Manfred - Blog Posts

Even more Manfred and Fred please 🥺 maybe Rook can bring Fred a friend and Emmrich is flustered but can't stay mad at them 😂🐸

Very well, dear Anon :D

Rook and Manfred were giggling in Emmrich’s rooms.

Normally that would bring a smile to the necromancer’s face and a burning sense of love and contentment to his heart.

But today it didn’t. There was a difference between Rook and Manfred having fun, and Rook and Manfred conspiring.

And Emmrich knew them both well enough to know the difference.

“Big!” exclaimed Manfred.

The spirit of curiosity was kneeling in front of the fireplace beside Rook. Their backs were to the door. Neither of them had heard him come in.

“It is a lot bigger,” Rook was saying. “It might not fit. This one’s okay though. What do you think?”

“Pretty spots,” Manfred cooed. “Like Harding.”

Rook laughed and Emmrich nearly lost his nerve as he crept up behind them. There were few things that got to him like that low, contagiously happy sound.

“Yeah, it does look a bit like her freckles. You could call it freckles.”

“No. Harding.”

“Well okay, that makes sense. What about the other one?”

“Yes,” Emmrich whispered in Rook’s ear. “What about the other one?”

Rook made a new, and completely unique sound that Emmrich had never heard in or out of the Veil. He didn’t know the human ear could comprehend sounds of that pitch.

Every hair on Rook’s head was standing on end as they whirled around. “How did you do that!?!?!?! Are you Emmrich’s ghost?! Why did you do that?! Are you trying to kill me!?”

“What other one, Rook?” Emmrich said sternly.

“Uhhh…” Rook tried to hide what the necromancer now realized was Manfred’s terrarium with their body. It did not work.

Manfred turned, holding aloft not one, but two handfuls of frog.

One was rather large, and muddy brown, the other was small and almost charmingly speckled with little golden spots.

“Vorgoth!” Manfred declared as the frog’s little legs dangled from his fists. They seemed very unconcerned about the deadly drop below them.

“Wh–Where did you get those?” Emmrich sputtered.

“Rook!” Manfred pointed the newly minted ‘Vorgoth,’ at the person in question.

Rook chagrined and bounced back and forth on their toes. “Yes…well…”

“Why?” Emmrich begged, gesturing to the already extravagantly large and well decorated terrarium in which Fred the frog basked like a little king in his own slimy kingdom.

The necromancer’s arm shook emphatically, grave gold jingling, as if to say: ‘See?! Look at what I have already done for my precocious skeleton son! Is this not enough?! Do you doubt that I love him?! What more must I do!?’

“Fred looked lonely,” Rook admitted.

Emmrich’s arm fell.

“Alone,” Manfred moaned softly, tucking the additional frogs against his collarbone like one would a pair of kittens.

Emmrich sighed all the way to his chair, leaving behind a mournful trail in the air, pinching the bridge of his nose, and collapsing at last into the seat.

“Well…it was kind of you to name them after Vorgoth and Harding after they helped us with your terrarium, Manfred. We must send Vorgoth a note. And get Harding…a new plant?”

“She likes cheese,” Rook said helpfully, seating themself on the ground against Emmrich’s legs.

Emmrich wasn’t fooled. They were only sitting there to trap him. The selfish wretch.

He let his fingers curl in their hair as together they watched Manfred place Vorgoth and Harding into the tank, giving them a tour in the soft little voice he reserved only for his frog…er, frogs.

This watcher coat looks so warm and comfy!!

Echo and “A conversation overheard between Rook and a companion” :D

Okay this one got a little out of hand... Enjoy a little ficlet anon <3

Emmrich Volkarin awoke slowly, stretching luxuriously and reaching for the darling woman at his side. Only–he patted empty space, feeling a jolt of shock, turning frantically to look over. He wasn’t sure he’d ever awoken after Rook had, much less to find her gone. But there, her pillow still creased but cold and the blanket on her side thrown back. Gone. 

Just as his brow began to crease in worry, he noticed a piece of parchment tented oddly on her bedside table. ‘Emmrich’ the side facing him read. He reached for the paper and unfolded it, immediately squinting at the horribly messy, near-childish handwriting that assaulted his eyes. 

Borrowed Manfred for a little adventure–back soon! Just didn’t want you to wake and worry. Love you.     Rook

Emmrich dropped the paper back to their bedside table and laid back down with a soft ‘whump.’ He folded his hands delicately over his stomach, staring unseeingly upwards. It occurred to him suddenly that in all the time of knowing Rook, he couldn’t recall having seen her handwriting before.

Rook was many things: fearless leader, loyal and steadfast friend, accomplished assassin, immensely competent mage and his dearest love but apparently, not a terribly legible scribe. Bizarre. 

Later in the kitchens…

The door to the dining room burst open with a kick, to no surprise to Lucanis. He had heard Rook’s approach the whole way across the courtyard, his friend chattering away to whoever was accompanying her. From the gait it sounded like Manfred, a thought confirmed when he stepped from the pantry to see the two of them balancing precariously stacked produce. He smiled fondly, coming to meet them. 

“--but if you accidentally say any of those in front of Emmrich, you didn’t learn it from me, okay?” Rook finished, dumping the produce on the table. Manfred followed suit, hissing gleefully before turning to Lucanis with the single most offensive string of curse words he’d ever heard. 

Lucanis blinked once, twice. Looked to Rook, whose mouth hung comically open. Looked back to Manfred, who shrugged. “Lucanis. Not Emmrich?” A smirk pulled at his lips as he levelled Rook with a look, raising his eyebrows. 

“I did not teach him those!” She protested. Lucanis just stared, folding his arms. Rook made an affronted noise, crossing her own arms across her chest and not meeting his eyes. “Okay, I didn’t teach him all of those.” 

“To be fair, his logic is sound. You warned him not to say it in front of Emmrich. I am not Emmrich. Therefore…” Lucanis trailed off into a huff of laughter moving to check over the produce. “You know, I think I’d have been able to tell you were a de Riva from that alone.” 

“What?” 

“Some of those curses are Viago originals.” Lucanis laughed fully as Rook smacked a hand to her forehead, muttering something that sounded an awful lot like a threat on the Fifth Talon’s life. Lucanis swung his gaze to Manfred, reaching to pat the skeleton on his shoulder. Spite grumbled at his contact with another spirit–more out of habit than anything else; Lucanis knew Spite’s fondness of Manfred rather mirrored his own.  “You’re speaking better, my friend.” 

Manfred bobbed around with a pleased hiss, and Lucanis surveyed the produce, equally pleased. Rook grinned, gesturing proudly to her haul.

“Found pretty much the whole list today! Only thing missing are those little potatoes, they’d apparently already sold the last of this year’s harvest. I got extra of the larger ones you had on the list.” 

“That works. What are those?” Lucanis nodded to the bouquet Rook unwrapped from crinkled brown paper. She looked away, a flush coming to her cheeks. 

“Just flowers! Do we uh, have an extra vase somewhere?” Lucanis raised an eyebrow. De Rivas could lie better than that, but he let it go, ducking back into his pantry, bringing out a clay pitcher that could double as a vase. “Manfred and I had to make a stop to check in with Myrna and Vorgoth,” she continued, summoning some water with a flourish of her magic and arranging the delicate blooms. “Stopped by the Memorial Gardens for some flowers–just thought it would brighten up the place!” 

Lucanis hummed indulgently, setting to work preparing the vegetables and graciously changing the subject. “Thank you for doing the shopping, Rook.” 

“No, thank you for cooking! Can I help? Chop…or stir, or something?”

Last time he’d let her chop vegetables, she’d set the back corner of his kitchen on fire. He still had no idea how she did that. Lucanis huffed a small laugh and shook his head. “Just some company is fine, this is a simple dish. Dellamorte secret recipe.”  

“Alright.” There was the scrape of a chair as Rook pulled a chair closer to the fire, turned it to face where Lucanis was working. Another scrape of a chair as Manfred did the same exact thing, even mimicking Rook’s posture. “Manfred,” she scolded, “Are you still copying me?” 

“Ah, he’s just learning from the best,” A familiar voice emerged as the doors opened once more. Emmrich strode in, hands folded behind his back as he came to a stop beside Rook and Manfred. “Hello, darling. Manfred. Lucanis.” He nodded to each in turn. 

“Hey, yourself, sleepyhead,” Rook grinned. “I think this is the first time I’ve woken up before you.” 

“Yes,” There was a strange note in Emmrich’s voice. “Rook, I must discuss something with you.” 

Rook sat a little straighter, concern immediately jumping to her features. Lucanis eased deeper into his kitchen and put his back to them, affording what privacy he could even as he kept cooking. “What’s wrong?” 

“What is this?” Emmrich asked. Lucanis couldn’t resist glancing over, seeing him thrust a slip of paper at Rook. She took it, turning it over in her hands before laughing, incredulously. She looked back up at Emmrich, brow furrowed and with a small, confused little smile.

“My note?”

Emmrich made an impatient noise. “No, not the note, your handwriting!” 

“What? Could you not read it? I know,” she laughed, embarrassed, “It’s pretty bad.”  

“Pretty bad? It’s terrible!” Emmrich had taken the paper back and was gesturing at it as he spoke, and missed the way Rook’s expression dropped, face stilling. 

“I know,” she said carefully, voice edged with steel. “Handwriting isn’t a skill I’ve needed much in contracts, funnily enough.” 

“I’ve had students with less than perfect handwriting of course, but even my worst was legible. This is–this is unbecoming!” Emmrich tutted and waved the paper about. “I’d imagine a child might write more neatly.” 

Rook blinked, absorbing for a moment, her face a mask. Then, her chair scraped back with sudden force and she stood, crossing her arms across her chest. 

“Please excuse me, Professor” she spat. “Not all of us are scholars such as yourself– I’m so sorry to have offended your sensibilities.” Then Rook turned on her heel and stomped out, letting the big door slam behind her. There was a beat of silence, Manfred looking back and forth between Emmrich and the door with as incredulous a look as the skull could muster. He hissed, displeased, and followed Rook, skeletal arms crossed. 

“Oh, dear,” Emmrich sighed, watching the door swing shut again. He sat heavily in Rook’s abandoned chair, suddenly dejected. The room was quiet then, save for the slow chopping of vegetables and the gentle, occasional crackle of the flame. Eventually, Emmrich clears his throat. “Thank you for cooking,” he said with a strained but genuine smile. “I do so look forward to your meals. And these flowers! What a nice touch.” 

“I love to cook. It’s no trouble,” Lucanis ducked his head, accepting the thanks. “Though, ah, it’s Rook to thank for the flowers.” 

“Oh, I should have known. Shroud’s Kiss,” Emmrich sighed. “They’re my favorite.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, crumpling further into his seat. 

Lucanis hummed, scraping the last of the vegetables into the fragrant simmering pot and covered it with a lid. He turned to Emmrich, hands on his hips. “Tea?” 

—

A few minutes later, the pair sat at the fire with steaming cups, Lucanis with fresh coffee and Emmrich with his tea. 

“I’ve made a mess of things, haven’t I?” Emmrich asked quietly, thumb tracing the rim of his mug. Lucanis shrugged, swirling his coffee thoughtfully. 

“Nothing unfixable. I’m sure she’ll forgive you with a good apology, some light groveling,” Lucanis joked, pulling a small chuckle from Emmrich. 

“She is magnanimous, our Rook,” Emmrich agreed. They sipped quietly on their drinks, enjoying the quiet as the stew bubbled away in the pot, filling the room with a spiced, earthy smell. 

“Emmrich,” Lucanis said finally. “If you don’t mind me asking…what was that all about?” 

“Hm? Oh, Rook left a note this morning and I suppose I hadn’t realized I’d never seen her handwriting before. It was rather a shock actually, and–” 

Emmrich stopped abruptly as Lucanis shook his head. “Ah, no,” he said, “I heard that part–sorry.” he added with a wince. Emmrich waved him off. 

“Don’t be, we were in your kitchen after all. Go on.” 

“Yes, well. I suppose I wondered...why does her handwriting matter so much to you?” 

“Well, it’s very important!” Emmrich protested. “It’s a skill I believe most respectable mages should have, transcribing spellwork and the like–not to mention a leader such as herself! Was she writing letters all this time to our allies in that script?” 

“Is it illegible?” 

“Well, no, but–”

“So what should that matter?” Lucanis was genuinely bewildered.

“Well I don’t know!” Emmrich made a frustrated noise, “It’s just–well it’s history, isn’t it?” 

“History?” 

“History! Just think, a thousand years from now, what if someone were to find some of her missives? They might take one look at it and write her off as some– as someone irrelevant. Or incompetent, when she's anything but. They don’t see her like we do, daily– in action. They wouldn’t know how brilliant and fearless and brave she is. Rook saves people, everyday. She's saving the entire world! The thought that years from now, centuries, someone might take one look at a letter and just…” Emmrich made a disgusted sound, brow deeply furrowed and waved his free hand vaguely about. “I can't stand the thought.”

Lucanis absorbed this for a moment. It made sense, if he thought of it from Emmrich’s perspective. His life thus far had been preserving the dead, their histories. “So you’re worried about her legacy?” 

“Legacy,” Emmrich agreed. “That’s a better word for it.” 

“But,” Lucanis turned his next words over in his mind before proceeding. “You didn’t say any of that to Rook. What you told her was that it was childish.”

Emmrich winced. “Ah, I suppose you’re right.” He sighed, staring into the fire again. “You’d think at my age I’d have learned to think before I spoke. Or I suppose I did spend all morning thinking–worrying about it, so think better perhaps. I get so worked up about something sometimes that I say something horrible.” 

“And ‘unbecoming,’” Lucanis couldn’t totally keep the teasing tone out of his voice, though Emmrich received it well, huffing a self-deprecating little laugh. 

“Yes, well. Not my finest moment.” he admitted.

Lucanis shrugs. “That’s alright, we all have them.”

“Thank you, Lucanis, this has been most helpful.” Emmrich stood and brushed invisible dust off his pants. “Now to make my amends.”

Lucanis opened his mouth to tell Emmrich he was welcome, but Spite’s voice came out instead. “AND KISS. ROOK!”

Emmrich burst into a delighted chuckle as he took his empty mug to the sink. “Is that how you and Neve resolve your differences?” he teased. 

Again, Spite beat Lucanis to speaking. “YES! HAT COMES OFF. I. GO PLAY. WITH WISPS!”

“Mierda.” Lucanis muttered the second his voice returned to him. 

“Good man.” Emmrich teased, mirth sparkling in his eyes. Lucanis shakes his head and waves Emmrich away. 

“Get out of my kitchen,” he mutters without any actual vitriol, glancing back with a small smile at Emmrich’s retreating back. 

—

Emmrich followed the pull of Manfred’s anchor, guessing the little spirit had stuck closely to Rook’s side, as he was wont to do most days. He was surprised, however, to find that it led him back to the Library, up his winding staircase, and out onto the balcony of his chambers. 

Darling Rook and Manfred sat side by side, legs dangling through the wooden bars. A great mix of emotions rushed through him at the sight– relief she was here (probably didn’t despise him forever now if the first place she went was his room), swooping fear at their hanging above the endless Fade-sky beneath them, fondness at their inseparable bond, and above all: a deep and abiding love. It was so powerful, so vast this love he held for her–thrilling and terrifying in equal measure. He steeled himself and braved the ledge, gingerly sitting beside her and slotting his own legs through the rails. 

Manfred was clearly ignoring him, skull turned away and pointed silence damning. Rook, to her credit, spared him a glance from the corner of her eye. Silence fell as a shroud around them. 

In the distance, Emmrich saw presumably a piece of the Lighthouse spinning lazily, unmoored entirely from them and growing more distant even as they watched. Emmrich eyed it, suppressing the urge to grip the rails as a dizzying sensation washed over him. Beside him, Rook’s legs swung gently back and forth, most of her weight cast back on her palms–utterly relaxed. Or–mostly–he thought, noting the barely there flex of a clenched jaw, the tension sitting high in her shoulders. Her left shoulder, he knew, was still terribly sore from a nasty fall she’d taken only the day before and he knew the tension could not be helping matters. He inhaled sharply, knowing himself the cause of this latest stress. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, earnest and a touch wretched. Manfred’s head whipped toward him with an immediate and displeased hiss, cut off by a glance from Rook. 

“Manfred, will you go ask Harding if she needs help in the garden? Or if Davrin and Assan want to go on a walk?” Manfred rattled in protest but she continued “--now, please.” 

A disgruntled Manfred obeyed and stood, casting one more Look in Emmrich’s direction. For a spirit literally tied to his own, it was clear that Manfred’s allegiances did not lie with him. He watched Manfred do his best to stomp away, and spoke only once Manfred had left. 

“My love, I feel terrible. I was thoughtless and horribly rude back there.” His words came out in a rush. He turned one of his rings around and around on his finger, studying his partner’s profile. 

Rook didn’t respond at first, and Emmrich experienced each second of the silence as if a burning brand. Then–

“I was eight, when my parents were killed.” Emmrich sucked in a breath. He’d known about her parents of course, but they hadn’t talked much about it save for the few scattered details he’d picked up in passing conversation. He stilled, hands folding in his lap, and waited. She continued, “After, Viago took me in. I think originally someone in his family had owed someone in our family a favor somewhere down the line, but by the time my parents died and it was time to cash in said favor, Viago was pretty much all on his own, too. He was barely a man grown but already the head of de Riva, then suddenly saddled with me?” Rook shook her head. “I wasn’t an easy child, even before I’d lost my parents. Viago…he did what he could. He made sure I ate well, dressed well, slept in a warm bed. He kept me alive, kept me strong and helped me train even before I began my work with Heir.  That’s mostly why I think I made it to full Crow so quickly.”

Emmrich nodded along, wishing desperately to reach out but unsure if he was allowed yet. 

“But Viago didn’t just provide,” she continued, “He’d try to kill me if he knew I was telling anyone about this, but he’s caring. One of the most caring people I know. Yeah, he’d tell me to toughen up, pushed me twice as hard as the others, yelled constantly–” she rolled her eyes, putting on a mimicry of his voice, “‘Make de Riva proud or you’re out on the streets,’ ‘embarrass our house and you’ll wish a swift end,’ and stuff like that. But at home? Just he and I, or he and I and Teia eventually–different story. I remember sitting on the counter and watching him cook for us, homemade soups and pastas and this garlic-y bread he makes. I always got the first bite. He swears to this day that I was his poison-tester, and he was just keeping my detection skills sharp, but I’d only believe that if there had ever actually been poison. Plus, he thinks he hides his facial expressions much better than he actually does. He’s so proud when someone likes his cooking.” 

He imagined then a miniature Rook, legs swinging from a countertop much like how they swung from the balcony now, enjoying these homemade meals, her job as taste-tester. Emmrich’s heart swelled again, grieving for the child she’d been, what she had lost. 

And in the night, when all I could do was weep for my parents…he could have, probably should have, just ignored me. But he didn’t. He’d really kill me if he knew I was telling this but he’d hold me, you know? Every night, back then. He’d rock me to sleep even though by then I was much too old–even as a teenager, when I’d have a bad night he’d sit with me. Hold my hand. Talk to me about nothing until I calmed down enough to sleep.” Rook cleared her throat, turning her head away and surreptitiously brushing at her watering eyes.  “He’s my family. I owe him so much.” She shook her head vigorously, pulling a face. “Though I’d never tell him that–he’s already at risk of collapsing under the weight of his own ego. It’s a wonder he manages to walk around with such a big head.” 

Emmrich huffs a small laugh, willing the wetness brimming in his own eyes to abate. “Your secret is safe with me, darling.” Rook smiled at him then, reaching for his hand. He took hers like it was water and he’d been lost in the desert for a millennium, clasping her small hand with both of his own. 

“But, ah,” she sighed, biting the inside of her lip. “Finishing regular education just…fell by the wayside. Honestly, I don’t know if he even thought about it. There were some political things happening within the ranks throughout the rest of my time as his ward, and he was up for Fifth Talon…I don’t think he realized I never really finished any schooling. Luckily I’d learned to read, do simple arithmetic–things you need for contracts–by then. And I can write. It’s just. Well, you saw.” She rolled her neck a bit and reached over with her free hand to knead at her shoulder, the one he knew was sore. The movement was surely to soothe this soreness, but it also seemed she was shrinking in on herself in that moment. Emmrich’s heart twisted painfully. “I know it’s embarrassing.” 

Oh, he’d been a complete cad. He bowed his head to her hand, pressing the cool back of it to his forehead. “No, no. Rook, I’m sorry. Thank you for the perspective–I wish I’d been more thoughtful, even without it. Less judgemental, certainly.” 

“Hey, you already apologized,” she pet his head with her free hand, fingers scratching through his hair and loosening the strands from their style. 

“I did, but I feel the need to again. I’m sorry, truly.” 

“Thank you. And thanks for listening. I know I don’t… I don’t talk about that part of my past very much.” 

“You honor me with whatever you choose to share,” Emmrich spoke earnestly, sitting up to look at Rook. “Could I explain what I was thinking? Not to justify it–I will continue to condemn my abhorrent behavior–but just–” he grimaced, fighting to find the right words. 

“Please do, Em. I want to understand.” He didn’t deserve her; a wave of hopeless love washed over him again, looking between the bright blue and green of her eyes, the way the odd Fade-light couldn’t sap the warmth from her olive skin, the flush of beloved cheek.

“I spend a fair portion of my job preserving histories; I also teach my students how to as well. Part of what we do is sort through artifacts, anything from pottery to weaponry to documents, such as journals or letters, and discern what is most critical to keep. What things are most ‘worth’ the effort. Of course in an ideal world, we’d save everything, catalogue it away for the world’s most comprehensive of histories. But the reality is that we are…largely finite creatures, with limited time, and limited resources. Discernment is key.” Emmrich gently kneaded the small muscles of her hand, turning it over in his own, feeling the calluses from her knives and the strength in those lithe fingers, loving how she relaxed into his touch. She turned more fully towards him, briefly dislodging her hand to pull her legs from where they hung over the balcony, sitting cross-legged as she returned her hand to his ministrations. 

“Do you teach your students to toss messy papers like mine?” She smirked, the brilliant creature she was. He winced, shaking his head and mirrored her posture, glad to no longer be hanging over the ledge even if his back would still soon be protesting sitting in this manner. 

“I do generally discourage the discarding of any materials,” he hedged. She raised one brow and he broke immediately. “Oh,” he sighed, “Yes, essentially.” 

Rook, ever the surprise, laughed, the sound an instant balm to his soul. 

“You worked yourself into a complete tizzy imagining something of mine being potentially thrown away. By some hypothetical historian?” 

“They’d be getting it all wrong–think of the historical significance we could lose–” He stopped abruptly as she laughed again, pitching forward to press her face into the crook of his neck and wrapping her arms around him. His arms came up automatically, instinct to hold her. “Rook?”

“That,” she said, partially muffled by his collar and breath puffing through the fabric, warming his skin. “Is so utterly Emmrich.” 

He blinked, once. Twice. “...A good thing, I hope?” he joked, weakly. 

Rook pulled back just enough to look up at him, eyes sparkling and mouth pursed with mirth. She nodded, one hand lifting to cup his cheek. “It’s a very, very good thing.” 

“So you can forgive me?” he asked, leaning into her palm. Her answering kiss as she surged forward, climbing into his lap, told him all he needed to know. 

Manfred, everyone's skeleton son 💀