Chapter Text
Emmrich woke up shivering.
He wasn’t unfamiliar to waking up to the cold, as of late. His room in the Lighthouse was perfect for his needs, with nearly everything he could want accounted for. He had spacious bookshelves, a very handsome desk, a lovely view of the Fade, even a perfectly functional autopsy table!
But the one thing it didn’t have was a bed.
The Lighthouse appeared to shape itself around the needs and desires of the inhabitants, and to be fair, it had accommodated nearly everything that came to mind when he thought of an ideal room. The fact that he had neglected to think of a bed in imagining a perfect room for himself probably said something about himself that warranted further reflection. He was guilty of falling asleep at his desk back at the Necropolis a bit too often.
He had tried to resolve the matter himself, at first. The Lighthouse seemed to respond to the wishes of its inhabitants to a certain degree, and so Emmrich had tried reach into the threads of the Fade to politely request a bed. The request had gone unanswered.
It seemed ungrateful to be unsatisfied with his room. Emmrich had certainly slept in far worse conditions in his younger years, even if he had become accustomed to a certain level of comfort in the last couple decades. He hadn’t gotten so soft that he couldn’t manage with the circumstances. The bed roll he brought on lengthy expeditions into the depths of the Necropolis was spread in front of the fireplace, and with a few additional blankets and pillows, he had created a perfectly decent makeshift bed for himself.
Yes, he often woke with aches in his back and neck. Yes, the cold from the stone floor would seep through the bedding and chill him when the warming enchantment he cast on the blankets wore off in the night. It wasn’t ideal, but it was all manageable.
Today, however, the cold seemed to sink into his very bones. His body felt weak and heavy as he pushed himself up to sit, putting a hand against the stone hearth when a wave of dizziness threatened him. He tugged a fallen blanket tighter around his shoulders with a shudder, and recast the warming enchantment he had placed on his blankets the night before. Somehow, it didn’t feel as effective as usual.
He needed to get up. Rook had requested he accompany her and Bellara to Arlathan Forest, wishing for him to offer a second opinion on the abnormalities of the Fade. A glance at the clock on his desk revealed that he had overslept nearby an hour past the time he usually rose, and would be late for breakfast if he didn’t hurry.
A familiar clattering signaled that Manfred was coming down the stairs, just as Emmrich managed to get himself upright on legs that felt like lead. Maker, his knees felt ready to buckle beneath him. His chest felt too tight, and an attempt to clear his throat set off a coughing fit that nearly doubled him over.
There was a concerned hiss to his left, and a bony hand touched his arm.
“I’m alright, Manfred,” Emmrich managed with a sniff, once the fit had passed. “Just a touch of a cold, I think. Nothing to—” He stopped, muffled a sneeze into his forearm. “No cause for alarm.”
It was remarkable how Manfred managed to give him such a skeptical look without the ability to form facial expressions.
Oh, but of course Manfred would find this alarming. Emmrich was usually in good health, and Manfred had few opportunities to witness the manifestation of illness in mortal beings. Even a minor ailment would seem strange to a creature that had never experienced such a thing. And this was a minor ailment, surely.
Emmrich hadn’t been ill in quite some time. In fact, the last time he could recall was the Mourn Watch’s now infamous Winter Solstice party from seven years ago. Vorgoth had prepared a soup. In hindsight, it had perhaps been unwise to assign cooking duties to someone who hadn’t had a digestive system in roughly four hundred years. The end result was nearly two thirds of the Watch incapacitated for a thoroughly miserable week. Poor Vorgoth had felt so guilty about the whole affair. And those poor skeletons who had been responsible for cleaning the lavatories-
…urgh. The memory made his stomach turn. No, it was best not to think of that now.
He just had to keep moving. Get dressed. Fix his hair. Shave. He just needed to make it to breakfast. A hot cup of tea would surely help shake off the chill.
He stumbled and fumbled his way through his morning routine while Manfred hovered nearby, feeling not so unlike a reanimated corpse himself. He almost lost his balance while pulling on his trousers, and very narrowly avoided dropping his straight razor on his foot. His reflection in his shaving mirror looked pale and drawn.
He soldiered on regardless, tugging his coat on with a shiver and casting another warming spell around himself for good measure. His companions were counting on him.
The ground felt unsteady as he forced his leaden legs to carry him across the grounds to the dining room. Everything felt muffled, as if his head was underwater. He willed himself to keep walking. A hot cup of tea, that would put him to rights.
And if it didn’t…well, maybe he would have to accept that whatever plagued him was more than just a slight chill.
Most of the party had already gathered around the table by the time he arrived, missing only Taash and Rook. Lucanis was on cooking duty, and was making his rounds filling mugs from one of two kettles he carried, presumably coffee and tea.
Emmrich managed to sit down at the table with his usual dignity and did not collapse into the chair like a puppet with its strings cut, thank you ever so much.
Lucanis didn’t bother asking if he wanted tea, and filled up the empty cup before him with steaming liquid. It probably smelled wonderful, if Emmrich had been able to smell anything at the moment.
“You look like you need it,” Lucanis said by way of explanation. “Rough night?”
“Just a little difficulty getting to sleep,” Emmrich answered, wincing internally at how rough his voice sounded. He cleared his throat and tried again. “The tea should sort me out, thank you.”
“You sure?” Neve asked from the other end of the table, but any further commentary from her was interrupted by Rook and Taash walking in together, mid conversation about the pros and cons of great swords versus two-handed axes.
Not for the first time, Emmrich was struck by how different the two Lords of Fortune were. Taash seemed to regard him with a shifting mix of distrust and disdain, insisting on referring to his work with the dead in the most of vulgar terms. He had always been drawn to the romance of the Lords of Fortune and their grand adventures he had heard about since he was a boy, so it had been disappointing to have one of their ranks so clearly find him unsavory.
But Rook? Her eyes had been bright and curious from the moment they met. She seemed genuinely fascinated by him. She listened with interest when he found himself pulled into tangents on some of the finer points of necromancy. She asked questions. She even seemed delighted by his book recommendation!
At a glance, the pair of them could not have been more different. She was short and muscular, sturdily built, while he was, as Johanna used to call him, a beanpole. But within her was the same the passion of a scholar. She didn’t only listen to his impromptu mini-lectures, but had started sharing her own passion and expertise for historical artifacts.
At first she was a bit bashful, referring to herself as an ‘amateur archaeologist, no fancy education, just self-taught.’ As though he would think less of her drive and hunger for knowledge just for her lack of access to formal schooling! On the contrary, he respected her all the more.
She began to open up in time, pointing out the faded remains of what was once an ancient entry to the Deep Roads in the Hossberg Wetlands, almost unrecognizable after an earthquake and the ravages of time had collapsed it inward, sealing its secrets forever. She eagerly waved him over to show him a copper coin she had found, Tevinter, dated to the Exalted Age, look, you can tell by the pattern of groves etched into the edge…
It was enchanting, watching how she lit up when she had an interested audience. And oh, Emmrich was interested. And perhaps it was just wishful thinking, but he liked to imagine, that maybe there was a chance that she, too-
“Emmrich?” Rook’s voice snapped him out of his thoughts. “You okay? You’re kind of spacing out there.”
Emmrich immediately straightened up, vaguely aware of the strange heat in his cheeks despite the chill he felt. Was he flushing so much from just embarrassment? Oh, he hated to make her worry…
Any further introspection was interrupted by Taash, who gave him a thorough look up and down and said, “Wow, corpse guy. You look like shit.” Rook was quick to elbow them in the side with a frown.
“Not the word I would have used,” Neve cut in, “but I have to agree that you don’t seem like your usual self. You missed a spot shaving on your chin, your vest buttons are crooked, and did you mean to come to breakfast in your slippers?”
One hand jumped to his chin, and the other fumbled for the front of his vest. Sure enough, there was a small unshaved patch along his jaw, and he had missed a button on his vest. A glance down to his feet revealed that indeed, he had forgotten to put on his boots, and had walked out of his room in his house shoes.
How embarrassing. His face was certainly red now, if it hadn’t been before.
“I’ll admit that I didn’t have the most restful night of sleep,” Emmrich said primly, trying to gather what was left of his dignity, “but I assure you, it’s no cause for concern.”
He had managed to straighten himself up and even put some of his usual vim and vigor into his words. He very well might have convinced the party, if a poorly timed coughing fit hadn’t seized him.
The force of it had him hunching over the table, a hand cupped over his mouth as he hacked and choked on what felt like a dreadful mass of something lodged in his lungs. Maker, he couldn’t catch his breath, and the strain forced tears from his eyes.
He felt a small hand on his shoulder to steady him (Bellara?), and second later heard her gasp.
“Oh, Professor! You’re burning up!”
Emmrich couldn’t answer, but finally managed to bring in a lungful of air as the fit passed. He fished a handkerchief out of his pocket to dab at his mouth and wipe his streaming eyes, still fighting to catch his breath.
“Apologies,” he wheezed, painfully aware that all eyes in the room were on him now.
“Alright,” Rook said, in that firm voice she took when she stepped into the role as their leader. “Emmrich, you’re taking the day off and heading right back to bed. You’ve got no business going out in this state.”
“I-it really isn’t as terrible as it sounds, Rook,” Emmrich tried, folding his handkerchief and gathering his composure. “I might have a bit of a cold, but—”
“You’re not doing anyone any favors by pushing yourself when you’re about to keel over,” Davrin said, folding his arms. “And you know perfectly well if it was any one of us that was sick, you’d be a big fussy mother hen about it.”
Frustratingly, Emmrich couldn’t deny this.
He was pleased to have gained a reputation as a professor who was very forgiving of absences from illness or injury. He always told his class at the start of every semester that he didn’t want any of them to force themselves to class if they weren’t well. Tests could be retaken, deadlines extended. They needed only to speak to him about the matter, and accommodations would be made.
And here he was, doing the same thing he would have scolded a student for.
“I hate to disappoint…” he said, eyes dropping in shame. “I was to assist in the study of the Fade…”
“I’ll take lots of notes for you, Professor,” Bellara promised, her eyes big and earnest. “We’ll talk all about it when we get back later, okay?”
And then Rook was suddenly at his side, a hand out in an offer to help him stand. He took it with some reluctance. His knees felt as weak as those of a fawn, and he just managed to avoid stumbling into her. Her hand settled at his elbow, steadying him, and began to steer him towards the door. It suddenly became clear that she meant to accompany him back to his room.
“I don’t need a chaperone, really,” he insisted.
“Nope,” she said, the iron still in her voice. “I’m not taking a chance on you stumbling off the edge into the Fade.”
“Really, Rook, do I look that frail?”
“Right now? Yeah, you do. If you were any worse off, I’d be carrying you back.” She blinked at that, suddenly seeming aware of what she just said, and turned her head away with an awkward cough.
Heavens, the thought of being carried back to his room like a child! Rook was certainly strong enough to do so, if she set her mind to it, but surely he had been subjected to enough embarrassment for one day already.
Rook didn’t seem like she was about to make good on that threat for the moment, but she was hovering, a hand slightly extended as if she expected him to topple over at any moment.
He felt fragile. Feeble. Old.
The thought made his heart sink. Rook was looking at him like doddering old man, unable to make it back to his room without help. His mind began to jump ahead, reassessing their interactions.
She was always keeping close to him in battle, never too far away, positioning herself between him and danger. Logically, he knew these were the actions of someone who understood their roles on the battlefield; she wore armor and fought with a sword, while he fired spells from afar.
But was she a bit more protective of him than she was of the others? Did she see him as someone weaker, someone who needed to be treated as though he was made of glass?
She seemed interested in what he had to say, appeared to enjoy his company. He was grateful for the company and friendship, but…oh, he had been foolish to imagine that perhaps her interest went beyond that. Of course it didn’t.
He wasn’t unattractive, but he was also well past his prime. Immaculate grooming and fine taste in fashion didn’t hide gray hair and wrinkles.
He had multiple lovers over the years, but he and his last paramour had parted ways six years ago, and to add insult to injury, Emmrich saw his old lover a month later with a man at least twenty years his junior on his arm. He couldn’t deny, it had stung. But perhaps that was just the natural way of things. He knew some people favored older men, but most would lose interest in him as a potential partner the older he grew.
It would be far too rude to ask Rook’s age, but he guessed she was somewhere in her late twenties or early thirties. Of course a woman with such youthful vitality wouldn’t be interested in someone of his years.
Foolish old man, still holding onto hope for romance. And for what? Because Rook had smiled at him? Because she had called him dapper once?
He hadn’t felt less dapper since the week of food poisoning from Vorgoth’s soup.
They managed to make it back to his chamber without further incident or embarrassment at least, and Rook had only needed to grab his arm once when he stumbled on an uneven stone.
Manfred greeting them at the door with a friendly hiss, and waved them inside. He had decided to prepare for Emmrich’s return by making tea, if the teapot and steaming cups on the desk were any indication. He had also retrieved every handkerchief Emmrich owned and deposited them in a pile next to the teapot. The uncomfortably warm pressure in Emmrich’s sinuses made him fear he would need them before long. A dripping nose and a mustache were a dreadful combination.
“Okay, get into your…your…” Rook paused, and cleared her throat, seeming a bit flustered by whatever had passed through her mind, “…whatever you wear to sleep. Where’s your bed?”
Ah. This was a matter he had hoped to avoid.
“Thank you, Rook,” Emmrich said quickly, hoping to distract her as she began to cast her gaze around the room. “I shouldn’t need any further assistance. Please, return to the rest of the party.”
“No, wait, hold on—” Her eyes fell on the bedroll by the fire. Oh blast it all, he hadn’t folded the blankets away before heading to breakfast. “You…have you been sleeping on the floor?!”
“Rook, it’s not—"
“You don’t have a bed?! Like, at all?!”
“There is no need to—”
“Even Lucanis has a bed, and he’s sleeping next to the cheese wheels! Shit, it’s no wonder you’re sick!”
“Rook,” Emmrich tried again, but an explosive sneeze cut him off. Manfred passed him one of the handkerchiefs from the pile he had collected with a sympathetic hiss.
“This place shapes itself around us, right?” Rook continued, casting her eyes around the room and fortunately not looking Emmrich’s way while he blew his nose. “There’s got to be a way to get you a bed. I mean, I got Harding and Lucanis’ rooms to be more comfortable for them. I haven’t gotten the place to make new furniture out of nothing, but it can’t be that hard, right?”
Now that Emmrich thought of it, he had noticed that Harding’s little sleeping corner had increased the number of pillows and cushions almost tenfold when he had last visited her, and had gained a very charming quilt with a floral pattern to the ensemble. And the last time he had been in the pantry, a new bed sized nook had formed in the back wall. The cot Lucanis had been sleeping on has been replaced with a proper bed with a plush mattress to fill the new corner, and a built in ledge around the bed was the perfect place to set a coffee cup.
He had assumed his companions had made those changes to their own rooms. Was it all Rook’s work?
“Right,” Rook said, seeming to have come to a decision. “Stay here, keep warm near the fire, and I’ll be back soon.”
“But…Arlathan?”
“It can wait. I’m sorting this out first.”
Was he really in such a sorry state that a whole days' plans had to be derailed? Somehow, Emmrich's spirits sank even further.
"Come on, don't look so down!" Rook's hand gripped his shoulder, warm and steady. "Just focus on feeling better. And send Manfred out to find someone if you get a lot worse, alright?"
"As you say," Emmrich said glumly. From the corner of his eye, he saw Manfred had retrieved the black silk dressing gown he had worn the night before and was holding it out expectantly.
Rook's face had suddenly gone oddly pink. "Right!" she said, her voice a bit too high. "Right, I'm off!" And with that, she was out the door.
She certainly was behaving oddly, but Emmrich's head was too fuzzy to muse on it any further. He sighed, took the dressing gown from Manfred and got to work changing his clothes, leaning against the desk when dizziness threatened to topple him over. The cold and exhaustion were suddenly overwhelming, and he sunk back down to his bed roll, pulling an extra blanket up over himself while Manfred busied himself with building the fire back up.
"Thank you, my friend," he rasped, eyes starting to flutter closed despite himself. "And could you please fold my day clothes and put them away? I'm sorry to...to leave you with more chores, but I...I..."
There was a quiet hiss from Manfred and the soft crackling of the growing fire in the hearth, and then Emmrich knew no more.