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There was a small, shy knock at Pénthos’ door—and had they been doing anything other than staring mindlessly at the fish swimming on the other side of their window, they would have missed it. They didn’t doubt the magical nature of the Fade, but was their room somehow submerged underwater, or was this an illusion that would end and begin again, in a loop?
“Come in,” they replied eventually, not leaving their contemplation, hoping to catch the loop. Or—prove that the room was underwater. Somehow.
“Hello, neighbour,” Emmrich’s voice rang behind them. Pénthos couldn’t help but to turn around at the sound of it, a smile already on their lips.
“Emmrich!”
Pénthos stood from their couch to meet him halfway, though the nervous flutters of early romance kept them from reaching for him, so they left a small distance between them. Face flushed, they turned their attention back to the large window.
“You’re the Fade expert,” they said, bumping into Emmrich’s shoulder as they walked back to the couch. “Do you think we’re actually underwater?”
They sat down next to each other, legs almost touching. Emmrich brushed imaginary dust from his thighs as he settled; Pénthos crossed theirs.
“I would not discredit it entirely—the Fade works in mysterious ways, to be cliché about it. I suppose we’d need to test it, somehow. However,” he chuckled, “I would not recommend it.”
They smiled. “And that’s your professional opinion?”
“As professional as it will get.” Then it was Emmrich’s turn to lean on them playfully. “Which possibility would you prefer?”
Pénthos blinked up at him. “Preference doesn’t seem very scientific.”
“Not everything has to be. The Lighthouse is a marvellously impossible place. Science need not apply. Maybe this room was even shaped by what lies in your heart.”
Emmrich’s smile was warm and kind. Eager. Pénthos ducked their head forward and bit their bottom lip as they felt their heart skip a beat.
“I think…I’d like to believe we’re truly underwater. And…the light reminds me of the green flames of the Necropolis,” Pénthos said quietly. “I hadn’t been back until we met.”
Emmrich leaned ever closer to them. “Do you miss it?”
“You said you envied me for my travels, but…Emmrich, I miss it terribly. There’s something…comforting, simple, about a Watcher’s purpose. When I left the Necropolis, I felt like I arrived in a world that didn’t understand the very being that I was.”
Pénthos would never be able to get a number of things out of their mind from their travels, but what haunted them was the way so many people looked at his facial tattoos and pointed ears, the constant and literal demonization of spirits, the misunderstanding of their gender expression. The world outside the Necropolis felt so…hostile and determined to reject what it did not understand.
Emmrich sought out their hand; Pénthos laced their fingers together.
“I cannot imagine what that must be like,” he said, compassion written across his features. Pénthos gave him a small, defeated smile, and a shrug of their shoulders. After a moment, they looked back to him through the curtain of their hair partially hiding their face, spying the fond look in his eyes. They straightened up and cleared their throat.
“You’ve only seen the window—can I give you a tour? You were kind enough to show me around the lab.”
He softly gasped, “I would love to!”
Their hands still linked, Pénthos walked Emmrich around the room and pointed out their scant personal items strewn here and there: the Ever-Turning Orb, their final project made during their magical training, still perfectly tuned though it had been created over a decade ago, the (probably counterfeit) elven scroll a peddler rewarded them with after saving his caravan—when Emmrich asked about provenance, what was written across the parchment, Pénthos had no answer, which only served to confirm its false nature, but they were attached to it at this point—the mirror Varric had given them what felt like ages ago, and—
Pénthos did not doubt that Emmrich was interested in everything they had been showing him, but the urn of Baron von Markham did get more of a reaction than anything else.
“The leader of the undead rebellion?” he exclaimed. “You have his urn?”
They feigned nonchalance, though they knew how rare it was for remains to ever make it out of Nevarra. Kind of like Watchers, they figured.
“I suppose Myrna thought it would be a good reminder. To not act so…rashly.”
“Oh, I do believe the reaction was disproportionate. What disorganization this uprising would have caused! And to think of the paperwork…”
They couldn’t help but laugh—of course that’s what Emmrich would be worried about; not the destruction of the undead, not the possibility of corpses invading Nevarra, but paperwork. Ever the pragmatic.
“An ungodly amount, to be sure. I hesitate to even imagine,” Pénthos chuckled, before concluding the tour with a sweeping motion of their free arm: “And here we are! You’ve seen it all.”
“You don’t have a bed?”
They indicated at the green couch in front of the meditation altar while Emmrich settled his hands on their waist.
“This is enough,” they replied. Not like they got a lot of sleep lately, anyway.
“Well, it’s not quite—”
“Emmrich.” Pénthos tapped against Emmrich’s chest, right under his skull collar pin. “The only thing I’ve seen in your laboratory is a slab for bodies.”
Emmrich made the face characteristic of every time Pénthos had flirted with him: raised eyebrows, a slight widening of the eyes—though the teasing smile was new since their talk by the balcony.
“You make a compelling argument.”
Pénthos shuffled closer until they were squarely in Emmrich’s arm, a proper embrace. Partly because they relinquished that closeness, and partly to hide the blush creeping on their face due to the praise.
“Thank you for visiting,” they said, still hidden. “I was—getting in my head. No good usually comes from that.”
Emmrich hummed, “I rather like your thoughts, my dear.”
He leaned back slightly to grasp Pénthos’ chin, his gold bangles clinking delicately with his movement, and angled their head up so their eyes would meet. They could feel their cheeks still warm and their heart fluttering, but did not dare fight Emmrich’s gentle direction, not when they saw the smitten smile on his face.
“You’ll come back?” they asked, hopeful.
“As long as you’ll have me,” Emmrich replied, and Pénthos dived right back in the embrace.