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There were many things difficult about being part of the Veilguard - Elger’nan and Ghilan’nain being at the top of such a list - but high up there was being adaptable in one’s fight style. Being within a team of such distinct and different fight styles, finding a place in each and every combination of them was no small challenge. In fact, it was often a topic of dinner conversation… Usually started by Davrin, of course.
“I just think we can all agree that we’re never sure what kind of enemy we will face. It makes the most sense to spread out affliction types.” Davrin said passionately, moving around crockery in formation everyone else had already forgotten.
“Please, Davrin.” Neve implored, “It was a long day, this play-by-play is exhausting what is left of my soul. Let’s move on. Also, could someone pass me back my wine?”
As Lucanis reached to recover Neve’s wine which was maybe representing herself, maybe a Venatori, Taash continued to stare at the table with crossed arms. Their brow furrowed more until they spoke.
“Does that mean it’d be better to separate Rook and Emmrich?” They asked.
A silence settled into the discussion as everyone contemplated the only two team members not currently around the kitchen table. Taash had pointed out a considerable flaw in Davrin’s argument: whilst both Mourn Watchers, and who both used necromancy magic in their fight styles, they were perhaps the most formidable pairing in the Veilguard.
“Well…” Davrin mumbled.
“Taash has you there, Davrin!” Harding teased with a good humoured grin.
“That's a good point, Taash.” The Grey Warden conceded. “Though they do have very different fighting styles.”
Rook was not a traditional necromancer, but a reaper-class warrior. Whilst Emmrich stayed out of close combat range, Rook threw herself in as close as she could. The siphoning necromancy in her weapons buoyed her to be reckless and gave Emmrich more space to weave more complex and therefore damaging spellwork. Emmrich set the necrotic scene for Rook’s scything of enemy souls. Their synergy was formidable enough that even darkspawn and shades who had no business bowing to necrosis did so with terrorized screeches and wails.
“Ya. Which is why it works.” Taash said plainly, “So it doesn’t really matter how people fight as long as they figure out how to get their shit to work together. She jumps in, he stays back, it works.”
“Hm.” Bellara said softly, pausing, as the thought made its way out. “That’s true, but hasn’t it changed, recently?”
“I noticed that too!” Harding agreed, pleased someone else had validated her small observation. “Usually Emmrich would stay further back with me whilst Rook gets in close, most times, but recently he’s been at mid-range distance.”
“You’re right.” Davrin said with an intrigued tone as he thought about it. “With me, Rook’s been taking the mid-field position and using her shield toss more. It’s becoming quite deadly.”
“You should have seen them today,” Neve added. “It was like they always knew exactly where the other was. It was more like they were dancing than fighting.”
“And that's what we need to aim for!” Davrin exclaimed, thumping his fist lightly in enthusiasm.
“Well, we shouldn’t. Otherwise we’d all be fucking.” Taash said bluntly, causing a second silence to reign.
“No…” Lucanis was the first to break it, “But also… now you’ve said it, definitely.”
“I thought so, I just hadn’t wanted to gossip about my observations.” Neve admitted slyly.
“We weren’t gossiping?” Bellara queried then quickly grimaced, “Nevermind. We don’t gossip. Ever. Not us.”
“Hold on, what does that have to do with fighting?” Harding wondered.
“It's…” Davrin who had put his head in his hand looked up with a sheepish, but amused, expression. “A thing. The best example is Evka and Antoine. There’s just this grace and connection when they fight. You see it sometimes between friends or partners who are really close as well.”
“Well, I don’t know if they’re actually fucking.” Taash clarified. “But whatever they’re doing, it’s close enough.”
“I know which way my money goes.” Neve smirked and shared a look with Lucanis who gave a simple nod.
“Isn’t Emmrich a little… well, you know, for Rook?” Harding worried.
“Educated?” Bellara asked with a slightly tilted head. “Rook actually can talk about necromantic specifics really well, I think she’s just more of a practical learner, maybe.” Davrin didn’t say it, he just groaned. Lucanis immediately began to chuckle into his own wine cup.
“What? Wha- oh come on! You know I didn’t mean it like that!” Bellara protested with slightly pinkened cheeks.
“Ignore them, Bell. They’ve got their heads in the gutter.” Neve soothed.
“Did I miss out on a good innuendo?”
Everyone except Lucanis jumped. The group turned to find, to their horror, that Rook and Emmrich had finally come to join them for dinner. The pair were arrested at the door by the strange looks the entire group gave them. Lucanis hid it best, keeping his body language easy, but stood out by being the only one of all of them who didn’t look guilty.
“Oh-kay…” Rook said as she looked at all the guilty (and guilty by association) faces looking her way. She looked down to see if she had coffee on her shirt, to see she was currently wearing Antivan fashion and therefore was in black, which wouldn’t show a coffee stain.
“Our apologies,” Emmrich quipped with one excellently arched eyebrow. “Had we rudely interrupted something?”
“NO! I mean, no. No, nothing. Nothing at all.” Bellara had jumped out of her seat, unsubtly jostling Harding out of her staring and began to head towards the kitchen. “Let me grab your plates!”
“My deepest thanks, Bellara.” Emmrich approached the table as the rest of the team began to reanimate into a semblance of their normal behaviour. “Still, I find our apologies are needed for joining supper quite so late.”
“Yeah, sorry about that.” Unlike Emmrich, Rook was suspicious. As someone who had been found as a baby amongst spirits in the Grand Necropolis, she was used to walking into a room where people had just been talking about her. She approached the table with easy confidence whilst simultaneously having a staring contest with Neve. Neither of them broke before Rook was eventually seated. The detective just raised an eyebrow at Rook who narrowed her eyes back.
The reaper immediately kicked herself for not picking Harding. Harding might have broken.
“Rook and I were waylaid as we were discussing the finer points of necromancy.” Emmrich informed them casually as he flicked out a napkin to place onto his lap.
“Hah.” Taash intoned. “Nice.”
“Harding!” Rook had spotted her play with Harding, pouncing on it mercilessly. “What’s wrong, you’ve gone purple! Was the innuendo we walked in on that bad?” She cast her sharp eye around and noticed Davrin was bent over, under the guise of petting Assan, despite his curiously shaking shoulders.
“Um, I didn’t know, I didn’t get it!” Harding squeaked then jumped up. “Sorry, can’t stay, gotta water my plants. Enjoy the food! Bye!” The scout was out of there faster than a nugg in the deep mines.
“Didn’t you say Harding’s plants are fake fade ones?” Rook queried Emmrich. She was getting increasingly suspicious and was about a minute away from employing her favourite tactic: blunt-forcing her way through any and all social customs to ask someone to cut the bullshit and go for the truth. Emmrich had mixed feeling on this tactic of Rook’s. The difference between directness and rudeness was a perilously fine line.
As if sensing Rook’s deflating patience, the rest of the team promptly found reasons to leave. Lucanis had to pick up more coffee; Neve wanted to accompany him. Bellara was in the middle of her serial and Davrin wanted to check Assan over as he was preening and probably needed help with some pin sheaths. Taash provided no excuse and just left.
Rook looked at Emmrich, “They were definitely talking about us.”
The senior necromancer let out a sigh and put his arm over the top of Rook’s chair. “Yes, dearest, evidently they were talking about us.”
“You’re too polite.” Rook flirted. “We might have got it out of them together.”
“I can’t help myself, I just have to try and resolve an awkward silence. Not everyone has your special brand of… discernment. Though, I must confess… I do enjoy when you try to intimidate someone with just a look.” Rook laughed in surprise, Emmrich’s smile just a little bit devious as he leaned over to share a soft kiss with her, melting her grin of mirth into a soft smile of fondness. “Though it will not work on me.” He warned.
“Oh?” Rook queried, leaning towards the heady scent of him she could never tire of: old books, his mineral aftershave and the soft musk that was uniquely him.
“Indeed. I, unfortunately, find it quite attractive.”
He’d got her. Rook couldn’t help but feel the heat rush to her cheeks as she gave an uncharacteristic giggle and repressed the urge to hide her face. It took all of her willpower not to melt and instead dredge her wit up from somewhere. She didn’t come back empty-handed, but wit was too high an ask.
“I will keep that in mind…”
“I look forward to it. Come, my dear. Let’s enjoy this rare intimate meal together. I’d hate to waste Bellara’s good efforts.”
Rook made a noise of agreement and watched as Emmrich adjusted the plates Bellara had set down, setting their cutlery in order beside them and even, with a confident flick of his fingers, adjusting the candlelights into a softer (and obviously, green) glow. Just his mannerism was enough to make her heart hurt with a terrifying wealth of fondness for the necromancer. She once again found herself blissfully happy he had shared her interest and had this moment between them.
Once Emmrich had his attention solely on her, what the team might have said fled Rook’s mind completely.