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Emmrich’s chamber in the Lighthouse was much like the man himself — orderly organized, yet with a touch of grim charm. The scent of incense and mint clung to everything: the shelves lined with ancient tomes on necromancy and anatomy, the neat rows of vials filled with experimental elixirs... And the flickering candles set within skulls, their dancing flames casting eerie reflections upon Emmrich’s face as he read at his massive oak desk. His fingers glided across the annalistic scrolls, searching for rituals of lichdom and the stories of those who had willingly abandoned flesh in pursuit of eternity.
An incoherent guttural groan interrupted the scrolls rustling as the skeletal assistant placed a tray with a cup of elvenroot tea on the desk. Bitter swill, yet Emmrich favored it.
"Thank you, Manfred."
He sighed, leaned back in his chair, and stared at the ceiling, cup in hand. Thoughts tangled.
"Tell me, my friend... Do you think I shall miss the taste of fragrant tea once I'm transformed?"
"GRYAAKH!"
"I thought as much," Emmrich nodded, closing his eyes.
Just then, the door cracked.
"And what about my opinion? Care for that?" the radiance came from the doorway.
"Ah, Rook, why belabor the obvious?" Emmrich replied without opening his eyes, recognizing the familiar warmth in that voice. "Of course, I'll never again savor earthly delights. Such is the price of immortality."
"Still dreaming of turning into a Manfred-like mummy?"
Hearing this, the skeleton rattled sourly.
"Oh, my bad, Manfred. You are right." Rook walked over and, as if out of habit, the two began a quick game of patty-cake. "You’re far more lively and empathetic than the wretched thing your careless creator wants to become."
"A mummy? Don’t be ridiculous, Rook. As usual, you’re only looking at the surface."
"And you’re ignoring the other half. A heartless, wandering undead — that’s your future."
Emmrich let out a heavy sigh and took a sip of his tea.
"If that’s the cost of living forever... then so be it," the mage said quietly, setting the cup aside and returning to his reading with even sharper focus, his grim expression hardening.
Rook grew serious, ending his game with Manfred to approach and sit beside the mage. His hand came to rest comfortingly on Emmrich's shoulder.
"Why won't you give up on this idea?"
"You know why... We've had this discussion before. Many times."
Emmrich feared death. Deeply. Yet since meeting Rook, that terror had shifted poles — his dread of the end gradually being eclipsed by the horror of never again feeling his beloved's touch.
"I'll... be honest with you, Rook," Emmrich's voice almost remained steady, but the slightest tremor gave away his nerves. "Our time together has planted seeds of doubt in me. Perhaps I'm reaching beyond my grasp, trying to balance ambition with... you. I know it's impossible, but still..." The mage's eyes lifted to his companion's face, searching for understanding. "I stand at the precipice of a fateful decision. The outcome of my transformation could change lives of so many generations!"
Rook rolled their eyes at own naivety. Someone foolishly hoped that instead of the last phrase Emmrich might finally prioritize correctly and choose to spend his remaining days side by side with his beloved. "If you want my opinion, I'm still very much against your dehumanization.
Emmrich went still and gently moved Rook's hand off his shoulder.
"Would be foolish to expect any other answer."
Rook lowered their gaze, unwittingly landing it right on the scrolls filled with encrypted gibberish from so-called magical 'authorities' — who, in Rook's opinion, had simply lost their marbles after prolonged confinement in the Circle of Magi. Faintly understanding what any of it meant, they spoke just as faintly:
"You... will become someone entirely different, won’t you? Not the elegant gentleman who delights my eyes. But merely..." Rook trailed off, glancing at the observing them Manfred, who, catching attention on himself, tilted his head like a curious puppy.
The mage felt flattered, and his expression finally softened slightly.
"My dear, your imagination conjures scary things. Do not worry about it — when I become a lich, I shall ensure my appearance remains unchanged for you."
After a moment’s pause, the guest leaned in closer to their pompous companion. Silence settled between them once more. But then, with deliberate tenderness, one hand slipped behind Volkarin’s back in a half-embrace, while the other came to rest atop his unresisting palm.
"In the Anderfels, they used tickling to test if demons wore human skins…" Rook began insinuatingly, trailing a finger lightly along Emmrich’s palm. "A flinch betrays the life beneath the mask."
"Impressed by your cultural knowledge, but how does this pertain to our conversation?" Emmrich’s hand twitched, but he didn’t pull away to not hint at vulnerability. Still, after a few moments, he couldn’t help but yank it back.
"Well, you see..." the fingers of the embracing hand drummed rhythmically against Emmrich’s already fidgeting side, while the free one rested on the mage’s thigh, giving it a light squeeze. "I’ll need some way to figure out if you’ve become a soulless husk, since you insist on hiding this fact from me."
Emmrich started growing increasingly nervous, twitching from side to side while maintaining a stern expression.
"I don’t like where this is going-" he uttered with forced seriousness, though his voice trembled, struggling to suppress a very unserious reaction, "these… ha… methods are as crude as a child’s prank."
When Rook’s hands deftly shifted to full-scale warfare, tickling the vulnerable spots along his hip, the mage let out a startled gasp and leapt to his feet, spilling tea onto one of the chronicles.
"Rook! Don’t come closer," he exclaimed warningly and backpedaled blindly. "I’m too old for this kind of abuse!"
Beads of sweat dotted his forehead. Tickling was something he hadn’t experienced in decades, let alone physically endured on such short notice! Rook flashed a mischievous grin and stretched their hands forward, prompting Emmrich to retreat faster, only to bump his backside into something. Or someone.
"Good job, Manfred!" Rook cheered as the skeleton, with a playful rattle, seized his master from behind, cutting off all escape.
"Traitor! After all I gave you?" Emmrich glared at his undead assistant, but in the reflection of his emerald eyes he caught a glimpse of the blush on his own face, which unsettled him even more than the beginning of this nasty game itself.
No sooner had the man turned back than Rook’s nimble fingers started playing with his torso. Despite his tall, slender frame, Emmrich’s body was surprisingly soft and responsive, much like his personality.
At last, the room filled with a drawn-out, velvety laughter. The kind that made Rook's heart flutter. Typically, their beloved, though open with his affections, remained restrained in expressing them. Yet here was such vivid evidence written across his face. A thoroughly flushed face.
"Ah—hahaha! Merciful gods! Rook, please—my frail heart may not be able to take this!" Emmrich tried to appeal to pity, a tear flying out of the corner of his eye. Rook's fingers were so nimble and omnipresent that the man began to run out of breath in the first seconds of tickling.
"Emmrich, as usual you underestimate yourself," Rook chided with a hint of mock indignation, "at night your heart can withstand such strain that any healthy Qunari would envy".
Emmrich's laughter became whiny at such outrageous teasing. Of course, he had expected to encounter immaturity in tying his life to Rook, but he had not expected it to be so dangerous!
"You know, I've long realized that you're sensitive, but I had no idea that such an honorable necromancer could be so weak before tickling," Rook sincerely noted when Emmrich completely weakened, which was filtered through the mage's ears as merciless taunting.
Emmrich let out a mock groan of protest, his laughter only growing.
"You’re diabolical,” he managed to say between laughs. “Absolutely wicked!"
"Isn’t that why you love me?" Rook flirted in a low purr, tormenting Volkarin’s underarms.
The mage thrashed so violently that Manfred lost his grip and sidestepped, sending both victim and tormentor tumbling to the floor.
Rook hastily checked if the magister was hurt, but he in turn tried to serve as a safety cushion and grabbed Rook tighter, protecting them from falling. They exchanged a quick smile, before a breathless Emmrich received a featherlight kiss on his forehead.
"Enjoy this while you still can. When you become immortal, your body will never again know the luxury of touch."
Rook’s palm grazed their beloved’s cheek, and Volkarin’s gaze dipped downward, sinking into a pensiveness that darkened his no-longer-mirthful expression. Even without the pressure on his tactile triggers, he understood perfectly what he stood to lose, and his reaction served only to underscore how fiercely he clung to it. To Rook and their absurd antics that never failed to send waves of warmth and tremors coursing through the mage.
"My love," he began in a half-whisper, removing Rook's palm from his face and bringing it to his lips, "you're putting me in an ever more difficult position."
Emmrich lightly touched Rook's fingers with his lips, and the latter smiled: "I know."
"Now, knowing my weakness, do you promise that you will not torment me with tickling at every convenient opportunity if I remain mortal?"
"I cannot promise that," Rook playfully shrugged, which caused the lying man to feign a frown. Then they moved closer to his face, and their voice became languid: "But I can promise that in return I will find many more other, more interesting weaknesses on your body..."
"Ah... You're shameless!" Emmrich tried his best to fight the smile tugging his lips, but the blush that flared up again on his face compromised him even more.
The candlelight glided Emmrich’s lashes as he sighed. Perhaps in surrender, perhaps in a promise to hoard every moment of closeness while he still could. Rook kissed the thought from his lips before it could fly away. Apparently they have found a good way to persuade their ambitious lover, and time will tell what will come of it.