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The Lighthouse provides…
It’s like a heavy drop - the pile of them collapsing through the point of there and here as they all crashed through the eluvian worn, torn and so very, very tired.
Somewhere beneath the mound of limbs was Rook; bottom of the heap and weighed down by armour and everyone else. Someone moved and he took a knee to the temple with a long, low groan.
“Taash…move…” he grumbled while the people pile pulled itself apart.
Released and freed, detritus of one grey warden left a trail to the soothing, bone deep heat and steam of the bathroom that seemed both too extravagant and comforting to be something Solas had instructed the Caretaker for. But, there was something to be said about the Lighthouse and caring for its dwellers . It was here, free from the confines of armour and leather that Rook could sink deep into the bathtub with a pleased hum reverberating up from his very core as the warm blissful heat was absorbed by his very bones.
Sliding in deeper, water up to his nose. Soft sigh. The deepest pit of him; warming within and without. Tendrils of heat reaching deep into aches and pains with gentle caress.
He felt like liquid gold. Heated and malleable; ready to be poured and shaped. Maybe into something gleaming and treasured. Maybe a ring; a bracelet; a trinket. A keepsake tucked into a pocket, perhaps…
“Rook..?”
The voice was soft. Muffled by the water lapping around his ears, but reached him all the same. Rolling his shoulders, Rook pushed himself above the waterline, head tilted towards the voice even if he kept his eyes closed, loathe to expend more effort in the sweeping relaxed state as it thrummed in his bones.
Footsteps, boots light upon the stone tile floor bringing the welcomed intruder closer. “I do apologise greatly for interrupting…”
With great effort Rook cracked one eye open. Silhouettes and shades blurred in his vision, forcing him to open the other to properly look upon the man standing at what was, expectedly, an appropriate distance away. Chin tilted upwards, gaze respectfully looking anywhere other than at the man in the tub. Soft chuckle worked its way out of him, warm in his lungs in the way that warm wrapped about him as he thought of Emmrich.
“You can enjoy the view, Emmrich,” he teased. Turning in the tub, water sloshing over the side. He pressed his body into the heated metal side, folding his arms at the edge to allow him to rest his chin on his forearms. “What can I do for you?”
“Ah.” A hum. Emmrich turned, eyes falling upon Rook in a way that brought goosebumps to shimmer along his exposed arms; racing down his spine delightfully. “I should have knocked, of course…”
“Of course…”
“But I would like to put forward a request to you.”
This caught Rook off guard; delightfully. Lazy grin spread across his features, tilting his head upon the pillow of his arms. Long, lethargic, measured drag of his eyes across all that Emmirch was, Rook drawing it down to sentimental memories that he could linger upon later. “One that couldn’t wait?” he responded, pushing a sultry purr into his words, made honey sweet, rich and deep, by how content he felt in the moment.
Emmrich took a tentative step closer. “It’s about your hair.”
Rook frowned. “My hair?”
Frustrated sigh heaved out of Emmrich. His shoulders dropped from their rigid poise, his whole body falling into his exasperation. “Your hair is beautiful, dearest, but you simply do not take good care of it.”
Well, that was a surprise.
Rook was fond of his hair. Long, soft auburn waves reaching down to drape about his shoulders. He’d caught some younger warden recruits likening it to the kind of hair that damsels on the cover of those romantic serials had. Wet as it was now, there was an extra curl to it; messy ringlets dripping water down his face. Reaching a hand to push fingers through it, drawing it back over his head, perhaps there was some admittance of truth to Emmrich’s words. There were also plenty of knots in there.
He let out a thoughtful noise and relaxed once more at the edge of the bathtub. “What are you proposing?”
He came in closer now, reaching for a stool to perch down on. There were a few more long, slow sweeps of Emmrich’s wandering eyes that brought on yet another delicious shudder to rippled on through Rook’s body. He placed down a small leather pouch - he’d come prepared - and then slowly, practised, gentle but not cautious, reached his hand to brush just the knuckles of his fingers through the wet strands of Rook’s hair. As Rook gave no resistance, he pushed on further. Pads of his fingertips across Rook’s temple to weave his fingers deep into the strands, moving to press his entire palm to the back of Rook’s skull leaving a tingle that chased the wake of him.
Just one pass of the other man’s hand, and Rook’s eyes had drooped. Dropped closed and he mumbled an appreciative sound. The journey continued onward, coming back around to draw the backs of his fingers along the length of Rook’s chin until ending their journey with a touch of a thumb tracing the edge of Rook’s bottom lip before pulling away completely.
Rook could feel those eyes watching him as he savoured in the touch. Once the hand was drawn away, he nuzzled like a lazy cat into the crook of his own arms with a pleased sigh. It seemed that they were both content to sit, to rest within this moment as scented steam curled in the air. There were sounds of movement; Emmrich clearly setting out whatever he’d brought with him while Rook continued to soak in the tub.
Emmrich filled the spaces in his mind, took up residence with a warmth against the malignant blight dreams; the places that he felt light couldn’t reach. Lazilly, he dropped an arm over the side, stealing, taking, receiving a touch back from the older man. Fingertips to fingertips, cool to where his own were water-warmed and lethargic. A press, a clasp, and then Emmrich took his own hand away.
“If you would allow me a selfish indulgence,” he began. Voice was quiet, whisper-sweet in the quiet of the bathroom. Oh so perfect. Rook could listen to him for hours. “I’d like to offer my assistance with your hair.”
Drowsy grin spread across Rook’s lips. Shifting, he sank one more time into the radiating heat of the depths of the tub before resting against the back. “Indulge away, Professor …”
What followed was guiding hands, skilled hands, practised hands, manoeuvring Rook into a position where Emmrich could comfortably reach him. A dip of hands below the waterline - briefest touch to skin, whispered ghosts of fingertips over ribcage - and then caring fingers into his hair. More pressure than a gentle caress but never painful. Scrubbing away the dirt and debris from a trek across the Rivain coast.
A ragged breath thrust up from the depths of Rook’s lungs. Shuddering, bone deep and weary. Rattling along the frayed edges of himself. Something richer rushing in its wake to seep into the hollows of him.
Emmrich’s hands stilled their actions of lathering up a gentle scented soap in his hair. “Rook…?” he inquired, worry thick in his voice. “Am I hurting you?”
Another stutter of breath, gasping and raw. He reached up out of the water, curling his fingers lightly about Emmrich’s wrist. Thumb stroking at the pulse point. Brushing over the convergence of tendons and nerves beneath the skin. Such a loose grip allowed Emmrich to drop his wrist to bring their hands together. Fingers entwined. Rook brought them both in, to press his lips to the back of Emmrich’s hand. Tucked it up under his chin, clasped tight with his own. Fingers squeezed tighter against his own as the other hand slipped from his hair to reach down and curl about him. An awkward hold, but a hold that was nonetheless welcomed.
“Darling?” Emmrich pressed again as Rook remained silent. Breathing was calming but not quite there yet. He hadn’t been crying - not quite. But he was ripped; raw and apart just from the simple acting of having his hair washed. Clutching tight to Emmrich, listening to him speak soothing words of “Just breathe..” as he tried to push and pull in his lung simultaneously. “In…and out…In…and out…”
Forever and no time at all passed, and slowly that spearing lurch that had been in every inch of him had been replaced by warm reassurance. Seeped in deep, low into his core where it settled, the cosiest of creatures before a welcoming fire. He let go of Emmrich and turned to face him. Offered up a smile he hoped looked easy for all the dragging it out of himself he did to present it. Worry was writ large on Emmrich’s face, and Rook reached for him to place a comforting hand to his cheek. Wet hair fell before Rook’s eyes, and with a weak chuckle, Emmrich tucked it away, tenderly sliding his fingers over the shell of Rook’s ear as he did so.
“I’m here,” he said, finally. “It was just your magic touch.” Another smile, this one settling with more ease upon his lips. Lightness was coming in now where he’d felt so heavy just moments ago. “I’ve never really had someone wash my hair like that,” he added, wanting Emmrich to know it wasn’t him that was the cause of the rush of whatever that was that had overtaken him. He finished with a “Not since I was small.”
Emmrich watched him thoughtfully. Rook watched him back. Taking care to mind his words before speaking; a downward pull to the edge of his lips as he sensed a mourning there within Rook. “I have shared with you, darling, and yet I am ashamed that I never asked of yours. Yet I sensed it was not something that would be shared so easily, correct?”
Turning back to the tub, Rook stared down into the soapy wet depths. Lather floated there, obscuring most of his body from his own view. Dipping his hands into the water, letting it swallow skin and scars. “Baelyn…” he breathed out.
“Hm?”
“It’s all I have left of them - my name; Baelyn.”
“Ah. Would you like me to stop?”
Eyes flew back to Emmrich’s face; lurched up from his wallowing to seek him out. “No, please, I was enjoying it.”
Small smile slipped onto Emmrich’s lips, and he moved back in, reaching for a wooden bowl to scoop water in. A hand positioned above Rook’s brows as he poured the water over his head to rinse out the lather, shielding his eyes from any errant water. “It would be my pleasure.”
Rook moved, settling back to allow Emmrich to continue his administration of taking great care of his hair; tenderly washing out the soaps and oils from a nearby source of fresh warm water. The man was far more delicate than any of Rook’s memories could offer up in reminder of what he’d lost to blight; the source of his becoming a warden. A story for another time; not now, not yet, not right to bring it forth.
“I think they would have liked you,” he could gift this much for now; grant Emmrich entry to the parts he pushed down and buried away under rubble of an old farmhouse.
“I think they would have some objections…” Emmrich mused as he began weaving his fingers through Rook’s hair, combing out the tangles. Not an annoyance in his voice, but an undercurrent of that worry he would bring up sometimes; Rook was the dashing young hero - did he really have the time for someone like Emmrich.
“The necromancy would take some time to get used to,” he lightheartedly teased. “And Manfred would certainly be the talk of the village. We could get some of the local children to make him a flower crown.”
Emmrich chuckled at that image. The mood was lightening; the sombreness being chased away to linger in the periphery; edges where gloom would always remain. Done now untangling the mess with his fingers, he was now drawing a comb through Rook’s hair, using his other hand to hold the locks as he did his utmost to avoid pulling whenever a rather angry knot was thrown in the travelling course of the brush. He was quiet as he worked, and Rook melted into the bathwater once more. Relaxed; soothed; troubles dripping away into the water.
Rook floated there, within and without of himself. Present in the moment and above, watching it all unfold as if floating away. Anchored only to Emmrich with the thinnest of string; silken white threading between their fingers, looped about the wrists. Intimate without the pressure for anything more. Beyond this room, beyond this Lighthouse, there was disaster waiting to tear on through everything. For now, there was heat, steam, light. There was just the two of them.
And then there was a knock at the door.
Peace not shattered, yet interrupted. “Lucanis has made food,” grunted Taash from the otherside of the wood. “If you want to come and eat with us,” they added, an uncertainty in their voice, as if they were not fully sure that the two occupants of the room would have wanted the interruption, and annoyance at most likely having been the one to draw the short straw to be the one to come to them in the first place. “And, er, Rook, sorry about kicking you in the head.” Another knock, singular as if a fist bump to the door. An apology and a signal that they were going now.
Emmrich had been brushing his fingers through Rook’s hair. Drawing lavender scented oil through the strands before weaving it together into a loose braid. “Would you like to join everyone?” he questioned, catching Rook’s eyes when he turned to look at him, braid dropping from his hands to fall over his bare shoulder.
“Yeah, let’s,” Rook agreed. With a grunt and a lurch, he hefted his body up out of the tub suddenly. Too swift to grant warning to Emmirch who blushed as he quickly turned his head away. With a smirk, Rook stepped out of the tub and reached out for Emmrich’s chin, turning back to face him, tilting him to look up. To see all that Rook was; granting that indulgence to follow the tracks of water as it ran down the length of him. “Thank you, Emmrich.” A flirtatious grin and then he was leaning down to sweep those lips up with his own. A promise; an agreement; another time. More wasn’t needed right now; more could wait .