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It all happened so quickly.
One moment, Atash, Taash and Emmrich were strolling down the beach by the old Warden fort in Rivain, cleaning up some restless undead pirates whose remains had washed up on shore recently, Atash thinking this was a nice excuse for a little holiday away from the Lighthouse, when out of nowhere a group of Antaam descended upon them, leaping down from the cliffs.
Really, Atash thought bitterly as she whirled her mageknife in the air, it was her mistake for letting her guard down. She'd jinxed herself enough times that way to know better, and yet here she was, barely managing to dodge the blow of a massive iron hammer wielded by a heavily armored beast of a Qunari, while her companions fought behind her.
"MAARASHOK!" Taash yelled. "TWO, RIGHT FLANK!"
Atash managed to turn just in time to see the two warriors leaping nimbly down from the rocks above - shorter and more wiry in build than the hulking hammer-wielding Valotaar, weilding wickedly sharp, curved blades in both hands.
Vashedan. She fucking hated the Maarashok, so much faster and so fucking hard to track on a chaotic battlefield. She gritted her teeth as she threw up a magical shield, just barely managing to catch a hammer blow and two whirling blades. Her shield cracked, but held fast, even as she stumbled back with the effort.
"ROOK! BEHIND YOU!"
Emmrich's voice carried over the chaos. Atash immediately heeded his warning, ducking just in time as another curved blade whistled in the air above her.
Fuck, they're fast. She got low, raising her dagger to conjure up a small force bomb, get all these Antaam off her - when she felt the hot sting of a Maarashok blade at her side.
"ROOK!"
She heard Emmrich shout her name again, voice now laced with horror, as she fell to one knee, hand gripping the fresh wound right above her left hip.
In that half-second pause, she felt a stirring of panic. Was this really how she was going to die? Ambushed by Antaam stragglers on a fucking beach stroll?
A flash of white-hot fire billowed out above her head - Taash's fire breath, unleashed at full force.
The Antaam recoiled, letting out alarmed cries of "ADAARI!" The Valotaar immediately attempted to retreat back to the cliffs, their armor and hammers useless against the onslaught of such intense fire. Pushing their advantage, Taash chased after them, hurling one of their axes squarely into the back of one careless warrior's bare head and attacking the other with a solid slash to his spine.
"ROOK, BEHIND YOU AGAIN!" Emmrich cried out. Atash attempted to turn, seeing the Maarashok appearing out of thin air right above her, blades wooshing down -
- only to be blown back by an explosion of green light, with enough force to throw them clear out into the ocean. Atash turned back, coming almost face-to-face with Emmrich standing right in front of her, holding out his staff, eyes wide, breathing heavily. He looked down at her, face softening in relief.
"Are you-"
His face froze, mid-speech, as a long, curved, wickedly sharp blade speared through his torso.
The last Maarashok appeared out of the air behind him, immediately pulling the blade smoothly back as quickly as it was entered, soaked in Emmrich's blood.
Atash was on her feet and slashing her knife through the air before she even realized what she was doing. The unlucky Maarashok barely had a moment to blink before she sliced his throat with an arc of razor-thin ice.
She didn't even see his body fall to the ground as she rushed forward, as Emmrich fell to his knees. His already pale face had gone completely white, hands clutching at the wound in his gut.
"EMMRICH!" She caught him, managing to keep him upright as he slumped forward.
"Vashedan." Taash appeared beside them, the blood on their axes and armor evidence of their victory over the last of the ambush, their own grey face ghostly white as they looked down at the wounded necromancer. "C'mon, there's a Lords post nearby, we can-"
"We can't move him, he's bleeding too much." Atash heard her own voice, eerily calm and clear, like a stranger's, completely detached from the panic and rage roiling inside her. Her body seemed to be moving of its own accord, hands quickly untying his cummerbund. "Taash, give me your sash." That distant, calm voice said, as she balled up the beautiful red silk and pressed it into the gushing wound. "We have to plug up both ends. I think Emmrich's got a healer's kit on him, too."
Emmrich raised a trembling hand, staring at his palm, fixated on the blood covering his beautiful gold rings and bangles. His whole frame began to shake, his breath coming in rapid gasps.
Vash, he's going into shock. Atash quickly opened Emmrich's belt-purse, taking out a stitch kit, a roll of linen bandaging, a tin of balm for rashes and stings, and a small vial of elfroot essence. Fuck, that's not nearly enough…
Taash crouched beside her, their sash balled up in their hands. Atash took it from them, reaching around to stuff it into the wound at Emmrich's back. She then unrolled the bandages and started wrapping them around his middle to keep the cloth bundles in place over the two wounds.
"Can't you just heal it?" Taash asked, dark green eyes fixed on the blood seeping through the cloth bound around Emmrich's waist. "Or… just stop the bleeding with magic, or something?"
"I'm not a trained healer, Taash." Atash said, laying Emmrich's shaking form back on the sand. She drew one leg under his knees, sliding up so that his legs were elevated. "I could try closing up the wounds, but I don't know enough about… organs to really heal him. I'd probably just make it worse." She looked up, calculating, even as her inner self screamed with frustration and helplessness. "I can open up a small tear with the Fang, and get to the post in half the time it'd take to run. Taash, you can take over here, just make sure you're pressing really hard into-"
Just as she moved to stand up, Emmrich's hand gripped her forearm, white-knuckled. Atash looked down to see him staring up at her, eyes wide, mouth set in a tight line.
"Stay." he gasped. "Please. Stay… with me. Don't… leave me, Rook. Please."
Atash stared back at him. His gaze did not waver, pupils blown wide.
Desperation - terror - on his face. A fear that went beyond anything she had seen in other warriors who had suffered similarly severe injuries.
It cannot be reasoned with, or soothed over.
She laid her hand over his, squeezing gently.
"Okay, Emmrich." She said softly. "I'll stay."
He kept his grip on her forearm, but he let out a shuddering breath of relief, allowing her to push him back to the ground.
"I can run to the post." Taash said, already rising to their feet.
"No time." Gently pulling her arm free of his grip, Atash reached over to her belt, pulling out the hilt of the Dreadwolf's Fang. As she drew it out, the glowing diamond-shaped lyrium blade shimmered into being. She offered it to Taash. "You can use this. Just think really hard about where you want to go, and cut through the air. Think of it like opening a door. The spirits will help you find the way, if you ask."
Taash held up their hands, backing away, shaking their head. "Nuh-uh, no way, I can't -"
"Taash. Please." Atash pressed the Fang into her friend's hands. "We don't have time. There's no other way."
Taash reluctantly took the dagger, staring at the blade with wide eyes. "I… A-are you sure?"
"Absolutely." Atash said, looking them squarely in the eye. "I wouldn't ask if I didn't think you could do this. I trust you completely. Go."
Taking a grounding breath, Taash nodded, and then turned away, raising the blade the same way they had seen Atash raise it countless times. A small, glimmering tear appeared, not as confident or brazen as Solas's but still a true portal into the Fade.
"M'kay." Taash breathed. "Shokra toh ebra. I'll be right back."
They stepped through, the tear closing up immediately behind them, leaving Atash alone with Emmrich.
"R-Rook."
She returned her attention to him. He was looking up at her with tears in his eyes, mouth trembling.
"Rook, a-am I - am I g-going to-"
"You are not going to die," Atash said, surprising herself with her own ferocity. She tightened the bandage around his waist and picked up the vial of elfroot essence, pulling out the stopper with her teeth. "I swear to you, Emmrich, on my mother's grave and by every single fucking piece of gold I own, you are not going to die. Maker strike me down and Isabela be cursed to wear the finest Orlesian pantaloons if I lie."
The corner of Emmrich's mouth quirked up, the tiniest little bit.
Atash took advantage of this to press the vial to his lips. "Open. It isn't much but it should stop the bleeding, at least."
She had no idea if that was true, but she figured it couldn't hurt to say it at this point.
Emmrich obediently gulped down the little mouthful of potion. Almost immediately, the faintest flush of life returned to his cheeks. Atash didn't dare let up the pressure she was putting on his wounds, but she was fairly certain he was no longer gushing blood.
"Thank fuck." she breathed, settling back a little. Emmrich was far from out of the woods, but he wouldn't be bleeding out on the beach, at least.
Only a few moments later, a shimmering turquoise tear split the air, and Taash stepped out onto the sand, Fang gripped tightly in their fist, followed by an older, somewhat bewildered-looking elf woman wearing the red and green vestments of the Rivaini healer's trade.
"Misericórdia dos Criadores," the woman breathed when she caught sight of Atash, rushing forward to kneel beside Emmrich. She immediately tugged Atash's hands away to examine the wound, hissing between her teeth.
"I just gave him some elfroot," Atash said, suddenly feeling exhausted as she watched the healer's palms begin to glow with soothing blue-white energy, painlessly probing into Emmrich's body to investigate the damage.
"I see that - the blood has clotted quickly. You did well." the healer closed her eyes, murmuring a low Rivaini chant under her breath. Emmrich let out a groan of pain as the magic worked through him, knitting together flesh and warding off infection.
He kept a tight hold of Atash's hand all the while, gripping onto her for dear life.
Atash let him. She reasoned it gave him comfort, and it wasn't like he could actually hurt her hand, given her strength compared to his.
But she could not deny the warm glow she felt in her chest, looking down at their clasped hands, seeing his elegant (albeit blood-spattered) fingers threaded through hers.
His hands are so pretty. So soft. And warm. How are they still so pretty?
"This is all I can do here." the healer finally said, sitting back with a weary huff. "He is out of danger. But he will need many weeks to recover."
"Can't you just heal him, all the way?" Taash asked. "I've seen healers do that, get people up and walking again after being stabbed."
"It… is preferable," Emmrich rasped, startling them all, "to allow the wound… to heal naturally, on its own. Healing so… rapidly, with magic… it may cause worse effects, to the body, long term."
The healer gave him an approving nod. "Yes, you say it right. You are a healer also, Senhor?"
"I am… familiar, with the healing arts." Emmrich let out a quiet groan of pain as he tentatively sat up, a hand still pressed tightly to his middle. He moved to his knees, and extended a hand towards Atash. "Now it's… your turn, my dear."
Atash blinked. "My turn?"
Emmrich leaned forward, reaching out with one hand to raise Atash's arm, pulling up the torn edge of her leather armor over her hip - revealing the deep cut the Maarashok had given her earlier. Still bleeding quite freely all over her blue trousers, unbeknownst to her this entire time.
"Oh." Her voice sounded distant to her again. "Huh. I completely forgot."
"Of course you fucking did." Taash sighed, sitting back on their haunches and watching with a wry gaze as Emmrich and the healer fussed over Atash's wound, ignoring her feeble objections.