it is my firm belief that everyone should experience german emmrich but... not everyone can speak german so i played the whole game in german so non-german speakers can have him too without having to learn german
obviously i didnt add everything otherwise it would be 20 minutes long
When Rook is twenty-eight, and Emmrich fifty-four, Emmrich takes Rook's hand gently and tells her that they must fully consider what it means for him to be so much older. To attach herself to him, when he is so close to his own decline, is folly—
Rook looks at him directly, waiting until his downcast eyes meet hers.
"I'm a Grey Warden," Rook tells him. "I know how to make every year that I am given count."
When Rook is thirty-one, and Emmrich fifty-seven, as Emmrich presses a kiss against the back of Rook's bare shoulder, Rook admits in a small voice: "I have, at most, fifteen years left to live."
In the warm darkness of their bedroom, the quiet stretches like the last moment after a crystal has been struck, just before the world falls again into silence.
"Not if I have anything to say about it," Emmrich vows.
When the bells peal, sunlight and thrown petals and grains and joyous laughter raining down on them in equal measure, when Emmrich clasps her hands and says I give you my heart and soul. I will honor and cherish you each and every day of our lives— his voice sounds exactly the same.
When Rook is thirty-seven, and Emmrich sixty-three, she finds him on the floor of his laboratory, overcome by weeping.
"I have it," Emmrich tells her. "I have it. The Blight will progress no further in you."
She rocks him on the floor for a full hour as he sobs with the heart-rending relief, clutching her as if afraid to ever let her go.
When Rook is forty-six, and Emmrich seventy-two, Emmrich claims that most of his smile lines are Rook's doing.
"And many of the worry ones, too," Rook teases gently, brushing her thumb over her favorite, the divot closest to his right eyebrow.
Decades of love settle over a person as tangibly as gravity: they are both radiant with it.
They watch the sun set together, as they have done hundreds of times, hand in hand. Emmrich waits until the last sliver of pink has left the clouds before he turns to Rook to speak.
"I have learned that my solution was flawed," Emmrich admits very quietly. "The Blight in you will be at bay only so long as I live."
The light of the first rising star is reflected in Emmrich's gleaming, tear filled eyes.
Rook raises their joined hands to her mouth, kissing the back of his.
"I am older than I ever thought I would live," Rook says tenderly. "This life is enough, love."
The words soften Emmrich's expression, but fail to touch the grief in his eyes.
"It is more than enough," Rook tells him, at fifty-two.
"You think I want to live in a world without you in it?" she tells him at fifty-six.
"I love you," she tells him, every day.
"Every word in every love poem ever written isn't enough to say just how much I love you."
Emmrich peers at her over his thick glasses, pausing in his reading of the book of sonnets.
"Should I stop, then?" Emmrich teases.
"No," Rook says, settling her head more comfortably in his lap.
He runs one knotted, shaking hand through her grey hair, presses a kiss to her forehead. Rook closes her eyes.
When Rook is fifty-seven, and Emmrich eight-three, he slips away in the night. She wakes, as always, with her hand in his. She lies quietly for a long time, her eyes bleakly dry, knowing that this time is the last.
Most deaths feel sudden, in the end.
And yet every griever knows: it is still possible, somehow, to survive the removal of a heart.
After Rook has stood for two hours at the funeral, crying mechanically and stopping just as suddenly, Manfred guides her away.
"It's time to sit down, Mother," Manfred tells her gently. "Would you like water? Tea?"
Even fifteen years after beginning his travels, Manfred still sounds so much like Emmrich. The place where her heart is meant to be aches. Rook lets him settle her in a chair, and bring her the blend of tea that he designed just for her.
"There are two more bequeathments to distribute from Father's will," Manfred tells her. "He wanted both to be delivered by my hand."
The first is an elegant leather-bound book, intricately tooled, with fine gilded additions. It's carved with both their favorite flowers, intertwined. Rook opens the cover with shaking hands.
The lines are labelled with a date, with a single sentence accompanying it, penned in Emmrich's fine hand. Each is a message to her. It began almost four years ago, but— the book is far too full. Every page is written in. Rook flips forward to find that Emmrich wrote a line for every day for the next three decades.
"He should have spared himself the pain of writing so much," Rook says. "The Blight will have me far sooner than that!"
Manfred silently hands her an envelope. On its front is written:
To my darling Rook.
Rook reads the letter. She stares at Manfred, uncomprehending.
Manfred embraces her, pressing his forehead to hers in his version of a kiss to the cheek.
"The Blight won't take you at all, Mother," Manfred says gently. "He transferred the spell to me eight months ago."
Through a veil of tears, Rook sees that every neat line in Emmrich's book ends the same way.
rating/tags: M / size difference, denial of feelings, situationships, eventual relationship, teasings, suggestive theme, explicit
words: 4.2k
summary:
The mind, when left unsupervised, had a habit of romanticizing the most inconvenient, unsanctioned and definitely intrusive variables. She steadied her breathing, in and out, in and out, an attempt to reclaim control even if only slightly.
Merlin could not afford such indulgences, especially not with so much already demanding her attention. And yet, she thought of him.
She thought of him still.
— in which Merlin realized she fucked up big time.
“Full offense,” Ravion drawled, eyebrows raised with interest, “but you don’t strike me as especially invested today, Thador. That’s an impressive feat for you.”
Thador’s eyebrows went taut at the accusation. He had given this meeting his full attention, and not once had his thoughts strayed to anything that did not directly benefit Sal’thorin.
“If you have a point, Ravion, make it clear.”
Three men sat around the table, maps and ledgers spread between them as they discussed resource allocation and the next steps toward rebuilding a better Sal’thorin. For lack of a better name, they called themselves the ‘interim council’. In the aftermath of chaos, the restoration of order was non-negotiable. Logistics did not move without it and Thador’s presence was meant to ensure exactly that.
“Perhaps I’ll ask you something rather important.” Indris stepped in before things went even more sour between the other two.
“Why is there a cat on your head?”
There was, indeed, a cat perched on Thador’s head. It even had the audacity to purr even louder after being addressed, tail flicking with satisfaction. A perplexing choice of location, for sure, and the feline seemed entirely unbothered by the ordeal unfolding beneath it.
“I don’t know,” the accused replied curtly. It was all he could offer.
Having known Thador for as long as they had, the other two were forced to accept the answer at face value. He was not a man who made excuses or lies, especially not about something this ridiculous. Why would he?
Ravion and Indris stared at the cat in shared disbelief. The cat stared back.
No matter from what angle the younger Essails saw it, it didn’t make an ounce of sense. Ravion managed to keep his voice even as he asked. “You haven’t tried to remove the cat, have you?”
“I did, but it returned.” A retort came instantly, his eyes still on the map.
“Fine. It’s irrelevant. Can we get rid of this thing for the time being?” His annoyance seeped through from behind his mask. “It’s distracting.”
Thador shrugged, fingers tapping an impatient rhythm now. “We are getting sidetracked. It’s just a cat.”
The cat yawned slowly, a soft ‘mrow’ escaped its tiny mouth. The fate of the feline remained undecided despite three grown men circling the matter with an undeserved intensity. One would think such intensity might be better applied to rebuilding Sal’thorin.
Ravion eventually called for backup, making sure he wasn’t the insane one in this interaction. “Doesn’t it bother you, Indris? The way it’s clawing at Thador’s balding head?”
A brief pause filled the room as Indris studied the scene with unnecessary seriousness. He then admitted. “Somewhat. Are you truly unbothered? I imagine it stings.”
“Such is their nature to stretch their claws.”
The older man reached up to his ‘balding’ head, as Ravion had called it, lifted the cat, and cradled it into his arm with unusual care. Even Indris, who was rarely unsettled by trivial matters, found the display before him considerably alarming.
“Off, cat,” he rose from his chair with a cat in his arms, walking toward the door. “We have important matters to discuss, and you’re distracting us.”
Even after being set down gently on its paws, the cat looked back at Thador with expectant eyes, as if hoping he might relent and bring it back inside. Perhaps it even wished to sprawl across the map and shove things off the table. It purred, so very loudly, certainly using every trick at its disposal to gain his favor.
Thador crouched, tousling the fur on its head for a brief moment before closing the door on it.
The cat remained where it was, licking its paws nonchalantly as if it hadn’t disrupted an entire meeting. Then it padded deeper into the house, ears flicking at every faint sound that stirred the quiet halls.
The hall was empty, quiet enough that even its own feline breathing felt thunderous.
It held still for a moment before the transfiguration magic unraveled. A burst of light blazed through the hall, washing over each and every inanimate object around, revealing the house owner once the light receded.
Merlin stumbled and caught herself against the wall.
Clutched her chest so pathetically.
“Fuck.” She hissed in contempt, her breath stuttering and all wrong. “Fuuuuuuuuck.”
She swore to Dura and any entity above that it had been meant as a harmless prank. Why wouldn’t it be? A cat perched on Thador’s head sounded hilarious in her mind!
To think she would unravel over the simplest gesture that was never even meant for her.
“No!” She slapped herself hard, exasperated just to snap herself out of it.
Pointing fingers was definitely easier, and she could do just that. This problem hadn’t existed until Thador introduced the notion that feelings might muddy their arrangement. Yet a part of her wondered if, maybe, very likely, he carried a trace of those feelings himself.
Hence the warning.
Heat flooded her cheeks at the realization, her head on the verge of splitting into pieces. The mind, when left unsupervised, had a habit of romanticizing the most inconvenient, unsanctioned and definitely intrusive variables. She steadied her breathing, in and out, in and out, an attempt to reclaim control even if only slightly.
Merlin could not afford such indulgences, especially not with so much already demanding her attention. And yet, she thought of him.
She thought of him still.
—
The meeting adjourned with tasks assigned to each and every attendee. Fruitful, one would say. Wooden chairs scraped softly against the floor; maps and ledgers gathered neatly in Indris’ arms lest they fall into the wrong hands.
As Thador opened the door and walked out of the makeshift meeting room, the other two seemed absorbed in rehearsing what they had planned earlier while trailing behind: at tomorrow’s dawn, they would consolidate reports from all quarters and confirm the rebuilding timeline. The ex-prince, of course, had suggested that they could ‘take a very brief respite’ regardless of how little actual work they had done aside from planning.
“We don’t—” Indris frowned at his suggestion but then softened. “But you may. I won’t join you.”
(No matter how much he denied it, even the moss on Sal’thorin’s rocks could see that the hero always had a soft spot for Ravion.)
“Ah, not even a sip?”
“No.”
The hall bustled with visitors from across Esperia when they arrived. Dolly greeted them as Ravion made a beeline for her, enthusiastically requesting something potent enough to justify further labor, which earned an eye roll from Indris. Thador remained where he stood, near enough to the two to be included (if he was to be included by his former adversaries, that is), but far enough to avoid the drinks.
His gaze swept the hall, then, a mental note formed on its own: dozens of unfamiliar faces crowded the space, loud cackles blending with the lowest murmurs of secrets. So… noisy, he thought. Toplanders sure are a rowdy bunch.
Of all the faces in the hall, one was so very regrettably familiar. It should not have surprised him: she owned the goddamned house!
As if the universe required entertainment from a relatively boring old man, Merlin looked up from the papers in her hands.
And as if on cue, their eyes met.
Thador was the first to turn away, such indulgence was inappropriate for him. Just before he turned away, he caught the faintest shift in her expression. Whatever it meant, Thador did not like it. He swallowed his pride and offered a silent prayer to any god still bored enough to tune in: let him be the only one who saw.
“As I was saying—are you both listening?”
“I am, though I cannot confidently vouch for Thador.” Ravion’s teasing, it seemed, was a renewable resource. Pity such a resource could not be put to better use.
“Consolidation of reports from all quarters, reallocation of manpower, preparation of an oath-binding edict for former nobility, and an audit of their wealth. I can go on.” Thador recited without missing a beat. It was almost amusing how flat his voice remained despite the chaos unfolding within him.
A wide, unmistakably knowing smile spread across Ravion’s face. Thador had lived long enough to recognize provocation when he saw it, and knew better than to grant him the satisfaction.
“Remarkable! Still, Indris, I believe we are missing something rather significant.”
Indris glanced over, eyes narrowing in confusion. “Why was it not raised earlier?”
“A perspective we so often neglect even all of us have failed to consider,” Ravion tutted, his slender fingers tapping his cheek as if in deep thought. “Perhaps a toplander’s view might be invaluable to us.”
The pause stalled, heavier than it should have been.
“Merlin, you mean?” The hero pondered for a moment.
“She has done enough,” the older man interjected curtly, leaving almost no room for negotiation. “There is no need to involve her further.”
“It is not a significant amount of work, though.” Indris quickly tried to weigh the options presented before him. “A consultation should still be acceptable, no? It may be more efficient if one of us liaises with her directly regarding the points raised. We can reconvene once we receive her input.”
“Point taken. But we function adequately as we are.”
The hero hummed thoughtfully, visibly swayed. Thador did have a point, more voices meant more expectations to manage, and the interim council did not need that at all.
Ravion caught the hesitation and he was quick to interject.
“Adequate, yes. But the timeline is tight, and we must—I repeat, must—utilize everything at our disposal.”
Their exchanges were like opposing ideas colliding. While such collisions might spark insight on occasion, more often than not the debacle centered on matters that should never have been debacles at all: Ravion, all silver-tongued provocation, and Thador, a monolith carved of old stone. Perhaps dusty and, some might say, thoroughly unentertaining.
“I suppose we could attempt it,” Indris eventually relented, seemingly unaware that Ravion was making entirely too much sense without his usual shenanigans. Hell, the ex-prince always spoke in riddles! “I can speak with her. See what she has to say.”
“Let Thador handle it,” Ravion suggested lightly, which, coming from him, very likely meant the opposite. “Since he has been assigned to remain out of sight and practically confined to the fort that is this house, it seems only logical that he liaise with her, does it not? She lives here, yes?”
His gaze shifted toward the older Essail with the confidence of a man who knew exactly which nerve he had struck.
“It would be strategically unsound for me to do so,” Thador replied, his tone cold. “You would be better received, Indris. I will not be the one to liaise with her.”
“Oh?”
Ravion leaned back, fingers tapping at the rim of his glass. “I trust this is not a personal objection?”
The smile that followed was thin, and Thador gritted his teeth in response.
“That assumption is irrelevant to the matter at hand. Fine. I will handle it.”
Hook, line, and sinker.
“Perfect! We are in capable hands.” Ravion was already steering Indris toward the nearest exit. “We should verify the situation at Lunaris Altar, Indris. There were disturbing reports I heard, and you ought to know.”
Indris nodded, still entirely oblivious to the mind tug-of-war that had just transpired. “Very well. Handle the coordination and report back when you can, Thador. I trust your judgment.”
They vanished into an artificial urgency Ravion had conjured out of thin air, and the noise of the place resumed around him.
Thador exhaled once, straightened his back, and adjusted the line of his robe strap before approaching her. And so he pressed forward, eager to be rid of the recently-assigned task.
Merlin noticed him before he reached her. What came next out of her mouth, however, was a little too familiar to his liking.
“That signature frown of yours is never a good omen. Should I brace myself?”
He stopped at a respectful distance and offered a curt nod.
“Evening. Sal’thorin requires your assistance yet again.”
An eyebrow raised. “How can I be of help?”
“The meeting chamber should still be unoccupied. We will continue this discussion there.”
A silence trailed them down the corridor toward the meeting room, stretched taut between their steps. They were almost never seen together in public, and the current lack of distance between them felt unnatural. Yet neither dared to name the oddity aloud.
Inside the chamber, Thador shut the door with deliberate care.
The latch clicked into place and its echo was louder than it had any right to be, sealing them off from the bustle outside. Against her will, a memory dragged up a night months ago when they had been alone behind a closed door.
Merlin resisted as hard as she could, but to no avail:
“Kneel.”
His voice cut through the dim chamber, as only a general could.
Thador stood tall, eyes settled on hers with the same piercing intensity that had first made her flock to him. Her smaller frame hummed with the thrill of submission, and her knees buckled with delight at his order.
After all, it was her favorite part of their arrangement: to be told what to do without having to think for herself. The renowned magister was so, so tired of having to think for herself.
He worked his way as the metal of his armor clinked softly in his chamber. Merlin couldn’t help herself as hands twitched toward his thigh, aching to grip the muscled flesh in front of her. To feel the heat of him under her palms, to taste him again and again.
The pants loosened and his cock sprang free, veins pulsing along the thick shaft, the head already flushed with eagerness. How could she hold herself back with such a feast unfolding right in front of her eyes? Merlin leaned in instinctively to press a soft kiss to the tip, and her tongue darted out for a slow, reverent lick along the underside until it was slick with her saliva.
“Stay still.” His words were laced with authority, the kind that she liked.
“Make me.”
Even she had the gall to bat her eyelashes at him after such taunting words.
“Merlin. I will not repeat myself.”
Her eagerness was only sharpened by the harsh tone his voice carried.
Thador cupped her face firmly, thumb and fingers digging into her cheeks to tilt her head toward him. He guided his cock to the side of her mouth to press it between his palm and her soft skin, the grip of his calloused hand against her cheek creating a tight, makeshift pass. Enough to keep him satisfied for the time being.
The wet shaft slid in and out with sloppy rhythm as he thrust shallowly, leaving such glistening trails across her face. The heat of her skin slowly drove him toward release, hips snapping forward as he chased the building pressure, grunts escaping his throat involuntarily.
Ecstasy took shape from the degradation, and her nipples visibly hardened against the thin veil that she wore. Merlin whimpered softly, eyes half-lidded and lips parted in anticipation.
Oh, to be used like an object for his pleasure.
“Open.”
He was in control, and she reveled in it—
The scrape of his chair pulled her back to the present. Merlin ultimately drew in a sharp breath and forced the memory aside, irritation apparent across her face before she smoothed it away.
Excellent! Just exactly what was needed, Merlin!
“We require an external assessment of our operations.” Perhaps he had not noticed her lapse earlier, and if he had, he made no comment. “Someone familiar enough to grasp our structure, yet removed enough to evaluate it without bias.”
Her silence prompted him to add, “Indris and Ravion believe you are suited for the role.”
“You mean, a toplander’s view.”
Thador almost rolled his eyes. “You make it sound derogatory. It is inherently not.”
“Terminology aside, I’d rather my compensation be paid upfront this time around." She seized the first thought that surfaced, relevance be damned. Her mouth was running faster than her mind, and she knew it.
His jaw tightened, very faint yet telling. The task was so easy that even a newborn Essail could complete it; failure simply was not an option. The margin for error was virtually negligible.
“Name it. I will bring it before the interim council.”
“Hmm, I would advise against that.”
Her fingers tightened in the fabric of her dress, knuckles whitening as if this was a grave matter with countless lives weighing on it. A heavy, shallow breath lifted her shoulders before she eventually pressed on.
“Yesterday you promised to revisit our personal arrangement with a clearer head, clearer terms. Consider this me cashing in.”
His carefully prepared responses were rendered immediately obsolete upon her request.
Thador narrowed his eyes. “And this is your chosen timing?”
“Yes.”
Then came his last line of defense, despite it being brittle: “You cannot levy compensation upon Sal’thorin in that manner.”
(Earlier, he had assured the other interim council members that personal influence was not a factor he'd entertain where Sal’thorin was concerned. But Merlin had always tested his resolve, and regrettably, the assurance had not survived the hour.)
"That is the price I set." The words clearly were not sifted. “Do it however you want, but give me the clarity you promised me.”
Anything. Anything that might grant her the illusion of control.
Thador closed his eyes briefly, weighing the structural damage this decision might incur. Perhaps it was something he could endure, if only for now. The thought of rebuilding Sal’thorin pressed heavier than his ideal.
He sighed, and heavily at that.
“Very well.”
A trace of resignation seeped through his words. “First: there will be no conduct in public that invites speculation.”
Her brows lifted in surprise. The mage had not expected him to meet her halfway, and she found herself momentarily unbalanced.
Then came a meek reply, throat dry with the abruptness of it. “Of course.”
“Second: there will be no emotional involvement.”
“Loud and clear.” She lied through her teeth.
It was manageable; it had to be! A wise man had once advised her to cross a bridge only upon reaching it. This, however, was a bridge she pretended did not exist.
Thador registered the hesitation in her answer and promptly dismissed it. He had no appetite for such discourse, and the repercussions of pursuing the issue further did not seem desirable in the slightest.
He continued. “Last: if one of us walks away, the other will not contest it.”
Merlin involuntarily smiled, though it did not quite reach her eyes.
“Ah. Always prepared for retreat.”
He often chose not to comment, but he had lived long enough to recognize when a remark carried an accusation, implying he already had one foot turned toward the door.
One day, inevitably, one of them would walk away when circumstances demanded it. But it was far too early to decide who that would be, and Thador had no intention of being assigned a future he had not yet chosen.
“Do not mistake it. It applies to both of us.”
“Did I imply otherwise?”
She regretted it instantly as she noticed Thador’s eyebrows draw taut.
The air around them stilled as she tapped her fingers lightly against the wooden table, more to steady herself than to be impatient. Both seemed keen to drop the subject and would rather move on to the next one.
Merlin, at the very least, knew what was important to her. “And… how does one formally invoke this arrangement?”
Oh, the speed at which she pivoted made his head throb. He could already feel the beginnings of a headache forming, and he had only himself to blame.
“If either of us wishes to see the other, ask for private counsel. Keep the subject plain enough that no one would pry.”
Thador paused there, granting her the chance to amend anything she deemed unfit.
“Clear. Anything else?”
“Indris and Ravion notice more than they reveal. Do not assume carelessness will go unseen.”
“Understood.”
Merlin was rarely so… accommodating when desires were involved. For as long as he had known her, Merlin’s whims were always calculated, and her compliance was only a facade for later defiance.
Carefully, he added, “I had expected you to invoke it immediately.”
She tilted her head, eyes innocent all the while.
“Would you want me to?”
Ah, there it was. The Merlin that he knew.
The mage leaned toward him, already testing the very same boundaries she had agreed to mere moments ago, eyes alight with her signature mischief.
“It would be ill-timed,” was all he could offer after a fraction too long.
“Mmm,” his pointy ears perked at the familiar lilt of her voice. “Yet you didn’t say no.”
The silence that followed was not empty.
It thickened around them, stubborn as dough that hadn’t been properly floured. Her taunt drew him to his feet as each step he took erased the distance between them. Merlin lifted her chin just slightly, eyes tracking his approach in anticipation.
His face remained composed as it always had, but the action he took was answer enough. Merlin loved the way his unraveling made itself known. In fact, she thrived on it.
Thador then dipped his head, his mouth settling merely a breath from her ear.
Close enough that she could feel the steadiness of him, and beneath it, the slight fracture was unmistakable. Close enough to catch the familiar trace of steel and wood on him, the scent she often found herself noticing on the most mundane things whenever she craved his presence.
And wasn’t that tiny little slip what made the victory so satisfying?
“Correct. I did not.”
The admission was delivered deliberately flat, yet it made her shiver all the same.
A smug retort had already formed at the tip of her tongue as her lips parted, ready to welcome him into her embrace again and again. There had to be a point where Thador, in all the discipline and trained composure he had honed over a lifetime, knew when to succumb to temptation.
And yet he moved away first; a sheet of parchment slipped between them instead, his handwritten notes pressed lightly into her palm, slightly crumpled from the force of her grip.
“However, I am of the view that it must wait.”
The words were careful, and he drew back just as calculated as he had leaned in. The man appeared entirely unrattled, as if overturning her composure and rearranging it at will had been nothing more than a tactical drill.
“You could find matters requiring your attention on that note I just gave you. We look forward to your input.”
The chamber regained its shape around them. Merlin’s eye twitched, unmistakably so. It could have warranted a notation in the council minutes.
Oh, he would pay for that!
The man had already pivoted toward the door before she could even load her carefully prepared retort, the smart one that usually threw him off balance.
“If there’s nothing else, I will escort you back to your chamber.”
But nothing of substance came no matter how hard she racked her brain.
“Very well. If you must.” Her tone was so flat it might have impressed him under different circumstances.
The walk through the corridor was quiet.
So quiet that both of them wondered whether walking shoulder to shoulder had been wise at all. It felt almost like a walk of shame to her, to the point she considered sprinting ahead just to leave him behind. But Merlin, chaotic gremlin that she was, refused to grant him the satisfaction of having the upper hand. And so, she endured.
The jaded corridor and worn carpet hissed faintly with each step, the only witnesses to her restraint from clawing his face for toying with her.
That had been her role!
Merlin did not realize they had reached her chamber until Thador stopped. He offered a small nod, the sort he had practiced his entire life.
“Good night,” he offered, just the barest of courtesies.
Thador might have learned how to play, but she would not be the first to break.
“You think you have outsmarted me at my own game?” Her irritation curled around every word. “Best believe your victory is temporary.”
The reply came from the most unlikely place.
“A win nonetheless. That suffices.”
Merlin slammed the door shut.
The sound reverberated down the corridor, tolling like a victory bell. Thador remained where he stood, and against his will, the smallest twitch appeared at the corner of his mouth. It was a rare point in his favor, born of the patience he had always tucked between his ribcage.
Who would have expected that something as small as teasing her would send the mage retreating? Not him, and definitely not her either.
On the other side of the door, Merlin exhaled sharply as she leaned on the wooden divider. Her hand twitched with irritation as she forced herself to cast a spell she had recently grown quite fond of: the soundproofing spell.
A thin, transparent globe sealed around her.
And there, she screamed.
────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────
notes: Funnily enough the more I like the characters, the more I want them to suffer… so they’re not getting their release anytime soon LOL
Anyway I’ve been listening to my old playlist and stumbled upon a song whose melody does not fit the tone of this fic at all BUT the lyrics hit somehow?! The song is Coming Over by James Hersey (filous remix) if you wanna give it a go!
got myself off my ass to go through the Reverse 1999's chapters I've been neglecting and thought I'd do some style studies from it with uuuh decidedly not Reverse 1999 characters
your thador fics are literally helping me get through rough times omg :’) I love your writing sm and you write him so so well
hey omg you have NO idea how happy this makes me! writing isn't my strong suit (neither is drawing ngl but im more comfortable with it) so when I receive a positive feedback like this it makes my heart flutter hehe! im SO GLAD you enjoyed my Thador too ٩>ᴗ<)و
here's a sneak peek of the next chapter of "restraint is somewhat optional" do look forward to it! (and, if you want, drop me a msg here/twitter im happy if you want to gush about fictional old men tgt ٩(ˊᗜˋ*)و ♡)
rating/tags: M / size difference, denial of feelings, situationships, eventual relationship, making out, suggestive theme, explicit
words: 4.8k
summary:
“I’d like to discuss this, uh,” Merlin faltered for the briefest moment. “You know. The things we shared back then.”
The pause stretched to what felt like an eternity, deafening them both.
Thador blinked once. Perhaps his hearing had failed him, but he pressed on with what he thought he had heard: “That’s rather direct. I had assumed we were both committed to not acknowledging it.”
— in which Thador and Merlin revisit an arrangement made under very, very different circumstances.
After what went down in Sal’thorin, Indris and Ravion quickly understood that “toppling an entire system” came with follow-up responsibilities. Which, perhaps, was something that they had not adequately equipped themselves for.
Demands poured in from every corner of the city, pleas of help stacked up high on top of another, all urgent and somehow contradictory. Satisfying everyone was impossible, they knew that at the very least. Indris would be lucky if he could finish a sentence without the dissatisfied crowd threatening to implode in the city square.
They both knew that restoring order meant finding someone who understood the hierarchy inside and out, which, unfortunately, meant relying on one of the surviving exarchs.
Not Ravion, no, as he had never bothered with the technicalities.
Considering how they had fought tooth and nail to dismantle the system, it was ironic that they now had to piece it back together to restore order in Sal’thorin. This time, at least, they could choose what stayed and what to disregard: birth no longer dictated a citizen’s place, and yet, a framework of hierarchy taking the form of bureaucratic and military structures was still deemed necessary.
“Which brings right to the point, Merlin, and the reason we’re all here is to ask for your generosity!”
Ravion clasped his hands together, head tilting just enough to deploy the expression that had swayed councils and crowds alike.
“Indris and I are already staying here, having relinquished most of our assets for Sal’thorin’s recovery. It seems only fitting that our esteemed General now follow suit.”
The man being referenced tapped his foot in annoyance, wincing as he did. “I did not delay out of attachment, you knew that. The transfer had to be executed properly and the delay was the price of doing it correctly.”
“I hope you don’t see this as us taking advantage of your kindness,” Indris raised a hand to interject. “This would only be temporary until proper lodgings for all three of us become available in Sal’thorin. As you know, every available hand is currently assigned to converting the castle into an administrative building.”
Merlin blinked slowly, absorbing the information from three different mouths at once. It made sense for them to stay here and arrange the logistics in her place, now that the Camellosus had docked near Green Cap Valley, slightly to the south.
“You and Ravion already have a room each,” the mage said, blinking once more. “You just need an extra room, right?”
Indris stopped, glanced at the man who had freshly arrived at the house, then added carefully, “Yes, for him. I hope you have no issue with… Thador?”
“Why would I be?” Merlin waved a hand a little too quickly. She glanced at Thador, cleared her throat, then, after a pause, very deliberately addressed the other two. “That reminds me, the meeting room you requested should be ready by tomorrow.”
“Beautiful! Rest assured, you will be repaid once we’re finished wading through this particular pile of bullshit.” Ravion said, elbowing the man beside him. “I hope you have not gone senile, old man. This is the part where you thank her.”
His right hand rested over his chest as he bowed deeply. And she felt it then, a hitch in her breath, hopefully small enough to miss.
“I thank you for your hospitality, Merlin.”
Thador wondered, albeit only briefly, if the others noticed the slight tension in her shoulders when he addressed her. In a very short timeframe he repeatedly told himself that it was nothing. Whatever they had between them was best forgotten.
It hadn’t meant anything, and it couldn’t have.
It shouldn’t have.
“Let’s get you to your room, er—” she paused for a moment, unsure what to call him now, as if his name were a foreign word on her tongue. Pity, for he knew that was not the case. “General Thador. I hope it’s alright that your room is quite far from Ravion and Indris.”
“Just Thador is fine.” He straightened himself, voice flat. “The farther the better. If you ask for my opinion, that is.”
“Ha. Hilarious.” The pink-haired man deadpanned, while Indris sighed as he was clearly the only one who thought internal friction was unnecessary. “Make sure you’re up early to discuss our next move tomorrow.”
Thador scoffed, not bothering to look at him again.
—
Hours passed after he settled into his new room. Simpler than what he had been entitled to in Sal’thorin, but a man in his current position didn’t get to be picky.
He should be grateful that the ex-prince and the city’s hero still found him useful enough to keep around. Otherwise, he would have been surviving on whatever the land offered him in exile. Not that he would have minded, as surviving was his forte. The people who chose to follow him, however, didn’t share the same constitution as his own.
It mattered little now, with his followers back in Sal’thorin, even if it wasn’t the home they had envisioned.
He lay on the so-so bed to rest his weary bones (no doubt Ravion was enduring the same less-than-extravagant accommodations, such a small comfort in his equally weary heart). The man eventually let his head fall back against the pillow while considering the unfairness of his age and circumstance: people his age were probably playing with grandchildren in their holiday cabins, not… this. Whatever this was supposed to be.
Thador shifted onto his side, and the bed creaked. He squinted at the sound; the creak was unnecessarily loud, or perhaps he had simply grown too spoiled in wealth when he was still an exarch in Sal’thorin. He turned over and lay on his back again, planning to stare at the ceiling while waiting for sleep to take him into tomorrow.
The bed creaked. Again.
A soft knock on his door dragged him away from his annoyance, though he still frowned at the sound. He hadn’t been expecting any visitors, already eyeing every piece of furniture as a potential makeshift weapon lest his sword failed him.
“It’s me,” said a voice he knew all too well. Perhaps once his favorite, though he’d rather die than to admit it out loud. “Are you asleep?”
“A moment.”
At least his voice was steadier than his racing thoughts.
The bed creaked in protest as he rose to answer the door. A quick peek through the narrow gap, and there she stood, in loose pajamas while smiling ear to ear. Her hands were holding a bottle of trouble and two empty glasses. It might have been endearing if they hadn’t been at each other’s throats mere months ago.
The house’s owner wiggled the bottle in front of his face. “I think you deserve a welcome party.”
Thador sighed, already knowing this would not bode well for either of them.
“There’s no saying no to you, is there?”
“Eh.”
Not many things managed to wear him down. This, however, was beginning to test his limits.
Firstly, the responsibility of those who had chosen to follow him into reclaiming their hometown and stick with the status quo. Though that chapter had ended with their return to Sal’thorin, reintegrating into its society was proving far from simple.
Then there was the matter of Indris and Ravion: former adversaries rarely made comfortable allies, and humility was an adjustment he had not anticipated enjoying. It wasn’t as if they had been on friendly terms before everything went to ruin, either.
And then, her.
What the others didn’t know was what had been shared between them. Behind closed doors, he and Merlin had shared something closer, far closer than what was allowed. It was meant to be a single indulgence, or so they told themselves. Unsurprisingly, once became twice, then it became whatever time they could steal until the chaos put an abrupt end to it.
Worse still, there had been no closure when they parted ways.
“I know this isn’t exactly what you’re used to, but I hope it’ll do,” Merlin said, glancing around the room and patting the bed as if to test its comfort for her newest guest. She then took a seat in one of the chairs by the window, already pouring the liquor she had brought with her.
His feet felt glued to the floor as he closed the door behind him, anticipating her next move.
“It suffices. Thank you.”
Merlin gestured toward the empty chair by the window with a familiarity that had been absent since they last went their own ways. He hesitated, briefly unsure what distance was expected of him. Yet standing there in his own room felt stranger still. So he sat where she asked him to, and she handed him the glass directly instead of setting it down.
Of course he took it graciously, but the brief brush of her fingers pulled him somewhere he hadn’t gone in a very long time:
“Thador.”
Her mouth parted slightly, eyes bleary, tears trickling down her pretty face. And Thador knew damn well he was the cause of it all.
She sobbed his name over and over again like it was the only word she had left, her hips bucking clumsily to meet his broken, punishing rhythm, as she desperately clenched around his cock like she couldn’t live without it.
“Harder, please, ah— harder—”
He growled at her taunt, his calloused hand gripping her hip to hold her in place while his other reached up, forcing his thumb past her swollen lips. The mouth that once quipped smart jabs now shaped nothing but pleas. To witness a renowned mage in this very pathetic state was something he could never get enough of. He craved it, and he craved her so.
She latched onto it instantly, her tongue swirling around the digit akin to a whore paid to finish the job, drool spilling from the corners of her mouth while muffled moans vibrated against his skin.
“I can't— please, please, please I need you to break me—”
Eyes rolled back in humiliated bliss, her mind blank, body trembling on the edge as she begged around his thumb—
“Hello, earth to Thador?”
Thador cleared his throat, belatedly aware of her watching him, her eyes crinkled with mischief. He’d seen that look many times before in the stolen hours they managed to meet, and it never ended well.
“You look like you’ve just remembered something you’d rather not.”
He cursed himself silently, half-hard and twitching underneath that robe of his. That memory was neither appropriate nor useful, and he had no intention of indulging it. Not now, at the very least, not when the woman involved was right in front of him demanding his immediate focus.
“I got distracted, is all.”
Again and again his mind wandered to why she seemed so intent on spending time with him at all; no one thought he was a great conversationalist. His gaze drifted instead to the amber liquid in her glass, rippling as she swirled it, her thumb lazily tracing the rim before she finally spoke.
“Honestly, I was surprised that you’re here.”
“Convenience. Ravion and Indris insisted that I should be within reach to discuss matters regarding the rebuilding of Sal’thorin.”
“And the people who followed you?” He always noticed the tilt of her head, the lilt of her voice. It was infuriating how cute she looked while doing that. “How are they faring, assimilating into the new Sal’thorin?”
“They’ll be fine.”
The conviction came easily, then softened after a split second. “I’m personally seeing to it.”
There was a hint of faint amusement in what she said: “For someone who looks like they could crush bones with their bare hands, you sure are soft.”
His shoulders shifted groggily in response, a reflex he hadn’t yet unlearned.
Then she lifted her glass toward him. The room was dim, outside light crashing against the window and bouncing across the floor. Her lips curved into a smile he had always abhorred simply because she knew exactly what it did to him.
(And that he would succumb to it every fucking time.)
“To Sal’thorin.”
Thador still hesitated to follow suit, wary of what might follow after: “To Sal’thorin.”
The clink came soft when their glasses touched, lingering long enough for the moment to grow taut. Neither of them seemed quite sure who should pull away first, but Thador did anyway.
Thador finished the drink in one go and drew in a sharp breath. He remembered an idle conversation they had shared months ago in his bed, his hand resting at her waist as they lay together: her preference for stronger spirits over the sweet wines Sal’thorin offered its guests. Gods above, she hadn’t been exaggerating when she said she preferred strong.
“Is this to your liking?” Her other hand reached for the bottle, already moving to pour another for him, though her own glass remained full.
“Stronger than I expected, and you drink this often?”
“Perfect when you’re trying to distract your mind from the piling work.” Merlin handed him the glass again, now refilled, the strong liquor rippling ever so slightly with the motion of her hands. “Thought you might need it.”
He accepted it with a small nod, though his gaze lingered on her still-full glass. An eyebrow lifted. “I doubt you came all this way merely to offer drinking advice.”
“Hmm. Sharp as ever.”
Merlin opened her mouth, closed it again, and finally just downed the liquor in her hand in one go. No matter how delectable it was, she still winced when it burned all the way down her throat. She then sucked in a deep breath, as if preparing to say something very important.
“I’d like to discuss this, uh,” Merlin faltered for the briefest moment. “You know. The things we shared back then.”
The pause stretched to what felt like an eternity, deafening them both.
Thador blinked once. Perhaps his hearing had failed him, but he pressed on with what he thought he had heard: “That’s rather direct. I had assumed we were both committed to not acknowledging it.”
This time she cleared her throat, his pointed ears twitching at the sound. Their eyes met, and Merlin felt the strong, immediate urge to drown her nerves in yet another gulp.
“Ugh. I’m definitely not drunk enough for this.”
Disbelief crept into his mind as he watched the mage take another shot without hesitation. He was unsure whether to keep a clear head for whatever she was about to say or follow in her steps. Thador waited instead, entertained by the prospect of how this might unfold.
Perhaps this time, she would be the one to instigate her own undoing. And he was secretly willing to pay money to bear witness to it.
“I was so sure it would end. Either by mutual agreement, or if one of us perished in battle. I thought either way wouldn’t matter,” she said slowly, as if feeling her way through the thought. “So long as I had closure on the arrangements between us.”
His mouth twitched slightly, amused at how she fumbled her own words. “An absurd way to admit you wanted me dead.”
“Didn’t you ever wish the same upon me?” The question came too quickly, almost defensively. “Point being, it was fun while it lasted because I knew there would be an end to it. But now we practically live under the same roof, working toward the same goal to rebuild Sal’thorin.”
Merlin hesitated, then quickly added, barely above a whisper, so soft that even the rustling wind outside seemed louder. “And I wouldn’t be bringing this up if I didn’t think it was still tempting.”
Thador wasn’t planning to let her off the hook yet. This time, he would be the one to tease her relentlessly. He had been quietly keeping a tally of how many times he’d been undone by that smart mouth of hers, and now he thought he might claim a point for himself.
“Careful. You’re being reckless with your words.”
“If I wanted to be careful, I wouldn’t be talking to you at all. In your room.”
“Where is this conversation going exactly, Merlin?”
“You know where this is going.”
He pondered for a moment, expression unreadable. He knew, gods above, he knew. But satisfaction still eluded him like a slippery eel, and today he saw no reason to hurry her past the discomfort she once wielded so easily against him.
“I have a general sense of it. The particulars remain unclear, however.”
“Don’t pretend you don’t understand,” she eventually scoffed at him. “But fine. You want me to spell it out? I’ll indulge you.”
Frustration coiled inside her chest, brows taut in annoyance. Merlin hesitated, choosing her words carefully as she measured how much truth to offer. Whatever she chose, it would not be all of it. Certainly not without him meeting her halfway.
“I’m just trying to figure out why seeing you again feels… unfinished. In a sense.”
“Perhaps because you refuse to let it end,” Thador said flatly.
“Oh, it ended for you?” Sarcasm dripped out from her mouth, a mock laugh followed short after. “The way you were ogling at me suggested otherwise.”
“You are asking me to revisit a matter that was settled.”
“But you know it didn’t.” The words lingered between them, waiting to be acknowledged. “If it had, you would’ve said so. To my face.”
Impatience splattered across her face as she watched him stare back at her, likely weighing what to say next. He could feign indifference all he wanted, but they had spent enough time together for her to recognize his tells: the very faint flicker in his eyes, as if searching for an answer he didn’t want to give.
Unsurprisingly, Merlin had managed to wrest control of the moment, and even he knew it. The point he thought he might claim dissolved before he could reach for it.
“Go on.” There it was, the lilt in her voice that had always driven him to the brink of insanity. “Say you don’t want me.”
“Or,” he said, voice low, “say that you do want me. See where that leads.”
That did it.
Whatever restraint she had been clinging to snapped. Merlin rose so abruptly her chair scraped against the floor, closing the distance before he could fully process the movement. Her fingers caught the fabric at his collar, hard enough to draw a sharp breath from him.
“You don’t get to play coy, old man. I do. That’s my thing.”
Thador lifted his chin just enough to meet her gaze properly, eyes steady despite the closeness.
“I want our arrangement to continue,” Merlin wrestled the words out of herself, landing heavy and clear, just as intended.
His reply came measured, the kind of phrasing she knew he only used when he was guarding something, perhaps very much himself. “I am not opposed to continuing it. I am trying to keep it from becoming complicated.”
A pause, his eyes flickering ever so faintly for the nth time today. “When feelings are involved, that is what I meant.”
“That’s it? That’s your concern?”
He studied her for a long moment, clearly unconvinced by her rhetoric.
“I won’t let feelings complicate it.”
Feelings had never been part of the equation for her. The fact that Thador was concerned about it threw her off a little, as their arrangement had always been purely physical this whole time. Confidence radiating from the way she carried herself, as though the entire matter were somewhat beneath her.
“I’m not the one hesitating, Thador. You are.”
He scoffed at her accusation. “Please. I have lived longer with restraint than without it.”
“Strange, because I’ve seen you abandon restraint more times than you’d admit.”
“I’ve faltered, yes. Yet feelings were never part of it.”
Gods, if only she would stop provoking him.
"Whatever name you give it, it still sounds to me like you’re losing ground.”
Before he could react to her taunt, Merlin swung a leg over to straddle the older man’s lap, settling her weight onto his thick, muscular thighs. The loose fabric of his pants tented slightly beneath her, half-hard cock twitching underneath.
His body went rigid beneath her, shoulders tightening in surprise. Still, his hands rose on instinct, sliding up her back to support her, calloused fingers following the familiar curve of her spine. Thador would rather place his tombstone and bury himself than admit how great a match they were.
But gods above, they were, in every way that mattered.
The realization struck him even as his hands remained where they were: this was a huge mistake. The kind of mistake he would make again and again as long as she was there.
“This is your welcome gift,” she murmured against his lips, her voice sweet and silky with a promise she was very likely to deliver a hundred times over. “Let me remind you what we’ve always been.”
The stillness she maintained pressed against him, drawn out until Merlin leaned in, pressing a soft, chaste kiss to his lips. It felt almost holy; a rekindling of stolen intimacies they were never meant to share in the shadowed corners of Sal’thorin, now resurfacing from the past to stake its claim on the pair who could never quite escape it.
Thador returned it in kind, holding onto the familiar sensation knowing it was worth engraving into his memory all over again.
He was the first to draw back, lingering just long enough for her to wonder. Long enough for her to bask on his sculpted features as if she were seeing him for the first time. How unfair, she thought, that the years had made him devastatingly regal. Light slipped through the window and caught him just so, shameless in its admiration, urging Merlin aside so it might also claim a closer look.
“Come here.”
It was low and demanding, it left her no room to refuse. Not that she would have, anyway. If anything, Merlin had been waiting for it.
Thador was the one to tip the balance. It began as a measured kiss, testing the boundaries of what was still allowed between them. But it didn't take long for it to shift into a more demanding one, as his beard scraped her chin when he kissed her, fingers dug into the soft flesh of her waist, and tongue slipped past her lips to claim her with a barely restrained hunger.
“Ah—”
It was overwhelming in the way she craved on lonely nights, the kind she could never quite get enough of from him.
Her small frame trembled as she ground harder against him in slow, insistent rolls. The poor mage was hoping that her feeble attempt would satisfy a fraction of her needs that were put aside for quite a while. The ache between her legs grew ever more prominent; she was so, so close to getting what she was after from him.
Merlin reached for the half-full liquor bottle on the end table beside his seat, and she tipped it back for a generous swig, so very recklessly it almost left him in awe. This time, she welcomed the burning sensation of the liquor as it slid down her throat.
Eventually, she tipped the bottle toward his parted lips, her free hand tugging at the tie of his robe, loosening the fabric.
The dark-coloured liquid spilled in a slow trickle, catching the light as it traced his lips and slipped lower and lower to his neck and now-bare chest, leaving a wet trail for her to admire. Thador did not move to stop her; restraint had almost always failed him where she was involved.
“Fuck, Merlin—”
A low sound escaped him, and it sent a quiet thrill through her. Merlin took it as the first crack in the composure he so often claimed to possess. She tucked it away in her mind, certain she would revisit the memory later at her leisure.
Thador gritted his teeth, his cock fully erect now, grinding against her veiled core as the liquor soaked into his skin, the strong scent of it mingling with his arousal. Frustration tightened in his chest as he knew all too well how impossible it was to resist her. Yet a single thread of clarity barely held him together to urge restraint where he had failed many, many times before.
He stilled before it went any further, forcing his forehead to rest against hers.
“Wait,” the man rasped, his hand steadfast on her arm, “Not like this.”
Merlin looked at him, breath uneven. She tilted her head, surprise colored her face. “Mmm. Change your mind?”
“I want to revisit this. With a clearer head and even clearer terms.”
She blinked once, processing what just came out from his mouth.
This was new. Their arrangement had never come with pauses or discussions before and only ever relied on unspoken understandings. Now he was naming it, asking them to slow down. The change unsettled her in a way she did not immediately understand, but would, eventually.
“Listen to you: clearer terms, timing... Dura above, you really are a general through and through.”
Her thumb brushed absently along the sleeve of his robe, a touch far gentler than her teasing jabs. So tender, too tender it almost set off a quiet alarm in Thador’s mind. It was a foreign thing to him, and even the faintest exposure of it left his mouth bitter.
She studied him for a moment longer, then surprised him by easing back just a little, her weight still resting on his lap.
“Fine, we can talk later.” A smile touched her lips. “I’m patient, and you even more so.”
The man inclined his head slightly, the closest thing to gratitude he’d allow. Merlin arched a brow in response, amused at how quickly he was about to pivot.
As if caught red-handed, Thador looked away. “And for the record, the bed requires immediate attention. It… creaks.”
The air between them stiffened, then cracked in the very next moment.
Merlin burst out laughing, the sound catching even her by surprise. She pressed a hand to her mouth, earning a questioning look from the man, likely wondering if he’d said something inappropriate.
“Dura above!” Merlin managed between stuttered breaths. “Every time I think I have you figured out!”
When the laughter finally softened, she leaned into him without thinking. Her arms rising from his waist and threading beneath his arms, until they draped across his shoulders while she remained settled on his lap. She held him there, head resting on his broad shoulder, smiling against the crook of his neck.
The man stiffened at first, but the resistance faded almost immediately, and so he remained where he was.
Their breathing gradually entwined, settling into the same unhurried rhythm. Outside, the breeze restlessly banged against the window, as if it, too, wanted to partake in a reunion long denied. Two people who were never meant to linger like this, letting the moment stretch into something unprecedented, unnamed and achingly familiar.
Merlin’s arms tightened around him again before she could think better of it. Her lips brushed his neck, the words spilling out on instinct, spoken with a fondness she hadn’t realized she was capable of.
“I missed you.”
And the words marinated there for a while, the total silence between them unsettled her.
Oh.
Oh no.
Her eyes flew wide open, as if she had just recited a spell that nearly got someone killed, her body stiffening against his as her hold loosened. This—this!—was perhaps the feeling he had warned her about, the one she had been so absolutely sure would never get in the way. It was never supposed to be part of the equation, and yet here it was, ransacking straight through the certainty she carried.
The man froze completely, every muscle locked in place as if he no longer trusted himself to move. Merlin could not have missed it.
“As a friend!” she added, far too quickly and far too loudly, panic arriving a moment too late. “Of course. I mean, what else could it be?”
They had hung that word between them again and again during their prior meetings. This time, it landed wrong, both ridiculous and irreversible.
They both closed their eyes in shared, immediate regret.
It was almost comical how clearly they could see it now. The trap of feelings lay right in front of them, so obvious it was borderline insulting. And yet they stepped into it anyway, insisting it could still be kept free of feeling.
Restraint slipped from him thread by thread. His calloused fingers betrayed discipline, stroking through her hair, tangling at the crown. This time, his body refused to wait for his mind, unwilling to rationalize what it had already chosen.
The mountain. The steadfast. What a joke. The way he failed himself so spectacularly in this moment stripped him of any right to those titles once bestowed upon him.
His breath grew heavier, his thoughts no longer sharp or useful.
And then, a low mumble left him before he could stop it.
