Chapter Text
Emmrich should have known better. There were warnings.
Their mission in Arlathan had been an unmitigated disaster. Bellara failed to convince her brother to renounce Anuris, and Kyril had been forced to drag Bellara away before a group of shades swarmed their position. Presently, the three of them were trudging solemnly back towards their Eluvian. The forest silently watched their progress, the trees bursting with beautiful orange-vermillion-red leaves that the trio were too miserable to notice. Emmrich limped ahead, clearing a path for the others, and trusting Kyril to guide a silent and glassy-eyed Bellara over the uneven ground. He felt a tension headache building at the back of his skull, a new pain in his lower back, and a persistent blister reforming on his heel. He limped towards the Eluvian, leaning against its frame as Kyril and Bellara caught up.
Kyril’s attention was fixed on Bellara. “Ma suvenan de laran ma hamin nadas.” he said, guiding her towards the Eluvian.
“Nae, Nae! Ir annala ghilas banal da’solel! Vir nadas vhenashiral.” she responded despondently.
Kyril shook his head. “Din’banal vhenashiral sen. Ma laran ma hamin nadas ess ni suledin sa,” he said sternly. “Ghilas shilannal-an, ir butherin ma falon’sin, lethallan.” He pressed his hand between Bellara's shoulder blades, urging her through the mirror.
Emmrich stared at Kyril despite himself. He supposed he had distantly assumed Kyril had some working knowledge of the Elvhen language, but he had never heard the younger man speak in any tongue but Trade before. In Elvhen, his usually dry voice was much more melodic, much more animated. He wondered why Kyril had refrained from speaking the language before, given that half their team and a third of their allies spoke Elvhen as their mother tongue.
Emmrich’s line of thought was cut off by Kyril. “You alright? You’re staring.”
“Forgive me, dear, I’m a touch distracted today. Is Bellara-”
“It will be a rough night. I’ll stay with her, make sure she's alright.”
“I would like to be of some assistance.” Emmrich said, concerned. He had grown fond of the mage, her enthusiasm for magical study a welcome balm during the stressful and hostile fight to stop the end of the world. To see Bellara so subdued, so bereft of hope, was deeply alarming.
Kyril shifted his weight from foot to foot. “Don’t think there's much you can do. It's- well, it's painful for elves when family leaves. She needs time.”
Emmrich’s jaw tightened at the subtle dismissal, but he nodded. Kyril’s eyes widened slightly. “You could drop some dinner outside her door tonight? She probably won't feel up to sitting in the dining room.” He said diplomatically. He gave Emmrich a weak smile that didn’t reach his eyes, then stepped through the Eluvian after Bellara.
Emmrich took a deep breath, and followed. The Lighthouse was silent as he walked toward the dining room, where he found Neve with a messy pile of papers and deep circles under her eyes. Her head snapped up when Emmrich entered.
“Bellara's brother?” she asked. Emmrich softly shook his head and Neve sighed, her shoulders sagging. “Damn. I was really hoping that-” she broke off, and shifted a few of the papers around, swallowing hard. “I was rooting for her.”
Emmrich nodded. “As were we all.” He crossed the room to plate up some leftover food for Bellara and Kyril. He summoned the last of his mana, gently heating the plates.
Neve studied him. “You need some coffee.”
Emmrich winced, weighing his chances between trying to push through his exhaustion and the punishing physical experience of consuming Neve’s attempts at coffee. “I’ll try a cup.” he said cautiously, and left the dining room with two plates of stewed fish and vegetables. He set the dishes outside Bellara's door, and indulged himself by pressing an ear to the wood grain, trying to listen for anything inside. Silence. He sighed and returned to the kitchen, where he accepted a mug of coffee from Neve with a grateful smile. “Thank you, Neve,” he said politely. He took a small sip. “Delightfully interesting texture, as always.”
Neve shot him a dry look and sat next to him, keeping him company in a grim vigil. They sat in silence, sipping Neve’s “coffee” and waiting for Kyril or Bellara to emerge.
After two hours, the door to the kitchen cracked open. Emmrich and Neve looked up eagerly, only to see Taash enter in their sleepclothes, their hair wrapped in a loose bun at the base of their neck. They glanced up and froze. “You two look rough.”
Neve sat up straight, her neck cracking with the change in posture. “We’re waiting up for Rook. He and Bellara tried to talk to Cyrian today”
Taash’s eyebrows rose. “Did it work?”
Emmrich shook his head softly. “Cyrian remains committed to raising Anuris.”
Taash deflated. “That’s fucking vashedan. Poor Bellara.” They joined Emmrich and Neve at the table, accepting a cup of Neve’s dubious coffee. They tilted their chair back, resting their stockinged heels on the table. Emmrich bit his tongue, swallowing the urge to correct their etiquette. “If Cyrian stays evil, do you think Bellara’s gonna have to-”
Emmrich set his mug down on the table with slightly more force than he anticipated. “Let's not get ahead of ourselves. Perhaps we will find a way to sever the connection to Anuris,” he said, not quite believing his own words. Taash, bristling at being chastised by Emmrich, crossed their arms and turned to Neve.
“We’ll do what we have to.” Neve said grimly. “And we’ll help Bellara pick up the pieces afterwards.” She took another sip of coffee, and turned back to her papers. Taash shifted in their seat.
“We should do more for her. Should be able to do more. She should’ve been able to make Cyrian understand. He should've listened to her, instead of-” Taash glared at their coffee mug as Emmrich and Neve shared a knowing look. Obviously Taash's weekly visit to Shathann’s house had gone poorly, again.
The main door creaked. Kyril, worn down and weary, pressed the door open with his shoulder and entered, carrying two untouched plates. Emmrich caught his eye.
“We weren't able to eat dinner,” he said apologetically. “Apparently steamed trout is Cyrian’s favorite food.” He set the plates down and collapsed into a chair, rubbing at his temples.
“A shame,” said Emmrich. “Lucanis outdid himself tonight.”
“I’ll drop by Rivain and pick up some of those fruits she likes.” Taash offered, taking the offending plates and dumping the stale fish into the rubbish. “Guava and jackfruit might be easier to keep down.”
“An excellent idea, Taash,” Emmrich replied. “I’m sure Bellara will be touched by the gesture.” Taash studied Emmrich, searching for condescension or disapproval, then nodded in acknowledgement when they realized he was sincere. Taash dropped the soiled plates in the sink, making Emmrich wince with the loud sound of clattering ceramic, and turned towards Kyril.
“I’ll dress and head out now. Rook, are we still good for the Stormrider rescue tomorrow?”
Kyril nodded. “Should be.”
Taash tilted their chin up, their jaw clenched with anger. “Good. I need something to hit.” They quickly rinsed their hands and walked into the courtyard, leaving the room in silence.
After a few seconds, Kyril shook his head, his eyes refocusing. “Neve, could you drop by Bellara's room in the morning? You might be better at distracting her.”
“Of course,” Neve said, then scanned Kyril, taking stock of the shadows under his eyes, the way that his hands trembled slightly. “How’s she taking it?”
“She blames herself.” Kyril said bluntly. “Hard for her not to. Might be for the best for now.”
“Why would that be the best approach?” Emmrich asked gently. He glanced at Neve for support, only to find her gaze fixated on Kyril’s face. “Surely we should reassure her that she's done everything she could, that it is entirely not her fault that Cyrian…… made the choices he did.”
“I guess it's an easier kind of pain to sit with than the truth.” Kyril said, staring at his hands, which were still covered in flecks of dry blood and grime.
“Makes sense to me. If it's her fault, that means there was something she could have done, a potential future where Cyrian didn't go down like this.” Neve crossed her arms, her eyes resting on Kyril’s face. “Must be easier to accept that than the fact that she was powerless to help.”
Kyril frowned, his lips pressed into a thin line. “Yeah, probably something like that.” he said, and stood to leave, turning away from Neve and Emmrich. “I should clean up. And get ready for the mission tomorrow.”
Neve leaned forward. “Rook-”
“Not now, Neve,” Kyril said tiredly. “I-” he wiped his hands against his thighs, smearing the dirt on the fabric. “Not now.”
“I didn't mean-” Neve’s eyes softened. “Alright. I’ll check on Bellara in the morning for you.”
“Thanks.” Kyril said quietly. “Goodnight.”
Emmrich watched Kyril’s back as he left, his sleep-deprived and overcaffeinated brain struggling to follow the conversation. “What was….” he trailed off, looking at Neve for an explanation.
Neve didn't meet his eyes. “I pried when I shouldn't have,” she said, as if that explained anything. She took Emmrich's mug and began washing it out. “You should rest if you can. We’ll need at least one of our mages at their best tomorrow.”
Emmrich understood a polite dismissal when he heard one. “Good night, then.” he said, and collected his coat. “Please do keep me apprised of Bellara's condition.”
Neve nodded. “Of course,” she said, her usual wry tone replaced with an uncharacteristic sincerity. “Rest well.”
Emmrich paused at the doorway, taking stock of Neve as she refilled her coffee mug. “Will you be sleeping at all tonight?”
Neve shook her head, eyes focused on a scrawled handwritten note. “Not likely.” She studied her paperwork. “Can’t close my eyes without seeing them hanging,” she said, and then her jaw snapped shut and she looked up at Emmrich, mortified. “Don’t-”
Emmrich felt his stomach clench with pity. “I am deeply sorry about Minrathous, Neve. It is a heavy loss to witness.”
Some private emotion threatened to show on Neve's face before she slammed her eyes closed, taking a deep breath. “Good night, Emmrich.” she said, not opening her eyes.
Emmrich left in silence, too exhausted to notice the quiet feeling of dread beginning to roost in his stomach.