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Wisps like stars dotted the ceiling of one of the private chapels in the Necropolis, dancing on an unseen wind, chittering with excitement— as if the spirits themselves were pleased by the occasion. Some flitted between the pews and the guests, the aisle awash with flowers. Bursts of color — lilacs and orchids, anemones and camellias, and, of course, blooms of Shroud's Kiss, and one buttoned to Emmrich's coat.
Today he married the love of his life.
Despite spending the night together in his suite, he and Rook had once more been separated in the morning — even Vorgoth had insisted on that, the anticipation sacred to all this ceremony. If Emmrich were to do this once, he should do it right. Who was he to argue with that?
So that was what they did, split into two once more until they could fall together again. This time, for the rest of their lives.
Beside him, Davrin smirked. “You’re looking nervous, Emmrich.”
“Nonsense,” he scoffed, before he sighing, cheeks faintly flushed from the embarrassment at being caught. “Alright. Perhaps just a smidge.”
“Thinking Rook's going to run off on you?”
“I doubt it.”
“Yeah, she wouldn't do that,” Davrin agreed. “But this is more than just about your big party, isn't it?”
Astute as always.
Emmrich sighed again, allowing himself to share the thoughts plaguing him. He started, “Do you think I'm good for her, Davrin? I worry at times. Lace, she had—” He had to swallow the ball in his throat before he could continue, the memory of their lost friend still a sharp ache. “—she had said that, perhaps, we had been going too fast, too much all at once.”
“Good for her?” Davrin raised an eyebrow. “Or good enough for her?”
Emmrich's tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth at that, words suddenly so difficult to find. After a long moment, he answered in a quiet voice, “I don't know.”
“Well.” Davrin shifted on his feet, clasping Emmrich’s shoulder. The weight was a comfort. “If you ask me, the things you've been through together — that all of us have gone through — that sort of thing builds a bond stronger than most people can think of. You don't defeat the gods with just anyone.” Davrin squeezed his shoulder. “So if she chose you, you best believe she made the right call.”
Emmrich clasped his hand over Davrin's, appreciative of the sentiment. He was right, Emmrich's heart finally settling. Rook had not led any of them astray before. If nothing else, they could trust that.
“Professor!” Bellara bounded up to them, shaking with excitement, almost as much as the wisps above them. “Oh! She's here, she's here!’
“It's time already?” Emmrich face lit, and found himself smoothing the non-existent wrinkles from his coat. When he began twisting his cuff, fidgeting and fretting over the buttons for the third time, Davrin rolled his eyes, Bellara and he not quite dragging Emmrich to his place by the altar but nearly.
Quiet strains of music filled the chapel, a ghostly choir, and the crowd took their seats, hushed anticipation flooding the room. The panels of fabric hung from the entrance, obscuring what — and who — laid beyond it. But Emmrich caught a glimpse of a shadow and his heart leapt to his throat, knowing exactly who was on the other side.
After an eternity, the veil parted, his eyes meeting hers across distance, across time, across the vast sea that deigned to finally put them in each other's paths.
There she was and here was he. The rest of the world fell away.
Emmrich's life had so neatly been split in half — before he met Rook and after.
After his life had been so irrevocably changed by her presence alone. After he had found the love he so desperately craved, a miracle in the shape of a woman that returned his affections just as fiercely. After certain dreams had been finally dusted off the shelf, new life was breathed into them again. After.
The after was sweet.
It smelled like flowers, tasted like sparkling wine, and laughed like their friends, loud in the hall behind them — Davrin and Bellara leading the gathered crowd through a Dalish drinking game — as Emmrich stepped onto the balcony with his bride. His wife.
Wife. The word alone tasted sweet on his tongue, more powerful than anything he could have drank that night. He was dizzy with it, overwhelmed with such unfamiliar joy at the word. Lover, confidant, wife.
He could not help but sweep Rook into his arms, her giggles filling the night as he peppered kisses across her face. His lips brushed over her eyelids, one after the other, then down to her nose, a peck at the tip of it. Then to her cheeks, warm from alcohol and affection. His own cheeks mirrored it, hurting from the way he had not stopped smiling since the ceremony.
Rook tilted her head, trying to capture his lips with hers, and pouted when he evaded her, kissing instead the corner of her mouth then her chin.
“Unfair.” Rook pouted harder. “So cruel to your wife already!”
There was that word again, and Emmrich found that it was even sweeter from her lips. He laughed, utterly charmed, louder than he realized.
“Apologies, my love,” he finally said when he calmed, though the warmth in his chest never left.
“Will you make it up to me?” Her voice went low, arms wrapped around his shoulders.
“I would do anything for you.” The declaration sprung from his mouth before he could stop it. But it was nothing but the truth, the depth of his affection unfathomable to anyone looking from the outside.
“Prove it.”
Cupping her cheeks, Emmrich pulled them together, lips connecting, swallowing the soft moan that escaped her. An ache grew low in his gut as she molded herself to his form, ribs interlocking, the muscle of their hearts touching until there was no telling where he ended and she began.
There would be no separating them now — not here and not in any life after.