Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The knock at the door came soft and unexpected — three rhythmic tap tap taps.

Emmrich startled from his doze, slumped awkwardly at his desk with his cheek cradled precariously in his palm.

"Oh— just a moment!" he called, straightening with a grimace as his neck twinged in protest against the hours it had spent at an uncomfortable angle. The lock clicked as the door opened, yet that was all Emmrich could register as he tried to stand and felt the room lurch with the action.

"Aye, Emmrich! ¡Cuidado! Siéntate — siéntate."

His brow furrowed; the words were lost on him, but the firm hand on his bicep guiding him back into the chair was clue enough to the instruction. They must have crossed the space from door to desk in seconds — and yet they hadn’t made a sound. The pressure in his head faded as quickly as it had come, leaving behind a dizziness Emmrich tried to will away with the press of fingertips to his temple as he finally looked up at his visitor, still hovering over him. Dark brown eyes regarded him with concern from beneath thick, slanted brows, and it was almost amusing to see such an expression on their resident brooding assassin, until memories of recent revelations came rushing back.

"Apologies, I suddenly felt a little light-headed," Emmrich said with a wan smile, sitting upright in his chair in the hopes of looking more put together than he felt.

“Sí, likely from missing dinner after an intense ritual of speaking with the dead, no?” Lucanis responded, and if Emmrich had had his wits about him, he might have thought he was being scolded. But any indignation he might have felt was quickly quelled by the slight uptick of a smile at the corners of Lucanis’s mouth — and by the plate he offered like a pre-emptive apology.

"You brought me dinner?" He didn't mean to sound so surprised; Lucanis was nothing if not conscientious of the needs of the occupants of the lighthouse, but to hand deliver it was certainly out of his way.

"Well, I would not call it dinner. You looked out of sorts when we finished with Zara Renata — I thought lasaña would perhaps be too heavy…" Lucanis trailed off with a nervous clearing of the throat as he again offered the plate. Now Emmrich realised the selection could only be described as canapés — bite-sized oatcakes topped with cream cheese and finely chopped herbs, colourful crudités with an enticing green dip, and a helping of cheese and grapes.

"My word, Lucanis, did you go through all this trouble just for me?"

"It was no trouble," Lucanis insisted. "This is nothing compared to what you did for me — for no other reason than you wished to help."

Emmrich's expression softened, and he finally accepted the plate, setting it down on the desk. He helped himself to several of the oatcakes, delighted by the almost airy texture of the cream cheese, and what he detected to be garlic and parsley. He silently paid Lucanis the credit he was due — he was feeling better with each bite.

A silence stretched between them, but it was not uncomfortable. However, after several minutes of Lucanis' awkward hovering, he realised the man wasn't so much waiting for an excuse to leave, but an invitation to sit. Emmrich hid his smile behind his napkin as he wiped any remaining traces of the green dip from the corners of his mouth.

"Do you have time to join me by the fire for a while?" he asked as he rose from his chair. This time there was no waver or sign of unsteadiness, but it was impossible to miss the way Lucanis braced himself to intervene if there was. It warmed him — that care and attentiveness towards his friends that the assassin tried, yet failed, to hide.

"Yes, of course," Lucanis agreed, finally perching himself on one of the two armchairs positioned convivially in front of the fireplace. He never truly relaxed. Never sank back into age-worn upholstery. He was always positioned on the edge of the seat — always ready to move at a moment's notice. "How are you feeling?"

"Much better, thank you," Emmrich smiled, easing himself into his favoured chair. His smile, however, grew into a more solemn line as he leant forward, regarding Lucanis with an empathetic stare. "But what about you? What we learnt from Zara… it must have been a difficult truth to bear…"

Lucanis' shoulder jerked, a restless, dismissive action. His expression hardened, and Emmrich could only watch as Lucanis withdrew into himself, the soft lines of compassion hidden away behind an impassive exterior — perhaps hiding his demon's virulent displeasure in turn. "It is what it is; what I should have expected..."

Even as he said it, Emmrich could detect the hesitancy, but not necessarily the lie. From what Emmrich had gleaned about the Crows, maybe Lucanis should have anticipated this earlier, but Emmrich couldn’t help but ache for him — for a heart grown up beaten and bloodied, yet still hopeful that family would prevail.

Emmrich's heart ached that it wasn't so.

"Sometimes… we can't help but be blind to the truths we don't wish to see."

Lucanis sighed, and with it his body seemed to gradually loosen — tension bleeding away until Emmrich was once again faced with that doleful expression that made his heart pang and his hands itch to smooth away the creases between his brows.

"Thank you, Emmrich. Nothing can change what must happen, but… your words help."

Emmrich smiled, reaching over to briefly clasp Lucanis' hand in his, giving it a reassuring squeeze when the assassin didn't pull away.

"If I can offer you even the barest of comforts — I am glad."

Written by a human in Ellipsus.

Chapter Text

"Emmrich…"

His name came just as soft and just as unexpected as that knock on his door a few short weeks ago. Weeks that had felt so long, yet in hindsight passed in a blur of relief, anguish, and insurmountable loss.

"Lucanis," he returned, equally gentle, like he was coaxing a skittish cat to trust the comforting hand he offered it. The assassin stood in the doorway, still in his leathers spattered with gore. Emmrich looked only slightly better. Manfred had insisted on taking his coat the moment he'd returned and now sat in the corner, diligently scrubbing the leather clean of Venatori remains. Even so, Emmrich’s shirt still bore drying spatters across the front, and his hair, lank and sweaty, fell across his forehead. He was too tired to do more than brush it back as he leant against his desk, his sympathetic gaze never wavering as he regarded the man who must have felt ten times as exhausted as any of them. At last Lucanis stepped inside, closing the door quietly behind him. Without invitation — a welcome development rather than rudeness, in Emmrich’s view — the younger man took a seat in the armchair, still perched uneasily on the edge of the cushion.

"Rook is upset," he offered as an explanation for his visit.

"I see." Emmrich glanced at Manfred in the corner, the skeleton having paused in his task to hiss questioningly, looking between Emmrich and the brooding Crow. "Tea would be lovely. Thank you, Manfred." He smiled warmly as the Skeleton set aside his jacket with care and made his way out with a quiet rattle. When Emmrich looked back, Lucanis was watching Manfred too, his expression softer than the wariness he’d first shown the skeleton when they'd initially joined the team. Manfred had a way of endearing himself to most.

Emmrich gave Lucanis a moment with his thoughts, letting the quiet sanctity of the room allow his inner turmoil to breathe without judgment. When the Crow sighed, Emmrich took that as his cue to join him in the other armchair.

"I suppose Rook has been rather… vocal with his opinions?" Emmrich hummed, settling back in his seat and resting one leg over the other. Lucanis huffed a dry, sardonic sound.

“Very. He has not stopped ranting since we returned to the Lighthouse. But I— I understand his frustration.” He spoke carefully, and Emmrich frowned.

"You do not have to validate Rook's feelings on the matter. It was your decision, Lucanis — you were the victim of Illario's actions."

"But was it the right decision?!" Lucanis didn't snap, but there was a sharpness to the question — a certain desperation that made Emmrich falter. He wished he knew the answer — to be able to soothe the uncertainty that plagued the newly anointed First Talon even now. Lucanis sighed again, receiving his answer in the silence.

The scuff of boots and click of bone gave away Manfred's return before the skeleton entered the room, presenting a tea-tray with two deep mugs rather than the usual delicate Orlesian tea-cups. Lifting his cup up to his lips, Emmrich inhaled the mild, herbal scent with an appreciative sigh.

“Thank you, Manfred. Camomile and lavender — a wonderful choice.” A blend to soothe the mind and spirit. Emmrich couldn't help but feel a swell of pride as his ward displayed a higher understanding of attentiveness to ones needs, especially as the skeleton offered Lucanis his cup with some insistence.

With gloved hands wrapped around the mug, Lucanis let the steam waft up to meet him, his gaze fixed somewhere beyond the depths of his herbal tea.

"Do you have family, Emmrich? Back in Nevarra?"

The question startled him, though the only sign of surprise he gave was the faint arch of his brows.

"In a sense, though not living." He held up a hand as Lucanis grimaced, cutting off the apology before it could manifest. "My parents died when I was young, they are interred in the Memorial Gardens in the Necropolis. While I have many dear friends among the Mourn Watch, and here, of course, I have no surviving relatives."

Unbidden, his gaze drifted to Manfred, who had retaken his seat in the corner to continue cleaning Emmrich’s coat of his own volition. He didn’t realise his distraction until Lucanis chuckled softly from behind his mug. Emmrich cleared his throat, his smile only a little sheepish as he picked up the thread of conversation and the unspoken question beneath it.

"Had I been in your position, I truly can't say what I would have done. The betrayal and suffering Illario caused you and Spite… I'll admit, I myself considered casting him to the depths of the Waking Sea." Lucanis’ eyes closed, but he nodded minutely in acceptance, seemingly a lone island in a sea of poor decisions. "But he is your family, Lucanis, not ours. It makes your position infinitely harder, and your decision even more admirable."

Lucanis scoffed. "Admirable? Viago thinks it was irresponsible, Rook has made it clear it was unjust. The Crows… the Crows no doubt think I am soft — my decision weak. Who could possibly think forgiving Illario was admirable?"

"I do," Emmrich answered without hesitation, catching Lucanis off guard. "Because it was you who made that decision — the man who had every right to run his cousin through without question. You stayed your hand, and you allowed yourself compassion, not for Illario's sake, but yours."

He hadn’t realised he’d leaned forward, setting his mug aside to reach across the distance — to clasp Lucanis’ hand, just as he had all those weeks before.

Lucanis was quiet, his eyes wet, but no tears broke free.

When Emmrich gave his hand a reassuring squeeze, Lucanis returned it in kind.

Written by a human in Ellipsus.

Chapter Text

The glint of his father’s dagger had never seemed so menacing — held aloft in the flicker of veilfire before it plunged down and ripped Emmrich open from neck to navel. The pain was so sudden, so ferocious, his scream caught in his throat before it could escape. It choked him completely when he felt a hand delve deep into the newly created slit, parting flesh to sink just beneath his ribs. It burrowed, searching, until it found what it hunted for — the very essence of him — and encircled it with a vice-like fist.

His soul.

The hand pulled and pulled — like ripping his still beating heart from his chest — and through the haze and sickness of agony and blood loss, he tried to tell himself it was worth it.

His soul came free — a small, sickly-looking thing that barely stirred with life.

Weak. Cowardly. Wanting.

It was Joanna's voice that rose in the darkness — a shrill, cackling sound sharp as the blade still embedded his stomach. She twisted it deeper.

"You were always destined to die, Volkarin."

Emmrich woke with a start, his hands grasping at his neck and chest for signs of the fatal wound. He found nothing — only the untouched fabric of his nightshirt clinging to his skin, drenched with fear-sweat. As reality seeped back in, his room took shape around him, bathed in the golden twilight of the Fade spilling through the window. The thundering beat of his heart finally began to ease.

The dark shroud of his nightmare, however, was not quelled so easily.

With trembling hands, he brushed his hair back from his forehead — soft and loose without any pomade to hold it in place. He was out of bed before reason could take hold, already crossing his study as he tied the sash of his velvet-green nightrobe. The clock on the wall ticked quietly, its pendulum swinging in an unfaltering rhythm. The hands read 02:47.

Manfred gave a curious hiss from his seat by the fireplace, and Emmrich wasn’t sure what excuse he mumbled to his ward before closing the door behind him. His breath came in quivering little shudders as he walked, barely aware of where his feet were leading him. His half-awake mind struggled to catch up with his purely instinctive drive to go… where, exactly?

The kitchen, it would seem.

The towering wooden doors loomed over him, the courtyard unearthly silent at his back. Perhaps it was habit that had brought him here — seeking a warm drink to soothe his anxiety. But what if he woke Lucanis? The Lighthouse walls were thick, but the assassin was a notoriously light sleeper — when he slept at all. Perhaps he was awake already.

As the doors parted with a rush of air and a quiet groan, Emmrich tried not to feel disappointed when he found the room dark and empty. The fire was banked in the hearth, emitting only the slightest glow from the dormant embers beneath its blanket of ash. Closing the door behind him, it took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the near-unfamiliar darkness — the few windows shuttered against the perpetual twilight, courtesy of Lucanis' nightly routine.

It felt… soothing. Like a cocoon of quiet — a gentle darkness softened by the light of the hearth which drew him closer. He took a chair from the table and set it in front of the fireplace, the warmth meagre but welcome as he took a seat and breathed deep and slow.

The creak of Lucanis' door was almost imperceptible, but it startled Emmrich regardless.

‘Emmrich?’ The Crow’s voice was enquiring, but knowing — as if he'd known who he wouldd find on the other side of the door before he'd even opened it.

"Oh, Lucanis. I'm sorry, I hope I didn't wake yo—"

‘You didn’t,’ he assured quickly, closing the door behind him — an ingrained habit Emmrich had noticed early on: to never leave his back open to attack. "I was awake. Spite sm—" he paused, clearing his throat. "Spite sensed you. He said you seemed… distressed."

Emmrich ducked his head, flattered by the concern, but embarrassed nonetheless that a nightmare of all things had caused him enough emotional turmoil to catch Spite's notice. He was a grown man pushing his mid-fifties, a nightmare shouldn't reduce him to a terrified child.

"Ah, I assure, it's nothing to worry about, I'm sorry to have disturbed you."

A quiet, ethereal growl stopped Emmrich from leaving his seat,

Emmrich. Stays.

Spite demanded, and Lucanis did not seem inclined to rebuke the spirit.

"I was just about to make a drink — we would like it if you stayed." It was perhaps the most direct Lucanis had ever been with such a request, and Emmrich found himself unable to deny him. With a sigh and a small smile, he conceded to the not-quite command.

"Very well," he agreed, settling back in the chair. Lucanis gently stoked the embers in the hearth with a practiced hand — clearing away the ash and adding more kindling to coax the fire back to life. Just enough that he could set the kettle of water above it to heat. Emmrich let his mind drift as he stared into the burgeoning flames without really seeing them, the quiet pottering sounds of Lucanis preparing their cups a soothing, ambient background that softened the edges of his troubled thoughts.

The kettle was removed from the heat long before it was ready to whistle, but the mug pressed into his hands, stopping them from wringing restlessly in his lap, was perfectly warm. Despite Lucanis’ earlier reassurance, when he pulled up a chair beside Emmrich and sat, he didn't have a drink of his own.

Emmrich took a sip, smiling around the rim of his cup. "Camomile and lavender," he observed.

"Soothes the mind and spirit, no?" Lucanis hummed, and Emmrich managed an amused hum at the callback to their conversation — when Lucanis had enquired about Manfred's choice of tea the night he had sought Emmrich out after the fight against his treacherous cousin.

"Indeed it does." He could feel the effects already, tension slipping slow but sure from taut muscles. Though whether it was the warmth of the tea, the soothing herbs, or the reassuring company, Emmrich wasn't entirely sure.

The quiet languished between them like an early morning mist, tranquil and unpressured. It didn't so much break, but ebb like the tide when Lucanis eventually spoke.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Emmrich's fingers flexed around his mug. He swallowed the refusal that wanted to spill too quickly from his lips.

"There is nothing to talk about."

Lies. Spite growled again. Smells Like Fear. Despair. Emmrich Is Afraid.

He winced as the spirit peeled back every layer of composure he'd fought to keep in place, revealing the vulnerable truth buried beneath. He pulled in a shuddering breath in the same moment Lucanis reprimanded Spite for his prying. He didn't hear what Lucanis said — didn't hear much of anything until Lucanis' hand settled tentatively on his wrist, the only thing preventing his tea from spilling when he jerked in surprise.

"Estable, mi amigo," Lucanis soothed in his native tongue. He did that a lot with Emmrich, he noted absently. "You don't have to talk about it if you do not wish to. We can just sit, enjoy the quiet," he offered, sitting back in his seat. He could not see Spite, but he could feel the spirit — prowling nearby like a cat. Chastised but unwilling to venture too far from them.

Somehow, it was the lack of expectation, the invitation to simply sit in silence, that finally loosened the knot around his throat.

"What would you think," he started, his voice a low croak that had him stopping to wet his lips apprehensively, his eyes fixed in his lap. "If I were to tell you I have a… great terror of dying?"

The question sat heavy between them, the crackle of the fire and the rustle of Lucanis' trousers as he leant forward the only noise in the otherwise profound silence.

"I… would think it is like me telling you I'm afraid of being stabbed…" Lucanis ventured, not unkindly, but honest, and it manages to coax a huff of amusement from the mage.

"Not a dissimilar comparison," Emmrich acknowledged, especially when both were so intrinsic to their work. His smile fell, the brief relief of Lucanis' answer giving way to that dreaded weight Emmrich could never seem to shake. "It goes beyond dread," he murmured. "It's a raw, strangling fear that strikes somewhere deep past the heart, and… it has haunted me, ever since I was a boy. I fear that I will never escape it."

He could feel the weight of Lucanis' stare, and he knew the man was struggling to find words to offer him — desperate to help, to comfort, but helpless to provide it. Emmrich felt sorrow burrow alongside his shame as he realised he'd put a burden on Lucanis that wasn't his to carry.

"I'm sorry, I—"

It wasn't the brush of a familiar palm that stopped him, but rather the sensation of smoke and bottled lightning settling across his shoulders — pressing against his cheek like he'd been embraced from behind. Lucanis was still in his seat, his eyes wide and a flush noticeable on his high cheekbones. When Spite spoke, it was a comforting rumble against his ear.

We Will Protect Emmrich. Me And Lucanis. We Will Keep You Safe. Hunt Down Your Fear And Kill It.

It was a fanciful notion — the solution of a spirit who did not understand the intangible, insensible nature of human emotion. Yet it did more to soothe Emmrich than anything he could remember in the past when that fear had gripped him and refused to let go.

"He is right," Lucanis affirmed, almost uncertain, but growing bolder. "You will always have us at your back, no matter what you are facing."

The knot in his throat tightened, but it was no longer a noose of fear and shame. He reached up, placing his hand over his chest where he was sure Spite's arms rested, and met Lucanis' resolute stare that shone amber in the firelight.

His heart no longer felt so heavy.

"Thank you, my dears."

Written by a human in Ellipsus.

Chapter Text

There were many words Emmrich could have used to describe the exceptional horror the Blight eruption inspired in him. With its twisted tendrils choking everything like a sick and blackened vascular system, its pulsating boils serving as incubators for plague and terror, it was an incomprehensible yet somehow captivating sort of revulsion — akin to his first intimate encounter with a corpse at the tender age of eight. The body had belonged to a grave robber, lost and expired in one of the many forgotten halls of the Necropolis that Emmrich had once wandered in search of solace. Curled weakly into a foetal position, the skin drawn and gaunt from hunger, it had ravaged itself long before the maggots and beetles had found their way.

Despite the years that had passed, the memory of that encounter had never faded, and Emmrich doubted the Blight would be any different. The Hossberg Wetlands stirred in him the same feeling he’d felt then, alone in that forgotten hall with a husk that had once housed life — a profound, aching sadness.

Until, like the soft glow of a wisp at the end of a long, dark corridor, they’d found hope.

The hidden glade was a testament to nature’s very will to survive, an untouched haven of blooms that luminesced in the moonlight, drawing him deeper with a new, undefiled state of awe. The glade was awash with gentle voices — relief and renewed wonder from Wardens and locals alike — yet it was Lucanis he found amongst them all.

He would say the assassin didn’t notice him at first. More likely, Lucanis simply felt no pressure to engage him — content beneath Emmrich’s quiet observation as the Crow crouched by a spread of flowers, inspecting the petals with a delicate hand. The thought that Lucanis felt so at ease in his presence birthed a sense of wonder all of its own.

“You enjoy plants, don’t you, Emmrich?” Lucanis asked after a lull spent in companionable silence. Emmrich hummed in agreement. “Do you know of these?”

The wrinkles at the corners of his eyes deepened as he smiled. “Indeed,” he confirmed. “They are Brona’s Blooms — beautiful but hardy, and notorious for blooming in the most unlikely places.”

“Brona… as in the mother of Andraste?” Lucanis glanced up at Emmrich, who couldn’t help his surprise at the quick connection. He was used to only those of the chantry — or those most devout — recalling the oft-overlooked name of the Prophet’s mother and disciple beyond its usual context.

“That’s correct… Forgive me, but are you a man of faith, Lucanis?”

Lucanis huffed a laugh, his mouth curved in a good-natured half-smile. “That would be quite a contrary life to lead in my line of work, profesor. A few Crows have their faith, but I certainly don’t need any more internal conflicts in my life.”

“I would say you have resolved more than your fair share,” Emmrich acknowledged, his smile widening as Lucanis ducked his head at his thinly veiled admiration. Coming up beside the assassin, Emmrich lowered himself carefully to his knees while Lucanis sat back more comfortably on his heels, watching as Emmrich brushed a finger over one of the delicate night-blue petals. “My mother had a certain fondness for these flowers in particular.”

Lucanis made no sound, but he could feel the warmth of his undivided attention.

“She had a bracelet — it was a simple gold band, but one that would have taken my father many months to save for. He’d had Brona’s Blooms engraved on it, and gifted it to her the day I was born.” He shared the memory with fondness, but even now he felt the touch of loss as he recalled his parents — the skin-warmed touch of the bracelet against his fingers and the swell of his mother’s voice telling him about the flowers engraved on it. A memory that had long outlasted his recollection of their faces.

“Do you still have it?” The question pulled him from his reverie, but even after a moment’s thought, Emmrich couldn’t fathom what the Crow meant.

“I’m not sure I understand…”

“Your mother’s bracelet.” Lucanis’ head was slightly cocked, his brow furrowed in question. “You do not have it? A keepsake?”

“Oh.” Emmrich offered him an indulgent smile, even as the conversation unearthed the whisper of a decades old melancholy. “No, it was buried with her. I was quite upset at the time, but I did not truly understand our customs then. Grief makes even the gentlest hand seem cruel.”

“You were a grieving child, Emmrich — to deny you your mother’s bracelet was cruel,” Lucanis insisted, the vehemence on the behalf of his younger self was both surprising and heartwarming. He placed a pacifying hand on Lucanis’ arm, regarding the younger man with undeniable fondness.

“It was not theirs to give me, and it was not mine to take.” His hands settle back in his lap, and he looks down at his own jewellery. His left hand bore his father’s ring — his first inherited piece; his father’s to give. “Our grave gold is made up of pieces of our lives — our memories and ambitions, our joys, sorrows, and love. They remain with us even after we pass, a testament to who we were in life. That bracelet was an irreplaceable piece of her, and I would have no interest in taking a piece from the whole of who she was…”

He felt a light weight against his arm — the press of Lucanis against his side, an innocuous, almost incidental action.

“I… suppose I understand,” Lucanis murmured, though his brow was still furrowed with lingering consternation. “What made these flowers so special, that your father had them engraved on the bracelet?”

“Ah, well, it was not so much the blooms themselves, but their meaning.”

“Which is?”

With a tender hand, Emmrich plucked one of the flowers from its bed, presenting it to Lucanis by its delicate stem. He couldn’t help but sweep his gaze across the clearing, full of budding hope and renewed spirit. He didn’t see Lucanis’ stare fixed unwaveringly on him.

“New beginnings, my dear.”

Written by a human in Ellipsus.

Chapter Text

A desolate sort of quiet had overtaken Emmrich’s tower-study for days now. Days they could ill afford to spend idle while elvhen gods scorched the earth black with Blight and blood magic. Yet he hadn’t found the strength to leave his study, and no one had asked it of him.

He stood on the landing at the top of the staircase, leaning against the stone column that framed the balcony. His heart felt empty, yet his mind clamoured without sympathy — so painfully aware of the quiet. The tentative knock and click of the door opening far below went unremarked by a jubilant hiss of greeting. There was no gentle rattle of bones to accompany the soft steps up the stairs, impeccably placed to avoid the slightest creak of wood.

There was no more Manfred to teach, to guide, to praise for a new skill learnt.

“Emmrich…”

He closed his eyes at the gentle way his name was spoken, as if it would break him if said too loud. Perhaps it would. The offered handkerchief took him by surprise, and the polite refusal died on his lips when Lucanis regarded him with soft eyes and understanding.

“Thank you,” he murmured instead, throat dry and voice rough from talking too little and crying too much. The handkerchief, deep violet and edged with fine silver embroidery, was soft against his eyes that were red and swollen, and it stole away the tacky remnants of grief from his cheeks.

“Rook told us what happened… with the Lich Lords.”

Emmrich’s breath stuttered, his eyes closing and burning anew. He didn’t begrudge Rook for revealing that knowledge; the team had larger, more pressing concerns than his personal difficulties, so it was important they knew what had their resident necromancer out of action.

“I don’t suppose you would humour an old man with your insight?”

Lucanis startled, his eyebrows sloping into an expression that warred between surprise and confusion.

“I don’t think I am the right person… I… we have our preferences, but it is not our place to—”

Miss. Curiosity…

The admission came like a whispered lament from the Fade itself, and though Lucanis’ mouth pinched in annoyance, he didn’t seem to have the heart to reprimand the demon. Emmrich tried to fight the burn of new tears, and failed as one trailed slow and hot down his face. He sniffed, wiping it away with the handkerchief he clung to for want of something else.

“Bias or not, your opinion means a great deal to me, my friend. Right now I stand at an impasse where both choices seem so… irredeemably selfish.”

“How so?”

“Oh, it probably makes no sense, and I am just being a fool—” a touch to his shoulder blade, firm and grounding, had him drawing in a shuddering breath. He steadied, calmed, and tried to organise his thoughts — his fears — into something coherent. Lucanis did not rush him. “I have strived toward Lichdom for many years, long before a persistent little wisp of curiosity found me. I speak reverently of the possibilities — eternal life, enhanced powers and senses, a profound, otherworldly connection to the Fade itself… but it all started with my fear of dying, and it would be remiss of me to pretend that fear is not still a driving force.”

Lucanis listened intently, his hand still a steadfast reassurance against Emmrich’s back, his thumb tracing idle circles.

“And Manfred… poor, sweet Manfred. I was meant to protect him, swore it when I took him as my ward. And my goodness, the progress he made — you would not have recognised him back then,” the words tumbled out warm and fond, briefly lifting the crushing sadness that had plagued him for days. “No matter how fine his motor skills grew, or how much he learnt, he was still so voracious for knowledge, always so excited so— so… curious…” it came out choked, fractured, and he heard Spite’s quiet little trill in the same moment he felt the spirit envelop him in an embrace of mist and the charge of lightning before a strike. Lucanis’ hand slid up to his shoulder, squeezing tight.

It took several long minutes before Emmrich composed himself enough to continue, the handkerchief pressed to his face to preempt further tears, but it felt like he had finally been drained of them all.

“Manfred sacrificed himself for m— for us. He made his own decision — what right do I have to undo it? To undermine his sacrifice for my own selfish want to have him back? But then to choose Lichdom, to have Manfred’s sacrifice be a stepping stone—”

Another hard squeeze to his shoulder cut him off before bitterness could consume his tone entirely. He closed his eyes, breathed, and felt Lucanis’ grip soften but not leave. Emmrich could have wept with relief to still have it there, keeping him sane — comforted.

“Will you come with me?” he asked before he even realised the thought had crossed his mind.

“To… where?” Lucanis replied, cautious, but not unwilling. Never unwilling.

“To the Necropolis, I… I need to make the choice. It would mean a lot to have you there.”

A beat of silence. Another squeeze.

“Of course, Emmrich. We are with you, always.”

The brush of smoke and lightning at his side was all he needed to know Spite echoed the sentiment.

Written by a human in Ellipsus.

Chapter Text

It was both Rook and Lucanis who accompanied him to the depths of the Necropolis, but only Rook who stepped inside the chamber with him — where Manfred’s body lay prone in its permanent rest, and the Lich Lord’s looked on, awaiting his answer. When all was said and done, and the doors opened once more to reveal the pacing assassin, Emmrich hoped Lucanis would not think poorly of his choice.

Now they were walking the halls of the Necropolis in a silence that felt unearthly, a weight of things unspoken hanging between them.

“So, no skin?” Lucanis ventured at last with a macabre curiosity that amused the necromancer.

“The Rite requires the rending of the body, mind, and soul — to permit us to walk the fine line of undeath.” His voice carried through the empty chamber they traversed without effort, echoing with an almost otherworldly cadence against the ancient stone.

Lucanis nodded, his brow furrowed at the thought — unsettled by it.

“You said you had a preference, when we spoke in my study.” It was a quiet but not so subtle prompt — a tentatively outstretched hand. "Spite made his preference clear; he was so very fond of Manfred…”

The unspoken question hung — slowly suffocating until Emmrich wondered if Lucanis would answer it at all. Eventually, the younger man exhaled through his nose, coming to some form of conclusion.

“You are my friend, Emmrich — a dear one. I would accept you, whatever choice you made.”

They stepped through a grand arched doorway, the memorial gardens sprawling out before them as they came to a stop at the stone balustrade.

“But… you had a preference,” he repeated, hoping he didn’t sound as pitiful as he thought he did — like a child pleading for reassurance that they had done no wrong. Lucanis paused, considering the question, before nodding.

“We had a preference,” he corrected, and Emmrich felt his breath stutter.

“So… you are not disappointed.” It came out softer than he intended, a delicate, hopeful thing. Lucanis leant against one of the columns, looking out into the gardens in thought, as if warring with something significant if the minute twitches to his otherwise neutral expression were anything to go by.

Finally the assassin looked at him, his throat flexing as he swallowed and held out his hand in askance. It took Emmrich a moment to understand the gesture, and his heart skipped as he offered his hand in turn. Lucanis took him gently by the fingers, like one would if they intended to bring the hand to their lips, but he merely observed the glint of Emmrich’s rings, sweeping his thumb over digits that were long and thin, pale against Lucanis’ sun-kissed complexion.

A smile, small and shy, curved the Crow’s lips. “No, not disappointed,” he confirmed. Even if Lichdom had promised more power, better odds against the Evanuris, Lucanis had hoped for Emmrich.

It felt charged, this feeling between them. The world around them was quiet, stripped away and forgotten as everything narrowed down to just Lucanis’ eyes and smile and the warmth of his hand still holding Emmrich’s like it was something precious.

The skin around his eyes wrinkled when he smiled, his forehead creased with every answer just out of his grasp, his hair was greying, receding, and on colder mornings his joints ached — unfairly so. Yet, Emmrich couldn’t find it in him to regret his choice when Lucanis looked at him like that.

He didn’t know what he had intended to say when he opened his mouth, unsure what unchecked thought or heartfelt sentiment would spill forth, but he didn’t get the opportunity to find out when a joyous, hissing shout erupted from the gardens.

“HELLO!”

Both men jerked in surprise, hands dropping as if burnt, only to turn to find Manfred waving exuberantly from among the graves, his gloved hands aglow with necromantic magic.

CURIOSITY HAS. FIRE.

Lucanis groaned, his smile wry as he cast Emmrich an accusing side-eye. Emmrich was more focused on the pink flush across the assassin’s cheeks. Emmrich chuckled, his own face feeling equally warm.

“I suppose all decisions have the potential for unseen consequences,” he offered in lieu of an apology.

As they observed their respective spirits gambolling through the gardens, the weight of his decision — and of the world itself — felt so very, very far away.

A fleeting moment of peace and acceptance before the end.

Whatever price the world demanded, Emmrich had already decided it was worth paying.

Written by a human in Ellipsus.

Chapter Text

It was done.

The Risen Gods were dead.

Even now the news was spreading, like the toll of a bell ringing clear with hope and victory across the continent — driving back the last of the shadows and emboldening those who still fought against them. It was a victory that, at times, Emmrich believed he would not know — would not survive to witness. Yet against all odds, witness he did, all of their triumphs, their tragedies, and the final blow that saw Elgar’nan finally fall.

They had not returned to the Lighthouse alone — fear and relief made for a heady cocktail of celebration, and now it spilled through their pocket of the Fade like a tide. Lords of Fortune, Shadow Dragons, Crows, Veiljumpers, Spirits and Mourn Watchers all weaving together like never before as they laughed and drank and danced from the library to the kitchen. Emmrich wondered if the courtyard had ever seen such life — such joy.

It had been too much for Emmrich in the end, and he’d politely excused himself to his room and sealed the wards behind him, seeking refuge in the familiar, quiet sanctity of the space. Grief was not a weight that dragged down the high of their victory, but an undeniable counterbalance — something that made the relief and elation he felt all the more poignant, while ensuring their loss was not forgotten. That the memory of their sacrifices endured.

The absence of the Grey Wardens in their sanctuary was felt deepest amongst the Veilguard.

His coat was hung upon the standing coat rack, and the fire burst to life in the hearth with a wave of his hand and a sputter of residual mana. It would take multiple days of rest for it to restore fully.

A gentle knock on the door jerked him from his reverie — three rhythmic tap tap taps.

Emmrich couldn’t suppress his smile, parting the wards to permit entry without needing to see who stood on the threshold. Recognition and his fluttering heart already told him who it was.

Lucanis entered with a roar of celebration at his back, silenced just as suddenly when the door shut behind him. Much like Emmrich, Lucanis took a moment to breathe and adjust to the welcome quiet.

“Lucanis,” Emmrich greeted him warmly, “And Spite…?”

“Just me — Spite is currently watching a drinking competition between the Lords of Fortune and the Crows.”

“Ah — and how goes that venture, illustrious First Talon?”

Lucanis grimaced, though it was brief and amused. “As long as Taash stays out of it, the Crows stand a good chance. Either way, we’d best task someone with a headcount so we know who we lose over the edge of the courtyard.”

Emmrich scoffed, “Oh, you are terrible!” he chided, even while his eyes scrunched with the force of his grin. Lucanis had closed the distance between them, joining Emmrich at the fireside as silence fell familiar and comfortable between them. So many silences they’d shared, and shared so much within them. It was like an embrace — intangible but comforting.

“Emmrich…”

His eyes opened, not realising he’d closed them. He looked to Lucanis, the man staring up at him with an expression Emmrich couldn’t quite decipher at first, so unfamiliar was it.

Nerves, he realised after a moment.

He held a black velvet string pouch in his hands, and Emmrich wagered it was a lifetime of training that prevented him from fidgeting with it. The silence stretched again, charged with something Emmrich was too fragile to hope for — yet it was familiar, casting him back to that brief, shared moment in the Memorial Gardens.

“Yes, Lucanis?” he prompted — gentle, patient.

Go On.

The sudden growl startled both men, but where Lucanis uttered a flustered, annoyed sound, Emmrich merely laughed lightly, heart warmed to have the two halves of the new whole together.

“I said I would do it, why are you here?” Lucanis demanded.

To Help. Lucanis. Spite offered with surprising bonhomie. Though Emmrich didn’t understand what was passing between spirit and host, his heart swelled with the kinship that now blossomed between them with irrefutable affection.

It took Lucanis only a moment more to find his nerve, bolstered by Spite’s unexpected presence.

“I… I wanted to give this to you before we faced the gods,” he started, fingers twitching against the velvet pouch he still held. “But it did not seem… a good time.”

Spite snorts. He Was Afraid. Agreed To Let Him Hold. Hope. If He Promised To Give Gift. After. It Carried Us. Against The Gods.

Emmrich blinked, marvelling at the extent of Spite’s progress, the manner in which he spoke — holding hope, as if it were a physical thing. His gaze flicked down to the bag, then up to meet Lucanis’ own apprehensive stare. Silently, Lucanis offered it, and Emmrich took the pouch with bated breath. The draw-string came loose with an easy tug, and with a gentle reverence he removed the gift from the bag.

A bracelet — gold, and masterfully crafted into a simple, understated band.

His breath hitched as the firelight caught the delicate engraving. “Is that…”

“Brona’s Blooms,” Lucanis confirmed, voice low and raw. When Emmrich looked up again, Lucanis was watching him with such exposed emotion his heart clenched with the desire to soothe him. He’d never seen Lucanis so open, so tense he looked on the brink of fleeing.

“Oh, my dear,” he murmured, closing the minimal distance between them. Lucanis’ beard scratched soft and full against his palm as he cupped his jaw, feeling like a thread of fate was pulling them steadily together. So lost in those soulful, umber eyes, there was no way to know whether he was coaxed or simply fell into the kiss that followed — a meeting of lips that he felt he had waited an eternity to finally taste.

Hands gripped the fabric of his waistcoat, tugging him closer to seal that final sliver of space between their bodies. A gentle hand angled Lucanis’ head a little higher, and from there Emmrich could delve deeper, their breath a litany of devotion passed between them. So many conversations, secrets, stories and silences shared. Now, finally, they could share this, too.

Lips flushed and kiss-swollen, they parted but did not separate, foreheads resting together, noses brushing, mouths parting and sighing to be united again.

“Oh Lucanis,” he breathed, feeling strong hands which had grounded and comforted him in equal measure slide down his front, coming away only to take hold of his hands. Emmrich barely repressed a wordless sound of loss when Lucanis stepped back, Just enough that he could bring up Emmrich’s hand and slowly — tentatively, as Emmrich had any heart to deny him — slip the bracelet onto his wrist.

It settled with a weight that extended beyond the physical. A memory, a legacy, and a promise all inlaid in a simple gold band.

“To new beginnings, yes?” Lucanis murmured as Emmrich closed the space between them again.

“To new beginnings,” Emmrich affirmed as he felt smoke and bottled lightning twine around them like threads of fate reforged.

Together.

Written by a human in Ellipsus.