Beginning of a fanfic
Just wanted to share the beginning of a fic im jotting down while at work 😅 RookxEmmerich
Before the Age of Man---
A sharp intake of breath, the sucking on ones teeth followed by the familiar furious scratching of a quill's nib on aged parchment filled the study. Emmerich peered above the autonecrography tome in his hand, lips persed as another crumpled sheet sailed across the room and into the fireplace. The fire crackled with acceptance.
The older mage sighed and closed his book. "Rook, darling. There's something to be said about letting the dead rest." The smaller elven man stiffened, hunching over his small desk, jabbing his quill into the inkwell. Blackened drops bled onto fresh parchment. "No, I-I want---I have to---for Varric, I gotta do this." The metal nib shone brightly in the firelight as it trembled above the fresh sheet before Rook tossed the quill down and shoved away the desk, broad shoulders slumping. "Why...why is this so hard?" He mumbled quietly. "He always made it look so easy, damn him."
Emmerich stood, unfolding his long limbs and crossed the room, placing warm hands on Rook's shoulders from behind, giving a gentle yet firm squeeze. They stayed there in silence staring into the fireplace. Rook, fiddling with an old arrowhead in his right hand, chewing absentlymindedly on his already chapped lip. Emmerich, lost in memories from the past two years. He broke the silence first.
"What would Varric tell you now, dear? What would he say?"
The arrowhead stopped twirling between his fingers, the elf scoffing. "He'd say, 'Look at all the shit that's happened to ya. You gonna let a few little words lay ya low?'"
"Rook." Emmerich's voice dropped ever so slightly with another squeeze of his slender hands. The elf tore his eyes away from the fireplace and sighed. The professor leaned down, placing a soft gentle kiss on top of his companion's wayward locks. "I...may not have known the man personally but I have heard of him. And I imagine that he would have a great deal more to say to the young man he took under his wing."
Another heavy sigh. "This your way of telling me to quit 'mauldlin'?" Rook looked up at the older gentleman with a small wry smile and softened eyes. Emmerich's own eyes crinkled at the edges. An old spark of rebellion was glinting in those amber depths. Rook straightened and picked up his pen, reloading it with ink. His hand was firm and steady as he etched the letters. "You're right, love," he began, "He would get this look in his eye and say..."
'Listen, kid. Let me tell you a story...'