#fem!rook

[rakiah]

Gonna start my new 🦁👑 comic soon: A Game of Affection!

Become a MochiBun (or higher!) on my Patreon to follow the comic updates! 🌺

[jd-loves-fiction]

i know i asked fem reader x fem lilia a few days ago, but pls consider. fem rook x fem lilia x afab reader. yuri threesome. YURI!!!!!

🌑HELL YEAH YURI. This makes me wanna write more 3somes because somehow i havent written many 👀

[18:47] The details of how the situation came to be are fuzzy at best and utterly needless at worst – all you know is that you feel trapped, not unlike a wild animal cornered by hunters.

Which is not an inaccurate way to describe Rook and Lilia both – sharp-eyed, tenacious and completely unwilling to let go of something they want, they’ve those things, among others, in common. That and their need for you.

Not that you don't reciprocate, but the attention is overwhelming to say the least.

An empty classroom close to the end of the school day, orange rays of sunset shining through the windows despite the curtains. You and them, alone with heaviness of attraction in the air, threatening to suffocate you before they've even gotten their hands on you.

“Mon coeur, is such an expression necessary? All we want is to make you feel good.”

“You didn't have to corner me for that, you could've just asked,” you counter, pouting while keeping both eyes on them.

“Isn't that what we did?” Lilia asks, faux innocently, smiling gently while walking to where to stand leaning against a desk, before wrapping an arm around your waist, “And isn't it so exciting this way? Like a great hunt coming to an end.”

The way she purrs the words into your ear, deep and seductive, makes you shiver, along with the feeling of her cold hand upon the sliver of skin at the gap of your uniform.

Since you hadn't been looking at her, Rook seems to materialize next to you, brushing your hair away from your neck before taking it between her fingers and twirling it absentmindedly, “So, what do you say, chéri?”

A deep breath, struggling to focus as Lilia drags her thin but terribly sharp fangs over your neck, “Fine.”

Lilia chuckles, though the irritation seeps clearly through, catching the petulance in your tone, “Not good enough.”

Arguing is impossible when you're hissing through your teeth as Rook pulls on your hair sharply, “Again, please.”

Inside you, a sarcastic response bubbles up, but the heat steadily simmering in your core stops you – no matter how much you want to talk back, you want this more as the wetness in your panties would suggest.

“Please, let’s do this before someone comes in,” you whisper, hiding your impatient eagerness with shyness. Rook and Lilia shoot each other a look but don't argue.

The fae licks up the side of your neck, feeling you shiver against where her side presses to yours, while Rook pulls on your hair enough to angle your lips to meet her in a wet and sloppy kiss that leaves you panting and her, basically the same. Damn that monstrous stamina.

You're already feeling wet and breathless and you've barely started.

Lilia’s fangs finally dig into your neck, just enough to draw forth a tiny bead of red blood, which she licks up even as you jolt, a moan trapped in the back of your throat from the surprise. Rook’s hands work to unbutton the front of your uniform, working smooth and quick while kissing at your collarbones. It's already almost too much and it's only going to get more intense – you feel as if you might burn to cinders from the heat.

While Lilia sucks loudly against your skin, Rook flips down your bra in order to wrap her lips around your nipple, a steadying hand on your hip when your legs tremble, “Tell me, how does she taste?”

With a harsh suction that starts to hurt, Rook parts from you, looking into your glassy eyes while licking her lips, “Magnifique.”

“Oh but darling, you're trembling. Are you quite certain that you can handle us… both of us?” Lilia purrs right in your ear, a cold hand trailing up the inside of your thigh to stop just where you don't want it to.

“O-Of course I can! Just–” All bravado fades away like early morning mist when you meet their gazes, smug but patient, dark with lust you’re for a moment unsure if you can handle, “don’t tease.”

Twin smirks appear, none too surprisingly, right before they move – together, as if they've practiced – Lilia gently pushing you back to lay on top of one of the tables, long enough for your upper body, while Rook kneels down between your legs. The suddenness almost has you regretting your words for a second, but the feeling fades as soon as Rook’s lips touch the inside of your knee and Lilia’s your exposed nipple.

Footsteps sound distantly outside, from students returning to their dorms after the day is done, no doubt. You bite your lip, suddenly afraid you might be heard.

Rook’s kisses grow wetter and sloppier the further up they move, leaving spit trails over your leg that make you shiver as a breeze from the open window passes by – her green eyes meet yours and she winks cheekily.

As the edge of Lilia’s fangs graze the peak of nipple, making you arch away, a gasp breaking through without your permission, “So cute…” Lilia coos, circling the peak with her tongue as you whimper and writhe. 

“You know, I thought this would go somewhat differently,” Rook speaks, though not with disappointment in her voice, but casualty as if discussing the weather, biting off a glove to run a finger down the center of your panties.

“Really? Don't tell me you were imagining something more romantic,” Lilia teases, reaching a hand back to ruffle Rook’s hair before it’s batted away, though the fae’s eyes don't stray from yours for a second. They’re a dark, bloody red which pin you in place, as if a predator watches you from just beyond the bushes, and any sudden movement will spell your doom – it's quite efficient at making sure you don't move.

“Sue me,” Rook replies, before peeling away your panties faster than you expect and laying a sweet kiss on your clit.

Lilia looks back at her companion, licking her lips as your legs twitch around the sudden stimulation, before her eyes twinkle with a devious idea, “Do you trust me, darling?”

You're not sure you should, given who’s asking, but you nod anyway, rewarded with a kiss on the forehead as Rook watches the two of you curiously from between your legs, nipping gently at your pearl just often enough to keep you aware of her presence.

With incredible dexterity, Lilia sits lightly on your chest after swiftly taking off her panties and you're sure your shock shows crystal clear on your face because she giggles in delight, “Regretting your decision already?”

You pout, before Rook decides to shove her tongue inside you and wipe away any semi-coherent thought from your brain. With a hand on your head to bring you back to the present, Lilia looks over your expression in search of any hesitation, but your eyes keep darting down between her legs eagerly and that serves as answer enough.

With that ever-present smirk on her lips, she slowly moves to hover over your mouth, struggling not at all to keep her balance over you as you settle, hands around her thighs. Blissfully, Rook has decided to stop for the moment to give you a break, going back to kissing at your thighs and sucking dark marks upon them that no one else will get to see.

You pull her onto your mouth more than anything else, sealing your lips around her cunt and sucking, which makes her moan as if the halls are entirely empty and the window is closed. Rook scoffs beyond your vision before diving back in, matching your pace and gripping your legs so you don't accidentally lob her head off her shoulders with your squirming.

The feeling of being slowly overwhelmed takes over again – Lilia’s addicting taste (how the hell does she taste so good?) on one side, trying to focus on pulling more of those gorgeous sounds out of her while having, on the other side, Rook trying her absolute best to scramble all your thoughts into word salad, so much so that your jaw goes slack, until Lilia starts whining and grinding against your nose. 

Oh but how delicious it is, thank fuck they decided to band together and ambush you otherwise this might never have happened.

“Hmm, so good, my darling,” Lilia hums, fingers pulling on your hair to have you at her preferred pace, cunt pulsing around your tongue as she presses her clit down on your nose, “So close, don't stop.”

The strictness of her tone sends a shiver down your spine, as Rook doubles her efforts without words, trying to get you there along with Lilia – and it’s working, your muffled moans and whimpers vibrate against her pussy as you feel your orgasm approaching.

If your mouth hadn’t been occupied, you might've moaned out both their names or a strange mixture of both that sounds like pure noise instead of words. Lilia’s moaning however, carries far, certainly at least across the hall, though you just can't find it in yourself to care – not when Rook is hard at work turning your brain to absolute mush, even after you've cum, overstimulation cutting sharply through the soft, warm haze that had settled.

“Alright, give her a moment, there'll be more of that later,” Lilia promises, though you can barely hear her over the ringing in your ears, pushing Rook away from your core as you catch your breath.“I certainly hope so,” she purrs in response, her accent dripping with seduction and unresolved sexual tension, “once was far from enough.”

[r-aindr0p]

Kept thinking about Fem!Rook and Fem!Rollo and how running around and dahsing, sprinting with the girls loose like that must be terrible, so here, vampirook got a fitted bustier that's not too tight either, thanks sister Rollo

[rom-e-o]

Imagine Emmrich getting sick or hurt enough he needs nursing for the first time after wifey is in his life.

Ohhh, yes. Emmrich. The always-giving, charitable healer. The eternal gentleman who has built a career on helping students learn, regularly uses his talents to help the dead find peace, risks life and limb to help Rook despite his fear of death, and BUILDS A BODY for a wisp who stays loyally by his side.

That Emmrich, who has pined for love and marriage but never found connection.

That Emmrich, who probably hasn't someone take care of him in decades. Who, if he got sick, always had to tend to himself, despite exhaustion and achiness. When was the last time you think he had someone at his side when he was sick? Probably his mother or father, when he was a young boy.

Maybe Manfred has helped sometimes, but of course, Emmrich doesn't ask much. Maybe for him to make some tea or wake him if someone knocks at the door, but that's not tending to him. But he can fudge it with a cold.

When he is bedbound will illness/injury for the first time since his relationship with Rook, feeling the caring presence of another at his beck and call is probably a little uncomfortable at first. ("D-Darling, I'll get you sick. P-Please don't worry. I-I'll be okay.") He says this while feverish and shaking, a cold sweat casting a sheen over his brow. Yet, he smiles. "Please, g-go enjoy the day, dearest."

He feels guilty of being a burden. He's a man who has always sought connection, and to over-compensate for his 'faults' (and even his age), he pushes himself hard. He likes to feel needed. He likes to GIVE.

So, to be in a position where he is forced to TAKE? He's hesitant. Maybe it makes him feel nostalgia in a horrible, raw way. He strikes me as a man that only feels worthwhile as a person if he's giving his energy (metaphorically or literally) to others. This feeling amplifies as he ages, and especially as he fails to find that love he yearns for so deeply.

Rook, his lovely wife, understands that. So she sets up a post. Manfred helps, of course. They make sure he's comfortable in bed. Plenty of books are placed nearby, even though he mostly sleeps. The window is opened, if the weather is nice-ish. Candles are lit. The fire roars. Plenty of tea is on tap. Even though he can't eat much, Rook brings porridge and potatoes to him.

She brushes his hair, dabs a cloth over his face, and draws him baths when he's strong enough to leave the bed.

"I-I'm sorry, dearest."

"Why are you apologizing?"

"F-For forcing you to care for me like this," he says as she brings a soapy cloth across his face, cleaning the latest sheen of fever-sweat from his brow.

He can't help but feel like an incompetent fool. He hates her seeing him in such a state. What if she sees him looking so weak and pathetic and decides to leave? It's not that he doesn't trust her. It's that his fear of somehow losing her or driving her away is one of the few things that can usurp logic in his mind.

"I don't recall you forcing me," she parries swiftly, lifting one of his toned arms to bring the cloth down the length of it. "In fact, you urged me to leave you and go enjoy my day. You encouraged me to leave with a handsome smile that was almost dashing enough to make me ignore that pesky blue pallor of yours."

He sighs wearily, still unable to look at her. "Even when I'm in such a sorry state, you still bestow those comforting compliments upon me."

"Because you deserve them." She undoes the top buttons of his nightgown and runs the cold cloth over his chest and neck. He sighs in relief, the cold feeling refreshing against his skin. "And you deserve to be cared for. Doted on. Now ... does that feel nice?"

He doesn't open his eyes immediately. Instead, he takes a moment to fill his lungs with air, the shakiness ebbing. Then, his gaze finds hers, hazel eyes blazing more brightly than they have in days. "It feels heavenly."

"Good." She leans down and kisses the tip of his nose. "Not too heavenly, though. I enjoy your company far too much to be without it for long. I'll start clawing the walls."

"Ha! W-Well, I shall endeavor to make a full recovery as swiftly as possible. How could I not, when I have such a sterling nurse?"

That night, Emmrich asks Rook to read to him. He loves the sound of her voice, and he so rarely has the chance to fall to sleep to it. She obliges, of course, reading him "Hard in Hightown", a fast-paced adventure by the infamous Varric Tethras. ("'You harassed a magistrate's widow. And you practically broke down a comte's door.' She turned to glare at him. 'All before dawn!'")  As she reads and acts out the lines with vigor, she hears him react according. He might gasp in shock, or laugh, or roll his eyes at a pun.

All the while, he uses her arm as a pillow, and gazes up at her, the very image of a besotted fool. A besotted fool with some color in his cheeks and a distinct glint returning to his lovely eyes.

[gemini-queen42]

GIRL RUGGIE DESIGN LETS GO ♡♡

Horrible fate of drawing Good Base Body and having 2 cover w/ clothes </3 anyways I love her

My horrendous girlcreature ♡

[n-evermores]

I just know Emmrich says shit like, “good girl” to my Rook when she does something clever. And he doesn’t even realize what he’s done.

[deluxe-rabbitsu]

The only thing I've been doing lately is sleeping, I'm exhausted 😞

I had this drawing since the beginning of the year but I didn't post it bc it lacked color,,,so have it...happy pride month 🏳️‍🌈

[tarnishedtwill]

If Introductions are in Order

Summary

Rook and Bellara are tasked with bringing back a Fade specialist. If she was already tense about the homecoming, matters only got worse when she found out they were recruiting none other than Professor Volkarin. Now she has to face demons and feelings she was certain she had left in the past.

Emmrich Volkarin × Fem!Rook • Fluff • 13.6k words • This is my first of several fic I have planned about these two! Hope you Enjoy! Huge thanks to my Betas for helping me.

If you prefer to Read on AO3

Rook stood as the lift descended, the pale green light from each floor bleeding through as they sank lower and lower into the depths of the Necropolis. Two years. Two years it had been. An earlier homecoming than she figured she'd be permitted, though this wasn't really one at all. The Watchers weren’t welcoming her back with open arms, no; it was merely a grab-and-go for a contact she hoped would pay off. In her years away she had experienced so much: friendship and loss, adventure and defeat, vast open countrysides, and the underbellies of seedy cities. She stood, watching each floor pass outside the geometric metal bars of the platform as they continued slowly sinking closer to their destination. It felt like a lifetime had passed since she saw the very halls she grew up in. As their journey downward jolted to an end, she took a deep breath.

Decorum was expected. 

The metal doors creaked and groaned as they opened before them. Stepping onto the cold stone floors that stretched before her, she found yet more emotions and memories flooding into her. Home, she thought. The scent of sulfur and dust amongst the burning wax, the pallid stone archways that echoed at even the smallest sigh. She had pined for the familiarity of the Grand Necropolis far more than she thought possible, but it wasn’t hers to belong anymore; this was no homecoming. She pressed down the feelings before they could blossom into overwhelming emotions inside her, taking a deep breath to center herself as they began their journey deeper.

The Shrouded Halls, truly a wing whose reputation preceded it.  Whispers about Novices who snuck in and never came back, hauntings by malign spirits so foul and incomprehensible that only Senior Watchers were permitted entrance. Myrna had assured her that she was prepared, but with the years spent away she'd be lying if she said her mind wasn’t reeling at the thought. Why on earth was the Professor here of all places? Bellara practically pranced ahead of her, inquisitive about nearly every fixture or collection of finery, blissfully unaware and unafraid of the Necropolis. The latter, she had to admit, was quite refreshing to see from an outsider. More often than not the reception to her being a mage from Nevarra earned rather negative feedback - in the best of cases, hushed whispers when they thought her out of earshot. To the rest of Thedas, the Necropolis was profoundly macabre. 

“These urns, they’re everywhere!” Bellara’s blunt observation bounced off the cold walls, shaking her from her thoughts. Rook smiled knowingly, waiting for her to continue. “Nevarra isn't like the rest of Thedas, though. I thought they didn't burn their dead.” 

Letting a small chuckle escape, she answered, “You'd be correct, Bellara. These urns aren't for ashes.” Rook had to admit how fond she had grown of Bellara’s company in such a short time. Her endless thirst for knowledge reminded Rook of her days studying in this very sanctum. Bellara tried to learn everything at once, as if the knowledge would slip out of grasp forever if even one moment was wasted, Rook admired that about her. “When we prepare the dead to be receptacles for wisps, it's important that we don't risk them becoming abominations. Aside from all the spiritual cleansing rites, the body itself has to undergo… preparations. I'd be breaking oaths to tell you more.” 

Technically, the whole process was a Mourn Watch secret. But then again, she wasn't a Watcher anymore. All but Myrna had made sure she was aware of that fact. Bellara shuffled her feet, pouting slightly at her response. “But—” 

Rook interrupted before she could finish her rebuttal, grabbing her shoulder and softly pulling Bellara closer. “Beetles,” she whispered with a low tone into her ear. “We perform a specific ritual, we take all the important organs. The special symbolic bits. Then the beetles get the rest. We have bred some fascinating variants. It’s really a shame so much of that work is a trade secret. That's a topic I could go on about for hours. Anyways, the beetles reduce what's left to… well.” Rook gestured at some of the skeletons that shuffled past them, their heads aflame with pale green light and pulled away from Bellara’s ear. “So the urns, they hold those important organs we keep. Often, it's a way to honor the dead whose bones are put to work or otherwise roam the halls. Letting a part of them rest and have the earned peace they deserve. But you didn't hear that from me, alright?”  She winked, resting her finger in front of her lips as she did.

A grin grew on Bellara’s face, her eyes sparkling at the answer. Rook could practically see the theories blooming and shifting in her mind as the new information sunk in. “Thank you, Rook!” She smiled in return with a nod, the two of them continuing down the halls. “Did you know that veilfire was actually developed and perfected by the elves of Arlathan? It can do so many more things than just lighting the way. I wonder how the technique got here… I don’t think I've ever seen it used so extensively before. I mean it's everywhere! Not to mention by humans.” Her eyes widened, and darted to Rook for a moment. “I didn’t mean—well. Not you. It's just that Nevarra is mostly… but you, I mean—” 

“Bellara,” Rook said with a warm chuckle. “I grew up here. There aren't many elves in Nevarra City, let alone in these hallowed halls. I knew what you meant.” A blush crossed the Veil Jumper's face as she turned to keep walking. Silence filled the air for the first moment since they entered the Shrouded Halls, the two of them diving deeper into the wing. Bellara rushed ahead, passing iron-gated archways filled with sarcophagi and candles. But it didn’t last long: it was Rook's turn to ask a question. 

“So… you know Professor Volkarin?” The question had been on Rook’s mind since her chat with Vorgoth and Myrna. Of all the people in the Necropolis, the scholars, the warriors, even the undead archivists… him? Not to question his knowledge of the Fade—as far as she was concerned his research was nearly unparalleled. But there was a certain butterfly that rose in her stomach, one she tried desperately to tamp down, upon hearing his name again after so long. 

“Well, yeah! Sort of? I mean… I’ve never met him in person, so maybe not,” Bellara began, turning around to face Rook as she animatedly moved her hands with each word. “As we dove deeper into Arlathan, we ran into more and more complications with the Fade. Like those bubbles we ran across when you found me—stuff like that. I looked everywhere for answers, but there isn’t much published about it… That’s when I found one of the Professor’s works. It was… oh, what was it? Advanced Studies in the Fade, I think? Anyway, I had questions! You know, it’s not often that the authors for reference books are alive—not that the Professor is old… well, actually I don’t know if he is. Are some of the professors here undead? Not the point. Most of the knowledge out there was written before the Blessed Age. So, I wrote to him. We sort of became pen-pals over my research, so I know him... but also I don’t.” Bellara’s words tumbled forth faster and faster as she spoke, till she halted with a shrug. “But you studied here. How do you not know him?” 

Rook smirked slightly, averting her eyes from Bellara’s before she spoke. “The Necropolis is a big place. There are dozens of professors, and on top of that, not all Mortalitasi study things like the Fade and spirit-calling.” She said with a dramatic flourish, “Some of us are stuck with more martial studies, and spellcraft.” 

Bellara nodded as if she was taking mental notes, humming a reply before charging further down the winding hall. Rook couldn’t keep herself from becoming once again lost in memory.

“We’re pretty far into the Shrouded Halls, but there’s no sign of the Professor,” Rook said, clearing her throat to change the subject—and clearing her own mind as they turned down another winding passageway of the chamber. She was surprised at how peaceful their journey had been, though she wasn’t about to test their luck in a wing so highly touted for its danger. Whatever work the Senior Watchers had been doing was certainly holding in place. 

“I hope he’s here… and that he doesn’t mind us disturbing him. He is a Senior Necromancer I don’t—” Bellara gasped as the sounds of magic crackled from the hall ahead of them, a faint green glow reflecting off the smooth stone walls. 

The two quickened their pace until they saw a tall man in a green, heavily adorned coat standing before a slab. His hands moved with a practiced resolve, green magic flowing between them as he carefully tuned the air around him. The soft clinking of his grave gold rang like meditation bells as the skeleton on the slab stirred, sitting up when blueish green flames ignited within its skull. Spirit-calling. It was such an incredible art form, one Rook was fascinated by, and glad to have seen first hand. Not only was reanimation of any type difficult, but to seamlessly align a spirit and a body in a way that didn’t corrupt the spirit or create malign intent required an especially impressive, and enviable, command of magic. Before he even turned around, she knew this was the Professor they had come looking for.

The newly risen skeleton walked towards them, with impressive cognisance for one of the lesser dead just raised. Focused entirely on its given task, it paid them no mind and passed them as it raised its pick, determined to help the other undead in the restoration effort. The two turned, watching in awe. For a moment, Rook forgot the task at hand, until a voice spoke, causing her to whip around to meet it. 

“Visitors! What a marvelous surprise!” 

She studied him for a moment. The gold spiked headpiece of the Senior Watchers obscured his face with that of a spectral skull. Regardless, it was certainly him… she remembered his mannerly voice. But she was caught off guard hearing the surprise in his tone; had Myrna not told him to expect them? At least he wasn’t upset at the intrusion to an otherwise restricted area. 

“Any trouble with the lift? Our last guests were stuck for hours, poor souls!”  He paused for a moment as he looked at Bellara. “Oh.” He flicked his arms upwards, magic streaming aloft as his mask melted away to reveal his face. “Professor Emmrich Volkarin, of the Mourn Watch.” He sauntered forwards, his eyes flicking to Rook with an unplaceable expression before they darted back to Bellara. He smiled as he reached to shake her hand.

━━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━━━

He turned with a satisfied huff. After how long the Shrouded Halls had been in a dreadful state, he was pleased to be part of the restoration effort. Too long had violent malign spirits wreaked havoc to the chambers and vaults within the wing. What he didn’t expect, however, was to turn to check on his newly risen flock, only to find two elves standing between them. For a moment, he stood, puzzled, but it was impossible they could have gotten so far without clearance to have done so. Especially with the next day of public mourning so far away, it certainly wasn’t an accident. 

He cleared his throat. “Visitors! What a marvelous surprise!” He watched as his words caused them both to jump slightly and turn to face him. “Any trouble with the lift? Our last guests were stuck for hours, poor souls!”  He squinted slightly, trying to make out their faces. Though ‘the Flame of the Last Steps’ was helpful to see the ebb and flow of the Fades pulse, the haze of the evocation did unfortunately keep him from seeing the finer details, especially far away. The silence from his guests was enough to alert him that they might not be Nevarrans, and the last thing he wanted to do was start out on a bad footing. 

“Oh,” he said in a quick self-scolding. Perhaps it would be best if he showed his own face for pleasantries, in either case. He flicked his wrists to dispel his evocation, moving down the steps to properly greet his visitors. One of the elves had rich dark eyes, and even darker hair. Tattoos of intricate lines covered her forehead and her cheeks—vallaslin, if he recalled correctly. It was rare to see the Dalish in Nevarra, but he had come across texts mentioning the markings on a few occasions. She looked excited, almost as if she knew him, but he couldn’t place her face. He was almost certain he hadn't met her before. 

“Professor Emmrich Volkarin, of the Mourn Watch,” he said in introduction. His eyes flicked to the other woman beside her, his lungs catching slightly as he did. Shock set in as their eyes met—he recognised her. She was a fellow Watcher. One which he had scolded himself for taking notice of in the halls, though admittedly he hadn’t seen her in the Necropolis for years. He quickly looked back to the dark haired woman. He barely had time to extend his hand to her before she scooped it between both of hers.

 “Hello, Professor!” she said excitedly, shaking his hand rather aggressively, taking him by surprise. “We’ve never met. Well, not in person, but I’ve been writing to you.” 

The realization came like cogs clicking into place. He smiled, bringing his other hand to clasp hers in an embrace. “Bellara? My dear girl, what a pleasure! Surely you didn’t come all this way just to see me?” True, he had given some instrumental advice in her efforts to understand the Fade as it related to the landscape of Arlathan, but she was an impeccably bright young woman whom he was certain was able to parse out almost any puzzle she set her mind to without his aid. Were things so dire she found it justified to travel so far to see him? He certainly hoped that was not the case. 

“Um—” Her voice awkwardly strained as she relinquished her hands from his. For a moment he recoiled, as if to check that his hand was still in one piece after her enthusiastic grip. “Actually… we did. You see, we need a Fade expert—”

The woman beside Bellara cleared her throat. His brows rose as he turned to face her. A proper introduction, he supposed, was overdue. “Rook. Former Mourn Watcher.” Her voice hit his ears with a dulcet tone he didn’t expect to find in her otherwise raffish demeanor. Rook. He had heard whispers of her exploits but never had he put this face to the name. Admittedly, seeing her had taken him off guard. He studied her for a moment. Her hair was still the vibrant auburn he recalled, now tied up tightly into a ponytail. But something in her eyes was harsher than he remembered, and a scar now sat curved across her cheek. Her clothing was not of the Watchers’ livery, nor of Nevarran style for that matter—Tevinter perhaps, judging by the flashy textures and colors of the armor. Not that it mattered. But the idea did inspire thoughts of where her adventures had taken her outside the kingdom. It was rare for a Watcher to get the chance to travel so far from Nevarra. Then again, she had said ‘former’. It was rarer still for someone to leave the order. He corrected his thoughts, but his curiosity was certainly piqued. He smiled, refocusing himself. “Rook! Myrna’s mentioned you.”

He watched as a nervous smile crept across her face, like the ones students often got when they hoped he hadn't seen the misdeeds they’d been trying to hide.

“So, the Necropolis is still a cauldron for gossip?” she asked with a knowing tone.

He couldn’t help but let a chuckle escape him; he had to confess that he did indulge more than he’d like in hearing the newest gossip about the halls. He gestured as he spoke, “Oh, you know how it is.” 

Rook replied in turn with a laugh that matched the lack of restraint he had assumed of her. “Nothing to scare you off?”

“She says you’ve ‘advanced adequately’ through the ranks,” he said with a smirk. It was, of course, not a lie. Myrna often shared the stories of Rook the adventurer whenever her newest missives arrived, but never mentioned her rank, much less why she left the order. What could have taken her on such grand adventures? 

“That’s sweet… and I have to admit that is quite the impressive flock of undead.” Rook’s tone, which started tense, quickly deflected to one that beamed as she cast her eyes away from his to meet the skeletons that were shuffling at the far end of the room.

“Oh. Merely the gifts of experience.” He smiled, unprepared for the compliment. He hadn't the time to reciprocate before screeching in the distance took the focus of all three of them. “I’d be pleased to continue this conversation, after I attend to some small business here.” His gaze shifted to Bellara. It was clear something was amiss with the spirits in these halls, and he would be a poor host if any danger should befall them, but he most certainly could not leave them here. “I must investigate. Would you two mind accompanying me further into the Shrouded Halls?”

“Never thought I’d actually see this place for myself,” Rook said in an astonished tone as they moved from the hall to one of the more open chambers. Her eyes scanned the space, taking in all the details around them, and he couldn’t help but smile at the sight. He lingered on the moment before he refocused to the task set before them, his smile fading in favor of a grim expression, “Things have changed since you left the order, Rook…”

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A despair demon? The Necropolis certainly never disappointed. Certainly her earlier praise for how quiet the hall had been was now flying back in her face. How on earth was a spirit this strong able to manifest despite the wards in place? Perhaps this is how the Halls got their reputation. A swirl of black obscured Rook’s vision, isolating her from Bellara and the Professor. 

“Careful Rook, it’s singled you out!” she heard the muffled voice of the Professor yell, but she was barely able to make out his words at all. It was as if she was underwater. This was what it wanted, to feed on her panic and strengthen itself in the process. Lovely. What an eventful homecoming this was shaping up to be after all. She reached for the dagger at her hip, trying to manifest a small green orb to light the room. But it was of little use. The atmosphere was a suffocating black. It ate the light itself. 

 She took a deep breath, centering herself, making sure to be on the alert for any sound of movement. With a swift, precise lunge she made contact with the writhing creature. Its shriek was deafening as it tried to shake her off. Rook latched on with magic bindings and felt the enervation take root, fueling her as she once again stabbed downwards. Light struck her eyes as the magical darkness was dispelled, disorienting her long enough for the demon to shake free from her grasp. She was knocked back onto the stone ground, breath leaving her with force and ears ringing loudly. 

“Well struck, Rook!” she heard the Professor yell. He and Bellara charged forward in her peripheral vision towards the malign spirit. She pulled herself up, her head spinning, and the persistent ringing in her ears caused her to sway as she tried to steady herself enough to move to strike again. But she didn’t need to. She watched as the Professor’s arm recoiled with terrifying grace before it plunged a final bolt of green magic into the creature, banishing it from the halls. He sighed in annoyance, straightening his vest before turning to face them. “It’s vital that we discover why that spirit manifested here.”

“How could a demon even—” She cut herself off as an embarrassed blush rushed to her cheeks and ears. Had two short years outside of Nevarra really made her forget so much? She scolded herself at the thought. “Sorry, Professor. How could a malign spirit of that strength even manifest itself here? Shouldn’t the Sunken Star prevent that level of unrest in the halls? I know that this chamber has always been dangerous but… Despair? That concentrated?” 

Rook’s eyes darted to Bellara, checking on her after the harrowing encounter. She seemed less shaken than she expected. Granted, the two had just dealt with horrible visions of blight in D’Meta’s Crossing, and this was nothing compared to that. She nodded to her, and Bellara nodded back to reassure her.

 “One would think,” he scoffed, moving towards the stairs before them. 

“Lead the way, Professor.”

She watched as he rushed up the steps, his calm demeanor now charged with purpose. He all but ran, whipping around turns as Bellara and Rook did their best to keep up, stopping only as they wove their way back to the Hollow Belfry. The normally busy hub of community for the Watchers was now barred by red barriers—and the Sunken Star was encased in luminated chains… Red Lyrium. 

She had seen this type of magic before, in Tevinter, and again when she dove into the depths of the Ossuary to rescue Lucanis. This was unmistakably the work of Venatori. A knot twisted in her gut. She’d never expected to see their influence reach her home. She watched as the undead became alert to their presence. Fire in her veins burnt with a rage that needed to be set free. But she hesitated, looking towards the Professor from the corner of her eye. The War of Banners had made an example of her. Some show of growth it would be if she strolled into the Necropolis, only to do the same thing all over again. 

No, she would test the waters.

 “Haven’t fought undead in a while.” 

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Emmrich’s eyes traced along the red barriers blocking each hall that branched out from the Hallow Belfry. He had never seen such magic in person, let alone anyone so foolishly bold to do so here. But he could tell without even inspecting it that it was powered by red lyrium, a substance that was making the already thin veil more weak to spirits of ill intent. Anger rose like pins and needles under his collar. Who would have the gall to disrespect the Necropolis this way? He looked to the Sunken Star that hung above them, chained in place to prevent its cleansing toll from keeping the halls safe. This was calculated, planned. He was determined to root out those responsible. 

“Haven’t fought undead in a while,” Rook snarled. 

Though her words rang like a statement of fact, Emmrich knew exactly what they really were: a plea for permission. He caught her eyes snapping to meet his and found the same anger that sat tight in his chest flaming in her gaze. Normally he abhorred the flagrant destruction of the undead when other methods of placation were at their disposal. But these? These were twisted forms, their inception of malign purpose. It was a disrespect that would not be tolerated or entertained by him even for a moment. 

“There is no reaching these. They’re mindless,” he spoke at last. A statement that translated eloquently to: permission granted. 

Rook lunged forward, her necrotic orb whizzing close behind them, and the glint of the stormheart caught his eye as she drew her dagger. “I can sense it… What a waste,” she said, as in one forceful display of movement she struck an undead, rendering it limp to the floor. The sight was impressive, it was rare he got to see such skilled combat up close. He could handle himself against stray undead and the occasional haunting when diving into the vaults lower in the Necropolis, certainly. He was talented at his spellcraft, but this was something else entirely. This was what fine-tuned training looked like. It was like watching a carefully choreographed dance, as she dipped beneath blades and swung at the opportune moment. She threw spells with honed grace, then chased them with crippling physical blows. To command both so fluidly was rare, and commendable.

He tried to focus, casting his own spells to incapacitate the small horde that filled the belfry. Now was far from the appropriate time to be distracted. Bellara’s arrow flew beside him, felling the undead to his left. He spun his staff with care, casting a simple knockback to push away the encroaching undead to allow for her ranged attacks. 

“What does that mean?” she asked, volleying a slew of arrows as she spoke. 

“I’m afraid sometimes the weaker dead work themselves into frenzies, especially in the presence of such perverse magic,” he replied, pushing a wave of necrotic magic at two corpses to his right, watching as they crumpled to the ground. “Poor things.”

The three made quick work of the room, synergizing in a way he found exhilarating. It had been years since he fought so fervently beside someone, and it did help in quenching the anger he felt. When the room fell quiet at last, he panted, catching his breath as the other two rushed to meet him in the center of the room. He ran his hand from his forehead to his hair, sweeping the stray strands back to their rightful place. “I must see to the Star –the bell– I fear the undead will return unless it is freed,” he said, his eyes flicking between Rook and Bellara. “Stay here, I will go above to the upper Belfry - you two have already been put in far more danger than guests should be.”

“I can help, I am a fellow Watcher after all,” Rook replied in haste, determination in her eyes. Not to mention the unintentional admission. One never truly does leave the Watchers. Bellara nodded in agreement and he sighed, knowing time would only be wasted if he attempted to refute them. 

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Mist left over from the despair spirits poisoned the Vault of the Beloved and Venatori mages clogged the cascades, confirming her suspicions. The three continued to press on, clearing the thoughtless intruders as they progressed. Emmrich said he had a contact, and Rook hoped they would get to them soon. What she didn’t expect, but probably should have given her company, was for him to veer towards the Spectral Court, hastening excitedly towards the skeleton that lay on the slab. 

“Ah, here we are!” the professor declared, walking down the path illuminated by veilfire. “This is where we’ll learn who summoned these despair spirits.”

She and Bellara passed glances between each other, but Rook didn’t have an answer to give her this time. “Sir, I don’t see any of the more helpful spirits around,” she said, her brows furrowed as she studied the room. 

He gave a mischievous grin as he half-turned to meet her eyes. “Ah, now Rook, every Watcher must trust that the Necropolis answers all proper supplications,” he turned from them, continuing towards the skeleton at the center of the room. As if sensing her confusion, he spoke again. “Would you mind lighting those braziers?” 

Bellara and Rook split, each moving to opposite sides of the room to light the flames. Bellara inquisitively asked what it was the Sunken Star did exactly. “The Sunken Star will drive away the lingering Despair,” Rook answered. 

“Quite correct, in fact, any malicious spirit that hears the tolling of the bell will be banished back into the Fade,” the professor continued from her point. 

She moved to meet him at the center of the court as Bellara worked on the final brazier. “Oh! That’d be helpful in Arlathan… but I bet it only works here, doesn’t it?” Her voice moved from revelation to disappointment in the matter of a single breath. 

“Astute inference, Bellara! The bell would, in fact, be inert outside the Necropolis.” Bellara’s face scrunched as she theorized, the concepts rushing through her mind pinched between her brows as she joined them at the altar. 

She muttered under her breath as her hands fidgeted, “Hmmm… I bet the principles could be replicated… maybe once the Nadas Dirthalan… unless…” Her words fading off into a whisper.

“All the braziers are lit?” He asked, to which Rook and Bellara nodded. “Excellent. Let us begin.” 

Her eyes flicked to the skeleton that lay on the stone altar, snapping back up to the Professor with her brow raised. This was a wispless body, unanimated, not some all-knowing envoy. Unless, perhaps the Senior Watcher could do more than just spirit-calling. She watched as he took a deep breath and closed his eyes. “By Seal and Flame,” his words incanted, his hands pulling a Fade green glow around them as he moved them carefully above the skeleton, as if he was threading an unseen needle. 

“Who brought Despair in our midst?” he asked. Rook gasped softly under her breath as the skeleton's eyes and head resonated the same green glow. Its bones became restless and the skull swayed to either side as it crashed into consciousness. Emmrich’s gloved hand continued to flit like he was conducting an unheard melody. His other held still, just above the body, diminuendo as if to hold and calm it. She had heard whispers of magic like this, but to witness it? Incredible, she thought. Rook fought to keep her jaw from dropping. It was such a rare gift even among the most skilled of Necromancers, and he made it look so common and effortless, as if he was simply asking a neighbor for milk. The skeleton heaved and writhed against the table, emitting a rasping groan. The Professor's hands flew to his sides with an elegant extension, the force of his movements clear even despite his grace as he moved them back to the center. 

“Despair. Who brought it here?” he commanded, his voice more firm than she had ever heard him be.

 “Ven… Venatori,” it croaked out. 

“Yes, we are quite aware,” he huffed, his patience growing thinner as he held control on the undead  before him. “Who?” he ordered. 

Rook knew her focus should be on hearing the next words out of the skeleton’s mouth, but she was entranced. The delicate complexities of his movement ensnaring all of her focus to his bejeweled hands. How dexterously they moved amid the swirls of green magic. In all the years she studied here, she had never seen anything like it, let alone from this close.

“A Necromancer,” it relinquished. The magic around his hands began to fade as he made his final motions, and cut the connection. “Of course the Venatori…” he started before a deep grumble escaped him. “I knew they couldn’t have made it this far unaided.” She watched as he paced slightly before charging with a purposeful walk towards the door. “This way, please.” His tone was still somewhat annoyed and commanding. Rook looked to Bellara, who was also seemingly astonished by the display, the two shaking their minds back into reality as they blinked at one another.

Rook mustered her strength, clearing her throat slightly trying her best not to sound as awestruck as she felt. “Well, the Watchers never taught me that.”

He looked over his shoulder with a grin, “The colloquial term is ‘corpse whispering’. A gift that manifested with my magic.”

“Oh, wow. That’s amazing!” Bellara mused, her eyes almost as wide as her smile.

“Honestly,” he started, “I’ve no idea how the other Watchers navigate the Necropolis without it.” His tone was replaced with a confident arrogance that in this case was well deserved. She watched as he gestured towards the wisp that had been curiously following them, nudging it towards the receptacle that unlocked the gated door before them.

“I can assure it's with much less ease, Professor,” Rook said, shaking her head slightly, a smirk painted onto her face. 

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Emmrich watched as Rook struck one of the large red crystals, breaking the barrier in turn. He stepped over the sprawled bodies of the Venatori that now littered the ground. “They have no place in these halls.” His voice almost quivering as he shut his eyes for a moment. 

“We no doubt will have to fight more. Are you prepared for that?” Rook asked in a worrisome tone. He appreciated the concern, it was one thing to take care of hauntings but something else entirely to dispatch the living. However, what he didn’t have was empathy for the Venatori, the vile organization that they were. His eyes met hers, watching for a moment as the glimmer of red lyrium reflected against her pale purple irises. His own eyes hardened for a moment in her gaze, his brows knitting slightly as he spoke his reassurance to her:

“Ready and willing.”

Rook smiled, something igniting in her own gaze at his words. She nodded then turned, heading down the newly opened pathway. “What are the Venatori even after? Gold? Artifacts? It doesn’t make sense.” Her voice echoed from far down the corridor. “They aren’t dumb enough to trespass into our Necropolis without a reason.” 

He scoffed at the thought of them being mere tomb raiders. The Venatori were predominantly comprised of nobles who had nothing better to do than inflict their poisonous views on to the rest of Thedas. He highly doubted they’d ever risk so much for mere gold. No, there was one thing the Ventori never got their fill of, and that was power. Had he not been so frustrated, perhaps his mind would have paused at the use of ‘our’, maybe even inquired to homesickness, but instead his mind was focused on his growing anger. It heaved and swelled, tying knots in his stomach. “Raw magic,” he sighed. “Their first envoys were obsessed with gathering power for some new masters.” 

“So this isn’t their first attempt at breaking into the Necropolis?” Rook turned to face him, she and Bellara now with rather serious expressions as their eyes studied him.

“Well, I wouldn’t go so far,” he said, bringing his palms together as he spoke. “Some of the city-bound Mortalitasi noticed them snooping about the streets. They alerted the Watch after dispatching them… to think they got this far...” He stopped himself. Now wasn’t the time to ruminate on where things went wrong. But it did upset him. The Mourn Watch had standards to keep, should word get out of such a successful breach the novices would be thwarting poorly executed heists instead of focusing on their studies for months to come. “You wouldn’t happen to know anything of these ‘new masters’?” he asked, starting to realize that the reason Bellara came all the way to talk to him about the Fade may indeed be more of a mess than he originally assumed. 

“Ah, I’ll fill you in on them later.” Rook turned to push further down the hall before them, not even turning to look at him as she spoke, leaving Emmrich heaving a long sigh he couldn’t even attempt to conceal. “I thought that was the case.” The silence felt louder than their fighting against the Venatori had been, the corridor was tense as their minds reeled. He kept pace, occasionally looking back to make sure Bellara was still following, and snapping his gaze forward to try to keep up with Rook who was all but running at this point. As they met the stairs, his panting breaths fogged before him, drawing his focus from the depths of his mind back to the task at hand. His eyes darted but met with nothing out of place. Then he heard it in his mind. 

“You will not save them, it is too late,” the distorted voice echoed. 

“Rook, Stop!” he cried, hoping to catch her before she reached the top step. “I hear a Despa–” but before his words were free of his lips, Venatori came charging down the steps around them. 

“Bellara!” Rook yelled, and he felt the breeze of the woman rush past him. 

“On it, Rook!” she replied, drawing her bowstring. Emmrich gripped his staff, preparing a spell to stun at least a few of them to give the others a clean strike. 

“Here! More death mages!” yelled the gruff voice of one of the Venatori, “Take out the knife-ears first.” 

He felt his blood run cold. “You insolent–” Emmrich called out, appalled. He wasn’t a vulgar man, but in that moment it took all of him to refrain from saying more. He instead closed his eyes to gain focus, sending a massive enervating wave out from his staff, staggering the foremost mages to their knees. “How dare you utter such filth!” He whipped his staff across himself to the other side, unleashing a necrotic bolt to the man in the front of their arrangement. Rook rushed in from the flank, and he saw her dagger glide into the back of one of the Venatori. Their eyes locked for a moment as she relinquished a small thankful nod before his attention was drawn to the arrows raining on the reinforcements that now charged down the steps. But it wasn’t just Venatori, he saw the mist bubbling its way down. 

“It is pointless. The Necropolis is lost.” Despair. The spirit he had tried to warn Rook of before their subsequent ambush. He now watched as the spirit drifted down the steps, Rook’s back turned and unaware of its presence. His eyes snapped to Bellara who was busy fighting off a couple Venatori and he raced forwards towards Rook to try to warn her but as suddenly as he stepped forward, the world went black. The malign spirit was singling him out. 

“Despair’s blinded me!” he called out. Hoping to warn his compatriots and also earn their protection from Venatori he would be incapable of seeing. 

“They cannot hear you.” The spirit lied with its discordant voice, trying to make him feel hopeless.

He swung his staff around, attempting to illuminate the path before him, or at least provoke the spirit into making a sound once again to help locate it in the suffocating darkness that surrounded him. But the light didn’t travel far, nor provide much aid. Alright, he thought, it was time for finer precision it seemed as he placed his staff onto his back. He closed his eyes once again, focusing instead on what he sensed, feeling the ebb and flow of the Fade as his arms began to sway and conduct the energy around him. Just like that, he could feel the spirit, its tether to the plane within his grasp as it moved around him tauntingly.  

Emmrich’s left hand extended outward, gathering force, his grave dowry sliding down his wrist with a clank as his right with an abrupt motion clenched into a fist. The spirit hissed as pale green magical bindings snared around it, illuminating its outline ever so faintly in the dark. He moved forward, pulling his arm fluidly before him as he did, raising his palm, only to then invert his hand downward. The binds sparked and crackled with the sound of searing magic.  He could feel the power of the Spirit slipping and resting in his own hands, the magical darkness slowly fading with each pulse of the binds. Hazy visions of the chamber began returning to him. He tightened his grip, holding onto the energy the Spirit provided him as he exhaled, his eyes opened with a soft green glow of their own. “Judgement lies with the dead!” His voice growled as he wrung the last of the energy for himself, only for a moment between sending a final spectral blow. He felt the presence dissipate, his eyes now much clearer on the surroundings. He watched as Bellara felled the last of the Venatori that surrounded her, and as Rook pulled her mage knife from another before making her way towards him.

“Fine work Professor, that's one less spirit of Despair in the Necropolis,” Rook said with an impressed tone, panting slightly. He tried his best to muster a smile, but if he was being honest with himself, he needed a moment to catch his breath after expelling enough magic to dissipate a spirit of that strength after so many arduous fights before it. His lungs strained, the cold air stinging as he forced each breath. It felt like trying to quench a furnace. “Here,” Rook said in a gentle tone as she reached out with a small green vial. He took it, debating if he should run a line of questioning before accepting it, but exhaustion pushed him towards quiet acquiescence – they had, after all, made it this far. He might as well trust them again.

He felt the potion’s enchantments the second the viscous liquid entered his mouth, and he swallowed, feeling the reinvigoration wash over him almost like a cold rain. It was refreshing.  Its herbal aftertaste lingered on his lips, but his muscles felt less stiff, his breath more stable, his mana balanced once again after the exhaustive output. “This is fine alchemy work. You have my thanks,” he praised, looking at his hand as he stretched his fingers for a moment. 

“Thank you, Professor! I just made them this morning,” chirped Bellara proudly as she took the bottle from him, placing it into one of her many pouches. She had a gleaming smile as she patted one of the other pouches with a distinct rattle, “Always good to bring more than you hope you’ll need!”

“Certainly. And it’s just Emmrich, please,” he insisted. There was no need to stand upon formalities in their current state, and besides, he had a feeling he would be consulting with them quite a bit after freeing the Sunken Star. If the recent Fade disturbances had anything to do with these new masters that had the Venatori worked up into a frenzy, they were certainly all about to have their hands full.

“Right, Professor!” Bellara gleefully replied. He let out a small exhale, not wanting to correct her. 

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There was barely time to catch their breaths after the ambush. Only moments after taking potions, she found herself chasing after the Professor. He had shot ahead at the sight of someone huddled by the crates just up the last set of stairs. Panic in his voice when he called out at the thought it could be a civilian all the way down here. She caught up to him just as he kneeled in front of the weak, dirty, and injured man. “Hello,” she said in a soft reassuring voice, knowing three armored strangers running up must be an intimidating sight. “Did the Venatori bring you here?” 

The man winced, sitting up slightly before he spoke, his words quivering and broken. “They said… they said I’d spilled the wine too many times. That I’d be a better sacrifice than a slave.” Her stomach churned. Tevinter had its foul loathsome ideals, yet somehow the Venatori managed to be more putrid still. Before she even had the chance to reply, she watched as Emmrich reached out, cupping the man’s hands between his own before he spoke.

“You are in Nevarra, sir. There are no slaves on our soil.” His voice overflowing with gentle comforts, He withdrew his hands slowly. “Please remain here. After we’ve seen to the rest of the Venatori, I’ll send for someone to escort you above.”

“Oh. All… all right,” the man panted. He was in poor condition. She hoped they would be able to free the bell before any undead found him. Emmrich rose, shooting her and Bellara with an icy glance as he walked past them with haste, and they struggled to keep up until he paused at the large twisting metal gates.

“Those Venatori… those monsters. They dragged that man down here just to die.” Rook wanted to be unfazed at this point, wanted to feel like this was normal by now, but it never was. She never stopped feeling the anger that drummed in her ears over such discoveries, the disgust she could taste in her mouth. Perhaps, despite how horrid it felt, that was a strength.

“The Watchers will shelter him. We’ll inquire if he has family in Minrathous,” Emmrich spoke, his voice much calmer than his body language let on. “As for the Venatori, what remains of them will be put to work.” His second statement’s tone finally gained enough venom to match his eyes. Even in Nevarra, it was still so easy for the poor to be overlooked and unseen. For him to go to these measures for someone he had never met… especially at his station… did not go unnoticed by Rook. 

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Rook had made impressively quick work of the Venatori, allowing Emmrich to set free the bonds that snared the Sunken Star. Now, he stood in the grand atrium below the bell and took a deep breath. He knew as soon as he began the rite, spirits, and more than likely Venatori, would rush into the belfry. It wasn’t that he doubted Bellara and Rook's abilities, but he felt guilty knowing he would be useless in helping them while he focused on the bell. “Be ready.” he warned, looking gravely at the two. “The ritual to wake the bell will draw more than just Despair’s attention… I’ll need the two of you to keep them occupied while I work.”

He watched as the women nodded and split off into opposing points in the room. It was time. He steadied his mind, drawing his hands close as the soft green magic of an evocation surrounded them. His arms moved with the purpose and grace of memorized positions as from above, and the loud lofty chimes of the bell rattled in the belfry. It was time.

First came the Venatori.

He heard the footsteps scramble into the hall as the clashing of blades pervaded the air. He did his best to tune out the shouts of self-veneration they declared as battle cries. He wanted to help, wanted to look and make sure his new compatriots were okay. But he had to focus and align his mind with only the ritual before him. It wasn’t long before the hooded  head of a Venatori mage whizzed in front of him on their descent to the ground, Rook’s foot evidently the cause as she stood winded before him. 

“How are we doing, Professor?” she panted, darting away with her mage knife drawn out of his field of vision just as quickly as she had appeared. 

He closed his eyes, focusing on his magical tethers for a moment before mustering his response. “The bell is slowly waking, but we must fight a little longer!” His plea more like an apology as his hands crackled with magic. He drew his arms back, then spread them out for a moment, the green lines seeming to tighten against invisible holds. His hands moved close to him, dancing with the flow of the Fade. He could hear them then, in his mind, if the screeching hadn't been evident enough. “The Venatori are conjuring spirits!” He warned, hoping the two had already begun to make quick work of them.

“We’ll stop them,” Rook growled. “Watcher’s Duty.” her voice was gruff in the heat of battle. Bellara ran by, bow drawn, her face deep in focus, and the sound of spectral arrows thrummed as they reached their targets. Pale blue mists of Despair begin to creep down the steps surrounding him, and he began to panic—Emmrich needed to maintain concentration for the ritual to succeed. Should he be trapped in darkness again, it would sever that connection, and he would have to begin anew—not to mention that every ritual when interrupted had consequences to overcome. 

“We are almost there! Just a bit more!” he cried, trying to conceal any evidence of panic.

“Is that…? No…” Bellara huffed, backing into his field of view. “Rook, Rage Demon!” She yelled, firing another volley, she charged forward. She moved and dodged like smoke until she was once again out of sight.

“They destroy what time has gifted,” Rage roared.

 Spirits were attracted and shaped to the feelings that surrounded them. Part of him felt guilty at the thought his own rage may have drawn it here, or even worse, corrupted an amiable spirit… putting Bellara and Rook in danger's path. His stomach knotted as he strained to focus, trying to not let his attention stray from the Sunken Star.

“All that’s been lost,” he heard it hiss once again.

“Hold fast!” he yelled, his eyes snapping shut as his hands shifted and tugged at the ebbing Fade before him. He wove the final threads of magic, feeling the ritual finally click into place.  He had done it.

It was only a moment later he heard the uproarious cries of the rage spirit as it fell. Bellara’s voice yelled above its growl, “Emmrich, now what?”

“Now, the Grand Necropolis shows itself!” he announced, his hands gesturing outward with a final surge of magic, the bell ringing out each toll, banishing whatever spirits remained in the belfry around them with waves of green energy. He stumbled slightly, catching his breath as he released his focus from the ritual. A headache hinted its way into his temple.

“It worked. Those Despair demons are just… gone!” Bellara mused, her voice still out of breath, leaning on Rook to recenter. 

“Pretty impressive,” Rook remarked. Her head tilted back as she looked to the vast bell rocking from the high ceiling. Her face softened from its battle-hardened expression, her lips even hinting at a smile. For a moment, he hesitated to cut the wonderment short.

“Thank you. But come—let us ensure these cultists didn’t leave anything dangerous behind.” He scoffed for a moment, flippantly waving one of his wrist. “I’ll ask our attendants to gather their bodies later, of course.” He moved to look at one of the stacks of crates and trunks that clearly didn't belong: empty bottles for tinctures, herbs, crystals of little use. He sighed, hoping at least one of them would uncover any useful item that would aid them in getting to the bottom of the Venatori’s intrusion. The next crate was filled to the brim with books—but not just any—these were not of Tevinter origin, no. Several of these were volumes Emmrich was quite familiar with. He rummaged through, seeing familiar title after title. The absolute gall of it all, stealing books from the Necropolis’ own library! Several pertained to Watchers’ rites and practices that were secret, held behind lock and key. Emmrich frowned. He would see to it that the tomes were returned to Audric and put in their rightful places.

“Well, this seems…” Rook spoke from the opposite end of the room, her voice sounding almost startled, “This is… a severed hand?” she finished. He stood immediately, whatever book had been in his hand toppled down into the crate before him. A chill raced down his spine. It couldn’t be. 

“Rook, does the hand appear undead?” His eyes widened as he slowly turned around. Should it be what he suspected, this was the key to the Venatori’s successful infiltration. Though it would not explain the absence of Watcher’s notice, the lesser dead who often kept guard would be blind to the intruders should the tapers be lit. He rushed across the room before she could permit an answer, his eyes locking on the hand Rook held. 

“It can’t be,” he gasped. “A Hand of Glory?” His suspicions were unfortunately confirmed. “The Venatori should never have this. I must find out where it came from.” Emmrich stowed away the necrotic hand and turned to Bellara and Rook. They had explaining to do, and Emmrich was sure there would be a lot to discuss now that the immediate threat was quelled. He pushed the horrific implications that the Hand of Glory brought away for now, as best he could. 

“Right. Shall we then?” His hand gestured towards a long hall that stretched before the three of them. “I’ll need to report what has occurred in the Belfry to the other Watchers. Perhaps the two of you can enlighten me as to why you need a Fade expert along the way?” His eyebrow arched with curiosity as he spoke, his hands clasping before him as he started to walk.

“Right, so. Where to begin.” Bellara started, scuttling her steps quickly to catch up with his lanky gait. “So, it all started a while ago. I wasn’t actually there, but Rook was. I mean, not at the beginning beginning but… maybe she should explain first.”

Rook sighed, not in an annoyed manner. No, she sighed in the distinct way someone let out a sigh when they’ve heard the same joke a thousand times, or when they knew they would have to repeat a long-winded tale.. It was hard to refrain from a knowing smile. 

“So, Professor, do you remember back in 9:42? How the breach created a rippling confluence of magic that weakened the Veil even here?” 

Emmrich’s brows knit. That was nearly a decade ago! How could this possibly have started then, when the Inquisitor had seen to it? “I do, several of the best and brightest mages met to discuss the very real threat of the Veil’s collapse. But the Inquisitor mended that breach, the Fade disturbances all went near quiet until this year.” He felt as his heart rate began to speed ever so slightly. “Rook… The Breach remains closed, correct?”

She averted her eyes, “Yes, it is. The South isn’t the issue… How much do you know about Fen’harel?”

His eyes widened, “In reference to the Dalish deity? Oh, what was it—the god of betrayal and rebellion? I hardly see how this has to do with the Breach.” 

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“Right,” she said with some uneasiness. Trying for a moment not to laugh at just how much Fen’harel had to do with the Breach. Rook took a deep breath, now to explain how the gods of her people were real, tangible, powerful, mages. Not just bedtime stories or carved idols on a shrine. “So it turns out that one of the Inquisitor’s most trusted allies was indirectly responsible for the Breach, in that… he wanted the Breach to be ripped open, he just would have done it differently. That same ally recently attempted to sunder the Veil entirely.”  Rook watched as Vorgoth and Myrna turned the corner just ahead of them in the corridor, bowing her head slightly as their eyes met in acknowledgement.

“I beg your pardon?” Emmrich questioned, his mind visibly racing.

“Consider it the perks of travelling with the ‘Viscount of Kirkwall’, I was alongside him for a while, so I heard a lot of these stories,” she said with a dramatic flip of her hands. “He was there, with the Inquisition, from the beginning. It turns out that Solas, one of the Inquisitor’s companions, was actually the Dread Wolf, Fen’harel. Had Varric… sorry the Viscount, not assembled a team to track him down, there is a very real possibility none of us would be here right now.” She paused for a moment, a pang of unexpected emotion shooting through her as her hands fumbled to find the stone chess piece in her pocket. She took a deep breath, her anxiety only breaking as her finger traced its edges, tamping down the water that stung as it pooled in her eyes. Confused by the sudden surge she forced a deep breath into her lungs. “Sorry, a-anyways, we um… we found his ritual. He had crafted a blade capable of slicing through the Fade, with the intent to permanently rend it. So I… made a call. It probably wasn’t the right one, but had I not I don’t think the Veil would still be standing. The only issue is, when I disrupted the ritual I not only released the blight… but two elven gods.” She felt everyone's eyes fall on her, studying her for a moment as she steadied her breath. Nerves trickling at the admission of yet another tactical failure in front of the Watchers. Especially one with such catastrophic consequences.

“If I'm to follow your reasoning… you're telling us that you accidentally unleashed the blight?” Emmrich’s voice pushed in a disciplinary tone. “And if I am not mistaken in hearing, the elven gods–”

“Oh, it’s definitely the blight, I’ve never seen anything like it. But it's more… alive than I assumed it would be?” Bellara interjected, “We think the gods are in control of it somehow. They were even able to blight dragons!”

“I’m sorry, did you say, they managed to blight dragons?!” Emmrich said incredulously, his gaze jumping to the Watchers standing across from him.

“IT IS INCONGRUOUS.” Vorgoth intoned.

“Their physiology shouldn’t even allow for that… We previously thought them impervious to such infections.”  Myrna said with her fingers curled around her chin in thought.

“I know, it’s a lot to take in.” She said, closing her eyes before she continued. Hoping that of all the people and factions she has had to relay this to time and time again the Mourn Watch would believe her. “But I swear we’ve seen the blighted gods ourselves.”

“It would explain recent oneiric disruptions.” Myrna’s interjected calmly.

“At the least! The implications of what Rook’s witnessed are–” Emmrich started in her defence before the rattling of bones and porcelain cut him off. His head snapped to the side to gaze upon the small skeleton beside him. It had strange goggles, with large green crystals in its sockets, and its gloved hands holding tightly to a tea tray adorned with a kettle and cups. “Ah, thank you Manfred.”

“No one ever brings me tea after I slog through the crypts.” Rook teased playfully, her eyes still studying the rather endearing construct.

“My assistant Manfred. Always thoughtful!” the professor doted as the skeleton beside him let out an enthusiastic hissing sound.

“Adorable!” Rook let out an enamored chuckle. “Is your assistant wearing the old Watcher’s livery?” She noted the leather collar piece around his neck that appeared to be crudely stitched in places.

With a proud parental smile Emmrich answered, “Manfred sewed it himself! Eventually.” The way his eyes watched the skeleton clued her in to everything she needed to know about the two. 

“YOU SPOKE OF DANGER IN THE FADE.” Vorgoth interjected before she could reply, realigning their focus back to the matter at hand. 

“Right,” Rook centered herself, eyes meeting Vorgoth. “The elven gods intend to tear it wide open to get to the blight. I came home to find a necromancer who’d help stop them.” She looked at Emmrich nervously, her eyes meeting his before she continued, studying his expression in hopes he would actually agree to all of this, “A Fade expert.”

Myrna looked at her, her brows raised sympathetically. “Rook… many Watchers never depart Nevarra, even with events so dire–”

“I’d be delighted to assist!” Emmrich interjected, his hands clasping together with a jingling of metal. Rook’s glance shot back to him, her eyes wide, as she hadn't expected him to agree so quickly - or so enthusiastically at that. She was almost certain with Myrna’s bracing that it would be out of the question.

“IT HAS BEEN MANY YEARS SINCE YOU LEFT US,” Vorgoth spoke, also seemingly curious at the Professor’s enthusiasm. 

“Well, yes, but elven gods? Ancient magics? I couldn’t bear to miss this!” His hands animatedly moved with his words. “Besides, I've spent my life exploring the Fade and speaking to spirits. If Rook needs an expert, none are better qualified than I.” His attention shifted away from his fellow Watchers and squared upon Rook by the end of his sentence. Her eyes were still wide as her mind sat baffled. She was grateful it didn’t require twisting an arm or two, and found herself surprised at the ease of Emmrich’s agreement. If there was anything she learned since this entire crusade began, it was that nothing had been easy.

“It… It would be an honor to have another Mourn Watcher along, sir!” she spoke through a smile.

“My knowledge is at your disposal, I shall gather my things.” He clapped his hands with a returning smile, “Come, Manfred!” he mused as the skeleton let out an excited noise. Rook didn’t exactly know what to call it, but up until that point she didn’t know skeletons could create an excited sound. 

Rook bowed politely to Myrna and Vorgoth, afraid staying even a moment longer would earn some type of pushback or unwelcome critique of the professor’s leave of absence. She and Bellara instead decided to make their way to the bridge and await the Professor there. She had butterflies brimming within her. Was it due to the small victory, or the realization that she would be seeing a great deal more of Emmrich? She found herself struggling to restrain her lips from forming a grin, hoping not to reveal the bubbling joy she felt. It was an even greater struggle to ignore the schoolyard crush that threatened to resurface. To play the cool, level headed leader. But she would try her best.

“What has you smiling?” Bellara asked as she leaned forwards to get a better look at Rook while they walked.

“That just… I don’t know. I know we fought Venatori, and demons but… it somehow went so much smoother than I feared. It’s been a long time since I dared step foot in Nevarra, but… that went well? It actually went well,” she lied, despite the truth of her words.

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Emmrich gathered his things with haste–what he didn’t wish to carry he prepared an evocation to summon later, more than likely with the aid of undead. He wanted to make sure he had a wealth of knowledge at his disposal no matter if the topic  was of any use to the team.  Manfred hissed from behind him. 

“Yes I know, but we shall have tea once we arrive. No use spending the time now!” Once he was sufficiently packed, he lifted a couple heavy boxes of books, and made his way to the large bridge near the entryway to the belfry. Rook and Bellara waved, rushing over to him to help carry the boxes he held. “Thank you, but I assure you I am quite able.” 

“We have a long walk ahead of us, and we’re the ones who know the way! It’s really not a problem at all.” Bellara insisted, which reminded him–in all their discussions, he wasn’t all too sure where it was they were going.

“About that, where exactly have you set up work?” His hand clasped into a fist, tucked neatly by his chest.

 It was Rook this time that answered, “The Fade.”

He could see she was watching him out of the corner of her eye with a sheepish grin, and before he could even begin his line of questioning, answers flowed from Bellara.“So, when Rook disrupted the ritual and escaped, they ended up in the Fade but not just anywhere… It's the Dread Wolf’s lighthouse. It’s filled with incredible amounts of ancient knowledge– I cannot wait to show you! You're going to love it! They brought me on to the team to fix the eluvian network, one of them connected straight to the Necropolis.”

His eyes widened, his jaw dropping slightly. “That eluvian has been rendered inactive for centuries. Bellara my dear girl, how on earth did you get them working?” To say he was astonished was an understatement. He was somehow even more pleased with his choice to take a sabbatical upon hearing that not only would he be residing in the Fade, but the base of operations once occupied by an elven god? The mind reels! 

“Right, well, I was able to take control of the distortions I sensed in the mirror. Tampering with the etheric flow until the network came online. It’s called the Vir’Rivas.” Bellara fidgeted with her hands as she spoke, the three of them approaching the mirror that now shimmered in viscous ripples before them.

“The Freedom of Ways… Remarkable. I’ve seen it referenced in texts but, to have discovered its location…” his voice spoke breathlessly.

“After you, Professor.” Rook said with a roguish drawl, a smirk adorning her face. In he went, and what greeted him on the other side exceeded all expectations. At his age, it was rare to still experience firsts. He had entered the Fade many times before: but not physically. To see the crossroads? It was like stepping back in time itself. “Beautiful, isn’t it?” Rook said softly from behind him, watching as he gazed at the tall trees, elven sculptures and large Nevarran archways his mouth agape.

“But that’s–” he sputtered, pointing to the architecture before them.

“Storm Age, I know. This place seems to hold memories, both of the people who travelled here, and the places they lead. We haven’t managed to explore much of it yet. But what we have has been like nothing I’ve ever seen.” 

Emmrich raced forwards, walking as fast as his legs would take him. He peered over the metal fencing, vast Tevinter-style palaces sat amongst floating isles of rock, “So these other mirrors, you’ve managed to fix them?” 

Bellara smiled, denoting which city each mirror led to as she pointed to them. He sang her more praises before taking off yet again to look around. Through the archway sat a small town—at least, that’s what he’d call it—occupied entirely by spirits! It was fascinating, musicians played, merchants chattered amongst the crowds. He wasn't sure if it was merely an echo of ancient Elvhen or if what he saw before him was the natural state of spirits.

“Manfred, please don’t wander off.” he called out, not wanting to lose sight of his own curiosity, let alone his assistant. To witness these civilizations in their prime, how vibrant they must have been. As they left, he saw it. The pulsing raw forms of the blight. So it was true. The grey mass flexed in a repulsive way yet, he found himself still walking closer still to examine it. “The blight’s touch has come even this far?”

“We aren’t sure how, we’ve been working to clear it.” Rook answered, “But do you see how it seems… alive? I've never seen it explained in texts quite like this.”

“Curious indeed, I don’t believe there is record of it behaving in this manner, but I will be sure to look into it once we get to your lighthouse.” He touched his finger to his lip as he thought. It was a possiblity the gods tried to blight the Vir’Revas to gain control of the entire network. A horrifying thought to say the least. 

The three of them reached a cliffside, pausing for a moment to take in the view he let out a small sigh. Squinting to look into the distance he swore he saw a small boat. No, he most assuredly did. He watched as a spirit paddling a long wooden gondola approached. “Professor, I’d like you to meet the Caretaker.” 

“Charmed, and please, it’s Emmrich. This, is Manfred.” he said, bowing to the spirit and following as Bellara and Rook stepped aboard the vessel. 

“Curiosity, and the Whisperer. To other shores.” the Caretaker greeted them, their voice multiplicitous in a way he had never heard.  His gaze never moved from the view as the boat drifted amidst the still air of the Fade, floating temples, ancient trees, statues and relics so old their names had been forgotten to time. As they unboarded, they walked past old headstones, with Watcher’s tomb-script adorning them. Truly how this place fingerprinted the reality around it was enough to make his head spin. How he could spend hours wandering this place and never growing tired of its boundless surprises. He had so many questions, yet in this moment he found himself speechless while surrounded by the splendor of bygone eras. 

Finally, they climbed an impressive staircase, leading to an imposing mirror at its end. Emmrich watched as the figures of Rook and Bellara melted through, he paused for a moment, taking one last deep breath. This, perhaps, would be his grandest adventure.

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Rook paced in her room, the refraction from the aquarium casting light that danced across the floor. This was stupid, why was she so nervous now? Had the reality set in that she would have to face him every day? That he was only one door away? So she used to have a crush on him back when she was a novice... She would occasionally see him walking the gardens, and even attended a handful of lectures, but it wasn’t like she knew him at all. The elegance and confidence in his command of magic—who wouldn’t swoon at such an impressionable age?  She was older now, and certainly over it. She could interact with him like any of her other new colleagues. There was no reason to be getting cold feet.

He had more grey now, her brain noted. The last she had seen him his hair had been more dappled with black. The memories of seeing him about the Necropolis years before now mixed with new memories. Her mind flowed back to the sight of him corpse-whispering. The focus that sat on his brow, the way his hand moved with precision and grace between the glowing weaves of magic, gilded as the gold and gems sparkled in the pale green light of his own creation. She wondered if they would feel cold against her skin. Focus. She scolded herself. There was no reason to regress to such—such inane fantasies. She would conduct herself with decorum, it would be great to have a friend amongst the Watchers here. Someone who understood, who she could confide in and who wouldn’t judge her magic or culture. As much as she loved the team, there were some things people outside of Nevarra just didn’t understand. It would be a luxury to have a taste of home. Taste, her mind repeated as a blush flushed onto her face. 

“Maker.” she hissed under her breath, lamenting the emotions that had flooded back to her since his arrival to the lighthouse. She would be friends, peers, and team-mates, with Emmrich Volkarin. She could do this.

With a sigh she finally left her room, turning down the long hall that led to his chambers. The door was already cracked open, the familiar voice of Bellara bubbling from inside the room. “A third edition of ‘The Unnamable Elements’? I didn’t even know it had editions!” she said excitedly, flipping through the pages of a cumbersome book.

“Oh, it’s much improved with the index. Please borrow it, if you’d like.” The Professor said, as he unpacked a small box of books onto the shelf, his smile beaming at her excitement.

“I’d love to—oh, Rook!” she exclaimed, taking a step back from Emmrich as she noticed Rook enter. “You probably want to say hi… Thanks, Professor!” She exclaimed, hugging the book to her chest as she left the room. 

“You look moved in.” Rook said, casting her eyes to the lit fireplace beside them. The room still sat mostly empty, but Emmrich and Manfred had clearly been hard at work unpacking books onto shelves the few hours since they had arrived.

He smiled, clasping his hands in front of him, “Just a few essentials. Manfred was great help with the boxes.” The skeleton hissed from the corner of the room, excitedly running between them to grab a new stack of books from a nearby box. “What a fascinating place this Lighthouse is! What do you make of it?”

“It’s incredible. Mysterious puzzles and artifacts, lots of art, plenty of space for everyone to have their own rooms…” Rook started, looking up to finally meet Emmrich’s gaze.

“It’d be easy to fall in love with such a place.” His eyes were warm as the firelight reflected against their hazel and it caused a resurgence of butterflies in her stomach. With, she reminded herself, he said with.

“Well… it’s certainly nicer with another Mourn Watcher around.”The admission slipped out before she could think better of it. 

“Is it?” He said inquisitively, his voice dipping lower than she was used to.

“Especially one with experience.”  she replied, certain she would scold herself later for her flattery. But she couldn’t resist in that moment, the firelight dancing across his face. Besides it was far from a hollow compliment—of all the Watchers she’d had the privilege of seeing work, Emmrich was truly a marvel.  She studied him as he smirked, as if contemplating his reply before he spoke.

“I must be sure to live up to expectations.” Emmrich’s eyebrows rose with emphasis to his words.

Rook fought the urge to blush, knowing he most certainly couldn’t have intended his response to sound as flirtatious as it  had. She shifted the topic quickly, “Did you get the tour yet?”

“Oh, I’ve been exploring but…” his words tapered off as he brought his hand to his lips in contemplation. “I noticed a few of the others taken aback by Manfred. And I overheard remarks about my skulls… my necromancy won’t cause any undue worry, will it?” His brows knit with concern as his hand lowered, his eyes now much more serious than they had been only moments ago.

“No one’s afraid of my necromancy.”

“That’s a relief” he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Our art is so easily vilified.”

She shrugged, no stranger to his sentiments. If there was anything her travels taught her, it was the weight of what it meant to be a Mortalitasi. The rumors from the rest of Thedas alone were enough to bring you infamy without even raising a finger, if you let them. But this team was different. No one had stuck up their nose at the Nevarran mage when Varric brought her on. Since then they had recruited allies, each more unlikely than the last, some how they weren’t at eachothers throats. “That’s life outside Nevarra. You’ll win them over. Besides, we’re all still getting used to one another.” 

“True, and yet…” he paused for a moment, frowning slightly before he continued, his eyes distant and somewhat sad as he looked to the fire. “I’d hoped to make a good first impression.”

“Give it time, we’ll settle in.” Rook reassured, her voice warm. 

A hiss from the side of the room drew their attention, Manfred raised a tray eagerly. “Ah.” Emmrich exclaimed, his normal charismatic demeanor restored in an instant. “I nearly forgot. I seem to owe you tea, for your valiant ‘slog through the crypts’.”

She laughed hearing her words thrown back at her, “I’d love some.” her eyes darted around the still nearly empty room, “Although, you’ve still no place to sit, professor.” She laughed softly at the realization watching Emmrich’s face fall slightly as his eyes wandered the room. All these books and he had yet to bring even one fixture of furniture. “Here.” she said, walking across the room to fetch the empty wooden crates that had once housed books. She set them in front of the fire, sitting on one with an impish smile. He sighed, resigning himself as he sat on the opposing crate. 

Manfred scuttled over with the tray, Emmrich’s eyes once again beaming as he watched, taking the kettle to pour them tea. “I’d like to thank you, Rook. For all of your help at the Necropolis today.”

Her face scrunched slightly, off guard. “Of course I would help, I certainly hope any Watcher would do the same had they been there.” She watched as his gaze shifted for a moment, as if doing calculations before he spoke. 

“Forgive me, I was under the impression you were no longer with the Mourn Watch. So I wanted to thank you for renewing duties… you had no obligation to see them through.” His tone was genuine, warm even. But it didn’t keep them from searing through her like ice. But she couldn’t hold any anger towards him. He had that impression because she had given it. Because in the end, the ambiguity of her circumstances felt more comfortable, pessimistic. Then she couldn't be disappointed. He took a sip from his cup, eyes studying her intently. 

“If I might ask…what work took you so far from the Necropolis? It’s exceedingly rare anyone leave the order.” His question hung in the air with a pause of silence. Rook froze, considering how to even broach the topic without a barbed tongue. Her eyes cast to the fire.

“Well,” She started, trying to keep an even tone. “Do you remember that uprising of undead nobility a while ago?”

His eyes deepend with confusion as he took another sip. “The War of the Banners? I was up in the city when that broke out.” Emmrich’s voice shifted, his hands moving with his words animatedly as if repeating gossip: “I heard a young Watcher, Ingellvar, put a stop to it through unorthodox measures.”

Rook’s cheeks reddened hearing her last name drip from his lips, her eyes trained with the utmost intent on the fire before her. “And got into trouble…” She said in an embarrassed grumble. “It was decided it might be best for that young Watcher to see the world.”

“Ah… say no more.”

But how could it be simply left at that? No, she didn’t leave the order. Rook was swept out of sight to keep the peace with Nevarra’s inviolable nobility. Released from her duties. Unsure of when or if she would ever be allowed to return. She was trained for years to protect the vaults, and when it came down to that moment… in what should have been her defining moment… she hadn’t made the right call.  Her fingers fumbled into her pocket, tracing the edges of the small stone chess piece between her fingers to ground herself.

“Horseshit,” Varric had always told her whenever she lamented. He insisted that prioritizing her team would always be the ‘right call’. She took a long sip of tea. 

It didn’t feel like she had made very many ‘right calls’ to know the difference.

The Prelates, her mind scoffed, placed more care on their precious dead and kissing nobles’ rings than on the living who trained there, resided there. Her team had survived impossible odds because of her choice. Nevarra city avoided a civil war, because of her choice. She knew it was an unfair thought to blame the Mourn Watch for her actions… but wasn’t it unfair what they had done in turn? They preferred sacrifice for the sake of ceremony. Now she knew, she could brace her expectations. She trained her eyes on Emmrich,part of her wanting to pry his opinion from him, just to know where they stood. But she knew he was right. It probably was best left undiscussed.

“I could catch you up on events at the Necropolis.” Emmrich ventured cautiously, trying to ease the tension he had caused. “I know Myrna speaks to you often…but now that I’m at the Lighthouse, I’d be more than happy to fill you in on things back home. Should they bring you comfort.”

“Thank you… Professor.” She said, holding back tears. She grabbed the kettle that sat on the floor between them, refilling her cup and lightly shaking the kettle in request to fill his. He leaned forward slightly as he extended his cup to her.

“And please, Emmrich will do.” 

“You call me Rook, do me the favor of allowing me your title in turn.” She smiled, pouring the tea into his cup while meeting his eyes. “It only seems fair.”

He let out a deep chuckle, his eyes unwavering from her. “Very well.” 

In truth, she didn’t care about the ceremony of it at all. Part of her felt that if she only used his title it meant keeping him at arm's length. That’s what she needed. To not get too close, and make a fool of herself.  ‘Professor’, she thought, was like a suit of armor, protecting her from the comfort she would assuredly overindulge in. Simple, and effective, though she hoped it held more stealth to her intentions than clattering metal.

“This tea…” she started after taking another sip. The taste had been so familiar to her, but she couldn't place it. She watched as his eyes met hers above the rim of his cup. A knowing smile curled on to his lips as it met the saucer. 

“A blend from home.” He replied in a soft, quiet voice. “Sometimes, it's the smallest things that bring us solace.”

 The two spoke for what felt like hours, time passing with ease as they discussed the Vir’Rivas, the Gods, and the Fade alike. It was only once the teapot finally ran empty, that she decided it wise to retire for the night. Stacking her teacup onto the tray as she stood. “Welcome to the team, Professor.” she said with a smirk as she slipped out of the room and back into the hallway.

“Good Night, Rook.”