Chapter Text
So really, when it came down to it, Emmrich had few excuses for being surprised. He had pulled Kyril up to the balcony in his room, lit the sky with the wisps and lights of the fade, and summoned a beautiful mirage of a sunset for them to watch together. And at first, as Kyril’s eyes crinkled and he shyly popped one of Emmrich’s expensive Nevarran chocolates in his mouth, the distractions seemed to lighten Kyril’s mood, pulling him into the present instead of the strange pensive state he had been slipping into recently. Kyril smiled, a small, genuine thing, and backed Emmrich up against the wall, wrapping his arms around Emmrich’s neck to press soft sugary kisses against his lips.
Emmrich humored Kyril for a few long minutes, content to trade kisses and gentle touches, before growing impatient and eager to show Kyril his gift. He tried to gently pull away from Kyril’s attentions.
“As pleasant as-“ Emmrich relented to being pulled in for one last kiss. “Ah-as this is, my dear, there was something else I wanted to give you.”
Kyril rocked back on his heels, gazing up at Emmrich through his lashes. “Besides the champagne and the fancy chocolates?”
Emmrich smiled down at the other man, overcome with tenderness. “Those were merely the appetizers, Kyril.” He quickly retrieved the small black box from where he had stored it on a nearby shelf. “I’ve been trying to find the right time to give this to you.”
Kyril’s eyes darted back and forth between the box in Emmrich’s hands and the crow's feet decorating his eyes. “For me?” He asked quietly, a soft blush rising to his face.
Emmrich grinned back at the elf. “Quite.” He took both of Kyril’s hands in one of his. “It’s an old Nevarran tradition, my dear, to give symbols of one’s affection in this life, to accompany our loved ones into the next. And, given how important you have become to me,” Emmrich said, squeezing Kyril’s hands as he spoke, “it seemed only right for me to celebrate what we share, and to give you something of myself to carry.”
Kyril stared at the box bashfully, his eyes slightly widening. “Emmrich- I-" he glanced at the ceiling, blinking a few times in rapid succession. “Thank you,” he said in a soft voice.
“Traditionally, one anticipates thanks after the gift is opened,” Emmrich prodded gently.
“Right. Of course. Sorry, I’ve never been given fancy gifts before.” Kyril smiled at him, and took the smooth wooden box, eagerly opening it. Emmrich closed his eyes, overcome with the desire to constantly ply Kyril with expensive presents, just for the privilege of seeing that soft, bashful smile. When he opened his eyes, he saw Kyril, frozen with wide eyes. “This is-“
Emmrich took a moment to admire the grave gold inside the box. It was a small, understated bracelet in the masculine Nevarran style, inlaid with emeralds and the small design of a songbird shaped of delicate enamel. He glanced up at Kyril’s face, horrified to see that it was frozen in a twisted, terrified expression. Emmrich felt his heart plummet in his chest.
“Kyril, my dear?” He asked tentatively.
Kyril swallowed slowly. “This is Antivan gold.” He said distantly, his eyes fixed to the bracelet. Emmrich paused, unsure where Kyril’s sudden expertise in luxury jewelry had come from.
“It is, yes. I had only wanted to procure the best quality of adornment for you. Forgive me, my heart, if it was too forward or was unwanted-“
“This is Antivan gold.” Kyril said again.
“I should have asked. I apologize, Kyril, this was clearly not-“
“You bought me Antivan gold.” Kyril repeated, his eyes finding Emmrich’s face.
Emmrich nodded. “It’s the best unalloyed gold on the market. And, I’ll admit, it seemed appropriate given your background-“ Kyril flinched, his whole body snapping away from Emmrich’s with a visceral movement.
“I’m sorry, Emmrich,” Kyril said, his voice tight and heavy with unshed tears. “It is a beautiful bracelet.” He snapped the box shut and pressed it into Emmrich’s stomach. “I can’t accept this." Confused, Emmrich took hold of the box, and Kyril paced to the other end of the balcony, wrapping his arms around himself.
Emmrich stood, uselessly rooted to the ground. "I'm afraid I've done something wrong, Kyril, but I haven't the slightest idea what."
Kyril pressed his back against the Lighthouse wall, eyes squeezed shut and jaw tight. Emmrich heard a small, choked-off sob escape before Kyrik flinched and turned away, leaving Emmrich with a view of his back and hunched shoulders.
"I cannot accept Antivan gold, Emmrich. Please understand. Not after-" Kyril's voice cut out as he attempted to muffle another dry sob with his gloved hand.
Emmrich was slowly becoming aware of a sinking feeling from his stomach, as if he had walked headlong off a cliff. "Kyril?" he asked with increasing alarm.
“I can’t, Emmrich!" Kyril snapped. "Please, understand. I know you meant well, but I can't." He hunched over himself, unable to draw a full breath. "People died for that gold."
Pure ice ran through Emmrich's veins as the events of the last few weeks clicked into place, and the larger truth of the matter became clear. His stomach dropped as he realized what Kyril had been trying to avoid saying out loud to him for some time, what Emmrich had refused to ask about. A missing sister with neat handwriting, an instrument that Kyril had never played unaccompanied, the way he innately understood Bellara's panic at losing her brother-
It was an ugly thing, realizing the magnitude of Kyril's loss. "Your family-"
"There was an earthquake. During the workday." Kyril knelt down, his arms wrapped tightly around his knees as he shrank into himself. "All gone, just like that. All of them. They're still down there."
Emmrich felt his knees shake. He gingerly lowered himself to the ground, careful to leave six feet of space between himself and Kyril, who was trembling with grief. How had he missed this? How had he so insensitively presented Kyril with a gilded representation of his family’s death? His head spun with shame as he watched Kyril try to curl into a ball, his whole body shaking with the force of his gasps. Emmrich gently crawled over to the younger man, pausing a foot away.
“Breath, Kyril,” Emmrich murmured softly. “Slow, deep.” Kyril took a pained breath in. “Just like that. There we go. “ Emmrich mirrored Kyril, taking a deep breath of his own and holding the air for a moment while he tried to find the right words to say. “It will all be alright.” He added, lamely.
Kyril shot Emmrich a look that managed to be deeply unamused despite the ongoing panic attack. Fair enough, Emmrich thought to himself.
He corrected himself. “I-I didn’t realize, Kyril,” he said, softly. “I should have. Had I known-“
“I know.” Kyril said, tiredly.“You didn’t really mean it.” He took another shuddering breath as he dropped his head, tracing the stonework of the Lighthouse’s balcony with a shaking fingertip.
Emmrich sat in miserable silence as Kyril caught his breath. “Kyril,” he asked gently. “The rest of my gold. Is there any Antivan-"
“Third bangle on your left arm. And the two rings on your middle finger. And the chains on your vest. Thought they were heirlooms originally, but they’re the right color for Antivan gold.”
Emmrich eased the bangle off his wrist, regarding it as if it were made of arsenic. “The bangle was, actually. A gift from a dear professor of mine after my thesis defense.” Emmrich gave the bangle one last, somber look before he flung it off the balcony.
Kyril’s head snapped up at the sound of the bangle ricocheting off the uneven stone below, falling into the infinite void of the fade. “Emmrich, did you…”
Emmrich regarded his bejeweled hands. “The rings next, I think.” He said mildly, as he took one of the offensive pieces of gold and threw it off the balcony, watching with satisfaction as it fell out of sight. Kyril’s eyes widened.
“Em, you can’t just-“
“I can’t just imagine ever wanting to wear these pieces again, my darling. Mourn Watchers take very specific vows regarding when we are permitted to take a life, and I certainly would not permit myself to benefit from the deaths of good people for the sake of ornamentation.” He hurled the second ring into the endless abyss of the Fade, watching it sail out of sight.
“But-Emmrich!” Kyril stammered, bewildered by the fury with which the normally mild-mannered man disposed of the jewelry. “They're still expensive! You could-”
Emmrich wrenched one of the chains from his breast, ignoring the way that the silk snagged on the gold clasp. “A small enough price to pay for your comfort.” He said, far too evenly for a man who had just thrown a year’s salary into the ether. “Besides, grave gold typically cannot be resold once purchased.” He regarded the chain in his hands with contempt. “I’m not especially interested in making any money back from this.” The gold chain skittered across the masonry before falling off the balcony, joining the rest of the gold below. He forcefully pulled the second chain from his collar, and held it out to Kyril. “Would you do the honors?”
Kyril stared at him, then his shoulders sagged with exhaustion. He took the chain and shakily stood, walking to the edge of the balcony. Emmrich watched as Kyril held the chain out, watching the sunlight glimmer across the gold. Then, Kyril’s fingers released the chain and it plummeted out of sight. “Su an’ladal av na,” he said in a low voice, and then spat over the edge of the balcony for good measure. He turned away from the balcony, his eyes lowered.
Emmrich gazed softly at him. “I rarely get to hear your voice in Elvish."
Kyril shrugged, leaning against the railing. “I try not to wear it out. What does it matter to you?” Emmrich took a step back and Kyril huffed, looking down at his hands. “It’s not- I don't want to be rude. Just not used to speaking it in front of humans. It wasn’t safe.”
Emmrich felt a deep, overwhelming grief as he realized everything Kyril felt forced to hide from the world: his native tongue, his tears, his trauma. He studied Kyril’s downcast eyes. "I see. the few times I have heard it I have thought your voice sounds especially beautiful in the language" Kyril’s lips twisted with an unreadable emotion, his hands tangling together with the remnants of the nervous energy that had overwhelmed him earlier. “Of course, if you do not wish to speak it in front of me, we can continue to use the trade tongue.” He smiled tightly, trying to coax Kyril into looking up by adding, “I can adopt some rudimentary Antivan, of course. I'm told my accent is terrible."
Kyril snorted despite himself. “That’s hardly necessary, Em. Nobody should be forced to study Antivan tones."
Emmrich, emboldened, took a step closer and held a thin, lightly wrinkled hand out. “You tell me what you need to say, Kyril, and I will learn how to listen to it. I don’t want to-“ Emmrich struggled, at a loss for words for a moment. “I refuse to be the most recent in a line of human men that have hurt you, my dear. I desire you to be safe.”
Finally, (finally), Kyril looked up, his dark eyes, still reddened from crying, meeting Emmrich’s. He gently set his hand atop Emmrich’s, and let Emmrich pull him into a close embrace. Kyril sighed as Emmrich wrapped his arms around his torso and pressed a kiss to Kyril’s curls. Kyril sighed again, and pressed his face into Emmrich’s chest. His voice was muffled when he spoke. “I wanted. I wanted to tell somebody. I wanted to tell you, about all of it.” He cleared his throat, and twisted his fingers into the fine fabric of Emmrich’s shirt, holding it like a lifeboat in a storm. His voice trembled slightly, cracking on the last phrase. “I didn’t know how to. I didn’t know-you didn’t sign up for this kind of mess.” Kyril sniffled. “There’s enough going on. I thought I could carry this a while longer.”
Emmrich rubbed a soothing pattern into Kyril’s back. “Kyril, I- Whatever life has forced you to carry, please. I would-" Emmrich swallowed, trying to keep his voice free of tears. “I would like to help you shoulder this weight. I…. Well, I would like to help.” Emmrich felt a tear run down his cheek, unbidden. “I would like to help. I love you.”
Emmrich felt, rather than heard, Kyril respond to that. Kyril’s face buried itself in his chest as the younger man took a deep, staggering breath. Kyril’s grip tightened around Emmrich’s shirt as he tried to pull Emmrich even closer. Emmrich felt the front of his shirt grow damp as Kyril took another shaky breath. “I- I’d like you to help.” Kyril admitted in a quavering voice. “I want you to help.”
Emmrich brought a tentative hand up to pet Kyril’s hair, gently scratching his fingernails against the elf’s scalp. “When you’re alone, and you struggle to breathe like this, what usually helps?”
Kyril leaned into the touch. “I recite their names.”
Emmrich’s hand stuttered, then paused. “Your family’s?”
“Yes. I recite their names so I don’t forget them.”
Emmrich held Kyril close, trying not to picture a young, lonely boy lying awake in a Crow dormitory, chanting the names of his dead family, completely bereft of friends or family to help him remember. Or memorialize. Or grieve. He swallowed around the lump in his throat. “Would you like to now?”
Kyril fell silent for a long moment, his body stilled and his breath silent. Emmrich quietly let the silence sit, doing his best to wrap Kyril in a cocoon of comfort. Eventually, he heard Kyril say quietly-
“Filomena. My mother was Filomena.”
Emmrich lowered his head, speaking gently in Kyril’s ear. “Filomena,” he repeated, his tongue catching on the unfamiliar phonemes.
Kyril nodded. “My father was named Asile.”
Emmrich repeated the name.
“My siblings, in order: my sister Lulla. Brother Cironu, my brother Masinu, my sister Toia, my sister Nesa, my brother Giagu, my sister Alvara.”
“Were you the eldest?”
“The youngest, by four years. That’s why” Kyril shuddered, and wrapped an arm around the small of Emmrich’s back for support. “You don’t go down into the mines before twelve. That’s why I wasn’t with them.” His breath caught in an inhale, and Kyril choked on his spit.
Emmrich slowly pried one of Kyril’s hands from his shirt, rubbing the tense fist into something more relaxed. “Are there other names?” He asked, trying to keep Kyril’s mind present, with him, and not back in that dim, muddy mineshaft. Kyril nodded, gasping for air.
“Lulla’s husband, my ring-brother Efis. And she was pregnant. The baby would have been Grassia.” Emmrich ran a hand along Kyril’s shoulder, trying to smooth out the trembling muscles with gentle pressure. “And Cironu’s wife, my ring-sister Docia. And my father’s sister, my aunt Linia. Her husband, my uncle Tiadoru, and their children, my cousins Sabina, Fidelu, Gosamu, Roccu, Elene.”
Emmrich pressed a gentle kiss to Kyril’s forehead, unable to keep pace with the repetitions of the names in this litany of loss. Kyril paused for air, his shoulders shaking with the effort of keeping his breaths even.
“My mother’s sister, my aunt Annisa. Her wife, my aunt Igia. Their children, my cousins Sisinnia, Dunadu, Luisi, Srivia, Zuda, Arega.” His voice cracked on the last name, as he lost his last strand of composure and sobbed into Emmrich’s shirt. “And little Ciccia survived but she was taken into town to be a serving girl. I never-“ he cried harder, his sobs tearing themselves from his throat. “I never saw her. They wouldn’t tell me where she went.”
Emmrich caught Kyril just as his knees began to shake, grabbing the younger man and slowly letting him down to the floor. He held Kyril close, letting the other man cling to his chest and wail with a dozen years of neglected, dammed up grief. He sat there, helpless to offer Kyril any comfort beyond a warm embrace, as Kyril howled in pain, a raw, animal noise tearing itself from his windpipe. Emmrich gently brushed his thumb against Kyril’s neck, letting a faint hint of healing magic sink into his vocal chords to prevent damage.
“I-I was there, outside the shaft.” Kyril gasped between sobs. “Me and Ciccia were sorting through the discard, checking- looking for ore and-“ Kyril choked on his own mucus, coughing violently as Emmrich patted his back. “The earth started shaking and- and we just watched. The entrance folded down and the beams broke and-“ he paused, making a pained face. “And that’s when Pottoi died.”
Emmrich paused, gently brushing the hair from Kyril’s face. “Who was Pottoi?”
With a trembling hand, Kyril silently picked at the chapped skin on his lips. “An elf with no family, no clan, is as good as dead.”
Emmrich thought of his own childhood tragedy, of the immense loneliness, the sudden loss and isolation. But he also thought of the distant aunt, who housed him the week of the accident. Of the watcher who minded the Foundling Boys’ dormitory, who had taught Emmrich to call his first wisp. Of the old professor who stank of cigars, who had privately arranged for Emmrich’s scholarship to the University, when he had little but ritual robes to his name. How had Kyril managed, losing everyone in his world at once? Had anyone stepped in to parent him, to comfort him? To feed him? No wonder Kyril considered his younger self dead, killed by the mine accident. No child could survive that sort of scenario an unchanged person. No adult could bear such a grief alone. But perhaps, Kyril did not have to bear this on his own tonight.
“My parents,” Emmrich said in a shaky voice, “were Rupert Adalbert Volkarin, and Ellanora Silke Volkarin. When I was nine years old, there- there was a building collapse on our street. I miss them very dearly.” Emmrich flexed and clenched his hand, studying the shadows cast by the moving tendons. “About a decade ago, I realized it was becoming difficult to recall the sound of her laugh, on some days at least.” He tilted his head back, examining the expanse of the fade above him, and released two small sparks of magic into the air, watching as they floated away. “But it brings me great comfort to know that their parenting remains in me, no matter how dim some of the memories grow.”
Kyril sat quietly for a moment, then squeezed Emmrich’s hand in silent understanding. “They sound like incredible people.”
Emmrich smiled, softly. “They were. I was very gratified to build them a worthy memorial when I officially joined the Watch.”
Kyril hesitated. “My family, they- they didn’t get that. The owner reopened the other shafts the next week. Said he-" Kyril hiccuped and pressed his face into the crook of his arm. "He said that he couldn't afford to excavate a couple of rabbits when he had a quota from an Orlesian jeweler. They must have-“ he took a pained gasp, struggling to catch his breath. “They ran out of air, I think. So they’re still down there.”
Emmrich took Kyril’s hands, gripping them tightly. “Then we will get them out.”
Kyril stared at him, shocked. “What?”
“After we see to the gods, we will return to your home village and excavate. I am certain the team will help. With Assan’s talons, Harding's ability to move stone, and Bellara’s formidable force magic, I would imagine that we would be able to recover most everything.”
Kyril kept staring. “What?”
Emmrich continued, undeterred. “of course, if you do not wish to tell the team I could arrange for some of the Necropolis’s workers to be lent to the project, they are most adept at excavation and recovery, but I would imagine, Kyril, that everyone would be very eager to show their gratitude to you for all that you've done for us. Returning your family to a proper resting place is truly the least we owe you.”
Kyril’s jaw dropped. “you- you would?” His gaze fell to his hands, entangled with Emmrich’s. “I could return their ashes to the river. So nobody could hurt them again.” He paused, letting the small beating pulse in his stomach grow into something akin to hope. “They could be free.” Kyril stared at the ceiling, rapidly blinking back tears.
“It is alright if you cry, my dear.”
“I’m so tired of crying. Can we just sit here?”
“As long as you like.”
Kyril stared out at the watercolor clouds of the fade, his hands worrying a thread on one of Emmrich’s hems. He leaned into Emmrich’s frame, letting the older man hold a portion of his weight as he felt his breath steady, then settle back into his lungs. “Ma serannas, lethallin.”
Emmrich gently traced his finger along Kyril’s jaw, running his finger from freckle to freckle. “what does that mean?”
Kyril turned his head into Emmrich’s palm, pressing a kiss into his hand. “Ma serannas, Lethallin. Thank you, my friend.” He kissed the skin of Emmrich’s wrist next. “Ma melava helani. You help me. Arth la ma.”
Emmrich smiled. “What does that mean?”
Kyril smiled back despite the tearstains on his cheek. “That one you’ll have to learn yourself.”
Emmrich pressed a gentle kiss to Kyril’s damp cheek. “Thankfully, I have a few hypotheses.” He placed a gentle hand under Kyril’s chin, tilting the elf’s head towards him. “I love you too, my darling.”
Kyril’s smile widened and he leaned in towards Emmrich, pressing their foreheads together and letting their breaths coalesce in the cool Fade air. Then, Kyril’s eyes fluttered shut and his lips grazed Emmrich’s in a gentle, hopeful kiss. Emmrich pulled back just far enough to admire Kyril's face, and wiped the last tear from his cheek. “Perhaps,” he said gently, “we could spend the evening together? I took the liberty of having the instrument in the music room retuned, if you would like-”
“Could you just read to me?” Kyril asked, shyly. “It's nice to listen to your voice.”
Emmrich nodded, powerless to deny Kyril anything. He gently helped Kyril to his feet, and led him back into his study, allowing the younger man to kick off his shoes and curl up at the foot of Emmrich’s bed. Emmrich gazed softly at his lover, before grabbing a random book from his shelf of histories and opening to an early chapter. He sat against the headboard, and started reading.
“Approximately eighty-four years after the Exalted March, in the city of Nevarra, King Pendergast declared the institution of the city civic exams.” Emmrich started, only to be interrupted by Kyril rearranging himself on the bed, gently setting his head in Emmrich’s lap.
“Keep going?”
Emmrich shifted slightly, letting his thighs cushion Kyril’s head. “The city civic exams were noteworthy for being the first form of imperial recruitment open to all members of the Andrastean faith…” he quietly watched Kyril’s eyes struggle to remain open, eventually slowly sliding closed as Kyril’s breathing evened out.
For his part, Kyril was engulfed in a warm, rosy feeling for the first time that he could recall in over a decade. He hummed as one of Emmrich’s hands fell into his hair, gently tousling his curls. His heart skipped a beat, his skin tingled, and his chest was filled with a strange, unknown warmth. Kyril paused, trying to put a word to the sensation. It felt like coming home to a hearthfire after a long day of working in the rain. It felt like elfroot salve rubbed into skinned knees after a nasty fall from an oak tree. It felt like a voice, slow and steady and deep, humming along to his oud as he plucked the string.
There was a name for this feeling on the tip of his tongue. Kyril was reminded of the sweetness of honey tea during the flu season, of laughter and teasing over washing worn, faded clothes in the stream. For just a moment, he swore he heard a hint of a woman’s voice, calling the name of a child that had long been forgotten, alone.
Vhenan, Kyril’s mind supplied.
Was that what this feeling was? Once Kyril had realized the lonely, difficult path life had set him on, he had never imagined he would have reason to use that word. He had long resigned himself to waking and living and crying and breathing on his own, the sole pine in a wildfire clearing. But, as he soaked in the gentle melody of Emmrich’s voice, he felt his path branch, and sensed the flickering images of a warm bed, warm lines around hazel eyes, the soft, fragile promise of a future, of a family.
Vhenan. Kyril decided, and he let himself rest.