Chapter Text
Rook was lost again. Running through twisting caverns and dark halls, the walls closing in on all sides and that path getting smaller and smaller with every step. He knew he was being followed. He could hear voices calling after him, muffled and far away. The lights of their torches danced on the cavern walls around him as he ran. His feet were bare, and the stone beneath them was cold and hard with every step. His arm was bleeding near the shoulder, and his other hand was pressed tightly against the wound, but he could see dark, sticky blood seeping from between his fingers. His foot caught on an unseen crack and he fell, face first, scraping his chin and knees on the uneven rocks. The voices were getting closer, the walls were getting tighter, and as he tried to pick himself up, he felt the earth shake beneath him as the ceiling above him began to cave in, covering him in dust, rock, sand, and earth until he was crushed, gasping for air, clawing and scraping for a way out, any way out, any way-
He woke with a start. His breathing was fast and heavy, and for a moment he clawed at the sheets around him, desperately trying to move aside sand and stone that was no longer there. As his mind caught up with his body’s waking, the room around him slowly came back into focus. His heart, whose beat had been hammering in his ears as he scrambled, began to slow its pace as he saw the purple canopy of fabric above him and felt the soft blankets and pillows caressing his body on all sides. He was in the guest room at Emmrich’s house, he reminded himself. Not lost in the catacombs. Not being chased by unknown pursuers. It had all been a dream.
Nightmares had been a common occurrence in Rook’s life, ever since he was little. According to Vorgoth, he used to wake up screaming when he was small, his shouts bouncing off of the walls of his small stone bedroom and waking him from his own dreams. They were always the same; running through the catacombs, pursued by people he couldn’t see. The caverns collapsing and burying him alive were new elements that had made an appearance ever since the tunnel collapse. A fresh new phobia, Rook thought bitterly as he tossed the blankets aside and pulled himself out of bed, readying himself for the day with a stretch and a groan.
He could hear the loud, low dong in the distance of the Necropolis’s timepieces. Since there was no sunlight in the far reaches of the catacombs, time was marked by ancient clocks that dotted every floor of the Necropolis, filling the halls with their chimes every hour to mark the passing of each day. As Rook dressed himself, he counted eight resonant chimes. The usual time he woke up for his Mourn Watcher rotations. Even banished from his regular duties, it was a small comfort that his body naturally kept up the routine. Usually around this time of day he’d be collecting an assignment from Myrna, or being briefed on the day’s schedule by Vorgoth as he chugged enough burnt coffee to get him through the morning. He wondered what they were up to without him there. And if they were thinking the same about him.
After he was dressed, he went to the washroom across the hall. He’d spent at least an hour in the room the previous night, lounging in the large golden tub that sat at its center. There was a small spigot against one wall that supplied a neverending trickle of fresh water. Rook crossed to it and splashed his face, clearing the lingering memories of his nightmare from his mind with the water’s cold sting. A large mirror hung above the spigot, golden and decorated with twisting vines and flowers. Rook took a moment to check himself in it. Despite the dreams, he must have slept hard. His hair had sprung out in a million different directions overnight, and it took him some time to straighten it out.
When he finally stepped out of the bathroom, he heard sounds coming from the room at the end of the hall. The door had been left open and a ray of light spilled from it into the hallway, guiding him like a beacon. He passed two closed doors as he followed the sounds, one that he assumed led to Emmrich’s room, and the other he could not imagine where.
He stepped into a small kitchen, decorated with a dark green tile floor and a wall of cabinets that matched. An ornate chandelier hung from the ceiling, filling the room with soft light from a small army of self-lighting candles that dotted its arms. To the right was a countertop of black obsidian, and Manfred was hard at work there, boiling a kettle of water over a stove that glowed with dark green magical flames. Emmrich was seated at a table to the left. It was made of what looked like elegantly sculpted glass that had been tinted a soft black but still held a touch of translucency. Four matching chairs stood around it, upholstered with the same dark green that covered the floor and cabinets. Emmrich was sipping a cup of hot tea and had his nose buried in a book, but he looked up as Rook entered. At the sight of him, Rook felt his heart jump. He’d been so wrapped up in bad dreams that he had forgotten the events of last night, and the memory came flooding back again, filling him with a fresh wave of embarrassment.
“Ah, good morning Rook,” Emmrich said, setting his book aside. “I trust you slept well?”
“Probably the best I’ve slept in a while,” Rook replied, rubbing his face in the hopes of hiding the tinge of red that had risen to his cheeks. He was determined to pretend as though nothing had happened at all, and that he hadn’t fallen asleep thinking about Emmrich’s hand on his the night before. “That certainly beats the straw mattresses we get in the barracks.”
“I would imagine so,” Emmrich said with a chuckle. “It’s goosefeather. I’m glad you enjoyed it. Manfred is making another pot of tea if you would like some. Or perhaps I could interest you in some breakfast?”
“I’m not much of a breakfast person,” Rook said with a wave of his hand, taking a seat at the table.
“Nonsense,” Emmrich said, getting to his feet and crossing to the other side of the kitchen. There was a small black door on the far wall Rook had missed, and Emmrich opened it to reveal a well-stocked pantry. “If one is to have proper energy for the day, one cannot skip breakfast. I’ll make you something.”
“Professor, you don’t need to do that.”
“Emmrich,” Emmrich corrected him, turning to give him a small smirk. “And please, I would be a horrible host if I didn’t offer you something.”
“In that case, I won’t argue.”
“Very good,” Emmrich said. There was a quick flash of fire from the pantry, poised and controlled, and Emmrich reemerged with two pieces of lightly toasted bread and a jar of jam on a porcelain plate. “I hope you like apricot.”
“Who doesn’t,” Rook said with a shrug, taking the plate gratefully and spreading a healthy amount of the sticky orange paste on both pieces. “Any chance you’ve any coffee in there?”
“No coffee, I’m afraid. But there is tea, as I said. Could I interest you in an earl grey?”
“As long as there’s caffeine, I’ll take it,” Rook said, trying to rub the last edges of drowsiness from his eyes.
“I thought we’d make a trip to the market outside of the Necropolis today,” Emmrich said as he returned to his seat at the table, picking up his book from where he’d left it. “We’ll have to gather supplies for our journey. It takes nearly two weeks to get to the Tevinter border via carriage.”
“How far into the country are we going?” Rook asked through a mouthful of bread.
“It’s customary to swallow before one speaks,” Emmrich said, raising an eye from the pages in front of him to give Rook a pointed look. Rook quickly swallowed and turned his head to hide his embarrassment.
“How far into Tevinter are we going?” he asked. He was beginning to worry Emmrich would think his face was permanently tinged pink.
“Not far. My colleague says they’ve perfected a new method of transportation that will take us the rest of the way, once we reach the border. Something the Veil Jumpers have been working on for quite some time.”
“Your colleague is a Veil Jumper?”
“Yes. We’ve never met in person, but we’ve been trading letters for nearly two years. She is very bright. Full of interesting questions. I’m looking forward to finally meeting her in person.”
The kettle on the stove gave a short whistle, and with a happy hiss, Manfred pulled it from the fire and poured a cup of hot tea. He brought it to the table and set it in front of Rook with a series of clicking sounds.
“Thank you, Manfred,” Rook said, giving him a grateful nod.
“Manfred, remember to stay close by when we’re at the market today,” Emmrich said, giving the skeleton a nod as he refilled the professor’s teacup. “We have plenty of things to pick up, and it’s a very crowded place to find yourself lost.” As Manfred brought the kettle back over to the stove, Emmrich turned to Rook and dropped his voice to a whisper, leaning across the table. “Do help me keep an eye on him today, Rook. He is incredibly curious, and it can lead him into trouble when we’re outside of the Necropolis.”
“Of course,” Rook said, trying to ignore the fact that as Emmrich leaned towards him, he was close enough for Rook to smell his aftershave. It was a calming, earthy smell, with a hint of florals and moss. “Has he been living with you long?”
“We’ve been together quite some time,” Emmrich said, settling back into his seat. “He started as a whisp, you know. I constructed the body for him, and he took to it quite swimmingly. Isn’t that right, Manfred?”
Manfred gave an excited chortle as he poured the rest of the kettle’s hot water into a basin on the far end of the room, running his skeletal hands through the thick tendrils of steam that rose from it.
“Oh, what a waste of water,” Emmrich tutted, shaking his head. “He is enraptured by steam at the moment. He must boil water at least five times a day.”
“Sounds like more chances to enjoy a cup of tea to me,” Rook said, raising his cup in cheers and taking a sip. Emmrich chuckled.
“True. And it’s much more enjoyable now that we’ve someone to share it with.” He lightly blew on his own cup and took a short sip. “Is there anything you should need before we travel?” he asked as he set it down on the table with a soft porcelain ‘tink’. “You have a set of traveling clothes, I presume?”
“I have my old initiate clothes, and my Watcher cloak,” Rook said with a shrug. “Should do fine. Never needed anything else.” But Emmrich was already shaking his head.
“Nonsense, Rook. As I’m sure you’re aware, Mourn Watchers rarely travel outside of the Necropolis. As you’ve never left Nevarra, it may shock you to learn that the outside world does not think very highly of the necromantic arts. There are many who would make unfair assumptions about us, due to our more spiritual beliefs. As such, when we travel we must make a strong first impression. We’re representing the Mourn Watch, and all of Nevarra, after all. We’ll get you some finer clothes.”
“Emmrich, I understand the sentiment but I’m not necessarily in the financial state to invest in a new wardrobe.”
“Of course not. The initial Watcher salary is abysmal. Trust me, I am all too familiar,” Emmrich said with a shake of his head. “I can pick you up some things.”
“I couldn’t possibly let you do that,” Rook said with a wave of his hand.
“Oh please, Rook. It’s no trouble at all. Consider it an advance on your new assistant salary.”
Rook raised an eyebrow. “There’s an assistant salary?”
“Well, no,” Emmrich said. “Not technically. You are still on probation, after all. But if Manfred gets an allowance, I don’t see why you shouldn’t.”
“I’m not normally the type to accept gifts.”
“Then you will have to earn your keep,” Emmrich said, finishing his tea and getting to his feet. “Don’t worry. I’ll put you to work at the market today. Be ready to leave in half an hour. I’d love to beat the heavier afternoon traffic.”
A few hours later, Rook found himself pulling a wagon stacked with supplies through the cobblestone streets of Nevarra, trailing behind Emmrich as they went from shop to shop. Manfred sat in the wagon alongside various casks of water, crates of food, and other assorted supplies, fidgeting with a jar of golden marbles he had purchased earlier that morning. The Nevarren market was packed as always, and shops had their front windows open to the crisp fall air as they called out to passersby, advertising their wares. Everything from spices, to fabrics, to art, and clothing. It was a symphony of sights, sounds, and smells, and though the sky was clouded over and hazy, the streets were bathed in warm light from lanterns that stood on poles every few feet and beams that bled from open shop windows and doors. Carriages led by grand horses traveled up and down the streets, couples walked hand-in-hand as they shopped, and children playfully ran from their mothers among the legs of busy shoppers.
Ordinarily, Rook enjoyed a visit to the markets. He’d spent plenty of time there growing up, earning pocket change performing small magic tricks for young children and their parents. But today, still drowsy from a night of bad dreams and a morning without coffee, he was dragging his feet through the streets. The wagon they were using was an ancient relic they had borrowed from the Necropolis, and with the amount of strength it took Rook to pull it he might have suspected it was built with square wheels.
“Emmrich,” Rook said with a grunt, readjusting his hold on the wagon so the yoke sat near his shoulders. “Are you sure we need all of these supplies?”
“Of course, Rook. The trip to Tevinter will take two weeks at the very least, and there are only a few places to stop in the Silent Plains. We won’t find a bustling city with a market for miles and miles in that ashen desert. We need to be properly supplied with food, water, and such.”
“Yes, I understand those supplies,” Rook said, giving the wagon another tug forward. “But there are a few things that I’m scratching my head over. For example, the brand new 24-volume set of encyclopedias.”
“It’s important to stay up to date on such things,” Emmrich said, turning to Rook so the two of them could pause at the side of the street. “And with all of the time we’re to spend traveling, we could do with some light reading.”
“And the inkwells, quills, and leather-bound journals?”
“We’re exploring an ancient ruin! We will have to take notes.”
“You have twenty four of each. That’s a lot of notes. Can’t we pick some up in Tevinter instead of traveling with it all?”
“I’ve found the quality of Tevinter ink and paper to be lacking,” Emmrich said with a wave of his hand, his bangles jingling in a way that was quickly becoming familiar to Rook’s ears. “It does not dry quite as quickly as ours.”
“And the wine?”
“Rook, I know you’ve not had the pleasure of visiting Tevinter and sampling their wine, but trust me when I say you will thank me for bringing some small pieces of home with us.”
“We have seventeen bottles,” Rook said with a snort. “Are we planning on throwing a party?”
“We may be in Tevinter for several weeks!”
Rook raised an eyebrow. “And you think we’ll go through that much? I had no idea you were such a lush, Professor.”
Emmrich paused, his mouth becoming a thin line for a moment. He clasped his hands in front of him, his gold bangles banging together with a symphony of musical tinks. “...I see your point. Perhaps my purchases today have been a bit….excessive.”
“It feels like you’re a bit nervous to be leaving Nevarra,” Rook said, letting the wagon yoke fall to his waist and bringing it to a stop. “And you’re trying to bring as much of it with you as you can.”
“Ah,” Emmrich said, his brow furrowing. “An interesting observation. One that may not be entirely inaccurate.” He sighed, letting his hands fall to his sides. “Apologies, Rook. It’s been nearly a decade since I was last out of the Necropolis, let alone the country. Perhaps I’m a bit more anxious about the trip than I realized.”
Rook dropped his voice, lowering it in mock seriousness. “I understand, Professor. If it makes the trip easier, we’ll make room for as many bottles of wine as you need,” he said with a nod of his head. “I’ll go back and buy six more if it will make you more comfortable.”
“Very funny,” Emmrich said with a light chuckle. “I will try to pair down to the essentials. I appreciate your eye. And I believe you’ve spent enough time following me from store to store this morning to earn yourself some new clothes. Would you agree?”
Rook rolled his shoulders and gave them a rub. “I’m still not entirely comfortable taking your money, but my shoulders seem to think I’ve carried this wagon around enough to earn a traveling cloak, at the very least.”
“And some shirts. And pants. Perhaps a new set of boots,” Emmrich said, eyeing Rook up and down, his hand resting on his chin.
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Rook said, raising his hands to his chest. “I’m not trying to spend everything in your purse. And I’m quite comfortable with the boots I have, thank you.”
“Please, it’s no trouble,” Emmrich said, waving him off. “Besides, I’ve never had the privilege of dressing someone else. It should be great fun.” He clasped his hands together. “I know exactly where to start. There’s a tailor just around the corner who I’ve commissioned on several occasions. She has an excellent stock. Just this way.” He turned and started down the road. Rook sighed, lifted the yoke of the wagon, and started after him, the wooden wheels creaking as they resumed their crawl across the cobblestone street. Manfred gave an excited hiss from the wagon as it lurched forward, clapping his hands together.
“Glad one of us is having a good time,” Rook said through gritted teeth as he finally coaxed the wagon into a roll. He followed Emmrich around the corner and down the busy street until they reached a shop with wide-open double doors at the bottom of a steep hill. A wooden sign above it had been carved to resemble a spool of thread and a needle, and it read “Tarra’s Tailoring” in a scrawling black script. The shop had laid some of its merchandise out on wooden racks on the street to lure customers inward. Rook could see beyond the threshold that it housed a collection of clothing of all shapes, shades, and sizes hung on wooden racks in a complex maze of merchandise. Emmrich immediately crossed to one that featured thick wool traveling cloaks in a variety of prints and patterns, organized by color. He ran his hand over several, humming to himself and inspecting them with a practiced eye. Rook dropped the wagon yoke and turned to Manfred.
“Think you can guard this for us?” he asked. The skeleton gave an affirmative hiss and a bony thumbs up, and Rook entered the store behind Emmrich.
“I think this color would be lovely,” Emmrich said, pulling a dark green cloak with a long hood from the rack. The lining was a soft golden brown, and expert gold stitching lined the edges. The collar was clasped with two bright gold buttons that glinted in the lamplight of the store.
“That’s too fancy for me,” Rook said, shaking his head. “I’m bound to get it torn or dirty or-”
“That’s the beauty of Tarra! She’ll mend anything purchased from her store for free. She does a fair amount of work with the Mourn Watch Senior Necromancers. Besides,” he added, draping the cloak across Rook’s shoulder and eyeing it carefully. “It goes so well with your eyes. We’d be fools not to pick it up.” He left the cloak on Rook’s shoulder and turned back to the rack, leaving Rook slightly dumbfounded.
“I don’t think I’ve ever bought clothes because they match my eyes,” Rook said with a snort. Emmrich paused to give him a pointed look.
“Clearly,” he said, rolling his eyes.
“Wow,” Rook said with a laugh. “If looks could kill. Who knew Professor Volkarin was capable of sass.”
“Oh please,” Emmrich said with a wave of his hand. “I was twenty once too, you know. I can hold my own in a verbal sparring match.”
“You think I’m twenty?” Rook asked.
Emmrich paused again. “Aren’t you? I had assumed. Most initiates are.”
“Closer to thirty. Twenty-eight. But consider me flattered,” Rook said, starting to peruse the racks himself. “I officially joined the Mourn Watch a bit later than most. I grew up in the Necropolis but took a few years away to live in Nevarra proper. I left when I was 18. You know, to find out where I belonged. Or something like that.”
“And were you successful?” Emmrich asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Well…I came back,” Rook said with a shrug. “So you tell me.”
Emmrich sighed wistfully. “Yes, there are few places that compare to the Necropolis, I’m afraid.” He pulled a pair of pants made of leather, embroidered with gold thread, and tossed them to Rook, who caught them and tried not to make a face at their style. “After all, everyone in Nevarra ends up there eventually.”
“Some sooner than others,” Rook said with a snort.
“Oh Rook you must try this,” Emmrich said, lifting up a dark green silk shirt that shimmered slightly in the lantern light. It sported a ruffled collar and flowing bishop sleeves. Rook grimaced.
“I don’t know if that’s quite my style, Professor.”
“Emmrich,” Emmrich corrected again. “And how on earth would you know? You’re practically dressed in rags.” He tossed the shirt Rook’s way.
“Comfortable rags,” Rook said with a shrug. “Rags that don’t get in my way when I’m dealing with undead.”
“One can dress both fashionably and practically, Rook,” Emmrich said, tossing a few more random pieces of clothing Rook’s way. He was developing a small stack in his arms. “It is a skill any strong Nevarran necromancer possesses.”
“Well, I can’t argue with that. You’ve certainly found a style that flatters you.”
Emmrich paused and gave Rook a look. For a moment, Rook felt as though he was being analyzed under the professor’s careful gaze. After a beat, Emmrich smiled. “Thank you for saying so.”
Rook realized he’d once again commented on Emmrich’s appearance, and he felt his ears turn red. He looked at the clothes in his arms, eager to change the subject. “Is there somewhere to try all of this on?” he asked.
“Excellent idea. Follow me,” Emmrich raised a hand and waved Rook towards the back of the store. A middle-aged woman was posted at a counter there, working away at sewing a button onto a jacket in her lap with slight, practiced hands. She looked up as Emmrich approached.
“Professor Volkarin,” she said, getting to her feet. “How lovely to see you. It’s been so long.” She turned to Rook, a warm smile on her face that made her eyes crinkle at the corners. “And who is this with you?”
“Ah, lovely to see you again Miss Tarra. This is my new protege, Rook.”
“Another Mourn Watcher,” Tarra extended her hand to Rook, her red hair bouncing around her face in thick ringlet curls. Rook, whose arms were buried in various fabrics and leathers, struggled to return the gesture, giving her slim hand an awkward half-shake. “Honored to have you here. My father is buried in the Necropolis.”
“May he rest peacefully,” Emmrich said with a nod. “Rook was interested in trying on a few of your pieces. We’re preparing for a trip to Tevinter.”
“Tevinter? Whatever brings you there this time of year. It’s almost Wintersend, you know,” Tara said, taking pieces from Rook’s hands and moving towards a small door at the back of the store.
“We should be there long before any snow touches the ground,” Emmrich said, following her and motioning for Rook to do the same. “We’ve been asked to offer our expertise at a newly discovered ruin.”
“Sounds right up your alley, Professor,” Tara said, opening the small door and revealing a small closet-sized space with bright copper hooks along the wall. “You can try things on here, love,” she said to Rook, hanging the clothes she had taken from him on various hooks. “See how things fit.”
“Thank you,” Rook said, stepping inside.
“Let me know if there’s anything else I can help you with,” she replied with a wave, heading back to her counter.
“Oh Rook, before you reject anything, please let me see how they look,” Emmrich said, gently placing a hand on the door to block Rook from closing it.
“You want a showcase?” Rook asked, raising an eyebrow.
“How else will I judge whether or not to purchase them?” Emmrich asked, tilting his head quizzically.
“Oh, I see,” Rook said with a roll of his eyes. “You’re getting them whether I like them or not. I’d no idea we were picking out a required uniform.” His eyes fell again to the pants Emmrich had chosen. “Or that it would include leathers.”
“Chosen for warmth!” Emmrich said, letting his hand fall so Rook could enter the changing room and turning his head away to hide his expression. “Wintersend is coming.”
“You’re blushing, Professor,” Rook said, closing the door behind him with a smirk. He started to undress, pulling his shirt over his head. He heard Emmrich scoff indignantly outside the door and grinned to himself before his brain caught up with his mouth. Was he flirting? Were they flirting?
Absolutely not, he thought as he buttoned a silk, purple shirt closed across his chest. Or at least, he’s not flirting with me. Rook, on the other hand, might have been a bit guilty.
Rook tried on a few of the shirts Emmrich had grabbed and found they all didn’t quite fit. Finally, he’d dug out the first one Emmrich had grabbed, in the dark green, and slid his arms inside the bishop sleeves. They wrapped around him comfortably, the silk fabric soft against his skin. Once the shirt was fully buttoned, and Rook had pulled on the leather pants he’d joked about, he stepped back to take a look at himself in a floor-length mirror that stood on the far wall. The pants gave him a high waist, and the shirt looked nice tucked into it, tight at the waist but with room to flow in the sleeves. The collar was lightly ruffled, offering some texture around his chest, but cut low. It showed more skin around his neck and collarbone than he was used to. He turned back and forth, trying to get a good look at himself from all angles. The pants, unsurprisingly, held tightly to him. They were flattering, to say the least, the gold thread adding a small glimmer at the seams as he turned back and forth in the light.
Rook wasn’t known for spending a lot of time in front of mirrors. For most of his life, they’d been something he’d actively avoided. It had taken years for him to get comfortable in his own skin, and a fair amount of glamor magic that was attached to a small charm on a stud he wore in his ear. Normally he would avoid wearing something that called attention to his chest or hips, but something about these clothes hugged him in exactly the right way. It was as if the things he didn’t like to see about himself had melted off of him and been replaced by things he had hoped for. He found himself frozen in front of the reflective glass for a moment, transfixed by how pleased he was. He was jared from his thoughts by a light knock on the door behind him.
“If you’re truly not comfortable with the pants, Rook, you needn’t feel obligated to try them on,” Emmrich called through the door. “I only thought they might compliment your…” he trailed off as Rook opened the door to give him a look.
“Compliment my what, Professor?” he asked with a raised eyebrow. Emmrich, who’d had his back to the door, turned to say something, but stopped in his tracks, his eyebrows raised.
“Rook,” he said, putting a hand to his chest. “That looks marvelous on you.”
Rook, who’d opened the door primed with snark, instantly dissolved into a blushing mess. “Oh, thank you. I agree, actually.”
“We’ll purchase the shirt then. And pick one up in red, for good measure. And, the pants?”
“They fit better than I thought,” Rook answered, giving the professor a turn and then, realizing what he was doing, stopping abruptly. He didn’t necessarily need to give him the full three-hundred-and-sixty-degree experience. “And you’re right. Very warm.”
“Excellent,” Emmrich said with a nod, notably keeping his eyes on Rook’s face rather than checking the fit of the pants for himself. “We’ll get them as well. And I found a new pair of boots for you while you were inside. Give them a try and meet me at the counter.”
“I feel like I’m being spoiled,” Rook said as Emmrich turned and started towards Tara. He re-entered the dressing room and bent down to slide the boots on. They reached his knees, and they were made of supple black leather with a hard sole. Small gold beads were threaded among the laces, the same shade that decorated the pants and cloak. It seemed to be a favorite of Tarra’s. They fit quite well. He pulled them off and quickly redressed in his old clothes, their worn fabric suddenly feeling rough and misshapen against his skin.
He stepped out and followed after Emmrich to the counter where Tara added up their total, making notes in a large leather-bound book that stood beside her sewing supplies. Emmrich took a small coin purse made of dark leather out of his vest pocket and paid for the purchase with a noticeably large handful of King’s Gulders.
“Thank you, Emmrich,” Rook said as the money changed hands. “You really didn’t have to do all of this.”
“Worry not, Rook. Maker knows you wouldn’t buy these yourself. Placing you on the path to proper Nevarran fashion is worth a few coins.” He turned and gave Rook a wink. “Besides, my work as a corpse whisperer does have its advantages. Money is something I’m all too happy to share.”
“All the same, it’s very generous of you,” Rook said as Tarra moved to begin wrapping the new clothes in brown paper. Each parcel was tied shut with a piece of twine that was entangled with small threads of golden tinsel.
“Have a lovely trip to Tevinter,” Tarra said with a grin, passing the packages to Rook. “And take good care of Professor Volkarin for me. He’s a keeper.” She gave Rook a wink and he gave her an awkward laugh.
“Uh, will do,” he said with a stilted nod, gathering the packages up in his arms and heading for the door.
“Have a lovely day, Tarra. It may be awhile until we see each other again,” Emmrich said, giving Tarra a light bow before he followed after Rook. She gave him a wave as they turned to exit.
“While we’re still on the subject of fashion, Rook,” Emmrich said, clasping his hands behind his back as he walked. “I notice you don’t wear any burial pieces.”
“You mean the gold,” Rook said, nodding to Emmrich’s arms. “Never really my thing.”
“But every cultured necromancer wears something” Emmrich said, aghast. “How will the others know what to entomb you with if you’re wearing nothing at all? For example,” he showed Rook a small green ring on his left hand. “This ring was my father’s. One of the few things I have to remember my parents by. And this bangle was given to me when I completed my first thesis. And this band was a gift from one of my old classmates on our graduation day. And this-”
“I suppose I just don’t own anything worth being buried with,” Rook said with a shrug, the brown paper parcels crinkling in his arms. “I’m not in the habit of owning a lot of things.”
“Vorgoth and Myrna never gifted you anything upon your initiation into the Mourn Watch?”
“I think they knew I’d pawn it off somewhere,” Rook said, shaking his head. “I…got into a lot of trouble when I was younger. I guess I didn’t establish myself as the type who needed to own a lot of gold.”
“Ah,” Emmrich said, letting his hand fall to his side. “All the same, you should consider picking something up. It’s the cultural expectation.”
“Emmrich, I am banning you from purchasing anything gold for me,” Rook said with a snort. “Besides, all of the things you just mentioned were significant for one reason or another. Burial jewels aren’t something you just pick up off of a shelf. They’re earned.”
“I see,” Emmrich said, his expression reserved and unreadable. The crisp fall air tussled their hair as they stepped out of the warm light of the shop and back onto the bustling streets. Rook placed the parcels in the wagon, tucking them between two crates of food, and noticed that the pile of goods was noticeably lacking a green bespeckled skeleton.
“Where’s Manfred?” Rook asked, turning to Emmrich. Before Emmrich could respond, they heard a loud hiss from under the wagon.
“Manfred, what on earth have you done to yourself,” Emmrich said with a groan, stepping to the back of the wagon and crouching to look beneath it. He gave Rook a look, his brow furrowed with annoyance. “He’s gotten his head stuck between the spokes of one of our wheels.”
“What? How did he manage that?” Rook asked, moving to join Emmrich at the back of the wagon. He was about to step into the street to go around it when he was hit with the sound of a loud, ringing bell. He jumped backward, just in time to be narrowly missed by a horse drawn wagon that was passing by, hauling what looked like a heavy load of stone bricks.
“Watch yourself!” The driver spat, placing a hand on his warning bell to stop the ringing as the cart passed by and started up the steep hill in front of them. Rook bit his tongue to stop himself from shouting something in return, and crossed to the other side of the wagon to inspect Manfred.
Sure enough, the skeleton had managed to wedge his skull in between the spokes of the wagon’s wheel. His body was outside of the wagon, but his head and an outstretched arm were beneath, grasping for a small golden marble that was wedged just out of reach between two raised cobblestones.
“Huh,” Rook said. He bent down to grab the marble and placed it in Manfred’s outstretched hand. The skeleton gave him a happy hiss, but stayed wedged in his spot, unable to pull himself free from the wheel. “So…how do we get him out?”
“I’m not even sure how he managed to wedge himself in,” Emmrich said, shaking his head. He kneeled beside the skeleton to get a better look. “Manfred, I may have to remove your skull to get you loose. It will take a few moments to get things realigned.”
“Next time, go around the wheel, Manfred. Not through it,” Rook said, stifling a chuckle as he spoke. He was about to crouch down himself to lend Emmrich a hand, when a commotion erupted up the street that pulled his attention to the hill.
A distressed horses’ whinny cut through the sounds of the market, joined by a sharp crack of snapping wood that echoed off of the stone buildings that surrounded them. The wagon that had passed moments ago, stacked high with stone, had come to an abrupt stop at the crest of the hill. The carriage’s warning bell rang out wildly as the carriage lurched backwards. Rook looked up to see the horses rearing up as the entire wagon became separated from them, broken where the tongue and yoke met. There was a chorus of gasps and screams as the wagon began to roll backwards down the hill. The driver jumped from his seat at the front, and people were quickly rushing out of the path of the the thing as it began picking up speed, headed straight for them.
“Professor,” Rook heard the word coming out of his mouth, but he knew there wasn’t enough time. Emmrich turned his head to see the wagon barreling towards them, his eyes wide and his skin going pale. Running on autopilot, Rook vaulted over where Emmrich and Manfred were kneeling on the cobblestone street, placing himself between the professor and the wagon. Just as it was about to collide with the three of them, Rook moved his hands in a quick, precise motion he had practiced dozens of times in the halls of the Necropolis and a green barrier materialized around them, just in the nick of time.
As the wagon collided with the barrier it sent up a small explosion of green sparks. The impact knocked Rook backwards, throwing his back against their own small cart. He felt a flurry of sparks travel up his arms and set his hair on edge at the moment of collision, but the barrier held. The out-of-control wagon slowly came to a grinding halt, a few scattered bricks falling from the top of the pile and landing on the street with a chorus of dull thuds. The rest of the stack remained intact, towering over them, hundreds of pounds of stone teetering lightly back and forth as the wheels came to a stop. When he was sure the danger had passed, Rook let the barrier drop, his arms suddenly feeling as though they had lead weights strapped to the wrists. The driver was running down the hill towards them, flush and out of breath.
“Is everyone alright?” he called. “I’ve no idea what happened! The yoke snapped out of nowhere. It could have killed someone.”
“We’re alright,” Rook said, his own breathing labored. “Just had a bit of a-” he turned to check on Manfred and Emmrich, and saw that the professor was still deathly pale, staring at the stopped cart, eyes wide with terror and a hand on his chest. He was breathing fast and heavy, as if he couldn’t catch his breath. Rook’s stomach dropped and he instantly fell to his knees at Emmrich’s side.
“Professor, are you alright?” he asked. But Emmrich didn’t respond, his breathing coming in quick labored gasps that felt stilted and unnatural. Amidst his panic, Rook felt a moment of recognition spark across his mind. He took Emmrich’s hands in his.
“Professor, look at me,” Rook said. “I need you to breathe deeply, alright? In through your nose, out through your mouth. Long, slow breaths. Here, do it with me.” Rook closed his mouth and took a long drawn out inhale, and then pursed his lips and emptied his lungs with an even, slow blow. He repeated the action again, giving Emmrich’s hand a tight squeeze, trying to ground him. Emmrich, giving Rook a panicked look through hurried gasps of air, missed the first few rounds, taking big gulping breaths like a fish out of water. But on the third try, he was able to half meet Rook’s pace. By the fourth, he breath was long and slow, with only a slight hiccup. Finally, his breathing returned to normal and the color began to return to his face.
“There we go,” Rook said. “You’re alright. We’re alright.” He still held Emmrich’s ungloved hand in his, but he placed his other hand on the professor’s shoulder and discovered that he was trembling. At his touch, Emmrich closed his eyes and gave a shaky sigh, collecting himself. From below the wagon came a soft hiss, and it sounded to Rook as though Manfred was attempting to be comforting from where he was still stuck in the wagon’s wheel.
“Apologies, Rook,” Emmrich said, his eyes still closed and his voice quivering slightly. With his free hand he wiped at his eyes and face. “I don’t know what came over me I….I’m alright.”
“You’re sure?” Rook said, giving Emmrich’s shoulder and hand another tight squeeze. The trembling had almost subsided. “Do you know grounding exercises? Five things you can see-”
“Four things I can touch,” Emmrich replied, making a point of giving Rook’s hand a squeeze of his own. “Yes, I’m familiar, thank you.” He opened his eyes and gave Rook a weak smile, a tinge of blush on his cheeks. “Truly. Thank you.” He met Rook’s eyes and for a moment their gazes held, Rook unsure whether or not Emmrich was ready for him to let go.
“I don’t mean to interrupt,” the wagon driver cut in, taking a step forward and making both of them jump. “You look like you might be injured, lad.” The driver pointed to Rook’s arm, and he looked down to discover that the shockwave from the collision had fried his sleeves to a crisp. His upper right arm was fully visible to the afternoon air, and three deep gashes had been revealed. It looked as though an animal had dragged three claws across his skin, cutting deep as they went.
“Oh, no worries there,” Rook said, getting to his feet to get a better look at the marks in the lamplight. “Those are old scars. Had them for as long as I can remember.” He gave the driver a look. “Looks like you got lucky. An accident with no injuries.”
“Lucky my arse,” the driver said, crossing his arms. “Now I’ve got to get these things delivered without a wagon. Could have been a lot worse, granted. Thanks for stoppin’ her. If you’ll excuse me, I have two horses to gather up.”
“‘Course,” Rook said with a nod as the driver turned to go back up the hill. He turned back to Emmrich, who was looking up at him, his face still tinged pink. Rook extended a hand, and after a beat, Emmrich took it and let Rook pull him to his feet.
“Enough excitement for one day, I think,” Rook said. “Let’s get Manfred sorted and head back.”
“Right. One moment,” Emmrich bent down to Manfred and gently placed a hand on the vertebrae at the base of his skull. There was a quick flash of green, and the Skeleton’s head gently fell into Emmrich’s hands. Manfred’s body fell backward onto the street, his hands reaching out to feel for a head that was no longer there. Emmrich gave the skull in his hands a pointed look.
“Let’s be a tad more respectful of our vessel, Manfred,” he said, placing the skull back on his neck and mending the two pieces together with another magical flash. “There’s no need to shove body parts places they don’t belong.”
“That’s excellent advice for anyone,” Rook said, crossing his arms. To his surprise, Emmrich chuckled. It was a weak and shaky laugh, but a smile hit the corner of his lips all the same.
“True enough,” he said. “Rook, why don’t you pop back into Tarra’s shop and pick yourself up another shirt. That one has been torn to shreds.” He reached into his inner pocket and pulled out his coin purse, placing a few King’s Gulder’s into Rook’s hand.
“Emmrich, I don’t need another-”
“Please. It’s the least I could do,” Emmrich said, folding his hands together. “If you hadn’t acted, Manfred and I could have been gravely injured or….” he trailed off, shaking his head. “Your quick instincts were quite becoming of a strong Mourn Watcher.”
Rook felt color rising to his ears. “It was nothing,” he said.
“On the contrary. It was quite something.” Before Rook could reply, Emmrich turned on his heel and started across the street. He called over his shoulder. “I’ve one more errand to run while you get settled with Tara. Then we can return home.”
“Alright,” Rook called after him as he disappeared around a street corner. He turned to Manfred. “Wait here,” he said. “And make sure you don’t lose your marbles this time.”
Manfred gave him an affirmative hiss as he reentered Tara’s store. As he approached the counter, Tara looked up from her work again and raised an eyebrow.
“What happened to you?” she asked, gesturing to the deep scars now visible on his arm.
“You should see the other guy,” Rook said with a shrug, motioning to his shirt. “I’m looking for a replacement. Do you have anything…how do I put this….exceedingly plain?”
Moments later, Rook was being rung up by Tara again, this time a black shirt with a cutaway collar under his arm. It was still silk, and still had the same bishop sleeves as the others, but the fabric had no opulent shine. It was something Rook knew he wouldn’t stand out in. As he left the store, he found Emmrich waiting for him at their wagon.
“All ready?” he asked.
“Let’s call it a day,” Rook said, tossing the wrapped shirt into the back of the wagon and hoisting the yoke back onto his shoulders.
Not long after, Rook was back in the kitchen of Emmrich’s mausoleum, watching Manfred boil yet another kettle of water. The skeleton was clicking happily to himself as Rook leaned over the black counter, making the flames rise and fall with a few lazy waves of his fingers. Emmrich had been quiet on the walk back to the Necropolis. Contemplative, Rook thought, and he hadn’t wanted to disturb him. He had spent the walk reading various signs Manfred pointed to aloud. He wondered if the skeleton was trying to learn how to read. Or if, in fact, undead could learn to read at all. He’d never tried teaching any he knew growing up.
When they’d got back to the mausoleum, Emmrich had excused himself and disappeared into the room next to the washroom. Rook had barely caught a glimpse of a set of stairs beyond the door, one leading up and another leading down. The professor had been there for a few hours now, and Rook was on the verge of delving into the pantry to see what could be thrown together for dinner. He was about to ask Manfred if he knew where Emmrich kept the produce when the kitchen door opened, and they both turned to find the senior necromancer standing in the doorway, his hands clasped behind his back.
“Rook, might we speak for a moment?” he asked, his face a picture of seriousness. Rook let his hand fall to his side, the kettle’s flames dwindling to a small simmer.
“Of course,” he said. “But why does it sound like I’m in trouble?”
“Oh, no trouble at all,” Emmrich said, moving to take a seat at the table and motioning for Rook to do the same. “In fact, quite the opposite. I’d like to give you something.” As the two of them sat down, Emmrich moved his hands from behind his back and revealed that he was holding a small box made of dark cherry wood. A bright golden clasp held it shut at the front. Emmrich set the box on the table and slid it over to Rook, tapping the top of it lightly with his hand. Rook stared at it for a moment and then shot Emmrich a glare.
“I told you not to buy me anything gold,” he said.
“They’re not gold!” Emmrich said, shooting Rook a glare of his own and then, realizing what he was doing, quickly collecting himself and sitting up a bit straighter in his chair. “Please, open it,” he said with a wave of his hand.
Rook hesitated, and then slowly opened the gold clasp on the box. He pulled back the lid to reveal a set of jade bangles, about three inches thick. A raised ridge sat on the outer edges, connected by a two inch slab of solid jade. The stone was a deep, dark green, expertly carved and as smooth as glass. They were nestled comfortably in a black velvet fabric, the kitchen’s lamplight catching on them and glossing them over with a bright shine. Rook delicately pulled one from its spot and turned it over in his hands, feeling the cold rock against his skin. After a beat, he set it back down in the box and gave Emmrich a pointed look.
“These are too expensive,” he said. “You really don’t have to-”
“Rook, I must confess something to you,” Emmrich interrupted him. He wasn’t meeting Rook’s eyes, but instead his gaze dropped to his hands folded neatly on the table in front of him. He paused, and for a moment the kitchen was silent, save for the soft sounds of bubbling water from Manfred’s kettle on the stove behind them. Emmrich sighed and finally looked up at Rook.
“Have you ever been frightened by the thought of dying, Rook?” he asked.
Rook wasn’t sure what he had been expecting, but it certainly wasn’t that. He pushed his surprise aside and considered Emmrich’s words for a moment, then crossed his arms and gave him a shrug. “I can’t say I’ve thought about it much. As Mourn Watchers, we’re around death all the time. Feels like it would be exhausting to think about it even more on my off hours.”
Emmrich chuckled softly and shook his head, his eyes still cast downward. “Would that I could have your dedication to work life balance,” he said with a small smile. But it disappeared almost as soon as it had graced his lips. “I’ve had attacks, similar to the one you witnessed today, ever since I was young. After my parents' deaths, it seemed, I discovered I possess a great terror of dying. It goes beyond dread. It can’t be reasoned with or soothed over. It comes without warning. In the dead of night. On sunlit streets. A raw, strangling fear, struck somewhere deep past the heart.”
Rook’s arms slowly dropped to the table as he listened to Emmrich’s words. “Seems like that might make things difficult. Given how much time you spend with the subject.”
“Some days are better than others,” Emmrich replied with a shake of his head. “There was a moment today where I thought….where it seemed that perhaps my fears had caught up with me. I was so terrified, I couldn’t even get Manfred to safety. But you…” he stopped, his eyes traveling back to meet Rook’s. “You acted. You were daring and decisive. You saved the both of us.”
Rook shrugged. “It was nothing.”
“You said that at the market as well,” Emmrich said, shaking his head. He reached across the table and took one of Rook’s hands in his. The warmth of their hands together made Rook’s skin tingle. “But I envy that courage so deeply. That assured sense of confidence.” He sighed and pulled his hands away again. Rook reflexively placed his fingers where Emmrich’s had been, brushing the soft tingle on his skin away.
“My own fears of death have barred me from many things,” Emmrich said, running a hand through his hair. A piece fell from its perfectly coiffed style and draped across his forehead. Something about seeing it out of place made Rook’s heart skip. It felt as though Emmrich’s perfect veneer had cracked, just slightly, and Rook was suddenly able to see the man underneath. “It’s even stopped me from pursuing lichdom, despite it being the highest rank for a Mourn Watcher to achieve.”
“Why would fear of death bar you from that?” Rook asked, scooting forward in his chair and resisting the urge to reach across the table and smooth Emmrich’s hair back into place. “Liches live forever, don’t they?”
“Yes, but the process of entering lichdom is deeply complex,” Emmrich said, brushing his hair again and causing even more to fall out of place. Rook felt something in him shift, but he couldn’t quite put a name to it. He crossed his legs and tried to focus on Emmrich’s eyes as the professor looked at him. “In order to become living undead, one has to die first. And there’s a possibility something could go wrong, and I remain deceased. The cost is….too great for me to bear.”
“But you’re an incredibly powerful necromancer,” Rook said. “If anyone can get the ritual right, it’s got to be you.”
Emmrich gave him a sad smile. “Your confidence in me is quite flattering,” he said. “But as today has proven, my fears are ever fresh in my mind. Until I can see past them, the way to lichdom is barred for me. But, all that aside.” He sat up a bit straighter and his expression shifted. “Please, consider this a gift for your heroism today. And for your kindness afterward.”
“I just wanted to make sure you were alright,” Rook said, looking at his hands. “It really wasn’t-”
Emmrich reached across the table and took one of Rook’s hands in his, wrapping his fingers around his wrist and raising it so it was suspended between them. Rook’s voice caught in his throat and he froze as Emmrich delicately pushed back Rook’s sleeve, revealing the bare skin of his forearm. Wordlessly, he lifted one of the jade bangles from its box and slid it onto Rook’s arm. His own gold jewelry jingled softly as he did so, the musical tinlking changing in pitch each time one of his pieces grazed the jade. He repeated the action with Rook’s other hand, sliding on the second bangle gently until it could go no further. They both fit perfectly, as if they had been carved directly onto Rook’s skin. The stone was cold against his forearms, but he was so focused on each warm graze of Emmrich’s fingers that he barely noticed. Once they were on, Emmrich took both of Rook’s hands in his, cupping them gently in his palms. Rook’s eyes, which had been watching each movement of Emmrich’s fingers with care, traveled up to meet the professor’s gaze.
“I got them in green. To match your eyes,” Emmrich said, his voice low. “I hope you’ll accept these as your first burial pieces. I believe they were more than earned. It’s not every day one finds themselves rescued from certain death. Especially by one so dashing.” He gave Rook a soft smile, and then gently lowered his hands. Rook’s bangles gave a musical thunk as they touched the glass tabletop. Emmrich pulled his hands away as he rose from his chair. To Rook, the separation felt slow and methodical, as if for a moment the professor wanted to linger. But the hesitation was so quick, he may have imagined it. Emmrich’s fingers dragged across his own and in the time it took for Rook to catch his breath, the professor had turned away and started for the door.
“I think I’ll turn in early tonight,” he said as he went. “Too much excitement for me for one day.” He stopped in the doorway and turned to look at Rook over his shoulder. “We’ll leave for Tevinter tomorrow, if you’re ready. We’ll begin to pack when you wake up. Sleep well, Rook.”
He left the room without another word, leaving Rook seated at the table, numbly rotating the new cuffs on his arms and blushing hard enough that he wondered if there was steam erupting from his ears. He stared at the new jewelry, running his fingers over the glassy surface. Looking this closely, he could see small spindles of black interlaced in the green of the Jade, as thin as spiderwebs. His skin prickled in the places he’d felt Emmrich’s hands, almost as if the Professor had been crackling with magic as he dragged his fingers across Rook’s wrist.
He was jolted from his thoughts by a sharp hiss from Manfred. The skeleton had crossed from his place at the stove, a steaming cup of tea in his hands. He set it dutifully in front of Rook, emanating a small chorus of clicks.
“Thank you, Manfred,” Rook said, taking the tea into his hands. He idly blew on the cup’s contents as the skeleton busied himself cleaning up the kettle. As Rook sipped at his tea, his mind still felt like a jellied mess of embarrassment. One thought played again and again on a loop, even long after the tea was gone and he found himself nestled in the grand four poster bed in his room once again.
He really thinks I’m dashing.