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"Do you know what a lich is, rook?"
It is quiet in the garden of the dead. A not unusual occurrence.
This home deep under the earth, is rarely touched by a gentle breeze. Nor does it hide many creatures that would scurry between it's flowers. Yet the air here holds a tranquillity of rembrance that few places in Thedas achieve.
What is unusual, is the way the silence grows sharp. Noticeable, tight. The crackling of the braziers becomes a deafening note. The flap of spectral butterfly wings nearly an orchestra.
Rook eyelids flutter, and Emmrich wishes he could admire the way they highlight the green-gold hue of their eyes, and not the alarm shown instead.
After a heartbeat that the mage fears will be his last-
"Yes. I do." It is hesitant. Full of worry. Emmrich wishes in that moment he could take it back. Reminder of the knowledge that he is not a brave man.
But-
He must talk to them about this. They deserve to know.
"I feared that reaction, if I am honest."
His shoulders drop slightly, a fracture in an always perfect posture. Rook swallows at the sight. They should have masked their alarm, hidden their emotions behind a joke or deflection.
But the feeling of *wrongness* had welled up within them before they could stop it spilling out.
"I- I'm sorry. Yes, to an extent. A mage who has undergone a magical ritual that essentially turns them undead, but with control of their mind"
"I shouldn't be surprised"
And he shouldn't be. Beautiful, brilliant, Rook. Who walks the line of the veil everyday. Who may have seen more of it's expanse than even him.
They look at him with an imploring stare, willing him to go on even as they both fear the fraying of the thin tightrope they stand upon.
So he does. Emmrich tells them of his research. Of his countless hours in conversation with spirits, with other watchers. His long journey culminating in discovering the Lich Lords. He tells Rook about them, even as he knows that is a secret he should be so careful in spilling.
And through it all, Rook listens. With those eyes wise beyond their years, with that open heart Emmrich can't help but fall into.
He can't stop the enthusiasm in his voice from seeping in. Rook feels their heart squeeze tighter at the sound. Affection and bone deep terror threatening to rip it in too.
"Rook?" Emmrich's voice is soft, anxious. It does nothing to ease the knots tying themselves together inside the elf.
"I- there are risks. Surely?"
Of course, that's what they ask. A question of his safety, pushing concern for him above their own desire.
"I have taken the necessary precautions, of course" is all he says, tongue heavy with the omission.
Rook turns away slightly, their gaze resting on the expanse of the Necropolis. Emmrich gives himself the briefest pleasure of admiring the way the green glow of the lantern flames reflect the shadows on their face. The way the colour of their cheeks, always rose tinted over the soft brown, is not diminished in a light fit for the dead.
It spreads to the tips of their pointed ears, to the top of their nose, with many freckles following its path. Like the beginnings of saplings rising from the fresh soil. He wonders sometimes if there were more on their forehead before the branches of their Vallislin made it their home.
"And-" Their melodic voice breaking him out of his wonder.
"What would it be like? After you turned?"
Rook doesn't turn back to him as they say it, and he knows the underlying message of the words. 'What would it be like, for us?'
"I would inform you before any decision I was going to make" The most important part of his succeeding ramble about the physical transformation of lichdom. Of the honour it is to be granted that right. He can see the way way Rook shifts their weight from one leg to another, almost see the careful construction of their thoughts.
"Lichdom is- we should- ah" He starts, swiftly abandoning that train of thought as Rook turns their soft but worried glance on him. Emmrich smooths down his robes in an effort to subtly wipe away the sweat that has perspirated on his palms.
"We have flowers to collect" He says and starts off towards the first bush, hearing the gravel shift under Rooks feet behind him.
"Ah, this will do nicely.' Emmrich kneels down, gently plucks a blue creep vine from the twisted knot they make together. He is careful not to bump the sky blue petals that flower across it. It is a resilient flower, to grow in these depths. But it's thorns are dull to the touch, and it's brightness may disintegrate in one wrong movement. He looks from the flowers to Rook.
"Lich's- at least, Lich's of the necropolis , they look after the edge between life and death? Between the mortal and spirit worlds?" Rook asks, bending down next to him. They're asking questions, this is good.
"Why yes. There are things that threaten the boundaries of life and death, those that would see harm come to the beings of the fade. We watchers all are gaurdians, but as a Lich I would have the opportunity to do sowell beyond my alloted years."
He makes a joke about books, Rook smirks slightly at it. Oh how he wishes to cup their face in his hands, smooth out any tension left in their lips.
The two stand up and move on to another section of the gardens. A whisp floats by, lands on Rook's hand , then flies circles around their arm. They smile and Emmrichs sees the sudden relaxation flow through their body. As if in presence of an old friend
"Oh, hello!" They say. The whisp wirrs happily, floating to their face and Rook laughs. Its sweeter than any melody Emmrich has ever heard.
"They really do take a liking to you, my dear"
He watches as the whisp floats away, Rook giving a small little wave to it as it goes.
"I sometimes wonder if I've met them before, in my dreams"
Rhey kneel beside him to pick up the next flowers.
"I feel would remember them if we'd passed eachother physicall. Every spirit has their own resonance, all unique.'
The flower that Rook goes to pluck rises to meet them. They mutter a thanks to it, respect to the life given.
He looks over to them and smiles, they smile back and suddenly the weight on his chest falls away.
The two walk onward further into the garden, discussing the possibilities of lichdom. How long he has worked for it, what it means to be half dead, a spirited discussion on the method of his brief death and finally, why he hasn't committed yet.
"You could die?!' Rook's head shoots up from the bouquet in their hands, Emmrich winces. Ah, this is what he was avoiding earlier.
"Yes, even with all my preparations there is... The final sifting."
As they walk to pickthe remaining flowers, that Rook chooses, he explains the judgment of his soul, what happens when one avoids it, like Hezenkoss. He doesnt mean to be as somber about his old friend as ends up being. HE finds Rook's free hand slide into his.
"Its pure cowardice. A chance to be free of this burden and yet I am frozen at the precipice" Emmrich sounds dismissive at himself, and Rook can barely stand it.
"It's not."
Emmrich looks down at them with curiosity, that was not what he expected them to say. Rook who faces death every day, in every battle. Rook who has faced death every night since they were a child. Who told him that death is their oldest companion, who will lay them into the ground with a lovers reverance, when the time comes. He always felt embarrassed by his fear as a watcher, even when he found others who felt the same.
But in front of this young, wild and brave thing?
The day he admitted his fear to them it felt like the ground would fall collapse under his feet.
Yet, Rook had given him grace and compassion. As they do now, despite however they may feel about his choice to leave death behind.
"My dear," his thumb strokes over the back of their hand, "you have been avoiding saying something for the whole evening."
Rook swallows,and looks down. He gives their hand an encouraging squeeze
"What- what would this mean for us?"
Such a meek sound to come out of the elf, who is normally so loud despite themselves.
'Us' they'd never really called eachother that before. It *was* more than flirtation, they'd discussed that. In fact Rook had seem confused by the concept of 'just flirtation', he'd have to ask about their experiences. But later. For now,
''I would hate to loose your company whilst I am still mortal."
Maybe they have a time limit, but he'd rather have them for a short while than not at all. The thought makes Emmrich's heart ache. Still, he cannot give up his life's work for the affections of someone he's known for such a short time. Perhaps pride was more of his vice than he realised.
Rook untangles their hand from his, the absence of eachother feeling like an insurmountable void.
".... I- see why the watchers use lichdom.' They kick the rocks at their feet. Emmrich has noticed Rook's inability to be still, especially when difficult topics of conversation come up. Hands tangled in blankets, grass torn up where they stand.
"And- It does seem very important. I can respect a select number of mages undergoing the process to safeguard history and the dead. To be bound to the Mourn Watch and it's tenants. It's...respectable"
He waits for them to continue. There's more to this, he knows. The gravel grinds together and Rook says nothing more.
"But you...feel uncomfortable about my wish to do so?"
Emmrich does not know what to do with his hands if he is not holding Rook's.
With a brave face they spin to look at him,
"I don't know if I- no it-' only for it to falter at his visage, they turn back to the the gardens expanse.
"It doesn't matter what I feel. I'm sorry"
Ah, that was not allowed. No one was allowed to dismiss Rook's feelings in his presence. Not even Rook themselves.
Emmrich closes the distance between them, his hand firmly on their shoulder. They look up and feel the wind knocked out of them. He looks at them as if they were the most important thing alive, it's nearly unbareable. Every part of Rook wants to open his ribcage and crawl inside his chest. Make a home in his skin and never come out.
"No, my dear, it matters immensely how you feel" His hand moves to cup their face, and Rook can't help but sink into it "Please, tell me."
They stay there for a moment, their hand coming up to meet his. It's one of the purest touches they've had in a while.
Rook knows they'll have to break the silence. To be honest. To potentially loose him forever. What they wouldn't give for a random influx of darkspawn right now. Fighting they can do, feelings.... feelings are hard.
"... I- I want to say that it wouldn't change things between us." Their eyes downcast, ''being with someone who has separated themselves from the natural cycle- i-"
He knew this. Since the moment he asked them about necromancy. Maybe even before that. The first time they met in the Necropolis and he could see Rook's hesitance. Yet something pulled him towards them anyway. He was falling faster than he thought himself capable, right into the arms of someone who was so fundamentally opposed to his life's work.
"But more than that-" Rook starts again, this time with a steeled resolve. Pushing out the words as they dig into the back of their throat.
"Emmrich. I care for you, deeply."
The flutter of his heart matching that of a teenage first love.
"'I admire you. Your kindness. Your intelligence. I think you are one of the most wonderful people I'e ever met. But I-"
This is it. This was the end of this beautiful dalliance. It could be no more than that, of course. Such a fool he had been to hope for anything mor-
"Your fear of death is natural. I understand that I am an outlier. That the gentle dark is more foreboding than my soul feels it is.
And I know why you feel this way about it. But- It guides too much of your life. You want to become a lich for the wrong reasons."
He blinks, surprised. Their words somehow harsher and kinder than he expected.
"Your wish to become a lich overall is because you don't want to die. You talk about it as a way to avoid the natural cycle, the end terrifies you. The noble reasons, to guide new Watchers to protect spirits, to be a Caretaker for the dead, are all secondary to you. Your desire for this path is that of self interest. It is cowardice that guides your actions"
Emmrich feels as though a freezing hand has struck him across the face. He takes a half step back, reeling from the honesty of Rook's words. The truth of it.
He was so afraid they would walk away from him, that he would have to choose between his life's work or this shining star that has him spellbound. He thought they'd be horrified by the idea he'd choose to become undead, to tear himself from the cycle that is so close to their heart.
What he did not expect was them to reach deep into him and pull out the nagging fear that had been plaguing him. The thing that had truley stopped him from going through with it. Was he worthy? Would the Lords of the Necropolis stretch out is soul and find him, wanting?
Rook's eyes shined, determined look on their face. Putting on a mask, desperately hoping they did not just loose him forever. Well, in for a copper.
"I think you need to accept your own death before you can be sure your sifting will be successful. I think you need to accept your own death before you will be able to live with seeing all those you love die" Rook places the nearly finished bouquet down beside them, and walks over to Emmrich.
They stare up at him, the top of their head just below his chin.
"And-" A hand tattooed with alchemical symbols placed gently over his heart,
"-forever is a long time to be alone, love."
Emmrich's mind races with a million thoughts per minute, which is not unusual. You'd think after all this time he would have a handle on it. Yet at certain times, like with Rooks round face looking at him, slightly open mouthed, after bravely telling him that his worst fears were in fact, justified, the net he waves to catch his thoughts swings wide.
Rook's quiet, they're expecting something from him.
"That-" He starts, honestly not sure what he will say next. His chest is tight, he swallows the tension rising in his throat. Takes a deep breath.
"I am going to have to sit with that. I think- I fear- ah. You may be right"
He runs a shaly hand through his greyed hair, such a marker for how long he has left. As it returns to his side, the younger grabs it. Both of their hands in his.
"What I said before, about caring for you?This doesn't diminish that. Or my opinion of you"
Emmrich gives them a slightly quizical look, "I would not be offended if it did, dear. I am aware of my flaws, it is with great shame I carry them."
Rook shakes their head, more auburn strands coming loose from the high braid. It is only a handful of times Emmrich has seen the total crown of curls that frame their face. It's a wonder he can think about anything else sometimes.
"You are a person, beautiful in your fallibility. I would not want you without your flaws, without the things with disagree on. It is all of you that I care for, Emmrich." They give his hands a squeeze, as their foreheads softly knock together. He takes a breath in and then out, letting the tension that has built across the evening fall away, smelling the earthy scent of pete moss that always follows Rook.
"I cannot fathom what grace has been given to me, that I was lucky enough to find you." Their heads separate from eachother, but neither wishes to let go completely. Rook drags him over by one hand to where they left their flowers.
"Ah, I'm not not all that."
Before he has the chance to interject, to say how utter nonsense that is, Rook moves on, "we have gifts to deliver" gesturing with their bouquet.
Ah yes, that part. It has been an evening full of difficult things to say, and harder things to feel. The remainder of the walk they take in silence, easing back into the usual comfort that fills it. Despite the emotional nature of their discussions this evening, how close he felt to loosing it all, Emmrich does not stray from his planned course.
At his parents grave, Rook reads the inscription aloud. The twos own clasped hands seem to burn in reflection.
It takes him by surprise how effortlessly Rook connects with the dead, though in resprospect it shouldn't. Most things that breach the fade come naturally to a spirit healer.
They kneel at his parents grave, place both bouquets down with reverance. A bow of the head, a hand outstretched. They introduce themselves without his prompting.
"Talin Aldwir, Rook. It's nice to meet you."
They say something in elven Emmrich doesn't recognise, which he finds odd as he's quite well read in the burial practices of other cultures.
"What does that mean, my dear? I haven't come across it in my readings on Dalish death culture."
Rook rises from the ground, dusting off their skirts.
"It wouldn't surprise me if it was just my clan's. It vaguely translates to 'may your body be held in the earth forever. May your soul be guided through the sky'."
The two stand there, as green butterflies flutter by, discussing their experiences of the passing of loved ones. Emmrich freely explains how he would talk to his parents, how he felt like they listened. The last bits of embarrassment burning up in Rook's understanding smille.
He does not know much on Rook's past before the Veil Jumpers. They keep it close to their chest, easily side stepping the topic when it comes up in conversation with the group.
He's never been told how many people they've had to bury, both figuratively and literally. But he knows. Like they knew about his parents before he ever told them. This all comes too easily to the two of them.
"Happy, I think." Rook responds to his question. An easy answer but not the one he was hoping for. They fiddle with their skirt. That's alright. It's a perfectly fine answer and if they don't want anything else from thi-
"And never lonely."
They look back at him from the graves. It's a careful smile on their lips. Like anything wider would fracture the delicate tower built between them. Emmrich's breath hitches slightly. He had prepared this night so carefully, he had plans. Ways to sweep Rook off their feet. But it is him that falls from nothing but a meaningful glance.
The white of the Lover's Shrowd seems to illuminate against their dark skin, like the faint glow of the moon. He knows Rook prefers the visage of a flower to its smell, but they try it's scent anyway and seem pleasantly surprised to find a it subtle and green like cut grass. Rook feels their breath catch in their throat in the spotlight of Emmrich's gaze. His voice drops slightly, causing a clench in their chest, a flip in their stomach.
Rook was a romantic at heart. Ever the poet, hidden away in their journals. They'd seen love across the ages. Watched as others fell, or jumped. Saw the sparks that invited in a lovers kiss, yearning for it themselves. Ever staring from the sidelines, witnessing love stories but never being meant for one.
Emmrich had many lovers over the years, some brief others he thought would be forever. As a young man he searched for his 'one'. The person who would silence all of his wanting, the person that would feel like sunrise after months in the Necropolis. Who he would be buried next to, if he were to be buried at all. It had been many years since he'd given up that dream. Entering his twilight years resigned to the idea that a love like that was simply not meant for him.
Two mages with forlorn hearts stand under a statue of lovers embracing beyond death, covered by a flower that brings reality closer to the ethereal.
A voice in Emmrich's head warns him that he is about to tumble off a precipice without knowing where it ends. Warns him of the bridge to no return.
It feels like the briefest of kisses.
It feels like the first taste of oxygen after youve surfaced from the waves.
It feels like firelight in the darkest day of winter.
It feels like the flow of fade in your veins when a spell is cast.
It feels it lasts for eternity.
"What a day of unexpected splendour" Emmrich says as he breaks them apart, voice a whisper as Rook steals his breath away. Their dark green painted lips an inch apart, their eyes dark and trained only on him. They grab the fabric over his chest, pulling him closer as they walk backwards, their back pressing against the stone monument to undying devotion.
Lips mere moments from eachother again, every ounce of restraint Emmrich had is melted away by the heat of Rook's breath.
"I'm so glad I met you" They say, before closing their space between them a final time.