Chapter Text
Siobhan knows fear.
The little demon that sits inside her ribcage and shakes her very core. As a Watcher, she knows the fear of death, as the little child that grew up in the crypts, she knows the fear of loneliness and as the “Rook” against Elgar’nan and Ghilan'nain, she knows the fear of regrets. Regret eats away at you. Like its some huge monstrosity that eats and eats and eats, always ready to remind you what could have been if you’d have been smarter and faster and someone entirely different.
The Fade prison is that monster incarnate. Trying to eat her alive, while she screams. She does not truly know where she mustered the strength to find her way through the grey haze, but something spurred her on, always at the back of her mind: there are people that need her, that care for her and that she cares for in return. Her friends. Especially those that she lost. She tries not to scream as she thinks of brave and kind Harding, as she prayes for Bellara to be still alive and to hold on, hopes that Lucanis dead body was only a trick formed by Solas.
She hopes that there are still people waiting for her: Her friends. And Emmrich. There are words that need to be said. About how she does not care about his age. What are twenty years when the person you waited for your entire life stands right in front of you? The night before the battle she wrote him a letter, in case that she wouldn‘t make it out alive and hoped that he would forgive her.
But she is alive and she needs him to hear those from herself. That she loves him, will always love him. So she fights and fights and grieves and cries and finally meets Varric. Her mentor in all of this from the very beginning. And she lets go. Lets go of the false memories in her head, let’s go of her mentor, let’s go of her regret about things that cannot be changed anymore.
Determination and hope and relief fills when she hears her friends' voices, hears them call her name. There is a tear in the prison and hands that grab her from beyond, pulling and yanking. They care about me, she thinks. I fight for them and they fight for me and they love me. They love me. I get to see Emmrich again. I get to hold him again. Please let me hold him again.
She pushes herself against the wall, as several hands pull, and finally leaves the Fade. The first thing she sees on this side of the world, in a world filled with so many vibrant colors and smells, is Emmrich’s face. Wide-eyed and beautiful, he stands there ready to catch her. And he does. He always does. She collapses in his arms and cries. For a while, there is nothing but her sobs and Emmrich hugging her so very tight. But she doesn’t care because he is here. Alive. Somehow they made it.
Her little demon in her chest tries to rear its ugly head, trying to suffocate her. What if this is another dream? it whispers urgently, but she can’t let herself listen to it. Not when she is finally out of the Fade and the cheers of her team are echoing around her. So, Siobhan forces herself to breathe (four in, hold, four out, hold) and comes back to her surroundings. As her breathing calms she notices that Emmrich isn’t just holding tight. He is clinging to her like his live depends on it. His slender arms shake as they press her body into his and as her face gets pressed into his chest she can feel his heart racing. “Emmrich?” A question and a plea.
He let’s go just enough to grab her face and searches for some confirmation that only she can give. But what exactly, she doesn’t know. Blinking her tears away she asks again, “Emmrich?” His lips purse, but whatever he seeks seems to fade into the background.
“You are with us again, Siobhan. The nightmare is over,” he says.” Are you alright?” She nods weakly and he pulls her up in a single swift motion, holding her steady as her legs wobble. There are loud cheers again and someone pats her back, hard. Probably Taash. Then she is pulled into the most awkward hug, that only Neve could give. The whole situation is a blur of hands and voices, but one thing stays prominent: Emmrich doesn’t let her go. His hands are always somewhere on her body: her shoulders, her hand, the small of her back.
It’s Neve who makes the final call to fall back to the Lighthouse. Siobhan grasps for words to explain what happened, to ask the questions she dares not to ask. For a second there is another hand on her shoulder and Davrins voice breaks through: “We can talk later.” And then his hand is gone. Emmrich remains close to her as they make their way back to the closest Eluvian. They are in Arlathan, she realises, and Siobhan revels in the sounds around her. Both from the nature and people around her.
From their group, everyone but Harding and Bellara have made it back. Siobhan shakes her head and tries to focus. Taash and Neve are in the front, Lucanis dips in and out of her vision keeping watch, and Davrin is guarding their tail with Assan flying above. Emmrich is so close beside her that it seems like he wants to melt into her skin. His slender fingers, usually gently interlaced with hers, now hold on to her with the strength of someone who is trying not to drown, his hands bloody from gripping the lifeline. Her bloodied hand, the lifeline. For him.
An unsettling thought shivers up her spine and whispers in her ear: “How long have you really been gone? What made him hold on like this?” Siobhan shudders and pushes the thought away.
“Darling, are you alright?” Emmrich asks, voice strained. The route they are taking is even, weaving through the golden trees that shine so beautifully in the warm light of the setting sun. He calls me darling. The realization hits her like lightning in her chest. After their argument she had been worried about him. About his fear of death. About their relationship and if he wants to go on with her. Relief floods in the hollowed out path of her sorrow and makes her feel weightless.
She nods and gives him a weak smile. “Don’t worry, Emmrich. Just taking in everything that happened.”
Emmrich eyes hover over her warily and a moment passes before he nods. “If you say so, my dear.”
But Siobhan knows in her bones that he doesn’t believe her. Had he found her letter? She had instructed Bellara to tell Emmrich about it before they departed for Tearstone Island. But with Bellara being dead- Gone, not dead. Not until I see a body- it is difficult to imagine what has transpired. Her head is filled with thousands of questions that chant in unison with the voices of her friends. As her chest beginning to feel tight again, she forces a determined expression on her face and instead of breaking apart, she tells them about the fade.
About Solas, about how she saw Harding and Bellara and Varric.
Varric.
“You didn’t know?” Lucanis asks, voice dripping with horror.
“No.” she answers, voice flat.
“Mierda, I’m sorry. If we had known-”
“I know.” She notices how sharp her tone is and gently adds: “Don’t apologize for something that wasn’t your fault.”
“What did Solas do to trap you anyway? Must have been quite the thing to fool you.” Neve adds, trying to steer the conversation away from the topic. Siobhan has been mesmerized by Neves perceptiveness since the very beginning. Now she could kiss her because Neve swiftly moves the attention away from the tears in the corner of Siobhans eyes. The questions hangs heavy between them anyway.
Siobhan feels Emmrichs eyes on her without looking. Why did you leave? she imagines them saying, Why did you leave me? She has no strength to look and see if her worries are correct. Instead she settles for softly caressing his iron-grip fingers. They tighten even more.
A sigh escapes her, even as it feels like there is no air in her lungs left. She chokes out, “Solas tricked me. After Harding… died. He showed me an illusion of Lucanis. Dead. Then I was in the fade. Alone with my regrets.” Heavy silence fills the open space. Eyes turn to her in honest horror but Siobhan feels too tired for whisking up a way to catch her group emotionally. She can figure out a way to regroup the team as soon as her head stops aching so much. As soon as she doesn‘t smell of blood anymore. “I’ll be alright. We get Bellara back and we do whatever it takes to take down Elgar’nan. Let's just get back to the Lighthouse first.”
Her voice is strong. Stronger than she feels anyway. Lucanis nods, his eyes flickering back and forth between her and Emmrich, and lets it go, picking up pace to join Taash at the front. Brave Taash, shouldering the loss of Harding with the same stoic silence they fight Venatori. Siobhan makes a mental note to check in on them later.
But first she has to talk to Emmrich, who, despite adding to the conversation around him every now and then, is uncharacteristically silent. The rest of the trip is mostly Neve and Davrin roughly updating her of what had been done in the time she was gone.
How long have you been gone? This sounds so long.
With every new bit of nformation, she feels more tired, making the way to the Lighthouse seem so very long; yet she pushes forward with the same determination that got her through the fade. Her friends, the promise of a better future, and Emmrich. Always Emmrich; He’s alive, he’s alive, thank the Maker he’s alive. As soon as they reach the last Eluvian, Siobhan wants to cry from relief.
The lighthouse is silent, as if grieving itself, but Siobhan can feel the same warmth, the same silent joy emitting from its core like it did so many times before. As if welcoming them home. When they gather in the library, Siobhan dismisses the group, telling them to rest. Partly for them and partly for herself. There is an understanding in their eyes. Everyone is exhausted, both physically and emotionally and the last battle still awaits them. Silently, fingers interlaced, Emmrich and Siobhan watch the others leave. As soon as the door to the courtyard finally closes, Siobhan turns her gaze to Emmrich.
It’s their first time alone after their argument, when her beloved was scared of his age and their future. And even if she wants nothing more than to fall and break, as soon as she meets his eyes, truly and fully this time, she knows that has to wait.
Emmrich is never truly silent. If he is not talking about a theory that piqued his interest or some more practical aspect of his work, he hums or mutters or tuts under his breath. His mind racing in search for new answers, curiosity and will to learn pushing him to new limits. The swiftness of his wit always as dependable as steadiness of his hands.
She is scared. Because right now he is neither talking nor steady. Silence cloaks him like a heavy shadow. His hands tremble around hers; their movement grown from a slight tremor at their first touch to an earthquake as he covers her hands with his. But it is his eyes that break something in her. The terrified eyes of a boy who was forced to wear loss like a shroud around his shoulders since he was so very young. So she pushes her own fear away and gently strokes his hands, before carefully unraveling herself from his grasp.
“Emmrich, my love, are you alright?” she says, soft but steady.
“Yes, my dear. I- I am quite alright,” his voice falters as he says it. Emmrich must know too, because he clears his throat and tries again. “Why do you ask?”
Hot tears run over her hand as she gently cups his cheeks. He leans into her touch ever so slightly, eyes still fixated on her, a forced smile upon his lips.
“My love, you are crying.” Siobhan murmurs as she cradles his head in her hands.
Like a beetles wing fluttering against a brittle wall, his resolve breaks.
Emmrich grabs her by the shoulder and pulls her close in one single motion, their bodies crushing together. His arms circle around her in the same fashion his hands held her before: with the conviction that if he lets go, she will be gone. She mirrors him in this. Siobhan grabs him tight and does not let go, as Emmrich sobs into her shoulder, one of his hands shooting up to grab the back of her head pulling her even closer.
“I thought I lost you, Siobhan.” he cries, grabbing her even tighter. “Forgive me, darling. Oh, my darling. Don’t ever leave me like that again.” Another sob shakes him. “Don’t ever leave.”
“I won’t. I am here. I’ve got you,” she coos, “We’re safe.”
As Emmrichs legs give in, she guides them both to the floor. It is not graceful, and Siobhan feels the impact painfully on her knees, and yet she stays, murmuring sweet nothings as she rocks him gently from side to side. He switches between breathless apologies and quick kisses to her cheek, her neck. Where does his body begin, where does hers end? Does it even matter?
After a while, he buries his face in her hair and just breathes. Siobhan waits until he stops crying, and then some more, before she pulls back to look at his face. His eyes are swollen and red, matching the flush on his cheeks. His hair is tousled. As she watches him, Siobhan notices that tears and snot have mixed in his slightly too long beard, which sticks out from his dark, hastily shaved stubble. Siobhan wipes away some of the snot-tear mixture, which earns her a flicker of disapproval and something akin to embarrassment, as she wipes it off on her clothes. She pays it no mind. She has touched worse things in her time as a Watcher. Siobhan smiles warmly at him, “Let’s get you cleaned up, shall we?”
She rises her feet with a slight wobble, pulling him up with her. “Will you let me take care of you?” she asks, carefully.
He blinks slowly at her before answering, “What?”
“Will you let me take care of you?” She repeats, making sure to speak slow and steady, trying to pierce through the fog that surrounds him.
“I should be taking care of you.” his voice, gruff from crying, wavers slightly. He tries to put on his usually controlled and charming demeanor, which falls utterly flat at the sight in front of her: His vest is wrongly buttoned under his armor and hair that was pulled back just enough to give the pretense of put-togetherness this morning has fallen into complete disarray. His face is marked by the river of tears that surely has made its way onto her own armor.
Even like this, he looks beautiful.
In her chest, something simultaneously blooms and aches. “No, you should not.” she states more bluntly than she intends to. As his eyes widen, she is quick to add: “You’re always comforting me. From the very first moment I met you, without fail, even if you didn’t know you were doing it: You were always there for me.”
She gazes into his eyes and hopes that without saying, he understands the worry that she feels about him, the grief at having thought of losing him and the wish to be the one he can hold onto; the one he can let himself rest with. “Let me do the same for you tonight.” She sees him swallow hard. Once, twice. Seemingly fighting against something buried deep within him. An eternity seems to pass before he gives a sharp nod.
“Thank you.” she says quietly and starts moving.
He follows her up without hesitation but while his hand still holds firmly on to her, it feels less desperate. Siobhan marks that as a small win.
When they enter the community bath a few minutes later, Siobhan has quickly gathered all his toiletries, morning robe and two nightgowns from Emmrichs room. She doesn’t like to admit it, but the thought of letting his hand go or going to her own wretched room to retrieve her nightdress made her stomach churn. Emmrich either didn’t seem to notice or didn’t mind her stealing his stuff.
A quick scan around the big room tells her that their friends are tactful or simply distracted enough to give them space. Still, she lets out a relieved sigh. “Seems like we have the space to ourselves.” she announces, arms spreading wide before falling awkwardly to her sides. Her fingers start drumming on her legs.
Emmrich only nods but says nothing, his mind seemingly somewhere else. Her brow furrows.
While the bathroom has a sauna and several showers, Siobhan always preferred the pools. The water is always perfectly warm, probably lighthouse magic, like the ever hot enough oven in the kitchen area and the various places to sit, make it a wonderful place to relax. And in that same vein, absolutely perfect for her endeavor. She lays a hand on his lower back, balancing her goods with the other and softly nudges him to the seats nearest to the water. Mirrors with golden inlays and various shelves and nooks for storage blend naturally into the white marble walls of the bathhouse.
Emmrich wanders over to one of the seats and begins unbuttoning his waistcoat without thinking. Siobhan sets down the clothes and begins spreading the various filigree glass bottles. Right now, she tries to tame the beast of fear and grief, so she can be a rock for the man she loves most in this world and beyond. So, she focuses on keeping her movements controlled and slow, talking softly to Emmrich about what she is doing. As she turns around, she sees him folding his waistcoat, his hazel eyes trained on her movements, face unreadable. With a clink, the last bottle is set upon the hard floor.
Siobhan rises and walks over to him, setting her fingers on his garments. Button by button she slowly unravels his shirt. When the last one pops open, she slides the garment down off his shoulders and presses a tender kiss to the exposed skin. She stills as Emmrich moves to kiss her head, lingering in the movement. As she looks down, she sees that his hands hover in front of the blood crusted fabric of her armor.
A look into his eyes tells her what she needs to know: The fear of this being just another hazy dream that the morning light will steal away, like all the memories of the loved ones he has lost along the way. It is the same mournful look he had when he asked her about her thoughts concerning his parents wishes.
How many nights have you had that dream with me? she wonders, How many times did you wake up, expecting to find me next to you, only to have your hand meet empty sheets? Her heart hurts yet again as she raises her eyes to meet his and finds her answer.
Too long, my dear.
Siobhan takes his hands, taking the time to kiss them again and again and again, only stopping to slip his rings from his fingers and setting them upon his folded clothes. She continues with his gloves, which she puts neatly next to his rings. When that is done, she straightens and raises her hands to his neck, pulling him toward her.
“I am here,” She simply says, as their foreheads connect, “I won’t leave you again.”
Moments later her armor falls to the floor, untangled by Emmrichs nimble hands. They spent the time unbuttoning and untying any remaining items of clothing on their bodies without talking. Shedding the items of clothing like the skin of a serpent.
When they are both finally naked, they set off towards the warm pool. The warmth of the bath is a welcome feeling on Siobhan's skin and she sighs as she lets herself sink in the water. Emmrich follows right behind her.
As soon as he is seated, he pulls her wordlessly into his lap and holds her tight to his chest. With a bit of wriggling she manages to turn around and straddles him with both her legs firmly pressed against his tighs In different circumstances, this position would make her melt in his hands. But she simply grabs his various lotions and, after properly wetting his hair, starts massaging a shampoo, which emits a strong herbal scent, into his hair.
Emmrich relaxes visibly into her hands, his arms dropping to settle around her waist, closes his eyes and sighs. Siobhan proceeds slowly and full of intent. Right now, there is nothing better than just being in the moment with him.
Since she had gotten to know him, she had been mesmerized by the singular dark strand that floats in the grey starlight-sea that is his hair. She twirls it gently between her fingers, watching it reflect the light, sifting through the individual strands as if swimming through the night sky. He is the star that guides her to safety, the one light to follow home into his waiting arms.
On an impulse she kisses his hair and promptly regrets it, as shampoo enters her mouth. Emmrich chuckles. Sputtering she decides to leave the kisses for later.
When she is finished and looking for a small bowl to wash it out, she catches Emmrich watching her through half open eyes, the shadow of a smile dancing on his lips. Yet there is a certain edge to it. Siobhan boops his nose playfully, “Close your eyes, I need to pour some water over you.”
He complies. She nods contently and reaches for the bowl, filling it quickly up with warm water. As she moves to pour it over him, one hazel eye peeks up at her.
Suddenly she remembers the day he showed her his view of the fade. How interlaced with wonder and intimacy it was. And how he made her heart flutter when he told her to take a breath.
Siobhan does her best to mimic his voice, “Ah, ah. Take a breath. Slow. Deep.”
Another disapproving look, “Darling, this is hardly fair. Could you keep your eyes away from such beauty, when it sits right in front of you?” he cocks his head toward his shoulder slightly.
He is a very bad liar. Siobhan knows that, while he jokes with her, there is something eating up his insides and if she could, she would take all the pain away from him. But right now, seeing him accept her help is enough for her and she lets it slide.
“No, that's why I keep staring at you,” she says, “Now close your eyes. I mean it.”
He clicks his tongue but compiles, tilting his head to give her better access to her hair. “Will you also reveal to me the woven intricacies of the fade, as I had the pleasure to do?”
“Weren’t you just fine with watching my body mere moments ago?” she asks, a smile curling her lips.
“Well, one might hope to see more than single wonder a day, hm?” he hums.
Siobhan shakes her head. Conversation always flows so easily with him. Is anyone as lucky as she is to get to see him like this? This kind and gentle man, curious and quick of wit. Sometimes insufferable, but always easy to love. At least to her.
With a swoosh she gently pours warm water over his hair. She fills the container up and repeats the process until there is nothing left of the produce in his hair. Then she starts lathering his hair in the second lotion. A quick glance at his face tells her that Emmrich could fall asleep any second. Sleepless nights have put dark circles under his eyes. Knowing him, he has worked himself to the bone trying to get her back. She can imagine him standing hunched over his desk until deep into the night, seeking answers to the question of her disappearance.
Before she can dwell on this, she gently washes out his hair again, shielding his face with one of her hands, and then moving onto his body. Emmrich opens his eyes again and moves to sit upright. She reaches for a orange bottle and puts it on her fingertips. However as she tries to put it on his face, her hands get caught in his. She shoots him a questioning look.
“That’s not for the face.” he says calmly, taking it out of her hands. “But for the body.”
A small groan escapes her lips before she can stop it. There is no real annoyance in her voice but to reassure Emmrich Siobhan puts on the most lighthearted tone she can manage and says, “Well, my love, what is the right bottle, then?”
Long, nimble fingers reach for a different, significantly smaller and purple colored, bottle and hand it to her. Siobhan quickly rubs the soap off on her chest but is again stopped by Emmrich, who tuts at her and pushes her finger lightly aside. He begins spreading the soap on her chest before stopping at her scar.
It’s a gruesome, yet thin line that runs from her sternum down to her waist, cutting through the skeletal scars etched on her skin since birth. A fresher scar to accompany the old ones, as if death itself had marked her.
She remembers the day she showed it to him for the first time. Emmrich looked so horrified back then, the implications of what happened to her evident to him. Yet he was kind, comforting and took her flirting in that particular situation with grace. When they kissed that day, Siobhan felt the safest she had in a very long time.
Now, Emmrich traces the scar with his soapy finger. Up and down. Again and again. Then his hands fold above her heart tenderly. Hazel eyes meet hers and they both still for a second, before he bows his head and puts a lingering kiss to the top of her scar, next to her heart.
Without words, she understands: I love you.
Joy spreads in her chest and Siobhan sets on her task again. She puts the right cleanser on her fingertips and starts rubbing circles on his cheeks, his strong but slender nose and his forehead, taking a little extra time along the way to massage his temple and jaw. The muscles are tight and she imagines him with a clenched jaw, rubbing his eyes, before continuing taking notes from several books.
The feeling of his fingertips on her face snaps her out of this thought. Emmrich looks utterly in love as he takes his turn in removing the grime and sweat from her face.
She chuckles. “Did you use the proper one?”
“Of course. Only the best for you.”
The next minutes are spent caressing each other's body and drawing soap circles on exposed skin. Sometimes they kiss the little trails that are made, which results in some awkwards laughs as soap enters their mouths. Tears and laughter mix as they lose themselves in the wonder of having each other.
Emmrich presses a lingering kiss to her neck and she laughs when his stubble tickles her.
“My love, your beard,” she giggles as she tries to move away, but he only holds her tighter.
“What of it, darling?” he asks innocently, rubbing his chin on the sensitive part that sits right between her neck and shoulder.
“You are tickling me,” She’s still trying to get out of his hold, “I thought a gentleman is never without a comb and a razor. What happened to that?” He is at her cheek now, short stubble brushing against her freckles. She shrieks, “Emmrich, please!”
His head cranes as he stops and looks up at her. “Laugh again, my dearest, my impossible Siobhan. Then I will get rid of this unsightly stubble at once.”
She does. Only for him can she laugh like this, this silly Professor, her favorite person. She kisses him, despite his beard and despite the soap because he is just so incredibly himself that she would have the strength to walk into the Fade and find a way out again, just to see him like this.
They untangle after a while, but never truly stop touching. While Emmrich shaves his stubble and trims his beard and Siobhan washes the dirt and blood out of her auburn hair.
She pretends she doesn’t see the nervous glances he shoots her, when he thinks she isn’t looking, but she makes sure to inch closer and presses her feet against his calf. When every ounce of grime and unwanted hair is well and truly gone and their skin is all wrinkled, they leave the water.
Once they are dry, Siobhan reaches for the nightgowns and passes one to Emmrich, before putting on the other. It is white a snow and feels wonderful on her skin. Siobhan lets out a relaxed sigh. She is in the middle of figuring out a way to twist her hair out of the way without a pin, when she hears Emmrich stop in his tracks.
“You are wearing one of my nightgowns,” he says.
She turns around, hair still in her hands. He wears his nightgown and was apparently in the process of sliding the last ring, the one his father gave him, on his hand. His marvelous, pretty hands.
“Yes, I thought if it looks this dashing on you, maybe I should give it a try, too.” She swishes the fabric between her fingers and bats her eyelashes at him, her voice dropping low. “What do you think?”
Something between a huff and a laugh escapes his lips. Then his gaze travels her body.
His brow softens, as he murmurs “I believe you could wear anything and still look positively radiant, my dear.”
With a surge of confidence Siobhan twirls once to make a show of her outfit. She is rather tall, yet not nearly as tall as Emmrich is, so the garment hangs awkwardly around her body in a few places.
“I look like a fool.” she laughs.
“You look exquisite.” he remarks. His eyes shine with unmasked adoration and Siobhan feels so very loved.
“Ah,” she says, while swaying over to him, “Do I now?”
Emmrich seems to drink her in for a moment, beginning to trace his finger down her neck and shoulders and Siobhan catches his hand between hers, before he can get too distracted.
“Will you give me an answer, love?” she whispers.
“Yes. You always do.” He simply states. And then he pulls her hands close and presses his lips to them like his very life depends on it.
Shortly after they make their way out of the bathroom, hands entangled.
When they arrive in front of Emmrichs room, the opening door reveals a welcome sight to her: a skeleton in Watcher's robes. Happiness bubbles in her chest. Manfred has become a source of joy in the Lighthouse, and also in her life. Seeing him and Emmrich working together and the bond they share is a constant she found comfort in, even more so since Manfreds revival, as he grew even more curious of the world and his newfound powers.
Siobhan remembers very well when she showed him how to use the stick he found as focus so he wouldn’t cause an uncontrolled explosion anymore. That only helped marginally, but her heart still swelled with pride. No matter how often Emmrich tries to deny it: that is their son, undead and flinging magic around. She wouldn’t have it any other way.
“Manfred!” she yells happily.
“Siobhan!” he hisses equally as exited. He stopped calling her “Rook” shortly after being able to say Emmrichs name.
He jogs over, apprentice mantel swishing behind him and hisses again. “Siobhan’s back!”
“Yes, I am,” she says, “I need to see your next project. As I promised.”
Manfred seems to light up, joy evident, “Yes!”
He looks so adorable when he says it that Siobhan could cry. How could anyone ever find him unsettling? Then Manfred looks at Emmrich, “You shaved!”
Emmrich clears his throat. “Manfred, we talked about that. It is considered rude to remark upon such things.”
“Ah, yeah. But more importantly,” Siobhan interrupts. “Could you look if there is any food around and bring them to Emmrichs room for us? Maybe you could also fetch us some tea, if you would be so kind?”
Time passes differently in the fade but her stomach has started to growl rather loudly. She had a suspicion that Emmrich isn’t better off in that aspect. Manfred nods excitedly and runs off.
Both watch him leave, before entering Emmrichs room. After the door closes behind them, she allows herself to still for a second. When she fetched the gowns, she did not allow herself to rest. Now she just inhales the familiar scent of his room. Embalming salves, old books, the ever crackling fire and his distinguished perfume collection. It smells like warmth, like home. She squeezes Emmrichs hand gently and takes a quick look around the room.
Books and pages sit on the desk, scattered about, next to all sorts of equipments. Some of them she recognizes, but others are foreign to her. For him, this must classify as chaos. Both ignore it for tonight.
Johanna Hezenkoss‘ skull still sits at her table behind his desk. Mercifully she remains silent as both stride towards Emmrichs hidden bedroom. Yet there seems to be a strangely warm glow coming from her. Maybe this is only caused by her tired eyes and Siobhan dismisses it. She will have time to pester the woman for answers after they defeat Elgar‘nan.
The door mechanism clicks and the secret space behind Emmrichs bookshelves reveals itself. It is still like she remembers it. His wooden bed stands upon the deliberately placed woolen rugs, their pattern fitting nicely with the various decorative pieces of art in his room. At nearly every wall there are even more bookshelves, extending his collection well beyond what is seen in the main part of his room, but also many jars and baubles, each telling a new compelling story.
But to her, the most beautiful thing in the room is the armchair, that stands before yet another fireplace. Emmrich had taken her there many times after they started seeing each other, her blanket around her shoulders and a warm tea in both their hands, as they weaved memories and stories to a tapestry of words. And she loved it. The simplicity. How natural it felt to be with him even at the very start of their romance. The memory brings a smile to her face once more.
Siobhan wants to move toward the bed, which by now calls like a siren to her, when Emmrich stops her. As she turns around, she feels her brow furrow, but lets herself be pulled back a few steps nonetheless. With the way he straightens something within himself, she realizes exactly what he is trying to do right now.
“Thank you for taking care of me, my dear.” he says, voice smooth except for the smallest hint of lingering roughness. He tries to sound unbothered and in control, “But you must allow me to return the favor.”
“Yes. Tomorrow.”
“Siobhan.”
“Tomorrow, dear.”
She won’t have it. Because she sees the familiar flicker in his eyes: the frightened boy ghosting around in his skull. Scared of loss. Scared of being left alone with nothing but grief and his fear of death as his companions. No matter how much he tries to hide it and fall back into his habit of taking care of her, she sees him. She will always see him.
But words that usually come so easy to her fail her now. What could she possibly say to make it all better? Is there anything that could convince him that he does not need to shoulder this feeling alone? Instead of saying anything, she moves. As if she could protect him with her arms she catches him in an embrace.
In an instant he is around her, yet again heavy with grief. Or maybe it never left at all. And she holds him patiently as she waits for him to speak, using her hands to caress his back ever so slightly until he begins to melt into her. Several times it sounds like he might say something but nothing comes out. His lip quivers as he finally chokes out: “What if I don’t get the chance?”
There it is. Emmrich has lost so much, so early in his life. No matter how much time passes, there will always be the young boy in his heart and there will always be days where he feels afraid again. But Siobhan knows that she will be there to hold him every time, until time itself ends. She will always try to shy away the darkness and the sorrow from him. Because she loves him. She will always love him.
Smiling warmly at him, she tries to soothe his fear, even if just for a moment, by saying two words with more conviction than she feels: “You will.”
And then she pulls him, ever so softly, as she walks backwards to his bed and this time he follows.
Apparenty it takes a fight against two elven gods and her being trapped in the fade to get Emmrich Volkarin to eat food while in bed. Manfred brings them lavender tea with honey and two stuffed sandwiches which they take eagerly. They eat in thoughtful silence. But it feels lighter somehow. More hopeful. When both are finished they clean up and ask Manfred to bring the dishes back to the kitchen.Siobhan in return promises him to assist in his next project, no matter what it is. Emmrich gives her a glance which tells her, that she will regret this. But he smiles anyway. He is so very proud of his son. Brave, curious Manfred.
Siobhan wonders if he sees himself in the wisp. A lost soul trying to understand the world. Maybe that is why they were inseparable since they met.
“Our son is becoming more like you every single day,” she says as they settle for the night. He chooses to rest on the side closer to the door, as if shielding her with his body could hide her from the world that tried to take her not so long ago. ”You are an exceptional teacher for him.” she adds, stretching her long legs on the mattress.
“Oh, Manfred learns marvelously quickly on his own. I merely guide him.” he murmurs.
She caresses his cheek and whispers, “You do so much more than that and you know it. He learns from you.” Emmrichs hand covers her own and watches her intently as she continues. “Allow yourself to take more credit for yourself, my heart. He could be so much on his own but a part of his greatness comes from you guiding him. And both of you help each other grow.” A tear prickles in the corner of her eye. It has but a moment's time to fall before Emmrich steals it with a kiss.
“Oh, but what a marvel it is, to have such parents as us,“ He pauses and smiles fondly, „Someone like you.”
He kisses her. Warm and alive. It feels like he tries to capture the moment in his brain, with an intensity as his lips meet hers, again and again, pouring his undying devotion into her. She feels warm deep down to her core as if a small fire has made itself home there. Small sighs escape his lips, which are mirrored in soft moans rising from her chest. With a sigh she opens her mouth for him and Emmrich dives in immediately, like she is his salvation. They share long, open mouthed kisses, exploring each other with a mixture of unhurried intention and unparalleled yearning. But that isn’t enough, as Emmrich pulls them even closer together, when there is already no more space left, as if he could hide if only he would manage to escape into her skin.
I am so glad you are back, he seems to say with every kiss.
I will always come back home to you, she answers.
More tears are shed in the warmth and comfort of the bed, but this time they are tears of relief and love. Even when they have to come up for air, they hold onto each other.
She kisses the top of his head and pulls him onto her chest before reaching over to grab one of his thick blankets, carefully draping it over them both with tired arms. Then she does it with another one, cocooning them in warmth. Before she can find another, Emmrich lifts his hand and grabs a different one, which she hasn’t noticed before, as it was slightly hidden under one of his pillows. The fabric is thick and purple, with some Hand-made embroidery at the bottom.
Its her blanket, which has been gifted to her by her friends. Emmrich must have taken it from her room while she was gone. Some part of her is glad that at least something remained to keep him company. He looks at her, slightly unsure, and she presses another kiss to his brow before she takes the fabric from his hands and covers them in another warm layer. The blanket smells more like him than her at this point and Siobhan feels herself relax, too.
Mossy and floral with a rich undertone. Like the flowers breaking from the soil in spring. Alive. Beautiful. Unique.
Siobhan lets her head fall back on his soft pillows and sighs contentedly. Emmrich lays his head down on her chest, a hand resting over her beating heart. As her eyes fall closed she feels Emmrich stir every now and then, being way beyond exhaustion.
Forcing her eyes open, she begins gently caressing his head and weaves words for him, like she did so many times before. When she was a child and hiding In the darker corners of the necropolis, Siobhan would make up stories. Hidden under her skin were words that wanted to be spoken, nestled right beside her heart. As if those would make her feel less lonely. It brought her comfort when she was young, no matter how silly it was to others. It still does.
So she makes up a story about a scared boy who meets a lonely girl deep inside the darkness of the underground. In return for his company and wit, she tells him stories. And because they are very brave, they try to find their way back home and have many adventures on the way and make a lot of friends. Because of course they do.
“Will Manfred be there as well?” Emmrich mumbles against her skin.
She smiles. “Well, yes of course. He is the wisp that helps them after all. The boy promises him a body for his help and because he loves the boy sooo much, Manfred brings light so they can see they do not get lost.”
Emmrich smiles and finally closes his eyes. While she tells her story, she slowly feels her darling drift off. Siobhan notices her own exhaustion seep into her, beckoning her to follow into pleasant dreams, but she keeps on talking. Even when his breathing has slowed, she does not stop, until the story has a happy end and Emmrich is well and truly asleep.
Then she watches him.
There is always something controlled about him. Back when they first investigated Johanna Hezenskoss activities, he told her that he always chooses his words carefully. And he always acts like it; as if one mistake could topple his whole life over, leaving nothing in its wake.
But in his sleep he softens.
She loves the crows feet around his eyes. How they dance around his skin when he talks or smiles. With her index she trails a line, softly as a whisper. Emmrich stirs slightly and Siobhan pulls away, settling on caressing his head instead.
Emmrichs lips are perfectly framed by smile lines and the mustache, he cares for meticulously. Siobhan sees them talking, smiling, pursed and, if she's lucky enough, kissed swollen and red by her. Now they rest slightly parted, letting his soft snores escape.
Her eyes trail his high cheekbones and curved nose. His wrinkles and worry lines. Even as the shadows of the flickering lights dance around the ones on his forehead, they seem less visible somehow. As if sleep had whisked away the traces of sorrow and age. He looks so heart-achingly young, curled up against her under the heap of blankets.
She presses a soft kiss to his forehead and silently vows to keep both of them safe: the scared boy and the curious professor.