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Rook and Emmrich arrived back at the Lighthouse in the evening after tending to a haunting in Nevarra at Myrna's behest. The team's communal meal was long over by the time they'd arrived, but they were both hungry after a day in the field, and decided that supper was a necessity.
It was a rare treat for the pair to have the kitchen all to themselves to prepare something vegetarian to match their preference — a simple, hearty tomato vegetable stew. Upon inspecting the mostly stale bread they'd been left, Rook had a flash of inspiration: she toasted, diced and pan-fried it with garlic into croutons to top the stew, which smelled good enough to even tempt Lucanis from the pantry for a sample as a late-night snack.
After supper, it was time to retire for the night. They lay curled up together with stomachs and hearts full, wrapped in the comfortable warmth of Emmrich's loft bed. It was an oasis of calm, tucked away from duty, decisions and the fight against the Evanuris. A stolen moment to just be Rooklyn and Emmrich, hopeless in new love, instead of Rook and the Professor carrying the fate of Thedas on their shoulders.
As the hour was late, the bedside lantern was low, its light casting long shadows on the wall. Rooklyn lay against Emmrich, nestled close with her head resting on his bare chest, an arm draped across his stomach. His arms enfolded her, holding her softly against him, a part of him still in disbelief that she was here with him.
His fingers gently brushed a fallen lock of hair from her face so he could see her more clearly, as his voice parted the quiet of the room.
"Dearest, may I ask you something?"
"Of course," replied Rooklyn.
"It's so much more common in Nevarra that I hadn't thought to ask," he began, "but the thought occurred to me while we were cooking tonight, and I must admit my curiosity." He looked down at Rooklyn. "What was it that made you choose not to consume meat?"
Rooklyn tucked herself a little tighter to him, bringing her hand up onto his chest. The question seemed to make her uneasy. "It's going to sound crazy if I try to explain."
"I promise it won't," he said, as once more his fingers came to her hair with a gentle, soothing stroke. "You can tell me anything, darling."
"It's just too weird," she said, hesitantly.
"Try me," he said quietly, smiling down at her.
"Okay," she said. "It's not so much a choice as that my body hates it when I eat it." She paused, waiting for him to laugh.
He didn't — he merely waited for her to continue.
"I feel sick to my stomach, nauseous — it's incredibly hard to keep it down. But that's not the weird part," she said. "Even if I can keep it down, all I can taste and feel in my mouth is death. Death and pain, fear and sadness." She looked over to where her hand rested, the corners of her mouth turning downwards as she tried to find the right words to explain the feelings. "I told you it would sound weird," she said.
Upon seeing her expression change, Emmrich's heart met her sadness. He hadn't expected a simple question would open an old wound for his beloved, but he would ensure she knew that she didn't have to face the past alone. Whatever gloom had settled, he would stay beside her until it lifted.
He placed his hand on hers as it rested on his chest and laced his fingers with hers for comfort. "Not at all, darling," he said, leaning down to place a kiss upon her forehead. "It's just how you feel; that doesn't make it wrong or weird. It just is."
He paused for a moment to allow her space before continuing. "We've no need to speak further on it — but should you wish to, I would listen," he said, voice filled with patient reassurance.
She looked up at him, her eyes filled with the lamplight and long-suppressed feelings, unsure of what she'd done to deserve the gentle care and love Emmrich offered — but clinging to its welcome presence all the same. Rooklyn took a breath and settled back down onto his chest as he softly stroked her hair, then her cheek, his fingers warm, familiar and safe.
"It started when I was a foundling, after my parents died," she began. "When I was a little girl, before they found me, I was starving because I didn't know what I was feeling — only that it was wrong. So often I just wouldn't eat."
"Once I was taken in, things didn't improve. I was too young to really explain and no one understood. They decided that I was fussy, stubborn, just a naughty child. Sometimes they would force me to eat, to swallow and would force me to open my mouth afterwards to be sure. Other times it was the choice between eating and feeling, or going to bed starving."
"Over time I learned to make myself small, how to spit food discreetly in a handkerchief, how to hide food to feed myself, to forage out of necessity. Anything to avoid having to continually experience the terror, the feeling of dying in every mouthful."
The faintest squeeze of Emmrich's hand interlaced with hers had a soothing effect; it was a wordless affirmation that he was listening, that she was safe and he was here with her. The trust that she was placing in him, as she laid bare the pains of her childhood, swept away any doubts he'd harboured about the depth and sincerity of her feelings for him.
Rooklyn continued speaking, slowly and carefully.
"They still caught me from time to time, though, and they eventually took me to the Chantry to work out what was wrong with me. The Reverend Mother said it was psychological, a product of the trauma of losing my parents at such a young age, that I would grow out of it and they should stop forcing me to eat flesh and try hiding it instead."
"They would make soups with bone broth, stews with meat ground down until it was invisible. But every time, as soon as the spoon touched my lips, I knew they'd lied to me again."
He felt her body tense with the words.
"They lied to me. They knew how much it hurt me and they did it anyway."
Emmrich felt a visceral pang of empathy at Rooklyn's words. He'd been subjected to this sort of treatment in the past and knew how much of a betrayal of trust it was. Even though her foster parents acted out of ignorance rather than malice, he could see how devastating it must have been for someone so young to realise that those they depended on and trusted would cause them harm.
He felt dampness touch his skin and wondered, was Rooklyn crying? He saw the telltale shine and brought a hand to her face to brush it from her cheek. "How old were you, dearest?" he asked.
"Ten or maybe eleven," she said quietly, the effort to steady herself audible in her voice.
"You were but a child," Emmrich said, focusing on comforting her the only way he could keep his feelings of resentment towards those who had mistreated her at bay. He wrapped both arms around her and held her tightly to him. "Oh my love, I'm so sorry. You did nothing to deserve this."
Several breaths passed before Rooklyn found it in her to continue. "I did the only thing I knew how to do. I ran away and went back to the streets," she said. "Until the Watchers caught me. It was only through their kindness that I was spared going back into care."
"Was that when you took the name Ingellvar?" Emmrich asked softly. He could feel her relax a little in his arms as the relief of sharing long-held emotions began to flow through her.
Rooklyn nodded. "Watcher Waltraud Ingellvar, she took me in as her ward, accepted me just as I came as long as I wasn't lazy. She took a scruffy little waif into her home and gave her a life and a purpose. I have her to thank for everything," she said, allowing herself even a smile of gratitude as she remembered fondly her time in Waltraud's care.
"Everything?" asked Emmrich, his eyebrow raised quizzically.
"Everything," said Rooklyn, raising her head. "Perhaps even for you." She placed a soft kiss upon his chest, before resting her cheek against him once more to enjoy the warmth of him.
"What do you think it means, Emmrich?" she asked.
"Dearest heart, in all my time in Nevarra, through all my reading, all my research," he said, "I've only ever heard accounts of two individuals afflicted by the phenomenon you've described so perfectly." He gave her a gentle squeeze, knowing how hard it had been for her to share. "It is a phenomenon that I know of entirely too well."
"Only two?" she asked.
He nodded. "Only two."
He paused. "Tell me, what do you know of blood magic?"
Rooklyn raised her head briefly at the change of subject, turning to look at him. "Well, I know that it takes just a small amount of blood, and I know that it can be used to completely control someone's mind."
"What could that tell you about the properties of blood when used this way?" he continued, a little of his familiar professorial tone creeping into his voice. It seemed that he had already reached his own conclusions about her experiences, and was unable to resist guiding her through the process of reaching her own via a chain of logic.
"Maybe our blood contains something about us, some kind of link, a connection, some information that ties it to us at some deeper level?" Rooklyn gave up resting her head against him, propping herself up on one elbow to work through the thought experiment with Emmrich. "If so, that tie must be very strong, otherwise how would blood magic work across a distance? Even from the Fade, otherwise how would Solas be able to talk to me?"
"So you're saying that blood has properties of the organism from which it came," said Emmrich with a smile, "properties which allow a blood magic user to exert control over the mind of that organism, correct?"
Rooklyn nodded.
"Does it not stand to reason that perhaps the inverse could be true?" Emmrich asked.
Rooklyn's brow furrowed with thought. "What, that there are properties of the mind of the organism that could be present within the blood itself?"
Emmrich nodded.
"Hang on," Rooklyn continued, her eyes widening with understanding. "So the feeling I have when consuming meat is the organism's state of mind, captured in their flesh and blood as it was at the very moment that they passed from this world? Their state of mind is transmitted to mine when they're absorbed by my body — when I eat them?"
"Well done, darling!" said Emmrich, bestowing a kiss on her nose. "That's precisely my theory."
Rooklyn was stunned for a moment as she came to terms with what she was hearing.
It was as if a puzzle she'd carried around in her head was solving itself, all the feelings she'd struggled with her whole life finally making sense. She had a reason, a reassurance that she wasn't just weird, she wasn't being difficult, it wasn't just in her head, it was as real as she'd known it was all along.
The sense of relief flooded her, eyes filling with tears — not of sadness, but of finally laying down a burden she'd not realised had grown so heavy. Emmrich saw the tightness unfold, pulling her close to his chest again to hold her while they fell.
He tenderly kissed the top of her head, and waited until her breathing steadied. His fingers curled beneath the underside of her chin and he gently coaxed her to face him, so his eyes could find hers.
"There you are, dearest."
He pressed his forehead to hers where they stayed close, breathing in the calm of each other.
It was Rooklyn's voice, thick with the aftermath of her emotions, that broke the silence first. "You know I'm not a magic user. Doesn't blood magic only work if you're a magic user?"
Emmrich smiled, leaning back into the pillows. "Well, short of the Elven gods granting such power, it would certainly help. But this predates your encounters with them."
He fixed her eyes with a knowing smile. "So my love, what's the only logical conclusion we may draw from this?"
Rooklyn's eyes grew wider as realisation dawned; the conclusion was there but she was not ready to reach it, especially while her mind was still teasing at the threads of something else Emmrich had said earlier.
"You said you'd encountered only two people with this experience."
Emmrich nodded. "That is what I said, yes."
"Assuming that I'm one of them," said Rooklyn, "who's the other?"
Emmrich chuckled. "Dearest, can you not guess?"
Rooklyn's mouth dropped open a little as she stared into Emmrich's face.
"My love, I said I was very familiar with this for a reason."
He placed one hand either side of her face, holding her gaze to his as he found the words she could not.
"And you are every bit the magic user I am, you simply haven't had the opportunity to realise it yet."
He glanced at the lantern on the bedside table and wrinkled his nose at it; the light obediently winked out as he pulled her into a goodnight kiss, soft and deep as the Fade all around them.