Impure Thoughts Today Surroundingthe Song Rule #34 By Fish In A Birdcage And Some Dark Emmrich Vibes

Thinking about that concept sketch of the companions around the table again. Emmrich’s fancy posing. 🤭

"can you explain this gap in your resume?" I once breached the Fade in the name of another, to serve the Old Gods of the empire in person. I found only chaos and corruption. Dead whispers. For a thousand years I was confused. No more. I have gathered the will to return under no name but my own, to champion withered Tevinter and correct this blighted world. Beg that I succeed, for I have seen the throne of the gods, and it was empty!

At some point, for some reason, Rook had misinterpreted the term 'letters'.

Perhaps it was because Bellara had said it so breathlessly--though Bellara says lots of things breathlessly, given she speaks at about the speed of magic itself. Perhaps it was the smile she'd used when she said 'the Professor'. But Bellara smiles most of the time. In the end it doesn't matter how it happened. The result was the same: Rook heard Bellara talk about these letters, this necromancer she was writing to, and figured they were passing love letters. Odd, very lingo-heavy love letters that contained a lot of side conversation about magical artifacts and the stability of the Veil, but love letters nonetheless.

Rook meets Emmrich and hears him call Bellara 'dear' and knows it must be true. Rook also meets Emmrich and wants to climb him like a tree, but she's always been into that kind of academic, willowy, never-met-the-sun kind of look. Necromancers. Rook's always been into necromancers. She is one. It's pretty normal.

"You must be excited to finally meet him in person," Rook says to Bellara while they're following Emmrich through the Shrouded Halls. Emmrich extols the wonder of life and death in between completely demolishing Venatori in a way that feels bone-shatteringly powerful.

"Oh yeah," Bellara says, and grins. "Arlathan is pretty far from Nevarra, so I didn't think we'd ever actually meet, but it's pretty cool that we did! Professor Emmrich is really knowledgeable, not just about the Fade, but music and art and--"

"Hmm neat!" Rook says, instead of Alright girl keep it in your pants because she actually really likes Bellara and she can't blame her. Emmrich Volkarin is six-foot-three, hazel-eyed and has a voice like candlelit red wine. He'd be a dream come true for any young mage with a little too much to say and a few too many nights alone in their recent past.

Of which there are two in the room.

Anyway.

It's not a big deal. The others don't really seem fussed over the fact that Bellara has brought her sneaky link into the fold and Emmrich is bonkers capable, so it doesn't really matter whether or not he's sourced from some horny letters. He also comes highly recommended from the Mourn Watch, and that's enough for Rook.

They keep things pretty subtle too. Rook never sees them kiss or even really touch, and Bellara seems too busy with the archive spirit to do much other than tinker with it outside of missions. Emmrich always seems to have something to be doing as well. If anything, he seems to spend more time with Rook than Bellara--and this is the source of the issue.

The spark of attraction in the Necropolis grows to nothing short of a blazing inferno. Emmrich invites Rook to the Memorial Gardens, performs the rituals with her, calls her recitation of the rites masterful. He takes her arm in the crook of his own as they walk the paths. He finds her in the kitchen in the evenings and sits next to her, legs crossed in that neat and proper way, and she sits there and lets the heat of his thigh burn into hers until she has to get up and go find something to occupy her hands. He does everything short of lay his jacket over puddles for her like some prince in a storybook--though even that, she wouldn't put past him. She sees him staring at her during a soaking downpour in Minrathous one time, but it's always raining in Minrathous.

Jealousy is an insidious emotion that the Mourn Watch warns against specifically. It will make a monster of the most benevolent, if it takes hold. Rook struggles not to let it. This gets harder and harder, the more time she spends in Emmrich's company and the more he seeks her out. He'll say, "I'm so pleased to have a fellow Watcher to talk to, Rook," and she'll smile and pretend she isn't actively resisting the urge to stare at his lips. He'll say, "I am continually impressed by your keen skills of observation, my dear" and she'll only be capable of nodding because she's trying to clear a daydream from her head. Something about him and one of the geothermal underground pools in the Necropolis and a mysteriously disappearing set of clothing. He'll say, "I find myself continually waiting for the next time we'll have one of our chats, Rook--they're becoming something I find great comfort in," and Rook won't even hear what he's saying, because she's trying so hard to shove him, the concept of him, into a little box in her head labeled Bellara's--Do Not Touch.

It gets a little ridiculous. She stops taking them on missions together, because the sound of them chattering on about Fade harmonics behind her makes her want to absolutely chew glass. On the off chance she sees one of them come out of the other's room, which does not happen very often at all but has, on a handful of occasions, she'll turn herself around and sit herself down on Solas' stupid fuck-ugly green meditation couch until she feels a little less like her head is going to pop off. One time, she falls asleep while doing this and has to deal with a particularly weird conversation with Solas where she's too keyed up to do much more than grunt along to his typical long-winded pontification and he ends the conversation with something along the lines of, "Perhaps you should reexamine some details of your situation that you have taken as fact. You may find them not so."

"Could you just say something that's not buried under five layers of innuendo," Rook thinks, and unfortunately also says out loud, because she's not actually allowed to think just in her head in these Solas-dreams. He scowls at her and rolls his eyes. They're both doing the Fade-space equivalent of blowing raspberries at each other by the time she wakes up.

It all comes to a head in Arlathan, because they've camped with the Veil Jumpers for the night and Rook needs to ask Bellara a question. She thinks nothing of whipping open the flap to Bellara's tent, because Bellara is almost always awake until the stars have been overhead for hours and Emmrich--who was obliged to come along, just this once, because they're in Arlathan specifically for haunting-related reasons--is visible across the camp, wiggling carrots through the bars of Gus the Nug's cage. There is a small, tender smile on his face as he listens to the nug snort and whuffle. Rook suddenly remembers the story about the pig he used to hug as a kid, and then her heart jumps a little, and--

Well, anyway, there shouldn't be a reason not to let herself into Bellara's tent.

There is, in fact, a reason not to let herself into Bellara's tent.

That reason is named Irelin, whose body Rook now knows about in much more expansive detail than she did a few minutes ago. Bellara's too, though most of that was covered by--well, by Irelin.

"Maker!" they all three scream in unison, and Rook all but sommersaults back out of the tent.

"Sorry," she yells through the flap. "Sor--sorry, I didn't--"

"It's fiiine," Bellara yells back. Her head pokes through after a minute. Her hair is down and disappears somewhere back inside the tent. She looks like an almost completely different person with it framing her face like that. "Hey, um--you could, like...knock next time? I mean, I know you can't really knock on a tent--"

"Everything alright over here?" Emmrich has appeared, and Rook's tongue seems to grow three sizes in her mouth.

Oh shit! is all her brain will supply, so she doesn't really respond. She thinks she's willing enough to respect Girl Code, such as it is, that she won't tell Emmrich about the whole Irelin thing. Because maybe that's how their relationship works, or maybe Emmrich already knows, or maybe it's none of her business--

Or maybe something really weird is happening, because Bellara looks at Emmrich and her expression does nothing but get a little more annoyed, and she sighs, "It's fine. No worries, Professor. Just, could you guys--y'know, privacy?"

Then Irelin makes a noise from inside the tent, and it's pretty clear at that point what's just happened, but Emmrich just blushes a little and says, "Ah," and then wraps his hand around Rook's arm and leads her away, back towards the cage with Gus.

"Okay," Rook says, as Gus sniffs her boot on the off chance it contains carrots. "That was weird."

"I fear there are bound to be clashes when multiple cultures blend, my dear," Emmrich tells her, a low murmur directly into her ear. "We in Nevarra, especially amongst the Mourn Watch, are slightly more--shall we say, open? Don't take it personally that Bellara withheld the information of her liaison with Irelin. I don't think it was done maliciously."

"No, I mean--why aren't you--upset?"

Emmrich's brows furrow. "Whyever would I be upset? I'm hardly a prude, Rook. These are difficult times, and any small piece of comfort one can find should be readily taken. A tent in the middle of a busy camp is an...interesting location, but I understand our dear Bellara has history with Irelin, and should the object of my affections be willing--"

"No, no, I mean--you're not--are you okay with this? You and Bellara have some kind of..." Rook scrambles about for an accurate word. "Agreement? About this kind of stuff?"

Emmrich's eyebrows do an odd, fluttery sort of thing that reminds Rook of a puppet she once saw being manipulated by a group of playful wisps. Sort of like his face is trying to show half a dozen emotions at once.

"Why on earth would Bellara and I have ever spoken about her sex life," he says flatly, and far more bluntly than Rook is used to him being. Heat floods her body as she realizes that she has, somewhere along the way, wildly misunderstood something.

"I," says Rook, "have made a mistake."

"Rook," he says, with a voice like he's trying to diffuse a spell primed to explode, "Darling. If you thought Bellara and I were involved, would you mind enlightening me exactly as to...what you think my intentions were when I took you to the Memorial Gardens."

Rook wonders if Gus the nug could be persuaded to eat her whole.

"Enrichment?" she mutters.

"Enrichment," Emmrich sighs under his breath.

There is a long, gravid beat of silence.

"That clearing we passed earlier," Rook mumbles under her breath, once the world is done tilting on its axis. "Looked enriching."

"Quite," Emmrich says promptly. He grabs her by the hand and only grins a little when she releases a frantic, giddy giggle as he pulls her away from the camp.

I will kill any god you ask.

This watcher coat looks so warm and comfy!!

Among The Multitudes

(Read on AO3)

Written for the Dragon Age Big Bang 2025. Illustrated by @the-font-bandit

M. 41,111 words.

Summary:

The first word Emmrich learnt to read was Johanna.

His eyes followed the sharp edges of each letter, cutting across his right wrist, staking some wordless claim, the ink as dark as blood. Each edge was distinct from the other, downward strokes hard and impressive, straightforward. Emmrich traced each letter — wrote it out, charcoal on paper, on leaves, fingers in the dirt, until they were identical to his skin, until he knew Johanna by heart.

Then a second name came after, months later, much more surprising than the first.

On his left wrist, all curving swirls, rounded letters, and sweeping lines, much more difficult for his young eyes to follow. The H molded into the A, pressed even closer to the N, as if written in a hurry, ink so light, the word untethered to its writer. Mummy had to help him decipher it, holding him close, her long dark hair plaited, the tips of it tickling his nose. She laughed, bright and tinkling — “Your soulmate has terrible handwriting, my love,” — before settling on Thana. Death.

—

Or, one Emmrich Volkarin, bearer of two soul marks, and a lifetime's exploration of the different faces of love and heartbreak.

Preview under the cut

Emmrich wondered — not for the first time in the last few years — what his soulmates were like.

His thoughts often strayed to them when he accompanied his mother to one of the manors she worked at. Early mornings kneading dough, late evenings cooking for some noble's party, sweat on her brow from the heat of the kitchens. Or when he would stay with his father at the shop, the scent of meat in the air, the rhythmic sound of a knife slicing through flesh, through bone, on a wooden block, the occasional greeting to a customer.

Were their parents like his? Did they go to market days together — spices and fruits and vegetables at every stall? Were there quiet smiles, lingering touches when passing by, eyes that lit up whenever they saw each other? Days off and summer picnics, shaky legs skating on the Minanter in the winter?

(Would there be with him when they grow up? Hands in his, laughter that rang through streets and love that woke with the sun and reminded him of his parents. He imagined Johanna with a grin as sharp as their name on his wrist, and Thana with soft, light hands, fingers making swirling patterns in the air.)

Did they like to read as much as he did?

The Chantry near his home was a tiny, modest thing — very different from the one closer to the heart of Nevarra City, with its tall towers and gleaming windows, always smelling like incense and myrrh — and Mother Dellah said he was turning into quite a studious learner, mind expanding in leaps and bounds. The Chantry opened their doors to the neighborhood children on Sundays, providing lessons on arithmetic, history, religion, and all sorts of other things. Emmrich soaked it all in like a sponge.

(Would they sit and read with him? He hoped they would, pointing to their favorite passages, legs knocking together. Perhaps in the Chantry library, right where he was now, whispering and giggling until Mother Dellah scolded them and kicked them out. He wouldn’t mind it that much as long as they were with him — the three of them would find something else to do together — together — always together.)

(Read on AO3)

curiosity

He's the King of Antiva to me

Inspired by this post by @vigilskeep because they opened my third eye with it.

Your face when you haven't slept for six months, you live in a pantry, and there's a capricious demon in your head. Gods, I love him.

Hi! 8 or 17 for the Rook story time prompts?

First of all I owe you my life your prompts are DELIGHTFUL! Second of all I hope you enjoy! I'm sorry these take so long but am so grateful for you taking the time to send some in!! I had so much fun writing <3

8. A time Rook argued with someone they cared about Echo de Riva (because I'm on a tear about Viago and Rook's relationship right now)

“You will not continue your training–you will not be a Crow.” 

Viago’s words struck Echo as truly as a physical blow. She flinched, staggered back a step. Her skin burned where it pulled taut over fresh, still healing wounds. 

“What?” She hated how small her voice sounded. Like she was eight again, instead of a woman nearly grown.

“It’s too dangerous. You–” Viago bit off his next words, looking away. When he continued, his voice was measured again, low. “You cannot continue.”

“Vi, of course it’s dangerous–you’re the one who says ‘every job is your life risked, doubly if you’re an idiot about it.’” She hoped the sneering Viago impression covered the actual desperation slipping through the cracks. She had to continue her training; what else could she even be? 

“And it’s infinitely more dangerous now! Look at yourself–” he rounded on her, gesturing sharply. “You’re barely standing. Should you have even left your bed?” 

Echo grit her teeth in answer, chin lifting in defiance of her slight sway and copious amounts of visible bandaging. 

“You can’t control your magic, Echo,” Viago continued, the word like a curse. “It will kill you.” 

“No! I can-I can learn! There are mages in the Crows, Heir has probably trained others–I’ll learn, Viago. I can control it,” She reached for him, grasping at his arm. “Please, Vi. I’ll– I will be a credit to de Riva. I swear it.” 

He studied her then, gaze hard underneath his furrowed brow. An eternity passed, her cold hand gripping Viago’s arm, warm even though his leathers. She watched silently as a host of emotions played behind Viago’s eyes, and wished not for the first time she could somehow hear his thoughts. They stared until finally, Viago blinked. Sighed. Echo’s heart soared–surely he was about to relent, realize he was wrong, though he’d never apologize, and tell her she could still be an asset to the House–when his gaze fell to her arm, freshly bandaged and yet already darkened with ruddy, oozing blood. 

“No,” he ground out. “I forbid it.” She hated him for a moment, then. Hated the gentle way he removed her hand, stepped back from her reach. Hated the glimpse of pain that crossed his brow as he turned his back on her. 

“Vi–” she started, before Teia stepped in front of her. She’d materialized from the shadows; Echo had a sneaking suspicion she’d been there the entire time. 

“Not now,” she spoke gently, hushed, though her expression brooked no argument. “Come and rest.” 

As Teia led her back towards her rooms, Echo released a gasping breath, not realizing how it had caught and held as she and Viago had stared each other down. Her body ached, phantom lightning racing across her skin again. She shuddered and immediately Teia’s arm wound carefully around her, ready to catch or support her weight if needed. 

They slowly shuffled up the grand staircase this way, pausing every now and again for Echo to squeeze her eyes tight against another bout of the burning, stinging, searing pain. It only worsened as the adrenaline from the argument waned; by the time they reached Echo’s rooms she went immediately and willingly to her bed. Didn’t say a word as Teia helped her lay down, carefully tucking her in. Again, she felt as if she were eight again–still fragile, still small, still terrified to be left alone, jumping at every shadow as if every moment were her last. 

“Teia–” she began before a wave of despair choked her. She had to become a Crow. She had to. It was all she’d dreamed about, even before Viago had taken her in, and now…Now it was the only way to repay him for all that he’d done. She had to become a Crow, to honor the House that had saved her, provided for her. She had to become a Crow, like her mother and father before her, had to make them proud. Had to make Viago proud. She turned her face slightly away from Teia, unwilling to show the tears building behind her eyes. She willed her voice steady as she asked, “Do you think he means it?” 

“I…” Teia pressed her lips into a thin line. A beat of silence, then a sigh. “I think you scared him, today.”

She went to protest, head whipping around too fast and sending another shockwave of pain through her body. She cleared her throat instead and Teia sighed again. 

“You didn’t see it, Echo. You were up, fighting one moment, holding your own, then suddenly surrounded the next. Then Vi had barely taken a step towards you when we were all thrown back by–”

“By the explosion.” Not quite a question, but close. Echo didn’t remember much from earlier–just the feeling of overwhelm at being surrounded, the adrenaline coursing through her and then the sudden primal surge that had sprung forward in arcing flashes of lightning. Then blackness. Nothing. 

When she’d next awoken it was hazily, to the ministrations of healers, clustered around her and talking too quickly for her brain to register anything as words. Then blackness had taken her under again, until just a little while ago when she’d awoken to a quiet room and thought foolishly to seek Viago out. 

“...Yes. By the explosion. Your…magic, manifesting. The light was so bright and it cracked through the air like, like real lightning. From the sky. All those mercenaries around you were fried and there you were at the center. You collapsed in a pool of blood–yours, we’d come to find out. The lightning hadn’t split the sky, Echo, but you.”

Echo absorbed this. Frowned. “But I survived. And I meant it, Teia. I know I can learn to control it.”

“You barely survived,” Teia’s tone bordered on reproach, “But it’s true. You can learn. It’s a little odd for magic to manifest late, but not unheard of. And I do know Heir can help.”

“Then why would Viago say that?!” She couldn’t temper her shout in time, but found she didn’t actually care if it did echo all the way to Viago’s ears. Teia sighed, rubbing her forehead exasperatedly. 

“Look, I won’t speak for Vi. But I’ve not seen him afraid like that in…in a long time. Just don’t forget who we’re talking about, dove,” Her voice softened around the pet name. “He’s lost a lot, most of which was before he was even born, and none of it due to his own fault–no matter how he feels it to be. Forgive him if he is…extreme in his reaction, I think he only wants to protect you.” 

Echo absorbed this too, remaining quiet. Teia sighed again, her footsteps retreating on a final promise. “I’ll talk to him.”

—

Echo sunk further into her plush pillows as Teia left, mind still racing. She’d learned a lot about Viago over the years; She knew of the title he was denied, the choice thrust upon his mother, and the exile of family to cover the sins of the wealthiest. She knew how he’d lost his mother, how he’d fought every inch of his way up to Fifth Talon. She knew too, he’d invested a lot into her as an asset for House de Riva. An asset…she blew out a frustrated gust of air. 

Idiot. She knew he cared for her. She wasn’t stupid, just surprised at the strength of it. Before, she thought herself more asset than ward, but now…

Exhaustion pulled at her, her eyes growing heavier with each blink, until she finally succumbed, letting the darkness drag her down. Dreamless, she slept so deeply she didn’t hear the quiet scrape of a chair beside her bedside, nor felt the hand–ungloved–that reached out to hold hers, deep into the night.