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Rook collapsed to the ground as she fell out of the Vi’Revas, singed, shaking, and covered in darkspawn viscera. Lucanis pulled her back up by her arms, offering his shoulder to lean upon as Neve ran ahead through the hall. The floor swayed, and she was nearly sick as she made her way through the library. Distantly, there was a ruckus from upstairs, but she simply couldn’t comprehend it then.
She was led to the bathing room, and Neve took over for Lucanis as she helped Rook divest her disgusting leathers, surely ruined at this point. The tan stone was rough under her bare skin, digging into her flesh uncomfortably. She lifted her hands, and her stomach turned at the blistering, swollen flesh. Gross.
Neve tried very hard to help her finish undressing without gagging too much at the state of her. There had been a nasty Blight explosion that was too close and too sudden to dodge, leading to her exposed hands suffering some serious caustic damage. Rook felt a little ridiculous; she could move everything but her hands, thus left at the mercy of her dear friend.
“Let’s get you cleaned up.” Neve gently lifted her to her feet and led her to the edge of the bath, helping her sink into the warm water. She figured she ought to feel self-conscious, but she was too dazed to truly care.
“Rook!” A worried, comforting voice shouted from the doorway, followed by a similarly concerned skeletal hiss. Emmrich and Manfred were both rushing towards her, arms full of everything in the apothecary cabinets. “We came as fast as we could. What happened?” He set everything fragile down with some gentleness, but dropped the rest to examine her.
Rook held out her hands, still too shaken to attempt speech. Neve filled him in on the particulars.
“Goodness, I’m sorry. We’ll take care of this immediately.” He held her hands carefully, turning them by her wrist and watching her face for discomfort. Nothing appeared broken or internally damaged, just surface wounds that looked much worse than they were. “You did right by bringing her here first,” he complimented Neve and Lucanis. “The basin in the infirmary is pitiful.”
“And I’m sure she wants to get rid of the darkspawn chunks in her hair.” Lucanis seemed much less worried, now that he knew she wasn’t permanently injured. The knowledge that she was covered in it almost made her sick again, stomach churning.
“Lucanis!” Neve hissed, hitting his shoulder. “I certainly would. It’s foul,” she added, quieter.
Ignoring their bickering, Emmrich turned to Rook and touched her arm gently, sending butterflies through her veins. “I’ll get your hands healing first, but they may be quite uncomfortable to use.” He lowered his voice, a private comment. “You will likely require assistance bathing.”
A flush came over her viscera-coated face, and she was grateful he could not see it. In any other moment, she might have leapt at the chance to be so intimate with Emmrich, but feeling helpless was not necessarily ideal. “Oh,” Rook croaked out.
“Who would you like me to ask, Rook?” A polite, dutiful smile crossed his face. You, please.
“I-I don’t think I’ll need it,” she lied.
“Of course, but you will let me know if that changes, yes?” His eyebrows were raised in adorable skepticism. She could only nod.
“Understood.” He stood, clearing his throat. “Neve, Lucanis, would you please help Manfred set up Rook’s room to be a little more comfortable? Perhaps the Caretaker has some blankets they could spare.”
All of them agreed and left with little protest. As the door closed, the blood rushing through her ears grew near deafening. Excitement dissolved as the pain reunited with her body, senses all operating as intended. Tears stung her waterline as she tried to make a fist.
“Oh, do be careful, dear. May I?” She was still thrilled when he called her that, even if it wasn’t a special thing, but simply a charming affectation of his. He knelt beside the clawfoot tub, sleeves rolled over his elbows. Cautious hands held her own, and Rook watched as Emmrich’s eyes flared veilfire green, mumbling an unknowable mantra as the blisters began to abate and scars stitched themselves together. Her flesh healed within minutes, hands pink and warm as though they’d simply been scrubbed too hard whilst washing. He let out a deep exhale, visibly tired from his work.
She lifted them to her face, examining the miracle her friend had just performed. Making a tight fist or any fine movement was out of the question at the moment, but they would be in working order eventually.
“Thank you,” she murmured as he placed her hands on the sides of the bathtub, the hammered copper cool under her new skin.
“Always.” He dismissed her gratitude as though what he’d done was as simple as breathing, despite his visible flush and the metallic-tangy haze magic always left thick enough to taste in the air around them.
“Do you think you can bathe on your own?” Rook reached for the washcloth hanging over the side of the tub and winced in pain. Dammit.
“I don’t think so, I’m sorry. Can—“ she cut herself off, humiliated to need help in this way.
“I could inquire with Neve, see if she’s not busy, if you like?” He paused, waiting for her answer that didn’t come. “Or, perhaps, I could assist?” He cleared his throat. “If you weren’t opposed, I’d hate to be untoward if you didn’t—“
“Yes, please.” She spoke with clarity, heart pounding so hard she was surprised the water wasn’t pulsing with her.
“Of course, darling.” He stilled, clearing his throat and standing up quickly. “Of course.”
He took off his more intricate rings and bracelets, setting them in a neat pile to the side of the tub, and pulled a short stool up to sit behind her. Hands dipped into the water by her head, and he swiped his thumb over her forehead, rubbing a small circle clean. It stayed on the spot, bloodshot hazel eyes full of worry softened as they met her own. She gave him a small, grateful smile that brought a little ease to his expression as his eyes darted away.
He took his time washing her hair, soaping it twice and massaging her scalp with some fancy Orlesian technique he was explaining to her. She was able to do a decent amount of the actual maneuvering herself, only needing him to physically clean her skin. Even though her leathers covered the majority of her skin, he still took his time, gentle, absent-minded circles over her back as her hair hung in a damp rope over her chest. The meditative sensation of the rough cloth allowed her body to settle. However, the ridiculously attractive necromancer who was washing her set her nerves on fire. A deep, contented sigh left her.
“I have difficulty believing you got this many freckles in the Necropolis,” he commented, pleasant small talk as though Rook couldn’t feel his breath faintly tickling her skin.
“I didn’t, got all these after I left. I doubt they’re going anywhere anytime soon, though.”
“They’re quite charming.” She swore a fingertip had touched her outside the perimeter of the terrycloth, and immediately pulled back. “Er, visually intriguing, I mean to say.”
“Oh, well, thank you.” Her skin grew hot, happy to still be facing away from him.
“Are you alright? You’re feeling a bit feverish.” He tapped her shoulder, and she turned slowly, unsuccessful in willing her pinkness to go away. He raised the back of his hand to her freshly washed forehead. “May I?”
“Of-of course, whatever you want.” Being way too obvious, Rook. He gave her another smile as he pressed his hand to her skin, feeling for her temperature. It was the longest several seconds of Rook’s life, his cologne heady on his wrist, spiced moss and ink, the flavor of magic thicker on her tongue now that he was close.
“You’re burning up, dear! Have you been feeling poorly recently?” When did he join them?
“Nothing too bad, I think just nerves,” which were only getting more intense as his hand stayed in place on her forehead, as though he had forgotten it.
“Reasonable, there is much to be concerned about as of late.” His eyes met her own, and she supposed he registered that he was still touching her as he pulled his hand away. He murmured a quiet pardon and looked back at her face. “Did you suffer any sort of head trauma after that explosion?”
“I don’t think so, but if I did, I suppose it would be a bad sign if I didn’t remember it, right?” she rambled, trying very hard not to get lost in his eyes and stay present in the moment. She’d probably never have an excuse to be this close to him again; she ought to try committing it to her memory.
He gave a small chuckle and nodded. “It’s not a great sign, no. May I check you for any symptoms of such an injury?”
“Anything,” she breathed. “Anything you want to check, you’re the healer here.”
“I appreciate you trusting me as such, Rook. I’ll list off some conditions. Please let me know if they’re present or not.” She nodded, heart in her throat, as he examined her.
“Headache?” No. “Dizziness?” No. “What year is it?” 9:53 Dragon. His questions continued thusly, and she was able to answer them without issue.
“Are you having difficulty focusing or concentrating?” He asked as he fiddled with the button holding his sleeve above his elbow. Without the many bracelets and gloves, Rook could admire his lean forearms in earnest. The soft gray and black hair that cast a shadow over them, the lilac of his veins under his skin, the toned promise of strength that she caught glimpses of as he flexed his even more attractive fingers. “Rook?”
“Sorry, no, I can focus, yeah. Just… distracted.”
“No worries. I have just one more test we need to do, if that’s alright?” She responded in the affirmative, heart stuttering at his ever-present smile. Did he know just how enchanting those crow’s feet are?
“Wonderful. Follow the tip of my finger, please.” He traced some unknown symbol into the air, inches from Rook’s face, as she tilted her head to watch. “Ah,” he chided, his other hand softly holding her chin in place. She thought she might combust as he forced her to follow with her eyes alone. The glint of the single, plain gold band on his index finger disarmed her enough to admit what she was thinking in a distracted breath.
“You have nice hands.”
“You have beautiful eyes,” Emmrich mumbled simultaneously, almost entirely to himself, before he jerked in his seat away from her. “Excuse me, I apologize. You—” he looked at his hands, as if the idea that they were nice was foreign to him. “You’re in a vulnerable state; I should not be paying you idle compliments.”
“I don’t mind, I like them.” Rook smiled at him, blush deepening. She had to be brave for them both. “Thank you.” He relaxed, and she took another leap. “You have pretty eyes as well.”
“Oh,” He looked away from her, blinking rapidly. “Thank you, dear. They’re from my mother.”
They both sat in charged silence, scared of what to do or say next. A deep breath steadied her. “Emmrich.”
“Yes?”
“I have feelings for you.” The words tumbled out of her, falling to the ground and rolling into his court to do with what he’d like.
His eyes were set straight on the stone floor. He instantly deflected, just as she was afraid he would do. What was she doing? “Dear, are you—”
“Sorry! I’m sorry, never mind, I shouldn’t have said anything.” She pressed her hands over her eyes, wondering if she could drown herself before Emmrich would pull her out of the tub. “I’ve made a huge mistake.”
A large, gentle, embarrassingly kind hand rested on her shoulder. “If you’d like, we can pretend nothing was said.” He took a deep breath. “However, that is not how I would prefer to proceed.”
She removed her hands and looked at him now, an absolutely precious shade of pink gracing his features. “Really?”
“Yes, dear.” He smiled, and Rook swore she saw stars twinkling in his eyes. “You’ve chosen a rather novel time to make your feelings known, but they are welcomed.”
“Really?” She repeated, heart thundering in her ears. He nodded, a sweet chuckle escaping him.
“Wholeheartedly. You cut a striking figure, Rook. Anyone should consider themselves lucky to be the object of your affections.” His eyes flicked down to the still bathwater, devoid of bubbles to obscure anything, causing him to blush fiercely. “Perhaps we should finish this up and discuss this further in your room?”
“A little forward, Professor?” He rolled his eyes, but still gave her a disarmingly cute smirk.
“Certainly not, I expect wining and dining before any of that.” He retrieved the cloth from the side of the tub and the bar of soap Rook was carefully holding. “Now that we’ve established you’re in your right mind, let’s get you cleaned up.”
When they decided she was sufficiently clean, he helped her step out of the tub, ensuring she didn’t slip or fall as his eyes wandered away from her, and brought her an absurdly fluffy towel. Cocooned, she leaned against his ribcage, ear on top of his heartbeat. His arms wrapped around her tightly, breathing deeply.
“Thank you,” she mumbled again, into his chest. “Are you alright? It seemed like that took a lot out of you.”
She was right, of course. Emmrich’s mana was sapped past a point he’d avoided for decades, and it was much harder to bounce back from at 52 than at 25. He needed rest, and sugar, and copious pots of tea. Expeditiously.
“I am a touch enervated, unfortunately.” He could feel the droop of her shoulders at his admission, regretting making her feel burdensome. “But you are more than welcome to keep me company while I recover, dearest. Your room should be quite comfortable by now.”
She nodded, wriggling free of his embrace. “You know I can’t say ‘no’ to you, handsome.”