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“What I said the night we had that argument…” she trailed off, not sure what else to say. Was it stupid? Obviously. She knew that even before she got unceremoniously thrown into Solas’ prison in the Dread Wolf’s place. Was it upsetting? Very - for both of them. Reiterating that now would be pointless. “It feels like it was just yesterday for me, but it was over a fortnight for you.” She squeezed Emmrich’s hand tighter and sidled even closer to him on the stair that they were occupying in a quiet corner of the Necropolis.
It wasn’t that she was afraid that at any moment she might be dragged away from him again - this time for good, except, well… that was actually exactly what she was afraid of.
“Thank you for not giving up on me.”
That was the sentiment she ended up settling on. It was thin and somewhat trite, even to her own ears - she had little doubt that he could see through it too. She might as well have told him it wasn’t his fault…
She just hoped he understood that she wasn’t solely referring to rescuing her from the Fade.
And… there it was - that smile: effortless and comforting by virtue of its existence alone.
His cheeks were once again clean-shaven (Amina’s gentle suggestion that maybe he should give the beard a chance was politely rebuffed), and his hair was washed and neatly coiffed as usual. One would never guess by looking at him now that only a few hours earlier he looked like a man on the very brink of insanity.
Over her.
Over a few poorly chosen words uttered out of fear and pain. Over being plunged into the sudden reality that those might have been the last words exchanged between them.
Something deep within her stirred at the knowledge that he had been so undone by what had happened at Tearstone Island. If she’d had any doubts that his affections towards her were genuine, they were long gone. There were no lengths that he wouldn’t have gone to in order to retrieve her from that prison, and as flattering as that fact was, she was grateful that Emmrich had not ultimately been called to challenge his definition of what was ‘right’ in this scenario…
People probably wouldn’t have understood…
People probably wouldn’t have liked it.
And he was nothing if not palatable, right? What with his deliberate togetherness that he presented to the world: a reassurance in and of itself.
Take that away though…
Watchers were indeed oath-sworn caregivers of the living and the dead, but their approachable kind nature was of a deliberate sort designed specifically to foster trust. Beneath that compassionate altruism, they were fundamentally guardians and protectors, and they were capable of staggering violence. One only had to consider the damage Johanna nearly caused to understand that a Watcher willing to operate outside the boundaries of their oath was dangerous .
Her beloved Emmrich was no different in that respect, though she was probably one of the few who knew it.
And yet it was he who had made a point earlier of talking her down from naming Solas as a ruined spirit and vowing to destroy him for his betrayal and cruel manipulation…
She wasn’t sure if this section of the Necropolis was particularly drafty this evening, but she felt the small hairs on her arms raise slightly and forced her mind away from such thoughts.
Instead, she thought about how much she loved him. The way his eyes glittered cleverly in the light of the veilfire, and the soft shape of his lips. He was looking at her like she was the center of the universe, and she knew that she didn’t want to go anywhere without him for the rest of her days: she wanted to see his face in the morning when she opened her eyes, and when each day was done, she wanted the last thing she tasted to be those soft, slightly pouting lips.
She’d see to it that he never felt alone or unwanted again: she would want him always.
She wanted to come back here to the Necropolis when all was said and done and make a home with him and Manfred. The three of them would be so happy together.
And… oh.
Her breath caught as a new thought stole into her mind.
In time - if they desired it - she could cease imbibing the weekly tonic she’d taken for so many years to ensure her monthly cycle. His seed would quicken within her and they would create a child borne of their loving union - blood magic in its purest and most literal form: a legacy crafted of their own flesh. And Manfred would make such a fine big brother with a little sibling to dote on…
Her stomach flip-flopped as arousal curled up through the very marrow of her bones and set a fire deep within her belly. Of course when she was young she’d thought she’d like to be a mother one day, but she’d given up on genuinely putting any stock in such an aspiration years earlier: she never thought she’d find someone who’d truly want her.
Now Elgar’nan and Solas were the only ones in the way of such a future. It was so close she could practically taste it…
She swallowed roughly, feeling her heart hammering away in her breast as the future unveiled itself in Emmrich’s eyes and she burned for him with an imminent need to be united with him utterly.
They might die tomorrow, after all…
“Amina? Are you alright, darling? You look as though you’re a million miles away.” He gently tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and she nuzzled into his hand.
“I’m sorry, love.” She dragged herself back to reality with a smile. “I’m listening.”
“I was just saying how relieved I am that you’re safe.”
And he was. He really, really was. Amina suspected he had been counting each of her breaths since she burst out of the Fade; kept an eye on the steady thrum of her carotid artery when he could glimpse it just for the visual reminder that she had a pulse and was in fact alive and not just a figment of his grief addled imagination the way Varric had been for her.
“I did have someone to come back to.” She took his hand and stood.
She gently pulled Emmrich to his feet too and rocked up onto her toes, rising through her knees – up into her hips… lengthening her spine until she could press her lips to his, kissing him and putting all of her devotion and love and fear and sorrow into it along with all of her hunger and yearning.
When she drew back, the sight of that hunger reciprocated drove a small gasp from her - it wasn’t an exclamation of surprise, but rather the sound one might make when they find themselves suddenly breathless upon viewing a deeply moving piece of art.
He had apartments in the upper levels of the Necropolis - as did she - but when one considered their surroundings – this quiet, esoteric corner of the wing and the privacy that had clearly been paid for; the fact that this was an owned but unoccupied plot… and the realization that the individual it belonged to was suddenly kissing her again – his intent was clear.
Her fingers twisted into his soft hair and a sumptuous moan rumbled through from him at her touch. Her jaw slackened and his tongue swept past her lips with a desperation that would have shocked her if she hadn’t been privy to the knowledge that he thought she might be dead for the past two weeks.
Then he was walking her back, back, back, and she offered no resistance, feeling herself bump up against the raised stone sarcophagus in the center of the room. She didn’t need to remove her lips from Emmrich’s to spare a look, nor did she need to remove her hands from his to spare a touch: she knew that the stone wasn’t humble lime - none of the monuments in this section were: they were all at least marble or high-grade granite. She’d stared at the classic, hexagonal shape of the sarcophagus while he was telling her about Hope and Devotion, and as he talked her down from her determination to destroy Solas for his betrayal. She’d stared at it for long enough this evening to mark it as a monument hewn of coveted blue granite from the Anderfels. It had to have cost a fortune – interesting for a man so terrified of his eventual demise to sink so much gold into it, she had thought at one point.
She captured his lower lip between her teeth as she leaned against that monument and posed a wordless question as she bit down gently: Are we really doing this, love?
He whined in response as she worried at his lip, soothing the sting of her bite, his slender long-fingered hand slipping around her waist and splaying across her lower back to bring himself close and erase any space between them.
The familiar and welcome sensation of his hardening length pressed against her in spellbound and equally silent answer: If it pleases you, dearest.
Every day it seemed he found a new way to surprise her. She shivered at the thought of how many other surprises might await them…
It wasn’t that they both knew that this section - regardless of how serene it was - was ultimately open to the public and anybody could happen by them at any time, though that had its own ribald appeal…
No, it was for the very fact that Emmrich ‘I-Choose-My-Words-Carefully’ Volkarin did nothing accidentally and left no room for coincidence when his actions were called into question. He was just as aware as Amina that a comfortable feather bed in a warm apartment complete with a crackling fire, expensive Orlesian massage oils, and a selection of the finest wines were all things they could have within minutes should they desire them - all they needed to do was take the lift a hundred-odd levels up, and that was that.
But he wanted this.
After all, what could possibly be more sacred than making love in your eternal resting place on the eve of the end of the world?
So she shimmied up and seated herself on the edge of the sarcophagus, her legs parting so he could slot himself between them. She could feel the slickness between her thighs clinging to her underthings as she ran her hands over him, dragging his coat down his long arms.
“I love you, Emmrich.”
The words were still so new to her tongue and her ears, but it felt like her heart had been beating to the rhythm of them for her entire life.
“And I love you, my darling, precious Amina.” He shrugged out of the coat and draped it over the side of the cold stone.
“I don’t think I’ll ever tire of hearing you say that,” she grinned against his skin, kissing up his neck - tasting the slight saltiness of him and the tang of his cologne. She nibbled at his earlobe and he tensed against her, another pained little gasp slipping past his lips.
Unable to bear it anymore, she gathered him to her, wrapping her legs around his waist in a fluid movement that sent them both tumbling backwards into the soft velvet lining of the sarcophagus - it was surprisingly soft: quilted and down-filled. There was even a pillow at the head end - a proper one with a silk slip trimmed with scalloped lace, also probably down-filled… not one of those dreadful thin ones filled with wood shavings that offered little to no support for the reposed decedent when it came to the purpose of viewing them.
Indeed Emmrich appeared to have spared no expense when it came to the question of quality and craftsmanship of his final resting place - or was it more accurately theirs now? Destined to be put to use sooner rather than later depending on the outcome of tomorrow?
Most married couples shared the space of an owned crypt but each had their own sarcophagus or niche based on what they could afford. But as Amina’s lungs filled with oxygen, and her rib cage expanded, she and Emmrich suffused into the cramped space, filling it completely with their bodies and limbs. It was at that moment she decided that the existence of things like space and stone between them for eternity simply wouldn’t do.
No, whichever one of them went first would slumber in gentle repose in this exact spot, patiently waiting until the day when the heavy gilded lid was slid aside and a second set of remains were introduced, lovingly deposited and tucked in alongside the other: a cold, rigored hand posed with experienced fingers would lovingly cradle a dry, waxy chin; a leg would be positioned delicately over a fragile lower torso, bony fingers artfully arranged to look almost like it lovingly stroked the recently embalmed flesh of a thigh that would maintain its weight and mass for a few years at least.
Their heads would be gently maneuvered - a chin tucked down here, a jaw tipped up there - to create an enduring tableau of the memory of this exact moment and the reverent, passionate kisses she was tracing along his mandibular foramen: an eternal embrace in which the passing of time was inconsequential when compared to the irrefutable and immortal permanence of their affection.
A yearning sound escaped her, urged on by the adoring vulgarities and soft praises Emmrich was whispering into her ear as they writhed against each other in the too-small space, his fingertips digging into the curve her ass, guiding her movements to help her rut against his thigh, each roll of her hips sending a wave of blissful sensation through her aching core.
She managed to free a hand and wriggle it down between them so she could palm his straining cock through his pants, feeling a hot wet spot against the fleshy base of her thumb where it passed over him - exhilarating evidence of his mounting anticipation.
“Your cock is perfect,” she whispered. “Beautiful… made for me...”
Emmrich’s response was a ragged groan and her hips pushed the flat of her palm against him through the fabric of his trousers as she bent her other wrist somewhat awkwardly to start coaxing his collar pin free.
Undressing in the limited space was easier said than done, but something about the obligation of their proximity caused the pooling heat in her belly to intensify with every huff of breath that skittered over her face and neck as they both twisted and groped in the tomb-light, tempering genuine attempts to gain purchase on things like buttons and clasps and ties with exploratory, wandering touches that lingered, caressed, and teased. Lips and tongues dragged over freshly revealed swaths of skin, trailing oaths and tender promises in their wake: sacred incantations that invoked the ancient magic that was responsible for the existence of this place to begin with.
Amina managed to dislodge herself from between Emmrich and the wall of the sarcophagus, and used her newly found mobility to straddle his lap: her legs might fall asleep if she stayed like this for long, but the angle it provided her allowed her to deftly finish unfastening his waistcoat and shirt.
“This shirt has about two dozen too many buttons,” she complained as he finished with the last of the many moonstone fastenings, and Emmrich sat up to slip free of the clothing in question.
“I can’t help but notice that their presence didn’t slow you down terribly, dearest.” He regarded her with a lascivious smile as the sleeves of the shirt slid down over his numerous bracelets: it was a filthy expression that only she was privileged to bear witness to - one of lidded eyes and swollen lips quirked in a decidedly smug countenance… his perfectly combed moustache in adorable disarray. Almost a sneer… so vastly different than the compassionate, kind face he presented to the world. It called to something absolutely feral within her – it drove her wild when he looked at her like that, and with his torso now bare and his hair slightly mussed just the way she liked it…
She managed to exercise enough patience to allow him to strip away her own shirt before returning to her self-assumed duty to taste every inch of him that she could reach. Her hips pressed against his from her place atop him, and she closed her mouth over a nipple, lingering in place for a moment to suck gently and flick the delicate gold hoop there with the tip of her tongue. She caught it with her teeth too ever so gently tugged on it, earning a stammered exclamation from Emmrich before she began trailing kisses downward over the warm flesh of his abdomen, seeking his ribs with her lips, counting each one in her mind as she descended: five, six, seven… onto the false ones – a silly name really – eight, nine, and ten…
Her fingers curled into the layers of expensive red silk at his waist and she looked up at him then with lust-darkened eyes.
“Lay back,” she ordered, her voice a sensual husk that was not remotely lacking the authoritative cadence of a Reaper who was accustomed to being obeyed when she issued instructions to anyone this far down in the crypts.
So lay back he did, and Amina made short work of any fabrics and fasteners, freeing him into her waiting hand.
She hummed agreeably at the sensation of his heat and mass against her palm - she hadn’t been spinning sugared words when she declared that his cock was perfect. She took a moment just to admire his generous but non-intimidating length; his slender, elegant shape that matched the rest of his body; veins that were the exact same handsome shade of cobalt that marbled the sarcophagus they occupied… stunning… gorgeous.
She swallowed the overabundance of saliva that had welled in her mouth - a seemingly autonomic response to being so close to his cock - and slowly dragged her slightly parted lips up the side of him, inhaling his scent as she gently massaged his smooth tip with the pad of her thumb, spreading the not insubstantial quantity of wetness that had collected there over his flushed skin.
He shuddered at her ministrations – cock throbbing under her fingers as his teeth audibly clacked together in an effort to muffle the quiet whine that slipped from him.
She licked along his shaft, pressing her tongue flat to the underside of it, taking her time and teasing a wavering moan from her beloved’s lips as she approached his flushed, plum-coloured tip. She laved her tongue over it, then around, feathering the very tip of her tongue over his continuously leaking slit and collecting the beads of slick that had rapidly regenerated there.
Humming, she closed her eyes and coated her tongue, savouring him like a priceless vintage. She looked up from his lap; met his eyes with hers and found pupils blown wide with desire, his jaw somewhat slack.
“I love the way you taste,” she smiled against the silken smooth skin of his cock, stroking him lazily a few times, each motion coaxing a little gasp from him as his fingers carded tenderly through her hair. “I love the way you feel…”
What was good for the goose was good for the gander, as it turned out: it was true that Emmrich’s tendency towards praise and positive reinforcement reduced her to a malleable puddle, but he took to compliments the same way: he loved to know that he mattered… that he’d done something well.
That he was worthy of love.
She took him in her mouth with another pleased hum and idly traced the shape of his inguinal ligament with her fingertip as she took him deeper.
“Ah! Darling!” He tensed, shivered, flexed and relaxed under her. His back arched and his hips snapped upwards when she hollowed her cheeks around his girth and his head brushed the back of her throat.
She swallowed around him and drew back slowly, imparting what his body told her was just the right amount of suction before paying attention to his swollen tip - swirling her tongue around it, her lips slippery with saliva and pre-come.
When she engulfed him again, his fingers curled tighter against her scalp and he hissed a word that never would have passed his lips in a professional setting.
Fortunately this was the furthest thing from ‘professional’ and she loved knowing that she was so capable of making him forget himself.
She unfolded and stretched her legs out, resting her feet over the rim of the sarcophagus as she bobbed her head, setting a comfortable pace that would keep Emmrich on his toes, but not quite drag him over the edge - not yet. She wanted to hold him in the moment: in the consistent tempo of her lips and her tongue and her cheeks; her eager noises and the wet slurping and his soft sighs that were occasionally punctuated when he whimpered her name, his voice thick with lust and yearning.
His hips rose up, and his fingers tightened in her hair - but not enough to hurt - and compelled by her muffled invitation, he let himself go somewhat, cradling her head in his ring-clad hand as he thrust upwards into her mouth, groaning raggedly, his head falling back as pushed deep into her throat.
She inhaled through her nose and managed an obscene groan of encouragement around him that said: Oh yes… just like that, love. Don’t stop…
The hand she could move freely snaked up and found his, and she twined her fingers between his and squeezed: I love you… I love this…
“Ohhh… that m-mouth of yours, darling…” He babbled a few more breathless profanities and guided her clear of him, springing from her mouth with a lewd ‘pop’ and then he was pulling her back on top of him, claiming her lips hungrily and palming her small breasts as he sat upright again. “I want to feel all of you, my love - every inch of your divine skin against mine.”
He kneaded her tits and buried his face in them, skillfully licking, pinching and sucking on her stiff nipples, and it was her turn to whimper and keen as he dutifully worshipped her breasts. She let out a clipped cry of surprise when his teeth closed around her own piercing, causing her to jolt in his lap: his eyes flooded with mischievous delight at the distraction he’d caused – she was trying rather gracelessly to squirm out of her boots and wriggle out of her pants and sodden underthings.
“Bracing, isn’t it?” He smirked against her heaving chest, holding her tight to him with his willowy arms.
“Terribly,” she admitted, finally managing to do away with her unwanted clothing.
She was completely naked now, straddling him in his own sarcophagus that would eventually contain his remains. He stared at her with an odd expression on his face: dopey and lovesick - every inch the besotted fool he claimed to be - and began to trail his fingers over her form, reaching down to start at her ankles, travelling up her calves, then her thighs and rear… the measured and perceptive touch of a seasoned embalmer - a man so familiar with bodies that he could draw hers from memory if he had to. His reverent fingers followed the curve of her spine, dancing over knotted scars and skimming over each vertebrae like passages in a book before he gathered his hands at the nape of her neck, cradling the base of her skull and kissing her deeply.
Her breath was driven from her as he explored her mouth, their tongues twining together as she melted into him. She felt so safe in his arms despite the utter vulnerability of her nakedness: being a Reaper down in the crypts without their traditional shell of armour was one thing - but being completely exposed in this place knowing what dwelled here was not for the faint of heart. But Emmrich enfolded her - surrounded and sheltered her with his tall, lean frame, shielding her from anyone or anything that would dare to bring her harm.
He parted from her and carefully laid her on her back at the foot end of the sarcophagus, gazing tenderly upon her as if he feared that if he were to look away, she would be gone.
“I will be back before you even notice I’ve left,” he assured her, pressing his lips to her forehead before hoisting himself up and over the edge of the sarcophagus.
She could hear his feet land on the other side, and then the scuffling of leather and fabric along with the soft chiming of his many adornments, and she was just about to sit up and ask what he was doing when he reappeared and slipped back into their macabre love nest - though now he was naked too.
Amina couldn’t help but giggle as he crawled over her, his skin so wonderfully familiar and warm against hers.
“Hm?” He intoned against the skin under her ear, shrouding her with his form once more, his cock sliding against the inside of her thigh - hotter still than the rest of him. He reached down to circle her slick, swollen clit with his thumb and slipped two of his fingers inside of her with ease, providing some relief to the insistent heat in her belly.
She bit down on her lip, her eyes fluttering shut at the feeling of fullness she had been craving.
“It’s just that it’s not every day a girl finds herself alone in the crypts with a naked and incredibly handsome man.” She reached down between them and grasped his cock, stroking it with the same languid rhythm as he explored her core, scissoring his fingers and brushing against places inside of her that made her thighs tremble.
He smiled wolfishly at her, his body reacting to her
touch - hips stuttering slightly against her. “I should hope not,” he opined. “The crypts are a sacred place not to be sullied and fouled by amorous lovers incapable of controlling themselves.” He removed his fingers from her and she felt the head of his cock at her entrance as he lined himself up.
“I’m glad that we both ah – agree.” The last word was exhaled sharply as Emmrich moved his hips forward and entered her, his breath hitching as her heat enveloped him and he stretched her slightly.
He shifted back and thrust forward again - controlled and precise as ever, filling her slowly, one small movement at a time. “Of course, dearest,” he rasped, rolling his hips again, inching deeper and resting his elbows on either side of her head. He smoothed an errant strand of hair from her forehead and cradled her head in his hand. “You understand me like no one else ever has.” He gently guided her further open with his knee along the inside of her thigh - there wasn’t much more room for her to spread, but it was enough to allow him to move deeper still. He gasped softly as she clenched around him, and a lock of his hair slipped down into his eyes when he started to thrust in earnest.
“Darling, I’d - I’d like to try something, if it’s amenable to you.” He sounded somewhat cowed - like he was worried she’d reject him. Interesting, she thought: they’d tried quite a few things together, and always communicated well in that respect.
So she smiled up at him, stroked his cheek assuringly and said, “All right, love - tell me more.”
“It’s - this place… the nature of it and the Beyond…” He explained breathlessly, waiting for her to nod before continuing. “It’s magic - difficult to explain, but if you trust me–”
“I trust you above anyone,” she interjected, saving him from wandering too deep into his own mind. “You’ve done this before, haven’t you?”
He sighed and she couldn’t be sure if it was due to the feeling of being joined with her, or something else entirely.
“No actually… I read about it many years ago, and always wondered what it would be like to try, but…” he trailed off, taking a moment to refocus himself.
“But?”
“Over the course of my life, I never found anyone I’d dare ask to try it with. Sacral Transspiritual Astral Cohesion is not to be taken lightly: for a mage to use his ability to grip the essence of another living being and use that connection for such an intimate purpose is no mere parlor trick to be wasted on a casual dalliance.” He stilled inside her, cupping her cheek in his palm as he looked deeply into her eyes. “It is theorized that prolonged exposure to such a joining might fundamentally and permanently alter the spiritual essences of those involved… that some transference of being may pass from one to another.”
It was truly amazing how even at a time like this he could explain such a concept like he was standing in front of a room full of students.
“I’m unsure of what tomorrow will bring, for better or for worse, but I do know that I would very much like to live out the rest of my days knowing I’ve shared something so indescribably personal with you, Amina, Rook — my darling… my dearest friend. But I must afford you the opportunity to decline by virtue of the gravitas that this magic implies…”
“And what does it imply?” She posed the question, already knowing the answer - already knowing her answer. She had known the answer from the first moment she’d laid eyes on him that day with Bellara and hadn’t questioned it once…
“That from the instant our essences touch, come what may, our very souls are intrinsically linked forevermore…” His eyes drifted from her own, and his voice wavered. “After what happened… when I lost you… when even eager spirits couldn’t find you in the Fade…” He looked at her again, kissed her brow as if to confirm she was still there. “If you’ll have me…”
There was a vulnerability in his words that spoke of his own fears and insecurities: that he had never been enough for anyone before, and that perhaps this was no different. Perhaps even despite all they had seen and been through together, she did not burn as brightly for him as he did for her…
“Yes,” she whispered, never meaning anything more in her life - not even the day she swore her oaths to the Mourn Watch.
“Like the other time then, darling: close your eyes… breathe…”
She paced her breaths; felt herself begin to unravel as she wrapped her arms and legs around him, holding him close.
“If it becomes too much at any time, you must tell me to stop.”
“Emmrich…” she whined teasingly.
“Your comfort is paramount to me, dear - you know this.” Though the words were chiding, the soft kiss he placed on her forehead was not. “Now breathe… and feel me.”
There was no time to question anything: a sensation unlike anything she’d ever felt barrelled into her - not physically, but deeper. It went beyond the rudimentary limits of the nervous system, transcending any definitions bound by such primitive constructs as words when it came to describing them.
He tentatively caressed her - not with his hand, but with… him.
Her eyes snapped open and she cried out at the sheer intensity of the exploratory touch. It was staggering. Enormous. Intimate in a way that could not be explained.
She distantly heard herself say his name as she comprehended the brilliant white light in front of her… around her… inside of her…
The light was Emmrich, or rather his essence - his soul: whatever energy or material that a person was composed of.
Relax… breathe…
She heard his voice, but knew that his lips hadn’t moved: his words had passed directly between them, through this spiritual connection he had brokered.
Touch me again? She entreated through that connection, her soul to his.
The warm, comforting laugh she had come to treasure more than anything in the world reverberated through her being, and she nearly wept when it permeated even the darkest, loneliest corners of her, replacing old fears and pains with joy and light.
He kissed her tenderly and she thought her heart might explode out of her chest: she could feel his love as tangible and real as the stone they occupied. She could feel his lips on hers on his, and the utter thrill that coursed through him, reflecting back through her; the bright glow of her own essence, perceived by his eyes: they were perpetual… immutable… everlasting…
Laughing soundlessly now too, she curiously ran her hand over the bare expanse of his shoulder and felt his cock twitch deep within her, his elated groan rolling through her very soul.
Remarkable… He sounded like he was on the verge of joyous tears, and seemingly satisfied that she was alright, began moving slowly inside her again.
He seemed to glow brighter as their souls connected; entwining and mingling in mirror of their physical forms. She moaned wantonly and he responded in kind.
His lips found hers again, claiming her with a vigor that underlined just how desperately long he’d been waiting to attempt this magic.
She fluttered around him, arching up and pressing her chest to his as he continued to make love to every facet of her being: good, bad, and otherwise.
His fingers dug into her ribs and she writhed against him, needing him deeper still - even with their spirits in such proximity and their bodies entwined, she could never be close enough - never have enough of him… her beloved Emmrich. Her home. The one person who truly saw her and chose her every day.
Emmrich…
Amina…
I would have you today, tomorrow, and for the rest of my days.
He laughed again: a breathless exclamation of utter joy.
Truly?
Yes! Her soul sang, brushing tenderly against his. She felt his tears mingle with her own on her cheeks; their skin, sweat-slicked and fiery as they fucked passionately, laughing and weeping, completely lost in one another in a way neither had ever experienced before.
She could hear his heartbeat in her ears and feel it in her own chest as she felt release bearing down upon her - she could feel his own too, it’s imminent arrival heralded by the tensing of his muscles as he drove into her, each thrust hitting the spot within her that made her magic-augmented view of her surroundings flash white. The chorus of his pleasurable moans echoed through her, his voice the beacon she would follow to the very end.
She went over the edge with a decadent cry, rocking against him as he followed suit, spilling deep inside of her with each tapering thrust.
I love you, I love you, I love you, he chanted, cradling her head and neck in his arms as they each rode out what they would jointly remember to be the best climax they’d ever experienced in their lives up until then.
It wasn’t just release: it was culmination - the fate ordained comingling of being that Emmrich had spoken of: holy and sacred in ways that even the most devout believers in the history of the Chantry could never deign to comprehend.
Time halted and the world ceased to exist but for the bright, pulsing light of two souls, forever bound in love. Evil and darkness blinked from existence, replaced by the majestic depth of their commitment and the strength of their affection: the utmost trust and faith with which they approached one another.
I love you too… I will always love you.
In time, the magic faded and they lay in the sarcophagus, tangled, panting, and gleaming with sweat, they whispered sweet nothings to one another for their ears alone between soothing kisses: secret vows and promises, wishes and hopes for the days that they would see together after the defeat of the gods.
Amina lay cradled in Emmrich’s arm as they stretched out in the sarcophagus, idly tracing the lines in the palm of his hand as she held it above her face. His hands were so big, and hers so small. His with broad, soft palms, callused only in places where he frequently held a quill or embalming tools. Hers with dainty, womanly fingers, bent somewhat in places or knotted in others from so many breaks over the years.
“Did you know that the very first time I participated in an interment, I nearly fell into the grave?” She felt herself smile wryly at the memory as she continued to follow the curve of his hand, tip-tapping a fingernail against the underside of each ring as she touched them all one at a time.
Emmrich snorted softly and smoothed down some of Amina’s tousled hair. “Oh dear, I daresay that would have made for quite a memorable first. How ever did that happen?”
“It was for one of the plots in the gardens outside. It was mid-spring and the first real thaw had happened a day or so earlier. I was scheduled to meet with a family in the city that day, so I decided to wear my nice shoes when I got ready that morning - first pair of heels I ever owned; nothing fancy, just polished black leather with a modest heel.” She gently manipulated his fingers with her hands, gripping them and spreading the index and pinky wide, massaging his palm with the pad of her thumb. “But the team that was scheduled for the interment was a person short, and the family of the deceased didn’t wish to participate in bearing the coffin to the plot, so I was called in last minute to assist. I had only been with the Watch for a year or so by then, and was still learning spiritual theory and embalming - actually working funeral services wasn’t something I had much experience in yet.” She bent his fingers towards his palm and they closed around hers, holding tight. “Tsk - let go,” she scolded playfully and when they unfurled like the petals of a beautiful, night-blooming flower she continued. “As I was saying: I’d never been on an interment before, and my shoes that day weren’t ideal for the conditions, but there were no boots my size handy and I didn’t have time to go looking for a pair, so the shoes it was.”
He buried his nose in her hair and grinned. “I fear I can see where this is going.”
“So imagine if you will, nineteen-year-old Amina bearing pall through the slushy, sloppy, muddy gardens, holding her corner of the coffin and sliding all over the bloody place, trying desperately to maintain some semblance of solemn dignity in light of the circumstances because Maker forbid I fall and drop my corner in front of this dead guy’s family. We finally made it to the plot, and I had no other choice but to plant my feet directly in the mud as we placed the coffin on the lowering device. I straightened and went to step back a pace to respectfully observe the rest of the ceremony. I moved back… my shoe didn’t.”
“Dear me…”
“So I stood there for the rest of the ceremony while the Chantry Sister said her piece, and the dead man’s family laid flowers on the lid of the coffin - balancing on one leg, my foot bare and cold, my shoe wedged in four inches of thick mud just out of reach.” She laughed softly. “I couldn’t very well interrupt the ceremony just to retrieve it, could I? I was mortified, and on top of everything it took everything in me not to laugh at how ridiculous I must look: this ridiculous Watcher, standing vigil at the graveside, hands folded respectfully in front of her and her face solemn while standing on one foot as the chattiest Sister in the Chantry’s history recited the Commendation of The Body.”
Emmrich’s other hand had started to wander, trailing up her bare skin and, leaving gooseflesh in the wake of his feather-light touch. He kneaded her breast lazily and she kissed the tips of his fingers, feeling the smoldering remnants of desire threaten to spark anew: she felt truly grounded and present for the first time in her life - in control of her destiny rather than at the mercy of it.
Their destiny…
What a concept.
“Do you feel any different?” She asked, abruptly changing course, her story about the shoe a distant memory as she found herself suddenly unable to focus on anything else but the immense reality of what they had just done.
Sacral Transspiritual Astral Cohesion…
He hummed contemplatively, taking the time to consider his response, wiggling his fingers in her face pensively - or teasingly… she wasn’t sure which. “Not especially… I understand that Astral Cohesion is a subtle enchantment that matures and strengthens over time and multiple exposures – those who undertake it aren’t suddenly capable of fanciful things like reading each other’s minds, or controlling their bodies. As for how I feel… I suppose the best way to describe it would be like attempting to read a sentence in a book that was missing words before: it could be pieced together and comprehended to an extent, but without that missing context, it could never be considered complete.” He squeezed her tight. “But now it’s as if the blank spaces are filled in and the entire book makes sense now.”
That was… exactly what she was feeling: no different than before as far as who she was as a person, just… complete.
“So are we… um… are we… married now, or something?” She felt her cheeks heat up as the words left her mouth - they felt presumptuous… silly.
He laughed - not mockingly, but in an amused fashion - a breathy giggle that forced a smile to her face, and then his lips were next to her ear, his breath hot and his next words a cunning purr. “Why? Would you like to be?”
Her stomach leapt and her heart skipped a few beats. “I… I – ah…” She stammered out a few more nonsensical sounds that couldn’t quite be called words, and watched as Emmrich slipped the large ruby ring he wore on his left pinky free. He took her left hand in his and slid the ring onto her ring finger and kissed it gently.
“There.” He rotated the gold band between two fingers, testing its fit. “It’s a bit loose, but I’ll have it sized properly when we return home.”
“Emmrich…” Her voice was tight.
“It was my Father’s, you know? His final gift to me when I was a boy—”
She could hardly breathe. Her vision swam.
“— and I know all about Reapers and rings: broken fingers and whatnot, but will you consider wearing it tomorrow? A reminder that I’m with you, even if we’re parted on the battlefield. It would mean so much to me, dearest.”
She managed a muffled and weepy affirmative, laughed, rolled over, and tackled him backwards to the bed of the sarcophagus again, her mouth on his.
There was only one outcome for tomorrow: victory was not negotiable…
They had an entire life to look forward to.