everything is well. My apologies for bothering you at such a late hour, Rook, but might we speak privately?” He appealed to her softly, pleadingly.
He watched as she considered, nibbling her bottom lip as she contemplated her choice before stepping back and allowing Emmrich entry. He thanked her graciously as his assessing gaze took in her private quarters with a curious yet equally appreciative eye.
The large windows that dominated the back wall showed the splendour of the night sky. Stars dusted across its blue-black expanse like smatterings of heavenly freckles. Satina, fat and full, joined by its celestial sister, bathed an endless field of feathery grasses below in a gentle, silvery light as they swayed peacefully to the brush of a timid breeze.
The luminescence of the twin moons flooded into the room, illuminating the bed centred underneath, held aloof from the stone floor on spindly legs of delicately entwined silver. Piled high with soft pillows and plush furs in muted tones of blues, greys, and ivory, it looked nothing short of luxe and comfortable. A fitting place for a tired Rook to rest her horned head.
Masses of blue pillar candles adorned the room, their pooling light adding warmth and the whisper of a feeling that bordered on romantic. The flickering of their flames danced upon the lustre of the many porcelain vases clustered alongside them, making the motifs of death watch beetles that decorated them almost seem alive. Large, heavy-headed garden roses spilled forth from the vases, their heady fragrance strong in the warm air, creamy petals velvety soft in the pale light.
There were many bookshelves stuffed with tomes, trinkets, and treasures. Emmrich pondered if the Lighthouse had provided them, if Rook herself had willed them into being, or if she’d brought them in painstakingly by hand, one by one. Many of the knickknacks were of Nevarran origin, carved skulls, jewelled beetles, and decorative urns. The sight pulled up a deep longing for home within him, a craving for the peace and safety of the Grand Necropolis, familiar and comforting.
Paintings adorned the walls of assorted flowers in seed, sprout, bud, and bloom, their anatomy pointed out by fine lines and listed in flowing cursive. A list of curative and poisonous properties, botanical names, and their meanings were scribbled below, seemingly as an afterthought. The handwriting differed, Emmrich noted, suspecting that it was Rook herself who added in the extra titbits of information. It pleased him to spy shroud’s kiss, depicted nestled between embrium and crystal grace in the frame closest to her bed, bringing to mind the memory of their first kiss.
A chaise lounge, upholstered in deep blue velvet and set at the foot of the bed, appeared to be where she had made herself comfortable for the evening, a soft fur draped over a pile of cushions looking recently abandoned. On the small table before the lounge lay an open book, accompanied by her mageknife and arcane orb, dormant without Rook’s direction. A cup of tea steamed merrily alongside a matching teapot, sugar bowl, jug of milk, and a small plate offering an assortment of biscuits.
There was softness there. Comfort. All the things he had seen in her eyes when the bloodlust of battle faded away, leaving only the woman behind. The mix of romance and macabre suited her to perfection, and Emmrich dearly would have loved to laze the hours away with her, hearing the story of every trinket and tome over tea.
But he had come with a purpose, a hope that his mistakes could be forgiven, even if she was both poison and cure in equal measure.
“Have a seat. I’ll just grab another cup.” Rook’s voice drifted to him from somewhere out of sight.
“There’s no need to trouble yourself, Rook,” Emmrich assured her as he sat on the chaise. The warmth of her body lingered in the velvet, seeping into his clothes, skin and bones, sparking a craving for the comfort of her arms.
“You always had a cup for me. The least I can do is return the favour,” she pointed out.
Emmrich decided the best course of action was to remain silent, turning his attention to the book before him on the table. Although the yellowed parchment showed its age, it was well cared for, its gilded edges shining under the candlelight. His eyes caught the verse of a poem, one of many written on the pages.
You did not look for me today-
I take you by surprise;
Then do not coldly turn away
Those bright, bewitching eyes,
But read in the clear depths of mine
The love that’s truly- only thine-
My dear- my chosen Valentine.
“The Language and Poetry of Flowers. It was the first book I ever purchased. It was expensive on an apprentice’s stipend, but I wanted it for so long that I finally talked myself into it. The Valentine's verses are some of my favourite works,” Rook said as she reappeared, holding a teacup that matched the set on the table.
Emmrich was sure he responded appropriately and politely after a second of processing. The deep-rooted demand to uphold the most gentlemanly of manners at all times would not allow him to do so otherwise, but the lovely form of Rook dressed for bed was almost enough to render him speechless.
The black silk of her long nightgown with its thin straps, square neckline, and thigh-high splits covered far more than the outfits she wore into battle, yet it seemed more sinful to Emmrich than the most risqué Orlesian smallclothes.
Her hair, ordinarily pulled into a bun and bedecked in golden chains and charms, hung in loose waves. The white mass, thick and lustrous, cascaded to Rook’s lower back, a gorgeous waterfall he wanted to run his fingers through.
She still wore her grave gold. Dainty bands decorated her horns, neck, upper arms, wrists, fingers, ankles, and toes. Unlike many of Emmrich’s pieces, they lacked jewels, but they were no less exquisite in their designs, shaped into dainty flowers and leaves. Under the silk of her nightgown he made out the shape of piercings on both nipples, and he wondered if they made her more sensitive, if she’d moan from the attentions of his tongue and teeth.
The thought had him instantaneously hard and flustered, and he quickly averted his eyes as she took a seat beside him, focusing on the tea she poured instead. Emmrich dearly hoped Rook wouldn’t notice the flush of his cheeks or, if she did, that she wouldn’t ask questions.
“I hope Rivani Spice is okay. I can brew lavender if you prefer?”
“Rivani Spice is lovely, thank you, Rook.”
Teacups in hand, an awkward, cumbrous stillness settled over them as they drank. Emmrich tried to break it, but the words caught in his throat. He’d come to make amends, yet he couldn’t help but stare at her like she was a perfect stem of moon lily in full bloom, begging to be plucked and admired. Her petals stroked, her perfume savoured. He was an unmannerly coward through and through. Rook deserved-
“We used to be good at this. Conversation, I mean,” Rook murmured when it finally became unbearable, her eyes lost in the contents of her cup, voice loud in the quiet.
“I’m afraid that is my doing,” Emmrich sighed, finally gathering his courage. Rook sipped instead of answering, her silence carrying the mantle of assent that settled heavily upon his shoulders, guilt grasping at the space beneath his sternum. “I’ve been an old fool.”
“I’ve never thought you were a fool, Emmrich, and I’m not about to change my mind now,” Rook said as she eyed him curiously, returning her teacup to the table. “Unless, of course, you’ve done something spectacularly silly?”
“Darling Rook, I truly don’t deserve your steadfast confidence. I’ve been needlessly cruel to you. Worse still, I thought I was doing you a considerable kindness. You’ve suffered because of my cowardice, my spectacular silliness, and I can only beg your forgiveness.” Emmrich’s cup joined hers on the table, and cautiously, he sought Rook’s hands with his own, wary optimism sprouting when she allowed his touch.
“For what?” she questioned, her head tilting slightly in confusion. Her eyes were still so closed off to him, the jewelled depths giving nothing away, but Emmrich soldiered on.
“I let my fear of death, my concern of the years between us, wear me down, my darling. I entertained the words and thoughts of others when I should have paid them no mind. Stupidly, I let their views taint what was lovely between us,” he admitted, feeling a pang of sorrow stab his heart when Rook frowned.
“I told Harding to mind her own business,” she said sadly.
“Indeed, you did, my fierce darling Rook. I should have followed your example, ignored those around me and focused my attention on you, on us. I let fear break me. Cowardice tore you from my arms. So, you see, I am an old fool. A hopelessly besotted old fool. I have no right, but I humbly beg your forgiveness.”
Again, silence fell over them. Emmrich’s thumbs traced circles over the backs of Rook’s hands, watching every minute flicker of emotion that played over her face. Her eyes grew misty, and his heart tore apart when the dam burst, fat tears trickling down her cheeks.
“The past weeks have been wretched,” Rook admitted as a painful inhale, thick with tears, tore from her throat.
“Oh, darling,” Emmrich crooned, pulling her tightly against his chest and pressing soft kisses to the crown of her head.
“Everyone looks to me as a leader. I’ve had to make terrible choices. They say Minrathous fell because of me, but I must be strong. I cannot show weakness. Everything is on my shoulders,” she spat with anger and sorrow. “No one asked how I was or how I was dealing with everything until you joined us. Not only did you ask, but you cared. Maker, Emmrich, how was I supposed to let that go like nothing?”
“Sweetheart, I am so very sorry,” he murmured into her hair, holding her as sobs shook her body against him. Every tear that discoloured his waistcoat and soaked into his shirt and the skin below stained him in her suffering. The harsh anguish that shredded through him felt like only the beginning of an appropriate penance.
“I’ve had to carry that, too. Try to pretend like I didn’t care, to pretend you hadn’t carved out your place as the centre of my world, warring with my feelings because it’s too soon to feel like this,” Rook revealed quietly as her tears dried. “But I feel it. You're a part of me now, and you always will be. By my side or not, Emmrich, you always will be.”
An admission of deep devotion did not grant him a place by her side, nor did it forgive the wrongs he had committed upon her person, but he hoped, he prayed.
“Do you find me foolish now, Rook?” Emmrich asked tentatively, somberly, savouring how she felt in his arms, to commit it to dearest memory when she banished him from her presence once and for all. “That I would misspend the precious gift of your affections…”
“Not if you feel the same way. Not if you love me like I love you,” Rook whispered, raising her tear-stained face to him. Her eyes were open and honest, laid bare for Emmrich to look into the violet depths unhindered. They could blaze for him again. He need only rekindle the fire.
“My love.” A whimper, a confession, a prayer and a plea all in one breath. Emmrich pulled her to him, seeking the solace of Rook’s lips, and she eagerly followed, her hands cupping his face tenderly. How extraordinary that the simple brush of her lips could right wrong and steal the very breath from his lungs. “My darling, how I have missed you,” he professed as he kissed the corner of her mouth, her cheeks, and nuzzled the delicate skin of her throat. The tickle of his moustache made her snort a giggle, and Emmrich wondered briefly if Rook could channel the power of the Sunken Star, the way her laughter drove away despair from his heart.
“I missed you, too, my necromancer,” Rook murmured, claiming his lips again, each kiss longer and sweeter than the one that preceded it.
How Emmrich’s heart sang to be called hers. He would never squander the gift of Rook’s love and devotion again. The others, their opinions and judgements, be damned. Whatever mortal lifespan remained to him would be in the service of his darling.
“I want to show you something,” Rook said, blessing his lips with one final, soft kiss before taking his hand in her own, hoping to lead him elsewhere.
“Anything, darling,” Emmrich agreed, following eagerly, unwilling to let Rook leave his sight for even a moment. He was wrapped around her little finger, and was all the happier for it.
Their five step excursion ended at the bed, Rook climbing up over the furs and pillows offering Emmrich a delightful view of her silk-clad derrière. Settled, she patted the space beside her with a come-hither smile.
“A moment to remove my shoes, my dear. I’d be aghast to bring dirt and Fade dust into your furs and sheets.”
Her laughter, rich and full, brought a smile to Emmrich’s face as he rid himself of shoes and socks, leaving them neatly by the foot of the bed before joining her.
“I’ve found worse things between my sheets,” Rook chuckled, reaching for him to plead for another kiss, a request Emmrich could never deny her. She kissed him slowly, her tongue slipping into his mouth to dance lazily with his own, tasting him with quiet noises of delight that set his blood blazing through his veins with a scorching desire. “I’ve found better things, too, but a dapper necromancer is easily my favourite discovery to date,” she whispered against his lips when they broke for breath.
“Perchance you’ll find one in your bed more often, my dear?” Emmrich asked teasingly, staring dotingly into her eyes with a wholly besotted smile.
“I have high hopes he’ll find his way here every night from now on,” Rook confided with a grin.
“I’m certain that can be arranged,” he promised, nipping lightly at her earlobe, pleased at the breathy whimper that escaped her lips. “You wished to show me something, my darling?”
“I do, but you’ll have to cease your attention for a moment, even though it feels lovely.”
“Ah, forgive me, you are so very tempting,” Emmrich said, as he sat up, prim and proper, his hands clasped politely in front of him. The very picture of a well-bred gentleman.
“The flowers in the room change every day, sometimes depending on how I’m feeling,” Rook began breathlessly, her cheeks flushed a beautiful pink, lips swollen from hungry kisses. “Moon lilies when I feel homesick, sunflowers when I know we’ll be travelling somewhere cold and dreary, lupines when I crave the feeling of meadow grass under my feet, things like that.”
“You will the flowers into being and the Fade responds?”
“Yes, similar to how the Lighthouse creates new rooms when we need them, I suppose, or how Lace summons her plants,” Rook said with a shrug. “I don’t quite understand how it works, but it does, mostly. I accidentally willed up a corpse flower once. It was impressive, but Maker did it stink. I slept in the library that night.” She rubbed her neck with a sigh. “Actually, that was the first morning you were with us at the Lighthouse.”
“My dear, are you comparing me to a variety of flora that reeks of the decomposing dead?” Emmrich queried with a raised eyebrow and a disbelieving smirk.
“Not in the slightest,” she huffed. “I’m making an observation. You smell much prettier than a corpse flower, I assure you,” Rook promised, pressing a kiss to his cheek.
“My dignity remains intact,” he muttered. Rook humoured him with a cheeky smile before continuing on.
“The morning after we performed the rites of remembrance together, when you showed me your favourite flower, variegated weeping widower, well, you’ll never guess what blooms filled my vases the next day.”
“I could hazard a guess,” Emmrich said, earning him another kiss on his cheek.
“Something was different, though. You know how weeping widower normally have a very soft scent, kind of powdery, but pleasant?” Emmrich nodded. “Well, those didn’t. They smelt like soap, moss, peppermint, but still floral underneath it all, and that’s when I knew I was in trouble, because they smelt like you,” Rook confessed.
Emmrich remained completely silent and delightfully blank. His fragrance had drenched Rook’s room. She’d lain in bed scenting him, and it had pleased her.
“This is the only vase that remains constant. It never changes its blooms,” Rook said, pointing to a small crystal vase on her bedside table, settled between candles and roses. A handful of shrouds kiss poked up their milk white heads, the pale blue of their stamens and veins shimmering under the candlelight. “It appeared after we kissed in the Memorial Gardens and it’s been there ever since. It’s the first thing I see in the morning, and the last at night. My heart couldn’t forget you, even if my mind tried.”
“Rook,” Emmrich whispered with an aching tenderness. Years. He had waited years for a love to cherish him completely, body, mind, and soul. A fool, an ignominious fool. He’d almost squandered the one thing he’d searched for his entire life. The need to feel her beneath him was overpowering, and he stole a searing kiss from her, taking her mouth how he intended to have her body, lovingly slow, passionate, and deep.
Emmrich pressed Rook into the softness of the bed, her body caged beneath him willingly, her lips clinging to every kiss he offered and demanding more still. Her nails gently dragged down through his hair to the back of his neck, coaxing a throaty moan that she swallowed earnestly.
They hadn’t consummated their relationship in the past, although not from lack of trying. There was always some nonsense, tomfoolery, or absurdity that required attention. An interrupting knock at the door, a question that simply couldn’t wait, an overeager Manfred with an equally excited Assan right on his skeletal heels barging into Emmrich’s study with a ruckus that could wake the dead.
“If anyone interrupts us, I will eject them with great prejudice right onto their asses outside. I swear to the Maker,” Rook growled as they broke apart, reading Emmrich’s expression as clear as day. He barked a laugh of surprise at her words, but believed the threat wholeheartedly.
“There is no doubt in my mind that you wouldn’t, my darling. So vicious you are,” Emmrich cooed, immediately turning to a surprise “Oh!” when Rook hooked her legs over his, rolling him beneath her. She was a goddess above him, and the hard length of him twitched in anticipation when she looked down at him with smouldering eyes.
“I’m not vicious. My patience with outside interference is just wearing thin,” she corrected, running her fingertips gently across the side of his face, tenderly down the column of his throat, over the skull pin, and down to his waistcoat. Her deft touch quickly undid the buttons, the golden chain that held it closed following suit.
“The time I have alone with you, Emmrich, is time I wish to savour, not rush,” Rook murmured while she removed his collar pin, placing it next to the vase of shroud’s kiss, humming in delight when the broad expanse of his hands smoothed over the grey skin of her thighs that straddled him. Emmrich marvelled at the softness of her, the warmth, felt hunger burn in him when her flesh gave way beneath the claiming grip of his fingertips.
“My darling, Rook, when this is all over I will sequester us away for a month, so we might indulge in one another freely, uninterrupted, whenever it pleases us,” he promised, his thumbs just grazing the apex of her thighs, making her hum again.
“I haven’t got the patience to wait until then,” Rook informed him with a devious smile, as she began unbuttoning the pearl and gold buttons of his starched shirt, the material parting swiftly under her dexterous fingers. She sighed in quiet pleasure as her fingertips brushed languidly down the bare skin of Emmrich’s chest, further to his belly, playing with the trail of iron grey hair that led lower. “I’ll be having my wicked way with you tonight.”
“It seems we may have to negotiate, my dear. I had every intention of making love to you this evening. Nothing wicked about it, I’m afraid.”
“Not even the tiniest bit wicked?” Rook purred as she leaned down to nip his bottom lip, licking to soothe it after. Maker, she was incorrigible. His hands slipped up to her waist, grabbing her firmly before rolling her beneath him once again.
“Perhaps a smidgen.” Emmrich smirked down at Rook, her eyes wide with surprise, before fading away into a smitten warmth that melted him in return. He settled his weight between her welcoming thighs, using his knee to push her legs just a little further apart, delighting in the quiet gasp that he teased from her.
“As long as I’m here with you, I don’t care how you have me. Hard, fast, gentle, slow, I’m yours for the taking,” she said, her cheeks pleasantly flushed.
“A thought returned in kind, my darling. Shall we see where the night takes us then?” he asked, the allure of her lips far too strong to ignore any longer. He’d never tire of the softness of them, the willingness to open for him and return his kisses with fervour, an intoxicating thought he could mull over for eternity.
“A sound plan,” she answered between kisses, parting from him slowly, laying back into the pillows to look at him. Her fingertips were busy, trailing over his skin lovingly, contentment and desire flicking like flames in her eyes. “You are gorgeous, Emmrich.” A pleased little smile graced her lips when she left him speechless yet again.
“That you find me so is endearing beyond measure. It’s gratifying you noticed me at all,” he managed after a moment. Perhaps there would come a time when her fond words would not render him mute.
“How could I not? Everything about you drives me absolutely wild. How you look, how you smell and taste and feel, how you fight. Your kindness and intellect, you’re unlike anyone I’ve ever met or known,” Rook said, her voice taking on an edge of disbelief. “I would be a fool Emmrich Volkarin, if I let you get away… again,” she added with a wry smile.
“Trust that I have learnt my lesson well. I have no intention of leaving you, my love. I’m content to remain by your side forevermore.”
“Perhaps with fewer clothes?” Rook entreated, sliding her hands under his shirt and over his shoulders with meaning, a suggestion Emmrich was pleased to follow, slipping waistcoat and shirt off together and dropping them somewhere out of sight on the floor below. Her curious hands were on him again, her nails ghosting delightfully over his skin, leaving gooseflesh in their wake.
“Would you be inclined to follow the same instruction, dearest? I’d like to see you, to please you,” Emmrich said. Her touch, so gentle, yet bursting with adoration, was enough to drive a man into madness. Far too many times they’d suffered interruptions, all their yearning and heartbreak culminating into the moment between them. The desire he felt for her was all-encompassing, enough to make Emmrich sick with the want of it all.
“Because you asked so nicely,” Rook purred, abandoning her exploration of his body before sliding off the bed and turning to face him, lowering the flimsy straps of her gown.
It was almost too quick, the nightgown's weight pulling it to the floor swiftly to puddle at her feet. Emmrich didn’t know where to focus with all of her unclothed for his pleasure. He sought her eyes, something familiar to anchor him, and they burned as he held Rook’s gaze, daring him to look lower, to drink his fill of what she brazenly bared.
He took his time mapping her body by sight, noting her willowy features, breasts that seemed sculpted to fit his palms, dark grey nipples pebbled in pleasure and pierced with gold shaped into roses. There was weight to her belly, a testament to the sweets and wine she enjoyed liberally and without reservations. An elegant stem of moon lily, inked into the skin of her right hipbone, drew his eyes, eventually leading to the glistening arousal on her nether lips.
Maker’s breath, she was exquisite.
“Darling,” he whispered, voice husky and brimming with lust, a summons Rook couldn’t ignore, eagerly returning to Emmrich’s grasp and sighing in delight when his lips found purchase on her belly, his hands on her hips. The gentle thread of her fingers through his hair titled his head up, the glimmer of gold adorning her breasts catching his eye and encouraging him to test his earlier hypothesis. He kissed his way up, stopping to nuzzle and nip at Rook’s skin as he did, smiling at the combination of sighs and giggles she made as his moustache tickled her.
“Emmrich,” Rook moaned, breaking off a laugh as he took a nipple into his mouth, laving his tongue over the pert bud and its piercing. The softest nip of his teeth made her cry out louder, the stiff length of him throbbing in the confines of his trousers and smalls at her pleasure.
“So responsive, my dear,” he purred. “I wonder, darling, could you finish from this?” he asked against her skin, taking the hardened peak back into his mouth with a gentle suck. Her legs trembled, the flicking of his clever tongue sending little shocks through her body that made her jolt against his lips.
“Just sensitive,” Rook whined, as Emmrich kissed his way over to the opposite nipple, bestowing it with similar attention and being rewarded with the same sweet sounds for his efforts. Her cries were heaven to his ears as he lavished attention on her chest, still in a state of mild disbelief that she was before him, moaning and panting from his actions.
He couldn’t help but look up to assure himself that Rook was there in spirit and soul, not just her body, thinking of him, making those gorgeous sounds only for him. Her eyes were open, watching intently, catching his gaze in the hypnotic violet pools of her love and lust.
“Emmrich,” she panted, one of her hands coming up to cup his face while he continued to tease her. “I love you.”
Her words uttered in pleasure stirred something deep inside that he’d forsaken so long ago. He wanted every beautiful feeling that she brought to bloom within him pressed into her skin, stained with his adoration. With one last lick, he pulled Rook back to the bed to claim her mouth, kissing her slowly, his tongue lazily moving with hers, tasting her with quiet noises of enjoyment that she reciprocated.
“My Rook, my gorgeous Enthral, how I love you. How I adore you, my darling,” he spoke against her lips, all honesty and tenderness, endearment and devotion.
If Rook was at all surprised by the use of her real name, she didn’t show it, simply kissed him deeply once more. Gently, but eagerly, her hands slid down to unbuckle the belt at Emmrich’s waist, removing it with haste and dropping it unceremoniously to the floor. His cumberbund followed, its intricate knots no match for his yearning lover. Rook’s clever fingers moved to untie the laces of his trousers next, but he stopped her with firm hands and a besotted smile, bringing them to his mouth to press kisses on each fingertip as she raised an eyebrow in question.
“Your eagerness to have me is flattering, my dear, but I must ask, would you allow me to taste you? Your cries of delight are so sweet, and I ache to hear more of them, to know you as only a lover can.” It wasn’t a lie, more akin to a half truth. Emmrich enjoyed hearing Rook’s pleasure. He couldn’t disguise the strain of his aching length against his trousers, of what she did to him, nor did he want to. While they had put the matter of his age between them to bed, Rook was still younger, sprightlier. He wanted to look into her eyes and see her hunger satiated, feel her body curled up against his, languid and well satisfied in the aftermath of their lovemaking.
Emmrich needed to solidify that Rook had chosen her lover well, that the second chance she had graciously granted him would be one of her better decisions. The soft blush that dusted her cheeks, and the warm glow that lit up her eyes were telling, but he still waited for her words.
“Please, Emmrich,” Rook pleaded, sultry and sweet. “I’d like that a lot.” Without further ado, she let herself fall backwards into the pillows as if afraid he’d change his mind, her hair spreading out behind her in a messy halo of white silk. She bared herself to him, his breath catching to see her arousal not only glistening on her folds, but on the inside of her thighs, too.
“To know that I bring you to this state is flattery beyond compare,” he whispered.
“I’m not entirely sure what to say to that, to be honest,” Rook replied with a smile.
“Then don’t speak, my dear. Feel, but please don’t hide the beautiful noises you make for me.”
“Never,” she answered against his ear as he leaned down to kiss her neck, making his way down Rook’s body at a languid pace. He lavished kisses on her as he went, becoming distracted at the swell of her breasts again, the golden piercings entirely too tempting not to take into his mouth once more. Her moans were music to his ears, but he craved her release, her nectar flooding his mouth when he brought Rook to her peak.
Emmrich believed that pleasures of the flesh shouldn’t be rushed, but indulged in. Oh, there was the odd instance where a quick coupling had its time and place, certainly, but he was a man who enjoyed taking his time. A gentleman, but a man all the same, and the need, the lust, was gradually wearing him down, steadily working him into a frenzy.
The soft give of Rook’s belly against his lips made him moan low in his throat, his ticklish lover huffing a laugh and trying not to squirm under his attentions. He pressed on, tracing the moon lily tattoo with the tip of his tongue, following the stem down to the lush wetness of her nether lips. The gasp that Rook made when the heat of Emmrich’s breath brushed against her folds strained his patience, his thumbs digging into the sweet dips of her hips to hold her in place.
Rook's fingers threaded into Emmrich’s hair, further messing up the carefully styled locks as he ignored where she craved him most, focussing his attention on the plush of her thighs, lavishing them with open-mouthed kisses and whispers of adoration. He could feel the tension in her body, how tightly she held herself, waiting for the moment he’d give in and taste her.
The first slow swipe of his tongue through her folds, and the drag of it against her sensitive clit, had Rook crying out his name in abandon.
Rook was delightfully responsive, reacting to every lick with mewls of delight and moans of rapture, keening when Emmrich’s tongue delved into the fount of her arousal to savour her deepest nectar. Thedas and its problems ceased to exist. Emmrich’s world pinpointing to the enthralling woman beneath him in all of her splendour, a slave to the carnal dance he led her through.
The fleeting thought of how lichdom would have made the act all but impossible only encouraged Emmrich to devour her more voraciously. A worthy sacrifice to have Rook spread before him, willingly allowing him to worship in her most secret places.
Her pants and whines started coming quicker, her fingers twitching in his hair. His ungloved hand stole down from her hips to slip between her thighs, coating his ring and pointer finger in her arousal before easily sinking them into the wet heat of her, heedful of his rings.
Rook’s fingers gripped Emmrich’s hair just to the point of uncomfortable, dragging a moan from deep in his chest. The way she writhed against him was sinful, so impatient to finish on his tongue as he eagerly lapped, teased, and tasted her, grinding his hips into the bed to ease the incessant throbbing of his own desire.
His name entreated and pleaded on lustful breaths, the way her thighs trembled and her slick walls clenched around his fingers pooled fire in Emmrich’s belly. His darling, his gorgeous, beautiful love, seconds away from falling apart just for him.
“Let me hear you, darling,” he panted from between her thighs, curling his fingers deep inside her, laving her clit with firm strokes of his tongue before latching his lips and gently sucking.
Rook gasped. Her velvet walls clenched on his fingers. A second of silence before her outcries of heaven cut the air.
“Emmrich!” she moaned loudly as shudders rocked her body. He lapped at her dutifully while she crested her peak, working her through the sparks of pleasure that surged through her. Gradually her frantic pants turned to quiet mewls, her half hearted squirming signalling she’d crossed the line from pleasure to bordering on pain. Emmrich slowed his movements, sliding his fingers from her to bring to his mouth and lick clean.
“You taste divine, my darling,” he purred.
“Maker, Emmrich,” Rook murmured breathlessly, her hands moving from his hair to stroke along his cheeks. “You can’t say things like that when you look like that!”
“Like what, my dear?” he asked, genuinely puzzled, wiping her arousal from his face, hazarding a guess that perhaps that was the problem at hand.
“Like the most gorgeous thing in all of Thedas. It’s a little unfair,” she replied, her eyes and flushed skin glowing with satisfaction, yet she still eyed him hungrily, salaciously.
"Ah." A smug smile settled on his lips, one that Rook promptly swept away by pulling him to her and kissing him senseless. Her tongue explored his mouth with a whimpered moan, slowly tasting her own pleasure on his lips.
The warmth of her skin against his, the press of her lush body was better than any dream or fantasy Emmrich’s active imagination had conjured during the lonely hours of the night. A balm, a salve, and a cure for what ailed him. A single errant ray of light that pierced and illuminated the desolate and forlorn corners of his heart, long closed off and forcefully forgotten.
How his desire flared for her at the feel of her softness. Rook’s eager mouth was so sweet against his own, impatient hands that had moved to try again for the laces of his trousers, erasing the last of his well-composed patience when she palmed his length through the cotton.
“Darling,” Emmrich gasped against her lips, drenched in his ardour, craving and wanton, while her clever fingers made quick work of the fastenings on his trouser and smalls. “Rook!” he cried in pleasure a moment later when her palm encircled his shaft, stroking him firmly while her thumb swiped over the glans of his cock, smearing the bead of precum that gathered there.
“My love, my Rook,” he moaned. “I won’t last, my darling.” An almost shameful confession, she’d barely touched him and already he was fighting not to spill into her hand like an inexperienced adolescent.
“So don’t. Come for me, Emmrich,” she purred. The twitch of his cock from her words made Rook hum in pleasure, one that turned to mild disappointment when he detangled himself from her heavenly touch, seizing a modicum of control over the situation.
“My darling, I intend to, but not before you find your peak again,” he panted while he busied himself shedding the last of his garments, his glove and its accompanying grave gold, dropping them atop his shirt and waistcoat on the floor. Emmrich could feel the weight of Rook’s gaze across his body as she beheld him nude for the first time, heavy with lust and need. If he’d held any reservations that she would change her mind about their lovemaking once she’d seen him bare, they were erased under her open admiration.
“You’re so handsome, Emmrich. I’m never going to get anything done, now that I know how gorgeous you are under all your fine clothes,” Rook teased as he pulled her closer to sit on his thighs, her legs wrapping around his waist, hands trailing over his shoulders and arms. He’d feel the dull burn in his legs of the morrow, but it was more than worth the cost to have her so close.
“Sometimes, my dear, I think you indulge me,” he confessed with a besotted smile, kissing Rook’s skin everywhere that was within reach. He stroked a hand over her horns, through her hair and down her back as he whispered words of love and passion across her cheeks, her neck, her collarbone.
“When I’m in the mood,” Rook replied with a whimper as his other hand sought between her soaking folds to circle her clit. He lavished her throat with affectionate licks and nips, listening to the cadence of her pants and mewls as he steadily teased her towards another orgasm.
Her gentle touch demanded Emmrich’s attention, catching up in her eyes as she pressed her forehead against his, the sweat from her brow mixing with his own. He drowned in the violet of them when she moved her hips just so to sink onto his cock slowly, sharing his moan with one of her own in their moment of joining. The hand that teased her clit stuttered in its movements at the bliss of feeling Rook pressed against him, of being sunk to the hilt within her.
They breathed each other's air, their noses touching, lips barely brushing one another's as they savoured the moment together, adjusting to the feel, prolonging their pleasure.
“You feel so good,” Rook whimpered, clenching on his cock, and Emmrich swore he saw the secrets of the Greater Fade reflected in her gaze.
“Rook, darling, you are divine,” He responded in kind, seeking again to continue to tease her. He marvelled at the way she felt around him, the flicker of muscles, the wet heat of her that Emmrich knew he would never tire of. That he’d crave like a drug for the rest of his days. Never had he experienced love like the kind they shared, so intimate, so deep and fulfilling. He’d give anything to keep it.
And then Rook moved, a slow, gentle roll of her hips, a movement that had no right to feel as good as it did. The desperate moan that clawed from his throat matched her own as she began a steady rhythm, leaning back a little so that he could watch her take him to the root, so sinful and lovely as she took her pleasure on his cock.
The gleam of her arousal that covered him, the slick wet sounds, the sweat, the smell of sex and the greedy way she rode him, intoxicating, the fire in his belly burning from embers to inferno. The feeling crawled up his spine, a pleasurably intense inevitability.
Emmrich felt it in Rook, the way her walls tightened and fluttered on his cock, how she pulled herself close to him to be held through the wave of her release, her face pressed into his neck keening her satisfaction and his name like a prayer.
He could think of nothing else but following her, giving into the pleasure he’d held off.
“My darling, I’m- May I- Please, Rook-”
“Yes, yes, yes, yes,” was all Rook managed, babbling against his throat, riding out her own release.
Emmrich clutched her to him greedily, abandoning her clit to grasp the plush cheeks of her backside with both hands, thrusting into her messily with her weight pressing down on him. He cried her name, moniker and given as he spilled within her, panting harshly against her collarbone with hot breaths.
They stayed intertwined until their breathing settled, kissing, nuzzling and touching softly, murmuring quietly their love and shared affections.
—
It was well before dawn when Emmrich awoke.
He’d slept well, better than he had in recent memory. The reason, he remembered, was curled up beside him, snoring away quietly in deepest slumber with his arm tucked around her middle, lovely in her nakedness.
The evening came back to him in stages as his mind dragged its way from the hazy fog of sleep.
Rook’s bedroom, her forgiveness, clothes discarded and forgotten, their coupling rapturous and loving.
How they’d snuck into the corridors while the Lighthouse was at rest, holding hands and laughing quietly, in a state of deshabille that would have mortified him if they’d been caught as they made their way to the bathing room. Rook allowed Emmrich to wash her, and she returned the favour, slinking back to her room in the same manner of undress when they were done, smelling and feeling much cleaner.
And then sleep, refreshingly deep and uninterrupted, his body curled about hers like the protective sepals of a flower bud.
It was a rarity, the times that Emmrich wished to lay abed longer. That morning proved to be one of the times he indulged, if only for a short while. Watching Rook sleep, listening to her gentle snores, he felt at peace.
But the world outside the Lighthouse was not a patient one, and they would need to depart soon enough. Rook would appreciate breakfast in bed, he was certain, and so he rose, leaving a kiss on her brow that carried the weight of his affection and love.
Finally, Emmrich dragged his eyes away from his beloved with the consolation he would return to her side shortly, and smiled at what he saw. Rook’s vases overflowed with shroud’s kiss, perfuming the room with their floral scent, their petals ghostly in the dull light. She’d willed them into being in her dreams.
“My darling,” he whispered, smiling like a besotted fool. “How I love you.”