Chapter Text
Neither Rook nor her two companions said anything as they stepped through the eluvian beneath the lighthouse. The soft ticking and creaks of the stones moving through the fade beyond the walls was the only sound as both Davrin and Lucanis stomped ahead. The warrior grumbled something beneath his breath too low for Rook to hear and once the doors were opened, both of her teammates parted in opposite directions.
She didn't even have the energy to try to make them get along.
A bruise the size of an Antaam's fist pulsed with pain across her spine each time she moved and she needed a healer. Not to mention a bath. Sweat was still beading up across her forehead with every step and she could almost smell the salt on her dirty skin.
On their way out of the Hossberg wetlands, she'd almost asked Lucanis to lend his healing magic but ever since Treviso fell to the blight and Ghilan'nain's dragons, he'd been too distracted to do much else aside from slaughtering as many darkspawn and Antaam he could find. Not that she blamed him.
The city was something out of a nightmare now.
To see your home ravaged like that…
Rook shook her head as she rounded the stairwell and hissed as pain shot across her shoulder. Hot and electric, it left little room for her to catch her breath and she leaned against one of Solas's paintings as she panted through her teeth. Maybe she shouldn't have tried to deflect that last blow.
What had she been thinking?
She didn't have a shield like Davrin, hadn't been trained to deflect that kind of power.
A mistake Varric would have scolded her for and one she wouldn't make again.
Rook glanced up the stairs to the makeshift infirmary where Varric remained. Knowing him, he was probably napping and she knew she was too injured to move quietly. What she wouldn't give for one of Harding's health potions. It wouldn't heal her completely, but it would at least let her get to her room to sleep. Or bathe.
As it was, she could barely move up the stairs.
Behind her, the quiet shuffle of steps pulled her attention to a figure moving closer. The leather pack on his bony shoulders rattled against the exposed ribcage and as Manfred bounded past her, his skull twisted completely around. And then he stopped and doubled back with a happy hiss.
He pointed at her and Rook forced a smile.
"Hey, Manfred."
Another hiss. He clapped his hands and then held them out as if warming them by a fire. When Rook arched an eyebrow, he danced from one foot to the other and then turned at the waist to point up at the first hallway to the right on the landing.
Emmrich.
Right.
He could heal her.
Truth be told, she hadn't really spent much time with the necromancer since he'd joined their ranks a few weeks ago. She appreciated his expertise and his help with their current predicament, but there was just something about being so close to the dead that…kind of creeped her out. She and Taash had joked about it over drinks one night in the kitchen and the more wine they consumed, the dirtier their humor became.
Now when Taash even mentioned the words bone daddy, Rook couldn't help laughing. But standing before the senior necromancer's skeletal companion, a look of friendly assistance shimmering in the green crystal eyes, Rook let go of her preconceived opinions and sighed. "Sure," she said, nodding toward the door. "Go get Emmrich."
Manfred bounded up the stairs, his bones rattling in the mismatched boots he'd somehow acquired. As Rook lowered herself to the steps and took a seat, she recalled seeing a similar style in Harding's pack not too long ago. Either she let Manfred have one, or he'd managed to swipe one without her knowing.
The croak of a metal door swinging open echoed through the narrow corridor and Rook shut her eyes and rest her elbows on her knees. Maybe she should have sent Manfred to retrieve Neve instead. At least Rook was used to her healing. Always cold, always swift but soothing.
The last Rook had seen of her, the detective had been elbows deep in case files, pouring over clues and leads and traps for wisps. She shouldn't be bothered with something like this.
Then again, maybe Emmrich was too busy as well.
Rook lifted her head just as a soft voice called out to her from the top of the stairs. She risked a glance over her shoulder and winced from the pain shooting across her shoulder.
"Oh, my. You weren't exaggerating, Manfred." Emmrich came around to face Rook, stopping a few steps down from where she sat. His hands pressed together before him and he assessed the tangles in her hair, the cut on her bottom lip, and the rip in the armor near her left shoulder with a single sweeping glance. "You look like you've faced a small army."
"You could say that. Group of Antaam caught us by surprise in the wetlands. Never expected to see them there."
Emmrich hummed and brought a hand to his chin. "Manfred seems to think you're in pain. I believe he was correct."
The skeleton popped out from behind Rook and grinned—or as close to a grin as a skeleton without lips can get.
"I took a hit to my shoulder," she hissed through clenched teeth as she twisted to let him take a closer look. It was an effort just to pull her hair over to the other side. With her leather armor on, it was going to be impossible for Emmrich to actually heal her. She'd have to slip it off. "Feels like fire."
"Yes, I'd imagine it does. You've got more than a nasty bruise. I can see blood in the seams of your armor." Emmrich stood back up and offered a kind smile as he gestured a hand at her shoulder. "If you have an open wound, I must insist on cleaning it. We can move to the library where you can have a bit more privacy, but I'm afraid you'll need to remove your leathers."
Rook stared up at him, blinked, and then shifted her gaze down to the skeleton at his side. Was he serious?
Neve never asked her to remove her clothes.
Of course, Neve's healing style consisted mostly of swiping a hand across a bruise while scouring the latest Minrathous paper for clues. Maybe that's why her hip was still sore after nearly falling off that rooftop last week.
Rook scoffed and shook her head.
"I can barely move as it is. Just—" She looked past him to the main floor. The round table had chairs situated around it and several missives scattered about, but no one else was around. A faint banging sound wafted from Taash's designated quarters and Rook figured the Qunari was busy lifting weights. With Varric out of commission, she doubted anyone would walk in. "Just do it here."
Taking a deep breath, Rook unlaced the leather at her chest and eased her arm out of it. Even the slightest movement burned and she could tell Emmrich had been right. She hadn't just received a blow. A warm trickle of blood rolled down her side and she tried to swallow her voice as she eased the remaining armor off of her upper body. The tunic she wore beneath it was soaked on one side with blood and with sweat on the other.
"Manfred, please retrieve the black bag from my quarters."
Emmrich took a step up and behind her, lowering to sit on the stairs as Manfred took off with a happy hiss. The necromancer parted his knees around her shoulder and hummed.
"Your armor took the most damage, I believe, but the blade managed to slice where there was a gap. I'm afraid your tunic is beyond repair."
She wanted to tell him she didn't care about it but it was too difficult to ground out a single syllable let alone actual words. She leaned forward and squeezed her eyes shut.
"I will have to remove it."
When she didn't feel him ripping the fabric to gain access to her wound, Rook glanced back at him. He sat patiently, eyes wide and expectant, and she realized that he was waiting for her permission. She nodded and he wasted no time.
With deft fingers, he took hold of the fabric at her shoulder and tore it down the middle of her back. In an instant, the cool air inside the lighthouse hit the trails of blood on her side but she didn't flinch. Neve's healing touch was always as cold as her spells.
A man who worked with the dead and could communicate beyond the living realm?
Yeah, Rook figured his hands would be even colder.
She braced herself for it, hugging her knees to her chest and squeezing her eyes shut.
But the sensation that slid across her shoulder blade and ribs wasn't the shock of ice. It wasn't even as tepid as the bathwater that the lighthouse offered.
It was warm and soothing and somehow, that startled her more.
She sucked in a breath and arched away from Emmrich's hands. She glanced back, ignoring the sudden burst of pain at her wound and blinked at him. He hesitated, searching her face for evidence of any pain he'd caused her and when he found none, he frowned.
"Are you alright?"
"Yeah, I just…didn't expect it to feel like that."
His shoulders relaxed and he breathed out a soft sigh. "Oh, I apologize. My hands can be quite cold sometimes—"
"No," Rook said, quick to correct him. "They're not cold. Neve's cold. You're…It felt nice. I just didn't expect it."
"Oh." It was obvious he didn't quite know what to say. He cleared his throat and looked back down at her body before lifting his gaze to meet hers once more. "May I continue?"
"Yes."
Rook set her chin back on her knee and stared at the fresco painting on the wall to her left, the lights of the astrolabe overhead glowing like crystals across the surface.
Another soft caress of Emmrich's healing magic fluttered Rook's eyelids closed and she kept her teeth clenched for an entirely different reason now. The fire licking through her shoulder was easing and the pulse of hot pain was starting to grow faint with each pass of his hands.
He was taking away pain she hadn't felt in months. Bruises she'd ignored for so long she forgot they existed. Aches that she'd pushed through every day since that damn ritual.
Her breath hitched as she inhaled, shuddering her chest and like a puppet with its strings cut, she sank into the first ounce of relaxation she'd felt in months.
And it felt so good that she couldn't swallow down her voice in time.
A moan slipped free—soft enough that it could have been mistaken as a sigh from across the room, but Emmrich was close. He heard it for what it was.
Rook's eyes snapped open and she held her breath, eyes darting to the side expecting to see him lean around to gawk at her. But he didn't.
It seemed that the senior necromancer was, among other things, a gentleman, and though Rook noticed a slight dip in the soothing magic still expertly stroking the wounds on her body, it never faltered. She swallowed hard, the saliva in her mouth suddenly too hot, too excessive.
Her eyes rolled back as Emmrich's magic pushed harder into the muscle just beneath her shoulder blade. The sensation was both pain and pleasure, first a press into the damaged tissue hard enough to make her fingers tighten their hold around her legs and then bliss as the tight knots there seemed to loosen.
This time, when a whimper stretched a bit too long in her throat, she didn't even try to stop it. How could she? It felt too good.
A part of her wanted to step outside of her body and watch him work, study the way his hands moved. Would it be with the same flourish that he called upon the dead? Or different? Slower…sensuous.
Yes, she decided. Much slower.
She would have to invite him out for a mission.
She wanted to see him heal someone else.
Wanted to see what his magic looked like in his hands.
But when the sensation pulled out of her muscles and left her cold in its wake, Rook blinked her eyes open and lifted her head. No. She didn't want it to be over. The pain had subsided, the wound on her side was healed, and she could move without getting dizzy, but…she wanted more.
Would it be too much to ask him to heal the ache in her hip? Her wrist?
"How do you feel?"
The question was innocent enough for a healer to ask the one they were mending, so why was heat prickling across the tops of her cheeks. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and wedged one arm against her chest, holding the ruined fabric of her tunic tight.
"Better." The word was rough against the back of her heavy tongue and she cleared her throat. "Thank you."
"It was my pleasure."
The warmth tingling the tops of her cheeks turned hot like someone throwing fuel on smoldering embers. She stared up at him as he stood to his full height in one smooth, graceful movement. He put a hand to his chin and glanced up the stairs behind them.
"Where is Manfred? I sent him for my pack ten minutes ago." Emmrich peered down at Rook once more and sighed. "Wait here. I still want to clean the wound as it is merely closed and not fully healed."
Turning on his heel, the senior necromancer stomped up the stairs, muttering about forgetful, skeletal assistants the entire way and it was only after he disappeared around the corner that Rook let herself finally think. Had Emmrich always been so tall? How had she never noticed?
And stylish.
The gold bands on his wrist certainly looked expensive.
More than she could afford, that was for sure.
They looked good on him, though.
Really good.
"Hey." A voice across the lighthouse startled Rook and she stood to her feet so suddenly, she had to fight a slight wave of dizziness. On the landing, Taash stood with their arms crossed over their chest, eyes narrowed and sweat across their brow. "Why is your shirt ripped up?"
"I, uh, got injured. Got stabbed in the ribs."
They snorted. "Sounds like you need more training. Aren't rogues supposed to know how to dodge?"
"I can dodge. Can you mind your business?"
"Probably not. Get dressed. We got somewhere to go."
And with that Taash turned and left, the silence left behind louder than Rook expected. She glanced down at the shredded material against her chest and the lines of ink curling out from beneath it over her shoulder. She tested her newly healed body, bending side to side and front to back. No sudden stabs of pain, no electric jolts through her ribcage.
Damn, not even a residual ache she knew she'd feel later when she tried to sleep.
As she climbed the stairs and glanced toward Emmrich's door, something strange happened. The flush across her cheeks returned first, prickling like needles, and then the corner of her lip curled.
Yeah, she decided as she made her way to her own room. Definitely going to be bringing him next time.