Chapter Text
The only thing River can focus on is how stuffy the air is inside the Grand Necropolis - especially when the entire hall is filled with both people and skeletons alike. Shoulder to shoulder, she muscles through the crowd, each breath more unsteady than the last. It is not only the air but the chatter, and the movement, and the incessant bumping into every soul she comes across. She thinks, if she never touches anything ever again, it would be too soon. Her skin itches and she pulls at the collar of her tight dress shirt.
Of course, having grown up without much socialization at all has made it difficult to excel at being personable in adulthood, but she never had any such issues with the Wardens (and she was not very popular or very well regarded). Conversations here go over her head more often than she would like to admit - she's never had any connection to the Fade, or magic, or anatomy or the dead. In fact, she's never had any formal education of any kind other than the history lessons she received when training with the Order. Her mother did impart the knowledge she needed when she was a child, such as reading and writing, but the level of academia in the Necropolis is unlike any other she has encountered. Simply put, she feels far more than a little inadequate.
She chews on the inside of her lip as she makes her way through the dense horde of professors, students and institutional personnel alike, mulling over the pristine ways they hold themselves. Everyone is so well-dressed, impeccably well-mannered and highly-distinguished, all of things which River is not. Emmrich could have any pick of the litter (and he has - River cannot sit on this thought for more than a moment before becoming overwhelmingly dejected) and yet he has chosen her. The ring in her pocket suddenly feels much heavier.
River is more than sure he will say yes. Despite her insecurity, Emmrich has never failed to show - in great detail - how much he cares for and about her. He loves her. She knows this. And yet, she wonders if she will ever truly be enough for him. Tonight's show of intelligence surely does nothing to ease the thought. The inside of her mouth is raw.
The occasion that has drawn such a wide audience is the commemoration of her own love's excellence within the academic institution of the Grand Necropolis. A renewed sense of pride fills her chest as those around her ooh and ah over the one that she calls her own. In the mix, she catches a few ill-made comments about the nature of the professor's relationship. Gossipers wonder alike about the age and reputation of his partner. This sort of gossip has never particularly bothered her but previously during the evening she thought she heard someone call her a "witless brute." Her chest caves as the memory seeps in. In any case, she is here for Emmrich, and Emmrich alone.
Manfred hisses at her side, and she realizes she has forgotten that he has been walking with her the whole time. "River!" he exclaims, and River nods.
"Em has told us to behave tonight, so that is what we are going to do." She shakes her head, her pinned up curls coming loose as she does. "I never misbehave so I don't know what he means by that."
River can practically hear him chiding her for being intentionally obtuse. However, he is currently busy entertaining the attention of a hundred peers all of whom use words she's never heard before. He has to be exhausted by now, and once he is, she plans to brilliantly whisk him away to a quiet balcony where she can profess her undying love for him and promise herself to him for the rest of her (tragically short) life. Of course, this plan hinges on her being able to successfully get through the entirety of her well-rehearsed speech that she wrote several months ago when she first obtained the idea to propose to him in the first place. She gulps down the thought of becoming slack jawed, cotton-mouth preventing her from squeaking out any words at all.
She has planned this to death. The moment is incandescently perfect - he is being celebrated by all of his friends and mentors for his accomplishments in his home which he loves so dearly. Then, the night will end with the joining of two souls to be eternally linked. She's nearly sure she has referenced death and mortality and necromancy and all things macabre in every line of her speech. He will love it. She thinks...she hopes.
Bile rises in her throat. (It's terrible, she thinks.)
The man of the hour appears before her as she weaves through the worst of the crowd. He has carved out a space for himself in a corner near the large fountain decorated with the skulls of their honored dead. Of course he has buried himself in the back of the hall, he must be ready for the night to end already. Emmrich has always entertained the notion of social responsibility far better than she will ever be able to do. On one hand, River truly admires him for it. On the other, she wishes nothing more than to have him all to herself.
Her outfit feels unbearably tight. She's never been fond of dresses or long trains or capes, all of these things can get stuck on any number of obstacles and should she need to fight her way out of a situation for any reason, then she needs to be perfectly prepared to do so. In addition, she has counted the number of exits a dozen times this evening. It helps to be prepared, but it also staves off the boredom. In truth, ever since joining the Wardens, and then of course the Elven Gods being unleashed, River has been in a constant state of fight or flight. Emmrich is always telling her to relax, to let her guard down (in his company she finds herself becoming increasingly able to do so, yet the feeling never fully goes away).
Emmrich once had to tell her she was not allowed to booby-trap his rooms at the College, but he assured her that the appropriate amount of wards had been placed on all the doors.
River takes a deep breath in and shakes away the uncomfortable noise of her mind. She smiles softly to herself looking upon the man she loves as he engrosses himself in explaining one his more popular academic theories to any and all who listen. Her smile turns sour when she thinks about how at home he must feel while being here, wondering if she will ever be able to give him that.
Her beloved necromancer must be able to sense the waves of worry that come off of her, for he turns his head to find her in the crowd before she even reaches him. When he catches her eyes, he smiles wider than he has all evening. It is a look reserved solely for her, his eyes bright and glistening, almost overcome by the amount of affection he has for her. "Here she is! My darling, River."
Emmrich gestures out to her, directing all of his peers attention to her. River's shoulders fold in, a deep shade of red erupting on her cheeks. She turns to find that she has somehow lost Manfred along the way. In true fashion, nothing escapes Emmrich's notice when it comes to her, and once she makes it within arms distance of him, he locks his arm into hers and pulls her away from his audience. "Sorry, my dear. When I see you, I cannot help but sing the highest praises - to have all look upon you with pure adoration, to see you as I do."
He presses a kiss to her temple, his voice dropping lower, words reserved for her. "I forget sometimes, how foreign these events are to you. I'm afraid I may have neglected you, having been so caught up in my fraternization."
River leans into his shoulder and pats his arm. "No, it's nice seeing you in your element-" her hand reaches up to his face to pinch his reddened cheek showing his clear signs of inebriation "-besides you are definitely having a good time."
Emmrich sighs, turning to her with sudden worry filling his deep eyes. "I know this must all be a bit much for you. I sincerely thank you for indulging me."
The music from the hall seems to fade as they near an empty corridor. The moment strikes her as the perfect opportunity to take him away. She might consider getting him a glass of water, perhaps a bit of food, to make the moment feel a bit more sober. She sets her wine glass down on a nearby pedestal holding an ornate vase. "Em, would you like to-"
"Professor Volkarin!" A hurried voice echoes through the hall, expeditious footsteps reach them with a sudden halt. "Professor Volkarin, I've been dying for a chance to speak with you, do you have a moment?"
River assumes they must be a student, young and impressionable. Not unlike herself, yet she cannot help herself from feeling annoyed. Emmrich looks to her for approval, before she lets go of his arm. "It will only be a moment, my darling, and then perhaps we might steal a moment for ourselves?"
With a look that tells him to go ahead, River sends him off back into his sea of admirers.
"Oh, fuck the Maker," She groans. And a bit too loudly too, as an older woman abruptly turns to look at her with scorn written on her face. "Sorry..."