Archive of Our Own ^beta

Emmrich frowned up at the top shelf of the bookcase, where DeFoivre’s On the nature of the Fade in Orlais remained tantalisingly out of reach. He had long suspected that this section of the library was rearranging itself when no-one was looking and this was proof positive—both because DeFoivre should have been three shelves down and four cases to the right, and also because that top shelf had not existed yesterday. He glanced around the section, but all the ladders also seemed to have been relocated—though that was far more likely to have been students than anything paranatural. The only other entity in eyesight was Rook, sitting at the other end of the long reading table, halfway through what looked like a primer on frost magic.

It was always gratifying to see Rook reading. He had once confessed to Emmrich in a moment of weakness that he deeply regretted his lack of magical education under the Qun, and it pleased Emmrich to no end that he had the chance to rectify that now. At present Rook occupied a rather odd position somewhere between student and faculty but not entirely either. Myrna had made noises to the effect that she would be willing to sponsor his admission into the Mourn Watch, unorthodox though that would be; Rook had laughed, and said that he was very grateful and he would think about it, but for now he was quite enjoying being a ‘kept man’, thank you very much. And since Emmrich was, for now, quite prepared to keep him thus, Rook had the freedom to drift in and out of the Necropolis and its many libraries, laboratories and lecture theatres with a liberty very few enjoyed.

He was also, Emmrich noted with some satisfaction, wearing the reading spectacles that Emmrich had bought for him after watching him squint at the fine print in an index of spells. There had been some resistance at first, a bit of Come on, Emmrich, when have you ever seen a Qunari wearing eyeglasses?, but a few nights of coming to bed without a headache from reading too late by candlelight had sorted that out. And anyway, they were rather becoming on him, gave him an academic air—though at the moment that was belied somewhat by the fact that, having just arrived home from visiting his friends in the Grey Wardens, he was still wearing dusty travelling leathers and was almost certainly leaving muddy footprints in the carpet.

Most importantly, though, he was taller than Emmrich, and had longer arms.

“Darling, might I beg your indulgence for a moment?”

Rook’s eyes flicked up from the page, bright gold over the rim of his spectacles. “Always,” he said. “What do you need?”

“DeFoivre’s The Fade in Orlais, if you please.”

Rook laid the book down carefully and folded the spectacles atop it. “I seem to remember you telling me once that you used to climb these shelves,” he said, getting up. 

“Yes, well, I was much younger then, and somewhat lighter. I shouldn’t like to topple one of these cases over; some of the books can get quite self-defensive.”

“One of them tried to take a chunk out of me the other week,” Rook commented, examining the shelf. “I think it was Belvenlok’s Bestiary of the Necropolis. We reached an agreement in the end.”

“How, exactly?”

“I told it that if it tried again, I’d tear off its spine and use it to stir my tea.” 

“Ah, your usual diplomatic approach.”

“Exactly.” Rook reached up and extracted DeFoivre. “Your indulgence, Professor,” he said, handing it down.

“You’re very kind.”

“You’re very easy to be kind to.” Rook was extremely close. He still had one hand on the shelf above Emmrich’s head. Rook was quite conscious of his size compared to the human (or human-shaped) inhabitants of the Necropolis and was normally careful not to loom too much over other people. There were times, however, when he liked to remind Emmrich of their respective heights—something which Emmrich, who had always been the taller one in previous engagements, found surprisingly compelling. There was also something else about him today…

Emmrich inhaled deeply. “You’re wearing the perfume I bought,” he said.

“Mmm. It’s nice. Does it suit me?”

Emmrich had spent a long time hunting for that particular fragrance. In the end he’d settled on a very dark blend of old leather and wood smoke, with a deep mossy base. Then, at the last moment, he had paused, and asked the perfumier for something else, to give it a little lift. After some thought, the woman had produced a very small bottle of lilac blossom extract, and it had been too perfect. The result was something that made Emmrich want to sink his teeth into Rook’s neck, which was more or less what he had been aiming for.

“You smell delicious, darling.”

Rook made a noise somewhere between a cat purring and a dragon breathing; the sound set something dark and dangerous stirring under Emmrich's skin.

“Shouldn’t go round saying things like that,” Rook said, shifting even closer. “People might get the wrong idea.”

“Oh, I don’t know. You seem to have understood well enough.” The collar of Rook’s doublet was askew. Emmrich straightened it with the hand not holding the book—for purely aesthetic reasons, naturally—and then, since he was there already, smoothed out the leather over the curve of Rook’s broad chest.

Rook made the strange purring noise again. “I’m a very keen student,” he said, and bent his head to kiss Emmrich slowly and luxuriantly. It was definitely true that he was a quick study; in their first few dalliances he had been an unskilled if enthusiastic participant, but he was a good listener and eager for constructive feedback, and it had been hardly any time before he had worked out how best to employ lips and tongue and teeth to make Emmrich weak at the knees. 

“You certainly understand the importance of regular revision,” Emmrich managed, when Rook had released him for a moment and he had caught his breath.

“The practical sessions are very instructive.”

Speaking of knees, one of Rook’s seemed to have made its way between his own. He permitted himself the privilege of pressing back, heard his own gasp, heard Rook’s answering rumble—

—heard a floorboard creak on the other side of the shelves. From the way Rook had frozen, he had obviously heard it too. Emmrich pushed him away and said, rather louder than was strictly necessary, “Of course, the problem with DeFoivre is that he never actually entered the Fade, so his work must be considered secondary to other mages of the time.” 

Rook could move surprisingly quickly when he wanted to; he was already back in his seat with his glasses on and his book open when Emmrich rounded the end of the bookcase and said, “Ah, Ms Malkovan, how do you do?”

“Um,” said the unfortunate student. “Hello, Professor Volkarin. I, er. I was looking. For a book.”

“Then you have come to the right place, my dear,” he said brightly, and relished the look of mortification on her face. “Anything in particular? I recall you were asking about the history of the Necropolis last week. I can recommend Belvenlok’s The Movement of Souls as an excellent overview.”

“Just don’t touch her Bestiary,” Rook called from the other end of the table, sounding slightly strangled. “It bites!”

“Thank you,” said the student weakly as Emmrich furnished her with the promised tome. 

“No trouble at all, my dear,” he said, ushering her away with a fatherly pat on the shoulder. “Do let me know how you get on with it at our seminar tomorrow.”

“Yes, professor…”

Emmrich waited until her footsteps had died away before he risked looking at Rook. This was just as well, because Rook lasted all of four seconds before he burst out into peals of laughter.

“Did you see her face!” he gasped, pushing up his glasses to dab at his eyes. “Maker’s breath, I thought she was going to combust!”

“I suspect it will be some time before she goes wandering around the darker corners of the library,” said Emmrich with a chuckle.

“Do you think we’ll end up in the newsletter again?”

“Oh, I do hope so. I’ll ask Vorgoth to save us a copy for the collection.”

Said collection was becoming quite extensive now. The student body had taken a shine to Rook, and certain parts of it had apparently become emotionally invested in their relationship to the extent that they featured in the (deeply unauthorised) student newspaper on at least a monthly basis. Emmrich’s favourite article was about the time they had cleared an infestation of nasty arachnoid beasts from the depths of the Lachrymatorium. It was titled ‘LOVE CONQUERS ALL: POWER COUPLE VOLKAROOK TAKE ON DEMON SPIDERS’ and featured a very good sketch of Rook, dramatically surrounded by magical flames, disembowelling one of the creatures with a dagger. He'd had that one framed and hung in his office.

Rook cast his eye over the page before him, before closing the book with a sense of finality. “Dinner?” he said.

“It’s a little early.” It wasn’t always easy to tell the time down in the Necropolis, but decades of experience told Emmrich that it was probably about half past five.

“Perhaps,” said Rook with a careless shrug. “But I have other plans for after.”

Ah. That sounded promising. “Are you intending to indulge me some more?”

“Always.”

“You’re too good to me, darling.”

Rook smiled at him. “Never,” he said, and Emmrich couldn’t argue with that.

Codex entry discovered: 

Excerpt from a conversation taking place in note form, passed across the back row of a lecture theatre by wisp.

Friend I swear I walked in on Prof V and Rook making out in the library!!!!!
-Z

No you did not Zab that is a LIE

 

I swear! I heard talking and then someone gasped and then I think I made the floor creak and Prof V started babbling about some old mage guy and then he came round the corner and Rook was there too but he was reading and Prof V gave me a book???
-Z

They were talking about books you idiot 
V would never despoil a library are you mad??!!

 

WHO GASPS WHEN THEY READ A BOOK?
-Z

VOLKARIN DOES

 

K that’s fair. Still putting it in Whisperings tho
-Z

Your funeral girl