spinfins - Tumblr blog

spinfins · 2 days ago

Text

Emmrook Collab!

I recently did a collaboration with the immensely talented @toonybrin

Choosing the Heart over the Head

Read it HERE on Ao3 as well!

"How much further?" Emmrich wheezed out as he and Neve darted from one Docktown alleyway to another, attempting to stay out of sight of the main roads.

"There should be a Shadow Dragon's safe house not far…" Neve said through gritted teeth, having barely any strength to spare. After that Venatori ambush that they barely triumphed over, their flight from the plaza, terrified that reinforcements were on their way, her energy was focused on only one thing.

Survival.

Well, not just that. There was the limp figure that they carried between them, supporting their arms with their shoulders. Rook had taken a nasty blow to the head near the end of the fight, and had gotten knocked out.

Emmrich shuddered at the memory, of them laying there, vulnerable as the Venatori soldier was about to finish them off, of how despite his exhaustion, the pain at his side, he'd found an untapped well of limitless energy which he used to blast the Venatori to ash, (alongside several of his companions, two carts, and an unfortunate rat. He mourned the rat's demise the most)

But now that limitless well of energy somehow had drained dry, as his limbs trembled. He felt an intrusive pain at his side, similar to a runner's cramp, but he refused to stop. They needed to get Rook to safety, he needed the space and time to administer treatment.

Neve, for all her tenacity, could go no further, as she guided them both into a shaded alcove. "Here…" she said between gasps "This will be the next safest spot. I'll go ahead, and get help. You…" another breath as she helped him lay the limp form of Rook onto the pavement, "take care of them while I'm gone."

"You'll be alright?"

"Yes, I'm not in any condition to carry them anymore, but the safe house will undoubtedly have people willing to help."

He nodded. Rook needed medical attention, the sooner the better. If that meant he had to do it here, in this cramped, but secluded alleyway, so be it.

The familiar tap tap tap of her metal leg faded into the distance as he looked Rook over. A nasty gash on the left side of their forehead oozed blood, with a ghastly bruise beginning to form on the edges. While it looked bad, Rook's pulse and breathing seemed normal and steady. That didn't rule out a concussion though, so he gingerly placed their head upon his lap, brushed their hair out of the way, and with a padded cloth, he began to apply pressure to stop the bleeding as the healing magic flowed from his hand and into the wound.

Idly he mused. In any other situation, this position, their head in my lap would be quite tender. He quickly shoved that thought deep down. This is not the time for romantic notions, Volkarin! They're seriously injured and you're lost in frivolous daydreams that will never come to be.

Rook groaned, and to his immense relief, their eyes opened. Their eyes were probably the most beautiful thing he had seen in his recent memory. Only because they indicated that Rook was conscious, of course. They looked around in confusion, taking in what must have been unfamiliar buildings, before blinking and focusing on his own.

"Emmrich…?"

Rook attempted to sit up, but he gently forced them back down.

"Rook, you hit your head in battle, and Neve has gone to get help. You mustn't move, in order to keep the bleeding to the minimum."

"Did we win?"

Emmrich decided to be as truthful as possible. "Yes, by our fingerbones, to use a Nevarran saying. Now… hold still." He let another pulse of healing energy emanate from his hand.

"Am I dead?"

The very idea of Rook dying revolted him, and he attempted to remain steady. "No, you are very much alive."

"Ah," Rook smiled through the pain, "I assumed that the Maker had smiled upon me, and decided instead of being brought to His bosom, I was brought to yours. A fitting reward."

Emmrich tried not to let the remark affect him. A mere minute after waking up, Rook was already flirting with him. No doubt a result of their head injury. They are not in their right mind. Hopefully it is only temporary.

(Why did he hope that the flirting was NOT temporary?)

"Rook…" was all he could say, in a semi-disapproving tone as he pushed more healing energy into the wound, and using whatever spare magic he had to seep into their body, checking for broken bones, sprains, cuts and bruises. To his relief, there was nothing major, save for the head injury.

"Let me enjoy the fantasy, please. Sure, maybe the circumstances aren't what I was hoping for, but this is a great position to be in."

Emmrich decided to humour them. "I can't possibly have been the first person you've said that to."

"Probably not, but you're the first person that I really meant it to."

His heart stopped in his chest for a brief moment, almost as if in preparation for his impending Lichdom. They have a concussion, his mind told him, with clinical cold logic, do not read anything that is not there.

He grabbed a vial of lyrium off his belt, bit off the cork and after spitting it out, chugged the contents, ignoring the gritty chalky texture that stuck between his teeth, preparing to cast a major spell.

"I apologize in advance, but this may sting a bit." He pushed his replenished energy into a blooming green spell, and watched as bruises faded and skin slowly stitched together. He couldn't help but wince at the hiss of pain that escaped their lips.

"I'm dreadfully sorry," he repeated with regret, as he watched their beautiful eyes clench shut as they attempted to remain still, "I'm afraid that fully mending this wound is beyond my skill. You may have a scar on your forehead for quite some time after this." The healing slowed, as the edges of the split skin met, leaving a splotch of blood covering a pale line in their forehead. Rook began to relax, their eyes opening slowly, their muscles losing their tension, and that damnable smile returning to their face.

"Well, whatever it is, I hope it won't affect my dashing good looks."

"Nonsense, my dear," he said as he wiped up the last of the wet blood, knowing that the dried flakes that remained were easily remedied by a nice hot bath, "there is nothing in this world that could diminish your beauty."

Rook's eyes widened in shock at what he said, a second before he realized what had just spilled out of his mouth. Said mouth went dry and he felt numb as he mentally kicked himself for such a stupid statement, no matter how true it may be.

"I'm sorry! I don't know what came over me!"

"Emmrich…"

"This is hardly the time or place to engage in such thoughtless banter!"

"Emmrich…"

"And you're in no such state to be subjected to the ramblings of an old-"

"Emmrich!"

Rook's raised voice brought him out of a dark cloud of regret. They raised one hand to place on his shoulder. "Well, I didn't expect you to be such a smooth talker in both the library AND the battlefield!" There was no anger, no disgust. Just a smile.

"Rook…" he attempted to reason with them, trying to explain that he meant it, that flirtatious banter, no matter how shallow (despite that he wanted it to be deeper), had its time and place, and while he was healing them? Definitely not the place.

Their hand drifted down his shoulder and onto his chest, causing his heart rate to spike by the mere pressure. "You don't have to hide yourself from me…" they spoke with a soft voice as their fingers danced down his chest… down… down…

And then stopped.

He at first thanked the Maker for bestowing Rook SOME restraint, as had their hand gone any lower, it would have reached his groin, and he could not guarantee he could restrain his self control.

Their eyes hardened in confusion, as they pulled their hand back. For a brief moment there was a sharp, metallic scent in the air as they examined their fingertips.

To Emmrich's horror, they were covered in fresh blood. Had he missed another injury? Was Rook bleeding out while he was too distracted by their eyes, their touch, and their words?

"Emmrich, you're hurt!"

"Nonsense, I'm perfectly fine. Only a runner's cramp."

"Last time I checked, " Rook pressed their hand into his side, sending a sharp stab of pain, "Runner's cramps don't bleed."

Only then did he take his eyes off of them, and look down. His robe, once emerald green with gold thread, was now dark red, with the gold turning into copper. Rook was right, this was no mere cramp. His fingers went numb, out of shock, or blood loss, he wasn't quite sure.

There was a sudden movement, as Rook sat up unexpectedly, all mirth and flirtation gone from their eyes.

"Lay down Emmrich." Their voice had changed. Gone was the lackadaisical jokey tone, now replaced with cold hard efficiency. Gone was the Rook he shoved his feelings down for, replaced with the one that stood defiantly against a would-be goddess at Weisshaupt, one whose spirit could lead armies that he'd follow into Death itself. The transformation was sudden and as they guided him down onto his back, he mused that perhaps he had judged them wrong. That lighthearted flirting was not due to head trauma…

Rook examined the wound intensely, their eyebrows furrowing, before pulling out their knife. "Okay, I'm really sorry I gotta do this, but it's either this or spending minutes unbuckling and unbuttoning this contraption you call a robe. Those are minutes I can't afford to waste." A pause as they looked up at him, worry and regret evident on their face. "Also…. this might hurt."

He had no time to react, or object as they slipped the knife under the flap of his robe, and with a quick and clean movement, slit the cloth and leather away, peeling the fabric away with the finesse as he did when conducting an autopsy. They murmured another apology as he yelped in pain. He risked a glance down at his abdomen.

It was both ghastly, a long stretch of bleeding flesh, no doubt acquired while he had been full of adrenaline protecting the unconscious Rook, and a relief, as it seemed to be no deeper than the upper layer of muscle, avoiding organs. What Rook's reaction was, he could not say, as they snatched the unused bandages that lay there and began wrapping him up, putting pressure on it, in an attempt to stem the bleeding. He had half expected them to make a quip about seeing his exposed torso, and found himself disappointed that they hadn't… before realizing what he had just thought and immediately attributed to himself going into shock. Surely that's why he had that ridiculous thought popped into his mind for no apparent reason.

"You don't need to worry about me. It's…." a traitorous hiss of pain escaped his lips, "It's nothing… Merely a flesh wound."

Rook gave him a quick glance that clearly showed that they didn't believe a single word he said, but continued to bind the wound. "Emmrich, sometimes I worry about you."

"Hmmm?"

"For all your smarts, you can be very dumb."

He was too shocked at the statement to even grimace as they tightened the bandage. "What do you mean by that?"

"For a guy who is terrified of dying, you certainly put yourself in situations where death is a likely occurrence."

"Well, you stated you required an expert on the Fade, and knowing the consequences of the Gods triumphing, how could I say no?" He sat up with some difficulty, as his side felt stiff with all the bandages, but the bleeding didn't seem to seep through the layers, which was good.

"You could just stay in the Lighthouse, with Manfred and all your books. Free to study your favourite subject, and more importantly, safe." Why did that last word hit harder than any flirtatious banter they'd ever initiated?

"I wouldn't say that. The Fade may have been my primary interest, true. But recently, I've found something much more fascinating…" he didn't - he couldn't finish the sentence, terrified that yet again he had overstepped his bounds.

Rook's face was soft and gentle, no sign of offense taken, nor even their usual smirk. Just a smile, and a sparkle to their eyes.

"Like I said, Emmrich… you are very good at what you do, both in the library, and the battlefield. That's what scares me…" Their voice lowered to almost a whisper, as if they were revealing their deepest fear, "I don't know what I would do if I'd lost you…" Their face was close to him, close enough for him to feel their breath tickle his mustache. A small part of his mind rationalized that they were talking about his knowledge, and his proficiency with the Fade, but it was clearly being drowned out by a louder voice that said that if he leaned forward, he could kiss them. An even louder part told him that Rook WANTED him to kiss them. He drew closer… closer… closed his eyes and…

The sound of multiple footsteps running towards them was heard, punctuated by the rhythmic metallic tap tap tap of a prosthetic leg, indicating that their allies had arrived. He suddenly pulled away, common sense taking back control of his mind and body.

"Neve!" Rook's smile was wide, a bit too wide, as if they were forcing the expression. "Absolutely PERFECT timing!"

Neve either out of relief, or out of exhaustion, didn't seem to notice that Rook seemed less than pleased to see her and the fellow Shadow Dragons, two of them carrying a makeshift stretcher.

"I was worried! You weren't responding to anything, I thought that perhaps…"

"Nonsense Neve! I was under the very expert care of the Professor! I could not be safer in any other hands!" he hoped that Neve didn't see the heat rising to his cheeks at the compliment. "But…" they placed an arm on his shoulder, "He does have the bad habit of putting his patient's well being before his own." Their other hand (very) gently was placed on his side, and instead of wincing in pain, he felt an inner warmth.

Most likely an infection was kicking in. He'd have to see to that as soon as they got to safety. After making sure Rook was completely healed, of course.

Neve gave them a hand, and with a grunt, Rook stood up, waving away the stretcher-bearers. "I'm fine… really! Although," they turned back to face him, their hand outstretched to help him up, "if you're feeling any less than 100 percent, I'm sure they would be more than happy to carry you to our destination." There was something in that voice, an undertone of pleading that hadn't been there before. Bah, he was reading too much into the situation. Rook always looked out for their team members, why would he think he was being treated any differently?

"I'm perfectly fine!" He responded a bit too eagerly, as he got up a bit too quickly, and was a bit too slow to hide the grimace of pain on his face. He closed his eyes for a moment, willing the pain in his side to subside, before opening them and finding Rook a bit too close to his face.

"Remember what I said? Just before Neve arrived?" Their voice was hushed, as if to keep their conversation to themselves. "I mean it." They looked serious, no hint of a joke or a smile on their face.

His mouth went dry as he tried to process what they were talking about. His heart beat rapidly (no doubt in response to the aforementioned infection), but he couldn't move his legs as he looked into those beautiful eyes of theirs.

There was an awkward cough from one of the Shadow Dragons as Neve crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes. "Are we interrupting something?"

Instantly, Rook's demeanor changed back into their usual jokey self. "Oh nothing! Just some chit chat! Nothing you need to worry about! Shall we be off?" The stretcher bearers, relieved that they didn't have to carry a comatose body back to the safe house nodded as they led the way, followed by Neve, with Rook and Emmrich walking side by side.

"I may need to use your staff as support, just in case I get a bit light-headed," Rook stated as they sidled up beside him, much closer than he had expected, although he did notice they took the side opposite of his wound, as if not to hurt him. He could not help but notice that they had just so happened to place their hand on the staff, directly on top of his, so that their fingers touched, and if he wished it, could intertwine.

But of course, he didn't… Rook was most likely still feeling the aftereffects of their head injury, and he ought not to look too closely into what they said and did.

Still, he thought as they made their way through the dock town alleys … It was quite odd that their demeanor seemed to change only when they were talking to him.

37 notes · View notes