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profoundlyfaded · 5 months ago

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Tertiary Opinions II/II

Paths of Light - II: Vaults of the Beloved

Rating: Mature - Canon Typical Violence and Sex

Pairing: Rook Ingellvar x Emmrich Volkarin (Neve Gallus x Lucanis Dellamort | Lace Harding x Taash)

(A03 Chapter Index) | (Tumblr Chapter Index)

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It was just the two of them. Manfred ambled far behind after receiving strict instructions to remain out of harm's way. And none of the others had expressed any particular keenness to venture into the dead-filled depths of the Necropolis again. Emmrich had been forced to take the lead to the Vault. Rook trailed behind him, thumbing her way through a thin tome as she walked, muttering to herself about a certain incantation being in the book.

Somewhere.

‘They really should put indexes in the back of these things,’ she groused, pausing under a wall brazier of veilfire and began flicking through the pages with increased speed.

Emmrich had only caught a glimpse of the book when she first pulled it from the small shoulder bag she brought. But in the greenish light he could see it was ancient; the fabric cover was worn at the corners, the spine abused with thin cracks webbing up the length of the book and any indication as to the title of the book appeared lost to time.

‘Ah-ha,’ she exclaimed, opening the book fully.

Emmrich walked back to Rook. She was looking at a page with a twelve line evocation centrally positioned on the page. Notes in Rook’s elegant scrawl covered what had once been the blank margins around the printed words. He blanched at the sight, only realising that he’d made a sound when Rook looked at him.

‘I take it you disapprove?’ She asked, closing the book slightly to meet his gaze.

‘If it is your own property, it's yours to do as you wish,’ he replied mildly, but she was shaking her head. ‘This is an ancient practice,’ remarking on the spell.

‘I know,’ Rook agreed, reopening the book again. ‘But I noticed the candles when we fought our way through the vault the second time around, and I figured…’ She jabbed at the page. ‘The alterations should allow the spell to awaken the wards quicker than the original casting.’

‘Isn’t there mimetic value in following the original invocations?’ Emmrich enquired.

‘If that were the case, we’d still be casting in Elvish,’ she remarked, folding over the page then closing the book around her finger. He frowned at her and a frustrated growl rumbled from her throat. ‘Academics.’ She made it sound like an insult. ‘When you have something like the door upstairs and you don’t know what’s behind it, then yes, perfect mimesis is the ideal solution. But the vast majority of the time? No. Altering the spells, be it through the wording or even the casting gestures can strengthen wards considerably, improving their durability and even allowing for extra protections to be added. Also time saving if whatever is trying to kill you is bearing down on you.’

She smiled at him. A bright, dazzling expression while tucking the book into a large pouch that asked him to trust her. He did. She’d more than proven her necromantic abilities and instincts during their last excursions in the Necropolis. She moved around him, the usual brush of her perfume wrapping around him, encouraging him to follow. She paused at the end of the corridor and peered around the corner to observe the walking dead.

‘There are a lot of them,’ she remarked solemnly, turning back to him and pushing a lock of hair from her eyes. ‘What’s causing it though?’

‘Solas’ ritual has had a far reaching impact on the Fade,’ Emmrich replied, matching her solemnity. ‘Spirits are still aflurry with activity following the gods' escape. Our inability to tend to the dead here make them perfect hosts for hostile entities to reach this world.’

Clearing their way through was an easy feat, a harmonised pattern of attack developing between them. Emmrich found himself being able to read her movement as she danced her way through battle stances and shield throws to cut a path through the vault. Around it all she also kept track of his attacks, timing her most devastating moves with his recovery rates as though she could visualise the mana within him. While she focused on her martial skills, he did begin to see hints of her more powerful abilities. A club to her abdomen was answered with a draining spell tugged at the lifeforce of the attacker. The spell reduced the cadaver to ash, healing Rook’s injury before it began to cause her any pain.

At the far set of candles, Rook unshouldered her pack and carefully lowered it to with a soft clink. She withdrew a thurible and what appeared to be a premixed cleanser, a bottle of clarified water and small lumps of charcoal.

‘At the end of each stanza,’ she said once she got the charcoal burning with conjured veilfire, ‘if you’d be so kind as to repeat that line and light both sets of candles at the same time, I’d be grateful.’

Soon, the thurible’s smoke changed colour to a pinkish hue, the smell of frankincense, calendula and cedar wrapped around them and Rook got to her feet, shouldering the pack and they made their way back up along the chamber. They walked at a solemn pace. Emmrich kept his actions precise, cautious that any change in the spell could have an unintended impact on the room, but stanza by stanza the etheric murk lifted.

‘Admit it,’ Rook said once they reached the entrance again. ‘You thought it was going to cause some sort of cataclysmic explosion and let a massive pride spirit through?’

‘Nothing quite so dramatic,’ Emmrich replied as he turned to admire their handiwork. ‘I was concerned it wouldn’t work as well as you hoped.’

She held the thurible up, still emitting the cleansing smoke. ‘What do you think this was for? It wasn’t like I could test the incantation before we arrived, mainly on the count of not being able to find it. This was the back up.’

‘Then you made the adaptions -’

‘Years ago,’ she finished for him, opening the thurible and dampening the charcoal with magic. ‘Found something similar in a crypt during the Rift Crisis, I’d like to say in the lower levels but it’s probably moved somewhere else. The original was actually pretty ineffective so I adapted it, and used the new spell.’ She got to her feet and admired her handiwork. ‘Should take a day or so to settle the chamber then we can go through to the next room. Any idea what’s back there?’

‘I have some idea,’ Emmrich replied.

They returned in companionable silence to the belfry chamber, but on their approach, a raised voice alerted them to commotion. Beside him, Rook went pale as she slowed to a halt. Even the colour appeared to drain from her eyes leaving a swirl of grey mist around her pupil.

‘Rook?’

‘The Commander.’

He didn’t need to hear anymore. Reaching over he grabbed her hand, the pressure of his fingers prompting her to look him in the eyes. Fear swam in her expression, her hand developing a small quake and for a moment he was dumbfounded as to what he could say to her. But then she curled her fingers around his, blowing out a steadying breath.

‘I’m going to have to face him at some point,’ she said.

‘And I’m right with you,’ Emmrich assured her. ‘With any luck, if needed, my word will carry weight, given I outrank the Commander in the hierarchy of the order.’

‘What?’

‘Academic schools outrank military corps,’ Emmrich explained gently. ‘I was prompted to refamiliarise myself with our charter after you told me why you left, should you require an intercession during any of our visits.’

Rook frowned. ‘I’m not going to hide behind you.’

‘I don’t expect you to, I’m more than sure you don’t need me to step in on your behalf, but if you do, say the word,’ Emmrich told her. ‘Shall we?’

She took a moment to compose herself, taking a deep breath then blowing it out slowly and letting go of his hand. He let her get a few steps ahead of her before he followed, his hands behind his back.

Her entrance into the belfry caused silence to fall.

Commander Lucien van Markham would have been an imposing, stocky figure were he not two inches shorter than Emmrich. He did, however, tower over Myrna, and to her credit, she was having none of the posturing occurring before her. Hands on her hips, she met the commander's cold, icy glare with swirling dislike. Rook moved closer to the fray, her steps getting surer as she reached the centre of the room.

While Emmrich could not see her expression, he could tell by the hardline he could just make out from the jut in her jaw, that she had schooled her face into an expression that would brook no argument. The same one she had used in the Minrathous with Neve the day before.

Van Markham had not come alone. In a four-by-four formation behind him, sixteen senior Reapers stood in their famous Pillar of the Departed armour like imposing sarcophagi waiting to strike. The Commander wore his ceremonial robes as if he had rushed here from another engagement. When she stood ten feet away from the gathering, Rook drew up to her full height, slammed one foot down with a metallic clang and saluted with her right fist over her heart.

‘Arrest her,’ Van Markham ordered, pointing in the direction of Rook.

‘You will do no such thing,’ Myrna shot back immediately. ‘The matter is long since out of your hands, Commander.’

The retinue had not moved. As Keeper of the Seals, Myrna far outranked any member of the Reapers. She outranked Emmrich. Van Markham turned his head to look at Rook with utter disgust around his thin mouth. He’d been an attractive man in his youth, with pale blue eyes and dark blonde hair, but all that had gone to seed now. Deep furrows marked his forehead and his hairline had retreated so far back he had grown the hair at the back of his head long enough to comb it forward.

‘Out of my hands?’ Markham bellowed, turning back to Myrna. ‘This woman,’ he spat the word, showering Myrna with a thin film of spittle, ‘disobeyed multiple direct orders and destroyed three generations of Van Markham reliquary. It is a matter for the Reapers.’

‘Casual Destruction of the Dead,’ said Myrna, delicately patting her face down with a handkerchief she had withdrawn from her sleeve, ‘is a matter for the High Council to consider. Not the court marital chambers. You overstretched. Were you keen to discipline Watcher Ingellvar’s refusal to stand down, you would have charged her with insubordination or dereliction of duty at the time. As you did no such thing, one might go as far as to say your actions carried a certain air of personal retribution.’

Markham’s eyes bulged at the accusation to such a degree that Emmrich was certain he was about to suffer a fit of apoplexy. The flickering vessel twitching above his eye certainly suggested it was possible. He looked poised to shout again, but he seemed to realise his audience had grown and he was significantly outnumbered by figures of higher authority. Particularly now that VORGOTH had arrived.

‘THE GRAND COUNCIL HAS ABSOLVED WATCHER INGELLVAR OF ANY CHARGE REGARDING HER CONDUCT,’ they announced, its voice more something felt within than heard.

‘Of course they have,’ Van Markham declared with seething sarcasm. ‘Just as they absolved her the last time she insulted my family’s honour.’

‘Insulted your honour?’ Rook cut through the conversation. Higher than usual pitch Emmrich was used to, her voice rang against the towering walls, bouncing off the still bell above them. ‘Your nephew is the one who insulted your honour through his conduct. Or do you believe that women are to become nothing more than leibeigene upon taking nuptial vows?’

It was as if the bell above Emmrich had tolled at the small fact. Rook had pulled herself to her full height, not as tall as Van Markham, but enough that she could look him straight in the eye. There was a twitch to her gauntlet covered fingers, flexing them as if she wanted to punch him. Emmrich had a burning desire to wrap the man in spirit cords to make the job easier for her.

Again, Van Markham sputtered but finally sensing he was on the wrong side of the argument, or at least outnumbered enough that it wasn’t worth his while to continue trying to make the argument, he turned. A flick of his wrist ordered his retinue to part so he could leave with some dignity intact. The march was loud, stone and metal clanging together as the sixteen soldiers followed their commander under the scrutiny of the assorted witnesses. Skeletal assistants closed the doors behind them leaving Emmrich free to return his attention back to Rook. VORGOTH had his gloved hand on Rook’s shoulder, its hooded head inclined down towards her, in a gesture that could be considered sympathetic, perhaps even fatherly in nature.

‘The man remains an insufferable fool,’ Myrna announced. ‘Ah, Professor, a pleasure to see you, though I had little doubt you were too far away.’

‘Indeed, we were seeing to the cleansing of the Vault of the Beloved,’ he informed his colleague walking to join the group. ‘Rook has masterful skill within her wardweaving abilities. It must be quite a blow to the Reapers to not be able to call on her aid.’

‘AND YOUR TRAVELS? ARE THEY BEARING FRUIT?’ VORGOTH asked.

‘Quiet so,’ replied Emmrich. ‘It will make for quite the presentation should we fulfil our mission.’

‘That should make for a pleasant diversion,’ Myrna said, then turned to VORGOTH. ‘We will need to arrange for further sanctification of the vault before they can return to their full use. Professor, if your work here is not done, there is a matter of concern we would discuss with you, regarding the Basalt Hypogeum.‘

--//-*-\\--

His office, his academic bastion, was surprisingly empty. Emmrich knew he had removed a large amount of his collection to the Lighthouse but as he’d done so in a manner that resulted in him returning when he had needed something extra he hadn’t fully noticed just how much he’d decamped. The room reminded him of his first days as a Professor fifteen years earlier when he had been presented with this empty room for his use. Associate Lecturers shared offices and it had been a nightmare as his companion had no concept of tidiness. He sat in the chair, having given up hope of finding the journal he’d been looking for, knowing it would likely be back at the Lighthouse.

The loss of the Basate Hypogeum was more than concerning, having coincided with the recent Venatori incursions. He had known their intentions had been to siphon energy from the Necropolis but the removal of a whole room. That seemed inconceivable. Myrna had shown him, and Rook, the gaping hole left behind, a bottomless chasm with swirling mists. Reshuffles were normal, but the Necropolis always put itself back together in a way that left no gaps. A strange nothingness hung in the air with a howl to the winds that sounded like mourning.

New seals were in the process of being enchanted so it could not happen again but it would still be some time until they were back in place. There was a tap at the door, followed by Rook entering as if they were back at the Lighthouse. VORGOTH had extended an invitation of luncheon to her after the tour. She no longer wore her armour, which Manfred had brought here an hour earlier, adorned in yet another floor length velvet coat, this time of midnight blue with fleck of silver threading at the hems and through the buttons.

‘Find what you were looking for?’ She asked, glancing around the office with interest before frowning. ‘Have you moved it all to the Lighthouse?’

‘In my bid to have as much knowledge at my fingertips,’ he said, rather sheepishly, ‘yes.’

Rook chuckled. ‘I should really ask Myrna for some of my belongings for the Lighthouse. Leaving didn’t really allow me much in the way of creature comforts.’ She picked up a dusty canopic jar. ‘Anyone famous?’

‘Found at the Charnal Bridge before the Nightmare Fog descended,’ he replied.

‘It’s still there?’ She asked, putting the jar down carefully. ‘We should really get someone to banish that thing.’

‘Multiple attempts have been made,’ he replied, tracking Rook as she moved around the room, assailed by a strange sense that she simply belonged here just as much as she did in his study within the Lighthouse.

Rook ignored the chairs and perched on his desk, mere meters from where he sat. She rapped her nails across the surface of the desk. ‘I feel as if I owe you further thanks even if in this case, it was hypothetical. You'd have had my back with Van Markham, had he not already been crossing his swords with Myrna.’

‘He’s a fool,’ Emmrich replied. ‘Always been more concerned with his own standing. A poor attribute for a member of the Watch, but a common one amongst the lesser nobility.’

‘He’s so far down their line of ascension, I don’t think we can even call him lesser nobility,’ said Rook quietly. ‘But I fear Myrna is right, his umbrage with me is a personal matter over his jilted nephew. It is not an argument that can be won by hitting him over the head with the founding charter, or any of the subsequent amendments.’ She huffed out a soft laugh that brimmed with sadness. ‘I might never be able to return if I have to watch my back for him.’

‘It would appear crossing you means crossing VORGOTH,’ he observed lightly. ‘There are very few who would openly do that. VORGOTH’s fury is not to be taken lightly.’

‘And yet, the annals show there is always one,’ she said. ‘Someone who thinks their transgressions will go unnoticed by their near omniscient observations.’ She sighed. ‘What’s next in terms of reaching the Greater Spirits?’

The change of subject caught him off guard for a moment. The reminder of VORGOTH’s reach churning with thoughts of desire he had for the woman before him. He had witnessed VORGOTH’s terrify powers when dispensing justice and yet, it did not dampen his desire for her. That he’d be willing to cross VORGOTH‘s wrath to have her was testimony within itself.

‘I believe the Memorial Gardens lie beyond the Vault of the Beloved,’ Emmrich finally replied, regaining his senses. ‘We’ll need to perform the Sacred Rites of Remembrance to reaffirm our pledge to the dead so we may consult the Greater Spirits. I’d be honoured if you’d join me.’

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Translation -

leibeigene - serf, chattel or thrall

#dragon age: the veilguard #emmrich volkarin #emmrich x ingellvar #rook ingellvar #rook x emmrich #emmrich romance #da4 fic #dragon age myrna #VORGOTH #Yup #I'm back!

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profoundlyfaded · 5 months ago

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I’d put money on you ending up in the Lucanis - Emmrich pipeline if you played.

To Die as Lovers May - Chapter 3

Emmrich and Amina scramble to figure out what happened to her, and what to do next.

Under the cut and on ao3

“What do you mean I’m ‘dead’?” She frowned, her nose wrinkling as a thought came to her. “Are you corpse-whispering me?!” Panic rippled through her, icy terror carving through her already disconcertingly cold veins.

“No! I’m–” He looked as unhinged as she felt.

“Oh Emmrich - what happened? What is happening?!” She held up her hands in front of her face, as the realization that something was horribly, horribly wrong crashed around her. “I’m–”

“-I don’t–”

“-dead?!” She wailed, one hand splaying over her heart, the other searching her own neck for the steady familiar rhythm of her pulse. When she found no such thing, her eyes widened so much that the whites were visible all the way around her faded irises, and she let out a mortified yelp.

She faced him with desperation written on her face, frightened tears gathering in the corners of her pleading eyes. “Emmrich, what happened to me? W-why am I l-like this?” She wrapped her arms around her named form, hugging herself and shivering violently. “W-why am I so co-cold?”

She hadn’t felt fear like this since the day the battled Elgar’nan: gripping, ruthless. It strained against the carefully cultivated bonds of rational thought that were the only thing keeping her from becoming hysterical - bonds that were rapidly fracturing.

All she had were questions upon questions and the vile, chilling confirmation that she lacked a pulse, and Fade take her - had she ever felt this hungry?

Emmrich studied her, compassionate sympathy replacing the anguished horror that dominated his features only moments earlier when she came to with him holding her, screaming like a man possessed.

His warm fingers wrapped around her upper arms and he rose to his feet, bringing her along with him.

“Before we turn our minds to finding the answers to your questions, let’s try to get you warmed up, darling.” He reached across her and nudged the tap with his fingers, finally stopping the flow of water into the overflowing bathtub. Taking a deep, steadying breath, he drew his hand through his hair and cast a brief, assessing glance around the flooded room and wordlessly decided it was a problem to deal with later before he turned his attention back to her. “Right. Are you able to walk, or would you like me to carry you? I think I can if you wish, but I expended a great amount of—“

He was exhausted, she realized then: his eyes were bloodshot and swollen and his face was pallid - almost green.

Amina wriggled her toes against the wet stone floor, marking their responsiveness and deemed it adequate. “I think I can walk - everything seems to be… to be w-working as it sh-should…”

Well. Except my heart…

He slipped his arm under hers, holding her by her waist in case she faltered. “Thank you, Manfred.” He accepted the fluffy sage green towel that the skeleton was holding out for him, his glittering eyes averted respectfully from Amina.

“Rook is… okay?”

Emmrich draped the towel over Amina’s shoulders and patted her down, drying her off as best he could. “We’re not sure, I’m afraid,” he admitted solemnly.

At this, Manfred hissed in a such a way that communicated his deep concern about this revelation.

“Fear not, Manfred. We’ll get to the bottom of this and set everything right in no time.” Emmrich’s voice was heavy with fatigue, but still carried that spark of optimistic surety she was eternally taken with.

He was saying those words aloud not only for Manfred’s benefit, but for his own… and hers.

“Now I want you to go to your room and stay there until I come and get you, do you understand?” He waited for Manfred’s confirmation before squeezing the lad’s bony shoulder and guiding Amina out of the bathroom, keeping her as close to him as he could.

Even though he was soaking wet too, and likely a bit chilly himself, Emmrich felt wonderfully warm against her: like a dark river stone left to sit in the summer sun for hours. Heat positively radiated off of him with such intensity that Amina wondered if he had a slight fever.

As they slowly made their way to their bedroom at the end of the hall, Amina’s mind raced: if she was medically dead as she appeared to be by all definitions, but she was simultaneously conscious and sentient - herself as far as she could tell - then she was… she was technically undead. Like Manfred. Like the Lich Lords…

But Manfred was a wisp possessing remains, and the liches were the sanctioned powers that ruled the Necropolis. She was something else. Something accidental. Something unnatural.

Emmrich closed the door behind them and sat her down in one of the emerald damask armchairs before the fireplace. Flames roared to life in the hearth with an absent-minded movement of his fingers, and he moved for the large trunk of spare blankets at the foot of their bed.

Amina caught him by the wrist, her fingernails clinking against gold.

“This is… this is lovely, Emmrich - thank you, but… would it be too much trouble if…? I think I would be more comfortable laying down. Will you hold me? Keep me warm?”

She winced as soon as the words left her mouth as the gravity of what she had just requested settled, crushing her under its brutal immensity: she wasn’t just asking her fiancé for a sweet cuddle to ward off the stinging nip of an autumnal breeze: she had just propositioned him to climb into bed with a corpse.

Appropriate contact between the living and the dead was strictly enforced in Nevarra: there were few things more shameful than it becoming public knowledge that one had dallied with a corpse: it was damning to one’s livelihood, social circles, and overall reputation if they were suspected or openly accused of necrophilia; and if such things could be proven, the penalties were incredibly steep: if one avoided execution, they would almost certainly be commuted to imprisonment for the remainder of their lives.

The relationship between the living and the dead - and by extension, the undead - was sacred to Nevarrans, and the moral and ethical matters of consent and power dynamics rendered any sort of romantic or sexual contact with bodily remains - regardless of their status - completely off the table.

Her throat tightened painfully at the realization. The comprehension that those laws now applied to them: that Emmrich couldn’t touch her, kiss her, or make love to her until this was sorted out… maybe never again…

“Never mind.” She said abruptly, speaking before Emmrich could find words as he blinked and his mouth hung open slightly because he had clearly had the same damning epiphany. “This… this is fine.” She tore her stinging eyes from his and rubbed her arms, staring into the fire, its orange flames blurring together as tears welled for the second time since she woke up in Emmrich’s arms, lungs full of water, feeling physically worse than she ever had in her life. “Can I have a blanket please?” She murmured to the fire. “Maybe like… three, actually?”

His footfalls filled her ears - so loud - as he came around the front of the chair instead of going to the blanket-trunk.

Unable to look at him, she stared at his bare feet now blocking the warm glow of the fire, a tear rolling down her cheek.

Then he was pulling her to her feet again, and scooping her up into his arms.

“What’re you–?”

He was carrying her towards the bed. “There have traditionally been special provisions extended to the liches of the Necropolis when it comes to matters of flesh and relations with the living,” he explained with a measured calmness that would have her doubting that he had been a grief-ravaged heap on the bathroom floor only minutes earlier had she not witnessed it herself. How did he do it? So effortlessly put other people ahead of himself? Manage his emotions so capably? “Because liches are undead but retain their naturally born souls housed inside their own remains, they are considered capable of decision-making in matters of bodily autonomy and consent. For all intents and purposes, they are held to the same standards in that arena as the living by precedence of our laws.”

He had mentioned this provision before - back when he was still pursuing lichdom and she had asked if they would still be able to continue their relationship.

“But I’m not a lich,” she pointed out, looking up into Emmrich’s face as he placed her gently on the bed and began pulling the sheets and blanket over her. “At least I don’t think I am. I’m... I’m… we don’t know what I am.”

“Well you’re most certainly you - I would be able to detect a difference in your metaphysical resonance if you were possessed by a spirit.” He hauled the covers all the way up to her chin and tucked the blanket around her.

Satisfied that she was properly tucked in, he left her side to flip open the trunk at the end of the bed and pulled out an assortment of carefully folded woven blankets, waving them out, and spreading them over her one at a time.

“I have seen no evidence that you are entirely dissimilar to a lich: your soul - your essence - is retained within the flesh and bone of your own deceased body. The only variation appears to be your physiology and the fact that lichdom is obtained through performing a deliberate rite, and this was obviously unintended.”

He went to his side of the bed and began undressing, wicking away sodden layers of clothing, leaving them in a wet pile on the floor - unusual for him - then methodically removing his many rings and bracelets, storing each with care in the glass topped, velvet lined box on his bedside table.

When he was finished and he was standing in the firelight, as naked as she was, he regarded her from the edge of the bed for a moment before saying, “So if it pleases you and puts your mind at ease: do I have your consent to join you in bed, dear?”

“Y-yes.” Amina breathed through the fresh tears in her eyes, feeling an odd stirring in her chest that was so very different from the beating of her heart. “Yes, of course.”

With a thin smile, he slid under the covers alongside her without hesitation, enveloping her instantly with his divine warmth as he wrapped himself around her slight form.

“There,” he murmured into her hair, cradling her head against his chest. His heartbeat roared in her ears, so steady and calm despite everything that had happened. “No laws broken.” He pulled back, lifting her chin with his fingers so she was looking at him over the surface of her pillow. He placed his lips against hers and she heard his heart rate increase; felt his body stiffen slightly at the unfamiliar sensation of frigid lips that were usually the same temperature as his. His thumb - so alive and warm - swept over her chin tenderly. “Besides, I won’t tell anyone if you won’t.”

He winked, then smiled for her. For her. He was trying so hard to comfort her. Bring her some measure of peace to help her through this nightmare.

“Emmrich, it's not a joke - this is dangerous. If it gets out that I’m…” she couldn’t say the word she meant to say. “Like this you know what will happen.”

In her many years with the Watch she had never encountered an undead being like herself. Emmrich had been with the Watch considerably longer and even he was at a loss for an explanation for her condition.

And what did the Mourn Watch do when they discovered an unexplained magical phenomenon?

They studied it.

It wouldn’t come from a place of personal malice: just one of detached cruelty often seen in academic circles where the ends justified the means when it came to committing morally dubious acts in the noble spirit of advancing knowledge.

Her freedom and autonomy would be stripped from her, and she’d end up housed in a windowless ‘living quarter’ in the bowels of the Necropolis to be observed, studied, prodded, and vivisected by her colleagues in an effort to glean what was responsible for the miracle of her undeath.

“Surely Myrna and Vorgoth wouldn’t–”

“I’m Unsanctioned Sentient Undead, Emmrich - no different than Johanna after her failed attempt at lichdom. Unintentional or not, I’m an affront to the natural order of life and death by the order’s definition. A sin against nature. My fate is extermination or becoming a lab rat if we can’t undo this…” her voice shook when she uttered the truth aloud and Emmrich’s deep hazel eyes softened further.

“Come now, darling. You mustn’t think like that.” He rested his forehead against hers, and she flinched away but he dragged her back to him, running his nose along the side of hers. Long fingers slipped into her damp hair and began combing through it gently, his breath baptizing her like a hot summer wind.

He seemed completely unphased by her current state.

She didn’t know why, but it made her eyes fog up yet again.

“You are not a ‘sin against nature’. You are a good person who has encountered an inconveniently timed spot of trouble in the line of duty, and we’re going to get you out of it.”

“What if we can’t? What if I’m stuck like this? Maker’s breath - what if I start decomposing?!”

The spiral of ‘what if’s’ and hypotheticals had started again, and tight panic gripped her throat once more.

“We’ll keep an eye on the condition of your body and take appropriate measures as needed in order to offset florid decay.”

He said it with the ease of a seasoned embalmer assessing a fresh corpse on his preparation table: strangely comforting given the circumstances. “However, it’s of utmost importance that you remember something as we work together to find a solution, dear.” His eyes wandered over her face, and he could practically hear the wheels turning in his mind despite his assurances: he was already mulling over theories; coming up with strategies.

“What do I need to remember, Emmrich?”

“That you are still you, darling Amina.” His gaze paused when he caught her eyes. “The fact that you’ve unwittingly transitioned into a different state of being does not change that.” He gathered her face in his hands and kissed her again, his lips lingering longer this time, and her fingers wrapped around his thin, bare wrist as she allowed herself to finally touch him - this living person - for the first time with her unliving hand: a cardinal offense by the rule of the Law, but one that brought her such comfort in its simple intimacy.

“I love you, dear - please know that my feelings towards you remain unchanged. I will do whatever it takes to make this right… everything in my power.” He peppered a few more gentle pecks over her cheeks, his lips leaving a burning trail wherever they touched. “Everything will be all right.”

She didn’t know how badly she needed to hear those words until Emmrich spoke them, and feeling fortified by them, she shifted closer to him, the shame of coercing the man she loved into deviant behaviour lessening somewhat: he was only keeping her warm - it wasn’t as though they were having sex. This was a benign kindness, and nothing more.

Warmth flooded her as her chest pressed against his, and precious heat flowed into her flesh, worrying at the cold, chipping it from her tense muscles and relaxing them.

“I’m sorry, I can’t imagine this is particularly comfortable for you,” she mumbled sheepishly into his shoulder.

“Never mind that.” His arms wrapped around her and held her tightly to him. “Is it helping?”

It was - the consistency of his warmth enveloping her was making her feel much better, and it seemed that once that heat infused deeply enough into her flesh and fat and muscles, she could retain it somewhat - for how long she couldn’t be sure, but as they maintained their embrace in the quiet, calmness of their bedroom, she found that she felt more at peace than she had all evening - even before she died.

Nodding, she gave herself permission to rest her hand on Emmrich’s waist, feeling his smooth, soft skin against hers.

“That’s marvelous, darling. I’m so relieved to hear it.” His tone was pleasant, bordering on cheerful. There was no lie: his heart was lightened by this improvement.

“You seem disarmingly at ease with all of this,” she remarked. “Not… not that I’m complaining, but I was surprised enough when you agreed to share the bed with me. But this?” She flexed her arms around him, squeezing him tighter. “And the kisses? Aren’t you even slightly put off by the fact that I’m, uh - technically dead?”

“Darling,” he admonished. “Firstly, you aren’t ‘technically dead’ - you are undead. Secondly, a disciple of higher learning quickly discovers that the most important virtue one can possess when they wish to delve into the mysteries of the world is keeping an open mind. It is - and will be - an adjustment, I grant you, but one doesn’t spend as many years preparing for lichdom as I did without having to periodically revisit their definition of ‘strange’.”

The corners of her mouth lifted for the first time in a wan, somewhat misty smile.

He had worked so hard for lichdom only to turn it down forever at the last moment when Manfred’s life hung in the balance - literally on the table. She had never wanted lichdom for him in the first place, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t appreciate the staggering amount of study and work that had gone into his preparations for it. Once considered, it made perfect sense that the prospect of stripping nude and embracing his undead fianceé in bed was not a daunting one to a man as wonderfully bizarre as Emmrich Volkarin.

“I’m lucky then, that I’m your sort of ‘strange’.”

“You always have been.” He smiled down at her, stroking her hair gently, every touch delivered with the singular, deliberate aim of calming and comforting: it was working. “I do think we should still see Myrna and Vorgoth come morning. I have reason to suspect this… transformation had something to do with the creature we encountered today.”

She opened her mouth to remind him that in case he’d already forgotten, she was undead, and therefore bringing her around other Watchers was likely a poor decision, but he continued speaking.

“We needn’t tell them of your condition, don’t worry. But it’s our duty to alert them to the existence of such a being. Though I’ve never heard of anything comparable to it existing before today, we cannot rule out the possibility that there are more of them in the deepest reaches of the Necropolis, and we know firsthand how dangerous they can be - particularly if my suspicions are correct and it has infected you with some sort of contagion or other vile thing: there could be an epidemic if more appear and care is not taken.”

Amina rolled her face into the pillow, hiding it as she groaned. “Fine.” She agreed begrudgingly. “But we don’t mention anything about me: I didn’t get bitten. If they ask, we overwhelmed it before it could properly attack us.”

“I’m still not keen on your insistence that we hide this from our superiors, but I’ll go along with it for the time being.”

“Thank you.”

“How are you feeling, dearest?”

Humming quietly, she lost herself in the placating rhythm of his hand stroking her hair over her back. “I’m not sure,” she admitted.

“Well we’ve clearly established that your heart is not beating, therefore blood is not circulating through your veins and arteries, robbing you of the ability to regulate your body temperature. We’ll keep that in mind in the morning when selecting your clothing in the morning. And with your permission of course I would like to examine you properly tomorrow. Are you experiencing any other notable symptoms?”

“Remember when I alluded to the fact that I’d prefer to avoid a fate where I become the subject of a necromancer’s crowning dissertation?”

“Seeing as my dissertation was completed roughly around the time you were learning to walk, you have little to fear from me in that regard, my dear.”

He was trying to help. Trying to learn whatever he could that would set him on the right path to cracking this. Guilt and shame filled her at her own obtuseness: who better to solve a puzzle like this than Emmrich? He literally lived for this sort of bizarre mystery.

“I’m ravenous,” she admitted. “I don’t understand why - I only missed dinner. But it’s not just typical I-haven’t-eaten-in-a-few-hours-I-could-do-with-a-snack hunger: it’s that deep, hollow sort that nags at your brain and hurts your stomach.”

Emmrich looked hurt at her words. “Why didn’t you say so, darling? Let me fetch you something–” he made to get out of bed but Amina hauled him back over the sheets with ease, trapping his lithe form against her.

“No - please stay. I’ll be fine to wait until breakfast, and I just want to lay here with you. I’m more tired than hungry anyway.”

“Very well, but if you change your mind in the night, you mustn’t hesitate to wake me, darling: I think the fact that you have an appetite at all is a very good sign indicating that at least some of your mortal physiology has remained intact and maintains function.” He shuffled slightly, the luxurious sheets slipping over his legs as he wrapped them around hers. “What else?”

“I feel… overstimulated. My hearing is all keyed up and everything sounds so much louder than it usually does: I can hear your heart beating from here as clearly as if my ear was pressed against your chest.”

“Fascinating…”

“Please tell me you're not going to refer to every aspect of my suffering as ‘fascinating’ for the duration of this nightmare.”

“Sorry dear.” His voice was sheepish and he pressed a kiss to the side of her neck.

“Aside from that, I’m utterly exhausted - everything hurts, and I feel as though I haven’t slept in days.”

“Then let’s rest for the night, darling. Close your eyes and hold tight to me - I promise I won’t leave your side.”

He waved a hand and the flames of the fire receded but did not go out completely, casting the room in an insubstantial but warm glow. She thought she heard him gasp at something, but he evidently didn’t feel the need to elaborate, instead adjusting himself so he was curled around her, his head resting atop her silent heart.

Doing as she was told, Amina closed her eyes and carded her fingers through Emmrich’s soft hair. Silence - or as close to it as was possible - filled the dim room and Amina wondered if Emmrich’s own exhaustion had at last won out.

“Darling?”

His voice was tentative and vulnerable - drained by the immense emotional weight of the evening.

“Yes, love?”

“I know that you’re frightened and upset by this unexpected complication, but…” His voice was a whisper so soft and low that she doubted she would hear it under normal circumstances. “When I saw you at the bottom of the bath under all of that water… still and silent and clearly gone… I–” his voice hitched and he took a moment before going on. “I’ve never felt more helpless in my entire life, and even though it’s not ideal, I find myself utterly relieved that you’re here in my arms right now… in our bed. In our home. I can’t help but feel selfish because of it, and yet…” His tears carved hot tracks over the curve of her breasts as he spoke into the dark. “I’m so glad that you came back, Amina - so glad that tonight was not the end…”

A soft sob slipped from him, and he sniffled, pressing his nose against her chest, fingertips digging into her skin as if she might be torn from him at any moment.

Shushing him gently, she continued to soothingly work her fingernails over his scalp. “I understand, Emmrich. Finding me like that must have been awful.” She winced at the desperate and audible groan of hunger from her belly - what awkward timing. “Just try to rest now, all right? We can talk more in the morning. I promise I won’t leave your side either. I’m not going anywhere.”

Emmrich let out a trembling sigh and removed his hand from her for long enough to wipe the tears from his face before replacing it. “Right you are, dearest.” He concurred, his voice still uneven. “We have much to do, come the dawn.”

“I love you, Emmrich… thank you for loving me.”

“I love you too, darling – I suspect there is nothing in the world that could make me cease loving you.”

She smiled again at that, then let her head sink into the pillow, drifting off to the sound of the steady beat of Emmrich’s strong, healthy heart filling her ears, lulling her into a sort of trance before her mind went dark and still, and thoughts were no more.

#emmrich x rook #lucanis x rook #the pipeline is real #coffee to coffin

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