Featured character: Emmrich Volkarin x virgin!fem!Rook reader
Rating: 18+
Word count: 4400 of pure love and filth~
Description: Combining your tied votes of Rook’s first time with soft dom Emmrich~
WARNINGS: | virginity loss | all the sex | gentle dom and light bondage | possessive Emmrich | lots of pet names |
How is it possible? I’ve faced down the deadliest people and entities the world has to offer. So how… how can the sweet, ever thoughtful, adorably nerdy professor manage to intimidate me?
His breath is warm on the back of my neck as I scour the bookshelf. “What are you looking for, my dear? Perhaps I may offer my assistance.”
Gods help me. “Emmrich! You surprised me.”
He chuckles, low and languid, just like our time off is meant to be. “And here I thought it would be impossible for someone to sneak up on you.” His gold-laden hand gently rests on my back, and he graces me with his laugh again. “My my, feel how your heart races. I really did surprise you, didn’t I?”
I swallow hard, his voice in my ear, his body practically pressed against mine. We’ve been paramours for all of three days, and I am already entirely at his mercy. I’m frozen, flush creeping up my neck.
“Hm?”
I start as his other hand moves on top of mine. His long fingers trace the embossed title on the spine of the book.
“Embalming Techniques? Are you considering a new hobby, darling?”
“I- what? No! No, I just… Emmrich, you’re killing me.”
I hear the slight intake of breath behind me before his hand moves further down my back.
“Oh? Goodness, I am flattered that my mere presence has such an effect on you, dearest.” He presses his lips to my ear, slowly sliding his fingertips from my hand to my wrist. With a slow, gentle motion, he pins it to the shelf.
My heart speeds up. “Emmrich…?”
“I know we’ve not been together long, at least not officially. But there is something I wish to speak with you about. Hm, it seems that perhaps it has been on your mind as well. But I do not want to rush things.”
I glance over my shoulder at him, his eyes sparkling and close.
“I recall something you mentioned once at dinner. That you have never been with anyone romantically.” At my waist, his hand gently strokes lower, teasing at my hip. “I adore you, and would like very much to treat you in every way with the love you deserve. Would you permit me to introduce you to such pleasures, my darling?”
He presses a kiss to the back of my neck, his fingers pressing more firmly against my hip.
“You’re sure…?”
“I am. More than you could ever know. I long to hold you in my arms, to kiss every inch of your skin.” Teasing his teeth ever so lightly over the shell of my ear, his grip on my wrist tightens. “I want to make you come apart and show me all of you. To discover all that your body and soul have yet to divulge.”
Leaning closer, he kisses the corner of my mouth. “Will you entrust yourself to me, my Rook?”
A small keening whine escapes me, and all I can do I nod. “I love you, Emmrich.”
I can see enough of his face to watch his features melt into a lovestruck expression that just makes my heart squeeze even more. So too I watch that look quickly morph into something sharper, hungry. Those sage green eyes take on a predatory gleam as he pulls me into his arms with more force than expected.
“Ah!” My knees are weak as he practically drags me to the small bedroom off the side of the study. Although we’ve slept together the last three nights, my nerves rattle just as much as the first. This time will be more than polite touches and innocent cuddling.
He pushes me against the wall, putting his hand behind my head to keep it from getting bumped. Just as quickly, his lips are on mine.
I melt into his kiss, letting him conquer my mouth as he likes. His heated sighs make my hips jolt against his, over and over. I gasp as he takes one of my hands and pins it over my head. His fingers lace into my hair and hold me firmly. My own moans grow more pathetic as blissful minutes pass.
When he finally breaks away, he rests his forehead against mine. “Forgive me, darling, there is something about you that brings out a rather… aggressive side of me. How uncouth, I ought to-“
“No!” I cut him off a little more eagerly than I mean to.
His eyes widen in surprise, and his lips turn up almost imperceptibly. “Oh? Do you… enjoy when I am more firm with you? I wish only to hold you close and cherish you. Never would I do anything to you that you hated.”
I bite my lip, avoiding his intense gaze. “…I think I’m discovering new things about myself, of late. Emmrich… I trust you. I love you. I need you so badly, and I want nothing more than to submit to you. Please, show me what these feelings mean.”
Lips parting in a huff of breath, he takes my other hand and traps it, holding them both in one of his own. “As you wish, my dear. You will tell me if you dislike anything, understood?”
I nod, my skin hot. “Yes sir.”
Emmrich’s eyes again take on that edge, and I can’t help but clench my thighs together. No sooner have I done that, he forces his knee between them, pressing it against me.
“Ah,” he chides. “I will be the one to pleasure you.”
He kisses me again, his free hand unbuttoning my shirt. Despite his eagerness, his touch is slow, deliberate as he slips his jewelled fingers beneath the fabric to stroke my breast.
I sigh against his mouth as he gently begins to fondle me. His touch is reverent, sensual, exploring my skin thoroughly as he slips my clothes away one piece at a time.
He releases my hands just long enough to slip my shirt off completely, then kneels down to unlace my shoes. He presses kisses to my stomach as he removes the rest. When all that remains are my undergarments, he meets my eye as he slips his fingers beneath them to tug them down my thighs.
I feel so exposed as he slowly stands, his eyes taking in every inch of me before boxing me against the wall with his arms.
“You are stunning, my dear. How fortunate that you are mine, mine alone.” He buries his face in my neck, kissing and mouthing along my collarbone. “No one else will see you. You belong to me now.” He trails a hand up my arm, softly wrapping it around my neck. He applies no pressure, his touch is soft and light. Safe. Yet his message is clear. “Say it for me, will you?”
My heart hammers in my chest, and it takes some will to not cover myself in the face of his eager gaze. Instead I wrap an arm around his neck and slide my hand into his hair. “I-I’m yours, Emmrich.”
He groans and wraps his free arm around my waist. “Good girl.” With his hand still lightly on my throat, he kisses me again. His tongue explores and dominates my own, eagerly swallowing every sound I make. Every sound of his makes me wetter, and I pull my hips back.
“I’ll- mmph, ruin your slacks- Em-“
He chuckles and pulls away, leaving both of us panting. “How considerate of you. Very well then.”
With his hair slightly mussed, he holds my eye, still catching his breath as he unbuckles his belt. “Put your hands out for me, sweetheart.”
My eyes widen, but trusting him, I do as I’m told. He smiles, though it’s more of a smirk as he uses the belt to bind my hands together. Pushing them back over my head, he teases the sensitive skin of my hip and murmurs in my ear, “Keep them here.”
I nod, biting my lip as a bead of wetness slips down my thigh.
He steps back and makes me watch as he removes his clothes piece by piece. He tosses them over a chair with the rest of mine before coming back to press himself against me.
“So obedient for me, aren’t you? You enjoy being ordered around by me? Being bound and subject to my will?” He kisses along my jaw, massaging my hips.
I whimper, panting as he pushes his knee between my thighs again. He groans as my wetness escapes all over his thigh.
“My, it seems you like it indeed.” His eyes glitter with a dark mischief. “What else do you want me to do to you?”
I flounder at his question, unsure. “I-I don’t know.”
“No? You’ve not fantasised about me? Do you want whips? Chains? Wax? Toys?” He chuckles and licks up my neck. “Should I bring in some of the others to watch one of these days?”
My eyes widen in shock. “Wha- E-Emmrich!? Are you really into all those things??”
He laughs and runs a hand up to fondle my breast, gently tweaking my nipple between his fingers. “Perhaps, perhaps not. Do you like this leather, at least?” Tracing the belt binding my wrists, he grins and kisses me again. “Do you?”
“…Yes.”
Gripping my chin between his fingers, he leans close, his expression stern. “Yes sir.”
“Ah… y-yes sir.”
“Good. Now tell me what you want me to do next.” His thumb strokes over my lip, his eyes never leaving mine.
“…I want…”
“Hm? Use your words, sweetheart.”
My hips jerk as he lazily keeps his knee pressed between my legs. “Please, sir… I want to… feel your mouth on my chest.”
His eyes light up in delight and he rewards me with a kiss. “Do you now? Good girl. I will give you what you crave.”
Slowly, he kisses down my neck, bending down to rub a cheek against the side of my breast. His hands come to cup them, gently squeezing. Moving one away, he nuzzles the sensitive skin, kissing my peppled nipple then taking it into his mouth.
Without his leg between mine any longer, my hips buck against nothing. The warm wetness of his mouth and the skilled movements of his tongue make me moan and keen.
I arch against the wall as the cool gold on his fingers brushes my most sensitive places, in ways no one has ever touched me before.
“Emmrich… Gods just like that.”
He looks up at me from under his lashes. “Is it as you hoped it would be?”
The cheeky bastard goes back to pleasuring me with more intensity than before. Whatever answer I could have given is lost to the desperate, keening moans he draws from me.
And then he stops.
“Won’t you tell me? How will I know if I am meeting your expectations if you don’t tell me?”
I whimper and pout as he smiles innocently up at me. “Yes sir, it’s so good. Please dont stop.”
His ‘innocent’ smile loses its smirking edge as he returns to kiss down my body once again. “Good. How I delight in these delicious reactions of yours. Let’s see what else I can draw from you.”
Going down onto his knees, his hands work down my waist to my hips and thighs. I gasp as he pushes them apart a little more forcefully than is strictly necessary. He doesn’t bother hiding his smirk this time as he is afforded a clear view of my sex throb.
His lips work down my navel, teasingly slow until he reaches my mound, his hands never letting up their sensual exploration. Gentle fingertips dance down the meeting point of my hip and thigh, rubbing at the soft, sensitive skin.
Teasing ever upward, my hips buck towards him eagerly. He tuts his tongue and lightly smacks my thigh. “Now now, behave for me. How am I to work with you moving about so? Be a good girl and be still.”
“Mmph! I’ll try sir…”
“You’ll do more than try if you want me to continue.”
I tense at his threats, no place more intensely than between my legs.
The moment his nose brushes my clit, I fail. “Ah!”
With a stern look, suddenly I’m seeing stars as he places his open mouth to my folds, pulling them in his mouth and nibbling softly.
“What- ah! By the fade Emmrich!”
“Perhaps I’ll punish your disobedience with overstimulation, mm?”
My eyes start to fill with tears as the utterly overwhelming sensations wash over me one after another. His lips, tongue, teeth, and moustache seek out and stimulate every part of my dripping sex. Licking and sucking, he rubs his nose against my clit while his tongue prods at my opening.
I cry out and scream in ecstasy as he quickly learns from my reactions. “Em! Holy-“
Those graceful fingers push against my hips, one hand holding open my legs and the other shoving me back against the wall with every involuntary thrust of my hips. I struggle to keep my hands against the wall as he determinedly overstimulates me.
Crying out his name over and over, I eventually lose that battle. Dropping my hands down to his hair, I thread my fingers into the silky locks.
But then I gasp as he grabs my wrists, still wrapped in the belt. “Naughty, naughty girl,” he mutters, only looking up at me as he rubs his wet mouth against my inner thigh.
He gets up to his feet, his mussed hair hanging over one eye. He pulls my captive wrists to him as he pushes me towards the bed. His warm breath on my ear makes me shiver. “Can’t even follow simple instructions? Come now.”
Pushing me back onto the bed, he pauses to adjust his bangles before climbing onto me. He takes my bound wrists and pins them to the pillows above my head, leaning in to my neck.
“I only tried to take care of you, my darling. Yet you refuse to obey me? What shall I do to punish you?”
I whimper as he runs his lips and teeth down the curve of my neck. “I-I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t- ah! mean to…”
“Mm. You’ll have to persuade me of your penitence. Won’t you obey me properly this time?”
Squirming under his body, his knee working its was back between my legs, I mewl as he lavishes my heated skin with kisses and touches that seem rather more ill-composed than before.
The sheets rustle as he carefully rests more of his body weight on me, his gold jingling by my ear.
He hikes my leg over his hip and I groan as his cock presses against my thigh, nearly at full hardness. Nuzzling at my throat, he murmurs, “Well? Will you, dearest?”
“Yes! Yes, anything you say Emmrich. Please, touch me more.”
His eyes meet mine again, warm. “Good girl. Such a good girl for me.” Leaning closer, he kisses me again, wasting no time in slipping his tongue between my lips. Meanwhile, his hand moves between my thighs.
Running his fingertips through my wet folds, he teases at my entrance and gently presses against it. We both moan against each other’s mouths at the feeling as he sinks one inside.
My hips buck against his, and his own body responds. “Mm, you are so warm.”
I cry out as he presses his finger in a little deeper, rubbing at my sensitive walls. “Em! Oh!”
He pulls back to look into my eyes as he pulls and presses his ringed finger inside me. “How does it feel, my heart? Have you touched yourself this way before?”
I bite my lip and nod. “But it feels so much better when it’s you.”
“Oh? When you aren’t in control of the motions?” He smirks softly at my gasp as he eases the rest inside. “Do you like that I can reach deeper?”
Cries fall from my lips that he keeps nibbling at. Our bodies start moving in tandem in a small mimicry of what is to come. “Yes! Yes, Emmrich, Em, please yes…”
He releases my wrists to grab my chin, making me look at him as he presses a second finger to my entrance. “You’ll tell me if it is too much.”
With an eager nod, I feel my legs spread further instinctually. “Yes sir.”
His mouth is parted, hair somehow more dishevelled than before. Silver and black obscure his heated gaze as he eases me open for him. “You are taking this so well, my sweet. Such a pretty thing laid out like this.” His thumb rubs slow circles against my clit.
By the time he begins pressing a third into me, my body feels both light and heavy, driven by pure instinct as he thrusts them into me.
“Listen to you. Singing for me. I dare say I am already addicted to this saccharine sound.” Kissing over my face, he moves his hand from my chin to my neck, lightly holding it again. “I hope you are prepared, darling.”
“Em! Please, please I need you.”
He pulls back enough to look at me properly, and my heart speeds up. “Are you ready?” Tsking his tongue, his eyes take on mischief. “But are you sure? I am the one who is more experienced with such things after all. You really ought to yield to my knowledge.”
He scissors his fingers inside me, and my back arches off the bed violently. Groaning, he presses my hips back down with his own. “See? You are still much too wound up.”
We both cry out as he presses his hard cock against my clit, letting the small amount of friction as he moves his hand stimulate me further.
Squirming more, the pressure on my neck increases slightly. I choke out a moan and throb around his fingers, now abusing my most sensitive inner spot.
Emmrich’s eyes take on a gleam as he pushes me closer to the edge. “I want you to fall apart for me. Will you do that for me, dearest?”
“Yes! Em, I’m so close. Please, please don’t slow down!”
His nose brushes mine as he speeds up his motions. “Of course. Anything for you. Come for me, Rook. Let me feel you squeeze my fingers inside you. Let me feel your wetness gush out.”
I flush harder at his filthy words. “Em…!”
Moments later, he pushes me over the edge. I keep my eyes on him as he makes me release for the first time. The sensation washes over my whole body as I writhe and jerk beneath him. He uses more of his body weight to hold me down, his hand on my throat keeping me still enough to finish the job.
“Such a good girl. That’s it, just like that. Come apart for me. Fall apart and cry out my name.”
Tears slip down my cheeks as I finally catch my breath, whining and struggling as he begins to overstimulate me. “Emmrich! Em, that’s all! Please, I already came! Ah!”
“Oh? But you were naughty, remember? This is your punishment.” He chuckles and kisses my shoulder, releasing my neck.
I arch against him, struggling as he continues his relentless assault.
Smirking, he grabs my wrists again, pinning them down. “What was that about not moving? I think you need some training, my love.”
Shuddering and thrusting helplessly against his hand, I cry out his name again and again.
At last, he has mercy on me. “Are you ready now? My radiant girl.”
I nod mindlessly, finally allowed to catch my breath. He removes his hand, moving them both up by my head to rest for a moment. We stare into each other’s eyes, bodies and hair slightly damp with sweat. His foot moves back and forth over mine, his own energy pent up.
Smiling down at me, he leans forward to rest his head on one hand and moves the other to his mouth. Licking once, he then holds his wet fingers to my lips. “Be a good girl and clean me up, will you?”
Tentatively I open my mouth, letting him press his fingers inside, tasting my own essence. He groans as I lick and suck them clean, biting his lip with a furrowed brow.
“That’s it. Good girl. So lovely for me…”
Before I finish, he pulls his hand aside and captures my lips in a searing kiss. He’s ravenous, reaching down to align himself with my entrance.
“I need you, dearest. Please, grant me your first, and I swear to always be by your side.”
Another tear slips, overwhelmed physically and emotionally. “Of course, Emmrich, my love. Take me, please.”
He sighs heavily, his eyes glazed and laser focused on me. He lets his gaze run down my naked body before he presses more firmly against my entrance. “Then, my dear heart, accept me.”
With one arm braced by my head and the other on my hip, he holds my gaze as he slowly begins pushing his cock into me. Both our breath stutter as there’s a brief moment of catching. We both moan as he suddenly slips in a bit deeper.
He nuzzles my temple and murmurs my name again and again. “You feel heavenly, my darling. How do I deserve this pleasure? This honour of being the one to love you?”
I arch against him, my heart pounding as he slowly makes me open up for him. After a few overheated moments, he bottoms out, and we both moan.
“Em… So deep. I can feel you, all of you.”
He strokes my hair through my nonsensical rambling, matching it with his own senseless praise and words of love.
“Might I begin to move? Are you ready?”
I nod, burying my face in his neck. “Yes.”
“Yes sir.”
I cant help that I squeeze around him, and he laughs. “Y-yes sir.”
“Oh? Even now you wish for me to dominate you?” He chuckles and kisses my parted lips. “Well then, I’ll not worry about keeping your wrists bound.”
I gasp and whimper as he pulls back slowly, thrusting back in deeply. Every nerve is alight with the unfamiliar sensation and slight burn of the stretch.
With my wrists tied, I wrap my arms around his neck. He presses his forehead to mine, eyes burning like I’ve never seen as he thrusts into me slow and deep, again and again.
“So tight, goodness, are you sure I’m not hurting you?” he pants.
“No, Em, not at- no don’t stop!”
The grey curls of hair at his base stimulate my clit with every rock of his hips, and I try to match his motions.
He chuckles and peppers my face with more kisses. “No? Very well then.”
I buck and writhe beneath him with every thrust, mewling as the hand that had been comfortingly massaging my hip moves to my breast.
We exchange increasingly nonsensical words as he switches from shallow to deep, fast and slow. I hold him close, my legs wrapped around his waist.
He draws it out, slowing down every time the look in his eyes gets too manic as his own pleasure grows. Groping at my body, whispering filthy encouragements in my ear, making me wet enough to soak our thighs and the sheets below us. He rubs at my clit until it’s puffy and swollen like my entrance as he sweetly abuses my sex.
The pressure builds higher and higher after being overstimulated from the beginning, and my hips arch against his more desperately.
“Em, please, I can’t take it anymore. I need to come! Please sir!”
Emmrich moans and curses under his breath. “Such a good girl asking so nicely. Very well, darling. But don’t say you didn’t ask for this.”
I gasp as he grabs my hips, lifting them against his own for a better angle as he starts fucking me in earnest. The new tempo makes me scream, desperately gripping at the pillow behind me.
Looking up at him, haloed by the faint moonlight streaming in through the windows, I sink deeper into pleasure and subspace. “Emmrich!”
It doesn’t take long before he pushes me to the edge, and suddenly I’m tumbling over it. I can’t help but scream as I cum around him for the first time, his deep, fast thrusts making the orgasm stronger than anything before.
“That’s it,” he pants, gripping my hips harder, “I’m going to mark you as deeply as a man can. You’re mine, say it.”
Tears again slip free as he pounds into me. “Yours! Em! Please, yours- love you much!”
“I love you more than you’ll ever know, dearest. Taking me so well. Good girl.”
He pulls my hips close as his tempo falters, pressing as deeply as he can as he finally allows himself to release. His warm seed fills me and drips out onto the sheets as he pumps it into me with more eagerness than I’d have imagined.
Falling forward, he continues bucking into me as he clumsily resettles on top of me. We’re a mess of lewd sounds, damp skin, and ragged breaths, buzzing with the high.
When his hips finally still, the belt is half hanging off one of my wrists, with my fingers entangled in his hair. He nuzzles into my neck and shifts his weight down so he can lay fully on me. Doing so makes his cock slip free, and we both groan at the loss of each other’s warmth.
“You are exquisite, my dear. How I love you. You’re marvellous.” His lips find my nipple, and he takes to kissing and sucking with the last of his energy.
“Mm! Em! Please… mercy!”
He chuckles and grins up at me. “Oh? You would deny me your love?”
I moan and whine, weakly trying to push him away. “S’too much!”
He doubles down, his hand taking care of the other, only to slow down after a moment with a mischievous laugh. “Fine, fine. I must allow you to rest if I am to give you the rest of my love later.”
All I can do in answer is whine.
“Ha, good girl letting me take care of you. Rest now. I will lavish you with more of my skills later tonight. Though all time wouldn’t be enough to give you all my love.”
I card my fingers through his hair. “For all time it is, then.”
Voracity (7206 words) by ollypopp
Chapters: 1/1
Rating: Explicit
Relationships: Rook/Emmrich Volkarin
Additional Tags: Lich Emmrich Volkarin, Oral Sex, Skull Fucking, (But with a twist), Sex Magic, Intoxication, (but not really? I dont know how else to tag it), Obsessive Behavior, Ritual Sex, Penis In Vagina Sex, (but also…again with a twist lol), Angst with a Happy Ending
Summary:
When she was laid out before him like a feast he couldn’t enjoy, when she slept and he stood watch over her all night, it was there. A deep ache in the center of him that was constantly scratching, akin to nights going to bed with an empty belly. At times, it was impossible to ignore the vacant feeling gnawing at his very being.
Or: EmmLich gets his groove back.
Thanks to everyone who encouraged me to be unhinged when I posted this. Here it is!!!
OLLY YOU WENT OFF YEEAAAAH look at you cookin some of my favorite freak shit I love this for me, I love this for you, wow. Emmlich gets his groove back alright. Finds his groove and fiiiiilllls I mean.
Characters: Emmrich Volkarin x Rook (You)
Summary: (Spoilers ahead!) You have accompanied Emmrich to his final test before lichdom. You stand in a cold Necropolis vault as he walks away from you toward possible eternity, knowing he will die the moment he crosses the threshold. The only thing you can do now is wait. Wait and hope that if he returns to you, when he returns, he will still be the man you have fallen so desperately in love with. Nothing is certain but death. Love...that is a different question entirely.
A/N: I think this is my first official Veilguard fic? And it's angst haha classic. Anyways, I have mixed feelings about Emmrich's Lich route but the cutscene where he becomes a lich has stuck with me as one of the most beautifully choreographed moments in the whole game, so I couldn't resist writing the scene from a more focused, anxious Rook's perspective. Enjoy! Read it on AO3 here!
I am come to be judged by the dead.
They are the last living words on his lips. The last words of a man who will be dead soon, one way or another. Nine syllables formed on an eloquent tongue, breathed forth with warm air from healthy lungs. In mere moments, those lungs, that tongue, those lips will grow still, and never move again.
It isn’t his time to die. But it’s the time he has chosen, and now that the words are out of his mouth, you know there is no turning back.
His words echo faintly in the vaulted chamber you stand in, soft reverberations you will never get back. You want to reach out and catch them, just one word, maybe two, and hold them fluttering and whisper-thin against your chest until you have absorbed them. The last vestiges of his voice, perfectly preserved in your heart. Just in case you never hear that voice again.
Or if you do, it will be altered beyond recognition.
It’s strange. You’ve spent the last several weeks doing all that you can to save lives—freeing slaves, fighting ghosts, slaying dragons, eradicating darkspawn, stopping enemies before they can hurt anyone else. And yet here you stand hundreds of feet below the surface in a spacious, isolated crypt, bidding farewell to your lover as he faces the end of his life.
You make no moves to stop him, despite your every instinct screaming that you can, you could, you should . But you don’t. Because this is what he wants.
Emmrich Volkarin, your beloved, is steps away from death, standing at the threshold of a chamber that will steal his life from him and present him with one final test. If he succeeds, he will become a lich, a powerful undead mage that will stand outside of time, a being both paradoxically within and beyond your reach and understanding. His life’s work, completed with his death. But if he fails…
It is death, either way. You both know it. The best you can hope for now is not that he will survive…but that he will transcend . If he does, then he achieves undeath. Lichdom. Forever.
A vast leap , he had once said. Flesh cast aside for bone. Returned, immortal, for all time.
You wonder if you’ve made a mistake. Not for encouraging him to take this path, but perhaps for coming with him.
His kiss is still on your lips, the warmth of it fast fading in the chill of this Necropolis vault. You wish, suddenly, that you had placed your fingertips at the base of his throat or against his chest when you kissed, cherishing the final beats of his too-soft heart, the fluttering of his pulse as it thrums beneath his skin. Or that you had inhaled deeply of his carefully cultivated scent, expensive cologne, soap, and pomade, scents he may soon abandon after death when his new form no longer requires them.
You glance at the Lich Lords above, their cold veilfire eyes glowing in the sockets of their bleach-white skulls. Cold, barren, still.
Dead.
That is what he will become…but only if he passes the final test.
Too late you wish you had paid more attention to the elements that made up your lover’s living, mortal self. Already you feel the finer details slipping from your grasp. The exact shades of gold and green in his hazel eyes. Where the last stubborn dark strands of his hair melt into the gray and white. The tones of his quiet laughter when something amuses him. The press of his lips on your knuckles when he kisses your hand.
There will be no more of any of that, either way. Already you miss those things. Ache for them.
Why is it so much harder for you to let go of him, than for him to let go of life?
Your time together has been cruelly short. You arrived too late, he walked toward death too early, and the world never settled long enough for the two of you to find any real time together. You want to kiss him again, but you know better than to move. Because if a single thing goes awry…
The doors swing open, spilling out a brilliant white light so bright it’s painful to stare into, but Emmrich doesn’t falter. Aside from a single flex of his hands, you see no evidence of hesitation or fear.
And yet you still wonder.
How fast does his heart beat in his chest, as if defying him to stop it? Is every nerve alight within him, desperate to soak in each last sensation, the chill on his skin, the prickle of gooseflesh at the back of his neck, the brush of fabric, the creak of leather, the jingle of chains? Are there tremors in his fingers that you cannot see? Is he terrified, or at peace with this decision?
You hope he is at peace. Even as your hands clench at your sides and your ears start to ring with the stress of watching him step forward into eternity, knowing he will die, he will inevitably die, he will certainly die , you hope he, at least, has no more of the terror that has plagued him since childhood.
It’s the only way you’ll see him again.
You have to let him go. You curl your toes inside your boots as if to anchor your feet directly down into the stone beneath you. You hold your breath to keep from using your voice. You cannot stop him. You cannot intervene.
But dammit, it’s hard .
Every step he takes is another step away from you. Another step closer to death. You have prepared for this. Sat in his study, curled up by the fireplace, watching him review scrolls about the rituals, watching him practice his glamor. You’ve seen the way his eyes grew distant at the daunting trial before him, taking him to a place where you couldn’t reach him…and the way his eyes drifted around his study, looking for a figure you both know will never return to brighten the Lighthouse again. You prepared your goodbye …and your welcome back… and your final goodbyes if it all went wrong. You thought you had steeled yourself to the fact that he might not return at all.
But now the moment is here.
Every step is like a death knell, the chime of a clock striking midnight. The sound of his boot heels on the worn paving stones rings in your head like the peeling of chantry bells, ten, eleven…twelve.
Silence.
He stops and turns to face you. The light of the chamber beyond is too bright, too harsh, a wash of milky white fog and light that silhouettes him until he is a singular shape in black. You search for his eyes, desperate to read his thoughts, or perhaps to memorize that particular shade of hazel you took too much for granted, but his every feature melts into shadow.
You look anyway, mastering your expression for him just in case he is watching you too. You will not look anxious. You will not look like you have even a shred of doubt. He will come back. He will come back. You hang onto the thought like a lifeline, and you watch, unwilling to look away for a single instant.
This is your last view of him alive. One way or another, he has to die. You’re prepared to walk his undeath with him, but you want to soak in this last living sight. Just in case.
Come back to me as yourself, Emmrich. Please.
Myrna and Vorgoth join him in the illuminated chamber and the doors begin to swing closed. You stare. You stare and you study and you will your feet to stay planted to the smooth stone floor and you look for a single glimpse of his eyes—
And you see that they are closed.
Your breath catches. You feel your heart start to crack, his name bubbling up from your chest into your throat, ready to be spoken, whispered, shouted, but you cannot let it escape. You swallow your voice as the doors shut with an echoing clang, a single note of devastating finality.
Then…the silence of the grave.
—————
You stand as still as stone, imagining yourself as steady and cold as the carved marble and granite figures that line the vault. But your traitorous heart beats wildly in your chest, reminding you with every heartbeat that you are the last living thing in that room. You are the wrong thing here in this vault of silence, stone, and stillness. The audacious lover who dared to invade this sanctum of undeath and sully it with your mere presence.
You dare not invade any further. Emmrich is beyond your reach now. All you can do is wait.
You can feel the eyes of the Lich Lords upon you, veilfire glowing green and blue in their hollow eye sockets. Challenger of the gods , they called you. Volkarin’s beloved . You wonder if you are the first lover to stand at a lich candidate’s side to see them off for the final sifting of the soul.
You wonder if you are the only lover who plans to stick around after lichdom has been achieved. Until death takes you, that is. You, but not him.
You know they are not there to judge you, and yet their faces remain fixed forward toward you, not the chamber beyond. You begin to feel as though you are as much a part of this final test as whatever it happening in the chamber beyond. Do the Lich Lords see you, truly, as they gaze out over the vault? Or do they see Emmrich’s soul, his thoughts, his memories instead?
Do they find you there among them? Is it better or worse if they do?
You know you’ll get no answers from the Lich Lords so you don’t ask. Which leaves you once again waiting. Listening. Hoping.
Time crawls forward, impossible to track. Down here, deep beneath the earth, every light is artificial and cold, every chamber eternally lit by magical flame. It’s only the flickering of the torches and braziers that tell you that time hasn’t stopped altogether.
And still you wait. It’s all you can do.
You breathe out, gently clouding the air. When did it get so cold? Or had it always been this cold in the Necropolis, and you never noticed it before? You rub your arms subconsciously, seeking warmth, but your hands do little to help.
What kept the chill at bay before? Was it Emmrich’s presence at your side, his hand eventually slipping into yours, that kept you warm among these patina green and slate gray halls? Or had he cast subtle spells over you, a bubble of warmth to carry you through the Necropolis, his mind on your comfort over his duty as a Mourn Watcher? Perhaps the chill had always been there, but you were too busy basking in the kindness of his hazel eyes and the soothing cadence of his voice to notice.
What happens now that those eyes, that voice, may be gone forever?
You turn away from the Lich Lords and pace a slow circuit around the stone table. Over your head, the colossal sculpture of three crowned skulls looms like an omen, a second set of judges over the living and the dead. No matter where you turn, the hollow eyes of skulls peer down over you, reminding you of the inevitable. Now that Emmrich is in the chamber beyond, the only thing coming out of that room is a dead man.
How much of Emmrich will be left?
You strain your ears to catch any sound from the chamber beyond. The windows behind the Lich Lords appear open, letting in some of the white light, and yet you hear nothing. Even the crackle of the veilfire around you is muted and low.
How much time has passed? Mere moments, or has it been an hour already? More than an hour?
You close your eyes briefly, your thoughts a silent prayer, the same as you prayed before. Come back to me as yourself, Emmrich. Please.
It’s the same thing you told him just before he walked away. One last plea, pulled from the depths of your heart, uttered before you could think twice about the words. And in return, he had smiled, his eyes crinkling slightly at the corners the way they always do—always did.
I will, my darling. I promise.
A promise. One you hope—you know he intends to keep. Yet you know that even if he does come back, he will come back different. Everything will be different. His appearance, his senses, his feelings. He warned you of that just days ago.
Lichdom is a transformation of body and soul. A change in how I sense and feel. And I will still feel, but—
But he will feel differently. You know that. He does too. At this point, change is unavoidable, but how he will change…that is less certain. What will he lose, even as he gains eternity and power?
You recall his soft musing words the day you picked flowers together in the memorial gardens, when you asked if he would still be able to enjoy the flowers if he became a lich. He had answered simply, an academic’s thoughtful reply, but you caught the hesitant sadness in his voice at the end all the same.
I can’t say if the flowers would still hold their bloom for me.
But what about you? For him to lose his sense of smell is one thing, but to lose a measure of his heart…
You can still picture the flower he once picked for you, the thin stem in your hand, the white petals luminescent in the light of the gardens. The scent has long faded from memory, but the magic of it is burned forever in your mind from when he transformed the soft petals into glittering motes of light. You, in the bloom of your life, basked in the glow of his magic, melting beneath him as he pressed you gently into the stone of the memorial and kissed you for the first time. That was the moment you realized you loved him, alive or undead.
So is it selfish to long for, even mourn what you have already lost of him? For you have lost something . The moment he stepped into that chamber, you lost something. You can feel it, hollow in your gut, even though you can’t name it. If he survives this last test, you will gain something back, but even so…is it selfish that you already miss him as he was in life?
Is it too early to mourn, knowing he was a dead man the moment he uttered those words at the chamber doors?
I am come to be judged by the dead.
You know he is more than his appearance, more than the skin and muscle and sinew that makes up his living body, more than that common, fleshy muscle in his chest that pumps blood through his veins but to which everyone attributes the deepest of mortal feeling and desire. Even when that heart grows still, he will surely still love you, you remind yourself. He had all but promised before he left your side.
Hadn’t he?
If anything should perchance go wrong… My dearest heart. You are the most magnificent thing to ever happen to me.
You stop. You realize now.
This is why he didn’t look back.
You are a temptation. His last tether to this mortal world. If he had looked back, he might have wavered. Decades of his life’s work, lost at a single glance.
If he had looked back, you would have almost certainly lost him for good.
You pause at the start of your circuit again, turning to face the chamber doors, your heart racing. Does he think of you now? In his mind’s eye, do you exist as the path back home, a marker for his soul to return to his new lich body, or has he cast you aside, unwilling to let you become his final weakness? Have you ruined it all simply by being there?
You were the one to reach out when he first stepped away. The one who held him by the arm, desperate for another few seconds with him, a final kiss, a last embrace. I love you , you whispered as his lips left yours, a confession you should have said days ago.
I love you too, my darling.
What if that final kiss, that simple confession, has doomed him? You think of Johanna Hezenkoss, the failed lich, her body slowly shriveling on her skeletal frame, eyes burning with veilfire inside a withered face. Wrong. Half-undead. Stagnant, yet decaying.
Is that the fate you sealed for Emmrich with your kiss?
Suddenly you would give anything, a measure of your strength, your power, your own lifeblood, to ensure that he passes through the Lich Lords’ final sifting of the soul to successfully enter lichdom. You want nothing more than to see him again, no matter what vessel his soul is housed in. Was it not ultimately his soul that you fell in love with? Time is a thief that would rob you both of vitality, strength, and beauty no matter how you attempt to slow it down, but the soul is eternal. Or so everyone says.
All you want now is his soul with you again, rather than passing on to the Fade, or wherever it is souls go when they die.
Please, Emmrich , you beg silently. Come back.
Perhaps the Lich Lords or the spirits of the Fade will hear your silent prayers, drawn in by your deepest desire, since the silent gods are no longer listening and may not even exist. If the spirits sense your hope, perhaps they can intervene on your behalf, driven by the strength of your wish to lead Emmrich’s soul back again if he needs the help.
But no, you must have faith in him. That is what he needs from you now. You clench your fists at your sides, determined to mold your anxiety and desperation into faith instead. You can do this, Emmrich. Death won’t keep us apart. You won’t let it.
A light clamor draws your attention back to the chamber—the sound of the latch unbolting. The doors are about to open. The wait is over.
The judges’ verdict is set. The scales have been weighed, the soul measured, and judgment passed.
Emmrich is dead.
—————
Your blood pounds in your ears, a steady roar that drowns out everything else as the heavy doors groan open. You force yourself to watch, willing your eyes to adjust faster to the white light that spills forth. You have to see. You have to know. Death or undeath? A lifeless corpse or an eternal lich?
Come back to me, my love. Come back.
Vorgoth emerges first, a ceremonial knife in his gloved and bangled hands. Wet, red blood drips, fresh and lurid, from the black and gold blade. Emmrich’s blood, dripping down onto the Necropolis floor, each drop glittering ruby red in the light before it splashes dark and black on the stone. Vorgoth sheathes the blade, tucking it inside the depths of his cloak, his task complete.
Then Myrna appears, promenading forth with an urn cradled in her hands, a canopic jar with a lid carved in the shape of a skull. A thin trickle of blood trails down from the seam between jar and lid. You dare not wonder what lays inside, what part of your beloved Emmrich they carved away to preserve inside that funerary urn. The mere sight of it makes your stomach twist.
Did it hurt? What they had done to him? Were his final living moments spent in pain as cold metal carved through his flesh? The thought leaves you ill, your knees weak. But no, the Mourn Watch are not inhumane. Myrna and Vorgoth respect Emmrich. He calls them friends. Surely his death had been as painless as they could make it. You have to believe it, or else the world around you will tilt out of focus and leave you crumpled on the floor, and you cannot let Emmrich see you like that.
At last Myrna steps aside, leaving your view into the chamber unhindered. To your relief, there is no lifeless corpse crumpled on the ground. Instead, a figure stands where Emmrich stood. With a shift, it begins to walk forward.
At first it’s no more than a silhouette to match the Lich Lords above. A dark, shadowed figure with a crown of spikes and eyes glowing with veilfire. A lich at long last. But is it–is he your Emmrich?
As he draws nearer, out of the white light, more details emerge. Glimmers of gold, the rustling whisper of grave linen, the thick drape of black crape fabric. The doors close behind him and the silhouette melts away to reveal him in all his undead glory, standing regal in black and gold.
For one terrifying moment, you don’t recognize him. His skull could be anyone’s skull. There is nothing left of the hazel gold or green in his gaze. The heart you yearned to capture, the one he once said beats for you and no other, now no longer beats in his chest at all. It is missing, along with every other organ, his gold-reinforced ribcage left open and hollow. He is a walking skeleton now, draped in rich armor and finery, brimming with new power.
You can’t look away. He has to be in there somewhere. You take an unsteady step forward as he draws slowly nearer to you, searching the polished bone surface of his skull beneath his golden helm for something you can recognize as Emmrich Volkarin. Your beloved.
“Emmrich?” you whisper. Your heart is a drumbeat in your chest, tempo allegro , relentlessly pounding in your ears until you’re almost dizzy from the rush. Please be in there. Please.
He stops and you can sense his gaze, harder to track now that it’s all veilfire, moving away from you to the room around you. His jaw unhinges and though he no longer has a tongue, his voice emerges from somewhere within him, like a spirit speaking from the beyond.
“I see so much more clearly now,” he says. Your breath hitches as you recognize the tones and timbre of his voice. It has an otherworldly echo now, but it’s his . “The deeper eddies of the Fade. The pulse of the Necropolis.”
You can sense the new power he has gained. Magic shifts around him as though he is draped in more than metal and fabric. As if he stands with one foot in the physical world and the other in the Fade. Even his voice sounds like it begins in another plane and is carried forth over a vast distance.
You can’t help but feel awed. You stand before an immortal being now. Yet, unlike when you stood before Solas, Elgar’nan, or Ghilan’nain, there is no fear or wariness in your heart. This is not some cold, unfeeling god. This is Emmrich Volkarin.
You feel his gaze settle on you as he continues, his voice full of wonder. “I have been through blood and darkness, and I have emerged into light.”
You breathe for the first time in several seconds, your lungs shuddering at the sudden cold air. Relief floods into you, even as a smaller part of you aches to think how painful this last test was for him—what trials of blood, what depths of darkness had he endured to earn this gift of immortality? But those trials are in the past now. What matters is not that he experienced them, but that he endured and emerged victorious.
He has returned to you.
You wet your dry lips, the question on your tongue tasting metallic from fear, but you have to ask. You have to know. “Emmrich, now that you’re…do you still feel…”
You can’t put the whole question into words. He is here, but he is changed. How much? How deeply?
“Oh,” he says, and his voice is like a lovestruck sigh from the depths of his soul, breath simulated by tone alone. “My love.”
This time, his words wrap around you, sinking into your skin and settling deep within you. It’s the feeling of returning home, of a world made right again. It’s the thrilling sensation of a loving whisper on your bare skin, a promise of devotion and a song of praise, the tenor of his soft voice perfected by the subtle, echoing embellishments of his new magic. You nearly weep for the love you can sense conveyed in so simple a phrase.
It’s really him. And he is really yours.
It’s all he has to say to convince you.
“Come,” he says. “Walk the gardens with me.”
He offers you his hand, now wrapped tightly with grave linen down to the tips of his fingers. You recognize the rings he wears as his usual jewelry, and the sight of something familiar calms your still-settling heart even further. Without hesitation, you take his hand and let him lead you out of the vault.
You can feel the shape and rigidity of bone beneath the linen, but his touch is gentle as he folds his hand around yours, matching your pace as you venture out into the Necropolis proper. Each step you take with your hand in his quiets your lingering doubts. His measured strides are the same as they were in life, the pressure of his touch no different from when he had muscles and tendons to control them. Even his presence at your side beats back the chill of the Necropolis just the way it had when you journeyed with him earlier.
Everything is as it was in life, simply made more by the aura of magic that follows him. The moment the two of you reach the gardens, your steps crunching the gravel of the cemetery paths, you feel him relax at your side. You wonder what he sees now, now that his eyes have been opened, his spirit awakened to the subtle movements and patterns of the Fade. Where you see veilfire torches and the carefully tended blooms of the cemetery flowers, the cool air broken here and there by the playful twirl of a glowing wisp, what does he see?
You think of that moment in the Lighthouse weeks ago, when he took your hand and placed it on a skull, instructing you to breathe, to focus while he spoke a solemn incantation, the weight of his hand covering yours. When you opened your eyes, you could see the currents of the Fade in motion—glimmers of light fluttering through the air, ribbons of color weaving in and out of sight, and blue and green wisps dancing playfully high overhead, or lingering serenely around the two of you. Is that what he sees now? Brighter, richer ribbons of light, glittering notes of magic, twirling wisps, even spirits walking the grounds? Does he see beyond the Veil, two worlds overlapping, mixing together in a sympathy of color and light, or simply what bits and scraps are strong enough to push through, eager to brush against the physical world? You wish you could see. You wish you could share in the vision with him.
“It’s…beautiful,” he murmurs. You look up, studying his new profile. It will take some getting used to, but it doesn’t frighten or disturb you. When he turns his face toward you, you can feel the warmth of his gaze again, even though there is nothing left of the hazel eyes you once fell in love with. “To think, I can share this first glimpse of wonder with you, my darling. It makes this moment all the sweeter.”
If he were still capable of tears, you know he’d be weepy right now. He always did get philosophical around flowers. And it’s you knowing that, sensing it in his voice, that dispels the last of your doubts. You squeeze the bones of his hand and whisper, “I knew you’d come back to me.”
His next words are confirmation and promise, reassurance and affirmation, his affection as clear and warm as it was in life, even despite the new echo. It is confident, certain, and tender, and as before, it settles somewhere deep past the heart, where nothing can ever take it away from you again.
dissecting the mortal emmrich argument scene (all routes)
dissecting the graveyard scene
dissecting the mortal romance path scene
how I think an argument reconcilation scene could've went
emmrich x rook cinematic (mortal)
lich version
dissecting the alternate romance path
dissecting the argument scene (lich path)
mortal vs lich romance path
emmrich x rook cinematic
Emmrich Volkarin - Dissecting the Mortal Argument Scene
welcome back dearies
lets not dally with this one and get right into it -
starting strong with emmrich reviewing his will and testament/s -
important, but not yet, so do go on -
the emphasis on will tells us alot. coming from a storyboarding background, its easy to see why the emphasis was put on will. emmrich chose mortality, and will thereofre face death head on, as will rook. but due to rook being younger than emmrich (in any capacity), emmrich states that rook will outlive him. now he hasn't said it yet, but his fear is about to rear its head. keep in mind throughout all of this that this man is scared of how much he adores you.
but in the same sentence, we've got, "You've... grown to mean much to me..." - head over heels in love, rip my heart out and serve it to you in a platter, my heart, body and soul is yours type o' love.
I just wanna shake him, oh i just wanna shake him like a bag of treats, but very aggressively. he is so obviously LYING, rook makes a comment earlier in the game about how he is a SHIT LIAR. it sounds the exact same. BUT, and I say but with a hint of 'ah -ha!', lets read between the lines -
I care for you Rook! Deeply. - man has never been down as bad as he is - emmrich has never felt love like this.
But there are such years between us - shut up rn
I shouldn't heap you with that burden - HERE. he knows that Rook loves him, he can feel it. I imagine between quests they hold eachother's hand as the read books together on the balcony. as they make tea. as emmrich shows rook his mothers recipes. emmrich knows rook loves him, he just doesn't realize can nor accept how much rook loves him.
he also broke my heart by worrying because i too, love him
fuck this line. i love you but look, I get where emmrich is coming from, but no. no no no, no no. whats fair would the world to be ending and being able to spend every waking moment in eachothers arms, to spend the final moments of 'what if' craddling your insecurities and nurturing love. instead we at the end of the world, arguing, because both rook and emmrich are fucking terrified to lose eachother. something about 'being fair' to someone by 'leaving' them irks meeeeeeeeeeeeeee.
solid and appropriate response
moving on because i have nothing nice to say
get his ass
emmrich is shockingly, overthinking the concept of death. ya know, that thing that cant be soothed or mulled over, pierces his heart and shakes his core? that, thing. yes shockingly, overthinking it. i get both perspectives here. Rook just wants to be taken serously and not for their age gap to come between the love they have finally found. emmrich so scared out of his mind he's trying to avoid it entirely. if you want a really gutteral playthrough before point of no return, pick this. I did, on my blind playthrough, it was a mistake, i cried alot.
unfortunately, very valid on both statement, but also true on both statements. Emmrich is both worried about Rook and insecure about dying. because either way, he loses rook, he loses his time with her. in this line of dialogue, emmrich is vry concerned with burdening rook with his death and the grief that will follow. Rook essentially tries to calm him in the worst way possible and it escalates. im not a fan of this dialogue path at all as the "at your age" comment is so out of pocket.
if you were to of told me that the purple rook option is the 'nicest' in these scenarios, I would...not believe you at all. It's still painful, but it's not an 'argument?'
strong start ngl
mans immediately defensive, but his tone of voice isn't raised like in the other scenarios. its more poised with care through it, more 'ugh, yes, i care about you, but this is about death'
in this dialogue path rook attemps to 'waylay' emmrich, aka, distract him and change the subject to something nicer, more comforting. though unfortnately, for people with crippling anxiety, nothing calms the mind when its in black and white mode.
eh, not what I would've gone with saying rook but ya know. eve before a battle, tensions high. still not great
emmrich wants to discuss being a burden to rook and rook is just not having it, im kinda into it.
again rook is trying to waylay emmrich into realising that he is overthinking things. however, to emmrich, this is real, rook may as well be dying in his arms rn. thats how real his fears are. we think back to emmrich being a child and losing his parents in a collapsed building accident. its likely he was there, and survived.
hence why it is so very important that we remember that his romance confirmation is the question, what would my parents want for me? and the answer is HAPPY WITH SOMEONE WHO CARES ABOUT YOU.
he is so terrfieid of death, and you and I both know, that when you have such a fear, it is amplified by 14747% when it is someone you truly care for. let alone the type of connection these soulmates have.
emmrich desperately pleading to talk about being a burden to rook, and rook is still just going, 'no', youre my burden now.
wee woo, a winner in my books because rook is not insulting his very existence or dismissing emmrich.
rook knows that emmrich is scared and would rather talk to him about being SCARED, instead of him being a burden because she fucking loves him and would never leave him.
rook is just as scared as emmrich but in this path, is trying to level with him. this is probably the one path where it concludes and I dont have a clear answer on who said the worst shit. i dont think any of them did, it was just riddled with concern, and a lack of communication.
Rook pointing out the obvious. blunt and to the point. I do love that Rook is able to identify this straight away
Emmrich, taken aback by the comment by Rook, because it's the truth. he is scared because he loves rook. both by actually loving her and by how much he loves her.
"I can't... at my age" Is what this line is meant to be.
But once again, and we have discovered in previous posts, Emmrich has never considered himself 'worthy' of this type of love. And now that he has the love he has craved for decades, he considers himself too old. most likely due to his belief ssystem morphing over time to, "if it hasnt happened by now, it never will" probably in his 30's. Thats almost 20 years of doubt. We know Emmrich has been in relationships and involved with others since then, but nothing that even comes close to what Rook and Emmrich have. Keep in mind as well that Emmrich hasn't formed a connection with anyone in several years and has solely focused on work (i.e., lichdom) because what else do you do when you have given up?
straight to the point again
reiterating that this is a hard topic for him - kindness in this situation would desecalate emmrich and calm his mind, but unfortunately the end of the world takes no prisoners
man is terrified of love and the grief and vulnerability that embodies it
ouch
ouch
Rook's defensiveness and frustration reaches an all time high. rook wants the love of her life to tell her that he loves her, and emmrich doesn't want to burden his love with the grief that will embody her for the rest of her days. rook walks away feeling defeated, with a hole in her heart. emmrich is left with his overthinking thoughts, and most likely spirals.
Conclusion
In their facial expressions, and I have slowed them down to each frame per second whilst analysing, and both Emmrich and Rook share the same process of emotions after Rook's final statement.
Both Emmrich and Rook start out with a cross look on their face, eyebros tilted, eyes squinted, portraying anger, which is covering defensiveness, which is a defense mechanism for being vulnerable. After Rook says their final statement, this line is what 'pulls them out' of their defensive trances, but its too late, the damage has been done. Their facial expressions switch to a more, 'oh, oh that was just said', it turns to regret. the over arching theme of the game. they regret what they said, and their pride wont let them budge rn. the argument scene is important to the romance considering what happens next in the game.
"We'll talk when we get home, Emmrich. I promise."
(the reconciliation line before fighting ghil)
hit me like a frieght train that did when i found out we were in the fade for weeks. emmrich, canonically, cries alone and has cold sweats at night when he is upset. do with that information what you will. it definitely happened when rook was gone. Hence why it takes Rook dissapearing in the fade for several weeks for their walls to collapse completely.
god fight, stuck in the fade, emmrich meticulously searching for rook, crafting the fake dagger, pulling them out.
At the end of the scene, Emmrich looks frustrated and devastated. the type of facial expression where it is clear he wish that conversation had gone differently.
Emmrich has low self-esteem, there is no simpler way to put it. This is apparent in the way he holds himself, in his mannerisms, and the way he reacts to rook expressing romantic interest in him. As two examples, consider the date with Emmrich, "apart from the compliment of your interest?", and in two flirt dialogue lines, he responds stating that he is surprised rook has shown interest in him. he wants this love SO BADLY, but he is so scared especially with how much death is around them. but emmrich is braver than he believes. it just takes, almost losing rook for him to embrace it.
phew, what a rollercoaster. ill have the mortal romance scene break down for you in coming days ♥
lemme just say I’m obsessed with dragon age veilguard (especially emmrich volkarin 😫😫) and would love to start writing for dragon age in general feel free to send requests my way !! prompt list coming soon 💖
Tags: explicit | sex | fingering | hand kink | teasing
Summary: You often find yourself turning to Emmrich for pleasant company and comfort, but after a taxing day you require more than a little conversation to help you unwind.
2.48k words (ao3 link)
A/n: Sorry HogLeg followers, this had to be done.
The dim corridor stretched before you, a sliver of light dancing across the stone floor, beckoning. All was quiet, not even Taash’s snores to mask your footfalls as you approached the door you knew all too well. Often had you found yourself drawn to this very spot, unable to articulate why you sought his comforting presence. You would watch him read or weave his magic, and he would allow it without complaint, only a wry smile upon his beautifully distinguished face.
And tonight, you were so very tired, body drawn so tight that the very mention of Gods or Venatori might send you spiralling into a pit of despair; a day spent slaughtering would do that to a person. So you lingered by that door, placed a palm upon the wood and sighed.
“Rook?”
The voice came from within and you jolted back, contemplating running back the way you came. Instead, the voice lured you further with promises of softly spoken words and the ghost of a touch upon your skin. This little game you played, this dance of desires, was as agonising as it was enticing. There was thrill in the chase, the longing. Your skin tingled before you even laid eyes upon him, and pushed open the door.
“I thought it was you,” Emmrich said. “I could sense your presence, dear.”
He stood by the fire, his back turned to you whilst absorbed in something you couldn't see. Even after hours of battle he remained pristine; freshly bathed, hair combed and clothes neat. You took tentative steps towards him, pulse already racing and stomach clenching with anticipation. His jewellery glinted by the light of the flame, and you saw that he was holding a book. Of course.
“What are you reading?” you asked, wishing that he would turn to you.
“A tedious tome, I'm afraid. Though it might very well prove useful, so unfortunately I must persevere.”
His fingers skimmed the page, dancing over the words as if conducting a symphony. Dexterous fingers that had occupied your thoughts for weeks. The scent of ink and old parchment filled your nostrils and you shivered, watching him splay the pages with erotic curiosity.
Emmrich finally turned to you with a friendly smile that quivered upon meeting your gaze.
“Are you quite alright?” he asked with a hint of concern.
No, you weren't. But there was little to be done about the hunger that clawed at your chest, night and day. “I'm fine,” you said instead.
His head tilted to one side to regard you, his hand stilled upon the page as you watched in rapt fascination. Those hands might have been able to unravel the tension knitting every muscle in your body, with little more than a curl of his fingers. Molten desire flooded your veins, burning your skin, and an ache settled low in your abdomen. No soft words and pleasant company would be enough for you tonight.
“I don't think you are…”
Emmrich snapped the book shut and placed it upon his chair, stalking towards you. He stopped only inches away and frowned, as if examining a specimen for its ailments. Your eyelids drooped to be so close, caught in the maelstrom of his presence. His lips, so tempting, parted.
“Oh.”
You blinked. “Hm?”
Emmrich smiled and brought a hand to your cheek, catching you unawares. Knuckles skimmed across your skin, a ring-clad finger resting below your chin.
“I can practically feel the warmth radiating from your skin, darling. Your pupils dilated, that nervous energy.” He chuckled. “If I didn't know better I would say you came here seeking…relief.”
“Would that be so unbelievable?” you asked, fingers daring to reach out, to pick at the buttons of his waistcoat.
“Perhaps. I thought you enjoyed our flirtations, but I admit I had no idea that you were serious—”
“I'm serious.”
Don't make me beg.
He took that half step forward to close the distance between you, his breath ghosting the skin of your cheek. Instinctively, your head lolled to expose your neck, exposing your vulnerability, a soft and shuddering sigh escaping your lips. The pulsing between your legs intensified as he took the cue without hesitation, tucking stray strands of hair behind your ear before his lips found skin.
Emmrich kissed up the column of your neck almost languorously. A gentle flick of tongue at your pulse point had you whimpering for more. Your hands worked of their own accord, picking open the buttons you'd been idly toying with only moments before. Turning your face, his lips found yours instantly, a low hum of satisfaction working its way up his throat.
Yes, finally.
This was exactly what you needed. You felt frenzied, but Emmrich tempered your enthusiasm with a grip around your wrist, a well-placed thigh between your legs. He had you pinned against his desk—or had you dragged him here?—still intent on slowing your burning need to rid him of his clothes. No matter—he looked ravishing in them.
“We have hours, dear. Slow down, hm?” he whispered in your ear, sending yet another wave of desire rippling through your torso, dislodging every internal organ.
You whimpered in response and felt the twitch of his lips, apparently amused by the reaction. His kisses traced your jawline, then captured your mouth in one swift and breathless motion. Tongues entwined, intent on exploring every angle, swallowing every breath.
His waistcoat fell open by your insistent fiddling, hands finding his firm stomach as you splayed your fingers wide. Tracing down to his hips, all sharp angles. He did not waver in his pace, looping a gloved hand around your neck to cup the base of your skull as his kiss deepened. The friction against his thigh did little to relieve the intense ache in your core as you felt your underwear slicken with need.
“Emmrich,” you sighed into his open mouth, his teeth nipping lightly at your lower lip.
What a tease he was, enjoying prolonging this game far too much. But you felt the hardened length in his trousers press against your hip, an undeniable reminder of his own desires. You arched your back, grinding into him with renewed vigour, and he gasped with a flex of his hand. Another slow roll of your hips drew a low, rumbling groan from his throat. The satisfaction of his unravelling could not be matched, and you smirked against his lips.
“The things you do to me…,” he muttered, bringing his bejewelled fingers to rest upon your thigh.
You drew back to look into the hazel depths of his eyes, melting as the golden flecks wavered in firelight. Every line, every mark upon his skin only made him more beautiful, each telling a tale of a life well lived. Your thumb traced the crow's feet in an entirely too intimate gesture, and you witnessed Emmrich's self control wane.
His grip upon your thigh tightened, body pressing closer as he kissed you again, and the hunger that roared in your chest was matched only by his own. He murmured your name in reverent praise with every press of his hips. And his hand moved higher, unfastening the buckle of your trousers.
Yes, yes, yes.
You helped him slip the pesky clothes down your legs until you were bare from the waist down, the cold wood of his desk pressing against your behind. He resumed his previous kneading of your flesh, the cold metal of his rings trailing your burning skin. When he reached the apex of your thighs, your breathing was ragged, chest heaving.
A single finger slid between your lips, coated in your desire, effortlessly honing in on the swollen bud that demanded attention lest you cry out in frustration for the entire Lighthouse to hear. You might have begged, but were too enraptured with Emmrich's lips, his meandering hands, the silken silver strands of his mussed hair. The first press of his finger made you shudder, and you squirmed and moaned as he began the slow, firm circles, winding you tighter and tighter.
You’d succeeded in ridding him of his waistcoat, then unbuttoning his shirt to press kisses against his collarbone, but became too distracted to unclothe him any further due to his unwavering attention. He watched you intently, seemingly fascinated by your desperate whimpering. He'd brought you to the edge in mere minutes, a mess between your thighs that doubtless pooled onto the desk beneath. You were perched atop it now, legs pressed wide. Emmrich took no shame in watching as his fingers slipped around your aching centre—then again, neither did you. He slipped a single finger inside you, then another, to the knuckles.
You moaned and clawed at his hair, writhing in an attempt to push him deeper. He acquiesced, burying his ringed digits inside you. Fingers pulsed, the drag of metal making you shudder with pleasure. Then he curled those fingers with dextrous precision and you cried out as an orgasm ripped through your body. You fell limp, arms barely able to keep you propped upright. The waves kept coming, Emmrich returning his attention to the swollen bud that became increasingly sensitive with every swipe of his thumb.
He kissed you through it all, until only gasps and brushes of lips remained.
Dazed though you were, you could not ignore the hard cock that twitched in his trousers. You didn't want to ignore it—as wonderful as his fingers were, you'd not be sated until he was buried deep inside you.
When he pulled his hand from between your legs, you watched with hooded eyes as he surveyed the mess, a slow smile creeping onto his handsome face.
“Feel better, darling?”
“I want you, Emmrich,” you sighed. “All of you.”
Fuck being mysterious and coy.
“Here?”
He looked genuinely shocked by the prospect of fucking you over his desk. Your chest tightened, and you pulled him closer by his shirt. He didn't resist as you undid his trousers, cock springing free as you pushed them past his hips. A groan laced with pure lust left your lips, and you wrapped your hand around him, swiping a thumb over the glistening precum that stained the fabric pooled below. Emmrich gasped, looking to the ceiling as if in silent prayer.
“I need you,” you reiterated with a gentle tug of foreskin.
“Then you may have me, dear. Every—” he kissed your lips, gloved hand stroking your cheek “—inch.”
He pulled off your top with unexpected strength, baring your breasts to the chill. Nipples already peaked, he took one between his fingers, the soft leather adding extra friction to the already sensitive skin. You moaned and stroked his cock with a steady rhythm to match the flicks of his tongue that found your breast. A light nip of teeth, a firm handful of flesh.
“Beautiful,” he murmured, then looked up at you. “Shall I remove my glove?”
“No, leave it. I like it,” you replied with a lopsided smile.
“I thought you might.”
Emmrich peered down at where your hand continued to stroke his length, letting his eyes close for a moment. You ached to have him inside you; that thick cock nestled between a patch of silver hair. What might he taste like? The thought of running your tongue up the underside of his shaft, enveloping his head in your mouth…it made you salivate. There would be time for that later, perhaps. His eyes snapped open when your finger pressed the ridge of his cock.
“Please…,” you whined, not caring how pathetic it sounded.
Neither did he, apparently, as he spread your legs further with ease, pressing the tip of his cock to your entrance that pulsed in excitement. The stretch as he slid in made your eyes roll back in pleasure, and Emmrich groaned as he took you inch by inch. Firm hands pushed your knees further back, driving deeper until your sweat-slicked skin was flush.
“Oh fuck you feel good,” you said.
He pulled out about halfway, then thrusted back with a snap of his hips. You whimpered, feeling his head kiss your cervix, walls fluttering around his cock as another orgasm started to build.
“Language, darling. Or I might send you back to your room.”
“You wouldn't dare,” you chuckled shakily.
Another thrust silenced you, and your arms finally gave out, sending you crumpling backwards onto his desk. You growled in frustration, pulling papers from underneath your back and throwing them on the floor.
Emmrich looked positively scandalised.
“Do I need to teach you a lesson about respecting others’ property?” he asked, silken voice growing more hoarse with every slow thrust.
You laughed, quickly devolving into another moan. “Yes, professor.”
Emmrich hummed and gripped your waist, hard. Fingers dug in, creating dents with his nails on one side, the burn of leather on the other. Then he began to fuck you in earnest.
Emmrich was capable of such gentleness, but he knew what you needed now. He pulled you onto his cock with each snap of his hips, hitting every sweet spot you possessed in tandem. It was overwhelming, a swirling vortex of pleasure. You were dizzy, so hazy with ecstasy that you couldn't form coherent words, only moans and screams. Fuck anyone overhearing, you didn't care, there was only him.
His steady rhythm gradually sped up, becoming more erratic as his breath laboured. Silver strands crossed his brow, the last of his composure now deserted him. You liked him like this—dishevelled, sweaty and eyes glittering with passion. As the wet slap of skin filled the room, echoing off the bookcases and scant furnishings, you felt your legs begin to shake as your climax approached.
“Emmrich…Emmrich I'm going to, fuck.”
He pounded into you at the same pace, bringing a thumb to circle your overstimulated clit.
“Let go, darling. I have you,” he replied.
You cried out, searching for something to cling to. Fingers curled over the lip of the desk. Your back arched, and you fell apart. Your vision faded to black amongst the pounding in your ears, but Emmrich didn't relent. The whimpers and whines only fuelled him; his grip on your waist became bruising, but there was pleasure in the pain.
“Rook…,” he panted. “Where can I—?”
“Inside me, please.”
Emmrich gave another hard thrust and a great shuddering sigh, and his cock pulsed inside you. He filled you until his spend coated your thighs, your bodies simultaneously exhausted as he slumped on top of you. He nuzzled against your neck, breathless; a vulnerability that you cherished. Hearts beat together, touches turning gentle once again.
“Thank you,” you said eventually, now sated and tired.
Emmrich kissed your neck, your chin, your lips, standing unsteadily and pulling his trousers back up to his waist. He held out a hand as one might ask for a dance, returning to the gentlemanly scholar once again.
Pairing: Emmrich Volkarin x Elf! Mourn Watcher Mage! Reader
WC: 1.6k
Warnings: unnamed rook, mourn watcher rook, unspecified age gap (but I imagine em is mid 50s, reader mid twenties), guided sex, sex in the necropolis, fingering (f), oral (f), vaginal sex, making out, pet names (my dearest, dearest), kinda vanilla, emmrichs clothes stay on!, mdni, lmk if I missed anything
Notes: I know not everyone loves age gaps, so if this isn’t your cup of tea, please look away. On that note, I am absolutely obsessed with Emmrich. His romance is so so sweet! Enjoy! Not proofread
redamancy - [noun]
the act of loving someone who loves you back; a love returned in full.
Christmas Advent || 2024
“My dear, you must be still.”
Emmrichs’ smooth voice cuts through the silence. The Necropolis is always eerily silent, save for wisps chittering playfully here and there. Usually, you find comfort in the quiet. But not today. Not when Emmrichs’ warm, jeweled hands are trailing your naked skin. Not when he’s looking at you with such love, such desire.
“Sorry, professor.”
“It’s Emmrich, my dear. Must I remind you?” He playfully pinches the skin under your breast, causing you to yip.
“Ah, whatever shall I do with you…,” Emmrich wonders aloud, brown eyes crinkling in the corners as he smiles fondly.
“I know what you can do,” you flirt, taken aback by your own boldness. You think you’ve earned it, what with being as naked as the day you were born in front of the man.
“Tsk, and what is your suggestion?” Emmrich says, voice as soft as a whisper. His fingers are light as air as they glide across your torso, skimming your pebbled nipples before rising to caress the side of your neck. His gaze is focused on the taut flesh, like you’re a specimen begging to be studied. If it’s under his careful touch, you wouldn’t mind being poked and prodded.
“T-Touch me,” you whisper, hands clenched at your sides as you try to stay still.
“I already am, my dearest,” Emmrich chuckles, knuckles grazing the sensitive skin of your lower stomach. You look down to where he’s at, legs spreading instinctively. You just want him to touch your aching cunt already.
As if he read your mind, his knuckle skims your clitoris, igniting the nerves in pleasure. You cry out at the simple touch, chest heaving.
“Did you know, the clitoris has upwards of eleven thousand nerve endings?”
“N-No, I didn’t,” you say, jerking as he presses firmer on your clit. It’s throbbing, aching to be rubbed and pinched, and you’re begging for exactly that within seconds of his experienced touch.
“Please, Emmrich! I — I c-can’t!” You whine, little tears slipping from your eyes.
“My, how your sounds are so exquisite,” Emmrich croons, leaning down so he’s eye level with you cunt. He watches every quiver, each drop of arousal leak out to pool on the stone slab beneath you.
“Forgive me, but I just taste you,” Emmrich whispers reverently. He shifts, so he’s half-leaning over you. For a fleeting moment, you worry this position will hurt his back, but that thought vanishes at the first touch of his tongue on your weeping folds.
You mewl, hips bucking upwards to meet his mouth. If Emmrich does this more often, like this, you’ll gladly forgive him of anything. Emmrich roves his tongue through your folds, sucking the honey leaking out of you like it’ll cure him of all ailments. The friction of his tongue running through your folds is electrifying, each stroke of his muscle methodical. He knows what he’s doing — which doesn’t surprise you. He’s had decades more than you to master the art of lovemaking.
Your hands take shelter in his slick-backed silver hair, and you tug him closer to your crotch.
Emmrich sucks on your pulsing clit, and he brings a ring covered finger to run through your wet folds. You tense.
“May I add a finger, dearest?”
He’s so gentle, voice so soft and caring, that your muscles relax.
“Y-Yes,” you say.
“Relax, my dear. Trust that I shall take care of you,” he whispers into the apex of your thighs, breath puffing against your most sensitive region. You shiver at the hot air curling around your cunt, and you do as he says, relaxing further and spreading your legs a bit wider.
With a kiss to your clit, Emmrich eases his long finger inside you. It’s a stretch — you’ve never had anything inside you quite like this, but it doesn’t hurt.
You whimper at the feeling of his chilled finger within the depths of you, and Emmrich begins to move his finger in and out, pumping at a slow pace to get you adjusted.
You’re quick to beg for more, to the delight of the senior mage.
“More, please!”
Emmrich runs his tongue in circles on your clit, before his brown eyes find yours.
“More, what?”
“A-Another finger. Add another, please!”
Emmrich chuckles, the sound deep and sensual.
“But of course, dearest,” he says, before his lips are back around your clit and sucking oh so gently.
Another finger is added, and you wince.
“Do I need to stop, darling?” Emmrich asks, face lifting from your crotch to look at you with worry. He is so kind, and so sweet. You can’t believe someone like him loves you, and is all yours.
“No, keep… keep going, please. Want you to make me cum,” you say, cheeks heating at the pure neediness you can hear in your voice. Emmrich let’s out a little moan at your admission.
“That was my plan, darling.”
His fingers begin to move inside you, stretching you out in preparation for the main event. With his mouth on your clit, and his fingers rubbing against your ribbed walls, your abdomen tightens. You’re close, you can feel it.
You’ve never experienced such rapture before, and you can’t help but buck your hips erratically to meet his thrusts. Emmrich’s fingers hit areas you never knew existed, and when he curls them just right, you scream and have the best orgasm of your life.
Emmrich slides his soaked fingers out of you, and stands with a grunt. He looks you in the eyes as he brings the same fingers that we’re inside you to his mouth, where he cleans them off.
It shouldn’t surprise you, yet you can’t help the gasp that falls from your lips nor your cheeks heating up in flames.
“E-Emmrich!”
He raises a single brow as if to say ‘yes?’.
“You taste divine, darling. There’s no need to be ashamed.”
His words cause a deep ache to fill your pussy, and you bite your lip. Emmrich’s eyes follow the movement, before he’s leaning completely over you to capture your lips in a soft and gentle kiss. Everything about him is soft and gentle, like you’ll break, and you love it. Moaning into his lips, you wrap your arms around his neck and tug him closer. Absently, you hear the ziiip of his zipper lowering. He breaks the kiss when he presses the tip of his cock right at your opening.
“May I?”
You’re nodding before you can even speak, “Yes, yes, please!”
“So polite, my dear,” Emmrich chuckles, the sound rich with mirth.
He tilts his hips forward, the cockhead breaching your opening with an agonizing slowness. But you appreciate his caution, because as he sinks further into you, it begins to burn. And not in a pleasant way.
“Stop!” You cry, tensing up. Emmrich immediately complies, chocolate eyes finding you in the dim light of the Necropolis.
You wince as your cunt clenches around him like a vice, and he presses his lips against the corner of your forehead, placating your pain with reassuring words.
“It’s okay my love, the pain will fade. Until it does, why don’t you tell me about that spirit you saved?” Emmrich says, and you almost laugh at the poor timing of the question.
“Seriously? I mean… uh, okay. Well, these mages had summoned a Spirit of Wisdom, but because they were so prideful and —,” a subtle smirk tugs at the corners of Emmrich’s lips, and you realize what he was doing. Helping you forget about the pain. And, with a start, you realize you feel no pain — just a burning desire for this mage to fuck you.
“E-Emmrich, I… you can move,” you say gently.
“Are you quite sure?”
You nod enthusiastically, “Yes. I need you more than anything.”
The senior mage’s eyes flutter shut, and a moan slips from his lips at your confession. With your hand in his gloved one, he begins to push further.
It feels like forever before he’s bottoming out, but all you feel is intense pleasure. And when Emmrich pulls his hips back, only to set a steady pace of in and out, in and out, you’re a moaning mess.
Chanting his name, gripping his hand in a death grip, gyrating your hips to meet his — it’s all so much for you, but Emmrich assures you, as always.
“That’s it… you’re doing marvelously, my dearest. Just like that,” he mumbles in your ear, rich voice setting a fire deep in your loins.
“Rub your clit for me,” he demands, and your hand trails down between your bodies, fingers quickly finding that little nub that brings you so much euphoria.
You rub fast circles, grunting when the sparks of pleasure dwindle.
Emmrich locks eyes with you, “Firm circles, but slow. We have all night, my dear.”
You nod, and follow his instructions to a T. The gratifying feeling is almost immediate, especially when he resumes pistoning into your sopping cunt.
“Emmrich!” You cry, forefinger rubbing messily over your clit. His thrusts are frantic, the stone slab beneath you digging painfully into your shoulders, but you barely notice.
“I’m afraid I w-won’t last much longer, darling,” he announces, a tinge of bashfulness in his voice. You whimper, bringing both hands to cup his face.
Basking in his love for you, you kiss him. Emmrich’s lips fit perfectly on yours, sensually moving to a silent song. You both come undone in unison, Emmrich’s seed painting the inside of your walls.
Eventually, Emmrich pulls out — and not a second later produces a handkerchief to pat you dry. He places tender kisses on your hip bone, and you almost cry with how full your heart is.
You could never love someone more than you love him.
Summary: Solas finds the Inquisitor in desperate need of some relaxation in the Winter Palace. And, well, he can provide.
Genre/Tags: Explicit, Canon Compliant, POV Third Person, Spoilers for Dragon Age: Inquisition, Drunk Sex, No Penetration Though, Thigh Riding, Praise, Dirty Talk, Ear Licking, Edging, Orgasm Denial, Biting, Premature Ejaculation, Mentions of Oral Sex
Word Count: 3,900
Notes: This is my first Solas fic so be gentle pls...I also posted it on AO3, you can read it there by clicking this link if you want :3
“And that’s how I ended up hunting wyverns in the Frostbacks with only two pairs of breeches!” All the nobles and Inquisition personnel in the small circle laugh at the lord’s story, some more forced than others. The ball at the Winter Palace wanes into the early hours of the morning now with no end in sight. Although drinks and food are still being served, the massive crowd has thinned into small packs of chattering lords and ladies who would dare not make the faux pas of leaving too early.
“I think I’m going to explore the library.” Lavellan murmurs to Leliana, Josephine, and Cullen. The excuse is enough to dissuade the rest of the crowd from protesting the Inquisitor’s departure from the group, but her three advisors are unconvinced.
“Take me with you.” Cullen pleads through gritted teeth, smiling a bit too wide as he barely follows along to the conversation taking place. Josephine tuts at the Commander but simply nods at Lavellan.
“Good idea. You might find some of the more intellectual attendees who would be interested in learning more about the Inquisition.” Josephine’s eyes twinkle at the possibilities, and the Inquisitor nods politely.
“Yes, I will most definitely be doing that.” She says flatly, causing Cullen to snort and this time earn a light kick from Leliana that could easily be passed as a stretch of the knee. As Lavellan begins to take her leave, the Spymaster grabs her arm and turns to speak over her shoulder to avoid any eavesdroppers.
“You did well tonight.” She starts. “You are a complete natural at The Game, despite the many forces working against you.” Lavellan smirks at the praise, knowing Leliana probably thought she would trip over her own two feet. “You’ve earned a respite, even just for a few hours before our work starts up again.” The last part she fully whispers, leaning in conspicuously. “For once, I will advise you to not listen to Josephine.” She smiles knowingly before dropping the Inquisitor’s arm.
Lavellan chuckles. “You read my mind.” She takes small steps through the ballroom towards the vestibule, occasionally saying hello to people she passes. Her mind spins with the possibilities of her alliance with Empress Celene; what it means for the Inquisition, for the Dalish, for herself. The Inquisitor is still deep in thought when she looks up and realizes that her body seemed to auto-pilot her straight into the Grand Library. The guards that used to be stationed near the entrance have disappeared, gone hours ago once the threat against the Empress’s life was neutralized. She worries over this for a moment, before dropping her shoulders and taking a deep breath as she remembers Leliana’s words.
Her fingers trace over the many titles packed into the various shelves, some in languages Lavellan doesn’t even recognize. She smiles softly as she picks up a book by a professor in the Free Marches collecting Dalish songs and tales. She leans against a desk, facing away from the Grand Library entrance, while she flips through the pages and remembers a much simpler time.
“I figured you’d be hiding in here.” The voice makes her jump, yelp, and drop the book at the same time. She quickly turns with her hand over her hidden dagger strapped to her thigh, only to sigh when Solas snorts with laughter. “The Inquisitor should not be so easily caught off guard.” He exclaims, the two flutes of champagne in each hand shaking as he chuckles to himself.
“Yes, well, forgive me if it pleases you.” She snips, then grimaces when Solas raises his eyebrows slightly at her short tone. “I’m sorry. I had finally escaped from all those people out there…I guess I got a bit caught up in what I was reading.” Her explanation is jumbled, but Solas places the two drinks on the desk before waving her off.
“Do not apologize. I’m certain you’ve had a much busier night than I. I can leave, if you wish.” He points towards one glass as an offering. Lavellan nods gratefully before grabbing the thin spine of the delicate piece and holding it close to her chest.
“Please, stay.” She says. “You’re good company.” Solas smiles and shakes his head as another laugh escapes him. He heads towards the shelf Lavellan previously occupied, now examining the tomes himself. With his back towards Lavellan, she can’t help but take in Solas’ form. He towers over her a bit and his broad shoulders also help distinguish Solas from the Dalish elves she’s used to. Even in the alienages, Solas stands out as…bigger.
Lavellan coughs, a flush climbing her cheeks as her mind wanders to more depraved thoughts about Solas’ body. Solas was certainly free with his verbal affections, but they had only just started engaging in physical affections recently. Even then, they had only kissed. Lavellan didn’t mind waiting, of course, but it felt as though every time it developed into something more that Solas pulled away.
Solas clears his throat, bringing the Inquisitor out of her thoughts as though he has eyes on the back of his head and can see how she’s examining him. Or maybe being a mage with a speciality in the Fade lets him read minds. Lavellan’s eyes widen as the drink begins to take hold. Can Solas read minds? She thinks, half seriously. “Inquisitor?” Solas asks.
“Yes!” He turns to fully face her as he holds a book in his hand. “Yes, sorry. Long night.” She mutters, taking another sip. She can feel Solas’s gaze on her as she redirects her vision to a different corner of the room. The shadows dance along the wall as the various candles around the room burn low. There’s a moment of silence, as though Solas is deciding to address the tension in the room.
“I asked whether you enjoyed your time in the Winter Palace tonight.” Solas leans against the bookshelf, a sly smile gracing his face. “The way you managed to navigate the nobility, the ballroom floor, and an assassination attempt was particularly stunning.” He swirls his beverage in one hand as he flips through his chosen book. Solas’ choice of words cause Lavellan to finally bring her attention back to him. She scrutinizes him for a moment, furrowing her brow as her eyes rake over his stature from head to toe. Finally, she smiles too.
“Solas, are you drunk?” She asks. She giggles as Solas opens his mouth to give a quick retort, but closes it when he realizes he doesn’t have one. He shakes his head in slight embarrassment and drops his eyes as the Inquisitor continues to quietly laugh. “I guess I need to catch up.” Lavellan murmurs as Solas regains his footing in the conversation.
“I will admit to partaking in more drinking than I usually allow myself. All the power, intrigue, danger, sex…” He notices how Lavellan crosses her legs when he pauses. “Well, I suppose it’s nice to go unnoticed for an evening. To engage in behavior that is unbecoming of me.” Lavellan shakes her head, alleviating his fears that she thinks less of him now. “You haven’t answered my original question.” He states, placing his book back on the shelf.
“Enjoyed is not the word I would use.” She pauses, thinking deeply on her answer. “I’m glad I was able to play The Game well enough. It was almost satisfying being able to talk circles around humans.” Solas nods ruefully, staying silent. “But I was on edge the entire time. Constantly waiting for something to go wrong. And when the Grand Duchess was dragged away…” She trails off.
“Power can be suffocating, sometimes.” Solas finishes Lavellan’s thought. They’ve both finished their drinks at this point, the flush on Lavellan’s face indicating that she’s just as tipsy as Solas is. “There are times when a decision needs to be made. Even the correct choice is never an easy one.” Solas’s expression turns serious, and Lavellan cocks her head.
“So you think I made the right choice? Going with Empress Celene?” She asks. The candles in the Library have dimmed even further as the moon creeps higher above Halamshiral. Solas tilts his head back against the fine wooden shelf, crossing his arms and looking down at the Inquisitor.
“Is my praise necessary for you to feel at ease?” His question makes Lavellan laugh, a true laugh that comes from her stomach. It’s infectious to Solas, a smile creeping onto his face replacing the scowl he had moments before. “Briala and Celene could never have ruled together, and Gaspard is a disaster when it comes to court. In the Fade I’ve seen whole nations crumble because someone would rather force a compromise than make a real decision.” He moves towards Lavellan, all social grace completely lost, and places a hand on her shoulder. “You made a real decision, ma vhenan. They are never easy.”
Lavellan looks up at Solas, who is only now an arm’s length away. “Ma vhenan?” She restates, teasing Solas now. “That is an odd way to pronounce ‘Inquisitor’, Solas.” Her hand creeps up to rest on top of Solas, the space between the two elves shrinking as he moves to grip her waist.
He rests his forehead against Lavellan’s, rubbing her shoulder with his thumb adoringly. “You looked breathtaking tonight. You were magnificent, awe-inspiring. You’ll forgive me if I drop your title. I couldn’t bear to hide how I feel for you any longer.” He pulls back momentarily to kiss the top of her head, one hand moving to the small of her back. She leans into his touch, and for some minutes the pair is silent, their embrace only betrayed by the soft skitters of someone passing through the hallway.
The trance is broken as Lavellan gives a soft push to Solas. “I should head back now. There are people probably looking for me.” She groans and rolls her shoulders, her muscles tensing back as she recalls what it feels like to have a dozen pairs of eyes on you at all times. She turns to leave, but Solas captures her arm.
“You’ve played your part for the night, vhenan.” Solas pulls Lavellan flush against him, her backside against his groin. Solas forgets his inhibitions as he pulls her collar back to plant a kiss on her neck, making Lavellan gasp. Another kiss and a roll of Solas’s hips makes her groan louder, planting her hands on the desk. “Relax with me. Forget your duty, even for a moment.” Solas’ words cause a small pit of guilt to form in his heart, but it retreats when Lavellan moans again.
“Josephine would personally see to our executions if we were caught having sex in the Winter Palace.” Lavellan’s skin is practically lit on fire with every single one of Solas’s touches, his fingertips dancing down her waist. “And I think the Orlesian nobility would die from heart attacks if they found two naked elves here.” She turns to face Solas, who stops momentarily to grin wildly, showing his sharp canines.
“I haven’t said anything about being naked.” Their faces are inches apart, both of them breathing heavily as arousal sits heavy in their stomachs. “There are many things one can do to relax without being naked, if their imagination allows it.” Solas whispers in Lavellan’s ear. He pulls away and guides Lavellan to a plush couch in a dark corner, far from any immediate entrance into the library. Solas lets go of her hand and sits on the couch, spreading his legs wide. He leans back on the couch, throwing one arm over the velveteen, and pats his thigh, beckoning Lavellan to sit.
To sit on him.
Lavellan swallows as she takes the sight in. She’s imagined, dreamed of sex with Solas dozens of times, but this was something entirely new. Something she hadn’t even begun to consider, but was still enticing nonetheless. “Is this something you want?” She asks him.
“Yes.” Solas answers so quickly that Lavellan is taken aback. “Nothing would bring me more pleasure right now than to give you pleasure.” He holds out a hand for Lavellan to grab, and tugs her on top of him. “It is selfish of me to admit, but I do not kiss you the way I do solely for your benefit.” He rolls his thigh up causing Lavellan to cover her mouth as she moans. “I do it because I also enjoy it. No, enjoy is too simple of a word.” He turns his head to think while Lavellan grips his shoulders with both hands. “I relish it. Feeling you against me, with only some layers of clothing to separate us…Fenedhis, ma vhenan. You’ve undone me. I haven’t been this overcome with desire in a long time…You make it difficult to control myself.” He plants his hands on her hips. “Let me guide you. Let me show you what I mean. We can reckon with our indulgences in the morning.”
Solas’ words have Lavellan dripping. she nods, and plants herself fully onto Solas’ thigh, moving her hands to Solas’ neck and jaw. He starts pushing her back and forth against his leg, adjusting the pressure by examining the way her face contorts just so. She moves to cover her eyes but Solas stops her. “You are so beautiful right now, vhenan. Do not think about how you might look, but focus on how you feel.” She obliges Solas and slowly drops her fingers back to his jaw. Solas notices how his words make her quicken the pace, if for a moment. “Ah, so you do need my praise to feel at ease. Very well.”
Solas keeps one hand on Lavellan’s hips, and moves one to the back of her head, entangling his fingers in her hair and pulling her down so he can whisper to her. She gasps as he presses up into her, causing her to roll her hips on her own. Although she can’t see it, she knows Solas is smiling with pride right now. “Just like that, perfect. You are a natural at this, vhenan.” His lips move against her ear as she forms a rhythm, her moans forming a perfect harmony with Solas as he groans from the pressure building in his own sex. The slight push and pull causes him to rub against the smooth fabric, making him knit his brow in concentration to ensure he somehow doesn’t cum before she does. He can’t remember the last time he did something like this with someone else; and while he’s relieved himself plenty of times since meeting the Inquisitor, he didn’t allow himself to think their relationship would get this far.
Lavellan whines loudly when Solas grinds up against her clit, the wet patch on his thigh exciting him more than before. He pulls Lavellan so that way they’re face to face, and kisses her like it’s the first time. She heaves against him, pressing her chest against his to get a better angle. Solas groans, louder this time as Lavellan’s knee presses up against his erection. Like everything else about Solas, it’s somehow bigger than she expected. “If you keep stopping, Inquisitor, you will inflate my ego. And getting you into this position has made me prideful enough already.”
He kisses her again, sloppily this time, the alcohol ignoring any expectations of how their first time together would go. Solas presses his tongue against Lavellan’s, his eyes rolling back at the vibration of her moans. He finds her chest with one of his palms, kneading her and finding a nipple with ease. She yelps when he pinches and rolls, her thighs beginning to shake. Lavellan’s pace has quickened to a point where her thighs burn, the strain of muscle mixing with her pleasure. She begins to chant his name, panting and whining when Solas lets go of her nipples and moves his hands to her backside, massaging Lavellan and gripping her with a strength she didn’t know he had. “Do you know how many times I’ve finished thinking of this exact situation? How I’ve dreamed of having you completely?” Lavellan shakes her head. “Thirty four times I’ve spilled myself over my own hand thinking of how beautiful you’d look like this. For the first time in my life, my dreams cannot compare to the real thing.”
Lavellan gains confidence through Solas’s words and leans forward, almost coming in for a kiss but at the last second, she moves past Solas’s lips. Instead, she focuses on his ears; she licks a long strip from his jawline to the tip of his ears, noticing how Solas shivers and making him wonder how the hell she figured that out. She laughs while still moaning and gasping for more. “I knew you were sensitive here. Had to be, because I noticed how you pulled away the first time we kissed when I went to grab you,” She moves her thumb just underneath the other ear, making Solas jump in shock and pleasure. “Here.” She finishes, returning her mouth to latch onto Solas’s helix. She licks a circle around the apex of his damned ears, running her tongue up and down the ridge before returning to his lips. “Imagine what else my mouth can do.” Her breath mixes with his as both of them pant, although Solas does close his eyes momentarily to see the picture she’s painted.
Solas bites his lip, almost drawing blood by how close he’s come to cumming over himself. Both of them are sweating now, Lavellan’s pristine hair stuck to her forehead. “Fenedhis–” She presses her knee against Solas’ cock again as she moves her clit down onto him, “–Fuck–”, he groans loudly as her pace quickens and she begins to babble quietly in his ear. If someone had walked in on them, Solas was too preoccupied to notice.
“I’m going to–I think I’m gonna–” Solas nods approvingly while Lavellan’s release reaches its peak. Solas closes his eyes, tears forming in the corners as he pleads with himself to hold off for just a bit longer. In a final move of complete desperation and arousal, Solas latches onto Lavellan’s neck.
And bites.
Lavellan yelps and it’s what finally sends her over the edge. She cums on Solas’s thigh, stuttering and gripping onto him while he licks at the marks his teeth had left. Both of them are moaning, although Lavellan has the sense to cover her mouth. When she finally comes down from her orgasm, Solas leans back to examine his work. Lavellan looks down and breathlessly laughs. “I made a bit of a mess.” Is all she says, and Solas lifts her momentarily to examine her handiwork.
Solas’s thigh is so soaked that Lavellan’s juices had even begun to pool next to Solas in those final moments. He smiles softly and pats Lavellan approvingly. “It is an easy enough task to warm my hands and dry my clothes, as I have done before. Do not worry.” Lavellan moves to get up off of Solas and onto her knees in front of him, but he stops her. “As much as the thought entices me, and believe me when I say it does, I’ve stolen enough of your time tonight.” She crinkles her brow in confusion, and gestures towards Solas’s groin where his erection is clearly visible, and pre-cum has even started leaking through his trousers.
“Ah.” He says, and while he does entertain the thought longer than he should have, he still shakes his head. “This was for you, not for me. And besides,” He stands up and kisses Lavellan. “I can’t imagine there won’t be more opportunities for me to catch up.” Lavellan snorts, giving another kiss to Solas before smoothing down her attire and hair.
“How do I look?” She asked sarcastically.
“Magnificent.” Solas responds, moving closer to brush her hair with his fingertips. He plants a gentle kiss on her forehead. She seems to be remembering something and laughs; Solas tilts his head in a silent question.
“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you curse like that. I didn’t think ‘fuck’ was even in your vocabulary.” Solas’s cheeks flush red and he coughs in surprise.
“Yes, well…” He stammers underneath Lavellan’s stare. “You bring out a part in me I thought I put away long ago.” Solas smiles lightly. “And that part is inclined to curse, occasionally, when underneath a fascinating woman such as yourself.” This time, Solas is the one to let go. He nods towards the Library entrance, and Lavellan sighs before squeezing his hand and stepping quietly into the hallway. He waits until he can no longer hear her footsteps before sitting down and throwing his head back against the couch. The late hour and sudden physical activity has him utterly spent.
The elf looks down, his cock practically bursting against his leg and begging to be taken care of. “I’m not that depraved.” He murmurs. Solas’s eyes close, and while he tries to think of more important matters, he can’t remove the image of Lavellan on top of him from his mind. The way she bounced on his lap, how her mouth felt against him, makes Solas bite his knuckles to hold back a moan. How she jittered when he marked her, claiming the Inquisitor all for himself as her neck bloomed with purple splotches from his sharp teeth and how quickly her release came from an action that felt as natural to Solas as blinking. Solas breathes in, then out through his nose, attempting to bring himself back to reality, but he can’t help but recall the offer she left on the table before Lavellan took her leave. Her lips would look so pretty wrapped around him, gagging and moaning as she would try to take him all the way, his tip hitting the back of her throat—
Solas jolts suddenly as his orgasm hits him like a slap against the face, the dark stain of cum now spreading down his thigh. Solas bites down hard on his palm, unable to fully hold his voice back as the smallest movement against his trousers prolongs his release even further. When the immense pleasure finally subsides, Solas opens one eye hesitantly to assess the damage. He groans into his hands, a conjured flame able to dry his clothes but not the Orlesian, and definitely expensive, couch.
It’s hours later when the morning sun rises over Halamshiral that the Inquisition takes their leave. Solas blearily rubs his eyes and yawns, although when he catches Lavellan’s smile he can’t help but reciprocate despite his weariness. The Iron Bull looks between the pair before laughing and slapping Solas on the shoulder. “Sleep well?” He asks simply, although Solas knows the Bull well enough to know that his questions are never simple.
“No, I had a long night.” Solas quips, eager to head back to Skyhold and be as far away from the Winter Palace as possible. The unspoken part being that he is more eager to finish what he started mere hours before.
“Yeah? Spend some time cleaning in the library?” The Iron Bull asks, looking at the way Solas and the Inquisitor blanche before guffawing loudly. As he walks away he shakes his head. “You guys are not fucking subtle.”
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